"Ye's long been a-comin,Ye's long been a-comin,Ye's long been a-comin,For to take de land"And now ye's a-comin,And now ye's a-comin,And now ye's a-comin,For to rule de land."
"Ye's long been a-comin,Ye's long been a-comin,Ye's long been a-comin,For to take de land
"And now ye's a-comin,And now ye's a-comin,And now ye's a-comin,For to rule de land."
And then, clapping her hands, said, "Bless de Lord! Bless de dear Jesus!"
"Then you are glad the Yankees are here?"
"O chile! I can't bress de Lord enough; but I doesn't call you Yankees."
"What do you call us?"
"I call you Jesus's aids, and I call you head man de Messiah." She burst out into a rhapsody of hallelujah and thanksgivings. "I can't bress de Lord enough; and bress you, chile: I can't love you enough for comin."
"Were you not afraid, Aunty, when the shells fell into the town?"
She straightened up, raised her eyes, and with a look of triumphant joy, exclaimed,—
"When Mr. Gillmore fired de big gun and I hear de shell a-rushin ober my head, I say, Come dear Jesus, and I feel nearer to Heaben dan I eber feel before!"
My laundress at Port Royal was Rosa, a young colored woman, who escaped from Charleston in 1862, with her husband and four other persons, in a small boat. On that occasion Rosa dressed herself in men's clothes, and the whole party early one morning rowed past Sumter, and made for the gunboats.
"If you go to Charleston I wish you would see if my mother is there," said Rosa. "Governor Aiken's head man knows where she lives."
We went up King Street to Governor Aiken's. We found his "head man" in the yard,—a courteous black, who, as soon as he learned that we were Yankees, and had a message from Rosa to her mother, dropped all work and started with us, eager to do anything for a Yankee. A walk to John Street, an entrance through a yard to the rear of a dwelling-house, brought us to the mother, in a small room, cluttered with pots, kettles, tables, and chairs. She was sitting on a stool before the fire, cooking her scanty breakfast of corn-cake. She had a little rice meal in a bag given her by a Rebel officer. She was past sixty years of age,—a large, strong woman, with a wide, high forehead and intellectual features. She was clothed in a skirt of dingy negro cloth, a sack of old red carpeting, and poor, thin canvas shoes of her own make. Such an introduction!
"Here comes de great Messiah, wid news of Rosa!" said my introducer, with an indescribable dramatic flourish.
The mother sprang from the stool with a cry of joy. "From Rosa? From Rosa? O, thank the Lord!" She took hold of my hands, looked at me with intense earnestness and joy, and yet with a shade of doubt, as if it could not be true.
"From Rosa?"
"Yes, Aunty."
She kneeled upon the floor and looked up to heaven. She saw not us, but God and Jesus. The tears streamed from her eyes. She recounted in prayer all her long years of slavery, of suffering, of unrequited toil, and achings of the heart. "You have heard me, dear Jesus! O blessed Lamb!"
It was a conversation between herself and the Saviour. She told him the story of her life, of all its sorrows, of his goodness, kindness, and love, the tears rolling down her cheeks the while and falling in great drops upon the floor. She wanted us to stay and partake of her humble fare, pressed my hands again and again; and when we told her we must go, she asked for God's best blessing and for Jesus' love to follow us. It was a prayer from the heart. We had carried to her the newsthat she was free, and that her Rosa was still alive. The long looked-for jubilee morning had dawned, and we were to her God's messengers, bringing the glad tidings. It was one of the most thrilling moments I ever experienced.
This woman had been a slave, had been sold, exposed to insult, had no rights which a white man was bound to respect. So said the Chief Justice of the United States, Roger B. Taney. God ordained her, in his beneficent goodness, to be a slave. So preached Rev. Dr. Thornwell, the great South Carolina theologian; so said the Southern Presbyteries, by solemn resolutions. Remembering these things, I went out from that humble dwelling with my convictions deepened that it was God's war, and that the nation was passing through the fire in just punishment for its crimes against humanity.
The 22d of February, Washington's birthday, was celebrated in Charleston as never before. In the afternoon a small party of gentlemen from the North sat down to a dinner. Among them were Colonel Webster, Chief of General Sherman's staff, Colonel Markland of the Post-Office Department, several officers of the army and navy, and four journalists, all guests of a patriotic gentleman from Philadelphia, Mr. Getty.
Our table was spread in the house of a caterer who formerly had provided sumptuous dinners for the Charlestonians. He was a mulatto, and well understood his art; for, notwithstanding the scarcity of provisions in the city, he was able to provide an excellent entertainment, set off with canned fruits, which had been put up in England, and had run the gauntlet of the blockade.
"John Brown" in Charleston.
"John Brown" in Charleston.
Sentiments were offered and speeches made, which in other days would have been called incendiary. Five years before if they had been uttered there the speakers would have made the acquaintance of Judge Lynch, and been treated to a gratuitous coat of tar and feathers, or received some such chivalric attention, if they had not dangled from a lamp-post or the nearest tree. Lloyd's Concert Band, colored musicians, were in attendance, and "Hail Columbia," the "Star-Spangled Banner," and "Yankee Doodle,"—songs which had not been heard for years in that city,—were sung with enthusiasm. To stand there, with open doors and windows, and speak freely withoutfear of mob violence, was worth all the precious boon had cost,—to feel that our words, our actions, our thoughts even, were not subject to the misinterpretation of irresponsible inquisitors,—that we were not under Venetian espionage, but infreeAmerica, answerable to God alone for our thoughts, and to no man for our actions, so long as they did not infringe the rights of others.
Henceforth there shall be free speech in Charleston. A party of twenty gentlemen began the new era on the 22d of February, and to me it will ever be a pleasant reflection that I was one of the privileged number.
While dining we heard the sound of drums and a chorus of voices. Looking down the broad avenue we saw a column of troops advancing with steady step and even ranks. It was nearly sunset, and their bayonets were gleaming in the level rays. It was General Potter's brigade, led by the Fifty-Fifth Massachusetts,—a regiment recruited from the ranks of slavery. Sharp and shrill the notes of the fife, stirring the drum-beat, deep and resonant the thousand voices singing their most soul-thrilling war-song,—
"John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the grave."
Mingling with the chorus were cheers for Governor Andrew and Abraham Lincoln!
They raised their caps, hung them upon their bayonets. Proud their bearing. They came as conquerors. Some of them had walked those streets before as slaves. Now they were freemen,—soldiers of the Union, defenders of its flag.
Around them gathered a dusky crowd of men, women, and children, dancing, shouting, mad with very joy. Mothers held up their little ones to see the men in blue, to catch a sight of the starry flag, with its crimson folds and tassels of gold.
"O dark, sad millions, patiently and dumb,Waiting for God, your hour at last has come,And freedom's songBreaks the long silence of your night of wrong."
Up the avenue, past the citadel, with unbroken ranks, they marched, offering no insult, uttering no epithet, manifesting no revenge, for all the wrongs of centuries heaped upon them by a people now humbled and at their mercy.
While walking down the street an hour later I inquired my way of a white woman. She was going in the same direction, and kindly volunteered to direct me.
"How do the Yankees behave?" I asked.
"O, they behave well enough, but the niggers are dreadful sassy."
"They have not insulted you, I hope."
"O no, they haven't insulted me, but they have other folks. They don't turn out when we meet them; they smoke cigars and go right up to a gentleman and ask him for a light!"
The deepest humiliation to the Charlestonians was the presence of negro soldiers. They were the provost guard of the city, with their head-quarters in the citadel. Whoever desired protection papers or passes, whoever had business with the marshal or the general commanding the city, rich or poor, high-born or low-born, white or black, man or woman, must meet a colored sentinel face to face and obtain from a colored sergeant permission to enter the gate. They were first in the city, and it was their privilege to guard it, their duty to maintain law and order.
A Rebel officer who had given his parole, but who was indiscreet enough to curse the Yankees, was quietly marched off to the guard-house by these colored soldiers. It was galling to his pride, and he walked with downcast eyes and subdued demeanor.
The gorgeous spectacle of the numerous war vessels in the harbor flaming with bunting from yardarm and topmast, and thundering forth a national salute in double honor of the day and the victory, deeply impressed the minds of the colored population with the invincibility of the Yankees.
"O gosh a mighty! It is no use for de Rebs to think of standing out against de Yankees any longer. I'll go home and bring Dinah down to see de sight!" cried an old freedman as he beheld the fleet. Bright colors are the delight of the African race, and a grand display of any kind has a wonderful effect on their imagination.
Neither the white nor the colored people comprehended the change which had taken place in their fortunes. The whitesforgot that they were no longer slave-drivers. Passing down Rutledge Street one morning I saw a crowd around the door of a building. A friend who was there in advance of me said that he heard an outcry, looked in, and found a white man whipping a colored woman. Her outcries brought a colored sergeant of the Provost Guard and a squad of men, who quietly took the woman away, told her to go where she pleased, and informed the man that that sort of thing was "played out." Two white women were passing at the time. "O my God! To think that we should ever come to this!" was the exclamation of one. "Yes, madam, you have come to it, and will have to come to a good deal more," was the reply of my friend.
There were a few Union men in the city, who through the long struggle had been true to the old flag. They were mostly Germans. Many Union officers escaping from prison had been kindly cared for by these faithful friends, who had been subjected to such close surveillance that secretiveness had become a marked trait of character.
I saw a small flag waving from a window, and wishing to find out what sort of a Union man resided there, rang the bell. A man came to the door, of middle age, light hair, and an honest German face.
"I saw the stars and stripes thrown out from your window, and have called to shake hands with a Union man, for I am a Yankee."
He grasped my proffered hand and shook it till it ached.
"Come in, sir. God bless you, sir!"
Then suddenly checking himself, he lowered his voice, looked into the adjoining rooms, peeped behind doors, to see if there were a listener near.
"We have to be careful; spies all about us," said he, not fully realizing that the soldiers of the Union had possession of the city. He showed me a large flag.
"Since the fall of Sumter," said he, "my wife and I have slept on it every night. We have had it sewed into a feather-bed."
He gazed upon it as if it were the most blessed thing in the world.
He had aided several soldiers in escaping from prison; andon one occasion had kept two officers secreted several weeks, till an opportunity offered to send them out to the blockading fleet.
During the bombardment of the city, the newspapers had published their daily bulletins,—"So many shells fired. No damage." From the proud beginning to the humiliating breaking up of the rule of Secession, the people were cheated, deluded, and deceived by false promises and lying reports. It was sad to walk amid the ruins of what had been once so fair. It seemed a city of a past age and of an extinct generation. And it was. The Charleston of former days was dead as Palmyra. Old things had passed away; a new generation will behold a wondrous change.
"Along that dreary waste where lately rungThe festal lay which smiling virgins sung,Where rapture echoed from the warbling lute,And the gay dance resounded, all was mute."
Citizens' volunteer hospital.
Citizens' volunteer hospital.
March, 1865.
Hastening northward, I joined the Army of the Potomac in season to be an observer of Grant's last campaign. It was evident that the power of the Rebellion to resist was rapidly on the wane. In the West there were several small Rebel forces, but no large organized body. Hood's defeat at Nashville had paralyzed operations east of the Mississippi. Johnston was falling back before Sherman, without ability to check his advance.
Grant had strengthened his own army. Schofield was at Wilmington, preparing to co-operate with Sherman. Sheridan was in the Valley, at Winchester,—his cavalry in excellent condition for a move. The cavalry arm of the service had been growing in importance. Grant had fostered it, and now held it in his hand, as Jove his thunderbolts. His letter to Sheridan, written on the 20th of February, shows how thoroughly he had prepared for the finishing work.
"As soon as it is possible to travel," he writes, "I think you will have no difficulty about reaching Lynchburg with a cavalry force alone. From thence you could destroy the railroad and canal in every direction, so as to be of no further use to the Rebellion. Sufficient cavalry should be left behind to look after Mosby's gang. From Lynchburg, if information you might get there would justify it, you could strike south, heading the streams in Virginia to the westward of Danville, and push on and join Sherman. This additional raid, with one now about starting from East Tennessee, under Stoneman, numbering four or five thousand cavalry; one from Eastport, Mississippi, numbering ten thousand cavalry; Canby from Mobile Bay, numbering thirty-eight thousand mixed troops,—these three latter pushing for Tuscaloosa, Selma, and Montgomery, and Sherman with a large army eating out the vitalsof South Carolina, is all that will be wanted to leave nothing for the Rebellion to stand upon. I would advise you to overcome great obstacles to accomplish this. Charleston was evacuated on Tuesday last."
Sheridan started on the 27th of February with two divisions of cavalry, numbering about ten thousand men, reached Staunton on the 2d of March, fell upon Early at Waynesboro', capturing sixteen hundred prisoners, eleven guns, seventeen battle-flags, and two hundred wagons; occupied Charlottesville on the 3d, destroyed the railroad, and burned the bridge on the Rivanna River. A rain-storm delaying his trains, and obliging him to wait two days, he abandoned the attempt to reach Sherman; then dividing his force, he sent one division towards Lynchburg, which broke up the railroad, while the other went down James River, cutting the canal. He intended to cross the James at New Market, move southeast to Appomattox Court-House, strike the South Side Railroad, tear it up, and join Grant's left flank; but a freshet on the James prevented the accomplishment of his purpose. He therefore sent scouts through the Rebel lines to Grant, to inform him of the difficulties he had encountered and consequent change of plan.
"I am going to White House, and shall want supplies at that point," said he. The scouts left him on the 10th at Columbia, and reached Grant on the 12th. Sheridan made a rapid march, passing quite near Richmond on the north, and raising a midnight alarm in the Rebel capital.
"Couriers reported that the enemy were at the outer fortifications, and had burned Ben Green's house," writes a citizen of Richmond.
"Mr. Secretary Mallory and Postmaster-General Regan were in the saddle, and rumor says the President and the remainder of the cabinet had their horses saddled, in readiness for flight."[95]
Troops destroying a railroad.
Troops destroying a railroad.
Sheridan was not quite so near, and had no thought of attacking the city. He passed quietly down the north bank of the Pamunkey to the White House, where supplies were in waiting.He rested his horses a day or two, and then moved to Petersburg.
At daylight on the morning of the 25th of March Lee made his last offensive movement.
He conceived the idea of breaking Grant's line east of Petersburg, and destroying his supplies at City Point. The first part he successfully accomplished, but the last could not have been carried out. He massed Gordon's and Bushrod Johnson's divisions in front of the Ninth Corps, for an attack upon Fort Steadman and the batteries adjoining. The fort was held by the Fourteenth New York Heavy Artillery. It was a square redoubt, covering about one acre, and mounted nine guns, and was not more than five hundred feet from the Rebel line. The Rebels tore away their own abatis, and in less than a minute were inside the fort. Almost the whole garrison was captured, and the guns turned upon the batteries.
Colonel Tidball, commanding the artillery in the Ninth Corps, quickly had his men at work. General Parke, commanding the Ninth, threw Hartranft's and Wilcox's divisions in rear of Fort Steadman. They fell like a thunderbolt upon Gordon's front line, taking eighteen hundred prisoners, forcing the enemy out of the fort, and recapturing the guns.
Long and loud the huzzas which went up when the guns were wheeled once more upon the discomfited foe. President Lincoln saw the battle from the high ground near the house of Mr. Dunn. During the forenoon Gordon sent in a flag of truce, asking permission to bury his dead, which was granted. The Union loss was not far from eight hundred and thirty, mostly in prisoners, while Lee's exceeded three thousand.
General Meade ordered a general attack. He thought that there must be a weak place in some portion of the Rebel line. The Second and Sixth Corps succeeded in taking the intrenched picket line, and holding it. Great efforts were made by Lee to regain it, but in vain. Nine hundred prisoners were captured during the afternoon.
I rode to City Point in the evening, and visited Grant's head-quarters. General Grant was well satisfied with the results of the day.
"It will tell upon the next great battle," said he. "Lee hasmade a desperate attempt and failed. The new recruits fought like veterans."
He had already issued his order for the grand movement which was to give the finishing blow to the Rebellion. He had been impelled to this by various causes, not the least of which was the unjust course pursued by some of the newspapers of the West, which lauded Sherman and his men, but sneered at the Army of the Potomac. The soldiers of the East had accomplished nothing, they said, and the soldiers of the West would have to finish the Rebellion. Sherman had fought his way from Chattanooga to the sea. He was driving all before him. He would come in on Grant's left flank and rout Lee. These taunts and inuendoes were keenly felt by the men who had won the fields of Gettysburg, Antietam, Wilderness, Spottsylvania, and who had lost eighty thousand of their comrades in forty days. Grant felt it. He saw the dangerous tendency of such jealousy. He knew what the Eastern soldiers could do; that they had fought with unsurpassed bravery and heroism. To avoid sectional animosity between the East and the West, he determined to strike Lee before Sherman's arrival, and accordingly issued his order on the 24th.
But Sherman meanwhile visited Grant in person. I was sitting in the office of General Grant's Adjutant-General on the morning of the 28th of March, and saw President Lincoln, with Generals Grant, Sherman, Meade, and Sheridan, coming up the walk. Look at the men whose names are to have a conspicuous place in the annals of America. Lincoln, tall, round-shouldered, loose-jointed, large-featured, deep-eyed, with a smile upon his face. He is dressed in black, and wears a fashionable silk hat. Grant is at Lincoln's right, shorter, stouter, more compact; wears a military hat with a stiff, broad brim, has his hands in his pantaloons' pockets, and is puffing away at a cigar while listening to Sherman. Sherman, tall, with high, commanding forehead, is almost as loosely built as Lincoln; has sandy whiskers, closely cropped, and sharp, twinkling eyes, long arms and legs, shabby coat, slouch hat, his pants tucked into his boots. He is talking hurriedly, gesticulating now to Lincoln, now to Grant, his eyes wandering everywhere. Meade, also tall, with thin, sharp features, a gray beard, andspectacles, is a little stooping in his gait. Sheridan, the shortest of all, quick and energetic in all his movements, with a face bronzed by sun and wind; courteous, affable, a thorough soldier. I had not met him for many months, but he at once remembered me, and spoke of Pittsburg Landing, where I first made his acquaintance. The plan of the Lieutenant-General was then made known to his subordinates, and each departed during the day, to carry into execution the respective parts assigned them.
Grant's line was nearly forty miles long, extending from the north side of the James to Hatcher's Run. General Ord, who had succeeded Butler in command of the Army of the James, left Weitzel to maintain the position north of James River, and moved with two divisions of the Twenty-Fourth Corps under Gibbon, and one of the Twenty-Fifth under Birney, with a division of cavalry under McKenzie, to Hatcher's Run, arriving there on the morning of the 29th.
On the afternoon of the 28th Sheridan started with Crook's and Merritt's divisions of cavalry for Dinwiddie Court-House, while Warren with the Fifth Corps crossed Hatcher's Run, and marched towards the same point.
"We have four days' rations in our haversacks, and twelve days' in our wagons," said Colonel Batchelder, Quartermaster-in-chief of the Army of the Potomac.
Lee discovered the movement, and during the evening of the 29th made a diversion against the Ninth Corps. Precisely at ten o'clock there was a signal-gun, a yell, a volley of musketry as the Rebels attacked Parke's picket-line. Then came the roar of the cannonade. The Ninth Corps was prepared. Through the afternoon there had been suspicious movements along the Rebel lines, and Parke was on the watch. It was surmised that Lee would endeavor to compel Grant to recall the Fifth and Second Corps. Parke strengthened his picket-line, and brought up his reserve artillery, to be ready in case of emergency. In three minutes nearly two hundred guns and mortars were in play. The night was dark, the wind south, and rain falling, but the battle increased in intensity. I stood upon the hill in rear of the Ninth Corps, and witnessed the display. Thirty shells were in the air at thesame instant. The horizon was bright with fiery arches, crossing each other at all angles, cut horizontally by streams of fire from rifled cannon. Beneath the arches thousands of muskets were flashing. It surpassed in sublimity anything I had witnessed during the war. The slightly wounded in the hospitals of the Ninth Corps who could walk went out with me to see the fight.
"I wish I was down there with the boys," said one who the day before had received a bullet through his right hand.
After two hours of terrific cannonade the uproar ceased, Lee having found that Grant's lines were as strong as ever. The demonstration cost him several hundred soldiers. I talked with one of the wounded Rebels.
"You can't subdue us even if you take Richmond," said he; "we'll fight it out in the mountains."
"Undoubtedly you feel like fighting it out, but you may think better of it one of these days."
A delegate of the Christian Commission sat down to write a letter for him to his wife, to be sent by a flag of truce.
"Tell her," said he, "that I am kindly treated."
His voice choked and tears rolled down his cheeks. A nurse stood over him bathing his wounds to cool the fever, combing his hair, and anticipating all his wants. I recalled the words of a citizen of Savannah, who said, "I went to the stockade when your prisoners were brought down from Millen, with a basket of oranges to give to the sick and dying, but was told by the officer in command that his orders were imperative to allow no one to give anything to the prisoners."
Observe the contrast. Here were good beds, nourishing food, delicacies from the stores of the Christian and Sanitary Commissions, and kind attention. There see a crowd of wretches in rags, exposed to the winds, the rains, the broiling heat or the biting cold, eating corn-meal and water, and meat alive with maggots,—stinted till starved, held captive till hope died, till the mind wandered, and the victims became drivelling imbeciles or walking skeletons, and greeted death as a welcome release from the horrors of their prison-pen. But I have adverted to this before; still commentary is ever provoked.
Hatcher's Run, an affluent of Rowanty Creek, has a generalsoutheast course. It is crossed by three main highways, which lead out of Petersburg towards the southwest,—the Vaughn road farthest east, Squirrel Level road next, and last the Boydtown plank-road. The Squirrel Level road forks seven miles out, one fork running to the Vaughn road and the other to the plank-road. It is nine miles from Petersburg to the toll gate on the plank-road, which is situated a few rods south of the run. The stream above this crossing of the plank-road tends west and southwest, so that if a fisherman with his rod and fly were to start at the head-waters of the creek he would travel northeast, then east, then at the bridge on the plank-road southeast, and after reaching the Vaughn road, south.
Were we to stand upon the bridge where the plank-road crosses the stream, and look northeast, we would obtain a view of the inside of the Rebel lines. The bridge was in Lee's possession, also the toll-gate on the south side, also a portion of the White Oak road, which branches from the plank road, near the toll-gate, and leads west, midway between the run and the plank-road.
The country is densely wooded, mostly with pine, with occasional clearings. Several steam saw-mills have been erected in this vicinity, which cut timber for the Petersburg market. The plank-road leads to Dinwiddie Court-House, which is fifteen miles from Petersburg. Just beyond the Court-House is Stony Creek, which has a southeast course, with a branch called Chamberlain's Bed, coming down from the north, having its rise in a swamp near the head of Hatcher's Run.
Now to understand the direction of the Rebel line of fortifications, let us in imagination start from Petersburg and walk down the plank-road. We face southwest, and walk in rear of fort after fort nine miles to Hatcher's Run, where a strong work has been erected on the north bank of the stream. We cross the bridge and find another on the south bank near the toll-house and Burgess's tavern. Here we leave the plank-road, and turning west walk along the White Oak road with Hatcher's Run north of us a mile distant. Four miles from the town we come to "Five Forks," where five roads meet, midway the head of Chamberlain's Bed and Hatcher's Run. This is an important point,—the key of Petersburg,—which,although so far away from the town, and apparently of no importance, is in reality the most vital point of all. There is no stream immediately behind or before it, but a mile south is the swamp of Chamberlain's Run; a mile north the low lands of Hatcher's Run, but here firm, hard ground. If Grant can break through this gateway he can tear up the rails of the South Side road, have unobstructed passage to the Danville road, and Richmond and Petersburg are his. It is six miles from the Forks, north, to the railroad, but that is the best place for Lee to fight, and there he establishes a strong line of works.
Grant's movement was that of fishermen stretching a seine. He kept one end of the net firmly fastened to the bank of the Appomattox, while Sheridan drew the other past Dinwiddie Court-House to Five Forks, with the intention of reaching the railroad west of Petersburg, to enclose, if possible, Lee's entire army. Such the plan,—noble in conception, grand in execution.
Sheridan had started to cut the South Side road at Burkesville, but Grant, upon deliberation, decided to strike nearer.
"I feel like ending the matter, if it is possible to do so, before going back," wrote Grant, from Gravelly Run,—three miles west of Hatcher's Run. "I do not want you to cut loose and go after the enemy's roads at present. In the morning push round the enemy if you can, and get on to his right rear."
The rain which commenced falling at midnight on the 29th continued through the 30th and the forenoon of the 31st, but Sheridan kept in motion, reached Dinwiddie at five o'clock on the 29th, where he bivouacked.
On the morning of the 30th he came in contact with the Rebels a mile beyond the Court-House, posted on the west bank of Chamberlain's Run.
W. H. F. Lee's cavalry held the right of the Rebel line, with Pickett's division of infantry on the left. During the forenoon Bushrod Johnson's division of infantry came down from Five Forks and formed on Pickett's left.
Sheridan reconnoitred the position during the forenoon, and began the attack about two P. M., but the ground was marshy, and his horses could not be used. Johnson's and Pickett'sdivisions, and Wise's brigade, which also had arrived, crossed the run about half past two. The fight was severe. Sheridan dismounted his men, deployed them as infantry, and contested the ground, falling back on Dinwiddie Court-House, where the battle ended at eight o'clock in the evening.
Meade ordered McKenzie's division of cavalry to hasten to the assistance of Sheridan, and at five o'clock directed Warren to push a small force down the White Oak road to communicate with that officer, and Bartlett's brigade was sent. During the night Warren's whole force moved towards Dinwiddie to attack Pickett and Johnson in the rear, and at daylight was ready for the assault; but the Rebels had decamped, and were once more in position at Five Forks.
On the morning of the 1st of April, Sheridan, having command of the Fifth Corps, as well as the cavalry, moved cautiously towards Five Forks. The forenoon was passed in reconnoitring the position, which was defended by the whole of Pickett's division, Wise's independent brigade of infantry, Fitz Hugh Lee's, W. H. Lee's, and Ross's divisions of cavalry, and Johnson's division of infantry.
Sheridan's order was to form the whole corps before advancing, so that all the troops should move simultaneously.
April, 1865.
Following the Fifth Corps, we came to the Gravelly Run church, which is about one and a half miles southeast of Five Forks. A quarter of a mile northwest of the church is the house of Mr. Bass, a landmark for the future historian, for there Sheridan's line turned a right angle. Ayers's division of the Fifth marching past the church, wheeled on the north side of the house and faced west. Crawford's division passed on, and came into line north of Ayers's, while Griffin's stood in reserve on the White Oak road, in rear of Ayers's. McKenzie's cavalry, which had been some time on the ground, deflected to the right and held the ground to Hatcher's Run, which here has a course due east. McKenzie, Crawford, Ayers, and Griffin therefore faced west. Taking the other leg of the angle, we find Stagg's division of cavalry nearest the house of Mr. Bass, then Gibbs's and Fitzhugh's, Pennington's and Wells's, all facing north, and on the extreme left, Coppinger's facing northeast. Fitzhugh's division was directly south of FiveForks. This powerful body of cavalry was all under the command of Major-General Merritt.
The woods were dense, with here and there an opening.
"Keep the sun shining over your left shoulders," was Warren's order to his troops. The length of his front was about one thousand yards, and his divisions were in three lines,—numbering about twelve thousand. While the troops were forming he drew a sketch of the enemy's position for each division commander, and instructed them to explain it to each brigade commander, that there might be no mistake in the movement.
The cavalry, through the afternoon, while Warren was getting into position, kept up a skirmish fire.
Sheridan was impatient. The sun was going down and he must attack at once or retire. He could not think of doing the latter, as it would give Pickett and Johnson time to make their intrenchments exceedingly strong. He ordered Merritt to make a demonstration. That officer advanced Wells and Coppinger against Johnson's extreme right.
"I am going to strike their left flank with the Fifth Corps, and when you hear the musketry, assault all along the line," were his instructions to Merritt.
The Fifth advanced in excellent order, sweeping round Pickett's left flank, and falling on his rear. For a half-hour there was a heavy fire, but the woods being dense the loss was not very great. When the order to charge bayonet was given, the men rushed forward, leaped over the intrenchments, and captured Pickett's front line. Pickett formed a new line, which he endeavored to hold against the Fifth. Warren ordered Crawford to take them once more in flank, and sent one of McKenzie's brigades to aid him. Ayers's and Griffin's divisions had become disorganized by the success, but reforming they advanced along the White Oak road, but were checked by Pickett's new line. Officers were urging the men forward, but there was faltering. Warren, accompanied by Captain Benvaud, rode to the front, and called upon his officers to follow his example. Quick the response. Officers of all ranks, from generals to subalterns and the color-bearers, sprang forward. In an instant the line rallied, and with fixed bayonets leapedupon the enemy and captured the whole force opposing them. Warren's horse fell, fatally shot, and an orderly by his side was killed, within a few paces of the intrenchment. When Merritt heard the roll of musketry he ordered the attack. His cavalrymen rode fearlessly through the woods, dashed up to the intrenchments, leaped over them and carried the entire line along his front in the first grand charge.
"The enemy," says Sheridan, "were driven from their strong line of works, completely routed; the Fifth Corps doubling up their left flank in confusion, and the cavalry of General Merritt dashing on to the White Oak road, capturing their artillery, turning it upon them, and riding into their broken ranks, so demoralized them that they made no serious stand after their line was carried, but took flight in disorder."[96]
It was now nearly dark, but Merritt and McKenzie followed the enemy, who threw away their guns and knapsacks, and sought safety in flight, or finding themselves hard pressed, surrendered.
Between five and six thousand prisoners and eighteen pieces of artillery were captured. The way was open to the South Side Railroad. Grant determined to turn the success to quick account. "Attack along the whole line," was his message to the corps commanders.
At ten o'clock Saturday evening the cannonade began. All the batteries joined, all the forts, the gunboats in the Appomattox, the batteries west of Bermuda Hundred, and the monitors by the Howlet House. There was a continual succession of flashes and an unbroken roll of thunder. The Rebels had no peace during the night.
"Send up the provost brigade," was Grant's despatch sent to City Point. The Sixty-First Massachusetts, One Hundred and Fourteenth New York, and other regiments, and Sheridan's dismounted cavalry, were out at daybreak and on the march.
"Send up the marines to guard the prisoners," was his second despatch, and the blue-jackets from the gunboats, with carbines, were sent ashore. The time had come for the musteringof every available man. The sailors took cars at City Point, and sang all the way to Hatcher's Run, as if they were having a lark.
Lee was in trouble. He sent a message to Longstreet, who was north of the James, to hurry to Petersburg. Longstreet put Ewell in command and hastened across the James, with Fields's division. Lee had three bridges, besides those in Richmond,—one at Warwick's, another at Knight's farm, and the third at Chaffin's Bluff. Longstreet, Lee's ablest general, stout, robust, with heavy black whiskers, with his staff, galloped across the middle bridge toward Petersburg, leaving his troops to follow.
The Richmond bells were ringing, not the pæan of victory, as after some of their successful battles, but for the assembling of the militia to man the fortifications from which Longstreet's troops were retiring.
"The beat of the alarming drumRoused up the soldier ere the morning star,While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,Or whispering, with white lips, 'The foe! They come! they come!'"
Let us look at Lee's lines at midnight, Saturday, April 1st. Johnson, Pickett, Wise, and W. H. F. Lee's cavalry are fleeing towards the Appomattox, beyond Hatcher's Run; A. P. Hill is holding the line east of the Run; Gordon occupies the fortifications from the Jerusalem road to the Appomattox; Longstreet is hastening down from Richmond; Ewell is north of the James, and the citizens of Richmond are jumping from their beds to shoulder muskets for service in the trenches. Lee has not yet decided to evacuate Petersburg. He will wait and see what a day may bring forth.
He had not long to wait. Parke, commanding the Ninth Corps, during the night, prepared to assault. It was precisely four o'clock when the divisions leaped from their intrenchments, and with bayonets fixed, without firing a gun, tore away the abatis in front of the forts, swarmed over the embankments, crawled into the embrasures, and climbed the parapet. It was the work of five minutes only, but four forts, mounting between twenty and thirty guns, were taken, with seven hundred prisoners.
Grant began early on Sunday morning to draw the farther end of the net toward Petersburg. Sheridan, with the cavalry and two divisions of the Fifth, moved upon Sutherland's Station on the South Side Railroad, eleven miles from Petersburg. Grant sent him Miles's division of the Second Corps. Wright and Ord, east of the run, at nine o'clock assaulted the works in their front, and after a severe struggle carried them, capturing all the guns and several thousand prisoners.
Humphrey, who was west of the run, now was able to leave his position and join Wright and Ord. By noon we see the net drawn close. Sheridan at Sutherland's, with the Fifth Corps, then Humphrey, Ord, and Wright; all swinging towards the city, taking fort after fort and contracting the lines.
In the morning I watched the movements on the left, but as the line advanced, hastened east in season to see the last attack on Forts Mahone and Gregg, the two Rebel strongholds south of the town. These forts were in rear of the main Rebel line, on higher ground.
The troops, in columns of brigades, moved steadily over the field, drove in the Rebel pickets, received the fire of the batteries without breaking, leaped over the breastworks with a huzza, which rang shrill and clear above the cannonade. Mahone was an embrasured battery of three guns; Gregg, a strong fort with sally-ports, embrasures for six guns, and surrounded by a deep ditch. Mahone was carried with a rush, the men mounting the escarpment and jumping into it, regardless of the fire poured upon them by the Rebels.
There was a long struggle for the possession of Gregg. Heth and Wilcox were there, animating the garrison. The attacking columns moved in excellent order over the field swept by the guns of the fort, and even received the canister without staggering. The fort was enveloped in smoke, showing that the defence was heroic, as well as the assault.
The lines move on. The soldiers spring into the ditch and climb the embankment. The foremost, as they reach the top, roll back upon their comrades. They are lost from sight in smoke and flame; but from the cloud there comes a hurrah, and the old flag waves in the sunlight above the stronghold which, through all the weary months, has thundered defiance.
Lee's line was broken at the centre, and Petersburg was no longer tenable.
It was inspiriting to stand there, and watch the tide of victory rolling up the hill. With that Sunday's sun the hopes of the Rebels set, never to rise again. The C. S. A.,—the Confederate Slave Argosy,—freighted with blood and groans and tears, the death's-head and cross-bones at her masthead, hailed as a rightful belligerent, furnished with guns, ammunition, and all needful supplies by sympathetic England and France, was a shattered, helpless wreck.
Fire ambulance.
Fire ambulance.
April, 1865.
There was no longer the semblance of a Confederacy. Jeff Davis and Breckenridge were fugitives, without country or home. The Rebel army was flying. Richmond was in flames. The Rebellion had gone down in a night,—in darkness as it originated, and as it ought to die.
At three o'clock, Monday morning, an explosion took place which shook Richmond to its foundations, and made even the beds in the hospital at City Point heave as if by an earthquake. It was occasioned by the blowing up of the Rebel ironclads. Semmes was again without a command, for the Rebel navy was no more. If not swept from the ocean by Union cruisers, as the Alabama was by the Kearsarge, it was crushed by the ponderous blows of Grant and his victorious legions, as the result of his successes in the field. The shock roused the army from slumber. The hosts surrounding Petersburg needed no other reveille. The soldiers were on their feet in an instant, and General Wilcox (commanding the first division of the Ninth Corps) accepted it as a signal to advance. He was lying east of the city, his right resting on the Appomattox. His men sprang forward, but found only deserted works. The last body of Rebels—the lingerers who were remaining to plunder the people of Petersburg—took to their heels, and the division entered the town without opposition.
The entire army was in motion. Engineers hurried up with pontoons, strung them across the Appomattox, and Grant began the pursuit. I entered the town soon after sunrise, and found troops pouring in from all quarters, cheering, swinging their caps, helping themselves to tobacco, rushing upon the double-quick, eager to overtake Lee.
The colored population thronged the streets, swinging their old hats, bowing low, and shouting "Glory!" "Bless de Lord!""I's been a praying for dis yere to happen, but didn't 'spect it quite so soon." "It is ges like a clap of thunder," said an old negro.
"I's glad to see you. I'm been trying and wishing and praying dat de Lord would help me get to de Yankees, and now dey has come into dis yere city," said another. The citizens of the place, also, were in the streets, amazed and confounded at what had happened. Provost General Macy, of Massachusetts, established a guard to prevent depredations and to save the army from demoralization. The Rebels, before retreating, destroyed their commissary stores and set all the tobacco warehouses on fire. I took a hurried survey of the Rebel works in front of Fort Steadman, and found them very strong. The ground was honeycombed by the shells which had been thrown from the mortars of the Ninth Corps.
General Grant was early in the town, cool, calm, and evidently well pleased with the aspect of affairs; and President Lincoln, who was at City Point, visited Petersburg during the day. He went up in a special car. The soldiers at Meade Station caught a sight of him, and cheered most heartily. He acknowledged the enthusiasm and devotion of the soldiers by bowing and thanking them for the glorious achievement of their arms. On Friday he looked care-worn, but the great victory had smoothed the deep wrinkles on his brow.
Reaching City Point at noon, I was soon in the saddle, galloping towards Richmond; crossing the Appomattox at Broadway, riding to Varina, crossing the James on the pontoons, and approaching the city by the New Market road, overtaking a division of the Twenty-Fifth Corps on the outskirts of the city. It was a hard, exhausting ride. Two miles out from the city my horse fell, and I found myself turning a summersault into the ditch; without broken bones, however, but I was obliged to moderate my speed for the remainder of the distance.
Before entering upon the narrative of my own observations, let us take a look at events transpiring in the city on Sunday.
"We are," said theSentinelof Saturday evening, "very hopeful of the campaign which is opening, and trust that we are toreap a large advantage from the operations evidently near at hand.... We have only to resolve that we never will surrender, and it will be impossible that we shall ever be taken."
"My line is broken in three places, and Richmond must be evacuated," was Lee's despatch to Jeff Davis. The messenger found him in Rev. Dr. Minnegerode's church. He read the despatch, hurried to the Executive Mansion, passed up the winding stairway to his business apartment, sat down by a small table, wrote an order for the removal of the coin in the banks to Danville, for the burning of the public documents, and for the evacuation of the city. Mrs. Davis had left the city several days previous.
Rev. Dr. Minnegerode, before closing the forenoon service, gave notice that General Ewell desired the local forces to assemble at 3 P. M. There was no evening service. Ministers and congregations were otherwise employed. Rev. Mr. Hoge, a fierce advocate for slavery as a beneficent institution, packed his carpet-bag. Rev. Mr. Duncan was moved to do likewise. Mr. Lumpkin, who for many years had kept a slave-trader's jail, had a work of necessity on this Lord's day,—the temporal salvation of fifty men, women, and children! He made up his coffle in the jail-yard, within pistol-shot of Jeff Davis's parlor window, and a stone's throw from the Monumental Church. The poor creatures were hurried to the Danville depot. This sad and weeping fifty, in handcuffs and chains, was the last slave coffle that shall tread the soil of America.
Slavery being the corner-stone of the Confederacy, it was fitting that this gang, keeping step to the music of their clanking chains, should accompany Jeff Davis, his secretaries Benjamin and Trenholm, and the Reverend Messrs. Hoge and Duncan, in their flight. The whole Rebel government was on the move, and all Richmond desired to be. No thoughts now of taking Washington, or of the flag of the Confederacy flaunting in the breeze from the dome of the national Capitol! Hundreds of officials were at the depot, waiting to get away from the doomed city. Public documents, the archives of the Confederacy, were hastily gathered up, tumbled into boxes and barrels, and taken to the trains, or carried into the streets and set on fire. Coaches, carriages, wagons, carts, wheelbarrows,everything in the shape of a vehicle, was pressed into use. There was a jumble of boxes, chests, trunks, valises, carpet-bags,—a crowd of excited men sweating as never before: women with dishevelled hair, unmindful of their wardrobes, wringing their hands, children crying in the crowd, sentinels guarding each entrance to the train, pushing back at the point of the bayonet the panic-stricken multitude, giving precedence to Davis and the high officials, and informing Mr. Lumpkin that his niggers could not be taken. O, what a loss was there! It would have been fifty thousand dollars out of somebody's pocket in 1861, and millions now of Confederate promises to pay, which the hurrying multitude and that chained slave gang were treading under foot,—trampling the bonds of the Confederate States of America in the mire, as they marched to the station; for the oozy streets were as thickly strewn with four per cents, six per cents, eight per cents, as forest streams with autumn leaves.
"The faith of the Confederate States is pledged to provide and establish sufficient revenues for the regular payment of the interest, and for the redemption of the principal," read the bonds; but there was a sudden eclipse of faith, a collapse of confidence, a shrivelling up like a parched scroll of the entire Confederacy, which was a base counterfeit of the American Union it sought to overturn and supplant, now an exploded concern, and wound up by Grant's orders, its bonds, notes, and certificates of indebtedness worth less than the paper on which they were printed.
Soon after dark the commissaries, having loaded all the army wagons with supplies, began the destruction of what they could not carry away. In the medical purveyor's department were several hundred barrels of whiskey, which were rolled into the street and stove in by soldiers with axes. As the liquor ran down the gutter, officers and soldiers filled their flasks and canteens, while those who had no canteen threw themselves upon the ground and drank from the fiery stream. The rabble with pitchers, basins, dipped it up and drank as if it were the wine of life. The liquor soon began to show its effects. The crowd became a mob, and rushed upon the stores and government warehouses. The soldiers on guard at first keptthem at bay, but as the darkness deepened the whiskey-maddened crowd became more furious. By midnight there was a grand saturnalia. The flour in the government stores was seized. Men were seen rolling hogsheads of bacon through the streets. Women filled their aprons with meal, their arms with candles. Later in the night the floatingdébrisof the army reached the city,—the teamsters, servants, ambulance-drivers, with stragglers from the ranks, who pillaged the stores. First attacking the clothing, boot, and hat stores, then the jewellers' shops and the saloons, and lastly the dry-goods establishments. Costly panes of glass were shivered by the butts of their muskets, and the reckless crowd poured in to seize whatever for the moment pleased their fancy, to be thrown aside the next instant for something more attractive.
"As I passed the old market-house," writes a Rebel soldier, "I met a tall fellow with both arms full of sticks of candy, dropping part of his sweet burden at every step."
"Stranger," said he, "have you got a sweet tooth?"
"I told him that I did not object to candy."
"Then go up to Antoni's and get your belly full, and all for nothing."
"A citizen passed me with an armful of hats and caps. 'It is every man for himself and the Devil for us all to-night,' he said, as he rushed past me."[97]
The train which bore Jeff Davis from the city left at eight o'clock in the evening. He took his horses and coach on board for a flight across the country, in case Sheridan stopped the cars. He was greatly depressed in spirits, and his countenance was haggard and care-worn. At the station there was a crowd of men who had fawned upon him,—office-holders, legislators, and public-spirited citizens who had made great sacrifices for the Rebellion,—who, now that they wished to obtain standing room upon the train, found themselves rudely thrust aside by the orders of the President. They were of no more account than the rest of the excited populace that knew Davis but to execrate him.
In the Sabbath evening twilight, the train, with the fugitivegovernment, its stolen bullion, and its Doctors of Divinity on board, moved out from the city.
At the same hour the Governor of Virginia, William Smith, and the Legislature, embarked in a canal-boat, on the James River and Kanawha Canal, for Lynchburg. On all the roads were men, women, and children, in carriages of every description, with multitudes on horseback and on foot, flying from the Rebel capital. Men who could not get away were secretly at work, during those night-hours, burying plate and money in gardens; ladies secreted their jewels, barred and bolted their doors, and passed a sleepless night, fearful of the morrow, which would bring in the despised "Vandal horde of Yankee ruffians"; for such were the epithets they had persistently applied to the soldiers of the Union throughout the war.
But the government was not quite through with its operations in Richmond. General Ewell remained till daylight on Monday morning to clear up things,—not to burn public archives in order to destroy evidence of Confederate villany, but to add to the crime already committed another so atrocious that the stanchest friends of the Confederacy recoiled with horror even from its contemplation.
It was past midnight when the Mayor learned that Ewell had issued orders for firing the government buildings and the tobacco warehouses. He sent a deputation of prominent citizens to remonstrate. They were referred to Major Melton, who was to apply the torch.
"It is a cowardly pretext on the part of the citizens, trumped up to save their property for the Yankees," said he.
The committee endeavored to dissuade him from the act.
"I shall execute my orders," said he.
They went to General Ewell, who with an oath informed them that the torch would be applied at daylight. Breckenridge was there, who said that it would be a disgrace to the Confederate government to endanger the destruction of the entire city. He was Secretary of War, and could have countermanded the order. Will not history hold him accountable?
To prevent the United States from obtaining possession of a few thousand hogsheads of tobacco, a thousand houses were destroyed by fire, the heart of the city burnt out,—all of thebusiness portion, all the banks and insurance-offices, half of the newspapers, with mills, depots, bridges, founderies, workshops, dwellings, churches,—thirty squares in all, swept clean by the devouring flames. It was the final work of the Confederate government. Inaugurated in heat and passion, carried on by hate and prejudice, its end was but in keeping with its career,—the total disregard of the rights of person and property.
In the outskirts of the city, on the Mechanicsville road, was the almshouse, filled with the lame, the blind, the halt, poor, sick, bed-ridden creatures. Ten rods distant was a magazine containing fifteen or twenty kegs of powder, which might have been rolled into the creek near at hand, and was of little value to a victorious army with full supplies of ammunition; but the order of Jeff Davis to blow up the magazines was peremptory and must be executed.
"We give you fifteen minutes to get out of the way," was the sole notice to that crowd of helpless beings lying in their cots, at three o'clock in the morning. Men and women begged for mercy; but their cries were in vain. The officer in charge of the matter was inexorable. Clotheless and shoeless, the inmates ran in terror from the spot to seek shelter in the ravines; but those who could not run while the train to fire it was being laid, rent the air with shrieks of agony. The match was applied at the time. The concussion crushed in the broad side of the house as if it had been pasteboard. Windows flew into flinders. Bricks, stones, timbers, beams, and boards were whirled through the air. Trees were twisted off like withes in the hands of a giant. The city was wrenched and rocked as by a volcanic convulsion. The dozen poor wretches whose infirmities prevented their leaving the house wore horribly mangled; and when the fugitives who had sought shelter in the fields returned to the ruins they found only the bruised and blackened remains of their fellow-inmates.
Let us take a parting glance at the Rebel army as it leaves the city.
The day is brightening in the east. The long line of baggage-wagons and the artillery has been rumbling over the bridges all night. The railroad trains have been busy in conveyingthe persons and property of both the government and the people; but the last has departed, and still a disappointed crowd is left at the depot. The roads leading west are filled with fugitives in all sorts of vehicles, and on horseback and on foot.
Men are rolling barrels of tar and turpentine upon the bridges. Guards stand upon the Manchester side to prevent the return of any soldier belonging to Richmond. Custis Lee's division has crossed, and Kershaw's division, mainly of South Carolinians, follows. The troops march silently; they are depressed in spirit. The rabble of Manchester have found out what fine times their friends in Richmond are having, and old women and girls are streaming across the bridges laden with plunder,—webs of cloth, blankets, overcoats, and food from the government storehouses. The war-worn soldiers, ragged and barefoot, behold it, and utter curses against the Confederate government for having deprived them of clothing and food.
General Ewell crosses the bridge, riding an iron-gray horse. He wears an old faded cloak and slouch hat. He is brutal and profane, mingling oaths with his orders. Following him is John Cabel Breckenridge, the long, black, glossy hair of other days changed to gray, his high, broad forehead wrinkled and furrowed. He is in plain black, with a talma thrown over his shoulders. He talks with Ewell, and gazes upon the scene. Suddenly a broad flash of light leaps up beyond the city, accompanied with a dull, heavy roar, and he sees the air filled with flying timbers of the hospital, whose inmates, almost without warning, and without cause or crime, are blown into eternity.
The last division has crossed the river. The sun is up. A match is touched to the turpentine spread along the timbers, and the bridges are in flames; also the tobacco warehouses, the flouring-mills, the arsenals, and laboratory. The Rebel troops behold the conflagration as they wind along the roads and through the green fields towards the southwest, and memory brings back the scenes of their earlier rejoicing. It is the 2d of April, four years lacking two weeks since the drunken carousal over the passage of the ordinance of Secession.