LT. COL. AXALLA JOHN HOOLE Eighth South Carolina Volunteer Regiment Kershaw's Brigade October 12, 1822-September 20, 1863
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Title: History of Kershaw's Brigade
Author: D. Augustus Dickert
Release Date: August 6, 2004 [eBook #13124]
Language: English
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***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORY OF KERSHAW'S BRIGADE***
LT. COL. AXALLA JOHN HOOLE Eighth South Carolina
Volunteer Regiment Kershaw's Brigade
October 12, 1822-September 20, 1863
For three reasons, one purely personal (as you will soon see), I am pleased to play even a small part in the reprinting of D. Augustus Dickert's The History of Kershaw's Brigade ... an undertaking in my judgment long, long, overdue.
First, it is a very rare and valuable book. Privately published by Dickert's friend and neighbor, Elbert H. Aull, owner-editor of the small-town weekly Newberry (S.C.) Herald and News, almost all of the copies were shortly after water-logged in storage and destroyed. Meantime, only a few copies had been distributed, mostly to veterans and to libraries within the state. Small wonder, then, that Kershaw's Brigade ... so long out-of-print, is among the scarcest of Confederate War books—a point underscored by the fact that no copy has been listed in American Book Prices Current in fifty years. Only one sale of the book is recorded in John Mebane's Books Relating to the Civil War (1963), an ex-library copy which sold for $150. More recently, another copy, oddly described as "library indicia, extremely rare," was offered for sale by second-hand dealer for $200. Under these circumstances it is difficult to determine why, amidst the ever-increasing interest in the irrepressible conflict, this unique book has had to wait seventy-five years to make its reappearance on the American historical scene.
My second reason is that, in company with other devotees of the Confederacy, I consider Kershaw's Brigade ... one of the best eye-witness accounts of its kind, complete, trustworthy, and intensely interesting. Beginning with the secession of South Carolina on December 20, 1860, Dickert describes in detail the formation, organization, and myriad military activities of his brigade until its surrender at Durham, N.C., April 28, 1865. During these four years and four months, as he slowly rose in rank from private to captain, Dickert leaves precious little untold. In his own earthy fashion he tells of the merging of the Second, Third, Seventh, Eighth, Fifteenth, and Twentieth regiments and the Third Battalion of South Carolina Volunteer Infantry into a brigade under the command of General Joseph Brevard Kershaw, McLaws' division, Longstreet's corps, Lee's Army of Northern Virginia. First Manassas was the brigade's, baptism of fire. Seven Pines, the Seven Days, Second Manassas, Harper's Ferry, Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, and Gettysburg followed. And when the enemy began knocking at the back door of the Confederacy in late 1863, it was Longstreet's corps that Lee rushed to the aid of Bragg's faltering Army of Tennessee. After the victory at Chickamauga [2] and a winter in Tennessee, the corps was recalled to Virginia—and to the Wilderness, Spottsylvania, Cold Harbor, Petersburg, and the Shenandoah Valley. Then, once again, as Sherman's mighty machine rolled relentlessly over Georgia and into South Carolina in 1865, Kershaw's Brigade was transferred "back home," as Dickert proudly put it, "to fight the invader on our own native soil."
But Kershaw's Brigade ... is much more than a recounting of military movements and the ordeals of battles. It is at once a panorama of the agonies and the ecstacies of cold-steel war. Few such narratives are so replete with quiet, meditative asides, bold delineations of daily life in camp and on the march, descriptions of places and peoples, and—by no means least—the raucous, all relieving humor of the common soldier who resolutely makes merry to-day because to-morrow he may die. Thus, to young Dickert did the routine of the military become alternately matters grave or gay. Everything was grist for his mill: the sight of a pretty girl waving at his passing troop train, the roasting of a stolen pig over a campfire, the joy of finding a keg of red-eye which had somehow fallen—no one knew how—from a supply wagon; or, on another and quite different day, the saddening afterthoughts of a letter from home, the stink of bloated, rotting horses, their stiffened legs pointed skyward, the acrid taste of gun-powder smoke, the frightening whine (or thud) of an unseen sharpshooter's bullet, and the twisted, shoeless, hatless body of yesterday's friend or foe.
E. Merton Coulter, in his Travels in the Confederate States: A Bibliography (1948), called Dickert's "a well-written narrative, notably concerned with the atmosphere of army life," adding that "there is no reason to believe that he embellished the story beyond the general outlines of established truth." Douglas S. Freeman considered Kershaw's Brigade ... a reliable source for both his R.E. Lee (1934-1935) and Lee's Lieutenants ... (1942-1944), and Allen Nevins et al., in their Civil War Books: A Critical Bibliography (1967), described it as "a full, thick account of a famous South Carolina brigade," alive with "personal experiences of campaigns in both East and West."
With these comments I agree. The book is indeed intimate, vigorous, truthful, and forever fresh. But, as I stated earlier, there is a third and personal reason why I am proud to have a hand in the republication of Kershaw's Brigade.... My grandfather, Axalla John Hoole, formerly captain of the Darlington (S.C.) Riflemen, was lieutenant colonel of its Eighth Regiment and in that capacity fought from First Manassas until he was killed in the Battle of Chickamauga, [3] September 20, 1863. (His photograph is inserted in this edition and Dickert's tributes to him are on pages 278, 284-285.)
Two days before his death Hoole pencilled his last letter to his wife. Previously unpublished, it frankly mirrors the esprit de corps of the men of Kershaw's Brigade on the eve of battle. En route from Petersburg to Chickamauga by train, the men of the Eighth Regiment passed through Florence, just ten miles from their homes in Darlington. Upon arrival at Dalton, Ga. on September 18 Hoole wrote "Dear Betsy":
I don't know how long we will remain here, so I am hurrying to write you a few lines, with the sheet of paper on my knee to let you know that I am as well as could be expected under [the] circumstances.... I feel pretty well. I heard yesterday that [General W.S.] Rosecrans had fallen back, so there is no telling how far we may have to march or how long it will take before we have a battle here.... Oh, my dear wife, what a trial it was to me to pass so near you and not see you, but it had to be. About 40 of our Regt. stopped, and I am sorry to inform you that all of Company A, except the officers, were left at Florence. That company did worse than any other.... But I know with some it was too hard a trial to pass. There were some, however, who left, who had seen their families in less than a month....
We left our horses at Petersburg to follow us on. I left Joe [his servant] in charge of mine, and I don't know when they will come up. I feel the need of Joe and the horse, as I can't carry my baggage, and fare badly in the eating line. [We] took our two days rations and went to a house last night to have it cooked, but I can't eat it. The biscuits are made with soda and no salt and you can smell the soda ten steps.... If I can't buy something to eat for the next two days, I must starve.... I made out to buy something occasionally on the way to keep body and soul together.... I must close, as I may not be able to get this in the mail before we have to leave here.... Kiss my dear little ones for me, tell all the Negroes howdy for me.... Write as soon as you get this. Direct it to me at Dalton, as I expect this will be our post office for the present. Do my dear wife don't fret about me. Your ever loving Husband....
D. Augustus Dickert, the author of Kershaw's Brigade ... was born on a farm near Broad River, Lexington County, S.C., in August, 1844, the son of A.G. and Margaret (Dickinson) Dickert, both from nearby Fairfield County. In June, 1861, at age seventeen, he enlisted as a private in Company H, Third Regiment, South Carolina Volunteers, made up of men mostly from Fairfield, Lexington, and Newberry counties. Wounded four times (at Savage Station, Fredericksburg, the Wilderness, and Knoxville), he was gradually promoted to captain and during the latter part of the war, according to his friend Aull, "he was in command of his regiment acting as colonel without ever receiving his commission as such."
[4]After the war Colonel Dickert, as he was best known, returned to his farm, and took an active part in community life, including leadership in the local Ku Klux Klan. Meantime, he read widely to improve his education--as a boy he had attended a country school for only a few months--and by middle-age had become "better educated than many college graduates." Well versed in history, astronomy, and literature, he turned to writing as an avocation, producing numerous stories which were published in the Herald and News and several magazines. One of his stories, A Dance with Death, considered by his contemporaries "one of the most thrilling narratives," was based on true experiences which earned him the reputation of being a "stranger to danger and absolutely fearless." His Kershaw's Brigade ... was written, as he announced, at the request of the local chapter of the United Confederate Veterans and published by Aull "without one dollar in sight--a recompense for time, material, and labor being one of the remotest possibilities."
Dickert was married twice. By his first wife, Katie Cromer of Fairfield County, he had four children, Roland, Claude, Alma, and Gussie; and by his second, Mrs. Alice Coleman, also of Fairfield, one child, Lucile, now Mrs. A.C. Mobley of Denmark, S.C.
Dickert died suddenly at his home of a heart attack on October 4, 1917, aged seventy-three, and was buried in Newberry's Rosemont Cemetery.
University of Alabama
W. Stanley Hoole
In preparing this preface I have enjoyed the assistance of Mrs. Lucile Dickert Mobley, Dickert's only surviving child; Mrs. A.S. Wells, a niece, of 1120 West 46 St., Minneapolis, Minn.; Mrs. Kathleen S. Fesperman, librarian of Newberry College; Inabinett, librarian, South Caroliniana Library, University of South Carolina, and his student aide, Miss Laura Rickenbacker; and Robert J. and Mary E. Younger, owners of the Morningside Bookshop, Dayton, Ohio. Besides the letter (which I own) and the books mentioned in the text I have also used The Dictionary of American Biography, X, 359-360 (New York, 1933); Battles and Leaders of the Civil War, ed. by Robert U. Johnson and Clarence C. Buell, III, 331-338 (New York, 1884-1888); James Longstreet, From Manassas to Appomattox ... (Philadelphia, 1896); The Photographic History of the Civil War, ed. by Francis T. Miller, II, III, X, passim (New York, 1911); W.A. Brunson, Glimpses of Old Darlington (Columbia, 1910); and Elbert H. Aull, "D. Augustus Dickert" in the Newberry Herald and News, Oct. 5, 1917.
More than thirty-four years have passed away since the soldiers who composed the Second South Carolina Regiment of Infantry, the Third South Carolina Regiment of Infantry, the Eighth South Carolina Regiment of Infantry, the Fifteenth South Carolina Regiment of Infantry, the Twentieth South Carolina Regiment of Infantry, and the Third South Carolina Battalion of Infantry, which commands made up Kershaw's Brigade, laid down their arms; and yet, until a short time ago, no hand has been raised to perpetuate its history. This is singular, when it is remembered how largely the soldiers of this historic brigade contributed to win for the State of South Carolina the glory rightfully hers, by reason of the splendid heroism of her sons in the war between the States, from the year 1861 to that of 1865. If another generation had been allowed to pass, it is greatly feared that the power to supply the historian with the information requisite to this work would have passed away forever.
The work which assumes to perpetuate the history of Kershaw's Brigade should not be a skeleton, consisting of an enumeration of the battles, skirmishes, and marches which were participated in—with the names of the commanding officers. What is needed is not a skeleton, but a body with all its members, so to speak. It should be stated who they were, the purposes which animated these men in becoming soldiers, how they lived in camp and on the march, how they fought, how they died and where, with incidents of bravery in battle, and of fun in camp. No laurels must be taken from the brow of brave comrades in other commands; but the rights of the soldiers of Kershaw's Brigade must be jealously upheld—everyone of these rights. To do this work, will require that the writer of this history shall have been identified with this command during its existence—he must have been a soldier. Again, he must be a man who acts up to his convictions; no toady nor any apologist is desired. If he was a Confederate soldier from principle, say so, and apologize to no one for the fact. If he loved his State and the Southland and wished their independence, say so, and "forget not the field where they perished." Lastly, he ought to have the ability to tell the story well.
The friends of Captain D. Augustus Dickert, who commanded Company H of the Third South Carolina Regiment of Infantry, are confident that he possesses all the quality essential to this work. He was a splendid soldier—brave in battle, clear-headed always, and of that equilibrium of temperament that during camp life, amid the toil of the march, and in battle the necessity for discipline was recognized and enforced with justice and impartiality. He was and is a patriot. His pen is graceful, yet strong. When he yielded to the importunities of his comrades that he would write this history, there was only one condition that he insisted upon, and that was that this should be solely a work of love. Captain Dickert has devoted years to the gathering together of the materials for this history. Hence, the readers are now prepared to expect a success. Maybe it will be said this is the finest history of the war!
Y.J. POPE. Newberry, S.C., August 7, 1899.
The name of Kershaw's Brigade of South Carolinians is familiar to all who wore the gray and saw hard fighting on the fields of Virginia, in the swamps of Carolina and the mountains of Tennessee. This was "the First Brigade of the First Division of the First Corps of the Army of Northern Virginia," and many of its members volunteered for service before the first gun was fired at the Star of the West, while its ragged regimental remnants laid down their arms at Greensboro not till the 2d of May, 1865, nearly a month after the fateful day of Appomattox. Its history is a history of the war, for, as will he seen, there were few pitched battles in the East that did not call forth its valor.
The author of the book is D. Augustus Dickert, who, at the age of 15, ran away to fight and surrendered as captain in the Third South Carolina Volunteers. He was a gallant soldier all through, and he has written a good book, for the broader lines of history are interwoven with many slight anecdotes and incidents that illustrate the temper of the times and impart to the narrative a local coloring. The following is a good example of its style: "The writer was preparing to enter school in an adjoining county. But when on my way to school I boarded a train filled with enthusiasts, some tardy soldiers on their way to join their companions and others to see, and, if need be, to take old Anderson out of his den. Nothing could be heard on the train but war 'taking of Sumter,' 'old Anderson' and 'Star of the West.' Everyone was in high glee. Palmetto cockades, brass buttons, uniforms and gaudy epaulettes were seen in every direction. This was more than a youthful vision could withstand, so I directed myself toward the seat of war instead of schools." Although somewhat theatric, this is an accurate presentation of those early days.
The chief merit of Captain Dickert's book is that it presents the gay and bright, as well as the grave side of the Confederate soldier's experience. It is full of anecdote and incident and repartee. Such quips and jests kept the heart light and the blood warm beneath many a tattered coat.
The student of history may wish a more elaborate sketch. But the average man who wishes to snatch a moment for recreation will be repaid as he takes up this sketch. There are some faults of style and some of typography; but, all in all, this is a hearty, cheery, clean book. It extenuates some things, maybe; but it sets down naught in malice. As a local history it is an interesting contribution to the chronicle of the period.
R. MEANS DAVIS. S.C. College. 10-31-01
CAPT D. AUGUSTUS DICKERT. Company H 3d S.C. Regiment.
Comrades: Years ago I was asked by the members of a local camp (James D. Nance Camp, United Confederate Veterans, Newberry, S.C.,) of Veterans to write a history of Kershaw's "Old First Brigade in the Civil War," in order that the part taken by you in that memorable struggle might be transmitted to posterity through the instrumentality of a proud and loving participant in all the events that went to make up the life of an organization second to none, that has ever stood face to face with an invading foe upon the face of earth.
This request was not based upon a supposition of superior educational qualifications on my part, for the parties who made it know that my school days ended at twelve, and that the time usually devoted to instruction of youth was spent by many of us, from '61 to '65, on the northern side of Richmond. Consequently, to the love that I treasure in my heart for the "Old First" is due whatever of distinction attaches to the position of recorder of actions which prove the worth and heroism of each constituent part of the brigade. In accepting this trust I shall repress all desire for rhetorical display. I will not even attempt to do that justice, which is beyond the power of mortals; but shall simply try to be your faithful chronicler or recorder of facts as they appeared to me and others, who have so kindly assisted me in the compilation of these records, and shall confine myself to the effort to attain my highest ambition—absolute correctness. It is true that inaccuracies may have crept in; but these will be found to be mostly among proper names—due in a great measure to the illegibility of the manuscripts furnished me by correspondents. Again, apparent errors will be explained, when it is recalled to your minds that no two men see the same circumstance from the same standpoint. Honest differences will appear, no matter how trivial the facts are upon which they are based.
I have endeavored to be fair and just, and in so doing have laid aside a soldier's pardonable pride in his own regiment, and have accorded "honor to whom honor was due." Despite all that maybe alleged to the contrary, ours was not a "War of the Roses," of brother against brother, struggling for supremacy; but partook more of the nature of the inhuman contest in the Netherlands, waged by the unscrupulous and crafty Duke of Alva at the instance Philip (the Good!), or rather like that in which the rich and fruitful Province of the Palatine was subjected to fire and rapine under the mailed hand of that monster of iniquity—Turenne.
How well the men of Kershaw's Brigade acted their part, how proudly they faced the foe, how grandly they fought, how nobly they died, I shall attempt not to depict; and yet—
[8] Could heart and brain and hand and penI am indebted to many of the old comrades for their assistance, most notably Judge Y.J. Pope, of the Third South Carolina; Colonel Wm. Wallace, of the Second; Captain L.A. Waller, for the Seventh; Captains Malloy, Harllee, and McIntyre, of the Eighth; Captain D.J. Griffith and Private Charles Blair, of the Fifteenth; Colonel Rice and Captain Jennings, of the Third Battalion, and many others of the Twentieth. But should this volume prove of interest to any of the "Old Brigade," and should there be any virtue in it, remember it belongs to Y.J. Pope. Thrice have I laid down my pen, after meeting with so many rebuffs; but as often taken it up after the earnest solicitation of the former Adjutant of the Third, who it was that urged me on to its completion.
To the publisher, E.H. Aull, too much praise cannot be given. He has undertaken the publication of this work on his individual convictions of its merit, and with his sole conviction that the old comrades would sustain the efforts of the author. Furthermore, he has undertaken it on his own responsibility, without one dollar in sight—a recompence for time, material, and labor being one of the remotest possibilities.
D. AUGUSTUS DICKERT.
Newberry, S.C., August 15, 1899.
The secession bell rang out in South Carolina on the 20th of December, 1860, not to summon the men to arms, nor to prepare the State for war. There was no conquest that the State wished to make, no foe on her border, no enemy to punish. Like the liberty bell of the revolution that electrified the colonies from North to South, the bell of secession put the people of the State in a frenzy from the mountains to the sea. It announced to the world that South Carolina would be free—that her people had thrown off the yoke of the Union that bound the States together in an unholy alliance. For years the North had been making encroachments upon the South; the general government grasping, with a greedy hand, those rights and prerogatives, which belonged to the States alone, with a recklessness only equalled by Great Britain towards the colonies; began absorbing all of the rights guaranteed to the State by the constitution, and tending towards a strong and centralized government. They had made assaults upon our institutions, torn away the barriers that protected our sovereignty. So reckless and daring had become these assaults, that on more than one occasion the States of the South threatened dissolution of the Union. But with such master minds as Clay, Webster, and Calhoun in the councils of the nation, the calamity was averted for the time. The North had broken compact after compact, promises after promises, until South Carolina determined to act upon those rights she had retained for herself in the formation of the Union, and which the general government guaranteed to all, and withdrew when that Union no longer served the purposes for which it was formed.
Slavery, it has been said, was the cause of the war. Incidentally it may have been, but the real cause was far removed from the institution of slavery. That institution existed at[10] the formation of the Union, or compact. It had existed for several hundred years, and in every State; the federation was fully cognizant of the fact when the agreement of the Union was reached. They promised not to disturb it, and allow each State to control it as it seemed best. Slavery was gradually but surely dying out. Al0ong the border States it scarcely existed at all, and the mighty hand of an All-wise Ruler could be plainly seen in the gradual emancipation of all the slaves on the continent. It had begun in the New England States then. In the Caribbean Sea and South America emancipation had been gradually closing in upon the small compass of the Southern States, and that by peaceful measures, and of its own volition; so much so that it would have eventually died out, could not be denied by any who would look that far into the future, and judge that future by the past. The South looked with alarm and horror at a wholesale emancipation, when they viewed its havoc and destruction in Hayti and St. Domingo, where once existed beautiful homes and luxuriant fields, happy families and general progress; all this wealth, happiness, and prosperity had been swept away from those islands as by a deadly blight. Ruin, squalor, and beggary now stalks through those once fair lands.
A party sprang up at the North inimical to the South; at first only a speck upon the horizon, a single sail in a vast ocean; but it grew and spread like contagion. They were first called agitators, and consisted of a few fanatics, both women and men, whose avowed object was emancipation—to do by human hands that which an All-wise Providence was surely doing in His own wise way. At first the South did not look with any misgivings upon the fanatics. But when Governors of Northern States, leading statesmen in the councils of the nation; announced this as their creed and guide, then the South began to consider seriously the subject of secession. Seven Governors and their legislatures at the North had declared, by acts regularly passed and ratified, their determination "not to allow the laws of the land to be administered or carried out in their States." They made preparation to nullify the laws of Congress and the constitution. That party, which was first called "Agitators," but now took the name of'"Republicans"—called at the South the "black Republicans"—had [11] grown to such proportions that they put in the field candidates for President and Vice-President of the United States. Numbers increased with each succeeding campaign. In the campaign of 1860 they put Abraham Lincoln and Hannibal Hamlin forward as their standard bearers, and whose avowed purpose was the "the liberation of the slaves, regardless of the consequences." This party had spies all over the Southern States, and these emissaries incited insurrection, taught the slaves "that by rising at night and murdering their old masters and their families, they would be doing God's will;" that "it was a duty they owed to their children;" this "butchery of the sleeping and innocent whites was the road to freedom." In Virginia they sent down armed bands of whites, roused the negroes at night, placed guns, pikes, and arms of every kind in the hands of the poor, deluded creatures, and in that one night they butchered, in cold blood, the families of some of the best men in the State. These cold blooded butcheries would have done credit to the most cruel and blood thirsty of the primeval savages of the forest. These deeds were heralded all over the North as "acts of God, done by the hands of men." The leader of this diabolical plan and his compeers were sainted by their followers and admirers, and praises sung over him all over the North, as if over the death of saints. By a stupendous blunder the people of the South, and the friends of the Union generally, allowed this party to elect Lincoln and Hamlin. The South now had no alternative. Now she must either remain in a Union, where our institutions were to be dragged down; where the laws were to be obeyed in one section, but not in another; where existed open resistance to laws in one State and quiet obedience in another; where servile insurrections were being threatened continuously; where the slaves were aided and abetted by whites at the North in the butcheries of their families; or secede and fight. These were the alternatives on the one part, or a severance from the Union and its consequences on the other. From the very formation of the government, two constructions were put upon this constitution—the South not viewing this compact with that fiery zeal, or fanatical adulation, as they did at the North. The South looked [12] upon it more as a confederation of States for mutual protection in times of danger, and a general advancement of those interests where the whole were concerned. Then, again, the vast accumulation of wealth in the Southern States, caused by the the overshadowing of all other commodities of commerce—cotton—created a jealousy at the North that nothing but the prostration of the South, the shattering of her commerce, the destruction of her homes, and the freedom of her slaves, could answer. The wealth of the South had become a proverb The "Wealthy Southern Planter" had become an eyesore to the North, and to humble her haughty pride, as the North saw it, was to free her slaves. As one of the first statesmen of the South has truly said, "The seeds of the Civil War were sown fifty years before they were born who fought her battles."
A convention was called to meet in Columbia, in December, 1860, to frame a new constitution, and to take such steps as were best suited to meet the new order of things that would be brought about by this fanatical party soon to be at the head of the government. Feeling ran high—people were excited—everywhere the voice of the people was for secession. The women of the South, who would naturally be the first sufferers if the programme of the "Agitators" were carried out, were loud in their cries for separation. Some few people were in favor of the South moving in a body, and a feeble opposition ticket for the delegates to the convention was put in the field. These were called "Co-operationists," i.e., in favor of secession, but to await a union with the other Southern States. These were dubbed by the most fiery zealots of secession, "Submissionists" in derision. The negroes, too, scented freedom from afar. The old cooks, mammas, house servants, and negro eavesdroppers gathered enough of "freedom of slaves," "war," "secession," to cause the negroes to think that a great measure was on foot somewhere, that had a direct bearing on their long looked for Messiah—"Freedom." Vigilance committees sprung up all over the South, to watch parties of Northern sentiment, or sympathy, and exercise a more guarded scrutiny over the acts of the negroes. Companies were organized in towns and cities, who styled themselves "Minute Men," and rosettes, or the letters "M.M.," adorned the lapels of the coats worn [13] by those in favor of secession. The convention met in Columbia, but for some local cause it was removed to Charleston. After careful deliberation, a new constitution was framed and the ordinance of secession was passed without a dissenting voice, on the 20th of December, 1860, setting forth the State's grievances and acting upon her rights, declaring South Carolina's connection with the Union at an end. It has been truly said, that this body of men who passed the ordinance of secession was one of the most deliberate, representative, and talented that had ever assembled in the State of South Carolina. When the news flashed over the wires the people were in a frenzy of delight and excitement—bells tolled, cannons boomed, great parades took place, and orators from street corners and hotel balconies harangued the people. The ladies wore palmetto upon their hats or dresses, and showed by every way possible their earnestness in the great drama that was soon to be enacted upon the stage events. Drums beat, men marched through the streets, banners waved and dipped, ladies from the windows and from the housetops waved handkerchiefs or flags to the enthusiastic throng moving below. The bells from historic old St. Michael's, in Charleston, were never so musical to the ears of the people as when they pealed out the chimes that told of secession. The war was on.
Still with all this enthusiasm, the sober-headed, patriotic element of the South regretted the necessity of this dissolution. They, too, loved the Union their ancestors had helped to make—they loved the name, the glory, and the prestige won by their forefathers upon the bloody field of the revolution. While they did not view this Union as indispensable to their existence, they loved and reverenced the flag of their country. As a people, they loved the North; as a nation, they gloried in her past and future possibilities. The dust of their ancestors mingled in imperishable fame with those of the North. In the peaceful "Godsacre" or on the fields of carnage they were ever willing to share with them their greatness, and equally enjoyed those of their own, but denied to them the rights to infringe upon the South's possessions or rights of statehood. We all loved the Union, but we loved it as it was formed and made a compact by the blood of our [14] ancestors. Not as contorted and misconstrued by demagogueism and fanaticism. We almost deified the flag of the Union, under whose folds it was made immortal by the Huguenots, the Roundheads, the Cavaliers, and men of every faith and conviction in the crowning days of the revolution. The deeds of her great men, the history of the past, were an equal heritage of all—we felt bound together by natural bonds equal to the ties of blood or kindred. We loved her towering mountains, her rolling prairies, her fertile fields, her enchanting scenery, her institutions, her literature and arts, all; all were equally the South's as well as the North's. Not for one moment would the South pluck a rose from the flowery wreath of our goddess of liberty and place it upon the brow of our Southland alone. The Mississippi, rising among the hills and lakes of the far North, flowing through the fertile valleys of the South, was to all our "Mother Nile." The great Rocky Mountains and Sierra Nevada chained our Western border together from Oregon to the Rio Grande. The Cumberland, the Allegheny, and the Blue Ridge, lifting their heads up from among the verdant fields of Vermont, stretching southward, until from their southern summit at "Lookout" could be viewed the borderland of the gulf. In the sceneries of these mountains, their legends and traditions, they were to all the people of the Union what Olympus was to the ancients. Where the Olympus was the haunts, the wooing places of the gods of the ancient Greeks, the Appalachian was the reveling grounds for the muses of song and story of the North and South alike. And while the glories of the virtues of Greece and Rome, the birthplace of republicanism and liberty, may have slept for centuries, or died out entirely, that spirit of national liberty and personal freedom was transplanted to the shores of the New World, and nowhere was the spirit of freedom more cherished and fostered than in the bright and sunny lands of the South. The flickering torch of freedom, borne by those sturdy sons of the old world to the new, nowhere took such strong and rapid growth as did that planted by the Huguenots on the soil of South Carolina. Is it any wonder, then, that a people with such high ideals, such lofty spirits, such love of freedom, would tamely submit to a Union where such ideals and spirits were so lightly [15] considered as by those who were now in charge of the government—where our women and children were to be at the mercies of a brutal race, with all of their passions aroused for rapine and bloodshed; where we would be continually threatened or subjected to a racial war, one of supremacy; where promises were made to be broken, pledges given to be ignored; where laws made for all were to be binding only on those who chose to obey? Such were some of the conditions that confronted South Carolina and her sister States at this time, and forced them into measures that brought about the most stupendous civil war in modern or ancient times.
To sum up: It was not love for the Union, but jealousy of the South's wealth. It was not a spirit of humanity towards the slaves, but a hatred of the South, her chivalry, her honor, and her integrity. A quality wanting in the one is always hated in that of the other.
The Legislature, immediately after the passage of the ordinance of secession, authorized the Governor to organize ten regiments of infantry for State service. Some of these regiments were enlisted for twelve months, while Gregg's, the First, was for six, of, as it was understood at the time, its main duties were the taking of Sumter. The first regiments so formed were: First, Gregg's; Second, Kershaw's; Third, Williams'; Fourth, Sloan's; Fifth, Jenkins'; Sixth, Rion's; Seventh, Bacon's: Eighth, Cash's; Ninth, Blanding's; besides a regiment of regulars and some artillery and cavalry companies. There existed a nominal militia in the State, and numbered by battalions and regiments. These met every three months by companies and made some feeble attempts at drilling, or "mustering," as it was called. To the militia was intrusted the care of internal police of the State. Each [16] company was divided into squads, with a captain, whose duties were to do the policing of the neighborhood, called "patrolling." They would patrol the country during Sundays, and occasionally at nights, to prevent illegal assemblies of negroes, and also to prevent them from being at large without permission of their masters. But this system had dwindled down to a farce, and was only engaged in by some of the youngsters, more in a spirit of fun and frolic than to keep order in the neighborhood. The real duties of the militia of the State consisted of an annual battalion and regimental parade, called "battalion muster" and "general muster." This occasioned a lively turn-out of the people, both ladies and gentlemen, not connected with the troops, to witness the display of officers' uniforms, and bright caparisoned steeds, the stately tread of the "muster men," listen to the rattle of the drums and inspiring strains of the fifes, and horns of the rural bands.
From each battalion a company was formed for State service. These companies elected their captains and field officers, the general officers being appointed by the Governor. Immediately after the call of the Governor for troops, a great military spirit swept the country, volunteer companies sprang up like magic all over the land, each anxious to enter the service of the State and share the honor of going to war. Up to this time, few thought, there would be a conflict. Major Anderson, U.S.A., then on garrison duty at Fort Moultrie, heard of the secession of the State, and (whether by orders or his own volition, is not known and immaterial,) left Fort Moultrie, after spiking the guns and destroying the carriages; took possession of Fort Sumter. The State government looked with some apprehension upon this questionable act of Maj. Anderson's. Fort Sumter stood upon grounds of the State, ceded to the United States for purposes of defence. South Carolina now claimed the property, and made demands upon Maj. Anderson and the government at Washington for its restoration. This was refused.
Ten companies, under Col. Maxey Gregg, were called to Charleston for the purpose of retaking this fort by force of arms, if peaceful methods failed. These companies were raised mostly in towns and cities by officers who had been commissioned by the Governor. College [17] professors formed companies of their classes, and hurried off to Charleston. Companies of town and city volunteers offered their services to the Governor—all for six months, or until the fall of Sumter.
On the 9th of January, 1861, the State was thrown into a greater paroxism of excitement by the "Star of the West," a Northern vessel, being fired on in the bay of Charleston by State troops. This steamer, laden with supplies for Sumter, had entered the channel with the evident intention of reinforcing Anderson, when the Citadel guards, under Captain Stevens, fired several shots across her bow, then she turned about and sped away to the sea. In the meantime the old battalions of militia had been called out at their respective "muster grounds," patriotic speeches made, and a call for volunteers made. Companies were easily formed and officers elected. Usually in selecting the material for officers, preference was given to soldiers of the Mexican war, graduates of the military schools and the old militia of officers. These companies met weekly, and were put through a course of instructions in the old Macomb's tactics. In this way the ten regiments were formed, but not called together until the commencement of the bombardment of Sumter, with the exception of those troops enlisted for six months, now under Gregg at Charleston, and a few volunteer companies of cavalry and artillery.
The writer was preparing to enter school in a neighboring county when the first wave of patriotism struck him. Captain Walker's Company, from Newberry, of which I was a member, had been ordered to Charleston with Gregg, and was stationed at Morris' Island before I could get off. Two of my brothers and myself had joined the company made, up from the Thirty-ninth Battalion of State militia, and which afterwards formed a part of the Third S.C. Volunteers (Colonel Williams). But at that time, to a young mind like mine, the war looked too remote for me to wait for this company to go, so when on my way to school I boarded a train filled with enthusiasts, some tardy soldiers on their way to join their companies, and others to see, and if need be, "take old Anderson out of his den." Nothing on the train could be heard but war, war—"taking of Sumter," "Old Anderson," and "Star of the [18] West." Everyone was in a high glee—palmetto cockades, brass buttons, uniforms, and gaudy epaulettes were seen in every direction. This was more than a youthful vision could withstand, so I directed my steps towards the seat of war instead of school. By this time the city of Charleston may be said to have been in a state of siege—none could leave the islands or lands without a permit from the Governor or the Adjutant and Inspector General. The headquarters of Governor Pickens and staff were in the rooms of the Charleston Hotel, and to that place I immediately hied and presented myself before those "August dignitaries," and asked permission to join my company on Morris' Island, but was refused. First, on account of not having a permit of leave of absence from my captain; secondly, on account of my youth (I then being on the rise of 15); and thirdly, having no permission from my parents. What a contrast with later years, when boys of that age were pressed into service. The city of Charleston was ablaze with excitement, flags waved from the house tops, the heavy tread of the embryo soldiers could be heard in the streets, the corridors of hotels, and in all the public places. The beautiful park on the water front, called the "Battery," was thronged with people of every age and sex, straining their eyes or looking through glasses out at Sumter, whose bristling front was surmounted with cannon, her flags waving defiance. Small boats and steamers dotted the waters of the bay. Ordnance and ammunition were being hurried to the island. The one continual talk was "Anderson," "Fort Sumter," and "war." While there was no spirit of bravado, or of courting of war, there was no disposition to shirk it. A strict guard was kept at all the wharves, or boat landings, to prevent any espionage on our movements or works. It will be well to say here, that no moment from the day of secession to the day the first gun was fired at Sumter, had been allowed to pass without overtures being made to the government at Washington for a peaceful solution of the momentous question. Every effort that tact or diplomacy could invent was resorted to, to have an amicable [19] adjustment. Commissioners had been sent to Washington, asking, urging, and almost begging to be allowed to leave the Union, now odious to the people of the State, without bloodshed. Commissioners of the North came to Charleston to treat for peace, but they demanded peace without any concessions, peace with submission, peace with all the chances of a servile war. Some few leaders at the North were willing to allow us the right, while none denied it. The leading journal at the North said: "Let the erring sisters depart in peace." But all of our overtures were rejected by the administration at Washington, and a policy of evasion, or dilly-dallying, was kept up by those in authority at the North. All the while active preparations were going on to coerce the State by force of arms. During this time other States seceded and joined South Carolina, and formed the "Confederate States of America," with Jefferson Davis as President, with the capital at Montgomery, Ala.
Being determined to reach my company, I boarded a steamer, bound for Morris' Island, intending, if possible, to avoid the guard. In this I was foiled. But after making several futile attempts, I fell in with an officer of the First South Carolina Regiment, who promised to pilot me over. On reaching the landing, at Cummings Point, I was to follow his lead, as he had a passport, but in going down the gang plank we were met by soldiers with crossed bayonets, demanding "passports." The officer, true to his word, passed me over, but then my trouble began. When I reached the shore I lost my sponsor, and began to make inquiries for my company. When it was discovered that there was a stranger in the camp without a passport, a corporal of the guards was called, I was placed under arrest, sent to the guardhouse, and remained in durance vile until Captain Walker came to release me. When I joined my company I found a few of my old school-mates, the others were strangers. Everything that met my eyes reminded me of war. Sentinels patrolled the beach; drums beat; soldiers marching and counter-marching; great cannons being drawn along the beach, hundreds of men pulling them by long ropes, or drawn by mule teams. Across the bay we could see on Sullivan's Island men and soldiers building and digging out foundations for forts. Morris' Island was lined from the lower point to the light house, with batteries of heavy guns. To the youthful eye of a Southerner, whose mind had been fired by Southern sentiment and literature of the day, by reading the stories of heroes [20] and soldiers in our old "Southern Reader," of the thrilling romances of Marion and his men, by William Gilmore Simms, this sight of war was enough to dazzle and startle to an enthusiasm that scarcely knew any bounds. The South were "hero worshipers." The stories of Washington and Putnam, of Valley Forge, of Trenton, of Bunker Hill, and Lexington never grew old, while men, women, and children never tired of reading of the storming of Mexico, the siege of Vera Cruz, the daring of the Southern troops at Molino del Rey.
My first duty as a soldier, I will never forget. I went with a detail to Steven's Iron Battery to build embrasures for the forts there. This was done by filling cotton bags the size of 50 pound flour sacks with sand, placing them one upon the top of the other at the opening where the mouths of cannons projected, to prevent the loose earth from falling down and filling in the openings. The sand was first put upon common wheel-barrows and rolled up single planks in a zig-zag way to the top of the fort, then placed in the sacks and laid in position. My turn came to use a barrow, while a comrade used the shovel for filling up. I had never worked a wheel-barrow in my life, and like most of my companions, had done but little work of any kind. But up I went the narrow zig-zag gangway, with a heavy loaded barrow of loose sand. I made the first plank all right, and the second, but when I undertook to reach the third plank on the angles, and about fifteen feet from the ground, my barrow rolled off, and down came sand, barrow, and myself to the ground below. I could have cried with shame and mortification, for my misfortune created much merriment for the good natured workers. But it mortified me to death to think I was not man enough to fill a soldier's place. My good coworker and brother soldier exchanged the shovel for the barrow with me, and then began the first day's work I had ever done of that kind. Hour after hour passed, and I used the shovel with a will. It looked as if night would never come. At times I thought I would have to sink to the earth from pure exhaustion, but my pride and youthful patriotism, animated by the acts of others, urged me on. Great blisters formed and bursted in my hand, beads of perspiration dripped from my brow, and towards night the blood began to show at the root of my fingers. But I was not by [21] myself; there were many others as tender as myself. Young men with wealthy parents, school and college boys, clerks and men of leisure, some who had never done a lick of manual labor in their lives, and would not have used a spade or shovel for any consideration, would have scoffed at the idea of doing the laborious work of men, were now toiling away with the farmer boys, the overseers' sons, the mechanics—all with a will—and filled with enthusiasm that nothing short of the most disinterested patriotism could have endured. There were men in companies raised in Columbia, Charleston, and other towns, who were as ignorant and as much strangers to manual labor as though they had been infants, toiling away with pick and shovel with as much glee as if they had been reared upon the farm or had been laborers in a mine.
Over about midway in the harbor stood grim old Sumter, from whose parapets giant guns frowned down upon us; while around the battlements the sentinels walked to and fro upon their beats. All this preparation and labor were to reduce the fort or prevent a reinforcement. Supplies had been cut off, only so much allowed as was needed for the garrison's daily consumption. With drill every two hours, guard duty, and working details, the soldiers had little time for rest or reflection. Bands of music enlivened the men while on drill, and cheered them while at work by martial and inspiring strains of "Lorena," "The Prairie Flower," "Dixie," and other Southern airs. Pickets walked the beach, every thirty paces, night and day; none were allowed to pass without a countersign or a permit. During the day small fishing smacks, their white sails bobbing up and down over the waves, dotted the bay; some going out over the bar at night with rockets and signals to watch for strangers coming from the seaward. Days and nights passed without cessation of active operations—all waiting anxiously the orders from Montgomery to reduce the fort.
General G.T. Beauregard, a citizen of Louisiana, resident of New Orleans, a veteran of the Mexican War, and a recent officer in the United States Engineering Corps, was appointed Brigadier General and placed in command of all the forces around Charleston. A great many troops from other States, which had also seceded and joined the [22] Confederacy, had come to South Carolina to aid in the capture of Sumter. General Beauregard was a great favorite with all the people, and the greatest confidence felt in his skill and ability by the soldiers. The State officers and troops obeyed him cheerfully, and had implicit faith in his military skill. As he was destined to play an important part in the great role of war that was soon to follow, I will give here a short sketch of his life. General G.T. Beauregard was born near the city of New Orleans, May 18th, 1818. His first ancestors were from Wales, but engaging in an insurrection, they were forced to flee from their country, and sought an asylum in France. In the last of the thirteenth century one of them became attached to the Court of Philip the IV, surnamed the "Fair." He then married Mademoiselle de Lafayette, maid of honor to the sister of Philip. When Edward, King of England, married the sister of Philip, he followed with his wife the fortunes of the English King, and became a member at the Court of St. James. He was afterwards assigned to a British post on the continent. And again this family of the early Beauregards, then called Toutant-Beauregard, became citizens of France. Jacques Beauregard came to Louisiana from France with a colony sent out by Louis XIV. The grandson of this Jacques is the present Gustav Toutant Beauregard. At the early age of eleven years he was taken to New York and placed under a private tutor, an exile from France, and who had fled the Empire on the downfall of Napoleon. At sixteen he entered West Point as a cadet, and graduated July 1st, 1838, being second in a class of forty-five. He entered the service of the United States as Second Lieutenant of Engineers. He served with distinction through the Mexican War, under Major General Scott, in the engineer corps. For gallant and meritorious conduct he was twice promoted—first to the Captaincy and then to the position of Major. For a short time he was Superintendent of the West Point Military Academy, but owing to the stirring events just preceding the late war, he resigned on the first of March, 1861. He entered the service of the Confederate States; was appointed Brigadier General and assigned to the post of Charleston. Soon after the fall of Sumter he was made full General, and assigned to a command on the Potomac, and with J.E. Johnston fought the [23] memorable battle of Bull Run. He was second in command at Shiloh with A.S. Johnston, then the "Department of South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida." With J.E. Johnston he commanded the last remnant of a once grand army that surrendered at Greensboro, N.C. He returned to his old home in New Orleans at the close of the war, to find it ruined, his fortune wrecked, his wife dead, and his country at the feet of a merciless foe. He took no further part in military or political affairs, and passed away gently and peacefully at a ripe old age, loved and admired by his many friends, and respected by his enemies. Such, in brief, was the life of the man who came to control the destinies of South Carolina at this most critical moment of her history.
On March 6th he placed Morris' Island under the immediate command of Brigadier General James Simonds, while the batteries were under the command of Lieutenant Colonel W.G. DeSaussure. Sullivan's Island was under the command of General R.G.M. Dunovant, and the batteries of this island were under Lieutenant Colonel Ripley. Captain Calhoun commanded at Fort Moultrie, and Captain Thomas at Fort Johnston. A floating battery had been constructed by Captain Hamilton, and moved out to the western extremity of Sullivan's Island. This was under command of its inventor and builder. It consisted of very heavy timbers; its roof overlaid with railroad iron in a slanting position, through which trap doors had been cut for the cannon to project. The Stevens' Battery, as it was called, was constructed on the same principle; was built at Cummings' Point, on Morris' Island, and commanded by Captain Stevens, of the Citadel Academy. It was feared at this time that the concussion caused by the heavy shells and solid shots striking the iron would cause death to those underneath, or so stun them as to render them unfit for further service; but both these batteries did excellent service in the coming bombardment. Batteries along the water fronts of the islands were manned by the volunteer companies of Colonel Gregg's Regiment, and other regiments that had artillery companies attached.
On the 8th of April a message was received at Montgomery to the effect that a fleet was then en route to reinforce Sumter, "peaceably if they could, but forcibly if necessary."
[24]General Beauregard was instructed to demand the immediate evacuation of the fort; Anderson failing to comply with this demand, he was to proceed to reduce it. The demand was made upon Major Anderson, and was refused. General Beauregard had everything in readiness, only waiting the result of the negotiations for the surrender or evacuation, to give the command to fire. The night of the 11th was one of great excitement. It was known for a certainty that on to-morrow the long looked for battle was to take place. Diplomacy had done its work, now powder and ball must do what diplomacy had failed to accomplish. All working details had been called in, tools put aside, the heating furnaces fired, shells and red-hot solid shot piled in close proximity to the cannon and mortars. All the troops were under arms during the night, and a double picket line stretched along the beach, and while all seemed to be life and animation, a death-like stillness pervaded the air. There was some apprehension lest the fleet might come in during the night, land an army on Morris' Island in small boats, and take the forts by surprise. Men watched with breathless interest the hands on the dials as they slowly moved around to the hour of four, the time set to open the fire. At that hour gunners stood with lanyards in their hands. Men peered through the darkness in the direction of Sumter, as looking for some invisible object. At half past four Captain James, from Fort Johnston, pulled his lanyard; the great mortar belched forth, a bright flash, and the shell went curving over in a kind of semi-circle, the lit fuse trailing behind, showing a glimmering light, like the wings of a fire fly, bursting over the silent old Sumter. This was the signal gun that unchained the great bull-dogs of war around the whole circle of forts. Scarcely had the sound of the first gun died away, ere the dull report from Fort Moultrie came rumbling over the waters, like an echo, and another shell exploded over the deserted parade ground of the doomed fort. Scarcely had the fragments of this shell been scattered before General Stevens jerked the lanyard at the railroad battery, and over the water gracefully sped the lighted shell, its glimmering fuse lighting its course as it, too, sped on in its mission of destruction. Along the water fronts, and from all the forts, now a perfect sheet of flame [25] flashed out, a deafening roar, a rumbling deadening sound, and the war was on. The men as a whole were alive to their work; shot after shot was fired. Now a red-hot solid shot, now a shell, goes capering through the air like a shower of meteors on a frolic. The city was aroused. Men, women, and children rush to the housetops, or crowd each other along the water front of the battery.
But Sumter remained silent, grim, defiant. All there seemed to be in peaceful, quiet slumber, while the solid shot battered against her walls, or the shells burst over their heads and in the court yard below. Round after round is fired. The gunners began to weary of their attempt to arouse the sleeping foe. Is the lion so far back in his lair as not to feel the prods of his tormentors? or is his apathy or contempt too great to be aroused from his slumber by such feeble blows? The grey streaks of morning came coursing from the east, and still the lion is not angry, or is loath to take up the struggle before he has had his morning meal. At seven o'clock, however, if there had been any real anxiety to rouse his temper, it was appeased. The stars and stripes ran up the flag staff, and from out the walls of the grim old stronghold burst a wreath of smoke—then a report, and a shot comes whizzing through the air, strikes the iron battery, and ricochets over in the sand banks. He then pays his respects to Moultrie. From the casements and barbette guns issue a flame and smoke, while the air is filled with flying shot. The battle is general and grand. Men spring upon ramparts and shout defiance at Sumter, to be answered by the crashing of shot against the walls of their bomb-proof forts. All day long the battle rages without intermission or material advantages to either side. As night approached, the fire slackened in all direction, and at dark Sumter ceased to return our fire at all. By a preconcerted arrangement, the fire from our batteries and forts kept up at fifteen-minute intervals only. The next morning the firing began with the same vigor and determination as the day before. Sumter, too, was not slow in showing her metal and paid particular attention to Moultrie. Early in the forenoon the smoke began to rise from within the walls of Sumter; "the tort was on fire." Shots now rain upon the walls of the burning fort with greater fury [26] than ever. The flag was seen to waver, then slowly bend over the staff and fall. A shout of triumph rent the air from the thousands of spectators on the islands and the mainland. Flags and handkerchiefs waved from the hands of excited throngs in the city, as tokens of approval of eager watchers. Soldiers mount the ramparts and shout in exultation, throwing their caps in the air. Away to the seaward the whitened sails of the Federal fleet were seen moving up towards the bar. Anxiety and expectation are now on tip-toe. Will the fleet attempt the succor of their struggling comrades? Will they dare to run the gauntlet of the heavy dahlgreen guns that line the channel sides? From the burning fort the garrison was fighting for their existence. Through the fiery element and hail of shot and shell they see the near approach of the long expected relief. Will the fleet accept the gauge of battle? No. The ships falter and stop. They cast anchor and remain a passive spectator to the exciting scenes going on, without offering aid to their friends or battle to their enemies.
General Beauregard, with that chivalrous spirit that characterized all true Southerners, when he saw the dense curling smoke and the flames that now began to leap and lick the topmost walls of the fort, sent three of his aids to Major Anderson, offering aid and assistance in case of distress. But the brave commander, too proud to receive aid from a generous foe when his friends are at hand yet too cowardly to come to the rescue, politely refused the offer. But soon thereafter the white flag was waving from the parapets of Fort Sumter. Anderson had surrendered; the battle was over; a victory won by the gallant troops of the South, and one of the most miraculous instances of a bloodless victory, was the first battle fought and won. Thousands of shots given and taken, and no one hurt on either side.
A remarkable instance of Southern magnanimity was that of W.T. Wigfall, a volunteer aide to General Beauregard. As he stood watching the progress of the battle from Cummings' Point and saw the great volume of black smoke curling and twisting in the air—the storm of shot and shell plunging into the doomed walls of the fort, and the white flag flying from its burning parapets—his generous, noble, and sympathetic heart was fired to a pitch that brooked no consideration, [27] "a brave foe in distress" is to him a friend in need. Before orders could be given to cease firing, or permission granted by the commanding general, he leaped into a small boat, and with a single companion rowed away to the burning fortress, shells shrieking over his head, the waves rocking his frail little craft like a shell in a vast ocean, but the undaunted spirit of the great man overcame all obstacles and danger, and reached the fort in safety. Here a hasty consultation was had. Anderson agreed to capitulate and Wigfall hastened to so inform General Beauregard.
It was agreed that Major Anderson should leave the fort—not as a prisoner of war, but as a brave foe, who had done all in human power to sustain the dignity of his country and the honor of his flag. He was allowed to salute his flag, by firing a number of guns, and with his officers and troops and all personal belongings placed upon a transport, was carried out to the fleet.
The only melancholy event of the memorable bombardment was the sudden death of one of the soldiers of the garrison, caused by the premature explosion of a shell while firing the salute to the flag.
The prominence given to Wigfall's exertion, and erratic conduct at the time, and his meritorious career during the existence of the Confederacy, prompt me to give a short sketch of this meteoric character. He was born in Edgefield County along in the first quarter of the century of good old South Carolina stock, and educated in the common schools and in South Carolina College. His large means, inherited from a long line of wealthy ancestors, afforded him opportunities to enjoy life at his pleasure. He was full of that fiery zeal for honor, hot headed and impulsive. His hasty and stubborn nature caused him many enemies; yet his charitable disposition and generous impulses gave him many friends. He could brook no differences; he was intolerant, proud of his many qualities, gifted, and brave to rashness. In early life he had differences with Whitfield Brooks, the father of Preston S. Brooks, Congressman from South Carolina, but at that time a student of South Carolina College. While the son was in college, Wigfall challenged the elder Brooks to a duel. Brooks, from his age and infirmities, refused. According to the rules [28] of the code duello, Wigfall posted Brooks at Edgefield Court House, and guarded the fatal notice during the day with a loaded pistol. A relative of Brooks, a feeble, retiring, and unassuming young man, braved the vengeance of Wigfall, and tore the degrading challenge from the court house door in spite of the warning and threats of the Knight of the Code. A pistol shot rang out, and the young champion of Brooks fell dead at his feet. Preston Brooks, hearing of the indignity placed upon his father, the death of his kinsman and defender of his family honor, now entered the list, and challenged the slayer of his father's protector. Wigfall accepted the challenge with eagerness, for now the hot Southern blood was thoroughly aroused, and party feelings had sprung up and ran high. The gauge of battle was to be settled at Sand Bar Ferry, on the Savannah River near Augusta, Ga., the noted duelling ground of the high tempered sons of Georgia and the Carolinas. It was fought with dueling pistols of the old school, and at the first fire Brooks was severely wounded. Wigfall had kindled a feeling against himself in the State that his sensitive nature could not endure. He left for the rising and new born State of Texas. Years rolled by, and the next meeting of those fiery antagonists was at the Capital of the United States—Brooks in Congress, and Wigfall in the Senate.
There was much discussion at the time as to who really fired the first gun at Sumter. Great importance was attached to the episode, and as there were different opinions, and it was never satisfactorily settled, it is not expected that any new light can be thrown on it at this late day. It was first said to have been General Edmond Ruffin, [29] a venerable octogenarian from Virginia, who at the secession of South Carolina came to this State and offered his services as a volunteer. He had at one time been a citizen of South Carolina, connected with a geological survey, and had written several works on the resources and possibilities of the State, which created quite an interest at that day and time. He was one of the noblest types of elderly men it has ever been my fortune to look upon. He could not be called venerable, but picturesque. His hair hung in long silvery locks, tied in a queue in the fashions of the past centuries. His height was very near six feet, slender and straight as an Indian brave, and his piercing black eyes seemed to flash fire and impressed one as being able to look into your very soul. He joined the "Palmetto Guards," donned the uniform of that company, and his pictures were sold all over the entire South, taken, as they were, in the habiliments of a soldier. These showed him in an easy pose, his rifle between his knees, coat adorned with palmetto buttons closely buttoned up to his chin, his hair combed straight from his brow and tied up with a bow of ribbon that streamed down his back, his cap placed upon his knee bearing the monogram "P.G.," the emblem of his company, worked in with palmetto.
The other aspirant for the honor of firing the first gun was Captain George S. James, afterwards the Colonel of James' Battalion, or "Third Battalion," as it was known in Kershaw's Brigade. It has been said that this honor was granted him, at his special request, by Captain Stephen D. Lee, on General Beauregard's staff (afterwards a Lieutenant General of the Confederate Army). Captain James' claim appears to be more valid than that of General Ruffin from the fact that it is positively known that James' company was on duty at Fort Johnston, on James' Island, while the Palmetto Guards, of which General Ruffin was a member, was at the railroad battery on Morris Island. However, this should not be taken as conclusive, as at that time discipline was, to a certain extent, not strictly enforced, and many independent volunteers belonged to the army over whom there was very little, if any control. So General Ruffin may have been at Fort Johnston while his company was at Cummings Point. However, little interest is attached to this incident after the lapse of so many years.
Perhaps never in the history of a State was there such a frenzy of [30] excitement—not even in the days of Indian insurrections or the raids of the bloody Tarleton—as when the news flashed over the country that Sumter was being bombarded, and a call was made for all the volunteers to assemble in Charleston. There were not the facilities in those days as now for the spreading of news, there being but few telegraph lines in the State. Notwithstanding this, every method possible was put into practice for gathering in the troops. There were no assemblages of troops outside of Charleston. Men were following their daily vocations. Extra trains were put in motion; couriers dashed with rapid speed across the country. Private means, as well as public, were resorted to to arouse the men and bring them to the front. Officers warned the private, and he in turn rode with all the speed his horse, loosed from the plow, could command, to arouse his comrades. It was on Saturday when word was first sent out, but it was late the next day (Sunday) before men in the remote rural districts received the stirring notice. Men left their plows standing in the field, not to return under four years, and many of them never. Carpenters came down from the unfinished roof, or left their bench with work half finished. The student who had left his school on the Friday before never recited his Monday's lesson. The country doctor left his patients to the care of the good housewife. Many people had gone to church and in places the bells were still tolling, calling the worshippers together to listen to the good and faithful teachings of the Bible, but the sermon was never delivered or listened to. Hasty preparations were made everywhere. The loyal wives soon had the husband's clothes in the homemade knapsack; the mother buckled on the girdle of her son, while the gray haired father was burning with impatience, only sorrowing that he, too, could not go. Never before in the history of the world, not even in Carthage or Sparta, was there ever such a spontaneous outburst of patriotic feeling; never such a cheerful and willing answer to the call of a mother country. Not a regret, not a tear; no murmuring or reproaches—not one single complaint. Never did the faithful Scott give with better grace his sons for the defense of his beloved chief, "Eric," than did the fathers and mothers of South Carolina give their sons for the defense of the beloved Southland.
[31]The soldiers gathered at the railroad stations, and as the trains that had been sent to the farthest limits of the State came along, the troops boarded them and hurried along to Charleston, then the seat of war. General M.L. Bonham had been appointed Major General of State troops and called his brigades together. Colonel Gregg was already in Charleston with the First Regiment. Col. Joseph B. Kershaw with the Second, Colonel James H. Williams with the Third, Colonel Thomas Bacon with the Seventh, and Colonel E.B.C. Cash with the Eighth, formed their regiments by gathering the different companies along at the various railroad stations. The Second, Seventh, and Eighth came on to Charleston, reaching there while the bombardment was still in progress, but not early enough to take active part in the battle. Colonel Williams with the Third, for want of transportation, was stopped in Columbia, and took up quarters in the Fair Grounds. The other regiments went into camp in the suburbs of Charleston and on the islands. After the surrender of Sumter the troops on the islands and mainland returned to their old quarters to talk upon the incidents of the battle, write home of the memorable events and to rejoice generally. Almost as many rumors were now afloat as there were men in the army. It was the generally conceded opinion of all that the war was at an end. A great many of the Southern leaders boasted of "drinking all the blood that would be shed in the war." The whole truth of the entire matter was, both sections underrated each other. The South, proud and haughty, looked with disdain upon the courage of the North; considered the people cowardly, and not being familiar with firearms would be poor soldiers; that the rank and file of the North, being of a foreign, or a mixture of foreign blood, would not remain loyal to the Union, as the leaders thought, and would not fight. While the North looked upon the South as a set of aristocratic blusterers, their affluence and wealth having made them effeminate; a nation of weaklings, who could not stand the fatigues and hardships of a campaign. Neither understood the other, overrating themselves and underrating the strength of their antagonists. When Lincoln first called for 50,000 troops and several millions of dollars for equipment and conduct of the war, the South would ask in derision, "Where would [32] he get them?" When the South would talk of resistance, the North would ask, "Where are her soldiers?" "The rich planters' sons cannot fight." "The poor man will not do battle for the negroes of the rich." "The South has no arms, no money, no credit." So each mistook the strength, motives, spirits, and sentiments that actuated the other. A great change came over the feelings of the North after the fall of Sumter. They considered that their flag had been insulted, their country dishonored. Where there had been differences before at the North, there was harmony now. The conservative press of that section was now defiant and called for war; party differences were healed and the Democratic party of the North that had always affiliated in national affairs with the South, was now bitter against their erring sisters, and cried loudly for "Union or coercion." The common people of the North were taught to believe that the Nation had been irretrievably dishonored and disgraced, that the disruption of the Union was a death knell to Republican institutions and personal liberty. That the liberty and independence that their ancestors had won by their blood in the Revolution was now to be scattered to the four winds of heaven by a few fanatical slave holders at the South. But up to this time the question of slavery had not been brought into controversy on either side. It was not discussed and was only an after thought, a military necessity.
Virginia, three days after the fall of Sumter, joined her sister State. This act of the old commonwealth was hailed in the Gulf States with great rejoicing. Bells tolled and cannon boomed and men hurrahed. Until now it was not certain what stand would be taken by the Border States. They did not wish to leave the Union; neither would they be a party to a war upon their seceding sisters. They promised to be neutral. But President Lincoln soon dispelled all doubt and uncertainty by his proclamation, calling upon all States then remaining in the Union to furnish their quota of troops. They were then forced to take sides for or against and were not long in reaching a conclusion. As soon as conventions could be assembled, the States joined the Confederacy and began levying troops to resist invasion. Tennessee followed Virginia, then Arkansas, the Old North State being the last of the Atlantic and Gulf States to cross the Rubicon into the [33] "plains of Southern independence." The troops that had been called for six months were now disbanded, and those who had enlisted for twelve months for State service were called upon to volunteer in the Confederate Army for the unexpired time. They volunteered almost without a dissenting voice. Having left their homes so hurriedly, they were granted a furlough of a week or ten days to return to their families and put their houses in order. They then returned and went into a camp of instruction.
General Bonham had not gotten all of his regiments together up to this time. The Second, Seventh, and Eighth were around Charleston, while the Third was at Lightwood Knot Spring, four miles from Columbia. This camp was called "Camp Williams," in honor of their Colonel. That in Columbia was called "Camp Ruffin," in honor of General Ruffin. It was customary to give all the different camps a name during the first year's service, generally in honor of some favorite officer or statesman. Colonel Gregg's regiment remained on Morris Island until early in May, when it was sent to Norfolk, Va., to take charge of the large amount of government property there, now very valuable to the South.
At the reorganization of the First Regiment I came to Columbia and joined the company I had before enlisted in. I had two older brothers there, and I was given a place as Second Sergeant in the company.
At the secession of South Carolina, Colonel Williams was in Arkansas, where he had large estates, but on being notified of his election, he joined his regiment while at Lightwood Knot Springs. He was met at the railroad by his troops with great demonstrations of joy and pride. Stalwart men hoisted him upon their shoulders and carried him through the camp, followed by a throng of shouting and delighted soldiers. The regiment had been commanded up to that time by Lieutenant Colonel Foster, of Spartanburg, with James M. Baxter as Major, D.R. Rutherford as Adjutant, Dr. D.E. Ewart Surgeon, John McGowan Quartermaster.
Cadets were sent from the Citadel as drill masters to all the regiments, and for six hours daily the ears were greeted with "hep-hep" to designate the "left" foot "down" while on the drill. It took great patience, determination, and toil to bring the men under [34] military discipline. Fresh from the fields, shops, and schools they had been accustomed to the freedom of home life, and with all their patriotism, it took time to break into the harness of military restraint and discipline these lovers of personal freedom. Many amusing incidents occurred while breaking these "wild colts," but all took it good humoredly, and the best of feelings existed between officers and men. Some few, however, were nettled by the restraint and forced obedience to those whom they had heretofore been accustomed to look upon as equals, but now suddenly made superiors. The great majority entered upon the duties of camp life with rare good will. All were waiting patiently the call to Virginia. Here I will give a short description of the regiments and their officers up to the time that all were brought together as a brigade. After that time we will treat them as a whole.
The regiments were uniformed by private donations, each neighborhood uniforming the company raised in its bounds. The tents were large and old fashioned—about 8 x 10 feet square, with a separate fly on top—one of these being allowed to every six or seven men. They were pitched in rows, about fifty feet apart, the front of one company facing the rear of the other. About the first of June all the regiments, except the Second, were ordered to Manassas, Va. The regiments were formed by companies from battalions of the militia from various counties, one company usually being formed from a battalion. These companies were organized into regiments, very much as at present, and like the old anti-bellum militia. At times some ambitious citizen would undertake to raise a volunteer company outside of those raised from battalions, and generally these were called "crack companies." Afterwards a few undertook to raise companies in this manner, i.e., selecting the officers first, and then proceeding to select the men, refusing such as would not make acceptable soldiers, thus forming exclusive organizations. These were mostly formed in towns and cities. At other times old volunteer companies, as they were called, of the militia would enlist in a body, with such recruits as were wanted to fill up the number. In the old militia service almost all the towns and cities had these companies as a kind of city organization, and they would be handsomely uniformed, well equipped, and in many cases were almost equal to regular soldiers. Columbia [35] had at least three of these companies in our brigade—the Governor's Guards, Richland Rifles, and one more, I think, but on this point am not positive. Charleston had two or more, the Palmetto Guards and others; Greenville, the Butler Guards; Newberry, the Quitman Rifles; while the other counties, Abbeville, Anderson, Edgefield, Williamsburg, Darlington, Sumter, and almost all the counties represented in our brigade had one of these city volunteer companies. When all the companies called for had been organized, they were notified to what regiment they had been assigned, or what companies were to constitute a regiment, and were ordered to hold an election for field officers. Each company would hold its election, candidates in the meantime having offered their services to fill the respective places of Colonel, Lieutenant Colonel, and Major. After the elections thus held, the returns would be sent up to the Adjutant and Inspector General's office and there tabulated, and the result declared. The candidates for field officers were generally Mexican War Veterans, or some popular citizen, whom the old men thought "would take care of the boys." At first the qualification of a commander, be it Colonel or Captain, mostly required was clemency. His rules of discipline, bravery, or military ability were not so much taken into consideration.
Early in May or the last of April four companies of the Second Regiment, under Colonel Kershaw, volunteered for Confederate service, and were sent at once to Virginia. These companies were commanded by—
Captain John D. Kennedy, Kershaw County.
Captain W.H. Casson, Richland County.
Captain William Wallace, Richland County.
Captain John Richardson, Sumter County.
They were afterwards joined by companies under—
Captain Ferryman, of Abbeville County, (formerly of the Seventh Regiment).[36]
Captain Cuthbert, Charleston.
Captain Rhett, Charleston.
Captain Haile, Kershaw.
Captain McManus, Lancaster.
Captain Hoke, Greenville.
These were among the first soldiers from the "Palmetto State" to go to Virginia, and the regiment when fully organized stood as follows:
J.B. Kershaw, Colonel, of Camden.
E.P. Jones, Lieutenant Colonel.
Fred Gaillard, Major.
A.D. Goodwin, Adjutant.
Company A—W.H. Casson, Richland.
Company B—A.D. Hoke, Greenville.
Company C—William Wallace, Richland.
Company D—T.S. Richardson.
Company E—John D. Kennedy, Kershaw.
Company F—W.W.Perryman, Anderson.
Company G—I. Haile, Kershaw.
Company H—H. McManus, Lancaster.
Company I—G.B. Cuthbert, Charleston.
Company K—R. Rhett, Charleston.
Surgeon—Dr. F. Salmond, Kershaw.
Quartermaster—W.S. Wood, Columbia.
Commissary—J.J. Villipigue.
Chaplain—A.J. McGruder.
The Third Regiment had originally twelve companies enlisted for State service, but in transferring to Confederate Army only ten were allowed by the army regulations. Two companies were left out, viz.: Captain J.C.S. Brown's, from Newberry, and Captain Mat. Jones', from Laurens. The privates, however, enlisted in the other companies as a general rule, for the companies were allowed a maximum number of 100. The Eighth and Third made no changes in their companies or officers from their first enlistment in the State service until their second enlistment in 1862, only as occasioned by resignations or the casualties of war. The two regiments remained as first organized, with few exceptions.
The Third stood, when ready for transportation to Virginia, the 7th of June, as follows:
[37]James H. Williams, Colonel, Newberry.
B.B. Foster, Lieutenant Colonel, Spartanburg.
James M. Baxter, Major, Newberry.
W.D. Rutherford, Adjutant, Newberry.
Company A—B. Conway Garlington, Laurens.
Company B—S. Newton Davidson, Newberry.
Company C—R.C. Maffett, Newberry.
Company D—T.B. Furgerson, Spartanburg and Union.
Company E—James D. Nance, Newberry.
Company F—T. Walker, Newberry and Laurens.
Company G—R.P. Todd, Laurens.
Company H—D. Nunnamaker, Lexington.
Company I—Smith L. Jones, Laurens.
Company K—Benj. Kennedy, Spartanburg.
Surgeon—Dr. D.E. Ewart, Newberry.
Quartermaster—John McGowan, Laurens.
Commissary—Sergeant J.N. Martin, Newberry.
Chaplain—Rev. Mayfield.
The following companies were from Abbeville:
Company A, Captain W.W. Perryman.
Company B, Captain G.M. Mattison.
Company C, Captain P.H. Bradley.
Company D, Captain S.J. Hester.
The following companies were from Edgefield:
Company E, Captain D. Dendy.
Company F, Captain John S. Hard.
Company G, Captain J. Hampden Brooks.
Company H, Captain Elbert Bland.
Company I, Captain W.E. Prescott.
Company K, Captain Bart Talbert.
Captain Perryman with his company, the "Secession Guards," volunteered for the Confederate service before the other companies, and left for Virginia on April 28th and joined the Second South Carolina Regiment. Captain Bland took his place with his company in the regiment as Company A.
The companies of the Seventh came together as a regiment at the Schutzenplatz, near Charleston, on the 16th of April. In about two weeks it was ordered to Edgefield District at a place called [38] Montmorenci, in Aiken County. While here a company came from Edgefield County near Trenton, under Captain Coleman, and joined the regiment. But this company failed to enlist.
The Seventh Regiment elected as officers: Colonel, Thomas G. Bacon, of Edgefield District; lieutenant Colonel, Robert A. Fair, of Abbeville; Major, Emmet Seibles, of Edgefield; Adjutant, D. Wyatt Aiken, of Abbeville. All the staff officers were appointed by the Colonels until the transfer to the Confederate service; then the medical department was made a separate branch, and the Surgeons and Assistant Surgeons were appointed by the Department. Colonel Bacon appointed on his staff: B.F. Lovelass, Quartermaster; Fred Smith, Commissary; afterwards A.F. Townsend.
Surgeon Joseph W. Hearst resigned, and A.R. Drogie was made Surgeon in his stead, with Dr. G.H. Waddell as Assistant Surgeon. A.C. Stallworth, Sergeant Major, left for Virginia about the first of June and joined the Second a few days afterwards.
The Eighth Regiment was organized early in the year 1861, but the companies were not called together until the 14th day of April, arriving in Charleston in the afternoon of that day, just after the fall of Fort Sumter. It was composed of ten companies, as follows: Three from Chesterfield, two from Marion, two from Marlborough, and three from Darlington, with Colonel, E.B.C. Cash; Lieutenant Colonel, John W. Henagan; Major, Thomas E. Lucas; Adjutant, C.B. Weatherly.
Companies first taken to Virginia:
Company A—A.I. Hoole, Darlington.[39]
Company B—M.I. Hough, Chesterfield.
Company C—Wm. H. Coit, Chesterfield.
Company D—John S. Miller, Chesterfield.
Company E—W.E. Jay, Darlington.
Company F—W.H. Evans, Darlington.
Company G—John W. Harrington, Marlboro.
Company H—R.L. Singletary, Marion.
Company I—T.E. Stackhouse, Marion.
Company K—D. McD. McLeod, Marlboro.
After remaining in Charleston until the 4th of May it was moved to Florence. On the 1st of June the regiment re-enlisted for Confederate service. They were ordered to Richmond and arrived there on June 4th, and left on the 15th to join the Second then at Bull Run. On the 22nd of June they went into camp at Germantown, near Fairfax Court House, where all the regiments were soon joined together as Bonhams' Brigade.
The first real exciting incident connected with the Third South Carolina Regiment—the first panic and stampede—happened as the troops were returning from their ten days' furlough to their camp of instruction, near Columbia, just after their enlistment in the Confederate service. I record this occurrence to show what little incidents, and those of such little moment, are calculated to stampede an army, and to what foolish lengths men will go when excited. The train was rattling along at a good speed, something like ten or fifteen miles an hour, just above Columbia; a long string of box cars loaded with soldiers; the baggage of the troops scattered promiscuously around in the cars; trunks, valises, carpet bags, and boxes of all conceivable dimensions, holding the belongings of several neighborhoods of boys; spirits flowed without and within; congenial friends in a congenial cause; congenial topics made a congenial whole. When just below Littleton, with long stretches of lowlands on one side and the river on the other, the curling streaks of a little grey smoke made its appearance from under one of the forward cars. At first the merry good humor and enlivening effects of some amusing jest, the occasional round of a friendly bottle, prevented the men from noticing this danger signal of fire. However, a little later on this continuing and increasing volume of smoke caused an alarm to be given. Men ran to the doors on either side, shouted and called, waved hats, hands, and handkerchiefs, at the same time pointing at the smoke below. There being no communication between the cars, those in front and rear had to be guided by the wild gesticulations of those in the smoking car. The engineer did not notice anything amiss, and sat placidly upon his high seat, watching the fast receding rails as they flashed under and out of sight beneath the ponderous driving-wheels of the engine. At [40] last someone in the forward car, not accustomed to, but familiar with the dangers of a railroad car by the wild rumors given currency in his rural district of railroad wrecks, made a desperate leap from the car. This was followed by another, now equally excited. Those in the front cars, clutching to the sides of the doors, craned their necks as far as possible outward, but could see nothing but leaping men. They fearing a catastrophe of some kind, leaped also, while those in the rear cars, as they saw along the sides of the railroad track men leaping, rolling, and tumbling on the ground, took it for granted that a desperate calamity had happened to a forward car. No time for questions, no time for meditation. The soldier's only care was to watch for a soft place to make his desperate leap, and in many cases there was little choice. Men leaped wildly in the air, some with their heels up, others falling on their heads and backs, some rolling over in a mad scramble to clear themselves from the threatening danger. The engineer not being aware of anything wrong with the train, glided serenely along, unconscious of the pandemonium, in the rear. But when all had about left the train, and the great driving-wheels began to spin around like mad, from the lightening of the load, the master of the throttle looked to the rear. There lay stretched prone upon the ground, or limping on one foot, or rolling over in the dirt, some bareheaded and coatless, boxes and trunks scattered as in an awful collision, upwards of one thousand men along the railroad track. Many of the men thinking, no doubt, the train hopelessly lost, or serious danger imminent, threw their baggage out before making the dangerous leap. At last the train was stopped and brought back to the scene of desolation. It terminated like the bombardment of Fort Sumter—"no one hurt," and all occasioned by a hot-box that could have been cooled in a very few minutes. Much swearing and good-humored jesting were now engaged in. Such is the result of the want of presence of mind. A wave of the hat at the proper moment as a signal to the engineer to stop, and all would have been well. It was told once of a young lady crossing a railroad track in front of a fast approaching train, that her shoe got fastened in the frog where the two rails join. She began to struggle, then to scream, and then fainted. A crowd rushed up, some [41] grasping the lady's body attempted to pull her loose by force; others shouted to the train to stop; some called for crow-bars to take up the iron. At last one man pushed through the crowd, untied the lady's shoe, and she was loose. Presence of mind, and not force, did it.
Remaining in camp a few days, orders came to move, and cars were gotten in readiness and baggage packed preparatory to the trip to Virginia. To many, especially those reared in the back districts, and who, before their brief army life, had never been farther from their homes than their county seat, the trip to the old "Mother of Presidents," the grand old commonwealth, was quite a journey indeed. The old negroes, who had been brought South during the early days of the century, called the old State "Virginy" and mixing it with local dialect, in some parts had got the name so changed that it was called "Ferginey." The circus troops and negro comedians, in their annual trips through the Southern States, had songs already so catchy to our people, on account of their pathos and melody, of Old Virginia, that now it almost appeared as though we were going to our old home. Virginia had been endeared to us and closely connected with the people of South Carolina by many links, not the least being its many sentimental songs of that romantic land, and the stories of her great men.
The baggage of the common soldier at this stage of the war would have thrown an ordinary quartermaster of latter day service into an epileptic fit, it was so ponderous in size and enormous in quantities—a perfect household outfit. A few days before this the soldier had received his first two months' pay, all in new crisp bank notes, fresh from the State banks or banks of deposit. It can be easily imagined that there were lively times for the butcher, the baker and candlestick maker, with all this money afloat. The Third South Carolina was transported by way of Wilmington and Weldon, N.C. Had there ever existed any doubts in the country as to the feelings of the people of the South before this in regard to Secession, it was entirely dispelled by the enthusiastic cheers and good will of the people along the road. The conduct of the men and women through South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia, showed one long and continued ovation along the line of travel, looking like a general holiday. As [42] the cars sped along through the fields, the little hamlets and towns, people of every kind, size, and complexion rushed to the railroad and gave us welcome and Godspeed. Hats went into the air as we passed, handkerchiefs fluttered, flags waved in the gentle summer breeze from almost every housetop. The ladies and old men pressed to the side of the cars when we halted, to shake the hands of the brave soldier boys, and gave them blessings, hope and encouragement. The ladies vied with the men in doing homage to the soldiers of the Palmetto State. Telegrams had been sent on asking of our coming, the hour of our passage through the little towns, and inviting us to stop and enjoy their hospitality and partake of refreshments. In those places where a stop was permitted, long tables were spread in some neighboring grove or park, bending under the weight of their bounties, laden down with everything tempting to the soldier's appetite. The purest and best of the women mingled freely with the troops, and by every device known to the fair sex showed their sympathy and encouragement in the cause we had espoused. At Wilmington, N.C., we crossed the Cape Fear River on a little river steamer, the roads not being connected with a bridge. At Petersburg and Richmond we had to march through portions of those cities in going from one depot to another, union sheds, not being in vogue at that time, and on our entry into these cities the population turned out en masse to welcome and extend to us their greeting. Every private house stood open to the soldiers and the greatest good will was everywhere manifested.
Much has been said in after years, since misfortune and ruin overtook the South, since the sad reverses of the army and the overthrow of our principles, about leaders plunging the nation into a bloody and uncalled for war. This, is all the height of folly. No man or combination of men could have stayed or avoided war. No human persuasion or earthly power could have stayed the great wave of revolution that had struck the land; and while, like a storm widening and gathering strength and fury as it goes, to have attempted it would have been but to court ruin and destruction. Few men living in that period of our country's history would have had the boldness or hardihood to counsel submission or inactivity. Differences there may have been and were as to methods, but to Secession, none. The voices [43] of the women of the land were alone enough to have forced the measures upon the men in some shape or other. Then, as to the leaders being "shirkers" when the actual contest came, the history of the times gives contradictions sufficient without examples. Where the duties of the service called, they willingly obeyed. All could not fill departments or sit in the councils of the nation, but none shirked the responsibility the conditions called them to. Where fathers filled easy places their sons were in the ranks, and many of our leaders of Secession headed troops in the field. General Bonham, our Brigadier, had just resigned his seat in the United States Congress; so had L.M. Keitt, who fell at Cold Harbor at the head of our brigade, while Colonel of the Twentieth Regiment. James L. Orr, one of the original Secessionists and a member of Congress, raised the first regiment of rifles. The son of Governor Gist, the last Executive of South Carolina just previous to Secession, fell while leading his regiment, the Fifteenth, of our brigade, in the assault at Fort Loudon, at Knoxville. Scarcely was there a member of the convention that passed the Ordinance of Secession who had not a son or near kinsman in the ranks of the army. They showed by their deeds the truth and honesty of their convictions. They had trusted the North until trusting had ceased to be a virtue. They wished peace, but feared not war. All this idle talk, so common since the war, of a "rich man's war and a poor man's fight" is the merest twaddle and vilely untrue.
The men of the South had risked their all upon the cast, and were willing to abide by the hazard of the die. All the great men of South Carolina were for Secession, and they nobly entered the field. The Hamptons, Butlers, Haskells, Draytons, Bonhams, all readily grasped the sword or musket. The fire-eaters, like Bob Toombs, of Georgia, and Wigfall, of Texas, led brigades, and were as fiery upon the battlefield as they had been upon the floor of the United States Senate. So with all the leaders of Secession, without exception; they contributed their lives, their services, and their wealth to the cause they had advocated and loved so well. I make this departure here to correct an opinion or belief, originated and propagated by the envious few who did not rise to distinction in the war, or who were too young to participate in its glories—those glories that were mutual and will [44] ever surround the Confederate soldier, regardless of rank.
After stopping a few days in Richmond, we were carried on to Manassas and Bull Run, then to Fairfax, where we joined the other regiments. The Third Regiment camped first at Mitchell's Ford, remained at that point for a week or ten days, and from thence moved to the outpost just beyond Fairfax Court House. The Eighth and Second camped for a while at Germantown, and soon the whole brigade was between Fairfax and Bull Run.
General Bonham had gathered around him, as staff officers, a galaxy of gentlemen as cultured, talented, and patriotic as South Carolina could produce, and as gallant as ever followed a general upon the battlefield; all of whom won promotion and distinction as the war progressed in the different branches of service.
Colonel Samuel Melton, one of the staff, writing in a pleasant mood, thirty-five years afterwards, says: "That with universal acclamation it may be said, that the retinue gathered around the General of the old First Brigade was a gorgeous one. I am proud of it 'until yet.'"
This staff of General Bonham's was the one allowed by the State service, and the appointments were made under State laws. However, all followed him into the Confederate service, and, with a few exceptions, remained until after the battle of Manassas, serving without pay. The Confederate Government was much more modest in its appointment of staff officers, and only allowed a Brigadier General three or four members as his personal staff.
[45]The following is a list of officers who followed General Bonham to Virginia, or joined him soon after his arrival:
W.C. Morayne, Assistant Adjutant General, with rank of Colonel.
W.D. Simpson, Inspector General.
A.P. Aldrich, Quartermaster General.
R.B. Boylston, Commissary General.
J.N. Lipscomb, Paymaster General.
Aides, with rank of Major: S.W. Melton, B.F. Withers, T.J. Davis, E.S. Hammond, S. Warren Nelson, Samuel Tompkins, W.P. Butler, M.B. Lipscomb.
Colonel S. McGowan, Volunteer Aide.
Dr. Reeves, of Virginia, was Brigade Surgeon.
Colonels Morayne and Boylston remained only a few weeks. Captain George W. Say, an officer of the Confederate staff, succeeded Colonel Morayne, and remained a short while, when he was promoted and sent elsewhere. Colonel Lipscomb became the regular aide, with rank of First Lieutenant.
When Captain Say left, S.W. Melton was put in his place as Assistant Adjutant General, without appointment or without pay, and discharged the duties of that office until August, when he left on sick leave. When he returned he was appointed Major and Assistant Adjutant General, and assigned to duty upon the staff of Major General G.W. Smith, commanding Second Corps of the Army of the Potomac. In 1863 he was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel and assigned to duty in the war department.
William F. Nance, of Newberry, was appointed Captain and Assistant Adjutant General, and in September, 1861, was assigned to duty upon General Bonham's staff, where he remained until the General's resignation. In 1864 Nance was on duty in Charleston, where he remained on staff duty until the end.
S. McGowan and W.D. Simpson returned to South Carolina after the battle of Manassas, and assisted in raising the Fourteenth South Carolina Regiment of Volunteers, of which the former was elected Lieutenant Colonel and the latter Major. Colonel McGowan became Colonel of the regiment, and afterwards Brigadier of one of the most [46] famous brigades (McGowan's) in the Confederate Army. Colonel Simpson served in the Confederate Congress after his retirement from the army.
All the others of the staff filled prominent positions, either as commanding or staff officers, or serving in the departments in Richmond. I have no data at hand to give sketches of their individual services.
Fairfax Court House was the extreme limit at which the infantry was posted on that side of the Blue Ridge. Cavalry was still in advance, and under the leadership of the indefatigable Stuart scouting the whole front between the Confederate and Federal armies. The Third South Carolina was encamped about a mile north of the little old fashioned hamlet, the county seat of the county of that name. In this section of the State lived the ancestors of most of the illustrious families of Virginia, Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, and Lee. It is a rather picturesque country; not so beautiful and productive, however, as the Shenandoah and Luray Valleys. The Seventh, Eighth, and Second Regiments were encamped several miles distant, but all in the hearing of one another's drums. Our main duties outside of our regular drills consisted in picketing the highways and blockading all roads by felling the timber across for more than a hundred yards on either side of the roads. Large details armed with axes were sent out to blockade the thoroughfares leading to Washington and points across the Potomac. For miles out, in all directions, wherever the road led through wooded lands, large trees, chestnut, hickory, oak, and pine, were cut pell mell, creating a perfect abattis across the road—so much so as to cause our troops in their verdant ignorance to think it almost an impossibility for such obstructions to be cleared away in many days; whereas, as a fact, the pioneer corps of the Federal Army cleared it away as fast as the army marched, not causing as much as one hour's halt. Every morning at nine o'clock one company from a regiment would go out about two miles in the direction of Washington Falls church or Annandale to do picket duty, and remain until nine o'clock next day, when it would be relieved by another company. The "Black Horse Cavalry," an old organization of Virginia, said to have remained intact since the Revolution, did vidette duty still beyond the [47] infantry. Their duties were to ride through the country in every direction, and on every road and by-way to give warning of approaching danger to the infantry. These were bold riders in those days, some daring to ride even within view of the spires and domes of Washington itself. On our outposts we could plainly hear the sound of the drums of the Federalists in their preparation for the "on to Richmond" move. General Bonham had also some fearless scouts at this time. Even some of the boldest of the women dared to cross the Potomac in search of information for the Confederate Generals. It was here that the noted Miss Bell Boyd made herself famous by her daring rides, her many escapades and hair-breadth escapes, her bold acts of crossing the Potomac sometimes disguised and at other times not, even entering the City of Washington itself. In this way she gathered much valuable information for the Confederate Generals, and kept them posted on the movements of the enemy. She was one of the best horsewomen of that day; a fine specimen of womanhood, and as fearless and brave as a stout hearted cavalier. She generally carried a brace of Colt's revolvers around her waist, and was daring enough to meet any foe who was so bold as to cross her path. Bell Boyd was one of the many noble Virginia women who staked and dared all for the cause of the South. William Parley, of South Carolina, another bold scout, was invaluable to General Stuart and General Bonham. It was he that John Esten Cooke immortalized in "Surry of Eagle's Nest" and was killed at the battle of Chancellorsville. He was a native of Laurens County.
The duties of picketing were the first features of our army life that looked really like war. The soldiers had become accustomed to guard duty, but to be placed out on picket or vidette posts alone, or in company with a comrade, to stand all day and during the dead hours of the night, expecting some lurking foe every moment to shoot you in the back, or from behind some bush to shoot your head off, was quite another matter. As a guard, we watched over our friends; as a picket, we watched for our foe. For a long time, being no nearer the enemy than the hearing of their drums, the soldiers had grown somewhat careless. But there was an uncanny feeling in standing alone in the still hours of the night, in a strange country, watching, waiting [48] for an enemy to crawl up and shoot you unawares. This feeling was heightened, especially in my company, by an amusing incident that happened while on picket duty on the Annandale road. Up to this time there had been no prisoners captured on either side, and it was uncertain as to what would be the fate of any who would fall in the enemy's hands. As we were considered traitors and rebels, the penalty for that crime was, as we all knew, death. The Northern press had kept up quite a howl, picturing the long rows of traitors that would be hung side by side as soon as they had captured the Confederate Army. That there was a good deal of "squeamishness" felt at the idea of being captured, cannot be doubted. So videttes were stationed several hundred yards down the road with a picket post of four men, between the outside sentinels and the company, as reserve. A large pine thicket was to our right, while on the left was an old field with here and there a few wild cherry trees. The cherries being ripe, some of the men had gone up in the trees to treat themselves to this luscious little fruit. The other part of the company lay indolently about, sheltering themselves as best they could from the rays of the hot July sun, under the trees. Some lay on the tops of fences, and in corners, while not a few, with coats and vests off, enjoyed a heated game of "old sledge." All felt a perfect security, for with the pickets in front, the cavalry scouring the country, and the almost impassable barricades of the roads, seemed to render it impossible for an enemy to approach unobserved. The guns leaned carelessly against the fence or lay on the ground, trappings, etc., scattered promiscuously around. Not a dream of danger; no thought of a foe. While the men were thus pleasantly engaged, and the officers taking an afternoon nap, from out in the thicket on the right came "bang-bang," and a hail of bullets came whizzing over our heads. What a scramble! What an excitement! What terror depicted on the men's faces! Had a shower of meteors fallen in our midst, had a volcano burst from the top of the Blue Ridge, or had a thunder bolt fell at our feet out of the clear blue sky, the consternation could not have been greater. Excitement, demoralization, and panic ensued. Men tumbled off the fences, guns were reached for, haversacks and canteens hastily grabbed, and, as usual in such panics, no one could get hold of his own. Some started [49] up the road, some down. Officers thus summarily aroused were equally demoralized. Some gave one order, some another. "Pandemonium reigned supreme." Those in the cherry trees came down, nor did the "cherry pickers" stand on the order of their coming. The whole Yankee army was thought to be over the hills. At last the officer commanding got the men halted some little distance up the road; a semblance of a line formed, men cocked their guns and peered anxiously through the cracks of the rail fence, expecting to see an enemy behind every tree. A great giant, a sergeant from the mountain section, who stood six feet, three inches in his stockings, and as brave as he was big, his face flushed with excitement, his whole frame trembling with emotion, in his shirt sleeves and bareheaded, rushed to the middle of the road, braced himself, as waiting for some desperate shock, and stood like Horatio Cockles at the Bridge, waving his gun in the air, calling out in defiant and stentorian voice, "Come on, I'll fight all of you; I'll fight old Lincoln from here to the sea." Such a laugh as was set up afterwards, at his expense! The amusing part of it was the parties who fired the shots at the time the stampeding was going on with us, were running for dear life's sake across the fields, worse scared, if possible, than we ourselves. They were three of a scouting party, who had eluded our pickets, and seeing our good, easy, and indifferent condition, took it into their heads to have a little amusement at our expense. But the sound of their guns in the quiet surrounding, no doubt excited the Yankees as much as it did the Confederates. This was an adventure not long in reaching home, for to be shot at by a real live Yankee was an event in every one's life at the time not soon to be forgotten. But it was so magnified, that by the time it reached home, had not the battle of Bull Run come in its heels so soon, this incident would no doubt have ever remained to those who were engaged in it as one of the battles of the war. The only casualty was a hole shot through a hat. I write this little incident to show the difference in raw and seasoned troops. One year later such an incident would not have disturbed those men any more than the buzzing of a bee. Picket duty after this incident was much more stringent. Two men were made to stand on post all night, without relief, only such as they [50] gave each other. Half of the company's reserve were kept awake all night. Orders were given that the utmost silence should prevail, the men were not even to speak above a whisper, and on the approach of anyone they were to be hailed with the command, "Halt, who comes there?" If a satisfactory answer was given, they were allowed to pass. If not, to remain standing, and an officer of the guard called. At night they were to call "halt" three times, and if no answer, they were to fire and retreat to the reserve.
One night, shortly after this, one of the companies from Spartanburg had been sent out about three miles to the intersection of a country road leading off to the left. Down this country road, or lane, were two pickets. They concealed themselves during the day in the fence corners, but at night they crawled over into a piece of timber land, and crouched down behind a large oak. The shooting incident of a few days before made the two pickets feel somewhat tender at thus being alone in the forest, when at any moment an enemy might creep upon them sufficiently near as to shoot them in the dark. Everything was as quiet as the grave. The stars, peeping faintly out from behind the clouds, midnight came, and each began to nod, when a twig breaks some distance in front, then another, then the rustling of dry leaves. Their hearts leap to their throats and beat like sledge hammers. One whispers to the other, "Whist, some one is coming." They strain their ears to better catch the sound. Surely enough they hear the leaves rustling as if some one is approaching. "Click," "click," the two hammers of their trusty rifles spring back, fingers upon the triggers, while nearer the invisible comes. "Halt," rang out in the midnight air; "halt," once more, but still the steady tread keeps approaching. When the third "halt" was given it was accompanied by the crack of their rifles. A deafening report and frightful squeal, as an old female porker went charging through the underbrush like mad. The crack of the rifles alarmed the sleeping companions in reserve, who rushed to arms and awaited the attack. But after much good humored badgering of the two frightened sentinels, "peace reigned once more at Warsaw" till the break of day. The company returned next morning to camp, but [51] the two sentinels who had fired on the old innocent porker were glad enough to seek the quietude of their quarters to escape the jests of their comrades.
A simple system of breastworks was thrown up just beyond our camp at Fairfax on a little eminence to the right of the road. This we thought sufficient to defeat quite an army, or at least keep them at bay. General Bonham had his headquarters at Fairfax Court House, but rode out daily to examine the work done on the entrenchments, or inspect the picket and outposts. General Bonham was one of the finest looking officers in the entire army. His tall, graceful figure, his commanding appearance, his noble bearing, and soldierly mien were all qualities to excite the confidence and admiration of his troops. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, with a waving plume floating out behind, and sat his horse as knightly as Charles the Bold, or Henry of Navarre. His soldiers were proud of him, and loved to do him homage. He endeared himself to his officers, and while he was a good disciplinarian as far as the volunteer service required, he did not treat his officers with that air of superiority, nor exact that rigid military courtesy that is required in the regular army. I will here give a short sketch of his life for the benefit of his old comrades in arms.
Was born near Red Bank in that part of Edgefield District now included in Saluda County, South Carolina, on the 25th day of December, 1813. His father, Captain James Bonham, who had come from Virginia to South Carolina about the close of the last century, was the son of Major Absalom Bonham, who was a native of Maryland, but who enlisted for the war of the Revolution in a New Jersey regiment, and became a Major of the line on the establishment of that State. After the Revolution he moved to Virginia. Captain James Bonham was himself at the siege of Yorktown as a lad of fifteen, in a company whose captain was only twenty years old. He first settled in this State in the District of Colleton, and there married. After the death of his wife, he moved to Edgefield District, and there married Sophie Smith, who was the mother of the subject of this sketch. She was the daughter of Jacob Smith and his wife, Sallie Butler, who was a sister of that Captain James Butler [52] who was the forefather of the illustrious family of that name in this State, and who with his young son, also named James, was cruelly massacred along with others at Cloud's Creek, in Edgefield District, by "Bloody Bill" Cunningham.
Milledge L. Bonham received his early education in the "old field" schools of the neighborhood, and his academic training under instructors at Abbeville and Edgefield. He entered the South Carolina College and graduated with second honor in 1834. Soon thereafter the Seminole or Florida war broke out, and he volunteered in the company from Edgefield, commanded by Captain James Jones, and was Orderly Sergeant of the company. During the progress of the war in Florida, he was appointed by General Bull, who commanded the South Carolina Brigade, to be Brigade Major, a position which corresponds with what is now known in military circles as Adjutant General of Brigade.
Returning from the war, he resumed the study of law and was admitted to the Bar and settled at Edgefield for the practice of his profession. In 1844 he was elected to the Legislature. He always took an ardent interest in the militia, and was first Brigadier General and afterwards Major General of militia. When the war with Mexico was declared, he was appointed lieutenant Colonel of the Twelfth United States Infantry, one of the new regiments added to the army for that war. With his regiment he went to Mexico and served with distinction throughout the war, being promoted to Colonel of the regiment, and having, by the way, for his Adjutant, Lieutenant Winfield Scott Hancock, afterwards a distinguished Major General of the Federal Army in the late war. After the cessation of hostilities, Colonel Bonham was retained in Mexico as Military Governor of one of the provinces for about a year. Being then honorably discharged, he returned to Edgefield and resumed the practice of law. In 1848 he was elected Solicitor of the Southern Circuit, composed of Edgefield, Barnwell, Orangeburg, Colleton, and Beaufort Districts. The Bars of the various Districts composing this Circuit counted among their members many of the ablest and most distinguished lawyers of the State, and hence it required the possession and industrious use of talents of no mean [53] order to sustain one's self as prosecuting officer against such an array of ability. But General Bonham continued to hold the office until 1856, when, upon the death of Hon. Preston S. Brooks, he was elected to succeed that eminent gentleman in Congress, and again in 1858 was elected for the full term. Those were the stirring times preceding the bursting of the cloud of civil war, and the debates in Congress were hot and spicy. In all these he took his full part. When South Carolina seceded from the Union, he promptly resigned his seat in Congress, and was appointed by Governor Pickens Commander-in-Chief of all the forces of South Carolina with the rank of Major General. In this capacity, and waiving all question of rank and precedence, at the request of Governor Pickens, he served on the coast on Morris' Island with General Beauregard, who had been sent there by the Provisional Government of the Confederacy to take command of the operations around Charleston. On the permanent organization of the Confederate Government, General Bonham was appointed by President Davis a Brigadier General in the Army of the Confederate States. His brigade consisted of four South Carolina regiments, commanded respectively by Colonels Kershaw, Williams, Cash, and Bacon, and General Bonham used to love to say that no finer body of men were ever assembled together in one command. With this brigade he went to Virginia, and they were the first troops other than Virginia troops that landed in Richmond for its defense. With them he took part in the operations around Fairfax, Vienna, Centerville, and the first battle of Manassas.
Afterwards, in consequence of a disagreement with the Department of War, he resigned from the army. Soon thereafter he was elected to the Confederate Congress, in which body he served until he was elected Governor of this State in December, 1862. It was a trying time to fill that office, and President Davis, in letters, bears witness to the fact that no one of the Governors of the South gave him more efficient aid and support than did Governor Bonham. At the expiration of his term of office, in January, 1865, he was appointed to the command of a brigade of cavalry, and at once set to work to organize it, but the surrender of Johnston's army put an end to the war.
[54]Returning from the war broken in fortune, as were all of his people, he remained for a year or more on his plantation on Saluda River, in Edgefield County. He then moved to Edgefield Court House, again to take up his practice, so often interrupted by calls to arms. He was elected to the Legislature in 1866, just preceding Reconstruction, but with the coming of that political era he, in common with all the white men of the State, was debarred from further participation in public affairs. In the movement known as the Tax-payers Convention, which had for its object the relief of the people from Republican oppression and corruption, he took part as one of the delegates sent by this convention to Washington to lay before President Grant the condition of the people of the "Prostrate State." He took an active interest and part in the political revolution of 1876 and warmly advocated what was known as "the straightout policy" and the nomination of Wade Hampton as Governor.
In 1878 Governor Simpson appointed him the first Railroad Commissioner under the Act just passed, and subsequently when the number of the Commissioners was increased to three, he was elected Chairman of the Commission, in which position he continued until his death, on the 27th day of August, 1890. He died suddenly from the rupture of a blood vessel while on a visit to Haywood White Sulphur Springs, N.C.
General Bonham married on November 13th, 1845, Ann Patience, a daughter of Nathan L. Griffin, Esq., a prominent lawyer of Edgefield. She survived him four years, and of their union there are living eight children.
Attached to Bonham's Brigade was Kemper's Battery of light artillery, commanded by Captain Dell Kemper. This company was from Alexandria, Va., just over the Potomac from Washington. This organization was part of the old State militia, known as volunteer companies, and had been in existence as such for many years. It being in such close proximity to Washington, the sentiment of the company was divided, like all companies on the border. Some of the company were in favor of joining the Union Army, while others wished to go with the State. Much discussion took place at this time among the members as to which side they would join, but Captain Kemper, with a great display of coolness [55] and courage, cut the Gordian knot by taking those with him of Southern sentiment, like himself, and on one dark night he pulled out from Alexandria with his cannon and horses and made his way South to join the Southern Army. That was the last time any of that gallant band ever saw their native city for more than four years, and many of the poor fellows looked upon it that night for the last time. Between them and the South Carolinians sprang up a warm attachment that continued during the war. They remained with us as a part of the brigade for nearly two years, or until the artillery was made a separate branch of the service. While in winter quarters, when many troops were granted furloughs, those men having no home to which they could visit like the others, were invited by members of the brigade to visit their own homes in South Carolina and remain with their families the length of their leave of absence. Many availed themselves of these kind invitations, and spent a pleasant month in the hospitable homes of this State. The ladies of South Carolina, appreciating their isolated condition and forced separation from their homes, with no kind mother or sister with opportunities to cheer them with their delicate favors, made them all a handsome uniform and outfit of underwear, and sent to them as a Christmas gift. Never during the long years of the struggle did the hearts of South Carolinians fail to respond to those of the brave Virginians, when they heard the sound of Kemper's guns belching forth death and destruction to the enemy, or when the battle was raging loud and furious.
On the morning of the 16th of July, when all was still and quiet in camp, a puff of blue smoke from a hill about three miles off, followed by the roar of a cannon, the hissing noise of a shell overhead, its loud report, was the first intimation the troops had that the enemy had commenced the advance, it is needless to say excitement and consternation overwhelmed the camp. While all were expecting and anxiously awaiting it, still the idea of being now in the face of a real live enemy, on the eve of a great battle, where death and horrors of war, such as all had heard of but never realized, came upon them with no little feelings of dread and emotion. No man living, nor any who ever lived, retaining his natural faculties, ever faced death [56] in battle without some feeling of dread or superstitious awe. The soldiers knew, too, the eyes of the world were upon them, that they were to make the history for their generation. Tents were hurriedly struck, baggage rolled and thrown into wagons, with which the excited teamsters were not long in getting into the pike road. Drums beat the assembly, troops formed in line and took position behind the breastwork; while the artillery galloped up to the front and unlimbered, ready for action. The enemy threw twenty-pound shells repeatedly over the camp, that did no further damage than add to the consternation of the already excited teamsters, who seemed to think the safety of the army depended on their getting out of the way. It was an exciting scene to see four-horse teams galloping down the pike at break-neck speed, urged forward by the frantic drivers.
It was the intention of McDowell, the Federal Chief, to surprise the advance at Fairfax Court House and cut off their retreat. Already a column was being hurried along the Germantown road, that intersected the main road four miles in our rear at the little hamlet of Germantown. But soon General Bonham had his forces, according to preconcerted arrangements, following the retreating trains along the pike towards Bull Run. Men overloaded with baggage, weighted down with excitement, went at a double quick down the road, panting and sweating in the noonday sun, while one of the field officers in the rear accelerated the pace by a continual shouting, "Hurry up, men, they are firing on our rear." This command was repeated so often and persistently that it became a by-word in our brigade, so much so that when anything was wanted to be done with speed the order was always accompanied with, "Hurry up, men, they are firing on our rear." The negro servants, evincing no disposition to be left behind, rushed along with the wagon train like men beset. While we were on the double-quick, some one noticed a small Confederate flag floating lazily in the breeze from a tall pine pole that some soldier had put up at his tent, but by the hurried departure neglected to take down. Its owner could not entertain the idea of leaving this piece of bunting as a trophy for the enemy, so risking the chance of capture, he ran back, cut the staff, and returned almost out of breath to his company with the coveted flag. We were none too precipitate in our [57] movement, for as we were passing through Germantown we could see the long rows of glistening bayonets of the enemy crowning the hills to our right. We stopped in Centerville until midnight, then resumed the march, reaching Bull Run at Mitchell's Ford as the sun was just rising above the hill tops.
Colonel Kershaw and Colonel Cash were filing down the east bank to the left, while Colonels Williams and Bacon occupied some earthworks on the right. These had been erected by former troops, who had encamped there before us. General Beauregard had divided his troops into six brigades, putting regiments of the same State together, as far as possible, Bonham's being First Brigade. Beauregard was determined to make Bull Run his line of defense. This is a slow, sluggish stream, only fordable at certain points, its banks steep and rather rocky with a rough plateau reaching back from either side. The western being the more elevated, gave the enemy the advantage in artillery practice. In fact, the banks on the western side at some points came up to the stream in a bluff—especially so at Blackburn's Ford. In the rear and in the direction of the railroad was the now famous Manassas Plains. The Confederate line extended five miles, from Union Mills Ford to Stone Bridge. At the latter place was General Evans, of South Carolina, with two regiments and four pieces of artillery. On the extreme right, Ewell with his brigade and a battery of twelve-pounders was posted at Union Mills. McLean's Ford was guarded by D.R. Jones' brigade, with two brass six-pounders. Longstreet with two six-pounders, and Bonham with two batteries of artillery and a squadron of cavalry, guarded the fords at Blackburn's and Mitchell's respectively. Early's Brigade acted as reserve on the right. In rear of the other fords was Cooke's Brigade and one battery. The entire force on the roll on July 11th consisted of 27 pieces of light artillery and 534 men; cavalry, 1425; foot artillery, 265; infantry, 16,150—18,401, comprising the grand total of all arms of General Beauregard one week before the first battle. Now it must be understood that this includes the sick, guards, and those on outpost duty. McDowell had 37,300 of mostly seasoned troops.
[58]The morning of the 18th opened bright and sunny. To our rear was all bustle and commotion, and it looked like a vast camp of wagon trains. From the surrounding country all wagons had been called in from the foraging expeditions laden with provisions. Herds of cattle were corralled to secure the troops fresh beef, while the little fires scattered over the vast plains showed that the cooking details were not idle. General Beauregard had his headquarters on the hill in our rear.
At eight o'clock on the 18th, McDowell pushed his leading division forward at Blackburn's Ford, where two old comrades, but now facing each other as foes, General Tyler and General Longstreet, were to measure strength and generalship. The Washington Artillery, under Captain Richardson, of New Orleans, a famous battery throughout the war, which claims the distinction of firing the first gun at Bull Run and the last at Appomattox, was with Longstreet to aid him with their brass six-pounders.
The enemy advanced over the plain and up to the very bluff overlooking the stream, and a very short distance from where Longstreet's force lay, but the Washington Artillery had been raking the field all the while, from an eminence in the rear, while the infantry now began to fire in earnest. The elevated position gave the enemy great advantage, and at one time General Longstreet had to call up his reserves, but the advantageous assault was speedily repulsed as soon as the Southern troops became more calm and better accustomed to the fire and tension of the battlefield. Several assaults were made, one immediately after the other, but each time Southern valor overcame Northern discipline. From our position at Mitchell's Ford, we could hear the fierce, continual roll of the infantry fire, mingled with the deafening thunder of the cannon. Bonham was under a continual shelling from long range, by twenty pounders, some reaching as far in the rear as the wagon yard. After the fourth repulse, and Longstreet had his reserves well in hand, he felt himself strong enough to take the initiative. Plunging through the marshes and lagoons that bordered the stream, the troops crossed over and up the bluff, but when on the heights they met another advance of the enemy, who were soon sent scampering from the field. Then was first heard the famous "Rebel yell." The Confederates finding themselves victorious in this their first engagement, [59] gave vent to their feelings by uttering such a yell as suited each individual best, forming for all time the famous "Rebel Yell." Longstreet withdrew his forces to the east side, but a continual fusilade of artillery was kept up until night. Some of our soldiers visited the battlefield that night and next day, and brought in many trophies and mementoes of the day's fight, such as blankets, oilcloths, canteens, guns, etc.
Of the battle of the 18th, the enemy seemed to make little, and called it a "demonstration" at which General Tyler exceeded his orders, and pushed his troops too far. However, the Confederates were very well satisfied with the contest where the first blood was drawn. General Johnston, who at this time was up in the Shenandoah Valley, near Winchester, was asked by General Beauregard to come to his relief. He was confronted himself by General Patterson, an able Federal General, with a largely superior army. This General Johnston had assurance to believe was preparing to advance, and his own danger great. Still by a strategem, he succeeded in quietly withdrawing his troops, and began the hazardous undertaking of re-enforcing Beauregard. Some of his troops he placed upon the cars at Piedmont, and sped along o'er mountains and glens with lightning speed, while the others on foot came over and through the torturous mountain passes without halt or rest, bending all their energies to meet Beauregard upon the plains of Manassas. Couriers came on foaming steeds, their bloody sides showing the impress of the riders' spurs, bringing the glad tidings to the Army of the Potomac that succor was near. Beauregard was busy with the disposition of his troops, preparing to give battle, while the soldiers worked with a will erecting some hasty breastworks.
At this point I will digress for the moment to relate an incident of [60] the Federal march, to show the brutal cowardice and baseness of the Federals in making war upon the non-combatants—women and children—and also the unyielding spirit and inflexible courage of our Southern people. Those dispositions were manifested on both sides throughout the whole war. It is unnecessary to say that feeling ran high on the border, as elsewhere, and everyone was anxious to display his colors in order to show to the world how his feelings ran. Confederate flags waved from many housetops along the border, and on the morning the Federals crossed the Potomac from Washington to Alexandria, many little pieces of bunting, displaying stars and bars, floated from the houses in that old sleeping city of Alexandria. Among that number was a violent Secessionist named Jackson. Colonel Ellsworth, commanding the New York Zouaves, the advance guard, ordered all flags with Confederate devices to be torn down by force. The soldiers thus engaged in the debasing acts of entering private dwellings, insulting the inmates with the vilest epithets, ruthlessly tore down the hated emblems of the South everywhere. When they came to Jackson's house they met the fiery defender of his home on the landing of the stairs, rifle in hand, who with determined air informed the Federal soldiers that whoever lowered his flag would meet instant death. Staggered and dazed by such a determined spirit, they lost no time in reporting the fact to Colonel Ellsworth. Enraged beyond all control by this cool impudence, Ellsworth rushed to Jackson's house, followed by a squad of soldiers. On reaching the landing he, too, met Jackson with his eyes flashing fire and determination, his whole frame trembling with the emotion he felt, his rifle cocked and to his shoulder, boldly declaring, "Whoever tears down that flag, dies in his tracks." Ellsworth and party thought this threat could not be real, and only Southern braggadocio. Brushing past the determined hero, Ellsworth snatched the hated flag from its fastening, but at that instant he fell dead at the feet of his adversary. The report of Jackson's rifle told too plainly that he had kept his word. The soldiers who had followed and witnessed the death of their commander, riddled the body of the Southern martyr with bullets, and not satisfied with his death, mutilated his body beyond recognition. Thus [61] fell the first martyr to Southern principles. The South never showed this disposition of hatred on any occasion, for in after years while marching through Pennsylvania Union flags floated unmolested from housetops, over towns, and cities. The soldiers only laughed and ridiculed the stars and stripes. The South feared no display of sentiment, neither did they insult women and non-combatants.
A like occurrence happened in New Orleans a few years later, where General Butler commanded, and gained the unenviable sobriquet of "Beast" by his war upon the women and those not engaged in the struggle, and by trampling upon every right and liberty sacred to the people. He had issued some degrading order, which the citizens were bound in pain of death to obey. One brave man, Mumford, refused, preferring death to obeying this humiliating order. For this he was torn from the embrace of his devoted family, and, in sight of his wife and children, placed in a wagon, forced to ride upon his own coffin, and in the public square was hanged like a felon.
General Johnston, with a portion of his troops, reached the field on the 20th, and his forces were placed in rear of those of Beauregard as reserves. On the night of the 20th, both opposing generals, by a strange coincidence, had formed plans of the battle for the next day, and both plans were identical. Beauregard determined to advance his right by echelon of brigades, commencing with Ewell at Union Mills, then Jones and Longstreet were to cross Bull Run, with Bonham as a pivot, and attack McDowell in flank and rear. This was the identical plan conceived and carried out by the enemy, but with little success, as events afterwards showed. The only difference was McDowell got his blow in first by pushing his advance columns forward up the Warrenton Road on our left, in the direction of the Stone Bridge. He attacked General Evans, who had the Fourth South Carolina and Wheat's Battalion of Louisiana Tigers, on guard at this point, with great energy and zeal. But under cover of a dense forest, he moved his main body of troops still higher up the Run, crossed at Sudley's Ford, and came down on Evans' rear. Fighting "Shanks Evans," as he was afterwards called, met this overwhelming force with stubborn resistance and a [62] reckless courage. The enemy from the opposite side of the Run was sending in a continued shower of shot and shell, which threatened the annihilation of the two little six-pounders and the handful of infantry that Evans had. But support soon reached him, the Brigade of Bee's coming up; still he was pressed back beyond a small stream in his rear. Bee, with his own and Bartow's Brigade, with a battery of artillery, were all soon engaged, but the whole column was forced back in the valley below. Jackson came upon the crest of the hill in their rear at this juncture, and on this column the demoralized troops were ordered to rally. It was here Jackson gained the name of "Stonewall," for Bee, to animate and reassure his own men, pointed to Jackson and said: "Look at Jackson, he stands like a stonewall." But the gallant South Carolinian who gave the illustrious chieftain the famous name of "Stonewall" did not live long enough to see the name applied, for in a short time he fell, pierced through with a shot, which proved fatal. Hampton, with his Legion, came like a whirlwind upon the field, and formed on the right, other batteries were brought into play, still the enemy pressed forward. Stone Bridge being uncovered, Tyler crossed his troops over, and joined those of Hunter and Heintzelman coming from Sudley's Ford. This united the three divisions of the enemy, and they made a vigorous and pressing assault upon the demoralized Confederates. The roar of the cannon became continuous, the earth trembled from this storm of battle, sulphurous smoke obscures the sky, the air vibrates with shrieking shot and shell, men rush madly to the charge. Our small six-pounders against their twelve and twenty-pounders, manned by the best artillerists at the North, was quite an uneven combat. Johnston and Beauregard had now come upon the field and aided in giving order and confidence to the troops now badly disorganized by the fury of the charge. The battle raged in all its fierceness; the infantry and artillery, by their roaring and thunder-like tone, gave one the impression of a continued, protracted electrical storm, and to those at a distance it sounded like "worlds at war." On the plateau between the Lewis House and the Henry House the battle raged fast and furious with all the varying fortunes of battle. Now victorious—now defeated—the enemy advances over hill, [63] across plateaus, to be met with stubborn resistance first, then driven flying from the field. Around the Henry House the battle was desperate and hand to hand. Here the Louisiana Battalion, under Major Wheat, immortalized itself by the fury of its assault. Again and again was the house taken and lost, retaken and lost again; the men, seeking cover, rushed up around and into it, only to be driven away by the storm of shot and shell sent hurling through it. Now our troops would be dislodged, but rallying they rushed again to the assault and retook it. Twelve o'clock came, and the battle was far from being decided. Bartow fell, then Bee. The wounded and dead lay strewn over the entire field from the Henry House to the bridge. Away to the left is seen the glitter of advancing bayonets, with flags waving, and the steady tread of long lines of soldiers marching through the open field. They are first thought to be the enemy, seeking to turn our left. Officers and men turned pale at the sight of the unexpected foe. Couriers were sent to Longstreet and Bonham to prepare to cover the retreat, for the day was now thought to be lost, and a retreat inevitable. The troops proved to be friends. Elzeys and Kirby Smith on the way from the Valley to Manassas, hearing the firing of the guns, left the cars and hurried to the scene of action. Cheer after cheer now rent the air, for relief was now at hand. They were put in on the left, but soon General Kirby Smith fell wounded, and had to be borne from the field. Other reinforcements were on the way to relieve the pressure that was convincing to the generals commanding, even, that the troops could not long endure. The Second and Eighth South Carolina Regiments, under the command of Colonels Kershaw and Cash, were taken from the line at Mitchell's Ford and hurried forward. When all the forces, were gotten well in hand, a general forward movement was made. But the enemy met it with a determined front. The shrieking and bursting of shells shook the very earth, while the constant roll of the infantry sounded like continual peals of heavy thunder. Here and there an explosion, like a volcanic eruption, told of a caisson being blown up by the bursting of a shell. The enemy graped the field right and left, and had a decided advantage in the forenoon when their long range twenty-pounders played [64] havoc with our advancing and retreating columns, while our small four and six-pounders could not reach their batteries. But in the after part of the day, when the contending forces were nearer together, Rickett's and Griffin's Batteries, the most celebrated at that time in the Northern Army, could not stand the precision and impetuosity of Kemper's, the Washington, Stannard's, Pendleton's, and Pelham's Batteries as they graped the field. The Second and Eighth South Carolina coming up at a double quick, joined Hampton's Legion, with Early, Cox, and the troops from the Valley just in time to be of eminent service at a critical moment. The clear clarion voice of Kershaw gave the command, "Forward!" and when repeated in the stentorian voice of Cash, the men knew what was expected of them, answered the call, and leaped to the front with a will. The enemy could no longer withstand the desperate onslaught of the Confederate Volunteers, and McDowell now began to interest himself with the doubtful problem of withdrawing his troops at this critical juncture. With the rugged banks of the deep, sluggish stream in his rear, and only a few places it could be crossed, with a long sheet of flame blazing out from the compact lines of the Confederates into the faces of his men, his position was perilous in the extreme. His troops must have been of like opinion, for the ranks began to waver, then break away, and soon they found themselves in full retreat. Kershaw, Cash, and Hampton pressed them hard towards Stone Bridge. A retreat at first now became a panic, then a rout. Men threw away their baggage, then their guns, all in a mad rush to put the stream between themselves and the dreaded "gray-backs." Cannon were abandoned, men mounted the horses and fled in wild disorder, trampling underfoot those who came between them and safety, while others limbered up their pieces and went at headlong speed, only to be upset or tangled in an unrecognizable mass on Stone Bridge. The South Carolinians pressed them to the very crossing, capturing prisoners and guns; among the latter was the enemy's celebrated "Long Tom." All semblance of order was now cast aside, each trying to leave his less fortunate neighbor in the rear. Plunging headlong down the precipitous banks of the Run, the terror-stricken soldiers pushed over and out in the woods and [65] the fields on the other side. The shells of our rifle and parrot guns accelerated their speed, and added to their demoralization by hissing and shrieking above their heads and bursting in the tree tops. Orders were sent to Generals Bonham, Longstreet, and Jones, who were holding the lower fords, to cross over and strike the flying fugitives in the rear near Centerville. Colonels Williams and Bacon, with their regiments, led by General Bonham, in person, crossed the stream at a double quick, and began the pursuit of the stampeded troops. When we reached the camps of the enemy, where they had bivouaced the night before, the scene beggared description. On either side of the road were piled as high as one could reach baggages of every description, which the men had discarded before going into action. Blankets rolled up, oilcloths, overcoats, tents, all of the very best material, piled up by the hundreds and thousands. Pots and camp kettles hung over fires, and from within came the savory smell of "rich viands with rare condiments," being prepared to appease the keen appetite of the battle-worn veterans after the day's victory. Great quarters of fresh beef hung temptingly from the limbs of the trees, wagons filled with arms and accoutrements, provisions, and army supplies, with not a few well-laden with all the delicacies, tid-bits, and rarest old wines that Washington could afford, to assuage the thirst of officers and the men of note. Many of the high dignitaries and officials from the Capitol had come out to witness the fight from afar, and enjoy the exciting scene of battle. They were now fleeing through the woods like men demented, or crouched behind trees, perfectly paralyzed with uncertainty and fright. One old citizen of the North, captured by the boys, gave much merriment by the antics he cut, being frightened out of his wits with the thought of being summarily dealt with by the soldiers. Some would punch him in the back with their bayonets, then another would give him a thrust as he turned to ask quarters of the first tormentor. The crisis was reached, however, when one of the soldiers, in a spirit of mischief, called for a rope to hang him; he thought himself lost, and through his tears he begged for mercy, pleaded for compassion, and promised atonement. General Bonham riding up at this juncture of the soldiers' sport, and seeing the abject fear of the old Northern Abolitionist, took pity and showed his sympathy [66] by telling the men to turn him loose, and not to interfere with non-combatants. He was told to run now, and if he kept the gait he started with through the woods, not many hours elapsed before he placed the placid waters of the Potomac between him and the blood-thirsty Rebels. Strict orders were given to "stay in ranks," but the sight of so much valuable plunder, and actual necessaries to the soldiers, was too much for the poorly provided Confederates; and not a few plucked from the pile a blanket, overcoat, canteen, or other article that his wants dictated. A joke the boys had on a major was that while riding along the line, waving his sword, giving orders not to molest the baggage, and crying out, "Stay in ranks, men, stay in ranks," then in an undertone he would call to his servant, "Get me another blanket, Harvy." The artillery that had been ordered to take part in the infantry's pursuit were just preparing to open fire upon the fleeing enemy, when by some unaccountable order, the pursuit was ordered to be abandoned. Had not this uncalled for order come at this juncture, it is not hard to conceive the results. The greater portion of the Federal Army would have been captured, for with the exception of General Sykes' Brigade of regulars and a battery of regular artillery, there was not an organization between our army and Washington City. All night long the roads through Centerville, and the next day all leading through Fairfax, Falls Church, and Anandale were one continual throng of fleeing fugitives. Guns and accoutrements, camp equipage, and ordnance strewed the sides of the road for miles; wagons, ambulances, cannon, and caissons had been abandoned, and terror-stricken animals galloped unbridled through the woods and fields. The great herds of cattle, now free from their keepers, went bellowing through the forest, seeking shelter in some secluded swamp.
At night, we were all very reluctantly ordered back to our old camp to talk, rejoice, and dream of the wonderful victory. Beauregard and Johnston had in this engagement of all arms 30,888, but 3,000 of Ewell's and part of Bonham's Brigade were not on the field on that day. The enemy had 50,000 and 117 cannon. Confederate loss in killed and wounded, 1,485. Federal loss in killed, wounded, and captured, [67] 4,500. There being no enemy in our front and little danger of surprise, the soldiers were allowed to roam at will over the battlefield the next few days. Almost the entire army availed themselves of this their first opportunity of visiting a real battlefield and witnessing the real horrors and carnage of which they had often read and seen pictures but had never seen in reality.
Who is it that has ever looked upon a battlefield and could forget the sickening scene, or obliterate from his mind the memory of its dreaded sight? It was recorded of the great Napoleon, by one of his most intimate friends and historians, that after every great battle the first thing he did the next day was to ride over the field, where lay the dead and wounded, and when he would come to those points where the battle had been desperate and the dead lay thickest, he would sit as in a trance, and with silence and meditation never witnessed on other occasions, view the ghastly corpses as they lay strewn over the field. The field of carnage had a fascinating power over him he could not resist, and on which his eyes delighted to feast. With a comrade I went to visit the field of Manassas. Passing over the uneven and partly wooded country, we witnessed all the effect of the enemy's rifled guns. Trees were cut down, great holes dug in the ground where shells had exploded, broken wagons, upset ambulances, wounded and dead horses lining the whole way. The first real scene of carnage was on the plateau of the Lewis house. Here the Virginians lying behind the crest of the hill as the enemy emerged from the woods on the other side, gave them such a volley as to cause a momentary repulse, but only to renew their attack with renewed vigor. The battle here was desperate. Major Wheat with his Louisianians fought around the Henry house with a ferocity hardly equalled by any troops during the war. Their peculiar uniform, large flowing trousers with blue and white stripes coming only to the knees, colored stockings, and a loose bodice, made quite a picturesque appearance and a good target for the enemy. These lay around the house and in front in almost arm's length of each other. This position had been taken and lost twice during the day. Beyond the house and down the declivity on the other side, the [68] enemy's dead told how destructive and deadly had been the Confederate fire. On the other plateau where Jackson had formed and where Bee and Bartow fell, the scene was sickening. There lay friend and foe face to face in the cold embrace of death. Only by the caps could one be distinguished from the other, for the ghouls of the battlefield had already been there to strip, rob, and plunder. Beyond the ravine to the left is where Hampton and his Legion fought, as well as the troops of Kirby Smith and Elzey, of Johnston's army, who had come upon the scene just in time to turn the tide of battle from defeat to victory. On the right of Hampton was the Eighth and Second South Carolina under Kershaw. From the Lewis house to the Stone Bridge the dead lay in every direction. The enemy in their precipitate flight gave the Confederates ample opportunity to slay at will. The effects of artillery here were dreadful. Rickett's Battery, the best in the North, had pushed their guns far in advance of the infantry, and swept the field with grape and canister. Here was a caisson blown up by a shell from Kemper's Battery, and the havoc was frightful. Six beautiful horses, all well caparisoned and still attached to the caisson, all stretched as they had fallen, without so much as a struggle. The drivers lay by the side of the horses, one poor fellow underneath and badly mutilated. To one side and near by lay the officer in command and his horse, the noble animal lying as he had died in the beautiful poise he must have been in when the fatal shot struck him. His hind legs straightened as if in the act of rearing, his forefeet in the air, one before the other, the whole looking more like a dismantled statue than the result of a battlefield. Fragments of shells, broken guns, knapsacks, and baggage were scattered over the plains. Details were busy gathering up the wounded and burying the dead. But from the looks of the field the task seemed difficult. In the little clusters of bushes, behind trees, in gullies, and in every conceivable place that seemed to offer shelter, lay the dead. What a shudder thrills the whole frame when you stand and contemplate the gruesome faces of the battle's dead. In every posture and all positions, with every conceivable shade of countenance, the glaring, glassy eyes meet you. Some lay as they fell, stretched full length on the ground; others show a desperate struggle for the last few [69] remaining breaths. There lay the beardless youth with a pleasant smile yet lingering on his face as though waiting for the maternal kiss; the cold stern features of the middle aged as he lay grasping his trusty rifle, some drawn up in a perfect knot of agony, others their faces prone upon the earth, all dead, dead. Great pools of blood here and there had saturated the earth, the victim perhaps crawling to a nearby shelter or some little glen, hoping to gain a mouthful of water to cool his parched lips, or perhaps some friendly hand had carried him away to a hospital. Few of our troops had been molested by the body snatchers of the battlefield, but the enemy had almost invariably been stripped of his outer clothing. On the incline of the far side of a little hill spots were pointed out where the gallant South Carolinian, Bee, had fallen, while rallying his men for the final assault, and also the brave Georgian, Colonel Bartow, in a like endeavor.
We came to the Henry house, on the opposite plateau from the Lewis house, the former at this time almost as noted as the little log hut at Waterloo that stood half a century before as a landmark to the fall of Napoleon. They were common, old fashioned frame houses, occupied by some poor people on this frightful day. The battle came with such suddeness and unexpectancy, the unfortunate inmates could not get away, and there throughout the bloody day these three Henry women had endured all the dread, excitement, and dangers of a great battle, and forced to remain between the opposing armies. The house was perfectly riddled with minnie balls, while great openings were torn in the side and roofs by the shells shattering through. There was no escape or place of safety. They stretched themselves at full length upon the floor, calmly awaiting death, while a perfect storm of shot and shell raged without and within. As we went in the house two women sat around the few mouldering embers that had answered the purpose of cooking a hasty meal. It was a single room house, with two beds, some cheap furniture, and a few cooking utensils. These were torn into fragments. In one corner lay the dead sister, who had been shot the day before, with a sheet thrown over to shield her from the gaze of the curious. The two sisters were eating a morsel unconcernedly, unconscious of the surroundings, while the house was crowded during the day with sight [70] seers and curious questioners. On the other side of the room were some wounded soldiers, carried in to be shielded from the rays of the July sun, while all without lay in heaps the mangled dead. The exceeding tension of excitement, fright, untold fear, that had been drawn around them during the continuous struggle of the day before, had rendered those women callous and indifferent to all surrounding appearance; but their haggard faces told but too plainly their mental anguish and bodily suffering of yesterday. The eyes tire of the sickening scene, and the mind turns from this revolting field of blood, and we return heartstricken to our camp. The poor crippled and deserted horses limp over the field nibbling a little bunch of grass left green in places after the day of mad galloping of horses. Everywhere we saw friends hunting friends. Relief corps had come up from Richmond and were working night and day relieving the suffering and moving the wounded away. Cars were run at short intervals from Manassas, carrying the disabled to Warrentown, Orange Court House, Culpepper, and Richmond. President Davis had come up just after the battle had gone in our favor, and the soldiers were delighted to get a glimpse at our illustrious chieftain. It was needless to say Beauregard's star was still in the ascendant.
Much discussion has taken place since the rout at Manassas as to reasons for not following up the victory so gloriously won, and for not pushing on to Washington at once. It is enough to say the two commanders at the time and on the field saw difficulties and dangers sufficient in the way to rest on their spoils. The President, who was in council with them, after due consideration was convinced of the impracticability of a forward movement. In the first place, no preparation had been made for such an event; that the spoils were so out of proportion to their most sanguine expectations; that the [71] transportation for the troops had to be employed in its removal; that no thought of a forward movement or invasion had ever been contemplated; so there were no plans or specifications at hand. Then again, the dead and wounded of both armies had to be attended to, which crippled our medical department so as to render it powerless should another engagement take place. And again, a large portion of our people thought this total defeat of the enemy at the very outset of the war would render the design of coercion by force of arms impracticable. The South was conservative, and did not wish to inflame the minds of the people of the Union by entering their territory or destroying their capital. Knowing there was a large party at the North opposed to the war, some of our leaders had reason to think this shattering of their first grand army would so strengthen their feelings and party that the whole North would call for peace. They further hugged that fatal delusion to their breast, a delusion that eventually shattered the foundation of our government and betrayed the confidence of the troops, "foreign intervention." They reasoned that a great victory by the South would cause our government to be recognized by the foreign powers and the South given a footing as a distinct, separate, and independent nation among all other great nations of the earth. That the South would no longer be looked upon as an "Insurrectionary Faction," "Erring Sisters," or "Rebellious Children." Our ports had been ordered closed by the North, and an imaginary blockade, a nominal fleet, stood out in front of our harbors. Our people thought the world's desire for the South's cotton would so influence the commercial and laboring people of Europe that the powers would force the North to declare her blockade off. Such were some of the feelings and hopes of a large body of our troops, as well as the citizens of the country at large. But it all was a fallacy, a delusion, an ignis fatuus. The North was aroused to double her former fury, her energies renewed and strengthened, tensions drawn, her ardor largely increased, her feelings doubly embittered, and the whole spirit of the North on fire. Now the cry was in earnest, "On to Richmond," "Down with the rebellion," "Peace and unity." The Northern press was in a perfect blaze, the men wild with excitement, and every [72] art and device was resorted to to arouse the people to arms. The stain of defeat must now be wiped out; a stigma had been put upon the nation, her flag disgraced, her people dishonored. Large bounties were offered for volunteers, and the recruiting was earnest and energetic. Lincoln called for 300,000 more troops, and the same question was asked at the South, "Where will he get them and how pay them?"
We were moved out near Centerville, and a few days afterwards took up
camp at Vienna, a small station on the Baltimore and Ohio railroad.
The day after our arrival all of the troops, with the exception of the
ordinary detail, were put to work tearing up the railroad track. It
being Sunday, loud complaints were made against this desecration of
the Lord's Day, but we were told there was no difference in days in
times of war. The railroad was a good one and well built on a roadbed
of gravel and chips of granite, with solid heart pine or chestnut
ties, laid with "T" rails. The cross-ties were piled in heaps, on
these were laid the rails, and all set on fire; then for miles and
miles up and down the road the crackling flames, the black smoke
twining around the trees and curling upward, shrouded the whole earth
with a canopy of black and blue, and told of the destruction that
was going on. Here the troops suffered as seldom during the war for
provisions, especially breadstuff. Loud murmurings were heard on all
sides against the commissary department, and the commissary complained
of the Quartermaster for not furnishing transportation. The troops on
one occasion here had to go three days and at hard work without one
mouthful of bread, except what little they could buy or beg of the
citizens of the thinly settled country. Meat was plentiful, but no
bread, and any one who has ever felt the tortures of bread hunger may
imagine the sufferings of the men. For want of bread the meats became
nauseating and repulsive. The whole fault lay in having too many
bosses and red tape in the Department at Richmond. By order of these
officials, all commissary supplies, even gathered in sight of the
camps, had to be first sent to Richmond and issued out only on
requisitions to the head of the departments. The railroad facilities
were bad, irregular, and blocked, while our wagons and teams were
limited to one for each one hundred men for all purposes. General
[73]
Beauregard, now second in command, and directly in command of the
First Army Corps of the Army of the Potomac, of which our brigade
formed a part, wishing to concentrate his troops, ordered all to
Flint Hill, three miles west of Fairfax Court House. General Johnston,
Commander-in-Chief, directed the movements of the whole army, but more
directly the Second Army Corps, or the Army of the Shenandoah. The
army up to this time had not been put into divisions, commanded
by Major Generals, nor corps, by Lieutenant Generals, but the two
commanders divided nominally the army into two corps, each commanded
by a full General—Brigadier General Beauregard having been raised to
the rank of full General the day after his signal victory at Manassas
by President Davis.
 |
 | ||
| Brig. Gen. James Connor Adjt. | Y.J. Pope, Acting Asst. Adjt. Genl. of Kershaw's Brigade |
 |
| Brig. Gen. John D. Kennedy. |
In the Confederate Army the grades of the Generals were different to those in the United States Army. A brigade consisted of a number of regiments joined together as one body and commanded by a Brigadier General, the lowest in rank. Four, more or less, brigades constituted a division, commanded by a Major General. Three or four divisions constituted a corps, commanded by a Lieutenant General, and a separate army, as two or more corps, was commanded by a General, the highest in rank. Their rank is the same, but the Seniors are those whose commissions had been granted first, and take precedence where two are together. So it is with all officers in the army—age is not taken into consideration, but the date of commission. Where a brigade, from any cause, temporarily loses its commander, the Colonel with the oldest commission takes the command; where a division loses its Major General, the Senior Brigadier in that division immediately assumes command; and the same way in the corps and the army. The Major General takes command of the corps where its commander is absent, and in case of absence, either temporary or permanent, of the Commander-in-Chief of an army, the ranking Lieutenant General takes command until a full General relieves him. In no case can an officer of inferior rank command one of superior rank. Rank gives command whether ordered or not. In any case of absence, whether in battle, march, or camp, whenever an officer finds himself Senior in his organization, he is commander and so held without further orders.
[74]The soldiers had rather a good time at Flint Hill, doing a little drilling and occasional picket duty out in the direction of Munson and Mason Hill. The Commanding General wished to advance his pickets to Munson Hill, a few miles from Washington, and to do this it was necessary to dislodge the enemy, who had possession there. The Second Regiment, under Colonel Kershaw, was sent out, and after a considerable brush he succeeded in driving the enemy away. After this one regiment at a time was sent out to do picket duty. When our South Carolina regiments would go out orders were given to be quiet, and during our stay at Mason and Munson Hill the utmost secrecy prevailed, but when Wheat's Louisiana Battalion had to relieve a regiment we could hear the beating of their drums, the loud shouts of the men on their way out, and all would rush to the side of the road to see the "tigers" pass. Down the road they would come, banners waving, the swinging step of the men keeping time to the shrill notes of the fife and the rattle of the drums. Their large flowing pants, their gaudy striped long hose, made quite an imposing spectacle. This was a noted band of men for a time, but their brave commander, Wheat, and almost all of his men, were killed in the battles that followed around Richmond. Major Wheat had been in the Turkish Army when that nation was at war with Russia, and in several other foreign wars, as well as the Mexican War. When his State seceded he returned to Louisiana and raised a battalion of the hardest set of men in New Orleans. The soldiers called them "wharf rats," "sailors," "longshoremen," "cutthroats," and "gutter snipes." They knew no subordination and defied law and military discipline. While in camp here several of them were shot at the stake. Major Wheat had asked to be allowed to manage his men as he saw best, and had a law unto himself. For some mutiny and insubordination he had several of them shot. Afterwards, when the soldiers heard a volley fired, the word would go out, "Wheat is having another tiger shot."
The fields were green with the great waving corn, just in roasting ears, and it was a sight to see hundreds of men in these fields early in the morning plucking the fine ears for breakfast. In most cases the owners had abandoned their fields and homes, taking what was movable [75] to other places in Virginia. What was left the soldiers were at liberty to "slay and eat." At first it was determined to protect the stock, but the soldiers agreed that what the Southern soldiers left the enemy would be sure to take. I remember the first theft I was engaged in during the war. I say "first" advisedly. Now soldiers have different views as to rights of property to that of the average citizen. What he finds that will add to his comfort or welfare, or his wants dictate, or a liability of the property falling into the hands of the enemy, he takes without compunction or disposition to rob—and more often he robs in a spirit of mischief. A few fine hogs had been left to roam at will through the fields by the refugee farmers, and orders were given not to kill or molest them, to eat as much corn as we wished, but to spare the hogs. When the regiments were sent on pickets, a detail was left in camp as guard, also to watch around the fields to prevent trespass. While our regiment was on its three days' picket, I was left as one of the detail to guard the camp. Some one reported a fine hog in the yard of a house some distance away. It was agreed to kill it, divide it up, and have a rare treat for the weary pickets when they returned. How to kill it without attracting the attention of the other guards was a question of importance, because the report of a rifle and the proverbial squeal of a hog would be sure to bring down upon us the guard. One of the men had a pistol, still we were afraid to trust this. A cellar door stood temptingly open. We tried to drive the hog into it, but with a hog's perverseness it refused to be driven, and after rushing around the yard several times with no results, it was decided to shoot it. The man claimed to be a good shot, and declared that no hog would squeal after being shot by him, but, as Burns says, "The best laid plans of mice and men aft' gang a glee." So with us. After shooting, the porker cut desperate antics, and set up a frightful noise, but the unexpected always happens, and the hog took refuge in the cellar, or rather the basement of the dwelling, to our great relief. We were proceeding finely, skinning away, the only method the soldiers had of cleaning a hog, when to our astonishment and dismay, in walked the much dreaded guard. Now there something peculiar about the soldier's idea of duty, the effects of military training, and the stern obedience to orders. The [76] first lesson he learns is obedience, and the longer in service the more convinced he is of its necessity. While he may break ranks, pass guards, rob roosts, or pilfer fruits and vegetables himself, yet put a gun in his hand, place him on duty, order him to guard or protect men or property, and his integrity in that respect is as unyielding, inflexible, and stern as if his life depended upon his faithful performance. The Roman soldiers' obedience to orders made them immortal, and their nation the greatest on earth. But to resume the thread of my story. When the guard came in we thought ourselves lost. To be punished for hog stealing, and it published at home, was more than our patriotism could stand. The guard questioned us about the killing, said it was against orders to fire a gun within range of camp, and furthermore against orders to molest private property. We tried to convince the guard that it was contraband, that the owners had left it, and to crown the argument, insisted that if we did not take the hog the Yankees would. This was the argument always last resorted to to ease conscience and evade the law. In this case, strange to say, it had its effect. After some parleying, it was agreed to share the booty equally between the guard and ourselves. They helped us cut brush and cover it nicely, and after tattoo all were to return and divide up. We did not know the guards personally, but knew their command. And so we returned to the camp to await the return of our pickets and night. It was soon noised in camp that there was a fine fat porker to be distributed after tattoo, and no little eagerness and inquisitiveness were manifested, as all wished a piece. Armed with a crocus-sack, we returned to the house; all was dark and still. We whistled the signal, but no answer. It was repeated, but still no reply. The guard had not come. Sitting down on the door step, we began our long wait. Moments passed into minutes, minutes into hours, until at last we began to have some forebodings and misgivings. Had we been betrayed? Would we be reported and our tents searched next day? Hardly; a soldier could not be so treacherous. We entered the cellar and began to fumble around without results, a match was struck, and to our unspeakable dismay not a vestige of hog remained. Stuck against the side of the wall was a piece of paper, on which was written: "No mercy for the hog rogue." Such swearing, such stamping [77] and beating the air with our fists, in imitation of the punishment that would be given the treacherous rascals if present; the atmosphere was perfectly sulphurous with the venom spit out against the foul party. Here was a true verification of the old adage, "Set a rogue to catch a rogue." Dejected and crestfallen, we returned to camp, but dared not tell of our misfortune, for fear of the jeers of our comrades.
Measles and jaundice began to scourge the camp; the green corn, it was said, did the army more damage than the enemy did in battle. Wagons and ambulances went out daily loaded with the sick; the hospitals were being crowded in Richmond and other cities; hotels, colleges, and churches were appropriated for hospital service, and the good people of Virginia can never be forgotten, nor amply rewarded for the self-sacrifices and aid rendered to the sick soldiers. Private houses were thrown open to the sick when their homes were far distant, or where they could not reach it. The soldier was never too dirty or ragged to be received into palatial homes; all found a ready welcome and the best attention.
Generals Johnston and Beauregard had now concentrated all their forces in supporting distance around Fairfax Court House, and were preparing for a movement across the Potomac. Bonham's Brigade was at Flint Hill, Cox's at Centerville, Jones's at Germantown, Hampton and Early on the Occoquon, the Louisiana Brigade at Bull Run, and Longstreet at Fairfax Court House. The troops were all in easy distance, and a gigantic plan of General Beauregard, with the doubtful approval of General Johnston and others, was for a formidable invasion of the North. General Johnston evinced that same disposition in military tactics that he followed during the war, "a purely defensive war." In none of his campaigns did he exhibit any desire to take advantage of the enemy by bold moves; his one idea seemed to be "defensive," and in that he was a genius—in retreat, his was a mastermind; in defense, masterly. In the end it may have proven the better policy to have remained on the defensive. But the quick, impulsive temperament of Beauregard was ever on the alert for some bold stroke or sudden attack upon the enemy's weaker points. His idea coincided with Longstreet's in this [78] particular, that the North, Kentucky, Tennessee, or Maryland should be the theatre of war and the battleground of the Confederacy. General Lee, according to the ideas of one of his most trusted lieutenants, was more in accordance with the views of General Johnston, that is, "the South should fight a defensive war"—and it was only when in the immediate presence of the enemy, or when he observed a weak point in his opponent, or a strategic move, that he could not resist the temptation to strike a blow. In several of his great battles it is reported of Lee that he intended to await the attack of the enemy, but could not control his impatience when the enemy began to press him; then all the fire of his warlike nature came to the surface, and he sprang upon his adversary with the ferocity of a wild beast. But Lee in battle was not the Lee in camp.
The middle of summer the two commanding Generals called President Davis to Fairfax Court House to enter a conference in regard to the projected invasion. The plans were all carefully laid before him. First a demonstration was to be made above Washington; then with the whole army cross below, strike Washington on the east, crush the enemy in their camps, march through Maryland, hoist the standard of revolt in that State, make a call for all Southern sympathizers to flock to their banners, and to overawe the North by this sudden onslaught. But President Davis turned a deaf ear to all such overtures; pleaded the want of transportation and the necessary equipment for invasion. It was the feeling of the South even at this late day that much could yet be done by diplomacy and mild measures; that a great body of the North could be won over by fears of a prolonged war; and the South did not wish to exasperate the more conservative element by any overt act. We all naturally looked for peace; we fully expected the war would end during the fall and winter, and it was not too much to say that many of our leaders hugged this delusion to their breast.
While in camp here an incident occurred which showed that the men had not yet fully recognized the importance of military restraint and discipline. It is well known that private broils or feuds of any kind are strictly forbidden by army regulations. The French manner of settling disputes or vindicating personal honor according to code [79] duello was not countenanced by our military laws; still the hot blood and fiery temper of the proud South Carolinians could brook no restraint at this time when an affront was given or his honor assailed. Captain Elbert Bland, of Edgefield, and Major Emett Seibles, both of the Seventh Regiment, were engaged in a friendly game of chess, a difference arose, then a dispute, hot words, and at last insult given that could not be recalled nor allowed to pass unnoticed. Challenge is offered and accepted, seconds appointed, pistols chosen; distance, twenty paces; time, sunrise next morning on a hillside near the outskirts of the camp. Early next morning a lone ambulance is seen moving out of camp, followed by two surgeons, then the principals with their seconds at a respectful distance. On reaching the spot chosen lots were cast for choice of stations. This fell to Captain Bland. The distance was measured with mechanical exactness, dueling pistols produced, each second loading that of his principal. The regular dueling pistol is a costly affair and of the very finest material. Long slim rifle barrel with hammer underneath, the stock finely chiseled and elaborately ornamented with silver or gold; the whole about ten inches in length and carrying a bullet of 22 calibre. The seconds took their places at an equal distance from each other and midway between the principals. Captain Bland takes his position at the west end of the field, and Major Seibles the east. Both stood confronting each other, not fierce nor glaring like two men roused in passion, or that either wished the blood of the other, but bold, calm, and defiant; an insult to be wiped out and honor to be sustained. They turned, facing the rear, hands down, with pistols in the right. The seconds call out in calm, deliberate tones: "Gentlemen, are you ready?" Then, "Ready, aim, fire!" "One, two, three, stop." The shooting must take place between the words "fire" and "stop," or during the count of one, two, three. If the principal fires before or after this command it is murder, and he is at once shot down by the second of his opponent. Or if in any case the principals fail to respond at the hour set, the second promptly takes his place. But no danger of such possibilities where two such men as Major Seibles and Captain Bland are interested. There was a matter at issue dearer than country, wife or child. It was honor, and a true South Carolinian of [80] the old stock would make any sacrifice, give or take life, to uphold his name unsullied or the honor of his family untarnished. As the word fire was given the opponents wheeled and two pistol shots rang out on the stillness of the morning. Captain Bland stands still erect, commanding and motionless as a statue. Major Seibles remains steady for a moment, then sways a little to the left, staggers and falls into the arms of his second and surgeon. A hasty examination is made. "Blood," calls out the second of Major Seibles. A nod of satisfaction is given and acknowledged by both seconds. Captain Bland retires on the arm of his friend, while the Major, now bleeding profusely from a wound in the chest, is lifted in the ambulance and carried to his tent. It was many months before Major Seibles was sufficiently recovered from his wound to return to duty. The matter was kept quiet and no action taken. Major Seibles died the following year, while the gallant Bland was killed at Chickamauga while leading as Colonel the Seventh Regiment in battle.
While at Flint Hill, another stirring scene took place of quite a different nature. In front of the Third Regiment was a beautiful stretch of road, and this was selected as a course for a race to be run between the horse of Captain Mitchell of the Louisiana Tigers and that of the Colonel of a Virginia regiment of cavalry. The troops now so long inactive, nothing to break the monotony between drills, guard duty, and picketing, waited with no little anxiety the coming of the day that was to test the metal of the little grey from the Pelican State and the sorrel from the Old Dominion. Word had gone out among all the troopers that a race was up, and all lovers of the sport came in groups, companies, and regiments to the place of rendezvous. Men seemed to come from everywhere, captains, colonels, and even generals graced the occasion with their presence. Never before in our army had so many distinguished individuals congregated for so trivial an occasion. There was Wheat, fat, clean shaven, and jolly, his every feature indicating the man he was—bold as a lion, fearless, full of life and frolic as a school boy, but who had seen war in almost every clime under the sun. There was Turner Ashby, his eyes flashing fire from under his shaggy eyebrows, his long black beard and flowing locks, looking more like a brigand than one of the most daring [81] cavaliers of the Confederate Army. Fitzhugh Lee, too, was there, with colonels, majors, and captains without number. Nothing seemed farther from the horizon of these jolly men than thoughts of the triumphs of war. Captain Mitchell's horse was more on the pony order than a racer, but it was said by those who knew that on more occasions than one the pony had thrown dirt into the eyes of the fastest horse in the Crescent City, and the Louisianans were betting on him to a man. The wiry sorrel was equally a favorite with the Virginians, while the South Carolinians were divided between the two. After a great amount of jockeying, usual on such occasions, judges were appointed, distance measured, horses and riders in their places, and hundreds of men stretched along the side of the road to witness the heated race. No little amount of Confederate money had been put upon the race, although it was understood to be merely a friendly one, and for amusement only. When the drum sounded, the two horses almost leaped into the air, and sped away like the wind, "little grey" shooting away from her larger adversary like a bullet, and came flying down the track like a streak, about a length ahead of the Virginia horse. The favorites on the Louisianan rent the air with their yells, hats went into the air, while the friends of the Virginian shouted like mad to the rider: "Let him out, let him out." When the distance was about half run he was "let out;" the rowels went into the side and the whip came down upon the flanks of the thoroughly aroused racer, and the Virginian began forging to the front, gaining at every leap. Now he is neck and neck, spur and whip are used without stint, he goes ahead and is leaving the "grey" far in the rear; Captain Mitchell is leaning far over on the withers of the faithful little pony, never sparing the whip for a moment, but all could see that he was running a losing race. When about the commencement of the last quarter the "grey" leaves the track, and off to the right he plunges through the trees, dashing headlong by the groups of men, till at last the Captain brings him up with one rein broken. A great crowd surround him, questioning, swearing, and jeering, but the Captain sat as silent, immovable, and inattentive as a statue, pointing to the broken rein. It had been cut with a knife. The Captain and his friends claimed that the friends of [82] the Virginian had, unnoticed by him, cut the leather to a bare thread, while the friends of the other party, with equal persistency, charged the Captain with cutting it himself. That when he saw the race lost, he reached over and cut the rein about six inches from the bit, thus throwing the horse out of the track and saving its credit, if not the money. No one ever knew how it happened, but that there had been a trick played and foul means employed were evident. A great many had lost their money, and their curses were loud and deep, while the winners went away as merry as "marriage bells."
Sometime in October the brigade was withdrawn to the vicinity of Centerville for better facilities in the way of provisions, water, etc., and to be nearer the wooded section of the country. The water had been scarce at Flint Hill, a long distance from camp, and of inferior quality. The health of the troops was considerably impaired, a great many having been sent to the hospitals, or to their homes. The sickness was attributed, in a large measure, to the quality of green corn and fresh meat, salt being an object now with the Confederacy, and was issued in limited quantities. We fared sumptuously while at our camp near Centerville. Our wagon train going weekly up towards Warrenton and the mountains, returning laden with flour, meat, and the finest beef we had ever received. The teamsters acting as hucksters, brought in a lot of delicacies to sell on their own account—chickens, turkeys, and vegetables, and not unfrequently a keg of "Mountain Dew" would be packed in the wagon with the army supplies, and sold by the wagoners at an enormous profit. There being no revenue officers or "dispensary constables" in those days, whiskey could be handled with impunity, and not a little found its way into camp. The citizens, too, had an eye single to their own welfare, and would bring in loads of [83] all kinds of country produce. Sometimes a wagon would drive into camp loaded with dressed chickens and turkeys to the number of one hundred or more. A large old-fashioned wagon-sheet would be spread over the bottom and side of the wagon body, and filled with as much as two horses could pull. I never knew until then how far a man's prejudice could overcome him. Our mess had concluded to treat itself to a turkey dinner on Christmas. Our boss of the mess was instructed to purchase a turkey of the next wagon that came in. Sure enough, the day came and a fine fat turkey bought, already dressed, and boiling away in the camp kettle, while all hands stood around and drank in the delightful aroma from turkey and condiments that so temptingly escaped from under the kettle lid. When all was ready, the feast spread, and the cook was in the act of sinking his fork into the breast of the rich brown turkey, some one said in the greatest astonishment: "Well, George Stuck, I'll be d——d if you haven't bought a goose instead of a turkey, look at its short legs." There was a go, our money gone, appetites whetted, and for a goose! Well up to that time and even now I cannot eat goose. A dispute arose, some said it was a goose, others held out with equal persistency that it was a turkey, and I not having discretion enough to judge by the color of the flesh, and so overcome by my prejudice, did not taste it, and a madder man was not often found. To this day I have never been convinced whether it was a turkey or a goose, but am rather inclined to give the benefit of the doubt to the goose.
We did not get into our regular winter quarters until after the first of January, 1862. These were established on the south Banks of Bull Run, near Blackburn's Ford, the place of the first battle of the name, where Longstreet fought on the 18th of July. Large details were sent out from camp every day to build foundations for these quarters. This was done by cutting pine poles or logs the right length of our tents, build up three or four feet, and over this pen the tent to be stretched. They were generally about ten feet square, but a man could only stand erect in the middle. The cracks between the logs were clinked with mud, a chimney built out of poles split in half and notched up in the ends of the log parts of the tent. An inside wall [84] was made of plank or small round poles, with space between the two walls of five or six inches. This was filled with soft earth or mud, packed tightly, then a blazing fire started, the inner wall burned out, and the dirt baked hard and solid as a brick. In this way we had very good chimneys and comfortable quarters. From six to eight occupied one tent, and generally all the inmates messed together. Forks were driven into the ground, on which were placed strong and substantial cross-pieces, then round pipe poles, about the size of a man's arm, laid over all and thickly strewn with pine needles, on which the blankets are laid. There you have the winter quarters for the Southern soldiers the first year of the war.
But some of the men did not like so primitive an order of architecture and built huts entirely out of logs, and displayed as much originality as you would find in more pretentious cities. These were covered over with poles, on which straw and sand were tightly packed, enough so as to make them water-tight. Some would give names to their quarters, marked in large letters above their doors in charcoal, taxing their minds to give ingenious and unique names, such as "Uncle Tom's Cabin," "The House that Jack Built," "Park Row," "Devil's Inn," etc. To while away the long nights and cold days, the men had recourse to the soldier's game, "cards." Few ever played for the money that was in it, but more for an amusement and pastime. While almost all played cards, there were very few who could be considered gamblers, or who would take their comrades' money, if they even won it. There would be stakes played for, it is true, on the "credit system" generally, to be evened-up on pay-day. But when that time came around such good feeling existed that "poker debts," as they were called, were seldom ever thought of, and the game would continue with its varying successes without ever a thought of liquidation. You might often see a good old Methodist or a strict Presbyterian earnestly engaged in a "five cent antie" game, but never take his friend's money, even if honestly won. Something had to be done to pass away the time, and card-playing was considered an innocent amusement.
The long inactivity made men naturally think and dream of home. The soldiers had left home quite suddenly, and in many cases with little [85] preparation, but the continual talk of "peace in the spring," and the daily vaporing of the press about England or France recognizing the South's belligerency—and the opening of her ports—buoyed up the spirits of the soldiers, and fanned the flame of hope. A great many of the old army officers of the United States, hailing from the South, had resigned their commissions on the Secession of the States, and tendered their services to the Confederacy. Of course it mattered not what was their former rank, or what service, if any they had seen, all expected places as generals. President Davis being a West Pointer himself, had great partiality for graduates of that institution. It was his weakness, this favoritism for West Pointers; and the persistency with which he appointed them above and over the generals of the volunteers, gave dissatisfaction. These appointments caused such resentment and dissatisfaction that some of our very best generals resigned their commissions, refusing to serve under men of no experience and doubtful qualifications. Longstreet, Van Dorn, McLaws, G.W. Smith, and a host of others, who had been captains and majors in the United States Army, were here or in Richmond waiting for some high grade, without first winning their spurs upon the field. McLaws, a Major in the regular army, was made a Major General, and Longstreet had been appointed over General Bonham, the latter having seen varied service in Mexico, commanding a regiment of regulars, doing staff duty, and Military Governor of one of the provinces after the war. At such injustice as this, gave General Bonham reason to resign his command and return to South Carolina, where he soon afterwards was elected to Congress, and later elected Governor of the State. This left the command to Colonel Kershaw as senior Colonel, but he was soon thereafter made Brigadier General. While the troops felt safe and confident under Kershaw, they parted with General Bonham with unfeigned reluctance and regret. Although none blamed him for the steps taken, for all felt keenly the injustice done, still they wished him to remain and lead them to victory, and share the glory they felt sure was in store for all connected with the old First Brigade.
In future we will call the brigade by the name of Kershaw, the name by which it was mostly known, and under whose leadership the troops [86] did such deeds of prowess, endured so many hardships, fought so many battles, and gained so many victories, as to shed a halo around the heads of all who marched with him and fought under the banner of Joseph B. Kershaw. Here I will give a brief biography of General Kershaw.
Was born January 5th, 1822, at Camden, S.C. He was a son of John Kershaw and Harriet DuBose, his wife. Both of the families of Kershaws and DuBoses were represented by more than one member, either in the Continentals or the State troops, during the War of the Revolution, Joseph Kershaw, the most prominent of them, and the grandfather of the subject of this sketch, having lost his fortune in his efforts to maintain the patriot cause. John Kershaw died when his son, Joseph Brevard, was a child of seven years of age. He attended first a "dame school" in his native town. Afterwards he attended a school taught by a rigid disciplinarian, a Mr. Hatfield, who is still remembered by some of the pupils for his vigorous application of the rod on frequent occasions, with apparent enjoyment on his part, but with quite other sentiments on the part of the boys. He was sent at the age of fifteen to the Cokesbury Conference school, in Abbeville District, as it was then known, where he remained for only a brief time. Leaving this school, after a short sojourn at home, he went to Charleston, S.C., where he became a clerk in a dry goods house. This life not being congenial to him, he returned to Camden and entered as a student in the law office of the late John M. DeSaussure, Esq., from which, at the age of twenty-one, he was admitted to the Bar. He soon afterwards formed a copartnership with James Pope Dickinson, who was subsequently killed at the battle of Cherubusco, in the war with Mexico, gallantly leading the charge of the Palmetto Regiment. Both partners went to the Mexican War, young Kershaw as First Lieutenant of the Camden company, known as the DeKalb Rifle Guards. Struck down by fever contracted while in the service, he returned home a physical wreck, to be tenderly nursed back to health by his wife, Lucretia Douglass, whom he had married in 1844. Upon the recovery of his health, the war being [87] over, he resumed the practice of law in Camden. But it was not long before his services were demanded in the State Legislature, which he entered as a member of the lower house in 1852. From this time on until the opening of hostilities in the war between the States, he practiced his profession with eminent success, and served also in the Legislature several terms, being handsomely re-elected when he stood for the place. He took a deep interest in the struggle then impending, and was a member of the Secession Convention from his native district. As it became more and more evident that there would be war, he ran for and was elected to the office of Colonel of the militia regiment composed of companies from Kershaw and adjacent districts, which, early in 1861, by command of Governor Pickens, he mobilized and led to Charleston and thence to Morris' Island, where the regiment remained until it volunteered and was called to go to Virginia to enter the service of the Confederacy. Several of the companies then in his regiment consented to go. These were supplemented by other companies which offered their services, and the new regiment, now known as the Second South Carolina Volunteers, proceeded to Richmond, thence to Manassas.
From this time until 1864 it is unnecessary to trace his personal history in this place, because the history of the brigade, to the command of which he was elected at the reorganization in 1862, and of its commander cannot be separated. In May, 1864, he was promoted to the rank of Major General and assigned to the command of a division, of which his brigade formed a part. His was the First Brigade of the First Division of the First Corps of the Army of Northern Virginia. On the retreat from Richmond his division, with other troops, numbering in all about 6,000 men, was surrounded and captured at the battle of Sailor's Creek, April 6th, 1865. In this disastrous battle Lieutenant General Ewell, Major Generals Kershaw and Custis Lee, Brigadier Generals D.M. DuBose, Semmes, Hunter, and Corse, and Commodores Hunter and Tucker, of the Confederate States' Navy, ranking on shore duty as Brigadiers, were captured, together with their respective commands, almost to a man, after a desperate and sanguinary struggle against [88] immense odds. Those officers were all sent to Fort Warren, Boston Harbor, where they remained in prison until some time in August, 1865, when they were allowed to return to their respective homes.
General Kershaw resumed the profession of law in Camden immediately upon his return, and enjoyed a large and lucrative practice for many years, until called to serve his State as Circuit Judge in 1877, when the government was wrested from the hands of the Republicans. He took an active part in politics, having been elected to the State Senate in the fall of 1865. He ran for Congress from his district in 1874, but was counted out, as it was believed, at the election. He was also summoned to Columbia by Governor Hampton after his election in 1876, and rendered important service in securing the peaceable outcome of that most trying struggle. Upon the convening of the Legislature, he was at once elected Judge of the Fifth Circuit, a position which he held with distinguished honor for sixteen years, rendering it to Judge Ernest Gary in June, 1893, on which occasion there was tendered him a farewell probably unique in the judicial history of the State, by eminent representatives of the Bar of his Circuit. With impaired health, but with unwavering faith and carefulness that no adversity diminished, he once more returned to the practice of his profession. It was a gallant effort in the face of tremendous odds, but the splendid health that he had enjoyed for many years had been undermined slowly and insidiously by disease incident to a life that had ever borne the burdens of others, and that had spent itself freely and unselfishly for his country and his fellowman, and it was evident to all that his days were numbered. Devoted friends, the names of many of whom are unknown to me, offered him pecuniary help at this trying juncture, and these the writer would wish to hold, as he would have wished, "in everlasting remembrance." In his message to the General Assembly that year, 1893, Governor B.R. Tillman proposed him as the [89] proper person to collect the records of the services of South Carolina soldiers in the Civil War, and to prepare suitable historical introduction to the volume. The Legislature promptly, and I believe unanimously, endorsed the nomination and made an appropriation for the work. To this he gave himself during the two succeeding mouths, collecting data, and even preparing in part the proposed introduction. But growing infirmities compelled him to lay it down, and in the latter part of March, 1894, he became alarmingly ill. All was done for his relief that the most competent skill and gentle care could do, but to no avail, and in the night of April 12th, just before midnight, be breathed his last. Among his last words to his son were these, spoken when he was perfectly conscious of what was before him: "My son, I have no doubts and no fears." On the occasion of his funeral there was a general outpouring of people from the town and vicinity for many miles, who sincerely mourned the departure of their friend. The State was represented by the Governor and seven members of his official family. On the modest monument that marks his last resting place is inscribed his name and the date of his birth and death. On the base the legend runs: "I have fought a good fight; I have kept the faith."
It may prove of interest to the surviving members of the old brigade to know that after the fight of Sailor's Creek, when General Kershaw and his companions were being taken back to Petersburg and thence to City Point to be shipped North, he spent a night at a farm house, then occupied as a field hospital and as quarters by the surgeons and attendants. They were South Carolinians, and were anxious to hear all about the fight. In telling of it the pride and love which he reposed in the old brigade received a wistful testimonial. It was then confronting Sherman somewhere in North Carolina. Its old commander said in a voice vibrant with feeling: "If I had only had my old brigade with me I believe we could have held these fellows in check until night gave us the opportunity to withdraw."
The roads in every direction near the army had become almost impassable—mud knee deep in the middle and ruts cut to the hubs on either side. The roads leading to Manassas were literally strewn with the carcasses of horses, some even sunk out of sight in the slough and mud. It would remind one of the passage of Napoleon across the Arabian desert, so graphically described by historians. The firewood had become scarce, and had to be carried on the men's shoulders the distance of a mile, the wagons being engaged in hauling supplies and the enormous private baggage sent to the soldiers from home. I remember once on my return from home on a short furlough, I had under [90] my charge one whole carload of boxes for my company alone. Towards night every soldier would go out to the nearest woodland, which was usually a mile distant, cut a stick of wood the size he could easily carry, and bring into camp, this to do the night and next day. The weather being so severe, fires had to be kept up all during the night. Some constructed little boats and boated the wood across the stream, Bull Run, and a time they generally had of it, with the boat upsetting the men and the wood floundering and rolling about in the water, and it freezing cold.
The Department granted a thirty days' leave of absence to all individuals and companies that would re-enlist for the remaining two years or the war. Many officers were granted commissions to raise companies of cavalry and artillery out of the infantry commands, whose time was soon to expire. Lieutenant T.J. Lipscomb, of Company B, Third South Carolina Regiment, was given a commission as Captain, and he, with others, raised a company of cavalry and was given a thirty days' furlough. A great many companies volunteered in a body, not knowing at the time that the Conscript Act soon to be enacted would retain in service all between certain ages in the army, even after their time had expired.
About the middle of February President Davis called General Johnston to Richmond to confer with him upon the practicability of withdrawing the army to the south banks of the Rappahannock. It was generally understood at the time, and largely the impression since, that the army was withdrawn in consequence of McClellan's movements on the Peninsula. But such was not the case. This withdrawal was determined on long before it was known for certain that McClellan would adopt the Peninsula as his base of operations. The middle of February began the removal of the ordnance and commissary stores by railroad to the south of the rivers in our rear. These had been accumulated at Manassas out of all proportion to the needs of the army, and against the wishes of the commanding General. There seemed to be a want of harmony between the army officers and the officers of the Department in Richmond. This difference of feelings was kept up throughout the war, greatly to the embarassment at times of the Generals in the field, and often a great sacrifice to the service. The officials in Richmond, away from the [91] seat of war, had a continual predilection to meddle with the internal affairs of the army. This meddling caused Jackson, who became immortal in after years, to tender his resignation, and but for the interference of General Johnston, the world would perhaps never have heard of the daring feats of "Stonewall Jackson." He asked to be returned to the professorship at the Military Institute, but General Johnston held his letter up and appealed to Jackson's patriotism and the cause for which all were fighting, to reconsider his action and to overlook this officious intermeddling and remain at his post. This he did under protest.
Our brigade, and, in fact, all regiments and brigades, had been put in different commands at different times to suit the caprice of the President or whims of the Department, and now we were Early's Division.
On the night of the 9th of March we broke up quarters at Bull Run and commenced our long and tiresome march for the Rappahannock. We were ordered by different routes to facilitate the movement, our wagon trains moving out in the morning along the dirt road and near the railroad. All baggage that the soldiers could not carry had been sent to the rear days before, and the greater part destroyed in the great wreck and conflagration that followed at Manassas on its evacuation. In passing through Manassas the stores, filled to the very tops with commissary stores, sutler's goods, clothing, shoes, private boxes, and whiskey, were thrown open for the soldiers to help themselves. What a feast for the troops! There seemed everything at hand to tempt him to eat, drink, or wear, but it was a verification of the adage, "When it rains mush you have no spoon." We had no way of transporting these goods, now piled high on every hand, but to carry them on our backs, and we were already overloaded for a march of any distance. Whiskey flowed like water. Barrels were knocked open and canteens filled. Kegs, jugs, and bottles seemed to be everywhere. One stalwart man of my company shouldered a ten gallon keg and proposed to hold on to it as long as possible, and it is a fact that a few men carried this keg by reliefs all night and next day. This was the case in other companies. When, we got out of the town and on the railroad, the men were completely overloaded. All night we marched along the railroad [92] at a slow, steady gait, but all order and discipline were abandoned. About midnight we saw in our rear great sheets of flame shooting up from the burning buildings, that illuminated the country for miles around. Manassas was on fire! Some of the buildings had caught fire by accident or carelessness of the soldiers, for the firing was not to begin until next day, after the withdrawal of the cavalry. The people in the surrounding country had been invited to come in and get whatever they wished, but I doubt if any came in time to save much from the burning mass. A great meat curing establishment at Thoroughfare Gap, that contained millions of pounds of beef and pork, was also destroyed. We could hear the bursting of bombs as the flames reached the magazines, as well as the explosion of thousands of small arm cartridges. The whole sounded like the raging of a great battle. Manassas had become endeared to the soldiers by its many memories, and when the word went along the line, "Manassas is burning," it put a melancholy feeling upon all. Some of the happiest recollections of the soldiers that composed Kershaw's Brigade as well as all of Johnston's Army, were centred around Manassas. It was here they had experienced their first sensations of the soldier, Manassas was the field of their first victory, and there they had spent their first winter. It seemed to connect the soldiers of the Confederacy with those of Washington at Valley Forge and Trenton, the winter quarters of the army of the patriots. It gave the recollection of rest, a contrast with the many marches, the hard fought battles, trials, and hardships.
The next day it began to rain, and a continual down-pour continued for days and nights. Blankets were taken from knapsacks to cover over the men as they marched, but they soon filled with water, and had to be thrown aside. Both sides of the railroad were strewn with blankets, shawls, overcoats, and clothing of every description, the men finding it impossible to bear up under such loads. The slippery ground and the unevenness of the railroad track made marching very disagreeable to soldiers unaccustomed to it. Some took the dirt road, while others kept the railroad track, and in this way all organizations were lost sight of, but at night they collected together in regiments, joined [93] the wagon trains, and bivouaced for the night. Sometimes it would be midnight before the last of the stragglers came up. We crossed the Rappahannock on the railroad bridge, which had been laid with plank to accommodate the passage of wagon trains, on the 11th and remained until the 19th. Up to this time it was not fully understood by the authorities in Richmond which route McClellan would take to reach Richmond, whether by way of Fredericksburg or Yorktown, but now scouts reported large transports, laden with soldiers, being shipped down the Potomac to the mouth of the James and York Rivers. This left no doubt in the minds of the authorities that the Peninsula was to be the base of operations. We continued our march on the 19th, crossed the Rapidan, and encamped around Orange Court House.
Beauregard, whom the soldiers loved dearly, and in whom they had every confidence as a leader, was transferred to the West, to join General A.S. Johnston, who had come from California and was organizing an army in Southern Tennessee.
Magruder, commanding at Yorktown, reporting large bodies disembarking in his front, Kershaw's Brigade, with several others, were placed upon cars and hurried on through Richmond to his support, leaving the other portion of the army to continue the march on foot, or on cars, wherever met. At Richmond we were put on board small sail boats and passed down the James River for the seat of war. This was a novel mode of transportation for most of the soldiers on board. It was a most bitter day and night. A cold east wind blowing from the sea, with a mist of sleet, the cold on the deck of the little vessel became almost unbearable. About two hundred were placed on board of each, and it being so cold we were forced to go below in the "hold," leaving only a little trap door of four feet square as our only means of ventilation. Down in the hold, where these two hundred men were packed like sardines in a box, caused us to almost suffocate, while to remain on deck five minutes would be to court death by freezing. Thus one would go up the little ladder, stick his head through the door a moment for a breath of fresh air, then drop back and allow another the pleasure of a fresh breathing spell. So we alternated between freezing and smothering all the way, a distance of one hundred and fifty miles [94] or more. I had read of the tortures of the "middle passage" and the packing of the slave ships, but I do not think it could have exceeded our condition.
Now it must be remembered that for the most of the time on our march we were separated from our wagon trains that had our tents, cooking utensils, and other baggage. Many novel arrangements were resorted to for cooking. The flour was kneaded into dough on an oil cloth spread upon the ground, the dough pulled into thin cakes, pinned to boards or barrel heads by little twigs or wooden pegs, placed before the fire, and baked into very fair bread. Who would think of baking bread on a ram-rod? But it was often done. Long slices of dough would be rolled around the iron ram-rods, then held over the fire, turning it over continually to prevent burning, and in this way we made excellent bread, but by a tedious process. It is needless to say the meats were cooked by broiling. We parched corn when flour was scarce, and often guards had to be placed over the stock at feed time to prevent soldiers from robbing the horses of their corn.
At midnight the captain of the sloop notified us that we were now at our place of disembarkation, and we began to scramble up the ladder, a small lamp hanging near by and out on deck. The wooden wharfs were even with the deck, so we had no difficulty in stepping from one to the other. But the night was pitch dark, and our only mode of keeping direction was taken from the footsteps of the soldiers on the wharf and in front. Here we came very near losing one of our best soldiers. Jim George was an erratic, or some said "half witted" fellow, but was nevertheless a good soldier, and more will be said of him in future In going out of the hold on deck he became what is called in common parlance "wrong shipped," and instead of passing to the right, as the others did, he took the left, and in a moment he was floundering about in the cold black waves of the river below. The wind was shrieking, howling, and blowing—a perfect storm—so no one could hear his call for help. He struck out manfully and paddled wildly about in the chilly water, until fortunately a passing sailor, with the natural instinct of his calling, scented a "man overboard." A line was thrown Jim, and after a pull he was landed on shore, more dead than alive.
[95]"How long were you in the water, Jim?" someone asked.
"Hell! more dan t'ree hours," was the laconic and good-natured reply.
Had we lost Jim here, the regiment would have lost a treat in after years, as time will show.
We went into camp a mile or so from the historic old Yorktown, if a few old tumbled down houses and a row of wooden wharfs could be called a town. The country around Yorktown was low and swampy, and the continual rains made the woods and fields a perfect marsh, not a dry foot of land to pitch a tent on, if we had had tents, and scarcely a comfortable place to stand upon. Fires were built, and around these men would stand during the day, and a pretense of sleep during the night. But the soldiers were far from being despondent; although some cursed our luck, others laughed and joked the growlers. The next day great numbers visited Yorktown through curiosity, and watched the Federal Fleet anchored off Old Point Comfort. Here happened a "wind fall" I could never account for. While walking along the beach with some comrades, we came upon a group of soldiers, who, like ourselves, were out sight-seeing. They appeared to be somewhat excited by the way they were gesticulating. When we came up, we found a barrel, supposed to be filled with whiskey, had been washed ashore. Some were swearing by all that was good and bad, that "it was a trick of the d——n Yankees on the fleet," who had poisoned the whiskey and thrown it overboard to catch the "Johnny Rebs." The crowd gathered, and with it the discussion and differences grew. Some swore they would not drink a drop of it for all the world, while others were shouting, "Open her up," "get into it," "not so much talking, but more drinking." But who was "to bell the cat?" Who would drink first? No one seemed to care for the first drink, but all were willing enough, if somebody else would just "try it." It was the first and only time I ever saw whiskey go begging among a lot of soldiers. At last a long, lank, lantern-jawed son of the "pitch and turpentine State" walked up and said:
"Burst her open and give me a drink, a man might as well die from a good fill of whiskey as to camp in this God-forsaken swamp and die of fever; I've got a chill now."
[96]The barrel was opened. The "tar heel" took a long, a steady, and strong pull from a tin cup; then holding it to a comrade, he said: "Go for it, boys, she's all right; no poison thar, and she didn't come from them thar gun boats either. Yankees ain't such fools as to throw away truck like that. No, boys, that 'ar liquor just dropped from Heaven." The battle around the whiskey barrel now raged fast and furious; spirits flowed without and within; cups, canteens, hats, and caps were soused in the tempting fluid, and all drank with a relish. Unfortunately, many had left their canteens in camp, but after getting a drink they scurried away for that jewel of the soldier, the canteen. The news of the find spread like contagion, and in a few minutes hundreds of men were struggling around the barrel of "poison." Where it came from was never known, but it is supposed to have been dropped by accident from a Federal man-of-war. As the soldiers said, "All gifts thankfully received and no questions asked."
General J. Bankhead Magruder was in command of the Peninsula at the time of our arrival, and had established his lines behind the Warwick River, a sluggish stream rising near Yorktown and flowing southward to the James. Along this river light entrenchments had been thrown up. The river had been dammed in places to overflow the lowlands, and at these dams redoubts had been built and defended by our heaviest artillery.
In a few days all our division was in line, and soon thereafter was joined by Longstreet's, D.H. Hill's, and G.W. Smith's, with the cavalry under Stuart. General Johnston was Commander-in-Chief. We remained in camp around Yorktown about two weeks, when General Johnston decided to abandon this line of defense for one nearer Richmond. One of the worst marches our brigade ever had was the night before we evacuated our lines along the Warwick. Remember the troops had no intention of a retreat, for they were going down the river towards the enemy. It was to make a feint, however, to appear as if Johnston was making a general advance, thus to enable the wagon trains and artillery to get out of the way of the retreating army, and Kershaw was to cover this retreat.
At dark we began our march through long ponds and pools of water, and [97] mud up to the knees, in the direction opposite Gloucester Point, and near a point opposite to the enemy's fleet of gunboats. Through mud and water we floundered and fell, the night being dark. Mile after mile we marched at a snail's gait until we came to a large opening, surrounded by a rail fence. This was about midnight. Here we were ordered to build great fires of the rails near by. This was done, and soon the heavens were lit up by this great stretch of roaring fires. Some had spread their blankets and lay down for a good sleep, while others sat around the good, warm, crackling blaze, wondering what next. Scarcely had we all became quiet than orders came to "fall in." Back over the same sloppy, muddy, and deep-rutted road we marched, retracing the steps made only an hour before, reaching our old camp at daylight, but we were not allowed to stop or rest. The retreat had begun. Magruder, with the other of his forces, was far on the road towards Williamsburg, and we had to fall in his rear and follow his footsteps over roads, now simply impassable to any but foot soldiers. We kept up the march until we had left Yorktown ten miles in our rear, after marching a distance of nearly thirty miles, and all night and day. A council of war had been held at Richmond, at which were present President Davis, Generals Lee, Smith, Longstreet, Johnston, and the Secretary of War, to determine upon the point at which our forces were to concentrate and give McClellan battle. Johnston favored Richmond as the most easy of concentration; thereto gather all the forces available in Virginia, North Carolina, and South Carolina around Richmond, and as the enemy approached fall upon and crush him. G.W. Smith coincided with Johnston. Longstreet favored reinforcing Jackson in the Valley, drive the enemy out, cross the Potomac, and threaten Washington, and force McClellan to look after his Capitol. The others favored Yorktown and the Peninsula as the point of concentration. But General Johnston found his position untenable, as the enemy could easily flank his right and left with his fleet.
On May 3rd began the long, toilsome march up the York River and the James. The enemy hovered on our rear and picked up our stragglers, and forced the rear guard at every step. At Williamsburg, the evening of [98] the 4th of May, Johnston was forced to turn and fight. Breastworks and redoubts had been built some miles in front of the town, and it was here intended to give battle. The heavy down-pour of rain prevented Anderson, who was holding the rear and protecting the wagon trains, from moving, and the enemy began pressing him hard.
Kershaw and the other brigades had passed through Williamsburg when the fight began, but the continual roar of the cannon told of a battle in earnest going on in the rear and our troops hotly engaged. Kershaw and Simms, of our Division, were ordered back at double quick. As we passed through the town the citizens were greatly excited, the piazzas and balconies being filled with ladies and old men, who urged the men on with all the power and eloquence at their command. The woods had been felled for some distance in front of the earthworks and forts, and as we neared the former we could see the enemy's skirmishers pushing out of the woods in the clearing. The Second and Eighth South Carolina Regiments were ordered to occupy the forts and breastworks beyond Fort Magruder, and they had a perfect race to reach them before the enemy did. The battle was raging in all fierceness on the left, as well as in our front. More troops were put in action on both sides, and it seemed as if we were going to have the great battle there. D.R. Jones, Longstreet, and McLaws were more or less engaged along their whole lines. The Third Regiment did not have an opportunity to fire a gun that day, nor either the Seventh, but the other two had a considerable fight, but being mostly behind breastworks their casualties were light. The enemy withdrew at nightfall, and after remaining on the field for some hours, our army took up the line of march towards Richmond. It has been computed that McClellan had with him on the Peninsula, outside of his marines, 111,000 men of all arms.
As the term of first enlistment has expired, I will give a brief sketch of some of the field officers who led the regiments during the first twelve months of the war.
Colonel James H. Williams, the commander of the Third South Carolina Regiment, was born in Newberry County, October 4th, 1813. He was of [99] Welsh descent, his ancestors immigrating to this country with Lord Baltimore. He was English by his maternal grandmother. The grandfather of Colonel Williams was a Revolutionary soldier, and was killed at the battle of Ninety-Six. The father of the subject of this sketch was also a soldier, and held the office of Captain in the war of 1812.
Colonel Williams, it would seem, inherited his love for the military service from his ancestors, and in early life joined a company of Nullifiers, in 1831. He also served in the Florida War. His ardor in military matters was such he gave little time for other attainments; he had no high school or college education. When only twenty-four years old he was elected Major of the Thirty-eighth Regiment of State Militia, and in 1843 took the Captaincy of the McDuffie Artillery, a crack volunteer company of Newberry. In 1846 he organized a company for the Mexican War, and was mustered into service in 1847 as Company L. Palmetto Regiment. He was in all the battles of that war, and, with the Palmetto Regiment, won distinction on every field. After his return from Mexico he was elected Brigadier General and then Major General of State Militia. He served as Mayor of his town, Commissioner in Equity, and in the State Legislature.
Before the breaking out of the Civil War, he had acquired some large estates in the West, and was there attending to some business connected therewith when South Carolina seceded. The companies that were to compose the Third Regiment elected him their Colonel, but in his absence, when the troops were called into service, they were commanded for the time by Lieutenant Colonel Foster, of Spartanburg. He joined the Regiment at "Lightwood Knot Springs," the 1st of May. He commanded the Third during the term of its first enlistment, and carried it through the first twelve months' campaign in Virginia.
At the reorganization of the regiment, the men composing it being almost wholly young men, desired new blood at the head of the volunteer service, and elected Captain James D. Nance in his stead. After his return to the State, he was placed at the head of the Fourth and Ninth Regiments of State Troops, and served as such until the close.
[100]After the war, he returned to Arkansas and continued his planting operations until the time of his death, August 21st, 1892. He was a member of the Constitutional Convention of that State in 1874.
Colonel Williams was a born soldier, considerate of and kind to his men. He was cool and fearless to a fault. He understood tactics thoroughly, but was wanting in those elements of discipline—its sternness and rigidity that was required to govern troops in actual war. His age counted against him as a strict disciplinarian, but not as a soldier. He was elected to the Legislature of this State before Reconstruction, as well as a member of the Constitutional Convention of Arkansas in 1874.
Lieutenant Colonel C.B. Foster, of the Third South Carolina Regiment, was born in Spartanburg County, South Carolina, at the old Foster homestead, near Cedar Springs, in 1817. His father was Anthony Foster, a native of Virginia. Colonel Foster was a member of the Legislature before the war, and represented Spartanburg County in the Secession Convention, along with Simpson Bobo, Dr. J.H. Carlisle, and others. After the Convention adjourned he returned to his home in Spartanburg and immediately began drilling a company for the war. He was elected Captain of the Blackstock Company, which was Company K, in the Third Regiment of South Carolina Volunteers. The Blackstock Company reported for duty as soon as volunteers were called for, and went immediately to the camp of instruction at Lightwood Knot Springs. Colonel Foster was elected Lieutenant Colonel of the regiment. After spending about three months at the camp of instruction, the Third Regiment was ordered to Virginia. Colonel Footer served until some time after the battle of First Manassas, having participated in that campaign. He remained in Virginia until the fall of 1861, when he was ordered to go home by the surgeon, his health having completely given way. It took long nursing to get him on his feet again. He was devoted to the Confederate cause, and was always willing and ready to help in any way its advancement. He gave two sons to his country. One, Captain Perrin [101] Foster, also of the Third Regiment, was killed at Fredericksburg leading his command. His other son, James Anthony Foster, gave up his life in the front of his command during the frightful charge on Maryland Heights. He was a member of Company K, of the Third Regiment.
Colonel Foster was considered a wealthy man before the war, but when it ended he was left penniless. At that time he lived near Glenn Springs, Spartanburg County. In 1867 he moved to Union County and merchandised until 1884. He was also County Treasurer for a long time. He died on June 9th. 1897, at the residence of his daughter, Mrs. Benjamin Kennedy, at Jonesville, Union County. In early life Colonel Foster married Miss Mary Ann Perrin, a sister of Colonel Thomas C. Perrin, of Abbeville. She died in 1886. Three daughters survive Colonel Foster, Mrs. I.G. McKissick, Mrs. Benjamin Kennedy, and Mrs. J.A. Thompson. Colonel Foster was one of God's noblemen. He was true to his friends, his family, and his country. He never flinched from danger nor from his duty. He was faithful at all times and under all circumstances to the best principles of the Anglo-Saxon race.
Thomas Glascock Bacon was born in Edgefield Village of English ancestry on the 24th of June, 1812. He was the youngest son of Major Edmund Bacon, the eloquent and distinguished member of the Edgefield Bar, and author of the humorous "Georgia Scenes," written under the nom de plume of Ned Brace. Colonel Bacon's mother was a sister of Brigadier General Thomas F. Glascock, of Georgia, a gallant and distinguished officer of the Revolutionary War, and after whom Colonel Bacon was named. He received the early rudiments of education at the Edgefield Academy, and when at the proper age he was sent for his classical education to the Pendleton English and Classical Institute, under the tutilage of that profound scholar and educator, Prof. S.M. Shuford. Colonel Bacon was fond of the classics, and had acquired rare literary attainments, and had he cultivated his tastes in that line [102] assiduously, he no doubt would have become the foremost scholar of the State, if not the South. He was passionately fond of manly sports and out-door exercise. He was a devotee of the turf, and this disposition led him early in life to the development of fast horses and a breeder of blooded stock. He was a turfman of the old school, and there were but few courses in the South that had not tested the mettle of his stock. But like his brother in arms, Colonel Cash, of the Eighth, and brother turfman, he became disgusted with the thievery and trickery of later day sports and quit the turf, still owning at his death some of the most noted racers of the times, Granger Lynchburg, John Payne, Glengary, Father Ryan, Ned Brace, and others of lesser note.
He paid much attention to military matters, and held several offices in the State militia before the war. He, with his friend and superior, General M.L. Bonham, enlisted in the "Blues" and served in the Palmetto Regiment in the war with the Seminoles. At the breaking out of the Civil War he, with Elbert Bland, afterwards Colonel of the Seventh, organized the first company from Edgefield, and was elected Captain. The companies assigned to the Seventh Regiment unanimously elected him the Colonel, and in that capacity he led his regiment to Virginia, being among the first regiments from the State to reach the seat of war. He was at the battle of Manassas, and participated in the Peninsular campaign. At the reorganization of the regiment at the expiration of the term of enlistment, his failing health forced him to decline a re-election as Colonel. Returning home, and the State needing the services of trained soldiers to command the State troops, notwithstanding his failing health, he cheerfully accepted the command of the Seventh Regiment State troops. In 1863 he was elected to the State Senate. He died at his home, Pine Pond, in Edgefield County, September 25th, 1876, leaving a widow, but no children.
Strong in his friendship and earnest in his affection, but with a peaceable and forgiving temperament, pure in his motives, charitable in all things, generous to the needy, affectionate to his friends and relatives, chivalric and honorable in every relation of life, brave in action, and with that fortitude under adverse circumstances that makes [103] heroes of men, just and impartial to the officers and men under his command, pleasant and sociable towards his equals in rank, obedient and courteous to his superiors, few men lived or died with so much respect and admiration, genuine friendship, and love from all as Colonel Thomas G. Bacon, of the Seventh South Carolina Volunteers.
Ellerbe Boggan Crawford Cash was born near Wadesboro, Anson County, North Carolina, on July 1st, 1823. His father was Boggan Cash, a Colonel in militia of that State, merchant, and member of Legislature. His mother was Miss Elizabeth Ellerbe, of Chesterfield County, S.C. He was the only child. His father died when he was near two years old, and his mother returned to her father's, in South Carolina. He was educated at Mt. Zion Institute, Winnsboro, S.C., and South Carolina College. He read law under General Blakeney, at Cheraw, S.C., and practiced in partnership a short while with Alexander McIver, Esq., the Solicitor of the Eastern Circuit, and father of Chief Justice Henry McIver, of South Carolina. But his mother owning a large landed estate, and several hundred negroes, he soon retired from the Bar to look after her affairs, and devoted himself to planting and raising fine horses and cattle. He married in 1847 his cousin, Miss Allan Ellerbe, of Kershaw, S.C. He was elected to the Legislature from his County, Chesterfield. He was elected Colonel, Brigadier General, and Major General of State militia.
When the war commenced he was one of the Major Generals of the State. He volunteered and was elected Colonel of the Eighth South Carolina Regiment. At the reorganization he did not offer for re-election, but came home and was made Colonel in State troops. He was kind to the poor the whole war, and gave away during the war over 50,000 bushels of corn and large quantities of other provisions to soldiers' families, or sold it in Confederate money at ante bellum prices. After the war all notes, claims, and mortgages he held on estates of old soldiers he cancelled and made a present of them to their families. In one case the amount he gave a widow, who had a family and small children, was over $5,000, her husband having been killed in his regiment.
[104]After the war he continued to farm. In 1876 he took an active part in redeeming the State, and contributed his time, advice, and services, and a great deal of money. In 1881 he fought a duel with Colonel Wm. M. Shannon, in which he killed Colonel Shannon. Colonel Cash was the challenged party. His wife died in May, 1880. Colonel Cash died March 10, 1888, and was buried in the family burying ground at his residence, Cash's Depot, S.C.
Colonel Cash was a man of strong character, fearless, brave, generous and true, a good friend and patriot. He made no religious profession. He was charitable to the extreme, and was the soul of honor, and while he had many enemies, being a fearless man and a good hater, he had such qualities as inspired the respect and admiration of his fellow-men.
On the 13th of April the term for which the twelve months' troops had enlisted was now soon to expire, the great number which had not re-enlisted were looking forward with longing anticipation for orders to disband and return to their homes. On the 14th, their obligations being at an end, officers and men were making rapid preparation to depart for home—not to quit the service, however, but more to enjoy a short leave of absence with their families, and to join other branches of the services, more especially cavalry. Some of the companies had actually left, and were a mile or two from camp when orders came to return. The Conscript Act had been passed, making it obligatory on all, between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five, to enter or remain in the army. The men took their sudden return in good humor, for really it was only the married men, who had left their families so unprepared twelve months before, who cared to return home; for some of the young men, who were under the conscript age, refused to leave. Those who had to return received a lot of good-natured badgering at [105] their sudden return to the army. "Hello, boys, when did you get back? What's the news at home?" "How did you find all?" were some of the soothing jeers the "returned sinners" had to endure; and as so great a number had expressed a desire to join the cavalry, not a few were asked: "Did you bring your horses with you?" But all was soon forgotten, for in a few days a reorganization was ordered to take place, and new officers elected.
The Conscript Act was condemned in unmeasured terms in many places at the South, but its necessity and expediency was never doubted. To have allowed so great a number to absent themselves from the army at this time, in the face of an overwhelming enemy, and that enemy advancing upon our Capitol, was more than the morale of the army would admit. Not altogether would the absence of the soldiers themselves effect the army, but in the breaking up of organizations, for in some companies all had re-enlisted, while in others one-half, and in many cases none. New regiments would have had to be formed out of the re-enlisted companies, and new companies out of the large number of recruits, now in camps of instruction. So by keeping up the old organizations, and filling up the ranks by the conscripts at home, the army would be greatly benefited.
In some countries, to be called a conscript or drafted man was considered a stigma, but not so in the South. There is little doubt, had a call been made for volunteers, any number could have been had at a moment's notice, for there were hundreds and thousands at the South only awaiting an opportunity to enter the army. In fact, there were companies and regiments already organized and officered, only awaiting arms by the government, but these organizations were all raw men, and at this time it was believed to fill up the old companies with recruits, thus putting seasoned troops side by side with raw ones, would enhance the efficiency of the army, retain its discipline, and esprit de corps.
Then, again, the farms had to be managed, the slaves kept in subjection, and the army fed, and the older men were better qualified for this service than the young. In reality, all were in the service of the country, for while the younger men were fighting in the ranks, the older ones were working in the fields and factories to furnish [106] them clothes, provisions, and munitions of war. Our government had no means at home, no ships on the ocean, little credit abroad, and our ports all blockaded. So all had to enter the service either as a fighter or a worker, and our wisest men thought it the better policy to allow the young men the glory upon the field, while the old men served at home. On the 13th of May all companies were allowed to elect their officers, both company and regimental, and enter the service for two more years. As I said in the commencement of this work, at the breaking out of the war men generally selected as officers the old militia officers for company officers and veterans of the Mexican War for field officers. General Bonham had been a Colonel in Mexico. Williams, of the Third, had led a company from Newberry to that far-off land. Kershaw went as First Lieutenant. Cash, of the Eighth, was a Major General of the militia at the breaking out of the war. The greatest number of the first Colonels of regiments under the first call were Mexican veterans. Another qualification that was considered at the first organization was popularity—gentle, clever, and kind-hearted. The qualification of courage or as a disciplinarian was seldom thought of; for a man to be wanting in the first could not be thought possible. Our men, who had known the proud feelings of personal freedom, dreaded discipline and restraint, naturally turned to those men for officers most conducive to their will and wishes. But twelve months' service in trying campaigns made quite a change. What they had once looked upon with dread and misgiving they now saw as a necessity. Strict discipline was the better for both men and the service. A greater number of the older officers, feeling their services could be better utilized at home than in the army, and also having done their duty and share by setting the example by enlistment and serving twelve months, relinquished these offices to the younger men and returned home. The younger, too, saw the advisability of infusing in the organizations young blood—men more of their own age and temperament—the stern necessity of military discipline, a closer attendance to tactics and drills, better regulations, and above all, courage. The organizations selected such men as in their opinions would better subserve the interests of the service, and who had the requisites for leadership. This is said with no disparagement to the [107] old officers, for truer, more patriotic, nor a braver set of men ever drew a blade than those who constituted the old brigade during its first organization. In fact, some who had served during the first twelve months as officers, when they discovered their deficiency, or that the men had more confidence in others, after a short respite at home, returned and joined their old companies as privates. Was there ever greater patriotism and unselfishness and less ostentation shown as in the example of these men! It was but natural that men selected almost at random, and in many instances unacquainted with a majority of the men at enlistment unusual to military life, or the requirements of an officer in actual service, could possibly be as acceptable as those chosen after a year of service, and in close compact with the men.
Colonel—Jno. D. Kennedy.
Lieutenant Colonel—A.S. Goodwin.
Major—Frank Gaillard.
Adjutant—E.E. Sill.
Quartermaster—W.D. Peck.
Commissary—J.J. Villipigue.
Chief Surgeon—Dr. F. Salmond.
Chaplains—Revs. McGruder and Smith.
I give below a list of the Captains, as well as the field officers, of the Second Regiment during the war. There were many changes from Lieutenants to Captains, and subsequent elections from the ranks to Lieutenants, caused by the casualties of war, but space forbids, and want of the facts prevents me from giving more than the company commanders and the field officers.
Colonels—J.B. Kershaw, E.P. Jones, Jno. D. Kennedy, and Wm. Wallace.
Lieutenant Colonels—E.P. Jones, A.D. Goodwin, F. Gaillard, Wm. Wallace, and J.D. Graham.
Majors—A.D. Goodwin, W.H. Casson, F. Gaillard, Wm. Wallace, I.D. Graham, B.F. Clyburn, G.L. Leaphart.
Adjutants—A.D. Goodwin, E.E. Sill, and A. McNeil.
Surgeons and Assistant Surgeons—J.A. Maxwell and J.H. Nott.
[108]
Some of them went from Captains and Majors through all the grades to Colonel. The following are the Captains, some elected at the first organization, some at the reorganization, and others rose by promotion from Lieutenant:
Company A—W.H. Casson, M.A. Shelton, G.L. Leaphart, M.M. Maddrey.
Company B—A.D. Hoke, Wm. Pulliam, W. Powell, J. Caigle.
Company C—Wm. Wallace, S. Lorick, J.T. Scott, A.P. Winson.
Company D—J.S. Richardson, J.D. Graham, W. Wilder.
Company E—John D. Kennedy, elected Colonel, Z. Leitner, J. Crackeford.
Company F—W.W. Ferryman, W.C. China, G. McDowell.
Company G—J. Hail, J. Friesdale, J.P. Cunningham.
Company H—H. McManus, D. Clyburn.
Company I—G.B. Cuthbreath, Ralph Elliott, R. Fishburn, B.F. Barlow.
Company K—R. Rhett, J. Moorer, K.D. Webb, J.D. Dutart,—Burton, G.T. Haltiwanger.
Many changes took place by death and resignation. Scarcely any of the field officers remained in the end. Many Captains of a low rank went all the way to Colonels of regiments, and Third Lieutenants rose by promotion to Captains. This shows the terrible mortality among the officers. None of the first field officers but what had been killed or incapacitated for service by wounds at the close of the war.
James D. Nance, of Newberry, Captain of Company E, elected Colonel.
Conway Garlington, of Laurens, Captain of Company A, elected Lieutenant Colonel.
W.D. Rutherford, of Newberry, formerly Adjutant, made Major.
Y.J. Pope, Newberry, formerly Orderly Sergeant of Company E, made Adjutant.
G.W. Shell, Laurens, Quartermaster.
J.N. Martin and R.N. Lowrance, Commissary.
[109]Ed. Hicks, of Laurens, Sergeant Major.
All staff officers are appointed or recommended for appointment by the Colonel of the regiment. The offices of Regimental Quartermaster and Commissary, the encumbents heretofore ranking as Captains, were abolished during the year, having one Quartermaster and one Commissary for the brigade, the regiments having only Sergeants to act as such. I will state here that some of the companies from each regiment had reorganized and elected officers before the time of re-enlistment. This is one reason why rank was not accorded in the regular order. In the Third Regiment, Company E, Captain J.D. Nance, and perhaps several others, had reorganized, taken their thirty days' furlough, and had returned before the general order to reorganize and remain for two more years or the war. The new organizations stood in the Third as follows, by Captains:
Company A—Willie Hance, Laurens.
Company B—N. Davidson, Newberry.
Company C—R.C. Maffett, Newberry.
Company D—N.F. Walker, Spartanburg.
Company E—J.K.G. Nance—Newberry.
Company F—P. Williams, Laurens.
Company G—R.P. Todd—Laurens.
Company H—John C. Summer, Lexington.
Company I—D.M.H. Langston, Laurens.
Company K—S.M. Langford, Spartanburg.
Many changes took place in this regiment, some almost immediately after the election and others in the battle that followed in a few weeks.
Captain Davidson died in two weeks after his election from disease, and was succeeded by Lieutenant Thomas W. Gary, who had during the first twelve months been Captain Davidson's Orderly Sergeant. It seems the position of Orderly Sergeant was quite favorable to promotion, for nearly all the Orderlies during the first twelve months were made either Captains or Lieutenants.
Lieutenant Colonel Garlington being killed at Savage Station, Major Rutherford was promoted to that position, while Captain Maffett was made Major and Lieutenant Herbert Captain in his stead of Company C.
[110]Captain Hance, of Company A, being killed at Fredericksburg, First Lieutenant Robert Richardson became Captain.
Lieutenant R.H. Wright became Captain of Company E after the promotion of Nance to Major in the latter part of the service.
Captain Williams, of Company F, was killed, and Lieutenant Wm. Deal made Captain and commanded at the surrender. There may have been other Captains of this company, but no data at hand.
John W. Watts became Captain of Company G after the promotion of Captain Todd to Major and Lieutenant Colonel.
Captain Summer being killed at Fredericksburg, Lieutenant G.S. Swygert became Captain, was disabled and resigned, and D.A. Dickert became Captain and commanded to the end.
Captain Langston, of Company I, being killed, Lieutenant Jarred Johnston became Captain, disabled at Chickamauga.
Company K was especially unfortunate in her commanders. Captain Langford was killed at Savage Station; then Lieutenant L.P. Foster, son of Lieutenant Colonel Foster, was promoted to Captain and killed at Fredericksburg. Then W.H. Young was made Captain and killed at Gettysburg. Then J.H. Cunningham became Captain and was killed at Chickamauga. J.P. Roebuck was promoted and soon after taken prisoner. First Lieutenant John W. Wofford commanded the company till the surrender, and after the war became State Senator from Spartanburg.
Captain N.F. Walker was permanently disabled at Savage Station, returned home, was appointed in the conscript bureau, and never returned to active duty. He still retained his rank and office as Captain of Company D, thereby preventing promotions in one of the most gallant companies in Kershaw's Brigade.
It was at the battle of Fredericksburg that the regiment lost so many officers, especially Captains, that caused the greatest changes. Captains Hance, Foster, Summer, with nearly a dozen Lieutenants, were killed there, making three new Captains, and a lot of new Lieutenants. It was by the death of Captain Summer that I received the rank of Captain, having been a Lieutenant up to that time. From December, 1862, to the end I commanded the company, with scarcely a change. It [111] will be seen that at the reorganization the Third Regiment made quite a new deal, and almost a clean sweep of old officers—and with few exceptions the officers from Colonel to the Lieutenants of least rank were young men. I doubt very much if there was a regiment in the service that had such a proportion of young men for officers.
I will here relate an incident connected with the name of Captain Hance's family, that was spoken of freely in the regiment at the time, but little known outside of immediate surroundings—not about Captain Hance, however, but the name and connection that the incident recalled, that was often related by the old chroniclers of Laurens. Andrew Johnson, who was at the time I speak United States Senator from Tennessee, and was on the ticket with Lincoln, for Vice-President of the United States in his second race against McClellan, was elected, and afterwards became President. As the story goes, and it is vouched for as facts, Andrew Johnson in his younger days had a tailoring establishment at Laurens, and while there paid court to the mother of Captain Hance. So smitten was he with her charms and graces, he paid her special attention, and asked for her hand in marriage. Young Johnson was fine looking, in fact handsome, energetic, prosperous, and well-to-do young man, with no vices that were common to the young men of that day, but the great disparity in the social standing of the two caused his rejection. The family of Hance was too exclusive at the time to consent to a connection with the plebeian Johnson, yet that plebeian rose at last to the highest office in the gift of the American people, through the force of his own endowments.
The Seventh Regiment was reorganized by electing—
Colonel—D. Wyatt Aiken, Abbeville.
Lieutenant Colonel—Elbert Bland, Edgefield.
Major—W.C. White, Edgefield.
Adjutant—Thomas M. Childs.
Sergeant Major—Amos C. Stalworth.
Quartermaster—B.F. Lovelace.
Commissary—A.F. Townsend.
[112] Company A—Stuart Harrison.
Company B—Thomas Huggins.
Company C—W.E. Cothran.
Company D—Warren H. Allen.
Company E—James Mitchell.
Company F—John S. Hard.
Company G—W.C. Clark.
Company H—H.W. Addison.
Company I—Benj. Roper.
Company K—Jno. L. Burris.
Company L—J.L. Litchfield.
Company M—Jerry Goggans.
I am indebted to Captain A.C. Waller, of Greenwood, for the following brief summary of the Seventh after reorganization, giving the different changes of regimental and company commanders, as well as the commanders of the regiment during battle:
Colonel Aiken commanded at Savage Station, Malvern Hill, and Antietam, till wounded at Gettysburg, after which he was ordered elsewhere.
Lieutenant Colonel Bland commanded at Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, and Chickamauga; killed in latter battle.
Major White commanded at Antietam after the wounding of Aiken, and until he was himself killed at the enemy's battery, the farthest advance of the day. Captain Hard had command at the close. Captain Hard also led for a short while at Chickamauga after the death of Bland, and fell at the head of his regiment on top of Pea Ridge.
Captain Goggans was in command at Knoxville, Bean Station, and the Wilderness, until wounded.
Captain James Mitchell led the regiment in the charge at Cold Harbor, and was in command at Spottsylvania.
Lieutenant Colonel Maffett, of the Third, was placed in command of the Seventh during the Valley campaign under Early in 1864, and led at Fisher's Hill and Cedar Creek the 13th and 19th of September. Was captured in October.
Lieutenant Colonel Huggins commanded from October till the surrender, and at the battle of Averysboro and Bentonville.
Captain Goggans was promoted to Major after the battle of the Wilderness, but resigned.
[113]Company E was divided into two companies, E and M. Company H took the place of Bland's, which became Company A.
Captain Stuart Harrison, Company A, resigned, being elected Clerk of Court of Edgefield, and Lieutenant Gus Bart was made Captain.
John Carwile, First Lieutenant of Company A, acted as Adjutant after the death of Adjutant Childs, and also on General Kershaw's staff.
Lieutenant James Townsend became Captain of Company B after the promotion of Huggins to Lieutenant Colonel.
After Captain Hard's promotion James Rearden was made Captain of Company E and was killed at Wilderness, and Lieutenant C.K. Henderson became Captain.
Captain Wm. E. Clark, Company G, was killed at Maryland heights. Lieutenant Jno. W. Kemp was made Captain and killed at the Wilderness.
Captain J.L. Burris, of Company K, was wounded at Antietam and resigned. First Lieutenant J.L. Talbert having been killed at Maryland Heights a few days before, Second Lieutenant Giles M. Berry became Captain; he resigned, and Lieutenant West A. Cheatham was made Captain by promotion.
Captain J.L. Litchfield, of Company I, was killed at Maryland Heights, and First Lieutenant Litchfield was made Captain.
First Lieutenant P. Bouknight became Captain of Company M after the promotion of Captain Goggans.
The Eighth South Carolina Regiment was reorganized by electing—
Colonel—Jno. W. Henagan, Marlboro.
Lieutenant Colonel—A.J. Hoole, Darlington.
Major—McD. McLeod, Marlboro.
Adjutant—C.M. Weatherly, Darlington.
Surgeon—Dr. Pearce.
Assistant Surgeon—Dr. Maxy.
Company A—John H. Muldrow, Darlington.
Company B—Richard T. Powell, Chesterfield.
Company C—Thomas E. Powe, Chesterfield.
[114] Company D—Robt. P. Miller, Chesterfield.
Company E—M.E. Keith, Darlington.
Company F—T.E. Howle, Darlington.
Company G—C.P. Townsend, Marlboro.
Company H—Duncan McIntyre, Marion.
Company I—A.T. Harllee, Marion.
Company K—Frank Manning, Marlboro.
Company L—Thomas E. Stackhouse, Marion.
Company M—Thomas E. Howle, Darlington.
Company L was a new company, and T.E. Stackhouse was made Captain; also A.T. Harllee was made Captain of Company I. Company M was also a new company.
After the reorganization the Generals' staffs were reduced to more republican simplicity. General Kershaw was contented with—
Captain C.R. Holmes—Assistant Adjutant General.
Lieutenant W.M. Dwight—Adjutant and Inspector General.
Lieutenant D.A. Doby—Aide de Camp.
Lieutenant Jno. Myers—Ordnance Officer.
Major W.D. Peck—Quartermaster.
Major Kennedy—Commissary.
With a few privates for clerical service. General Kershaw had two fine-looking, noble lads as couriers, neither grown to manhood, but brave enough to follow their chief in the thickest of battle, or carry his orders through storms of battles, W.M. Crumby, of Georgia, and DeSaussure Burrows. The latter lost his life at Cedar Creek.
As I have thus shown the regiments and brigade in their second organization, under the name it is known, "Kershaw's," and as all were so closely connected and identified, I will continue to treat them as a whole. The same camps, marches, battles, scenes, and experiences were alike to all, so the history of one is the history of all. South Carolina may have had, and I have no doubt did have, as good troops in the field, as ably commanded as this brigade, but for undaunted courage, loyalty to their leaders and the cause, for self-denials and sacrifices, united spirits, and unflinching daring in the face of death, the world has never produced their superiors. There was much to [115] animate their feelings and stimulate their courage. The older men had retired and left the field to the leadership of the young. Men were here, too, by circumstances of birth, education, and environment that could scarcely ever expect to occupy more than a secondary place in their country's history, who were destined to inferior stations in life, both social and political,—the prestige of wealth and a long family being denied them—still upon the battlefield they were any man's equal. On the march or the suffering in camp, they were the peers of the noblest, and when facing death or experiencing its pangs they knew no superiors. Such being the feelings and sentiments of those born in the humbler stations of life, what must have been the goal of those already fortune's favorites, with a high or aristocratic birth, wealth, education, and a long line of illustrious ancestors, all to stimulate them to deeds of prowess and unparalleled heroism? Such were the men to make the name of South Carolina glorious, and that of "Kershaw" immortal. How many of these noble souls died that their country might be free? the name of her people great? In the former they lost, as the ends for which they fought and died were never consummated. To-day, after nearly a half century has passed, when we look around among the young and see the decadence of chivalry and noble aspirations, the decline of homage to women, want of integrity to men, want of truth and honor, individually and politically, are we not inclined, at times, to think those men died in vain? We gained the shadow; have we the substance? We gained an unparalleled prestige for courage, but are the people to-day better morally, socially, and politically? Let the world answer. The days of knight-errantry had their decadence; may not the days of the South's chivalry have theirs?
It was the intention of General Johnston to fall back slowly before McClellan, drawing him away from his base, then when the Federal Corps [116] become separated in their marches, to concentrate his forces, turn and crush him at one blow. The low, swampy, and wooded condition of the country from Yorktown up the Peninsula would not admit of the handling of the troops, nor was there any place for artillery practice to be effective. Now that he had his forces all on the South side of the Chickahominy, and the lands more rolling and firm, he began to contemplate a change in his tactics. Ewell, with several detached regiments under Whiting, had been sent in the Valley to re-enforce that fiery meteor, Stonewall Jackson, who was flying through the Shenandoah Valley and the gorges of the Blue Ridge like a cyclone, and General Johnston wished Jackson to so crush his enemy that his troops could be concentrated with his own before Richmond. But the authorities at Richmond thought otherwise. It is true Jackson had been worsted at Kernstown by Shields, but his masterly movements against Banks, Fremont, Siegle, and others, gave him such prestige as to make his name almost indispensable to our army. McDowell, with forty thousand men, lay at Fredericksburg, with nothing in his front but a few squadrons of cavalry and some infantry regiments. Johnston was thus apprehensive that he might undertake to come down upon his flanks and re-enforce "Little Mc." or the "Young Napoleon," as the commander of the Federal Army was now called. On the 20th of May, Johnston heard of two of the Federal Corps, Keyes' and Heintzleman's, being on the south side of the Chickahominy, while the others were scattered along the north banks at the different crossings. McClellan had his headquarters six miles away, towards the Pamunkey River. This was considered a good opportunity to strike, and had there been no miscarriages of plan, nor refusals to obey orders, and, instead, harmony and mutual understanding prevailed, the South might have gained one of its greatest victories, and had a different ending to the campaign entirely. G.W. Smith lay to the north of Richmond; Longstreet on the Williamsburg Road, immediately in front of the enemy; Huger on the James; Magruder, of which was Kershaw's Brigade (in a division under McLaws), stretched along the Chickahominy above New Bridge.
All these troops were to concentrate near Seven Pines and there fall [117] upon the enemy's two corps, and beat them before succor could be rendered. No Lieutenant Generals had as yet been appointed, senior Major Generals generally commanding two divisions. The night before the attack, General Johnston called his generals together and gave them such instructions and orders as were necessary, and divided his army for the day's battle into two wings, G.W. Smith to command the left and Longstreet the right; the right wing to make the first assault (it being on the south side of the York River Railroad). G.W. Smith was to occupy the Nine Mile Road, running parallel with Longstreet's front and extending to the river, near New Bridge, on the Chickahominy. He was to watch the movements of the enemy on the other side, and prevent Sumner, whose corps were near the New Bridge, from crossing, and to follow up the fight as Longstreet and D.H. Hill progressed. Magruder, with his own and McLaws' Division, supported Smith, and was to act as emergencies required. Kershaw was now under McLaws. Huger was to march up on the Charles City Road and put in on Longstreet's left as it uncovered at White Oak Swamp, or to join his forces with Longstreet's and the two drive the enemy back from the railroad. Keyes' Federal Corps lay along the railroad to Fair Oaks; then Heintzleman's turned abruptly at a right angle in front of G.W. Smith. The whole was admirably planned, and what seemed to make success doubly sure, a very heavy rain had fallen that night, May 30th, accompanied by excessive peals of thunder and livid flashes of lightning, and the whole face of the country was flooded with water. The river was overflowing its banks, bridges washed away or inundated by the rapidly swelling stream, all going to make re-enforcement by McClellan from the north side out of the question. But the entire movement seemed to be one continual routine of blunders, misunderstandings, and perverseness; a continual wrangling among the senior Major Generals. The enemy had thrown up two lines of heavy earthworks for infantry and redoubts for the artillery, one near Fair Oaks, the other one-half mile in the rear. Longstreet and D.H. Hill assaulted the works with great vigor on the morning of the 31st of May, and drove the enemy from his first entrenched camp. But it seems G.W. Smith did not press to the front, as was expected, but understood [118] his orders to remain and guard the crossing of the river. Huger lost his way and did not come up until the opportunity to grasp the key to the situation was lost, and then it was discovered there was a mistake or misunderstanding in regard to his and Longstreet's seniority. Still Huger waived his rank reluctantly and allowed Longstreet and Hill to still press the enemy back to his second line of entrenchments. From where we lay, inactive and idle, the steady roll of the musketry was grand and exciting. There was little opportunity for ability and little used, only by the enemy in their forts.
Several ineffectual attempts were made to storm these forts, and to dislodge the enemy at the point of the bayonet. Finally R.H. Anderson's Brigade of South Carolinians came up, and three regiments, led by Colonel Jenkins, made a flank movement, and by a desperate assault, took the redoubt on the left, with six pieces of artillery. When Rhodes' North Carolina Brigade got sufficiently through the tangle and undergrowth and near the opening as to see their way clear, they raised a yell, and with a mad rush, they took the fort with a bound. They were now within the strong fortress on the left and masters of the situation. Colonel Jenkins was highly complimented by the commanding General for his skill, and the energy and courage of his men. The enemy worked their guns faithfully and swept the ranks of Rhodes and Anderson with grape and canister, but Southern valor here, as elsewhere, overcame Northern discipline. Many of the enemy fell dead within the fort, while endeavoring to spike their guns.
Sumner, from the north side of the Chickahominy, was making frantic efforts to cross the stream and come to the relief of sorely pressed comrades. The bridges were two feet or more under water, swaying and creaking as if anxious to follow the rushing waters below. It is said the Federal General, Butler, called afterwards "Beast," covered himself with glory by rushing at the head of his troops, in and through the water, and succeeded in getting enough men on the bridge to hold it down, while the others crossed over. But the reinforcements came too late to aid their hard pressed friends. After the entrenchments were all taken, the enemy had no other alternative but to fall back in the dense forest and undergrowth, giving them shelter [119] until night, with her sable curtains, hid friend and foe alike. Just as the last charge had been made, General Johnston, riding out in an opening, was first struck by a fragment of shell, thereby disabling him for further duty upon the field for a long time. The command of the army now fell upon General G.W. Smith, who ordered the troops to remain stationary for the night, and next morning, they were returned to their original quarters. Kershaw and the other Brigadiers of the division did not become engaged, as they were awaiting upon a contingency that did not arise. It is true, the enemy were driven from their strongly fortified position, and for more than a mile to the rear, still the fruits of the victory were swallowed up in the loss of so many good men, with no tangible or lasting results. From all the facts known at the time, and those developed since, it is the opinion that upon G.W. Smith rested the blame for the loss of the day. Had he been as active or energetic as the other Major Generals, or had he assumed responsibility, and taken advantage of events presenting themselves during the battle, that could not be known beforehand, nor counted in the plan of the battle, the day at Seven Pines might have loomed up on the side of the Confederate forces with those at Gaines' Mills or Second Manassas. But, as it was, it must be counted as one of the fruitless victories of the war.
General Smith left the army next day, never to return to active service. Here was a commentary on the question of the made soldier or the soldier born. At West Point General Smith stood almost at the very head of his class; at the commencement of the war, he was considered as one of our most brilliant officers, and stood head and shoulders above some of his cotemporaries in the estimation of our leaders and the Department at Richmond. But his actions and conduct on several momentous occasions will leave to posterity the necessity of voting him a failure; while others of his day, with no training nor experience in the science of war, have astonished the world with their achievements and soldierly conduct. The soldiers were sorrowful and sad when they learned of the fate of their beloved Commander-in-Chief. They had learned to love him as a father; he had their entire confidence. They were fearful at the time lest his place could [120] never be filled; and, but for the splendid achievement of their new commander, R.E. Lee, with the troops drilled and disciplined by his predecessor, and who fought the battles on the plans laid down by him, it is doubtful whether their confidence could have ever been transferred to another.
General Lee took command the next day, June the 1st, 1862. He did not come with any prestige of great victory to recommend him to the troops, but his bold face, manly features, distinguished bearing, soon inspired a considerable degree of confidence and esteem, to be soon permanently welded by the glorious victories won from the Chickahominy to the James. He called all his Lieutenants around him in a few days and had a friendly talk. He told none his plans—he left that to be surmised—but he gained the confidence of his Generals at once.
The troops were set to work fortifying their lines from the James to the Chickahominy, and up the latter stream to near Meadow Bridge. Engineer corps were established, and large details from each regiment, almost one-third of the number, were put to work under the engineers strengthening their camps on scientific principles. The troops thought they were to do their fighting behind these works, but strange to say, out of the hundred of fortifications built by Kershaw's men during the war, not one ever fired a gun from behind them.
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| Col. William Wallace, 2d S.C. Regiment. (Page 479) | Y.J. Pope, Acting Asst. Adjt. Genl. of Kershaw's Brigade |
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| Lieut. Col. A.J. Hoole, 8th S.C. Regiment. (Page 284.) | John M. Kinard, Acting Lieut. Col. 20 S.C. Reg. (Page 441.) |
On the 12th of June General Stuart started on his remarkable ride around the army of McClellan, and gained for himself the name of "Prince of Raiders." Starting out in the morning as if going away to our left at a leisurely gait, he rode as far as Hanover Court House. Before daylight next morning his troopers sprang into their saddles and swept down the country between the Chickahominy and the Pamunkey Rivers like a thunderbolt, capturing pickets, driving in outposts, overturning wagon trains, and destroying everything with fire and sword. He rides boldly across the enemy's line of communications, coming up at nightfall at the Chickahominy, with the whole of McClellan's army between him and Richmond. In this ride he came in contact with his old regiment in the United States Army, capturing its wagon trains, one laden with the finest delicacies and choicest [121] of wines. After putting the enemy to rout Stuart and his men regaled themselves on these tempting viands, Stuart himself drinking a "bumper of choice old Burgundy," sending word to his former comrades that he "was sorry they did not stay and join him, but as it was, he would drink their health in their absence." Finding the bridges destroyed, he built a temporary one, over which the men walked and swam their horses, holding on to the bridles. When all were safely over Stuart sped like a whirlwind towards the James, leaving the enemy staring wildly in mute astonishment at the very audacity of his daring. That night he returned to his camps, having made in thirty-six hours the entire circuit of the Federal Army. Stuart was a rare character. Light hearted, merry, and good natured, he was the very idol of his cavaliers. His boldness, dash, and erratic mode of warfare made him a dreaded foe and dangerous enemy. One moment he was in their camps, on the plains, shouting and slashing, and before the frightened sleepers could be brought to the realization of their situation, he was far over the foothills of the Blue Ridge or across the swift waters of the Rappahannock.
During the first week after taking our position on the line, Magruder, with his divisions of eight brigades, was posted high up on the Chickahominy, nearly north of Richmond. McLaws, commanding Kershaw's, Cobb's, Semmes', and Barksdale's Brigades, was on the left, the first being South Carolinians, the next two Georgians, and the last Mississippians. General D.R. Jones, with his own, Toombs', G.T. Anderson's, and perhaps one other Brigade, constituted the right of the corps. The army was divided in wings. Huger, the senior Major General, commander on the right, next the James River, with Longstreet next; but before the great battle Magruder was given the centre and Longstreet the left with his divisions, and the two Hills', A.P. and D.H. But after the coming of Jackson A.P. Hill's, called the "Light Brigade," was placed under the command of the Valley chieftain.
While up on the Chickahominy, the enemy were continually watching our movements from lines of balloons floating high up in the air, anchored in place by stout ropes. They created quite a mystic and superstitious feeling among some of the most credulous. One night while a member [122] of Company C, Third South Carolina, was on picket among some tangled brushwood on the crest of the hill overlooking the river, he created quite a stir by seeing a strange light in his front, just beyond the stream. He called for the officer of the guard with all his might and main. When the officer made his appearance with a strong reinforcement, he demanded the reason of the untimely call. With fear and trembling he pointed to the brilliant light and said:
"Don't you see 'em yonder? They are putting up a balloon."
"No," said the officer, "that's nothing but a star," which it really was.
"Star, hell! I tell you it's a balloon. Are the Yankees smart enough to catch the stars?" It is enough to say the man carried the name of "balloon" during the rest of his service.
A Federal battery was stationed immediately in our front, beyond the river, supported by infantry. Some one in authority suggested the idea of crossing over at night, break through the tangled morass on the other side, and capture the outfit by a sudden dash. The day before the Third South Carolina Regiment was formed in line and a call made for volunteers to undertake this hazardous enterprise. Only one hundred soldiers were required, and that number was easily obtained, a great number being officers. At least twenty-five Lieutenants and Captains had volunteered. The detachment was put under Captain Foster as chief of the storming party, and the next day was occupied in drilling the men and putting them in shape for the undertaking. We were formed in line about dark near the time and place allotted, and all were in high glee in anticipation of the novel assault. But just as all were ready, orders came countermanding the first order. So the officers and men returned to their quarters. Some appeared well satisfied at the turn of events, especially those who had volunteered more for the honor attached than the good to be performed. Others, however, were disappointed. An old man from Laurens was indignant. He said "the Third Regiment would never get anything. That he had been naked and barefooted for two months, and when a chance was offered to clothe and shoe himself some d——n fool had to countermand the [123] order." Ere many days his ambition and lust for a fight were filled to overflowing.
The various grades and ranks of the Generals kept us continually moving from left to right, Generals being sometimes like a balky horse—will not pull out of his right place. We were stationed, as it appeared from the preparations made, permanently just in front of Richmond, or a little to the left of that place and the Williamsburg road, and began to fortify in earnest. About the middle of June Lee and his Lieutenants were planning that great campaign whereby McClellan was to be overthrown and his army sent flying back to Washington. Generals plan the moves of men like players their pieces upon the chess board—a demonstration here, a feint there, now a great battle, then a reconnoissance—without ever thinking of or considering the lives lost, the orphans made, the disconsolate widows, and broken homes that these moves make. They talk of attacks, of pressing or crushing, of long marches, the streams or obstacles encountered, as if it were only the movement of some vast machinery, where the slipping of a cog or the breaking of a wheel will cause the machine to stop. The General views in his mind his successes, his marches, his strategy, without ever thinking of the dead men that will mark his pathway, the victorious fields made glorious by the groans of the dying, or the blackened corpses of the dead. The most Christian and humane soldier, however, plans his battles without ever a thought of the consequences to his faithful followers.
On the 25th of June, orders came to be prepared to move at a moment's notice. This left no doubt in the minds of the men that stirring times were ahead. It had been whispered in camp that Jackson, the "ubiquitous," was on his way from the Valley to help Lee in his work of defeating McClellan.
About 4 o'clock, on the 26th of June, as the men lay lolling around in camp, the ominous sound of a cannon was heard away to our left and rear. Soon another and another, their dull rumbling roar telling too plainly the battle was about to begin. Men hasten hither and thither, gathering their effects, expecting every moment to be ordered away. Soon the roar of musketry filled the air; the regular and continual baying of the cannon beat time to the steady roll of small arms. [124] Jackson had come down from the Valley, and was sweeping over the country away to our left like an avalanche. Fitz John Porter, one of the most accomplished soldiers in the Northern Army, was entrusted with the defense of the north side of the Chickahominy, and had erected formidable lines of breastworks along Beaver Dam Creek, already strong and unapproachable from its natural formations. Jackson was to have encountered Porter on the extreme right flank of the Union Army at an early hour in the day, and as soon as A.P. Hill heard the sound of his guns, he was to cross over on our left at Meadow Bridge and sweep down the river on Jackson's right. But after waiting for the opening of Jackson's guns until after 3 o'clock, without any information that he was on the field, Hill crossed over the river and attacked Porter in his strong position at Mechanicsville. His task was to beat back the enemy until the bridges below were uncovered, allowing re-enforcement to reach him. Jackson being unavoidably delayed, A.P. Hill assailed the whole right wing of the Federal Army, single-handed and alone, he only having five brigades, one being left some miles above on the river, but the brigade that was left was making rapid strides to join the fighting column. The strong earthworks, filled with fighting infantry and heavy field artillery in the forts, were too much for this light column, but undaunted by the weight of numbers and strength of arms, Hill threw himself headlong upon the entrenched positions with rare courage and determination. There were South Carolinians with him who were now engaging in their maiden effort, and were winning imperishable fame by their deeds of valor. Gregg, with the old First South Carolina Regiment of Veterans, with four new organizations, the Twelfth, Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Orr's Rifles, went recklessly into the fray, and struck right and left with the courage and confidence of veteran troops. D.H. Hill, late in the evening, crossed over and placed himself on the right of those already engaged. The battle of Games' Mill was one continual slaughter on the side of the Confederates. The enemy being behind their protections, their loss was comparatively slight. The fight was kept up till 9 o'clock at night, with little material advantage to either, with his own and only a portion of Jackson's troops up. But the [125] desperate onslaught of the day convinced Porter that he could not hold his ground against another such assault, so he fell back to a much stronger position around Gaines' Mill.
The next day, the 27th, will be remembered as long as history records the events of our Civil War as one of the most bloody and determined of any of the great battles of the war for the men engaged. For desperate and reckless charges, for brave and steady resistance, it stands second to none. Jackson, Ewell, Whiting, and D.H. Hill moved their divisions by daylight, aroused the enemy's right, intending to reach his rear, but at Cold Harbor they met the enemy in strong force. D.H. Hill attacked immediately, while A.P. Hill, who had been left in Porter's front, marched through the deserted camp, over his fortifications, and at Gaines' Mill, he met Porter posted on an eminence beyond the stream. This was only passable at few places, but Hill pushed his men over under a galling fire of musketry, while the enemy swept the plain and valley below with shell and grape from their batteries crowning the height beyond. A.P. Hill formed his lines beyond the stream, and advanced with a steady step and a bold front to the assault. Charge after charge was made, only to be met and repulsed with a courage equal to that of the Confederates. Hill did not know then that he was fighting the bulk of the Fifth Corps, for he heard the constant roll of Jackson and D. H. Hill's guns away to his left; Jackson thinking the Light Division under A.P. Hill would drive the enemy from his position, withdrew from Cold Harbor and sought to intercept the retreating foe in concealing his men for some hours on the line of retreat. But as the day wore on, and no diminution of the firing, at the point where A.P. Hill and his adversary had so long kept up, Jackson and D.H. Hill undertook to relieve him. Longstreet, too, near nightfall, who had been held in reserve all day, now broke from his place of inaction and rushed into the fray like an uncaged lion, and placed himself between A.P. Hill and the river. For a few moments the earth trembled with the tread of struggling thousands, and the dreadful recoil of the heavy batteries that lined the crest of the hill from right to left. The air was filled with the shrieking shells as they sizzled through the air or plowed their way through the ranks [126] of the battling masses. Charges were met by charges, and the terrible "Rebel Yell" could be heard above the din and roar of battle, as the Confederates swept over field or through the forest, either to capture a battery or to force a line of infantry back by the point of the bayonet. While the battle was yet trembling in the balance, the Confederates making frantic efforts to pierce the enemy's lines, and they, with equal courage and persistency, determined on holding, Pickett and Anderson, of Longstreet's Division, and Hood and Whiting, of Jackson's, threw their strength and weight to the aid of Hill's depleted ranks. The enemy could stand no longer. The line is broken at one point, then another, and as the Confederates closed in on them from all sides, they break in disorder and leave the field. It looked at one time as if there would be a rout, but Porter in this emergency, put in practice one of Napoleon's favorite tactics. He called up his cavalry, and threatened the weakened ranks of the Confederates with a formidable front of his best troopers. These could not be of service in the weight of battle, but protected the broken columns and fleeing fugitives of Porter's Army.
South Carolina will be ever proud of the men whom she had on that memorable field who consecrated the earth at Gaines' Mill with their blood, as well as of such leaders as Gregg, McGowan, McCrady, Marshall, Simpson, Haskell, and Hamilton, and hosts of others, who have ever shed lustre and glory equal to those of any of the thousands who have made the Palmetto State renowned the world over.
McClellan was now in sore straits. He could not weaken his lines on the south side of the Chickahominy to re-enforce Fitz John Porter, for fear Magruder, Holmes, and Huger, who were watching his every movements in their front, should fall upon the line thus weakened and cut his army in twain. The next day McClellan commenced his retreat towards the James, having put his army over the Chickahominy the night after his defeat. His step was, no doubt, occasioned by the fact that Lee had sent Stuart with his cavalry and Ewell's Division of Infantry down the north side of the Chickahominy and destroyed McClellan's line of communication between his army and the York River. However, the Confederate commander was equally as anxious to cut him off from the James as the York. He aimed to force him to battle between the [127] two rivers, and there, cut off from his fleet, he would be utterly destroyed. Lee only wished McClellan to remain in his present position until he could reach the James with a part of his own troops, now on the north side of the Chickahominy.
On the evening of the 27th, Magruder made a feint with Kershaw's and some other brigades of this division, near Alens, as the troops in his front showed a disposition to retire. A line of battle was formed, skirmishers thrown out, and an advance ordered. Our skirmishers had not penetrated far into the thicket before they were met by a volley from the enemy's line of battle. The balls whistled over our heads and through the tops of the scrubby oaks, like a fall of hail. It put chills to creeping up our backs, the first time we had ever been under a musketry fire. For a moment we were thrown into a perfect fever of excitement and confusion. The opening in the rear looked temptingly inviting in comparison to the wooded grounds in front, from whence came the volley of bullets. Here the Third South Carolina lost her first soldier in battle, Dr. William Thompson, of the medical staff, who had followed too close on the heels of the fighting column in his anxiety to be near the battle.
Early in the morning of the 28th, Lee put the columns of Longstreet and A.P. Hill in motion in the direction of Richmond around our rear. After their meeting with Holmes and Huger on our extreme right, they were to press down the James River and prevent McClellan from reaching it. Jackson, D.H. Hill, and Magruder were to follow the retreating army. We left our quarters early in the day, and soon found ourselves in the enemy's deserted camp.
The country between the James and the Chickahominy is a very flat, swampy county, grown up in great forests, with now and then a cultivated field. The forests were over-run with a tangled mass of undergrowth. It was impossible for the army to keep up with the enemy while in line of battle. So sending our skirmishers ahead the army followed the roads in columns of fours. In each regiment the right or left company in the beginning of battle is always deployed at such distance between each soldier as to cover the front of the regiment, while in line of battle the regiments being from ten to fifty yards [128] apart. In this way we marched all day, sometimes in line of battle, at others by the roads in columns. A great siege cannon had been erected on a platform car and pushed abreast of us along the railroad by an engine, and gave out thundering evidences of its presence by shelling the woods in our front. This was one of the most novel batteries of the war, a siege gun going in battle on board of cars. Near night at Savage Station Sumner and Franklin, of the Federal Army, who had been retreating all day, turned to give battle. Jackson was pressing on our left, and it became necessary that Sumner should hold Magruder in check until the army and trains of the Federals that were passing in his rear should cross White Oak Swamp to a place of safety. Our brigade was lying in a little declivity between two rises in the ground; that in our front, and more than one hundred yards distance, was thickly studded with briars, creepers, and underbrush with a sparse growth of heavy timber. We had passed numerous redoubts, where the field batteries of the enemy would occupy and shell our ranks while the infantry continued the retreat. Our brigade skirmishers, under command of Major Rutherford, had been halted in this thicket while the line of battle was resting. But hardly had the skirmishers been ordered forward than the enemy's line of battle, upon which they had come, poured a galling fire into them, the bullets whistling over our heads causing a momentary panic among the skirmishers, a part retreating to the main line. A battery of six guns stationed in a fort in our front, opened upon us with shell and grape. Being in the valley, between the two hills, the bullets rattled over our heads doing no damage, but threw us into some excitement. The Third being near the center of the brigade, General Kershaw, in person, was immediately in our rear on foot. As soon as the bullets had passed over he called out in a loud, clear tone the single word "charge." The troops bounded to the front with a yell, and made for the forest in front, while the batteries graped us as we rushed through the tangled morass. The topography of the country was such that our artillery could get no position to reply, but the heavy railroad siege gun made the welkin ring with its deafening reports. Semmes and Barksdale put in on our right; Cobb remaining as reserve, while the Division of D.R. [129] Jones, which had been moving down on the left side of the railroad, soon became engaged. The enemy fought with great energy and vigor, while the Confederates pressed them hard. Much was at stake, and night was near. Stunner was fighting for the safety of the long trains of artillery and wagons seeking cover in his rear, as well as for the very life of the army itself. Soon after the first fire the settling smoke and dense shrubbery made the woods almost as dark as night in our front, but the long line of fire flashing from the enemy's guns revealed their position. The men became woefully tangled and disorganized, and in some places losing the organizations entirely, but under all these difficulties they steadily pressed to the front. When near the outer edge of the thicket, we could see the enemy lying down in some young growth of pines, with their batteries in the fort. The graping was simply dreadful, cutting and breaking through the bushes and striking against trees. I had not gone far into the thicket before I was struck by a minnie ball in the chest, which sent me reeling to the ground momentarily unconscious. Our men lost all semblance of a line, being scattered over a space of perhaps 50 yards, and those in front were in as much danger from friend as from foe. While I lay in a semi-unconscious state, I received another bullet in my thigh which I had every reason to believe came from some one in the rear. But I roused myself, and staggering to my feet made my way as well as I could out of the thicket. When I reached the place from whence we had first made the charge, our drummer was beating the assembly or long roll with all his might, and men collecting around General Kershaw and Colonel Nance. Here I first learned of the repulse. The balls were still flying overhead, but some of our batteries had got in position and were giving the enemy a raking fire. Nor was the railroad battery idle, for I could see the great black, grim monster puffing out heaps of gray smoke, then the red flash, then the report, sending the engine and car back along the track with a fearful recoil. The lines were speedily reformed and again put in motion. Jones, too, was forced by overwhelming numbers to give back, but Jackson coming up gave him renewed confidence, and a final advance was made along the whole line. The battle was kept up with varying success until after night, when Sumner withdrew over White Oak Swamp.
[130]On the morning of the 30th, McClellan, like a quarry driven to bay, drew up his forces on the south side of White Oak Swamp and awaited the next shock of battle. Behind him were his trains of heavy siege guns, his army wagons, pontoons, and ordnance trains, all in bog and slush, seeking safety under the sheltering wings of his gunboats and ironclads on the James. Lee met him at every point with bristling bayonets of his victorious troops. At three o'clock A.M. Longstreet and A.P. Hill moved down the Darbytown road, leaving Jackson, D.H. Hill, and Magruder to press McClellan's retreating forces in the rear. Huger, with the two former, was to come down the James River and attack in the flank. Magruder, with his corps, was sent early in the day on a wild goose chase to support Longstreet's right, but by being led by guides who did not understand the roads or plan of battle, Magruder took the wrong road and did not get up in time to join in the battle of Frazier's Farm. Jackson for some cause did not press the rear, as anticipated, neither did Huger come in time, leaving the brunt of the battle on the shoulders of A.P. Hill and Longstreet. The battle was but a repetition of that of Gaines' Mill, the troops of Hill and Longstreet gaining imperishable glory by their stubborn and resistless attacks, lasting till nine o'clock at night, when the enemy finally withdrew.
Two incidents of these battles are worthy of record, showing the different dispositions of the people of the North and South. At night the division commanded by General McCall, who had been fighting Longstreet so desperately all day, was captured and brought to Longstreet's headquarters. General McCall had been Captain of a company in the United States Army, in which Longstreet had been a Lieutenant. When General Longstreet saw his old comrade brought to him as a prisoner of war, he sought to lighten the weight of his feelings as much as circumstances would admit. He dismounted, pulled his gloves, and offered his hand in true knightly fashion to his fallen foe. But his Federal antagonist, becoming incensed, drew himself up haughtily and waved Longstreet away, saying, "Excuse me, sir, I can stand defeat but not insult." Insult indeed! to shake the hand of one of the most illustrious chieftains of the century, one who had [131] tendered the hand in friendly recognition of past associations, thus to smooth and soften the humiliation of his foe's present condition! Insult—was it?
When Bob Toombs, at the head of his brigade, was sweeping through the tangled underbrush at Savage Station, under a terrific hail of bullets from the retreating enemy, he was hailed by a fallen enemy, who had braced himself against a tree:
"Hello, Bob Toombs! Hello, Bob Toombs! Don't you know your old friend Webster?"
Dismounting, Toombs went to the son of his old friend but political adversary, Daniel Webster, one of the great trio at Washington of twenty years before, and found his life slowly ebbing away. Toombs rendered him all the assistance in his power—placed him in comfortable position that he might die at ease—and hastened on to rejoin his command, after promising to perform some last sad rites after his death. When the battle was ended for the day, the great fiery Secessionist hastened to return to the wounded enemy. But too late; his spirit had flown, and nothing was now left to Toombs but to fulfill the promises he made to his dying foe. He had his body carried through the lines that night under a flag of truce and delivered with the messages left to his friends. He had known young Webster at Washington when his illustrious father was at the zenith of his power and fame. The son and the great Southern States' Rights champion had become fast friends as the latter was just entering on his glorious career.
Our brigade lost heavily in the battle of Savage Station both in officers and men. Lieutenant Colonel Garlington, of the Third, was killed, and so was Captain Langford and several Lieutenants. Colonel Bland, of the Seventh, was wounded and disabled for a long time. The casualties in the battle of Savage Station caused changes in officers in almost every company in the brigade.
When I came to consciousness after being wounded the first thing that met my ears was the roar of musketry and the boom of cannon, with the continual swish, swash of the grape and canister striking the trees and ground. I placed my hand in my bosom, where I felt a dull, deadening sensation. There I found the warm blood, that filled my [132] inner garments and now trickled down my side as I endeavored to stand upright. I had been shot through the left lung, and as I felt the great gaping wound in my chest, the blood gushing and spluttering out at every breath, I began to realize my situation. I tried to get off the field the best I could, the bullet in my leg not troubling me much, and as yet, I felt strong enough to walk. My brother, who was a surgeon, and served three years in the hospitals in Richmond, but now in the ranks, came to my aid and led me to the rear. We stopped near the railroad battery, which was belching away, the report of the great gun bringing upon us the concentrated fire of the enemy. As I sat upon the fallen trunk of a tree my brother made a hasty examination of my wound. All this while I was fully convinced I was near death's door. He pronounced my wound at first as fatal, a bit of very unpleasant information, but after probing my wound with his finger he gave me the flattering assurance that unless I bled to death quite soon my chances might be good! Gentle reader, were you ever, as you thought, at death's door, when the grim monster was facing you, when life looked indeed a very brief span? If so, you can understand my feelings—I was scared! As Goldsmith once said, "When you think you are about to die, this world looks mighty tempting and pretty." Everything in my front took on the hue of dark green, a pleasant sensation came over me, and I had the strangest feeling ever experienced in my life. I thought sure I was dying then and there and fell from the log in a death-like swoon. But I soon revived, having only fainted from loss of blood, and my brother insisted on my going back up the railroad to a farmhouse we had passed, and where our surgeons had established a hospital. The long stretch of wood we had to travel was lined with the wounded, each wounded soldier with two or three friends helping him off the field. We had no "litter bearers" or regular detail to care for the wounded at this time, and the friends who undertook this service voluntarily oftentimes depleted the ranks more than the loss in battle. Hundreds in this way absented themselves for a few days taking care of the wounded. But all this was changed soon afterwards. Regular details were made from each regiment, consisting of a non-commissioned officer and five privates, whose duty it was to follow close in rear of the [133] line of battle with their "stretchers" and take off the disabled.
I will never forget the scene that met my eyes as I neared the house where the wounded had been gathered. There the torn and mangled lay, shot in every conceivable part of the body or limbs—some with wounds in the head, arms torn off at the shoulder or elbow, legs broken, fingers, toes, or foot shot away; some hobbling along on inverted muskets or crutches, but the great mass were stretched at full length upon the ground, uttering low, deep, and piteous moans, that told of the great sufferings, or a life passing away. The main hall of the deserted farm house, as well as the rooms, were filled to overflowing with those most seriously wounded. The stifling stench of blood was sickening in the extreme. The front and back yards, the fence corners, and even the out-buildings were filled with the dead and dying. Surgeons and their assistants were hurrying to and fro, relieving the distress as far as their limited means would allow, making such hasty examinations as time permitted. Here they would stop to probe a wound, there to set a broken limb, bind a wound, stop the flow of blood, or tie an artery.
But among all this deluge of blood, mangled bodies, and the groans of the wounded and dying, our ears were continually greeted by the awful, everlasting rattle of the musketry, the roar of the field batteries, and the booming, shaking, and trembling of the siege guns from friend and foe.
The peculiar odor of human blood, mingling with the settling smoke of the near by battlefield, became so oppressive I could not remain in the house. My brother helped me into the yard, but in passing out I fell, fainting for the third time; my loss of blood had been so great I could stand only with difficulty. I thought the end was near now for a certainty, and was frightened accordingly. But still I nerved myself with all the will power I possessed, and was placed on an oil cloth under the spreading branches of an elm. From the front a continual stream of wounded kept coming in till late at night. Some were carried on shoulders of friends, others leaning their weight upon them and dragging their bodies along, while the slightly wounded were left to care for themselves. Oh, the horrors of the battlefield! So cruel, [134] so sickening, so heart-rending to those even of the stoutest nerves!—once seen, is indelibly impressed upon your mind forever.
The firing ceased about 9 o'clock, and all became still as death, save the groaning of the wounded soldiers in the hospital, or the calls and cries of those left upon the battlefield. Oh, such a night, the night after the battle! The very remembrance of it is a vivid picture of Dante's "Inferno." To lie during the long and anxious watches of the night, surrounded by such scenes of suffering and woe, to continually hear the groans of the wounded, the whispered consultations of the surgeons over the case of some poor boy who was soon to be robbed of a leg or arm, the air filled with stifled groans, or the wild shout of some poor soldier, who, now delirious with pain, his voice sounding like the wail of a lost soul—all this, and more—and thinking your soul, too, is about to shake off its mortal coil and take its flight with the thousands that have just gone, are going, and the many more to follow before the rising of the next sun—all this is too much for a feeble pen like mine to portray.
The troops lay on the battlefield all night under arms. Here and there a soldier, singly or perhaps in twos, were scouring through the dense thicket or isolated places, seeking lost friends and comrades, whose names were unanswered to at the roll call, and who were not among the wounded and dead at the hospital. The pale moon looked down in sombre silence upon the ghastly upturned faces of the dead that lay strewn along the battle line. The next day was a true version of the lines—
"Under the sod, under the clay,for the blue and grey fell in great wind rows that day, and were buried side by side.
The Confederates being repulsed in the first charge, returned to the attack, broke the Federal lines in pieces, and by 9 o'clock they had fled the field, leaving all the fruits of victory in the hands of the Confederates.
No rest for the beaten enemy, no sleep for the hunted prey. McClellan was moving heaven and earth during the whole night to place "White Oak Swamp" (a tangled, swampy wilderness, of a half mile in width and six [135] or eight miles in length,) between his army and Lee's. By morning he had the greater portion of his army and supply trains over, but had left several divisions on the north side of the swamp to guard the crossings. Jackson and Magruder began pressing him early on the 30th in his rear, while Longstreet, A.P. Hill, and others were marching with might and main to intercept him on the other side. After some desultory firing, Jackson found McClellan's rear guard too strong to assail, by direct assault, so his divisions, with Magruder's, were ordered around to join forces with Hill and Longstreet. The swamp was impassable, except at the few crossings, and they were strongly guarded, so they were considered not practicable of direct assault. But in the long winding roads that intervened between the two wings, Magruder and Jackson on the north and Longstreet and A.P. Hill on the south, Magruder was misled by taking the wrong road (the whole Peninsula being a veritable wilderness), and marched away from the field instead of towards it, and did not reach Longstreet during the day. But at 3 o'clock Longstreet, not hearing either Jackson's or Magruder's guns, as per agreement, and restless of the delays of the other portions of the army, feeling the danger of longer inactivity, boldly marched in and attacked the enemy in his front.
Here was Frazier's Farm, and here was fought as stubbornly contested battle, considering the numbers engaged, as any during the campaign. Near nightfall, after Longstreet had nearly exhausted the strength of his troops by hard fighting, A.P. Hill, ever watchful and on the alert, threw the weight of his columns on the depleted ranks of the enemy, and forced them from the field. The soldiers who had done such deeds of daring as to win everlasting renown at Gaines' Mill and Cold Harbor, did not fail their fearless commander at Frazier's Farm. When the signal for battle was given, they leaped to the front, like dogs unleashed, and sprang upon their old enemies, Porter, McCall, Heintzelman, Hooker, and Kearny. Here again the steady fire and discipline of the Federals had to yield to the impetuosity and valor of Southern troops. Hill and Longstreet swept the field, capturing several hundred prisoners, a whole battery of artillery, horses, and men.
McClellan brought up his beaten army on Malvern Hill, to make one last [136] desperate effort to save his army from destruction or annihilation. This is a place of great natural defenses. Situated one mile from the James River, it rises suddenly on all sides from the surrounding marshy lowlands to several hundred feet in height, and environed on three sides by branches and by Turkey Creek. On the northern eminence McClellan planted eighty pieces of heavy ordnance, and on the eastern, field batteries in great numbers. Lee placed his troops in mass on the extreme east of the position occupied by the enemy, intending to park the greater number of his heaviest batteries against the northern front of the eminence, where McClellan had his artillery pointing to the east, and where the Confederates massed to sweep the field as Lee advanced his infantry. The object of Lee was to concentrate all his artillery on the flank of McClellan's artillery, then by an enfilade fire from his own, he could destroy that of his enemy, and advance his infantry through the broad sweep of lowlands, separating the forces, without subjecting them to the severe cannonading. He gave orders that as soon as the enemy's batteries were demolished or silenced, Armstead's Virginia Brigade, occupying the most advanced and favorable position for observation, was to advance to the assault, with a yell and a hurrah, as a signal for the advance of all the attacking columns. But the condition of the ground was such that the officers who were to put the cannon in position got only a few heavy pieces in play, and these were soon knocked in pieces by the numbers of the enemy's siege guns and rifled field pieces. Some of the brigade commanders, thinking the signal for combat had been given, rushed at the hill in front with ear piercing yells without further orders. They were mown down like grain before the sickle by the fierce artillery fire and the enemy's infantry on the crest of the hill. Kershaw following the lead of the brigade on his left, gave orders, "Forward, charge!" Down the incline, across the wide expanse, they rushed with a yell, their bayonets bristling and glittering in the sunlight, while the shells rained like hail stones through their ranks from the cannon crested hill in front. The gunboats and ironclad monitors in the James opened a fearful fusilade from their monster guns and huge mortars, the great three-hundred-pound shells from the latter rising high in [137] the air, then curling in a beautiful bow to fall among the troops, with a crash and explosion that shook the ground like the trembling of the earth around a volcano. The whole face of the bluff front was veiled by the white smoke of the one hundred belching cannon, the flashing of the guns forming a perfect rain of fire around the sides of the hill. It was too far to fire and too dense and tangled to charge with any degree of progress or order, so, in broken and disconnected ranks, Kershaw had to advance and endure this storm of shot and shell, that by the time he reached the line of the enemy's infantry, his ranks were too much broken to offer a very formidable front. From the enemy's fortified position their deadly fire caused our already thinned ranks to melt like snow before the sun's warm rays. The result was a complete repulse along the whole line. But McClellan was only too glad to be allowed a breathing spell from his seven days of continual defeat, and availed himself of the opportunity of this respite to pull off his army under the protecting wings of his ironclad fleet.
The Confederates had won a glorious victory during the first six days. The enemy had been driven from the Chickahominy to the James, his army defeated and demoralized beyond months of recuperation. Lee and his followers should be satisfied. But had none of his orders miscarried, and all of his Lieutenants fulfilled what he had expected of them, yet greater results might have been accomplished—not too much to say McClellan's Army would have been entirely destroyed or captured, for had he been kept away from the natural defenses of Malvern Hill and forced to fight in the open field, his destruction would have followed beyond the cavil of a doubt. The Southern soldiers were as eager and as fresh on the last day as on the first, but a land army has a superstitious dread of one sheltered by gunboats and ironclads.
All the troops engaged in the Seven Days' Battle did extremely well, and won imperishable fame by their deeds of valor and prowess. Their commanders in the field were matchless, and showed military talents of high order, the courage of their troops invincible, and to particularize would be unjust. But truth will say, in after years, when impartial hands will record the events, and give blame where [138] blame belongs, and justice where justice is due, that in this great Seven Days' Conflict, where so much heroism was displayed on both sides, individually and collectively, that to A.P. Hill and the brave men under him belongs the honor of first scotching at Gaines' Mill the great serpent that was surrounding the Capital with bristling bayonets, and were in at the breaking of its back at Frazier's Farm.
It was due to the daring and intrepidity of Hill's Light Division at Gaines' Mill, more than to any other, that made it possible for the stirring events and unprecedented results that followed.
Among the greater Generals, Lee was simply matchless and superb; Jackson, a mystic meteor or firey comet; Longstreet and the two Hills, the "Wild Huns" of the South, masterful in tactics, cyclones in battle. Huger, Magruder, and Holmes were rather slow, but the courage and endurance of their troops made up for the shortcomings of their commanders.
Among the lesser lights will stand Gregg, Jenkins, and Kershaw, of South Carolina, as foremost among the galaxy of immortal heroes who gave the battles around Richmond their place as "unparalleled in history."
The enemy lay quietly in his camps at Harrison's Landing for a few days, but to cover his meditated removal down the James, he advanced a large part of his army as far as Malvern Hill on the day of the 5th of August as if to press Lee back. Kershaw, with the rest of McLaw's Division, together with Jones and Longstreet, were sent to meet them. The troops were all placed in position by nightfall, bivouaced for the night on the field, and slept on their arms to guard against any night attack. The soldiers thought of to-morrow—that it perhaps might be yet more sanguinary than any of the others. Our ranks, already badly [139] worn by the desperate conflicts at Savage Station, Frazier's Farm, Cold Harbor, etc., still showed a bold front for the coming day. Early in the morning the troops were put in motion, skirmishers thrown out, and all preparations for battle made, but to the surprise and relief of all, the "bird had flown," and instead of battle lines and bristling steel fronts we found nothing but deserted camps and evidences of a hasty flight. In a few days we were removed further back towards Richmond and sought camp on higher ground, to better guard against the ravages of disease and to be further removed from the enemy. The troops now had the pleasure of a month's rest, our only duties being guard and advance picket every ten or twelve days.
While McClellan had been pushing his army up on the Peninsula the Federals were actively engaged in organizing a second army in the vicinity of Manassas and Fredericksburg under General John Pope, to operate against Richmond by the flank. General Pope from his infamous orders greatly incensed the people of the South, and from his vain boasting gained for himself the sobriquet of "Pope the Braggart." He ordered every citizen within his lines or living near them to either take the oath of allegiance to the United States or to be driven out of the country as an enemy of the Union. No one was to have any communication with his friends within the Confederate lines, either by letter or otherwise, on the penalty of being shot as a spy and his property confiscated. Hundreds of homes were broken up by the order. Men and women were driven South, or placed in Federal prisons, there to linger for years, perhaps, with their homes abandoned to the malicious desecration of a merciless enemy, all for no other charges than their refusal to be a traitor to their principles and an enemy to their country. Pope boasted of "seeing nothing of the enemy but his back," and that "he had no headquarters but in the saddle." He was continually sending dispatches to his chief, General Halleck, who had been appointed Commander-in-Chief of all the Federal forces in the field, of the "victories gained over Lee," his "bloody repulses of Jackson," and "successful advances," and "the Confederates on the run," etc., etc., while the very opposites were the facts. On one occasion he telegraphed to Washington that he had defeated Lee, that the Confederate leader was in full retreat to Richmond, when, as a [140] fact, before the dispatch had reached its destination his own army was overwhelmed, and with Pope at its head, flying the field in every direction, seeking safety under the guns at Washington. It is little wonder he bore the name he had so deservedly won by his manifestoes, "Pope the Braggart."
About the middle of July Jackson, with Ewell and A.P. Hill, was sent up to the Rapidan to look after Pope and his wonderful army, which had begun to be re-enforced by troops from the James. On the 9th of August Jackson came up with a part of Pope's army at Cedar Mountain, and a fierce battle was fought, very favorable to the Confederate side. A month after Jackson had left Richmond, Longstreet, with three divisions, headed by Lee in person, was ordered to re-enforce Jackson, and began the offensive. While the Federal commander was lying securely in his camp, between the Rappahannock and the Rapidan, unconscious of the near approach of the Confederate Army, his scouts intercepted an order written by General Lee to his cavalry leader, giving details of his intended advance and attack. Pope, being thus apprised, hurriedly recrossed the Rappahannock and concentrated his forces behind that stream. Lee followed his movements closely, and while watching in front, with a portion of his army, he started Jackson on his famous march around the enemy's rear. Pulling up at night, Jackson marched to the left, crossed the Rappahannock on the 25th, and by the night of the 26th he had reached the railroad immediately in Pope's rear, capturing trains of cars, prisoners, etc. On learning that large quantities of provisions and munitions of war were stored at Manassas Junction, feebly guarded, General Trimble, with a small number of brave Alabamians, Georgians, and North Carolinians, not five hundred all told, volunteered to march still further to that point, a distance of some miles, notwithstanding they had marched with Jackson thirty miles during the day, and capture the place. This was done in good time, defeating a brigade doing guard duty, and capturing a large number of prisoners, one entire battery of artillery, and untold quantities of provisions. Jackson now appeared to retreat, but only withdrew in order to give Longstreet time to come up, which he was doing hard upon Jackson's track, but more than twenty-four hours behind. This was one of the most hazardous feats [141] accomplished by Lee during the war, with the possible exception of Chancellorsville, "dividing his army in the face of superior numbers," a movement denounced by all successful Generals and scientists of war. But Lee attempted this on more occasions than one, and always successfully.
Jackson concealed his forces among the hills of Bull Run, giving time for Longstreet, who was fighting his way through Thoroughfare Gap at the very point of the bayonet, to come up, while Pope was racing around the plains of Manassas, trying to intercept Jackson's imaginary retreat. It seems as if the one single idea impressed itself upon the Federal commander, and that was that Jackson was trying to get away from him. But before many days Pope found the wily "Stonewall," and when in his embrace endeavoring to hold him, Pope found himself in the predicament of the man who had essayed to wrestle with a bear. When the man had downed his antagonist he had to call lustily for friends. So Pope had to call for help to turn Jackson loose—to pull him loose. On the 29th the forces of Pope, the "Braggart," came upon those of Jackson hidden behind a railroad embankment on the plains of Manassas, and a stubborn battle ensued, which lasted until late at night. Longstreet came upon the field, but took no further part in the battle than a heavy demonstration on the right to relieve the pressure from Jackson. Longstreet's left, however, turned the tide of battle. Lee turned some prisoners loose at night that had been captured during the day, leaving the impression on their minds that he was beating a hasty retreat. Reporting to their chief that night, the prisoners confirmed the opinion that Pope was fooled in believing all day, that "Lee was in full retreat," trying to avoid a battle. Pope sent flaming messages to that effect to the authorities at Washington, and so anxious was he lest his prey should escape, he gave orders for his troops to be in motion early in the morning. On the 30th was fought the decisive battle of Second Manassas, and the plains above Bull Run were again the scene of a glorious Confederate victory, by Lee almost annihilating the army of John Pope, "the Braggart." Had it not been for the steady discipline, extraordinary coolness, and soldierly behavior of Sykes and his regulars at Stone Bridge, the rout of [142] the Federal Army at Second Manassas would have been but little less complete than on the fatal day just a little more than one year before.
At Ox Hill, 1st September, Pope had to adopt the tactics of McClellan at Malvern Hill, face about and fight for the safety of his great ordnance and supply trains, and to allow his army a safe passage over the Potomac. At Ox Hill, the enemy under Stephens and Kearny, displayed extraordinary tenacity and courage, these two division commanders throwing their columns headlong upon those of Jackson without a thought of the danger and risks such rash acts incurred. Both were killed in the battle. Phil. Kearney had gained a national reputation for his enterprising warfare in California and Mexico during the troublesome times of the Mexican War, and it was with unfeigned sorrow and regret the two armies heard of the sad death of this veteran hero.
During the time that all these stirring events were taking place and just before Magruder, with McLaw's and Walker's divisions, was either quietly lying in front of Richmond watching the army of McClellan dwindle away, leaving by transports down the James and up the Potomac, or was marching at a killing gait to overtake their comrades under Lee to share with them their trials, their battles and their victories in Maryland. Lee could not leave the Capital with all his force so long as there was a semblance of an army threatening it.
As soon as it was discovered that Manassas was to be the real battle ground of the campaign, and Washington instead of Richmond the objective point, Lee lost no time in concentrating his army north of the Rappahannock. About the middle of August McLaws, with Kershaw's, Semmes's, Cobb's, and Barksdale's Brigades, with two brigades under Walker and the Hampton Legion Cavalry, turned their footsteps Northward, and bent all their energies to reach the scene of action before the culminating events above mentioned.
At Orange C.H., on the 26th, we hastened our march, as news began to reach us of Jackson's extraordinary movements and the excitement in the Federal Army, occasioned by their ludicrous hunt for the "lost Confederate." Jackson's name had reached its meridian in the minds of the troops, and they were ever expecting to hear of some new achievement or brilliant victory by this strange, silent, and [143] mysterious man. The very mystery of his movements, his unexplainable absence and sudden reappearance at unexpected points, his audacity in the face of the enemy, his seeming recklessness, gave unbounded confidence to the army. The men began to feel safe at the very idea of his disappearance and absence. While the thunder of his guns and those of Longstreet's were sounding along the valleys of Bull Run, and reverberating down to the Potomac or up to Washington, McLaws with his South Carolinians, Georgians, and Mississippians was swinging along with an elastic step between Orange C.H. and Manassas.
McClellan himself had already reached Alexandria with the last of his troops, but by the acts of the ubiquitous Jackson his lines of communication were cut and the Federal commander had to grope his way in the dark for fear of running foul of his erratic enemy.
When we began nearing Manassas, we learned of the awful effect of the two preceding days' battle by meeting the wounded. They came singly and in groups, men marching with arms in slings, heads bandaged, or hopping along on improvised crutches, while the wagons and ambulances were laden with the severely wounded. In that barren country no hospital could be established, for it was as destitute of sustenance as the arid plains of the Arabian Desert when the great Napoleon undertook to cross it with his beaten army. All, with the exception of water; we had plenty of that. Passing over a part of the battlefield about the 5th of September, the harrowing sights that were met with were in places too sickening to admit of description. The enemy's dead, in many places, had been left unburied, it being a veritable instance of "leaving the dead to bury the dead." Horses in a rapid state of decomposition literally covered the field. The air was so impregnated with the foul stench arising from the plains where the battle had raged fiercest, that the troops were forced to close their nostrils while passing. Here and there lay a dead enemy overlooked in the night of the general burial, stripped of his outer clothing, his blackened features and glassy eyes staring upturned to the hot September sun, while our soldiers hurried past, leaving them unburied and unnoticed. Some lay in the beaten track of our wagon trains, and had been run over ruthlessly by the teamsters, they not having [144] the time, if the inclination, to remove them. The hot sun made decomposition rapid, and the dead that had fallen on the steep incline their heads had left the body and rolled several paces away. All the dead had become as black as Africans, the hot rays of the sun changing the features quite prematurely. In the opening where the Washington Battalion of Artillery from New Orleans had played such havoc on the 30th with the enemy's retreating columns, it resembled some great railroad wreck—cannon and broken caissons piled in great heaps; horses lying swollen and stiff, some harnessed, others not; broken rammers, smashed wheels, dismounted pieces told of the desperate struggle that had taken place. One of the strange features of a battlefield is the absence of the carrion crow or buzzard—it matters little as to the number of dead soldiers or horses, no vultures ever venture near—it being a fact that a buzzard was never seen in that part of Virginia during the war.
All was still, save the rumble of the wagon trains and the steady tread of the soldiers. Across Bull Run and out towards Washington McLaws followed with hasty step the track of Longstreet and Jackson.
On the 5th or 6th we rejoined at last, after a two months' separation from the other portion of the army. Lee was now preparing to invade Maryland and other States North, as the course of events dictated. Pope's Army had joined that of McClellan, and the authorities at Washington had to call on the latter to "save their Capital." When the troops began the crossing of the now classic Potomac, a name on every tongue since the commencement of hostilities, their enthusiasm knew no bounds. Bands played "Maryland, My Maryland," men sang and cheered, hats filled the air, flags waved, and shouts from fifty thousand throats reverberated up and down the banks of the river, to be echoed back from the mountains and die away among the hills and highlands of Maryland. Men stopped midway in the stream and sang loudly the cheering strains of Randall's, "Maryland, My Maryland." We were overjoyed at rejoining the army, and the troops of Jackson, Longstreet, and the two Hills were proud to feel the elbow touch of such chivalrous spirits as McLaws, Kershaw, Hampton, and others in the [145] conflicts that were soon to take place. Never before had an occurrence so excited and enlivened the spirits of the troops as the crossing of the Potomac into the land of our sister, Maryland. It is said the Crusaders, after months of toil, marching, and fighting, on their way through the plains of Asia Minor, wept when they saw the towering spires of Jerusalem, the Holy City, in the distance; and if ever Lee's troops could have wept for joy, it was at the crossing of the Potomac. But we paid dearly for this pleasure in the death of so many thousands of brave men and the loss of so many valuable officers. General Winder fell at Cedar Mountain, and Jackson's right hand, the brave Ewell, lost his leg at Manassas.
The army went into camp around Frederick City, Md. From here, on the 8th, Lee issued his celebrated address to the people of Maryland, and to those of the North generally, telling them of his entry into their country, its cause and purpose; that it was not as a conqueror, or an enemy, but to demand and enforce a peace between the two countries. He clothed his language in the most conservative and entreating terms, professing friendship for those who would assist him, and protection to life and the property of all. He enjoined the people, without regard to past differences, to flock to his standard and aid in the defeat of the party and people who were now drenching the country in blood and putting in mourning the people of two nations. The young men he asked to join his ranks as soldiers of a just and honorable cause. Of the old he asked their sympathies and prayers. To the President of the Confederate States he also wrote a letter, proposing to him that he should head his armies, and, as the chieftain of the nation, propose a peace to the authorities at Washington from the very threshold of their Capital. But both failed of the desired effect. The people of the South had been led to believe that Maryland was anxious to cast her destinies with those of her sister States, that all her sympathies were with the people of the South, and that her young men were anxious and only awaiting the opportunity to join the ranks as soldiers under Lee. But these ideas and promises were all delusions, for the people we saw along the route remained passive spectators and disinterested witnesses to the great evolutions now taking place. What [146] the people felt on the "eastern shore" is not known; but the acts of those between the Potomac and Pennsylvania above Washington indicated but little sympathy with the Southern cause; and what enlistments were made lacked the proportions needed to swell Lee's army to its desired limits. Lee promised protection and he gave it. The soldiers to a man seemed to feel the importance of obeying the orders to respect and protect the person and property of those with whom we came in contact. It was said of this, as well as other campaigns in the North, that "it was conducted with kid gloves on."
While lying at Frederick City, Lee conceived the bold and perilous project of again dividing his army in the face of his enemy, and that enemy McClellan. Swinging back with a part of his army, he captured the stronghold of Harper's Ferry, with its 11,000 defenders, while with the other he held McClellan at bay in front. The undertaking was dangerous in the extreme, and with a leader less bold and Lieutenants less prompt and skillful, its final consummation would have been more than problematical. But Lee was the one to propose his subalterns to act. Harper's Ferry, on the Virginia side of the Potomac, where that river is intersected by the Shenandoah, both cutting their way through the cliffs and crags of the Blue Ridge, was the seat of the United States Arsenal, and had immense stores of arms and ammunition, as well as army supplies of every description. The Baltimore and Ohio Railroad and the canal cross the mountains here on the Maryland side, both hugging the precipitous side of the mountain and at the very edge of the water. The approaches to the place were few, and they so defended that capture seemed impossible, unless the heights surrounding could be obtained, and this appeared impossible from a military point of view. On the south side are the Loudon and Bolivar Heights. On the other side the mountains divide into two distinct ranges and gradually bear away from each other until they reach a distance of three miles from crest to crest. Between the two mountains is the beautiful and picturesque Pleasant Valley. The eastern ridge, called South Mountain, commencing from the rugged cliff at Rivertoria, a little hamlet nestled down between the mountains and the Potomac, runs northwards, while the western ridge, called Elk Mountain, starts from the bluff [147] called Maryland Heights, overlooking the town of Harper's Ferry, and runs nearly parallel to the other. Jackson passed on up the river with his division, Ewell's, and A.P. Hill's, recrossed the Potomac into Virginia, captured Martinsburg, where a number of prisoners and great supplies were taken, and came up and took possession of Bolivar Heights, above Harper's Ferry. Walker's Division marched back across the Potomac and took possession of Loudon Heights, a neck of high land between the Shenandoah and Potomac overlooking Harper's Ferry from below, the Shenandoah being between his army and the latter place. On the 11th McLaws moved out of Frederick City, strengthened by the brigades of Wilcox, Featherstone, and Pryor, making seven brigades that were to undertake the capture of the stronghold by the mountain passes and ridges on the north. Kershaw, it will be seen, was given the most difficult position of passage and more formidable to attack than any of the other routes of approach. Some time after Jackson and Walker had left on their long march, McLaws followed. Longstreet and other portions of the army and wagon trains kept the straight road towards Hagerstown, while Kershaw and the rest of the troops under [148] McLaws took the road leading southwest, on through the town of Burkettville, and camped at the foothills of the mountain, on the east side. Next morning Kershaw, commanding his own brigade and that of Barksdale, took the lead, passed over South Mountain, through Pleasant Valley, and to Elk Ridge, three miles distance, thence along the top of Elk Ridge by a dull cattle path. The width of the crest was not more than fifty yards in places, and along this Kershaw had to move in line of battle, Barksdale's Brigade in reserve. Wright's Brigade moved along a similar path on the crest of South Mountain, he taking with him two mountain howitzers, drawn by one horse each. McLaws, as Commander-in-Chief, with some of the other brigades, marched by the road at the base of the mountain below Wright, while Cobb was to keep abreast of Kershaw and Barksdale at the base of Elk Ridge. Over such obstacles as were encountered and the difficulties and dangers separating the different troops, a line of battle never before made headway as did those of Kershaw and the troops under McLaws.
We met the enemy's skirmishers soon after turning to the left on Elk Ridge, and all along the whole distance of five miles we were more or less harassed by them. During the march of the 12th the men had to pull themselves up precipitous inclines by the twigs and undergrowth that lined the mountain side, or hold themselves in position by the trees in front. At night we bivouaced on the mountain. We could see the fires all along the mountain side and gorges through Pleasant Valley and up on South Mountain, where the troops of Wright had camped opposite. Early next morning as we advanced we again met the enemy's skirmishers, and had to be continually driving them back. Away to the south and beyond the Potomac we could hear the sound of Jackson's guns as he was beating his way up to meet us. By noon we encountered the enemy's breastworks, built of great stones and logs, in front of which was an abattis of felled timber and brushwood. The Third, under Nance, and the Seventh, under Aiken, were ordered to the charge on the right. Having no artillery up, it was with great difficulty we approached the fortifications. Men had to cling to bushes while they loaded and fired. But with their usual gallantry they came down to their work. Through the tangled undergrowth, through the abattis, and over the breastworks they leaped with a yell. The fighting was short but very severe. The Third did not lose any field officers, but the line suffered considerably. The Third lost some of her most promising officers. Of the Seventh, Captain Litchfield, of Company L, Captain Wm. Clark, of Company G, and lieutenant J.L. Talbert fell dead, and many others wounded.
The Second and Eighth had climbed the mountains, and advanced on Harper's Ferry from the east. The Second was commanded by Colonel Kennedy and the Eighth by Colonel Henagan. The enemy was posted behind works, constructed the same as those assaulted by the Third and Seventh, of cliffs of rocks, trunks of trees, covered by an abattis. The regiments advanced in splendid style, and through the tangled underbrush and over boulders they rushed for the enemy's works. Colonel Kennedy was wounded in the early part of the engagement, but did not leave the field. The Second lost some gallant line officers. When the order was given to charge the color bearer of the Eighth, [149] Sergeant Strother, of Chesterfield, a tall, handsome man of six feet three in height, carrying the beautiful banner presented to the regiment by the ladies of Pee Dee, fell dead within thirty yards of the enemy's works. All the color guard were either killed or wounded. Captain A.T. Harllee, commanding one of the color companies, seeing the flag fall, seized it and waving it aloft, called to the men to forward and take the breastworks. He, too, fell desperately wounded, shot through both thighs with a minnie ball. He then called to Colonel Henagan, he being near at hand, to take the colors. Snatching them from under Captain Harllee, Colonel Henagan shouted to the men to follow him, but had not gone far before he fell dangerously wounded. Some of the men lifted up their fallen Colonel and started to the rear; but just at this moment his regiment began to waver and break to the rear. The gallant Colonel seeing this ordered his men to put him down, and commanded in a loud, clear voice, "About face! Charge and take the works," which order was obeyed with promptness, and soon the flags of Kershaw's Regiments waved in triumph over the enemy's deserted works.
Walker had occupied Loudon Heights, on the Virginia side, and all were waiting now for Jackson to finish the work assigned to him and to occupy Bolivar Heights, thus finishing the cordon around the luckless garrison. The enemy's cavalry under the cover of the darkness crossed the river, hugged its banks close, and escaped. During the night a road was cut to the top of Maryland Heights by our engineer corps and several pieces of small cannon drawn up, mostly by hand, and placed in such position as to sweep the garrison below. Some of Jackson's troops early in the night began climbing around the steep cliffs that overlook the Shenandoah, and by daylight took possession of the heights opposite to those occupied by Walker's Division. But all during the day, while we were awaiting the signal of Jackson's approach, we heard continually the deep, dull sound of cannonading in our rear. Peal after peal from heavy guns that fairly shook the mountain side told too plainly a desperate struggle was going on in the passes that protected our rear. General McLaws, taking Cobb's Georgia Brigade and some cavalry, hurried back over the rugged [150] by-paths that had been just traversed, to find D.H. Hill and Longstreet in a hand-to-hand combat, defending the routes on South Mountain that led down on us by the mountain crests. The next day orders for storming the works by the troops beyond the river were given. McLaws and Walker had secured their position, and now were in readiness to assist Jackson. All the batteries were opened on Bolivar Heights, and from the three sides the artillery duel raged furiously for a time, while Jackson's infantry was pushed to the front and captured the works there. Soon thereafter the white flag was waving over Harper's Ferry, "the citadel had fallen." In the capitulation eleven thousand prisoners, seventy-two pieces of artillery, twelve thousand stands of small arms, horses, wagons, munitions, and supplies in abundance passed into the hands of the Confederates. Jackson's troops fairly swam in the delicacies, provisions, and "drinkables" constituting a part of the spoils taken, while Kershaw's and all of McLaw's and Walker's troops, who had done the hardest of the fighting, got none. Our men complained bitterly of this seeming injustice. It took all day to finish the capitulation, paroling prisoners, and dividing out the supplies; but we had but little time to rest, for Lee's Army was now in a critical condition. McClellan, having by accident captured Lee's orders specifying the routes to be taken by all the troops after the fall of Harper's Ferry, knew exactly where and when to strike. The Southern Army was at this time woefully divided, a part being between the Potomac and the Shenandoah, Jackson with three divisions across the Potomac in Virginia, McLaws with his own and a part of Anderson's Division on the heights of Maryland, with the enemy five miles in his rear at Crompton Pass cutting him off from retreat in that direction. Lee, with the rest of his army and reserve trains, was near Hagerstown.
On the 16th we descended the mountain, crossed the Potomac, fell in the rear of Jackson's moving army, and marched up the Potomac some distance, recrossed into Maryland, on our hunt for Lee and his army. The sun poured down its blistering rays with intense fierceness upon the already fatigued and fagged soldiers, while the dust along the pikes, that wound over and around the numerous hills, was almost stifling. We bivouaced for the night on the roadside, ten miles from [151] Antietam Creek, where Lee was at the time concentrating his army, and where on the next day was to be fought the most stubbornly contested and bloody battle of modern times, if we take in consideration the number of troops engaged, its duration, and its casualties. After three days of incessant marching and fighting over mountain heights, rugged gorges, wading rivers—all on the shortest of rations, many of the men were content to fall upon the bare ground and snatch a few moments of rest without the time and trouble of a supper.
When Lee crossed the Potomac the Department at Washington, as well as the whole North, was thrown into consternation, and the wildest excitement prevailed, especially in Maryland and Pennsylvania. "Where was Lee?" "Where was he going?" were some of the questions that flitted over the wires to McClellan from Washington, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. But the personage about whose movements and whereabouts seemed to excite more anxiety and superstitious dread than any or all of Lee's Lieutenants was Jackson. The North regarded him as some mythical monster, acting in reality the parts assigned to fiction. But after it was learned that Lee had turned the head of his columns to the westward, their fears were somewhat allayed. Governor Curtis, of Pennsylvania, almost took spasms at the thought of the dreaded rebels invading his domain, and called upon the militia "to turn out and resist the invader." In less than three weeks after the battle of Manassas, the North, or more correctly, New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Delaware, and Maryland, had out 250,000 State troops behind the Susquehanna River.
The great horde of negro cooks and servants that usually followed the army were allowed to roam at will over the surrounding country, just [152] the same as down in Virginia. The negroes foraged for their masters wherever they went, and in times of short rations they were quite an adjunct to the Commissary Department, gathering chickens, butter, flour, etc. Even now, when so near the Free States, with nothing to prevent them from making their escape, the negroes showed no disposition to take advantage of their situation and conditions, their owners giving themselves no concern whatever for their safety. On more occasions than one their masters told them to go whenever they wished, that they would exercise no authority over them whatever, but I do not believe a single negro left of his own accord. Some few were lost, of course, but they were lost like many of the soldiers—captured by foraging parties or left broken down along the roadside. It is a fact, though, that during the whole war the negroes were as much afraid of the "Yankee" as the white soldier, and dreaded capture more.
It might be supposed that we fared sumptuously, being in an enemy's country at fruit and harvest time, with great waving fields of corn, trees bending under loads of choice ripe fruits, but such was far from being the case. Not an apple, peach, or plum was allowed to be taken without payment, or at the owner's consent. Fields, orchards, and farmhouses were strictly guarded against depredations. The citizens as a whole looked at us askance, rather passive than demonstrative. The young did not flock to our standards as was expected, and the old men looked on more in wonder than in pleasure, and opened their granaries with willingness, but not with cheerfulness. They accepted the Confederate money offered as pay for meals or provisions more as a respect to an overpowering foe than as a compensation for their wares. A good joke in this campaign was had at the expense of Captain Nance, of the Third. It must be remembered that the privates played many practical jokes upon their officers in camps, when at other times and on other occasions such would be no joke at all, but a bit of downright rascality and meanness—but in the army such was called fun. A nice chicken, but too old to fry, so it must be stewed. As the wagons were not up, cooking utensils were scarce—about one oven to twenty-five men. Captain Nance ordered Jess to bake the biscuit at night and put away till morning, when the chicken would be cooked and [153] a fine breakfast spread. Now the Captain was overflowing in good humor and spirits, and being naturally generous-hearted, invited the Colonel and Lieutenant Colonel Rutherford, the latter his prospective brother-in-law, down to take breakfast with him. The biscuits were all baked nicely and piled high up on an old tin plate and put in the Captain's tent at his head for safe keeping during the night. Early next morning the fowl was "jumping in the pan," as the boys would say, while the Captain made merry with the others over their discomfiture at seeing him and his guests eating "chicken and flour bread," while they would be "chewing crackers." All things must come to an end, of course; so the chicken was at last "cooked to a turn," the Colonel and the future brother-in-law are seated expectantly upon the ground waiting the breakfast call. The Captain was assisting Jess in putting on the finishing touches to the tempting meal, as well as doing the honors to his distinguished guests. When all was ready he ordered Jess to bring out the biscuits. After an unusual long wait, as it may have appeared to Captain Nance under the condition of his appetite and the presence of his superiors, he called out, "Why in the thunder don't you bring out the biscuits, Jess?" Still blankets were overturned and turned again, knapsacks moved for the fourth or fifth time, yet Jess hunted faithfully in that little four by six tent for the plate of biscuits. "Why in the h——l don't you come on with the biscuits, Jess?" with a pronounced accent on the word "Jess." Meanwhile Jess poked his black, shaggy head through the tent door, the white of his eyes depicting the anguish of his mind, his voice the despair he felt, answered: "Well, Marse John, before God Almighty, ef somebody ain't tooken stole dem bisket." Tableaux!! Twenty-five years afterwards at a big revival meeting at Bethel Church, in Newberry County, a great many "hard cases," as they were called, were greatly impressed with the sermons, and one especially seemed on the point of "getting religion," as it is called. But he seemed to be burdened with a great weight. At the end of the service he took out Captain Nance and expressed a desire to make a confession. "Did you ever know who stole your biscuits that night at Frederick City?" "No." "Well, I and Bud Wilson—" But Captain Nance never allowed John Mathis to finish, for [154] as the light of that far-off truth dawned upon him and seemed to bring back the recollection of that nice brown chicken and the missing biscuits he said: "No, I'll never forgive you; go home and don't try for religion any longer, for a crime as heinous as yours is beyond forgiveness. Oh, such depravity!" It appears since that two of his most intimate friends had robbed him just for the fun they would have over his disappointment in the morning and the chagrin the Captain would experience, but the biscuits were too tempting to keep.
On the morning of the 17th we were yet ten miles from Sharpsburg, where Lee had drawn up his army around that little hamlet and along Antietam Creek, to meet the shock of battle that McClellan was preparing to give. The battleground chosen was in a bend of the Potomac, Lee's left resting on the river above and around to the front to near the point where the Antietam enters the Potomac on the right. The little sluggish stream between the two armies, running at the base of the heights around and beyond Sharpsburg, was not fordable for some distance above the Potomac, and only crossed by stone bridges at the public roads. Up near Lee's left it could be crossed without bridges. The Confederate Army now lay in a small compass in this bend of the river, the Federal Army extending in his front from the river above to the Antietam below, just above its junction with the Potomac. That stream rolled in a deep, strong current in the rear of Lee.
Even before the sun had spread its rays over the heights of this quaint old Quaker town sufficient to distinguish objects a few feet away, the guns were booming along the crossings of Antietam. With a hurried breakfast Kershaw took up the line of march along the dusty roads in the direction of the firing, which had begun by daylight and continued to rage incessantly during the day and till after dark, making this the most bloody battle for the men engaged fought during the century. In its casualties—the actual dead upon the field and the wounded—for the time of action, it exceeded all others before or since. When we neared General Lee's headquarters, some distance in rear of the town, D.H. Hill and part of Jackson's forces were already in the doubtful toils of a raging conflict away to our left and front, [155] where Hooker was endeavoring to break Lee's left or press it back upon the river. Barksdale's Brigade, of our division, was in front, and when near the battlefield formed in line of battle. Kershaw formed his lines with the Third, Colonel Nance, in front, nearly parallel with a body of woods, near the Dunker Church, and left of the road leading to it, the enemy being about five hundred yards in our front. The other regiments were formed in line on our left as they came up, Colonel Aiken, of the Seventh, Lieutenant Colonel Hoole, of the Eighth, and Colonel Kennedy, of the Second, in the order named, Barksdale moving in action before our last regiment came fairly in line. Sumner, of the Federal Army, was pushing his forces of the Second Army Corps forward at this point of the line in columns of brigades, having crossed the Antietam at the fords above. Sedgwick, of his leading division, had already formed in line of battle awaiting our assault. One of the Georgia Brigades of the division formed on Kershaw's left, while the other acted as reserve, and a general advance was ordered against the troops in the woods. The battle was in full blast now along the greater part of the line. General Longstreet, speaking of the time Kershaw came in action, says: "The fire spread along both lines from left to right, across the Antietam, and back again, and the thunder of the big guns became continuous and increased to a mighty volume. To this was presently added the sharper rattle of musketry, and the surge of mingling sound sweeping up and down the field was multiplied and confused by the reverberations from the rocks and hills. And in the great tumult of sound, which shook the air and seemed to shatter the cliffs and ledges above the Antietam, bodies of the facing foes were pushed forward to closer work, and soon added the clash of steel to the thunderous crash of cannon shot. Under this storm, now Kershaw advanced his men. Through the open, on through the woods, with a solid step these brave men went, while the battery on their left swept their ranks with grape and canister." In the woods the brigade was moved to the left to evade this storm of shot and shell. The Mississippians on the left were now reforming their broken ranks. Colonel Aiken, of the Seventh, had fallen badly wounded in the first charge, and the command was given to Captain White. This was the first battle in a fair field [156] in which the new commanders of the regiments had had an opportunity to show their mettle and ability, and well did they sustain themselves. Savage Station and Maryland Heights were so crowded with underbrush and vision so obscured that they were almost battles in the dark. Colonel Kennedy, of the Second, and Lieutenant Colonel Hoole, of the Eighth, were handling their men in splendid style, the Seventh changing its commander three times while in battle. Colonel Nance changed his front in the lull of battle, and moved under the friendly cover of a hill, on which was posted the battery that had been graping the field so desperately during the first advance. The brigade had now passed through the field of waving corn, over the rail fence, and driven Sedgwick from his position. Barksdale, who had been staggered by the first impact, was now moving up in beautiful harmony; the steady, elastic step of his men, the waving banners, the officers marching in the rear, their bright blades glittering in the sunlight, made a most imposing spectacle. Up the slope, among the straggling oaks, they bent their steps, while the grape, shell, and canister thinned their ranks to such an extent that when the enemy's infantry was met, their galling fire forced Barksdale to retire in great disorder. The enemy's troops were being hurried ever the creek and forming in our front. Kershaw moved forward in line with those on the right to meet them, and swept everything from his front. The enemy had been massing along the whole line, and when Kershaw reached the farthest limit of the open field he was met by overwhelming numbers. Now the fight waged hot and fierce, but the line on the right having retired left the right flank of the Third Regiment entirely exposed both to the fire of the artillery and infantry, forcing the brigade to retire to its former ground, leaving, however, the second commander of the Seventh dead upon the field. It was here the famous scout and aide to General Stuart, Captain W.D. Parley, killed at the Rappahannock, came to visit his brother, Lieutenant Parley, of the Third. He was made doubly famous by the fiction of Captain Estine Cooke.
McClellan was now growing desperate, his lines making no headway either on the left or centre. His forces were held at bay on our right across the Antietam, having failed to force a crossing at the bridges. [157] Jackson and Hill, on the left, were being sorely pressed by the corps of Mansfield and Hooker, but still doggedly held their ground. Jackson had left the division of A.P. Hill at Harper's Ferry to settle the negotiations of surrender, and had but a comparative weak force to meet this overwhelming number of two army corps. Again and again the Confederate ranks were broken, but as often reformed. Stuart stood on the extreme left, with his body of cavalry, but the condition of the field was such as to prevent him from doing little more service than holding the flanks. General Toombs, with his Georgia Brigade, and some detached troops, with two batteries, held the lower fords all day against the whole of Burnside's corps, notwithstanding the imperative orders of his chief "to cross and strike the Confederates in the rear." Assaults by whole divisions were repeatedly made against the small force west of the stream, but were easily repulsed by Toombs and his Georgians. In all probability these unsuccessful attacks would have continued during the day, had not the Federals found a crossing, unknown to the Confederate Generals, between the bridges. When the crossing was found the whole slope on the western side of the stream was soon a perfect sheet of blue. So sure were they of victory that they called upon the Confederates to "throw down their arms and surrender." This was only answered by a volley and a charge with the bayonet point. But there was a factor in the day's battle not yet taken account of, and which was soon to come upon the field like a whirlwind and change the course of events. A.P. Hill, who had been left at Harper's Ferry, was speeding towards the bloody field with all the speed his tired troops could make. Gregg, Branch, and Archer, of Hill's Division, were thrown into the combat at this most critical moment, after the enemy had forced a crossing at all points and were pushing Lee backwards towards the Potomac. Short and decisive was the work. An advance of the whole right was made. The enemy first staggered, then reeled, and at last pressed off the field. The batteries lost in the early part of the day were retaken, and the enemy was glad to find shelter under his heavy guns on the other side of the Antietam. But the battle on the left was not so favorable. Jackson's, D.H. Hill's, and McLaw's troops, jaded and fagged by the [158] forced marches in the morning, their ranks woefully thinned by the day's continuous fighting, their ammunition sadly exhausted, could do no more than hold their ground for the remainder of the day. The enemy now being re-enforced by Porter's Corps, his batteries enfilading our ranks. McLaws was forced to move Kershaw and the troops on his right to the left and rear, nearly parallel to the line first formed during the day. There had been no material advantage on either side. On the right the enemy had crossed the Antietam, it is true, but to a position no better than the night before. Our left and centre were bent back in somewhat more acute angle than on the morning, but to an equally good position. Not many prisoners were taken on either side in proportion to the magnitude of the battle. The enemy's loss in killed and wounded was a little more than ours, but so far as the day's battle goes, the loss and gain were about equal. It is true Lee lost thousands of good and brave troops whose places could scarcely be filled; yet he inflicted such punishment upon the enemy that it took him months to recuperate. The moral effect was against us and in favor of the enemy It had a decided bearing upon the coming elections at the North, and a corresponding depression upon the people at the South. The Southern Army, from its many successive victories in the past, had taught themselves to believe that they were simply invincible upon the field of battle, and the people of the South looked upon the strategy and military skill of Lee and Jackson as being far beyond the cope of any Generals the North could produce. But this battle taught the South a great lesson in many ways. It demonstrated the fact that it was possible to be matched in generalship, it was possible to meet men upon the field equal in courage and endurance to themselves. But it also proved to what point of forbearance and self-sacrifice the Southern soldier could go when the necessity arose, and how faithful and obedient they would remain to their leaders under the severest of tests. The Confederate soldier had been proven beyond cavil the equal in every respect to that of any on the globe. After fighting all day, without food and with little water, they had to remain on the field of battle, tired and hungry, until details returned to the wagons and cooked their rations. It may be easily imagined that both armies were [159] glad enough to fall upon the ground and rest after such a day of blood and carnage, with the smoke, dust, and weltering heat of the day. Before the sound of the last gun had died away in the distance one hundred thousand men were stretched upon the ground fast asleep, while near a third of that number were sleeping their last sleep or suffering from the effects of fearful wounds. The ghouls of the battlefield are now at their wanton work. Stealthily and cautiously they creep and grope about in the dark to hunt the body of an enemy, or even a comrade, and strip or rob him of his little all. Prayers, groans, and curses mingle, but the robber of the battlefield continues his work. Friends seek lost comrades here and there, a brother looks, perhaps, in vain for a brother.
The loss in some of our regiments was appalling, especially the Seventh. Two regimental commanders, of that command had fallen, Colonel Aiken and Captain White, leaving Captain Hard, one of the junior Captains, in command. The regiment lost in the two battles of Maryland Heights and Sharpsburg, two hundred and fifty-three out of four hundred and forty-six.
General McClellan, in his testimony before the War Investigating Committee, says: "We fought pretty close upon one hundred thousand men. Our forces were, total in action, eighty-seven thousand one hundred and sixty-four." Deducting the cavalry division not in action of four thousand three hundred and twenty, gives McClellan eighty-two thousand eight hundred and forty-four, infantry and artillery.
General Lee says in his report: "The battle was fought by less than forty thousand men of all arms on our side." The actual numbers were:
| Jackson, including A.P. Hill | 10,000 |
| Longstreet | 12,000 |
| D.H. Hill and Walker | 7,000 |
| Cavalry | 8,000 |
| ______ | |
| 37,000 |
Deduct four thousand cavalry on detached service and not on the field from Lee's force, and we have of infantry, artillery, and cavalry, [160] thirty-three thousand. Jackson only had four thousand on the left until the arrival of A.P. Hill, and withstood the assaults of forty thousand till noon; when re-enforced by Hill he pressed the enemy from the field.
The next day was employed in burying the dead and gathering up the wounded. Those who could travel were started off across the Potomac on foot, in wagons and ambulances, on the long one hundred miles march to the nearest railroad station, while those whose wounds would not admit of their removal were gathered in houses in the town and surgeons detailed to remain and treat them. On the morning of the 19th some hours before day the rumbling of the wagon trains told of our march backward. We crossed the Potomac, Longstreet leading, and Jackson bringing up the rear. A great many that had been broken down by the rapid marches and the sun's burning rays from the time of our crossing into Maryland till now, were not up at the battle of the 17th, thus weakening the ranks of Lee to nearly one-half their real strength, taking those on detached service into consideration also. But these had all come up and joined their ranks as we began crossing the Potomac. None wished to be left behind; even men so badly wounded that at home they would be confined to their beds marched one hundred miles in the killing heat. Hundreds of men with their arms amputated left the operating table to take up their long march. Some shot through the head, body, or limbs preferred to place the Potomac between themselves and the enemy.
Lee entered Maryland with sixty-one thousand men all told, counting Quartermaster and Commissary Departments, the teamsters, and those in the Medical and Engineer Department. Lee lost thirteen thousand six hundred and eighty-seven men killed and wounded on the field of battle, and several thousand in capture and broken down by the wayside, most of the latter, however, reporting for duty in a few days.
McClellan had of actual soldiers in the lines of battle and reserve eighty-seven thousand one hundred and sixty-four, his losses in battle being twelve thousand four hundred and ten, making his casualties one thousand two hundred and seventy-seven less than Lee's. The prisoners and cannon captured in action were about equal during the twelve days north of the Potomac, while at Harper's Ferry Lee captured sufficient [161] ammunition to replenish that spent in battle, and horses and wagons enough to fully equip the whole army, thousands of improved small arms, seventy-two cannon and caissons, and eleven thousand prisoners. While the loss of prisoners, ammunition, horses, ordnance, etc., did not materially cripple the North, our losses in prisoners and killed and wounded could hardly be replaced at that time. So in summing up the results it is doubtful whether or not the South gained any lasting benefit from the campaign beyond the Potomac. But Lee was forced by circumstances after the enemy's disaster at Manassas to follow up his victories and be guided by the course of events, and in that direction they lead. McClellan offered the gauge of battle; Lee was bound to accept. The North claimed Sharpsburg or Antietam as a victory, and the world accepted it as such. This gave Lincoln the opportunity he had long waited for to write his famous Emancipation Proclamation. It was not promulgated, however, till the first of January following. Among military critics this battle would be given to Lee, even while the campaign is voted a failure. It is an axiom in war that when one army stands upon the defensive and is attacked by the other, if the latter fails to force the former from his position, then it is considered a victory for the army standing on the defensive. (See Lee at Gettysburg and Burnsides at Fredericksburg.) While Lee was the invader, he stood on the defensive at Sharpsburg or Antietam, and McClellan did no more than press his left and centre back. Lee held his battle line firmly, slept on the field, buried his dead the next day, then deliberately withdrew. What better evidence is wanting to prove Lee not defeated. McClellan claimed no more than a drawn fight.
On the 19th the enemy began pressing our rear near Sheperdstown, and A.P. Hill was ordered to return and drive them off. A fierce and sanguinary battle took place at Bateler's Ford, between two portions of the armies, A.P. Hill gaining a complete victory, driving the enemy beyond the river. The army fell back to Martinsburg and rested a few days. Afterwards they were encamped at Winchester, where they remained until the opening of the next campaign.
Before closing the account of the First Maryland campaign, I wish to say a word in regard to the Commissary and Quartermaster's [162] Departments. Much ridicule, and sometimes abuse, has been heaped upon the heads of those who composed the two Departments. I must say, in all justice, that much of this was ill timed and ill advised. It must be remembered that to the men who constituted these Departments belonged the duty of feeding, clothing, and furnishing the transportation for the whole army. Often without means or ways, they had to invent them. In an enemy's country, surrounded by many dangers, in a hostile and treacherous community, and mostly unprotected except by those of their own force, they had to toil night and day, through sunshine and rain, that the men who were in the battle ranks could be fed and clothed. They had no rest. When the men were hungry they must be fed; when others slept they had to be on the alert. When sick or unable to travel a means of transportation must be furnished. The Commissary and the Quartermaster must provide for the sustenance of the army. Kershaw's Brigade was doubly blessed in the persons of Captain, afterwards Major W.D. Peck and Captain Shell, of the Quartermaster Department, and Captain R.N. Lowrance, and Lieutenant J.N. Martin, of the Commissary. The troops never wanted or suffered while it was in the power of those officers to supply them.
Major Peck was a remarkable man in many respects. He certainly could be called one of nature's noblemen. Besides being a perfect high-toned gentleman of the old school, he was One of the most efficient officers in the army, and his popularity was universal His greatest service was in the Quartermaster's Department, but he served for awhile in the ranks in Captain Wm. Wallace's Company, Second Regiment, as Orderly Sergeant—served in that capacity at the bombardment of Fort Sumpter and the first battle of Manassas. On the death of Quartermaster W.S. Wood, Colonel Kershaw appointed him his Regimental Quartermaster to fill the place made vacant by Captain Wood, in July, 1861, with the rank of Captain. When Kershaw was made Brigadier General, on the resignation of General Bonham, he had him promoted to Brigade Quartermaster with the rank of Major. On the resignation of Major McLaws, Division Quartermaster, he was made Division Quartermaster in [163] his stead, and held this position during the war. He received his last appointment only one month before his illustrious chief, J.B. Kershaw, was made Major General. It seems a strange coincidence in the rise of these two men, who entered the service together—each took different arms, but rose in parallel grades to the highest position in the division. Major Peck was seldom absent from duty, and a complaint against him was never heard. He was a bold, gallant officer, and when in the discharge of his duties he laid aside every other consideration. Major Peck had a very striking appearance, tall, erect, and dignified, and upon horseback he was a perfect cavalier. It might be truly said he was one of the handsomest men in the army. His commanding appearance attracted attention wherever he went, and he was often taken for a general officer. For cordiality, generosity, and unselfishness he was almost without a rival. It required no effort on his part to display the elegance of his character—his gentlemanly qualities and deportment were as natural to him as it is for the "sparks to fly upward." He was born in Columbia April 4th, 1833, and died there April 25th, 1870.
The mere fact of Captain G.W. Shell being appointed to such a responsible position as Quartermaster by so strict a disciplinarian as Colonel Nance is a sufficient guarantee of his qualifications. Captain Shell entered the army as a private in the "State Guards," from Laurens, served one year as such, then as Regimental Quartermaster with rank of Captain for a part of two years. Then that office in the army was abolished and put in charge of a non-commissioned officer. Appreciating his great services while serving his regiment, the officials were loath to dispense with his services, and gave him a position in the brigade department and then in the division as assistant to Major Peck, retaining his rank. All that has been said of Major Peck can be truly said of Captain Shell. He was an exceptional executive officer, kind and courteous to those under his orders, obedient and respectful to his superiors. He was ever vigilant and watchful of the wants of the troops, and while in the abandoned sections of Virginia, as well as in Maryland and Pennsylvania, he displayed the greatest activity in gathering supplies for the soldiers. He was universally loved and admired. He was of the same age [164] of Captain Peck, born and reared in Laurens County, where he returned after the close of the war and still resides, enjoying all the comforts emanating from a well spent life. For several terms he filled the office of Clerk of the Court of his native county, and served two terms in the United States Congress. He was the leading spirit in the great reform movement that overspread the State several years ago, in which Ben Tillman was made Governor, and South Carolina's brightest light, both political and military, General Wade Hampton, was retired to private life.
As Colonel Aiken saw but little more service with the First Brigade, I will here give a short sketch of his life. I have made it a rule in this work, as far as practicable, to give a sketch at the end of the officer's service in the Brigade, but in this case I make an exception.
Colonel Aiken was born in Winnsboro, Fairfield County, S.C., March 17th, 1828. He graduated at the South Carolina College in the class of 1849. Was professor at Mt. Zion College for two years, and married Miss Mattie Gaillard in 1852, settling at "Bellevue" Farm, near Winnsboro. He became county editor of Winnsboro News and Herald, and was married the second time to Miss Smith, of Abbeville, and removed to that county in 1858. Was fond of agriculture, and was editor of various periodicals devoted to that and kindred pursuits.
In 1861 he volunteered as a private in the Seventh South Carolina Volunteers, and was appointed Adjutant of that regiment. At the reorganization of the regiment in 1862 he was elected Colonel to succeed Colonel Bacon, who declined re-election. At Sharpsburg he received a wound in the body, which for a long time was feared to be fatal. He, however, returned in June, 1863, and commanded his regiment in the Gettysburg battle, after which he was deemed unable for further active service in the field, and was appointed "commandant of the post" at Macon, Ga. This position he held for one year, and then discharged from the army as being unfit for further service.
After the war he was selected for three terms to the State [165] Legislature. He was "Master of State Grange Patrons of Husbandry," and was twice President of the "State Agricultural and Mechanical Society of South Carolina." He was chosen Democratic standard bearer for Congress in the memorable campaign of 1876, and continually re-elected thereafter until his death, which occurred on April 6th, 1887.
Colonel Aiken was also one of nature's noblemen, bold, fearless, and incorruptible. He did as much, or perhaps more, than any of the many great and loyal men of that day to release South Carolina from the coils of the Republican ring that ruled the State during the dark days of Reconstruction.
The brigade remained in camp in a beautiful grove, about four miles beyond Winchester, until the last of October. Here the regiments were thoroughly organized and put in good shape for the next campaign. Many officers and non-commissioned officers had been killed, or totally disabled in the various battles, and their places had to be filled by election and promotion. All officers, from Colonel down, went up by regular grades, leaving nothing but the Third Lieutenants to be elected. The non-commissioned officers generally went up by promotion also, where competent, or the Captains either promoted them by regular grade or left the selection to the men of the company. We had lost no field officer killed, except Lieutenant Colonel Garlington, of the Third, and Major Rutherford was promoted to that position, and Captain R.C. Maffett made Major. Several Lieutenants in all the regiments were made Captains, and many new Lieutenants were chosen from the ranks, so much so that the rolls of the various companies were very materially changed, since the reorganization in April last. Many of the wounded had returned, and large bodies of men had come in from the conscript camps since the reorganization. The Seventh Regiment had lost heavier, [166] in officers and men, than any of the regiments. Colonel Aiken was wounded at Sharpsburg, and never returned only for a short time, but the regiment was commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Bland until the resignation of Colonel Aiken, except when the former was himself disabled by wounds.
Camp guards were kept up around the brigade, and regimental pickets, some two or three miles distant, about every two weeks. We had company and regimental drills about four times per week, and, in fact, we drilled almost every day, now that we were not on the actual march. The turn-pike road from Winchester to Staunton, ninety miles, for weeks was perfectly lined with soldiers returning at the expiration of their furloughs, or discharged from hospital, and our convalescent sick and wounded from the Maryland campaign going homeward.
On the 27th or 28th of October orders came to move. Longstreet took the lead, with McLaws' and Anderson's Divisions in front. General Lee had divided his army into two corps; the Department of Richmond having created the rank of Lieutenant General, raised Longstreet and Jackson to that grade in Lee's Army. Longstreet's Corps consisted of McLaws' Division, composed of Kershaw's, Barksdale's, Cobb's, and Semmes' Brigades, and Anderson's, Hood's, Pickett's, and Ransom's Divisions. Jackson's Corps consisted of D.H. Hill's, A.P. Hill's, Ewell's, and Taliaferro's Divisions. We marched by way of Chester Gap over the Blue Ridge, and came into camp near Culpepper on the 9th of November. The enemy had crossed the Potomac and was moving southward, by easy stages, on the east side of the mountain.
On the 5th of October General McClellan was removed from the command of the Army of the Potomac and Major General Burnsides, a corps commander, was made Commander-in-Chief in his stead. This change was universally regretted by both armies, for the Northern Army had great confidence in the little "Giant," while no officer in the Union Army was ever held in higher esteem by the Southern soldiers than little "Mack," as General McClellan was called. They admired him for his unsurpassed courage, generalship, and his kind and gentlemanly [167] deportment, quite in contrast to the majority of Union commanders.
General Burnsides, who had succeeded McClellan, now divided his army by corps in three grand divisions—General Sumner, commanding the Right Grand Division, composed of the Second and Ninth Corps; General Hooker, the center, with the Third and Fifth Corps; and General Franklin, the left, with the First and Sixth Corps. So both armies had undergone considerable changes, and were now moving along on converging lines towards a meeting point to test the mettle of the new commanders and organizations.
We remained in camp around Culpepper until the morning of the 18th of November, when the march was resumed, by McLaws taking the road leading to Fredericksburg, headed by General Longstreet in person, and another division south along the line of the railroad in the direction of the North Anna River, the other divisions of the corps remaining stationary, awaiting developments. Jackson had not yet crossed the Blue Ridge, and General Lee was only waiting and watching the move of Burnsides before concentrating his army at any particular place. It was unknown at this time whether the Federal commander would take the route by way of Fredericksburg, or follow in a straight course and make the North Anna his base of operations. The cavalry, making a demonstration against the enemy's outposts, found the Union Army had left and gone in the direction of Fredericksburg. Then Lee began the concentration of his army by calling Jackson on the east side of the Blue Ridge and Longstreet down on the south side of the Rappahannock. We crossed the north fork of the Rappahannock at a rocky ford, two miles above the junction of the Rapidan and just below the railroad bridge, on a cold, blustery day, the water blue and cold as ice itself, coming from the mountain springs of the Blue Ridge, not many miles away. Some of the men took off their shoes and outer garments, while others plunged in just as they marched from the road. Men yelled, cursed, and laughed. Some climbed upon the rocks to allow their feet and legs to warm up in the sun's rays, others held up one foot for awhile, then the other, to allow the air to strike their naked shins and warm them. Oh! it was dreadfully cold, but such fun! [168] The water being about three feet deep, we could easily see the rocks and sands in the bottom. The men who had pulled off their shoes and clothing suffered severely.
There was a man in my company who was as brave and as good a soldier as ever lived, but beyond question the most awkward man in the army. His comrades called him "mucus," as some one said that was the Latin for "calf." This man would fall down any time and anywhere. Standing in the road or resting on his rifle, he would fall—fall while marching, or standing in his tent. I saw him climb on top of a box car and then fall without the least provocation backwards into a ten-foot ditch. But in all his falling he was never known to hurt himself, but invariably blamed somebody for his fall. When he fell from the car, and it standing perfectly still, he only said: "I wish the d——n car would go on or stand still, one or the other." The road leading to the river makes a bend here, and between the bend and river bank an abutment of logs, filled in with stone to the height of fifteen feet, was built to prevent the water from encroaching upon the land. "Mucus," for no cause whatever that anyone could learn, quit the ranks and walked out on this abutment and along down its side, keeping near the edge of the water, but fifteen feet above, when, to the unaccountability of all, he fell headlong down into the river. The water at this point was not more than three or four feet deep, but deep enough to drench him from head to foot. He rose up, and as usual, quick to place the blame, said: "If I knew the d——n man who pushed me off in the water, I'd put a ball in him." No one had been in twenty feet of him. All the consolation he got was "how deep was the water, 'Mucus'?" "Was the water cold?" But awkward as he was, he was quick-witted and good at repartee. He answered the question "how deep was the water?" "Deep enough to drown a d——n fool, if you don't believe it, go down like I did and try it."
When we reached the other side we were told "no use to put on your shoes or clothing, another river one mile ahead," the Rapidan here joining the Rappahannock. Those who had partly disrobed put their clothing under their arms, shoes in their hands, and went hurrying along after the column in advance. These men, with their bare limbs, [169] resembled the Scotch Highlanders in the British Army, but their modesty was put to the test; when about half-way to the other stream they passed a large, old-fashioned Virginia residence, with balconies above and below, and these filled with ladies of the surrounding country, visitors to see the soldiers pass. It was an amusing sight no less to the ladies of the house than to the men, to witness this long line of soldiers rushing by with their coat-tails beating a tattoo on their naked nether limbs. The other stream was not so wide, but equally as cold and deep.
General Kershaw, sitting on his horse at this point, amusing himself at the soldiers' plight, undertook to encourage and soothe their ruffled feelings by giving words of cheer. "Go ahead, boys," remarked the General, "and don't mind this; when I was in Mexico—" "But, General, it wasn't so cold in Mexico, nor did they fight war in winter, and a horse's legs are not so tender as a man's bare shins," were some of the answers given, and all took a merry laugh and went scudding away.
Passing over, we entered the famous Wilderness, soon to be made renowned by the clash of arms, where Lee and Hooker met and shook the surrounding country with the thunder of their guns a few months afterwards, and where Grant made the "echoes ring" and reverberate on the 5th and 6th of May, the year following. We found, too, the "Chancellor House," this lone, large, dismal-looking building standing alone in this Wilderness and surrounded on all sides by an almost impenetrable forest of scrubby oaks and tangled vines. The house was a large, old-fashioned hotel, situated on a cleared plateau, a piazza above and below, reaching around on three sides. It was called "Chancellorsville," but where the "ville" came in, or for what the structure was ever built, I am unable to tell. This place occupied a prominent place in the picture of the Battle of Chancellorsville, being for a time the headquarters of General Hooker, and around which the greater part of his cannon were placed. We took up camp in rear of Fredericksburg, about two miles south of the city.
While here we received into our brigade the Fifteenth South Carolina Regiment, commanded by Colonel DeSaussure, and the Third Battalion, composed of eight companies and commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Rice. [170] As these are new additions, it will be necessary to give a brief sketch of their organization and movements prior to their connection with Kershaw's Brigade.
Soon after the battle of Bull Run or First Manassas, the Richmond Government made a call upon the different States for a new levy to meet the call of President Lincoln for three hundred thousand more troops to put down the Rebellion. The companies that were to compose the Fifteenth Regiment assembled at the old camping ground at Lightwood Knot Spring, three miles above Columbia. They were:
| Company A | Captain Brown, Richland. | |
| Company B | Captain Gist, Union. | |
| Company C | Captain Lewie, Lexington. | |
| Company D | Captain Warren, Kershaw. | |
| Company E | Captain Davis, Fairfield. | |
| Company F | Captain Boyd, Union. | |
| Company G | Captain McKitchen, Williamsburg. | |
| Company H | Captain Farr, Union. | |
| Company I | Captain Koon, Lexington. | |
| Company K | Captain Bird, ———— |
(These names are given from the best information obtainable and may not be exactly correct, but as the fortunes of war soon made radical changes it is of little moment at this late date.) These companies elected for their field officers:
| Colonel | Wm. DeSaussure. | |
| Lieutenant Colonel | Joseph Gist. | |
| Major | ———— |
The regiment remained in camp undergoing a thorough course of instruction until Hilton Head, on the coast of South Carolina, was threatened; then the Fifteenth was ordered in the field and hurried to that place, reaching it on the afternoon of the day before the battle of that name. The Fifteenth, with the Third Battalion and other State troops, was placed under the command of Brigadier General Drayton, also of South Carolina, and put in position. The next day, by some indiscretion of General Drayton, or so supposed at that time, the Fifteenth was placed in such position as to be greatly exposed to the heavy fire from the war vessels in the harbor. This caused the loss of some thirty or forty in killed and wounded. The slaughter would have [171] been much greater had it not been for the courage and quick perception of Colonel DeSaussure in maneuvering them into a place of safety. After the battle the regiment lay for some time about Hardeesville and Bluffton doing guard and picket duty, still keeping up their course of daily drills. They were then sent to James Island, and were held in reserve at the battle of Secessionville. After the great Seven Days' Battles around Richmond it and the Third Battalion were ordered to Virginia and placed with a regiment from Alabama and one from Georgia in a brigade under General Drayton. They went into camp below Richmond as a part of a division commanded by Brigadier General D.R. Jones, in the corps commanded by Longstreet. When Lee began his march northward they broke camp on the 13th of August, and followed the lead of Longstreet to Gordonsville, and from thence on to Maryland. They were on the field during the bloody battle of Second Manassas, but not actually engaged, being held in the reserve line on the extreme right. At South Mountain they received their first baptism of fire in a battle with infantry. On the memorable 17th of September at Sharpsburg they were confirmed as veteran soldiers in an additional baptism of blood. However, as yet considered raw and undisciplined troops, they conducted themselves on each of these trying occasions like trained soldiers. Colonel DeSaussure was one of the most gallant and efficient officers that South Carolina ever produced. He was a Mexican War veteran and a born soldier. His attainments were such as fitted him for much higher position in the service than he had yet acquired. Had not the fortunes of war laid him low not many miles distant one year later, he would have shown, no doubt, as one of the brightest stars in the constellation of great Generals that South Carolina ever produced. After the return to Virginia Drayton's Brigade was broken up, and the Fifteenth and Third Battalion were assigned to the brigade of General J.B. Kershaw, and began its service in that organization on the heights of Fredericksburg.
I am indebted to Colonel W.G. Rice for a brief sketch of the Third Battalion, or as it was more generally known in the army, "James' Battalion," after its first commander, (who fell at South Mountain, [172] Md.,) up to the time of joining the brigade:
"On the fall of Hilton Head and the occupation of Port Royal by the enemy, the Governor of South Carolina issued a call for volunteers for State service. Among the companies offering their services were four from Laurens County. Lieutenant Geo. S. James having resigned from the United States Army, and being personally known to several of the officers of said four companies, they united in forming a battalion and electing him Major. The companies became known thereafter as:
| "Company A | Captain W.G. Rice. | |
| Company B | Captain J.G. Williams. | |
| Company C | Captain J.M. Shumate. | |
| Company D | Captain G.M. Gunnels. |
"All of Laurens County, the organization being effected at Camp Hampton, near Columbia, November, 1861, and where Major James assumed command. In December the battalion was ordered to Charleston, and from thence to White Point, near the coast. Here the battalion was strengthened by three more companies, making it now a compound battalion and entitled to a Lieutenant Colonel and Major. The additional companies were:
| "Company E, from Laurens | Captain M.M. Hunter. | |
| Company F, from Richland | Captain D.B. Miller. | |
| Company G, from Fairfield | Captain A.P. Irby. |
"Major James was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, and Captain W.G. Rice, as senior Captain, made Major, while Lieutenant J.M. Townsend was raised to the grade of Captain in place of Major Rice.
"In April, 1862, a reorganization was ordered, and the troops enlisted in the Confederate States' service. Both Colonel James and Major Rice were elected to their former positions, with the following company commanders:
| "J.M. Townsend Captain | Company A. | |
| O.A. Watson Captain | Company B. | |
| William Huggins Captain | Company C. | |
| G.M. Gunnels Captain | Company D. | |
| W.H. Fowler Captain | Company E. | |
| D.B. Miller Captain | Company F. | |
| B.M. Whitener Captain | Company G. |
"Early in June the battalion was ordered to James' Island, arriving there two days before the battle of Secessionville, but not participating in it. A short while afterwards it was ordered to Richmond, and there remained until the great forward movement of General Lee's, which resulted in the Second Manassas Battle and the invasion of Maryland. The battalion was now brigaded with Philip's Georgia Legion, Fiftieth and Fifty-first Georgia, and Fifteenth South Carolina Regiments, and commanded by Brigadier General Drayton. The battalion was under fire at Waterloo Bridge and at Thoroughfare Gap, and the brigade held the extreme right of Lee's Army at the Second Manassas Battle, but was not seriously engaged. The topography of the country was such that while the incessant roar of artillery could be distinctly heard during the day, no infantry could be heard, and the extreme right did not hear of the result of the great battle until General Robert Toombs marched by and shouted to his fellow Georgians: 'Another great and glorious Bull Run.' After repeated marches and counter-marches during the day, night put an end to the bloody struggle, and the troops lay down to rest. A perfect tornado of shot and shell tore through the woods all around us until deep darkness fell and the enemy withdrew, leaving the entire field to the Confederates."
After resting for nearly a week at Frederick City, Md., the battalion, with the Fifteenth South Carolina and the Georgians of Drayton's Brigade, was ordered to re-enforce General D.H. Hill, who was guarding Lee's rear at Crompton's Gap, in South Mountain. Here the South Carolinians were for the first time thoroughly baptized with fire and blood, and in which the gallant Colonel James lost his life. Of this battle Colonel Rice says:
"Late in the evening of September 14th the brigade reached the battlefield and deployed in an old disused road that crossed the mountain some four hundred yards to the right of the turn-pike. No enemy in sight. Failing to drive D.H. Hill from their front, the Federals made a detour and approached him by the flank. Two hundred yards from the road mentioned above was a belt of woods saddling the mountain, and at this point running parallel with the road. General [174] Drayton, not seeing the enemy, ordered forward Captain Miller's Company as skirmishers to ascertain their whereabouts. Captain Miller had advanced but a short distance when he met the enemy in force. General Drayton ordered the command to forward and drive them from the woods. In the execution of this order some confusion arose, and a part of the brigade gave way, leaving the battalion in a very peculiar and isolated condition. There was a low rock fence running at right angles to the battle line, and behind this the battalion sought to protect itself, but it seemed and was in reality a deathtrap, for it presented its right flank to the enemy. It thus became only a question of a very short time when it must either leave the field or surrender. Right nobly did this little band of heroes hold their ground against overwhelming numbers, and their front was never successfully approached; but as both flanks were so mercilessly assailed, a short time was sufficient to almost annihilate them. Colonel James was twice admonished by his second in command of his untenable position, and that death or surrender was inevitable if he persisted in holding his ground, but without avail. The true soldier that he was preferred death to yielding. Just as night approached and firing began to cease, Colonel James was pierced through the breast with a minnie ball, from the effects of which he soon died."
Colonel Rice was dangerously wounded and left on the field for dead. But recovering consciousness, he found himself within the enemy's lines, that portion of his command nearest him having been withdrawn some distance in the rectifying of the lines. Colonel Rice escaped capture by crawling in a deep wash in the road, and was rescued by some skirmishers who were advancing to establish a new line. Colonel Rice gives this information in a foot-note: "The road in which the brigade was stationed was as all roads crossing hills, much washed and worn down, thus giving the troops therein stationed the advantage of first class breastworks. I do not know that the Fifteenth South Carolina and the other portion of the brigade were thus sheltered—have heard indeed that all were not—but within my vision the position was most admirable, now almost impregnable with good troops to defend it. To leave such a position was suicidal, especially [175] when we were ordered to march through open ground and attack the enemy, sheltered behind trees and rocks. This is my estimate at least, and the result proved most disastrous to the brigade and General Drayton himself, as he was soon afterwards relieved of his command."
It has been the aim of the writer of this History not to criticize, condemn, nor make any comments upon the motives or acts of any of the officers whom he should have cause to mention, and he somewhat reluctantly gives space to Colonel Rice's stricture of General Drayton. It is difficult for officers in subaltern position to understand all that their superiors do and do not. The Generals, from their positions, can see differently from those in the line amid the smoke of battle, and they often give commands hard to comprehend from minor officers' point of view. General Drayton was an accomplished and gallant officer, and while he might have been rash and reckless at South Mountain, still it is hard to conceive his being relieved of his command through the charge of "rashness," especially when his brigade held up successfully for so long a time one of the most stubborn battles of the war.
At the Battle of Sharpsburg or Antietam, the little remnant of the battalion was again engaged. On Lee's return to Virginia, and during the last days of November or early in December, the Third Battalion and the Fifteenth Regiment were transferred to Kershaw's Brigade, and from thence on it will be treated as a part of the old First Brigade. At Fredericksburg, on the day of the great battle, the battalion held the railroad cut running from near the city to the right of Mayree's Hill, and was well protected by a bluff and the railroad, consequently did not suffer as great a loss as the other regiments of the brigade.
The first commander of the Third Battalion, and who fell at South Mountain, was born in Laurens County, in 1829. He was the second son of John S. James, a prominent lawyer of Laurens, who, meeting with misfortune and losing a handsome fortune, attempted to retain it by moving to Columbia and engaging in mercantile pursuits. This he followed with success. Colonel George S. James received his early [176] education in the academies of the up-country. While yet a youth some seventeen years of age, war with Mexico was declared, and his patriotic and chivalric spirit sent him at once to the ranks of the Palmetto Regiment, and he shared the triumphs and fortunes of that command to the close of the war.
After his return to his native State, he entered the South Carolina College, along with many others, who in after years made their State and themselves immortal by their fiery zeal in the War of Secession. At the college young James was a great favorite of all who knew him best, and while not a close student of text-books, he was an extensive reader, always delighting his friends with wit and humor. The student life, however, failed to satisfy his adventurous spirit, and wandering away to the far distant West, seeking adventure or congenial pursuits, he received a commission of Lieutenant in the United States Army.
The storm cloud of war, so long hovering over the land, was now about to burst, and Lieutenant James seeing separation and perhaps war inevitable, resigned his commission, and hastened to offer his sword to his native State. He commanded a battery at Fort Johnson, on James' Island, and shared with General Ruffin the honor of firing the first gun at Fort Sumter, a shot that was to electrify the world and put in motion two of the grandest and mightiest armies of all times.
A portion of the Federal Army had preceded Lee, reaching the heights opposite Fredericksburg two days before the arrival of Kershaw's Brigade and the other parts of the division. The Federals had been met by a small body of Confederates doing outpost duty there and held at bay till the coming of Longstreet with his five divisions. General [177] Lee was not long in determining the route Burnsides had selected and hurried Jackson on, and placed him some miles to our right, near Hamilton's Crossing, on the Richmond and Fredericksburg Railroad. When Burnsides became aware of the mighty obstacle of Lee's battalions between him and his goal, the deep, sluggish river separating the two armies, he realized the trouble that lay in his path. He began fortifying the ridges running parallel to and near the river, and built a great chain of forts along "Stafford Heights," opposite Fredericksburg. In these forts he mounted one hundred and thirty-seven guns, forty being siege pieces brought down from Washington by way of the Potomac and Acquia Creek, and lined the entire range of hills with his heaviest and long-distanced field batteries. These forts and batteries commanded the river and plain beyond, as well as every height and elevation on the Southern side. The range of hills on the opposite side were much higher and more commanding than those on the Southern side, still Lee began fortifying Taylor's, Mayree's, and Lee's Heights, and all the intervening hills also, by building forts and heavy redoubts, with protected embrasures on the flanks. Between these hills and along their crests the infantry threw up light earthworks. It could not be said that ours was a fortified position in any sense, only through natural barriers. There is a plain of a half to a mile in width between the river and the range to the South, commencing at Taylor's Hill, half a mile above the city, and widening as it diverges from the river below, terminating in a broken plateau down near Hamilton's Crossing. The highlands on the opposite side come rather precipitous to the water's edge. Along the banks, on either side, were rifle pits, in which were kept from three to five pickets, and on our side a brigade was stationed night and day in the city as a support to the videttes guarding the river front. These pickets were directed to prevent a crossing at all hazards until the troops at camp in the rear were all in position in front of Fredericksburg. Stuart, with the body of his cavalry, guarded the river and country on our right below Jackson, while Hampton kept a lookout at the crossings above on the left of Longstreet.
On the morning of the 11th, at 3 o'clock, when all was still and the soldiers fast asleep, they were rudely aroused from their slumbers [178] by the deep boom of a cannon away to the front and across the river. Scarcely had the sound of the first gun died away than another report thundered out on the stillness of that December night, its echo reverberating from hill to hill and down along the river side. These sounds were too ominous to be mistaken; they were the signal guns that were to put in motion these two mighty armies. "Fall in" was the word given, and repeated from hill to hill and camp to camp. Drums beat the long roll at every camp, while far below and above the blast of the bugle called the troopers to "boots and saddle." Couriers dashed headlong in the sombre darkness from one General's headquarters to another's. Adjutants' and Colonels' orderlies were rushing from tent to tent, arousing the officers and men to arms, and giving instructions for the move.
I can remember well the sharp, distant voice of Adjutant Y.J. Pope on that morning, coming down the line of the officers' tents and calling out to each as he came opposite: "Captain ——, get your company ready to move at once."
Under such orders, companies have that same rivalry to be first on the parade ground as exists among fire companies in towns and cities when the fire bell rings. We were all soon in line and marching with a hasty step in the direction of the breastworks above the city, Kershaw taking position immediately to the right of the Telegraph Road. This is a public highway leading into the city, curving in a semi-circle around Mayree Hill on the left. From this road the hill rises on the west and north in a regular bluff—a stone wall of five feet in height bordering either side of the road. "Deep Run," a small ravine, runs between the hill on which Kershaw was stationed and that of Mayree's. Daylight was yet some hours off when we took position, but we could hear the rattle of the guns of Barksdale's Mississippians, whose turn it was to be on picket in the city, driving off the enemy's pontoon corps and bridge builders.
The city was almost deserted, General Lee advising the citizens to leave their homes as soon as it became apparent that a battle would be fought here. Still a few, loath to leave their all to the ravages of an army, decided to remain and trust to fate. But soon after the [179] firing along the river began, we saw groups of women and children and a few old men in the glim twilight of the morning rushing along the roads out from the city as fast as their feeble limbs and tender feet could carry them, hunting a safe retreat in the backwoods until the cloud of war broke or passed over. Some Were, carrying babes in their arms, others dragging little children along by the hands, with a few articles of bedding or wearing apparel under their arms or thrown over their shoulders. The old men tottered along in the rear, giving words of comfort and cheer to the excited and frightened women and little ones. It was a sickening sight to see these helpless and inoffensive people hurrying away from the dangers of battle in the chilly morning of December, seeking some safe haunt in the backwoods, yet they bore it all without murmur or complaint.
Anderson's Division of Longstreet's Corps rested on the river on the extreme left, at Taylor's Hill; then Ransom's along the crest of the ridge between Taylor's and Mayree's, and McLaws' from his left across Deep Run Valley and along the ridge to Lee's Hill, where Pickett was posted; Hood extending from Pickett's right, touching the left of the troops of Jackson's Corps. Three of Cobb's regiments and one from North Carolina were posted behind the stone wall lining the sunken road, while two of Cooke's North Carolina regiments were on the crest of Mayree's Hill overlooking Cobb. Kershaw's Brigade, with the Third South Carolina on the left, was resting on the ridge running at right angles to the Telegraph Road, the left resting on the road, the Second South Carolina next, and so on to the left of Semmes' Brigade. Barksdale being in the city on picket, was relieved and placed in reserve.
As soon as the signal guns gave evidence of an impending battle, D.H. Hill, who had been sent on detached service down the river, was recalled and placed in line with the other portion of Jackson's Corps. Jackson had his entire force closely massed in the woodland around Hamilton's Crossing and along the Richmond and Fredericksburg Railroad, one mile from the river. The Light Division of A.P. Hill occupied the front line, with a heavy battery of fourteen guns on his right, supported by Archer's Brigade; then Lane's and Fender's in front, with Gregg's and Thomas' in reserve. Behind the Light Division [180] lay Early on the right, Taliaferro on the left, with D.H. Hill in rear of all along the Mine Road, the right of these divisions resting on Hamilton's Crossing. Hood occupied the valley between Lee's Hill and the highland around Hamilton's Crossing; Pickett on the ridge between Hood and McLaws; Stuart's Cavalry ran at right angles to the infantry line from Hamilton's Crossing to the river, hemming the Federal Army in the plain between Hamilton's Crossing and Taylor's Hill above the city, a space three miles long by one wide.
Before day the enemy's pontoon corps came cautiously to the river and began operations at laying down the bridge, but the pickets in the rifle pits kept them off for a time by their steady fire. The manner of putting down army bridges is much more simple and rapid than the old country mode of building. Large boats are loaded on long-coupled wagons, the boats filled with plank for flooring and cross beams, with a large iron ring in the rear end of each boat, through which a stout rope is to run, holding them at equal distance when in the water. When all is ready the boats are launched at equal distance so that the beams can reach, then pushed out in the stream, and floated around in a semi-circle, until the opposite bank is reached, the rope fastened to trees on either bank, cross pieces are laid, the flooring put down, and the bridge is ready for crossing.
After making several ineffectual attempts in placing the bridge, the destructive fire of Barksdale's Riflemen forcing them back, the enemy attempted the bold project of filling the boats with armed soldiers, pushing out in the stream, and fighting their way across, under cover of their artillery fire. While the dense fog was yet hanging heavily over the waters, one hundred and forty guns, many siege pieces, were opened upon the deserted city and the men along the water front. The roar from the cannon-crowned battlements shook the very earth. Above and below us seemed to vibrate as from the effects of a mighty upheaval, while the shot and shell came whizzing and shrieking overhead, looking like a shower of falling meteors. For more than an hour did this seething volcano vomit iron like hail upon the city and the men in the rifle pits, the shells and shot from the siege guns [181] tearing through the houses and plunging along the streets, and ricocheting to the hills above. Not a house nor room nor chimney escaped destruction. Walls were perforated, plastering and ceiling fell, chimneys tottering or spreading over yards and out into the streets. Not a place of safety, save the cellars and wells, and in the former some were forced to take refuge. Yet through all this, the brave Mississippians stood and bravely fought the bridge builders, beating them back till orders were given to retire. They had accomplished the purpose of delaying the enemy's crossing until our troops were in position. The Federals now hurried over in swarms, by thousands and tens of thousands, and made their way down the river, stationing a strong cordon of guards around the point of landing. The space between was soon a seething mass of humanity, the houses and streets crowded to overflowing. A second bridge was laid a mile below at the mouth of Deep Run, and here a continuous stream of all arms were soon pouring over. General Kershaw rode along our lines, encouraging the men, urging them to stand steadfast, assuring them that there was to be neither an advance nor retreat, that we were but to hold our ground, and one of the greatest victories of the war would be gained. How prophetic his words! All during the day and night the deep rumbling sound of the long wagon trains, artillery, and cavalry could be heard crossing the pontoon bridges above and below.
The next morning, the 12th, as the fog lifted, Stafford Heights and the inclines above the river were one field of blue. Great lines of infantry, with waving banners, their bright guns and bayonets glittering in the sunlight, all slowly marching down the steep inclines between the heights and the river on over the bridges, then down the river side at a double-quick to join their comrades of the night before. These long, swaying lines, surging in and out among the jutting of the hillsides beyond, down to the river, over and down among the trees and bushes near the water, resembled some monster serpent dragging its "weary length along." Light batteries of artillery came dashing at break-neck speed down the hillsides, their horses rearing and plunging as if wishing to take the river at a leap. Cavalry, too, with their heavy-bodied Norman horses, their spurs digging the flanks, sabres bright and glistening and dangling at their [182] sides, came at a canter, all seeming anxious to get over and meet the death and desolation awaiting them. Long trains of ordnance wagons, with their black oilcloth covering, the supply trains and quartermaster departments all following in the wake of their division or corps headquarters, escorts, and trains. All spread out over the hills and in the gorges lay men by the thousands, awaiting their turn to move. Not a shot nor shell to mar or disturb "the even tenor of their way." Bands of music enlivened the scene by their inspiring strains, and when some national air, or specially martial piece, would be struck up, shouts and yells rended the air for miles, to be answered by counter yells from the throats of fifty thousand "Johnny Rebs," as the Southern soldiers were called. The Confederate bands were not idle, for as soon as a Federal band would cease playing, some of the Southern bands would take up the refrain, and as the notes, especially Dixie, would be wafted over the water and hills, the "blue coats" would shout, sing, and dance—hats and caps went up, flags waved in the breeze—so delighted were they at the sight and sound of Dixie. The whole presented more the spectacle of a holiday procession, or a gala day, rather than the prelude to the most sanguinary battle of modern times.
The night following was cold, and a biting wind was blowing. Only a few days before a heavy snow had fallen, and in some places it still remained banked up in shaded corners. To those who had to stand picket out in the plain between the armies the cold was fearful. The enemy had no fires outside of the city, and their sufferings from cold must have been severe. My company, from the Third, as well as one from each of the other regiments, were on picket duty, posted in an open cornfield in the plain close to the enemy, near enough, in fact, to hear voices in either camp—with no fire, and not allowed to speak above a whisper. The night became so intensely cold just before day that the men gathered cornstalks and kindled little fires along the beat, and at early dawn we were withdrawn.
All knew full well, as the day preceding had passed without any demonstrations, only maneuvering, this day, the 13th, would be a day of battle. A heavy fog, as usual, rose from the river and settled along the plains and hillsides, so much so that objects could not be [183"] distinguished twenty paces. However, the least noise could be heard at a great distance. Activity in the Federal camp was noticed early in the morning. Officers could be heard giving commands, wagons and artillery moving to positions. At half past ten the fog suddenly lifted, and away to our right and near the river great columns of men were moving, marching and counter-marching. These were in front of A.P. Hill, of Jackson's Corps. In front of us and in the town all was still and quiet as a city of the dead. The great siege guns from beyond the river on Stafford Heights opened the battle by a dozen or more shells screaming through the tree tops and falling in Jackson's camp. From every fort soon afterwards a white puff of smoke could be seen, then a vivid flash and a deafening report, telling us that the enemy was ready and waiting. From the many field batteries between Jackson and the river the smoke curled up around the tree tops, and shell went crashing through the timbers. Our batteries along the front of Longstreet's Corps opened their long-ranged guns on the redoubts beyond the river, and our two siege guns on Lee's Hill, just brought up from Richmond, paid special attention to the columns moving to the assault of A.P. Hill. For one hour the earth and air seemed to tremble and shake beneath the shock of three hundred guns, and the bursting of thousands of shells overhead, before and behind us, looked like bursting stars on a frolic. The activity suddenly ceases in front of Hill, and the enemy's infantry lines move to the front. First the skirmishers meet, and their regular firing tells the two armies that they are near together. Then the skirmish fire gives way to the deep, sullen roar of the line of battle. From our position, some three hundred yards in rear and to the right of Mayree's Hill, we could see the Union columns moving down the river, our batteries raking them with shot and shell. In crossing an old unfinished railroad cut the two siege guns played upon the flank with fearful effect. Huddling down behind the walls of the cut to avoid the fire in front, the batteries from Mayree's and in the fields to the right enfiladed the position, the men rushing hither and thither and falling in heaps from the deadly fire in front and flank. Jackson has been engaged in a heavy battle for nearly an hour, when suddenly in our front tens [184] of thousands of "blue coats" seemed to spring up out of the earth and make for our lines. Near one-half of the army had concealed themselves in the city and along the river banks, close to the water's edge. The foliage of the trees and the declivity of the ground having hidden them thus far from view. From out of the streets and from behind walls and houses men poured, as if by some magical process or super-human agency, and formed lines of battle behind a little rise in the ground, near the canal. But in a few moments they emerged from their second place of protection and bore down upon the stone wall, behind which stood Cobb's Georgians and a Regiment of North Carolinians. When midway between the canal and stone fence, they met an obstruction—a plank fence—but this did not delay them long. It was soon dashed to the ground and out of their way, but their men were falling at every step from Cobb's infantry fire and grape and canister from the Washington Artillery of New Orleans on the hill. They never neared the wall nor did they take more time than to fire a volley or two before they fled the field. This retreating column of Franklin's met that of Hancock's, formed, and on its way to try issues with the troops behind the stone wall, Longstreet now saw what had never been considered before—that Burnsides was determined to possess himself of the key to Lee's position, "Mayree's Hill," in front of which was the stone wall. He ordered the two regiments of North Carolinians that were posted on the crest of the hill down behind the stone wall, to the left of Cobb and Kershaw, to reinforce the position with his brigade.
The Third Regiment being ordered to the top of Mayree's Hill, Colonel Nance, at the head of his regiment, entered the Telegraph Road, and down this the men rushed, followed by the Second, led by Colonel Kennedy, under one of the heaviest shellings the troops ever experienced. This two hundred yards' stretch of road was in full view and range of the heavy gun batteries on Stafford Heights, and as the men scattered out along and down the road, the shells passed, plowing in the road, bursting overhead, or striking the earth and ricocheting to the hills far in the rear. On reaching the ravine, at the lower end of the incline, the Third Regiment was turned to the left and up a [185] by-road to the plateau in rear of the "Mayree Mansion." The house tops in the city were lined with sharpshooters, and from windows and doors and from behind houses the deadly missiles from the globe-sighted rifles made sad havoc in our ranks.
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| Col. William Drayton Rutherford, 3d S.C. Regiment. | Col. D. Wyatt Aiken, 7th S.C. Regiment. (Page 100.) |
Lieut. Col. B.B. Foster, 3d S.C. Regiment. (Page 164.)
When the Third reached the top of the plateau it was in column of fours, and Colonel Nance formed line of battle by changing "front forward on first company." This pretty piece of tactics was executed while under the galling fire from the artillery and sharpshooters, but was as perfect as on dress parade. The regiment lined up, the right resting on the house and extending along a dull road to the next street leading into the city. We had scarcely gotten in position before Nance, Rutherford, and Maffett, the three field officers, had fallen. Colonel Kennedy, with the Second, passed over the left of the plateau and down the street on our left, and at right angles with our line, being in a position to give a sweeping fire to the flank of the columns of assault against the stone fence. From the preparation and determination made to break through the line here, Kershaw ordered Lieutenant Colonel Bland, with the Seventh, Colonel Henagan, with the Eighth, and Colonel DeSaussure, with the Fifteenth, to double-up with Cobb's men, and to hold their position "at the sacrifice of every man of their commands."
All of the different regiments, with the exception of the Third South Carolina, had good protection in the way of stone walls, this being the sole occasion that any of Kershaw's troops had been protected by breastworks of any kind during the whole war. The Second was in a sunken road leading to the city, walled on either side with granite, the earth on the outside being leveled up with the top. The maneuvering into position had taken place while Hancock was making the first assault upon the wall defended by Cobb. Howard was now preparing to make the doubtful attempt at taking the stronghold with the point of the bayonet, and without firing a gun. But with such men as the Georgians, South Carolinians, and North Carolinians in their front, the task proved too Herculean. Howard moved to the battle in beautiful style, their line almost solid and straight, their step in perfect unison with the long, moving columns, their guns carried at a trail, and the stars and stripes floating proudly above their heads. The shot [186] and shell plunging through their ranks from the hills above, the two siege guns on Lee's Hill now in beautiful play, the brass pieces of the Washington Artillery firing with grape and shrapnel—but all this made no break nor halt in that long line of blue. The double column behind the stone wall and the Third South Carolina on the crest of the Hill met them in front with a cool and steady fire, while the Second South Carolina directed its attention to the flank. But the boldest and stoutest hearts could not withstand this withering blast of bullets and shells without returning the fire. The enemy opened upon us a terrific fire, both from the columns in front and from the sharpshooters in the housetops in the city. After giving us battle as long as human endurance could bear the ordeal, they, like their companions before them, fled in confusion.
Before making the direct attack, Howard attempted a diversion by endeavoring to turn Cobb's left. Passing out into the plain above the city, he was met by some of Cooke's North Carolinians, and there around the sacred tomb of Mary Washington was a hand to hand encounter between some New York and Massachusetts troops and those from the Pine Tree State. Sons of the same ancestry, sons of sires who fought with the "Father of his Country" in the struggle for the nation's independence, now fighting above the grave of the mother for its dissolution! Thrice were the Confederates driven from the position, but as often retaken, and at last held at the point of the bayonet by the hardy sons of North Carolina.
The battle, grand and awful in its sublimity, raged from the morning's opening till two o'clock, without the least abatement along the whole line. From the extreme right to our left at Taylor's Hill was a sea of fire. But Mayree's Hill was the center, around which all the other battles revolved. It was the key to Lee's position, and this had become the boon of contention. It was in the taking of Mayree's Hill and the defeat of the troops defending it that the North was pouring out its river of blood. Both commanders were still preparing to stake their all upon this hazard of the die—the discipline of the North against the valor of the South.
Our loss was heavy, both in officers and men. The brave, chivalric Cobb, of Georgia, had fallen. Of the Third South Carolina, Colonel [187] Nance, Lieutenant Colonel Rutherford, and Major Maffett had all been severely wounded in the early part of the engagement. Captain Hance, while commanding, fell pierced through the heart. Then the next in command, Captain Summer, met a similar fate; then Captain Foster. Captain Nance, the junior Captain in the regiment, retained the command during the continuance of the fight, although painfully wounded. The dead of the Third Regiment lay in heaps, like hogs in a slaughter pen. The position of the Second Regiment gave it great advantage over the advancing column. From a piazza in rear of the sunken road, Colonel Kennedy posted himself, getting a better view, and to better direct the firing Lieutenant Colonel William Wallace remained with the men in the road, and as the column of assault reached the proper range, he ordered a telling fire on the enemy's flank. Men in the road would load the guns for those near the wall, thus keeping up a continual fire, and as the enemy scattered over the plain in their retreat, then was the opportunity for the Second and Third, from their elevated positions and better view, to give them such deadly parting salutes. The smoke in front of the stone wall became so dense that the troops behind it could only fire at the flashing of the enemy's guns. From the Third's position, it was more dangerous for its wounded to leave the field than remain on the battle line, the broad, level plateau in rear almost making it suicidal to raise even as high as a stooping posture.
From the constant, steady, and uninterrupted roll of musketry far to the right, we knew Jackson was engaged in a mighty struggle. From the early morning's opening the noise of his battle had been gradually bearing to the rear. He was being driven from position to position, and was meeting with defeat and possibly disaster. From the direction of his fire our situation was anything but assuring.
General Meade, of the Federal Army, had made the first morning attack upon the Light Brigade, under A.P. Hill, throwing that column in confusion and driving it back upon the second line. These troops were not expecting the advance, and some had their guns stacked. The heavy fog obscured the Federal lines until they were almost within pistol shot. When it was discovered that an enemy was in their front (in [188] fact some thought them their friends), in this confusion of troops a retreat was ordered to the second line. In this surprise and disorder South Carolina lost one of her most gifted sons, and the South a brave and accomplished officer, Brigadier General Maxey Gregg.
General Hood, on Hill's left, failing to move in time to give him the support expected, the whole of Jackson's Corps was forced to retire. But the tide at length begins to turn. Meade is driven from the field. Division after division was rushed to the front to meet and check Jackson's steady advance. Cannon now boom as never before heard, even the clear ringing of Pelham's little howitzers, of Stuart's Cavalry, could be heard above the thunder of the big guns, telling us that Stuart was putting his horse artillery in the balance. His brave artillery leader was raking the enemy's flank as they fell back on the river. In our front new troops were being marshalled and put in readiness to swell the human holocaust before the fatal wall.
Franklin, Hancock, and Howard had made unsuccessful attempts upon this position, leaving their wounded and dead lying in heaps and wind rows from the old railroad cut to the suburbs. Now Sturgis, of the Ninth Corps, was steadily advancing. The Washington Artillery, from New Orleans, occupying the most conspicuous and favorable position on the right of the "Mayree House," had exhausted their shot and shell. The infantry in the road and behind the wall, Cobb's and part of Kershaw's, were nearly out of ammunition, and during the last charge had been using that of their dead and wounded. Calls were made on all sides for "more ammunition," both from the artillery and infantry. Orders and details had been sent to the ordnance trains to bring supplies to the front. But the orders had miscarried, or the trains were too far distant, for up to three o'clock no sign of replenishment was in sight. The hearts of the exhausted men began to fail them—the batteries silent, the infantry short of ammunition, while a long line of blue was making rapid strides towards us in front.
But now all hearts were made glad by the sudden rush of Alexander's Battery coming to the relief of the Washington Artillery. Down the [189] Telegraph Road the battery came, their horses rearing and plunging, drivers burying the points of their spurs deep into the flanks of the foaming steeds; riders in front bending low upon the saddle bows to escape the shells that now filled the air, or plowing up the earth beneath the horses hoofs; the men on the caissons clinging with a death-like grip to retain their seats, the great heavy wheels spinning around like mad and bounding high in the air; while the officers riding at the side of this charging column of artillerists, shouted at the top of their voices, giving directions to the leaders. Down this open and exposed stretch of road, up over the plateau, then wheel to the right, they make a rush through the gauntlet that separates them from the fort in which stood the Washington Artillery. Over the dead and dying the horses leap and plunge, dragging the cannon and ammunition chests—they enter the fort at a gallop. Swinging into line, their brass pieces are now belching forth grape and canister into the ranks of the advancing columns. All this takes place in less time than it takes to record it. The bold dash and beautiful piece of evolution so excite the admiration of all who witnessed it, that a yell went up that drowns for a time the heavy baying of the siege guns on Stafford Heights.
About this time Jackson seems to have reached his limit of retreat, and was now forging steadily to the front, regaining every inch of the lost ground of the morning. The Federal Commander-in-Chief, seeing the stubborn resistance he is met with in front of the city, and Jackson's gray lines pressing his left back upon the river, began to feel the hopelessness of his battle, and sent orders to Franklin to attack Jackson with his entire force. Hooker was to reinforce Sumner on the right, the latter to take the stone wall and the heights beyond before night. Sturgis had met the fate of those who had assaulted before him. Now Getty and Griffin were making frantic efforts to reach the wall. Griffin had his men concealed and protected in the wet, marshy bed of the old canal. He now undertook to accomplish that which Howard had attempted in the morning, and failed—the feat of taking the stone walls with empty guns.
In this column of assault was the famous Meager's Irish Brigade, of New York,—all Irishmen, but undoubtedly the finest body of troops in the Federal Army. When the signal for advance was given, from out of [190] their hiding places they sprang—from the canal, the bushes on the river bank, the side streets in the city, one compact row of glittering bayonets came—in long battle lines. General Kershaw, seeing the preparation made for this final and overwhelming assault upon our jaded troops, sent Captain Doby, of his staff, along our lines with orders to hold our position at all hazards, even at the point of the bayonet.
As the rifle balls from the housetops and shells from the batteries along the river banks sang their peculiar death notes overhead and around us, this brave and fearless officer made the entire length of the line, exhorting, entreating, and urging the men to redoubled efforts. How Captain Doby escaped death is little less than miraculous.
The casualties of battle among the officers and the doubling up process of the men behind the wall caused all order of organization to be lost sight of, and each man loaded and fired as he saw best. The men in the road, even the wounded, crowded out from the wall by force of number, loaded the guns for the more fortunate who had places, and in many instances three and four men loaded the guns for one, passing them to those who were firing from the top of the stone fence. Each seemed to fight on his own responsibility, and with the same determined spirit to hold the wall and the heights above. Each felt as if the safety of the army depended upon his exertions alone.
With a firm and elastic step this long, swaying line of Irishmen moved to the assault with as much indifference apparently to their fate as "sheep going to the shambles." Not a shot was fired from this advancing column, while the shells from our batteries cut swath after swath through their ranks, only to be closed again as if by some mechanical means; colors fall, but rise and float again, men bounding forward and eagerly grasping the fallen staff, indifferent of the fate that awaited them. Officers are in front, with drawn swords flashing in the gleam of the fading sunlight, urging on their men to still greater deeds of prowess, and by their individual courage set examples in heroism never before witnessed on this continent. The assault upon Mayree's Hill by the Irish Brigade and their compatriots will go down [191] in history as only equalled by the famous ride of the "Six Hundred at Hohenlinden," and the "Charge of the Light Brigade at Balaclava." They forge their way forward over the heap of dead and dying that now strew the plain, nearer to the deadly wall than any of the troops before them. It began to look for the moment as if their undaunted courage would succeed, but the courage of the defenders of Mayree's Hill seemed to increase in ardour and determination in proportion to that of the enemy. The smoke and flame of their battle is now less than one hundred paces from the wall, but the odds are against them, and they, too, had to finally yield to the inevitable and leave the field in great disorder.
From both sides hopes and prayers had gone up that this charge would prove the last attempt to break our lines. But Humphries met the shattered columns with a fresh advance. Those who were marching to enter this maelstrom of carnage were entreated and prayed to by all of those who had just returned from the sickening scene not to enter this death trap, and begged them not to throw away their lives in the vain attempt to accomplish the impossible. But Humphries, anxious of glory for himself and men, urged on by the imperative orders from his Commander-in-Chief, soon had his men on the march to the "bloody wall." But as the sun dropped behind the hills in our rear, the scene that presented itself in the fading gloom of that December day was a plain filled with the dead and dying—a living stream of flying fugitives seeking shelter from the storm of shot and shell by plunging over the precipitous banks of the river, or along the streets and protecting walls of the city buildings.
Jackson had pressed all in his front back to the water's edge, while his batteries, with those of Stuart's, were still throwing shells into the huddled, panic-stricken, and now thoroughly vanquished army of the enemy.
That night the Federal Commander-in-Chief sat in his tent alone, and around him the groans of the wounded and the agonizing wails of the dying greet his ear—the gentle wind singing a requiem to his dead. He nursed alone the bitter consciousness of the total defeat of his army, now a scattered mass—a skeleton of its former greatness—while the flower of the Northern chivalry lie sleeping the sleep of death on the [192] hills and plains round about. His country and posterity would charge him with all the responsibility of defeat, and he felt that his brief command of the once grand and mighty Army of the Potomac was now at an end. Sore and bitter recollections!
Burnsides had on the field one hundred and thirty-two thousand and seventeen men; of these one hundred and sixteen thousand six hundred and eighty-three were in line of battle. Lee had upon the field and ready for action sixty-nine thousand three hundred and ninety-one infantry and artillery, and about five thousand cavalry. Burnsides had three hundred and seventy pieces of field artillery and forty siege guns mounted on Stafford's Heights. Lee had three hundred and twelve pieces of field and heavy artillery, with two siege guns, both exploding, one in the early part of the day.
The enemy's loss was twelve thousand six hundred and fifty-three, of which at least eight thousand fell in front of the stone wall. It has been computed by returns made since that in the seven different charges there were engaged at least twenty-five thousand infantry alone in the assaults against the stone wall, defended by not more than four thousand men, exclusive of artillery. Lee's entire loss was five thousand three hundred and twenty-two killed, wounded, and missing; and one of the strangest features of this great battle, one in which so many men of all arms were engaged, the enormous loss of life on both sides, and the close proximity of such a large body of cavalry, the returns of the battle only give thirteen wounded and none killed of the entire cavalry force on the Confederate side.
The men who held the stone wall and Mayree's Hill were three regiments of Cooke's North Carolina Brigade; the Sixteenth Georgia, Colonel Bryan; the Eighteenth Georgia, Lieutenant Colonel Ruff; the Twenty-fourth Georgia, Colonel McMillan; the Cobb Legion and Philip Legion, Colonel Cook, of General T.R.R. Cobb's Brigade; the Second South Carolina, Colonel Kennedy; the Third South Carolina, Colonel Nance, Lieutenant Colonel Rutherford, Major Maffett, Captains Summer, Hance, Foster, and Nance; the Seventh South Carolina, Lieutenant Colonel Bland; the Eighth South Carolina, Colonel Henagan and Major [193] Stackhouse; the Fifteenth South Carolina, Colonel DeSaussure; the Third Battalion, Major Rice, of Kershaw's Brigade; the Washington Battery, of New Orleans, and Alexander's Battery, from Virginia. The brigades from Hood's and Pickett's Divisions, Jenkins, of South Carolina, being from the latter, were sent to the support of McLaws, at Mayree's Hill, and only acted as reserve and not engaged.
The next day, as if by mutual consent, was a day of rest. The wounded were gathered in as far as we were able to reach them. The enemy's wounded lay within one hundred yards of the stone wall for two days and nights, and their piteous calls for help and water were simply heart-rending. Whenever one of our soldiers attempted to relieve the enemy lying close under our wall, he would be fired upon by the pickets and guards in the house tops.
On the night of the 15th, the Federal Army, like strolling Arabs, "folded their tents and silently stole away." The 16th was given up entirely to the burial of the dead. In the long line of pits, dug as protection for the enemy while preparing for a charge, these putrefying bodies were thrown headlong, pell mell, like the filling of blind ditches with timbers. One Confederate would get between the legs of the dead enemy, take a foot in either hand, then two others would each grasp an arm, and drag at a run the remains of the dead enemy and heave it over in the pit. In this way these pits or ditches were filled almost to a level of the surface, a little dirt thrown over them, there to remain until the great United States Government removed them to the beautiful park around Mayree's Heights. There to this day, and perhaps for all time, sleep the "blue and the gray," while the flag so disastrously beaten on that day now floats in triumph over all.
It must be said to the credit of General Burnsides, that the responsibility for this disastrous battle should not rest upon his shoulders. He felt his incapacity for handling so great a body of troops. Again and again he wrote the authorities in Washington protesting against the command being given him. "I am unable to handle so great an army." He wrote his chief, but in vain. The fiat had gone forth, "Go and crush Lee," and the result was to have been expected.
[194]The Battle of Fredericksburg was not the most desperate nor bloody of the war, nor was it so fruitful of events as others in its bearing on future results. Really neither side gained nor lost any great advantage; nor was the battle any more to the Confederate side than a great victory barren of ulterior results; the loss to the Federals no more than the loss of a number of men and the lowering of the morale among the troops. Within a day or two both armies occupied the same positions as before the battle. Not wishing to attempt any invidious comparisons or reflections upon troops in wars of other periods, but for the information of those who are not conversant with the magnitude of the Civil War, as compared with the Revolution and Mexican War, I will here give a few statistics. The reader then can draw his own conclusions as to the sanguinary effects and extent of some of our battles. Of course the different kinds of weapons used in the late war—their deadly effect, long range, better mode of firing—will have to be considered in comparison to the old.
As the Revolutionary War was more of a guerilla than actual war, I will speak more directly of the Mexican War. It will be noticed the difference in the killed to the wounded was far out of proportion in favor of the latter. This I attribute to the smallness of the gun's calibre, and in many instances buck-shot were used in connection with larger balls by the soldiers of the old wars, while the Mexicans used swords and lances, as well as pistols. During the three days' battle at Molino del Rey, Chapultepec, and the storming of the City of Mexico, considered the most bloody and sanguinary of that war, the four divisions of Scott's Army, of two thousand each, lost as follows: Pillow lost one officer killed and fourteen wounded, twenty-one privates killed and ninety-seven wounded. Worth lost two officers killed and nine wounded, twenty-three privates killed and ninety-five [195] wounded. Quitman lost four officers killed and thirty wounded, thirty-seven privates killed and two hundred and thirty-seven wounded. Smith's Brigade, with Quitman, lost ten officers wounded and none killed, twenty-four privates killed and one hundred and twenty-six wounded. Twigg's Division lost three officers killed and twelve wounded, fifteen privates killed and seventy-seven wounded. This, with some few missing, making a grand total loss, out of Scott's Army of nine to ten thousand men, of between six hundred and fifty and seven hundred killed, wounded, and missing—a number that Kershaw's Brigade alone frequently lost in three or four hours.
The heaviest casualties in the three days' battle of Mexico in regiments were in the Palmetto Regiment and the Kentucky Rifles, where the former lost two officers killed and nine wounded, fourteen privates killed and seventy-five wounded; the latter lost six officers wounded and none killed, nine privates killed and sixty-four wounded. When it is remembered that the Third Regiment in the battle with about three hundred and fifty and four hundred men in line lost six regimental commanders killed and wounded, not less than three times that number of other officers killed and wounded, and more than one hundred and fifty men killed and wounded, some idea can be had of its bloody crisis and deadly struggle, in which our troops were engaged, in comparison to the patriots in Mexico.
But considering the close proximity of the troops engaged at Fredericksburg, the narrow compass in which they were massed, the number of elevated positions suitable for artillery on either side, and the number of troops on the field, the wonder is why the casualties were not even greater than the reports make them. Burnsides, from the nature of the ground, could not handle more than half his army, as by official returns not more than fifty thousand were in line of battle and in actual combat. There were only two points at which he could extend his line, and if at one he found a "Scylla," he was equally sure to find a "Charybdis" at the other. On his left flank Jackson's whole corps was massed, at Hamilton's Crossing; at his right was the stone wall and Mayree's Hill. To meet Hood and Pickett he would have had to advance between a quarter and [196] half mile through a plain, where his army could be enfiladed by the guns of Longstreet and Jackson, and in front by the batteries of Hood and Pickett. It seems from reports since come to light that the authorities at Washington apprehended more danger in Burnsides crossing the river than in the battle that was to follow. Lincoln in giving him orders as to his movements instructed his Secretary of War, Stanton, to write Burnsides to be very careful in the crossing, to guard his flanks well, and not allow Lee to fall upon one part that had crossed and crush it before the other part could come to the rescue; nor allow that wing of the army yet remaining on the Northern side to be attacked and destroyed while the other had crossed to the Southern side. It is said Stanton wrote the order couched in the best of English, and phrased in elegant terms the instructions above, telling him to guard his flanks, etc., then read the order to Lincoln for his approval. Taking up the pen, the President endorsed it, and wrote underneath, in his own hand: "In crossing the river don't allow yourself to be caught in the fix of a cow, hurried by dogs, in jumping a fence, get hung in the middle, so that she can't either use her horns in front, nor her heels behind."
Many incidents of courage and pathos could be written of this, as well as many other battles, but one that I think the crowning act of courage and sympathy for an enemy in distress is due was that of a Georgian behind the wall. In one of the first charges made during the day a Federal had fallen, and to protect himself as much as possible from the bullets of his enemies, he had by sheer force of will pulled his body along until he had neared the wall. Then he failed through pure exhaustion. From loss of blood and the exposure of the sun's rays, he called loudly for water. "Oh, somebody bring me a drink of water!—water! water!!" was the piteous appeals heard by those behind the stone wall. To go to his rescue was to court certain death, as the housetops to the left were lined with sharpshooters, ready to fire upon anyone showing his head above the wall. But one brave soldier from Georgia dared all, and during the lull in the firing leaped the walls, rushed to the wounded soldier, and raising his head in his arms, gave him a drink of water, then made his way back and over the [197] wall amid a hail of bullets knocking the dirt up all around him.
The soldier, like the sailor, is proverbial for his superstition. But at times certain incidents or coincidents take place in the life of the soldier that are inexplainable, to say the least. Now it is certain that every soldier going into battle has some dread of death. It is the nature of man to dread that long lost sleep at any time and in any place. He knows that death is a master of all, and all must yield to its inexorable summons, and that summons is more likely to come in battle than on ordinary occasions. That at certain times soldiers do have a premonition of their coming death, has been proven on many occasions. Not that I say all soldiers foretell their end by some kind of secret monitor, but that some do, or seem to do so. Captain Summer, of my company, was an unusually good-humored and lively man, and while he was not what could be called profane, yet he had little predilection toward piety or the Church. In other battles he advanced to the front as light-hearted and free from care as if going on drill or inspection. When we were drawn up in line of battle at Fredericksburg the first morning an order came for the Captain. He was not present, and on enquiry, I was told that he had gone to a cluster of bushes in the rear. Thinking the order might be of importance, I hastened to the place, and there I found Captain Summer on his knees in prayer. I rallied him about his "sudden piety," and in a jesting manner accused him of "weakening." "After rising from his kneeling posture, I saw he was calm, pale, and serious—so different from his former moods in going into battle. I began teasing him in a bantering way about being a coward." "No," said he, "I am no coward, and will show I have as much nerve, if not more, than most men in the army, for all have doubts of death, but I have none. I will be killed in this battle. I feel it as plainly as I feel I am living, but I am no coward, and shall go in this battle and fight with the same spirit that I have always shown." This was true. He acted bravely, and for the few moments that he commanded the regiment he exhibited all the daring a brave man could, but he fell shot through the brains with a minnie ball. He had given me messages to his young wife, to whom he had been married only about two months, before entering the services, [198] as to the disposition of his effects, as well as his body after death.
Another instance was that of Lieutenant Hill, of Company G, Third South Carolina Regiment. The day before the battle he asked permission to return to camp that night, a distance perhaps of three miles. With a companion he returned to the camp, procured water, bathed himself, and changed his under-clothing. On being asked by his companion why he wished to walk three miles at night to simply bathe and change his clothing, with perfect unconcern he replied: "In the coming battle I feel that I will be killed, and such being the case, I could not bear the idea of dying and being buried in soiled clothes." He fell dead at the first volley. Was there ever such courage as this—to feel that death was so certain and that it could be prevented by absenting themselves from battle, but allowed their pride, patriotism, and moral courage to carry them on to sure death?
In the case of a private in Company C, Third Regiment, it was different. He did not have the moral courage to resist the "secret monitor," that silent whisperer of death. He had always asserted that he would be killed in the first battle, and so strong was this conviction upon him, that he failed to keep in line of battle on another occasion, and had been censured by his officers for cowardice. In this battle he was ordered in charge of a Sergeant, with instructions that he be carried in battle at the point of the bayonet. However, it required no force to make him keep his place in line, still he continued true to his convictions, that his death was certain. He went willingly, if not cheerfully, in line. As the column was moving to take position on Mayree's Hill, he gave instructions to his companions as he advanced what messages should be sent to his wife, and while giving those instructions and before the command reached its position he fell pierced through the heart.
Another instance that came under my own observation, that which some chose to call "presentiment," was of a member in my company in East Tennessee. He was an exceptionally good soldier and the very picture of an ideal hero, tall, erect, and physically well developed, over six feet in height, and always stood in the front rank at the head of the company. While Longstreet was moving upon Knoxville, the morning [199] he crossed the Tennessee River before dawn and before there was any indication of a battle, this man said to me, with as much coolness and composure, as if on an ordinary subject, without a falter in his tone or any emotion whatever: "Captain, I will be killed to-day. I have, some money in my pocket which I want you to take and also to draw my four months' wages now due, and send by some trusty man to my wife. Tell her also—" but here I stopped him, told him it was childish to entertain such nonsense, to be a man as his conduct had so often in the past shown him to be. I joked and laughed at him, and in a good-natured way told him the East Tennessee climate gave him that disease known among soldiers as "crawfishing." This I did to withdraw his mind from this gloomy brooding. We had no real battle, but a continual skirmish with the enemy, with stray shots throughout the day. As we were moving along in line of battle, I heard that peculiar buzzing noise of a bullet, as if in ricochet, coming in our direction, but high in the air. As it neared the column it seemed to lower and come with a more hissing sound. It struck the man square in the breast, then reeling out of ranks he made a few strides towards where I was marching, his pocket-book in hand, and fell dead at my feet without a word or groan. He was the only man killed during the day in the brigade, and not even then on the firing line. Of course all will say these are only "coincidences," but be what they may, I give them as facts coming under my own eyes, and facts of the same nature came to the knowledge of hundreds and thousands of soldiers during every campaign, which none endeavor to explain, other than the facts themselves. But as the soldier is nothing more than a small fraction of the whole of a great machine, so much happens that he cannot fathom nor explain, that it naturally makes a great number of soldiers, like the sailor, somewhat superstitious. But when we speak of moral courage, where is there a courage more sublime than the soldier marching, as he thinks, to his certain death, while all his comrades are taking their chances at the hazard of war?
There are many unaccountable incidents and coincidents in a soldier's experience. Then, again, how differently men enter battle and how [200] differently they act when wounded. Some men, on the eve of battle, the most trying time in a soldier's life, will stand calm and impassive, awaiting the command, "forward," while his next neighbor will tremble and shake, as with a great chill, praying, meditating, and almost in despair, awaiting the orders to advance. Then when in the heat of the conflict both men seem metamorphosed. The former, almost frightened out of his wits, loses his head and is just as apt to fire backwards as forwards; while the latter seems to have lost all fear, reckless of his life, and fights like a hero. I have known men who at home were perfect cowards, whom a schoolboy could run away with a walking cane, become fearless and brave as lions in battle; while on the other hand men who were called "game cocks" at home and great "crossroads bullies," were abject cowards in battle. As to being wounded, some men will look on a mortal wound, feel his life ebbing away, perfectly calm and without concern, and give his dying messages with the composure of an every day occurrence; while others, if the tip of the finger is touched, or his shin-bone grazed, will "yell like a hyena or holler like a loon," and raise such a rumpus as to alarm the whole army. I saw a man running out of battle once (an officer) at such a gait as only fright could give, and when I asked him if he was wounded, he replied, "Yes, my leg is broken in two places," when, as a matter of fact, he had only a slight flesh wound. These incidents the reader may think merely fiction, but they are real facts. A man in Company E, Third South Carolina Regiment, having a minnie ball lodged between the two bones of his arm, made such a racket when the surgeons undertook to push it out, that they had to turn him loose; while a private in Company G, of the same regiment, being shot in the chest, when the surgeon was probing for the ball with his finger, looked on with unconcern, only remarking, "Make the hole a little larger, doctor, and put your whole hand in it." In a few days he was dead. I could give the names of all these parties, but for obvious reasons omit them. I merely single out these cases to show how differently men's nervous systems are constructed. And I might add, too, an instance of a member of my company at the third day of the battle of Gettysburg. Lying under the heavy cannonading while Pickett was making his famous charge, and most of the men asleep, this man had his foot in the fork [201] of a little bush, to better rest himself. In this position a shot struck him above the ankle; he looked at the wound a moment, then said: "Boys, I'll be —— if that ain't a thirty days' furlough." Next day his foot had to be amputated, and to this day he wears a cork. Such is the difference in soldiers, and you cannot judge them by outward appearance.
I here insert a few paragraphs from the pen of Adjutant Y.J. Pope, of the Third, to show that there was mirth in the camps, notwithstanding the cold and hardships:
There was one thing that always attracted my attention during the war and that was the warm fellowship which existed amongst the soldiers. If a man got a trunk or box laden with good things from home, there was no selfishness about it; the comrades were expected and did share in the feast. While out on picket on the banks of the Rappahannock River, when we were told that another regiment had come to relieve ours, at the same time we were told that Colonel Rutherford had come back to us; he had been absent since September, and we were all very anxious to see him, for he was a charming fellow—whole-souled, witty, and always an addition to any party. We knew, too, that he would bring something good to eat from home. My feathers fell, though, when Colonel Nance said to me, "Go yourself and see that every company is relieved from picket duty, and bring them to the regiment." I knew what this meant. It was at night, the ground was covered with snow, and the companies would take a long time to march back to camp. A soldier is made to obey orders, whether pleasant or unpleasant, so I rode at the head of the battalion; I was chilled through; my ears felt—well I rubbed a little feeling into them. At last we reached camp. Before I did so I could hear the merry laughter of the group about our regimental headquarter fire. Rutherford greeted me with the utmost cordiality, and had my supper served, having had the servants to keep it hot. But I could not forget my having to ride three miles at the head of the four companies, and how cold I had got in doing so. [202] Therefore, I was in a bad humor, and refusing to join the merry group around the fire, went to bed at once. About twelve o'clock that night I heard the voices in the game of "Anthony over," and was obliged to laugh. Of course the merry cup had circulated. We lived in a Sibley tent that had a cap to fit over the top. And that night, as it was very cold, it had been determined to put the cap on the tent. So the merry-makers formed themselves into two groups, and pitched the cap to the top, and when it failed to lodge the other side would try its hand. One side would call out, "Anthony," to which call the other party would reply, "over." Then the first crowd would sing out, "Here she comes," throwing the cap with the uttering of those words. The peals of laughter from both sides, when the effort to lodge the cap would fail and the teasing of each side, made me laugh whether I wished to do so or not. After awhile it lodged alright, then "good-nights" were exchanged, and then to bed.
I need not add that on the next day all was good humor at headquarters, and in six days afterwards Colonel Nance, Colonel Rutherford, and Major Maffett were all painfully wounded in battle.
While Longstreet's troops occupied the City of Fredericksburg in the winter of 1862, I had learned that at night one of the quartermasters of McLaws' Division was in the habit of going across to an island in the Rappahannock River, just above the city, to obtain hay and corn, and to come down to the main incentive, that there was a very charming old Virginia family who lived there, and that a bright-eyed daughter was of that family. I set about getting a sight of this "Island enchantress," and at last Captain Franks, who was Quartermaster of the Seventeenth Regiment of Barksdale's Brigade, agreed to take me with him one night. Here I was, the Adjutant of a Regiment, going over to an island without leave, with the enemy in strong force just across the river, and therefore liable to be captured. Nevertheless, the hope of a peep at bright eyes has got many a man into dangerous ventures, and my case was not different from the rest. So I went. I saw the fair maid. She was not only beautiful, but very interesting. After it [203] was all over prudence whispered to me not to tempt my fate again—especially as a fair lady in another State would have had a right to except to such conduct on my part. I never regretted my visit to the island, though!
In looking back at the incidents of the War Between the States, it is with great pleasure that an incident highly honorable to the African slave race is recalled.
It was on the 13th of December, 1862, when the Third South Carolina Regiment of Infantry was ordered from the position at the foot of Lee's Hill, at Fredericksburg, Va., to Mayree's House, near but to the right of the sunken road protected by the rock fence, that in going down the Telegraph Road the regiment was for a time exposed to the fire of the Federal batteries on the Stafford Heights. A shell from those batteries was so accurately directed that it burst near by Company C, of that regiment, and one of the results was that Lieutenant James Spencer Piester, of that company, was instantly killed. His body lay in that road and his faithful body servant, Simpson Piester, went to the body of his master and tenderly taking it into his arms, bore it to the rear, so that it might be sent to his relatives in Newberry, South Carolina. Anyone who had occasion to go upon the Telegraph Road in that day must appreciate the courage and fidelity involved in the act performed by Simpson Piester.
After the smoke of the great battle had cleared away and the enemy settled permanently in their old quarters north of the Rappahannock, Lee moved his army some miles south of Fredericksburg, on the wooded highlands, and prepared for winter quarters. This was not a very laborious undertaking, nor of long duration, for all that was necessary was to pitch our old wornout, slanting-roof tents, occupied [204] by six or eight men each. The troops had become too well acquainted with the uncertainty of their duration in camp to go into any very laborious or elaborate preparations. Kershaw had a very desirable location among the wooded hills, but this was soon denuded of every vestige of fuel of every kind, for it must be understood the army had no wagons or teams to haul their fire wood, but each had to carry his share of the wood required for the daily use, and often a mile or mile and a half distant. At the close of the year the Eastern Army found itself in quite easy circumstances and well pleased with the year's campaign, but the fruits of our victory were more in brilliant achievements than material results.
In the Western Army it was not so successful. On the first of the year General Albert Sidney Johnston had his army at Bowling Green, Ky. But disaster after disaster befell him, until two states were lost to the Confederacy, as well as that great commander himself, who fell at the moment of victory on the fatal field of Shiloh. Commencing with the fall of Fort Henry on the Tennessee, then Fort Donaldson on the Cumberland, which necessitated the evacuation of the lines of defense at Bowling Green, and the withdrawal of the army from Kentucky. At Pittsburg Landing Grant was overwhelmingly defeated by the army under Beauregard, but by the division of the army under the two Confederate leaders, and the overpowering numbers of the enemy under some of the greatest Generals in the Union Army, Beauregard was forced to withdraw to Shiloh. Here the two combined armies of Beauregard and Johnston attacked the Union Army under Grant, Sherman, Buell, Lew Wallace, and other military geniuses, with over one hundred and sixteen thousand men, as against an army of forty-eight thousand Confederates. After one of the most stubborn, as well as bloodiest battles of the war, the Confederates gained a complete victory on the first day, but through a combined train of circumstances, they were forced to withdraw the second. After other battles, with varied results, the end of the year found the Western Army in Northern Mississippi and Southern Tennessee.
The Eastern Army, on the other hand, had hurled the enemy from the very gates of the Capital of the Confederacy, after seven days fighting, doubling it up in an indefinable mass, and had driven [205] it northward in haste; on the plains of Manassas it was overtaken, beaten, and almost annihilated, only failing in a repetition of the same, ending as the first battle of that name and place; by the same causes, viz., Sykes' Regulars, the enemy pushed across the Potomac, putting the Capitol, as well as the whole North, in a perfect state of panic; the Confederates entered the enemy's own country, capturing one of their strongholds, with eleven thousand prisoners and munitions of war, enough to equip an army; fought one of the most sanguinary battles of modern times almost within sight of the Capitol itself, if not to a successful finish to a very creditable draw; returned South, unmolested, with its prisoners and untold booty; fought the great battle of Fredericksburg, with the results just enumerated. Could Napoleon, Frederick the Great, or the "Madman of the North" have done better with the forces at hand and against an enemy with odds of two and three to one? So Lee's Army had nothing of which to complain, only the loss of so many great and chivalrous comrades.
We had little picketing to do, once perhaps a month, then in the deserted houses of Fredericksburg. Guard duty around camp was abolished for the winter; so was drilling, only on nice, warm days; the latter, however, was rarely seen during that season. The troops abandoned themselves to base ball, snow fights, writing letters, and receiving as guests in their camps friends and relatives, who never failed to bring with them great boxes of the good things from home, as well as clothing and shoes for the needy soldiers. Furloughs were granted in limited numbers. Recruits and now the thoroughly healed of the wounded from the many engagements flocked to our ranks, making all put on a cheerful face.
That winter in Virginia was one of the most severe known in many years, but the soldiers had become accustomed to the cold of the North, and rather liked it than otherwise, especially when snow fell to the depth of twelve to sixteen inches, and remained for two or three weeks. So the reader can see that the soldier's life has its sunny side, as well as its dark. The troops delight in "snow balling," and revelled in the sport for days at a time. Many hard battles were fought, won, and lost; sometimes company against company, then [206] regiment against regiment, and sometimes brigades would be pitted against rival brigades. When the South Carolinians were against the Georgians, or the two Georgia brigades against Kershaw's and the Mississippi brigades, then the blows would fall fast and furious. The fiercest fight and the hardest run of my life was when Kershaw's Brigade, under Colonel Rutherford, of the Third, challenged and fought Cobb's Georgians. Colonel Rutherford was a great lover of the sport, and wherever a contest was going on he would be sure to take a hand. On the day alluded to Colonel Rutherford martialed his men by the beating of drums and the bugle's blast; officers headed their companies, regiments formed, with flags flying, then when all was ready the troops were marched to the brow of a hill, or rather half way down the hill, and formed line of battle, there to await the coming of the Georgians. They were at that moment advancing across the plain that separated the two camps. The men built great pyramids of snow balls in their rear, and awaited the assault of the fast approaching enemy. Officers cheered the men and urged them to stand fast and uphold the "honor of their State," while the officers on the other side besought their men to sweep all before them off the field.
The men stood trembling with cold and emotion, and the officers with fear, for the officer who was luckless enough as to fall into the hands of a set of "snow revelers," found to his sorrow that his bed was not one of roses. When the Georgians were within one hundred feet the order was given to "fire." Then shower after shower of the fleecy balls filled the air. Cheer after cheer went up from the assaulters and the assaultant—now pressed back by the flying balls, then to the assault again. Officers shouted to the men, and they answered with a "yell." When some, more bold than the rest, ventured too near, he was caught and dragged through the lines, while his comrades made frantic efforts to rescue him. The poor prisoner, now safely behind the lines, his fate problematical, as down in the snow he was pulled, now on his face, next on his back, then swung round and round by his heels—all the while snow being pushed down his back or in his bosom, his eyes, ears, and hair thoroughly filled with the "beautiful snow." After a [207] fifteen minutes' struggle, our lines gave way. The fierce looks of a tall, muscular, wild-eyed Georgian, who stood directly in my front, seemed to have singled me out for sacrifice. The stampede began. I tried to lead the command in the rout by placing myself in the front of the boldest and stoutest squad in the ranks, all the while shouting to the men to "turn boys turn." But they continued to charge to the rear, and in the nearest cut to our camp, then a mile off, I saw the only chance to save myself from the clutches of that wild-eyed Georgian was in continual and rapid flight. The idea of a boy seventeen years old, and never yet tipped the beam at one hundred, in the grasp of that monster, as he now began to look to me, gave me the horrors. One by one the men began to pass me, and while the distance between us and the camp grew less at each step, yet the distance between me and my pursuer grew less as we proceeded in our mad race. The broad expanse that lay between the men and camp was one flying, surging mass, while the earth, or rather the snow, all around was filled with men who had fallen or been overtaken, and now in the last throes of a desperate snow battle. I dared not look behind, but kept bravely on. My breath grew fast and thick, and the camp seemed a perfect mirage, now near at hand then far in the distance. The men who had not yet fallen in the hands of the reckless Georgians had distanced me, and the only energy that kept me to the race was the hope that some mishap might befall the wild-eyed man in my rear, otherwise I was gone. No one would have the temerity to tackle the giant in his rage. But all things must come to an end, and my race ended by falling in my tent, more dead than alive, just as I felt the warm breath of my pursuer blowing on my neck. I heard, as I lay panting, the wild-eyed man say, "I would rather have caught that d——n little Captain than to have killed the biggest man in the Yankee Army."
On the morning of April 29th the soldiers were aroused from their slumbers by the beating of the long roll. What an ominous sound is the long roll to the soldier wrapped in his blanket and enjoying the sweets of sleep. It is like a fire bell at night. It denotes battle. It tells the soldier the enemy is moving; it means haste and active preparation. A battle is imminent. The soldiers thus roused, as if from their long sleep since Fredericksburg, feel in a touchous mood. The frightful scenes of Fredericksburg and Mayree's Hill rise up before them as a spectre. Soldiers rush out of their tents, asking questions and making suppositions. Others are busily engaged folding blankets, tearing down tents, and making preparations to move; companies formed into regiments and regiments into brigades. The distant boom of cannon beyond the Rappahannock tells us that the enemy is to cross the river again and try conclusions with the soldiers of Lee. All expected a bloody engagement, for the Federal Army had been greatly recruited, under excellent discipline, and headed by Fighting Joe Hooker. He was one of the best officers in that army, and he himself had boasted that his was the "finest army that had ever been organized upon the planet." It numbered one hundred and thirty-one thousand men of all arms, while Lee had barely sixty thousand. We moved rapidly in the direction of Fredericksburg.