The General’s sympathy for his suffering
soldiers--Chancellorsville--Death of “Stonewall” Jackson--General
Fitzhugh Lee wounded and captured--Escape of his brother
Robert--Gettysburg--Religious revival--Infantry review--Unsatisfactory
commissariat
During this winter, which was a very severe one, the sufferings of
General Lee’s soldiers on account of insufficient shelter and clothing,
the scant rations for man and beast, the increasing destitution
throughout the country, and his inability to better these conditions,
bore heavily upon him. But he was bright and cheerful to those around
him, never complaining of any one nor about anything and often indulging
in his quaint humour, especially with the younger officers, as when
he remarked to one of them, who complained of the tough biscuit at
breakfast:
“You ought not to mind that; they will stick by you the longer!”
His headquarters continued all the winter at the same place, and with
stove and fire-places in the tents, the General and his military family
managed to keep fairly comfortable. On February 6, 1863, he wrote to his
daughter, Agnes from this camp:
“Camp Fredericksburg, February 6, 1863.
“...I read yesterday, my precious daughter, your letter, and grieved
very much when last in Richmond at not seeing you. My movements are so
uncertain that I cannot be relied on for anything. The only place I am
to be found is in camp, and I am so cross now that I am not worth seeing
anywhere. Here you will have to take me with the three stools--the snow,
the rain, and the mud. The storm of the last twenty-four hours has added
to our stock of all, and we are now in a floating condition. But the sun
and the wind will carry all off in time, and then we shall appreciate
our relief. Our horses and mules suffer the most. They have to bear the
cold and rain, tug through the mud, and suffer all the time with hunger.
The roads are wretched, almost impassable. I heard of Mag lately. One
of our scouts brought me a card of Margaret Stuart’s with a pair of
gauntlets directed to ‘Cousin Robert.’... I have no news. General Hooker
is obliged to do something. I do not know what it will be. He is playing
the Chinese game, trying what frightening will do. He runs out his
guns, starts his wagons and troops up and down the river, and creates an
excitement generally. Our men look on in wonder, give a cheer, and all
again subsides in statu quo ante bellum. I wish you were here with me
to-day. You would have to sit by this little stove, look out at
the rain, and keep yourself dry. But here come, in all the wet, the
adjutants-general with the papers. I must stop and go to work. See how
kind God is; we have plenty to do in good weather and bad....”
“Your devoted father,
“R. E. Lee.”
On February 23d, he writes to Mrs. Lee:
“Camp Fredericksburg, February 23, 1863.
“The weather is now very hard upon our poor bushmen. This morning the
whole country is covered with a mantle of snow fully a foot deep. It was
nearly up to my knees as I stepped out this morning, and our poor horses
were enveloped. We have dug them out and opened our avenues a little,
but it will be terrible and the roads impassable. No cars from Richmond
yesterday. I fear our short rations for man and horse will have to be
curtailed. Our enemies have their troubles too. They are very strong
immediately in front, but have withdrawn their troops above and below
us back toward Acquia Creek. I owe Mr. F. J. Hooker [“Fighting Joe”
was Hooker’s most popular sobriquet in the Federal army] no thanks for
keeping me here. He ought to have made up his mind long ago about
what do to--24th. The cars have arrived and brought me a young French
officer, full of vivacity, and ardent for service with me. I think the
appearance of things will cool him. If they do not, the night will, for
he brought no blankets.
“R. E. Lee.”
The dreary winter gradually passed away. Toward the last of April, the
two armies, which had been opposite each other for four months, began
to move, and, about the first of May, the greatest of Lee’s battles was
fought. My command was on the extreme left, and, as Hooker crossed the
river, we followed a raiding party of the enemy’s cavalry over toward
the James River above Richmond; so I did not see my father at any
time during the several day’s fighting. The joy of our victory at
Chancellorsville was saddened by the death of “Stonewall” Jackson. His
loss was the heaviest blow the Army of Northern Virginia ever sustained.
To Jackson’s note telling him he was wounded, my father replied:
“I cannot express my regret at the occurance. Could I have directed
events, I should have chosen for the good of the country to have been
disabled in your stead. I congratulate you on the victory, which is due
to your skill and energy.”
Jackson said, when this was read to him,
“Better that ten Jacksons should fall than one Lee.”
Afterward, when it was reported that Jackson was doing well, General Lee
playfully sent him word:
“You are better off than I am, for while you have only lost your LEFT, I
have lost my RIGHT arm.”
Then, hearing that he was worse, he said:
“Tell him that I am praying for him as I believe I have never prayed for
myself.”
After his death, General Lee writes to my mother, on May 11th:
“...In addition to the deaths of officers and friends consequent upon
the late battles, you will see that we have to mourn the loss of the
great and good Jackson. Any victory would be dear at such a price. His
remains go to Richmond to-day. I know not how to replace him. God’s will
be done! I trust He will raise up some one in his place....”
Jones, in his Memoirs, says: “To one of his officers, after Jackson’s
death, he [General Lee] said: ‘I had such implicit confidence in
Jackson’s skill and energy that I never troubled myself to give him
detailed instructions. The most general suggestions were all that he
needed.’”
To one of his aides, who came to his tent, April 29th, to inform him
that the enemy had crossed the Rappahannock River in heavy force,
General Lee made the playful reply:
“Well, I heard firing, and I was beginning to think it was time some of
you lazy young fellows were coming to tell me what it was all about. Say
to General Jackson that he knows just as well what to do with the enemy
as I do.”
Jackson said of Lee, when it was intimated by some, at the time he first
took command, that he was slow:
“He is cautious. He ought to be. But he is NOT slow. Lee is a
phenomenon. He is the only man whom I would follow blindfold.”
As the story of these great men year by year is made plainer to the
world, their love, trust, and respect for each other will be better
understood. As commander and lieutenant they were exactly suited. When
General Lee wanted a movement made and gave Jackson an outline of his
plans and the object to be gained, it was performed promptly, well, and
thoroughly, if it was possible for flesh and blood to do it.
At the end of May, the Army of Northern Virginia, rested and
strengthened, was ready for active operations. On May 31st General Lee
writes to Mrs. Lee:
“...General Hooker has been very daring this past week, and quite
active. He has not said what he intends to do, but is giving out by his
movements that he designs crossing the Rappahannock. I hope we may be
able to frustrate his plans, in part, if not in whole.... I pray that
our merciful Father in Heaven may protect and direct us! In that case, I
fear no odds and no numbers.”
About June 5th most of the army was gathered around Culpeper. Its
efficiency, confidence, and MORALE were never better. On June 7th the
entire cavalry corps was reviewed on the plain near Brandy Station in
Culpeper by General Lee. We had been preparing ourselves for this event
for some days, cleaning, mending and polishing, and I remember were
very proud of our appearance. In fact, it was a grand sight--about
eight thousand well-mounted men riding by their beloved commander, first
passing by him in a walk and then a trot. He writes to my mother next
day--June 8, 1863:
“...I reviewed the cavalry in this section yesterday. It was a splendid
sight. The men and horses looked well. They have recuperated since last
fall. Stuart [J. E. B. Stuart, commanding cavalry corps.] was in all his
glory. Your sons and nephews [two sons and three nephews] were well
and flourishing. The country here looks very green and pretty,
notwithstanding the ravages of war. What a beautiful world God, in His
loving kindness to His creatures, has given us! What a shame that men
endowed with reason and knowledge of right should mar His gifts....”
The next day, June 9th, a large force of the enemy’s cavalry, supported
by infantry, crossed the Rappahannock and attacked General Stuart. The
conflict lasted until dark, when “The enemy was compelled to recross the
river, with heavy loss, leaving about five hundred prisoners, three
pieces of artillery, and several colours in our hands.”
During the engagement, about 3 P. M., my brother, General W. H. F. Lee,
my commanding officer, was severely wounded. In a letter dated the 11th
of the month, my father writes to my mother:
“...My supplications continue to ascend for you, my children, and my
country. When I last wrote I did not suppose that Fitzhugh would be soon
sent to the rear disabled, and I hope it will be for a short time. I
saw him the night after the battle--indeed, met him on the field as they
were bringing him from the front. He is young and healthy, and I trust
will soon be up again. He seemed to be more concerned about his brave
men and officers, who had fallen in the battle, than about himself....”
It was decided, the next day, to send my brother to “Hickory Hill,” the
home of Mr. W. F. Wickham, in Hanover County, about twenty miles from
Richmond, and I was put in charge of him to take him there and to be
with him until his wound should heal. Thus it happened that I did not
meet my father again until after Gettysburg had been fought, and the
army had recrossed into Virginia, almost to the same place I had left
it. My father wrote my brother a note the morning after he was wounded,
before he left Culpeper. It shows his consideration and tenderness:
“My Dear Son: I send you a dispatch, received from C. last night. I hope
you are comfortable this morning. I wish I could see you, but I cannot.
Take care of yourself, and make haste and get well and return. Though I
scarcely ever saw you, it was a great comfort to know that you were near
and with me. I could think of you and hope to see you. May we yet meet
in peace and happiness....”
In a letter to my brother’s wife, written on the 11th, his love and
concern for both of them are plainly shown:
“I am so grieved, my dear daughter, to send Fitzhugh to you wounded. But
I am so grateful that his wound is of a character to give us full hope
of a speedy recovery. With his youth and strength to aid him, and your
tender care to nurse him, I trust he will soon be well again. I know
that you will unite with me in thanks to Almighty God, who has so often
sheltered him in the hour of danger, for his recent deliverance, and
lift up your whole heart in praise to Him for sparing a life so dear
to us, while enabling him to do his duty in the station in which he had
placed him. Ask him to join us in supplication that He may always cover
him with the shadow of His almighty arm, and teach him that his only
refuge is in Him, the greatness of whose mercy reacheth unto the
heavens, and His truth unto the clouds. As some good is always mixed
with the evil in this world, you will now have him with you for a time,
and I shall look to you to cure him soon and send him back to me....”
My brother reached “Hickory Hill” quite comfortably, and his wound
commenced to heal finely. His wife joined him, my mother and sisters
came up from Richmond, and he had all the tender care he could wish. He
occupied “the office” in the yard, while I slept in the room adjoining
and became quite an expert nurse. About two weeks after our arrival,
one lovely morning as we all came out from the breakfast table, stepping
into the front porch with Mrs. Wickham, we were much surprised to hear
to or three shots down in the direction of the outer gate, where there
was a large grove of hickory trees. Mrs. Wickham said some one must be
after her squirrels, as there were many in those woods and she asked
me to run down and stop whoever was shooting them. I got my hat, and at
once started off to do her bidding. I had not gone over a hundred yards
toward the grove, when I saw, coming up at a gallop to the gate I was
making for, five or six Federal cavalrymen. I knew what it meant at
once, so I rushed back to the office and told my brother. He immediately
understood the situation and directed me to get away--said I could do no
good by staying, that the soldiers could not and would not hurt him, and
there was nothing to be gained by my falling into their hands; but that,
on the contrary, I might do a great deal of good by eluding them, making
my way to “North Wales,” a plantation across the Pamunkey River, and
saving our horses.
So I ran out, got over the fence and behind a thick hedge, just as I
heard the tramp and clank of quite a body of troopers riding up. Behind
this hedge I crept along until I reached a body of woods, were I was
perfectly safe. From a hill near by I ascertained that there was a large
raiding party of Federal cavalry in the main road, and the heavy smoke
ascending from the Court House, about three miles away, told me that
they were burning the railroad buildings at that place. After waiting
until I thought the coast was clear, I worked my way very cautiously
back to the vicinity of the house to find out what was going on.
Fortunately, I took advantage of the luxuriant shrubbery in the old
garden at the rear of the house, and when I looked out from the last
box bush that screened me, about twenty yards from the back porch, I
perceived that I was too soon, for there were standing, sitting and
walking about quite a number of the bluecoats. I jumped back behind the
group of box trees, and, flinging myself flat under a thick fir, crawled
close up to the trunk under the low-hanging branches, and lay there for
some hours.
I saw my brother brought out from the office on a mattress, and placed
in the “Hickory Hill” carriage, to which was hitched Mr. Wichkam’s
horses, and then saw him driven away, a soldier on the box and a mounted
guard surrounding him. He was carried to the “White House” in this way,
and then sent by water to Fortress Monroe. This party had been sent out
especially to capture him, and he was held as a hostage (for the safety
of some Federal officers we had captured) for nine long, weary months.
The next day I found out that all the horses but one had been saved by
the faithfulness of our servants. The one lost, my brother’s favourite
and best horse, was ridden straight into the column by Scott, a negro
servant, who had him out for exercise. Before he knew our enemies, he
and the horse were prisoners. Scott watched for his opportunity, and,
not being guarded, soon got away. By crawling through a culvert, under
the road, while the cavalry was passing along, he made his way into a
deep ditch in the adjoining field, thence succeeded in reaching the farm
where the rest of the horses were, and hurried them off to a safe place
in the woods, just as the Federal cavalry rode up to get them.
In a letter dated Culpeper, July 26th, to my brother’s wife, my father
thus urges resignation:
“I received, last night, my darling daughter, your letter of the 18th
from ‘Hickory Hill.’... You must not be sick while Fitzhugh is away, or
he will be more restless under his separation. Get strong and hearty by
his return, that he may the more rejoice at the sight of you.... I can
appreciate your distress at Fitzhugh’s situation. I deeply sympathise
with it, and in the lone hours of the night I groan in sorrow at his
captivity and separation from you. But we must bear it, exercise all our
patience, and do nothing to aggravate the evil. This, besides injuring
ourselves, would rejoice our enemies and be sinful in the eyes of
God. In His own good time He will relieve us and make all things work
together for our good, if we give Him our love and place in Him our
trust. I can see no harm that can result from Fitzhugh’s capture, except
his detention. I feel assured that he will be well attended to. He will
be in the hands of old army officers and surgeons, most of whom are men
of principle and humanity. His wound, I understand, has not been injured
by his removal, but is doing well. Nothing would do him more harm than
for him to learn that you were sick and sad. How could he get well? So
cheer up and prove your fortitude and patriotism.... You may think of
Fitzhugh and love him as much as you please, but do not grieve over him
or grow sad.”
From Williamsport, to my mother, he thus writes of his son’s capture:
“I have heard with great grief that Fitzhugh has been captured by the
enemy. Had not expected that he would be taken from his bed and carried
off, but we must bear this additional affliction with fortitude and
resignation, and not repine at the will of God. It will eventuate
in some good that we know not of now. We must bear our labours and
hardships manfully. Our noble men are cheerful and confident. I
constantly remember you in my thoughts and prayers.”
On July 12th, from near Hagerstown, he writes again about him:
“The consequences of war are horrid enough at best, surrounded by all
the ameliorations of civilisation and Christianity. I am very sorry for
the injuries done the family at Hickory Hill, and particularly that our
dear old Uncle Williams, in his eightieth year, should be subjected to
such treatment. But we cannot help it, and must endure it. You will,
however, learn before this reaches you that our success at Gettysburg
was not so great as reported--in fact, that we failed to drive the enemy
from his position, and that our army withdrew to the Potomac. Had the
river not unexpectedly risen, all would have been well with us; but God,
in His all-wise providence, willed otherwise, and our communications
have been interrupted and almost cut off. The waters have subsided
to about four feet, and, if they continue, by to-morrow, I hope, our
communications will be open. I trust that a merciful God, our only hope
and refuge, will not desert us in this hour of need, and will deliver us
by His almighty hand, that the whole world may recognise His power
and all hearts be lifted up in adoration and praise of His unbounded
loving-kindness. We must, however, submit to His almighty will, whatever
that may be. May God guide and protect us all is my constant prayer.”
In 1868, in a letter to Major Wm. M. McDonald, of Berryville, Clarke
County, Virginia, who was intending to write a school history, and had
written to my father, asking for information about some of his great
battles, the following statement appears:
“As to the battle of Gettysburg, I must again refer you to the official
accounts. Its loss was occasioned by a combination of circumstances. It
was commenced in the absence of correct intelligence. It was continued
in the effort to overcome the difficulties by which we were surrounded,
and it would have been gained could one determined and united blow have
been delivered by our whole line. As it was, victory trembled in the
balance for three days, and the battle resulted in the infliction of as
great an amount of injury as was received and in frustrating the Federal
campaign for the season.”
After my brother’s capture I went to Richmond, taking with me his horses
and servants. After remaining there a short time, I mounted my mare and
started back to the army, which I found at its old camping-ground in
Culpeper. I stopped at first for a few days with my father. He was very
glad to see me and the could tell him all about my mother and sisters,
and many other friends whom I had just left in Richmond. He appeared
to be unchanged in manner and appearance. The disappointment in the
Gettysburg campaign, to which he alludes in his letter to my mother,
was not shown in anything he said or did. He was calm and dignified with
all, at times bright and cheerful, and always had a pleasant word
for those about him. The army lay inactive, along the line of the
Rappahannock and the Rapidan for two months, watching the enemy, who was
in our front. We were very anxious to attack or to be attacked, but each
general desired to fight on ground of his won choosing.
During this period, and indeed at all times, my father was fully
employed. Besides the care of his own immediate command, he advised with
the President and Secretary of War as to the movements and dispositions
of the other armies in the Confederacy. In looking over his
correspondence one is astonished a the amount of it and at its varied
character. He always answered all letters addressed to him, from
whatever source, if it was possible. During this winter he devoted
himself especially to looking after the welfare of his troops, their
clothing, shoes, and rations, all three of which were becoming very
scarce. Often, indeed, his army had only a few days’ rations in sight.
Here are some letters written to the authorities, showing how he
was hampered in his movements by the deficiencies existing
in the quartermaster’s and commissary departments. To the
Quartermaster-General, at Richmond, he writes, October, 1863, after his
movement around General Meade’s right, to Manassas:
“...The want of supplies of shoes, clothing and blankets is very great.
Nothing but my unwillingness to expose the men to the hardships that
would have resulted from moving them into Loudoun in their present
condition induced me to return to the Rappahannock. But I was averse to
marching them over the rough roads of that region, at a season, too when
frosts are certain and snow probable, unless they were better
provided to encounter them without suffering. I should, otherwise have
endeavoured to detain General Meade near the Potomac, if I could not
throw him to the north side.”
In a letter of the same time to the Honourable James A. Seddon,
Secretary of War:
“...If General Meade is disposed to remain quiet where he is, it was my
intention, provided the army could be supplied with clothing, again to
advance and threaten his position. Nothing prevented my continuing in
his front but the destitute condition of the men, thousands of whom
are barefooted, a greater number partially shod, and nearly all without
overcoats, blankets, or warm clothing. I think the sublimest sight of
war was the cheerfulness and alacrity exhibited by this army in the
pursuit of the enemy under all the trial and privations to which it was
exposed....”
Later on, in January, when the sever weather commenced, he again writes
to the Quartermaster-General on the same subject:
“General: The want of shoes and blankets in this army continues to
cause much suffering and to impair its efficiency. In one regiment I
am informed that there are only fifty men with serviceable shoes, and
a brigade that recently went on picket was compelled to leave several
hundred men in camp, who were unable to bear the exposure of duty, being
destitute of shoes and blankets.... The supply, by running the blockade,
has become so precarious that I think we should turn our attention
chiefly to our own resources, and I should like to be informed how
far the latter can be counted upon.... I trust that no efforts will be
spared to develop our own resources of supply, as a further dependence
upon those from abroad can result in nothing but increase of suffering
and want. I am, with great respect,
“Your obedient servant,
“R. E. Lee, General.”
There was at this time a great revival of religion in the army. My
father became much interested in it, and did what he could to promote in
his camps all sacred exercises. Reverend J. W. Jones, in his “Personal
Reminiscences of General R. E. Lee,” says:
“General Lee’s orders and reports always gratefully recognised ‘The Lord
of Hosts’ as the ‘Giver of Victory,’ and expressed an humble dependence
upon and trust in Him.’”
All his correspondence shows the same devout feeling.
On August 13, 1863, he issued the following order:
“Headquarters, Army Northern Virginia, August 13, 1863.
“The President of the Confederate States has, in the name of the people,
appointed August 21st as a day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer. A
strict observance of the day is enjoined upon the officers and soldiers
of this army. All military duties, except such as are absolutely
necessary, will be suspended. The commanding officers of brigades
and regiments are requested to cause divine services, suitable to the
occasion, to be performed in their respective commands. Soldiers! we
have sinned against Almighty God. We have forgotten His signal mercies,
and have cultivated a revengeful, haughty, and boastful spirit. We have
not remembered that the defenders of a just cause should be pure in His
eyes; that ‘our times are in His hands,’ and we have relied too much on
our own arms for the achievement of our independence. God is our only
refuge and our strength. Let us humble ourselves before Him. Let us
confess our many sins, and beseech Him to give us a higher courage, a
purer patriotism, and more determined will; that He will hasten the time
when war, with its sorrows and sufferings, shall cease, and that He will
give us a name and place among the nations of the earth.
“R. E. Lee, General.”
His was a practical, every-day religion, which supported him all through
his life, enabled him to bear with equanimity every reverse of fortune,
and to accept her gifts without undue elation. During this period of
rest, so unusual to the Army of Northern Virginia, several reviews were
held before the commanding general. I remember being present when that
of the Third Army Corps, General A. P. Hill commanding, took place. Some
of us young cavalrymen, then stationed near the Rappahannock, rode over
to Orange Court House to see this grand military pageant. From all parts
of the army, officers and men who could get leave came to look on, and
from all the surrounding country the people, old and young, ladies and
children, came in every pattern of vehicle and on horseback, to see
twenty thousand of that “incomparable infantry” of the Army of Northern
Virginia pass in review before their great commander.
The General was mounted on Traveller, looking very proud of his master,
who had on sash and sword, which he very rarely wore, a pair of new
cavalry gauntlets, and, I think, a new hat. At any rate, he looked
unusually fine, and sat his horse like a perfect picture of grace and
power. The infantry was drawn up in column by divisions, with their
bright muskets all glittering in the sun, their battle-flags standing
straight out before the breeze, and their bands playing, awaiting the
inspection of the General, before they broke into column by companies
and marched past him in review. When all was ready, General Hill
and staff rode up to General Lee, and the two generals, with their
respective staffs, galloped around front and rear of each of the three
divisions standing motionless on the plain. As the cavalcade reached the
head of each division, its commanding officer joined in and followed
as far as the next division, so that there was a continual infusion
of fresh groups into the original one all along the lines. Traveller
started with a long lope, and never changed his stride. His rider sat
erect and calm, not noticing anything but the gray lines of men whom he
knew so well. The pace was very fast, as there were nine good miles to
go, and the escort began to become less and less, dropping out one by
one from different causes as Traveller raced along without check. When
the General drew up, after this nine-mile gallop, under the standard at
the reviewing-stand, flushed with the exercise as well as with pride
in his brave men, he raised his hat and saluted. Then arose a shout of
applause and admiration from the entire assemblage, the memory of which
to this day moistens the eye of every old soldier. The corps was then
passed in review at a quick-step, company front. It was a most imposing
sight. After it was all over, my father rode up to several carriages
whose occupants he knew and gladdened them by a smile, a word, or a
shake of the hand. He found several of us young officers with some
pretty cousins of his from Richmond, and he was very bright and
cheerful, joking us young people about each other. His letters to my
mother and sister this summer and fall help to give an insight into his
thoughts and feelings. On July 15th, from Bunker Hill, in a letter to
his wife, he says:
“...The army has returned to Virginia. Its return is rather sooner than
I had originally contemplated, but having accomplished much of what I
proposed on leaving the Rappahannock--namely, relieving the valley of
the presence of the enemy and drawing his army north of the Potomac--I
determined to recross the latter river. The enemy, after centering his
forces in our front, began to fortify himself in his position and
bring up his troops, militia, etc.--and those around Washington and
Alexandria. This gave him enormous odds. It also circumscribed our
limits for procuring subsistence for men and animals, which, with the
uncertain state of the river, rendered it hazardous for us to continue
on the north side. It has been raining a great deal since we first
crossed the Potomac, making the roads horrid and embarrassing our
operations. The night we recrossed it rained terribly, yet we got all
over safe, save such vehicles as broke down on the road from the mud,
rocks, etc. We are all well. I hope we will yet be able to damage our
adversaries when they meet us. That it should be so, we must implore the
forgiveness of God for our sins, and the continuance of His blessings.
There is nothing but His almighty power that can sustain us. God bless
you all....”
Later, July 26th, he writes from Camp Culpeper:
“...After crossing the Potomac, finding that the Shenandoah was six feet
above the fording-stage, and, having waited for a week for it to fall,
so that I might cross into Loudoun, fearing that the enemy might take
advantage of our position and move upon Richmond, I determined to ascend
the Valley and cross into Culpeper. Two corps are here with me. The
third passed Thornton’s Gap, and I hope will be in striking distance
to-morrow. The army has laboured hard, endured much, and behaved nobly.
It has accomplished all that could be reasonably expected. It ought not
to have been expected to perform impossibilities, or to have fulfilled
the anticipations of the thoughtless and unreasonable.”
On August 2d, from the same camp, he again writes to my mother:
“...I have heard of some doctor having reached Richmond, who had seen
our son at Fortress Monroe. He said that his wound is improving, and
that he himself was well and walking about on crutches. The exchange of
prisoners that had been going on has, for some cause, been suspended,
owing to some crotchet or other, but I hope will soon be resumed, and
that we shall have him back soon. The armies are in such close proximity
that frequent collisions are common along the outposts. Yesterday the
enemy laid down two or three pontoon bridges across the Rappahannock
and crossed his cavalry, with a big force of his infantry. It looked at
first as if it were the advance of his army, and, as I had not intended
to deliver battle, I directed our cavalry to retire slowly before them
and to check their too rapid pursuit. Finding, later in the day, that
their army was not following, I ordered out the infantry and drove them
back to the river. I suppose they intended to push on to Richmond
by this or some other route. I trust, however, they will never reach
there....”
On August 23d, from the camp near Orange Court House, General Lee writes
to Mrs. Lee:
“...My camp is near Mr. Erasmus Taylor’s house, who has been very kind
in contributing to our comfort. His wife sends us every day, buttermilk,
loaf bread, ice, and such vegetables as she has. I cannot get her to
desist, thought I have made two special visits to that effect. All the
brides have come on a visit to the army: Mrs. Ewell, Mrs. Walker, Mrs.
Heth, etc. General Meade’s army is north of the Rappahannock along the
Orange and Alexandria Railroad. He is very quiet....”
“September 4, 1863.
“...You see I am still here. When I wrote last, the indications were
that the enemy would move against us any day; but this past week he has
been very quiet, and seems at present to continue so. I was out looking
at him yesterday, from Clarke’s Mountain. He has spread himself over a
large surface and looks immense....”
And on September 18th, from the same camp:
“...The enemy state that they have heard of a great reduction in our
forces here, and are now going to drive us back to Richmond. I trust
they will not succeed; but our hope and our refuge is in our merciful
Father in Heaven....”
On October 9th, the Army of Northern Virginia was put in motion, and
wa pushed around Meade’s right. Meade was gradually forced back to a
position near the old battlefield at Manassas. Although we had hard
marching, much skirmishing, and several severe fights between the
cavalry of both armies, nothing permanent was accomplished, and in about
ten days we were back on our old lines. In a letter of October 19, 1863,
to his wife, my father says:
“...I have returned to the Rappahannock. I did not pursue with the main
army beyond Bristoe or Broad Run. Our advance went as far as Bull
Run, where the enemy was entrenched, extending his right as far as
‘Chantilly,’ in the yard of which he was building a redoubt. I could
have thrown him farther back, but saw no chance of bringing him to
battle, and it would only have served to fatigue our troops by advancing
farther. I should certainly have endeavored to throw them north of the
Potomac; but thousands were barefooted, thousands with fragments of
shoes, and all without overcoats, blankets, or warm clothing. I could
not bear to expose them to certain suffering and an uncertain issue....”
On October 25th, from “Camp Rappahannock,” he writes again to my mother:
“...I moved yesterday into a nice pine thicket, and Perry is to-day
engaged in constructing a chimney in front of my tent, which will make
it warm and comfortable. I have no idea when Fitzhugh [his son, Major
General Fitzhugh Lee] will be exchanged. The Federal authorities still
resist all exchanges, because they think it is to our interest to
make them. Any desire expressed on our part for the exchange of any
individual magnifies the difficulty, as they at once think some great
benefit is to result to us from it. His detention is very grievous to
me, and, besides, I want his services. I am glad you have some socks for
the army. Send them to me. They will come safely. Tell the girls [his
daughters] to send all they can. I wish they could make some shoes, too.
We have thousands of barefooted men. There is no news. General Meade, I
believe, is repairing the railroad, and I presume will come on again.
If I could only get some shoes and clothes for the men, I would save him
the trouble....”
One can see from these letters of my father how deeply he felt for
the sufferings of his soldiers, and how his plans were hindered by
inadequate supplies of food and clothing. I heard him constantly allude
to these troubles; indeed, they seemed never absent from his mind.