From the Wilderness the army moved parallel with Grant to
Spotsylvania Court House, where we had some desperate fighting. My
usual good luck followed me, and I came no nearer being hit than
having a solid shot strike the place where my feet had been resting
a moment before.
Baffling Grant completely at Cold Harbor, and forcing him to
abandon the line on which he had promised to “fight it out if it
took all summer,” we found ourselves, early in June, on our way
to Petersburg, crossing the river at Drury’s Bluff. We had with
us the divisions of Pickett and of Field, and were to move down
the Turnpike towards Petersburg, to occupy the lines from which
General Beauregard had withdrawn. This was on June 16th. It was
a delightful day, and General Anderson and his staff rode on a
considerable distance in advance of the troops. There was no more
expectation of encountering the enemy than we should have of
finding him in the streets of Charleston. When we neared Chester,
however, a Major Smith, who was in haste to reach Petersburg, and
had gone on ahead, came tearing back “bloody with spurring and
fiery red with haste,” and without his hat. We were at a loss to
understand what this meant, and he had not breath enough left to
tell us at the moment. As soon as he could speak, he said that
near the point where the railroad crossed the Turnpike he had seen
the Yankees in the woods as thick as bees; and a party of them
was then engaged in tearing up the line of railroad which formed
the only means of communication between the Confederate capital
and Petersburg. He was fired at, but his horse alone was hit; and
it was a lucky escape for us. Had we jogged on very much farther
we should have found ourselves in the hands of the enemy, who, it
seems, had pushed up from Bermuda Hundreds, on finding that the
lines in front of them had been vacated, and were about to make
good their occupation of the railroad. We halted in the road until
the leading regiment of our column came up, when it was deployed in
the woods, and advanced until it struck the enemy. The next day an
effort was made to recover our lost line; and on the 18th Pickett
took it with a rush. Kershaw had gone on to Petersburg. There we
had our head-quarters until near the end of June.
Petersburg had changed very much from the quiet, peaceful, drowsy
looking city it was when I first knew it. But it was an agreeable
place to be in, for one reason at least. During the Wilderness
campaign our rations had been reduced to five ounces of bacon and
twelve ounces of corn meal daily, and the country was so bare that
no additions could be made to our scant fare. At Richmond and
Petersburg there was little difficulty in obtaining provisions of
every kind, the joke being, however, that housekeepers took their
money to market in a basket and brought home in their pockets what
they had bought for dinner.
The Petersburgers had accommodated themselves to the changed
conditions with curious completeness. Shell frequently fell in
or passed over the city, and it was no uncommon thing for old
citizens, standing in the street discussing the prospects of the
day, to step quietly around a corner until an approaching shell
had passed by, and then resume their former place without even
suspending their conversation. The basements of houses were used
in many instances as bomb-proofs, the traverses being composed of
mattresses and bedding.
From Petersburg we went back to the North side of the James River,
and on July 28th captured a piece of artillery and some prisoners
near the Long Bridge Road.
Early in August General Anderson was summoned to Richmond for
consultation with President Davis and General Lee; and on August
7th we took the train for Mitchell Station, where Kershaw’s
Division soon arrived, and three days later Fitz Lee’s Cavalry
Division came up.
I should mention here that my friend Mr. Raines had suffered a
terrible loss. The enemy made a raid through Sussex County and
carried off a number of his negroes and nearly the whole of his
horses and mules. Fortunately, the raiders feared that they might
be cut off if they took the road by Belsches’ Mill-pond to the
Plank-road, and they did not pass by Mr. Raines’ residence, which,
therefore, was not destroyed. One of my riding horses which I
valued very highly was carried off by the cavalry. Mr. Raines and
his family were not at home at the time, having gone to Mechlenburg
County, where his son-in-law, Dr. Wm. H. Jones, resided. While I
was at Petersburg I became very unwell, and our Medical Director,
Dr. Cullin, told me that there was only one prescription that
he knew of that would cure me quickly, and that was a leave of
absence. Leave for fifteen days was given me, and I started off in
an ambulance to Sussex. When I reached there I found old Davie,
the butler (a counterpart of our own Levy, although considerably
older), in charge of the place, and the family absent. This did
not daunt me, although I was sadly disappointed. I hired a buggy
and went on to Mechlenburg. The plantation of Dr. Jones was near
Boydton, and I remained there about two weeks. The family consisted
then of Dr. Jones and his wife, the eldest daughter of Mr. Raines,
and their little daughter Anna; with Miss Anna Raines and Miss
Patty Raines, the daughters of my old friend; and Frank and Nat,
his sons. Miss Pinkie Morton and Miss Hattie Morton, nieces of
Dr. Jones, and his wards, were also there. The plantation was
large and valuable, the principal crop made on it being tobacco
of a fine quality. I found at the plantation a thoroughbred
Belshazzar colt, which I had bought in Tennessee; a fancy looking
cream-colored animal, with a long mane and tail, of which I
expected great things. His career was brief, and not particularly
glorious. When the Yankees made a raid through Boydton, after
General Lee’s surrender, they visited Dr. Jones’ house and carried
off my Belshazzar colt. He was loose in the pasture, and they had
considerable difficulty in catching him, as he jumped over the
fence whenever they got him in a corner. It was only by surrounding
him that they caught him at last.
The conduct of the Yankees at Dr. Jones’ was infamous in the
extreme. Mrs. Jones was on her death-bed, but the soldiers, after
tying Dr. Jones and putting him under guard, forced themselves into
her bed-room, and there in her presence broke open her bureau and
carried off what valuables they could find. It was well that they
did no worse.
The object of our expedition to the Valley, to which I now
return, I have never thoroughly understood, but I presume that it
was to act in concert with General Early, and do what mischief
we could. From Mitchell Station we moved through Culpepper and
Flint Hill to Front Royal. The weather was so beautiful that it
was hard to believe that we had any serious business before us.
An effort was made to obstruct our passage of the Shenandoah, a
river which is aptly named, if ever river was. With its clear
waters dancing and sparkling in the autumn sun, it deserved its
title as “Fair Daughter of the Stars.” Wofford’s Brigade was sent
forward to attack the enemy’s cavalry, and, according to our joke
at head-quarters, “Wofford swung his right and made a water-haul.”
Seriously, he was charged by the enemy, who had driven back our own
cavalry, and was compelled to retire with heavy loss. I think that
his Ordnance officer was among the killed.
The enemy withdrew, and from Front Royal we marched down the Valley
in pursuit. I then realized, as never before, the devastation of
war. Columns of smoke were rising in every direction from burning
houses and burning barns. Each time that we lighted our pipes that
day, it was with the burning embers taken from the ruins of what
a few hours before had been a happy home. The brutal Sheridan was
carrying out his fell purpose, and was soon in position to boast,
ruthless braggart as he is! that “If a crow wants now to fly over
the Valley of Virginia, he must carry his rations with him.” It
was the penalty that the Virginians of the Valley paid for their
devotion to the Confederacy, and, despite their fearful losses, the
time never came when a Confederate soldier could not obtain a crust
of bread from any Southern family there. They always contrived to
have something left, and whatever they had they were ready to share
with the ragged and hungry Confederates.
On the march, by the way, there was an exciting incident. General
Anderson, with the staff and couriers, was far ahead of the
infantry column, and we had a squadron of cavalry as our escort
and advance guard. A couple of shots were suddenly fired, and in
an instant our cavalry broke and came clattering to the rear. The
indignation of General Anderson was painful to see. He cried out
to our cavalry: “What manner of men do you call yourselves,” and
putting his hand involuntarily to his side, said: “Oh, if I had
my sabre!” Turning to his staff and couriers, he said: “Charge
those people in front,” pointing to the blue-coated cavalry, who
were as much astonished at coming upon us as we were at meeting
with them. It was a mutual surprise. The staff with the couriers
dashed at the handful of cavalry who had driven in our advance
guard, and we had a glorious race down the Turnpike to the suburbs
of Winchester. I think we captured four or five Yankees, without
any loss on our side, and my share of the plunder was a very good
McClellan saddle and a small sum in greenbacks. It was only fair,
I suppose, that we should confiscate the greenbacks which we found
in the possession of the men we captured, as we expected them to
take possession of what money we had whenever we were captured. It
is true that Confederate money was not likely to be as useful to
them as greenbacks were to us, but it would not have been patriotic
to make any distinction between the two currencies. I had paid $5
in Richmond for blacking my boots, and the negro who performed the
office would have felt himself well paid if I could have given him
instead a ten cent Yankee shin-plaster.
Near Charlestown, on August 26th, the enemy felt our position to
some purpose, and captured about one hundred men belonging to the
15th South Carolina Regiment, of Kershaw’s Brigade. Then we marched
and counter-marched and danced about in every direction, with no
definite object apparently, until September 3d, when we moved
out from Winchester, and attacked the enemy near Berryville, and
drove him away. It was at this time that the whole command could
have been gobbled up. We had only Kershaw’s Division with us,
the cavalry having been sent off on a reconnaissance. The enemy,
in overwhelming force, came upon us, and General Anderson reached
the conclusion that nothing but audacity would save us. Presenting
as bold a front as if the whole of the Army of Northern Virginia
were with us, and bringing our wagon trains right up to the line
of battle, he opened on the enemy with our artillery. To our
great surprise and relief the game was successful, and the enemy
drew off. General Early arrived the next morning, and his first
salutation was: “General Anderson, those Yankees came mighty near
getting you yesterday.” General Anderson’s only reply was: “Yes
General, and it is not your fault that they did not.” It was a
strange business anyway. General Anderson ranked General Early, but
did not wish to take command of his troops, as he would necessarily
have done had the two commands operated together. The result was
that the two commands swung corners and chasséed in every direction
to no good purpose, that any of us could see. It was a delightful
sort of military pic-nic, and in that sense everybody enjoyed it.
In September we were ordered back to Culpepper, and the march
through the Luray Valley, in delicious weather, put us in excellent
spirits. General Anderson said to me one morning, looking up at the
blue peaks which were frowning down upon us, that it would be the
height of happiness, for him, to lie on the top of one of those
mountains all day long and roll rocks down its rugged sides.
The day before we reached Culpepper I found myself very nearly
afoot. Two of my horses were missing, and so was my servant, Aleck.
This boy had been with me from the time that I returned from Fort
Delaware, and was as faithful a servant as one could desire to
have. He had charge of my clothes, and generally kept my purse.
No one could have been more conscientious and trustworthy than he
appeared to be; but he was gone this time, and so were the horses.
Taking one of the couriers, an Alabamian, named Spencer (who was
afterwards appointed Aide-de-Camp to Colonel Sorrell, when that
officer was promoted to the rank of Brigadier-General), I rode
back in pursuit of the runaway. For two days and nights we kept
on his trail, but were unable to overtake him, and as we were
uncomfortably near the main body of the enemy’s troops, we returned
to Culpepper, finding that our people had reached that place just
in time to drive off a raiding party which had pounced down upon
the village. Long afterwards I met Aleck in Petersburg, and asked
him what he meant by stealing my horses. He grinned and said:
“Mas’r Frank, I didn’t go for teef dem horse, but dere was a gal
back dere in Winchester I was bound to see, and when I git dere de
Yankee tek my horse and I couldn’t git away again.” This excuse
served as well as any would have done.
Kershaw’s Division was sent back to reinforce Early, and we went
on to Richmond and thence to Swift Run, between Richmond and
Petersburg.