FALL BACK FROM CENTREVILLE—THE PENINSULA
CAMPAIGN—YORKTOWN LINE EVACUATED—THE
BATTLE OF WILLIAMSBURG—"GIVE
IT TO THEM"—INTO A HOT FIRE—COLONEL
GARLAND WOUNDED—INCIDENTS
OF THE BATTLE—GARLAND
AND KEMPER
PROMOTED
Gen. Joseph E. Johnston had been for some time sole commander of the
army, General Beauregard having been ordered south some months before.
Gen. George B. McClellan, who succeeded General McDowell, was in command
of the Yankee army, and had been all winter recruiting, reorganizing,
equipping and drilling what he claimed to be "the finest army on the
planet," some 125,000 strong. When winter began to break, General
Johnston knew his adversary would soon move against him, and thinking it
not prudent to stand his ground at Centreville or Manassas, against so
powerful an army, with only about 40,000 men, just as McClellan was
preparing to advance, the Confederate army, on the 9th of March, 1862,
broke camp, having first made dummy cannons of wood, painted black,
mounting them in the forts and redoubts around Centreville, also dummy
soldiers, in order to deceive and delay the enemy. The army retired
leisurely at first, stopping several days at a time in camp.
The terms of enlistment of most of the Confederate troops were about to
expire, and the men were called upon to reenlist for the war, which
nearly all did. On this march, while in camp a few days, Company C
elected officers to take the place of those who had been at first
elected and whose terms would expire about the 1st of May. Captain
Clement was reëlected captain, I was elected first lieutenant, James
Connelly was reëlected second lieutenant, and Jabez R. Rosser was
elected third lieutenant. J. A. Hobson and H. H. Withers, first and
second lieutenants, not being reëlected, left the company at the end of
their terms. About this time the company received a number of recruits,
the militiamen up to thirty-five years old having been called out and
given the privilege of joining the companies of their choice. The
recruits were mostly married men, from twenty-five to thirty-five years
old.
McClellan did not essay to follow Johnston, but determined to change his
base and plan of campaign from Northern Virginia to the Peninsula. His
army was accordingly embarked on transports, sailing down the Potomac
and Chesapeake Bay, landing at the lower end of the Peninsula at
Fortress Monroe.
As soon as General Johnston was aware of this move, he put his army in
motion and marched rapidly to Richmond. The march was through Prince
William, Spottsylvania, Hanover, and Henrico counties, into Richmond,
where we arrived on the 12th of April, 1862. This march was very
laborious, through rain and mud, the troops often marching through
fields to avoid the muddy roads, and to give place to the trains of
artillery and baggage and commissary wagons. At that time each regiment
had thirteen wagons, but never again after the Peninsula campaign; after
that year about three was the limit.
This was the first real hard marching we had done. Some of the men gave
out on the route, and had to be hauled in wagons and ambulances; many
had their knapsacks hauled. Only one man of Company C besides myself
carried their knapsacks, blankets and guns through without any help.
THE PENINSULA CAMPAIGN
On arriving at Richmond on the 12th of April the troops were embarked on
boats, steamed down the James to King's Landing, seven miles from
Williamsburg, marching through that quaint and dilapidated old town, on
down the Peninsula to the lines near Yorktown, where General Magruder
was in command with fifteen or twenty thousand men, confronting
McClellan and his "grand army" on the lines stretching across the
Peninsula from the York to the James. McClellan had 125,000 men;
Johnston about 50,000, all told.
The lines, at the point the Eleventh Regiment faced the Yankees, were
about one thousand yards apart; at other places the lines were much
closer, and there were frequent skirmishes and sharp-shooting. Forts at
intervals along the lines were mounted with big guns, and shots were
often exchanged.
One day I was standing behind one of the Confederate guns, when a shot
from a thirty-two-pounder was fired at a Yankee fort one thousand yards
off, across an open level field, and saw the ball, a black mass, as it
sped across the field, go right into the fort and explode. Of course, we
could not see from that distance what damage was done, but heard
afterwards from prisoners that this shell played havoc in the Yankee
fort, killing and wounding men right and left, and tearing up things
generally. This was a splendid shot, aimed and the fuse timed exactly
right; it went to the very spot desired, exploding at the very second to
do the most damage. The Yankees did not return the fire.
The service on the Peninsula was arduous and disagreeable; in the muddy
trenches, or back in the woods, lying on the rain-soaked ground, or
marching along the cut-up and muddy roads, was trying indeed, and caused
no little sickness among the troops. Harvey Bailey, of Company C, died
of disease while here. One night while the regiment lay back in the
woods, the men sleeping on their arms, that is, every man lying with his
gun by his side, instead of being stacked, there was a night alarm, with
sharp musketry firing along the trenches; all were aroused and under
arms in a moment. It was a cloudy, pitch-dark night, and we did not know
what the trouble was. Just as the firing ceased the hooting of a big owl
was heard in the distance. "There now," was whispered along the lines,
"we are cut off; that is a Yankee signal." Nothing came of it, however,
except a good scare. When soldiers are thus suddenly aroused at night by
a call to arms, it causes a chilling sensation, and they shake like one
with the "buck ague."
General Johnston was often seen riding along the lines, sitting his
horse very erect, and presenting a soldierly appearance. He always
reminded me of a gamecock trimmed and gaffed ready for the main. While
here our first year of enlistment expired, and I entered upon the duties
of first lieutenant; I had been orderly sergeant up to this time,
carrying a musket.
YORKTOWN LINES EVACUATED
General Johnston, getting information that McClellan was preparing to
send a force by transports up York River to West Point, and which he,
Johnston, had no means of preventing, and thus get in his rear and
between him and Richmond, it was determined to evacuate the Yorktown
line of defense. Accordingly, about the 3d or 4th of May, 1862, the
trenches were evacuated and the whole army began falling back up the
Peninsula, the wagons and artillery in front. The Yankees made a landing
at West Point, but were driven back to their transports by a force sent
to meet them. As we marched up the Peninsula we could hear the booming
of the big guns in this fight.
The roads were in wretched condition, muddy and badly cut up by the long
trains of wagons and artillery, making the march very trying and
disagreeable, for it rained nearly every day about this time. No one who
has not marched on foot behind army wagon and artillery trains has any
conception of what muddy roads are. Horses and mules were sometimes
literally buried in the mud and left to perish, or shot dead on the
spot.
It is surprising how much fatigue and hardship men can stand when put to
it. Soldiers were often put to the supreme test of endurance, and, no
doubt, many an old Confederate soldier often says to himself, "How did
we stand those long, tiresome marches, through the rain and mud of
spring, through the dust and heat of summer, and midst snow and ice of
winter, often poorly shod, scantily clothed, and on short, very short
rations, sometimes none at all." A man can stand more than a horse. But
the Confederate soldiers did stand these things, enduring more, perhaps,
than any soldiers ever endured before. It took men to do these things—
men with muscles, sinews, and nerves in their bodies, and courage in
their hearts; and then, on the battlefield, to meet the foe two, three,
and four to one, and vanquish that foe, took men of the highest valor.
Of such was the Confederate soldier. The service of our Revolutionary
fathers was not comparable to the arduous trials and privations of the
Confederate soldiers. The privations and suffering of the army at Valley
Forge during the winter of 1777-78 was as nothing to the experiences of
the Confederates around Petersburg during the winter of 1864-5.
On February 8, 1865, General Lee wrote to the Secretary of War to this
effect: "For three days and nights the right wing of the army has been
in line of battle; some of the men have had no meat for three days, and
all suffering from reduced rations and scant clothing, exposed to the
fire of the enemy, cold, hail and sleet." About the same time General
Lee issued a circular letter to the farmers in the surrounding country,
beseeching them to "loan the army all the cornmeal and sorghum they
could spare." But I am anticipating, so back to the Peninsula.
BATTLE OF WILLIAMSBURG
I should have stated before, that about the time the army fell back from
Centreville and Manassas, General Longstreet was promoted to
major-general, and Col. A. P. Hill of the Thirteenth Virginia Regiment
was promoted to brigadier-general, and assigned to Longstreet's old
brigade, which now formed a part of Longstreet's Division.
On the afternoon of the 4th of May, the brigade marched through the town
of Williamsburg; slept on their arms in an open field just west of the
town. Early next morning it was evident to all that a fight was on hand—
staff officers and couriers were riding hither and thither in great
haste. McClellan was pressing on General Johnston's rear a little too
closely to suit him, and Johnston determined to give him a taste of what
was in store for him later on.
Hill's Brigade, as well as other troops, infantry and artillery, were
marched back through the town. Just at the eastern limits of the town
the brigade turned off the road to the right, through the fields, and
was massed in a deep hollow. Other troops were known to be in the woods
a few hundred yards in front, and we were in position as their support.
Other troops had passed on down the Yorktown road towards Fort McGruder,
and the other forts east of Williamsburg, some of which the Confederates
had abandoned. I remember Latham's Battery dashing by, as we marched
through the streets, at a gallop. Latham's Battery was from Lynchburg,
and the men well known to many of the Eleventh Regiment. Some one in the
Eleventh called out to them as they passed, asking if they were going
into the fight. "Yes," shouted back Jim Ley, one of the battery;
"Latham's Battery is always in the fight." Artillery firing could
already be heard at the front. As the men passed along the streets, they
unslung their knapsacks, depositing them in the front yards of the
houses on the street—stripping for the fight. There were no forts or
breastworks in our front, nor was there any artillery with the brigade
or with the troops in front. The position was the extreme right of the
Confederate lines.
THE BATTLE BEGINS
We did not have to wait long. Sharp musketry firing soon commenced in
the woods—lasting only a short time, however. About the time the firing
ceased, the brigade was ordered forward, not in line of battle, but
marching by the flank. As we entered the woods Gen. Roger A. Pryor and a
few men came out and moved off to the left, along the edge of the field.
Soon after getting into the woods the brigade was formed in line of
battle by the maneuver, "By the right flank into line." The woods were
thick with much undergrowth, and we could see only a few yards in front.
For some time after the line was formed, everything was quiet. It was a
cloudy, misty morning, and the air was filled with the smoke of the
recent firing; no enemy was in sight nor could we see any of the
Confederates who had been engaged. It has always been a mystery to me
what became of these troops. We could see and smell the smoke from their
guns, but not a man was seen, except perhaps fifteen or twenty who came
out as we entered.
Company C was on the left of the Eleventh Regiment, and the Seventh
Regiment, commanded by Col. James L. Kemper, was the next regiment on
the left. Colonel Kemper took position at the right of his regiment. My
place, as first lieutenant of Company C, being near the left of the
company, placed me close to Colonel Kemper, and it is of the fighting
along the line of these two regiments I propose to tell, as I saw and
heard it that day.
"GIVE IT TO THEM!"
While standing here in line of battle some of Company C saw a line of
men through a slight opening in the woods about one hundred yards away,
obliquely to the left. Only a few files of the men were visible through
the vista; some one called my attention to these men. I looked; they
seemed to have on blue uniforms, and the brass buttons on their coats
could be plainly seen; they were standing at rest. I called Colonel
Kemper, who came and said he believed they were Yankees, but was not
certain. Just then General Hill, on foot, came along down in the rear of
the line of battle from the right, and Colonel Kemper called his
attention to these men. General Hill leveled his field-glasses on the
line, and in a moment said: "Yes, they are Yankees; give it to them!"
Colonel Kemper's clear-ringing voice broke the stillness with, "Now,
boys, I want you to give it to those blue-coated fellows; ready, aim,
fire." At the first command every musket was raised to the shoulder and
leveled, every eye ran along the barrel at the command "aim," and at the
word "fire" a sheet of flame burst forth from the line with a deafening
roar.
Very few of our men could see the enemy, but every man shot straight to
the front—the guns on a level. No doubt, the first volley did much
execution, the men reloading as quickly as possible and continuing to
fire rapidly. In the midst of the firing Colonel Kemper's clarion voice
rang out above the roar of the muskets. He said: "General Hill says the
line must be advanced." Not a man moved forward, but all continued
loading and shooting as fast possible. Again Colonel Kemper shouted
louder than before: "General Hill says the lines must be advanced." At
this moment General Hill came to the front, immediately in front of
Company C, pistol in hand. General Hill wore a dark blue blouse or
overshirt, gathered at the waist by the sword belt, had on a military
cap with a sprig of pine fastened in front, and as he went forward,
waving his pistol over his head, looking back over his shoulder and
calling on the men to follow, made a splendid picture of the heroic and
gallant soldier that he was. This picture was photographed on my memory
never to be forgotten.
INTO A HOT FIRE
The whole line rushed forward over a fence and down a slight slope in
the ground, about fifty yards, and was met by a close and deadly fire
from the enemy, whom we could not see, but the sharp, quick "sip, sip"
of the minie balls, as they whacked the trees and cut the bushes and
twigs, told plainly that we were in very close quarters. On the hill
where the firing commenced, I don't remember that we suffered any
casualties—I think the Yankees shot too low; but now the men were
falling on every hand. The firing was kept up here for some little time,
the men sitting or kneeling on the ground, loading and shooting into the
bushes in front whence the balls were coming, though no enemy was in
sight. While here I looked to the left, oblique from our front, and saw
a Yankee standing beside a tree some seventy-five yards away, about
where the line had been first seen. Up to this time I had carried a
pistol, a Colt's five-shooter, and drawing this I aimed at this Yankee,
snapped the pistol several times, which, failing to fire, I threw it
down, picked up a loaded musket that had fallen from the hands of some
man, killed or wounded, and fired at the Yankee; where he was hit, I
never knew. About this time the cry came along our lines from the right,
"They are running." The line again pushed forward, but we did not catch
sight of the Yankees, that is, live ones, but a short distance, some
twenty yards in front, their line of battle was plainly marked by the
dead men lying strewn along through the woods. The lines continued to
press forward through the woods for a quarter of a mile or more, until
the eastern edge of the woods was reached, where the timber had been
felled.
While pushing along through the woods I saw to my left several of
Company C around a gray-haired Yankee officer with side-whiskers and
mustache, seemingly rifling his pockets. I shouted at the men, "Stop
robbing that officer." They replied, "We are just loosening his belt."
The officer said the same when I approached him. He had been desperately
wounded and left by his men.
In the felled timber, some thirty yards from the woods, the Yankees had
taken refuge, lying down behind the logs and stumps, and as the
Confederates came up, opened a close and rapid fire, our men protecting
themselves behind trees and logs at the edge of the woods and returning
the fire. Here the firing was fast and furious, both sides being under
cover. The casualties here were not serious, on the Confederate side, at
least, the Yankees shooting too high, riddling the trees and bushes
overhead.
COLONEL GARLAND WOUNDED
In the midst of this severe fighting, Colonel Garland, with his left arm
bandaged and in a sling, came up. He had been shot through the forearm
early in the action, had his wound dressed, and continued in the fight
to the end.
As soon as Colonel Garland came up, he shouted out, "Charge 'em!"
Captain Clement, a brave man, whose courage was beyond question and who
still lives in Campbell County, a scarred veteran, remonstrated, saying:
"For God's sake, Colonel Garland, don't send the men over there into
that fire. They will all be killed." Colonel Garland replied: "Well,
hold on a while then." It was not long before the fire of the enemy
began to slacken—the well-aimed shots of the Confederates were telling.
Our lines rose up without orders, and over the logs the men rushed right
among the Yankees. Some of the enemy jumped up and ran; many were shot
down as they ran; others lay still behind the logs and stumps and were
captured; some were hauled from brush piles, and many lay killed and
wounded on the ground, most of whom were shot in the head. This scene
reminded me of a lot of boys hunting rabbits in thickets.
While engaged in gathering up the prisoners, sending them to the rear
and exulting over the victory, the noise of artillery wheels was heard
(it was impossible to see far, on account of the smoke and fog), and the
men were ordered back to the woods whence they had just charged. There
were several abandoned Yankee cannon in the road in our front; I don't
remember whether these were taken off the field or not, but think they
were. We held this position during the remainder of the day, without
seeing or hearing anything of the enemy in our front.
Pretty soon after we fell back to the edge of the woods, a terrific
musketry fire opened up to the right of this position, which seemed to
be a little to the rear of the extension of the line, the minie balls
flying thick and fast through the woods in the rear. As this firing
increased in volume and seemed to be drawing nearer, some of the Seventh
Regiment began to look anxiously to the rear, like a balky horse, as if
contemplating a retreat. All eyes were turned in the direction of the
firing, which was only a few hundred yards to the right, and seemed to
be drawing closer. Colonel Kemper, who was still at the right of the
Seventh, noticed the anxiety of his men, and spoke out in firm and
defiant tones: "Steady, men, steady. The old Eighth Virginia is out
there." I never knew whether or not the Eighth Regiment was out there—I
don't think it was; but Kemper's words had the desired effect.
The men remembered Ball's Bluff, where the Eighth Virginia had some time
before distinguished itself, and whatever fears they may have had of
being flanked were allayed, and every man stood firmly at his post.
It was not long until the firing ceased all along the lines. The brigade
remained here until darkness closed over the bloody scenes and thrilling
events of the day, which were, no doubt, indelibly fixed in the minds of
every participant.
In the meanwhile, the battle was raging to the left over towards Fort
McGruder, where the fighting first commenced in the morning, and was
kept up pretty much all day. Here the Twenty-fourth Virginia and the
Fifth North Carolina distinguished themselves, as Pickett's Division did
at Gettysburg, in an unsuccessful, but gallant charge. There were no
better fighting regiments in the army.
Soon after dark the brigade moved silently off by the left flank,
marching back to the edge of Williamsburg, where we had turned off the
road early in the morning. We slept on the wet, muddy ground until
daybreak next morning, when we again marched through the old town
towards Richmond, the men gathering up their knapsacks deposited along
the street in the front yards the day before, and which the people had
taken care of.
On the march we did not hurry, camping four or five days on the east
bank of the Chickahominy; but the enemy did not crowd us again, the work
of the 5th of May having taught General McClellan a lesson, the moral of
which was, "Don't crowd Joe Johnston too closely on a retreat." Some of
the Yankee historians claim a victory at Williamsburg, a dear-bought
victory to be sure. They lost about five hundred killed, fifteen hundred
wounded, and four hundred unwounded prisoners, twelve cannon, and ten
stand of colors.
The Confederate loss was much less. We drove the enemy back, held the
battlefield, and marched off the next morning at our leisure, and did
not have a chance to fire another shot at the Yankees for weeks; indeed,
not until the 31st day of May, when Johnston again attacked and defeated
them at Seven Pines. We had whipped them in a fair, stand-up fight with
muskets at Williamsburg. It is a little singular and surprising that
McClellan with his "grand army" never made an attack on the
Confederates, but on the contrary, was always on the defensive in all
the battles from Williamsburg to Malvern Hill.
I saw nothing of the fighting on the 5th of May on the left of the
lines, nor on the right, except along the lines of the Seventh and
Eleventh Regiments. I know full well we cleaned them up here in nice
style, with small loss, comparatively. We drove them from their first
line in the woods, charged and captured their second position in the
fallen timber, killing, wounding, capturing and scattering everything in
front of Hill's Brigade. If this was not a victory, I'd like to know
what it was.
This was the first regular fight in which the Eleventh Regiment had been
engaged. The regiment, except two companies, was only under fire on the
18th of July at Blackburn's Ford, but did not fire a gun. On the 21st of
July the regiment lay all day under a shelling, but did not see a Yankee
or fire a gun. In the skirmish at Drainesville, in which Company C lost
its first man, I am not certain, but I don't think there was much
shooting done by the regiment.
At Williamsburg we got into it right. Company C lost eight men killed
and many wounded. The killed were Miffram Bailey, who married my wife's
sister, and had only been with the company about a month; Benj. Farris,
Crockett Hughes, Granville Rosser, David Layne, John Organ, John J.
Wood, another recruit, and Wm. H. Wilson, a first cousin of my wife, all
of whom were good soldiers. I noticed Billy Wilson, during the fight in
the bottom, some distance in front of the line, fighting with deadly
intent. I have often thought that he determined to distinguish himself
in this fight, but alas! he was stricken down, shot through the body,
dying in a few minutes. In this fight, so far as I could see, every
officer and man, from General Hill down to the humblest private, did his
whole duty. I never saw troops fight better on any field.
INCIDENTS OF THE BATTLE
I have often said this was the most satisfactory fight I was ever
engaged in, and I have read somewhere that General Kemper had said the
same thing. I noticed among others a member of Company C, Jim Brown,
from "Hell Bend" (a rather disreputable section of Campbell County), an
humble private of no pretentions, standing up and fighting like mad,
loading and shooting rapidly, with the corners of his mouth blacked by
the powder as he bit off the cartridges. I never forgot this, and it
stood Jim in good stead when, months afterwards, he was court-martialed
for absence without leave, and sentenced to wear a ball and chain for
sixty days. At Goldsboro, N. C., in 1863, when Chas. Clement drew up a
petition for his pardon, I gladly approved it, making an endorsement on
the petition to the effect, that "Brown was a brave soldier, had been
tried in battle and found not wanting in courage, fighting like a hero."
The paper was forwarded to headquarters, and quickly came back with an
endorsement granting the pardon prayed for. I remember it was at night
when it was returned to me. I at once repaired to Brown's quarters, and
found him and several others in their "dog house," under their blankets,
with the ball and chain at the foot, lying on the ground. I called to
Brown, telling him his pardon had come, that he could now take off the
ball and chain. Brown raised up on his elbow, looked down at the ball
and chain and said: "I have gone to bed now; I believe I will wait till
morning before I take it off." And so he did. Brown remained true to the
end, and was captured at Milford, May 21, 1864.
After the firing had all ceased, Colonel Kemper and Colonel Garland met
on the lines in the rear of Company C and exchanged congratulations,
both in high spirits and well pleased with the day's work. Colonel
Garland said among other things, "Kemper, honor's easy with you to-day."
I was standing near, and pointing to Garland's bandaged arm in the
sling, said: "Colonel Garland, you have the best of it, you have a
wound." "Yes," replied Garland, "I always wanted an honorable wound in
this war." Poor fellow, he got his death-wound at Boonsboro Gap, Md., a
few months afterwards while trying to rally his brigade. Colonel Garland
was a fine soldier, and if he had lived, would doubtless have attained
higher rank. He had a worthy ambition, was cool and steady in action,
not possessed so much of that brute courage that makes men reckless in
battle, but in an eminent degree of that high moral courage and pride
that enable true soldiers to do their duty in the face of the greatest
danger. He was highly endowed intellectually, a learned lawyer, a
brilliant and eloquent speaker, and possessed of considerable wealth.
Colonel Garland had a bright future before him, but alas! like so many
others, was cut down in his early manhood, in that cruel and ruthless
war waged by the North against the South.
GARLAND AND KEMPER PROMOTED
Garland and Kemper both won the stars and wreath of a brigadier at
Williamsburg. The former was first promoted and assigned to a North
Carolina Brigade, the latter soon afterwards succeeding Gen. A. P. Hill
as commander of the First Brigade, which he led into battle the first
time at Seven Pines, in less than one month after the Williamsburg
fight.
I remember, when Colonel Kemper took command of the brigade, he had his
old regiment, the Seventh Virginia, formed, and, mounted on his horse in
front of the regiment, made a stirring and patriotic speech, eulogizing
the men for their courage and devotion to the cause, and expressing his
love and devotion to all of them, declaring that, "Next to the child
that sprang from my own loins, I love the Seventh Regiment."
Before closing the account of this battle, I will relate one of the many
incidents of cool and deliberate bravery exhibited by the Confederate
soldiers on that day. While the firing at the edge of the woods was
going on, Daniel Pillow, a private of Company C, Eleventh Virginia, when
ready to fire, would raise up on his knees as high as he could, look
intently out among the logs and stumps in front, then raise his gun,
take deliberate aim and fire, and after firing raise his head again and
look in the direction he had shot. I called to him, saying, "Daniel,
when you have fired, don't expose yourself in that way by looking over
there; get down and load as quickly as possible." Pillow turned his face
towards me and said quietly in measured tones, "I reckon I want to see
what I am doing," and continued firing.
I also noticed Robt. Cocke, pressing forward in the hottest of the fight
in the attitude of one breasting a storm, leaning forward with a
determined expression on his face; in fact, I did not see a single man
of the company flinch.
Captain Clement wrote home highly complimenting the men and officers of
his company for their conduct in this fight.