TO MILFORD AND TO CAPTURE—A PRISONER OF
WAR—ON TO WASHINGTON
The same afternoon we arrived at Hanover Junction, the First Virginia
Regiment and five companies of the Eleventh, A, B, C, E and K, under the
command of Major Norten, of the First Regiment, boarded the cars and
went to Milford Station in Caroline County, on the Richmond,
Fredericksburg & Potomac Railroad, arriving there about night, and going
into camp across the Mattapony River, just west of the station. The
Mattapony here is quite a small stream, spanned by a wooden bridge. The
First Regiment at that time was very small, numbering perhaps not over
100 to 150 men. The five companies of the Eleventh Regiment numbered
about eighty-five or ninety men—Plymouth and Drury's Bluff had depleted
their ranks. Pickets were posted on the roads, and there were some
cavalry videts still farther out. The rest of the command bivouacked in
the woods a short distance from the bridge.
Early the next morning, the 21st of May, 1864, the cavalry videts came
in and reported the Yankees were making a raid on the station with the
intention of burning it. Major Norten declared they should not do this,
and made his dispositions to prevent it, posting the men of the First
Regiment to repel the attack on the station, while the companies of the
Eleventh were held in reserve.
It was not long before the supposed raiders made their appearance. At
first they were few in number and shot at long range, firing on the
First Regiment at the bridge from a grove on a hill some 600 yards away,
with long-range guns, dropping a few balls about them, while too far
away for them to return the fire with their muskets. Major Norten
ordered up the reserves, directing them to "Take that hill and hold it
at all hazards"—a very positive and unwise order, I thought.
The five companies of the Eleventh Regiment crossed over the bridge,
formed in line of battle, and moved forward at double-quick across the
broad river bottom, crossing over the railroad track right up to this
hill, taking possession of it without firing a single gun, the few
Yankees who occupied it retreating before the line was in shooting
distance.
As soon as the hill was occupied, no Yankees being in sight, I walked up
on the northeast side of the grove of trees and saw half a mile away,
thousands of Yankee cavalry; the hills were blue with them. It turned
out to be General Torbet's Division, the advance division of Grant's
army, instead of a raid to burn Milford Station. I went back and told
Capt. Bob Mitchell, of Company A, who was the ranking officer, that we
could not hold that hill—that there were ten thousand Yankees over on
the next hill. Mitchell replied, "We have orders to hold the hill at all
hazards." I said, "All right, we will all be captured." I have often
thought Captain Mitchell should have sent a messenger to inform Major
Norten of the situation, but he did not. The Yankee skirmishers,
dismounted cavalry, soon began to advance on two sides of the hill, when
a long-range skirmish began, which continued for some time, growing
hotter as the Yankees approached nearer and nearer, protecting
themselves behind trees and whatever they could. They were held at bay
for an hour or more. During this time the Confederates had several men
wounded. The Yankees were being hit also. Captain Mitchell was shot in
the chin and left the hill. Lieutenant Atkins, of Company K, was also
wounded. I saw him clap his hand on his side as the ball struck him. I
never learned his fate, and I am not certain that I have his name
correct, but know he was a lieutenant of Company K. Capt. Thomas B.
Horton, of Company B, was next in command. Going again to the crest of
the hill, on the northeast side, I saw a regiment of dismounted Yankee
cavalry forming in line of battle a few hundred yards away; a colonel or
general with gray hair and mustache was riding along the rear of the men
getting them into position, the men seeming very awkward and hard to get
straightened out. I called up one of Company C, either Tom Rosser or Sam
Franklin, both good fighters, and told him to raise the sight of his
Enfield rifle to 400 yards and shoot that officer. The order was obeyed
promptly; I did not see the result of the shot however. Just as he
fired, one of Company B, who was lying on the ground on the crest of the
hill firing at the enemy, in a few feet of where I was standing,
attracted my attention by calling out at the top of his voice, "Run
here, ambulance corps; run here, ambulance corps." Seeing he had only a
scalp wound on the side of the head, and thinking a man who could call
out so lustily for the ambulance corps to come to his aid, although his
head was bleeding profusely, could aid himself by getting up and
running, I told him so, whereupon he jumped up and ran like a deer off
the hill. I suppose he got away safely.
The men of the companies were scattered around on the hill, among the
trees, embracing about an acre in area, without any regard to lines,
fighting on the Indian style, some protecting themselves behind trees,
some lying down, while most of them stood out in the open, watching for
and shooting at every Yankee who showed himself within range. The
Yankees, too, were under cover as much as possible with longer range
guns than ours, slipping around behind trees, bushes and fences, and at
every opportunity popping away at the Confederates, all the while
getting a little closer and extending their lines around the hill. They
were not very good shots, however.
Captain Horton and myself consulted, or held a small council of war,
upon the situation. It was beyond question that if we remained on the
hill, all would be killed or made prisoners in a short time. Some, or
all of us, might escape by beating a hasty retreat. We agreed to try the
latter, orders or no orders. Turning to the men who were by this time
pretty close together about the center of the hill, with the Yankees
still closing in, we told them we would all make a break and attempt to
escape. Many of the men so earnestly demurred to this, saying, "We will
all be killed as we run across the bottom," that Captain Horton and
myself concluded not to make the attempt. I said to the men, "We will
stay with you then." Near the top of the hill there was a ditch leading
from what appeared to be an old icehouse, and in this ditch we made the
last stand and fought the Yankees until they were close up. I remember
Marion Seay, of Company E, who still lives in Lynchburg, was at the
upper end of the ditch, shooting at a Yankee not thirty steps away, and
then calling out and pointing his finger, saying, "D——n you, I fixed
you," repeating it several times. Seay was then a little tow-headed boy,
but he was game to the backbone.
Pretty soon our men ceased firing, as all knew that the inevitable had
come. The Yankees then rushed up to the ditch, and all the Confederates
dropped their guns—the seventy-five men left were prisoners of war.
I think we were justifiable in surrendering. If we had fought until the
last man fell, nothing would have been accomplished for the good of the
cause. There was no possibility of rescue, so it was die in that ditch
in a few minutes or surrender; we chose not to die then and there. It
was not a forlorn hope we were leading or defending, which demanded such
a sacrifice of life.
As the Yankees came up, one of their men was shot through the head, and
fell dead into the ditch; killed, I think, by one of his own men who was
some distance off, firing, as he thought, at the Rebels. Some of the
Confederates were bespattered with the brains of the dead Yankee.
At Plymouth, N. C., thirty-one days before, and again just five days
before, at Drury's Bluff, we had been at the capture of brigades of
Yankees, and exulted in the captures—now the tables are turned and we
are prisoners, and the Yankees are exulting at our capture. Such are the
fortunes of war.
I can testify that the sensations of the captors are very different from
those of the captives, but shall not attempt to set forth the contrast;
words are inadequate.
The Yankees said they had thirty-five or forty men killed and wounded in
the fight; so that for every "Rebel" captured that day, they had half a
man killed or crippled—not a bad showing for the "Rebs," if they did
surrender, when outnumbered by more than one hundred to one. I don't
remember that we had any killed on the field; nearly all the wounded got
away.
Capt. Thos. B. Horton, Company B; Lieut. Peter Akers, Company A, and
Lieuts. J. W. Wray and Geo. P. Norvell, of Company E., were captured. I
have no means of getting the names of the men of the other companies
captured.
Beside myself, the following men of Company C were captured: W. L.
Brown, G. T. Brown, J. A. Brown, H. M. Callaham, H. Eads, J. T. Jones,
J. W. Jones, W. S. Kabler, Fred Kabler, W. T. Monroe, R. W. Morgan, S.
P. Tweedy, E. A Tweedy, W. A. Rice, W. C. J. Wilkerson—seventeen in all.
W. L. Brown and S. P. Tweedy were wounded; the former slightly, the
latter a bad flesh wound in the thigh. Some of the company were on
picket duty and escaped capture, and some who were wounded got away,
others were at home, or in hospitals, sick or wounded.
Not long ago, in looking over some old papers and letters, I found a
letter written by Lieut. Robert Cocke to my wife, telling her about the
fight and capture; it is dated the 22d of May. Among other things he
says: "I was sent out the night before to guard a road that the Yankees
were expected to come, but _fortunately for the Yankees_, they did not
come that way; if it had not been for that, I would have been taken or
killed myself, I expect."
Our negro boy, Horace, just as we were ordered forward to charge the
hill, came up to me and said, "Where must I go?" I replied, "Stay with
the surgeon." There were no wagons with us, with which he usually
stayed. Horace, after we were captured, made his way home, taking with
him what little baggage I had left in his care.
Thus ended my experience as a Confederate soldier in the field. I had
been in active service for three years and more.
A PRISONER OF WAR
Now another experience was to be tried, of which I will tell in the
closing pages of these reminiscences; long, bitter, and trying, too,
that experience was.
The truth shall be told, setting down nothing in malice, giving credit
where credit is due, with condemnation and reproach when deserved.
While these seventy-five men were sacrificed by what was another "fool
order," in the light of subsequent events an advantage was gained.
These companies were sent out to that hill simply to protect the dépôt
at Milford from the torch of supposed Yankee raiders, when in truth and
in fact, Grant's whole army was approaching, and in a few hours were
upon the scene, marching by the dépôt in which the prisoners were
confined.
General Grant was then on his famous flank movement from Spottsylvania
Court House, while General Lee was moving on parallel lines in the
direction of Hanover Junction, all the while keeping his army between
the enemy and Richmond, the goal that the enemy had been endeavoring to
reach ever since the beginning of the war, in the spring of 1861; yet in
May, 1864, the goal was far from being attained, although hundreds of
thousands of lives had been sacrificed, and billions of dollars expended
in the effort.
When it was known that the men captured at Milford on the 21st of May
were from the army which, on the 16th of May, under Beauregard, had
soundly thrashed Beast Butler at Drury's Bluff, and then "bottled him up
at Bermuda Hundred on James River," as General Grant expressed it, and
had come on to join forces with General Lee, General Grant halted his
army that morning, and made dispositions to repel an attack, threw up
breastworks, and remained near Milford for two days, giving General Lee
ample time to concentrate his forces near Hanover Junction and select a
strong position on the south bank of North Anna River. Grant, I have
since learned, mentioned these men captured at Milford from Beauregard's
army in a dispatch to Washington, and called for more troops. So that
when General Grant finally moved forward he was confronted by Lee with
his whole army, in a strong and commanding position, that Grant dared
not assail; instead, he again side-stepped, flanking off towards Cold
Harbor, where Lee's army was again in his front, and where the
Confederates inflicted a loss of 12,000 men in a few hours, in repelling
assaults on their hastily formed breastworks. This battle was fought on
the ground on which the battle of Gaines' Mill occurred on the 27th of
June, 1862, only the position of the two armies being reversed.
From Cold Harbor Grant made a long side-step, not halting until he had
crossed to the south side of James River at City Point, where he could
have gone by water months before without the loss of a single man. In
the campaign from the Rappahannock to the James, Grant had lost more men
than Lee had in his whole army.
Grant had boasted in the early days of the campaign in the Wilderness
that he would, "fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." But
he changed his mind as well as his line. From Cold Harbor, it was said,
Grant sent this dispatch to Washington: "All the fight is knocked out of
this army." This was after his order to renew the assaults on the
Confederate lines had been disobeyed; the men standing still and mute
when ordered to renew the charge. Then it was that Grant struck out
across the Peninsula to the James.
The Confederate prisoners were first marched over on the hill where the
main body of Torbet's Cavalry was posted, surrounded by a strong guard,
the Yankee officers celebrating their victory, 10,000 against 85, by
feasting on wine and cake. Lieut. Peter Akers, of Company A, marched up
to a group of these officers, sitting on their horses, saying: "Hello,
fellows, ain't you going to treat?" The Yanks laughed, handed around the
wine and cake to the "Rebel" officers, with whom they chatted in a very
friendly way. Like Bob Jones was with the stolen hog, I took some of the
cake, but none of the wine.
Pretty soon we were marched down to the dépôt and confined there. It was
not long until Grant's Infantry began to march by, Hancock's corps
leading, in serried ranks of brigades, divisions, and corps, marching on
across the little Mattapony out on the hills beyond, where lines of
battle were formed, and the digging of entrenchments begun, and redoubts
for cannon were thrown up.
The prisoners were marched out later, sleeping that night in an old
barn, where they were guarded until the army moved forward, the
prisoners being taken along. That night one of the guards said to me,
"Old man, were you drafted?" I replied, "No, I volunteered." The reason
he called me "old man" was, my hair was gray, though I was not then
twenty-seven years old. While in prison many thought I was a political
prisoner and not a soldier, for the same reason.
I was forcibly struck with the difference in the discipline in the two
armies. In the Confederate army the officers and privates often messed
and slept together, and were on equal terms, socially. In the Yankee
army there was a great gulf between the officers and enlisted men, the
officers rarely ever speaking to the men except when giving orders.
Rations were short with the Yankees at this time; the "Rebs" were, of
course, very hungry, having none at all; there were no rations at hand
to issue. Some of the Yanks, however, divided hard-tack from their
haversacks, and some fresh beef was issued that night, which we _briled_
on the coals and ate without salt or bread. The next day the commissary
trains came up, when hard-tack was issued; not very plentiful, however—
five crackers to the man.
On the morning of the 23d the Yankee army moved on, and that night
camped on the high hills on the north side of the North Anna River,
opposite General Lee's position.
The prisoners slept in a clump of bushes not far from General Grant's
headquarters. The next morning, as the army moved out, the prisoners
still going along, Grant and his staff rode along the lines, when we got
a good look at him.
I never see a picture of Grant but that morning is called to mind, when
I recall and distinctly remember Grant's face and figure.
His appearance was not striking or prepossessing; he reminded me of my
uncle, Mack Morgan.
Grant had nothing about his form, features or bearing that compared with
the handsome, noble, and majestic appearance of Robert E. Lee.
General Lee far excelled Grant in personal appearance, as he did in
generalship.
Grant's final success over Lee was not accomplished by his genius as a
general, but by the recognition and application of the well-known laws
of physics—that a larger body put in motion will overcome the force of a
smaller one; that a greater mass of material thrown upon a smaller mass
of the same material will crush it. To use a homely expression, Grant
overcame Lee by "main strength and awkwardness."
It was not the flashing blade of a strategist and tactician that cut its
way to victory, but the heavy hammer of a Thor that crushed Lee and his
valiant band.
Suppose Lee had had an army of anything like equal strength in numbers,
equipments and supplies, to Grant's, is there any one who would contend
that Lee would not have prevailed over Grant? Why, Lee would not have
left a "grease spot" of Grant and his "grand army" in the Wilderness,
and there would have been no Appomattox.
On the afternoon of the 23d, there was some fighting at the front on the
North Anna River.
Some of the Yankees crossed over above where Lee had taken his position.
Here other Confederate prisoners were captured and added to our squad;
among them, I remember Colonel Brown, of South Carolina, who was in the
command of a brigade of A. P. Hill's Corps. Colonel Brown said, in
advancing in line of battle, two of his regiments got separated in the
thick woods, and he walked through the gap in the line, right into the
Yankees. On the afternoon of the 24th of May, or the next morning, I am
not certain which, the prisoners were turned back and headed for Port
Royal, on the Rappahannock River, under a strong cavalry guard, a part
of the way riding in wagons going back for supplies, but marched a
greater part of the distance. As we marched, to the rear could be heard
the thunder of Lee's guns on the North Anna, bidding defiance to Grant,
saying, if not in words, in effect, "Thus far shall thou come and no
farther." On the march to the rear, we passed large numbers of fresh
troops going to reënforce Grant, many of them negroes. These were the
first negro troops we had ever seen. One of them remarked as we passed
by, "They ought to have gin 'em (us) Fort Pillow. If we had cotch 'em we
would have gin 'em Fort Pillow."
On the last day's march I was taken very sick, getting dizzy, and came
near fainting, and dropped down by the roadside. My brother Bob, was
also taken sick about the same time and stopped with me. When the
rearguard came up to where we were, they commenced to shout at us, "Get
up, go on, go on." I told them we were sick and unable to go. We did not
know what would be done, but we received humane treatment. The officer
commanding the rearguard put us in charge of a big Dutch corporal and
another man, with instructions to bring us on when able to march.
After a short time we were able to go on to a house close by, on the
roadside, where we rested in the yard under the shade of the locust
trees, when the good woman of the house gave us ice-water and something
to eat, peach preserves and cold biscuits, as I remember, which greatly
refreshed and strengthened us. God bless the Confederate women, who were
always kind to the soldiers, who suffered so much anxiety, and endured
so many privations during the war, who, with their daughters of to-day,
are still true to the memory of the dead and the honor and welfare of
the living.
_A Tribute to Confederate Womanhood_
Ye survivors of that gallant band,
A scanty remnant thinned by time;
Crown her, love, honor, cherish her,
And hail her queen of womankind.
Ye present generation, those unborn,
Both now and hereafter, through all time,
Crown her, love, honor, cherish her,
And hail her queen of womankind.
Ye of all nations, every tribe,
Of every age and every time,
Crown her, love, honor, cherish her,
And hail her queen of womankind.
We remained here perhaps half an hour, when the guards let us ride their
horses, walking at the horses' heads, holding the bridles by the bits.
This was very kind and duly appreciated. After going a mile or so, the
Dutch corporal, with the perspiration streaming from his face (it was a
very hot, sultry morning), stopped and said, "I ish proke down and can't
valk no farder." I told him all right, we could make it then, and
thanking him for his kindness, we marched on, the guard telling us to
take our time.
By this time we were feeling much better and stronger, and that night,
May 26th, after dark, came up with the other prisoners at Port Royal. I
am able to fix this date from an old letter I found some time ago,
written to my wife from that place, in which I gave the names of all the
men of Company C who were captured with me, and requested her to have
the names published in the Lynchburg papers, that their friends might
know their fate.
ON TO WASHINGTON
The next day the prisoners were put aboard an old freight ship, which
steamed down the Rappahannock River, out into the bay, and up the
Potomac River to Washington City. Here the officers and men were
separated. My brother Bob was very anxious to go with me, but, of
course, this was not permissible; and there on the wharf, on the 28th of
May, 1864, I parted with him and the other members of Company C, not to
meet any of them again until that "cruel war was over," and many of them
never again. Some of the company not captured were killed during the
last year of the war, and many have died since the war. Some still live.
Every now and then I read in the papers of the death of some of them,
which always recalls memories of long ago. It will not be many years
before the last one of us shall have answered the final roll call. May
we all meet again in a better world, where there is no war, is my
fervent prayer. War is horrible. General Sherman said, "War is hell."
Few, if any, did more than William Tecumseh Sherman to make war hell,
and if I had to guess, I should say that ere now Sherman knows all about
the horrors of both—war and hell. There may be something in a name after
all. "Tecumseh!" The savage.
The enlisted men were sent to Point Lookout, and the officers
incarcerated in the old Capitol Prison.
I remember as we entered from the street, when the door closed, the key
turned and the bolt went into its place with a grating sound, Captain
Horton turned to me and said, "This is the first time the bolts were
ever turned on me." So we all could say. There were other prisoners
confined here.
While here, we could often see from the windows ambulances moving along
the streets filled with wounded Yankee soldiers. When Peter Akers would
see these loads of wounded Yanks, he would remark, "There goes more
dispatches from General Lee to old Abe."