which was not practicable, at the then stage of the river, as a
ford--which we duly discovered after nearly drowning two or three men
and horses of the ambulance train, whom we found at the head of the
column when we reached the river, their usual place being in the
rear. The adjutant, finding them in front, asked them, "What the deuce
are you doing here--your place is in the rear?" "No, sir," said a
long-backed individual of the party, in a copper colored raiment, who
seemed to have been making a study of the rules and regulations as
applying to his own department. "Not so. In the rear, I grant you, in
the advance; in the front, if you please, in a retreat" "So be it,"
said I. "In with you;" and in they went, nothing loth. The river was
swimming and the horses swam badly, making plunges to reach the
opposite bank, which, when they gained, was steep and treacherous, and
it was only after repeated efforts, and their riders getting off into
the river, that they made a landing. It was apparent that this could
not be the point that General Lee had crossed his division. Some one
turned up who led us right. About a mile farther up we found the ford
that he had crossed at, and got over without difficulty or
molestation; it was scarcely swimming to the smallest horse, and
directly opposite lay all of the Virginia cavalry to cover our
crossing, if pressed, while it was going on. We were the first
regiment that crossed; found some stacks of oats; halted, formed in
squadrons, fed our horses, ate what we had to eat, rested, and, as
usual, made the best of it.
After a rest of about an hour General Lee moved off, we following in
his rear, the Virginians ahead of us with General Lee destroying the
equanimity of the good people on their line of march by pressing
every horse found in their way. It seemed hard to come down so on our
own people, after all the sacrifices already made by them, but if the
horse was lost by our taking him, which was apt to be the result, the
proceeding mounted at least one of our own troopers; on the other hand
it gave a fresh horse to the enemy, and was equally lost to the
owner--and this was the view the Virginians usually took of it.
General Lee, being ahead of us, made a clean sweep as he went along,
leaving scarce a gleaning of horseflesh for us. After a while we came
upon the wagons and infantry again. It was not long before the ringing
of a volley and the roar of a piece of artillery let us know that an
attack had been made on our train again. We moved up to the firing at
a gallop, and as we passed along there came sweeping through the
woods, from the road running parallel with the one we were on, a body
of infantry in line, moving at a double quick upon the same point,
which was but a short distance ahead of us. They were what was left of
the famous "Texas brigade," well remembered by some of us in 1861 on
the Occoquon at Dumfries--first commanded by Wigfall, then a short
time by Archer, then by Hood, then Gregg, who was killed October 26th,
1864, at the fight on the Darbytown road. At this time the brigade
counted about one hundred and thirty muskets, commanded by Colonel
Duke. We had been fighting with them all summer, from Deep Bottom to
New Market heights, to the lines around Richmond, and they recognized
the brigade as we rode along their front, and with a yell as fierce
and keen as when their three regiments averaged a thousand strong, and
nothing but victory had been around their flag, they shouted to us,
"Forward, boys, forward, and tell them Texas is coming!"
When we got into the open field we found that General Lee's division
of cavalry had engaged the enemy, driven him from his attack on our
train, and taken the Federal General Gregg prisoner.
The enemy were occupying in force, apparently, the woods on the light of
the field with infantry and artillery. We were holding the open field
which had been the scene of the skirmish before we came up, and threw
out skirmishers, and returned the fire of their sharpshooters--both
sides using a piece or two of artillery at long range.
After this had gone on for a while, "ours," the Seventh, was ordered
to charge in line on horseback, through a piece of old field, grown up
in scattering pines, upon the battery that was working on us from the
edge of the oak woods. The line was formed and we went at it very
handsomely, our men keeping up their line and fire astonishingly,
considering we were armed with "muzzle loaders" (the greatest possible
of all drawbacks to the efficiency of cavalry).
We drew on ourselves at once a heavy fire of artillery and small arms,
which told smartly on our line, knocking over men and horses, until
the left flank of the regiment came upon a ravine, or deep wash,
covering nearly half of its front. The horses could not cross. We
moved by the right flank to clear the obstruction, and then found that
the object of our demonstration had been answered. It had been made to
cover the withdrawal of a body of our infantry that had been advanced
on our right. It was sundown. We left a strong line of pickets, or
rather a skirmish line, under command of Lieutenant Munerlyn, upon the
ground we had occupied, and drew off into the open field, waiting for
dark before going into camp, or rather lying on our arms. It had been
a tiresome day, and, though neither then nor now an admirer of strong
drink, I fell back upon and fully appreciated the contents of my
canteen--the famous apple brandy of Amelia Springs.
This, although we did not know it then, was destined to be (save the
last of all) the hardest night upon us. We moved into a piece of woods
as soon as it was dark, and formed the regiment in squadrons, with
orders to water horses, a squadron at a time--the rest holding
position, the men in the saddle, until the return of the preceding
squadron--and then picket their horses and make fires as near as
possible on the same ground. But when the first squadron returned from
the water, and the field officers had just unbuckled their sabres and
stretched themselves on the ground to take the rest so much needed,
and watch that most interesting process to a hungry man, the building
up the little fire that was to do his modest cooking, when an orderly
comes from General Gary to change camp--to buckle up and mount, and
follow the orderly a half mile to the rear. We were, it seemed, too
near the enemy's line, looking to the contemplated movement.
At the new location--a comfortable piece of piny woods old field--we
finished what we had begun at the other point. At our mess, sleep
seemed to be the great object in view. I went to sleep immediately, my
head on my saddle; woke in about a half hour's time to eat what there
was, and instantly to sleep again; but that was not to be. At about
ten o'clock a quiet order mounted us, almost before, as the little
boys say, we got the "sleep out of our eyes." We were in column on the
road, and non-commissioned officers under the direction of the
adjutant riding down it, each with a handkerchief full of cartridges,
supplying the men with that very necessary "article of war." And then
commenced that most weary night march, that will always be remembered
by the tired men who rode it, that ended only (without a halt, except
a marching one,) at Appomattox Court-house.
The line of retreat had been changed, and by a forced night march on
another road a push was being made for the mountains at Lynchburg. Had
we gotten there (and Appomattox Court-house was within twenty miles of
Lynchburg) with the men and material General Lee still had with him,
Lee's last struggle among the mountains of his native State would have
made a picture to swell the soldier's heart with pride to look upon.
The end we know would have been the same; a few more noble hearts
would have bled in vain, and song and story would but have found new
themes to tell the old, old tale--how willing brave men are to die for
what they believe to be right. Through long lines of toiling wagons,
artillery trains and tired men, we pushed on as rapidly as we could;
at a bad piece of road, at a creek or a muddy hill, the column
sometimes got cut in two by a portion getting through the wagons, the
train then closing, waiting upon a wagon mired down ahead.
At one of these halts for the brigade to close up and for the
regiments to report position, General Gary had halted at a large fire
made from the rails of some good farmer's fence by troops ahead of us,
and round it we all gathered, for the night was cold. The subject of
conversation with the brigade staff when we joined was, that Captain
M., the inspector, not being well, had, early in the night, halted at
a farm house and gone to bed, just to see how it would feel, putting
his horse in the farmer's stable; and when he roused himself to the
necessities of his position, and sought to ride with the rest, he
found his horse was gone. Some pressing party had gone that way.
I remembered, when I listened to the drowsy talk about the captain's
loss, that a couple of enterprising young fellows had reported some
horses at a farm house and gotten permission to go after them. They
had not long returned with their prizes; they, the horses, stood just
on the edge of light thrown by the fire against the darkness that rose
like a wall behind it, the hind-quarters of one, a large, leggy bay,
with stockings on his hind legs, could be seen from where we sat; one
of the orderlies, looking with sleepy eyes from the log on which he
was sitting at the horses, expressed himself to the effect that he
thought that "long-legged bay" looked about the hind-quarters a good
deal like the captain's missing charger. And so it proved. While the
captain "dallied at Capua," pressing the luxurious blanket of the
Virginia farmer, his horse, in camp parlance, was "lifted" by our
enterprising youth; and, much to their disgust, the captain reentered
into possession of his leggy war horse. They expressed themselves to
the effect that they would as soon have stolen his horse as any body
else's.
Again in the saddle, tramping through mud holes, splashing in ruts, we
worked our way amid the long line of wagons, troops and artillery,
until daylight came to our relief. About eight o'clock we came upon
our own wagon train--the first, and, by the way, the only time we
encountered it on our route--comfortably camped in a fine grove, good
fires, and a glorious smell of cooking permeating the early morning
air. The headquarter wagons of our regiment were parked near a fine
fire, and our servants (never expecting to see us again, I suppose,)
were cooking on a large scale from our private stores for a half dozen
notorious wagon-rats of the genteeler sort.
Of course, as we rode up our boys declared they expected us and were
getting breakfast ready, which statement was sustained by
"messieurs," the wagon-rats; but the longing look they cast at a big
pot of rice steaming by the fire as they drew off, indicated a deeper
interest than I think it possible for them to have gotten up on any
one's account but their own. We had a most comfortable breakfast and a
rest of an hour only, the time being taken up in dozing and eating.
Bad as the night had been the day was a beautiful one. The sun was
shining bright; our breakfast and rest had so refreshed us, short as
that rest was, that we resumed our march and the work before us,
cheerful and ready to meet it, whatever it might be, and what that
"might be" was no man troubled himself to know.
Not long after resuming our march we posted pickets at some cross
roads, under the immediate direction of General R.E. Lee himself. We
moved steadily on to-day without molestation of any kind, the wagons
moving in double lines, the road being wide enough to admit it. About
twelve o'clock or a little later we had halted to water our horses at
a stream that crossed the road. It takes a good deal of time for a
large body of cavalry to water their horses, particularly if the
stream is small, and the men have to be watched closely to prevent
their fouling the water.
I had dismounted and was leaning across my horse, when I saw, as I
thought, Captain Allen, of the Twenty-fourth Virginia, of our brigade,
having watered his horse where the stream crossed the road. The
captain was a fine specimen of a Virginia soldier and gentleman, some
sixty years of age, of fine presence, who was always said to resemble
General Lee, wearing his grey beard trimmed after the fashion of that
of our great leader, and in the saddle having about the same height,
though dismounted, the captain, I should say, was the taller. However,
I watched the old captain, as I thought, riding up the hill toward me,
on a very fine grey horse, and was thinking what a type of the veteran
soldier he looked, as indeed I had often thought before, until he got
within a few feet of me, when I changed my intended rather familiar,
but still most respectful salute, meant for the captain, for the
reverence with which the soldier salutes the standard of his
legion--which represents to him all that he has left to love and
honor--as I discovered that it was General R.E. Lee himself, riding
alone--not even an orderly in attendance. He returned our salute, his
eye taking it all in, with a calm smile, that assured us our confidence
was not misplaced. He bore the pressure of the responsibility that was
upon him as only a great and good man could--as one who felt that,
happen what may, selfishness--consideration of what might happen to
himself--had nothing to do with it.
So I felt satisfied that there was a likeness between Captain Allen,
of the Twenty-fourth Virginia, and General R.E. Lee of the Southern
Confederacy.
A little after this we got orders to move on, as quickly as we could,
in advance to Appomattox Court-house. "Appomattox Court-house" is a
small county town about a mile from the Lynchburg railroad. At the
foot of the hill on which the courthouse and the three or four houses
that constitute the village stand, run the headwaters of the
Appomattox river, a small stream, not knee deep to a horse.
As soon as we cleared the wagon train we got over ground much faster,
and rode into and through the town just as the sun was setting. We
stopped at a piece of woods on the outskirts of the village, and
halted in the road while the quartermasters were selecting the ground,
and the regiments were closing up. Our foragers, that had been
detailed before we got into town, were riding in with the hay they had
collected on the pommels of their saddles, and all was as quiet as a
scene in "Arcady," when the stillness was broken by the scream of a
shell, the report of a gun, and then the burst-up of the missile as it
finished its mission and reported progress--and then another, and
another, until as pretty battery practice was developed down yonder by
the depot--Clover Hill I think it is called--as you would wish to
hear.
Without knowing positively anything about it, those whom I had
conversed with relative to our pushing on to the Court house were
under the impression that a large body of our infantry were ahead of
us--General Dick Anderson's corps. He was there, as it turned out, but
his corps had been expended a day or two before; it had been
completely fought out, for we had no better officer than Lt. General
Richard Anderson, an old West Pointer--cavalry at that--and a South
Carolinian to boot.
It was, however, "hammer and tongs" down there at all events--shell,
grape and canister at short range. Custar's division of Sheridan's
cavalry had taken the chord of the arc, and reached the depot just
about the time we got to the village. A knowledge of his movements had
caused our being sent forward, his object being to strike the
artillery train, which was in advance of us--sixty pieces, under
General Walker. Three batteries were left at the depot to hold it,
while the rest retreated along the Lynchburg pike. The three batteries
were six guns under command of Major James C. Coit--consisting of two
guns Pegram's battery, Va., Lieut. Scott; two guns Wright's battery,
Va., Lieut. Atkisson; two guns Martin's battery, Va., Capt. Martin;
with sixteen men, Kelly's battery, S.C., Lieut. Race, who assisted in
working Wright's guns.
While we were closing up our scattered ranks, and getting the brigade
ready for action as rapidly as coolness, skill and courage could do
it, a department officer (I think he was) came galloping up to us from
the scene of action, apparently under orders from himself to get out
of the way; but the natural insolence of his class broke out in spite
of the scare that was on him, and he commenced giving orders at once.
I happened to be the person addressed--"Get on at once; the enemy are
down yonder Why don't you go at once? Are all you men going to stand
here and let the enemy"--and so on. The colonel had ridden down the
column to see that all was straight, while the "Legion" and the
Twenty-fourth Virginia were closing up, so that when we did move it
would be as a compact body--when the order came ringing
along--"Forward, forward, men! gallop!"--and our indignant friend was
lost in the rush of the column while yet haranguing us for being so
slow.
The roar of the batteries was incessant. They were evidently holding
the dismounted cavalry in check. As rapidly as we could get over
ground we moved towards them, and formed the brigade in the field to
the left of the position held by the batteries, in what might be
called a column of regiments. As we formed the regiment from a column
of fours into line, they came down from a gallop to a trot at the
order, "Front into line," as steadily as if on parade; then followed,
"Right dress, front"--and all were ready for the next move.
Our batteries from the right were shelling the woods opposite to us.
In front, under cover, some of the cavalry skirmishers were using
their Spencers upon us at long range, and a squadron of ours, the
Fifth, was detailed to move up and take a position opposite and return
their fire.
By this time the grey of twilight was lighted up by the rising moon,
and there seemed to be a lull in the attack. General Gary and Colonel
Haskell had ridden over our front and communicated with the commanding
officer of the batteries; the consequence of which was, the brigade
was dismounted and double-quicked through a small piece of wood to the
batteries. Before our men could get to the guns the enemy charged and
got among them, but were driven back by the fire and our rush, but
taking with them some of our men as prisoners--among them Captain
Hankins, of the Virginia battery, who got away and came running up to
me as I rode to my place. Our men fell in between the guns, and then
began one of the closest artillery fights, for the numbers engaged and
the time it lasted, that occurred during the war. The guns were fought
literally up to the muzzles. It was dark by this time, and at every
discharge the cannon was ablaze from touch-hole to mouth, and there
must have been six or eight pieces at work, and the small arms of some
three or four hundred men packed in among the guns in a very confined
space. It seemed like the very jaws of the lower regions. They made
three distinct charges, preluding always with the bugle, on the right,
left and centre, confusing the point of attack; then, with a cheer and
up they came. It was too dark to see anything under the shadow of the
trees but the long dark line. They would get within thirty or forty
yards of the guns and then roll back, under the deadly fire that was
poured upon them from the artillery and small arms. Amid the flashing,
and the roaring, and the shouting, rose the wild yell of a railroad
whistle, as a train rushed up almost among us (the enemy had
possession of the road), as we were fighting around the depot,
sounding on the night air as if the devil himself, had just come up
and was about to join in what was going on.
Then came a lull; our friends in front seemed to have had the wire
edge taken off.
Our horses had been sent back to the turnpike road; General Gary
taking advantage of the present quiet sent Colonel Haskell to get them
together--rather a difficult task, as it afterwards proved.
General Gary's great object was to draw off the guns, if possible, now
night had set in, from the depot, and get them back with the rest of
the train in the line of retreat. So the order was given to limber
them up, which was done, and the guns moved off at once, it being but
a few hundred yards to the main road.
Our brigade in line faced to the rear, the guns behind them, and
covered the movement. The silence of the guns soon told our friends
over yonder what was going on, and they were not long in following
after; our men, facing to the rear, delivered their fire steadily,
moving in retreat, facing and firing every few steps, effectually
keeping off a rush; they pressed us, but cautiously--the darkness
concealed our numbers.
We were going through an open old field, and came now to a road
through a narrow piece of woods, where we broke from line into column,
and double-quicked through the woods so as to get to the road beyond.
Before we got to the turnpike we heard the bugles of the enemy down
it, and as the head of our column came into the road their cavalry
charged the train some two or three hundred yards below us. Sixty
pieces of cannon, at the point where we came into the road, the
drivers were attempting to turn back toward the Court House, had got
entangled with one another and presented a scene of utter confusion.
As our regiment got into the road some thirty or forty men were thrown
out from the last squadron and faced to the rear on the right and
left, opening a fire directly upon those of the dismounted men who
were pressing us from that quarter. I had but little fear of the
enemy's cavalry riding into us on the road, so blocked up as it was
with the routed artillery train, and there were woods on both sides
just here.
In passing from the old field, where the guns had been at work, into
the woods that separated it from the turnpike, two men were walking
just in front of me, following their gun, which was on before. I heard
one say, "_Tout perdu_." I asked at once, "What battery do you belong
to?" "Donaldsonville." It was the creole company; and they might well
have added the other words of the great Francis, after the battle of
Pavia, "_Tout perdu fors l'honneur_" all lost but honor; for well had
they done their work from 'sixty-one, when they came to Virginia,
until now, when all was lost, "_Tout perdu_"--it was the motto of the
occasion.
The stag was in the toils, but the end was not yet. We could hear the
rush, the shouts and pistol shots, where the enemy mounted and in
force had attacked the train; the artillerymen having no arms could
make no fight, as they could not use their pieces. We could do nothing
(being closely pressed by a superior force of their dismounted men)
but fall back upon the town toward our main body, making the best
front we could, leaving the road and marching under cover of the
timber on the side, being on foot giving us a better position to
resist any attack that might be made upon us by the cavalry.
The fifth squadron of the Seventh, that had been thrown out as
skirmishers when we first came on the ground, had kept their position
covering our left flank when the fight at the batteries was going on.
And when we commenced falling back after the guns, the adjutant,
Lieutenant Capers, was sent to bring them to the road, so as to join
the regiment. They had also been dismounted, and their horses sent
with the rest. He found them, led them to the road, and, on getting on
it at a point nearer to the town than where we struck it, hearing the
bugles and the rush of the cavalry on the train, he at once posted the
companies, with their captains, Doby and Dubose, in the woods
immediately on the road-side, and with the parting salutation, "Take
care of yourselves, boys," (he had been a private in one of the
companies, and both were from his native district), dashed back to his
place in the regiment and disappeared round a turn in the road. They
had scarcely lost sight of him when a heavy volley rang out, and his
horse came round the bend at full speed without his rider, jumping
over in his fright a broken caisson that lay across the road--the
horse, a very fine roan, the one he was riding when, at "Amelia
Spring," he, Capers, was the only one of the five in advance who
escaped, to meet his fate that night, pierced by a dozen balls; the
whole fire of the column was concentrated upon him, for we found his
body next day. Some kind hand had given him a soldier's grave; some
one, most likely of those who fought us, who could not but respect and
admire the gallant young fellow lying in his blood, and with the
feeling developed by a soldier's life, "So be it to me and mine in my
sorrow as I may be to thee this day." All the respect was shown that
circumstances admitted of.
One of our captains, who was wounded at the "guns" severely, fell into
the enemy's hands when we moved them--as everybody was too busy to
look after the wounded, and ambulance men and stretchers were this
time neither in the front or rear. He was taken up by his new friends
quite tenderly, as he thought, and put into an ambulance; but in the
course of the evening's entertainment the Yankee wounded came dropping
in, and our friend, Captain Walker, was disposed of rather
unceremoniously on the roadside, for others they valued at a higher
rate than even a Confederate captain.
[Illustration]