THE EVACUATION OF YORKTOWN
Having found the enemy strongly entrenched at, or rather before,
Yorktown, General McClellan determined to lay siege to the place, and
in the meantime endeavor to obtain more troops, so that when the proper
time arrived he could make a grand assault all along the line, drive
the enemy from its position and perhaps scatter it and thus open an
easy way to Richmond. It was at one time thought that the great battle
of the peninsula campaign would be fought here, but affairs proved
otherwise.
But the Union soldiers did not lie quietly on their arms. Skirmishes
took place almost daily, first at one spot and then at another, and
presently General William F. Smith was ordered by McClellan to “feel”
the enemy at Garrow’s Chimneys, which was directly opposite to the
Confederate reserve force under General Smith. A Vermont regiment made
the attack, and soon silenced the Confederate battery, and the officers
in command made an extensive examination of the ground, which, however,
later on proved valueless, for the information was not used. It was
this skirmish which Andy witnessed. In the excitement he almost forgot
about the order he was carrying, and when it was delivered and he
returned to camp he was roundly censured for his neglect.
“Never delay while on military duty, my lad,” said Captain Montgomery.
“A delay may prove fatal to the best laid plan.” Andy never forgot
those words.
The young Confederate wondered during the days which followed if
Louis was within the lines of the enemy. He would have been somewhat
surprised had he known that his former chum was less than a mile away;
yet such was the fact, and it was not to be long ere the two should
meet again, and under very trying circumstances to each.
Louis’s time at the picket line had expired, the regiment to which the
Goreville Volunteers belonged had given place to another, and now the
boys were back in their regular quarters, on the edge of a dense woods.
Louis had tried to learn what had become of Caleb Fox, the spy, but not
a word could be gotten out of those in command. The answer to this was
very simple, although the boy could not guess it. Caleb Fox had escaped.
The Confederate spy had taken a desperate chance, considered in one
way, although not so desperate when considered in another. He had taken
his life in his hands by stabbing one guard in the breast with an
eating knife and hitting another with a rock, and he had been fired at
four times before he could gain the shelter of a woods. But all this
was done with the knowledge that if he did not get away he would sooner
or later be hanged for a spy.
“Might ez well die now ez later,” was the way he had argued, and had
sped as never before. Once in the woods he drew a deep sigh of relief.
They were thick and dark and would afford him ample shelter until an
extra black night would make it fairly easy to regain the Confederate
lines. He made up his mind that no picket should spot him again.
“An’ ez fer that boy ez collared me before, let him look out fer
himself, thet’s all!” he fairly hissed, between his snaggy, yellow
teeth. He was not likely to forget Louis.
The weather now was worse than had been expected. Nearly every other
day it rained, and the camp was something fearful to contemplate, cut
up as it was by the feet of thousands of soldiers and hundreds of
horses. Louis and his mess had carpeted their tent with brush thickly
matted together and filled in with chips, but still it was damp and
unwholesome. The hospital tent soon overflowed with typhus and typhoid
fever cases. The siege was doing more harm by sickness than it was by
bullet and shell.
“Your turn to gather firewood,” announced Moses Blackwell one
afternoon, after inspection drill. “Get a good supply, Louis, and we’ll
try to dry the air in the tent somehow.”
“I’ll get all I can bundle and carry,” answered the young soldier, and
started off, axe and strap in hand. All the small brush had been cut
down long before, and not wishing to tackle a big tree he had to walk a
good way into the timber before he reached something of the size he had
in mind to cut down.
He was just about to start work near the edge of a ravine when the
sounds of two voices broke upon his ear. He listened intently.
“What’s the news, Yank?”
“Ain’t much, Reb. What’s the news your way?”
“General Johnson has just come down with a hundred thousand men to wipe
you out.”
“A hundred thousand, eh? Any of the little boys left to hum to mind the
baby?”
“It’s a fact. What’s Little Mac doing, going to sleep?”
“No, he’s thinking where he’s going to bury you rebs when the next
fight is over.”
Then came a brief silence. Louis had listened to the talk with a
smile. He knew the pickets on both sides sometimes became friendly
and arranged not to shoot at each other. Sometimes they even made an
exchange of some kind. Soon the talk was resumed.
“Grayback, got any terbacker?”
“A half plug.”
“What will you take for it?”
“What will yer give?”
“A canteen of fresh coffee.”
“I’ll take yer up, ’though I know the coffee’s more’n half chicory.”
“Better coffee nor you’ll ever git over there, Grayback.”
A rustle through the brush and grass followed, and peering forth from
the trees Louis saw the Union and the Confederate soldiers meet in the
hollow and exchange goods. Then each hurried back to his post. A second
later the Confederate sang out:
“Corporal’s coming, Yank; look out fer yourself,” meaning that the
truce was, for the time being, at an end, and that shooting on sight
was now the order of the day. After that both pickets remained securely
hidden.
Louis was particularly fortunate in getting some dry brushwood, and
that night the boys of the mess sat around the camp fire in a more
comfortable frame of mind than usual.
“Mail! Letters!” was the cry, at a late hour. The sacks had come in by
way of Fortress Monroe, and soon Louis had two letters from home, both
of which he perused eagerly. He learned that his father was better and
around as usual. Agents of the government had called, trying to buy
beef, but, so far, none of the cows had been sold.
“I have had one thing to worry me considerably,” wrote Mr. Rockford.
“If you will remember, when I purchased this place, a party named Faily
had an interest in it. There has appeared a man named Samuel Hammer who
now claims that the Faily interest was really his--that Faily sold out
to him. This Hammer threatens to make trouble for me unless I buy him
off. I am now doing my best to locate Theodore Faily, to get him to
explain, or make a settlement which will clear me, but so far I can get
no trace of him. One man told me Faily had moved south, but could not
say where to. Hammer wants me to pay him three thousand dollars. If I
have to do that in these times it will almost ruin me.”
Louis was very sober after reading this communication. He could well
understand how worried the folks at home must be. He drew a long sigh
as he put the letter away.
“Poor father!” he murmured. “I hope he finds Theodore Faily and gets
the matter straightened out without further trouble. Three thousand
dollars would be a terribly big sum to pay out in these war times.
I suppose they are all about worried to death over this.” That very
night before retiring, he wrote a long letter in return, telling of the
various things that had happened to him.
The next day was Sunday, cloudy but without rain. The day was kept,
as nearly as possible, as a day of rest. At ten in the morning came
inspection drill, when the regimental commanders inspected the arms and
accoutrements. The drill over, the chaplain held divine service, which
all the Goreville Volunteers attended as regularly as they could. Then
came a late dinner, after which the men did as they pleased. Some would
talk and walk around, some sat and read, and others would mend their
clothing. Some would try to play cards, but this was frowned down.
There was also a good deal less of drinking on the Lord’s day than on
any other.
This Sunday turned off cold towards night, and Louis was glad enough
when tattoo sounded that he was not out on picket duty, but could go to
sleep in his tent, close to the blazing fire.
“A dent don’t vos so goot as a house,” was the way in which Hans
Roddmann expressed himself, “but it vos besser as noddings den dimes
ofer!”
“I think they might put up some sheds, at least,” grumbled Jerry Rowe,
“seeing as how we seem to be booked to stay here all summer.”
“You’d like carpet on the floor, too, wouldn’t you, Jerry?” laughed
Callings. “Never mind--we won’t stay here long, mark my word.”
Callings was right, they were not to stay there much longer. General
McClellan had laid his plans for the siege too well. Every battery was
in position, the line of defense or attack perfect, and there must come
a “break” ere long.
It did come, but so silently that the Union troops did not know of it
until some time later. Knowing the strength of the enemy, and having
kept him at bay for exactly a month, and thus given themselves time
to be handsomely re-enforced in the neighborhood of Richmond, the
Confederate forces abandoned Yorktown and drew back up the peninsula
through Williamsburg.
It was on Sunday, May 4th, 1862, that General McClellan and his vast
army entered Yorktown and planted the Stars and Stripes upon every
breastwork and upon every public building. Bands of music played and
cheer after cheer rent the air. But not for long. The Confederates must
be pursued, they must not be allowed to escape so easily. At once all
of the cavalry and horse artillery were sent in pursuit. It was learned
that the Confederates had from six to ten hours’ start of their eager
pursuers.
“They’re whipped! they’re whipped!” yelled Jerry Rowe, as he marched
into Yorktown with the others of the volunteers. “I knew they wouldn’t
dare to show fight.”
“Look out, there comes a rebel!” shouted Moses Blackwell, in seeming
earnestness. He took a hasty step aside, and Jerry ran like mad for the
nearest cover. A laugh went up, and the bragging youth did not appear
again until the regiment got orders to start for Williamsburg on the
double-quick.
As usual it was wet--foggy one hour and raining the next, far from an
ideal battle day--but this was not ideal, this was real, and so thought
Louis as they plunged along over the road swimming in mud--a peculiar,
sticky soil, which at times clung to one’s feet like so much glue.
The artillery that had gone on ahead was having a fearful time, with
horses up to their bodies in the road, cannon nearly out of sight, and
teamsters frantic, yelling, cursing, whipping, and then falling back in
dumb despair, until extra horses came up to pull all out of the rut. It
was as if “the bottom had dropped out of everything,” as Harry Bingham
put it.
“One consolation, though,” said Nathan Hornsby. “The rebs ain’t got no
better road.”
“They are ploughing it up for us to wade through,” grumbled Blackwell.
“Hang me if I don’t hope we have an engagement soon.”
His wish was fulfilled. The Confederates had gone on to where the road
from Yorktown joined another running from Lee’s Mill. Here at the fork
they had erected a bastioned earth-work, flanked north and south by
redoubts, running to the swamps on each side of the dry (or rather,
supposed to be dry) ground. A large force was collected behind this
shelter, and the cavalry in advance of the Union infantry received
a severe fire, which reached plainly to the ears of the Goreville
Volunteers.
“Hurrah! we’re going to have some warm work at last!” cried Harry
Bingham.
It was General Smith’s division, with the gallant Hancock’s brigade
in advance, which met the Confederates first, late in the afternoon. A
charge was at once ordered, but the woods through which the soldiers
sought to make their way was so thick but little progress could be made.
The Goreville Volunteers rested that night upon their arms, ready at a
moment’s notice to jump into battle should the call come. But General
Smith’s division having fallen back a short distance, also took it easy
in the darkness, and all remained, for the time being, comparatively
quiet. In the meantime, large reinforcements of the remaining Union
troops arrived.
The following day the battle of Williamsburg started. The rain came
down in a steady stream; it was so muddy and slippery men could
scarcely stand upon their feet, as they moved forward, while only one
battery in three could move at a time, so many extra horses being
required for each piece. First shots were exchanged at half-past seven
o’clock, and half an hour later the Goreville Volunteers moved forward
in light marching order, each soldier furnished with forty rounds of
ammunition.
Once more Louis’s heart beat fast. He felt he was going into a bloody
contest, such as had been experienced at Bull Run. He gripped his gun
tightly, and advanced with the others on the double-quick. They were
forcing their way through a thick patch of brush, but now they came
upon a small clearing. Directly opposite was a Confederate battery,
backed up by one or two regiments of militia and a troop of cavalry.
“Boys, we must take that battery!” cried the general in charge, as he
galloped along the line. “Forward now, and keep the line closed up!”
Scarcely had the order been given than the battery in question blazed
forth, seemingly in their very faces. Every man dropped, and the aims
of the gunners being unusually high, the grape and canister flew above
them, clipping the brush off cleaner than it would have been cut by a
monstrous scythe.
There was a yell--from Jerry Rowe, who felt sure he was hit--and
then the company moved forward, each gun pointed straight ahead, the
rain running in streams from the row of glistening bayonets. It was a
strange, thrilling sight, as that solid mass of boys in blue came on.
Nearer and nearer they swept, and now the battle cry rang out, growing
louder and louder, a strong, determined cry, from men who meant to do
or die.
Again the battery belched forth, and now the aim was true and half a
score of soldiers went down, some dead, some dying, a few slightly
wounded. For a second the terrific shock caused a pause. Then Jerry
Rowe tried to take to his heels.
“Close up, boys, close up! Forward!” came the command, and the ranks of
the regiment closed up the gaps made by those shot down, and again they
moved forward on the double-quick. Jerry suddenly found himself running
straight into the point of an extended sword.
“You coward, go forward!” came the command, and worse scared than ever,
Jerry turned again, but took good care not to get anywhere near the
front line.
Fearful of the onslaught, the Confederate battery now ceased its fire
and allowed the cavalry and infantry to come forward. There was a
thunder of hoofs in the wet grass and the Goreville Volunteers found
themselves face to face with a band of cavalry numbering at least sixty
men. One glance showed Louis that they were not the Montgomery Grays,
then he felt a saber swish over his head and his cap was taken off and
half cut in two. Bang! went his gun, and the man who had attacked him
toppled over, shot in the sword arm.
The dash of the Confederate cavalry was a resolute one and for the
minute it looked as if the Goreville Volunteers would be annihilated.
But they stood firm, another regiment close by poured in their earnest
fire upon the figures in the saddle, and slowly the Confederates
were driven back, only, however, to make place for the long line of
gray-coated infantry.
“Forward again!” shouted the Union general in command, and again they
went on, within fifty feet of the guns they had set out to capture. The
firing was incessant and the bullets whistled in every direction. Louis
could scarcely stand and went down once on both knees in the mud, while
Hornsby pitched over him on his own broad back. But both were up in a
jiffy, before the Confederates around them could pin them down with
their bayonets. The smoke of battle, added to the rain and mist, was
speedily cutting off the view upon all sides, and the battery they had
started to capture was no longer in view. Although they did not know
it until some time later, the enemy had taken time by the forelock and
removed it to a safer position.
The third charge of their regiment was the fiercest of all, and Louis
was almost taken off his feet by the rush. He was caught between half
a dozen struggling soldiers, some friends, some enemies, and tried
in vain to get out of the scrimmage. Then a bayonet flashed before
his face, the Union soldier just beside him was pierced through the
shoulder, and the crowd opened and he ran forth to join the advancing
line.
“Look out! Drop!” somebody shouted. Louis tried to obey. Before he
could do so, a bellowing roar sounded just ahead, something rushed
directly past his face, and he felt his breath leave his body. He tried
to get back his wind, but it seemed impossible, and off he dashed
wildly, like one choking, until, falling over a mass of brush, he went
headlong, and for the time being knew no more.