BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS
Nineteen miles from Orange Court House, Virginia, the road running
northeast into Culpeper crosses "Morton's Ford" of the Rapidan River,
which, just now, lay between the Federal "Army of the Potomac" and the
Confederate "Army of Northern Virginia."
As this road approaches within three-fourths of a mile of the river it
rises over a sharp hill, and, thence, winds its way down the hill to the
Ford. On the ridge, just where the road crosses it, the guns of the
"First Richmond Howitzers" were in position, commanding the Ford; and
the Howitzer Camp was to the right of the road, in the pine wood just
back of the ridge. Here, we had been on picket all the winter, helping
the infantry pickets to watch the enemy and guard the Ford.
One bright sunny morning, the 2d of May, 1864, a courier rode into the
Howitzer Camp. We had been expecting him, and knew at once that
"something was up." The soldier instinct and long experience told us
that it was about time for something to turn up. The long winter had
worn away; the sun and winds, of March and April, had made the roads
firm again. Just across the river lay the great army, which was only
waiting for this, to make another desperate push for Richmond, and we
were there for the particular purpose of making that push vain.
For some days we had seen great volumes of smoke rising, in various
directions, across the river, and heard bands playing, and frequent
volleys of firearms, over in the Federal Camp. Everybody knew what all
this meant, so we had been looking for that courier.
Soon after we reached the Captain's tent, orders were given to pack up
whatever we could not carry on the campaign, and in two hours, a wagon
would leave, to take all this stuff to Orange Court House; thence it
would be taken to Richmond and kept for us, until next winter.
This was quickly done! The packing was not done in "Saratoga trunks,"
nor were the things piles of furs and winter luxuries. The "things"
consisted of whatever, above absolute necessaries, had been accumulated
in winter quarters; a fiddle, a chessboard, a set of quoits, an extra
blanket, or shirt, or pair of shoes, that any favored child of Fortune
had been able to get hold of during the winter. Everything like this
must go. It did not take long to roll all the "extras" into bundles,
strap them up and pitch them into the wagon. And in less than two hours
after the order was given the wagon was gone, and the men left in
campaign "trim."
This meant that each man had, left, one blanket, one small haversack,
one change of underclothes, a canteen, cup and plate, of tin, a knife
and fork, and the clothes in which he stood. When ready to march, the
blanket, rolled lengthwise, the ends brought together and strapped, hung
from left shoulder across under right arm, the haversack,--furnished
with towel, soap, comb, knife and fork in various pockets, a change of
underclothes in one main division, and whatever rations we happened to
have, in the other,--hung on the left hip; the canteen, cup and plate,
tied together, hung on the right; toothbrush, "at will," stuck in two
button holes of jacket, or in haversack; tobacco bag hung to a breast
button, pipe in pocket. In this rig,--into which a fellow could get in
just two minutes from a state of rest,--the Confederate Soldier
considered himself all right, and ready for anything; in this he
marched, and in this he fought. Like the terrapin--"all he had he
carried on his back"--this _all_ weighed about seven or eight pounds.
The extra baggage gone, all of us knew that the end of our stay here was
very near, and we were all ready to pick up and go; we were on the eve
of battle and everybody was on the "qui vive" for decisive orders. They
quickly came!
="Marse Robert" Calls to Arms=
On the next day but one, the 4th, about 10 o'clock, another courier
galloped into camp, and, in a few moments, everybody having seen him,
all the men had swarmed up to the Captain's tent to hear the first news.
Captain McCarthy came toward us and said, very quietly, "Boys, get
ready! we leave here in two hours." Then the courier told us that "Grant
was crossing below us in the wilderness. That everything we had was
pushing down to meet him; and that Longstreet, lately back from
Tennessee, was at Gordonsville." The news telling was here interrupted
by Crouch sounding the familiar bugle call--"Boots and saddles," which,
to artillery ears, said, "Harness up, hitch up and prepare to move at a
moment's warning."
The fellows instantly scattered, every man to his quarters, and for a
few minutes nothing could be seen but the getting down and rolling up of
"flys" from over the log pens they had covered, rolling up blankets,
getting together of each man's traps where he could put his hands on
them. The drivers took their teams up on the hill to bring down the guns
from their positions. All was quickly ready, and then we waited for
orders to move.
It was with a feeling of sadness we thought of leaving this spot! It had
been our home for several months; it was painful to see it dismantled,
and to think that the place, every part of which had some pleasant
association with it, would be left silent and lonely, and that we should
see it no more.
While we waited, after each had bidden a sad "good-bye" to his house,
and its endeared surroundings, it was suggested that we gather once
more, for a last meeting in our log church. All felt that this was a
fitting farewell to the place. To many of us this little log church was
a sacred place, many a hearty prayer meeting had been held there; many a
rousing hymn, that almost raised the roof, many a good sermon and many a
stirring talk had we heard; many a manly confession had been declared,
many a hearty, impressive service in the solemn Litany of the Church,
read by us, young Churchmen, in turn. To all the Christians of the
Battery (they now numbered a large majority) this church was sacred. To
some, it was very, very sacred, for in it they had been born again unto
God. Here they had been led to find Christ, and in the assemblies of
their comrades gathered here, they had, one after another, stood up and,
simply, bravely, and clearly, witnessed a "good confession" of their
Lord, and of their faith.
So, we all instantly seized on the motion, to gather in the church. A
hymn was sung, a prayer offered for God's protection in the perils we
well knew, we were about to meet. That He would help us to be brave men,
and faithful unto death, as Southern soldiers; that He would give
victory to our arms, and peace to our Country. A Scripture passage, the
91st Psalm, declaring God's defense of those who trust Him, was read.
And then, our "talk meeting." It was resolved that "during the coming
campaign, every evening, about sunset, whenever it was at all possible,
we would keep up our custom, and such of us as could get together,
_wherever we might be_, should gather for prayer."
And, in passing, I may remark, as a notable fact, that this resolution
was carried out _almost literally_. Sometimes, a few of the fellows
would gather in prayer, while the rest of us fought the guns. Several
times, to my _very lively_ recollection we met _under fire_. Once, I
remember, a shell burst right by us, and covered us with dust; and,
once, I recall with _very particular_ distinctness, a Minie bullet
slapped into a hickory sapling, against which I was sitting, not an inch
above my head. Scripture was being read at the time, and the fellows
were sitting around with their eyes open. I had to _look_ as if I had as
lieve be there, as anywhere else; but I _hadn't_, by a large majority. I
_could_ not dodge, as I was sitting down, but felt like drawing in my
back-bone until it telescoped.
But, however circumstanced, in battle, on the battle line, in interims
of quiet, or otherwise, we held that prayer hour nearly every day, at
sunset, during the entire campaign. And some of us thought, and _think_
that the strange exemption our Battery experienced, our little loss, in
the midst of unnumbered perils, and incessant service, during that awful
campaign, was, that, in answer to our prayers, "the God of battles
covered our heads in the day of battle" and was merciful to us, because
we "called upon Him." If any think this a "fond fancy" _we don't_.
Well! to get back! After another hymn, and a closing prayer, we all
shook hands, and then, we took a regretful leave of our dear little
Church, and wended our way, quiet and thoughtful, to the road where we
found the guns standing, all ready to go. Pretty soon the
command--"Forward!" rang from the head of the line. We fell in alongside
our respective guns, and with a ringing cheer of hearty farewell to the
old Camp, we briskly took the road,--to meet, and to do, what was before
us.
We tramped along cheerily until about dark, when we bivouacked on the
side of the road, with orders to start at daylight next morning. As we
pushed along the road,--what road! gracious only knows, but a country
road bearing south toward Verdiersville,--brigades, and batteries joined
our march, from other country roads, by which we found that all our
people were rapidly pushing in from the camps and positions they had
occupied during the winter, and the army was swiftly concentrating.
It was very pleasant to us to get into the stir of the moving army
again, as we had been off, quite by ourselves, during the winter, and
the greetings and recognitions that flew back and forth as we passed, or
were passed by, well known brigades or batteries, were hearty and
vociferous. Such jokes and "chaffing" as went on! As usual, every
fellow had his remark upon everything and everybody he passed. Any
peculiarity of dress or appearance marked out a certain victim to the
witty gibes of the men, which had to be escaped from, or the victim had
to "grin and bear it." If "Puck" or "Punch" could have marched with a
Confederate column once, they might have laid in a stock of jokes and
witticisms,--and first-class ones, too,--for use the rest of their
lives.
Next morning, at daylight,--the 5th of May,--we promptly pulled out, and
soon struck the highway, leading from Orange Court House to
Fredericksburg, turned to the left and went sweeping on toward "The
Wilderness."
=The Spirit of the Soldiers of the South=
Here we got into the full tide of movement. Before and behind us the
long gray columns were hurrying on to battle,--and as merry as crickets.
One thing that shone conspicuous here, and always, was the indomitable
_spirit_ of the "Army of Northern Virginia," their intelligence about
military movements; their absolute confidence in General Lee, and their
quiet, matter of course, _certainty of victory_, under him. Here they
were pushing right to certain battle, the dust in clouds, the sun
blazing down, hardly anything to eat, and yet, with their arms and
uniform away, a spectator might have taken them for a lot of "sand-boys
on a picnic," _if_ there had only been some eatables along, to give
color to this delusion.
And their intelligence! These men were not parts of a great machine
moving blindly to their work. Very far from it! Stand on the roadside,
as they marched by and hear their talk, the expression of their opinions
about what was going on, you soon found that these men, privates, as
well as officers, were well aware of what they were doing, and where
they were going. In a general way, they knew what was going on, and what
was _going to go on_, with the strangest accuracy. By some quick, and
wide diffusion of intelligence among the men, they understood affairs,
and the general situation perfectly well. For instance, as we passed on
down that road to the fight, we knew,--just _how_ we didn't know,--but
we _did know_, and it was commonly talked of and discussed, as
ascertained fact, among us as we marched,--that General Grant had about
150,000 men moving on us. We knew that Longstreet was near Gordonsville,
and that one Division of A. P. Hill had not come up. We knew that we
had, along with us there, only Ewell's Corps and two divisions of A. P.
Hill's Corps, the cavalry and some of Longstreet's artillery. In short,
as I well remember, it was a fact, accepted among us, that General Lee
was pushing, as hard as he could go, for Grant's 150,000 with about
35,000 men; and yet, knowing all this, these lunatics were sweeping
along to that appallingly unequal fight, cracking jokes, laughing, and
with not the least idea in the world of anything else but victory. I
did not hear a despondent word, nor see a dejected face among the
thousands I saw and heard that day. I bear witness to this fact, which I
wondered at then, and wonder at now. It is one of the most stirring and
touching of my memories of the war. It was the grandest moral exhibition
I ever saw! For it was simply the absolute confidence in themselves and
in their adored leader. They had seen "Marse Robert" ride down that
road, they knew he was at the front, and that was all they _cared_ to
know. The thing was _bound_ to go right--"Wasn't Lee there?" And the
devil himself couldn't keep them from going where Lee went, or where he
wanted them to go. God bless them, living, or dead, for their loyal
faith, and their heroic devotion!
=Peace Fare and Fighting Rations!=
I have alluded to rations; they were scarce here, as always when any
fighting was on hand. Even in camp, where all was at its best, we had
for rations, per day, one and a half pints of flour, or coarse
cornmeal,--ground with the _cob_ in it we used to think,--and
one-quarter of a pound of bacon, or "mess pork," or a pound, far more
often half a pound, of beef.
But, in time of a fight! Ah then, thin was the fare! That small ration
dwindled until, at times, eating was likely to become a "lost art." I
have seen a man, Bill Lewis, sit down and eat three days' rations at one
time. He said "He did not want the trouble of carrying it, _and_ he did
want _one_ meal occasionally that wasn't an empty form." The idea seemed
to be that a Confederate soldier would _fight_ exactly in proportion as
he _didn't eat_. And his _business_ was to _fight_. This theory was put
into practice on a very close and accurate calculation; with the odds
that, as a rule, we had against us, in the battles of the Army of
Northern Virginia, we had to meet two or three to one. Then, each
Confederate soldier was called upon to be equal to two or three Federal
soldiers, and, therefore, each Confederate must have but _one-half_ or
_one-third_ the rations of a Federal soldier. It was easy figuring, and
so it was arranged in practice.
It was eminently so in this campaign, from the first. When we left camp,
on the 4th a few crackers and small piece of meat were given us, and
devoured at once. That evening, and on this day, the 5th, we received
_none at all_, and in that hard, forced march we became very hungry. An
incident that occurred will show how hungry we were. As we passed the
hamlet of Verdiersville, I noticed a little negro boy, black as the "ace
of spades" and dirty as a pig, standing on the side of the road gazing
with staring eyes at the troops, and holding in his hand a piece of
ash-cake, which he was eating. A moment after I passed him, our dear old
comrade and messmate, Dr. Carter, the cleanest and most particular man
in the army, came running after us (Carter Page, John Page, George
Harrison, and myself) with gleeful cries, "Here, fellows, I've got
something. It isn't much, but it will give us a bite apiece. Here! look
at this, a piece of bread! let me give you some."
As he came up he held in his hand the identical piece of bread I had
seen the little darkey munching on. It was a small, wet, half-raw
fragment of corn ash-cake, and it had moulded on one edge a complete
cast of that little nigger's mouth, the perfect print of every tooth.
The Doctor had bought it from him for fifty cents, and now, wanted to
divide it with us four--a rather heroic thought that was, in a man
hungry as a wolf. Of course we young fellows flatly refused to divide
it, as we knew the Doctor, twice our age, needed it more than we. We
said, "We were not hungry; couldn't eat anything to save us." A lie,
that I hope the recording Angel, considering the motive, didn't take
down; or, if he did, I hope he added a note explaining the
circumstances.
We then began to joke the Doctor about the print of the little darkey's
teeth on his bread and suggested to him, to break off that part. "No,
indeed," said the Doctor, gloating over his precious ash-cake, "Bread's
too scarce, _I_ don't mind about the little nigger's teeth, I can't
spare a crumb." And when he found he could not force us to take any, he
ate it all up.
Indifference to the tooth prints was a perfectly reasonable sentiment,
under the circumstances, and one in which we all would have shared, for
we were wolfish enough to have eaten the "little nigger" himself. The
Doctor didn't mind the little chap's tooth marks _then_ but--he did
_afterwards_. After he had been pacified with a square meal, the idea
wasn't so pleasant, and though we often recalled the incident,
afterwards, the Doctor could not remember _this part of it_. He
remembered the piece of ash-cake, but, somehow, he could not be brought
to recall the tooth marks in it. Not he!
It was about eleven o'clock when we passed Verdiersville. Soon after, we
turned down a road, which led over to the plank road on which A. P.
Hill's column was moving. Hour after hour all the morning, reports had
come flying back along the columns, that our people, at the front, had
seen nothing but Federal Cavalry; hadn't been able to unearth any
infantry at all. An impression began to get about that maybe after all,
there had been a mistake, and that Grant's army was not in front of us.
About this time, that impression was suddenly and entirely dispelled. A
distinct rattle of musketry broke sharply on our ears, and we knew, at
once, that we had found _something_, and, in fact, it was soon clear
that we had found Federal infantry, enough and to spare.
That sudden outbreak of musketry quickened every pulse, and every step
too, in our columns. Harder than ever we pushed ahead, and as we
advanced, the firing grew louder, and the volume heavier till it was a
long roar. The long-roll beat in our marching columns, and some of the
infantry brigades broke into the double quick to the front, and we could
see them heading off, right and left into the woods.
=Marse Robert's Way of Making One Equal to Three=
We had now come to the edge of that forest and thicket-covered district,
the "Wilderness of Spottsylvania."
Grant had crossed the Rapidan into this tangled chaparral, and it is
said he was very much surprised that Lee did not dispute the passage of
the river. But "Ole Marse Robert" had cut too many eye teeth to do
anything like that. He was far too deep a file, to stop his enemy from
getting himself into "a fix." He knew that when Grant's great army got
over there, they would be "entangled in the land, the wilderness would
shut them in."
In that wilderness, three men were not three times as many as one man.
No! no! not at all! Quite the reverse! Lee wouldn't lift a finger to
keep Grant from getting _into_ the wilderness, but quick as a flash he
was, to keep him from getting out. This, was why he had been marching
the legs off of us, rations or no rations. This, was why he couldn't
wait for Longstreet, but tore off with the men he had, to meet Grant and
fight him, before he could disentangle himself from The Wilderness. We
had got up in time; and into the chaparral our men plunged to get at the
enemy, and out of it was now roaring back over our swift columns the
musketry of the advance. As brigade after brigade dashed into line of
battle the roar swelled out grander, and more majestic, until it became
a mighty roll of hoarse thunder, which made the air quiver again, and
seemed to shake the very ground. The battle of The Wilderness was begun,
in dead earnest.
The crushing, pealing thunder kept up right along, almost unbroken, hour
after hour, all through the long noon, and longer evening, until just
before night, it slackened and died away. It was the most _solemn_ sound
I ever heard, or ever expect to hear, on earth. I never heard anything
like it in any other battle. Nothing could be seen, no movements of
troops, in sight, to distract attention, or rivet one's interest on the
varying fortunes of a battlefield. Only,--out of the dark woods, which
covered all from sight, rolled upward heavy clouds of battle-smoke, and
outward, that earth shaking thunder, now and then fiercely sharpened by
the "rebel yell,"--the scariest sound that ever split a human ear,--as
our men sprang to the death grapple.
We had pushed up along with the rest; but by and by our guns were
ordered to halt, to let the infantry go by. Here, while we waited for
them to pass, we saw the first effects of the fight. Just off the road
there was a small open field containing a little farmhouse and garden
and apple orchard, where the cavalry had been at work, that morning
before we came up. Around the house and in the orchard lay ten dead
Federal troops, three of our men, and a number of horses; all lying as
they had fallen. One of the Federals was lying with one leg under his
horse, and the other over him; both had, apparently, been instantly
killed by the same ball, which had gone clear through the heads of both
man and horse. They had fallen together, the man hardly moved from his
natural position in the saddle. Another had a sword thrust through his
body, and two others, in their terribly gashed heads, gave evidence that
they had gone down under the sabre. The rest of them, and all three of
our men, had been killed by balls. Not a living thing was seen about the
place.
We were called away from this ghastly scene by the guns starting again,
and we moved on rapidly to the front. As we went, at a trot, one of the
men, John Williams, who was sick with the heat and exhaustion of the
trying march, and was sitting on the trail of the gun, suddenly fainted,
and fell forward under the wheel. He was, fortunately, saved from
instant death by a stone, just in front of which he fell. The ponderous
wheel, going so rapidly, struck the stone, and was bounded over his
body, only bruising him a little. It was a close shave, but we were
spared the loss of a dear comrade, and good soldier.
=An Infantry Battle=
When we got up pretty close to the line of battle, we halted and then
were ordered to pull out beside the road and wait for orders. Here we
found a great many batteries parked, and we heard that it was, as yet,
impossible to get artillery into action where the infantry was fighting.
In fact, the battle of The Wilderness was almost exclusively an
_Infantry_ fight. But few cannon shots were heard at all during the day;
the guns could not be gotten through the thickets. We heard, at the
time, that we had only been able to put in two guns, and the Federals,
three, and that our people had taken two of them, and the other was
withdrawn. Certainly we hardly heard a single shot during most of the
fight. But we didn't know at the time the exemption we were to enjoy. It
was a strange and unwonted sight, all those guns, around us, idle, with
a battle going on. For the way General Lee fought his artillery was a
caution to cannoneers. He always put them in, everywhere, and made the
fullest use of them. We always expected, and we always got, our full
share of any fighting that was going on. And to be idle here, while the
musketry was rolling, was entirely a novel sensation. We were under a
dropping fire, and we expected to go in every moment. A position which
every old soldier will recognize as more trying than being in the thick
of a fight. It was very far from soothing.
When we had been waiting here a few minutes, Dr. Newton, since the Rev.
John B. Newton of Monumental Church, Richmond, Va., afterwards Bishop
Coadjutor of Virginia, but then the surgeon of the 40th Virginia
Infantry, rode by our guns, and recognizing several of us, boys, his
kinsmen, stopped to speak to us. After a few kind words, as he shook
hands with us very warmly at parting, he pointed to his field hospital,
hard by, and very blandly said, "Boys, I'll be right here, and I will be
glad to do anything for you in my line." To fellows going, as we
thought, right into battle, this was about the last kind of talk we
wanted to hear. A doctor's offer of service in our situation, was full
of ghastly suggestions. So his well-meaning proffer was met with
opprobrious epithets, and indignant defiance. It was shouted to him in
vigorous Anglo-Saxon, what we thought of doctors anyhow, and that if he
didn't look sharp we'd fix him so he would need a doctor, himself, to
patch him up. The Doctor rode off laughing at the storm his friendly
remarks had raised. Never was a kind offer more ungraciously received. I
suppose, however, if any of us had got hurt just then, we would have
been glad enough to fall in with the Doctor, and to have his skillful
care. Fact is, soldiers are very like citizens--set light by the doctor
when _well_, but mighty glad to see him when anything is the matter.
The Doctor, and all his brother "saw-bones" soon had enough to do for
other poor fellows, if not for us. Numbers of wounded men streamed past
us, asking the way to the hospitals, some, limping painfully along,
some, with arms in a sling, some, with blood streaming down over neck or
face, some, helped along by a comrade, some, borne on stretchers. It was
a battered looking procession; and yet, I suppose that people will be
surprised to hear, it was as _cheerful_ a lot of fellows, as you can
imagine. Wounded men coming from under fire are, as a rule, cheerful,
often jolly. Being able to get, honorably, from under fire, with the
mark of manly service to show, is enough to make a fellow cheerful, even
with a hole through him. Of course I am speaking now of the wounded who
can walk, and are not utterly disabled.
Eagerly we stopped those wounded men to ask how the fight was going.
Their invariable account was that it was all right. They spoke about
what heavy columns the enemy was putting in, but they said we were
pressing them back, and every one spoke of the dreadful carnage of the
Federals. One fellow said, after he was shot in the advancing line, he
had to come back over a place, over which there had been very stubborn
fighting, and which our men had carried, like a hurricane at last, and
as he expressed it, "Dead Yankees were _knee deep_ all over about four
acres of ground." The blood was running down and dropping, very freely,
off this man's arm, while he stood in the road and told us this.
These accounts of the wounded men from the line of battle put us in good
heart, which was not lessened by a long line of Federal prisoners being
marched to the rear, and the assurance by one of the guard that there
were "plenty more where these came from."
And so at last this long exciting day wore away. As dark fell the firing
ceased. We got some wood and made fires, and, pretty soon after, "old
Tom Armistead," our Commissary Sergeant, rode up. His appearance was
hailed with delight, as the promise of something to eat. These
transports were destined to be moderated when Tom told what he had to
say. He had ridden on from the wagons, far in the rear, and all he could
get was a few crackers, and a small bag of wet brown sugar. This he had
brought with him, across his horse.
Each man got two crackers and one handful of sugar. This disappeared in
a twinkling. And then we sat around the fires discussing the events of
the day. One subject of general anxiety, I remember, was when Longstreet
would be up. As well as things had gone this day, we all knew well, how
much his Corps would be needed for tomorrow's work. It was generally
regarded as certain that he would get up during the night, and we lay
down to sleep around our guns confident that all was well for tomorrow.
Next morning we were up early. I don't remember that we had anything to
eat, and as the getting anything to eat in those days made a deep
impression on our minds, I infer that we didn't. However we got a
_wash_, a small one. We did not always enjoy this refreshment; then had
to be content with a "dry polish" such as Mr. Squeers recommended to
Nicholas Nickelby at "Dotheboys Hall," when the pump froze. But on this
occasion we had, with difficulty, secured one canteen of water between
three of us, wherein we were better off than some of the others. The tin
pan in which we luxuriated during winter quarters had been relegated to
the wagon, both as inconvenient to carry, and as requiring too much
water. It always took two to get a "campaign wash." One fellow poured a
little water, out of the canteen, into his comrade's hands, with which
he moistened his countenance, a little more poured over his soaped
hands, and the deed was done. On this occasion when one canteen had to
serve for three, and no more water was to be had, our ablutions were
light; in fact, it was little more than a pantomime, in which we "went
through the motions" of a wash. But we were afraid to leave the guns a
minute, after daylight, for fear of a sudden movement to the front, so
we had to do with what we had.
Soon after this, our cares about all these smaller matters suddenly fell
out of sight. That fierce musketry broke out again along the lines, in
the woods, in front. It increased in fury, especially on the right. Very
soon reports began to float back that the Federals were heavily
overlapping A. P. Hill's right, and things looked dangerous. Then it was
rumored that some of Hill's right regiments were beginning to give way,
under the resistless weight of the columns hurled upon him and round his
flank. We could quickly perceive this to be true by the sound of the
firing, which came nearer to us and passed toward the left. This
immediately threw our crowd into a fever of excitement; the idea of
lying there, doing nothing, when our men were falling back, was
intolerable. Every artillery man thought that if _his battery_ could
only get in, it would be all right. We knew what a difference it would
instantly make, if all these silent guns could be sweeping the columns
of the enemy. We would soon stop them, we thought! We just ached for
orders to come but they did not. Still the news came, "impossible to get
artillery in;" and loud and deep were the angry complaints of some, and
curses of others, and great the disgust of all at our forced inaction.
One fellow near me, voiced the feelings of us all--"If we can't get in
there, or Longstreet don't get here pretty quick, the devil will be to
pay."
=Arrival of the First Corps=
In the midst of this anxious and high wrought feeling, an excited voice
yelled out, "Look out down the road. Here they come!" We were driven
nearly wild with excited joy, and enthusiasm by the blessed sight of
Longstreet's advance division coming down the road at a double quick, at
which pace, after the news of Hill's critical situation reached them,
they had come for two miles and a half. The instant the head of his
column was seen the cries resounded on every side, "Here's Longstreet.
The old war horse is up at last. It's all right now."
On, the swift columns came! Crowding up to the road, on both sides, we
yelled ourselves nearly dumb to cheer them as they swept by. Hearty were
the greetings as we recognized acquaintances and friends and old battle
comrades in the passing columns. Specially did the "Howitzers" make the
welkin ring when Barksdale's Mississippi Brigade passed. This was the
brigade to which our battery had long been attached, to which we were
greatly devoted, with whom we had often fought, and admired as one of
the most splendid fighting corps in the army. And loud was the cheer the
gallant Mississippians flung back to the "Howitzers."
Everything broke loose as General Longstreet in person rode past. Like a
fine lady at a party, Longstreet was often late in his arrival at the
ball, but he always made a sensation and that of delight, when he _got_
in, with the grand old First Corps, sweeping behind him, as his train.
This was our own Corps, from which we had been separated for some
months. The very sight of the gallant old veterans, as they poured on,
was enough to make all hearts perfectly easy. Our feeling of relief was
complete and as the Brigades disappeared into the woods in the direction
of Hill's breaking right, where the thunder of their still heroic
resistance to overwhelming odds was roaring, we all felt, "Thank God!
it's all right now! Longstreet is up!"
And it _was_ all right. The first brigades as they got up formed, and
rushed right in, one after another, to check the advance of the enemy.
And as they successively went in we could hear the musketry grow more
angry and fierce. Before very long, a crashing peal of musketry broke
out with a fury that made what we had been hearing before seem like
pop-crackers. Our crowd quickly perceived that the sound was receding
from us; at the same time the bullets,--which had been falling over
among us entirely too lively to be pleasant to fellows who were not
shooting any themselves,--stopped coming. We knew what this meant;
Longstreet was putting his Corps in, and they were driving the enemy.
Soon, to confirm our ideas, lines of Federal prisoners, from Hancock's
Corps, they told us, came by, and Longstreet's wounded began to pass.
These fellows told us that our Corps had gone in like a whirlwind, had
already recovered Hill's line, gone beyond it, and were forcing the
Federals back.
They said Hancock's Corps was doubled up, and being torn to pieces and
they thought we would "bag the whole business."
=The Love that Lee Inspired in the Men He Led=
All this was very nice and we were expressing our delight in the usual
way. Just then, an officer rode up who told us a bit of news, that made
us feel more like tears than cheers, and put every fellow's heart into
his mouth. He said that just before, General Lee had come in an ace of
being captured. A body of the enemy had pushed through a gap in our line
and unexpectedly come right upon the old General, who was quietly
sitting upon his horse. That, these fellows could with perfect ease have
taken, or shot him, but that he had quietly ridden off, and the enemy
not knowing who it was, made no special effort to molest him.
I wish you could have seen the appalled look that fell on the faces of
the men, as they listened to this. Although the danger was past an hour
ago, they were as pale and startled and shocked as if it were enacting
then. The bare idea of anything happening to General Lee was enough to
make a man sick, and I assure you it took all the starch out of us for a
few minutes.
I don't know how it was, but somehow, it never occurred to us that
anything _could_ happen to General Lee. Of course, we knew that he was
often exposed, like the rest of us. We had seen him often enough under
hot fire. And, by the way, I believe that the one only thing General Lee
ever did, that the men in this army thought he _ought not to do_, was
going under fire. We thought him perfect in motive, deed and judgment;
he could do no wrong, could make no mistake, but this,--that he was too
careless in the way he went about a battlefield. Three different times,
during these very fights, at points of danger, he was urged to leave
the spot, as it was "not the place for him." At last he said, "I wish I
knew _where my place is_ on the battlefield; wherever I go some one
tells me _that_ is not the place for me."
But, he would go! He wanted to see things for himself, and he wished his
men to know, that he was looking after them, both seeing that they did
their duty, and _caring_ for them. And certainly, the sight of his
beloved face was like the sun to his men for cheer and encouragement.
Every man thought less of personal danger, and no man thought of
_failure_ after he had seen General Lee riding along the lines. Nobody
will ever quite understand what that old man was to us, his soldiers!
What absolute confidence we felt in him! What love and devotion we had,
what enthusiastic admiration, what filial affection, we cherished for
him. We loved him like a father, and thought about him as a devout old
Roman thought of the God of War. Anything happen to him! It would have
_broken our hearts_, for one thing, and, we could no more think of the
"Army of Northern Virginia" without General Lee, at its head, than we
could picture the day without the sun shining in the heavens.
An incident illustrating this feeling was taking place up in the front
just about the time we were hearing the news of the General's narrow
escape.
As the Texan Brigade of Longstreet's Corps, just come up, dashed upon
the heavy ranks of the Federals, they passed General Lee with a rousing
cheer. The old General, anxious and excited by the critical moment,
thrilling with sympathy in their gallant bearing, started to ride in,
with them, to the charge. It was told me the next day by some of the
Texans, who witnessed it, that the instant the men, unaware of his
presence with them before, saw the General along with them in that
furious fire, they cried out in pleading tones--"Go back, General Lee.
We swear we won't go on, if you don't go back. You shall not stay here
in this fire! We'll charge clear through the wilderness if you will only
go back." And they said, numbers of the men crowded about the General,
and begged him, with tears, to return, and some caught hold of his feet,
and some his bridle rein, and turned his horse round, and led him back a
few steps,--all the time pleading with him. And then, the General seeing
the feelings of his men, and that he was _actually checking the charge_
by their anxiety for him, said, "I'll go, my men, if you will drive back
those people," and he rode off, they said, with his head down, and they
saw tears rolling down his cheeks. And they said, many of the men were
sobbing aloud, overcome by this touching scene. Then with one yell, and
the tears on their faces, those noble fellows hurled themselves on the
masses of the enemy like a thunderbolt. Not only did they stop the
advance, but their resistless fury swept all before it and they followed
the broken Federals half a mile. They redeemed their promise to General
Lee. Eight hundred of them went in, four hundred, only, came out. They
covered with glory that day, not only themselves, who did such deeds,
but their leader, who could inspire such feelings at such a moment in
the hearts of these men. Half their number fell in that splendid charge,
but--they saved the line, and they gloriously redeemed their promise to
General Lee--"We'll do all you want, if you will only get out of fire."
I cannot think of anything stronger than to say that--This General, and
these soldiers, were worthy of each other. There is no higher praise!
As the Brigades of Field's division, that followed the Texans, went in,
a little incident took place, which illustrated the irrepressible spirit
of fun which would break out everywhere, and which we often laughed at
afterwards. General Anderson's Brigade was ahead, followed hard by
Benning's Brigade, gallant Georgians all, and led by Brigadiers, of whom
nothing better can be said, than that they were worthy to lead them.
Among the men General Anderson had somehow got the soubriquet of "Tige"
and General Benning enjoyed the equally respectful name of "Old Rock."
On this occasion, Anderson was ahead, and as he moved out of sight into
the woods, his men began to yell and shout like everything. One of
Anderson's men, wounded, blood dropping from his elbow and running down
his face, was coming out, when he met General Benning, at the head of
his column, pushing in as hard as he could go. As this fellow passed
him, taking advantage of his wound to have a little joke, he pointed to
the woods in front and called out to the General, "Hurry up 'Old Rock,'
'Tige' has treed a pretty big coon he's got up there; you'd better hurry
up or you won't get a smell." The brave old Benning, already hurrying
himself nearly to death, flashed around on the daring speaker, and saw
at once the streaming blood--"Confound that fellow's impudence," said
the disgusted General. "I wish he wasn't wounded, if I wouldn't fix
him." The fellow well knew that he could say what he pleased to anybody
with that blood-covered face.
I think it was about eleven or twelve o'clock we heard that General
Longstreet was badly wounded, and soon after he was brought to the rear,
near our guns. With several of the others I went out and had some words
with the men who were taking him out. To our grief, we heard them say,
that his wound was very dangerous, probably fatal. He had fallen, up
there in the woods, on the battle front, fighting his corps, in the full
tide of victory. He had broken and doubled up Hancock's Corps, and
driven it, with great slaughter back upon their works at the Brock road,
and in such rout and confusion, that, as he said, he thought he had
another "Bull Run" on them. And if he could have forced on that assault,
and gotten fixed on the Brock road, it is thought that Grant's army
would have been in great peril. But, just in the thick of it, he was
mistaken, while out in front in the woods, for the enemy, and shot, by
his own men. His fall was in almost every particular just like
"Stonewall" Jackson's, in that same wilderness, one year before. Both
were shot by their own men, at a critical moment, in the midst of
brilliant success, and in both cases their fall saved the enemy from
irretrievable disaster. Longstreet's fall checked the attack, which
after an inevitable delay of some hours, was resumed. But the enemy
seeing his danger had time to recover, and make disposition to meet it.
="Windrows" of Federal Dead=
Again, at four o'clock, after this interval of comparative quiet, the
thunder of battle crashed and rolled. General Lee, himself, fought
Longstreet's Corps. The attack was fierce, obstinate, and fearfully
bloody. Wilkinson, of the Army of the Potomac, an eye-witness of this
charge, says, in his book, "Recollections of a Private Soldier": "The
Confederate fire resembled the fury of hell in its intensity, and was
deadly accurate" and that "the story of this fight could afterwards be
read by the windrows of dead men." As to its effect he also says: "We
could not check the Confederate advance and they forced us back, and
back, and back. The charging Confederates broke through the left of the
Ninth Corps and would have cut the army in twain, if not caught on the
flank, and driven back. Massed for the attack on the Sixth Corps, they
were skillfully launched, and ably led, and they struck with terrific
violence against Shaler's and Seymour's Brigades, which were routed,
with a loss of four thousand prisoners. The Confederates came within an
ace of routing the Sixth Corps. Both their assaults along our line were
dangerously near being successful." Such was the description of a brave
enemy, an eye-witness of this assault. At last, as dark fell, the fire
slackened and died out.
The Battle of the Wilderness was done. Grant was pinned into the
thickets, hardly able to stand Lee's attack, no thoroughfare to the
front and twenty odd thousand of his men dead, wounded and gone. That
was about the situation when dark fell on the 6th of May!
That night we drew off some distance to the right, and lay down,
supperless, on the ground around our guns; it was very dark and cloudy
and soon began to rain. There had been too much powder burnt around
there during the last two days for it to stay clear. And so, as it
always did, just after heavy firing, the clouds poured down water
through the dark night. Lying out exposed on the untented ground, with
only one blanket to cover with, we got soaking wet, and stayed so.
The comfortless night gave way, at last, to a comfortless day--May
7th--gloomy, lowering, and raining, off and on, till late in the
evening. During the morning, a little desultory firing was heard in
front, and then all was quiet and still. We knew enough to know that
Grant's push was over at this point. Some of us had gone up to look at
the ground over which Longstreet had driven the enemy yesterday. We knew
that the Federal troops could never be gotten back over that awful,
corpse-covered ground to attack the men who had driven them. We knew we
had to fight somewhere else, but where? By and by, talk began to
circulate among the men that Spottsylvania, or around near
Fredericksburg, might be the place. Of one thing we were all satisfied,
that we would know soon enough.
In this waiting and excited state of mind, the long, long, rainy day
wore on, and dark fell again. We had managed to conjure up some very
lonesome looking fires out of the wet wood lying about (fence rails were
not attainable here in the wilderness), and were engaged in a hot
dispute about where the next fighting was to be, which warmed and dried
us more than the fires did, when "the winter of our discontent" was made
"glorious summer," so to speak, by the news that the wagons had got up,
and they were going to issue rations. Tom Armistead made this startling
announcement in as bland, and matter of course a tone as if he were in
the habit of giving us something to eat _every_ day, which he was not,
by a great deal. Tom was the dearest fellow in the world, and the best
Commissary in the army, and we all loved him. Many a time when, in the
confusion of campaign, the wagon was empty, or was snowed in by an
avalanche of wagons, far in the rear, he could be seen struggling up to
the front with a bag of crackers, sugar, meat, anything that he had been
able to lay hands on, across his horse, so that the boys should not
starve entirely. Hunting us up through the woods, or along the battle
line, he would ride in among us with his load, and a beaming face, that
told how glad he was to have something for us. And when, as too often it
was, the whole Commissary business was "_dead busted_," our afflicted
Commissary would tell us there was nothing, with such a rueful visage,
that it made us sorry we did not have something to give him, and made us
feel our own emptiness all the more, that it seemed to afflict him so.
The present rations were quickly distributed, and as quickly devoured,
and not a man was foundered by over-eating! Then we sat around the fires
and discussed the news that had been gathered from various sources.