SWIFT RUN GAP--REORGANIZATION OF THE BATTERY--WADING IN THE
MUD--CROSSING AND RECROSSING THE BLUE RIDGE--BATTLE OF McDOWELL--RETURN
TO THE VALLEY
We reached the south branch of the Shenandoah about noon, crossed on a
bridge, and that night camped in Swift Run Gap. Our detail was separated
from the battery and I, therefore, not with my own mess. We occupied a
low, flat piece of ground with a creek alongside and about forty yards
from the tent in which I stayed. The prisoners were in a barn a quarter
of a mile distant. Here we had most wretched weather, real winter again,
rain or snow almost all the time. One night about midnight I was
awakened by hearing a horse splashing through water just outside of the
tent and a voice calling to the inmates to get out of the flood. The
horse was backed half into the tent-door, and, one by one, my companions
left me. My bunk was on a little rise. I put my hand out--into the
water. I determined, however, to stay as long as I could, and was soon
asleep, which showed that I was becoming a soldier--in one important
respect at least. By daylight, the flood having subsided, I was able to
reach a fence and "coon it" to a hill above.
While in this camp, as the time had expired for which most of the
soldiers enlisted, the army was reorganized. The battery having more men
than was a quota for one company, the last recruits were required to
enlist in other companies or to exchange with older members who wished
to change. Thus some of our most interesting members left us, to join
other commands, and the number of our guns was reduced from eight to
six. The prisoners were now disposed of, and I returned to my old mess.
After spending about ten days in this wretched camp we marched again,
following the Shenandoah River along the base of the mountains toward
Port Republic. After such weather, the dirt-roads were, of course,
almost bottomless. The wagons monopolized them during the day, so we had
to wait until they were out of the way. When they halted for the night,
we took the mud. The depth of it was nearly up to my knees and
frequently over them. The bushes on the sides of the road, and the
darkness, compelled us to wade right in. Here was swearing and growling,
"Flanders and Flounders." An infantryman was cursing Stonewall most
eloquently, when the old Christian rode by, and, hearing him, said, in
his short way, "It's for your own good, sir!" The wagons could make only
six miles during the day, and, by traveling this distance after night,
we reached them about nine o'clock. We would then build fires, get our
cooking utensils, and cook our suppers, and, by the light of the fires,
see our muddy condition and try to dry off before retiring to the
ground. We engaged in this sort of warfare for three days, when we
reached Port Republic, eighteen miles from our starting-point and about
the same distance from Staunton. Our movements, or rather Jackson's, had
entirely bewildered us as to his intentions.
While we were at Swift Run, Ewell's division, having been brought from
the army around Richmond, was encamped just across the mountain opposite
us. We remained at Port Republic several days. Our company was
convenient to a comfortable farmhouse, where hot apple turnovers were
constantly on sale. Our hopes for remaining in the Valley were again
blasted when the wagons moved out on the Brown's Gap road and we
followed across the Blue Ridge, making our exit from the pass a few
miles north of Mechum's River, which we reached about noon of the
following day.
There had been a good deal of cutting at each other among the members of
the company who hailed from different sides of the Blue
Ridge--"Tuckahoes" and "Cohees," as they are provincially called. "Lit"
Macon, formerly sheriff of Albemarle County, an incessant talker, had
given us glowing accounts of the treatment we would receive "on t'other
side." "Jam puffs, jam puffs!" Joe Shaner and I, having something of a
turn for investigating the resources of a new country, took the first
opportunity of testing Macon's promised land. We selected a
fine-looking house, and, approaching it, made known our wants to a young
lady. She left us standing outside of the yard, we supposed to cool off
while she made ready for our entertainment in the house. In this we were
mistaken; for, after a long time, she returned and handed us, through
the fence, some cold corn-bread and bacon. This and similar experiences
by others gave us ample means to tease Macon about the grand things we
were to see and enjoy "on t'other side."
We were now much puzzled as to the meaning of this "wiring in and wiring
out," as we had turned to the right on crossing the mountain and taken
the road toward Staunton. To our astonishment we recrossed the mountain,
from the top of which we again gazed on that grand old Valley, and felt
that our homes might still be ours. A mile or two from the mountain lay
the quiet little village of Waynesboro, where we arrived about noon. As
I was passing along the main street, somewhat in advance of the battery,
Frank Preston came running out of one of the houses--the Waddells'--and,
with his usual take-no-excuse style, dragged me in to face a family of
the prettiest girls in Virginia. I was immediately taken to the
dining-room, where were "jam puffs" sure enough, and the beautiful Miss
Nettie to divide my attention.
The next day we camped near Staunton and remained a day. Conjecturing
now as to Jackson's program was wild, so we concluded to let him have
his own way. The cadets of the Virginia Military Institute, most of whom
were boys under seventeen, had, in this emergency, been ordered to the
field, and joined the line of march as we passed through Staunton, and
the young ladies of that place made them the heroes of the army, to the
disgust of the "Veterans" of the old Stonewall Brigade. Our course was
now westward, and Milroy, who was too strong for General Ed. Johnson in
the Alleghanies, was the object. About twenty miles west of Staunton was
the home of a young lady friend, and, on learning that our road lay
within four miles of it, I determined at least to try to see her.
Sergeant Clem. Fishburne, who was related to the family, expected to go
with me, but at the last moment gave it up, so I went alone. To my very
great disappointment she was not at home, but her sisters entertained me
nicely with music, etc., and filled my haversack before I left. Just
before starting off in the afternoon I learned that cannonading had been
heard toward the front. When a mile or two on my way a passing
cavalryman, a stranger to me, kindly offered to carry my overcoat, which
he did, and left it with the battery.
The battery had marched about fifteen miles after I had left it, so I
had to retrace my four miles, then travel the fifteen, crossing two
mountains. I must have walked at least five miles an hour, as I reached
the company before sundown. They had gone into camp. My brother John,
and Frank Preston, seeing me approach, came out to meet me, and told me
how excessively uneasy they had been about me all day. A battle had been
fought and they had expected to be called on every moment, and, "Suppose
we _had_ gone in, and you off foraging!" How penitent I felt, and at the
same time how grateful for having two such anxious guardians! While
expressing this deep interest they each kept an eye on my full
haversack. "Well," said I, "I have some pabulum here; let's go to the
mess and give them a snack." They said, "That little bit wouldn't be a
drop in the bucket with all that mess; let's just go down yonder to the
branch and have one real good old-fashioned repast." So off we went to
the branch, and by the time they were through congratulating me on
getting back before the battery had "gotten into it," my haversack was
empty. The battle had been fought by Johnson's division, the enemy
whipped and put to flight. The next day we started in pursuit, passing
through McDowell, a village in Highland County, and near this village
the fight had occurred. The ground was too rough and broken for the
effective use of artillery, so the work was done by the infantry on both
sides. This was the first opportunity that many of us had had of seeing
a battlefield the day after the battle. The ghastly faces of the dead
made a sickening and lasting impression; but I hoped I did not look as
pale as did some of the young cadets, who proved gallant enough
afterward. We continued the pursuit a day or two through that wild
mountainous country, but Milroy stopped only once after his defeat, for
a skirmish. In a meadow and near the roadside stood a deserted cabin,
which had been struck several times during the skirmish by shells. I
went inside of it, to see what a shell could do. Three had penetrated
the outer wall and burst in the house, and I counted twenty-seven holes
made through the frame partition by the fragments. Being an
artilleryman, and therefore to be exposed to missiles of that kind, I
concluded that my chances for surviving the war were extremely slim.
While on this expedition an amusing incident occurred in our mess. There
belonged to it quite a character. He was not considered a pretty boy,
and tried to get even with the world by taking good care of himself. We
had halted one morning to cook several days' rations, and a large pile
of bread was placed near the fire, of which we were to eat our breakfast
and the rest was to be divided among us. He came, we thought, too often
to the pile, and helped himself bountifully; he would return to his seat
on his blanket, and one or two of us saw, or thought we saw, him conceal
pieces of bread under it. Nothing was said at the time, but after he had
gone away Bolling, Packard and I concluded to examine his haversack,
which looked very fat. In it we found about half a gallon of rye for
coffee, a hock of bacon, a number of home-made buttered biscuit, a
hen-egg and a goose-egg, besides more than his share of camp rations.
Here was our chance to teach a Christian man in an agreeable way that
he should not appropriate more than his share of the rations without the
consent of the mess, so we set to and ate heartily of his good stores,
and in their place put, for ballast, a river-jack that weighed about two
pounds. He carried the stone for two days before he ate down to it, and,
when he did, was mad enough to eat it. We then told him what we had done
and why, but thought he had hidden enough under his blanket to carry him
through the campaign.
Before leaving the Valley we had observed decided evidences of spring;
but here it was like midwinter--not a bud nor blade of grass to be seen.
Milroy was now out of reach, so we retraced our steps. On getting out of
the mountains we bore to the left of Staunton in the direction of
Harrisonburg, twenty-five miles northeast of the former. After the bleak
mountains, with their leafless trees, the old Valley looked like
Paradise. The cherry and peach-trees were loaded with bloom, the fields
covered with rank clover, and how our weary horses did revel in it! We
camped the first night in a beautiful meadow, and soon after settling
down I borrowed Sergeant Gregory's one-eyed horse to go foraging on. I
was very successful; I got supper at a comfortable Dutch house, and at
it and one or two others I bought myself and the mess rich. As I was
returning to camp after night with a ham of bacon between me and the
pommel of the saddle, a bucket of butter on one arm, a kerchief of pies
on the other, and chickens swung across behind, my one-eyed horse
stumbled and fell forward about ten feet with his nose to the ground. I
let him take care of himself while I took care of my provisions. When he
recovered his feet and started, I do not think a single one of my
possessions had slipped an inch.