FROM BROWN'S GAP TO STAUNTON--FROM STAUNTON TO RICHMOND--COLD
HARBOR--GENERAL LEE VISITS HIS SON IN THE BATTERY
I had exchanged my brother John as a bedfellow for Walter Packard.
Walter was a droll fellow, rather given to arguing, and had a way of
enraging his adversary while he kept cool, and, when it suited, could
put on great dignity. Immediately following our battery, as we worked
our way along a by-road through the foothills toward Brown's Gap, was
Gen. Dick Taylor at the head of his Louisiana Brigade. Walter had
mounted and was riding on a caisson, contrary to orders recently issued
by Jackson. Taylor ordered him to get down. Walter turned around, and,
looking coolly at him, said, with his usual sang-froid, "Who are you,
and what the devil have you to do with my riding on a caisson?" Taylor
seemed astounded for a moment, and then opened on poor Walter with a
volley of oaths that our champion swearer, Irish Emmett, would have
envied.
When we had gotten about half-way to the top of the mountain, I, with
three others, was detailed to go back and bring Lieut. Cole Davis from
the field. We were too tired for any thought but of ourselves, and
retraced our steps, growling as we went. We had heard that Davis was
mortally wounded, and was probably dead then. Suddenly, one hundred
yards in front of us, we saw a man riding slowly toward us, sitting
erect, with his plume flying. We said, "That's Davis or his ghost!" It
was he, held on his horse by a man on each side. We walked on with him
till dusk, but, finding he had assistants to spare, two of us overtook
the battery. Davis was shot through the body, and suffering dreadfully,
able to move only in an upright posture. He entirely recovered, however,
and did gallant service until the close of the war.
Still photographed on my memory is the appearance of the body of one of
the Second Virginia Regiment being hauled on our rear caisson. His head
had been shot off, and over the headless trunk was fastened a white
handkerchief, which served as a sort of guide in the darkness. Weary of
plodding thus, Graham Montgomery and I left the road, a short distance
from which we concluded to spend the night and be subject to no more
orders. A drizzling rain was falling. Each having a gum-cloth, we spread
one on the loose stones and the other over us, with our feet against a
big tree, to keep from sliding down the mountainside. We were soon
asleep, and when we awoke next morning we had slid into a heap close
against the tree. To give an idea of the ready access we had to the
enemy's stores. I had been the possessor of nine gum-blankets within the
past three weeks, and no such article as a gum-blanket was ever
manufactured in the South. Any soldier carrying a Confederate canteen
was at once recognized as a new recruit, as it required but a short time
to secure one of superior quality from a dead foeman on a battlefield.
Following the road up the mountain, we came across one of our guns
which, by bad driving, had fallen over an embankment some forty feet.
Two horses still hitched to it lay on their backs, one of which I
recognized as Gregory's one-eyed dun which I had ridden foraging at
Bridgewater. After my arrival on top of the mountain I was sent with a
detail which recovered the gun and the two horses, both alive. Dandridge
and Adams were driving the team when the gun went over. They saved
themselves by jumping, and came near having a fight right there as to
who was at fault, and for a long time afterward it was only necessary to
refer to the matter to have a repetition of the quarrel.
After a day or two we countermarched toward Port Republic and went into
camp a mile from Weir's cave, where we spent several days. Thence toward
Staunton and camped near the town. Here we were told that we were to
have a month's rest in consideration of our long-continued marching and
fighting. Rest, indeed! We lost the three days we might have had for
rest while there, preparing our camp for a month of ease. During our
stay here my father paid us a visit, having ridden from Lexington to see
his three sons. After having gotten ourselves comfortable, orders came
to pack up and be ready to move. I had carried in my knapsack a pair of
lady's shoes captured from Banks's plunder at Winchester. These I gave
to a camp scavenger who came from the town for plunder.
Little did we dream of the marching and fighting that were in store for
us. Jackson, having vanquished three armies in the Valley, was now
ordered to Richmond with his "bloody brigades."
We left Staunton about the twentieth of June, crossed the Blue Ridge at
Rockfish Gap, passed through Charlottesville, and were choked, day after
day, by the red dust of the Piedmont region. In Louisa County we had
rain and mud to contend with, thence through the low, flat lands of
Hanover, bearing to the left after passing Ashland.
Our destination was now evident. The army around Richmond was waiting
for Jackson to dislodge McClellan from the Chickahominy swamps, and our
attack was to be made on his right flank. It seems that our powers of
endurance had been over-estimated or the distance miscalculated, as the
initiatory battle at Mechanicsville was fought by A. P. Hill without
Jackson's aid. This was the first of the seven days' fighting around
Richmond. We arrived in the neighborhood of Cold Harbor about two P. M.
on June 27, and approached more and more nearly the preliminary
cannonading, most of which was done by the enemy's guns. About three
o'clock the musketry began, and soon thereafter the infantry of our
brigade was halted in the road alongside of us, and, loading their guns,
moved forward.
[Illustration: JOHN M. BROWN
(War-time portrait)]
In a short time the fighting became furious, done almost entirely on our
side with small arms, as few positions could be found for artillery. For
two or three hours the noise of the battle remained almost stationary,
accentuated at intervals by the shouting of the combatants, as ground
was lost or won. It was here that General Lee said to General Jackson,
"That fire is very heavy! Do you think your men can stand it?" The reply
was, "They can stand almost anything; they can stand that!" We stood
expecting every moment to be ordered in, as every effort was made by our
officers to find a piece of open ground on which we could unlimber. By
sundown the firing had gradually lessened and was farther from us, and
when night came on the enemy had been driven from their fortifications
and quiet was restored. The loss on our side was fearful. Among the
killed was my cousin, James Allen, colonel of the Second Virginia
Regiment.
While lying among the guns in park that night my rest was frequently
disturbed by the antics of one of the battery horses suffering with an
attack of "blind staggers," and floundering around in the darkness among
the sleeping men.
Before leaving our place of bivouac the next morning, a visit from
General Lee, attended by his full staff, to his son Robert, gave us our
first opportunity of seeing this grand man. The interview between father
and son is described by the latter in his "Recollections and Letters of
Gen. Robert E. Lee," which I quote:
"The day after the battle of Cold Harbor, during the 'Seven Days'
fighting around Richmond, was the first time I met my father after I had
joined General Jackson. The tremendous work Stonewall's men had
performed, including the rapid march from the Valley of Virginia, the
short rations, the bad water, and the great heat, had begun to tell upon
us, and I was pretty well worn out. On this particular morning my
battery had not moved from its bivouac ground of the previous night, but
was parked in an open field, all ready waiting orders. Most of the men
were lying down, many sleeping, myself among the latter number. To get
some shade and to be out of the way I had crawled under a caisson, and
was busy making up many lost hours of rest. Suddenly I was rudely
awakened by a comrade, prodding me with a sponge-staff as I had failed
to be aroused by his call, and was told to get up and come out, that
some one wished to see me. Half-awake I staggered out, and found myself
face to face with General Lee and his staff. Their fresh uniforms,
bright equipments, and well-groomed horses contrasted so forcibly with
the war-worn appearance of our command that I was completely dazed. It
took me a moment or two to realize what it all meant, but when I saw my
father's loving eyes and smile it became clear to me that he had ridden
by to see if I was safe and to ask how I was getting along. I remember
well how curiously those with him gazed at me, and I am sure that it
must have struck them as very odd that such a dirty, ragged, unkempt
youth could have been the son of this grand-looking, victorious
commander.
"I was introduced recently to a gentleman, now living in Washington,
who, when he found out my name, said he had met me once before and that
it was on this occasion. At that time he was a member of the Tenth
Virginia Infantry, Jackson's division, and was camped near our battery.
Seeing General Lee and staff approach, he, with others, drew near to
have a look at them, and witnessed the meeting between father and son.
He also said that he had often told of the incident as illustrating the
peculiar composition of our army."
As we moved on over the battlefield that morning, the number of slain on
both sides was fully in proportion to the magnitude of the conflict of
the day preceding. In a piece of woods through which we passed, and
through which the battle had surged back and forth, after careful
observation I failed to find a tree the size of a man's body with less
than a dozen bullet-marks on it within six feet of the ground, and many
of them were scarred to the tops. Not even the small saplings had
escaped, yet some of the men engaged had passed through the battle
untouched. I was with my messmate, William Bolling, when he here
discovered and recognized the dead body of his former school-teacher,
Wood McDonald, of Winchester.
On the 28th we crossed the Chickahominy on Grapevine Bridge, the long
approaches to which were made of poles, thence across the York River
Railroad at Savage Station. As we moved along, fighting was almost
constantly heard in advance of us, and rumors were rife that the trap
was so set as to capture the bulk of McClellan's army. Near White Oak
Swamp we reached another battlefield, and, after night, went into
bivouac among the enemy's dead. About ten o'clock I, with several
others, was detailed to go back with some wagons, to get a supply of
captured ammunition. For four or five miles we jolted over corduroy
roads, loaded our wagons, and got back to the battery just before dawn
of the following morning. Scarcely had I stretched myself on the ground
when the bugle sounded reveille, and even those who had spent the night
undisturbed were with difficulty aroused from sleep. I remember seeing
Captain Poague go to a prostrate form that did not respond to the
summons, and call out, "Wake up, wake up!" But, seeing no sign of
stirring, he used his foot to give it a shake, when he discovered he was
trying to rouse a dead Yankee! Having been on duty all night I was
being left unmolested to the last moment, when Joe Shaner came to me, as
usual, and very quietly rolled up my blanket with his, to be carried on
his off-horse. This was the battlefield of White Oak Swamp, fought on
June 30. Along the march from Cold Harbor we had passed several Federal
field-hospitals containing their sick, some of them in tents, some lying
in bunks made of poles supported on upright forks. These and their old
camps were infested with vermin--"war bugs," as we usually called
them--which, with what we already had after two weeks of constant march,
with neither time nor material for a change, made us exceedingly
uncomfortable.