SECOND COLD HARBOR--WOUNDED--RETURN HOME--REFUGEEING FROM HUNTER
After spending the following day and night in "Camp Panic," we moved
forward early on the morning of June 3 to the field of the memorable
second Cold Harbor. Minie-balls were rapping against the trees as we
drove through a copse of small timber to occupy a temporary redoubt in
the line of breastworks beyond. While the guns halted briefly before
driving in to unlimber, I walked forward to see what was in front. The
moment I came into view a Minie-ball sung by my head and passed through
the clothes of the cannoneer, Barton McCrum, who was a few steps from
me, suggesting to both of us to lie low until called for as videttes.
Perched in the tops of the trees beyond the half-mile of open field in
our front, the enemy's sharpshooters, with telescope sights on their
rifles, blazed away at every moving object along our line. It was noon
before their artillery opened on us, and, in the firing which ensued, a
large barn a hundred yards in our front was set on fire by a shell and
burned to the ground.
An hour or two later, during this brisk cannonade, I, being No. 3,
stood with my thumb on the vent as the gun was being loaded. From a
shell which exploded a few yards in front I was struck on the breast by
the butt-end, weighing not less than three pounds, and at the same time
by a smaller piece on the thigh. After writhing for a time I was
accompanied to our surgeon in the rear. The brass button on my jacket,
which I still have as a memento, was cut almost in two and the shirt
button underneath driven to the breast-bone, besides other smaller
gashes. A large contusion was made by the blow on my thigh, and my
clothing was very much torn. After my wounds had been dressed I passed
the night at the quarters of my friend and fellow-townsman, Capt.
Charles Estill, of the Ordnance Department, who already had in charge
his brother Jack, wounded in a cavalry engagement the day before.
An hour after dark, as I sat by the light of a camp-fire, enjoying the
relief and rest, as well as the agreeable company of old friends, the
rattle of musketry two miles away had gradually increased into the
proportions of a fierce battle. The feelings of one honorably out of
such a conflict, but listening in perfect security, may be better
imagined than described. This, like a curfew bell, signaled the close of
a day of frightful and probably unparalleled carnage. Within the space
of a single hour in the forenoon the Federal army had been three times
repulsed with a loss of thirteen thousand men killed and wounded; after
which their troops firmly refused to submit themselves to further
butchery. This statement is made on the evidence of Northern historians.
After a night's rest I was sent to Richmond, where I received a transfer
to a hospital in Staunton. Sheridan's cavalry having interrupted travel
over the Virginia Central Railroad, I went by rail to Lynchburg, via the
Southside Road, with Captain Semmes and eight or ten cadets on their
return to Lexington with artillery horses pressed into service.
Learning, in Lynchburg, that Hunter's army was near Staunton, I
continued with the cadets, riding one of their artillery horses, but was
too much exhausted to proceed far, and stopped for the night on the way.
Here I learned from refugees that Hunter was advancing toward Lexington.
As the whole country seemed now to be overrun by the Federals, to avoid
them was very difficult.
I resumed my journey toward home, frequently meeting acquaintances who
were seeking safety elsewhere. When within four or five miles of the
town, while ascending a long hill, I heard the sound of a drum and fife
not far ahead. Presently I recognized the tune played to be "Yankee
Doodle." I could not believe it to be the vanguard of Hunter's army, but
what on earth could it be? However, at the top of the hill I saw a train
of refugee wagons preceded by two negroes who were making the music.
I remained at home only a day and a night, at the expiration of which
time General McCausland (the first captain of our battery) with his
brigade of cavalry was within a mile of town, closely pursued by
Hunter's whole army. I spent half of the night assisting my mother and
the servants (our slaves) to conceal from the marauders what flour,
bacon, etc., the family still had; and before sunrise the next morning
set out, mounted on my father's horse, for a safer place. By this time
my wounds had become very painful, and my leg had turned a dark blue
color from the thigh to the knee.
A brief account of my experience while refugeeing may be of interest, as
it will give an idea of the horror with which our non-combatants
regarded the invasion of their homes by our fellow-countrymen of the
North, who had now resorted to fire, after learning by bitter experience
that the sword alone could not restore us to the blessings of the Union.
My destination was the home of my aunt, Mrs. Allen, forty miles distant,
in Bedford County. After passing through the gap between the two peaks
of Otter, I reached my aunt's and found there three officers from
Louisiana recovering from wounds. After a respite of two days one of the
officers, on his return from a neighbor's, brought information that
McCausland's command was approaching through the mountain-pass, with
Hunter in close pursuit. In a few hours our house of refuge was overrun
by McCausland's hungry soldiers. Again I went through the process of
helping to hide valuables and packing up what was to be hauled away. I
started at dawn next morning with the officers, leaving my aunt and her
three daughters very forlorn and unprotected. When I left she gave me
the pistol which her son Robert, colonel of the Twenty-eighth Virginia
Regiment, was wearing when he fell in Pickett's charge at Gettysburg. In
our care were the loaded wagons, negro men, lowing cows, and bleating
sheep.
That afternoon, after exchanging my gray for a fleet-footed cavalry
horse ridden by one of the officers, I rode back from our place of
hiding, some miles south of Liberty, to reconnoiter; but, after passing
through the town, met General McCausland at the head of his brigade
falling back toward Lynchburg, and rode back a short distance with him
to return to my party of refugees, who meantime had moved farther on.
Next day I stopped at a house by the wayside to get dinner, and had just
taken my seat at the table when there arose a great commotion outside,
with cries of "Yankee cavalry! Yankee cavalry!" Stepping to the door, I
saw a stream of terrified school-children crying as they ran by, and
refugees flying for the woods. In a moment I was on my fleet-footed dun,
not taking time to pick up a biscuit of my untasted dinner nor the
pillow worn between my crippled leg and the saddle, and joined in the
flight. I had noticed a yearling colt in the yard of the house as I
entered, and in five minutes after I started a twelve-year-old boy
mounted on the little thing, barebacked, shot by me with the speed of a
greyhound. A hundred yards farther on I overtook some refugee wagons
from about Lexington, whose owners had left them on the road and betaken
themselves to the woods; but there still stood by them a mulatto man of
our town--Lindsay Reid by name--who indignantly refused to be routed,
and was doing his utmost, with voice and example, to stem the tide,
saying, "It is a shame to fear anything; let's stand and give them a
fight!"
A moment later a negro boy rode by at a gallop in the direction from
which the alarm came. In reply to the inquiry as to where he was going,
he called out, "After Marse William." Relying on him as a picket, I
remained in view of the road. In ten minutes he appeared, returning at
full speed, and called out to me, as he rode up, that he had "run almost
into them." They were close behind, and I must "fly or be caught." I was
well alongside of him as he finished the warning, and for half a mile
our horses ran neck and neck. He said he would take me to his old
master's, an out-of-the-way place, several miles distant. Arriving
there, a nice country house and very secluded, I concealed my horse in
the woods as best I could and went to the house, where I was welcomed
and cared for by two young ladies and their aged father, Mr. Hurt, who
was blind. I was now much exhausted, and determined to take a rest, with
the chances of being captured. The occasion of the alarm was a body of
Federal cavalry which had been sent on a raid to meet Hunter's army,
advancing on Lynchburg.
After two days in this quiet abode I set out to make my way past the
rear of Hunter's army and eventually to reach home. On the way to
Liberty I was informed that a train of Hunter's wagons and many negroes,
under a cavalry escort, were then passing northward through the town. To
satisfy myself (being again mounted on my father's gray) I rode to the
top of a hill overlooking the place. Then a strikingly pretty young lady
of about sixteen, bareheaded (although it was not then the fashion), and
almost out of breath, who had seen me coming into danger, ran to meet me
and called, "For God's sake, fly; the town is full of Yankees!" Many
years after the war a lady friend of Norfolk, Virginia, who was
refugeeing in Liberty at the time, told me that she had witnessed the
incident, and said that the girl who had run out to warn me had
afterward married a Federal officer. I then went around the town and
crossed the road a mile west of it, learning that the wagon-train, etc.,
had all passed.
From this place on, throughout the territory over which this patriotic
army had operated, were the desolated homes of helpless people, stripped
of every valuable they possessed, and outraged at the wanton destruction
of their property, scarcely knowing how to repair the damage or to take
up again their broken fortunes. Night had now fallen, but a bright moon
rather added to the risks of continuing my journey. An old negro man,
however, kindly agreed to pilot me through fields and woods, avoiding
the highways, "as far as Colonel Nichol's" (his master's). When near his
destination he went ahead to reconnoiter, and soon returned from the
house, accompanied by one of the ladies, who told me that their house
and premises had been overrun by Yankees all day, and that some of them
were still prowling about, and, in her fright, pointed to each bush as
an armed foe.
Camp-fires still burning enabled me to steer clear of the road, but it
was midnight when I reached my aunt's, and, going to the negro cabin
farthest from her dwelling, I succeeded, after a long time, in getting
"Uncle" Mose to venture out of his door. He said he thought the Yankees
were all gone, but to wait till he crept up to the house and let "Ole
Miss" know I was about. He reported the way clear, and I was soon in the
side porch. After the inmates were satisfied as to my identity, the door
was opened just enough for me to squeeze through. The family, consisting
of females, including the overseer's wife, who had come for protection,
quietly collected in the sitting-room, where a tallow candle, placed not
to attract attention from outside, shed a dim light over my ghostlike
companions clad in their night-dresses. The younger ladies were almost
hysterical, and all looked as if they had passed through a fearful storm
at sea, as various experiences were recounted. The house had been
ransacked from garret to cellar, and what could not be devoured or
carried off was scattered about, and such things as sugar, vinegar,
flour, salt, etc., conglomerately mixed. The only food that escaped was
what the negroes had in their cabins, and this they freely divided with
the whites.
The next day I concealed myself and horse in the woods, and was lying
half-asleep when I heard footsteps stealthily approaching through the
leaves. Presently a half-grown negro, carrying a small basket, stumbled
almost on me. He drew back, startled at my question, "What do you want?"
and replied, "Nothin'; I jus' gwine take 'Uncle' Mose he dinner. He
workin' in de fiel' over yander." My dinner was to be sent by a boy
named Phil, so I said, "Is that you, Phil?" "Lordy! Is that you, Marse
Eddie? I thought you was a Yankee! Yas, dis is me, and here's yer dinner
I done brung yer." Phil, who belonged to my aunt, had run off several
weeks before, but of his own accord had returned the preceding day, and
this was our first meeting.
As Hunter's army was still threatening Lynchburg, to avoid the
scouting-parties scouring the country in his rear I set out on Sunday
morning to make my way back to Lexington by Peteet's Gap. I was scarcely
out of sight--in fact one of my cousins, as I learned afterward, ran to
the porch to assure herself that I was gone--when twenty-five or thirty
Federal cavalry, accompanied by a large, black dog, and guided by one of
my aunt's negroes armed and dressed in Federal uniform, galloped into
the yard and searched the house for "rebel soldiers." Passing through
the Federal campground, from among the numerous household articles,
etc., I picked up a book, on the fly-leaf of which was written,
"Captured at Washington College, Lexington, _Rockingham_ County,
Virginia." That afternoon, as I was slowly toiling up the steep mountain
path almost overgrown with ferns, I was stopped by an old, white-bearded
mountaineer at a small gate which he held open for me. While asking for
the news, after I had dismounted, he noticed the split button on my coat
and my torn trousers, and, pausing for a moment, he said, very solemnly,
"Well, you ought to be a mighty good young man." I asked why he thought
so. "Well," said he, "the hand of God has certainly been around you."
That night I spent at Judge Anderson's, in Arnold's Valley, and the next
day reached Lexington--a very different Lexington from the one I had
left a fortnight before. The Virginia Military Institute barracks, the
professors' houses, and Governor Letcher's private home had been burned,
and also all neighboring mills, etc., while the intervening and adjacent
grounds were one great desolate common. Preparations had also been made
to burn Washington College, when my father, who was a trustee of that
institution, called on General Hunter, and, by explaining that it was
endowed by and named in honor of General Washington, finally succeeded
in preventing its entire destruction, although much valuable apparatus,
etc., had already been destroyed.
Comparisons are odious, but the contrast between the conduct of Northern
and Southern soldiers during their invasions of each other's territory
is very striking and suggestive; especially when taken in connection
with the fact that the Federal army, from first to last, numbered
twenty-eight hundred thousand men, and the Confederates not more than
six hundred and fifty thousand.
General Early, with three divisions, having been despatched from the
army near Richmond, had reached Lynchburg in time to prevent its
occupancy by Hunter, who promptly retreated, and his army soon became a
mass of fugitives, struggling through the mountains of West Virginia on
to the Ohio River. The Confederates at Lynchburg, all told, numbered
11,000 men, the Federals 20,000.
An incident which occurred in Rockbridge County, the participants in
which were of the "cradle and grave" classes, deserves mention. Maj.
Angus McDonald, aged seventy, having four sons in our army, set out from
Lexington with his fourteen-year-old son Harry, refugeeing. They were
joined, near the Natural Bridge, by Mr. Thomas Wilson, a white-haired
old man; and the three determined to give battle to Hunter's army. From
a hastily constructed shelter of rails and stones they opened, with
shotguns and pistols, on his advance guard, but, of course, were
quickly overpowered. Mr. Wilson was left for dead on the ground, and the
McDonalds captured. The father was taken to a Northern prison, but Harry
made his escape by night in the mountains, and in turn captured a
Federal soldier, whom I saw him turn over to the provost on his return
to Lexington. General Early pursued Hunter no farther than Botetourt
County, and thence passed through Lexington on his disastrous campaign
toward Washington.