EVACUATION OF RICHMOND--PASSING THROUGH RICHMOND BY NIGHT--THE
RETREAT--BATTLE OF SAILOR'S CREEK--BATTLE OF CUMBERLAND CHURCH
While here, in the midst of our gaiety, came the news of the breaking of
our lines near Petersburg, and with this a full comprehension of the
fact that the days of the Confederacy were numbered. I was in Richmond
on Sunday, April 2, and escorted to church a young lady whose looks and
apparel were in perfect keeping with the beautiful spring day. The
green-checked silk dress she wore looked as fresh and unspotted as if it
had just run the blockade. As the church we attended was not the one at
which the news of the disaster had been handed to President Davis, our
services were not interrupted, nor did I hear anything of it until I had
parted with her at her home and gone to the house of a relative, Dr.
Randolph Page's, to dine. There I learned that a fierce battle had been
fought at Five Forks, on the extreme right of our line, in which the
Federals had gotten possession of the railroads by which our army was
supplied with food. This, of course, necessitated the abandonment of
both Richmond and Petersburg.
As I passed along the streets in the afternoon there was nothing to
indicate a panicky feeling; in fact, there was rather less commotion
than usual, but much, no doubt, within doors.
On arriving at camp I was the first to bring tidings of what had
occurred to the company, and observed the varying effect produced on the
different members, officers and men. To some it came as relief after
long suspense, while others seemed hopelessly cast down and dejected.
Orders to prepare to move soon followed, and our march to and through
Richmond began with only two of our four guns, the other two being left
behind for want of horses.
We reached the city shortly before midnight, and, with Estill Waddell,
of our battalion, I passed by the home of some friends, who, we found,
had retired for the night. In response to my call, the head of the house
appeared at an upper window. I had with me the few valuables I
possessed, among them the brass button worn on my jacket and indented by
the shell at second Cold Harbor. These I tossed into the yard, with the
request that he would keep them for me. And, some months after the war,
the package was sent to me in Lexington.
We could now see and realize what the evacuation of Richmond involved.
Waddell had learned that his brother James, adjutant of the
Twenty-fourth Virginia Infantry, had been wounded the day before at
Petersburg, and was in the Chimborazo Hospital. At this we soon
arrived, and entered a large apartment with low ceiling and brilliantly
lighted. On row after row of cots lay wounded men, utterly oblivious and
indifferent to the serious conditions that disturbed those of us who
realized what they were. Nurses and attendants were extremely scarce,
and as deep silence prevailed as if each cot contained a corpse.
After a search of a few moments Waddell recognized his brother in sound
sleep. His appearance for manly beauty, as we stood over him, surpassed
that of any figure I have ever seen. His slight, graceful form stretched
at full length, a snow-white forehead fringed with dark hair, and chin
resting on his chest, he lay like an artist's model rather than a
wounded warrior, and the smile with which his brown eyes opened at the
sound of his brother's voice betokened the awakening from a dream of
peace and home. On another cot, a few steps farther on, I recognized
John McClintic, of the Rockbridge Cavalry, and brother of my messmate.
He was a boy of seventeen, with his arm shattered at the shoulder. On
the cot next to him lay a man who was dying. McClintic and the others
near him who could make their wants known were almost famished for
water, a bucket of which, after much difficulty, we secured for them. On
the following day this young fellow, rather than be left in the hands of
the Federals, rode in an ox-cart and walked twenty miles, and finally
reached his home in Rockbridge.
After leaving the hospital we passed on to Main street and the business
part of the city, where the scene would remind one of Bulwer's
description of "The Last Days of Pompeii." The storehouses had been
broken into and stood wide open, and fires had been kindled out of the
goods boxes, on the floors, to afford light to plunder. Articles of
liquid nature, especially intoxicants, had been emptied into the
gutters, from which such portions as could be rescued were being
greedily sought.
From dark garrets and cellars the old hags and half-starved younger
women and children had gathered, and were reaping a harvest such as they
had never dreamed of. I saw a small boy, with an old, wrinkled, grinning
woman at his heels, steer a barrel of flour around a corner and into a
narrow alley with the speed and skill of a roustabout. The fire on the
floors had not extended to the structures as we passed, but as no one
seemed in the least concerned or interfered with their progress the
flames soon put in their work and spread in all directions.
We crossed the James on Mayo's Bridge, following the road in a
southwesterly direction. With the first appearance of dawn the blowing
up of the naval vessels in the river began, culminating in a gigantic
explosion that made the earth tremble. This last was the magazine at
Drewry's Bluff.
Witnessing such scenes, with a realization of their significance, in
the early part of our war experience would, no doubt, have been
hopelessly demoralizing, but now the calmness and fortitude with which
we took it demonstrated the fact that four years of such schooling had
seasoned us to meet unflinchingly the most desperate situations. When
broad daylight came we had the opportunity of seeing some of the
heterogeneous elements of which Richmond was composed. Disaster had come
too suddenly to afford time beforehand for the non-combatants to
migrate, even if there had been safe places to which to flee.
That such looking objects should have undertaken to accompany an army in
the field, or rather into the fields, indicated what desperate chances
they were willing to take rather than abandon themselves to a doubtful
fate by remaining behind. In addition to the city contingent and those
who garrisoned the forts where heavy ordnance only was used, the line of
march was joined by the marine department, which had been doing duty on
the river craft about Dutch Gap, Drewry's and Chaffin's bluffs, etc.
Altogether, it was a motley combination, which afforded much amusement
and the usual sallies of wit at each other's expense. The marine element
was the most striking in appearance, and encumbered with enough baggage
for a voyage to the North Pole. In three days' time this had all been
discarded.
After marching day and night the two wings of our army, having been
separated since the previous summer, united at Amelia Court House,
about 40 miles from Richmond. Ours--that is, the one from the north side
of the river--had not been pressed by the enemy up to this point. As if
in recognition of and to celebrate the reunion, an explosion took place
far too violent for an ordinary salute. During a short halt, while the
road was filled with infantry and artillery side by side, we felt the
earth heave under our feet, followed instantly by a terrific report, and
then a body of fire and flame, a hundred feet in diameter, shot skyward
from beyond an intervening copse of woods. It proved to be the blowing
up of sixty caissons, one hundred and eighty chests of ammunition, which
could not be hauled farther for want of horses. For a moment the roar
and concussion produced consternation. Those who were standing crouched
as if for something to cling to, and those sitting sprang to their feet.
The Crater affair at Petersburg had not been forgotten, and that we
should be hurled into space by some infernal eruption flashed into our
minds.
Provisions had been ordered by General Lee over the railroad from
Danville to Amelia Court House in readiness for the army on its arrival
there. By some misunderstanding, or negligence on the part of the
railroad management, these supplies had gone on to Richmond, so that all
expectation of satisfying hunger was now gone. Corn on the cob had
already been issued to the men, which, it may be presumed, was to be
eaten raw, as no time nor means for parching it was available. Three of
these "nubbins," which had been preserved, I saw many years after the
war.
After trudging along, with short halts and making very little progress,
our battery of only two guns went into park about midnight, but without
unhitching the horses. After being roused several times from sleep to
march, I concluded, after the third false alarm, to lie still. When I
awoke some time later the battery had moved and, in the dim light, I
failed to find the course it had taken. Following on for some distance I
came to General Lee's headquarters in a farmhouse by the roadside, and
was informed by Capt. James Garnett, one of the staff, that the battery
would soon pass along the road at the point we then were. Sitting down
with my back against a tree I, of course, fell asleep. From this I was
shortly roused by rapid firing close by, and saw our wagon-train
scattered and fleeing across the fields, with horses at a run and hotly
pursued by Federal cavalry, who, with reins on their horses' necks, were
firing at them with repeating guns. I was overlooked and passed by in
the chase as too small game for them.
The road over which I had passed was in the form of a semi-circle, and
to escape I obliqued across the fields to a point I had gone over an
hour or two before, where it crossed Sailor's Creek. Along the road,
ascending the hill on the south side of the creek, I found several
brigades of our infantry, commanded by Ex-Governor Billy Smith, Gen.
Custis Lee and Colonel Crutchfield, halted in the road and exposed to a
sharp artillery fire, which, notwithstanding the fact that the place was
heavily wooded, was very accurate and searching. Colonel Crutchfield was
killed here, his head being taken off by a solid shot. This was not a
comfortable place in which to linger while waiting for the battery, but
comfortable places in that neighborhood seemed exceedingly scarce.
[Illustration: JOHN M. BROWN]
Very soon my friend, Henry Wise, who was a lieutenant in Huger's
battalion of artillery, appeared on horseback and informed me that
almost all of the cannoneers of his battalion had just been captured and
that he was then in search of men to take their places. I offered my
services, and, following the directions he gave, soon found his guns,
and was assigned to a number at one of them by Lieut. George Poindexter,
another old acquaintance of Lexington.
The infantry at this part of the line was what was left of Pickett's
division, among whom I recognized and chatted with other old friends of
the Virginia Military Institute as we sat resignedly waiting for the
impending storm to burst. The Federal cavalry which had passed me
previously in pursuit of our wagons, quartermasters, etc., was part of a
squadron that had gotten in rear of Pickett's men and given General
Pickett and staff a hot chase for some distance along the line of his
command. Some of their men and horses were killed in their eagerness to
overhaul the General. It was perfectly evident that our thin line of
battle was soon to be assaulted, as the enemy's skirmishers were
advancing on our front and right flank and his cannon sweeping the
position from our left. We were not long in suspense. Almost
simultaneously we were raked by missiles from three directions. To have
offered resistance would have been sheer folly. In fifteen minutes the
few survivors of Pickett's immortal division had been run over and
captured, together with the brigades which were posted on their left.
Lieutenant Wise having failed to receive any other cannoneers to replace
those previously captured, the guns, without firing a shot, were left
standing unlimbered. As we started in haste to retire, he and Poindexter
being mounted, expressed great concern lest I, being on foot, should be
captured. Just as they left me, however, and while the air seemed filled
with flying lead and iron, I came upon one of the ambulance corps who
was trying to lead an unruly horse. It was a Federal cavalry horse,
whose rider had been killed in pursuit of General Pickett. In the
horse's efforts to break loose, the two saddles he was carrying had
slipped from his back and were dangling underneath, which increased his
fright. I suggested to the man that, to escape capture, he had better
give me the horse, as he seemed to be afraid to ride him. To this he
readily assented, and, with his knife, cut one saddle loose, set the
other on his back, and handed me the halter-strap as I mounted. The
terrified animal, without bridle or spur, was off like a flash, and in a
few minutes had carried me out of the melée. I still have and prize the
saddle. The few who escaped from this affair, known as the battle of
Sailor's Creek, by retreating a mile north came in proximity to another
column of our troops marching on a parallel road.
As I rode up I saw General Lee dismounted and standing on a railroad
embankment, intently observing our fleeing men, who now began to throng
about him. He very quietly but firmly let them know that it would be
best not to collect in groups; the importance of which they at once
understood and acted on.
Approaching night, which on previous occasions, when conditions were
reversed, had interfered to our disadvantage, now shielded us from
further pursuit. It can readily be seen what demoralization would follow
such an exhibition of our utter helplessness. But still there seemed to
be no alternative but to prolong the agony, although perfectly assured
that we could not escape death or capture, and that in a very brief
time. Soon after nightfall I found our battery, which had traveled over
a shorter and less exposed road, and thereby escaped the adventures
which had fallen to my lot. Our course was now toward High Bridge, which
spans the Appomattox River near Farmville. On we toiled throughout the
night, making very slow progress, but not halting until near noon the
following day. Under present conditions there were not the ordinary
inducements to make a halt, as food for man and beast was not in
evidence. I had not eaten a bite for forty-eight hours. Notwithstanding
this, and as if to draw attention from our empty stomachs, orders came
to countermarch and meet a threatened attack on the line in our rear. To
this the two guns with their detachments promptly responded, reported to
General Mahone and took part with his division in a spirited battle at
Cumberland Church.
It has been stated, by those who had opportunities of knowing, that
Mahone's division was never driven from its position in battle
throughout the four years of the war. True or not, it held good in this
case, and those of our battery who took part with them were enthusiastic
over the gallant fight they made under circumstances that were not
inspiring. There being a surplus of men to man our two guns, Lieut. Cole
Davis and Billy McCauley procured muskets and took part with the
infantry sharpshooters. McCauley was killed. He was a model soldier,
active and wiry as a cat and tough as a hickory sapling. He had seen
infantry service before joining our battery, and, as already mentioned,
had "rammed home" one hundred and seventy-five shells in the first
battle of Fredericksburg. Another member of our company, Launcelot
Minor, a boy of less than eighteen years, was shot through the lungs by
a Minie-ball. Although he was thought to be dying, our old ambulance
driver, John L. Moore, insisted on putting him into the ambulance, in
which he eventually hauled him to his home in Albemarle County, fifty or
sixty miles distant. After some days he regained consciousness,
recovered entirely, and is now a successful and wealthy lawyer in
Arkansas, and rejoices in meeting his old comrades at reunions. His
first meeting with Moore after the incident related above was at a
reunion of our company in Richmond thirty years after the war, and their
greeting of each other was a memorable one.