It is strange that I cannot recall anything from Cold Harbor to
Petersburg. I don't recollect when we left Cold Harbor nor how fast we
were hurried, nor the distance. The first thing coming to my remembrance
is reaching Petersburg. I have consulted with Capt. Foster and several
others, privates like myself, of this place (Union, S. C.), who were
members of the Palmetto Sharpshooters, a regiment of our brigade, and,
to my surprise, they, too, are about as much in the dark as to that
period as I am. I account for it this way: We had been around Cold
Harbor for several days, the first two days of which we had hard
fighting. The balance of the time remaining there we had only some
skirmishing on the picket lines and resting up. Therefore, there were no
impressions left. Besides, we needed this rest and quiet sorely, after
the hard times we had undergone since the first morning at the
Wilderness. Some time passed, and, consequently, we took things easy,
regardless of everything. I do not remember, nor could I find out, how
we reached Petersburg. I do not think, nor can I believe, that we passed
through Richmond. If not, we must have crossed the James River on
pontoons below Richmond, but, be that as it may, we did reach
Petersburg, and none too soon. There was a heavy fight in progress. It
was then about sundown. We were thrown into line of battle and ordered
to double quick. We had gone perhaps half a mile, drawing nearer and
nearer the fighting forces, when suddenly we met our men being driven
back. I understand that these were Gen. Beauregard's troops, who had
been holding the enemy in check all day, and had just commenced to
retire, being worn out and overpowered. They immediately fell in with
us, and here we checked the advancing enemy and held our line, and upon
this line so held we built the famous Petersburg breastworks, such works
as were never built before, and which were occupied by our troops for
nine _long_, _tiresome_ and _eventful_ months. It is true that at first
these works here were only a crude affair, we not expecting to remain in
them many days; but time went on and each day saw more work done, more
facilities for moving around and for living, until we had built so that
we could get around--cook, eat, sleep, the same as on the level, and
with comparative safety, though the least exposure of the person would
guarantee a quick shot from the enemy's sharpshooters with globe-sighted
guns, and they got to be such expert marksmen that they rarely ever
missed.
At this time our lines were some distance apart--far enough, in fact,
for us and them to keep out our pickets, and the fighting for a while
was done by the picket line, the army itself being hard at work with
pick and spade. The work was hard and heavy and those who would go into
the trenches at night would work the time while there and be relieved
by fresh troops the following night. This was done until we had good
works, and until Grant had so lengthened his line that nearly all of
Lee's army was required to face him, leaving but a handful to relieve
those who had worked the hardest, and who were also held as a kind of
reserve, ready to go to any point, should the enemy make an assault.
These held in reserve would be one day one command, the next day
another.
Grant now had Petersburg invested and had moved his lines up so close
that we nor they had space for pickets--in fact, our videttes did not
leave our works. I don't think it could have been over two hundred yards
from our works to theirs. It might have been more and it might have been
less. It was a long time ago and I might not recall the distance
correctly; but I do recollect that it was very uncomfortably close.
About this time the two men, Morrison and Stewart, whom were given us by
Hart's Battery in exchange for Darling Patterson, came to us. I must
take time to give a brief description of these two men. Morrison was a
great big fellow, heavy frame, about forty-five or fifty years old,
heavy gray beard, and he was a real good-hearted fellow, but the report
of a gun would scare him out of his breeches. He was certainly
constitutionally a coward, and I really think he hated it, and when not
under fire and not scared he would determine to try to not get so next
time; but his good intentions would go to the wind just as soon as the
bullets began to come.
The other fellow, Stewart, was a medium sized, dark complexioned,
swarthy man, about thirty or thirty-five. He was a genuine coward and
would not try, nor did he care to overcome it, but would skulk on all
occasions; and, worse still, he pretended to be a preacher, and often,
in the very nick of time, old Stewart would sing out, "Let's all join in
prayer." He played this off on us for a little while, and would succeed
in being left; but, after a while, we found him out, and would break up
his little scheme, although I don't recollect his having even been
gotten into a regular "sit-to" fight. About this time we got another
recruit--one that must be mentioned in these memoirs, because I knew him
before he came, and, besides, he was known to everyone from Barnwell.
John Lambert, of Barnwell, was our other new man, and why he should have
selected our regiment for his service I could never understand, unless
it was that he had known from infancy Col. Hagood, Eddie Bellinger, Jim
Diamond, Perry Manville, the Mixson boys and Nelson boys, and perhaps
some others; and as he had to go somewhere it was just as well to go
where he knew people. Now, while John didn't love fighting, and always
said that the Lord intended him to take care of himself, and he didn't
purpose to disappoint the Lord, he was a jolly fellow and kept things
lively with his jokes and quaint sayings. But, while he was very careful
how he exposed himself, he did an act while in the trenches which the
bravest of the brave shuddered at. After a time in the trenches it had
gotten so that the least exposure was certain death. One day there came
along in the field in rear of our regiment a nice, fat shoat, about
fifty pounds, strolling as if he didn't care if corn was fifty dollars a
bushel. He strolled along till a Yankee sharpshooter concluded to cut
him down. We heard him squeal and saw the shoat keel over. Something to
eat of any kind would go well, but a fat pig, within seventy-five yards,
ready to be cleaned and cooked! John Lambert couldn't stand it, but,
jumping out of the trenches, running back with the minnie balls cutting
the dirt all around him, he succeeded in getting to that hog, grabbing
it by the hind leg, and started back in face of death itself. No one
expected him to get in, but on he came, and finally jumped in the
trench, hog and all, without even a scratch. It was one of the most
marvelous feats, besides the most daring, of anything that I recollect
happening. After this if anything was ever said to John in reference to
his being a _little scary_ he would bring up the pig incident.
We remained in the trenches for some time before being relieved for a
night, but at last our night came, and we were taken back to rest. We
knew that Gen. Johnson Hagood's Brigade was somewhere on the line, and
late in the afternoon Jim Diamond, Eddie Bellinger and myself got
permission to go over to Hagood's brigade headquarters to see Vince
Bellinger and Willie Hagood, who were in the brigade quartermaster
department of Hagood's Brigade. We knew we would get something to eat
and get something to bring back. We found them about sundown, and Vince
and Willie told their man, Joe, a good old darkey, to commence preparing
supper, and to fix enough of it. We sat around talking for a while, when
Vince proposed that while Joe was fixing up the supper we should go
right down the street to where he knew a fellow had something to drink.
These boys were located near the town--in fact, at the head of a street.
We pulled out, and in a few minutes Vince knocked on a door on the
street. Almost instantly the door was opened, and in all five of us
went. There was a long counter on one side of the house. The old man had
no lights except a tallow candle. We stepped up near the front and Vince
called for the liquor. The old man set out a decanter with only about
four drinks--when the old fellow filled up for the fifth man to get
his--it was a half gallon decanter--then the last one of us poured his
out, leaving the decanter full, except the one drink. We took our drink,
and Vince asked how much. The old fellow said, "Ten dollars each,"
making fifty dollars for the treat. Vince gave him a one hundred dollar
bill. He picked up his candle, going back to the end of the counter to
his safe for the change; but in doing this he had left the decanter
setting on the counter. I told Vince to walk back and get the change; we
would walk out. I picked up the full decanter, and as we walked out the
door Vince overtook us, and we all went out together. However, we saw
the old fellow, as he came back, hold up his light to look after his
liquor. On discovering it gone, he jumped across the counter, following
us. We were all in a dead run by this time. The old fellow was afraid to
holler for police, as he was running what we now call a "blind tiger,"
but he followed us to the end of the street. When Vince picked up an old
gun, and raising it, advanced on him, the old man then broke back as
fast as he had come, leaving us with the liquor. We took another drink
all around, when Joe told us to draw up, supper was ready. Joe had given
us a good supper--hominy, fried bacon, biscuits and coffee--the best
part of which was there was enough of it. We drank no more, for Vince
and Willie asked us to carry some to Jim Hagood and Capt. Wood. They
also told Joe to get us up some rations, and he put us up about a half
of a side of bacon, about half a bushel of meal and some salt. We got
back to our command some time about midnight, and it was not long before
Jim Hagood had his boy, Crow, and Pat Wood his boy, Fred, making up a
fire, and about two o'clock we had a supper. In the meantime all the
whiskey had disappeared. We all slept late next morning, and about
eleven o'clock we had breakfast. We went back into the trenches and
remained there some time, when we were taken across the James River to
meet a demonstration being made there.