The morning of May 5th opened calm and still, and there was no sign
by which men could judge of the bloody day before them, for
literally all was “quiet along the lines,” but the quiet of the
scene was oppressive in its extreme stillness, and the sun rolled
like an immense ball of barely red hot iron, seeming to be almost
touching the tops of the pine trees under which lay the “Laurel
Brigade,” unrefreshed by even the quiet repose of the past night,
and many remarks were made about the singular appearance of the Day
God as he waded higher and higher through the still, smoke-laden air
of that battle-morn, some of the men repeating the Napoleonic
exclamation, “remember the sun of Austerlitz,” and Colonel White
declaring that it presaged a bloody day.
Soon after sunrise the command moved slowly down the Cataupin road,
and in an hour the dismounted men were skirmishing with the enemy in
the dense thickets of pine and undergrowth which closely bordered
the road on either side and extended towards the river by Shady
Grove and White Hall, but the battalion was not engaged, although
rapidly marched from wing to wing, expecting each moment to be
thrown upon the Yankee line, and not knowing just where the blue
would break through the gray and compel a cavalry charge to drive
them back, for the firing each moment grew in volume and intensity
until the fight raged fiercely all along the lines. At this time the
battalion was out of ammunition, and although details had been sent
to the ordnance trains frequently, they always returned with the
same aggravating report that none was to be procured, as the cavalry
train had not yet come up, and under the circumstances the men
watched with a far deeper interest than usual the progress of the
battle. About the middle of the day Capt. Emmett, Rosser’s A. A.
General, and Jim Robinson, the General’s pet courier, came from the
front, both badly wounded, and told White’s men that the Yankees
were reinforcing and they would soon have to charge, but about 2
o’clock General Rosser succeeded in driving the Yankees from their
position, and at once pushed his brigade rapidly forward. Just as
the battalion came in range of the enemy’s batteries the column
halted, and for several minutes the situation was decidedly hot, the
shells exploding precisely at that point, and causing the loss of
several men and horses; but pretty soon one of the advance regiments
drove off the annoying battery, and the whole column moved quickly
forward over the Po river, where they struck a considerable force of
the enemy, which, after a sharp fight, was completely routed, and
Rosser’s men followed the retreating Yankees at a gallop, by some
plantation roads and swamp paths, far to the left, bringing up at a
body of woods on a hill about a mile from the river they had just
crossed, and still on the Cataupin road, not far from Todd’s Tavern,
having made a circuit in the chase of about three miles.
The men had become very much scattered in the rapid ride through
such a country, and White’s people, being in the rear, were of
course worse strung out than any others, in fact when the head of
the first squadron (which by the evolutions on the other side of the
river had been thrown in rear of the battalion) came up to the
woods, where a division of the enemy’s cavalry had met and engaged
the brigade in a fierce and stubborn fight, there were scarcely a
dozen men in sight, and Capt. Myers called a halt in order to allow
the others time to close up, as the front of the battalion was hid
from view in the thick woods, but Gen. Rosser, who was sitting on
his horse near the road, listening to the rapid firing in front of
him, called out, excitedly, "Let ’em out, Myers; let ’em out! Old
White’s in there, knocking them right and left." And with a wild
yell Company A dashed forward, wheeling to the left as it reached
the road, the Captain supposing he could thus come down upon the
right flank of the enemy, but they had scarcely gone one hundred
yards when a piece of artillery, hidden in the pines on the road
side, blazed a storm of grape into the column, which for a minute
checked its progress, and by the time the squadron was ready to
charge the masked battery, it was limbered up and moved rapidly
away, barely escaping capture. The first squadron then joined the
battalion, finding it hotly engaged with fully six times its number,
and for want of ammunition being slowly driven back.
The enemy had attempted repeatedly to charge, but was met and
repulsed every time, and in this rally and retreat style of
fighting, individuals on both sides displayed great skill and
courage, but the fight was altogether on horseback, and as in the
days when Cavalier and Puritan met in the conflict long ago, so it
was now with their descendants, and the superiority of Southern
horsemanship gave the advantage to that side, but it was the only
one it did possess. Many prisoners were taken by White’s men, and
the first demand was always for their cartridges and their arms
afterwards, and every bullet thus taken from the captured Yankees
was soon returned to their comrades, minus the powder however.
After an hour of hard fighting, a flank movement forced them almost
to the edge of the woods on the hill before spoken of, and the men,
discouraged because of their lack of ammunition, were ready to give
up the fight, which the enemy did not show much disposition to press
further, but the officers rallied them for another trial.
The battalion was drawn up alongside of the road, and as a regiment
of Yankees galloped down in their front, Capt. Myers turned to Col.
White, and asked, "Colonel, how can we fight those fellows with no
ammunition? We’d as well have rocks as empty pistols." But the
Colonel replied so grimly, “What are our sabres for?” that the men
drew their blades without any hesitation, and charged square at the
Yankee column, which wheeled about and retired faster than it came,
closely pursued by the “Comanches,” but after going about half a
mile a force of the enemy was observed moving through the pines to
the right and rear of the battalion, and Capt. Myers, with Jack Dove
and Jim Whaley, turned towards them and firing with captured pistols
as rapidly as possible, called loudly for “first squadron,” “second
squadron,” &c., to “forward” and “charge,” making so much noise in
the operation, that the Yankees halted and opened a sharp fire upon
what they supposed to be at least a rebel regiment, and shortly
after, the Colonel returned with the battalion and the enemy retired
over the hill.
This ended the fighting for that evening, with the exception of some
slight skirmishing as the brigade retired over the Po river to Shady
Grove, where it encamped for the night.
The battalion did not number over one hundred and fifty men in the
last charge, about twenty having been killed and wounded, and quite
a number (as is usually the case) were reported in the list of
“missing in action;” but only one was never heard of afterwards,
(John J. Clendenning of Co. C,) and it was supposed that he had
fallen into the hands of the enemy after being wounded, and died
either in hospital or prison.
The hard work for both men and horses, had told grievously on the
little band of “Comanches,” and they all hoped that they would not
be called upon to leave their camp the next day, but by sunrise on
the morning of the 6th, the bugles were sounding to horse, and very
soon the old Ashby brigade was moving on the same Cataupin road
towards Todd’s Tavern—names long ago made familiar and famous in the
annals of the war.
After crossing again the Po river, on the same crazy, ricketty
bridge, over that chocolate-colored stream, which with the “Matt,”
“Tay,” and “Nye” rivers, form the now celebrated “Mattapony,” the
column turned to the left, leaving the battle-ground of the
preceding evening about half a mile to the right, and when the
gates, fields and fences of the Chancellor plantation had been
cleared, and the brigade was marching easily and freely through the
open pine country bordering on the “Wilderness,” General Rosser
ordered Col. White to “send his best squadron to the front,” when
the Colonel told Capt. Myers to take his company and report to the
General. As before remarked, Company A was now the first squadron,
it being a large and unusually full company, and the small company
(D) which formerly with A composed the squadron having been
disbanded, and also, besides thus being the easiest handled, was at
the head of the column, causing it to be selected to fill the rather
invidious order of the General.
As the Captain rode forward and reported for special duty, the
General gave his order, which was, verbatim, "Myers, move your
people down this road and run over everything you come to. I’ll send
a pilot with you." “The people” moved in lively style along the
road, which now bore to the right and more in the direction of the
previous day’s fighting, when they commenced to pass evidences of
panic on the part of the “boys in blue,” in the shape of gum cloths,
blankets, carbines, hats and saddles, and thinking that as Yankee
plunder was plenty, the men who left it were out of the way, they
moved too fast, and the General sent one of his staff with orders to
go slower and not get too far from the brigade.
At length, after crossing a swampy stream and marching quietly along
the left of a sedgy old field, in which some Yankees were discovered
about a hundred and fifty yards to the right, and who began sending
their compliments from Spencer and Sharpe, the squadron found that
their road forked at the corner of the field, and not knowing which
to take, Myers halted and called for his pilot, but not finding him,
Jim Harper, in his peculiar style, reported that "the dam ’scape
gallus had picked up a saddle at the branch, and as soon as the
first shot was fired in the field had carried it to the rear like
the devil."
The men in the field had now stopped firing and gone into the woods,
and Myers asked Lieut. Conrad which road he thought they had better
take, to which the Lieutenant replied "that it didn’t make much
difference, so they got to the Yankees," when the Captain turned the
head of the column to the right, and with the command, “Forward,
boys; and get ready to fight,” marched down the side of the field
about a hundred yards, and looking back saw Col. White, with the
battalion, moving quietly from the woods at the branch and turning
into the field. Fifty yards further brought the first squadron to a
point where the road turned abruptly from the field into the woods,
and with a rattling, whizzing blaze of carbines they were received
by a squadron of the enemy not twenty steps distant. The fire was
instantly returned, and a charge made, when the Yankees broke and as
rapidly as possible fell back upon their supporting regiment, which
in turn gave way before the dashing charge of the victorious rebels.
Just here the enemy moved forward a heavy line of cavalry, said by
prisoners to be two divisions, and Col. White went in with his
battalion in his usual “neck or nothing” style, but not being
supported, was in a few minutes so roughly handled that it was with
great difficulty his people got clear of the swarming masses of
Yankees that lined all the space from woods to stream. The Colonel’s
horse was killed, the Adjutant’s horse was killed, and in trying to
save his papers which were fastened on the saddle, that gallant
officer was captured.
Several men were killed and wounded in this desperate charge, and
the enemy dashed after the retreating Confederates until met by the
11th Regiment, which only checked them and gave way when the 12th
and 7th Regiments were, in detail, met and driven back by the
overwhelming forces of the Yankees. But just at this moment the
ubiquitous Col. Chew threw his horse artillery into position and
poured such a storm of grape and shell into the crowded columns of
blue-jackets, that they were in turn forced to retire and let their
own artillery come into the fight. The Yankee batteries were posted
in a semi-circle, with their right wing thrown forward, and the
fiery Capt. Thompson had a red-hot position for his guns, but like
the hero he was he held it, and his cannoniers, like smiths at their
forges, labored incessantly in the unequal fight, amid the baleful
death-fires that surrounded them. There are two expressions in the
military vocabulary that describe situations usually fatal to the
party occupying them, the first of which is that terrible word
“flanked,” and the second “artillery cross-fire,” carries with it
almost equal dread, and this second is what tried the metal of the
boys of Chew and Thompson that day, but they were proof-steel.
However, it is not with the Stuart Horse Artillery that we have to
deal now, and to return to the 35th Battalion. As soon as the
artillery had checked the enemy, the Colonel commenced to rally and
form his people in rear of the battery as a support to it, but no
one thing in the duty of an officer is harder to accomplish than to
form broken troops under such a fire as now swept this same old
field of sedge. All the regiments of the brigade were trying it, and
with about equal success. General Stuart rode back and forth along
the road in the rear, his black plume waving on the death-laden
morning air, and his beautiful sword laid across his arm, doing his
utmost to stop the fugitives from the terrible field, and induce
them to return to their duty. He was perfectly cool, and his calm
but positive words, "You _must_ go back, boys, the Yankees can’t
more than kill you if you fight them—and if you don’t go back I’ll
kill you myself—better be shot by the enemy than your own men—go
back, boys!" had a fine effect upon some, but the murderous
cross-fire had such a demoralizing power that even Gen. Lee himself
could not have kept the majority of the runaways on the smoking
field; and now, if the enemy had pushed forward one resolute
brigade, such as Custer’s was said to be, the artillery could have
been captured and the victory won, but they didn’t know it, and in
their ignorance, and Chew’s audacity, rested the salvation of
Rosser’s brigade.
After the cannonade had continued for perhaps half an hour, and the
little line of supports to the battery had melted away almost to
nothing, composed now of men from the 11th and White’s battalion,
the Colonel resolved to bring such of the men as were lurking to
rearward in the woods, into ranks again, and for this purpose
ordered Capt. French, of Co. F, to cross the swamp and compel them
to return. The Captain demurred to the arrangement, however, fearing
that those who saw him ride back would imagine he, too, was running
from the fight—but no man who ever saw Marcellus French on a
battle-field could possibly have entertained such a thought for even
a single moment, no matter what might be the surrounding
circumstances, or the business in which he might be engaged, for a
more stubbornly brave man never drew a sabre, and he was by long
odds the coolest man in the battalion, “as cold as ice,” was the
verdict passed upon him by the lamented Capt. Grubb. After a few
moments’ consideration, French proceeded to execute the Colonel’s
order, and succeeded in bringing several men back to the command.
White himself was riding around arranging his people, who were all
dismounted, and here was the only place he was ever seen to dodge.
Shells were plunging and bursting in, around, and over the ranks
every moment, and when the business of re-organizing the line begun
Capt. Myers was placed on the right to rectify the alignment, and
stood on a tussock just at the edge of a marsh. When the Colonel had
arranged matters to his notion he dismounted immediately in front of
Myers and springing over the mud stood face to face with him on the
tussock, but scarcely was he located than a shell howled wickedly
past and very near their heads, when down went the Colonel’s head in
Myers’ breast, in such a manner that it was impossible for the
latter to bow his acknowledgment to the savage missile, and when, a
moment later, the Colonel raised his head Myers was as near laughing
in his face as the circumstances would permit. White laughed and
shook himself, exclaiming "I golly! I believe I’m demoralized
myself;" and every man there felt that they would be willing to
exchange places with the famous Light Brigade at Balaklava even, for
literally the guns volleyed and thundered on the right, left and
front of that little band which was standing—and dying—at ease,
without an opportunity to strike a blow or shelter themselves from
the murderous fire that was literally ploughing the whole field with
cannon shot. By-and-bye the fire became so hot that the Colonel
ordered his men to lie down, and just as a party of them had crowded
together in a little hollow that seemed to present the best prospect
for shelter, a shell shrieked among them and completely tore the
head of young Broy, of Company F, from his shoulders, scattering his
blood and brains in the faces of his comrades, and killing a horse
by its explosion a moment after.
A considerable number of the horses were struck, and the danger from
the wounded steeds was almost as great as from the shells, for a
horse, as a general thing, becomes much more frantic from a wound by
an exploding shell than by a bullet.
Ed. Oxley’s horse was instantly killed, and he walked up to Capt.
Myers to report the fact and ask what he must do, when the Captain
told him to take his rigging from him and go to the rear, which
Oxley at once proceeded to do, but on reaching his horse found that
one of the 11th regiment had already performed that duty for him,
and his saddle and clothes were nowhere to be found, whereupon Oxley
became decidedly the most violently excited man in the field,
swearing terribly, in his peculiar style, that “any man who would
steal at such a time as that ought to be hung.”
The Rev. Lieut. Strickler, of Co. E, and Capt. French, both
consistent members of the Methodist Church, were standing together
conversing on the subject of religion when a party of the enemy’s
sharpshooters came near enough to add their rifle bullets to the
terrible storm of shell that rained around, and during the hottest
of it the Lieutenant was heard to remark that whatever was
foreordained by the Almighty would be accomplished, and if we were
intended to be killed there we couldn’t help it, while, on the other
hand, if our time had not yet been fulfilled according to God’s
predestined plan, we were safe, although a thousand cannon should
open their thunder upon us; and in this comfortable doctrine (under
the circumstances) the Captain readily acquiesced, greatly to the
gratification of Colonel White, who in religious opinion was an Old
School Baptist.
About 2 o’clock the firing ceased, and the war-storm lulled to
silence, allowing the soldiers a breathing spell and time to inquire
for those who were missing from the ranks, and many of the brave
boys who had gone gallantly into the battle that morning never came
back again, for their names were dropped from the Company rolls to
be recorded in the list of heroes who gave their lives for the “Lost
Cause,” but who made it a glorious one by its bloody baptism.
Henry Moore, one of Company A’s best and bravest, and who had been
with it from the beginning, had fallen in the front of the fight,
shot through the brain. Joseph Hendon, a gallant young soldier, also
of Company A, and a native of North Carolina, was killed in the
first charge. Samuel W. Crumbaker, Company A, was mortally wounded,
and Lieut. Benjamin F. Conrad, who deserved the title of “bravest of
the brave,” if any man ever did, was terribly wounded in the thigh,
(in the first charge, when Co. A was running over “everything she
came to,”) which made amputation necessary, and he was never able to
do duty again. Color-Sergeant Thos. N. Torreyson, Company C, also
lost a leg, and John Douglass and Hugh S. Thompson, Co. C, were
killed, as was also Jacob W. Huffman, of Co. E, and quite a large
number wounded, whose names, as far as ascertained, will be found at
the close of the volume.
The enemy occupied the battle-ground, and of course had the dead of
the Confederate cavalry in their lines, but they buried them and
marked their graves so their friends could find them.
The cavalry were not the only troops engaged on that bloody day, for
at every lull in the battle on the right the muskets of the infantry
could be heard along the lines to the left, and during the day the
report came that Gen. Longstreet had been badly wounded by his own
men, which was soon confirmed, and the thoughts of the soldiers flew
back to “Stonewall” Jackson, while many of them cursed the
blundering carelessness of the infantry, and the recklessness of the
officers, in the same breath. There was really a vast difference
between infantry and cavalry in this respect—the latter, having
learned caution from outpost duty, would learn the character of an
advancing party before firing, while the former, not being able to
travel with the same celerity as the cavalry, nearly always fired
first and inquired “Who comes there?” afterwards; a system that cost
the Confederate States their independence, for if Jackson had lived,
the North would have given up the fight at the close of the battle
of Gettysburg.
In about two hours after the battle ended among the cavalry, the
enemy fell back, and Maj. McClellan, of Gen. Stuart’s staff, called
for Col. White’s people to go with him and establish communication
with the infantry of Gen. Longstreet on the left, and marching
quietly through the blazing Wilderness, their greatest care was to
prevent their own men from firing into them.
The dense body of timber through which they had to pass was all on
fire, and the dead pine trees were momentarily falling like flaming
columns around them, with dark masses of smoke draping the wild
scene as if Nature had thrown a funeral pall over the withering tide
of desolation which contending armies were sweeping athwart the
land, while along the Rail Road to our right, as we marched, we knew
the Yankee line of battle was waiting.
As the battalion, with great difficulty, gained the middle of this
burning forest, a kind of smothered sound of marching troops was
heard, and peering silently through the smoke, we soon discovered a
long line of infantry in blue cautiously marching directly towards
us from the right, all carrying their muskets at a shoulder arms.
They were not more than fifty yards away, and had not yet discovered
us; but the distance was rapidly diminishing, and we knew that if we
moved they would see us. Pretty soon, however, an infantry soldier,
in tattered gray, met Col. White and Maj. McClellan, and gave them
the welcome information that himself and twenty of his people had
scouted near the enemy’s line, and getting on the flank of the
Yankees, had captured about three hundred of them without firing a
shot, and were now taking them back to Longstreet’s lines, with all
their arms, in fact, just as they found them; and the Yankees were
so impressed with the idea that they were now surrounded by hostile
rebels, that their whole attention was given to the work of
convincing everybody that they were prisoners and didn’t mean fight,
when, in fact, they were in a gap a mile long, between the right
wing and centre of Gen. Lee’s army, in which there were no troops
but this little force of about one hundred cavalry, who were doing
their best to get out of their uncomfortably hot position. Passing
on about half a mile we came out on the plank road, and after some
difficulty in signaling to the grim old veterans of Longstreet’s
corps, who held it, that we were all right, they allowed us to come
among them.
The next move was to establish vedettes through the Wilderness space
we had just passed, and draw the line as near the Rail Road as
possible, which was so well done that by dark White’s battalion
stood on the track for more than half the distance; the enemy having
retired a quarter of a mile from it, and about 10 o’clock the
infantry extended their lines over the whole ground, relieving the
“Comanches,” who now retired to their same camp at Shady Grove, and
the day’s work was done.
It would be useless to proclaim that these men had met the foe
unflinchingly, and had braved the iron tempest of this bloody battle
day with unbroken front, for this would be at once to pronounce them
more than mortal, and like gods, free from all the feelings common
to humanity; but we do say, that they had, like men battling for the
dearest rights which were given to the race, gone through the fire
in the discharge of their duty, and while some had fled in panic
from the conflict, the majority had held their ground against a foe
that outnumbered them twenty to one, and had only given way when it
was absolute suicide to remain longer on that harvest-field of
death.