boys, one out of every three of us will drop to-day. I wonder who it
will be?" This had been about our proportion in our two previous
infantry engagements, and it was not far short of the same here, for out
of the twenty-one men the company carried into the fight five were left
on the field. At the word the line advanced through a very thick black
jack-oak woods full of briars, and then double-quicked. We ran right
over the Federal picket line and captured or shot every one of the
pickets. One picket was in the act of eating his dinner, and as we ran
upon him he dropped his tin bucket, which, strange to say, had rice and
peas boiled together. Our lieutenant grabbed it up, and carried it, with
the spoon still in the porridge, in his left hand in the charge. We went
through the bushes yelling and at a run until we struck a worm rail
fence on the edge of an old field. I sprang up on the fence to get over,
but when on top could see no enemy, and so called out to the men, a
number of whom were likewise immediately on the fence. Just at this
moment the officers called to us to come back, as a mistake had been
made. Our division had not gone far enough to our right. The line was
again formed in the thick bushes, and we went about two hundred yards or
so farther to the right, and during this movement the lieutenant ate the
captured porridge, and gave me the empty tin bucket and spoon. I
attached the bucket to my waist belt, and kept it for about a month,
when in an amusing encounter with Gen. Sam Cooper, of which I will tell
farther on, it got crushed. The spoon I have kept to the present time.
Our line was soon again halted just on the inside edge of the dense
woods, and concealed by the brush, and I could see on the other side of
the field, about 300 yards distant, twelve pieces of artillery
glistening in the sun, and behind them a dense mass of blue infantry
evidently expecting our attack, and ready for us.
As we stood there for a few minutes and saw the work cut out for us, one
of our men, one of the few who had been of age in 1860, said in a
plaintive tone, "If the Lord will only see me safe through this job,
I'll register an oath never to vote for secession again as long as I
live."
At the word "forward" our brigade left the cover of the woods at the
double-quick, and the men reopened with their yells.
As all veterans of the great war know, in a charge the Confederates did
not preserve their alignment, as the Federals did. They usually went at
a run, every man more or less for himself. There was also an
inexplicable difference between the battle cries of the Federal and
Confederate soldiers. In the assaults of the Federals the cries were
regular, like "Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" simply cheers, lacking stirring
life. But the Confederate cries were yells of an intensely nervous
description; every man for himself yelling "Yai, Yai, Yi, Yai, Yi!" They
were simply fierce shrieks made from each man's throat individually, and
which cannot be described, and cannot be reproduced except under the
excitement of an assault in actual battle. I do not know any reason for
this marked difference unless it was in the more pronounced
individuality of the average Confederate soldier.
As soon as our line charged out into the open field the Federal
artillery opened on us with grape shot, and the infantry with their
rifles. My eyes were in a moment filled with sand dashed up by the grape
which struck around. I wiped them with my hand, and keeping them closed
as much as I could, kept on at a run until I suddenly realized that I
was practically alone. When I looked back I saw that the brigade, after
getting about half way across the field, had stopped and was in
confusion. In a moment it broke and went back in a clear panic. It is
needless to say I followed. Our line was reformed in the woods, and I am
glad to say of my own company, and I think Captain Matthews's, they both
rallied at the word to a man. Every man was in place except those who
had fallen. This was more than could be said for some of the other
commands of the brigade, some of whose men never rallied, but went
straight on home from the field, and were never heard of again.
Our line was again moved forward to the position from which we had first
driven the Federal pickets, and our company was sent to the edge of the
woods from which we had made the last charge, and deployed as pickets,
two men at each post. It was now about dark, and, while the Federal
infantry had ceased firing, the wretched pieces of artillery never let
up on us and kept throwing grape shot, and occasional shells into the
woods where they knew we were, making a terrible racket through the
tree-tops, tearing off branches, etc. At about eight o'clock that night
our lieutenant came running along the line calling for "Ford." As soon
as he came to my post he told me that he had brought another man to take
my place and that I was relieved, and at 12 o'clock must go directly to
the rear and get some rations that were expected, and cook them for the
company. I begged to be let off, but it was no go. He said he knew I
could cook, and must go. So I laid down where I was, with instructions
to my comrade to awake me at 12 o'clock, and in an instant was sound
asleep, oblivious to the shells, etc., that the enemy kept meanly
crashing through the trees and brush, and worse still to the groans and
cries of the wounded that still lay in the field in front where they had
fallen. After dark the occasional screams of some wounded horses lying
in our rear were particularly distressing. Early in the afternoon
Halsey's battery of flying artillery, attached to Hampton's cavalry, had
held a gap in the line, until the arrival of our division, and in
advancing I saw probably a dozen horses lying dead or wounded where the
battery had been. To this day I recall the piteous expressions of two or
three of these wounded horses, as they raised their heads in their
suffering and looked at us as we passed between them. They were
perfectly quiet, but it was only after dark that in their loneliness
they uttered any sounds.
About midnight our picket line was withdrawn and the whole division
moved off in Egyptian darkness somewhere, I never did know exactly
where, or really care either, for at that moment I was suffering from
fever which afterwards developed into a serious illness. At daylight in
a cold rain we halted somewhere in the woods on the edge of another
field, and threw up breastworks, as we were threatened with an attack,
which, however, was not made. On the afternoon of the 21st we were
hurriedly ordered to hasten across to the extreme left of Johnston's
army to support the troops there who were severely pressed by the
Federals. I was now so sick that I was ordered to the rear, but begged
off, and a comrade offered to carry my gun for me, so I kept up. When we
reached the place our line was formed with our company on the extreme
left resting on the edge of Mill Creek. I was really so ill that I could
not stand in line for any length of time, and requested permission of my
lieutenant to lie down in ranks, so as to be in place when the assault
came. He ordered me to the rear, but I succeeded in begging off again,
and lay down in line. I was asleep instantly. The next thing I knew I
was being dragged by the feet, and heard some one say, "What are you
going to do with that dead man?" "Going to throw him in the creek," was
the reply. I opened my eyes and said, "I am not dead, but only sick.
What is the matter? Where are our men?" Looking around I saw that it was
early dawn, and the place was deserted except by two of our cavalry
videttes, one of whom said, "If you have life enough left you had better
skedaddle, for the Yanks will be here in five minutes. We are the last
of the cavalry." I picked myself up, and got across Mill Creek bridge
just as the Federal troops began to appear.
I believe I was the last infantryman to get across it, and it was the
only bridge across the creek. As I went across I noticed a lot of
Wheeler's cavalry on the north bank of the creek, evidently to hold the
bridge, and I could see the Federals in the distance, just on the top of
the hill on the south side. I suspected what was coming, and, as I had
received no invitation to an early morning entertainment, kept on my
way. The road on the north side of the bridge inclined sharply to the
left, so I was soon out of the line of fire, but heard the scrimmage as
the Federals assaulted Wheeler's men and endeavored to capture the
bridge. They were repulsed, but not before three of their color-bearers
had fallen within fifty feet of the Confederate line.
It seemed that Johnston's army had retreated during the night, and in
the darkness my comrades had overlooked me asleep on the ground. At
about noon I caught up with my command where it had halted about two
miles from the creek. In this battle of Bentonville, Johnston with only
14,100 men, all told, fought Sherman with about 40,000 the first day,
and 70,000 the second. The Confederate losses were 2,400 and the Federal
4,000.
I had become so ill now that I could hold out no longer, and reported to
the surgeon, and at eight o'clock on the morning of the 23rd was driven
in an ambulance to a railway station and put with a lot of sick and
wounded men on a train for Greensboro. I had had nothing to eat since
about noon the day before, and when we got to Raleigh I got off and went
to a near-by little cottage, where I saw a woman at the door, and told
her that I was really very sick, and very hungry, and begged her for
something to eat. I had not a cent of money. She told me pathetically
that she had fed nearly all she had to the soldiers, but had a potato
pie, and if I could eat that I would be welcome to it. I took it
gratefully and it was the nicest potato pie I ever saw, before or since.
We reached Greensboro at dark, making about 90 miles run in ten hours,
very good for the speed of railway trains at that time. At Greensboro
the court-house was used as the hospital, all the benches, desks, etc.,
being removed. We had no mattresses nor bedding of any kind, and about
200 of us were laid off in rows on the floor, with only our own blankets
that we brought with us. After looking over the accommodations I
selected the platform inside of the rail, where the judge's desk used to
be, for my place, and went out into the street and begged an armful of
hay from a wagon, and with two bricks for a pillow made my bed. Here I
lay for about three weeks with fever, and at times really very ill.
Three times a day the ladies of the town came and brought us food, and
were devoted in their attentions. I got to be very weak, and on April
14th I told the surgeon that I was certainly getting worse, and
believed I would die if I stayed where I was. His cold reply was, "I
believe you will." I then asked to be allowed to go home. He said, "You
will die before you have been out of the hospital twenty-four hours," to
which I replied, "It is all the same with me. I would as lieve die in
the bushes as here. Only let me make the attempt." Thereupon he gave me
my furlough, and at daylight the next morning I put my blanket around me
and walked right out into a drizzly rain. The railroad was torn up
between Greensboro and Salisbury, so I walked along the track, and the
next day reached High Point, and at that place met one of my comrades,
who was in the hospital there. He smuggled me in and gave me a night's
lodging under his blanket, and shared his scanty supper with me. The
next day I struck out again, and after three or four more days walking
reached Salisbury, about thirty miles farther, where I again found
another comrade in the hospital at that place. With the exception of the
night I had spent at High Point, it was my habit, when night overtook
me, to step aside into the bushes and sleep until morning. What food I
got was only what I begged at the farmhouses on the way.
At the Yadkin River I found that the bridge had not been burned. It
seems that the Federal General Stoneman had been raiding that section of
country and had attempted to burn this bridge, but had been driven off
by a Confederate force under General Pettus, and some cavalry. Just as
I approached it, President Jefferson Davis, with quite a party, came
riding by. He was sitting gracefully erect on his horse, and courteously
returned our salutes. This was the one occasion on which I saw the
President.
We were quite a large number of men along the roadside, and one of the
President's party, a captain, rode up to my group and asked if we were
willing to go on across the Mississippi and continue the war there? Many
of us, I among them, volunteered to go, but we heard nothing more of it.
It seems that this really was Mr. Davis's plan, and he was so much set
on it, that as late as April 25 he suggested to General Johnston that
instead of surrendering to General Sherman, he should disband his
infantry, with instructions to them to rendezvous at some appointed
place across the Mississippi, and to bring off his cavalry and all his
horses and light pieces of artillery. As is well known, General Johnston
fully realized the absolute hopelessness of the struggle and
deliberately disobeyed his instructions, and surrendered to General
Sherman the next day. When one looks back upon the condition of things
then as they must have been known to the highest Confederate
authorities, it seems almost incredible that such an impracticable idea
as continuing the war across the Mississippi could have been entertained
for a moment.
At Salisbury a comrade, who had been also for three years my messmate
and chum, joined me, and we traveled from there as far as Chester, S.
C., where our ways parted. Strange to say, it seemed to me that I began
to improve from the moment I left the hospital. I had a strong fever on
me, but was bent on getting home. At Salisbury an amusing event
occurred. This was about April 19. Lee's army had been surrendered ten
days before, and the first lot of his men, probably 300 or so, now came
along, and learning that there was a Confederate storehouse here with
supplies of food and clothing, determined to help themselves. I joined
the crowd to get my share. The warehouse was guarded by about a dozen
boys of the home guard, who protested violently; but they were just
swept one side, and the door was broken open, and every man helped
himself to what he wanted or needed. I got a handful of Confederate
money, a pair of shoes, some flour and bacon, a pair of socks, and a
small roll of jeans. This roll of cloth I carried clear home across my
shoulders, and when I reached Aiken, in May, exchanged it with the baker
for one hundred bread tickets, which provided our family with bread for
the rest of the summer.
The railway for a short distance from Salisbury was intact, and here we
discovered an engine and two box-cars waiting for President Davis and
the Confederate Cabinet. The crowd of soldiers determined to seize this
train, and we told the engineer that he must either carry us as far as
he could, and then come back for the President, or we would put him off
and take the train ourselves. He yielded to force, and carried us about
20 miles. We then got off, and he went back. This led to an amusing
experience a couple of days later. There was another section of torn-up
track, and then another place where another engine and one box-car were
in waiting again for the President and Cabinet. The crowd had dwindled
down very much now, so comparatively only a few of us were on hand.
These, I among them, at once clambered up on top of the car, and sat
there. Presently I saw Gen. Sam Cooper approaching with a squad of about
a dozen boys, home guards as they were called. He halted them within a
dozen paces of the car, and then gave the orders, "ready, aim," and we
had a dozen old muskets pointed at us. Then shaking his finger at us he
said, "You scoundrels, you are the men who stole that train day before
yesterday. If you do not drop off that car I'll blow you to hell." We
dropped. In jumping down, my tin bucket, captured at Bentonville, was
crushed against the side of the car. The spoon was in my haversack, and
I have it still--1904. I thought to myself, however, "Old cock, I'll get
even with you. I have a scheme you don't know about." Going off a few
steps I said to my chum, "Just let's wait here until the Cabinet
arrives. I bet that we two at least will get back on that car." We
lounged around for an hour or two, and presently the wagons appeared
with the Cabinet. I knew that Mrs. Geo. A. Trenholm, the wife of the
Confederate Secretary of the Treasury, was along, and being a
Charlestonian, who knew my family, I felt sure that when I made myself
known she would help me. True enough, as soon as I made myself known to
her she spoke to General Cooper, and four of us were given permission to
ride on top of the car, one at each corner, with our legs dangling over,
for the top of the car in the middle was smashed in. Mrs. Trenholm also
kindly gave me a half loaf of bread and the half of a chicken.
We jolted along in this way over the good section of the road, until we
came to the next break, when we got off, and after tendering our thanks
plodded along on foot again.
Gen. Sam'l S. Cooper was Adjutant-General of the Confederate Army, and
the senior in rank of Gen. Robert E. Lee, and was a Pennsylvanian. He
ranked Lee in the Confederate service; and in the Federal Army before
the war he also ranked the great Confederate commander, he having been
Adjutant-General of the United States Army.
At Chester I parted with my companions, as our routes diverged. I walked
from that town to Newberry, where I met one of my comrades, whose family
lived there. He took me to his house, and I stayed there two days. Upon
my departure he saw that my haversack was well filled with provisions.
The railway was intact from Newberry to Abbeville, so I got a lift that
far.
While making my way through the country I was always treated with much
hospitality by all the people along my route. There was only one
exception. This was in Chester County, when one day, with my haversack
empty, and hunger calling impatiently, I stopped at a farm-house and
asked for some food, offering to pay for it. The respectable-looking man
whom I addressed asked me what kind of money I had. I said, "Only
Confederate money." He replied, "I won't take anything except gold or
silver and have no food to give away," and shut the door in my face. I
inquired of some negroes, as I walked off, and was told he was a very
well-to-do man, and a preacher!
In striking contrast was the treatment by a poor farmer's wife the same
day. I stopped at a small farm-house by the roadside, and in response to
my call a woman opened the house door, and looking out cautiously asked
who I was. I replied, "I am a Confederate soldier trying to get home. I
am sick, and want something to eat." She called out, "You got smallpox?"
"No," I said. Again she asked, "You got the measles?" "No, I've got only
fever, and only want to rest; and if you have anything to spare,
something to eat." She then told me to come into the house, and showing
me into the back porch, spread a comfort on the floor with a pillow, and
said, "My husband got back from the army just yesterday, and went to
town this morning. I am sorry, but there's not a scrap of meat in the
house, only some veal which he killed this morning. Now you just lie
down and take a rest while I cook you some veal, and corn bread." I laid
down, and was soon asleep. After a while the good woman aroused me, and
led the way to the table, where she had prepared some veal chops and
corn bread for me, which I ate with relish. She refused to receive any
pay, as she said she "could not receive pay from a soldier." So giving
her my warm thanks I resumed my route toward Newberry.
At Abbeville I went into a drug store and invested $30 in a toothbrush.
I had chosen this route to avoid the section devastated by Sherman. From
Abbeville my route lay through Washington and Augusta, Ga., to Aiken,
where my family were, and which I reached early in May. When passing
through Augusta I went to the quartermaster's department and drew my
pay, amounting to $156. This was the first pay I had received for a
year, and of course it was absolutely worthless, but upon my arrival at
Aiken I found a man who accepted $50 of it for a bottle of very crude
corn whiskey. The remainder of this pay is still in my desk.
On April 26, 1865, General Johnston's army was surrendered to General
Sherman near Durham Station, N. C.. thus putting an end to the war
within the limits of their respective commands. At that time General
Johnston had 26,000 men on his roll, as many of the remnants of the Army
of the Tennessee and others from Wilmington had joined his command. Of
these, 2,000 had no arms of any kind. General Sherman had 110,000 men
effective. Johnston's army had consumed their last rations when it was
surrendered, and General Sherman, when informed of its condition,
ordered 250,000 rations immediately distributed, or about ten days'
rations to each Confederate soldier. General Johnston in his
"Narrative" says that if this had not been done great suffering would
have ensued.
The great war was at an end, and the following figures show the fearful
odds we fought against.
During the four years the United States put about 3,000,000 men in the
field, of whom 720,000 were foreigners. They lost in killed, in battle,
and from disease, 366,000, or about 12 per cent.
The Confederate States had only about 625,000 men, all told, from first
to last. Of these there were killed in battle, and died from disease,
349,000, or about 56 per cent.
At the close the United States had 1,050,000 men in active service, and
the Confederate States 139,000. We were fighting odds of over 7 to 1.
The day after my arrival at home the first Federal troops arrived from
Charleston to garrison the town of Aiken. They were a company of
negroes, commanded by a German captain, who spoke very broken English. I
soon learned that it was a part of the force that had assaulted us on
James Island and from the officers I heard their side of the affair.
This was the beginning of that era of reconstruction which, for eleven
years, was a course of negro domination, corruption, robbery, and
outrages; and which steadily increased in intensity until in 1876 it was
overthrown by the general uprising of the white people. But this is
another subject.
SOME EXPERIENCES AND SKETCHES OF SOUTHERN LIFE
BY MARION JOHNSTONE FORD
[Illustration: Marion Johnstone Porcher]
KENT--A WAR-TIME NEGRO
"An African Morgan--a citizen whose name we shall not mention, although
many readers know and will recognize the case--was surprised some days
ago by the entrance of a good servant, who was supposed to be, if living
at all, in Yankee hands at Knoxville. This servant went cheerfully, of
course, or he would not have been sent, to wait on 'Young Massa,' who is
under Brigadier-General Jenkins, in Longstreet's corps.
"In the retreat from Knoxville, he was accidentally wounded, and
necessarily left behind.
"When taken to Knoxville, he was questioned by General Foster, well
known for his connection as engineer with Fort Sumter, which has done
more than he desired or expected for the defense of Charleston.
"Being asked his master's name, the man replied, when General Foster
condescendingly said: 'Oh, yes; I knew him when I was at Sumter. You
know that you are now free and have no master.' We need not report
the further conversation, or the conduct of the servant. Suffice it to
say he did not--like some of our gossiping friends in uniform--talk to
everybody about his intention, but at the first promising opportunity he
took French leave of Yankee friends and freedom in Knoxville, and not
knowing then where to find or reach his 'Young Master,' he struck,
according to his best information, for the 'Old Master' and the 'home
place.'
"He was compelled to walk over one hundred and fifty miles, and in great
part over the route travelled lately by General Morgan, and succeeded in
reaching a railroad, which gave him a lift toward this city.
"We would have more such cases if opportunities could be found."
--_Charleston, S. C, Courier, January 19, 1863._
* * * * *
This Kent was not of blood royal, as his name might indicate; he came of
a dusky African brood, but his loyalty and faithfulness would have done
credit to any race. How he got his name I do not know, but it was a
relief to the ear after those his mother had chosen for his
brothers--"Cully" and "Hackless." Whether the latter was intended for
Hercules, neither Martha, their mother, nor any one else knew.