_Sheridans Raid--Turning Out Lively--Crossing the North Anna--Massa
Linkum's Sojers--The Tables Turned--The Name of Mother--A Yankee's
Benediction--Pushing On Front Beaver Dam--“The Kingdom Comin'”--The
Grave of Massa Tom--Foraging on the Enemy--The Old Planter and the
Vandal Horde--Yankees Without Horns._
[Illustration: 9139]
URN out, men!”
“Turn out, lively!”
“Saddle up--mount at will!”
We turned out lively enough. The rebels were shelling our bivouac on the
banks of the North Anna River. It was just at daylight. Our dreams
of home were interrupted by the “pinging” of bullets, and the more
distressing sounds of missiles of larger caliber.
“Look out there!”
“What's that?”
“Only a cannon ball, but it's too late to dodge now--it has gone by.”
“Get into your saddles, boys--never mind your haversacks--be sure your
ammunition is all right. As fast as you're saddled up, mount and ride
over there where the major is forming the regiment.”
The Johnnies had nearly cheated us out of our suppers Monday night, as
they did not cease firing on our pickets till after ten o'clock. And
now they evinced a disposition to spoil our breakfast. In this they
succeeded, but some of them were severely punished. Soldiers are
inclined to be ugly when attacked about meal time, and Fitzhugh Lee's
cavalrymen were given a red-hot reception when they pitched into our
boys before breakfast.
One of our boys got his saddle on with the pommel to the rear--he must
have stood on the off side of his horse to buckle the saddle girth.
After he mounted his horse he could not get his feet into the stirrups
as they were “hind side afore.”
“Halloo, there! what are you facing the wrong way for?”
“I'm all right; it's a new wrinkle, don't you see? I can about face in
the saddle and load and fire on the Johnnies while my horse keeps going
on. I saddled up this way on purpose.”
During the night Fitzhugh Lee had posted a battery so that he could make
it hot for us when we came to cross the river. And very hot it was for
an hour or so.
The shot and shell came tearing through the bushes skirting the bank. A
regiment was deployed to the rear to hold the rebels in check while the
Federal troopers were crossing. The Confederates were mad--fighting mad.
They understood that if Sheridan kept pushing on without halting his
main column to give battle to the rebels in the rear, the Union cavalry
could ride straight into Richmond. This was what caused Stuart to draw
off the larger part of his command from the line of the North Anna to
get in between Sheridan and the rebel capital, first making a feint on
the south bank as if to attack Merritt's division in the morning. We
succeeded in getting over the river without great loss, as the first
division covered our crossing, and our flying artillery did splendid
work in silencing the rebel battery that gave us the most trouble, and
then sending cannon balls among the Johnnies who were peppering us at
close range.
When we reached Beaver Dam Station--or the ruins of what had been the
station the day before--we found that Custer's brigade had demonstrated
the ability of the Yankee troopers to smash things.
“Golly, massa!” exclaimed a plantation hand, who had witnessed the
capture and destruction of the station, “dem sojers from Massa Linkum's
army dun knock de bottum out'n de las fing roun heah--shuah's yo born.
Whar's yo all gwine?”
“Richmond, Uncle.”
“'Pears like yo' mean it, shuah nuff, dis time. Reckon yo'll get dar if
all Massa Lee's sojers am as skeery ob de Yanks ah de crowd dat was heah
when yo' all com' gallopin' cross de bridge las night. Whew! how dem
rebels did run. Spec dey's close to Richmond by dis time, if dey not
slack up some 'fore now.”
The old darky was right. Custer had knocked the bottom out of everything
around the station, making a total wreck. The ruins were still burning,
and our boys were particular that the destruction should be complete.
The mortification of the rebel prisoners was something ludicrous. Only a
few hours before they had been guarding a detachment of Yankees captured
in the Wilderness. They had reached Beaver Dam Station, where they had
halted for the night. The prisoners had been assured that their chances
of spending a year or so in Libby prison were of the best. But while the
Confederates were boasting of their ability to whip Grant's army three
to one, Custer's troopers dashed down on the station, and in a few
minutes the fire-eating F. F. V.'s were ready to throw up both hands and
surrender. Some of the Union boys who had been released buckled on C. S.
A. belts and cartridge boxes, and stood guard over the crest-fallen gray
backs.
An infantry corporal of a Pennsylvania regiment, had been forced to give
up all his personal effects to one of the rebel guards when leaving the
Wilderness. The corporal had been “well fixed,” as the boys called it
when a comrade had money, a watch, etc. After the tables had been turned
on the Johnnies the corporal, having taken into custody the man who
had robbed him, at once singled him out, and imitating the voice of the
Johnnie, said:
“That's a fine ring on your finger--think it would fit me? Hand it
over.”
The prisoner surrendered the ring, saying:
“You've got the drop on me this time, Yank.”
“Mighty fine watch you carry--you'll have no chance to keep it in prison
where you're going. I'll take charge of it for you.”
The watch was handed over.
“Just go down in your pocket and see how many greenbacks you can
find--you can't spend them in prison.”
A pocket-book with quite a sum of money was given up.
“Let me see! They won't allow you to smoke a meerschaum pipe in prison;
so I'll save that for you till you get out. I'll guarantee it will be
well colored.”
The pipe was returned to its owner.
“Now, that half-pound plug of tobacco, please. You may bite off one more
chaw, as it will probably be the last you'll get right away.”
The rebel obeyed orders.
“As you will have no tramping to do after you get to the prison, and I'm
liable to be on the go most of the time, we'd better swap shoes, as mine
are nearly worn out.”
The exchange was made.
“That canteen!”
Handed over.
“Haversack!”
Surrendered.
“Fine tooth comb!”
“I shall miss that.”
“Suspenders!”
Handed over.
“Jack-knife!”
“Here it is.”
“Shirt--no, never mind the shirt. I haven't got yours to return in place
of it, for it was so thick with graybacks when you took it off to put on
mine, that it was run away with. I've no doubt my shirt that you've got
on is in the same fix now, so keep it, Johnnie. I don't want to be too
hard on a stranger. You may also keep my drawers and stockings, as I can
get a supply from some of my friends in the cavalry. I see you've got a
ring that you didn't take from me. Does it belong to one of our boys?”
“No, Yank; it's mine. It was my mother's. She's dead--it's all I have
left that was hers. But it's yours now, as I'm your prisoner. Take it,
Yank. It's hard to give it up.”
“I know it is.”
“Do you?”
“Yes; the ring you took from me was my mother's, Johnnie. She's
dead--no, I can't take your mother's ring--keep it.”
“I took yours, but you didn't tell me it was your mother's.”
“No; for I didn't believe it would make any difference.”
“It would have made a difference, Yank--sure's you're born, it would.”
There was a grasp of hands as the tears ran down the faces of the
corporal and his prisoner. A tender chord had been struck in the heart
of each. They had been foes a few minutes before. They were brothers
now.
Each had fought for a cause, and would go on fighting as before. They
must continue to be enemies on the field of battle till the great
questions at issue were settled by the sword. But all this was forgotten
as they spoke of “mother.”
The heart beneath the blue and the heart under the gray beat in unison.
Each felt the blessed influence awakened by the utterance of that magic
word “mother,” which is so beautifully expressed by Fanny J. Crosby:
“The light, the spell-word of the heart,
Our guiding star in weal or woe,
Our talisman--our earthly chart--
That sweetest name that earth can know.
“We breathed it first with lisping tongue
When cradled in her arms we lay;
Fond memories round that name are hung
That will not, cannot pass away.
“We breathed it then, we breathe it still,
More dear than sister, friend or brother,
The gentle power, the magic thrill
Awakened at the name of Mother.”
“Johnnie?”
“Yes, Yank.”
“Take this pipe and tobacco. You'll need them.”
“Thank you.”
“Here's my pocket-book.”
“But you'll need the money?”
“Not so much as you will. Take it, I say.”
“All right, if you insist on it.”
“And this fine tooth comb--you'll need that also.”
“Yes, I need it now.”
“Here's my jack-knife; it'll come handy.”
“It will.”
“Now take my canteen and haversack--no, don't refuse; I can get more.
I'll see them filled before we part.”
“Thank you, Yank--God bless you!”
“God bless you, Johnnie!”
And all who stood by said, “Amen.”
So mote it be.
Leaving Beaver Dam Station in ruins, Sheridan's cavalry corps pushed on
toward the rebel capital early on the morning of Tuesday, May 10.
Not far from Beaver Dam we rode by a Virginia farmhouse. It was a
one-story building, with chimneys on the outside and an “entry” running
through the center. Two or three plantation hands stood near the fence,
grinning and shouting:
“Bress de Lawd!”
“Hyar cum 'Massa Linkum's sojers--bress de Lawd! O, Glory!”
“Are you glad to see us, Uncle?”
“Yes, massa, 'deed I is.”
“Where's the 'massa'?”
“He run and gone. Must be de king-dom com-in'.” The old darky had struck
the keynote of one of the ditties that were immensely popular in the
Union army. The boys took up the song. They made it ring as they rode
along:
“Say, dar-keys, hab you seen de mas-sa,
Wid de muff-stash on his face,
Go long de road some time dis morn-in',
Like he gwine to leab do place?
He seen a smoke, way up de rib-ber,
Where de Link-um gum-boats lay;
He took his hat, an' lef' berry sud-den,
An' I 'spec he's run a-vvay!
_Chorus_: “De mas-sa run? ha! ha!
De dar-keys stay? ho! ho!
It mus' be now de king-dom com-in',
An' de year ob Ju-bi lo!”
At another farmhouse we found a new-made grave in the dooryard. It was
just inside the gate, and to the right of the walk leading up to the
porch. The earth heaped over the grave was still moist, which showed
that it had been filled in during the morning. A spade with the letters
“C. S. A.” burned in the handle, lay beside the mound. At one of the
windows of the farmhouse we saw the faces of two or three young ladies.
They had been weeping, but it seemed as if they were holding back their
tears till the Yankees should get out of sight. We concluded that
the grave in the yard was that of their brother. The eyes of many of
Sheridan's raiders filled with tears as they came to understand the
situation, and their minds went back to their own homes and the dear
ones in the North. Mother, sister, sweetheart--in a few days they might
be weeping over the news of the death of their soldier boy. Every voice
was hushed. With uncovered heads the troopers rode by. Their hearts were
moved with sympathy for the distressed household.
A staff officer inquired of an old negro who was drawing water for the
soldiers at a well near the house:
“Whose grave is that, Uncle?”
“Young Massa Tom's, sah.”
“And who was 'Massa Tom'?”
“He war missus's only son.”
“And the brother of the young ladies at the window?”
“Yes; all de brudder dey had. Ole massa he war killed at Seben Pines.
Den young Massa Tom cum home for a time to look after de plantation. But
when de news cum dat Massa Linkum's army” had cross de Rapid Ann, young
massa buckle on he sode an' tell de young missuses and ole missus dat he
obliged to go to de front. He only lef' home Thursday, five days ago.
He war in de Wilderness and war sent wid Yankee prizners to de station
which you all's sojers burn up las' night. He cum home to supper in de
early ebenin, an' den went back to de station. He said dey spected to
start for Richmond 'fore sun-up dis mornin'. But de Yankees sweep down
on de camp, an' soon de news cum dat Massa Tom been kill. A party of
Massa Lee's sojers brought young massa's body home, an' bright an' early
dis mornin' we laid him away in de groun'. De sojers say: 'Better bury
him 'fore de Yankees cum long,' and ole missus say: 'Yes; dey shall
nebber glory ober my son's dead body.' So Massa Tom war laid away. It
did seem so cruel like to jest 'rap a blanket roun' him an' put him
in de groud'; but it won't make a heep ob diff'nce, I reckon, when de
resurreckshun day shall cum, for de good Lawd will know his chil'ren.
“Poor Massa Tom--he's free. Ole missus say she 'spec I'll run off wid de
Yankees now; but, massa, ole Ned's gwine to stay by an' help ole missus
all he can, for de time'll soon cum when dis poor ole slave will be
free! For whom de Lawd make free, he be free 'ndeed.”
As we rode away ole Uncle Ned was singing:
“Dar'll be no sor-row dar,
Dar'll be no sor-row dar,
In heb-un a-buv,
Whar all is luv-
Dar'll be no sor-row dar.”
The enemy did not molest us during the march Tuesday. They had received
severe punishment in the early morning, and when the three divisions of
the cavalry corps had secured a position on the south bank of the North
Anna, Stuart concluded that it was a waste of time--to say nothing of
the danger--to attack Sheridan in the vicinity of Beaver Dam. At any
rate, they left us to ourselves a good part of the day.
And what a picnic we enjoyed! Foraging parties were sent out in all
directions, and they returned with an abundance of corn for our horses.
The corn was in the ear, and we shelled it for our chargers. Now and
then a trooper who had been out on the flank would come in with a supply
of eggs and butter, with a chicken or two hanging on his saddle. All
such provender was classed as “forage,” and was confiscated by the
raiders. It was delicate business, however, and I do not believe
that one out of twenty of Sheridan's troopers took anything from the
plantations along the route that was not needed by the soldiers.
I would not be understood as saying that the boys did not confiscate
things that were not included in the Government ration. Not at all. They
relished extra dishes--such as ham and eggs, butter for their flapjacks,
and milk for their coffee, and wherever they found supplies of this kind
they foraged them. But the Yankees showed a good deal of discrimination.
When they found a dyed-in-the-wool rebel who had a goodly store of
provisions, they confiscated what they needed, but in cases where the
supply was scant and the farm was worked by the women and darkies, the
boys admonished one another to go slow, and only a small percentage of
the crop was taken into camp.
A foraging party went out to a plantation about a mile from the road on
which our column was moving. We saw the planter's house on a gentle rise
of ground, surrounded by magnificent shade trees. Everything about the
place indicated that the proprietor belonged to the F. F. V.'s. As we
rode up the broad avenue leading from the front gate to the residence,
the sergeant in charge of the party said: “Boys, we've struck it rich.
There must be something good to eat here.” Seated in an armchair on the
broad piazza was the “lord of the manor,” his eyes fairly snapping with
the hatred he could not conceal for the visitors. He was full threescore
years and ten. His long white hair hung down upon his shoulders, and
served to heighten the color in his cheeks--and the beet red of his
nose. The planter arose at our approach, and demanded:
“To what am I indebted for this visit?”
“Firing on the old flag at Fort Sumter, primarily,” replied the
sergeant, who seemed to enjoy the old Virginian's hostile attitude.
“But, sir, I did not fire on Sumter!”
“No? Then you're a Union man, I take it?”
“No, sir! I'm a Virginian, loyal to my State and to the Confederacy. If
I were able to bears arms I should be in Lee's army to-day, fighting the
vandal horde that has invaded the sacred soil. Sir, we are enemies!”
“I am sorry to hear you say that. If you were a Union man you could get
pay for the forage we were sent to secure. But as you are a sworn enemy
of the United States of America we will be obliged to confiscate some of
your corn and other supplies.”
“I knew you were a band of robbers when you rode through my gate. The
Northern mudsills make war on private citizens and rob them by force of
arms.”
“It's the fortunes of war.”
“You may call it war. We of the South call it the unholy attempt to
subjugate freemen--to destroy the sovereignty of the States. But Abe
Lincoln with all his vandal horde will never conquer the South!”
“Well, stick to your State's rights, old man; but in the meantime we
must have corn for our horses to brace them up so's we can ride into
Richmond and hang old Jeff Davis----”
“Jeff Davis! He's a saint, sir, when compared with your negro-loving
railsplitter in the White House!”
“All right; I don't propose to quarrel with you. Please show us where
the corn can be found.”
“Never, sir! If you will plunder my plantation I am powerless to defend
myself; but I'll not help you to anything.”
“Then we'll prospect on our own hook. Perhaps we can find what we want.”
“I protest in the name of the sovereign rights of a Virginian.”
“Uncle Sam's a bigger man than 'ole Virginny,'” replied the sergeant.
We had no difficulty in finding the corn crib and the old Virginian's
commissary department. A young darky “let the cat out of the bag” on his
master, and we soon had our horses loaded with forage. We had struck
it rich, indeed, for the plantation yielded “corn, wine and oil” in
abundance. There was food for man and beast. A large number of hams,
cured on the plantation, sides and sides of bacon, and a goodly store of
“groceries” were among the “forage” we confiscated. But we did not
strip the planter of all his provisions; enough was left to run him for
several months.
“I'll give you a receipt for this forage,” said the sergeant, as we were
about to leave.
“What would the receipt of a robber be good for?” exclaimed the old
planter.
“You can present it to the Government when the war's over and get pay
for the forage.”
“Do you want to add further insult to the injury you have done me? I
scorn you and your Government. You can never whip the South, sir, never,
and under no consideration would I disgrace myself by taking pay for
stores used by the enemies of the Confederacy. Leave my plantation.
Go back to your general and tell him that my prayer is that he and his
followers will get their just deserts--that they will all be hanged.”
The enraged planter walked back and forth on the piazza, and shot
defiant glances at us as we rode away with our plunder. I have no doubt
that he would have “bushwhacked” us if there had been an opportunity.
A couple of miles south of the big plantation we came to a farmhouse on
a cross road. We stopped at the well to fill our canteens, and one of
the boys explored the premises to see what he could find. He came back
with the report that the house was occupied by a widow with a large
family of children.
“There don't seem to be anything to eat on this farm,” the trooper
remarked.
“I'll see about it,” said the sergeant, as he rode up to the porch.
“Halloo, inside there!”
A middle-aged woman came out into the entry and advanced timidly toward
the Yankee.
“We're out after forage,” the sergeant said. “Have you any corn around
here?”
“We have nothing but the crap that's gro'in'. We had some provisions
until a few days ago a lot of soldiers came along and took all our corn
and bacon. We've got a mighty little meal and a trifle of bacon left.”
“I didn't know that any of our men had been through here lately.”
“They were not Yankees; they were our own soldiers. They said they were
hungry, and when they begun to eat it seemed like they would never quit.
They fairly ate us most out of house and home. It's mighty sorry times
with us. I don't know what we'll do to get along till harvest.”
“Where's your husband?”
“Done killed in the wah.”
“Have you no sons?”
“Yes, sir; two fighting under General Lee.
“And you're short of provisions?”
“Very short indeed.”
“Boys, leave a couple of hams, a bag of meal and some bacon with this
lady.”
The boys gladly complied with the instructions, and they also went down
in their haversacks and contributed quite a number of rations of coffee
and sugar.
“Oh! that's real coffee,” exclaimed the oldest of the children, a girl
of about twelve years.
“I expected you would take what little we had to eat,” said the head
of the family, as the tears rolled down her face. “I never thought the
Yankees would be so kind to the widow of a Confederate. The Richmond
papers said if you all came this way you would destroy everything; they
said heaps of black things about you.”
“Do you all have hams on your saddles and sacks of corn to carry along
all the time?” ventured the young miss who had listened to all that had
been said.
“No, no; we confiscated these back at the big plantation yonder.”
“Where 'bouts?” inquired the widow.
“At that fine house a couple of miles north.”
“Was there an old gentleman there?”
“Yes; he gave us his benediction when we left, by expressing the wish
that we would all come to the gallows.”
“And these hams and other things came from his plantation?”
“Yes.”
“I declare, 'vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.' Yesterday I called
there and asked the colonel--they all call him colonel--to help me along
by letting me have a little meal and bacon. I promised to pay him back
when we gather our crap, by and by.”
“He assisted you, of course?”
“No, indeed. He said he could not afford to distribute his provisions
among other people who had no claims on him. He refused to let me have a
pound of meat, or a quart of meal.”
“He knows your husband was killed fighting for the Confederacy--and that
you have two sons in Lee's army?”
“To be sure he does; he urged them to go into the army, to hurl back the
invaders; but he now says I must look to the Government at Richmond for
help. I'm thankful for what you all have done for us. It's a right
smart help. But I believe the colonel would come down here and take the
provisions away from us, if he knew you all had left them here.”
“Let's go back and take what's left at his plantation and burn him out,”
exclaimed one of the troopers.
“No; not this time,” said the sergeant. “But we shall probably come this
way again, and then we can pay our compliments to the old skinflint.”
“Do you think the wah's coming to an end soon?” the woman asked as we
were about to move forward.
“I hope so,” replied the sergeant. “I think this campaign will wind it
up.”
“Who's going to whip?”
“We are.”
“You'll be obliged to do some powerful hard fighting, I reckon, for our
side won't give up so long's there's anything to eat in the Confederacy.
But if we're to be overcome, sure enough, I hope it will be soon--before
my sons are killed. Our boys'll die game, sure's you're born.”
“I hope your sons will be spared.”
“I trust they will. They believe they are fighting for a just cause.
They are Virginians, and they have great faith in Gen. Lee. They will
follow him to the end. But it's a cruel wah. Somebody must be wrong;
both sides cannot be right. I don't understand it thoroughly, but I feel
that somebody has made a terrible mistake.”
“Ma, the Yankees hasn't got horns, has they, ma?” exclaimed one of
the children, a girl about five years old, and who was gnawing at a
hard-tack one of the troopers had given her.
“No, my darling.”
And the Confederate soldier's widow joined in the laugh that followed
this juvenile outbreak. Good-bys were said, and the foraging party
hastened to rejoin the column.