_From the Wilderness to James River._
"Turning his bridle, Robert Lee
Rode to the rear. Like waves of the sea,
Bursting the dikes in their overflow,
Madly his veterans dashed on the foe."
The army of Northern Virginia had met and defeated McDowell, McClellan,
Pope, Burnside and Hooker, and caused the retirement of Meade, but the
Government at Washington had at last found a soldier believed to be a
full match for Gen. Lee.
Grant had been successful in the West, and his achievements had made him
the Nation's idol, so he was brought to the East and placed in command
of the army of the Potomac.
All during the late fall and winter and early spring he was preparing an
immense army, whose rendezvous was on the Rappahannock and in the
district about Culpeper Courthouse. It was a greater and better equipped
army than that under McClellan in 1862. Then again, McClellan was an
untried soldier, while Grant had won his spurs on more than one
battlefield. So the North had a right to feel that Lee would be beaten
and Richmond captured. Besides this great army, another 30,000 strong
was marching up the James river, taking the same route McClellan took
two years before.
Gen. Benj. F. Butler was its commander. The two armies were to unite and
compel the surrender or evacuation of the Confederate Capital.
It was about the first of May when Grant began his movements toward
Lee's front. At this time the whole cavalry force of Gen. Lee was
encamped in a rich grazing district about five miles from
Fredericksburg.
We had been there several weeks, our horses had been wading in grass up
to their knees. They had shed their winter coats, and were looking fine,
and seemed to be ready for the fray.
Our principal article of food was fresh fish, caught from the
Rappahannock river.
As we loitered around the camp from day to day, speculating as to when
we should be called to the front, and discussing what would be the
result of the coming battle, we began to get restless, as soldiers will.
They live on excitement, and the booming of guns and the rattling of
musketry is the sweetest music they can hear.
One bright May morning (it must have been about the first day of the
month) we saw a courier with his horse all flecked with foam as he came
dashing into our camp. He halted and asked for Gen. Stuart's
headquarters. It proved to be a messenger from Gen. Lee, and it meant
that the death-struggle was about to begin.
Soon the bugles were sounding all through the camps the old familiar
call, "Saddle up, saddle up." We mounted, and each company forming in
line and counting off by fours, wheeled into columns of two and marched
off toward what was afterward known as the Battlefield of the
Wilderness.
We arrived at the position assigned us about dark, where we went into
camp in the woods, tying our horses to the trees and building camp-fires
to cook our supper. I had (like the boy in the parable of the loaves and
fishes) in my haversack a few small fresh fish, and I was wondering
whether they would be sweet or not. I remember distinctly laying them on
the coals of fire to broil. It has been 43 years since then, but I can
assure you I can almost taste those fish today. I don't think I ever
ate anything so sweet.
[Illustration: GEN. FITZHUGH LEE,
Who commanded a division of Gen. J.E.B. Stuart's cavalry.]
The next day we were in the saddle early. The cavalry formed the right
wing of Lee's army. The battle lasted two days. The cavalry fought
almost entirely on foot. It was mostly in heavy timber and thick
undergrowth.
The first day we did not see the enemy, but we knew he was there, for
the woods were ringing with the sound of their guns, and bullets were
hissing about our ears.
When we struck this heavy body of timber we found a narrow road running
through it. We followed this road cautiously for two or three miles. My
company was in front. About 200 yards in front of the company rode two
soldiers, side by side. We knew somewhere in front of us was the enemy,
and it was our mission to find him. Suddenly we heard two shots--pop,
pop. We all knew what that meant. The armies of Lee and Grant had met,
and as far as I know, these were the first two shots fired of the Battle
of the Wilderness. They had come from the enemy's guns. They had seen
our advance guard, and the shots meant, "so far shalt thou come, and no
farther." We took the hint and halted.
The regiment was dismounted, and the led horses were taken back some
distance; we deployed on the right and left of the road and awaited
results; then moved forward until we discovered the enemy's line. We
exchanged some shots, and began falling slowly back, while they
advanced.
As we retired, their bullets were hissing through our ranks and cutting
the bark from the trees and the twigs from the bushes, and now and then
striking down our men.
My cousin, Dallas Leith, and myself stood together behind a tree for
protection. As he fired, his head was exposed, and a bullet from the
enemy's ranks just brushed his lips. He turned to me and said, "Wasn't
that a close shave?" And at the same time a bullet grazed my finger as I
fired.
We fell back through the timber to the edge of the open fields, and
getting behind a rail fence, remained there until the enemy came up. We
held our fire until they got close to us, when we poured a volley into
their ranks that sent them scurrying back through the woods. We then
climbed the fence and followed them up.
About 20 steps from the fence we saw two Yankees lying mortally wounded.
We gathered around them and asked them some questions about where they
were from, and one of our men pulled a photograph from the pocket of one
of them. It was a picture of a young girl, and one of the men said, "I
guess that's his sweetheart." He opened his eyes and said with much
difficulty, "No, it is my sister." Our captain was standing by, and as
the men were so close to our line, someone conceived the idea that they
had come up to surrender, and one of them said to our captain, "Captain,
these men came up to surrender, and were shot down." One of the Yankees
denied the accusation with some feeling. They were both shot in the
breast, and were bleeding profusely. It was very evident that they had
but a short time to live.
The captain ordered them to be taken back to a place of safety. They
begged to remain where they were, saying that they hadn't long to live,
but they were taken back to a safer place.
We were again ordered forward, and kept on until we came in touch with
the enemy, when the firing was resumed.
Dallas Leith and myself were again behind a tree. He was kneeling down
loading his gun, when his head was again exposed, and a ball struck him
in the forehead. It tore away a part of the bone, exposing his brain. I
felt confident the boy was killed, and had no other thought than that of
leaving him there, for we had all we could do to carry back the wounded,
much less the dead.
We were then ordered to fall back, and someone more humane than I
proposed that we carry his body back with us. I protested that it was
impossible, but the others insisted, and, tying a handkerchief around
his head, his hair drenched with blood, we picked him up and carried him
back about a mile, when to our surprise we got into a road and there
found an ambulance. Putting him in it, he was carried to the hospital,
in the rear. Strange to say, he lived about ten days, giving his father
time to come from Loudoun county to see him before he died. About this
same time his younger brother Henry (at home) was blown to pieces by a
shell that he had picked up in the field on his father's farm and was
trying to open it, to see what was inside.
But to return to the battle. This state of things continued for two
whole days, with little intermission. Sometimes, however, there was not
a shot fired for an hour.
During one of these intervals I remember sitting down, leaning my back
against a large tree, and began writing a letter to my folks at home.
Capt. Gibson came up to me and said, "Young man, if you don't want to
get shot, you'd better get on the other side of that tree, for somewhere
just in front of us, and not a great distance off, is the enemy's
skirmish line, and they may open fire at any moment." I moved behind the
tree and resumed my writing, but was suddenly stopped by the sound of
firing in our front, that caused us to creep farther back into the
woods.
On another occasion we had fallen back out of the timber into the open
fields, and were firing from behind a fence at the enemy in the woods,
whom we could not see for the undergrowth. Our attention was called to a
large body of cavalry on our left, apparently the enemy on mischief
bent.
There are times in a battle when every private soldier on the firing
line becomes a "Commander-in-Chief." It is when orders cannot be given,
or would not be heard if they were. Each soldier seems to know
intuitively what to do, and the whole line acts in concert.
At this particular time the body of cavalry on our left proved to be the
bluecoats, moving toward our rear. It did not take long for the
information to spread up and down the line, and at once every man in the
ranks, in absence of any orders from headquarters, concluded that the
thing to do was to fall back. So each soldier gave the order to himself,
and quicker than it takes time to tell it, the line was moving back over
the fields.
We had retreated perhaps 200 yards when the movement was noticed by Gen.
Fitzhugh Lee. He came galloping toward us on his white horse, and with a
voice that could be heard above the shots of the guns, he said, "What
does this mean?" In reply, hundreds of hands pointed toward the enemy on
our left, and some voices said, "They're getting in our rear." Gen. Lee
said, "Tut, tut, tut; go back, go back." And without a word every man
wheeled around and started back for the position he had left. Gen. Lee
perhaps knew that there were forces enough there to take care of the
enemy, who, as we saw it, was getting behind us.
As I said before, this kind of warfare continued for two days, and all
the time it was going on we could hear the booming of the artillery on
our left, telling us that Grant was doing all he could to beat back or
break through Lee's lines, and we knew, too, that he was not
accomplishing his purpose. We could always tell which way the battle was
going by the direction from which the sound came.
The night of the second day Grant silently and rapidly withdrew the main
portion of his army from Lee's front and marched toward Spottsylvania
Courthouse, which was some distance to the right of where the cavalry
was fighting.
His object was to surprise Gen. Lee, and get between him and Richmond.
But Gen. Lee had anticipated that very movement, and when Grant's
infantry moved forward at Spottsylvania Courthouse, he found Lee's army
there confronting him. Then began the bloodiest battle of all the war,
so it is said.
It was during the Battle of the Wilderness that Gen. Grant sent that
famous dispatch to Washington, "I will fight it out on this line if it
takes all summer." If he meant the line between his army and Lee's, he
changed his mind within 24 hours. But if he meant a line stretching from
Wilderness to Petersburg, he kept his word. It took him all summer to
get his army south of the James river, and cost him the loss (it is
said) of 100,000 soldiers.
He could have placed his army there without firing a shot by following
the route taken by McClellan, but Grant well knew he must first cripple
Lee's army before he could capture Richmond, and that he could afford to
lose five men to Lee's one in doing it, and I presume he thought the
district called the "Wilderness" a good place to begin the work.
While Grant's army was moving under the cover of night and the dense
forests toward Spottsylvania Courthouse, our cavalry also moved in the
same direction. And when Grant ordered his lines forward the next
morning, the first to receive them was our cavalry.
The enemy's cavalry still confronted us when we began fighting. It
seemed to be the same old tactics that had been played for the last two
days, except that it was a little fiercer.
Among the killed that day was a handsome young colonel of one of the
regiments of our brigade. His name was Collins. I think he was a
Georgian.
He was always dressed as if he were going to a reception. His
complexion was as fair as a woman's. His hair was light. He habitually
wore a clean white collar and a bright new uniform (something unusual
among soldiers in the midst of an active campaign), but "death loves a
shining mark," and he was taken off.
About 10 o'clock in the morning our cavalry was withdrawn from the
front, and going back to our led horses we mounted and slowly rode back
toward Spottsylvania Courthouse.
The country here was different from where we had been fighting the two
days previous. Much of it was open fields, and the timbered part of it
was not encumbered with undergrowth.
As we slowly fell back we looked behind us and saw a gorgeous sight. It
was Grant's line of battle moving forward as if on "Dress Parade," their
brass buttons and steel guns with fixed bayonets glistening in the sun,
with their banners floating in the breeze. The first thought among the
private soldiers was, "Has Grant stolen a march on Lee, and is Richmond
doomed?" It certainly looked so at this moment, but we kept on falling
back.
As we entered the woods we suddenly came upon Lee's infantry lying down
in line of battle waiting the enemy's advance. As we approached them,
word was passed up and down the line not to cheer the infantry. This was
the custom in the face of a battle when the cavalry, retiring from the
front, gave way to the infantry.
They opened their ranks and let us pass through, and we formed in line
some distance behind them. The infantry was entirely concealed from the
enemy's view, and up to this time I am quite sure that Grant did not
know that he was facing Lee's army at Spottsylvania Courthouse. But he
was soon to be undeceived in a manner most tragic.
Lee's infantry waited until the enemy was within 100 yards, and then,
rising to their feet, poured a volley into their ranks that brought many
of them to the ground, and sent the others back from whence they came.
This was only the beginning of the battle.
Leaving the infantry to take care of that part of the field, the cavalry
was moved a mile to the right and again dismounted, and moved forward
until we came under fire of the enemy's guns. We laid down behind a rail
fence and fired between the rails. A bullet struck a rail just in front
of my head and knocked the dust and splinters in my face, almost
blinding me for a little while. We did not remain there very long, but
were soon ordered back, and as we moved across the open fields in full
view of the enemy, they kept up an incessant fire, many of the shots
taking effect.
We could see the Union officers on the little hills in every direction,
with their field glasses to their eyes, trying to discover what was in
front of them.
The cavalry retired from the field, leaving the infantry to do the rest.
How well it was done the historian has tragically told the story. It was
on this field that "Hancock, the superb," made eight distinct attacks on
Lee's center, and finally breaking his line of battle, rushed his troops
by thousands into the breach, and for the moment it looked as if the
Confederacy was doomed.
Gen. Lee, seeing the peril in which his army was placed, ordered forward
Gordon's division (which he was holding in reserve), placed himself at
the head of it, and was about to lead them into battle in order to
restore his broken lines. Shells were falling about Gen. Lee and his
life was in peril. One of the officers rode up to him and said, "Gen.
Lee, this is no place for you; you must go to the rear." His troops
refused to go forward until Gen. Lee had retired from the front. One of
the soldiers came forward, and taking the reins of Lee's horse, led him
back. Then Gen. Gordon led his division forward, the enemy was driven
back, the line was restored, and Gen. Lee's army was saved from
destruction and another year added to the life of the Confederacy.
I heard Gen. Gordon in a lecture delivered at "Music Hall," Baltimore,
some years ago, describing this event, say (as he stretched out his
hands horizontally), "My dead were piled that high, and three days after
the battle I saw wounded men trying to pull themselves from under the
mass of the dead above them. And at one point the slopes were so
slippery with blood that my soldiers could not stand until the ground
had been carpeted with the bodies of their fallen comrades."
A tree about six inches in diameter standing in a field was literally
cut down by bullets, not a shot from a cannon having been fired on that
part of the field.
The Standard Encyclopedia puts the strength of Grant's army at 150,000,
but does not state how many men Lee had. Perhaps 75,000 would be a fair
estimate. The same authority gives Grant's losses at the battle of the
Wilderness as 18,000; Lee's at 11,000.[5]
The losses in the battle of Spottsylvania Courthouse, fought two days
afterward, were as great, if not greater, than those of the Wilderness.
When the cavalry retired from the front they mounted their horses, and
almost Lee's entire cavalry force, headed by their chief, Gen. J.E.B.
Stuart, started in a bee line for Richmond, without halting a moment.
Gen. Sheridan, commanding Grant's cavalry, had passed around our right
wing with his whole command, and was heading toward the Confederate
Capital.
I think it was about 4 o'clock in the afternoon when we started.
Sheridan was several miles ahead of us. We marched all night. We
overtook Sheridan at Hanover Junction, on the railroad leading to
Richmond; not, however, until he had destroyed a large quantity of
provisions stored there for Lee's army, a great loss to the Confederates
at that time.
Sheridan had prepared for this expedition, and all of his men had
well-filled haversacks, while ours were empty.
I cannot remember just when and where we got in front of Sheridan, but I
know from Hanover Junction on we were in constant touch with his forces,
and harassed them all we could.
At a place called "Yellow Tavern" several regiments of our cavalry (mine
among them) were dismounted, formed across the fields, and moved forward
in real line of battle style until we came upon the enemy, also
dismounted. After a brisk encounter we fell back to a road that was
somewhat sunken.
There we halted for the purpose of stopping the enemy's advance, for the
sunken road furnished us some protection, but they did not stop. They
marched on, firing as they came.
Their line was longer and thicker than ours, and it was evident that we
were about to be surrounded. Some of our men mounted the fence in the
rear and fled across the fields. Others stood their ground and were
captured, I among them.
I was near Colonel Pate, the colonel commanding a regiment in my
brigade. He was killed by a bullet striking him in the center of the
forehead. Also near me was our captain, Bruce Gibson.
There was a little culvert across a ditch in the road that the farmers
used in going from the road into the field. Some of our men crept under
this culvert and escaped. Probably 200 of us were captured.
But the army sustained a greater loss than that, a loss second only to
that of Stonewall Jackson.
Just behind our line in the field was Gen. Stuart with his staff. A
bullet struck him somewhere about the stomach. He was held on his horse
until it was led to a place of safety. Then he was taken from his horse,
put into an ambulance and carried to Richmond. He died the next day.
Stuart was considered the greatest cavalry leader of the war on either
side, and his death brought a very great loss to Gen. Lee, and also to
the whole Confederacy.
The Confederacy had from the beginning attached greater importance to
the cavalry arm of the service than had the North, and many had been the
daring raids that Stuart made within the enemy's lines, capturing
thousands of wagons laden with military stores, and many thousand
prisoners. In fact, almost our entire cavalry was equipped with
saddles, bridles and arms captured from the enemy; nearly all the wagons
in Lee's army were captured wagons. But perhaps Providence knew that the
time was near at hand when we would not need these things, so He
permitted the one who had been the means of supplying our wants in this
particular to retire from the field. He was buried in Hollywood
Cemetery, Richmond, Va., and a magnificent equestrian statue marks the
spot.
Many of Stuart's raids were made under the cover of darkness. He always
wore a long ostrich feather in his hat, and was a splendid rider. The
soldiers had a war song, the chorus of which was something like this:
"We'll follow the feather of Stuart tonight."
The prisoners were taken back and put under guard. I think this was
about 4 o'clock in the afternoon. We remained there quietly until after
dark, all the time, however, the fighting was going on, but we were out
of reach of danger in that respect, so we had a brief breathing spell.
After dark Sheridan's whole command began to move slowly toward
Richmond, making frequent stops of a few minutes. The prisoners
marched two abreast, with a line of cavalry guard on each side. We
had, of course, to keep up with the cavalry.
[Illustration: A BATTLE-SCARRED CONFEDERATE BANNER.]
Our guard was very kind to us, and allowed us to take hold of their
stirrup straps, which was quite a help to us as we marched along,
especially in crossing streams, one of which I remember was up to our
waists. It began raining at midnight, and continued most of the next
day. The night was very dark, and from the distance we had covered from
the time we started, it seemed to us that we must be very near the city.
Finally we turned to the left and moved toward the James river, in a
southeasterly direction from Richmond.
As we had no sleep the night before, but rode all night, and now were
walking all night in the rain and mud, and without food, you may know we
were in a wretched condition. Every now and then a friendly Yank would
hand us a cracker from his haversack, saying, "Here, Johnnie." But they
were on short rations themselves, and could not help us much in that
respect.
The next day we were in constant peril from the shells thrown from the
Confederate batteries, that seemed to come in every direction. In fact,
Sheridan was completely surrounded, except on one side, and his
progress was stopped there by the Chickahominy river.
This is a slow, marshy river, crossed by two or three bridges. The chief
one had been destroyed by the Confederates. Sheridan was in close
quarters, and we prisoners had made up our minds that he would have to
surrender his army.
We got so bold and impudent that we hailed Yankee officers as they
passed us, and said, "Hey there, Mr. Yank, I speak for that horse."
Among these officers so hailed was a red-headed major, who was in
command of our guard. Prior to this, he had been very surly and
exceedingly gruff and harsh. So much so, that the prisoners had
whispered among themselves that if we did get him in our hands we'd make
him sweat, and when it became evident not only to us, but to the enemy,
that they were in danger of capture, this particular officer changed his
attitude toward us very perceptibly. He took our jeers and taunts
without a word, and, luckily for us, about this time he was relieved of
his position, and another put in his place. Perhaps he had asked for it,
knowing that he wouldn't receive very kind treatment if he fell into
our hands.
But, oh, the irony of Fate. On a hill fronting the river (not far from
the bridge) was an old Virginia mansion. The prisoners were led to this
house and ordered to tear it down and carry the timbers to the river and
rebuild the bridge. What do you think of that? Of course, we had to
obey, but we made loud complaints, and while we were carrying this
timber and rebuilding the bridge, our enemy was protecting us, from
their standpoint (as far as they could), by keeping back the
Confederates, who were pouring shot and shell into their ranks from
every direction. The bridge was repaired, Sheridan's command was soon
safe on the other side, and our hopes died away.
There are two little incidents connected with my capture that I ought
not to leave out, so I will go back to that event. The first one may
serve a good purpose if the reader is ever placed in similar
circumstances.
When I realized that we were in the hands of the enemy, but before they
had gotten to where I was, I lay down on my face in the ditch alongside
of the wounded and dead, pretending myself to be dead. I had the most
awful feeling while lying there imaginable, and felt that at any moment
I might be thrust through with a bayonet, and the feeling was so intense
that as soon as I heard the Yankees tramping about me and calling upon
the men to surrender, I got up and surrendered. If I had only had
presence of mind enough to have lain on my back and watched them from
the corner of my eye, I might have passed through the ordeal and escaped
after they left, as they did not remain long.
In the first place, the men were cavalrymen, and hence had no bayonets.
Then again, the Confederate bullets were hissing about their ears in
such a manner that they never would have thought of testing a "Johnnie
Reb" in that way in order to see whether he was really dead or playing
possum.
The other incident was the second night after our capture. It was still
raining, and the weather was quite cool for the season (it was about the
10th of May). We were all wet to the skin, and nearly starved. We were
stopped in a field, a guard placed around us, an old cow driven up and
shot, and we were told to help ourselves. So every fellow that could get
a knife went up and cut his own steak. They gave us some fence rails,
out of which we made little fires and broiled our cow meat. She may have
been tough and old, and I know we had no salt, but the meat was as sweet
to us as any porterhouse steak we had ever eaten.
We huddled together for the night like pigs, and slept comfortably,
notwithstanding we had tramped the earth into a mud hole.
But to go back to the crossing of the Chickahominy river. Once across
that river, the enemy seemed to have very little opposition to their
march toward the James.
I know it was a long, weary march, and their horses were giving out all
along the way. When a horse got too sore-footed to travel, he was shot,
and as we passed along we saw hundreds of these horses, with the warm
life-blood flowing from a hole in their foreheads, lying by the side of
the road. This was done to prevent the horses from falling into the
hands of the Confederates.
When we got in sight of the James river, the prisoners were halted in an
orchard, and rested there for an hour or so. Just over the fence were
some little pigs, with their tails curled around like a curl on a girl's
head, rooting around for something nice to eat. One of the prisoners
called to a Yankee to catch a pig and throw it over the fence. He at
once made a dive for the pigs and got one, and threw it to us. A great
crowd rushed for the pig, every fellow with a knife in his hand, and as
many as could get hold of the little fellow began cutting into his
anatomy. I had hold of one of the hind legs, and while we cut, the pig
squealed. I got a whole ham for my share. Of course, I shared it with my
comrades.
We gathered sticks and built little fires, and had a grand feast of
roast pig. My, it was sweet! There was neither ceremony, pepper nor
salt.
Soon after this banquet we were marched to the James river, put on a
steamer, and our empty stomachs filled to the brim with a good dinner.
The first course was good beef soup, thickened with vegetables. We
certainly enjoyed it. Then came roast beef and real baker's bread
(something we hadn't had for an age).
But to go back to Spottsylvania Courthouse. Grant's efforts to get to
Richmond by breaking through Lee's lines were as ineffectual there as
they had been in the Wilderness two days before. So he packed his grip
(so to speak) and made another move toward the James river.
These two battles, of course, had reduced his fighting forces
materially, but the Government at Washington kept filling up his ranks
and supplying him with every need. In fact, in one case particularly,
they sent him more war material than he could use, and rather than
encumber his march, he sent 100 cannon back to Washington, while the
poor Confeds had no such source of supply, and had to be content with
making the best of the material they had.
Gen. Lee moved his army in a parallel line with Grant's, and kept in his
front, ready to dispute his passage if he attempted to move forward.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 5: General Longstreet gives 63,998 as the total strength of
Lee's army in this campaign. Longstreet was severely wounded at the
Battle of the Wilderness by a bullet shot through the neck. Was carried
from the field on a litter, and was unable to return to the army for
several months. Lee had lost the services of Jos. E. Johnson, Jackson,
Longstreet, and a few days later J.E.B. Stuart. These were his ablest
lieutenants.]