_From Petersburg to Appomattox and Home._
"There hangs a saber, and there a rein,
With a rusty buckle and a green curb chain;
A pair of spurs on the old grey wall,
And a moldy saddle--well, that is all."
April 2, 1865, Lee was compelled to evacuate Richmond, abandon his whole
battle line, and fall back toward the mountains. He hoped to be able to
join his forces with those of Gen. Jos. E. Johnston, who was advancing
northward through North Carolina, but his losses were so heavy and his
army almost starved, the road deep with mud from excessive rains, making
it impossible for his gaunt, lean horses to draw his artillery and
wagons. He saw further resistance was useless, so on April 9, 1865, Lee
surrendered what was left of his once formidable army. The number was a
little less than 8000 men. I have seen it stated that Lee had about
35,000 men,[6] when, on April 2, he ordered the evacuation of his
line of intrenchments. Some of his cavalry, being on the outskirts, were
not included in the surrender. Besides this, during the seven days'
retreat, Grant's forces were pressing Lee's army on all sides, killing,
wounding and capturing some of his men every hour; this accounts for the
small number that Gen. Lee personally surrendered. The first thing that
was done after the surrender was an application from Gen. Lee to Grant
for food for his horses and men, which was promptly supplied. Of course,
there is much that is interesting in connection with the surrender that
need not be recorded here. Grant's treatment of Lee and his soldiers won
for him praise all over the South.
[Illustration: ONE OF STONEWALL JACKSON'S MILEPOSTS. A FAMILIAR SIGHT TO
THOSE WHO TRAVELED THE VALLEY TURNPIKE DURING THE CIVIL WAR.]
But to go back. As I have said, I was on the march from home toward the
army, and had reached a point not far from Charlottesville. There were
about a dozen of us, all belonging to my regiment. About noon we saw
advancing toward us a small body of cavalry. At first we took them for
the enemy and approached them cautiously, they using the same
precaution. When we discovered that we were fellow-Confeds we passed
with a salute. One of them called to us and said, "Boys, you may as well
go home; Lee has surrendered his army." We paid no attention to it, but
moved on. A mile farther we met another squad and asked what was the
news from the army. We got this reply: "As we passed through
Charlottesville we came near being mobbed for telling the news from the
army. You had better go on and find out for yourselves." Soon after this
we met a colonel leading about 40 cavalrymen. By this time we began to
feel that something was wrong. The colonel halted his men and frankly
told us that it was a fact that Lee had surrendered his army. He stated
that some of the cavalry had escaped and they were making their way
toward their homes, and advised us to do the same. The colonel and his
men moved on, and we halted for an hour in the road discussing the
situation and trying to determine what to do. We were not prepared to
act upon the evidence that we had had regarding the surrender, but were
willing to admit that it might be true. One fellow from Company F,
riding a gray horse, rose in his stirrups, and lifting his clinched hand
high above his head, said, "If Gen. Lee has had to surrender his army,
there is not a just God in Heaven."
Finally we decided to cross the mountains into the Virginia Valley and
tarry in the vicinity of Staunton and await further tidings. I made a
bee-line for my brother Gerard's. The others scattered here and there.
After remaining a few days at my brother's I started, in company with
six or eight others, who were from the lower end of the valley,
principally Clark county, for my home in Loudoun, with no definite idea
as to what I should do before I got there. In fact, the others were in
the same frame of mind.
We had heard and read the proclamation that all Confederate soldiers who
would surrender their arms and take the oath of allegiance to the U.S.
Government (except a certain grade of officers) would be allowed to go
to their homes and not be molested, but we had not yet come to the point
of surrendering.
We moved on down the valley pike, noting as we went the terrible havoc
the war had made, commenting on what we called Jackson's mileposts, viz.
the skeletons of horses that had fallen by the way. They were, however,
too thick to be called mileposts, but that is what we called them.
A little below Woodstock, I think it was, we saw on a hill, standing in
the middle of the road facing us, two sentinels on horseback. They were
Yankee pickets. I think there were eight of us. We halted. Someone said,
"Well, boys, what are we going to do? We can't pass these pickets. Shall
we surrender?" I guess we stood there for an hour. We were all mounted.
Finally a young fellow from Clark county said, "I'm going up and
surrender." Another said, "I go with you." And the two, taking something
in their hands that would pass for a flag of truce (white handkerchiefs
had become obsolete), went forward and were allowed to pass. They went
to headquarters and surrendered. Then one by one the little band melted
away, leaving two, and I was one of them. We were not ready to
surrender. We went back out of sight, and made a flank movement to get
into the foothills of the Massanutten mountains, and by keeping under
cover of the timber, managed to get within 12 miles of my home without
being molested.
As we stood on the edge of the woods we saw the Yankee cavalry moving up
and down the turnpike running from Paris to Middleburg. It looked as if
there was nothing else to do but surrender. At this point my comrade
deserted me and went forward and surrendered. I watched my opportunity,
slipping across the pike unobserved, and following the Blue Ridge
mountains until nearly opposite my home, took a straight line across the
fields and reached home safely. As I carried my full complement of arms
I created no little surprise and consternation.
Union soldiers were constantly passing along the road which ran close by
my home, some of them stopping for water or for information, but I could
not fully make up my mind to surrender. My brother Richard of Mosby's
command was of the same mind. Mosby and all his men had surrendered, and
the family pleaded with us to do the same, but we were obstinate. This,
however, was nothing to our credit. When one is whipped he should be man
enough to acknowledge it and brave enough to surrender, unless the
conqueror be a cannibal.
Thus ended my career as a soldier. As I look back over those four
eventful years, after a lapse of over 40 years, it all seems a dream. In
time of peace it is a struggle for 75 per cent. of us to get a fair
living out of the earth, but the people down South managed to live, and
were in a degree comfortable and contented, and managed to get food
enough to preserve their bodies and keep them strong and healthy. Flour
was $500 a barrel. I paid $125 in Richmond for a hat that I could now
buy for $1. This common red-striped candy, $25 per pound. Samuel Rector
had gone from Loudoun county to Richmond in 1864 on some business. When
ready to go home he thought it would be nice and the proper thing to do
to take the family some little remembrances. He went into a
confectionery store and asked to see some candies. The jars were taken
down and he tasted first one then another. Selecting one and asking the
price, he was told that it was $25 per pound. It was of the long,
red-striped variety just mentioned, worth in times of peace about 10
cents per pound. He had a pound of it wrapped up, and handed the
proprietor a $50 Confederate note. Twenty dollars was handed back in
change. Mr. Rector said, "I understood you to say the price was $25."
"That is true," said the affable confectioner, "but you ate $5 worth."
The joke was well worth $5 to Mr. Rector, and he got more pleasure out
of it than he did out of the pound of candy.
There were four commodities with which the South was plentifully
supplied, viz., tobacco, cotton, money and horses. We raised the two
former in the territory not harassed by marching armies. The third was
supplied by printing presses, and the horses were captured from our
enemy. Of course, bridles, saddles, harness and wagons came with the
horses.
I have omitted a great many little entertaining incidents partly for the
sake of brevity and partly because they escaped my memory at the time
they should have been narrated. One that I just now recall, and one
which the children always used to make me tell whenever war stories were
called for, regardless of how often it had been repeated, I will insert
here:
One cold, windy night in the winter of '62 I was on picket on the
turnpike between Upperville and Middleburg. Pickets in the Confederate
army always stood alone, as two or more would likely be absorbed in
conversation and forget their duty. We were also admonished not to
dismount. I was a little reckless that night, and dismounting stood
leaning against my horse to break the bleak wind and absorb as much heat
from his body as possible. He became restless, and I noticed that he was
looking intently down the pike and throwing his head up and down as
horses will do when excited. I listened, but could hear no sound, and
told my steed to keep still, but his keen eyes or ears saw or heard
something that worried him, and he kept his ears pointed down in the
direction from which the enemy would probably come if they came at all.
I said to myself, "You had better mount your horse." But I delayed. I
then recalled the fact that news had reached the camp that day that a
body of cavalry had left the vicinity of Washington and was moving
northeast, and we were admonished to keep a sharp lookout. Then I
concluded to mount, but before I could do so I realized that it was too
late.
I was standing close by one of those old Virginia stone fences, about
five feet high, and in the darkness I saw an object creeping up on the
other side of the fence, close to it, and only a few feet from where I
stood. I immediately concluded that the object was a man, and that he
was from the enemy and was bent on capturing or killing the picket, so
as to surprise our camp. The most accessible weapon I had was my sabre.
I drew it and made a cut at what I conceived to be the man's head. As I
did so, the object disappeared behind the fence, and in its place
appeared what proved to be a black cat's tail, which in a flash
followed the cat. Although it was quite dark, the little black object
appearing between me and the sky was plainly visible. This incident
taught me a lesson that I never forgot. I mounted my horse, and never
was known afterward to dismount when on the picket line. I believe this
was the greatest fright I encountered during my whole four years' war
experience.
One more little incident, and a short tribute to the remarkable fidelity
of the colored people of the South to the Southern cause and the
families of their owners, and I shall have finished.
There was in my company a soldier by the name of Owens--Mason Owens. He
was a splendid fellow, quiet in his demeanor, brave in battle, always in
his place, whether that place was in the front or rear rank, but never
liked to do anything that called for disguise or deception, such as
acting as a spy or disguised as a Union soldier, in order to get into
the enemy's camp, although he recognized that it was necessary to have
men for work of this kind. Owens was very fond of me; in fact, I had no
more faithful friend in the army. He was continually with me, doing me
favors, sharing with me any delicacy that came into his possession,
keeping close by me in battle. Sometimes when the regiment would be
ordered to dismount for the purpose of engaging the foe on foot (and he
was No. 4, making it his duty to remain mounted and take care of Nos. 1,
2, and 3 horses), he would quickly dismount and take my place in the
ranks and leave me the care of the horses (a place few objected to
having), and many like favors. One afternoon, near night, our captain
said that he had a requisition for six picked men to do some hazardous
nightwork within the enemy's lines, just the kind of duty that Owens
detested. But fate was against him, and he and five others were
selected. He sullenly complied, and as he rode out of the ranks with his
face flushed and his head bowed, I heard him say, "I don't like this."
Someone said, "Owens, I'll take your place." He turned and gave him a
look that must have chilled the fellow's blood, and said, "_Didn't you
hear Capt. Gibson call me?_"
I saw the six ride off; Owens didn't even say good-bye to me. That night
one of Lee's noted scouts led these men, with others taken from other
commands, into the enemy's camp, and Owens never returned. He was shot,
and fell from his horse, dying either from cold or the wound. At
intervals during the night a citizen living near where he fell heard
someone calling, but was afraid to go out. The next morning he found his
dead body and buried it. I grieved very much over his death, occuring as
it did.
Now I want to say that I shall ever have a tender spot in my breast for
the colored people, owing to what I know of the race, judged from my
association with them from early childhood up to and including the years
of the Civil War, and, indeed, some years after.
My home in Loudoun county, on the border line between the North and
South, gave me an unusual opportunity of judging how far the negro could
be trusted in caring for and protecting the homes of the men who were in
the Southern armies. Scattered all through the South, and especially in
the border States, there were white men who were not in sympathy with
the South, and some of them acted as spies and guides for the Northern
troops as they marched and counter-marched through the land. But I never
knew of a negro being guilty of like conduct. They not only watched over
and protected the women and children in their homes, but were equally
as faithful and careful to protect the Southern soldier from capture
when he returned home to see his loved ones.
No soldier in Loudoun or Fauquier counties ever feared that his or his
neighbor's servants would betray him to the enemy. The negro always
said, in speaking of the Southern soldiers, "our soldiers," although he
well knew that the success of the North meant his freedom, while the
success of the South meant the continuation of slavery.
Another remarkable thing. No one ever heard of a negro slave, or, so far
as I know, a free negro of the South, offering an insult or an indignity
to a white woman. They were frequently commissioned to escort the
daughters of the family to church or to school, or on any expedition
taking them from home. Sometimes the distance was long and across fields
and through lonely woods, but the kinky-headed, pigeon-heeled colored
man always delivered his charge safely, and would have died in his
footsteps to do it if the occasion required. Freedom, education, or
both, or something else, has developed in the negro a trait that no one
ever dreamed he possessed until after the close of the Civil War. Hence,
I have a great respect for the race. Not, however, on account of this
lately-developed trait, but for those other traits that were so much in
evidence during the time that tried men's souls.
The following is the name of the several divisions of the army in which
I served, and the names of the chief of each division from the captain
of my company to the commander-in-chief of the army:
Company.--I was in Company A, first commanded by Col. Richard H.
Dulaney, who served a few months and was promoted. He was succeeded by
Bruce Gibson of Fauquier county, Virginia, who served during the entire
war, and was once knocked from his horse by the concussion of a shell,
but sustained no other injuries. Was a prisoner from June, 1864, to the
end of the war.
Regiment.--Sixth Virginia Cavalry, commanded first by ex-Governor
Flournoy, who served one year, retired on account of age, was succeeded
by his son, who was killed at Cold Harbor in June, 1864, and was
succeeded by Richards from Clark county, Virginia. The regiment was
composed of ten companies, and came from the following counties:
Loudoun, Fauquier, Clark and Prince William.
Brigade.--First; Robinson, and then Gen. Wm. E. Jones, who was killed;
then Gen. Lomax, who, I believe, is still living near Warrenton,
Fauquier county, Virginia.
Division.--Gen. Fitzhugh Lee, nephew of Gen. Robert E. Lee. He survived
the war, and died a few months ago.
Corps.--Commanded by Gen. J.E.B. Stuart, who was killed at Yellow Tavern
in 1864. He was succeeded by Gen. Wade Hampton of South Carolina, who
survived the war and died a few years ago.
Army.--Northern Virginia; commanded first by Gen. P.G.T. Beauregard, who
was succeeded by Joseph E. Johnston, who was succeeded by Gen. Robert E.
Lee, who held the position until the close of the war. Lee was also made
commander-in-chief of all the Confederate armies.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 6: General Longstreet says the total number surrendered to
Grant was 28,356. Many of these came in voluntarily and surrendered. Lee
had with him 1500 prisoners, taken since leaving Petersburg. These were
the first to be delivered to the Union army. The first generous act
Grant did after the surrender was to furnish Lee's hungry soldiers and
horses with food. Grant's army must have numbered not far from
150,000.]