On the 13th of August, 1862, McClellan abandoned his camp at Harrison's
Landing and retired to Fortress Monroe. General Lee withdrew all his
troops from Richmond but two companies of infantry left behind to
protect the city in case of cavalry raids. General Jackson joined
General Lee, and the battle known as the second Manassas was fought.
Wilcox, Pryor, and Featherstone were again to the front, and at one
time when the desperate struggle of this hard-fought battle was at its
height, and the situation augured adversely to the Southern troops, it
was General Pryor's privilege to suggest that several batteries should
be rushed to an advantageous position and a raking fire be opened upon
the enemy's flank which nothing could withstand. Within fifteen minutes
the aspect of the field was changed. On the plateau occupied by the
Federals stood the Henry house, celebrated in all history as the spot
where Jackson's Brigade, "standing like a stone wall," had, a year
before, earned the name for their commander which has become immortal.
I think it was early in September, 1862, that General Lee announced
to President Davis that he proposed entering Maryland with his army.
Before he could receive an answer the Southerners were crossing the
Potomac singing "Maryland, my Maryland," and in a few days Jackson
reached Frederick. "My Maryland" was earnestly invited and positively
declined to rid her "shores" of "the despot's heel." The despot's hand
could pay in good greenbacks for her wheat and flour and cattle, while
these new fellows had only Confederate money. The governor and leading
professional men were all loyal to the Union. The farmers drove their
herds into Pennsylvania, and in the mills the sound of the grinding was
not low—it ceased altogether. The Confederates might defeat Pope and
McClellan in the battle-field; the farmer proved himself master of the
situation in the wheat-field.
My general was in Frederick with his brigade, and incidentally saw
and heard nothing of the touching occurrence commemorated by Whittier.
The Quaker poet was a romancer! I use no harsher term. I am perfectly
willing Barbara Frietchie's "old gray head" should forever wear the
crown he placed upon it, but I cannot brook "the blush of shame" over
Stonewall Jackson's face. Blush he often did,—for he was as delicate as
a woman,—but blush for shame, never! Rhodes says: "His riding through
the streets gave an occasion to forge the story of Barbara Frietchie.
It is a token of the intense emotion which clouds our judgment of the
enemy in arms. Although Stonewall Jackson, not long before, was eager
to raise the black flag, he was incapable of giving the order to fire
at the window of a private house for the sole reason that there 'the
old flag met his sight,' and it is equally impossible that a remark of
old Dame Barbara, 'Spare your country's flag,' could have brought 'a
blush of shame' to his cheek. Jackson was not of the cavalier order,
but he had a religious and chivalrous respect for women." He goes on
to state that a woman, not Barbara Frietchie, waved a flag as Jackson
passed to which he paid no attention. Also, that when he had passed
through Middletown, two pretty girls had waved Union flags in his face.
"He bowed and raised his hat, and turning with his quiet smile to his
staff, said: 'We evidently have no friends in this town.'"
On September 15 the battle-line, with my husband's division
(Longstreet's), was drawn up in front of Sharpsburg (or Antietam), and
again Pryor, Wilcox, and Featherstone were well to the front. My husband
commanded Anderson's division at Antietam, General Anderson having been
wounded. This battle is quoted, along with the battle of Seven Pines,
as one of the most hotly contested of the war. Sorely pressed at one
time, General Pryor despatched an orderly to General Longstreet with a
request for artillery. The latter tore the margin from a newspaper and
wrote: "I am sending you the guns, dear General. This is a hard fight,
and we had better all die than lose it." At one time during the battle
the combatants agreed upon a brief cessation, that the dead and wounded
of both sides might be removed. While General Pryor waited, a Federal
officer approached him.
"General," said he, "I have just detected one of my men in robbing the
body of one of your soldiers. I have taken his booty from him, and now
consign it to you."
Without examining the small bundle—tied in a handkerchief—my husband
ordered it to be properly enclosed and sent to me. The handkerchief
contained a gold watch, a pair of gold sleeve-links, a few pieces of
silver, and a strip of paper on which was written, "Strike till the last
armed foe expires," and signed "A Florida Patriot." There seemed to be
no clew by which I might hope to find an inheritor for these treasures.
I could only take care of them.
I brought them forth one day to interest an aged relative, whose chair
was placed in a sunny window. "I think, my dear," she said, "there
are pin-scratched letters on the inside of these sleeve-buttons." Sure
enough, there were three initials, rudely made, but perfectly plain.
Long afterward I met a Confederate officer from Florida who had fought
at Antietam.
"Did you know any one from your state, Captain, who was killed at
Sharpsburg?"
"Alas! yes," he replied, and mentioned a name corresponding exactly with
the scratched initials.
The parcel, with a letter from me, was sent to an address he gave me,
and in due time I received a most touching letter of thanks from the
mother of the dead soldier.
In August I had left my Gordon, Theo, and Mary with my dear aunt, who
had been compelled to abandon her mountain home and now lived near "The
Oaks" in Charlotte County. There was no safety any longer except in
the interior, far from the railroads. Even there raiding companies of
cavalry dashed through the country bringing terror and leaving a desert
as far as food was concerned.
For myself, as I could not go northward with my soldiers, I could at
least keep within the lines of communication, and I selected a little
summer resort, "Coyners," in the Blue Ridge Mountains on the line of
the railroad. There I found General Elzey,—who had fought gallantly at
Bull Run and elsewhere,—with his face terribly wounded and bandaged up
to his eyes. He had been sent to the rear with a physician for rest and
recovery. His brilliant wife was with him; also his aid, Captain Contee,
and his young bride, who had crossed the Potomac in an open boat to join
him and redeem her pledge to marry him. We were joined by Mrs. A. P.
Hill, General and Mrs. Wigfall and a lovely daughter who has recently
given to the world an interesting story of her war recollections. The
small hotel spanned a little green valley at its head, and stretching
behind was a velvet strip of green, a spring and rivulet in the midst,
and a mountain ridge on either side. I had a tiny cottage with windows
that opened against the side of the hill (or mountain), and lying on my
bed at night, the moon and stars, as they rose above me, seemed so near
I could have stretched a long arm and picked them off the hill-top!
Strenuous as were the times, awful the suspense, the vexed questions
of precedence, relative importance, rankled in the bosoms of the
distinguished ladies in the hotel. One after another would come out
to me: "I'd like to know _who_ this Maryland woman is that she gives
herself such airs;" or, "How much longer do you think I'll stand Dolly
Morgan? Why, she treats me as though she were the Queen of Sheba." I
could only reply with becoming meekness: "I'm sure I don't know! I am
only a brigadier, you know—the rest of you are major-generals—I am not
competent to judge."
Nature had done everything for our happiness. The climate was delicious;
the valley was carpeted with moss and tender grass, and thickly gemmed
with daisies and purple asters. Before sunrise the skies, like all
morning skies seen between high hills, looked as if made of roses. A
short climb would bring us to a spot where the evening sky and mountain
would be bathed in golden glory. But oh, the anguish of anxiety, the
terror, the dreams at night of battle and murder and sudden death!
My little Roger was desperately ill at this place, and for many days
I despaired of his life. General Elzey's physician gave me no hope.
He counselled only fortitude and resignation. The dear friend of my
girlhood, George Wythe Randolph, was Secretary of War. I wrote him
a letter imploring, "Send my husband to me, if but for one hour." He
answered, "God knows I long to help and comfort you! but you ask the
_impossible_." I soon knew why. My general was at the front!
Not until late—long after every guest had departed—was I able to travel
with my invalid son. Upon arriving in Charlottesville, he had a relapse
of typhoid fever and was ill unto death for many weeks. Meanwhile his
father was ordered to the vicinity of Suffolk to collect forage and
provisions from counties near the Federal lines.
The enemy destined to conquer us at last—the "ravenous, hunger-starved
wolf"—already menaced us. General Longstreet had learned that corn and
bacon were stored in the northeastern counties of North Carolina, and
he sent two companies of cavalry on a foraging expedition to the region
around Suffolk.
"The Confederate lines," says a historian, "extended only to the
Blackwater River on the east, where a body of Confederate troops was
stationed to keep the enemy in check." That body was commanded by
General Pryor, now in front of a large Federal force to keep it in check
while the wagon trains sent off corn and bacon for Lee's army. This
was accomplished by sleepless vigilance on the part of the Confederate
general. The Federal forces made frequent sallies from Suffolk, but were
always driven back with loss. It is amusing to read of the calmness with
which his commanding officers ordered him to accomplish great things
with his small force.
"I cannot," says General Colston, "forward your requisition for two
regiments of infantry and one of cavalry: it is almost useless to
make such requisitions, for they remain unanswered. You must use every
possible means to deceive the enemy as to your strength, and you must
_hold the line of the Blackwater to the last extremity_."
General French writes: "If I had any way to increase your forces, I
should do so, but I have to bow to higher authority and the necessities
of the service. But you must annoy the villains all you can, and make
them uncomfortable. Give them no rest. Ambush them at every turn."
General Pryor did not dream I would come to his camp at Blackwater.
He supposed I would find quarters among my friends, but I had now no
home. Our venerable father had sent his family to the interior after
the battles around Richmond, had given up his church in Petersburg, and,
commending the women, old men, and children to the care of a successor,
had entered the army as chaplain, "where," as he said, "I can follow my
own church members and comfort them in sickness, if I can do no more."
As soon as the position of our brigade was made known to me, I drew
forth the box containing the camp outfit, packed a trunk or two, and
took the cars for the Blackwater. The terminus of the railroad was only
a few miles from our camp. The Confederate train could go no farther
because of the enemy. The day's journey was long, for the passenger car
attached to the transportation train was dependent upon the movements
of the latter. The few passengers who had set forth with me in the
morning had left at various wayside stations, and I was now alone. I
had no idea where we should sleep that night. I thought I would manage
it somehow—somewhere.
We arrived at twilight at the end of our journey. When I left the car,
my little boys gathered around me. There was a small wooden building
near, which served for waiting-room and post-office. The only dwelling
in sight was another small house, surrounded by a few bare trees. My
first impression was that I had never before seen such an expanse of
gray sky. The face of the earth was a dead, bare level, as far as the
eye could reach; and much, very much, of it lay under water. I was in
the region of swamps, stretching on and on until they culminated in the
one great "Dismal Swamp" of the country. No sounds were to be heard,
no hum of industry or lowing of cattle, but a mighty concert rose from
thousands, nay millions, of frogs.
"Now," thought I, "here is really a fine opportunity to be 'jolly'! Mark
Tapley's swamps couldn't surpass these." But all the railroad folk were
departing, and the postmaster was preparing to lock his door and leave
also. I liked the looks of the little man, and ventured:—
"Can you tell me, sir, where I can get lodging to-night? I am Mrs.
Pryor—the general's wife, and to-morrow he will take care of me."
My little man did not belie his looks. He took me in his own house, and
next day my general, at his invitation, made the house his headquarters.
My stay on the Blackwater was most interesting, but I cannot repeat
the story here. Suffice it to say that our safety so near the enemy's
lines—he was just across the Blackwater—was purchased by eternal
vigilance.
Towards the last of January we had a season of warm, humid weather.
Apparently the winter was over; the grass was springing on the swamp,
green and luxurious, and the willows swelling into bud. There were no
singing birds on the Blackwater as early as January 28, but the frogs
were mightily exercised upon the coming of spring, and their nightly
concerts took on a jubilant note.
One day I had a few moments' conversation with my husband about army
affairs, and he remarked that our Southern soldiers were always restless
unless they were in action. "They never can stand still in battle," he
said; "they are willing to yell and charge the most desperate positions,
but if they can't move forward, they must move backward. Stand still
they cannot."
I thought I could perceive symptoms of restlessness on the part of their
commander. Often in the middle of the night he would summon John, mount
him, and send him to camp, a short distance away; and presently I would
hear the tramp, tramp of the general's staff-officers, coming to hold
a council of war in his bedroom. On the 28th of January he confided to
me that on the next day he would make a sally in the direction of the
enemy. "He is getting entirely too impudent," said he; "I'm not strong
enough to drive him out of the country, but he must keep his place."
I had just received a present of coffee. This was at once roasted and
ground. On the day of the march fires were kindled before dawn under the
great pots used at the "hog-killing time" (an era in the household), and
many gallons of coffee were prepared. This was sweetened, and when our
men paused near the house to form the line of march, the servants and
little boys passed down the line with buckets of the steaming coffee,
cups, dippers, and gourds. Every soldier had a good draught of comfort
and cheer. The weather had suddenly changed. The great snow-storm that
fell in a few days was gathering, the skies were lowering, and the
horizon was dark and threatening.
After the men had marched away, I drove to the hospital tent and
put myself at the disposal of the surgeon. We inspected the store of
bandages and lint, and I was intrusted with the preparation of more.
Meanwhile John, who was left behind, indemnified himself for the loss
of the excitement of the hour by abusing "the nasty abolition Yankees,"
singing:—
"Jeff Davis is a gent'man,
An' Linkum is a fool!
Jeff Davis rides a fine white horse,
An' Linkum rides a mule," etc.
He was not the only one of the nation's wards who held the nation in
contempt—root and branch, President and people. The special terms in
which he loved to designate them were in common use among his own race.
Some of the expressions of the great men I had known in Washington were
quite as offensive and not a bit less inelegant, although framed in
better English. I never approved of "calling names," for higher reasons
than the demands of good taste. I had seen what comes of it, and I
reproved John for teaching them to my little boys.
"No'm," said John, crestfallen, "I won't say nothin'; I'll just say the
Yankees are mighty mean folks."
My dear general found the enemy at the "Deserted House"; and there gave
them battle. He may tell his own story:—
"CARRSVILLE, ISLE OF WIGHT, January 30, 1863.
"TO BRIGADIER-GENERAL COLSTON,
"PETERSBURG, VA.
"_General_: This morning at four o'clock the enemy under
Major-general Peck attacked me at Kelley's store, eight
miles from Suffolk. After three hours' severe fighting we
repulsed them at all points and held the field. Their force
is represented by prisoners to be between ten and fifteen
thousand. My loss in killed and wounded will not exceed
fifty—no prisoners. I regret that Colonel Poage is among the
killed. We inflicted a heavy loss on the enemy.
"Respectfully,
"ROGER A. PRYOR,
"Brigadier-general Commanding."
On February 2 the general thus addressed his troops:—
"The brigadier-general congratulates the troops of this
command on the results of the recent combat.
"The enemy endeavored under cover of night to steal an
inglorious victory by surprise, but he found us prepared at
every point, and despite his superior numbers, greater than
your own in the proportion of five to one, he was signally
repulsed and compelled to leave us in possession of the field.
"After silencing his guns and dispersing his infantry, you
remained on the field from night until one o'clock, awaiting
the renewal of the attack, but he did not again venture to
encounter your terrible fire.
"When the disparity of force between the parties is
considered, with the proximity of the enemy to his stronghold,
and his facilities of reënforcements by railway, the result
of the action of the 30th will be accepted as a splendid
illustration of your courage and good conduct."
One of the "enemy's" papers declared that our force was "three regiments
of infantry, fourteen pieces of artillery, and about nine hundred
cavalry!"
The temptation to "lie under a mistake" was great in those days of
possible disaffection, when soldiers had to believe in their cause in
order to defend it. One of the newspaper correspondents of the enemy
explained why we were not again attacked after the first fight. He
said: "Some may inquire why we did not march forthwith to Carrsville and
attack the rebels again. The reasons are obvious. Had he went [_sic_] to
Carrsville, Pryor would have had the advantage to cut off our retreat.
The natives know every by-path and blind road through the woods and are
ever ready to help the rebels to our detriment. Pryor can always cross
the Blackwater on his floating bridge. It is prudent to allow an enemy
to get well away from his stronghold the better to capture his guns and
destroy his ammunition," etc.
Another paper declares he was heavily reënforced at Carrsville.
Another records: "The rebels have been very bold in this neighborhood.
Pryor has been in the habit of crossing the Blackwater River whenever
he wanted to. Our attacking him this time must have been a real surprise
to him. We took a large number of prisoners!"
He continued the indulgence of this habit until spring, receiving from
his countrymen unstinted praise for his protection of that part of our
state, and for the generous supplies he sent all winter to Lee's army.