TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
There is only one footnote in this book, and it has been placed at the end of the section with its anchor [A].
Some minor changes to the text are noted at [the end of the book.]
REMINISCENCES
OF
CONFEDERATE SERVICE,
1861–1865.
By
Capt. FRANCIS W. DAWSON, C. S. A.
[100 COPIES.]
CHARLESTON, S. C.
THE NEWS AND COURIER BOOK PRESSES.
1882.
[PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION.]
[I.]
It was in the autumn of 1861 that I made up my mind to go to the Southern States of America, and enter the Confederate Army. Looking back more than twenty years, I find it difficult, as the man of forty-two, to recall the exact feelings of the boy of twenty. I can say, however, that I had no expectation whatever of any gain, or advantage to myself. I had a sincere sympathy with the Southern people in their struggle for independence, and felt that it would be a pleasant thing to help them to secure their freedom. It was not expected, at that time, that the war would last many months, and my idea simply was to go to the South, do my duty there as well as I might, and return home to England. I expected no reward and wanted none, and had no intention whatever of remaining permanently in the Southern States.
There was much difficulty, of course, in obtaining accurate information as to the best way of reaching the seat of war in the South. I found that I could probably go by way of Nassau, N. P., but the expense would have been greater than I cared to incur, and the other mode of entering the Confederacy—by going to a Northern port and slipping through the lines—was exceedingly troublesome, and was, besides, uncertain in its result. However, I determined to go in some fashion, and just about this time the Confederate States steamer Nashville arrived at Southampton. This vessel had been one of the regular steamers on the line between Charleston and New York, and was seized, I believe, by the Confederate authorities after hostilities began. It had been determined to send the Hon. James M. Mason and the Hon. John Slidell to represent the Confederate States in England and France respectively, and the Nashville was fitted out for the purpose of taking them to England. They changed their plan, unfortunately for them, and went in a small vessel to Havana, where they took the mail steamer Trent for St. Thomas. The trip of the Nashville was not, however, abandoned, and, under command of Captain Robert B. Pegram, she ran the blockade at Charleston and reached Southampton in safety, capturing and destroying during the voyage a fine American ship named the Harvey Birch.
The arrival of the Nashville at Southampton caused considerable stir. By those who were friendly to the North she was spoken of as a pirate, and her officers and crew were dubbed buccaneers. While some of the newspapers were disposed to order out Captain Pegram and his crew for instant execution, there were others which were quite friendly in tone. I remember that it became necessary for Captain Pegram to write a letter to “The Times,” in which he explained that, far from being “a pirate,” he was a regularly commissioned officer of the Confederate States Navy, and that the Nashville was a vessel of war of the Confederate States, entitled to the consideration that would be shewn to the war vessel of any other Government. This view was taken by the English authorities, although, under the proclamation of neutrality which the Queen had issued, the Nashville was not allowed to obtain any sort of equipment which could, by any stretch of the imagination, be conceived to be capable of use in war. The authorities at Southampton were so strict in their construction of the neutrality proclamation that they objected to our strengthening the forward deck, lest it might increase the efficiency of the vessel for fighting purposes. No repairs were allowed to be made except such as would place the Nashville in the precise condition in which she was when she left Charleston. The passage had been rough, or no repairs of the kind allowed would have been necessary. Punch, of course, made fun of the whole business, and had some rhyming verses on the subject, in which the name of Captain Pegram, the commander of the Nashville, was made to rhyme with “megrim.”
It occurred to me that if I could in any way secure a passage to the South on the Nashville, it would be much better than trying to get there by way of Nassau or the Potomac. A man named Smith, to whom I was introduced in London by a friend, and who told me that a near kinsman of his was at that time, or had been, Governor of Arkansas, gave me a letter of introduction to Mr. North, who was one of the Confederate agents in London. I saw Mr. North and told him what I wanted, but I do not think that I made a very favorable impression. It seemed to him so extravagant a project that he evidently doubted my sincerity and honesty of purpose. The most that I could accomplish was to obtain from him a note introducing me to Captain Pegram. This was something gained, and a few days afterwards I went to Southampton.
As I neared my destination, I was surprised to find how large a share of public attention was given to the Confederate vessel. The appearance of the Nashville, her size, her speed, and the probable plans of her commander were diligently canvassed by those traveling with me, and I was gratified to find that every one had a good opinion of the conduct and character of the officers and crew of the vessel. Upon my arrival I went at once to the docks, and far in the distance saw a flag which was entirely new and strange. As I drew nearer I found that it was flying from the peak of a large paddle-wheel steamer, painted black, and with more upper-works than I had been accustomed to see on sea-going vessels. The flag that I had seen was the Stars and Bars of the Confederacy, and the vessel was the Nashville. I went aboard and to my great annoyance was told that Captain Pegram was in London. The officer on duty was very courteous and disposed to be communicative, and I had a long talk with him. This officer was Lieutenant John J. Ingraham, of Charleston, S. C. I learned that he was a graduate of the Naval Academy at Annapolis, and it rather daunted me to be told that one could not expect to attain the rank of officer in the Navy unless one had had the thorough training of a naval school, or practical education at sea.
Some days later I went down to Southampton again, and this time saw Captain Pegram. The sweetness and dignity of his manner impressed me at once, and I unbosomed myself to him without reserve. I may mention here that he had been twenty-five or thirty years in the Navy when Virginia seceded from the Union, and instantly resigned his commission to share the fortunes of his native State. In his profession he had already gained distinction, and I have seen the sword of honor presented to him by the State of Virginia in recognition of his gallantry in an engagement with pirates in the Chinese Seas. On the golden scabbard of this sword his name and rank are engraved, with this simple but eloquent inscription:
“The State of Virginia to a devoted son.”
It need not be said that Captain Pegram was exceedingly kind and patient, but he told me frankly that it was impossible for him to do what I wished. He said: “I have no office which I can give you, and this being a Government vessel, I cannot take you as a passenger.” Afterwards, I learned that some of the officers suggested that I might be a “Yankee spy” endeavoring to get into a position where I should be able to report the movements of the Nashville to her anxious friends on the other side. Amongst other things, Captain Pegram told me that there would be plenty of opportunities of reaching the South, as the United States would certainly refuse to surrender Messrs. Mason and Slidell [who had been taken from the English mail steamer Trent by Captain Wilkes of the San Jacinto, on November 8th, 1861], and that England’s first act after declaring war would be to raise the blockade of the Southern ports. In spite of Captain Pegram’s refusal, I persisted in urging him to take me, and at last he said: “There is only one thing that can be done; if you like to go as a sailor before the mast I will take you, but of course you will not dream of doing that.” My answer was “I will do it; and I hope that you will let me know when you are about to sail, in order that I may be here in time.” Captain Pegram told me that he would do this, but either forgot it or supposed that my intentions must have changed when I realized what I had undertaken. But I did not realize it, and I did not change my mind. I ought to say here that, although I was twenty-one years old at this time, I did not look more than seventeen or eighteen, which will account for the habit that Captain Pegram has had of saying that I was a mere boy at the time that he made my acquaintance.
I returned to London, and began at once to make arrangements for my departure. My friend from Arkansas told me that the one indispensable thing was a bowie-knife, and he explained the divers uses to which this weapon could be put, assuring me that I would have no difficulty in seizing the gun of a Yankee soldier by the muzzle and, with one dexterous blow, severing the barrel in twain. Another way of using it was to attach a cord to the handle of this bowie-knife and, with a skillful throw, to drive the blade into the heart of the advancing foeman, and, when he should have fallen, to haul it back by the string, and repeat the operation on another of the enemy. I had not much faith in my ability to use the bowie-knife in this fashion, but I ordered one to be made by a surgical instrument maker, according to a pattern given me by my Arkansas friend. A sanguinary looking weapon it was. The blade was fifteen inches long and about three inches wide, at the broadest part, and a third of an inch thick at the back. I provided myself with a sea-chest, which, according to Marryatt’s novels, was indispensable to a sea-faring man, caused my name to be painted on it in big white letters, and held myself in readiness to start. But no summons came. The papers would occasionally say that the Nashville was to sail in a day or two, and I had many a false alarm. Tired of waiting, I bade good-bye to my people at home, and went down to Southampton, determined to remain there until the time for going aboard should come.
At Southampton I purchased a sailor’s outfit, and, when I had rigged myself out in what I considered the proper style, I went down to the vessel. I wore a blue woolen shirt open at the neck; a black silk handkerchief, with ample flowing ends, tied loosely around the neck; blue trousers, made very tight at the knee and twenty-two inches in circumference at the bottom, and on my head a flat cloth cap ornamented with long black ribbons. I had besides, in the famous sea-chest, a pea jacket, sea boots, and the necessary under-clothing. As a reminder of my former estate, I retained a suit of dress clothes, and a black Inverness cape which I had been in the habit of wearing.
[II.]
As well as I can remember, it was on New Year’s Day, 1862, that I went aboard the Nashville.
I reported to the officer of the deck, and told him that I had been ordered by Captain Pegram to come aboard for duty. I was turned over to the boatswain, who told me to go down into the “foksle.” Up to this time I was supposed to be, what I appeared to be, a sailor. As a matter of fact my experience in nautical affairs had been confined to sailing miniature yachts on the Serpentine in Hyde Park, but I thought I had considerable theoretical knowledge obtained from the romances of Marryatt and Chamier, and Dana’s excellent book: “Two Years Before the Mast.”
Following my conductor, Mr. Sawyer, I tumbled down the “companion,” and found myself in as pleasant a place for being uncomfortable, as any one could desire.
The foksle, or forecastle, was about ten feet long, about five feet six inches high, and about ten feet broad aft, and six feet forward. The lack of height was an advantage to me, as when the vessel rolled I could hold on with my head and have my hands at liberty. On each side of the forecastle were the bunks or “rabbit hutches” for the crew. In the centre was a small table supported against the windlass bitt, a heavy piece of timber which passed through the forecastle. Around the bitt were hung a number of one-pronged forks, notched knives, and battered spoons, matching each other in only one thing—dirt. Twelve o’clock or “eight bells” rang, and the crew came down to dinner. There were but eight seamen on the Nashville, and they represented almost as many different nations. There was an Irishman, and a Belgian, a North Carolinian and a Swede, a fat Cockney Englishman and a Frenchman, a Scotchman and a Spaniard. I found them to be mean, treacherous and obscene, and I shall say no more about them than is absolutely necessary. The dinner on the first day will serve as a sample of our usual diet, and of the crew’s habitual behavior. First, there was a scramble for the knives, forks and spoons; then a greasy boy brought down a large dish containing roast beef and potatoes, and dumped it on the deck. The men clustered around the dish. One of them seized the meat with his left hand, hacked off a large piece with the dull knife in his right, clutched a handful of potatoes out of the dish, and then retired to a quiet corner with his prey. Each of the others did the same. When my turn came I had no appetite, and, until I left Southampton, my custom was to make up in town for my enforced abstinence aboard ship. The food was good in itself, and there was plenty of it, but it was wretchedly served, as I have mentioned. A bunk was assigned me, but I did not sleep much that first night. The next morning I went to Mr. Sawyer, the boatswain, and asked him for something to do. He proceeded to question me, found that I knew nothing of a sea-faring life, and told me very frankly that I was not worth my salt. However, he furnished me with a bucket and some soap, and told me to go to work and scour the paint. When I had amused myself with this for some hours, I was given a rag and told to polish up the brass-work. This ended, I occupied myself in sweeping decks and cleaning out spittoons. This was about the daily routine of my life on the Nashville. Usually only one man was on watch at night, and this part of the duty I found reasonably pleasant, as I could ensconce myself in the pilot house and read a novel to pass away the time, when I was not required on deck. The officers, especially the younger ones, were not particularly careful to return aboard at the appointed time, and I suppose that the dignified Solicitor of the Western Union Telegraph Company, Mr. Clarence Cary, has forgotten how I have connived at his slipping aboard, over the rail, when he had stayed in town longer than was good for him. Every day or two I was allowed to go ashore in the evening, and, leaving my sailor garb behind me, I led, for a few hours, a pleasant life in town. Mr. Sawyer, the boatswain, was very indignant one night, because he took off his hat and made me a profound bow, fancying that I was some distinguished visitor.
I think it was early in January, 1862, that a little commotion was caused by the report that the United States sloop-of-war Tuscarora had anchored in Southampton Water, and that Captain Craven, who was in command, had announced his intention to take the Nashville into either New York or Boston. Neither of these ports was our destination. Besides the eight seamen on the Nashville, we had about thirty firemen and coal-heavers, and in officers we were particularly rich, having, besides the Captain and Executive Officer, a Sailing-master, Purser, Doctor and seven Midshipmen. The men went ashore as often as they could obtain leave, or steal off unobserved, and the Tuscarora’s men did the same.
There was a Music Hall at Southampton in those days, known as the “Rainbow” or the “Wheat Sheaf,” which, being cheap and warm, was a favorite resort with us. The entertainment was not of a high order, but it answered the purpose. The sympathies of the Southampton people were unquestionably with the Confederates, and the Tuscarora’s men were thought very little of. They had a hard time of it. When they went to the “Rainbow,” any of the Nashville’s men who happened to be there was sure to call out for the “Bonnie Blue Flag” or “Dixie,” which was instantly played with the full force of the small orchestra, amid the hurrahs of the audience. But if the Tuscarora’s men ventured to suggest “Yankee Doodle” or “Hail Columbia,” they were hooted down incontinently. Consequently, fights were frequent, and, as the newspapers were friendly to us, the “Yankees” were always the aggressors, and were always the unfortunates to be locked up for the night, and lectured and fined by the magistrate in the morning. I must admit that we generally brought on the row ourselves, but, when it was over, and the wrong men had been put in the station house, we had the satisfaction of going down to the Nashville, singing lustily and giving cheer after cheer for the Southern Confederacy and Jeff Davis.
In the meantime, Captain Pegram had been in correspondence with the English Government, with regard to the threatening attitude of the Tuscarora, and it was announced officially that neither vessel would be allowed to leave Southampton within twenty-four hours after the departure of the other. This was kind, for, although there were many rumors concerning our armament, we really had but two guns, (12 pound Blakeley’s) which had been lent to Captain Pegram by Governor Pickens, of South Carolina. Soon rumors came that we were about to sail in real earnest, and popular curiosity was so stimulated that crowds of persons came down from London to take a look at “the pirate.” Many of them were disappointed at our peaceful appearance, but most of them agreed that the vessel was appropriately painted black. The Nashville was now hauled to the outer dock, and the authorities were notified that we were ready to sail. The appointed day was February 3, 1862, and thousands of persons, including many of our warm Southampton friends, thronged the docks. Amid cheers and waving handkerchiefs and cordial Godspeeds, the Nashville, at about half-past 3 o’clock in the afternoon, under a full head of steam, glided out into Southampton Water. Passing rapidly down the channel, the Confederate flag flying at the fore and mainmast, we saw lying off Osborne our old enemy, the Tuscarora, with steam up, but alongside was lying the British frigate Shannon, fully prepared to have a word to say, if Captain Craven should attempt to sail before the appointed time. This was some comfort to us, and we were soon gently rising and falling on the waves of the broad Atlantic.
I will give, at this place, some verses that I wrote at the time, and which used to be sung aboard. The air, as well as I remember, was very much like one that I had heard at the “Rainbow.”
THE NASHVILLE DIXIE.
1.
’Tis long years since our fathers fought,
Our Country dear to free;
Our chartered rights, scaled with their blood,
Were the fruits of victory.
They knew not how to cringe or kneel,
The despot’s train to swell,
The first deep thought in every breast
Was to love old Dixie well.
Chorus—Hurrah! three cheers! so gaily let us sing,
Of all the lands that crown the earth
Old Dixie’s is the king.
2.
Our liberties are threatened now,
Armed hosts invade our soil.
Yet Northern bands, in hurried flight,
From Dixie’s sons recoil.
We scorn their threats, deride their vows,
We know the foeman’s worth,
No Vandal band shall e’er command
The land that gave us birth.
Chorus—Hurrah! three cheers! so gaily let us sing,
Of all the lands that crown the earth
Old Dixie’s is the king.
3.
The free-born rights our fathers won
Will we, their sons, maintain,
The honor of our spotless flag
Untarnished shall remain.
No Northern star shall ever shine
Where the Southern Cross has waved,
Nor while a hand can grasp a sword
Shall Dixie’s be enslaved.
Chorus—Hurrah! three cheers! so gaily let us sing,
Of all the lands that crown the earth,
Old Dixie’s is the king.
[III.]
The morning after our departure from Southampton, the crew were mustered into the service of the Confederate States and signed the articles. I was rated as a “landsman,” or a “boy.” The crew were divided into two watches, and the regular routine of duty at sea began. I found that I had twelve hours on duty out of every twenty-four, and at no time more than four consecutive hours to call my own. For instance, to-day I would be on duty from 12 to 4 A. M., 8 A. M. to 12 M., 4 to 6 P. M., and 8 to 12 P. M., and so on in uninterrupted succession. This was rather hard work for one who was fond of comfort and late breakfasts, but I speedily learned not to lose any time in going to sleep, and undressing appeared a useless indulgence. This was not the worst of it. The wind was fair, and we had been running under the foresail, foretopsail and spanker, when some evil genius inspired the officer of the deck to order all hands aloft to reef the foretopsail. Now I knew nothing of gymnastics. I had never attempted to climb a greasy pole or a rope in my life, and was unaccustomed to any more difficult mode of reaching a given elevation than by the use of easy stairs, with a strong baluster. The Nashville was rolling handsomely, and I was not eager to respond to the call that had been made, hoping that my assistance would not be needed or expected by my hardy companions. But Sawyer, the boatswain, had no idea of allowing me to escape in that way, and enquired, in his usual polite way, whether I intended to be all day making up my mind. I told him I thought not, and started up the shrouds. Making a desperate effort to be lively, I missed every second or third ratline and scraped most of the skin off my shins. At last I reached the mast-head and got on the topsail yard. My calculation was that the best place for me was close to the mast, which I might hug with one arm while I helped to manipulate the flapping sail with the other; but the men who were up there would not hear of this. With much profanity, they told me that the proper place for me was out at the extreme end of the yard. Suspended under the yards, as customary, and parallel with it, was a foot rope. Planting my feet squarely against this, and resting my chest upon the yard and holding on like grim death with my hands, I got out to the yard-arm, but here the foot rope was so close to the yard that it was of little use to me. Just then one of the men gave the rope a jerk. My heels went up and my head went down, but I saved myself from falling by a violent effort and trusted the foot rope no more. Using both hands in lifting the sail, I balanced my body as well as I could upon the yard, and at this moment I confess I would not have given a sixpence for my chance of seeing the next morning’s sun. I came down safe, however, as you perceive, and more scared than hurt. The men said that I left the marks of my fingers on the stays, and that the wood was indented where I grasped the yard. After a while I became accustomed to going aloft, although I never could make myself believe that it was better to be at the yard-arm than nearest the mast. The men were right, however, in regarding the former as the easiest berth, as the weight of the sail to be lifted is the least there.
The Nashville having been originally a passenger steamer, as I have already mentioned, carried only enough coal in the bunkers for six or eight days steaming, so we were soon employed in hoisting coal from the lower hold forward, and running it aft to the bunkers. So long as the work was at the windlass on deck I got along very well, but, when I was sent down into the stifling atmosphere of the lower hold to fill the baskets with coal, I quickly ended the difficulty by fainting. When I revived, I went on deck and told Mr. Sawyer what had taken place. As one of the officers whom I knew was looking at him, he contented himself with saying that “I was no account anyhow, and might as well stay on deck.”
This is as good a place as any to give the names of the officers: The commanding officer, as I said before, was Captain Robert B. Pegram, of Virginia; the First Lieutenant and Executive officer was Mr. Bennett; Lieutenant John J. Ingraham, of South Carolina, was the Sailing-master; the Second Lieutenant was Mr. Whittle, of Norfolk, Virginia; Dr. John L. Ancrum, of Charleston, was the Surgeon; Mr. Richard Taylor, of Norfolk, Virginia, was the Paymaster. The Midshipmen were: Thomas, of Georgia; McClintock, of Mississippi; J. W. Pegram (the Captain’s son), of Virginia; Clarence Cary, of Virginia; Hamilton, of South Carolina; Sinclair, of Virginia; Dalton, of Mississippi. The Master-at-arms was Lewis Hill, of Richmond, Virginia. We had aboard, also, a Charleston pilot, Captain James Evans.
My intercourse with the officers was very pleasant while at Southampton, and I was on excellent terms with Cary, Pegram, Dalton, Hamilton and McClintock while we were at sea. They were careful, of course, not to allow their personal consideration for me to interfere in any way with a proper regard for the discipline of the ship. Cary was anxious to improve himself in French, and I gave him a lesson nearly every day. To one of the other midshipmen I gave some lessons in music. The sailors were very much disgusted that any special kindness should be shown me, and really, until we reached Bermuda, this kindness on the part of the officers was confined necessarily to a friendly nod, or other greeting, excepting when I was giving any of the midshipmen such little assistance in French and music as I have mentioned.
The second day after we left Southampton my trunk was broken open and nearly everything I had in it was stolen by the sailors. I complained to Mr. Bennett, who suggested that I ought to have expected it, and should have been careful to keep my trunk securely locked, or to have had in it nothing that was worth stealing.
Captain Pegram did not appear to know that I was on board until we had been several days at sea. I was engaged one morning in sweeping the deck, or cleaning paint, when he stepped out from the pilot house, and seemed to recognize me. He nodded and said “good morning,” and that was all. My heart sank and I felt forsaken.
[IV.]
In order to baffle the Tuscarora, who was sure to pursue us, Captain Pegram took a more northerly route than was usual; and on the fourth or fifth day after sailing the wind freshened sharply, and in a few hours blew with terrible force. The ship was old, and unprepared for bad weather, and it was not without anxiety that our officers saw the tempest approach. In twenty-four hours the gale had reached its height. The waves were running awfully high to my unaccustomed eyes, and were battering the sides of the ship as though determined to force an entrance. Nobly, however, did the Nashville behave. There surely never was a better sea boat. She shipped little water, and, although each wave that struck her bows made her tremble and quiver from stem to stern, she bore herself nobly in the unequal contest. Loose spars, boxes, coils of rope and water-casks, which had been improperly secured, were rolling about on deck, threatening to break the legs of whoever should pass. The port bulwarks from the heel of the bowsprit to the wheelhouse were washed away flush with the deck. One angry wave carried off the whole of the port wheelhouse and dashed to pieces several of the “buckets,” or paddles. The saloon and the forward cabin were several inches deep in water, and the forecastle was in a worse plight. For days this continued. The engines were slowed down, and we did no more than hold our own. It would have been dangerous, lame as the vessel was, to drive her in the teeth of the tempest. The most grewsome part of it all was the unremitting tolling of the forecastle bell, as the Nashville rose on the crest of the wave and glided down, and down, into the trough of the sea.
THE BELL.
1.
A stormy night, the foaming waves,
In crested might, the good ship braves;
She seeks in vain the rest she craves,
Surging o’er dead seamen’s graves,
While still is heard, o’er tempest’s swell,
Thy low deep tones, O! warning bell.
2.
The masts are gone, the timbers creak,
All work of mortal hands is weak;
“Oh, God! Oh, God! she’s sprung a leak,”
Each eye is dimmed and blanched each cheek,
And on each ear, a funeral knell,
Falls the note of the tolling bell.
3.
The boats are swamped; in wild despair
Men cry aloud or bend in prayer;
The poor ship groans, shrieks fill the air;
A moment—and the ocean’s bare.
But still is heard, as seamen tell,
When souls are lost, that warning bell.
While the gale was at its height the engine broke down, and sail was made to keep the vessel’s head to the wind. The storm began to subside, and on the morning of the eighth day the wind had lulled. The waves still ran high, and for the first time I saw the beautiful effect of the dashing of the spray over the rail of the vessel, forming miniature rainbows arching to the deck and glowing and glittering with prismatic colors.
I suppose I ought to say at this point that I was very sea-sick on the first day out, but, as Bo’sun Sawyer was constantly after me to do some of the drudgery he had in mind for me, I had no time to indulge in the pleasures of sea-sickness and recovered entirely in less than twenty-four hours.
I had one very narrow escape during the gale. Crossing the hurricane deck, I was thrown off my feet by a sudden lurch of the vessel and went whirling to leeward. One of my feet caught in the rail as I was lurching overboard, and this was all that saved my Confederate career from being brought to an untimely end.
When the weather grew fine, the crew were ordered out for drill, and from the recesses of the hold our hidden armament was produced. It consisted of about twenty rusty smoothbore muskets. The muskets were given to the sailors and firemen, who were then drilled in the manual of arms by one of the officers. There was a good deal of difference of opinion as to what the commands meant, and the whole affair was very much of a burlesque, as every now and then a sudden lurch of the vessel would send three or four of the squad staggering down to leeward. When the command was given, Ready! Aim! and every musket was levelled at our instructor’s head, the startled officer called out hastily: “For Heaven’s sake, men, don’t point your guns at me! They are loaded!” The warning was not given too soon, for, as they were dismissed, two of the men rolled into the scuppers, their pieces going off with a very ugly report. That was the first and the last of the drilling.
Although he had made no sign, Captain Pegram had not forgotten me. When we had been out seven or eight days, the Master-at-arms went to the boatswain and told him that I and a man named Lussen were to take one of the staterooms on the hurricane deck. This was paradise to me, for I had there every convenience that I required, and could escape from the loathsome company of the rest of the crew. Lussen was a singular character. He was evidently a thoroughly instructed sea-faring man and a good navigator. He had his sextant with him. According to his own account he had been an officer in the Navy of one of the South American Republics, and expected on reaching the Confederacy to get an appointment in the Confederate service. Being a very intelligent man, pleasing in his manners and not at all coarse, he was a welcome room-mate and an acceptable companion. Our separation from the rest of the crew did not strengthen the men’s kindly feeling for us, and they lost no opportunity of showing their spite and their disgust. One thing they insisted on, and that was that we should go down to the forecastle for our meals. A favorite dish once or twice a week was plum-duff, but the plums were so scarce that one of the men said that he could hear one plum singing this little song to another:
Here am I! Where are you?
Tell me where to find you.
In a letter that I wrote to my mother from Bermuda, I described our change of quarters as follows: “Our state-room on the upper deck has two bunks and a toilet stand, and is very prettily painted. Through the windows we can look at the open sea. What a contrast to the den that we did inhabit! When work is over I can have the blessedness of being alone. More than this: one of the Midshipmen told me that he heard Captain Pegram and Mr. Bennett talking about me, and Captain Pegram said he was very much pleased with my conduct.”
[V.]
On the evening of the 19th of February we were told that we might expect to make land the next morning, and as soon as the sun rose every one was on the lookout. In an hour or two land was in sight on the port bow, and even my unskilled eye could make out what seemed to be a long dark cloud on the horizon. Gradually the land became distinct, and by noon we were lying off Bermuda signaling for a pilot. The general aspect of the island was far from inviting, as nothing could be seen but rugged hills covered with dwarfed trees, and I looked in vain for the fine harbor of which I had heard so much. A boat with four negroes, who were making considerable fuss, came alongside with a splash, and, in great state, the black pilot clambered up the side and took his place in the pilot house. He understood his business. The Nashville ran squarely towards the island as though she was to be thrown upon the rocks. Then a narrow passage between two lofty hills was visible, and into this we steamed. Above our heads on each side towered the rocks, and the passage was so narrow that the yards seemed to scrape the trees on either side as we passed in. The passage gradually opened, and we dropped anchor in the beautiful harbor of St. George’s. This harbor is, without exception, the most beautiful and picturesque that I have ever seen. There was not a ripple on the water, while dotting its brightly blue bosom in every direction were hundreds of islands, some of them of considerable size and others mere spots upon the placid surface of the harbor. The surrounding hills were adorned with houses built of white stone and shining like snow in the light of the sun. On the highest point was the signal station, where floated the red cross of St. George. It was near the end of February, yet the weather was warm and the sky was unclouded. It was hard to realize that only a few days before we had left cold fogs and drizzling rain in England.
The principal object in calling at Bermuda was to obtain a supply of coal, and Captain Pegram made a bargain with the master of a Yankee bark then in the harbor for as much as we needed. I think the coal had been intended to supply United States cruisers which were expected to stop at St. George’s, but the high price we offered was too much for the patriotism of the master of the bark. I had a great desire to go ashore and see what Bermuda looked like, but this privilege was denied me as Bo’sun Sawyer found abundant occupation for the whole of us in shovelling coal and then scrubbing the paint. I was allowed on Sunday to be one of the boat’s crew who went to the landing to bring off Captain Pegram, who had gone to church, and I had the satisfaction of waiting there in the sun for two or three hours and of being roundly abused, by the rest of the crew, for “catching crabs” in the most awkward manner as we rowed back to the Nashville.
Up to this time Captain Pegram had not determined positively whether he would run into Charleston, Savannah or New Orleans, and the information which he obtained at Bermuda satisfied him that these ports could only be reached with great difficulty, as the blockade had now become rigid. A ship captain whom he talked with informed Captain Pegram that he thought we might run into Beaufort, N. C., with comparative ease, and it was determined to try our fortune there.
After leaving Bermuda I was relieved from some of the scrubbing and cleaning, and was allowed to take my turn as lookout, being posted for two hours at a time on the foretopsail yard. There I had the pleasantest hours that I knew on the Nashville. It was quiet and still. I was far removed from the bickering and blackguardism of the crew, and could indulge myself freely in watching the varied hues of the dancing waters, broken now and again by a shoal of porpoises, or by the brief flight of the flying-fish as they darted from the wave in the effort to escape from their pursuers. But all this was not conducive to keeping a sharp lookout. The second day after leaving Bermuda I was busily thinking of what might happen when we should reach our destination. The hail came from below: “Foretopsail yard there!”
I answered promptly “aye! aye! sir.”
“Why haven’t you reported that sail?”
I looked around the horizon and replied: “I have not seen a sail this morning, sir.”
“No, I suppose not! come on deck!”
When I reached the deck I was received with a grin of derision, and found that a fine schooner was running under full sail within half a mile of us. I had looked too far. Every one too had been busy while I was dreaming aloft. The American flag was flying at our peak, and the men were now sent to the guns. A boat’s crew was called away, and, eager to atone for my neglect, I jumped in. We pulled over to the schooner, which was now lying to, boarded her, and found her to be the Robert Gilfillan, from Boston to Hayti, with an assorted cargo. The master, a loquacious down-easter, was led to believe that the Nashville was the United States steamer Keystone State, and he invited the officer in charge of the boat to take breakfast with him. The hot rolls looked most tempting, and the fragrance of the coffee was particularly tantalizing. The master, whose name was Gilfillan, told us that everything was going on splendidly for “the Union,” and that the Union troops had been “whipping the bloody Rebels like forty.” In fact, “the Rebellion was nearly played out.” Lieutenant Ingraham, who was in command of the boat, very quietly said: “Haul down your flag and take your papers aboard my ship immediately.”
“What for?” asked Captain Gilfillan.
The answer came promptly: “That vessel is the Confederate States steamer Nashville, and you are my prisoner.”
The poor fellow was part-owner of the schooner, and I shall not soon forget the mingled dismay and astonishment on his face. But resistance was useless, and he did as he was ordered. All our boats were now lowered, and everything of value, the bells, chronometer, glasses and nautical instruments, some provisions, brooms and a lot of “notions,” were taken aboard the Nashville. The schooner was then set on fire, and in a few hours had burned to the water’s edge. For some days the hearts of the crew were gladdened by the fresh butter and choice Boston crackers which formed part of the stores of the ill-fated Gilfillan. The master and crew were given as comfortable quarters as we had, and all possible care was taken of them.
As we neared Beaufort every light was carefully covered at night, even the binnacle lamps being masked. At midnight we hove to for soundings, and found that we might expect to make land by daybreak. The men seemed to think that we should certainly be captured, and packed up their clothing in their bags ready for a run. No one slept much that night, and as soon as the fog lifted in the morning every eye was on the alert. Beaufort harbor was plainly visible some miles distant, and we saw, besides, what we did not care to see. “Sail astern!” shouted the lookout; and then came the cry: “Sail on the starboard bow!” and then again: “Sail on the port bow.” Things looked rather blue. The vessel astern did not cause us much anxiety, but the blockaders on our port and starboard bows, although not directly in our course, were so far ahead that if we attempted to run in we might expect to be cut off. But Captain Pegram was prepared for the emergency. “The Stars and Stripes” were run up at the mainmast head, and a small private signal of Messrs. Spofford & Tileston, the former agents of the vessel, was run up at the foremast. Our course was then changed so that we headed for the nearer of the two United States vessels. The “Stars and Stripes” were displayed by them, in response to our flags, and a vigorous signaling began. It was plain that the blockader could not make out the meaning of Spofford & Tileston’s pennant. On we went without heeding this until Beaufort harbor was not more than five or six miles distant on our starboard bow. We could see the officers on the quarter-deck of the blockader, and the men at the guns. The engines were slowed down, and we blew off steam. The blockader nearest to us thought that we had something to communicate, and lowered a boat. As this was done, we hove round, the “Stars and Stripes” came fluttering to the deck, and the Confederate flag was run up at the foremast, the mainmast and the peak. With all the steam we could carry, we dashed on towards Beaufort. The Yankee now saw the trick, and fired a broadside at us. No harm was done. She followed rapidly, firing occasionally from the bow guns; but without injury we crossed the bar under the protection of the guns of Fort Macon, and came safely to anchor near the railroad wharf, at Morehead City. For a little while we were in more danger from our friends than from the enemy. The commandant at Fort Macon took us for one of the enemy’s vessels, and was about to open on us with his heavy guns, when one of his officers suggested that, as we were running towards the fort, they might as well wait until we were somewhat nearer. This proved our salvation. Before we had reached the point where they could effectively fire at us from the fort, we had shown our true colors and given the blockader the benefit of a clear pair of heels. It was a beautifully calm morning, and the Nashville surpassed herself. In splendid sailing trim and with little or no cargo, she must have made sixteen or eighteen knots as we ran into the harbor.
On the Nashville now all was joy, for the blockader attempted no further pursuit. The men hurrahed, and the officers tossed up their caps and congratulated each other on our success. Well they might. They were looking forward to a speedy reunion with their families and their friends. For the first time I realized my isolated position. There was no home or friends for me; nothing but doubt and uncertainty, yet I had confidence that with time, faith and energy, I might accomplish what I desired. The day, a pregnant one for me, was February 28, 1862.
[VI.]
Morehead City is not a large place. In fact, it consisted in 1862 of a railroad depot at the end of a long wharf. It was intended to be the great seaport of North Carolina, but, at this time, trade had refused to move out of its accustomed channel, and the only thing that gave the least shadow of animation to the place was the arrival and departure of the daily train with its few passengers for Beaufort, which lies across the Bay, a few miles distant. The railroad, which has its terminus at Morehead City, runs up to Goldsboro’, where it connects with the main line of the Wilmington and Weldon Railroad. The Nashville was hauled alongside the wharf, and, as there was a faint expectation that the boats of the blockaders outside might come up at night and attempt to cut us out, preparations were made for a defence. The two Blakeley guns were placed on the wharf, and the muskets of which mention has been made before were brought up from the hold and prepared for use. The invaders, however, did not come, and there was nothing to disturb the solitude of the place but the occasional visit of gaunt North Carolina soldiers, attired for the most part in “butternut,” otherwise homespun. They were in the Confederate service, and on duty in the neighborhood. Most of them were armed with flint-lock muskets or shot guns, and some of them carried huge bowie-knives made out of scythe blades. They were generally tall, sinewy fellows, and evidently accustomed to exertion and privation, but they were not the sort of troops that I had expected to find the Confederate army composed of. A group of them honored the Nashville, when she came in, with the true Confederate yell, which I then heard for the first time, and without admiring it.
As soon as I could obtain permission, I went up to Morehead City proper, if the Railroad station at the water’s edge is not to pass by that name, and found there five or six wooden houses, a bar-room and the inevitable hotel. The clearing was small, and the pine woods came up to within a few yards of the hotel door. It was a barren country, and a joke among the sailors was that the hogs were so miserably poor that knots were tied in their tails by their prudent owners to keep them from slipping through the fences. Another story was that when a dog, in that part of North Carolina, found it necessary to bark, he leaned against a fence to keep from falling.
Captain Pegram went to Richmond to make his report, and took with him a number of mysterious boxes which had been brought aboard at Southampton. There was much speculation as to their contents, but I believe that they held nothing more dangerous than bank-note paper, postage stamps and lithographing apparatus. I remained aboard, of course, and there was little if any change in the routine of duty. There was paint to clean, and there were decks to sweep; the sails were to be unbent and sent below. I cannot say that my value as a sailor had increased materially during the voyage, and I had not even learned to tie, with any certainty, a fast knot. On the hurricane deck, as is usual on steamers, there was a score or two of wooden buckets for fire purposes. They were used occasionally for dipping up water. I tried my hand at it several times, while the vessel was in motion, and, when the bottom of the bucket was not driven out or the handle did not give way, I found, to my dismay, that I had made a slippery hitch, and saw the bucket slip smoothly into the water as soon as the strain came upon the line. Some of the men made handsome buckets of canvas, which they carefully embroidered, and I was not much more lucky with these than I was with the wooden ones. I have mentioned how beautifully clear the water was in the harbor at St. George’s, Bermuda, and the time with me never seemed to pass more slowly than when one of these fancy buckets had escaped from my line and was settling down in the water, and I had an agonizing expectation that Sawyer would reach the spot where I was standing before it had gone completely out of sight. I think that, at a moderate calculation, I must be responsible to the Confederacy for a dozen wooden buckets besides several canvas buckets.
It was now time that I should determine what to do. The small newspaper published at Newbern, N. C., reached us occasionally, and from this we received the first news of the glorious victory of the Virginia in the fight at Hampton Roads, when she sank the Cumberland and the Congress. There was great jubilation aboard that day. In the newspaper I found appeals for volunteers for different companies then raising for the war. I cannot give a better idea of my frame of mind than by saying that, at this time, I had determined to take my discharge from the Nashville, and decide, by tossing-up, which one of the various companies named in the newspaper I should join. I expected nothing better.
There was a surprise in store for me. One furiously cold morning, immediately after the return of Captain Pegram from Richmond, I was scraping the fore-yard, wet through with the falling sleet and intensely uncomfortable, when one of the boys from the ward-room came forward and called to me to say that I was wanted in the saloon. I went below at once, and into the saloon, where I found Captain Pegram, who spoke very kindly, and told me that, when I first came aboard, he had thought that I was not serious in my avowed purposes, and that, for this reason, he had done nothing to encourage me; but that he and his officers had watched me very closely, and were so well pleased with my conduct that he had laid my case before the Secretary of the Navy, who had authorized him to appoint me a Master’s Mate in the Confederate Navy. This announcement, so entirely unexpected, and which bridged for me, in a moment, the gulf which, aboard ship, separates the sailor from the officer, completely overwhelmed me. Captain Pegram saw my agitation, and told me that he should expect me to mess with him while we remained aboard, and that he would have my trunk placed in a state-room which he had ordered to be prepared for me. I went forward, thrust off my sailor’s garb as rapidly as I could, put on the solitary civilian’s suit which remained to me, and then was ready to receive the kind congratulations of the officers and the effusive demonstrations of regard of the truculent boatswain. Sawyer told me that he was delighted to hear of my promotion, which was just what he had expected, as he had always seen that I was not in the position that I ought to hold! Much to my regret I did not have the satisfaction of meeting Mr. Sawyer again after I left the Nashville, when I might have had the pleasure of telling him precisely what I thought of him and his ways. My only reply to his congratulations was to ask to be permitted to pay for the buckets I had disposed of in the ways I have described. He said it was of “no consequence.”
[VII.]
What the precise position and duties of a Master’s Mate were in the old navy I am not able to say. Indeed, I don’t think I ever asked. In the Confederate Navy the Master’s Mate had the same duties and the same nominal rank as a Midshipman, and wore the same uniform. The only difference was the very essential one that the pay of the Master’s Mate was about $25 a month, while that of a Midshipman was about $40.
My worst troubles were now over. Captain Pegram told me that, as there was no special duty for me aboard, he would ask me to prepare, under his direction, his report of the voyage. This I did. It is worth remembering, too, that I had the pleasure of writing, in his name, a letter of thanks to Governor Pickens, of South Carolina, for the loan of the Blakeley guns which had constituted our armament. I remember that it was in this letter that Captain Pegram said that it was by means of these guns that the Nashville had been able to capture the Harvey Birch and the Robert Gilfillan, and had been able to show her teeth to the enemy. The last shot that we fired with these guns was at the blockaders as we ran into Beaufort. The shell fell short, but it was a sort of crow of defiance, and relieved our feelings somewhat.
I learned that the Nashville had been sold to a mercantile firm, and would be left at Morehead City in charge of two officers and three or four men, until the new owners should take possession of her. The rest of the crew were to be discharged, and the officers were to be sent to other posts of duty. I was ordered to report for duty to Commodore Forrest, at Norfolk, Va., to which point Captain Pegram was to go to take command of an iron-clad then building. To crown my satisfaction, Captain Pegram told me that he intended to make a visit to his family, in Sussex County, Virginia, and would be glad if I should accompany him, and remain with him until it was necessary to go to Norfolk.
On March 10, 1862, we bade good-bye to the Nashville. Shortly after our departure the enemy moved in force upon Newbern, and, to escape capture, Lieutenant Whittle and Midshipman Sinclair took the Nashville out to sea. They had but three or four men aboard, and were, I believe, without charts or chronometers. They ran down to Charleston, and being unable to get into that port, went to Savannah, where they succeeded in running the blockade. It was a daring feat most successfully accomplished, and reflected the highest credit on the officers and men. The Nashville lay in the Ogeechee river until 1863, when she was named the Rattlesnake, and was made ready for sea as one of the vessels of the Volunteer Navy then forming. But a Federal gunboat succeeded in setting her on fire with shells thrown across the marsh to the point where she lay, and she burned to the water’s edge and sank. This was the end of as fine a sea-boat as was ever built.
On taking the train to Goldsboro’ I found that the passport system was in full operation, and, as I was in civilian’s dress, the guard declined to allow me to pass. Captain Pegram, however, told the guard that he would “endorse” me, and I went on without molestation. Of course I made all manner of queer blunders. Everything was so strange. The nocturnal noise of the tree frogs caused me to tell Captain Pegram in the morning that it was the only country that I had ever been in where the birds sang all night. I had not then been kept awake, hour by hour, by the melodious warbling of the mocking bird.
It was a little after daylight when we reached Stony Creek, on the Petersburg and Weldon Railroad, where we were to leave the train. Taking a carriage after breakfast, we drove through the woods and plantations to the residence of Major Belsches, with whom Captain Pegram’s family were staying. Two or three miles before reaching it, we passed by a handsome residence in the midst of a large and well-ordered plantation, which I was told belonged to Mr. Nat. Raines, a wealthy planter, who was an old friend of Captain Pegram’s. At the house of Major Belsches we found Mrs. Pegram, her two daughters and her two younger sons. Every one was as kind as possible, and the time for our departure for Norfolk came far too soon. Before going there—indeed, the very day after our arrival—I was taken over to the residence of Mr. Raines, to be introduced to him and his family. He seemed to take quite a fancy to me, and in the course of a few hours I was on a friendly footing with the whole family. Nat. Raines, Jr., and Dr. B. F. Raines, the sons of Mr. Raines, were in the cavalry service, and, at this time, at home on furlough. Mrs. Raines was quiet, gentle and motherly, and her two daughters I found to be amiable and accomplished. One joke that Mr. Raines had was to tell me that he was fonder of smoking than I, and could out-smoke me. The tournament that followed resulted in my ignominious defeat. The weapons were Powhatan clay pipes with long reed stems, charged with tobacco grown on the plantation. Mr. Raines carried a supply of it usually in his coat pocket.
[VIII.]
Arrived at Norfolk, I reported to Commodore Forrest, and was ordered by him to go aboard the Confederate States, the receiving ship. This was a line-of-battle ship, named formerly the United States, which had escaped destruction by the Federals upon their evacuation of the navy yard. On the receiving ship, where there were a number of officers awaiting orders, I had my first experience of a hammock. Like one of the heroes of my favorite Marryatt, I signalized my entrance into the hammock on one side by pitching out on my head on the other side. Unlike Marryatt’s heroes, however, no shot-box with a sharp edge had been kindly placed on the deck, by a sympathizing mess-mate, to meet my descending skull. Having little to do aboard, I made the acquaintance of Captain James Barron Hope, who was acting as Commodore Forrest’s Secretary, and assisted him in the discharge of his pleasant duties. Captain Hope is widely known as a writer of both fervent verse and delightful prose. He has been for some years the proprietor and editor of the Norfolk Landmark, which is published at Norfolk, where he lives. His latest literary work is the noble Centennial Ode which was read last year at the celebration at Yorktown.
Having provided myself with the gray uniform of the Confederate Navy, I was taken to see Commodore Franklin Buchanan, who commanded the Virginia in her first fight, when he was severely wounded. The Virginia was in dock, and was being put in order for another cruise; and Commodore Buchanan was deeply chagrined at the prospect that she might be ready before he had recovered. On March 25 Commodore Josiah Tatnall was placed in command of the squadron at Norfolk.
Much has been written about the Virginia, but those who saw her will agree, I think, that it was marvellous that she should have accomplished what she did. The plating consisted of railroad iron rolled flat, and the bends were protected by iron knuckles. There was no plating below the water-line, and the prow with which she did so much execution did not look much more dangerous than a champagne bottle, which, in shape, it resembled. The great defect of the Virginia, however, was the weakness of her engines, which prevented her from manoeuvering rapidly, and which placed her at so terrible a disadvantage in the fight with the Monitor. The engines broke down frequently while she was in the United States service. Their peculiar construction, taken in connection with the great draft of the vessel, twenty-two feet, and her length, three hundred and twelve feet, rendered her management in narrow channels and in presence of the enemy a very difficult matter.
The Confederate fleet at Norfolk consisted of the Virginia, eight guns; the Patrick Henry, eight guns; the Jamestown, two guns; and the Beaufort, the Raleigh and the Teaser, one gun each. The Patrick Henry and Jamestown were ordinary river steamboats, hastily and rudely adapted to the reception of heavy guns; while the Raleigh, the Beaufort and the Teaser were small and weak tug-boats. An ordinary rifle ball would have perforated the boiler of the war-tugs, and a shell from a field-piece, if it hit at all, would be tolerably sure to send any one of them to the bottom. With this fleet, however, it was determined to attack the Monitor and the other United States vessels of war near Fortress Monroe. I volunteered for service in the fleet, and was assigned to duty on the Beaufort, which was commanded by Lieutenant W. H. Parker, one of the finest officers in the Navy. Picked men from the infantry regiments stationed at Norfolk were placed on each of the vessels; and, the Virginia now being in tolerable order again, the whole fleet, on the morning of April 11, 1862, steamed past Norfolk, and gaily down the river, the Virginia leading the line. The wharves along the river were crowded with ladies and soldiers. Hats were tossed in the air, handkerchiefs were waved, and cheer after cheer rent the air. The enthusiasm of the hour made every one feel like a hero. Captain Parker told me that the main object of the expedition was the capture and destruction of the Monitor. Commodore Tatnall was desperately in earnest, and one of the midshipmen of the Virginia told me that he heard the old Commodore say, as he stumped up and down the quarter-deck, gritting his teeth: “I will take her! I will take her! if h—ll’s on the other side of her.” The “her” was understood to be the Monitor. The plan of operations was bold and simple. When the Monitor came out to meet us, the Patrick Henry, the Jamestown, the Beaufort and the Raleigh, at a signal from the Virginia, were to run down upon the enemy, endeavoring to strike her on the bows and quarter. The Monitor was to be mobbed by the gun-boats while the Virginia engaged her attention. On each of the Confederate vessels boarding parties were detailed with prescribed duties. Those numbered one in each vessel were provided with hammers and wedges, and were to endeavor to chock the turret of the Monitor so as to prevent it from revolving, in which case her line of fire could only be changed by moving the vessel. Those numbered two were supplied with balls of tow, steeped in turpentine, which were to be ignited and thrown down the ventilators, which were then to be covered. Those numbered three were to throw a wet sail over the pilot-house so as to blind the helmsman. Meanwhile other boarders, armed with pistols and cutlasses, were to guard against any attempt on the part of the enemy’s crew to escape from the confinement which was prepared for them. I had command of the boarders on the Beaufort. The general idea was that the Monitor would be overwhelmed by the combined attack; and that by the means indicated we could prevent her from doing much harm. The Virginia would play an important part by endeavoring to ram her, and we hoped to be able, with our four boarding steamers, to take the Monitor in tow and haul her back to Norfolk, when we might break her open, and take the crew prisoners at our leisure. Commodore Tatnall expected that probably half his gun-boats would be sunk or crippled in the attempt, but he was quite sure of throwing on the deck of the Monitor men enough to ensure her capture. It is just as likely that the Monitor would have towed us to Fortress Monroe, if she had not sunk the whole concern before we reached her. The weather was dirty, and we lay at anchor during the night off Craney Island. Betimes the next morning we dropped down to Hampton Roads. The enemy’s batteries fired several shots at us without effect. We could see that the Monitor had steam up, and was lying close under the protection of the batteries. She looked like a huge black plate with a cheese box of the same color upon it. The flag ship Minnesota, with a large number of men-of-war and merchantmen, was below the forts. Signal guns were fired, and we hoped that the enemy would engage us. The day wore on and still the Monitor and her consorts skulked under the guns of the forts. The Virginia ran within range of the formidable fortress, and then fired a gun of defiance, but the Monitor would not come to the scratch. Within the bar at Hampton three merchant vessels were lying, and the Jamestown and Raleigh ran in, captured them and brought them out. This exploit, almost within gunshot of the Monitor, did not affect her movements. We did not get the fight we sought. It was a terrible disappointment. But in the critical condition in which the United States Navy was at the time, it was the wiser part for the Monitor to decline the engagement. Had we succeeded in disabling her, the whole coast would have been at the mercy of the Virginia. Obstructions had already been placed in the Potomac in expectation of a naval raid on Washington, and there was considerable perturbation at New York and Boston.
[IX.]
On April the 17th I received orders to proceed to Petersburg, and join Captain Pegram there. The iron-clad which was building at Norfolk was not likely to be ready for several months; and, as Captain Pegram was anxious to be in active service, he was assigned to the command of the iron-clad Louisiana, which was building at New Orleans, and said to be nearly finished. With his usual kindness he caused me to be ordered to the same vessel, and asked me to go down with him. My first visit to the “Cockade City” was a very agreeable one, as I made acquaintance there with a number of Captain Pegram’s relatives, including his niece, Mrs. Annie T. White, and his sister, Mrs. David May.
From Petersburg the journey by railroad to Louisiana was dreary and monotonous in the extreme. I have a bare recollection of being invited at Kingville, S. C, to go to the end of the station and inspect an astonishingly fat hog, which was the wonder of that part of the country. There really was no other incident of note that I recall, except the frequent delays, and the arrival at different points too late for the connecting trains. As we neared our destination, the air was full of ugly rumors. We learned that the United States fleet had attacked the forts below New Orleans, and it was reported that the city had been evacuated. But we pressed on, and finally reached Jackson, Miss., where we were told that it was no use to go any further. No passenger trains were now running, but we succeeded in getting on a train that was going down, and got within twenty miles of New Orleans. There the cars were stopped; and in a short time train after train came up from the city, bringing out the Confederate troops, under command of General Mansfield Lovell, and such stores as could be carried off. A number of the soldiers who belonged to the “Garde d’Orleans,” flatly refused to go any further, and, to my surprise, were allowed to return to the city, which was now in the possession of Butler’s forces. There was no choice for us but to go back to Virginia; and Captain Pegram took charge of dispatches from General Lovell, giving an account of the disaster. So it turned out that, by stopping a day or two at Petersburg, we had missed an opportunity of participating in one of the fiercest naval fights of the war. The vessel which Captain Pegram was to have commanded was taken down the river in an unfinished condition, and was either sunk or was blown up. The journey back was worse than the journey down, as the delays were multiplied. It was on the train, soon after leaving Lovell’s troops at Tangipahoa, that I first met Colonel James M. Morgan (then a midshipman), whose sister I afterwards married. The vessel on which he was serving, the McRae, was lost in the engagement, and he made his escape from the city with great difficulty.
When we reached North Carolina there was no comfort there. Norfolk had been evacuated by the Confederate forces, and the Virginia had been destroyed to prevent her from falling into the hands of the enemy. I received permission to rest in Sussex for a few days, and then went to Richmond, where I was assigned to duty on a floating battery lying in the James River, and commanded by Captain Parker, with whom I had served on the Beaufort. This so-called battery was a large flat, with a shield heavily plated with iron in front. The name of the battery was the Drewry, and she lay at Rockett’s, below Richmond. I had fancied that she was a vessel of the same class as the Virginia, and when I went down to the place where she lay I looked about vainly for the vessel. Hailing a man who was at work on what I supposed to be a dredge, I asked which was the Drewry. “This is she,” said he. I was both disappointed and disgusted. The Drewry was really a lighter, about eighty feet long and fifteen feet broad, and was intended to be loaded down within eight or ten inches of the water. She had a wooden shield, V shaped, covered with heavy iron bars, and in the angle of the shield was cut a port-hole for her one heavy gun. She had no engines or sails, and was to be towed or allowed to drift into position when an engagement was expected.
I engaged quarters at a very pleasant house in Franklin Street, and found amongst the boarders there the mother and sister of Clarence Cary, whom I had known on the Nashville. The sister, Miss Constance Cary, married, after the war, Mr. Burton N. Harrison, who was the private secretary of President Davis. Miss Constance Cary, or Miss “Connie,” as she was usually called, wrote a good deal in war times under the nom de plume of “Refugitta;” and during the last few years has written at least one very charming society novel, besides an admirable work on household decoration. There were also there, in the pleasant company, Miss Hettie Cary, the famous Baltimore beauty, and her sister, Miss Jennie Cary, a handsome woman, and unfailingly amiable. Of course she was overshadowed by her sister; and she used to say that the only inscription necessary for her tomb-stone would be: “Here lies the sister of Hetty Cary, the lady who presented the Confederate colors to Beauregard’s troops at Manassas.” Miss Hetty Cary, late in the war, married General John W. Pegram, a nephew of Captain R. B. Pegram. A fight took place two or three weeks after her marriage, and Mrs. Pegram went immediately to the front to assist in caring for the wounded. Almost the first man who was brought up, as she reached the field hospital, was her dead husband. The Carys and Captain Pegram’s sister-in-law, Mrs. General Pegram, and her daughters, Miss Mary and Miss Virginia Pegram, were as kind and considerate to me as if I had been a member of their family. To one of Captain Pegram’s nephews, Willie Pegram, the youngest son of Mrs. General Pegram, I became very warmly attached. He was at this time particularly boyish looking, and wore spectacles, which added to the simplicity of his appearance. A graduate of the Virginia Military Institute, he had gone into service as a private in Company F of the First Virginia Regiment, and upon the promotion of Captain Lindsey Walker, had been elected Captain of the Purcell Battery.
My time in Richmond passed almost too pleasantly. I was not satisfied with myself, and saw no prospect of accomplishing anything as long as I remained in the Navy. McClellan’s army was close to Richmond, and one fine morning, at the end of May, the battle of Seven Pines began. I obtained leave of absence, and, armed with a navy sword, hastened down to the field, arriving there about night-fall. The first troops I fell in with at the front belonged to a Georgia regiment, the Eighth Georgia, I think; and I asked to be permitted to take a musket and go in with them as a volunteer, the next morning. Next morning came, but the fight did not, and I trudged disconsolately back to Richmond.
I now made up my mind to leave the Navy. Fearing that Captain Pegram would object to this, I went to the Navy Department myself and handed in my resignation, which had been approved by Captain Parker. I took care to say that I only resigned in order that I might go into the army as a private soldier. My purpose was to join the Purcell Battery, which Willie Pegram commanded, but he refused to consent to this, telling me that if I waited something better would turn up. I was not willing to wait, and went out to the battery and reported to him for duty a few days before the Seven Days Battle began.
[X.]
The camp of the Purcell Battery was then on the Mechanicsville Turnpike, as well as I remember; and it was a day or two after my arrival that the Confederate battle flags were first distributed to the Army of Northern Virginia. I remember, as though it were yesterday, the return of Willie Pegram from head-quarters, with the battle flag for our battery. It was only a square of coarse cloth with a blue field and a red cross dotted with stars. But to the soldiers of the Confederate armies it was then the emblem of all that we fought for, as it is now the token of what the Confederate soldiers endured, and of what our people lost.
At the time of the battles around Richmond the Artillery had not been formed into battalions, as was done later in the war; and to each brigade was attached one field-battery. The Purcell Battery was attached to Field’s Brigade, of A. P. Hill’s Division.
Early in the afternoon of Thursday, June 26th, 1862, the head of General Hill’s column crossed the Chickahominy, and moved towards Mechanicsville. It was the first time I had seen the Confederate troops marching to meet the enemy; and the gleaming bayonets, and waving flags, the rumbling of the artillery, and the steady tramp of the men, were both exhilarating and imposing. One of Field’s regiments led the advance, with two guns from our battery. We neared a narrow road between two steep banks, and were confident that we should feel the enemy there. There was a puff of smoke and the sharp crack of a rifle; the skirmishers advanced, and we threw some shells into the woods. The skirmishers kept steadily forward. They entered the woods and were lost to sight. Soon they reached the enemy’s line, and the engagement began. We had now reached a point near Ellyson’s Mill, at Mechanicsville, which had been strongly fortified by the enemy. They had a battery in position, and amused themselves by taking pot-shots at us. Willie Pegram, however, remained motionless in his saddle, no more concerned at the shells which were ploughing up the dust about him than if he had been lounging on the porch in Franklin Street, this beautiful evening. An officer rode hurriedly up, and then the order rang out: “Attention, Battery! Forward! Trot! March!” and with a cheer we rattled along the road and came into battery in an open field, in full view of the enemy. The guns were instantly loaded, and the firing began. The Yankees were not idle; and a shower of shot and shell enveloped us. I had not been assigned, as yet, to any particular duty in the battery, and looked on as an interested observer until accident should make a vacancy that I might fill. I tied my horse behind a corn crib, near by, and awaited developments, walking up and down in the rear of the guns to see what was going on. It was not an agreeable situation, as there was nothing to divert my attention from the manifold unpleasantnesses of the terrific fire which the enemy concentrated upon us. They had twenty-four guns in position against our single battery, and were able to enfilade our line, as well as to pound us by their direct fire. It was one of the greatest errors of the early days of the Confederacy that batteries were allowed to be knocked to pieces in detail, when, by massing a dozen batteries, the enemy could have been knocked quickly out of time and many lives saved. A solid shot bowled past me, killed one of our men, tore a leg and arm from another, and threw three horses into a bloody, struggling heap. This was my chance, and I stepped to the gun and worked away as though existence depended on my labors. For the great part of the time I acted as Number 5, bringing the ammunition from the limber to Number 2 at the piece. I felt for the first time the fierce excitement of battle. There was no thought of danger, though the men were falling rapidly on every side.
So the battle continued until about six o’clock, the men cheering wildly whenever there was any sign of weakening on the part of the enemy. I did not know what hurt me; but I found myself on the ground, hearing, as I fell, a man near me say: “That Britisher has gone up at last.” In a few moments I recovered my senses, and found that I was not dead, and that no bones appeared to be broken. The warm blood was pouring down my left leg, and on examination I saw that a piece of shell had scooped out five or six inches of the flesh below the knee, and near the femoral artery, making an ugly wound. I did not feel that I was disabled, however, and, tying a handkerchief as tightly as I could around my leg, I went back to my post, and there remained until the battery was withdrawn after sunset. Towards the end of the engagement only three men were left at the gun at which I was serving. At a second gun only four men were left. Another battery relieved us, and drew some of the enemy’s fire. But I think it must have been nine o’clock when we finally left the field. The official list of casualties in our battery showed four killed and forty-three wounded, out of about seventy-five who went into the engagement. Among the killed was Lieutenant Elphinstone.
The battle-field was several miles from Richmond, and the problem was, how to get back there. I hobbled a part of the way as well as I could, and was then put into an ambulance with two wounded men, one of whom died before we reached Richmond. I stopped at a Field Hospital for a minute to get some morphine for my wounded comrade, and then had my first experience of scientific butchering. A rough table, consisting of two or three planks, was used for the operations; and there the surgeons were hard at work, their sleeves rolled up to the shoulders, their arms and hands besmeared with blood, cutting deep with their knives into the quivering flesh, or sawing with a harsh grating sound through the bones of the insensible soldier. Under the table lay arms, hands, feet, and legs, thrown promiscuously in a heap, like the refuse of a slaughter house.
[XI.]
Upon reaching Richmond I was taken to my old quarters in Franklin Street, and made much of. The Richmond Dispatch, after describing the battle in which we had been engaged and giving a list of the casualties in our battery, said: “This list proves the desperate bravery exhibited by the command in the bloody strife. We learn that Mr. Dawson, a young Englishman, who came over in the Nashville, volunteered for the engagement, and received a wound while acting most gallantly.” My old friends in the Navy (and the Navy officers are more clannish and stick together more closely than the Army officers do,) came at once to see me. First, of course, was my dear friend, Captain R. B. Pegram, who chided me for resigning from the Navy without telling him what I was going to do. Commodore Hollins, Commodore Forrest, and Captain Arthur Sinclair, were exceedingly attentive. The surgeons told me there was no danger of serious results from my wound, if severe inflammation could be prevented; and Captain W. H. Murray, of one of the Maryland regiments, rigged up an arrangement for me by which water was allowed to drip, night and day, on the bandages, to keep them moist and cool. Miss Hetty Cary rather turned the tables on me, by sending me word that she would have come down to my room with her sister to see me, but that I had criticised so sharply, before I had been hit, the conduct of ladies who had gone to the hospitals to attend to the wounded soldiers, that she would not think of doing violence to my feelings now by giving me any of her personal attention. In truth, the young ladies who did visit hospitals were disposed to be rather partial in their attentions. There were pet patients wherever the young ladies were allowed to go. A very good illustration is given in a paragraph which went the rounds of the Southern papers, as showing the experience of an interesting wounded soldier, who had dark eyes and a darling mustache, and a generally romantic aspect. A young lady said to him: “Is there not anything that I can do for you?” Wearily the soldier said: “Nothing, I thank you.” Not to be baffled, the young lady said: “Do let me do something for you. Will you let me wash your face for you?” The sad response of the soldier was: “Well, if you want to right bad, I reckon you must; but that will make seven times that my face has been washed this evening.” There were some patriotic verses on the same subject, written in all seriousness, which ended with this touching couplet:
“And every day there is a rush
To give the soldiers milk and mush.”
The doctors complained, too, that the young ladies were rather in their way; and that their prescriptions were oftentimes set at nought by surreptitious doses of pies and sweetmeats. But the motive was always good and pure, and, after I had known what it was to be hit myself and to need a woman’s attentions, I was not disposed to quarrel with any one, however fascinating, for being assiduous in attentions to a wounded Confederate.
As soon as I was able to stand up, Captain Murray offered to go with me to Petersburg, where I might remain until I recovered. Mrs. Annie T. White invited me to stay at her house, and I was there for several weeks. While there, Mr. John Dunlop, who has been one of the staunchest friends I have had, called to see me. He was a native of Petersburg, but was educated in England, and took the degree of A. M. at Wadham College, Oxford, not long before the beginning of the war. He went to New York to practice law there; but returned to Virginia as soon as the State seceded, and joined one of the Virginia regiments as a private. He was appointed aide-de-camp to General Armistead, which was the position he held at the time that I first knew him. After the second battle of Manassas he was retired on account of his failing sight, and went to England. After the war he returned to Virginia, and is now living at Richmond, where he pursues his profession with much success.
Murray returned to Richmond in a day or two. Poor fellow! I never saw him again. He was killed at Gettysburg. I have fancied that he was deeply attached to Miss Jennie Cary, who has never married.
Mr. Raines was greatly concerned at hearing that I had been wounded, and sent his carriage to Petersburg to take me down to his house in Sussex. He told me that his house must be my home. In his own simple and heartfelt language: “My dollars and cents I will divide with you; and half my bread and meat is yours.”
As soon as I was able, I went from Petersburg to Sussex, and there remained until I had recovered completely. It was here, at Oakland, as the plantation of Mr. Raines was named, that I learned what Southern life really was. I was treated in every respect as one of the family, and was hailed by the darkies, big and little, as part of the establishment. They did, however, have a rather unpleasant way of prognosticating an untimely end for me, as I heard the little negroes chanting continually: “Poor Mas’r Frank! he bin sure to die long before de acorn come.”
Captain Robert B. Pegram was staying at the place of Major Belsches, about two miles away, and one morning Nat. Raines, Jr., and I drove over to make him a visit. As we passed by the mill, about half way, we met Captain Pegram in a buggy, and saw that his benignant face was shining even more brightly than usual. His first words were: “Dawson, I have some good news for you.” I asked him what it was, and he handed me a note from his cousin, Mrs. G. W. Randolph, the wife of the Secretary of War. The words were few, but they were pregnant words for me. They were these:
“Dear Cousin Robert:
Mr. Randolph has ordered a commission as First Lieutenant of Artillery to be made out for Mr. Dawson.
Yours, sincerely,
MARY RANDOLPH.”
The cup of my happiness was full. Standing in the streets in Richmond, and watching the troops as they passed, I had so often wondered whether, in the course of time, I might hold a commission in the Confederate army; and now it had come to me unexpectedly, unsolicited, undeserved. I learned afterwards that Willie Pegram had been so good as to recommend my appointment on account of my behavior at Mechanicsville; and his recommendation was vigorously sustained by his uncle, Captain Robert B. Pegram, and my Navy friends. The Confederate government had no power to appoint company officers for the volunteer forces; and for this reason I did not receive a commission in the line. My appointment was under an Act of the Confederate Congress, which authorized the appointment of forty First Lieutenants of Artillery for assignment to duty as Ordnance officers.
[XII.]
There was joy indeed at Oakland when the news of my promotion was received there; and the young ladies set themselves to work at once to contrive ways and means whereby my gray Navy coat could be converted into the tunic of an Artillery officer. The most troublesome part of it all, we found, was to get the Austrian knot on the arm, the “curleyqueue,” as we called it, into the right shape. It is so long since, and these things are so soon forgotten, that it may not be out of place to mention here that my new uniform was a gray tunic with scarlet cuffs and scarlet collar; an Austrian knot of gold braid on each arm; two bars of gold lace, denoting the rank, on each side of the standing collar; gray trousers with broad red stripes; a scarlet kepi, trimmed with gold braid, and commonly known, by the way, as the “woodpecker cap.”
One important consideration for me about this time was, how I should get the money to pay for a horse and other necessary equipments. Mr. Raines had two sons in the service, and was, as I knew, supporting the families of several soldiers from the neighborhood. He came to me, however, and told me that he had instructed his factors at Petersburg, to honor any drafts that I might make upon them; and that I must go there and get the money necessary for a horse, and anything else that I wanted. This was more than I was willing to accept; but I had not much choice in the matter; and Mr. Raines assured me that it was a pleasure to him to be able to assist me in preparing myself to fill properly the position that I had won. So off I went to Petersburg, and thence to Richmond, in all the brilliancy of gray and scarlet and gold; the little darkies on the plantation, as I drove off from Oakland, singing the refrain that I have mentioned before.
I had not yet been assigned to duty with any particular command, and had not the remotest idea of what kind of duty it was to be; but I had heard a good deal of General Longstreet, and when I reached Richmond, I went to the Ordnance Bureau to have a preparatory talk with Colonel Gorgas, who was Chief of Ordnance of the army. I began to realize, from what I saw around me, that I was likely to be in a worse plight as an Ordnance officer, whatever that might be, than I was as an able bodied seaman, so-called, on the Nashville; and I said frankly to Colonel Gorgas, that I felt inclined to decline the commission which had been tendered me. He asked me why I intended to take such a step. I said that I knew nothing whatever of the duties of an Ordnance officer, and hardly knew the difference between a Napoleon gun and a Belgian rifle. I did not think it right, therefore, to undertake what I did not think I would be able to perform satisfactorily. Colonel Gorgas looked at me a moment to see whether I was in earnest or not, and then said very quietly: “I think you had better accept the commission; I reckon you know as much about it as many other officers who have been assigned to the same duty.” I took him at his word, and asked to be assigned to General Longstreet’s corps. At the same time I mentioned to Colonel Gorgas that I did not want any duty in the rear; and he gave me a letter to General Longstreet, requesting that, if any particularly hazardous service should fall within the line of my duty, it might be given to me.
It was difficult to get such a horse as I wanted in Richmond; but I succeeded in getting a respectable iron sabre with a painted scabbard, and I bought a good revolver and an imitation McClellan saddle. With these, and a large valise as my baggage, I went down to the Virginia Central Railroad station to take the train for Culpepper C. H., which was the nearest point on the railroad to the place where the army was believed to be. I should mention that, after the battles around Richmond, Jackson had attacked and defeated the enemy at Cedar Mountain; and the whole army of Northern Virginia was now in motion towards Manassas. I met, at the station, Captain Taylor, of Norfolk, a naval officer, who had been appointed Captain of artillery, and assigned to duty with Stephen D. Lee’s battalion of reserve artillery. We traveled together, and left the cars at Culpepper C. H. By dint of hard talking, we obtained quarters for the night at the hotel, and the next morning we set out to overtake the army. I left my valise with the hotel-keeper; but I could not consent to part with my saddle, which I lugged along as best I could.
[XIII.]
The roads were sandy and the day was intensely hot, and the weight of the saddle increased every mile. Soon we struck a column of troops marching in the same direction as ourselves, and the men began the usual chaff. “I say, Mister,” said one, “who stole your horse?” Another, in an expostulatory tone of voice, rejoined: “Why don’t you let him alone; don’t you see that the other man is going to get up and ride?” Then again: “Come out of that saddle; it’s no use to say you ain’t there; I can see your legs sticking out.” One man very demurely stepped up to Captain Taylor, and said: “You must not mind these boys, sir; they don’t mean any harm by it.” He replied very courteously: “I don’t mind it all, my friend.” “Well,” continued the man, “they don’t mean any harm, but they always carry on in that way whenever they see a d—d fool come along.” This last sally caused a shout all along the line; and we were glad enough to part company with them.
That night we met with some of Captain Taylor’s friends, who gave us supper; after which we had a bath in a creek near by, and, rolled up in our blankets, had an excellent sleep.
In the morning we were on the road betimes; and I managed to stow away my saddle in a wagon. There were all manner of rumors concerning the whereabouts of Longstreet, and we kept on until we reached the little village of Stevensburg. No positive information could be obtained here; but we found a man who was willing to let us have dinner. We enjoyed the meal thoroughly, chatting merrily the while. Two or three citizens came into the room and scrutinized us closely, but we paid no attention to them. Presently, after whispering among themselves, one of them approached me and said: “What battery do you belong to, sir?” “None at all,” I replied; and went on with my dinner. Shortly he returned, and said: “What State do you hail from, sir?” “None at all,” I replied, “except a state of semi-starvation.” This seemed to annoy him, and he tried me once more: “Where are you going to?” “To General Longstreet’s head-quarters,” I answered. “What for, sir?” questioned the stranger. In the meanwhile I had finished my dinner, and feeling very comfortable, I turned to Captain Taylor and said: “I have heard a great deal of the curiosity of Americans, and I am disposed to gratify it as far as I can conveniently; but this man is becoming a bore.” The inquiring citizens now took a new turn, and asked Captain Taylor where he was going to. Whereupon he told them that it was none of their business. We paid our bill, and got up to leave the room, when one of the citizens quietly closed the door, and said: “Men, you can’t leave here until you show your papers!” “The devil we can’t!” said I. “What right have you to ask for our papers?” The answer came sharply enough: “We ask for your papers by the right that every true citizen has to question men whom he suspects to be deserters or worse.” Both Captain Taylor and I were rather high tempered. I had a great idea of my own dignity as a Confederate officer, and I told our inquiring friends at once that we positively refused to show any papers or answer any more questions. They told us that they would not allow us to depart until we did. Captain Taylor drew his pistol, and I drew my Confederate-iron sabre, and a lively fight of two to four was imminent. At this moment there was a violent knocking at the door, and a cavalry officer with two or three dismounted cavalrymen, came in. The citizens took him out and talked with him; and when they returned the officer asked us where we wanted to go to. Captain Taylor said he wanted to find General Lee’s head-quarters; and that I wanted to find General Longstreet. The officer told us very demurely that he was going along in the right direction, and if we would accompany him he would show us the road. We thought that we now had the best of the bargain; and the citizens who had so tormented us smiled grimly as we rode off. After riding for some distance without anything being said, I asked our escort whether we were nearing the place to which we were going, and he replied in the affirmative. Passing through a thick skirt of woods, he suddenly wheeled to the right, and ordered us to follow him. We did so; and a few paces further on we saw the body of a man dangling from the bough of a tree; a halter having been used instead of a rope, to swing the poor devil up by. Asking what this meant, I was told that the dead man was a spy, and that all spies were treated in that way in this army. I was glad to receive the information, but did not see that it had any personal application until we reached a tent in front of which a stern looking man, in a General’s uniform, was lolling on the ground. The officer dismounted, saluted, and said: “General, here are two men who have been arrested by some citizens of Stevensburg on suspicion of being spies.” “Ah, indeed,” said the General, rising with some interest. “What proofs have you of this?” “No particular proofs, General; but they refuse to show any papers, or to give any account of themselves.” “Well!” said the General, “that’s the best proof in the world. I have a short way of dealing with these rascals.” Then turning to a courier who was standing by, he said: “Tell Captain —— to detail a non-commissioned officer and three men to report to me immediately.” Turning to us he kindly said: “Fine morning! men. Any message or any other little thing that you would like to send to your friends in the North?” Captain Taylor and I had been so completely taken aback that, up to this time, we had said nothing; but the joke was becoming rather serious, and I said frankly that Captain Taylor and I had refused to show our papers because they had been asked for impertinently, and without any authority; but that we had in our pockets our orders and our passports, and that I had letters of introduction to General Longstreet from General Randolph and Colonel Gorgas. The order for the detail was countermanded as soon as our papers had been glanced at; but our friend, the General, told us that it was a suspicious circumstance, as we must admit, to find two officers of artillery wandering about the country without any command, and on foot. I suspect the nautical bearing of Captain Taylor, which his uniform did not disguise, and my own fresh color and English accent, had more to do with our trouble than the fact that we were dismounted and alone. I really had some little difficulty in making myself understood at Stevensburg. When I asked for water at the house, the man hesitated until I had repeated the word two or three times; and then asked if I meant “wat-ter.” We started off again, and I parted from Captain Taylor, who went to General Lee’s head-quarters, while I plodded along to Brandy Station. I had seen Captain Taylor for the last time. He was killed in action soon afterwards.
Almost broken down, I was trudging wearily along the road when I heard some one bawling out my name. Looking around I found that it was Lieutenant McGraw, of the Purcell Battery. In a minute or two I was in comfort and at ease in the midst of my old comrades. I had not seen Captain Willie Pegram since the fight at Mechanicsville, and we had a great deal of news to tell each other. The battery was parked in the woods, and, although we had no supper, I slept without waking. In the morning there was an artillery duel with the enemy at the Rappahannock River, in which we lost one or two men. Willie Pegram then lent me a poor old rip of a horse, with a hole in his side, punched there at Gaines’ Mill by a piece of a shell; and I sallied forth once more to find General Longstreet. By this time I was about half starved, and I was very much disgusted by a soldier whom I met at the roadside with a huge pile of corn-dodgers, and who refused to sell me a piece of bread, although I offered him $5 for it. But I found General Longstreet at last, and was introduced by him to his Chief Ordnance Officer, Colonel Peyton L. Manning, who directed me to return to Brandy Station, where I should find the Ordnance train of the corps.
About night I found the train, and met with a cordial reception at the hands of Lieutenants Leech and Duxberry. A good supper of coffee, biscuit, and fried bacon was improvised, and I heartily enjoyed the quiet luxury of a pipe.
[XIV.]
A day or two after my arrival at my post, I succeeded in buying a very good riding horse, and hired a capable servant. I may as well say just here that I found Colonel Manning, my immediate superior, an exceedingly easy man to get along with. Unquestionably a gentleman in his tastes and habits, and brave as a lion, he knew comparatively little of his work as Ordnance officer, and was unable to write an ordinary official letter correctly. Spelling was indeed his weakest point. He was from Aberdeen, Miss., and died at his home there three or four years after the surrender. Lieutenant Leech was from Charlottesville, Va., and was very quiet and unassuming. Lieutenant Duxberry was good tempered, but exceedingly conceited, and casting about always to make himself friends at head-quarters. One of his peculiar conceits was that his name, Duxberry, was a corruption of Duc de Berri, from whom he supposed himself to be in some extraordinary way descended. I found out afterwards that, at the beginning of the war, he was an assistant in a drug store at Montgomery, Ala., and that he was born somewhere in Massachusetts.
Longstreet pressed through Thoroughfare Gap and reached Manassas just in time to save Jackson from being overwhelmed there. I knew but little of what was going on, and did not see much of the great battle itself. Here I made my first capture in the shape of a Gatling gun which had been abandoned by the enemy, and what was of more importance, I secured a commissary wagon containing a barrel of ground coffee.
The army now advanced to the Potomac, which we crossed at Point of Rocks; the bands playing “Maryland, my Maryland!” There was no cause to complain any longer of a lack of provisions, and we were able to buy whatever we wanted with Confederate money at fair prices. After resting a day or two at Hagerstown, where we completed the equipment of our mess, we moved rapidly to South Mountain, where we had a brisk fight, and were driven back. This was on August 15th, I think. Late at night I rode back to the camp to get some supper, but had hardly told the cook to make the necessary preparations when an order came from General Longstreet to me to take charge of the Ordnance trains of the corps, and move them to Williamsport. The order was imperative, and I was directed to move as rapidly as possible.
At about ten o’clock at night I started. It was intensely dark and the roads were rough. Towards morning I entered the Hagerstown and Williamsport Turnpike, where I found a cavalry picket. The officer in charge asked me to move the column as quickly as I could, and to keep the trains well closed up. I asked him if the enemy were on the road, and he told me that it was entirely clear, and that he had pickets out in every direction. It was only a few miles now to Williamsport, and I could see the camp-fires of our troops across the river. I was hungry, sleepy and tired, and the prospect of camp and supper in an hour seemed the summit of bliss. I was forty or fifty yards ahead of the column, when a voice from the roadside called out “halt!” The gloss was not yet off my uniform, and I could not suppose that such a command, shotted with a big oath, was intended for me. In a moment it was repeated. I quickly rode to the side of the road in the direction of the voice, and found myself at the entrance of a narrow lane, and there adown it were horses and men in a line that stretched out far beyond my vision. To the trooper who was nearest to me I said indignantly: “How dare you halt an officer in this manner.” The reply was to the point: “Surrender, and dismount! You are my prisoner!” Almost before the words were uttered I was surrounded, and found that I had ridden right into the midst of a body of Yankee cavalry, numbering about two thousand, who had escaped from Harper’s Ferry that night to avoid the surrender which was to take place in the morning. I was placed under guard on the roadside, and as the trains came up they were halted, and the men who were with them were quietly captured. In a short time the column moved off in the direction of the Pennsylvania line. I was allowed to ride my own horse. By the side of each team a Federal soldier rode, and, by dint of cursing the negro drivers and beating the mules with their swords, the cavalrymen contrived to get the jaded animals along at a gallop. While we were halted, one of my Sergeants had knocked the linchpins out of the wheels of the leading wagons, in the hope that this would delay the march. The wheels came off and the wagons were upset, but a squad of men dismounted instantly, threw the wagons out of the road, and set fire to them, so that there was no halt of consequence. I had a cavalryman on each side of me, and tried vainly to get an opportunity to slip off into the woods.
[XV.]
Soon after daylight we reached the little village of Greencastle, Pennsylvania, where the citizens came out to look at the “Rebel” prisoners. They hurrahed for their own men and cursed at us. Even the women joined in the game. Several of them brought their children to the roadside and told them to shake their fists at the “d—d Rebels.” Still there were some kind people in Greencastle. Three or four ladies came to us, and, without pretending to have any liking for Confederates, showed their charitable disposition by giving us some bread and a cup of cold water. My horse was taken from me at Greencastle and ridden off by a dirty-looking cavalryman. Then the Confederates, numbering a hundred or more, were packed into the cars, and sent by the railway to Chambersburg.
Duxberry had the good luck to be away from camp the night that we marched from Crampton’s Gap, and was not taken. Leech had been asleep in one of the wagons, and did not wake up until we had all been gathered in.
Chambersburg is a pretty little town, and I had the satisfaction of seeing it a year later under pleasanter auspices. On arriving there the first time, the Confederates were put in the open yard of the jail which we pretty well filled. Our presence there suggested a new and interesting game to the small boys of Chambersburg. It was a plain calculation that a stone which should fall within the area of the yard would be very apt to hit one of the prisoners. The boys, therefore, amused themselves by pitching stones over from the outside, enjoying in this way the luxury of scaring the “Rebels,” and hurting them too, without any risk to themselves. It was sport to the boys, but it came near being death to some of our men. But here, as at Greencastle, there were some charitable souls. Mr. A. K. McClure, who is now the editor of the Philadelphia Times, came to the jail with a committee of citizens, and gave us an abundance of coffee and bread and meat. That night we lay on the rough stones in the jail yard, and in the morning we were put on the train for Harrisburg. We did not go into the town, but were taken at once to Camp Curtin, in the suburbs, where we were to remain until our final destination should be determined on.
By this time I had no baggage. It had been promised that my valise, which was in one of the wagons, should be given to me, but it was appropriated, I suppose, by one of our captors. At all events, I saw nothing of it, and could get no information about it.
At Camp Curtin we were tolerably comfortable. There were only two officers in our party besides myself, and as my uniform was comparatively bright and fresh I attracted more attention than my rank warranted. The United States officers at the camp were exceedingly attentive, and talked with me in the frankest manner about the position of affairs and the prospects of their army. They gave me a blanket which I needed sorely, and bestowed upon me what was equally desirable, a new tooth-brush. The evening after my arrival, the Commandant of the camp asked me whether I would not like to go into town, saying that one of the officers was anxious to take me in with him. I told him I had no other dress than my uniform, and if I had I would not wear it, and I did not suppose that any of the officers would care to go into Harrisburg with a Confederate officer in uniform. The Commandant said that this was what was proposed, although he did not think it very prudent. The Commandant gave me the necessary pass, and Captain —— and I went into the town.
First we went into the principal hotel and took supper. The persons hanging about the hotel looked at me rather sulkily, but I was too hungry to pay much attention to them. After supper we walked out to the front of the hotel, where my companion slapped me on the shoulder, and said in a loud voice: “Here is a real live Rebel officer! The first man that says a word to him I will knock his d—d head off!” This was not a very pacific speech to make to a crowd of fanatical Pennsylvanians, who had just heard that the battle of Sharpsburg had begun. Nothing came of it at the moment, and my companion now insisted that we should visit the principal music hall. As we entered, the whole company of singers was on the stage shouting lustily: “The Union and McClellan forever! Three cheers for the Buck-tail Brigade,” the audience joining in the chorus with patriotic energy. My companion marched me down the middle of the hall to the very front seat, and there was a murmur of astonishment and disapprobation. But my companion did not mind it, and I could not help it, so we remained there about half an hour and then passed out, with no other damage than being scowled at by the audience. By this time my companion was decidedly exhilarated; and the next time that he invited an attack, by saying that he would inflict condign punishment on any one who molested me, an indignant patriot knocked my hat off. I knocked down the man who did it, and half a dozen men pitched into me at once. There was a general scrimmage. Knives were drawn, a shot was fired, and I knew nothing more until I found myself in a large room surrounded by a group of soldiers. In the row, it seemed, my companion had been treated rather badly, and I had been choked and knocked until I was insensible, and, indeed, was only saved from death by a woman, who seized the arm of my foremost assailant and prevented him from stabbing me to the heart. Just as I had learned the particulars, the door opened and an officer came in whom I recognized as the Commandant of Camp Curtin. He said very quietly: “I thought you would be very apt to bring up at the guard-house about this time, so I came in to look after you.” He then accompanied me back to camp. I did not wish to trouble the Commandant to escort me to my quarters, but he told me that his guards were quite young, rather stupid, and very malicious, and quite apt to shoot at a stray prisoner without giving him a chance to halt and explain. I objected no further. The whole night’s work was a very unpleasant one for me, but I had no way of escaping from the difficulty when I once reached the city. Captain —— had been drinking hard, which I had not suspected until it was too late. If I had left him and gone off alone I should have been in worse case than by remaining in his company.
The next morning the Harrisburg paper had a glowing account of an attempt I had made to escape from camp, and said that, when recaptured, I had nearly succeeded in laying a mine to blow up the great bridge across the Susquehannah. The newspapers, too, were very severe in their condemnation of the Union officers who had been seen in the city in company with a “Rebel officer in full uniform.”
Early the next day we were ordered to be ready to take the cars for Philadelphia, on the way to Fort Delaware. Just before leaving camp, I was told that there were some ladies at the gate who desired to see me. I went down and found two handsomely dressed women in an open carriage. One of them asked me whether I did not recognize her. I told her that I did not, and she said: “You ought to do so, for I was passing by when you got into that difficulty in town, and was the means of saving your life.” I thanked her very warmly, but told her that there were too many demands on my attention at the time of the fight to permit me to have seen her. The ladies bade me very heartily good-bye, and I left my unknown friends.
It was not a long run to Philadelphia, and in the cars was a civilian who accosted me courteously, and asked me many questions about the Confederacy and the Southern people, the character of the army and the estimation in which the different Generals were held. All such questions I answered as well as I could without divulging anything that might be of injury to our side, and taking care to depict everything in the highest possible colors. It was night when the train reached the Quaker City, and I suppose that ten thousand persons were awaiting the arrival of the train. There were no lamps in the cars, and the persons in the crowd outside clambered up at the windows, even lighting matches and holding lanterns to our heads that they might see us the better, as though we were wild beasts in a cage. One man thrust his hand in through the sash, grasped my hand firmly and whispered: “Cheer up, it will all come out right.” At last, it was my turn to leave the cars, and, as usual, my scarlet cap attracted more attention than was agreeable. Some said I was a drummer-boy, others declared I was a Colonel, while one big fellow shouted out that he knew that I was a spy who had deserted from the Union Army, and had been recaptured. There was instantly a shout: “Hang him to the lamp-post,” and for a few minutes I was in worse plight at Philadelphia than I had been in at Stevensburg. The guard, however, succeeded in driving the crowd back, and I reached in safety the steamer which was to take us to Fort Delaware.
[XVI.]
Late at night we reached the Island upon which Fort Delaware is built. We were marched up to the gates, and were halted there until an officer had passed along the line and enquired whether any of the prisoners wished to take the oath of allegiance to the United States government. There was no reply, and we were marched into the Barracks. These Barracks were common wooden sheds, affording accommodation for about ten thousand persons. The bunks were arranged in tiers of three, and into one of these I crawled. The next morning I was told that these Barracks were the quarters for the privates and non-commissioned officers, and that, by requesting it, I could be removed to the quarters for the officers, which were inside the Fort. Lieutenant Leech and I wrote to the Commandant, and were at once removed to the Fort, where we were installed in a large barrack-room, which then contained seventy or eighty officers. The highest in rank was a Major Holliday, belonging to one of the Virginia regiments.
During the time that I was in the Fort I slept next to Adjutant W. P. DuBose, of the Holcombe Legion, who had been taken prisoner at South Mountain. He was supposed to have been killed, but had really been but slightly wounded. When he returned to South Carolina he found that his obituary had been published, and that his friends were in mourning for him. Afterwards he went into the ministry, and was appointed Chaplain of Kershaw’s Brigade. He is now one of the Professors of the University of the South, at Sewanee.
As the number of officers increased with new arrivals, the room became painfully crowded. Within the room we could do pretty much as we pleased, except that we were not allowed to gather together in a body, lest we might plan an escape, I suppose. Nor were we allowed to cross the threshold of the door, on pain of being shot. The guards were abusive, and would swear at us like dogs if we did anything they disapproved of. A word in reply was met by a blow with the butt end of a musket, or by an order that the offender be sent to the Black Hole. Still we were far better off than our comrades were in the Barracks outside. Our room was dry, warm and well lighted, while the Barracks were cold, damp and dark. Our room had conveniences for washing to a certain extent, and there was plenty of water of a poor quality. The washing of clothes went on all the time, which was not conducive to the comfort of those who used the washstand for personal ablutions. The inhabitants of the garments which were steeped in the washstand naturally took refuge in the water.
No exercise of any kind was permitted to us, and we only left the room to march down into the mess-hall. For breakfast we had a cup of poor coffee without milk or sugar, and two small pieces of bad bread. For dinner we had a cup of greasy water misnamed soup, a piece of beef two inches square and a half inch thick, and two slices of bread. At supper the fare was the same as at breakfast. This was exceedingly light diet. Some of the officers behaved disagreeably; and eight or ten of us, principally Virginians, associated ourselves together for mutual protection, and formed a mess of our own. We contrived to make some additions to our diet by purchases at the Sutler’s store. When we had no money the Sutler would take watches or other valuables in pledge, and let us have the provisions.
A number of the citizens of Baltimore, including Mr. Carpenter, had been arrested for disloyalty, and they were found at this time in the Fort. They were not watched as closely as we were, and sometimes in going down to dinner we had an opportunity to exchange a word with them. They were jolly fellows, and exceedingly liberal. Mr. Carpenter was editor of the Maryland News Sheet, and was released about the time of our arrival. Being appointed the chairman of the Baltimore Society for the relief of prisoners, he returned to the Fort to see what our wants were. At one shipment over two thousand pair of excellent shoes were sent to the Fort for the prisoners. Indeed, each one of the three thousand Confederates in the Fort received a blanket, a pair of shoes, warm trousers, a jacket, and a felt hat; or such of these things as he required. Nor were the officers in our room forgotten. Clothing of every kind was sent to us. It was proposed at first that the senior officer present should take charge of the supplies, and distribute the clothing according to the necessities of the individuals. This did not suit some of our comrades. When the packages were brought in and opened there was a general rush, and those who pulled hardest and pushed most got the larger part of the spoils. I saw men wear two pair of new trousers under an old pair, and then complain to Mr. Carpenter that they wanted a new pair. And so it was with jackets and with under-clothing. Blankets were in great demand. One man who was crying lustily for a blanket was found to have four new blankets hidden under his bunk.
I had only been in the Fort a day or two when the guard called my name, and handed me a newspaper. This was a most unusual occurrence, as newspapers were not allowed to be given to us, unless they contained some startling report of Union victories. The newspaper was the Philadelphia Inquirer, a rabid Union sheet, and I was curious to see what it contained that concerned me. There I saw, in big type, the announcement of “The Arrival of the Rebel Prisoners!” “Conversation with a Rebel Officer of Longstreet’s Staff!” “Condition of the South!” “What is thought of the Rebel Generals!” &c., &c. The writer said that, in the cars, he had had the pleasure of a conversation with Lieutenant Dawson, of General Longstreet’s Staff, who was in England when the war began, but immediately returned to his home in Sussex County, Va., and entered the Confederate service! After complimenting me upon my intelligence and courtesy, he gave a very fair report of what I said. The mystery was explained. My inquisitive friend on the cars was a newspaper reporter. I was annoyed by the publicity given to what I had said, for I feared that my friends at the South would misunderstand it; but it proved after all to be a fortunate occurrence for me. Two days after the appearance of the article in the Philadelphia Inquirer, the guard came and began to talk to me in a surprisingly civil way. Suddenly he turned his back to me and slipped a letter into my hand, telling me not to let any one see it. I hurried off to the only private place we had, and read my letter. It was from a Mr. Neal, of Walnut Street, Philadelphia. He said that he had seen my name in the Inquirer, and that, being a Virginian and a prisoner, I had claims upon him; and that anything that I wanted, either in money or clothes, he would be only too happy to send me. I replied, thanking him for his kindness, and asking that he would send me some under-clothing, of which I stood in great need. Mr. Neal at once came down to the Fort, and brought me a valise well furnished with handkerchiefs, socks, shirts, collars, and other things that I required. He also insisted that I should take a small sum of money, which I was fortunately able to return to him when I was set at liberty. Much to my regret, I have not been able to learn anything about Mr. Neal since the war ended.
I had hardly settled down to the quiet enjoyment of my valise and its contents, when a big basket was brought to me, with a note from a Miss Spotswood, who said she saw by the papers that I was from Sussex, Virginia, where she had spent many happy years, and begged that in memory of this I would accept the accompanying basket. I did. In the basket were jelly, preserves, sugar, tea, coffee, pickles, pepper and salt, a comb and brush, a tooth-brush, note paper, envelopes and postage stamps. My comfort was now complete. Who but a woman would have thought of sending so many little necessaries which I could not otherwise have obtained!
[XVII.]
The time dragged heavily, although we amused ourselves by singing Southern songs and playing games, some very pretty chess-men and chequers having been made by the prisoners. There were cards in abundance, and there was a faro-bank; but these games were not patronized by our mess. Once on a Sunday we were allowed to go to Church service on the ramparts, but this privilege was not granted again.
The confinement had a serious effect upon me, and I became really unwell; but new courage was given to all of us by the rumor that there would soon be a general exchange of prisoners, and that we should be released on parole. The rumor gained ground; but day after day passed and no confirmation came. When we had almost given up hope, an Orderly announced to us that Major Burton, the Commandant, had sent a message to us, which he would deliver if we would receive it quietly. In a moment all was still: “Major Burton says that orders have been received from Washington to send you all on to Virginia to be exchanged, as soon as boats can be secured.” We could not restrain the cheers that rose to our lips.
A day or two afterwards, when we began to think that we had been deceived, the printed forms of parole were brought in for signature. This part of the performance having been completed, Major Holliday, the senior officer, was called for, and went out. Shortly afterwards one of the Captains was taken away; then another Captain was sent for. When five or six had gone out and none had returned, so that all the tracks went one way, we began to wonder what it meant. My name was next called. I went out, and was conducted to Major Burton’s office, where was an officer in full uniform. Major Burton said that Colonel ——, of the United States Army, wished to speak with me. The Colonel asked me whether I was on General Longstreet’s staff. I told him I was. He then asked me how many divisions there were on General Longstreet’s command. I did not answer him. He repeated the question, and asked how many men Longstreet had. My reply was: “You have no right to ask such questions; and you cannot suppose that I shall so far forget my duty as an officer, and my honor as a gentleman, as to tell you anything whatever concerning the command to which I belong.” Again being asked the question with the same result, I was given up as a bad job, and told that I could return to my quarters. Hurrying back to the room, taking on the way a bag of cakes that some sweet Maryland girls offered me, I reached the room and found the men there in great excitement, as no one of those who had been called out had come back. I described what was going on, and bade them be on their guard. By this time it had been ascertained that I had returned to our quarters instead of retiring to the room where were placed the other officers who had been catechized. So I was hurried out again, and unceremoniously put in the pen. The object was to keep the officers in our quarters in ignorance of what was expected to be extracted from them. But the hint I had had time to give was sufficient. Thenceforward the haughty Colonel received free answers to his questions; but I am not disposed to think that the information was very valuable. He asked particularly the number of Maryland troops in our service, and one officer told him that we now had fifty thousand Maryland Infantry, ten thousand Cavalry, and five battalions of Artillery. The interrogator was astonished. He said he had thought that there were only one or two thousand Maryland troops in our service, which was near the truth. The officer told him that of late all the Marylanders in the different Brigades had been consolidated into a Maryland Corps, which had the strength stated. A special note was taken of this information. Another officer belonged to a Brigade which had about four hundred muskets, and was asked the strength of it. He asked whether his interrogator wanted to know its present strength or the usual strength. The Colonel said he wanted to know both. The officer told him that the usual strength was about twenty-two hundred men, but he reckoned it had not more than eighteen hundred men now.
At last the long expected steamers came, and we went aboard. Our confinement was at an end, and only the sea trip and the run up the James River lay before us. The Sutler tried hard to play a Yankee trick. I have mentioned that we pawned watches and chains with him in order to buy provisions. Prior to the time for leaving the Fort most of us had obtained the money to redeem them. Major Burton indeed offered to furnish us any small sum that we needed, which we might remit to him when we reached home. But the Sutler, as soon as he learned that we were going away, went up to Philadelphia, and did not return. It was evident that he intended to remain absent until we were out of reach; but the boats were later in arriving than he expected, and he was obliged to come back to his post. Our pledges were redeemed, and the Sutler received a severe rebuke from Major Burton. No one could have been more considerate, consistently with his duty, than Major Burton was. This is the same noble officer who had President Davis in charge, after he was taken from the custody of the brutal officer who caused him to be so tortured at Fortress Monroe, as described in Dr. Craven’s well known book. Mrs. Burton was, I think, a Mexican lady, and sympathized very deeply with the Southerners. One day while we were on our way to the mess-hall, she waved her handkerchief to us, but I suppose that the good Major was constrained to prevent so unwise demonstrations afterwards. We did not see her again.
The fresh sea breeze was very refreshing, and we sat up nearly all night talking of home. Hunger, however, soon asserted itself, and we had much difficulty in getting a small piece of cold pork and some hard-tack. The next evening we reached Fortress Monroe, where we expected that our baggage would be searched or confiscated; but by some good fortune it was allowed to pass, and we reached Varina, ten miles below Richmond, without any trouble, although nearly famished.
Our commissioner of exchange was expected to meet us, but he was at church in Richmond with some fair lady, or too happily engaged otherwise to hurry down to attend to the wants of a few hundred prisoners who were half starved and pining to be ashore again. So we remained many hours within ten paces of the shore, before the necessary forms were complied with and we were allowed to land. There was some talk of sending us to Camp Lee to remain there until we should be exchanged; but I was taken by a friend in his carriage to Richmond, where we arrived at night. I was surprised that my joy at my deliverance was not so visible on my face that it would be noticed on the streets, and I half expected that even strangers would congratulate me. It was the 6th of October when I reached Richmond. I had been a prisoner of war only three weeks, but it seemed to me an eternity, and I can hardly realize now that the time, counted by days and weeks, was really so short. And yet, it must have been so.
[XVIII.]
The morning after my arrival at Richmond, I went down to the head-quarters of General G. W. Smith, who was then in command of the Department of Richmond, and asked his Adjutant-General for leave of absence until I should be exchanged. The Adjutant-General, who was no less a person than Major Samuel W. Melton, of South Carolina, refused point blank to allow me to leave the city. The officers and men who had been paroled could not, of course, rejoin their commands until they should have been exchanged, and there seemed to be no object in keeping them in Richmond. It was feared, however, that if they were allowed to go home, some of them might not return promptly; and for this reason no leaves were to be granted. As usual in such cases, the many were to suffer for the possible faults of the few. In my own case there was certainly no reason to refuse a leave of absence, as if I had desired to leave the service I could have done so at any time by resigning. The Conscript law of course did not affect me, and it seemed rather absurd to suppose that one who was in the Confederate service by his own choice would keep away from the field of duty which he had deliberately selected. I went to my friend, Colonel Gorgas, the Chief of Ordnance, made my official report of the capture of the trains at Williamsport, and through him obtained from the Secretary of War permission to go down to Sussex, and remain there until the completion of the exchange of the paroled prisoners.
After remaining at Petersburg a few days, I went on to Sussex, and found my friends there in great distress. Mrs. Raines had died the day before my arrival, and the loss to her husband and family seemed irreparable. To me, also, it was a heavy blow, for Mrs. Raines had been to me from the beginning a good and true friend. I stayed awhile with Major Belsches, about two miles away, and then went over to Oakland, where I had the complete rest and quiet I so much needed. The change from the dreary confinement and brutal treatment at Fort Delaware to the ease and abundance at Oakland was sufficient to make any one happy.
The days passed swiftly by, and it was not until the latter part of November that I was exchanged and free to return to the army. A fresh horse was now necessary, and I bought in Petersburg, for $400, a good-looking black charger, which turned out to be an utterly good-for-nothing animal. From Petersburg, I rode, by way of Richmond, to Fredericksburg, where General Longstreet now was. I reported for duty on December the 6th, and set to work at once to familiarize myself with the condition of my department. Lieutenant Leech did not return to us, but was assigned to duty with General Pickett as Chief of Ordnance of the division. Lieutenant Duxberry I found at head-quarters in much the same condition as when I left him at South Mountain. Very soon, the whole responsibility in the Ordnance Department of Longstreet’s Corps devolved upon me. Colonel Manning had no taste for anything but marching and fighting, and Lieutenant Duxberry was too fond of pleasure and show to be of much practical use.
I was under canvas at this time a few hundred yards from Guinea Station. The weather was bitterly cold, but my tent was small, and with the aid of a large stove I managed to keep reasonably warm. There was, as yet, no particular deficiency in the Commissary Department, but there was not much variety in the food. Bacon was the great staple, with occasional rations of beef, so tough that it deserved to be described, as it once was, as “the sinews of war.” The fat of the bacon was used in place of lard, in making bread and biscuits, so that when the bacon itself was served it was particularly dry. There was so great a craving for a change in the food that I ate often with relish a sauce composed of bacon fat and brown sugar, which in these days is sickening to think of. One of my men captured somewhere a keg of lard which proved to be a great acquisition. I think I may safely say that it was not paid for.
[XIX.]
The battle of Fredericksburg was at hand. I need not describe it, except to say that from Howison’s Hill, afterwards known as Lee’s Hill, where Generals Lee and Longstreet and their staffs remained for a considerable part of the day, there was a magnificent view of as grand a spectacle as one could desire to see in war. I was there soon after daybreak, and as the mist of the morning cleared away we could easily make out the enemy’s movements. Large bodies of troops had already crossed the Rappahannock, and the fields near it were blue with Yankees. On the opposite shore were the long trains of wagons and ambulances, together with the reserve artillery. A 30-pound Parrot gun which we had was ordered to open on the enemy, and very soon the artillery fire became brisk. Fredericksburg, which had been so calm and peaceful in the early light, was set on fire by the enemy’s shells. The enemy now made a fierce attack on our right, which was repulsed with comparative ease. It was thrilling to watch the long line advance, note the gaps in the array, as the wounded fell or else staggered to the rear, and see the gallant remnant melt away like snow before our withering fire. At Marye’s Hill, which was the key to our position, the most desperate fighting was done. Again and again the enemy charged, only to be driven back with terrible slaughter. There it was that Meagher’s Brigade made its historic charge. The field in front of the hill, beyond the road, was well called the slaughter-pen. The enemy lay there in their ranks, as they had fallen, and the fence was riddled like a sieve by the rifle bullets. I had a very narrow escape. Standing in a group with three other officers watching the action, a shell exploded near us and bruised or wounded everyone of my companions. I was not touched.
Late at night I returned to camp, and crept into a wagon to take a quiet sleep, placing my coat, cap and trousers under my head, in the front part of the wagon. In the morning my coat was missing, and the natural conclusion was that it had been stolen. Such things did happen. Looking about rather disconsolately, and wondering how I was to replace the missing garment, I saw some buttons and shreds of gold lace lying on the ground. The thieves were discovered. It was the wretched mules, who had unceremoniously dragged my clothes out of the wagon and chewed up my uniform coat, in place of the long forage, the hay or fodder, which they craved. The mules, at this time, were fed on corn almost exclusively; and their desire for rough food, as it was called, led them frequently to gnaw the poles of the wagons. These poles on this account were protected in many cases by strips of iron, which rendered them impervious to even the teeth of a mule. I was in a sad dilemma, of course, and was laughed at for my pains. Fortunately, I succeeded in buying a coat, which answered my purposes until I reached Petersburg, in the spring.
The army was now into winter quarters, the men making themselves as comfortable as they could. Snow-balling was a favorite amusement, and was carried on in grand style, brigade challenging brigade to a sham fight. These contests were very exciting, and were the source of great amusement to the men. Practical jokes, too, were frequently played upon the officers. Mrs. Longstreet was staying at a house a mile or two from our head-quarters, and General Longstreet rode over there every evening, returning to camp in the morning. On his way he passed through the camp of the Texas Brigade of Hood’s Division, and was frequently saluted with a shower of snow-balls. For some time he took it with his usual imperturbability, but he grew tired of the one-sided play at last, and the next time that he was riding by the Texans, and found them drawn up on the side of the road, snow-balls in hand, he reined up his horse, and said to them very quietly, “Throw your snow-balls men, if you want to, as much as you please; but, if one of them touches me, not a man in this brigade shall have a furlough this winter. Remember that!” There was no more snow-balling for General Longstreet’s benefit.
The officers at our head-quarters had a less innocent amusement than pitching snow-balls. The great American game of poker was played nearly every night. One of the most successful of the gamesters was Major Walton, who was a kinsman of General Longstreet, through whose influence he had received an appointment in the Commissary Department. He really did general staff duty. At one sitting Walton won $2,000 or more from Dr. Maury, who was one of the Surgeons of the corps; and he caused much unfavorable comment by sending to Dr. Maury for his winnings before that gentleman was out of bed in the morning. There was hard drinking as well as high playing; and it was reported that at the close of one debauch General Longstreet had played horse with one of the stronger officers of his staff, who on all-fours carried Longstreet around and around the tent until the pair of them rolled over on the ground together.
The head-quarters of General Lee were in the woods, and far from luxurious. He was advised by his physicians to stay in one of the houses near by, as many of his officers were doing, but he declined to fare any better than his men did. There was no pomp or circumstance about his head-quarters, and no sign of the rank of the occupant, other than the Confederate flag displayed in front of the tent of Colonel Taylor, the Adjutant-General.
It may not be out of place to mention the scale of prices that prevailed in the Confederacy towards the close of the year 1862, as I gave them in a letter to my mother: Shoes $30 a pair; common calico shirts $10 each; socks $1 a pair; butter $2 a pound; turkeys $15 each; matches 50 to 75 cents a box; ink 25 cents a bottle; blacking $1 a cake; writing paper $2 a quire.
[XX.]
Early in 1863 Longstreet was placed in command of the Department of Virginia and North Carolina, with head-quarters at Petersburg, and with Hood’s and Pickett’s Divisions he moved to that place. An effort to capture Suffolk, on the Norfolk and Petersburg Railroad, was contemplated, and most of our command moved in that direction. I remained at Petersburg during the operations, which were unsuccessful.
It was, of course, very pleasant for me in the Cockade City, and my pay had accumulated sufficiently to permit me to provide myself with new uniforms, in the latest style and at extravagant prices.
There was considerable excitement in the city, in consequence of an order that the pleasure horses of the citizens should be impressed for the use of the artillery. To this there was a very decided objection, and every manner of device was resorted to save the pet animals. Some good people attempted to run off their horses into the country, but pickets had been stationed along the roads and the fugitives were easily captured. When the impressing officers went around to examine the horses in town, they found horses in the cellars and even in the dining-rooms. A carriage containing three ladies and drawn by a pair of fine bay horses was going down Sycamore Street when a guard ordered the driver to halt, and told the ladies that it was his unpleasant duty to impress the team. The ladies, who were young and pretty, declared that the horses should not be taken. They tried both entreaty and expostulation, but the guard was inexorable. The ladies then declared that if the horses were taken they must be taken too, and thought they had gained the victory. The guard did go away, but he quickly unhitched the traces, and took the horses with him, leaving the ladies in their carriage in all their glory. In some cases the impressment was useless, as delicate horses were taken which were of no use for service in the field.
The battle of Chancellorsville had been fought during our stay around Petersburg, and the command was then hurried back to the neighborhood of Fredericksburg. It was in May, 1863, I think, that I returned there. The Gettysburg campaign began, but before this I saw the review of the whole cavalry of the army at Brandy Station. The enemy came in upon us shortly afterwards, and, in the very beginning of the cavalry fighting, Colonel Sol. Williams, of the 1st North Carolina, was killed. He had been married to Miss Maggie Pegram, Captain Robert B. Pegram’s eldest daughter, only about two weeks before. The Adjutant of his regiment was John Pegram, Captain Pegram’s eldest son, who was killed at Petersburg in 1864.
The march from Culpepper Court House through Chester Gap, in the Blue Ridge, was very delightful to me, as the weather was fine and the scenery was beautiful. I was particularly struck with the scenery at Front Royal and Shenandoah. The Valley of Virginia then showed few signs of war.
This time we crossed the Potomac at Williamsport. It was a dreary day! The rain was falling in torrents. General Lee, General Longstreet and General Pickett were riding together, followed by their staffs. When we reached the Maryland shore we found several patriotic ladies with small feet and big umbrellas waiting to receive the Confederates who were coming a second time to deliver down-trodden Maryland. As General Lee rode out of the water, one of the ladies, with a face like a door-knocker, stepped forward and said: “This is General Lee, I presume?” General Lee gave an affirmative reply, and the lady continued: “General Lee, allow me to bid you welcome to Maryland, and allow me to present to you these ladies who were determined to give you this reception—Miss Brown, General Lee; Miss Jones, General Lee; Miss Smith, General Lee.” General Lee thanked them courteously for their attention, and introduced General Longstreet and General Pickett to Miss Brown, Miss Jones and Miss Smith. This was not the end of the affair, however, as one of the ladies had an enormous wreath which she was anxious to place on the neck of General Lee’s charger. The horse objected to it seriously, and the wreath was turned over to one of the couriers. The next morning we went into Hagerstown, where more ladies were in waiting. There were more presentations to General Lee and more introductions for Generals Longstreet and Pickett. One fair lady asked General Lee for a lock of his hair. General Lee said that he really had none to spare, and he was quite sure, besides, that they would prefer such a souvenir from one of his younger officers, and that he was confident that General Pickett would be pleased to give them one of his curls. General Pickett did not enjoy the joke, for he was known everywhere by his corkscrew ringlets, which were not particularly becoming when the rain made them lank in such weather as we then had. The ladies did not press the request. When we resumed our march more ladies came to be presented, but this time there were no petitions for a lock of Pickett’s hair.
It was some satisfaction for me to pass once more through Greencastle, where I had been bedeviled by both men and women when taken there by the cavalry who captured me the year before. Thence we went to Chambersburg, and I was amazed to find that hundreds of sturdy well-dressed citizens were still in the town. In Virginia there was hardly a white man to be found who was not in the Confederate service, excepting the sick and those who were too old or too infirm for any sort of military duty; and it gave us a realizing sense of the strength of the enemy to see that they could have so large armies in the field and leave so many lusty men in peace at home.
The army behaved superbly in Pennsylvania. The orders against straggling and looting were strict, and they were cheerfully obeyed. It was on the march in Pennsylvania that I saw General Lee, one morning, dismount from his horse and replace the rails of the fence of a wheat field which had been thrown down by some of our men. It was the best rebuke that he could have given to the offenders.
At Chambersburg I paid a visit to the jail in which I had been confined, and found a number of Yankee soldiers in the yard. Had I been so minded, I might have played upon them the malicious trick of which the Chambersburg boys made us the objects when we were there. Riding through the town, I recognized one of the citizens who had been peculiarly kind to me when I was a prisoner, and who had given me then an excellent dinner. I thought I would catechise him a little, and called out in a loud voice: “Halt, there!” He seemed rather nervous, and asked what I would have. “Do you live here?” I asked. He said that he did. “Did you live here last year?” He replied in the affirmative. “Were you here in September last, when a number of Confederate prisoners were brought in?” He said, “Yes, I was, but I did nothing against them.” Looking sternly at him I said, “Do you remember me?” He said that he did not. “Well, sir,” I continued, “I was one of those prisoners.” By this time he was badly frightened, and I hastened to relieve him by saying that my only object was to thank him for his kindness to me, and ascertain if there was anything I could do for him in return. He thanked me, but said that the town was so quiet that he needed no protection.
Late in the evening I rode out of the town, and it was dark before I came back. I was riding quite rapidly, and my horse, striking his foot against one of the stepping stones in the middle of the street, fell and threw me about ten feet over his head. As I went down I heard a woman exclaim: “Thank God, one of those wicked Rebels has broken his neck.” I was not hurt, and my horse was not much injured, so I remounted and, riding to the sidewalk, informed my unseen foe that the pleasure she anticipated was, at least, postponed.
The people generally were evidently greatly surprised at the devotion of our men to General Lee, and made some rough remarks about it. One old lady called out to an officer of ours as he strode by: “You are marching mighty proudly now, but you will come back faster than you went.” “Why so, old lady?” he asked. “Because you put your trust in General Lee and not in the Lord Almighty,” she replied.
I should mention here that the horse which I was riding was a fine black gelding, which I had bought on our way to the Valley of Virginia. A more thoroughly trustworthy animal I could not have had, and he stood fire splendidly. I had two other horses at this time, but always rode in action the black gelding I have just spoken of. I had intended to have given him some fancy name, but my boy Aleck dubbed him “Pete” the day I bought him, and by that name he went.
[XXI.]
On the march from Chambersburg we learned that General Meade had been placed in command of the Union Army, and we pushed on towards Gettysburg, where A. P. Hill’s Corps had been heavily engaged. This day I was prostrated by sickness, and rode in an ambulance until nearly night, when I managed to get on my horse and go down to the battle-field. Longstreet himself has described admirably the fighting the next day; and, careless as he generally was of himself under fire, he nowhere else exposed himself more recklessly. One charge he led in person, and some prisoners whom we captured, when they learned who it was that had ridden in front of our advancing line, said they might expect to get whipped when a Corps commander exposed himself in that way to show his men how to fight.
The following day, July 3, the ever-memorable battle of Gettysburg was fought. Every arrangement was made to shell the enemy’s position, on Cemetery Hill, and follow this up by an attack in force. The whole of the long range guns in the army were placed in battery along the low range of hills which we occupied, and at three o’clock the cannonading began. The enemy made prompt reply. Three or four hundred pieces of artillery were being fired as rapidly as the cannoneers could load them. Being in the centre of the front line, I had an excellent view of the fight. It was a hellish scene. The air was dotted with clouds of smoke where shells had burst, and the fragments of shell and the solid shot were screaming and shrieking in every direction. Through it all, General Longstreet was as unmoved as a statue, watching placidly the enemy’s lines. In the meanwhile Pickett’s Division had been formed in readiness for the charge. Three of his brigades were present; those of Kemper, Armistead and Garnett, composed exclusively of Virginians. Prayers were offered up in front of Armistead’s brigade and Garnett’s brigade, before the advance began. Garnett remarked to Armistead: “This is a desperate thing to attempt.” Brave old Armistead replied: “It is; but the issue is with the Almighty, and we must leave it in his hands.” Just then a hare which had been lying in the bushes, sprang up and leaped rapidly to the rear. A gaunt Virginian, with an earnestness that struck a sympathetic chord in many a breast, yelled out: “Run old heah; if I were an old heah I would run too.” The artillery firing ceased, and the order to advance was given. Pickett was in the centre, with Wilcox’s Division on the right, and Pender’s, commanded by Pettigrew, on the left. The thin grey line of Virginians moved as steadily as on parade, the battle flags catching a deeper red from the sun. Well in front of their brigades were Kemper, and Garnett, and Armistead. The last named was bare-headed, his grey locks floating in the breeze. Waving his sabre and hat in hand, he cheered on his men. They did what men could do; but more had been expected of them than mortal men could accomplish. Armistead was mortally wounded inside the enemy’s works. Garnett was killed instantly. Kemper was severely wounded, and supposed to be dying. My recollection is that only one field officer in Pickett’s Division escaped unhurt.
The attack had been made and had failed. There was a terrible gap in our line, and the enemy threatened to advance. In the meanwhile the staff officers were busily engaged in rallying the men, who had made their way back from the front. I suppose that I was the first man to whom Pickett spoke when he reached the line. With tears in his eyes, he said to me: “Why did you not halt my men here? Great God, where, oh! where is my division?” I told him that he saw around him what there was left of it. General Lee, of course, took all the blame on himself. As was well said by a writer at this time: “General Lee was grand on the smoke-crowned hills of Petersburg, on the sanguinary field of Chancellorsville, and on the tragic plains of Manassas; but when at Gettysburg he told his men, ‘It is my fault’, he rose above his race, and communed with the angels of heaven.” That sad night not more than three hundred men remained to us of what had been one of the finest divisions in the service. The remnants of the companies were commanded by corporals and sergeants; regiments by lieutenants; and a brigade by a Major. Never had Virginia suffered a heavier blow. The division was composed of the flower of her children, and there was weeping and desolation in every part of the Old Dominion.
It was in every way an ugly time. There was always considerable difficulty in obtaining a sufficient supply of artillery ammunition. The first trouble was in making it, and the second was in finding transportation for it. At no time did we have so large a reserve as was necessary. What was true of the artillery was true in a less degree of the infantry. There was even some delay on our march into Pennsylvania in consequence of the detention of a train of ordnance wagons, which did not arrive when expected. A brigade of infantry with a battery of artillery, was sent as an escort; for had that train been captured it would have been risking too much to advance farther. The terrible cannonade on the third day at Gettysburg exhausted the whole of the artillery ammunition in reserve. My recollection is, that there was no long range ammunition left except what was in the caissons and limber chests. Under such circumstances, and having lost so heavily in the attack on Cemetery Hill, General Lee determined to retreat to Virginia; but we lay one day at least on the field awaiting the attack which Meade did not venture to make. The Union forces had suffered severely; but they could stand the loss of men better than we could; and they had a right to claim Gettysburg as a decisive victory, for we had failed utterly in what we had undertaken.
The march back to the Potomac was dreary and miserable indeed. The rain fell in torrents. The clothing of the men was worn and tattered, and too many of them were without shoes. It was a heart-breaking business, and gloom settled down upon the army. The enemy’s cavalry made an attempt to cut us off at Williamsport, where the river was too high for fording, and they would have succeeded but for the gallantry of the wagoners and “Company Q” (the stragglers, and the disabled men with the trains), who had a free fight with them, and drove them back. We crossed the river on a pontoon bridge, leaving the cavalry in the entrenchments at Williamsport, and plodded our way back towards Winchester. Just about this time we received the news of the fall of Vicksburg. It needed only this to intensify the feeling that the star of the Confederacy was setting.
Passing from grave to gay, I may mention here that a sad trick was played on me by Captain Innes Randolph, an Engineer officer at our head-quarters. While we were at Bunker Hill, on the way to Winchester, he invited me to dine with him, saying that his mess had a very fine ’possum, which would be a novelty to me if I had not tasted that succulent dish. It was finely served, and merited the encomiums that Randolph lavished upon it. He was careful, besides, to tell me that I should find, as I did, that it tasted very much like roast sucking pig. Two or three years afterwards Randolph told me that this famous dish was not ’possum after all, but a sucking pig which he had bagged in the neighborhood, and which he had dubbed ’possum in order to spare me the pain of banqueting on a dish that I knew to be —— I was going to say “stolen,” but we called it “captured” in the army.
Resuming our march, we passed through Millwood and Chester Gap, where we had a slight skirmish with the enemy. One of our brigades charged across a field which was thick with blackberry bushes. The fruit was ripe, and as the men moved forward firing they would pick the blackberries and hastily eat them. No troops ever showed more indifference to danger, or took fighting more as a matter of course, than the veterans of the Army of Northern Virginia.
We went into camp at Culpepper Court House, and remained there a considerable time.
[XXII.]
The army rapidly recovered its tone, and we heard that one corps of the three was to be sent to Tennessee. The choice fell upon Longstreet, who took with him Hood’s and McLaws’ Divisions of Infantry and Alexander’s Battalion of Artillery. Pickett’s Division was left in Virginia to recruit. There was much for me to do preparing for the change of base, and I was permitted to remain a day or two in Richmond on the way to the West. I stayed in Richmond at the house of Mr. John H. Tyler, the father of Henry Tyler, who was one of the Ordnance Sergeants with us, and a most excellent fellow. From the first time that I went to Richmond after I made his acquaintance, Mr. and Mrs. Tyler made their house like a home to me; and until the end of the war, and long afterward, a chair was kept as regularly for me at their table as though I had been one of their sons. Their generous and unaffected kindness to me, year after year, was more than I could ever hope to repay. God bless them.
I was a day or two later than the corps in leaving Richmond; but the cars were crowded with our soldiers, and when we reached South Carolina we received attentions which had long ceased to be common in Virginia, where the passage of large bodies of troops was an every day occurrence. At Sumter, South Carolina, a number of ladies were waiting for us on the platform, armed with bouquets of flowers and with well filled baskets of cake, fruit and more substantial fare. There was an abundance, too, of lemonade for the dusty soldiers. But the good things were for the soldiers only. Some ladies in the car were evidently faint with long fasting, and a civilian who was with them asked a very pretty girl, who had a large dish of cake and sandwiches, to give him a piece of the cake for a lady in the car who really needed it. With the mercilessness which one woman usually shows to another, the fair young patriot told him jauntily that everything there was for the soldiers, and that ladies and civilians must look out for themselves. Our men were rather unaccustomed to so much kindness, in these days, but they enjoyed it thoroughly. At Augusta, and at Atlanta, also, we were most hospitably received.