On that terrible Saturday morning, July 30, 1864, before day had yet dawned, after the enemy had massed a large number of troops in front of our guns, the fuse which was to ignite the mine was fired. The enemy waited fully an hour, but there was one explanation, the fuse had gone out. A brave Federal officer, whose name I do not know, volunteered to enter the tunnel and fire it again, which he did.
A minute later there was a report which was heard for miles, and the earth trembled for miles around. A "Crater" one hundred and thirty feet long, ninety-seven feet in breadth, and thirty feet deep, was blown out. Of the brave artillery company, twenty-two officers and men were killed and wounded, most of them killed. Hundreds of tons of earth were thrown back on the rear line, in which my command was.
Here was the greatest loss suffered by any command on either side in the war, myself, my only Lieutenant, W.J. Lake, and thirty-four [414] enlisted men were all buried, and of that little band thirty-one were killed. Lieutenant Lake and myself and three enlisted men were taken out of the ground two hours after the explosion by some brave New Yorkers. These men worked like beavers, a portion of the time under perpetual fire.
Colonel Dave Fleming and his Adjutant, Dick Quattlebaum, were also in the rear line, only a few feet to my left, and were buried thirty feet deep; their bodies are still there. I do not know how many of the Federal troops stormed the works, but I do know the Confederates captured from them nineteen flags. The attacking columns were composed of white men and negroes; sober men and men who were drunk; brave men and cowards.
One of the latter was an officer high in command. I have lost his name, if I ever knew it. He asked me how many lines of works we had between the "Crater" and Petersburg, when I replied, "Three." He asked me if they were all manned. I said, "Yes." He then said, "Don't you know that I know you are telling a d——d lie?" I said to him. "Don't you know that I am not going to give you information that will be of any service to you?" He then threatened to have me shot, and I believe but that for the interference of a Federal officer he would have done so.
I had just seen several of our officers and men killed with bayonets after they had surrendered, when the enemy, who had gone through the "Crater" towards Petersburg, had been repulsed, and fell back in the "Crater" for protection. There was not room in the "Crater" for another man. It was death to go forward or death to retreat to their own lines. It is said there were three thousand Yankees in and around the "Crater," besides those in portions of our works adjacent thereto.
Then the Coshorn mortars of the brave Major Haskell and other commanders of batteries turned loose their shells on the "Crater." The firing was rapid and accurate. Some of these mortars were brought up as near as fifty yards to the "Crater." Such a scene has never before [415] nor never will be witnessed again. The Yankees at the same time were using one hundred and forty pieces of cannon against our works occupied by Confederate troops.
Elliott's Brigade in the day's fight lost two hundred and seventy-eight officers and men. Major General B.R. Johnson's Division, Elliott's Brigade included, lost in the day, nine hundred and thirty-two officers and men. This was the most of the Confederate loss.
While the enemy acknowledged a loss of from five to six thousand men—and that I am sure is far below their real loss—I make another quotation from Major General B.R. Johnson's official report:
"It is believed that for each buried companion they have taken a tenfold vengeance on the enemy, and have taught them a lesson that will be remembered as long as the history of our wrongs and this great revolution endures."
Virginians, Georgians, North Carolinians, South Carolinians and others who may have fought at the "Crater," none of you have the right to claim deeds of more conspicuous daring over your Confederate brethren engaged that day. Every man acted well his part.
What about the four cannons blown up? you ask. One piece fell about half way between the opposing armies, another fell in front of our lines, not so near, however, to the enemy, a third was thrown from the carriage and was standing on end, half buried in the ground inside the "Crater," the fourth was still attached to the carriage, but turned bottom side up, the wheels in the air, and turned against our own men when the enemy captured it. That day, however, they all fell into the hands of the Confederates, except the one thrown so near the enemy's works, and in time we regained that also.
Before the fighting was over the Yankee officer who could curse a prisoner so gallantly ordered two soldiers to take charge and carry me to their lines, no doubt believing that the Confederates would succeed in recapturing the "Crater." We had to cross a plain five hundred and [416] ten feet wide that was being raked by rifle balls, cannon shot and shell, grape and canister. It was not a very inviting place to go, but still not a great deal worse than Haskell's mortar shells that were raining in the center. I had the pleasure of seeing one of my guards die. The other conducted me safely to General Patrick's headquarters. Patrick was the Yankee provost marshall.
When I was placed under guard near his quarters he sent a staff officer to the front to learn the result of the battle.
After a short absence he galloped up to General Patrick and yelled out "We have whipped them!"
Patrick said: "I want no foolishness, sir!"
The staff officer then said: "General, if you want the truth, they have whipped us like hell."
To relieve the tension that oppressed both Richmond and Petersburg, General Lee determined to dispatch a force to the Valley to drive the enemy therefrom, to guard against a flank movement around the north and west of Richmond, and to threaten Washington with an invasion of the North. The Second Corps of the army was ordered Northwest. General Ewell being too enfeebled by age and wounds, had been relieved of his command in the field and placed in the command of Henrico County. This embraced Richmond and its defensive, the inner lines, which were guarded and manned by reserves and State troops. General Early, now a lieutenant General, was placed in command of the expedition. Why or what the particular reason a corps commander was thus placed in command of a department and a separate army, when there were full Generals occupying inferior positions, was never known. Unless we take it that Early was a Virginian, better informed on the typography of the country, and being better acquainted with her leading citizens, that he would find in them greater aid and assistance than would a stranger. The department had hopes of an uprising in the "Pan Handle" [417] of Maryland in recruits from all over the States. The prestige of Early's name might bring them out. Early was a brave and skillful General. Being a graduate of West Point, he was well versed in the tactical arts of war; was watchful and vigilant, and under a superior he was second to none as a commander. But his Valley campaign—whether from failures of the troops or subaltern officers, I cannot say—but results show that it was a failure. There could be no fault found with his plans, nor the rapidity of his movements, for his partial successes show what might have been accomplished if faithfully carried out. Still, on the whole, his campaign in the Valley was detrimental, rather than beneficial, to our cause. Early had already made a dash through the Valley and pushed his lines beyond the Potomac, while his cavalry had even penetrated the confines of Washington itself. It was said at the time, by both Northern and Southern military critics, that had he not wavered or faltered at the critical moment, he could have easily captured the city. No doubt his orders were different—that only a demonstration was intended—and had he attempted to exceed his orders and failed, he would have received and deserved the censure of the authorities. The bane of the South's civic government was that the Executive and his military advisors kept the commanders of armies too much under their own leading strings, and not allowing them enough latitude to be governed by circumstances—to ride in on the flow tide of success when an opportunity offered. But the greatest achievements, the greatest of victories, that history records are where Generals broke away from all precedent and took advantage of the success of the hour, that could not have been foreseen nor anticipated by those who were at a distance. Be that as it may, Early had gone his length, and now, the last of July, was retreating up the Valley.
Kershaw, with his division, was ordered to join him, and on the 6th of August the troops embarked at Chester Station and were transported to Mitchel Station, on the Richmond and Mannassas Railroad, not far from Culpepper. On the 12th the troops marched by Flint Hill, crossed the Blue Ridge, and camped near the ancient little hamlet of Front Royal. The next day we were moved about one mile distant to a large spring, near the banks of the beautiful and now classic Shenandoah. How strange to the troops of the far South to see this large river running [418] in the opposite direction from all our accustomed ideas of the flow of rivers—that water seeks its level and will therefore run South, or towards the coast. But here the stream rises in the south and runs due north towards the Potomac. After long and fatiguing marches, the soldiers here enjoyed a luxury long since denied them on account of their never ceasing activity. The delight of a bath, and in the pure, clear waters of the Shenandoah, was a luxury indeed. On the 17th of August the march was again resumed, and we reached Winchester, Va., on the next day. Remaining two days near the old city which had become so dear to the hearts of all the old soldiers through the hospitality and kindness of her truly loyal people, and being the place, too, of much of our enjoyment and pleasure while camping near it two years before, we left on the 21st, going in the direction of Charleston.
On nearing the latter place we found the enemy in force, and had to push our way forward by heavy skirmishing. When within two miles of Charlestown, we halted and went into camp, and threw our pickets beyond the town on the north. On the 25th we moved through the city and took the Harper Ferry Road, two miles beyond. Here we took up camp, and were in close proximity to the enemy, who lay in camp near us. A heavy skirmish line was thrown out about half a mile in our front. Lieutenant Colonel Maffett of the Third, but commanding the Seventh, was deployed in a large old field as support. We were encamped in line of battle in a beautiful grove overlooking and in full view of our skirmishers.
The enemy seemed to display little activity. Now and then a solitary horseman could be seen galloping away in the direction of his camp.
The want of alertness on the part of the enemy threw our pickets off their guard. Colonel Maffett was lounging under the shade of a tree in the rear of the skirmish line, with a few of the reserves, while those on the picket line lay at convenient distances, some with their coats off, others lying under the shade of trees or in the corners of a fence, all unconscious of an approaching enemy. The Federals had surveyed the field, and seeing our pickets so lax, and in such bad order for defense, undertook to surprise them. With a body of cavalry, concealed by the forest in their front, they made their way, under [419] cover of a ravine, until within a short distance of the unsuspecting pickets. Then, with a shout and a volley, they dashed upon the line and over it, capturing nearly all, made their way to the rear, and there captured lieutenant Colonel Maffett and many of his reserves.
Commotion struck our camp. Drums beat, men called to arms, line of battle formed, and an advance at double-quick was made through the old field, in the direction of our unfortunate friends. But all too late. The surprise had been complete and the captured prisoners had been hurried to the rear. Colonel Maffett's horse, which was grazing near the scene of the skirmish, galloped through the enemy's disorganized lines, some trying to head him off, others to capture him, but he galloped defiantly on to camp. The enemy amused themselves by throwing a few shells into our lines.
The horse of Colonel Maffett was carried home by his faithful body servant, Harry, where both lived to a ripe old age. Not so with the unfortunate master. Reared in the lap of luxury, being an only son of a wealthy father and accustomed to all the ease and comforts that wealth and affluence could give, he could not endure the rigor and hardships of a Northern prison, his genial spirits gave way, his constitution and health fouled him, and after many months of incarceration he died of brain fever. But through it all he bore himself like a true son of the South. He never complained, nor was his proud spirit broken by imprisonment, but it chafed under confinement and forced obedience to prison rule and discipline. The Confederacy lost no more patriotic, more self-sacrificing soldier than Lieutenant Colonel Robert Clayton Maffett.
On the 27th we marched to Princeton, and remained until the 31st, picketing on the Opequan River, then returned to Charlestown. On the day before, the Third Regiment went out on the Opequan, being in hearing of the church bells and in sight of the spires of Washington. What an anomaly! The Federals besieging the Confederate capital, and the Confederates in sight of Washington.
From Charlestown we were moved back to Winchester and went into camp for a few days. So far Early's demonstration had been a failure. Either to capture Washington or weaken Grant, for day in and day out, he kept pegging away at Petersburg and the approaches to it [420] and Richmond. These seemed to be the objective points, and which eventually caused the downfall of the two places. The enemy in our front had moved up to Berryville, a small hamlet about eight miles from Winchester, and on the 30th of September we were ordered out to attack the plan. The Federals had fortified across the turn-pike and had batteries placed at every commanding point. In front of this fortification was a large old field, through which we had to advance. The Brigade was formed in line of battle in some timber at the edge of the opening and ordered forward. The frowning redoubts lined with cannon and their formidable breastwork, behind which bristled the bright bayonets, were anything but objects to tempt the men as they advanced to the charge. As soon as we entered the opening the shells came plunging through our ranks, or digging up the earth in front. But the Brigade marched in good order, not a shot being fired, the enemy all the while giving us volley after volley. The men began to clamor for a charge, so much so that when we were about half way through the old field the command came "charge." Then a yell and a rush, each man carrying his gun in the most convenient position, and doing all in his power to reach the work first. The angle in front of the Third was nearer than the line in front of the other Regiments. Just before we reached the works the enemy fled to a grove in rear under an incline and began firing on our troops, who had now reached the work and began to fire from the opposite side. The firing in this way became general all along the line. The Artillery had withdrawn to the heights in rear and opened upon us a tremendous fire at short range. The enemy could be seen from our elevated position moving around our right through a thicket of pines, and some one called out to the troops immediately on the right of the Third Regiment, "The enemy are flanking us." This caused a momentary panic, and some of the Brigade left the captured work and began running to the rear. Colonel Rutherford ordered some of his officers to go down the line and get the demoralized troops to return to the ranks, which was accomplished without much delay.
The enemy in front began slackening their fire, which caused some of the men to leap over the works and advance to the brow of a hill just in front of us to get a better view. The enemy rallied and began [421] pouring a heavy fire into the bold spirits who had advanced beyond the lines, wounding quite a number. General Kershaw, with a brigade of the division, crossed over the turn-pike and began a counter-move on the enemy's right, which caused such panic, that in a few minutes their whole line withdrew beyond the little town. Acting Assistant Adjutant General Pope, on the brigade staff, received a painful wound in the cheek, but outside of a sprinkling throughout the brigade of wounded, our loss was slight.
That night the enemy was reinforced, and about 9 o'clock next day there was a general advance. The enemy had changed his direction, and now was approaching parallel to the turn-pike. I was in command of the brigade skirmishers during the night, posted in a large old field on left of the turn-pike. Just as a detail, commanded by an officer of the Twentieth, came to relieve me, the enemy was seen advancing through a forest beyond the old field. The officer, not being familiar with the skirmish tactics, and never being on a skirmish line during action before, asked me to retain the command and also my line of skirmishers and conduct the retreat, which I did. The brigade at that time was on the retreat, and this double skirmish line covered and protected the rear. If there is any sport or amusement at all in battle, it is while on skirmish line, when the enemy is pressing you. On a skirmish line, usually, the men are posted about ten paces apart and several hundred yards in front of the main line of battle, to receive or give the first shock of battle. In our case the line was doubled, making it very strong, as strong, in fact, as some of the lines of General Lee's at that time holding Petersburg. When the enemy's skirmishers struck the opening our line opened upon them, driving them helter-skelter back into the woods. I ordered an advance, as the orders were to hold the enemy in check as long as possible to give our main line and wagon train time to get out of the way. We kept up the fire as we advanced, until we came upon the enemy posted behind trees; then, in our turn, gave way into the opening. Then the enemy advanced, so forward and backward the two lines advanced and receded, until by the support of the enemy's line of battle we were driven across the turn-pike, where we assembled and followed in rear of the brigade. There is nothing in this world that is more exciting, more nerve stirring to a soldier, than to participate in a battle line of [422] skirmishers, when you have a fair field and open fight. There it takes nerve and pluck, however, it is allowed each skirmisher to take whatever protection he can in the way of tree or stump. Then on the advance you do not know when to expect an enemy to spring from behind a tree, stump, or bush, take aim and fire. It resembles somewhat the order of Indian warfare, for on a skirmish line "all is fair in war."
We returned without further molestation to the vicinity of Winchester, the enemy not feeling disposed to press us. It was never understood whose fault it was that a general engagement did not take place, for Early had marched and began the attack, and pressed the enemy from his first line of works, then the next day the enemy showed a bold front and was making every demonstration as if to attack us.
General Kershaw having been promoted to Major General, General James Connor was sent to command the brigade. He was formerly Colonel of the Twenty-second North Carolina Regiment, promoted to Brigadier, and commanded McGowan's Brigade after the battle of Spottsylvania Court House. After the return of General McGowan, he was assigned to the command of Laws' Brigade, and about the 6th or 7th of September reached us and relieved Colonel Henagan, of the Eighth, who had so faithfully led the old First Brigade since the battle of the Wilderness.
While in camp near Winchester, the Eighth Regiment, under Colonel Henagan, was sent out on picket on the Berryville road. In the morning before day General Sheridan, with a large force of cavalry, made a cautious advance and captured the videttes of the Eighth, which Colonel Henagan had posted in front, and passing between the regiment and the brigade, made a sudden dash upon their rear, capturing all of the regiment, with Colonel Henagan, except two companies commanded by the gallant Captain T.F. Malloy. These two companies had been thrown out on the right, and by tact and a bold front Captain Malloy saved these two companies and brought them safely into camp. The whole brigade mourned the loss of this gallant portion of their comrades. Colonel Henagan, like Colonel Maffett, sank under the ill treatment and neglect in a Northern prison and died there.
Col. J.W. Henagan was born November 22nd, 1822, in Marlboro County, S.C., Was the son of E.L. Henagan and wife, Ann McInnis. His father was a Scotch-Irishman. His mother Scotch. Was educated at Academy in Bennettsville and Parnassus. Was elected Sheriff of Marlboro County in October, 1852, and went into office February, 1853. In 1860 was elected to the Legislature. Was re-elected to the Legislature in 1863.
Prior to the war was prominent in militia service, serving consecutively as Captain, Colonel and Brigadier General. In March, 1861, volunteered, and in April became Lieutenant Colonel of Eighth Regiment South Carolina Volunteers and went with the Regiment to Virginia. Was in battle of Bull Run or First Manassas. In 1862 he became by election Colonel of the Eighth South Carolina Volunteers and served in that capacity until his capture near Winchester in the fall of 1864 when he was sent a prisoner to Johnson's Island, Ohio. Here he died a prisoner of war, April 22, 1865.
No Regiment of the Confederacy saw harder service or was engaged in more battles than the Eighth South Carolina of Kershaw's Brigade and no officer of that Brigade bore himself with more conspicuous gallantry than Colonel Henagan. He was always at his post and ready to go forward when so ordered. There was little or no fear in him to move into battle, and he was always sure, during the thickest of the fight, cheering on his men to victory.
Colonel Henagan, as a citizen of the County, was as generous as brave. His purse was open to the needs of the poor. Did not know how or could not refuse the appeals to charity. He was the eldest son of a large family. When about twenty years old his father died and left on his shoulders the responsibility of maintaining and educating several younger brothers and sisters. He never swerved from this duty, but like the man that he was, did his work nobly. He was a dutiful son, a kind brother, a friend to all. He knew no deception, had no respect for the sycophant. Loved his country. A friend to be relied on. Was a farmer by profession. A good politician. Was a very quiet man, but always expressed his views firmly and candidly when called upon.
Colonel Robert Clayton Maffett was born in Newberry County, about the year 1836. Was the only son of Captain James Maffett, long time a member of the General Assembly of South Carolina. At the breaking out of the war Colonel Maffett was Colonel of the Thirty-ninth Regiment of State Militia. From this regiment two companies were formed in answer to the first call for volunteers. One of these companies elected him Captain, which afterwards became Company C, Third South Carolina Regiment. His company was one of the few that reorganized before the expiration of the term of the first twelve months' enlistment, and again elected Colonel Maffett as its Captain. After a thirty days' furlough, just before the seven days' battle, he returned with his company and became senior Captain in command. He soon became Major by the death of Lieutenant Colonel Garlington, Major Rutherford being promoted to Lieutenant Colonel. After the death of Colonel Nance, 6th of May, he became Lieutenant Colonel. He participated in nearly all the great battles in which the regiment was engaged, and was often in command. He was several times wounded, but not severely. At the time of his capture he was in command of the Seventh Regiment. Colonel Maffett was conspicuous for his fine soldierly appearance, being a perfect type of an ideal soldier.
He was loved and admired by the men as few officers of his station were. In camp he was the perfect gentleman, kind and indulgent to his men, and in battle he was cool, collected, and gallant. He died in prison only a short while before the close of the war, leaving a wife and one daughter of tender age.
Y.J. Pope, Adjutant of the Third South Carolina, but then acting as Assistant Adjutant General on General Connor's Staff, gives me here a very ludicrous and amusing account of a "Fox hunt in the valley." [425] A hunt without the hounds or without the fox. No man in Kershaw's Brigade was a greater lover of sport or amusement of any kind than Adjutant Pope. In all our big snow "festivals," where hundreds would engage in the contest of snow-balling, Adjutant Pope always took a leading part. It was this spirit of sport and his mingling with the common soldier, while off duty, that endeared Pope so much to the troop. With his sword and sash he could act the martinet, but when those were laid aside Adjutant Pope was one of the "boys," and engaged a "boat" with them as much as any one in the "Cross Anchors," a company noted for its love of fun.
Says, Adjutant Pope, now a staid Judge on the Supreme Court Bench.
"The Third South Carolina Infantry had been placed on pickets in front of Early in September, 1864. The point at which picket were posted were at two fords on the Opequan River, Captain Dickert, with his company, was posted at some distance from the place where the other portion of the Regiment was posted to cover one of the fords. I can see now the work laid cut for Captain Dickert, ought to have been assigned to the Cavalry for a company of Infantry, say a half mile from the Regiment, might have been surrounded too quickly for the company to be retired or to receive assistance from the Regiment. Well, as it was, no harm came of it for the company held the ford unassailable. A company of the Regiment was placed at a ford on the highway as it crossed the river. While a few officers were enjoying a nice supper here comes an order to call in the companies on picket and to follow the Regiment with all possible speed towards Winchester, to which latter place the army of Early had already gone. Guides were sent to us, and our Regiment had marched by country road until we struck the turn-pike. The march was necessarily rapid lest the Regiment might be assailed by overwhelming numbers of the enemy. The soldiers did not fancy this rapid marching.
To our surprise and horror, after we had reached the turn-pike road, and several miles from our destination, the soldiers set up an imitation of barking, just as if a lot of hounds in close pursuit of a fresh jumped fox. Now any one at all familiar with the characteristic of the soldier know imitation is his weak point, one yell, all yell, [426] one sing, all sing, if one is merry, all are merry. We were near the enemy, and the Colonel knew the necessity of silence, and caution Colonel Rutherford was, of course indignant at this outburst of good humor in the dark watches of the night, and the enemy at our heels or flank. He sent back orders by me (Pope) to pass down the lines and order silence. But 'bow-wow,' 'bow,' 'bow-wow,' 'yelp, yelp,' and every conceivable imitation of the fox hound rent the air. One company on receiving the orders to stop this barking would cease, but others would take it up. 'Bow-wow,' 'toot,' 'toot,' 'yah-oon,' 'yah-oon,' dogs barking, men hollowing, some blowing through their hands to imitate the winding of the huntman's horn. 'Stop this noise,' 'cease your barking,' 'silence,' still the chase continued. 'Go it, Lead,' 'catch him, Frail,' 'Old Drive close to him,' 'hurah Brink,' 'talk to him old boys.' The valley fairly rung, with this chase. Officers even could not refrain from joining in the encouragement to the excited dogs as the noise would rise and swell and echoe through the distant mountain gorges to reverberate up and down the valley—at last wore out by their ceaseless barking and yelling, the noise finally died out, much to the satisfaction of the Colonel commanding, myself and the officers who were trying to stop it. As mortified as I was at my inability to execute the orders of Colonel Rutherford, still I never laughed so much in my life at this ebullition of good feelings of the men, after all their toils and trials, especially as I would hear some one in the line call out as if in the last throes of exhaustion, 'Go on old dog,' 'now you are on him,' 'talk to him, old Ranger.' What the Yankees thought of this fox chase at night in the valley, or what their intentions might have been is not known, but they would have been mighty fools to have tackled a lot of old 'Confeds' out on a lark at night."
The negro cooks of the army were a class unique in many ways. While he was a slave, he had far more freedom than his master, in fact had liberties that his master's master did not possess. It was the first time in the South's history that a negro could roam at will, far and wide, without a pass. He could ride his dead master's horse from Virginia to Louisiana without molestation. On the march the country was his, and so long as he was not in the way of moving bodies of troops, the highways were open to him. He was never jostled or pushed [427] aside by stragglers, and received uniform kindness and consideration from all. The negro was conscious of this consideration, and never took advantage of his peculiar station to intrude upon any of the rights or prerogatives exclusively the soldier's. He could go to the rear when danger threatened, or to the front when it was over. No negro ever deserted, and the fewest number ever captured. His master might fall upon the field, or in the hands of the enemy, but the servant was always safe. While the negro had no predilection for war in its realities, and was conspicuous by his absence during the raging of the battles, still he was among the first upon the field when it was over, looking after the dead and wounded. At the field hospitals and infirmaries, he was indispensable, obeying all, serving all, without question or complaint. His first solicitude after battle was of his master's fate—if dead, he sought him upon the field; if wounded, he was soon at his side. No mother could nurse a child with greater tenderness and devotion than the dark-skinned son of the South did his master.
At the breaking out of the war almost every mess had a negro cook, one of the mess furnishing the cook, the others paying a proportional share for hire; but as the stringency of the Subsistence Department began to grow oppressive, as the war wore on, many of these negroes were sent home. There was no provision made by the department for his keep, except among the officers of the higher grade; so the mess had to share their rations with the cook, or depend upon his ability as a "forager." In the later years of the war the country occupied by the armies became so devastated that little was left for the "forager." Among the officers, it was different. They were allowed two rations (only in times of scarcity they had to take the privates' fare). This they were required to pay for at pay day, and hence could afford to keep a servant. Be it said to the credit of the soldiers of the South, and to their servants as well, that during my four years and more of service I never heard of, even during times of the greatest scarcity, a mess denying the cook an equal share of the scanty supply, or a servant ever found stealing a soldier's rations. There was a mutual feeling of kindness and honesty between the two. If all the noble, generous and loyal acts of the negroes of the army could be recorded, it would fill no insignificant volume.
There was as much cast among the negroes, in fact more, as among the soldiers. In times of peace and at home, the negro based his claims of cast upon the wealth of his master. But in the army, rank of his master overshadowed wealth. The servant of a Brigadier felt royal as compared to that of a Colonel, and the servant of a Colonel, or even a Major, was far ahead, in superiority and importance, to those belonging to the privates and line officers. The negro is naturally a hero worshiper. He gloried in his master's fame, and while it might often be different, in point of facts, still to the negro his master was "the bravest of the brave."
As great "foragers" as they were, they never ventured far in front while on the advance, nor lingered too dangerously in the rear on the retreat. They hated the "Yankee" and had a fear of capture. One day while we were camped near Charlestown an officer's cook wandered too far away in the wrong direction and ran up on the Federal pickets. Jack had captured some old cast-off clothes, some garden greens and an old dominicker rooster. Not having the remotest idea of the topography of the country, he very naturally walked into the enemy's pickets. He was halted, brought in and questioned. The Federals felt proud of their capture, and sought to conciliate Jack with honeyed words and great promises. But Jack would have none of it.
"Well, look er here," said Jack, looking suspiciously around at the soldiers; "who you people be, nohow?"
"We are Federal soldiers," answered the picket.
"Well, well, is you dem?"
"Dem who?" asked the now thoroughly aroused Federal.
"Why dem Yankees, ob course—dem dat cotched Mars Clayt."
The Federal admitted they were "Yankees," but that now Jack had no master, that he was free.
"Is dat so?" Then scratching his head musingly, Jack said at last, "I don know 'bout dat—what you gwine do wid me, anyhow; what yer want?"
He was told that he must go as a prisoner to headquarters first, and then dealt with as contrabands of war.
"Great God Almighty! white folks, don't talk dat er way." The negro had now become thoroughly frightened, and with a sudden impulse he threw the chicken at the soldier's feet, saying, "Boss, ders a [429] rooster, but here is me," then with the speed of a startled deer Jack "hit the wind," to use a vulgarism of the army.
"Halt! halt!"—bang, whiz, came from the sentinel, the whole picket force at Jack's heels. But the faithful negro for the time excelled himself in running, and left the Federals far behind. He came in camp puffing, snorting, and blowing like a porpoise. "Great God Almighty! good people, talk er 'bout patter-rollers, day ain't in it. If dis nigger didn't run ter night, den don't talk." Then Jack recounted his night's experience, much to the amusement of the listening soldiers.
Occasionally a negro who had served a year or two with his young master in the army, would be sent home for another field of usefulness, and his place taken by one from the plantation. While a negro is a great coward, he glories in the pomp and glitter of war, when others do the fighting. He loves to tell of the dangers (not sufferings) undergone, the blood and carnage, but above all, how the cannon roared round and about him.
A young negro belonging to an officer in one of the regiments was sent home, and his place as cook was filled by Uncle Cage, a venerable looking old negro, who held the distinguished post of "exhorter" in the neighborhood. His "sister's chile" had filled Uncle Cage's head with stories of war—of the bloodshed on the battlefield, the roar of cannon, and the screaming of shells over that haven of the negro cooks, the wagon yards—but to all the blood and thunder stories of his "sister's chile" Uncle Cage only shook his head and chuckled, "Dey may kill me, but dey can't skeer dis nigger." Among the other stories he had listened to was that of a negro having his head shot off by a cannon ball. Sometime after Uncle Cage's installation as cook the enemy made a demonstration as if to advance. A few shells came over our camp, one bursting in the neighborhood of Uncle Cage, while he was preparing the morning meal for his mess.
Some of the negroes and more prudent non-combattants began to hunt for the wagon yard, but Uncle Cage remained at his post. He was just saying:
"Dese yer young niggers ain't no account; dey's skeered of dere own shad—"
"Boom, boom," a report, and a shell explodes right over his head, throwing fragments all around.
Uncle Cage made for the rear, calling out as he ran, "Oh, dem cussed Yankees! You want er kill er nudder nigger, don't you?" Seeing the men laughing as he passed by in such haste, he yelled back defiantly, "You can laff, if you want to, but ole mars ain't got no niggers to fling away."
"Red tape" prevailed to an alarming extent in the War Department, and occasionally a paroxysm of this disease would break out among some of the officers of the army, especially among the staff, "West Pointers," or officers of temporary high command—Adjutant Pope gives his experience, with one of those afflicted functionaries, "Where as Adjutant of the Third South Carolina," says he, I had remained as such from May, 1862, till about the 1st of September, 1864, an order came from brigade headquarters, for me to enter upon the responsibilities of acting Assistant Adjutant General of Kershaw's Brigade. When General Connor was disabled soon after, and the Senior Colonel of the brigade, present for duty, the gallant William D. Rutherford, received his death-wound, General Kershaw, commanding division, sent the Assistant Adjutant General of the division, (a staff officer), Major James M. Goggans, to command the brigade. About the 17th of October there came a delegation to brigade headquarters, to learn, if possible, whether there could be obtained a leave of absence for a soldier, whose wife was dead, leaving a family of children to be provided for.
I was a sympathetic man, and appreciated the sad condition of the poor soldier, who had left his all to serve his country, and now had at home, a house full of motherless children. I said "wait till I see the brigade commander," and went to Major Goggans, relating the circumstances, and was assured of his approval of the application for leave of absence in question. This news, the spokesman of the delegation, gladly carried back to the anxiously awaiting group. Soon papers were brought to headquarters, signed by all the officers below. When the papers were carried by me to the brigade commander for his approval, it raised a storm, so to speak, in the breast of the newly appointed, but temporary Chieftain. "Why do you bring me this paper to sign this time of day?" it being in the afternoon. "Do you not know [431] that all papers are considered at nine o'clock A.M.?" In future, and as long as I am in command of the Brigade, I want it understood that under no considerations and circumstances, I wish papers to be signed, brought to me before or after nine o'clock A.M. The faces of the officers composing the delegation, when the news was brought to them, plainly expressed their disgust; they felt, at the idea, that no grief, however great, would be considered by the self-exalted Chief; except as the clock struck nine in the morning.
Circumstances and occurrences of this kind were so rare and exceptional, that I record the facts given by Judge Pope, to expose an exception to the general rule of gentlemanly deportment of one officer to another, so universal throughout the army. The kindness, sympathy and respect that superiors showed to subalterns and privates became almost a proverb. While in a reminiscent mood, I will give a story of two young officers as given by the writer of the above. He claims to have been an eye witness and fully competent to give a true recital. It is needless to say that the writer of these memoirs was one of the participants, and as to the story itself, he has only a faint recollection, but the sequel which he will give is vivid enough, even after the lapse of a third of a century. Judge Pope writes, "It is needless to say that the Third South Carolina Regiment had a half-score or more young officers, whose conduct in battle had something to do with giving prestige to the regiment, whose jolly good nature, their almost unparallel reciprocal love of officers and men, helped to give tone and recognition to it, their buoyancy of spirits, their respect for superiors and kindness and indulgence to their inferiors, endeared them to all—the whole command seemed to embibe of their spirit of fun, mischief and frolic." Captains L.W. Gary, John W. Watts, John K. Nance, Lieutenants Farley and Wofford, Adjutant Pope and others, whom it may be improper to mention here, (and I hope I will not be considered egotistical or self praise, to include myself), were a gay set. Their temperatures and habits, in some instances, were as wide as the poles, but there was a kind of affinity, a congeniality of spirits between them, that they were more like brothers in reality than brothers in arms, and all might be considered a "chip of the old block." Nor would our dearly beloved, kind, generous hearted Colonel [432] Rutherford, when off duty, feel himself too much exalted to take a "spin with the boys" when occasions and circumstances admitted. Many, many have been the jolly carousals these jolly knights enjoyed while passing through some town or city. The confinement and restrictions of camp life induced them, when off duty and in some city, to long for a "loosening of the bit" and an ebullition of their youthful spirits.
Judge Pope, continuing, says: "In the spring of 1864 Longstreet's soldiers were ordered from East Tennessee, to join Lee in Virginia, and it follows that there was joy in the camp among the soldiers, for who does not love Virginia? In route the command was halted in Lynchburg, and what was more natural for the fun-loving, jovial members of the old brigade, after being isolated so long, cut off from civilization as it seemed to them, shut up in the gorges of the mountains, than to long for a breath of fresh air—to wish for the society and enjoy the hospitality of the fair ladies of old Virginia, especially the quaint old city of Lynchburg. With such feelings, two handsome and gallant Captains of the Third Regiment applied for and obtained leave of absence for the day. I will call this jolly couple John and Gus. To say that these two young Captains—one of the right and the other of the left color company—were birds rare, would scarce express it. They were both in their 'teens,' and small of statue withal. They were two of the youngest, as well as the smallest, officers in the brigade. Notwithstanding their age and build, they would not hesitate to take a 'bout' with the strongest and the largest. As one would say to the other, 'When your wind fails you, I will leg him.' Now, these two knights, out on a lark and lookout for adventure, did not hesitate to shie their castors in the ring and cross lances the first opportunity presented. No doubt, after being a while with the famous Sancho Panza at the wine skins, they could see as many objects, changed through enchantment, as the Master Dan Quixote did, and demanded a challenge from them. In walking up a side street in the city, they, as by enchantment, saw walking just in front of them, a burly, stout built man, dressed out in the finest broad cloth coat. What a sight for a soldier to see! a broad cloth coat!" and he a young man of the army age. Ye gods was it possible. Did their [433] eyes deceive them, or had they forgotten this was a Sabbath day, and the city guard was accustomed to wear his Sunday clothes. There were a set of semi-soldiers in some cities known as "city guards," whose duties consisted of examining soldier's furloughs and passes in cities and on trains. Their soft places and fine clothes were poison to the regular soldiers, and between whom, a friendly and good natured feud existed. There was another set that was an abomination to both, the gambler, who, by money or false papers, exempted themselves. Richmond was their city of refuge, but now and then one would venture out into a neighboring town.
"'Come out of that coat; can't wear that in the city to-day,' was the first salutation the jolly knights gave the fine dressed devotee of the blue cloth.
"'What, do you wish to insult me?' indignantly replied the man, turning and glaring at the two officers with the ferocity of a tiger.
"'Oh, no,' says John, 'we want that coat;' and instinctively the young Captains lay hands upon the garment that gave so much offense.
"'Hands off me, you cowardly young ruffians!'
"'Oh, come out of that coat,' replied the jolly couple.
"'Rip, rip,' went the coat; 'biff, biff,' went the non-combattant's fist. Right and left he struck from the shoulders, to be replied to with equal energy by the fists of the young men.
"'Rip, rip,' goes the coat, 'bang, biff,' goes the fists. Down in the street, over in the gutter, kicks and blows, still 'rip, rip,' goes the coat.
"'Help!' cries the non-combatant.
"'Yes,' cries Gus, 'help with the coat John.'
"The noise gathered the crowd. With the crowd came Lieutenant H.L. Farley. The burly frame of Farley soon separated the fighters. The gambler seeing his hopelessness in the face of so much odds, rose to his feet, and made a dash for liberty, leaving in the hands of each of the boys a tail of the much prized coat, all 'tattered and torn.' The gambler made quite a ludicrous picture, streaking it through town with his coat-tails off."
This is Pope's story, but I will here tell the sequel which was not near so amusing to me.
Sometime afterwards, the writer and participant in the fray of the [434] "coat-tail" was slightly wounded, and was sent to Lynchburg to the hospital, formerly a Catholic college, if I am not mistaken. After being there for a time with my wounded brother officers (this was a hospital for officers alone) I became sufficiently convalescent to feel like a stroll through the city. I felt a little tender, lest I might meet unexpectedly my unknown antagonist and erstwhile hostile enemy; but one night I accepted the invitation of a tall, robust-built Captain from Tennessee (a room-mate, and also convalescent from a slight wound) to take a stroll. Being quite small, friendless, and alone, I did not object to this herculean chaperone. After tiring of the stroll, we sauntered into a soldier's cheap restaurant and called for plates. While we were waiting the pleasure of "mine host," the tread of footsteps and merry laughter of a crowd of jolly roisters met our ears, and in walked some soldiers in the garb of "city police," and with the crowd was my man of the "long coat-tail." My heart sank into the bottom of my boots, my speech failed me, and I sat stupified, staring into space. Should he recognize me, then what? My thought ran quick and fast. I never once expected help from my old Tennessean. As we were only "transient" acquaintances, I did not think of the brotherhood of the soldier in this emergency. The man of the "long coat" approached our table and raised my hat, which, either by habit or force of circumstances, I will not say, I had the moment before pulled down over my eyes.
"Hey, my fine young man, I think I know you. Aren't you the chap that torn my coat sometime ago? Answer me, sir," giving me a vigorous shake on the shoulder. "You are the very d——n young ruffian that did it, and I am going to give you such a thrashing as you will not forget."
I have never yet fully decided what answer I was going to make—whether I was going to say yes, and ask his pardon, with the risk of a thrashing, or deny it—for just at that moment the "tall sycamore of the Holston" reached out with his fist and dealt my assailant a blow sufficient to have felled an ox of the Sweetwater. Sending the man reeling across the room, the blood squirting and splattering, he said:
"Gentlemen, I came here with this boy, and whoever whips him has first got to walk my log, and that is what few people can do."