J. Longstreet to Secretary of War.

Captain H. H. Perry, A. A. G., Sorrel's Brigade, writes of Grant's first demand for Lee's surrender at Appomattox.

"THE EVENTFUL NIGHT

"It was night, April 7th, 1865. We had crossed the river, near Farmville, and had taken up a position about, as near as I can remember, a mile from the crossing, which the Confederates had attempted to burn, but unsuccessfully. General Miles, commanding a Federal brigade, made a mad attempt to throw the Confederates into confusion on their left by a flank movement (perhaps that was his purpose), but it was a very unfortunate move, for his lines were in a few minutes nearly cut to pieces and his brigade placed hors de combat. A furious picket firing and sharp-shooting began on both sides, while the wounded and dead Federals lay between the two lines.

"Mahone's division was now the rearguard at this point of General Lee's army. General Lee's forces were reduced now to their minimum strength, but a fiercer, more determined body of men never lived. They simply waited for General Lee's orders.

"About five o'clock p. m. a flag of truce appeared in front of General Sorrel's brigade (General Wright's old brigade), of which the writer of this account was the adjutant-general. A courier was sent to division headquarters to announce it. Colonel Tayloe, a splendid young Virginian, had been assigned temporarily to the command of General Sorrel's brigade, General Sorrel having been almost mortally wounded near Petersburg. In a short while Colonel Tayloe was ordered to send a staff officer to answer to the flag of truce.

"The writer was assigned to this duty at the Confederate front lines. As the top of the earthworks was reached, a number of Federal sharpshooters fired at me, and two balls passed through the uniform coat I wore, and one ball wounded a Confederate soldier in the hand, who had risen up with others from behind the works, out of curiosity to see what was going to take place. That ended the truce business for that afternoon. After nightfall and after everything on both sides had lapsed into silence, pickets were put in front of our lines about one hundred yards. Captain James W. English, one of the bravest, coolest, most faithful and vigilant officers in the Confederate Army, was in charge of the line in front of our brigade. I had selected him for the reason that I knew that he would not fail me if I depended on his courage and faith. Colonel Tayloe knew nothing of our command or its officers, and the responsibility rested on me to select the right man in the crisis there was now upon us. We apprehended a night attack.

"About nine o'clock at night, as soon as the moon was about to rise, Captain English reported that a flag of truce was again offered on the Federal lines on our front. It was reported again at our division headquarters and I was again sent out to answer it as before. I put on an army revolver, put aside my sword, and advanced about fifty yards from our pickets, halted, and called for the flag. Where I stood there were scattered around several Federal dead and wounded.

"One of the latter asked me to do something for him. I told him I would very soon, making this promise only to encourage him, for I could really do nothing for lack of authority, as well as lack of means. I asked his name and was rather astonished when he said he was General Miles's adjutant-general and that his name was Boyd, as I now remember it. A response to my call in front took my attention, though I remember that the wounded officer said he had been shot through the thigh.

"I advanced some distance and met a very handsomely dressed Federal officer. We stepped in front of each other about seven or eight feet apart. I soon recognized the fact that my worn Confederate uniform and slouch hat, even in the dim light, would not compare favorably with his magnificence; but as I am six feet high I drew myself up as proudly as I could, and put on the appearance as well as possible of being perfectly satisfied with my personal exterior. The officer spoke first introducing himself as Gen. Seth Williams, of General Grant's staff.

"After I had introduced myself, he felt in his side pocket for documents, as I thought, but the document was a very nice-looking silver flask, as well as I could distinguish. He remarked that he hoped I would not think it was an unsoldierly courtesy if he offered me some very fine brandy. I will own up now that I wanted that drink awfully. Worn down, hungry and dispirited, it would have been a gracious godsend if some old Confederate and I could have emptied that flask between us in that dreadful hour of misfortune. But I raised myself about an inch higher, if possible, bowed and refused politely, trying to produce the ridiculous appearance of having feasted on champagne and pound-cake not ten minutes before, and that I had not the slightest use for so plebeian a drink as 'fine brandy.' He was a true gentleman, begged pardon, and placed the flask in his pocket again, without touching the contents in my presence. If he had taken a drink, and my Confederate olfactories had obtained a whiff of the odor of it, it is possible that I should have 'caved.' The truth is, I had not eaten two ounces in two days, and I had my coat-tail then full of corn, waiting to parch it as soon as opportunity might present itself. I did not leave it behind me because I had nobody I could trust it with.

"As an excuse which I felt I ought to make for refusing his proffered courtesy, I rather haughtily said that I had been sent forward only to receive any communication that was offered and could not properly accept or offer any courtesies. In fact, if I had offered what I could it would have taken my corn.

"He then handed to me a letter, which he said was from General Grant to General Lee, and asked that General Lee should get it immediately if possible. I made no reply except to ask him if that was all we had to transact, or something to that effect. He said that was all. We bowed very profoundly to each other and turned away.

"In twenty minutes after I got back in our lines, a Confederate courier riding a swift horse had placed in General Lee's hands the letter which was handed to me, the first demand for surrender of his devoted army. In an hour's time we were silently pursuing our way toward the now famous field of Appomattox. We marched all day of the 8th of April and slept in bivouac not more than three or four miles from Appomattox, where the demand was made again and was acceded to, and the Confederacy of the South went down in defeat, but with glory.

"We arrived on the field of Appomattox about 9 o'clock on the 9th day of April, the day of capitulation. The negotiations lasted during that day. The general order from General Lee was read to the army on the 10th of April. That is, as I remember it, General Lee published his last order to his soldiers on that day. I sat down and copied it on a piece of Confederate paper, using a drum-head for a desk, the best I could do. I carried this copy to General Lee, and asked him to sign it for me. He signed it and I have it now. It is the best authority along with my parole that I can produce why, after that day, I no longer raised a soldier's hand for the South. There were tears in his eyes when he signed it for me, and when I turned to walk away there were tears in my own eyes. He was in all respects the greatest man that ever lived, and as an humble officer of the South, I thank Heaven that I had the honor of following him.

"Waynesboro, Georgia, 1896."

Some extracts from Colonel Freemantle's "Three Months in the Southern States."

"Gettysburg—Pickett's Charge

"I determined to make my way to General Longstreet. It was then about 2.30. After passing General Lee and his staff I rode on through the woods in the direction in which I had left Longstreet. I soon began to meet many wounded men returning from the front; many of them asked in piteous tones the way to a doctor or an ambulance. The farther I got the greater became the number of the wounded. Some were walking alone on crutches composed of two rifles, others were supported by men less badly wounded than themselves, and others were carried on stretchers by the ambulance corps; but in no case did I see a sound man helping the wounded to the rear, unless he carried the red badge of the ambulance corps. I saw all this in much less time than it takes to write it, and although astonished to meet such vast numbers of wounded, I had not seen enough to give me an idea of the real extent of the mischief.

"When I got close to General Longstreet I saw one of his regiments advancing through the woods in good order; so thinking I was in time to see the attack I remarked to the General that 'I wouldn't have missed this for anything.' Longstreet was seated at the top of a snake fence at the edge of the wood and looking perfectly calm and unperturbed. He replied: 'The devil you wouldn't! I would liked to have missed it very much; we've attacked and been repulsed; look there!'

"For the first time I then had a view of the open space between the two positions and saw it covered with Confederates slowly and sulkily returning toward us in small, broken parties under a heavy fire of artillery. The General told me that Pickett's division had succeeded in carrying the enemy's position and capturing the guns, but after remaining there some minutes it had been forced to retire. No person could have been more calm or self-possessed than General Longstreet under these trying circumstances, aggravated as they now were by the movements of the enemy, who began to show a strong disposition to advance. I could now thoroughly appreciate the term 'Bulldog,' which I had heard applied to him by the soldiers.

"Difficulties seemed to make no other impression upon him than to make him a little more savage.

"Major Walton was the only officer with him when I came up—all the rest had been put into the charge. In a few minutes Major Latrobe arrived on foot, carrying his saddle, having just had his horse killed. Colonel Sorrel was also in the same predicament and Captain Goree's horse was wounded in the mouth.

"The General was making the best arrangements in his power to resist the threatened advance, by advancing some artillery, rallying the stragglers.

"I remember seeing a general come up to him and report that he was 'unable to bring up his men again.' Longstreet turned upon him and replied with some sarcasm, 'Very well, never mind, then, General, just let them remain where they are; the enemy's going to advance and it will spare you the trouble.' He asked for something to drink. I gave him some rum out of my silver flask, which I begged he would keep in remembrance of the occasion; he smiled, and to my great satisfaction accepted the memorial.

"If Longstreet's conduct was admirable, that of General Lee was perfectly sublime. He was engaged in rallying and encouraging the broken troops, and was riding about a little in front of the wood, quite alone—the whole of his staff being engaged in a similar manner farther to the rear. His face, which is always placid and cheerful, did not show signs of the slightest disappointment, care, or annoyance; and he was addressing every soldier he met, a few words of encouragement, such as: 'All this will come right in the end, we'll talk it over afterwards; but in the meantime all good men must rally. We want all good and true men just now,' etc. He spoke to all the wounded men that passed him, and the slightly wounded he exhorted 'to bind up their hurts and take up a musket in this emergency.' Very few failed to answer his appeal, and I saw many badly wounded men take off their hats and cheer him. He said to me, 'This has been a sad day for us, Colonel, a sad day; but we can't expect always to gain victories.'"

General M. L. Smith, a New Yorker and a distinguished graduate of West Point, doing engineer duty with Lee's army, had examined our left, and, finding it inviting attack, so reported to Longstreet. Now there is on Longstreet's staff a tall, trim, graceful young Georgian, with keen dark eyes and engaging face, whose courage and ability to command, Longstreet knows well, for he has been with him on many a field. His name is Sorrel, and his gallant clay is lying in the cemetery at Savannah, the long, pendulant Southern moss swaying softly over it. His "Recollections of a Confederate Staff Officer" has for me, like all the books I love, a low, natural, wild music; and, as sure as I live, the spirits who dwell in that self-sown grove called Literature were by his side when he wrote the last page of his Recollections, his pen keeping step with his beating heart. Longstreet, on hearing Smith's report, called Sorrel to him, and told him to collect some scattered brigades, form them in a good line on our left, and then, with his right pushed forward, to hit hard. "But don't start till you have everything ready. I shall be waiting for your gun-fire, and be on hand with fresh troops for further advance," said Longstreet.

Sorrel picked up G. T. Anderson's, Wofford's, Davis's of Heth's, and Mahone's brigades, and led them to the old unfinished railroad bed; and, having stretched them out on it, formed them, facing north, for advance. Of course, had Gibbon obeyed Hancock's order, this movement of Sorrel's could not have been made; as it was, the coast was clear. On Birney's left, as everywhere along the front, our forces were in several broken lines, and those of the first had changed places with the second, to take advantage of the little fires at which they had boiled their coffee to boil some for themselves; for many of the troops had not had a bite since half-past three in the morning, and it was now past eleven. Save the skirmish line, the men were lying down, and not expecting any danger, when suddenly, from the heavy undergrowth, Sorrel's three widely-winged brigades burst on their flank with the customary yell, and before our people could change front, or, in some cases, even form, they were on them. Fighting McAlister tried his best to stay the tempest, and so did others, many little groups of their men selling their lives dearly; for the color-bearers planted their banners on nearly every knoll, and brave young fellows would rally around them; but being overpowered, panic set in, and the lines melted away.

As soon as Carroll, Lewis A. Grant, Birney, Webb, and Wadsworth heard Sorrel's quick volleys, they were all on their feet at once, for the character of the firing and the cheers told them that Peril had snapped its chain and was loose. In a few minutes fleeing individuals, then squads, and then broken regiments, began to pour through the woods from the left.

Kershaw and Field, being notified by Longstreet to resume the offensive as soon as they should hear Sorrel, now pressed forward, seriously and exultingly active. Wadsworth, to stay the threatening disaster (for that lunatic, Panic, travels fast, and every officer of experience dreads its first breath), flew to the Thirty-seventh Massachusetts at the head of Eustis's brigade, which was just getting back from the junction, and ordered Edwards, a resolute man, to throw his regiment across the front of Field, who, with several pieces of artillery raking the road, was advancing. The Thirty-seventh moved quickly by flank into the woods, and then, undismayed, heard the command, "Forward." And with it went my friends, Lieutenants Casey and Chalmers, and that pleasant and true one of many a day, Captain "Tom" Colt of Pittsfield, whose mother was a saint. "You have made a splendid charge!" exclaimed Wadsworth, and so they had—the ground behind them showed it; they thrust Field back, gaining a little respite for all hands before disaster; and very valuable it proved to be, for some of the broken commands thereby escaped utter destruction.

While Field and Kershaw assailed Carroll, Birney, and Wadsworth fiercely, fire was racing through the woods, adding its horrors to Sorrel's advance; and with the wind driving the smoke before him, he came on, sweeping everything. Seeing his lines falter, Sorrel dashed up to the color-bearer of the Twelfth Virginia, "Ben" May, and asked for the colors to lead the charge. "We will follow you," said the smiling youth spiritedly, refusing to give them up; and so they did. In the midst of the raging havoc, Webb, under instructions from Wadsworth, now in an almost frantic state of mind, tried to align some troops beyond the road so as to meet Sorrel, whose fire was scourging the flanks of Carroll and the Green Mountain men, through whom and around whom crowds of fugitives, deaf to all appeals to rally, were forcing their way to the rear. But the organizations, so severely battered in the morning, were crumbling so fast, and the tumult was so high, that Webb saw it was idle to expect they could hold together in any attempted change of position; he therefore returned to his command, and quickly brought the Fifty-sixth Massachusetts, Griswold's regiment, alongside the road. Fortunately his Nineteenth Maine, withdrawn during the lull to replenish its ammunition, had been wheeled up by the gallant Connor at the first ominous volley from the South. They had barely braced themselves on the road before Carroll, and then the old Vermont brigade, had to go; and now Connor and Griswold open on Sorrel, checking him up roundly.

Wadsworth undertook to wheel the remnants of Rice's regiments who had stood by him, so as to fire into the enemy on the other side of the road. In trying to make this movement he ran squarely onto Perrin's Alabama brigade, of Anderson's division, which had relieved a part of Field's, who rose and fired a volley with fatal effect, breaking Wadsworth's formation, the men fleeing in wild confusion. In this Alabama brigade was the Eighth Regiment, commanded that morning by Hilary A. Herbert who lost his arm. This gallant man, soldier, member of Congress, and distinguished lawyer was Mr. Cleveland's Secretary of the Navy.

The heroic Wadsworth did not or could not check his horse till within twenty odd feet of the Confederate line. Then, turning, a shot struck him in the back of the head, his brain spattering the coat of Earl M. Rogers, his aide at his side. The rein of Wadsworth's horse, after the general fell, caught in a snag, and, Rogers's horse having been killed by the volley, he vaulted into the saddle, and escaped through the flying balls. Wadsworth lies unconscious within the enemy's lines; his heart, that has always beaten so warmly for his country, is still beating, but hears no response now from the generous manly, truth-viewing brain. I believe that morning, noon, and night the bounteous valley of the Genesee, with its rolling fields and tented shocks of bearded grain, holds Wadsworth in dear remembrance.

Everything on the right of the Nineteenth Maine, Fifty-sixth and Thirty-seventh Massachusetts is gone, and they, with fragments of other gallant regiments, will soon have to go, too, for Sorrel comes on again with a rush. Griswold, pistol in hand, advances the colors to meet him, and is killed almost instantly; Connor, on foot and in the road, is struck and, as he falls, Webb calls out, "Connor, are you hit?" "Yes, I've got it this time." And his men sling him in a blanket and carry him to the rear. Webb, seeing the day is lost, tells the bitterly-tried regiments to scatter, and the wreckage begins to drift sullenly far and wide, some in Cutler's tracks, and some toward where Burnside is still pottering; but naturally the main stream is back on both sides of the Plank to the Brock Road, and there it straggles across it hopelessly toward Chancellorsville. Chaplain Washiell, Fifty-seventh Massachusetts, says, "I well remember the route as the men streamed by in panic, some of them breaking their guns to render them useless in the hands of the rebels. Nothing could stop them until they came to the cross-roads."

Where now is the morning's vision of victory which Babcock raised? All of Hancock's right wing, together with Wadsworth's division of the Fifth Corps, Getty's of the Sixth, and one brigade of the Ninth all smashed to pieces! The Plank Road is Lee's,—and the Brock, the strategic key, is almost within his grasp too! For Longstreet, followed by fresh brigades at double-quick, is coming down determined to clinch the victory!! His spirits are high, and Field's hand still tingles with his hearty grasp congratulating him on the valor of his troops. Jenkins, a sensitive, enthusiastic South Carolinian, "abreast with the foremost in battle and withal an humble Christian," says Longstreet, has just thrown his arms around Sorrel's shoulder,—for the graceful hero has ridden to meet his chief, and tell him the road is clear,—and says, "Sorrel, it was splendid, we shall smash them now." And then, after conferring with Kershaw, who had already been directed to follow on and complete Hancock's overthrow, Jenkins rides up to Longstreet's side and with overflowing heart says, "I am happy. I have felt despair of the cause for some months, but am relieved and feel assured that we shall put the enemy back across the Rapidan before night." Put the enemy back across the Rapidan! That means the Army of the Potomac defeated again, and Grant's prestige gone!!

THE END