Commanding a corps of Lee"s army. Killed just before the final surrender.]
The nurses were all men, chosen from among the prisoners. I never saw a woman the whole time I was in prison.
The hospitals were long tents, each holding about 30 cots. As soon as a patient died, he was taken out to the dead-house, the sheets changed, and another brought in.
When I was first taken there I remarked to my neighbor that I did not think that was very healthy (meaning the placing of a new patient at once on a bed that was still warm from the body that had just been removed). He replied that the bed that I was on had been occupied by a smallpox patient, and I was put on it a few minutes after the patient was taken out.
However, there was a separate hospital for contagious diseases, and the patient was removed as soon as the disease developed.
Most of those who went into the hospital died. The dead were all carried at once to the dead-house on stretchers, and once a day a two-horse wagon came in, and their bodies were laid in it like so much cord wood, uncoffined, taken out and buried in long trenches. The trenches were seven feet wide and three feet deep, and the bodies were laid across the trench side by side and covered with earth.
I had been in prison about four months when news came that the two Governments had agreed upon an exchange of prisoners; it only included the sick in the hospitals. Of course, every patient in the hospital was on the anxious bench and wondering whether he would be included among the fortunate ones. Some days afterward a corps of physicians came to the hospital tents examining the different patients that lay in the cots, taking the name of one and leaving another. I happened to be among those who were selected for exchange. The object seemed to be to take only those who were not liable to be fit for service soon.
We were not at this time exchanged, but each side had agreed to parole the sick from the hospitals, that is, those who were not too ill to be moved. At one time the two Governments freely exchanged prisoners, but this worked so much to the advantage of the South that the North refused to continue the agreement. All Southern soldiers were enlisted for the war, and when the prisoners came back from the North they went at once into the armies of the Confederacy, while Northern prisoners, returning from the South, mostly went to their homes, as they enlisted for one year, and their terms of service in most cases had about expired. Then again, the South was taxed severely to feed its own soldiers and citizens, and were only too glad to get rid of the burden of caring for Northern prisoners, and hence the North did all they could to restrict the exchange of prisoners, but there was such a pressure brought to bear upon the U.S. Government by those who had sick and wounded friends confined in Southern prisons, that now and then each side would parole a number of prisoners from the hospitals who might later be exchanged. My recollection is that about 1500 Confederate prisoners in the hospital at Point Lookout were paroled at this time, and I among them.
We were put on a steamer and carried to a point below Richmond, on the James river, where we met a like number of Federal prisoners that came down from Richmond, and there the exchange was made. The vessel that carried us up the river was a small one, and the sick were packed on the deck and in the hold of the vessel as thick as they could lay. They were all sick, but had to lie on the hard decks with no attention, except that a doctor now and then went through the vessel handing out pills to any who wanted them. He carried them loose in his pocket, and as he stepped between and over the men as they lay on the hard beds, he would say, "Who wants a pill?" And all around him the bony, emaciated arms would be stretched up to receive the medicine. What the pills contained no one knew, but the suffering men swallowed them and asked no questions. They were sick, and needed medicine, and this was medicine.
What more did a sick soldier need? The disease, however, was almost entirely a bowel affection, and, perhaps, the same medicine served for all cases. Many died on the way. A large number of the dead were put off at Fortress Monroe as the vessel pa.s.sed.
Just before reaching the point where the vessels were to meet in the river, our vessel was drawn up alongside of a fine large steamer, and we were transferred to it.
All the very sick were placed upon new mattresses. This was the condition in which we were received by our Confederate friends.
The vessel that landed us on the bank of the James took back the Federal prisoners that had been brought down from Richmond, but I hardly think they were transferred to the smaller vessel that brought us from Point Lookout. The Federal authorities were ashamed to let the officers of the Confederate Government see the miserable condition in which we were transported; hence the transfer to the larger vessel just before delivering us to the Confederates. As soon as we landed we were all given a tincup of hot, nutritious soup, the like of which we had not tasted since leaving our homes for the field, unless it was the soup the Yanks had given us four months before when we embarked on the James river for Fortress Monroe prison.
We were conveyed from this point to Richmond by rail, and distributed among the various army hospitals in the city. I was sent to the Chimborazo Hospital, on the outskirts of the city, located on a bluff looking down the river, within hearing distance of the siege guns on Dury"s Bluff, on the James. These were constantly throwing missiles of some sort at the Yankee gunboats below. I remained in the hospital about ten days, and then was considered well enough to go into camp with other convalescents. There were several hundred of us. The camp was near the city.
Some were paroled prisoners and some were from the hospitals of the city, but not strong enough to return to their commands.
All who could reach their homes were allowed leave of absence, but much of the Confederate territory was then in the hands of the Northern armies, and all whose homes could not in safety be reached were placed in camps until they were in condition for active service. Of course, those on parole could not re-enter the army until regularly exchanged.
After remaining in this camp a short time and receiving in Confederate paper money a portion of our pay, we were marched into Richmond and to one of the depots. We did not know what disposition they intended making of us (perhaps we were going to a new camp), but there was a train that was just starting out for Gordonsville, so three of us got on the rear platform of the end car and thus beat our way to Gordonsville without being noticed. This was as far as the train could go in safety on account of the proximity of the enemy. When we got off we noticed Gen.
Lee standing in the crowd, having just alighted from the train. I had often seen him, but never got as close to him as I desired. Now, this was my chance. I went up within five feet of him, and took a good look.
I never expect again to look upon such a splendid piece of humanity. He was dressed in a new Confederate uniform that fitted him perfectly, with long-legged boots, reaching above the knees. His collar was adorned on each side with three gold stars, surrounded by a gold wreath. His head was covered with a new soft black hat, encircled with a gold cord, from which dangled two gold acorns, one on each end. His hands were covered with yellow buckskin gauntlets, reaching one-third the way to his elbows. His beard was iron-gray, white predominating; it was closely clipped, and was what is called a full beard. I imagined that he was a little over six feet and would weigh 190 pounds. His eyes, I think, were brown, and as bright as stars. No picture could possibly do him justice. I suppose it would take cycles of time to produce another such as he--so perfect in form and feature.
We three at once struck off across the fields to go as far as we could toward our homes. We moved in the direction of Charlottesville, and, avoiding the town, pa.s.sed beyond, but were soon apprised of the fact that we could not go farther without danger of running into the enemy.
We put up at a farmhouse for a few days, and after learning that the enemy had withdrawn from the immediate vicinity, we took to the road, our destination being the home of my brother Gerard, a farmer living near McGaheysville, Rockingham county, just west of the Blue Ridge. We arrived there in due time, and remained quite a while, perhaps a month.
We did work about the farm, which was accepted as compensation for our board. Of course, no one thought of asking money consideration from a soldier, and as far as I was concerned, I felt free to come and go without money and without price.
When I was captured I rode a borrowed horse, belonging to one of the members of my command. This horse was not captured with me, and was taken possession of by the owner, but I had a horse that I had left with my brother Gerard to recuperate, and when I reached there I expected to use this horse in getting home. Imagine my disappointment when I was told that he was dead. His rest and good pasture had put fresh blood in his veins and vigorous life in his body, and one day, as he was sporting in the field and performing various gymnastic stunts, he broke a blood vessel, and bled to death.
My brother John, who was then in prison, had a horse there also. I pressed that horse into service, and started for home late in the fall.
I got safely through the enemy"s lines, and received a warm welcome by the folks at home. I was still a paroled prisoner, and had to refrain from going on any of the expeditions that were making Mosby and his men famous and a terror to the authorities in Washington, although I was strongly tempted to do so. The winter was spent pretty much as the one I have already described. The life of the Confederacy, for whose existence we had suffered and lost so much, was hanging in the balance. Every family was mourning the loss of one or more dead or maimed; food and clothing could hardly be obtained at any price. To add to the distressed condition, a decree had gone out from Washington that all the mills, barns, provender for beast and food for man was to be burned, and all cattle and horses of every description found, driven off. This decree had been carried out with a cruelty that in the light of present-day civilization seems incredible.
The armies, "like the locust of Egypt," went out from Washington, swept down the rich valley of Virginia beyond Staunton and destroyed or carried off everything except the homes and the old men and women and children who occupied them. Many of these homes were destroyed by catching fire from the burning barns and mills. Every part of Virginia within reach of the Northern armies suffered the same devastation.
While I write this, a gentleman sits in my office who was in the Northern army and took part in the burning. I have just read the foregoing to him and asked him if it were not true. "Yes," said he, "every word of it."
Notwithstanding this condition of things, everywhere might be heard the cry, "On with the dance, let joy be unconfined." Mosby"s fame as a daring raider had spread far and wide, and his command had increased to over 500. Dashing young cavaliers from every part of Virginia, mounted upon handsome steeds, came trooping in to join his command. They were mostly boys who were too young to enter the army at the beginning of hostilities, but now, as they became old enough to be ranked as soldiers, were anxious to get into the midst of the greatest excitement.
The hills and valleys of Loudoun and Fauquier, coupled with parts of the adjacent counties, furnished the field, and John S. Mosby of Warrenton, Va., was accepted as their leader.
What might we expect when these 500 handsome young men, all well mounted and armed, in whose veins flowed the blood of the heroes of the revolution? These 500 heroes, coming in every few days, some of them with the marks of the battle on their bodies and trophies of victories in their hands. What do you suppose those Virginia girls were going to do about it, put on sackcloth and ashes? Well, it was sackcloth they wore, and many of their treasures were in ashes, but their spirits were unbroken. They had faith in the G.o.d of battles, and while they could not bear arms, they said, "Let us make merry, for these are our brothers and lovers; we should cheer them with laughter and song; it will make them stronger and braver." And so it did, and they fiddled and danced while "Rome burned."
Some time during the latter part of the winter I learned that all the prisoners who were paroled at a certain time had been exchanged, and were ordered to rejoin their various commands. That included me.
As I was no longer under obligation not to take up arms against the U.S.
Government, I could not refrain from taking some part in the upholding of what was often called Mosby"s Confederacy (meaning the territory in which he operated), so I was tempted to steal a few more days before obeying the order from Richmond. I went with Mosby on one occasion when the Yankees made a raid through Loudoun and Fauquier with cavalry and artillery seeking to annihilate his command. Mosby had all his force out on the occasion, and hung on the enemy"s front flanks and rear from the time they entered Mosby"s territory until they left. He did not allow them time to eat, sleep or rest. In an encounter near my home a Yankee"s horse was killed, from which I took the bridle, which was a very fine one. In doing so I got my hands b.l.o.o.d.y, and the blood from the bridle stained my clothes. This started the rumor that I was wounded, and it reached my home before I got there, but I soon arrived and explained the mistake.
Shortly afterward I was in company with a number of others en route for Lee"s army, the greater portion of which was south of Richmond, stretching from there to Petersburg.
Now to go back to my capture at Yellow Tavern. After Grant"s repulse at Cold Harbor he crossed the James river with his army and began the siege of Richmond, which lasted all through the remainder of the fall and winter of 1864 and 1865 into April.
The colonel of my regiment (Flournoy), who I stated was killed at the battle of Cold Harbor, was the last of the colonels in my brigade to lose his life. A gallant young officer, but a little too fond of the bottle, not very choice in his language, rather reckless. A few days before he was killed he remarked to one of his staff as they stood around the camp-fire, "I don"t believe the bullet that is to kill me has yet been molded." Foolish man; at that very time, not far from where he stood, was a soldier in blue carrying about his waist a leather cartridge-box that held the very bullet that was to end his life, and not many hours afterward that bullet and that colonel met. The latter surrendered without a word.
The winter was a long, dreary one, and the Confederates, being compelled to live in the trenches night and day, suffered terribly from cold and hunger. Wade Hampton took Gen. Stuart"s place after the latter"s death, and during the winter made a raid inside Grant"s lines and drove out 1500 head of fat cattle. It did not take Lee"s hungry soldiers long to dispose of them and lick their chops for more. Grant"s great army, stretching from the James river to Petersburg, compelled Gen. Lee to do the same with his little, half-starved and scantily-clothed force, and all winter long Grant pounded away at Lee"s front, trying to break through. The most sensational event that occurred was the battle of the Crater, as it was called. Grant attempted to break Lee"s line by digging a great tunnel, which had for its object the blowing up of Lee"s intrenchments, and then in the confusion, rushing a large force into the opening. The tunnel was finished up to and under Lee"s line and loaded with explosives. I believe there was a premature explosion, which resulted in the killing of more of Grant"s soldiers than of Lee"s, and then the attack that followed resulted in a great slaughter of Grant"s men and the total failure of the project.
CHAPTER X.
_From Petersburg to Appomattox and Home._
"There hangs a saber, and there a rein, With a rusty buckle and a green curb chain; A pair of spurs on the old grey wall, And a moldy saddle--well, that is all."
April 2, 1865, Lee was compelled to evacuate Richmond, abandon his whole battle line, and fall back toward the mountains. He hoped to be able to join his forces with those of Gen. Jos. E. Johnston, who was advancing northward through North Carolina, but his losses were so heavy and his army almost starved, the road deep with mud from excessive rains, making it impossible for his gaunt, lean horses to draw his artillery and wagons. He saw further resistance was useless, so on April 9, 1865, Lee surrendered what was left of his once formidable army. The number was a little less than 8000 men. I have seen it stated that Lee had about 35,000 men,[6] when, on April 2, he ordered the evacuation of his line of intrenchments. Some of his cavalry, being on the outskirts, were not included in the surrender. Besides this, during the seven days"
retreat, Grant"s forces were pressing Lee"s army on all sides, killing, wounding and capturing some of his men every hour; this accounts for the small number that Gen. Lee personally surrendered. The first thing that was done after the surrender was an application from Gen. Lee to Grant for food for his horses and men, which was promptly supplied. Of course, there is much that is interesting in connection with the surrender that need not be recorded here. Grant"s treatment of Lee and his soldiers won for him praise all over the South.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ONE OF STONEWALL JACKSON"S MILEPOSTS. A FAMILIAR SIGHT TO THOSE WHO TRAVELED THE VALLEY TURNPIKE DURING THE CIVIL WAR.]
But to go back. As I have said, I was on the march from home toward the army, and had reached a point not far from Charlottesville. There were about a dozen of us, all belonging to my regiment. About noon we saw advancing toward us a small body of cavalry. At first we took them for the enemy and approached them cautiously, they using the same precaution. When we discovered that we were fellow-Confeds we pa.s.sed with a salute. One of them called to us and said, "Boys, you may as well go home; Lee has surrendered his army." We paid no attention to it, but moved on. A mile farther we met another squad and asked what was the news from the army. We got this reply: "As we pa.s.sed through Charlottesville we came near being mobbed for telling the news from the army. You had better go on and find out for yourselves." Soon after this we met a colonel leading about 40 cavalrymen. By this time we began to feel that something was wrong. The colonel halted his men and frankly told us that it was a fact that Lee had surrendered his army. He stated that some of the cavalry had escaped and they were making their way toward their homes, and advised us to do the same. The colonel and his men moved on, and we halted for an hour in the road discussing the situation and trying to determine what to do. We were not prepared to act upon the evidence that we had had regarding the surrender, but were willing to admit that it might be true. One fellow from Company F, riding a gray horse, rose in his stirrups, and lifting his clinched hand high above his head, said, "If Gen. Lee has had to surrender his army, there is not a just G.o.d in Heaven."
Finally we decided to cross the mountains into the Virginia Valley and tarry in the vicinity of Staunton and await further tidings. I made a bee-line for my brother Gerard"s. The others scattered here and there.
After remaining a few days at my brother"s I started, in company with six or eight others, who were from the lower end of the valley, princ.i.p.ally Clark county, for my home in Loudoun, with no definite idea as to what I should do before I got there. In fact, the others were in the same frame of mind.
We had heard and read the proclamation that all Confederate soldiers who would surrender their arms and take the oath of allegiance to the U.S.
Government (except a certain grade of officers) would be allowed to go to their homes and not be molested, but we had not yet come to the point of surrendering.
We moved on down the valley pike, noting as we went the terrible havoc the war had made, commenting on what we called Jackson"s mileposts, viz.
the skeletons of horses that had fallen by the way. They were, however, too thick to be called mileposts, but that is what we called them.
A little below Woodstock, I think it was, we saw on a hill, standing in the middle of the road facing us, two sentinels on horseback. They were Yankee pickets. I think there were eight of us. We halted. Someone said, "Well, boys, what are we going to do? We can"t pa.s.s these pickets. Shall we surrender?" I guess we stood there for an hour. We were all mounted.
Finally a young fellow from Clark county said, "I"m going up and surrender." Another said, "I go with you." And the two, taking something in their hands that would pa.s.s for a flag of truce (white handkerchiefs had become obsolete), went forward and were allowed to pa.s.s. They went to headquarters and surrendered. Then one by one the little band melted away, leaving two, and I was one of them. We were not ready to surrender. We went back out of sight, and made a flank movement to get into the foothills of the Ma.s.sanutten mountains, and by keeping under cover of the timber, managed to get within 12 miles of my home without being molested.
As we stood on the edge of the woods we saw the Yankee cavalry moving up and down the turnpike running from Paris to Middleburg. It looked as if there was nothing else to do but surrender. At this point my comrade deserted me and went forward and surrendered. I watched my opportunity, slipping across the pike un.o.bserved, and following the Blue Ridge mountains until nearly opposite my home, took a straight line across the fields and reached home safely. As I carried my full complement of arms I created no little surprise and consternation.
Union soldiers were constantly pa.s.sing along the road which ran close by my home, some of them stopping for water or for information, but I could not fully make up my mind to surrender. My brother Richard of Mosby"s command was of the same mind. Mosby and all his men had surrendered, and the family pleaded with us to do the same, but we were obstinate. This, however, was nothing to our credit. When one is whipped he should be man enough to acknowledge it and brave enough to surrender, unless the conqueror be a cannibal.