CHAPTER VII

FALL BACK FROM CENTREVILLE—THE PENINSULA CAMPAIGN—YORKTOWN LINE EVACUATED—THE BATTLE OF WILLIAMSBURG—"GIVE IT TO THEM"—INTO A HOT FIRE—COLONEL GARLAND WOUNDED—INCIDENTS OF THE BATTLE—GARLAND AND KEMPER PROMOTED

Gen. Joseph E. Johnston had been for some time sole commander of the army, General Beauregard having been ordered south some months before. Gen. George B. McClellan, who succeeded General McDowell, was in command of the Yankee army, and had been all winter recruiting, reorganizing, equipping and drilling what he claimed to be "the finest army on the planet," some 125,000 strong. When winter began to break, General Johnston knew his adversary would soon move against him, and thinking it not prudent to stand his ground at Centreville or Manassas, against so powerful an army, with only about 40,000 men, just as McClellan was preparing to advance, the Confederate army, on the 9th of March, 1862, broke camp, having first made dummy cannons of wood, painted black, mounting them in the forts and redoubts around Centreville, also dummy soldiers, in order to deceive and delay the enemy. The army retired leisurely at first, stopping several days at a time in camp.

The terms of enlistment of most of the Confederate troops were about to expire, and the men were called upon to reenlist for the war, which nearly all did. On this march, while in camp a few days, Company C elected officers to take the place of those who had been at first elected and whose terms would expire about the 1st of May. Captain Clement was reëlected captain, I was elected first lieutenant, James Connelly was reëlected second lieutenant, and Jabez R. Rosser was elected third lieutenant. J. A. Hobson and H. H. Withers, first and second lieutenants, not being reëlected, left the company at the end of their terms. About this time the company received a number of recruits, the militiamen up to thirty-five years old having been called out and given the privilege of joining the companies of their choice. The recruits were mostly married men, from twenty-five to thirty-five years old.

McClellan did not essay to follow Johnston, but determined to change his base and plan of campaign from Northern Virginia to the Peninsula. His army was accordingly embarked on transports, sailing down the Potomac and Chesapeake Bay, landing at the lower end of the Peninsula at Fortress Monroe.

As soon as General Johnston was aware of this move, he put his army in motion and marched rapidly to Richmond. The march was through Prince William, Spottsylvania, Hanover, and Henrico counties, into Richmond, where we arrived on the 12th of April, 1862. This march was very laborious, through rain and mud, the troops often marching through fields to avoid the muddy roads, and to give place to the trains of artillery and baggage and commissary wagons. At that time each regiment had thirteen wagons, but never again after the Peninsula campaign; after that year about three was the limit.

This was the first real hard marching we had done. Some of the men gave out on the route, and had to be hauled in wagons and ambulances; many had their knapsacks hauled. Only one man of Company C besides myself carried their knapsacks, blankets and guns through without any help.

THE PENINSULA CAMPAIGN

On arriving at Richmond on the 12th of April the troops were embarked on boats, steamed down the James to King's Landing, seven miles from Williamsburg, marching through that quaint and dilapidated old town, on down the Peninsula to the lines near Yorktown, where General Magruder was in command with fifteen or twenty thousand men, confronting McClellan and his "grand army" on the lines stretching across the Peninsula from the York to the James. McClellan had 125,000 men; Johnston about 50,000, all told.

The lines, at the point the Eleventh Regiment faced the Yankees, were about one thousand yards apart; at other places the lines were much closer, and there were frequent skirmishes and sharp-shooting. Forts at intervals along the lines were mounted with big guns, and shots were often exchanged.

One day I was standing behind one of the Confederate guns, when a shot from a thirty-two-pounder was fired at a Yankee fort one thousand yards off, across an open level field, and saw the ball, a black mass, as it sped across the field, go right into the fort and explode. Of course, we could not see from that distance what damage was done, but heard afterwards from prisoners that this shell played havoc in the Yankee fort, killing and wounding men right and left, and tearing up things generally. This was a splendid shot, aimed and the fuse timed exactly right; it went to the very spot desired, exploding at the very second to do the most damage. The Yankees did not return the fire.

The service on the Peninsula was arduous and disagreeable; in the muddy trenches, or back in the woods, lying on the rain-soaked ground, or marching along the cut-up and muddy roads, was trying indeed, and caused no little sickness among the troops. Harvey Bailey, of Company C, died of disease while here. One night while the regiment lay back in the woods, the men sleeping on their arms, that is, every man lying with his gun by his side, instead of being stacked, there was a night alarm, with sharp musketry firing along the trenches; all were aroused and under arms in a moment. It was a cloudy, pitch-dark night, and we did not know what the trouble was. Just as the firing ceased the hooting of a big owl was heard in the distance. "There now," was whispered along the lines, "we are cut off; that is a Yankee signal." Nothing came of it, however, except a good scare. When soldiers are thus suddenly aroused at night by a call to arms, it causes a chilling sensation, and they shake like one with the "buck ague."

General Johnston was often seen riding along the lines, sitting his horse very erect, and presenting a soldierly appearance. He always reminded me of a gamecock trimmed and gaffed ready for the main. While here our first year of enlistment expired, and I entered upon the duties of first lieutenant; I had been orderly sergeant up to this time, carrying a musket.

YORKTOWN LINES EVACUATED

General Johnston, getting information that McClellan was preparing to send a force by transports up York River to West Point, and which he, Johnston, had no means of preventing, and thus get in his rear and between him and Richmond, it was determined to evacuate the Yorktown line of defense. Accordingly, about the 3d or 4th of May, 1862, the trenches were evacuated and the whole army began falling back up the Peninsula, the wagons and artillery in front. The Yankees made a landing at West Point, but were driven back to their transports by a force sent to meet them. As we marched up the Peninsula we could hear the booming of the big guns in this fight.

The roads were in wretched condition, muddy and badly cut up by the long trains of wagons and artillery, making the march very trying and disagreeable, for it rained nearly every day about this time. No one who has not marched on foot behind army wagon and artillery trains has any conception of what muddy roads are. Horses and mules were sometimes literally buried in the mud and left to perish, or shot dead on the spot.

It is surprising how much fatigue and hardship men can stand when put to it. Soldiers were often put to the supreme test of endurance, and, no doubt, many an old Confederate soldier often says to himself, "How did we stand those long, tiresome marches, through the rain and mud of spring, through the dust and heat of summer, and midst snow and ice of winter, often poorly shod, scantily clothed, and on short, very short rations, sometimes none at all." A man can stand more than a horse. But the Confederate soldiers did stand these things, enduring more, perhaps, than any soldiers ever endured before. It took men to do these things— men with muscles, sinews, and nerves in their bodies, and courage in their hearts; and then, on the battlefield, to meet the foe two, three, and four to one, and vanquish that foe, took men of the highest valor. Of such was the Confederate soldier. The service of our Revolutionary fathers was not comparable to the arduous trials and privations of the Confederate soldiers. The privations and suffering of the army at Valley Forge during the winter of 1777-78 was as nothing to the experiences of the Confederates around Petersburg during the winter of 1864-5.

On February 8, 1865, General Lee wrote to the Secretary of War to this effect: "For three days and nights the right wing of the army has been in line of battle; some of the men have had no meat for three days, and all suffering from reduced rations and scant clothing, exposed to the fire of the enemy, cold, hail and sleet." About the same time General Lee issued a circular letter to the farmers in the surrounding country, beseeching them to "loan the army all the cornmeal and sorghum they could spare." But I am anticipating, so back to the Peninsula.

BATTLE OF WILLIAMSBURG

I should have stated before, that about the time the army fell back from Centreville and Manassas, General Longstreet was promoted to major-general, and Col. A. P. Hill of the Thirteenth Virginia Regiment was promoted to brigadier-general, and assigned to Longstreet's old brigade, which now formed a part of Longstreet's Division.

On the afternoon of the 4th of May, the brigade marched through the town of Williamsburg; slept on their arms in an open field just west of the town. Early next morning it was evident to all that a fight was on hand— staff officers and couriers were riding hither and thither in great haste. McClellan was pressing on General Johnston's rear a little too closely to suit him, and Johnston determined to give him a taste of what was in store for him later on.

Hill's Brigade, as well as other troops, infantry and artillery, were marched back through the town. Just at the eastern limits of the town the brigade turned off the road to the right, through the fields, and was massed in a deep hollow. Other troops were known to be in the woods a few hundred yards in front, and we were in position as their support.

Other troops had passed on down the Yorktown road towards Fort McGruder, and the other forts east of Williamsburg, some of which the Confederates had abandoned. I remember Latham's Battery dashing by, as we marched through the streets, at a gallop. Latham's Battery was from Lynchburg, and the men well known to many of the Eleventh Regiment. Some one in the Eleventh called out to them as they passed, asking if they were going into the fight. "Yes," shouted back Jim Ley, one of the battery; "Latham's Battery is always in the fight." Artillery firing could already be heard at the front. As the men passed along the streets, they unslung their knapsacks, depositing them in the front yards of the houses on the street—stripping for the fight. There were no forts or breastworks in our front, nor was there any artillery with the brigade or with the troops in front. The position was the extreme right of the Confederate lines.

THE BATTLE BEGINS

We did not have to wait long. Sharp musketry firing soon commenced in the woods—lasting only a short time, however. About the time the firing ceased, the brigade was ordered forward, not in line of battle, but marching by the flank. As we entered the woods Gen. Roger A. Pryor and a few men came out and moved off to the left, along the edge of the field. Soon after getting into the woods the brigade was formed in line of battle by the maneuver, "By the right flank into line." The woods were thick with much undergrowth, and we could see only a few yards in front.

For some time after the line was formed, everything was quiet. It was a cloudy, misty morning, and the air was filled with the smoke of the recent firing; no enemy was in sight nor could we see any of the Confederates who had been engaged. It has always been a mystery to me what became of these troops. We could see and smell the smoke from their guns, but not a man was seen, except perhaps fifteen or twenty who came out as we entered.

Company C was on the left of the Eleventh Regiment, and the Seventh Regiment, commanded by Col. James L. Kemper, was the next regiment on the left. Colonel Kemper took position at the right of his regiment. My place, as first lieutenant of Company C, being near the left of the company, placed me close to Colonel Kemper, and it is of the fighting along the line of these two regiments I propose to tell, as I saw and heard it that day.

"GIVE IT TO THEM!"

While standing here in line of battle some of Company C saw a line of men through a slight opening in the woods about one hundred yards away, obliquely to the left. Only a few files of the men were visible through the vista; some one called my attention to these men. I looked; they seemed to have on blue uniforms, and the brass buttons on their coats could be plainly seen; they were standing at rest. I called Colonel Kemper, who came and said he believed they were Yankees, but was not certain. Just then General Hill, on foot, came along down in the rear of the line of battle from the right, and Colonel Kemper called his attention to these men. General Hill leveled his field-glasses on the line, and in a moment said: "Yes, they are Yankees; give it to them!" Colonel Kemper's clear-ringing voice broke the stillness with, "Now, boys, I want you to give it to those blue-coated fellows; ready, aim, fire." At the first command every musket was raised to the shoulder and leveled, every eye ran along the barrel at the command "aim," and at the word "fire" a sheet of flame burst forth from the line with a deafening roar.

Very few of our men could see the enemy, but every man shot straight to the front—the guns on a level. No doubt, the first volley did much execution, the men reloading as quickly as possible and continuing to fire rapidly. In the midst of the firing Colonel Kemper's clarion voice rang out above the roar of the muskets. He said: "General Hill says the line must be advanced." Not a man moved forward, but all continued loading and shooting as fast possible. Again Colonel Kemper shouted louder than before: "General Hill says the lines must be advanced." At this moment General Hill came to the front, immediately in front of Company C, pistol in hand. General Hill wore a dark blue blouse or overshirt, gathered at the waist by the sword belt, had on a military cap with a sprig of pine fastened in front, and as he went forward, waving his pistol over his head, looking back over his shoulder and calling on the men to follow, made a splendid picture of the heroic and gallant soldier that he was. This picture was photographed on my memory never to be forgotten.

INTO A HOT FIRE

The whole line rushed forward over a fence and down a slight slope in the ground, about fifty yards, and was met by a close and deadly fire from the enemy, whom we could not see, but the sharp, quick "sip, sip" of the minie balls, as they whacked the trees and cut the bushes and twigs, told plainly that we were in very close quarters. On the hill where the firing commenced, I don't remember that we suffered any casualties—I think the Yankees shot too low; but now the men were falling on every hand. The firing was kept up here for some little time, the men sitting or kneeling on the ground, loading and shooting into the bushes in front whence the balls were coming, though no enemy was in sight. While here I looked to the left, oblique from our front, and saw a Yankee standing beside a tree some seventy-five yards away, about where the line had been first seen. Up to this time I had carried a pistol, a Colt's five-shooter, and drawing this I aimed at this Yankee, snapped the pistol several times, which, failing to fire, I threw it down, picked up a loaded musket that had fallen from the hands of some man, killed or wounded, and fired at the Yankee; where he was hit, I never knew. About this time the cry came along our lines from the right, "They are running." The line again pushed forward, but we did not catch sight of the Yankees, that is, live ones, but a short distance, some twenty yards in front, their line of battle was plainly marked by the dead men lying strewn along through the woods. The lines continued to press forward through the woods for a quarter of a mile or more, until the eastern edge of the woods was reached, where the timber had been felled.

While pushing along through the woods I saw to my left several of Company C around a gray-haired Yankee officer with side-whiskers and mustache, seemingly rifling his pockets. I shouted at the men, "Stop robbing that officer." They replied, "We are just loosening his belt." The officer said the same when I approached him. He had been desperately wounded and left by his men.

In the felled timber, some thirty yards from the woods, the Yankees had taken refuge, lying down behind the logs and stumps, and as the Confederates came up, opened a close and rapid fire, our men protecting themselves behind trees and logs at the edge of the woods and returning the fire. Here the firing was fast and furious, both sides being under cover. The casualties here were not serious, on the Confederate side, at least, the Yankees shooting too high, riddling the trees and bushes overhead.

COLONEL GARLAND WOUNDED

In the midst of this severe fighting, Colonel Garland, with his left arm bandaged and in a sling, came up. He had been shot through the forearm early in the action, had his wound dressed, and continued in the fight to the end.

As soon as Colonel Garland came up, he shouted out, "Charge 'em!" Captain Clement, a brave man, whose courage was beyond question and who still lives in Campbell County, a scarred veteran, remonstrated, saying: "For God's sake, Colonel Garland, don't send the men over there into that fire. They will all be killed." Colonel Garland replied: "Well, hold on a while then." It was not long before the fire of the enemy began to slacken—the well-aimed shots of the Confederates were telling. Our lines rose up without orders, and over the logs the men rushed right among the Yankees. Some of the enemy jumped up and ran; many were shot down as they ran; others lay still behind the logs and stumps and were captured; some were hauled from brush piles, and many lay killed and wounded on the ground, most of whom were shot in the head. This scene reminded me of a lot of boys hunting rabbits in thickets.

While engaged in gathering up the prisoners, sending them to the rear and exulting over the victory, the noise of artillery wheels was heard (it was impossible to see far, on account of the smoke and fog), and the men were ordered back to the woods whence they had just charged. There were several abandoned Yankee cannon in the road in our front; I don't remember whether these were taken off the field or not, but think they were. We held this position during the remainder of the day, without seeing or hearing anything of the enemy in our front.

Pretty soon after we fell back to the edge of the woods, a terrific musketry fire opened up to the right of this position, which seemed to be a little to the rear of the extension of the line, the minie balls flying thick and fast through the woods in the rear. As this firing increased in volume and seemed to be drawing nearer, some of the Seventh Regiment began to look anxiously to the rear, like a balky horse, as if contemplating a retreat. All eyes were turned in the direction of the firing, which was only a few hundred yards to the right, and seemed to be drawing closer. Colonel Kemper, who was still at the right of the Seventh, noticed the anxiety of his men, and spoke out in firm and defiant tones: "Steady, men, steady. The old Eighth Virginia is out there." I never knew whether or not the Eighth Regiment was out there—I don't think it was; but Kemper's words had the desired effect.

The men remembered Ball's Bluff, where the Eighth Virginia had some time before distinguished itself, and whatever fears they may have had of being flanked were allayed, and every man stood firmly at his post.

It was not long until the firing ceased all along the lines. The brigade remained here until darkness closed over the bloody scenes and thrilling events of the day, which were, no doubt, indelibly fixed in the minds of every participant.

In the meanwhile, the battle was raging to the left over towards Fort McGruder, where the fighting first commenced in the morning, and was kept up pretty much all day. Here the Twenty-fourth Virginia and the Fifth North Carolina distinguished themselves, as Pickett's Division did at Gettysburg, in an unsuccessful, but gallant charge. There were no better fighting regiments in the army.

Soon after dark the brigade moved silently off by the left flank, marching back to the edge of Williamsburg, where we had turned off the road early in the morning. We slept on the wet, muddy ground until daybreak next morning, when we again marched through the old town towards Richmond, the men gathering up their knapsacks deposited along the street in the front yards the day before, and which the people had taken care of.

On the march we did not hurry, camping four or five days on the east bank of the Chickahominy; but the enemy did not crowd us again, the work of the 5th of May having taught General McClellan a lesson, the moral of which was, "Don't crowd Joe Johnston too closely on a retreat." Some of the Yankee historians claim a victory at Williamsburg, a dear-bought victory to be sure. They lost about five hundred killed, fifteen hundred wounded, and four hundred unwounded prisoners, twelve cannon, and ten stand of colors.

The Confederate loss was much less. We drove the enemy back, held the battlefield, and marched off the next morning at our leisure, and did not have a chance to fire another shot at the Yankees for weeks; indeed, not until the 31st day of May, when Johnston again attacked and defeated them at Seven Pines. We had whipped them in a fair, stand-up fight with muskets at Williamsburg. It is a little singular and surprising that McClellan with his "grand army" never made an attack on the Confederates, but on the contrary, was always on the defensive in all the battles from Williamsburg to Malvern Hill.

I saw nothing of the fighting on the 5th of May on the left of the lines, nor on the right, except along the lines of the Seventh and Eleventh Regiments. I know full well we cleaned them up here in nice style, with small loss, comparatively. We drove them from their first line in the woods, charged and captured their second position in the fallen timber, killing, wounding, capturing and scattering everything in front of Hill's Brigade. If this was not a victory, I'd like to know what it was.

This was the first regular fight in which the Eleventh Regiment had been engaged. The regiment, except two companies, was only under fire on the 18th of July at Blackburn's Ford, but did not fire a gun. On the 21st of July the regiment lay all day under a shelling, but did not see a Yankee or fire a gun. In the skirmish at Drainesville, in which Company C lost its first man, I am not certain, but I don't think there was much shooting done by the regiment.

At Williamsburg we got into it right. Company C lost eight men killed and many wounded. The killed were Miffram Bailey, who married my wife's sister, and had only been with the company about a month; Benj. Farris, Crockett Hughes, Granville Rosser, David Layne, John Organ, John J. Wood, another recruit, and Wm. H. Wilson, a first cousin of my wife, all of whom were good soldiers. I noticed Billy Wilson, during the fight in the bottom, some distance in front of the line, fighting with deadly intent. I have often thought that he determined to distinguish himself in this fight, but alas! he was stricken down, shot through the body, dying in a few minutes. In this fight, so far as I could see, every officer and man, from General Hill down to the humblest private, did his whole duty. I never saw troops fight better on any field.

INCIDENTS OF THE BATTLE

I have often said this was the most satisfactory fight I was ever engaged in, and I have read somewhere that General Kemper had said the same thing. I noticed among others a member of Company C, Jim Brown, from "Hell Bend" (a rather disreputable section of Campbell County), an humble private of no pretentions, standing up and fighting like mad, loading and shooting rapidly, with the corners of his mouth blacked by the powder as he bit off the cartridges. I never forgot this, and it stood Jim in good stead when, months afterwards, he was court-martialed for absence without leave, and sentenced to wear a ball and chain for sixty days. At Goldsboro, N. C., in 1863, when Chas. Clement drew up a petition for his pardon, I gladly approved it, making an endorsement on the petition to the effect, that "Brown was a brave soldier, had been tried in battle and found not wanting in courage, fighting like a hero." The paper was forwarded to headquarters, and quickly came back with an endorsement granting the pardon prayed for. I remember it was at night when it was returned to me. I at once repaired to Brown's quarters, and found him and several others in their "dog house," under their blankets, with the ball and chain at the foot, lying on the ground. I called to Brown, telling him his pardon had come, that he could now take off the ball and chain. Brown raised up on his elbow, looked down at the ball and chain and said: "I have gone to bed now; I believe I will wait till morning before I take it off." And so he did. Brown remained true to the end, and was captured at Milford, May 21, 1864.

After the firing had all ceased, Colonel Kemper and Colonel Garland met on the lines in the rear of Company C and exchanged congratulations, both in high spirits and well pleased with the day's work. Colonel Garland said among other things, "Kemper, honor's easy with you to-day." I was standing near, and pointing to Garland's bandaged arm in the sling, said: "Colonel Garland, you have the best of it, you have a wound." "Yes," replied Garland, "I always wanted an honorable wound in this war." Poor fellow, he got his death-wound at Boonsboro Gap, Md., a few months afterwards while trying to rally his brigade. Colonel Garland was a fine soldier, and if he had lived, would doubtless have attained higher rank. He had a worthy ambition, was cool and steady in action, not possessed so much of that brute courage that makes men reckless in battle, but in an eminent degree of that high moral courage and pride that enable true soldiers to do their duty in the face of the greatest danger. He was highly endowed intellectually, a learned lawyer, a brilliant and eloquent speaker, and possessed of considerable wealth. Colonel Garland had a bright future before him, but alas! like so many others, was cut down in his early manhood, in that cruel and ruthless war waged by the North against the South.

GARLAND AND KEMPER PROMOTED

Garland and Kemper both won the stars and wreath of a brigadier at Williamsburg. The former was first promoted and assigned to a North Carolina Brigade, the latter soon afterwards succeeding Gen. A. P. Hill as commander of the First Brigade, which he led into battle the first time at Seven Pines, in less than one month after the Williamsburg fight.

I remember, when Colonel Kemper took command of the brigade, he had his old regiment, the Seventh Virginia, formed, and, mounted on his horse in front of the regiment, made a stirring and patriotic speech, eulogizing the men for their courage and devotion to the cause, and expressing his love and devotion to all of them, declaring that, "Next to the child that sprang from my own loins, I love the Seventh Regiment."

Before closing the account of this battle, I will relate one of the many incidents of cool and deliberate bravery exhibited by the Confederate soldiers on that day. While the firing at the edge of the woods was going on, Daniel Pillow, a private of Company C, Eleventh Virginia, when ready to fire, would raise up on his knees as high as he could, look intently out among the logs and stumps in front, then raise his gun, take deliberate aim and fire, and after firing raise his head again and look in the direction he had shot. I called to him, saying, "Daniel, when you have fired, don't expose yourself in that way by looking over there; get down and load as quickly as possible." Pillow turned his face towards me and said quietly in measured tones, "I reckon I want to see what I am doing," and continued firing.

I also noticed Robt. Cocke, pressing forward in the hottest of the fight in the attitude of one breasting a storm, leaning forward with a determined expression on his face; in fact, I did not see a single man of the company flinch.

Captain Clement wrote home highly complimenting the men and officers of his company for their conduct in this fight.