CHAPTER XVI

TO MILFORD AND TO CAPTURE—A PRISONER OF WAR—ON TO WASHINGTON

The same afternoon we arrived at Hanover Junction, the First Virginia Regiment and five companies of the Eleventh, A, B, C, E and K, under the command of Major Norten, of the First Regiment, boarded the cars and went to Milford Station in Caroline County, on the Richmond, Fredericksburg & Potomac Railroad, arriving there about night, and going into camp across the Mattapony River, just west of the station. The Mattapony here is quite a small stream, spanned by a wooden bridge. The First Regiment at that time was very small, numbering perhaps not over 100 to 150 men. The five companies of the Eleventh Regiment numbered about eighty-five or ninety men—Plymouth and Drury's Bluff had depleted their ranks. Pickets were posted on the roads, and there were some cavalry videts still farther out. The rest of the command bivouacked in the woods a short distance from the bridge.

Early the next morning, the 21st of May, 1864, the cavalry videts came in and reported the Yankees were making a raid on the station with the intention of burning it. Major Norten declared they should not do this, and made his dispositions to prevent it, posting the men of the First Regiment to repel the attack on the station, while the companies of the Eleventh were held in reserve.

It was not long before the supposed raiders made their appearance. At first they were few in number and shot at long range, firing on the First Regiment at the bridge from a grove on a hill some 600 yards away, with long-range guns, dropping a few balls about them, while too far away for them to return the fire with their muskets. Major Norten ordered up the reserves, directing them to "Take that hill and hold it at all hazards"—a very positive and unwise order, I thought.

The five companies of the Eleventh Regiment crossed over the bridge, formed in line of battle, and moved forward at double-quick across the broad river bottom, crossing over the railroad track right up to this hill, taking possession of it without firing a single gun, the few Yankees who occupied it retreating before the line was in shooting distance.

As soon as the hill was occupied, no Yankees being in sight, I walked up on the northeast side of the grove of trees and saw half a mile away, thousands of Yankee cavalry; the hills were blue with them. It turned out to be General Torbet's Division, the advance division of Grant's army, instead of a raid to burn Milford Station. I went back and told Capt. Bob Mitchell, of Company A, who was the ranking officer, that we could not hold that hill—that there were ten thousand Yankees over on the next hill. Mitchell replied, "We have orders to hold the hill at all hazards." I said, "All right, we will all be captured." I have often thought Captain Mitchell should have sent a messenger to inform Major Norten of the situation, but he did not. The Yankee skirmishers, dismounted cavalry, soon began to advance on two sides of the hill, when a long-range skirmish began, which continued for some time, growing hotter as the Yankees approached nearer and nearer, protecting themselves behind trees and whatever they could. They were held at bay for an hour or more. During this time the Confederates had several men wounded. The Yankees were being hit also. Captain Mitchell was shot in the chin and left the hill. Lieutenant Atkins, of Company K, was also wounded. I saw him clap his hand on his side as the ball struck him. I never learned his fate, and I am not certain that I have his name correct, but know he was a lieutenant of Company K. Capt. Thomas B. Horton, of Company B, was next in command. Going again to the crest of the hill, on the northeast side, I saw a regiment of dismounted Yankee cavalry forming in line of battle a few hundred yards away; a colonel or general with gray hair and mustache was riding along the rear of the men getting them into position, the men seeming very awkward and hard to get straightened out. I called up one of Company C, either Tom Rosser or Sam Franklin, both good fighters, and told him to raise the sight of his Enfield rifle to 400 yards and shoot that officer. The order was obeyed promptly; I did not see the result of the shot however. Just as he fired, one of Company B, who was lying on the ground on the crest of the hill firing at the enemy, in a few feet of where I was standing, attracted my attention by calling out at the top of his voice, "Run here, ambulance corps; run here, ambulance corps." Seeing he had only a scalp wound on the side of the head, and thinking a man who could call out so lustily for the ambulance corps to come to his aid, although his head was bleeding profusely, could aid himself by getting up and running, I told him so, whereupon he jumped up and ran like a deer off the hill. I suppose he got away safely.

The men of the companies were scattered around on the hill, among the trees, embracing about an acre in area, without any regard to lines, fighting on the Indian style, some protecting themselves behind trees, some lying down, while most of them stood out in the open, watching for and shooting at every Yankee who showed himself within range. The Yankees, too, were under cover as much as possible with longer range guns than ours, slipping around behind trees, bushes and fences, and at every opportunity popping away at the Confederates, all the while getting a little closer and extending their lines around the hill. They were not very good shots, however.

Captain Horton and myself consulted, or held a small council of war, upon the situation. It was beyond question that if we remained on the hill, all would be killed or made prisoners in a short time. Some, or all of us, might escape by beating a hasty retreat. We agreed to try the latter, orders or no orders. Turning to the men who were by this time pretty close together about the center of the hill, with the Yankees still closing in, we told them we would all make a break and attempt to escape. Many of the men so earnestly demurred to this, saying, "We will all be killed as we run across the bottom," that Captain Horton and myself concluded not to make the attempt. I said to the men, "We will stay with you then." Near the top of the hill there was a ditch leading from what appeared to be an old icehouse, and in this ditch we made the last stand and fought the Yankees until they were close up. I remember Marion Seay, of Company E, who still lives in Lynchburg, was at the upper end of the ditch, shooting at a Yankee not thirty steps away, and then calling out and pointing his finger, saying, "D——n you, I fixed you," repeating it several times. Seay was then a little tow-headed boy, but he was game to the backbone.

Pretty soon our men ceased firing, as all knew that the inevitable had come. The Yankees then rushed up to the ditch, and all the Confederates dropped their guns—the seventy-five men left were prisoners of war.

I think we were justifiable in surrendering. If we had fought until the last man fell, nothing would have been accomplished for the good of the cause. There was no possibility of rescue, so it was die in that ditch in a few minutes or surrender; we chose not to die then and there. It was not a forlorn hope we were leading or defending, which demanded such a sacrifice of life.

As the Yankees came up, one of their men was shot through the head, and fell dead into the ditch; killed, I think, by one of his own men who was some distance off, firing, as he thought, at the Rebels. Some of the Confederates were bespattered with the brains of the dead Yankee.

At Plymouth, N. C., thirty-one days before, and again just five days before, at Drury's Bluff, we had been at the capture of brigades of Yankees, and exulted in the captures—now the tables are turned and we are prisoners, and the Yankees are exulting at our capture. Such are the fortunes of war.

I can testify that the sensations of the captors are very different from those of the captives, but shall not attempt to set forth the contrast; words are inadequate.

The Yankees said they had thirty-five or forty men killed and wounded in the fight; so that for every "Rebel" captured that day, they had half a man killed or crippled—not a bad showing for the "Rebs," if they did surrender, when outnumbered by more than one hundred to one. I don't remember that we had any killed on the field; nearly all the wounded got away.

Capt. Thos. B. Horton, Company B; Lieut. Peter Akers, Company A, and Lieuts. J. W. Wray and Geo. P. Norvell, of Company E., were captured. I have no means of getting the names of the men of the other companies captured.

Beside myself, the following men of Company C were captured: W. L. Brown, G. T. Brown, J. A. Brown, H. M. Callaham, H. Eads, J. T. Jones, J. W. Jones, W. S. Kabler, Fred Kabler, W. T. Monroe, R. W. Morgan, S. P. Tweedy, E. A Tweedy, W. A. Rice, W. C. J. Wilkerson—seventeen in all. W. L. Brown and S. P. Tweedy were wounded; the former slightly, the latter a bad flesh wound in the thigh. Some of the company were on picket duty and escaped capture, and some who were wounded got away, others were at home, or in hospitals, sick or wounded.

Not long ago, in looking over some old papers and letters, I found a letter written by Lieut. Robert Cocke to my wife, telling her about the fight and capture; it is dated the 22d of May. Among other things he says: "I was sent out the night before to guard a road that the Yankees were expected to come, but _fortunately for the Yankees_, they did not come that way; if it had not been for that, I would have been taken or killed myself, I expect."

Our negro boy, Horace, just as we were ordered forward to charge the hill, came up to me and said, "Where must I go?" I replied, "Stay with the surgeon." There were no wagons with us, with which he usually stayed. Horace, after we were captured, made his way home, taking with him what little baggage I had left in his care.

Thus ended my experience as a Confederate soldier in the field. I had been in active service for three years and more.

A PRISONER OF WAR

Now another experience was to be tried, of which I will tell in the closing pages of these reminiscences; long, bitter, and trying, too, that experience was.

The truth shall be told, setting down nothing in malice, giving credit where credit is due, with condemnation and reproach when deserved.

While these seventy-five men were sacrificed by what was another "fool order," in the light of subsequent events an advantage was gained.

These companies were sent out to that hill simply to protect the dépôt at Milford from the torch of supposed Yankee raiders, when in truth and in fact, Grant's whole army was approaching, and in a few hours were upon the scene, marching by the dépôt in which the prisoners were confined.

General Grant was then on his famous flank movement from Spottsylvania Court House, while General Lee was moving on parallel lines in the direction of Hanover Junction, all the while keeping his army between the enemy and Richmond, the goal that the enemy had been endeavoring to reach ever since the beginning of the war, in the spring of 1861; yet in May, 1864, the goal was far from being attained, although hundreds of thousands of lives had been sacrificed, and billions of dollars expended in the effort.

When it was known that the men captured at Milford on the 21st of May were from the army which, on the 16th of May, under Beauregard, had soundly thrashed Beast Butler at Drury's Bluff, and then "bottled him up at Bermuda Hundred on James River," as General Grant expressed it, and had come on to join forces with General Lee, General Grant halted his army that morning, and made dispositions to repel an attack, threw up breastworks, and remained near Milford for two days, giving General Lee ample time to concentrate his forces near Hanover Junction and select a strong position on the south bank of North Anna River. Grant, I have since learned, mentioned these men captured at Milford from Beauregard's army in a dispatch to Washington, and called for more troops. So that when General Grant finally moved forward he was confronted by Lee with his whole army, in a strong and commanding position, that Grant dared not assail; instead, he again side-stepped, flanking off towards Cold Harbor, where Lee's army was again in his front, and where the Confederates inflicted a loss of 12,000 men in a few hours, in repelling assaults on their hastily formed breastworks. This battle was fought on the ground on which the battle of Gaines' Mill occurred on the 27th of June, 1862, only the position of the two armies being reversed.

From Cold Harbor Grant made a long side-step, not halting until he had crossed to the south side of James River at City Point, where he could have gone by water months before without the loss of a single man. In the campaign from the Rappahannock to the James, Grant had lost more men than Lee had in his whole army.

Grant had boasted in the early days of the campaign in the Wilderness that he would, "fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." But he changed his mind as well as his line. From Cold Harbor, it was said, Grant sent this dispatch to Washington: "All the fight is knocked out of this army." This was after his order to renew the assaults on the Confederate lines had been disobeyed; the men standing still and mute when ordered to renew the charge. Then it was that Grant struck out across the Peninsula to the James.

The Confederate prisoners were first marched over on the hill where the main body of Torbet's Cavalry was posted, surrounded by a strong guard, the Yankee officers celebrating their victory, 10,000 against 85, by feasting on wine and cake. Lieut. Peter Akers, of Company A, marched up to a group of these officers, sitting on their horses, saying: "Hello, fellows, ain't you going to treat?" The Yanks laughed, handed around the wine and cake to the "Rebel" officers, with whom they chatted in a very friendly way. Like Bob Jones was with the stolen hog, I took some of the cake, but none of the wine.

Pretty soon we were marched down to the dépôt and confined there. It was not long until Grant's Infantry began to march by, Hancock's corps leading, in serried ranks of brigades, divisions, and corps, marching on across the little Mattapony out on the hills beyond, where lines of battle were formed, and the digging of entrenchments begun, and redoubts for cannon were thrown up.

The prisoners were marched out later, sleeping that night in an old barn, where they were guarded until the army moved forward, the prisoners being taken along. That night one of the guards said to me, "Old man, were you drafted?" I replied, "No, I volunteered." The reason he called me "old man" was, my hair was gray, though I was not then twenty-seven years old. While in prison many thought I was a political prisoner and not a soldier, for the same reason.

I was forcibly struck with the difference in the discipline in the two armies. In the Confederate army the officers and privates often messed and slept together, and were on equal terms, socially. In the Yankee army there was a great gulf between the officers and enlisted men, the officers rarely ever speaking to the men except when giving orders.

Rations were short with the Yankees at this time; the "Rebs" were, of course, very hungry, having none at all; there were no rations at hand to issue. Some of the Yanks, however, divided hard-tack from their haversacks, and some fresh beef was issued that night, which we _briled_ on the coals and ate without salt or bread. The next day the commissary trains came up, when hard-tack was issued; not very plentiful, however— five crackers to the man.

On the morning of the 23d the Yankee army moved on, and that night camped on the high hills on the north side of the North Anna River, opposite General Lee's position.

The prisoners slept in a clump of bushes not far from General Grant's headquarters. The next morning, as the army moved out, the prisoners still going along, Grant and his staff rode along the lines, when we got a good look at him.

I never see a picture of Grant but that morning is called to mind, when I recall and distinctly remember Grant's face and figure.

His appearance was not striking or prepossessing; he reminded me of my uncle, Mack Morgan.

Grant had nothing about his form, features or bearing that compared with the handsome, noble, and majestic appearance of Robert E. Lee.

General Lee far excelled Grant in personal appearance, as he did in generalship.

Grant's final success over Lee was not accomplished by his genius as a general, but by the recognition and application of the well-known laws of physics—that a larger body put in motion will overcome the force of a smaller one; that a greater mass of material thrown upon a smaller mass of the same material will crush it. To use a homely expression, Grant overcame Lee by "main strength and awkwardness."

It was not the flashing blade of a strategist and tactician that cut its way to victory, but the heavy hammer of a Thor that crushed Lee and his valiant band.

Suppose Lee had had an army of anything like equal strength in numbers, equipments and supplies, to Grant's, is there any one who would contend that Lee would not have prevailed over Grant? Why, Lee would not have left a "grease spot" of Grant and his "grand army" in the Wilderness, and there would have been no Appomattox.

On the afternoon of the 23d, there was some fighting at the front on the North Anna River.

Some of the Yankees crossed over above where Lee had taken his position. Here other Confederate prisoners were captured and added to our squad; among them, I remember Colonel Brown, of South Carolina, who was in the command of a brigade of A. P. Hill's Corps. Colonel Brown said, in advancing in line of battle, two of his regiments got separated in the thick woods, and he walked through the gap in the line, right into the Yankees. On the afternoon of the 24th of May, or the next morning, I am not certain which, the prisoners were turned back and headed for Port Royal, on the Rappahannock River, under a strong cavalry guard, a part of the way riding in wagons going back for supplies, but marched a greater part of the distance. As we marched, to the rear could be heard the thunder of Lee's guns on the North Anna, bidding defiance to Grant, saying, if not in words, in effect, "Thus far shall thou come and no farther." On the march to the rear, we passed large numbers of fresh troops going to reënforce Grant, many of them negroes. These were the first negro troops we had ever seen. One of them remarked as we passed by, "They ought to have gin 'em (us) Fort Pillow. If we had cotch 'em we would have gin 'em Fort Pillow."

On the last day's march I was taken very sick, getting dizzy, and came near fainting, and dropped down by the roadside. My brother Bob, was also taken sick about the same time and stopped with me. When the rearguard came up to where we were, they commenced to shout at us, "Get up, go on, go on." I told them we were sick and unable to go. We did not know what would be done, but we received humane treatment. The officer commanding the rearguard put us in charge of a big Dutch corporal and another man, with instructions to bring us on when able to march.

After a short time we were able to go on to a house close by, on the roadside, where we rested in the yard under the shade of the locust trees, when the good woman of the house gave us ice-water and something to eat, peach preserves and cold biscuits, as I remember, which greatly refreshed and strengthened us. God bless the Confederate women, who were always kind to the soldiers, who suffered so much anxiety, and endured so many privations during the war, who, with their daughters of to-day, are still true to the memory of the dead and the honor and welfare of the living.

_A Tribute to Confederate Womanhood_

Ye survivors of that gallant band, A scanty remnant thinned by time; Crown her, love, honor, cherish her, And hail her queen of womankind.

Ye present generation, those unborn, Both now and hereafter, through all time, Crown her, love, honor, cherish her, And hail her queen of womankind.

Ye of all nations, every tribe, Of every age and every time, Crown her, love, honor, cherish her, And hail her queen of womankind.

We remained here perhaps half an hour, when the guards let us ride their horses, walking at the horses' heads, holding the bridles by the bits. This was very kind and duly appreciated. After going a mile or so, the Dutch corporal, with the perspiration streaming from his face (it was a very hot, sultry morning), stopped and said, "I ish proke down and can't valk no farder." I told him all right, we could make it then, and thanking him for his kindness, we marched on, the guard telling us to take our time.

By this time we were feeling much better and stronger, and that night, May 26th, after dark, came up with the other prisoners at Port Royal. I am able to fix this date from an old letter I found some time ago, written to my wife from that place, in which I gave the names of all the men of Company C who were captured with me, and requested her to have the names published in the Lynchburg papers, that their friends might know their fate.

ON TO WASHINGTON

The next day the prisoners were put aboard an old freight ship, which steamed down the Rappahannock River, out into the bay, and up the Potomac River to Washington City. Here the officers and men were separated. My brother Bob was very anxious to go with me, but, of course, this was not permissible; and there on the wharf, on the 28th of May, 1864, I parted with him and the other members of Company C, not to meet any of them again until that "cruel war was over," and many of them never again. Some of the company not captured were killed during the last year of the war, and many have died since the war. Some still live. Every now and then I read in the papers of the death of some of them, which always recalls memories of long ago. It will not be many years before the last one of us shall have answered the final roll call. May we all meet again in a better world, where there is no war, is my fervent prayer. War is horrible. General Sherman said, "War is hell." Few, if any, did more than William Tecumseh Sherman to make war hell, and if I had to guess, I should say that ere now Sherman knows all about the horrors of both—war and hell. There may be something in a name after all. "Tecumseh!" The savage.

The enlisted men were sent to Point Lookout, and the officers incarcerated in the old Capitol Prison.

I remember as we entered from the street, when the door closed, the key turned and the bolt went into its place with a grating sound, Captain Horton turned to me and said, "This is the first time the bolts were ever turned on me." So we all could say. There were other prisoners confined here.

While here, we could often see from the windows ambulances moving along the streets filled with wounded Yankee soldiers. When Peter Akers would see these loads of wounded Yanks, he would remark, "There goes more dispatches from General Lee to old Abe."