University of Virginia Library

II.
A FAMILY RIFLE-PIT.

AN INCIDENT OF WILSON'S RAID.

In war the bloody and the grotesque are strangely mingled;
comedy succeeds tragedy with startling abruptness; and laughter
issues from the lips when the tears upon the cheek are
scarcely dry.

I had never heard of a “family rifle-pit” before June,
1864. I am going to give the reader the benefit of the knowledge
I acquired on that occasion.

General Grant was then besieging Petersburg, or Richmond
rather, if we are to believe the military gentlemen who edited
the New York newspaper; and having failed to drive Lee
from his earthworks, where the Virginian persisted in remaining
despite every effort made to oust him, the Federal commander
organized an enormous “raid” against the Southside
and the Danville railroads, by which Lee was supplied. The
result of this cavalry movement is known. Generals Wilson,
Kautz, and others who commanded in the expedition, were
successful in their object, so far as the destruction of a large
part of the railroads went; but when they attempted to return
to their infantry lines, below Petersburg, they “came to grief.”
Hampton and the Lees assailed them, forced them to abandon
their artillery and ambulances on the old stage road near
Reams' Station, and it was only by a resolute effort that the
remnants of the Federal cavalry got home again.

It was a few days after the raid that the present writer rode, on

duty, through the region which the opposing cavalry had fought
over, looking with interest upon the marks of the hard struggle,
on the dead horses, half-burnt vehicles, and remains of artillery
carriages, with the spokes hacked hastily in pieces, and
the guns dismounted. But these results of combat—of retreat
and pursuit—are familiar to the reader, doubtless, and not of
very great interest to the present writer.

The “Wilson and Kautz raid” would indeed have been forgotten
long ago by him, but for the “family rifle-pit” mentioned
above, and to this the attention of the worthy reader is
now requested.

I heard all about it from a very charming lady who resided
in a little house on the roadside, not very far from Reams';
and before me, as the bright eyes flashed and the red lips told
the story, was the scene of the events narrated. In front,
across the road, was a field of oats; beyond was a belt of woods;
the country all around was a dead and dusty level, scorching
in the sun. The house had a yard, and in this yard was a well
with a “sweep,” as they call it, I believe, in Dinwiddie, which
is pronounced by the inhabitants Dunwoody, which “sweep”
is a great beam balanced in the crotch of a tree, a bucket being
suspended to one end of the beam by a pole, and hanging
above the well, into which it is made to descend by working
the pole downwards with the hands.

In the small house lived Mr.—, from Gloucester, with his
wife and family of small children—all refugees. For a long
time it seemed that the amiable household would remain quite
undisturbed; they had scarcely seen a single blue-coat. But
suddenly, one bright June morning, the road, the fields, the
woods, the yard, the porch, and the mansion, swarmed with
Federal cavalry, coming from the direction of Prince George.

It was soon ascertained that General Wilson was “riding a
raid,” without the fear of Confederates before his eyes; and
had thus come to Reams' Station, on the Weldon Railroad,
where a force of Rebel cavalry was expected to be encountered.
Sconting parties had accordingly been thrown forward,
a reconnoissance made, sharpshooters were advanced, the cavalry

moved behind in column of squadrons, and the house and
family of Mr. — were captured, not to mention some old
negroes, and very young ones—the latter clad, for the most
part, in a single garment, adapted rather to the heat of the
weather than to the production of an imposing effect.

The cavalry-men crowded to the well, swarmed through the
grounds, and then commenced a scene well known to many a
family in the South. The lives of venerable ducks were sacrificed,
in spite of their piteous quacking; frightened chickens
were chased and knocked over with sticks; calves were shot,
and the hen-roost and dairy cleared with a rapidity and skill
which indicated thorough practice. In ten minutes the yard
was duckless and chickenless; the dairy was crockless, the
hen-roost innocent of eggs. The besom of destruction seemed
to have passed over the whole, and the hungry bluebirds were
cooking and devouring their spoil.

Unfortunately for Mr. —, they were not satisfied with
poultry, butter, and eggs. They wanted hams—and an officer,
Mrs. — assured me, demanded her keys. When she assured
him that her children required this food, the officer's reply was
an insult, and the young lady was forced to deliver to him the
key of her smoke-house, which was speedily rifled. Mrs. —
was looking on with bitter distress; but all at once her pride
was aroused—the Southern woman- flamed out!

“Take it if you choose,” she said, with sarcasm; “I can
easily send word to General Lee at Petersburg, and meat will
be supplied me! There are twelve months' rations for the
whole army in Richmond” (I hope the recording angel blotted
out that statement!); “and if you do cut the railroad, General
Lee's army will not suffer, but be just as strong and brave
as ever!”

“That's foolish—it will ruin him!” said one of the men.

“You will see,” was the reply. “Do you think General
Lee could not prevent your coming here if he wished to?
He wants you to come, for he expects to catch you all—every
man—before you get away!”

This new and striking view of the subject seemed to produce

a deep effect upon the listeners. They paused in their depredations,
looked doubtfully around them, and one of them, putting
his hand before his mouth, said aside to a comrade:

“I believe what she says! Mr. Lee can get us all away
from here quick enough, and I'm sorry that we ever come!”

Thirty minutes after the appearance of the enemy, the house
and grounds were stripped. Then they disappeared on their
way toward the Danville road.

Two or three days thereafter, it was known that General Wilson's
column had cut the road, but were falling back rapidly
before Lee and Hampton; that they had abandoned sixteen
pieces of artillery, and were now striving, with exhausted men
and horses, to cross the Weldon road and get back to their
lines.

There was a very brave gentleman, of the Fifth Virginia
Cavalry—Captain Thaddeus Fitzhugh—the same who had
crossed the Chesapeake in an open boat, with a few men, and
captured a detachment of the enemy, and a steamboat which
he brought off and destroyed, in the fall of 1863. Captain
Fitzhugh was sitting in the porch of Mrs.—'s house, conversing
with the lady, when looking up, he saw a large body
of the enemy's cavalry just across the wood. The odds were
great, but the Captain did not retreat. He threw himself on
horseback, leaped the fence toward the enemy, and firing his
pistol at them, shouted:

“Come on, boys! Charge! Butler's brigade is coming!”

Having made this appeal to an imaginary squadron, the Captain
rode across their front; but suddenly came the clatter of
hoofs, the rattle of sabres, and some shots. Butler's brigade had
arrived, and the Federal cavalry melted away into the woods
so rapidly, that an old negro, hiding with his mule in the covert,
said they “nuver see mule, nor nothin', hi! hi!”

General Butler—that brave soldier and most courteous of
gentlemen—drew up his brigade; all was ready for the coming
combat; and then it was that the question arose of the “family
rifle-pit.”

Nervous, unstrung, trembling at the thought that her children

were about to be exposed to the enemy's fire, Mrs.—
ran out to the Confederate cavalry in front of her house, and
seeing one of the officers, asked him what she should do. His
reply was:

“Madam, I would advise you to shelter your family at once,
as we expect to begin fighting at any moment.”

“But I have no place, sir!” exclaimed the lady, in despair.

“There is probably a cellar—”

“No; the house has none!”

“Can't you get behind a hill, madam?”

The lady gazed around; the country was as flat as a table.

“There is not the least knoll, even, sir!”

“Then, madam,” said the practical and matter-of-fact officer,
“I can only suggest a rifle-pit; your husband and servants
might dig it; and that will certainly protect you.”

Odd as the suggestion may seem, it was immediately adopted,
as the most commonplace and reasonable thing in the world.

The lady thanked the officer, hastened back to the house—
and now behold the grand family hegira toward the field beyond
the house!

First came Mr.—and an old servant, carrying spades
to dig the rifle-pit; next came the little family, who had hastily
taken up whatever they saw first, and especially noticeable
was the young heir of the house. Dimly realizing, apparently,
that their absence might be eternal, he had secured a small tin
cup and two dilapidated old hats, wherewith to comfort himself
in exile; last of all, and in rear, that is, between her off-spring
and the bullets, came the beautiful young mother, full
of anxious solicitude; trembling, but proud and defiant.

I should like to possess your portrait, could it have been
taken at that moment, madam!—to look again to-day, in the
hours of a dull epoch, upon the kind, good face which smiled
so sweetly yonder, making sunshine in the pine-woods of Dinwiddie.

And the family rifle-pit was dug by rapid hands; the lady
and the children looking on with deep interest. Foremost
among the spectators was the brave little urchin grasping his

battered tin cup and tattered old hats, to the possession of
which he seemed to attach a romantic value. Soon a pile of
earth arose; a long trench had been dug; and the lady and
her children took refuge therein at the moment when the crack
of carbines resounded, and bullets began to hiss above the impromptu
earthworks. It was not doomed to be tested by round-shot
or shell from the enemy's cannon. They had abandoned
their artillery from the impossibility of getting through with
it; and only their carbine-balls whistled above the cowering
inmates of the rifle-pit.

Then even these no longer came to make the mother's heart
tremble for her children. Butler's men had charged; the
enemy had given way; when the charming person who related
to me this grotesque incident emerged from her place of refuge,
not a single Federal cavalry-man was in sight. Only the dismantled
grounds and the family rifle-pit remained to show
that the whole was not some nightmare of darkness, which had
flown with the coming of sunshine.