1. I.
The writer's object in the present paper is to chronicle the
events of a day in the pine-woods of Dinwiddie in 1865, and
to mention a circumstance which impressed him forcibly at the
time; nearly convincing him of the truth of “presentiments,”
and warnings of approaching death.
It was early in February of the year 1865, and General
Grant had for some time been straining every nerve to force
his way to the Southside railroad—when General Lee would
be cut off from his base of supplies, and compelled to retreat
or surrender his army. Grant had exhibited a persistence
which amounted to genius; and the Federal lines had been
pushed from the Jerusalem to the Weldon road, from the
Weldon to the Vaughan and Squirrel Level roads, and thence
still westward beyond Hatcher's Run, toward the White Oak
road, running through the now well-known locality of Five
Forks. On the western bank of the run, near Burgess's Mill,
General Lee's extreme right confronted the enemy, barring his
further advance.
The Confederate right was almost unprotected by cavalry.
This unfortunate circumstance arose from the fact that after
the destruction of the Weldon Railroad as far south as Hicksford,
fifty miles from Petersburg, the cavalry was obliged to
repair to that distant point for forage. Never was anything
more unfortunate; but it was one of those misfortunes which
no generalship could prevent. By sheer force of numbers,
General Grant had effected the destruction of the road; the
Southside road could not supply forage; the cavalry horses
must go to Hicksford or starve. Such was the explanation of
the fact that General Lee's right was guarded only by a small
regiment or two of horse, on picket.
Such was the “situation.” Grant on the banks of Hatcher's
Run; the Rowanty almost unguarded; the path open for cavalry
to the Southside road; Five Forks, and the retreat of
the Confederate army, looming in the distance. The passionate
struggle which had for four years drawn to the great arena the
eyes of all the world was about to be decided amid the sombre
pines of Dinwiddie.
A few scenes in these pine woods at the crisis referred to
may interest the reader. The narrative will probably convey
a better idea of the “times as they were” than a more ambitious
record—the familiar view being generally the best.
While the infantry lines were closing in the death-grapple in
front of Petersburg, the blue and gray horsemen were hunting
each other in the Dinwiddie forests, and the game was not unexciting.
The “events of a day” are here rapidly traced, just
as they appeared to the writer. No tremendous exploits will
be narrated or “thrilling adventures” recorded; but perhaps
some of the actual colouring of the great war-canvas will be
caught in the hasty memoir.
Returning from a tour of inspection at Hicksford, night surprised
me not far from Nottoway river; and having crossed
that turbulent stream at risk of drowning my horse, I spent the
night at the hospitable mansion of Mr. D—, not far from
Halifax bridge, on the Rowanty. The Federal forces were just
beyond the stream, and no Confederate picket between; but
the night passed undisturbed even by the prowling of a single
Federal scout; and on the next morning the line of march was
resumed for Petersburg by way of Malone's.
Two hundred yards to the left of Halifax bridge there suddenly
appeared a number of “scattered” cavalry-men—gray—
approaching at full gallop, evidently stampeded.
“What is the matter?”
“The Yankees have crossed with two regiments at Malone's!”
from the hurrying horseman.
“Did you see them?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where is your regiment?”
“Back to Kirby's, and everything is ordered to Dinwiddie
Court-House!”
This report was soon confirmed by the rest, and “full particulars,”
as the journals say, were given. A strong force of Federal
cavalry had suddenly attacked the small regiment on picket
at Malone's, and dispersed it, nearly capturing Gen. William
H. F. Lee, who chanced to be there inspecting his lines. This
force had steadily pressed on, the Confederates retiring; was
now at Kirby's, and soon would be at Dinwiddie Court-House.
This was not eminently agreeable to myself personally.
“Kirby's” was on the only road to Petersburg, except by way
of Malone's—for the time rendered impracticable—and to
reach my journey's end it seemed necessary to make the circuit
by Dinwiddie Court-House. To attempt the road by Kirby's
was certain capture; and in an undoubted bad humour the
“solitary horseman,” as Mr. James would say, turned to the
left, crossed Stony Creek, struck into the “Flat Foot Road,”
and in due time drew near Roney's bridge, on the upper waters
of the stream, near Dinwiddie. Within a quarter of a mile of
the stream a soldier made his appearance, coming to meet me,
and this individual informed me with the politest possible salute
that I had better “look out, as the Yankees were at the bridge.”
“At the bridge! Where?”
“At Roney's bridge, just in front, sir.”
This was the “unkindest cut of all.” I had made a wearisome
circuit, reached a supposed place of crossing—and here
were my blue friends again like a lion in the path, rendering
it necessary to strike still higher up the stream. At this rate
it seemed probable that I would be forced to return to Petersburg
by way of Lynchburg and Richmond! Malone's—Kirby's—Dinwiddie—the
enemy were everywhere.
A good military rule, however, is to “believe nothing you
hear, and only half you see.” The report that Federal cavalry
was at the bridge in front was probable, but not certain. They
might be Confederates; and taking the soldier with me, I proceeded
to reconnoitre. As we reached the vicinity, the woods
were seen to be full of dismounted cavalry, but whether these
were Federal or Confederate, it was impossible to say. Drawing
nearer, the men seemed to be the latter; nearer still, and
the surmise was confirmed. Regulation gray had long disappeared—our
cavalry were nondescript in costume—but the
sharpshooters in front were not in blue.
One came out to meet me, carbine ready—a quite useless
precaution it seemed—and the following dialogue ensued:
“What command?” I asked.
“General Lee's.”
“Where are the Yankees?”
“Just over the bridge.”
Then the road by Dinwiddie Court-House was blockaded!
Meditating with melancholy resignation on this fact, I unconsciously
turned my horse's head from the bridge, when my
friend with the carbine made a quick step toward me, and catching
his eye, I found the expression of that member doubtful,
puzzled, but not friendly. In fact the carbineer had his weapon
cocked, and was evidently ready to bestow its contents on me
if I moved a step.
Then, for the first time, the truth flashed on me. I was wearing
a blue “Yankee overcoat” concealing my Confederate uniform;
my hat was noudescript; there was absolutely nothing
to show that I was not some adventurous Federal officer who
had crossed the stream below, come up the Flat Foot road in
rear of the Confederates to reconnoitre, and was about to return
with the information acquired. To prevent this, my friend
with the carbine evidently intended to send a bullet after me
as soon as I moved.
This comic situation was a safety valve for all ill-humour,
and one of the men having run for his Lientenant, I gave that
officer my name and rank—which announcement was greeted,
however, with a similar glance of doubt. A few words dissipated
this.
“Where is General Lee, Lieutenant?”
“Just over the hill.”
“I will go there.”
And accompanied by the young officer, I found General W.
H. F. Lee, who had been compelled with his one or two hundred
men—the whole force of the regiment—to retire behind
the stream. His sharpshooters were now posted to rake the
bridge if the enemy appeared, and a mounted party had been
sent toward Dinwiddie Court-House.
After a few moments' conversation with General Lee—that
brave and courteous gentleman, whom I am glad to call my
friend—I found that the reports of the cavalry-men were correct.
The enemy's horse, in strong force, had driven him back
to Dinwiddie, and were then at the Court-House. General Lee
informed me, laughing, that in the charge he had been very
nearly stampeded for the first time in his life, his horse, “Fitz
Lee,” an unruly animal of great power, having whirled round
at the first volley from the enemy, and nearly carried his rider
off the field! In great disgust at this unmilitary conduct, the
General had mounted a more manageable courser.
Whilst the General was narrating these particulars, two young
officers of his staff, Captains Lee and Dandridge, came in, after
a hot chase. The former had been entirely surrounded, but
kept the woods, taking advantage of every opening; and finally
perceiving an interval between the rear of one Federal cavalry
regiment and the head of column of another, he had put spurs
to his horse, charged the opening, and jumped through. The
latter officer was also “cut off,” and manœnvred in a similar
manner, when, as he turned a bend in the bridle-path which
he was following, he came suddenly upon a body of foot-soldiers
clad in dark blue, with burnished guns at the right shoulder
shift, steadily advancing southward. This was enormously
puzzling! Why should a Federal infantry battalion be going
south at that moment? And then there was something singular
in the uniform and equipments of the men—very unlike Federals.
Their coats were of
navy blue, of unfamiliar cut; and
they had cutlasses apparently in their belts.
Captain Dandridge had gazed at this party with astonishment
for some moments, when all at once he was perceived,
and an officer, apparently, beckoned to him. To go or not to
go—that was the question; but he finally decided to approach,
and did so. Then the mystery was quickly solved. The men
in blue were a battalion of Confederate marines, and they
were proceeding toward the Nottoway river to make a circuit,
approach James river far below City Point, board and seize
upon a Federal “ram,” and then steam up the James, and
destroy Grant's fleet of transports at City Point. This excellent
scheme was thoroughly arranged; the torpedoes to be
used were hidden in the woods of Nottoway ready for the
party, when a deserter went over and informed the enemy, in
consequence of which the expedition was abandoned.
We have seen how, by a singular chance, the battalion set
out on its march, armed and prepared, the very day that the
enemy's cavalry crossed the Rowanty. More singular still,
they passed along in rear of the Federal cavalry without discovering
them or being discovered. This, all things considered,
was one of the most curious events of the war; as the scheme
proposed for the destruction of the Federal transports was one
of the boldest.
General W. H. F. Lee waited at Roney's bridge for some
time, expecting an advance of the enemy's cavalry; but none
coming, he sounded to horse, placed himself at the head of his
small column of about eight or a hundred men, and pushed
out toward Dinwiddie Court-House to attack the raiders. Before
he had advanced far, intelligence came that the enemy had
evacnated the Court-House, and were falling back toward Cattail
Creek, in the vicinity of which their infantry was stationed.
General Lee immediately followed, came up with their rear
at Cattail, and here a brief skirmish took place, just as night
descended. The lines of Federal infantry which had advanced
that day were discovered; and no further advance in that direction
was attempted, the cavalry returning toward Dinwiddie.
An odd incident marked this rapid ride after the retiring
Federal cavalry. In the middle of the road we found two
Confederate cavalry-men with a prisoner whom they had
caught, and the worthy in question attracted our attention. He
was clad in semi-military costume; a blue-gray overcoat of
fine cloth, with a long cavalry cape to it, decorated with a
dazzling row of buttons; an excellent new hat; and rode a
superb horse, which would have brought five or six thousand
dollars in Confederate money.
As we came up—Captains Robert Lee, Philip Dandridge,
and myself—this gentleman complained in animated terms of
the immorality involved in capturing “a non-combatant;” he
was not a soldier, only the “correspondent of the New York
Herald,” and he hoped that he would immediately be released.
This train of reasoning, impressed upon his listeners in a most
voluble and eloquent voice, accompanied by animated gestures,
did not seem to convince anybody; and the men were directed
to take the prisoner back to Dinwiddie Court-House, and as he
was evidently a man of decision and resources, “shoot him if
he tried to escape, making no attempt to recapture him.”
He was accordingly started back, under convoy of the two
cavalry-men, and had proceeded about three or four hundred
yards, when our attention was attracted to him again by an
outcry in that direction. Turning round, we saw that something
curious was going on, and hastily spurred to the scene.
Lo! as we approached, there was the prisoner scudding across
the field, his cape floating in the wind, his horse at a full run,
pursued by carbine-balls! None struck him, however; and in
a moment he had disappeared in the belt of woods near at
hand, in which lay perdus the line of Federal infantry.
A few words from the chop-fallen cavalry-men and an old
negro, at a small house near by, explained everything. Three
or four Federal cavalry-men had been left behind by their comrades
on the retreat, and had stopped at the house to ask the
way to their lines. While thus employed, the prisoner and his
escort came by; the Federal cavalry men rushed forth to the
rescue, “put their pistols” on the unsuspecting escort, and
now both rescuers and rescued were safe within their own
lines!
The whole affair was truly laughable, and the gallant “correspondent”
deserved his good fortune, since he made a true
John Gilpin run for liberty. I did not grudge him the enjoyment
thereof at all, but must confess to a keen feeling of regret
at the loss of his horse. He appeared to be an excellent
animal; and to “covet your neighbour's horse,” if he chanced
to be desirable, was in those days the besetting sin of every
true cavalry-man!
