Part 11 (1/2)
A brief account of my experience while refugeeing may be of interest, as it will give an idea of the horror with which our non-combatants regarded the invasion of their homes by our fellow-countrymen of the North, who had now resorted to fire, after learning by bitter experience that the sword alone could not restore us to the blessings of the Union.
My destination was the home of my aunt, Mrs. Allen, forty miles distant, in Bedford County. After pa.s.sing through the gap between the two peaks of Otter, I reached my aunt's and found there three officers from Louisiana recovering from wounds. After a respite of two days one of the officers, on his return from a neighbor's, brought information that McCausland's command was approaching through the mountain-pa.s.s, with Hunter in close pursuit. In a few hours our house of refuge was overrun by McCausland's hungry soldiers. Again I went through the process of helping to hide valuables and packing up what was to be hauled away. I started at dawn next morning with the officers, leaving my aunt and her three daughters very forlorn and unprotected. When I left she gave me the pistol which her son Robert, colonel of the Twenty-eighth Virginia Regiment, was wearing when he fell in Pickett's charge at Gettysburg. In our care were the loaded wagons, negro men, lowing cows, and bleating sheep.
That afternoon, after exchanging my gray for a fleet-footed cavalry horse ridden by one of the officers, I rode back from our place of hiding, some miles south of Liberty, to reconnoiter; but, after pa.s.sing through the town, met General McCausland at the head of his brigade falling back toward Lynchburg, and rode back a short distance with him to return to my party of refugees, who meantime had moved farther on.
Next day I stopped at a house by the wayside to get dinner, and had just taken my seat at the table when there arose a great commotion outside, with cries of ”Yankee cavalry! Yankee cavalry!” Stepping to the door, I saw a stream of terrified school-children crying as they ran by, and refugees flying for the woods. In a moment I was on my fleet-footed dun, not taking time to pick up a biscuit of my untasted dinner nor the pillow worn between my crippled leg and the saddle, and joined in the flight. I had noticed a yearling colt in the yard of the house as I entered, and in five minutes after I started a twelve-year-old boy mounted on the little thing, barebacked, shot by me with the speed of a greyhound. A hundred yards farther on I overtook some refugee wagons from about Lexington, whose owners had left them on the road and betaken themselves to the woods; but there still stood by them a mulatto man of our town--Lindsay Reid by name--who indignantly refused to be routed, and was doing his utmost, with voice and example, to stem the tide, saying, ”It is a shame to fear anything; let's stand and give them a fight!”
A moment later a negro boy rode by at a gallop in the direction from which the alarm came. In reply to the inquiry as to where he was going, he called out, ”After Ma.r.s.e William.” Relying on him as a picket, I remained in view of the road. In ten minutes he appeared, returning at full speed, and called out to me, as he rode up, that he had ”run almost into them.” They were close behind, and I must ”fly or be caught.” I was well alongside of him as he finished the warning, and for half a mile our horses ran neck and neck. He said he would take me to his old master's, an out-of-the-way place, several miles distant. Arriving there, a nice country house and very secluded, I concealed my horse in the woods as best I could and went to the house, where I was welcomed and cared for by two young ladies and their aged father, Mr. Hurt, who was blind. I was now much exhausted, and determined to take a rest, with the chances of being captured. The occasion of the alarm was a body of Federal cavalry which had been sent on a raid to meet Hunter's army, advancing on Lynchburg.
After two days in this quiet abode I set out to make my way past the rear of Hunter's army and eventually to reach home. On the way to Liberty I was informed that a train of Hunter's wagons and many negroes, under a cavalry escort, were then pa.s.sing northward through the town. To satisfy myself (being again mounted on my father's gray) I rode to the top of a hill overlooking the place. Then a strikingly pretty young lady of about sixteen, bareheaded (although it was not then the fas.h.i.+on), and almost out of breath, who had seen me coming into danger, ran to meet me and called, ”For G.o.d's sake, fly; the town is full of Yankees!” Many years after the war a lady friend of Norfolk, Virginia, who was refugeeing in Liberty at the time, told me that she had witnessed the incident, and said that the girl who had run out to warn me had afterward married a Federal officer. I then went around the town and crossed the road a mile west of it, learning that the wagon-train, etc., had all pa.s.sed.
From this place on, throughout the territory over which this patriotic army had operated, were the desolated homes of helpless people, stripped of every valuable they possessed, and outraged at the wanton destruction of their property, scarcely knowing how to repair the damage or to take up again their broken fortunes. Night had now fallen, but a bright moon rather added to the risks of continuing my journey. An old negro man, however, kindly agreed to pilot me through fields and woods, avoiding the highways, ”as far as Colonel Nichol's” (his master's). When near his destination he went ahead to reconnoiter, and soon returned from the house, accompanied by one of the ladies, who told me that their house and premises had been overrun by Yankees all day, and that some of them were still prowling about, and, in her fright, pointed to each bush as an armed foe.
Camp-fires still burning enabled me to steer clear of the road, but it was midnight when I reached my aunt's, and, going to the negro cabin farthest from her dwelling, I succeeded, after a long time, in getting ”Uncle” Mose to venture out of his door. He said he thought the Yankees were all gone, but to wait till he crept up to the house and let ”Ole Miss” know I was about. He reported the way clear, and I was soon in the side porch. After the inmates were satisfied as to my ident.i.ty, the door was opened just enough for me to squeeze through. The family, consisting of females, including the overseer's wife, who had come for protection, quietly collected in the sitting-room, where a tallow candle, placed not to attract attention from outside, shed a dim light over my ghostlike companions clad in their night-dresses. The younger ladies were almost hysterical, and all looked as if they had pa.s.sed through a fearful storm at sea, as various experiences were recounted. The house had been ransacked from garret to cellar, and what could not be devoured or carried off was scattered about, and such things as sugar, vinegar, flour, salt, etc., conglomerately mixed. The only food that escaped was what the negroes had in their cabins, and this they freely divided with the whites.
The next day I concealed myself and horse in the woods, and was lying half-asleep when I heard footsteps stealthily approaching through the leaves. Presently a half-grown negro, carrying a small basket, stumbled almost on me. He drew back, startled at my question, ”What do you want?”
and replied, ”Nothin'; I jus' gwine take 'Uncle' Mose he dinner. He workin' in de fiel' over yander.” My dinner was to be sent by a boy named Phil, so I said, ”Is that you, Phil?” ”Lordy! Is that you, Ma.r.s.e Eddie? I thought you was a Yankee! Yas, dis is me, and here's yer dinner I done brung yer.” Phil, who belonged to my aunt, had run off several weeks before, but of his own accord had returned the preceding day, and this was our first meeting.
As Hunter's army was still threatening Lynchburg, to avoid the scouting-parties scouring the country in his rear I set out on Sunday morning to make my way back to Lexington by Peteet's Gap. I was scarcely out of sight--in fact one of my cousins, as I learned afterward, ran to the porch to a.s.sure herself that I was gone--when twenty-five or thirty Federal cavalry, accompanied by a large, black dog, and guided by one of my aunt's negroes armed and dressed in Federal uniform, galloped into the yard and searched the house for ”rebel soldiers.” Pa.s.sing through the Federal campground, from among the numerous household articles, etc., I picked up a book, on the fly-leaf of which was written, ”Captured at Was.h.i.+ngton College, Lexington, _Rockingham_ County, Virginia.” That afternoon, as I was slowly toiling up the steep mountain path almost overgrown with ferns, I was stopped by an old, white-bearded mountaineer at a small gate which he held open for me. While asking for the news, after I had dismounted, he noticed the split b.u.t.ton on my coat and my torn trousers, and, pausing for a moment, he said, very solemnly, ”Well, you ought to be a mighty good young man.” I asked why he thought so. ”Well,” said he, ”the hand of G.o.d has certainly been around you.”
That night I spent at Judge Anderson's, in Arnold's Valley, and the next day reached Lexington--a very different Lexington from the one I had left a fortnight before. The Virginia Military Inst.i.tute barracks, the professors' houses, and Governor Letcher's private home had been burned, and also all neighboring mills, etc., while the intervening and adjacent grounds were one great desolate common. Preparations had also been made to burn Was.h.i.+ngton College, when my father, who was a trustee of that inst.i.tution, called on General Hunter, and, by explaining that it was endowed by and named in honor of General Was.h.i.+ngton, finally succeeded in preventing its entire destruction, although much valuable apparatus, etc., had already been destroyed.
Comparisons are odious, but the contrast between the conduct of Northern and Southern soldiers during their invasions of each other's territory is very striking and suggestive; especially when taken in connection with the fact that the Federal army, from first to last, numbered twenty-eight hundred thousand men, and the Confederates not more than six hundred and fifty thousand.
General Early, with three divisions, having been despatched from the army near Richmond, had reached Lynchburg in time to prevent its occupancy by Hunter, who promptly retreated, and his army soon became a ma.s.s of fugitives, struggling through the mountains of West Virginia on to the Ohio River. The Confederates at Lynchburg, all told, numbered 11,000 men, the Federals 20,000.
An incident which occurred in Rockbridge County, the partic.i.p.ants in which were of the ”cradle and grave” cla.s.ses, deserves mention. Maj.
Angus McDonald, aged seventy, having four sons in our army, set out from Lexington with his fourteen-year-old son Harry, refugeeing. They were joined, near the Natural Bridge, by Mr. Thomas Wilson, a white-haired old man; and the three determined to give battle to Hunter's army. From a hastily constructed shelter of rails and stones they opened, with shotguns and pistols, on his advance guard, but, of course, were quickly overpowered. Mr. Wilson was left for dead on the ground, and the McDonalds captured. The father was taken to a Northern prison, but Harry made his escape by night in the mountains, and in turn captured a Federal soldier, whom I saw him turn over to the provost on his return to Lexington. General Early pursued Hunter no farther than Botetourt County, and thence pa.s.sed through Lexington on his disastrous campaign toward Was.h.i.+ngton.
CHAPTER XXVI
PERSONAL MENTION OF OFFICERS AND MEN--ROCKBRIDGE ARTILLERY--SECOND ROCKBRIDGE ARTILLERY
As has already been mentioned, the captain under whom the battery was mustered into service was the Rev. Wm. N. Pendleton, rector of the Episcopal Church in Lexington, Virginia, who, after the first battle of Mana.s.sas, became chief of artillery of the Army of Northern Virginia.
His only son, Alexander S. Pendleton, graduated at Was.h.i.+ngton College at the age of 18. He entered the army from the University of Virginia at the beginning of the war as lieutenant on General Jackson's staff, and rose through the various grades of promotion to the rank of lieutenant-colonel. After General Jackson's death he continued to fill the position of adjutant to the succeeding commanders of the corps until he fell in battle near Winchester, in 1864. He was one of the bravest and most efficient staff officers in the Army of Northern Virginia.
The captains of the battery under whom I served were three uncommonly brave and capable officers.
The first, William McLaughlin, after making an enviable record with the company, distinguished himself as commander of a battalion of artillery in General Early's company in 1864.
The second, Captain W. T. Poague, whose reputation for efficiency and courage won for him the command of a battalion of artillery in A. P.
Hill's corps, was amply equipped with both intelligence and valor to have handled an army division with credit to himself and advantage to the service.
The third, Archibald Graham, who was appointed a sergeant upon the organization of the company, then elected a lieutenant, and for the last two years of the war captain, had the distinction of having been in every engagement in which the battery took part from Hainesville, in 1861, to Appomattox in 1865. His dreamy, brown eyes kindled most at the sound of good music, and where the noise of battle was greatest, and sh.e.l.ls flew thickest, there Graham lingered, as if courting danger.
Our First Lieut. W. M. Brown, a brave officer, wounded and captured at Gettysburg, remained in prison from that time until the close of the war.
Lieut. J. B. McCorkle, a n.o.ble fellow and recklessly brave, was killed at first Fredericksburg.