AT "THE BOWER"—RETURN TO ORANGE COUNTY, VIRGINIA—BLUE RUN CHURCH—BRISTOW STATION—RAPPAHANNOCK BRIDGE—SUPPLEMENTING CAMP RATIONS
To return to my retreat from Gettysburg. The clothes that I wore were all that I now possessed. My blanket, extra wearing apparel, lard, apple-butter, sole-leather, etc., with the wounded, were in the hands of the Federals. Being completely cut off from our army, I set out for Winchester. Near Martinsburg I passed the night sleeping on the ground—my first sleep in sixty hours—and reached Winchester the following day. In a day or two, thinking our army had probably reached the Potomac, I turned back to join it. On my way thither I called at "The Bower," the home of my messmate, Steve Dandridge. This was a favorite resort of Gen. J. E. B. Stuart, where, accompanied by the celebrated banjoist, Joe Sweeny, merry nights were passed with song and dance. I was overwhelmed with kindness by Mr. and Mrs. Dandridge, their daughters and nieces. They would not hear of my leaving; at any rate, until they had time to make me some undergarments. In the afternoon I accompanied the young ladies to the fields blackberrying, and had some jolly laughs. They felt that a Confederate soldier should be treated like a king, that he must be worn out with marching and fighting. They insisted on my sitting in the shade while they gathered and brought me the choicest berries, and actually wanted to let the fences down, to save me the effort of climbing. At that time I weighed one hundred and ninety pounds, was in vigorous health and strength, tough as hickory, and could go over or through a Virginia rail fence as deftly as a mule. It was some days before our army could recross the Potomac, on account of high water. As I rode in, on my return to the battery, I was given a regular cheer, all thinking that I was probably, by that time, in Fort Delaware.
Our wounded had been captured in Pennsylvania, except Tom Williamson, who was left at the toll-house and picked up as our battery came by. As he had become my bedfellow since Stuart's death, I was sent with him to Winchester, where I cared for him at the home of Mrs. Anne Magill. During my stay Randolph Tucker, a brother of Mrs. Magill, and Bishop Wilmer, of Alabama, were guests in the house, and Mr. Tucker kept the household alive with his songs and jokes. After a week or more in camp, near Bunker Hill, our despondent army passed through Winchester, thence by Front Royal across the Blue Ridge, and encamped for the remainder of the summer in Orange County, with men and horses greatly depleted in number and spirits.
Our battery camped at Blue Run Church and near a field of corn. Roasting ears afforded the chief portion of our living. It was surprising to see how much, in addition to the army rations, a man could consume day after day, or rather night after night, with no especial alteration in his physique.
Soup was a favorite dish, requiring, as it did, but one vessel for all the courses, and the more ingredients it contained, the more it was relished. Merrick claimed to be an adept in the culinary art, and proposed to several of us that if we would "club in" with him he would concoct a pot that would be food for the gods. He was to remain in camp, have the water boiling, and the meat sufficiently cooked by the time the others returned from their various rounds in search of provender. In due time, one after another, the foragers showed up, having been very successful in their acquisitions, which, according to Merrick's directions, were consigned to the pot. As some fresh contribution, which he regarded as especially savory, was added, Merrick's countenance would brighten up. At one time he sat quietly musing, then gave expression to his joy in an Irish ditty. His handsome suit of clothes, donned at Hagerstown, was now in tatters, which made his appearance the more ludicrous as he "cut the pigeon-wing" around the seething cauldron. He had particularly enjoined upon us, when starting out, to procure, at all hazards, some okra, which we failed to get, and, in naming aloud the various items, as each appeared on the surface of the water, he wound up his soliloquy with, "And now, Lord, for a little okra!"
In September the army moved again toward Manassas, about seventy miles distant. When we arrived at Bristow, the next station south of Manassas, an engagement had just taken place, in which Gen. A. P. Hill had been disastrously outwitted by his adversary, General Warren, and the ground was still strewn with our dead. The Federals were drawn up in two lines of battle, the one in front being concealed in the railroad-cut, while the rear line, with skirmishers in front, stood in full view. The Confederates, unaware of the line in the cut, advanced to the attack without skirmishers and were terribly cut up by the front line, and driven back, with a loss of several pieces of artillery and scores of men. The delay caused by this unfortunate affair gave the Federal army ample time to withdraw at leisure. General Lee arrived on the scene just at the close of this affair and was asked, by General Hill, if he should pursue the then retreating Federals. He replied, "No, General Hill; all that can now be done is to bury your unfortunate dead."
After this we returned to the west side of the Rappahannock and encamped at Pisgah Church, overlooking the plains about Brandy Station. As the war was prolonged, Confederate rations proportionately diminished, both in quantity and variety. Consequently, to escape the pangs of hunger, the few opportunities that presented themselves were gladly seized. In the absence of the sportsmen of peace times, game had become quite abundant, especially quail. But our "murmurings," if any there were, did not avail, as did those of the Israelites, "to fill the camp." I soon succeeded in getting an Enfield rifle, a gun not designed for such small game. By beating Minie-balls out flat, then cutting the plates into square blocks or slugs, I prepared my ammunition, and in the first eleven shots killed nine quail on the wing. I was shooting for the pot, and shot to kill.
From this camp our battery was ordered to occupy a fort on the west side of the river, near Rappahannock Station. Immediately across the river Hayes's and Hoke's brigades of Early's division occupied a line of breastworks as a picket or outpost. A pontoon bridge (a bridge of boats), in place of the railroad bridge, which had been burned, served as a crossing. While a dozen or more of our battery were a mile in the rear of the fort, getting a supply of firewood, another member of the company came to us at a gallop, with orders to return as quickly as possible to the fort. On our arrival the indications of an attack from the enemy were very apparent. They must have anticipated immense slaughter, as no less than a hundred of their ambulances were plainly visible. About four P. M. they opened on us with artillery, and from that time until sundown a spirited contest was kept up. While this was in progress their infantry advanced, but, after a brief but rapid fire of musketry, almost perfect quiet was restored.
While working at my gun I received what I thought to be a violent kick on the calf of my leg, but, turning to discover whence the blow came, saw a Minie-ball spinning on the ground. It was very painful for a time, but did not interrupt my service at the gun. It was too dark for us to see what was going on across the river, but the sudden and complete stillness following the firing was very mysterious. While speculating among ourselves as to what it meant, a half-naked infantryman came almost breathless into our midst and announced that both brigades had been captured, he having escaped by swimming the river. One of our lieutenants refused to believe his statement and did the worthy fellow cruel injustice in accusing him of skulking. That his story was true soon became evident. Our situation was now extremely dangerous, as the Federals had only to cross on the pontoon bridge a hundred yards from the fort and "gobble us up." About nine o'clock General Early, with his other two brigades, arrived. After acquainting himself with the surrounding conditions, he asked our batterymen for a volunteer to burn the bridge. To accomplish this would involve extreme danger, as the moment a light was struck for the purpose a hundred shots could be expected from the opposite end, not more than seventy-five yards away. However, William Effinger, of Harrisonburg, Virginia, one of our cannoneers, promptly volunteered to undertake it; and soon had the bridge in flames, the enemy not firing a shot. For this gallant and daring act, Effinger, after a long time, received a lieutenant's commission and was assigned to another branch of the service.
From this perilous situation we came off surprisingly well, but lost Robert Bell, of Winchester, Virginia. He was struck by a large piece of shell, which passed through his body. During the hour he survived, his companions who could leave their posts went to say good-by. He was a brave soldier and a modest, unassuming gentleman as well. The Federals, satisfied with the capture of the two celebrated brigades without loss to themselves, withdrew—and again we returned to the vicinity of Brandy Station.
In an artillery company two sentinels are kept on post—one to see after the guns and ammunition, the other to catch and tie loose horses or extricate them when tangled in their halters, and the like. Merrick's name and mine, being together on the roll, we were frequently on guard at the same time, and, to while away the tedious hours of the night, would seek each other's company. Our turn came while in this camp one dark, chilly night; the rain falling fast and the wind moaning through the leafless woods. As we stood near a fitful fire, Merrick, apparently becoming oblivious of the dismal surroundings, began to sing. He played the rôle of a lover serenading his sweetheart, opening with some lively air to attract her attention. The pattering of the rain he construed as her tread to the lattice; then poured forth his soul in deepest pathos (the progress of his suit being interpreted, aside, to me), and again fixed his gaze on the imaginary window. Each sound made by the storm he explained as some recognition: the creaking of a bent tree was the gentle opening of the casement, and the timely falling of a bough broken by the wind was a bouquet thrown to his eager grasp, over which he went into raptures. Whether the inspiration was due to a taste of some stimulant or to his recurring moods of intense imagination, I could not say, but the performance was genuinely artistic.
During the last night of our sojourn in this camp I had another experience of as fully absorbing interest. A very tough piece of beef (instead of quail) for supper proved more than my digestive organs could stand. After retiring to my bunk several sleepless hours passed wrestling with my burden. About one o'clock, the struggle being over, with an intense feeling of comfort I was falling into a sound sleep when I heard, in the distance, the shrill note of a bugle, then another and another, as camp after camp was invaded by urgent couriers; then our own bugle took up the alarm and sounded the call to hitch up. Meantime, drums were rolling, till the hitherto stillness of night had become a din of noise. We packed up and pulled out through the woods in the dark, with gun No. 1, to which I belonged, the rear one of the battery. A small bridge, spanning a ditch about five feet deep, had been passed over safely by the other guns and caissons in front, but when my gun-carriage was midway on it the whole structure collapsed. The struggle the detachment of men and horses underwent during the rest of this night of travail constituted still another feature of the vicissitudes of "merry war." Fortunately for us, Lieut. Jack Jordan was in charge, and, as Rockbridge men can testify, any physical difficulty that could not be successfully overcome by a Jordan, where men and horses were involved, might well be despaired of.
After reaching the Rapidan, a day was spent skirmishing with the enemy's artillery on the hills beyond. After which both sides withdrew—we to our former camps.
A short time thereafter I called on my old friends of the College company, whom we seldom met since our severance from the Stonewall Brigade. Two of these college boys, Tedford Barclay and George Chapin, told me that a recent provision had been announced, to the effect that a commission would be granted to any private who should perform some act of conspicuous gallantry in battle, and they had each resolved to earn the offered reward, and to be privates no longer. They were tired of carrying muskets and cartridge-boxes; and, in the next fight, as they expressed it, they had determined to be "distinguished or extinguished."
The determined manner with which it was said impressed me, so that I awaited results with interest. A fortnight had not elapsed before their opportunity came, and they proved true to their resolve. Under a galling fire their regiment hesitated to advance, when the two lads pushed to the front of the line of battle and climbed an intervening fence. Chapin was killed, and Barclay, who survives to this day, received for his daring courage the promised commission as lieutenant.