When I found that a surrender was inevitable, I seized my pistol by the muzzle (a weapon that had been presented me before leaving home) and threw it far out into the river, rather than have it fall into the hands of the enemy. At the same time the Sergeant in charge of the big gun spiked it, by driving in a rat-tail file with a hammer and breaking it off close to the piece. We were at once asked to lay down our arms, and were marched under guard down to the left, receiving, as we went, a furious discharge of grape from Fort Williams, under the supposition that we were Confederates, Hoke’s main column following along the line of works, taking them in detail until Fort Williams alone remained to Gen. Wessels; and this was completely surrounded, and hemmed in on all sides, while the sharpshooters of the enemy were stationed in the houses, where they could effectually prevent the men from serving the guns. Bravely did Wessels defend his stronghold, repelling all assaults until nearly noon, when he met Hoke under a flag of truce, to agree upon terms of the surrender, Wessels asking that he be allowed to march out with his colors, the officers retaining their side arms. This Hoke refused to grant, though complimenting Gen. Wessels on the gallant manner in which he had defended his works. He said that any further show of resistance would only result in an unnecessary sacrifice of life, and if Wessels still persisted in holding the works, and he was obliged to carry them by assault, he (Hoke) would not be responsible for what followed. This Gen. Wessels construed as a threat of a repetition of the Fort Pillow massacre, and saying, “You may go back and open fire,” haughtily turned on his heel and returned to the fort. The men were well protected by heavy bomb-proofs, and only those who were serving the guns were exposed to the fire of the rebel sharpshooters, who occupied every available place on all sides, and were making fearful havoc among them.
Twice was the flag staff shot away and replaced, and so effectual was the fire of these sharpshooters, that it was almost certain death for any one to approach a gun; when, after his nephew and aide-de-camp, Lieut. Foot, had received a very severe wound while trying to rally the men to the guns, the gallant old General reluctantly hauled down his flag, and Plymouth was once more in the hands of the enemy.
Hoke had won a victory after four days of hard fighting, but at what a fearful price. With eight thousand and veteran troops, and the assistance of the huge iron-clad ram Albemarle, he had made prisoners of nearly two thousand Union troops, after a loss of nearly or quite two thousand men in killed and wounded. In fact the Petersburg papers of the 27th acknowledged a loss of seventeen hundred in this battle.
CHAPTER V.
marched off over the battlefield a prisoner—among the enemies dead and wounded—evidences of our deadly work—the rebs go a gunning for “niggers”—the johnnies appropriating my wardrobe—massacre of the colored troops—they are drawn up in line and shot down like dogs by order of general hoke—caring for our wounded and burying our dead.
This attack commenced at half-past four, and at half-past six a. m. of April 20th, I was a prisoner. As we marched past Comphor redoubt to the Johnson farm, a mile to the south, we had an opportunity to witness the terrible slaughter the victory had cost the enemy.
Dead bodies of men and animals were strewn in every direction. Broken caissons and disabled cannon in front of these two redoubts showed plainly what a terrific struggle had been gone through with in their front.