S. McGowan and W.D. Simpson returned to South Carolina after the battle of Manassas, and assisted in raising the Fourteenth South Carolina Regiment of Volunteers, of which the former was elected Lieutenant Colonel and the latter Major. Colonel McGowan became Colonel of the regiment, and afterwards Brigadier of one of the most [46] famous brigades (McGowan's) in the Confederate Army. Colonel Simpson served in the Confederate Congress after his retirement from the army.
All the others of the staff filled prominent positions, either as commanding or staff officers, or serving in the departments in Richmond. I have no data at hand to give sketches of their individual services.
Fairfax Court House was the extreme limit at which the infantry was posted on that side of the Blue Ridge. Cavalry was still in advance, and under the leadership of the indefatigable Stuart scouting the whole front between the Confederate and Federal armies. The Third South Carolina was encamped about a mile north of the little old fashioned hamlet, the county seat of the county of that name. In this section of the State lived the ancestors of most of the illustrious families of Virginia, Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, and Lee. It is a rather picturesque country; not so beautiful and productive, however, as the Shenandoah and Luray Valleys. The Seventh, Eighth, and Second Regiments were encamped several miles distant, but all in the hearing of one another's drums. Our main duties outside of our regular drills consisted in picketing the highways and blockading all roads by felling the timber across for more than a hundred yards on either side of the roads. Large details armed with axes were sent out to blockade the thoroughfares leading to Washington and points across the Potomac. For miles out, in all directions, wherever the road led through wooded lands, large trees, chestnut, hickory, oak, and pine, were cut pell mell, creating a perfect abattis across the road—so much so as to cause our troops in their verdant ignorance to think it almost an impossibility for such obstructions to be cleared away in many days; whereas, as a fact, the pioneer corps of the Federal Army cleared it away as fast as the army marched, not causing as much as one hour's halt. Every morning at nine o'clock one company from a regiment would go out about two miles in the direction of Washington Falls church or Annandale to do picket duty, and remain until nine o'clock next day, when it would be relieved by another company. The "Black Horse Cavalry," an old organization of Virginia, said to have remained intact since the Revolution, did vidette duty still beyond the [47] infantry. Their duties were to ride through the country in every direction, and on every road and by-way to give warning of approaching danger to the infantry. These were bold riders in those days, some daring to ride even within view of the spires and domes of Washington itself. On our outposts we could plainly hear the sound of the drums of the Federalists in their preparation for the "on to Richmond" move. General Bonham had also some fearless scouts at this time. Even some of the boldest of the women dared to cross the Potomac in search of information for the Confederate Generals. It was here that the noted Miss Bell Boyd made herself famous by her daring rides, her many escapades and hair-breadth escapes, her bold acts of crossing the Potomac sometimes disguised and at other times not, even entering the City of Washington itself. In this way she gathered much valuable information for the Confederate Generals, and kept them posted on the movements of the enemy. She was one of the best horsewomen of that day; a fine specimen of womanhood, and as fearless and brave as a stout hearted cavalier. She generally carried a brace of Colt's revolvers around her waist, and was daring enough to meet any foe who was so bold as to cross her path. Bell Boyd was one of the many noble Virginia women who staked and dared all for the cause of the South. William Parley, of South Carolina, another bold scout, was invaluable to General Stuart and General Bonham. It was he that John Esten Cooke immortalized in "Surry of Eagle's Nest" and was killed at the battle of Chancellorsville. He was a native of Laurens County.
The duties of picketing were the first features of our army life that looked really like war. The soldiers had become accustomed to guard duty, but to be placed out on picket or vidette posts alone, or in company with a comrade, to stand all day and during the dead hours of the night, expecting some lurking foe every moment to shoot you in the back, or from behind some bush to shoot your head off, was quite another matter. As a guard, we watched over our friends; as a picket, we watched for our foe. For a long time, being no nearer the enemy than the hearing of their drums, the soldiers had grown somewhat careless. But there was an uncanny feeling in standing alone in the still hours of the night, in a strange country, watching, waiting [48] for an enemy to crawl up and shoot you unawares. This feeling was heightened, especially in my company, by an amusing incident that happened while on picket duty on the Annandale road. Up to this time there had been no prisoners captured on either side, and it was uncertain as to what would be the fate of any who would fall in the enemy's hands. As we were considered traitors and rebels, the penalty for that crime was, as we all knew, death. The Northern press had kept up quite a howl, picturing the long rows of traitors that would be hung side by side as soon as they had captured the Confederate Army. That there was a good deal of "squeamishness" felt at the idea of being captured, cannot be doubted. So videttes were stationed several hundred yards down the road with a picket post of four men, between the outside sentinels and the company, as reserve. A large pine thicket was to our right, while on the left was an old field with here and there a few wild cherry trees. The cherries being ripe, some of the men had gone up in the trees to treat themselves to this luscious little fruit. The other part of the company lay indolently about, sheltering themselves as best they could from the rays of the hot July sun, under the trees. Some lay on the tops of fences, and in corners, while not a few, with coats and vests off, enjoyed a heated game of "old sledge." All felt a perfect security, for with the pickets in front, the cavalry scouring the country, and the almost impassable barricades of the roads, seemed to render it impossible for an enemy to approach unobserved. The guns leaned carelessly against the fence or lay on the ground, trappings, etc., scattered promiscuously around. Not a dream of danger; no thought of a foe. While the men were thus pleasantly engaged, and the officers taking an afternoon nap, from out in the thicket on the right came "bang-bang," and a hail of bullets came whizzing over our heads. What a scramble! What an excitement! What terror depicted on the men's faces! Had a shower of meteors fallen in our midst, had a volcano burst from the top of the Blue Ridge, or had a thunder bolt fell at our feet out of the clear blue sky, the consternation could not have been greater. Excitement, demoralization, and panic ensued. Men tumbled off the fences, guns were reached for, haversacks and canteens hastily grabbed, and, as usual in such panics, no one could get hold of his own. Some started [49] up the road, some down. Officers thus summarily aroused were equally demoralized. Some gave one order, some another. "Pandemonium reigned supreme." Those in the cherry trees came down, nor did the "cherry pickers" stand on the order of their coming. The whole Yankee army was thought to be over the hills. At last the officer commanding got the men halted some little distance up the road; a semblance of a line formed, men cocked their guns and peered anxiously through the cracks of the rail fence, expecting to see an enemy behind every tree. A great giant, a sergeant from the mountain section, who stood six feet, three inches in his stockings, and as brave as he was big, his face flushed with excitement, his whole frame trembling with emotion, in his shirt sleeves and bareheaded, rushed to the middle of the road, braced himself, as waiting for some desperate shock, and stood like Horatio Cockles at the Bridge, waving his gun in the air, calling out in defiant and stentorian voice, "Come on, I'll fight all of you; I'll fight old Lincoln from here to the sea." Such a laugh as was set up afterwards, at his expense! The amusing part of it was the parties who fired the shots at the time the stampeding was going on with us, were running for dear life's sake across the fields, worse scared, if possible, than we ourselves. They were three of a scouting party, who had eluded our pickets, and seeing our good, easy, and indifferent condition, took it into their heads to have a little amusement at our expense. But the sound of their guns in the quiet surrounding, no doubt excited the Yankees as much as it did the Confederates. This was an adventure not long in reaching home, for to be shot at by a real live Yankee was an event in every one's life at the time not soon to be forgotten. But it was so magnified, that by the time it reached home, had not the battle of Bull Run come in its heels so soon, this incident would no doubt have ever remained to those who were engaged in it as one of the battles of the war. The only casualty was a hole shot through a hat. I write this little incident to show the difference in raw and seasoned troops. One year later such an incident would not have disturbed those men any more than the buzzing of a bee. Picket duty after this incident was much more stringent. Two men were made to stand on post all night, without relief, only such as they [50] gave each other. Half of the company's reserve were kept awake all night. Orders were given that the utmost silence should prevail, the men were not even to speak above a whisper, and on the approach of anyone they were to be hailed with the command, "Halt, who comes there?" If a satisfactory answer was given, they were allowed to pass. If not, to remain standing, and an officer of the guard called. At night they were to call "halt" three times, and if no answer, they were to fire and retreat to the reserve.
One night, shortly after this, one of the companies from Spartanburg had been sent out about three miles to the intersection of a country road leading off to the left. Down this country road, or lane, were two pickets. They concealed themselves during the day in the fence corners, but at night they crawled over into a piece of timber land, and crouched down behind a large oak. The shooting incident of a few days before made the two pickets feel somewhat tender at thus being alone in the forest, when at any moment an enemy might creep upon them sufficiently near as to shoot them in the dark. Everything was as quiet as the grave. The stars, peeping faintly out from behind the clouds, midnight came, and each began to nod, when a twig breaks some distance in front, then another, then the rustling of dry leaves. Their hearts leap to their throats and beat like sledge hammers. One whispers to the other, "Whist, some one is coming." They strain their ears to better catch the sound. Surely enough they hear the leaves rustling as if some one is approaching. "Click," "click," the two hammers of their trusty rifles spring back, fingers upon the triggers, while nearer the invisible comes. "Halt," rang out in the midnight air; "halt," once more, but still the steady tread keeps approaching. When the third "halt" was given it was accompanied by the crack of their rifles. A deafening report and frightful squeal, as an old female porker went charging through the underbrush like mad. The crack of the rifles alarmed the sleeping companions in reserve, who rushed to arms and awaited the attack. But after much good humored badgering of the two frightened sentinels, "peace reigned once more at Warsaw" till the break of day. The company returned next morning to camp, but [51] the two sentinels who had fired on the old innocent porker were glad enough to seek the quietude of their quarters to escape the jests of their comrades.
A simple system of breastworks was thrown up just beyond our camp at Fairfax on a little eminence to the right of the road. This we thought sufficient to defeat quite an army, or at least keep them at bay. General Bonham had his headquarters at Fairfax Court House, but rode out daily to examine the work done on the entrenchments, or inspect the picket and outposts. General Bonham was one of the finest looking officers in the entire army. His tall, graceful figure, his commanding appearance, his noble bearing, and soldierly mien were all qualities to excite the confidence and admiration of his troops. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, with a waving plume floating out behind, and sat his horse as knightly as Charles the Bold, or Henry of Navarre. His soldiers were proud of him, and loved to do him homage. He endeared himself to his officers, and while he was a good disciplinarian as far as the volunteer service required, he did not treat his officers with that air of superiority, nor exact that rigid military courtesy that is required in the regular army. I will here give a short sketch of his life for the benefit of his old comrades in arms.
MILLEDGE LUKE BONHAM
Was born near Red Bank in that part of Edgefield District now included in Saluda County, South Carolina, on the 25th day of December, 1813. His father, Captain James Bonham, who had come from Virginia to South Carolina about the close of the last century, was the son of Major Absalom Bonham, who was a native of Maryland, but who enlisted for the war of the Revolution in a New Jersey regiment, and became a Major of the line on the establishment of that State. After the Revolution he moved to Virginia. Captain James Bonham was himself at the siege of Yorktown as a lad of fifteen, in a company whose captain was only twenty years old. He first settled in this State in the District of Colleton, and there married. After the death of his wife, he moved to Edgefield District, and there married Sophie Smith, who was the mother of the subject of this sketch. She was the daughter of Jacob Smith and his wife, Sallie Butler, who was a sister of that Captain James Butler [52] who was the forefather of the illustrious family of that name in this State, and who with his young son, also named James, was cruelly massacred along with others at Cloud's Creek, in Edgefield District, by "Bloody Bill" Cunningham.