How tender the fellow feeling of one soldier for another, though on opposite sides, is shown by the following incident: The Union soldiers, well knowing that we were scarce of food, at dusk one day called to one of our men, "Say, Johnnie, are you hungry?" "Yes," replied the Confederate, "have had but little to eat for two or three days," to which the Union soldier said, "Bring your haversack over here and I will take you to the sutler and fill it," but the Confederate demurred, giving as his reason that he was afraid he would be captured. Being assured, however, upon the honor of a soldier that he should have a safe return, he went, and the Union soldier filled his haversack and returned him safely to our lines.
The enemy was reported shifting about in our front beyond and behind the timber, where we could not see him, and supposing he might be preparing for an attack upon us, by order of the Colonel, with Pitts of Company C and Crawford of Company D, I went to the front, outside our pickets, where I ran upon a scouting or observation party of the enemy, by whom we were fired on, and came near being gobbled up, but escaped and returned within our lines. We had a close call.
Wishing to visit some friends in Captain David A. French's artillery company, then stationed near Chaffin's Bluff north of the James, three miles away, I obtained a pass and put off on September 28, spending the night with friends, finding myself the next morning almost in a hornet's nest, for on the morning of the 29th the Federal troops advanced and captured Fort Harrison, a mile to the front of the camp of French's company. I followed the battery, witnessing the fight, in which the Federals advancing from Fort Harrison were repulsed. French lost several men, among them Adam Johnston, killed. I did not tarry long, but set out for my command, meeting on the way a part of our division, the 24th Virginia regiment among them, on their way to reinforce our troops in front of Fort Harrison, where they were defeated in the attempt to recapture the fort.
As already stated, the line from the Howlett House to Swift Creek, some three miles in length, was held by Pickett's division, four thousand strong; the skirmish line or rifle pits of the opposing forces were close together, say 30 yards apart, and the main lines but a few hundred yards away. Our line was so thin and so drawn out that when thrown into the trenches it made scarcely more than a strong skirmish line. We were frequently in the trenches expecting attack, and the morning following the battle of Winchester we were sure the enemy was coming, but he was content with firing a shotted salute. At this time desertions from our ranks, as well as from the ranks of the enemy, became more frequent and punishment more sure. Numbers of the enemy came into our lines and were sent to the rear and the same course was pursued by the enemy with men deserting from us. Now and then a man instead of going over to the enemy would go home and hide and when caught would be tried and shot. This happened to a mere boy, a member of Company B of our regiment, who was executed October 18, 1864. At this distance from the war, a half century, such a thing may shock the reader, but war at best is a horrible thing and discipline must be enforced. It was not strange that some men deserted and went home. Many had families dependent on them for food and support. The soldier's pay for a month, in Confederate currency, with the necessaries of life advanced to enormous figures, would not buy a half bushel of wheat for his family. The cry of his children for bread reached his ears and this was more than his heart could bear. He became dissatisfied—anxious for the suffering ones at home. He was willing to bare his breast to the storm, and undergo the hardships and privations of camp life and the dangers of the battlefield, if he knew his wife and children were kept from starving, but their appeals for food moved him; he would obtain leave to go if he could, otherwise he would go without leave; but it will be seen if this were permitted the army would soon be depleted, and the cause we were fighting for lost. The dilemma was therefore a trying one to many a good man.
The Colonel of the 7th regiment, having instructions to capture a prisoner to obtain certain information wanted, and going to the skirmish line, where Company D under Captain Bane was on picket, instructed him to secure such prisoner. Bane called for volunteers for this enterprise and three men responded, among them John W. East, who agreed to capture the prisoner by playing the role of deserter, which he did by going over to the enemy. The Federal picket called our men up next morning and told them East had deserted the night before. This was no less than a ruse on John's part to desert and go over to the side of the enemy.
Among the inducements offered by the Federal officers to our men to desert was that if their homes were within the Federal lines they should be sent home and protected or given government employment at good wages, but love of cause and country were more potent than all the inducements offered on the other side.
A. L. Sumner, of Company D, an illiterate man, heard someone read from a Richmond paper one morning in November, 1864, that Mr. Lincoln had been re-elected president of the United States, and had called for a large number of additional men. Sumner sat with his head bowed, when a comrade approaching and seeing that something was troubling him, inquired the cause. Sumner responded, "Don't you know that Abe Lincoln is re-elected and has called for a million men, and that Jeff Davis says war to the knife? What shall we do?"—A pertinent inquiry.
Christmas, 1864, was approaching and extensive preparations were being made by city, town and country to furnish the army of Northern Virginia a Christmas dinner, the women taking the lead—God bless them! The newspapers urged the movement forward, committees were appointed to collect and forward the good things to the soldiers. The papers proclaimed that Virginia, devastated as she was by an invading host, was yet able to feed her soldiers; that the cattle upon a thousand hills were hers. Though the cattle were not there, the day came, and with it a bountiful supply which made us glad, and we thanked our benefactors and took courage.
The credit for our Christmas dinner was due the women. In every movement for the uplift and betterment of our race, and in every worthy cause, woman is the first to espouse, the last to forsake. Having once fixed her affections upon the object of our cause, her love therefor became as fast and enduring as the rock-ribbed hills. The wives, mothers and sisters of the men gave their husbands, sons and brothers to the cause, suffered untold agony and sorrows, depriving themselves of every comfort, to the end that the soldiers in the field might be clothed and fed. For them no sacrifice was too great. The Southern woman, accustomed to the indulgences and refinements of life, became familiar with the coarsest of personal apparel, and a scarcity of food which she had never known, and she bore these things without a murmur. She followed the plow, reaped the grain, took it to the mill, nursed the sick and wounded, buried the dead, and rendered thousands of kindnesses to our suffering soldiers, only recorded in the hearts and memories of the recipients of these loving deeds, and of Him whose eye is never shut. In the days of "reconstruction," when men were awe stricken, not knowing whither to look or what to do, these women stood with resolute trust in God, giving words of encouragement to the sterner sex; and became, as it were, the strong vine entwined around the sturdy tree when shaken by the storm. These Southern women were the only portion of our people who never surrendered. They are today the purest type of Anglo-Saxon womanhood on the face of the earth.
Memorial Day originated with our Southern women, whose custom it is to strew flowers, mementoes of their undying love, on the graves of the gray and the blue alike. They are the guardians of the graves of our noble dead.