That night the boys had a great time going through the captured wagons. There was a “heap” of plunder in them. A paymaster’s trunk with upwards of $400,000 Confederate money was found and it was divided up among the men. One man secured Gen. Mahone’s grip with his commission as major general and other papers and dressed himself up in the coat, sash, etc., that had been worn by the distinguished Confederate. One of our boys secured a five-gallon jug of rebel commissary, and he and a comrade stuck a musket barrel through the handle and slinging it over their shoulders marched around among the exhausted soldiers and told them to “fall in for rations.” If anybody ever needed a little whiskey it was that very time and it was amusing to see them take their turns at the jug. No one was allowed to take any away, and in order to draw a ration the jug must be pushed up from the bottom and the nozzle tipped downward while a “swig” was taken.
The men reveled in broiled ham, beef, bacon, onions, pickles, toasted hardtack, and other luxuries that were found in the wagons.
LITTLE GRAY.
There was pity mingled with our rejoicing that night for in many of the captured wagons were wounded Confederates. Poor fellows! Many of them lay with wounds several days old, the bandages dried up and dirty, some too weak to raise their heads, hungry and thirsty and needing so much nourishment and attention that we could not give them. It is at such a time that one is brought face to face with war without any of its gold plating.
My sympathies were stirred as they had never been before as a little boy, scarcely 16 years old, was lifted out of a wagon. A handsome boy, notwithstanding his face was bronzed and dirty, and his cheeks sunken. He had beautiful dark, expressive eyes and looked up so appealingly into our faces as my comrade and I bent over him and asked what we could do for him. He, too, was a drummer boy and had been wounded two or three days before. We got our surgeon and had his wound dressed and gave him stimulants and a little food, but he was very weak, “all marched out,” he said, and was afraid that he would not see his old Carolina home again. We bathed his face and hands with cool water and his lips quivered and tears coursed down his cheeks as he faintly whispered of his widowed mother.
We, too, were “marched out” and had to lie down and have rest but before leaving “Little Gray,” as we called him, two boys knelt by his side and repeated the Lord’s prayer that had been learned at a mother’s knees. In the morning the little confederate from the Palmetto state was dead, and we buried him on the field with his comrades.
’Twas war—real genuine war.
THE LAST BATTLE.
It is understood that Lee’s chief officers held a meeting the night of the 6th and counseled him to surrender, but he had not abandoned all hope and the next morning the rebel army began again the desperate race for life. They crossed the Appomattox river at High Bridge and set fire to the same to prevent pursuit. But the 2d corps were so close after them that our men reached one end of the bridge as the rebels were leaving the other.
Gen. Mahone’s troops contested the passage for a time, but Gen. Miles ordered a battery into position and after a vigorous shelling the rebels let go of their end and our troops crossed over and pushed on after the enemy.