About this time the two men, Morrison and Stewart, whom were given us by Hart's Battery in exchange for Darling Patterson, came to us. I must take time to give a brief description of these two men. Morrison was a great big fellow, heavy frame, about forty-five or fifty years old, heavy gray beard, and he was a real good-hearted fellow, but the report of a gun would scare him out of his breeches. He was certainly constitutionally a coward, and I really think he hated it, and when not under fire and not scared he would determine to try to not get so next time; but his good intentions would go to the wind just as soon as the bullets began to come.
The other fellow, Stewart, was a medium sized, dark complexioned, swarthy man, about thirty or thirty-five. He was a genuine coward and would not try, nor did he care to overcome it, but would skulk on all occasions; and, worse still, he pretended to be a preacher, and often, in the very nick of time, old Stewart would sing out, "Let's all join in prayer." He played this off on us for a little while, and would succeed in being left; but, after a while, we found him out, and would break up his little scheme, although I don't recollect his having even been gotten into a regular "sit-to" fight. About this time we got another recruit—one that must be mentioned in these memoirs, because I knew him before he came, and, besides, he was known to everyone from Barnwell. John Lambert, of Barnwell, was our other new man, and why he should have selected our regiment for his service I could never understand, unless it was that he had known from infancy Col. Hagood, Eddie Bellinger, Jim Diamond, Perry Manville, the Mixson boys and Nelson boys, and perhaps some others; and as he had to go somewhere it was just as well to go where he knew people. Now, while John didn't love fighting, and always said that the Lord intended him to take care of himself, and he didn't purpose to disappoint the Lord, he was a jolly fellow and kept things lively with his jokes and quaint sayings. But, while he was very careful how he exposed himself, he did an act while in the trenches which the bravest of the brave shuddered at. After a time in the trenches it had gotten so that the least exposure was certain death. One day there came along in the field in rear of our regiment a nice, fat shoat, about fifty pounds, strolling as if he didn't care if corn was fifty dollars a bushel. He strolled along till a Yankee sharpshooter concluded to cut him down. We heard him squeal and saw the shoat keel over. Something to eat of any kind would go well, but a fat pig, within seventy-five yards, ready to be cleaned and cooked! John Lambert couldn't stand it, but, jumping out of the trenches, running back with the minnie balls cutting the dirt all around him, he succeeded in getting to that hog, grabbing it by the hind leg, and started back in face of death itself. No one expected him to get in, but on he came, and finally jumped in the trench, hog and all, without even a scratch. It was one of the most marvelous feats, besides the most daring, of anything that I recollect happening. After this if anything was ever said to John in reference to his being a little scary he would bring up the pig incident.
We remained in the trenches for some time before being relieved for a night, but at last our night came, and we were taken back to rest. We knew that Gen. Johnson Hagood's Brigade was somewhere on the line, and late in the afternoon Jim Diamond, Eddie Bellinger and myself got permission to go over to Hagood's brigade headquarters to see Vince Bellinger and Willie Hagood, who were in the brigade quartermaster department of Hagood's Brigade. We knew we would get something to eat and get something to bring back. We found them about sundown, and Vince and Willie told their man, Joe, a good old darkey, to commence preparing supper, and to fix enough of it. We sat around talking for a while, when Vince proposed that while Joe was fixing up the supper we should go right down the street to where he knew a fellow had something to drink. These boys were located near the town—in fact, at the head of a street. We pulled out, and in a few minutes Vince knocked on a door on the street. Almost instantly the door was opened, and in all five of us went. There was a long counter on one side of the house. The old man had no lights except a tallow candle. We stepped up near the front and Vince called for the liquor. The old man set out a decanter with only about four drinks—when the old fellow filled up for the fifth man to get his—it was a half gallon decanter—then the last one of us poured his out, leaving the decanter full, except the one drink. We took our drink, and Vince asked how much. The old fellow said, "Ten dollars each," making fifty dollars for the treat. Vince gave him a one hundred dollar bill. He picked up his candle, going back to the end of the counter to his safe for the change; but in doing this he had left the decanter setting on the counter. I told Vince to walk back and get the change; we would walk out. I picked up the full decanter, and as we walked out the door Vince overtook us, and we all went out together. However, we saw the old fellow, as he came back, hold up his light to look after his liquor. On discovering it gone, he jumped across the counter, following us. We were all in a dead run by this time. The old fellow was afraid to holler for police, as he was running what we now call a "blind tiger," but he followed us to the end of the street. When Vince picked up an old gun, and raising it, advanced on him, the old man then broke back as fast as he had come, leaving us with the liquor. We took another drink all around, when Joe told us to draw up, supper was ready. Joe had given us a good supper—hominy, fried bacon, biscuits and coffee—the best part of which was there was enough of it. We drank no more, for Vince and Willie asked us to carry some to Jim Hagood and Capt. Wood. They also told Joe to get us up some rations, and he put us up about a half of a side of bacon, about half a bushel of meal and some salt. We got back to our command some time about midnight, and it was not long before Jim Hagood had his boy, Crow, and Pat Wood his boy, Fred, making up a fire, and about two o'clock we had a supper. In the meantime all the whiskey had disappeared. We all slept late next morning, and about eleven o'clock we had breakfast. We went back into the trenches and remained there some time, when we were taken across the James River to meet a demonstration being made there.
CHAPTER XII.
It seems that our division (Fields'), especially our brigade, was selected and had ever been the troops to run from place to place. This I egotistically claim was because we were good on the march, always getting there quickly, and then, after getting there, we could be always depended upon to meet the emergency. Hence, we were not in the trenches so continuously as some others. We, from now on, were mostly below Richmond, taking care of Richmond from that side, but occasionally we would run over and take a day or two in the trenches, where we would be again pulled out for across the James River. So, after about a week in the trenches on this occasion, we were taken over the river, as Grant seemed to be preparing to attack from that direction. We remained quietly, doing nothing but keeping out our pickets for several days. For these few days we took up regular camp duty, except drilling. At roll call in the mornings Morrison and Stewart hardly ever answered. This got to be such a regular thing on all occasions, even when we were called to move, that our orderly sergeant, A. P. Manville, became so completely disgusted (for you could see disgust depicted on his face) that it was determined between Perry Manville, Capt. Wood and Col. Hagood that Morrison and Stewart should be assigned to me as my company, I to see after them exclusively, being exempt from all other duty, only go when they had to go, and to make them go. This might seem an easy assignment, but, take my word for it, it was the hardest job any poor fellow ever had. I would be up in the mornings before time, getting them up to be in time for roll call, and any other duties assigned them I would be notified and had to get them out for it. But Perry Manville, who was a brave, good fellow, would put them both on duty at the same time, thereby saving me extra duty. He saw and appreciated the hard task I had. After lying around here for perhaps a week or more watching and waiting we were ordered to "fall in." Our company was at this time on the left of the regiment, and I and my two men were on the extreme left, which, when marching left in front, put me and mine at the head next to the colonel. In starting out this time, when Col. Hagood rode up to his position, he turned to me and said, "Sergt. Mixson, load your gun immediately and take those two men in this fight or leave them dead on the wayside." I loaded up, telling these two what to expect from me (they had heard my orders). We started off. I kept them up pretty well, and when we formed our line of battle on the hill overlooking Deep Bottom I had them in ranks. We remained on this hill while our skirmish line were holding them back in the bottom, our skirmishers retreating slowly. Gen. Lee was dismounted near us, awaiting the time to order us to charge. When it looked like the time had about come old Stewart got back pretty close to Gen. Lee, and, falling on his knees, said, "Let's all join in prayer," and he started off. He had hardly started good before the command was given, "Get to your places." Morrison went in ranks, but old man Stewart got louder. I called to him to get in. He got louder. I could not move him by calling, so I went up to him and, catching him by the shoulders, I pulled him back and almost had to drag him to his position. Lee looked on seemingly amused.
Well, we made the charge, meeting the enemy in the bottom. Here we fought them for some time, but finally retired to our former position on the hills. I don't think I got either Morrison or Stewart in this, but they were on hand when we got back on the hill. The enemy did not advance on us in our position, but fell back. We then went back and took up our quarters where we left the day before. Grant had failed here.
We remained here, without anything happening, doing picket duty and putting more logs on our fortifications, for something like three weeks, when the Yankees took another notion to go into Richmond over this route. Our cavalry, down at the Darbytown Road, discovered them on the move. As soon as this was reported to us our long roll routed us, and by sunrise we were off to look into matters. We ran upon their picket line about ten o'clock, drove them back and found them stationed behind the works that we had built there in 1862. We immediately charged these works, and took them with very little trouble, they giving way after a short fight. We followed them no further than the works we captured from them. By night we were back at our camps, not much worse off than when we went out. We again took up our regular routine of duties and had no more disturbance from this quarter. Everything remaining quiet over here, we were, about the last of September or first of October, taken back to Petersburg and again went into the trenches. We were placed where the "blow up" afterwards took place, and while we were here our engineers were counter-sinking shafts, endeavoring to discover where the enemy's mine struck our fortifications. The marksmen on the Yankee side had become very expert with both the rifle and mortars, and they were so accurate that mortar shells would frequently fall in our trenches. For the information of those who do not know about mortar shooting I will explain. The mortar gun is a short cannon, say eighteen inches long, working in a carriage on a pivot and so arranged as to be shot at any angle, even to straight up. They had perfected themselves so that they knew the exact elevation to give the gun and the length of the fuse to explode it, as in many instances the cannon ball would fall in our trenches, and, exploding, would do much harm, and causing much confusion among us. Hence, it became necessary to keep a lookout, and when one of their guns was fired this "lookout" would keep his eye on the ball going up and coming over, and if it looked as if it were coming into the trenches at a certain place we would crowd away from the place that it seemed like hitting, thereby making room for it to fall and burst with as little damage as we had time and room to make.
On one occasion I was sitting with my back to the front of the trenches, flat down on the bottom of the trenches, with my oilcloth underneath me. I had my man Morrison as "lookout," who was kneeling down facing the front just at my side. I heard the report of a mortar and saw Morrison prick up his ears. Soon I saw him begin to get excited, and then he commenced to exclaim, "It's coming, it's coming, it's coming!" Knowing how scary he naturally was, I gave but little faith to him. His eyes, however, looked the size of saucers, and finally he fell over, exclaiming, "It's come," and the shell fell between my legs, my oilcloth keeping it from burying itself deep enough to retain it. There I was, a shell with a burning fuse, in between my legs. It was death to do nothing, death to run, not only for me, but for others. It was impossible to get away from the shell, and instinct told me to get the shell away from me and us. Without having time to think even, I arose with the shell in my hands and dumped it out of the trenches. I scarcely had time to squat down when it bursted. Being outside, no one was hurt. I will take occasion to say here that this was no act of bravery. It was an inspiration that caused me to do it, and I was the worst scared fellow you ever saw, even more scared than Morrison or Stewart at any time. It took me a day or two to recover from the fright I got.