It was Col. John R. Cooke, commanding a North Carolina regiment, that received this message. There were many dead along his lines and some severely wounded who could not be got away. My horse was wounded on the way to him, and the enemy's rifle firing was incessant, while from the saddle Longstreet's praises and encouragement were given this brave officer.
Profanity is justly considered objectionable. I do not approve of it, but there are times when it may be overlooked, and never did such words sound so sweet as when I looked into Cooke's eyes and heard him: "Major, thank General Longstreet for his good words, but say, by —— almighty, he needn't doubt me! We will stay here, by J. C., if we must all go to hell together! That —— thick line of the enemy has been fighting all day, but my regiment is still ready to lick this whole —— outfit. Start away, Major, quick, or you'll be getting hurt too, exposed as you are on that horse!" This is only a faint reproduction of the Colonel's gift of language, but it left me with no doubt that the position would stand until that gallant heart gave the word to leave it. He stuck there until ordered off at night. It was some time before I was able to send a report to Longstreet, the hour being about 5 p. m., but he had Cooke promoted immediately. I had scarcely drawn my hand from Cooke's when a shell burst over us and a fragment struck me senseless from my horse.
CHAPTER XIII
Battle of Sharpsburg, Concluded
Toombs's Georgia Brigade—Longstreet on the field—Lee's war horse—McClellan superseded by Burnside—A horse trade—Richard H. Anderson's division—A lost opportunity—Walton and myself find quarters at Shepherdstown among wounded—Driven away by enemy's shells.
Toombs's brigade of Georgians had fought well at the bridge on the right. It was contested all day and was the scene of some bloody encounters. Some fresher men under A. P. Hill at last came up late, almost dark, and a general advance on the enemy's lines persuaded the timorous McClellan that we were not done fighting, and he ceased his operations. Lee was left, after the long day's work, with thin ranks holding the ground he stood on in the morning, and nothing lost by us in guns, colors, or prisoners. The casualties, however, were very heavy, our list of wounded and killed being awful. Here fell my dear personal friends of school days, McIntosh and Parkman. I had lost several in the battles preceding and my heart was heavy.
Longstreet's conduct on this great day of battle was magnificent. He seemed everywhere along his extended lines, and his tenacity and deep-set resolution, his inmost courage, which appeared to swell with the growing peril to the army, undoubtedly stimulated the troops to greater action, and held them in place despite all weakness. My staff comrades described to me later his appearance and reception by Lee when they met at night after firing ceased. Longstreet, big, heavy, and red, grimly stern after this long day's work, that called for all we could stomach, rolled in on his clumsy carpet slippers. Lee immediately welcomed him with unconcealed joy. "Here comes my war horse just from the field he has done so much to save!" his arm affectionately around "Peter's" shoulder. The latter should surely have been proud and well satisfied. Lee held his ground that night and all the next day (the 18th), caring for his wounded and burying his dead. On the night of the 18th he quietly moved out and successfully passed the Potomac to Virginia ground without loss. That McClellan with his great army, a third of which had taken no part in the two battles, permitted this escape is unaccountable. In olden times generals lost their heads for such stupidities. "Little Mac" lost his place instead, being soon superseded by Burnside.
I was never good at a horse trade, and here is a story of one. I had a nice little mare of good paces, but she was undersized for my long legs. Walton, my staff comrade, had a big, fine bay, well gaited and apparently all that I could wish. Walton, being a small man, liked the mare, and was ready to trade; but just before getting to Boonsboro, the big bay, "Mott" (he had been brought from Mississippi by that Colonel Mott who was killed at Williamsburg, and we named him "Mott"), had broken loose and was astray somewhere, Walton being unable to find him. Having some mounted men I could use and knowing the cavalry officers near by, I believed he could be found, so taking the chances I made the trade by paying Walton $275 to boot, and this too in '62, when Confederate money was not so very bad. That much cash could then buy considerable stuff. Longstreet was an excellent judge of horseflesh and to him I gave the details of my trade. In answer I got a little stare and smile as he said, "Why, Major, I would not give $275 for the horse tied to a corn crib; no quartermaster in this army can furnish forage enough for that beast!" This was soothing and encouraging to be sure, and in the mean time bay "Mott" refused to be found. Boonsboro and Sharpsburg were fought, the army back in Virginia, and I on my way back, when at last came my cavalrymen, bay "Mott" in hand, and in a fortnight or so I was on him, a powerful, well-paced animal; but Longstreet was right, he could never get enough to eat, and after some time his ribs and bones were disagreeably in evidence, and the beast was turned over to a quartermaster to do with as he would. He had pickings in the corral and was probably hitched to a hay wagon.