“This handful of skilled marksmen,” says a Northern writer, “conducted the defence with such intrepidity, that Gibbon’s forces, surging repeatedly against it, were each time thrown back.”
That is the generous but cold statement of an opponent; but it is sufficient. It was not until seven o’clock that Gibbon stormed the fort. Thirty men only out of the two hundred and fifty were left, but they were still fighting.
In the attack the Federal loss was “about five hundred men,” says the writer above quoted.
So fell Lee’s last stronghold on this vital part of his lines. Another misfortune soon followed. The gallant A.P. Hill, riding ahead of his men, was fired on and killed, by a small detachment of the enemy whom he had halted and ordered to surrender.
He fell from his horse, and was borne back, already dying. That night, amid the thunder of the exploding magazines, the commander, first, of the “light division,” and then of a great corps—the hero of Cold Harbor, Sharpsburg, and a hundred other battles—was buried in the city cemetery, just in time to avoid seeing the flag he had fought under, lowered.
Peace to the ashes of that brave! Old Virginia had no son more faithful!
Fort Gregg was the last obstacle. At ten o’clock that had fallen, heavy masses of the enemy were pushing forward. Their bristling battalions, and long lines of artillery had advanced nearly to General Lee’s head-quarters, a mile west of Petersburg.
As the great blue wave surged forward, General Lee, in full-dress uniform, and wearing his gold-hilted sword, looked at them through his field glasses from the lawn, in front of his head-quarters, on foot, and surrounded by his staff. I have never seen him more composed. Chancing to address him, he saluted me with the calmest and most scrupulous courtesy; and his voice was as measured and unmoved as though he were attending a parade. Do you laugh at us, friends of the North, for our devotion to Lee? You should have seen him that day, when ruin stared him in the face; you would have known then, the texture of that stout Virginia heart.
The enemy’s column literally rushed on. Our artillery, on a hill near by, had opened a rapid fire on the head of the column; the enemy’s object was to gain shelter under a crest, in their front.
They soon gained it; formed line of battle, and charged the guns.