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William Pettigrew (search for this): chapter 1.12
th the colors in their hands. Although they knew it was almost certain death to pick it up, the flag was never allowed to remain down, but as fast as it fell some one raised it again. I venture to say that our regiment suffered greater loss in that charge than any regiment on either side during the war. We made the charge with 986 men and muskets, and could muster only 220 the next day, which shows a loss of over 700 killed and wounded. This was the Twenty-sixth North Carolina regiment, Pettigrew's Brigade, Heth's Division, A. P. Hill's Corps. The second day we were not engaged, but were exposed to the shells from the enemy's guns. I was detailed to look after the wounded, and a sad day's work it was. In the evening we marched to the right and took our position for the third day's fight, and slept with our guns in our arms. The morning of the 3d the chaplains held services in the regiments. When the artillery opened it was appalling, and all who heard it will agree with
Estes (search for this): chapter 1.12
s was Eastereve, 1865. No rations. On Monday we marched twenty miles up the Blue Ridge, and camped at Yadkin spring, where we received our first rations—a half-ear of corn for each prisoner—for twenty-four hours. And this in a land not yet despoiled of provisions, where our captors had plenty and to spare. I had some remains of my lunch, and did not want the corn; but half a dozen famished men were eager for it. Next morning we were turned over to Kirk, and marched on to Boone. At Estes's school-house Lieutenant Shotwell and two other men made their escape, and but for an open path to the school-house would have been safe. When discovered, two surrendered, and Shotwell was captured just as he gave a sign of surrender. Kirk, with characteristic cruelty, said: D——n him; shoot him! and his orders were obeyed; and this gallant young soldier was murdered right before our eyes and left lying as he had fallen. A friend of his begged to be allowed to go to him, and when permis
Easter (search for this): chapter 1.12
ing they were our Home Guard, I deliberately walked around the house in full view of them, and saw my mistake when the guns were pointed at me, and I could only throw up my hands in token of surrender. I was carried right off, without a coat, and was all night without coat or blanket, and almost frozen. They issued no rations, but my mother was allowed to supply me with food. My sister went with my parole to General Gilliam and begged him to release me, but he refused to do it. This was Eastereve, 1865. No rations. On Monday we marched twenty miles up the Blue Ridge, and camped at Yadkin spring, where we received our first rations—a half-ear of corn for each prisoner—for twenty-four hours. And this in a land not yet despoiled of provisions, where our captors had plenty and to spare. I had some remains of my lunch, and did not want the corn; but half a dozen famished men were eager for it. Next morning we were turned over to Kirk, and marched on to Boone. At Estes's scho
George E. Pickett (search for this): chapter 1.12
nd all who heard it will agree with me that it surpassed any artillery fight during the war—I mean any field fight. I think our guns numbered 210, and it is safe to say the enemy's numbered more, for they never met us with fewer men or guns. Pickett's charge. When the cannonading ceased, the noble, brave General Pickett was ordered forward with as brave men as ever fought under any flag, and inspired with as genuine patriotism as ever filled any heart. We could see the mouth of the gapiGeneral Pickett was ordered forward with as brave men as ever fought under any flag, and inspired with as genuine patriotism as ever filled any heart. We could see the mouth of the gaping cannon, only waiting for us to get in range to pour bushels of grape and canister into our ranks and mow us down like wheat before the sickle, and in line with the artillery was the infantry, masked behind a stone wall. We had to advance on them through an open field, with nothing to shield us from the murderous fire. I was within thirty yards of the stone wall when I received two wounds—one in my hand and one in my hip—which disabled me. Believing that our boys would rout them, I lay do<
James A. Ford (search for this): chapter 1.12
d. At Boone, while gathered around the court-house, Kirk rode into our midst, called us cowards, cut-throats, damned rebels, and every vile thing he could think of, and threatened the most horrible vengeance if we attempted to escape. My good old friend, Mr. Sidney Deal, came up to me and said: Keep close to me, my boy, and if anybody must fight for you, I'll do it. Mr. Deal had suffered every wrong from these men, and when one of them commenced to abuse him, he told him boldly how he, Ford, had robbed him of horses, cattle, sheep, and hogs, and the man went off without another word. Our next stop was at Cool creek, in Watague county, but we drew no rations until we arrived at Greenville, Tenn., when we had some hard-tack and bacon. We were hurried on to Knoxville, where we were turned over to regular United States soldiers, and fared a little better. At Nashville we were lodged in the pen, but we had better rations than before. We crossed the Ohio river at Louisville, and
Gilliam (search for this): chapter 1.12
eves when I first saw the Yankees, and might have made my escape, but thinking they were our Home Guard, I deliberately walked around the house in full view of them, and saw my mistake when the guns were pointed at me, and I could only throw up my hands in token of surrender. I was carried right off, without a coat, and was all night without coat or blanket, and almost frozen. They issued no rations, but my mother was allowed to supply me with food. My sister went with my parole to General Gilliam and begged him to release me, but he refused to do it. This was Eastereve, 1865. No rations. On Monday we marched twenty miles up the Blue Ridge, and camped at Yadkin spring, where we received our first rations—a half-ear of corn for each prisoner—for twenty-four hours. And this in a land not yet despoiled of provisions, where our captors had plenty and to spare. I had some remains of my lunch, and did not want the corn; but half a dozen famished men were eager for it. Next morn
5th (search for this): chapter 1.12
ard kicks, and when I asked what it meant was told to Get up and hurry, for Stonewall Jackson is in our rear. I said, Stonewall Jackson is in his grave; but the man laughed, and said: You can't stuff that into me; we've heard that before, but don't believe it. We were started for Westminster right away, in the pouring rain, and marched all next day, and besides being wet, tired, and hungry, I was suffering acutely from my wounds, which had no attention until several days afterwards. On the 5th we were marched to Fort McHenry, and on the 6th we were given our first rations, only three hard-tack. Fort Delaware. After two days and nights in the pouring rain we were taken to Fort Delaware, and received our second rations. We were put into barracks, stripped, and searched, even to the seams of our clothing. My wounds received no attention until the 8th. Our rations consisted of three hard-tack, a cup of weak bean-soup, and a very small piece of salt pork for dinner, and only tw
March (search for this): chapter 1.12
had no shirt for months, and was barefooted. When we were called out to get some clothes I had to stand two hours on the frozen ground before my turn came, and I am sure I never felt so comfortable in my life as I did when I first put on the coarse blouse, pantaloons, shoes, and socks. I often wonder how we lived to tell of the cold and hunger of our prison life. I had been in prison twenty months, three and a half at Fort Delaware, and seventeen at Point Lookout. We were paroled in March, and a pitiful set of men we were. I weighed barely ninety pounds, was almost a skeleton, and so weak I could hardly walk. But I was free, and going home, and that was the best tonic I could have. At City Point. At City Point our prison friend, Captain Patterson, came on board the vessel to see us, and there was a rush to shake hands with him. He said he was glad we were going home. Notwithstanding all the searching, one man had succeeded in concealing his flag and as soon as we
December 22nd, 1895 AD (search for this): chapter 1.12
Southern soldiers in Northern Prisons. [from the Charlotte (N. C.) Observer, December 22, 1895.] A very graphic description. Experience at Johnson's Island and Point Lookout—Pickett's charge at Gettysburg—The cavalry fight at Boonesboro, Maryland. The following graphic story of the life in Northern prisons during the war is from the pen of Mr. Albert Stacey Caison, a native of Fayetteville, but now of Jefferson City, Mo. It was written while he was a resident of Lenoir, from which place he went into the army: In the Century Magazine for March, 1891, there is a touching account of prison life at Johnson's Island, and the writer, in speaking of his short stay at Point Lookout, after his release, says: Thinking we had exhausted the capacity of prison life for harm, we were little prepared for the sight which met our eyes as we entered this place; but seeing these unfortunates, we felt that we stood in the presence of men who had touched depths of suffering that we
1865 AD (search for this): chapter 1.12
ere our Home Guard, I deliberately walked around the house in full view of them, and saw my mistake when the guns were pointed at me, and I could only throw up my hands in token of surrender. I was carried right off, without a coat, and was all night without coat or blanket, and almost frozen. They issued no rations, but my mother was allowed to supply me with food. My sister went with my parole to General Gilliam and begged him to release me, but he refused to do it. This was Eastereve, 1865. No rations. On Monday we marched twenty miles up the Blue Ridge, and camped at Yadkin spring, where we received our first rations—a half-ear of corn for each prisoner—for twenty-four hours. And this in a land not yet despoiled of provisions, where our captors had plenty and to spare. I had some remains of my lunch, and did not want the corn; but half a dozen famished men were eager for it. Next morning we were turned over to Kirk, and marched on to Boone. At Estes's school-house L
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