Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 27.
Reverend J. William Jones, Ed.

The reports of the Appomattox campaign embraced in Volume 46 of the Official Records of the war, have an intense interest for all engaged in that memorable campaign of March and April, 1865, throwing light, as they do, on many questions whose solution has awaited the detailed information embodied in these official reports.

It has long been a problem to many of us, not only how Lee's army was ever able to reach Appomattox Courthouse, nearly one hundred miles from Petersburg, but even how it could get away from the Petersburg and Richmond lines, confronted and threatened as that army was, by such odds, and hampered by abundant lack of even food to sustain physical life. What these numerical odds were, is shown by the figures of official returns, as published in this volume; but neither figures nor description can represent other differences arising from our deplorable inferiority in supplies and equipment. [323] What this meant and entailed can never be adequately known but by those who endured the toils of that retreat. General Ewell says in his report, when accounting for the absence of over 3,000 of his men at the time of his surrender, that ‘it was caused mainly by the fatigue of four days and nights almost constant marching, the last two days with nothing to eat. Before our capture I saw men eating raw fresh meat as they marched in ranks.’ The memory of many others can verify or liken this experience. On the other hand, by way of contrast, here is a report (p. 1234) of a division commissary of the 25th corps of Grant's army, in which he says: ‘During the entire march from James river to Appomattox Courthouse, the troops have had issued to them full marching rations, and have not been a day without food.’ It is small wonder that men thus supplied and not bothered with fighting their way, could push on ahead, as this corps did, and succeed in absolutely blocking Lee's further progress from Appomattox.

The contract suggested by this statement of the relative means of mere subsistence but deepens the problem presented by the great numerical superiority of the Federal army, which outnumbered its adversary by at least seventy thousand men. This superiority enabled General Grant to concentrate and throw around General Lee's right more men than the latter had in his whole army, while yet confronting and threatening every part of Lee's lines with superior forces.

Hence the problem that has long puzzled some of us. How could forty-six thousand half-starved, half-clad men, wanting almost everything but guns and ammunition, defending a line of some forty miles against forces three times their number, maintain their position as long as they did, and when this position was no longer tenable, how was it that they could break away and extricate themselves from the toils spread by a swarming foe? How could and how did they ever get away from Petersburg? General Lee, in his dispatch of April 2, announcing the necessity of the evacuation, says: ‘It will be a difficult operation, but. I hope, not impracticable.’ However, he did extricate himself, and marched his diminishing army to Appomattox, hungry and worn, badgered and fighting at every step, like a wounded lion brushing away obstacles in front and turning on enemies on flanks and in rear. For ten days was kept up the unequal contest of fighting and marching, till at last, brought to bay, the army found itself absolutely surrounded and every egress stopped by superior forces; but not until they had inflicted on their foes a loss of ten [324] thousand seven hundred men (p. 597). How could and how did they even sustain themselves so long? The answer to these questions will be variously given according to difference of information or prejudice. One solution probably is given in the reports of the Federal cavalry operations, which bring us information, long sought for, as to the force that was fought and beaten off by the First company of Richmond Howitzers and other artillery on the evening before the surrender.

If the few artillerymen armed with muskets, who helped to defend that column, could be magnified by apprehension or lack of judgment into two divisions of infantry, it may explain the chariness of the enemy generally in closing in on the worn and diminishing forces that punished and repulsed so many assaults on their flanks and rear. And it may also help to explain the constantly recurring assertion of these reports that the Federal assaults were repulsed ‘by superior force.’ If these assertions be true, and as far as they are true, it is the highest testimony to generalship that, with inferior numbers, could yet muster superior force at points of contact, and reminds us of the Tarheel's explanation of the confidence of Jackson's soldiers, that they were never scared on going into a fight under him, because they always knew that, though the enemy had a bigger army, Jackson would have more men ‘that’ at the place where the real fighting was to be.

Though not entirely germane to our present subject, but as a side light illustrating the situation and helping to form opinion on the questions stated above, the following extract may be taken from the report of General Wright, commanding the Sixth Federal corps. Describing the battle of Sailor's Creek, he says (p. 906): ‘The first and third divisions charged the enemy's position, carrying it handsomely, except at a point on our right of the road crossing the creek, where a column, said to be composed of the Marine brigade and other troops which had held the lines of Richmond previous to the evacuation, made a countercharge upon that part of our lines in their front. I was never more astonished. These troops were surrounded; the first and third divisions of this corps were on either flank; my artillery and a fresh division in their front, and some three divisions of General Sheridan's cavalry in their rear. Looking upon them as already our prisoners, I had ordered the artillery to cease firing, as a dictate of humanity; my surprise, therefore, was extreme when this force charged upon our front. But the fire of our infantry, which had already gained their flanks; the capture of their [325] superior officers already in our hands; the concentrated and murderous fire of six batteries of our artillery within effective range, brought them promptly to a surrender.’

Well might he be astonished, and his surprise be extreme. But the spirit that animated that desperate countercharge is largely the explanation of the fact, and solution of the problem, of Lee's army ever reaching Appomattox. We are not, however, writing the history of the campaign nor describing the strategy and movements of the armies; our present concern is with the experience and fate of one company of artillery, a single unit of Lee's army, whose proudest memory is that they shared the glory of that army. The First Company of Richmond Howitzers, attached to Cabell's artillery battalion, had since July, 1864, been posted in the works at Dunn's Farm, about half way between Richmond and Petersburg. The artillery on this part of the lines had an easy time, the enemy on their front being so little troublesome that the battery did not fire a shot during the fall and winter of 1864-‘65. Well housed and sheltered, the command passed the winter in comparative comfort as contrasted with the severe trials of other parts of the lines, while the nearness to Richmond, the home of many of the company, enabled them to supplement the scant commissary rations. The battery had always been well manned, and at the opening of the campaign it numbered over one hundred and twenty present for duty.

With these full ranks, it had also been fortunate in maintaining generally the character of its personnel, despite the changes and chances of four years war service. The genial, not to say jovial, memories of that winter at the Dunn House will always remain as a glowing illustration of the degree of happiness that men can make for themselves under adverse circumstances. There was material in that company to stock half a dozen of the average theatrical or concert troupes. In history, science and literature, some groups could have given elementary lessons to half the societies devoted to those cults. While the ‘Presbyterian Board’ was luminous in theology, and might have instructed many half-fledged doctors of divinity, the Agnostics of another mess could give points to Darwin, at least in the humorous treatment of science. There was not wanting even the study of ancient and modern languages, while the Company Glee Club was a delight to themselves and to everybody who ever heard them sing, from major-generals down, or rather, perhaps, from privates up, for many of those privates had a way of thinking of themselves as rather better than some major-generals, though always [326] respectful and hospitable to that or any other rank when they came to spend a social evening around the company camp-fires.

With a membership representing nearly all callings and professions, some of them men of culture and knowledge of the world, there was a generous comradeship, and the common devotion and daily peril of life and limb wrought bonds of brotherly friendship that relieved the severity of discipline and the irksome restraints of soldier life.

But the Dunn House and all other camps were but temporary and uncertain rests, and its end came in the last days of March, when the sounds of furious fighting around Petersburg told of the opening of another campaign, and warned everybody to be ready to move. How our lines were broken around Petersburg is a story familiar to many of us, and the glory of the ensuing campaign has been often rehearsed. So bright is its record of constancy and heroic deeds that its memory is to-day the proudest recollection of every man who stood to his colors and endured to the end, though doomed to end in disaster and surrender. This halo of glory has almost obscured the hardships of that terrible week during which the army marched day and night, with no regular supplies, but depending on such precarious subsistence as could be obtained by foraging in a depleted section of country, while the very air was rife with sounds and omens of disaster.

On the fall of Petersburg, the Dunn House lines were evacuated, during the night of Saturday, April 2. Not many miles had been marched when, early the next morning, the sound of explosions and the smoke of conflagration told the fate of Richmond, and that the enemy was between the company and their homes.

What this means can only be known by those who have endured such an experience. But, with what haste they could, the battery moved over wretched roads crowded with soldiers and teams, splashing and tugging through mud and mire. On every hand were signs of hurry and confusion, and all day long hungry stomachs complained of waning commissary stores, and nights were made miserable through want of sleep and rest. The poor horses, in bad condition even when resting in camp, were giving out, and by the time Amelia Courthouse was reached, the teams were so broken down by hard marching and want of rest, and the prospect of supplies was so hopeless that the caissons were abandoned and destroyed. This dire necessity was a fact ominous of disaster, as it was throwing away three-fourths of the ammunition, leaving only that in the limber [327] chests of the guns for the contingency of a fight in immediate prospect—a supply that would be soon used up in any brisk battle.

There was, however, no alternative, as the teams were so exhausted that further hauling of the caissons was impossible, and the horses must be used to relieve the gun teams. General Pendleton, Chief of Artillery, reports that ninety-five caissons, mostly loaded, were here abandoned and destroyed (p. 1281). There was probably any amount of private thinking and unpleasant reflection here going on in the minds of officers and men, but this company had long ago learned the lesson that their only duty was obedience to orders, and it is safe to say that so long as Lee ordered, their confidence was unimpaired in the belief that the movement was right and the best and the proper thing to do.

At Amelia Courthouse the batteries of Cabell's battalion were put into the column of artillery and trains under General Lindsay Walker, and moved to the right and west of the main body of the army. From the information now attainable there were probably a hundred pieces of artillery in this column which was pushed on in advance of the army. Being thus screened in rear, the column did not participate in the daily fighting in which the main body was engaged. Not until the evening of the 8th was it struck by the Federal cavalry, who had pushed to the front and across the head of the army.

About 3 o'clock that evening the command had reached a point opposite Appomattox Station, some two or three miles beyond the courthouse, and had turned off from the road for rest and such food as was available for man or beast. Halting in the field, as each piece drove up, the teams were unhitched and given their scant food, or allowed to graze while the men were busied making their corn coffee and cooking probably the remnants of an old cow, from which rations had been dealt and eaten that morning within an hour after her slaughter. In this irregular bivouac so little was the nearness or approach of an enemy suspected that no sort of a guard had been set, and when the report of arms and the sight of Federal cavalry in the wood skirting the field, startled officers and men from their little mess fires or slumbers, the surprise was complete and astounding. So sudden and unexpected was the attack, and so near were the enemy when first discovered, that a brisk determined charge would have brougnt them within the battery before a piece could be unlimbered and loaded. For there is nothing more helpless than artillery when surprised, if once the line of battery can be carried by a quick rush. It is then [328] a mere matter of, shooting down unarmed cannoneers and driving them from their guns. Why such a rush was not made and everything captured on the spot, has often been the wonder of old Howitzers.

Their wonder will grow to amazement when they learn from the reports of this volume that at least two divisions of cavalry were at hand and engaged in that attack. But luckily there was no such charge, and in a moment quick orders sent cannoneers flying to their posts. Never were guns more quickly unlimbered, loaded and brought into action, nor in any battle of the war did the company perform a neater or more expeditious piece of work than on that field, under circumstances that might well have demoralized and stampeded them. In an incredibly short time the confusion of a surprised camp was suppressed and every gun was pouring canister into the ranks of the enemy, who had advanced to the edge of the woods, less than two hundred yards distant. It is remembered that three successive advances were repulsed before the guns could be withdrawn from their perilous position. The only thing to do was to get away as quickly as possible before the enemy could surround the position and block the road—the only means of escape. It looked like a desperate chance, but every gun of the battery was gotten away, and the last memory of that field is, just about dusk, of a thin line of artillerymen armed with muskets and a few dismounted cavalry, whose firing kept back the enemy while the last gun to leave the field could be tugged out of a ditch in which it had stalled. It is not claimed nor meant that these assaults were repelled by this battery alone, for there were other batteries along that road, of whose experience and fate we know not. It is believed that nearly all of them got away, and that few, if any, guns were captured in that fight. Some were doubtless abandoned from inability to bring them off.

As to the Otey and Dickenson batteries, under Major D. N. Walker, acting as infantry, and the few dismounted cavalrymen who came to their support, it is perhaps enough to say that the enemy's report magnifies them into two divisions of infantry, which is a pretty large estimate and testimonial to the conduct of a handful of men. Old soldiers will be interested in the following extracts from official reports. General Pendleton, Lee's chief of artillery, says: ‘The evening of the 8th I pushed on in person to communicate with General Walker, and found him with his command parked about two miles beyond the courthouse on the road to Appomattox [329] Station. While I was with him, an attack wholly unexpected was made by the enemy on his defenceless camp. To avert immediate disaster from this attack demanded the exercise of all our energies. It was, however, at once effectually repelled by the aid especially of the two gallant artillery companies of Captains Walker and Dickenson, under the command of the former, which, being at the time unequipped as artillerists, were armed with muskets as a guard. They met the enemy's sharpshooters in a brushwood near, and enabled a number of General Walker's pieces to play with effect while the remainder of his train was withdrawn. After a sharp skirmish, this attack seemed remedied, and I started back.’ （P. 1282.)

General Custer, commanding the Third Federal cavalry division, says (p. 1132): ‘Learning that the enemy was moving a large train upon the road from Appomattox Courthouse across the Lynchburg railroad, I ordered the entire division forward to attack. The train was found to be guarded by about two divisions of infantry, in addition to over thirty pieces of artillery, all under command of Major-General Walker. Most of the enemy's guard were placed in position, and their fire concentrated upon the road over which it was necessary for me to advance. The enemy succeeded in repulsing nearly all our attacks until nearly 9 oa clock at night, when by a general advance along my line he was forced from his position and compelled to abandon to our hands twenty-four pieces of artillery, all his trains, several battle flags, and a large number of prisoners.’

General Devine, commanding 1st cavalry division, reports (p. I 126): ‘On arriving near the station, General Custer was found to be engaged with the enemy's advance, and the first and second brigades were dismounted and pushed in on his right.’

General Custer's assertion notwithstanding, there were no two divisions of infantry, nor, from all information now attainable, any body of infantry with that column.

It is safe to say that artillery supported by any two divisions of Lee's infantry could not be stampeded by cavalry.

The battery's last fight was over; and it was, as the event proved, the last fight of any part of the Army of Northern Virginia, except the slight engagement the next morning, when the army attempted to break through the cordon of enemies blocking every road at Appomattox. Their last shot had been fired by this company, that had seen and done duty on every battlefield of that army, from Manassas to the end. As compared with the great battles of the war, this [330] fight was, of course, only a small affair, but the wonder was and is, how guns and men escaped capture.

The citations from official reports given above show that Custer's and Devine's divisions of Federal cavalry were present and engaged, and other forces were near by, if not participating. General Pendleton's report, written soon after the surrender, states his personal knowledge of the almost defenceless condition of that column of artillery, and his statement emphasizes the absence of infantry. Custer's assertion, on the other hand, of two divisions of infantry, is necessarily only his estimate of the force that repulsed his first attacks. It is an estimate only more amazing, as coming from an experienced officer, than the fact of his failure to capture everything before him. Perhaps the estimate is the explanation of the failure. His assertion, however, is contradicted by the knowledge and recollection, so far as known, of every Confederate soldier on that field. From all information now obtainable, there were less than four hundred muskets and cavalry defending that train; and the cavalry, the remnants of Gary's brigade, did not arrive on the field till the guns were being withdrawn, having galloped up from the rear on hearing the firing.

The last shot was fired, and it is believed that the second piece was the last gun, of all that escaped, to get away from that perilous field. The piece had not gone a hundred yards when it stalled in a ditch, from which the broken-down team, aided by frantic tugging of cannoneers at the wheels, could not drag it, until a fence rail was found to prize out the wheels. Bullets were flying thick, and between the piece and the enemy was only that thin line of men, who were keeping them back. By hard work the piece was started and joined the others in the road, all four guns saved. And then began a night march, the memory of which is like a confused dream. Forward and on, but whither and to what fate.

It is impossible now to give the impressions, pure and simple, or the recollections of that night, untinged with the subsequent knowledge of what the morrow had in store for us. Forward and on, walking sometimes in sleep, holding on to tail of gun or wagon, as is the belief and assertion of some, who believe they remember the fact. Tired out drivers urged on poor, jaded beasts, ready to drop with fatigue, hunger and thirst, but seemingly kept up to their work by sharing the feeling that those guns must be saved, while conscious of danger threatening from the rear, that might at any moment materialize in shots and sabre strokes of charging squadrons. [331]

The soldier obeying orders has no right to think for himself, but everybody could see that this march was a retreat, getting away with all possible haste from an enemy, and without power of defence should he overtake or head off the column. It was clearly apparent to the understanding of the simplest private that the attack that evening had been a complete surprise; that the enemy had appeared when and where no one expected him. If so, they might be all over the face of the earth, and we might stumble on them or they on us at any moment. Nobody knew how long that thin line behind us, more forlorne than that in Gilbert Gaul's great picture, had kept or could keep them from the road in rear. And, where was the infantry? There was evidently something very seriously wrong when a train of artillery like this was left without support to shift for itself. Where was the army and what doing? Often enough before now it had been necessary to retire before superior force, but always with some degree of order, and with the cheering sight or sound of infantry near by, in whose company there was such a comforting feeling of safety and security. The whole campaign of the previous year had been such a retiring, from the Rapidan to Petersburg. But this was not retiring. It was sheer retreat, with no infantry on that road, nor had we seen any body of them for days. Sheer retreat, with signs that different batteries were saving themselves if they could; that they were even contemplating loss of some of their guns and material to get off with the rest. ‘Save the brass guns first,’ had been the order that evening, when trying to get away from that field, and the team of the second piece, happening to be the first under harness, was hitched to one of the brass pieces, which were hurried out, leaving the other two guns to repell the last advance of the enemy.

“Seven miles to Lynchburg” was the information given some time during the night by the countryman, hanging on his gate. Or was it seventeen or seventy miles to some other burg? For it was a familiar fact that on a march a geographical question might bring information of any number of miles to or from any known or unknown locality. It is the impression of some of those marchers that night that nobody knew where we were nor how many miles were gone over. The night and miles were long and weary enough for the traversing of all Southside Virginia. The very haltings seemed evidence of ignorance of the route or of indecision, as if commanders knew not whither to turn or go. But on and on, through the dark hours, tired teams and men were urged on by the tired and impatient [332] officers. ‘Hurry up that team; pull their heads out of the water and drive on, blank you.’ ‘Blank you back again; but suppose you come and pull them yourself, if you think you can,’ retorted a sergeant, who was learning how hard and obstinately famished beasts can bury their noses in water, and who would not take cuss words from a staff officer. It was simply and merely running away from an enemy, because of no chance of present defence against him; trying to save those guns and rejoin the main body of the army. As to the expectations of what the morrow's fate might be, no man can now speak with certainty of his hopes or forebodings. Almost certainly, though, nobody anticipated the actual result, except possibly a few officers, to whom had come rumors of the negotiations pending the last two days. Towards morning Lieutenant John Nimmo, in command of the battery, hoarsely whispered to one of the sergeants, under injunction of secrecy, that the army would probably surrender that day.

The slow coming dawn found the company still trudging on the road between Appomattox and somewhere else, probably Lynchburg, and the rising sun has seldom looked down on a group of men and animals more completely wearied out. After sunrise the battery was countermarched on this road, probably on orders to come back and meet the army, should it succeed in forcing its way out, as was attempted. The result of that attempt is known to everybody. In the absence of official reports, it is impossible to state exactly the orders received from General Lee. Their effect and the alternative of inability to rejoin the army were disclosed in a scene that ended the company's service—a scene that baffles description, but whose memory will ever remain with every man then present.

The catastrophe and the end had come. What that meant we know now better than could be realized under the stunning sensations of such a calamity. So overwhelming were the emotions excited by it, that even the weariness and hunger of the last day and week were forgotten, and the exhaustion of physical forces was replaced by something like the energy of despair, when orders were given to destroy the battery. Moving off into a field, intersected with gullies and ravines, the guns were spiked, dismounted and buried, and the carriages cut to pieces; a piece of work that was thoroughly and completely done, in soldierly fashion, by the sturdy arms that wielded hammers and axes that morning. Those guns, if found by the enemy, should be useless to them. Limber chests, trails and wheels were chopped and split into small kindling wood, with a [333] grudging feeling that the enemy might find and use it to warm them and cook their rations. The harness was cut to pieces and the horses turned loose.

And this was the end; or rather, the end was learned when the company was mustered, the roll called, and the commanding officer —his voice choked with emotion—announced that orders had been received to destroy the battery and disband the company if found impossible to rejoin the army. The order informed the company that they were free to accept terms of surrender and go home, or else to make their way to North Carolina and join Johnston's army.

The company disbanded, and the army to be surrendered! Announcement of the end of the world would hardly have been received with more amazement and consternation. Tear bedewed eyes and husky voices betrayed emotions that strong men could not repress. The orderly sergeant, Bloackadar, could scarcely get through the roll-call, and could not find voice, or forgot, to give the command to break ranks, and this last order to the company was given by Sergeant McCreery. It is a good and satisfying record, that at that last roll-call every man was present or satisfactorily accounted for, with possibly two or three exceptions.

Disbanded and free, with the sky above and earth beneath, and every man with untrammelled liberty to go whither he pleased; to help himself to a horse or to anything else that was common property, after the few remaining rations were shared from the wagon; free from roll-calls and obedience to somebody else's orders, and, above all, free to decide—every man for himself, individually—the question of further warfare or peace. Truly, a momentous question for men who had been so long obeying orders. There were numbers of men in that company who had served from the very commencement of the war. From a sense of duty, and from free choice, they had gone into the army, sacrificing personal freedom and everything for the cause. Their motives were the same as those of General Lee, and in their humble sphere they had tried to do their duty, relying on him for leadership.

Few men of that company or of that army had fought for love of fighting or for the glory of war, or even from mere hate of the enemy. At any and all times they would gladly have echoed Lee's wish that those people would only go home and let us alone. With such motives and under such leadership, but one result had ever been contemplated; it would have been a kind of treason to expect any other conclusion than final victory. But here was the end of the [334] company and the army, and what should they do? No officers, no command, but free choice for every man to act on his own sense of right and duty. Never, probably, was there a more curious council of war than that held by members of the second detachment, and presumably by other detachments or messes, consulting together as to what they should do.

A detachment of private soldiers, absolved by their commander-in-chief from further service under his command, met to consider and advise for themselves, whether the war was ended, and what they should do. Stationing a man in the road to watch for and surrender to the enemy, if he should appear, as momentarily expected, the detachment gathered under the trees, and the situation was summarily discussed. After a brief deliberation, it was pretty unanimously decided that the surrender of Lee's army meant the end of the war, rendering futile the hope of further resistance, as Johnston's surrender must soon follow.

The only thing to do was to go home, or any rate to get away as soon as possible from that dangerous region, in order to avoid a trip to the prison camp at Point Lookout. Some few members of the company, deciding that they were ‘in for the war,’ and that it was not for them to judge when it was over, did make their way to North Carolina to join Johnston. It was a matter of individual judgment as to the end of the war. The large majority judged that it was over, and made their way home or to the north side of James river as quickly as possible, where in some safety they could learn the actual state of affairs, and whether the army was really surrendered. The farewells were spoken, and the party broke up into groups, making their way to the river. With a record of which they have reason to be proud, the war service of the first company of Richmond Howitzers was closed, and has passed into history with that of the army of which it was a part.

It may be necessary for the information of some readers to add that there were three companies of the Howitzers. The second and third companies were with the main body of the army, and were surrendered at Appomattox.