From Chancellorsville to Gettysburg

"It was the wild midnight—
The storm was on the sky;
The lightning gave its light,
And the thunder echoed by."

After resting awhile and mourning the loss of our great soldier, Lee's army began to move. The question was (not only on our side of the river, but on the other), "What is Gen. Lee up to now?"

The Northern commander determined to investigate, and early in the morning of the ninth of June, 1863, a portion of the Union army began to cross the Rappahannock at every ford for miles, up and down the river.

I was on picket at one of the fords, and was relieved at 3 o'clock in the morning, another soldier taking my place.

I went up through the field into the woods where our reserves (some 20 men) were in camp. It was from this squadron that pickets were sent out and posted along the river.

I hitched my horse, and wrapped in a blanket, lay down to sleep. But I was soon rudely awakened by the watchman, who shouted that the enemy was crossing the river. We all jumped up and mounted our horses. Our captain was with us.

The day was just breaking. The pickets were hurrying up from the river in every direction, firing their pistols to give the alarm.

Our captain formed the men in the edge of the woods for the purpose of checking for a few minutes the advancing enemy, so as to give the 10,000 cavalrymen that were encamped a mile or so in the rear time to saddle and mount their horses and prepare for battle.

The enemy came pouring up from the river, and we opened fire on them, checking them for the moment. Two of our men were killed, several wounded, and two horses killed.

Two couriers had gone ahead to arouse the camp. We soon followed them along the road through the woods, the enemy hard on our heels.

I was riding with the captain in the rear. We were not aware that the Yankees were so close to us, and the captain was calling to the men to check their speed. I looked behind, called to the captain and told him they were right on us, and just as I spoke two bullets went hissing by my head. The captain yelled to his men to move forward, and bending low on the necks of our horses, we gave them the spur.

As we came out of the woods into the fields we met the Sixth Virginia (my regiment), under Col. Flournoy, coming down the road at full gallop. Just on his left, and almost on a line with the Sixth, was the Seventh Regiment coming across the fields (for there were no fences then). These two regiments entered the woods, one on the right and one on the left, and stretching out on either side, poured a volley into the advancing enemy that caused them to halt for awhile.

The roar of the guns in the woods at that early hour in the morning was terrific. What was going on in front of us was being enacted up and down the river for at least three miles.

Our forces then fell back into the open country, and the battle continued, at intervals, all day long.

The Yankees were supported by infantry, while we had nothing but cavalry and artillery.

Our enemies could have driven us back farther if they had tried to, but they seemed to be afraid of getting into trouble. I do not know what our commander, Gen. Stuart, knew, but I did not suppose that Gen. Lee was within 30 miles of us. Toward sunset I saw him come riding across the fields on his gray horse, "Traveler," accompanied by his staff. He seemed as calm and unconcerned as if he were inspecting the land with the view of a purchase.

Whether it was the presence of Gen. Lee himself, or the fear that he had his army with him, I know not, but simultaneously with the appearance of Gen. Lee the enemy began to move back and recross the river. We did not press them, but gave them their own time.

We re-established our picket line along the river, and everything was quiet for a day or two.

We went down the next day to the spot where the first fight took place, and found our two men lying dead by the side of a tree, and several dead horses. The enemy had removed their dead (if they had any). It was too dark when we were fighting for us to see whether we did any execution or not at this particular point. We buried our two men where they fell and went back to camp. Total losses as reported by each side—Confederate, 485; Federal, 907.

The next day we were quietly resting in the woods, watching the infantry as they tramped by all day long, moving in a northeasterly direction. The question was asked 10,000 times perhaps that day, "What is Marse Robert up to now? Where is he taking us?" (Gen. Lee was called Marse Robert by his soldiers.)

In the afternoon we noticed a long string of wagons of a peculiar construction, each drawn by six horses, and loaded with something covered with white canvas. Of course, we were all curious to know what these wagons contained. The secret soon leaked out. They were pontoon bridges. And then we began to speculate as to what rivers we were to cross. Some said we were destined for the Ohio, others for the Potomac.

Just before sunset the bugle sounded "saddle up," and soon Stuart's cavalry was in the saddle and on the march.

Everything was trending one way, namely, northeast.

The infantry went into camp at night, but the cavalry marched through most of the night, crossing the Rappahannock several miles above where we had been fighting.

Lee's entire army was en route for Pennsylvania, as we afterward learned, the cavalry keeping in between the two armies, protecting the wagon trains and concealing, as far as possible, our army's destination.[2]

The infantry, artillery and baggage train crossed the Blue Ridge at the various gaps, fording the Shenandoah river, and moved down the valley of Virginia toward the Potomac.

Lee's cavalry kept on the east side of the mountain, holding the enemy back as much as possible.

When we reached Fauquier and Loudoun counties the Union cavalry made a desperate effort to drive in our cavalry and discover the route of our main army.

Heavy fighting began at Aldie, below Middleburg, and was continued up the pike through the town of Middleburg up as far as Upperville, where I had been captured the year before.

The enemy's cavalry was supported by infantry, and our forces fell back fighting foot by foot until they reached Upperville, where we met a division of infantry that Gen. Lee had sent to help us beat back the enemy. The Confederates who were killed in this action are buried in Middleburg and Upperville, in the cemeteries just outside of the two towns, and the ladies of these villages and the country round about were kept busy caring for the wounded.

I escaped some of the heaviest of this fighting by being detailed to guard the prisoners back to Winchester.

The night before the battle I was sent out along the road at the foot of the mountain to discover whether the enemy was approaching from that direction or not. After a lonely ride of several hours I came back and had a time finding Gen. Stuart, to whom I was instructed to report. I found him asleep on the porch of the home of Caleb Rector. I aroused him and delivered my message. His reply was, "All right." I looked up my own command, and lay down for the remainder of the night.

Lee's army crossed the river at Williamsport, Md., on the pontoon bridge.[3] The Northern army crossed between Harper's Ferry and Washington, and our cavalry, strange to say, went below the Union army and crossed the river near Washington, thus circling the Union army and arriving at Gettysburg the last day of the battle. Stuart captured and destroyed many wagons and much property on this expedition.

My brigade of cavalry did not follow Stuart, but followed the main army, bringing up the rear.

After crossing the river, Lee led his main army straight for Chambersburg, Pa. I cannot describe the feeling of the Southern soldiers as they crossed the line separating Maryland and Pennsylvania, and trod for the first time the sacred soil of the North. Many of our soldiers had been on Maryland soil before this, and although Maryland was not a part of the Confederacy, we felt that she was one of us, and while marching over her roads and fields we were still in our own domain, but not so when we crossed into Pennsylvania. We were then in the enemy's territory, and it gave us inexpressible joy to think that we were strong enough and bold enough to go so far from home and attack our enemy upon his own soil. The joy of our soldiers knew no bounds. We were as light-hearted and as gay as children on a picnic, and we had no fear as to result of the move.

Marching along the pike one day, the cavalry halted, and just on our left there was a modest home of a farmer. The garden was fenced, and came out and bordered on the road. His raspberries were ripe, and our soldiers sat on their horses, and leaning over were picking the berries from the vines. One soldier was bold enough to dismount and get over into the garden. We saw the family watching us from the window. The impudence on the part of this soldier was a little too much for the farmer. He came out with an old-fashioned shotgun and berated us in a manner most vehement, but did not shoot. This stirred the risibles of our soldiers to such an extent that the whole command broke out with loud laughter and hurrah for the brave farmer, who single-handed, and with a single-barrel shotgun, was defying the whole rebel horde. If the entire command had leveled its guns at him I think he would have stood his ground, but he could not stand our ridicule, so he went back into his house, and all was quiet again. Presently the command moved off, leaving what berries they did not have time to pick. From Chambersburg, Lee turned his columns southward and moved toward Gettysburg to meet the Union army that was advancing in the opposite direction. The armies met, and the whole world knows the result.

The battle lasted three days. The first two days were decidedly in favor of the Confederates. My command took an active part in the battle, and the adjutant of my regiment was killed, also several in my company, and some were badly wounded and had to be left. I was struck with a ball on the shoulder, marking my coat, and had a bullet hole through the rim of my hat; but as the latter was caused by my own careless handling of my pistol, I can't count it as a trophy.

As the years go by the students of history are more and more amazed at the boldness of Gen. Lee in placing his army of 75,000, some say 65,000, at Gettysburg,[4] when he knew that between him and the capital of the Confederacy (which his army was intended to protect) was the capital of the United States protected by an army of not less than 200,000 soldiers, and I might add by the best-equipped army in the world, for the United States Government had the markets of the world to draw supplies from.

In the morning of the third day of the battle of Gettysburg there had been a terrible artillery duel that made the earth tremble for miles around, and was heard far and wide.

When the guns got too hot for safety the firing ceased, the noise died away and the soldiers lay down to rest.

During this interval Gen. Lee called his generals together for counsel. They discussed the situation for some time, which had grown serious. Lee's losses had been heavy in killed and wounded, and his stock of ammunition was growing low.

After considerable discussion Lee mounted his gray horse, rode off a few paces to a slight elevation, and lifting his field glass to his eyes looked intently at the long lines of blue that stretched along the slopes, in the hope of finding some weak point which he might attack. Then returning to his officers he said in a firm voice: "We will attack the enemy's center, cut through, roll back their wings on either side and crush or rout their army." Then he said: "Gen. Pickett will lead the attack."

Pickett was a handsome young Virginian, a splendid rider, a brave commander, and one of the most picturesque figures in the Confederate army. Bowing his head in submission, he mounted his horse, and tossing back his long auburn locks, rode off and disappeared among the trees. The other officers soon joined their several commands, and Gen. Lee was left alone with his staff.

There was ominous silence everywhere; even the winds had gone away, and the banners hung limp on their staffs. The birds had all left the trees, the cattle had left the fields, and the small squadrons of cavalry that had been scouting between the two armies retired and took position on either flank. Yonder in front, stretching along the slopes, lay the blue lines of the enemy, like a huge monster asleep, while behind were the hilltops, all frowning with wide-mouthed cannon loaded to the lips.

Soon long lines of gray came stealing out of the woods like waves out of the sea. Long lines of gray moved over the fields like waves over the sea. These were Pickett's men; and Pickett, handsome Pickett, was at their head riding in silence.

The polished steel of the guns, as the lines rose and fell over the uneven ground, caught the rays of the bright July sun, developing a picture of dazzling splendor.

I wonder what was passing through the minds of those boys (their average age perhaps not much over twenty) as they moved step by step toward those bristling lines of steel in their front?

They were thinking of home. Far over the hills, "Way down south in Dixie."

Step by step came the gray, nearer and nearer, when suddenly there was a sound that shook the hills and made every heart quake. It was the signal gun.

Simultaneously with the sound came a cannon ball hissing through the air, and passing over the heads of the advancing columns, struck the ground beyond.

Then suddenly the whole slope was wreathed in smoke and flame, accompanied with a noise like the roar of a thousand cataracts.

Was it a huge volcanic eruption? No. The Blue and the Gray had met. The smoke rose higher and higher, and spread wider and wider, hiding the sun, and then gently dropping back, hid from human eyes the dreadful tragedy.

But the battle went on and on, and the roar of the guns continued. After a while, when the sun was sinking to rest, there was a hush. The noise died away. The winds came creeping back from the west, and gently lifting the coverlet of smoke, revealed a strange sight.

The fields were all carpeted, a beautiful carpet, a costly carpet, more costly than axminster or velvet. The figures were horses and men all matted and woven together with skeins of scarlet thread.

The battle is over and Gettysburg has passed into history.

The moon and the stars come out, and the surgeons with their attendants appear with their knives and saws, and when morning came there were stacks of legs and arms standing in the fields like shocks of corn.

The two armies confronted each other all day long, but not a shot was fired. Up to noon that day, I think I can safely say there was not a man in either army, from the commanders-in-chief to the humblest private in the ranks, that knew how the battle had gone save one, and that one was Gen. Robert E. Lee.

About 4 o'clock in the afternoon, while the cavalrymen were grazing their horses in the rear of the infantry, a low, rumbling sound was heard resembling distant thunder, except that it was continuous. A private (one of my company) standing near me stood up and pointing toward the battlefield said, "Look at that, will you?" A number of us rose to our feet and saw a long line of wagons with their white covers moving toward us along the road leading to Chambersburg.

Then he used this strange expression: "That looks like a mice." A slang phrase often used at that time. He meant nothing more nor less than this: "We are beaten and our army is retreating."

The wagons going back over the same road that had brought us to Gettysburg told the story, and soon the whole army knew the fact. This is the first time Lee's army had ever met defeat.

It is said that the loss of the two armies was about 50,000. This probably included the prisoners; but there were not many prisoners taken on either side. The major portion of the losses were in killed and wounded.

The badly wounded were left on the field to be cared for by the enemy. Those who could walk, and those who were able to ride and could find places in the wagons, followed the retreating army.

The wagon train was miles and miles long. It did not follow the road to Chambersburg very far, but turned off and took a shorter cut through a mountainous district toward the point where the army had crossed the river into Maryland. This wagon train was guarded by a large body of cavalry, including my command.

Just as the sun was going down, dark ominous clouds came trooping up from the west with thunder and lightning, and it was not long before the whole heavens were covered and rain was falling in torrents.

I am not familiar with the topography of the country through which we retreated, but all night long we seemed to be in a narrow road, with steep hills or mountains on either side. We had with us a good many cattle with which to feed the army. These got loose in the mountains and hills covered with timber, and between their constant bellowing and the flashes of lightning and crashing thunder the night was hideous in the extreme. Wagons were breaking down, others getting stalled, and, to make matters worse, about midnight we were attacked by the Union cavalry.

This mountainous road came out on a wide turnpike, and just at this point Kilpatrick (commanding the Union cavalry) had cut our wagon train in two and planted a battery of artillery with the guns pointing toward the point from which we were advancing.

The cavalry which was stretched along the wagon train was ordered to the front. It was with great difficulty that we could get past the wagons in the darkness, and hence our progress was slow, but we finally worked our way up to the front and were dismounted and formed in line as best we could on either side of the road among the rocks and trees and then moved forward in an effort to drive the battery away from its position so we could resume our march. The only light we had to guide us was from the lightning in the heavens and the vivid flashes that came from the enemy's cannon. Their firing did not do much execution, as they failed to get a proper range. Besides, we were so close to them they were firing over our heads, but the booming of the guns that hour of night, with the roar of the thunder, was terrifying indeed, and beyond description. We would wait for a lightning flash and advance a few steps and halt, and then for a light from the batteries and again advance.

In the meantime day was breaking, and the light from the sun was coming in, and at this point our enemy disappeared and the march was resumed. We were afraid that the wagons that had already passed out on the open turnpike had been captured. There were about 200 of them, but such was not the case.

With these wagons was our brigadier commander, Gen. Wm. E. Jones, and two regiments of cavalry. They got so mixed up with the enemy's cavalry that night that it was almost impossible to distinguish friend from foe. Our general was a unique character, and many are the jokes that are told on him. While this fighting was going on those about him would address him as general. He rebuked them for this and said, "Call me Bill." The explanation was that the enemy was so close to them (in fact, mixed up with them) that they did not want him to know that there was a general in the crowd.

Two days afterwards we got hold of one of the county papers, which, in giving the account of this attack, stated that the rebel, Gen. Wm. E. Jones, was captured. Perhaps but for the shrewdness of Gen. Wm. E. Jones in having his men call him "Bill" instead of "General," it might have been true. The firing among the horses attached to the wagons that had gone out on the open pike frightened them to such an extent that they were stampeded, and we saw the next morning as we rode along that some of the wagons had tumbled over the precipice on the right, carrying with them the horses; also the wounded soldiers that were riding in the wagons.

The retreat was continued all the next day, the enemy's cavalry attacking us whenever they could, but without effect.

When we reached the river we found that our pontoon bridge had been partly swept away by the flood caused by the storm I have just spoken of. There was nothing to do but make a stand until the bridge could be repaired, or until the river should fall sufficiently to allow us to ford it.

My recollection is that we remained on that side of the river about a week. In the meantime the whole Northern army gathered in our front and threatened us with destruction, but they seemed to be about as afraid of us as we were of them; for instead of attacking us, they began to throw up breastworks in their front to protect themselves from attack. This greatly encouraged us, and even the privates in the ranks were heard to remark, "We're in no danger, they're afraid of us; look at their breastworks."

By the time the bridge was restored the river had fallen sufficiently to allow the cavalry to ford it. The army leisurely crossed, the infantry, artillery and wagons crossing on the bridge, while the cavalry waded through the water. The passage was made at night.

Gen. Meade, who commanded the Northern army, was very much censured for not attacking Lee while he was on the north side of the river. The Government at Washington seemed to think it would have resulted in the surrender of his army; but we in the ranks on the Confederate side had no fear of such a disaster.

It is true, we were short of ammunition, but the infantry had the bayonet and the cavalry the sabre, and we felt satisfied that we were not in much danger.

I neglected to say that as we marched through the towns of Pennsylvania it was distressing to see the sad faces of the populace as they gathered at their front doors and windows watching us as we moved through their streets. It resembled a funeral, at which all the people were mourners.

It was so different when we were marching through the cities and towns of the South. There we were greeted by the people with waving flags and smiling faces. Another thing we noticed which was quite different from what we witnessed in our own land was a great number of young men between the ages of 18 and 45 in citizen's clothes. This had a rather depressing effect upon us, because it showed us that the North had reserves to draw from, while our men, within the age limit, were all in the army.

It is said that misfortunes never come singly.

No sooner had we reached the south bank of the Potomac than we heard the distressing news that Vicksburg had fallen. This opened the Mississippi river to Farragut's fleet of warships stationed at the mouth of that river, and cut the Confederacy in two.

Then disaster followed disaster in that part of the field; but as I said in the beginning, I am not writing a history of the war, and hence will not attempt to follow the movements of the Western armies.

The question is often asked, "Why did Gen. Lee take his army into Pennsylvania?" That question is easily answered.

For the same reason that the children of Israel went down into Egypt. There was a famine in the land, and they went there for corn. Food was growing scarcer and scarcer in the South, and it became a serious question not only as to how the army was to be fed, but also the citizens at home, the old men, women and children.

No supplies could be brought from beyond the Mississippi. Tennessee and Kentucky were in the hands of the enemy, a great portion of Virginia; in fact, the richest farming sections were ravished first by one army, then by the other, making it impossible for the farmers to put in their grain or reap their harvests.

The other States of the South grew mostly cotton and tobacco. All the Southern ports were closely blockaded; hence the problem of sustaining human life was growing more serious every day.

If Gen. Lee had been successful at the battle of Gettysburg his army would have remained north of the Potomac until late in the fall, and would have subsisted upon the country surrounding his camps. At the same time, the farmers on the eastern side of the Blue Ridge and in the rich valley of Virginia could have planted and reaped an abundant harvest, which would have sufficed to have taken care of man and beast during the long winter months; but Providence ruled otherwise, and Lee was compelled to move his army back and provide for it as best he could.

Another question has been as often asked. "Why was Lee not successful at Gettysburg?" Gen. Lee seemed to have anticipated this question, and answered it in language almost divine when he said, "It was all my fault." He hoped this would have quieted criticism, but it did not, and for forty-odd years critics have been trying to fix the blame on someone.

Of course, I cannot solve the problem, but I would suggest this: Gen. Lee could not take the risk at Gettysburg that he took when he fought his other battles. He was too far from his base of supplies. If he had been defeated at Seven Pines, Manassas, Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, the Wilderness, Spotsylvania, Cold Harbor, he would have had the defences of Richmond to fall back upon. But not so at Gettysburg. If he should be defeated there he must retain an army strong enough to cut through the lines of the enemy, in order to reach his base of supplies.

After three days' fighting at Gettysburg he had gone as far as he dared go toward the depletion of his men and supplies; hence he ordered a retreat, knowing that he was still strong enough to handle the enemy and reach the south bank of the Potomac.

Some say it was because Jackson was not there; but the battles of the Wilderness, Spotsylvania and Cold Harbor, where Grant was in command of the Northern army, demonstrated that Lee could win victories without Jackson. Perhaps what contributed most to Lee's defeat at Gettysburg was the absence of the cavalry just at a time when he needed it most. Had Stuart kept the cavalry between the two armies, and informed Lee as to the movements of the enemy, he would not have been placed in such a disadvantageous position as he was at Gettysburg. Then again, the enemy had vastly superior numbers.

Whatever may have been the cause of his defeat, Gen. Lee, with the magnanimity characteristic of him, said: "It was all my fault."