From the Wilderness to James River.

"Turning his bridle, Robert Lee
Rode to the rear. Like waves of the sea,
Bursting the dikes in their overflow,
Madly his veterans dashed on the foe."

The army of Northern Virginia had met and defeated McDowell, McClellan, Pope, Burnside and Hooker, and caused the retirement of Meade, but the Government at Washington had at last found a soldier believed to be a full match for Gen. Lee.

Grant had been successful in the West, and his achievements had made him the Nation's idol, so he was brought to the East and placed in command of the army of the Potomac.

All during the late fall and winter and early spring he was preparing an immense army, whose rendezvous was on the Rappahannock and in the district about Culpeper Courthouse. It was a greater and better equipped army than that under McClellan in 1862. Then again, McClellan was an untried soldier, while Grant had won his spurs on more than one battlefield. So the North had a right to feel that Lee would be beaten and Richmond captured. Besides this great army, another 30,000 strong was marching up the James river, taking the same route McClellan took two years before.

Gen. Benj. F. Butler was its commander. The two armies were to unite and compel the surrender or evacuation of the Confederate Capital.

It was about the first of May when Grant began his movements toward Lee's front. At this time the whole cavalry force of Gen. Lee was encamped in a rich grazing district about five miles from Fredericksburg.

We had been there several weeks, our horses had been wading in grass up to their knees. They had shed their winter coats, and were looking fine, and seemed to be ready for the fray.

Our principal article of food was fresh fish, caught from the Rappahannock river.

As we loitered around the camp from day to day, speculating as to when we should be called to the front, and discussing what would be the result of the coming battle, we began to get restless, as soldiers will. They live on excitement, and the booming of guns and the rattling of musketry is the sweetest music they can hear.

One bright May morning (it must have been about the first day of the month) we saw a courier with his horse all flecked with foam as he came dashing into our camp. He halted and asked for Gen. Stuart's headquarters. It proved to be a messenger from Gen. Lee, and it meant that the death-struggle was about to begin.

Soon the bugles were sounding all through the camps the old familiar call, "Saddle up, saddle up." We mounted, and each company forming in line and counting off by fours, wheeled into columns of two and marched off toward what was afterward known as the Battlefield of the Wilderness.

We arrived at the position assigned us about dark, where we went into camp in the woods, tying our horses to the trees and building camp-fires to cook our supper. I had (like the boy in the parable of the loaves and fishes) in my haversack a few small fresh fish, and I was wondering whether they would be sweet or not. I remember distinctly laying them on the coals of fire to broil. It has been 43 years since then, but I can assure you I can almost taste those fish today. I don't think I ever ate anything so sweet.

The next day we were in the saddle early. The cavalry formed the right wing of Lee's army. The battle lasted two days. The cavalry fought almost entirely on foot. It was mostly in heavy timber and thick undergrowth.

The first day we did not see the enemy, but we knew he was there, for the woods were ringing with the sound of their guns, and bullets were hissing about our ears.

When we struck this heavy body of timber we found a narrow road running through it. We followed this road cautiously for two or three miles. My company was in front. About 200 yards in front of the company rode two soldiers, side by side. We knew somewhere in front of us was the enemy, and it was our mission to find him. Suddenly we heard two shots—pop, pop. We all knew what that meant. The armies of Lee and Grant had met, and as far as I know, these were the first two shots fired of the Battle of the Wilderness. They had come from the enemy's guns. They had seen our advance guard, and the shots meant, "so far shalt thou come, and no farther." We took the hint and halted.

The regiment was dismounted, and the led horses were taken back some distance; we deployed on the right and left of the road and awaited results; then moved forward until we discovered the enemy's line. We exchanged some shots, and began falling slowly back, while they advanced.

As we retired, their bullets were hissing through our ranks and cutting the bark from the trees and the twigs from the bushes, and now and then striking down our men.

My cousin, Dallas Leith, and myself stood together behind a tree for protection. As he fired, his head was exposed, and a bullet from the enemy's ranks just brushed his lips. He turned to me and said, "Wasn't that a close shave?" And at the same time a bullet grazed my finger as I fired.

We fell back through the timber to the edge of the open fields, and getting behind a rail fence, remained there until the enemy came up. We held our fire until they got close to us, when we poured a volley into their ranks that sent them scurrying back through the woods. We then climbed the fence and followed them up.

About 20 steps from the fence we saw two Yankees lying mortally wounded. We gathered around them and asked them some questions about where they were from, and one of our men pulled a photograph from the pocket of one of them. It was a picture of a young girl, and one of the men said, "I guess that's his sweetheart." He opened his eyes and said with much difficulty, "No, it is my sister." Our captain was standing by, and as the men were so close to our line, someone conceived the idea that they had come up to surrender, and one of them said to our captain, "Captain, these men came up to surrender, and were shot down." One of the Yankees denied the accusation with some feeling. They were both shot in the breast, and were bleeding profusely. It was very evident that they had but a short time to live.

The captain ordered them to be taken back to a place of safety. They begged to remain where they were, saying that they hadn't long to live, but they were taken back to a safer place.

We were again ordered forward, and kept on until we came in touch with the enemy, when the firing was resumed.

Dallas Leith and myself were again behind a tree. He was kneeling down loading his gun, when his head was again exposed, and a ball struck him in the forehead. It tore away a part of the bone, exposing his brain. I felt confident the boy was killed, and had no other thought than that of leaving him there, for we had all we could do to carry back the wounded, much less the dead.

We were then ordered to fall back, and someone more humane than I proposed that we carry his body back with us. I protested that it was impossible, but the others insisted, and, tying a handkerchief around his head, his hair drenched with blood, we picked him up and carried him back about a mile, when to our surprise we got into a road and there found an ambulance. Putting him in it, he was carried to the hospital, in the rear. Strange to say, he lived about ten days, giving his father time to come from Loudoun county to see him before he died. About this same time his younger brother Henry (at home) was blown to pieces by a shell that he had picked up in the field on his father's farm and was trying to open it, to see what was inside.

But to return to the battle. This state of things continued for two whole days, with little intermission. Sometimes, however, there was not a shot fired for an hour.

During one of these intervals I remember sitting down, leaning my back against a large tree, and began writing a letter to my folks at home. Capt. Gibson came up to me and said, "Young man, if you don't want to get shot, you'd better get on the other side of that tree, for somewhere just in front of us, and not a great distance off, is the enemy's skirmish line, and they may open fire at any moment." I moved behind the tree and resumed my writing, but was suddenly stopped by the sound of firing in our front, that caused us to creep farther back into the woods.

On another occasion we had fallen back out of the timber into the open fields, and were firing from behind a fence at the enemy in the woods, whom we could not see for the undergrowth. Our attention was called to a large body of cavalry on our left, apparently the enemy on mischief bent.

There are times in a battle when every private soldier on the firing line becomes a "Commander-in-Chief." It is when orders cannot be given, or would not be heard if they were. Each soldier seems to know intuitively what to do, and the whole line acts in concert.

At this particular time the body of cavalry on our left proved to be the bluecoats, moving toward our rear. It did not take long for the information to spread up and down the line, and at once every man in the ranks, in absence of any orders from headquarters, concluded that the thing to do was to fall back. So each soldier gave the order to himself, and quicker than it takes time to tell it, the line was moving back over the fields.

We had retreated perhaps 200 yards when the movement was noticed by Gen. Fitzhugh Lee. He came galloping toward us on his white horse, and with a voice that could be heard above the shots of the guns, he said, "What does this mean?" In reply, hundreds of hands pointed toward the enemy on our left, and some voices said, "They're getting in our rear." Gen. Lee said, "Tut, tut, tut; go back, go back." And without a word every man wheeled around and started back for the position he had left. Gen. Lee perhaps knew that there were forces enough there to take care of the enemy, who, as we saw it, was getting behind us.

As I said before, this kind of warfare continued for two days, and all the time it was going on we could hear the booming of the artillery on our left, telling us that Grant was doing all he could to beat back or break through Lee's lines, and we knew, too, that he was not accomplishing his purpose. We could always tell which way the battle was going by the direction from which the sound came.

The night of the second day Grant silently and rapidly withdrew the main portion of his army from Lee's front and marched toward Spottsylvania Courthouse, which was some distance to the right of where the cavalry was fighting.

His object was to surprise Gen. Lee, and get between him and Richmond. But Gen. Lee had anticipated that very movement, and when Grant's infantry moved forward at Spottsylvania Courthouse, he found Lee's army there confronting him. Then began the bloodiest battle of all the war, so it is said.

It was during the Battle of the Wilderness that Gen. Grant sent that famous dispatch to Washington, "I will fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." If he meant the line between his army and Lee's, he changed his mind within 24 hours. But if he meant a line stretching from Wilderness to Petersburg, he kept his word. It took him all summer to get his army south of the James river, and cost him the loss (it is said) of 100,000 soldiers.

He could have placed his army there without firing a shot by following the route taken by McClellan, but Grant well knew he must first cripple Lee's army before he could capture Richmond, and that he could afford to lose five men to Lee's one in doing it, and I presume he thought the district called the "Wilderness" a good place to begin the work.

While Grant's army was moving under the cover of night and the dense forests toward Spottsylvania Courthouse, our cavalry also moved in the same direction. And when Grant ordered his lines forward the next morning, the first to receive them was our cavalry.

The enemy's cavalry still confronted us when we began fighting. It seemed to be the same old tactics that had been played for the last two days, except that it was a little fiercer.

Among the killed that day was a handsome young colonel of one of the regiments of our brigade. His name was Collins. I think he was a Georgian.

He was always dressed as if he were going to a reception. His complexion was as fair as a woman's. His hair was light. He habitually wore a clean white collar and a bright new uniform (something unusual among soldiers in the midst of an active campaign), but "death loves a shining mark," and he was taken off.

About 10 o'clock in the morning our cavalry was withdrawn from the front, and going back to our led horses we mounted and slowly rode back toward Spottsylvania Courthouse.

The country here was different from where we had been fighting the two days previous. Much of it was open fields, and the timbered part of it was not encumbered with undergrowth.

As we slowly fell back we looked behind us and saw a gorgeous sight. It was Grant's line of battle moving forward as if on "Dress Parade," their brass buttons and steel guns with fixed bayonets glistening in the sun, with their banners floating in the breeze. The first thought among the private soldiers was, "Has Grant stolen a march on Lee, and is Richmond doomed?" It certainly looked so at this moment, but we kept on falling back.

As we entered the woods we suddenly came upon Lee's infantry lying down in line of battle waiting the enemy's advance. As we approached them, word was passed up and down the line not to cheer the infantry. This was the custom in the face of a battle when the cavalry, retiring from the front, gave way to the infantry.

They opened their ranks and let us pass through, and we formed in line some distance behind them. The infantry was entirely concealed from the enemy's view, and up to this time I am quite sure that Grant did not know that he was facing Lee's army at Spottsylvania Courthouse. But he was soon to be undeceived in a manner most tragic.

Lee's infantry waited until the enemy was within 100 yards, and then, rising to their feet, poured a volley into their ranks that brought many of them to the ground, and sent the others back from whence they came. This was only the beginning of the battle.

Leaving the infantry to take care of that part of the field, the cavalry was moved a mile to the right and again dismounted, and moved forward until we came under fire of the enemy's guns. We laid down behind a rail fence and fired between the rails. A bullet struck a rail just in front of my head and knocked the dust and splinters in my face, almost blinding me for a little while. We did not remain there very long, but were soon ordered back, and as we moved across the open fields in full view of the enemy, they kept up an incessant fire, many of the shots taking effect.

We could see the Union officers on the little hills in every direction, with their field glasses to their eyes, trying to discover what was in front of them.

The cavalry retired from the field, leaving the infantry to do the rest. How well it was done the historian has tragically told the story. It was on this field that "Hancock, the superb," made eight distinct attacks on Lee's center, and finally breaking his line of battle, rushed his troops by thousands into the breach, and for the moment it looked as if the Confederacy was doomed.

Gen. Lee, seeing the peril in which his army was placed, ordered forward Gordon's division (which he was holding in reserve), placed himself at the head of it, and was about to lead them into battle in order to restore his broken lines. Shells were falling about Gen. Lee and his life was in peril. One of the officers rode up to him and said, "Gen. Lee, this is no place for you; you must go to the rear." His troops refused to go forward until Gen. Lee had retired from the front. One of the soldiers came forward, and taking the reins of Lee's horse, led him back. Then Gen. Gordon led his division forward, the enemy was driven back, the line was restored, and Gen. Lee's army was saved from destruction and another year added to the life of the Confederacy.

I heard Gen. Gordon in a lecture delivered at "Music Hall," Baltimore, some years ago, describing this event, say (as he stretched out his hands horizontally), "My dead were piled that high, and three days after the battle I saw wounded men trying to pull themselves from under the mass of the dead above them. And at one point the slopes were so slippery with blood that my soldiers could not stand until the ground had been carpeted with the bodies of their fallen comrades."

A tree about six inches in diameter standing in a field was literally cut down by bullets, not a shot from a cannon having been fired on that part of the field.

The Standard Encyclopedia puts the strength of Grant's army at 150,000, but does not state how many men Lee had. Perhaps 75,000 would be a fair estimate. The same authority gives Grant's losses at the battle of the Wilderness as 18,000; Lee's at 11,000.[5]

The losses in the battle of Spottsylvania Courthouse, fought two days afterward, were as great, if not greater, than those of the Wilderness.

When the cavalry retired from the front they mounted their horses, and almost Lee's entire cavalry force, headed by their chief, Gen. J.E.B. Stuart, started in a bee line for Richmond, without halting a moment.

Gen. Sheridan, commanding Grant's cavalry, had passed around our right wing with his whole command, and was heading toward the Confederate Capital.

I think it was about 4 o'clock in the afternoon when we started. Sheridan was several miles ahead of us. We marched all night. We overtook Sheridan at Hanover Junction, on the railroad leading to Richmond; not, however, until he had destroyed a large quantity of provisions stored there for Lee's army, a great loss to the Confederates at that time.

Sheridan had prepared for this expedition, and all of his men had well-filled haversacks, while ours were empty.

I cannot remember just when and where we got in front of Sheridan, but I know from Hanover Junction on we were in constant touch with his forces, and harassed them all we could.

At a place called "Yellow Tavern" several regiments of our cavalry (mine among them) were dismounted, formed across the fields, and moved forward in real line of battle style until we came upon the enemy, also dismounted. After a brisk encounter we fell back to a road that was somewhat sunken.

There we halted for the purpose of stopping the enemy's advance, for the sunken road furnished us some protection, but they did not stop. They marched on, firing as they came.

Their line was longer and thicker than ours, and it was evident that we were about to be surrounded. Some of our men mounted the fence in the rear and fled across the fields. Others stood their ground and were captured, I among them.

I was near Colonel Pate, the colonel commanding a regiment in my brigade. He was killed by a bullet striking him in the center of the forehead. Also near me was our captain, Bruce Gibson.

There was a little culvert across a ditch in the road that the farmers used in going from the road into the field. Some of our men crept under this culvert and escaped. Probably 200 of us were captured.

But the army sustained a greater loss than that, a loss second only to that of Stonewall Jackson.

Just behind our line in the field was Gen. Stuart with his staff. A bullet struck him somewhere about the stomach. He was held on his horse until it was led to a place of safety. Then he was taken from his horse, put into an ambulance and carried to Richmond. He died the next day.

Stuart was considered the greatest cavalry leader of the war on either side, and his death brought a very great loss to Gen. Lee, and also to the whole Confederacy.

The Confederacy had from the beginning attached greater importance to the cavalry arm of the service than had the North, and many had been the daring raids that Stuart made within the enemy's lines, capturing thousands of wagons laden with military stores, and many thousand prisoners. In fact, almost our entire cavalry was equipped with saddles, bridles and arms captured from the enemy; nearly all the wagons in Lee's army were captured wagons. But perhaps Providence knew that the time was near at hand when we would not need these things, so He permitted the one who had been the means of supplying our wants in this particular to retire from the field. He was buried in Hollywood Cemetery, Richmond, Va., and a magnificent equestrian statue marks the spot.

Many of Stuart's raids were made under the cover of darkness. He always wore a long ostrich feather in his hat, and was a splendid rider. The soldiers had a war song, the chorus of which was something like this: "We'll follow the feather of Stuart tonight."

The prisoners were taken back and put under guard. I think this was about 4 o'clock in the afternoon. We remained there quietly until after dark, all the time, however, the fighting was going on, but we were out of reach of danger in that respect, so we had a brief breathing spell.

After dark Sheridan's whole command began to move slowly toward Richmond, making frequent stops of a few minutes. The prisoners marched two abreast, with a line of cavalry guard on each side. We had, of course, to keep up with the cavalry.

A BATTLE-SCARRED CONFEDERATE BANNER.