It is strange that I cannot recall anything from Cold Harbor to Petersburg. I don't recollect when we left Cold Harbor nor how fast we were hurried, nor the distance. The first thing coming to my remembrance is reaching Petersburg. I have consulted with Capt. Foster and several others, privates like myself, of this place (Union, S. C.), who were members of the Palmetto Sharpshooters, a regiment of our brigade, and, to my surprise, they, too, are about as much in the dark as to that period as I am. I account for it this way: We had been around Cold Harbor for several days, the first two days of which we had hard fighting. The balance of the time remaining there we had only some skirmishing on the picket lines and resting up. Therefore, there were no impressions left. Besides, we needed this rest and quiet sorely, after the hard times we had undergone since the first morning at the Wilderness. Some time passed, and, consequently, we took things easy, regardless of everything. I do not remember, nor could I find out, how we reached Petersburg. I do not think, nor can I believe, that we passed through Richmond. If not, we must have crossed the James River on pontoons below Richmond, but, be that as it may, we did reach Petersburg, and none too soon. There was a heavy fight in progress. It was then about sundown. We were thrown into line of battle and ordered to double quick. We had gone perhaps half a mile, drawing nearer and nearer the fighting forces, when suddenly we met our men being driven back. I understand that these were Gen. Beauregard's troops, who had been holding the enemy in check all day, and had just commenced to retire, being worn out and overpowered. They immediately fell in with us, and here we checked the advancing enemy and held our line, and upon this line so held we built the famous Petersburg breastworks, such works as were never built before, and which were occupied by our troops for nine long, tiresome and eventful months. It is true that at first these works here were only a crude affair, we not expecting to remain in them many days; but time went on and each day saw more work done, more facilities for moving around and for living, until we had built so that we could get around—cook, eat, sleep, the same as on the level, and with comparative safety, though the least exposure of the person would guarantee a quick shot from the enemy's sharpshooters with globe-sighted guns, and they got to be such expert marksmen that they rarely ever missed.

At this time our lines were some distance apart—far enough, in fact, for us and them to keep out our pickets, and the fighting for a while was done by the picket line, the army itself being hard at work with pick and spade. The work was hard and heavy and those who would go into the trenches at night would work the time while there and be relieved by fresh troops the following night. This was done until we had good works, and until Grant had so lengthened his line that nearly all of Lee's army was required to face him, leaving but a handful to relieve those who had worked the hardest, and who were also held as a kind of reserve, ready to go to any point, should the enemy make an assault. These held in reserve would be one day one command, the next day another.

Grant now had Petersburg invested and had moved his lines up so close that we nor they had space for pickets—in fact, our videttes did not leave our works. I don't think it could have been over two hundred yards from our works to theirs. It might have been more and it might have been less. It was a long time ago and I might not recall the distance correctly; but I do recollect that it was very uncomfortably close.

About this time the two men, Morrison and Stewart, whom were given us by Hart's Battery in exchange for Darling Patterson, came to us. I must take time to give a brief description of these two men. Morrison was a great big fellow, heavy frame, about forty-five or fifty years old, heavy gray beard, and he was a real good-hearted fellow, but the report of a gun would scare him out of his breeches. He was certainly constitutionally a coward, and I really think he hated it, and when not under fire and not scared he would determine to try to not get so next time; but his good intentions would go to the wind just as soon as the bullets began to come.

The other fellow, Stewart, was a medium sized, dark complexioned, swarthy man, about thirty or thirty-five. He was a genuine coward and would not try, nor did he care to overcome it, but would skulk on all occasions; and, worse still, he pretended to be a preacher, and often, in the very nick of time, old Stewart would sing out, "Let's all join in prayer." He played this off on us for a little while, and would succeed in being left; but, after a while, we found him out, and would break up his little scheme, although I don't recollect his having even been gotten into a regular "sit-to" fight. About this time we got another recruit—one that must be mentioned in these memoirs, because I knew him before he came, and, besides, he was known to everyone from Barnwell. John Lambert, of Barnwell, was our other new man, and why he should have selected our regiment for his service I could never understand, unless it was that he had known from infancy Col. Hagood, Eddie Bellinger, Jim Diamond, Perry Manville, the Mixson boys and Nelson boys, and perhaps some others; and as he had to go somewhere it was just as well to go where he knew people. Now, while John didn't love fighting, and always said that the Lord intended him to take care of himself, and he didn't purpose to disappoint the Lord, he was a jolly fellow and kept things lively with his jokes and quaint sayings. But, while he was very careful how he exposed himself, he did an act while in the trenches which the bravest of the brave shuddered at. After a time in the trenches it had gotten so that the least exposure was certain death. One day there came along in the field in rear of our regiment a nice, fat shoat, about fifty pounds, strolling as if he didn't care if corn was fifty dollars a bushel. He strolled along till a Yankee sharpshooter concluded to cut him down. We heard him squeal and saw the shoat keel over. Something to eat of any kind would go well, but a fat pig, within seventy-five yards, ready to be cleaned and cooked! John Lambert couldn't stand it, but, jumping out of the trenches, running back with the minnie balls cutting the dirt all around him, he succeeded in getting to that hog, grabbing it by the hind leg, and started back in face of death itself. No one expected him to get in, but on he came, and finally jumped in the trench, hog and all, without even a scratch. It was one of the most marvelous feats, besides the most daring, of anything that I recollect happening. After this if anything was ever said to John in reference to his being a little scary he would bring up the pig incident.

We remained in the trenches for some time before being relieved for a night, but at last our night came, and we were taken back to rest. We knew that Gen. Johnson Hagood's Brigade was somewhere on the line, and late in the afternoon Jim Diamond, Eddie Bellinger and myself got permission to go over to Hagood's brigade headquarters to see Vince Bellinger and Willie Hagood, who were in the brigade quartermaster department of Hagood's Brigade. We knew we would get something to eat and get something to bring back. We found them about sundown, and Vince and Willie told their man, Joe, a good old darkey, to commence preparing supper, and to fix enough of it. We sat around talking for a while, when Vince proposed that while Joe was fixing up the supper we should go right down the street to where he knew a fellow had something to drink. These boys were located near the town—in fact, at the head of a street. We pulled out, and in a few minutes Vince knocked on a door on the street. Almost instantly the door was opened, and in all five of us went. There was a long counter on one side of the house. The old man had no lights except a tallow candle. We stepped up near the front and Vince called for the liquor. The old man set out a decanter with only about four drinks—when the old fellow filled up for the fifth man to get his—it was a half gallon decanter—then the last one of us poured his out, leaving the decanter full, except the one drink. We took our drink, and Vince asked how much. The old fellow said, "Ten dollars each," making fifty dollars for the treat. Vince gave him a one hundred dollar bill. He picked up his candle, going back to the end of the counter to his safe for the change; but in doing this he had left the decanter setting on the counter. I told Vince to walk back and get the change; we would walk out. I picked up the full decanter, and as we walked out the door Vince overtook us, and we all went out together. However, we saw the old fellow, as he came back, hold up his light to look after his liquor. On discovering it gone, he jumped across the counter, following us. We were all in a dead run by this time. The old fellow was afraid to holler for police, as he was running what we now call a "blind tiger," but he followed us to the end of the street. When Vince picked up an old gun, and raising it, advanced on him, the old man then broke back as fast as he had come, leaving us with the liquor. We took another drink all around, when Joe told us to draw up, supper was ready. Joe had given us a good supper—hominy, fried bacon, biscuits and coffee—the best part of which was there was enough of it. We drank no more, for Vince and Willie asked us to carry some to Jim Hagood and Capt. Wood. They also told Joe to get us up some rations, and he put us up about a half of a side of bacon, about half a bushel of meal and some salt. We got back to our command some time about midnight, and it was not long before Jim Hagood had his boy, Crow, and Pat Wood his boy, Fred, making up a fire, and about two o'clock we had a supper. In the meantime all the whiskey had disappeared. We all slept late next morning, and about eleven o'clock we had breakfast. We went back into the trenches and remained there some time, when we were taken across the James River to meet a demonstration being made there.