The Siege of Petersburg, June, 1864, to March, 1865

The siege of Petersburg had now begun. It is certain that Lee had had a narrow escape in getting there in time. Grant had nearly beaten him and indeed should have taken the place, notwithstanding Beauregard's boldness. The Union generals had been explaining with some heated recriminations how they failed to be in possession before Lee came up. The latter on the north side had been for hours under intense anxious uncertainty in discovering Grant's move, whether a crossing or continued march on the north side.

The lines were closely drawn and severe fighting ensued. Digging began in earnest on both sides. Salients, traverses, bastions, forts, trenches, covered ways, parallel, zig-zags, and all the other devices for the taking and defense of fortified cities were resorted to. Our left rested on the Appomattox River and was so close to the enemy's line that a biscuit could be thrown across, and conversation went on constantly between the fighters, who the next minute were firing at any head or arm that might be incautiously exposed. Our works stretched from the left around the town to the Weldon Road on the right, and this was an object of Lee's constant solicitude. It was our direct railroad to the South, and Grant in possession would have our communications cut and supplies broken off. For months it was the Federal General's incessant effort to accomplish it. His great numbers made it possible, but Lee always managed, notwithstanding, to have a defense.

At Reams Station Major-General Mahone performed great service in beating back the force sent to seize the road at that point. Later in the siege, mining began by the enemy. The result was the appalling hour of the crater explosion by which very many Confederates perished, and then in the great combat that followed for recapturing the ground, hundreds of Federals fell. Mahone was conspicuous in restoring the broken lines.

But the story of the siege of Petersburg—eight months—is not to be told in a few pages. It was a struggle from day to day, night to night, and filled with picturesque scenes of individual daring and valor, sorties and strategems. There was often quiet massing of columns for heavy assaults on points supposed to be relatively weak. We sustained many of these but the lines were maintained. Lee also made some hard drives at his opponent with varying success. All, however, pointed to only one thing—the wasting of our unrecruited strength and the apparently limitless numbers available for the Union Army.

While such operations were carried on south of the James, General Grant was not idle on the north side. A strong force was held there threatening Richmond, and our commander had to provide for it out of his thin ranks and keep some show of strength in front of our capital, immensely aided, however, by the excellent lines of field works that environed the city. These conditions brought about considerable shifting of our two divisions. Field and Kershaw were between the Petersburg lines and the north side, and Pickett's division was defending what was known as the Chesterfield lines between Petersburg and Richmond, but was not threatened.

A strong force of the enemy had massed north of the James and captured a powerful earthwork known as Battery Harrison on our extreme right. General Lee had come on the scene with one of the First Corps divisions and other troops. He decided to retake the fort, attaching great importance to its possession. An assaulting column of three good brigades was organized, Bratton's South Carolina regiments among them. Captain Sorrel, then adjutant-general, shook hands with me as they started forward, almost a "forlorn hope," and I thought never to see him alive again. But he came out safe among many killed and wounded, the assault being repulsed with great loss. A new line was entrenched and fortified, thrown back to right and rear.

General Lee, when he liked, could sit down pretty hard on words not agreeable to him. An example was given that night. With his staff and several general officers he was at the Chaffin farm-house on the James, reviewing the serious events of the day. General Pemberton, after the fall of Vicksburg, being without assignment, had assumed his rank of lieutenant-colonel in the Regular Army, and as such was on engineer duty on the Richmond line of defense. He was present and, speaking of Battery Harrison, said with something like superior confidence, "I presume, General, you will retake the fort, coÛte que coÛte." Lee's sad, steady eyes rested on that unfortunate officer as he slowly said: "General Pemberton, I made my effort this morning and failed, losing many killed and wounded. I have ordered another line provided for that point and shall have no more blood shed at the fort unless you can show me a practical plan of capture; perhaps you can. I shall be glad to have it." There was no answer from Pemberton.

General Lee had had an anxious day; all of it was occupied in meeting the enemy's attacks. There was an especially severe one on Fort Gilmer by Ben Butler's command, with negro regiments pushed in front of the assailing whites. Fortunately we had a staunch regiment in the fort, which beat back the attacking column.

A hundred or two of the negroes, half crazed with whiskey, got into the ditch of the fort and refused surrender.

Our men lighted some shells, rolled them over the parapet and quickly brought the darkies to subjection. It was an ugly affair all through.

And so the siege passed. One day strong detachments must be made to meet powerful movements against our extreme right flank, and requires the leaders' presence. Truly never was a leader called on for greater performance. General Lee's health was now fortunately stronger and his activity most wonderful.

He was in comfortable quarters at the Turnbull House, offered for his use by the owner. Our own were not far distant, and quite comfortable in tents and small houses. The routine life of the town passed from day to day without excitement. The people had become accustomed to shell and bullets and made no ado when they whizzed about their heads.

I do not think the enemy's fire was directed especially at the non-combatant part of the town, but much of it got there all the same. A new accession to our staff was Captain Dunn, of Petersburg, an excellent gentleman, with us now for several months. A shell burst on him while bathing in his house, and smashed things all around, but the A. D. C. and his family escaped. A bullet had found his leg before this good luck.

The citizens were very hospitable and very self-sacrificing. Too much could not be done for the soldiers. But this was the feeling and the practise all over Virginia.

As we entered Petersburg I came up with the regiments of Mahone's brigade, the Twelfth among them. They had not forgotten the Wilderness, gave me a rousing cheer, and cried that we must again together charge these fellows in front of Petersburg. Their brave survivors keep me in mind still, after these many years.

General Lee, always aggressive, was quick to find opportunity of attack. He saw his enemy rather exposed at a point in front of Richmond, quickly got some troops in position, and made a dash at them in great style. It was a strong force of infantry and cavalry under General Kautz, and he left eight or nine guns, many prisoners, and some colors in our hands, retiring to a strong fort and defenses about a mile in his rear. Our General decided to have it and follow up his first success. Gregg's Texas Brigade and two others—seasoned troops—were thrown at Kautz's fort. We could not live against its fire—no troops could. His men were armed with the Spencer magazine rifles and such a fire had never before jarred and stunned us. We had to retire and resume our positions. Losses were considerable, among them Brig.-Gen. John Gregg, commanding the Texas Brigade—a very able officer.

General Lee was fond of horses and had always an eye to them. When the first attack was made my brother, Captain Sorrel, was mounted on a nice young mare I had just given him. At the first onset she was shot, and horse and rider were both in the mud. It happened almost under General Lee's eyes.

Some days after, the General meeting Sorrel on the road kindly asked if he were hurt, and was sorry for the loss of the mare. "But I have got another, General," said the Captain. "Yes, two it seems," the General answered as he rode off, smiling. Sorrel's bewilderment was removed when later on it became plain that the new purchase was in foal.

When Ewell, one leg gone, was forced to relinquish field work and take leave of his corps, the old Warrior insisted on other duty, and was assigned to command of the inner line of defenses about Richmond. General Lee, with Ewell, Anderson, and a number of other officers, and some of our staff, was examining a new line of defense with that trained engineer's eye of his, Ewell riding by him. The latter was so good a horseman that his one leg was equal to most riders' two, but his horse stumbling, down came both—an awful cropper. I made sure the General's head and neck were cracked. He was picked up, no bones broken, but an "object" about the head; scratched, bruised, torn and bloody. Lee instantly ordered him back to Richmond and to stay there until completely well.

In two or three hours he was again on the lines, and such a sight! Painfully comical it was. He had gone to the hospital, where the bald head and face were dressed. He returned swathed in bandages from crown of head to shoulders. Two little apertures for his piercing eyes and two small breathing spaces were all that was left open for the Lieutenant-General. Quite indifferent, however, to such mishaps, he was sharp about his work and lisping out directions as usual.

General Lee thought to weaken the pressure on him at Petersburg and Richmond by transferring some of it to the open field of the Valley, where skilful maneuvering might offset inferior numbers. He had the temerity to detach part of his army for the purpose, and with some other commands sent General Anderson with Kershaw's division across the mountains. Most of the staff went with the expedition and had opportunity of witnessing Sheridan's work in destroying all the resources of that fighting-ground.

As we marched forward, the enemy slowly retiring, smoke was seen ahead on a wide range from the burning barns and granaries of the non-combatant people. Sheridan was arranging for his "crow" to carry his own rations should he venture into the Valley.

General Lee's ingenious and bold attempt did not result as he hoped. Grant could not be tempted that way. His business was at Petersburg and Richmond, and besides there were already enough of his troops in the Valley and covering Washington to answer for the safety of that capital. Our expedition was therefore soon terminated and came back to the James. The division had but two encounters in the Valley. One at Charlestown, a small affair, in which General Humphreys, commanding the Mississippi Brigade, was wounded. Another was at Front Royal, in which Wofford's brigade got caught in a bend of the river and was beaten off with loss in killed, wounded, and prisoners. A dear friend, Colonel Edward Stiles, Sixteenth Georgia Regiment, was killed.

I had chance, however, before marching, after a sharp night's ride, to pay a flying visit at their home to the good ladies Hamtrammock, who had cared for me wounded at Sharpsburg. They were as pleasant as ever and the hour seemed all too short. While in the Federal lines they had supplied themselves with all sorts of little things for soldiers in the field, as tokens of remembrance, and I had pressed on me a pair of fine gauntlets, which seemed about everything that I wanted at the moment.

On our way back to Lee the division (Kershaw's) suddenly came up with a Union regiment of cavalry foraging at the foot of the mountains. It was a surprise to the riders, and they at once took to their heels, pressing up on the side of the mountains for escape. We had nothing but food with us, and most of the mounted regiment got safely away in small parties. Two fully-equipped ambulances, however, could not follow the riders, and were overturned in a mountain gulley. One of them furnished me with an excellent mount. Two soldiers were going through its beautiful equipment, and coming among the medicines to a large vessel labeled "Spiritus frumenti" it was tossed aside with the rest of the pharmacopoeia. But some one suggested that "Spiritus frumenti" might be another way of spelling whiskey—and then to see those fellows go for it!

While the commander and most of the troops of the First Corps were on the north side, the enemy's mines at Petersburg were "spring making." "The Crater" was a frightful affair, and should, it appears to me, have been prevented. We knew they were mining. Our shaft had been sunk and short galleries run out. Their working parties could be heard. Should we not have countermined actively and fought their men off in their own galleries? However, it was not done, and the "blow up," considered only barely possible, was upon us. When it came it was all that the enemy could wish. His plans were excellent, but miscarried by the conduct of one or more of his leading officers. The crater was at once filled with their men, many negroes among them—negroes who, as usual, primed with whiskey, had been pushed to the front and into the breach, but support failed them.

Then came the Confederates' great work of destroying these men and recovering their mutilated line. Mahone did brilliant service. His division of five brigades was thrown at the invaders, and with other forces seized the "hole," captured or killed the unfortunates in it, and the day was ours with the works and integrity of the line restored.

I had heard much of this remarkable fight from the Georgia Brigade (it had been very conspicuous in it) that I took command of some days after.

This amusing story was told me by one of its men. Exhausted in the crater fight, he sank wearily on a log for a short rest. It moved gently and an old-fashioned negro's voice came from the log-like darky, "Please, Marster, don't shoot; I'se doin' nuttin'." The rascal had doubtless been one of the first in the crater, wild with liquor; but the Southerner was merciful and sent him to the rear.

Of course the men on both sides behind the works, so close sometimes, got tired of "potting" at each other, and taking a rest became altogether too friendly. Firing would cease and individuals and small parties appear in front bartering and chaffing with the boys in blue.

Our tobacco was always good for coffee and a Northern paper. It got to be too familiar and led to desertions of our men. Their rations were of the poorest (one-half pound of bacon and three-quarters of a pound of cornmeal), their clothing and shoes worn and unfit for the field, and their work and duties of the hardest on our attenuated lines. Reliefs were few and far between. No wonder they sometimes weakened to better themselves, as they supposed, and stayed with the fat-jowled, well-clad, coddled-up masses opposite them. But we had to stop the desertions at any price, so at night steady, continuous musketry firing was ordered, sweeping the glacis in front of our entrenchments. It cost a lot of lead and powder, but did something in holding back the weaklings in our command.

The enemy, nothing loth, returned the fire, and were good enough to send plenty of their own lead. There was considerable to be gathered during the day, and this got my friend, Gen. E. P. Alexander, into trouble. He was a many-sided character—an engineer of the highest abilities, an artillerist of great distinction, a good reconnoitering officer and an enthusiastic sportsman besides. In the early days of the war I one day met him, mounted as usual on a very sorry, doubtful-looking beast, with a pair of enormous holsters on his saddle-horn. "And what have you there, Alexander?" I asked, thinking possibly of some good edibles. "These," he said, and drew out his long telescope for reconnaissance—a very powerful glass—and from the other an enormous old-fashioned horse-pistol of immense calibre, some tiny cubes of lead, cut from bullets, and a pinch or two of gunpowder. "Quail," he said, "are eating up this country and I like them. This old pistol gives me many a mess of birds." At Petersburg his only want for his private gunning was lead to melt into small shot, and gathering some (after working his big gun) he received an unexpected contribution—a bullet in his shoulder, hot from the enemy, which made him a very uncomfortable wound.