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History of Kershaw's Brigade

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Title: History of Kershaw's Brigade

Author: D. A. Dickert


        
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HISTORY OF KERSHAW'S BRIGADE

With Complete Roll of Companies, Biographical Sketches, Incidents,
Anecdotes, etc.

by

D. AUGUSTUS DICKERT







[Illustration: LT. COL. AXALLA JOHN HOOLE Eighth South Carolina
Volunteer Regiment Kershaw's Brigade October 12, 1822-September 20,
1863]




INTRODUCTION.


For three reasons, one purely personal (as you will soon see), I am
pleased to play even a small part in the reprinting of D. Augustus
Dickert's The History of Kershaw's Brigade ... an undertaking in my
judgment long, long, overdue.

First, it is a very rare and valuable book. Privately published by
Dickert's friend and neighbor, Elbert H. Aull, owner-editor of the
small-town weekly Newberry (S.C.) Herald and News, almost all of
the copies were shortly after water-logged in storage and destroyed.
Meantime, only a few copies had been distributed, mostly to veterans
and to libraries within the state. Small wonder, then, that
Kershaw's Brigade ... so long out-of-print, is among the scarcest of
Confederate War books--a point underscored by the fact that no copy has
been listed in American Book Prices Current in fifty years. Only one
sale of the book is recorded in John Mebane's Books Relating to
the Civil War (1963), an ex-library copy which sold for $150. More
recently, another copy, oddly described as "library indicia, extremely
rare," was offered for sale by second-hand dealer for $200. Under
these circumstances it is difficult to determine why, amidst the
ever-increasing interest in the irrepressible conflict, this unique
book has had to wait seventy-five years to make its reappearance on
the American historical scene.

My second reason is that, in company with other devotees of the
Confederacy, I consider Kershaw's Brigade ... one of the best
eye-witness accounts of its kind, complete, trustworthy, and intensely
interesting. Beginning with the secession of South Carolina on
December 20, 1860, Dickert describes in detail the formation,
organization, and myriad military activities of his brigade until its
surrender at Durham, N.C., April 28, 1865. During these four years
and four months, as he slowly rose in rank from private to captain,
Dickert leaves precious little untold. In his own earthy fashion he
tells of the merging of the Second, Third, Seventh, Eighth, Fifteenth,
and Twentieth regiments and the Third Battalion of South Carolina
Volunteer Infantry into a brigade under the command of General Joseph
Brevard Kershaw, McLaws' division, Longstreet's corps, Lee's Army of
Northern Virginia. First Manassas was the brigade's, baptism of
fire. Seven Pines, the Seven Days, Second Manassas, Harper's Ferry,
Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, and Gettysburg followed.
And when the enemy began knocking at the back door of the Confederacy
in late 1863, it was Longstreet's corps that Lee rushed to the aid of
Bragg's faltering Army of Tennessee. After the victory at Chickamauga
and a winter in Tennessee, the corps was recalled to Virginia--and
to the Wilderness, Spottsylvania, Cold Harbor, Petersburg, and the
Shenandoah Valley. Then, once again, as Sherman's mighty machine
rolled relentlessly over Georgia and into South Carolina in 1865,
Kershaw's Brigade was transferred "back home," as Dickert proudly put
it, "to fight the invader on our own native soil."

But Kershaw's Brigade ... is much more than a recounting of military
movements and the ordeals of battles. It is at once a panorama of the
agonies and the ecstacies of cold-steel war. Few such narratives are
so replete with quiet, meditative asides, bold delineations of daily
life in camp and on the march, descriptions of places and peoples,
and--by no means least--the raucous, all relieving humor of the common
soldier who resolutely makes merry to-day because to-morrow he may
die. Thus, to young Dickert did the routine of the military become
alternately matters grave or gay. Everything was grist for his mill:
the sight of a pretty girl waving at his passing troop train, the
roasting of a stolen pig over a campfire, the joy of finding a keg
of red-eye which had somehow fallen--no one knew how--from a
supply wagon; or, on another and quite different day, the saddening
afterthoughts of a letter from home, the stink of bloated, rotting
horses, their stiffened legs pointed skyward, the acrid taste of
gun-powder smoke, the frightening whine (or thud) of an unseen
sharpshooter's bullet, and the twisted, shoeless, hatless body of
yesterday's friend or foe.

E. Merton Coulter, in his Travels in the Confederate States: A
Bibliography (1948), called Dickert's "a well-written narrative,
notably concerned with the atmosphere of army life," adding that
"there is no reason to believe that he embellished the story beyond
the general outlines of established truth." Douglas S. Freeman
considered Kershaw's Brigade ... a reliable source for both his R.E.
Lee (1934-1935) and Lee's Lieutenants ... (1942-1944), and Allen
Nevins et al., in their Civil War Books: A Critical Bibliography
(1967), described it as "a full, thick account of a famous South
Carolina brigade," alive with "personal experiences of campaigns in
both East and West."

With these comments I agree. The book is indeed intimate, vigorous,
truthful, and forever fresh. But, as I stated earlier, there is
a third and personal reason why I am proud to have a hand in the
republication of Kershaw's Brigade.... My grandfather, Axalla John
Hoole, formerly captain of the Darlington (S.C.) Riflemen, was
lieutenant colonel of its Eighth Regiment and in that capacity fought
from First Manassas until he was killed in the Battle of Chickamauga,
September 20, 1863. (His photograph is inserted in this edition and
Dickert's tributes to him are on pages 278, 284-285.)

Two days before his death Hoole pencilled his last letter to his wife.
Previously unpublished, it frankly mirrors the esprit de corps of
the men of Kershaw's Brigade on the eve of battle. En route from
Petersburg to Chickamauga by train, the men of the Eighth Regiment
passed through Florence, just ten miles from their homes in
Darlington. Upon arrival at Dalton, Ga. on September 18 Hoole wrote
"Dear Betsy":

I don't know how long we will remain here, so I am hurrying to write
you a few lines, with the sheet of paper on my knee to let you know
that I am as well as could be expected under [the] circumstances.... I
feel pretty well. I heard yesterday that [General W.S.] Rosecrans had
fallen back, so there is no telling how far we may have to march or
how long it will take before we have a battle here.... Oh, my dear
wife, what a trial it was to me to pass so near you and not see you,
but it had to be. About 40 of our Regt. stopped, and I am sorry to
inform you that all of Company A, except the officers, were left at
Florence. That company did worse than any other.... But I know with
some it was too hard a trial to pass. There were some, however, who
left, who had seen their families in less than a month....

We left our horses at Petersburg to follow us on. I left Joe [his
servant] in charge of mine, and I don't know when they will come up.
I feel the need of Joe and the horse, as I can't carry my baggage, and
fare badly in the eating line. [We] took our two days rations and
went to a house last night to have it cooked, but I can't eat it. The
biscuits are made with soda and no salt and you can smell the soda
ten steps.... If I can't buy something to eat for the next two days, I
must starve.... I made out to buy something occasionally on the way to
keep body and soul together.... I must close, as I may not be able
to get this in the mail before we have to leave here.... Kiss my dear
little ones for me, tell all the Negroes howdy for me.... Write as
soon as you get this. Direct it to me at Dalton, as I expect this will
be our post office for the present. Do my dear wife don't fret about
me. Your ever loving Husband....

D. Augustus Dickert, the author of Kershaw's Brigade ... was born on
a farm near Broad River, Lexington County, S.C., in August, 1844,
the son of A.G. and Margaret (Dickinson) Dickert, both from nearby
Fairfield County. In June, 1861, at age seventeen, he enlisted as a
private in Company H, Third Regiment, South Carolina Volunteers, made
up of men mostly from Fairfield, Lexington, and Newberry counties.
Wounded four times (at Savage Station, Fredericksburg, the Wilderness,
and Knoxville), he was gradually promoted to captain and during the
latter part of the war, according to his friend Aull, "he was in
command of his regiment acting as colonel without ever receiving his
commission as such."

After the war Colonel Dickert, as he was best known, returned to his
farm, and took an active part in community life, including leadership
in the local Ku Klux Klan. Meantime, he read widely to improve his
education--as a boy he had attended a country school for only a
few months--and by middle-age had become "better educated than many
college graduates." Well versed in history, astronomy, and literature,
he turned to writing as an avocation, producing numerous stories which
were published in the Herald and News and several magazines. One of
his stories, A Dance with Death, considered by his contemporaries "one
of the most thrilling narratives," was based on true experiences
which earned him the reputation of being a "stranger to danger and
absolutely fearless." His Kershaw's Brigade ... was written, as
he announced, at the request of the local chapter of the United
Confederate Veterans and published by Aull "without one dollar in
sight--a recompense for time, material, and labor being one of the
remotest possibilities."

Dickert was married twice. By his first wife, Katie Cromer of
Fairfield County, he had four children, Roland, Claude, Alma, and
Gussie; and by his second, Mrs. Alice Coleman, also of Fairfield, one
child, Lucile, now Mrs. A.C. Mobley of Denmark, S.C.

Dickert died suddenly at his home of a heart attack on October 4,
1917, aged seventy-three, and was buried in Newberry's Rosemont
Cemetery.

University of Alabama

W. Stanley Hoole

       *       *       *       *       *

In preparing this preface I have enjoyed the assistance of Mrs. Lucile
Dickert Mobley, Dickert's only surviving child; Mrs. A.S. Wells,
a niece, of 1120 West 46 St., Minneapolis, Minn.; Mrs. Kathleen S.
Fesperman, librarian of Newberry College; Inabinett, librarian, South
Caroliniana Library, University of South Carolina, and his student
aide, Miss Laura Rickenbacker; and Robert J. and Mary E. Younger,
owners of the Morningside Bookshop, Dayton, Ohio. Besides the letter
(which I own) and the books mentioned in the text I have also used The
Dictionary of American Biography, X, 359-360 (New York, 1933); Battles
and Leaders of the Civil War, ed. by Robert U. Johnson and Clarence
C. Buell, III, 331-338 (New York, 1884-1888); James Longstreet, From
Manassas to Appomattox ... (Philadelphia, 1896); The Photographic
History of the Civil War, ed. by Francis T. Miller, II, III, X, passim
(New York, 1911); W.A. Brunson, Glimpses of Old Darlington (Columbia,
1910); and Elbert H. Aull, "D. Augustus Dickert" in the Newberry
Herald and News, Oct. 5, 1917.

       *       *       *       *       *


INTRODUCTION.


More than thirty-four years have passed away since the soldiers who
composed the Second South Carolina Regiment of Infantry, the Third
South Carolina Regiment of Infantry, the Eighth South Carolina
Regiment of Infantry, the Fifteenth South Carolina Regiment of
Infantry, the Twentieth South Carolina Regiment of Infantry, and the
Third South Carolina Battalion of Infantry, which commands made up
Kershaw's Brigade, laid down their arms; and yet, until a short
time ago, no hand has been raised to perpetuate its history. This
is singular, when it is remembered how largely the soldiers of this
historic brigade contributed to win for the State of South Carolina
the glory rightfully hers, by reason of the splendid heroism of her
sons in the war between the States, from the year 1861 to that of
1865. If another generation had been allowed to pass, it is greatly
feared that the power to supply the historian with the information
requisite to this work would have passed away forever.

The work which assumes to perpetuate the history of Kershaw's Brigade
should not be a skeleton, consisting of an enumeration of the battles,
skirmishes, and marches which were participated in--with the names of
the commanding officers. What is needed is not a skeleton, but a body
with all its members, so to speak. It should be stated who they were,
the purposes which animated these men in becoming soldiers, how they
lived in camp and on the march, how they fought, how they died and
where, with incidents of bravery in battle, and of fun in camp.
No laurels must be taken from the brow of brave comrades in other
commands; but the rights of the soldiers of Kershaw's Brigade must
be jealously upheld--everyone of these rights. To do this work, will
require that the writer of this history shall have been identified
with this command during its existence--he must have been a soldier.
Again, he must be a man who acts up to his convictions; no toady
nor any apologist is desired. If he was a Confederate soldier from
principle, say so, and apologize to no one for the fact. If he loved
his State and the Southland and wished their independence, say so, and
"forget not the field where they perished." Lastly, he ought to have
the ability to tell the story well.

The friends of Captain D. Augustus Dickert, who commanded Company H of
the Third South Carolina Regiment of Infantry, are confident that he
possesses all the quality essential to this work. He was a splendid
soldier--brave in battle, clear-headed always, and of that equilibrium
of temperament that during camp life, amid the toil of the march, and
in battle the necessity for discipline was recognized and enforced
with justice and impartiality. He was and is a patriot. His pen is
graceful, yet strong. When he yielded to the importunities of
his comrades that he would write this history, there was only one
condition that he insisted upon, and that was that this should be
solely a work of love. Captain Dickert has devoted years to the
gathering together of the materials for this history. Hence, the
readers are now prepared to expect a success. Maybe it will be said
this is the finest history of the war!

Y.J. POPE. Newberry, S.C., August 7, 1899.

History of Kershaw's Brigade. By D. Augustus Dickert. (9x5-3/4, pp.
583. Illus.) Elbert H. Aull Company, Newberry, S.C.

       *       *       *       *       *


The name of Kershaw's Brigade of South Carolinians is familiar to all
who wore the gray and saw hard fighting on the fields of Virginia, in
the swamps of Carolina and the mountains of Tennessee. This was "the
First Brigade of the First Division of the First Corps of the Army of
Northern Virginia," and many of its members volunteered for service
before the first gun was fired at the Star of the West, while its
ragged regimental remnants laid down their arms at Greensboro not
till the 2d of May, 1865, nearly a month after the fateful day of
Appomattox. Its history is a history of the war, for, as will he seen,
there were few pitched battles in the East that did not call forth its
valor.

The author of the book is D. Augustus Dickert, who, at the age of
15, ran away to fight and surrendered as captain in the Third South
Carolina Volunteers. He was a gallant soldier all through, and he has
written a good book, for the broader lines of history are interwoven
with many slight anecdotes and incidents that illustrate the temper of
the times and impart to the narrative a local coloring. The following
is a good example of its style: "The writer was preparing to enter
school in an adjoining county. But when on my way to school I boarded
a train filled with enthusiasts, some tardy soldiers on their way to
join their companions and others to see, and, if need be, to take old
Anderson out of his den. Nothing could be heard on the train but war
'taking of Sumter,' 'old Anderson' and 'Star of the West.' Everyone
was in high glee. Palmetto cockades, brass buttons, uniforms and gaudy
epaulettes were seen in every direction. This was more than a youthful
vision could withstand, so I directed myself toward the seat of war
instead of schools." Although somewhat theatric, this is an accurate
presentation of those early days.

The chief merit of Captain Dickert's book is that it presents the gay
and bright, as well as the grave side of the Confederate soldier's
experience. It is full of anecdote and incident and repartee. Such
quips and jests kept the heart light and the blood warm beneath many a
tattered coat.

The student of history may wish a more elaborate sketch. But the
average man who wishes to snatch a moment for recreation will be
repaid as he takes up this sketch. There are some faults of style and
some of typography; but, all in all, this is a hearty, cheery, clean
book. It extenuates some things, maybe; but it sets down naught in
malice. As a local history it is an interesting contribution to the
chronicle of the period. R. MEANS DAVIS. S.C. College. 10-31-01


CAPT D. AUGUSTUS DICKERT. Company H 3d S.C. Regiment.

       *       *       *       *       *



AUTHOR'S ANNOUNCEMENT.

Comrades: Years ago I was asked by the members of a local camp (James
D. Nance Camp, United Confederate Veterans, Newberry, S.C.,) of
Veterans to write a history of Kershaw's "Old First Brigade in the
Civil War," in order that the part taken by you in that memorable
struggle might be transmitted to posterity through the instrumentality
of a proud and loving participant in all the events that went to make
up the life of an organization second to none, that has ever stood
face to face with an invading foe upon the face of earth.

This request was not based upon a supposition of superior educational
qualifications on my part, for the parties who made it know that my
school days ended at twelve, and that the time usually devoted to
instruction of youth was spent by many of us, from '61 to '65, on the
northern side of Richmond. Consequently, to the love that I treasure
in my heart for the "Old First" is due whatever of distinction attaches
to the position of recorder of actions which prove the worth and
heroism of each constituent part of the brigade. In accepting this
trust I shall repress all desire for rhetorical display. I will not
even attempt to do that justice, which is beyond the power of mortals;
but shall simply try to be your faithful chronicler or recorder of
facts as they appeared to me and others, who have so kindly assisted
me in the compilation of these records, and shall confine myself to
the effort to attain my highest ambition--absolute correctness. It is
true that inaccuracies may have crept in; but these will be found
to be mostly among proper names--due in a great measure to the
illegibility of the manuscripts furnished me by correspondents. Again,
apparent errors will be explained, when it is recalled to your minds
that no two men see the same circumstance from the same standpoint.
Honest differences will appear, no matter how trivial the facts are
upon which they are based.

I have endeavored to be fair and just, and in so doing have laid aside
a soldier's pardonable pride in his own regiment, and have accorded
"honor to whom honor was due." Despite all that maybe alleged to
the contrary, ours was not a "War of the Roses," of brother against
brother, struggling for supremacy; but partook more of the nature of
the inhuman contest in the Netherlands, waged by the unscrupulous and
crafty Duke of Alva at the instance Philip (the Good!), or rather
like that in which the rich and fruitful Province of the Palatine was
subjected to fire and rapine under the mailed hand of that monster of
iniquity--Turenne.

How well the men of Kershaw's Brigade acted their part, how proudly
they faced the foe, how grandly they fought, how nobly they died, I
shall attempt not to depict; and yet--

  Could heart and brain and hand and pen
  But bring to earth and life again
  The scenes of old,
  Then all the world might know and see;
  Your deeds on scrolls of fame would be
  Inscribed in gold

I am indebted to many of the old comrades for their assistance, most
notably Judge Y.J. Pope, of the Third South Carolina; Colonel Wm.
Wallace, of the Second; Captain L.A. Waller, for the Seventh; Captains
Malloy, Harllee, and McIntyre, of the Eighth; Captain D.J. Griffith
and Private Charles Blair, of the Fifteenth; Colonel Rice and Captain
Jennings, of the Third Battalion, and many others of the Twentieth.
But should this volume prove of interest to any of the "Old Brigade,"
and should there be any virtue in it, remember it belongs to Y.J.
Pope. Thrice have I laid down my pen, after meeting with so many
rebuffs; but as often taken it up after the earnest solicitation of
the former Adjutant of the Third, who it was that urged me on to its
completion.

To the publisher, E.H. Aull, too much praise cannot be given. He has
undertaken the publication of this work on his individual convictions
of its merit, and with his sole conviction that the old comrades would
sustain the efforts of the author. Furthermore, he has undertaken it
on his own responsibility, without one dollar in sight--a recompence
for time, material, and labor being one of the remotest possibilities.

D. AUGUSTUS DICKERT.

Newberry, S.C., August 15, 1899.

       *       *       *       *       *


CHAPTER I

SECESSION.

Its Causes and Results.


The secession bell rang out in South Carolina on the 20th of December,
1860, not to summon the men to arms, nor to prepare the State for war.
There was no conquest that the State wished to make, no foe on her
border, no enemy to punish. Like the liberty bell of the revolution
that electrified the colonies from North to South, the bell of
secession put the people of the State in a frenzy from the mountains
to the sea. It announced to the world that South Carolina would be
free--that her people had thrown off the yoke of the Union that bound
the States together in an unholy alliance. For years the North had
been making encroachments upon the South; the general government
grasping, with a greedy hand, those rights and prerogatives, which
belonged to the States alone, with a recklessness only equalled by
Great Britain towards the colonies; began absorbing all of the rights
guaranteed to the State by the constitution, and tending towards a
strong and centralized government. They had made assaults upon our
institutions, torn away the barriers that protected our sovereignty.
So reckless and daring had become these assaults, that on more than
one occasion the States of the South threatened dissolution of the
Union. But with such master minds as Clay, Webster, and Calhoun in
the councils of the nation, the calamity was averted for the time. The
North had broken compact after compact, promises after promises, until
South Carolina determined to act upon those rights she had retained
for herself in the formation of the Union, and which the general
government guaranteed to all, and withdrew when that Union no longer
served the purposes for which it was formed.

Slavery, it has been said, was the cause of the war. Incidentally it
may have been, but the real cause was far removed from the institution
of slavery. That institution existed at the formation of the Union, or
compact. It had existed for several hundred years, and in every State;
the federation was fully cognizant of the fact when the agreement of
the Union was reached. They promised not to disturb it, and allow
each State to control it as it seemed best. Slavery was gradually but
surely dying out. Along the border States it scarcely existed at all,
and the mighty hand of an All-wise Ruler could be plainly seen in the
gradual emancipation of all the slaves on the continent. It had begun
in the New England States then. In the Caribbean Sea and South America
emancipation had been gradually closing in upon the small compass of
the Southern States, and that by peaceful measures, and of its own
volition; so much so that it would have eventually died out, could not
be denied by any who would look that far into the future, and judge
that future by the past. The South looked with alarm and horror at a
wholesale emancipation, when they viewed its havoc and destruction
in Hayti and St. Domingo, where once existed beautiful homes and
luxuriant fields, happy families and general progress; all this
wealth, happiness, and prosperity had been swept away from those
islands as by a deadly blight. Ruin, squalor, and beggary now stalks
through those once fair lands.

A party sprang up at the North inimical to the South; at first only a
speck upon the horizon, a single sail in a vast ocean; but it grew and
spread like contagion. They were first called agitators, and consisted
of a few fanatics, both women and men, whose avowed object was
emancipation--to do by human hands that which an All-wise Providence
was surely doing in His own wise way. At first the South did not look
with any misgivings upon the fanatics. But when Governors of Northern
States, leading statesmen in the councils of the nation; announced
this as their creed and guide, then the South began to consider
seriously the subject of secession. Seven Governors and their
legislatures at the North had declared, by acts regularly passed and
ratified, their determination "not to allow the laws of the land to be
administered or carried out in their States." They made preparation to
nullify the laws of Congress and the constitution. That party,
which was first called "Agitators," but now took the name
of "Republicans"--called at the South the "black Republicans"--grown to
such proportions that they put in the field candidates for President
and Vice-President of the United States. Numbers increased with each
succeeding campaign. In the campaign of 1860 they put Abraham Lincoln
and Hannibal Hamlin forward as their standard bearers, and whose
avowed purpose was the "the liberation of the slaves, regardless of
the consequences." This party had spies all over the Southern States,
and these emissaries incited insurrection, taught the slaves "that by
rising at night and murdering their old masters and their families,
they would be doing God's will;" that "it was a duty they owed to
their children;" this "butchery of the sleeping and innocent whites
was the road to freedom." In Virginia they sent down armed bands of
whites, roused the negroes at night, placed guns, pikes, and arms of
every kind in the hands of the poor, deluded creatures, and in that
one night they butchered, in cold blood, the families of some of the
best men in the State. These cold blooded butcheries would have done
credit to the most cruel and blood thirsty of the primeval savages of
the forest. These deeds were heralded all over the North as "acts of
God, done by the hands of men." The leader of this diabolical plan and
his compeers were sainted by their followers and admirers, and praises
sung over him all over the North, as if over the death of saints. By
a stupendous blunder the people of the South, and the friends of the
Union generally, allowed this party to elect Lincoln and Hamlin. The
South now had no alternative. Now she must either remain in a Union,
where our institutions were to be dragged down; where the laws were
to be obeyed in one section, but not in another; where existed open
resistance to laws in one State and quiet obedience in another; where
servile insurrections were being threatened continuously; where the
slaves were aided and abetted by whites at the North in the butcheries
of their families; or secede and fight. These were the alternatives
on the one part, or a severance from the Union and its consequences
on the other. From the very formation of the government, two
constructions were put upon this constitution--the South not viewing
this compact with that fiery zeal, or fanatical adulation, as they
did at the North. The South looked upon it more as a confederation
of States for mutual protection in times of danger, and a general
advancement of those interests where the whole were concerned. Then,
again, the vast accumulation of wealth in the Southern States,
caused by the overshadowing of all other commodities of
commerce--cotton--created a jealousy at the North that nothing but
the prostration of the South, the shattering of her commerce, the
destruction of her homes, and the freedom of her slaves, could answer.
The wealth of the South had become a proverb The "Wealthy Southern
Planter" had become an eyesore to the North, and to humble her haughty
pride, as the North saw it, was to free her slaves. As one of the
first statesmen of the South has truly said, "The seeds of the
Civil War were sown fifty years before they were born who fought her
battles."

A convention was called to meet in Columbia, in December, 1860, to
frame a new constitution, and to take such steps as were best suited
to meet the new order of things that would be brought about by this
fanatical party soon to be at the head of the government. Feeling ran
high--people were excited--everywhere the voice of the people was for
secession. The women of the South, who would naturally be the first
sufferers if the programme of the "Agitators" were carried out, were
loud in their cries for separation. Some few people were in favor of
the South moving in a body, and a feeble opposition ticket for the
delegates to the convention was put in the field. These were called
"Co-operationists," i.e., in favor of secession, but to await a union
with the other Southern States. These were dubbed by the most fiery
zealots of secession, "Submissionists" in derision. The negroes, too,
scented freedom from afar. The old cooks, mammas, house servants, and
negro eavesdroppers gathered enough of "freedom of slaves," "war,"
"secession," to cause the negroes to think that a great measure was
on foot somewhere, that had a direct bearing on their long looked for
Messiah--"Freedom." Vigilance committees sprung up all over the South,
to watch parties of Northern sentiment, or sympathy, and exercise a
more guarded scrutiny over the acts of the negroes. Companies were
organized in towns and cities, who styled themselves "Minute Men," and
rosettes, or the letters "M.M.," adorned the lapels of the coats worn
by those in favor of secession. The convention met in Columbia, but
for some local cause it was removed to Charleston. After careful
deliberation, a new constitution was framed and the ordinance of
secession was passed without a dissenting voice, on the 20th of
December, 1860, setting forth the State's grievances and acting upon
her rights, declaring South Carolina's connection with the Union at
an end. It has been truly said, that this body of men who passed the
ordinance of secession was one of the most deliberate, representative,
and talented that had ever assembled in the State of South Carolina.
When the news flashed over the wires the people were in a frenzy of
delight and excitement--bells tolled, cannons boomed, great parades
took place, and orators from street corners and hotel balconies
harangued the people. The ladies wore palmetto upon their hats or
dresses, and showed by every way possible their earnestness in the
great drama that was soon to be enacted upon the stage events. Drums
beat, men marched through the streets, banners waved and dipped,
ladies from the windows and from the housetops waved handkerchiefs or
flags to the enthusiastic throng moving below. The bells from historic
old St. Michael's, in Charleston, were never so musical to the ears of
the people as when they pealed out the chimes that told of secession.
The war was on.

Still with all this enthusiasm, the sober-headed, patriotic element
of the South regretted the necessity of this dissolution. They, too,
loved the Union their ancestors had helped to make--they loved the
name, the glory, and the prestige won by their forefathers upon the
bloody field of the revolution. While they did not view this Union as
indispensable to their existence, they loved and reverenced the flag
of their country. As a people, they loved the North; as a nation,
they gloried in her past and future possibilities. The dust of their
ancestors mingled in imperishable fame with those of the North. In the
peaceful "Godsacre" or on the fields of carnage they were ever willing
to share with them their greatness, and equally enjoyed those of
their own, but denied to them the rights to infringe upon the South's
possessions or rights of statehood. We all loved the Union, but we
loved it as it was formed and made a compact by the blood of our
ancestors. Not as contorted and misconstrued by demagogueism and
fanaticism. We almost deified the flag of the Union, under whose folds
it was made immortal by the Huguenots, the Roundheads, the Cavaliers,
and men of every faith and conviction in the crowning days of the
revolution. The deeds of her great men, the history of the past, were
an equal heritage of all--we felt bound together by natural bonds
equal to the ties of blood or kindred. We loved her towering
mountains, her rolling prairies, her fertile fields, her enchanting
scenery, her institutions, her literature and arts, all; all were
equally the South's as well as the North's. Not for one moment would
the South pluck a rose from the flowery wreath of our goddess of
liberty and place it upon the brow of our Southland alone. The
Mississippi, rising among the hills and lakes of the far North,
flowing through the fertile valleys of the South, was to all our
"Mother Nile." The great Rocky Mountains and Sierra Nevada chained our
Western border together from Oregon to the Rio Grande. The Cumberland,
the Allegheny, and the Blue Ridge, lifting their heads up from among
the verdant fields of Vermont, stretching southward, until from their
southern summit at "Lookout" could be viewed the borderland of
the gulf. In the sceneries of these mountains, their legends and
traditions, they were to all the people of the Union what Olympus was
to the ancients. Where the Olympus was the haunts, the wooing places
of the gods of the ancient Greeks, the Appalachian was the reveling
grounds for the muses of song and story of the North and South
alike. And while the glories of the virtues of Greece and Rome, the
birthplace of republicanism and liberty, may have slept for centuries,
or died out entirely, that spirit of national liberty and personal
freedom was transplanted to the shores of the New World, and nowhere
was the spirit of freedom more cherished and fostered than in the
bright and sunny lands of the South. The flickering torch of freedom,
borne by those sturdy sons of the old world to the new, nowhere took
such strong and rapid growth as did that planted by the Huguenots on
the soil of South Carolina. Is it any wonder, then, that a people
with such high ideals, such lofty spirits, such love of freedom, would
tamely submit to a Union where such ideals and spirits were so lightly
considered as by those who were now in charge of the government--where
our women and children were to be at the mercies of a brutal race,
with all of their passions aroused for rapine and bloodshed; where we
would be continually threatened or subjected to a racial war, one of
supremacy; where promises were made to be broken, pledges given to be
ignored; where laws made for all were to be binding only on those who
chose to obey? Such were some of the conditions that confronted South
Carolina and her sister States at this time, and forced them into
measures that brought about the most stupendous civil war in modern or
ancient times.

To sum up: It was not love for the Union, but jealousy of the South's
wealth. It was not a spirit of humanity towards the slaves, but a
hatred of the South, her chivalry, her honor, and her integrity. A
quality wanting in the one is always hated in that of the other.

       *       *       *       *       *



CHAPTER II

ENROLLMENT OF TROOPS.

Troops Gathered at Charleston--First Service as a Volunteer.


The Legislature, immediately after the passage of the ordinance
of secession, authorized the Governor to organize ten regiments of
infantry for State service. Some of these regiments were enlisted for
twelve months, while Gregg's, the First, was for six, of, as it was
understood at the time, its main duties were the taking of Sumter.
The first regiments so formed were: First, Gregg's; Second, Kershaw's;
Third, Williams'; Fourth, Sloan's; Fifth, Jenkins'; Sixth, Rion's;
Seventh, Bacon's: Eighth, Cash's; Ninth, Blanding's; besides a
regiment of regulars and some artillery and cavalry companies. There
existed a nominal militia in the State, and numbered by battalions
and regiments. These met every three months by companies and made some
feeble attempts at drilling, or "mustering," as it was called. To the
militia was intrusted the care of internal police of the State. Each
company was divided into squads, with a captain, whose duties were to
do the policing of the neighborhood, called "patrolling." They would
patrol the country during Sundays, and occasionally at nights, to
prevent illegal assemblies of negroes, and also to prevent them from
being at large without permission of their masters. But this system
had dwindled down to a farce, and was only engaged in by some of the
youngsters, more in a spirit of fun and frolic than to keep order
in the neighborhood. The real duties of the militia of the State
consisted of an annual battalion and regimental parade, called
"battalion muster" and "general muster." This occasioned a lively
turn-out of the people, both ladies and gentlemen, not connected with
the troops, to witness the display of officers' uniforms, and bright
caparisoned steeds, the stately tread of the "muster men," listen to
the rattle of the drums and inspiring strains of the fifes, and horns
of the rural bands.

From each battalion a company was formed for State service. These
companies elected their captains and field officers, the general
officers being appointed by the Governor. Immediately after the call
of the Governor for troops, a great military spirit swept the country,
volunteer companies sprang up like magic all over the land, each
anxious to enter the service of the State and share the honor of going
to war. Up to this time, few thought, there would be a conflict. Major
Anderson, U.S.A., then on garrison duty at Fort Moultrie, heard of the
secession of the State, and (whether by orders or his own volition, is
not known and immaterial,) left Fort Moultrie, after spiking the guns
and destroying the carriages; took possession of Fort Sumter. The
State government looked with some apprehension upon this questionable
act of Maj. Anderson's. Fort Sumter stood upon grounds of the State,
ceded to the United States for purposes of defence. South Carolina
now claimed the property, and made demands upon Maj. Anderson and the
government at Washington for its restoration. This was refused.

Ten companies, under Col. Maxey Gregg, were called to Charleston
for the purpose of retaking this fort by force of arms, if peaceful
methods failed. These companies were raised mostly in towns and
cities by officers who had been commissioned by the Governor. College
professors formed companies of their classes, and hurried off to
Charleston. Companies of town and city volunteers offered their
services to the Governor--all for six months, or until the fall of
Sumter.

On the 9th of January, 1861, the State was thrown into a greater
paroxism of excitement by the "Star of the West," a Northern vessel,
being fired on in the bay of Charleston by State troops. This steamer,
laden with supplies for Sumter, had entered the channel with the
evident intention of reinforcing Anderson, when the Citadel guards,
under Captain Stevens, fired several shots across her bow, then
she turned about and sped away to the sea. In the meantime the old
battalions of militia had been called out at their respective "muster
grounds," patriotic speeches made, and a call for volunteers made.
Companies were easily formed and officers elected. Usually in
selecting the material for officers, preference was given to soldiers
of the Mexican war, graduates of the military schools and the old
militia of officers. These companies met weekly, and were put through
a course of instructions in the old Macomb's tactics. In this way
the ten regiments were formed, but not called together until the
commencement of the bombardment of Sumter, with the exception of those
troops enlisted for six months, now under Gregg at Charleston, and a
few volunteer companies of cavalry and artillery.

The writer was preparing to enter school in a neighboring county when
the first wave of patriotism struck him. Captain Walker's Company,
from Newberry, of which I was a member, had been ordered to Charleston
with Gregg, and was stationed at Morris' Island before I could get
off. Two of my brothers and myself had joined the company made,
up from the Thirty-ninth Battalion of State militia, and which
afterwards formed a part of the Third S.C. Volunteers (Colonel
Williams). But at that time, to a young mind like mine, the war looked
too remote for me to wait for this company to go, so when on my way to
school I boarded a train filled with enthusiasts, some tardy soldiers
on their way to join their companies, and others to see, and if need
be, "take old Anderson out of his den." Nothing on the train could be
heard but war, war--"taking of Sumter," "Old Anderson," and "Star
of the West." Everyone was in a high glee--palmetto cockades, brass
buttons, uniforms, and gaudy epaulettes were seen in every direction.
This was more than a youthful vision could withstand, so I directed my
steps towards the seat of war instead of school. By this time the city
of Charleston may be said to have been in a state of siege--none could
leave the islands or lands without a permit from the Governor or the
Adjutant and Inspector General. The headquarters of Governor Pickens
and staff were in the rooms of the Charleston Hotel, and to that
place I immediately hied and presented myself before those "August
dignitaries," and asked permission to join my company on Morris'
Island, but was refused. First, on account of not having a permit of
leave of absence from my captain; secondly, on account of my youth (I
then being on the rise of 15); and thirdly, having no permission from
my parents. What a contrast with later years, when boys of that age
were pressed into service. The city of Charleston was ablaze with
excitement, flags waved from the house tops, the heavy tread of
the embryo soldiers could be heard in the streets, the corridors of
hotels, and in all the public places. The beautiful park on the water
front, called the "Battery," was thronged with people of every age and
sex, straining their eyes or looking through glasses out at Sumter,
whose bristling front was surmounted with cannon, her flags waving
defiance. Small boats and steamers dotted the waters of the bay.
Ordnance and ammunition were being hurried to the island. The one
continual talk was "Anderson," "Fort Sumter," and "war." While
there was no spirit of bravado, or of courting of war, there was no
disposition to shirk it. A strict guard was kept at all the wharves,
or boat landings, to prevent any espionage on our movements or works.
It will be well to say here, that no moment from the day of secession
to the day the first gun was fired at Sumter, had been allowed to pass
without overtures being made to the government at Washington for a
peaceful solution of the momentous question. Every effort that tact
or diplomacy could invent was resorted to, to have an amicable
adjustment. Commissioners had been sent to Washington, asking, urging,
and almost begging to be allowed to leave the Union, now odious to
the people of the State, without bloodshed. Commissioners of the North
came to Charleston to treat for peace, but they demanded peace without
any concessions, peace with submission, peace with all the chances of
a servile war. Some few leaders at the North were willing to allow
us the right, while none denied it. The leading journal at the
North said: "Let the erring sisters depart in peace." But all of our
overtures were rejected by the administration at Washington, and
a policy of evasion, or dilly-dallying, was kept up by those in
authority at the North. All the while active preparations were going
on to coerce the State by force of arms. During this time other States
seceded and joined South Carolina, and formed the "Confederate States
of America," with Jefferson Davis as President, with the capital at
Montgomery, Ala.

Being determined to reach my company, I boarded a steamer, bound for
Morris' Island, intending, if possible, to avoid the guard. In this I
was foiled. But after making several futile attempts, I fell in with
an officer of the First South Carolina Regiment, who promised to pilot
me over. On reaching the landing, at Cummings Point, I was to follow
his lead, as he had a passport, but in going down the gang plank we
were met by soldiers with crossed bayonets, demanding "passports." The
officer, true to his word, passed me over, but then my trouble
began. When I reached the shore I lost my sponsor, and began to make
inquiries for my company. When it was discovered that there was a
stranger in the camp without a passport, a corporal of the guards
was called, I was placed under arrest, sent to the guardhouse, and
remained in durance vile until Captain Walker came to release me. When
I joined my company I found a few of my old school-mates, the others
were strangers. Everything that met my eyes reminded me of war.
Sentinels patrolled the beach; drums beat; soldiers marching and
counter-marching; great cannons being drawn along the beach, hundreds
of men pulling them by long ropes, or drawn by mule teams. Across the
bay we could see on Sullivan's Island men and soldiers building and
digging out foundations for forts. Morris' Island was lined from the
lower point to the light house, with batteries of heavy guns. To the
youthful eye of a Southerner, whose mind had been fired by Southern
sentiment and literature of the day, by reading the stories of heroes
and soldiers in our old "Southern Reader," of the thrilling romances
of Marion and his men, by William Gilmore Simms, this sight of war was
enough to dazzle and startle to an enthusiasm that scarcely knew any
bounds. The South were "hero worshipers." The stories of Washington
and Putnam, of Valley Forge, of Trenton, of Bunker Hill, and Lexington
never grew old, while men, women, and children never tired of reading
of the storming of Mexico, the siege of Vera Cruz, the daring of the
Southern troops at Molino del Rey.

My first duty as a soldier, I will never forget. I went with a detail
to Steven's Iron Battery to build embrasures for the forts there. This
was done by filling cotton bags the size of 50 pound flour sacks with
sand, placing them one upon the top of the other at the opening where
the mouths of cannons projected, to prevent the loose earth from
falling down and filling in the openings. The sand was first put upon
common wheel-barrows and rolled up single planks in a zig-zag way to
the top of the fort, then placed in the sacks and laid in position. My
turn came to use a barrow, while a comrade used the shovel for filling
up. I had never worked a wheel-barrow in my life, and like most of my
companions, had done but little work of any kind. But up I went the
narrow zig-zag gangway, with a heavy loaded barrow of loose sand. I
made the first plank all right, and the second, but when I undertook
to reach the third plank on the angles, and about fifteen feet from
the ground, my barrow rolled off, and down came sand, barrow,
and myself to the ground below. I could have cried with shame and
mortification, for my misfortune created much merriment for the good
natured workers. But it mortified me to death to think I was not man
enough to fill a soldier's place. My good coworker and brother soldier
exchanged the shovel for the barrow with me, and then began the first
day's work I had ever done of that kind. Hour after hour passed, and
I used the shovel with a will. It looked as if night would never
come. At times I thought I would have to sink to the earth from pure
exhaustion, but my pride and youthful patriotism, animated by the acts
of others, urged me on. Great blisters formed and bursted in my hand,
beads of perspiration dripped from my brow, and towards night the
blood began to show at the root of my fingers. But I was not by
myself; there were many others as tender as myself. Young men with
wealthy parents, school and college boys, clerks and men of leisure,
some who had never done a lick of manual labor in their lives, and
would not have used a spade or shovel for any consideration, would
have scoffed at the idea of doing the laborious work of men, were
now toiling away with the farmer boys, the overseers' sons, the
mechanics--all with a will--and filled with enthusiasm that nothing
short of the most disinterested patriotism could have endured. There
were men in companies raised in Columbia, Charleston, and other towns,
who were as ignorant and as much strangers to manual labor as though
they had been infants, toiling away with pick and shovel with as much
glee as if they had been reared upon the farm or had been laborers in
a mine.

Over about midway in the harbor stood grim old Sumter, from whose
parapets giant guns frowned down upon us; while around the battlements
the sentinels walked to and fro upon their beats. All this preparation
and labor were to reduce the fort or prevent a reinforcement.
Supplies had been cut off, only so much allowed as was needed for the
garrison's daily consumption. With drill every two hours, guard
duty, and working details, the soldiers had little time for rest
or reflection. Bands of music enlivened the men while on drill,
and cheered them while at work by martial and inspiring strains of
"Lorena," "The Prairie Flower," "Dixie," and other Southern airs.
Pickets walked the beach, every thirty paces, night and day; none
were allowed to pass without a countersign or a permit. During the day
small fishing smacks, their white sails bobbing up and down over
the waves, dotted the bay; some going out over the bar at night with
rockets and signals to watch for strangers coming from the seaward.
Days and nights passed without cessation of active operations--all
waiting anxiously the orders from Montgomery to reduce the fort.

General G.T. Beauregard, a citizen of Louisiana, resident of New
Orleans, a veteran of the Mexican War, and a recent officer in the
United States Engineering Corps, was appointed Brigadier General and
placed in command of all the forces around Charleston. A great many
troops from other States, which had also seceded and joined the
Confederacy, had come to South Carolina to aid in the capture of
Sumter. General Beauregard was a great favorite with all the people,
and the greatest confidence felt in his skill and ability by the
soldiers. The State officers and troops obeyed him cheerfully, and had
implicit faith in his military skill. As he was destined to play an
important part in the great role of war that was soon to follow, I
will give here a short sketch of his life. General G.T. Beauregard was
born near the city of New Orleans, May 18th, 1818. His first ancestors
were from Wales, but engaging in an insurrection, they were forced to
flee from their country, and sought an asylum in France. In the last
of the thirteenth century one of them became attached to the Court of
Philip the IV, surnamed the "Fair." He then married Mademoiselle de
Lafayette, maid of honor to the sister of Philip. When Edward, King of
England, married the sister of Philip, he followed with his wife the
fortunes of the English King, and became a member at the Court of St.
James. He was afterwards assigned to a British post on the continent.
And again this family of the early Beauregards, then called Toutant
Beauregard, became citizens of France. Jacques Beauregard came
to Louisiana from France with a colony sent out by Louis XIV. The
grandson of this Jacques is the present Gustav Toutant Beauregard.
At the early age of eleven years he was taken to New York and placed
under a private tutor, an exile from France, and who had fled the
Empire on the downfall of Napoleon. At sixteen he entered West Point
as a cadet, and graduated July 1st, 1838, being second in a class
of forty-five. He entered the service of the United States as Second
Lieutenant of Engineers. He served with distinction through the
Mexican War, under Major General Scott, in the engineer corps. For
gallant and meritorious conduct he was twice promoted--first to the
Captaincy and then to the position of Major. For a short time he was
Superintendent of the West Point Military Academy, but owing to the
stirring events just preceding the late war, he resigned on the first
of March, 1861. He entered the service of the Confederate States; was
appointed Brigadier General and assigned to the post of Charleston.
Soon after the fall of Sumter he was made full General, and assigned
to a command on the Potomac, and with J.E. Johnston fought the
memorable battle of Bull Run. He was second in command at Shiloh with
A.S. Johnston, then the "Department of South Carolina, Georgia, and
Florida." With J.E. Johnston he commanded the last remnant of a once
grand army that surrendered at Greensboro, N.C. He returned to his old
home in New Orleans at the close of the war, to find it ruined, his
fortune wrecked, his wife dead, and his country at the feet of a
merciless foe. He took no further part in military or political
affairs, and passed away gently and peacefully at a ripe old age,
loved and admired by his many friends, and respected by his enemies.
Such, in brief, was the life of the man who came to control the
destinies of South Carolina at this most critical moment of her
history.

On March 6th he placed Morris' Island under the immediate command of
Brigadier General James Simonds, while the batteries were under the
command of Lieutenant Colonel W.G. DeSaussure. Sullivan's Island was
under the command of General R.G.M. Dunovant, and the batteries of
this island were under Lieutenant Colonel Ripley. Captain Calhoun
commanded at Fort Moultrie, and Captain Thomas at Fort Johnston. A
floating battery had been constructed by Captain Hamilton, and moved
out to the western extremity of Sullivan's Island. This was under
command of its inventor and builder. It consisted of very heavy
timbers; its roof overlaid with railroad iron in a slanting position,
through which trap doors had been cut for the cannon to project.
The Stevens' Battery, as it was called, was constructed on the same
principle; was built at Cummings' Point, on Morris' Island, and
commanded by Captain Stevens, of the Citadel Academy. It was feared
at this time that the concussion caused by the heavy shells and solid
shots striking the iron would cause death to those underneath, or so
stun them as to render them unfit for further service; but both these
batteries did excellent service in the coming bombardment. Batteries
along the water fronts of the islands were manned by the volunteer
companies of Colonel Gregg's Regiment, and other regiments that had
artillery companies attached.

On the 8th of April a message was received at Montgomery to the effect
that a fleet was then en route to reinforce Sumter, "peaceably if they
could, but forcibly if necessary."

General Beauregard was instructed to demand the immediate evacuation
of the fort; Anderson failing to comply with this demand, he was to
proceed to reduce it. The demand was made upon Major Anderson, and was
refused. General Beauregard had everything in readiness, only waiting
the result of the negotiations for the surrender or evacuation, to
give the command to fire. The night of the 11th was one of great
excitement. It was known for a certainty that on to-morrow the long
looked for battle was to take place. Diplomacy had done its work, now
powder and ball must do what diplomacy had failed to accomplish.
All working details had been called in, tools put aside, the heating
furnaces fired, shells and red-hot solid shot piled in close proximity
to the cannon and mortars. All the troops were under arms during the
night, and a double picket line stretched along the beach, and while
all seemed to be life and animation, a death-like stillness pervaded
the air. There was some apprehension lest the fleet might come in
during the night, land an army on Morris' Island in small boats, and
take the forts by surprise. Men watched with breathless interest the
hands on the dials as they slowly moved around to the hour of four,
the time set to open the fire. At that hour gunners stood with
lanyards in their hands. Men peered through the darkness in the
direction of Sumter, as looking for some invisible object. At half
past four Captain James, from Fort Johnston, pulled his lanyard; the
great mortar belched forth, a bright flash, and the shell went curving
over in a kind of semi-circle, the lit fuse trailing behind, showing
a glimmering light, like the wings of a fire fly, bursting over the
silent old Sumter. This was the signal gun that unchained the great
bull-dogs of war around the whole circle of forts. Scarcely had
the sound of the first gun died away, ere the dull report from Fort
Moultrie came rumbling over the waters, like an echo, and another
shell exploded over the deserted parade ground of the doomed fort.
Scarcely had the fragments of this shell been scattered before General
Stevens jerked the lanyard at the railroad battery, and over the water
gracefully sped the lighted shell, its glimmering fuse lighting its
course as it, too, sped on in its mission of destruction. Along the
water fronts, and from all the forts, now a perfect sheet of flame
flashed out, a deafening roar, a rumbling deadening sound, and the war
was on. The men as a whole were alive to their work; shot after
shot was fired. Now a red-hot solid shot, now a shell, goes capering
through the air like a shower of meteors on a frolic. The city was
aroused. Men, women, and children rush to the housetops, or crowd each
other along the water front of the battery.

But Sumter remained silent, grim, defiant. All there seemed to be in
peaceful, quiet slumber, while the solid shot battered against her
walls, or the shells burst over their heads and in the court yard
below. Round after round is fired. The gunners began to weary of their
attempt to arouse the sleeping foe. Is the lion so far back in his
lair as not to feel the prods of his tormentors? or is his apathy
or contempt too great to be aroused from his slumber by such feeble
blows? The grey streaks of morning came coursing from the east, and
still the lion is not angry, or is loath to take up the struggle
before he has had his morning meal. At seven o'clock, however, if
there had been any real anxiety to rouse his temper, it was appeased.
The stars and stripes ran up the flag staff, and from out the walls of
the grim old stronghold burst a wreath of smoke--then a report, and
a shot comes whizzing through the air, strikes the iron battery,
and ricochets over in the sand banks. He then pays his respects to
Moultrie. From the casements and barbette guns issue a flame and
smoke, while the air is filled with flying shot. The battle is general
and grand. Men spring upon ramparts and shout defiance at Sumter,
to be answered by the crashing of shot against the walls of their
bomb-proof forts. All day long the battle rages without intermission
or material advantages to either side. As night approached, the fire
slackened in all direction, and at dark Sumter ceased to return
our fire at all. By a preconcerted arrangement, the fire from our
batteries and forts kept up at fifteen-minute intervals only. The next
morning the firing began with the same vigor and determination as the
day before. Sumter, too, was not slow in showing her metal and paid
particular attention to Moultrie. Early in the forenoon the smoke
began to rise from within the walls of Sumter; "the tort was on fire."
Shots now rain upon the walls of the burning fort with greater fury
than ever. The flag was seen to waver, then slowly bend over the
staff and fall. A shout of triumph rent the air from the thousands of
spectators on the islands and the mainland. Flags and handkerchiefs
waved from the hands of excited throngs in the city, as tokens of
approval of eager watchers. Soldiers mount the ramparts and shout in
exultation, throwing their caps in the air. Away to the seaward the
whitened sails of the Federal fleet were seen moving up towards
the bar. Anxiety and expectation are now on tip-toe. Will the fleet
attempt the succor of their struggling comrades? Will they dare to run
the gauntlet of the heavy dahlgreen guns that line the channel sides?
From the burning fort the garrison was fighting for their existence.
Through the fiery element and hail of shot and shell they see the near
approach of the long expected relief. Will the fleet accept the gauge
of battle? No. The ships falter and stop. They cast anchor and remain
a passive spectator to the exciting scenes going on, without offering
aid to their friends or battle to their enemies.

General Beauregard, with that chivalrous spirit that characterized all
true Southerners, when he saw the dense curling smoke and the flames
that now began to leap and lick the topmost walls of the fort, sent
three of his aids to Major Anderson, offering aid and assistance in
case of distress. But the brave commander, too proud to receive aid
from a generous foe when his friends are at hand yet too cowardly to
come to the rescue, politely refused the offer. But soon thereafter
the white flag was waving from the parapets of Fort Sumter. Anderson
had surrendered; the battle was over; a victory won by the gallant
troops of the South, and one of the most miraculous instances of a
bloodless victory, was the first battle fought and won. Thousands of
shots given and taken, and no one hurt on either side.

A remarkable instance of Southern magnanimity was that of W.T.
Wigfall, a volunteer aide to General Beauregard. As he stood watching
the progress of the battle from Cummings' Point and saw the great
volume of black smoke curling and twisting in the air--the storm of
shot and shell plunging into the doomed walls of the fort, and the
white flag flying from its burning parapets--his generous, noble, and
sympathetic heart was fired to a pitch that brooked no consideration,
"a brave foe in distress" is to him a friend in need. Before
orders could be given to cease firing, or permission granted by the
commanding general, he leaped into a small boat, and with a single
companion rowed away to the burning fortress, shells shrieking over
his head, the waves rocking his frail little craft like a shell in
a vast ocean, but the undaunted spirit of the great man overcame all
obstacles and danger, and reached the fort in safety. Here a hasty
consultation was had. Anderson agreed to capitulate and Wigfall
hastened to so inform General Beauregard.

It was agreed that Major Anderson should leave the fort--not as a
prisoner of war, but as a brave foe, who had done all in human power
to sustain the dignity of his country and the honor of his flag. He
was allowed to salute his flag, by firing a number of guns, and with
his officers and troops and all personal belongings placed upon a
transport, was carried out to the fleet.

The only melancholy event of the memorable bombardment was the sudden
death of one of the soldiers of the garrison, caused by the premature
explosion of a shell while firing the salute to the flag.

The prominence given to Wigfall's exertion, and erratic conduct at
the time, and his meritorious career during the existence of the
Confederacy, prompt me to give a short sketch of this meteoric
character. He was born in Edgefield County along in the first quarter
of the century of good old South Carolina stock, and educated in
the common schools and in South Carolina College. His large means,
inherited from a long line of wealthy ancestors, afforded him
opportunities to enjoy life at his pleasure. He was full of that
fiery zeal for honor, hot headed and impulsive. His hasty and stubborn
nature caused him many enemies; yet his charitable disposition
and generous impulses gave him many friends. He could brook no
differences; he was intolerant, proud of his many qualities, gifted,
and brave to rashness. In early life he had differences with Whitfield
Brooks, the father of Preston S. Brooks, Congressman from South
Carolina, but at that time a student of South Carolina College. While
the son was in college, Wigfall challenged the elder Brooks to a duel.
Brooks, from his age and infirmities, refused. According to the rules
of the code duello, Wigfall posted Brooks at Edgefield Court House,
and guarded the fatal notice during the day with a loaded pistol.
A relative of Brooks, a feeble, retiring, and unassuming young man,
braved the vengeance of Wigfall, and tore the degrading challenge from
the court house door in spite of the warning and threats of the Knight
of the Code. A pistol shot rang out, and the young champion of Brooks
fell dead at his feet. Preston Brooks, hearing of the indignity placed
upon his father, the death of his kinsman and defender of his family
honor, now entered the list, and challenged the slayer of his father's
protector. Wigfall accepted the challenge with eagerness, for now
the hot Southern blood was thoroughly aroused, and party feelings had
sprung up and ran high. The gauge of battle was to be settled at Sand
Bar Ferry, on the Savannah River near Augusta, Ga., the noted duelling
ground of the high tempered sons of Georgia and the Carolinas. It was
fought with dueling pistols of the old school, and at the first fire
Brooks was severely wounded. Wigfall had kindled a feeling against
himself in the State that his sensitive nature could not endure. He
left for the rising and new born State of Texas. Years rolled by, and
the next meeting of those fiery antagonists was at the Capital of the
United States--Brooks in Congress, and Wigfall in the Senate.

       *       *       *       *       *


CHAPTER III

Reorganization or the Troops--Volunteers for Confederate Service--Call
from Virginia. Troops Leave the State.

INCIDENTS ON THE WAY.


There was much discussion at the time as to who really fired the first
gun at Sumter. Great importance was attached to the episode, and
as there were different opinions, and it was never satisfactorily
settled, it is not expected that any new light can be thrown on it at
this late day. It was first said to have been General Edmond Ruffin,
a venerable octogenarian from Virginia, who at the secession of South
Carolina came to this State and offered his services as a volunteer.
He had at one time been a citizen of South Carolina, connected with a
geological survey, and had written several works on the resources and
possibilities of the State, which created quite an interest at that
day and time. He was one of the noblest types of elderly men it has
ever been my fortune to look upon. He could not be called venerable,
but picturesque. His hair hung in long silvery locks, tied in a queue
in the fashions of the past centuries. His height was very near six
feet, slender and straight as an Indian brave, and his piercing black
eyes seemed to flash fire and impressed one as being able to look into
your very soul. He joined the "Palmetto Guards," donned the uniform
of that company, and his pictures were sold all over the entire South,
taken, as they were, in the habiliments of a soldier. These showed
him in an easy pose, his rifle between his knees, coat adorned with
palmetto buttons closely buttoned up to his chin, his hair combed
straight from his brow and tied up with a bow of ribbon that streamed
down his back, his cap placed upon his knee bearing the monogram
"P.G.," the emblem of his company, worked in with palmetto.

The other aspirant for the honor of firing the first gun was Captain
George S. James, afterwards the Colonel of James' Battalion, or "Third
Battalion," as it was known in Kershaw's Brigade. It has been said
that this honor was granted him, at his special request, by Captain
Stephen D. Lee, on General Beauregard's staff (afterwards a Lieutenant
General of the Confederate Army). Captain James' claim appears to
be more valid than that of General Ruffin from the fact that it is
positively known that James' company was on duty at Fort Johnston, on
James' Island, while the Palmetto Guards, of which General Ruffin was
a member, was at the railroad battery on Morris Island. However, this
should not be taken as conclusive, as at that time discipline was,
to a certain extent, not strictly enforced, and many independent
volunteers belonged to the army over whom there was very little, if
any control. So General Ruffin may have been at Fort Johnston while
his company was at Cummings Point. However, little interest is
attached to this incident after the lapse of so many years.

Perhaps never in the history of a State was there such a frenzy of
excitement--not even in the days of Indian insurrections or the raids
of the bloody Tarleton--as when the news flashed over the country that
Sumter was being bombarded, and a call was made for all the volunteers
to assemble in Charleston. There were not the facilities in those days
as now for the spreading of news, there being but few telegraph lines
in the State. Notwithstanding this, every method possible was put into
practice for gathering in the troops. There were no assemblages
of troops outside of Charleston. Men were following their daily
vocations. Extra trains were put in motion; couriers dashed with
rapid speed across the country. Private means, as well as public, were
resorted to to arouse the men and bring them to the front. Officers
warned the private, and he in turn rode with all the speed his horse,
loosed from the plow, could command, to arouse his comrades. It was
on Saturday when word was first sent out, but it was late the next
day (Sunday) before men in the remote rural districts received the
stirring notice. Men left their plows standing in the field, not to
return under four years, and many of them never. Carpenters came down
from the unfinished roof, or left their bench with work half finished.
The student who had left his school on the Friday before never recited
his Monday's lesson. The country doctor left his patients to the care
of the good housewife. Many people had gone to church and in places
the bells were still tolling, calling the worshippers together to
listen to the good and faithful teachings of the Bible, but the sermon
was never delivered or listened to. Hasty preparations were made
everywhere. The loyal wives soon had the husband's clothes in the
homemade knapsack; the mother buckled on the girdle of her son, while
the gray haired father was burning with impatience, only sorrowing
that he, too, could not go. Never before in the history of the world,
not even in Carthage or Sparta, was there ever such a spontaneous
outburst of patriotic feeling; never such a cheerful and willing
answer to the call of a mother country. Not a regret, not a tear;
no murmuring or reproaches--not one single complaint. Never did the
faithful Scott give with better grace his sons for the defense of
his beloved chief, "Eric," than did the fathers and mothers of South
Carolina give their sons for the defense of the beloved Southland.

The soldiers gathered at the railroad stations, and as the trains
that had been sent to the farthest limits of the State came along, the
troops boarded them and hurried along to Charleston, then the seat
of war. General M.L. Bonham had been appointed Major General of State
troops and called his brigades together. Colonel Gregg was already in
Charleston with the First Regiment. Col. Joseph B. Kershaw with the
Second, Colonel James H. Williams with the Third, Colonel Thomas Bacon
with the Seventh, and Colonel E.B.C. Cash with the Eighth, formed
their regiments by gathering the different companies along at the
various railroad stations. The Second, Seventh, and Eighth came on
to Charleston, reaching there while the bombardment was still in
progress, but not early enough to take active part in the battle.
Colonel Williams with the Third, for want of transportation, was
stopped in Columbia, and took up quarters in the Fair Grounds. The
other regiments went into camp in the suburbs of Charleston and on the
islands. After the surrender of Sumter the troops on the islands and
mainland returned to their old quarters to talk upon the incidents
of the battle, write home of the memorable events and to rejoice
generally. Almost as many rumors were now afloat as there were men in
the army. It was the generally conceded opinion of all that the
war was at an end. A great many of the Southern leaders boasted of
"drinking all the blood that would be shed in the war." The whole
truth of the entire matter was, both sections underrated each other.
The South, proud and haughty, looked with disdain upon the courage of
the North; considered the people cowardly, and not being familiar with
firearms would be poor soldiers; that the rank and file of the North,
being of a foreign, or a mixture of foreign blood, would not remain
loyal to the Union, as the leaders thought, and would not fight. While
the North looked upon the South as a set of aristocratic blusterers,
their affluence and wealth having made them effeminate; a nation
of weaklings, who could not stand the fatigues and hardships of a
campaign. Neither understood the other, overrating themselves and
underrating the strength of their antagonists. When Lincoln first
called for 50,000 troops and several millions of dollars for equipment
and conduct of the war, the South would ask in derision, "Where would
he get them?" When the South would talk of resistance, the North would
ask, "Where are her soldiers?" "The rich planters' sons cannot fight."
"The poor man will not do battle for the negroes of the rich." "The
South has no arms, no money, no credit." So each mistook the strength,
motives, spirits, and sentiments that actuated the other. A great
change came over the feelings of the North after the fall of Sumter.
They considered that their flag had been insulted, their country
dishonored. Where there had been differences before at the North,
there was harmony now. The conservative press of that section was
now defiant and called for war; party differences were healed and the
Democratic party of the North that had always affiliated in national
affairs with the South, was now bitter against their erring sisters,
and cried loudly for "Union or coercion." The common people of the
North were taught to believe that the Nation had been irretrievably
dishonored and disgraced, that the disruption of the Union was a
death knell to Republican institutions and personal liberty. That the
liberty and independence that their ancestors had won by their blood
in the Revolution was now to be scattered to the four winds of heaven
by a few fanatical slave holders at the South. But up to this time the
question of slavery had not been brought into controversy on either
side. It was not discussed and was only an after thought, a military
necessity.

Virginia, three days after the fall of Sumter, joined her sister
State. This act of the old commonwealth was hailed in the Gulf States
with great rejoicing. Bells tolled and cannon boomed and men hurrahed.
Until now it was not certain what stand would be taken by the Border
States. They did not wish to leave the Union; neither would they be
a party to a war upon their seceding sisters. They promised to
be neutral. But President Lincoln soon dispelled all doubt and
uncertainty by his proclamation, calling upon all States then
remaining in the Union to furnish their quota of troops. They were
then forced to take sides for or against and were not long in reaching
a conclusion. As soon as conventions could be assembled, the States
joined the Confederacy and began levying troops to resist invasion.
Tennessee followed Virginia, then Arkansas, the Old North State being
the last of the Atlantic and Gulf States to cross the Rubicon into the
"plains of Southern independence." The troops that had been called for
six months were now disbanded, and those who had enlisted for
twelve months for State service were called upon to volunteer in
the Confederate Army for the unexpired time. They volunteered almost
without a dissenting voice. Having left their homes so hurriedly,
they were granted a furlough of a week or ten days to return to their
families and put their houses in order. They then returned and went
into a camp of instruction.

General Bonham had not gotten all of his regiments together up to this
time. The Second, Seventh, and Eighth were around Charleston, while
the Third was at Lightwood Knot Spring, four miles from Columbia. This
camp was called "Camp Williams," in honor of their Colonel. That in
Columbia was called "Camp Ruffin," in honor of General Ruffin. It
was customary to give all the different camps a name during the
first year's service, generally in honor of some favorite officer or
statesman. Colonel Gregg's regiment remained on Morris Island until
early in May, when it was sent to Norfolk, Va., to take charge of the
large amount of government property there, now very valuable to the
South.

At the reorganization of the First Regiment I came to Columbia and
joined the company I had before enlisted in. I had two older brothers
there, and I was given a place as Second Sergeant in the company.

At the secession of South Carolina, Colonel Williams was in Arkansas,
where he had large estates, but on being notified of his election, he
joined his regiment while at Lightwood Knot Springs. He was met at
the railroad by his troops with great demonstrations of joy and pride.
Stalwart men hoisted him upon their shoulders and carried him through
the camp, followed by a throng of shouting and delighted soldiers.
The regiment had been commanded up to that time by Lieutenant Colonel
Foster, of Spartanburg, with James M. Baxter as Major, D.R. Rutherford
as Adjutant, Dr. D.E. Ewart Surgeon, John McGowan Quartermaster.

Cadets were sent from the Citadel as drill masters to all the
regiments, and for six hours daily the ears were greeted with
"hep-hep" to designate the "left" foot "down" while on the drill. It
took great patience, determination, and toil to bring the men under
military discipline. Fresh from the fields, shops, and schools they
had been accustomed to the freedom of home life, and with all their
patriotism, it took time to break into the harness of military
restraint and discipline these lovers of personal freedom. Many
amusing incidents occurred while breaking these "wild colts," but
all took it good humoredly, and the best of feelings existed between
officers and men. Some few, however, were nettled by the restraint and
forced obedience to those whom they had heretofore been accustomed
to look upon as equals, but now suddenly made superiors. The great
majority entered upon the duties of camp life with rare good will. All
were waiting patiently the call to Virginia. Here I will give a short
description of the regiments and their officers up to the time that
all were brought together as a brigade. After that time we will treat
them as a whole.

The regiments were uniformed by private donations, each neighborhood
uniforming the company raised in its bounds. The tents were large
and old fashioned--about 8 x 10 feet square, with a separate fly on
top--one of these being allowed to every six or seven men. They were
pitched in rows, about fifty feet apart, the front of one company
facing the rear of the other. About the first of June all the
regiments, except the Second, were ordered to Manassas, Va. The
regiments were formed by companies from battalions of the militia from
various counties, one company usually being formed from a battalion.
These companies were organized into regiments, very much as at
present, and like the old anti-bellum militia. At times some
ambitious citizen would undertake to raise a volunteer company outside
of those raised from battalions, and generally these were called
"crack companies." Afterwards a few undertook to raise companies in
this manner, i.e., selecting the officers first, and then proceeding
to select the men, refusing such as would not make acceptable
soldiers, thus forming exclusive organizations. These were mostly
formed in towns and cities. At other times old volunteer companies,
as they were called, of the militia would enlist in a body, with such
recruits as were wanted to fill up the number. In the old militia
service almost all the towns and cities had these companies as a kind
of city organization, and they would be handsomely uniformed, well
equipped, and in many cases were almost equal to regular soldiers.
Columbia had at least three of these companies in our brigade--the
Governor's Guards, Richland Rifles, and one more, I think, but on this
point am not positive. Charleston had two or more, the Palmetto Guards
and others; Greenville, the Butler Guards; Newberry, the Quitman
Rifles; while the other counties, Abbeville, Anderson, Edgefield,
Williamsburg, Darlington, Sumter, and almost all the counties
represented in our brigade had one of these city volunteer companies.
When all the companies called for had been organized, they were
notified to what regiment they had been assigned, or what companies
were to constitute a regiment, and were ordered to hold an election
for field officers. Each company would hold its election, candidates
in the meantime having offered their services to fill the respective
places of Colonel, Lieutenant Colonel, and Major. After the elections
thus held, the returns would be sent up to the Adjutant and Inspector
General's office and there tabulated, and the result declared. The
candidates for field officers were generally Mexican War Veterans, or
some popular citizen, whom the old men thought "would take care of
the boys." At first the qualification of a commander, be it Colonel
or Captain, mostly required was clemency. His rules of discipline,
bravery, or military ability were not so much taken into
consideration.

       *       *       *       *       *


SECOND SOUTH CAROLINA REGIMENT.

Early in May or the last of April four companies of the Second
Regiment, under Colonel Kershaw, volunteered for Confederate service,
and were sent at once to Virginia. These companies were commanded by--

    Captain John D. Kennedy, Kershaw County. Captain W.H. Casson,
    Richland County. Captain William Wallace, Richland County.
    Captain John Richardson, Sumter County.

They were afterwards joined by companies under--

    Captain Ferryman, of Abbeville County, (formerly of the
    Seventh Regiment). Captain Cuthbert, Charleston. Captain
    Rhett, Charleston. Captain Haile, Kershaw. Captain McManus,
    Lancaster. Captain Hoke, Greenville.

These were among the first soldiers from the "Palmetto State" to go to
Virginia, and the regiment when fully organized stood as follows:

    J.B. Kershaw, Colonel, of Camden. E.P. Jones, Lieutenant
    Colonel. Fred Gaillard, Major. A.D. Goodwin, Adjutant.

    Company A--W.H. Casson, Richland. Company B--A.D. Hoke,
    Greenville. Company C--William Wallace, Richland. Company
    D--T.S. Richardson. Company E--John D. Kennedy, Kershaw.
    Company F--W.W.Perryman, Anderson. Company G--I. Haile,
    Kershaw. Company H--H. McManus, Lancaster. Company I--G.B.
    Cuthbert, Charleston. Company K--R. Rhett, Charleston.
    Surgeon--Dr. F. Salmond, Kershaw. Quartermaster--W.S.
    Wood, Columbia. Commissary--J.J. Villipigue. Chaplain--A.J.
    McGruder.

       *       *       *       *       *


THIRD SOUTH CAROLINA REGIMENT.

The Third Regiment had originally twelve companies enlisted for State
service, but in transferring to Confederate Army only ten were allowed
by the army regulations. Two companies were left out, viz.: Captain
J.C.S. Brown's, from Newberry, and Captain Mat. Jones', from Laurens.
The privates, however, enlisted in the other companies as a general
rule, for the companies were allowed a maximum number of 100. The
Eighth and Third made no changes in their companies or officers
from their first enlistment in the State service until their second
enlistment in 1862, only as occasioned by resignations or the
casualties of war. The two regiments remained as first organized, with
few exceptions.

The Third stood, when ready for transportation to Virginia, the 7th of
June, as follows:

    James H. Williams, Colonel, Newberry. B.B. Foster, Lieutenant
    Colonel, Spartanburg. James M. Baxter, Major, Newberry. W.D.
    Rutherford, Adjutant, Newberry.

    Company A--B. Conway Garlington, Laurens. Company B--S. Newton
    Davidson, Newberry. Company C--R.C. Maffett, Newberry. Company
    D--T.B. Furgerson, Spartanburg and Union. Company E--James D.
    Nance, Newberry. Company F--T. Walker, Newberry and Laurens.
    Company G--R.P. Todd, Laurens. Company H--D. Nunnamaker,
    Lexington. Company I--Smith L. Jones, Laurens. Company
    K--Benj. Kennedy, Spartanburg. Surgeon--Dr. D.E.
    Ewart, Newberry. Quartermaster--John McGowan, Laurens.
    Commissary--Sergeant J.N. Martin, Newberry. Chaplain--Rev.
    Mayfield.

       *       *       *       *       *


SEVENTH SOUTH CAROLINA REGIMENT. Colonel, Thomas G. Bacon.

The following companies were from Abbeville:

    Company A, Captain W.W. Perryman. Company B, Captain G.M.
    Mattison. Company C, Captain P.H. Bradley. Company D, Captain
    S.J. Hester.

The following companies were from Edgefield:

    Company E, Captain D. Dendy. Company F, Captain John S. Hard.
    Company G, Captain J. Hampden Brooks. Company H, Captain
    Elbert Bland. Company I, Captain W.E. Prescott. Company K,
    Captain Bart Talbert.

Captain Perryman with his company, the "Secession Guards," volunteered
for the Confederate service before the other companies, and left for
Virginia on April 28th and joined the Second South Carolina Regiment.
Captain Bland took his place with his company in the regiment as
Company A.

The companies of the Seventh came together as a regiment at the
Schutzenplatz, near Charleston, on the 16th of April. In about
two weeks it was ordered to Edgefield District at a place called
Montmorenci, in Aiken County. While here a company came from Edgefield
County near Trenton, under Captain Coleman, and joined the regiment.
But this company failed to enlist.

The Seventh Regiment elected as officers: Colonel, Thomas G. Bacon, of
Edgefield District; lieutenant Colonel, Robert A. Fair, of Abbeville;
Major, Emmet Seibles, of Edgefield; Adjutant, D. Wyatt Aiken, of
Abbeville. All the staff officers were appointed by the Colonels until
the transfer to the Confederate service; then the medical department
was made a separate branch, and the Surgeons and Assistant Surgeons
were appointed by the Department. Colonel Bacon appointed on
his staff: B.F. Lovelass, Quartermaster; Fred Smith, Commissary;
afterwards A.F. Townsend.

Surgeon Joseph W. Hearst resigned, and A.R. Drogie was made Surgeon
in his stead, with Dr. G.H. Waddell as Assistant Surgeon. A.C.
Stallworth, Sergeant Major, left for Virginia about the first of June
and joined the Second a few days afterwards.

       *       *       *       *       *


EIGHTH SOUTH CAROLINA REGIMENT.

The Eighth Regiment was organized early in the year 1861, but the
companies were not called together until the 14th day of April,
arriving in Charleston in the afternoon of that day, just after the
fall of Fort Sumter. It was composed of ten companies, as follows:
Three from Chesterfield, two from Marion, two from Marlborough, and
three from Darlington, with Colonel, E.B.C. Cash; Lieutenant Colonel,
John W. Henagan; Major, Thomas E. Lucas; Adjutant, C.B. Weatherly.

Companies first taken to Virginia:

    Company A--A.I. Hoole, Darlington.
    Company B--M.I. Hough, Chesterfield.
    Company C--Wm. H. Coit, Chesterfield.
    Company D--John S. Miller, Chesterfield.
    Company E--W.E. Jay, Darlington.
    Company F--W.H. Evans, Darlington.
    Company G--John W. Harrington, Marlboro.
    Company H--R.L. Singletary, Marion.
    Company I--T.E. Stackhouse, Marion.
    Company K--D. McD. McLeod, Marlboro.

After remaining in Charleston until the 4th of May it was moved to
Florence. On the 1st of June the regiment re-enlisted for Confederate
service. They were ordered to Richmond and arrived there on June 4th,
and left on the 15th to join the Second then at Bull Run. On the 22nd
of June they went into camp at Germantown, near Fairfax Court House,
where all the regiments were soon joined together as Bonhams' Brigade.

The first real exciting incident connected with the Third South
Carolina Regiment--the first panic and stampede--happened as the
troops were returning from their ten days' furlough to their camp
of instruction, near Columbia, just after their enlistment in the
Confederate service. I record this occurrence to show what little
incidents, and those of such little moment, are calculated to stampede
an army, and to what foolish lengths men will go when excited. The
train was rattling along at a good speed, something like ten or
fifteen miles an hour, just above Columbia; a long string of box
cars loaded with soldiers; the baggage of the troops scattered
promiscuously around in the cars; trunks, valises, carpet bags, and
boxes of all conceivable dimensions, holding the belongings of several
neighborhoods of boys; spirits flowed without and within; congenial
friends in a congenial cause; congenial topics made a congenial whole.
When just below Littleton, with long stretches of lowlands on one side
and the river on the other, the curling streaks of a little grey smoke
made its appearance from under one of the forward cars. At first the
merry good humor and enlivening effects of some amusing jest, the
occasional round of a friendly bottle, prevented the men from noticing
this danger signal of fire. However, a little later on this continuing
and increasing volume of smoke caused an alarm to be given. Men ran to
the doors on either side, shouted and called, waved hats, hands, and
handkerchiefs, at the same time pointing at the smoke below. There
being no communication between the cars, those in front and rear had
to be guided by the wild gesticulations of those in the smoking car.
The engineer did not notice anything amiss, and sat placidly upon his
high seat, watching the fast receding rails as they flashed under and
out of sight beneath the ponderous driving-wheels of the engine. At
last someone in the forward car, not accustomed to, but familiar with
the dangers of a railroad car by the wild rumors given currency in his
rural district of railroad wrecks, made a desperate leap from the car.
This was followed by another, now equally excited. Those in the front
cars, clutching to the sides of the doors, craned their necks as
far as possible outward, but could see nothing but leaping men. They
fearing a catastrophe of some kind, leaped also, while those in the
rear cars, as they saw along the sides of the railroad track men
leaping, rolling, and tumbling on the ground, took it for granted
that a desperate calamity had happened to a forward car. No time for
questions, no time for meditation. The soldier's only care was to
watch for a soft place to make his desperate leap, and in many cases
there was little choice. Men leaped wildly in the air, some with their
heels up, others falling on their heads and backs, some rolling over
in a mad scramble to clear themselves from the threatening danger.
The engineer not being aware of anything wrong with the train, glided
serenely along, unconscious of the pandemonium, in the rear. But when
all had about left the train, and the great driving-wheels began to
spin around like mad, from the lightening of the load, the master of
the throttle looked to the rear. There lay stretched prone upon the
ground, or limping on one foot, or rolling over in the dirt, some
bareheaded and coatless, boxes and trunks scattered as in an awful
collision, upwards of one thousand men along the railroad track. Many
of the men thinking, no doubt, the train hopelessly lost, or serious
danger imminent, threw their baggage out before making the dangerous
leap. At last the train was stopped and brought back to the scene of
desolation. It terminated like the bombardment of Fort Sumter--"no one
hurt," and all occasioned by a hot-box that could have been cooled in
a very few minutes. Much swearing and good-humored jesting were now
engaged in. Such is the result of the want of presence of mind. A wave
of the hat at the proper moment as a signal to the engineer to
stop, and all would have been well. It was told once of a young lady
crossing a railroad track in front of a fast approaching train, that
her shoe got fastened in the frog where the two rails join. She began
to struggle, then to scream, and then fainted. A crowd rushed up, some
grasping the lady's body attempted to pull her loose by force; others
shouted to the train to stop; some called for crow-bars to take up
the iron. At last one man pushed through the crowd, untied the lady's
shoe, and she was loose. Presence of mind, and not force, did it.

Remaining in camp a few days, orders came to move, and cars were
gotten in readiness and baggage packed preparatory to the trip to
Virginia. To many, especially those reared in the back districts, and
who, before their brief army life, had never been farther from
their homes than their county seat, the trip to the old "Mother of
Presidents," the grand old commonwealth, was quite a journey indeed.
The old negroes, who had been brought South during the early days of
the century, called the old State "Virginy" and mixing it with local
dialect, in some parts had got the name so changed that it was called
"Ferginey." The circus troops and negro comedians, in their annual
trips through the Southern States, had songs already so catchy to our
people, on account of their pathos and melody, of Old Virginia,
that now it almost appeared as though we were going to our old home.
Virginia had been endeared to us and closely connected with the
people of South Carolina by many links, not the least being its many
sentimental songs of that romantic land, and the stories of her great
men.

The baggage of the common soldier at this stage of the war would
have thrown an ordinary quartermaster of latter day service into
an epileptic fit, it was so ponderous in size and enormous in
quantities--a perfect household outfit. A few days before this the
soldier had received his first two months' pay, all in new crisp
bank notes, fresh from the State banks or banks of deposit. It can
be easily imagined that there were lively times for the butcher, the
baker and candlestick maker, with all this money afloat. The Third
South Carolina was transported by way of Wilmington and Weldon, N.C.
Had there ever existed any doubts in the country as to the feelings
of the people of the South before this in regard to Secession, it was
entirely dispelled by the enthusiastic cheers and good will of the
people along the road. The conduct of the men and women through South
Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia, showed one long and continued
ovation along the line of travel, looking like a general holiday. As
the cars sped along through the fields, the little hamlets and towns,
people of every kind, size, and complexion rushed to the railroad and
gave us welcome and Godspeed. Hats went into the air as we passed,
handkerchiefs fluttered, flags waved in the gentle summer breeze from
almost every housetop. The ladies and old men pressed to the side of
the cars when we halted, to shake the hands of the brave soldier boys,
and gave them blessings, hope and encouragement. The ladies vied
with the men in doing homage to the soldiers of the Palmetto State.
Telegrams had been sent on asking of our coming, the hour of our
passage through the little towns, and inviting us to stop and enjoy
their hospitality and partake of refreshments. In those places where a
stop was permitted, long tables were spread in some neighboring grove
or park, bending under the weight of their bounties, laden down with
everything tempting to the soldier's appetite. The purest and best of
the women mingled freely with the troops, and by every device known to
the fair sex showed their sympathy and encouragement in the cause we
had espoused. At Wilmington, N.C., we crossed the Cape Fear River on a
little river steamer, the roads not being connected with a bridge.
At Petersburg and Richmond we had to march through portions of those
cities in going from one depot to another, union sheds, not being in
vogue at that time, and on our entry into these cities the population
turned out en masse to welcome and extend to us their greeting. Every
private house stood open to the soldiers and the greatest good will
was everywhere manifested.

Much has been said in after years, since misfortune and ruin overtook
the South, since the sad reverses of the army and the overthrow of
our principles, about leaders plunging the nation into a bloody
and uncalled for war. This, is all the height of folly. No man
or combination of men could have stayed or avoided war. No human
persuasion or earthly power could have stayed the great wave of
revolution that had struck the land; and while, like a storm widening
and gathering strength and fury as it goes, to have attempted it would
have been but to court ruin and destruction. Few men living in
that period of our country's history would have had the boldness or
hardihood to counsel submission or inactivity. Differences there may
have been and were as to methods, but to Secession, none. The voices
of the women of the land were alone enough to have forced the measures
upon the men in some shape or other. Then, as to the leaders being
"shirkers" when the actual contest came, the history of the times
gives contradictions sufficient without examples. Where the duties
of the service called, they willingly obeyed. All could not fill
departments or sit in the councils of the nation, but none shirked
the responsibility the conditions called them to. Where fathers filled
easy places their sons were in the ranks, and many of our leaders of
Secession headed troops in the field. General Bonham, our Brigadier,
had just resigned his seat in the United States Congress; so had
L.M. Keitt, who fell at Cold Harbor at the head of our brigade, while
Colonel of the Twentieth Regiment. James L. Orr, one of the original
Secessionists and a member of Congress, raised the first regiment of
rifles. The son of Governor Gist, the last Executive of South Carolina
just previous to Secession, fell while leading his regiment,
the Fifteenth, of our brigade, in the assault at Fort Loudon, at
Knoxville. Scarcely was there a member of the convention that passed
the Ordinance of Secession who had not a son or near kinsman in the
ranks of the army. They showed by their deeds the truth and honesty
of their convictions. They had trusted the North until trusting had
ceased to be a virtue. They wished peace, but feared not war. All this
idle talk, so common since the war, of a "rich man's war and a poor
man's fight" is the merest twaddle and vilely untrue.

The men of the South had risked their all upon the cast, and were
willing to abide by the hazard of the die. All the great men of South
Carolina were for Secession, and they nobly entered the field. The
Hamptons, Butlers, Haskells, Draytons, Bonhams, all readily grasped
the sword or musket. The fire-eaters, like Bob Toombs, of Georgia,
and Wigfall, of Texas, led brigades, and were as fiery upon the
battlefield as they had been upon the floor of the United States
Senate. So with all the leaders of Secession, without exception; they
contributed their lives, their services, and their wealth to the cause
they had advocated and loved so well. I make this departure here to
correct an opinion or belief, originated and propagated by the envious
few who did not rise to distinction in the war, or who were too young
to participate in its glories--those glories that were mutual and will
ever surround the Confederate soldier, regardless of rank.

After stopping a few days in Richmond, we were carried on to Manassas
and Bull Run, then to Fairfax, where we joined the other regiments.
The Third Regiment camped first at Mitchell's Ford, remained at that
point for a week or ten days, and from thence moved to the outpost
just beyond Fairfax Court House. The Eighth and Second camped for a
while at Germantown, and soon the whole brigade was between Fairfax
and Bull Run.

       *       *       *       *       *



CHAPTER IV

Camp at Fairfax--Bonham's Staff--Biography of General Bonham--Retreat
to Bull Run. Battle of the 18th.


General Bonham had gathered around him, as staff officers, a galaxy of
gentlemen as cultured, talented, and patriotic as South Carolina
could produce, and as gallant as ever followed a general upon the
battlefield; all of whom won promotion and distinction as the war
progressed in the different branches of service.

Colonel Samuel Melton, one of the staff, writing in a pleasant mood,
thirty-five years afterwards, says: "That with universal acclamation
it may be said, that the retinue gathered around the General of the
old First Brigade was a gorgeous one. I am proud of it 'until yet.'"

This staff of General Bonham's was the one allowed by the State
service, and the appointments were made under State laws. However, all
followed him into the Confederate service, and, with a few exceptions,
remained until after the battle of Manassas, serving without pay.
The Confederate Government was much more modest in its appointment
of staff officers, and only allowed a Brigadier General three or four
members as his personal staff.

The following is a list of officers who followed General Bonham to
Virginia, or joined him soon after his arrival:

    W.C. Morayne, Assistant Adjutant General, with rank of
    Colonel.

    W.D. Simpson, Inspector General.
    A.P. Aldrich, Quartermaster General.
    R.B. Boylston, Commissary General.
    J.N. Lipscomb, Paymaster General.

Aides, with rank of Major: S.W. Melton, B.F. Withers, T.J. Davis,
E.S. Hammond, S. Warren Nelson, Samuel Tompkins, W.P. Butler, M.B.
Lipscomb.

Colonel S. McGowan, Volunteer Aide.

Dr. Reeves, of Virginia, was Brigade Surgeon.

Colonels Morayne and Boylston remained only a few weeks. Captain
George W. Say, an officer of the Confederate staff, succeeded Colonel
Morayne, and remained a short while, when he was promoted and sent
elsewhere. Colonel Lipscomb became the regular aide, with rank of
First Lieutenant.

When Captain Say left, S.W. Melton was put in his place as Assistant
Adjutant General, without appointment or without pay, and discharged
the duties of that office until August, when he left on sick leave.
When he returned he was appointed Major and Assistant Adjutant
General, and assigned to duty upon the staff of Major General G.W.
Smith, commanding Second Corps of the Army of the Potomac. In 1863
he was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel and assigned to duty in the war
department.

William F. Nance, of Newberry, was appointed Captain and Assistant
Adjutant General, and in September, 1861, was assigned to duty
upon General Bonham's staff, where he remained until the General's
resignation. In 1864 Nance was on duty in Charleston, where he
remained on staff duty until the end.

S. McGowan and W.D. Simpson returned to South Carolina after the
battle of Manassas, and assisted in raising the Fourteenth South
Carolina Regiment of Volunteers, of which the former was elected
Lieutenant Colonel and the latter Major. Colonel McGowan became
Colonel of the regiment, and afterwards Brigadier of one of the most
famous brigades (McGowan's) in the Confederate Army. Colonel Simpson
served in the Confederate Congress after his retirement from the army.

All the others of the staff filled prominent positions, either
as commanding or staff officers, or serving in the departments in
Richmond. I have no data at hand to give sketches of their individual
services.

Fairfax Court House was the extreme limit at which the infantry was
posted on that side of the Blue Ridge. Cavalry was still in advance,
and under the leadership of the indefatigable Stuart scouting the
whole front between the Confederate and Federal armies. The Third
South Carolina was encamped about a mile north of the little old
fashioned hamlet, the county seat of the county of that name. In this
section of the State lived the ancestors of most of the illustrious
families of Virginia, Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, and Lee.
It is a rather picturesque country; not so beautiful and productive,
however, as the Shenandoah and Luray Valleys. The Seventh, Eighth, and
Second Regiments were encamped several miles distant, but all in the
hearing of one another's drums. Our main duties outside of our regular
drills consisted in picketing the highways and blockading all roads by
felling the timber across for more than a hundred yards on either side
of the roads. Large details armed with axes were sent out to blockade
the thoroughfares leading to Washington and points across the Potomac.
For miles out, in all directions, wherever the road led through wooded
lands, large trees, chestnut, hickory, oak, and pine, were cut pell
mell, creating a perfect abattis across the road--so much so as to
cause our troops in their verdant ignorance to think it almost an
impossibility for such obstructions to be cleared away in many days;
whereas, as a fact, the pioneer corps of the Federal Army cleared it
away as fast as the army marched, not causing as much as one hour's
halt. Every morning at nine o'clock one company from a regiment would
go out about two miles in the direction of Washington Falls church or
Annandale to do picket duty, and remain until nine o'clock next
day, when it would be relieved by another company. The "Black Horse
Cavalry," an old organization of Virginia, said to have remained
intact since the Revolution, did vidette duty still beyond the
infantry. Their duties were to ride through the country in every
direction, and on every road and by-way to give warning of
approaching danger to the infantry. These were bold riders in those
days, some daring to ride even within view of the spires and domes of
Washington itself. On our outposts we could plainly hear the sound
of the drums of the Federalists in their preparation for the "on to
Richmond" move. General Bonham had also some fearless scouts at this
time. Even some of the boldest of the women dared to cross the Potomac
in search of information for the Confederate Generals. It was here
that the noted Miss Bell Boyd made herself famous by her daring rides,
her many escapades and hair-breadth escapes, her bold acts of crossing
the Potomac sometimes disguised and at other times not, even entering
the City of Washington itself. In this way she gathered much valuable
information for the Confederate Generals, and kept them posted on the
movements of the enemy. She was one of the best horsewomen of that
day; a fine specimen of womanhood, and as fearless and brave as
a stout hearted cavalier. She generally carried a brace of Colt's
revolvers around her waist, and was daring enough to meet any foe who
was so bold as to cross her path. Bell Boyd was one of the many noble
Virginia women who staked and dared all for the cause of the South.
William Parley, of South Carolina, another bold scout, was invaluable
to General Stuart and General Bonham. It was he that John Esten Cooke
immortalized in "Surry of Eagle's Nest" and was killed at the battle
of Chancellorsville. He was a native of Laurens County.

The duties of picketing were the first features of our army life that
looked really like war. The soldiers had become accustomed to guard
duty, but to be placed out on picket or vidette posts alone, or in
company with a comrade, to stand all day and during the dead hours of
the night, expecting some lurking foe every moment to shoot you in
the back, or from behind some bush to shoot your head off, was quite
another matter. As a guard, we watched over our friends; as a picket,
we watched for our foe. For a long time, being no nearer the enemy
than the hearing of their drums, the soldiers had grown somewhat
careless. But there was an uncanny feeling in standing alone in the
still hours of the night, in a strange country, watching, waiting
for an enemy to crawl up and shoot you unawares. This feeling was
heightened, especially in my company, by an amusing incident that
happened while on picket duty on the Annandale road. Up to this
time there had been no prisoners captured on either side, and it was
uncertain as to what would be the fate of any who would fall in the
enemy's hands. As we were considered traitors and rebels, the penalty
for that crime was, as we all knew, death. The Northern press had kept
up quite a howl, picturing the long rows of traitors that would be
hung side by side as soon as they had captured the Confederate Army.
That there was a good deal of "squeamishness" felt at the idea of
being captured, cannot be doubted. So videttes were stationed several
hundred yards down the road with a picket post of four men, between
the outside sentinels and the company, as reserve. A large pine
thicket was to our right, while on the left was an old field with here
and there a few wild cherry trees. The cherries being ripe, some of
the men had gone up in the trees to treat themselves to this luscious
little fruit. The other part of the company lay indolently about,
sheltering themselves as best they could from the rays of the hot July
sun, under the trees. Some lay on the tops of fences, and in corners,
while not a few, with coats and vests off, enjoyed a heated game of
"old sledge." All felt a perfect security, for with the pickets in
front, the cavalry scouring the country, and the almost impassable
barricades of the roads, seemed to render it impossible for an enemy
to approach unobserved. The guns leaned carelessly against the fence
or lay on the ground, trappings, etc., scattered promiscuously around.
Not a dream of danger; no thought of a foe. While the men were thus
pleasantly engaged, and the officers taking an afternoon nap, from out
in the thicket on the right came "bang-bang," and a hail of bullets
came whizzing over our heads. What a scramble! What an excitement!
What terror depicted on the men's faces! Had a shower of meteors
fallen in our midst, had a volcano burst from the top of the Blue
Ridge, or had a thunder bolt fell at our feet out of the clear blue
sky, the consternation could not have been greater. Excitement,
demoralization, and panic ensued. Men tumbled off the fences, guns
were reached for, haversacks and canteens hastily grabbed, and, as
usual in such panics, no one could get hold of his own. Some started
up the road, some down. Officers thus summarily aroused were equally
demoralized. Some gave one order, some another. "Pandemonium reigned
supreme." Those in the cherry trees came down, nor did the "cherry
pickers" stand on the order of their coming. The whole Yankee army was
thought to be over the hills. At last the officer commanding got the
men halted some little distance up the road; a semblance of a line
formed, men cocked their guns and peered anxiously through the cracks
of the rail fence, expecting to see an enemy behind every tree. A
great giant, a sergeant from the mountain section, who stood six feet,
three inches in his stockings, and as brave as he was big, his face
flushed with excitement, his whole frame trembling with emotion, in
his shirt sleeves and bareheaded, rushed to the middle of the road,
braced himself, as waiting for some desperate shock, and stood like
Horatio Cockles at the Bridge, waving his gun in the air, calling out
in defiant and stentorian voice, "Come on, I'll fight all of you; I'll
fight old Lincoln from here to the sea." Such a laugh as was set up
afterwards, at his expense! The amusing part of it was the parties who
fired the shots at the time the stampeding was going on with us,
were running for dear life's sake across the fields, worse scared, if
possible, than we ourselves. They were three of a scouting party, who
had eluded our pickets, and seeing our good, easy, and indifferent
condition, took it into their heads to have a little amusement at
our expense. But the sound of their guns in the quiet surrounding, no
doubt excited the Yankees as much as it did the Confederates. This was
an adventure not long in reaching home, for to be shot at by a real
live Yankee was an event in every one's life at the time not soon to
be forgotten. But it was so magnified, that by the time it reached
home, had not the battle of Bull Run come in its heels so soon, this
incident would no doubt have ever remained to those who were engaged
in it as one of the battles of the war. The only casualty was a
hole shot through a hat. I write this little incident to show the
difference in raw and seasoned troops. One year later such an incident
would not have disturbed those men any more than the buzzing of a bee.
Picket duty after this incident was much more stringent. Two men were
made to stand on post all night, without relief, only such as they
gave each other. Half of the company's reserve were kept awake all
night. Orders were given that the utmost silence should prevail, the
men were not even to speak above a whisper, and on the approach of
anyone they were to be hailed with the command, "Halt, who comes
there?" If a satisfactory answer was given, they were allowed to pass.
If not, to remain standing, and an officer of the guard called. At
night they were to call "halt" three times, and if no answer, they
were to fire and retreat to the reserve.

One night, shortly after this, one of the companies from Spartanburg
had been sent out about three miles to the intersection of a country
road leading off to the left. Down this country road, or lane, were
two pickets. They concealed themselves during the day in the fence
corners, but at night they crawled over into a piece of timber land,
and crouched down behind a large oak. The shooting incident of a few
days before made the two pickets feel somewhat tender at thus being
alone in the forest, when at any moment an enemy might creep upon
them sufficiently near as to shoot them in the dark. Everything was
as quiet as the grave. The stars, peeping faintly out from behind the
clouds, midnight came, and each began to nod, when a twig breaks some
distance in front, then another, then the rustling of dry leaves.
Their hearts leap to their throats and beat like sledge hammers. One
whispers to the other, "Whist, some one is coming." They strain their
ears to better catch the sound. Surely enough they hear the leaves
rustling as if some one is approaching. "Click," "click," the two
hammers of their trusty rifles spring back, fingers upon the triggers,
while nearer the invisible comes. "Halt," rang out in the midnight
air; "halt," once more, but still the steady tread keeps approaching.
When the third "halt" was given it was accompanied by the crack of
their rifles. A deafening report and frightful squeal, as an old
female porker went charging through the underbrush like mad. The crack
of the rifles alarmed the sleeping companions in reserve, who rushed
to arms and awaited the attack. But after much good humored badgering
of the two frightened sentinels, "peace reigned once more at Warsaw"
till the break of day. The company returned next morning to camp, but
the two sentinels who had fired on the old innocent porker were glad
enough to seek the quietude of their quarters to escape the jests of
their comrades.

A simple system of breastworks was thrown up just beyond our camp at
Fairfax on a little eminence to the right of the road. This we thought
sufficient to defeat quite an army, or at least keep them at bay.
General Bonham had his headquarters at Fairfax Court House, but rode
out daily to examine the work done on the entrenchments, or inspect
the picket and outposts. General Bonham was one of the finest looking
officers in the entire army. His tall, graceful figure, his commanding
appearance, his noble bearing, and soldierly mien were all qualities
to excite the confidence and admiration of his troops. He wore a
broad-brimmed hat, with a waving plume floating out behind, and sat
his horse as knightly as Charles the Bold, or Henry of Navarre. His
soldiers were proud of him, and loved to do him homage. He endeared
himself to his officers, and while he was a good disciplinarian as far
as the volunteer service required, he did not treat his officers with
that air of superiority, nor exact that rigid military courtesy that
is required in the regular army. I will here give a short sketch of
his life for the benefit of his old comrades in arms.

       *       *       *       *       *


MILLEDGE LUKE BONHAM

Was born near Red Bank in that part of Edgefield District now included
in Saluda County, South Carolina, on the 25th day of December, 1813.
His father, Captain James Bonham, who had come from Virginia to South
Carolina about the close of the last century, was the son of Major
Absalom Bonham, who was a native of Maryland, but who enlisted for the
war of the Revolution in a New Jersey regiment, and became a Major of
the line on the establishment of that State. After the Revolution he
moved to Virginia. Captain James Bonham was himself at the siege of
Yorktown as a lad of fifteen, in a company whose captain was only
twenty years old. He first settled in this State in the District of
Colleton, and there married. After the death of his wife, he moved to
Edgefield District, and there married Sophie Smith, who was the mother
of the subject of this sketch. She was the daughter of Jacob Smith and
his wife, Sallie Butler, who was a sister of that Captain James Butler
who was the forefather of the illustrious family of that name in
this State, and who with his young son, also named James, was cruelly
massacred along with others at Cloud's Creek, in Edgefield District,
by "Bloody Bill" Cunningham.

Milledge L. Bonham received his early education in the "old field"
schools of the neighborhood, and his academic training under
instructors at Abbeville and Edgefield. He entered the South Carolina
College and graduated with second honor in 1834. Soon thereafter the
Seminole or Florida war broke out, and he volunteered in the company
from Edgefield, commanded by Captain James Jones, and was Orderly
Sergeant of the company. During the progress of the war in Florida,
he was appointed by General Bull, who commanded the South Carolina
Brigade, to be Brigade Major, a position which corresponds with what
is now known in military circles as Adjutant General of Brigade.

Returning from the war, he resumed the study of law and was
admitted to the Bar and settled at Edgefield for the practice of his
profession. In 1844 he was elected to the Legislature. He always took
an ardent interest in the militia, and was first Brigadier General
and afterwards Major General of militia. When the war with Mexico was
declared, he was appointed lieutenant Colonel of the Twelfth United
States Infantry, one of the new regiments added to the army for that
war. With his regiment he went to Mexico and served with distinction
throughout the war, being promoted to Colonel of the regiment, and
having, by the way, for his Adjutant, Lieutenant Winfield Scott
Hancock, afterwards a distinguished Major General of the Federal Army
in the late war. After the cessation of hostilities, Colonel Bonham
was retained in Mexico as Military Governor of one of the provinces
for about a year. Being then honorably discharged, he returned to
Edgefield and resumed the practice of law. In 1848 he was elected
Solicitor of the Southern Circuit, composed of Edgefield, Barnwell,
Orangeburg, Colleton, and Beaufort Districts. The Bars of the various
Districts composing this Circuit counted among their members many of
the ablest and most distinguished lawyers of the State, and hence
it required the possession and industrious use of talents of no mean
order to sustain one's self as prosecuting officer against such an
array of ability. But General Bonham continued to hold the office
until 1856, when, upon the death of Hon. Preston S. Brooks, he was
elected to succeed that eminent gentleman in Congress, and again in
1858 was elected for the full term. Those were the stirring times
preceding the bursting of the cloud of civil war, and the debates in
Congress were hot and spicy. In all these he took his full part. When
South Carolina seceded from the Union, he promptly resigned his seat
in Congress, and was appointed by Governor Pickens Commander-in-Chief
of all the forces of South Carolina with the rank of Major General. In
this capacity, and waiving all question of rank and precedence, at the
request of Governor Pickens, he served on the coast on Morris' Island
with General Beauregard, who had been sent there by the Provisional
Government of the Confederacy to take command of the operations
around Charleston. On the permanent organization of the Confederate
Government, General Bonham was appointed by President Davis a
Brigadier General in the Army of the Confederate States. His brigade
consisted of four South Carolina regiments, commanded respectively by
Colonels Kershaw, Williams, Cash, and Bacon, and General Bonham used
to love to say that no finer body of men were ever assembled together
in one command. With this brigade he went to Virginia, and they were
the first troops other than Virginia troops that landed in Richmond
for its defense. With them he took part in the operations around
Fairfax, Vienna, Centerville, and the first battle of Manassas.

Afterwards, in consequence of a disagreement with the Department of
War, he resigned from the army. Soon thereafter he was elected to the
Confederate Congress, in which body he served until he was elected
Governor of this State in December, 1862. It was a trying time to fill
that office, and President Davis, in letters, bears witness to the
fact that no one of the Governors of the South gave him more efficient
aid and support than did Governor Bonham. At the expiration of his
term of office, in January, 1865, he was appointed to the command of
a brigade of cavalry, and at once set to work to organize it, but the
surrender of Johnston's army put an end to the war.

Returning from the war broken in fortune, as were all of his people,
he remained for a year or more on his plantation on Saluda River, in
Edgefield County. He then moved to Edgefield Court House, again to
take up his practice, so often interrupted by calls to arms. He was
elected to the Legislature in 1866, just preceding Reconstruction, but
with the coming of that political era he, in common with all the white
men of the State, was debarred from further participation in public
affairs. In the movement known as the Tax-payers Convention, which had
for its object the relief of the people from Republican oppression
and corruption, he took part as one of the delegates sent by this
convention to Washington to lay before President Grant the condition
of the people of the "Prostrate State." He took an active interest and
part in the political revolution of 1876 and warmly advocated what was
known as "the straightout policy" and the nomination of Wade Hampton
as Governor.

In 1878 Governor Simpson appointed him the first Railroad Commissioner
under the Act just passed, and subsequently when the number of the
Commissioners was increased to three, he was elected Chairman of the
Commission, in which position he continued until his death, on the
27th day of August, 1890. He died suddenly from the rupture of a blood
vessel while on a visit to Haywood White Sulphur Springs, N.C.

General Bonham married on November 13th, 1845, Ann Patience, a
daughter of Nathan L. Griffin, Esq., a prominent lawyer of Edgefield.
She survived him four years, and of their union there are living eight
children.

Attached to Bonham's Brigade was Kemper's Battery of light artillery,
commanded by Captain Dell Kemper. This company was from Alexandria,
Va., just over the Potomac from Washington. This organization was part
of the old State militia, known as volunteer companies, and had been
in existence as such for many years. It being in such close proximity
to Washington, the sentiment of the company was divided, like all
companies on the border. Some of the company were in favor of joining
the Union Army, while others wished to go with the State. Much
discussion took place at this time among the members as to which side
they would join, but Captain Kemper, with a great display of coolness
and courage, cut the Gordian knot by taking those with him of Southern
sentiment, like himself, and on one dark night he pulled out from
Alexandria with his cannon and horses and made his way South to join
the Southern Army. That was the last time any of that gallant band
ever saw their native city for more than four years, and many of the
poor fellows looked upon it that night for the last time. Between them
and the South Carolinians sprang up a warm attachment that continued
during the war. They remained with us as a part of the brigade for
nearly two years, or until the artillery was made a separate branch of
the service. While in winter quarters, when many troops were granted
furloughs, those men having no home to which they could visit like
the others, were invited by members of the brigade to visit their own
homes in South Carolina and remain with their families the length
of their leave of absence. Many availed themselves of these kind
invitations, and spent a pleasant month in the hospitable homes of
this State. The ladies of South Carolina, appreciating their isolated
condition and forced separation from their homes, with no kind mother
or sister with opportunities to cheer them with their delicate favors,
made them all a handsome uniform and outfit of underwear, and sent to
them as a Christmas gift. Never during the long years of the struggle
did the hearts of South Carolinians fail to respond to those of the
brave Virginians, when they heard the sound of Kemper's guns belching
forth death and destruction to the enemy, or when the battle was
raging loud and furious.

On the morning of the 16th of July, when all was still and quiet in
camp, a puff of blue smoke from a hill about three miles off, followed
by the roar of a cannon, the hissing noise of a shell overhead, its
loud report, was the first intimation the troops had that the enemy
had commenced the advance, it is needless to say excitement and
consternation overwhelmed the camp. While all were expecting and
anxiously awaiting it, still the idea of being now in the face of a
real live enemy, on the eve of a great battle, where death and horrors
of war, such as all had heard of but never realized, came upon them
with no little feelings of dread and emotion. No man living, nor any
who ever lived, retaining his natural faculties, ever faced death
in battle without some feeling of dread or superstitious awe. The
soldiers knew, too, the eyes of the world were upon them, that they
were to make the history for their generation. Tents were hurriedly
struck, baggage rolled and thrown into wagons, with which the excited
teamsters were not long in getting into the pike road. Drums beat
the assembly, troops formed in line and took position behind
the breastwork; while the artillery galloped up to the front and
unlimbered, ready for action. The enemy threw twenty-pound shells
repeatedly over the camp, that did no further damage than add to the
consternation of the already excited teamsters, who seemed to think
the safety of the army depended on their getting out of the way. It
was an exciting scene to see four-horse teams galloping down the pike
at break-neck speed, urged forward by the frantic drivers.

It was the intention of McDowell, the Federal Chief, to surprise the
advance at Fairfax Court House and cut off their retreat. Already a
column was being hurried along the Germantown road, that intersected
the main road four miles in our rear at the little hamlet of
Germantown. But soon General Bonham had his forces, according to
preconcerted arrangements, following the retreating trains along the
pike towards Bull Run. Men overloaded with baggage, weighted down with
excitement, went at a double quick down the road, panting and sweating
in the noonday sun, while one of the field officers in the rear
accelerated the pace by a continual shouting, "Hurry up, men, they
are firing on our rear." This command was repeated so often and
persistently that it became a by-word in our brigade, so much so that
when anything was wanted to be done with speed the order was always
accompanied with, "Hurry up, men, they are firing on our rear." The
negro servants, evincing no disposition to be left behind, rushed
along with the wagon train like men beset. While we were on the
double-quick, some one noticed a small Confederate flag floating
lazily in the breeze from a tall pine pole that some soldier had put
up at his tent, but by the hurried departure neglected to take down.
Its owner could not entertain the idea of leaving this piece of
bunting as a trophy for the enemy, so risking the chance of capture,
he ran back, cut the staff, and returned almost out of breath to his
company with the coveted flag. We were none too precipitate in our
movement, for as we were passing through Germantown we could see the
long rows of glistening bayonets of the enemy crowning the hills to
our right. We stopped in Centerville until midnight, then resumed the
march, reaching Bull Run at Mitchell's Ford as the sun was just rising
above the hill tops.

Colonel Kershaw and Colonel Cash were filing down the east bank to the
left, while Colonels Williams and Bacon occupied some earthworks on
the right. These had been erected by former troops, who had encamped
there before us. General Beauregard had divided his troops into six
brigades, putting regiments of the same State together, as far as
possible, Bonham's being First Brigade. Beauregard was determined to
make Bull Run his line of defense. This is a slow, sluggish stream,
only fordable at certain points, its banks steep and rather rocky with
a rough plateau reaching back from either side. The western being the
more elevated, gave the enemy the advantage in artillery practice.
In fact, the banks on the western side at some points came up to the
stream in a bluff--especially so at Blackburn's Ford. In the rear and
in the direction of the railroad was the now famous Manassas Plains.
The Confederate line extended five miles, from Union Mills Ford
to Stone Bridge. At the latter place was General Evans, of South
Carolina, with two regiments and four pieces of artillery. On the
extreme right, Ewell with his brigade and a battery of twelve-pounders
was posted at Union Mills. McLean's Ford was guarded by D.R.
Jones' brigade, with two brass six-pounders. Longstreet with two
six-pounders, and Bonham with two batteries of artillery and a
squadron of cavalry, guarded the fords at Blackburn's and Mitchell's
respectively. Early's Brigade acted as reserve on the right. In rear
of the other fords was Cooke's Brigade and one battery. The entire
force on the roll on July 11th consisted of 27 pieces of light
artillery and 534 men; cavalry, 1425; foot artillery, 265; infantry,
16,150--18,401, comprising the grand total of all arms of General
Beauregard one week before the first battle. Now it must be understood
that this includes the sick, guards, and those on outpost duty.
McDowell had 37,300 of mostly seasoned troops.

The morning of the 18th opened bright and sunny. To our rear was all
bustle and commotion, and it looked like a vast camp of wagon trains.
From the surrounding country all wagons had been called in from the
foraging expeditions laden with provisions. Herds of cattle were
corralled to secure the troops fresh beef, while the little fires
scattered over the vast plains showed that the cooking details were
not idle. General Beauregard had his headquarters on the hill in our
rear.

At eight o'clock on the 18th, McDowell pushed his leading division
forward at Blackburn's Ford, where two old comrades, but now facing
each other as foes, General Tyler and General Longstreet, were to
measure strength and generalship. The Washington Artillery, under
Captain Richardson, of New Orleans, a famous battery throughout the
war, which claims the distinction of firing the first gun at Bull Run
and the last at Appomattox, was with Longstreet to aid him with their
brass six-pounders.

The enemy advanced over the plain and up to the very bluff overlooking
the stream, and a very short distance from where Longstreet's force
lay, but the Washington Artillery had been raking the field all the
while, from an eminence in the rear, while the infantry now began to
fire in earnest. The elevated position gave the enemy great advantage,
and at one time General Longstreet had to call up his reserves, but
the advantageous assault was speedily repulsed as soon as the Southern
troops became more calm and better accustomed to the fire and tension
of the battlefield. Several assaults were made, one immediately after
the other, but each time Southern valor overcame Northern discipline.
From our position at Mitchell's Ford, we could hear the fierce,
continual roll of the infantry fire, mingled with the deafening
thunder of the cannon. Bonham was under a continual shelling from long
range, by twenty pounders, some reaching as far in the rear as the
wagon yard. After the fourth repulse, and Longstreet had his reserves
well in hand, he felt himself strong enough to take the initiative.
Plunging through the marshes and lagoons that bordered the stream, the
troops crossed over and up the bluff, but when on the heights they met
another advance of the enemy, who were soon sent scampering from the
field. Then was first heard the famous "Rebel yell." The Confederates
finding themselves victorious in this their first engagement,
gave vent to their feelings by uttering such a yell as suited each
individual best, forming for all time the famous "Rebel Yell."
Longstreet withdrew his forces to the east side, but a continual
fusilade of artillery was kept up until night. Some of our soldiers
visited the battlefield that night and next day, and brought in
many trophies and mementoes of the day's fight, such as blankets,
oilcloths, canteens, guns, etc.

       *       *       *       *       *


CHAPTER V

The Battle of Manassas--Rout of the Enemy. Visit to the Battlefield.


Of the battle of the 18th, the enemy seemed to make little, and called
it a "demonstration" at which General Tyler exceeded his orders, and
pushed his troops too far. However, the Confederates were very well
satisfied with the contest where the first blood was drawn. General
Johnston, who at this time was up in the Shenandoah Valley, near
Winchester, was asked by General Beauregard to come to his relief. He
was confronted himself by General Patterson, an able Federal General,
with a largely superior army. This General Johnston had assurance to
believe was preparing to advance, and his own danger great. Still by
a strategem, he succeeded in quietly withdrawing his troops, and began
the hazardous undertaking of re-enforcing Beauregard. Some of his
troops he placed upon the cars at Piedmont, and sped along o'er
mountains and glens with lightning speed, while the others on foot
came over and through the torturous mountain passes without halt or
rest, bending all their energies to meet Beauregard upon the plains of
Manassas. Couriers came on foaming steeds, their bloody sides showing
the impress of the riders' spurs, bringing the glad tidings to the
Army of the Potomac that succor was near. Beauregard was busy with
the disposition of his troops, preparing to give battle, while the
soldiers worked with a will erecting some hasty breastworks.

At this point I will digress for the moment to relate an incident of
the Federal march, to show the brutal cowardice and baseness of
the Federals in making war upon the non-combatants--women and
children--and also the unyielding spirit and inflexible courage of
our Southern people. Those dispositions were manifested on both sides
throughout the whole war. It is unnecessary to say that feeling ran
high on the border, as elsewhere, and everyone was anxious to display
his colors in order to show to the world how his feelings ran.
Confederate flags waved from many housetops along the border, and
on the morning the Federals crossed the Potomac from Washington to
Alexandria, many little pieces of bunting, displaying stars and bars,
floated from the houses in that old sleeping city of Alexandria.
Among that number was a violent Secessionist named Jackson. Colonel
Ellsworth, commanding the New York Zouaves, the advance guard, ordered
all flags with Confederate devices to be torn down by force. The
soldiers thus engaged in the debasing acts of entering private
dwellings, insulting the inmates with the vilest epithets, ruthlessly
tore down the hated emblems of the South everywhere. When they came to
Jackson's house they met the fiery defender of his home on the landing
of the stairs, rifle in hand, who with determined air informed the
Federal soldiers that whoever lowered his flag would meet instant
death. Staggered and dazed by such a determined spirit, they lost no
time in reporting the fact to Colonel Ellsworth. Enraged beyond all
control by this cool impudence, Ellsworth rushed to Jackson's house,
followed by a squad of soldiers. On reaching the landing he, too, met
Jackson with his eyes flashing fire and determination, his whole
frame trembling with the emotion he felt, his rifle cocked and to his
shoulder, boldly declaring, "Whoever tears down that flag, dies in his
tracks." Ellsworth and party thought this threat could not be real,
and only Southern braggadocio. Brushing past the determined hero,
Ellsworth snatched the hated flag from its fastening, but at that
instant he fell dead at the feet of his adversary. The report of
Jackson's rifle told too plainly that he had kept his word. The
soldiers who had followed and witnessed the death of their commander,
riddled the body of the Southern martyr with bullets, and not
satisfied with his death, mutilated his body beyond recognition. Thus
fell the first martyr to Southern principles. The South never showed
this disposition of hatred on any occasion, for in after years while
marching through Pennsylvania Union flags floated unmolested from
housetops, over towns, and cities. The soldiers only laughed and
ridiculed the stars and stripes. The South feared no display of
sentiment, neither did they insult women and non-combatants.

A like occurrence happened in New Orleans a few years later, where
General Butler commanded, and gained the unenviable sobriquet of
"Beast" by his war upon the women and those not engaged in the
struggle, and by trampling upon every right and liberty sacred to the
people. He had issued some degrading order, which the citizens were
bound in pain of death to obey. One brave man, Mumford, refused,
preferring death to obeying this humiliating order. For this he was
torn from the embrace of his devoted family, and, in sight of his wife
and children, placed in a wagon, forced to ride upon his own coffin,
and in the public square was hanged like a felon.

General Johnston, with a portion of his troops, reached the field on
the 20th, and his forces were placed in rear of those of Beauregard
as reserves. On the night of the 20th, both opposing generals, by a
strange coincidence, had formed plans of the battle for the next day,
and both plans were identical. Beauregard determined to advance his
right by echelon of brigades, commencing with Ewell at Union Mills,
then Jones and Longstreet were to cross Bull Run, with Bonham as a
pivot, and attack McDowell in flank and rear. This was the identical
plan conceived and carried out by the enemy, but with little success,
as events afterwards showed. The only difference was McDowell got his
blow in first by pushing his advance columns forward up the Warrenton
Road on our left, in the direction of the Stone Bridge. He attacked
General Evans, who had the Fourth South Carolina and Wheat's Battalion
of Louisiana Tigers, on guard at this point, with great energy and
zeal. But under cover of a dense forest, he moved his main body of
troops still higher up the Run, crossed at Sudley's Ford, and came
down on Evans' rear. Fighting "Shanks Evans," as he was afterwards
called, met this overwhelming force with stubborn resistance and a
reckless courage. The enemy from the opposite side of the Run was
sending in a continued shower of shot and shell, which threatened
the annihilation of the two little six-pounders and the handful of
infantry that Evans had. But support soon reached him, the Brigade of
Bee's coming up; still he was pressed back beyond a small stream in
his rear. Bee, with his own and Bartow's Brigade, with a battery of
artillery, were all soon engaged, but the whole column was forced back
in the valley below. Jackson came upon the crest of the hill in their
rear at this juncture, and on this column the demoralized troops were
ordered to rally. It was here Jackson gained the name of "Stonewall,"
for Bee, to animate and reassure his own men, pointed to Jackson and
said: "Look at Jackson, he stands like a stonewall." But the gallant
South Carolinian who gave the illustrious chieftain the famous name of
"Stonewall" did not live long enough to see the name applied, for in
a short time he fell, pierced through with a shot, which proved fatal.
Hampton, with his Legion, came like a whirlwind upon the field, and
formed on the right, other batteries were brought into play, still the
enemy pressed forward. Stone Bridge being uncovered, Tyler crossed his
troops over, and joined those of Hunter and Heintzelman coming from
Sudley's Ford. This united the three divisions of the enemy, and
they made a vigorous and pressing assault upon the demoralized
Confederates. The roar of the cannon became continuous, the earth
trembled from this storm of battle, sulphurous smoke obscures the sky,
the air vibrates with shrieking shot and shell, men rush madly to
the charge. Our small six-pounders against their twelve and
twenty-pounders, manned by the best artillerists at the North, was
quite an uneven combat. Johnston and Beauregard had now come upon the
field and aided in giving order and confidence to the troops now badly
disorganized by the fury of the charge. The battle raged in all
its fierceness; the infantry and artillery, by their roaring and
thunder-like tone, gave one the impression of a continued, protracted
electrical storm, and to those at a distance it sounded like "worlds
at war." On the plateau between the Lewis House and the Henry House
the battle raged fast and furious with all the varying fortunes of
battle. Now victorious--now defeated--the enemy advances over hill,
across plateaus, to be met with stubborn resistance first, then driven
flying from the field. Around the Henry House the battle was desperate
and hand to hand. Here the Louisiana Battalion, under Major Wheat,
immortalized itself by the fury of its assault. Again and again was
the house taken and lost, retaken and lost again; the men, seeking
cover, rushed up around and into it, only to be driven away by the
storm of shot and shell sent hurling through it. Now our troops would
be dislodged, but rallying they rushed again to the assault and retook
it. Twelve o'clock came, and the battle was far from being decided.
Bartow fell, then Bee. The wounded and dead lay strewn over the entire
field from the Henry House to the bridge. Away to the left is seen the
glitter of advancing bayonets, with flags waving, and the steady tread
of long lines of soldiers marching through the open field. They are
first thought to be the enemy, seeking to turn our left. Officers and
men turned pale at the sight of the unexpected foe. Couriers were sent
to Longstreet and Bonham to prepare to cover the retreat, for the
day was now thought to be lost, and a retreat inevitable. The troops
proved to be friends. Elzeys and Kirby Smith on the way from the
Valley to Manassas, hearing the firing of the guns, left the cars and
hurried to the scene of action. Cheer after cheer now rent the air,
for relief was now at hand. They were put in on the left, but soon
General Kirby Smith fell wounded, and had to be borne from the field.
Other reinforcements were on the way to relieve the pressure that was
convincing to the generals commanding, even, that the troops could not
long endure. The Second and Eighth South Carolina Regiments, under
the command of Colonels Kershaw and Cash, were taken from the line at
Mitchell's Ford and hurried forward. When all the forces, were gotten
well in hand, a general forward movement was made. But the enemy met
it with a determined front. The shrieking and bursting of shells shook
the very earth, while the constant roll of the infantry sounded like
continual peals of heavy thunder. Here and there an explosion, like a
volcanic eruption, told of a caisson being blown up by the bursting of
a shell. The enemy graped the field right and left, and had a decided
advantage in the forenoon when their long range twenty-pounders played
havoc with our advancing and retreating columns, while our small four
and six-pounders could not reach their batteries. But in the after
part of the day, when the contending forces were nearer together,
Rickett's and Griffin's Batteries, the most celebrated at that time
in the Northern Army, could not stand the precision and impetuosity
of Kemper's, the Washington, Stannard's, Pendleton's, and Pelham's
Batteries as they graped the field. The Second and Eighth South
Carolina coming up at a double quick, joined Hampton's Legion, with
Early, Cox, and the troops from the Valley just in time to be of
eminent service at a critical moment. The clear clarion voice
of Kershaw gave the command, "Forward!" and when repeated in the
stentorian voice of Cash, the men knew what was expected of them,
answered the call, and leaped to the front with a will. The enemy
could no longer withstand the desperate onslaught of the Confederate
Volunteers, and McDowell now began to interest himself with the
doubtful problem of withdrawing his troops at this critical juncture.
With the rugged banks of the deep, sluggish stream in his rear, and
only a few places it could be crossed, with a long sheet of flame
blazing out from the compact lines of the Confederates into the faces
of his men, his position was perilous in the extreme. His troops must
have been of like opinion, for the ranks began to waver, then break
away, and soon they found themselves in full retreat. Kershaw, Cash,
and Hampton pressed them hard towards Stone Bridge. A retreat at first
now became a panic, then a rout. Men threw away their baggage, then
their guns, all in a mad rush to put the stream between themselves
and the dreaded "gray-backs." Cannon were abandoned, men mounted the
horses and fled in wild disorder, trampling underfoot those who came
between them and safety, while others limbered up their pieces
and went at headlong speed, only to be upset or tangled in an
unrecognizable mass on Stone Bridge. The South Carolinians pressed
them to the very crossing, capturing prisoners and guns; among the
latter was the enemy's celebrated "Long Tom." All semblance of order
was now cast aside, each trying to leave his less fortunate neighbor
in the rear. Plunging headlong down the precipitous banks of the Run,
the terror-stricken soldiers pushed over and out in the woods and
the fields on the other side. The shells of our rifle and parrot guns
accelerated their speed, and added to their demoralization by hissing
and shrieking above their heads and bursting in the tree tops. Orders
were sent to Generals Bonham, Longstreet, and Jones, who were holding
the lower fords, to cross over and strike the flying fugitives in
the rear near Centerville. Colonels Williams and Bacon, with their
regiments, led by General Bonham, in person, crossed the stream at a
double quick, and began the pursuit of the stampeded troops. When we
reached the camps of the enemy, where they had bivouaced the night
before, the scene beggared description. On either side of the road
were piled as high as one could reach baggages of every description,
which the men had discarded before going into action. Blankets rolled
up, oilcloths, overcoats, tents, all of the very best material, piled
up by the hundreds and thousands. Pots and camp kettles hung over
fires, and from within came the savory smell of "rich viands with
rare condiments," being prepared to appease the keen appetite of the
battle-worn veterans after the day's victory. Great quarters of fresh
beef hung temptingly from the limbs of the trees, wagons filled with
arms and accoutrements, provisions, and army supplies, with not a few
well-laden with all the delicacies, tid-bits, and rarest old wines
that Washington could afford, to assuage the thirst of officers and
the men of note. Many of the high dignitaries and officials from the
Capitol had come out to witness the fight from afar, and enjoy the
exciting scene of battle. They were now fleeing through the woods
like men demented, or crouched behind trees, perfectly paralyzed with
uncertainty and fright. One old citizen of the North, captured by the
boys, gave much merriment by the antics he cut, being frightened out
of his wits with the thought of being summarily dealt with by the
soldiers. Some would punch him in the back with their bayonets, then
another would give him a thrust as he turned to ask quarters of the
first tormentor. The crisis was reached, however, when one of the
soldiers, in a spirit of mischief, called for a rope to hang him;
he thought himself lost, and through his tears he begged for mercy,
pleaded for compassion, and promised atonement. General Bonham riding
up at this juncture of the soldiers' sport, and seeing the abject fear
of the old Northern Abolitionist, took pity and showed his sympathy
by telling the men to turn him loose, and not to interfere with
non-combatants. He was told to run now, and if he kept the gait he
started with through the woods, not many hours elapsed before
he placed the placid waters of the Potomac between him and the
blood-thirsty Rebels. Strict orders were given to "stay in ranks," but
the sight of so much valuable plunder, and actual necessaries to the
soldiers, was too much for the poorly provided Confederates; and not
a few plucked from the pile a blanket, overcoat, canteen, or other
article that his wants dictated. A joke the boys had on a major was
that while riding along the line, waving his sword, giving orders not
to molest the baggage, and crying out, "Stay in ranks, men, stay in
ranks," then in an undertone he would call to his servant, "Get me
another blanket, Harvy." The artillery that had been ordered to take
part in the infantry's pursuit were just preparing to open fire upon
the fleeing enemy, when by some unaccountable order, the pursuit was
ordered to be abandoned. Had not this uncalled for order come at this
juncture, it is not hard to conceive the results. The greater portion
of the Federal Army would have been captured, for with the exception
of General Sykes' Brigade of regulars and a battery of regular
artillery, there was not an organization between our army and
Washington City. All night long the roads through Centerville, and the
next day all leading through Fairfax, Falls Church, and Anandale were
one continual throng of fleeing fugitives. Guns and accoutrements,
camp equipage, and ordnance strewed the sides of the road for miles;
wagons, ambulances, cannon, and caissons had been abandoned, and
terror-stricken animals galloped unbridled through the woods and
fields. The great herds of cattle, now free from their keepers, went
bellowing through the forest, seeking shelter in some secluded swamp.

At night, we were all very reluctantly ordered back to our old camp
to talk, rejoice, and dream of the wonderful victory. Beauregard
and Johnston had in this engagement of all arms 30,888, but 3,000 of
Ewell's and part of Bonham's Brigade were not on the field on that
day. The enemy had 50,000 and 117 cannon. Confederate loss in killed
and wounded, 1,485. Federal loss in killed, wounded, and captured,
4,500. There being no enemy in our front and little danger of
surprise, the soldiers were allowed to roam at will over the
battlefield the next few days. Almost the entire army availed
themselves of this their first opportunity of visiting a real
battlefield and witnessing the real horrors and carnage of which they
had often read and seen pictures but had never seen in reality.

Who is it that has ever looked upon a battlefield and could forget the
sickening scene, or obliterate from his mind the memory of its dreaded
sight? It was recorded of the great Napoleon, by one of his most
intimate friends and historians, that after every great battle the
first thing he did the next day was to ride over the field, where lay
the dead and wounded, and when he would come to those points where the
battle had been desperate and the dead lay thickest, he would sit as
in a trance, and with silence and meditation never witnessed on other
occasions, view the ghastly corpses as they lay strewn over the field.
The field of carnage had a fascinating power over him he could not
resist, and on which his eyes delighted to feast. With a comrade
I went to visit the field of Manassas. Passing over the uneven and
partly wooded country, we witnessed all the effect of the enemy's
rifled guns. Trees were cut down, great holes dug in the ground where
shells had exploded, broken wagons, upset ambulances, wounded and dead
horses lining the whole way. The first real scene of carnage was on
the plateau of the Lewis house. Here the Virginians lying behind the
crest of the hill as the enemy emerged from the woods on the other
side, gave them such a volley as to cause a momentary repulse, but
only to renew their attack with renewed vigor. The battle here was
desperate. Major Wheat with his Louisianians fought around the Henry
house with a ferocity hardly equalled by any troops during the war.
Their peculiar uniform, large flowing trousers with blue and white
stripes coming only to the knees, colored stockings, and a loose
bodice, made quite a picturesque appearance and a good target for the
enemy. These lay around the house and in front in almost arm's length
of each other. This position had been taken and lost twice during the
day. Beyond the house and down the declivity on the other side, the
enemy's dead told how destructive and deadly had been the Confederate
fire. On the other plateau where Jackson had formed and where Bee and
Bartow fell, the scene was sickening. There lay friend and foe face
to face in the cold embrace of death. Only by the caps could one be
distinguished from the other, for the ghouls of the battlefield had
already been there to strip, rob, and plunder. Beyond the ravine to
the left is where Hampton and his Legion fought, as well as the troops
of Kirby Smith and Elzey, of Johnston's army, who had come upon the
scene just in time to turn the tide of battle from defeat to victory.
On the right of Hampton was the Eighth and Second South Carolina under
Kershaw. From the Lewis house to the Stone Bridge the dead lay in
every direction. The enemy in their precipitate flight gave the
Confederates ample opportunity to slay at will. The effects of
artillery here were dreadful. Rickett's Battery, the best in the
North, had pushed their guns far in advance of the infantry, and swept
the field with grape and canister. Here was a caisson blown up by
a shell from Kemper's Battery, and the havoc was frightful. Six
beautiful horses, all well caparisoned and still attached to the
caisson, all stretched as they had fallen, without so much as a
struggle. The drivers lay by the side of the horses, one poor fellow
underneath and badly mutilated. To one side and near by lay the
officer in command and his horse, the noble animal lying as he had
died in the beautiful poise he must have been in when the fatal shot
struck him. His hind legs straightened as if in the act of rearing,
his forefeet in the air, one before the other, the whole looking more
like a dismantled statue than the result of a battlefield. Fragments
of shells, broken guns, knapsacks, and baggage were scattered over
the plains. Details were busy gathering up the wounded and burying the
dead. But from the looks of the field the task seemed difficult. In
the little clusters of bushes, behind trees, in gullies, and in every
conceivable place that seemed to offer shelter, lay the dead. What
a shudder thrills the whole frame when you stand and contemplate
the gruesome faces of the battle's dead. In every posture and all
positions, with every conceivable shade of countenance, the glaring,
glassy eyes meet you. Some lay as they fell, stretched full length
on the ground; others show a desperate struggle for the last few
remaining breaths. There lay the beardless youth with a pleasant smile
yet lingering on his face as though waiting for the maternal kiss; the
cold stern features of the middle aged as he lay grasping his trusty
rifle, some drawn up in a perfect knot of agony, others their faces
prone upon the earth, all dead, dead. Great pools of blood here and
there had saturated the earth, the victim perhaps crawling to a nearby
shelter or some little glen, hoping to gain a mouthful of water to
cool his parched lips, or perhaps some friendly hand had carried him
away to a hospital. Few of our troops had been molested by the body
snatchers of the battlefield, but the enemy had almost invariably been
stripped of his outer clothing. On the incline of the far side of a
little hill spots were pointed out where the gallant South Carolinian,
Bee, had fallen, while rallying his men for the final assault, and
also the brave Georgian, Colonel Bartow, in a like endeavor.

We came to the Henry house, on the opposite plateau from the Lewis
house, the former at this time almost as noted as the little log hut
at Waterloo that stood half a century before as a landmark to the fall
of Napoleon. They were common, old fashioned frame houses, occupied
by some poor people on this frightful day. The battle came with such
suddeness and unexpectancy, the unfortunate inmates could not get
away, and there throughout the bloody day these three Henry women had
endured all the dread, excitement, and dangers of a great battle, and
forced to remain between the opposing armies. The house was perfectly
riddled with minnie balls, while great openings were torn in the side
and roofs by the shells shattering through. There was no escape or
place of safety. They stretched themselves at full length upon the
floor, calmly awaiting death, while a perfect storm of shot and shell
raged without and within. As we went in the house two women sat around
the few mouldering embers that had answered the purpose of cooking
a hasty meal. It was a single room house, with two beds, some cheap
furniture, and a few cooking utensils. These were torn into fragments.
In one corner lay the dead sister, who had been shot the day before,
with a sheet thrown over to shield her from the gaze of the curious.
The two sisters were eating a morsel unconcernedly, unconscious of the
surroundings, while the house was crowded during the day with sight
seers and curious questioners. On the other side of the room were some
wounded soldiers, carried in to be shielded from the rays of the July
sun, while all without lay in heaps the mangled dead. The exceeding
tension of excitement, fright, untold fear, that had been drawn around
them during the continuous struggle of the day before, had rendered
those women callous and indifferent to all surrounding appearance;
but their haggard faces told but too plainly their mental anguish and
bodily suffering of yesterday. The eyes tire of the sickening scene,
and the mind turns from this revolting field of blood, and we return
heartstricken to our camp. The poor crippled and deserted horses limp
over the field nibbling a little bunch of grass left green in places
after the day of mad galloping of horses. Everywhere we saw friends
hunting friends. Relief corps had come up from Richmond and were
working night and day relieving the suffering and moving the wounded
away. Cars were run at short intervals from Manassas, carrying the
disabled to Warrentown, Orange Court House, Culpepper, and Richmond.
President Davis had come up just after the battle had gone in our
favor, and the soldiers were delighted to get a glimpse at our
illustrious chieftain. It was needless to say Beauregard's star was
still in the ascendant.

       *       *       *       *       *


CHAPTER VI

Vienna--Flint Hill--Duel Sports--July to October.


Much discussion has taken place since the rout at Manassas as to
reasons for not following up the victory so gloriously won, and for
not pushing on to Washington at once. It is enough to say the two
commanders at the time and on the field saw difficulties and dangers
sufficient in the way to rest on their spoils. The President, who was
in council with them, after due consideration was convinced of
the impracticability of a forward movement. In the first place, no
preparation had been made for such an event; that the spoils were
so out of proportion to their most sanguine expectations; that the
transportation for the troops had to be employed in its removal;
that no thought of a forward movement or invasion had ever been
contemplated; so there were no plans or specifications at hand. Then
again, the dead and wounded of both armies had to be attended to,
which crippled our medical department so as to render it powerless
should another engagement take place. And again, a large portion of
our people thought this total defeat of the enemy at the very outset
of the war would render the design of coercion by force of arms
impracticable. The South was conservative, and did not wish to inflame
the minds of the people of the Union by entering their territory or
destroying their capital. Knowing there was a large party at the
North opposed to the war, some of our leaders had reason to think
this shattering of their first grand army would so strengthen their
feelings and party that the whole North would call for peace. They
further hugged that fatal delusion to their breast, a delusion that
eventually shattered the foundation of our government and betrayed the
confidence of the troops, "foreign intervention." They reasoned that a
great victory by the South would cause our government to be recognized
by the foreign powers and the South given a footing as a distinct,
separate, and independent nation among all other great nations of
the earth. That the South would no longer be looked upon as an
"Insurrectionary Faction," "Erring Sisters," or "Rebellious Children."
Our ports had been ordered closed by the North, and an imaginary
blockade, a nominal fleet, stood out in front of our harbors. Our
people thought the world's desire for the South's cotton would so
influence the commercial and laboring people of Europe that the powers
would force the North to declare her blockade off. Such were some of
the feelings and hopes of a large body of our troops, as well as
the citizens of the country at large. But it all was a fallacy, a
delusion, an ignis fatuus. The North was aroused to double her former
fury, her energies renewed and strengthened, tensions drawn, her
ardor largely increased, her feelings doubly embittered, and the
whole spirit of the North on fire. Now the cry was in earnest, "On to
Richmond," "Down with the rebellion," "Peace and unity." The Northern
press was in a perfect blaze, the men wild with excitement, and every
art and device was resorted to to arouse the people to arms. The
stain of defeat must now be wiped out; a stigma had been put upon the
nation, her flag disgraced, her people dishonored. Large bounties were
offered for volunteers, and the recruiting was earnest and energetic.
Lincoln called for 300,000 more troops, and the same question was
asked at the South, "Where will he get them and how pay them?"

We were moved out near Centerville, and a few days afterwards took up
camp at Vienna, a small station on the Baltimore and Ohio railroad.
The day after our arrival all of the troops, with the exception of the
ordinary detail, were put to work tearing up the railroad track. It
being Sunday, loud complaints were made against this desecration of
the Lord's Day, but we were told there was no difference in days in
times of war. The railroad was a good one and well built on a roadbed
of gravel and chips of granite, with solid heart pine or chestnut
ties, laid with "T" rails. The cross-ties were piled in heaps, on
these were laid the rails, and all set on fire; then for miles and
miles up and down the road the crackling flames, the black smoke
twining around the trees and curling upward, shrouded the whole earth
with a canopy of black and blue, and told of the destruction that
was going on. Here the troops suffered as seldom during the war for
provisions, especially breadstuff. Loud murmurings were heard on all
sides against the commissary department, and the commissary complained
of the Quartermaster for not furnishing transportation. The troops on
one occasion here had to go three days and at hard work without one
mouthful of bread, except what little they could buy or beg of the
citizens of the thinly settled country. Meat was plentiful, but no
bread, and any one who has ever felt the tortures of bread hunger may
imagine the sufferings of the men. For want of bread the meats became
nauseating and repulsive. The whole fault lay in having too many
bosses and red tape in the Department at Richmond. By order of these
officials, all commissary supplies, even gathered in sight of the
camps, had to be first sent to Richmond and issued out only on
requisitions to the head of the departments. The railroad facilities
were bad, irregular, and blocked, while our wagons and teams were
limited to one for each one hundred men for all purposes. General
Beauregard, now second in command, and directly in command of the
First Army Corps of the Army of the Potomac, of which our brigade
formed a part, wishing to concentrate his troops, ordered all to
Flint Hill, three miles west of Fairfax Court House. General Johnston,
Commander-in-Chief, directed the movements of the whole army, but more
directly the Second Army Corps, or the Army of the Shenandoah. The
army up to this time had not been put into divisions, commanded
by Major Generals, nor corps, by Lieutenant Generals, but the two
commanders divided nominally the army into two corps, each commanded
by a full General--Brigadier General Beauregard having been raised to
the rank of full General the day after his signal victory at Manassas
by President Davis.

[Illustration: Brig. Gen. James Connor Adjt.]

[Illustration: Y.J. Pope, Acting Asst. Adjt. Genl. of
Kershaw's Brigade]

[Illustration: Brig. Gen. John D. Kennedy.]

[Illustration: Dr. Thos. W. Salmond Surgeon of Kershaw's Brigade.]

In the Confederate Army the grades of the Generals were different to
those in the United States Army. A brigade consisted of a number of
regiments joined together as one body and commanded by a Brigadier
General, the lowest in rank. Four, more or less, brigades constituted
a division, commanded by a Major General. Three or four divisions
constituted a corps, commanded by a Lieutenant General, and a separate
army, as two or more corps, was commanded by a General, the highest
in rank. Their rank is the same, but the Seniors are those whose
commissions had been granted first, and take precedence where two are
together. So it is with all officers in the army--age is not taken
into consideration, but the date of commission. Where a brigade,
from any cause, temporarily loses its commander, the Colonel with the
oldest commission takes the command; where a division loses its Major
General, the Senior Brigadier in that division immediately assumes
command; and the same way in the corps and the army. The Major General
takes command of the corps where its commander is absent, and in case
of absence, either temporary or permanent, of the Commander-in-Chief
of an army, the ranking Lieutenant General takes command until a
full General relieves him. In no case can an officer of inferior rank
command one of superior rank. Rank gives command whether ordered
or not. In any case of absence, whether in battle, march, or camp,
whenever an officer finds himself Senior in his organization, he is
commander and so held without further orders.

The soldiers had rather a good time at Flint Hill, doing a little
drilling and occasional picket duty out in the direction of Munson and
Mason Hill. The Commanding General wished to advance his pickets
to Munson Hill, a few miles from Washington, and to do this it was
necessary to dislodge the enemy, who had possession there. The
Second Regiment, under Colonel Kershaw, was sent out, and after a
considerable brush he succeeded in driving the enemy away. After this
one regiment at a time was sent out to do picket duty. When our South
Carolina regiments would go out orders were given to be quiet, and
during our stay at Mason and Munson Hill the utmost secrecy prevailed,
but when Wheat's Louisiana Battalion had to relieve a regiment we
could hear the beating of their drums, the loud shouts of the men on
their way out, and all would rush to the side of the road to see the
"tigers" pass. Down the road they would come, banners waving, the
swinging step of the men keeping time to the shrill notes of the fife
and the rattle of the drums. Their large flowing pants, their gaudy
striped long hose, made quite an imposing spectacle. This was a noted
band of men for a time, but their brave commander, Wheat, and almost
all of his men, were killed in the battles that followed around
Richmond. Major Wheat had been in the Turkish Army when that nation
was at war with Russia, and in several other foreign wars, as well as
the Mexican War. When his State seceded he returned to Louisiana
and raised a battalion of the hardest set of men in New Orleans.
The soldiers called them "wharf rats," "sailors," "longshoremen,"
"cutthroats," and "gutter snipes." They knew no subordination and
defied law and military discipline. While in camp here several of them
were shot at the stake. Major Wheat had asked to be allowed to manage
his men as he saw best, and had a law unto himself. For some mutiny
and insubordination he had several of them shot. Afterwards, when the
soldiers heard a volley fired, the word would go out, "Wheat is having
another tiger shot."

The fields were green with the great waving corn, just in roasting
ears, and it was a sight to see hundreds of men in these fields early
in the morning plucking the fine ears for breakfast. In most cases the
owners had abandoned their fields and homes, taking what was movable
to other places in Virginia. What was left the soldiers were at
liberty to "slay and eat." At first it was determined to protect the
stock, but the soldiers agreed that what the Southern soldiers left
the enemy would be sure to take. I remember the first theft I was
engaged in during the war. I say "first" advisedly. Now soldiers
have different views as to rights of property to that of the average
citizen. What he finds that will add to his comfort or welfare, or his
wants dictate, or a liability of the property falling into the hands
of the enemy, he takes without compunction or disposition to rob--and
more often he robs in a spirit of mischief. A few fine hogs had been
left to roam at will through the fields by the refugee farmers, and
orders were given not to kill or molest them, to eat as much corn
as we wished, but to spare the hogs. When the regiments were sent on
pickets, a detail was left in camp as guard, also to watch around the
fields to prevent trespass. While our regiment was on its three days'
picket, I was left as one of the detail to guard the camp. Some one
reported a fine hog in the yard of a house some distance away. It was
agreed to kill it, divide it up, and have a rare treat for the weary
pickets when they returned. How to kill it without attracting the
attention of the other guards was a question of importance, because
the report of a rifle and the proverbial squeal of a hog would be sure
to bring down upon us the guard. One of the men had a pistol, still
we were afraid to trust this. A cellar door stood temptingly open.
We tried to drive the hog into it, but with a hog's perverseness it
refused to be driven, and after rushing around the yard several times
with no results, it was decided to shoot it. The man claimed to be a
good shot, and declared that no hog would squeal after being shot by
him, but, as Burns says, "The best laid plans of mice and men aft'
gang a glee." So with us. After shooting, the porker cut desperate
antics, and set up a frightful noise, but the unexpected always
happens, and the hog took refuge in the cellar, or rather the basement
of the dwelling, to our great relief. We were proceeding finely,
skinning away, the only method the soldiers had of cleaning a hog,
when to our astonishment and dismay, in walked the much dreaded guard.
Now there something peculiar about the soldier's idea of duty, the
effects of military training, and the stern obedience to orders. The
first lesson he learns is obedience, and the longer in service the
more convinced he is of its necessity. While he may break ranks, pass
guards, rob roosts, or pilfer fruits and vegetables himself, yet put a
gun in his hand, place him on duty, order him to guard or protect
men or property, and his integrity in that respect is as unyielding,
inflexible, and stern as if his life depended upon his faithful
performance. The Roman soldiers' obedience to orders made them
immortal, and their nation the greatest on earth. But to resume the
thread of my story. When the guard came in we thought ourselves lost.
To be punished for hog stealing, and it published at home, was more
than our patriotism could stand. The guard questioned us about the
killing, said it was against orders to fire a gun within range of
camp, and furthermore against orders to molest private property. We
tried to convince the guard that it was contraband, that the owners
had left it, and to crown the argument, insisted that if we did not
take the hog the Yankees would. This was the argument always last
resorted to to ease conscience and evade the law. In this case,
strange to say, it had its effect. After some parleying, it was agreed
to share the booty equally between the guard and ourselves. They
helped us cut brush and cover it nicely, and after tattoo all were to
return and divide up. We did not know the guards personally, but knew
their command. And so we returned to the camp to await the return of
our pickets and night. It was soon noised in camp that there was
a fine fat porker to be distributed after tattoo, and no little
eagerness and inquisitiveness were manifested, as all wished a piece.
Armed with a crocus-sack, we returned to the house; all was dark and
still. We whistled the signal, but no answer. It was repeated, but
still no reply. The guard had not come. Sitting down on the door step,
we began our long wait. Moments passed into minutes, minutes into
hours, until at last we began to have some forebodings and misgivings.
Had we been betrayed? Would we be reported and our tents searched next
day? Hardly; a soldier could not be so treacherous. We entered the
cellar and began to fumble around without results, a match was struck,
and to our unspeakable dismay not a vestige of hog remained. Stuck
against the side of the wall was a piece of paper, on which was
written: "No mercy for the hog rogue." Such swearing, such stamping
and beating the air with our fists, in imitation of the punishment
that would be given the treacherous rascals if present; the atmosphere
was perfectly sulphurous with the venom spit out against the foul
party. Here was a true verification of the old adage, "Set a rogue
to catch a rogue." Dejected and crestfallen, we returned to camp,
but dared not tell of our misfortune, for fear of the jeers of our
comrades.

Measles and jaundice began to scourge the camp; the green corn, it was
said, did the army more damage than the enemy did in battle. Wagons
and ambulances went out daily loaded with the sick; the hospitals
were being crowded in Richmond and other cities; hotels, colleges, and
churches were appropriated for hospital service, and the good people
of Virginia can never be forgotten, nor amply rewarded for the
self-sacrifices and aid rendered to the sick soldiers. Private houses
were thrown open to the sick when their homes were far distant, or
where they could not reach it. The soldier was never too dirty or
ragged to be received into palatial homes; all found a ready welcome
and the best attention.

Generals Johnston and Beauregard had now concentrated all their forces
in supporting distance around Fairfax Court House, and were preparing
for a movement across the Potomac. Bonham's Brigade was at Flint Hill,
Cox's at Centerville, Jones's at Germantown, Hampton and Early on the
Occoquon, the Louisiana Brigade at Bull Run, and Longstreet at Fairfax
Court House. The troops were all in easy distance, and a gigantic plan
of General Beauregard, with the doubtful approval of General Johnston
and others, was for a formidable invasion of the North. General
Johnston evinced that same disposition in military tactics that he
followed during the war, "a purely defensive war." In none of his
campaigns did he exhibit any desire to take advantage of the enemy by
bold moves; his one idea seemed to be "defensive," and in that he was
a genius--in retreat, his was a mastermind; in defense, masterly. In
the end it may have proven the better policy to have remained on the
defensive. But the quick, impulsive temperament of Beauregard was ever
on the alert for some bold stroke or sudden attack upon the
enemy's weaker points. His idea coincided with Longstreet's in this
particular, that the North, Kentucky, Tennessee, or Maryland should
be the theatre of war and the battleground of the Confederacy. General
Lee, according to the ideas of one of his most trusted lieutenants,
was more in accordance with the views of General Johnston, that is,
"the South should fight a defensive war"--and it was only when in the
immediate presence of the enemy, or when he observed a weak point
in his opponent, or a strategic move, that he could not resist the
temptation to strike a blow. In several of his great battles it is
reported of Lee that he intended to await the attack of the enemy, but
could not control his impatience when the enemy began to press him;
then all the fire of his warlike nature came to the surface, and he
sprang upon his adversary with the ferocity of a wild beast. But Lee
in battle was not the Lee in camp.

The middle of summer the two commanding Generals called President
Davis to Fairfax Court House to enter a conference in regard to the
projected invasion. The plans were all carefully laid before him.
First a demonstration was to be made above Washington; then with the
whole army cross below, strike Washington on the east, crush the enemy
in their camps, march through Maryland, hoist the standard of revolt
in that State, make a call for all Southern sympathizers to flock to
their banners, and to overawe the North by this sudden onslaught. But
President Davis turned a deaf ear to all such overtures; pleaded the
want of transportation and the necessary equipment for invasion. It
was the feeling of the South even at this late day that much could yet
be done by diplomacy and mild measures; that a great body of the North
could be won over by fears of a prolonged war; and the South did not
wish to exasperate the more conservative element by any overt act. We
all naturally looked for peace; we fully expected the war would end
during the fall and winter, and it was not too much to say that many
of our leaders hugged this delusion to their breast.

While in camp here an incident occurred which showed that the men
had not yet fully recognized the importance of military restraint and
discipline. It is well known that private broils or feuds of any
kind are strictly forbidden by army regulations. The French manner
of settling disputes or vindicating personal honor according to code
duello was not countenanced by our military laws; still the hot
blood and fiery temper of the proud South Carolinians could brook
no restraint at this time when an affront was given or his honor
assailed. Captain Elbert Bland, of Edgefield, and Major Emett Seibles,
both of the Seventh Regiment, were engaged in a friendly game of
chess, a difference arose, then a dispute, hot words, and at last
insult given that could not be recalled nor allowed to pass unnoticed.
Challenge is offered and accepted, seconds appointed, pistols chosen;
distance, twenty paces; time, sunrise next morning on a hillside near
the outskirts of the camp. Early next morning a lone ambulance is seen
moving out of camp, followed by two surgeons, then the principals with
their seconds at a respectful distance. On reaching the spot chosen
lots were cast for choice of stations. This fell to Captain Bland.
The distance was measured with mechanical exactness, dueling pistols
produced, each second loading that of his principal. The regular
dueling pistol is a costly affair and of the very finest material.
Long slim rifle barrel with hammer underneath, the stock finely
chiseled and elaborately ornamented with silver or gold; the whole
about ten inches in length and carrying a bullet of 22 calibre. The
seconds took their places at an equal distance from each other and
midway between the principals. Captain Bland takes his position at
the west end of the field, and Major Seibles the east. Both stood
confronting each other, not fierce nor glaring like two men roused in
passion, or that either wished the blood of the other, but bold, calm,
and defiant; an insult to be wiped out and honor to be sustained. They
turned, facing the rear, hands down, with pistols in the right.
The seconds call out in calm, deliberate tones: "Gentlemen, are
you ready?" Then, "Ready, aim, fire!" "One, two, three, stop." The
shooting must take place between the words "fire" and "stop," or
during the count of one, two, three. If the principal fires before or
after this command it is murder, and he is at once shot down by the
second of his opponent. Or if in any case the principals fail to
respond at the hour set, the second promptly takes his place. But no
danger of such possibilities where two such men as Major Seibles and
Captain Bland are interested. There was a matter at issue dearer than
country, wife or child. It was honor, and a true South Carolinian of
the old stock would make any sacrifice, give or take life, to uphold
his name unsullied or the honor of his family untarnished. As the word
fire was given the opponents wheeled and two pistol shots rang out
on the stillness of the morning. Captain Bland stands still erect,
commanding and motionless as a statue. Major Seibles remains steady
for a moment, then sways a little to the left, staggers and falls
into the arms of his second and surgeon. A hasty examination is made.
"Blood," calls out the second of Major Seibles. A nod of satisfaction
is given and acknowledged by both seconds. Captain Bland retires on
the arm of his friend, while the Major, now bleeding profusely from
a wound in the chest, is lifted in the ambulance and carried to
his tent. It was many months before Major Seibles was sufficiently
recovered from his wound to return to duty. The matter was kept quiet
and no action taken. Major Seibles died the following year, while the
gallant Bland was killed at Chickamauga while leading as Colonel the
Seventh Regiment in battle.

While at Flint Hill, another stirring scene took place of quite a
different nature. In front of the Third Regiment was a beautiful
stretch of road, and this was selected as a course for a race to be
run between the horse of Captain Mitchell of the Louisiana Tigers and
that of the Colonel of a Virginia regiment of cavalry. The troops now
so long inactive, nothing to break the monotony between drills, guard
duty, and picketing, waited with no little anxiety the coming of the
day that was to test the metal of the little grey from the Pelican
State and the sorrel from the Old Dominion. Word had gone out among
all the troopers that a race was up, and all lovers of the sport came
in groups, companies, and regiments to the place of rendezvous. Men
seemed to come from everywhere, captains, colonels, and even generals
graced the occasion with their presence. Never before in our army
had so many distinguished individuals congregated for so trivial an
occasion. There was Wheat, fat, clean shaven, and jolly, his every
feature indicating the man he was--bold as a lion, fearless, full of
life and frolic as a school boy, but who had seen war in almost every
clime under the sun. There was Turner Ashby, his eyes flashing fire
from under his shaggy eyebrows, his long black beard and flowing
locks, looking more like a brigand than one of the most daring
cavaliers of the Confederate Army. Fitzhugh Lee, too, was there, with
colonels, majors, and captains without number. Nothing seemed farther
from the horizon of these jolly men than thoughts of the triumphs of
war. Captain Mitchell's horse was more on the pony order than a racer,
but it was said by those who knew that on more occasions than one
the pony had thrown dirt into the eyes of the fastest horse in the
Crescent City, and the Louisianans were betting on him to a man. The
wiry sorrel was equally a favorite with the Virginians, while the
South Carolinians were divided between the two. After a great amount
of jockeying, usual on such occasions, judges were appointed, distance
measured, horses and riders in their places, and hundreds of men
stretched along the side of the road to witness the heated race.
No little amount of Confederate money had been put upon the race,
although it was understood to be merely a friendly one, and for
amusement only. When the drum sounded, the two horses almost leaped
into the air, and sped away like the wind, "little grey" shooting
away from her larger adversary like a bullet, and came flying down the
track like a streak, about a length ahead of the Virginia horse. The
favorites on the Louisianan rent the air with their yells, hats went
into the air, while the friends of the Virginian shouted like mad to
the rider: "Let him out, let him out." When the distance was about
half run he was "let out;" the rowels went into the side and the whip
came down upon the flanks of the thoroughly aroused racer, and the
Virginian began forging to the front, gaining at every leap. Now he is
neck and neck, spur and whip are used without stint, he goes ahead and
is leaving the "grey" far in the rear; Captain Mitchell is leaning
far over on the withers of the faithful little pony, never sparing
the whip for a moment, but all could see that he was running a losing
race. When about the commencement of the last quarter the "grey"
leaves the track, and off to the right he plunges through the trees,
dashing headlong by the groups of men, till at last the Captain brings
him up with one rein broken. A great crowd surround him, questioning,
swearing, and jeering, but the Captain sat as silent, immovable, and
inattentive as a statue, pointing to the broken rein. It had been cut
with a knife. The Captain and his friends claimed that the friends of
the Virginian had, unnoticed by him, cut the leather to a bare thread,
while the friends of the other party, with equal persistency, charged
the Captain with cutting it himself. That when he saw the race lost,
he reached over and cut the rein about six inches from the bit, thus
throwing the horse out of the track and saving its credit, if not the
money. No one ever knew how it happened, but that there had been a
trick played and foul means employed were evident. A great many had
lost their money, and their curses were loud and deep, while the
winners went away as merry as "marriage bells."

       *       *       *       *       *


CHAPTER VII

Winter Quarters at Bull Run.


Sometime in October the brigade was withdrawn to the vicinity of
Centerville for better facilities in the way of provisions, water,
etc., and to be nearer the wooded section of the country. The water
had been scarce at Flint Hill, a long distance from camp, and of
inferior quality. The health of the troops was considerably impaired,
a great many having been sent to the hospitals, or to their homes. The
sickness was attributed, in a large measure, to the quality of green
corn and fresh meat, salt being an object now with the Confederacy,
and was issued in limited quantities. We fared sumptuously while at
our camp near Centerville. Our wagon train going weekly up towards
Warrenton and the mountains, returning laden with flour, meat, and the
finest beef we had ever received. The teamsters acting as hucksters,
brought in a lot of delicacies to sell on their own account--chickens,
turkeys, and vegetables, and not unfrequently a keg of "Mountain Dew"
would be packed in the wagon with the army supplies, and sold by the
wagoners at an enormous profit. There being no revenue officers or
"dispensary constables" in those days, whiskey could be handled with
impunity, and not a little found its way into camp. The citizens, too,
had an eye single to their own welfare, and would bring in loads of
all kinds of country produce. Sometimes a wagon would drive into camp
loaded with dressed chickens and turkeys to the number of one hundred
or more. A large old-fashioned wagon-sheet would be spread over the
bottom and side of the wagon body, and filled with as much as two
horses could pull. I never knew until then how far a man's prejudice
could overcome him. Our mess had concluded to treat itself to a turkey
dinner on Christmas. Our boss of the mess was instructed to purchase a
turkey of the next wagon that came in. Sure enough, the day came and a
fine fat turkey bought, already dressed, and boiling away in the camp
kettle, while all hands stood around and drank in the delightful aroma
from turkey and condiments that so temptingly escaped from under the
kettle lid. When all was ready, the feast spread, and the cook was in
the act of sinking his fork into the breast of the rich brown turkey,
some one said in the greatest astonishment: "Well, George Stuck, I'll
be d----d if you haven't bought a goose instead of a turkey, look at
its short legs." There was a go, our money gone, appetites whetted,
and for a goose! Well up to that time and even now I cannot eat goose.
A dispute arose, some said it was a goose, others held out with equal
persistency that it was a turkey, and I not having discretion enough
to judge by the color of the flesh, and so overcome by my prejudice,
did not taste it, and a madder man was not often found. To this day I
have never been convinced whether it was a turkey or a goose, but am
rather inclined to give the benefit of the doubt to the goose.

We did not get into our regular winter quarters until after the first
of January, 1862. These were established on the south Banks of Bull
Run, near Blackburn's Ford, the place of the first battle of the name,
where Longstreet fought on the 18th of July. Large details were sent
out from camp every day to build foundations for these quarters. This
was done by cutting pine poles or logs the right length of our
tents, build up three or four feet, and over this pen the tent to be
stretched. They were generally about ten feet square, but a man could
only stand erect in the middle. The cracks between the logs were
clinked with mud, a chimney built out of poles split in half and
notched up in the ends of the log parts of the tent. An inside wall
was made of plank or small round poles, with space between the two
walls of five or six inches. This was filled with soft earth or mud,
packed tightly, then a blazing fire started, the inner wall burned
out, and the dirt baked hard and solid as a brick. In this way we
had very good chimneys and comfortable quarters. From six to eight
occupied one tent, and generally all the inmates messed together.
Forks were driven into the ground, on which were placed strong and
substantial cross-pieces, then round pipe poles, about the size of
a man's arm, laid over all and thickly strewn with pine needles, on
which the blankets are laid. There you have the winter quarters for
the Southern soldiers the first year of the war.

But some of the men did not like so primitive an order of architecture
and built huts entirely out of logs, and displayed as much originality
as you would find in more pretentious cities. These were covered over
with poles, on which straw and sand were tightly packed, enough so
as to make them water-tight. Some would give names to their quarters,
marked in large letters above their doors in charcoal, taxing their
minds to give ingenious and unique names, such as "Uncle Tom's Cabin,"
"The House that Jack Built," "Park Row," "Devil's Inn," etc. To
while away the long nights and cold days, the men had recourse to the
soldier's game, "cards." Few ever played for the money that was in it,
but more for an amusement and pastime. While almost all played cards,
there were very few who could be considered gamblers, or who would
take their comrades' money, if they even won it. There would be
stakes played for, it is true, on the "credit system" generally, to be
evened-up on pay-day. But when that time came around such good feeling
existed that "poker debts," as they were called, were seldom ever
thought of, and the game would continue with its varying successes
without ever a thought of liquidation. You might often see a good old
Methodist or a strict Presbyterian earnestly engaged in a "five cent
antie" game, but never take his friend's money, even if honestly won.
Something had to be done to pass away the time, and card-playing was
considered an innocent amusement.

The long inactivity made men naturally think and dream of home. The
soldiers had left home quite suddenly, and in many cases with little
preparation, but the continual talk of "peace in the spring," and the
daily vaporing of the press about England or France recognizing the
South's belligerency--and the opening of her ports--buoyed up the
spirits of the soldiers, and fanned the flame of hope. A great many
of the old army officers of the United States, hailing from the South,
had resigned their commissions on the Secession of the States, and
tendered their services to the Confederacy. Of course it mattered not
what was their former rank, or what service, if any they had seen,
all expected places as generals. President Davis being a West Pointer
himself, had great partiality for graduates of that institution.
It was his weakness, this favoritism for West Pointers; and the
persistency with which he appointed them above and over the generals
of the volunteers, gave dissatisfaction. These appointments caused
such resentment and dissatisfaction that some of our very best
generals resigned their commissions, refusing to serve under men of no
experience and doubtful qualifications. Longstreet, Van Dorn, McLaws,
G.W. Smith, and a host of others, who had been captains and majors in
the United States Army, were here or in Richmond waiting for some high
grade, without first winning their spurs upon the field. McLaws, a
Major in the regular army, was made a Major General, and Longstreet
had been appointed over General Bonham, the latter having seen varied
service in Mexico, commanding a regiment of regulars, doing staff
duty, and Military Governor of one of the provinces after the war.
At such injustice as this, gave General Bonham reason to resign his
command and return to South Carolina, where he soon afterwards was
elected to Congress, and later elected Governor of the State. This
left the command to Colonel Kershaw as senior Colonel, but he was
soon thereafter made Brigadier General. While the troops felt safe
and confident under Kershaw, they parted with General Bonham with
unfeigned reluctance and regret. Although none blamed him for the
steps taken, for all felt keenly the injustice done, still they wished
him to remain and lead them to victory, and share the glory they felt
sure was in store for all connected with the old First Brigade.

In future we will call the brigade by the name of Kershaw, the name by
which it was mostly known, and under whose leadership the troops
did such deeds of prowess, endured so many hardships, fought so many
battles, and gained so many victories, as to shed a halo around the
heads of all who marched with him and fought under the banner of
Joseph B. Kershaw. Here I will give a brief biography of General
Kershaw.

       *       *       *       *       *


JOSEPH BREVARD KERSHAW

Was born January 5th, 1822, at Camden, S.C. He was a son of John
Kershaw and Harriet DuBose, his wife. Both of the families of Kershaws
and DuBoses were represented by more than one member, either in the
Continentals or the State troops, during the War of the Rev

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