Recollections and Letters of General Robert E. Lee
by Robert E. Lee · English · Gutenberg #2323 · 791,200 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Recollections and Letters of General Robert E. Lee
Author: Robert E. Lee
Contributor: Robert E. Lee
Release date: September 1, 2000 [eBook #2323]
Most recently updated: November 10, 2016
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2323
Credits: Produced by Brett Fishburne and David Widger
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF GENERAL ROBERT E. LEE ***
Produced by Brett Fishburne
RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF GENERAL ROBERT E. LEE
by Captain Robert E. Lee, His Son
Detailed Contents
Chapter I Services in the United States Army Captain Lee, of the
Engineers, a hero to his child--The family pets--Home from the Mexican
War--Three years in Baltimore--Superintendent of the West Point
Military Academy--Lieutenant-Colonel of Second Cavalry--Supresses
“John Brown Raid” at Harper’s Ferry--Commands the Department of
Taxes.............. 3
Chapter II The Confederate General Resigns from Colonelcy of First
United States Cavalry--Motives for this step--Chosen to command Virginia
forces--Anxiety about his wife, family, and possessions--Chief advisor
to President Davis--Battle of Manassas--Military operations in West
Virginia--Letter to State Governor......................... 24
Chapter III Letters to Wife and Daughters From Camp on Sewell’s
Mountain--Quotation from Colonel Taylor’s book--From Professor Wm.
P. Trent--From Mr. Davis’s Memorial Address--Defense of Southern
ports--Christmas, 1861--The General visits his father’s grave--Commands,
under the President, all the armies of the Confederate States
................. 48
Chapter IV Army Life of Robert the Younger Volunteer in Rockbridge
Artillery--“Four Years with General Lee” quoted--Meeting between father
and son--Personal characteristics of the General--Death of his daughter
Annie--His son Robert raised from the ranks--the horses, “Grace Darling”
and “Traveller”--Fredricksburg--Freeing slaves .................. 69
Chapter V The Army of Northern Virginia The General’s sympathy for
his suffering soldiers--Chancellorsville--Death of “Stonewall”
Jackson--General Fitzhugh Lee wounded and captured--Escape of
his brother Robert--Gettysburg--Religious revival--Infantry
review--Unsatisfactory commissariat........................... 91
Chapter VI The Winter of 1863-4 The Lee family in Richmond--The
General’s letters to them from Camps Rappahannock and Rapidan--Death
of Mrs. Fitzhugh Lee--Preparations to meet General Grant--The
Wilderness--Spottsylvania Court House--Death of General Stuart--General
Lee’s illness ... 112
Chapter VII Fronting the Army of the Potomac Battle of Cold
Harbour--Siege of Petersburg--The General intrusts a mission to his son
Robert--Battle of the Crater--Grant crosses the James River--General
Long’s pen-picture of Lee--Knitting socks for the soldiers--A Christmas
dinner--Incidents of camp life... 128
Chapter VIII The Surrender Fort Fisher captured--Lee made
Commander-in-Chief--Battle of Five Forks--The General’s farewell to
his men--His reception in Richmond after the surrender--President Davis
hears the news--Lee’s visitors--His son Robert turns farmer ...........
144
Chapter IX A Private Citizen Lee’s conception of the part--His influence
exerted toward the restoration of Virginia--He visits old friends
throughout the country--Receives offers of positions--Compares notes
with the Union General Hunter--Longs for a country home--Finds one at
“Derwent,” near Cartersville................... 162
Chapter X President of Washington College Patriotic motives for
acceptance of trust--Condition of college--The General’s arrival
at Lexington--He prepares for the removal of his family to
that city--Advice to Robert Junior--Trip to “Bremo” on private
canal-boat--Mrs. Lee’s invalidism........... 179
Chapter XI The Idol of the South Photographs and autographs in
demand--The General’s interest in young people--His happy home
life--Labours at Washington College--He gains financial aid for
it--Worsley’s translation of Homer dedicated to him--Tributes from other
English scholars...... 198
Chapter XII Lee’s Opinion upon the Late War His intention to write
the history of his Virginia campaigns--Called before a committee of
Congress--Preaches patience and silence in the South--Shuns controversy
and publicity--Corresponds with an Englishman, Herbert C. Saunders
............. 218
Chapter XIII Family Affairs The General writes to his sons--To his wife
at Rockbridge Baths--He joins her there about once a week--Distinguished
and undistinguished callers at his Lexington home--He advocates early
hours--His fondness for animals ................. 235
Chapter XIV An Ideal Father Letters to Mildred Lee--To Robert--To
Fitzhugh--Interviewed by Swinton, historian of the Army of the
Potomac--Improvement in grounds and buildings of Washington
College--Punctuality a prominent trait of its President--A strong
supporter of the Y.M.C.A.............................. 252
Chapter XV Mountain Rides An incident about “Traveller”--The General’s
love for children--His friendship with Ex-President Davis--A ride with
his daughter to the Peaks of Otter--Mildred Lee’s narrative--Mrs. Lee
at the White Sulphur Springs--The great attention paid her husband
there--His idea of life ..................... 264
Chapter XVI An Advisor of Young Men Lee’s policy as college
president--His advice on agricultural matters--His affection for his
prospective daughter-in-law--Fitzhugh’s wedding--The General’s
ovation at Petersburg--his personal interest in the students under his
care......... 280
Chapter XVII The Reconstruction Period The General believes in
the enforcement of law and order--His moral influence in the
college--Playful humour shown in his letters--His opinion of negro
labour--Mr. Davis’s trial--Letter to Mrs. Fitzhugh Lee--Intercourse with
Faculty ........... 299
Chapter XVIII Mrs. R. E. Lee Goes to Warm Springs for rheumatism--Her
daughter Mildred takes typhoid there--Removes to Hot Springs--Her
husband’s devotion--Visit of Fitzhugh and bride to Lexington--Miss
Jones, a would-be benefactor of Washington College--Fate of Washington
relics belonging to Mrs. Lee’s family.................. 318
Chapter XIX Lee’s Letters to His Sons The building of Robert’s
house--The General as a railroad delegate--Lionised in
Baltimore--Calls on President Grant--Visits Alexandria--Declines to
be interviewed--Interested in his grandson--The Washington
portraits................ 339
Chapter XX The New Home in Lexington Numerous guests--Further sojourns
at different Baths--Death of the General’s brother, Smith Lee--Visits to
“Ravensworth” and “The White House”--Meetings with interesting people at
White Sulphur Springs--Death of Professor Preston ............... 357
Chapter XXI Failing Health The General declines lucrative positions
in New York and Atlanta--He suffers from an obstinate cold--Local
gossip--He is advised to go South in the spring of 1870--Desires to
visit his daughter Annie’s grave .......................... 376
Chapter XXII The Southern Trip Letters to Mrs. Lee from Richmond and
Savannah--From Brandon--Agnes Lee’s account of her father’s greetings
from old friends and old soldiers--Wilmington and Norfolk do him
honour--Visits to Fitzhugh and Robert in their homes................ 388
Chapter XXIII A Round of Visits Baltimore--Alexandria--A war-talk with
Cousin Cassius Lee--“Ravensworth”--Letter to Doctor Buckler declining
invitation to Europe--To General Cooper--To Mrs. Lee from the Hot
Springs--Tired of public places--Preference for country life ..........
412
Chapter XXIV Last Days Letter to his wife--To Mr. Tagart--Obituary
notice in “Personal Reminiscences of General Robert E. Lee”--Mrs. Lee’s
account of his death .............................. 431
Chapter I -- Services in the United States Army
Captain Lee, of the Engineers, a hero to his child--The family
pets--Home from the Mexican War--Three years in Baltimore--Superintendent
of the West Point Military Academy--Lieutenant-Colonel of Second
Cavalry--Supresses “John Brown Raid” at Harper’s Ferry--Commands the
Department of Taxes
The first vivid recollection I have of my father is his arrival at
Arlington, after his return from the Mexican War. I can remember some
events of which he seemed a part, when we lived at Fort Hamilton, New
York, about 1846, but they are more like dreams, very indistinct and
disconnected--naturally so, for I was at that time about three years
old. But the day of his return to Arlington, after an absence of more
than two years, I have always remembered. I had a frock or blouse of
some light wash material, probably cotton, a blue ground dotted over
with white diamond figures. Of this I was very proud, and wanted to wear
it on this important occasion. Eliza, my “mammy,” objecting, we had
a contest and I won. Clothed in this, my very best, and with my hair
freshly curled in long golden ringlets, I went down into the larger hall
where the whole household was assembled, eagerly greeting my father, who
had just arrived on horseback from Washington, having missed in some way
the carriage which had been sent for him.
There was visiting us at this time Mrs. Lippitt, a friend of my
mother’s, with her little boy, Armistead, about my age and size, also
with long curls. Whether he wore as handsome a suit as mine I cannot
remember, but he and I were left together in the background, feeling
rather frightened and awed. After a moment’s greeting to those
surrounding him, my father pushed through the crowd, exclaiming:
“Where is my little boy?”
He then took up in his arms and kissed--not me, his own child in his
best frock with clean face and well-arranged curls--but my little
playmate, Armistead! I remember nothing more of any circumstances
connected with that time, save that I was shocked and humiliated. I
have no doubt that he was at once informed of his mistake and made ample
amends to me.
A letter from my father to his brother Captain S. S. Lee, United States
Nave, dated “Arlington, June 30, 1848,” tells of his coming home:
“Here I am once again, my dear Smith, perfectly surrounded by Mary and
her precious children, who seem to devote themselves to staring at the
furrows in my face and the white hairs in my head. It is not surprising
that I am hardly recognisable to some of the young eyes around me and
perfectly unknown to the youngest. But some of the older ones gaze with
astonishment and wonder at me, and seem at a loss to reconcile what they
see and what was pictured in their imaginations. I find them, too,
much grown, and all well, and I have much cause for thankfulness, and
gratitude to that good God who has once more united us.”
My next recollection of my father is in Baltimore, while we were on
a visit to his sister, Mrs. Marshall, the wife of Judge Marshall. I
remember being down on the wharves, where my father had taken me to see
the landing of a mustang pony which he had gotten for me in Mexico, and
which had been shipped from Vera Cruz to Baltimore in a sailing vessel.
I was all eyes for the pony, and a very miserable, sad-looking object
he was. From his long voyage, cramped quarters and unavoidable lack of
grooming, he was rather a disappointment to me, but I soon got over
all that. As I grew older, and was able to ride and appreciate him, he
became the joy and pride of my life. I was taught to ride on him by Jim
Connally, the faithful Irish servant of my father, who had been with him
in Mexico. Jim used to tell me, in his quizzical way, that he and “Santa
Anna” (the pony’s name) were the first men on the walls of Chepultepec.
This pony was pure white, five years old and about fourteen hands high.
For his inches, he was as good a horse as I ever have seen. While we
lived in Baltimore, he and “Grace Darling,” my father’s favourite mare,
were members of our family.
Grace Darling was a chestnut of fine size and of great power, which he
had bought in Texas on his way out to Mexico, her owner having died on
the march out. She was with him during the entire campaign, and was
shot seven times; at least, as a little fellow I used to brag about that
number of bullets being in her, and since I could point out the scars of
each one, I presume it was so. My father was very much attached to her
and proud of her, always petting her and talking to her in a loving way,
when he rode her or went to see her in her stall. Of her he wrote on his
return home:
“I only arrived yesterday, after a long journey up the Mississippi,
which route I was induced to take, for the better accommodation of
my horse, as I wished to spare her as much annoyance and fatigue as
possible, she already having undergone so much suffering in my service.
I landed her at Wheeling and left her to come over with Jim.”
Santa Anna was found lying cold and dead in the park at Arlington one
morning in the winter of ‘60-’61. Grace Darling was taken in the spring
of ‘62 from the White House [My brother’s place on the Pamunkey River,
where the mare had been sent for save keeping.”] by some Federal
quartermaster, when McClellan occupied that place as his base of
supplies during his attack on Richmond. When we lived in Baltimore, I
was greatly struck one day by hearing two ladies who were visiting us
saying:
“Everybody and everything--his family, his friends, his horse, and his
dog--loves Colonel Lee.”
The dog referred to was a black-and-tan terrier named “Spec,” very
bright and intelligent and really a member of the family, respected and
beloved by ourselves and well known to all who knew us. My father picked
up his mother in the “Narrows” while crossing from Fort Hamilton to
the fortifications opposite on Staten Island. She had doubtless fallen
overboard from some passing vessel and had drifted out of sight before
her absence had been discovered. He rescued her and took her home, where
she was welcomed by his children an made much of. She was a handsome
little thing, with cropped ears and a short tail. My father named her
“Dart.” She was a fine ratter, and with the assistance of a Maltese cat,
also a member of the family, the many rats which infested the house and
stables were driven away or destroyed. She and the cat were fed out of
the same plate, but Dart was not allowed to begin the meal until the cat
had finished.
Spec was born at Fort Hamilton and was the joy of us children, our
pet and companion. My father would not allow his tail and ears to be
cropped. When he grew up, he accompanied us everywhere and was in the
habit of going into church with the family. As some of the little ones
allowed their devotions to be disturbed by Spec’s presence, my father
determined to leave him at home on those occasions. So the next Sunday
morning, he was sent up to the front room of the second story. After the
family had left for church he contented himself for awhile looking
out of the window, which was open, it being summer time. Presently
impatience overcame his judgement and he jumped to the ground, landed
safely notwithstanding the distance, joined the family just as they
reached the church, and went in with them as usual, much to the joy
of the children. After that he was allowed to go to church whenever he
wished. My father was very fond of him, and loved to talk to him and
about him as if he were really one of us. In a letter to my mother,
dated Fort Hamilton, January 18, 1846, when she and her children were on
a visit to Arlington, he thus speaks of him:
“...I am very solitary, and my only company is my dogs and cats. But
‘Spec’ has become so jealous now that he will hardly let me look at the
cats. He seems to be afraid that I am going off from him, and never lets
me stir without him. Lies down in the office from eight to four without
moving, and turns himself before the fire as the side from it becomes
cold. I catch him sometimes sitting up looking at me so intently that I
am for a moment startled...”
In a letter from Mexico written a year later--December 25, ‘46, to my
mother, he says:
“...Can’t you cure poor ‘Spec.’ Cheer him up--take him to walk with you
and tell the children to cheer him up...”
In another letter from Mexico to his eldest boy, just after the capture
of Vera Cruz, he sends this message to Spec....
“Tell him I wish he was here with me. He would have been of great
service in telling me when I was coming upon the Mexicans. When I
was reconnoitering around Vera Cruz, their dogs frequently told me by
barking when I was approaching them too nearly....”
When he returned to Arlington from Mexico, Spec was the first to
recognise him, and the extravagance of his demonstrations of delight
left no doubt that he knew at once his kind master and loving friend,
though he had been absent three years. Sometime during our residence in
Baltimore, Spec disappeared, and we never knew his fate.
From that early time I began to be impressed with my father’s character,
as compared with other men. Every member of the household respected,
revered and loved him as a matter of course, but it began to dawn on
me that every one else with whom I was thrown held him high in their
regard. At forty-five years of age he was active, strong, and as
handsome as he had ever been. I never remember his being ill. I presume
he was indisposed at times; but no impressions of that kind remain. He
was always bright and gay with us little folk, romping, playing, and
joking with us. With the older children, he was just as companionable,
and the have seen him join my elder brothers and their friends when
they would try their powers at a high jump put up in our yard. The two
younger children he petted a great deal, and our greatest treat was to
get into his bed in the morning and lie close to him, listening while
he talked to us in his bright, entertaining way. This custom we kept
up until I was ten years old and over. Although he was so joyous and
familiar with us, he was very firm on all proper occasions, never
indulged us in anything that was not good for us, and exacted the most
implicit obedience. I always knew that it was impossible to disobey my
father. I felt it in me, I never thought why, but was perfectly sure
when he gave an order that it had to be obeyed. My mother I could
sometimes circumvent, and at times took liberties with her orders,
construing them to suit myself; but exact obedience to every mandate of
my father was part of my life and being at that time. He was very
fond of having his hands tickled, and, what was still more curious, it
pleased and delighted him to take off his slippers and place his feet in
our laps in order to have them tickled. Often, as little things, after
romping all day, the enforced sitting would be too much for us, and our
drowsiness would soon show itself in continued nods. Then, to arouse,
us, he had a way of stirring us up with his foot--laughing heartily at
and with us. He would often tell us the most delightful stories, and
then there was no nodding. Sometimes, however, our interest in his
wonderful tales became so engrossing that we would forget to do our
duty--when he would declare, “No tickling, no story!” When we were a
little older, our elder sister told us one winter the ever-delightful
“Lady of the Lake.” Of course, she told it in prose and arranged it to
suit our mental capacity. Our father was generally in his corner by the
fire, most probably with a foot in either the lap of myself or youngest
sister--the tickling going on briskly--and would come in at different
points of the tale and repeat line after line of the poem--much to our
disapproval--but to his great enjoyment.
In January, 1849, Captain Lee was one of a board of army officers
appointed to examine the coasts of Florida and its defenses and to
recommend locations for new fortifications. In April he was assigned
to the duty of the construction of Fort Carroll, in the Patapsco River
below Baltimore. He was there, I think, for three years, and lived in
a house on Madison Street, three doors above Biddle. I used to go down
with him to the Fort quite often. We went to the wharf in a “bus,”
and there we were met by a boat with two oarsmen, who rowed us down to
Sollers Point, where I was generally left under the care of the people
who lived there, while my father went over to the Fort, a short distance
out in the river. These days were happy ones for me. The wharves, the
shipping, the river, the boat and oarsmen, and the country dinner we had
at the house at Sollers Point, all made a strong impression on me;
but above all I remember my father, his gentle, loving care of me, his
bright talk, his stories, his maxims and teachings. I was very proud of
him and of the evident respect for and trust in him every one showed.
These impressions, obtained at that time, have never left me. He was
a great favourite in Baltimore, as he was everywhere, especially with
ladies and little children. When he and my mother went out in the
evening to some entertainment, we were often allowed to sit up and see
them off; my father, as I remember, always in full uniform, always ready
and waiting for my mother, who was generally late. He would chide her
gently, in a playful way and with a bright smile. He would then bid us
good-bye, and I would go to sleep with this beautiful picture in my
mind, the golden epaulets and all--chiefly the epaulets.
In Baltimore, I went to my first school, that of a Mr. Rollins on
Mulberry Street, and I remember how interested my father was in my
studies, my failures, and my little triumphs. Indeed, he was so always,
as long as I was at school and college, and I only wish that all of the
kind, sensible, useful letters he wrote me had been preserved.
My memory as to the move from Baltimore, which occurred in 1852, is very
dim. I think the family went to Arlington to remain until my father had
arranged for our removal to the new home at West Point.
My recollection of my father as Superintendent of the West Point
Military Academy is much more distinct. He lived in the house which is
still occupied by the Superintendent. It was built of stone, large and
roomy, with gardens, stables, and pasture lots. We, the two youngest
children, enjoyed it all. “Grace Darling” and “Santa Anna” were
there with us, and many a fine ride did I have with my father in the
afternoons, when, released from his office, he would mount his old mare
and, with Santa Anna carrying me by his side, take a five or ten-mile
trot. Though the pony cantered delightfully, he would make me keep him
in a trot, saying playfully that the hammering sustained was good for
me. We rode the dragoon-seat, no posting, and until I became accustomed
to it I used to be very tired by the time I got back.
My father was the most punctual man I ever knew. He was always ready for
family prayers, for meals, and met every engagement, social or business,
at the moment. He expected all of us to be the same, and taught us the
use and necessity of forming such habits for the convenience of all
concerned. I never knew him late for Sunday service at the Post Chapel.
He used to appear some minutes before the rest of us, in uniform,
jokingly rallying my mother for being late, and for forgetting something
at the last moment. When he could wait no longer for her, he would say
that he was off and would march along to church by himself, or with any
of the children who were ready. There he sat very straight--well up
the middle aisle--and, as I remember, always became very sleepy, and
sometimes even took a little nap during the sermon. At that time, this
drowsiness of my father’s was something awful to me, inexplicable. I
know it was very hard for me to keep awake, and frequently I did not;
but why he, who to my mind could do everything right, without any
effort, should sometimes be overcome, I could not understand, and did
not try to do so.
It was against the rules that the cadets should go beyond certain limits
without permission. Of course they did go sometimes, and when caught
were given quite a number of “demerits.” My father was riding out one
afternoon with me, and, while rounding a turn in the mountain road with
a deep woody ravine on one side, we came suddenly upon three cadets far
beyond the limits. They immediately leaped over a low wall on the side
of the road and disappeared from our view.
We rode on for a minute in silence; then my father said: “Did you know
those young men? But no; if you did, don’t say so. I wish boys would do
what was right, it would be so much easier for all parties!”
He knew he would have to report them, but, not being sure of who they
were, I presume he wished to give them the benefit of the doubt. At any
rate, I never heard any more about it. One of the three asked me the
next day if my father had recognised them, and I told him what had
occurred.
By this time I had become old enough to have a room to myself, and, to
encourage me in being useful and practical, my father made me attend to
it, just as the cadets had to do with their quarters in barracks and in
camp. He at first even went through the form of inspecting it, to see if
I had performed my duty properly, and I think I enjoyed this until
the novelty wore off. However, I was kept at it, becoming in time very
proficient, and the knowledge so acquired has been of great use to me
all through life.
My father always encouraged me in every healthy outdoor exercise and
sport. He taught me to ride, constantly giving me minute instructions,
with the reasons for them. He gave me my first sled, and sometimes used
to come out where we boys were coasting to look on. He gave me my first
pair of skates, and placed me in the care of a trustworthy person,
inquiring regularly how I progressed. It was the same with swimming,
which he was very anxious I should learn in a proper manner. Professor
Bailey had a son about my age, now himself a professor at Brown
University, Providence, Rhode Island, who became my great chum. I
took my first lesson in the water with him, under the direction and
supervision of his father. My father inquired constantly how I was
getting along, and made me describe exactly my method and stroke,
explaining to me what he considered the best way to swim, and the
reasons therefor.
I went to day-school at West Point, and had always a sympathetic helper
in my father; often he would come into the room where I studied at
night, and, sitting down by me, would show me how to overcome a hard
sentence in my Latin reader or a difficult sum in arithmetic, not by
giving me the translation of the troublesome sentence or the answer
to the sum, but by showing me, step by step, the way to the right
solutions. He was very patient, very loving, very good to me, and I
remember trying my best to please him in my studies. When I was able to
bring home a good report from my teacher, he was greatly pleased, and
showed it in his eye and voice, but he always insisted that I should
get the “maximum,” that he would never be perfectly satisfied with less.
That I did sometimes win it, deservedly, I know was due to his judicious
and wise method of exciting my ambition and perseverance. I have
endeavoured to show how fond my father was of his children, and as the
best picture I can offer of his loving, tender devotion to us all,
I give here a letter from him written about this time to one of
his daughters who was staying with our grandmother, Mrs. Custis, at
Arlington:
“West Point, February 25, 1853
“My Precious Annie: I take advantage of your gracious permission to
write to you, and there is no telling how far my feelings might carry
men were I not limited by the conveyance furnished by the Mim’s [His pet
name for my mother] letter, which lies before me, and which must, the
Mim says so, go in this morning’s mail. But my limited time does not
diminish my affection for you, Annie, nor prevent my thinking of you and
wishing for you. I long to see you through the dilatory nights. At dawn
when I rise, and all day, my thoughts revert to you in expressions that
you cannot hear or I repeat. I hope you will always appear to me as you
are now painted on my heart, and that you will endeavor to improve and
so conduct yourself as to make you happy and me joyful all our lives.
Diligent and earnest attention to ALL your duties can only accomplish
this. I am told you are growing very tall, and I hope very straight. I
do not know what the Cadets will say if the Superintendent’s CHILDREN
do not practice what he demands of them. They will naturally say he had
better attend to his own before he corrects other people’s children, and
as he permits his to stoop it is hard he will not allow them. You and
Agnes [His third daughter] must not, therefore, bring me into discredit
with my young friends, or give them reason to think that I require more
of them than of my own. I presume your mother has told all about us, our
neighbors, and our affairs. And indeed she may have done that and not
said much either, so far as I know. But we are all well and have much to
be grateful for. To-morrow we anticipate the pleasure of your brother’s
[His son, Custis] company, which is always a source of pleasure to us.
It is the only time we see him, except when the Corps come under my view
at some of their exercises, when my eye is sure to distinguish him among
his comrades and follow him over the plain. Give much love to your dear
grandmother, grandfather, Agnes, Miss Sue, Lucretia, and all friends,
including the servants. Write sometimes, and think always of your
Affectionate father, R. E. Lee.”
In a letter to my mother written many years previous to this time, he
says:
“I pray God to watch over and direct our efforts in guarding our dear
little son....Oh, what pleasure I lose in being separated from my
children! Nothing can compensate me for that....”
In another letter of about the same time:
“You do not know how much I have missed you and the children, my dear
Mary. To be alone in a crowd is very solitary. In the woods, I feel
sympathy with the trees and birds, in whose company I take delight, but
experience no pleasure in a strange crowd. I hope you are all well and
will continue so, and, therefore, must again urge you to be very prudent
and careful of those dear children. If I could only get a squeeze at
that little fellow, turning up his sweet mouth to ‘keese baba!’ You
must not let him run wild in my absence, and will have to exercise
firm authority over all of them. This will not require severity or even
strictness, but constant attention and an unwavering course. Mildness
and forbearance will strengthen their affection for you, while it will
maintain your control over them.”
In a letter to one of his sons he writes as follows:
“I cannot go to bed, my dear son, without writing you a few lines,
to thank you for your letter, which gave me great pleasure....You and
Custis must take great care of your kind mother and dear sisters when
your father is dead. To do that you must learn to be good. Be true,
kind and generous, and pray earnestly to God to enable you to keep His
Commandments ‘and walk in the same all the days of your life.’ I hope to
come on soon to see that little baby you have got to show me. You must
give her a kiss for me, and one to all the children, to your mother, and
grandmother”
The expression of such sentiments as these was common to my father all
through his life, and to show that it was all children, and not his own
little folk alone that charmed and fascinated him, I quote from a letter
to my mother:
“...I saw a number of little girls all dressed up in their white frocks
and pantalets, their hair plaited and tied up with ribbons, running and
chasing each other in all directions. I counted twenty-three nearly the
same size. As I drew up my horse to admire the spectacle, a man appeared
at the door with the twenty-fourth in his arms.
“‘My friend,’ said I, ‘are all these your children?’
“‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and there are nine more in the house, and this is the
youngest.’
“Upon further inquiry, however, I found that they were only temporarily
his, and that they were invited to a party at his house. He said,
however, he had been admiring them before I came up, and just wished
that he had a million of dollars, and that they were all his in reality.
I do not think the eldest exceeded seven or eight years old. It was the
prettiest sight I have seen in the west, and, perhaps, in my life....”
As Superintendent of the Military Academy at West Point my father had
to entertain a good deal, and I remember well how handsome and grand he
looked in uniform, how genial and bright, how considerate of everybody’s
comfort of mind and body. He was always a great favourite with the
ladies, especially the young ones. His fine presence, his gentle,
courteous manners and kindly smile put them at once at ease with him.
Among the cadets at this time were my eldest brother, Custis, who
graduated first in his class in 1854, and my father’s nephew, Fitz. Lee,
a third classman, besides other relatives and friends. Saturday being a
half-holiday for the cadets, it was the custom for all social events in
which they were to take part to be placed on that afternoon or evening.
Nearly every Saturday a number of these young men were invited to our
house to tea, or supper, for it was a good, substantial meal. The misery
of some of these lads, owing to embarrassment, possibly from awe of the
Superintendent, was pitiable and evident even to me, a boy of ten or
eleven years old. But as soon as my father got command, as it were, of
the situation, one could see how quickly most of them were put at
their ease. He would address himself to the task of making them feel
comfortable and at home, and his genial manner and pleasant ways at once
succeeded.
In the spring of ‘53 my grandmother, Mrs. Custis, died. This was the
first death in our immediate family. She was very dear to us, and was
admired, esteemed and loved by all who had ever known her. Bishop Meade,
of Virginia, writes of her:
“Mrs. Mary Custis, of Arlington, the wife of Mr. Washington Custis,
grandson of Mrs. General Washington was the daughter of Mr. William
Fitzhugh, of Chatham. Scarcely is there a Christian lady in our land
more honoured than she was, and none more loved and esteemed. For good
sense, prudence, sincerity, benevolence, unaffected piety, disinterested
zeal in every good work, deep humanity and retiring modesty--for all the
virtues which adorn the wife, the mother, and the friend--I never knew
her superior.”
In a letter written to my mother soon after this sad event my father
says:
“May God give you strength to enable you to bear and say, ‘His will
be done.’ She has gone from all trouble, care and sorrow to a holy
immortality, there to rejoice and praise forever the God and Saviour
she so long and truly served. Let that be our comfort and that our
consolation. May our death be like hers, and may we meet in happiness in
Heaven.”
In another letter about the same time he writes:
“She was to me all that a mother could be, and I yield to none in
admiration for her character, love for her virtues, and veneration for
her memory.”
At this time, my father’s family and friends persuaded him to allow R.
S. Weir, Professor of Painting and Drawing at the Academy, to paint
his portrait. As far as I remember, there was only one sitting, and the
artist had to finish it from memory or from the glimpses he obtained as
his subject in the regular course of their daily lives at “The Point.”
This picture shows my father in the undress uniform of a Colonel of
Engineers [His appointment of Superintendent of the Military Academy
carried with it the temporary rank of Colonel of Engineers], and
many think it a very good likeness. To me, the expression of strength
peculiar to his face is wanting, and the mouth fails to portray that
sweetness of disposition so characteristic of his countenance. Still,
it was like him at that time. My father never could bear to have his
picture taken, and there are no likenesses of him that really give his
sweet expression. Sitting for a picture was such a serious business with
him that he never could “look pleasant.”
In 1855 my father was appointed to the lieutenant-colonelcy of the
Second Cavalry, one of the two regiments just raised. He left West Point
to enter upon his new duties, and his family went to Arlington to live.
During the fall and winter of 1855 and ‘56, the Second Cavalry was
recruited and organised at Jefferson Barracks, Missouri, under the
direction of Colonel Lee, and in the following spring was marched to
western Texas, where it was assigned the duty of protecting the settlers
in that wild country.
I did not see my father again until he came to my mother at Arlington
after the death of her father, G. W. P. Custis, in October 1857. He took
charge of my mother’s estate after her father’s death, and commenced at
once to put it in order--not an easy task, as it consisted of several
plantations and many negroes. I was at a boarding-school, after
the family returned to Arlington, and saw my father only during the
holidays, if he happened to be at home. He was always fond of farming,
and took great interest in the improvements he immediately began at
Arlington relating to the cultivation of the farm, to the buildings,
roads, fences, fields, and stock, so that in a very short time the
appearance of everything on the estate was improved. He often said that
he longed for the time when he could have a farm of his own, where
he could end his days in quiet and peace, interested in the care and
improvement of his own land. This idea was always with him. In a letter
to his son, written in July, ‘65, referring to some proposed indictments
of prominent Confederates, he says:
“...As soon as I can ascertain their intention toward me, if not
prevented, I shall endeavour to procure some humble, but quiet abode
for your mother and sisters, where I hope they can be happy. As I before
said, I want to get in some grass country where the natural product of
the land will do much for my subsistence....”
Again in a letter to his son, dated October, 1865, after he had accepted
the presidency of Washington College, Lexington, Virginia:
“I should have selected a more quiet life and a more retired abode than
Lexington. I should have preferred a small farm, where I could have
earned my daily bread.”
About this time I was given a gun of my own and was allowed to go
shooting by myself. My father, to give me an incentive, offered a reward
for every crow-scalp I could bring him, and, in order that I might get
to work at once, advanced a small sum with which to buy powder and shot,
this sum to be returned to him out of the first scalps obtained. My
industry and zeal were great, my hopes high, and by good luck I did
succeed in bagging two crows about the second time I went out. I showed
them with great pride to my father, intimating that I should shortly be
able to return him his loan, and that he must be prepared to hand over
to me very soon further rewards for my skill. His eyes twinkled, and his
smile showed that he had strong doubts of my making an income by killing
crows, and he was right, for I never killed another, though I tried hard
and long.
I saw but little of my father after we left West Point. He went to
Texas, as I have stated, in ‘55 and remained until the fall of ‘57, the
time of my grandfather’s death. He was then at Arlington about a year.
Returning to his regiment, he remained in Texas until the autumn of ‘59,
when he came again to Arlington, having applied for leave in order to
finish the settling of my grandfather’s estate. During this visit he
was selected by the Secretary of War to suppress the famous “John Brown
Raid,” and was sent to Harper’s Ferry in command of the United States
troops.
From his memorandum book the following entries were taken:
“October 17, 1859. Received orders from the Secretary of War in person,
to repair in evening train to Harper’s Ferry.
“Reached Harper’s Ferry at 11 P.M.... Posted marines in the United
States Armory. Waited until daylight, as a number of citizens were held
as hostages, whose lives were threatened. Tuesday about sunrise,
with twelve marines, under Lieutenant Green, broke in the door of the
engine-house, secured the insurgents, and relieved the prisoners unhurt.
All the insurgents killed or mortally wounded, but four, John Brown,
Stevens, Coppie, and Shields.”
Brown was tried and convicted and sentenced to be hanged on December 2,
1859. Colonel Lee writes as follows to his wife:
“Harper’s Ferry, December 1, 1859.
“I arrived here, dearest Mary, yesterday about noon, with four companies
from Fort Monroe, and was busy all the evening and night getting
accommodation for the men, etc., and posting sentinels and piquets to
insure timely notice of the approach of the enemy. The night has passed
off quietly. The feelings of the community seem to be calmed down, and
I have been received with every kindness. Mr. Fry is among the officers
from Old Point. There are several young men, former acquaintances of
ours, as cadets, Mr. Bingham of Custis’s class, Sam Cooper, etc., but
the senior officers I never met before, except Captain Howe, the friend
of our Cousin Harriet R----.
“I presume we are fixed her till after the 16th. To-morrow will probably
be the last of Captain Brown. There will be less interest for the
others, but still I think the troops will not be withdrawn till they are
similarly disposed of.
“Custis will have informed you that I had to go to Baltimore the
evening I left you, to make arrangements for the transportation of the
troops.... This morning I was introduced to Mrs. Brown, who, with a Mrs.
Tyndall and a Mr. And Mrs. McKim, all from Philadelphia, had come on to
have a last interview with her husband. As it is a matter over which I
have no control I referred them to General Taliaferro [General William
B. Taliaferro, commanding Virginia troops at Harper’s Ferry].
“You must write to me at this place. I hope you are all well. Give love
to everybody. Tell Smith [Sydney Smith Lee, of the United States Navy,
his brother] that no charming women have insisted on taking care of me
as they are always doing of him--I am left to my own resources. I will
write you again soon, and will always be truly and affectionately yours,
“Mrs. M. C. Lee. R. E. Lee.”
In February, 1860, he was ordered to take command of the Department of
Texas. There he remained a year. The first months after his arrival
were spent in the vain pursuit of the famous brigand, Cortinez, who was
continually stealing across the Rio Grande, burning the homes, driving
off the stock of the ranchmen, and then retreating into Mexico. The
summer months he spent in San Antonio, and while there interested
himself with the good people of that town in building an Episcopal
church, to which he contributed largely.
Chapter II -- The Confederate General
Resigns from Colonelcy of First United States Cavalry--Motives for this
step--Chosen to command Virginia forces--Anxiety about his wife, family,
and possessions--Chief advisor to President Davis--Battle of
Manassas--Military operations in West Virginia--Letter to State Governor
In February, 1861, after the secession of Texas, my father was ordered
to report to General Scott, the Commander-in-Chief of the United States
Army. He immediately relinquished the command of his regiment, and
departed from Fort Mason, Texas, for Washington. He reached Arlington
March 1st. April 17th, Virginia seceded. On the 18th Colonel Lee had
a long interview with General Scott. On April 20th he tendered his
resignation of his commission in the United States Army. The same day he
wrote to General Scott the following letter:
“Arlington, Virginia, April 20, 1861.
“General: Since my interview with you on the 18th inst. I have felt
that I ought no longer to retain my commission in the Army. I
therefore tender my resignation, which I request you will recommend for
acceptance. It would have been presented at once but for the struggle
it has cost me to separate myself from a service to which I have devoted
the best years of my life, and all the ability I possessed.
“During the whole of that time--more than a quarter of a century--I have
experienced nothing but kindness from my superiors and a most cordial
friendship from my comrades. To no one, General, have I been as much
indebted as to yourself for uniform kindness and consideration, and
it has always been my ardent desire to merit your approbation. I
shall carry tot he grave the most grateful recollections of your kind
consideration, and your name and fame shall always be dear to me.
“Save in the defense of my native State, I never desire again to draw my
sword.
“Be pleased to accept my most earnest wishes for the continuance of your
happiness and prosperity, and believe me most truly yours,
“(Signed)
“R. E. Lee”
His resignation was written the same day.
“Arlington, Washington City P.O., April 20, 1861.
“Honourable Simon Cameron, Secretary of War.
“Sir: I have the honour to tender the resignation of my command as
Colonel of the First Regiment of Cavalry.
“Very respectfully your obedient servant,
“R. E. Lee,
“Colonel First Cavalry.”
To show further his great feeling in thus having to leave the army with
which he had been associated for so long, I give two more letters,
one to his sister, Mrs. Anne Marshall, of Baltimore, the other to his
brother, Captain Sydney Smith Lee, of the United States Navy:
“Arlington, Virginia, April 20, 1861.
“My Dear Sister: I am grieved at my inability to see you.... I have been
waiting for a ‘more convenient season,’ which has brought to many before
me deep and lasting regret. Now we are in a state of war which will
yield to nothing. The whole South is in a state of revolution, into
which Virginia, after a long struggle, has been drawn; and though I
recognise no necessity for this state of things, and would have forborne
and pleaded to the end for redress of grievances, real or supposed, yet
in my own person I had to meet the question whether I should take part
against my native State.
“With all my devotion to the Union and the feeling of loyalty and duty
of an American citizen, I have not been able to make up my mind to raise
my hand against my relatives, my children, my home. I have therefore
resigned my commission in the Army, and save in defense of my native
State, with the sincere hope that my poor services may never be needed,
I hope I may never be called on to draw my sword. I know you will blame
me; but you must think as kindly of me as you can, and believe that I
have endeavoured to do what I thought right.
“To show you the feeling and struggle it has cost me, I send you a copy
of my letter of resignation. I have no time for more. May God guard and
protect you and yours, and shower upon you everlasting blessings, is the
prayer of your devoted brother, R. E. Lee.”
“Arlington, Virginia, April 20, 1860.
“My Dear Brother Smith: The question which was the subject of my earnest
consultation with you on the 18th inst. has in my own mind been decided.
After the most anxious inquiry as to the correct course for me to
pursue, I concluded to resign, and sent in my resignation this morning.
I wished to wait till the Ordinance of secession should be acted on by
the people of Virginia; but war seems to have commenced, and I am liable
at any time to be ordered on duty which I could not conscientiously
perform. To save me from such a position, and to prevent the necessity
of resigning under orders, I had to act at once, and before I could see
you again on the subject, as I had wished. I am now a private citizen,
and have no other ambition than to remain at home. Save in defense of my
native State, I have no desire ever again to draw my sword. I send you
my warmest love.
“Your affectionate brother,
“R. E. Lee.”
I will give here one of my father’s letters, written after the war, in
which is his account of his resignation from the United States Army:
“Lexington, Virginia, February 25, 1868.
“Honourable Reverdy Johnson,
“United States Senate, Washington, D. C.
“My Dear Sir: My attention has been called to the official report of the
debate in the Senate of the United States, on the 19th instant, in which
you did my the kindness to doubt the correctness of the statement made
by the Honourable Simon Cameron, in regard to myself. I desire that you
may feel certain of my conduct on the occasion referred to, so far as my
individual statement can make you. I never intimated to any one that
I desired the command of the United States Army; nor did I ever have a
conversation with but one gentleman, Mr. Francis Preston Blair, on
the subject, which was at his invitation, and, as I understood, at
the instance of President Lincoln. After listening to his remarks, I
declined the offer that he made me, to take command of the army that was
to be brought into the field; stating, as candidly and courteously as
I could, that, though opposed to secession and deprecating war, I could
take no part in an invasion of the Southern States. I went directly from
the interview with Mr. Blair to the office of General Scott; told him
of the proposition that had been made to me, and my decision. Upon
reflection after returning to my home, I concluded that I ought no
longer to retain the commission I held in the United States Army, and
on the second morning thereafter I forwarded my resignation to General
Scott. At the time, I hoped that peace would have been preserved; that
some way would have been found to save the country from the calamities
of war; and I then had no other intention than to pass the remainder of
my life as a private citizen. Two days afterward, upon the invitation
of the Governor of Virginia, I repaired to Richmond; found that the
Convention then in session had passed the ordinance withdrawing the
State from the Union; and accepted the commission of commander of its
forces, which was tendered me.
“These are the ample facts of the case, and they show that Mr. Cameron
has been misinformed.
“I am with great respect,
“Your obedient servant,
“R. E. Lee.”
My father reached Richmond April 22, 1861. The next day he was
introduced to the Virginia Convention, and offered by them the command
of the military forces of his State. In his reply to Mr. John Janney,
the President, who spoke for the Convention, he said:
“Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Convention: Deeply impressed
with the solemnity of the occasion on which I appear before you, and
profoundly grateful for the honour conferred upon me, I accept the
position your partiality has assigned me, though I would greatly have
preferred your choice should have fallen on one more capable.
“Trusting to Almighty God, an approving conscience, and the aid of my
fellow citizens, I will devote myself to the defense and service of my
native State, in whose behalf alone would I have ever drawn my sword.”
On April 26th, from Richmond, he wrote to his wife:
“...I am very anxious about you. You have to move and make arrangements
to go to some point of safety, which you must select. The Mount Vernon
plate and pictures ought to be secured. Keep quiet while you remain and
in your preparation. War is inevitable, and there is no telling when
it will burst around you. Virginia, yesterday, I understand, joined the
Confederate States. What policy they may adopt I cannot conjecture. May
God bless and preserve you, and have mercy upon all our people, is the
constant prayer of your affectionate husband,
“R. E. Lee.”
On April 30th:
“On going to my room last night I found my trunk and sword there, and
opening them this morning discovered the package of letters and was very
glad to learn you were all well and as yet peaceful. I fear the latter
state will not continue long.... I think therefore you had better
prepare all things for removal, that is, the plate, pictures, etc., and
be prepared at any moment. Where to go is the difficulty. When the war
commences no place will be exempt, in my opinion, and indeed all the
avenues into the State will be the scenes of military operations.
“There is no prospect or intention of the Government to propose a truce.
Do not be deceived by it.... May God preserve you all and bring peace to
our distracted country.”
Again to my mother at Arlington:
“Richmond, May 2, 1861.
“My dear Mary: I received last night your letter of the 1st, with
contents. It gave me great pleasure to learn that you are all well
and in peace. You know how pleased I should be to have you and my dear
daughters with me. That I fear can not be. There is no place that I can
expect to be but in the field, and there is no rest for me to look
to, but I want you to be in a place of safety.... We have only to
be resigned to God’s will and pleasure, and do all we can for our
protection.... I have just received Custis’s letter of the 30th,
inclosing the acceptance of my resignation. It is stated that it will
take effect April 25th. I resigned on the 20th, and wished it to take
effect that day. I cannot consent to its running on further, and he
must receive no pay, if they tender it, beyond that day, but return the
whole, if need be....”
From another letter to my mother, dated May 8th:
“...I grieve at the necessity that drives you from your home. I can
appreciate your feelings on the occasion, and pray that you may receive
comfort and strength in the difficulties that surround you. When I
reflect upon the calamity impending over the country, my own sorrows
sink into insignificance.... Be content and resigned to God’s will. I
shall be able to write seldom. Write to me, as you letters will be my
greatest comfort. I send a check for $500; it is all I have in bank. Pay
the children’s school expenses....”
To my mother, still at Arlington:
“Richmond, May 11, 1861.
“I have received your letter of the 9th from Arlington. I had supposed
you were at Ravensworth.... I am glad to hear that you are at peace,
and enjoying the sweet weather and beautiful flowers. You had better
complete your arrangements and retire further from the scene of war. It
may burst upon you at any time. It is sad to think of the devastation,
if not ruin, it may bring upon a spot so endeared to us. But God’s
will be done. We must be resigned. May He guard and keep you all, is my
constant prayer.”
All this time my father was very hard at work organising and equipping
the volunteers who were pouring into Richmond from the Southern States,
but he was in constant correspondence with my mother, helping her all he
could in her arrangements for leaving her home. His letters show that he
thought of everything, even the least, and he gave the most particular
directions about his family, their effects, the servants, the horses,
the farm, pictures, plate, and furniture. Being called to Norfolk
suddenly, before going he wrote to my mother:
“Richmond, May 16, 1861.
“My Dear Mary: I am called down to Norfolk and leave this afternoon. I
expect to return Friday, but may be delayed. I write to advise you of my
absence, in case you should not receive answers to any letters that
may arrive. I have not heard from you since I last wrote; nor have I
anything to relate. I heard from my dear little Rob, who had an
attack of chills and fever. He hoped to escape the next paroxysm.... I
witnessed the opening of the convention [The Episcopal Convention of
the Diocese of Virginia] yesterday, and heard the good Bishop’s [Bishop
Meade, of Virginia] sermon, being the 50th anniversary of his ministry.
It was a most impressive scene, and more than once I felt the tears
coming down my cheek. It was from the text, ‘and Pharoh said unto Jacob,
how old art thou?’ It was full of humility and self-reproach. I saw
Mr. Walker, Bishop Johns, Bishop Atkinson, etc. I have not been able
to attend any other services, and presume the session will not be
prolonged. I suppose it may be considered a small attendance. Should
Custis arrive during my absence, I will leave word for him to take my
room at the Spotswood till my return. Smith [His brother, S. S. Lee, C.
S. N.] is well and enjoys a ride in the afternoon with Mrs. Stannard.
The charming women, you know, always find him out. Give much love to
Cousin Anna, Nannie, and dear daughters. When Rob leaves the University
take him with you.
“Truly and affectionately, R. E. Lee.”
By this time my mother and all the family had left Arlington. My
brother, Custis, had joined my father in Richmond, the girls had gone to
Fauquier county, to visit relatives, and my mother to Ravensworth, about
ten miles from Arlington towards Fairfax Court House, where her aunt,
Mrs. A. M. Fitzhugh, lived. Always considerate of the happiness
and comfort of others, my father feared that his wife’s presence at
Ravensworth might possibly bring annoyance to “Cousin Anna,” as he
called our aunt, and he wrote to my mother, urging her not to remain
there. He sympathised with her in having to leave her home, which she
never saw again.
“Richmond, May 25, 1861.
“I have been trying, dearest Mary, ever since the receipt of your letter
by Custis, to write to you. I sympathise deeply in your feelings at
leaving your dear home. I have experienced them myself, and they are
constantly revived. I fear we have not been grateful enough for the
happiness there within our reach, and our Heavenly Father has found
it necessary to deprive us of what He has given us. I acknowledge my
ingratitude, my transgressions, and my unworthiness, and submit with
resignation to what he thinks proper to inflict upon me. We must trust
all then to him, and I do not think it prudent or right for you to
return there, while the United States troops occupy that country. I have
gone over all this ground before, and have just written Cousin Anna on
the subject.
“While writing, I received a telegram from Cousin John Goldsborough [a
cousin of Mrs. Fitzhugh], urging your departure ‘South.’ I suppose he is
impressed with the risk of your present position, and in addition to the
possibility, or probability, of personal annoyance to yourself, I fear
your presence may provoke annoyance in Cousin Anna. But unless Cousin
Anna goes with you, I shall be distressed about her being there alone.
If the girls went to ‘Kinloch’ or ‘Eastern View,’ you and Cousin Anna
might take care of yourselves, because you could get in the carriage and
go off in an emergency. But I really am afraid that you may prove more
harm than comfort to her. Mr. Wm. C. Rives has just been in to say that
if you and Cousin Anna will go to his house, he will be very glad for
you to stay as long as you please. That his son has a commodious house
just opposite his, unoccupied, partially furnished; that you could, if
you prefer, take that, bring up servants and what you desire, and remain
there as independent as at home.... I must now leave the matter to you,
and pray that God may guard you. I have no time for more. I know and
feel the discomfort of your position, but it cannot be helped, and we
must bear our trials like Christians.... If you and Cousin Anna choose
to come here, you know how happy we shall be to see you. I shall take
the field as soon now as I can....
“Ever yours truly and devotedly,
“R. E. Lee”
Three days later he was at Manassas, only a short distance from
Ravensworth, and he sent her this short note:
“Manassas, May 28, 1861.
“I reached here, dearest Mary, this afternoon. I am very much occupied
in examining matters, and have to go out to look over the ground. Cousin
John tempts me strongly to go down, but I never visit for many reasons.
If for no other, to prevent compromising the house, for my visit would
certainly be known.
“I have written to you fully and to Cousin Anna. I am decidedly of the
opinion that it would be better for you to leave, on your account and
Cousin Anna’s. My only objection is the leaving of Cousin Anna alone,
if she will not go with you. If you prefer Richmond, go with Nannie.
Otherwise, go to the upper country, as John indicates. I fear I cannot
be with you anywhere. I do not think Richmond will be permanent.
“Truly, R.”
I may as well say here, that “Cousin Anna” never did leave “Ravensworth”
during the war. She remained there, with only a few faithful servants,
and managed to escape any serious molestation. “Nannie” was Mrs. S. S.
Lee, who shortly after this time went to Richmond.
On May 25th, my father was transferred, with all the Virginia troops, to
the Confederate States Army. He ceased to be a Major-General, and
became a Brigadier. No higher rank having been created as yet in the
Confederate service. Later, when the rank was created, he was made a
full general.
By the end of May, to quote from General Long,
“Lee had organised, equipped, and sent to the field more than thirty
thousand men, and various regiments were in a forward state of
preparation.”
When the Confederate government moved from Montgomery to Richmond, and
President Davis took charge of all military movements, my father was
kept near him as his constant and trusted adviser. His experience as
an engineer was of great service to the young Confederacy, and he was
called upon often for advice for the location of batteries and troops on
our different defensive lines. In a letter to my mother he speaks of one
of these trips to the waters east of Richmond.
“Richmond, June 9, 1861.
“...I have just returned from a visit to the batteries and troops on
James and York rivers, etc., where I was some days. I called a few hours
at the White House. Saw Charlotte and Annie. Fitzhugh was away, but got
out of the cars as I got in. Our little boy looked very sweet and seemed
glad to kiss me good-bye. Charlotte said she was going to prepare to
leave for the summer, but had not determined where to go. I could only
see some of the servants about the house and the stables. They were all
well.... You may be aware that the Confederate Government is established
here. Yesterday I turned over to it the command of the military and
naval forces of the State, in accordance with the proclamation of the
Government and the agreement between the State and the Confederate
States. I do not know what my position will be. I should like to retire
to private life, if I could be with you and the children, but if I can
be of any service to the State or her cause I must continue. Mr. Davis
and all his Cabinet are here.... Good-bye. Give much love to kind
friends. May God guard and bless you, them, and our suffering country,
and enable me to perform my duty. I think of you constantly. Write me
what you will do. Direct here.
“Always yours,
“R. E. Lee.”
To my mother, who was now in Fauquier County, staying at “Kinloch,” Mr.
Edward Turner’s home, he writes on June 24th, from Richmond:
“...Your future arrangements are the source of much anxiety to me. No
one can say what is in the future, nor is it wise to anticipate evil.
But it is well to prepare for what may reasonably happen and be provided
for the worst. There is no saying when you can return to your home or
what may be its condition when you do return. What, then, can you do in
the meantime? To remain with friends may be incumbent, and where can you
go?... My movements are very uncertain, and I wish to take the field as
soon as certain arrangements can be made. I may go at any moment, and
to any point where it may be necessary.... Many of our old friends are
dropping in. E. P. Alexander is here, Jimmy Hill, Alston, Jenifer, etc.,
and I hear that my old colonel, A. S. Johnston, is crossing the plains
from California....
“As ever, R. E. Lee.”
I again quote from a letter to my mother, dated Richmond, July 12, 1861:
“...I am very anxious to get into the field, but am detained by matters
beyond my control. I have never heard of the appointment, to which you
allude, of Commander-in-Chief of the Confederate States Army, nor have
I any expectation or wish for it. President Davis holds that position.
Since the transfer of the military operations in Virginia to the
authorities of the Confederate States, I have only occupied the position
of a general in that service, with the duties devolved on me by the
President. I have been labouring to prepare and get into the field the
Virginia troops, and to strengthen, by those from the other States, the
threatened commands of Johnston, Beauregard, Huger, Garnett, etc. Where
I shall go I do not know, as that will depend upon President Davis. As
usual in getting through with a thing, I have broken down a little and
had to take my bed last evening, but am at my office this morning and
hope will soon be right again.... My young friend Mr. Vest has just
returned from a search in the city for ‘Dixie,’ and says he has visited
every place in Richmond without finding it. I suppose it is exhausted.
Always yours,
“R. E. Lee.”
“The booksellers say ‘Dixie’ is not to be had in Virginia. R. E. L.”
On July 21st occurred the battle of Manassas. In a letter to my mother
written on the 27th, my father says:
“...That indeed was a glorious victory and has lightened the pressure
upon our front amazingly. Do not grieve for the brave dead. Sorrow for
those they left behind--friends, relatives, and families. The former are
at rest. The latter must suffer. The battle will be repeated there in
greater force. I hope God will again smile on us and strengthen our
hearts and arms. I wished to partake in the former struggle, and am
mortified at my absence, but the President thought it more important I
should be here. I could not have done as well as has been done, but
I could have helped, and taken part in the struggle for my home and
neighbourhood. So the work is done I care not by whom it is done. I
leave to-morrow for the Northwest Army. I wished to go before, as I
wrote you, and was all prepared, but the indications were so evident of
the coming battle, and in the uncertainty of the result, the President
forbade my departure. Now it is necessary and he consents. I cannot say
for how long, but will write you.... I inclose you a letter from Markie
[Miss Martha Custis Williams--second cousin of my mother, afterward Mrs.
Admiral Carter, U.S.N.]. Write to her if you can and thank her for her
letter to me. I have not time. My whole time is occupied, and all my
thoughts and strength are given to the cause to which my life, be it
long or short, will be devoted. Tell her not to mind the reports she
sees in the papers. They are made to injure and occasion distrust. Those
that know me will not believe them. Those that do not will not care for
them. I laugh at them. Give love to all, and for yourself accept the
constant prayers and love of truly yours,
“R. E. Lee.”
It was thought best at this time to send General Lee to take command
of military operations in West Virginia. The ordinary difficulties of
a campaign in this country of mountains and bad roads were greatly
increased by incessant rains, sickness of all kinds amongst the new
troops, and the hostility of many of the inhabitants of the Southern
cause. My father’s letters, which I will give here, tell of his trials
and troubles, and describe at the same time the beauty of the scenery
and some of the military movements.
About August 1st he started for his new command, and he writes to my
mother on his arrival at Huntersville, Pocahontas County, now West
Virginia:
“Huntersville, August 4, 1861.
“I reached here yesterday, dearest Mary, to visit this portion of the
army. The day after my arrival at Staunton, I set off for Monterey,
where the army of General Garnett’s command is stationed. Two regiments
and a field-battery occupy the Alleghany Mountains in advance, about
thirty miles, and this division guards the road to Staunton. The
division here guards the road leading to the Warm Springs to Milboro and
Covington. Two regiments are advanced about twenty-eight miles to Middle
Mountain. Fitzhugh [Major W. H. F. Lee--General Lee’s second son] with
his squadron is between that point and this. I have not seen him. I
understand he is well. South of here again is another column of our
enemies, making their way up the Kanawha Valley, and, from General
Wise’s report, are not far from Lewisburgh. Their object seems to be to
get possession of the Virginia Central Railroad and the Virginia and
Tennessee Railroad. By the first they can approach Richmond; by the last
interrupt our reinforcements from the South. The points from which we
can be attacked are numerous, and their means are unlimited. So we must
always be on the alert. My uneasiness on these points brought me out
here. It is so difficult to get our people, unaccustomed to the
necessities of war, to comprehend and promptly execute the measures
required for the occasion. General Jackson of Georgia commands on the
Monterey line, General Loring on this line, and General Wise, supported
by General Floyd, on the Kanawha line. The soldiers everywhere are sick.
The measles are prevalent throughout the whole army, and you know that
disease leaves unpleasant results, attacks on the lungs, typhoid, etc.,
especially in camp, where accommodations for the sick are poor. I
travelled from Staunton on horseback. A part of the road, as far as
Buffalo Gap, I passed over in the summer of 1840, on my return to St.
Louis, after bringing you home. If any one had then told me that the
next time I travelled that road would have been on my present errand, I
should have supposed him insane. I enjoyed the mountains, as I rode
along. The views are magnificent--the valleys so beautiful, the scenery
so peaceful. What a glorious world Almighty God has given us. How
thankless and ungrateful we are, and how we labour to mar his gifts. I
hope you received my letters from Richmond. Give love to daughter and
Mildred. I did not see Rob as I passed through Charlottesville. He was
at the University and I could not stop.”
A few days later there is another letter:
“Camp at Valley Mountain, August 9, 1861.
“I have been here, dear Mary, three days, coming from Monterey to
Huntersville and thence here. We are on the dividing ridge looking north
down the Tygart’s river valley, whose waters flow into the Monongahela
and South towards the Elk River and Greenbriar, flowing into the
Kanawha. In the valley north of us lie Huttonsville and Beverly,
occupied by our invaders, and the Rich Mountains west, the scene of our
former disaster, and the Cheat Mountains east, their present stronghold,
are in full view.
“The mountains are beautiful, fertile to the tops, covered with the
richest sward of bluegrass and white clover, the inclosed fields
waving with the natural growth of timothy. The inhabitants are few and
population sparse. This is a magnificent grazing country, and all it
needs is labour to clear the mountain-sides of its great growth of
timber. There surely is no lack of moisture at this time. It has rained,
I believe, some portion of every day since I left Staunton. Now it
is pouring, and the wind, having veered around to every point of the
compass, has settled down to the northeast. What that portends in these
regions I do not know. Colonel Washington [John Augustin Washington,
great-nephew of General Washington, and Mt. Vernon’s last owner bearing
that name], Captain Taylor, and myself are in one tent, which as yet
protects us. I have enjoyed the company of Fitzhugh since I have been
here. He is very well and very active, and as yet the war has not
reduced him much. He dined with me yesterday and preserves his fine
appetite. To-day he is out reconnoitering and has the full benefit of
this rain. I fear he is without his overcoat, as I do not recollect
seeing it on his saddle. I told you he had been promoted to a major in
cavalry, and is the commanding cavalry officer on this line at present.
He is as sanguine, cheerful, and hearty as ever. I sent him some
corn-meal this morning and he sent me some butter--a mutual interchange
of good things. There are but few of your acquaintances in this army.
I find here in the ranks of one company Henry Tiffany. The company is
composed principally of Baltimoreans--George Lemmon and Douglas Mercer
are in it. It is a very fine company, well drilled and well instructed.
I find that our friend, J. J. Reynolds, of West Point memory, is
in command of the troops immediately in front of us. He is a
brigadier-general. You may recollect him as the Assistant Professor
of Philosophy, and lived in the cottage beyond the west gate, with
his little, pale-faced wife, a great friend of Lawrence and Markie. He
resigned on being relieved from West Point, and was made professor of
some college in the West. Fitzhugh was the bearer of a flag the other
day, and he recognised him. He was very polite and made inquiries of us
all. I am told they feel very safe and are very confident of success.
Their numbers are said to be large, ranging from 12,000 to 30,000, but
it is impossible for me to get correct information either as to their
strength or position. Our citizens beyond this are all on their side.
Our movements seem to be rapidly communicated to them, while theirs come
to us slowly and indistinctly. I have two regiments here, with others
coming up. I think we shall shut up this road to the Central Railroad
which they strongly threaten. Our supplies come up slowly. We have
plenty of beef and can get some bread. I hope you are well and are
content. I have heard nothing of you or the children since I left
Richmond. You must write there.... The men are suffering from the
measles, etc., as elsewhere, but are cheerful and light-hearted. The
atmosphere, when it is not raining, is delightful. You must give much
love to daughter and ‘Life’ [Pet names for his two daughters, Mary and
Mildred]. I want to see you all very much, but I know not when that
can be. May God guard and protect you all. In Him alone is our hope.
Remember me to Ned [M. Edward Carter Turner, of Kinloch, my father’s
cousin] and all at ‘Kinloch’ and Avenel [The house of the Berbeleys, in
Fauquier County]. Send word to Miss Lou Washington [Eldest daughter
of John Augustin Washington] that her father is sitting on his blanket
sewing the strap on his haversack. I think she out to be here to do it.
Always yours,
“R. E. Lee.”
In a letter to his two daughters who were in Richmond, he writes:
“Valley Mountain, August 29, 1861.
“My Precious Daughters: I have just received your letters of the 24th
and am rejoiced to hear that you are well and enjoying the company of
your friends.... It rains here all the time, literally. There has not
been sunshine enough since my arrival to dry my clothes. Perry [his
servant--had been in the dining-room at Arlington] is my washerman, and
socks and towels suffer. But the worst of the rain is that the ground
has become so saturated with water that the constant travel on the roads
has made them almost impassable, so that I cannot get up sufficient
supplies for the troops to move. It is raining now. Has been all day,
last night, day before, and day before that, etc., etc. But we must be
patient. It is quite cool, too. I have on all my winter clothes and am
writing in my overcoat. All the clouds seem to concentrate over this
ridge of mountains, and by whatever wind they are driven, give us rain.
The mountains are magnificent. The sugar-maples are beginning to turn
already, and the grass is luxuriant.
“‘Richmond’ [His horse] has not been accustomed to such fare or such
treatment. But he gets along tolerably, complains some, and has not much
superfluous flesh. There has been much sickness among the men--measles,
etc.--and the weather has been unfavourable. I hope their attacks are
nearly over, and that they will come out with the sun. Our party has
kept well.... Although we may be too weak to break through the lines, I
feel well satisfied that the enemy cannot at present reach Richmond by
either of these routes, leading to Staunton, Milborough or Covington.
He must find some other way.... God Bless you, my children, and preserve
you from all harm is the constant prayer of
“Your devoted father,
“R. E. Lee.”
On account of rheumatism, my mother was anxious to go to the Hot
Springs in Bath County. She was now staying at “Audley,” Clarke County,
Virginia, with Mrs. Lorenzo Lewis, who had just sent her six sons into
the army. Bath County was not very far from the seat of war in western
Virginia, and my father was asked as to the safety of the Hot Springs
from occupation by the enemy. He writes as follows to my mother:
“Valley Mountain, September 1, 1861.
“I have received, dearest Mary, your letter of August 18th from Audley,
and am very glad to get news of your whereabouts.... I am very glad you
are enabled to see so many of your friends. I hope you have found all
well in your tour, and am very glad that our cousin Esther bears the
separation from all her sons so bravely. I have no doubt they will
do good service in our Southern cause, and wish they could be placed
according to their fancies.... I fear you have postponed your visit
to the Hot too late. It must be quite cold there now, judging from the
temperature here, and it has been raining in these mountains since July
24th.... I see Fitzhugh quite often, though he is encamped four miles
from me. He is very well and not at all harmed by the campaign.
“We have a great deal of sickness among the soldiers, and now those
on the sick-list would form an army. The measles is still among them,
though I hope it is dying out. But it is a disease which though light
in childhood is severe in manhood, and prepares the system for other
attacks. The constant cold rains, with no shelter but tents, have
aggravated it. All these drawbacks, with impassable roads, have
paralysed our efforts. Still I think you will be safe at the Hot, for
the present. We are right up to the enemy on three lines, and in the
Kanawha he has been pushed beyond the Gauley.... My poor little Rob I
never hear from scarcely. He is busy, I suppose, and knows not where to
direct....
“With much affection,
“R. E. Lee.”
From the same camp, to my mother, on September 9th:
“...I hope from the tone of your letter that you feel better, and wish I
could see you and be with you. I trust we may meet this fall somewhere,
if only for a little time. I have written to Robert telling him if,
after considering what I have previously said to him on the subject of
his joining the company he desires under Major Ross, he still thinks it
best for him to do so, I will not withhold my consent. It seems he will
be eighteen; I thought seventeen. I am unable to judge for him and he
must decide for himself. In reply to a recent letter from him to me on
the same subject, I said to him all I could. I pray God to bring him
to the right conclusion.... For military news, I must refer you to the
papers. You will see there more than ever occurs, and what does occur
the relation must be taken with some allowance. Do not believe anything
you see about me. There has been no battle, only skirmishing with
the outposts, and nothing done of any moment. The weather is still
unfavourable to us. The roads, or rather tracks of mud, are almost
impassable and the number of sick large....
“Truly and devotedly yours,
“R. E. Lee.”
My mother was at the Hot Springs--I had taken her there and was with
her. I don’t now remember why, but it was decided that I should return
to the University of Virginia, which opened October 1st, and continue my
course there. While at the Springs my mother received this letter from
my father:
“Valley Mount, September 17, 1861.
“I received, dear Mary, your letter of the 5th by Beverly Turner [A son
of Mr. Edward Turner, of ‘Kinloch’], who is a nice young soldier. I am
pained to see find young men like him, of education and standing, from
all the old and respectable families in the State, serving in the
ranks. I hope in time they will receive their reward. I met him as I was
returning from an expedition to the enemy’s works, which I had hoped to
have surprised on the morning of the 12th, both at Cheat Mountain and
on Valley River. All the attacking parties with great labour had reached
their destination, over mountains considered impassable to bodies of
troops, notwithstanding a heavy storm that set in the day before and
raged all night, in which they had to stand up till daylight. Their arms
were then unserviceable, and they in poor condition for a fierce assault
against artillery and superior numbers. After waiting till 10 o’clock
for the assault on Cheat Mountain, which did not take place, and which
was to have been the signal for the rest, they were withdrawn, and,
after waiting three days in front of the enemy, hoping he would come out
of his trenches, we returned to our position at this place. I can not
tell you my regret and mortification at the untoward events that caused
the failure of the plan. I had taken every precaution to ensure success
and counted on it, but the Ruler of the Universe willed otherwise and
sent a storm to disconcert a well-laid plan, and to destroy my hopes.
We are no worse off now than before, except the disclosure of our plan,
against which they will guard. We met with one heavy loss which grieves
me deeply: Colonel Washington accompanied Fitzhugh on a reconnoitering
expedition, and I fear they were carried away by their zeal and
approached the enemy’s pickets. The first they knew was a volley from a
concealed party within a few yards of them. Their balls passed through
the Colonel’s body, then struck Fitzhugh’s horse, and the horse of one
of the men was killed. Fitzhugh mounted the Colonel’s horse and brought
him off. I am much grieved. He was always anxious to go on these
expeditions. This was the first day I assented. Since I had been thrown
into such intimate relations with him, I had learned to appreciate him
very highly. Morning and evening have I seen him on his knees praying to
his Maker.
“‘The righteous perisheth and no man layeth it to heart, and merciful
men are taken away, none considering that the righteous is taken away
from the evil to come.’ May God have mercy on us all! I suppose you are
at the Hot Springs and will direct to you there. Our poor sick, I know,
suffer much. They bring it on themselves by not doing what they are
told. They are worse than children, for the latter can be forced....
“Truly yours,
“R. E. Lee.”
On the same day he wrote the Governor of Virginia:
“Valley Mountain, September 17, 1861.
“My Dear Governor: I received your very kind note of the 5th instant,
just as I was about to accompany General Loring’s command on an
expedition to the enemy’s works in front, or I would have before thanked
you for the interest you take in my welfare, and your too flattering
expressions of my ability. Indeed, you overrate me much, and I feel
humbled when I weigh myself by your standard. I am, however, very
grateful for your confidence, and I can answer for my sincerity in the
earnest endeavour I make to advance the cause I have so much at heart,
though conscious of the slow progress I make. I was very sanguine of
taking the enemy’s works on last Thursday morning. I had considered the
subject well. With great effort the troops intended for the surprise
had reached their destination, having traversed twenty miles of steep,
rugged mountain paths; and the last day through a terrible storm, which
lasted all night, and in which they had to stand drenched to the skin in
cold rain. Still, their spirits were good. When morning broke, I could
see the enemy’s tents on Valley River, at the point on the Huttonsville
road just below me. It was a tempting sight. We waited for the attack on
Cheat Mountain, which was to be the signal. Till 10 A. M. the men were
cleaning their unserviceable arms. But the signal did not come. All
chance for a surprise was gone. The provisions of the men had been
destroyed the preceding day by the storm. They had nothing to eat
that morning, could not hold out another day, and were obliged to be
withdrawn. The party sent to Cheat Mountain to take that in rear had
also to be withdrawn. The attack to come off the east side failed from
the difficulties in the way; the opportunity was lost, and our plan
discovered. It is a grievous disappointment to me, I assure you, but for
the rain-storm, I have no doubt it would have succeeded. This, Governor,
is for your own eye. Please do not speak of it; we must try again. Our
greatest loss is the death of my dear friend, Colonel Washington. He and
my son were reconnoitering the front of the enemy. They came unawares
upon a concealed party, who fired upon them within twenty yards, and
the Colonel fell pierced by three balls. My son’s horse received three
shots, but he escaped on the Colonel’s horse. His zeal for the cause to
which he had devoted himself carried him, I fear, too far. We took some
seventy prisoners, and killed some twenty-five or thirty of the
enemy. Our loss was small besides what I have mentioned. Our greatest
difficulty is the roads. It has been raining in these mountains about
six weeks. It is impossible to get along. It is that which has paralysed
all our efforts. With sincere thanks for your good wishes,
“I am very truly yours,
“R. E. Lee.
“His Excellency, Governor John Letcher.”
Chapter III -- Letters to Wife and Daughters
From Camp on Sewell’s Mountain--Quotation from Colonel Taylor’s
book--From Professor Wm. P. Trent--From Mr. Davis’s Memorial
Address--Defense of Southern ports--Christmas, 1861--The General visits
his father’s grave--Commands, under the President, all the armies of the
Confederate States
The season being too far advanced to attempt any further movements away
from our base of supplies, and the same reasons preventing any advance
of the Federal forces, the campaign in this part of Virginia ended for
the winter. In the Kanawha Valley, however, the enemy had been and were
quite active. Large reinforcements under General Rosecrans were sent
there to assist General Cox, the officer in command at that point.
General Loring, leaving a sufficient force to watch the enemy at Cheat
Mountain, moved the rest of his army to join the commands of Generals
Floyd and Wise, who were opposing the advance of Cox. General Lee, about
September 20th, reached General Floyd’s camp, and immediately proceeded
to arrange the lines of defense. Shortly after his arrival there he
wrote to my mother at the Hot Springs:
“Camp on Sewell’s Mountain,
“September 26, 1881.
“I have just received, dear Mary, your letter of the 17th and 19th
instants, with one from Robert. I have but little time for writing
to-night, and will, therefore, write to you.... Having now disposed
of business matters, I will say how glad I am to hear from you, and to
learn that you have reached the Hot in safety, with daughter and Rob. I
pray that its healing waters may benefit you all. I am glad to hear of
Charlotte and the girls, and hope all will go well with them. I infer
you received my letter before leaving Valley Mountain, though you did
not direct your letter ‘via Lewisburg, Greenbrier County,’ and hence its
delay. I told you of the death of Colonel Washington. I grieve for his
loss, though trust him to the mercy of our Heavenly Father. May He have
mercy on us all.
“It is raining heavily. The men are all exposed on the mountain, with
the enemy opposite to us. We are without tents, and for two nights I
have lain buttoned up in my overcoat. To-day my tent came up and I am in
it. Yet I fear I shall not sleep for thinking of the poor men. I wrote
about socks for myself. I have no doubt the yarn ones you mention will
be very acceptable to the men here or elsewhere. If you can send them
here, I will distribute them to the most needy. Tell Rob I could not
write to him for want of time. My heart is always with you and my
children. May God guard and bless you all is the constant prayer of
“Your devoted husband,
“R. E. Lee.”
To my mother, still at the Hot Springs:
“Sewell’s Mountain, October 7, 1861.
“I received, dear Mary, your letter by Doctor Quintard, with the cotton
socks. Both were very acceptable, though the latter I have not yet
tried. At the time of their reception the enemy was threatening an
attack, which was continued till Saturday night, when under cover of
darkness we suddenly withdrew. Your letter of the 2d, with the yarn
socks, four pairs, was handed to me when I was preparing to follow, and
I could not at the time attend to either. But I have since, and as I
found Perry in desperate need, I bestowed a couple of pairs on him, as
a present from you, the others I have put in my trunk and suppose they
will fall to the lot of Meredith [His cook--a servant from the White
House], into the state of whose hose I have not yet inquired. Should any
sick man require them first, he shall have them, but Meredith will
have no one near to supply him but me, and will naturally expect that
attention. I hope, dear Mary, you and daughter, as well as poor little
Rob, have derived some benefit from the sanitary baths of the Hot. What
does daughter intend to do during the winter? And, indeed, what do you?
It is time you were determining. There is no prospect of your returning
to Arlington. I think you had better select some comfortable place in
the Carolinas or Georgia, and all board together. If Mildred goes to
school at Raleigh, why not go there? It is a good opportunity to try a
warmer climate for your rheumatism. If I thought our enemies would not
make a vigorous move against Richmond, I would recommend to rent a house
there. But under these circumstances I would not feel as if you were
permanently located if there. I am ignorant where I shall be. In the
field somewhere, I suspect, so I have little hope of being with you,
though I hope to be able to see you.... I heard from Fitzhugh the other
day. He is well, though his command is greatly reduced by sickness. I
wished much to bring him with me; but there is too much cavalry on this
line now, and I am dismounting them. I could not, therefore, order more.
The weather is almost as bad here as in the mountains I left. There was
a drenching rain yesterday, and as I had left my overcoat in camp I was
thoroughly wet from head to foot. It has been raining ever since and is
now coming down with a will. But I have my clothes out on the bushes and
they will be well washed.
“The force of the enemy, by a few prisoners captured yesterday and
civilians on the road, is put down from 17,000 to 20,000. Some went as
high as 22,000. General Floyd thinks 18,000. I do not think it exceeds
9,000 or 10,000, though it exceeds ours. I wish he had attacked us, as
I believe he would have been repulsed with great loss. His plan was to
attack us at all points at the same time. The rumbling of his wheels,
etc., was heard by our pickets, but as that was customary at night in
the moving and placing of his cannon, the officer of the day to whom it
was reported paid no particular attention to it, supposing it to be a
preparation for attack in the morning. When day appeared, the bird had
flown, and the misfortune was that the reduced condition of our horses
for want of provender, exposure to cold rains in these mountains,
and want of provisions for the men prevented the vigorous pursuit and
following up that was proper. We can only get up provisions from day to
day--which paralyses our operations.
“I am sorry, as you say, that the movements of the armies cannot keep
pace with the expectations of the editors of papers. I know they can
regulate matters satisfactorily to themselves on paper. I wish they
could do so in the field. No one wishes them more success than I do and
would be happy to see them have full swing. I hope something will be
done to please them. Give much love to the children and everybody, and
believe me.
“Always yours,
“R. E. Lee.”
Colonel Taylor, in his “Four Years with General Lee,” says:
“We had now reached the latter days of October. The lateness of the
season and the condition of the roads precluded the idea of earnest,
aggressive operations, and the campaign in western Virginia was
virtually concluded.
“Judged from its results, it must be confessed that this series of
operations was a failure. At its conclusion, a large portion of the
State was in possession of the Federals, including the rich valleys of
the Ohio and Kanawha rivers, and so remained until the close of the war.
For this, however, General Lee cannot reasonably be held accountable.
Disaster had befallen the Confederate arms, and the worst had been
accomplished before he had reached the theatre of operations; the
Alleghanies there constituted the dividing line between the hostile
forces, and in this network of mountains, sterile and rendered
absolutely impracticable by a prolonged season of rain, Nature had
provided an insurmountable barrier to operations in this transmontane
country.... It was doubtless because of similar embarrassments that the
Federal general retired, in the face of inferior numbers, to a point
near his base of supplies.”
Professor William P. Trent, in his “Robert E. Lee,” after describing
briefly the movements of the contending armies, writes:
“There was, then, nothing to do but to acknowledge the campaign a
failure. The Confederate Government withdrew its troops and sent them
elsewhere. Lee, whom the press abused and even former friends began to
regard as overrated, was assigned to command the Department of South
Carolina, Georgia, and Florida; and her western counties were lost to
the Old Dominion forever. It must have been a crushing blow to Lee at
the time, but he bore it uncomplainingly.... And when all is said, no
commander, however great, can succeed against bad roads, bad weather,
sickness of troops, lack of judgement and harmony among subordinates,
and a strong, alert enemy. Yet this is what Lee was expected to do.”
Mr. Davis, in an address before a memorial meeting at Richmond in 1870,
speaking of General Lee in this campaign, said:
“He came back, carrying the heavy weight of defeat, and unappreciated by
the people whom he served, for they could not know, as I knew, that, if
his plans and orders had been carried out, the result would have been
victory rather than retreat. You did not know it; for I should not have
known it had he not breathed it in my ear only at my earnest request,
and begging that nothing be said about it. The clamour which then arose
followed him when he went to South Carolina, so that it became necessary
on his departure to write a letter to the Governor of that State,
telling him what manner of man he was. Yet, through all this, with a
magnanimity rarely equalled, he stood in silence, without defending
himself or allowing others to defend him, for he was unwilling to offend
any one who was wearing a sword and striking blows for the Confederacy.”
After returning to Richmond, my father resumed his position as advisor
and counsellor to Mr. Davis. From there he writes to my mother, who had
left the Hot Springs and gone on to “Shirley,” on James River:
“Richmond, November 5, 1861.
“My Dear Mary: I received last night your letter of the 2d, and would
have answered it at once, but was detained with the Secretary till after
11 P. M. I fear now I may miss the mail. Saturday evening I tried to
get down to you to spend Sunday, but could find no government boat going
down, and the passenger boats all go in the morning. I then went to
the stable and got out my horse, but it was near night then and I was
ignorant both of the road and distance and I gave it up. I was obliged
to be here Monday, and as it would have consumed all Sunday to go and
come, I have remained for better times. The President said I could
not go to-day, so I must see what can be done to-morrow. I will come,
however, wherever you are, either Shirley or the White House, as soon as
possible, and if not sooner, Saturday at all events.... I am, as ever,
Yours,
“R. E. Lee.”
The day after this letter was written, my father was ordered to South
Carolina for the purpose of directing and supervising the construction
of a line of defense along the southern coast. I give here several
letters to members of his family which tell of his duties and manner of
life:
“Savannah, November 18, 1861.
“My Dear Mary: This is the first moment I have had to write to you,
and now am waiting the call to breakfast, on my way to Brunswick,
Fernandina, etc. This is my second visit to Savannah. Night before last,
I returned to Coosawhatchie, South Carolina, from Charleston, where I
have placed my headquarters, and last night came here, arriving after
midnight. I received in Charleston your letter from Shirley. It was a
grievous disappointment to me not to have seen you, but better times
will come, I hope.... You probably have seen the operations of the
enemy’s fleet. Since their first attack they have been quiescent
apparently, confining themselves to Hilton Head, where they are
apparently fortifying.
“I have no time for more. Love to all.
“Yours very affectionately and truly,
“R. E. Lee.”
“Charleston, November 15, 1861.
“My Precious Daughter: I have received your letter forwarded to Richmond
by Mr. Powell, and I also got, while in the West, the letter sent by B.
Turner. I can write but seldom, but your letters always give me great
pleasure. I am glad you had such a pleasant visit to ‘Kinloch.’ I have
passed a great many pleasant days there myself in my young days. Now
you must labour at your books and gain knowledge and wisdom. Do not mind
what Rob says. I have a beautiful white beard. It is much admired. At
least, much remarked on. You know I have told you not to believe what
the young men tell you. I was unable to see your poor mother when in
Richmond. Before I could get down I was sent off here. Another forlorn
hope expedition. Worse than West Virginia.... I have much to do in this
country. I have been to Savannah and have to go again. The enemy is
quiet after his conquest of Port Royal Harbor and his whole fleet is
lying there. May God guard and protect you, my dear child, prays your
“Affectionate father,
“R. E. Lee.”
The above letter was written to his youngest daughter Mildred, who was
at school in Winchester, Virginia. Two of my sisters were in King George
County, Virginia, at “Clydale,” the summer home of Dr. Richard Stuart,
with whose family we had been a long time intimate. From there they
had driven to “Stratford,” in Westmoreland County, about thirty miles
distant, where my father was born. They had written him of this trip,
and this is his reply:
“Savannah, November 22, 1861.
“My Darling Daughters: I have just received your joint letter of October
24th from ‘Clydale.’ It was very cheering to me, and the affection and
sympathy you expressed were very grateful to my feelings. I wish indeed
I could see you, be with you, and never again part from you. God only
can give me that happiness. I pray for it night and day. But my prayers
I know are not worthy to be heard. I received your former letter in
western Virginia, but had no opportunity to reply to it. I enjoyed it,
nevertheless. I am glad you do not wait to hear from me, as that would
deprive me of the pleasure of hearing from you often. I am so pressed
with business. I am much pleased at your description of Stratford and
your visit. It is endeared to me by many recollections, and it has been
always a great desire of my life to be able to purchase it. Now that we
have no other home, and the one we so loved has been foully polluted,
the desire is stronger with me than ever. The horse-chestnut you mention
in the garden was planted by my mother. I am sorry the vault is so
dilapidated. You did not mention the spring, on of the objects of my
earliest recollections. I am very glad, my precious Agnes, that you
have become so early a riser. It is a good habit, and in these times for
mighty works advantage should be taken of every hour. I much regretted
being obliged to come from Richmond without seeing your poor mother....
This is my second visit to Savannah. I have been down the coast to
Amelia Island to examine the defenses. They are poor indeed, and I have
laid off work enough to employ our people a month. I hope our enemy will
be polite enough to wait for us. It is difficult to get our people to
realise their position.... Good-bye, my dear daughters.
“Your affectionate father,
“R. E. Lee.”
To his daughter Annie:
“Coosawhatchie, South Carolina, December 8, 1861.
“My Precious Annie: I have taken the only quiet time I have been able to
find on this holy day to thank you for your letter of the 29th ulto. One
of the miseries of war is that there is no Sabbath, and the current of
work and strife has no cessation. How can we be pardoned for all our
offenses! I am glad that you have joined your mamma again and that some
of you are together at last. It would be a great happiness to me were
you all at some quiet place, remote from the vicissitudes of war,
where I could consider you safe. You must have had a pleasant time at
‘Clydale.’ I hope indeed that ‘Cedar Grove’ may be saved from the ruin
and pillage that other places have received at the hands of our enemies,
who are pursuing the same course here as the have practised elsewhere.
Unfortunately, too, the numerous deep estuaries, all accessible to their
ships, expose the multitude of islands to their predatory excursions,
and what they leave is finished by the negroes whose masters have
deserted their plantations, subject to visitations of the enemy. I am
afraid Cousin Julia [Mrs. Richard Stuart] will not be able to defend
her home if attacked by the vandals, for they have little respect for
anybody, and if they catch the Doctor [Doctor Richard Stuart] they
will certainly send him to Fort Warren or La Fayette. I fear, too, the
Yankees will bear off their pretty daughters. I am very glad you visited
‘Chatham’ [the home of the Fitzhughs, where my grandmother Custis was
born]. I was there many years ago, when it was the residence of Judge
Coulter, and some of the avenues of poplar, so dear to your grandmama,
still existed. I presume they have all gone now. The letter that you and
Agnes wrote from ‘Clydale’ I replied to and sent to that place. You know
I never have any news. I am trying to get a force to make headway on our
defenses, but it comes in very slow. The people do not seem to realise
that there is a war.
“It is very warm here, if that is news, and as an evidence I inclose
some violets I plucked in the yard of a deserted house I occupy. I wish
I could see you and give them in person.... Good-bye, my precious child.
Give much love to everybody, and believe me,
“Your affectionate father,
“R. E. Lee.”
From the same place, on December 2d, he writes to my mother:
“I received last night, dear Mary, your letter of the 12th, and
am delighted to learn that you are all well and so many of you are
together. I am much pleased that Fitzhugh has an opportunity to be with
you all and will not be so far removed from his home in his new field
of action. I hope to see him at the head of a find regiment and that he
will be able to do good service in the cause of his country. If Mary and
Rob get to you Christmas, you will have quite a family party, especially
if Fitzhugh is not obliged to leave his home and sweet wife before that
time. I shall think of you all on that holy day more intensely than
usual, and shall pray to the great God of Heaven to shower His blessings
upon you in this world, and to unite you all in His courts in the world
to come. With a grateful heart I thank Him for His preservation thus
far, and trust to His mercy and kindness for the future. Oh, that I were
more worthy, more thankful for all He has done and continues to do for
me! Perry and Meredith [his two coloured servants] send their respects
to all....
“Truly and affectionately,
“R. E. Lee.”
From the same place, on Christmas Day, he writes to my mother:
“I cannot let this day of grateful rejoicing pass, dear Mary, without
some communication with you. I am thankful for the many among the past
that I have passed with you, and the remembrance of them fills me with
pleasure. For those on which we have been separated we must not repine.
Now we must be content with the many blessings we receive. If we can
only become sensible of our transgressions, so as to be fully penitent
and forgiven, that this heavy punishment under which we labour may
with justice be removed from us and the whole nation, what a gracious
consummation of all that we have endured it will be!
“I hope you had a pleasant visit to Richmond.... If you were to see this
place, I think you would have it, too. I am here but little myself. The
days I am not here I visit some point exposed to the enemy, and after
our dinner at early candle-light, am engaged in writing till eleven or
twelve o’clock at night.... AS to our old home, if not destroyed, it
will be difficult ever to be recognised. Even if the enemy had wished
to preserve it, it would almost have been impossible. With the number
of troops encamped around it, the change of officers, etc., the want of
fuel, shelter, etc., and all the dire necessities of war, it is vain
to think of its being in a habitable condition. I fear, too, books,
furniture, and the relics of Mount Vernon will be gone. It is better
to make up our minds to a general loss. They cannot take away the
remembrance of the spot, and the memories of those that to us rendered
it sacred. That will remain to us as long as life will last, and that
we can preserve. In the absence of a home, I wish I could purchase
‘Stratford.’ That is the only other place that I could go to, now
accessible to us, that would inspire me with feelings of pleasure and
local love. You and the girls could remain there in quiet. It is a poor
place, but we could make enough cornbread and bacon for our support, and
the girls could weave us clothes. I wonder if it is for sale and at how
much. Ask Fitzhugh to try to find out, when he gets to Fredericksburg.
You must not build your hopes on peace on account of the United States
going into a war with England [on account of the Trent affair]. She will
be very loath to do that, notwithstanding the bluster of the Northern
papers. Her rulers are not entirely mad, and if they find England is
in earnest, and that war or a restitution of their captives must be the
consequence, they will adopt the latter. We must make up our minds to
fight our battles and win our independence alone. No one will help
us. We require no extraneous aid, if true to ourselves. But we must be
patient. It is not a light achievement and cannot be accomplished at
once.... I wrote a few days since, giving you all the news, and have now
therefore nothing to relate. The enemy is still quiet and increasing in
strength. We grow in size slowly but are working hard. I have had a day
of labour instead of rest, and have written intervals to some of the
children. I hope they are with you, and inclose my letters....
“Affectionately and truly,
“R. E. Lee.”
In the next letter to my mother he describes a visit to the grave of
his father at Dungeness, on Cumberland Island, Georgia. Dungeness
was presented to General Nathaniel Green by the State of Georgia for
services rendered her in the Revolution. General Henry Lee, returning
from the West Indies, where he had been for some months on account of
his health, landed there, and in a few days died, March 15, 1818. He
was most kindly cared for by the daughter of his old commander, and
was buried there in the garden of Dungeness. At the time of my father’s
visit the place belonged to a great-nephew of General Green, Mr.
Nightingale.
“Coosawhatchie, South Carolina, January 18, 1862.
“On my return, day before yesterday, from Florida, dear Mary, I received
your letter of the 1st inst. I am very glad to find that you had a
pleasant family meeting Christmas, and that it was so large. I am truly
grateful for all the mercies we enjoy, notwithstanding the miseries of
war, and join heartily in the wish that the next year may find us
at peace with all the world. I am delighted to hear that our little
grandson [his first grandchild--son of my brother Fitzhugh. He died in
1863] is improving so fast and is becoming such a perfect gentleman. May
his path be strewn with flowers and his life with happiness. I am very
glad to hear also that his dear papa is promoted. It will be gratifying
to him and increase, I hope, his means of usefulness. Robert wrote me he
saw him on his way through Charlottesville with his squadron, and that
he was well. While at Fernandina I went over to Cumberland Island and
walked up to ‘Dungeness,’ the former residence of General Green. It was
my first visit to the house, and I had the gratification at length of
visiting my father’s grave. He died there, you may recollect, on his
way from the West Indies, and was interred in one corner of the family
cemetery. The spot is marked by a plain marble slab, with his name, age,
and her daughter, Mrs. Shaw, and her husband. The place is at present
owned by Mr. Nightingale, nephew of Mrs. Shaw, who married a daughter
of Mr. James King. The family have moved into the interior of Georgia,
leaving only a few servants and a white gardener on the place. The
garden was beautiful, inclosed by the finest hedge I have ever seen. It
was of the wild olive, which, in Mrs. Shaw’s lifetime, during my tour of
duty in Savannah in early life, was so productive, had been destroyed
by an insect that has proved fatal to the orange on the coast of Georgia
and Florida. There was a fine grove of olives, from which, I learn, Mr.
Nightingale procures oil. The garden was filled with roses and beautiful
vines, the names of which I do not know. Among them was the tomato-vine
in full bearing, with the ripe fruit on it. There has yet been no frost
in that region of country this winter. I went in the dining-room and
parlour, in which the furniture still remained.... The house has never
been finished, but is a fine, large one and beautifully located. A
magnificent grove of live-oaks envelops the road from the landing to the
house.... Love to everybody and God bless you all.
“Truly and faithfully yours,
“R. E. Lee.”
From the same place there is another letter to my mother:
“Coosawhatchie, South Carolina, January 28, 1862.
“I have just returned from Charleston, and received your letter of the
14th, dear Mary.... I was called to Charleston by the appearance off the
bar of a fleet of vessels the true character and intent of which could
not be discerned during the continuance of the storm which obscured the
view. Saturday, however, all doubt was dispelled, and from the beach on
Sullivan’s Island the preparations for sinking them were plainly seen.
Twenty-one were visible the first day of my arrival, but at the end
of the storm, Saturday, only seventeen were seen. Five of these were
vessels of war: what became of the other four is not known. The twelve
old merchantmen were being stripped of their spars, masts, etc., and by
sunset seven were prepared apparently for sinking across the mouth of
the Maffitt Channel, they were placed in a line about two hundred yards
apart, about four miles from Fort Moultrie. They will do but little harm
to the channel, I think, but may deter vessels from running out at
night for fear of getting on them. There now seem to be indications of a
movement against Savannah. The enemy’s gunboats are pushing up the creek
to cut off communication between the city and Fort Pulaski on Cockspur
Island. Unless I have better news, I must go there to-day. There are so
many points of attack, and so little means to meet them on the water,
that there is but little rest.... Perry and Meredith are well and send
regards to everybody....
“Very truly and sincerely yours,
“R. E. Lee.”
It was most important that the defenses of Charleston and Savannah
should be made as strong as possible. The difficulties in the way were
many and great, but General Lee’s perseverance overcame most of them.
The result was that neither of those cities fell till the close of the
war, and a region of country was preserved to the Confederacy
necessary for the feeding of its armies. Of course all of this was not
accomplished by my father alone in the four months he was there; but the
plans of defense he laid down were successfully followed.
While in Savannah, he writes to my mother:
“Savannah, February 8, 1862.
“I wrote to you, dear Mary, the day I left Coosawhatchie for this place.
I have been here ever since, endeavouring to push forward the work for
the defense of the city, which has lagged terribly and which ought to
have been finished. But it is difficult to arouse ourselves from ease
and comfort to labour and self-denial.
“Guns are scarce, as well as ammunition, and I shall have to break up
batteries on the coast to provide, I fear, for this city. Our enemies
are endeavouring to work their way through the creeks that traverse
the impassable marshes stretching along the interior of the coast and
communicating with the sounds and sea, through which the Savannah flows,
and thus avoid the entrance of the river commanded by Fort Pulaski.
Their boats require only seven feet of water to float them, and the tide
rises seven feet, so that at high water they can work their way and rest
on the mud at low. They are also provided with dredges and appliances
for removing obstructions through the creeks in question, which cannot
be guarded by batteries. I hope, however, we shall be able to stop them,
and I daily pray to the Giver of all victories to enable us to do so....
I trust you are all well and doing well, and wish I could do anything to
promote either. I have more here than I can do, and more, I fear, than I
can well accomplish. It is so very hard to get anything done, and while
all wish well and mean well, it is so different to get them to act
energetically and promptly.... The news from Kentucky and Tennessee is
not favourable, but we must make up our minds to meet with reverses and
overcome them. I hope God will at last crown our efforts with success.
But the contest must be long and severe, and the whole country has to go
through much suffering. It is necessary we should be humbled and taught
to be less boastful, less selfish, and more devoted to right and justice
to all the world.... Always yours,
“R. E. Lee.”
To my mother:
“Savannah, February 23, 1862.
“I have been wishing, dear Mary, to write to you for more than a week,
but every day and every hour seem so taken up that I have found it
impossible.... The news from Tennessee and North Carolina is not all
cheering, and disasters seem to be thickening around us. It calls for
renewed energies and redoubled strength on our part, and, I hope, will
produce it. I fear our soldiers have not realised the necessity for the
endurance and labour they are called upon to undergo, and that it is
better to sacrifice themselves than our cause. God, I hope, will shield
us and give us success. Here the enemy is progressing slowly in his
designs, and does not seem prepared, or to have determined when or
where to make his attack. His gunboats are pushing up all the creeks and
marshes of the Savannah, and have attained a position so near the river
as to shell the steamers navigating it. None have as yet been struck. I
am engaged in constructing a line of defense at Fort Jackson which, if
time permits and guns can be obtained, I hope will keep them out. They
can bring such overwhelming force in all their movements that it has the
effect to demoralise our new troops. The accounts given in the papers of
the quantity of cotton shipped to New York are, of course, exaggerated.
It is cotton in the seed and dirt, and has to be ginned and cleaned
after its arrival. It is said that the negroes are employed in picking
and collecting it, and are paid a certain amount. But all these things
are gathered from rumour, and can only be believed as they appear
probable, which this seems to be.... I went yesterday to church, being
the day appointed for fasting and prayer. I wish I could have passed it
more devoutly. The bishop (Elliott) gave a most beautiful prayer for the
President, which I hope may be heard and answered.... Here the yellow
jasmine, red-bud, orange-tree, etc., perfume the whole woods, and the
japonicas and azaleas cover the garden. Perry and Meredith are well. May
God bless and keep you always is the constant prayer of your husband,
“R. E. Lee.”
To his daughter Annie:
“Savannah, March 2, 1862.
“My Precious Annie: It has been a long time since I have written to
you, but you have been constantly in my thoughts. I think of you all,
separately and collectively, in the busy hours of the day and the silent
hours of the night, and the recollection of each and every one whiles
away the long night, in which my anxious thoughts drive away sleep. But
I always feel that you and Agnes at those times are sound asleep, and
that is immaterial to either where the blockaders are or what their
progress is in the river. I hope you are all well, and as happy as
you can be in these perilous times to our country. They look dark at
present, and it is plain we have not suffered enough, laboured enough,
repented enough, to deserve success. But they will brighten after
awhile, and I trust that a merciful God will arouse us to a sense of our
danger, bless our honest efforts, and drive back our enemies to their
homes. Our people have not been earnest enough, have thought too much
of themselves and their ease, and instead of turning out to a man,
have been content to nurse themselves and their dimes, and leave the
protection of themselves and families to others. To satisfy their
consciences, they have been clamorous in criticising what others have
done, and endeavoured to prove that they ought to do nothing. This is
not the way to accomplish our independence. I have been doing all I can
with our small means and slow workmen to defend the cities and coast
here. Against ordinary numbers we are pretty strong, but against the
hosts our enemies seem able to bring everywhere there is no calculating.
But if our men will stand to their work, we shall give them trouble and
damage them yet. They have worked their way across the marshes, with
their dredges, under cover of their gunboats, to the Savannah River,
about Fort Pulaski. I presume they will endeavour to reduce the fort and
thus open a way for their vessels up the river. But we have an interior
line they must force before reaching the city. It is on this line we are
working, slowly to my anxious mind, but as fast as I can drive them....
Good-bye, my dear child. May God bless you and our poor country.
“Your devoted father,
“R. E. Lee.”
Soon after this letter was written my father was recalled to Richmond,
“and was assigned on the 13th of March, under the direction of the
President, to the conduct of the military operations of all the armies
of the Confederate States” [“Four Years with General Lee”]. My mother
was still at the White House, my brother’s place on the Pamunkey, and
there my father wrote to her:
“Richmond, March 14, 1862.
“My Dear Mary: I have been trying all the week to write to you, but have
not been able. I have been placed on duty here to conduct operations
under the direction of the President. It will give me great pleasure to
do anything I can to relieve him and serve the country, but I do not see
either advantage or pleasure in my duties. But I will not complain, but
do my best. I do not see at present either that it will enable me to see
much more of you. In the present condition of affairs no one can foresee
what may happen, nor in my judgement is it advisable for any one to make
arrangements with a view to permanency or pleasure. The presence of some
one at the White House is necessary as long as practicable. How long it
will be practicable for you an Charlotte to remain there I cannot say.
The enemy is pushing us back in all directions, and how far he will be
successful depends much upon our efforts and the mercy of Providence. I
shall, in all human probability, soon have to take the field, so for
the present I think things had better remain as they are. Write me your
views. If you think it best for you to come to Richmond I can soon make
arrangements for your comfort and shall be very glad of your company and
presence. We have experienced a great affliction both in our private and
public relations. Our good and noble Bishop Meade died last night. He
was very anxious to see you, sent you his love and kindest remembrances,
and had I known in time yesterday I should have sent expressly for you
to come up. But I did not know of his wish or condition till after the
departure of the cars yesterday. Between 6 and 7 P. M. yesterday he sent
for me, said he wished to bid me good-bye, and to give me his blessing,
which he did in the most affecting manner. Called me Robert and reverted
to the time I used to say the catechism to him. He invoked the blessing
of God upon me and the country. He spoke with difficulty and pain, but
was perfectly calm and clear. His hand was then cold and pulseless, yet
he shook mine warmly. ‘I ne’er shall look upon his like again.’ He
died during the night. I presume the papers of to-morrow will tell you
all....
“Very truly and sincerely,
“R. E. Lee.”
The next day he again writes to my mother.
“Richmond, March 15, 1861.
“My Dear Mary: I wrote you yesterday by mail. On returning to my
quarters last night after 11 P. M. Custis informed me Robert had
arrived and had made up his mind to go into the army. He stayed at
the Spottswood, and this morning I went with him to get his overcoat,
blankets, etc. There is great difficulty in procuring what is good.
They all have to be made, and he has gone to the office of the
adjutant-general of Virginia to engage in the service. God grant it may
be for his good as He has permitted it. I must be resigned. I told him
of the exemption granted by the Secretary of War to the professors and
students of the university, but he expressed no desire to take advantage
of it. It would be useless for him to go, if he did not improve himself,
nor would I wish him to go merely for exemption. As I have done all in
the matter that seems proper and right, I must now leave the rest in the
hands of our merciful God. I hope our son will do his duty and make a
good soldier.... I had expected yesterday to go to North Carolina this
morning, but the President changed his mind. I should like to go to see
you to-morrow, but in the present condition of things do not feel that I
ought to be absent.... I may have to go to North Carolina or Norfolk
yet. New Berne, N. C., has fallen into the hands of the enemy. In
Arkansas our troops under Van Dorn have had a hard battle, but nothing
decisive gained. Four generals killed--McIntosh, McCullogh, Herbert, and
Slack. General Price wounded. Loss on both sides said to be heavy....
“Very truly yours,
“R. E. Lee.”
Chapter IV -- Army Life of Robert the Younger
Volunteer in Rockbridge Artillery--“Four Years with General Lee”
quoted--Meeting between father and son--Personal characteristics of the
General--Death of his daughter Annie--His son Robert raised from
the ranks--the horses, “Grace Darling” and
“Traveller”--Fredricksburg--Freeing slaves
Like all the students at the university, I was wild to go into the army,
and wrote my father that I was afraid the war would be over before I
had a chance to serve. His reply was that I need have no fear of that
contingency, that I must study hard and fit myself to be useful to my
country when I was old enough to be of real service to her; so, very
properly, I was not allowed to have my wish then. In a letter to my
mother written April, ‘61, he says:
“I wrote to Robert that I could not consent to take boys from their
schools and young men from their colleges and put them in the ranks at
the beginning of a war, when they are not wanted and when there are men
enough for that purpose. The war may last ten years. Where are our ranks
to be filled from then? I was willing for his company to continue at
their studies, to keep up its organisation, and to perfect themselves in
their military exercises, and to perform duty at the college; but NOT
to be called into the field. I therefore wished him to remain. If the
exercises at the college are suspended, he can then come home....”
But in the spring of ‘62 he allowed me to volunteer, and I having
selected the company I wished to join, the Rockbridge Artillery, he gave
his approval, and wrote me to come to Richmond, where he would give
me my outfit. He was just as sweet and loving to me then as in the old
days. I had seen so little of him during the last six years that I stood
somewhat in awe of him. I soon found, however, that I had no cause for
such a feeling. He took great pains in getting what was necessary for
me. The baggage of a private in a Confederate battery was not extensive.
How little was needed my father, even at that time, did not know, for
though he was very careful in providing me with the least amount he
thought necessary, I soon found by experience that he had given me a
great deal too much. It was characteristic of his consideration for
others and the unselfishness of his nature, that at this time, when
weighed down, harassed and burdened by the cares incident to bringing
the untrained forces of the Confederacy into the field, and preparing
them for a struggle the seriousness of which he knew better than any
one, he should give his time and attention to the minute details of
fitting out his youngest son as a private soldier. I think it worthy of
note that the son of the commanding general enlisting as a private in
his army was not thought to be anything remarkable or unusual. Neither
my mother, my family, my friends nor myself expected any other course,
and I do not suppose it ever occurred to my father to think of giving me
an office, which he could easily have done. I know it never occurred to
me, nor did I ever hear, at that time or afterwards, from anyone, that
I might have been entitled to better rank than that of a private because
of my father’s prominence in Virginia and in the Confederacy. With
the good advice to be obedient to all authority, to do my duty in
everything, great or small, he bade me good-bye, and sent me off to the
Valley of Virginia, where the command in which I was about to enlist
were serving under “Stonewall Jackson.”
Of my father’s military duties at this time, Colonel Taylor, in his
“Four Years with General Lee,” says:
“Exercising a constant supervision over the condition of affairs at each
important point, thoroughly informed as to the resources and necessities
of the several commanders of armies in the field, as well as of the
dangers which respectively threatened them, he was enabled to give them
wise counsel, to offer them valuable suggestions, and to respond to
their demands for assistance and support to such extent as the limited
resources of the government would permit. It was in great measure due
to his advice and encouragement that General Magruder so stoutly and
so gallantly held his lines on the Peninsula against General McClellan
until troops could be sent to his relief from General Johnston’s army.
I recollect a telegraphic despatch received by General Lee from General
Magruder, in which he stated that a council of war which he had convened
had unanimously determined that his army should retreat, in reply to
which General Lee urged him to maintain his lines, and to make as bold
a front as possible, and encouraged him with the prospect of being
reinforced. No better illustration of the nature and importance of the
duty performed by General Lee, while in this position, can be given than
the following letter--one of a number of similar import--written by him
to General Jackson, the ‘rough’ or original draft of which is still in
my possession:
“‘Headquarters, Richmond, Virginia, April 29, 1862.
“‘Major-General T. J. Jackson, commanding, etc., Swift Run Gap,
Virginia.
“‘General: I have had the honour to receive your letter of yesterday’s
date. From the reports that reach me that are entitled to credit, the
force of the enemy opposite Fredericksburg is represented as too large
to admit of any diminution whatever of our army in that vicinity at
present, as it might not only invite an attack on Richmond, but jeopard
the safety of the army in the Peninsula. I regret, therefore, that your
request to have five thousand men sent from that army to reinforce you
cannot be complied with. Can you not draw enough from the command of
General Edward Johnson to warrant you in attacking Banks? The last
return received from that army show a present force of upward of
thirty-five hundred, which, it is hoped, has since increased by recruits
and returned furloughs. As he does not appear to be pressed, it is
suggested that a portion of his force might be temporarily removed from
its present position and made available for the movement in question. A
decisive and successful blow at Banks’s column would be fraught with
the happiest results, and I deeply regret my inability to send you the
reinforcements you ask. If, however, you think the combined forces of
Generals Ewell and Johnson, with your own, inadequate for the move,
General Ewell might, with the assistance of General Anderson’s army near
Fredericksburg, strike at McDowell’s army between that city and Acquia,
with much promise of success; provided you feel sufficiently strong
alone to hold Banks in check.
“‘Very truly yours,
“‘R. E. Lee.’
“The reader will observe that this letter bears the date ‘April 29,
1862.’ On May 5th or 6th, General Jackson formed a junction between his
own command and that of General Edward Johnson; on May 8th, he defeated
Milroy at McDowell. Soon thereafter, the command of General Ewell was
united to that already under Jackson, and on the 25th of the same month
Banks was defeated and put to flight. Other incidents might be cited to
illustrate this branch of the important service rendered at this period
by General Lee. The line of earthworks around the city of Richmond, and
other preparations for resisting an attack, testified to the immense
care and labour bestowed upon the defense of the capital, so seriously
threatened by the army of General McClellan.”
On May 31st, the battle of Seven Pines was fought, and General Joseph
E. Johnston, commanding the Confederate Army, was severely wounded. The
next day, by order of the President, General Lee took command of the
Army of Northern Virginia.
The day after the battle of Cold Harbor, during the “Seven Days”
fighting around Richmond, was the first time I met my father after I
had joined General Jackson. The tremendous work Stonewall’s men had
performed, including the rapid march from the Valley of Virginia, the
short rations, the bad water, and the great heat, had begun to tell
upon us, and I was pretty well worn out. On this particular morning, my
battery had not moved from its bivouac ground of the previous night, but
was parked in an open field all ready, waiting orders. Most of the men
were lying down, many sleeping, myself among the latter number. To get
some shade and to be out of the way, I had crawled under a caisson,
and was busy making up many lost hours of rest. Suddenly I was rudely
awakened by a comrade, prodding me with a sponge-staff as I had failed
to be aroused by his call, and was told to get up and come out, that
some one wished to see me. Half awake, I staggered out, and found myself
face to face with General Lee and his staff. Their fresh uniforms,
bright equipments and well-groomed horses contrasted so forcibly with
the war-worn appearance of our command that I was completely dazed. It
took me a moment or two to realise what it all meant, but when I saw my
father’s loving eyes and smile it became clear to me that he had ridden
by to see if I was safe and to ask how I was getting along. I remember
well how curiously those with him gazed at me, and I am sure that it
must have struck them as very odd that such a dirty, ragged, unkempt
youth could have been the son of this grand-looking victorious
commander.
I was introduced recently to a gentleman, now living in Washington, who,
when he found out my name, said he had met me once before and that it
was on this occasion. At that time he was a member of the Tenth Virginia
Infantry, Jackson’s Division, and was camped near our battery. Seeing
General Lee and staff approach, he, with others, drew near to have a
look at them, and thus witnessed the meeting between father and son. He
also said that he had often told of this incident as illustrating the
peculiar composition of our army.
After McClellan’s change of base to Harrison’s Landing on James River,
the army lay inactive around Richmond. I had a short furlough on account
of sickness, and saw my father; also my mother and sisters, who were
then living in Richmond. He was the same loving father to us all, as
kind and thoughtful of my mother, who as an invalid, and of us, his
children, as if our comfort and happiness were all he had to care for.
His great victory did not elate him, so far as one could see. In a
letter of July 9th, to my mother, he says:
“...I have returned to my old quarters and am filled with gratitude
to our Heavenly Father for all the mercies He has extended to us. Our
success has not been so great or complete as we could have desired, but
God knows what is best for us. Our enemy met with a heavy loss, from
which it must take him some time to recover, before he can recommence
his operations....”
The honourable Alexander H. Stephens, Vice-President of the Confederate
States, says of General Lee:
“What I had seen General lee to be at first--child-like in simplicity
and unselfish in his character--he remained, unspoiled by praise and by
success.”
He was the same in victory or defeat, always calm and contained.
Jackson, having had a short rest, was now moved up to Gordonsville. I
rejoined my command and went with him, supplied with new clothes and a
fresh stock of health. In a letter to his three daughters who were in
North Carolina, dated Richmond, July 18, 1862, he writes describing my
condition:
“Rob came out to see me one afternoon. He had been much worn down by his
marching and fighting, and had gone to his mamma to get a little rest.
He was thin but well, but, not being able to get a clean shirt, has not
gone to see Miss Norvell. He has rejoined his company and gone off with
General Jackson, as good as new again, I hope, inasmuch as your mother
thought, by means of a bath and a profusion of soap, she had cleansed
the outward man considerably, and replenished his lost wardrobe.”
From Gordonsville we were moved on to Orange County, and then commenced
that series of manoeuvres by the Army of Northern Virginia, beginning
with the battle of Cedar Mountain and ending with second Manassas.
When I again saw my father, he rode at the head of Longstreet’s men on
the field of Manassas, and we of Jackson’s corps, hard pressed for
two days, welcomed him and the divisions which followed him with great
cheers. Two rifle-guns from our battery had been detached and sent
to join Longstreet’s advance artillery, under General Stephen D. Lee,
moving into action on our right. I was “Number 1” at one of these guns.
We advanced rapidly, from hill to hill, firing as fast as we could,
trying to keep ahead of our gallant comrades, just arrived. As we
were ordered to cease firing from the last position we took, and the
breathless cannoneers were leaning on their guns, General Lee and staff
galloped up, and from this point of vantage scanned the movements of the
enemy and of our forces. The general reined in “Traveller” close by my
gun, not fifteen feet from me. I looked at them all some few minutes,
and then went up and spoke to Captain Mason of the staff, who had
not the slightest idea who I was. When he found me out he was greatly
amused, and introduced me to several others whom I already knew. My
appearance was even less prepossessing that when I had met my father at
Cold Harbour, for I had been marching night and day for four days, with
no opportunity to wash myself or my clothes; my face and hands were
blackened with powder-sweat, and the few garments I had on were ragged
and stained with the red soil of that section. When the General, after
a moment or two, dropped his glass to his side, and turned to his staff,
Captain Mason said:
“General, here is some one who wants to speak to you.”
The General, seeing a much-begrimed artillery-man, sponge-staff in hand,
said:
“Well, my many, what can I do for you?” I replied:
“Why, General, don’t you know me?” and he, of course, at once recognised
me, and was very much amused at my appearance and most glad to see that
I was safe and well.
We, of the ranks, used to have our opinions on all subjects. The armies,
their generals, and their manoeuvres were freely discussed. If there was
one point on which the entire army was unanimous--I speak of the rank
and file--it was that we were not in the least afraid of General Pope,
but were perfectly sure of whipping him whenever we could meet him. The
passages I quote here from two of General Lee’s letters indicate that
this feeling may possibly have extended to our officers. In a letter to
my mother, from near Richmond, dated July 28, 1862, he says:
“...When you write to Rob, tell him to catch Pope for me, and also bring
in his cousin, Louis Marshall, who, I am told, is on his staff. I could
forgive the latter’s fighting against us, but not his joining Pope.”
And again:
“...Johnny Lee [his nephew] saw Louis Marshall after Jackson’s last
battle, who asked him kindly after his old uncle, and said his mother
was well. Johnny said Louis looked wretched himself. I am sorry he is in
such bad company, but I suppose he could not help it.”
As one of the Army of Northern Virginia, I occasionally saw the
commander-in-chief, on the march, or passed the headquarters close
enough to recognise him and members of his staff, but as a private
soldier in Jackson’s corps did not have much time, during that campaign,
for visiting, and until the battle of Sharpsburg I had no opportunity of
speaking to him. On that occasion our battery had been severely handled,
losing many men and horses. Having three guns disabled, we were ordered
to withdraw, and while moving back we passed General Lee and several of
his staff, grouped on a little knoll near the road. Having no definite
orders where to go, our captain, seeing the commanding general, halted
us and rode over to get some instructions. Some others and myself went
along to see and hear. General Lee was dismounted with some of his staff
around him, a courier holding his horse. Captain Poague, commanding our
battery, the Rockbridge Artillery, saluted, reported our condition,
and asked for instructions. The General, listening patiently looked at
us--his eyes passing over me without any sign of recognition--and then
ordered Captain Poague to take the most serviceable horses and men, man
the uninjured gun, send the disabled part of his command back to refit,
and report to the front for duty. As Poague turned to go, I went up to
speak to my father. When he found out who I was, he congratulated me on
being well and unhurt. I then said:
“General, are you going to send us in again?”
“Yes, my son,” he replied, with a smile; “you all must do what you can
to help drive these people back.”
This meeting between General Lee and his son has been told very often
and in many different ways, but the above is what I remember of the
circumstances.
He was much on foot during this part of the campaign, and moved about
either in an ambulance or on horseback, with a courier leading his
horse. The accident which temporarily disabled him happened before he
left Virginia. He had dismounted, and was sitting on a fallen log, with
the bridle reins hung over his arm. Traveller, becoming frightened at
something, suddenly dashed away, threw him violently to the ground,
spraining both hands and breaking a small bone in one of them. A letter
written some weeks afterward to my mother alludes to this meeting with
his son, and to the condition of his hands:
“...I have not laid eyes on Rob since I saw him in the battle of
Sharpsburg--going in with a single gun of his for the second time,
after his company had been withdrawn in consequence of three of its guns
having been disabled. Custis has seen him and says he is very well, and
apparently happy and content. My hands are improving slowly, and, with
my left hand, I am able to dress and undress myself, which is a great
comfort. My right is becoming of some assistance, too, thought it is
still swollen and sometimes painful. The bandages have been removed. I
am now able to sign my name. It has been six weeks to-day since I was
injured, and I have at last discarded the sling.”
After the army recrossed the Potomac into Virginia, we were camped for
some time in the vicinity of Winchester. One beautiful afternoon in
October, a courier from headquarters rode up to our camp, found me
out, and handed me a note from my father. It told me of the death of my
sister Annie. As I have lost this letter to me, I quote from one to my
mother about the same time. It was dated October 26, 1862:
“...I cannot express the anguish I feel at the death of our sweet Annie.
To know that I shall never see her again on earth, that her place in
our circle, which I always hoped one day to enjoy, is forever vacant, is
agonising in the extreme. But God in this, as in all things, has mingled
mercy with the blow, in selecting that one best prepared to leave us.
May you be able to join me in saying ‘His will be done!’ ...I know how
much you will grieve and how much she will be mourned. I wish I could
give you any comfort, but beyond our hope in the great mercy of God, and
the belief that he takes her at the time and place when it is best for
her to go, there is none. May that same mercy be extended to us all, and
may we be prepared for His summons.”
In a letter to my sister Mary, one month later, from “Camp near
Fredericksburg”:
“...The death of my dear Annie was, indeed, to me a bitter pang, but
‘the Lord gave and the Lord has taken away: blessed be the name of the
Lord.’ In the quiet hours of the night, when there is nothing to lighten
the full weight of my grief, I feel as if I should be overwhelmed. I
have always counted, if God should spare me a few days after this Civil
War has ended, that I should have her with me, but year after year my
hopes go out, and I must be resigned....”
To this daughter whose loss grieved him so he was specially devoted.
She died in North Carolina, at the Warren White Sulphur Springs. At the
close of the war, the citizens of the county erected over her grave
a handsome monument. General lee was invited to be present at the
ceremonies of the unveiling. In his reply, he says:
“...I have always cherished the intention of visiting the tomb of her
who never gave me aught but pleasure;... Though absent in person, my
heart will be with you, and my sorrow and devotions will be mingled
with yours.... I inclose, according to your request, the date of my
daughter’s birth and the inscription proposed for the monument over her
tomb. The latter are the last lines of the hymn which she asked for just
before her death.”
A visitor to her grave, some years after the war, thus describes it:
“In the beautiful and quiet graveyard near the Springs a plain shaft of
native granite marks the grave of this beloved daughter. On one side is
cut in the stone, ‘Annie C. Lee, daughter of General R. E. Lee and Mary
C. Lee’--and on the opposite--‘Born at Arlington, June 18, 1839, and
died at White Sulphur Springs, Warren County, North Carolina, Oct. 20,
1862.’ On another side are the lines selected by her father,
“‘Perfect and true are all His ways
Whom heaven adores and earth obeys.’”
That autumn I was offered the position of Lt. and A. D. C. on the staff
of my brother, W. H. F. Lee, just promoted from the colonelcy of the
9th Virginia Cavalry to the command of a brigade in the same arm of the
service. My father had told me when I joined the army to do my whole
duty faithfully, not to be rash about volunteering for any service out
of my regular line, and always to accept promotion. After consulting
him, it was decided that I should take the position offered, and
he presented me with a horse and one of his swords. My promotion
necessitated my having an honourable discharge as a private, from the
ranks, and this I obtained in the proper way from General “Stonewall”
Jackson, commanding the corps of which my company was a part, and was
thus introduced for the first time to that remarkable man. Having served
in his command since my enlistment, I had been seeing him daily. “Old
Jack,” at a distance, was as familiar to me as one of the battery guns,
but I had never met him, and felt much awe at being ushered into his
presence. This feeling, however, was groundless, for he was seemingly
so much embarrassed by the interview that I really felt sorry for him
before he dismissed me with my discharge papers, properly made out and
signed.
I had received a letter from my father telling me to come to him as soon
as I had gotten my discharge from my company, so I proceeded at once
to his headquarters, which were situated near Orange Court House, on a
wooded hill just east of the village. I found there the horse which he
gave me. She was a daughter of his mare, “Grace Darling,” and, though
not so handsome as her mother, she inherited many of her good qualities
and carried me well until the end of the war and for thirteen years
afterward. She was four years old, a solid bay, and never failed me a
single day during three years’ hard work. The General was on the point
of moving his headquarters down to Fredericksburg, some of the army
having already gone forward to that city. I think the camp was struck
the day after I arrived, and as the General’s hands were not yet
entirely well, he allowed me, as a great favour, to ride his horse
“Traveller.” Amongst the soldiers this horse was as well known as was
his master. He was a handsome iron-gray with black points--mane and tail
very dark--sixteen hands high, and five years old. He was born near the
White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia, and attracted the notice of my
father when he was in that part of the State in 1861. He was never
known to tire, and, though quiet and sensible in general and afraid
of nothing, yet if not regularly exercised, he fretted a good deal
especially in a crowd of horses. But there can be no better description
of this famous horse than the one given by his master. It was dictated
to his daughter Agnes at Lexington, Virginia, after the war, in response
to some artist who had asked for a description, and was corrected in his
own handwriting:
“If I were an artist like you I would draw a true picture of
Traveller--representing his fine proportions, muscular figure, deep
chest and short back, strong haunches, flat legs, small head, broad
forehead, delicate ears, quick eye, small feet, and black mane and tail.
Such a picture would inspire a poet, whose genius could then depict his
worth and describe his endurance of toil, hunger, thirst, heat, cold,
and the dangers and sufferings through which he passed. He could dilate
upon his sagacity and affection, and his invariable response to every
wish of his rider. He might even imagine his thoughts, through the long
night marches and days of battle through which he has passed. But I am
no artist; I can only say he is a Confederate gray. I purchased him
in the mountains of Virginia in the autumn of 1861, and he has been
my patient follower ever since--to Georgia, the Carolinas, and back to
Virginia. He carried me through the Seven Days battle around Richmond,
the second Manassas, at Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, the last day at
Chancellorsville, to Pennsylvania, at Gettysburg, and back to the
Rappahannock. From the commencement of the campaign in 1864 at Orange,
till its close around Petersburg, the saddle was scarcely off his back,
as he passed through the fire of the Wilderness, Spottsylvania, Cold
Harbour, and across the James River. He was almost in daily requisition
in the winter of 1864-65 on the long line of defenses from Chickahominy,
north of Richmond, to Hatcher’s Run, south of the Appomattox. In the
campaign of 1865, he bore me from Petersburg to the final days at
Appomattox Court House. You must know the comfort he is to me in my
present retirement. He is well supplied with equipments. Two sets have
been sent to him from England, one from the ladies of Baltimore, and one
was made for him in Richmond; but I think his favourite is the American
saddle from St. Louis. Of all his companions in toil, ‘Richmond,’ ‘Brown
Roan,’ ‘Ajax,’ and quiet ‘Lucy Long,’ he is the only one that retained
his vigour. The first two expired under their onerous burden, and the
last two failed. You can, I am sure, from what I have said, paint his
portrait.”
The general had the strongest affection for Traveller, which he showed
on all occasions, and his allowing me to ride him on this long march
was a great compliment. Possibly he wanted to give me a good hammering
before he turned me over to the cavalry. During my soldier life, so
far, I had been on foot, having backed nothing more lively than a tired
artillery horse; so I mounted with some misgivings, though I was very
proud of my steed. My misgivings were fully realised, for Traveller
would not walk a step. He took a short, high trot--a buck-trot, as
compared with a buck-jump--and kept it up to Fredericksburg, some thirty
miles. Though young, strong, and tough, I was glad when the journey
ended. This was my first introduction to the cavalry service. I think I
am safe in saying that I could have walked the distance with much less
discomfort and fatigue. My father having thus given me a horse and
presented me with one of his swords, also supplied my purse so that I
could get myself an outfit suitable to my new position, and he sent
me on to join my command, stationed not far away on the Rappahannock,
southward from Fredericksburg.
As an officer in the cavalry on the staff, I had more frequent
opportunities of seeing my father than as a private in the artillery. In
the course of duty, I was sometimes sent to him to report the condition
of affairs at the front, or on the flank of the army, and I also,
occasionally, paid him a visit. At these times, he would take me into
his tent, talk to me about my mother and sisters, about my horse and
myself, or the people and the country where my command happened to be
stationed. I think my presence was very grateful to him, and he seemed
to brighten up when I came. I remember, he always took it as a matter
of course that I must be hungry (and I was for three years), so he
invariably made his mess-steward, Bryan, give me something to eat, if I
did not have time to wait for the regular meal. His headquarters at
this time, just before the battle of Fredericksburg and after, were at
a point on the road between Fredericksburg and Hamilton’s Crossing,
selected on account of its accessibility. Notwithstanding there was
near-by a good house vacant, he lived in his tents. His quarters were
very unpretentious, consisting of three or four “wall-tents” and several
more common ones. They were pitched on the edge of an old pine field,
near a grove of forest trees from which he drew his supply of fire-wood,
while the pines helped to shelter his tents and horses from the cold
winds. Though from the outside they were rather dismal, especially
through the dreary winter time, within they were cheerful, and
the surroundings as neat and comfortable as possible under the
circumstances.
On November 24, 1862, in a letter to his daughter Mary, he writes:
“...General Burnside’s whole army is apparently opposite Fredericksburg
and stretches from the Rappahannock to the Potomac. What his intentions
are he has not yet disclosed. I am sorry he is in position to oppress
our friends and citizens of the Northern Neck. He threatens to bombard
Fredericksburg, and the noble spirit displayed by its citizens,
particularly the women and children, has elicited my highest admiration.
They have been abandoning their homes, night and day, during all this
inclement weather, cheerfully and uncomplainingly, with only such
assistance as our wagons and ambulances could afford, women, girls,
children, trudging through the mud and bivouacking in the open fields.”
How the battle of Fredericksburg was fought and won all the world has
heard, and I shall not attempt to describe it. On December 11th, the day
Burnside commenced his attack, General Lee wrote to my mother:
“...The enemy, after bombarding the town of Fredericksburg, setting
fire to many houses and knocking down nearly all those along the river,
crossed over a large force about dark, and now occupies the town. We
hold the hills commanding it, and hope we shall be able to damage him
yet. His position and heavy guns command the town entirely.”
On December 16th, in another letter to my mother, he tells of the
recrossing of the Federals:
“I had supposed they were just preparing for battle, and was saving our
men for the conflict. Their hosts crown the hill and plain beyond the
river, and their numbers to me are unknown. Still I felt the confidence
we could stand the shock, and was anxious for the blow that is to fall
on some point, and was prepared to meet it here. Yesterday evening I
had my suspicions that they might return during the night, but could not
believe they would relinquish their hopes after all their boasting and
preparation, and when I say that the latter is equal to the former you
will have some idea of the magnitude. This morning they were all safe
on the north side of the Rappahannock. They went as they came--in the
night. They suffered heavily as far as the battle went, but it did not
go far enough to satisfy me. Our loss was comparatively slight, and
I think will not exceed two thousand. The contest will have now to be
renewed, but on what field I cannot say.”
I did not see my father at any time during the fighting; some days after
it was all over, I saw him, as calm and composed as if nothing unusual
had happened, and he never referred to his great victory, except to
deplore the loss of his brave officers and soldiers or the sufferings of
the sick and wounded. He repeatedly referred to the hardships so bravely
endured by the inhabitants of Fredericksburg, who had been obliged to
flee from the town, the women and children, the old and the feeble,
whose sufferings cut him to the heart. On Christmas Day he writes to his
youngest daughter, Mildred, who was at school in North Carolina:
“...I cannot tell you how I long to see you when a little quiet occurs.
My thoughts revert to you, your sisters, and your mother; my heart aches
for our reunion. Your brothers I see occasionally. This morning Fitzhugh
rode by with his young aide-de-camp (Rob) at the head of his brigade,
on his way up the Rappahannock. You must study hard, gain knowledge, and
learn your duty to God and your neighbour: that is the great object
of life. I have no news, confined constantly to camp, and my thoughts
occupied with its necessities and duties. I am, however, happy in the
knowledge that General Burnside and army will not eat their promised
Christmas dinner in Richmond to-day.”
On the next day he writes as follows to his daughter Agnes, who was with
her mother in Richmond:
“Camp Fredericksburg, December 26, 1862.
“My Precious Little Agnes: I have not heard of you for a long time. I
wish you were with me, for always solitary, I am sometimes weary, and
long for the reunion of my family once again. But I will not speak of
myself, but of you.... I have seen the ladies in this vicinity only when
flying from the enemy, and it caused me acute grief to witness their
exposure and suffering. But a more noble spirit was never displayed
anywhere. The faces of old and young were wreathed with smiles, and
glowed with happiness at their sacrifices for the good of their country.
Many have lost EVERYTHING. What the fire and shells of the enemy spared,
their pillagers destroyed. But God will shelter them, I know. So much
heroism will not be unregarded. I can only hold oral communication with
your sister [His daughter Mary, in King George county, within the lines
of the enemy], and have forbidden the scouts to bring any writing, and
have taken some back that I had given them for her. If caught, it would
compromise them. They only convey messages. I learn in that way she is
well.
“Your devoted father,
“R. E. Lee.”
I give another letter he wrote on Christmas Day, besides the one quoted
above, to his daughter, Mildred. It was written to his wife, and is
interesting as giving an insight into his private feelings and views
regarding this great victory:
“...I will commence this holy day by writing to you. My heart is filled
with gratitude to Almighty God for His unspeakable mercies with which
He has blessed us in this day, for those He has granted us from the
beginning of life, and particularly for those He has vouchsafed us
during the past year. What should have become of us without His crowning
help and protection? Oh, if our people would only recognise it and cease
from vain self-boasting and adulation, how strong would be my belief in
final success and happiness to our country! But what a cruel thing is
war; to separate and destroy families and friends, and mar the purest
joys and happiness God has granted us in this world; to fill our hearts
with hatred instead of love for our neighbours, and to devastate the
fair face of this beautiful world! I pray that, on this day when only
peace and good-will are preached to mankind, better thoughts may fill
the hearts of our enemies and turn them to peace. Our army was never
in such good health and condition since I have been attached to it.
I believe they share with me my disappointment that the enemy did not
renew the combat on the 13th. I was holding back all day and husbanding
our strength and ammunition for the great struggle, for which I thought
I was preparing. Had I divined that was to have been his only effort, he
would have had more of it. My heart bleeds at the death of every one of
our gallant men.”
One marked characteristic of my father was his habit of attending to all
business matters promptly. He was never idle, and what he had to do he
performed with care and precision. Mr. Custis, my grandfather, had made
him executor of his will, wherein it was directed that all the slaves
belonging to the estate should be set free after the expiration of so
many years. The time had now arrived, and notwithstanding the exacting
duties of his position, the care of his suffering soldiers, and
his anxiety about their future, immediate and distant, he proceeded
according to the law of the land to carry out the provisions of the
will, and had delivered to every one of the servants, where it was
possible, their manumission papers. From his letters written at this
time I give a few extracts bearing on this subject:
“...As regards the liberation of the people, I wish to progress in it as
far as I can. Those hired in Richmond can still find employment there
if they choose. Those in the country can do the same or remain on the
farms. I hope they will all do well and behave themselves. I should
like, if I could, to attend to their wants and see them placed to the
best advantage. But that is impossible. All that choose can leave the
State before the war closes....
“...I executed the deed of manumission sent me by Mr. Caskie, and
returned it to him. I perceived that John Sawyer and James’s names,
among the Arlington people, had been omitted, and inserted them. I fear
there are others among the White House lot which I did not discover. As
to the attacks of the Northern papers, I do not mind them, and do not
think it wise to make the publication you suggest. If all the names of
the people at Arlington and on the Pamunkey are not embraced in this
deed I have executed, I should like a supplementary deed to be drawn up,
containing all those omitted. They are entitled to their freedom and I
wish to give it to them. Those that have been carried away, I hope
are free and happy; I cannot get their papers to them, and they do not
require them. I will give them if they ever call for them. It will be
useless to ask their restitution to manumit them....”
Chapter V -- The Army of Northern Virginia
The General’s sympathy for his suffering
soldiers--Chancellorsville--Death of “Stonewall” Jackson--General
Fitzhugh Lee wounded and captured--Escape of his brother
Robert--Gettysburg--Religious revival--Infantry review--Unsatisfactory
commissariat
During this winter, which was a very severe one, the sufferings of
General Lee’s soldiers on account of insufficient shelter and clothing,
the scant rations for man and beast, the increasing destitution
throughout the country, and his inability to better these conditions,
bore heavily upon him. But he was bright and cheerful to those around
him, never complaining of any one nor about anything and often indulging
in his quaint humour, especially with the younger officers, as when
he remarked to one of them, who complained of the tough biscuit at
breakfast:
“You ought not to mind that; they will stick by you the longer!”
His headquarters continued all the winter at the same place, and with
stove and fire-places in the tents, the General and his military family
managed to keep fairly comfortable. On February 6, 1863, he wrote to his
daughter, Agnes from this camp:
“Camp Fredericksburg, February 6, 1863.
“...I read yesterday, my precious daughter, your letter, and grieved
very much when last in Richmond at not seeing you. My movements are so
uncertain that I cannot be relied on for anything. The only place I am
to be found is in camp, and I am so cross now that I am not worth seeing
anywhere. Here you will have to take me with the three stools--the snow,
the rain, and the mud. The storm of the last twenty-four hours has added
to our stock of all, and we are now in a floating condition. But the sun
and the wind will carry all off in time, and then we shall appreciate
our relief. Our horses and mules suffer the most. They have to bear the
cold and rain, tug through the mud, and suffer all the time with hunger.
The roads are wretched, almost impassable. I heard of Mag lately. One
of our scouts brought me a card of Margaret Stuart’s with a pair of
gauntlets directed to ‘Cousin Robert.’... I have no news. General Hooker
is obliged to do something. I do not know what it will be. He is playing
the Chinese game, trying what frightening will do. He runs out his
guns, starts his wagons and troops up and down the river, and creates an
excitement generally. Our men look on in wonder, give a cheer, and all
again subsides in statu quo ante bellum. I wish you were here with me
to-day. You would have to sit by this little stove, look out at
the rain, and keep yourself dry. But here come, in all the wet, the
adjutants-general with the papers. I must stop and go to work. See how
kind God is; we have plenty to do in good weather and bad....”
“Your devoted father,
“R. E. Lee.”
On February 23d, he writes to Mrs. Lee:
“Camp Fredericksburg, February 23, 1863.
“The weather is now very hard upon our poor bushmen. This morning the
whole country is covered with a mantle of snow fully a foot deep. It was
nearly up to my knees as I stepped out this morning, and our poor horses
were enveloped. We have dug them out and opened our avenues a little,
but it will be terrible and the roads impassable. No cars from Richmond
yesterday. I fear our short rations for man and horse will have to be
curtailed. Our enemies have their troubles too. They are very strong
immediately in front, but have withdrawn their troops above and below
us back toward Acquia Creek. I owe Mr. F. J. Hooker [“Fighting Joe”
was Hooker’s most popular sobriquet in the Federal army] no thanks for
keeping me here. He ought to have made up his mind long ago about
what do to--24th. The cars have arrived and brought me a young French
officer, full of vivacity, and ardent for service with me. I think the
appearance of things will cool him. If they do not, the night will, for
he brought no blankets.
“R. E. Lee.”
The dreary winter gradually passed away. Toward the last of April, the
two armies, which had been opposite each other for four months, began
to move, and, about the first of May, the greatest of Lee’s battles was
fought. My command was on the extreme left, and, as Hooker crossed the
river, we followed a raiding party of the enemy’s cavalry over toward
the James River above Richmond; so I did not see my father at any
time during the several day’s fighting. The joy of our victory at
Chancellorsville was saddened by the death of “Stonewall” Jackson. His
loss was the heaviest blow the Army of Northern Virginia ever sustained.
To Jackson’s note telling him he was wounded, my father replied:
“I cannot express my regret at the occurance. Could I have directed
events, I should have chosen for the good of the country to have been
disabled in your stead. I congratulate you on the victory, which is due
to your skill and energy.”
Jackson said, when this was read to him,
“Better that ten Jacksons should fall than one Lee.”
Afterward, when it was reported that Jackson was doing well, General Lee
playfully sent him word:
“You are better off than I am, for while you have only lost your LEFT, I
have lost my RIGHT arm.”
Then, hearing that he was worse, he said:
“Tell him that I am praying for him as I believe I have never prayed for
myself.”
After his death, General Lee writes to my mother, on May 11th:
“...In addition to the deaths of officers and friends consequent upon
the late battles, you will see that we have to mourn the loss of the
great and good Jackson. Any victory would be dear at such a price. His
remains go to Richmond to-day. I know not how to replace him. God’s will
be done! I trust He will raise up some one in his place....”
Jones, in his Memoirs, says: “To one of his officers, after Jackson’s
death, he [General Lee] said: ‘I had such implicit confidence in
Jackson’s skill and energy that I never troubled myself to give him
detailed instructions. The most general suggestions were all that he
needed.’”
To one of his aides, who came to his tent, April 29th, to inform him
that the enemy had crossed the Rappahannock River in heavy force,
General Lee made the playful reply:
“Well, I heard firing, and I was beginning to think it was time some of
you lazy young fellows were coming to tell me what it was all about. Say
to General Jackson that he knows just as well what to do with the enemy
as I do.”
Jackson said of Lee, when it was intimated by some, at the time he first
took command, that he was slow:
“He is cautious. He ought to be. But he is NOT slow. Lee is a
phenomenon. He is the only man whom I would follow blindfold.”
As the story of these great men year by year is made plainer to the
world, their love, trust, and respect for each other will be better
understood. As commander and lieutenant they were exactly suited. When
General Lee wanted a movement made and gave Jackson an outline of his
plans and the object to be gained, it was performed promptly, well, and
thoroughly, if it was possible for flesh and blood to do it.
At the end of May, the Army of Northern Virginia, rested and
strengthened, was ready for active operations. On May 31st General Lee
writes to Mrs. Lee:
“...General Hooker has been very daring this past week, and quite
active. He has not said what he intends to do, but is giving out by his
movements that he designs crossing the Rappahannock. I hope we may be
able to frustrate his plans, in part, if not in whole.... I pray that
our merciful Father in Heaven may protect and direct us! In that case, I
fear no odds and no numbers.”
About June 5th most of the army was gathered around Culpeper. Its
efficiency, confidence, and MORALE were never better. On June 7th the
entire cavalry corps was reviewed on the plain near Brandy Station in
Culpeper by General Lee. We had been preparing ourselves for this event
for some days, cleaning, mending and polishing, and I remember were
very proud of our appearance. In fact, it was a grand sight--about
eight thousand well-mounted men riding by their beloved commander, first
passing by him in a walk and then a trot. He writes to my mother next
day--June 8, 1863:
“...I reviewed the cavalry in this section yesterday. It was a splendid
sight. The men and horses looked well. They have recuperated since last
fall. Stuart [J. E. B. Stuart, commanding cavalry corps.] was in all his
glory. Your sons and nephews [two sons and three nephews] were well
and flourishing. The country here looks very green and pretty,
notwithstanding the ravages of war. What a beautiful world God, in His
loving kindness to His creatures, has given us! What a shame that men
endowed with reason and knowledge of right should mar His gifts....”
The next day, June 9th, a large force of the enemy’s cavalry, supported
by infantry, crossed the Rappahannock and attacked General Stuart. The
conflict lasted until dark, when “The enemy was compelled to recross the
river, with heavy loss, leaving about five hundred prisoners, three
pieces of artillery, and several colours in our hands.”
During the engagement, about 3 P. M., my brother, General W. H. F. Lee,
my commanding officer, was severely wounded. In a letter dated the 11th
of the month, my father writes to my mother:
“...My supplications continue to ascend for you, my children, and my
country. When I last wrote I did not suppose that Fitzhugh would be soon
sent to the rear disabled, and I hope it will be for a short time. I
saw him the night after the battle--indeed, met him on the field as they
were bringing him from the front. He is young and healthy, and I trust
will soon be up again. He seemed to be more concerned about his brave
men and officers, who had fallen in the battle, than about himself....”
It was decided, the next day, to send my brother to “Hickory Hill,” the
home of Mr. W. F. Wickham, in Hanover County, about twenty miles from
Richmond, and I was put in charge of him to take him there and to be
with him until his wound should heal. Thus it happened that I did not
meet my father again until after Gettysburg had been fought, and the
army had recrossed into Virginia, almost to the same place I had left
it. My father wrote my brother a note the morning after he was wounded,
before he left Culpeper. It shows his consideration and tenderness:
“My Dear Son: I send you a dispatch, received from C. last night. I hope
you are comfortable this morning. I wish I could see you, but I cannot.
Take care of yourself, and make haste and get well and return. Though I
scarcely ever saw you, it was a great comfort to know that you were near
and with me. I could think of you and hope to see you. May we yet meet
in peace and happiness....”
In a letter to my brother’s wife, written on the 11th, his love and
concern for both of them are plainly shown:
“I am so grieved, my dear daughter, to send Fitzhugh to you wounded. But
I am so grateful that his wound is of a character to give us full hope
of a speedy recovery. With his youth and strength to aid him, and your
tender care to nurse him, I trust he will soon be well again. I know
that you will unite with me in thanks to Almighty God, who has so often
sheltered him in the hour of danger, for his recent deliverance, and
lift up your whole heart in praise to Him for sparing a life so dear
to us, while enabling him to do his duty in the station in which he had
placed him. Ask him to join us in supplication that He may always cover
him with the shadow of His almighty arm, and teach him that his only
refuge is in Him, the greatness of whose mercy reacheth unto the
heavens, and His truth unto the clouds. As some good is always mixed
with the evil in this world, you will now have him with you for a time,
and I shall look to you to cure him soon and send him back to me....”
My brother reached “Hickory Hill” quite comfortably, and his wound
commenced to heal finely. His wife joined him, my mother and sisters
came up from Richmond, and he had all the tender care he could wish. He
occupied “the office” in the yard, while I slept in the room adjoining
and became quite an expert nurse. About two weeks after our arrival,
one lovely morning as we all came out from the breakfast table, stepping
into the front porch with Mrs. Wickham, we were much surprised to hear
to or three shots down in the direction of the outer gate, where there
was a large grove of hickory trees. Mrs. Wickham said some one must be
after her squirrels, as there were many in those woods and she asked
me to run down and stop whoever was shooting them. I got my hat, and at
once started off to do her bidding. I had not gone over a hundred yards
toward the grove, when I saw, coming up at a gallop to the gate I was
making for, five or six Federal cavalrymen. I knew what it meant at
once, so I rushed back to the office and told my brother. He immediately
understood the situation and directed me to get away--said I could do no
good by staying, that the soldiers could not and would not hurt him, and
there was nothing to be gained by my falling into their hands; but that,
on the contrary, I might do a great deal of good by eluding them, making
my way to “North Wales,” a plantation across the Pamunkey River, and
saving our horses.
So I ran out, got over the fence and behind a thick hedge, just as I
heard the tramp and clank of quite a body of troopers riding up. Behind
this hedge I crept along until I reached a body of woods, were I was
perfectly safe. From a hill near by I ascertained that there was a large
raiding party of Federal cavalry in the main road, and the heavy smoke
ascending from the Court House, about three miles away, told me that
they were burning the railroad buildings at that place. After waiting
until I thought the coast was clear, I worked my way very cautiously
back to the vicinity of the house to find out what was going on.
Fortunately, I took advantage of the luxuriant shrubbery in the old
garden at the rear of the house, and when I looked out from the last
box bush that screened me, about twenty yards from the back porch, I
perceived that I was too soon, for there were standing, sitting and
walking about quite a number of the bluecoats. I jumped back behind the
group of box trees, and, flinging myself flat under a thick fir, crawled
close up to the trunk under the low-hanging branches, and lay there for
some hours.
I saw my brother brought out from the office on a mattress, and placed
in the “Hickory Hill” carriage, to which was hitched Mr. Wichkam’s
horses, and then saw him driven away, a soldier on the box and a mounted
guard surrounding him. He was carried to the “White House” in this way,
and then sent by water to Fortress Monroe. This party had been sent out
especially to capture him, and he was held as a hostage (for the safety
of some Federal officers we had captured) for nine long, weary months.
The next day I found out that all the horses but one had been saved by
the faithfulness of our servants. The one lost, my brother’s favourite
and best horse, was ridden straight into the column by Scott, a negro
servant, who had him out for exercise. Before he knew our enemies, he
and the horse were prisoners. Scott watched for his opportunity, and,
not being guarded, soon got away. By crawling through a culvert, under
the road, while the cavalry was passing along, he made his way into a
deep ditch in the adjoining field, thence succeeded in reaching the farm
where the rest of the horses were, and hurried them off to a safe place
in the woods, just as the Federal cavalry rode up to get them.
In a letter dated Culpeper, July 26th, to my brother’s wife, my father
thus urges resignation:
“I received, last night, my darling daughter, your letter of the 18th
from ‘Hickory Hill.’... You must not be sick while Fitzhugh is away, or
he will be more restless under his separation. Get strong and hearty by
his return, that he may the more rejoice at the sight of you.... I can
appreciate your distress at Fitzhugh’s situation. I deeply sympathise
with it, and in the lone hours of the night I groan in sorrow at his
captivity and separation from you. But we must bear it, exercise all our
patience, and do nothing to aggravate the evil. This, besides injuring
ourselves, would rejoice our enemies and be sinful in the eyes of
God. In His own good time He will relieve us and make all things work
together for our good, if we give Him our love and place in Him our
trust. I can see no harm that can result from Fitzhugh’s capture, except
his detention. I feel assured that he will be well attended to. He will
be in the hands of old army officers and surgeons, most of whom are men
of principle and humanity. His wound, I understand, has not been injured
by his removal, but is doing well. Nothing would do him more harm than
for him to learn that you were sick and sad. How could he get well? So
cheer up and prove your fortitude and patriotism.... You may think of
Fitzhugh and love him as much as you please, but do not grieve over him
or grow sad.”
From Williamsport, to my mother, he thus writes of his son’s capture:
“I have heard with great grief that Fitzhugh has been captured by the
enemy. Had not expected that he would be taken from his bed and carried
off, but we must bear this additional affliction with fortitude and
resignation, and not repine at the will of God. It will eventuate
in some good that we know not of now. We must bear our labours and
hardships manfully. Our noble men are cheerful and confident. I
constantly remember you in my thoughts and prayers.”
On July 12th, from near Hagerstown, he writes again about him:
“The consequences of war are horrid enough at best, surrounded by all
the ameliorations of civilisation and Christianity. I am very sorry for
the injuries done the family at Hickory Hill, and particularly that our
dear old Uncle Williams, in his eightieth year, should be subjected to
such treatment. But we cannot help it, and must endure it. You will,
however, learn before this reaches you that our success at Gettysburg
was not so great as reported--in fact, that we failed to drive the enemy
from his position, and that our army withdrew to the Potomac. Had the
river not unexpectedly risen, all would have been well with us; but God,
in His all-wise providence, willed otherwise, and our communications
have been interrupted and almost cut off. The waters have subsided
to about four feet, and, if they continue, by to-morrow, I hope, our
communications will be open. I trust that a merciful God, our only hope
and refuge, will not desert us in this hour of need, and will deliver us
by His almighty hand, that the whole world may recognise His power
and all hearts be lifted up in adoration and praise of His unbounded
loving-kindness. We must, however, submit to His almighty will, whatever
that may be. May God guide and protect us all is my constant prayer.”
In 1868, in a letter to Major Wm. M. McDonald, of Berryville, Clarke
County, Virginia, who was intending to write a school history, and had
written to my father, asking for information about some of his great
battles, the following statement appears:
“As to the battle of Gettysburg, I must again refer you to the official
accounts. Its loss was occasioned by a combination of circumstances. It
was commenced in the absence of correct intelligence. It was continued
in the effort to overcome the difficulties by which we were surrounded,
and it would have been gained could one determined and united blow have
been delivered by our whole line. As it was, victory trembled in the
balance for three days, and the battle resulted in the infliction of as
great an amount of injury as was received and in frustrating the Federal
campaign for the season.”
After my brother’s capture I went to Richmond, taking with me his horses
and servants. After remaining there a short time, I mounted my mare and
started back to the army, which I found at its old camping-ground in
Culpeper. I stopped at first for a few days with my father. He was very
glad to see me and the could tell him all about my mother and sisters,
and many other friends whom I had just left in Richmond. He appeared
to be unchanged in manner and appearance. The disappointment in the
Gettysburg campaign, to which he alludes in his letter to my mother,
was not shown in anything he said or did. He was calm and dignified with
all, at times bright and cheerful, and always had a pleasant word
for those about him. The army lay inactive, along the line of the
Rappahannock and the Rapidan for two months, watching the enemy, who was
in our front. We were very anxious to attack or to be attacked, but each
general desired to fight on ground of his won choosing.
During this period, and indeed at all times, my father was fully
employed. Besides the care of his own immediate command, he advised with
the President and Secretary of War as to the movements and dispositions
of the other armies in the Confederacy. In looking over his
correspondence one is astonished a the amount of it and at its varied
character. He always answered all letters addressed to him, from
whatever source, if it was possible. During this winter he devoted
himself especially to looking after the welfare of his troops, their
clothing, shoes, and rations, all three of which were becoming very
scarce. Often, indeed, his army had only a few days’ rations in sight.
Here are some letters written to the authorities, showing how he
was hampered in his movements by the deficiencies existing
in the quartermaster’s and commissary departments. To the
Quartermaster-General, at Richmond, he writes, October, 1863, after his
movement around General Meade’s right, to Manassas:
“...The want of supplies of shoes, clothing and blankets is very great.
Nothing but my unwillingness to expose the men to the hardships that
would have resulted from moving them into Loudoun in their present
condition induced me to return to the Rappahannock. But I was averse to
marching them over the rough roads of that region, at a season, too when
frosts are certain and snow probable, unless they were better
provided to encounter them without suffering. I should, otherwise have
endeavoured to detain General Meade near the Potomac, if I could not
throw him to the north side.”
In a letter of the same time to the Honourable James A. Seddon,
Secretary of War:
“...If General Meade is disposed to remain quiet where he is, it was my
intention, provided the army could be supplied with clothing, again to
advance and threaten his position. Nothing prevented my continuing in
his front but the destitute condition of the men, thousands of whom
are barefooted, a greater number partially shod, and nearly all without
overcoats, blankets, or warm clothing. I think the sublimest sight of
war was the cheerfulness and alacrity exhibited by this army in the
pursuit of the enemy under all the trial and privations to which it was
exposed....”
Later on, in January, when the sever weather commenced, he again writes
to the Quartermaster-General on the same subject:
“General: The want of shoes and blankets in this army continues to
cause much suffering and to impair its efficiency. In one regiment I
am informed that there are only fifty men with serviceable shoes, and
a brigade that recently went on picket was compelled to leave several
hundred men in camp, who were unable to bear the exposure of duty, being
destitute of shoes and blankets.... The supply, by running the blockade,
has become so precarious that I think we should turn our attention
chiefly to our own resources, and I should like to be informed how
far the latter can be counted upon.... I trust that no efforts will be
spared to develop our own resources of supply, as a further dependence
upon those from abroad can result in nothing but increase of suffering
and want. I am, with great respect,
“Your obedient servant,
“R. E. Lee, General.”
There was at this time a great revival of religion in the army. My
father became much interested in it, and did what he could to promote in
his camps all sacred exercises. Reverend J. W. Jones, in his “Personal
Reminiscences of General R. E. Lee,” says:
“General Lee’s orders and reports always gratefully recognised ‘The Lord
of Hosts’ as the ‘Giver of Victory,’ and expressed an humble dependence
upon and trust in Him.’”
All his correspondence shows the same devout feeling.
On August 13, 1863, he issued the following order:
“Headquarters, Army Northern Virginia, August 13, 1863.
“The President of the Confederate States has, in the name of the people,
appointed August 21st as a day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer. A
strict observance of the day is enjoined upon the officers and soldiers
of this army. All military duties, except such as are absolutely
necessary, will be suspended. The commanding officers of brigades
and regiments are requested to cause divine services, suitable to the
occasion, to be performed in their respective commands. Soldiers! we
have sinned against Almighty God. We have forgotten His signal mercies,
and have cultivated a revengeful, haughty, and boastful spirit. We have
not remembered that the defenders of a just cause should be pure in His
eyes; that ‘our times are in His hands,’ and we have relied too much on
our own arms for the achievement of our independence. God is our only
refuge and our strength. Let us humble ourselves before Him. Let us
confess our many sins, and beseech Him to give us a higher courage, a
purer patriotism, and more determined will; that He will hasten the time
when war, with its sorrows and sufferings, shall cease, and that He will
give us a name and place among the nations of the earth.
“R. E. Lee, General.”
His was a practical, every-day religion, which supported him all through
his life, enabled him to bear with equanimity every reverse of fortune,
and to accept her gifts without undue elation. During this period of
rest, so unusual to the Army of Northern Virginia, several reviews were
held before the commanding general. I remember being present when that
of the Third Army Corps, General A. P. Hill commanding, took place. Some
of us young cavalrymen, then stationed near the Rappahannock, rode over
to Orange Court House to see this grand military pageant. From all parts
of the army, officers and men who could get leave came to look on, and
from all the surrounding country the people, old and young, ladies and
children, came in every pattern of vehicle and on horseback, to see
twenty thousand of that “incomparable infantry” of the Army of Northern
Virginia pass in review before their great commander.
The General was mounted on Traveller, looking very proud of his master,
who had on sash and sword, which he very rarely wore, a pair of new
cavalry gauntlets, and, I think, a new hat. At any rate, he looked
unusually fine, and sat his horse like a perfect picture of grace and
power. The infantry was drawn up in column by divisions, with their
bright muskets all glittering in the sun, their battle-flags standing
straight out before the breeze, and their bands playing, awaiting the
inspection of the General, before they broke into column by companies
and marched past him in review. When all was ready, General Hill
and staff rode up to General Lee, and the two generals, with their
respective staffs, galloped around front and rear of each of the three
divisions standing motionless on the plain. As the cavalcade reached the
head of each division, its commanding officer joined in and followed
as far as the next division, so that there was a continual infusion
of fresh groups into the original one all along the lines. Traveller
started with a long lope, and never changed his stride. His rider sat
erect and calm, not noticing anything but the gray lines of men whom he
knew so well. The pace was very fast, as there were nine good miles to
go, and the escort began to become less and less, dropping out one by
one from different causes as Traveller raced along without check. When
the General drew up, after this nine-mile gallop, under the standard at
the reviewing-stand, flushed with the exercise as well as with pride
in his brave men, he raised his hat and saluted. Then arose a shout of
applause and admiration from the entire assemblage, the memory of which
to this day moistens the eye of every old soldier. The corps was then
passed in review at a quick-step, company front. It was a most imposing
sight. After it was all over, my father rode up to several carriages
whose occupants he knew and gladdened them by a smile, a word, or a
shake of the hand. He found several of us young officers with some
pretty cousins of his from Richmond, and he was very bright and
cheerful, joking us young people about each other. His letters to my
mother and sister this summer and fall help to give an insight into his
thoughts and feelings. On July 15th, from Bunker Hill, in a letter to
his wife, he says:
“...The army has returned to Virginia. Its return is rather sooner than
I had originally contemplated, but having accomplished much of what I
proposed on leaving the Rappahannock--namely, relieving the valley of
the presence of the enemy and drawing his army north of the Potomac--I
determined to recross the latter river. The enemy, after centering his
forces in our front, began to fortify himself in his position and
bring up his troops, militia, etc.--and those around Washington and
Alexandria. This gave him enormous odds. It also circumscribed our
limits for procuring subsistence for men and animals, which, with the
uncertain state of the river, rendered it hazardous for us to continue
on the north side. It has been raining a great deal since we first
crossed the Potomac, making the roads horrid and embarrassing our
operations. The night we recrossed it rained terribly, yet we got all
over safe, save such vehicles as broke down on the road from the mud,
rocks, etc. We are all well. I hope we will yet be able to damage our
adversaries when they meet us. That it should be so, we must implore the
forgiveness of God for our sins, and the continuance of His blessings.
There is nothing but His almighty power that can sustain us. God bless
you all....”
Later, July 26th, he writes from Camp Culpeper:
“...After crossing the Potomac, finding that the Shenandoah was six feet
above the fording-stage, and, having waited for a week for it to fall,
so that I might cross into Loudoun, fearing that the enemy might take
advantage of our position and move upon Richmond, I determined to ascend
the Valley and cross into Culpeper. Two corps are here with me. The
third passed Thornton’s Gap, and I hope will be in striking distance
to-morrow. The army has laboured hard, endured much, and behaved nobly.
It has accomplished all that could be reasonably expected. It ought not
to have been expected to perform impossibilities, or to have fulfilled
the anticipations of the thoughtless and unreasonable.”
On August 2d, from the same camp, he again writes to my mother:
“...I have heard of some doctor having reached Richmond, who had seen
our son at Fortress Monroe. He said that his wound is improving, and
that he himself was well and walking about on crutches. The exchange of
prisoners that had been going on has, for some cause, been suspended,
owing to some crotchet or other, but I hope will soon be resumed, and
that we shall have him back soon. The armies are in such close proximity
that frequent collisions are common along the outposts. Yesterday the
enemy laid down two or three pontoon bridges across the Rappahannock
and crossed his cavalry, with a big force of his infantry. It looked at
first as if it were the advance of his army, and, as I had not intended
to deliver battle, I directed our cavalry to retire slowly before them
and to check their too rapid pursuit. Finding, later in the day, that
their army was not following, I ordered out the infantry and drove them
back to the river. I suppose they intended to push on to Richmond
by this or some other route. I trust, however, they will never reach
there....”
On August 23d, from the camp near Orange Court House, General Lee writes
to Mrs. Lee:
“...My camp is near Mr. Erasmus Taylor’s house, who has been very kind
in contributing to our comfort. His wife sends us every day, buttermilk,
loaf bread, ice, and such vegetables as she has. I cannot get her to
desist, thought I have made two special visits to that effect. All the
brides have come on a visit to the army: Mrs. Ewell, Mrs. Walker, Mrs.
Heth, etc. General Meade’s army is north of the Rappahannock along the
Orange and Alexandria Railroad. He is very quiet....”
“September 4, 1863.
“...You see I am still here. When I wrote last, the indications were
that the enemy would move against us any day; but this past week he has
been very quiet, and seems at present to continue so. I was out looking
at him yesterday, from Clarke’s Mountain. He has spread himself over a
large surface and looks immense....”
And on September 18th, from the same camp:
“...The enemy state that they have heard of a great reduction in our
forces here, and are now going to drive us back to Richmond. I trust
they will not succeed; but our hope and our refuge is in our merciful
Father in Heaven....”
On October 9th, the Army of Northern Virginia was put in motion, and
wa pushed around Meade’s right. Meade was gradually forced back to a
position near the old battlefield at Manassas. Although we had hard
marching, much skirmishing, and several severe fights between the
cavalry of both armies, nothing permanent was accomplished, and in about
ten days we were back on our old lines. In a letter of October 19, 1863,
to his wife, my father says:
“...I have returned to the Rappahannock. I did not pursue with the main
army beyond Bristoe or Broad Run. Our advance went as far as Bull
Run, where the enemy was entrenched, extending his right as far as
‘Chantilly,’ in the yard of which he was building a redoubt. I could
have thrown him farther back, but saw no chance of bringing him to
battle, and it would only have served to fatigue our troops by advancing
farther. I should certainly have endeavored to throw them north of the
Potomac; but thousands were barefooted, thousands with fragments of
shoes, and all without overcoats, blankets, or warm clothing. I could
not bear to expose them to certain suffering and an uncertain issue....”
On October 25th, from “Camp Rappahannock,” he writes again to my mother:
“...I moved yesterday into a nice pine thicket, and Perry is to-day
engaged in constructing a chimney in front of my tent, which will make
it warm and comfortable. I have no idea when Fitzhugh [his son, Major
General Fitzhugh Lee] will be exchanged. The Federal authorities still
resist all exchanges, because they think it is to our interest to
make them. Any desire expressed on our part for the exchange of any
individual magnifies the difficulty, as they at once think some great
benefit is to result to us from it. His detention is very grievous to
me, and, besides, I want his services. I am glad you have some socks for
the army. Send them to me. They will come safely. Tell the girls [his
daughters] to send all they can. I wish they could make some shoes, too.
We have thousands of barefooted men. There is no news. General Meade, I
believe, is repairing the railroad, and I presume will come on again.
If I could only get some shoes and clothes for the men, I would save him
the trouble....”
One can see from these letters of my father how deeply he felt for
the sufferings of his soldiers, and how his plans were hindered by
inadequate supplies of food and clothing. I heard him constantly allude
to these troubles; indeed, they seemed never absent from his mind.
Chapter VI -- The Winter of 1863-4
The Lee family in Richmond--The General’s letters to them from Camps
Rappahannock and Rapidan--Death of Mrs. Fitzhugh Lee--Preparations to
meet General Grant--The Wilderness--Spottsylvania Court House--Death of
General Stuart--General Lee’s illness
My mother had quite recently rented a house on Clay Street in Richmond
which, though small, gave her a roof of her own, and it also enabled her
at times to entertain some of her many friends. Of this new home, and of
a visit of a soldier’s wife to him, the General thus writes:
“Camp Rappahannock, November 1, 1863.
“I received yesterday, dear Mary, your letter of the 29th, and am very
glad to learn that you find your new abode so comfortable and so well
arranged. The only fault I find in it is that it is not large enough for
you all, and that Charlotte, whom I fear requires much attention, is
by herself. Where is ‘Life’ to go, too, for I suppose she is a very big
personage? But you have never told me where it is situated, or how I am
to direct to you. Perhaps that may be the cause of delay in my letters.
I am sorry you find such difficulty in procuring yarn for socks, etc.
I fear my daughters have not taken to the spinning-wheel and loom, as
I have recommended. I shall not be able to recommend them to the brave
soldiers for wives. I had a visit from a soldier’s wife to-day, who was
on a visit with her husband. She was from Abbeville district, S. C. Said
she had not seen her husband for more than two years, and, as he had
written to her for clothes, she herself thought she would bring them on.
It was the first time she had travelled by railroad, but she got along
very well by herself. She brought an entire suit of her own manufacture
for her husband. She spun the yarn and made the clothes herself. She
clad her three young children in the same way, and had on a beautiful
pair of gloves she had made for herself. Her children she had left with
her sister. She said she had been here a week and must return to-morrow,
and thought she could not go back without seeing me. Her husband
accompanied her to my tent, in his nice gray suit. She was very pleasing
in her address and modest in her manner, and was clad in a nice, new
alpaca. I am certain she could not have made that. Ask Misses Agnes
and Sally Warwick what they think of that. They need not ask me for
permission to get married until they can do likewise. She, in fact, was
an admirable woman. Said she was willing to give up everything she had
in the world to attain our independence, and the only complaint she made
of the conduct of our enemies was their arming our servants against us.
Her greatest difficulty was to procure shoes. She made them for herself
and children of cloth with leather soles. She sat with me about ten
minutes and took her leave--another mark of sense--and made no reques
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