Lee's Lieutenants

by Douglas Southall Freeman

  “I shall never forget that night of waiting,” Pegram’s adjutant, Gordon McCabe, wrote afterward. “I could only pray. He breathed heavily through the night, and passed into a stupor. I bound his wounds as well as I knew how and moistened his lips with water. Sunday morning he died as gently as possible.”31

  His cause was dying with him.

  CHAPTER 35

  The Last March

  1

  THE COLLAPSE OF COMMAND

  The day of the Battle of Five Forks, April 1, was one of intensest anxiety on the front from which Pickett had been isolated. Nothing positive was known at the headquarters of Lee or of Powell Hill concerning Pickett’s contest until late in the afternoon. Then it was apparent only that a reverse had been sustained. Dick Anderson was ordered to send the three remaining brigades of Bushrod Johnson’s command to support the cavalry in defense of the Southside Railroad. By that movement, the three miles of line on the extreme Confederate right were, in effect, abandoned.

  On receipt of the first news of Pickett’s lost battle, Field’s division of the First Corps was ordered to the Southside during the afternoon of April 1 to restore, if possible, the shattered right. Longstreet was directed to come in person with these troops. To all who knew of these instructions, the transfer of 4,600 men from the thinly held left was confession that the entire line south of the Appomattox was in danger of rupture even if it were not turned.1

  Powell Hill sensed this as he went over this line, yard by yard, to see that abatis and chevaux de frise and all the other obstructions were in place. For the preceding year and more, Hill had received more than his share of the army’s adversity. Few of his days after his promotion to corps command had been as brilliant as those of the year during which he had led the Light Division. At Gettysburg there had been a flash of splendor on the first of July, but after that Hill had a bystander’s part in the drama. Bristoe Station, the stampede of Wilcox and Heth in the Wilderness, his own illness there and at Spotsylvania—all these must have been unhappy memories. The contests at Globe Tavern and Reams’s Station had brought at least as much honor to Billy Mahone as to him. The Crater, too, had been Mahone’s battle. Hill had the affection of his men; his magnetism and personality made him one of the most popular officers in the army. In rare instances, when he felt that his own punctilious observance of the military amenities was disregarded, he could be stiff, stern, bitter. The third senior officer of the army he was, and during Longstreet’s absence, the second; but he may have felt what others often said privately—that as a corps commander he had not fulfilled expectations.

  Ill health, like ill fortune, increasingly had been Hill’s lot during 1864-65. After weeks of sickness he had procured leave in March. He hurried back to Petersburg with the approach of the crisis, and before his leave expired he resumed command, though his sickness clung to him. Now, as he sought sleep after his day of inspection, the guns were rumbling all along the line.

  With the passing of the hours, the fire became more violent. Long before dawn, April 2, Hill was awakened by reports that the enemy had captured part of the line near Rives’s Salient. He asked for any reports received during the night from Heth or Wilcox. Nothing had come; there was no further news of the break in the line. Hill mounted and rode rapidly to army headquarters. He went in at once to Lee, who was lying partly clothed on the bed. With little ceremony, the two began to discuss what could be done to hold the line. Abruptly, Colonel Venable broke into the room. Army wagons, he said, were being driven wildly along the road toward Petersburg. An officer occupying a hut far within the lines said that Federal skirmishers had driven him from it.2

  Hill sprang up and hastened from the house: He must reach his troops at once and rally them. Venable and two couriers joined him. The four rode toward the enemy. Soon they had evidence of their own that Unionists already were inside the Confederate lines. Bullets began to whistle; bluecoats were swarming around the huts that had been used during the winter by Mahone’s division. The only indication of the presence of any troops to oppose the Federals was the sight of an unemployed battalion of Southern artillery on a nearby hill. Venable was sent to place the guns where they could open on the enemy. Two Union infantrymen were captured by the party and sent to the rear under the guard of one of the couriers.

  Accompanied now by only his chief courier, George Tucker, Hill continued across fields and through copses where Federals might be encountered at any minute. Soon Tucker spoke up: “Please excuse me, General, but where are you going?”

  “Sergeant, I must go to the right as quickly as possible. We will go up this side of the branch to the woods, which will cover us until reaching the field in rear of General Heth’s quarters. I hope to find the road clear at General Heth’s.” Tucker said nothing. The two silently crossed the Boydton Plank Road and followed the edge of the woodland for about a mile. Not one person, Federal or Confederate, civilian or soldier, did they encounter. Hill must have felt this was but the luck of the moment. “Sergeant,” he said, “should anything happen to me, you must go back to General Lee and report it.”

  On they went until they reached a field, beyond which, in a road, a mass of men was visible. Hill raised his field-glasses. “There they are,” he said simply. Tucker asked, “Which way now, General?” Hill pointed to the woods that paralleled the Boydton road: “We must keep on to the right.” They pushed ahead until they were within some 30 yards of the woods. Soon Tucker saw 6 or 8 Federals lurking among the trees. Two of them leveled their guns and took aim. Tucker flashed a quick glance at Hill at his side. “We must take them,” said Hill, and he quickly drew his pistol:

  “Stay there!” called Tucker. “I’ll take them.” Then he shouted to the Federals: “If you fire, you’ll be swept to hell! Our men are here. Surrender!” “Surrender!” cried Hill in the same instant.

  “I can’t see it,” one of the Federals said to his companion. “Let us shoot them.” Two shots were fired. One went wild. The other struck the uplifted left hand of Hill, took off his thumb in the gauntlet, and entered his heart. Tucker dodged, reached out to catch the general’s horse, and saw Hill on the ground, arms thrown out, motionless.3

  A few hours later, Colonel William H. Palmer rode up to the Venable cottage near Petersburg and dismounted. His instructions from the commanding general were to break to Mrs. Hill the news of her husband’s death, and then to move her and the two children across the Appomattox and out of the path of danger that day. At the door he heard from within a clear voice singing, a woman’s voice. Hearing the footfall of her husband’s chief of staff, Mrs. Hill turned her eyes to the doorway. The note of her music died in her throat. “The General is dead,” she said in a strained, startled voice, “you would not be here unless he was dead.”4

  Worse than death seemed the ensuing events of that frightful second of April to other lieutenants of Lee. Ahead of Field’s division, Longstreet arrived early at headquarters. With his unshakable calmness, as soon as Benning’s brigade reached the flank he deployed it to protect the exposed right. In the absence of Heth, who was cut off from contact with the remainder of the Third Corps, Longstreet at Lee’s instance assumed direction of such of Hill’s troops as now began to collect behind their shattered lines.

  By 9:00 A.M. the details of the catastrophe began to take form. The VI Corps had delivered at 4:40 A.M. an overpowering attack on Hill’s front, shattered the line held by Heth’s and Wilcox’s divisions, and driven the Confederates to right and to left. The hope was that the shattered troops thrown westward could be united with those of Dick Anderson. Those of Hill’s men driven to the left and rear of their captured fortifications were rallied on Fort Gregg and adjoining works. Still farther to the left, much of Gordon’s first line had been stormed successfully at daylight, but his second line was intact. Gordon was proud that day and not a little harassed in mind, because his wife had just been delivered of a new baby; but at the front he was the same determined, competent, inspiring leader.5
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br />   No one now believed that more could be accomplished at Petersburg than to occupy the breaking line until nightfall. Then the whole of the Richmond-Petersburg front must be abandoned. The long-projected effort to unite with Johnston must be made. Dread notice of this necessity was telegraphed to Richmond. Mahone and Ewell on the Richmond front were to start their troops that evening by routes previously determined. The immediate objective was to be Amelia Court House, 39 miles southwest of Richmond and 36 northwest of Petersburg. This village was chosen because it was approximately equidistant from the major sectors and was on the railroad that would be the army’s principal supply line on any retreat to join the forces in North Carolina.6

  Even after such calamitous days as those of Five Forks and the second of April, the army was not to march into the night without one more demonstration of its old fighting prowess. This occurred at Fort Gregg, where the Confederates had to keep their grip until nightfall made possible an unassailed withdrawal. To lose Fort Gregg might put the battle in the streets of Petersburg. Come what might, the survivors of Nat Harris’s brigade and of Wilcox’s division must stay there and fight it out.

  They did. Although the defenders of Fort Gregg probably numbered not more than 500, they beat off one assault, then another and another till count was lost. Wounded men loaded rifles and handed them to comrades behind the works. In the end, the few unwounded left in the fort fought hand-to-hand for 25 minutes on the parapet. The Federals had to charge themselves with 714 casualties in return for 57 Confederate dead and 159 prisoners, most of them wounded. Those Southerners who escaped received the assurance that their resistance had given Old Pete sufficient time to organize a thin, last-line defense for Petersburg. After the line was stabilized for the day, commanders were called to headquarters to hear the plan of the evacuation explained.7

  On the extreme right, Dick Anderson learned that one object of the Federal advance against the Confederate right had been attained: The Southside Railroad had been reached. As Anderson could not recover the line or serve any good end by remaining where he was, he began the march westward prescribed by his instructions. At nightfall on April 2 he was beating off attacks by the pursuing Federal cavalry. Mahone was ready to leave the Howlett Line at Bermuda Hundred. From Drewry’s Bluff and from the Northside the naval battalion, the infantry, and the heavy artillery were preparing to leave positions some of them had occupied for almost two years. The more difficult task would be taking from the Petersburg front the Second and Third Corps and Field’s division, the field artillery, and, especially, the long, long wagon train.

  Carefully, after 8:00 P.M., the guns were withdrawn. Artillerists brought out all the mobile ordnance except ten pieces and even took with them some of the mortars. Heavy weapons that had to be left were disabled. Field’s division marched across the Appomattox in perfect order. Those units of the Third Corps that remained moved out as part of Longstreet’s command. To Gordon was entrusted the rear guard. Across the James, in the absence of Longstreet, his comrade Ewell exercised general command. The remaining infantry of the First Corps were under Kershaw. All the other troops were entrusted to newly commissioned Major General Custis Lee. Stapleton Crutchfield, in charge of the heavy batteries on the James, led the gunners whose well-kept uniforms and smart red facings gave them the best appearance of the entire army. These troops crossed the James on the pontoon bridge below Richmond.8

  The night was now far spent, but Richmond was in a frenzy. Everyone knew that evacuation had been ordered. The slums, the dives, the brothels, the bars had vomited into the streets all the city’s thieves and wastrels and gamblers and harlots. The authorities were overwhelmed. Much liquor was consumed before guards could knock the barrels to pieces. Stores were broken into and looted. Soon fire succeeded the looting. Warehouses filled with tobacco had been set aflame by the provost marshal, under direction from the government, and flames from these buildings ignited others. By daylight a conflagration was sweeping the business district. All the departing Confederate soldiers could do was to behold and lament.9

  Their Troy was falling, their cause was in its death throes, but some on the Richmond sector refused to admit the reality. Said Colonel Alexander Haskell, one of a great family of fighters, “The idea of subjugation never dawned upon us.” A soldier who left the Northside wrote, “not one of us … despaired of the end we sought…. Not one word was said about a probable or personal surrender.” In the dawn of April 3 such confidence was not general among troops who had been at grips with the enemy around Petersburg. Instead, every shade of woe and of despair was in the faces of those who had survived nine and a half months of sharpshooting and desperate combat. Theirs was a slow march, for more than 200 guns and 1,000 wagons had to be moved over the few roads available. The troops halted and started and stopped again endlessly. By the roadside they ate what was left of the rations they had brought with them.10

  Some reserve supplies had been accumulated at Greensboro, Lynchburg, and Danville. It was toward Danville, at the terminus of the railroad from Richmond, that the army was moving. The Richmond and Danville was still in operation. Almost everyone in all the regiments had learned, in one way or another, that railway trains were carrying supplies to Amelia Court House, which the columns would reach on the fourth. Then, if all went well, the troops with replenished haversacks and cartridge boxes would march to join Johnston—“Little Joe,” “The Gamecock.” His name still had magic.

  In this and like reflections the third of April ended. It had not been an easy day, nor a cheerful one, but it had not been disastrous. The enemy had not overtaken. Dick Anderson and the cavalry approached their crossing of the Appomattox before nightfall and awaited the main army. Pickett rejoined with fugitives who had escaped capture at Five Forks. A few hundred were the only survivors of the famous division. To Anderson’s dark depression of spirit was added the unhappy news that almost every man of his two brigades “loaned” Pickett had been made prisoner on April 1.11

  Those of Heth’s and Wilcox’s troops who had been driven west in the Federal breakthrough at Petersburg also reunited with the main army on the afternoon of the third. On the march Heth had his flank turned and approximately half his men fell into the hands of the enemy. Wrote the historian of Gregg’s old brigade, “The Confederacy was considered as ‘gone up,’ and every man felt it his duty, as well as his privilege, to save himself…. So we moved on in disorder, keeping no regular column, no regular pace…. An indescribable sadness weighed upon us.” Still, if Ewell succeeded in establishing junction with the main army, as Anderson, Pickett, and Heth had, a difficult convergence would be completed. The army of Northern Virginia might count then as many as 30,000 muskets.12

  On April 4 the troops started early. Most of them were hungry, but officers said they would receive rations at Amelia Court House, their objective for the day. While the column marched, the familiar sound of skirmishing on the left was audible. Sheridan was catching up! But so long as the army could outmarch the Union infantry, Sheridan could not do great mischief. Longstreet’s men could cope with him until Fitz Lee’s troopers reached the flank.

  At last the van approached the village of Amelia Court House. The columns were halted along the road. Hours passed. No rations were issued. Then army wagons were sent off under guard, which meant foraging, which was a confession that rations were not at hand. Although the commanding general had given orders for supplies to be sent to Amelia, they had not been delivered. Nobody knew why. All that could be said to the army was that General Lee had made an appeal to near-by farmers for food and fodder, and the wagons had gone to collect what the residents could spare.13

  This information, spread swiftly through the ranks, brought to the surface the innate qualities of every man and tested what remained of discipline. One of the artillerists specified: “Many of [the men] wandered off in search of food, with no thought of deserting at all. Many others followed the example of the government and fled.”14 In those commands where
discipline had not lost its compulsion, the fatal fourth of April merely was another day of hunger, unwelcome but endurable. The manner and activity of the ranking officers did not change. Theirs it was to encourage their men and to support the commanding general whose haggard face showed how heavily he appraised the failure to find supplies at Amelia. Lee knew that when he halted and sent out foraging parties, he lost his one-day lead.

  A gray fifth of April and a slow spring drizzle added little to the misery of the troops. Rain was nothing; it was bread they must have. The railroad had brought none during the night. When the commissary wagons were hauled wearily back to camp, despair deepened. So little had been collected that it scarcely counted. The farmers had been visited previously by commissaries and quartermasters. Barns and storerooms were almost empty. Facing another day of acute hunger, the army must proceed down the railroad toward Burkeville in the hope of meeting one of the trains of provisions that had been ordered from Danville. If the enemy reached the railroad ahead of the column and severed connection with Danville, then …

  Because the day’s lead had been lost, they must outdistance the Union infantry. Everything that delayed the march must be left at Amelia. Artillery officers were instructed to reduce the number of guns and strengthen the remaining teams with horses released from the discarded batteries. The reserve caissons and ammunition sent to Amelia during the winter must be destroyed. Cavalry must protect flanks and trains. The long roll must be beaten at once. The choice was speed or doom.