In front was the cavalry screen of Rooney Lee’s reliable command. Behind it marched Field, Mahone, and Pickett. The divisions of Heth and Wilcox followed. Then came Anderson’s men. As they left Amelia, Ewell was arriving with the troops from the Richmond front. These last were held at Amelia while the strongest pressed forward to see whether the road to Burkeville was clear. The road ran seven miles to Jetersville, a station on the railway to Burkeville. Beyond Jetersville the highway to Burkeville rose slightly to a narrow watershed flanked by a woodland. The position was not one of great strength, but in the hands of the enemy it might prove troublesome. Lee and Longstreet rode forward to see what the woods consealed. The two generals, hearing the familiar crack-crack of skirmishers’ exchange, continued past Jetersville until they met Rooney Lee. He had reconnoitered thoroughly. Dismounted Union cavalry undoubtedly were in front, he said. Infantry might be also. It certainly was approaching. The whole Federal army, said Rooney, appeared to be advancing on Burkeville.15
Change of route, April 5,1865, of the Army of Northern Virginia in its effort to reach Danville. The heavy line shows the projected march.
This might prove the most grievous intelligence of all! Grant’s army, or part of it, was across Lee’s line of retreat. A decision had now to be made whether the Southerners should or should not attempt to clear the road. This was a fateful question Lee evidently felt he should not leave to anyone else. As Longstreet waited silently and the soldiers spread themselves out by the roadside, the commanding general interrogated his son and studied the ground with his field-glasses. Finally Lee turned to Longstreet: The Federal position was too strong to be attacked. No farther advance could be made toward Danville by that route. The alternative—Lee did not say the last alternative—must be adopted. At Burkeville the Southside Railroad crossed the Richmond and Danville, which the retreating army had been following. Now, instead of continuing to move from northeast to southwest, the column must move westward to Farmville, on the Southside line. There the army might procure supplies sent down from Lynchburg. Revictualed, the troops then could strike southward again toward Danville.
From Jetersville to Farmville was twenty-three miles. If the army was to get ahead of its pursuers, it must keep the road all the remaining daylight hours and all night. This was the most cruel marching order the commanders had ever given the men in four years of fighting. Unless the columns reached Farmville and received food there before the arrival of the enemy, the proud Army of Northern Virginia would be helpless.16
Change in the route of march left a clear road for five and a half miles from Jetersville to Deatonsville. The bridge over Flat Creek collapsed, with maddening delay of all wheeled traffic. Infantry forded. Beyond Deatonsville the troops found themselves on the road the trains from Amelia Court House were using. Through a night that grew blacker as the hours passed, the men groped their way alongside an endless tangle of wagons. The experienced and resolute officers kept their men under control, but among the more discouraged and weaker units, command collapsed. Exhausted men staggered as if they were drunk. Nerves were so taut that panic spread wildly. A runaway horse started infantry fire. Troops thought they were being subjected to a night attack and fired into each other, killing and wounding an unascertained number of men.
Foraging parties were sent out in that unprosperous region “to bring in whatever they could lay hands on,” in the words of Major McHenry Howard. It was a fruitless effort. Some of the detachments returned with nothing. Men of other foraging parties never caught up again. By daylight, officers were appalled to find to what degree brigades had dwindled by straggling. Some regiments almost had dissolved. Ewell’s strength, which never had exceeded 6,000, already was cut in half. As these troops from the Richmond front were less inured to hardship than were the older combat divisions, they may have suffered more from straggling and exhaustion.
Even in the best commands fighting strength diminished hourly. The principal exceptions were the still-powerful divisions of Field and Mahone under Longstreet. They constituted the advance and had a road unencumbered by the wagons. Behind these two divisions were, in order, the fragments of the Third Corps, then Anderson, next Ewell, and, as rear guard, Gordon and the Second Corps. The infantry column thus was weakest in the center. Fitz Lee’s cavalry were under orders to support the van and cover the rear. For tired teamster and for drowsing trooper, for gunner and for foot soldier, for every man in the army from general to youngest drummer, the decisive sixth of April was dawning.17
2
THE BLACK DAY OF THE ARMY
Through the hopeful dawn of a spring day that seemed to mock the miseries of man, the troops struggled on toward the Southside Railroad. This would be reached at Rice Station, seven miles southeast of Farmville. Of the enemy’s approach to the railroad, little was known. It was now apparent that Sheridan had quit the rear and was operating parallel to Lee’s left flank. Powerful Union infantry in rear, Sheridan able to strike the flank of a long column in motion—short of envelopment, a more dangerous situation scarcely could have existed for a starving army in full retreat!
At Lee’s headquarters, this was realized. The anxious commander was as alert as ever. Some of his staff officers were conscious of all that was happening. Others were dazed by lack of sleep. Longstreet’s advantage in moving at the head of the long, long column had given him some opportunities of rest. Mahone, Heth, and Wilcox, moving with the van, appear to have been masters of their minds. Gordon certainly was. The events of the day were to prove that the commanders who were losing their military judgment under the paralyzing strain were those who had been struggling all night to keep trains and guns and men moving.
The order of march toward Rice had placed Longstreet’s wagons in rear of the First and Third Corps. Anderson and Ewell followed. Behind them were all the remaining vehicles with the column, protected by the rear guard, Gordon’s Second Corps. Slowly, painfully, after Longstreet had gone ahead toward Rice, the other divisions toiled over the bad roads that led down to the two forks of Sayler’s Creek. Continuously in this advance the infantry had to move out to the left, form line of battle, and repulse cavalry attacks. The energy of Sheridan’s troopers seemed exhaustless. Driven off, they would find another road up which they could press an attack.
Lee had ridden ahead to expedite the march of Longstreet because it was imperative that the van make utmost speed. This left Ewell as ranking officer of all the troops in rear of Longstreet; but Ewell had no instructions to exercise command beyond that of the troops he had brought from Richmond. Whatever he did in any sudden emergency would be based on his seniority, which he always was slow to assert. His was as dolorous a part as any officer had in that tragic retreat. He who had commanded the old Second Corps on the road to Gettysburg now had 3,000 oddly assorted, half-despairing troops, some of them veterans, some of them clerks from closed government offices in smouldering Richmond.
About 11:00 A.M. Ewell found enemy cavalry stabbing viciously at the wagon train. Skirmishers were thrown out and the Federals repulsed. Wagons between Ewell and Gordon were started forward so that Gordon, as rear guard, would not have the whole length of the wagon train between him and Ewell in case the rear guard needed help from the troops ahead. For this passage of the wagons, Anderson’s troops and then Ewell’s halted by the roadside. After part of the trains had gone past, Ewell left the remainder between his rear and the van of Gordon’s corps while he moved ahead to close on Anderson.
Then occurred the first of the mistakes that showed how exhaustion was destroying command. When Dick Anderson halted, he should have notified Mahone ahead of him; but by oversight or the mental paralysis of fatigue, Anderson failed to do this. Mahone, unaware of the halt in his rear, pushed on toward Rice Station. Across the gap thus created between Mahone and Anderson, the wagons began to roll. Federal cavalry observed them, rushed in, and set some of the vehicles on fire. This prolonged Anderson’s halt until about 2:00 P.M. Then Anderson started again—only to be stopped o
nce more by Federal cavalry in a strong position on his left front.18
His uncertainty was increased by a message from Gordon. The commander of the rear guard urged that the column push on as he was being pressed heavily. Seeking counsel and reinforcement, Anderson rode back through his column and found Ewell. Old Bald Head already had been informed of the presence of the enemy on Anderson’s line of advance. He had directed that the wagons remaining behind him and in front of Gordon turn to the right and follow a road to a less exposed, lower crossing of Sayler’s Creek, two and a half miles north and west of the point where the Federals were in front of Anderson. In diverting the train, Ewell failed, precisely as Anderson had, to notify the next unit in the column. No staff officer or courier was posted at the road forks to tell Gordon that he must keep straight on to the southwest and close on Ewell, though the wagons had taken the right fork and started to the northwest.
The two bewildered and weary lieutenant generals, Ewell and Anderson, understood little of the terrain and scarcely knew where to expect the enemy next. This did not weaken Ewell’s disposition, then as always, to help a comrade. Anderson thought that two divisions of cavalry were in his front, which he believed could be forced out of the way if he and Ewell united their commands and attacked. The alternative was to abandon the wagons and move to the right, through the woods, in hope of striking a road that would lead to Farmville. Ewell thought this the wiser course, but he suffered now from a weakness that had shown itself progressively after he had assumed corps command—he would not decide. He recommended the march through the woods, but left the decision to Anderson. His training as a soldier of Lee’s prompted Anderson to undertake a direct attack to clear the road. In the preparations he directed, neither he nor his subordinates could display any zest. Initiative was gone. Dispirited men acted as if they were in a nightmare and could not make their muscles respond.
Ewell’s troops had started their march up the road to support Anderson when, in an instant, the whole prospect changed. A messenger brought a report that staggered the two generals: The enemy was in large force in Ewell’s rear and making ready to attack! It was true. Failure to notify Gordon of the change in the route of the wagons had brought acutest danger. Gordon had followed the wagons to the forks at which Ewell had diverted them to the northwest, and he had assumed, naturally, that their route was his, as it had been all day. Soon after he left the road toward Rice, the enemy closed on the troops from the Richmond front. Federals now faced Anderson from the southwest and Ewell from the east. The envelopment of both was threatened.19
At this intelligence, the exhausted Dick Anderson aroused himself. Ewell, said Anderson, would have all he could do to look after the rear; the attack on the flank must be met by Andersons own troops. He rode off to rally his men. Ewell turned to his front, where Kershaw and Custis Lee feverishly were deploying for defense. On the left, young Lee had his local defense troops and his heavy artillerists. In his rear Ewell placed the naval battalion that had defended James River fortifications. On the right, stalwart still in their thin ranks, were the three brigades of Kershaw, brigades that had been, in the day of the army’s greatest prowess, those of Barksdale, Tom Cobb, and Paul Semmes.
Vicinity of Sayler’s Creek, scene of the battle of April 6,1865. The encircled numerals indicate: (1) line of Longstreet’s march to Rice; (2) forks of the Jamestown road where Gordon mistook the route of the wagon train for that of the army and turned to the northwest; (3) scene of Ewell’s stand and surrender; (4) ground of Anderson’s halt and vain attempt to cut his way through; (5) Gordon’s battleground.
Before this deployment was complete, Ewell did a curious thing. Although it was manifest that his men were soon to be subjected to attack, he rode off to see how Anderson’s attempted breakthrough had succeeded. Old Bald Head had not been absent many minutes when the Union infantry began an assault. So long was the front that both of Ewell’s flanks would be overlapped, but his men did not flinch. The Confederates, green clerks and four-year veterans, waited till the bluecoats were close and then poured into them a volley that had the ring and roar of Fredericksburg. Everywhere the Federals recoiled. The heavy artillerists, being less experienced, rushed out to grapple with the enemy. Their commander, Stapleton Crutchfield, went with them—led them probably—and fell dead with a bullet through his head. When his men returned to their position, shell tore them.
The Federals, by this time, began to turn James Simms’s brigade, the right flank element of Kershaw. While this struggle waged uncertainly, Anderson sent word that the attack to clear the westward road had begun and might succeed if Ewell’s men held on a little longer. Kershaw did his utmost to rally Simms’s brigade. Every man in the thin Georgia regiments sought to fire faster. Humphreys’s Mississippians gave their last ounce of energy to the battle. They were hanging on, with front engaged and right flank turned, when a cloud of men in blue appeared in rear of Simms.
Kershaw concluded that these troops must have beaten Anderson and now were enveloping the Confederates facing the rear. When Simms’s Georgians saw themselves almost surrounded, they moved to their left and rear in the hope of escaping. Humphreys and Du Bose undertook the same maneuver. Kershaw gave such direction as he could on the confusing, fireswept field, but found his troops melting away. Federal cavalry, he told himself, were crowding the last field and wood by which his brigades might escape. The last alternative, then, had to be faced: Every man for himself! It was in vain. Kershaw, his staff, and practically all the survivors of his division were captured. So far as Kershaw could ascertain later, one man only slipped through the enveloping Federals. The same fate was Custis Lee’s. His front broken, to save lives he knew would be wasted by further fighting, the son of the commanding general had to order his men to cease firing. Young Lee, his staff, and all his men, except perhaps a fleet-footed few, became Federal prisoners.20
This was not the full depth of the catastrophe. Ewell, who so strangely had left his own troops in order to witness the attack to the westward, had found Anderson and, at the side of the South Carolinian, awaited the opening of the attack. In minutes humiliating few, it failed. Anderson later reported in these brief, pathetic words: “… the troops seemed to be wholly broken down and disheartened. After a feeble effort to advance they gave way in confusion and with the exception of 150 or 200 men the whole of General Ewell’s and my command were captured.”
In reality, it was not quite that ruinous. Wise’s and Bushrod Johnson’s brigades, said Wise, “gained our road past the enemy.” Almost all the other of Anderson’s troops, with fifteen guns, were captured. Anderson himself rushed to the front and together with Johnson and a few others escaped through the woods on horseback. Pickett and two of his staff officers rallied a squad which fired bravely into the face of a charging cavalry squadron and delayed it long enough for the trio to outrun their pursuers. When Anderson galloped off, Ewell turned back toward his command in the desperate hope of leading it through the woods to the north. He suddenly came on a strong line of enemy skirmishers. “This closed the only avenue of escape,” he recorded, “as shells and even bullets were crossing each other from front and rear over my troops…. I surrendered myself and staff to a cavalry officer….” He sent a note to Custis Lee to say he had surrendered, “and he had better do so too….”
To this end came the man who had been Jackson’s lieutenant and, in the mind of many, the successor to Stonewall. Ewell was shattered in spirit and, for the next day or two, scarcely responsible. “He was,” said fellow-prisoner Eppa Hunton, “thoroughly whipped and seemed to be dreadfully demoralized.” This wavering in the spirit of a courageous enfeebled man did not hurt his fame or mar the splendor of his soldiers’ last fight. Kershaw said, “On no battlefield of the war have I felt a juster pride in the conduct of my command.” Custis Lee was equally proud of his scratch division. Everyone had high praise for the naval battalion and the heavy artillery brigade from the Richmond defenses.21
The ca
pture of Ewell’s and Anderson’s troops meant, in the eyes of the commanding general, the loss of two of his four corps. “General,” said Lee to Pendleton, “that half of our army is destroyed.” The other half escaped, though suffering heavy losses in a drama as strange as that of Ewell and Anderson. On Longstreet’s arrival at Rice during the early forenoon with the van of the First Corps, he learned of the approach of enemy infantry. He deployed carefully, and at exposed points threw up light fieldworks. It was reported that a substantial Federal force had marched up the road toward Farmville, endangering two bridges over the Appomattox that must be saved, cost what they might, because the army’s line of retreat might carry it to the north side of the river. Old Pete told Tom Rosser to follow and capture or destroy the venturesome Federals “if it took the last man of his command to do it.”
At midday Rosser’s command met a Union infantry force near the so-called High Bridge over the Appomattox. Some of Rosser’s men dismounted to attack, but before the action had progressed far they were boldly charged by a Federal cavalry detachment. Taken by surprise, Rosser’s men took shelter in a wood, formed there, and dashed out and overpowered the Union troopers. The Federal infantry then offered little resistance and surrendered en masse. Total prisoners numbered about 780. The cost was not light. The desperate front-line leadership shown by so many officers after the Wilderness fighting opened took in this Battle of High Bridge the lives of three Confederates of distinction—Brigadier General James Dearing, Colonel Reuben B. Boston of the 5th Virginia cavalry, and Major James W. Thomson of the horse artillery. Rosser was wounded once more, but was too busy to pay heed to his injured arm. When he returned to give Longstreet the details, he was carrying the saber and riding the fine black horse of the slain Federal commander.22
The fighting spirit of the cavalry was matched by the Second Corps in courageous defense. Virtually all the way from Amelia Court House to Sayler’s Creek, fourteen miles, Gordon’s men had been under attack. At intervals, behind any natural barrier, Gordon halted and held off the hard-hitting Union line until the wagons gained a mile or two. His artillery was employed effectively again and again. After Gordon turned from Ewell’s route and followed the wagons northwestward, he found himself at a difficult crossing of Sayler’s Creek. By 5 o’clock he was so desperately pressed that he feared he would lose all the wagons if he did not get help.
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