The Confederate

by Tony Roberts

  It had been some time since they’d seen the city and the sad air of the place depressed them. The place seemed gray and lacked a spark. Case supposed food shortages had a lot to do with it and the bad news from the front lines. Gunfire could be heard ahead as they marched north of Richmond and word spread down the line that Grant was trying to smash through on the North Anna River and the men picked up the pace. It took time getting through the streams of wounded men making their way to Richmond and the wagons that came with them caused plenty of bottlenecks that were only sorted through haranguing and vile accusations on both sides.

  Eventually the tired men reached Mechanicsville, site of the first of the battles two years previously that had eventually driven the Union army from Richmond, and rested for the night. But they weren’t allowed to rest for long as galloping dispatch riders came thundering in from the dark to seek out Colonel Williams. Beauregard had received fresh pleas from Robert E. Lee. Despite stopping Grant at the North Anna, the Federal commander had merely moved his army downstream, crossed lower down and now was threatening Richmond from the east.

  That day, they marched towards the sound of guns along the Totopotomoy Creek near a place called Cold Harbor, and finally as the day ended came upon a sight that drew their breath. Having been on the receiving end of a slaughter at Gettysburg, the silent and stunned Virginians could only appreciate what the Yankees had got at Cold Harbor. Thousands lay in piles in front of the Confederate positions and the survivors were seen staggering away, shocked and defeated.

  A bloodied and exhausted Alabamian soldier gratefully accepted a hot drink from Case as the sergeant wandered to the trenches that were still occupied. “What happened?” Case asked.

  “Well, they came,” the Alabamian said in between gulps, “an’ we stopped them. Thousands of them, all sent against us with no hope of breaking through. Dumb stupid generals.”

  Case agreed. Whoever had ordered the attack, Grant, Meade or some other general, was responsible for the senseless slaughter. “Where are they now?”

  “Out there somewhere. Lickin’ their wounds, ah’d say. Say, you got any food?”

  Case shook his head. “We’re out. Sorry about that.”

  “Ain’t no matter,” the Alabamian said with a resigned air. “We ain’t eaten proper for weeks anyhow. Jus’ wafers.” He handed Case back his mug and pushed his hat forward and closed his eyes, leaning against the rear of the dugout. Case wandered back to the temporary campsite where the hot chicory brew they drank was being heated. Although it tasted foul, Case had no alternative so he refilled his mug and went in search of Captain Skivenham. He eventually found him talking to Lieutenant Wyatt.

  “Ah, Sergeant, just the man,” Skivenham greeted him. “Scouts don’t know what Grant is planning next but he’s slipped away south-eastwards every time he’s been checked so far, and it’s almost certain he’ll do the same again. What’s more worrying is that General Beauregard has reported the Army of the James is on the move towards Petersburg. The defenses we put up last week haven’t held him in and there’s reports of fighting around the city. We’re waiting for order from General Lee as to what to do.”

  “In the meantime, Captain?” Case thought about the news. If Butler had broken out and managed to take Petersburg and Grant outflanked Lee to the south, the entire Army of Northern Virginia would be cut off from Richmond and Petersburg and have nowhere to go except west into the Shenandoah. Without supplies or food the army would almost certainly disintegrate.

  “In the meantime get the men ready to march at a moment’s notice. I fear we’ll be asked to march again. This time I hope we get to wherever we need to be before the battle is over!”

  Case saluted and returned to camp, passing on the news to the men. It was early in the dew-soaked air of a summer’s dawn that the shout went up to move out. Petersburg was indeed threatened and they were needed to stop Grant, not Butler, from taking it. Grant had crossed yet another waterway, the James River, on a huge pontoon bridge, and outflanked Lee. Now panic had set in and Beauregard was screaming for reinforcements.

  The march south was a nightmare. Gunfire grew as they neared their destination, and the hot, sweaty and tired men were wheeled along roads to march in from the north, put into a rag-tag motley assortment of units. No time to be smart and orderly about who was who, just throw the men into the defense and stop Grant at all hazards!

  They got to the trenches at dusk, having marched twenty miles in one day, and practically fell asleep as they did so. A weary Case was called and, grumbling, he walked along the line of trench works and to where the command HQ had been set up. Captain Skivenham and Colonel Williams were there with the other company commanders. Skivenham took Case aside. “The fighting’s been going on for two days already here. Beauregard has stopped Yankee so far but rumor is that Grant is preparing to throw the lot at us tomorrow. The reserves have been stripped and we’re all that’s left between the city behind us and the Yankees. You think the men can stop Grant?”

  “Captain, after marching all over Virginia these past seven days or more, we’re just glad to be in one place. We’re not wishing to march anywhere tomorrow. The men are just too plain tired to move so they’ll stand and fight – and maybe die – where they are.”

  Skivenham concurred and sent Case back to inform the lines of soldiers to expect an attack the next morning. The defenses had been well prepared over the past few months. Petersburg was the lifeline to Richmond and without Petersburg Richmond would starve. Therefore Beauregard had worked on the earthworks around the city. Logs had been felled and forts built at regular intervals and the zig-zag lines of trenches were two or even three deep.

  The first line had fallen to the attacking Union troops and their hopes were that the assault the next day would carry them through the last lines and into Petersburg. They had been facing reservists and inexperienced troops but now the hard-bitten men of the Army of Northern Virginia had arrived and, footsore and hungry, were in a mean mood.

  With the light of day the guns opened up and blew huge chunks of earth up, adding to the difficult terrain. “They’re going to have trouble getting past us,” Gatscombe commented, scattering his cartridges along the top of a convenient log. “No time for fumbling in any case on a belt,” he explained, “I’m going to grab and load. Besides, my belt broke yesterday,” he held up a frayed and broken piece of what might have once been leather.

  Case grinned and scampered along the line, checking the men were all loaded up and ready. The attack came soon enough, cheering announced the rush of Yankees towards them. Case stepped up onto the log that acted as a firestep and peered over the rim of the trench. Coming towards them were hundreds of troops, resplendent in blue, their flags fluttering in the early morning breeze. Case cocked his firearm and laid it across the trench rim. “Ready, men?” He got a chorus of acknowledgments. “Okay, let ‘em have it!”

  Flame rippled out from the line of Rebels into the mass of clambering Yankees. They seemed to shiver as the volley hit them and men began falling. The nearest flag went down but was picked up immediately. Case grabbed another cartridge, eyeing the advancing enemy professionally. His gun reloaded, he checked the enemy line and spotted a sergeant. His gun swung twenty degrees to the left and centered on the chest of the striped man. Squeezing one eye shut, he blocked out the screams of the men, the guns crackling, the cannons booming and the shells exploding, and concentrated on his target. The gun roared and bucked against his shoulder and the shot span through the air to burst into the sergeant’s left chest, ripping open the blue uniform and then his pectoral. Shredding flesh, it smashed into the ribs and shattered two of them before plowing past the bone into the thudding muscle of the heart. The left ventricle exploded into jelly and the sergeant jerked with the impact, eyes wide before falling backwards lifelessly, his hands outstretched.

  Case wiped his eyes, getting the powder out of them and grabbed another cartridge. He looked along the line and saw Furlong squ
eezing off a shot. Beyond him Corporal Buckley was ramming a bullet into his gun and just past him Wendell was coming up to aim at the advancing troops. Case turned to check to his left just as he started ramming the bullet down the barrel.

  A huge explosion lifted him off his feet and sent him flying back to land against the back of the trench. Ears singing, head spinning, he staggered to his feet, clods of earth cascading off his uniform. His gun lay two feet away and three Yankees were at the lip of the trench, bayonets glinting evilly as the sun caught them. Case saw in a fraction of a second Furlong kneeling in a daze and behind the stunned man the trench had caved in from a direct hit. Corporal Buckley lay motionless with his legs buried and Wendell was staggering about, his hands to his face screaming.

  Case shook his head and stood straight. He was still a going concern and the three attackers, survivors of the Union assault, were jumping into the trench no more than five feet from him. “Okay Reb,” one said, “you’re our prisoner. It’s the cage for you.”

  “Like hell,” Case growled and, instead of putting up his hands, charged the three men, head down. His head crashed into the middle one, driving the breath out of the surprised man’s body. Both went hard against the front of the trench. His two companions turned, angry at the stupid resistance of the obviously defeated man. Their bayonets, fixed to the front of their guns, were useless at such close range, so they reached out to subdue the Confederate sergeant. Case stood up and grabbed both men by the throats and lifted them off the ground, roaring in fury. Bellowing in anger at them, he shook the two terrified Federal soldiers and they dropped their guns as they tried to break the iron grip of the sergeant with both of theirs.

  The first man got to his feet, gasping. Case drew in a deep breath, and with his tendons bar taut and his face red in exertion, threw the two against him. All three fell into an untidy heap and lay there at Case’s feet, staring in fright up at him. Furlong got to his feet and came up to him. “Heck, Sarge, what did you eat this morning?”

  “Never mind that,” Case said, “go see what you can do for Buckley over there and Wendell. They’re both hurt.” He bent down and picked up his rifle and checked it. It was still okay and the ramrod still in the barrel! He stared at the three men. “What unit you belong to?”

  “1st Maine Artillery,” one said sullenly, massaging his neck.

  “What, and they sent you out with rifles?” Case was incredulous. “What service you’ve seen?”

  “Washington DC garrison. This was our first action.”

  Case shook his head in disbelief. “You were like lambs to the slaughter.” He looked around as more men came running, led by Munz. “See to Buckley, he’s hurt bad by the look of things. How’s the attack?”

  “They’ve been whipped,” Munz replied, “and are a-runnin’. These three your prisoners?”

  “Yes. I want them to tidy up that mess there,” he pointed at the blown up part of the trench. “Their army created it, they can fix it.”

  “But they’re prisoners, sarge,” Passmore said.

  “Give them a damned spade! How’s Corporal Buckley and Wendell?”

  Furlong came up. “Wendell’s got a shrapnel wound in his forehead but he’ll be okay. Corporal Buckley’s hurt bad; hip and arm chewed up. Surgeon will need to see to him; he’s bleeding bad.”

  “Okay, get him to the surgeon, fast! Anyone else hurt?”

  Munz nodded. “We got hit hard even though we were in the trenches. Taylor’s missin’ and a few others hurt. On or two might be bad.”

  Case supervised the prisoners until they were relieved by more men arriving from Richmond. After that they were taken out of the front line and told to rest. The situation was stabilized and Petersburg had been saved, at least for the time being. No more attacks came that day or the next and they were ordered out of Petersburg and sent by road back to the Howlett Line close to the James River to keep an eye on the Union forces still bottled up there.

  The defense of Petersburg had resulted in Private Taylor going missing, and Case guessed he’d been taken prisoner, and the serious injuries to Corporal Buckley and a Private named Veitch from the other squad. Now Case was the only surviving sergeant the remaining men were once again reorganized, this time into one platoon. Captain Skivenham reviewed the men and they could see how few they had shrunk to. One captain, one lieutenant, one sergeant, three corporals and eighteen privates.

  The rest of the summer and the autumn they spent at the defenses of the Howlett Line, wondering why they were there when fierce battles were raging around Petersburg. Case accepted it with a philosophical shrug. They’d been in tough battles and missed out on others. This time they were lucky. It might not be the case another day.

  The tedium of the weeks spent on the quiet section of the Richmond-Petersburg defenses was relieved occasionally, and Case was particularly intrigued one day when he received a summons to the local command headquarters. Captain Skivenham had issued the order and Case was not to tell anyone where he was going. He was full of curiosity as he accompanied the captain to the log cabin that had been constructed close to the line, deep in the trees south east of Richmond and north east of Petersburg.

  The entrance was guarded by two men of the Richmond garrison, men not normally posted outside the city limits, which further tickled Case’s curiosity. Inside, he was sent into the inner chamber and as he stood to attention alongside the captain, he got a real surprise. Standing at the back of the room was none other than General Robert E. Lee.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Lee smiled at the sight of the two men. “Welcome, gentlemen,” he said softly. His voice sounded tired. In the gloom of the room lit only by oil lamps, he appeared tired. “Long time since we last met, isn’t it?”

  Case nodded. A long time indeed. He stood straight and motionless as did Captain Skivenham. There were no others present in the room and Lee waved in a casual and perhaps resigned gesture for them to relax. “I’m not here and you’ve never seen me today,” he said with a ghost of a smile. “I’m on something of a personal visit in between trying to keep Grant and his armies off, which is becoming harder every day. You remember our meeting in Richmond before the war got going?”

  Case did remember. It was there that Lee had persuaded him to join the Confederacy. “Sir, only the Captain and I remain from that meeting.”

  “Yes, I’ve not been able to fully follow your progress in the war because you’re not supposed to exist, but I do get dispatches and reports every so often. As your commanding General I’m in a position to read all reports concerning the 1st Virginia, and I’ve taken the trouble to relieve the official reports of all mentions of ‘J’ Company.” He turned and rummaged in a small box on the table behind him. He fished out a sheaf of papers. “These are all the records that mention your company.” He screwed them together in a large roll and stuck a corner of one end into the small gap in the nearest oil lamp. After a few seconds it caught and Lee held it away and watched as the flames grew and engulfed the twist.

  Lee turned and threw the blazing paper into the fireplace to his right. “That’s taken care of. I wanted to come here and see my own company before it was too late.”

  Too late? Case glanced at Skivenham who looked worried. “Sir?” the captain asked hesitantly.

  “I may not get another opportunity to visit. The war, as you well know, is going badly. Georgia is aflame and Sherman’s roaming free without anyone to stop him. Generals Johnston and Hood are doing their best but they haven’t the resources. Sheridan is burning up the Shenandoah and we’re losing all our food sources. You’ve heard all this, I expect.”

  The two nodded. Lee sighed. “So my concerns are in keeping my army together and to protect what’s left of the Confederacy. Grant has the numbers and time on his hands. I hope we will yet fight him off but we’re soldiers and can grasp the situation in a realistic manner. I want to reassure you that if the end does come I shall do whatever I can to make sure you gentlemen are protec
ted from whatever punishments that Washington may levy on us. You’ve seen what they’ve done to Georgia and the Shenandoah. They are pursuing this war in a ruthless and pitiless manner. Civilians are no longer treated differently. So I shall do what I can to protect you. This is why you’re here and not in the trenches at Petersburg. I’ve also helped in getting appointed an old friend of yours to command this sector from this very building. James Kemper is well enough to take up this post.”

  Skivenham gasped and Case looked surprised. Skivenham spoke. “General Kemper? He’s here?”

  Lee smiled. “Shortly. On his way from Richmond. He was exchanged a while back, before Yankee decided the exchanges would no longer take place. He’s recovered from his wounds at Gettysburg.” Lee’s face clouded.

  Case looked away. He’d not wish to broach the subject to the man who had been responsible for the senseless attack that day. Lee saw his look. “I’m sorry about that charge, Sergeant. It was my fault. I thought the Army of Northern Virginia could do anything I asked of them; Cemetery Ridge proved me wrong.”

  “Pity it cost so many good soldiers’ lives, sir,” Case said softly. Skivenham glared at Case in rebuke.

  Lee held out a placating hand. “I know Sergeant Lonnergan. I shall carry the guilt of that day to my grave. Please believe me I would never order such an attack again.”

  Case nodded curtly. He didn’t mind following generals as long as they didn’t throw men’s lives away in senseless slaughter. “General Grant would appear to have done the same at Cold Harbor and Petersburg.”

  Lee nodded. “But unlike me he has men to replace those losses. Still, it’s sad to see the death of so many brave men. I understand you met Grant in Mexico?”

  “Yes sir. How did you know that?”

  Lee smiled enigmatically. “I have my sources. He may remember you.”

  “I doubt it; although he did make me corporal.”

  “And I made you sergeant. Very well, gentlemen, thank you for your time, and may God take care of you for the rest of this damned war.”