Reminiscences of the Sixties, Marlboro County, South Carolina Genealogy Trails

Marlboro County,
South Carolina Genealogy Trails
transcribed by D. Whitesell

Reminiscences of the Sixties
By Charles Crosland, 1910
Bennetsville, S.C.

As I have elsewhere stated, when I first wrote out these reminiscences nothing was further from my thoughts than publishing them. That was an after-thought. My family and family connections hearing of my writings asked to read them, they told their friends and family about it, and my little book passed into so many hands and was so generally commended that they, one and all, urged me to have it published. I at first treated it as a joke, but the solicitation became so general that I began to think seriously about it culminating into action. This is my apology for seeming to become an author and daring to write a book. I ask the charity of all.
CHAS. CROSLAND.

Having for a long time intended to write some recollections of my service in the War between the States—of course in the Confederate Army—thinking after I am dead and gone it would be a pleasant and useful legacy to my children, I now try to proceed to that task, being admonished that I am growing old and may at any time be prevented by the Great Reaper. I am especially aroused too to this task by the revival of war memories and scenes by the organization of our old veterans in Camp Hennegan and the reunion of same at Richmond, Va., to lay the cornerstone of the monument to our grand old leader Jefferson Davis.

I do not assume to write a book, but to record personal reminiscences, and am fully sensible of the greatness of my undertaking and my shortcomings and the imperfections of my work, on account of the lapse of time dulling my memory, and the trying times I have passed through since, politically and financially, and my want of scholarship. Nevertheless, I dedicate these pages to my children and their posterity.
CHAS. CROSLAND.

Commenced July 14, 1896

My first enlisting in the Confederate Army was in Capt. J. A. Peterkins Company, Maj. A. D. Sparks1 Battalion of Cavalry, at Mount Pleasant, near Charleston, S. C Later on when this command was disbanded I volunteered in and joined Company H,Hampton Legion, mounted infantry. My captain was Jack Palmer, of Orangeburg; first lieutenant, A. M. Snyder, now of Kingstree, S. C.

The last year or more of the war I was detailed for special duty and taken from active duty in my company and sent to Gen. Mart W. Gary's headquarters to act as courier and especially to act as clerk to Lieutenant R. W. Boyd, of Darlington, S. C, and courier, who was on the staff of General Gary and was his ordnance officer. In times of battle I had to keep the ordnance train of wagons near the front and supplied with ammunition, during battle to keep in touch with Lieutenant Boyd and General Gary and keep the wagon train where they ordered it, and after battle to collect rifles and ammunition captured, assort the different kinds of arms and deliver them to the government laboratory in Richmond, Va.

My oldest brother, W. D. Crosland, volunteered from Wofford College into the Holcombe Legion, Captain Walche's company; was captured on a scouting raid and put in Point Lookout prison until near the end of the war. His regiment was fused into our brigade, the Seventh S. C. Cavalry.

When South Carolina Seceded.

When South Carolina seceded I was quite a boy and as my parents were very strict with me I did not have the run of the little town like many boys, but my father's patriotism on grand occasions when speech making was the order of the day got the best of him and I was allowed to venture out and hear the speeches. These speeches fired my young heart, and like other boys and men, too, I donned a red star cut from red patent-leather and attached to coat lappel with a small Palmetto button.

This soon gave place to a genuine Palmetto rosette which I wore with the pride of a grown citizen. In rapid order followed the secession of other States, then the capture of Fort Sumter by the Federals and its recapture by South Carolina troops, then the call for volunteers for the war. My father was a strong secessionist and came home every day from town and talked to the family about the war and its results, read us the papers, and no one can imagine the tumultuous feelings aroused in a boyish heart. I remember when calmer scenes gave place to these passionate interviews I would steal upstairs by myself and buckle my father's old militia sword around me and stick an old pepper-box six-chamber revolver in my pocket and strut around the room with a martial air and imagine slaughter to the Yankees and glory to myself. I would have given five years of my life to have paraded around the plantation with these gewgaws in bombastic attire before the younger brothers and negroes. I would have felt like a hero, but my sensible mother, who never saw any success for our caurse from the first, though intensely Southern in sympathies, always nipped my folly in the bud. My mother, I must say in justice to her memory, was a native of Vermont, was highly educated and knew the temper of the Northern people and their vast resources, and believed the contest to be an unequal one and our failure inevitable at last. Wise woman.

Call for South Carolina Troops.

The next great event was the call for a company of soldiers for our county. One was raised at once of over a hundred men, many of them our immediate neighbors and friends and the flower of the country. They were soon armed and uniformed and daily drills and target firing on the public square was the big excitement. Finally, when all was ready these soldiers were off to scenes of action, only in a few weeks to be followed by calls for other companies. My eldest brother, W. D. Crosland, was off at Wofford College and he, too, soon enlisted in a company at Spartanburg and went to the front, so our family was at once into it.

My father employed always a private tutor and allowed the better families to send to our school in a small academy standing under the oaks where A. J. Bristow now lives. Rev. A. J. Stafford of the Methodist ministry was our teacher at that time, and he volunteered in the first company raised as a private and was soon elected chaplain of the regiment, the Eighth South Carolina Volunteers. The regiment was stationed at Florence, S. C, temporarily, and it became my duty for weeks to carry Mr. Stafford to Society Hill, our nearest depot, every Saturday morning so that he might preach to soldiers on Sunday, and I would meet him at the depot early Monday morning to bring him home to teach the remainder of the week. We had to cross the river on a tedious old ferry boat, as there was no bridge then. These trips lasted until the regiment was called into active service. This left us without a school. My heroic mother, with the care of house-hold duties, four house servants to look after, and the weaving and spinning of cloth for the plantation negroes (some 100) as well as her social duties, undertook to teach four of us in the family. She was in poor health, but her devotion to duty and indomitable determination and energy conquered all obstacles and she taught us well and kept all other duties up. She soon saw the loose rein that the war spirit was giving me, a license hitherto not allowed and was detrimental to my best interest, so when any cause interrupted school she put me to carding cotton with the common old cotton cards and then spinning it into thread on the old spinning wheel. I had my task to perform. From this I learned to weave cloth, and the discipline was good for me. My father's health was beginning to fail, which added greatly to my poor mothers duties, but bravely did she bear all on before her. She was so ambitious for her children that no obstacle would stop her. She took the idea to heart that I must be accomplished, and with all on her hands and heart that would have broken down most strong and healthy women she started me to studying French. Though I never looked into a book before, she made such progress that I soon learned to read it well and speak it fairly. I remember that I read the novel "Corinne" as a pastime by myself.

Time wore on this way, when to add to all my parents' other troubles news came that my brother, who belonged to the Holcomb Legion, then in Virginia and afterward made into the Seventh South Carolina Cavalry and transferred to Gary's Brigade, had been captured in the peninsula while doing scout duty.

All were much distressed, because his band of scouts had given the enemy much trouble for a long time by their daring and brave deeds. They had long threatened to kill them if ever captured.

After a long time we got a letter from him from Point Lookout prison, where he was carried after a personal examination and threat from Beast Butler. Here he languished and came finally more dead than alive out of prison by exchange in February, 1865. The horrors and torture of this imprisonment told severely on my mother, but she hoped and prayed for the best.

Conscript Act Passed.

The strain of war was calling for all able-bodied men, and finally the conscript act was passed, which forced all parties of 18 years and over to go into the war. I was now nearing this period and my parents looked forward to more trouble, for the land was full of trouble, many dead and households in mourning, and nursing wounded soldiers who were well enough to get home to relieve the military hospitals. I remember I often helped mother tear up old linen and bolts of cotton and sew and wind bandages to send to the front, and can now see my poor mother again as her eyes at times would fill with tears as her mind would take hold of the thought that she might be performing this service for one of her own children. All these trials made her and father very solicitous about my approaching eligibility for service. They were especially so about me because I had been very delicate from early childhood. I came very near losing my eyesight from constitutional weak eyes. Such was my trouble that at three different times I learned to read and three times forgot it all again, as I was banished from books and all light.

Once I remained one year in a dark room with blankets (dark ones) hung over the windows and lived in darkness and perpetual night. I remember now (he anguish I endured with my eyes. My sight was despaired of, but finally good nursing and heroic treatment pulled me through. I recollect wearing a seaton (a scale of silk punctured in skin to keep up inflammation) in back of neck for about a year. Added to this I was very dyspeptic and suffered from intense sick headache spells, and was a wreck generally. My parents, though patriotic and willing to give their children to the service, felt that my going forward was a pure and speedy sacrifice of life to no purpose, and coming after older brothers uncertain fate, for often months passed with no tidings and all felt that he must be dead, made them loath to give me up. But the question pressed upon us. I, fired with patriotic ambition and tired of home restraints, was eager to go, while parents reasoned with me. Father urged me to remain.

Being rich and influential he offered time and again to get me an honorable medical and military exemption, but I objected. I think he did, too, for I remained at home without protest some four or five months after I was 18 years old, but I became so restive under the restraint that finally father gave up and I enlisted at once in a cavalry company raised a short time before by J. A. Peterkin, which was located then at Mount Pleasant, S. C. How my poor parents suffered no one can tell now, as they never had any idea but that I would speedily return a corpse.

My sainted and heroic mother at once fitted me out with a warm suit of home-woven woolen gray jeans, overcoat of same, a pair of plantation-made boots—for clothing and shoes from the stores were long since things of the past. The Confederate cavalry had to furnish their own horses, so father gave me choice of all his stables, and as we all had our saddle horses for pleasure I took one I claimed, a fine home-bred sorrel. Thoughtless and fool that I was. I went around and with light heart bade my boy and girl friends good-bye, and while my poor parents' hearts were breaking I was in great glee, and now even am ashamed at the additional sorrow I must have given them by my seeming indifference at the gravity of the situation. Just here I wish to say father gave me a nice little pocketbook which I carried through the war and it is now in my desk as a memento, also the backs of a once nice portfolio that I got in my Christmas stocking a year before.

This I carried through the war and all my letters were written upon it. In said pocketbook is the last bill of money paid me for services as a soldier, also transportation ticket from Richmond home issued under governmental control and certificates from Doctor Baer of my physical condition and orders of transfer from my company to General Gary's headquarters of our brigade to act as a courier. These are mementos worth preserving.

On the Way to the Front.

On the 24th of December, 1868, mounted upon my horse with my clothes packed in father's medical saddlebags he used to practice with in his pioneer horseback professional career, after an affectionate adieu to the loved ones, feeling like a hero, I set out to join T. L. Crosland, who had joined same command and under whose fostering care father wished me to be launched into the wide world, for this was my first trip alone from home. T. L. Crosland then lived on the Peterkin place, now owned by the Alfords, near Maj. Z. A. Drakes and Dr. Lane's. I spent the night of the 24tn at his house, That night a good snow tell, but we set out early in the morning of Christmas day, the first I had ever spent from home. We rode until dinner and after feeding and eating a lunch at Mrs. Murchisons, J. D. and William's mother, we rode on and spent the night at Marion C. H. Pushed on next day through snow and spent the night on the Great Pee Dee River hanks at John J. Stubbs's, a former resident of our county. He was glad to see us and hear from his Marlboro friends. I was getting very tired now with such long rides and felt I was not such a hero at last. Oh, the frivolity of youth!

Next day we crossed the Pee Dee at long ferriage as it was called. A large flat was rowed in deep water by four men and polled along, and in shallower places by iron hooks on polls hooking trees and bushes. It was four miles across and I got pretty scared.

Applied that night for lodging at a very rich rice planter's house, but was refused. We asked as soldiers to be allowed to stable our horses and we would sleep with them in the straw, but were turned away. I rebelled and proposed to stay anyhow, but my Cousin Tom would not agree. Though very tired we rode on some four miles and stopped at a poor woman's house, only two rooms. Her husband was in the war. She took us in and said she had very little to eat but would divide with us. Gave us meat and bread and poor coffee and we laid on the floor before the fire and rested.

In the morning the good woman gave us a bite and would take no pay from travellers or soldiers. We left her with God's benedictions. We contrasted her treatment with that shown us by the Tom would not agree. Though very tired we rode on some four miles and stopped at a poor woman's house, only two rooms. Her husband was in the war. She took us in and said she had very little to eat but would divide with us. Gave us meat and bread and poor coffee and we laid on the floor before the fire and rested.

In the morning the good woman gave us a bite and would take no pay from travellers or soldiers. We left her with God's benedictions. We contrasted her treatment with that shown us by the rich rice planter whose property we were to defend. We keenly felt the indignity. God will reward the poor woman, as she gave us "the cup of cold water in His name."

A long ride and crossing Black River by a rope ferry (afterwards Santee River by ferry four and one-half miles long ferriage, as all the water courses were very full) brought us almost in sight of Georgetown, where we spent the night with a poor man who did all he could for us but would take no pay. After crossing Santee we pushed on to McClellanville next day and were entertained two days by Marlboro men who were camped there doing picket duty, as the Yankee gunboats were hovering around. Lieut. Pet Drake, brother of J. N. and J. A. Drake, was very kind to us.

In Camp at Mt. Pleasant.

Next day, after a long and sandy ride, we arrived at Mount Pleasant, where our company was camped. We were gladly received and assigned quarters and arms and uniforms. Next day we went out on drill, battalion cavalry drill, Capt. A. D. Sparks, major commanding. I was green, but soon caught on, and fell into camp life as naturally as if I had been cut out for it. After drill was over we would run horse races on a large level field where we held battalion drill. Sometimes 30 or 40 horses would run at a time. So much for fun, but when it came to duty such as patroling the beach on Sullivan's Island on lookout for Yankee gunboats, or rowboats filled with soldiers, the fun disappeared. We would have to ride a mile up and down the water's edge three or four hours at a time until relieved, the wind blowing off the cold waves as it only can blow on the seashore.

I would get so cold I would almost fall from my horse, then I began to wish I was at home. I have often seen a level spot on the sand by morning be blown into little hills. The only fire we could have when off duty was behind sand banks and made from boards torn from magnificent dwellings abandoned because under fire of the enemy's guns. Many of these houses were riddled with shot and shell.

While camped at Mount Pleasant the old Irish women's horses would be turned loose to forage on us, and all sorts of tricks were tried upon them to rid us of their eating our horses' feed. One night a lot of our boys tied an old camp kettle to one of these horse's tail hard and fast and filled the kettle with brickbats and turned him loose with a whip start. The old horse ran like mad all over the town, arousing every dog to barking and following—and there seemed to be a thousand; citizens turned out to see and join in the yell. Thousands of soldiers camped around caught on and yelled. It raised such a commotion that the Yankees, hearing the noise, concluded some demonstration was on hand. They threw up calcium lights from gunboats and land batteries, lighting up the islands so we could read print, and then began to shell every point. The roar was grand. General Ripley, in command, turned out all troops and appeared on hand with staff to know the cause, but no one would tell, and after midnight all got quiet again. So much for soldiers' pranks. They were like boys away from home and order and restraints. Many of them were men.

Courier Duty on Long Island.

After some weeks had passed with this sort of life, volunteers were called to go over on Long Island to do courier duty, and a love of adventure caused me to volunteer with five or six others.

We crossed in a large flat rowed with oars from north end of Sullivan's Island, where a large fort and battery was located called Battery Marshall, over the inlet to Long Island. The tide was running out very strong and our men in charge of the flat came near losing control of it, and we came near being carried out to sea where a large gunboat was ready to pick us up. It was a life and death struggle. The waves were running high, we got so far out, and I was frightened in an inch of my life, but finally we got on terra firma safely. Our duty here was to go up on the far end of the island some ten miles and simply be ready to carry an alarm signal to Battery Marshall for a detail of infantry pickets there in case the enemy tried to land there or Bulls bay or Dewes' inlet, all of which were right at us. The gunboats were riding at anchor just off the beach all the time. We rendezvoued down a steep bluff covered with thick oaks and palmetto trees and slept, ate and did our cooking and warming here out of sight of the enemy.
We had a comfortable place and were protected against the wind, but it was very lonesome away from all companions and the busy scenes about camp. We had an easy and lazy time here for a month. When off duty we would be quartered on the south end of the island in the only house on it and under the guns of Battery Marshall. Here we had a jolly time. The house belonged to a Mr. Sweeny, who ran an oyster farm. We would take his flat and large grabbs ten feet long and go out on the back inlet on low tide and grapple up boat loads of large single oysters to our hearts' content. We caught sheepshead fish, coons and opossums, as they could be killed with a stick they were so numerous. I went over to camp one day in a row boat after our mail, and on being delayed getting back at the appointed hour I was left. I was in a peck of trouble and feared discipline for being out of place. I tried to get several boatmen to row me over, but all said they could not without orders. One man told me to go and ask Captain Warley, captain of a hattery near Marshall, to help me, and he would do so as he was a kind-hearted man. I was a timid and unsophisticated boy, but under compulsion I went to his headquarters, made my request and stated my difficulty. He was very kind, saw my youth and timidity and asked me who I was. When I told him, he asked if I was Doctor Crosland's son. I told him I was. He then became more kind than ever, said he knew my father well, would take pleasure in helping me then or any other time I needed it and to call upon him; gave me an order to some boatmen to row me over at once. I left him with many thanks and will always feel kindly to his memory.

Yankee Gunboat Blown Up.

One night while on duty on the upper end of the island we heard a most terrific explosion and knew some unusual event had occurred and in the morning we went out on the beach and found it was the Yankee gunboat Housatonic that had been blown up by one of our daring torpedo boats. The whole upper deck of said gunboat that day floated out onto the beach. A detail of hands were sent from Sullivan's Island and they cut away hundreds of dollars' worth of the rigging, brass and copper and her bell and sent all over to Charleston. I sent home a flat strip of the painted deck, with name and date, in a letter as a memento.

We were relieved soon after this and went back to camp, and it felt like going home, a soldier gets so attached to camp and its surroundings.

Soon after this Charleston was stripped of every command possible, the troops being sent to Florida to the campaign there, and to cover our destination our company was ordered up the coast to Ten Mile Church, Porchers and other points to make a feint to draw attention of the enemy to prevent his sparing any troops. We went out every night on the beach and sent up military skyrockets of all colors to mystify the enemy. This was fun and there were many amusing incidents connected with it. There were alarms of the enemy landing several times, and as it was always late in the night there was much bustle getting out to the point. I remember one night some of us slept in Porcher's abandoned house piaza, and some of the boys sewed up each other's pants legs, and in the hurry to get under arms they had to carry their pants in their hands, and it was quite a joke. All the harm I saw we did was to scare some low-country negroes so badly by our demonstrations that they took boats and went out to the Yankee fleet. We soon went back to camp again.

Yankees Attempt to Capture "The Little Ida."

Soon after this a Yankee gunboat ran into the town of McClellanville, some thirty miles above us, after a blockade runner, and we were ordered up there (two companies and a battery of artillery). We got up there on short notice, burning for a fight. The rowboats full of marines from the gunboat had rowed with muffled oars up to the blockade steamer, captured her and got up steam and had started out to sea when, on being hailed by one of our sentries she refused to heave to, our battery put a shot or two through her deck, when she stopped. Our boats all were aroused and full of soldiers and made for the steamer.

The marines were falling out of her and taking to their rowboats to get back to their gunboat some distance down the stream, but we caught the most if not all of them, put the steamer back to port again, and sent the Yankees prisoners under guard to Charleston. This was the first live Yankee enemy I ever saw, and they created quite an excitement in camp and aroused our martial spirit highly. We felt as large as if we had taken a city.

It was quite an event in our quiet coast life. The steamers name was "The Little Ida." She lay there, having put her cargo ashore, some time and after all got quiet left, and I heard got captured.

A Great Outrage.

We remained here several weeks looking for a renewed expedition from the gunboats, and then were put on duty by details going up some ten miles to the mouth of Santee River to look out for passing of gunboats up the Santee. We were put on picket up in the third story of an immense rice mill owned by a Mr. Blake, an Englishman. From there we could plainly see any passing into the broad mouth of the Santee. This was the largest and richest plantation I ever saw, the canals were ten feet wide and deep and had the finest fish in them. The soil was a foot or more deep and cornstalks grew as large as a man's wrist or ankle, as thick in drill as cane almost, and was as blue as indigo it was so rich. The owner had gone back to England, the plantation abandoned, slaves all gone, and everything looked as lonesome and dreary as death. There were over an hundred negro houses, two rooms and piazza, on long streets fronting each other, and under large live oaks. I have always wanted to see this place under cultivation and visit it again. Soon after this we were ordered to Mount Pleasant again, and then occurred an event that shaped my life differently and has ever been felt as then, one of the greatest outrages perpetrated on free men.

Hampton's Legion Recruited.

Hampton's Legion had returned from Tennessee very much cut up and decimated and was to be recruited, and Col. M. W. Gary was promoted to brigadier general if he could make a full regiment and mount his men. By some State manoeuvering and military conniving it was ordered that our company and Captain Vennings' of our battalion of cavalry should be disbanded as organizations and merged into the Hampton Legion, giving our men choice of giving up our horses to old Legion men, enlisting where we pleased, and twenty days' furlough, or go to Hampton Legion retaining our horses. Our officers got an inkling of this at McClellanville and our captain, instead of telling his men and letting them quietly go home and re-enlist elsewhere, kept it quiet and carried us into camp at Mt. Pleasant as though nothing unusual was on tapis. That night our camp was suddenly surrounded by a company of Confederate soldiers with fixed bayonets and loaded guns, our horses put under guard, and we were informed of the status of affairs. We felt greatly humilated at this action. We having been accepted as soldiers by the government and had done honorable and hard duty for months, and then to be treated this way was more than we could bear.

Some of us tried to cut our horses' throats before we would give them up, but on going to them were not allowed access. Then we intended to foot it home, but we found ourselves fixed and shut up to the two courses above. We were in a tumult, all mad, some determining to do one thing and others another. While we were in this state we assembled in the piazza of a large house we were quartered in, and held an indignation meeting. We felt Capt. J. A. Peterkin had betrayed and deserted us, and I, among others, gave him our opinion and said very hard words to him, hard to take. I was especially insulting, but he took it all quietly.

Since and after the war we have talked it over often and laughed over it. Many gave up their horses and joined bomb-proof commands, and got exempted and in one way or another evaded any further active duty. It was a great mistake for the service, for had we been put in Hampton Legion, or any other command, as an organized body we all would have gone with alacrity and been a power united, but at it was hardly a third went into the Legion or active service anywhere else. Captain Peterkin got a bombproof and was never any more good. I afterwards learned the whole truth about the transaction. He was under compulsion to hold us together till we could be transferred into other commands, and had he not done so would have been hardly handled.

From here on till the close of the war I enlisted and belonged to Company H, Hampton Legion, Gen. M. W. Gary's Brigade. I, among others, including T. L. Crosland, Edwin Coxe, D. C. and P. M. and J. T. John, Travis Pate, C. S. McCall (our orderly sergeant), Robert Stanford, William and Robert and Arthur Calder, P. M. Hamer, Alex Heustiss, Joshua and J. K. Fletcher, and others whom I do not recall now, all concluded on due consideration that we wanted to see active service and did not wish to be forced to give up our horses, so joined Hampton's Legion and went to Virginia. It took some hours to settle all this and write our transfers and furloughs, which done, some went home at once, others, along with a detail from the Legion, took charge of our horses and carried them up to Columbia, where the regiment was stationed. I sent my horse along by my negro boy father gave me for a cook and waitingman and I with T. T. Crosland and others took train for home. We landed at midnight at Society Hill, could get no conveyance home and get out on foot for same; got to the river and could not get old Doub, the ferryman, up to put us over. We shot his house and shouted all to no purpose and laid down on the river bank and slept until daylight when the old coon got up and put us over. We then set out afoot for home. There was a great rejoicing then. I came home a hero instead of dead or half so. I was so fleshy my parents hardly knew me. I had been fed on delicacies all my life, hardly ever sat down to dinner with less than three courses, and then suddenly transferred to active outdoor exercise of the rigid sort, eating the plainest food and less quantities I lost my dyspepsia and fattened like a pig. I remember Miss Constantia Townsend, one of my chums, sent me a large sponge cake in a box mother made up for me, and when I got it I sliced it, fried it in bacon grease with my meat and ate it with greed and thought it the best cake I ever saw. It greatly amused Miss Constantia and the home folks when they heard how the cake was served. Our rations on coast were a little bacon, meal and sometimes flour, changed by rice and blue beef, mostly the latter, and it was tough eating as there was not an eye of grease on the beef and the rice was glue.

The Battle of St. Mary's Church.

We were to have all met at Columbia after ten days' furlough was out and gone to Virginia in a body, but about five days at home found me with a well-developed case of measles, and I was in bed very sick when my furlough was out. Father sent on a doctor's certificate, backed by statement of enrolling officer, and got my time extended. As I had a bad time it was three weeks before I was well enough to go forward, and then left sooner than my parents thought prudent as my extension was out and I feared consequences. On about the 28th of May, 1864, I started equipped again for Virginia via Columbia, S. C. Of course all were loath to see me go again, as now I was to be where there was great carnage and all felt very doubtful if I ever returned. I got to Columbia and found camp, of course, broke and all in Virginia, my boy riding my horse through the country with the regiment. I went direct to Richmond via Danville, and as cars were crowded rode with other soldiers on top the coaches to Richmond from Weldon. My eyes were nearly out when I got there, but as soon as there I was conveyed at once to the soldiers' home at the old Exchange Hotel and there I cleaned up and spent the night, and in the morning started out with others to the front in search of my regiment. I came up with it about June 25th, just after the battle of Cold Harbor was over, found it near Chickahominy River, at Ridley's Shop, near the enemy, in rifle shot, and went on duty at once, our horses being in rear in charge of every fourth man as was usual when we went into action. We lay under cover here a week or more speaking in low voices and whispers, looking for battle every hour. We could not cook or raise the least smoke. All the rations we had was cornbread baked some ten miles in rear and sent us in corn sacks thrown over backs of mules, and raw bacon. When the bread reached us it was mostly sour and broken into small fragments and crumbs. It was hard fare but all we could get, the raw meat was a pill with sour bread, but necessity knew no law and when we were hungry we ate it with relish and learned to love raw meat, and afterward often ate it so from choice when we had all chances to cook it. We organized our Marlboro friends into a mess at once, consisting of T. U Crosland, P. M. Hamer, D. C. and I. M. and J. T. John, Edwin Coxe, Alex Heustiss, Travis Pate and myself. My negro boy and Coxe's boy did our cooking when we were in camp long enough to cook. We remained near Ridley's shop in small skirmishes and picket firing for several days.

After an unusual hot fight all night and day with the enemy on this line we went into camp hungry and worn out, many of us too much so to wait for food, and fell down as soon as horses were unsaddled and fed, and went to sleep. About two o'clock in the morning a courier came up from St. Mary's or Samaria Church, some twenty miles, with orders for us to join Hampton. The bugle rang out for us to saddle up and fall in. I never was so much outdone, it seemed I had just gotten to sleep. We were in our saddle in ten minutes and on the road, and well do I remember that ride. The dust was ankle deep on the horses, and as we rode in two file the dust was so intense that we could not see the horses immediately in our front, nor could we see our hands held up before our faces. It came near suffocating us and I spit out great mouthfuls of pure mud. I thought I would die, and can't now see how I helped it, but a man can get used to anything, and nature became so over exhausted that I fell asleep finally in my saddle and rode on so for miles. Just about sunup we came to our destination, were ordered to graze our horses five minutes, and before we had more than dismounted and given them a bite we were ordered to mount and forward. We filed into a very large field and found many thousand cavalry there all drawn up and under a review by General Hampton. We were among the last to pass him. and as we did so with battle flags waving and bands playing and us hurrahing, the old general uncovered to us, his old regiment, and he told us he knew we would do our duty as of old. As each command passed him they were led out of the field and placed in position for battle. We were marched over a mile to the left and on counting fours were dismounted and with our long Enfield rifles went forward as we always did during an engagement. We crossed a large piece of woods which was fresh burned tiff to destroy the undergrowth to prevent the combatants from being concealed from each other and so take each other unawares. We passed through this woods driving a thin skirmish line in, under a scattering fire till we came to a rail fence around a field. Here we were halted and could plainly see the enemy in large numbers some half mile distant drawn up in line of battle.

They were soon charged by our men on our right flank Georgians and North Carolina troops. We could plainly see each line of battle with their colors in front. Our line swooped down upon them, both firing till they were very near each other, when under a very hot and rapid fire from the enemy our men fell back.

Our men had muzzle-loading rifles and the Yankees had breach loading and rapid firing rifles and had so great advantage over us. Our line reformed and went up on the enemy a little nearer than before only to be repulsed again, but they fell back only a short distance, reformed and charged the third time sweeping all before them. It was a grand and inspiring sight. We knew the enemy was only being driven under cover of his artillery and expected to be called to support this charge each moment, and sure enough we were ordered forward over the fence at double quick. Word passed down the line that we were to charge a battery, which always was dreaded by a soldier who knew what it meant. Many a prayer went up, and aloud, too, but on we went, and as we plunged into a piece of woods on the other side of the clearing I ran right up on a large soldier badly wounded and being carried out by four men. He was streaming blood and groaning loudly. It completely unnerved me, as I said to myself I am going where he came from. I would have run then at once had it not been for my pride, but I pressed on, and we soon fell upon the enemy in a swamp with the gaulberry bushes ten feet high. We halted and fired at each other here at close range till our guns got so hot we could scarcely hold them. We could tell where the enemy were by watching the tops of the bushes shaking. All of a sudden some one gave the alarm "fall back", and we fell back a short distance. When the mistake was discovered we advanced again, driving the enemy before us. We suddenly emerged from the swamp and got into an opening. Our company ran up into a farmers' back lot and I ran into his horse lot and saw the Yankees in full retreat, in fact stampeded. There was a wide lane from this lot toward a field and it was jammed full of a blue mass running for dear life, shedding guns, haversacks and accoutrements as they went. I rested my rifle across a cart in the lot and fired down this lane into the mass as fast as I could load till they got out of sight. We then double-quicked after them, and a mile further on, as expected, found they had run under cover of their batteries. We were ordered to charge these batteries planted on a high crown of hills. On we went amid a storm of grape shot and cannisters and shells till we got about a quarter of a mile of them, when Major Arnold, commanding our regiment, halted us, as we were out of ammunition, and he said he would not sacrifice his men under such a fire. We laid down under orders in a field of wheat just headed out, for protection, until we could get ammunition and support. I was completely broken down now, no food for 24 hours, and an all-night march, and a battle with so much running, the heat intense, and the excitement and yelling together with the intense burning produced by burning powder, caused a reaction as soon as I got quiet.

I was detailed then, with a squad from my company, to go to the rear and bring back a turn of ammunition. We took the back track and when about a half mile to rear we ran across a well of water with about twenty-five soldiers around it almost fighting for their turn to drink. When I came up I begged for water, and moved by my size and youth and pitiful distress, I suppose, all with one accord gave way to me, and said, "Give the boy water, the poor little fellow needs it." I remember how thankful I was and they stood back and saw me drink. I thought I never would get enough. The kind-hearted man who held the bucket warned me I had better not drink too much as it would hurt me, asking me if this was not my first battle, but inexperience and present distress goaded me on, and I drank my fill and sat down to rest a moment, and sure enough soon had cramp in my bowels and could not move. I lay down in great agony and soon knew almost nothing and thought I was dying. Kind passers tried to help me, but could do nothing. I laid on the ground all that evening until late in the night before I came around, then I was so weak and worn-out I could not travel. Near me were three wounded Yankees, one moaning all night, one just breathing, uttering no sound, and the other died very soon. I fell asleep as soon as my pains allowed, and when I awoke the sun was away up. I sprang up and started to search for my command. I soon found it resting and about ready to go back to camp at Malvern Hill, where we started from. This fight we called the battle of St. Mary's Church—some called it Samaria Church.

In Camp at Malvern Hill.

Grant was crossing to the south side of James River, and his cavalry and some infantry were making this diversion to cover his movements. I omitted to mention that the first time in this battle that we felt the enemy in force was at the church, a neat white-painted building. The Yankees had felled the trees for breastworks, cut off the limbs and taken the benches from the church and pinned them to the logs, and they made it hot for us behind them, but we soon ran them out. We learned after the fight was over that the afore-named battery was captured and driven off, and our mounted cavalry drove the panic-stricken enemy we routed so into the river and many of them were drowned. When we got back to camp we were nearly famished and had an awful ride back through the dust. We went into camp at Malvern Hill, getting our water out of a huge spring at the foot of the hill, running from under a large gum tree; spout of spring was three feet across. We remained here several days doing picket duty along the river, where the Yankee gunboats lay in sight. The marine band discoursed beautiful music every night, which we enjoyed very much. We could hear them giving orders, too, and any common conversation. Under cover of trees and hills intervening we grazed our horses by order and in order each morning early and late in the afternoon in clover fields waist high bought by our quartermaster for the government.

We had to avoid raising any dust to prevent being shelled by the enemy, which was often done. We lay here three or four weeks, having weekly and sometimes daily skirmishes with the marines from gunboats and Federal cavalry raiders who always were harassing our front.

Put to a Severe Test. Shoots a Yankee.

One day, hearing an unusual skirmish fire some mile or more distant, we were ordered out to the front, and found the fight to be one over the possession of some hogs our boys had shot near the river to supplement our short rations. The Federal pickets came forward to dispute possession, and a spirited fight occurred.

The enemy landed more men to support pickets and our men supported ours, and the fight became general, involving all our brigade. We drove in their picket line and held the hogs, but they became then a small factor. Blood was up on both sides and the hog incident was forgotten. After driving in their Skirmish line under cover of their guns or gunboats we were halted and formed into a close skirmish line up and down the river road, lined in our front with heavy oak forest with thick undergrowth of gaulberry bushes and other thick growth. We were posted behind every convenient large oak tree for protection, as the fire from the concentrated enemy was severe, and the gunboats, in addition, were shelling us, but we got so close under their guns it was hard for them to reach us, but they soon put mortar shells upon us, dropping them all around us. The infantry charged us several times, but were repulsed. They had a skirmish line much stronger than ours, and with superior breach-loading rifles and ours muzzle-loading, were vastly in advantage over us. However, we held our line under a very trying fire. Here I was put to a severe test and shot a Yankee, the only one I ever knew I hit. These were the circumstances:

One interval of our line found no convenient tree for protection, so our captain (Jack Palmer) stationed a man some thirty yards forward of our line behind the trunk of a large white oak tree.

The enemy were not slow in learning of his disadvantage and crossed fired him so sharply that they ran him from the tree, and another man had to be sent there at once to fill the gap, which was done. When in a few moments he was run in, a third and tried old Legion man was then sent there, but fire became so hot that he, too, soon retired. The enemy seemed to become generally aware of the situation and concentrated their fire upon this point and coming up nearer to it, as it was so much in advance of our line they could do so with comparative safety, under cover, too, of the undergrowth, and our rear was an open field. It looked like our line would be broken, when our orderly sergeant (Mat Dannerly) ordered me to go forward and hold the tree and post.

I felt it unwarranted and told him I would not go. and demanded him to send back the men who belonged there. We were passing hot words when Captain Palmer came up and said, "Yes, Crosland, you are right; he cannot compel you to go, but it is important, and I ask you to go for my sake." Appealed to in this manner I could not refuse, and as all eyes were centered upon me and how I would bear myself, a new man, so to speak, among the old Legion men, I felt my opportunity to place myself upon , the same plane with the old men (who felt themselves superior in valor) had arrived, and forward I sprang under the applause of new and old men. I expected to be killed before I reached the tree, but I got there safely and found it the center target of all that section of the line. The cross firing was so hot and accurate I was sure each moment was my last. I tried firing upon them, too, at first, but soon gave it up as I exposed my elbows loading my muzzle Enfield rifle. Their balls were ripping the bark off the tree all around, from the ground ten feet up, and cutting off twigs and leaves all around my head, as it was a very low-branched tree. I cannot now look back and see how I escaped except through a special Providence. My comrades to rear, right and left shouted words of encouragement to me as they loaded and shot at the advancing line of enemy. Among these especially was P. M. Hamer on my left and P. M. John on my right, both of my mess. All yelled to me to stand close up to the tree. I tried to do so, but the roots were large and high, projecting from the tree, and I could not stand close behind without leaning forward, and this was a very straining posture; however, I maintained it with much fatigue, under stern necessity, for an hour, the balls fairly raining upon the tree and around me and shells dropping and exploding just in my rear. It was very demoralizing, but pride held me to my post. It was now getting late in the afternoon and the enemy made a last rally and dash.

I could hear their tramp just ahead of me, and hear them telling each other how to shoot to get me, hear all they said. Nature was about exhausted, standing in this position, and I had in this interval had all I ever did to pass in review before my mind. I was desperate and felt I had as well be killed one time as another and was about to change position and get a shot myself and risk consequences when their line became visible to our men. Philip M. Hamer called quickly and urgently for me to look out, that the enemy were upon me, and to fire. I sprang from behind the tree and not 20 steps from me I saw three bluecoats in a huddle with guns seemingly upon me, advancing through a thick clump of gaulberry bushes. As quick as lightning I fired upon them as by inspiration, feeling like the crucial time had come. I suppose the suddenness of my nervous fire took them by surprise. One of them fell yelling like a goat with his head hung in the fence. I sprang behind the tree, loading my rifle, looking each second to get the contents of the other two rifles at muzzle points. The suspense was awful, but short, for as the fellow fell yelling our whole line fell to cheering and applauding me. Comrades Hamer and John, especially exultant, calling to me that I had killed him, for all felt for me as I was such a small stripping sent to so trying a place. As soon as I got my gun loaded, which, you may be sure, was in an incredible short time, I sprang out again to die game, but instead the other two bluecoats had taken up the one I brought down and hustled him to the rear, and he was yelling at every step. I peered anxiously through every opening and watched the tops of every clump of bushes to detect any enemy passing through foot of same, but none came. This seemed to put a quietus on things, for in a few moments their line was withdrawn and we remained in line an hour longer, when our scouts reported all safe and quiet in front and we were ordered back into camp. This little episode fully established me in the confidence and esteem of the old men, and especially my officers. Captain Palmer was always very kind to me. This fight occurred very near an old jug manufactory called the "Old Pottery," and we soldiers called it the "Fight of the Old Pottery."

What it is termed in history I do not know, and perhaps no mention is made of these smaller engagements except in reports of officers of the army to their superiors in rank.

Placed on Picket Duty and Forgotten.

Soon after this we moved camp and I was detailed, with four others, on the usual picket duty, and was sent to Long Bridge, over the Chickahominy River, to warn of the approach of the enemy in that direction. We carried our usual two days' rations with us, which, being scant, we ate up in one day, expecting to fast the second day, but we were not relieved as promised at the expiration of two days and our fast was prolonged. At the end of the third day I was nearly famished. We tried to buy or beg of a poor woman near by enough to stay our stomachs, but she was nearly as bad off as we were. She said Sheridan had been through there twice, and had succeeded in leaving starvation behind him as was his boast. We dared not abandon our post, yet were in a serious condition. I found a plum thicket of green plums and some worn-eaten ripe ones. I ate some these and wandered off and found some red green blackberries and tried these, then drew my cartridge box strap tight to draw my stomach up to fit the rations, drank water to fill up, and continued tightening my belt. I lived this way, taking my turn on duty three hours out of each twelve, until the end of four days, when a courier came to call us in, saying that our camp had been moved and a fight been on hand and we were overlooked. But we were rejoiced at relief, as now we were nearly starved, and after a ten-mile ride found our camp. When I got there our mess had on the fire a huge camp kettle of rice, bacon, beef and Irish potatoes, the latter stolen out of a good woman's garden by T. L. Crosland while P. M. Hamer talked to her at the front gate. This hash was soon done and I fell to on it and ate it hot from the fire and thought it the grandest meal I ever sat down to.

The Battle of Deep Bottom.

Soon after this, on the (dates have escaped me), we were hurried out of camp one morning, after being in a skirmish fight all day, having ridden twenty miles and gotten into camp past midnight, into the battle of Deep Bottom. When we reached camp above I was so tired out I unsaddled my horse, fed him and fell at his feet with my head on the saddle, without food, into a deep sleep. In the night a heavy rain came up, but I was so worn out that it never waked me, and when the bugle rang out to saddle up and the orderly came around arousing the men I got up out of a hole of water, half my body being submerged in it. I felt I had been asleep only five minutes, but threw my saddle on my horse and put my coat on, mounted, and was on my way to the front in less time than I can write. It was long before day. We rode some five miles, were dismounted and sent to the front. We threw out a skirmish line in front and forming in battle line in rear followed up the skirmishers until we got to the river road; here we came up with our skirmish line, who were feeling the enemy lively. In our rear was a heavy growth of oak timber, and in our front a large field of corn about seven feet high, just in the bunch to tassel. It was very thick and the enemy were there in large numbers. We lay in a little ditch about a foot and a half deep, its bank being thrown up and a low plank fence put upon it. We had not been here long when the enemy charged us, and we poured our fire into them, loading and firing as fast as we could. They came within fifty yards of us, then fell back, and in a short time formed and came again, this time getting within thirty yards of us. The fire from their gunboats and field artillery was fearful, the shells hissing, shrieking and bursting all around us, tearing off whole tree tops and limbs in our rear; the grape and cannister making a fearful rattling and sickening thud, striking tree trunks, was very demoralizing. They were so thick it sounded like a handful of wheat thrown among dry leaves in regard to multitude of sounds, and like lightning and hail striking many times a minute. We repulsed this charge handsomely, but only to be confronted with a line of battle three deep very soon after, with ours only one deep.

This time they came within twenty steps of us and we could see the bluecoats well among the corn, now thinned by the fire. It looked like they would drive us out this time, they outnumbered us so much, but as fast as we fired we laid down in the ditch to reload, and up and fired again. I had fired my rifle so fast and often now that it became so hot I could hardly hold it in my hand. It got powder foul and as I tried to clean it a Yankee saw me and fired at me. The ball tore through the 12-inch plank at bottom of the fence and the spent ball hit me with a thud. I thought I was done for, but soon found I was o. k. The splinters of the plank hit D. C. John, who lay just beside me, in the back of the neck, and he thought his time had come, but finding his mistake we both got ready to fire about the same time, and putting our rifles through a crack of the fence we pulled upon the bluecoats. The fire getting rapid and no yelling going on, they supposed we were there in great numbers and were ready to mow them down when a little nearer, so they broke and ran. During this fire Captain Nickerson, afterward our major, was shot in the lower leg, and the pain was so intense that he yelled fearfully and jumped all over the road in our right, in an agony, holding his knee in both hands. It came near demoralizing our men. Just then the Twenty-fourth Virginia Cavalry, which belonged to our brigade and were posted to our right and held a ravine crossing the road, gave way, and the enemy, pressing on, outflanked our line. General Gary dashed up the road and ordered us to charge down the road and cut them off and retake the line, but the men on our right never moved, consequently we lay still. The general took out his pistols and threatened to shoot us if we did not move on. He ranted and fumed, but the men were dogged and remained firm, and we soon learned our right failed to move because they saw the utter futility of the action. They were largely out numbered, and we were then nearly surrounded, and it was sure death to get up and move down the road under such a terrific fire.

General Gary soon saw it, too, and ordered us to fall back a short distance, where he had ordered our led horses up. We mounted and at a brisk trot barely escaped from the cordon nearly around us. As we got beyond danger some one gave the alarm, "The Yankees were upon us", when the order came "Gallop, march." J. T. John's mare began to fall and stumbled twenty steps, when she fell upon him, hurting him right badly. As we rode along I saw a small piece of cornbread some one had dropped, and though the regiment had ridden over it, I sprang down quick as lightning and got it and went to eating it greedily, and thought it the sweetest bread I ever ate. As we passed out of this battle we passed Kershaw's brigade of infantry on our right, who had been in the fight, and as they retired from the temporary works the enemy crawled into them, and, strange to say, neither fired upon the other, though immediately upon each other, in speaking distance. This was a mystery to all of us. We lost a good sprinkling of men in this fight.

A Dangerous Picket Post.

Soon after this I was detailed to go on a very dangerous picket post near Chafins Farm, on the James River. We were carried about four miles from camp in the night through a dark piece of woods I had never been in before, and on a creek side in a deep hollow the reserve post was established where the reliefs slept while one was on duty. I was carried a mile further on, over a long bridge, through a deep valley and up a long, high hill and posted there on the edge of a large field of felled oak timber which was as dry as tinder. Several hundred yards off lay a Yankee gunboat where we could hear the bands playing and orders given. I was warned that every night for a week we had lost a man on this post from another regiment, and it was a post of great danger. The sergeant instructed me if advanced upon to gradually fall back, and if suddenly, to fire and fall back when all would come to me. He then left and went to reserve post. I was very lonesome and scared. Every motion of my horse, creaking of saddle and champing of bit sounded as loud as a gun to me. I was straining my ears all the time to detect the least noise in my front. After a time I heard a noise like a hog among the dry bushes in front of me. It stopped often, then inched on, gradually getting around me. I fell back twenty steps, when all was still for a time, then it worked again the same way, and finally I lost the noise. All of a sudden I heard it again nearly in my rear flanking me. I at once fell back again. When after a time it began again I was about to fire upon it when, greatly to my relief, I was relieved and another comrade put on. I warned him and went back to post. Away past midnight we heard a rifle shot and all hurried to the assistance. He reported the same facts I had given and fired upon it. We remained with him till day, when we were relieved by another squad from the regiment, and that night a man was taken off. It was the worst and most ticklish picket duty I ever did. I thought that night of all I ever did in my life, expecting death or capture. I could hear my own heart beating in the stillness of the night.

The Battle of Fuzzle's Mill.

Not long after this we got unexpectedly into the Battle of Fuzzle's Mill. We were quietly moving camp one day, our ambulances and wagon train with forage and cooking utensils and baggage being ahead, apprehending no danger, when our pickets ran in to us to give alarm of the advance of the enemy, but they were fleetly mounted and pressed hard on our pickets, riding into us simultaneously with our own pickets. The first thing we knew we were fired into, and our wagon and ambulance train made a summersault and ran back among us who were leisurely riding in their rear. We were completely taken by surprise, but General Gary rode up opportunely, as he always did, and ordered Major Arnold to dismount a squadron at once and hold the enemy in check until we could form the brigade and repulse them and get our led horses to the rear. He promptly did so, none too soon, for they came on thick and fired into us lively. It fell to my lot in counting fours to be No. 4, and I had to ride my horse and lead three others, taking care of all baggage, etc., feed and water them.

I had always rather go into a fight than do this. I remember I offered to take T. L. Crosland's place, telling him he had a family and I had none, if either were killed, but he would not, and I led off my horses to the rear, leaving our boys in a stiff fight and not seeing them again for three or four days. Thus I cannot detail this fight, though near it and hearing often from it by guns and messengers.

Mr. William Murchison, an invalid, had just joined us here, being forced into the army, and was with the hospital crowd and came near being captured. The Yankees shot a volley at my negro boy and others at the same time, calling him to stop, but he ran like the wind and escaped. It was said he ran fifteen miles before he took up. He was the worst scared negro I ever saw. As he passed me I shouted to him to stop and ride one of my horses, but he needed no horse, one could not have caught him.

This fight was a series of sharp battle for several days, in which we suffered considerable loss. I was worried greatly with my horses, keeping them fed and watered and keeping the blankets under saddles, which was a job; with no rider they were always working out; then keeping luggage on saddles, running night and day hither and thither with them to be in reach of men if needed and out of reach of the enemy, who often stampeded us to capture them. I was rejoiced when I was able to see each man mount and take possession of his own horse. This was the battle of Fuzzle's Mill.

Assigned to Duty at Brigade Headquarters.

Soon after this I was ordered to report to brigade headquarters at once. I was at a loss to know what it meant and thought I had been reported for some action. Being a boy I could not imagine what was up. I arrived there and called at Lieut. R. W. Boyd's tent, to whom I was ordered to report He received me kindly and asked me to write a sentence on some paper on his desk. I was puzzled and wrote one, boy-like, thus: "To spell well is a great merit, to spell imperfectly is a great demerit." He looked at it, smiled a little, and asked me if I had any idea what was wanted of me. I told him I did not. He then told me that Dr. H. Baer, my old school teacher, then in the surgeon generals office in Richmond, had gotten him, an old friend, to have me detailed from the regiment to remain with and to act as ordnance clerk and courier to him and Gen. M. W. Gary, he being on the latter's staff and brigade ordnance officer. I was much elated, as it meant higher duty, better rations and immunity from picket duty, though more danger in battle, as I must be always mounted and more conspicuous, and at the heels of General Gary all the time, who never feared danger and was always under fire. I went back to camp and got my little plunder and negro boy, bade my mess good-bye and took up new quarters at headquarters. The general had about eight other couriers, among them M. V. Tribble, of Anderson, Dan C. Tompkins, of Edgefield, a young Hamilton, of Laurens, Hughes, of Union, J. T. Sloan, now of Columbia, Albert Nickerson, of Edgefield. I soon fell in with these and became a favorite with them and was kindly treated by the general himself, and Lieut. R. W. Boyd treated me with the kindest consideration, for I was his ordnance clerk, too, and under his especial charge as he was ordnance officer of our brigade and of General Gary's staff.

Col. A C. Haskell Wounded.

Soon after this we had quite an engagement at Malvern Hill and drove the enemy away with considerable loss. We were at this time in almost daily fights of minor importance and skirmishes as our brigade was set on the north of James river between Richmond and Pamunkey River for the local defense of the capital, while the main army of Lee was south of the James confronting Grant. Sheridan, Kautz and Wilson, of the Federal army, were always trying to turn our left flank and so capture Richmond, and several times came very near doing so. On one of these occasions Yankee troops were massed secretly in our front and a desperate charge made upon us, but we drove them back with loss, but the battle assuming much importance General Lee sent Longstreet's Corps across the pontoon bridges on the James River to our aid and finally came himself, and we had quite a desperate engagement. In our front were the Yankee cavalry and artillery in vast numbers. Our regiment and the Seventh South Carolina Cavalry were sent in to the charge, and the fight was so hot our men were pressed back by much superior numbers till finally Col. A. C. Haskell and General Gary dashed to the front and our color-bearer with them, when our flag fell into the enemy's hands.

Here Colonel Haskell ran bluff upon Sheridan, Kautz and Wilson and in an instant hesitation which one to bring down with a fine pistol, a rifle ball from the enemy ploughed through his head and eye and brought him down. The enemy closed around him, took his watch and ring from him and at the same time our colors.

Haskell was much loved by our whole brigade, and our men became infuriated and made a desperate dash upon the enemy, retook the body of Haskell, recaptured our flag and drove the enemy back with great slaughter. And here our company immortalized itself again, for at this juncture I came upon them riding out of battle to the rear after the engagement was over upon eleven pieces of fine artillery with horses and all (our men were mounted upon the horses) guns, caissons, caps off, hurrahing.

This was an inspiring scene, and just during this battle was the only time I saw General Lee closely. He had ridden up with his staff around him, and while he planned and surveyed the situation his minor officers lolled and rested on their horses. One younger officer, with some petulance, remarked louder than he meant that he was tired and sleepy and that he "had slept not a wink last night." General Lee calmly turned and simply remarked, he had slept scarcely a wink in a week. The young officer wilted.

Just about this time the fall of Ft. Harrison occurred. We were waked up one morning after fighting all day and getting to camp and sleep supperless about midnight, about an hour before day, by the bugle call to saddle up, were hurried to the front at a lively rate to New Market Heights to the rifle pits, then pushed to left to our earthworks, where the enemy, behind a mass of negro troops, were charging our thin line. We had hardly got to the breastworks before the enemy rushed en masse upon us and the works cheering tremendously. Here Will Simmons, of Charleston, one of our company orderlies, was killed, together with Sergeant Dannerly. Simmons jumped upon the works and swore he would have one good shot, when a rifle ball took him between the eyes and he fell backward dead. We lost a good many men here and were driven pellmell back. The great hoard of cavalrv and infantry who had secretly been massed in our front, against only our one brigade, drove us wildly back before Lee could send us help from across the river. We had a running fight to the rest set of earthworks, made a stand, but were as chaff before the wind.

We ran in a panic for the line of works farther back commanded by Ft. Harrison. Here we made a desperate stand, but with only a few heavy artillerymen to aid us could do nothing against such numbers flushed with victory. We had to abandon the fort and whole line, and it looked now like nothing could save Richmond.

We rode straight across the country, through creeks, mill ponds, with no regard to roads, pushing to our left all the time, for by this time Lee was pushing us help over the river from the right, and as fast it came we gave way further to the left. We ran into the inner line of breastworks and high forts in sight of the city barely in time to save them. General Gary with three or four of our couriers behind him, in advance of our line, found General Pemberton, of Vicksburg fame, in command, the latter calmly sitting his horse overlooking the scene. Our forts were bristling with heavy guns and artillerymen alone, and below in the valley some 1,000 yards away the enemy were massing for a final charge by the thousands. They could easily have ridden into the city, but evidently felt we had a large force and were preparing for them. It was dusk now and all the houses in our front, which were many, had been fired to prevent me enemy's sharpshooters from picking off our artillerymen. The heavens were lit up with lurid lights, all was bustle and excitement, guns booming to our right, the fight raging between Longstreet and the enemy all along the line, and we calmly looking on. our foes ready to walk in on us. Here General Gary rode passionately to the forts and ordered the artillery to open on the advancing enemy. They replied they were under orders from Pemberton not to fire. Gary then rode up to him and after some remonstrance openly defied him and charged him with intention to sell Richmond as he did Vicksburg. and ordered the officers present to open fire. Pemberton at this rode to the rear, and seeing this the artillery, already eager, opened every gun and the music began. It was the grandest and most inspiring sight I ever witnessed. Sheets of flame broke forth and shell, shot and grape were hurled into the dense mass in our front. They stood it only a few moments, then broke, panic-stricken at the carnage, and dashed for a mill dam in their rear, over which they had poured just before. Our guns were trained upon this, literally mowing a lane down along it as they ran. This saved us, and in an hour's time our little crowd was upon the mill dam. pushing on to the extreme left, where the enemy was still pushing. The pond and both aides of the dam were piled in heaps with dead men, horses, cannons, caissons, blown up by our shells. The carnage was awful.

Strotcher of Orangeburg, Avenged.

General Gary took his couriers steadily on to the left, sending one hurrying up our brigade to' follow, and sent me with the ordnance train through the city, then out upon the Nine Mile Road to meet him and our troops there. Richmond as I passed through was wild with excitement. Had the old men and boys mounted on private and livery horses sending them out with such arms as they could pick up. I found the Nine Mile Road blocked with stampeded ambulance wagons, supply teams and city troops, but pushed on with my wagons until I found General Gary. If took us immediately to the front to our breastworks, and had scarcely gotten there when we heard the thunder tramp in an old field of pines of thousands of feet, and orders directing the advance of the enemy. In a few moments they broke into sight. Three lines of negro troops backed by a line of whites and white officers. The negroes were drunk and bellowing and driven on to the charge. On they came with few shots fired, our brigade hurrying as fast as possible forward, but the enemy were closer to the works than our men. We had a small field battery just to the left of the works enfilading the advance of the enemy, and they poured in their fire mowing down the men. We sat our horses impotently looking on, helpless, with balls whizzing by our heads. Just then our battery, seeing the enemy were upon us and in the works first, limbered up to leave, when Gary spurred his horse up to them, directing one more volley. As it was delivered the Yankees were pouring in a huddle up to and around it, and it made a sickening lane and havoc as it belched forth its last volley. Some of the riders cut their traces and escaped, others were captured, and then and there Sergeant Strotcher, of Orangeburg, was bayonetted, after surrender, by the enemy. We got off to the rear slowly and reformed our line some miles back about two hours after dark and started for the front again very quietly to recapture our lost works. We burst upon them suddenly and after a short and sharp fight drove them out, capturing some 400 or 500 negroes and a few white soldiers.

They fled panic-stricken, throwing away their arms and baggage as they went. We worked the negroes and prisoners all night fearfully, strengthening our works, looking for a new attack in the morning, which never came.

In the morning General Gary ordered the prisoners carried "to Richmond," which meant kill them. They were told to cross the breatsworks and run, and they might go, when they were shot down like dogs in retaliation for the murder of Strotcher after surrender. I was sent out to gather up the abandoned arms and I took up eight wagon loads of them and carried them to the laboratory in Richmond. The field was dotted with dead negroes and white officers. The negroes had just been paid off and had plenty of greenbacks in their pockets and tintypes of their women at home. The ground was covered with codfish and hard tack.

In assorting the different pattern of rifles I had the muzzle of one in my hand pulling it when it discharged, the ball passing through my coat sleeve, wristband and out at my back, going through side of my coat at body. It frightened me worse than the battle did.