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Gilbert Moxley Sorrel

RECOLLECTIONS OF A
CONFEDERATE STAFF OFFICER

Very truly yrs
Gill Sorrell

RECOLLECTIONS
OF A
CONFEDERATE
STAFF OFFICER

BY

Gen. G. MOXLEY SORREL

Lieutenant-Colonel and Chief of Staff, Longstreet's 1st
Army Corps; Brigadier-General commanding
Sorrel's Brigade, A. P. Hill's 3rd
Army Corps, Army of Northern
Virginia

SECOND EDITION

WITH INTRODUCTION BY

Senator JOHN W. DANIEL

THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY

440 FOURTH AVENUE       NEW YORK
1917

Copyright, 1905, by
The Neale Publishing Company

TO MY WIFE
This Volume is affectionately
DEDICATED

In illness and tedious convalescence it was she who suggested
these reminiscences of the past, as a solace,
giving me cheerful encouragement and material
assistance in their preparation, for which
my grateful thanks are ever hers.

CONTENTS

PAGE

Introduction

13

CHAPTER

I

Battle of Manassas, July 21, 1861

23

II

After Manassas at Centerville

35

III

Reminiscences and Horses

45

IV

Sketches

53

V

Our National Hymn

61

VI

The Peninsula and Battle of Williamsburg, May 5, 1862

65

VII

Battle of Seven Pines, May 31, 1862

71

VIII

Battles of the Chickahominy, June 26 to July 2, 1862

76

IX

Rivalry and More Reminiscences

87

X

Second Battle of Manassas, August 29 and 30, 1862

94

XI

Battles of South Mountain (Boonsboro Gap) and Sharpsburg (Antietam), September 14 and 17, 1862

103

XII

Battle of Sharpsburg, Continued

110

XIII

Battle of Sharpsburg, Concluded

115

XIV

Our Personnel—Visitors

120

XV

The Staff

124

XVI

Events Preceding Fredericksburg

129

XVII

Battle of Fredericksburg, December 13, 1862

136

XVIII

After Fredericksburg—Reminiscences

143

XIX

To South Virginia for Supplies

150

XX

Preparing for Gettysburg

156

XXI

Battle of Gettysburg, July 1, 2, 3, 1863

163

XXII

Gettysburg Aftermath

173

XXIII

In Virginia Again

179

XXIV

Longstreet to Reinforce Bragg

184

XXV

Battle of Chickamauga, September 20, 1863

188

XXVI

Chattanooga—Incidents

195

XXVII

The East Tennessee Campaign, November, 1863, to April, 1864

204

XXVIII

The East Tennessee Campaign, Continued

212

XXIX

At Home in Savannah—Sketches

220

XXX

Battle of the Wilderness, May 6, 1864

228

XXXI

Coincidences—Longstreet's Successor

240

XXXII

Battle of Spottsylvania C. H., May 10 and 12, and Cold Harbor, June 3, 1864

244

XXXIII

The siege of Petersburg June, 1864, to March, 1865

254

XXXIV

Longstreet's Return—Farewell to Lee

265

Appendix

283

RECOLLECTIONS OF A
CONFEDERATE STAFF OFFICER

INTRODUCTION

BY

John W. Daniel

Formerly Major and Assistant Adjutant-General Early's Division, Second Corps, A. N. V.

A few months ago I entered a room where a group of five or six gentlemen were seated around a table in conversation. As I took my seat to join them, one of the number, a distinguished Northern Senator, of high cultivation and who is a great reader of history, made this remark to his companions: "The Army of Northern Virginia was in my opinion the strongest body of men of equal numbers that ever stood together upon the earth." As an ex-Confederate soldier I could not feel otherwise than pleased to hear such an observation from a gentleman of the North who was a student of military history. As the conversation continued there seemed to be a general concurrence in the opinion he stated, and I doubt if any man of intelligence who would give sedate consideration to the subject, would express a different sentiment.

The Army of the Potomac, the valiant and powerful antagonist of the Army of Northern Virginia, was indeed of much larger numbers, and better equipped and fed; but it would have nevertheless failed but for its high quality of soldiership which are by none more respected than by its former foes. Both armies were worthy of any steel that was ever forged for the business of war, and when General Grant in his "Memoirs" describes the meeting after the surrender of the officers of both sides around the McLean House, he says that they seemed to "enjoy the meeting as much as though they had been friends separated for a long time while fighting battles under the same flag." He prophesied in his last illness that "we are on the eve of a new era when there is to be great harmony between the Federal and Confederate."

That era came to meridian when the Federal Government magnanimously returned to the States of the South the captured battle-flags of their regiments. The story of the war will be told no longer at soldiers' camp-fires with the feelings of bygone years, or with even stifled reproach, but solely with a design to cultivate friendship and to unfold the truth as to one of the most stupendous conflicts of arms that ever evoked the heroism of the human race.

"Recollections of a Confederate Staff Officer," by Brigadier-General G. Moxley Sorrel, of the Army of Northern Virginia, is a valuable contribution to this great history. Its author received his "baptism of fire" in the First Battle of Manassas, July 21, 1861, while serving on the staff of Brigadier-General James Longstreet as a volunteer aid, with the complimentary rank of captain.

The forces under General Beauregard at Bull Run were known at that time as "The Army of the Potomac." The name of the antagonist of the Federal "Army of the Potomac" was soon changed to the "Army of Northern Virginia"; and Longstreet, the senior brigadier, became major-general and then lieutenant-general.

Sorrel followed the fortunes of his chief, serving as adjutant-general of his brigade, division, and corps, with rank successively as captain, major, and lieutenant-colonel, and distinguished himself many times by his gallantry and efficiency. During the siege of Petersburg the tardy promotion which he had long deserved and for which he had been time and again recommended, came to him and he succeeded Brigadier-General Girardey, a gallant soldier, who had been killed in battle, as commander of a brigade in Mahone's division, A. P. Hill's Third Corps.

When promoted he showed the right spirit by making a faithful and brave courier his aide-de-camp. As a general, as well as while on the staff, Sorrel often had his "place near the flashing of the guns." At Sharpsburg he leaped from his horse, with Fairfax, Goree, Manning, and Walton, of Longstreet's staff, to serve as cannoneers at the guns of the Washington Artillery, whose soldiers had been struck down. While he was carrying a message to a brigade commander his horse was shot under him, and still later on the same field a fragment of a shell struck him senseless and he was for a while disabled. He passed through the maelstrom of Gettysburg, here and there upon that field of blood; the hind legs of his horse were swept away by a cannon ball, and at the same time he and Latrobe, of Longstreet's staff, were carrying in their arms saddles taken from horses slain under them.

At the Wilderness, May 6, 1864, he was at the side of his chief when that officer was badly wounded, and when General Jenkins, of South Carolina, and Captain Dobie of the staff were killed. He won his general's wreath that day, although it was some time before it reached him. At the crisis when Longstreet's corps was going to the rescue he was entrusted with marshalling three brigades to flank the advancing forces of General Hancock. Moving forward with the line of the Twelfth Virginia Infantry, of Mahone's brigade, he endeavored to take its colors as it advanced to the onset, but Ben May, the stout-hearted standard-bearer, refused him that honor and himself carried them to victory. When this battle was over General Lee saluted him as "General Sorrel."

He was wounded in the leg while commanding his brigade on the right of the Confederate line near Petersburg; and again he was shot in the lungs at Hatcher's Run in January, 1865, the same action in which fell the brave General John Pegram, then commanding Early's old division.

During the illness resulting from this wound, General Sorrel was cared for by relatives in Roanoke County, Virginia, and having recovered sufficiently returned to the field. He was in Lynchburg, Virginia, on his way back to his command when the surrender at Appomattox ended the career of the Army of Northern Virginia.

Scarcely any figure in that army was more familiar to its soldiers than that of General Sorrel, and certainly none more so to the soldiers of the First Corps. Tall, slender, and graceful, with a keen dark eye, a trim military figure, and an engaging countenance, he was a dashing and fearless rider, and he attracted attention in march and battle by his constant devotion to his duties as adjutant-general, and became as well known as any of the commanders.

General Sorrel has not attempted a military history. He has simply related the things he saw and of which he was a part. He says of his writings, "that they are rough jottings from memory without access to any data or books of reference and with little attempt at sequence." What his book will therefore lack in the precision and detail as to military strategy or movement, will be compensated for by the naturalness and freshness which are found in the free, picturesque, and salient character of his work.

General Sorrel was of French descent on his father's side. His grandfather, Antoine Sorrel Des Riviere, had been a colonel of engineers in the French Army, and afterwards held estates in San Domingo, from which he was driven by the insurrection of the negroes in the early part of the nineteenth century. He then moved to Louisiana.

His father, Francis Sorrel, became a successful business man in Savannah, Georgia, and his mother was a lady of Virginia. If he inherited from one those distinctively American qualities which were so attractive in his character, we can but fancy that he inherited in some degree at least from his sire the delicate touch with the pen which is so characteristic of the French. They have written more entertaining memoirs than any other people, and this memoir of General Sorrel is full of sketches, incidents, anecdotes, and of vivid portraitures and scenes which remind the reader no little of the military literature of the French.

No military writer has yet undertaken to produce a complete history of either the Army of the Potomac or the Army of Northern Virginia. Indeed, it has scarce been practicable to write such a history. The rolls of the two armies have not yet been published, and while the War Records have furnished a great body of most valuable matter and there are many volumes of biography and autobiography which shed light on campaigns and battles, the deposit of historical material will not be finished before the whole generation who fought the war has passed from earth. This volume will be useful to the historian in giving him an insight to the very image and body of the times. It will carry him to the general's headquarters and from there to the picket-line; from the kitchen camp-fire and baking-oven to the hospital and ordnance wagon; from the devices of the commissary and quarter-master to the trenches in the battlefield; from the long march to the marshalled battle line; from the anxieties of the rear-guard of the retreat to the stern array of the charging columns. He will find some graphic accounts of leading characters, such as Longstreet, Ewell, D. H. Hill, A. P. Hill, Jeb Stuart, Early, Anderson, Mahone, Van Dorn, Polk, Bragg, and many others who shone in the lists of the great tourney. The private soldier is justly recognized, and appears in his true light all along the line, of which he was the enduring figure. Lee, great and incomparable, shines as he always does, in the endearing majesty of his matchless character and genius.

General Sorrel's book is written in the temper and spirit which we might expect of the accomplished and gallant soldier that he was. It is without rancor, as he himself declares, and it is without disposition unduly to exalt one personage or belittle another. It bespeaks the catholic mind of an honest man. It tells things as he saw them, and he was one who did his deed from the highest and purest motives.

The staff of the Army of Northern Virginia (of which G. M. Sorrel, assistant adjutant-general, was a bright, particular star) was for the most part an improvised affair, as for the most part was the whole Confederate Army, and indeed the Federal Army was almost as much so. It showed, as did the line of civilians turned quickly into soldiers, the aptitude of our American people for military service and accomplishment. Even the younger officers of military training were needed in armies of raw and inexperienced recruits for many commands. The staff had to be made up for the most part of alert young men, some of them yet in their teens, and it is remarkable that they were so readily found and so well performed their duties.

At twenty-two years of age Sorrel was a clerk in a Savannah bank, and a private in a volunteer company of Savannah. He slipped away from his business to see the bombardment of Fort Sumter in April, 1861, and a little later we then find him at his father's country estate some ten miles from Manassas Junction, looking forward to a second lieutenancy as the fulfilment of his then ambition.

An introduction from Col. Thomas Jordan, the adjutant-general of Beauregard, to General Longstreet fixed his career with that officer, and he was by his side transacting his business and carrying his orders from the start to well-nigh the finish. On the Peninsula, and in the trenches at Yorktown, at Williamsburg and Seven Pines, in the Seven Days Battle around Richmond, at Second Manassas and Sharpsburg, at Suffolk in southeast Virginia, at Gettysburg, Chickamauga, at Knoxville, at the Wilderness, and in many combats along the Richmond and Petersburg lines, General Sorrel shared in many adventures and was a part of many matters of great pith and moment. Like Sandy Pendleton, the adjutant of Jackson, of Ewell, and of Early as commanders of the Second Corps of the Army of Northern Virginia, and like W. H. Palmer, of Richmond, the adjutant of A. P. Hill, he had no special preparation for his military career; and all three of these valuable officers, like many others who might be mentioned, are simply illustrations of the fine inherent qualities that pertain to the scions of a free people.

I have not written this introduction in the hope that I could add anything to the attractiveness of General Sorrel's recollections, nor have I undertaken to edit them or to pass upon the opinions which he expressed concerning men or things or battles. My part is simply that of a friend who belonged also to the staff of the Army of Northern Virginia, and of one who, from opportunities to observe General Sorrel on many occasions and to know him personally, learned to honor and admire him. I deem it fitting, however, to say that in some respects I differ from General Sorrel's opinions and would vary some of his observations respecting Ewell, Stuart, Early, and a few other conspicuous leaders.

"Fortunate indeed is the man who like General Sorrel is entitled to remind those around his death-bed that he did his best to do his duty and to serve his country with heart and soul. The records of his life tell us how well, how faithfully he did serve her, and if anything can console you and others for his loss it must be that fact."

These are the words of Field Marshal Wolseley, written to Mrs. Sorrel, the widow of the General upon his death at "The Barrens" near Roanoke, Va., the home of his brother, Dr. Francis Sorrel.

They are worthy of repetition in connection with General Sorrel's name by reason of their just estimate of his worth as a patriot and a soldier, and of the high spirit which they breathe; and that they are uttered by a soldier and a man of such character and ability as Field Marshal Wolseley impresses all the more their inherent merit.

They better introduce the volume of General Sorrel's composition than anything I can say, for they reveal in short compass the nature of the man, the principle that actuated his life, and the estimate formed of him by an eminent soldier who had no partial relation to him or his deeds.

John W. Daniel.

Washington, D. C., May 1, 1905.

RECOLLECTIONS OF A CONFEDERATE STAFF OFFICER

CHAPTER I

Battle of Manassas, July 21, 1861

Forbears and Home at Savannah—Fort Sumter attacked—Hostilities begin—Leave for Virginia—Visit to my father—Beauregard's camp at Manassas—Colonel Jordan—Introduced to General Longstreet—Sketch—General Stuart—General Johnston—The battle—Enemy defeated—Pursuit stopped—March to Centerville—Stonewall Jackson—Prince Napoleon—the review—Colonel Skinner—His Exploits.

My forbears were French on my father's side. His father, Antoine Sorrel des Riviere, Colonel du Genie (Engineer Corps) in the French Army, was on his estates in the island of San Domingo when the bloody insurrection of the blacks broke out at the opening of the century. He had the tragic horror of witnessing the massacre of many relatives and friends. His property was destroyed, and his life barely saved by concealment and flight to Cuba, thence to Louisiana, where a refuge was found among friendly kindred. There he died at a great age.

His son Francis, my father, was saved from the rage of bloodthirsty blacks by the faithful devotion of the household slaves, and some years later succeeded in reaching Maryland, where he was educated. He married in Virginia, engaging in business in the early part of the century at Savannah, Georgia.

My maternal great-grandfather, Alvin Moxley, was from Westmoreland County, Virginia. He was one of the signers of what is known as the Richard Henry Lee Bill of Rights, 1765, the first recorded protest in America against taxation without representation, and which twelve years later led directly to the Revolutionary War. The original document is now preserved and framed in the Virginia Historical Society at Richmond.

Death bereft my father of his wife in time's flight. An eminent merchant, successful and prominent, we find him in the Civil War in health and ease, happy in the love of many children and the esteem of hosts of friends. As a child he had seen some horrors of the insurrection, but never could he be persuaded to speak of them, so deep and painful were even their distant memories. At the culmination of the political troubles in 1861 I was a young chap just twenty-two, at home in my native city, Savannah, peacefully employed with the juniors of the banking force of the Central Railroad.

When Sumter was bombarded at Charleston in April, I slipped away for a day or two and witnessed the scenes of wild excitement that attended its fall. It spread everywhere, and like all the youth of the country I was quickly drawn in. For a year or two before, like many of my associates in Savannah, I was a member, a private, of the Georgia Hussars, a fine volunteer cavalry company, with a creditable history of almost a century.

On the secession of Georgia, now soon following, Fort Pulaski was seized and the various military commands did their tour of duty there, the Hussars among them.

This was my first service. The company also immediately offered itself to the Confederate Government just organized at Montgomery, Alabama, and was eager to get into the field; but delay ensued, although it was mustered in for thirty days' service on the coast of Skidaway Island, near Savannah. There I served again as private until mustered out. A Confederate army was being collected in Virginia under Beauregard, the capital having been settled in Richmond. Becoming impatient of inaction at Savannah, our company apparently not being wanted, I decided to go to Virginia and seek employment there.

Richmond looked like a camp when I arrived, in July. It was full of officers in their smart uniforms, all busy with their duties, and the greatest efforts were made for equipping and arming the men now pouring in from the South. They were posted first in camps of instruction, where, by means of younger officers, they attained some drill before being sent to the army. How happy should I be could I get a commission as second lieutenant and plunge into work with the men.

My brother, Dr. Francis Sorrel, had just arrived from California and was gazetted to a high position in the Surgeon-General's Department. He aided me all possible, but I got nothing, and so about July 15, my cash running down, betook myself to my father's pretty country place at Greenwich, about ten miles north of Warrenton, Fauquier County. It was also about ten miles from Manassas Junction, the headquarters of General Beauregard, now in command of the army that was to fight McDowell and defend Richmond. My father said it was unfortunate I had not come a day or two earlier, because he had driven his daughters across the country for a visit to the camps, where they met many friends. Among these was Col. Thomas Jordon, the all-powerful adjutant-general of Beauregard's army, then termed the Army of the Potomac. Many years before, Jordon, when a lieutenant, had been stationed in Savannah, and enjoyed my father's generous hospitality. This was my opportunity.

I asked for just a few lines of introduction to Jordon, and a horse out of the stables. I knew them well and could get a good mount for the field. My dear father willingly acceded, and parted from me cheerfully but with moist eyes. On the way to the camp I came up with Meredith, a relation (not long ago United States Congressman from Virginia), and soon I found Colonel Jordon. He had been doing an enormous amount of work and was almost exhausted.

Jordon was considered a brilliant staff officer, and justly so; but there appeared something lacking in his make-up as a whole that disappointed his friends. At all events, his subsequent military career failed and he sank out of prominent notice. He was kind to me, read my note, said nothing could be done then; but—"Come again to-morrow."

This turned me loose in the camp. The soldiers from the Valley under J. E. Johnston and J. E. B. Stuart began to make an appearance in small numbers, principally cavalry. We slept that night at Meredith's, about three miles from camp. Jordon, the next day, was still unable to do anything for me, and I began to be doubtful of success, but could at least go as a private with a good horse under me.

Again at Meredith's and awakened very early by cannon, we were up in a moment and galloping to Beauregard's.

There I was made happy on the 21st day of July. The adjutant-general handed me three lines of introduction to Longstreet, commanding a brigade at Blackburn's Ford several miles distant. With a good-by to Meredith I was swiftly off. Approaching the ford, shot and shell were flying close overhead; and feeling a bit nervous, my first time under fire, I began to inquire what folly had brought me into such disturbing scenes.

The feeling passed, however, and Longstreet, who had called on Beauregard for staff officers, received me cordially.

His acting adjutant-general, Lieutenant Frank Armistead, a West Point graduate and of some service in the United States Army, was ordered to announce me to the brigade as captain and volunteer aide-de-camp. Brig.-Gen. James Longstreet was then a most striking figure, about forty years of age, a soldier every inch, and very handsome, tall and well proportioned, strong and active, a superb horseman and with an unsurpassed soldierly bearing, his features and expression fairly matched; eyes, glint steel blue, deep and piercing; a full brown beard, head well shaped and poised. The worst feature was the mouth, rather coarse; it was partly hidden, however, by his ample beard. His career had not been without mark. Graduating from West Point in 1842, he was assigned to the Fourth Infantry, the regiment which Grant joined one year later. The Mexican War coming on, Longstreet had opportunity of service and distinction which he did not fail to make the most of; wounds awaited him, and brevets to console such hurts. After peace with Mexico he was in the Indian troubles, had a long tour of duty in Texas, and eventually received the appointment of major and paymaster. It was from that rank and duty that he went at the call of his State to arm and battle for the Confederacy. History will tell how well he did it. He brought to our army a high reputation as an energetic, capable, and experienced soldier. At West Point he was fast friends with Grant, and was his best man at the latter's marriage. Grant, true as steel to his friends, never in all his subsequent marvelous career failed Longstreet when there was need.

Such was the brigadier-general commanding four regiments of Virginia infantry, the First, Eleventh, Seventeenth, and Twenty-fourth, and a section of the Washington Artillery of New Orleans. The Eighteenth Virginia Infantry was afterwards added.

Three days previously, Longstreet, just joined his command, had opportunity of showing his mettle. His position at the ford was fiercely assailed by the Federals, and his coolness, good disposition, and contagious courage brought about their defeat, and was the beginning of that devotion which his men gave him up to Appomattox. His staff officers at the time were Lieutenant Armistead, Lieutenant Manning of Mississippi, ordnance officer; Captain Walton of Mississippi, aid; Captain Goree of Texas, aid; and some quartermasters and commissaries detailed from the regiments.

The army had scarcely made an attempt yet at good organization.

At Manassas Junction, while waiting on Jordon, I first saw Gen. Joseph E. Johnston and J. E. B. Stuart. The first was full bearded, dusty, and worn from long marching; a high-bred, stern-looking soldier of faultless seat and bearing in the saddle. I had the good fortune to know him well and most happily in the coming years. Once long after the close of the war I was chatting with him in his best humor. We were speaking of his varied military life and the several wounds he had received in Mexico, with Indians, and in the recent Confederate War. He had many, and as he sat in face of me the General's splendid, dome-like head was something to admire. Quite bald, it was scarred in several places, and looking at the mark of an ugly gash I inquired, "And, General, where did you get that one?" The smile that irradiated that strong, expressive face was brilliant and contagious as he answered, "I got that, sir, out of a cherry tree!" and then followed a laughing account of what a fall he had, and how he had been chased by the farmer.

Stuart, red bearded, ruddy faced, alert and ever active, was dirtier even than Johnston; but there stood the tireless cavalryman, the future right arm of the great Lee, the eyes and ears to his army. Alas! that his pure soldier's life, crowned with such splendid fame, should have ended so needlessly, late in the war, by a stray shot.

I should say here there is to be no attempt at describing battles—the military works are full of them. I shall content myself with bare outlines, and some observations of men and things, adding such incidents and personal happenings as may, I hope, prove of interest.

Longstreet's brigade had practically no part in the battle of Manassas. It sustained some desultory artillery fire, and there was a demonstration against it, but it amounted to nothing. Blackburn's Ford was on the right, where the attack was expected, but McDowell found his way to Beauregard's left and nearly smashed him until Johnston and Jackson "ventre a terre" and turned the doubtful tide of battle into a ruinous rout of the enemy.

It was late in the afternoon, but we soon heard of it at our ford, and Longstreet, waiting for no man, was immediately in pursuit. He was halted first by Bonham, who ranked him, to permit his brigade to take the lead. Then resuming the march hot-footed, after the flying foe, we were again stopped, this time by Major Whiting, of Johnston's staff, with orders from Beauregard to attempt no pursuit. Painful was this order. We knew the Federals were in full flight, and we had only to show ourselves to bag the whole outfit.

We dismounted among some young pines to await further orders, and I saw Longstreet in a fine rage. He dashed his hat furiously on the ground, stamped, and bitter words escaped him. However, the night was on us, some food was picked up by hook or crook, and we slept well under the stars. The soundness of the order stopping pursuit has been viewed in many different ways, and I shall not add my own opinion, except to suggest that while in the condition of our army it was practically impossible to seize Washington, it was yet the proper thing to keep on the heels of those frightened soldiers until they reached the Potomac. Many thousand prisoners, and much loot and stores, ammunition, guns, colors, and other material would have fallen into our hands.

Next day the field and highways showed the terrible battle that had raged, and the ground was covered with the debris of the panic-stricken army. Our brigade moved leisurely on, and halted for some time at Centerville. The army was concentrated in the neighborhood, and about Fairfax Court House and Fairfax Station, our headquarters being for some time at the former place. About this time Longstreet was joined by two noted scouts and rangers whom he had known in Texas—the celebrated Frank Terry and Tom Lubbock, powerful men, both of them, in the prime of life. Scouting and fighting had been their part from boyhood. They were of much use to Longstreet. From Fairfax Court House and vicinity we sent regular details, called the advanced forces, to occupy Mason's and Munson's hills, only a few miles from Washington. At night the dome of the Capitol could be seen from those positions, lighted up with great splendor. There was sharp sniping in front of the hills, and Terry and Lubbock generally bagged their man apiece, each day, besides bringing in valuable information. Both men soon returned to Texas and organized a regiment of cavalry in the Confederate service under Terry. It was said to be the finest body of horsemen and fighters imaginable, and subsequently did great service in the West. Terry fell among them at their head.

It was while we lay in the neighborhood that I saw Prince Jerome Napoleon, "Plon Plon." It seems he was making a short visit of curiosity (he was no friend of the South), and was at Beauregard's headquarters some distance off.

The General sent notice to Longstreet that he was coming with his staff and guest to call on him, and suggested that he try to get up something in the way of a small review of our best-clad soldiers. Longstreet started me off at once to borrow a regiment from Stonewall Jackson and one from D. R. Jones (South Carolina), both commands being near by. The First Virginia Infantry, the Richmond regiment, was the contingent from our own brigade. I soon found myself saluting General T. J. Jackson, the first time I had seen the soldier. He was seated in a low, comfortable chair in front of his quarters, quite shabbily dressed, but neat and clean—little military ornament about him. It was the eye full of fire and the firm, set face that drew attention. His hand was held upright; a ball at the recent battle had cut off a piece of his finger, and that position eased it. He was all courtesy to the young subaltern awaiting his answer.

"Say to General Longstreet, with my compliments, that he shall have my best-looking regiment, and that immediately. The colonel will report at the point you may designate." This done, Jones gave up his best, some good-looking Carolinians, with palmetto badges, and then spurring back to meet Beauregard and party to guide them to the reviewing ground, he presented me to His Highness the Prince, who, well mounted, was riding by his side. I could not keep my eyes off the Frenchman's face. It was almost a replica of the great Napoleon, his uncle, but unpleasantly so; skin pasty and flabby, bags under the eyes, and beefy all over. A large man, tall, but without dignity of movement or attitude. The review was soon over. The three picked regiments, with a good band, looked well, although the Richmond boys were a bit out at the seat; but, as old Skinner, the Colonel, said to the Frenchman as they marched by, "The enemy won't see that part of them."

The spot was on a nice piece of turf near an old wooden church, and we had gathered a few refreshments for the occasion, but the Prince would have nothing. Coldly and impassively he raised his hat in parting salute, entered the carriage that was awaiting him, and, escorted by a lieutenant of cavalry and a half dozen men under a flag of truce, we willingly sent him back to his friends, the enemy. On returning to France he published what ill he could find to say of us. "Plon Plon's" abuse was not to hurt or disturb honest men with brave hearts.

A word about Old Skinner, Colonel of the First Virginia. He was an old Maryland fox hunter, handsome and distinguished looking, and had lived long in France, almost domiciled there. He was connected with many of the best people of Maryland and Virginia, and had hosts of friends. Fond of good liquor, it was almost every night that he was a bit full, and then there were wild scenes with his well-known hunter, who could do anything or go anywhere with the Colonel on him. Skinner was a fine swordsman, and had brought from France a long, straight, well-balanced double-edged cuirassier's saber. In his cups the fine old Colonel would swear he should die happy could he have one chance to use that steel on the enemy.

The chance came and Skinner was ready for it. At the second battle of Manassas a battery of six guns was mauling some of our infantry horribly. His regiment, the gallant First Virginia, was thrown at it, "Old Fred," as the men affectionately called him, leading well in advance. Out flashed the French saber, and he was among the gunners in a trice. His execution was wonderful; sabering right and left he seemed invulnerable, but down he came at last, just as his men swept over the guns in a fine charge. It was the end of the Colonel's soldiering, but although frightfully wounded in the chest and body he survived for many years. So lively was the old beau sabreur, that only a few years ago he came to New York to fight John Wise because of some fancied slight to a member of his family—Wise, too, his lifelong friend! As there could be no fighting, Wise had to do some nice diplomatic work to soothe the irate Colonel and smooth over the affair.

CHAPTER II

After Manassas at Centerville

Commissioned as captain and acting adjutant-general—Pay of officers—Assigned to Longstreet's brigade—The Oglethorpe Infantry, of Savannah—Enemy preparing for winter quarters—Beauregard takes command in West—Confederate flag—Presentation of battle-flags—Starting a theatre—Georgia Hussars—A sleigh ride.

Something must now be said as to what happened to me several weeks after the Manassas battle. It will be remembered I was a volunteer aid with the rank by courtesy, but no pay. When I saw my messmates taking theirs in very comfortably, it occurred to me I should make another effort for a commission, so I wrote my application to the Secretary of War asking to be appointed a second lieutenant, C. S. A., and assigned as might be thought proper. Blushing like a girl, I asked General Longstreet if he could endorse it favorably. Glancing hastily at the paper, he said, "Certainly," and then added carelessly, "but it isn't necessary." The words made no impression at the time, but they came to mind later.

After the battle we had not been idle; at least I was set to work. There was no commissary to the brigade, and for a week or two I did the duty after a fashion until an officer of that department was assigned—Major Chichester. His papers, correspondence, and duties seemed to fall on me, naturally, by his consent, and the brigadier-general soon began to look to me for assistance.

This had been going on for some time until the official mail one fine morning brought me a commission as captain in the Adjutant-General's Department, with orders to report to Longstreet. Then his words leaped to my memory. He had a right to nominate his own adjutant-general and had applied for me while I was fishing around for a second lieutenancy. I had no military training except some drill and tactics at school, but it seemed he thought I took to the work handily. He instructed me to relieve Armistead and take over all the duties of the office. I rose with Longstreet to be major and lieutenant-colonel in that department, and brigadier-general commanding in Hill's corps, and my affection for him is unfailing. Such efficiency on the field as I may have displayed came from association with him and the example of that undismayed warrior. He was like a rock in steadiness when sometimes in battle the world seemed flying to pieces.

Armistead left us, carrying our good wishes for his future.

I think the pay of a captain (mounted) was $140 per month and forage for two horses; a major, $162 a month; a lieutenant-colonel, $187. All general officers got $301 per month. A soldier said the $1 was for what they did, the $300 just thrown in to please them. Johnny Reb must have his little joke.

The first company to leave Savannah for Virginia was the Oglethorpe Infantry, a fine body of eager young men commanded by Captain Bartow. He was well known all through the State as an ardent Confederate, a distinguished lawyer and orator. He took his young men to Joe Johnston in the Valley, wildly enthusiastic; but Bartow could not long remain their captain. His wide reputation quickly placed him colonel of the Eighth Georgia Infantry, and with that historic regiment the company fought at Manassas, and the entire war thereafter in Longstreet's command. Bartow was commissioned a brigadier and served as such at Manassas. On July 31st many anxious eyes were fixed on it in Savannah. Then was its baptism of fire, and nobly did the young men stand it. Many were the mourners at home for the killed and wounded of these devoted youth. Their officers—West, Cooper, Butler—led them handsomely; their colonel was lost to them and to the country. Bartow was shot down at the head of the Eighth. "They have killed me, boys, but never give up the fight," was his last gasp, and his soul, with the gallant Bee's, sought its upward flight. The company became famous. It left its dead and wounded on every battlefield from Manassas to Appomattox, wherever Longstreet's corps was engaged. Revived now and honored it is at its old home, one of the leading military organizations of Georgia. Never do the men forget the memories of that day of battle on its recurring anniversaries, or fail in pride of their glorious predecessors.

As the winter approached, the enemy drew in their front and lined the fortifications and defenses on the Potomac. McClellan evidently determined not to attack and that the winter must pass idly on their part. The gaudium certaminis was no part of him. On ours Johnston drew in his scattered forces, concentrating about Centerville, which he fortified, and there they were, the two armies making faces at each other, and the Northern papers telling wonders about us, all believed by McClellan, whose imagination always doubled, trebled, quadrupled the fighting strength of those desperate Rebels.

While at Centerville the army underwent its first reorganization. Beauregard was sent West to important duty and J. E. Johnston assumed command of the Eastern army, to be forever known and glorious as the Army of Northern Virginia. It was then in four divisions, the second of the three brigades under Major-General Longstreet (Second Virginia and First South Carolina Brigade). First Division, also of three brigades, under Major-General Holmes (down on lower Potomac), and the district of the Valley, under Major-General T. J. Jackson (Stonewall), made up this army, besides artillery and cavalry; the latter under Stuart. The first flag of the Confederacy was the stars and bars, but it was found on the battlefield dangerously similar to the Northern stars and stripes. The battle-flag under which we fought to the finish was then substituted, and it was while we were at Centerville that the military function of presenting the new colors to the battalions was arranged.

The day for our division went off admirably. It was brilliant weather, and all were in their best outfits, and on their best mounts. The troops looked well as the colonels successively received their colors to defend.

Arrangements had been made for a generous hospitality at our division headquarters. We were occupying a dismantled old wooden farm-house well situated in the shade of fine trees. There a sumptuous repast was spread, and the principal officers of the divisions became our guests after the flag ceremonies. These arrangements were made by Major John W. Fairfax, whom Longstreet had had appointed a major and inspector on his staff. Fairfax was a rich man, owning the beautiful broad estate of President Monroe, Oak Hill, on the upper Potomac, in Loudoun County, near Aldie, also a fine property on the lower Potomac.

Major Fairfax was then of middle age, tall, courtly and rather impressive. He had attached himself at once to Longstreet, and took charge of his mess and small wants, presented him with a superb mount, and did the best he could with his new military duties. He lacked nothing in courage; was brave and would go anywhere. But Fairfax had two distinctions—he was the most pious of churchmen and was a born bon vivant, knowing and liking good things. Whiskey later was hard to get, yet he managed to have always a good supply on hand.

He is now a hale and hearty man, wonderfully well preserved.

It was Fairfax, as I said, that provided the feast, drawing the richest materials from his beautiful broad pastures in Loudoun. Everything was plentiful in that stage of the war and much liquor and wine were consumed. Johnston, G. W. Smith, Van Dorn, Beauregard, and others of high rank were present, and we had great merriment and singing.

Suddenly came a clash of steel in the crowded room. Longstreet, with great quickness, had thrown a pair of swords out of the window. Dr. Cullen and Captain Walton, both of his staff (too much wine taken), had suddenly quarreled, and Walton had given the doctor a blow in the face. Longstreet's quick movement disposed of the matter for the time, but it could not so end. After the entertainment, and when done with some hard racing and leaping by the wilder young mounted officers, Colonel Ransome Calhoun of South Carolina called on Major Walton. It was to demand a meeting in expiation of the blow. Walton referred Calhoun to me, and our pourparler opened most courteously. He was an admirable gentleman, and but for his good sense and forbearance there must have been an ugly meeting. My difficulties were increased by Longstreet, who, suspecting something, ordered me to put a stop to the whole affair, adding that I was chief of the staff and would be held responsible were not a hostile meeting avoided. We managed to close the thing by explanations from Cullen and regrets from Walton. Both men seemed well satisfied. Colonel Calhoun, of whom I then formed a high opinion, returned to duty at Charleston, and there incurred the enmity of Colonel Rhett. After some time, and many efforts of friends to bring about a better feeling, they met with pistols, and Calhoun was killed. A high-minded, honorable gentleman! Walton was quite a friend of mine.

Walton was quite a friend of mine and fond of me. Gifted with uncommon intellectual attainments, the favorite scholar of L. Q. C. Lamar at the University of Mississippi, he was of the most uncertain, unexpected temper and exactions; he could be dangerous at times, and only the greatest firmness held him in check until the humor passed off and then he was all lovely. When the war ended he returned to Mississippi, quarreled with a man, and killed him. Moving to Alabama he found himself in the thick of the yellow fever epidemic of 1878. Dropping all personal interests he devoted himself wholly to the sick and dying, until himself struck down by death. His memory is sweet in that part of the State.

One day, as the winter came on, Longstreet sent for me. "The men will want amusement and entertainment the long winter days," he said. "We must get them up a theater and a good company. See to it at once and lose no time. Issue such orders as may be necessary." That was all, and quite easy for the General. Draw a theater and company, properties and all out of one's pocket like a ripe apple! But it could be done with the resources of a division of infantry at one's hand, and I set about it at once. The colonels each received a note asking help and details from the ranks of actors with some experience. They were sure to be found there. But more than all, I wanted a manager, and he soon came out of the First Virginia Infantry to take charge of the play. It was Theodore Hamilton, an actor of some experience. I have met him in several places acting since the peace, and he always comes to me as an old friend, although he was not to tread the boards at the "Centerville Theater."

"Now, Captain," he said, "for scenery and properties. You have the building, I have the company; what about the rest?" It was easy; painters were found in the ranks for scenery, and many of the officers chipping in, we got together enough money to send Hamilton to Richmond to get the costumes and properties. I don't think he made the most of his time there, but he got something, and after many delays we began to think we should see some acting after all. But alas! just then, Johnston, discovering McClellan's movements to the Peninsula, broke up his camp, his officers destroying needlessly an immense amount of valuable supplies, and off we marched merrily to face our old friend, the young Napoleon. Such was the beginning and the end of our first and only attempt at theatricals.

It was while we were about Centerville that a great change came over Longstreet. He was rather gay in disposition with his chums, fond of a glass, and very skilful at poker. He, Van Dorn, and G. W. Smith were accustomed to play almost every night with T. J. Rhett, General Johnston's adjutant-general, and we sometimes heard of rather wild scenes amid these old army chums—all from West Point, all having served in Mexico and against the Indians. Longstreet's wife and children were at Richmond. He was devoted to them. Suddenly scarlet fever broke out and three of the children died within one week. He was with them, and some weeks after resumed his command a changed man. He had become very serious and reserved and a consistent member of the Episcopal Church. His grief was very deep and he had all our sympathies; later years lightened the memory of his sorrow and he became rather more like his old cheerful self, but with no dissipation of any kind.

Before parting with Centerville it should be said that my old troop, the Georgia Hussars, had at last got their services accepted and were brought to Richmond under my friend, Captain F. Waring, and mustered in for the war. They were thrown into a regiment known as the Jeff Davis Legion, commanded by Colonel Will T. Martin, which was to prove itself a fine body of horse.

While in quarters this winter there were several light falls of snow, a novelty to most of our Southern fellows. Not many of them were familiar with such descents from the clouds. There came, however, a storm anything but interesting. Snow was lying deep and camps were almost hidden.

My staff comrade, Peyton Manning, and myself decided it was the time for a sleigh ride of our own. No cutters were to be had, but we improvised one. Securing a stout, well-made box of good size, a plank seat in it for two made it the body of the fabric. Then the forests yielded a couple of slim saplings, which, bent at the ends over the fire, were not bad for runners. On these, braced and crossed, with shafts attached, our box, well elevated, was securely fastened, and there was our cutter. We settled that the team should be stylish and made it "tandem," in good extemporized harness. My charger was put in the shafts and Manning's in the lead, both high-spirited animals. Each horse was mounted by a small negro, postilion-fashion, good riders both, and supposed to add some safety as well as novelty to the equipage.

Manning undertook to handle the long reins from the bits, and we started, the observed of many curious, and amid the worst lot of evil prophecies of what would befall us that it was ever my fate to hear. The outfit took the road handsomely, cheered by the soldiers, our black postilions grinning with delight.

All went well for a time and then the devil himself broke loose! The spirit of the horses rising, especially that fiery brute of Manning's, they were off entirely beyond control. Over the deep-snowed roads and fields, across ditches and broken fences the gallant pair in mad race took everything on a full run, their postilions now ashy hue with terror and clinging like burs to the bounding animals. The finish came quickly. There seemed to be a sudden great fall of stars from the midday skies and Manning and I were hurled right and left into deep snow drifts, everything in pieces, horses and little niggers quite out of sight. Digging ourselves out we took a good look at each other and some ugly words were said; but although scratched and bruised no bones were broken, and we slowly trod our way back to camp, wiser if not better men from our first and last sleigh ride in old Virginia. The horses were brought back to quarters but never again were their black postilions seen in those parts.

CHAPTER III

Reminiscences and Horses

Visit to Mr. Francis Sorrel's country-seat—Interment of Captain Tillinghast, U. S. A.—Sir William Howard Russell, Times correspondent—McDowell and July 21st—Seward and the French princes—Army begins to march to Peninsula.

Not long after the battle I set out on a visit to my father's country place, Ireland, fifteen miles from our camp. Hitching up two good mules to a light army ambulance, what we needed was put in, our intention being to bring back some delicacies for the messes. Captain Thompson, of Mississippi, one of the aids, accompanied me. He was an extraordinary looking person. Nature had been unkind. The son of Jacob Thompson, Buchanan's Secretary of the Interior, he had much to hope for, but for his affliction. His teeth and jaws were firmly set and locked, and no surgical ingenuity had yet succeeded in opening them. Liquids could be conveniently taken, but mechanical arrangements had to be made for solid food by the removal of some teeth.

This young officer showing a great desire to go along with me, was taken, although I could not help picturing some surprise on the part of my father and young sisters. We were made very welcome, as fresh from the glorious battlefield, and the day was a happy one. The girls had made a captain's coat for me out of homespun cloth; but such a fit! big enough for two captains of my thickness, it hung at all angles and flapped furiously in high winds. But love had prompted its making and I would never suffer any ugly remarks about it.

Something better soon came. My brother, Doctor Sorrel, in Richmond, was always mindful of his juniors in the field, and getting possession of a blockade bolt of fine gray cloth, he soon had enough snipped off to make me two good Confederate suits, suitably laced and in regulation trim, besides a long gray cape, or cloak, well lined, which was to do me good service for years.

At "Ireland" they loaded our ambulance with good things and there were shouts of joy when we reached the camp with the delicacies.

Captain Thompson was not subject to military duty and soon returned to his home.

It should be said here that these jottings are without the aid of a scrap of notes or other memoranda. The memory alone is called on, and as the events go back forty years it is something of a test; but I hope I am rather strong on that point and do not fear falling into inventions or imaginations. There were some dry notes of dates and marches, but they cannot be found, and they would be of no use with these jottings, as no attempt at dates is made. It is a lasting regret to me that as a staff officer with opportunities of seeing and knowing much, I did not keep up a careful diary or journal throughout the war. It should be made one of the duties of the staff.

This is odd. The day after the battle I came across the body of Captain Tillinghast at the Federal field infirmary near the stone bridge. The year previous I had been much in Baltimore at the Maryland Club and had there played billiards with Tillinghast, then a captain of Artillery, U. S. A., and an agreeable acquaintance; consequently there could be no mistake when I recognized his dead body. The Federal surgeon also identifying him, I set about giving him decent burial, and managed it finally by the help of some men of Bartow's Savannah company who knew me. The ground was baked hard and we could not make the grave deep, but it was enough; and with my own hands I carved his name on the bark of a tree, under which the soldier found his last bivouac—"Otis H. Tillinghast."

Some time after, a blockade-runner, passing the lines took a letter from me to my cousin, Robert Fisher, in Baltimore, a friend also of Tillinghast. It was on other matters, but I let him know that Tillinghast's body had been recognized on the field, had received decent burial, and the spot marked. I described the location and then the matter passed out of my mind.

After peace came I was with Fisher in Baltimore and learned from him that my letter had been received and the information as to Captain Tillinghast considerately conveyed to his family. Fisher was answered soon after with thanks, "but there was some mistake," Captain Tillinghast was buried by his old classmate Samuel Jones, a Confederate brigadier-general, in a different part of the field and his body later removed to the family vault. Astonishing! If they got a body from a spot not where I had laid him they got the wrong husband. Sam Jones quite likely saw Tillinghast, but he had no hand in our burial of him. Stranger things, however, have happened.

Here are some trifles of talk remembered as coming from the famous war correspondent, Sir William Howard Russell, whose letters from the Crimea broke the Aberdeen Ministry and made him one of the leading men of the Kingdom. He was not long ago knighted at great age for his service all over the world in that field of letters. I met him several years ago in New York, in the train of the notorious Colonel North, the Chilean nitrate king. Russell had always some good stories on hand, and laughed at his chase from Bull Run battlefield, whither he had gone with the Federal army to write up their victory pictures. It gave him the name of "Bull Run Russell," which stuck to him. He admitted being very far to the rear, but said there were some generals and colonels who outstripped him to Washington! Some years after the war he met in Europe General McDowell, who said, "Russell, do you know what day this is?" "No, I don't recall any special occurrence." "It is," said McDowell, "the 21st of July, and had I succeeded on that day in '61 I should have been the greatest man in America and you the most popular."

Russell also had something about the French princes come to join McClellan's army. The two young men, Comte de Paris and Duc de Chartres, were under the care and tutelage of their uncle, the Prince de Joinville, who did not follow them to the army. On landing they received their commissions as captains, and quickly equipped themselves with handsome regulation uniforms and military appointments.

They proceeded to Washington to make formal calls of ceremony before reporting to McClellan. Among their first visits was that to Seward, the Secretary of State. On that evening he was holding a large reception. Seward himself leaving the ceremony to his son Frederick, was upstairs with some cronies drinking whiskey. "Seward was screwed, you know," said Russell, "undoubtedly screwed." When the two princes entered the hall, trim in their new uniforms, erect and soldierly, they were met by Frederick Seward, who at once went to announce them. "Tell them to come right up," said the old politician; "bring them right up and they shall have some good whiskey." "That will never do," said his son. "You must come down to them; it is etiquette and strictly in rule." And down the Secretary went. "Screwed" a little, for as soon as he spied the Frenchmen, out he broke: "Captain Chatters, glad to see you; welcome to Washington. And you too, Captain Paris. I am pleased to have you in my house. Both of you come up with me. You won't dislike the whiskey you shall taste." But the watchful Frederick came to the rescue and carried off the astonished princes with all propriety.

Russell declared this to be literally true; but if not, it at least as the Italians say, "ben trovato." Sir William was then a picturesque figure in dark blue dress coat, brass buttons, and ruffled shirt. Always interesting, he had exhaustless stores of information and adventure. A pretty young Italian wife accompanied him.

Something as to horses. I had left a good one in Savannah, in care of a member of the troop. Hearing that the horse was with him in Virginia I sent over for my property and got for answer that he was not mine; that he belonged to the man in Savannah, who not being able to enlist had contributed this fine animal to the outfit of the troop. A nice business indeed. It was easy to be patriotic with my horse, but it was soon settled. Captain Waring heard the statement, and recognizing the animal as mine had him sent to me; but the horse had been so neglected and diseased that he was no good and I was obliged to leave him by the roadside. I had, during the war, many horses, some good, some very poor. Among the best was the tough-looking clay-bank I took from my father when joining the army. He was capable of anything in speed and endurance, but with a walk so slow and a trot so bone-breaking that I had to swap him for one not so good. Many of my animals broke down from hard staff service in campaign, and a magnificent mare was killed under me in Pickett's charge at Gettysburg. A shell burst directly under her and the poor beast was instantly done for. I was not touched. In Tennessee, in 1864, I picked up a delightful little white mare, sound, fleet and enduring. I could not always get to my other horses at the outbreak of firing, and the mare's color was against us both. It was always among the soldiers, "Fire at the fellow on the white horse." She was at my brigade quarters at Appomattox and my brother rode her to Savannah. When the two appeared in front of our residence, my sisters rushed out, but could not believe that the poor, tired little mare was their brother's war horse. Their imagination had been at work.

My brother Claxton, my junior, was a fine, well set up young fellow and eager for the fray. He was also a private in the Hussars, and like myself had not waited for the company, but came on to Richmond. Here he fell in with some young Georgians from Athens, the Troop Artillery, a six-gun battery under command of Captain Carlton. Claxton joined and became a good artillerist and was a corporal when transferred. The First Georgia Regulars was organized by the State among the first, its officers being appointed by the Governor and the men enlisted anywhere. Its drill and discipline were supposed to be severer than that of other troops. This regiment was brought to Virginia and assigned to G. T. Anderson's (Tige Anderson) Georgia Brigade. With some influence and much hard work, my brother, Doctor Sorrel, succeeded in getting a commission as second lieutenant in this regiment for Claxton. Its officers were not elected; they were appointed by the Executive. Claxton's service was thenceforward with this regiment, its officers showing some of the best names in Georgia, and its reputation correspondingly high. Later I gave Captain Sorrel a temporary detail on the staff of Brigadier-General Garnett, and still later he was appointed captain in the Assistant Adjutant-General's Department and served with General John Bratton.

When we moved from Centerville my father had long since returned to Savannah with his family, and his "Ireland" place was unoccupied (it was later burned by the Union soldiers). But my cousin, Mrs. Lucy Green, and children, were at their place, "The Lawn," which would be in the enemy's territory after our withdrawal. Our first halt was near Gainesville and after getting the troops comfortably into camp I rode over to see her, about three miles. The situation was clearly described and he decided to pack her carriages and wagons and move to Richmond. I gave her a safe escort in a man from Lynchburg, Mr. Paxton, a member of Blackford's cavalry company. With farewells I rode back through the night, the better by a pair of English boots my cousin gave me. She and the children, with servants, under good Paxton's charge, made next morning a start for Richmond, where they arrived safely.

Referring again to horses, the hussar horse had been my mount at the short service on Skidaway. Henry Taylor was my messmate and rode next me on a good bay precisely the same color as mine, with considerable resemblance between them. Taylor was rich, lazy, despised discipline, and was a trial to the captain. He gave his horse no attention and the beast would have starved but for others. The captain could stand it no longer. Sending for Taylor he read him a severe lecture and promised punishment if the horse was not kept clean and tended.

Taylor was persuaded he must do something, and the next morning he was up at stable-call at the picket ropes, brush and curry comb in hand. It was very early and misty. My horse was picketed next to Taylor's and I had the satisfaction of seeing my lazy friend give him the best morning's rub he had received for many days. When Taylor woke up to what he had done and that his own horse was still to be tended he could not immediately see the joke, but soon took it in good part and had something ready for me not long after, which he thought squared us.

CHAPTER IV

Sketches

Brigadier-Generals Elzey and Early—Leaping horses—Confederate uniforms—Ladies at Fairfax Station—Colonel Stuart's Maryland line—Longstreet made Major-General—Sketches of Brigadier-Generals Ewell and Pickett—General Anderson—Major-General Van Dorn—Major-General G. W. Smith—Brigadier Early—Brigadier-General D. R. Jones.

One fine day not long after the Manassas battle, and while we were at Fairfax Court House, Longstreet called on me to ride over to the station on a visit. It was to General Elzey, who was found with General Early in a dilapidated old church. Refreshments were ordered and a good deal of whiskey consumed by the three brigadiers, some colonels and staff officers. Early had been a strong Union man until Virginia seceded, and he then took arms, devotedly and ever bravely, for his State and the Confederacy. He was, however, of a snarling, rasping disposition, and seemed to irritate Elzey, who, not a Union man, had come South without the secession of his State, Maryland. There were some hot words all around, but peace was made, however, and we all quit the drinks and adjourned to the horses and fine weather outside. Leaping fences and ditches at once began, my mount doing well and coming some daring trials. Longstreet was mounted on a fine bay not quite up to such work, with his weight, and the General turned him over to me. The bay did splendidly, surpassing all others present, and the generals were much pleased.

Colonel Duncan McRae, Fifth North Carolina, had just received from Richmond a handsome new Confederate uniform and outfit. Alas! it soon came to grief. The Colonel, in taking a high fence, lost his seat and came down very hard, splitting his fine coat in the back, from collar to waist.

A word here as to uniforms and insignia. So fast does the memory of things pass that perhaps it may be well to make a note of what was the Confederate uniform. It was designed and settled on by a board of officers of the War Department.

For all officers, a close-fitting double-breasted gray tunic.

For generals, staff and all field officers, dark blue trousers.

The arm of service was shown by collar and cuff—Generals and staff officers, buff; Cavalry, yellow; Artillery, red; Infantry, blue; Medical Department, black.

Dark blue trousers had broad gold stripes on outer seams, except generals, who wore two narrower and slightly apart.

Trousers for all line officers under rank of major were light blue with broad cloth stripe, color of service arm.

Rank was shown on collar and sleeve.

Generals wore on collar a gold wreath enclosing three stars in line, the middle one slightly larger. On their sleeves was the ornamental Hungarian knot of four braids width. They usually wore their buttons in groups of twos or threes. There was no difference in the uniform or rank mark among the several grades of general officers.

Colonels wore three stars in line, same size; lieutenant-colonels, two, and majors, one. The knot on the sleeve was three braids width for the three grades of field officers—colonel, lieutenant-colonel, and major.

For captains, rank was shown by three short bars lateral on front of collar; first lieutenant, two bars, and second lieutenant, one bar. Captains wore on sleeve Hungarian knot of two braids width, and first and second lieutenants, one braid.

For headgear the French "Kepi," color of arm of service, richly embroidered, was first provided; but the felt hat, black or any color that could be had, speedily pushed it aside almost before it had an existence.

The intention of the board of officers was to adopt the tunic like the short, close-fitting, handsome Austrian garment, but it went completely by default. The officers would none of it. They took to the familiar cut of frock coat with good length of tail.

Longstreet and two or three of us tried the tunic, but it was not popular.

Confederate uniforms were in great number at the flag presentations a little later, of which I have already spoken. We were then bravely dressed in the bright and handsome Confederate gray.

But now "place aux dames." A splendid Maryland regiment of Elzey's brigade was at Fairfax Station near by, and two lovely women, descendants of a distinguished Virginia family, were then visiting their numerous friends serving with it. They were the beautiful Carys, Hetty and her cousin Constance. The three generals, gallantly inclined, decided they must call on the ladies, and this they did, shutting out their staffs for the time. Then evening coming on dress parade was in order and Colonel George Stewart soon had his fine Marylanders in line. He insisted on the two ladies taking position by him, and when time for the manual came, handed his sword to Hetty, and stepping aside prompted her with the orders, and thus the regiment, amid much enthusiasm, was put through its manual by the prettiest woman in Virginia. They soon returned to Richmond and occupied themselves in the good work of the Southern women. Hetty, a really glorious beauty, married Brig.-Gen. John Pegram in January, 1865. Three weeks after he fell at Hatcher's Run, at the same time that I received what was thought a fatal wound. The New York Herald a few days later published both our obituaries. (See Appendix.)

Constance married, after the peace, my friend Burton N. Harrison, President Davis's accomplished private secretary. He began his law practice in New York, succeeding well, and his wife soon became established and admired as a woman of taste and uncommon social and literary attainments. Her books have gained deserved popularity and wide circulation.

Longstreet being now a major-general, with three brigades, the new brigadiers are to be introduced. R. S. Ewell took our old brigade. He was a distant relative of mine and one of the strangest of warriors; had served with distinction in Mexico, and all his life against Indians. He was without a superior as a cavalry captain and of the most extraordinary appearance. Bald as an eagle, he looked like one; had a piercing eye and a lisping speech. A perfect horseman and lover of horses (racers), he never tired of talking of his horse "Tangent," in Texas, who appears to have never won a race and always to have lost his owner's money. But the latter's confidence never weakened and he always believed in "Tangent." General Ewell became a very distinguished soldier, and justly so. To uncommon courage and activity he added a fine military instinct, which could make him a good second in command in any army. He was not long with us. His fortunes were with Stonewall Jackson in the Valley operations, and he rose to be major-general and lieutenant-general. In the latter rank he commanded the Second Corps at Gettysburg, having previously lost a leg in the second Manassas campaign. His command suffered great loss in the slaughter of Malvern Hill. The morning after, I found him doubled up on the floor of a little shanty, his head covered up; the ground was covered with our slain. Raising himself he instantly recognized me, and lisped out, "Mather Thorrel, can you tell me why we had five hundred men killed dead on this field yesterday?" That was all; the soul of the brave General was fit to burst for the awful and useless sacrifice. It was a fearful blunder somewhere and has not yet been boldly and clearly lighted up. Kemper, a fine Virginian colonel, succeeded Ewell in the command of the Fourth Brigade, and served well until he was left for dead in front of his men in Pickett's charge at Gettysburg.

Our Second Brigade was also Virginian. One evening at dark I was in my narrow office when an officer was announced. I turned and had quite a start at my visitor's appearance. It was George Pickett, just made brigadier-general, and reporting for command. A singular figure indeed! A medium-sized, well-built man, straight, erect, and in well-fitting uniform, an elegant riding-whip in hand, his appearance was distinguished and striking. But the head, the hair were extraordinary. Long ringlets flowed loosely over his shoulders, trimmed and highly perfumed; his beard likewise was curling and giving out the scents of Araby. He was soon made at home, and having already received Longstreet's instructions, was assigned to his brigade.

Pickett became very friendly, was a good fellow, a good brigadier. He had been in Longstreet's old Army regiment, and the latter was exceedingly fond of him. Taking Longstreet's orders in emergencies, I could always see how he looked after Pickett, and made us give him things very fully; indeed, sometimes stay with him to make sure he did not get astray.

Such was the man whose name calls up the most famous and heroic charge, possibly, in the annals of war. Pickett's charge at Gettysburg stirs every heart that beats for great deeds, and will forever live in song and story.

Afterwards his division was relieved to rest and recruit, and grew strong and fit. It was, however, badly mauled at Five Forks by Sheridan, although its commander is said to have made excellent disposition of his troops and fought them gallantly.

The Third Brigade was of South Carolina regiments under command of Brig.-Gen. Richard H. Anderson, a West Point graduate and an experienced officer of the old Army. Of him and also the artillery attached to the division there is more to be said later.

At the Centerville camp Major-General Earl Van Dorn commanded a division. A small, handsome man, the very picture of a thorough light cavalryman, he enjoyed a high reputation from service in Mexico and against the Indians. Soon after he was transferred to a command in Mississippi, and there falling into a private quarrel was killed.

Maj.-Gen. G. W. Smith also had a division near Centerville. From this officer much was expected. He had left the Academy with high honors, and served many years with distinction. He resigned from the Army to become Street Commissioner in New York, a lucrative office, and thence he came South for service. There was no opportunity to show his abilities in the field until the battle of Seven Pines in May-June, 1862, and then General Lee taking command of the army, Smith withdrew, and was, I think, not again heard of in active field work. After the war he wrote a book, his "Apologies," in which he threw all the blame on his once bosom friend, James Longstreet, and upon General Johnston for field work, up to the time of his retirement.

Jubal Early, brigadier-general, was one of the ablest soldiers in the army. Intellectually he was perhaps the peer of the best for strategic combinations, but he lacked ability to handle troops effectively in the field; that is, he was deficient in tactical skill. His irritable disposition and biting tongue made him anything but popular, but he was a very brave and able commander. His appearance was quite striking, having a dark, handsome face, regular features, and deep piercing eyes. He was the victim of rheumatism, and although not old was bent almost double, like an aged man. Of high scholarly and fine political attainments, he never married, but led the life of a recluse in Virginia, entirely apart from social and public affairs.

D. R. Jones, brigadier-general, was also near us. A very agreeable, lovable man, tall and stately, he made a brave appearance, and well merited the sobriquet of "Neighbor Jones," as they pleasantly called him at West Point. His wife, a relative of President Davis, was much with him in camp, and a very decided character by the side of her indulgent husband. He could not figure with much success, his health being poor, and after Sharpsburg was transferred to some easier service elsewhere, and soon after died.

CHAPTER V

Our National Hymn

Singing among the troops—Van Dorn—Longstreet—Smith and "I Puritani" for National hymn—Surgeon Francis Sorrel, C. S. A.—Life in Richmond—Troops passing through—Toombs and his brigade—General D. H. Hill.

Among the troops at Centerville there was much singing, some of it very sweet and touching. "Lorena," set to a tender, sentimental air, was heard everywhere. "My Maryland" was a great favorite, and of course "Dixie" was always in evidence. There were, however, other sweet Southern melodies that the soldiers took up, seemingly mellowing stern hearts and bringing tender memories of home. There was constant talk of a National air, "Dixie" being thought by some as of not sufficient dignity. "My Maryland" had many advocates, but there were some that thought the noble strain of the great Liberty duet from "I Puritani" was the thing for the Confederacy. General Van Dorn was enthusiastic about it. At the banquet at Longstreet's, after the flag presentation, the talk turned on this air, and Van Dorn began to sing it. "Up on the table and, show yourself; we can't see you!" said Longstreet. "Not unless you stand by me!" shouted Van Dorn; and no sooner said than Longstreet, G. W. Smith, and Van Dorn, the ranking major-generals, were clinging to each other on a narrow table and roaring out the noble bars of "I Puritani." Johnston and Beauregard stood near with twinkling eyes of amusement and enjoyment. So much for wine and "entoosy moosy," as Byron calls it; but for all this good start, the soldiers declined the impressive air and stuck to their Dixie.

It was always gratifying to me to note the good equipment in which the troops from my State were sent to the front for the Confederacy. Governor Brown was thorough in doing the best for them that the blockade of the coast and his factories permitted. They came forward with good clothing, shoes and underwear, which, although of home make, were warm, comfortable and serviceable.

My brother, Dr. Francis Sorrel, was many years my senior. He had served in the United States Army as assistant surgeon, but had resigned and was in California when the war began. He immediately came to share the fortunes of his State. Dr. Moore, the Confederate Surgeon-General, without delay had him appointed to full rank and assigned for service as his close confidential assistant (the pair were forever rolling cigarettes). There his influence and powers were considerable and the Doctor was always helpful to his friends. He was instrumental in assigning Dr. James B. Read, of Savannah, to the officers' hospital in Richmond, and in Read's hands it became celebrated. He kept a good lookout for his two junior brothers in the field and we had many evidences of his thoughtfulness.

With a wide acquaintance in Richmond, he knew the principal members of Congress and was liked by all the Cabinet. His previous service in the United States Army put him in good touch with many high officers, and his position in all respects was enviable. Occasionally I managed to make a short visit to Richmond, and then my brother gave me introductions to pleasant men and charming women. There may be more to say of him later.

Life at Richmond at this time—January, February, March, April, 1862—seemed gay and happy, with but little outward sign of apprehension or anxieties for the future. Food supplies were abundant and the pinch for clothing and shoes was being eased by the remarkable achievement of the several States in equipping their contingents for the field.

Most of the troops passed through Richmond en route to the Peninsula, and there was much excitement and cheering. Main Street was thronged with people shouting wildly as the regiments marched down to Rocketts, where they were to take boat for part of the route.

General Toombs was quite conspicuous. Every one knows that that luminous intellect embraced no soldier's talent. It might have been so with study, but the Georgian was for once and all a politician, and in the wrong shop with a sword and uniform on.

He marched his troops down Main Street, past the crowds at Spottswood Hotel, with childlike delight. He put himself at the head of one regiment and moved it out of sight amid hurrahs, then galloping back he brought on another, ready himself for cheers, until the brigade was down the street and near the embarkation. It was somewhat amusing, but a harmless entertainment for the brilliant orator and statesman.

Being quite without notes I had almost omitted a jotting about one of Longstreet's brigadiers at Centerville—a marked and peculiar character. This was General D. H. Hill, not long with us. He was soon made major-general and sent elsewhere to command. Hill was a small, delicate man, rather bent, and cursed with dyspepsia, which seemed to give color to his whole being. He was out of West Point with a good class number, was a capable, well-read soldier, and positively about the bravest man ever seen. He seemed not to know peril and was utterly indifferent to bullets and shell, but with all these qualities was not successful. His backbone seemed a trifle weak. He would take his men into battle, fight furiously for some time and then something weakened about him. Unless there was some strong character near by, like Longstreet, for instance, on whom he leaned, his attack would be apt to fail and his first efforts go unrewarded. His speech was bitter, although a most devout Presbyterian elder. He had resigned long before from the United States Army, and had a large school in North Carolina. He was accustomed to sneer at cavalry, and once went so far as to say he had "yet to see a dead man with spurs on." It may be imagined what Stuart's gallant troopers thought of him. But Hill had brains, and rose. He was later on sent West to command in Bragg's army, was promoted to lieutenant-general, and is said to have failed grievously at Chickamauga, for which Bragg suspended him from command; and he was not, I think, restored to any service in the field. He was really a good man, but of sharp prejudice and intemperate language. If there was one department of the army well administered amid almost impossibilities, requiring most ingenious and inventive resources, it was the Ordnance, under Colonel Gorgas. Hill took a hatred to it because a gun burst in action, and his imputations on the faith of the department and its abilities were quite unworthy of him or of any good soldier.