In the hospital at Richmond I was a.s.signed to a ward that a Dr. Wilson, of Marion, S. C., was in charge of. This doctor seemed to take a liking to me from the start--I guess on account of my age and size. Some three or four days after my arrival there he told me the Examining Board would meet next day. This Board would look over the wounded and furlough those who would be disqualified long enough to go home, and he said he would put me on the list to go before this Board. My hopes were high and I could scarcely await the time with patience. But ten o'clock finally came, and the crowd began to gather. The Board met in a large one-room building, one door on the side, another on the end. The Board consisted of five members, the chairman of which was an old man. Their position in the room was in chairs towards the end, opposite the end door. They had a clerk, who had listed all names of those were applying. This clerk had a doorkeeper, and he would take off the list as he had them entered, call the name to his doorkeeper, who would extend the call and admit the man. After a long wait, my name was called and I went in fully confident that I would get a furlough. I was called over to where the doctors were sitting in a row, and the old doctor told me to show up. I readily did so, and when they saw that I was wounded in the hand, he, the old doctor, said, "Pa.s.s out." I can tell you, I was disappointed, and so was Dr. Wilson; but he consoled me with the information that the Board would meet again in a few days and to try them again. This I did with the same result, only this time they did not even condescend to look at my hand.

In a few days they again met, and again I went before them. But this time they didn't even allow me to stop, but as I walked in one door the old doctor waved me out of the other. This I reported to Dr. Wilson. He told me they treated me this way because so many were shooting themselves in the hands and feet to get out of service even for a time.

After getting this information I went over to the officers' hospital and got a certificate signed by Capt. Wood and Lieut. Best, and got Dr.

Bellinger, who came over to see how all his men were doing, to give me one, and then Col. Hagood sent his certificate to me. In the meantime, Dr. Wilson had told me to let my hand and arm lay so that the warm sun could shine through the gla.s.s on it. After doing this a couple of days my arm began to swell and turn red and the middle of my hand had become somewhat inflamed. So now I was fixed for the next meeting.

The day soon came, and early in the morning Dr. Wilson called me to him and stuck a lancet in the middle of my hand, put cotton on it and wrapped it up, telling me not get out of the board room without showing all I had. When I was called this time, as I walked in the door, the old doctor again waved me to the other door; but instead of obeying him I went over to them and asked that they look at my hand. They agreed, when I undid it and pulled off the cotton. It began to bleed. Then I pulled up my sleeve, showing them my red, swollen arm. After seeing this they consulted and told me they were sorry that it was so they could not furlough me. I certainly deserved it. I then went down in my breeches pocket and brought out those certificates, which I handed them. After reading these the old doctor said to his clerk, "Give him thirty days."

I do believe Dr. Wilson was as much pleased as I was, and he got my papers for me and got me off that same night, making me twenty-four hours ahead. I left Richmond that night on a crowded train. I got a seat with a poor fellow who had just had his leg cut off, and I helped him on his way, getting him water, dividing my rations with him and at nearly all the stations home the women would be at the depots with something to eat for us wounded. I kept the old fellow in good shape up to Williston, where I left him.

I was so accustomed to walking that I did not even ask anyone at Williston to send me home. It was only fourteen miles anyway, and I had no baggage of any kind, so I did not feel that I had much before me. I reached home in due time, and mother and my sisters all seemed mighty glad to see me. They had heard of the Fort Harrison fight and slaughter, and heard that we were in it; and had even heard of some of the killed and wounded, but had heard nothing from me and had decided that "no news is good news." Hence, they were not surprised to see me.

After remaining home with my own people a few days I went up on the Four Mile to see Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, _my other people_. I remained there for about ten days when I went back home. It was not much longer now before my thirty days' would expire and I determined to be back to my command on time. When my sisters knew that I had been appointed a sergeant nothing would do but that they should put the stripes on my sleeves. I didn't care to have it done, but they put them on anyway.

Well, the time came for me to go back, and when I got to Williston to take the train it seemed as if I had a wagon load of boxes filled with everything good to eat and clothes to wear. There was a box for Sid Key, Ed. Harley, Job Rountree, Jno. Williams Canady, Darling Sprawls, Bill Kitchins, Mathias Hair, old man Walton Hair, Frank and Jno. Green, W. W.

Woodward, Darius Ogden, and perhaps others whom I can't recall. Of course, I had one for myself. How I ever managed to get these to the camps I don't know, but they all did get there, and, it being not long till Christmas, old Company E had a regular "jollification." There were a few members of the company who did not live near me and did not get any box by me; but, all the same, those who had divided with them, and the entire company fared well for a while.

I found our command still below Richmond. I walked over from Richmond and struck the line up on the hill, and discovered that our brigade was down towards the left. I pa.s.sed on down the line. Now, there were nice breastworks on the front, built out of logs. The quarters for the men were some of logs, some with logs covered with tents and some with tents only, situated in some one hundred yards in rear of the works. The s.p.a.ce between the works and the quarters was used for a drill ground and a general street. Down this street I had to go. I had not gone far before some fellow cried out, "Here goes the dominecker sergeant," and in no time you could hear it for a mile ahead, "Here comes the dominecker sergeant." Then it was that I cursed myself for having on those stripes.

I was not fit for duty for several weeks after getting back, but did take charge of _my company_, however--Morrison and Stewart.

Things about now were looking squally for our cause and a good many of our army were getting worn out and discouraged. The reports from Johnston's army made matters look more gloomy, and as time went on Sherman commenced his raid, going to Savannah and then turning up and entering South Carolina. Our men with families at home, who were being left homeless and in a starving condition, were very much disheartened and discouraged. Some desertions were made. I remember among the first was a man named Mack, from Orangeburg. He had heard very distressing news from his wife and children, and, failing to get a furlough, he determined to go to them. He was brought back, tried by courtmartial, convicted and sentenced to be shot. I can never forget that day. The entire corps was turned out in a large open field and formed in a hollow square. Twelve men from our regiment were drawn on the shooting detail.

I was the sergeant on the detail. My duty was to have these twelve men march out twenty paces from the stake erected where the man Mack was to be placed. When reaching this position I had the twelve men stack their arms, then I moved them back out of sight and turned them over to Lieut.

Southern, who was in charge of them for the execution. I then went back to the stacked arms and loaded the guns, putting blank cartridges in six and loaded cartridges in six, and restacking them.

Then in this square a wagon drove in. On this wagon was Mack, sitting on his coffin. On each side of the wagon was a guard; in rear of the wagon was the band. This procession started off at one end of the hollow square; moving to the right, the band playing the death march. They went all round the entire square, giving each and every man a good opportunity of viewing it. At last they arrived at the other end of the square, when Mack, without a.s.sistance, got off the wagon and walked to the stake. The coffin was placed just in rear; then Mack was asked to kneel down with his back to the stake, and he was tied to it with a plow line. He was blindfolded. Now Lieut. Southern, with his twelve men, was seen to enter the square at a quick step and was halted at the stacked arms. Lieut. Southern gave the command, as follows: "Attention, detail.

Take arms. Carry arms. Ready--aim--fire!" At the report of the twelve guns poor Mack's head fell on his chest--he was a dead man. Lieut.

Southern immediately moved his men off, so that they would see as little of it as possible, taking them back, disbanded them to their different commands. This ended the first and last lesson we ever got for desertion. It was hard to see, but such had to be, else our officers, from poor Mack's captain, his colonel, brigadier general, up to the Christian soldier, Bob Lee, would never have allowed it.

CHAPTER XIV.

Some little time after this I was the sergeant on the picket line. The enemy's line of picket was some four hundred yards off, but in fair view. At midnight I sent William Dyches, a private from Company E, to relieve the vidette and to remain as vidette till day began to break, then to come back to our picket line. Just as day had fairly broken and Dyches had not come in I took a look for him, and was surprised to see him nearly over to the Yankees. I took a shot at him, but missed him. A Yankee then hollered over to me, saying, "Say, Johnny, we've got one of your small potatoes." I replied, "D----d small, but few in a hill."

Dyches had always been a very good soldier--had never shirked duty and was ever there in a fight. He was from the section of Barnwell district, now Aiken county, known as Cracker's Neck, near the Upper Three Runs.

Dyches did not reach home until after we all had surrendered and tramped from Appomattox home. We never went back to the trenches after the charge on Fort Harrison; remaining, however, below Richmond until the night of April 1st, when we abandoned our quarters, gave up our breastworks and took our march for Richmond. We reached Richmond after midnight and everything was in confusion and uproar--the city was on fire in more than one place. Soldiers on horse and on foot were going in every direction--old men and women and children were on the streets weeping; all that, together with the heavy firing we could hear at Petersburg, told us that Richmond was gone--Richmond, the goal that Grant had striven so hard for and for which he had sacrificed so many lives, would be his at last. In pa.s.sing through Richmond I lost both Morrison and Stewart--they escaped me in the confusion.

We went on through Richmond, giving it up to the Yankees who entered just behind us, and just before noon we reached Petersburg. Here we found our troops hardly pressed. We were placed in position some four or five hundred yards below the bridge which spanned the Appomattox River, with orders to hold the bridge, as it was the only escape our whole army had, and to lose this we were captured. We held the advancing enemy all the afternoon until late into the night after our army had crossed. We were drawn off and crossed over, then, pouring oil on the bridge, set fire to it. After seeing it in flames we took up our march as rear guard to Lee's army on that ever-to-be-remembered six days' march, _and every hour a fight_ to Appomattox.

I don't know how to tell of this march. Things happened so fast and we were pressed so hard that we were at one place for only a few minutes and then at another. In a fight here, holding the enemy back long enough for our troops to cross a stream, or even a narrow place in the road, then we were gone. I know at Farmville we had a good, stiff fight, holding the enemy back while our troops crossed the bridge, and at one time it seemed that they would cut us off. Some of our troops waded the creek, neck deep. After pa.s.sing this place just on top of the hill we found our quartermaster and commissary wagons deserted and afire. Just a little further on we stopped to blow, and I made up a fire and beat up some batter, put a flap-jack in the frying pan. Just as it was ready to turn over we were ordered to make a quick charge. I grabbed my frying pan, flap-jack and all, and went into the charge. We drove the Yankees back, and, getting back to my fire, I finished cooking my flap-jack, and it ate right well.

For six days and six nights we did not stop for sleep nor for rest longer than ten minutes, but those ten minutes were used for sleep. It was a fight and a run the whole time. I saw men--and I did the thing myself--go to sleep walking along. Two days before reaching Appomattox Frank Green slipped out on the side, to see if he could get something to eat. He got off some half mile and had succeeded in getting a half middling of bacon from an old woman. He stuck his bayonet through this and swung it on his shoulder and started out for us. He soon discovered that the Yankees' cavalry were between him and us. He therefore had to outmanoeuvre them some way. Being in any open country this was hard to do. Two of them soon spied him and went for him; but, after an hour or more, Frank came in _with his bacon, too_. Along about now I was again barefoot. I had not had an opportunity to run upon any dead Yankees, as _we were doing the running these times_. So I commenced looking around for a pair of shoes somewhere. I soon discovered that Sid Key had a pair of number sixes hung onto his belt. Sid wore about tens. I bartered him for a trade. He was willing to sell, but he wanted cash. However, he let me have them on credit, with the understanding that I would pay him after the next fight if I got anything from a dead Yankee. We never got into another fight _where we held the field_, consequently, I never had a chance at a dead Yankee; and I owe Sid for those shoes yet!

On the morning of April 9th, 1865, we were halted in a field. Firing was going on down on the front. We had not long stopped when we noticed that the firing on the front had ceased. We were lying down on each side of the road. Presently we saw two men galloping up the road. On reaching us we discovered one to be one of our general's staff officers, the other to be a Yankee officer. Right then there was excitement. We knew something was wrong, but what was it? Sleep and exhaustion had gone; everybody was up, stirring around and wondering. We were held here in this position and under this strain for over three hours, when the report got started that _Lee had surrendered_. Very shortly after we heard this we saw a crowd of hors.e.m.e.n coming up the road. We soon recognized Gen. Lee among them. Every man got on his feet, and we commenced yelling for Lee. The old man pulled off his hat, and, with tears streaming down his cheeks, without a word, he rode through us. Lee was not the only one shedding tears--old men who had wives, sons, daughters, even grandchildren at home; middle aged men who had families at home; younger men who had left a young wife, and young fellows like myself--all were bowing their heads with tears; but no thought of censure; no criticism of Gen. Lee, ever entered the minds of any of us.

We knew he had done for the best and we had more confidence in him, as he rode through us that day, than we ever had before, and we loved him more. We knew how humiliated he felt, and, knowing this, we were anxious to make him feel that we recognized that he had done right, and our confidence and love for him, instead of being shaken, had been increased. He was certainly now more of an idol than ever before.

That afternoon we were taken into the oak grove and put in the Bull Pen, as we called it. This was only going into bivouac with a guard around us, _but not a Yankee guard_. We could not have submitted to that had that been attempted; the last one would have been knocked out during the night. But we had our own men for our guards. We were not allowed out of our lines, nor were any Yankees allowed to come in; but they hung around and seemed surprised that they had such a hard time in overwhelming such a crowd of rag-a-m.u.f.fins, and so few of them.

On being put into the Bull Pen it so happened, and we immediately discovered, there was in our regimental lines a large barn pretty well filled with ears of corn. We were soon scrambling for this and men could be seen going in all directions with an armful of this corn. It looked exactly like each man was going to feed a horse. It was well for us that we struck this luck, for we had nothing to eat; and when there is nothing better, parched corn goes mighty good. We now filled up on our parched corn and by good dark everybody seemed to be asleep--the first sleep we had for seven days and nights, since we left Richmond. We awoke the next morning, and, after taking our breakfast (parched corn again and water), we felt very much refreshed, after a night of sleep and rest. We would hang around our lines, seeing anything that might take place. During the morning Gen. Lee, accompanied by Gen. Meade and staff, rode around. I suppose Gen. Lee was showing Gen. Meade how few men he had surrendered him and the condition they were in. On pa.s.sing by us we began to cheer and yell. Meade turned to his color bearer, who had his headquarters' flag rolled up, and said, "Unfurl that flag." This he did, when an old, ragged, half-starved, worn-out Confederate soldier in our lines cried out, "D----n you old rag. We are cheering Gen. Lee." This old fellow, like the balance of us, was no more whipped, penned up here in the Bull Pen, overpowered by at least ten to one, starved, naked, broken down, than he was at the Wilderness, Spottsylvania, Cold Harbor or the nine months in the trenches and below Richmond. We were not whipped, and we never felt whipped; but felt like men who had done their duty in every emergency, and now, while we were forced to give up the struggle, it was only to overwhelming odds and resources. But we were yet men and men, too, who were ent.i.tled to and would get the admiration of the entire world. We knew we deserved this, and, knowing it, we held up our heads, not ashamed to look our victors straight in the eye. _And they, the Yankees_, acted with much consideration, and like good soldiers, and good Americans can only act, did not show that exultation they must have felt. While they seemed to feel proud, of course, at the result, yet we had their sympathy and good will.

This was April 10. We remained in our lines the entire day. To this we did not object, as we needed the rest, and, besides, we did not care to move around much. Again, we had a good night's sleep and parched corn enough to eat. Early on the morning of the 11th it became known that we were to be taken out and surrender our arms, ammunition and everything else. We were, however, allowed to retain our side arms and blankets.

The side arms consisted of, with the officer, his sword and pistol; with the private, his haversack, canteen and little hand axe, the axe that we wore stuck in our belts and which had been of so much service to us in building log breastworks at the Wilderness, Spottsylvania, Cold Harbor, Petersburg and below Richmond. We noticed in the morning, say ten o'clock, the Yankee columns moving down to Appomattox Court House. At noon our drums beat for us to fall in. In a short time we were again in ranks. Lee's army was now moving down the road towards Appomattox Court House, every man fully armed, cartridge boxes full and the men well rested. We knew we were being taken to stack and give up those arms which had been a part of us for four long years; but we did not lag or skulk. Had Gen. Lee, then and there, ridden out and said, "Boys, there are the enemy, go for them," there would have been no man to question it; we would have broken through, no matter the odds. But we marched up in front of them, where they were formed in line of battle, with our heads up, showing them that a soldier knows how to die. We were stopped and made to face them, and then, for the last time, we heard our boy colonel, Jim Hagood, give the command, "First South Carolina, order arms, fix bayonets, stack arms, unbuckle accoutrements, hang up accoutrements." When this was completed we heard again his command, "First Regiment, attention. Right face, file right, march." _The deed was done._ Now we were truly prisoners--nothing with which to protect us from either danger or insult. We were carried back from whence we came, and we took up our quarters as before. We suffered no insult in any way from any of our enemies. _No other army in the world would have been so considerate_ of a foe that it had taken so long, so much privation, so much sacrifice of human life, to overwhelm. Gen. Grant had acted n.o.bly towards Gen. Lee. His men acted considerately towards us.

[Ill.u.s.tration: OUR BOY COLONEL.]

JAMES R. HAGOOD, COLONEL OF (HAGOOD'S) FIRST S. C. REGIMENT OF VOLUNTEER INFANTRY, C. S. ARMY.

Of him General Lee wrote as follows: "It gives me pleasure to state that Col. J. R. Hagood, during the whole term of his connection with the Army of Northern Virginia, was conspicuous for gallantry, efficiency and good conduct. By his merit constantly exhibited, he rose from a private in his regiment to its command, and showed by his actions that he was worthy of the position."

(Signed) R. E. LEE.

Lexington, Va., 25th March, 1868.

J. R. Hagood volunteered as a private in the above named regiment, just before its departure to Virginia, in the summer of 1862, under the command of Col. Thomas Glover, who had succeeded Johnson Hagood to the colonelcy of the regiment upon the latter's promotion to brigadier-general.

J. R. Hagood was promoted sergeant-major of the regiment August, 1862.

He was promoted adjutant of the regiment November 16th, 1862. He was promoted captain of Company K January, 1863. He was promoted colonel of the regiment on 16th of November, 1863. His commission being dated within ten days of his nineteenth birthday, he was doubtless the youngest colonel commanding a regiment in the Confederate Army.

This rapid promotion came to him while serving in and forming a part of "that incomparable infantry which bore upon its bayonets the failing fortune of the Confederacy for four long and b.l.o.o.d.y years." He surrendered at Appomattox, with Lee's Army, having partic.i.p.ated in nineteen battles in which at least 20,000 men were engaged.

That evening Col. Hagood got enough paroles for the men of his regiment, but did not give them out. The next day, April 12, Col. Hagood, having decided to try the scheme of keeping us together, started the tramp for home. Early in the morning the Yankees had sent us over some beef, and upon dividing this out each man got one-fourth of a pound. This was the only rations we had issued to us during the time we were in the Bull Pen; but, in justice to the enemy, I must say that they, too, had not had anything issued them.

I guess we had traveled so fast and furiously that their wagon could not keep up. Here we were, six hundred miles away from home, not a cent in our pockets, and only one-fourth of a pound of raw beef. Can a more deplorable picture be drawn? Col. Hagood marched us off, keeping us pretty well together till night coming on we stopped. We had traveled about twenty miles towards home this day. After stopping for the night Col. Hagood called on the few officers present to meet him, when he explained that we had no money nor had we authority to confiscate something to eat. The men now had nothing and hadn't had for over ten days. He had thought it best to keep them together as long as possible, and now he had gotten them some twenty miles away from the Yankee army, he saw no other alternative but to give each man his parole and turn him loose to get home the best he could. He was satisfied this was the best course. All the officers present agreed with him, and that night each orderly sergeant was given the number of paroles to be filled out, inserting the man's name. By midnight Orderly Sergeant A. P. Manville and myself had them all ready for Company E, and early next morning Sergt. Manville called up the company and gave to each man his parole.

Then, with tears in our eyes, we bade each other good-bye, and took our course for our desolated homes in old Barnwell District.

CHAPTER XV.

Jim Diamond and I did as we had always done--joined our fortunes--and taking a kind of byway we soon were away from any soldiers. We considered it so much better to leave the highways and public roads, as on the private ways we would stand a much better chance to get something to eat. We found this plan to work very well, and during the whole distance and time we took to get home we never went hungry. At times we would strike a highway for a short distance when we would run upon a lot of fellows tramping for their homes, some of whom had to go so far as Texas. How they ever lasted that long and held out to make such a distance I can't conceive.

We would generally stop at nearly every house we pa.s.sed and beg for something to eat, or for milk or b.u.t.termilk; and there being only two of us, we were hardly ever refused, consequently, we never wanted. After so long a time we were in the neighborhood of Danville, Va. We concluded to go by and take in the place and see what was going on there. We reached Danville early in the morning and found an immense crowd--it seemed that all of us had taken in the place. Not long after we reached the city we determined to charge a store in which there were some government goods, and a big crowd soon gathered. It did not take long to batter down the doors and get in. Then the scramble began. There were bacon, meal, mola.s.ses, clothes, blankets and everything else. The way the men got the mola.s.ses was by knocking out the head of the hogshead and dipping in their canteens. In one instance the pressure around a hogshead was so great that one fellow next to the barrel, being pressed so tight, was raised off his feet; but he deliberately stepped over into the barrel, standing up in the mola.s.ses to his waist. He filled his canteen and then crawled out.

Jim and I got in this raid a small piece of bacon, some meal, a couple of army blankets and a McClelland saddle. We then went on down town to the depot and found a train of cars standing on the track headed southwards. The engine was fired up and every available s.p.a.ce, inside and outside and on top, was taken, and all that was necessary to move off was an engineer. Just away from where this train stood was a magazine, filled with all manner of explosive missiles. In some manner this magazine caught and soon the explosion occurred and pieces of sh.e.l.ls were flying in every direction. Then those who were on the train began to get away--some even jumping through the car windows, others from the top. While this was at its worst a Texan jumped on the engine and cried out, "I am an engineer; I can run it. Give me a fireman."

Immediately someone answered his call. In the meantime, as the others jumped off, making room, Jim and I got on, and our Texas engineer pulled out amid the confusion from the live magazine. Whether he knew much about handling an engine or not, he did certainly let it run, stopping for no place nor for nothing, until just before reaching Salisbury, N.

C., an axle to the tender broke. This, of course, put an end to our ride. Deserting the train, leaving it on the track, we again pulled out afoot. We had, however, made a good many miles, which did us much good.

In due course of time we struck the neighborhood of Charlotte, N. C., and desired to "take in" that city, too, for we wanted to see and hear what might be going on in the world, we having confined all our movements to country roads and country houses. We went into Charlotte, and, having our haversacks well filled, we were in no hurry. We loafed around the town taking in the sights. Here again we met a large crowd of Lee's paroled men, and here again we made a raid on some government stores. But as we had plenty to eat we didn't take much hand in it.

However, we got a bolt of real good jeans--about all we did get.

Jim had traded his saddle before reaching Charlotte, consequently, we were not hampered with carrying that. We left the city before dark and continued our course south, regardless of where we would strike next.

Sometimes we had to go some distance to get a ferry across a river, and in one or two instances a farmer would take us over in his batteau. We were faring right well, and, as neither of us had a wife and children awaiting our coming, we did not push hard after leaving Charlotte. The next town I recollect pa.s.sing through was Newberry. We heard of the a.s.sa.s.sination of President Lincoln at Charlotte. On reaching Newberry early in the morning we were the wonder of the town. They had not heard of the surrender of Lee nor of Lincoln's death. It seemed as if the town turned out to see us.

We stopped here only long enough for Jim to get a shave, the barber doing it for nothing. We slept in a farmer's barn that night about eight miles from Newberry. This farmer gave us supper and next morning breakfast. And we went on our way rejoicing. Our next stop was at a farmer's house in now Saluda County--Mr. Ready--on the Columbia and Augusta Railroad. He was an old bachelor and made us come in his house, giving us supper, bed and breakfast, and an early start the next morning. Besides, he gave us directions how to get to Pine Log Bridge, across the Edisto River. We crossed the Edisto in the afternoon and took that big old sandy road for White Pond. Reaching that place, just before sundown, we went on our way, and between sundown and dark we stopped at a little log cabin, asking for something to eat and telling the lady, Mrs. Beach, that we would sleep in the pines. This she would not consent to, but made us walk in, prepared supper, made us down a pallet in front of the fire. Before going to bed she told us her husband was a soldier, too, belonging to Lamar's Second South Carolina Artillery, with Johnston's Army. She had not heard from him since they left Charleston.

Beach did get home all right.