Chapter XX: The Evacuation of Yorktown

Having found the enemy strongly entrenched at, or rather before, Yorktown, General McClellan determined to lay siege to the place, and in the meantime endeavor to obtain more troops, so that when the proper time arrived he could make a grand assault all along the line, drive the enemy from its position and perhaps scatter it and thus open an easy way to Richmond. It was at one time thought that the great battle of the peninsula campaign would be fought here, but affairs proved otherwise.

But the Union soldiers did not lie quietly on their arms. Skirmishes took place almost daily, first at one spot and then at another, and presently General William F. Smith was ordered by McClellan to “feel” the enemy at Garrow’s Chimneys, which was directly opposite to the Confederate reserve force under General Smith. A Vermont regiment made the attack, and soon silenced the Confederate battery, and the officers in command made an extensive examination of the ground, which, however, later on proved valueless, for the information was not used. It was this skirmish which Andy witnessed. In the excitement he almost forgot about the order he was carrying, and when it was delivered and he returned to camp he was roundly censured for his neglect.

“Never delay while on military duty, my lad,” said Captain Montgomery. “A delay may prove fatal to the best laid plan.” Andy never forgot those words.

The young Confederate wondered during the days which followed if Louis was within the lines of the enemy. He would have been somewhat surprised had he known that his former chum was less than a mile away; yet such was the fact, and it was not to be long ere the two should meet again, and under very trying circumstances to each.

Louis’s time at the picket line had expired, the regiment to which the Goreville Volunteers belonged had given place to another, and now the boys were back in their regular quarters, on the edge of a dense woods. Louis had tried to learn what had become of Caleb Fox, the spy, but not a word could be gotten out of those in command. The answer to this was very simple, although the boy could not guess it. Caleb Fox had escaped.

The Confederate spy had taken a desperate chance, considered in one way, although not so desperate when considered in another. He had taken his life in his hands by stabbing one guard in the breast with an eating knife and hitting another with a rock, and he had been fired at four times before he could gain the shelter of a woods. But all this was done with the knowledge that if he did not get away he would sooner or later be hanged for a spy.

“Might ez well die now ez later,” was the way he had argued, and had sped as never before. Once in the woods he drew a deep sigh of relief. They were thick and dark and would afford him ample shelter until an extra black night would make it fairly easy to regain the Confederate lines. He made up his mind that no picket should spot him again.

“An’ ez fer that boy ez collared me before, let him look out fer himself, thet’s all!” he fairly hissed, between his snaggy, yellow teeth. He was not likely to forget Louis.

The weather now was worse than had been expected. Nearly every other day it rained, and the camp was something fearful to contemplate, cut up as it was by the feet of thousands of soldiers and hundreds of horses. Louis and his mess had carpeted their tent with brush thickly matted together and filled in with chips, but still it was damp and unwholesome. The hospital tent soon overflowed with typhus and typhoid fever cases. The siege was doing more harm by sickness than it was by bullet and shell.

“Your turn to gather firewood,” announced Moses Blackwell one afternoon, after inspection drill. “Get a good supply, Louis, and we’ll try to dry the air in the tent somehow.”

“I’ll get all I can bundle and carry,” answered the young soldier, and started off, axe and strap in hand. All the small brush had been cut down long before, and not wishing to tackle a big tree he had to walk a good way into the timber before he reached something of the size he had in mind to cut down.

He was just about to start work near the edge of a ravine when the sounds of two voices broke upon his ear. He listened intently.

“What’s the news, Yank?”

“Ain’t much, Reb. What’s the news your way?”

“General Johnson has just come down with a hundred thousand men to wipe you out.”

“A hundred thousand, eh? Any of the little boys left to hum to mind the baby?”

“It’s a fact. What’s Little Mac doing, going to sleep?”

“No, he’s thinking where he’s going to bury you rebs when the next fight is over.”

Then came a brief silence. Louis had listened to the talk with a smile. He knew the pickets on both sides sometimes became friendly and arranged not to shoot at each other. Sometimes they even made an exchange of some kind. Soon the talk was resumed.

“Grayback, got any terbacker?”

“A half plug.”

“What will you take for it?”

“What will yer give?”

“A canteen of fresh coffee.”

“I’ll take yer up, ’though I know the coffee’s more’n half chicory.”

“Better coffee nor you’ll ever git over there, Grayback.”

A rustle through the brush and grass followed, and peering forth from the trees Louis saw the Union and the Confederate soldiers meet in the hollow and exchange goods. Then each hurried back to his post. A second later the Confederate sang out:

“Corporal’s coming, Yank; look out fer yourself,” meaning that the truce was, for the time being, at an end, and that shooting on sight was now the order of the day. After that both pickets remained securely hidden.

Louis was particularly fortunate in getting some dry brushwood, and that night the boys of the mess sat around the camp fire in a more comfortable frame of mind than usual.

“Mail! Letters!” was the cry, at a late hour. The sacks had come in by way of Fortress Monroe, and soon Louis had two letters from home, both of which he perused eagerly. He learned that his father was better and around as usual. Agents of the government had called, trying to buy beef, but, so far, none of the cows had been sold.

“I have had one thing to worry me considerably,” wrote Mr. Rockford. “If you will remember, when I purchased this place, a party named Faily had an interest in it. There has appeared a man named Samuel Hammer who now claims that the Faily interest was really his--that Faily sold out to him. This Hammer threatens to make trouble for me unless I buy him off. I am now doing my best to locate Theodore Faily, to get him to explain, or make a settlement which will clear me, but so far I can get no trace of him. One man told me Faily had moved south, but could not say where to. Hammer wants me to pay him three thousand dollars. If I have to do that in these times it will almost ruin me.”

Louis was very sober after reading this communication. He could well understand how worried the folks at home must be. He drew a long sigh as he put the letter away.

“Poor father!” he murmured. “I hope he finds Theodore Faily and gets the matter straightened out without further trouble. Three thousand dollars would be a terribly big sum to pay out in these war times. I suppose they are all about worried to death over this.” That very night before retiring, he wrote a long letter in return, telling of the various things that had happened to him.

The next day was Sunday, cloudy but without rain. The day was kept, as nearly as possible, as a day of rest. At ten in the morning came inspection drill, when the regimental commanders inspected the arms and accoutrements. The drill over, the chaplain held divine service, which all the Goreville Volunteers attended as regularly as they could. Then came a late dinner, after which the men did as they pleased. Some would talk and walk around, some sat and read, and others would mend their clothing. Some would try to play cards, but this was frowned down. There was also a good deal less of drinking on the Lord’s day than on any other.

This Sunday turned off cold towards night, and Louis was glad enough when tattoo sounded that he was not out on picket duty, but could go to sleep in his tent, close to the blazing fire.

“A dent don’t vos so goot as a house,” was the way in which Hans Roddmann expressed himself, “but it vos besser as noddings den dimes ofer!”

“I think they might put up some sheds, at least,” grumbled Jerry Rowe, “seeing as how we seem to be booked to stay here all summer.”

“You’d like carpet on the floor, too, wouldn’t you, Jerry?” laughed Callings. “Never mind--we won’t stay here long, mark my word.”

Callings was right, they were not to stay there much longer. General McClellan had laid his plans for the siege too well. Every battery was in position, the line of defense or attack perfect, and there must come a “break” ere long.

It did come, but so silently that the Union troops did not know of it until some time later. Knowing the strength of the enemy, and having kept him at bay for exactly a month, and thus given themselves time to be handsomely re-enforced in the neighborhood of Richmond, the Confederate forces abandoned Yorktown and drew back up the peninsula through Williamsburg.

It was on Sunday, May 4th, 1862, that General McClellan and his vast army entered Yorktown and planted the Stars and Stripes upon every breastwork and upon every public building. Bands of music played and cheer after cheer rent the air. But not for long. The Confederates must be pursued, they must not be allowed to escape so easily. At once all of the cavalry and horse artillery were sent in pursuit. It was learned that the Confederates had from six to ten hours’ start of their eager pursuers.

“They’re whipped! they’re whipped!” yelled Jerry Rowe, as he marched into Yorktown with the others of the volunteers. “I knew they wouldn’t dare to show fight.”

“Look out, there comes a rebel!” shouted Moses Blackwell, in seeming earnestness. He took a hasty step aside, and Jerry ran like mad for the nearest cover. A laugh went up, and the bragging youth did not appear again until the regiment got orders to start for Williamsburg on the double-quick.

As usual it was wet--foggy one hour and raining the next, far from an ideal battle day--but this was not ideal, this was real, and so thought Louis as they plunged along over the road swimming in mud--a peculiar, sticky soil, which at times clung to one’s feet like so much glue. The artillery that had gone on ahead was having a fearful time, with horses up to their bodies in the road, cannon nearly out of sight, and teamsters frantic, yelling, cursing, whipping, and then falling back in dumb despair, until extra horses came up to pull all out of the rut. It was as if “the bottom had dropped out of everything,” as Harry Bingham put it.

“One consolation, though,” said Nathan Hornsby. “The rebs ain’t got no better road.”

“They are ploughing it up for us to wade through,” grumbled Blackwell. “Hang me if I don’t hope we have an engagement soon.”

His wish was fulfilled. The Confederates had gone on to where the road from Yorktown joined another running from Lee’s Mill. Here at the fork they had erected a bastioned earth-work, flanked north and south by redoubts, running to the swamps on each side of the dry (or rather, supposed to be dry) ground. A large force was collected behind this shelter, and the cavalry in advance of the Union infantry received a severe fire, which reached plainly to the ears of the Goreville Volunteers.

“Hurrah! we’re going to have some warm work at last!” cried Harry Bingham.

It was General Smith’s division, with the gallant Hancock’s brigade in advance, which met the Confederates first, late in the afternoon. A charge was at once ordered, but the woods through which the soldiers sought to make their way was so thick but little progress could be made.

The Goreville Volunteers rested that night upon their arms, ready at a moment’s notice to jump into battle should the call come. But General Smith’s division having fallen back a short distance, also took it easy in the darkness, and all remained, for the time being, comparatively quiet. In the meantime, large reinforcements of the remaining Union troops arrived.

The following day the battle of Williamsburg started. The rain came down in a steady stream; it was so muddy and slippery men could scarcely stand upon their feet, as they moved forward, while only one battery in three could move at a time, so many extra horses being required for each piece. First shots were exchanged at half-past seven o’clock, and half an hour later the Goreville Volunteers moved forward in light marching order, each soldier furnished with forty rounds of ammunition.

Once more Louis’s heart beat fast. He felt he was going into a bloody contest, such as had been experienced at Bull Run. He gripped his gun tightly, and advanced with the others on the double-quick. They were forcing their way through a thick patch of brush, but now they came upon a small clearing. Directly opposite was a Confederate battery, backed up by one or two regiments of militia and a troop of cavalry.

“Boys, we must take that battery!” cried the general in charge, as he galloped along the line. “Forward now, and keep the line closed up!”

Scarcely had the order been given than the battery in question blazed forth, seemingly in their very faces. Every man dropped, and the aims of the gunners being unusually high, the grape and canister flew above them, clipping the brush off cleaner than it would have been cut by a monstrous scythe.

There was a yell--from Jerry Rowe, who felt sure he was hit--and then the company moved forward, each gun pointed straight ahead, the rain running in streams from the row of glistening bayonets. It was a strange, thrilling sight, as that solid mass of boys in blue came on. Nearer and nearer they swept, and now the battle cry rang out, growing louder and louder, a strong, determined cry, from men who meant to do or die.

Again the battery belched forth, and now the aim was true and half a score of soldiers went down, some dead, some dying, a few slightly wounded. For a second the terrific shock caused a pause. Then Jerry Rowe tried to take to his heels.

“Close up, boys, close up! Forward!” came the command, and the ranks of the regiment closed up the gaps made by those shot down, and again they moved forward on the double-quick. Jerry suddenly found himself running straight into the point of an extended sword.

“You coward, go forward!” came the command, and worse scared than ever, Jerry turned again, but took good care not to get anywhere near the front line.

Fearful of the onslaught, the Confederate battery now ceased its fire and allowed the cavalry and infantry to come forward. There was a thunder of hoofs in the wet grass and the Goreville Volunteers found themselves face to face with a band of cavalry numbering at least sixty men. One glance showed Louis that they were not the Montgomery Grays, then he felt a saber swish over his head and his cap was taken off and half cut in two. Bang! went his gun, and the man who had attacked him toppled over, shot in the sword arm.

The dash of the Confederate cavalry was a resolute one and for the minute it looked as if the Goreville Volunteers would be annihilated. But they stood firm, another regiment close by poured in their earnest fire upon the figures in the saddle, and slowly the Confederates were driven back, only, however, to make place for the long line of gray-coated infantry.

“Forward again!” shouted the Union general in command, and again they went on, within fifty feet of the guns they had set out to capture. The firing was incessant and the bullets whistled in every direction. Louis could scarcely stand and went down once on both knees in the mud, while Hornsby pitched over him on his own broad back. But both were up in a jiffy, before the Confederates around them could pin them down with their bayonets. The smoke of battle, added to the rain and mist, was speedily cutting off the view upon all sides, and the battery they had started to capture was no longer in view. Although they did not know it until some time later, the enemy had taken time by the forelock and removed it to a safer position.

The third charge of their regiment was the fiercest of all, and Louis was almost taken off his feet by the rush. He was caught between half a dozen struggling soldiers, some friends, some enemies, and tried in vain to get out of the scrimmage. Then a bayonet flashed before his face, the Union soldier just beside him was pierced through the shoulder, and the crowd opened and he ran forth to join the advancing line.

“Look out! Drop!” somebody shouted. Louis tried to obey. Before he could do so, a bellowing roar sounded just ahead, something rushed directly past his face, and he felt his breath leave his body. He tried to get back his wind, but it seemed impossible, and off he dashed wildly, like one choking, until, falling over a mass of brush, he went headlong, and for the time being knew no more.