The Project Gutenberg eBook, Reminiscences of a Private, by Frank M. Mixson This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Reminiscences of a Private Author: Frank M. Mixson Release Date: December 13, 2012 [eBook #41616] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REMINISCENCES OF A PRIVATE*** E-text prepared by Greg Bergquist, Moti Ben-Ari, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (http://archive.org) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See http://archive.org/details/reminiscencesofp00mixs Private F. M. Mixson, Forty-five years after the war. Reminiscences of a Private BY FRANK M. MIXSON Company "E" 1st S. C. Vols. (Hagood's) Jenkins' Brigade Lee's Army 1861 1865 [3] 1910 The State Company Columbia, S. C. Copyright, 1910 By THE STATE COMPANY DEDICATION. Dedicated to the Sons and Daughters of "the Lost Cause," who should know of the valor, trials, suffering and privations of the noblest people and the grandest army that God ever put on this earth, so that they too can pass down to their children and their children's children a true history of the great deeds of this glorious Southland, for the cause and principles they loved so well and for which they suffered, bled and died. The Author. PREFACE In the summer of 1865 I first met Frank M. Mixson, the writer of these reminiscences. He was then a boy of eighteen summers, with four years of continuous service in the army of the Confederate States to his credit. In that depressing time, when the old civilization of the South had been prostrated by the cyclone of war, when every hope seemed forever gone from the sky of the darkened future, he was full of the steady, unflinching courage of the Confederate Veteran, looking with unwavering faith to the resurrection that loyalty to principle, trust in the right and confidence in the destiny of the Anglo-Saxon would assure in the peace of the patient coming years. Heroes of the Lost Cause were not then so scarce as now, and from time to time many of the older comrades of the boy soldier told me of his deeds of cool daring on the battle line, of mischievous life in the winter bound camps or on the weary march. And so the years passed, but they did not dim the memories of those who had touched elbows with him from Charleston to Appomattox. At my insistent request, he, now graying with years, wrote for publication in my paper these reminiscences, as told by the winter fireside to the grandchildren gathered under his roof tree in the holiday time. As I read them, feeling their pathos, realizing their value as giving pictures of the great conflict that no other actor in that red drama had penned or voiced, the thought mastered me that these memories were worthy of a larger audience than I could reach and that from the Lakes to the Gulf, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, they should find as equal welcome, rouse as equal interest in homes of the victors by the stars and stripes as among the conquered ones whose flag had been forever furled. So these reminiscences are given to the broader world just as he wrote them with the hand that knew better the handling of the musket than the holding of the pen. Not a word or a syllable have I changed, not a thought have I suggested. To those who read his plain, unvarnished story there will come a fuller understanding of the spirit of the old South than the cultured historians have written. The heart and hope of Dixie are laid bare to sight and feeling, the courage and endurance of the legions of Lee and Jackson, the patient, uncomplaining consecration of the women who kept the homes and fed and clothed the thin lines that so long held back such invincible odds. All in all, it is the best book of the many that I have read touching the War Between the States. It gives an insight into the life and character of the Southern soldier that must appeal to every human heart not dead to chivalry and must win from those who were the bitterest foes of the South and its peculiar institutions a higher respect for and admiration of those once their enemies, but who have cast all hate from their hearts. It is a true history. I have verified by the testimony of as good men as breathe the air of South Carolina the truth and accuracy of the events described. Faithful as a soldier in the brave young morning of his life, Private Mixson has in the afternoon of his years rendered a noble service to the South he loved so well and the cause he served as becomes a modern knight. John W. Holmes, Editor of The People. [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] Barnwell, S. C., March 5, 1910. CHAPTER I. The author of these Reminiscences (F. M. Mixson) was born at Barnwell Court House, South Carolina, on the 5th day of December, 1846. I was the nineteenth and youngest child of Wm. J. and Sarah Ann Mixson. My father died when I was about six years old, leaving my mother a large family to see after. My father, Wm. J. Mixson, was recognized as one of the best men of Barnwell District and had the reputation of being one of the most truthful and honest and best men of the State. He was familiarly known in the District as "Uncle Billy," and his word was always taken without dispute. My mother, before her marriage, was Sarah Ann Johnston, from the lower part of Barnwell District, now Hampton County. She was highly connected with the best people of the lower section of the State. She was a woman of great business capacity, being very energetic, fine business ability and quite industrious. They married quite young and raised a large family. Of my parents' families I know very little. My father had four brothers—Joyce, Charles, Archie and Miles—all of whom lived in the lower part of Barnwell District, between Johnston's Landing and Matthews' Bluff, on the Savannah River. They all had good sized families. Early in the 1850's they all moved to Florida with their families and that State is now thickly populated with Mixsons and Mixson descendants. Father also had four sisters. Aunt Experience married Ben Brown and afterwards Fogler. Aunt Susan also married a Brown (Josiah). Aunt Levisy married Robert Kirkland, of Buford's Bridge, and Aunt Hanson married James Darlington, of the Cypress Chapel section. All of these had families and were well to do in this world's goods. My mother had, so far as I am informed, two brothers—Uncle Joe Johnston being the eldest. He remained in the State, his home being in the upper part of Beaufort District, now Hampton County. He, too, was well off in this world's goods. He at one time represented his District in the Legislature. In those times travel was not like now. When Uncle Joe would leave home for Columbia, the capital, he would mount one horse, his negro boy another with the hand-bag of wearing apparel. It would take them some three days to make the trip. Then was the time when the State House was a small wooden building situated on the same grounds as now. The only place the members and public had to stop and put up was at Granby's—a high bluff on the Congaree River, about two and a half miles from the present State House, where there was a boarding house. Uncle Ben Johnston moved to Shreveport, La., before the war and amassed quite a fortune. Mother had three sisters—Aunt Charlotte married Amos Smart, Aunt Jerusha married Henry Best—both of the Allendale section—and Aunt Elizabeth married —— Worton, of Bainbridge, Ga. At the death of my father, mother immediately administered on the estate and she decided it best to take her share and have the children's portion put in the hands of guardians; consequently, she had everything sold, including about sixty-five negroes. This being converted into money, the guardians of those under age were placed in charge of it for their respective charges. It happened to my fortunate lot to have as my guardian the Hon. James J. Wilson, then State Senator, and at that time a practicing attorney at the Barnwell Bar. He, however, did not remain long in Barnwell after taking me in charge, but returned to his plantation on the Four Mile section of Barnwell District, near the Savannah River, which is now the Ellenton section. I went with him and regarded that my home and was treated as a child by both Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, they having no children of their own except a grown son of Mr. Wilson's by a former marriage. I would occasionally go down to Barnwell to visit my mother and family, sometimes remaining for several weeks. I was truly fortunate in falling into the hands of these good people. Mr. Wilson was one of the best Christian gentlemen I have ever known, and during the many years I remained with him I never saw nor heard any word or act but that bespoke the true Christian, honest and lovable man; and Mrs. Wilson, too, was as kind as a mother to me, a good woman in every sense, but who spoiled me with kindness. I cannot, even now at sixty-four years of age, forget their parental care and kindness to me. They have long ago gone to their reward, a place of peace and rest prepared for such as they were and so richly deserved by them. The first year of Mr. Wilson's guardianship of me we spent in Barnwell. I was then quite young, but to keep me out of mischief, I suppose, I was sent to school in the village. This school was presided over by a Mr. H. Melville Myers, who taught in Barnwell for many years and died there at an advanced age. On going up to the plantation on the Four Mile I did nothing for some time, but finally a new school house was built by the neighborhood—the Bushes, Dunbars, Williams, Newmans, Wilsons, and perhaps one or two others, and a Mr. R. H. Alfred, a Campbellite preacher, was engaged to take us in charge. Mr. Alfred was a fine scholar and teacher, and a perfect gentleman. This school house was built about four miles from my home and I had to walk alone. This would seem hard these times, but then it was not so much. This school ran for more than a year, when, for some cause, it closed. In the meantime, my mother had sold out her belongings in Barnwell and purchased a plantation ten miles above Barnwell, on the Hamburg Road, and known then and now as Joyce's Branch. In the summer of 1860, there being no school on the Four Mile, and my sister Sarah, now Mrs. Richmond, of Atlanta, having a school at Joyce's Branch Church, I went down home and went to school to her; but she gave up the school in the fall and was succeeded by Mr. McBride, an old teacher of much note, who had taught so long that he knew every sum in the Arithmetic by heart. At this time came the excitement of secession, minute men, war and the big comet—all on us at one time. I had no time for anything else, and attended every meeting of every kind. A company of minute men [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] was organized with Dr. Frederick as Commander. This I joined, though not yet fourteen years old. We had our meetings every Saturday at Fred Killingsworth's, near Cypress Chapel Church, for the purpose of drill and to talk over the events that were happening and things we knew would happen in the very near future. I tell you, I was proud of my cockade and wore it on every occasion. This company was not formed with the idea of going into service as a company, but for the purpose of meeting together, talk over matters and keep enthused. I am proud to say, however, that when the call was made to enlist in companies that every member of our Minute Men responded like patriots and joined some command. I had then reached about fourteen years, and, while I had been admitted a member of the Minute Men, there was no company that was being organized that would consent to take me in, especially as I could not get the consent of my mother and Mr. Wilson. This, however, did not dampen my enthusiasm, for I just knew if I did not get there on time the Yankees would "lick" us in short order, hence, I determined to go whenever the troops were ordered out, consent or no consent. About the first of the year 1860 I returned to the Four Mile. I found that during my absence at my mother's a young physician—Dr. Martin Bellinger—had located in that section and had taken board at our house; and also a nephew of Mrs. Wilson's had lately come to study law under Mr. Wilson. I made fast friends with both these gentlemen, especially Dr. Bellinger. Mr. Steve Laffitte was the name of the law student. He not having much to do, and I nothing, he took me in charge for instruction, but neither of us did much. There was also staying at our house a great big Irishman, by name John Nicholson, a true son of Erin. It goes without saying that Nicholson and I were the very best of friends. The war talk continued and companies were being raised. Nicholson volunteered in a company being raised by Capt. Wm. J. Crawley. This company was assigned to Holcombe Legion when ordered out. I do not remember the date, but the company was ordered to report and get together at Williston, S. C., at a certain time. I slept with Nicholson his last night home, and next morning I arose before daylight, without breakfast or anything to eat, with no clothing—with nothing but enthusiasm. I headed off for Williston, a distance of twenty-seven miles, a-foot. I expected, however, that the wagons containing the men would overtake me during the morning. I had gotten perhaps as far as three miles on my way, walking leisurely along, meditating on the life of a soldier, the many battles I would be in, the gallant deeds I would do, and, above all, the host of Yankees I would kill and put to flight, when I heard the tramp of a horse's feet coming up from the rear. I intuitively knew what it was, but, deigning to look back, I continued my onward course. The horseman soon overtook me, and, riding by me until he got to a pine stump on the side of the road, he rode up to it and waited for me, and on my approach, he (Mr. Wilson) said, "Get up," which I did, and we retraced our way for home. Not another word but "get up" was said during the whole time. I felt that I was being badly treated, and I had the sulks, and Mr. Wilson, in the goodness of his heart, spared me the humility of a lecture. There were other companies being formed which were to form Hagood's First South Carolina, and it was not many days before they, too, were ordered to rendezvous at Orangeburg, S. C. I had in the meantime gone down to my mother's; she thought the best thing for me was to be put to the plow. This she did. I had been plowing only a few days —perhaps only two days—when in the morning a wagon came along loaded with men on their way to Barnwell to join Hagood there and go from there to Orangeburg, where the famous Hagood's First South Carolina Volunteers were organized. I did nothing less than drive my horse in a fence, jam and load myself on that wagon. Arriving at Barnwell, Johnson Hagood met us, and, looking us over, he spied me and said, "Frank, go back home. Too small now; you will do later." There was nothing else for me to do but get back again. This was some time about the first of April, 1861. About two months after this, I could just stand it no longer, and off I go again without saying a word to any one. I went to Charleston and over to the Regiment and joined Company I, commanded by Capt. J. J. Brabham, in which my brother, J. S. Mixson, was First Lieutenant. When Hagood saw me down there he again ordered me home, and I told him I had already joined. Besides, if he drove me away I would go somewhere else and join. He let up, and I was happy beyond measure. The regiment at that time was only twelve months' troops, and during the fall and winter the reorganization for the war commenced. In the reorganization Company I became Company C, with B. B. Kirkland as Captain. My brother, J. S., did not re-enlist, but went to a cavalry company serving on the coast and became Quartermaster Sergeant of the regiment. I remained with Company C for over a year, when Ely Myrick, of Company E, and I exchanged, he going to Company C, Capt. Kirkland, and I to Company E, Capt. Wood. There was in Company E my eldest brother, Joyce, between whom and myself there were seventeen children—his son, G. D. Mixson, and two Nelson boys, who were my nephews, all of whom were several years older than I. We were stationed on Coles Island during the winter of 1861, but after the reorganization we were moved to James Island and remained there till we were ordered to Virginia. Brother John and his two sons, Elliott and Adrian, re-enlisted in Hunter's Company, Lamar's Second Artillery, and remained in South Carolina and saw hard service on James Island. While on James Island I would get a pass to Charleston whenever I could and spend the day with my sister Susan, who was Sister Mary Magdeline, in the Sisters of Mercy, and on every visit I was treated right royally by them. I remember that before leaving for Virginia my sister placed something around my neck, and until the string wore out and I lost it I was never hurt, but the first fight I went into after losing this I was wounded. CHAPTER II. I failed to mention that before the reorganization of the regiment for the war Johnson Hagood had been promoted to Brigadier General and was in command on James Island; and I also failed to say that James Hagood, a Citadel boy of [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] about 17½ years, and a brother of the General, had come over to James Island and joined Company C, Capt. B. B. Kirkland, as a private. We were taken over to Charleston and encamped on the Citadel Green, preparatory to leaving for Virginia. Just after getting over to Charleston I was taken with "low country fever," and was sent up to the hospital in Augusta, Ga. Old Dr. Ford was in charge of the hospital, which was the old Eagle and Phoenix Hotel. I was up there about three weeks when I heard that the regiment had left Charleston for Virginia. I immediately went to Dr. Ford and asked for a discharge from the hospital and transportation to Richmond, where I hoped to overtake them. He tried to dissuade me from leaving, and offered me a permanent place under him, but I did not go into service to hang up in hospitals, consequently, I declined and got my discharge and transportation and took the first train going North. I was alone—had never been out of the State, except to Augusta—a mere kid of a boy. I can tell you, I felt mighty lonesome. Besides, I was afraid that the regiment would get so far ahead of me that I would not overtake them before they got to the fighting ground. I felt that if the regiment did get in a fight without me I would forever be disgraced, no matter the reason. Fortunately, just before reaching Richmond I ran up on Dr. Martin Bellinger, our surgeon, who had been looking after some sick before leaving Charleston, and who, too, had got behind. We got to Richmond about four days after the regiment had left for Manassas. Dr. Bellinger's horse was there, but I had to take it a-foot and alone, except some stragglers, like myself, none of whom, however, did I know, as they were not from our regiment. Dr. Bellinger, in Richmond, took me to the Spotswood Hotel and gave me dinner, after which we both left to overtake our men. It was just outside the city when the doctor rode away from me. I felt that I was deserted by everybody and disgraced if I let the regiment get into a fight before I reached them. I traveled that night until about midnight, when I lay down by the roadside and slept till sunrise. I again pulled out and kept on the go. By this time the rations that I had slipped into my haversack at the Spotswood were gone. I did not know how I would get something to eat from then on. In passing by a pasture I saw four or five sheep. I loaded my musket, took deliberate aim at one not more than twenty steps off, fired and missed. I shot at this old fellow not less than five times and gave it up in disgust. That evening, just before sundown, I ran across a large, fat hog. I know it could not have weighed less than three hundred pounds. I was hungry good by this time, and I was determined to have meat. I loaded up and first fire brought her down. I then skinned and cut off a ham, and going perhaps a mile further, I stopped for the night at a spring by the roadside. The balance of the hog I left where she fell; but as I had passed so many stragglers I know she did not spoil, for they, like myself, were hungry. I feasted that night on broiled ham—no salt, no bread, but it was good. This ham lasted me until I overtook the wagon train, which was about six miles in rear of the regiment, or, I may say now, the army. I overtook these wagons in camp about twelve o'clock at night and I stopped to camp. I was very much surprised to be awakened perhaps an hour before day by the firing of cannon and small arms ahead. I could not remain longer. I got up and headed for the front. Not being experienced in warfare at that time, I had no idea that the firing on the front was exceeding three miles at most, but when I came to travel it I found that after I had gone at least six miles I had only reached the location of the field hospital. Here again I ran upon Dr. Bellinger, he having very little help, and with a desire to care for me, as he saw that I was about broken down, he ordered me to remain to assist with the wounded, who had begun to come in. I protested, but he held firm and I was soon at work. The duty demanded of me by Dr. Bellinger was to assist in the examinations and amputations, and many a poor fellow did I hold while his leg or arm was taken off. I was shocked at the number of our regiment brought back killed and wounded. Men whom I had only a few weeks before left in Charleston in the best of health and spirits, some dead, others wounded. I could hardly realize such carnage. Over half of the regiment was killed and wounded. I remained with Dr. Bellinger until the wounded were all disposed of, when he let me go. I overtook the regiment just after they crossed the Potomac River into Maryland. Our regiment left Charleston and went into the Manassas fight with Thos. J. Glover, of Orangeburg, Colonel; Wm. H. Duncan, of Barnwell, Lieutenant-Colonel; Daniel H. Livingston, of Orangeburg, Major; Wm. J. Wood, of Steel Creek, Adjutant; Mortimer Glover, of Orangeburg, Sergeant-Major; Captain Warren B. Flowers, of Baldoc, Quartermaster; (I cannot recollect now who was the Commissary); Dr. Martin Bellinger, of Four Mile, Surgeon; Dr. Wm. S. Stoney, of Allendale, Assistant Surgeon. The Company Commanders were: Company A, Capt. Isaac Bamberg, Bamberg; Company B, Capt. —— Wannamaker, Orangeburg; Company C, Capt. B. B. Kirkland, Buford's Bridge; Company D, Capt. Robt. L. Crawford, Marion; Company E, Capt. Jno. H. Thompson, Upper Three Runs; Company F, Capt. T. D. Gwinn, Greenville; Company G, Capt. J. G. Grimes, Bamberg; Company H, Capt. John C. Winsmith, Spartanburg; Company I, Capt. Jas. H. Stafford, Marion; Company K, Capt. —— Knotts, Orangeburg. The lieutenants of the companies I cannot recollect. Gus Hagood, of Barnwell, was color bearer. This is about the manner our regiment was officered on reaching Lee's army, and was assigned to Hood's Texas Brigade. We went into the Second Manassas about fourteen hundred strong. It seemed to me that every minute there was some poor fellow brought back. Col. Glover was killed outright. Maj. Livingston wounded slightly; Adjutant Wood wounded; Capt. Bamberg, of Company A, wounded; Capt. Wannamaker, Company B, wounded; Capt. Kirkland, Company C, wounded; Capt. Crawford, Company D, wounded; Capt. Thompson, Company E, killed; Capt. Gwinn, Company F, wounded; Capt. Grimes, Company G, wounded; Capt. Winsmith, Company H, wounded; Capt. Stafford, Company I, wounded; Capt. Knotts, Company K, wounded. Besides these nearly all the lieutenants were either killed or wounded and about one-half, at least, of the regiment. You will therefore see that our regiment suffered very heavily. Our colors, they say, went down seven times. First, Gus Hagood was shot through the body, and Dr. Bellinger passed a silk handkerchief entirely through his body, taking hold of each end and wiping out the blood. He got well, but was never fit for service again. As Hagood fell with the colors, Gus Eaves, from Bamberg, one of the color guards, rushed to them and raised them aloft. In a few minutes his right arm was torn to splinters. Immediately they were seized by another, and this was continued until the eighth man bore them through. The fight continued from early morning till night, when the army camped on the battlefield, ready to renew next morning; but next morning the enemy had disappeared. We had been driving them all day. Our regiment made charge after charge, and at one time during the day in making a charge [21] [22] [23] [24] [25] and in passing over some wounded Yankees, one inquired, "What regiment is that?" and on being told "the First S. C. V.," he said, "You all are the d——st fools I ever saw; you have been whipped all day." Nothing being in our front next day to hinder us, we arranged—each company—for its senior officers to command, in a great many instances, non-commissioned officers taking command, and we went on a chase into Maryland. Lieut.-Col. Duncan assumed command of the regiment and Maj. Livingston, who was only slightly hurt, returned to us just as we crossed the Potomac River. The first place I recollect after getting into Maryland was Frederick City. As we passed through the town everybody was out to see us; streets crammed, doors and windows full; some cheering and waving Confederate flags; others jeering us and waving United States flags. We went through the town in a "hurrah" and let them know that we knew we had just given the Yankee army a good licking at Manassas and were ready for them again. Just after crossing into Maryland Lieut.-Col. Duncan, who was commanding our regiment since the killing of Col. Glover at Manassas, was taken sick and went back into an ambulance, but did not leave us entirely until we again crossed the Potomac back into Virginia, when he got a sick furlough and went home to Barnwell. This left the command of the regiment to Maj. Livingston. I was then Orderly for the colonel, which required me to be at regimental headquarters and around the regimental commander at all times and to extend his private orders and commands. In this position I was not required to carry a gun, and it was well for me that I was so exempted, for I could never have made the marching had I been loaded down. Before crossing into Maryland the entire army were ordered to leave all their baggage, and on this trip we had nothing but a haversack, canteen and a blanket or oil cloth, besides the accoutrements —gun, cartridge box and scabbard. You will see from this that we were prepared for quick marching. CHAPTER III. We took the turnpike from Frederick City to Hagerstown, and along the route we passed many an orchard heavily laden with fine apples and many corn fields with luscious roasting ears; but we were not allowed to gather a thing and rations were short. But at every cross road we would find a lot of ladies with tables set with something to eat and coffee and buckets of water. It was impossible for them to feed us all, but what they did do helped out considerably and was highly appreciated. We passed through Hagerstown at midday and went into camp in an oak grove some two miles beyond the town. In passing through Hagerstown all the stores remained open and none of the citizens seemed to be in the least uneasy. As we were going down the street we saw a corner store with the sign "Hager's Store." Standing in the doors of this store were a lot of women and some children. Among them was a young girl some sixteen years old, who was waving a United States flag and taunting us with "Why don't you fight under this flag?" Some fellow in ranks remarked, "Hagerstown, Hager's store, Hager's daughter—hurrah for Hager," and, as was the custom, we gave them the yell. We remained in this grove outside the town until the next day after midday, when the "long roll" called us to "fall in." We were again marched through the town, this time in a double quick, and took the turnpike for Boonesboro Gap, where we could hear heavy musketry and cannonading going on. It was about sixteen miles from where we were camped to the gap, and as we were needed there badly we double quicked nearly the entire distance. Of course, we were stopped a few minutes at intervals to rest and catch our breath. It seems that this gap was the only way we had to get back into Virginia, and the Yankees were trying to hold this against us. Had they succeeded in doing this, Lee's army would be trapped, but our troops held them at bay until Jenkins' Brigade got there about deep dusk. We found our troops hard pressed on the side of the mountains only a few hundred yards from the pass. We were immediately put into position and relieved those who had been fighting all day. Our orders were to hold our position or die. After being in position here for some little time and holding the enemy back, an officer rode up to near where Maj. Livingston and I were and asked for the commanding officer. I hollered out, "Here he is." He told Maj. Livingston that the enemy were being reinforced and would charge us very shortly, and to save the pass long enough for our army to succeed in getting by, that we would charge first—that the orders to charge had been extended on our right and all movements would be taken up from the right. Maj. Livingston turned to me and said, "Frank, tell Company A to move as the regiment on its right moves, and come on down the line and tell each company commander to move as the right moves." I had hardly got the orders extended before I heard the command, "Company A, forward," "Company B, forward." And on down the line. We were in for it sure, and away we went—into a blaze of musketry which lighted us on our way. We drove them back some little distance and held our gain long enough for the rear of our army to pass through, when we again heard the right extending orders. This time I heard, "Company A in retreat," "Company B in retreat," and it was not long before we were going through the gap—the last of the army to pass through. We found a relief for us when we got through, which held them back till we were safe on our road to Sharpsburg, which we reached some time late in the afternoon, after having been fighting nearly all night and marching since noon the day before. On reaching Sharpsburg we were stopped in an apple orchard (our regiment) and we fared well. We remained in this orchard that night, all next day and night. The second morning about sunrise the Yankees opened their artillery from the heights on us, and it seemed as if they had placed all the cannon in the world up there; it was certainly the heaviest and most terrific artillery firing during the entire war, and has gone down in history as such. Fortunately for us we were in a bottom and the worst of the shells went over us, but not all. We had a good many hurt while in this position. Our batteries were on the hill above us and were responding all they could. About 8 o'clock we were ordered up the hill to protect our batteries; the enemy were charging them. We went up the hill at a double quick. Our regiment was on the left of the brigade and we were going left in front, which put us to the front. I was trotting by the side of Maj. Livingston amid a furor of bursting shells. About half way up the hill Maj. Livingston called to me, saying, "Lead on, Frank, I am [26] [27] [28] [29] [30] wounded." I called to Capt. Knotts, who was the senior captain present, and told him to take command of the regiment. We got in position on the hill in rear of a plank fence and were told not to fire a shot till ordered to do so. While lying behind the fence the Yankees were making their charge and coming down the opposite hill in as pretty a line as on dress parade. In front of us, and about midway, there was a stone fence in another apple orchard. The Yankees were making for this fence, and, as I said before, were moving on it at a double quick and a regular dress parade line. The old captain commanding our batteries had shot himself out of balls, and, all his horses being killed, he ordered his men to cut off the trace chains. With these he loaded his pieces and fired. It seemed that as the chains reached the ranks they spread themselves out full length and cut their way broadside through. The old captain jumped up, yelled, and ordered another load, with about the same result. This was done several times, and finally the column began to waver and weaken. At this point a Yankee colonel rode to the front with drawn sword and rallied his men, who were about to give way. Just then I said to Kite Folk, from Bamberg, a boy like myself, but a year or two older, "Let us shoot him." I picked up a gun lying near me and Kite and I put our guns through the fence and fired together. The colonel fell and was carried from the field. The enemy fell back, but very soon came again. Forty-two years after this occurrence I was running the Hotel Aiken. I was telling of this incident one evening when a guest of the house, who had registered as —— Johnson, said he knew the circumstance perfectly—that he was the major of that regiment and when the colonel was killed, as stated, he took command and received his promotion as lieutenant-colonel; that it was he who led them back in the second charge. When the enemy made this second charge we, too, made a charge, and the stone fence, spoken of before, being about equal distance from each of us, it was a race, who and who. We won the race, and when we fell in behind the fence the Yankees were not more than fifteen steps away; but it was not long before they had moved off, leaving a good crowd behind lying on the field. Could one have been so situated on one of these hills with nothing to do but witness the two forces making for that fence, the Yankees coming down the hill on their side, moving in line as if on drill, determination on their faces and a quick, steady step without a falter or a quaver—on the other hill a lot of dirty, hungry, footsore, naked and barefoot men lying behind that plank fence awaiting orders. Soon the order came, and we were told to get to that stone fence. No line for us. Darling Patterson, of Barnwell, was our color bearer, and he led off with our flag waving overhead. The men followed, each one doing all he could to get there first. We beat them to it, and when Patterson stuck his flag staff into the ground we had the fence, and too well did they know it. We tore loose into them, they not being more than fifteen steps distant. They could not stand it—they broke in confusion and retired in about the same order that we had advanced; but they were soon rallied and we had it hot for some time. The fence, however, was a great protection to us. We were well protected by our stone fence in the apple orchard, but the enemy kept us pretty well engaged in our front, and we had no time to look around and see how other parts of our line were doing. We had been fighting behind this fence for perhaps two or three hours when I was surprised on looking around to see a long Georgia captain running from where we had come in the morning, and coming directly to me. I was then standing up under an apple tree eating an apple. On reaching me he said, "Where is your gun, and why are you not shooting?" I replied, "I am the colonel's orderly." He then asked for the colonel. I told him that the regiment was right then without any one to command it. He told me to get them back—the entire line had fallen back to our previous position—that we were the only ones so advanced, and to look to the right, coming from the direction of the barn, and I would see we were about already surrounded. I yelled out, "First South Carolina, retreat," and I led off. The enemy were so close in our rear when we left the fence that we had to run around the head of their column; but every man succeeded in passing around them. But then we had a long, sloping hill to go up—nothing to break the view—an open field. Away we went, and while I was doing all I knew how in the way of running, and when I had about covered half the distance back, I ran up on Talt Best, from Allendale, lying flat on his back, shot through the thigh. He had lain there for several hours, being shot down when we advanced. Talt was holding out his arms and asked me piteously, "Frank, don't leave me here to die." It looked like death to me to stop, but I could not resist the appeal. I stooped down, raised him up. Just then Sid Key, from Joyce's Branch, ran up and I asked Sid to help me get Talt off. We got him back to our former line, where we turned him over to the litter bearers, and we got to our positions. We had not been there over five minutes when Sid Key was shot. We received orders to prepare to advance, and I recollect Lieut. Jack Stansell, of Company E, waving his sword, cried out, "Forward, Company E." After repeating this several times and getting no response he discovered that he had but one man left in Company E, Arthur Thompson, of Elko. He then cried, "Forward, Thompson, go it, Thompson." Almost simultaneously a minnie ball passed through Thompson's body and a piece of shell hit Lieut. Stansell on the side of the knee. Both were carried off, and they were the last men of Company E. After getting quieted down enough to look around I commenced to see who we could get to take command of the regiment. I have already told you that Capt. Knotts was placed in command when Maj. Livingston told me he was wounded. I could not find Capt. Knotts, nor had seen him the whole time of our advance while we were holding the stone fence. I think I may have failed to say heretofore that Jim Hagood had been appointed sergeant-major to fill the place of Mortimer Glover, of Orangeburg. In looking around for a regimental commander I discovered that there was only one commissioned officer left in the regiment. This officer was Lieut. Sweat, of Bamberg. I told him he would have to command the regiment, being the only officer. He refused to do so, and, after some thought, he told me to go to Sergt.-Major Jim Hagood and tell him to assume command. This I did, and Jim Hagood, a non-commissioned officer and an eighteen-year-old boy, took the command. We held our ground the balance of the day and that night, and about daybreak next morning we passed through Sharpsburg and recrossed the Potomac into Virginia. While we were holding our ground on the battlefield about midnight the cooks came up with some cooked rations. Hagood sent me to ascertain how many men each company had left, so as to divide equally. I recollect Company E had not one and Company F only one. So, you see, we were [31] [32] [33] [34] right badly used up. CHAPTER IV. After holding our ground and showing our enemy that we were not beaten at Sharpsburg, we left the battlefield in broad daylight and leisurely took our way to the Potomac and recrossed into Virginia. We stopped over at Martinsburg and then went on, and went into camp at the Big Spring, near Winchester, where we remained for three or four weeks. Here our baggage came to us and it was refreshing to get into clean clothes once more. While here a good many of our sick and slightly wounded returned to us, among whom was Maj. Livingston, who relieved Sergt.-Major Hagood in commanding the regiment. Nothing unusual occurred during our stay at the Big Spring, only that it was a good country to forage in and we usually had enough to eat and sometimes some apple jack to wash it down. After we had been at the Big Spring for several weeks, and the army had increased considerably, we were taken on a forced march and carried to Culpeper Court House. Here we remained for several weeks, again getting in more men who had recovered from wounds and sickness. At this place Sergt.-Major Jas. Hagood was made adjutant. While remaining over here we had drills and dress parade every day and rested up pretty well. One day I got a pass to go over to Culpeper and took it up to brigade headquarters to have it countersigned. When Adjutant-General R. M. Simms saw my name he asked me if I knew Seth Mixson, of Barnwell, and when I said "He is my brother," Gen. Jenkins asked where he was. I told him on the coast. Gen. Jenkins then told me to write him. If he would accept he would have him appointed colonel of our regiment. You can imagine I was very much elated at this and wrote him immediately. In a short time I received a reply saying, "Tell Micah Jenkins I am quartermaster-sergeant of a cavalry regiment on the coast and would not give it for a major-general in Lee's army." I was completely disgusted with the answer and never delivered it to Gen. Jenkins. It was here that Col. Coward took command of the Fifth South Carolina. I recollect how game he looked. He had the regiment formed for dress parade. He was dressed in a brand new suit, polished high top boots, shining spurs and bright sword. He did not weigh over one hundred and twenty pounds, but he looked game. He had the orders read appointing him colonel, and then he told the men that he was now their colonel and would be respected as such; he would not tell them to go only as he led them. When he got through his talk the Fifth knew they had a colonel, and after- events proved it, for from then on the Fifth was one of the best regiments in our brigade. Before leaving here Lieut.-Col. Duncan was promoted to colonel and Maj. Livingston to lieutenant-colonel. After some three weeks' stay here we were hurried over to Fredericksburg, reaching there in time to meet Hooker's advance. Upon reaching Fredericksburg our brigade was held in reserve for a time—in fact, for the entire day. About sundown we were moved up and relieved some troops that had been engaged, and we fought then nearly all night and the next day, until Hooker fell back across the river, leaving us in possession of the battlefield. After the enemy had recrossed the river we were taken to woods just off of the field, where we remained in position, ready for an attack at any moment, should they make an advance. We did not move back to these woods till about dark, consequently, during the afternoon we and the enemy were very near together, with the Rappahannock River only between us, but no fighting going on. Just before sundown the Yankee band came down to the river bank and commenced to play. Very soon our bands were on the bank on our side. The Yankee band would play the popular airs of theirs amid much yelling and cheering; our bands would do the same with the same result. Towards the wind-up the Yankee band struck up "Yankee Doodle." Cheers were immense. When they stopped our band struck up "Dixie," and everything went wild. When they finished this, both bands, with one accord and simultaneously, struck up "Home, Sweet Home." There was not a sound from anywhere until the tune was finished and it then seemed as if everybody had gone crazy. I never saw anything to compare with it. Both sides were cheering, jumping up and throwing up hats and doing everything which tended to show enthusiasm. This lasted for at least a half hour. I do believe that had we not had the river between us that the two armies would have gone together and settled the war right there and then. I saw old weather-beaten men, naked, barefooted, hungry, dirty and worn out, with tears streaming down their cheeks; men who were not afraid to leave their homes, their wives, their families, their all; but men with hearts, who could not restrain the tears when it was so vividly brought to them. Their hearts were touched then, but they were yet men who were willing to do or die. As before said, the army was taken back to the shelter of the woods, off the field of carnage, for the night. Company E of our regiment was left on the river bank to watch the movement of the enemy. I was left with them to carry any message to the colonel during the night, should the emergency arise. Some time, about two o'clock, there was considerable commotion in the camp of the enemy. Capt. Wood ordered me to report to the colonel that he thought they were preparing to make an advance. It was nearly a mile back to our line, raining and dark. I had to go across this battlefield alone, but there was no escape. I took a direct course. There was no woods on my way. You nor no one can imagine how trying it was. One second I would stumble over a dead man or horse, next would step on some poor wounded fellow, who would either curse me or beg piteously for water or help; next run on a wounded horse and run the risk of being kicked to death. It was fearful; but after a time I reached the woods and delivered my message. The colonel instructed me to return and keep him informed. I told him, and begged him not to send me back before daylight —I could not go; it was too much for me. He took pity on me and allowed me to remain till daylight. I do believe that had he insisted on my returning that night that I would have died before making the trip. [35] [36] [37] [38] [39] There was no advance made by the enemy, but they moved off and went into winter quarters. This was the winter of 1862, and our first in Virginia; besides, it was a remarkably cold winter. They gave us little A tents, allowing six to a tent. We cut down trees and built up a pole house about three feet high, and pitched our tent on top of this, and when we had completed a chimney and had daubed the cracks with clay we had a very comfortable residence. Our great trouble was getting in wood; but we would take turn about to get in a day's supply. We fared very well, taking everything into consideration. There was a very heavy snow storm; snow fell about waist deep over the whole country. One morning a few men commenced to snow ball. These were added to until the whole army was engaged. Brigadier- generals took command of their brigades; colonels of their regiments; captains of their companies. It was a regular planned battle and was fought all day. Sometimes one would take the camp of another and plunder it of blankets, rations, cooking utensils and whatever else there was. It was the biggest snow ball fight on record. I did not engage in the fight, but took a hand in plundering a camp whenever we got into one. I had rations for several days after this affair —rations taken from the fellows' dinner out of their camps. While here this winter we had a good many changes. Col. Duncan resigned and F. W. Kilpatrick, of Pendleton, was made colonel. Capt. Knotts, of Company K, resigned, and Jim Hagood was made captain of his company. S. B. Clowney, of Fairfield, was made adjutant. O. D. Wilson, of Allendale, was made sergeant-major, and other changes in company officers which I do not recall, except that P. H. Wood, of Steel Creek, was made captain of Company E. We remained in winter quarters until the severe winter was over, and when we had recruited so that our regiment and brigade had gotten to be quite respectable in size. When we broke winter quarters we were carried down on the Blackwater River, in the neighborhood of Suffolk. I think Jenkins' Brigade was the only force carried down. Our brigade was pretty badly scattered down here and had to cover a big space. The regiments were camped some four miles apart. After remaining here on the Blackwater for some little time the brigade was consolidated, and we were moved down to Suffolk. Here we were in daily communication with the enemy and our picket lines were only a short distance apart. While here we were one day asked for volunteers to go down and charge the gun boats. The volunteers were soon procured, but we wondered how infantry could charge gun boats. However, we went, and when we got in good range they opened on us with shells about the size of flour barrel heads. We did not make much out of charging gun boats. We had several engagements with the enemy while in this section, holding back any advance they prepared to make and guarding Richmond from this direction. While here the Chancellorsville fight came off and it was here that we heard of the killing of Stonewall Jackson. The Chancellorsville fight was the only fight of any note that we had missed since we reached Virginia. We remained down in this country until the spring had advanced and summer was about on us, when we were taken up to Petersburg and camped outside of the town and did police duty in the town. We were given new uniforms while here and fixed up in pretty good shape. Again we were fortunate, for while we were remaining here Lee made his advance into Pennsylvania and the great battle of Gettysburg was fought and we lost. Just after this battle when Lee saw Jenkins he said to him, "Jenkins, if I had had your brigade at Gettysburg I would have won." This was high praise, but then we deserved it and it did not detract from any that were there. It was not long before we heard that Longstreet's corps was to go West and we got orders to pack up and move. We were loaded on freight trains in and on top of freight boxes at Petersburg, our brigade being the last of Longstreet's corps to leave. CHAPTER V. Jenkins' Brigade had been at Petersburg for some time after coming up from around Suffolk on the Blackwater and elsewhere down in that section, when we received orders to prepare to load and ship for...