They rush upon our sharpshooters, capturing nearly the whole line, killing Captain Whitner, the commander, and either capturing or wounding nearly all the commissioned officers. Before we knew it, or even expected it, the enemy was in our front, advancing in line of battle. The men hadn't time to raise a gun before the bullets came whizzing over our heads, or battering against the stone wall. We noticed away to our right the lines give way. Still Kershaw's Brigade held their position, and beat back the enemy in our front. But in the woods on our left some troops who were stationed there, on seeing the break in the line beyond us, gave way also. Someone raised the cry and it was caught up and hurried along like all omens of ill luck, that "the cavalry is surrounding us." In a moment our whole line was in one wild confusion, like "pandemonium broke loose." If it was a rout in the morning, it was a stampede now. None halted to listen to orders or commands. Like a monster wave struck by the head land, it rolls back, carrying everything before it by its own force and power, or drawing all within its wake. Our battle line is forced from the stone fence. We passed over one small elevation, down through a vale, and when half way up the next incline, Adjutant Pope, who was upon the staff of our brigade commander, met the fleeing troops and made a masterly effort to stem the tide by getting some of the troops in line. Around him was formed a nucleus, and the line began to lengthen on either side, until we had a very fair battle line when the enemy reached the brow of the hill we had just passed. We met them with a stunning volley, that caused the line to reel and stagger back over the crest. Our lines were growing stronger each moment. Pope was bending all his energies to make Kershaw's Brigade solid, and was in a fair way to succeed. The troops that had passed, seeing a stand being made, returned, and kept up the fire. It was now hoped that the other portion of the line would act likewise and come to our assistance, and we further knew that each moment we delayed the enemy would allow that much time for our wagon train and artillery to escape. But just as all felt that we were holding our own, Adjutant Pope fell, badly wounded by a minnie ball through the eye, which caused him to leave the field. Then seeing no prospects of succor on our right or left, the enemy gradually passing and getting in our rear, the last great wave rolls away, the men break and fly, every man for himself, without officers or orders—they scatter to the rear. The enemy kept close to our heels, just as we were rising one hill their batteries would be placed on the one behind, then grape and cannister would sweep the field. There were no thickets, no ravines, no fences to shield or protect us. Everything seemed to have been swept from off the face of the earth, with the exception of a lone farm house here and there. Every man appeared to be making for the stone bridge that spanned the creek at Strausburg. But for the bold, manly stand made by Y.J. Pope, with a portion of Kershaw's Brigade (the brigade commander was seldom seen during the day), the entire wagon train and hundreds more of our troops would have been lost, for at that distance we could hear wagons, cannons, and caissons crossing the stone bridge at a mad gallop. But in the rush some wagons interlocked and were overturned midway the bridge, and completely blocked the only crossing for miles above and below. Teamsters and wagoners leave their charge and rush to the rear. In the small space of one or two hundred yards stood deserted ambulances, wagons, and packs of artillery mules and horses, tangled and still hitched, rearing and kicking like mad, using all their strength to unloosen themselves from the matted mass of vehicles, animals, and men, for the stock had caught up the spirit of the panic, and were eager to keep up the race. As by intuition, the flying soldiers felt that the roadway would be blocked at the bridge over Cedar Creek, so they crossed the turn-pike and bore to the left in order to reach the fords above. As I reached the pike, and just before entering a thicket beyond, I glanced over my shoulder toward the rear. One glance was enough! On the hill beyond the enemy was placing batteries, the infantry in squads and singly blazing away as rapidly as they could load and fire, the grape and cannister falling and rattling upon the ground like walnuts thrown from a basket. The whole vast plain in front and rear was dotted with men running for life's sake, while over and among this struggling mass the bullets fell like hail. How any escaped was a wonder to the men themselves. The solid shot and shell came bouncing along, as the boys would laughingly say afterwards, "like a bob-tailed dog in high oats"—striking the earth, perhaps, just behind you, rebound, go over your head, strike again, then onward, much like the bounding of rubber balls. One ball, I remember, came whizzing in the rear, and I heard it strike, then rebound, to strike again just under or so near my uplifted foot that I felt the peculiar sensation of the concussion, rise again, and strike a man twenty paces in my front, tearing away his thigh, and on to another, hitting him square in the back and tearing him into pieces. I could only shrug my shoulders, close my eyes, and pull to the rear stronger and faster.

The sun had now set. A squadron of the enemy's cavalry came at headlong speed down the pike; the clatter of the horses hoofs upon the hard-bedded stones added to the panic, and caused many who had not reached the roadway to fall and surrender. About one hundred and fifty of the Third Regiment had kept close at my heels (or I had kept near their front, I can't say which is the correct explanation), with a goodly number of Georgians and Mississippians, who had taken refuge in a thicket for a moment's breathing spell, joining our ranks, and away we continued our race. We commenced to bend our way gradually back towards the stone bridge. But before we neared it sufficiently to distinguish friend from foe, we heard the cavalry sabering our men, cursing, commanding, and yelling, that we halted for a moment to listen and consult. In the dim twilight we could distinguish some men about one hundred yards in front moving to and fro. Whether they were friends, and like ourselves, trying to escape the cavalry in turn and creep by and over the bridge, or whether they were a skirmish line of the enemy, we could not determine. The Captain of a Georgia regiment (I think his name was Brooks), with four or five men, volunteered to go forward and investigate. I heard the command "halt," and then a parley, so I ordered the men to turn towards the river. The command came after us to "halt, halt," but we only redoubled our speed, while "bang, bang," roared their guns, the bullets raining thick and fast over our head. I never saw or heard of my new found friends again, and expect they, like many captured that day, next enjoyed freedom after Lee and Johnston had surrendered. When we reached the river it was undecided whether we could cross or not. So one of my men, a good swimmer, laid off his accoutrement and undertook to test the depth. In he plunged, and was soon out of sight in the blue waters. As he arose he called out, "Great God! don't come in here if you don't want to be drowned. This river has got no bottom." Our only alternative was to go still higher and cross above the intersection of the north and south prongs of the Shenandoah, where it was fordable. This we did, and our ranks augmented considerable as we proceeded up the banks of the stream, especially when we had placed the last barrier between us and the enemy. We had representatives of every regiment in Early's Army, I think, in our crowd, for we had no regiment, as it naturally follows that a man lost at night, with a relentless foe at his heels, will seek company.

We returned each man to his old quarters, and as the night wore on more continued to come in singly, by twos, and by the half dozens, until by midnight the greater portion of the army, who had not been captured or lost in battle, had found rest at their old quarters. But such a confusion! The officers were lost from their companies—the Colonels from their regiments, while the Generals wandered about without staff and without commands. The officers were as much dazed and lost in confusion as the privates in the ranks. For days the men recounted their experiences, their dangers, their hair-breadth escapes, the exciting chase during that memorable rout in the morning and the stampede in the evening, and all had to laugh. Some few took to the mountains and roamed for days before finding an opportunity to return; others lay in thickets or along the river banks, waiting until all was still and quiet, then seek some crossing. Hundreds crowded near the stone bridge (the Federal pickets were posted some yards distance), and took advantage of the darkness to cross over under the very nose of the enemy. One man of the Fifteenth came face to face with one of the videttes, when a hand to hand encounter took place—a fight in the dark to the very death—but others coming to the relief of their comrade beat the Confederate to insensibility and left him for dead. Yet he crawled to cover and lay concealed for a day and night, then rejoined his regiment in a sickening plight.

A man in my company, Frank Boozer, was struck by a glancing bullet on the scalp and fell, as was thought, dead. There he lay, while hundreds and hundreds trampled over him, and it was near day when he gained consciousness and made his way for the mountain to the right. There he wandered along its sides, through its glens and gorges, now dodging a farm house or concealing himself in some little cave, until the enemy passed, for it was known that the mountains and hills on either side were scoured for the fugitives.

Captain Vance, of the Second, with a friend, Myer Moses, had captured a horse, and they were making their way through the thickets, Moses in front, with Vance in rear, the darkness almost of midnight on them. They came upon a squad of Federal pickets. They saw their plight in a moment, but Moses was keen-witted and sharp-tongued, and pretended that he was a Yankee, and demanded their surrender. When told that they were Federals, he seemed overjoyed, and urged them to "come on and let's catch all those d——n Rebels." But when they asked him a few questions he gave himself away. He was asked:

"What command do you belong to?"

"Eighty-seventh New York," Moses answered, without hesitation.

"What brigade?" "What division?" etc. "We have no such commands in this army. Dismount, you are our prisoners."

But Captain Vance was gone, for at the very outset of the parley he slid off behind and quietly made his escape. In such emergencies it was no part of valor to "stand by your friend," for in that case both were lost, while otherwise one was saved.

What was the cause of our panic, or who was to blame, none ever knew. The blame was always laid at "somebody else's" door. However disastrous to our army and our cause was this stampede—the many good men lost (killed and captured) in this senseless rout—yet I must say in all candor, that no occasion throughout the war gave the men so much food for fun, ridicule, and badgering as this panic. Not one man but what could not tell something amusing or ridiculous on his neighbor, and even on himself. The scenes of that day were the "stock in trade" during the remainder of the war for laughter. It looked so ridiculous, so foolish, so uncalled for to see twenty thousand men running wildly over each other, as it were, from their shadows, for there was nothing in our rear but a straggling line of Federals, which one good brigade could have put to rout.

Both Colonel Boykin and Lieutenant Colonel McMichael, of the Twentieth, were captured and never returned to the service, not being parolled until after the surrender. The Twentieth was commanded by Major Leaphart until the close.

As Adjutant Pope never returned in consequence of his wounds. I will give a few facts as to his life. No officer in the army was parted with greater reluctance than Adjutant Pope.

* * * * *

ADJUTANT YOUNG JOHN POPE.

Y.J. Pope was born in the town of Newberry, S.C., on the 10th of April, 1841. Was the son of Thomas Herbert Pope and Harriett Neville Pope, his wife. He was educated in the Male Academy, at Newberry, and spent six years at Furman University, Greenville, S.C., from which institution he graduated in August, 1860. After studying law under his uncle, Chief Justice O'Neall, he entered the Confederate Army on April 13th, 1861, as First Sergeant in Company E, of Third South Carolina Regiment of Infantry. He participated in the battles of First Manassas and Williamsburg while in his company. In May, 1862, he was made Adjutant of the Third South Carolina Regiment, and as such participated in the battles of Savage Station, Malvern Hill, Maryland Heights, Sharpsburg, First Fredericksburg (where he was slightly wounded), Chancellorsville, Gettysburg (where he received three wounds), Chickamauga (where he was severely wounded), Wilderness, Brock's Road and other battles around Spottsylvania Court House, North Anna River Bridge, Second Cold Harbor, Berryville (where he was shot through the mouth), Strausburg, and Cedar Creek, on the 19th of October, 1864, where he lost his left eye, which was totally destroyed by a minnie bullet.

Since the war he has been elected Mayor of his native town at five elections. He was elected by the Legislature District Judge of Newberry, in December, 1865, and served as such until June, 1868, when Radicals abolished that office. He was elected to the House of Representatives of his State in the year 1877, and was by the Joint Assembly of the Legislature elected Associate Counsel for the State to test the legality of State bonds, when more than two million dollars were saved the State. He was elected State Senator in 1888, and served until he was elected Attorney General of the State, in 1890. He served in this office until the 3rd of December, 1891, when he was elected Associate Justice of Supreme Court of the State, and on the 30th of January, 1896, he was unanimously re-elected Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of South Carolina.

On the 3rd of December, 1874, he married Mrs. Sallie H.F. Rutherford. By this union there were two daughters, Mary Butler Pope and Neville Pope. The former died in October, 1893, and left a wound which has never healed.

During a part of the year 1864 Adjutant Pope served on the brigade staff as Assistant Adjutant General, and was acting in this capacity when he received the wound that incapacitated him from further service in the field.

Lieutenant U.B. Whites, formerly of my company, but later in command of Company G, Third Battalion, writes a very entertaining sketch of prison life, which I very willingly give space to, so that the uninitiated may have some idea of prison life, and the pleasure of being called "fresh fish" by the old prison "rats." Lieutenant Whites was a gallant soldier and a splendid officer. He was what is called in common parlance "dead game" in battle and out. He is a commercial man, and at present a member of the South Carolina colony of Atlanta, Ga.

* * * * *

HOW IT FEELS TO BE TAKEN A PRISONER OF WAR.

After being flushed with the most signal victory of more than half a day's fighting, and while gloating over the brilliant success and planning and scheming future glories, and after having captured a great number of Federal soldiers, together with a large number of field pieces, and then in turn to be captured yourself, especially after having boasted and affirmed oftentimes that you never would be taken a prisoner unless sick or wounded, is exceedingly humiliating, to say the least of it, and the feelings of such an one can better be imagined than described. Yet such was the exact condition of the writer on the evening of October 19th, 1864, at the battle of Strausburg, or as it is known at the present day among the veterans, "Early's Stampede."

It is proper to note here that the writer was a line officer belonging to Company H, Third Regiment South Carolina Volunteers, but several months previous had been assigned to command a company of "picked" men made from the various companies and regiments of the old brigade (Kershaw's), and this company was assigned to duty in the Third Battalion. This battalion was to do the skirmishing and sharpshooting for the brigade. This explanation is necessary in order that the reader may better understand my position and place when captured.

Late in the afternoon of this exciting day General Phil Sheridan succeeded in rallying his routed columns and led the attack on our line. Our skirmish line was in excellent condition. We had no trouble in effectually resisting and driving back the enemy's skirmish line. When within short range of our rifles we opened fire, and for nearly half an hour held them in check, while they fairly rained lead into our ranks. The command "retreat" was given, and we retired, firing. During the retreat brave Captain Whitener was killed. I rallied the remnant of my company in rear of the Third South Carolina. General Kershaw rode rapidly up to where I had rallied what few men I had left and enquired for Captain Whitener. I replied, "He is killed, General." He then ordered me to take what few I had and could gather and double-quick to a point on the extreme left of his division. When I arrived at the point designated, which was in thick woods, to my horror I found the place literally alive with Yankees. I had double-quicked right into the midst of the "blue bellies." "Surrender," came in tones of thunder. I stood amazed, astonished beyond conception. "Surrender," again came the command. There was absolutely no alternative. There was no chance to fight and less chance to run. My brave boys and I were prisoners of war. This was one of the consequences of war that I had never figured upon, and was wholly unprepared for it. I said to the officer who demanded my sword that I would rather give him my right arm. He preferred the sword and got one—I had two, having captured one that morning. Just then an unusual incident occurred.

"Hello, Lieutenant Whites, my old friend, I am glad to see you."

I looked and recognized a Federal Sergeant, whom I had befriended while en route with him and many other Federal prisoners from East Tennessee to Richmond. I replied:

"My dear fellow, I know, under the circumstances, you will excuse me when I tell you that I am truly sorry that I cannot return the compliment."

I was ordered to the rear under guard of one soldier. I was turned over to the provost guard. My other sword was demanded. Of course I gave it up without a word. My emotions were too intense for utterance. I was a disarmed, helpless prisoner of war. My feelings can better be described by relating an incident which occurred later on. After Lee's surrender, a few uncompromising, unconquered Confederates attempted to make their way to Johnston's Army in North Carolina. The way was full of obstacles, and one of the party, nearly overcome, sat with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, when a comrade accosted him with—

"Hello, John, what is the matter with you?"

"O, I was just thinking," replied John.

"Well, what in the world were you thinking so deeply about that you were lost to every other environment?"

"Well, Jim, to tell you the truth, I was thinking I wished I was a woman."

"Wish you were a woman! Great Scotts, John, are you gone crazy? A brave soldier like you wishing to be a woman!"

"Now, Jim, I'll tell you the truth; if I were a woman I could just cry as much as I pleased, and no one would think that I was a fool."

I felt very much like John. I wished I was a woman, so that I could cry as much as I pleased.

That night all the prisoners were marched to General Sheridan's headquarters, where we went into camp without supper. Some said their prayers, while others cursed the Yankees inaudibly, of course. Next morning we were lined up and counted. Eleven hundred Confederates answered at Sheridan's roll call. It looked like Kershaw's whole Brigade was there, though there were many Georgians among us. Sheridan then inspected the prisoners, and at his personal instance—shame be it said to his memory—we were all robbed of our good blankets and dirty, worn out ones given in their stead.

After the inspection by Sheridan, we began the march (we knew not where to) under a heavy guard—a whole regiment of infantry to guard eleven hundred prisoners. This guard was old soldiers, who knew how to treat a prisoner. They were kind to us. Nothing of special interest occurred on this day. We arrived at Winchester about sundown. We got some rations, ate supper, lay down to sleep, when we were hurriedly aroused and ordered to "fall in line quickly," "fall in," "fall in."

"What is the trouble?" I ventured to ask.

"Mosby! Mosby is coming."

The name of Mosby was a holy terror to the Federals in that part of Virginia. Silently we prayed that Mosby might make a dash and rescue us. All night long we vainly listened for the clatter of the hoops of Mosby's troopers. But, alas! Mosby did not come. The rumor was false. We took up the night march under double guard. A line of cavalry was placed outside the already heavy infantry guard. The night was dark and drizzly—a good night to escape, had not the guard been so heavy. There were two infantry guards to every four prisoners, besides the outer cavalry guard. The hope of an escape was a forlorn one, but I made the attempt and succeeded in passing both guards, but in my ecstacy I foolishly ran in the dark, and ran right squarely against a plank fence with so much force as to attract the attention of a cavalryman, who was soon at my side and escorted me back with a "d——n you, stay in your place." Several prisoners more fortunate than myself did succeed in making their escape in the darkness.

The guards had kindly informed us that at Harper's Ferry we would be searched and relieved of all valuables, and if we had a knife or anything that we desired to retain, they would keep it for us until after the search. This promise they sacredly kept. The search, or robbery as I call it, was very rigid. Like vandals, they searched every pocket and relieved us of all money, pocket-books, knives, keys, and every other thing, except our tobacco. I beat them a little, notwithstanding their rigid search. I had a five-dollar greenback note inside of my sock at the bottom of my boot. This they failed to find.

From Harper's Ferry to Baltimore, the trip was by rail at night. The guard had now been greatly reduced, only eight to each coach. They had got plenty of whiskey for themselves and for all who wanted it. We were having a jolly good time. At this point, knowing that we were in a friendly part of Maryland, I conceived the idea of making a dash for the guns of the guard, uncoupling the rear coaches, put on the brakes, and make our escape across the Potomac. This plan was quietly communicated to all the prisoners in this the rear coach. All agreed to the plan, except Lieutenant Colonel McMichael, of the Twentieth South Carolina Regiment. He protested so strongly that the plan was abandoned. The trip from this on to Fort Delaware was without incident or special interest.

On our arrival at Fort Delaware we were again subjected to a rigid examination and search, and what few trinkets the kind guards saved for us at Harper's Ferry, were now taken away from us. I, however, saved my five-dollar greenback note, which was safely ensconced inside my sock at the bottom of my foot. Here officers and privates were separated and registered, each as to command, rank, and state. The heavy gates swung open with a doleful noise. We marched in amid the shouts of the old prisoners, "fresh fish," "fresh fish." I wanted to fight right then and there. I did not want to be guyed. I wanted sympathy, not guying. "Fresh fish" was the greeting all new arrivals received, and I being an apt scholar, soon learned to shout "fresh fish" as loud as a Texas cowboy.

The heavy prison gates closed around with a dull sepulchral sound, and prison life began in earnest, with Brigadier General Schoeff master of ceremonies. The prison was in the shape of an oblong square, with the "shacks" or "divisions" on the long side and at the short sides or ends. At the other long side was built a plank fence twelve or fifteen feet high. This fence separated the officers and privates. Near the top of this fence was erected a three-foot walk, from which the strictest guard was kept over both "pens" day and night. Fifteen feet from this plank fence on either side was the "dead line." Any prisoner crossing the "dead line" was shot without being halted. There was not an officer shot during my eight months' sojourn there, but it was a frequent occurrence to hear the sharp report of a guard's rifle, and we knew that some poor, unfortunate Confederate soldier had been murdered. The cowardly guards were always on the lookout for any semblance of an excuse to shoot a "d——n Rebel."

There was a rigid censorship placed over all mail matter being sent from or received at the "pen." All letters were read before being mailed, and all being received were subjected to the same vigilant censorship. They were all opened and read by an official to see that they contained nothing "contraband of war." Money was "contraband." Only such newspapers as suited the fastidious taste of General Schoeff were permitted to come inside the "pen." The officers and privates were supposed to be strictly "incommunicado," but even these found means of communication. The open, spacious courts on both sides of the separating fence, on fair days, were always thronged with men taking exercise. A short note—a small piece of coal was the "mail coach"—the route was the "air line"—the note securely tied to the piece of coal, and at an opportune moment, when the guard's face was in a favorable direction, the "mail" passed over the "air line" into the other pen, and vice versa. This line kept up a regular business, but was never detected.

A large majority of prisoners (officers) had some acquaintance, friend, or relative in Baltimore, New York, or other Northern cities, who would gladly furnish money or clothing to them. Provisions were not permissible under the rules and regulations of the prison authorities. Baltimore, especially, and New York did much toward relieving the burdens of prison life. Such inestimable ladies as Mrs. Mary Howard, of Baltimore, and Mrs. Anna Hoffman, of New York, deserve an everlasting monument of eternal gratitude for the great and good service rendered the unfortunate Confederate prisoners. These philanthropic ladies, with hundreds of other sympathizing men and women of the North, kept many of us furnished with money and clothing. The money itself we were not permitted to have. In its stead the prison officials issued the amounts of money on bits of parchment in denominations of five cents, ten cents, twenty-five cents, fifty cents, and one dollar pieces. This was the prison currency. The prison name for it was "sheepskin." The prison officials would not allow us to have the "cold cash," lest we should enter into a combination and bribe an important guard, thereby effecting an escape. The "sheepskin" answered every other purpose for trade. We had a suttler who was a suttler right. He was a real, genuine, down-east Yankee. He loved money ("sheepskins" were money to him), and he would furnish us with anything we wanted for plenty "sheepskins." He would even furnish whiskey "on the sly," which was positively prohibited by the prison regulations. He had only to go to headquarters at the close of the day and have his "sheepskins" cashed in genuine greenbacks, and he went away happy and serene, to dream of more "sheepskins."

The amusements and diversions of prison life are wonderful to contemplate. They were numerous and varied. A man could find anything to suit his inclinations. Of all the many diversions, gaming was probably the most prominent, and stands at the head of the list. By common consent, it seemed that a certain part of the open court was set aside for gaming purposes. It made no difference how severe the weather was, these gaming tables were always in full blast. A man could amuse himself with any game at cards that he desired. There were "farrow bank," "chuck-a-luck," "brag," "eucher," "draw poker," "straight poker," "seven-up," "five-up," and most prominent of all, a French game, pronounced in Fort Delaware "vang-tu-aug," meaning twenty-one. All these were games for "sheepskins"—bets, five cents; limit, ten cents. All were conducted on a high plane of honor. If a dealer or player was detected in attempting anything that was unclean, he was tried in court, convicted, and punished.

There were courts and debating societies; classes in French, Spanish, and Greek. There were Bible students and students in the arts and sciences prosecuting their varied studies. The gutta-percha ring-makers were quite numerous, and it was really astonishing to see the quality of the work turned out, being handsomely engraved and inlaid with silver. There were diversion and amusement for everybody and every class of men, except croakers and grumblers. They had no lot, parcel, or place, and such characters were not permitted to indulge in their evil forebodings. They had to be men, and real live men, too. The reader may desire to know whence all the books, cards, materials, etc., came. I answer, from the Yankee suttler, for "sheepskins."

It must be said to the credit of the Federal prison officials, that the sanitary and hygienic arrangements were as near perfect as man could well make them. These officials were exceedingly jealous of the health of the place. In fact, it was often thought they were unnecessarily strict in enforcing their hygienic rules. Everything had to be thoroughly clean. Cleanliness was compulsory. A laundry machine was furnished, and a kind of laundrying was accomplished. Blankets were required to be dusted and sunned regularly. Every few weeks the whole army of prisoners were turned out into the cold, and there remained until the "shacks" were thoroughly white-washed, both inside and outside. This work was performed by "galvanized Yankees." A "galvanized Yankee" was a Confederate prisoner who had "swallowed the yellow pup," i.e., had taken the oath of allegiance to the United States Government. These men were looked upon even by the Federal officers as a contemptible set, and were required to do all kinds of menial service.

The water was good and plentiful. There could be no just criticism along this line. I am constrained to believe that it was owing to these stringent health laws that the percentage of sickness was so very small. Of course, I can only speak of the officers in Fort Delaware.

The prison fare is the most difficult, as well as unpleasant, part of prison life of which to treat. However, I will give the simple facts, and allow the reader to draw his own conclusions as to the justice and necessity for such treatment. To say that the fare was entirely insufficient, is putting it mildly, and would not be more than might be expected under similar circumstances and conditions; but the reader will more fully understand the situation when this insufficiency is exemplified by the facts which follow. Think of being compelled to live on two ounces of meat and six ounces of bread per day. Yet this was a prison ration for us towards the close of the war. This was totally inadequate to appease hunger. Men who had no other means of procuring something to eat were nearly starved to death. They stalked about listlessly, gaunt looking, with sunken cheeks and glaring eyes, which reminded one of a hungry ravenous beast. Hungry, hungry all the time. On lying down at night, many, instead of breathing prayers of thankfulness for bountiful supplies, would lie down invoking the most severe curses of God upon the heads of the whole Federal contingent, from President Lincoln down to the lowest private. Hunger makes men desperate and reckless. The last six or eight months of the war the fare was much worse than at any time previous. It was at this period that the Federal administration was retaliating, as they claimed, for the treatment their prisoners were receiving at Andersonville, Ga.

This inhuman condition of affairs was absolutely brought about by the United States Government itself by positively refusing time and again an exchange of prisoners, and it can not escape the just odium and stigma of the inhuman treatment, the untold suffering, and agonies of both the Confederate and Union prisoners of war.

As already observed, there were not a great number of officers who suffered so intensely, but there were some, who, like nearly all the privates, had no friends or acquaintances in the North to render any assistance, and they suffered greatly. Of course, we endeavored to relieve one another as far as we could. Often have I and others given our entire day's ration from the mess hall to some brother officer less fortunate than ourselves. I have seen an officer peal an apple, throw the pealing upon the ground, and immediately an unfortunate one would pick it up and ravenously devour it. There were a great many wharf rats burrowing under the plank walks which traversed the open court of the prison. These rodents are much larger than our common barn rats, and they were eagerly sought by the starving officers. There was a general warfare declared on the wharf rat in prison. When these rats were taken and being prepared, the odor arising therefrom was certainly tempting to a hungry man, and when ready they were eaten with a keen relish. The rats did not require any of Lee's and Perin's Worcester sauce to make them palatable, or to give them zest. This will give the reader some idea of the straits to which some of the Confederate officers, and nearly all the privates, in prison at Fort Delaware were reduced to by gaunt hunger.

I must here chronicle an event which I desire to go down in history. After being in prison and being hungry for about two months, I received a letter, addressed in a lady's handwriting, to "Lieut. U.B. White, Division 28, Fort Delaware," and postmarked "Baltimore, Md." My surprise was great, but on opening it and finding the writer's name to be "Mrs. Mary Howard, of Lexington Avenue, Baltimore," my surprise was unbounded. I knew no such person as Mrs. Mary Howard, and, in fact, at that time I did not know a soul in Baltimore. I felt sure that there must be some mistake about it. I read and re-read that letter. I scrutinized and examined the address again and again. It was plain, except that the final "s" in my name was wanting, which was and is, to my mind, a very natural and correct omission. Mrs. Howard said in her letter that she had been informed that I was a prisoner of war and that I was in Division Twenty-eight, Fort Delaware, and that I was in need of both money and clothing, and that if this was true she would be glad to relieve my wants. I immediately answered that letter. I said to Mrs. Howard that her information was only too true, which I very much regretted. From that time my hunger was appeased and my nakedness clad. Thirty-five years have elapsed since Mrs. Mary Howard wrote that letter, and to-day it is as much of a mystery to me as it was on the day I received it—by whom or by what means or device Mrs. Howard ever found out who I was, or what my condition and circumstances were, I will never know. She and I corresponded regularly during the balance of my prison life, and for sometime after the war when I returned to South Carolina, and yet that mystery was never explained. Mrs. Mary Howard! Grand, noble, heroic, Christian woman! "She hath done what she could." Through her agency and her means and her efforts she not only assisted and relieved me, but hundreds of other poor, helpless Confederate prisoners. To-day she is reaping her sublime reward, where there are no suffering hungry, starving prisoners to relieve. God bless her descendants!

When General Lee surrendered we refused to believe it, notwithstanding the prison was flooded with various newspapers announcing the fact, and the nearby cities were illuminated, the big guns were belching forth their terrific thunder in joy of the event. However, the truth gradually dawned upon us, and we were forced to realize what we at first thought impossible—that Lee would be forced to surrender. A few days later we were all ordered into line, and officially notified of General Lee's surrender. The futility of further resistence was emphasized, and we were urgently requested to take the oath of Allegiance to the United States Government. This was "a bitter pill," "the yellow pup," to swallow, and a very few solemnly complied. The great majority still had a forlorn hope. Generals Johnston, Kirby Smith, Mosby, and others were still in the field, and it seemed to be a tacit understanding, that we would never take the oath of allegiance as long as one Confederate officer contended in the field.

Finally, when there was no disguising the fact that General Johnston and all others had honorably surrendered—that all was lost—on the 19th day of June, 1865, the last batch of officers in prison took the oath of allegiance to the United States Government, bade farewell to Fort Delaware, and inscribed on its walls, on its fences, in books, and divisions the French quotation, "Font est perdeu l'honeur"—All is lost but honor.

"A prison! Heavens, I loath the hated name, Famine's metropolis, the sink of shame, A nauseous sepulchre, whose craving womb Hourly inters poor mortals in its tomb; By ev'ry plague and ev'ry ill possessed, Ev'n purgatory itself to thee's a jest; Emblem of hell, nursery of vice, Thou crawling university of lice; When wretches numberless to ease their pains, With smoke and all delude their pensive chains. How shall I avoid thee? or with what spell Dissolve the enchantment of thy magic cell? Ev'n Fox himself can't boast so many martyrs, As yearly fall within thy wretched quarters. Money I've none, and debts I cannot pay, Unless my vermin, will those debts defray. Not scolding wife, nor inquisition's worse; Thou'rt ev'ry mischief crammed into one curse."

* * * * *

CHAPTER XXXVIII

Leave the Valley for the Last Time—October 20th to December 31st, 1864.

The retreat from Fisher's Hill to New Market will never be forgotten by those who participated therein as long as they live. To recapitulate the movements of the last thirty-six hours and reflect upon what had been accomplished, it seems beyond human endurance. No retreat in history, even the famous retreat of Xenophon, while of greater duration and under different circumstances, still it did not equal that of Early during the same length of time. From midnight of the 18th the troops were in line, crossing the river some miles in the distance before daylight, storms and takes the enemy's lines by nine o'clock, incessant fighting for five or six miles (either fighting or on the run), then a stampede of the same distance, then back across the river and to camp, a two hours' halt, a forced march of thirty-five miles—making over fifty miles in all—without eating or drinking, only as could be "caught up" on the march or run. Up the valley this routed, disorganized rabble (it could not be called an army) marched, every man as he saw fit, here a General at the head of a few squads called regiments, or a Colonel or Captain with a few men at his heels, some with colors and some without; here a Colonel without a man, there a score or two of men without a commissioned officer. A great number had abandoned their arms and accoutrements, others their scanty baggage. Some regiments had lost their whole supply trains that hauled their cooking utensils and provisions. Then we could see artillerymen with nothing but a few jaded horses, their cannons and caissons left in the general upheaval and wreck at the Stone Bridge, or on the field of battle; Quartermasters, with their teamsters riding or leading their horses, their wagons abandoned or over run by others in the mad rush to escape across the bridge before it was blocked. Along the road loose horses roamed at will, while the sides of the pike were strewn with discarded blankets, tent flies, oilcloths and clothing, the men being forced to free themselves of all surplus incumbrances in order to keep up with the moving mass. At one place we passed General Early, sitting on his horse by the roadside, viewing the motley crowd as it passed by. He looked sour and haggard. You could see by the expression of his face the great weight upon his mind, his deep disappointment, his unspoken disappointment. What was yesterday a proud, well-disciplined army that had accomplished during the first part of the day all, or more, that even the most sanguine General could have expected—crossed rivers, pulled themselves over the mountains, assaulted and surprised an enemy who lay in feeling security behind almost impregnable fortifications, routed and driven them from the field, capturing almost the whole camp equipage with twenty field pieces—now before him poured, the same victorious army, beaten, stampeded, without order or discipline, all the fruits of victory and his own camp equipage gone, his wagon trains abandoned, the men without arms, his cannoneers without cannonry and every color trailing in the dust. And what caused it? The sudden change from victory to defeat. It was not the want of Generalship, for General Early had wisely planned. It was not for lack of courage of the troops, for that morning they had displayed valor and over come obstacles which would have baffled and dismayed less bold spirits. Was it for the superior gallantry of the enemy's troops or the superior Generalship of their adversary? The latter was awry, and the former had been routed from their entrenchments by the bayonet of the Confederates. Sheridan did not even hope to stop our victorious march, only to check it sufficiently to enable him to save the remnant of his army. A feeble advance, a panic strikes our army, and all is lost, while no individual, officer, brigade, or regiment could be held responsible. It shows that once a panic strikes an army all discipline is lost and nothing but time will restore it. For nearly one hundred years historians have been framing reasons and causes of Napoleon's Waterloo, but they are as far from the real cause to-day as they were the night of the rout. It will ever remain the same sad mystery of Early at Cedar Creek. Men are, in some respects, like the animal, and especially in large bodies. A man, when left alone to reason and think for himself, and be forced to depend upon his own resources, will often act differently than when one of a great number. The "loss of a head" is contageous. One will commit a foolish act, and others will follow, but cannot tell why. Otherwise quiet and unobtrusive men, when influenced by the frenzy of an excited mob, will commit violence which in their better moments their hearts would revolt and their consciences rebel against. A soldier in battle will leave his ranks and fly to the rear with no other reason than that he saw others doing the same, and followed.

The stampede of Early was uncalled for, unnecessary, and disgraceful, and I willingly assume my share of the blame and shame. My only title to fame rests upon my leading the Third South Carolina Regiment in the grandest stampede of the Southern Army, the greatest since Waterloo, and I hope to be forgiven for saying with pardonable pride that I led them remarkably well to the rear for a boy of eighteen. A General could not have done better.

We passed the little towns and villages of the Valley, the ladies coming to their doors and looking on the retreat in silence. Were we ashamed? Don't ask the pointed question, gentle reader, for the soldiers felt as if they could turn and brain every Federal soldier in the army with the butt of his rifle. But not a reproach, not a murmur from those self-sacrificing, patriotic women of the Valley. They were silent, but sad—their experience during the time the enemy occupied the Valley before told them they had nothing to expect but insult and injury, for their bold, proud Virginia blood would not suffer them to bend the knee in silent submission. Their sons and husbands had all given themselves to the service of their country, while rapine and the torch had already done its work too thoroughly to fear it much now or dread its consequences. But the presence alone of a foreign foe on their threshold was the bitterness of gall.

On reaching New Market, men were gathered together in regiments and assigned to camping grounds, as well as the disorganized state of the army would allow. All night long the stragglers kept coming in, and did so for several days. We were suffering for something to eat more than anything else. Rations of corn were issued, and this was parched and eaten, or beaten up, when parched, and a decoction which the soldiers called "coffee" was made and drunk.

The troops remained in camp until the last of October, then began their march to rejoin Lee. The campaign of Early in the Valley had been a failure, if measured by the fruits of victory. If, however, to keep the enemy from occupying the Valley, or from coming down on the north or rear of Richmond was the object, then it had accomplished its purpose, but at a heavy loss and a fearful sacrifice of life. We arrived at Richmond early in November, and began building winter quarters about seven miles from the city, on the extreme left of the army. Everything north of the James continued quiet along our lines for a month or more, but we could hear the deep baying of cannon continually, away to our right, in the direction of Petersburg.

When we had about finished our huts we were moved out of them and further to the right, in quarters that Hoke's Division had built. These were the most comfortable quarters we occupied during the war. They consisted of log huts twelve by fourteen, thoroughly chinked with mud and straw, some covered with dirt, others with split boards. We had splendid breastworks in front of us, built up with logs on the inside and a bank of earth from six to eight feet in depth on the outside, a ditch of three or four feet beyond and an escarpment inside. At salients along the line forts for the artillery were built, but not now manned, and in front of our lines and around our forts mines or torpedoes were sunk, which would explode by tramping on the earth above them.

At these mines were little sticks about three feet long stuck in the ground with a piece of blue flannel tied to the end to attract the attention of our pickets going out. But hundreds of white sticks, exactly like those above the mines, were stuck into the earth every three feet for a distance of forty feet all around, but these were marked red instead of blue. This was so that the enemy, in case of a charge, or spies coming in at night, could not distinguish harmless stakes from those of the torpedo. We picketed in front and had to pass through where these stakes were posted single file, along little paths winding in and out among them. The men were led out and in by guides and cautioned against touching any, for fear of mistake and being blown up. It is needless to say these instructions were carried out to the letter and no mistake ever made. On several occasions, even before we had our first quarters completed, a report would come occasionally that the enemy was approaching or quartered near our front, and out we would go to meet them, but invariably it proved to be a false alarm or the enemy had retired. Once in December the enemy made a demonstration to our right, and we were called out at night to support the line where the attack was made. After a few rounds of shelling and a few bullets flying over our heads (no harm being done), at daylight we returned to our camp. Our lines had been so extended that to man our works along our front we had not more than one man to every six feet. Still with our breastworks so complete and the protection beyond the line, it is doubtful whether the enemy could have made much headway against us. All the timber and debris in our front for more than one thousand yards had been felled or cleared away.

The ladies of Richmond had promised the soldiers a great Christmas dinner on Christmas day, but from some cause or other our dinner did not materialize. But the soldiers fared very well. Boxes from home were now in order, and almost every day a box or two from kind and loving friends would come in to cheer and comfort them. Then, too, the blockaders at Wilmington and Charleston would escape the Argus eyes of the fleet and bring in a cargo of shoes, cloth, sugar, coffee, etc. Even with all our watchfulness and the vigilance of the enemy on the James, that indefatigable and tireless Jew, with an eye to business, would get into Richmond with loads of delicacies, and this the soldier managed to buy with his "Confederate gray-backs." They were drawing now at the rate of seventeen dollars per month, worth at that time about one dollar in gold or one dollar and seventy cents in greenbacks. The Jews in all countries and in all times seemed to fill a peculiar sphere of usefulness. They were not much of fighters, but they were great "getters." They would undergo any hardships or risks for gain, and while our government may not have openly countenanced their traffic, still it was thought they "winked" at it. I do know there were a lot of Jews in Richmond who could go in and out of our lines at will. Sometimes they were caught, first by one army and then by another, and their goods or money confiscated, still they kept up their blockade running. I was informed by one of General Gary's staff officers since the war, that while they were doing outpost duty on the lower James, Jews came in daily with passports from the authorities at Richmond, authorizing them to pass the lines. On many occasions they claimed they were robbed by our pickets. Once this officer allowed two Jews to pass out of the lines, with orders to pass the pickets, but soon they returned, saying they were robbed. General Gary, who could not tolerate such treachery, had the men called up and the Jews pointed out the men who had plundered them. But the men stoutly denied the charge, and each supported the other in his denials, until a search was ordered, but nothing was found. They cursed the "lieing Jew" and threatened that the next time they attempted to pass they would leave them in the woods with "key holes through them." "While at the same time," continued the officer, "I and so was General Gary satisfied these same men had robbed them."

We were now again under our old commander, Lieutenant General Longstreet. He had recently returned to the army, convalescent from his severe wound at the Wilderness, and was placed in command of the north side. Scarcely had he assumed command, and prior to our arrival, before he was attacked by General Butler, with twenty thousand men. He defeated him, sustaining little loss, with Fields' and Hokes' Divisions, and Gary's Cavalry. Butler lost between one thousand two hundred and one thousand five hundred men. The year was slowly drawing to a close, with little perceptible advantage to the South. It is true that Grant, the idol and ideal of the North, had thrown his legions against the veterans of Lee with a recklessness never before experienced, and with a loss almost irreparable, still the prospects of the Confederacy were anything but encouraging. Yet the childlike faith and confidence of the Confederate privates in their cause and in their superiors, that disaster and defeat never troubled them nor caused them worry or uneasiness. General Hood had gone on his wild goose chase through Middle Tennessee, had met with defeat and ruin at Franklin and Nashville; Sherman was on his unresisted march through Georgia, laying waste fields, devastating homes with a vandalism unknown in civilized warfare, and was now nearing the sea; while the remnant of Hood's Army was seeking shelter and safety through the mountains of North Georgia. Still Lee, with his torn and tattered veterans, stood like a wall of granite before Richmond and Petersburg. What a halo of glory should surround the heads of all who constituted the Army of Lee or followed the fortunes of Longstreet, Hill, Ewell, and Early. At Chickamauga, Chattanooga, East Tennessee, Wilderness, or wherever the plumes of their chieftains waved or their swords flashed amid the din of battle, victory had ever perched upon their banners. It was only when away from the inspiration and prestige of Longstreet did the troops of Kershaw fail or falter, and only then to follow in the wake of others who had yielded.

Owing to the casualties in battle during the last few months and the disasters of the two Valley campaigns, many changes in the personnel of the companies and regiments necessarily took place, once we got fairly settled in camp.

Brigadier General Kershaw had been made Major General in place of General McLaws soon after the battle of the Wilderness. His Aid-de-Camp, Lieutenant Doby, having been killed on that day, I.M. Davis, Adjutant of the Fifteenth, was placed upon the personnel staff of the Major General.

Colonel John D. Kennedy, of the Second, having recovered from the wounds received on the 6th of May, was promoted in place of General Connor to the position of Brigadier General.

The Colonel and Lieutenant Colonel of the Twentieth both being captured on the 19th of October, Lieutenant Colonel F.S. Lewie, of the Fifteenth, was assigned temporarily to the command of the Twentieth. Captain G. Leaphart, senior Captain, was afterwards promoted to Major, and commanded the "Twentieth Army Corps" until the close of the war.

Lieutenant Colonel Stackhouse was made Colonel of the Eighth after the death of Henagan, and either Captain McLucas or Captain T.F. Malloy was promoted to Major (I am not positive on this point). Captain Rogers was also one of the senior Captains, and I think he, too, acted for a part of the time as one of the field officers.

The Third Battalion was commanded by one of the Captains for the remainder of the war, Colonel Rice and Major Miller both being permanently disabled for field service, but still retained their rank and office.

There being no Colonel or Lieutenant Colonel of the Seventh, and Major Goggans having resigned soon after the Wilderness battle, Captain Thomas Huggins was raised to the rank of Colonel. I do not remember whether any other field officers of this regiment were ever appointed, but I think not. Lieutenant John R. Carwile, who had been acting Adjutant of the Seventh for a long time, was now assigned to duty on the brigade staff.

Captain William Wallace was promoted to Colonel of the Second, with Captain T.D. Graham and B F. Clyburn, Lieutenant Colonel and Major respectively.

Colonel Rutherford, of the Third, having been killed on the 13th of October, and Lieutenant Colonel Maffett, captured a short while before, Captain R.P. Todd was made Major, then raised to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel, and Captain J.K.G. Nance, Major.

Many new Captains and Lieutenants were made, to fill the vacancies occasioned by the above changes and deaths in battle, but I have not the space to mention them.

Our last Brigadier General, J.D. Kennedy, was a very good officer, however, his kindness of heart, his sympathetic nature, his indulgent disposition caused him to be rather lax in discipline. There was quite a contrast in the rigidity of General Connor's discipline and the good, easy "go as you please" of General Kennedy. But the latter had the entire confidence of the troops, and was dearly loved by both officers and men. He was quite sociable, courteous, and kind to all. The men had been in service so long, understood their duties so well, that it was not considered a necessity to have a martinet for a commander. General Kennedy's greatest claim to distinction was his good looks. He certainly was one of the finest looking officers in the army. I fear little contradiction when I say General Kennedy and Major W.D. Peck, of the Quartermaster Department, were two of the finest looking men that South Carolina gave to the war. I give a short sketch of General Kennedy.

* * * * *

GENERAL JOHN D. KENNEDY.

General John D. Kennedy was born in Camden, South Carolina, January 5th, 1840, the son of Anthony M. and Sarah Doby Kennedy. His mother was the grand-daughter of Abraham Belton, a pioneer settler of Camden and a patriot soldier in the Revolution. His father was born in Scotland, having emigrated to the United States about the year 1830, at which time he settled in Kershaw County, S.C., where he married. (He has been engaged in planting and merchandising for many years. Two sons and two daughters were the issue of this marriage.) General Kennedy obtained his early scholastic training in the Camden schools, and in 1855, at the age of fifteen, entered the South Carolina College at Columbia. He entered the law office of Major W.Z. Leitner soon after, and was admitted to practice in January, 1861, and in April of that year joined the Confederate Army as Captain of Company E, Second South Carolina Regiment, under the command of Colonel J.B. Kershaw. In 1862 he was made Colonel of the Second South Carolina Regiment, and in 1864 was promoted to the rank of Brigadier General, and held that position to the close of the war, having surrendered with General Johnston at Greensboro, North Carolina, in 1865. General Kennedy was six times wounded, and fifteen times was hit by spent balls. At the close of the war he resumed his practice of law at Camden, but abandoned it soon after and turned his attention to farming. In 1877 he once more returned to the bar, and has since been actively and prominently engaged in his practice. In 1876 he was a member of the State Democratic Executive Committee, and was its chairman in 1878. In December, 1865, he was elected to Congress, defeating Colonel C.W. Dudley, but did not take his seat, as he refused to take the ironclad oath. In 1878-9 he represented his county in the Legislature, and was Chairman of the Committee on Privileges and Elections. He was elected Lieutenant Governor of the State in 1880, and in 1882 was a prominent candidate for Governor, but Colonel Hugh Thompson received the nomination over General Bratton and himself. He was elected Grand Master of the Grand Lodge A.F.M. of South Carolina in 1881, and served two years. As a member of the National Democratic Convention in 1876, he cast his vote for Tilden and Hendricks, and in 1884 was Presidential Elector at large on the Democratic ticket. President Cleveland sent him as Consul General to Shanghai, China, in 1886. In 1890 he was Chairman of the State Advisory Committee, of the straightout Democratic party. In early life he was married to Miss Elizabeth Cunningham, who died in 1876. In 1882 Miss Harriet Boykin became his wife.

The above is taken from Cyclopaedia of Eminent and Representative Men of the Carolinas of the Nineteenth Century.

Notes on General Kennedy's life, furnished by one of his soldiers:

He was born at Camden, S.C., January 5th, 1840. While in his 'teens he became a member of the Camden Light Infantry, of which J.B. Kershaw was Captain; elected First Lieutenant in 1860. Upon the secession of South Carolina, December 20th, 1860, Captain Kershaw was elected Colonel of the Second South Carolina Volunteers, and Lieutenant Kennedy was chosen Captain of the Camden Volunteers, a company composed of members of the Camden Light Infantry and those who united with them for service in the field. This company became Company E, Second South Carolina Volunteers, was ordered to Charleston April 8th, 1861, and witnessed from their position on Morris Island the siege of Fort Sumter, April 12th, 1861. The Second Regiment formed part of the First Brigade, commanded by General M.L. Bonham, of the Army of the Potomac, as the Confederate Army in Northern Virginia was then called. In the spring of 1862 the troops who had volunteered for twelve months reorganized for the war, the Second South Carolina Volunteers being, I believe, the first body of men in the army to do so. At reorganization Captain Kennedy was elected Colonel, in which capacity he served until 1864, when he was promoted to the command of the brigade, which he held until the close of the war. In 1862 the name of the army was changed to the Army of Northern Virginia, the Federals having called theirs the Army of the Potomac. The Second was engaged in every battle fought by the army in Virginia, from the first Manassas to Petersburg, except Second Manassas, and was also in battle of Chickamauga, battles around Knoxville, Averysboro, and Bentonville, and surrendered at Greensboro April 27th, 1865. General Kennedy was in every battle in which his command was engaged, and was wounded six times and struck fifteen times. He died in Camden, S.C., April 14th, 1896.

* * * * *

COLONEL R.P. TODD.

Colonel R.P. Todd was born in Laurens County, about the year 1838. Graduated at a literary college (I think the South Carolina), read law, and entered upon the practice of his profession a year or two before the beginning of hostilities. At the first call by the State for twelve months' volunteers, Colonel Todd enlisted in the "Laurens Briars," afterwards Company G, Third South Carolina Regiment, and was elected Captain. He took his company with him into the Confederate service, and at the reorganization in 1862, was again elected Captain. Was made Major in 1864 and Lieutenant Colonel in the early part of 1865. He was in most of the great battles in which the regiment was engaged, and was several times severely wounded. He surrendered at Greensboro, N.C.

After the war he again took up the practice of law and continued it until his death, which took place several years ago. He represented his county in the Senate of the State for one term.

Soon after the close of the war he married Miss Mary Farley, sister of General Hugh L. Farley, formerly Adjutant and Inspector General of South Carolina, and of Captain William Farley, one of the riders of General Stuart, and a famous character in John Estin Cook's historical romances.

Colonel Todd was a good officer, gallant soldier, and loyal and kind to his men. He was a man of brilliant attainments and one of the most gifted and fluent speakers in the brigade.

The writer regrets his inability to get a more enlarged sketch of this dashing officer, talented lawyer, and perfect gentleman.

* * * * *

CAPTAIN JOHN K. NANCE.

Captain John K. Nance was one of the most jovial, fun-loving, light-hearted souls in the Third Regiment. He was all sunshine, and this genial, buoyant disposition seemed to be always caught up and reflected by all who came about him. He was truly a "lover of his fellow-men," and was never so happy as when surrounded by jolly companions and spirits like his own. He was a great lover of out-door sports, and no game or camp amusement was ever complete without this rollicksome, good-natured knight of the playground.

He was born in Laurens County, in 1839. Graduated from Due West College and soon afterwards joined the "Quitman Rifles," Company E, of the Third Regiment, then being organized by his kinsman, Colonel James D. Nance. He was first Orderly Sergeant of the company, but was soon elected Lieutenant. At the reorganization of his company, in 1862, he was elected First Lieutenant, and on James D. Nance being made Colonel of the Third, he was promoted to Captain. Many times during the service he was called upon to command the regiment, and in the latter part of 1864 or the first of 1865 he was promoted to Major.

Captain John K. Nance was one of the best officers upon the drillground in the regiment, and had few equals as such in the brigade. He was a splendid disciplinarian and tactician, and could boast of one of the finest companies in the service. His company, as well as himself, was all that could be desired upon the battlefield.

In 1864 he married Miss Dolly, daughter of Dr. Thomas B. Rutherford, and sister of the lamented Colonel W.D. Rutherford. After the war he was engaged in planting in Newberry County. He was three times elected Auditor of the county. He was a leading spirit among the Democrats during the days of reconstruction, and lent all energies and talents to the great upheaval in politics in 1876 that brought about the overflow of the negro party and gave the government to the whites of the State. He died about 1884, leaving a widow and several children.

* * * * *

COLONEL WILLIAM WALLACE.

Colonel William Wallace, of the Second South Carolina Regiment, was undoubtedly the Murat of the Old First Brigade. His soldierly qualities, his dashing courage, and the prestige that surrounds his name as a commander, especially upon the skirmish line, forcibly recalls that impetuous prince, the Roland of Napoleon's Army. Upon the battle line he was brave almost to rashness, and never seemed to be more in his element or at ease than amidst the booming cannon, the roar of musketry, or the whirl of combat. Colonel Wallace was a soldier born and a leader of men. He depended not so much upon tactics or discipline, but more upon the cool, stern courage that was in himself and his men.

His life as a soldier and civilian has been fortunate and brilliant, in which glory and promotion followed hand in hand. A comrade gives a few facts in his life.

Colonel William Wallace was born in Columbia, S.C., November 16th, 1824, and was graduated at the South Carolina College in 1844. He then studied law under Chancellor James J. Caldwell. Was admitted to the bar in 1846, and began the practice of law at Columbia, in which he continued, with the exception of his military service, giving attention also to his planting interests.

At the beginning of the Confederate War he held the rank of General in the State Militia. At the call for troops, ordered out the Twenty-third Regiment, State Troops, and was the first man of the Regiment to volunteer. He was elected Captain of the "Columbia Grays," afterwards Company C of the Second South Carolina Volunteer Infantry, Colonel Kershaw commanding. After the reduction of Fort Sumter, with his company and three others of the Second, he volunteered for service in Virginia, and about a month after their arrival in Virginia the regiment was filled up with South Carolinians. He was promoted to Major in 1863, to Lieutenant Colonel after the battle of the Wilderness, and to Colonel after the battle of Bentonville.

He had the honor of participating in the capture of Fort Sumter and the battles of Blackburn's Ford, First Manassas, Williamsburg, Savage Station, Malvern Hill, Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, Chattanooga, Knoxville, Wilderness, Spottsylvania Court House, Second Cold Harbor, the defense of Petersburg until the winter of 1864-1865, and the campaign in the Carolinas, including the battles of Averysboro and Bentonville.

During the desperate struggle at Second Cold Harbor, in June, 1864, with the Second Regiment alone, he recaptured our breastworks on Kershaw's right and Hoke's left, from which two of our brigades had been driven. The enemy driven out consisted of the Forty-eighth and One hundred and Twelfth New York, each numbering one thousand men, while the Second numbered only one hundred and twenty-six men all told. So rapid was the assault that the color bearer of the Forty-eighth New York, with his colors, was captured and sent to General Kershaw, who was at his proper position some distance in rear of his division.

During his service Colonel Wallace was twice wounded—in the foot, at Charlestown, W. Va., and in the arm, at Gettysburg. After the conclusion of hostilities he returned to his home and the care of his plantation. Previous to the war he had an honorable career in the Legislature, and immediately afterwards he was a member of the Convention of 1865 and of the Legislature next following, and was elected to the State Senate for four years, in 1881. From 1891 to 1894 he was engaged in the correction of the indexes of the records of the Secretary of State's office, and in 1894 was appointed postmaster of Columbia by President Cleveland.

By his marriage, in 1848, to Victoria C., daughter of Dr. John McLemore, of Florida, Colonel Wallace has five children living, Andrew, William, Bruce, Edward Barton, and Margaret. After the death of his first wife he married, in 1876, Mrs. Fannie C. Mobley, nee Means.

* * * * *

CAPTAIN JOHN HAMPDEN BROOKS.

John Hampden Brooks was Captain of Company G, Seventh South Carolina Regiment, from its entry into State service to the end of its twelve months' enlistment. At the reorganization of the regiment he declined re-election, and served for a short time as Aid-de-Camp on General Kershaw's staff. At this time, upon recommendation of Generals Kershaw and Jos. E. Johnston, he raised another company of Partisan Rangers, and was independent for awhile. Upon invitation, he joined Nelson's Seventh South Carolina Battalion, Hagood's Brigade, and served with this command (save a brief interval) to the end of the war. He was in the first battle of Manassas and in Bentonville, the last great battle of the war. At Battery Wagner his company was on picket duty the night of the first assault, and it was by his order that the first gun was fired in that memorable siege, and one of his men was the first Confederate killed. At the battle of Drewry's Bluff, Va., Captain Brooks was three times wounded, and lost sixty-eight out of the seventy-five men carried into action, twenty-five being left dead upon the field. Upon recovery from his wounds he returned to his command, but was soon detached by request of General Beauregard and order of General Lee, to organize a foreign battalion from the Federal prisoners at Florence, S.C., with distinct promise of promotion. This battalion was organized and mustered into Confederate service at Summerville, S.C., as Brooks' Battalion, and in December, 1864, Captain Brooks took a part of the command to Savannah (then being invested by General Sherman) and they served a short time on the line of defense. In consequence of bad behavior and mutiny, however, they were soon returned to prison. Captain Brooks was now placed in command of all unattached troops in the city of Charleston, but he became tired of inactivity, at his own request was relieved, and upon invitation of his old company, ignoring his promotion, he returned to its command.

Captain Brooks was born at Edgefield Court House and was educated at Mt. Zion, Winnsboro, and the South Carolina College. His father, Colonel Whitfield Brooks, was an ardent nullifier, and named his son, John Hampden, in honor of that illustrious English patriot. That Captain Brooks should have displayed soldierly qualities was but natural, as these were his by inheritance. His grandfather, Colonel Z.S. Brooks, was a Lieutenant in the patriotic army of the Revolutionary War, and his grandmother a daughter of Captain Jas. Butler, killed in the "Cloud's Creek massacre." His brothers, Captain Preston S. and Whitfield B. Brooks, were members of the Palmetto Regiment in the Mexican War; the latter mortally wounded at Cherubusco and promoted to a Lieutenant in the Twelfth Regulars for gallantry in action.

Captain Brooks is the sole survivor of the first Captains of the Seventh Regiment, and resides at Roselands, the old family homestead, formerly in Edgefield, but now Greenwood County.

* * * * *

CAPTAIN ANDREW HARLLEE.

Captain Andrew Harllee, of Company I, Eighth South Carolina Regiment, when a boy went with a number of the best young men of the State to Kansas Territory, in 1856, and saw his first service with the Missourians in the border troubles in that Territory, and took part in several severe engagements at Lawrence, Topeka, and Ossawattonic Creek with the Abolition and Free State forces, under old John Brown and Colonel Jim Law; the Southern or pro-slavery forces being under General David R. Atchison and Colonels Stingfellow and Marshall. After remaining in Kansas a year, he returned to his home and commenced the study of law at Marion Court House, but after a short time was appointed to a position in the Interior Department at Washington by the Hon. Thos. A. Hendrix, under whom he served as a clerk in a land office while in Kansas. This position in the Interior Department he held at the time of the secession of the State, and was the recipient of the first dispatch in Washington announcing the withdrawal of South Carolina from the Union, which was sent him by his uncle, General W.W. Harllee, then Lieutenant Governor and a member of the Secession Convention. He at once began preparations for his departure from Washington for Charleston, but was notified from Charleston to remain until the Commissioners appointed by the Convention to proceed to Washington and endeavor to treat with the authorities should arrive, which he did, and was appointed their Secretary. The Commission consisted of Senator Robert W. Barnwell, General James H. Adams, and Honorable James L. Orr. After many fruitless efforts, they finally got an audience with President Buchanan, who refused to treat with them in any manner whatever, and Mr. Harllee was directed to proceed at once to Charleston, the bearer of dispatches from the Commissioners to the Convention still in session, and after delivering the same he reported to Governor Pickens for duty. The Governor appointed him Assistant Quartermaster, with the rank of Captain, and he discharged the duties of that office around Charleston until the fall of Fort Sumter.

Anxious for service at the front, he resigned from the Quartermaster Department and enlisted as a private in Company I, Eighth South Carolina Regiment, and fought through the battles of Bull Run and Manassas with a musket. General Bonham, in command of the brigade, detailed him for scouting duty in and near Alexandria and Washington, and he had many thrilling adventures and narrow escapes in the discharge of those duties. In October, 1861, Lieutenant R.H. Rogers, of his company, resigned, and Private Harllee was elected Second Lieutenant in his stead. At the reorganization of the regiment and companies, in April, 1862, he was elected Captain of his company, which he commanded to the surrender. He was several times severely wounded, and bears upon his person visible evidences of the battle-scarred veteran. He was regarded by all his comrades as a daring and intrepid officer.

He lives upon his plantation, near Little Rock, where he was born and reared, is a bachelor, a professional farmer, and one of the leading citizens of his section of the State.

* * * * *

CAPTAIN WILLIAM D. CARMICHAEL.

Captain William D. Carmichael volunteered in 1861, and assisted in raising Company I, Eighth South Carolina Regiment, and was elected Second Lieutenant at reorganization. In April, 1862, he assisted Captain Stackhouse in raising Company L for the same regiment, and was elected First Lieutenant of that company, and upon the promotion of Captain Stackhouse to Major, he was promoted Captain of Company L and commanded it to the surrender.

He was three times wounded, twice severely, and was one of the most gallant and trusted officers of that gallant regiment. After the war he settled on his plantation, near Little Rock, married, and has lived there ever since, raising a large family of children, and is one of the most successful farmers of that progressive section. He is one of the foremost citizens of Marion County.

* * * * *

CAPTAIN DUNCAN MCINTYRE.

Captain Duncan McIntyre, of Company H, Eighth South Carolina Regiment, Kershaw's Brigade, was born at Marion S.C., on August 30th, 1836. Was prepared for college at Mount Zion Institute, at Winnsboro, S.C. Entered Freshman Class of South Carolina College, December, 1853.

Married Julia R., daughter of General William Evans, December, 1858. Commenced life as a planter on the west side of Pee Dee River, in Marion County, January 1st, 1860.

On secession of the State, he volunteered for service in the Jeffries' Creek Company. Was elected First Lieutenant of the company, Captain R.G. Singletary having been elected as commander. On Governor Pickens' first call for troops the company offered its services and was assigned to the Eighth South Carolina Regiment, Colonel E.B.C. Cash commanding. The company was ordered to Charleston on fall of Fort Sumter, where it remained until the last of May, when it was ordered to Florence, S.C., where, about the 1st of June, it was mustered into Confederate service by General Geo. Evans, and immediately ordered to Virginia to form a part of Bonham's Brigade.

Captain McIntyre was with the regiment at the first battle of Manassas or Bull Run, and with the exception of two short leaves of absence from sickness and from wounds, was with the regiment in nearly all of its campaigns and important skirmishes and battles, Williamsburg, battles around Richmond, Va., Maryland Heights, Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Wilderness, Spottsylvania Court House, and all of the battles against Grant up to the investment of Petersburg, Va. He was with the regiment and Longstreet's Corps in the campaign in Tennessee.

In the Tennessee campaign he commanded the Eighth Regiment at the battle of Ream's Station, and when the Second, Eighth, and Third Battalion, under the command of the gallant Colonel Gaillard, of the Second, made a daring and successful attack (at night) on the picket line of the enemy, the Eighth was on the right and first to dislodge the enemy and occupy the pits.

Captain McIntyre was twice wounded—first, in the chest at the battle of Fredericksburg, Va., and second time, severely in the thigh at Deep Bottom, Va.

* * * * *

COLONEL WILLIAM DRAYTON RUTHERFORD.

When Colonel William Drayton Rutherford fell in battle at Strasburg, Virginia, on the 13th of October, 1864, he was but a little more than twenty-seven years of age, having been born in Newberry, S.C., on the 23rd day of September, 1837.

The life thus destroyed was brimful of hope, for he was gifted with a rare intelligence, and possessed of an affectionate nature, with a deep sympathy for his fellow men and a patriotism which could only terminate with his own life. His father, Dr. Thomas B. Rutherford, was a grandson of Colonel Robert Rutherford, of Revolutionary fame, and his mother, Mrs. Laura Adams Rutherford, was a direct descendant of the Adams family of patriots who fought for their country in the State of Massachusetts.

The boyhood of Colonel Rutherford was spent on the plantation of his father, in Newberry County. Here was laid the foundation of his splendid physical nature, and his mind as well. While not beyond the height of five feet and ten inches, and with not an ounce of spare flesh, physically he was all bone and muscle, and was the embodiment of manly beauty. His early training was secured in the Male Academies of Greenville and Newberry. At the age of sixteen years he entered the Citadel Academy in Charleston, S.C. It was at this school he first exhibited the remarkable power arising from his ability to concentrate every faculty of his mind to the accomplishment of a single purpose, for, by reason of his fondness for out door sports and reading, he had fallen in stand amongst the lowest members of a large class, but, conceiving that some persons thought he could do no better, by a determined effort to master all the branches of study in an incredible space of time he was placed among the first ten members of his class. Military discipline was too restrictive for him, hence he left the Citadel Academy and entered the Sophomore Class of the South Carolina College at Columbia, S.C. In a few months after entering this college he was advanced from the Sophomore Class to that of the Junior. However, he never took his degree, for owing to a so-called college rebellion, he left college. Afterwards he regretted his step. Not content with the advantages be had already enjoyed, he went to Germany to complete his education, but the war between the States caused him to return to America. He espoused with heart and soul the cause of his native State. Before going to Germany he had been admitted to the practice of the law. Chief Justice John Belton O'Neall expressed himself as delighted with young Rutherford's examination for the bar, and predicted for him a brilliant career as a lawyer.

He was made Adjutant of the Third South Carolina Regiment of Infantry, and so thoroughly did he perform his duties as a soldier, and so delighted were his comrades in arms with his courage and generous nature, that he was elected, without opposition, on 16th of May, 1862, Major of his regiment, and on the 29th of June, 1862, he became Lieutenant Colonel, and on the 6th of May, 1864, he was promoted to the Colonelcy of his regiment. General James Connor was so much delighted with him as an officer that he recommended him for promotion to Brigadier General. When this gallant officer fell in the front of his regiment, there was naught but sorrow for his untimely end.

In March, 1862, he married the beautiful and accomplished Miss Sallie Fair, only daughter of Colonel Simeon Fair, of Newberry. The only child of this union was Kate Stewart Rutherford, who was known as the "daughter of the regiment." Kate is now the wife of the Honorable George Johnstone.

* * * * *

CHAPTER XXXIX

Peace Conference—State Troops—Women of the South.

The civilized world, especially the Monarchies of Europe, which at first viewed with satisfaction this eruption in the great Republic across the waters, now anxiously watched them in their mad fury, tearing to tatters the fabric of Democratic government. This government, since its withdrawal from the Old World influence, had grown great and strong, and was now a powerful nation—a standing menace to their interest and power. But they began to look with alarm on the spectacle of these two brothers—brothers in blood, in aims, ambition, and future expectations, only an imaginary line separating them—with glaring eyes, their hands at each others throat, neither willing to submit or yield as long as there was a vestige of vitality in either. Even the most considerate and thoughtful of the North began to contemplate the wreck and ruin of their common country, and stood aghast at the rivers of blood that had flown, the widows and orphans made, and the treasures expended. They now began to wish for a call to halt. This useless slaughter caused a shudder to run through every thinking man when he contemplated of the havoc yet to come. The two armies were getting nearer and nearer together, one adding strength as the other grew weaker—the South getting more desperate and more determined to sacrifice all, as they saw the ground slipping inch by inch beneath their feet; the North becoming more confident with each succeeding day. It began to look like a war of extermination of American manhood. The best and bravest of the North had fallen in the early years of the war, while the bulk of the army now was composed of the lowest type of foreigners, who had been tempted to our shores by the large bounties paid by the Union Government. Taking their cue from their native comrades in arms, they now tried to outdo them in vandalizing, having been taught that they were wreaking vengeance upon the aristocracy and ruining the slave-holders of the South. The flower of the South's chivalry had also fallen upon the field and in the trenches, and now youths and old men were taking the places of soldiers who had died in the "Bloody Angles" and the tangled Wilderness.