The Survivors

By Ellen Eschell Murphy

Vol III - The Survivors

It takes more than being shot to defeat James Smith! General Lee may be defeated, and life may be without a roof over your head or any food other than raw potatoes - but maybe - just maybe - you will stumble upon a place to rest a

• Language: English
• Publisher: GENESIS PUBLISHING HOUSE
• Release date: Mar 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798989502646

Book preview

BOOK ONE

THE RETURNING

CHAPTER ONE

He had lost count of the days they had fought, marched, and crawled over this God Forsaken land. He was days and days away from home – as he had been for months. At the start of this particular march and campaign, they had been determined and hopeful. A year ago, in 1864, they, meaning the Confederate forces, had kept General Ulysses Grant from the confederate capital of Richmond, Virginia, and had also successfully defended Petersburg to the south. James knew it to be one of the largest cities of the Confederacy and a close stopping place for troops wanting to prepare for a battle in the capital. The James River lay between the two and caused considerable trouble for both forces. It was wide for those on foot or looking to take boats over and even those on horseback found it very deep in places with the horses struggling to get to the other shore and the soldiers also having a difficult time keeping their powder dry and guns in working order.

They had fought hard and well – all wishing to support their hero, General Robert E. Lee. It was a good campaign but not decisive for the whole Civil War. Little did they know they would have to do the same again in well less than a year. General Ulysses Grant had organized the 1864 Overland Campaign and had driven Lee’s southern forces to Richmond and Petersburg. Once there though, Lee was able to organize their men and checked Grant’s progress when he tried to take the city. James knew it wasn’t so much a win as a setback for the opposition. No celebrating was enjoyed but they were very relieved to have the facilities of both cities for food, ammunition, clothing, and even to some extent weapons – although most were using whatever they had brought from home.

Their thinking was: After all they had General Lee in charge of things and were on their own southern land. They had to win didn’t they?

But as time progressed and they were well into a new year, James was assigned to several smaller battles in this middle of Virginia area and he realized they had some problems. His stomach growled with hunger and he had to ration his ammunition. He was becoming more and more aware that things were not good! There was discussion about some of the officers misunderstanding orders and that Lee had been sidetracked with other battles. James didn’t pretend to know much about wars and the strategy involved but just the waning ammunition and food was a forerunner of problems.

The fighting had eased up some this afternoon and a few campfires were being lit. The kettles of an unknown kind of food had someone stirring them and maybe, just maybe, everyone would get enough to eat tonight.

He and Michael Richards sat and cleaned their rifles, counted their ammunition, and watched as those with handguns did the same. Michael was from Roanoke. James Smith had never been to Roanoke but it sounded nice. Mountains. He had the Blue Ridge Mountains to the north of his farm and they discussed hunting and exploring as boys. Both had described their families. His father was dead but Michael’s was still farming and they also cut timber for sale. Michael’s father had missed being called to service because of his right arm having been lost in a hunting accident as a boy. James mentioned once that his father’s death had been many years ago from some fever or such. He should remember the name of it but he couldn’t – not liking to think about the whole thing. As a boy it had crushed him and he had trouble in school for a couple years afterward…his mind wandering with what if’s and why for’s.

Henry Jamison joined them and had brought them some slices of bread. He explained from the look of things it would run out before everyone had a slice. Nice of him to share, he was probably as hungry as they. The fire under the two big kettles roared to life and in short order the smell of beans with ham wafted on the air. Good, they would eat tonight, but maybe not enough. Last night was spent being hunkered down and under artillery fire for a good bit of the evening with little to eat. He and Henry had crawled with buckets to a very small stream and hauled water back. Never taking any longer than possible, so afraid to leave the protection of their rifles and fellow Confederates. Many, including him, had hunted and lived on farms so they were better equipped to handle this struggle in an unrecognizable land but some were town or city boys and the whole thing was new. It must be even more scary for them, thought James. As it grew dark quickly, normal for late March, they were pleased that the bowls of beans were tasty and gobbled the whole thing down in short order. He had eaten the small piece of meat and the bread, as handed out that morning, something like hoe cake in early afternoon and was very hungry so the beans disappeared, taking the bowls back to the cook and thanking him. Henry had eaten his meat earlier in the day and was really hungry by the time the beans were served. James gave him half of the good-sized hunk of cheese he had been saving in his uniform pocket. The boy was so tall, like he was, and probably wasn’t getting enough to eat, even when they were fortunate enough to have an actual evening encampment with a fire and caldron of food like today.

A sergeant came around and handed out a scant amount of ammunition to each. When asked, he stated he had no idea of the next day’s march or fighting yet but was told they would be on the move at dawn – well evidently no hot breakfast. Rumor was going around that although they had done well before, this attempt to defend Richmond was failing miserably. The Yanks had crossed the James River to their east, where they were not exactly certain, for they had been well pushed back and today did not look good – not good at all.

The southern troops had lost three battles in as many days. No one said so but they didn’t have to. So many dead and almost no ammunition told the whole sad story. Word had come that Richmond was falling to the Yankees – they had successfully crossed the James River into the heart of the city. Names like Sheridan and Butler and of course Grant were used. He would imagine they (any southern troops) would all be captured; however, it appears the Yankees are more interested in holding Richmond and the river than chasing after the losers. So, they had been told their troop may soon be ordered to disband but fighting was still expected for the next couple days.

President Jefferson Davis, his Cabinet, and the main group of Confederate defenders were abandoning Richmond. They would flee south by railroad – if it was still running – most trains were not except, as he heard, a couple to the east run by the Yankees were still on tracks that had not been damaged. This rail was the Richmond and Danville and would take the government men and some troops further south. James group were not included in this run, however.

It was thought a surrender by Lee was imminent – how amazing was that! Such a wonderful General had been defeated! They hoped it wasn’t over but knew in their heart of hearts this was really bad.

Of course, it wasn’t as surprising to those who had dug the ditches, run out of ammunition and been overrun with more horse corps and not to mention the large and well-armed black army that was fighting for the Yankees. All made of men of color and fighting so bravely and successfully. Quite an unusual sight and taking to the orders and fighting with expertise – a great help to the northerners. He had heard that the south also had some soldiers of black lineage but he hadn’t encountered any yet.

His group had today been on the northern side of Richmond and would retreat further to the northwest. They fled – none discussing what they knew to be true – their hero had been sorely defeated! Two days later with his ammunition gone and no food, he was just hopeful to get home alive so he could help on the farm. He and several of his army friends were afraid of being captured and then maybe sent far south to a couple notorious Yankee prisons, where it would be so hard a treck to get back to Virginia and home IF or when released. As they crawled and fought a little and listened to their stomachs growl, he was not mistaken. The fighting with their small group was, to say the least, a lost cause – a failed effort. Not that they hadn’t tried but too few, too late and too little about summed it all up! They fought sporadically as they moved along but most of the Yankees were consumed with the taking of Richmond and the City of Petersburg and were not chasing them at all. They did run into the odd unit of Yankees though and even such small groups of northerners were considerably better equipped and fed than they.

James was not only tired and hungry but so very sad. Both of his close friends had been killed he thought – at least appeared so – and just at sundown he had taken a bullet to the shoulder himself. He was in terrible pain and the one lone doctor who was trying to help them all was busy with things like chest wounds. The harried doctor had glanced at James’ shoulder, sprinkled some kind of powder into the open wound, stuffing it with bandage pieces and told him to do the best he could and try to get home. The doctor had heard that a surrender had taken place the week before – hopefully an end to the fighting. He advised James and several others who were ambulatory to head in the direction of home and try to find food and water as they could.

Well, For Heaven’s Sake, as his mother and Gran would say…Lee surrendered? Really, his hero? Well, so be it. From what he could see as to ammunition and food, they couldn’t win this way.

How he would love to do what he was told, get home, but was not at all certain he could. He was getting very staggery and weak with the loss of blood and little food – what had been left was distributed but only a taste to each as his Mother would call it. There were no carts available to take any of the injured away from the fighting. He and three others started to walk forth with their weapons and what little ammunition they had left. A couple of them, including him, had a meat and bread from that morning and some an apple from an orchard – last year’s apples of course – no fresh apples in early April! His apple was not rotten but very dried up, however he thought he better keep it rather than throw it down as some of his friends had done.

He stumbled a lot and realized he was getting weaker by the minute. He attempted to stem the bleeding by ripping off part of his shirt tail and inserting it (with great pain and difficulty) into the front of the wound. He couldn’t reach the back opening without undressing and he was so cold and exhausted, he felt he better hadn’t take off the torn jacket. He didn’t know if he would stay awake long enough to get it back on. Twice he fell down and twice got back up. One of his friends, Henry Jamison, also fell and insisted they leave him behind, which they reluctantly did for neither of them were strong enough now to carry him along with them. The poor fellow had two open wounds one in the right leg and one in the back. James fervently hoped he would see him again, but the possibility was bleak. Time made no sense and he alternated between passing out and stumbling in the direction of home – or so he calculated.

Several days passed. The next thing he knew they were in amongst a goodly number of both Yankee and Southern casualties – the remains of a large battle his corps had not been in. Most were dead and the few not were unable to walk. He felt so guilty for continuing on, but by the time he climbed the next hill he was too exhausted and weak he could barely take a step without almost collapsing. As he moved and stumbled in a northernly direction, the troops became more sparse and he figured no serious battles had been waged in this area the last days of the conflict. He felt, with his country sense of direction, that he was still heading generally to the north now that he was far enough west. The Blue Ridge Mountains were just a tiny line on the horizon – he had a long, long way to go. Little North Mountain was not yet visible on the horizon. He was aiming for that. James was still among a light scattering of wounded and dead from both armies. He then realized he could not make it any further, and the last he remembered, as it grew dark that night, was falling over up against a soldier from the Pennsylvania Corp. Another cold and dead Yankee indeed.

He awoke as it was just getting dawn. He was so cold he could hardly move any joint. The poor dead boy beside him was still there. Some talk could be heard in the distance and he realized most of the men he had seen on this hill were Yankees. Most were dead but evidently some officers or sergeants were taking a body count and possibly looking for survivors. He needed to move if he could. The thought of a Yankee prison or march to