208 Nortru Carorina Troops, 1861-65.

they were repulsed, but the fifth and last time they got the
fort, but nothing else as the artillery had been withdrawn,
and the fort had been gallantly defended by less than one
hundred infantry. I could not help thinking how foolish
they were to sacrifice so many men as I saw fall for the cap-
ture of a fort that was already cut off, surrounded and would
have been soon abandoned. I have always thought that the
reason they did not attack us was on account of a mine that
had been run from the works of our brigade some two hundred
yards to the front near a large house. I was sure that they
had got the location of it from deserters from our lines, and
I want to say that the only man of the original Company G
who ever deserted, had worked all the winter in this mine.
The fighting and skirmishing was kept up all day, the shells
flying around and over us, but doing no harm that I saw.
Our sharpshooters were being driven in, and before dark they
had reached the house in front near the mine. All the after-
noon Colonel Lane, who was in command of the artillery that
was posted on our line, had been withdrawing his artillery
and everything looked like a break up.

The last time I remember seeing Colonel Lane he was gal-
loping up Halifax street on a little poor sorrel colt with a
rope bridle, and using a shingle for a whip. In the mean-
time Longstreet had crossed over the James and had thrown
his forces between Petersburg and the Appomattox, and was
holding the only bridge open to us.

As I stood on No. 45 pretty much all day Sunday, 2 April,
and saw the Yankees march across our front, crossing over
the creek where the big dam had been, and sweep Lane’s
Brigade out of their way and then assault and capture Fort
Gregg—I felt that everything was lost, on that line at least.

Everything was in confusion on our lines all day, and we
expected nothing but that we would be assaulted every
moment, but were not disturbed except by their artillery
which kept up a fire all day on our lines, I think for the pur-
pose of seeing if our forces had not been moved out. Late
in the afternoon a wagoner drove up to camp and called to
me that he had been sent to take the baggage of the officers
of the Sixteenth. I had just before gone over my kit and

SIXTEENTH REGIMENT. 209

made a small bundle of my papers and a few things that I
wanted to save and thought I would carry with me, but to
relieve myself of a burden I put it all back and loaded every-
thing in the wagon, which drove off across the railroad, and
I heard nothing more of it until I reached Farmville. There
on reaching the Quartermaster’s camp on the opposite side of
the river, he found Colonel Ashford, of the Thirty-eighth,
who had been wounded in the arm, and who made the driver
throw out our baggage and put in his. I was very much
disappointed and worried, as I had lost all my private and
public papers and some very valuable articles, including
all my clothing except what I had on.

Colonel Lane, who was in command of the artillery, was a
son of General Joe Lane, of Oregon, who was a candidate for
Vice-President on the Breckinridge ticket in 1860. He was
a good, kind-hearted man. There were some little boys who
came every day to our camp to beg for something to eat, and
though rations were scarce, we sometimes had a little we could
give them. On one occasion a little fellow about four years
old came along with a sack, and when asked what he had it
for, said: ‘I’m going to General Lane’s tent; he gives me
a pint of meal every day. I didn’t go yesterday, and he’ll
give me a quart to-day.”

THE HISTORIC RETREAT BEGUN.

About 10 o’clock that night, or Monday morning, we had
orders to evacuate the place, which was quietly done. On
reaching the city we found everything in confusion, hundreds
of negroes surrounded the commissary department, some roll-
ing off barrels of flour, others carrying off hams and every-
thing they could lay their hands on and get away with A
barrel of whiskey had been emptied into the gutter, and as
we passed we saw an old negro man dipping it up with a tin
eup and drinking it, jumping up cracking his feet together as
happy as a lord. We soon left the city and crossed the river
on the pontoon bridge, and marched on the main road through
Chesterfield County, between the James and Appomattox.
After daylight I found that I had lost one of my men, James
Hoyle, of Company G, and have never heard of him since.

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