660 Nortu Carotina Troops, 1861-’65.

to me and told me the enemy had broken through our lines on
the right and that Godwin’s men were fighting them and
wanted my assistance. I immediately formed my regiment,
changing my front by abandoning my position at the pits.
By this movement I hoped to cover the left and drive the en-
emy from the works. It was now dark and the extent of our
misfortune could not be learned. Enough, however, was
known to satisfy me that our retreat was cut off and our bat-
tery of four guns was in possession of the enemy. I made
an attempt to move forward and charge the enemy inside the
works but a mass of fugitives who were in my front were
driven upon my lines, pressed by the enemy. Here words
cannot describe the scenes that occurred around us. A per-
fect panic seized the men. In vain did the officers try to
rally them. Many of them were cut down. I at last got
my men in line a second time, and the firing of the enemy
from the inside was telling fearfully upon them, but no one
was for surrendering. We fought them as long as we had
two men together, solitary and alone. Only when all was
lost did we think of escape, but it was useless. Many of my
men escaped by swimming the river, others dispersed through
the country and got off. Some of my officers escaped, but
how, I was never able to ascertain. I cannot describe to you
the terrible anguish I endured at the thought of being cap-
tured, as gradually that host of armed men surrounded me.
I knew that my escape was impossible. I have faced death
often, but never have I endured such fearful hours of horror
as I did on that night. I thought of loved ones—wife, chil-
dren and home. Tears ran down my cheeks, the first I had
shed during the war.

I was aroused from my deep revery by a stout arm grasp-
ing me by the shoulder. ‘Do you surrender?” “No ge =
my quick response, “not to a private.” ‘Are you an officer ?
“I am,” I replied. The Colonel rode up to me. It was
the Fifth Maine. “Do you surrender, sir?” says he. “I
presume that I do,” I replied, “as I have no discretion in
the matter, being already your prisoner.” He was very
polite and assured me of kind treatment, and then turned.me
over to an officer and departed. Everything was now quiet,

Prison Lire at JoHnson’s IsLanp. 661

except the shrieks of the wounded and the groans of the
dying.

I have not been able to ascertain how many of my men
were captured or made their escape. Lieutenant-Colonel
Tate, I remember, ‘told me he was wounded in the neck, a
short time before, and I told him to go to the rear, and he
made his escape. So did Major York. Over two-thirds of
my officers and men were captured. I look upon the whole
affair as a great military blunder, the position being untena-
ble against a heavy force. There should have been more
than one pontoon bridge. There was material for construct-
ing another that fell into the hands of the enemy, and the
men that were captured could have built it in twelve hours.
I cannot see what good could be expected by holding a posi-
tion that was known to be unsafe against an assault, and
where the forces could neither fall back nor be reinforced.
It was pronounced a trap before, and it was known that the
enemy had a heavy force.

They had two corps, but only one was engaged. I think
nine regiments assaulted the works and it was impossible to
hold them unless the line had been stronger or support had
been at hand. I know not who was to blame, but I do know
that our country was uselessly deprived of our services.

I was moved that night about two miles to the rear in com-
pany with my brother officers, and I must do the enemy the
justice to say that they treated me kindly. They gave me
some whiskey, of which I stood much in need. The officers
were very talkative and sociable. We were quartered for
the night in an open field with no fire, the night was bitter
cold and our suffering was intense. Their excuse for not
giving us fire was that their axes had all gone to the front.
It was one of those nights that a man lives a whole life time
in. A young Lieutenant from Pennsylvania made my ac-
quaintance and he told me he was a copperhead. He very
kindly furnished me with some coffee and the next morning
he invited me to breakfast with him and gave me a very sub-
stantial one, consisting of bread, bacon, coffee and sugar and
fried ham. We were afterwards formed and counted and
marched to Warrenton Junction. The day was nice and