April 3, 1865
We began our day early, for, about light, I heard Duane say,
outside my tent: “They have evacuated Petersburg.” Sure enough, they were gone,
across the river, and, at that very moment, their troops at Richmond, and all
along the river, with their artillery and trains, were marching in all haste,
hoping to join each other and get to Burkeville Junction, en route for
Danville. How they succeeded will be seen in the sequel. General Meade, to my
great satisfaction, said he would ride in and take a look at the place we so
long had seen the steeples of. Passing a series of heavy entrenchments and
redoubts, we entered the place about eight in the morning. The outskirts are
very poor, consisting chiefly of the houses of negroes, who collected, with
broad grins, to gaze on the triumphant Yanks; while here and there a squalid
family of poor whites would lower at us from broken windows, with an air of
lazy dislike. The main part of the town resembles Salem, very much, plus the
southern shiftlessness and minus the Yankee thrift. Even in this we may
except Market Street, where dwell the haute noblesse, and where there are
just square brick houses and gardens about them, as you see in Salem, all very
well kept and with nice trees. Near the river, here large enough to carry large
steamers, the same closely built business streets, the lower parts of which had
suffered severely from our shells; here and there an entire building had been
burnt, and everywhere you saw corners knocked off, and shops with all the glass
shattered by a shell exploding within.
We then returned a little and took a road up the hill
towards the famous cemetery ridge. Petersburg, you must understand, lies in a
hollow, at the foot of a sort of bluff. In fact, this country, is a dead, sandy
level, but the watercourses have cut trenches in it, more or less deep
according to their volume of water. Thus the Appomattox is in a deep trench,
while the tributary “runs” that come in are in more shallow trenches; so that
the country near the banks looks hilly; when, however, you get on top of these
bluffs, you find yourself on a plain, which is more or less worn by
water-courses into a succession of rolls. Therefore, from our lines you could
only see the spires, because the town was in a gully. The road we took was very
steep and was no less than the Jerusalem plank, whose other end I was so
familiar with. Turning to the left, on top of the crest, we passed a large
cemetery, with an old ruined chapel, and, descending a little, we stood on the
famous scene of the “Mine.” It was this cemetery that our infantry should have
gained that day. Thence the town is commanded. How changed these entrenchments!
Not a soul was there, and the few abandoned tents and cannon gave an additional
air of solitude. Upon these parapets, whence the rifle-men have shot at each
other, for nine long months, in heat and cold, by day and by night, you might
now stand with impunity and overlook miles of deserted breastworks and covered
ways! It was a sight only to be appreciated by those who have known the
depression of waiting through summer, autumn and winter for so goodly an event!
Returning through the town, we stopped at the handsome house of Mr. Wallace,
where was Grant and his Staff, and where we learned the death of Lieutenant-General
A. P. Hill, who was killed by one of our stragglers whom he tried to capture.
Crowds of nigs came about us to sell Confederate money, for which they would
take anything we chose to give. At noon we left the town, and, going on the
river road, camped that night near Sutherland's Station.
SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s
Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness
to Appomattox, p. 339-41
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