Showing posts with label Fall of Petersburg. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fall of Petersburg. Show all posts

Friday, May 15, 2015

Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Lyman to Elizabeth Russell Lyman, April 3, 1865

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

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Major-General George G. Meade to Margaretta Sergeant Meade, April 3, 1865

Headquarters Army Of The Potomac, April 3, 1865.

The telegraph will have conveyed to you, long before this reaches you, the joyful intelligence that Petersburg and Richmond have fallen, and that Lee, broken and dispirited, has retreated towards Lynchburg and Danville. We have had three glorious days, the fighting not so severe as much we have done before, but in the results. We are now moving after Lee, and if we are successful in striking him another blow before he can rally his troops, I think the Confederacy will be at an end.

George1 is quite well, having left his uncle at City Point, where it was deemed advisable he should stop for awhile. Willie2 was doing very well, and is not considered in any danger.

Markoe Bache arrived this morning just in time to march into Petersburg with us.

The strong demonstration we made on Lee's right caused him so to attenuate his lines that, notwithstanding their strength, we broke through his left, and poured in such a force that he had to fly to save himself. He was fortunate in keeping us out of the town till dark, which enabled him to get over the Appomattox what remained of his army. The last estimate of our prisoners amounted to fifteen thousand, and deserters and stragglers are being picked up by the thousands. Let us hope the war will soon be over.
_______________

1 Son of General Meade.
2 Brother of Mrs. Meade.

SOURCE: George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 2, p. 269

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Brigadier General Thomas Kilby Smith, April 9, 1865

Headquarters District Of South Alabama,
Fort Gaines, Ala., April 9, 1865.

I have this moment received news that Petersburg has fallen, Richmond evacuated, and Grant in hot pursuit of Lee's retreating army. It comes to me vaguely; still, there are good grounds for the rumor. Our own siege drags slowly. I miss Sherman and Grant and my lamented friend McPherson. I don't find the old spirit down here; still we shall succeed; that is beyond all peradventure, our troops are in good spirits and there is no possibility of the enemy's escaping us.

The weather has been cool here and generally pleasant. My health is not very good, and I have not been able to enjoy it. I think the malarial influence of my last summer's campaign is still upon me, and I doubt whether the sea air agrees with me; but I keep about and attend to business. I am taking quinine in pretty large and frequent doses. I shall take all possible care of myself; but I fear my old powers will never return to me. I ought not to complain, and strive to be contented; but I am made conscious that the days are drawing near when the “grasshopper will be a burthen.”

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 385-6