Three Years in the Confederate Horse Artillery — George Michael Neese.

June 26 — It seems that the war business has all been transferred to the south side of the James. Even General Sheridan’s cavalry is down nosing around Petersburg looking for a job, and I think that General Hampton’s cavalry is down there ready to give the blue horsemen employment.

This morning we broke camp on the Chickahominy and struck out for Petersburg. We entered Richmond on the Brook turnpike, marched down Brook Avenue into Grace Street to within about four blocks of Capitol Square, then crossed Main Street; above Capitol Square and moved to Mayo’s bridge, where we crossed the James River to Manchester.

Manchester is on the right bank of James River right opposite Richmond, and looks like a part of the same city sliced off by the river. Just as we passed a large cotton factory in Manchester a bevy of about sixty fine young girls filed out of the doors going to dinner, forming the most attractive parade that I have eyed since the campaign opened, and the peculiar inspiring sight made me wish for this cruel war to end right now.

We marched down the Petersburg pike seven miles below Manchester and camped for the night.

June 23 — In camp, and resting. We have been on forced marches, and sometimes marching day and night, ever since the morning of the ninth of June, and in the meantime we had a few hard fights. Now for a glance at the two armies that were facing each other near Cold Harbor and growling a little when we left the Chickahominy on a chase after General Sheridan’s crack cavalry. General Grant has stopped his sledge-hammer thumping business at the front door and has made a wonderful leap by the left flank, and is now trying to gain admittance to Richmond by the back way, and has settled down in siege order in front of Petersburg, twenty-two miles south of Richmond.

I heard that when General Grant arrived in front of Petersburg, as is usual of late he found General Lee in his front, ready for business at the old stand. The world may ask, but the great question will never be answered, why all this bloody fighting, waste of energy, and sinews of war, sacrifice of human life and vast treasures, merely to make a lodgment in front of Petersburg, which could have been accomplished without much fighting and sacrificial butchery of thousands of soldiers. ‘Tis said that General Grant lost about sixty thousand men, killed, wounded, prisoners, and strayed, on the north side of the James since the fifth of May, the date of the opening of the campaign in the Wilderness.

The bulk of General Grant’s army crossed the James River about the 1th of June, at or near Bermuda Hundred, about sixteen miles below Richmond.

June 22 — To-day we moved two miles in the direction of Richmond and camped. This afternoon I went to Richmond with the first gun of our battery and delivered it at Confederate States Armory as a worn-out gun unfit for further use in the field. After I delivered my gun according to order, I came to our wagon camp, about six miles northwest of Richmond.

Richmond, now the temporary capital of the Confederate States, is pleasantly situated on the left bank of the James River at the head of tide-water, and about one hundred miles a little west of south of Washington. The country around the city is nearly level and the land seems to be fertile and of good quality. The site of the city is an undulating slope, dipping gently to the southeast.

June 21 — The enemy received reinforcements last night, and this morning we saw a transport laden with soldiers going up the river toward the White House.

About two hours after sunrise this morning the Yankees commenced to advance on us; at first we did not show fight, but fell back about two miles in order to get out of reach and range of the thunderbolts from the gunboats on the river. Right at St. Peter’s Church, which is about three miles from the Pamunkey, we put our guns in battery and waited for the blue wave that was coming to overwhelm us and wipe us out. We did not have to wait long before we saw the enemy’s line advancing in fine military order, and as soon as they arrived in range of our guns we opened fire on their line; our fire proved to be a great incentive in stirring up a lively and business-like scene along the enemy’s front. Yet the blue wave dashed on and the line advanced bravely in the face of our fire. After we fired about twenty rounds we were forced to yield and retire, as the enemy’s sharpshooters were creeping up on us and rendering it too unhealthful for us to hold our position any longer. From the appearance of the blue specks, bunches, and lines in our front, the enemy far outnumbered our force, yet our cavalry fought boldly and kept the enemy well in check, with a lively skirmish fire, until near middle of the day; then the enemy gave up the pursuit and we retired leisurely toward the Chickahominy. Late this evening we forded the Chickahominy at Bottom’s Bridge, about seven miles northeast of Richmond.

We are camped this evening on the Chickahominy, near Bottom’s Bridge. The country around here is all devastated and shows the ruinous effects of actual war. There are still a great many old earthworks all over the fields that were constructed when General McClellan advanced up the Peninsula in the summer of 1862.

St. Peter’s Church, down in New Kent County where we had our guns in position and fired from this morning, is about three miles southwest of the White House. It is a very old church, that stood there long before General Washington was married. The church is not used now for services, and from its general appearance it has been turned over to the tender care of the United States soldiers, and they have used it for quarters. The pulpit is almost demolished, some of the pews are broken in pieces, the chancel is all shattered, and the white plastered walls are shamefully defaced and look as if some one has been giving lessons on them in charcoal drawing.

The church is built of brick, in very old style, with low side walls, and at one end a kind of belfry, built tower-like from the ground, that terminates in a cupola with a spire that bears the representation of a large key. It is an Episcopal church, and it is said that Colonel George Washington attended services in it on his wooing visits to the White House. To-day as I stood within the hallowed old walls, that now bear the autographs of a hundred Union patriots and the name and number of their regiments, and as I lingered in front of the old pulpit, my memory was playing with deep meditation on the scenes of a hundred years ago. Where are the worshipers whose footsteps pressed the sacred threshold then, and who gathered around the old chancel? All, all — even the most youthful then — have long ago drifted down the river of time, beyond the shadowy line of death, into the boundless ocean of eternity that rolls in the realm of the unknowable. Just as I, in my fanciful and imaginative reverie, was vaguely gazing at the manly form and noble features of Colonel Washington, who sat in yonder pew in a tranquil and unassuming demeanor, with eyes and attention riveted on the rector, and deeply absorbed in the pulpit theme, I heard someone outside of the church remark: “The Yankees are in sight; get ready for action,” and in less than ten minutes my gun was booming within ten feet of the bell tower at old St. Peter’s Church in New Kent County. As I passed out the old church door and looked in the direction of the Pamunkey I saw a line of Yankee sharpshooters advancing through the fields — a living reality that suddenly recalled my thoughts from roaming and musing in the misty depths of long buried years.

June 20— We renewed our march last night at two o’clock, and when we arrived within two miles of the White House we halted until daybreak, then moved within close range of the White House. Before we reached the fields near the White House the firing of both musketry and artillery had commenced. When we reached the hills west of the house the lowland along the river was still covered with immense wagon trains in park. We immediately put our guns in battery and opened a brisk fire on them with half of our battalion,— eight pieces,— which quickly stirred up a lively scene among the horses and teamsters, and a busy scramble ensued as to who could leave first.

The trains left under our fire and rushed across the Pamunkey on a pontoon bridge that spanned the river just above the White House. Our fire also waked up a lion in the shape of a well fortified Yankee battery near the river, which opened a rapid fire on us, and the thundering sound of booming cannon rolled in a roaring flood across the lowlands of the Pamunkey and the York.

Just then the sight was grand and impressive, and the scene inspiring. There before us lay the placid waters of the Pamunkey, glowing in the opening morning light like a band of silver, reflecting on its bosom the mellow tinge of a morning sky. The silvery water was marred by the darker track of the pontoon, crowded from shore to shore with fleeing wagons jammed close together, and all covered with white canvas, presenting the striking appearance of white water fowl gliding swiftly across the shimmering water. Beyond the pontoon and farther down the river toward the York a thin white morning mist hung over the water like a curtain of draping lace, under which the silent waters glided beyond our ken. When the bright lances of the morning sun shattered the veil of mist and melted the fragments into clear air, we discovered two Yankee gunboats on the river, which had been hidden in the folds of the mist and were then in plain view, and ready to open fire on us. This they did at first sight, and for one hour the artillery fire raged fiercely and in a business-like way on both sides, without the least lull, cessation, or break.

Among the armament of the gunboats was a thirty-two pounder, which the enemy fired at us frequently, and we soon learned that there was no virtue and less use for us to fool around such a war machine with our little three-inch rifle field pieces, and we ceased firing.

I saw several shell from the thirty-two pounder fly way above our heads, and they glittered in the sunlight like polished steel, and whizzed through the air with speed enough when they passed us to carry them a mile farther, and then have momentum enough left to dig a ditch that looks like a miniature railroad cut.

While we were firing, a shell from one of their gunboats exploded in front of my gun, and a half-pound fragment gave me a friendly call by striking me in the breast, just interesting enough to bruise severely, without drawing blood.

After we had ceased firing some four or five of us lay under a little apple tree, when one of the enemy’s thirty-two pound shell exploded at least two hundred feet above us,— I saw it explode,— yet a slug from it wounded one of our men that was lying under the tree close by my side. The Yanks were surely cutting close and trying to gather me in to-day, but I am still on the sunny side of the dead line this evening and ready for rations.

The Yankee gunboats shelled the country all around us after we ceased firing. This afternoon we withdrew our guns from under the fire of the gunboats and moved about a mile down the river and bivouacked for the night. The gunboats still lay in front of the White House when we left.

The White House is on the south side of the Pamunkey in New Kent County, about twenty-two miles a little northeast from Richmond and about thirteen miles from the head of York River. The confluence of the Mattapony and the Pamunkey forms the York at West Point, at the southeast corner of King William County.

The White House is noted as being the place where George Washington wooed, won, and wed his wife a little over a hundred years ago.

June 19 — We renewed our march this morning and moved toward the rising sun. We passed Hanover Court House, which is situated about sixteen miles north of Richmond, in a rolling country, and half a mile east of the Central Railroad. There is no sign of a town around the court house; a large brick hotel, court house, and jail is all there is of Hanover Court House. The court house is built of brick, very small, square, and very common in style. The jail is almost small enough for a toy, and is built of free-stone cut in regular blocks two by three feet, which makes a beautiful structure and a strong and substantial cage for jailbirds.

We marched about twelve miles through a beautiful and fertile country; then we halted in the edge of New Kent County, on Mr. Ruffin’s farm, and grazed our horses until night. Although this is war time, yet there are enough traces left of good husbandry on the farm to show that Mr. Ruffin is one of the finest scientific agriculturists in the State. There is now on his farm a large field of the finest wheat that I ever saw, about six feet high, with large, long, and heavy, well-filled heads. The farm is nearly level and the land of the first quality. The house is situated on a beautiful eminence, which affords a fine view of the farm as well as of the surrounding country.

I understand that Mr. Ruffin’s patriotism induced him to espouse the cause of the South, so he left his beautiful home and volunteered in the Southern army early in our present unpleasantness, which of course was an atrocious crime in the estimation of our Northern brethren, consequently some of General Grant’s patriots have been in the house recently armed with the despoiler’s hand.

The house is deserted now, and desolation reigns in silence; the outer doors are standing open, with many books and magazines on agriculture and horticulture lying scattered over the floor and in the yard. The once fine garden is utterly destroyed, the fence is demolished, and the beds are growing up in weeds. There is a mulberry tree in the garden, with the finest and largest mulberries that I ever saw. They are ripe now, and I tried some of them to-day, and I know that they are fine and delicious, and about three times as large as our largest wild ones.

At dusk this evening we renewed our march and moved in the direction of the White House on the lower Pamunkey.

We marched until midnight, then camped by the roadside.

June 18 — This morning a while after sunrise we moved down toward the Mattapony, to graze our horses. After we got about two miles below Vernon Church we came to a beautiful open country bordering on the Mattapony, a plain apparently as level as a lake, stretching for miles along the southwest side of the river. The fields are covered with a luxuriant growth of grass, with here and there large fields of golden wheat waving in the summer breeze ready for harvest. This afternoon we marched to the Pamunkey, where we arrived at dusk; we forded the river at Wickham’s Ford, about six miles from Hanover Court House.

Our whole march this afternoon was between the Mattapony and the Pamunkey, through a beautiful and fertile country of level land and fine farms in a state of good cultivation. We are camped to-night at Wickham’s Crossing on the Central Railroad, about five miles west of Hanover Court House.

June 17 — We renewed our march at midnight last night, and it was pleasant marching; the night was cool and full of moonshine. A refreshing night wind whispered softly through the trees while the moonbeams dipped their silent pencils into the dewdrops that trembled on the bending grass, and made them flash and glow like globules of burnished silver.

Little after sunrise we arrived at White Chimneys on the old stage road leading from Washington to Richmond. White Chimneys is a large house on the roadside, with four conspicuous white chimneys. I suppose it is the name of a farm, or perhaps an inn. It is in Caroline County. We rejoined the rest of the battery this morning near White Chimneys; we remained there a few hours, and were then ordered to Vernon Church, but through some misunderstanding of the order we went to Mangahink Church, which is about seven miles east of Vernon Church. After we arrived at Mangahink and found that we were mistaken, we left there immediately and moved to Vernon Church. Mangahink Church is in a section of beautiful country in the northwestern part of King William County. General Grant had his headquarters at Mangahink a few weeks ago. The church is built of brick, very common style. Vernon Church is situated in a beautiful level country; the land is low, but in a state of beautiful, clean cultivation. The weather is hot and the roads are dusty. Camped at Vernon Church.

June 16 — We received ammunition for the first gun yesterday evening, and early this morning we left camp for the front, to rejoin the rest of the battery. We passed Beaver Dam Station early this morning, then marched in an eastern direction all day; we forded the North Anna river at Alexander’s mill just above Chilesburg, a small village in the southwestern edge of Caroline County. We passed St. Paul’s Church, situated in a beautiful grove half mile east of Chilesburg. We marched hard all day. Camped this evening at Mount Carmel Church, in Caroline County, about six miles north of Hanover Junction.