Eyewitness Account: A Tar Heel at Gettysburg

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The fighting intensified as the shades of night drew on until just at dusk, the yankees brought up 16 pieces of artillery to the hill east of us, and about 300 yards from our works. There was sublime grandeur for a short time with bomb bursting overhead–like myriad of lightning. They had our distance exactly, but were a little high, otherwise there would have been none left. Capt. Sturdivant, in the voice of a Stentorian says, Men, save yourself, we are charged by negroes…. our works are carried, I shall stand my ground. We leaped to the gun & with a file & sledge hammer drove it into the torch hole, putting it out of order. I, along with others wanted to get back to the main Commands so off we darted. A young man by the name of Strange, who was a neighbor boy preceded me by a few steps. I happened to be looking at him when he was struck by a minnie & he began wriggling along like a bird shot in the back when down he came. I kept on a short distance & ran just a few yards farther, when a dark skin, powder-besmirched, white man ran up & said Surrender.

I replied, I surrender seeing no possible avenue of escape, as the Enemy was forming in front of me. I should have made the man take me in charge but he kept right on down the hill to the bottom & I stopped, still thinking as a matter of course that I was safe, having surrendered. In a minute however a big yellow negro ran up to me & demanded my surrender. I told him I had already surrendered. He said, Dam you, I will kill you anyway, you have killed a heap of our good men today. At that he held his gun & I was feeling for the ball, I could see the cap shining on his musket but I suppose it was only half cocked. Anyhow he couldn’t get it off & when he lunged at me with his bayonet, but the hill being very precipitous he kept right on down. I omitted to say the negroes were liquored just sufficient to make demons of them. The whole atmosphere was impregnated with the scent of it. I knew it would never do to remain there so I ran back to the Battery & there they had about 30 of our men surrounded by a cordon of negroes eight or ten deep. Coming up (in darkness) behind them they didn’t seem to notice me, so I took my hands & parted them right & left. In this by some good chance were four or five officers & one of them in particular saved our lives. He cut at the negroes to kill & said Damn you, you shall not kill these prisoners.

The other officers only used their swords in a half-hearted manner. To one alone did we owe our lives. When he swung at them to kill, the negroes would jump back. He said & repeated ever time he would cut with his sword, Damn your souls, you shan’t kill these prisoners. As soon as quietude was restored I witnessed a most beautiful incident. A young officer, unknown to me, drew a beautiful gold-hilted sword that fairly glittered in the starlight & going up to the officer who had saved our lives said Captain I wish to present you this sword, as a token of our gratitude for having saved our lives. The response was, I will accept it, but I did nothing more than my duty. (You can be sure he was a graduate of West Point or heavily affected by a graduate–Duty, Honor, Country.) Though apparently formal it was genuine. The whole thing, bowing & scraping, would grace a ballroom. We prisoners were conducted that night 20 miles across the country to City Point on the James.

About the first thing I recollect hearing when reaching there was from an intelligent looking negro, who said that Gen. Grant had told them that all he wanted was 3 days start on Lee & from the noise of the trains running into Petersburg the live-long night, which we could plainly hear, we were afraid he had stole the march on Lee. That morning we prisoners were carried to General Butler’s headquarters, who was bivouaced nearby. We were held in about 30 yards of his tent, which seemed to be made of silk.

We sent one of our men who was caught in a bomb-proof, supposed from that fact, & consequently would gladly tell all he knew. The General was mistaken, however, as he was a man good & true. he told us when he returned what passed between them & amongst other things he said to Gen. Butler. General, I don’t think you ought to fight the negroes against us. We of the South regard them as ‘non combatants’ & we don’t fight them against you. Why, he replied, I would arm a regiment of mules to kick your damned brains out.

As Gen. Butler had been accused of tantalizing prisoners I will tell you how he treated us. His ten[t], some 30 yards away, was on an elevation. He had a galvanized rebel [a Confederate who had changed his allegiance to the Union] darting in & out of his tent, dressed in all sorts of gay & flaring colors & he would dance & sing ribald songs also for our benefit. I guessed he was the vilest man engendered by the war. That evening the General dressed up in a fine suit of broadcloth & mounted a fine horse, rode slowly around us, gazing at us with eyes of hate. As a military man on horseback, big & fat as he was, he was a parody.

We were carried from there & placed on a boat just above Grant’s pontoons. They had three of them, two for his men & artillery & one for beef cattle. There were 3 days & nights in crossing. It was a grand pageant, an unending stream of blue. The pontoons were lifted at last & we were sent down the river to Point Lookout.

Lawrence Davis was transferred from the prison at Point Lookout, Md., at the tip of the peninsula formed by the Potomac River and Chesapeake Bay to the larger holding pen at Elmira, N.Y., on July 25, 1864. He was paroled March 10, 1865, and sent back to Virginia. He moved with his wife and family to North Carolina and later to Brenham, Texas. From there they moved to Oklahoma Territory, where Lawrence taught school in Erick. He died in Oklahoma in 1911.

This article was written by Faye Royster Tuck and originally appeared in the July 2005 issue of America’s Civil War magazine. For more great articles be sure to subscribe to America’s Civil War magazine today!

Tags: 19th Century, America's Civil War, American Civil War, Historical Conflicts

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