Recollections of a Confederate Staff Officer. G. Moxley Sorrel
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or things or battles. My part is simply that of a friend who belonged also to the staff of the Army of Northern Virginia, and of one who, from opportunities to observe General Sorrel on many occasions and to know him personally, learned to honor and admire him. I deem it fitting, however, to say that in some respects I differ from General Sorrel's opinions and would vary some of his observations respecting Ewell, Stuart, Early, and a few other conspicuous leaders.
"Fortunate indeed is the man who like General Sorrel is entitled to remind those around his death-bed that he did his best to do his duty and to serve his country with heart and soul. The records of his life tell us how well, how faithfully he did serve her, and if anything can console you and others for his loss it must be that fact."
These are the words of Field Marshal Wolseley, written to Mrs. Sorrel, the widow of the General upon his death at "The Barrens" near Roanoke, Va., the home of his brother, Dr. Francis Sorrel.
They are worthy of repetition in connection with General Sorrel's name by reason of their just estimate of his worth as a patriot and a soldier, and of the high spirit which they breathe; and that they are uttered by a soldier and a man of such character and ability as Field Marshal Wolseley impresses all the more their inherent merit.
They better introduce the volume of General Sorrel's composition than anything I can say, for they reveal in short compass the nature of the man, the principle that actuated his life, and the estimate formed of him by an eminent soldier who had no partial relation to him or his deeds.
John W. Daniel.
Washington, D. C., May 1, 1905.
RECOLLECTIONS OF A CONFEDERATE STAFF OFFICER
CHAPTER I
Battle of Manassas, July 21, 1861
Forbears and Home at Savannah—Fort Sumter attacked—Hostilities begin—Leave for Virginia—Visit to my father—Beauregard's camp at Manassas—Colonel Jordan—Introduced to General Longstreet—Sketch—General Stuart—General Johnston—The battle—Enemy defeated—Pursuit stopped—March to Centerville—Stonewall Jackson—Prince Napoleon—the review—Colonel Skinner—His Exploits.
My forbears were French on my father's side. His father, Antoine Sorrel des Riviere, Colonel du Genie (Engineer Corps) in the French Army, was on his estates in the island of San Domingo when the bloody insurrection of the blacks broke out at the opening of the century. He had the tragic horror of witnessing the massacre of many relatives and friends. His property was destroyed, and his life barely saved by concealment and flight to Cuba, thence to Louisiana, where a refuge was found among friendly kindred. There he died at a great age.
His son Francis, my father, was saved from the rage of bloodthirsty blacks by the faithful devotion of the household slaves, and some years later succeeded in reaching Maryland, where he was educated. He married in Virginia, engaging in business in the early part of the century at Savannah, Georgia.
My maternal great-grandfather, Alvin Moxley, was from Westmoreland County, Virginia. He was one of the signers of what is known as the Richard Henry Lee Bill of Rights, 1765, the first recorded protest in America against taxation without representation, and which twelve years later led directly to the Revolutionary War. The original document is now preserved and framed in the Virginia Historical Society at Richmond.
Death bereft my father of his wife in time's flight. An eminent merchant, successful and prominent, we find him in the Civil War in health and ease, happy in the love of many children and the esteem of hosts of friends. As a child he had seen some horrors of the insurrection, but never could he be persuaded to speak of them, so deep and painful were even their distant memories. At the culmination of the political troubles in 1861 I was a young chap just twenty-two, at home in my native city, Savannah, peacefully employed with the juniors of the banking force of the Central Railroad.
When Sumter was bombarded at Charleston in April, I slipped away for a day or two and witnessed the scenes of wild excitement that attended its fall. It spread everywhere, and like all the youth of the country I was quickly drawn in. For a year or two before, like many of my associates in Savannah, I was a member, a private, of the Georgia Hussars, a fine volunteer cavalry company, with a creditable history of almost a century.
On the secession of Georgia, now soon following, Fort Pulaski was seized and the various military commands did their tour of duty there, the Hussars among them.
This was my first service. The company also immediately offered itself to the Confederate Government just organized at Montgomery, Alabama, and was eager to get into the field; but delay ensued, although it was mustered in for thirty days' service on the coast of Skidaway Island, near Savannah. There I served again as private until mustered out. A Confederate army was being collected in Virginia under Beauregard, the capital having been settled in Richmond. Becoming impatient of inaction at Savannah, our company apparently not being wanted, I decided to go to Virginia and seek employment there.
Richmond looked like a camp when I arrived, in July. It was full of officers in their smart uniforms, all busy with their duties, and the greatest efforts were made for equipping and arming the men now pouring in from the South. They were posted first in camps of instruction, where, by means of younger officers, they attained some drill before being sent to the army. How happy should I be could I get a commission as second lieutenant and plunge into work with the men.
My brother, Dr. Francis Sorrel, had just arrived from California and was gazetted to a high position in the Surgeon-General's Department. He aided me all possible, but I got nothing, and so about July 15, my cash running down, betook myself to my father's pretty country place at Greenwich, about ten miles north of Warrenton, Fauquier County. It was also about ten miles from Manassas Junction, the headquarters of General Beauregard, now in command of the army that was to fight McDowell and defend Richmond. My father said it was unfortunate I had not come a day or two earlier, because he had driven his daughters across the country for a visit to the camps, where they met many friends. Among these was Col. Thomas Jordon, the all-powerful adjutant-general of Beauregard's army, then termed the Army of the Potomac. Many years before, Jordon, when a lieutenant, had been stationed in Savannah, and enjoyed my father's generous hospitality. This was my opportunity.
I asked for just a few lines of introduction to Jordon, and a horse out of the stables. I knew them well and could get a good mount for the field. My dear father willingly acceded, and parted from me cheerfully but with moist eyes. On the way to the camp I came up with Meredith, a relation (not long ago United States Congressman from Virginia), and soon I found Colonel Jordon. He had been doing an enormous amount of work and was almost exhausted.
Jordon was considered a brilliant staff officer, and justly so; but there appeared something lacking in his make-up as a whole that disappointed his friends. At all events, his subsequent military career failed and he sank out of prominent notice. He was kind to me, read my note, said nothing could be done then; but—"Come again to-morrow."
This turned me loose in the camp. The soldiers from the Valley under J. E. Johnston and J. E. B. Stuart began to make an appearance in small numbers, principally cavalry. We slept that night at Meredith's, about three miles from camp. Jordon, the next day, was still unable to do anything for me, and I began to be doubtful of success, but could at least go as a private with a good horse under me.
Again at Meredith's and awakened very early by cannon, we were up in a moment and galloping to Beauregard's.
There I was made happy on the 21st day of July. The adjutant-general handed me three lines of introduction to Longstreet, commanding a brigade at Blackburn's Ford several miles distant. With a good-by to Meredith I was swiftly off. Approaching the ford, shot and shell were flying close overhead; and feeling a bit nervous, my first time under fire, I began to inquire what folly had brought me into such disturbing scenes.
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