We received our instructions for our route, which was to Amelia Courthouse by way of Brander's Bridge, over Swift Creek, Chesterfield Courthouse, and Goode's Bridge, over the Appomattox River, and about dark the train moved. Near midnight Packard and I rode to Dunlop's, where the surplus ammunition was blown up, and then on to join the train. At Chesterfield Courthouse I met Huger's (formerly Alexander's Battalion of Artillery, where I had previously served, and we looked back at the great clouds of smoke over burning Richmond, and I remember the anxious looks and pale faces of Parker's "Boy Battery", which was from Richmond. They never blanched in front of the enemy but at leaving "home and mother" to an unknown fate.
That night our quartermaster insisted upon going into camp at the Cox house, which turned out to be outside of our lines, but the next morning, Monday, April 4th, we moved early, and soon came to a brigade which had been sent out to receive and protect us. We arrived at Amelia Courthouse about sundown and camped near it.
The next morning I rode to the courthouse to get my orders for the day from Colonel Baldwin, and I remember General Lee's tent in Mrs. Smith's yard. I rode on to overtake the train and when I got to it I found a great state of confusion and disorder. It had been attacked by the enemy's cavalry, under General Davies, near Painesville, about eight miles from Amelia Courthouse, who were soon driven off by our troops, but not before they had destroyed some of our wagons and killed some of the animals. There is a picture of this affair in the last volume of "The Battles and Leaders of the Civil War". We reorganized the train and resumed our march, and moved all night, passing through Deatonsville. We continued this on the next day, Thursday, April 6th, without stopping to rest or feed either our animals or ourselves.
Sheridan's "terrible cavalry" (as General Lee called them) and artillery soon commenced making determined attacks upon us from our left flank at every opening. In one of them the driver of our personal wagon, black Tom Peters, was so frightened that he drove the wagon against a tree-trunk and there it was stuck with the shells bursting all around it.
