After being flushed with the most signal victory of more than half a day’s fighting, and while gloating over the brilliant success and planning and scheming future glories, and after having captured a great number of Federal soldiers, together with a large number of field pieces, and then in turn to be captured yourself, especially after having boasted and affirmed oftentimes that you never would be taken a prisoner unless sick or wounded, is exceedingly humiliating, to say the least of it, and the feelings of such an one can better be imagined than described.  Yet such was the exact condition of the writer on the evening of October 19th, 1864, at the battle of Strausburg, or as it is known at the present day among the veterans, “Early’s Stampede.”

It is proper to note here that the writer was a line officer belonging to Company H, Third Regiment South Carolina Volunteers, but several months previous had been assigned to command a company of “picked” men made from the various companies and regiments of the old brigade (Kershaw’s), and this company was assigned to duty in the Third Battalion.  This battalion was to do the skirmishing and sharpshooting for the brigade.  This explanation is necessary in order that the reader may better understand my position and place when captured.

Late in the afternoon of this exciting day General Phil Sheridan succeeded in rallying his routed columns and led the attack on our line.  Our skirmish line was in excellent condition.  We had no trouble in effectually resisting and driving back the enemy’s skirmish line.  When within short range of our rifles we opened fire, and for nearly half an hour held them in check, while they fairly rained lead into our ranks.  The command “retreat” was given, and we retired, firing.  During the retreat brave Captain Whitener was killed.  I rallied the remnant of my company in rear of the Third South Carolina.  General Kershaw rode rapidly up to where I had rallied what few men I had left and enquired for Captain Whitener.  I replied, “He is killed, General.”  He then ordered me to take what few I had and could gather and double-quick to a point on the extreme left of his division.  When I arrived at the point designated, which was in thick woods, to my horror I found the place literally alive with Yankees.  I had double-quicked right into the midst of the “blue bellies.”  “Surrender,” came in tones of thunder.  I stood amazed, astonished beyond conception.  “Surrender,” again came the command.  There was absolutely no alternative.  There was no chance to fight and less chance to run.  My brave boys and I were prisoners of war.  This was one of the consequences of war that I had never figured upon, and was wholly unprepared for it.  I said to the officer who demanded my sword that I would rather give him my right arm.  He preferred the sword and got one—­I had two, having captured one that morning.  Just then an unusual incident occurred.

“Hello, Lieutenant Whites, my old friend, I am glad to see you.”