From Cold Harbor Grant made a long side-step, not halting until he had crossed to the south side of James River at City Point, where he could have gone by water months before without the loss of a single man. In the campaign from the Rappahannock to the James, Grant had lost more men than Lee had in his whole army.
Grant had boasted in the early days of the campaign in the Wilderness that he would, "fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." But he changed his mind as well as his line. From Cold Harbor, it was said, Grant sent this dispatch to Washington: "All the fight is knocked out of this army." This was after his order to renew the assaults on the Confederate lines had been disobeyed; the men standing still and mute when ordered to renew the charge. Then it was that Grant struck out across the Peninsula to the James.
The Confederate prisoners were first marched over on the hill where the main body of Torbet's Cavalry was posted, surrounded by a strong guard, the Yankee officers celebrating their victory, 10,000 against 85, by feasting on wine and cake. Lieut. Peter Akers, of Company A, marched up to a group of these officers, sitting on their horses, saying: "Hello, fellows, ain't you going to treat?" The Yanks laughed, handed around the wine and cake to the "Rebel" officers, with whom they chatted in a very friendly way. Like Bob Jones was with the stolen hog, I took some of the cake, but none of the wine.
Pretty soon we were marched down to the dépôt and confined there. It was not long until Grant's Infantry began to march by, Hancock's corps leading, in serried ranks of brigades, divisions, and corps, marching on across the little Mattapony out on the hills beyond, where lines of battle were formed, and the digging of entrenchments begun, and redoubts for cannon were thrown up.
The prisoners were marched out later, sleeping that night in an old barn, where they were guarded until the army moved forward, the prisoners being taken along. That night one of the guards said to me, "Old man, were you drafted?" I replied, "No, I volunteered." The reason he called me "old man" was, my hair was gray, though I was not then twenty-seven years old. While in prison many thought I was a political prisoner and not a soldier, for the same reason.