Frozen Creek, Bloody Ground - February 5, 1865
They broke camp in darkness. A bitter wind cut through the ranks like a blade. At 3 a.m., General Gregg’s Union cavalry swung into the saddle outside Fort Blaisdell. Horses snorted steam, men shivered in thin greatcoats, and the black Virginia woods swallowed their column.
Grant’s plan was simple—and ruthless. Cut the Boydton Plank Road, turn Lee’s flank, and choke off Petersburg’s last lifeline.
By dawn, Gregg’s troopers were pushing ahead, mostly unopposed until they found the 13th Virginia Cavalry guarding Malone’s Bridge. A sharp fight crackled through the frozen trees. The 2nd and 13th Pennsylvania Cavalry slammed forward, scattering the Rebels and taking ten prisoners.
Afterwards, the Federal column cantered into the empty streets of Dinwiddie Court House by one o’clock, the town abandoned save for wary eyes behind shuttered windows. A dispatch rider galloped back to tell Warren and Humphreys the road was open.
But behind Gregg, the infantry slogged into real trouble.
General Warren’s 5th Corps reached Rowanty Creek near Monk’s Neck Bridge and found it gone—blown by Confederates who left the opposite bank bristling with muskets. Worse, the creek was deep and rimmed with rotten ice.
At 11 a.m., Warren ordered the attack. Men of the 190th Pennsylvania and 4th Delaware slithered over fallen logs, picked their way across glassy ice, or stripped off boots and plunged in with weapons over their heads. Bullets hissed and snapped above them. Two officers of the 4th Delaware—Lieutenant Buckingham and Captain Smith—famously swam the creek under fire to lead the charge.
They drove the Confederates out. Engineers splashed in after them, laying down a crude bridge so the rest of the corps could cross before dusk. By 5 p.m., Warren’s men were bivouacked along the Vaughan Road, campfires flickering beneath leafless trees.
Meanwhile, Humphreys’ 2nd Corps pushed past the McDowell House on Vaughan Road, seized Hatcher’s Run crossing by 10:30 a.m., and forced Brigadier General John Pegram’s Confederate pickets to fall back in confusion.
By late afternoon, blue-coated soldiers were digging like madmen in frozen earth. They were less than a thousand yards from the Boydton Plank Road—Lee’s jugular.
In Petersburg, General Lee heard the news during Sunday service. He left the pew in silence, mounted his horse, and galloped back to the lines. He found Hill and Gordon waiting, their faces grim in the pale winter light.
“Advance,” he ordered.
Just before 4 p.m., the Confederates struck.
Major General Henry Heth’s Division splashed across Rocky Branch and slammed into Humphreys’ entrenching Federals. Skirmishers fell back at a run. Cannon thundered as Heth’s men drove hard, almost cutting the line.
But the 8th Massachusetts Artillery unlimbered in time, and Brigadier General Smyth’s division poured musket fire into charging North Carolinians under Brigadier General Cooke. The gray line recoiled in a tangle of smoke and bodies.
A second Confederate attack met the same fate.
To the west of Rocky Branch, Brigadier General Evans’ men failed to budge the 182nd New York Infantry, who clawed into the dirt and fired until their barrels were choked with black powder.
Lee ordered a final assault before dark. Exhausted Confederates refused to go forward. Mahone’s Division had arrived, but the piecemeal attack was beaten back with heavy loss.
When darkness fell, Lee’s men withdrew to their main lines along the Boydton Plank Road.
Humphreys’ corps held battered trenches in the black winter night, waiting for dawn and the next blow.
Storm Over Dabney’s Mill - February 6, 1865
The February 6 dawn broke cold and ugly. A gray sky threatened snow. Union fires guttered in muddy camps around Hatcher’s Run.
During the night, Meade had ordered his army to consolidate around the Run. But orders had gone astray. Warren’s 5th Corps still sat too far north on Vaughan Road, waiting on garbled orders.
South of them, the Confederates were scrambling. Brigadier General John Pegram’s Division had the job of guarding Boydton Plank Road, Lee’s vital artery. But at 11 a.m., Pegram moved two of his brigades south on Quaker Road, hoping to help cavalry push back Gregg’s men. He left just 800 North Carolinians under Colonel John Lea holding the crucial flank.
It was a reckless gamble.
Meanwhile, Warren finally got moving. By 1 p.m. his blue columns were churning through the mud, flags snapping in the wind, bayonets gleaming dull silver.
Gregg’s cavalry clashed with Pegram’s returning brigades on Vaughan Road. The Federals were driven back in confusion, buying Pegram time to rally.
Warren peeled off infantry to save his threatened flank. Brigadier General Winthrop’s New Yorkers met Pegram in brutal hand-to-hand fighting before Brigadier General Sickels’ Brigade arrived to tip the scales, throwing the Confederates back toward Dabney’s Mill.
By early afternoon, Lea’s North Carolinians were alone at Dabney’s Mill, bracing for an onslaught. Five Union brigades smashed into them. Musketry roared. Lea’s men fell back in bloody ruin toward the Crow House.
Gordon’s Confederate corps commander realized the line was cracking. He rushed Evans’ Division into the fight, stopping the Federals in their tracks.
Warren wasn’t done. He regrouped and attacked again. His men drove the Rebels past Dabney’s Mill before being flung back in a savage counterattack by Evans and Lea.
At 4:30 p.m., Warren planned his last hammer blow, sending two fresh brigades to turn Lea’s battered flank. But just then, Pegram’s two missing brigades stormed back from fighting Gregg’s cavalry.
In the opening Union volley, Pegram fell dead in the mud, and Colonel Hoffman was badly wounded.
But the Confederates didn’t break. Instead they roared forward, muskets blazing, screaming the Rebel yell. Warren’s exhausted lines crumpled. Men ran. Artillery limbered up and fled. Musketry and friendly fire killed dozens in the panic.
At 5 p.m., Gordon sent Mahone’s Division forward, Finegan’s brigades charging with cold precision, routing Warren’s men completely.
Snow and freezing rain began to fall as darkness ended the killing. The wounded lay moaning in black water-filled trenches. Many froze to death before dawn.
The Last Push at Dabney’s Mill - February 7, 1865
Morning on February 7th was hell itself. Snow blanketed corpses and churned mud. The wind howled through stripped forests. Both armies watched each other over makeshift breastworks, shivering.
Lee’s men huddled behind Dabney’s Mill, bracing for another Union attack.
In the Union lines, Warren’s 5th Corps felt the shame of yesterday’s rout like a weight on their souls. General Grant worried Warren’s men had lost their fighting spirit.
Warren burned with determination to prove them wrong. He proposed an attack to push back the Confederate picket line.
Grant and Meade reluctantly agreed.
By late morning, General Crawford’s Division went forward into the swirling snow. Skirmishers advanced through trees heavy with ice, exchanging brutal close-range fire with the Confederate line. Inch by inch, they forced the Rebels back. Brigadier General Sorrel fell with a lung wound, gasping in red snow.
By late afternoon, the Union line had moved forward to the edge of the main Confederate works.
Grant was satisfied. He ordered no further attack.
But Warren wanted vindication.
As dusk fell, Crawford’s men were ordered to charge the main Confederate earthworks. Musket and artillery fire cut them down in the sleet. Screams mingled with cannon blasts as they fell back in bloody confusion.
Undeterred, Warren ordered another attack. His men went forward again—only to be shattered once more.
Darkness swallowed the field.
Finally, the Union survivors fell back to their works at Hatcher’s Run. The battle was over.
Confederates still held Dabney’s Mill and the vital Boydton Plank Road, but they’d paid dearly in dead and wounded they could not replace.
For Grant, there was one silver lining: the Federals now held two crucial crossings on Hatcher’s Run. Their trenches would soon snake miles west, ready for the final spring offensive that would lead, just weeks later, to Appomattox.
