“Holding the Line at Rice’s Station” — April 6, 1865
The morning of April 6th, 1865, dawned raw and gray along the Southside Railroad, the tracks gleaming wet with overnight dew. Confederate Lieutenant General James Longstreet reined in his horse at Rice’s Station, watching the last of his column clatter in.
The men were exhausted, uniforms in tatters, mud caked to their legs. They had spent days marching and skirmishing, a dwindling army held together by willpower alone. But they had orders: hold here. Wait for the rest of Lee’s army.
Smoke from cooking fires drifted low. Officers barked orders to dig in along the tracks and the roads leading back toward Burkeville Junction. Shovels scraped earth. Muskets were stacked in easy reach.
Longstreet was worried. Couriers galloped in with grim news from the west: fighting was raging around Sailor’s Creek. The bulk of Lee’s army was stuck behind them, struggling through mud and Union cavalry screens. Longstreet realized he might be cut off if he wasn’t careful.
The Federal Advance
To the east, Major General John Gibbon squinted down the rails toward Rice’s Station. His blue-clad 24th Corps of the Army of the James moved cautiously, wary of an ambush in the tangled Virginia woods.
They had good reason to be careful. Just the day before, Gibbon had secured Burkeville Junction, the vital intersection of the Southside and Richmond & Danville Railroads. It was the supply key. And now he had orders to push west, find Lee’s men, and block them from Farmville.
His scouts came galloping back with reports: Confederates entrenched ahead. Longstreet’s Corps.
The Clash at Rice’s Station
Around midday, Union skirmishers began to push forward along the railroad bed. They picked their way past fallen logs and ditches, rifles at the ready. In the Confederate line, gray-coated sharpshooters crouched low behind hastily thrown-up earthworks.
When the Federals came into range, shots cracked out, echoing off the wooded hills. Minie balls whined overhead.
Gibbon’s men dropped into firing lines and returned the volley.
“Hold your ground!” Union officers shouted. “Steady boys!”
For a time, the crackle of rifle fire rattled back and forth. Smoke drifted between the trees. A few men fell, groaning.
But as dusk gathered, Gibbon peered through the gloom and hesitated. He couldn’t see how many Confederates were truly there. Longstreet’s line looked strong in the failing light, and rumor said Lee might be concentrating there.
Gibbon sent a message to his commander, Major General Edward Ord. Ord rode up, surveyed the entrenched rebels through his field glass, and made the call: no assault tonight. Wait for Sheridan and Meade.
The Union skirmishers pulled back slowly, leaving their dead and wounded behind. In the gathering dark, both sides listened to the moans in the no-man’s-land between the lines.
Confederate Withdrawal
Longstreet sat in a camp chair that evening, boots muddy, staring into his flickering fire. Around him, staff officers spoke in hushed tones about the disaster at Sailor’s Creek. Couriers brought fresh dispatches from Lee:
“Fall back to Farmville. Supplies await. We can’t hold here.”
Longstreet nodded grimly.
“Break camp. Quietly.”
All night, the Confederates worked in near silence. Campfires were doused. Wagons creaked into motion. Pickets fell back one by one. By dawn on April 7th, Rice’s Station was deserted except for bodies and abandoned entrenchments.
Casualties and Legacy
When Federal scouts pushed in at first light, they found the works empty, the railroad quiet but for crows cawing over the fallen. The brief clash had cost the Union 66 casualties—the Confederate losses went uncounted in the chaos of retreat.
But the battle had served its purpose. By digging in at Rice’s Station, Longstreet had bought Lee precious hours to try to gather his scattered army.
Yet the noose was closing. Sheridan’s cavalry, Wright’s 6th Corps, Meade’s columns—they were all converging. The Appomattox Campaign was in its brutal final days.
