On the night of April 2, 1865, Surgeon John Herbert Claiborne left Petersburg, Virginia, for what he believed might be the last time. A state senator, a devoted secessionist, and the man who had run a hospital in the city for much of the war, Claiborne was evacuating with Confederate forces as Union troops entered the town. He had lost everything he held dear, including the city he had called home for years. He did not know if he would ever return.

As he followed the road toward Chesterfield Court House, he quickly caught up with his small wagon train and found everyone present except one. Missing was Jack, a cropped-eared, cropped-tailed Scottish terrier of about twelve years. The dog had seen a great deal of service, and it showed. Quick-tempered, stubborn, and of questionable virtue, Jack had been linked to any number of scandals over the years, yet he was full of faith in his master and deeply bound to his fortunes, good or bad.

Before leaving Petersburg, Claiborne had given explicit orders to his chief ambulance officer: no matter who might be left behind, Jack was to come with the evacuation, with suitable transportation arranged. Jack had always valued himself too highly to walk. He had ridden thousands of miles in his life, fallen from many wagons, and been run over by more vehicles than any other dog in the world, Claiborne insisted without fear of contradiction. The dog had few friends and little ability to make them.

A disagreement about riding arrangements had broken out between Jack and the ambulance chief before the column departed, and as a result, the terrier had been left behind. Claiborne turned to the officer and ordered him to return to the city at once and bring the dog back, or else the man himself would fall into enemy hands. The officer stared at him for a moment, as if considering an objection. But four years of discipline and obedience did not lose their force on the first night of a retreat.

He turned and headed back toward Petersburg. Claiborne did not expect to see him again. Yet late that night, after the men had camped about five miles from the city, the officer returned, riding a horse and leading Jack on a chain made of white handkerchiefs. He said he had borrowed the horse.

Soldiers rarely had much difficulty borrowing a horse, provided they could find one without a rider in sight, so Claiborne did not ask where it came from. But he was curious about the handkerchiefs and ventured to ask. The officer replied that everything in the city was being broken up and stores looted, and he had found the handkerchiefs at the head of an old street. The men were exhausted from the day’s dramatic events and soon fell into a deep sleep.

Two or three hours later, they woke to the sound of gunfire miles behind them, followed by a heavy explosion in the same direction. Fearing pursuit, they decided to push on. Jack, who had been sharing Claiborne’s blanket, panicked and sought to save himself by running off alone. Claiborne did not see him again until he returned to Petersburg nearly two months later.

When Claiborne finally came back, Jack was among the first to greet him. His expressions of joy were overflowing and almost pitiful to witness. For the first few days Claiborne remained in the city, the dog could not be persuaded to leave his side for a single moment. Whether Jack regretted having abandoned his master or feared falling into other, less gentle company, Claiborne could not say.

But the dog always possessed a remarkable amount of human nature mixed with his canine traits. Someone had clearly taken good care of Jack during his absence. Claiborne learned from hospital staff he had left behind that the terrier had gone over to the enemy, as had other dogs from whom he might have expected better behavior. Still, the prodigal son had returned, and when Claiborne left Petersburg a few days later in an ambulance, searching for his family in the interior of North Carolina, Jack was ready to claim his place in the vehicle.

When Claiborne reached his wife and children, Jack went to them with as much devotion as if he had never turned his back on a friend. But he never followed his master again for the rest of his life. Claiborne suspected the dog kept the memory of many hard places he had been taken to. Jack’s later history was not without interest, though Claiborne declined to dwell on its details.

He would only add that Jack had always been a bad soldier, always leaving as soon as the firing started, and not always leaving alone, driven by thirst or some other personal consideration. But his service in civilian life and his long career had earned him, in Claiborne’s opinion, the right to a civilian burial. His grave can be found in the section called Claiborne in the old Blandford Cemetery. The epitaph on the grave is taken from the third chapter of Ecclesiastes, verses twenty and twenty-one: All go to one place; all are from the dust, and all turn to dust again.

Who knows whether the spirit of man goes upward and the spirit of the beast goes down to the earth? According to the website Find a Grave, thirty-three plots associated with the surname Claiborne can be found in Blandford Cemetery, including that of the surgeon himself. A listing for Jack Claiborne has not been located, but the old terrier, in all likelihood, lies somewhere in that ground.