“Yes, sir; acknowledges that he is M—, from that county;
and that after joining the South he deserted.”

Stuart flashed a quick glance at the prisoner, and seemed at a
loss to understand what fatuity had induced him to testify against
himself—thereby sealing his fate. His gaze—clear, fiery, menacing—
was returned by the youth with apathetic calmness. Not
a muscle of his countenance moved, and I now had an opportunity
to look at him more attentively. He was even younger
than I at first thought him—indeed, a mere boy. His complexion
was fair; his hair flaxen and curling; his eyes blue,
mild, and as soft in their expression as a girl's. Their expression,
as they met the lowering glances of Stuart, was almost
confiding. I could not suppress a sigh—so painful was the
thought that this youth would probably be lying soon with a
bullet through his heart.

A kinder-hearted person than General Stuart never lived; but
in all that appertained to his profession and duty as a soldier, he
was inexorable. Desertion, in his estimation, was one of the
deadliest crimes of which a human being could be guilty; and
his course was plain—his resolution immovable.

“What is your name?” said the General coldly, with a lowering
brow.

“M—, sir,” was the response, in a mild and pleasing voice,
in which it was impossible to discern the least trace of emotion.

“Where are you from?”

“I belonged to the battery that was firing at you, over yonder,
sir.”

The voice had not changed. A calmer tone I never heard.

“Where were you born?” continued Stuart, as coldly as
before.

“In—, Virginia, sir.”

“Did you belong to the Southern army at any time?”

“Yes, sir.”

The coolness of the speaker was incredible. Stuart could
only look at him for a moment in silence, so astonishing was
this equanimity at a time when his life and death were in the
balance. Not a tone of the voice, a movement of the muscles,

[figure description] Page 226.[end figure description]

or a tremor of the lip indicated consciousness of his danger.
The eye never quailed, the colour in his cheek never faded.
The prisoner acknowledged that he was a deserter from the
Southern army with the simplicity, candour, and calmness of
one who saw in that fact nothing extraordinary, or calculated in
any manner to affect his destiny unpleasantly. Stuart's eye
flashed; he could not understand such apathy; but in war there
is little time to investigate psychological phenomena.

“So you were in our ranks, and you went over to the enemy?”
he said with a sort of growl.

“Yes, sir,” was the calm reply.

“You were a private in that battery yonder?”

“Yes, sir.”

Stuart turned to an officer, and pointing to a tall pine near,
said in brief tones:

“Hang him on that tree!”

It was then that a change—sudden, awful, horrible—came
over the face of the prisoner; at that moment I read in the distended
eyeballs the “vision of sudden death.” The youth became
ghastly pale; and the eyes, before so vacant and apathetic,
were all at once injected with blood, and full of piteous
fright. I saw in an instant that the boy had not for a single
moment realized the terrible danger of his position; and that
the words “Hang him on that tree!” had burst upon him with
the sudden and appalling force of a thunderbolt. I have seen
human countenances express every phase of agony; seen the
writhing of the mortally wounded as their life-blood welled out,
and the horror of the death-struggle fixed on the cold upturned
faces of the dead; but never have I witnessed an expression
more terrible and agonizing than that which passed over the
face of the boy-deserter, as he thus heard his sentence. He had
evidently regarded himself as a mere prisoner of war; and now
he was condemned to death! He had looked forward, doubtless,
to mere imprisonment at Richmond until regularly exchanged,
when “hang him on that tree!” burst upon his ears
like the voice of some avenging Nemesis.

Terrible, piteous, sickening, was the expression of the boy's

[figure description] Page 227.[end figure description]

face. He seemed to feel already the rope around his neck; he
choked; when he spoke his voice sounded like the death rattle.
An instant of horror-struck silence; a gasp or two as if the
words were trying to force their way against some obstacle in his
throat; then the sound came. His tones were not loud, impassioned,
energetic, not even animated. A sick terror seemed to
have frozen him; when he spoke it was in a sort of moan.

“I didn't know,” he muttered in low, husky tones. “I never
meant—when I went over to Maryland—to fight against the
South. They made me; I had nothing to eat—I told them I
was a Southerner—and so help me God I never fired a shot. I
was with the wagons. Oh! General, spare me; I never—”

There the voice died out; and as pale as a corpse, trembling
in every limb—a spectacle of helpless terror which no words
can describe, the boy awaited his doom.

Stuart had listened in silence, his gaze riveted upon the
speaker; his hand grasping his heavy beard; motionless amid
the shell which were bursting around him. For an instant he
seemed to hesitate—life and death were poised in the balances.
Then with a cold look at the trembling deserter, he said to the
men:

“Take him back to General Lee, and report the circumstances.”

With these words he turned and galloped off; the deserter
was saved, at least for the moment.

I do not know his ultimate fate; but if he saw General Lee in
person, and told his tale, I think he was spared. That great and
merciful spirit inflicted the death-penalty only when he could not
avoid it.

Since that day I have never seen the face of the boy—nor
even expect to see it. But I shall never forget that “vision of
sudden death” in his distended eyes, as Stuart's cold voice
ordered, “Hang him on that tree.”

p521-251

[figure description] Page 228.[end figure description]

There is a young gentleman in Virginia bearing a name so
illustrious that, if I were to give it, the most ardent opponents
of the “F. F. V.'s” would take a certain historic interest in what
I am going to relate. When I say that he is called Lieutenant
W—, you cannot possibly guess his name. But to the curious
incident with which I propose to amuse those readers who take
an interest in the veritable occurrences of the great struggle just
terminated.

On the ninth day of June, 1863, there took place at Fleetwood
Hill, near Brandy Station, in Culpeper, the greatest and most
desperate cavalry conflict of the war. Nearly twenty-five thousand
horsemen fought there “all a summer's day”—as when
Earl Percy met the Douglas in the glades of Chevy Chase—and
the combat was of unexampled fury. General Stuart, commanding
all the cavalry of General Lee's army, had held a grand
review some days before, in the extensive fields below the Court-House,
and a mimie battle had taken place, preceding the real
one. The horse artillery, posted on a hill, fired blank cartridges
as the cavalry charged the guns; the columns swept by a great
pole, from which the white Confederate flag waved proudly in
the wind. General Lee, with his grizzled beard and old gray
riding-cape, looked on, the centre of all eyes; bands played, the
artillery roared, the charging squadrons shook the ground, and

[figure description] Page 229.[end figure description]

from the great crowd assembled to witness the imposing spectacle
shone the variegated dresses and bright eyes of beautiful
women, rejoicing in the heyday of the grand review.

But that roar of artillery in the mimic battle reached other
ears than those for which it was intended. There were some
friends of ours upon the opposite shore of the Rappahannock
who took even greater interest in the movements of General Lee
than the fair daughters of Virginia. The thunder of the artillery
was heard by them, and they at once conceived a burning curiosity
to know what all this firing meant. So, one bright morning
about dawn, they came across the river, about seventeen
thousand in number, to see what “Old Uncle Robert” was
about. Thereupon followed the hard fight of Fleetwood Hill.

A description of this long and desperate struggle is no portion
of the present subject. The Federal forces advanced in front,
on the right flank, on the left flank—everywhere. The battle
was thus fought, so to speak, “from the centre outwards.”
What the eye saw as Stuart rapidly fell back from the river and
concentrated his cavalry for the defence of Fleetwood Hill,
between him and Brandy, was a great and imposing spectacle of
squadrons charging in every portion of the field—men falling,
cut out of the saddle with the sabre; artillery roaring, carbines
cracking—a perfect hurly-burly of conflict.

Some day, perhaps, the present historian may give a page to
this hard battle, and speak of its “moving accidents;” of the
manner in which the cannoneers of the horse-artillery met and
repulsed a charge upon their guns with clubs and sponge-staffs;
how that gallant spirit, P. M. B. Young, of Georgia, met the
heavy flanking column attacking from the side of Stevensburg,
and swept it back with the sabre; how the brave William H. F.
Lee received the charge upon the left and fell in front of his
squadrons at the moment when the Federal forces broke; and
how Stuart, on fire with the heat of battle, was everywhere the
soul and guiding spirit of the desperate struggle.

At four in the evening the assault had been repulsed, and the
Federal cavalry were in hasty retreat across the river again.
Many prisoners remained in the hands of the Confederates, but

[figure description] Page 230.[end figure description]

they had also lost not a few; for the fight had been so “mixed
up,” and so many small detachments of the Southern cavalry had
been cut off and surrounded in the mélée, that the captures were
considerable.

Among those who were thus cut off and captured in this wild
struggle made up of dust, smoke, blood, and uproar, was Lieutenant
W—. His horse had mired in the swampy ground near
the Barbour House, and he was incontinently gobbled up by his
friends in the blue coats, and marched to the rear, that is to say,
across the Rappahannock. Lieutenant W—was an excellent
specimen of those brave youths of the Valley who gathered around
Jackson in the early months of the war, and in the hot fights
of the great campaigns against Banks and Fremont had borne
himself with courage and distinction. Wounded and captured
at Kernstown—I think it was—he had been exchanged, secured
a transfer to the cavalry, and was now again a prisoner.

He was conducted across the Rappahannock with the Confederate
prisoners captured during the day, and soon found himself
minus horse, pistol, and sabre—all of which had, of course, been
taken from him—in front of a bonfire on the north bank of the
river. Around this fire a crowd of Federal cavalry-men were
now assembled, discussing the events of the day, and many of
them entered into conversation with the prisoners, their late adversaries.
Licutenant W—was standing by the fire, no doubt
reflecting upon the curious “ups and downs” of that curious
trade called war, when all at once something familiar in the
voice of a young officer of the Federal force, who was not far
from him, attracted his attention. Looking at the officer closely,
he recognised in him an old friend of his who had formerly resided
in Baltimore; and going up to him, the young Virginian
made himself known.

He was greeted with the utmost pleasure, and the youths
shook hands, laughing like boys at the odd meeting. If I were

[figure description] Page 231.[end figure description]

a novelist instead of an historian, my dear reader, I would here
insert a lengthy dialogue between the friends; but not having
been present, I can only give you the bare outline of W—'s
adventure. From talk about old scenes, and things of the past,
the conversation glided to the present, and the young Virginian's
unlucky situation. Relying upon their former friendship, the
latter at once broached the subject of his escape.

“I wish I could help you,” was the reply' “but I see no
sort of chance of your getting away, W—.”

“I think I can get off in the dark.”

“Perhaps; but crossing the river is the difficulty. The bridge
is picketed.”

The young Virginian, nevertheless, determined to make the
attempt. From that moment he kept a close watch on the movements
of his captors. Having eaten their suppers, they now
addressed themselves to the task of counting, assorting, and
taking down the names of their prisoners. The latter were
drawn up in a line near the fire, and a Federal officer went along
the line, entering their names and regiments in his memorandumbook.
Lieutenant W—was near the head of the line, and
having given his name and regiment—the Twelth Virginia Cavalry—
saw the officer pass on. I have called him Lieutenant
W—, but the young man was at that time a private; and at
the announcement of his historic name the Federal soldiers began
to laugh, one of them saying “The Old Dominion must be hard
up when her aristocracy have to go in the ranks and wear a
jacket like that!” And he pointed to W—'s old, discoloured
cavalry jacket.

The young man was, however, not thinking of the jokes of his
captors; he was watching his opportunity to glide out of the
line. It soon came. The Federal soldiers were not looking at
him; the recording officer had passed around the fire, the light
of which thus shone for an instant in his eyes and dazzled him,
and Lieutenant W—saw his opportunity. The space outside
of the firelight was as gloomy as Eblis, and in a moment he had
stepped from his place, and was lost in the darkness. He glided
behind a tent, ran a few steps, and then paused to listen.

[figure description] Page 232.[end figure description]

Had his movement been observed? Would they go over the
count again, to verify the record? Then one man would be found
missing; he would be at once pursued, recaptured, and rewarded
for his attempt to escape by painful or ignominious punishment.
He listened with all his ears; held his breath, and soon found
that he was not missed. The officer did not suspect the ruse
which had been played upon him; and the prisoners were
marched off under guard. Lieutenant W—saw them disppear
with profound satisfaction, and then all his energies were
bent to the hard task of getting out of the Federal camp and
crossing the river. The prospect looked sufficiently dispiriting.
He was in the centre of a city of tents, where he could not stir
a step without attracting attention; and even if he succeeded in
escaping the vigilance of the men and the quarter-guard, the
broad and deep current of the Rappahannock lay still in his
path—the single bridge heavily picketed. The young man did
not lose heart for a single moment, however, and, like a good
soldier, determined to “take the chances.”

The first thing was to conceal his identity from the men around
the fires. He accordingly took off his gray jacket, and rolling
it up, put it under his arm. His pantaloons were blue, and his
hat was of an indefinable colour, which might be either Confederate
or Federal. In his bosom, between his shirt and naked
breast, he concealed his spurs, which he had unbuckled and
hidden when he was captured. Having thus prepared himself,
Lieutenant W—walked boldly on, and lounged carelessly by
the fires. One of the men asked him what regiment he belonged
to, as if they observed something unfamiliar in his demeanour;
but his ready reply, giving the name of some Federal regiment,
entirely disarmed suspicion. So much cavalry had taken part in
the fight, and it had been so much scattered, that W—was
set down for one of the many stragglers; and walking by the
fires, and the quarter-guard, who stared at, but did not challenge
him, he gained the bank of the Rappahannock.

He had thus succeeded in his second attempt; but obstacle
number three threatened to be more serious. The river before
him was broad, deep, black, and cold. The bridge near by was

[figure description] Page 233.[end figure description]

guarded; he heard the sentinel pacing to and fro, and a second
at the further extremity. What was to be done? Kill the sentinel
by suddenly attacking and seizing his weapon? That,
under other circumstances, might have been done; but there was
the other sentinel, who would at once give the alarm; then recapture,
and a “latter end worse than the first.” This plan was thus
out of the question. But one hope presented itself. The fugitive
could not swim the river; but if by any means he could climb up
to the floor of the bridge inside of the sentinel, he might, perhaps,
crawl along without being discovered, “flank” the sentinel beyond,
and so get back to his friends. Young, lithe, and determined,
Lieutenant W—speedily made a reconnoissance of the
abutments of the bridge to ascertain the possibility of executing
his project. To his great satisfaction he discovered a pipe running
from a tank above to the water below—for this was the
Orange and Alexandria Railroad bridge; and the rivets securing
the pipe to the masonry afforded him an excellent foothold in
climbing. Gliding beneath the sentinel in the darkness, he erept
into the shadow, grasped the pipe, and, with hands and knees,
climbed foot by foot up the abutment, until he had reached the
edge of the floor-way. His hands were torn and his knees lacerated,
but he had taken another step toward liberty.

What now remained to be done was to crawl along the narrow
edge of the parapet, under shadow of a species of low railing,
and crossing the bridge, pass around the other sentinel in some
manner, and escape. This, however, was the most doubtful, as it
was certainly the most dangerous portion of the adventure. The
bridge was very lofty, the ledge narrow, slippery, and unprotected
for he must move outside of the railing for fear of discovery; a single
false step would precipitate him into the river beneath. Even
if this, danger were avoided, there was the sentinel beyond, and a
picket, doubtless, beyond the sentinel. Lieutenant W—was
revolving in his mind these various circumstances, and had begun
to take a rather discouraging view of things, when his attention
was attracted by the sound of steps coming from the direction
of the Federal camp. A detachment of dismounted men were
evidently approaching the bridge, and in a few moments the

[figure description] Page 234.[end figure description]

voice of the sentinel was heard giving the challenge. “Relief,”
was the reply; and then came, “Advance relief!” which was immediately
followed by the appearance of the relief-guard. The new
sentinel was relieved from his post, and took his place among the
guard, one of whom was posted, and the detachment was heard
tramping across the bridge to relieve in the same manner the other
sentinels. As they came on, tramp! tramp! like the statue of
the commander in “Don Giovanni,” the young Virginian conceived
an idea as bold as it was original. It was difficult to crawl
along the narrow ledge without falling into the black gulf below,
and it was questionable whether any friendly water-pipe would enable
him to “flank” the sentinel at the opposite extremity of the
bridge. Why not “fall in” in the darkness with the unsuspecting
detachment, pass through the guard beyond, and then take the
chances of making his escape? His resolution was at once taken;
and as the guard came opposite his place of concealment behind
the low wood-work of the railing, he crouched lower, waited until
they had passed, and then quietly stepping over the railing, fell in
behind. The movement had been undiscovered; he was now
advancing with measured step to “assist,” as the French say, at
relieving the “Old Guard” on the bridges—himself as honorary
member of the relief.

His ruse was crowned with complete success. He passed with
the detachment undiscovered to a point beyond the bridge; and
then stepping from the ranks—a manœuvre which the pitch
darkness rendered by no means difficult—he concealed himself
until the unsuspecting Federals disappeared. He then crawled on
his hands and knees, crouching close to the ground by another
picket which he saw upon the road, and reaching a point where
he believed himself beyond range, rose to his feet and commenced
moving. All at once he saw before him another picket-fire;
and not knowing whether it was that of friends or enemies,
he again crouched down and slowly approached the fire, crawling
upon his chest along the surface of the ground.

He had succeeded too well up to this time to risk anything;
and he accordingly continued to “snake along” toward the fire,
in order to discover, before making himself known, whether the

[figure description] Page 235.[end figure description]

ground around it were friends or enemies. In this slow and
cautious manner he approached until he was within ten yards of
it; where, hidden behind a stump, he attentively reconnoitred.
The result was indecisive. He could not possibly succeed in
discovering whether the pickets were Federal or Confederate;
and in relating his adventure afterwards, Lieutenant W—
declared that his heart now throbbed with greater anxiety than
at any other time during the whole affair. He continued for
some time thus crouching behind the stump, and his doubt was
painful and protracted. At last it came to an end; he breathed
freely again. One of the men rose from the ground, yawned,
and said: “I don't believe there will be a Yankee on this side
of the river by the morning.”

Whereupon Lieutenant W—rose up, approached the fire,
and, with a laugh, made himself known, to the profound astonishment
and confusion of the sleepy pickets, who had thus
received a practical illustration of the ease with which an enemy
might approach and send a bullet through their hearts. They,
however, received Lieutenant W—with military hospitality,
gave him a portion of their rations, divided their blankets; and
overcome with fatigue, he lay down and slept until daylight.
Before sunrise he was at General Stuart's headquarters, and was
relating his curious adventure, to the huge amusement of the
laughing cavalier. He was without horse, arms, or other clothes
than those which he wore; but he was free, and he had his spurs,
carried throughout against his naked breast.

Such was the adventure of Lieutenant W—, and such the
means he used in making his escape. The narrative may appear
romantic, but I assure the reader that it is literally true.

p521-259

[figure description] Page 236.[end figure description]

“Ho! for the Valley!”

This was the somewhat dramatic exclamation of Major-General
J. E. B. Stuart, about the 24th of June, 1863, as he got into
the saddle at the little village of Rector's Cross-Roads, between
Middleburg and Upperville, and turned his horse's head westward
toward the Blue Ridge mountains.

If the worthy reader will return in memory to that epoch, and
recall the route which the gay cavalier speedily directed his
column over, the words above quoted will appear somewhat
mysterious. “The situation” at the moment may be described
in a very few words; for the full record, see the “historian of
the future.” After the crushing defeat of Chancellorsville,
General Hooker cut behind him the pontoons covered with pine
boughs, to deaden the noise of his artillery wheels in crossing,
and took up a strong position on the northern bank of the Rappahannock
to repulse the expected onslaught of his great adversary,
Lee. No such attack, however, was intended. Lee preferred
to manœuvre his opponent out of Virginia—it was the
more bloodless proceeding—and very soon the soldiers of the
army understood that “Lee was moving.”

A grand review of the cavalry was ordered, near Culpeper
Court-House, and General Fitz Lee politely sent an invitation to
General Hood to attend it, and “bring any of his friends.” A
day or two afterwards, Hood appeared with his great division,

[figure description] Page 237.[end figure description]

announcing that these were all “his friends,” and he thought he
would bring them along. The review duly took place east of
the Court-House. The squadrons of cavalry charged—General
Stuart and his staff in front; cannon thundered in mimic conflict;
the sun shone; bright eyes flashed; and beneath the
Confederate banner, rippling on its lofty pole, the Commander-in-Chief
sat his iron-gray, looking on. Festivities at the Court-House
followed; the youngesters of the army had a gay dance
with the young ladies from the country round; and almost in
the midst of the revelry, as at Brussels on the night of Waterloo,
the thunder of artillery was heard from the direction of Fleetwood
Hill, near Brandy. In fact, Stuart had been assailed there
by the élite of the Federal infantry and cavalry, under some of
their ablest commanders—the object of the enemy being to ascertain,
by reconnoissance in force, what all the hubbub of the
review signified—and throughout the long June day, they threw
themselves, with desperate gallantry, against the Southern
horse—no infantry on our side taking part in the action. Colonel
Williams was killed; Captain Farley, of Stuart's staff, was
killed; Captain White, of the staff, too, was wounded; Colonel
Butler was wounded; General W. H. F. Lee was shot down at
the head of his charging column; and Stuart himself was more
than once completely surrounded. For three hours the battle
was “touch and go;” but thanks to the daring charges of Young
and Lee, the enemy were driven; they slowly and sullenly retired,
leaving the ground strewed with their dead, and at nightfall
were again beyond the Rappahannock.

The trumpet of battle had thus been sounded; action followed.
Lee put his columns in motion for Pennsylvania; Stuart advanced
with his cavalry to hold the country east of the Blue
Ridge, and guard the passes as the long column moved through;
and then commenced a war of the giants between the opposing
horse of the Federal and Confederate armies. It was a matter of
grave importance that Hooker should undo the designs of Lee;
and mighty efforts were made to burst through the cavalry
cordon, and strike the flank of the moving army. Stuart was,
however, in the way. On all the roads was his omnipresent

[figure description] Page 238.[end figure description]

cavalry, under the daring Hampton, Fitz Lee, the gay and gallant
cavalier, and others as resolute. Everywhere the advance
of the enemy's cavalry was met and driven back, until about the
twentieth of June. Then a conclusive trial of strength took
place. A grand reconnoitring force, composed of a division of
infantry under General Birney, I believe, and several divisions
of cavalry, with full supports of artillery, was pushed forward
from Aldie; Stuart was assailed simultaneously along about
fifteen miles of front; and in spite of his most strenuous efforts,
he was forced slowly to fall back toward the Ridge. This was
one of the most stubborn conflicts of the war; and on every
hill, from the summit of every knoll, Stuart fought with artillery,
cavalry, and dismounted sharpshooters, doggedly struggling
to hold his ground. The attempt was vain. Behind the heavy
lines of Federal skirmishers advanced their dense columns of
cavalry; behind the cavalry were seen the bristling bayonets of
their infantry; from the right, the left, and the front, thundered
their excellently served artillery. Stuart was pushed from hill
to hill, the enemy came on mile after mile, and at Upperville a
great disaster seemed imminent. The Federal forces closed in
on front and flanks, made a desperate attack with the sabre,
and the result seemed about to be decided. Stuart was in the
very hottest of the press, sword in hand, determined evidently
to repulse the enemy or die, and his black feather was the mark
of a hundred pistol-balls—his rich uniform clearly indicating
his rank to the Federal troopers almost in contact with him.
This was the depressing situation of affairs—the centre driven,
and the column on the Bloomfield road falling rapidly back on
the left, thus exposing the main body to imminent danger of
being cut off, when the Deus ex machinâ appeared in the person
of Wade Hampton. That good cavalier saw the crisis, formed his
column under the heavy fire, and taking command in person,
went at them with the sabre, seareely firing a shot. The result
was that the Federal line was swept back, the élite of the
charging force put hors du combat by the edge of the sabre, and
the Southern column fell back toward Paris, in the mouth of
Ashby's Gap, without further difficulty.

[figure description] Page 239.[end figure description]

The enemy had accomplished their object, and they had not
accomplished it. Stuart was forced to retire, but they had not
succeeded in penetrating to the Ridge. No doubt the presence of
infantry there was discovered or suspected, but otherwise the
great reconnoissance was unproductive of substantial results.

On the same night they retired. Stuart followed them at
dawn with his whole force; and by mid-day he was in possession
of Middleburg, several miles in advance of his position on the
day before.

Such was the quick work of these two days.

It was about three days after these events that Stuart sprang
with a gay laugh to saddle, turned his horse's head westward,
and uttered that exclamation:

“Ho! for the Valley!”

Now, if the reader will permit, I beg to descend from the
lofty heights of historic summary to the level champaign of my
personal observations and adventures. From the heights alluded
to, you see a long distance, and distinguish the “important
events” in grand outline; but in the level you are greeted by
more of the colouring of what occurs. In this paper I design
recording some scenes and incidents as they passed before my
own eyes, rather than to sum up facts in “official” form. A
memoir rather than a history is intended; and as a human
being can only remember what he has seen and felt, the present
writer—even at the risk of being charged with egotism—is going
to confine himself, as closely as possible, to his own adventures
and impressions de voyage.

“Ho for the Valley!” was a truly delightful exclamation to
me. Bright eyes of various colours shone there by the Shenandoah
and Opequon; there were some voices whose music I had
not heard for a long time. The prospect now of seeing the eyes,
and hearing the voices, banished every other thought, even the
remembrance of that heavy misfortune of having had my

[figure description] Page 240.[end figure description]

military satchel, with all I possessed in the way of a wardrobe, captured
by the enemy a few days before when they drove us from
the Cross-Roads. There could certainly be no doubt about the
General's meaning. He had turned his horse toward the Ridge.
“Ho! for the Valley!” indicated his intended line of march;
he, like myself, was going to see his good friends all in that land
of lands along the Shenandoah.

Alas! and whenever that pithy word is employed by a writer,
the reader knows what he has to expect. General Stuart had
scarcely got out of sight of the village, carolling a gay song as
he rode, when the disconsolate staff-officer beside him observed a
movement of the General's left rein; his horse cleared a fence;
and ten minutes afterwards he was riding rapidly castward, in a
direction precisely opposite to the Blue Ridge. The General had
practised a little ruse to blind the eyes of the Cross-Roads villagers—
was doubling on the track; he was going after General
Hooker, then in the vicinity of Manassas, and thence—whither?

We bivouacked by the roadside under some pines that night,
advanced before dawn, drove a detachment of the enemy from
Glasscock's Gap, in the Bull Run mountain, and pushed on to
cut off any force which lingered in the gorge of Thoroughfare Gap.
When cavalry undertake to cut off infantry, the process is exciting,
but not uniformly remunerative. It was the rear of Hancock's
corps which we struck not far from Haymarket; there,
passing rapidly toward Manassas, about eight hundred yards off,
were the long lines of wagons and artillery; and behind these
came on the dense blue masses of infantry, the sunshine lighting
up their burnished bayonets.

Stuart hastened forward his artillery; it opened instantly upon
the infantry, and the first shot crashed into a caisson, making the
horses rear and run; the infantry line bending backward as
though the projectile had struck it. This “good shot” highly
delighted the General, who turned round laughing, and called
attention to the accuracy of the fire. The individual addressed
laughed in response, but replied, “Look out, though; they are
going to enfilade you from that hill on the right, General.”
“Oh! I reckon not,” responded the General; but he had

[figure description] Page 241.[end figure description]

scarcely spoken when a puff of white smoke rose from the wooded
knoll in question, and a shot screamed by, just grazing the top
of one of our caissons near the guns. This was followed by
another and another; the enemy were seen hastily forming
line, and advancing sharpshooters; whereupon Stuart ordered
back his guns, and dismounted cavalry to meet them.

A running fight; enemy merely holding their flank intact;
soon the line had passed on and disappeared; the cavalry saw
vanish safely all those tantalizing wagons filled with good, rich
forage, and who knew what beside. Stuart meanwhile had sent
off Mosby, with a party of picked men, to reconnoitre, and was
sleeping with his head upon an officer's breast—to the very
extreme discomfort of that personage, whose profound respect for
his sleepy military superior prevented him from changing his
position.

With night came rain, and the General and his staff were
invited to the handsome mansion of Dr.—, near Bucklands,
where all slept under cover but Stuart. Everywhere he insisted
on faring like his men; and I well remember the direction given
to his body-servant a few days before, to spread his blankets
under a tree on a black and stormy night with the rain descending
in torrents—the house in which he had established his headquarters
being only twenty paces from the tree. On this night
at Bucklands he repeated the ceremony, but a gay supper preceded
it.

That supper is one of the pleasant memories the present writer
has of the late war. How the good companions laughed and
devoured the viands of the hospitable host! How the beautiful
girls of the family stood with mock submission, servant-wise,
behind the chairs, and waited on the guests with their sweetest
smiles, until that reversal of all the laws of the universe became
a perfect comedy, and ended in an éclat of laughter! General
and staff waited in turn on the waiters; and when the tired
troopers fell asleep on the floor of the portico, it is certain that a
number of bright eyes shone in their dreams. Such is the
occasional comedy which lights up the tragedy of war.

The bugle sounded; we got into the saddle again; the

[figure description] Page 242.[end figure description]

columns moved; and that evening we had passed around Manassas,
where Hooker's rear force still lingered, and were approaching
Fairfax Station through the great deserted camps near Wolf
Run Shoals. The advance pushed on through the wild and
desolate locality, swarming with abandoned cabins and army
débris; and soon we had reached the station, which is not far
from the Court-House.

Here took place a little incident, known afterwards among the
present writer's friends as the “Cherry-Pie Breakfast.” A brief
notice of this historic occurrence may entertain the reader.
Three members of the staff and a young courier left the column
to seek a blacksmith, whose services were needed; and the house
of this worthy was found about half a mile east of the station.
He was a friend of the gray, prompt and courteous, and soon
was busy at the hoofs of the horses; his good wife meanwhile
getting breakfast for the party. It was speedily served, and
consisted of every delicacy—bread of all descriptions, fresh butter,
yellow cream, sweetmeats, real coffee, then an extreme
luxury, and some cherry pies, which caused the wandering staff
officers to break forth into exclamations of rapture. A heavy
attack was made upon all, and our “bluebird” friends themselves,
fond as they are said to be of the edible, could not have
surpassed the devotion exhibited toward the cherry pies. At
the end of the repast one of the party, in the enthusiasm of the
moment, piled up several pieces of the pie, drew out his purse,
and determined to carry off the whole for future consumption;
whereat a friendly contest occurred between himself and the
excellent dame, who could not be induced to receive pay from
any member of the party for her entertainment. “She had
never charged a Confederate soldier a cent, and never meant to.”

All this was peaceful and pleasing; but all at once there was
a stir in the yard, and without securing the pie, we went out.
Lo! a gentleman in a blue coat and mounted was seen rapidly
approaching below the house, followed by others.

“Look out!” said Major V—; “there are the Yankees!”

“They are running by—they won't stop. What are you
going to do?” I said.

[figure description] Page 243.[end figure description]

“I am going to put the bridle on my horse!”

And the Major bridled up and mounted rapidly.

“Well, I am going to wait to have the shoes put on mine.”

Idle and absurd intent! Even as I spoke, the party scattered,
Major V— galloping to the right, Major Mc— to
the left, with the courier. A single glance revealed the “situation.”
Another party of blue-coats were rushing at full gallop
toward the house from above. Shots suddenly resounded.
“Hi! hi! halt!” followed; and I had just time to mount and
pass at full speed across the front of the party, pursued by more
shots and “hi-hi's!” Admire, reader, the spectacle of the stampeded
staff officers! My friend in front resembled the worthy
Gilpin, with a pistol holster for the jug—his horse's tail “floating
free,” and every nail in the hind shoes of the animal visible
as he darted headlong toward the protecting woods! We
plunged through a swamp, jumped fences and fallen trees, and
reaching the forest-cover, penetrated a thicket, and stopped to
listen. The shouts died away; no sound of hoofs came, and
doubling back, we came again to the station to find the meaning
of everything. Stuart had been quietly waiting there for his
column, with the bridle out of his horse's mouth, in order that
the animal might champ some “Yankee oats,” when all at once a
scouting-party had come at full gallop from the direction of the
Court-House. Before he was aware of their approach, they'
whenearly upon him; he had just had time to escape by seizing
the halter and digging the spurs into his horse.

Then the scouting party, finding the size of the hornets'enest
into which they had leaped, turned their horses'eheads eastward,
bore down on the blacksmith's whither we had gone, interrupted
the “cherry-pie breakfast,” and vanished toward Sanxter's, chasing
Major V— until he came up with Munford. When our
probable capture was announced to General Stuart, and a squadron
requested for our recovery, I am sorry to say that the
General responded with a laugh, “Oh! they are too intelligent
to be caught!” and when the incident of the abandonment of
the cherry-pie was related to Stuart, he enjoyed it in a remarkable
degree!

[figure description] Page 244.[end figure description]

Do you remember still, my dear companions, that good cherry-pie
breakfast, the chase which followed, and the laughter of
Stuart? That was a jovial trip we made across the border in
the good year 1863; and the days and nights were full of incident
and adventure. Do you find the present year, 1866, as
“gay and happy” as its predecessor? I do not.

Our mishap above related was truly unfortunate. It gave the
advance-guard the start, and when we reached Fairfax Court-House,
they had rifled the public store-houses and sutlers' shops
of their entire contents.

It was impossible to forbear from laughing at the spectacle'
hich the cavalry column presented. Every man had on a
white straw hat, and a pair of snowy cotton gloves. Every
trooper carried before him upon the pommel of his saddle a bale
of smoking tobacco, or a drum of figs; every hand grasped a pile
of ginger-cakes, 'hich were rapidly disappearing. But hospitality
to the rear-guard was the order of the day. We did not
suffer. The mishaps of my comrades and myself had in some
manner become known, and we were greeted with shouts of
laughter, but with soldierly generosity too. Every hand proffered
a straw hat of the most elegant pattern, or a pair of gloves
as white as the driven snow. Every comrade held out his figs,
pressed on his cakes, or begged us to try his smoking tobacco—'
hich I am compelled to say was truly detestable.

Such was the gay scene at Fairfax Court-House when Stuart
entered the place.

The cavalry did not stop long. Soon the column was again
moving steadily towards the Potomac, intelligence having arrived
that General Hooker's main body had passed that river
at Leesburg. What would Stuart do—what route would he
now follow? There were few persons, if any, in the entire command, '
ho could reply to that question. Cross at Leesburg?
To merely follow up Hooker 'hile Hooker followed up Lee,

[figure description] Page 245.[end figure description]

was very unlike Stuart. Strike across for the Blue Ridge, and
cross at Shepherdstown? That would lose an immense amount
of invaluable time and horse-flesh. Cross below Leesburg? That
seemed impossible with the artillery, and difficult even for
cavalry. The river was broad, deep, with a rocky and uneven
bed; and so confident were the enemy of the impossibility of our
crossing there, that not a picket watched the stream.

Stuart's design was soon developed. We reached at nightfall
an elevation not far from the Great Falls—the spot laid down
on the maps as Matildaville, or near it—Stuart riding with staff
and advance guard far in front. The latter pushed on—the rest
stopping—when all at once shots came from the front, and Stuart
called out cheerily to the staff: “Look out! Here they come!
Give it to them with pistols!” The bang of carbines followed:
a squadron hastened to the front, and opened fire; and in the
midst of it Stuart said, “Tell Hampton—you can follow his trail—
that Chambliss is up, and Fitz Lee coming.” The “trail” was
plain in the moonlight; I followed it; and reaching the Potomac
just above the Falls, found Hampton crossing.

The spectacle was picturesque. The broad river glittered in
the moon, and on the bright surface was seen the long, wavering
line of dark figures, moving “in single file;” the water washing
to and fro across the backs of the horses, 'hich kept their feet
with difficulty. The hardest portion of the task was crossing
the cannon of the horse-artillery. It seemed impossible to get
the limbers and caissons over without wetting, and so destroying
the ammunition; but the ready brain of Stuart found an expedient.
The boxes were quickly unpacked; every cavalry-man
took charge of a shell, case, or solid shot with the fixed cartridge;
and thus held well aloft, the precious freight was carried over
dry. Once on the other side, the shell-bearers deposited the
ammunition on the beach; it was repacked in the caissons, 'hich
had been dragged by the plunging horses over the rocky bed in
safety; the guns followed; the artillery was over!

At Hanovertown, in Pennsylvania, two or three days afterwards,
the cavalry did not by any means regret the trouble they
had been put to in carrying over that ammunition “dry shod.”

[figure description] Page 246.[end figure description]

Breathed thundered with it from the heights, and with shell
after shell broke the heavy line advancing to the assault.
Never was thunder sweeter and more musical! But I anticipate.

The river was crossed; also the Chesapeake and Ohio canal,
by a narrow bridge; and the cavalry halted for brief rest—the
General and staff receiving open-handed hospitality from Mr.—
and his family; those guardian angels of the soldier, the
ladies, staying up all night to wait upon the weary gray-backs,
and give them food.

The column moved at dawn toward the “undiscovered land”
of Star-and-Stripe-dom, in a northern direction, toward Rockville.
It was not long before we came on the blue people.
“Bang! bang! bang!” indicated that the advance guard was
charging a picket; the shots ended; we pushed on, passing some
dead or wounded forms, bleeding by the grassy roadside; and
the town of Rockville came in sight. The present writer pushed
on after the advance guard, 'hich had galloped through, and
riding solus along a handsome street, came suddenly upon a
spectacle which was truly pleasing. This was a seminary for
young ladies, with open windows, open doors—and doors and
windows were full and running over with the fairest specimens
of the gentler sex that eye ever beheld. It was Sunday, and
the beautiful girls in their fresh gaily coloured dresses, low necks,
bare arms, and wildernesses of braids and curls, were “off duty”
for the moment, and burning with enthusiasm to welcome the
Southerner; for Rockville, in radical parlance, was a “vile secesh
hole.” Every eye flashed, every voice exclaimed; every rosy lip
laughed; every fair hand waved a handkerchief or a sheet of
music (smuggled) with crossed Confederate flags upon the cover.
The whole façade of the building was a tulip-bed of brilliant
colours, more brilliant eyes, and joy and welcome!

Pardon, friend, if you are of the “other faction,” this little
burst of enthusiasm, as I remember Rockville on that gay June
morning. Pleasant it is in the dull hours of to-day to recall
that scene; and the bright eyes flash once more, the laughter
again sounds!

[figure description] Page 247.[end figure description]

As the present historian drew near, riding as aforesaid, ahead
of his commander, a beautiful girl of about sixteen rushed forth
from the portico, pirouetting and clapping her hands in an
ecstasy at the sight of the gray uniform, exclaiming, “Oh! here
is one of General Stuart's Aides!” and finished by pulling some
hair from the mane of my calm and philosophic old war-horse,
on the expressly stated ground that he was “a Secession horse!”
Then General Stuart approached with his column—gay, laughing,
his blue eyes under the black feather full of the joy of the
soldier; and a wild welcome greeted him. The scene was one'
hich beggars description, and it remains in my memory to-day
as clearly as though cut deep in “monumental alabaster.”
Sweet faces, with the beautiful welcoming eyes, and smiling
lips! an ex-rebel—he who writes this page—takes off his hat
and bows low to you, saluting you as the pearls of loveliness
and goodness!

Stuart did not tarry. In war there is little time for gallant
words, and news had just reached us from the front 'hich
moved the column on like the sound of the bugle.

This news was, that 'hile we approached Rockville from the
south, a mighty train of nearly two hundred wagons—new,
fresh-painted, drawn each by six sleek mules, as became the
“Reserve Forage Train” of the Department at Washington—
had in like manner approached from the east, intent on collecting
forage. The rumour of the dread vicinity of the graybacks
had come to them, however, blown on the wind; the column of
wagons had instantly “counter-marched” in the opposite direction;
they ' whenow thundering at full gallop back toward
Washington, pursued by the advance guard.

Stuart's face flushed at the thought of capturing this splendid
prize; and shouting to a squadron to follow him, and the main
column to push on, he went at a swift gallop on the track of the
fleeing wagons.

Soon we came up with them, and then commenced an

[figure description] Page 248.[end figure description]

indescribably grotesque scene. The immense train was seen covering
the road for miles. Every team in full gallop, every wagon
whirling onward, rebounding from rocks, and darting into the
air,—one crashing against another “with the noise of thunder”—
here one overturned, and lying with wheels upward, the mules
struggling and kicking in the harness; then one toppling over a
steep bank, and falling with a loud crash: others burning, others
still dashing for shelter to the woods,—the drivers cursing, yelling,
lashing, blaspheming, howling amid the bang of carbines,
the clatter of hoofs, and cries of “Halt! halt! halt!”

Stuart burst into laughter, and turning round, exclaimed:
“Did you ever see anything like that in all your life!” And I
certainly never had. The grotesque ruled; the mules seemed
wilder than the drivers. They had been cut by the score from
the overturned wagons, and now ran in every direction, kicking
up at every step, sending their shrill cries upon the air, and presenting
a spectacle so ludicrous that a huge burst of “Olympian
laughter” echoed from end to end of the turnpike.

Soon they were all stopped, captured, and driven to the rear
by the aforesaid cursing drivers, now sullen, or laughing like the
captors. All but those overturned. These were set on fire, and
soon there rose for miles along the road the red glare of flames,
and the dense smoke of the burning vehicles. They had been
pursued within sight of Washington, and I saw, I believe, the
dome of the capitol. That spectacle was exciting—and General
Stuart thought of pushing on to make a demonstration against
the defences. This, however, was given up; and between the
flames of the burning wagons we pushed back to Rockville,
through which the long line of captured vehicles, with their
sleek, rosetted mules, six to each, had already defiled, amid the
shouts of the inhabitants. Those thus “saved” were about one
hundred in number.

The column moved, and about ten that night reached Brookville,
where the atmosphere seemed Southern, like that of Rockville,
for a bevy of beautiful girls thronged forth with baskets of
cakes, and bread and meat, and huge pitchers of ice-water—penetrating
fearlessly the press of trampling hoofs and ministering

[figure description] Page 249.[end figure description]

to the necessities of the rebels with undisguised satisfaction.
If the fair girl living in the handsome mansion below Mr.
Hamilton's, remembers still to whom she insisted upon presenting
nine cups of coffee with every delicacy, the rebel in question
begs to assure her of his continued gratitude for her kindness.
At Brookville some hundreds of prisoners—the greater part captured
by General Wickham in a boat at the Potomac—were
paroled and started for Washington, as an act of humanity.

At one o'clock in the morning Stuart mounted and moved on,
speedily falling asleep in the saddle, and tottering from side to
side. In this he was not alone; and I remember the laughable
spectacle of Major M—, sitting grave, erect, and motionless upon
his horse in front of a country store by the roadside, to which
the animal had made his way and halted. The Major seemed to
be waiting—for somebody, or something—meanwhile he was snoring.
Moving steadily on, the column approached Westminster,
and here Fitz Lee, who was in advance, found the enemy drawn
up in the street awaiting him. A charge quickly followed,
carbines banged, and the enemy gave way—but we left behind,
lying dead by the roadside, Lieutenants Murray and Gibson, two
of our best officers, shot dead in the skirmish. The enemy were
pursued at full gallop through the town, to their camp on the
heights to the west; the camp was taken with all its contents—
and the bugles of Fitz Lee, sounding on the wind from the
breezy upland, told that he had driven the Federal cavalry before
him. Westminster was ours.

Stuart took possession, but was not greeted with much cordiality.
Friends, and warm ones, met us, but they had a “hacked”
demeanour, and many of them spoke under their breath.
Westminster was evidently “Union,” but some families warmly
welcomed us—others scowled. The net results of the capture
of the place were—one old dismounted gun of the “Quaker”
order on a hill near the cavalry camp aforesaid, and a United
States flag taken from the vault of the Court-House, with the
names of the ladies who had made it worked across each star.
What became of this I do not know. We left the town that
night, bivouacked in the rain by the roadside, pushed on at

[figure description] Page 250.[end figure description]

dawn, and were soon in Pennsylvania, where details were immediately
sent out to seize horses. These, as I saw them pass in
great numbers, were large, fat, sleek, and apparently excellent.
I was not long, however, in discovering that they were worthless
as riding-horses; one of the thin, wiry, rawboned Virginia horses,
half the weight of these Conestogas, would wear out a dozen.
One had “blood,” the other had not—and blood will tell.

We were enemies here, but woman, the angelic, still succoured
us; woman, without shoes or stockings often, and speaking
Dutch, but no less hospitable. One of them presented me with
coffee, bread spread with “apple-butter”—and smiles. I don't
think the Mynheers found the gray people very fierce and
bloody. The horses were appropriated; but beyond that nothing—
the very necks of the chickens went unwrung.

The column was in high glee thus far, and the men were
rapidly receiving “remounts.” No enemy approached—your
old soldier never very bitterly laments that circumstance; but
all at once as we approached Hanovertown, we stirred up the
hornets. Chambliss—that brave soul who afterwards fell heroically
fighting in Charles City—at the head of the Ninth Virginia
drove in their pickets; and he had just swept on down the
heights toward the town, whose steeples shone before us
nestling beneath the mountain, when Stuart in person rode up
rapidly.

“Well, General,” I said, “Chambliss has driven them, and is
going right on.”

“Good!” was Stuart's reply. “Tell him to push on and
occupy the town, but not to pursue them too far.”

These words were impressed upon my memory by the sequel,
which laughably but very disagreeably reversed the General's
expectations. Hastening down the declivity with the order for
Chambliss, I found him advancing rapidly in column of fours to
charge the enemy, who were drawn up in the outskirts of the
town. Before he could issue the order it was rendered somewhat
nugatory by the blue people in front. We had supposed
their force to be small, but it was now seen to be heavy. They
swarmed everywhere, right, left, and front; rapidly formed line

[figure description] Page 251.[end figure description]

of battle, and delivering a sharp volley at short range in
the faces of the Confederates, made a gallant and headlong
charge.

The result made it unnecessary to warn the men not to “pursue
too far.” They met the charge sabre to sabre; a hot conflict
ensued, but the enemy pressing on with unbroken front in heavy
force, the Ninth fell back in good order to the higher ground in
their rear, keeping off the assailants at the edge of the sabre.
The road over which they made this “retrograde” was narrow,
and the mêlée of trampling hoofs, shouts, and sabre-cuts, was more
exciting than amusing. Men fell all around before the fire of
the excellent Spencer rifles of the enemy; and while gallantly
rallying the men, Captain John Lee was shot through the arm.
To add to the disagreeable character of the situation, I now
observed General Stuart in person, and unattended, coming
across the field to the right at full gallop, pursued by a detachment
of cavalry who fired on him as they came, and as I reached
his side his face was stormy, his voice irate.

“Have the artillery put in position yonder on the road; tell
it to open!” was his brief order.

And in a few minutes it was hurried forward, and opened
fire. Returning to the field in which I had left the General, I
found him the second time “falling back” before a hotter pursuit
than the first. The Federal cavalry-men, about a company,
were nigh upon him as he galloped across the field; shots
whistled; orders to halt resounded; but it may be understood
that it was inconvenient to comply. We went on headlong,
leaped a tremendous ravine with the enemy almost in contact,
and following a friendly lane where the rails were down, reached
the slope where the artillery had just opened its thunders.

This checked the enemy's further advance, and Hampton having
opened on the right, things settled down somewhat. We
had evidently waked up a real hornets' nest, however. Long
columns of blue cavalry were seen defiling down the mountain,
and advancing to the front, and a heavy force was observed
closing in on the left. All at once the edge of the town swarmed
with blue figures; a heavy line was seen advancing, and soon

[figure description] Page 252.[end figure description]

this line pushed on with cheers, to charge the artillery on the
heights.

Breathed replied by opening upon them with shell and canister.
The first shell burst in the line; the second near the first;
and the third made it waver. A more rapid fire succeeded;
everything depended upon these few moments, and then the line
was seen slowly retiring. At the same instant intelligence came
that the force on the left was Fitz Lee, who had come in on
that flank; and the continuous thunder of Hampton on the
right showed plainly that in that direction all was well. This
advance of the Federal sharpshooters was one of the finest sights
I ever beheld; and at one moment I thought Breathed's guns
would never leave that field of tall rye where they were vomiting
fire and smoke—under the command of this gallant Major
at least. Whether this historian also would succeed in retiring
without capture seemed equally doubtful, as he had mounted a
huge Conestoga—fat, sleek, elephantine, and unwieldy—a philosophic
animal who stood unmoved by the cannon, never blinking
at the discharges, and appeared superior to all the excitements
of the moment. Breathed's fire, however, repulsed the
charge; and as night drew on, Stuart set his column in motion—
the wagons in the centre—toward Jefferson. One ludicrous
scene at that moment I perfectly remember. A fat Dutchman
who had been lounging about, and reconnoitring the strength,
etc., of the Confederate force, was regarded as too well informed
to be left behind with the enemy; and this worthy was accordingly
requested to “come along” on the back of a huge Conestoga.
This request he treated with calm disregard, when a
cavalry-man made a tremendous blow at him, which caused him
to mount in hot haste, with only a halter to guide his elephant.
He had no sooner done so than the Conestoga ran off, descended
the slope at full speed, bounded elephant-wise over an enormous
ditch—and it was only by clinging close with knees and hands
that the Dutchman kept his seat. Altogether, the spectacle was
one to tickle the ribs of death. The last I saw of the captive,
he was in the very centre of the cavalry column, which was
moving at a trot, and he was swept on with it; passing away

[figure description] Page 253.[end figure description]

for ever from the eyes of this historian, who knows not what
became of him thereafter.

The sun began to decline now, and we rode, rode, rode—the
long train of wagons strung out to infinity, it seemed. At dark
the little village of Jefferson was reached—of which metropolis
I recall but one souvenir. This was a pretty Dutch girl, who
seemed not at all hostile to the gray people, and who willingly
prepared me an excellent supper of hot bread, milk, coffee, and
eggs fried temptingly with bacon. She could not speak English—
she could only look amiable, smile, and murmur unintelligible
words in an unknown language. I am sorry to say, that I do not
recall the supper with a satisfaction as unalloyed. I was sent
by the General to pass somebody through his pickets, and on my
return discovered that I was the victim of a cruel misfortune.
The young hostess had placed my supper on a table in a small
apartment, in which a side door opened on the street; through
this some felonious personage had entered—hot bread, milk,
coffee, eggs, and ham, had vanished down some hungry cavalryman's
throat.

Mounting despondingly, I followed the column, which had
again begun to move, and soon reached the village of New
Salem.

It was nearly midnight when we arrived at this small village;
and, to continue my own personal recollections, the village
tavern appeared to present a favourable opportunity to redeem
my misfortune at Jefferson.

It was proposed, accordingly, to the General that he should
stop there and procure some coffee, of which he was very fond—
and as he acceded to this cheerfully, I applied to the burly landlord,
who responded encouragingly. In a quarter of an hour the
coffee was ready; also some excellent ale; also some bread and
the inseparable “apple butter,” or “spreading,” as the Pennsylvanians
call this edible. When General Stuart had emptied his

[figure description] Page 254.[end figure description]

coffee-cup—which always put the stout cavalier in a gay humour—
he laughed, mounted his horse, and said to me:

“By the by, suppose you stay here until Hampton comes
along; I am going on with Fitz Lee. Tell Hampton to move
on steadily on the road to Dover, and show him the way.”

With these words, the General rode away on the track of
General Fitz Lee, and the present writer was left solus, to “hold
the position alone” at Salem. This position, it speedily appeared,
was not wholly desirable. The advance division under
Lee had pushed on several miles ahead—there was not a single
cavalryman beside myself in Salem—and Hampton was several
miles behind. To add to the charms of the “situation,” there
were a number of extremely cut-throat looking individuals of the
“other faction” lounging about the porch, eyeing the lonely
Confederate askance, and calculating apparently the chance of
“suppressing” him without danger—and the individual in this
disagreeable situation was nearly dead for want of sleep.

There appeared, however, to be very little real hostility—such
as I imagine would have been exhibited by the inhabitants of a
Southern village had an officer of the U. S. army been left
behind under similar circumstances. Doubtless the hangers-on
were impressed with the conviction that in case the wandering
staff-officer did not rejoin his command, General Stuart would
return to look for him, torch in hand, when the village of New
Salem would make its exit in a bonfire. The portly landlord,
especially, appeared to be a real philosopher; and when asked
the meaning of a distant noise, replied with a laugh, “Some of
your people tearing up the railroad, I guess!”

In spite of the worthy's strong coffee and the unpleasing expression
of eye in the crowd around, I was just dropping asleep
in my chair on the porch, when the clatter of hoofs resounded,
and the voice of General Hampton was heard in the darkness,
asking if there was any one there to direct him. This sound
aroused me, and in a few moments I was riding with the brave
cavalier at the head of his column toward Dover. Toward dawn
General Hampton halted, and I asked if he was going to stop.

“Yes, for a little while—I am perishing for sleep.”

[figure description] Page 255.[end figure description]

And with these words the General proceeded to a haystack
near the road, pulled down some of the hay, wrapped himself in
his cape, and in a few minutes was fast asleep—his companion
exactly imitating him.

At daylight we reached the straggling little village of Dover,
where more prisoners were paroled; thence proceeded through
a fine country towards Carlisle; at Dillstown procured dinner
from the landlord of the principal tavern, a philosophic Mr. Miller,
whose walls were covered with pictures of black trotters in
skeleton conveyances, making rapid time; and at night reached
Carlisle, which General Stuart immediately summoned to surrender
by flag of truce.

The reply to this was a flat refusal from General Smith; and
soon a Whitworth gun in the town opened, and the Southern
guns replied. This continued for an hour or two, when the U. S.
barracks were fired, and the light fell magnificently upon the
spires of the city, presenting an exquisite spectacle.

Meanwhile, the men were falling asleep around the guns, and
the present writer slept very soundly within ten feet of a battery
hotly firing. Major R—leaned against a fence within a few
paces of a howitzer in process of rapid discharge, and in that upright
position “forgot his troubles.” The best example, however,
was one which General Stuart mentioned. He saw a man climb
a fence, put one leg over, and in that position drop asleep!

Any further assault upon Carlisle was stopped by a very simple
circumstance. General Lee sent for the cavalry. He had
recalled Early from York; moved with his main column east of
the South Mountain, toward the village of Gettysburg; and
Stuart was wanted. In fact, during the afternoon of our advance
to Carlisle—the first of July—the artillery fire of the “first
day's fight” was heard, and referring to Lloyd's map, I supposed
it to be at Gettysburg, a place of which I had no knowledge.
How unexpected was the concentration of the great opposing
forces there, will appear from General Stuart's reply, “I reckon
not,” when the firing was spoken of as “near Gettysburg.” No
one then anticipated a battle there—Generals Lee and Meade
almost as little as the rest.

[figure description] Page 256.[end figure description]

In spite of the broken-down condition of his command, Stuart
moved at once—and whole columns went to sleep in the saddle.
Pennsylvania had so far proved to us a veritable “Land of
Drowsy head!”

This night march was the most severe I ever experienced. The
long succession of sleepless nights had prostrated the strongest,
and General Stuart and his staff moving without escort on the
Willstown road, passed over mile after mile asleep in the saddle.
At dawn, the General dismounted in a clump of trees by the
roadside; said, “I am going to sleep two hours;” and wrapping
himself in his cape simply leaned against a tree and was immediately
asleep. Everybody imitated him, and I was awakened by
the voice of one of the couriers, who informed me that “the
General was gone.” Such was the fact—Stuart had risen punctually
at the end of the two hours, stretched himself, mounted,
and ridden on solus, a wandering Major General in the heart of
Pennsylvania! In the afternoon the cavalry were at Gettysburg.

General Stuart arrived with his cavalry on the evening of the
“second day's fight” at Gettysburg, and took position on the
left of Ewell, whose command composed the left wing of the
army.

All Stuart's energies were now bent to acquire an accurate
idea of the ground, and hold the left against the enemy's horse,
who were active and enterprising. In reconnoitring their position
on the railroad, he was suddenly fired upon at close quarters—
the bullets passing in dangerous proximity—and having
thus satisfied himself of the enemy's whereabouts, the General
returned to his impromptu headquarters, namely a tree on the
side of the Heidelburg road, about a mile from the town. Meanwhile
we had learned the particulars of the two hard fights—A.
P. Hill's on the evening of the first of July; and Longstreet's
on the second, when he made that desperate flank attack on the

[figure description] Page 257.[end figure description]

enemy's left at Round Top. It is easy to see, now, that this assault
was the turning point of the tremendous struggle. For
thirty minutes the issue hung suspended in the balances, and
there is some truth in the rhetorical flourish of a Northern versewriter,
to the effect that “the century reeled,” when Longstreet
paused on the brow of the hill. Had he gained possession of the
Round Top, General Meade's line would have been taken in
flank and reverse; he would doubtless have been forced to fall
back to another position; this would have been undertaken under
the fire of the Southern cannon and muskets; and once in motion
it is doubtful if the U. S. army could have been brought up
to a new struggle. If not, Baltimore and Washington would
speedily have been occupied by the Southern forces—the result
of which would probably have been peace.

But this is a long digression from the cavalry operations. The
“third day” dawned; Stuart took post with his cavalry on the
extreme right and rear of the Federal forces—and the thunder
opened. We could only hear the battle, not see it. The Federal
cavalry kept us quite busy. It was handled here with skill
and gallantry—the heavy lines were seen to form, the officers
galloping up and down; three measured cheers were given by
the men, apparently by formal military order, they were so
regular; then the bugle sounded, and the blue horsemen came
on shaking the ground with their trampling hoofs. The struggle
was bitter and determined, but brief. For a moment the air was
full of flashing sabres and pistol smoke, and a wild uproar
deafened the ears; then the Federal horse gave back, pursued
by their opponents. We lost many good men, however; among
the rest, General Hampton was shot in the side, and nearly cut
out of the saddle by a sabre stroke. Ten minutes before I had
conversed with the noble South Carolinian, and he was full of
life, strength, and animation. Now he was slowly being borne to
the rear in his ambulance, bleeding from his dangerous wounds.
General Stuart had a narrow escape in this charge, his pistol
hung in his holster, and as he was trying to draw it, he received
the fire of barrel after barrel from a Federal cavalryman within
ten paces of him, but fortunately sustained no injury.

[figure description] Page 258.[end figure description]

Having failed in this charge the enemy did not attempt
another; the lines remained facing each other, and skirmishing,
while the long thunder of the artillery beyond, indicated the
hotter struggle of Cemetery Hill. Pickett's Virginians, we afterwards
knew, were making their “wild charge” at that moment:
advancing into that gulf of fire from which so few were to return;
Kemper was being shot down; Armistead was falling as
he leaped his horse over the Federal breastworks—the fate of
Gettysburg was being decided.

Night settled down, and still ignorant of the result, Stuart
rode along the whole front where the sharpshooters were still
firing. In the yard of a house there was a dead man lying, I
remember, in a curious position—as men killed in battle often
do—and another blue sharpshooter, who had been summoned
to advance and surrender, was staggering up with his face all
bloody. Such are the trifles which cling to the memory.

Returning through the darkness towards the Heidelburg road,
an amusing discussion took place upon a somewhat interesting
point.

“General,” said one of the staff, “we are travelling in the
wrong direction—this road will lead you straight into the
enemy's lines.”

“No,” was Stuart's reply, “look at the stars.”

“Well, yonder is the North Star.”

“You are certainly mistaken.”

“I am sure I am not.”

“And I am sure you are! However, we can easily decide.”

And the General drew from his pocket a small portable compass
which he had carried with him on the prairies of the West,
when in the U.S. army. The compass overthrew the General,
and vindicated the good judgment of the staff officer. Laughter
followed; the direction of march was changed; a wide ditch
leaped; and we gained the Heidelburg road—the staff pushing
on intent on sleep, a single courier being left with the General.
The sequel was amusing. The General went to sleep in the
saddle: the courier rode on: and the General's horse not recognising
headquarters in the dark, quietly walked on by, and

[figure description] Page 259.[end figure description]

nearly carried Major-General Stuart into the cavalry pickets of
the enemy.

These minute details will, I fear, prove less interesting to the
reader than to him who recalls them. The length of the narrative
dictates, for the future, a more rapid summary. The third
day's fight decided the event of Gettysburg, and General Lee fell
back toward the Potomac, not very hotly pursued. Nothing
is more erroneous than the idea that the Southern army was
“demoralized” by the result of the bloody actions of these three
memorable days. Their nerve was unshaken, their confidence
in Lee and themselves unimpaired. Longstreet said truly that
he desired nothing better than for General Meade to attack his
position—that his men would have given the Federal troops a
reception such as they had given Pickett. The stubborn resolution
of the Army of Northern Virginia was thus unbroken—but
the game was played for the time. The army was moving back,
slow and defiant, to the Potomac.

The cavalry protected its flanks and rear, fighting in the
passes of South Mountain, and holding obstinately the ridge in
front of Boonsboro, while General Lee formed his line to cover
the crossing at Falling Waters and Williamsport. Here, near
Boonsboro, Stuart did some of his hardest fighting, and successfully
held his ground, crowning every knoll with the guns
of his horse artillery. When the infantry was in position, the
cavalry retired, and took position on the flanks—the two armies
faced each other, and a battle seemed imminent—when one
morning General Meade discovered that General Lee was on the
south bank of the Potomac.

It is said that the Federal commander designed attacking Lee
that day, against the opinion of his officers. What would have
been the result? That is a difficult question. A humble soldier
of the Southern army may, however, be permitted to say that a
rout of the army of Northern Virginia, under Lee, never seemed
to him possible. Nor was it ever routed. It was starved, and it
surrendered.

General Lee was thus over with his army, where provisions
and ammunition were obtainable; and the opposing forces

[figure description] Page 260.[end figure description]

rested. Then General Meade advanced, his great adversary
made a corresponding movement, and about the first of August
the cavalry were once more posted in Culpeper.

In about six weeks they had marched many hundreds of
miles; fought a number of battles; lost about one-third of their
force by death in action, or disabling wounds; and were again
on the war-harried banks of the Rappahannock.

A few words will terminate this sketch of the summer campaign
of 1863.

Of this great ride with the cavalry through Pennsylvania, the
present writer has preserved recollections rather amusing and
grotesque, than sad or tragic. The anxiety expressed by a fat
lady of Dutch origin, to secure a blue postage stamp with the
head of President Davis upon it, a gentleman whom she evidently
expected to find endued with horns and tail en Diable; the
manner in which an exceedingly pretty damsel in a town
through which the army was retreating, turned her back upon
the writer, as he smiled respectfully upon catching her eye;
turned her back, tossed her head, and “looked daggers;” the
air of hauteur and outraged feeling with which another refused
to lend a coffee-pot, not even melting at the offender's low bow,
and “I will not insist, madam”—these return to memory and
make the recollection of those times more amusing than disagreeable.
We were sore then, but time obliterates pain, and
heals nearly every wound. There were harsh emotions, painful
scenes, and bitter hostility; but there were some of the amenities
of war too; among which I recall the obliging manner in which
Major P—, of the United States cavalry, enabled me to gratify
some lady friends in Virginia.

The Major was brought in to the headquarters—or bivouac,
rather—in a grassy yard near Hagerstown, during the absence
of General Stuart, and whilst the present writer was in

[figure description] Page 261.[end figure description]

command. I found him very much of a gentleman; laughed at his
description of the manner in which he was captured—“Your
men snapped a carbine at me, and then `halted' me!”—and
simply took his parole not to attempt escape, after which we lay
down and slept on the grass, the major sharing my blankets.
On the next morning we were perfectly intimate; and hearing
me express a wish to secure some “greenbacks” for the purchase
of small articles in Hagerstown, where Confederate money
would not pass, the major politely pulled out his purse, declaring
that he would exchange dollar for dollar “as he only wished to
have enough of money to buy cigars in Richmond.” The
comedy of the scene which ensued lay in the mutual anxiety
of Major P— and the present writer, lest each should wrong
the other. Each was afraid he would get the advantage of his
companion, and the polite speeches delivered on the occasion
were truly admirable. An equitable arrangement was finally
made. I came into possession of about forty dollars in Federal
money, and with this bought out nearly the whole stock of lace,
ribands, and handkerchiefs of a milliner's store, to the extreme
but suppressed amusement of the young lady behind the counter,
who disinterestedly gave her advice in the selection. With
this big bundle on the pommel of his saddle, the present writer
made his exit from the State of Maryland!

Such, in rapid and discursive, outline, was the march of the
cavalry “to Gettysburg and back again,” in that last year but
one of the great civil war. Scores of miles were passed over,
while the weary cavalry-man who writes this, slept in the saddle.
So, it is no wonder Pennsylvania appears to him to-day
like a land seen in a dream! Gettysburg was, however, a rough
waking, and over that far locality where the fate of the struggle
was decided, a lurid cloud seems to hang, its edges steeped in
blood. “Gettysburg! Gettysburg!” That murmur comes to
the lips of many whose dear ones sleep their last sleep under the
sod there; but this souvenir is sad. Let me remember rather
the gay laugh of Stuart; the voices of Fitz Lee, Hampton, and
their noble comrades; the fun, the frolic, and the adventure of

[figure description] Page 262.[end figure description]

the long journey, when so much mirth lit up the dark horizon
zon of war.

It is a hard and brutal business, the trade of war; but the
odd, grotesque, and bizarre mix everywhere with the tears and
the blood. All were mingled in this heavy work of the bustling
year 1863.

p521-286

[figure description] Page 263.[end figure description]

General Meade's retreat from Culpeper, in October, 1863, was
one of the liveliest episodes of the late war. This officer was
not unpopular in the Southern army. Few depredations were
laid to his charge, and he was generally regarded as a fair and
honorable opponent. There was evidently no rhodomontade
about him, and few trumpets were blown in his honour; but
General Lee is said to have declared that he had given him as
much trouble as any Federal general of the war. Of his status
as a soldier, let history speak. The present sketch will show, I
think, that no general ever better understood the difficult art of
coolly retiring without loss, and promptly advancing to his former
position at the right moment. As in other sketches, the
writer will aim rather to present such details and incidents as
convey a clear idea of the actual occurrence, than to indulge in
historical generalization. Often the least trifling of things are
“trifles.”

In October, 1863, General Meade's army was around Culpeper
Court-House, with the advance at Mitchell's Station, on the
Orange road, and General Lee faced him on the south bank of
the Rapidan. One day there came from our signal-station, on
Clarke's Mountain, the message: “General Meade's head-quarters
are at Wallack's, and Pleasanton's at Cumberland, Georgia.”

[figure description] Page 264.[end figure description]

General Fitz Lee thereupon sent to General Stuart, after the
jocose fashion of “General Fitz,” to ask why Pleasanton had
been sent to “Cumberland, Georgia.” The message should have
been Cumberland George's—the house, that is to say, of the Rev.
Mr. George, in the suburbs of Culpeper Court-House.

Every day, at that time, the whistle of the “Yankee cars,” as
we used to call them, was heard a few miles off, at Mitchell's
Station; and as General Meade was plainly going to advance, it
was obvious that he was going to fall back. It was at this time,
early in October, that “for reasons best known to himself,” General
Lee determined upon a movement through Madison, along
the base of the Blue Ridge, to flank General Meade's right, cut
him off from Manassas, and bring on a general engagement between
the two armies. The plan was a simple one. Ewell and
A. P. Hill were to move out with their corps from the works on
the Rapidan, and marching up that stream, cross into Madison,
leaving Fitz Lee's cavalry division to occupy their places in the
abandoned works, and repulse any assault. Once across the
Upper Rapidan, Ewell and Hill would move toward Madison
Court-House with the rest of Stuart's cavalry on their right flank,
to mask the movement; and, thence pushing on to the Rappahannock,
make for Warrenton, somewhere near which point it
was probable that they would strike General Meade's column on
its retreat: Then a decisive trial of strength in a pitched battle.

The cavalry, by common consent of the army, “did the work”
on this movement—the infantry having few opportunities to become
engaged—and I shall ask the reader to follow “Stuart and
his horsemen.”

I think it was the morning of the 10th of October when, moving
on the right of the long column of Ewell and Hill then
streaming toward Madison Court-House, Stuart came on the exterior
picket of the enemy—their advance force of cavalry, infantry,
and artillery, being near the little village of James City.
The picket on a little stream was driven in, and pushing on to
Thoroughfare Mountain (not to be confounded with that near
Manassas), we ran into a regiment of infantry which had hastily
formed line of battle at the noise of the firing. Gordon, that

[figure description] Page 265.[end figure description]

gallant North Carolinian, at once became hotly engaged; but
there was no time to stop long. Stuart took Young's brigade—
he had but two—and, making a detour to the left, charged
straight down upon the enemy's right flank. Cheers, yells, carbines
cracking—and the infantry broke and scattered in the
mountains, dropping large numbers of the newest, brightest, and
handsomest muskets ever handled. The force was declared by
prisoners to have numbered two hundred and fifty, of whom
about twenty were taken. Stuart now pushed on without stopping,
and speedily became engaged with the main force of Federal
cavalry at James City. This force was commanded by General
Kilpatrick, we afterwards discovered, and this gentleman had
been enjoying himself greatly. There was a race-course near
the town where races were held, General Kilpatrick having, it
is said, a favorite mare called “Lively” which he used to run
against a blood horse in his artillery called the “Battery Horse.”
What became of the “Battery Horse” this historian cannot say;
but—to anticipate events—the fate of “Lively” can be stated.
Later in the fall, the general was running “Lively” near Manassas,
when she flew the track, and two men were sent after
her. Neither “Lively” nor the men ever returned. In fact,
some of “Mosby's people” had been unseen spectators of the
race from the adjoining woods, and these gentry took charge
both of the mare and the men sent after her. “I really must
have that mare,” General Stuart said, when he heard the incident,
but her captors retained her.

I am anticipating. General Kilpatrick was in command at
James City, and, drawing up his cavalry on the high ground
beyond, prepared to receive Stuart's attack. None was made.
It was not a part of the programme. Stuart's orders were to
keep the enemy off the infantry flanks, and this could best be
accomplished by remaining quiet. So, every demonstration was
made; lines of sharpshooters were advanced, our artillery
opened, and—no attack was made. Thus the hours passed on.
Shells raced across the little valley. Carbines cracked. An outside
spectator would have said that the opponents were afraid of
each other. The truth was that General Stuart was playing his

[figure description] Page 266.[end figure description]

own game, and his adversary did not understand it. At last,
even the firing ceased. Fronting each other in line of battle, the
opponents waited in silence for some movement. The stillness
was, however, broken suddenly by an incident, amusing, but by
no means agreeable, at least from our point of view. General
Stuart was lying down, surrounded by his staff and escort, with
his flag floating on the top of the hill, when, behind a fringe of
woods, near the Federal cavalry drawn up in long line of battle
on the opposite plateau, was seen a puff of white smoke. A roar
followed, then the whistle of a shell, and this polite visitor fell
and burst in the very midst of the group. It was a percussion
shell, and exploded as it struck, tearing up a deep hole and
vanishing, without injuring a single individual. As the present
writer was covered with the dirt where he lay, and found by
inspection that it had been a “line shot,” striking within three
or four feet of his head, the incident was highly pleasing. The
shell was followed by others, but no harm was done by them,
and it is not necessary to say that the friendly group, with the
flag floating so temptingly above it, deployed to the right and
left, laughing, and not displeased at the result of the first “good
shot.”

At night the Federal cavalry were still there, and Stuart still
remained quiet. His headquarters that night were at Mr.
H—'s where that brave spirit, General Gordon, of the cavalry,
came to see him. It is a melancholy pleasure to recall the gallant
face of Gordon, now that he is dead; to remember his
charming smile, his gay humour; the elegant little speech which
he made as he gallantly presented a nosegay to the fair Miss
H—, bowing low as he did so amid friendly laughter. When
he fell he left behind him no braver soldier or kindlier gentleman.

At dawn Stuart was again in the saddle, pressing forward
upon the retiring enemy.

Ewell and Hill had moved unseen to their position on the

[figure description] Page 267.[end figure description]

Sperryville road, thanks to the stand of Stuart at James City;
and now, for the first time, the enemy seemed to understand the
nature of the blow about to be struck. General Meade had put
his army in motion toward the Rappahannock; and, as the
advance force in our front retired, Stuart pressed them closely.
It is hard to say whether this great soldier was better in falling
back or in advancing. When he retired he was the soul of
stubborn obstinacy. When he advanced he was all fire, dash,
and impetus. He was now following up a retreating enemy,
and he did not allow the grass to grow under his feet.

Below Griffinsburg the rear-guard of the Federal cavalry was
attacked and driven; and Stuart was pushing on, when the presence
of a Federal infantry regiment in the woods to his right
was announced. To this he paid no attention, but drove on,
firing upon their cavalry, and soon the good judgment of this
was shown. The infantry regiment heard the firing, feared
being cut off, and double-quicked toward the rear. They
reached the fields on Stone House Mountain as quickly as Stuart,
moving parallel to his column, and suddenly their line appeared.
I have rarely seen General Stuart more excited. It was a rich
prize, that regiment, and it appeared in his grasp! But, unfortunately,
his column was not “up.” He was leading a mere
advance guard, and that was scattered. Every available staff-officer
and courier was hurried back for the cavalry, and the
“Jefferson Company,” Lieutenant Baylor, got up first, and
charged straight at the flank of the infantry. They were suddenly
halted, formed line of battle, and the bright muskets fell
to a level like a single weapon. The cavalry company received
the fire at thirty yards, but pressed on, and would doubtless have
ridden over the infantry, now scattering in great disorder, but
for an impassable ditch. Before they could make a detour to
avoid it, the Federal infantry had scattered, “every man for himself,”
in the woods, dropping guns, knapsacks, and blankets.

The huge camps at Stone House Mountain, as afterwards
around Culpeper Court House, were a sort of “Arabian Nights”
of wonder to the gray people. The troops had fixed themselves
in the most admirable manner to defy the coming winter.

[figure description] Page 268.[end figure description]

Excellent stone chimneys, of every form; cabins, stoves, tables,
magazines, books, wine and rum-bottles (empty), oil-cloths,
coats, shoes, arms—everything was scattered about. Harpers'
Magazine seemed to be a favourite; and full files of papers
might have been collected in the deserted cabins. From this
abode of the dolce far niente the rude hand of war, in the shape
of Stuart's cavalry, had pushed them.

Stuart continued to press the enemy toward the Court-House;
and there their cavalry had made a stand. As to the infantry, it
was nowhere visible in the immense camps around the place—
those camps which contained, like the first, only rubbish. Not a
wagon, ambulance, or piece of artillery, I believe, was captured.
General Meade had swept clean. There were even very few
empty boxes.

On “Cumberland George's” hill, the Federal artillery fought
hard for a time, inflicting some loss; but Gordon was sent round
by the Rixeyville Road to the left; Stuart advanced in front;
and the enemy fell back toward Brandy. The reader will remember
that General Fitz Lee had been left on the Lower Rapidan
to repulse any assault in that direction, and the expected assault
had been made. I think it was General Buford who attacked
him; but the attack was unsuccessful, and as the enemy fell back
Fitz Lee pressed forward on the track of the retreating column
toward Brandy. We now heard the thunder of his guns upon
the right as he pushed on toward the Rappahannock, and everything
seemed to be concentrating in the neighbourhood of Fleetwood
Hill, the scene of the sanguinary conflict of the 9th of June
preceding. There the great struggle, in fact, took place—Stuart
pressing the main column on their line of retreat from above,
General Fitz Lee pushing as vigorously after the strong force
which had fallen back from the Rappahannock. As it is not
the design of the writer to attempt any “battle pictures” in this
discursive sketch, he omits a detailed account of the hard fight
which followed. It was among the heaviest of the war, and for
a time nothing was seen but dust, smoke, and confused masses
reeling to and fro; nothing was heard but shouts, cheers, yells,
and orders, mixed with the quick bang of carbines and the clash

[figure description] Page 269.[end figure description]

of sabres—above all, and the continuous thunder of the artillery.
It was as “mixed up” as any fight of the war, and at one time
General Stuart, with Colonel Peyton, of General Lee's staff, and
one or two other officers, found himself cut off by the enemy.
He got out, joined his column to Fitz Lee's, and charging the
Federal forces, cavalry and infantry—the latter being drawn up
on Fleetwood Hill—pressed them back to the Rappahannock,
which they hastened to cross. General Meade had thus retreated
from Culpeper, but it was the “cleanest” retreat on record, as
far as the present writer's observation extended. He imitated it
in December at Mine Run.

General Lee had meanwhile advanced with his infantry toward
Warrenton Springs, still aiming to cut General Meade off from
Manassas. On the next day commenced the trial of skill
between the two commanders. General Meade's cavalry had
been so rudely hustled by Stuart, and the cordon placed by the
latter along the Rappahannock was so effective, that the Federal
commander was absolutely in the dark as to his great adversary's
position and designs. On the afternoon of this—next—day, therefore,
a Federal force consisting of a corps of infantry and two
brigades of cavalry, was moved across the Rappahannock where
the Orange railway crosses it, and this force pushed straight
toward the Court-House. The design was evidently to ascertain
if General Lee was in that vicinity, and the column rapidly advanced.
Near Brandy it encountered what seemed to be Stuart's
entire cavalry. At various openings in the woods the heads of
different columns were seen, calmly awaiting an attack, and the
Federal infantry and cavalry speedily formed line of battle, prepared
for vigorous engagement. They would scarcely have
given themselves so much trouble if they had known that the
entire force in their front consisted of about one hundred and eighty
men, with one gun under Colonel Rosser, as a sort of grand
picket guard. He had arranged detachments of eight or ten men
as above indicated, at openings in the woods, to produce the impression
of several heavy columns; and it was not until they attacked
him that they discovered the ruse. The attack once made,
all further concealment was impossible. Rosser's one hundred

[figure description] Page 270.[end figure description]

and eighty men, and single piece of artillery, were rapidly driven
back by the enemy; and his gun was now roaring from the high
ground just below the Court House, when the clatter of hoofs
was heard upon the streets of the village. It was the gay and
gallant P. M. B. Young, of Georgia, who had been left with his
brigade near James City, and now came to Rosser's assistance.
Young passed through the Court-House at a trot, hastened to
the scene of action, and, dismounting his entire brigade, deployed
them as sharpshooters, and made a sudden and determined
attack upon the enemy. This vigorous movement seems to have
completely deceived them. Night was now falling; they could
not make out the numbers or character of Young's force; and
an attack as bold as his must surely proceed from a heavy force
of infantry! Was General Lee still at the place, with one of his
corps d'armee? If this idea entered the minds of the enemy, it
must have been encouraged by Young's next move. He had
held his ground without flinching; and now, as night descended,
he ordered camp fires to be built along two miles of front, and
bringing up his splendid brass band, played the “Bonnie Blue
Flag” and “Dixie” with defiant animation. This ruse seemed
to decide the matter; the Federal commander made no further
effort to advance; and in the morning there was not a Federal
soldier on the south bank of the Rappahannock. Their corps
of infantry and two brigades of cavalry had “fallen back in
good order:” and the laughing Young remained master of the
situation.

Stuart had pushed on, meanwhile, toward Warrenton Springs,
and just as the fight above described commenced, a gallant affair
took place above. The enemy were attacked in the town of Jeffersonton,
and after a hot fight forced back to Warrenton
Springs, where the Jefferson Company again distinguished itself.
The attempt was made to charge over the bridge, in face of the
enemy's fire. In the middle of the structure the column suddenly
recoiled, and retreated. The cause of this movement was
soon discovered. Several of the planks had been torn up in the
flooring of the bridge, and to eross was impossible. The Jefferson
Company, however, did not abandon their work. They

[figure description] Page 271.[end figure description]

galloped to the ford, Stuart placed himself at their head, and, in the
face of a heavy and determined fire from a double line of Federal
sharpshooters, they charged across. The Federal force gave
way before them, and crossing his whole column Stuart pushed
on upon the track of the enemy toward Warrenton, followed by
the infantry, who had witnessed the feats of their cavalry breth
ren with all the satisfaction of “outside spectators.”

In Jeffersonton and at Warrenton Springs many brave fellows
had fallen, and sad scenes were presented. Lieutenant Chew
had fought from house to house in the first named place, and in
a mansion of the village this gallant officer lay dying, with a bullet
through his breast. At Mr. M—'s, near the river, young
Marshall, of Fauquier, a descendant of the Chief Justice, was
lying on a table, covered with a sheet—dead, with a huge, bloody
hole in the centre of his pale forehead; while in a bed opposite
lay a wounded Federal officer. In the fields around were dead
men, dead horses, and abandoned arms.

The army pushed on to Warrenton, the cavalry still in
advance, and on the evening of the next day Stuart rapidly
advanced with his column to reconnoitre toward Catlett's Station,
the scene of his great raid in August, 1862, when he captured
General Pope's coat and official papers. The incident which followed
was one of the most curious of the war.

Stuart had just passed Auburn, when General Gordon, commanding
the rear of his column, sent him word that a heavy
force of the enemy's infantry had closed in behind him, completely
cutting him off from General Lee. As at the same
moment an army corps of Federal infantry was discovered moving
across his front, General Stuart awoke to the unpleasant
consciousness that his little force of cavalry was securely hemmed
in between overpowering masses of the enemy, who, as soon as
they discovered the presence of the audacious interlopers, would
unquestionably attack and cut them to pieces.

[figure description] Page 272.[end figure description]

The “situation” was now in the highest degree critical. In
fact, Stuart had managed to get his command inclosed between
the two retreating columns of General Meade—infantry, cavalry,
and artillery—and these columns, as they moved across his front
and rear, were converging toward Bristoe, near Manassas. The
only hope of safety lay in complete concealment of his presence,
and General Stuart issued the most stringent orders to his troops
that no noise of any description should be made during the night.
There was little necessity to impress this upon the command.
Within a few hundred yards of them, in front and in rear, were
moving the huge columns of the enemy; the feet of the infantry
shuffling, the hoofs of the cavalry clattering, the artillery wheels
and chains rolling and jingling, and above the whole the stifled
hum of an army on the march. The men sat motionless and
silent in the saddle, listening, throughout the long hours of the
night. No man spoke; no sound was heard from human lips
as the little force remained perdu in the darkness. But the
“dumb animals” were not equally intelligent, and more than
once some thoughtless horse neighed or some indiscreet donkey
in the artillery uttered his discordant notes. In the noise of the
Federal retreat these sounds, however, were not observed, and
thus the night wore on and daylight came.

The first glimmer showed General Stuart that the Federal forces
had nearly all passed. In fact the rear force had halted within a
few hundred yards of his position and were cooking their breakfasts.
Now was his opportunity not only to extricate himself,
but to take vengeance for the long hours of anxiety and peril.
Picked men had been sent during the night to pass through the
advancing column and announce the critical position of affairs to
General Lee, and Stuart had suggested a vigorous infantry
attack upon the enemy's left flank while he attacked their right.
Not hearing from General Lee, he took the initiative. At dawn
he put his artillery in position, drew up his cavalry, and opened
a thundering fire upon the Federal troops; knocking over their
coffee-pots, and scattering them in wild confusion. They rallied,
however, and made a vigorous attack—a severe though brief
engagement following—but Stuart repulsed this assault, slowly

[figure description] Page 273.[end figure description]

fell back, and soon his little command was extricated from its
peril, Altogether this was a curious affair. It was not attractive,
however “romantic.” One of the bravest infantry officers
of the army, who accompanied the expedition as an amateur,
declared, laughing, that he was “done with the cavalry—the
infantry was enough for him thereafter.”

Meanwhile General Lee was pressing the retiring enemy toward
Bristoe; Stuart on the right, and General Fitz Lee moving on
their left, through New Baltimore. There was some fatal blunder,
however, in the execution of General Lee's orders, or else
some obstacle which could not be overcome. General Meade
pushed on and crossed Broad Run, making with his main body
for Manassas. When the Southern advance force reached Bristoe
they found the main Federal army gone. A strong force,
however, remained, and this was drawn up behind a long railroad
embankment serving admirably as a breastwork. The men
had only to lie down upon the slope, rest their muskets on the
track of the railroad, and sweep the open field in their front with
a shower of balls if the Confederates attacked. The attack was
made—straight across open ground, down a slope, right on the
embankment. The consequence was that Cooke's brigade, which
was ordered to make the attempt, was nearly annihilated, the General
falling among the first at the head of his troops: and, advanceing
against the line to his left, the enemy captured, I believe, nine
pieces of artillery. After this exploit they quietly retired across
Broad Run, and rejoined the main column. A worse managed
affair than that fight at Bristoe did not take place during the
war. “Well, well, General,” Lee is reported to have said to the
officer who essayed to explain the occurrence, “bury these poor
men, and let us say no more about it.” General Meade was
behind Bull Run fortifying.

Thus terminated General Lee's vigorous attempt to bring on a
pitched battle with Meade. That was his design, as it was General
Meade's design in coming over to Mine Run in the succeeding
December. Both schemes failed. From the high ground
beyond Bristoe, Lee, surrounded by his generals, reconnoitred
the retiring rear-guard of the enemy, and issued his orders for

[figure description] Page 274.[end figure description]

the army to retrace its steps to the Rappahannock. The cavalry
had not, however, finished their work. The fine October weather
was admirable for active movement, and Stuart pushed
straight on to Manassas, harassing the Federal forces as they
crossed Bull Run. At Blackburn's Ford, General Fitz Lee had
a brisk engagement, which drove the Federal cavalry across;
and, near Yates's Ford, General Stuart charged over a barricade
at the head of his horsemen, scattered the Federal sharpshooters,
and drove to and across the stream their cavalry and artillery.

An odd incident marked this occasion. It was about dusk
when the enemy began to retire from our front, their artillery
roaring on the right, but taking position after position, each
nearer Bull Run. General Stuart was within about four hundred
yards of the Federal guns, in the edge of the woods, surrounded
by his staff, escort, etc., one of whom had just taken up a dead
man before him to carry off. At this moment, among the figures
moving to and fro, one—apparently a member of the staff or
escort—was seen quietly riding out into the field, as if to gain a
better view of the Federal artillery. “Who is that?” said General
Stuart, pointing to the figure, indistinct in the dusk. “One
of the couriers,” some one replied. “No!” returned Stuart,
“halt him!” Two men immediately galloped after the suspected
individual, who was easily, carelessly, and quietly edging
off; and he speedily returned between them. Behold! he wore
under his oilcloth a blue coat! “What do you belong to?”
asked Stuart. “The First Maine, sir,” responded the other with
great nonchalance. In fact, the “gentleman from Maine” had
got mixed up with us when the column went over the barricade;
and, wrapped in his oilcloth, had listened to the remarks of
Stuart and his staff, until he thought he could get away. The
quick eye of General Stuart, however, penetrated his disguise,
and he was a prisoner.

It was now night, and operations were over for the day. The
retreat had been admirably managed. General Meade had carried
off everything. We did not capture a wagon wheel. All
was beyond Bull Run. The present writer here records his
own capture, viz. one oilcloth, one feed of oats, found in the

[figure description] Page 275.[end figure description]

road, and one copy of Harper's Magazine, full of charming pictures
of rebels, running, or being annihilated, in every portion
of the country. On the next morning, Stuart left Fitz Lee
in front of Bull Run, to oppose any advance of the Federal cavalry
there, and, taking Hampton's division, set out through a
torrent of rain to make a flank movement against General
Meade's right beyond the Little River Turnpike. He had intended
to cross at Sudley Ford, but coming upon the Federal
cavalry near Groveton, a fight ensued, and the column could
not cross there without having the movement unmasked. Stuart
accordingly turned to the left; made a detour through Gainsville;
and advancing, amid a violent storm, bivouacked that
night beyond the Little Catharpin. The General on this day
kept his entire staff and surroundings in great good-humour, by
his songs and laughter, which only seemed to grow more jovial
as the storm became more violent. I hope the reader will not
regard this statement as “unworthy of the dignity of history.”
Fortunately I am not writing history; only a poor little sketch
of a passage in the life of a very great man; and it has seemed
to me that all concerning him is interesting. Pardon! august
muse of history, that dealest in protocols and treaties! We
pass on.

The weather was charming, as on the next morning the column
advanced toward “Frying-Pan Church,” and the troopers subsisted
delightfully upon chinquepins, chestnuts, persimmons, and
wild grapes. Reaching a magnificent apple-tree, weighed down
with fruit as red as carnations, the men, with the fullest permission
from the hospitable owner, threw themselves upon it,
and soon the whole was stripped, the soldiers going on their way
rejoicing. Never have I seen more splendid weather than those
October days, or more beautiful tints in the foliage. Pity that
the natural red of the birch and dogwood was not enough without
blood! Stuart advanced rapidly, and near Frying-Pan
Church came upon and at once attacked the Second corps of
Federal infantry. A long ling of sharpshooters was formed,
which advanced on foot in line of battle. The artillery roared,
and at first the Federal troops gave ground. The aspect of

[figure description] Page 276.[end figure description]

affairs speedily changed, however, and a strong Federal force,
advancing in order of battle, made it necessary for Stuart to
withdraw. This was done at once, with great deliberation, and
at the “Recall” of the bugle the skirmishers slowly moved back
and gained the woods. A spectacle which aroused the good-humoured
laughter of those who witnessed it, was a staff officer
carrying off in his arms a young lady of about fourteen from a
house which the enemy were about to have within their lines.
This was done at the suggestion of the General; and although
the bullets were flying and the officer's horse was “dancing upon
all four feet,” the young lady declared herself “not afraid,” and
did not change colour at the bullets. If this meets the fair girl's
eye she is informed that the officer has still the gray who came
near unseating her as he jumped the fence, and that his rider
has not forgotten the smiling little face, but remembers it with
admiration and pleasure!

That night General Stuart was moving steadily back by the
same route which he had pursued in advancing, and on the next
day he had reached the vicinity of Bucklands.

The army had fallen back, tearing up the road, and General
Stuart now prepared to follow, the campaign having come to an
end. He was not, however, to be permitted to fall back without
molestation, and his command was to be present at the “Buckland
Races.” This comic episode will be briefly described, and
the event related just as it occurred, without embellishment or
exaggeration. General Kilpatrick, commanding the Federal
cavalry, had been very much outraged, it would appear, at the
hasty manner in which Stuart had compelled him to evacuate
Culpeper; and he now felt an ardent desire, before the campaign
ended, to give the great cavalier a “Roland for his Oliver.”
With about 3,000 cavalry he accordingly crossed Bull Run,
following upon Stuart's track as the latter fell back; and soon
he had reached the little village of Bucklands, not far from New
Baltimore.

[figure description] Page 277.[end figure description]

Stuart had disappeared; but these disappearances of Stuart,
like those of Jackson, were always dangerous. In fact, a ruse
was about to be practised upon General Kilpatrick, who was
known to want caution, and this ruse was of the simplest description.
Stuart had arranged that he should retire before Kilpatrick
as he advanced, until the Federal column was beyond Bucklands—
then Fitz Lee, who had fallen back from Manassas on
the line of the Orange Railroad, would have an opportunity to
fall upon the enemy's flank and rear. The sound of Fitz Lee's
guns would be the signal for Stuart to face about and attack;
Kilpatrick would thus be assailed in front and flank at the same
instant, and the result would probably be satisfactory. This
plan was carried out exactly as Stuart had arranged. General
Kilpatrick reached Bucklands, and is said to have stated while
dining at a house there that “he would not press Stuart so hard,
but he (Stuart) had boasted of driving him (Kilpatrick) out of
Culpeper, and he was going to give him no rest.” It is said
that General Kilpatrick had scarcely uttered this threat when
the roar of artillery was heard upon his left flank, and this was
speedily reëchoed by similar sounds in his front. In fact, General
Fitz Lee had carried out his half of the programme, and
Stuart hastened to do the rest. At the sound of General Lee's
artillery Stuart faced about, formed his command in three
columns, and charged straight upon the enemy's front, while
General Fitz Lee fell upon his flanks. The consequence was a
complete rout of the Federal cavalry, who scattered in every
direction, throwing down their arms as they fled, and the flight
of many, it is said, was not checked until they reached Alexandria.
General Custer's headquarter wagons and papers were
captured—as happened, I believe, to the same officer twice subsequently—
and the pursuing force, under Kilpatrick, gave
Stuart no more trouble as he fell back. This engagement
afforded huge enjoyment to the Southern cavalry, as it was almost
bloodless, and resembled a species of trap into which their opponents
fell. Nothing amuses troops more than this latter circumstance,
and the affair continues to be known among the disbanded
troopers of Stuart, as the “Buckland Races.”

[figure description] Page 278.[end figure description]

This engagement ended the campaign as far as the cavalry
were concerned, and it was the movements of this arm that I
proposed to outline. These were uniformly successful, while
those of the infantry, from what appeared to be some fatality,
were regularly unsuccessful. While the cavalry drove their
opponents before them at Stone House Mountain, Culpeper
Court-House, Brandy, Warrenton Springs, Bull Run, and Bucklands,
the infantry failed to arrest the enemy at Auburn; were
repulsed at Bristoe with the loss of several guns; and now, on
the Rappahannock, was to occur that ugly affair at the railroad
bridge, in which two brigades of General Lee's army were surprised,
overpowered, and captured almost to a man. Such is the
curiously mingled “warp and woof” of war. It was the Army
of Northern Virginia, led by Ewell and Hill, with General Lee
commanding in person, which sustained these losses, and failed
in the object which the great soldier declared he had in view—
to cut off and fight a pitched battle with General Meade. The
movements of this latter commander entitled him to high praise,
and he exhibited throughout the brief campaign a vigour and
acumen which only belong to the thorough soldier.

Such is an outline of some incidents in this rapid campaign;
this hasty movement backward and forward on the great chessboard
of war. The discursive sketch here laid before the reader
may convey some idea of the occurrences as they actually took
place. From the “official reports” the grave Muse of History
will sum up the results, generalizing upon the importance or
non-importance of the events. This page aims at no generalization
at all, but simply to show how Stuart and Fitz Lee, with
their brave comrades, did the work assigned to them in those
bright October days of 1863.

p521-302

[figure description] Page 279.[end figure description]

Nothing is more curious than the manner in which a sudden
and unexpected attack imposes upon the recipients thereof; and
it is safe to say that none but the best troops, trained and disciplined
to stand firm under all contingencies, can be counted on
in such moments of emergency.

The following incident will prove the truth of this assertion.
It is not related “for the greater glory” of the Southern arms,
so much as to present a curious illustration of the effect upon
the human mind of a sudden surprise.

A word first of the doughty sabreur who figured as hero on
the occasion, my friend, Major R—, of the C. S. A.

The Major is stout, rosy, of a portly figure, and from his appearance
you would not take him for a very active or dangerous
personage. But he is both. No man delights more in movement,
adventure, and combat. No man sits a horse with more
of the true cavalry ease. You may see from the manner in
which he handles his sabre that he is master of that weapon;
and in the charge he is a perfect thunderbolt. He fingers his
pistol and makes the barrels revolve with admirable grace; his
salute with the sabre is simply perfection; his air, as he listens
to an order from his superior officer, says plainly, “All I wish
is to know what you want me to do, General—if it can be done
it will be done.” This air does not deceive. It is well known
to the Major's friends that his motto is, “Neck or nothing.” At

[figure description] Page 280.[end figure description]

Mine Run, when General Meade confronted the Southern lines,
the worthy said to me, “A soldier's duty is to obey his orders;
and if General Stuart told me to charge the Yankee army by
myself, I would do it. He would be responsible.”

It will be seen from the above sketch of the gallant Major,
that he is a thorough soldier. In fact he loves his profession,
and is not satisfied with performing routine duty. He is fond
of volunteering on forlorn hopes, and in desperate emergencies—
when he cannot get at the blue-coats for any length of time—
he pines.

This mood came to him in the fall of 1862. Quiet had
reigned along the lines so long, that he grew melancholy. His
appetite did not fail, as far as his friends could perceive, but
something obviously rested on his mind. He was rusting, and
was conscious of the process. “Why don't they come out and
fight?” the Major seemed to ask with his calm, sad eyes. They
were in Virginia for the purpose of “crushing the rebellion,”—
why didn't they set about the work?

These questions meeting with no satisfactory response, Major
R—determined himself to take the initiative, and see if he
could not bring on a little fight, all on his private account. He
would thus relieve his bosom of the perilous stuff which preyed
upon his heart. It had, indeed, become absolutely necessary to
his peace of mind to come into collision with his friends across
the way, and he set about devising the best plan for arriving at
his object.

The Southern cavalry to which the Major was attached, at
that time occupied the county of Culpeper, and picketed along
the Rappahannock. So did the enemy's horsemen, and the
Federal pickets were stationed on the southern bank at every
ford. This was the case at Warrenton Springs, where a bridge,
afterwards destroyed, spanned the Rappahannock; and at this
point Major R—determined to bring on the little affair which
had become so necessary to his happiness. He intended to combine
pleasure with business by visiting some young ladies at a
hospitable mansion not far from the bridge; and having thus
laid out his programme he proceeded to execute it, and “all

[figure description] Page 281.[end figure description]

alone by himself” attack the picket guard of some twenty of
the enemy.

Behold the Major now in warlike panoply—that is to say, in
fine gray dress coat with burnished buttons (for the eyes of
Venus after the conflict with Mars); pistol carefully loaded, in
holster on his right side; and sabre in excellent order, jingling
against his top boots. It was a saying of the worthy, that he
“generally kept his arms in good order,” and on this occasion
nothing was left to be desired. His pistol revolved at the touch,
with a clear ringing click; and you could see your face in his
sabre blade. Thus accoutred, and mounted on a good, active
horse, he set off from Hazel river, and making a detour around
Jeffersonton, came to an elevation in rear of Mr.—'s house,
where he stopped to reconnoitre.

The Federal picket—of nineteen men, as he afterwards discovered—
was at the bridge; and in the yard of the mansion
were two videttes, with their horses tied to the trees under which
they were lying. Whether he could succeed in “driving in”
the whole picket was problematical, but the videttes were pretty
sure game. He would either run them off or capture them.

With the Major execution followed conception rapidly. Pushing
boldly over the crest from behind which he had made his
reconnoissance, he charged across the field at a thundering gallop,
whirling his burnished sabre around his head, yelling in a manner
that was truly awful; and shouting as he rode to a supposititious
squadron:

“Charge! charge! cut down every man!”

So portentous was the reverberating shout of onset from the
lips of the Major, that the videttes started to their feet, and
clutched the bridles of their horses instantly. As the warlike
figure, surrounded by the brilliant lightning of the flashing sabre,
swept on, the videttes probably saw at least a squadron of
“Rebel cavalry” in the dust which rose behind; and hastily
mounting, darted away, pursued by the triumphant Major, whose
yells were now more tremendous than ever.

Across the broad field, past the house, on toward the bridge,
galloped the furious assailant, bent on striking terror to the

[figure description] Page 282.[end figure description]

enemy's hearts, and successfully completing his adventure
Before him fled the frightened videttes—their movements ac
celerated by several balls, which issued from the Major's pistol,
and whistled by their ears. On toward the bridge, and into the
midst of the picket fled the videttes; and as the Major's shouts,
and vociferous orders to his cavalry to charge, and let no one
escape, resounded nearer, the pickets, too, mounted in hot haste,
and clattered across the bridge, pursued by the Major's pistol
shots.

In vain did the officer in charge of the picket-post shout to his
men:

“Halt! halt! Shoot down the rascal! Shoot him down I
say! There's only one of them!”

His voice was unheard or his order unheeded. The picket
was composed of stuff less soldierly than their officer, and would
not obey him. Before their vivid imaginations rose at least a
squadron of Confederate cavarly, sweeping on to ride over them,
sword in hand.

The result was that Major R—in ten minutes had possession
of the bridge, and sat his horse defiantly in the middle of
it. He then amused himself by sending a few parting shots
after the demoralized picket, and having performed this agreeable
duty rode back to the house of Mr.—, laughing low in
his peculiar way; his breast completely lightened of the oppressive
weight which had so long weighed upon it.

At Mr.—'s he met with a triumphant reception; was
greeted with a perfect ovation. The young ladies of the mansion
were crazy almost with delight at the manner in which they
had been delivered from the presence of their enemies; and
when the hero of the occasion made his appearance they met
him as women only can meet their deliverers—with smiles such
as shine rarely for the poor “civilian.” After all it is something
to be a soldier. The trade is hard, but the feminine eye has a
peculiar brightness when it rests on the sons of Mars!—of Mars,
proverbially the favourite of Venus!

The Major was an old soldier, and in no hurry to depart. He
counted on the extent of the “scare” he had given the enemy,

[figure description] Page 283.[end figure description]

and quietly enjoyed himself in the charming society of his hostesses.
He had once more become “excellent company.” The
smile had returned to his lips, the light to his eyes. That
melancholy which had made his friends uneasy had quite disappeared,
and the Major was “himself again”—that is to say, the
gayest and most delightful of companions.

When, rising slowly and carelessly, he bade his friendly entertainers
good-bye, he was again happy. He came back to camp,
smiling, amiable, the soul of sweetness and cheerfulness. I saw
him. He was absolutely radiant. His eloquent eye beamed
brightly; his countenance was charming; his movements energetic
and elastic; the fullest satisfaction was apparent in every
lineament of his face. His gay and friendly smile seemed to
say, “I went at nineteen of them; ran them off; held the bridge
against them; had an excellent supper, a delightful talk—I am
happy!”

Such was the gay little comedy which I heard from the family
of Mr.—, as I sat upon his porch and conversed with them
one day. The narrative is precisely true in every particular,
and has always impressed me as a curious illustration of the
effect of “surprises” upon troops—of the enormous power exerted
by the human imagination.

p521-307

[figure description] Page 284.[end figure description]

In carelessly looking over an old portfolio yesterday—October
31, 1866—I found among other curious records of the war a
rude, discoloured scrap of paper, written in pencil, and bearing
date October 31, 1862.

Four years, day for day, had passed, since those pencil marks
were traced. Four years! not a long time, you may say, in the
life of man. But longest of long years—most snail-like in their
movement—most terrible for that delay which makes the stoutest
heart grow sick, were those four twelvemonths between October,
1862, and October, 1866. The larger portion of the period
was spent in hoping—the rest of it in despairing.

But I wander from the subject of this sketch. The paper
found in my portfolio contained the following words, written, as
I have said, in pencil:

“Mountsville, October 31, 1862.

“I hereby bind myself, on my word of honour, not to take up
arms against the Confederate States, or in any manner give aid
and comfort to the Federal cause, until I am regularly exchanged.

I read this paper, and then went back and read it over again.
A careless observer would have seen in it only a simple and
very hastily written parole. Read at one instant, it would have

[figure description] Page 285.[end figure description]

been forgotten in the next—a veritable leaf of autumn, dry and
worthless.

For me it contained much more than was written on it. I did
not throw it aside. I read it over a third time, and it made a
dolorous impression on my heart. For that paper, written by
myself four years ago, and signed by a dying man whose hand
staggered as it traversed the sheet, leaving the name of the writer
almost illegible, his full official rank unrecorded—that paper
brought back to my memory a day near Aldie, when it was my
sorrowful duty to parole a brother human being in articulo
mortis.

“A brother human being, do you say? He was only a
Yankee!” some one may object. No—he was my brother,
and yours, reader, whether you wore blue or gray. Did you
wear the gray, then? So did I. Did you hate the invaders of
Virginia? So did I. You may have been able to see this
enemy die in agony, and not pity him. I was not. And the
proof is, that the sight of the paper which his faint hand touched
as he drew his last breath, has struck me wofully, and blotted
out a part of the autumn sunshine yonder on the mountains.

I have nothing to reproach myself with—the reader shall
judge of that—but this poor rough scrap of paper with its
tremulous signature moves me all the same.

It was in the last days of October, 1862. McClellan had followed
Lee to Sharpsburg; fought him there; refitted his army;
recrossed the Potomac, and was rapidly advancing toward Warrenton,
where the fatal fiat from Washington was to meet him,
“Off with his head! So much for Buckingham.”

But in these last days of October the wind had not yet wafted
to him the decree of the civilians. He was pressing on in
admirable order, and Lee had promptly broken up his camps
upon the Opequon to cross the Blue Ridge at Chester's Gap, and
interpose himself between McClellan and the Rapidan.

[figure description] Page 286.[end figure description]

The infantry moved; the cavalry followed, or rather marched
to guard the flank.

Stuart crossed the Shenandoah at Castleman's; the column
moved through Snicker's Gap; then from the eastern slopes of
the Blue Ridge were seen the long trains of McClellan in the
distance, winding toward Middleburg and Aldie.

In front of these trains we knew very well that we would find
the Federal cavalry under that able soldier, General Bayard, if
he did not find us. For we had trains also, and it was more
than probable that Bayard would strike at them through the
passes of the Ridge. To prevent him from so doing it seemed
most advisable to carry the war into Africa by a blow at him,
and Stuart moved on without pausing toward Bloomfield. This
village was passed; we reached the little hamlet of Union, where
the people told us, with what truth I know not, that a party of
the enemy had just ridden through, firing right and left upon
citizens and children; then pushing on, in the splendid autumn
sunshine, the brigade—Fitz Lee's, commanded by the gallant
Wickham—reached the vicinity of Mountsville.

Stuart was riding gaily at the head of his horsemen, when
Wickham galloped up from the advance guard, and announced
that a heavy picket force was camped at Mountsville, visible
through the lofty trees upon its hill.

“Charge it!” was the General's reply; and pushing on, he
was there almost as soon as the advance guard.

They dashed upon the camp, or bivouac rather, with shouts;
bang! bang! bang! from the carbines told that the blue and
gray people had come into collision: and then the cheers of the
Southerners indicated that they were driving in the picket force
upon the main body.

In a moment we had reached the spot, and in a field were the
hastily abandoned accoutrements of the Federal cavalry. Saddles,
blankets, oil-cloths, carbines, sabres, and coats were scattered
everywhere. Upon the ground, a bright red object glittered
in the sunshine—it was the flag, or guidon of the enemy,
abandoned like the rest. The Federal picket force, consisting
of the First Rhode Island Cavalry, between seventy-five and one

[figure description] Page 287.[end figure description]

hundred in number, had disappeared as a handful of dry leaves
disappear, swept away by the wind.

The Southerners pursued with shouts and carbine shots—but
officers and men, bending from the saddle, caught upon the points
of their sabres, as they passed at full speed, those precious
“quartermaster stores,” blankets, oil-cloths, so scarce in the
poverty-stricken Confederacy. The present writer was almost
destitute on the last day of October—on the first day of November
he was rich. His cavalier outfit had been reinforced by an
excellent regulation blanket, heavy and double: and a superb
india-rubber poncho, on which was inscribed the name “Lougee.”
If the original owner of that fine military cloak survives, I beg
to express my hope that he did not suffer, in the winter nights
of 1862, for want of it.

The Federal camp had vanished, as I have said, as though
carried away by the wind. The carbine shots were heard receding
still toward Aldie—prisoners began to come back toward
the rear. The name of another member of the First Rhode Island
I can give. A young attaché of General Stuart's staff had captured
a stout animal, and while leading him, was suddenly saluted
by the words, “There is Brown's horse!” from a Federal prisoner
passing. Brown's horse travelled afterwards extensively, and
visited the low country of North Carolina. Most erratic of lives
for men and animals is the military life. You know whence you
come, not at all whither you go!

These trifles have diverted me from the main subject of the
present sketch. I approach that subject with reluctance, for the
picture to be drawn is a sad one. It is nothing to record the
gay or comic incidents of other times—to let the pen glide,
directed by the memory, when the lips are smiling and the heart
is gay. To record the sad events, however, the blood, the tears—
believe me, that is different.

I was pushing on, when a groan from the roadside drew my
eyes in that direction. I looked and saw a man lying on his back,
writhing to and fro, upon the grass. Some cavalrymen had
stopped, and were looking at him curiously.

“Who is that?” I asked.

[figure description] Page 288.[end figure description]

“The Yankee captain, sir,” replied one of the men.

“The Captain commanding the picket?”

“Yes, sir; when his men ran, he mounted his horse to keep
from being captured. The horse was unbridled—the Captain
could not guide him with the halter, and he ran away. Then
one of our men rode up close and shot him—the horse jumped
the fence and threw him—he looks like he was dying.”

“Poor fellow! but I suppose he is only wounded. Look
after him.”

And I went on to catch up with General Stuart, who had
ridden on in advance.

Two hundred yards from the spot I found him sitting on
his horse in the road and waiting for his column.

“General,” I said, “do you know that the officer commanding
the picket was shot?”

“No; where is he?”

“He is lying yonder in the corner of the fence, badly
wounded.”

Stuart looked in the direction of the wounded man.

“This ought to be attended to,” he said. “I do not like to
leave him there, but I must go on. I wish you would see to this—
Dr. Mount is at Mountsville, tell him to have the officer carried
there, and to look to his wound. But first take his parole. He
is a prisoner.”

The General then rode on, and I hastened back to the suffering
officer.

The spectacle was a piteous one. He was lying in a corner
of the fenee, writhing and groaning. From his lips came incessantly
those pathetic words which the suffering utter more than
all others—“Oh! my God! my God!”

I dismounted, and bent over him.

“Are you in very great pain?”

“Oh! my God!”

“Where are you wounded?”

“Oh! my God! my God!”

I could see no blood, and yet this human being was evidently
stretched upon the rack. What he required was a physician;

[figure description] Page 289.[end figure description]

and mounting my horse I galloped to Mountsville, only a few
hundred yards distant, where I saw and gave the General's message
to Dr. Mount. The doctor promptly answered that he would
send immediately for the sufferer, and dress his wound; and having
received this assurance, I returned to the spot where he lay

“Do you suffer as much now?” I asked.

A groan was the reply.

“You will be taken care of—a surgeon is coming.”

But I could not attract his attention. Then all at once I
remembered the general's order. I was to parole this man—
that order must be obeyed, unless I thought him dying or sure
to die. It was my duty as a soldier to observe the directions
which I had received.

I looked at the sufferer; could see no blood; thought “this
wound may be only very painful;” and, taking from my military
satchel a scrap of paper, wrote with a pencil the parole
which I have copied in the beginning of this paper.

Then kneeling down beside the officer, I placed the pencil in
his hand, read the parole, and he attached his name to it, without
objection—exhibiting, as he did so, many evidences of suffering,
but none of approaching death.

Fifteen minutes afterwards a vehicle was brought, and Captain
Gove, of the First Rhode Island Cavalry, was conveyed, in charge
of a surgeon, to Mountsville.

Here the writer had intended to terminate his sketch—attaching
to it the title, “Paroled in Articulo Mortis.” But in so
determining he did not take into consideration the curious
faculty of memory—that faculty which slumbers, and seems
dead often, but none the less lives; which, once set in motion,
travels far. Two or three recollections of that period,
and allied to the subject, have come back—among them the
attack on Aldie; the ovation which awaited us at Middleburg;
and the curious manner in which the heavy silver
watch and chain of the wounded officer—taken from his

[figure description] Page 290.[end figure description]

body by an officer of the staff—was afterwards restored to his
family.

A word of each incident in its turn.

The force at Mountsville was one of the antennœ of that dan
gerous foe, General Bayard. Touched, it recoiled—but behind
it were the veritable claws. At Aldie, Bayard was posted with
artillery, and a cavalry force which we estimated from the
accounts of prisoners—some seventy in number—at about 5000.

Stuart had only the brigade of Fitz Lee, about 1000 men, but
once in motion the “Flower of Cavaliers” always followed the
Scriptural precept to forget those things which were behind, and
press on to those which were before. His column, therefore,
moved on steadily; and before I had finished paroling Captain
Gove, was nearly out of sight.

Nothing now detained me, and pushing on at full gallop, I
came up with Stuart on the high hill west of Aldie. All along
the road were dead and wounded men—one of the former was
lying in a pool of blood pierced through from breast to back
by a sabre thrust.

Fifty yards further, the long column was stationary on the road
which wound up the hill—stationary, but agitated, restless. From
the front came carbine shots.

On the summit of the hill, relieved against the sky, was the
form of Stuart, with floating plume, drawn sword, and animated
gesture. His horse was rearing; his sabre, as he whirled it
around his head, flashed like lightning in the October sun. No
officer was with him—he had distanced all. I never saw him
more impatient.

“Go to the head of the column, and make it charge!” was his
order—an order so unlike this preux chevalier, who generally
took the front himself, that I would not record it, did I not recall
the exact words—“tell them to charge right in!”

A storm of bullets hissed around the speaker; his horse was
dancing the polka on his hind feet.

Before I had reached the head of the column, going at a run,
Stuart was there too. Then the cause of the halt was seen. The
enemy had dismounted a double line of marksmen—if they were

[figure description] Page 291.[end figure description]

not infantry—and those adventurous cavaliers who had pushed
on into the hornets' hive, Aldie, had fallen back, pursued by
balls. At the same moment the Federal artillery was seen coming
into position at a rapid gallop on the opposite hill.

Stuart threw one fiery glance in that direction, flashed a
second towards the front, and said briefly:

“Tell Wickham to form on the hill, and bring up Pelham at a
gallop!”

The order was delivered to Wickham; then I went to hurry
Pelham. I found him advancing, alone, at a walk, riding a
huge artillery horse, his kness drawn up by the short stirrups.

“The pieces are coming at a gallop,” was his smiling answer;
“anything going on?”

“The General is going to fall back to the hill, and needs the
guns.”

“All right; they'll be there.”

And soon the roll of wheels, and the heavy beat of artillery
horses' hoofs, was heard. A cloud of dust rose behind. The
pieces approached at a gallop, and ascending the hill, came
into position, flanked by cavalry. Then they opened, and at
the third shot the Federal artillery changed its position. I
always thought they must have known when Pelham was
opposed to them. In the Southern army there was no greater
artillerist than this boy.

Stuart was now upon the hill, where he had drawn up his line
to meet Bayard's charge. He had scarcely made his dispositions,
however, when a mounted man approached him at full
gallop, from the side of Mountsville, that is to say, his rear, and
delivered a message.

The face of the General flushed, and he threw a rapid glance
in that direction. He had received intelligence that a heavy
force of the enemy was closing in upon his rear from the side of
Leesburgh. With Bayard's 5000 in front, and that column in
rear, the little brigade seemed to be caught in a veritable hornets'
nest.

But to extricate himself without difficulty from every species
of “tight place,” seemed to be a peculiar faculty of Stuarts.

[figure description] Page 292.[end figure description]

He gave an order to Wickham; the cavalry moved slowly back,
with the enemy's shell bursting above them. Pelham limbered
up coolly; the column headed to the left; a friendly by-road,
grassy, skirted with trees and upperceived by the enemy, presented
itself; and in fifteen minutes the whole Southern force was
out of Bayard's clutch, moving steadily across to Middleburg.
Stuart was out of the trap.

At Middleburg, that charming little town, dropped amid the
smiling fields of Loudoun, the General and his followers were
received in a manner which I wish I could describe; but it was
indescribable. The whole hamlet seemed to have been attacked
by a sudden fit of joyous insanity. Men, women, and children,
ran from the houses, shouting, laughing, cheering—crazy, it
appeared, for joy, at sight of the gray horsemen. Six hours
before they were in the “enemy's country,” and the streets had
been traversed by long columns of blue cavalry. Now the
same streets resounded to the hoofstrokes of Stuart's men, clad
in no precise uniform, it might be—real nondescripts—but certainly
there was not a single “blue-bird” among them, unless
he was a prisoner.

It was this spectacle of gray nondescripts which aroused the
general enthusiasm. As Stuart advanced, superb and smiling,
with his brilliant blue eyes, his ebon plume, his crimson scard,
and his rattling sabre, in front of his men, the town, as I have
said, grew wild. His hand was grasped by twenty persons;
bright eyes greeted him; beautiful lips saluted him. Believe
me, reader, it was something to be a soldier of the C. S. A.,
when the name of that soldier was Stuart, Jackson, Gordon, or
Rodes. Fair hands covered them with flowers, cut off their
coat-buttons, and caressed the necks of the horses which they
rode. Better still than that, pure hearts offered prayers for
them; when they fell, the brightest eyes were wet with tears.

Most striking of all scenes of that pageant of rejoicing at
Middleburg, was the ovation in front of a school of young girls.
The house had poured out, as from a cornucopia, a great crowd
of damsels, resembling, in their variegated dresses, a veritable
collection of roses, tulips, and carnations. They were ready

[figure description] Page 293.[end figure description]

there, these living flowers, to greet their favourite, when he appeared;
and no sooner did his column come in sight in the suburbs
than a wind seemed to agitate the roses, tulips, and carnations;
a murmur rose—“He is coming!”

Then at sight of the floating plume the tempest of welcome
culminated. Beautiful eyes flashed, fair cheeks flushed, red lips
were wreathed with smiles; on every side were heard from the
young maidens, fairly dancing for joy, exclamations of rapturous
delight.

As he came opposite the spot Stuart halted, and taking his
hat off, saluted profoundly. But that was not enough. They
had not assembled there to receive a mere bow. In an instant
his hand was seized; he was submerged in the wave of flowers;
for once, the cavalier who had often said to me, “I never mean
to surrender,” was fairly captured. Nor did he seem to regret
it. He returned good for evil, and appeared to be actuated by
the precept which commands us to love our enemies. Those
enemies pressed around him; overwhelmed him with their
thanks; grasped his hands, and allowed the brave soldier's lip,
as he bent from the saddle, to touch the fresh roses of their
cheeks.

Do you blame them? I do not. Do you say that they were
too “forward?” Believe me, your judgment is harsh. This
soldier was a pure-hearted Christian gentleman, who had fought
for those children, and meant to die for them soon. Was it
wrong to greet him thus, as he passed, amid the storm? and does
any young lady, who kissed him, regret it? Do-not be afraid,
mademoiselle, should you read this page. The lip which
touched your cheek that day never trembled when its owner
was fighting, or going to fall, for you. That hand which you
pressed was a brave and honest Virginian's. That heart which
your greeting made beat faster and more proudly, was one
which never shrank before the sternest tests of manhood; for it
beat in the breast of the greatest and noblest of our Southern
cavaliers!

When Stuart lay down in his bivouac that might, wrapping
his red blanket around him by the glimmering camp fire, I

[figure description] Page 294.[end figure description]

think he must have fallen asleep with a smile on his lips, and
that the hand of night led him to the land of Pleasant Dreams!

A few words will end the present sketch. They will refer to
the manner in which the watch and chain of Captain Gove were
returned.

In the year 1863, the cavalry headquarters were at “Camp
Pelham,” near Culpeper Court-house.

The selection of that title for his camp by Stuart, will indicate
little to the world at large. To those familiar with his peculiarities
it will be different. Stuart named his various headquarters
after some friend recently dead. “Camp Pelham” indicated
that this young immortal had finished his career.

Pelham, in fact, was dead. At Manassas, Williamsburg, Cold
Harbour, Groveton, Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, and a hundred
other battles, he had opposed his breast to the storm, but no bullet
had ever struck him. In the hard and bitter struggle of
Kelly's Ford, with Averill, in March, 1863, he had fallen. The
whole South mourned him—dead thus at twenty-four. Stuart
wept for him, and named his new quarters “Camp Pelham.”

To-day, in this autumn of 1866, the landscape must be dreary
there; the red flag floats no more, and Pelham lives only in
memory. But that is enough. There are some human beings
who, once encountered, “dare you to forget.”

To terminate my sketch. In those days of 1863, I had long
forgotten Mountsville, the little fight there, and Captain Gove—
for the months of war are long—when one evening at “Camp
Pelham” I saw approach a small party of cavalrymen escorting
a Federal prisoner. This was so common an occurrence that it
attracted no attention. The loungers simply turned their heads;
the men dismounted; the orderly announced the fact to the
General, and the Federal prisoner, who was an officer, disap
peared behind the flap of General Stuart's tent.

Half an hour afterwards the General came out with the

[figure description] Page 295.[end figure description]

prisoner, a short, thick-set man, and approaching the fire in front
of my tent, introduced him to me as Captain Stone, of the
United States Army. Then, drawing me aside, the General
said:

“I wish you would make Captain Stone's time pass as agreeably
as possible. We ought to treat him well. In fording a
stream near Warrenton, after his capture, he saved the life of
Colonel Payne. The Colonel was wearing a heavy overcoat
with a long cape, when his horse stumbled in the water, threw
him, and as the heavy cape confined his arms, he would have
been drowned but for the prisoner, who jumped into the water
and saved him. You see we ought to treat him like a friend,
rather than as a prisoner,” added the General smiling, “and I
wish you would give him a seat and make yourself agreeable
generally!”

I saluted, returned the General's laugh, and made a profound
bow to Captain Stone as I offered him the only camp stool which
I possessed. Then we began to talk in a manner perfectly
friendly.

This conversation lasted for half an hour. Then General
Stuart, who had finished his evening's task at his desk, approached,
in company with several members of the staff, and everybody
began to converse. The comments of Captain Stone upon his
capture and his captors, were entirely amicable. He had been
“taken in charge” with perfect politeness; and his personal
effects had been religiously respected. In proof of this statement
he drew out his watch, and commended it as a timepiece of most
admirable performance.

“It is not better than mine, I think, Captain,” said a member
of the staff, with a smile; and he drew from his breast pocket a
large silver watch of the most approved pattern.

“That seems to be an excellent timepiece,” was the response
of the Federal prisoner. “Where did you purchase it?”

“It was captured; or rather I took it from a Federal officer
who was dying, to preserve it—intending if I ever had an opportunity
to return it to some member of his family.”

Stuart took the watch and looked at it.

[figure description] Page 296.[end figure description]

“I remember this watch,” he said; “it belonged to Captain
Gove, who was killed in the skirmish at Mountsville.”

“Captain Gove, of the First Rhode Island, was it, General?”
asked the prisoner.

“The same, Captain.”

“I know his people very well.”

“Then,” returned Stuart, handing him the watch, “you will
be able to return this to his family.”

So when Captain Stone left Camp Pelham on the next morning,
he took away with him the watch, which the family of the
unfortunate Captain Gove no doubt preserve as a memorial of
him.

This little incident has occupied an amount of space disproportioned,
it may be thought, to its importance. But memory
will have no master. The sight of the paper which that dying
man at Mountsville affixed his name to, aroused all these recollections.
Unwritten, they haunted the writer's mind; recorded,
they are banished. The past takes them. There they sleep
again, with a thousand others, gay or sorrowful, brilliant or
lugubrious, for of this changeful warp and woof is war.

p521-320

[figure description] Page 297.[end figure description]

There is an event of the late war, the details of which are
known only to a few persons; and yet it is no exaggeration to
say that many thousands would feel an interest in the particulars.
I mean the death of Jackson. The minute circumstances
attending it have never been published, and they are here
recorded as matter of historical as well as personal interest.

A few words will describe the situation of affairs when this
tragic scene took place. The spring of 1862 saw a large Federal
army assembled on the north bank of the Rappahannock, and on
the first of May, General Hooker, its commander, had crossed,
and firmly established himself at Chancellorsville. General
Lee's forces were opposite Fredericksburg chiefly, a small body
of infantry only watching the upper fords. This latter was
compelled to fall back before General Hooker's army of about
one hundred and fifty thousand men, and Lee bastened by forced
marches from Fredericksburg toward Chancellorsville, with a
force of about thirty thousand men—Longstreet being absent at
Suffolk—to check the further advance of the enemy. This was
on May 1st, and the Confederate advance force under Jackson,
on the same evening, attacked General Hooker's intrenchments
facing toward Fredericksburg. They were found impregnable,
the dense thickets having been converted into abattis, and every
avenue of approach defended with artillery. General Lee therefore
directed the assault to cease, and consulted with his corps

[figure description] Page 298.[end figure description]

commanders as to further operations. Jackson suggested a rapid
movement around the Federal front, and a determined attack
upon the right flank of General Hooker, west of Chancellorsville.
The ground on his left and in his front gave such enormous
advantages to the Federal troops that an assault there was
impossible, and the result of the consultation was the adoption
of Jackson's suggestion to attack the enemy's right. Every
preparation was made that night, and on the morning of May
second, Jackson set out with Hill's, Rodes's, and Colston's divisions,
in all about twenty-two thousand men, to accomplish his
undertaking.

Chancellorsville was a single brick house of large dimensions,
situated on the plank-road from Fredericksburg to Orange, and
all around it were the thickets of the country known as the
Wilderness. In this tangled undergrowth the Federal works
had been thrown up, and such was the denseness of the woods
that a column moving a mile or two to the south was not apt to
be seen. Jackson calculated upon this, but fortune seemed
against him. At the Catherine Furnace, a mile or two from the
Federal line, his march was discovered, and a hot attack was
made on his rear-guard as he moved past. All seemed now discovered,
but, strange to say, such was not the fact. The Federal
officers saw him plainly, but the winding road which he pursued
chanced here to bend toward the south, and it was afterward
discovered that General Hooker supposed him to be in full
retreat upon Richmond. Such at least was the statement of Federal
officers. Jackson repulsed the attack upon his rear, continued
his march, and striking into what is called the Brock
Road, turned the head of his column northward, and rapidly
advanced around General Hooker's right flank. A cavalry force
under General Stuart had moved in front and on the flanks of
the column, driving off scouting parties and other too inquisitive
wayfarers; and on reaching the junction of the Orange and
Germanna roads a heavy Federal picket was forced to retire.
General Fitz Lee then informed Jackson that from a hill near at
hand he could obtain a view of the Federal works, and proceeding
thither, Jackson reconnoitred. This reconnoissance showed

[figure description] Page 299.[end figure description]

him that he was not far enough to the left, and he said briefly to
an aide, “Tell my column to cross that road,” pointing to the
plank-road. His object was to reach the “old turnpike,” which
ran straight down into the Federal right flank. It was reached
at about five in the evening, and without a moment's delay
Jackson formed his line of battle for an attack. Rodes's division
moved in front, supported at an interval of two hundred yards
by Colston's, and behind these A. P. Hill's division marched in
column like the artillery, on account of the almost impenetrable
character of the thickets on each side of the road.

Jackson's assault was sudden and terrible. It struck the
Eleventh corps, commanded on this occasion by General Howard,
and, completely surprised, they retreated in confusion upon
the heavy works around Chancellorsville. Rodes and Colston
followed them, took possession of the breastworks across the
road, and a little after eight o'clock the Confederate troops were
within less than a mile of Chancellorsville, preparing for a new
and more determined attack. Jackson's plan was worthy of being
the last military project conceived by that resolute and enterprising
intellect. He designed putting his entire force into action,
extending his left, and placing that wing between General
Hooker and the Rappahannock. Then, unless the Federal commander
could cut his way through, his army would be captured
or destroyed. Jackson commenced the execution of this plan
with vigour, and an obvious determination to strain every nerve,
and incur every hazard to accomplish so decisive a success.
Rodes and Colston were directed to retire a short distance, and
re-form their lines, now greatly mingled, and Hill was ordered
to move to the front and take their places. On fire with his
great design, Jackson then rode forward in front of the troops
toward Chancellorsville, and here and then the bullet struck him
which was to terminate his career.

The details which follow are given on the authority of Jackson's
staff officers, and one or two others who witnessed all that
occurred. In relation to the most tragic portion of the scene,
there remained, as will be seen, but a single witness.

Jackson had ridden forward on the turnpike to reconnoitre,

[figure description] Page 300.[end figure description]

and ascertain, if possible, in spite of the darkness of the night,
the position of the Federal lines. The moon shone, but it was
struggling with a bank of clouds, and afforded but a dim light.
From the gloomy thickets on each side of the turnpike, looking
more weird and sombre in the half light, came the melancholy
notes of the whippoorwill. “I think there must have been ten
thousand,” said General Stuart afterwards. Such was the scene
amid which the events now about to be narrated took place.

Jackson had advanced with some members of his staff, considerably
beyond the building known as “Melzi Chancellor's,”
about a mile from Chancellorsville, and had reached a point
nearly opposite an old dismantled house in the woods near the
road, whose shell-torn roof may still be seen, when he reined in
his horse, and remaining perfectly quiet and motionless, listened
intently for any indications of a movement in the Federal lines.
They were scarcely two hundred yards in front of him, and seeing
the danger to which he exposed himself one of his staff officers
said, “General, don't you think this is the wrong place for
you?” He replied quickly, almost impatiently, “The danger is
all over! the enemy is routed—go back and tell A. P. Hill to
press right on!” The officer obeyed, but had scarcely disappeared
when a sudden volley was fired from the Confederate
infantry in Jackson's rear, and on the right of the road—evidently
directed upon him and his escort. The origin of this fire
has never been discovered, and after Jackson's death there was
little disposition to investigate an occurrence which occasioned
bitter distress to all who by any possibility could have taken
part in it. It is probable, however, that some movement of the
Federal skirmishers had provoked the fire; if this is an error,
the troops fired deliberately upon Jackson and his party, under
the impression that they were a body of Federal cavalry reconnoitring.
It is said that the men had orders to open upon any
object in front, “especially upon cavalry;” and the absence of
pickets or advance force of any kind on the Confederate side
explains the rest. The enemy were almost in contact with them;
the Federal artillery, fully commanding the position of the troops,
was expected to open every moment; and the men were just in

[figure description] Blank Page.[end figure description]

DEATH WOUND OF STONEWALL JACKSON.—Page 301.
“He was then carried to the side of the road, and laid under a tree.” His last words were, “Let us cross over
the river and rest under the shade.” [figure description] Illustration page, which depicts the death of Stonewall Jackson. He is shown lying under a large tree, dying, as groups of Confederate soldiers gather around. The background image is filled with Confederate soldiers running towards Jackson, some with swords aloft and one with flag raised and waving.[end figure description]

p521-326 [figure description] Page 301.[end figure description]

that excited condition which induces troops to fire at any and
every object they see.

Whatever may have been the origin of this volley, it came,
and many of the staff and escort were shot, and fell from their
horses. Jackson wheeled to the left and galloped into the woods
to get out of range of the bullets; but he had not gone twenty
steps beyond the edge of the turnpike, in the thicket, when one
of his brigades drawn up within thirty yards of him fired a volley
in their turn, kneeling on the right knee, as the flash of the
guns showed, as though prepared to “guard against cavalry.”
By this fire Jackson was wounded in three places. He received
one ball in his left arm, two inches below the shoulder-joint, shattering
the bone and severing the chief artery; a second passed
through the same arm between the elbow and the wrist, making
its exit through the palm of the hand; and a third ball entered
the palm of his right hand, about the middle, and passing through
broke two of the bones. At the moment when he was struck,
he was holding his rein in his left hand, and his right was raised
either in the singular gesture habitual to him, at times of excitement,
or to protect his face from the boughs of the trees. His
left hand immediately dropped at his side, and his horse, no
longer controlled by the rein, and frightened at the firing,
wheeled suddenly and ran from the fire in the direction of the
Federal lines. Jackson's helpless condition now exposed him
to a distressing accident. His horse darted violently between
two trees, from one of which a horizontal bough extended,
at about the height of his head, to the other; and as he passed
between the trees, this bough struck him in the face, tore off his
cap, and threw him violently back on his horse. The blow was
so violent as nearly to unseat him, but it did not do so, and
rising erect again, he caught the bridle with the broken and
bleeding fingers of his right hand, and succeeded in turning his
horse back into the turnpike. Here Captain Wilbourn, of his
staff, succeeded in catching the reins and checking the animal,
who was almost frantic from terror, at the moment when, from
loss of blood and exhaustion, Jackson was about to fall from the
saddle.

[figure description] Page 302.[end figure description]

The scene at this time was gloomy and depressing. Horses
mad with fright at the close firing were seen running in every
direction, some of them riderless, others defying control; and
in the wood lay many wounded and dying men. Jackson's
whole party, except Captain Wilbourn and a member of the
signal corps, had been killed, wounded, or dispersed. The man
riding just behind Jackson had had his horse killed; a courier
near was wounded and his horse ran into the Federal lines;
Lieutenant Morrison, aide-de-camp, threw himself from the saddle,
and his horse fell dead a moment afterwards; Captain Howard
was wounded and carried by his horse into the Federal camps;
Captain Leigh had his horse shot under him; Captain Forbes
was killed; and Captain Boswell, Jackson's chief engineer, was shot through the heart, and his dead body carried by his frightened
horse into the lines of the enemy near at hand.

Such was the fatal result of this causeless fire. It had ceased
as suddenly as it began, and the position in the road which
Jackson now occupied was the same from which he had been
driven. Captain Wilbourn, who with Mr. Wynn, of the signal
corps, was all that was left of the party, notices a singular circumstance
which attracted his attention at this moment. The
turnpike was utterly deserted with the exception of himself, his
companion, and Jackson; but in the skirting of thicket on the
left he observed some one sitting on his horse, by the side of the
road, and coolly looking on, motionless and silent. The unknown
individual was clad in a dark dress which strongly resembled
the Federal uniform; but it seemed impossible that one
of the enemy could have penetrated to that spot without being
discovered, and what followed seemed to prove that he belonged
to the Confederates. Captain Wilbourn directed him to “ride
up there and see what troops those were”—the men who had
fired on Jackson—when the stranger slowly rode in the direction

[figure description] Page 303.[end figure description]

pointed out, but never returned. Who this silent personage
was, is left to conjecture.

Captain Wilbourn, who was standing by Jackson, now said,
“They certainly must be our troops,” to which the General assented
with a nod of the head, but said nothing. He was looking
up the road toward his lines with apparent astonishment,
and continued for some time to look in that direction as if unable
to realize that he could have been fired upon and wounded by
his own men. His wound was bleeding profusely, the blood
streaming down so as to fill his gauntlets, and it was necessary
to secure assistance promptly. Captain Wilbourn asked him if
he was much injured, and urged him to make an effort to move
his fingers, as his ability to do this would prove that his arm was
not broken. He endeavoured to do so, looking down at his
hand during the attempt, but speedily gave it up, announcing
that his arm was broken. An effort which his companion made
to straighten it caused him great pain, and murmuring, “You
had better take me down,” he leaned forward and fell into Captain
Wilbourn's arms. He was so much exhausted by loss of
blood that he was unable to take his feet out of the stirrups, and
this was done by Mr. Wynn. He was then carried to the side
of the road and laid under a small tree, where Captain Wilbourn
supported his head while his companion went for a surgeon and
ambulance to carry him to the rear, receiving strict instructions,
however, not to mention the occurrence to any one but Dr.
McGuire, or other surgeon. Captain Wilbourn then made an
examination of the General's wounds. Removing his fieldglasses
and haversack, which latter contained some paper and
envelopes for dispatches, and two religious tracts, he put these
on his own person for safety, and with a small pen-knife proceeded
to cut away the sleeves of the india-rubber overall, dresscoat,
and two shirts, from the bleeding arm.

While this duty was being performed, General Hill rode up
with his staff, and dismounting beside the general expressed his
great regret at the accident. To the question whether his wound
was painful, Jackson replied, “Very painful,” and added that
“his arm was broken.” General Hill pulled off his gauntlets,

[figure description] Page 304.[end figure description]

which were full of blood, and his sabre and belt were also removed.
He then seemed easier, and having swallowed a mouthful
of whiskey, which was held to his lips, appeared much refreshed.
It seemed impossible to move him without making his
wounds bleed afresh, but it was absolutely necessary to do so,
as the enemy were not more than a hundred and fifty yards distant,
and might advance at any moment—and all at once a proof
was given of the dangerous position which he occupied. Captain
Adams, of General Hill's staff, had ridden ten or fifteen
yards ahead of the group, and was now heard calling out, “Halt!
surrender! fire on them if they don't surrender!” At the next
moment he came up with two Federal skirmishers who had at
once surrendered, with an air of astonishment, declaring that
they were not aware they were in the Confederate lines.

General Hill had drawn his pistol and mounted his horse;
and he now returned to take command of his line and advance,
promising Jackson to keep his accident from the knowledge of
the troops, for which the general thanked him. He had scarcely
gone when Lieutenant Morrison, who had come up, reported the
Federal line advancing rapidly, and then within about a hundred
yards of the spot, and exclaimed: “Let us take the General up
in our arms and carry him off.” But Jackson said faintly, “No,
if you can help me up, I can walk.” He was accordingly lifted
up and placed upon his feet, when the Federal batteries in front
opened with great violence, and Captain Leigh, who had just
arrived with a litter, had his horse killed under him by a shell.
He leaped to the ground, near Jackson, and the latter leaning
his right arm on Captain Leigh's shoulder, slowly dragged himself
along toward the Confederate lines, the blood from his
wounded arm flowing profusely over Captain Leigh's uniform.

Hill's lines were now in motion to meet the coming attack,
and as the men passed Jackson, they saw from the number and
rank of his escort that he must be a superior officer. “Who is
that—who have you there?” was asked, to which the reply was,
“Oh! it's only a friend of ours who is wounded.” These inquiries
became at last so frequent that Jackson said to his escort:
“When asked, just say it is a Confederate officer.”

[figure description] Page 305.[end figure description]