 CHAPTER IX THE CAMPAIGN AGAINST POPE Richmond, July 4, 1862. My dearest Pauline. I reached our wagon-camp near Richmond about twelve o'clock Tuesday, and as the battle of Malvern Hill was raging below did not go to Richmond. I came up to get my horse shod. McClellan has retreated about thirty-five miles and is now under cover of his gun-boats on James River. McClellan is badly whipped. Richmond, July 7, 1862. My dearest Pauline. I came up to Richmond yesterday from our camp below. Our army has now fallen back near Richmond, as we could not attack McClellan under his gun-boats. It was no use keeping our army so far off from supplies. I have just returned from an expedition down James River where I succeeded, with half a dozen men, in breaking up an assemblage of Negroes and Yankees. They were armed. It is an open secret that in August, 1862, the disobedience of two Confederate generals saved Pope's army in Virginia from ruin and nearly resulted in the capture of the Confederate chief of cavalry. But historians have been strangely silent about it. I had a part in the play, and I take more pleasure in telling about it now than I did when I was an actor in the great drama. In war there are lights mingled with shadows. In the retrospect we see a great deal of the comedy where once all seemed to be tragedy. After the seven days' battles around Richmond, that closed on July 1, several weeks of calm succeeded. McClellan had shifted his base from the Pamunkey to the James, and both armies rested for another collision. If McClellan had possessed the intuition of Grant, he would not have halted on the bank of the river, but would have crossed and seized the communications of the Confederate capital. General John Pope had been called from the west to take command of an army in front of Washington. This army was organized mostly from fragments which Jackson had overlooked in the Shenandoah Valley. Pope came east with some reputation, but he soon lost it. Pope opened his campaign in northern Virginia with a bombastic manifesto that, by an invidious comparison, gave offense to his own side and amusement to ours. He was, however, unjustly criticized for declaring that his army should subsist on the country it occupied. That is a right as old as war, to live on the enemy. I did the same thing whenever I could. Pope declared that in the west he had seen only the backs of his enemies, and that he would look only to his front and let his rear take care of itself. But he must be acquitted of the charge, so often repeated, of having said that his headquarters would be in the saddle. I know that it is no use to deny it now. It is part of our mythology, and the people of Virginia believe it as religiously as they do the legend of Pocahontas. It is said that even so grave a person as General Lee made humorous remarks about this proclamation. But what interested me most in this proclamation was the following. I hear constantly of taking strong positions and holding them, of lines of retreat and bases of supplies. Let us dismiss such ideas, let us study the probable lines of retreat of our opponents, and leave our own to take care of themselves. Let us look before us, and not behind. At this time I was at Cavalry headquarters in Hanover County about ten miles from Richmond. When I read what Pope said about looking only to his front and letting his rear take care of itself, I saw that the opportunity for which I had longed had come. He had opened a promising field for partisan warfare and had invited, or rather dared, anybody to take advantage of it. The Cavalry at Richmond was doing nothing but picket duty, and quiet to quick bosoms as a hell. So I asked Stuart for a dozen men to make the harvest where the laborers were few, and do for Pope what he would not do for himself—take care of his rear and communications for him. Stuart was, of course, well disposed to me. He had spoken well of me in his report of his ride around McClellan on the Chickahominy, and General Lee had also mentioned me in his general order announcing it to the Army. I really thought that there was a chance to render effective service. I had served the first year of the war in a regiment of Cavalry in the region which was now in Pope's department, and had a general knowledge of the country. I was sure then—I am sure now—that I could make Pope pay as much attention to his rear as his front, and then I could compel him to detail most of his Cavalry to guard his long line of communications, or turn his commissary department in rear over to me, which would have been perfectly satisfactory to me. There never was afterwards such a field for partisan war in Virginia. Breaking communications as the chief worked for a partisan, it defeats plans and starts confusion by destroying supplies, thus diminishing the offensive strength of an army. Judged in the light that is before us now, it looks strange that I was refused. Stuart told me that he was getting his Cavalry ready for the act of campaign soon to begin, but that he would give me a letter to Jackson, who no doubt would give me the man I wanted. I had to beg for the privilege of striking the enemy at a vulnerable point. If the detail had been given me, I would have started directly to cross the rapidan to flank Pope, and my partisan war would have begun then. I accepted the letter to Jackson, the best I could get, and with a clubfooted companion, and exempt from military service, I started off. I was so anxious to be at work that I concluded to go by rail and arrange with Jackson for the Cavalry to go with me. We spent the night with a farmer near Beaver Dam station on what is now the Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad. I sent my companion on to lead my horse to Jackson's headquarters and went to the depot. I laid down my pistols and haversack that had the letter to Jackson. The man leading my horse had scarcely gotten out of sight when somebody exclaimed, Here they are! A regiment of northern cavalry was not a hundred yards away, coming up at a trot. I ran, but they caught me and got my pistols and haversack. This capture apparently blasted my hopes, especially when I was sent to the old capital prison in Washington. But an exchange of prisoners was agreed upon the next day. I was captured by a New York regiment, the Harris Cavalry. It had ridden all night to break the communications between Lee and Jackson. The men did not wait for my train, although I told them it could be taken with impunity. It was not true, but I suppose I was justified by the code of war. I was taken to General King's headquarters at Fredericksburg and very kindly treated. He let me write a letter to my family, which he sent through the lines. Some letters were captured at the depot. General King read one aloud. Everybody laughed. It was from a Richmond girl to her country cousin. I remember four lines. I hope they won't shock people who read them now. Jeff Davis is our president. Lincoln is a fool. Jeff Davis rides a white horse. Lincoln rides a mule. A history of the Harris Cavalry says, At six o'clock on the evening of July 19 the Harris Light was set in rapid motion almost directly south. By means of a forced march through the night, at grey dawn of morning we descended upon Beaver Dam depot on the Virginia Central, like so many ravenous wolves. During an affray we captured a young Confederate who gave his name as Captain John S. Mosby. By his sprightly appearance and conversation he attracted considerable attention. He is slight but well-formed. He has a keen blue eye and a blonde complexion, and displays no small amount of southern bravado in his dress and manners. His grey plush hat is surmounted by a waving plume which he tosses as he speaks in real Prussian style. He had a letter in his possession from General Stewart commending him to the kind regards of General Jackson. Old Capital Prison, Washington, July 23, 1862. My dearest Pauline. I wrote you from Falmouth opposite Fredericksburg, announcing my capture by the enemy's cavalry at Beaver Dam. I was going up to see General Jackson for Stewart. I had a young man with me. I concluded to let him lead my horse and I would take the train and pay you a flying visit. I had just arrived at the depot, had pulled off my arms and placed them in a store-house, and was sitting down outdoors waiting for a train, which was due in the course of an hour, when the cavalry suddenly appeared and I had no time to escape. The colonel and captain treated me with the greatest courtesy. General King, before whom I was carried, ordered my arms to be restored to me. In my haversack was a letter from General Stewart introducing me to General Jackson. Do you need feel no uneasiness about me? General Davis, who captured me, offered to lend me Federal money. I thanked him, but declined. I had been a prisoner about ten days when I was taken, with a good many prisoners, down the Potomac to Fortress Monroe. Here we waited four days for others to arrive that we might go up the James River to the place of exchange. When we arrived at Hampton Roads I saw a large number of transports with troops lying near. As a prisoner I kept up my habits as a scout and soon learned that they were Burnside's troops who had just come from North Carolina. If they were reinforcements for McClellan it would indicate that he would advance again on Richmond from his new base on the James. On the other hand, if they sailed up the Chesapeake it would show that they were going to join Pope, and that McClellan would be withdrawn from the peninsula. This was the problem that I had to solve. There was a pivotal point in the campaign. There were several officers of high rank among the prisoners, but I did not communicate my purpose to any one, for fear my secret work might leak out with the result that we should be detained. I was, however, much surprised that none of them seemed to regard what was before their eyes as of any significance. On the fourth day several steamers with prisoners came from their places of confinement in the North anchored near us, and I was told that we were to start that evening up the James River, to the point where the commissioners would meet for the exchange. During the day I saw the transports with Burnside's troops weighing anchor and passing out by the fort. I had become pretty well acquainted with the captain of the steamer that brought us down from Washington, and found out that he was a confederate in sympathy, so when he was going ashore for his orders I asked him to find out where the transports were going. When he returned he whispered to me that Aquia Creek on the Potomac was the point. That settled it. McClellan's army would not advance but would follow the transports northward. I was feverish with excitement and anxiety to carry the news to General Lee, but nobody suspected what I had discovered, nor did I hear any comment on the movement of Burnside's troops. I was so restless that I sat nearly all night on the deck of the steamer, watching for the day-star. Early in the morning we arrived at the landing and I was the first to jump ashore. As I was in a hurry and afraid of being detained by some formality in exchanging, I whispered to the confederate commissioner that I had important information for General Lee and asked him to let me go. He made no objection. It was a hot day in August, and I sat out alone to walk twelve miles to headquarters. Captain Washington had given me a patent leather haversack and a five-dollar greenback. The latter I had invested in lemons at Fortress Monroe, for the block egg kept them out of Virginia. After trudging several miles I was so exhausted in footsore that I had to lie down by the roadside, but I held on to my lemons. A horseman, one of Hampton's legions, came along, and I told him how anxious I was to get to General Lee. He proved a benefactor indeed, for he put me on his horse, walked to his camp with me, got another horse, and rode to General Lee's headquarters with me. I wish I knew his name, for I have always thought his conduct was one of the most generous deeds of the war. When we reached headquarters I dismounted and told a staff officer who was standing on the porch that I had important information for General Lee and wished to see him. As I was roughly dressed and unkempt, no doubt the officer thought I was presumptuous to ask the privilege. In the imperious tone customary with staff officers he said that I could not see the General. I protested that I must, but he would accept no explanation. So I turned to leave, but another officer, who had overheard what I had said, told me to wait. He went inside the house, but soon came out and told me to go inside. I did so and found myself in, what was then to me the awful presence of the Commander-in-Chief. We had never met before, but I was soon relieved of embarrassment. General Lee's kind, benevolent manner put me at my ease. I found him looking over a map on the table. As quickly as I could, I told him that Burnside's troops had been sent to Pope. I then said that he did not know what confidence he could put in my report, and told him my name and that I was on Stuart's ride around McClellan. Oh! he said. I remember. After I had finished my story he asked me a few questions. I remember very well that he inquired on what line I thought the next movement against Richmond would be made, and that I considered it a high compliment that he should ask my opinion on such an important matter. He then called one of his staff into the room and told him to have a courier ready to go to General Jackson. At that time Jackson was about eighty miles west of Richmond, on the railroad near Gordonsville. But ever since the affair at Beaver Dam, Lee had been afraid to trust the telegraph and kept a relay line of couriers. As soon as Jackson got the news about Burnside he hastened to strike Pope at Cedar Mountain before reinforcements could reach him. Richmond August 6, 1862 My dearest Pauline I arrived here yesterday evening. I came by flag of truce steamer, landed twelve miles below Richmond, and had to walk all the way up. My feet were so sore I could scarcely stand. As soon as I got here I went out to see General Lee, as I had a good deal of very important information to give him, I brought information of vital importance. The comp de Paris said in his history of the Civil War in America, so long as Burnside and the fleet of transports which lay in readiness to ship his troops remained at the mouth of the James, once they could proceed either to Harrison's Landing or to Aquia Creek, it was evident to Lee that the movement of the Federals had not yet been determined upon. Accordingly he sought with particular care for every item of intelligence calculated to enlighten him as to the design of his adversaries. Finally one evening, on the fourth or fifth of August, a small steamer bearing a flag of truce was seen coming up the James, passing the Confederate outposts and approaching Aiken's Landing, a place designated for the exchange of prisoners, in the midst of the soldiers whose gray coats were worn out by long confinement, and the second wounded to whom the thought of freedom restored both strength and health, an officer was making himself conspicuous by his extreme anxiety to land. His face was well known to every Virginian, and his name to all his companions and arms. It was the celebrated partisan Colonel John Mosby. His eagerness, which everybody attributed to his ardent temperament, was very natural, for he had news of the greatest importance to communicate to Lee. A few hours later he was at the headquarters of his chief, to whom he made known the fact that at the very moment when he was leaving Hampton Roads that same morning the whole of Burnside's core was being embarked, and that its destination, as he knew positively, was Aquia Creek. Lee lost no time in availing himself of this information which chance had opportunely thrown into his hands. When I rose to leave General Lee at this, my first meeting with him, I opened my haversack and put a dozen lemons on the table. He said he had better give them to some of the sick and wounded in the hospitals, but I left them and made him good-bye. I had little expectation of ever seeing him again. I went to see Stewart, who was still in Hanover, and then went home to get my horse. I reached the army again on August 17, just in time to meet Stewart, who had come by rail from Richmond, leaving Fitz Lee to bring up the cavalry. By this time it was plain that McClellan was about to leave the peninsula, so that General Lee was concentrating on the rapidan. Stewart had just had a conference with General Lee, and had received his final instructions. He did not say what they were, but the coming event cast its shadow before. Stewart was to meet Fitz Lee at Verdiersville, and I went with him. I had no arms. I had lost my pistols when I was captured at Beaver Dam, but trusted to luck to get another pair. On the way to meet Fitz Lee, we passed Longstreet's cap. The soldiers knew instinctively that a movement was on foot. They were cooking their rations for a march and singing any lorry. We reached the appointed rendezvous that night, but found a deserted village. There were no signs of the cavalry, and Stewart was greatly disappointed and worried, for the operation, which had been planned for the next morning, depended on the cavalry. I did not then suspect how much depended on meeting the cavalry, and how much was lost by its absence. It was the crucial point of the campaign. A staff officer, Major Fitzhugh, went in search of Fitz Lee, and Stewart and I tied our horses and lay down to sleep on the porch of a house by the road. Before sunrise I was awakened by a young man, Gibson, who had just come with me unarmed from prison. He said that he had heard the tramp of cavalry down the plank road, that it was probably Fitz Lee, but it might be Yankee cavalry. Although we were near the rapidan, we thought we were inside of Bitt Longstreet's picket line. But I did not want to be caught napping again. So I awoke Stewart and told him what we had heard, and that Gibson and I would ride down the road to see what was there. We soon saw a body of cavalry that had stopped at a house a few hundred yards away. A heavy fog made it impossible to distinguish friends from foes. But we were soon relieved of doubt. Two cavalrymen saw us and rode forward. When they got in pistol range they opened fire. That settled it. We knew they were not our friends. As Gibson and I had no arms there was nothing for us to do but wheel and run, which we did, and used our spurs freely. The firing gave the alarm and saved Stewart. He mounted his horse, bareheaded, leaped the fence in the back yard, and got away. But he left his hat. Before Gibson and I got to the house where we had slept, a pressure on Stewart's staff dashed through the front gate and went down the road ahead of us as fast as his horse could carry him. We never overtook him. After the war he published a lot of fables in which he described an encounter he had with the Yankees that morning as more wonderful than the feet of St. George and the Dragon. Our ambition was to escape. We ran as fast as we could, but the Prussian ran faster. That was all the distinction he won. He advanced to the line of the Rapidan, with his army stretched across the Orange and Alexandria railway, which was his line of supply. His forces were massed near the river. Lee, with Jackson and Longstreet, was in Orange County a few miles to his front. Our cavalry picketed the south bank of the river. As late as the seventeenth Pope did not know, and this was the evening before he retreated in such a hurry, that Lee had a ride with Longstreet. He thought Jackson was at Gordonsville, twenty miles south. Pope spoke of crossing the river and making a demonstration towards Richmond. He told Halleck, Our position is strong and it will be very difficult to drive us from it. A worse position for an army could not have been selected for Pope by an enemy. He urged Halleck to let him cross the river and take the offensive, but the latter would not consent. Lee never again had such an opportunity to destroy an army. It would have been easy, on that day, to pass around under cover of Clark's Mountain. That is on the south bank of the Rapidan. Cross at the fords below, and strike Pope both in flank and rear at the same time. It was particularly so, as Pope had said he would look only to his front. The fact is, the railroad turns east at such an angle in Culpeper that, after crossing the river below Pope, Lee's army would have been nearer the Rappahannock Bridge than Pope's army was. His railroad communications with Washington would have been seized, and reinforcements from McClellan cut off. According to Pope's dispatches of that day to Halleck, there was no sign of a movement across the Rapidan. He was anxious to attack Jackson. By an accident Pope was rudely awakened from his dream of security. John C. Ropes, the historian, wrote, Hence, when we saw him, Pope, quickly occupying the line of the Rapidan, Lee at once saw his opportunity. He ordered Longstreet and Jackson to cross the river at Raccoon and Somerville Fords, and to move on Culpeper Courthouse, while the cavalry of Stuart, crossing further to the east at Morton's Ward, was to make Rappahannock Station, destroying the bridge there, and then turning to the left, form the right of Longstreet's corps. Pope would have been attacked on the rear and flank, and his communications severed in the bargain. Doubtless he would have made a strenuous fight, but he could hardly have escaped defeat, and defeat under such circumstances might have well have been ruined. In this disaster, Fortune saved Pope through the capture of Stuart's staff officer. Stuart had sent Major Fitzhugh to look for Fitz Lee, whose orders required him to be at Vertiersville the night of the 17th. The place is a few miles south of the Rapidan. Daybreak on the 18th was the day fixed for crossing the river, but Fitz Lee, as appears from Stuart's report, after leaving Hanover, end of marching directly to the vicinity of Raccoon Ford, as he was ordered, changed his course, and turned back to follow his wagons that had been sent by Louisa Courthouse for provisions. By this detour he was a day late in reaching his destination. The delay was fatal to General Lee's plan and saved Pope. General Lee would not make the movement without his cavalry, but Jackson wanted to go on without it. Major Fitzhugh, while looking for Fitz Lee, was captured on the night of the 17th by a body of cavalry that had been sent over the river on a scout. It was the same body that came so near getting us the next morning. They got Lee's letter to Stuart that disclosed his plan to cross on the morning of the 18th and flank Pope. This dispatch was sent in hot haste to headquarters and created a panic. General Pope, in his report, spoke of the capture of this letter as the cause of his hasty and unpremeditated retreat. He said the cavalry expedition he sent out captured the adjutant general of Stuart, and was near capturing that officer himself. Among the papers taken from him was an autographed letter of General Lee to General Stuart, which may manifest the disposition and force of the enemy and their destination to overwhelm the army and my command before it could be reinforced by any portion of the Army of the Potomac. But Fitz Lee was not alone responsible for General Lee's failure to envelop Pope. General Longstreet said that, as the cavalry had not come up on the 17th, he ordered two regiments of tombs brigade to be sent to guard the rapidan forts. Tombs had ridden from his headquarters to have dinner with a farmer. When the order came his next in rank ordered the detail to be sent. When tombs learned what had been done without asking him, he ordered the regiment back to their camp. So the fords were unguarded and Pope's cavalry crossed without giving any alarm, captured Stuart's staff officer with General Lee's order, and saved Pope's army. Longstreet put tombs under arrest, but Fitz Lee was not relieved of his command. In the midst of the battle of Manassas a few days later, tombs rode up to Longstreet and begged to lead his brigade. Longstreet relented and tombs led his men into battle. So it seemed that General Pope was saved by a comedy of errors. General Lee had to wait for his cavalry to come up, but when they came the opportunity was gone. If tombs had not withdrawn the picket from the rapidan the union cavalry could not have crossed. Fitz Lee had disobeyed orders, even if the cavalry had crossed they would have been caught. By this combination of errors Pope got warning and lost no time in getting away. I rode with Stuart to the signal station on Clark's mountain where we could see Pope's army retreating and his trains scutting back to the Rappahannock. General George Gordon, who was with Pope, said, Without delay the retreat began, by rail and along the roadways, in cars and in baggage wagons, from Mitchell's station and Culpeper courthouse, vast stores of subsistence, forage, and ammunition streamed out for the left bank of the Rappahannock. The Confederates were disappointed. Many of them scolded bitterly. Rarely had a better opportunity offered for the destruction of an army. Daphne, Jackson's staff officer and biographer, in an account of the campaign written when it was fresh in memory, said that the plan of the Commander-in-Chief was for the movement to begin at dawn on the 18th, but was defeated by dilatory subordinates, and that he overruled the eagerness of Jackson and postponed it until the 20th. It was then, he wrote, most fortunate that Jackson was not in command. A few days afterwards Stewart went on a raid around Pope. As he galloped by me, he said, I'm going after my hat. Sure enough he captured Pope's headquarters wagons, with the hat and plume and full-dress uniform, besides his money-chest. Stewart was now at least even with Pope. Drainseville, September 5, 1862 My dearest Pauline Our arms have been crowned with a glorious victory, Second Battle of Manassas and Chantilly. Our army is now marching on towards Levesburg, and we all suppose it will cross into Maryland. I have escaped unhurt, though I got my horse slightly shot in the shoulder and had a bullet through the top of my hat, which slightly grazed my head. I have a very good Yankee horse, also two fine saddles and two pistols I captured, with one man I captured seven cavalry and two infantry. Colonel Mosby accompanied Stewart on the fall campaign, which culminated in the Battle of Antietam. Of this campaign Mosby noted two incidents as follows. I rode just behind Jackson when he marched at the head of his columns through Frederick City, Maryland, in September 1862, with his band playing My Maryland. But I never heard the story of Barbara Fritchie shaking the stars and stripes in his face until I read Whittier's poem. I am sorry the story is a myth, for as the poet tells it, the respect which the Confederate showed her was a great contrast with the treatment and order of a certain general required to be shown to a woman who, by word, sign, or gesture, should be disrespectful to the U.S. soldier or flag. I only once saw Stonewall Jackson in battle. At Antietam I rode with Stewart by some batteries where Jackson was directing their fire on the flank of a column that was advancing against him, and I stopped a minute to look at the great soldier who was by then transfigured with the joy of battle. In a quiet way he was giving orders. McClellan had sent three corps in succession against him, hookers, men's fields, and summoners, and each in turn was repulsed. While I was near him the last onset was made, but Jackson held the same ground at sunset that he held in the morning. I rode on and overtook Stewart, but the killed and wounded were strewn on the ground like leaves of the forest which autumn hath blown, and I had to be careful not to ride over them. Whole ranks seemed to have been struck down by a volley. Though hundreds were lying all around me, my attention was in some way attracted to a wounded officer who was lying in an uncomfortable position and seemed to be suffering great agony. I dismounted, fixed him more comfortably, and rolled up a blanket on which he rested his head, and then got a canteen of water for him from the body of a dead soldier lying near him. As I passed a wounded soldier I held the canteen toward him so that he could drink. He said, No. Take it to my colonel. He is the best man in the world. This was a speech worthy of Sydney, the model of chivalry. CHAPTER 10 FIRST EXPLOITS AS A PARTISON NEAR CALL PEPPER, NOV. 24, 1862 My dearest Pauline, I have been on another big scout since I rode. General Stewart sent me with nine men down to reconnoiter in the vicinity of Manassas. There was a Yankee regiment there. We came upon ten. We charged them with a yell. The Yankees ran and stampeded their whole regiment, thinking all of Stewart's cavalry were on them. Jackson is in the valley. I will join Stewart in a day or so. I stayed behind on the scout and have just returned. Tuesday, December 2, 1862 My dearest Pauline, I am now with the first regiment near Spotsylvania Courthouse, but it is uncertain how long we will be here. Jackson has arrived. I reckon you saw the account in the Richmond papers of my scout and stampede of the Yankees near Manassas. Several of my old company have been shot lately. December 9 My dearest Pauline Enclosed I send a copy of my report to General Stewart of my scout down to Manassas, when with nine men I stampeded two or three thousand Yankees. I see the Richmond papers give Colonel Rosser, Fifth Virginia Cavalry, the credit of it. He had nothing to do with it, and was not in twenty-five miles of there. General Lee sent me a message expressing his gratification at my success. I believe I have already written of my trip around McClellan at Catlett Station. When I saw him leave his army at the time he was superseded by Burnside. The courier by whom I sent the dispatch to General Stewart, announcing it, passed five Yankee cavalry in the road. Not dreaming there was a rebel army in their rear, they passed on by him, merely saying, Good morning. We did not go in disguise, as spies, but in Confederate uniform and with our arms. Had a slip from a northern paper which I lost, giving an account of a squad of rebel cavalry having been seen that day in their rear. Aaron thinks himself quite a hero, though he does not want to come again in such disagreeable proximity to a bombshell. I want you to send me some books to read. In Plutarch, Macaulay's History and Essays, Encyclopedia of Anecdotes, Scott's Works, Shakespeare, Byron, Scott's Poems, Hazlet's Life of Napoleon. If you can get me a copy of my novel, send it. Also Memoirs of an Irish Gentleman for Fount Beatty. Corrine and Sketchbook. The situation is now changed. McClellan and Pope have been driven from Virginia and Burnside has met a bloody repulse at Fredericksburg. The two hostile armies are in winter quarters on the Rappahannock, and the pickets' own opposite banks have declared a truce and are swapping coffee and tobacco. Occasionally a band on the northern bank plays a favorite southern air, and soon, in response, the strain of the star-spangled banner comes from our side. The cavalry is not used for picketing, and has been sent to the rear to be more convenient to forage. To relieve the monotony, Stewart resolved to take his cavalry on a Christmas raid to dumb-freeze on Burnside's line of communication with Washington. A good many wagons with supplies were captured, and we chased a cavalry regiment through their own camp and got all their good things. There is a dispatch in the history of the telegraph and the war from an operator in Fairfax which says, the seventeenth Pennsylvania cavalry just passed here, furiously charging to the rear. When he returned, Stewart let me stay behind a few days with six men to operate on the enemy's outposts. He was so satisfied with our success that he let me have fifteen men to return and begin my partisan life in Northern Virginia, which closed with the war. That was the origin of my battalion. On January 24, 1863, we crossed the Rappahannock and immediately began operations in a country which Joe Johnston had abandoned a year before. It looked as though I was leading a forlorn hope, but I was never discouraged. Footnote. A Confederate newspaper described the Mosby of this time as follows. His figure is slight, muscular, supple, and vigorous. His eye is keen, penetrating, and ever on the alert. Another description of his appearance during the war. He was thin, wiry, and I should say about five feet nine or ten inches in height. A slight stoop in the back was not ungraceful. His chin was carried well forward, his lips were thin, and wore a somewhat satirical smile. The eyes under the brown felt hat were keen, sparkling, and roved curiously from side to side. He wore a gray uniform, with no arms but two revolvers. The sabre was no favorite with him. His voice was low, and a smile was often on his lips. He rarely sat still ten minutes. Such was his appearance at that time. No one would have been struck with anything noticeable in him, except his eyes. These flashed at times, in a way which might have induced the opinion that there was something in the man, if it only had an opportunity to come out. The face of this person is tanned, beardless, youthful-looking, and pleasant. He has white regular teeth, which his habitual smile reveals. His piercing eyes flash out from beneath his brown hat, with its golden cord, and he rains his horse with the ease of a practiced rider. A plain soldier, low and slight of stature, ready to talk, to laugh, to ride, to oblige you in any way. Such was Mosby an outward appearance. Nature had given no sign but the restless, roving, flashing eyes that there was much worth considering beneath. The commonplace exterior of the partisan concealed one of the most active, daring, restless minds of an epic, fruitful and such. His activity of mind and body, call it, if you choose, restless, eternal love of movement, was something wonderful. End quote and footnote. In general, my purpose was to threaten and harass the enemy on the border, and in this way compel him to withdraw troops from his front to guard the line of the Potomac and Washington. This would greatly diminish his offensive power. General Joe Hooker said before a committee of Congress that we created so much anxiety that the planks on the bridge across the Potomac were taken up every night to prevent us from carrying off the government. Recruits came to us from inside the enemy's lines and they brought valuable information. Then I had picketed for some time in Fairfax the year before and had acquired considerable local knowledge. The troops attached to the defense of Washington, south of the Potomac, were distributed in winter quarters through Fairfax County and extended in an arc of a circle from the upper to the lower Potomac. The headquarters of General Stouton, who commanded them, were at the courthouse. In a day or so after I arrived in Loudon we began operations on the outposts of Fairfax. The weak points were generally selected for attack. Up to that time the pickets had passed a quiet life and their camps were dozing on the picket-posts, but now they were kept under arms and awake all night by a foe who generally assailed them where he was least expected. At first they accounted for our attacks on the theory that the farmers and cripples they saw in the daytime, plowing their fields, and taking care of their flocks, collected in bands at night, raided their camps, and dispersed at daybreak. But when they went around at night searching the homes for these invisible foes they generally found the old farmers in bed, and when they returned to camp they often found that we had paid them a visit in their absence. The farmers could prove an alibi. An English officer, Colonel Percy Wyndham, a soldier of fortune who had been with Garibaldi in Italy, commanded the cavalry brigade and had charge of the outposts. He was familiar with the old rules of the schools, but he soon learned that they were out of date and his experience in war had not taught him how to counteract the forays and surprises that kept his men in the saddle all the time. The loss of sleep is irritating to anybody, and, in his vexation of being struck by and striking at an invisible foe, he sent me a message calling me a horse-thief. I did not deny it, but retorted that all the horses I had stolen had riders, and that the riders had sabers, carbines, and pistols. There was a new regiment in his brigade that was armed only with sabers and obsolete carbines. When we attacked them with revolvers, they were really defenseless. So I sent him word through a citizen that the men of that regiment were not worth capturing, and he must give them six shooters. We used neither carbines nor sabers, but all the men carried a pair of colt pistols. We did not pay for them, but the U.S. government did. Falkier County, Virginia. This is a letter to Mrs. Mosby. I have been in this neighborhood over a week. Have had a gay time with the Yankees. Have captured twenty-eight Yankee cavalry, twenty-nine horses. I have fifteen men with me. Fount Beatty was captured by the Yankees. His horse fell with him. There were over two hundred Yankees. The Yankees set what they thought was a sure trap to catch me a few nights ago. I went into it, and brought the whole of them off, killed and captured twelve. During the first days as a partisan there were more comic than tragic elements in the drama of war. About that time occurred an episode that would have furnished goldsmith with all the elements of a comedy. It was a dark night with a deep snow on the ground, but the weather was warm and the snow soft. I received information that there was a pretty strong outpost on a certain road in Fairfax, and I was determined to capture it. Of course the fine horses were a great attraction. Several citizens had joined my command and acted as guides. Near the post lived a man named Ben Hatton, who traded in the camps and was pretty familiar with him. So around midnight we stopped at his house about a mile from the picket post, and he told us that he had been there that evening, I suppose, to get coffee and sugar. Ben was impressed as a guide to conduct us to the rear of the enemy. When we reached that point I determined to dismount, leave our horses and attack on foot. Ben had fully discharged his duty, and as he was a non-combatant I did not want to expose him to unnecessary danger. The blazing fire by which the Yankees were sleeping and dreaming was sufficient for us. So the horses were tied to the trees, and two of my men, Jimmy and Irishman, and another we called Coonskin from the Cappy War, stayed with Ben as a guard over the horses. Walking on the soft snow we made no noise and were soon upon the picket post. The surprise was complete and they had no time to prepare for resistance. We were soon ready to start back with our prisoners and their horses when a fire opened in our rear where we had left the guard and horses. The best scheme seemed to be to mount the Yankee horses, dash back and recapture our own. Some of the men were left to bring the prisoners on foot. A considerable fuselage had been going on where the guard had been left, but it ceased suddenly when we got near the place. To our surprise we found that horses all standing hitched to the trees and Ben Hatton, lying in a snow-bank, shot through the thigh. But neither Coonskin nor Jimmy was there. Ben told us that the Yankees had come up and attacked them. That was all he knew, except that they had shot him. We did not know whether the Yankees had carried off Jimmy and Coonskin or whether they had carried off the Yankees, nor could he explain why the horses were there. That was a mystery nobody could solve. We mounted. Ben was lifted on a horse behind one of the men, and we started off with all the horses and prisoners. By that time the Yankees from the camp had been attracted by the firing. They came up and opened fire at us at long range, but let us leave without venturing to come near. Ben was bleeding profusely, but it was only a flesh wound. We left him at home, curled up in bed, with his wife to nurse him. He was too near the enemy's lines for me to give him surgical assistance, and he was afraid to ask any from the camps. The wound would have betrayed him to the Yankees had they known about it, and Ben would have been hung as a spy. He was certainly innocent, for he had no desire to serve anyone but himself. His wound healed, but the only reward he got was the glory of shedding his blood for his country. As soon as it was daylight a strong body of cavalry was sent up the turbine-pike to calf-choss. They might as well have been chasing a herd of antelope. We had several hours' start of them, and they returned to camp in the evening, leading a lot of broken-down horses. The pursuit had done them more harm than our attack. We brought off coon-skins and jimmies' horses, but we couldn't invent a theory to solve the mystery. Two days afterwards coon-skin and jimmy reappeared. They had trudged twenty-five miles through the snow, arriving within a few hours of each other, but from opposite directions, and each thought he was the only survivor. Neither knew that Ben Hatton had been shot, and each said that he had fought until they saw a body of Yankees rotting down upon them. Then they ran off and left the horses in the belief that we were all prisoners. By a comparison of their statements I found out that the facts were about as follows. To keep themselves warm, the three had walked around among the trees and got separated. Coonskins saw Ben and jimmy moving in the shadows, and took them for Yankees. He opened on them and drew blood at the first fire. Ben yelled and fell. Jimmy took it for granted that Coonskins was a Yankee and returned his fire, so they were firing at each other and dodging among the trees when they saw us coming up at a gallop. As we had left them on foot, they could not understand how we could come back on horseback. So after wounding Ben Hatton and shooting at each other, they had run away from us. A few days after this adventure fate compelled me to act apart in a comedy which appeared to be heroic, but for which I was really entitled to as little credit as Ben Hatton was for getting shot. From our rendezvous along the base of the Blue Ridge we continued to make night attacks on the outposts near Washington. So it was determined in Washington to put a stop to what was called our depredations, and an expedition was sent against us into Loudon. Middleburg, a village, was supposed to be our headquarters, and it was thought that by surrounding it at night the marauders would be caught. The complaints against us did not recognize the fact that there are two parties of equal rights in a war. The error men make is in judging conduct in war by the standards of peace. I confess my theory of war was severely practical, one not acquired by reading the Waverly novels, but we observe the ethics of the code of war. Strategy is only another name for deception, and can be practiced by any commander. The enemy complained that we did not fight fair. The same complaint was made by the Austrians against Napoleon. A major gilmer was sent with two hundred men in expectation of extirpating my gang, as they called us. He might have done more if he had taken less whisky along. But the weather was cold. Before daybreak he had invested the town and made his headquarters in the hotel where he had learned that I slept. I had never been in the village, except to pass through. The orders were to arrest every man that could be found, and when his searching parties reported to him they had a lot of old men whom they had pulled out of bed. Gilmer pretended to think those were the parties that had captured his pickets and patrols, and stampeded his camps. If so, when he saw the old cripples on crutches, he ought to have been ashamed. He made free use of his bottle and ordered a soldier to drill the old men and make them mark time just to keep warm. Since he had made a night march of twenty-five miles he concluded to carry the prisoners to his camp as prizes of war. So each gray beard had to ride double with a trooper. There were also a number of colored women whom he had invited, or who asked to go with him. They had children, but the major was a good-natured man, so each woman was mounted behind a trooper, and the trooper took her baby in his arms. With such encumbrances sabers and pistols would be of little use if an attack was made. When they started the column looked more like a procession of canterbury pilgrims than cavalry. News came to me that the enemy were at Middelburg, so with seventeen men I started that way, hoping to catch some stragglers. But when we got to the village we heard that they had gone, and we entered at a gallop. Women and children came out to greet us. The men had all been carried off as prisoners. The tears and lamentations of the scene aroused all our sentiments of chivalry, and we went in pursuit. With five or six men I rode in advance at a gallop, and directed the others to follow more slowly. I had expected that Major Gilmer might halt at Aldi, a village about five miles ahead, but when we got there a citizen told us that he had passed on through. Just as we were ascending to the top of a hill on the outskirts of the village, two cavalrymen suddenly met us. We captured them and sent them to the rear, supposing they were vedettes of Gilmer's command. Orders were sent to the men behind to hurry up. Just then I saw two cavalrymen in blue on the pike. No others were visible, so with my squad I started at a gallop to capture them. But when we got halfway down the hill we discovered a considerable body, and turned out to be a squadron of cavalry that had dismounted. The horses were hitched to a fence and they were feeding at a mill. I tried to stop, but my horse was high meddled and ran at full speed entirely beyond my control. But the cavalry at the mill was taken absolutely by surprise by the eruption. Their vedettes had not fired, and they were as much shocked as if we had dropped from the sky. They never waited to see how many of us there were. A panic seized them. Without stopping to bridle their horses or to fight on foot, they scattered in all directions. Some hid in the mill. Others ran to Bull Run Mountain nearby. Just as we got to the mill I saw another body of cavalry ahead of me on the pike, gazing in bewildered astonishment at the site. To save myself I jumped off my horse and my men stopped. But fortunately the mounted party in front of me saw those I had left behind, coming to my relief, so they wheeled and started full speed down the pike. We then went back to the mill and went to work. Many had hidden like rats, and as the mill was running they came near being ground up. The first man that was pulled out was covered with flour. We thought he was the miller. I still believe that the force was Major Gilmer's rear guard. All the prisoners were sent back, and with one man I rode down the pike to look for my horse. When I never got him he chased the Yankees twenty-five miles to their camp. I have said that in this affair I got the reputation of a hero. Really I never claimed it, but gave my horse all the credit for the stampede. Now comes the funniest part of the story. Major Gilmer had left camp about midnight. The next morning a squadron of the first Vermont cavalry, which was in camp a few miles away from him, was sent up the pike on Gilmer's track. Major Gilmer did not know they were coming. When he got a mile below Aldi he saw in front a body of cavalry coming to meet him. He thought they were my men who had cut him off from his camp. He happened to be at the point where the historic Braddock Road, along which young George Washington marched to the Monongahela, crossed the term-pike. As Major Gilmer was in search of us it is hard to see why he was seized with a panic when he thought he saw us. He made no effort to find out whether the force in front was friend or foe, but wheeled and turned off at full speed from the pike. He seemed to think the chances were all against him. There had been a snow and a thaw, and his horses sank to their knees in mud at every jump. But the panic grew, the farther he went, and he soon saw that he had to leave some of his horses sticking in the road. He concluded now that he would do like the mariner in a storm, jettison his cargo. So the old men were dropped first, next the Negro women, and the troopers were told to leave the babies in the arms of their mothers. The Braddock Road had seen one such wreck and retreat a hundred years before. I had not gone far before I met the old men coming back, and they told me of their ludicrous adventure and thanked me for their rescue. They did not know that the Vermont Cavalry was entitled to all the glory for getting up the stampede and that they owed me nothing. In the hurry to find my horse, I had asked the prisoners no questions and thought that we had caught a rearguard. Among the prisoners were two captains. One was exchanged in time to be at Gettysburg, where he was killed. Major Gilmer was tried for cowardice and drunkenness and was dismissed from the army. Colonel Johnstone, who put him under arrest when he got back, said in his report, the horses returned exhausted from being run at full speed for miles. They were running from the Vermont Cavalry. Among the accessions to my command was a young man named John Underwood, whom I found in the Fairfax forests. I was largely indebted to his skill and intelligence for whatever success I had in the beginning of my partisan life. He was killed a few months afterward, and I never found his like again, for he was equally at home threading his way through the pines or leading a charge. Why he had stayed at home and let me discover him is a mystery to me. Soon after the affair in which Ben Hatton became an involuntary hero, Underwood reported another outpost in Fairfax which was in an exposed position. I could hardly believe it. The Yankees seemed to have learned nothing by experience. It looked much as though they had been put there just to be caught, or as a snare to catch me, so I resolved to give them another lesson in the art of war. We had a suspicion that it was a trap set for us and that there was danger, but war is not an exact science, and it is necessary to take some chances. I determined to try my luck in the daytime. They would not be expecting us, as all our attacks had been at night. Underwood led us by paths through the woods to their rear, until we arrived at a road leading from their camp to the picket. A vedette was there, but he was caught before he could fire and give the alarm. It was then plain that the surprise we had planned would be complete. A few hundred yards away the boys in blue were lounging around an old sawmill where their horses tied to a fence. It was past twelve o'clock there was bright sunlight and there was snow on the ground. They were Vermont cavalry, and they had no suspicion that an enemy was near. It was just the hour for their relief to come, and as we came from the direction of their camp they thought when they saw us that we were friends. When we got within a hundred yards of them, an order to charge was given. They were panic-stricken, they had no time to untie their horses and mount, and took refuge in the loft of the mill. I was afraid that if they had time to recover from their shock they would try to hold the mill against us with their carbines until reinforcements came. There was a pile of dry timber and shavings on the floor, and the men were ordered and allowed voice to set the mill on fire. When we reached the head of the stairs the Yankees surrendered. They were defenseless against the fire and it was not their ambition to be cremated alive. Not a shot was fired. After all were mounted we saw four finely equipped horses tied in front of a nearby house. My men at once rushed to find the riders. They found a table spread with lunch. One of the men ran upstairs where it was pitch dark. He called but got no answer. As a pistol shot could do no harm he fired into the darkness. The flash of the pistol in his face caused one of the Yankees to move, and he descended through the ceiling. He had stepped on the laughing and caved it in. After he was brushed off we saw that he was a major. The three other officers who were with him came out of their holes and surrendered. My men appropriated the lunch by right of war. Just as the Yankee relief appeared John Underwood was sent off with the prisoners. We kept a rearguard behind but no attack was made on it, although one was threatened. Major Taggart, in his report of the affair, censured the officer in command as he had a larger force than ours and made no attempt either to capture us or to recapture the prisoners. Major Wells, the major we captured, was exchanged in time to be at Gettysburg where he was promoted to be a Brigadier General. There was more than one ludicrous affair that day. A man named Janney lived at the place and was permitted to conduct a store since he was inside the picket lines. He had just brought a barrel of molasses from Washington to retail to his neighbors, and he was in the act of filling a jug for a customer when he heard the yell of my men as they rushed at the picket post. As the place was occupied by the Unionists, he could not have been more surprised if a comet had struck it. Janney did not aspire to be a hero, so he ran away as fast as his heels could carry him, and if possible the molasses ran even faster. When he ventured to return to the store, he found the molasses spread all over the floor and not a drop in the barrel. After we were a safe distance away, the privates were paroled and allowed to go home, and the officers gave their paroles to report to Fitzley and Culpeper. Jake, a Hungarian, was sent with them as an escort. Now Jake had served under Kossuth and did not put much trust in paroles. They spent the night with a farmer, and when the officers went to bed, Jake volunteered to take their boots to the kitchen to be shined. As long as he had their boots, Jake had no fear of their going off in the snow. When he got back Jake told me where the chuckle of the trick he had played on the Yankees. War is not always grim visaged, and incidents occur which provoke laughter in the midst of danger. In the Shenandoah Valley a Yankee cavalry regiment went into camp one evening. One of the men rode off to a house to get something to eat, and called a colored woman to the door. He wanted to feel safe, so he asked if anybody was there. Nobody but Mosby, she replied. Is Mosby here? he asked. Yes, she said. He dashed off to the camp and reported that Mosby was in a house nearby. Orders were given to saddle and mount quickly, and they marched to the house and surrounded it. The colonel entered and asked the woman if Mosby was there. Yes, she answered. Where is he? demanded the colonel. There he is, she said, pointing to a Negro baby in the cradle. One night I was with one man near the enemy's camps in Fairfax. We were passing a house. When I heard a dog barking, somebody called. Come here, Mosby. So I turned, rode up to the house, and asked the man if he had called me. No, he said, I was calling Mosby. I wanted him to stop barking. So I have had the distinction of having had Negro babies and dogs named after me. CHAPTER XI. THE RAID ON FAIRFACS When we captured prisoners, it was my custom to examine them apart, and in this way, together with information gained from citizens, I obtained a pretty accurate knowledge of conditions in the enemy's camps. After a few weeks of partisan life I meditated a more daring enterprise than any I had attempted, and fortunately received aid from an unexpected quarter. A deserter from the Fifth New York Cavalry, named Ames, came to me. He was a sergeant in his regiment, and came in his full uniform. I never cared to inquire what his grievance was. The account he gave me of the distribution of troops and the gaps in the picket lines coincided with what I knew, and tended to pre-possess me in his favor. But my men were suspicious of his good faith, and rather thought that he had been sent to decoy me with a plausible story. At first I did not give him my full confidence, but accepted him on probation. Ames stood all tests, and until he was killed I never had a more faithful follower. Ames had come out from his camp on foot and proposed to me that he would go back into his camp and return on horseback, if I would accept him. A recruit, Walter Franklin, had just come to me, but he was not mounted. My approval he had agreed to go with Ames to get a horse. They trudged on foot through the snow, twenty-five miles, entered the cap of the Fifth New York Cavalry at night, unchallenged, and rode out on fine horses. At the same time, with a number of men, I started on a raid in another direction, and had rather a ludicrous adventure. We met an old country doctor, Dr. Drake, in a desolate condition, walking home through mud and snow. He told us he had been going the rounds, visiting his patients, when he had met a body of cavalry that was not far ahead of us. They had robbed him of his horse, saddlebags, and medicine. As the blockade had made medicine scarce, this was a severe loss to the community. We spurred on to overtake the raiders, and intercepted a party that had stopped at a house. They exceeded us in numbers, but they were more intent on saving themselves and their plunder than on fighting. They scampered away, with us close behind them. Soon they got to Horsepen Run, which was booming from the melting snows, and the foremost man plunged into the stream. He got a good ducking, and was glad to get back a prisoner. His companions did not try to swim after him, but preferred to surrender. They were loaded with silver spoons and valuables they had taken, but the chief prize was old Dr. Drake's saddlebags, which they had not opened. The silver was returned to the owners, and the prisoners were sent to Richmond. When we got back to Middleburg, we found Ames and Franklin with their fine horses. I now determined to give Ames one more trial, and so took him with me on a raid to Fairfax. But he went as a combatant, without arms. I had found out that there was a picket post at a certain crossroads, and went to attack it in a rain on a dark night, when there was snow on the ground. As only a raccoon could be supposed to travel on such a night, I knew the pickets would feel safe and would be sound asleep, so that a single shot would create a panic. We stopped to inquire of a farmer the location of the post. He had been there during the day, and said that there were one hundred men who slept in a school-house. He asked me how many men I had, and I replied, Seventeen, but they will think there are a hundred. They could not count in the dark. We made no attempt to flank the picket to prevent his giving the alarm, but we went straight down the road. One of the men, Joe Nelson, was sent ahead to catch the vedette. When the vedette saw Joe, he fired at him and started at full speed to the reserve, but we were on his heels and got there almost as soon as he did. The yells of my men resounded through the pines, and the Yankees all fled and left their horses hitched to the trees. As it was very dark we could not catch many of the men, but we got all their horses. My attention was attracted to Ames, who struck a man with a carbine he got from him. I don't remember why. We were soon back on the pike and trotting towards the Blue Ridge with the prisoners and horses. When it was daylight, Wyndham mounted his squadrons and started full speed after us. After going twenty miles he returned to camp with half of his men leading broken-down horses. Wyndham was soon afterwards relieved, but not before we had raided his headquarters, and carried off his staff, his horses, and his uniform. I now determined to execute my scheme to capture both General Stouton and Wyndham at their headquarters. Ames, about whose fidelity there was no longer any question, knew where their headquarters were, and the place was familiar to me as I had been in camp there. I also knew, both from Ames and the prisoners, where the gaps in the lines were at night. The safety of the Enterprise lay in its novelty. Nothing of the kind had been done before. On the evening of March 8, 1863, in obedience to orders, twenty-nine men met me at Dover in Loudon County. None knew my objective point, but I told Ames after we started. I remember that I got dinner that day with Colonel Chancellor, who lived near Dover. Just as I was about to mount my horse, as I was leaving, I said to him, I shall mount the stars to-night, or sink lower than plumb it ever sounded. I did not rise as high as the stars, but I did not sink. I then had no reputation to lose, even if I failed, and I remembered the motto, Adventures to the Adventurous. The weather conditions favored my success. There was a melting snow on the ground, a mist, and about dark, drizzling rain. Our starting point was about twenty-five miles from Fairfax Courthouse. It was pitch dark when we got near the cavalry pickets at Chantilly, five or six miles from the courthouse. At Centerville, three miles away on the Warrington Pike and seven miles from the courthouse, were several thousand troops. Our problem was to pass between them and Windham's cavalry without giving the alarm. Ames knew where there was a break in the picket lines between Chantilly and Centerville, and he led us through this without a vedette seeing us. After passing the outpost, the chief point in the game was one. I think no man with me, except Ames, realized that we were inside the enemy's lines. But the enemy felt secure, and was as ignorant as my men. The plan had been to reach the courthouse by midnight, so as to get out of the lines before daybreak. But the column got broken in the dark, and the two parts traveled around in a circle for an hour, looking for each other. After we closed up, we started off and struck the pike between Centerville and the courthouse. But we turned off into the woods when we got within two or three miles of the village, as Windham's cavalry camps were on the pike. We entered the village from the direction of the railroad station. There were a few sentinels about the town, but it was so dark that they could not distinguish us from their own people. Squads were detailed to go around to the officers' quarters and to the stables for the horses. The courthouse yard was the rendezvous, where all were to report. As our great desire was to capture Windham, Ames was sent with a party to the house in which he knew Windham had his quarters. But fortune was in Windham's favor that time. For that evening he had gone to Washington by train. Ames got his two staff officers, his horses and his uniform. One of the officers, Captain Barker, had been Ames's captain. Ames brought him to me and seemed to take great pride in introducing him to me as his former captain. When the squads were starting around to gather prisoners and horses, Joe Nelson brought me a soldier who said he was a guard at General Stouton's headquarters. Joe had also pulled the telegraph operator out of his tent. The wires had been cut. With five or six men I rode to the house, now the episcopal rectory, where the commanding general was. We dismounted and knocked loudly at the door. Soon a window above was opened and someone asked who was there. I answered, Fifth New York Cavalry, with a dispatch for General Stouton. The door was opened and a staff officer, Lieutenant Prentis, was before me. I took hold of his night-shirt, whispered my name in his ear, and told him to take me to General Stouton's room. Resistance was useless, and he obeyed. A light was quickly struck, and on the bed we saw the general sleeping as soundly as the Turk when Marco Bazarus waked him up. There was no time for ceremony, so I drew up the bed-clothes, pulled up the general's shirt, and gave him a spank on his bare back and told him to get up. As his staff officer was standing by me, Stouton did not realize the situation and thought that somebody was taking a rude familiarity with him. He asked in an indignant tone what all this meant. I told him that he was a prisoner and that he must get up quickly and dress. I then asked him if he had ever heard of Mosby, and he said he had. I am Mosby, I said. Stuart's Cavalry has possession of the courthouse. Be quick and dress. He then asked whether Fitzlea was there. I said he was, and he asked me to take him to Fitzlea. They had been together at West Point. Two days afterwards I did deliver him to Fitzlea at Culpeper Courthouse. My motive in trying to deceive Stouton was to deprive him of all hope of escape and to induce him to dress quickly. We were in a critical situation, surrounded by the camps of several thousand troops with several hundred in the town. If there had been any concert between them they could easily have driven us out, but not a shot was fired, although we stayed there over an hour. As soon as it was known that we were there each man hid and took care of himself. Stouton had the reputation of being a brave soldier, but a fop. He dressed before a looking-glass as carefully as Sardinopoulos did when he went into battle. He forgot his watch and left it on the bureau, but one of my men, Frank Williams, took it and gave it to him. Two men had been left to guard our horses when we went into the house. There were several tents for couriers in the yard, and Stouton's horses and couriers were ready to go with us when we came out with the general and his staff. When we reached the rendezvous at the courtyard I found all the squads waiting for us with their prisoners and horses. There were three times as many prisoners as my men, and each was mounted and leading a horse. To deceive the enemy in baffle pursuit the cavalcade started off in one direction and, soon after it got out of town, turned in another. We flanked the cavalry camps and were soon on the pike between them and Centerville. As there were several thousand troops in that town it was not thought possible that we would go that way to get out of the lines, so the cavalry, when it started in pursuit, went in an opposite direction. Lieutenant Prentice and a good many prisoners who started with us escaped in the dark and we lost a great many of the horses. A ludicrous incident occurred when we were leaving Fairfax. A window was raised and a voice inquired in an authoritative tone what that cavalry was doing in the street. He was answered by a loud laugh from my men, which was noticed to him that we were not his friends. I ordered several men to dismount and capture him. They burst through the front door, but the man's wife met them in the hall and held her ground like a lioness to give her husband time to escape. He was Colonel Johnstone, who was in command of the cavalry brigade during Wyndham's absence. He got out through the back door in his night-clothes and barefooted and hid in the garden. He spent some time there as he did not know when we left and his wife could not find him. Our safety depended on our getting out of the Union lines before daybreak. We struck the pike about four miles from Centreville. The danger I then apprehended was pursued by the cavalry, which was in camp behind us. When we got near the pike, I halted the column to close up. Some of my men were riding in the rear, and some on the flanks to prevent the prisoners from escaping. I left a sergeant, Hunter, in command, and rode forward to Reconoiter. As no enemy was in front, I called the Hunter to come on and directed him to go forward at a trot and to hold Stoughton's bridal reins under all circumstances. Stoughton no doubt appreciated my interest in him. With Joe Nelson I remained some distance behind. We stopped frequently to listen for the hoofbeats of cavalry in pursuit, but no sounds could be heard save the hooting of owls. My heart beat higher with hope every minute. It was the crisis of my fortunes. Even the campfires on the heights around Centreville were in sight. My plan was to flank the position and pass between that place and the camps at Chantilly. But we soon saw that Hunter it halted, and I galloped forward to find out the cause. I saw a fire on the side of the road about a hundred yards ahead of us, evidently a picket post. So I rode forward to Reconoiter, but nobody was by the fire, and the picket was gone. We were now half a mile from Centreville and the dawn was just breaking. It had been the practice to place a picket on our road every evening and withdraw it early in the morning. The officer in charge concluded that, as it was near Daylight, there was no danger in the air, and he had returned to camp and left the fire burning. That was the very thing I wanted him to do. I called Hunter to come on, and we passed the picket fire and then turned off to go around the forts at Centreville. I rode some distance ahead of the column. The camps were quiet. There was no sign of alarm. The telegraph wires had been cut, and no news had come about or exploit at the courthouse. We could see the cannon bristling through the redoubts and hear the sentinel on the parapet call to us to halt. But no attention was paid to him, and he did not fire to give the alarm. No doubt he thought that we were a body of their own cavalry going out on a scout. But soon there was a shot behind me, and turning around I saw Captain Barker dashing towards a redoubt, and Jake the Hungarian close behind him and about to give him another shot, when Barker's horse stumbled and fell on him in a ditch. We soon got them out and moved on. All this happened inside of the sentinels and in gunshot of their camps. After we had passed the forts and reached Cub Run, a new danger was before us. The stream was swift and booming from the melting snow, and our choice was to swim or to turn back. In full view behind us were the white tents of the enemy and the forts, and we were within cannon range. Without hauling a moment I plunged into the stream, and my horse swam to the other bank. Stouton followed and was next to me. As he came up the bank, shivering from his cold morning bath, he said, Captain, this is the first rough treatment I have to complain of. Fortunately not a man or a horse was lost. When all were over I knew there was no danger behind us, and we were as safe as Tam O'Shander thought he would be if he crossed the bridge of Dune ahead of the witches. I now left Hunter in charge of the column, and with one of my men, George Slater, galloped on to see what was ahead of us. I thought a force might have been sent to intercept us on the pike we had left that runs through Centerville. I did not know that Colonel Johnstone with his cavalry had gone in the opposite direction. We crossed Bull Run and suddenly ford and were soon on the historic battlefield. From the heights of Grofton we could see that the road was clear to Centerville, and that there was no pursuit. Hunter soon appeared in sight. The sun had just risen, and in the rapture of the moment I said to Slater, George, that is the son of Austerlitz. I knew that I had drawn a prize in the lottery of life, and my emotion was natural and should be pardoned. I could not but feel deep pity for Stouton when he looked back at Centerville and saw that there was no chance of his rescue. Without any fault of his own Stouton's career as a soldier was blasted. There is an anecdote told of Mr. Link in that, when it was reported to him that Stouton had been captured, he remarked, with characteristic humor, that he did not mind so much the loss of a general, for he could make another in five minutes, but he hated to lose the horses. Slater and I remained for some time behind as a rearguard and overtook Hunter, who had gone on in command at Warrington. We found that the whole population had turned out and were giving my men an ovation. Stouton and the officers had breakfast with a citizen named Beckham. The general had been a classmate at West Point with Beckham's son, now a Confederate artillery officer, and had spent a vacation with him at his home. Stouton now renewed his acquaintance with his family. We soon remounted and moved on south. After crossing the Rappahannock the men and prisoners were put in charge of Dick Moran with orders to meet me near Culpeper Courthouse the next morning, while, with Hunter and the officers on parole, I went on in advance and spent the night near Brandy. As I had been in the saddle for thirty-six hours I retired to rest as soon as we had eaten supper. The next morning there was a cold rain, but after breakfast we started for General Fitzley's headquarters. When we arrived at our destination we hitched our horses in the front yard and went into the house, where we found Fitzley riding at a table before a log fire. We were cold and wet. In the first Virginia cavalry Fitzley and I had been well acquainted. He was very polite to his old classmate and to the officers when I introduced them, but he treated me with indifference, did not ask me to take a seat by the fire, nor seem impressed by what I had done. As a matter of historical fact it is well known that this episode created a sensation in both armies, but the reception I received convinced me that I was not a welcome person at those headquarters. So bidding the prisoners good-bye and bowing to Fitzley, Hunter and I rode off in the rain to the telegraph office to send a report to Stewart, who had his headquarters at Fredericksburg. The operator told me that Stewart was on his way to Culpeper and would arrive on the train that evening, but he sent the dispatch and it was delivered to Stewart. I met him at the depot and can never forget the joy his generous heart showed when he met me. That was a sufficient reward. Major John Pelham was with Stewart. This was the last time I ever saw Pelham, for he was killed a week afterwards. As we walked off, Stewart handed me a commission as captain from General John Letcher. It gave me rank with the Virginia troops, but as there were no such troops it was a blank form, and I regarded it as a mockery. Stewart remarked that he thought the Confederate War Department would recognize it. I said in rather an abrupt and indignant tone, I want no recognition. I meant official recognition. I did not affect to be indifferent to public praise. Such a man is either too good or too bad to live in this world. Stewart published a general order announcing the capture of Stouton and had it printed, giving me fifty copies. That satisfied me, and I soon returned to my field of operations and again began war on the Potomac. Headquarters Cavalry Division March 12, 1863 General Orders Captain John S. Mosby has for a long time attracted the attention of his generals by his boldness, skill and success. Those signally displayed in his numerous forays upon the invaders of his native soil. None know his daring enterprise in dashing heroism better than those foul invaders, those strangers themselves to such noble traits. His last brilliant exploit, the capture of Brigadier General Stouton, USA, two captains and thirty other prisoners, together with their arms, equipments and fifty-eight horses, devised this recognition in general orders. This feat, unparalleled in the war, was performed in the midst of the enemy's troops at Fairfax Courthouse without loss or injury. The gallant bend of Captain Mosby shares his glory, as they did the danger of this enterprise and are worthy of such a leader. Signed J. E. B. Stewart, Major General Commanding In a few days Fitzley wrote me that the detail of men I had from his brigade must return to their regiment. This attempt to deprive me of a command met with no favour from Stewart. I sent him Fitzley's letter, and he issued an order for them to stay until he recalled them. When the armies began to move in April, the men went back, but a considerable number of recruits had joined me, and what the enemy called my depredations continued. In the published records of the war is the following letter from General Robert E. Lee to President Davis, informing him of another success I had, soon after the capture of Stouton. HEADQUARTERS, ARMY OF NORTHER VIRGINIA, MARCH 21, 1863 You will, I know, be gratified to learn by the enclosed dispatch that the appointment confirmed a few days since, on Captain John S. Mosby, was not unworthily bestowed. The point where he struck the enemy is north of Fairfax Courthouse, near the Potomac, and far within the lines of the enemy. I wish I could receive his appointment as Major, or some official notification of it, that I might announce it to him. RELEE, GENERAL A dispatch from Lieutenant O'Connor, Provost Marshall at Fairfax Courthouse, sent to Washington an hour after we left the village, confirms the account I have given of our visit. HE SAID Captain Mosby, with his command, entered this town this morning at 2 a.m. They captured my patrols, horses, etc. They took Brigadier General Stouton and horses, and all his men detached from his brigade. They took every horse that could be found, public or private, and the commanding officer of the post, Colonel Johnstone, of the Fifth New York Cavalry, made his escape from them in a nude state by accident. They searched for me in every direction, but being on the Vienna Road visiting outposts, I made my escape. In a report the next day to Colonel Wyndham, O'Connor said. On the night of the eighth instant, say about two or half past 2 a.m., Captain Mosby, with his command, entered the village by an easterly direction. They proceeded to Colonel Wyndham's headquarters and took all his horses and movable property with them. In the meantime another party of them entered the residence of Colonel Johnstone and searched the house for him. He had, on their entering the town, heard of their movements and believing them to be the patrol, went out to halt them, but soon found out his mistake. He then entered the house again, he being in a nude state, and got out backwards, they in hot pursuit of him. In the meantime others were dispatched to all quarters where officers were lodged, taking them out of their beds, together with a telegraph operator and assistant. Stouton was soon exchanged but did not return to the army. The circumstances of his capture wrecked him as a soldier. He was accused of negligence in allowing the gap in the picket line through which we entered. The commander of the cavalry pickets, Colonel Wyndham, was responsible for that, and there was a letter in the war records from Stouton to Wyndham calling his attention to it. I allowed Stouton to write a letter which I sent through a citizen to Wyndham in which he reproached him for the management of his outposts. But Wyndham ought not to be blamed because he did not anticipate an event that had no precedent. He did exercise reasonable vigilance. In this life we can only prepare for what is probable, not for every contingency. Colonel John Stone lost his clothes and lay hidden for some time before he heard we were gone. O'Connor said he appeared in the state of Adam before the fall. And he could not survive the ridicule he incurred by it, and disappeared. Near Piedmont, Virginia, March 18, 1863. General. Yesterday I attacked a body of the enemy's cavalry at Herndon Station in Fairfax County, completely routing them. I brought off twenty-five prisoners, a major, one captain, two lieutenants, and twenty-one men. All their arms, twenty-six horses, and equipment. One severely wounded was left on the ground. The enemy pursued me in force but were checked by my rear guard and gave up the pursuit. My loss was nothing. The enemy had moved their cavalry from Germantown back of Fairfax Courthouse on the Alexandria Pike. In this affair my officers and men behaved splendidly. Signed. John S. Mosby. Endorsement. General. J. E. B. Steward. Headquarters of the Army of Northern Virginia, March 21, 1863. Respectfully forwarded for the information of the department and as evidence of the merit and continued success of Captain Mosby. Signed. R. E. Lee. General. This Dransville affair led to the following interesting correspondence after the war. It is of special value in illustrating the feelings of his enemies, the men who actually fought with him towards Mosby. Washington, Vermont. December 19, 1910. Colonel John S. Mosby, Washington, D.C. Dear Colonel and Friend. You will be surprised to receive a letter from me one you know so little but will remember. In noticing today the item of the enclosed clipping, Mosby's comments on President Taft's appointment of a Confederate soldier, White, to be Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. I could not resist the privilege of writing to you, as I believe now I am the only surviving one of the four officers, Major Wells, Captain Schofield, Lieutenant Watson, and myself. You captured at Herndon Station, near Dransville, Virginia, St. Patrick's Day, March 17, 1863, and with us the picket post of twenty-one men. Your treatment and that of your men to us on that occasion has always been gladly remembered by us all, in every respect courteous. And you kindly gave us our horses to ride, from Upperville to Culpeper Courthouse, which was an act of the highest type of a man, and should bury deep forever the name of a guerrilla, and substitute, to picket line, a bad disturber. You sincerely, and cordially yours, Lieutenant P. C. J. Cheney. Burlington, Vermont, December 28, 1910 Dear Colonel Mosby, the enclosed letter from Lieutenant P. C. J. Cheney of Washington, Vermont, explains itself. During the war for the Union he was a First Lieutenant in the First Vermont Cavalry, and was captured by you at Herndon Station on the 17th of March, 1863. But Cheney was one of the bravest and best officers in the regiment, and was dangerously wounded in the charge made by the Company in front of Round Top, Gettysburg, on the afternoon of July 3, 1863. I had the pleasure of meeting you at the inauguration of President McKinley, at which time I was adjutant of Vermont, and presented you to Honorable Josiah Grout, then Governor of this State, who at the Miskell Farm fight between the First Vermont Cavalry and yourself was most dangerously wounded. You were kind enough to say that the First Vermont Cavalry was one of the very best regiments you had met in action. Yours very truly, T. S. Peck. General Stahl described the Miskell Farm Affair in his report of April 2, 1863, as follows. It appears that on the evening of the 31st Ultimo, Major Taggart, at Union Church, two miles above Peach Grove, received information that Mosby, with about sixty-five men, was near Dranesville. He immediately dispatched Captain Flint, with one hundred fifty men of the First Vermont, to rout or capture Mosby and his force. Turning to the right they followed up the broad run to a place marked J. Miskell. Here at a house they came upon Mosby, who was completely surprised and wholly unprepared for an attack from our forces. Had a proper disposition been made of our troops, Mosby could not, by any possible means, have escaped. It seems that around this house was a high board fence and stone wall, between which and the road was another fence and ordinary farm gate. Captain Flint took his men through the gate, and at a distance from the house, fired a volley at Mosby and his men, who were assembled about the house, doing but slight damage to them. He then ordered a saber-charge, which was also ineffective, on account of the fence which intervened. Mosby waited until the men were checked by the fence, and then opened the gate of the barnyard, where his men were collected, saddling and bridling their horses, and opened fire upon them, killing and wounding several. The men became panic-stricken and fled precipitately through this gate, through which to make their escape. The opening was small, they got wedged together, and a fearful confusion followed, while Mosby's men followed them up and poured into the crowd a severe fire. Here while endeavouring to rally his men, Captain Flint was killed, and Lieutenant Grout, of the same company, mortally wounded, will probably die to-day. Mosby, who had not had time to mount his horse, personally threw open the barnyard gate and ordered his men to charge through it, which they did with a terrific yell. HEADQUARTERS, ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA, MARCH 23, 1863 CAPTAIN J. S. Mosby CAPTAIN You will perceive from the copy of the order herewith enclosed that the President has appointed you captain of partisan rangers. The general commanding directs me to say that it is desired that you proceed at once to organize your company, with the understanding that it is to be placed on a footing with all the troops of the line, and to be mustered unconditionally in the Confederate service for and during the war. Though you are to be its captain, the men will have the privilege of electing the lieutenants so soon as its members reach the legal standard. You will report your progress from time to time, and when the requisite number of men are enrolled, an officer will be designated to muster the company into the service. Signed, W. W. Taylor, A. A. G. M. Mosby's Report to Stuart Falkier County, Virginia, April 7, 1863 General, I have the honor to submit the following report of the operations of the Cavalry since rendering my last report. On Monday, March 16, I proceeded down the Little River Pike to capture two outposts of the enemy, each numbering sixty or seventy men. I did not succeed in gaining their rear as I had expected, and only captured four or five vedettes. It being late in the evening, and our horses very much jaded, I concluded to return. I had gone not over a mile back when we saw a large body of enemy's cavalry, which according to their own reports numbered two hundred men, rapidly pursuing. I feigned a retreat, desiring to draw them off from their camps. At a point where the enemy had blockaded the road with fallen trees, I formed to receive them. For with my knowledge of the Yankee character I knew they would imagine themselves fallen into an unbesquade. When they had come within one hundred yards of me, I ordered a charge to which my men responded with a vim that swept everything before them. The Yankees broke when we got in seventy-five yards of them, and it was more of a chase than a fight, for four or five miles. We killed five, wounded a considerable number, and brought off one lieutenant and thirty-five men prisoners. I did not have over fifty men with me, some having gone back with the prisoners, and others having gone on ahead, when we started back, not anticipating any pursuit. On Monday, March 31st, I went down in the direction of Dranesville to capture several strong outposts in the vicinity of that place. On reaching there I discovered that they had fallen back about ten miles down the Alexandria Pike. I then returned six or eight miles back and stopped about ten o'clock at night at a point about two miles from the Pike. Early the next morning one of my men, whom I had left over on the Leesburg Pike, came dashing in and announced the rapid approach of the enemy. But he had scarcely given us the information when the enemy appeared a few hundred yards off, coming up at a gallop. At this time our horses were eating, all had their bridles off, and some even their saddles. They were all tied in a barnyard. Throwing open the gate I ordered a counter-charge, to which my men promptly responded. The Yankees never dreaming of our assuming the offensive, terrified at the yells of the men as they dashed on, broke and fled in every direction. We drove them in confusion seven or eight miles down the Pike. We left on the field nine of them killed, among them a captain and lieutenant, and about fifteen too badly wounded for removal, in this lot two lieutenants. We brought off eighty two prisoners, many of these also wounded. I have since visited the scene of the fight. The enemy sent up a flag of truce for their dead and wounded, but many of them being severely wounded, they established a hospital on the ground. The surgeon who attended them informs me that a great number of those who escaped were wounded. The force of the enemy was six companies of the First Vermont Cavalry, one of their oldest and best regiments, and the prisoners inform me that they had every available man with them. They were certainly not less than two hundred, the prisoners say it was more than that. I had about sixty-five men in this affair. In addition to the prisoners, we took all their arms and about one hundred horses and equipments. Private's heart, Hearst, Keyes, and Davis were wounded. The latter has since died. Both on this and several other occasions they have borne themselves with conspicuous gallantry. In addition to those mentioned above I desired a place on record the names of several others whose promptitude and boldness in closing in with the enemy contributed much to the success of the fight. They are Lieutenant Chapman, late of Dixie Artillery, Sergeant Hunter, and Private's Wellington and Harry Hatcher, Turner, Wilde, Sowers, Ames, and Silbert. There are many others I have no doubt deserving of honorable mention, but the above are only those who came under my personal observation. I confess that on this occasion I had not taken sufficient precautions to guard against surprise. It was ten at night when I reached the place where the fight came off on the succeeding day. We had ridden through snow and mud upwards of forty miles, and both men and horses were nearly broken down. Besides, the enemy had fallen back a distance of about eighteen miles. Second John S. Mosby, Captain, commanding. Major General J. E. B. Stewart, endorsements. Headquarters Cavalry Division, April 11, 1863. Respectfully forwarded, as in perfect keeping with his other brilliant achievements, recommended for promotion. Signed J. E. B. Stewart, Major General. Headquarters Army, Northern Virginia, April 13, 1863. Respectfully forwarded for the information of the Department. Telegraphic reports already sent in. Signed R. E. Lee, General. April 22, 1863. Adjutant General. Nominate as Major, if it has not already been done. Signed J. A. S. Seddon. Report of General Style. Fairfax Courthouse, May 5, 1863. On the 3rd of May, between 8 and 9 a.m., Mosby with his band of guerrillas, together with a portion of the Black Horse Cavalry and a portion of a North Carolina Regiment, came suddenly through the woods upon fifty of our men of the First Virginia Cavalry, who were in camp feeding their horses, just having returned from a scout, the remainder of that regiment being out in a different direction to scout the country on the right of the Warrington and Alexandria Railroad and toward the Rappahannock. Our men, being surprised and completely surrounded, rallied in a house close in hand and were a sharp fight ensued. Our men defended themselves as long as their ammunition lasted, notwithstanding the rebels built a large fire about the house of hay and straw and brushwood. The flames reached the house and their ammunition being entirely expended, they were obliged to surrender. At this juncture, a portion of the 5th Regiment, New York Cavalry, which was posted in the rear some distance from the First Virginia Cavalry, came to their rescue, making a brilliant charge, which resulted in the complete annihilation of Mosby's command and recaptured our men in property. Our men pursued the rebels in every direction, killing and wounding a large number, and had our horses been in better condition and not tired out by the service of the last few days, Mosby nor a single one of his men would have escaped. The rebel loss was very heavy, they're killed being strewn along the road. Really, one man was killed in about twenty wounded. Telegram. Stowell to Heidselman. May 30, 1863. We had a hard fight with Mosby this morning who had artillery, the same which was used to destroy the train of cars. We whipped him like the devil and took his artillery. My forces are still pursuing him. These report to General Stewart. June 6, 1863. Last Saturday morning I captured a train of twelve cars on the Virginia and Alexandria Railroad loaded with supplies for the troops above. The cars were fired and entirely consumed. Having destroyed the train I proceeded some distance back, when I recognized the enemy in a strong force immediately in my front. One shell which exploded in their ranks sufficed to put them to flight. After going about a mile further the enemy were reported pursuing. Their advance was again checked by a shot from the Howitzer. In this way we skirmished for several miles until seeing the approach of their overwhelming numbers and the impossibility of getting off the gun I resolved to make them pay for it as dearly as possible. Having a good position on a hill commanding the road we awaited their onset. They came up quite gallantly, not in dispersed order but in columns of fours, crowded in a narrow lane. At eighty yards we opened on them with grape and followed this up with a charge of cavalry. We drove them half a mile back in confusion. Twice again did they rally and as often were sent reeling back. At last our ammunition became exhausted and we were forced to abandon the gun. We did not then abandon it without a struggle and a fierce hand-to-hand combat ensued in which, though overpowered by numbers, many of the enemy were made to bite the dust. In this affair I had only forty-eight men. The forces of the enemy were five regiments of cavalry. My loss, one killed, Captain Hoskins, a British officer who fell when gallantly fighting, or wounded. It is with pleasure I recommend to your attention the heroic conduct of Lieutenant Chapman and Private's Mountjoy and Beatty, who stood by their gun until surrounded by the enemy. Middleburg, Virginia, June 10, 1863. General. I left our point of rendezvous yesterday for the purpose of making a night attack on two cavalry companies of the enemy on the Maryland shore. When I succeeded in crossing the river at night, as I expected, I would have had no difficulty in capturing them. But unfortunately my guide mistook the road and instead of crossing by eleven o'clock at night I did not get over until after daylight. The enemy, between eighty and one hundred strong, being apprised of my movement, were formed to receive me. A charge was ordered, the shock of which the enemy could not resist, and they were driven several miles in confusion, with the loss of seven killed and seventeen prisoners, also twenty odd horses or more. We burned their tents, stores, camp equipments, etc. I regret the loss of two brave officers killed, Captain Bronner and Lieutenant White Scarver. I also had one man wounded, signed John S. Mosby, Major of Partisan Rangers. Major General J. E. B. Stewart, Endorsement, June 15, 1863. Respectfully forwarded, in consideration of his brilliant services, I hope the President will promote Major Mosby. Signed J. E. B. Stewart, Major General. Extracts from Stewart's report of the Gettysburg Campaign. Major Mosby, with his usual daring, penetrated the enemy's lines and caught a staff officer of General Hooker, bearer of dispatches to General Pleasanton, commanding United States Cavalry near Aldi. These dispatches disclose the fact that Hooker was looking to Aldi with solicitude, and that Pleasanton, with infantry and cavalry, occupied the place, and that a reconnaissance in force of cavalry was meditated toward Warrington and Culpeper. I immediately dispatched to General Hampton, who was coming by way of Warrington from the direction of Beverly Ford, this intelligence, and directed him to meet this advance at Warrington. The captured dispatches also gave the entire number of divisions, from which we could estimate the approximate strength of the enemy's army. I therefore concluded in no event to attack with cavalry alone, the enemy at Aldi. Hampton met the enemy's advance toward Culpeper in Warrington, and drove him back without difficulty, a heavy storm and night intervening to aid the enemy's retreat. I resume my own position now, at Rector's Crossroads, and being in constant communication with the commanding general, had scouts busily employed watching and reporting the enemy's movements, and reporting the same to the commanding general. In this difficult search, the fearless and indefatigable Major Mosby was particularly efficient. His information was always accurate.