Memoirs of Colonel Mosby - Chapters I-V



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CHAPTER I 
EARLY LIFE
   I WAS born December 6, 1833, at the home of my grandfather, James 
McLaurine, in Powhatan County, Virginia. He was a son of Robert McLaurine, 
an Episcopal minister, who came from Scotland before the Revolution. Great-
grandfather McLaurine lived at the glebe and is buried at Peterville 
Church in Powhatan. After the church was disestablished, the State 
appropriated the glebe, and Peterville was sold to the Baptists. My 
grandfather McLaurine lived to be very old. He was a soldier of the 
Revolution, and I well remember his cough, which it was said he contracted 
from exposure in the war when he had smallpox. My grandfather Mosby was 
also a native of Powhatan. He lived at Gibraltar, but moved to Nelson 
County, where my father, Alfred D. Mosby, was born. When I was a child my 
father bought a farm near Charlottesville, in 

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Albemarle, on which I was raised. I recollect that one day I went with my 
father to our peach orchard on a high ridge, and he pointed out 
Monticello, the home of Thomas Jefferson, on a mountain a few miles away, 
and told me some of the history of the great man who wrote the Declaration 
of Independence.

   At that time there were no public and few private schools in Virginia, 
but a widow opened a school in Fry's Woods, adjoining my father's farm. My 
sister Victoria and I went as her pupils. I was seven years old when I 
learned to read, although I had gone a month or so to a country school in 
Nelson, near a post office called Murrell's Shop, where I had learned to 
spell. As I was so young my mother always sent a negro boy with me to the 
schoolhouse, and he came for me in the evening. But once I begged him to 
stay all day with me, and I shared my dinner with him. When playtime came, 
some of the larger boys put him up on a block for sale and he was knocked 
down to the highest bidder. I thought it was a bona fide sale and was 
greatly distressed at losing such a dutiful playmate. We went home 
together, but he never spent another day with me at the schoolhouse.

   The first drunken man I ever saw was my schoolmaster. He went home at 
playtime to get his 

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dinner, but took an overdose of whiskey. On the way back he fell on the 
roadside and went to sleep. The big boys picked him up and carried him 
into the schoolhouse, and he heard our lessons. The school closed soon 
after; I don't know why.

   It was a common thing in the old days of negro slavery for a Virginia 
gentleman, who had inherited a fortune, to live in luxury with plenty of 
the comforts of life and die insolvent; while his overseer retired to live 
on what he had saved. Mr. Jefferson was one example of this. I often heard 
that Jefferson had held in his arms Betsy Wheat, a pupil at the school 
where I learned to read. She was the daughter of the overseer and, being 
the senior of all the other scholars, was the second in command. She 
exercised as much authority as the schoolmistress.

   As I have said, the log schoolhouse was in Fry's Woods, which adjoined 
my father's farm. To this rude hut I walked daily for three sessions, with 
my eldest sister - later with two - often through a deep snow, to get the 
rudiments of an education. I remember that the schoolmistress, a most 
excellent woman, whipped her son and me for fighting. That was the only 
blow I ever received during the time I went to school.

   A few years ago I visited the spot in company 

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with Bartlett Bolling, who was with me in the war. There was nothing left 
but a pile of rocks - the remains of the chimney. The associations of the 
place raised up phantoms of the past. I am the only survivor of the 
children who went to school there. I went to the spring along the same 
path where I had often walked when a barefooted schoolboy and got a drink 
of cool water from a gourd. There I first realized the pathos of the once 
popular air, "Ben Bolt"; the spring was still there and the running brook, 
but all of my schoolmates had gone.

   The "Peter Parley" were the standard schoolbooks of my day. In my books 
were two pictures that made a lasting impression on me. One was of Wolfe 
dying on the field in the arms of a soldier; the other was of Putnam 
riding down the stone steps with the British close behind him. About that 
time I borrowed a copy of the "Life of Marion", which was the first book I 
read, except as a task at school. I remember how I shouted when I read 
aloud in the nursery of the way the great partisan hid in the swamp and 
outwitted the British. I did not then expect that the time would ever come 
when I would have escapes as narrow as that of Putnam and take part in 
adventures that have been compared with Marion's.

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   When I was ten years old I began going to school in Charlottesville; 
sometimes I went on horseback, and sometimes I walked. Two of my 
teachers, - James White, who taught Latin and Greek, and Aleck Nelson, who 
taught mathematics - were afterwards professors at Washington and Lee, 
while General Robert E. Lee was its president. When I was sixteen years 
old I went as a student to the University of Virginia - some evidence of 
the progress I had made in getting an education.

   In my youth I was very delicate and often heard that I would never live 
to be a grown man. But the prophets were wrong, for I have outlived nearly 
all the contemporaries of my youth. I was devoted to hunting, and a 
servant always had coffee ready for me at daylight on a Saturday morning, 
so that I was out shooting when nearly all were sleeping. My father was a 
slaveholder, and I still cherish a strong affection for the slaves who 
nursed me and played with me in my childhood. That was the prevailing 
sentiment in the South - not one peculiar to myself - but one prevailing 
in all the South toward an institution(1) which we now 

(1. Colonel Mosby never had a word to say favorable to slavery - a fact 
which may be attributed to the influence of Miss Abby Southwick, 
afterwards Mrs. Stevenson, of Manchester, Massachusetts, who was employed 
to teach his sisters. She was a strong and outspoken abolitionist and a 
friend of Garrison and Wendell Phillips. All the Mosby family were, and 
remained, devoted to Miss Southwick. She and young Mosby had numerous 
talks on the subject of slavery and other political topics. At the close 
of the war she immediately sent money and supplies to the family and told 
how anxiously she had read the papers, fearing to find the news that he 
had been killed.)

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thank Abraham Lincoln for abolishing. I had no taste for athletics and 
have never seen a ball game. My habits of study were never regular, but I 
always had a literary taste. While I fairly recited Tacitus and Thucydides 
as a task, I read with delight Irving's stories of the Moors in Granada.

   [Colonel Mosby's career at the University of Virginia, where he 
graduated in Greek and mathematics, was not so serene throughout as that 
of the ordinary student. One incident made a lasting impression upon his 
mind and affected his future course. He was convicted of unlawfully 
shooting a fellow student and was sentenced to a fine and imprisonment in 
the jail at Charlottesville. It was the case of defending the good name of 
a young lady and, while the law was doubtless violated, public sentiment 
was indicated by the legislature's remitting the fine and the governor's 
granting a pardon.

   The Baltimore Sun published an account of this incident, by Mr. John S. 
Patton, who said 

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that Mosby had been fined ten dollars for assaulting the town sergeant. 
The young Mosby had been known as one not given to lawless hilarity, but 
as a "fighter." "And the Colonel himself admits," continues Patton, "that 
he got the worst of these boyish engagements, except once, when the fight 
was on between him and Charles Price, of Meachem's, - and in that case 
they were separated before victory could perch. They also go so far as to 
say that he was a spirited lad, although far from 'talkative' and not far 
from quiet, introspective moods. . . . His antagonist this time was George 
Turpin, a student of medicine in the University. . . . Turpin had carved 
Frank Morrison to his taste with a pocket knife and added to his 
reputation by nearly killing Fred M. Wills with a rock. . . .

   "When Jack Mosby, spare and delicate - Turpin was large and athletic - 
received the latter's threat that he would eat him 'blood raw' on sight, 
he proceeded to get ready. The cause of the impending hostilities was an 
incident at a party at the Spooner residence in Montebello, which Turpin 
construed as humiliating to him, and with the aid of some friends who 
dearly loved a fisticuff, he reached the conclusion that John Mosby was to 
blame and that it was his duty to chastise him. Mosby was due at 
Mathematics lecture room and thither he went and met Professor Courtnay 
and did 

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his problems first of all. That over, he thrust a pepper-box pistol into 
his jacket and went forth to find his enemy. He had not far to go; for by 
this time the Turpins were keeping a boarding house in the building then, 
as now, known as the Cabell House, about the distance of four Baltimore 
blocks from the University. Thither went the future partisan leader, and, 
with a friend, was standing on the back porch when Turpin approached. He 
advanced on Mosby at once - but not far; the latter brought his pepper-box 
into action with instant effect. Turpin went down with a bullet in his 
throat, and was taken up as good as dead. . . . The trial is still 
referred to as the cause célèbre in our local court. Four great lawyers 
were engaged in it: the names of Robertson, Rives, Watson, and Leach adorn 
the legal annals of Virginia."

   The prosecutor in this case was Judge William J. Robertson, of 
Charlottesville, who made a vigorous arraignment of the young student. On 
visiting the jail one day after the conviction, much to his surprise 
Robertson was greeted by Mosby in a friendly manner. This was followed by 
the loan of a copy of Blackstone's "Commentaries" to the prisoner and a 
lifelong friendship between the two. Thus it was that young Mosby entered 
upon the study of law, which he made his profession.

   Colonel Mosby wrote on a newspaper clipping 

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giving an account of the shooting incident: "I did not go to Turpin's 
house, but he came to my boarding house, and he had sent me a message that 
he was coming there to 'eat me up.' "

   Mosby's conviction affected him greatly, and he did not include an 
account of it in his story because - or at least it would seem probable - 
he feared that the conclusion would be drawn that he was more like the 
picture painted by the enemy during the war, instead of the kindly man he 
really was. However this may be, nothing pleased him more than the honors 
paid to him by the people of Charlottesville and by the University of 
Virginia. He spoke of these things as "one of Time's revenges."

   In January, 1915, a delegation from Virginia presented Colonel Mosby 
with a bronze medal and an embossed address which read as follows:

To Colonel John S. Mosby, Warrenton, Virginia. 
   Your friends and admirers in the University of Virginia welcome this 
opportunity of expressing for you their affection and esteem and of 
congratulating you upon the vigor and alertness of body and mind with 
which you have rounded out your fourscore years.

   Your Alma Mater has pride in your scholarly application in the days of 
your prepossessing youth; in your martial genius, manifested in a career 
singularly original and romantic; in the forceful fluency of your 

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record of the history made by yourself and your comrades in the army of 
Northern Virginia; and in the dignity, diligence, and sagacity with which 
you have served your united country at home and abroad.

   Endowed with the gift of friendship, which won for you the confidence 
of both Lee and Grant, you have proven yourself a man of war, a man of 
letters, and a man of affairs worthy the best traditions of your 
University and your State, to both of which you have been a loyal son.]



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CHAPTER II 
THE WAR BEGINS
   I WENT to Bristol, Virginia, in October, 1855, and opened a law office. 
I was a stranger and the first lawyer that located there.
   When attending court at Abingdon in the summer of 1860 I met William 
Blackford, who had been in class with me at the University and who was 
afterwards a colonel of engineers on General Stuart's staff. Blackford 
asked me to join a cavalry company which he was assisting to raise and in 
which he expected to be a lieutenant. To oblige him I allowed my name to 
be put on the muster roll; but was so indifferent about the matter that I 
was not present when the company organized. William E. Jones was made 
captain. He was a graduate of West Point and had resigned from the United 
States army a few years before. Jones was a fine soldier, but his temper 
produced friction with his superiors and greatly impaired his capacity as 
a commander.

   There were omens of war at this time, but 

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nobody realized the impending danger. Our first drill was on January Court 
Day, 1861. I borrowed a horse and rode up to Abingdon to take my first 
lesson. After the drill was over and the company had broken ranks, I went 
to hear John B. Floyd make a speech on the condition of the times. He had 
been Secretary of War and had lately resigned. Buchanan, in a history of 
his administration, said that Floyd's resignation had nothing to do with 
secession, but he requested it on account of financial irregularities he 
had discovered in the War Department.

   But to return to the campaign of 1860. I never had any talent or taste 
for stump speaking or handling party machines, but with my strong 
convictions I was a supporter of Douglas(1) and the Union.

   Whenever a Whig became extreme on the slave question, he went over to 
the opposition party. No doubt the majority of the Virginia Democrats 
agreed with the Union sentiments of Andrew Jackson, but the party was 
controlled

(1. Colonel Mosby was almost the only Douglas Democrat in Bristol; that is 
to say he was in favor of recognizing the right of a territory belonging 
to the United States to vote against slavery within its borders. The 
Breckinridge Democrats believed, especially after the decision of the 
Supreme Court in the Dred Scott case, in the right of the slaveholders to 
take their slaves into the territories and hold them there in slavery 
against the wishes of the inhabitants.)

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by a section known as "the chivalry", who were disciples of Calhoun, and 
got most of the honors. It was for this reason that a Virginia Senator 
(Mason), who belonged to that school, was selected to read to the Senate 
the dying speech of the great apostle of secession and slavery (Calhoun). 
It proved to be a legacy of woe to the South.

   I met Mr. Mason at an entertainment given him on his return from London 
after the close of the war. He still bore himself with pride and dignity, 
but without that hauteur which is said to have characterized him when he 
declared in the Senate that he was an ambassador from Virginia. He found 
his home in the Shenandoah Valley desolate. It will be remembered that, 
with John Slidell, Mason was captured when a passenger on board an English 
steamer and sent a prisoner to Fort Warren (in Boston Harbor), but he was 
released on demand of the English government. Mason told us many 
interesting things about his trip to London - of a conversation with Lord 
Brougham at a dinner, and the mistake the London post office had made in 
sending his mail to the American minister, Charles Francis Adams, and Mr. 
Adams's mail to Mason. Seeing him thus in the wreck of his hopes and with 

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no future to cheer him, I was reminded of Caius Marius brooding among the 
ruins of Carthage.

   William L. Yancey, of Alabama, did more than any other man in the South 
to precipitate the sectional conflict. In a commercial convention, shortly 
before the campaign of 1860, he had offered resolutions in favor of 
repealing the laws against the African slave trade. Yancey attacked Thomas 
Jefferson as an abolitionist, as Calhoun had done in the Senate, and 
called Virginia a breeding ground for slaves to sell to the Cotton States. 
He also charged her people with using the laws against the importation of 
Africans to create for themselves a monopoly in the slave market. Roger A. 
Pryor replied to him in a powerful speech.

   Yancey was more responsible than any other man for the disruption of 
the Democratic Party and, consequently, of the Union. He came to Virginia 
to speak in the Presidential canvass. I was attending court at Abingdon, 
where Yancey was advertised to speak. A few Douglas men in the county had 
invited Tim Rives, a famous stump orator, to meet Yancey, and I was 
delegated to call on the latter and prepare a joint debate. Yancey was 
stopping at the house of Governor Floyd - then Secretary of War. 

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I went to Floyd's home, was introduced to Yancey, and stated my business. 
He refused the joint debate, and I shall never forget the arrogance and 
contempt with which he treated me. I heard his speech that day; it was a 
strong one for his side. As the Virginia people had not yet been educated 
up to the secession point, Yancey thinly veiled his disunion purposes. 
That night we put up Tim Rives, who made a great speech in reply to Yancey 
and pictured the horrors of disunion and war. Rives was elected a member 
of the Convention that met the next winter, and there voted against 
disunion.

   Early in the war, the company in which I was a private was in camp near 
Richmond, and one day I met Rives on the street. It was the first time I 
had seen him since the speech at Abingdon. I had written an account of his 
speech for a Richmond paper, which pleased him very much, and he was very 
cordial. He wanted me to go with him to the governor's house and get 
Governor Letcher, who had also been a Douglas man the year before, to give 
me a commission. I declined and told him that as I had no military 
training, I preferred serving as a private under a good officer. I had no 
idea then that I should ever rise above the ranks.


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   A few days before the presidential election, I was walking on the 
street in Bristol when I was attracted by a crowd that was holding a Bell 
and Everett meeting. Some one called on me to make a Union speech. I rose 
and told the meeting that I saw no reason for making a Union speech at a 
Bell and Everett meeting; that it was my mission to call not the 
righteous, but sinners, to repentance. This "brought down the house." I 
little thought that in a few months I should be regarded as one of the 
sinners.

   I was very friendly with the editor of the secession paper in my town. 
One day he asked me what I intended to do in the case of a collision 
between the Government and South Carolina. I told him I would be on the 
side of the Union. He said that I should find him on the other side. "Very 
well," I replied, "I shall meet you at Philippi." Some years after the war 
he called upon me in Washington and jokingly reminded me of what I had 
said to him. As he was about my age and did not go into the army, I was 
tempted to tell him that I did go to Philippi, but did not meet him
there.(1)

(1. The editor in question, Mr. J. A. Sperry, of the Bristol Courier, has 
told the story in a somewhat different way. In writing his reminiscences 
of Mosby he said: 
"Mosby pursued the even tenor of his way until the memorable Presidential 
Campaign of 1860. So guarded had been his political utterances that but 
few of the villagers knew with which of the parties to class him, when he 
suddenly bloomed out as an elector on the Douglas ticket. This seemed to 
fix his status as a Union Democrat. I say seemed, for I am now inclined to 
think his politics was like his subsequent fighting, - independent and 
irregular. "We saw little of him in the stirring times immediately 
succeeding the election. One morning about the middle of January, 1861, I 
met him in the street, when he abruptly accosted me, 'I believe you are a 
secessionist per se.' 
" 'What has led you to that conclusion?' 
" 'The editorial in your paper to-day.' 
" 'You have not read it carefully,' said I. 'There is nothing in it to 
justify your inference. In summing up the events of the week, I find that 
several sovereign States have formally severed their connection with the 
Union. We are confronted with the accomplished fact of secession. I have 
expressed no opinion either of the right or the expediency of the 
movement. I am not a secessionist per se, if I understand the term; but a 
secessionist by the logic of events.' 
" 'I am glad to hear it,' he rejoined. 'I have never coveted the office of 
Jack Ketch, but I would cheerfully fill it for one day for the pleasure of 
hanging a disunionist per se. Do you know what secession means? It means 
bloody war, followed by feuds between the border States, which a century 
may not see the end of.' 
" 'I do not agree with you,' I said. 'I see no reason why secession should 
not be peaceable. But in the event of the dreadful war you predict, which 
side will you take?' 
" 'I shall fight for the Union, Sir, - for the Union, of course, and you?' 
" 'Oh, I don't apprehend any such extremity, but if I am forced into the 
struggle, I shall fight for my mother section. Should we meet upon the 
field of battle, as Yancey said to Brownlow the other day, I would run a 
bayonet through you.' 
" 'Very well, - we'll meet at Philippi,' retorted Mosby and stalked away. 
" 'Several months elapsed before I saw him again, but the rapid and 
startling events of those months made them seem like years. I was sitting 
in my office writing, one day in the latter part of April, when my 
attention was attracted by the quick step of some one entering and the 
exclamation, 'How do you like my uniform?' 
"It was a moment before I could recognize the figure pirouetting before me 
in the bob-tail coat of a cavalry private. 
" 'Why, Mosby!' I exclaimed, 'This isn't Philippi, nor is that a Federal 
uniform.' 
" 'No more of that,' said he, with a twinkle of the eye. 'When I talked 
that way, Virginia had not passed the ordinance of secession. She is out 
of the Union now. Virginia is my mother, God bless her! I can't fight 
against my mother, can I?' ")

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   In April, 1861, came the call to arms. On the day after the bombardment 
by South Carolina and the surrender of Fort Sumter that aroused all the 
slumbering passions of the country, I was 

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again attending court at Abingdon, when the telegraph operator told me of 
the great news that had just gone over the wire. Mr. Lincoln had called on 
the States for troops to suppress the rebellion.

   In the preceding December, Floyd had ordered Major Anderson to hold 
Sumter against the secessionists to the last extremity. Anderson simply 
obeyed Floyd's orders. When the news came, Governor Floyd was at home, and 
I went to his house to tell him. I remember he said it would be the 
bloodiest war the world had ever seen. Floyd's was a sad fate. He had, as 
Secretary of War, given great offense to the North by the shipping of arms 
from the northern arsenals to the South, some months before secession. He 
was charged with having been in collusion with the enemies of the 
Government under which he held office, and with treachery. At Donelson he 
was the senior officer in command. When the 

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other brigadiers refused to fight any longer, he brought off his own men 
and left the others to surrender to Grant. This was regarded as a breach 
of discipline, and Jefferson Davis relieved him of his command.

   When Lincoln's proclamation was issued, the Virginia Convention was 
still in session and had not passed a secession ordinance, so she was not 
included with States against which the proclamation was first directed. 
With the exception of the northwestern section of the State, where there 
were few slaves and the Union sentiment predominated, the people of 
Virginia, in response to the President's call for troops to enforce the 
laws, sprang to arms to resist the Government. The war cry "To arms!" 
resounded throughout the land and, in the delirium of the hour, we all 
forgot our Union principles in our sympathy with the pro-slavery cause, 
and rushed to the field of Mars.

   In issuing his proclamation, Lincoln referred for authority to a 
statute in pursuance of which George Washington sent an army into 
Pennsylvania to suppress the Whiskey Insurrection. But the people were 
persuaded that Lincoln's real object was to abolish slavery, although at 
his inaugural he had said:

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   There has never been any reasonable cause for such apprehension that by 
the accession of the Republican administration their property and their 
peace and personal security were endangered. Indeed, the most ample 
evidence to the contrary has all the while existed and been open to their 
inspection. It is found in nearly all the published speeches of him who 
now addresses you. I do but quote from one of those speeches when I 
declare that "I have no purpose, directly or indirectly, to interfere with 
the institution of slavery in the States where it exists." I believe I 
have no lawful right to do so, and I have no inclination to do so.

   The South had always been solid for slavery and when the quarrel about 
it resulted in a conflict of arms, those who had approved the policy of 
disunion took the pro-slavery side. It was perfectly logical to fight for 
slavery, if it was right to own slaves. Enforcing the laws was not 
coercing a State unless the State resisted the execution of the laws. When 
such a collision came, coercion depended on which was the stronger side.

   The Virginia Convention had been in session about two months, but a 
majority had opposed secession up to the time of the proclamation, and 
even then a large minority, including many of the ablest men in Virginia, 
voted against it. 

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Among that number was Jubal Early, who was prominent in the war. Nobody 
cared whether it was a constitutional right they were exercising, or an 
act of revolution. At such times reason is silent and passion prevails.

   The ordinance of secession was adopted in April and provided that it be 
submitted to a popular vote on the fourth Thursday in May. According to 
the States' Rights theory, Virginia was still in the Union until the 
ordinance was ratified; but the State immediately became an armed camp, 
and her troops seized the United States Armory at Harper's Ferry and the 
Norfolk Navy Yard. Virginia went out of the Union by force of arms, and I 
went with her.



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CHAPTER III 
A PRIVATE IN THE CAVALRY
   IN that fateful April, 1861, our local company, with other companies of 
infantry and cavalry, went into camp in a half-finished building of the 
Martha Washington College in the suburbs of Abingdon. Captain Jones 
allowed me to remain in Bristol for some time to close up the business I 
had in hand for clients and to provide for my family. A good many owed me 
fees when I left home, and they still owe me. My last appearance in court 
was at Blountville, Tennessee, before the Chancellor.
   My first night in camp I was detailed as one of the camp guards. 
Sergeant Tom Edmonson - a gallant soldier who was killed in June, 1864 - 
gave me the countersign and instructed me as to the duties of a sentinel. 
For two hours, in a cold wind, I walked my round and was very glad when my 
relief came and I could go to rest on my pallet of straw. The experience 
of my first night in camp rather tended to chill my military ardor 

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and was far more distasteful than picketing near the enemy's lines on the 
Potomac, which I afterwards did in hot and cold weather, very cheerfully; 
in fact I enjoyed it. The danger of being shot by a rifleman in a thicket, 
if not attractive, at least kept a vidette awake and watching. At this 
time I was the frailest and most delicate man in the company, but camp 
duty was always irksome to me, and I preferred being on the outposts. 
During the whole time that I served as a private - nearly a year - I only 
once missed going on picket three times a week. The single exception was 
when I was disabled one night by my horse falling over a cow lying in the 
road.

   Captain Jones had strict ideas of discipline, which he enforced, but he 
took good care of his horses as well as his men. There was a horse 
inspection every morning, and the man whose horse was not well groomed got 
a scolding mixed with some cursing by Captain Jones. Jones was always very 
kind to me. He drilled his own company and also a company of cavalry from 
Marion, which had come to our camp to get the benefit of his instruction 
in cavalry tactics.

   In the Marion company was William E. Peters, Professor at Emory and 
Henry College, who had graduated-in the same class in Greek with 

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me at the University. When he and I were students reading Thucydides, we 
did not expect ever to take part in a greater war than the Peloponnesian. 
Peters had left his literary work to be a lieutenant of cavalry. He was 
made a staff officer by General Floyd in his campaign that year in West 
Virginia. For some reason Peters was not with Floyd when the latter 
escaped from Fort Donelson in February, 1862. Peters was a strict 
churchman, but considered it his duty to fight a duel with a Confederate 
officer. He became a colonel of cavalry. Peters's regiment was with 
McCausland when he was sent by General Early in August, 1864, to 
Chambersburg, and his regiment was selected as the one to set fire to the 
town. Peters refused to obey the order, for which he is entitled to a 
monument to his memory. Reprisals in war can only be justified as a 
deterrent. As the Confederates were holding the place for only a few 
hours, while the Northern armies were occupying a large part of the South, 
no doubt, aside from any question of humanity, Peters thought it was bad 
policy to provoke retaliation. General Early ordered a reprisal in kind on 
account of the houses burned in the Shenandoah Valley a few months before 
by General Hunter. As General Early made 

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no mention of Peters in his book, I imagine it was because of his refusal 
to apply the torch to Chambersburg. On his return from this expedition, 
McCausland was surprised by Averill at Moorefield, and Peters was wounded 
and captured. He told me that he had expected to be put under arrest for 
disobedience as soon as he got back to Virginia.

   Hunter was a member of an old Virginia family, but he showed no favor 
to Virginians. At Bull Run he commanded the leading division that crossed 
at Sudley and was badly wounded, but there was no sympathy for him in 
Virginia. A relative of his told me that when Hunter met a lady who was a 
near relative, he offered to embrace her, but was repelled. She thought 
that in fighting against Virginia he was committing an unnatural act and 
that he had the feelings, described by Hamlet, of one who "would kill a 
king and marry with his brother." On Hunter's staff was his relative, 
Colonel Strother, who had won literary distinction over the pen name of 
"Porte Crayon." Both men seemed to be animated by the same sentiments 
towards their kin. Hunter presided over the court that condemned Mrs. 
Surratt as an accessory to the assassination of President Lincoln. He 
closed his life by suicide.

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   But to return to our company of cavalry and my first days as a soldier. 
We were sent, within a few days, to another camping ground, where we had 
plank sheds for shelter and where we drilled regularly. Several companies 
of infantry shared the camp with us. Once I had been detailed for camp 
guard and, having been relieved just as the company went out to drill, I 
saddled my horse and went along. I had no idea, that it was a breach of 
discipline to be doing double duty, until two men with muskets came up and 
told me that I was under arrest for it. I was too proud to say a word and, 
as my time had come, I went again to walking my rounds. Once after that, 
when we were in camp on Bull Run, I was talking at night with the Colonel 
in his tent and did not hear the bugle sounded for roll call. So a 
lieutenant, who happened to be in command, ordered me, as a penalty, to do 
duty the rest of the morning as a camp guard. He knew that my absence from 
roll call was not wilful but a mistake. I would not make any explanation 
but served my tour of duty. These were the only instances in which I was 
punished when a private.

   Our Circuit Judge, Fulkerson, who had served in the Mexican War, was 
appointed a colonel by 

Page 27

Governor Letcher, and took command of the camp at Abingdon. But in a few 
days we were ordered to Richmond. Fulkerson, with the infantry, went by 
rail, but Jones preferred to march his Company all the way. As he had been 
an officer in the army on the plains, we learned a good deal from him in 
the two weeks on the road, and it was a good course of discipline for us. 
I was almost a perfect stranger in the company to which I belonged, and I 
felt so lonely in camp that I applied to Captain Jones for a transfer to 
an infantry company from Bristol. He said that I would have to get the 
approval of the Governor and forwarded my application to him at Richmond. 
Fortunately the next day we were ordered away, and I heard nothing more 
about the transfer.

   On May 30, in the afternoon, our company - one hundred strong - left 
Abingdon to join the army. In spite of a drizzling rain the whole 
population was out to say farewell; in fact a good many old men rode 
several miles with us. We marched ten miles and then disbanded to disperse 
in squads, under the command of an officer or of a non-commissioned 
officer, to spend the night at the country homes. I went under Jim King, 
the orderly sergeant, and spent the night at the house of Major Ab. 
Beattie, who 

Page 28

gave us the best of everything, but I was so depressed at parting with my 
wife and children that I scarcely spoke a word. King had been a cadet at 
West Point for a short time and had learned something of tactics. He was 
afterwards transferred to the 37th Virginia Infantry and was killed in 
Jackson's battle at Kernstown.

   When the roll was called the next morning at the rendezvous at old 
Glade Spring Church, I don't think a man was missing. The men were boiling 
with enthusiasm and afraid that the war would be over before they got to 
the firing line. I remember one man who was conspicuous on the march; he 
rode at the head of the column and got the bouquets the ladies threw at 
us; but in our first battle he was conspicuous for his absence and stayed 
with the wagons. Our march to the army was an ovation. Nobody dreamed of 
the possibility of our failure and the last scene of the great drama at 
Appomattox. We made easy marches, and by the time we got to Wytheville, 
all of my depression of spirits had gone, and I was as lively as anybody. 
It took us two weeks to get to Richmond, where we spent a few days on the 
Fair Grounds. We were then sent to a camp of instruction at Ashland, where 
we remained a short time or until we, with a cavalry 

Page 29

company from Amelia County, were ordered to in Joe Johnston's army in the 
Shenandoah.

   I well remember that we were in Ashland when news came to us that Joe 
Johnston, on June 15, had retreated from Harper's Ferry to Winchester. To 
begin the war by abandoning such an outpost, when there was no enemy near 
and no necessity for it, was a shock for which we were not prepared, and 
it chilled our enthusiasm. I couldn't understand it - that was all - but 
my instinct told me at the time what was afterwards confirmed by reason 
and experience - that a great blunder had been committed.

   At Wytheville, on our third days march to Richmond, we got the papers 
which informed us that the war had actually begun in a skirmish at 
Fairfax, where Captain Marr had been killed. We were greatly excited by 
the news of the affair. Our people had been reading about war and 
descriptions of battles by historians and poets, from the days of Homer 
down, and were filled with enthusiasm for military glory. They had no 
experience in the hardships of military service and knew nothing, had no 
conception, of the suffering it brings to the homes of those who have left 
them. In all great wars, women and children are the chief sufferers.

Page 30

   Our company joined the First Virginia Cavalry, commanded by Colonel J. 
E. B. Stuart, in the Shenandoah Valley. At Richmond, Captain Jones, who 
stood high with those in authority, had procured Sharp carbines for us. We 
considered this a great compliment, as arms were scarce in the 
Confederacy. We had been furnished with sabres before we left Abingdon, 
but the only real use I ever heard of their being put to was to hold a 
piece of meat over a fire for frying. I dragged one through the first year 
of the war, but when I became a commander, I discarded it. The sabre and 
lance may have been very good weapons in the days of chivalry, and my 
suspicion is that the combats of the hero of Cervantes were more realistic 
and not such burlesques as they are supposed to be. But certainly the 
sabre is of no use against gunpowder. Captain Jones also made requisition 
for uniforms, but when they arrived there was almost a mutiny. They were a 
sort of dun color and came from the penitentiary. The men piled them up in 
the camp, and all but Fount Beattie and myself refused to wear them.

   We joined Joe Johnston's army in the Shenandoah Valley at his 
headquarters in Winchester and rested there for a day. Then we went on to 
join Colonel J. E. B. Stuart's regiment at Bunker 

Page 31

Hill, a village about twelve miles distant on the pike leading to 
Martinsburg, where Patterson's army was camped. We were incorporated into 
the First Virginia Cavalry, which Stuart had just organized, now on 
outpost to watch Patterson. I had never seen Stuart before, and the 
distance between us was so great that I never expected to rise to even an 
acquaintance with him. Stuart was a graduate of West Point and as a 
lieutenant in Colonel Sumner's regiment, the First Cavalry, had won 
distinction and had been wounded in an Indian fight. At the beginning of 
the war he was just twenty-eight years old. His appearance - which 
included a reddish beard and a ruddy complexion - indicated a strong 
physique and great energy.

   In his work on the outposts Stuart soon showed that he possessed the 
qualities of a great leader of cavalry. He never had an equal in such 
service. He discarded the old maxims and soon discovered that in the 
conditions of modern war the chief functions of cavalry are to learn the 
designs and to watch and report the movements of the enemy.

   We rested a day in camp, and many of us wrote letters to our homes, 
describing the hospitable welcome we had met on our long march and our 

Page 32

anxiety to meet the foe who was encamped a few miles away. On the 
following day, to our great delight, Captain Jones was ordered to take us 
on a scout towards Martinsburg. My first experience was near there - at 
Snodgrass Spring - where we came upon two soldiers who were out foraging. 
They ran across the field, but we overtook them. I got a canteen from 
one - the first I had ever seen - which I found very useful in the first 
battle I was in. It was a trophy which I prized highly. We got a good view 
of Patterson's army, a mile or so away, and returned that evening to our 
bivouac, all in the highest of spirits. Nearly every man in the company 
wrote a letter to somebody the next day.



Page 33

CHAPTER IV 
JOHNSTON’S RETREAT FROM HARPER’S FERRY
   THE first great military blunder of the war was committed by Johnston 
in evacuating Harper's Ferry. Both Jackson and General Lee, who was then 
in Richmond organizing the army and acting as military adviser, were 
opposed to this. They wanted to hold it, not as a fortress with a 
garrison, but to break communication with the West, and a salient for an 
active force to threaten the flank of an invading army.

   On April 27, Stonewall Jackson was ordered to the command of Harper's 
Ferry, which the militia had seized a few days before. Harper's Ferry is 
situated in a gap in the Blue Ridge through which flow the waters of the 
Potomac anal the Shenandoah. John Brown had seized the place in his 
rebellion. The fact that he tried to start a slave insurrection in a 
region where there were few slaves is proof that he was a monomaniac. But 
Harper's Ferry was a place of great strategic value for the Confederates, 
as the 

Page 34

railroad and canal on the Potomac from Washington, fifty miles below, 
passed through the gap. It was a salient position; its possession by the 
Confederates was a menace to the North and broke direct communication 
between the Capital and the West. A strategic offensive on the border was 
the best policy to encourage Southern sentiment in Maryland and defend the 
Shenandoah Valley from invasion.

   A Virginian lieutenant, Roger Jones, had been stationed at Harper's 
Ferry with a small guard to protect the property of the Government. He 
remained until the force coming to capture the place was in sight, then 
set fire to the buildings, and retreated. His example in holding the 
position to the last extremity was not followed by the Confederates.

   When Jackson arrived at the scene of his command, without waiting for 
instructions, he prepared to hold it by fortifying Maryland Heights. "I am 
of the opinion," he wrote to General Lee, "that this place should be 
defended with the spirit that actuated the defenders of Thermopylae and if 
left to myself such is my determination." General Lee was in accord with 
Jackson's sentiments. Now Jackson did not mean that Harper's Ferry should 
be held as a fortress to stand 

Page 35

a siege; nor that he would stay there and die like the Spartans in the 
Pass, but that he would hold it until a likelihood of its being surrounded 
by superior numbers was imminent. There was no prospect of this being the 
case, for no investing force was near. The best way to defend the 
Shenandoah Valley was to hold the line of the Potomac as a menace to 
Washington.

   Major Deas, who had been sent to Harper's Ferry as an inspector of the 
Confederate War Department, thought that the troops showed an invincible 
spirit of resistance. On May 21 he wrote: "I have not asked Colonel 
Jackson his opinion on the subject, but my own is that there is force 
enough here to hold the place against any attack which, under the existing 
state of affairs, may be contemplated." And on May 23, the day before 
McDowell's army at Washington crossed into Virginia, he reported that 
there were "about 8000 troops at Harper's Ferry and the outposts, 
including five companies of artillery and a naval battery, and that 7300 
were then able to go into battle well-armed. The Naval Batteries," he 
said, "under Lieutenant Fauntleroy, are placed on the northern and 
southern salients of the village of Harper's Ferry and envelop by their 
fire the whole of the town 

Page 36

of Bolivar and the approaches of the immediate banks of the Potomac and 
Shenandoah rivers. The cavalry under Lieutenant-Colonel J. E. B. Stuart is 
in very good condition and quite effective. All the infantry regiments are 
daily drilled in the school of the soldier and company, and valuable 
assistance is received in this respect from the young men who have been 
instructed at the Military School at Lexington." Neither Jackson nor Major 
Deas knew of any immediate danger of Harper's Ferry being invested.

   On May 24, in accordance with orders from the Confederate Government at 
Montgomery, General Joseph E. Johnston assumed command at the Ferry, and 
in a few days Jackson was given a brigade of five Virginia regiments. The 
outposts at the Ferry then extended from Williamsport on the Potomac to 
Point of Rocks on the river below. Johnston at once submitted a memorandum 
to Richmond on the conditions at Harper's Ferry, which displayed the 
caution for which he became distinguished. He seemed to have little 
confidence in his troops and thought the position could be easily turned 
from above or below, taking no account of the fact that he might turn the 
flank of an enemy who was flanking him. Johnston asked instructions from 
General Lee in 

Page 37

relation to the manner in which the troops he commanded should be used. 
And on May 28 he again wrote in the same tone of despair: "If the 
Commander-in-Chief has precise instructions to give I beg to receive them 
early. I have prepared means of transportation for a march. Should it be 
decided that the troops should constitute a garrison this expense can be 
recalled," which shows he was getting ready for a retreat. With this 
letter Johnston enclosed a memorandum from a staff officer, Major Whiting, 
in which the latter spoke of troops that were gathering at Carlisle and 
Chambersburg, intimating that in the event of the advance of this force it 
might be necessary to move out to prevent being shut up in a cul-de-sac. 
But such a thing was too remote and contingent to constitute a danger of 
investment at that time. No place is absolutely impregnable; Gibraltar has 
been captured. The answer Johnston should have received to this request 
for orders was that he did not command a garrison to defend a fortress, 
but an active force in the field; and that Harper's Ferry might be held as 
a picket post.

   The discipline of Johnston's troops ought to have been as good as that 
of the three months' men that Patterson was collecting at Chambersburg, 

Page 38

fifty miles away. In addition to the cadets of the Virginia Military 
Institute, who were drilling his regiments, Johnston had in his army at 
least ten officers who had lately resigned from the U. S. Army. Nearly all 
of the field officers of Jackson's brigade had been educated at the 
Military Institute, and several had been officers in the Mexican War. 
Their conduct in battle a few weeks afterwards shows how much Johnston had 
underrated them. The men were volunteers full of enthusiasm for a cause 
and rendered cheerful obedience to orders; it was not necessary to drill 
such material into machines to make them soldiers.

   Johnston complained of the want of discipline of his army and the 
danger of being surrounded by a superior force. The force that was coming 
to surround the Ferry was a spectre. McDowell's and Patterson's armies 
were fifty miles away and a hundred miles apart. At the request of 
Governor Pierpont a few regiments had crossed the Ohio, but McClellan's 
headquarters were still at Cincinnati. Any movement from that direction 
would naturally be through central Virginia - towards Richmond - in 
coöperation with McDowell. Johnston continued to show great anxiety about 
his position and wrote about it 

Page 39

several times to General Lee. But neither Lee nor President Davis could 
see the danger as he saw it, and on June 7 General Lee - to calm his fears 
wrote him: "He (the President) does not think it probable that there will 
be an immediate attack by troops from Ohio. General N. J. Garnett, C. S. 
Army, with a command of 4000 men, has been dispatched to Beverly to arrest 
the progress of troops. . . . Colonel McDonald has also been sent to 
interrupt the passage of troops over the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. It 
is hoped by these means you will be relieved from an attack in that 
direction, and will have merely to meet an attack in front from 
Pennsylvania."

   In the meantime reinforcements were going to Beauregard and Johnston 
almost daily. Wise and Floyd had been sent to the Kanawha Valley to 
counteract any movement there, and Garnett, with four thousand troops, had 
been sent to northwest Virginia. Patterson's was the only force from which 
Johnston could expect an attack, and as he would have to make detachments 
from it to guard his communications, Patterson could not be much superior 
in numbers when the collision should come.

   General Lee, as adviser to the War Department, 

Page 40

was really the de facto Secretary of War and directed all operations in 
the field. He had selected Manassas Junction as a strategic point for the 
concentration of troops, on account of its being in connection with the 
Valley. On return from Manassas Junction, to relieve Johnston of anxiety 
about his flank being turned, Lee wrote to him that he had placed Colonel 
Ewell in advance at Fairfax Court House and Colonel Eppa Hunton at 
Leesburg on the Potomac, each with a force of infantry and cavalry in 
reservation, who would inform him of any movement to his rear. But 
Johnston continued uneasy and, although he was receiving reinforcements, 
he again wrote that he had heard that Patterson had 10,000 troops at 
Chambersburg, that some of McClellan's troops had reached Grafton, and he 
apprehended a junction of all of those forces against him. He should at 
least have waited for the development of such a plan and then, instead of 
retreating, have taken the offensive to defeat it. Johnston's suggestion 
meant the abandonment of the Valley.

   Patterson, who was organizing the force at Chambersburg, was a 
political general, only remembered for having allowed the force he 
commanded in the Shenandoah Valley to render no service at a critical 
time. Patterson proposed to 

Page 41

capture Harper's Ferry, which, of course, General Scott was very willing 
to do. But the only support Scott could promise from Washington was to 
make a demonstration towards Manassas to prevent reinforcements going to 
the Valley and to send a force of 2500 on a secondary expedition up the 
Potomac. As the Ferry was of great strategic value as an outpost, Scott 
warned Patterson of the desperate resistance he might expect from the 
Confederates. He did not suspect that the Confederates were then packing 
up to leave.

   On June 14 the Confederates began the evacuation of Harper's Ferry and 
retreated ten or twelve miles to Charles Town. No movement had been made 
against them from any direction. Several regiments had just arrived - 
there were about 3000 militia at Winchester, and a force of the enemy had 
retreated from Romney.

   On June 13, after repeated requests for instructions about holding 
Harper's Ferry, which showed clearly a desire to shift the responsibility 
for it, the War Department wrote him the conditions on which the place 
should be evacuated: "You have been heretofore instructed to use your own 
discretion as to retiring from your position at Harper's Ferry and taking 
the field to check the advance of the enemy. . . . As you seem to desire, 

Page 42

however, that the responsibility of your retirement should be assumed 
here, and as no reluctance is felt to bear any burden which the public 
interest may require, you can consider yourself authorized, whenever the 
position of the enemy shall convince you that he is about to turn your 
position and thus deprive the country of the services of yourself and the 
troops under your command, to destroy everything at Harper's Ferry."

   Johnston seems to have met this letter at Charles Town while it was on 
the way, and did not wait for it at the Ferry. Johnston's report says he 
met a courier from Richmond with a despatch authorizing him to evacuate 
Harper's Ferry at his discretion. The dispatch he received had no such 
instructions; the conditions on which he was authorized to abandon the 
place had not arisen; no enemy was threatening to turn his position.

   On June 15 Patterson crossed the Maryland line. His leading brigade was 
commanded by Colonel George H. Thomas, a Virginian, who was an officer in 
the Second Cavalry under Lee. It had been expected that he would go with 
the people of his native State. On the sixteenth his brigade waded the 
Potomac. When Patterson heard that Harper's Ferry had been abandoned, 

Page 43

he was incredulous and thought it was a ruse, giving Joe Johnston a credit 
he himself never claimed.

   The evacuation of Harper's Ferry before it was compelled by the 
presence of an enemy was not approved at Richmond, nor was it done to act 
in concert with any other force, as was then supposed. The victory at Bull 
Run a few weeks afterwards confirmed the impression that the movement had 
been made in coöperation with Beauregard. The latter knew nothing of such 
a purpose until he heard that the Confederates had lost their advantage, 
and that the enemy held the key to the Shenandoah Valley. In plain words 
it was a retreat.

   The evacuation of the post before there was any pressure to compel it 
made Johnston the innocent cause of a comedy at Washington. General Scott 
could not comprehend what could be the motive for it, except on the theory 
of its being a feigned retreat to capture Washington by a stratagem. No 
other reason could be conceived why the Confederates should surrender, 
without making a defense, the advantage of Harper's Ferry as a base.

   After a part of his force had crossed the Potomac, to his surprise, 
Patterson received a telegram from 

Page 44

General Scott, on June 16, ordering him to send at once to Washington all 
the regular troops, horse and foot, and Burnside's Rhode Island regiment. 
And on the 17th of June, Scott repeated the order and said: "We are 
pressed here. Send the troops I have twice called for without delay." 
Where the pressure could come from was a mystery to Patterson, as he knew 
that Johnston was still in the Shenandoah Valley, but the order was 
imperative, and he obeyed. "The troops were sent," he said, "leaving me 
without a single piece of artillery, and for the time with but one troop 
of cavalry, which had not been in service over a month." So the hostile 
armies retreated in opposite directions. Patterson recrossed the Potomac, 
and Johnston, unconscious of the alarm which his retreat had given in 
Washington, went on to Winchester.

   There was another amusing episode on June 16 as a result of the 
Harper's Ferry operations. In anticipation of the demonstration he was to 
make in favor of Patterson's predicted attack on Harper's Ferry, McDowell 
had sent General Schenck on the Loudoun railroad as an advance guard. When 
turning a curve near Vienna, a fire was opened on the train by what 
Schenck called a "masked battery." The engine was in the rear, 

Page 45

and as the engineer could not draw the train out of the range of fire, he 
detached the engine and disappeared under a full head of steam. So Schenck 
and his men had to walk back. Under a flag of truce he asked permission to 
bury the dead and take care of the wounded. Schenck afterwards gained 
notoriety as U. S. Minister at London and was recalled. The only 
distinction he won in the war was as the inventor of the term "masked 
battery." The battery that did so much damage was commanded by my 
schoolmate, Del Kemper.

   The whole country was greatly surprised by the news of the evacuation 
of Harper's Ferry. If Johnston had waited a day longer for the answer to 
his request for instructions, his retreat would have been a disobedience 
of orders. The conditions did not exist, in the opinion of the War 
Department, which would justify the evacuation. Johnston sent a reply in 
which he disclaimed a desire to shift responsibility - which was clearly 
inconsistent with his request for instructions.

   Harper's Ferry should have been held until danger was imminent. It must 
have been a position of strategic value as well as of tactical strength 
since it was held by 11,000 men against the Confederates and used as a 
base in the 

Page 46

Gettysburg campaign and also when Early invaded Maryland. When the Ferry 
was evacuated, McDowell's army was fifty miles below defending Washington, 
and Beauregard, in his front, fully occupied his attention. Patterson was 
at Hagerstown, had not crossed the Potomac, and had given no sign of doing 
so.



Page 47

CHAPTER V 
RECOLLECTIONS OF BATTLE OF MANASSAS(1)
   THE First Virginia Cavalry remained in the Shenandoah Valley until the 
eighteenth of July when, by forced marches, it was sent to join the army 
and take its part in the Battle of Manassas. When we left the Valley, 
Stuart sent Captain Patrick's company to watch Patterson, whose army was 
in camp at Charles Town, and to screen the transfer of the army to the 
east of the Blue Ridge. It was well known that in a few days the most of 
Patterson's regiments would be mustered out of service and would go home. 
It was evident that his prime object had been not to divert Johnston's 
army but to avoid a collision. Patterson no doubt thought that he had 
effected his purpose and was content to rest where he was.

   Stuart's regiment arrived at the scene of the approaching battle on the 
evening of July go and went into bivouac near Ball's Ford. The armies 

(1. This, the first battle of the war, was known in the North as the 
Battle of Bull Run, and in the South as the Battle of Manassas.)

Page 48

were so close together that there was a great deal of picket firing, and I 
remember very well the foreboding I felt when I lay down under a pine tree 
to rest beside Fount Beattie. When the bugle sounded on the morning of the 
twenty-first, in counting off, I was Number 1 in the first set of fours 
and rode at the head of the squadron that day. Nothing afterwards occurred 
in my military career that gives me more satisfaction to remember. A few 
days before six Colt pistols had been sent to our company, and Captain 
Jones had selected the men who were to have them. I was one of the six - I 
don't know why. But to reconcile those who got no pistols, Jones told them 
that the six should be selected for the most dangerous work. Shortly after 
breakfast on the morning of the battle, Stuart sent Jones to make a 
reconnaissance over Bull Run. When we reached the woods where he thought 
the enemy might be, Jones called for the six men. We all responded and 
rode off into the woods to reconnoitre, but we didn't find an enemy. So 
the company recrossed the Run.

   Our regiment was divided during the battle, and the squadron to which I 
belonged was placed under a Major Swan, a Marylander. Late in the day when 
the enemy was in retreat, Swan 

Page 49

halted us in a field within fifty yards of Kemper's guns, which were 
firing on the retreating troops. That was the very time for us to have 
been on the enemy's flank. I was near Captain Jones. He rose in his 
stirrups and said indignantly, "Major Swan! You can't be too bold in 
pursuing a flying enemy." But he made no impression on Swan. After dark 
Swan marched us back over Bull Run, and I slept in a drenching rain in a 
fence corner. Swan did not get a man or a horse scratched. He did a life 
insurance business that day. Instead of Swan supporting the battery, the 
battery supported Swan. Afterwards my last official act as adjutant of the 
company was to carry an order from Jones who had become colonel, for 
Swan's arrest. We lay all the next day near the battlefield, and I rode 
over it, carrying a despatch to Stuart at Sudley. But the first thing I 
did in the morning was to make a temporary shelter from the rain in a 
fence corner and write a letter to my wife.

Monday, July 22d, Battlefield of Manassas. 

My dearest Pauline: 
   There was a great battle yesterday. The Yankees are overwhelmingly 
routed. Thousands of them killed. I was in the fight. We at one time stood 
for two hours 

Page 50

under a perfect storm of shot and shell - it was a miracle that none of 
our company was killed. We took all of their cannon from them; among the 
batteries captured was Sherman's - battle lasted about 7 hours - about 90,
000 Yankees, 45,000 of our men. The cavalry pursued them till dark - 
followed 6 or 7 miles. Genl. Scott commanded them. I just snatch this 
moment to write - am out doors in a rain - will write you all particulars 
when I get a chance. We start just as soon as we can get our breakfast to 
follow them to Alexandria. We made a forced march to get here to the 
battle - travelled about 65 miles without stopping. My love to all of you. 
In haste.

Yours devotedly, 

   Early on Tuesday morning (July 23) Stuart's regiment and Eley's brigade 
moved to Fairfax Court House and camped near there on opposite sides of 
the Alexandria pike. Stuart's dispatch to General Johnston, who was still 
at Manassas, says we got there at 9.30 A.M. The country looked very much 
like Egypt after a flood of the Nile - it was strewn with the debris of 
McDowell's army. I again wrote to my wife and used paper and an envelope 
which the Zouaves had left behind. On it was a picture of a Zouave 
charging with a fixed bayonet and an inscription - "Up guards and at 
them" - which is said to have been Wellington's order at Waterloo. The 
Zouaves were then charging on New York.

Page 51

Fairfax Court House, July 24th, 1861. 

My dearest Pauline: 
   I telegraphed and wrote you from Manassas early the next morning after 
the battle. We made a forced march from Winchester to get to Manassas in 
time for the fight, - travelled two whole days and one night without 
stopping (in the rain) and getting only one meal. We arrived the morning 
before the fight. It lasted about ten hours and was terrific. When we were 
first brought upon the field we were posted as a reserve just in rear of 
our artillery and directly within range of the hottest fire of the enemy. 
For two hours we sat there on our horses, exposed to a perfect storm of 
grapeshot, balls, bombs, etc. They burst over our heads, passed under our 
horses, yet nobody was hurt. I rode my horse nearly to death on the 
battlefield, going backward and forward, watching the enemy's movements to 
prevent their flanking our command. When I first got on the ground my 
heart sickened. We met Hampton's South Carolina legion retreating. I 
thought the day was lost and with it the Southern cause. We begged them, 
for the honor of their State, to return. But just then a shout goes up 
along our lines. Beauregard arrives and assures us that the day will be 
ours. This reanimated the troops to redouble their efforts. Our regiment 
had been divided in the morning; half was taken to charge the enemy early 
in the action and the remaining part (ours and Amelia Co.) were held as a 
reserve, to cover the retreat of our forces, if unsuccessful, and to take 
advantage of any favorable moment.

Page 52

   When, late in the evening, the Yankees gave way, they seemed 
overwhelmed with confusion and despair. They abandoned everything - arms, 
wagons, horses, ammunition, clothing, all sorts of munitions of war. They 
fled like a flock of panic-stricken sheep. We took enough arms, 
accoutrements, etc. to equip the whole army. They were splendidly 
equipped, had every imaginable comfort and convenience which Yankee 
ingenuity could devise.

   The fight would not have been half so long had it been an open-field 
one, but the Yankees were protected by a thick pine woods, so that it was 
almost impossible to get at them with the cavalry. They never once stood 
to a clash of the bayonet - always broke and ran. In the evening, when 
they gave way, the order was given to charge them. We were then in the 
distant part of the field. In a moment we were in full pursuit, and as we 
swept on by the lines of our infantry, at full speed, the shouts of our 
victorious soldiers rent the air. We pursued them for six or eight miles, 
until darkness covered their retreat. The whole road was blocked up with 
what they abandoned in their flight. All our regiment (in fact, nearly all 
the soldiers) now have splendid military overcoats which they took. I have 
provided myself very well. We took every piece of their artillery from 
them - 62 pieces - among them, one of the finest batteries in the world. 
Their total loss cannot be less then 5000. Our company is now equipped 
with Yankee tents, (I am writing under one). We are also eating Yankee 
provisions, as they left enough to feed the army a long 

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time . . . All of the Northern Congress came out as spectators of the 
fight. A Senator was killed by a cannon ball - Foster. All of our troops 
fought well, but the Virginia troops bore the brunt of the battle, 
especially Jackson's brigade. A Washington paper says they were scarce of 
ammunition - a lie, for we took enough from them to whip them over again. 
Our Captain (who you know is an old army officer) complimented our company 
very much for their coolness and bravery in standing fire, - said that we 
stood like old veterans. We were placed in the most trying position in 
which troops can be placed, to be exposed to a fire which you cannot 
return. . . . There was scarcely a minute during the battle that I did not 
think of you and my sweet babes. I had a picture of May [his daughter] 
which I took out once and looked at. For a moment the remembrance of her 
prattling innocence almost unfitted me for the stern duties of a 
soldier, - but a truce to such thoughts. We are now marching on to bombard 
Washington City.

Fairfax Court House, July 27, 1861. 

Dearest Pauline: 
   We are here awaiting for the whole army to come up . . . Several of our 
men got scared into fits at the battle. A Dr. - put a blister on his heart 
as an excuse not to go into battle; one named - was so much frightened 
when the shells commenced bursting around us that he fell off his horse - 
commenced praying; the surgeon ran up, - thought he was shot; 

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examined him, told him he was only scared to death. He got up and left the 
field in double-quick time. I could tell you of a good many such ludicrous 
incidents.