VITWO DAYS WITH MOSBYAn Adventure with Guerillas
An Adventure with Guerillas
I
I WAS up at reveille. Orders to inspect the camp of dismounted cavalry near Harper’s Ferry had been in my pocket two days, while I awaited an escort through the fifty miles of guerilla-infested country which lay between me and that distant post. This was the day for the regular train, and a thousand wagons were expected to leave Sheridan’s headquarters, on Cedar Creek, at daylight, with a brigade of infantry as guard, and a troop of cavalry as outriders.
An hour’s ride of eight miles along a picketed line across the valley brought me to the famous “Valley Pike,” and near theheadquarters of the army. Torbert was there, and I awaited his detailed instructions. Unavoidable delay ensued. Despatches were to be sent, and they were not yet ready. An hour passed, and, meantime the industrious wagon-train was lightly and rapidly rolling away down the pike. The last wagon passed out of sight, and the rear-guard closed up behind it before I was ready to start. No other train was to go for four days. I must overtake this one or give up my journey. At length, accompanied by a single orderly, and my colored servant, George Washington, a contraband, commonly called “Wash,” I started in pursuit of the train.
As I had nearly passed Newtown I overtook a small party apparently from the rear-guard of the train, who were lighting their pipes and buying cakes and apples at a small grocery on the right of the pike. They seemed to be in charge of a non-commissioned officer.
“Good-morning, Sergeant. You had better close up at once. The train is getting well ahead, and this is the favorite beat of Mosby.”
“All right, sir,” he replied with a smile, and nodding to his men, they mounted at once and closed in behind me, while quite to my surprise I noticed in front of me three more of the party whom I had not before seen.
An instinct of danger seized me. I saw nothing to justify it, but I felt a presence of evil which I could not shake off. The men were in Union blue complete, and wore on their caps the well-known Greek cross which distinguishes the gallant Sixth Corps. They were young, intelligent, cleanly, and good-looking soldiers, armed with revolvers and Spencer’s repeating carbine. I noticed the absence of sabres, but the presence of the Spencer, which was a comparatively new arm in our service, reassured me, and I thought it impossible that the enemy could as yet be possessed of them.
We galloped on merrily, and just as I was ready to laugh at my own fears, “Wash,” who had been riding behind me and had heard some remark made by the soldiers, brushed up to my side, and whispered through his teeth, chattering with fear:
“Massa, Secesh, sure! Run like de debbel!”
I turned to look back at these words, and saw six carbines levelled at me at twenty paces distant, and the Sergeant, who had watched every motion of the negro, came riding towards me with revolver drawn and the sharp command, “Halt! Surrender!”
We had reached a low place where the Opequan Creek crosses the pike, a mile from Newtown. The train was not a quarter of a mile ahead, but out of sight for the moment over the west ridge.
High stone-walls lined the pike on either side, and a narrow bridge across the stream was in front of me and already occupied by the three rascals who had acted as advance-guard, who now coolly turned round and raised their carbines.
I remembered the military maxim, a mounted man should never surrender until his horse is disabled. I hesitated an instant considering what I should do, and quite in doubt whether I was myself or some other fellow whom I had read of as captured and hung by guerillas; but at the repetition ofthe sharp command, aided by the revolver thrust into my face, I concluded I was undoubtedly the other fellow and surrendered accordingly.
My sword and revolver were taken at once by the Sergeant, who proved to be a rebel lieutenant in disguise, and who remarked, laughing as he took them:
“We closed up, Captain, as you directed; as this is a favorite beat of Mosby’s, I hope our drill was satisfactory.”
“All right, Sergeant. Every dog has his day, and yours happens to come now. Possibly my turn may come to-morrow.”
“Your turn to be hung,” he replied.
It was not long before I was ushered into the presence of John S. Mosby, Lieutenant-Colonel, C. S. A.
He stood a little apart from his men, by the side of a splendid gray horse, with his right hand grasping the bridle-rein and resting on the pommel of his saddle—a slight,medium-sized man, sharp of feature, quick of sight, lithe of limb, with a bronzed face of the color and tension of whip-cord. His hair, beard, and mustache were light brown in color. His large, well-shaped head showed a high forehead, deep-set gray eyes, a straight Grecian nose, a firm mouth, and large ears. His whole expression told of energy, hard service, and—love of whiskey. He wore top-boots, and a civilian’s overcoat, black, lined with red, and beneath it the complete gray uniform of a Confederate Lieutenant-Colonel, with its two stars on the side of the standing collar, and the whole surmounted by the inevitable slouched hat of the whole Southern race. His men were about half in blue and half in butternut.
Mosby, after taking my horse and quietly examining my papers, presently looked up with a peculiar gleam of satisfaction on his face.
“Ah, Captain B——! Inspector-General of ——’s Cavalry! Good-morning, Captain! Glad to see you, sir! Indeed, there is but one I would prefer to see this morning to yourself,and that is your commander. Were you present, sir, the other day at the hanging of eight of my men as guerillas at Front Royal?”
I answered him firmly, “I was present, sir; and, like you, have only to regret that it was not the commander instead of his unfortunate men.”
This answer seemed to please Mosby, for he apparently expected a denial. He assumed a grim smile, and directed Lieutenant Whiting to search me.
My gold hunting-watch and chain, several rings, a set of shirt-studs and sleeve-buttons, a Masonic pin, some coins, and about three hundred dollars in greenbacks, with some letters and pictures of the dear ones at home, and a small pocket Bible, were taken. My cavalry-boots, worth about fifteen dollars, were apprised at six hundred and fifty in Confederate money; my watch at three thousand dollars, and the other articles in about the same proportion, including my poor servant “Wash,” who was put in and raffled for at two thousand dollars, so thatmy entire outfit made quite a respectable prize.
“Wash” was very indignant that he should be thought worth only two thousand dollars, Confederate money, and informed them that he considered himself unappreciated, and that, among other accomplishments, he could make the best milk-punch of any man in the Confederacy.
When all this was concluded, Mosby took me a little one side and returned to me the pocket Bible, the letters and pictures, and the Masonic pin, saying quietly as he did so, alluding to the latter with a significant sign:
“You may as well keep this. It may be of use to you somewhere.”
I thanked him warmly for his kindness as I took his offered hand, and really began to think Mosby almost a gentleman and a soldier, although he had just robbed me in the most approved manner of modern highwaymen.
Immediate preparations were made for the long road to Richmond and Libby Prison. A guard of fifteen men, in command ofLieutenant Whiting, was detailed as our escort, and, accompanied by Mosby himself, we started directly across the country, regardless of roads, in an easterly direction towards the Shenandoah and the Blue Ridge.
We were now in company of nine more of our men, who had been taken at different times, making eleven of our party in all, besides the indignant contraband “Wash,” whom it was thought prudent also to send to the rear for safe-keeping.
I had determined to escape if even half an opportunity should present itself, and the boys were quick in understanding my purpose, and intimating their readiness to risk their lives in the attempt. One of them in particular, George W. M‘Cauley, commonly known as Mack, and another one named Brown, afterwards proved themselves heroes.
At Howettsville on the Shenandoah, nine miles below Front Royal, we bivouacked for the night in an old school-house.
Our party of eleven were assigned to one side of the lower floor of the school-house, where we lay down side by side with ourheads to the wall and our feet nearly meeting the feet of the guard, who lay in the same manner opposite us, with their heads to the other wall, except three, who formed a relief guard for the sentry’s post at the door.
Above the head of the guard along the wall ran a low desk, on which each man of them placed his carbine and revolver before disposing himself for sleep.
A fire before the door dimly lighted the room; and the scene as the men dropped gradually to sleep has stamped itself upon my memory like a picture of war painted by Rembrandt.
I had taken care to place myself between M‘Cauley and Brown, and the moment the rebels began to snore and the sentry to nod over his pipe, we were in earnest and deep conversation.
M‘Cauley proposed to warn the others and make a simultaneous rush for the carbines, and take our chances of stampeding the guard and escaping. But on passing the word in a whisper along our line, only three men were found willing to join us. As theodds were so largely against us, it was in vain to urge the subject.
The march began at an early hour the next morning, and the route ran directly up the Blue Ridge. We had emerged from the forest and ascended about one-third of the height of the mountain, when the full valley became visible, spread out like a map before us, showing plainly the lines of our army, its routes of supply, its foraging parties out, and my own camp at Front Royal as distinctly as if we stood in one of its streets.
We now struck a wood-path running southward and parallel with the ridge of the mountains, along which we travelled for hours, with this wonderful panorama of forest and river, mountain and plain before us in all the gorgeous beauty of the early autumn.
“This is a favorite promenade of mine,” said Mosby. “I love to see your people sending out their almost daily raids after me. There comes one of them now almost towards us. If you please, we will step behind the point and see them pass. It may be the last sight you will have of your old friendsfor some time,” and, looking in the direction he pointed, I saw a squadron of my own regiment coming directly towards us on a road running under the foot of the mountain, and apparently on some foraging expedition down the valley. They passed within a half-mile of us, under the mountain, while Mosby stood with folded arms on a rock above them.
Before noon we reached the road running through Manassas Gap, which was held by about one hundred of Mosby’s men, who signalled him as he approached, and here, much to my regret, the great guerilla left us, bidding me a kindly good-bye.
We were hurried through the gap and down the eastern side of the Blue Ridge, and by three o’clock reached Chester Gap, after passing which we descended into the valley and moved rapidly towards Sperryville on the direct line to Richmond.
As we were far within the Confederate lines, our guard was reduced to LieutenantWhiting and three men, and our party of eleven prisoners had seven horses among them. There was also a pack-horse carrying our forage, rations, and some blankets. To the saddle of this pack-horse were strapped two Spencer carbines, muzzle downward, with their accoutrements complete, including two well-filled cartridge-boxes.
I called Mack’s attention to this fact as soon as the guard was reduced, and he needed no second hint to comprehend its full significance. He soon after dismounted, and when it came his turn to mount again, he selected, apparently by accident, the poorest and most broken-down horse of the party. After this he seemed to find it very difficult to keep up, and in some mysterious way he actually succeeded in laming his horse.
He then dropped back to the Lieutenant in charge and modestly asked to exchange his lame horse for the pack-horse. He was particularly winning in his address, and his request was at once granted, without a suspicion of its object or a thought of the fatal carbines on the pack-saddle. I used somelittle skill in diverting the attention of the Lieutenant while the pack was readjusted; and as the rain had begun to fall freely, no one of the guard was particularly alert.
I was presently gratified with the sight of Mack riding ahead on the pack-horse, with the two carbines still strapped to the saddle, but loosened, and well concealed by his heavyponcho, which he had spread as protection from the rain. These carbines were seven-shooters, loaded from the breech by simply drawing out from the hollow stock a spiral spring, and dropping in the seven cartridges, one after the other, and then inserting the spring again behind them, which coils as it is pressed home, and by its elasticity forces the cartridges forward, one at a time, into the barrel at the successive action of the lock.
I could follow the movements of Mack’s right arm underneath theponcho. While he was guiding his horse with his left hand, looking the other way, and chatting glibly with the other boys, I distinctly saw him draw the springs from those carbines with his right hand and hook them into theupper button-hole of his coat to support them, while he dropped in the cartridges one after another, trotting his horse at the time to conceal the noise of their click, and finally forcing down the springs. Then the brave fellow glanced at me triumphantly.
I nodded approval. Fearing that Mack might act too hastily, yet knowing that any instant might lead to discovery, I rode carelessly across the road to Brown, who was on foot, and, dismounting, asked him to tighten my girth. Then I told him the situation as quietly as possible, and requested him to ride up gradually beside Mack, to communicate with him, and, at a signal from me, to seize one of the carbines and do his duty as a soldier if he valued his liberty.
Brown was terribly frightened and trembled like a leaf, but went immediately to his post, and I did not doubt would do his duty well.
I rode up again to the side of Lieutenant Whiting, and like an echo from the past came back to me my words of yesterday, “Possibly my turn may come to-morrow.”
I engaged him in conversation, and, among other things, spoke of the prospect of sudden death as one always present in our army life, and the tendency it had to either harden or soften the character according to the quality of the individual.
He expressed the opinion which many hold, that a brutal man is made more brutal by it, and a refined and cultivated man is softened.
We were on the immediate flank of Early’s army. His cavalry was all around us. The road was much used. It was almost night. We had passed a rebel picket but a mile back, and knew not how near another camp might be.
The three rebel guards were riding in front of us and on our flanks. Our party of prisoners was in the centre, and I was by the side of Lieutenant Whiting, who acted as rear-guard, when we entered a small copse of willows which for a moment covered the road. The hour was propitious. I gave the fatal signal and instantly threw myself from my saddle upon the Lieutenant, grasping him around the arms and dragging him from his horse,in the hope of securing his revolver, capturing him, and compelling him to pilot us outside of the rebel lines. At the same instant Mack raised one of the loaded carbines, and, in less time than I can write it, shot two of the guard in front of him, killing them instantly; and then coolly turning in his saddle, and seeing me struggling in the road with the Lieutenant, and the chances of obtaining the revolver apparently against me, he raised the carbine the third time; and as I strained the now desperate rebel to my breast, with his livid face over my left shoulder, he shot him as directly between the eyes as if firing at a target at ten paces distance.
Brown had only wounded his man in the side, and allowed him to escape.
Our position was now perilous. Not a man of us knew the country, except in a general way. The rebel camps could not be far away; the whole country would be alarmed in an hour, darkness was intervening; and I doubted not that, before sundown, blood-hounds as well as men would be on our track. One-half our party had alreadyscattered, panic-stricken, at the first alarm, and they were flying through the country in every direction.
Only five remained, including the faithful Wash, who immediately showed his practical qualities by searching the bodies of the slain, and recovering, among other things, my gold hunting-watch from the person of Lieutenant Whiting, and over eleven hundred dollars in greenbacks, the proceeds, doubtless, of their various robberies of our men.
“Not quite nuff,” said Wash, showing his ivories from ear to ear. “Dey vally dis nigger at two thousand dollars. I tink I ought to git de money.”
We instantly mounted the best horses, and, well armed with carbines and revolvers, struck directly for the mountain on our right; but knowing that would be the first place we should be sought for, we soon changed our direction to the south, and rode for hours as rapidly as we could ride, directly towards the enemy. Before darkness came on we had made thirty miles from the place of our escape; and then turning sharply up themountain, we rode as far as horses could climb, and, abandoning them, pushed on through the whole night to the very summit of the Blue Ridge. There we could see the rebel camp-fires in the valley, and at break of dawn we could view their entire lines.
The length of this weary day, and the terrible pangs of hunger and thirst which we suffered on this barren mountain, belong to the mere common experience of a soldier’s life, and I need not describe them here.
We had to go still farther south to avoid the scouts and pickets, and finally struck the Shenandoah twenty miles to the rear of Early’s entire army. There we built a raft, and floated by night forty miles down that memorable stream, through his crafty pickets, until the glorious old flag once more greeted us in welcome.