After our return from Hardy County, bringing with us a large drove
of cattle, we established our head-quarters at a railroad station,
eight or ten miles beyond Staunton. General Early was down the
Valley, in the neighborhood of Harrisonburg, and a large body of
the enemy’s cavalry moved up to attack him. They expected to make
a raid on Gordonsville, if they did not encounter Early. On the
Monday before Christmas day, 1864, we moved out from camp with
our division, and marched to Harrisonburg. It was desperately
cold, and the sleet froze as it fell. My hat by the evening was as
stiff as a board, and had a heavy fringe of icicles. The horses
were slipping and sliding at every step, and the thirty miles
seemed like fifty. We rested for a few hours at Harrisonburg,
and General Rosser ascertained where the enemy’s cavalry, under
Custer, were to encamp for the night. At one o’clock in the morning
we moved out again, the plan being to go by devious paths to the
neighborhood of Custer’s camp, and there attack him at daybreak.
Our whole effective force did not exceed five or six hundred men.
The march was conducted with great judgment, and a little before
daybreak, with no alarm given, the division formed in the woods on
the edge of the open fields where, surrounded by blazing fires of
fence rails, Custer’s troopers lay. The rattling of the sleet and
the howling of the wind had effectually concealed our movements;
but the men were almost stiff with cold, and it was hard to see
how they would manage to handle their carbines or sabres. Just
before daybreak the order to charge was given. I was with General
Rosser at the head of the column, and I shall never forget the
astonishment of the Yankee sentinel, who, as our horses came upon
him like ghosts from the bosom of the darkness, fired his carbine
in the air, and cried out: “My God, where do all those men come
from!” It was a complete surprise, and in ten minutes, and with
very small loss to ourselves, we had driven Custer and his entire
command, consisting of about 2,000 men, out of their camp, and sent
them whirling down the Valley. I was slightly wounded in the left
leg, but not disabled from duty. Custer was in a farm house near
by, and the story goes that, when he made his escape, he was in the
condition that Cavendish would have been in, if he had lost his
trousers entirely.
After the first dash, which, happily for us, accomplished what
was desired, our men were very hard to hold. Had Custer attacked
us, I do not think that we should have stopped short of Staunton.
Expecting a counter charge, I tried, with General William H.
Payne, (“Billy” Payne of the Black Horse Cavalry) to rally
some of our men on the colors; but when I had gathered a dozen
or two together, and started after some more, the first squad
melted away into the woods. By common consent, the whole command
withdrew. Custer had gone off one way, and our people had gone off
quietly in the opposite direction. No one remained but General
Rosser, Minnigerode, Mason, Archie Randolph and I. General Rosser
suggested that we might as well go on after Custer, and see what
he was doing, and we moved down the Turnpike, following Custer’s
rear-guard at a respectful distance.
Three or four hundred yards away, on our right, coming along a
converging road, was a body of thirty or forty men. They had their
oil-cloths on, and it was difficult to tell who they were; but
I had an unpleasant conviction that they were Yankees. We were
approaching fast the forks of the road where we should meet them,
and I ventured to suggest to General Rosser that they were not our
men, but he insisted that they were not Yankees, and that, anyhow,
we had better go on and see. So we went on. We were not more than
a hundred yards away when the strangers halted, and were evidently
preparing to fire. The imperturbable Rosser remarked very serenely:
“Well, Dawson, you are right, those fellows are Yankees, but there
are not many of them. Let’s charge them.” And we four did charge
them; and, to our amazement and relief, the Yankees put spurs to
their horses and galloped off down the Valley. As often happens in
war, audacity had saved us. Nothing would have been easier than for
those Yankees to have gathered us in, for we were half frozen, and
our horses were worn out with hard riding.
We rode back to Harrisonburg, and having accomplished what was
desired, and given General Early time to withdraw his wounded
and stores, we retired to Staunton. There we were soon joined by
General Fitz Lee.
Staunton is a hospitable place, and few days passed without an
invitation to a dinner or a dancing party. I realized completely
the delightful difference between my position with Longstreet, and
my position with General Lee. By General Lee we were treated always
as if we were his kinsmen, but, intimate and affectionate as our
intercourse was, no one of us could ever forget the respect due to
his rank. What we did for him, however, was just as much for love
as it was for military duty.
From Staunton, we now moved to Waynesboro’, where there was much
merry-making, and Minnigerode fell in love again, and secured a
provisional sweetheart. Soon we were hurried to Richmond to head
off a raiding party of the enemy.
One way and another I saw a good deal of General Rosser, and to
my mind, there were few officers in the service who had as much
military genius as he had. Instinctively, he seemed to know what
was best to do, and how to do it. It appeared almost impossible
to tire him, or to break him down, and I have known him to ride
day after day for a couple of weeks with a running wound in his
leg. Had he had the unlimited command of horses and material that
the cavalry Generals on the other side had, we should have known
little peace in the Confederacy. Unfortunately, however, there was
something lacking in Rosser’s character, which I can best express,
perhaps, by repeating a warning which was given me soon after I
joined the command. It was this: One of my fellow officers said to
me, “If Rosser gives you any order to deliver for the movements
of troops in action, be careful to get that order in writing, and
then, if anything goes wrong in consequence of the order, it cannot
be said that the fault is yours.”