"Our acts our angels are--or good or ill,
Our fatal shadows that walk by us still."
If I had known at the time of the major-general's expedition to
Fauquier all that I know now, I would not, of course, have abandoned
the enterprise against the railroad. I had thought that after he struck
my track at Salem, he was really in pursuit of me, although he only
followed at a terrapin's pace. I could not have anticipated that a
major-general, starting out to win his spurs, would retreat as soon as
he got in sight of the object he was in search of. I had disbanded my
men, with instructions to meet me again in a few days at a certain
place. I wanted to give the major-general time to get home, while I
could recruit my forces, pick my flint, and try again. As the troops
that belonged to the defences of Washington were now on the defensive,
it was my policy to let them alone, and turn my attention to Hooker's
army, which was then preparing to cross the Rappahannock. I could most
efficiently aid Gen. Lee by assailing Hooker in the rear. A partisan
commander who acts in co-operation with an army should always, if
possible, operate against troops engaged in offensive movements. The
Major-General was now resting on his laurels. For two months preceding
his raid into Fauquier, there had been incessant attacks on the
outposts, and daily alarm through the camps. All this had now suddenly
ceased, and the quiet that reigned was supposed to confirm the truth of
the report of the annihilation of my band.
On May 2, 70 or 80 men assembled at my call. I had information that
Stoneman's cavalry had left Warrenton and gone south, which indicated
that the campaign had opened. My plan now was to strike Hooker. The
moral effect of a blow from behind might have an important influence on
the result. I started for Warrenton, and reached there about dusk, and
learned that Stoneman was over the river. It was not known whether or
not the Orange & Alexandria railroad was still held by the Union
troops. I went into camp near the town that night, and started by
daylight the next morning on the road leading to Fredericksburg, which
crosses the railroad. I was sure that Hooker would not repeat the
blunder of Burnside, but would cross at some of the upper fords of the
Rappahannock. It was toward one of these that my course was directed.
The roar of the guns at Chancellorsville could be distinctly heard, and
we knew that the two armies were once more in the deadly embrace of
battle.
It was not more than fifteen or twenty miles off; and we could easily
reach there early in the day. I wanted to contribute my mite of support
to the Southern cause. When we were within a couple of miles of the
railroad a bugle was heard; and I turned aside and marched to the
sound. I thought it must come from a cavalry camp, which we might sweep
through as we went along. Before we had gone very far, an infantry
soldier was caught, who informed me that I was marching right into the
camp of an infantry brigade. I found out that there was some cavalry on
the railroad at another point, and so I made for that. These troops had
just been sent up to replace Stoneman's. I committed a great error in
allowing myself to be diverted by their presence from the purpose of my
expedition. They were perfectly harmless where they were, and could not
help Hooker in the great battle then raging. I should, at least, have
endeavored to avoid a fight by marching around them. If I had succeeded
in destroying them all, it would hardly have been the equivalent of the
damage I might have done to Hooker by appearing at United States ford
during the agony of the fight. There all of his wagons were packed. It
would be difficult to calculate the demoralizing effect of the news on
his army that the enemy was in their rear, and their trains and rations
were burning up.
Just as we debouched from the woods in sight of Warrenton Junction, I
saw, about 300 yards in front of us, a body of cavalry in the open
field. It was a bright, warm morning; and the men were lounging on the
grass, while their horses, with nothing but their halters on, had been
turned loose to graze on the young clover. They were enjoying the music
of the great battle, and had no dream that danger was near. Not a
single patrol or picket had been put out. At first they mistook us for
their own men, and had no suspicion as to who we were until I ordered a
charge and the men raised a yell. The shouting and firing stampeded the
horses, and they scattered over a field of several hundred acres, while
their riders took shelter in some houses near by. We very soon got all
out of two houses; but the main body took refuge in a large frame
building just by the railroad. I did not take time to dismount my men,
but ordered a charge on the house; I did not want to give them time to
recover from their panic. I came up just in front of two windows by the
chimney, from which a hot fire was poured that brought down several men
by my side. But I paid them back with interest when I got to the
window, into which I emptied two Colt's revolvers. The house was as
densely packed as a sardine box; and it was almost impossible to fire
into it without hitting somebody. The doors had been shut from the
inside; but the Rev. Sam Chapman dismounted, and burst through,
followed by John Debutts, Mountjoy, and Harry Sweeting. The soldiers in
the lower rooms immediately surrendered; but those above held out.
There was a haystack near by; and I ordered some of the hay to be
brought into the house and fire to be set to it. Not being willing to
be burned alive as martyrs to the Union, the men above now held out a
white flag from a window. The house was densely filled with smoke and
the floor covered with the blood of the wounded. The commanding
officer, Maj. Steel, had received a mortal wound; and there were many
others in the same condition. All who were able now came out of the
house.
After a severe fight, I had taken three times my own number prisoners,
together with all their horses, arms and equipments. Most of my men
then dispersed over the field in pursuit of the frightened horses which
had run away. I was sitting on my horse near the house, giving
directions for getting ready to leave with the prisoners and spoil,
when one of my men, named Wild, who had chased a horse some distance
down the railroad, came at full speed, and reported a heavy column of
cavalry coming up. I turned to one of my men, Alfred Glasscock, and
said to him, "_Now we will whip them_." I had hardly spoken the
words when I saw a large body of Union cavalry, not over 200 or 300
yards off, rapidly advancing.
As I have stated, most of my command had scattered over the field, and
the enemy was so close there was no time to rally and re-form before
they got upon us. In attempting to do so, I remained on the ground
until they were within 50 yards of me, and was nearly captured. So
there was nothing to do but for every man to take care of himself. I
have already described the kind of command I had at this time. They
were a mere aggregation of men casually gathered, belonging to many
different regiments, who happened to be in the country.[2] Of course,
such a body has none of the cohesion and discipline that springs from
organization, no matter how brave the men may be individually. Men
never fought better than they did at the house, while the defenders
were inspired to greater resistance, knowing that relief was near. We
had defeated and captured three times our own number, and now had to
give up the fruits of victory, and in turn to fly to prevent capture.
My men fled in every direction, taking off about 50 horses and a number
of prisoners. Only one of my men--Templeman--was killed, but I lost
about 20 captured, nearly all of whom were wounded. Dick Moran was
among them. I never made a better fight than this, although finally
compelled to retreat before 10 times my own number.
[2] I had no subordinate officer to help me in command.
As to its ulterior effects, it was about the same, as I shall hereafter
show, as if I had not lost what I had won. The cavalry I had met was
Deforest's brigade, that had come up the night before. As I have said,
it was a mistake my making this fight, even if I had been completely
successful. In all probability, it saved Hooker's transportation, just
as the fight of the Prussians at the bridge of the Dyle saved
Wellington, although they were beaten. It detained Grouchy long enough
to keep him from Waterloo. I learned wisdom from experience, and after
that always looked before I took a leap.
When I ordered the charge at Warrenton Junction, I had no idea whether
I was attacking a hundred or a thousand men.
Just one year after that, I started with the purpose of attacking the
rear of the army of the Potomac, at the same place where I had intended
to strike Hooker. I found the railroad guarded, but I crossed it
unnoticed in the dark, and went on. Lee and Grant had met in the
Wilderness. Grant had all of his transportation south of the river,
with cavalry pickets at the United States ford. There was no chance to
get at it. Hooker had left his on the north bank where I was. I got one
of Grant's trains near Aquia Creek, on the Lower Potomac; but when I
returned, a few days after that, to get another, found that he had
detached a cavalry force to protect that route. This was what I wanted
to make him do. It was that number of men subtracted from his strength.
After striking one blow at the line of supply of an army, a
demonstration will generally answer all the purposes of an attack.
Hooker did not stay in the Wilderness long enough for me to renew my
attempt to get at his trains. When, after my rout, I appeared at
Warrenton, attended by a single companion, where I had passed the night
before with my command, I was apparently as forlorn as Charles,
After dread Pultowa's day,
When fortune left the royal Swede.
But I felt no discouragement. My faith in my ability to create a
command and continue my warfare on the border was still as unwavering
as Francis Xavier's when he left the Tagus, to plant the cross on the
shores of Coromandel.
The enemy held the railroads as far south as the Rappahannock, and in a
few days I got together 30 or 40 men, and started down again to strike
them somewhere. I found the bridges over Broad Run and Kettle Run
unguarded; we set fire to them and left them in a blaze. It had not
been expected that we would come back so soon, hence their want of
precaution to provide for their safety. While the bridges were burning,
the soldiers who had been put there to protect them were dozing in
their tents not a mile off. In a few days I again went as far as
Dumfries, but could find no assailable point. The trains all carried
strong infantry guards, in addition to those stationed along the
railroad. I started back without having effected anything, and stopped
at the house of a man named Lynn, to rest and feed our horses. As we
were far inside the enemy's lines, there was some risk in this; but we
were tired and hungry. Our horses had been unbitted, and were eating
their corn, and I was lying on the grass asleep, when I was aroused
by the cry that the enemy was coming. We barely had time to bridle up
and mount before they were upon us. They came full speed on our trail,
and were strung out for a long distance on the road. This was my
opportunity. A lieutenant was gallantly leading them. I saved myself
this time by the same counter-stroke that a few weeks before had
rescued me from the brink of ruin in the fight at Miskel's farm. We
did not wait for the danger, but went to meet it. There was a gate
across the road, between us and the enemy, which I ordered to be opened.
We dashed through, and in the moment of collision the lieutenant
fell, severely wounded. Several others in the front met the same fate;
they had drawn sabres, that hurt nobody, and we used pistols. Their
companions halted, hesitated, and were overpowered before support could
come up. Some turned and fled, and in doing so communicated their panic
to those in their rear. They fled pell-mell back toward their camp,
leaving their dead and wounded on the field and a number of prisoners
and horses in our hands. I then had, in turn, to get away quickly. I
knew they would soon return with reinforcements; they did come, but we
were gone.
In returning, we crossed the railroad within a mile of Manassas, and in
full view of the troops there, but were not molested. I found out from
this raid the difficulty of making any impression with my small command
on the force guarding the road. I could keep them on the watch, and in
a state of anxiety and alarm; but, while this might satisfy Stuart and
Gen. Lee, the men on whom I had to depend to do the work would not be
content with such results. In order to retain them, it was necessary
for me to stimulate their enthusiasm with something more tangible. War
to them was not an abstraction; it meant prisoners, arms, horses and
sutler's stores; remote consequences were not much considered. So I
sent Beattie with a letter to explain the situation to Stuart, in
which I said: "If you will let me have a mountain howitzer, I think
I could use it with great effect, especially on the railroad trains.
I have several experienced artillerists with me. The effect of such
annoyance is to force the enemy to make heavy details to guard their
communications. I have not attacked any of their railroad trains,
because I have no ammunition for my carbines, and they are pretty
strongly guarded with infantry." In this letter I suggested the theory
on which my warfare was conducted. It would not only draw troops from
the front, but prevent those doing duty on the railroad and around
Washington from being sent to Hooker to make up his losses in the
Wilderness. These operations were erratic simply in not being in
accordance with the fixed rules taught by the academies; but in all
that I did there was a unity of purpose, and a plan which my commanding
general understood and approved. The Confederate drill sergeants could
see no use in what they could not comprehend.
In reference to the fight at Warrenton Junction, Gen. Abercrombie
reports:
"Between the hours of 9 and 10 A.M., on the morning of the 3d
ult., an outpost of the 1st Va. [Union] Cavalry at Warrenton Junction,
about 100 men, under Lieut.-Col. Krepp's command, were surprised and
attacked by Maj. Mosby, with his force of about 125 [75] men. The men
of the 1st Va. were scattered about the station, their horses
unsaddled, in order to be groomed and fed. Mosby's force came in upon
them from the direction of Warrenton, which place they left at
daylight. Their front rank was dressed in the uniform of the United
States [we were all dressed in gray. J.S.M.], and they were supposed
to be a force of Union cavalry until within a short distance, when they
charged, and surrounded the house in and about which the 1st Va. lay.
After a short fight, in which several of the rebels were killed and
wounded, the men of the 1st Va. for the most part surrendered, and
about 40 were being taken towards Warrenton by their captors, when a
detachment of 70 men of the 5th N.Y. Cavalry, which was camped near
by, under command of Maj. Hammond, came up, charged upon the rebels,
and a running fight ensued, which was continued for five miles, in the
course of which all the prisoners taken by Mosby were recaptured, with
the exception of two."
Major-General Stahel reports:
"Our men being surprised and completely surrounded, rallied in a house
close at hand, and where a sharp fight ensued. Our men defended
themselves as long as their ammunition lasted, notwithstanding the
Rebels built a large fire about the house, of hay and straw and
brushwood; the flames reached the house, and their ammunition being
entirely expended, they were obliged to surrender." Maj. Steele, of the
1st. Va., was mortally wounded in the house.