FIRST BATTLE OF BRANDY STATION.
The sentinel's lonely round.--General Pope in command of the
army.--Is gunboat service effective?--First cavalry battle of
Brandy Station.--Under a rain of bullets.--Flipper's
orchard.--"Bring up the brigade, boys!"--Capture of Confederate
prisoners.--Story of a revolver.--Cedar Mountain.--Burial of the
dead rebel.--Retreat from the Rapidan.--The riderless
horse.--Death of Captain Walters.
The Harris Light now entered upon exciting times, and Corporal Glazier,
ever at the post of duty, had little leisure for anything unconnected
with the exigencies of camp and field. At that period the men of both
armies were guilty of the barbarous practice of shooting solitary
sentinels at their posts, and no man went on guard at night without
feeling that an inglorious death might await him in the darkness, while
deprived of the power to strike a defensive blow, or to breathe a
prayer.
On the twenty-second of July, 1862, a new commander was assigned the
Army of Virginia in the person of General John Pope. General McClellan
had lost the confidence of the Northern people by his continued
disasters, and was at length succeeded by General Pope, who was placed
at the head of the united commands of Fremont, Banks, McDowell (and
later in August), Burnside and Fitz-John Porter. General Pope commenced
his duties with a ringing address to the army under his command. Among
other things, he declared: "That he had heard much of 'lines of
communication and retreat,' but the only _line_ in his opinion, that a
general should know anything about, _was the line of the enemy's
retreat_." The _dash_ of such a theory of war was extremely
invigorating, and once more the hearts of the Northern people cherished
and exulted in the hope that they had found the "right man for the right
place." Popular enthusiasm reacted upon the army; their idol of
yesterday was dethroned, and they girded their loins for a renewal of
the struggle, in the full belief that, with Pope to lead them, they
would write a very different chapter upon the page of History, from that
which recorded their Peninsular campaign.
Here we desire to correct a statement, then current, regarding the value
of the gunboat service, viz., that McClellan's army was indebted for its
safety during the retreat from Malvern Hill to the gunboats stationed in
James River. That this was not the case is proven by the testimony of L.
L. Dabney, chief-of-staff to General T. J. Jackson. He says: "It is a
fact worthy of note, that the fire of the gunboats, so much valued by
the Federals, and, at one time, so much dreaded by the Confederates, had
no actual influence whatever in the battle. The noise and fury doubtless
produced a certain effect upon the emotions of the assailants, but this
was dependent upon their novelty. The loss effected by them was trivial
when compared with the ravages of the field artillery; and it was found
chiefly among their own friends. Far more of their ponderous missiles
fell within their own lines than within those of the Confederates.
Indeed, a fire directed at an invisible foe across two or three miles
of intervening hills and woods can never reach its aim, save by
accident. Nor is the havoc wrought by the larger projectiles in
proportion to their magnitude. Where one of them explodes against a
human body it does, indeed, crush it into a frightful mass, but it is
not likely to strike more men, in the open order of field operations,
than a shot of less weight; and the wretch blown to atoms by it is not
put _hors du combat_ more effectually than he whose brain is penetrated
by half an ounce of lead or iron. The broadside of a modern gunboat may
consist of three hundred pounds of iron projected by forty pounds of
powder, but it is fired from only _two_ guns. The effect upon a line of
men, therefore, is but one-fifteenth of that which the same metal might
have had, fired from ten-pounder rifled guns."
The truth of the matter is, that so far as offensive operations in
conjunction with that army were concerned, the gunboats were more
ornamental than useful; and it is not just that the modicum of glory
(mingled with so much of disaster), won fairly upon that occasion by the
land forces, should be awarded to another branch of the service.
General Pope was not permitted to remain long before an opportunity
offered for practically testing his war theories. McClellan's troops had
scarcely recovered breath after their retreat from before Richmond when
Lee, leaving his entrenchments, boldly threw himself forward and met
Pope and the Union forces, face to face on the old battle-ground of
Manassas. The Harris Light, prior to the second battle of Bull Run, had
been offered, and eagerly accepted, an opportunity to cross swords
with the "Southern chivalry," and the result now was a desperate
encounter at Brandy Station. The first action which baptized in blood
this historic ground took place August twentieth, 1862. About six
o'clock in the morning a heavy column of Stuart's cavalry was discovered
approaching from the direction of Culpepper, and Kilpatrick received
orders to check their advance. The Harris Light, acting as rear guard of
Bayard's brigade, kept the enemy in check until Bayard could form his
command at a more favorable point two miles north of the station.
Corporal Glazier was in the front rank of the first squadron that led
the charge, and repulsed the enemy. His horse was wounded in the neck,
and his saddle and canteen perforated with bullets.
[Illustration: Federal Canteens For Confederate Tobacco]
The fight at Flipper's Orchard preceded that at Brandy Station by more
than a month, having occurred on the Fourth of July. The Troy company of
the Harris Light had been ordered, about eight o'clock in the morning of
that day, to reconnoitre the Telegraph Road, south of Fredericksburg.
Leaving camp, they soon came in sight of a detachment of Bath cavalry on
patrol duty, escorting the Richmond mail. They learned the strength of
the enemy from some colored people along the route, and also the
probability that they would halt at Flipper's Orchard for refreshments.
This place was on the south bank of the Po River, some twenty miles from
Fredericksburg, in an angle formed by the roads leading to Bull Church
and the Rappahannock. After following them for several hours, the
company halted for consultation, "and," says Glazier, "our lieutenant
put the question to vote, whether we should go on and capture the foe,
about one hundred strong, or return to camp. The vote was unanimous for
battle. I was in charge of the advance guard, having a squad of four
men, and received orders to strike a gallop. Just as we came within
sight of the Orchard, we saw the Confederates dismounting and making
leisurely arrangements for their repast. Dashing spurs into our horses'
flanks, we wheeled round the corner and along the Bull Church Road,
sweeping down upon them with tremendous clatter. 'Here they are, boys!'
I shouted; 'bring up the brigade!' We were about forty in number, but
surprised them completely, and they fled panic-stricken. Twelve men and
nine horses were captured. On reaching Dr. Flipper's house, I noticed a
dismounted Confederate officer who, with others, was running across a
wheat-field. I started in hot pursuit, jumping my horse over a six-rail
fence to reach him. He fired upon me with both carbine and revolver, but
missed his mark, and by this time I stood over him with my
navy-revolver, demanding his surrender. He gave up his arms and
equipments, which were speedily transferred to my own person. We made
quick work of the fight, the whole affair lasting not longer than
fifteen minutes. The Confederate reserves were only a short distance off
at Bull Church, and we hurried back with our spoils towards the
Rappahannock, fearful that we might be overtaken. My prisoner, as I
afterward learned, was Lieutenant Powell, in command of the patrol. His
revolver has a story of its own. It was a beautiful silver-mounted
weapon, and I resolved to keep possession of it as my especial trophy,
instead of turning it over to the Quartermaster's Department. This was
not an easy matter, as vigilant eyes were on the look-out for all
'munitions of war captured from the enemy,' which were consigned to a
common receptacle. I therefore dug a hole in the ground of our tent and
buried my treasure, where it remained until we changed our encampment.
One day, some time after, I carelessly left it lying on a log, a short
distance from camp, and on returning found it gone. While I stood there
deploring my ill luck, I heard a succession of clear, snapping shots
just beyond a rise of ground directly in front of me, and recognized the
familiar report of my revolver. Going in the direction of the shots, I
rescued it from the hands of a sergeant by whom it had been temporarily
confiscated. After this adventure I concluded to incur no further risks
with the weapon, and so packed it in a cigar-box and sent it to my
sister Elvira."
The battle of Cedar Mountain, fought on the afternoon of August ninth,
1862, needs only a passing notice in connection with this record. The
battalion in which Corporal Glazier served acted as body-guard to
General McDowell, and arrived on the field just as the wave of battle
was receding. The following morning, on passing over the slopes of Cedar
Mountain, where the guns of General Banks had made sad havoc on the
previous day, a dead Confederate soldier, partially unburied, attracted
the attention of the troopers. At that period of the war a sentiment of
extreme bitterness toward the adversary pervaded the ranks on both
sides, and as the squadron swept by the men showered on the poor dead
body remarks expressive of their contempt. Corporal Glazier was an
exception. Moved by an impulse born of our common humanity, he returned
and buried the cold, stark corpse, covering it with mother Earth; and
when questioned why he gave such consideration to a miserable dead
rebel, replied, that he thought any man brave enough to die for a
principle, should be respected for that bravery, whether his cause were
right or wrong.
On the eighteenth of the month our cavalry relieved the infantry on the
line of the Rapidan, and on the nineteenth, in a sharp skirmish between
Stuart's and Bayard's forces, Captain Charles Walters, of the Harris
Light Cavalry, was killed. This officer was very popular in the
regiment, and his death cast a gloom over all. Wrapped in a soldier's
blanket his body was consigned to a soldier's grave at the solemn hour
of midnight. And while the sad obsequies were being performed, orders
came for the retreat to Culpepper.
"We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The sod with our bayonets turning,
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,
And our lanterns dimly burning.
* * * * *
"Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
On the field of his fame fresh and gory;
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,
But left him alone with his glory."
[Illustration: Burial Of Captain Walters At Midnight,
During Pope's Retreat.]