FROM BATTLE-FIELD TO PRISON.
A situation to try the stoutest hearts.--Hail Columbia!--Every man
a hero.--Kilpatrick's ingenuity.--A pen-picture from "Soldiers of
the Saddle."--Glazier thanked by his general.--Cessation of
hostilities.--A black day.--Fitzhugh Lee proposes to crush
Kilpatrick.-"Kil's" audacity.--Capture of Lieutenant
Glazier.--Petty tyranny.--"Here, Yank, hand me that thar hat, and
overcoat, and boots."
At this period of the war, the Cavalry Corps was separated into three
divisions. Buford with his division fell back by the way of Stevensburg,
and Gregg by Sulphur Springs; leaving Kilpatrick with the brigades of
Custer and Davies, which included the "Harris Light," on the main
thoroughfare along the railroad line. "No sooner," says Glazier, "had
Kilpatrick moved out of Culpepper, than Hampton's cavalry division made
a furious attack upon the 'Harris Light,' then acting as rear-guard,
with the evident design of breaking through upon the main column to
disperse, or delay it, so as to enable a flanking force to intercept our
retreat. Gallantly repelling this assault, the command, on the eleventh
of October, advanced to Brandy Station, where an accumulation of
formidable difficulties threatened our annihilation." It appears that
Fitzhugh Lee, with the flower of the Confederate cavalry, held
possession of the only road over which it was possible for Kilpatrick to
retire, while Stuart, at the head of another body of cavalry, supported
by artillery well posted along a line of hills, completely covered the
Federal left. His right was exposed to a galling fire from
sharp-shooters hidden behind the forest; "while just behind them was
Hampton's legion threatening speedy destruction to its surrounded foe."
Here was a situation to try the stoutest hearts. Nothing daunted,
however, by this terrific array of an enemy very much his superior in
numbers, Kilpatrick displayed that decision and daring which ever
characterized him. "His preparations for a grand charge," for he had
determined to cut his way out of this _cul-de-sac_, "were soon
completed. Forming his division into three lines of battle, he assigned
the right to General Davies, the left to General Custer; and placing
himself, with General Pleasanton, in the centre, advanced with terrible
determination to the contest. Approaching to within a few yards of the
enemy's lines, he ordered the band to strike up a national air, to whose
stirring strains was added the blast of scores of bugles ringing out the
'charge.' Brave hearts became braver, and weak ones waxed strong, until
'pride of country had touched this raging sea of thought, and emotion
kindled an unconquerable principle that affirmed every man a hero until
death.'" The troops filled the air with their battle-cry, and hurled
themselves on their unequal foe. "So swiftly swept forward this tide of
animated power that the Confederates broke and fled, and Kilpatrick thus
escaped a disaster which had seemed inevitable."
"No one"--we quote from "Soldiers of the Saddle,"--"who looked upon that
wonderful panorama, can ever forget it. On the great field were
riderless horses and dying men; clouds of dirt from solid shot and
bursting shells, broken caissons, and overturned ambulances; and long
lines of dragoons dashing into the charge, with their drawn and firmly
grasped sabres glistening in the light of the declining sun; while far
beyond the scene of tumult were the dark green forests skirting the
distant Rappahannock."
[Illustration: Lieutenant Glazier At Brandy Station. "Come
On, Boys! We Must Break That Line."]
In this action Glazier, who occupied the post of volunteer aide to
General Davies, had his horse shot under him, received a sabre-stroke on
the shoulder, two bullets in his hat, and had his scabbard split by a
shot or shell. His conduct was such as to obtain for him the thanks of
his general and a promise of early promotion. This was the fourth battle
of Brandy Station in which the Harris Light Cavalry had been engaged.
The first occurred on August the twentieth, 1862, the second on June
ninth, the third on September twelfth, and this last action on October
eleventh, 1863. They were followed by a number of spirited engagements
between the Federal cavalry and the cavaliers of the South--the former
under Generals Buford and Kilpatrick, and the latter under Stuart and
Wade Hampton. In all of these both sides behaved gallantly, the result
being the masterly retreat of the Federals across the Rappahannock to
the old battle-ground of Bull Run, where they made a protracted halt.
From this time until the fifteenth of October, nothing of sufficient
importance transpired to require mention here. Upon that day an
indecisive battle was fought at Bristoe Station, which was followed by
another calm that continued until the nineteenth of October--a black day
in the calendar of Willard Glazier's life.
Far away among the peaceful hills of his native State there fell upon
his father's house a sorrow such as its inmates had never known before.
Not that this family had escaped the ordinary bereavements of human
life. On the contrary, two little children had been taken from them at
intervals of time which seemed to them cruelly brief. But the death of
an infant, while a sad, is a beautiful thing to witness. There is no
flower that blooms on a baby grave that does not speak to the world-worn
heart, of _Immortality_. The grief, therefore, is gentle in its touch.
But with the ebb of a maturer life the sorrow is of a different
character, and when the physician announced to this worthy couple that
their daughter, Elvira, would die, they were stunned by the blow, and
when the event came "they refused" like Rachel "to be comforted." The
child that is going from us is, for the time, the favorite, and these
afflicted parents could not realize that she who had grown up among
them, the ewe lamb of their flock, could be torn from their loving arms,
and go down, like coarser clay, to the dark grave. She was so good, so
gentle, so loving to her kindred, that their simple hearts could not
understand how God could let her die, in the very bloom and beauty of
her maidenhood. But though crushed, they bowed their heads in
submission. Their hearts were almost broken, but they rebelled not
against the Hand that chastened them. Why is it that such examples of
tender feeling and unquestioning faith are seldom found in cities? Is it
that "the memories which peaceful country scenes call up, are not of
this world; nor of _its_ thoughts and hopes?" That "their gentle
influences teach us how to weave fresh garlands for the graves of those
we love, purify our thoughts, and beat down old enmities and hatreds?"
And that "beneath all this there lingers in the least reflective mind,
a vague and half-formed consciousness of having held such feelings long
before, which calls up solemn thoughts of distant times to come, and
bends down pride and worldliness before it?" The physician had said that
Elvira would not live another day, and the mother sat down to the sad
task of writing the mournful news to her soldier son. Meanwhile beyond
the Rappahannock, a scene was on the eve of being enacted, which was
destined to inflict upon her a pain as poignant as that she was, now
about to bestow.
The night of October eighteenth was passed by Kilpatrick's command at
Gainesville, but the first faint streak of dawn saw him and his faithful
followers in the saddle, booted, spurred, and equipped for some
enterprise as yet unexplained to them, but evidently, in their leader's
estimation, one of "pith and moment." At the word of command, the force,
including the "Harris Light," moved forward at a quick trot, taking the
road to Warrenton, and anticipating a brush with Stuart's cavalry who,
during the previous ten hours, had thrown out videttes in their
immediate front.
The surprise of the Federals was great to find their advance unimpeded,
and that, instead of offering opposition, the Confederates fell back as
rapidly as their opponents approached. On they dashed, unopposed and
unobstructed, until Buckland Mills was reached. At this point they found
themselves checked, and in a manner that somewhat astounded them. As
they arrived within a stone's throw of that village, Fitzhugh Lee, with
his magnificent following, struck their flank. That astute and valiant
officer, it appears, had cut his way through the Federal infantry at
Thoroughfare-Gap, and accompanied by a battery of flying artillery,
swept down upon Kilpatrick, designing to crush him at a blow. General
Stuart, taking in the situation, and keenly anxious to profit by the
advantage thus afforded him, instantly turned upon and charged the
Federals in his front, while, as if to make their utter annihilation a
certainty, the rebel General Gordon, with a third body of men (his
proximity at that moment not being suspected), bore down fiercely on
their left, threatening to cut Kilpatrick's division in two.
Kilpatrick possessed an extraordinary amount of ingenuity in devising
means of escape from a dangerous position. In the present case his plan
was formed in an instant, and executed as soon as formed. He immediately
changed his front, and, without the slightest hesitation, headed a mad
and desperate charge upon Fitzhugh Lee's advancing column. The merit of
the movement lay in its audacity; it was the only one that promised the
remotest chance of escape to the entrapped Federals. Executed with great
rapidity and desperate decision, the movement resulted in the salvation
of the greater portion of his command. It so happened, however, that the
"Harris Light," originally, be it remembered, forming the vanguard of
Kilpatrick's force, was by this manoeuvre thrown round upon the rear,
and Stuart, who was now the pursuer instead of the pursued, had a fine
opportunity of attacking them with his full force, at a great
disadvantage to the former--an opportunity he was not slow to avail
himself of.
Kilpatrick's men met the assault manfully, retiring slowly, until at
length, upon the brow of a small hill, they turned at bay, and for a
time formed a living rampart between their retreating comrades and the
enemy. Every attempt to approach and penetrate their line proved instant
death to their assailants, and General Stuart, seeing no chance of
otherwise dislodging them, determined to charge in person, and crush
them with an entire division. Glazier, who had already emptied two
saddles, sat coolly upon his horse, reloading as this formidable body
came sweeping down. By this time, experience of the vicissitudes of a
soldier's career, and possibly the fact that he had hitherto been very
fortunate in the numerous conflicts in which his regiment had been
engaged, left him quite composed under fire. Singling out one of
Stuart's men, he covered that cavalier with his revolver, and probably,
in another instant, would have ended his career; but, just as his finger
gave the final pressure upon the trigger, his horse, riddled with
bullets, fell dead under him, the shot flew wide of its mark, and he
fell to the ground.
[Illustration: Cavalry-fight At New Baltimore--lieutenant Glazier
Taken Prisoner.]
His first sensation was of a dense cloud between himself and the sky,
and next of being crushed by tramping hoofs, whole squadrons of horse
passing over his body as he lay prone and helpless. A vague, dreamy
sensation of being a mass of wounds and bruises was succeeded by utter
darkness and oblivion. How long he continued in this comatose state he
never knew. Raised from the ground, a terrible sense of acute bodily
pain gradually crept over him, as he found himself hurried along at a
rapid pace. Where he was going, who had him in charge, what he had done,
whether he was in this or some other world, were matters of which he
had no more conception than the dead charger he had ridden. Pain, pain,
nothing but intense pain, absorbed the whole of his faculties. Gradually
his full consciousness returned. He remembered the fierce onset of the
enemy, his fall from his horse, and at once concluded that he was a
prisoner in the hands of the enemy! Very soon after, he discovered that,
in addition to being deprived of his arms, he had been stripped of his
watch and other valuables.
One of the great annoyances to which a newly captured prisoner was
subjected, arose from the fact that skulkers and sneaks, in order to
secure safe positions, coveted and sought the privilege of quartering
them. In his own words Glazier says:
"The woods in the vicinity were full of skulkers, and, in order to make
a show of having something to do, they would make their appearance in
the rear of the fighting column, and devote themselves sedulously to
guarding the prisoners." He adds, that "privates, corporals and
sergeants, in turn, had them in charge;" and that "each in succession
would call them into line, count them in an officious manner, and issue
orders according to their liking," until some sneak of higher rank came
along, assumed the superior command, and in a tone of authority, would
say to the other poltroons: "Gentlemen, your services are much needed at
the front. Go, and do your duty like soldiers." The result would be an
exchange of tyrants, but no diminution of the petty tyranny. At dusk the
prisoners were marched to, and lodged in, the jail at Warrenton.
Like all Federal soldiers who fell into the enemy's hands, Glazier
complains very bitterly of the small persecutions inflicted by the
officers and men of the Home Guard, and unfortunately these mongrels--a
cross between a civilian and a soldier--were their chief custodians
during that night, and signalized themselves after their fashion. They
deprived the prisoners of their clothing, and, in truth, everything of
the slightest value in the eyes of a thief. One of these swashbucklers
attempted to reduce our young hero's wardrobe to an Arkansas basis,
namely, a straw-hat and a pair of spurs, with what success the following
dialogue, taken mainly from "The Capture, Prison-Pen, and Escape," will
indicate.
"Here, Yank," said the guard, "hand me that thar hat, and over-coat, and
boots."
"No, sir, I won't; they are my property. You have no right to take them
from me."
"I have," said the guard. "We have authority from General Stuart to take
from you prisoners whatever we d----d choose."
"That I doubt," said the captive, "and if you are a gentleman you won't
be guilty of stripping a defenceless prisoner."
"I'll show you my authority, you d----d blue-belly," said the ruffian,
drawing his revolver. "Now, take off that coat, or I'll blow your brains
out."
By this time Glazier's Northern blood was up, and he grew desperate, so
he angrily answered:
"Blow away then! It is as well to be without brains as without
clothing."
So the fellow, who was evidently a contemptible blusterer, whom General
Stuart, had he been aware of his conduct, would have drummed out of the
army, not willing to risk the consequences of actual violence--sneaked
away.
While this little incident was occurring at Warrenton jail, a very
different event was transpiring at his father's house. His sister was
dying. It was a peaceful, hopeful death--the death of a Christian--of
one who in her young life had never by word or deed injured man or
woman. Many weeks elapsed before her imprisoned brother heard of her
death, and when the intelligence at length reached him, he was
overwhelmed with grief at her loss.
Upon the morning following the day of his capture, in that dense
darkness that precedes the dawn, the prisoners started on their tramp
toward Culpepper, and as the day broke, and the sun mounted above the
eastern hills, their march, which extended to full thirty miles, became
a weary and exhausting journey. Themselves on foot, and compelled to
keep up with the pace of mounted men, it was a tiresome task; but to do
so under the burning rays of a Southern sun was nearly impossible. To
make matters worse, in the present case, the Confederates having
sustained a defeat at Bristoe and Rappahannock Station, the guard was
not in the most amiable humor; in addition to which they were compelled
to use haste in order to avoid capture by the victorious Federals.
Glazier gave no thought to his present discomfort, and to use his own
words, "felt relieved when he heard of the successes of his comrades."
Still the annoyance of this compulsory tramp was felt keenly. The
prisoners "being encumbered with heavy high-heeled cavalry boots," and
their feet having become tender from contact with the mud and water
through which they marched, soon became a mass of blisters, and their
sufferings from this cause alone were intense. Six of the poor fellows
succumbed, unable to proceed. After a journey attended with much mental
depression, and bodily agony, the former increased by the barbarous
contumely flung at them by men who emerged from roadside inns, to stare
at them as they passed, the prisoners, including the subject of our
story, entered Richmond, and were at once introduced to the amenities of
"Libby Prison."