Augusta County: "My First Raid with Mosby. A Graphic Pen-Picture of a Night Attack as told by a New Recruit.," by A Member of Company A., December 21, 1887
Summary: A Confederate veteran's detailed-and romanticized-account of his first participation in a nighttime raid.
On the 22nd of April, 1864, some forty or fifty Rangers met at Hooper's shop, near Middleburg, in response to a hasty call circulated the night before. It was late in the day when we moved out on the road; for the Federal camps were but a short day's march from the rendezvous, and our enterprise was to be one of those night adventures which have made Mosby so famous as a Partisan. Except that the head of the column was directed toward Alexandria, we had no intimation of the character of the service we were going upon. But our chieftain himself rode in the van, and no one entertained any misgiving as to the result of whatever venture he had in store for us.
As we moved along the dusty highway, or made a short cut across the fields; over hill, through dell; now in the broad glare of the evening sun, now beneath the delicate shade of the woods, just putting on their spring verdure-I sat silent on my horse, endeavoring to take in the thousand ideas that crowded on me. The situation was novel and full of romance to my boyish mind. Each man as he passed and repassed me-now moving to front, now falling back to the rear, in the helter-skelter march-or stopped to crack a joke or quiz the new recruit, was a study to me.
And a motley crew they were in those early days of the Command. There rode an aged sire whose reverend grey locks, straggling from beneath his cocked and plumed hat, seemed to utter pitiful protests against the companionship in which they were. Beside him was a boy, whose youthful looks were far more suggestive of the nursery than of the war-path. Side by side rode the planter's proud son and the overseer's boy; the banker dressed in fine soft officers' gray, richly trimmed with gold lace, and the poor adventurer whose suit of Union blue betrayed how dependant he was upon the "spoils of the chase."
One spirit seemed to possess them all-that of devil-may-care hilarity. The merry song, the jovial laugh rang out along the line, Jest and joke followed amusing anecdote; and now a group crowded together in the narrow road to listen to some old veteran's tales of the Regular Service. The Colonel seemed to encourage this disposition, and frequently would summon some distinguished talker to the front and call for such and such a favorite yarn.
The levity struck me at first as singularly out of place. Here rode these men on the most serious business that ever engaged human enterprise. But a few short hours at most, were between them and the terrible charge, the deadly encounter and, for aught that any knew, death. Yet they rode on to it,
"As some gudelie companie
To a midnight reveirie."
But my young spirit soon caught the contagion, and I too laughed with the loudest and jested with the merriest. Surely, soldiering with Mosby must be the jolliest life in the world!
As the shades of night fell, "a change came over the spirit" of their entertainment. The jest was still bandied, but it seemed to be put with more delicacy: the tale was still told to cager listeners, but it was more fitted for a lady's bower. The songs, that had rolled forth all the day in quaint medley from knots here and there or a solitary singer down the line, were hushed, and from the choir that had now assembled at the head of the column came floating back upon the night plaintive music, inspired by thoughts of home and loved ones. Soon all other sounds had ceased and every ear was set to catch the notes. I thought I saw more than one tear upon grim faces glisten in the moonlight as the voices of those who waited for our coming home seemed to echo the words of the song, now sung with a pathos I never heard else where,
"We shall meet, but we shall miss him"
The song ceased, and a great sigh of relief seemed to go up from the moving mass of men. Then a merrier strain was struck, the chorus caught up along the line, and we were the same light hearted fellows as before.
I recollect that we had just emerged from the shadows of a forest through which we had marched for some miles and entered an old field, when the sounds in front hushed or rather sunk into a murmur, and the words came down the line:
"Silence -----------pass it back."
Oh! my heart jumped into my throat. That began to look like business. Instinctively, my hand sought my gun. A grum Regular, who rode by my side, and of whom, by the way, nothing was known but his name--Nick Skeldon--saw the movement and said,
I was too much mortified to ask any further questions just then. I felt that I had betrayed my greeness and perhaps a shade of nervousness, and didn't care to pursue the subject.
Nothing was heard but the tread of the horses, moving over the hard, crisp turf-distressingly suggestive to my mind of "muffled drums and funeral marches." And to their lugubrious measures came solemn thoughts, and went my martial enthusiasm.
Just then my attention was attracted by some sounds on our flank; and I looked to see several dusky froms gallopping toward us over a hill.
"There they are," I cried in an excited voice; and in a twinkle my carbine was cocked and at my shoulder. Nick's hand was on my arm, with no gentle pressure, as he hoarsely growled:
"Don't be sech a tarnal fool-them's our scouts. What the devil did you leave yer mammy fur?"
The question was a pertinent one, that's a fact; and one that my own heart echoed with considerable unction. But I was not in a frame of mind to go into a critical self-examination-much less to make confidences to my blunt friend. So I stammered out something about "I didn't know," "command being surprised" &c., &c.
The new comers pushed to the front and made their communications to the Colonel. The line of march was at once changed, and we struck, at single file, down through the thickest, darkest, loneliest pine forest in all that dreary country. This move was not very reasuring to me. At once, every dark tale of ambuscade I had ever heard recurred to me with a force that nothing but my surroundings could have given them. Nor did the weird wail of a a whip-poor-will, that every now and then came moaning up out of the pines, tend much to soothe my nerves. But when the dismal hoot of an owl suddenly boomed out on the night, I well nigh jumped from my saddle. I could not define the impression it made on me at first. E'er long it was heard again, and just in front of the van guard, as before. This time my fancy identified it, and I recognized in the hoarse "Whoo--hoo" the signal of a Yankee vidette warning his fellows of our approach.
Again, and yet again, at regular intervals, and just in advance of us the ominous croak was heard; and each time I became more and more fully convinced that the next interruption to the gloomy silence would be a volley of musketry from the bushes; and each time, Nick's last question repeated itself to me with increased force.
At length we reached a deep hollow in which was a little glade. Dismounting, we disposed ourselves about upon the grass to rest; for it was past midnight. I had begun to feel something of relief, when a Sergeant came around calling for Carbineers to go with the Colonel on a reconnoisance.
Now you must know that Carbines were very scarce among Mosby's men. None but very new rescruits, who had not yet learned better, and older ones whose verdancy was constitutional and who would never learn better, carried them. Possibly I would fall with equal justice into either class. At any rate, I was one of a very few who had Carbines that night; and had the questionable distinction of getting on the detail.
Leaving our horses behind, some half dozen of us set out upon the scout. After travelling some distance through the woods, we struck a high-way; and turning into it, moved briskly along. The moon had gone down; but we had not proceeded far before we distinguished some men coming toward us, also on foot. I felt the iciest nervous chill crawling up my back; and, despite the warnings I had already received, my hand was on its way to my gun-lock, when the colonel whispered.
"Keep quiet, booys. We'll show them a trick."
Then a voice from the approaching party called.
"Halt! Who comes there?"
"A detail from the ---- New York. Who are you?" the Colonel replied, with a perfect Yankee twang.
"Patrol from the ----- Michigan Cavalry. Let one of you raise his hands and advance."
"Suppose one of you advance-you seem to be the larger party."
I will state, by the way, that we had been marching in single file, and but two or three of us were visible to the approaching party.
Without more ado, an unsuspecting Yank came promptly forward. When he came up to us he found a revolver presented to his breast and was greeted with the encouraging injunction.
"Give the alarm, and I will blow your heart out. Turn around and tell the others that "its all right, to come on."
And so he did; and five more of Uncle Sam's gallant defenders marched confidingly up to the muzzles of six carbines and quietly surrendered.
Our captives, as they had said, were a patrol from a neighboring picket post, on their regular round. With a little persuasion of a certain kind they were induced to discover to us the location of the reserve post and the positions of the videttes. Taking one man with him, the Colonel went off to verify their report, and sent the rest of us back to the troop.
It was not far from day-break, when he returned and ordered us up. Our sabres, spurs, canteens and everything that might rattle and make a noise, were left with our horses and the prisoners in charge of a small detail. As I moved off with the rest, I could not but own to an unfeigned regret that the selection of the "horse detail" had not been determined by the same considerations, as the one that thad been made earlier in the night.
I shall never forget that grim and stealthy march. Creeping along in Indian file through the deepest hollows, and darkest shades; never a sound, but the dull, smothered tread of the men, or the frightened scream of some bird as we scared it from its roost, or the rustling through the bushes of some varmint aroused from its lair; moving a while in one direction, and then in another, to avoid the videttes, we kept on-slowly, but surely, approaching our prey.
Suddenly I was awakened from my mediations by the coughing of a horse, and looked to see a dark mass looming up in the centre of a small clearing whcih we had just reached. Fortunately, the horse's cough was a stubborn one, kept up for several moments, and effectually drowned the sound of our footfalls as we circled half around the glade, still keeping the cover of the woods. Then it ceased, and all was as silent as the grave. I distinguished sveral horses out of the dark pile in front of us; and at once took in the situation. This was the picket post.
Just then one of our men trod upon a stick which cracked beneath his foot. And at once a quick, excited voice called to us.
"Who comes there?" and almost simultaneously with the challenge, the sentinel fired his piece.
"Charge them, men!" the colonel cried.
And there were shots, and yells an running men and snorting horses, and-and-well, that's pretty much all I knew about the fight. Out of a hazy sense of uncertainty as to whether I was on my feet or head, there comes to me the recollection that I started in the charge with the others; that as I started a bush knocked my hat from my head; that half stopping to pick it up, the thought occurred to me that it would be eminently judicious to let it lie there and lay myself down quietly beside it; that by the time I had abandoned the idea and started on, a few straggling shots were winding up the fight. And then, with shame I realized what a record I had made in this my first engagement; and determined that it would never do in the world to say that I had passed though it without firing a gun. So raising my carbine and directing it toward the quarter where I thought the enemy ought to be, I fired perhaps the last shot of the skirmish.
The suprise had been so complete that there had been little opportunity for resistance. In fact many of our men were in among the prostrate forms of the Federals before they had fairly aroused from their slumbers. A few of them were shot by the first volley before unwinding themseves from their blankets. I believe none of them escaped except the sentinel, who must have dashed away into the darkness before his piece was fairly exploded.
We supposed there had been no casualties upon our side. But when we all gathered together again, my old friend Nick reported one wounded in the following characteristic style.
"I come through the fight all right. But while I was standing on the bank after the Yanks had caved, some derned greenhorn let his gun go off behind me and shot me in the heel."
I didn't say anything.
Bibliographic Information: Source copy consulted: Staunton Spectator, December 21, 1887
