1. I.
Among the daring partisans of the war, few have rendered such
valuable services to the cause as Captain John S. Mosby.
His exploits would furnish material for a volume which would
resemble rather a romance than a true statement of actual occurrences.
He has been the chief actor in so many raids, encounters,
and adventures, that his memoirs, if he committed them to
paper, would be regarded as the efforts of fancy. Fortunately,
there is very little fancy about “official reports,” which deal with
naked facts and figures, and those reports of these occurrences
are on record.
It is only necessary to glance at the Captain to understand
that he was cut out for a partisan leader. His figure is slight,
muscular, supple, and vigorous; his eye is keen, penetrating,
ever on the alert; he wears his sabre and pistol with the air of
a man who sleeps with them buckled around his waist; and
handles them habitually, almost unconsciously. The Captain is
a determined man in a charge, dangerous on a scout, hard to
outwit, and prone to “turn up” suddenly where he is least
expected, and bang away with pistol and carbine.
His knowledge of the enemy's character is extensive and profound;
his devices to deceive them are rarely unsuccessful.
Take in proof of this a trifling occurrence some time since, in the
neighbourhood of Warrenton. The enemy's cavalry, in strong
force, occupied a position in front of the command which Captain
Mosby accompanied. Neither side had advanced, and, in the
lull which took place, the Captain performed the following
amusing little comedy: taking eight or ten men, he deployed
them as skirmishers in front of an entire brigade of the enemy,
and at a given signal from him, they advanced steadily, firing
their carbines as they did so, without further intermission than
the time necessarily spent in reloading. This manæuvre was
executed with such spirit and apparent design to attack in force
that the enemy were completely taken in. As the sharpshooters
advanced, led on gallantly by the Captain, who galloped about
cheering his imaginary squadrons, the enemy were seized with a
sudden panic, wavered, and gave way, thus presenting the comic
spectacle of an entire brigade retiring before a party of eight or
ten sharpshooters.
This is only one of a thousand affairs in which Captain Mosby
has figured, proving himself possessed of the genius of a true
partisan. If I could here relate these adventurous occurrences,
the reader would soon comprehend how steady the Captain's
nerve is, how ready his resources in an emergency, and how
daring his conception and execution. For the present, I must
content myself with one recent adventure, prefacing it with a
statement which will probably throw some light upon the
motives of the chief actor, and the feelings which impelled him
to undertake the expedition.
In the summer of 1862, Captain Mosby was sent from Hanover
Court-House on a mission to General Jackson, who was then
on the Upper Rapidan. He was the bearer of an oral communication,
and as the route was dangerous, had no papers about him
except a brief note to serve as a voucher for his identity and
reliability. With this note, the Captain proceeded on his journey,
and stopping at Beaver Dam Station on the Virginia Cenral
Railroad, to rest and feed his horse, was, while quietly sitting
on the platform at the depot, surprised and bagged by a detachment
of the enemy's cavalry.
Now, to be caught thus napping, in an unguarded moment, was
gall and wormwood to the brave Captain. He had deceived and
outwitted the enemy so often, and had escaped from their clutches
so regularly up to that time, that to find himself surprised thus
filled him with internal rage. From that moment his sentiments
toward them increased in intensity. They had been all along
decidedly unfriendly—they were now bitter. They took him
away with them, searched him, appropriated his credentials, published
them as an item of interest in the Northern papers, and
immured the partisan in the Old Capitol.
In due course of time he was exchanged. He returned with a
handsome new satchel and increased affection for his friends
across the way. He laughed at his misfortunes, but set down
the account to the credit of the enemy, to be settled at a more
convenient opportunity.
Since that time the Captain has been regularly engaged in
squaring his account. He has gone to work with a thorough air
of business. Under an energy and perseverance so systematic
and undeviating the account has been gradually reduced, item
by item.
On the night of Sunday, the eighth of March, 1863, it may
fairly be considered that the account was discharged. To come
to the narrative of the event alluded to, and which it is the
design of this paper to describe:
Previous to the eighth of March Captain Mosby had put
himself to much trouble to discover the strength and positions of
the enemy in Fairfax county, with the design of making a raid
in that direction, if circumstances permitted. The information
brought to him was as follows: On the Little River turnpike at
Germantown, a mile or two distant from Fairfax, were three
regiments of the enemy's cavalry, commanded by Colonel
Wyndham, Acting Brigadier-General, with his headquarters at
the Court-House. Within a few hundred yards of the town
were two infantry regiments. In the vicinity of Fairfax Station,
about two miles off, an infantry brigade was encamped. And
at Centreville there was another infantry brigade, with cavalry
and artillery.
Thus the way to Fairfax Court-House, the point which the
Captain desired to reach, seemed completely blocked up with
troops of all arms—infantry, artillery, and cavalry. If he
attempted to approach by the Little River turnpike, Colonel
Wyndham's troopers would meet him full in front. If he tried
the route by the Warrenton turnpike, a brigade of infantry,
with cavalry to pursue and artillery to thunder at him, was first
to be defeated. If he glided in along the railroad, the brigade at
Fairfax Station was in his track.
The “situation” would have appeared desperate to almost any
one, however adventurous, but danger and adventure had attractions
for Captain Mosby. If the peril was great and the probability
of success slender, all the greater would be the glory if
he succeeded. And the temptation was great. At Fairfax
Court-House, the general headquarters of that portion of the
army, Brigadier-General Stoughton and other officers of high
rank were then known to be, and if these could be captured,
great would be his triumph.
In spite of the enormous obstacles which presented themselves
in his path, Captain Mosby determined to undertake no less an
enterprise than entering the town, seizing the officers in their
beds, destroying the huge quantities of public stores, and bearing
off his prisoners in triumph.
