University of Virginia Library

X.
ADVENTURES OF DARRELL.

1. I.
HOW HE TOOK UPTON'S HILL.

Captain Darrell comes to see me sometimes; and as we are old
companions in arms, we have a good many things to talk about.

The Captain is a pleasant associate; mild in his manners, and
apparently much too amiable to hurt a fly. He is a terrible man
after the enemy, however, and exhibits in partisan warfare the
faculties of a great genius. His caution, his skill, his “combinations,”
are masterly;—his élan in a charge or a skirmish is
superb. Then only is the worthy Captain in his native element,
and he rises to the height of the occasion without effort or difficulty.

I am going to give some of his experiences in the service—to
record some of his scouts and performances. Every hero should
have his portrait first drawn, however;—here is the Captain's:

He is not yet thirty, and is of medium height and thickness.
His frame is strongly knit, and his arm muscular. His countenance
is a pleasant one; his expression mild; black hair, black
moustache, black eyebrows, black eyes. He wears a dark surtout,
cavalry boots, and a hat with a black feather. Around his
waist he carries habitually a pistol belt with a revolver in it. In
the field he adds a carbine or short rifle, and a sabre. His pistol
and sabre were once the enemy's property—they are the spoil
of his bow and spear.

I am going to let the Captain speak for himself. He is not
given to talk about his experiences without provocation, and the
reader must carefully guard against the injustice of supposing
him a trumpeter of his own performances. He is wholly ignorant
of the fact that I am writing about him; and all that I shall
record was drawn from him by adroit prompting and questions.
Averse to talk at first, and to make himself the centre of attention
among my visitors, he soon grew animated, and his ordinary
somewhat listless demeanor was replaced by ardour and enthusiasm.

I had asked how many of the enemy he had killed in his career.

“I don't know,” he replied; “I never counted them—a good
many.”

“A dozen?”

“Oh, yes. I can remember six officers. I never counted the
men.”

“Where did you kill your first officer?”

The Captain reflected—musing.

“Let me see,” he said; “yes, at Upton's Hill, just by Upton's
house.”

“Tell me all about it?”

The Captain smiled, and yawned.

“Well,” he said, “it was in the fall of '61, I think, or it might
have been late summer.”

And leaning back, clasping his hands around his knees, he
thus commenced. I give the narrative, as I design giving others,
as nearly as possible in the words of the Captain:

“It was in the fall of that year, I think, when General Stuart
was below Fairfax, and the enemy occupied Munson's, Upton's,
Hall's, and Mason's Hills. Our troops were at Falls Church,
about two miles from Upton's Hill, and the enemy had pickets all
along in front. I was then scouting around on my own responsibility,
and used to go from one place to another, and get a shot
at them whenever I could. The First South Carolina boys had
often told me that I would get killed or wounded, and be taken
and hung as a bushwhacker or spy; but I was not afraid, as I
had determined never to be taken alive.

“At the time I speak of, we used to send three or four companies
down to Falls Church on picket, to stay some days, and
then they would be relieved by other companies. As I knew the
whole country--every road and picket-post—the officers used to
come to me and get me to go with them, and show them the
neighbourhood. General Longstreet, whose brigade was then in
front, gave me a letter, which was my credential, and I posted all
the pickets at the right places regularly.

“One day it occurred to me that I could take and hold
Upton's Hill, if I had the right sort of men; and I offered, if
they would give me a detail, to attempt it. Major Skinner, of
the First Virginia, was officer of the day, and he agreed; and
Captain Simpson, of the Seventeenth Virginia, offered me as
many men as I required. I though I would only take a small
scouting party first, however, and I picked out four men whom
I knew. My intention was to creep up, make a sudden rush on
the picket on Upton's Hill, and capture it, and hold the hill
until the enemy advanced; if I was not reinforced I would retire
again. Well, I got the men, all good fellows for that sort of
work, and we set out about nine o'clock at night on our expedition.
The night was very dark, and you could not see the road
before you; but I knew every foot of the ground, and had no
difficulty on that score. We stopped at a house on the way,
where we found two negroes; but they could give me no information,
and I pushed on in silence toward Upton's house, where
the Yankee picket was always stationed.

“Just in front of the house there is a tree, you may have
noticed, which we could see easily from Taylor's Hill, where our
picket was—about eight hundred yards off—and the men used
to fire at each other, though I never did, as it was too far. Now
I knew that if the enemy occupied the hill that night, their
picket would be at this tree; and I accordingly made a circuit
and crept up toward it, to reconnoitre, leaving the men a short
distance behind. I got near the tree, which I could see indistinctly,
but observed nothing in the shape of a picket. To find
if any was really there, I picked up a stone to throw at a fence;
for I knew if there were any Yankees there, that as soon as they

heard it strike, they would jump up and exclaim, `Hello!
didn't you hear something, Tom, or Dick! What was that?'
They would naturally be startled, and would in some manner
betray their presence.

“Well, I threw the stone, and it struck the fence, bouncing
off and making a tremendous noise. There was no reply; the
silence remained entirely unbroken, and I was satisfied that there
was no picket at that particular spot, at least. I therefore
advanced boldly, and reached the tree, making a signal to the
men to come up. The enemy had evidently been at the spot
only a short time before. There were the remains of a picket
fire, and a quantity of green corn lying about, taken from the
field before the house, which was about two hundred yards off,
and on the tree was hanging a canteen. I took it and put it
on, and then cautiously approached the house, supposing that
the Yankee pickets had gone in to sleep. Upton was then in
the Yankee Congress, and his house was vacant, and I supposed
the enemy used it as a place of shelter.

“I walked noiselessly around the house, but could see no sign
of any one. I thought I would try the same game as before,
and found a stone, which I threw against the side of the house.
Bang! it went, but no one replied; and I was then pretty sure
that I had everything in my own hands. We knocked at the
door, and a sleepy voice said something—probably a negro's—
but we could not get in, though we tried to prise the door
open.

“I had thus got possession of the hill, and the next thing was
to hold it. I reflected for a moment, and then sent two of the
men back to Captain Simpson, with a message to the effect that
I had obtained possession of the place without resistance, and
that if he would send me fifteen men, I would stay there, engaging
the enemy if they tried to recapture it. The men started
off, but lost their way in the darkness—they were some of those
town boys not used to scouting—and only one arrived at last;
the other went away round the whole line of the enemy, but got
back safely next day.

“I was thus left with only two men; and one of these I

posted as a vedette at the house, while I returned with the other,
whose name was Jackson, to the tree by the gate, where the
picket fire had been.

“It was now near day, and I began to be very anxious for the
appearance of the fifteen men. The messengers had had abundance
of time to go and return, but no men! I knew the programme
of the enemy now perfectly well. They were very
nervous at that time, and were always afraid of being `cut off,'
as they called it, and every night would leave their place on the
hill, retiring to the woods down in the rear to prevent being
`cut off' by scouting parties in the dark. When day returned,
they would resume their position at the picket tree.

“I knew, therefore, that everything depended upon getting my
reinforcement promptly, or it would be too late. I could not
hold the hill with one man against them all, and I didn't like the
thought of slinking off as I came, and making nothing by the
expedition. So I listened anxiously for sounds from the direction
of Falls Church, expecting every moment to hear the footsteps of
the men. I could hear nothing, however, and for the reason I
have given—that my messenger arrived so late. Capt. Simpson,
as he told me afterwards, promptly ordered out the detail I asked
for; but they did not arrive in time.

“All this time I was listening attentively in the opposite
direction, too. I knew that if my men did not come, the enemy
would at the first streak of daylight, and I did not wish to be
caught. I determined to `fire and fall back,' if I could not fight
them—and the night was so still that I could hear the slightest
sound made by a man long before he approached me. My plan
had been all arranged, counting on the arrival of the fifteen men,
and it was to place them in a cut of the road near the house—and
as the enemy came up, make the men rest their guns on the
bank, and pour a sudden fire into the flank of the column. I
knew this would rout them completely—and everything was
arranged to carry out the plan—but, as I said, the men did not
come. If I held the hill I would have to do so with two instead
of fifteen.

“Everything turned out as I expected. Just at the first blush

of day, while everything was yet hazy and indistinct, I heard the
enemy—tramp! tramp! tramp!—coming up the hill. The man
watching the house was two hundred yards off; and Jackson and
myself were, as I have said, at the gate near the tree, hid in the
tall corn. He was armed with a Minié musket, and I had the
same weapon, with a six-shooter besides.

“I leaned on the fence, crouching down and listening. The
tramp of the Yankees came nearer, and, in the dim light, I could
see a company of them, with an officer at their head, approaching.
When they were about ten yards off, and I could make them out
perfectly distinet, I whispered, `Now, Jackson!' and, resting
my gun on the fence, I took deliberate aim at the officer, and
fired, striking him in the breast. I then dropped my gun, and
poured into them the fire of all the barrels of my revolver, killing
a Sergeant, and wounding three men.

“Although badly wounded, the Lieutenant in command stood
gallantly, and shouted to the men, who had for the most part
broken, and were running:

“ `Halt there! Fire on the scoundrels! Halt, I say! Fire on
them!'

“Some of them turned, and I heard the click of the locks as
the guns were cocked.

“ `Look out, Jackson!' I whispered, and I crouched down
behind the fence. At the same moment a hot volley came tearing
through the tall corn, and cutting the blades over our heads.
I knew it would not do to let them discover that there were only
two men in front; so, having no more loads in my pistol, I thundered
out as though addressing a company who had fired without
orders:

“ `Steady, men! steady there, I tell you! Hold your fire!
Steady! Dress to the right!'

“This completely took them in, and made them believe that
they were ambushed by a large force. In spite of all the Lieutenant
could do, they broke and ran down the hill, leaving one
man—the Sergeant—dead behind them.

“The Lieutenant was carried off by some of the men, and taken
to a house not far from the spot. I was there soon afterwards,

and they told me he was shot in the left breast, just above the
heart, and died of the wound.

“That was the first officer I ever killed, and the whole of the
story.

“Knowing that the enemy would soon return with a heavy
force to dislodge me, and that nothing was to be gained by remaining
there longer without reinforcements, I called to the
man at the house, and took up the line of march back to Falls
Church.

“If they had sent me the men, I could have held the hill; but,
as I told you, the messengers I sent got lost.”

2. II.
HIS RECOLLECTIONS OF MANASSAS AND THE “GAMEST
YANKEE.”

I have continued to extract from Captain Darrell, at various
times, accounts of his life and adventures. A day or two since
we were talking about the earlier scenes of the war, and the
half-forgotten incidents which occurred before our eyes at the
time. To my surprise, I found that we had often been near each
other—that he had slept once by the battery to which I was attached;
and that, doubtless, I had seen, without noticing him,
however. The memories of the Captain were not without interest;
and following my theory that the traits and details of this
period should be collected now, I proceed to let the Captain
relate his adventures:

“I was in Bonham's command at Manassas before Beauregard
came there, and my regiment went along toward Centreville on
the very day the Federals took possession of Alexandria. We
stayed at Centreville some time, and then advanced to Fairfax.
Here I commenced scouting around, and kept at it until the
enemy made their advance on the 16th of July. They came in
heavy columns on the Flint Hill road, and Bonham fell back
quietly with only a few shots from his artillery. The men were

all in the breastworks, hot for a fight, which they all expected;
but they were marched out and back on the road to Centreville.

“I was out on the road to the left of Germantown with a
companion when their column appeared, and we were cut off.
We struck into the woods, made a circuit, and came out again
on a high hill above Germantown, on the turnpike, from which
we could see them rushing into Fairfax. They seemed to overflow
it in a minute, and we could hear their yells as they entered—thinking
the whole Rebel army had fled before them.
They were soon at Germantown, and burned most of the houses,
hurrying on in pursuit of Bonham toward Centreville. I
thought it best to get away from there as soon as possible, so I
went on through the woods, and arrived at Centreville about the
time you all ran your guns up on the hill there, to cover the
retreat. There I saw General Bonham, whom I knew very well,
and I told him I believed I would go out and scout around, to
try and find what the enemy were about. He said he would be
glad if I would do so, and I started off toward the Frying Pan
road, and heard them moving in every direction. I tramped
around for a long time, to try and make something out; but
finding I could not, I returned to Centreville. The army was
gone! and the enemy were pressing in just as I arrived. I
thought I was certainly gone; but I avoided them in the dark,
and pushed on toward Bull Run.

“I reached the high land just above the stream in an hour or
two, and remember meeting Captain, now Lieutenant-Colonel
Langhorne, whose company was on the side of the road, a part
of the rear-guard. I entered into conversation with him, and
he asked me to what command I was attached. I told him I
was an independent, scouting around on my own responsibility;
and he invited me to stay with him. So, after eating some of
his supper, I laid down on his blankets and went to sleep.

“I woke early, and went on toward Bull Run. As I was
going along, I saw a man on horseback ride across the field, and
remember looking at him and taking him for one of our own
men. I was stooping and picking blackberries at the time, and
took no particular notice of him, or I might have killed him,

and got his horse and accoutrements, which I needed very much
at the time. I allowed him to pass me; and when he got near
the small house on the hill, he called out to three or four soldiers
posted there:

“`Where is General McDowell?'

“`General who?' was the reply.

“`General McDowell!' he repeated. `Make haste! I am
looking for him!'

“`Halt! halt!' came from the soldiers, who caught up and
cocked their guns. The Yankee saw his mistake too late. He
wheeled his horse round, and dug the spurs into him, but at
that minute our men fired on him, and he fell to the ground,
dead.

“He proved to be General McDowell's quartermaster—I heard
his name, but forget it now. He had seven hundred and sixty-odd
dollars on his person, I was told.

“After that I went on toward Blackburn's Ford, and found
our men drawn up there in line of battle on the south bank.
Soon after I got over General Longstreet rode down, smoking a
cigar, and I heard the enemy coming.

“`Who will volunteer to go across and observe their movements?'
asked Longstreet.

“`I will, General,' said Captain Marye, of Alexandria.

“`Go on, then, Captain,' said Longstreet. `Hurrah for the
Alexandria Guards!'

“`The Alexandria Rifles, General,' said Captain Marye, turning
round, and bowing.

“`Hurrah for the Rifles, then!' said Longstreet; and Marye
advanced across the Run with his company.

“It was soon after this, I think, that the artillery fight commenced
between our batteries and those of the Federals. Ours
were in the plain there, on the slope of a little rising ground, and
the enemy's were near the house, on the other side, with all the
position on us. Our batteries were fought beautifully, and I remember
how excited we all were, watching the shells passing over
us—we could see them. When some of our horses were killed
we all felt deeply for the artillery; but it was pushed forward,

and got out of range for the moment. The Yankees soon fell
back, and we stayed there, waiting for them to renew the attack.
The men were terribly excited, and fired at everything over the
Run, whether it was an enemy or not. Some fresh regiments
came down, and they were sitting with their guns up, expecting
every minute to begin, and eager for the enemy to approach.
They would fire in the air, or at anything they saw; and sometimes
whole companies would rise up, and blaze away right into
the opposite bank.

“This made me mad. I was as sick as I could be, with the
measles breaking out all over me, and was going about with my
face red and swollen, my shirt-bosom open, and my head feeling
curiously. The men noticed me as I was rambling around, and
seemed anxious to know who I was. I mixed with them, but
said nothing until they began to throw away their ammunition,
firing into the wood; when I halloed at them, and told them to
stop that.

“`There are no Yankees there,' I shouted to them; `don't be
wasting your cartridges in that way, men!'

“But they took no notice of me, except one or two, who asked
me where I was from. I told them I was from South Carolina,
and then they went on firing. The thing looked so ridiculous
to me that I began to laugh, and just at that moment a whole
company blazed away into the pines across the run. I jumped
up, clapped my hands, and shouted enthusiastically;

“`That was a glorious volley, men!—perfectly glorious! You
are the boys! and that fire would have killed at least three thou
sand Yankees—if there were any within three or four miles of
you!'

“They laughed at this, and just as they stopped a shell came
from the enemy and cut off the top of a large tree under which
I was standing. It crashed down, and a big limb struck me on
the side of the head and knocked me over. Another piece, I
heard, broke the back of a man in one of the companies. When
they saw me knocked down they all laughed worse than ever,
and shouted out:

“`Look out, South Carolina! Take care of yourself!'

“I thought I would move on. After that I got so sick that
I could not keep up, so I went along toward Mitchell's Ford
above, and fell in with some friends of General Bonham's staff.
His headquarters were just in rear of our batteries there, and
they pitched me a small tent—the only one put up—and I lay
down, not minding the heavy cannonading, I was so sick. I stayed
there until the 21st, when I could stand it no longer, and determined
to get up and strike for the battle-field on our left. I went
in that direction and fell in with a young cousin of mine, Edward
Farley, who had come down from the University of Virginia to
see the fun. We went along together, and I got on the field
just when Evans, and Bee, and Bartow were fighting to the left
of the Stone bridge. I was so weak that I could hardly stand
up; and my cousin advised me to take a drink of whiskey, as he
had some along with him. I did not wish to do so at first, but
he persuaded me that it would be best for me; and I poured out
a tin cup half full of the whiskey and swallowed it. I had never
taken a drink before in my life—and I have never taken one
since. I was so weak and exhausted, and my stomach was so
empty, that it made me as tight as anything! I went charging
around, half out of my senses, and tried to make the men stand
to the work. They were falling back, however, when all at once
Beauregard came galloping up, and rode up and down the line,
making the men a speech, and urging them not to give up their
firesides and altars to the foe. They answered with shouts all
along the line, and soon afterwards charged, and drove the enemy
back toward Sudley. After that the battle was a rout. Our
cavalry came down at a gallop, and the enemy took to flight.

“I staggered on after them, and saw them running. I ran on
too, firing at them, until I got nearly to Centreville. I was then
obliged to stop and sit down, with my back to a tree, on the
roadside, as I was too sick and weak to proceed. The effect of
the liquor had worn off, and I remained there half dozing, until
I heard cavalry coming along. It was Captain Powell's cavalry,
from Alexandria—one of the first companies organized—and
as they swept by me at a gallop, I shouted:

“`Go it, boys! Give it to `em.'

“They passed on, and as soon as I was strong enough I got
up, and went towards a house near by, to get something to eat.
They did not want to let me in, but I had my pistol, and told
them that I was sick, and could go no further, and I intended to
come in whether or no. I accordingly entered, and among a
crowd there found Edward, who had been separated from me in
the battle, and followed on as I had.

“I lay down on a sofa, and sent out for something to eat,
which I soon got. I then went to sleep, and when I woke next
morning was a great deal better. I left the house, took the road
to Fairfax, and never stopped until I got to the Chain Bridge, on
the Potomac, where I proposed to Captain Powell to cross and
capture the pickets on the other side. That's all I saw of the
battle of Manassas.”

I shall conclude my article with one other adventure of
the worthy Captain. We had been discussing the highly interesting
subject of saddles, the merits of the “McClellan,” the
desirability of a good new one of that pattern, and the criminal
negligence of those who had passed by whole piles of
them and never secured one, when the Captain said he had a
very fine one which had “belonged to the gamest Yankee he
ever saw.” There was something in that phrase which I have
quoted, strongly suggestive of some belle aventure, and I therefore
made an assault upon the Captain to compel him to relate
the incident.

He did so, as usual, after repeated urgings; and here
is the narrative as nearly as possible in the words of the
narrator:

“I got the saddle when we were advancing after the battle of
Cedar Run, last August. I went with a part of the command
to which I was attached, down the road which leads from Culpeper
to Kelley's Ford, on the Rappahannock. Just before you
get to the river there are two gates, within a short distance of
each other, which you have to pass through. There is a fence on
the right side of the road, and another gate in that, opening into
a field. On the left there is no fence—open field and a high hill.

“Well, I took two men and went scouting down that way,

and came to the first gate. I opened it, and rode through, but
before the men could follow it shut to. All at once I saw in
front of me three Yankees on foot—two privates and a sergeant,
as I soon found. The sergeant was carrying a bucket.

“As soon as I saw them I called to them to surrender.

“`Throw down your arms!' I called out, pointing my pistol
at them, `or you are dead men!'

“The privates threw down their muskets, but the sergeant
drew a pistol and was about to fire on me, when I covered him
with my pistol, and said:

“`Now, you just fire, you scoundrel, and I'll kill you!'

“He hesitated for a moment, but finally lowered his pistol,
and said he would not have surrendered to one man if I had not
taken him at a disadvantage. I turned over the prisoners, and
went on. As I moved on, Mosby and Hardeman Stuart came
by, and pushed on to the high hill on the left, to reconnoitre. I
had not gone far before I saw three Yankee cavalry in the field
to the right, riding straight down towards us, evidently intending
to pass through the gate in the fence. I had my two men with
me, and as I wanted to overpower the Yankees, I beckoned to
Mosby and Hardeman, who were in sight, and they came riding
down. We then opened the gate, and all five of us pushed
towards the three Yankees, who, instead of running, as I expected,
drew up in line to receive our charge—the rascals! We
galloped at them, and they held their fire until we got within
five yards of them, when bang! bang! bang! went their revolvers
at us. We replied, and in a minute were right in the middle
of them with the sabre, ordering them to surrender.

“They obeyed, and I thought the fight was over, when suddenly
one of the scoundrels put his pistol right in my face and
fired—so close that the powder burned my ear; here is the mark
still. As he fired he dashed off, and two of our men pushed to
cut him off from the gate. I was mad enough, as you may
understand; and I rode at him, full speed. When he saw himself
thus surrounded, he lowered his sabre which he had drawn,
and called out that he would surrender. I rode up to him, and
shook my fist at him, gritting my teeth

“`You scoundrel!' I exclaimed. `You black-hearted villain!
to fire on me after surrendering! I am almost tempted to
blow your brains out with my pistol!'

“He made no reply; and telling the men to take charge of
him I turned to ride back. I had not gone ten steps before I
heard a sudden cry behind me, and looking hastily round, I saw
one of the men falling from the saddle, with one arm thrown up,
as if to ward off a blow. He had tried to do so, but failed.
The infernal scoundrel of a Yankee had, after surrender, suddenly
cut the man over the head with his sabre, and running
against the other, nearly knocked him from his horse!

“Instead of running, the rascal then turned his attention to
me, and made a wipe at me as his horse darted by, which just
grazed my head. He might perhaps have got off if he had
tried, then; but he came at me again, riding right down with his
sabre ready.

“I saw my chance, then, and just as he was driving at me, I
levelled my pistol and fired. The ball struck him just under
the left ear, and passed entirely through his head.

“He fell from his saddle, and I caught his horse, which was
a very fine one. That was the gamest Yankee I ever fought
with, and his saddle was a first-rate one—a bran new `McClellan;'
and if you want one I will give it to you, as I have as
many as I want.”

So terminated the Captain's story of the “gamest Yankee.”
It may interest those who like the clash of sabres and the crack
of fire-arms—on paper.

3. III.
HOW HE WAS CAPTURED.

Among the most interesting narratives which I extracted, by
adroit urging, from my friend Captain Darrell, was that of the
hard fight which he had at Langly, and his capture. Let me
here again, in justice to the Captain, guard the reader from supposing

that these relations were volunteered by the hero of them.
Such was by no means the case. It was only after skilful manœuvring
and repeated urging that the worthy was induced—
with many preliminary protests, accompanied by a determined
twisting of his mustache—to enter on the subject of his adventures.

This explanation is due to him. Nothing is more perilous
than what is called egotism. When a man sits down to narrate
his own performances, or when he relates them orally to a
circle of listeners, the instinctive feeling of the reader or the listener
is prone to be one of doubt. Human nature is so curiously
constituted that whatever even appears egotistical is offensive;
and the revenge which men take for being silenced or eclipsed,
is to question the truth of what the egotist utters. So sure is
this proclivity to underrate what throws us into the shadow, that
Bulwer, in one of those books in which he shows so much keen
observation of the world, makes the company rejoice when a
profound talker has left the room, and think far more highly of
Mr. Pelham, the exquisite, who only said, “Good!” and “Very
true!” as others talked. If Captain Paul Jones talked for two
hours steadily, all about his adventures, he would have many
persons to declare him a bore, and doubt whether he ever fought
the Serapis. If Marion spoke of swamp-encounters all through
an evening, there would be many to question whether he ever
mounted steed. Such is human nature.

The reader will please observe, therefore, that Captain Darrell
did not volunteer these statements. Instead of being an egotist,
and an incessant talker, he is really the most retiring and silent
of men. You may be with him for a month, and during the
whole of that time he will not once refer to any event of his
experience. He will talk with you quietly, upon this or that
subject, but never about his own exploits. I cannot too often
repeat, in justice to the Captain, that the narratives here given
were extracted from him by the process of direct interrogation.
Having the present highly praiseworthy end in view—that of
putting upon record some singular chapters of the war—I attacked
him, and drew forth his recollections, as water is drawn from a

well, by working at the windlass. The adventures came out in
reply to my questions, and solely to gratify an evident curiosity
to hear them. If I give them to the reader, he will act with
great ingratitude in attributing either egotism or gasconade to
the worthy Captain.

With these few words of caution to the reader, I proceed to
let the Captain tell how he was captured.

“It is a long story,” he said, “but you have managed to set
me talking, and I suppose I may as well go on. My capture was
an accident—it ought never to have occurred. The way of it
was this:

“It took place about November, 1861; and at that time I was
scouting around, trying to find some opening to `go in.' When
one place got too hot for me, I went to another. I would work
around for some time, up by Dranesville; then near Vienna
and Falls Church; and then by Annandale, down to Occoquon.
The South Carolina boys—you know I came on with them—
used to tell me that I would certainly get caught; that I was
too rash and reckless; and they would not go with me any
more. But that was unjust. That has been said of me a
hundred times; but there is no man more cautions than I am.

“I had a scout on hand, and I got a man to go with me, whose
name was Carper. Also Frank Decaradeux, First Lieutenant of
Company G, 7th South Carolina—a noble fellow, who was killed
at Charleston in the fight lately. At Dranesville we got another
named Coleman, who is dead, too, I believe, poor fellow—and set
out on the scout.

“The enemy were then at Langly, with their pickets in front,
and we heard that they were going to make an expedition toward
Dranesville, where we had a picket post. Our intention
was to waylay the party, whatever its strength, and attack it
from the woods on the side of the road; then, during the confusion,
to make our escape in the thicket, if necessary. I was at
that time in first-rate spritis—hot for a fight—and I knew I could
depend upon my companions, especially Frank Decaradeux. So
we set out toward Langly, and when within a mile or so of their
pickets, took post in the woods where the road suddenly descended

between high banks, and gave us an excellent opportunity to
ambush them as they approached.

“Well, we waited there two or three hours, and there was no
sign of an enemy. Then as night had come we concluded to
give it up for that day, and go across to a house which I knew
of, and get supper and lodging. We went there accordingly, and
had a good supper, telling the old man to have us a hot cup of
coffee at daylight, when we were going to try again. Soon after
day we left him in high spirits, and made for the main road
again. We had just come near, in the field, when I saw the head
of a column of Federal Cavalry, coming from the direction of
Dranesville. They had passed us in the night! At Dranesville
they had caught our pickets—Whitton and Hildebrand—and
about thirteen citizens, whom they were now carrying back to
Langly.

“My first thought was to get to the big pines where we had been
on the evening before; but this was impossible. The enemy were
so close upon us that if we started to run they would certainly
see us—and the pines were more than half a mile off. The only
thing I thought of was to take advantage of a rise in the ground,
cross the road, and get in some pine bushes—short second growth
about as high as a man—where I determined to open fire upon
them. We accordingly ran across as hard as we could, and passing
by a small house, a Mrs. Follen's, got in the bushes. The
enemy were coming on quickly and we held a council of war.

“`I'll tell you what, boys, it won't do for us to let them get by
without doing them some damage. They have been up there
robbing and plundering, and I for one intend to fire into them,
and die if necessary. But we can get off. They will think we
are a heavy force sent to ambush them; and in the confusion we
can get into the big pines below, where they never can catch us.'

“Decaradeux said he would stand by me, and the others did
too, at last—but they looked very pale. We looked carefully to
our arms and saw that all was right. We had guns, or carbines,
except Decaradeux, who carried a short revolving rifle, which had
got clogged up with the spermaceti on the cartridges. He worked
at it, and got it in order, however, and said he was ready.

“The cavalry had now got within twenty yards of us, and at
the head of the column rode General Bayard, then Colonel, with
some staff officers: the prisoners were in the rear. As they
came within ten or fifteen yards I arose and said, `Now, boys!'
and we gave them a volley which threw them into tremendous
confusion. Whitton told me afterwards that the men trembled
in their very boots, and turned their horses to run—thinking
they were ambushed by the rebel army. Bayard shouted,
`Steady! steady, men!' and pushed forward—he was a brave
fellow—and I was ready for him. As he got within five yards
of me I fired and tore his coat skirt all to pieces—killing his
horse, which fell upon him. As he fell, some of the officers
whose horses had run on by, to the front, came galloping back;
and seeing one in uniform with straps, I fired and shot him
through the body, killing him.

“We might have got off in the confusion had it not been for
Mrs. Follen, who cried, `Oh! they are only four men!' Poor
thing, I suppose she was frightened. The enemy, as soon as they
heard this, rallied, and threw dismounted men into the bushes
after us; it seemed to me that they were down and in the pines
in one minute. Frank Decaradeux had been shot through the
right hand, and Coleman through the side. No time was to be
lost, and we made a break for the big pines, where I expected to
be able to escape. We could not reach them—the flankers
coming in and cutting us off—and soon found that we were
surrounded. I got separated from the rest, and was running
around trying to find an opening to escape, but they were all
around me. I could hear their howls as they closed in.

“`Here's the First Pennsylvania! Bully for us, boys! We
are the boys! We'll give 'em h—l!'

“It was like a pack of wolves. I had fired all my loads, and
stopped under a sapling to reload. I remember my feelings at
that moment perfectly. I never was so miserable in all my life
before. I had that feeling of desperation which you can imagine
a dog has when he is run into a corner, and glares up and snaps
at you. My hand did not tremble a particle, however, as I was
loading my revolver. I had a small flask, and I put in the

proper amount of powder and rammed the balls home, and then
got up from the ground. Half-a-dozen of the enemy were
closing right around me, and as soon as they saw me they fired,
and I returned it. I could not find an opening to get out—I
was surrounded upon every side, and I didn't know what to do.
Every moment they were popping at me, only a few yards off,
as I doubled about, and I had eight balls in my clothes and the
cape of my coat, and one in my cap. At last I got into an open
space, towards the road, and saw a gap in the fence which one
cavalryman was watching.

“`Now is my chance,' I thought.

“And I made a rush straight at him. I had kept one load in
my pistol, and if I killed him, as I thought I could easily, I could
get his horse and then good-by to them! As I ran towards him
he raised his carbine and fired at me, but I did not mind that.
I was up to him in a minute, and put my pistol straight at his
breast and shot him out of the saddle. He fell, and I was just
about to catch the rein, when—I scarcely remember, but Hildebrand
told me, the cavalrymen rode me down, one of the men
striking me across the head with the barrel of his carbine. But
I think the hoof of the horse must have struck me as he jumped
over me—my left side was all bruised and bloody.

“When I came to my senses I was lying on my face, and the
first words I heard were, I remember perfectly:

“`Dead as hell, by—!'

“I raised my head a little, and finding I was not dead, they
collared me, and made me stand up, hustling me about from side
to side, and jabbering in every language. I got tired of being
held in this way, and clutched a carbine from one of them,
intending to club it, and hit right and left, but they got it away
from me. I remember there was one fellow with a cocked pistol
who seemed anxious to get at me, and the officers around
were laughing, and saying, `Let the Italian get at him! he'll
finish him!'

“`Put me out in that field with a pistol,' I said, `and your
Italian or any can try me!'

“They only laughed at this, and hustled me about, as they

did poor Frank Decaradeux and Coleman, whom they had
caught. Carper got off. Decaradeux had lost his hat, like myself,
and had an oilcloth wrapped over his head, which made his
pale cheeks and black eyes like a girl's. They laughed at this
resemblance, and said, pointing at me:

“ `Who is that fellow there, with his hand in the breast of his
coat? He looks like he didn't care what the price of tobacco
was!'

“I had gotten dignified, however, and made no answer; and
soon after an officer rode up, and said:

“ `Captain Darrell, I am sorry to see you in this predicament.
Captain McKewn of General McCall's staff. I remember having
the pleasure of your acquaintance at the University of Virginia.'

“I bowed, and he asked me what had become of my cap.
I told him I had unfortunately lost it, but I observed one of
the men riding around with it. He went off and got me a fine
new one, and soon afterwards the fellow who wore my cap—it
was a red one—came prancing around.

“ `Hey!' he said to me, `you see I've got your cap, you d—d
rebel!'

“ `Yes,' I replied, `but you are only getting back your own
property. I got that from a Brooklyn Fire Zouave, and you are
entitled to it, I suppose. I killed the owner.'

“This was really the case. In the charge made by Colonel
Fitz Lee, near Annandale, a short time before, I had lost my
hat in running the enemy, and came nearly up with two of them
who had jumped the fence and were scudding through the pines.
I threw myself from the saddle over the fence, and aiming at
one of the Yankees, shot him through the breast. I called to
the other to surrender, but he turned round and levelled his carbine
at me, not more than ten steps off. I had no load in my
pistol, and would have been a dead man, had it not been for one
of my friends in the road, who fired on the Yankee just as he
took aim at me. The ball passed just over my shoulder, and
struck him in the face, and he fell. I took off his pistol-belt and
pistol; and as I had no hat, picked up his red cap and wore it.
This was the same cap which the fellow prancing round had on.

“When we came near Langly, the General, McCall, came out
with his division, and I heard him say, that he had heard the
firing, and thought Bayard had been ambushed by the whole
rebel army.

“ `It was worth your while, general,' I said, `to bring out your
division to capture four men.'

“ `Who is this?' asked General McCall.

“ `Captain Darrell, one of the prisoners, General,' said an officer.

“The general ordered me to be brought to him, and asked me
who I was. I told him and he said:

“ `You are from the Confederate army, are you not, Captain?'

“ `Yes, sir,' I replied.

“ `What is their force in front of us?'

“ `General McCall,' I said, `you ought to know that that is
not a proper question to ask me; and that it would be highly
improper for me to give you any information upon the subject.
I am a soldier, sir, and know my duty too well for that.'

“He laughed and said no more; and then Colonel Bayard
came up, and talked with me a short time; he was not wounded.
He only asked what command I belonged to and then rode on.

“That evening we were put in a wagon, and carried to Washington—Decaradeux
and myself. I don't know what became of
Coleman. Here we were put in the third story of the Old Capitol,
and I soon understood that they were trying to make out
that I was a spy, and hang me as such. When they asked me
my name, I told them Captain Darrell, of General Bonham's
Staff, as General Bonham, who was an old acquaintance of mine,
had often urged me to accept a commission in the C. S. A., to
protect me if I was captured. He told me he could easily procure
one for me, as at that time they were making appointments
every day; but I replied that I would rather remain free, as
they might put me off in some fort somewhere, when I would
never lay eyes on a Yankee. He then told me to consider myself
his volunteer aide, on his staff; and accordingly I reported
myself as such, and was so published in the morning papers.

“I was constantly scheming how to escape while in prison,
but had crowds of inquisitive visitors coming in on me at all

times, and pestering me to death. One day a big pompous army
surgeon came in and flourished around, with

“ `Well, Captain—hem!—you young fellows have got yourselves
into a bad serape—hem!'

“ `Not that I am aware of, sir,' I replied coolly. `How so?'

“ `Why, you came inside of our lines by night, and waylaid
our troops, against all the usages of civilized warfare, sir.'

“ `I was on a scout, like General Bayard,' I returned.

“ `A scout, sir!' he exclaimed, growing red in the face; `we
were on no scout, sir! we were on a reconnoissance, sir, with a
force of one thousand cavalry, sir!'

“ `Well, I was on a reconnoissance, too, with a force of four infantry
men. You came out to reconnoitre us, and we reconnoitred
you. The reconnoitring parties happened to meet on the road,
and my reconnoitring party got the better of yours.'

“This seemed to make him furious. He swelled, and swaggered,
and puffed, like a big turkey-gobbler, and tried to frown
me down, but it was not successful.

“ `Well, sir,' he said, `if you did get the better of us, you at
least are our prisoner, sir; and there are grave charges against
you, sir—very grave charges, sir!'

“I began to get mad, and asked him what he meant by that.

“ `I mean, sir,' he said, raising his voice and swelling out his
breast, `that you have shot a doctor, sir!—yes, sir; a DOCTOR, sir!'

“ `What doctor? Where did I shoot a doctor?'

“ `On the road, sir! He was a doctor, sir; the officer you
killed, sir! a non-combatant, without arms, in the performance
of his official duties, sir!'

“ `Oh! a doctor was he!' I said, `a doctor! Well, you doctors
ought to take care how you ride along at the head of columns
of cavalry in our country, and put yourselves in the way of balls,
in uniform, with straps on your shoulders. It is dangerous.'

“ `He was a doctor, sir; I say! a non-combatant! a DOCTOR,
sir; and you murdered him! yes, murdered him, sir!'

“ `Look here, sir,' I said; `this is my room and if you can't
behave yourself in it, I wish you to leave it. I wish to have
no more of your talk!'

“ `Oh, well, sir! very well, sir!'

“And the doctor swaggered out. The next who came was a
Major, a little smiling finicky fellow, who was oily and polite in
his manner, and seemed uncommonly friendly.

“ `This is an unfortunate affair, Captain,' he began in a sympathizing
tone.

“ `Not very,' I said.

“ `I fear it is. You see, you were taken inside of our lines, and
it is probable you will be treated as a spy.'

“ `I reckon not, sir.'

“ `Why, so I hear, at least. Do you often enter our lines,
Captain?'

“ `I have done so, frequently.'

“ `In citizen's dress, Captain?' he inquired, smiling; and then
I saw what he was after, and was on my guard.

“ `No,' I replied, `I come with my arms to make a military
reconnoissance.'

“ `Do your officers enter our lines in this way often, Captain?'

“ `Well,' I said, `tolerably often. Colonel Fitz Lee made a
reconnoissance or scout, as you please, down beyond Annandale,
the other day, with a squadron of cavalry; and General Jeb
Stuart is particularly fond of such expeditions—indulging in
them frequently.'

He tried to make me commit myself in several other ways,
but finding he could not succeed, got up and left. After that I
told the sentinel at my door not to admit any more of them—
which, however, I lost by, as they would not allow my friends to
come and see me, or any of the delicacies they sent to reach me.
They permitted me to walk in the yard, however, but forbade the
prisoners to exchange any words or signs with those confined
above. One day I saw some ladies at an upper window of the prison,
who waved their handkerchiefs to me, and I took off my hat to
them. The sentinel told me it was against orders, but I replied
that in the South gentlemen always returned the salutation of
ladies—and I didn't mind him. One of the ladies then dropped
a little secession flag, made of riband; and I picked it up and
put it in my hat. The sentinel ordered me to take it out, but I

refused; and told him to call his Sergeant. The Sergeant came,
and I told him to call the officer of the guard. I was going on
through the officer of the guard, and the officer of the day, up
to the Provost-Marshal; but the officer of the guard was an old
Lieutenant, who said, `Oh, everybody knows his politics. There
is no harm in letting him wear a riband in his hat.' So I
continued to wear it.

“One of the ladies was Mrs. Greenough, and she had a little
daughter of about twelve or thirteen, who used to run about the
prison and visit all the rooms, as the sentinel would not stop
such a mere child. She and myself became great friends, and
one day she brought me some flowers from her mother, and
whispered—for a guard was always present—that I would find a
note in them. I found the note, and after that carried on quite a
correspondence. I would make her a present of an apple, which
I had cut and hollowed out—putting a note in it, and then sticking
it together again. As the crowd were going down to dinner
one day, I slipped up instead of down, and went into Mrs.
Greenough's room, and had a long talk with her and another lady
who was with her; getting back again without discovery.

“I was always thinking of plans to escape, however, and three
schemes suggested themselves. Either to bribe the sentinel in the
back yard not to see us—or stab the sentinels at the outer and
inner door—or drop out of the front window by blankets torn
in strips, just as the sentry walked off on his beat, taking the
chances of his fire when he discovered us. I had two associates
in these plans, a prisoner named Conner, and Lieutenant Harry
Stewart. They preferred the first, while I liked the last best.
Our plan was to escape to Baltimore, where some friends were
fitting out secretly a tug with guns on it, to run down the bay,
and attack Burnside's transports. This played exactly into my
hand—to cut and slash, and blaze away at them—and I was so
anxious to undertake the expedition, instead of being sent down
tamely, with a white flag and all that sort of thing, to be exchanged
at Fortress Monroe, that when they told me I would be
regarded as a prisoner of war and soon released, I did not give
up my plan of escaping. It was all stopped, though, by Major

Wood's coming into my and Decaradeux's room, and telling us he
suspected something, and had put Conner and Harry Stewart
into solitary confinement.

“Before I could arrange any new plan Decaradeux and myself
were exchanged, and I was free again. It was well I didn't
adopt Harry Stewart's plan. After a while he was allowed to go
back to his room, and having bribed the two sentinels in the
back yard, he attempted with Conner to escape one night. Just
as he raised the window to get out, one of the sentinels said,
`There is the d—d rascal—fire on him!' The man fired, and
shot him through the heart. I don't know what became of Conner.

“When I got to Richmond, I set off for Centreville to get my
trunk, intending to go out and join some friends in the South-west;
but General Stuart met me there; gave me a fine horse;
and told me if I would stay with him, he would show me some
sport.

“I accepted his offer; and have been with him ever since.”

4. IV.
INCIDENTS ON THE PENINSULA.

Having given me the history of his adventures at Langly
and in Washington, Captain Darrell yawned, and persisted in
changing the subject. It was evident that he had made up his
mind not to talk any more at that time upon military matters;
and we accordingly passed to other topics.

He was here again yesterday, however, and I immediately
attacked him on the subject of his adventures.

He shook his head.

“You are making me talk too much about myself,” said the
Captain, “and I will get up the reputation of a boaster. One
of the greatest dangers with hunters, partisans, and scouts, is the
temptation to exaggerate, and tell `good stories.' All that I
say is true, and scouting with me is no more than hunting—as

if it were after bear or deer—and I speak of it as such. But I
don't wish to be thought a boaster.”

It was some time before I could eradicate from the Captain's
mind the impression that his histories were listened to with sentiments
of cynical doubt. He yielded very gradually—thawing
very slowly before the warmth of my assurances; but at last I
succeeded in quieting his scruples, and getting him in a talkative
humour. One thing led to another; this incident brought forth
that; and finally the Captain was persuaded to give me the following
story of his adventures at Williamsburg.

As before, I give the narrative almost exactly in the words of
the speaker. It was as follows:

“I might as well commence at the beginning. On the retreat
from Yorktown, last spring, when our army was falling back to
the Chickhominy, I was with General Stuart, and the cavalry
were retiring by the Telegraph and Williamsburg roads, covering
our rear. These two roads make a sort of triangle; like the
two sides of the letter V, the point of the V being down the
Peninsula. The Williamsburg road was the left side of the V
—look at these two straws—and the Telegraph road the other.
There were two by-roads running through the triangle and connecting
the main roads. If you have a clear idea of this, you
will understand what took place easily.

“The cavalry were falling back in two columns upon the
Telegraph and Williamsburg roads, General Stuart being in
command of the force on the latter. He was anxious to keep
up thorough communications with the other column, however,
and as I was familiar with every part of that country, he sent
me with Captain Conner, of the Jeff. Davis Legion, who was
ordered to cut across with a party, leave pickets at openings, and
see that the cavalry on the Telegraph road fell back regularly in
good order—parallel with the other column, and neither too fast
nor too slow. Well, I proceeded with Captain Conner along
the sort of bridle path which was the lowest down of the two
which I have mentioned, as connecting the main roads, keeping
a keen look-out for the enemy, who, I was pretty sure, were all

around us. The pines were too thick to see much, however—
you know what sort of a country it is—and we went on rather
blindly. About half way we met a countryman who was leading
a cow by the horns, and he told us that a party of the
enemy's cavalry had just passed along the other cross road
above toward the Williamsburg road.

“It occurred to me at once that our men on the Telegraph
road had fallen back more rapidly than the other column, and
unmasked the mouth of the upper cross road, which the enemy
had then struck into, intending to get into the Williamsburg
road and cut the General off. I stated my opinion to Captain
Conner, but he seemed to think differently. The cavalry which
the countryman had seen could not possibly be any but our
own, he said. I stuck to it, however, that they were probably
the enemy's; and as the countryman told us they were then
drawn up on the cross road, I offered to go and reconnoitre.
Captain Conner said he would go with me, and we started off at
a gallop through the pines toward the spot where the man said
they were.

“When I got within fifty yards I could see a party of cavalry
drawn up, as the countryman stated, and I was sure they were
Yankees. Captain Conner still adhered to his opinion, however,
that they were a part of our own force, and I told him I would
dismount, creep up, and determine the matter. He agreed; and
I got off my horse, threw the bridle over a stump, and crept
through the pine brush until I was within fifteen feet of them.
I saw the blue pantaloons and jackets plainly, and knew they
were Federals; so I crept back toward my horse. At the same
moment—it all occurred in a twinkling—I heard, `Halt! halt!
halt! halt! bang! bang! bang!' in front, and saw Captain
Conner, who had pushed on, certain that they were Confederates,
taken prisoner by the enemy. I had mounted, and the first
thing I knew I was in the midst of them—carried by my horse,
who became ungovernable—and I saw that my best chance
would be to make straight for the Williamsburg road, which was
not far, and if I got out, inform the General that a party was
lying in wait for him. I ran through them, followed by bang!

bang! bang! from their carbines, and drove ahead into the Williamsburg
road—right plump against a column of the enemy's
cavalry, drawn up to charge the General, when he came near
enough. My horse ran right against a Yankee's, who wiped at
me with his sabre—for they all had their sabres drawn—and
just missed me. I was going so fast though that I passed straight
through the column, and seeing that the other side of the road
was lined with heavy undergrowth, I jumped off my horse and
ran in, leaving my horse to the Yankees.

“They banged away at me as I went in, but only a few had
their carbines ready, and they did not come near me. They
could not follow me, as the pines were too thick for any horseman
to enter. My object now was to get back to the General
and tell him of the attempt to cut him off. I thought I would
reconnoitre, however, first, and ascertain their force, so I crept
up to the edge of the bushes, and looked out. As I did so, I
saw them moving backwards and forwards, greatly excited,
with `Here they are!' `Look out!' but soon afterwards they
fell back, apparently looking for a better position. The next
thing I saw was Colonel Goode, of the Third Cavalry, coming
up the road, and I ran out and met him, felling him what I
knew, and stating that they were going to charge him. He
drew his men up on the right of the road so as to let the Yankees
charge by, and slash into them; and as I had no horse I
got into the bushes just in advance of the head of the column,
intending to shoot the commander of the Federal cavalry as soon
as I could see him well. I had my carbine and pistol, which I
had hung on to through all, and soon I heard the enemy coming,
shouting and yelling, right down on Colonel Goode.

“As they came within about fifteen yards, I levelled my carbine
at the officer in front, and pulled trigger; but the cursed thing
snapped. I had been skirmishing all day, and it had got dirty.
I fired my pistol into them, however, and the Federal Cavalry
halted, both sides sitting in the saddle and banging away with
earbines. Our men had the better of it, though, as the Yankees had
their sabres drawn, and we got the first fire on them, killing
several of them, I saw in the road afterwards. I wounded three

or four myself, and was still popping at them when they concluded
to give it up, and go back. They turned round, and I
ran out, looking for a good horse, as several were running about
without riders. I got a good one, but found he was wounded,
and just then I saw a splendid black stallion, who took my eye
wonderfully. I tried to catch him—walking up and holloing
`woe!' to him—but whenever I got near, he trotted off, and I
missed him. I determined not to give it up, however—and I
kept following and trying to catch him until I was at least a mile
and a half back toward Williamsburg. I caught him at last,
mounted him, and started back toward the scene of the skirmish.
I remember feeling in fine spirits, and looking down at my
splendid stallion, who was full of fire and spirit—a big black fellow,
the very horse I wanted—admiring his neck and action. I
was still examining him, with my head down, as we went on at full
speed toward the spot where I expected to find Colonel Goode,
when suddenly I heard a quick `Halt! halt! halt!' `Here's
one of `em!' in front; and a carbine ball whizzed by me. I
looked up, and there was the enemy in the road instead of Colonel
Goode, who had fallen back. They had got reinforcements, and
brought up artillery to plant in the road—and I had run right
into them!

“There was only one thing for me to do, and that was to get
away from there as fast as possible. I accordingly wheeled round
and went back over the same road I had come, followed by a
dozen men, shouting `halt! halt! halt!' and firing at me. I
leaned over on my horse, and could hear the balls whizzing by me
every second—I afterwards found the accountrements, especially
the thick bundle behind the saddle, full of bullet holes. I would
have got away from them, but all at once my horse threw up his
head—a ball had passed clean through it. He still kept on,
however,—horses will go long with that sort of wound—but
another bullet struck him right behind my leg, on the left side,
and I felt him staggering. The party saw this, and set up a
whoop, which was rather too near. I saw that they would catch
me, if I depended on my horse, so I threw myself off and ran
down a little path in the bushes, by the side of the road, and did

not stop until I was well concealed. They fired at me and
around several times, but as they were afraid of coming on
our infantry, they gave it up, and rode away.

“As soon as they were gone I came out of the bushes, and
went to my horse. He had fallen in the road, and I took from
him several articles strapped to the saddle, and left him to die.

“I knew now that the General would retire by the Beach
road, the only one left, and I determined to strike across and join
him, trusting to luck to get a horse somewhere. I accordingly
set out in that direction, trusting to my skill to flank the enemy's
pickets, which I knew I could do, and get through. My only
fear was that I would be shot by our own pickets, as it was now
getting dusk. I went on, through the woods and fields, avoiding
the enemy's fires whenever I saw them, and approaching our
lines. I had got very nearly through, when suddenly I came
upon three cavalrymen in the middle of the road, near a little
bridge I had to pass. I was sure they were Yankees, so I cocked
my pistol, and walked up to them boldly, saying in a loud commonplace
tone—

“ `Hem!—ah!—what company do you belong to, men?'

“ `Company A, sir.'

“This was not sufficient. Company A might be a Yankee company.
So I said,

“ `What regiment?'

“ `The Fourth.'

“This was no more definite than the other.

“ `Ah!' I said, `ahem—the Fourth, eh? Fourth New York,
I suppose?'

“ `No—the Fourth Virginia,' replied one of the men. I never
was more relieved in my life, and told them how things stood, and
which way to look out. I went on through the awful mud, and
when I had gone some distance met a regiment of Confederate
infantry coming down, with an officer on horseback at their
head, who was very much out of humour.

“ `Where is the post?' he was saying. `I don't believe it is this
way, and we must have come in the wrong direction. Where
is the regiment to be relieved?'

“I recognised General Pryor, and said:

“ `I can tell you, General.'

“ `Hello! who's that!' he replied, looking through the dark,
`how did you know me?'

“ `By your voice. I remember meeting you at the Commercial
Convention in Knoxville, to which I was a delegate—and making
your acquaintance.'

“ `What is your name, sir?'

“I told him, and added,

“ `The regiment you are looking for is down in the fortifications,
in that direction; and though it will be going back, I will
act as your guide.'

“So I went with him, and finding some friends in the Nineteenth
Mississippi, commanded by Colonel Mott, a friend of mine,
I lay down, and went to sleep.

“On the next morning, I was still talking with my friends of
the Nineteenth, when chancing to look toward the front, I saw a
line of men advancing through the brushwood, who, I was certain,
were Yankees. It was drizzling, and no attack was expected,
though we knew that the enemy was right in our front;
and when I told the Lieutenant, in command of the company
I was with, that the men in front were certainly Yankees, he did
not believe it.

“ `They can't be,' he said; `they are a party of our own men
who have been out on a scout toward the enemy, and are coning
in.'

“As he was speaking, the line came on steadily, and I saw
distinctly the blue pantaloons, and oil-cloth capes thrown over
their heads as a protection from the rain. I knew from this
that it was the enemy, as none of our men had capes; and I
jumped up, carying to the men:

“ `They are Yankees! Fire, men! They are right on you!'

“ `Hold your fire!' shonted the Lieutenant, `don't shoot your
friends! It is some of the Seventh Alabama from our left.'

“ `There are no troops on our left!' I replied, `the Seventh
Alabama is on the right, and those people are Yankees! Fire,
men!'

“And I ran out pointing at them where they were advancing,
within twenty yards, in the pines.

“ `Don't fire, I say!' shouted the Lieutenant to his men, `they
are friends!'

“Well, I'll take the responsibility, as far as I am concerned!'
I said; and levelling my carbine I took aim, and saw one of
the men fall. As soon as I shot, the whole party stopped suddenly,
as though they were astonished.

“ `Fire!' I cried to the Mississippians, `give it to' em, boys!'
Charge!'

“And I blazed away with my pistol as I ran toward them.
They did not wait for the expected charge—it turned out to be
only a company—and broke and ran. I followed, and came to
the man I had shot, who was dying. His gun was lying by
him, and I seized it, and fired on them as they were running;
but finding no one following me, I concluded I had better go
back. When I got to the fortification I found Colouel Mott
there, attracted by the firing; and showed him the gun I had
brought back, telling him that they were Yankees.

“ `Certainly they were,' he replied, `and the Lieutenant in
command ought to have known that there were none of our
troops on the left.'

“As I had nothing to do, I proposed to the Colonel that if
he would give me half-a-dozen men I would go and scout in
front, and bring him any information I could procure of the
enemy's movements. He agreed to this, and called for volunteers.
A dozen men stepped out, but I told him I did not want
more than six; and with these, I went along in the track of the
party of Yankees. I remember one of them was named Bryant,
a first-rate man, and he stuck to me all day, though he was
wounded; but he would not leave me.

“Well, I followed the party, marching the men in single file,
and looking out every moment for the Yankees. I came on
their trail at last, and thought I could hear the hum of their
voices just over a knoll in front of me. The woods there have
hollows in them, and you can get very close to a party of men
without knowing it if they are in one of them. There was a

hollow of this sort just before me, and the hill sloped up in such
a way, that you could get right on them and not be perceived.
I crept up the side of the hill, going from tree to tree, looking
and listening. I could not see anybody, but I was sure I heard
the hum of voices not far off; and I determined to reconnoitre
and ascertain who the party were. I accordingly went cautiously
up the hill, to peep over, leaving my men behind.

“Just as I got near the top I heard the tramp of feet, and
could see the heads of the men coming up the hill. The officer
in command was walking in front, and before I knew it he was
right on me, within three yards.

“ `Dress up to the right!' he cried quickly to his men.

“ `Dress up, yourself, sir!' I shouted to him, suddenly.

“And as I spoke, I levelled my carbine at his breast, fired,
and shot him through the body. Before the enemy had recovered
from their surprise, I shouted back, as if I was speaking to
my company:

“ `Charge 'em, men! Fire on 'em! Char-r-rge!'

“And I set the example by firing my pistol as fast as I could
at their heads, which was all I could see above the hill. They
fired a volley at me, but their position was too unfavourable,
and the bullets went whizzing high up in the trees. My men
came up promptly, and we all took trees and commenced skirmishing
with them, neither side advancing, but keeping up a
scattering fire all the time.

“The captain, when I had shot him, sat down on the ground,
and remained there leaning his shoulder against the trunk of a
tree. The tree I had dodged behind was not far off, and we
carried on a conversation for some time; I suppose about half
an hour. I asked him why he had come down to the South,
and he said he wished now that he had stayed at home. He said
a good many things, but I don't remember them now. His
name was a singular one; he told me what it was, and I've got it
somewhere; his company was the 47th Sharpshooters, New York.

“I had shot away all my ammunition, and I got up and went
to him, asking him for his pistol. He took hold of the belt, and
tried to unbuckle it, but was too weak.

“ `It's no use,' he said, `I can't undo it, and you had better
go back. You will just make them shoot both of us.'

“He did not look as if he was shot; I could see no marks of a
wound; but soon after I had gone back to my tree, he raised his
shoulder from the trunk which he was leaning against, sat upright,
and then fell upon his back, dead.

“About this time there was a general advance of our line
upon the enemy, all along; and the company of sharpshooters
fell back, firing as they went. Our troops came along, and charged
their main line, which was posted behind a fence, some distance
in front; and here Colonel Mott was killed as he was leading
the charge. I went along with them, but had first gotten the
dead officer's sword. As soon as our men advanced, and the
enemy went away, I came from behind the tree where I had
been sitting down firing, and approached the body. He was
lying on his back, with his eyes open—dead from my bullet,
which had passed through his breast. I had no sword, having
left mine behind that morning; so I unbuckled his belt, and
drew it from under his body, and buckled it around my own
waist. It had a good pistol and cap-pouch, besides the sword,
on it—I have the sword still.

“That was a hot day,” concluded the Captain; “this was
where Tom—got wounded. He came up to a Federal officer,
a finely dressed fellow, and ordered him to surrender. He
obeyed, but made no motion to yield his arms. Tom said:

“ `Give up your arms, sir!'

“The officer handed over his sword which he held in his
hand; but did not seem to remember the pistol in his belt.

“ `Give me your pistol!' exclaimed Tom, with a scowl at
him.

“ `I have surrendered my sword,' was the reply, `spare me
the disgrace, sir, of giving up my pistol also to a private!'

“He had surrendered his sword, but wished to spare himself
the mortification of handing over his pistol! Tom put his bayonet
at him, and he soon surrendered his pistol.

“Soon afterwards Tom had a duel at ten yards distance, with
a Yankee. They loaded and fired twenty times without hitting

each other, until Tom made a good shot and bored him through
the breast. He dropped his musket, threw up his hands and
fell back. Tom was very soon wounded, however, and was
firing still when Colonel Baldwin came along with a led horse,
and, as he knew him, put him on it. He was going to the rear
when he saw General A. P. Hill, sitting by a stump, smoking;
and as the young man was an acquaintance, he asked him what
was the matter. He informed him that he was wounded; and
the General took off his cravat, and tied it around his leg, above
the wound. Tom then rode on into Williamsburg.

“That was my great fighting day, and some time or other I
will tell you all about it. I had command of two or three regiments,
and never had more fun in my life.”