University of Virginia Library

2. II.

The achievements of Ashby can be barely touched on here—
history will set them in its purest gold. The pages of the splendid
record can only be glanced at now; months of fighting
must here be summed up and dismissed in a few sentences.

To look back to his origin—that always counts for something
—he was the son of a gentleman of Fauquier, and up to 1861
was only known as a hard rider, a gay companion, and the
kindest-hearted of friends. There was absolutely nothing in the
youth's character, apparently, which could detach him from the
great mass of mediocrities; but under that laughing face, that
simple, unassuming manner, was a soul of fire—the unbending
spirit of the hero, and no less the genius of the born master of
the art of war. When the revolution broke out Ashby got in
the saddle, and spent most of his time therein until he fell. It
was at this time—on the threshold of the war—that I saw him
first. I have described his person—his bearing was full of a
charming courtesy. The low, sweet voice made you his friend
before you knew it; and so modest and unassuming was his
demeanour that a child would instinctively have sought his side
and confided in him. The wonder of wonders to me, a few
months afterwards, was that this unknown youth, with the simple
smile, and the retiring, almost shy demeanour, had become
the right hand of Jackson, the terror of the enemy, and had
fallen near the bloody ground of Port Republic, mourned by
the whole nation of Virginia.

Virginia was his first and last love. When he went to Harper's
Ferry in April, 1861, with his brother Richard's cavalry
company, some one said: “Well, Ashby, what flag are we going
to fight under—the Palmetto, or what?” Ashby took off his
hat, and exhibited a small square of silk upon which was
painted the Virginia shield—the Virgin trampling on the tyrant.
“That is the flag I intend to fight under,” was his reply; and
he accorded it his paramount fealty to the last. Soon after this
incident active service commenced on the Upper Potomac; and

an event occurred which changed Ashby's whole character.
His brother Richard, while on a scout near Romney, with a
small detachment, was attacked by a strong party of the enemy,
his command dispersed, and as he attempted to leap a “cattlestop”
in the railroad, his horse fell with him. The enemy
rushed upon him, struck him cruelly with their sabres, and
killed him before he could rise. Ashby came up at the moment,
and with eight men charged them, killing many of them with
his own hand. But his brother was dead—the man whom he
had loved more than his own life; and thereafter he seemed like
another man. Richard Ashby was buried on the banks of the
Potomac—his brother nearly fainted at the grave; then he went
back to his work. “Ashby is now a devoted man,” said one
who knew him; and his career seemed to justify the words.
He took command of his company, was soon promoted to the
rank of a field officer, and from that moment he was on the track
of the enemy day and night. Did private vengeance actuate
the man, once so kind and sweet-tempered? I know not; but
something from this time forward seemed to spur him on to
unflagging exertion and ceaseless activity. Day and night he
was in the saddle. Mounted upon his fleet white horse, he would
often ride, in twenty-four hours, along seventy miles of front,
inspecting his pickets, instructing his detachments, and watching
the enemy's movements at every point. Here to-day, to-morrow
he would be seen nearly a hundred miles distant. The lithe
figure on the white horse “came and went like a dream,” said
one who knew him at that time. And when he appeared it was
almost always the signal for an attack, a raid, or a “scout,” in
which blood would flow.

In the spring of 1862, when Jackson fell back from Winchester,
Ashby, then promoted to the rank of Colonel, commanded
all his cavalry. He was already famous for his wonderful
activity, his heroic courage, and that utter contempt for danger
which was born in his blood. On the Potomac, near Shepherdstown,
he had ridden to the top of a crest, swept by the hot fire
of the enemy's sharpshooters near at hand; and pacing slowly
up and down on his milk-white horse, looked calmly over his

shoulder at his foes, who directed upon him a storm of bullets.
He was now to give a proof more striking still of his fearless
nerve. Jackson slowly retired from Winchester, the cavalry
under Ashby bringing up the rear, with the enemy closely pressing
them. The long column defiled through the town, and
Ashby remained the last, sitting his horse in the middle of Loudoun
street as the Federal forces poured in. The solitary horseman,
gazing at them with so much nonchalance, was plainly seen
by the Federal officers, and two mounted men were detached to
make a circuit by the back streets, and cut off his retreat.
Ashby either did not see this manœuvre, or paid no attention to
it. He waited until the Federal column was nearly upon him,
and had opened a hot fire—then he turned his horse, waved his
hat around his head, and uttering a cheer of defiance, galloped
off. All at once, as he galloped down the street, he saw before
him the two cavalrymen sent to cut off and capture him. To a
man like Ashby, inwardly chafing at being compelled to retreat,
no sight could be more agreeable. Here was an opportunity to
vent his spleen; and charging the two mounted men, he was soon
upon them. One fell with a bullet through his breast; and,
coming opposite the other, Ashby seized him by the throat,
dragged him from his saddle, and putting spur to his horse, bore
him off. This scene, which some readers may set down for
romance, was witnessed by hundreds both of the Confederate and
the Federal army.

During Jackson's retreat Ashby remained in command of the
rear, fighting at every step with his eavalry and horse artillery,
under Captain Chew. It was dangerous to press such a man.
His sharp claws drew blood. As the little column retired sullenly
up the valley, fighting off the heavy columns of General
Banks, Ashby was in the saddle day and night, and his guns
were never silent. The infantry sank to sleep with that thunder
in their ears, and the same sound was their reveille at dawn.
Weary at last of a proceeding so unproductive, General Banks
ceased the pursuit and fell back to Winchester, when Ashby
pursued in his turn, and quickly sent intelligence to Jackson,
which brought him back to Kernstown. The battle there fol

[ILLUSTRATION]

ADVENTURE OF ASHBY AT WINCHESTER.—Page 74.
Ashby seized him by the throat, dragged him from his saddle, and putting spur to his horse, bore him off.

[Description: 521EAF. Illustration page, which depicts General Ashby seizing a Union officer off of his horse by the neck. There is a soldier in front of Ashby, who is trying not to fall off of his horse as Ashby runs into him with his steed. The other soldier is so shocked at being jerked by the throat that he is simply falling forward towards Ashby. In the background a group of Union soldiers is arriving.]

lowed, and Ashby held the turnpike, pressing forward with
invincible ardour, flanking the Federal forces, and nearly getting
in their rear. When Jackson was forced to retire, he again held
the rear; and continued in front of the enemy, eternally skirmishing
with them, until Jackson again advanced to attack
General Banks at Strasburg and Winchester. It was on a bright
May morning that Ashby, moving in front, struck the Federal
column of cavalry in transitu north of Strasburg, and scattered
them like a hurricane. Separated from his command, but bursting
with an ardour which defied control, he charged, by himself,
about five hundred Federal horsemen retreating in disorder,
snatched a guidon from the hands of its bearer, and firing right
and left into the column, summoned the men to surrender.
Many did so, and the rest galloped on, followed by Ashby, to
Winchester, where he threw the guidon, with a laugh, to a
friend, who afterwards had it hung up in the Library of the
Capitol at Richmond.