University of Virginia Library

1. I.

I was reading the other day a work entitled “Jack Mosby,
the Guerilla,” by a certain “Lieutenant-Colonel —,” of the
United States Army. The book is exceedingly sanguinary.
Colonel Mosby is therein represented as a tall, powerful, black-bearded,
cruel, and remorseless brigand of the Fra Diavolo order,
whose chief amusement was to hang up Federal soldiers by their
arms, and kindle fires under their feet—for what reason is not explained;
and when not thus pleasantly engaged, he is described
as cutting down the unfortunate bluecoats with a tremendous
sabre, or riddling them with bullets from an extensive assortment
of pistols in his belt. He has a sweetheart—for “Lieutenant-Colonel—”
enters into his hero's most private affairs—who
makes love to Union officers, and leads them into the toils of the
remorseless Mosby. That individual exclaims in moments of
excitement, “Confusion!” after the universal fashion of Confederate
States officers in the late war; and in order to make the
history of his life a full and comprehensive one, the minutest
particulars are given of his well known scheme to burn the city
of New York—a brilliant idea, exclusively belonging to this
celebrated bandit, who is vividly represented in a cheap woodcut
as pouring liquid phosphorus on his bed at the Astor
House. This biographical work is “profusely illustrated,” beautifully
bound in a yellow paper cover, and the price is “only
ten cents.”

It may be said that this is, after all, a species of literature, “so-called,”

such as no person of character or intelligence ever reads.
Such is doubtless the truth in regard to Lieutenant-Colonel—'s
silly performance; but is it equally certain that there are no
citizens of the Northern States, both fair-minded and cultivated,
who regard Colonel Mosby in some such light as that in which
he is here represented? I am afraid the number is considerable.
He has been so persistently described as a desperado, such as
infests the outskirts of civilization, that some impression must
have been made by his traducers. Dr. Johnson said that almost
anything could be accomplished by incessantly talking about it;
and so many people have reiterated these charges against Colonel
Mosby, that a belief in them has, beyond any doubt, fixed itself
upon the minds of many fair and candid persons. It is for this
class, whose good opinion is worth something, that I propose to
state the truth in relation to his character and career. Though
in no manner attached to his command, the present writer occupied
a position during the late war which enabled him to watch
this officer's operations from the commencement almost to the
end of the struggle; and what is here set down in relation to
him may be relied upon as an honest statement by one who has
no object in the world in making it except to record the truth.

Without further preface, it may surprise some of my Northern
readers to hear that this man, figuring in the popular eye as
a ruffian and low adventurer, was born and bred, and is in
character and manners, a gentleman. His family is one of
standing and intelligence in Virginia, and he was educated at
the University of Virginia, where he studied law. He commenced
the practice, married, and would probably have passed
through life as a “county court lawyer” had not the war taken
place. When Virginia seceded he imitated other young men,
and embarked in the struggle as a private in a regiment of
cavalry. Here he exhibited courage and activity, and eventually
became first-lieutenant and adjutant. When the miserable
“reorganization” system of the Confederate States government
went into operation in the spring of 1862, and the men were
allowed to select their officers, Mosby—never an easy or indulgent
officer—was thrown out, and again became a private. He

returned to the ranks; but his energy and activity had been
frequently exhibited, and General Stuart, who possessed a
remarkable talent for discovering conspicuous military merit of
any sort in obscure persons, speedily sent for him, and from that
time employed him as a scout or partisan. It is proper to warn
the reader here that a scout is not a spy. Mosby's duty was to
penetrate the region of country occupied by the Federal forces,
either alone or in command of a small detachment of cavalry;
and by hovering in the woods around the Union camps, interrogating
citizens, or capturing pickets or stragglers, acquire information
of the enemy's numbers, position, or designs. If this
information could be obtained without a collision, all the better;
but, if necessary, it was the duty and the habit of the Scouts to
attack, or when attacked, hold their ground as long as possible.
In other words, there was inaugurated in the country occupied
by the Federal forces a regular system of partisan warfare, the
object of which was to harass the invading force, and in every
way impair its efficiency.

It was at this time that I first saw Mosby, and his appearance
was wholly undistinguished. He was thin, wiry, and I should
say about five feet nine or ten inches in height. A slight stoop
in the neck was not ungraceful. The chin was carried well
forward; the lips were thin and wore a some what satirical smile;
the eyes, under the brown felt hat, were keen, sparkling, and
roved curiously from side to side. He wore a gray uniform,
with no arms but two revolvers in his belt; the sabre was no
favourite with him. His voice was low, and a smile was often
on his lips. He rarely sat still ten minutes. Such was his
appearance at that time. No one would have been struck with
anything noticeable in him except the eyes. These flashed at
times in a way which might have induced the opinion that there
was something in the man, if it only had an opportunity to
“come out.”

I am not aware that he gained any reputation in the campaign
of 1862. He was considered, however, by General Stuart an
excellent scout and partisan; and the General once related to the
present writer with great glee, the manner in which Mosby had

taken nine men, deployed them over several hundred yards, and
advanced, firing steadily upon a whole brigade of Federal
cavalry, which hastily retired under the impression that the
attacking force was heavy. Such things were common with
Mosby, who seemed to enjoy them greatly; but in the spring
of 1862 the tables were turned upon the partisan. General
Stuart sent him from the Chickahominy to carry a confidential
message to General Jackson, then in the Valley. He was resting
at one of the wayside stations on the Central Railroad while
his horse was feeding, when a detachment of Federal cavalry surprised
and captured him—making prize also of a private note
from Stuart to Jackson, and a copy of Napoleon's “Maxims”
accompanying it. Mosby was carried to the Old Capitol, but
was soon exchanged; and chancing to discover on his route
down the bay that General Burnside was going soon to reinforce
General Pope in Culpeper, he hastened on his arrival with
that important information to General Lee, who telegraphed it,
doubtless, to General Jackson at Gordonsville. It is probable
that the battle of Cedar Run, where General Pope was defeated,
was fought by Jackson in consequence of this information.

My object, however, is not to write a biography of Colonel
Mosby. It is fortunate that such is not my design; for a career
of wonderful activity extending over about three years could
not be condensed into a brief paper. I shall speak of but one or
two other incidents in his career; and one shall be his surprise
of Brigadier-General Stoughton at Fairfax Court-House in the
winter of 1862. This affair excited unbounded indignation on
the part of many excellent people, though President Lincoln
made a jest of it. Let us not see if it was not a legitimate partisan
operation. It was in November, I believe, that Mosby received
the information leading to his movement. The Federal forces
at that time occupied the region between Fredericksburg and
Alexandria; and as General Stuart's activity and energy were
just causes of solicitude, a strong body of infantry, cavalry, and
artillery, was posted in the neighbourhood of Fairfax Court-House
and Centreville. Colonel Wyndham was in command
of the cavalry, and Acting Brigadier-General Stoughton, a young

officer from West Point, commanded the whole district, with his
headquarters in the small village of Fairfax. Mosby formed
the design of capturing General Stoughton, Colonel Wyndham,
Colonel Johnson, and other officers; and sent scouts to the
neighbourhood to ascertain the force there. They brought
word that a strong body of infantry and artillery was at Centreville;
Colonel Wyndham's brigade of cavalry at Germantown,
a mile from Fairfax; and toward the railroad station another
brigade of infantry. Fairfax thus appeared to be inclosed within
a cordon of all arms, rendering it wholly impossible even to
approach it. Those who know the ground, as many of my
readers doubtless do, will easily understand how desperate the
undertaking appeared of penetrating to the town, and safely
carrying off the Federal commandant. It was one of those
schemes, however, whose very boldness is apt to cause them to
succeed. Men rarely guard against dangers which they do not
dream it possible can threaten them. Mosby doubtless based his
calculations upon this fact; at any rate he decided upon the
movement, and with twenty-nine men set out one dark and
drizzling November night for the scene of operations. Newspaper
writers of the day stated that the party were dressed in
Federal uniforms. This is not true. There was no sort of
advantage in any such precaution. The party had to steal off
with their captures, if any were made, or cut their way through,
and on that black night no uniform was discernible. Mosby
approached Germantown by the Little River turnpike; but fearing
Wyndham's cavalry, obliqued to the right, and took to the
woods skirting the Warrenton road. Centreville was thus, with
its garrison, on his right and rear, Germantown on his left, and
Fairfax, winged with infantry camps, in his front. It was now
raining heavily, and the night was like pitch. The party
advanced by bridle-paths through the woods, thus avoiding the
pickets of the main avenues of approach, and the incessant patter
of the rain drowned the hoof-strokes of the horses. A mile from
Fairfax the gleam of tents greeted them in front, and finding the
approaches barred in that direction they silently obliqued to the
right again, crossed the Warrenton road, and gradually drew
near the town on the southern side. Again the woods and the
rain served them. Their advance was undiscovered, and at last
they were close upon the place. An infantry picket was the
only obstacle, but this was soon removed. The sleepy vidette
found a pistol at his breast, and the picket was compelled to surrender
without firing a shot. The way was then clear, and
Mosby entered the town at a gallop. His object was to capture
the Federal officers known to be in the place, burn the public
stores, and carry off as many horses as possible. His party was
accordingly divided for these purposes, and Mosby himself proceeded
to General Stoughton's residence. It was afterwards
said that a young lady of the place, Miss Ford, had supplied him
with information, and now led him personally to the house.
This, Colonel Mosby stated to the present writer, was entirely a
mistake; he received information neither from Miss Ford nor any
one else, except his own scouts. To accompany him, however, in
his visit to General Stoughton, he found an orderly at the door,
who was taken charge of by one of the men, and then mounted
to the general's bedchamber, the occupant of which was fast
asleep. At Mosby's unceremonious “Get up, General, and come
with me!” the sleeper started erect, and demanded: “Do you
know who I am, sir?” apparently indignant at such want of
ceremony. “Do you know Mosby, General?” was the reply.
“Yes,” was the eager response, “have you got the—rascal?”
“No, but he has got you!” And to the startled “What does
this mean, sir?” of General Stoughton, Mosby replied, “It means
that General Stuart's cavalry are in possession of the Court-House,
sir, and that you are my prisoner.” This disagreeable state of
affairs slowly dawned upon the aroused sleeper, and he soon found
himself dressed, mounted, and ready to set out—a prisoner. Several
staff officers had also been captured, and a considerable number
of horses—Colonels Wyndham and Johnson eluded the search
for them. Deciding not to burn the public stores which were in
the houses, Mosby then mounted all his prisoners—some thirty-five,
I believe, in number, including about half-a-dozen officers—
cautiously retraced his steps, passing over the very same ground,
and stealing along about down under the muzzles of the guns in
the works at Centreville, so close that the sentinel hailed the
party, swam Cub Run, struck southward, and at sunrise was
safe beyond pursuit.