University of Virginia Library

IX.
FARLEY “THE SCOUT.”

1. I.

In the old “Confederate Army of the Potomac,” and then in
the “Army of Northern Virginia,” there was a man so notable
for daring, skill, and efficiency as a partisan, that all who valued
those great qualities honoured him as their chiefest exemplar.
He was known among the soldiers as “Farley, the Scout,” but
that term did not express him fully. He was not only a scout,
but a partisan leader; an officer of excellent judgment and magnificent
dash; a soldier born, who took to the work with all the
skill and readiness of one who engages in that occupation for
which, by Providence, he is especially designed.

He served from the beginning of the war to the hard battle
of Fleetwood, in Culpeper, fought on the 9th of June, 1863.
There he fell, his leg shattered by a fragment of shell, and the
brave true soul went to rejoin its Maker.

One of the chiefest spites of fate is that oblivion which submerges
the greatest names and events. The design of this brief
paper is to put upon record some particulars of the career of a
brave soldier—so that, in that “aftertime” which sums up the
work and glory of the men of this epoch, his name shall not be
lost to memory.

Farley was born at Laurens village, South Carolina, on the
19th of December, 1835. He was descended, in a direct line,
from the “Douglas” of Scotland, and his father, who was born
on the Roanoke river, in Charlotte county, Virginia, was one of
the most accomplished gentlemen of his time. He emigrated to

South Carolina at the age of twenty-one, married, and commenced
there the practice of law. To the son, the issue of this
marriage, he gave the name of William Downs Farley, after his
father-in-law, Colonel William F. Downs, a distinguished lawyer,
member of the Legislature, and an officer of the war of 1812.
The father of this Colonel Downs was Major Jonathan Downs,
a patriot of '76; his mother, a daughter of Captain Louis Saxon,
also distinguished in our first great struggle; thus our young
partisan of 1863 had fighting blood in his veins, and, in plunging
into the contest, only followed the traditions of his race.

From earliest childhood he betrayed the instincts of the man
of genius. Those who recollect him then, declare that his
nature seemed composed of two mingled elements—the one
gentle and reflective, the other ardent and enthusiastic. Passionately
fond of Shakspeare and the elder poets, he loved to wander
away into the woods, and, stretched beneath some great oak,
pass hour after hour in dreamy musing; but if, at such times,
he heard the cry of the hounds and the shouts of his companions,
his dreams were dissipated, and throwing aside his volume,
he would join in the chase with headlong ardour.

At the age of seventeen, he made, in company with a friend,
the tour of the Northern States, and then was sent to the University
of Virginia, where his education was completed. The
summer vacation gave him an opportunity of making a pedestrian
excursion through Virginia; and thus, having enlarged
his mind by study and travel through the North and a portion
of the South, he returned to South Carolina. Here he occupied
himself in rendering assistance to his father, who had become
an invalid, and, we believe, commenced the practice of the law.
His love of roving, however, did not desert him, and his father's
business required repeated journeys into the interior of the
State. The scenery of the mountains proved a deep and lasting
source of joy to him, and, standing on the summits of the great
ranges, he has been seen to remain in such rapt contemplation
of the landscape that he could scarcely be aroused and brought
back to the real world. These expeditions undoubtedly fostered
in the youthful South Carolinian that ardent love of everything

connected with his native State which, with his craving for wild
adventure, constituted the controlling elements of his being.

“He had now attained,” a friend writes, “the pride and maturity
of manhood. There were few handsomer or more prepossessing
men. As a young man said, after the battle of Culpeper,
in speaking of the loss of Farley and Hampton, “two of the
handsomest men in our State have fallen.” His figure was of
medium height, elegantly formed, graceful, well knit, and, from
habitual exercise in the gymnasium, possessing a remarkable
degree of strength and activity. His hair was dark brown; his
eyebrows and lashes were so dark, and so shaded the dark grey
eyes beneath as to give them the appearance of blackness. His
manner was generally quiet, polished, and elegant; but let him
be aroused by some topic which awoke his enthusiasm (secession
and the Yankees, for instance), and he suddenly stood transformed
before you; and in the flashing eye and changing cheek
you beheld the dashing “Hero of the Potomac!”

“His moral character,” says the same authority, “was pure
and noble—`Sans peur et sans reproche.' It is a well known fact
among his friends and associates that ardent spirits of any kind
had never passed his lips until the first battle of Manassas, when,
being sick with measles, he fought until almost fainting, and
accepted a draught from the canteen of a friend. This was the
first and last drink he ever took.

“His father, whose last hours he watched with untiring care
and attention, died just before the opening of the war. Captain
Farley had, from an early age, taken great interest in the political
affairs of the country; he was a warm advocate of State
Rights, and now entered into the spirit of secession with eagerness
and enthusiasm. He was very instrumental in bringing
about a unanimity of opinion on this subject in his own district.

“He made frequent visits to Charleston, with the hope of
being in the scene of action should an attack be made on the
city; and was greatly chagrined that the battle of Sumter was
fought during a short absence, and he only reached the city on
the day following. He was the first man in his district to fly
to the defence of Virginia, whose sacred soil he loved with a

devotion only inferior to that which he bore his own State.
He joined Gregg's regiment, in which he served three months,
and on the disbanding of which he became an independent
fighter.”

From this time commences that career of personal adventure
and romantic exploits which made him so famous. Shouldering
his rifle—now riding, then on foot—he proceeded to the far
outposts nearest to the enemy, and was indefatigable in penetrating
their lines, harassing detached parties, and gaining information
for Generals Bonham and Beauregard. Falling back with
the army from Fairfax, he fought—though so sick that he could
scarcely stand—in the first battle of Manassas, and then entered
permanently upon the life of the scout, speedily attracting to
himself the unconcealed admiration of the whole army. To
note the outlines even of his performances at that time, would
require thrice the space we have at our disposal. He seemed
omnipresent on every portion of the lines; and if any daring
deed was undertaken—any expedition which was to puzzle,
harass, or surprise the enemy—Farley was sure to be there.
With three men he took and held Upton's Hill, directly in face
of the enemy; on numberless occasions he surprised the enemy's
pickets; and with three others, waylaid and attacked a
column of several hundred cavalry led by Colonel (afterwards
General) Bayard, whose horse he killed, slightly wounding the
rider. This audacious attack was made some ten or fifteen miles
beyond the Southern lines, and nothing but a love of the most
desperate adventure could have led to it. Farley ambushed the
enemy, concealing his little band of three men in some pines;
and although they might easily have remained perdus until the
column passed, and so escaped, Farley determined to attack, and
did attack—firing first upon Bayard, and nearly stampeding his
whole regiment. After a desperate encounter he and his little
party were all captured or killed, and Farley was taken to the
Old Capitol in Washington, where he remained some time in
captivity. General Bayard mentioned this affair afterwards in
an interview with General Stuart, and spoke in warm terms of
the courage which led Farley to undertake so desperate an

adventure. Released from prison, Farley hastened back to his
old “stamping ground” around Centreville, reaching that place
in the winter of 1861. He speedily received the most flattering
proposals from some eminent officers who were going to the
South-west; but chancing to meet General Stuart, that officer
took violent possession of him, and thenceforth kept him near
his person as volunteer aide-de-camp. With this arrangement
Farley soon became greatly pleased. He had already seen Stuart
at work, and that love of adventure and contempt of danger
—the coolness, self-possession, and mastery of the situation, however
perilous—which characterized both, proved a lasting bond
of union between them.

2. II.

Thenceforth, Farley was satisfied. His position was one
which suited his peculiar views and habits admirably. Untrammelled
by special duties—never tied down to the routine of command,
or the commonplace round of camp duty—free as the
wind to go or come whenever and wheresoever he pleased, all
the instincts of his peculiar organization had “ample room and
verge enough” for thier development; and his splendid native
traits had the fullest swing and opportunity of display. It was
in vain that General Stuart, estimating at their full value his
capacity for command, repeatedly offered him position. He did
not want any commission, he said; his place suited him perfectly,
and he believed he could do more service to the cause as scout
and partisan than as a regular line-officer. He had not entered
the army, he often declared to me, for place or position; promotion
was not his object; to do as much injury as possible to the
enemy was his sole, controlling sentiment, and he was satisfied
to be where he was.

His devotion to the cause was indeed profound and almost
passionate. He never rested in his exertions, and seemed to feel
as if the success of the struggle depended entirely on his own
exertions. A friend once said to him: “If, as in ancient Roman
days, an immense gulf should miraculously open, and an oracle
should declare that the hobour and peace of the country could

only be maintained by one of her youths throwing himself into
it, do you believe you could do it?” He looked serious, and
answered earnestly and with emphasis, “I believe I could.”

Thus permanently attached as volunteer aide to General Stuart,
Farley thereafter took part in all the movements of the cavalry.
He was with them in that hot falling back from Centreville, in
March, 1862; in the combats of the Peninsula, where, at Williamsburg,
he led a regiment of infantry in the assault; in the
battles of Cold Harbour and Malvern Hill, at the second Manassas,
Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, and the scores of minor
engagements which marked almost every day upon the outposts.
He missed the battle of Chancellorsville, greatly to his regret,
having gone home, after an absence of two years, to witness the
bombardment of Charleston and see his family.

It was soon after his return in May that the fatal moment
came which deprived the service of this eminent partisan. At
the desperately contested battle of Fleetwood, in Culpeper county,
on the 9th of June, 1863, he was sent by General Stuart to carry
a message to Colonel Butler, of the 2d South Carolina cavalry.
He had just delivered his message, and was sitting upon his
horse by the Colonel, when a shell, which also wounded Butler,
struck him upon the right knee and tore his leg in two at the
joint. He fell from the saddle and was borne to an ambulance,
where surgical assistance was promptly rendered. His wound
was, however, mortal, and all saw that he was dying.

At his own request the torn and bleeding member, with the
cavalry boot still on, was put in the ambulance, and he was
borne from the field. His strength slowly declined, but his
consciousness remained. Meeting one whom he knew, he called
him by name, and murmured, “I am almost gone.” He lingered
but a few hours, and at twilight of that day the writer of these
lines looked on him in his shroud—the pale, cold features calm
and tranquil in their final sleep.

He was clad in his new uniform coat, and looked every inch
a soldier taking his last rest. He had delivered this coat to a
lady of Culpeper, and said, “If anything befalls me, wrap me in
this and send me to my mother.”

Such was the end of the famous partisan. His death left a
void which it seemed impossible to fill. His extraordinary
career had become fully known, and a writer some months before
his death gave utterance to the sentiment of every one when
he wrote: “The story—the plain, unvarnished story—of his
career since the war began is like a tale of old romance. Such
abnegation of self! Office and money both spurned, because
they seemed to stand in the way of his duty. What thrilling
incidents! What strength and courage! and what wonderful
escapes! No wonder, as he rides by, we so often hear it exclaimed,
`There goes the famous scout, Farley! The army has
no braver man, no purer patriot!”'

We put on record here the following passage from the letter
of a lady in Culpeper to his mother, giving, as it does, an outline
of the man, and bearing testimony in its simple words,
warm from a woman's heart, to the affection which was felt for him:

To “spend and be spent” in the cause of the South was truly
this brave spirit's chief delight. These are not idle words, but
the truth, in relation to him. The writer of this page was long
and intimately associated with him; and so far from presenting
an exaggerated picture of him, the incidents and extracts above
given do him only partial justice. I never saw a braver man,
nor one more modest. He had a peculiar refinement of feeling
and bearing which stamped him a gentleman to the utmost fibre
of his being. This delicacy of temperament was most notable;
and it would be difficult to describe the remarkable union of the
most daring courage and the sweetest simplicity of demeanour in
the young partisan. Greater simplicity and modesty were never
seen in human bearing; and so endearing were these traits of
his character, that ladies and children—those infalliable critics—
were uniformly charmed with him. One of the latter wrote:

“His death has been a great sorrow to us. He was with us
frequently the week before the battle, and won our entire hearts
by his many noble qualities, and his superiority to all around
him. He talked much about his family; he loved them with
entire devotion. He read to us some of your poems, and repeated
one of his own. I close my eyes, and memory brings

back to me the thrilling tones of that dear voice, which, though
heard no more on earth, has added to the melody of heaven.”

His manner was the perfection of good-breeding, and you saw
that the famous partisan, whose exploits were the theme of every
tongue, had not been raised, like others of his class, amid rude
associates and scenes, but with gently nurtured women, and surrounded
by the sweet amenities of home. His voice was a
peculiar one—very low and distinct in its tones; and these subdued
inflections often produced upon the listener the impression
that it was a habit acquired in scouting, when to speak above a
murmur is dangerous. The low, clear words were habitually
accompanied by a bright smile, and the young man was a favourite
with all—so cordial was his bearing, so unassuming his whole
demeanour. His personal appearance has already been described,
but it may interest some of his friends in the far South to know
how he appeared when “at work.” He dressed uniformly in a
plain suit of gray, wearing a jacket, and over this a dark blue
overcoat, with a belt, holding his pistol, tightly drawn around
his waist. In his hat he wore the black cavalry feather; and his
boots were of that handsome pattern which is worn by Federal
officers, with patent-leather tops and ornamental thread-work.
None of his equipments cost him or the Confederate States a
single dollar. They were all captured—either from sutlers'
wagons or the enemies he had slain with his own hand. I never
knew him to purchase any portion of his own or his horse's
accoutrements—saddle, bridle, halter, sabre, pistols, belt, carbine,
spurs, were all captured from the enemy. His horses were in
the same category, and he rarely kept the same riding-horse
long. They were with great regularity shot under him; and he
mounted the first he found running riderless, or from which his
pistol hurled one of the enemy.

3. III.

I have spoken of his modest, almost shy demeanour. All
this disappeared in action. His coolness remained unaffected,
but he evidently felt himself in his proper element, and entitled

to direct others. At such moments his suggestions were boldly
made, and not seldom resulted in the rout of the enemy. The
cavalry once in motion, the quiet, modest gentleman was metamorphosed
into the fiery partisan. He would lead a charge
with the reckless daring of Murat, and cheer on the men, with
contagious ardour, amid the most furious storm of balls.

His disregard of personal exposure was supreme, and the idea
that he was surrounded by peril never occurred to him. He
has repeatedly told the present writer, with that simplicity and
sincerity which produce conviction, that in action he was wholly
unconscious of the balls and shells flying and bursting around
him—that his interest in the general result was so strong as to
cause him to lose sight of them. Those who knew him did not
venture to doubt the assertion.

He delighted in the wild charge, the clash of meeting squadrons,
and the roar of artillery. All these martial sights and
sounds ministered to the passionate ardour of that temperament
which made him most at home where balls were whistling,
and the air oppressive with the odour of battle. But, I think,
he even preferred the life of the scout—the long and noiseless
hunt for his foe—the exercise of those faculties, by
means of which an enemy is surprised and destroyed—the single
combat with sabre and pistol, often far off in the silence of
the woods, where a dead body half concealed amid the grass is
all that remains to tell the tale of some hand-to-hand encounter.
The number of such contests through which Farley had passed
would seem incredible to those who did not know him, and thus
comprehend how the naked truth of his career beggared romance.
He rarely spoke of these affairs, and never, unless to certain
persons, and under pecnliar circumstances. He had a great
horror of appearing to boast of his own exploits, and so greatly
feared securing the reputation of colouring his adventures that he
seldom alluded to them, even. Fortunately for his memory,
many persons witnessed his most desperate encounters, and still
live to testify to the reckless daring of the young partisan.
With these his eventful career will long remain the subject of
fireside tales; and in the coming days of peace, when years

have silvered the hair of his contemporaries, old men will tell
their grand-children of his strange adventures and those noble
traits which made his name so famous.

To the world at large, he will always thus appear—as the
daring partisan and adventurous scout—as one who risked his
life in a hundred hot encounters, and in all those bloody scenes
never quailed or shrank before a foe, however powerful or dangerous.
But to those who lived with him—heard his low,
friendly voice, and saw every day his bright kindly smile—he
appears in a different character. To such the loss we have sustained
is deeper—it seems irreparable. It was the good fortune
of the writer of these lines to thus see the brave young man—
to be beside him in the field; and, at home, to share his confidence
and friendship. Riding through the summer forests, or
wandering on across the fields of broom-straw, near Fredericksburg—better
still, beside the good log-fire of winter—we talked
of a thousand things, and I saw what a wealth of kindness, chivelry,
and honour he possessed—how beautifully the elements
were mixed in his character. Brave and true—simple and
kind—he passed away; and among those eminent natures
which the writer encountered in the late struggle, few are remembered
with such admiration and affection as this noble son
of Carolina.

The best conclusion of this brief and inadequate sketch will
be the meution made of the brave partisan in General Stuart's
report of the battle of Fleetwood. It is as follows:

“Captain W. D. Farley, of South Carolina, a volunteer aide
on my staff, was mortally wounded by the same shell which
wounded Colonel Butler, and displayed even in death, the same
loftiness of bering and fortitude which characterized him
through life. He had served, without emolument, long, faithfully,
and always with distinction. No nobler champion has
fallen. May his spirit abide with us.”