University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER IX

Maiden Trip to Washington and Virginia

The morning of Thursday, September 26, 1872, broke in
with beautiful sunshine, such as soon mellowed the early bracing
temperature into that which brought discomfort to every
exposed man and beast. I donned my best, a trifle heavy,
breakfasted hurriedly, and now was to be the saddest duty—
saying farewell to mother—for whom I recognized the parting
painful, as by nature she could repress poorly, womanly
emotions, while for me a sharer of that weakness, if weakness
it be, I felt it absolutely impossible to refrain the tear that
moments before had so boldly been defied. To her my going
meant so much—the breaking of a hitherto continuous companionship,
the unmistakable separation by a long distance, the
likely escape from maternal domination, the possible disregard
of pious teachings, and the probable beginning of the end of
paternal home life. To me it implied equal concern—few
ever had stronger attachment for home or parents, and now
both measurably were to be sacrificed in going to a strange
land. Besides it marked the beginning of the self-reliant
stage, when for every turn one's own head had to be taken
and held responsible—true a condition some natures crave and
court, but from which my own then recoiled and shrank. I
was entering upon a new and all-important drama of life,
which properly played would lead certainly to a desirable reward,
but poorly, to discouragement and disappointment. The
going away to college centers upon one at least some slight

attention from acquaintances and friends, and I fully realized
that from then on they occasionally might cast an eye in my
direction—looking for the good or bad developments—that
henceforth my doings were expected to count for something.
None of this was incident to the more youthful years at the
Seminary, for there I was among my people—"a prophet without
honor"—within easy driving distance of home, where
each Sunday was spent, while standing and results in studies
had little effect outside of self and family. I frankly confess
to having even at that age an ambition for becoming something
beyond the ordinary, and an intuition that a few others
had for me bright hopes and expectations, so it was not strange
that those separative moments claimed thoughts most serious
—far from idle and frivolous. And yet a vein of pleasure,
indeed satisfaction, pervaded the hour through confidence in
this outward step into the world being the only proper one to
take.

Father drove me one mile to the nearest railroad station,
for the 7:25 A. M. train, which soon arrived giving only time
for checking trunk, and bidding him and the several local
well-wishers a hearty good-bye. No ticket was needed as I
enjoyed complimentary privileges on that portion of the road
—a fact causing me to cover the route often, to know well
the train's crew, and to be considered by father just a trifle
careless and risky. Indeed his last counselling words were:
"Be careful on trains, take care of yourself, and be a good
boy"—possibly not an unusual admonition to sons first departing
from home. The journey to Baltimore was without
special feature, as it had frequently been taken with the same
dual changes, Clayton, Delaware Junction, and could not be
expected to offer any unforeseen complications. All I could
hope for was to pass acceptably the hours in transit through
reading a morning paper, viewing familiar scenes, and reverting
occasionally to the just enacted sad home-parting. Our
train reached President Street Station at 1:05 P. M., where I
found awaiting me the trusted coachman of my Uncle, to
whose residence I soon was conveyed, only to receive from all
a most hearty welcome. That night I accompanied Uncle and
Aunt to the theater—surely a pleasant treat, and one in which
I felt not the slightest ill-at-ease, in spite of my semi-puritanic

training suggesting a corrupt influence of the stage. Twelve
hours only had passed since turning in the direction of an
education, which I was not slow in realizing had to be made
up of many elements, so that the coming of an opportunity to
enjoy a healthy comedy for three hours, which to peruse in
book required that many days, even with less permanent effect,
I accepted as a very helpful beginning. Next morning I sat
for a photograph, that my youthful identity upon entering the
University might be preserved, and also made numerous purchases
to complete my necessary outfit. We all had finished
dinner when Uncle came in from his office—an occurrence more
the rule than exception, as he preferred one session at business
and dinner alone at 3.30 P. M., to eating earlier with the family
and returning thereafter. According to custom he soon came
up in the library where most of us sat reading, and after an
exchange of some pleasantry he addressed me thus: "David,
I made it convenient this morning to call on one of my brother
lawyers, whom I knew to be a University of Virginia graduate,
in order to ask him, if he would not give my nephew a letter
of introduction to some member of her Faculty? He seemed
delighted at the opportunity, and penned this while I waited,
which may be of some service to you." I thanked him as
best I knew for his trouble, interest and thoughtfulness, and
with natural curiosity proceeded to read the contents, it being
unsealed, which I found well-worded, somewhat difficult to
decipher, but bearing the assurance of friendship—the creation
of at least one friend in the newer field towards which I was
drifting. That evening was passed pleasantly with music and
family talk, and upon retiring I bade them all good-bye as well
as good-night. I was called next morning at 3 o'ck, and
after a hurried breakfast—for be the hour what it may, Uncle
would never allow any one to go hungry from his home—the
trusted coachman called for me in time to take the 4:20 A. M.
train from Camden Station. The gates guarding the entrance
to trains in those days, especially at such an early hour, were
open alike to attendant and passenger, consequently we both
passed to the car where he saw me seated comfortably for what
I considered then a long ride.

Our train soon moved slowly out of the station, leaving him
watching after me, to whom I waved parting farewells receiving

acknowledgment in return. I was determined to be of good
cheer, knowing upon his return the family would inquire the
details of departure. So far there was nothing to occasion the
least despondency, indeed, I had scarcely left home, as kind
relatives had been taking the place of fond parents and a tumultuous
city that of the quiet country. But now I was gliding
over hitherto untraveled space, and as the train rushed along
madly in the darkness, swerving ungracefully to the accommodation
of short and frequent curves, I could not refrain the
passing thought—any moment may bring me to eternity, a
rapid race for an education. Shortly after leaving Baltimore I
witnessed a very familiar farm-boy scene—the break of day,
so that upon reaching the depot at Washington faces could be
recognized with accuracy. A wait here of over an hour gave
opportunity for a cup of coffee, a walk around the Capitol,
and a view of our making-up southern train, consisting of a
baggage, mail, and two day coaches with the "Orange, Alexandria
and Manassas Railroad" lettering and occupying a track
on the elevated street in front (west) of the depot. The
through express, arriving at 6.30 o'ck, brought for us two additional
cars, one a sleeper, which were detoured around and
up the incline—the bed of tracks in the rear (east) of the
depot building being at least ten feet below its front street
level—by a number of able-bodied horses. This higher street
track was the only connecting link between the two systems,
both then being practically under the Garrett management, as
the "Baltimore and Potomac Railroad" had only just been
completed and the "Pennsylvania Railroad" had not yet shown
its strong hand. A few months later, however, its power began
to be felt, when, having secured control of the "long bridge"
and the short line of railroad to Alexandria, all amicable relations
ceased between the two systems, causing thereafter
through cars of the Baltimore and Ohio Company to be detoured
around Washington to the river-front, Quontico, thence
by large transfer-boats to Alexandria to make the southern
connection—a condition I found existing when returning home
for Christmas vacation. In September, however, the track on
the elevated street fronting the "Baltimore and Ohio Depot"
soon took an almost right-angle course westward, along a street
apparently paralleling Pennsylvania Avenue, and over this
route our six cars, in two sections, were drawn slowly by horses
to a point half across the city, where coming to a halt of several
minutes, an engine was attached for more rapid and permanent
progress.

The White House from its southern exposure soon came
in view along with its beautiful landscape and floral grounds,
truly a handsome mansion of English Renaissance style, with
an imposing semicircular projecting bay, nestled at the summit
of a slight incline. To me it had existed only in picture, as
had the Capitol and the rest of Washington, but even this
had impressed so indelibly the true outlines as to defy mistaking
the veritable object. As we moved slowly to its several
angles of advantage I could but recall, that of all the homes of
various countries' rulers this one had sheltered possibly those
having most discordant opinions, and that only a few of these
had enjoyed there peaceful days unalloyed. Its corner-stone
had been laid by General Washington and it had been occupied
first in 1800 by President John Adams, who the following
year, March 4th, was succeeded by his bitter partisan adversary,
Thomas Jefferson, and thereafter by a list of intermittent party
presidents. General Grant was now its host, and again was
before the country for re-election in the coming November.
With repressed speed we curved upon the "long bridge" (Potomac),
about a mile long and of requisite width to accommodate
a single railroad track and separate ways for teams and
pedestrians. Its open construction readily afforded unobstructed
views of the river in various directions, but that to my
right claimed first and last an unconquerable fascination. We
had left Washington slightly behind time, the schedule being
7.15 o'ck, and now it was an hour later. A more perfect autumn
day never dawned, as the bright morning sunlight cast
its golden rays strongly upon the river's southern bank, which
in places gradually lifted itself from the water's edge, seemingly
in the north to rise in more abrupt cliffs and still higher
rolling elevations in the distant background. But far to the
front towered in bold relief what appeared almost a living,
speaking sentinel—Arlington—in fawn-like colors, adorned by
majestic columns in white, once the home of the great Confederate
chieftain, Lee, now the resting place of the brave Federal
dead. As the brilliant rays played upon the many windows,

as likewise upon that silvery sheet of placid water, and
as an occasional passing cloud cast irregular shadows upon the
surrounding hills and dales clothed in verdant garb, Arlington
revealed itself that morning an actual temple of gold. Indeed,
one could have exclaimed justly: Is this nature I see or a canvas
highly tinted? But "will of the wisp-like" the scene soon faded
in the distance to be followed in quick succession by others having
at least an interest in common if not in degree. Contrast
convinced me that the one so inspiring was not a dream creation—it
was real and ever lives in sweet memory. This to me
became a true retrospective moment, indeed, the initiative to
an endless sequence of historic thought and Civil War reminiscences
from which I was inseparable the entire day.

The keen relish for this journey was occasioned by no trivial
or passing fancy, for it had a beginning quite a score of years
before, when as a mere child I not only saw hundreds of Union
soldiers mobilized and mustered into service for what in many
instances proved their deadly march to Richmond, but also
heard read and thoroughly discussed at and from home the numerous
startling newspaper accounts of each and every encounter
between the contending armies. Even at that youthful age
opportunity was never lost in conversing with soldiers home
from the front on furlough or leave due to physical disability
and I had frequently been thrilled near unto paroxysms by the
pathetic and startling experiences of those engaged at first
Manassas, Antietam, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, and on the
Merrimac. Indeed, our teacher's announcement one morning
of an additional study—History of the United States—to be
assumed in the near future met with trite opposition from me,
for no one could have accepted the increased duty with greater
satisfaction, nay delight. In the home I had often glanced
over Lossing's History of the Revolution, and Brook's Narrative
of the War with Mexico, while there had appeared already
several well-illustrated works on the Civil War—the
last then being "The War Between the States," by Stephens—
which I had carefully read and partly remembered. Was it
at all surprising, therefore, that I could scarcely make myself
realize the dawning of that auspicious day when for the first
time I was to enter Virginia's historic domain, and that along
the very route used a few years before by Generals McDowell

and Pope in leading their unsuccessful but restless forces,
enthused by the war-cry, "On to Richmond?"

It was true that seven years had passed since the Appomattox
surrender, but these were as one long drawn out—pregnant
with horrible reconstruction scenes and political agitations.
In substance the war was still on; bitter partisan feelings
had not subsided in the least; internecine strife yet prevailed
to an alarming extent in some of the States; uniforms,
especially overcoats, were still in daily winter use by the heroes
who had worn them in active service; conversation fell largely
along the lines of warfare, while our National legislation
seemed daft upon a reconstructive policy more calculated to
keep open than heal the wounds already inflicted. Every one
was thoroughly conversant with, in fact thought he knew the
most truthful account of, many war incidents, and enthusiastically
discussed them, while personal experiences, risks, exploits,
sufferings and sensations received first consideration. Then
scarcely to a minor degree the greatness of preferred leaders in
peace and war gave rise to much contention, and their conduct
on various fields, on the rostrum, in State and National councils
caused many expressions of approval and disapproval according
to individual sentiment and admiration. "The War"
seemed the latest and most absorbing topic, consequently all
things else faded into insignificance as to impression and magnitude;
surely the bitter struggle was not ended, for every
American continued fighting as in the yesterday; certainly
slavery had been abolished but not settled, for nothing is settled
until settled right, and therein centered "the bone of
contention," just where at the present day it continues to rest.

Our train to me was one of strangers, and the necessary
refrain seemed beyond endurance. Frequent travel over homeland
roads had made me friendly with conductors and brakemen,
whom I invariably found courteous and communicative,
and of all times I now felt their need most. The idea of railroading
in some form as a future pursuit had more than once
suggested itself to me, as it often does to others somewhere in
life's early stage—the result no doubt of a fancied conception
in youth that one should follow whatever is most accessible
and inviting, without duly allowing for puerile imagination and
inexperience. At any rate my opportunities had been such as to

efface all timidity in approaching those in charge of trains, and
the brakeman assigned to our two cars had a good face and appeared
kindly disposed. Until we cleared the "long bridge"
he was a very busy body, for in those days, when compressed
air was a rare service, brakemen were true to the name, as at
every proper signal they had to jump to the wheel for a severe
test of strength and judgment. In a short time, however, he
loitered in the rear of the car, near my seat, when I inquired:
"How long have you been running this route?" He replied,
"About three years." "Then you are familiar with the points
of interest!" To which he answered—"I ought to be." The
formality over, I continued a fusilade of questions, which he
answered promptly, pleasantly and satisfactorily. He was
strong in patience, and more generous with time and knowledge
than I had reason to expect, for he dare neglect his many duties.
The distance to Alexandria, although only eight miles, appeared
that morning far greater, as I had taken in so many
new and unusual sights, and as we had lost nearly half an hour
waiting a train at a junction near the canal several miles north
of the city.

As we pulled into Alexandria I was impressed forcibly with
the many crude frame hovels lining either side of the track—
seemingly a district of squalid poverty—whose open doorways
and steps were filled with colored women and children, sparsely
clothed but laughing and vieing with each other in giddy delight
over the approach of our well-laden train. The majority
of buildings appeared extremely plain, many, both brick and
wood, regaled in fresh or faded whitewash, evidence at least of
cleanliness and neatness, while a few of modern design loomed
up at commanding points, apparently not exceeding four or
five stories. The depot was a composite structure, brick and
frame portions, one and two stories with a train shed in front
(westward) extending over several tracks and the length of
three or four cars. The roofs were pointed and the entire
building wore a coat of either grayish-blue paint, calcimine or
whitewash, according to its various sections; the main portion,
brick, contained waiting rooms for men and women,
divided by ticket and telegraph offices. On the same side
(east) and a little southward stood a moderate-sized roundhouse,
where the engines of the road were housed and given

necessary attention. For these natural conditions I thought none
the less of Alexandria, as I had never seen a railroad pass
through a desirable section of any city—such that would
leave a favorable impression upon the passer-by.

The friendly brakeman in going out with some paraphernalia
remarked—"The train has a new make-up here and for
that ten minutes are required." As we came to a standstill I
jumped off my car and walked over to the depot, for a better
view of the crowd and surroundings, and while there saw our
engine steam away and replaced by another, which stood
belching forth, in hatefully loud accents, steam and smoke,
as it was being oiled and looked over finally by its master.
It seemed so self-conscious and solicitous of notice that I gave
it more than passing glance—sufficient to observe that it was
built at Paterson, New Jersey, a wood consumer, with large
flaring smoke-stack, high and heavy fly-wheels, and the general
appearance of newness, thereby assuring speed, strength
and durability. During the wait each car wheel went through
a process of tapping or sounding; ice and water were supplied
the coolers; considerable baggage was taken on, and a number
of passengers joined us, among them several well-dressed
young men whom I reckoned students having possibly a destination
in common with myself. Shortly after 9 o'ck, our
train was again in motion, and still I seemed a "stranger in a
strange land"—the more unfortunate from me recognizing
that here was the true beginning of the "Orange and Alexandria
Railroad," and that the next four hours could speak
much of history if I only had an intelligent interpreter to associate
narratives with places of enactment. The new conductor
in a short time came around, and tore from my ticket a coupon
giving in lieu thereof a small piece of yellow cardboard having
printed on one side the names and distances of stations, and
on the other a small advertisement with directions to this
effect: Washington City, Virginia Midland and Great Southern
R. R.—put this on your hat and avoid the frequent call
of "Ticket Sir!" In addition it bore a picture of a silk hat
and a sentence limiting stop-over privileges, signed by J. F.
Peyton, Conductor. The new brakeman to our car appeared
in a few minutes, and looked at the smoldering fire, ventilators
and such incidentals coming under his care. He wore the air

of experience and possessed a face of equal kindness to the
one met and parted with the hour before, so I determined
to address him at first convenience. Fortunately not long
thereafter he took a seat in the rear of the car near me, and at
once I passed him my Baltimore paper, The Sun, which he
accepted with thanks. In a short while I inquired the length
of his service on the road, if he were a Virginian, where he
lived, etc., only to receive acceptable answers and an inclination
to prolong the conversation. He related some personal
experiences at second Manassas and other turbulent fields
towards which we were hastening; his father Henry Knox,
whose name he bore, had been killed at Chancellorsville the
afternoon before "Stonewall" Jackson received his fatal
wound; an older brother had experienced the fortunes—misfortunes—of
the Army of Northern Virginia from beginning
to finish, while he himself had joined the ranks (Longstreet's
Division) in early August, 1863, as it returned to Culpeper
from the battle of Gettysburg, and remained therein until the
Appomattox surrender. He had lived on a farm near Warrenton
prior to the war and enlistment, and told his story with
such rural simplicity and earnestness as to cause no doubt of
its truthfulness, while his two visible scars—one on the forehead,
another on the left hand—needed no verification by
words. He was pleased with my interest and the seeming
familiarity with which I handled dates, contests and personalities
of the war period, the more so from my residence having
been outside of the belligerent district, but his surprise
abated somewhat when I revealed my objective point, and
that I had so been absorbed in war records as to have written
after puerile fashion quite a history. Henceforth we were very
loquacious, and for the rest of the journey I never lost his companionship
and explanations save when duties compelled his
absence. He had been on the road five years, making three
round-trips per week from Alexandria to Lynchburg, and
knew well every historic acre through which it ran, impressing
the fact that it played a most significant part in bellum days;
while I had so often seen in print the words "Orange and
Alexandria," as it connected the two places eighty miles apart,
that I fancied it the greatest southern outlet, deserving comparison
with the magnificent trunk lines of our country. But

University—Hospital, Rear View

(Erected 1900-05-08)

how did I find it on that memorable day? As much time was
spent at the rear car window and in standing on the platform,
catching every opportunity offered for inspection, and being
better acquainted with the Pennsylvania system than any other,
a comparison with it became natural but strikingly sad. Here
grass often occurred between the tracks almost to their concealment,
and at times we ran so slow as to reveal portions of
track badly worn—from my viewpoint absolutely unsafe. My
companion affirmed that much of the road-bed was still in its
war-time form—the same light iron rails, ties and bridges
serving yet wherever thought possible, the only replacement
occurring in places of total destruction by the armies or age—
and in spite of that the controlling powers manifested confidence
in its secureness and safety. Curves were almost innumerable,
seldom a mile without one or more, which in rounding,
owing to imperfect curvature and joints, produced a
screeching, binding noise—a chattering song positively alarming
to the quietly disposed or nervous passenger. I could not
but exclaim: What a road! And yet I then realized as never
before that no other had ever experienced commensurate
vicissitudes—carrying as it did burdens heavy and light alike
for the one or other army according to that in control, serving
simultaneously often the Confederates with its southern
portion, the Federals with its more northern, suffering at times
partial destruction from either forces in the effort to render
abortive the emergent or matured plans of the advancing or
retreating foe. Time and again various sections had been
torn up for miles, ties burned and rails diverted to other uses;
important bridges had frequently been destroyed only to occasion
excessive expense and delay, and yet that was the expected
fate of war—a bridge was praised for the safe passage
of its present load, and there all gratitude ceased—it could
not serve another. We had now covered about twenty miles
and were nearing Fairfax Station, several miles south of the
Court House bearing that name, around which considerable
skirmishing took place in the advance on Bull Run. The next
four miles brought us to Clifton (Union Mills), and as my
informant made ready for the stop he remarked: The stream
just beyond this station is the famous Bull Run. The country
now entered was of irregular surface with many hills, dales
and streams of varying size; the soil exposed was brownish-red
sand and clay permeated with rocks and stones of all
dimensions, and woods were plentiful, consisting of many
kinds of trees, saplings and undergrowth, bearing autumnal
foliage. The railroad spanning Bull Run had been destroyed
by General Beauregard at first Manassas, in order to prevent
an advantage to General McDowell in case of Southern
defeat, and also met a similar fate at the hands of General
Jackson in his raid around General Pope, thereby severing the
latter's communication with Washington and rendering Confederate
success more certain at second Manassas. As we came
upon the bridge I felt somewhat apprehensive, but it proved
secure and afforded a fine view of the stream below having a
good volume of reddish-yellow water noisily hurrying its way
to the Potomac. Its banks were fringed with timber, more or
less rocky, especially the northern, giving often an unbroken
range southward. The distance from this stream to Manassas
Junction, four miles, was covered at creditable speed, but
in spite of that the remaining trenches and mounded works
could easily be seen—those having timely sheltered so many
brave and loyal hearts. These with their many grass-covered
portions, were of irregular outline and showed marked signs
of denudation by natural elements and the husbandman's
hand, as fields, near and far, gave evidence of a moderate
spirit of industry at the then seeding season. The railroad
coursed through numerous deep and shallow cuts of characteristic
reddish-brown soil, but in the clear was revealed gently
sloping hills and plateaux, furrowed by ravines of varying
length and direction, and studded with clumps of undergrowth
—chiefly pine and oak. Assured that the stop at Manassas
would be several minutes, I alighted and walked the station
platform in order to secure various view-points of surroundings,
which in a degree were disappointing from revealing
simply well-defined country on every side. The village, of
not more than five or six hundred, lay mostly to right (west),
a number of frame dwellings of modest design and size, also
a few stores being visible. To the southward on the same side
could be seen a well-filled cemetery of Confederate dead, and
around in close proximity to our train many colored women
and children grouped themselves. There was a generous
sprinkling of white adults, a few without arm or leg, various
crude vehicles, some with a single or pair of steers, or a carelessly
groomed horse, while a number of those with saddles
stood hitched in the background intently grazing upon the
sprigs of grass in the fence-locks and on the roadside. I could
but be impressed with the serenity and stillness of the spot,
and made to lament the aching hearts its name revived at
many firesides—for within a radius of three miles thousands
of patriotic souls had sacrificed an earthly existence in defending
conceived rights or wrongs. It was here that on July 21,
1861, General McDowell (Sherman, Burnside, etc.) on the
one side, and General Beauregard (Ewell, Longstreet, Early,
Johnston, Jackson, etc.) on the other began the dreadful conflict
that lasted four weary years; that Mr. Davis and Generals
Beauregard and Johnston had their memorable conference
which checked the then foremost southern ambition of
following up Confederate success by "On to Washington;"
that a year later, August 29-30, 1862, General Pope (McDowell,
Hooker, Siegel, Porter, Banks, Kearney, etc.) met a foe
worthy of his steel in General Lee (Jackson, Longstreet, Hill,
Stuart, etc.); that owing to railroad connections, the convergence
of several common roads, and emergency conditions,
either one or the other army at various times located the quartermaster's
commissary and ordnance stores; and that General
Jackson fell upon such a desirable prize belonging to General
Pope, thereby well resuscitating his hungry and poorly clothed
soldiers. Those were truly days of carnage, strife, unrest, and
for the moment I could not refrain from drawing the contrast
between peace and war—now a reign of perfect silence, and
only a few visible reminders of the not remote stormy past. In
revery I boarded my train, and as we slowly sped along viewed
intently the cemetry and a single track road branching westward,
at right angles from our own—that which the brakeman
affirmed to be the Manassas Gap Division, running to Fort
Royal in the Shenandoah Valley, first through the Thoroughfare
Gap of the Bull Run Mountains, then the Manassas Gap
of the Blue Ridge, both of whose outlines could readily be
seen in the near and distant background. It was over thirty-four
miles of this road, Piedmont to Manassas Junction, that
General Johnston, July 20, 1861, conveyed his army of nine
thousand men to join General Beauregard, thereby making
possible a Confederate victory of first Manassas. This same
Thoroughfare Gap was used by General Jackson (Longstreet,
Hood, etc.) in his raid around General Pope that culminated in
success at second Manassas; also by the opposing forces under
General McClellan, November 5, 1862; and finally by General
Longstreet in his advance and retreat from Gettysburg, thus
causing its high and precipitous sides to reverberate often the
fearful din and clatter of moving artillery and infantry en
route to havoc and destruction. Four miles brought us to
Bristoe (Bristow), even less pretentious than Manassas, and
sufficiently removed to be used with safety at both battles for
field hospitals. Here General Jackson, August 26, 1862, ran
upon a portion of General Pope's supplies, capturing two
heavily laden trains, while on the following day General
Hooker's division engaged General Ewell's division of General
Jackson's corps, to the latter's detriment, during which the
railroad to the south (west) of the station was torn up in several
places and many important bridges burned, only to be repaired
in a few days later by General Banks, so that the portion
of store-trains to the south, saved from General Jackson's
raid, could be sent northward towards Manassas. Here also
General Hill's corps, October 14, 1863, engaged General Warren,
while later in the same month General Lee, in pursuing
General Meade towards Manassas, again destroyed the railroad,
but retreating, General Meade pressed him closely making
necessary restoration.

Several miles more brought us to Catlett's, an insignificant
station, but around which the contending armies often marched
and countermarched. Here General Lee, returning from
Gettysburg, encamped one of his divisions for a while, thence
moved to Culpeper, tearing up the railroad the entire distance.
Three miles and we were at Warrenton Junction (Calverton),
a small station nine miles east of Warrenton, where the Army
of the Potomac, under Generals Summer, Hooker, Franklin,
etc., encamped in the autumn of 1862. Here General Grant,
April, 1864, came near being taken prisoner by Colonel Mosby.
The General during that spring made weekly trips to Washington
from Culpeper, his headquarters, using special trains,
and it was on one of these return trips that the special and

Colonel Mosby happened at this point a few moments apart.
The regular train had passed and as everything around the
station seemed deathly quiet, the Colonel and his command
made only a short pause, crossed the track and pushed slowly
westward, only when a mile distant, and in perfect view, to
hear and see the special arrive, stop, and hurriedly depart.
As a fact upon learning of the Colonel's proximity the General
hastened his escape, thereby preventing the capture of valuable
booty. It was at this point that General Pope ordered
General Porter, though nine miles away, to join him on the
night of August 27, 1862, when his tardiness in obeying as
well as his indifference at second Manassas led to him being
court-martialed and cashiered.

Six and ten miles brought us respectively to Bealeton and
Rappahannock (Remington), both simple railroad stations
of a few scattered houses and stores, but thoroughly rich in
war associations—the former a seat of battle, January 14,
1864, the latter an encampment of General Pope and his numerous
forces, August, 1862. Just beyond Rappahannock
we crossed at considerable elevation a good-sized yellowish-brown
stream, Rappahannock River, flowing southeasterly
and joined later by the Rapidan River, before entering the
James. It was along the south (west) side of the Rappahannock
River, during the summer of 1862, before and after the
battle of Antietam, that General Lee encamped his two corps
under Generals Longstreet and Jackson, whence they marched
to engage in the battle of Fredericksburg; while it was to the
north (east) side of the same stream that General McClellan
advanced after his famous Antietam experience. The contending
armies also accepted these banks for winter-quarters,
January-March, 1863, gladly considering the location a veritable
haven from the overtaxing duties of the year. To
thousands of those heroes deserving rest the ripple of that
stream seemed sweet music, and although its waters had mingled
with the blood of their many comrades, it now served
simply as a narrow amicable dividing line. It was the Army
of the Potomac (Generals Burnside, Hooker, etc.) on the
north bank, and the Army of Northern Virginia (Generals
Lee, Jackson, etc.) on the south bank, that during those severe
months, lion and lamb like, determined to lie down together.

Indeed, by a welcomed comity no firing was countenanced
on either side, and any one could parade the shores out of
harm's way—opposing pickets enjoyed frequent communication,
gladly hailing all opportunities for friendly exchange of
thoughts and commodities, the Confederates sending across
little rafts ladened with tobacco, the Federals returning them
filled with coffee, salt, etc.

Our next station, Brandy, was five miles southward and a
stop of two minutes revealed a few commonplace houses,
having in the background a rich fertile soil apparently well-cultivated.
Here General Lee, June 8, 1863, reviewed Stuart's
brigade; W. H. F. Lee received a severe wound; General
Stuart had a severe cavalry encounter with General Pleasonton,
proving the excellent mettle of the contending forces;
General Ewell encamped, June 10, 1863; General Sedgwick
sought as an objective point to engage General Lee, October,
1863, only to find him in an entirely different location than
supposed; and General Meade had headquarters, November,
1863, until General Grant's visit, March 10, 1864.

Our next stop, six miles distant, was Culpeper, where several
minutes were spent on the sidewalk which paralleled and
separated the track and store fronts. Besides the eager multitude
of all classes standing around to witness the day's great
event—coming of the Washington train—there appeared in
greater evidence that which hitherto I had never encountered—
the famed colored venders of tempting eatables, as fried
chicken, hard-boiled eggs, sandwiches, cakes and apples. These
men and maidens paraded the sidewalk several times the entire
length of our coaches, supporting on their heads and in their
arms well-proportioned platters heavily ladened with these
tastefully arranged viands, whose qualities they loudly sang.
The appearance, odor and advertising expressions appealed
to many, myself included, purchasing several yellowish-green
apples, which I found as represented—much better than they
looked—succulent, firm and fine grained, bearing the name
"Albemarle Pippin," a variety I had never seen, but by the
brakeman claimed to have no superior in the South. Culpeper
was several times a disputed possession of the contending
armies, being the scene of cavalry engagements, September
13, October 12-13, 1863; where General Lee entrenched after

the battles of Antietam (September, 1862) and Gettysburg
(July, 1863), from which latter field the Army of the Potomac
under General Meade, followed and encamped for the winter;
where General Grant set out from on his Wilderness campaign,
and where to the left lay hundreds of Federal dead in
a well-kept National Cemetery.

The run to Rapidan (Rapid Ann) was twelve miles and
only one stop had to be made at Mitchell, the midway point.
The country through which we glided compared favorably
with that just left behind, of which it was a continuation, and
while all directions were inviting from an agricultural standpoint,
the trainman suggested that I direct most attention to
the left (east and southeast), for said he: We are passing
now through the southern portion of Culpeper County and
shortly will enter Orange, but these counties are bounded on
the east by one of even greater celebrity, Spotsylvania, in
which Fredericksburg is located some thirty miles away.
There General Burnside (Hooker, Franklin, Sumner, etc.) to
his great mortification and sacrifice of reputation engaged General
Lee (Jackson, Longstreet, etc.), December 13, 1862, while
ten miles nearer is Chancellorsville, where General Hooker
(Meade, Hancock, Sickles, Sedgwick, Howard, Reynolds,
Couch, Miles, Slocum, etc.) encountered General Lee (Jackson,
Hill, Longstreet, Ewell, Stuart, McLaws, etc.) May 2-3,
1863, fighting that ever memorable battle during which the
invincible "Stonewall" Jackson lost his life, as did my poor
father. Then still five miles nearer but in the same direction
and county is the historic "Wilderness," where the Army of
the Potomac, General Grant (Meade, Hancock, Warren, Sedgwick,
Burnside, etc.) met in deadly combat the Army of
Northern Virginia, General Lee (Longstreet, Ewell, Hill,
Early, Rhodes, etc.) May 5-6, 1864, while one week later, May
12, these armies again tried strength at the county-seat giving
to the world the battle of Spotsylvania (Court House). When
leaving Mitchell, a modest station, the trainman called my attention
to a small mountain in the near distance on our right,
Cedar Mountain, around whose eastern base and over the few
intervening miles was fought, August 9, 1862, that short but
conspicuous battle of the same name between Generals Jackson
and Pope.

As we passed in rapid succession hill, dale, woodland and
stream, often repeated in and out of the order, I could almost
fancy myself going to the front, for the war seemed no longer
of the past but a real present active conflict. Mental emotion
became more and more acute from the interesting portrayal
of busy scenes and daring deeds performed at every step of our
advance in more turbulent days, but in this moment of reverie
my guide, for that he was, exclaimed: We now are crossing
the Rapidan (River). A glance revealed the railroad bridge
considerably elevated above the rapidly flowing stream, which
appeared fully a hundred feet wide and to contain a good
volume of yellowish-red water. The outlook was unobstructed,
the banks gradually inclined at points while at others
became rolling and precipitous; the flow was eastward and
ultimately joined the Rappahannock some ten miles this side
of Fredericksburg. Near the railroad bridge the Army of the
Potomac, General Meade, encamped, September 1863, taking
absolute control of the stream for miles, but early in the following
spring it retired to the north bank, when the Army of
Northern Virginia, General Lee (Ewell, etc.) advanced to
occupy the south bank. We soon reached Rapidan station,
not unlike many stopping places encountered that day, being
extremely simple and small, but rich in wartime experiences.
To this point General Lee returned after the battle of Gettysburg,
July 1863, General Meade remaining at Culpeper, and
the opposing cavalry had active engagements here, September
14, October 10, while to the left, at Martin's Ford, the two
forces came to bitter conflict. We now had only six miles to
Orange (Court House) through a succession of well-cultivated
farms of irregular undulating surface with visible running
streams. I accepted the few minutes' stop in walking the
length of the platform seeking various viewpoints of the quaint
town, in appearance of good size and not unlike Culpeper in
general activity about the station, as here was also to be encountered
a variety of quiet onlookers and more active venders
proclaiming loudly the quality and prices of tempting
edibles. One fancied he could see at every turn traces of the
war, since intervening time had apparently brought no recovery
from drains then made—for she as conspicuously as any
other point had kept life, to her own depletion, in the contending

University—Chemical Laboratory

(Erected 1868-69)

University—Mechanical Laboratory

(Erected 1896-98)

FACING 190

armies. It was the county-seat of a rich agricultural district,
and the few modern buildings presented happy contrast
with the prevailing plain and uniform structures. General
Lee, spring of 1864, had headquarters about two miles northeast
of the town, and various divisions of his army had often
stacked arms temporarily in the Main Street seeking needed
rest.

The distance to Gordonsville was nine miles with one stop
about midway, Madison, named after the President and not
far from his former home, Montpelier. Upon leaving
Orange we at once passed on our right the base of the largest
hill so far encountered, but these now continued to grow in
frequency and size until the end of our journey. The land
no longer seemed so well adapted for best agricultural results,
nor was it so highly cultivated and treated as around Culpeper,
Rapidan and Orange—farmers being less careful of outbuildings,
dividing fences, ravine banks, and homes, which were of
less expensive style and type. Gordonsville itself apparently
possessed nothing to attract a stranger, as only a good-sized
whitewashed hotel paralleled the tracks and a platform beyond
ordinary dimensions accommodated traffic. While a few
stores and numerous small whitewashed houses indicated the
town, yet it did possess more than ordinary significance as
the point of intersection of our railroad (Orange and Alexandria)
with the Central (Chesapeake and Ohio). For years
the former road only extended to Orange, but a connecting
link of nine miles was built, in order to use conjointly, by
traffic arrangements, the Central's track for the next twenty-one
miles—Gordonsville to Charlottesville—whence its own
trunk line continued southward to Lynchburg. Thus a junction
of two important railroads Gordonsville was protected
amply during the war as it was of great strategic value to the
Army of Northern Virginia. Various divisions were passing
and repassing almost continuously; General Lee spent there
August, 1862, and later accepted headquarters for the winter,
while General Longstreet followed the example during the
winter and spring of 1864; General Jackson was not an infrequent
visitor, and indeed a considerable battle was fought
nearby, December 28, 1864. Apart from its former activity
it seemed yet a busy place, for within the hour of our arrival

four trains, when on schedule time reached that point causing
many persons to loiter around the station. Among these
not a few were young students shaking hands with one
another, filled with kindly expressions over renewed association.
With some the meeting evidently was by accident, with
others by arrangement, presenting altogether a veritable lovefeast—a
happy exchange of radiant smiles and fraternity
grips. Who they were and whither bound found ready
answer in casually observing the frank and audible conversation
in no wise intended for themselves alone. The Richmond
train, bearing its contingent of old and new University
students, had arrived a few minutes before our Washington
train, causing that youthful multitude to be grouped together
here and there on the platform awaiting those we brought
along—so it was the reunion of familiar forms and faces from
various sections of Virginia that occasioned the excessive
hilarity with its outside notice. It was then for the first time
that I sadly realized what it was to be a freshman—unknown
in an unknown land—barred, as I then erroneously thought, by
a code of college ethics from making advances to upper classmen.
Above all merriment and sober reflection, however,
came the ever distracting element of humanity—the noisy and
by this time less tolerant food venders—even more numerous
and active than at previous places, owing to the lateness of the
hour, after midday, and the first stop on the Central that furnished
supplies to the weary and hungry traveler, that which
made the demand and consumption somewhat phenomenal. A
piece of fried chicken and bread in one hand, an egg and salt
in the other, with more or less greasy mouth and fingers,
seemed the rule rather than exception. My Albemarle pippins
were of the past, and that ever ready organ, stomach, for that
it was in those days, carried a craving for all visible goodies,
so, following the prevailing fashion, I invested in the Virginia
fowl. As I now revert to that occasion and investment it
brings a certain sense of delight—the satisfaction of having
filled the aching void with the true non-flying bird. Yes, no
one need wish for better than that prepared in that day and
place by the elder generation of faithful colored cooks.