University of Virginia Library

III.
MOSBY'S RAID INTO FAIRFAX.

1. I.

Among the daring partisans of the war, few have rendered such
valuable services to the cause as Captain John S. Mosby.

His exploits would furnish material for a volume which would
resemble rather a romance than a true statement of actual occurrences.
He has been the chief actor in so many raids, encounters,
and adventures, that his memoirs, if he committed them to
paper, would be regarded as the efforts of fancy. Fortunately,
there is very little fancy about “official reports,” which deal with
naked facts and figures, and those reports of these occurrences
are on record.

It is only necessary to glance at the Captain to understand
that he was cut out for a partisan leader. His figure is slight,
muscular, supple, and vigorous; his eye is keen, penetrating,
ever on the alert; he wears his sabre and pistol with the air of
a man who sleeps with them buckled around his waist; and
handles them habitually, almost unconsciously. The Captain is
a determined man in a charge, dangerous on a scout, hard to
outwit, and prone to “turn up” suddenly where he is least
expected, and bang away with pistol and carbine.

His knowledge of the enemy's character is extensive and profound;
his devices to deceive them are rarely unsuccessful.
Take in proof of this a trifling occurrence some time since, in the
neighbourhood of Warrenton. The enemy's cavalry, in strong
force, occupied a position in front of the command which Captain

Mosby accompanied. Neither side had advanced, and, in the
lull which took place, the Captain performed the following
amusing little comedy: taking eight or ten men, he deployed
them as skirmishers in front of an entire brigade of the enemy,
and at a given signal from him, they advanced steadily, firing
their carbines as they did so, without further intermission than
the time necessarily spent in reloading. This manæuvre was
executed with such spirit and apparent design to attack in force
that the enemy were completely taken in. As the sharpshooters
advanced, led on gallantly by the Captain, who galloped about
cheering his imaginary squadrons, the enemy were seized with a
sudden panic, wavered, and gave way, thus presenting the comic
spectacle of an entire brigade retiring before a party of eight or
ten sharpshooters.

This is only one of a thousand affairs in which Captain Mosby
has figured, proving himself possessed of the genius of a true
partisan. If I could here relate these adventurous occurrences,
the reader would soon comprehend how steady the Captain's
nerve is, how ready his resources in an emergency, and how
daring his conception and execution. For the present, I must
content myself with one recent adventure, prefacing it with a
statement which will probably throw some light upon the
motives of the chief actor, and the feelings which impelled him
to undertake the expedition.

In the summer of 1862, Captain Mosby was sent from Hanover
Court-House on a mission to General Jackson, who was then
on the Upper Rapidan. He was the bearer of an oral communication,
and as the route was dangerous, had no papers about him
except a brief note to serve as a voucher for his identity and
reliability. With this note, the Captain proceeded on his journey,
and stopping at Beaver Dam Station on the Virginia Cenral
Railroad, to rest and feed his horse, was, while quietly sitting
on the platform at the depot, surprised and bagged by a detachment
of the enemy's cavalry.

Now, to be caught thus napping, in an unguarded moment, was
gall and wormwood to the brave Captain. He had deceived and
outwitted the enemy so often, and had escaped from their clutches

so regularly up to that time, that to find himself surprised thus
filled him with internal rage. From that moment his sentiments
toward them increased in intensity. They had been all along
decidedly unfriendly—they were now bitter. They took him
away with them, searched him, appropriated his credentials, published
them as an item of interest in the Northern papers, and
immured the partisan in the Old Capitol.

In due course of time he was exchanged. He returned with a
handsome new satchel and increased affection for his friends
across the way. He laughed at his misfortunes, but set down
the account to the credit of the enemy, to be settled at a more
convenient opportunity.

Since that time the Captain has been regularly engaged in
squaring his account. He has gone to work with a thorough air
of business. Under an energy and perseverance so systematic
and undeviating the account has been gradually reduced, item
by item.

On the night of Sunday, the eighth of March, 1863, it may
fairly be considered that the account was discharged. To come
to the narrative of the event alluded to, and which it is the
design of this paper to describe:

Previous to the eighth of March Captain Mosby had put
himself to much trouble to discover the strength and positions of
the enemy in Fairfax county, with the design of making a raid
in that direction, if circumstances permitted. The information
brought to him was as follows: On the Little River turnpike at
Germantown, a mile or two distant from Fairfax, were three
regiments of the enemy's cavalry, commanded by Colonel
Wyndham, Acting Brigadier-General, with his headquarters at
the Court-House. Within a few hundred yards of the town
were two infantry regiments. In the vicinity of Fairfax Station,
about two miles off, an infantry brigade was encamped. And
at Centreville there was another infantry brigade, with cavalry
and artillery.

Thus the way to Fairfax Court-House, the point which the
Captain desired to reach, seemed completely blocked up with
troops of all arms—infantry, artillery, and cavalry. If he

attempted to approach by the Little River turnpike, Colonel
Wyndham's troopers would meet him full in front. If he tried
the route by the Warrenton turnpike, a brigade of infantry,
with cavalry to pursue and artillery to thunder at him, was first
to be defeated. If he glided in along the railroad, the brigade at
Fairfax Station was in his track.

The “situation” would have appeared desperate to almost any
one, however adventurous, but danger and adventure had attractions
for Captain Mosby. If the peril was great and the probability
of success slender, all the greater would be the glory if
he succeeded. And the temptation was great. At Fairfax
Court-House, the general headquarters of that portion of the
army, Brigadier-General Stoughton and other officers of high
rank were then known to be, and if these could be captured,
great would be his triumph.

In spite of the enormous obstacles which presented themselves
in his path, Captain Mosby determined to undertake no less an
enterprise than entering the town, seizing the officers in their
beds, destroying the huge quantities of public stores, and bearing
off his prisoners in triumph.

2. II.

The night of Sunday, March 8th, was chosen as favorable to
the expedition. The weather was terrible—the night as dark as
pitch—and it was raining steadily. With a detachment of
twenty-nine men Captain Mosby set out on his raid.

He made his approach from the direction of Aldie. Proceeding
down the Little River turnpike, the main route from the
Court-House to the mountains, he reached a point within about
three miles of Chantilly. Here, turning to the right, he crossed
the Frying Pan road about half-way between Centreville and the
turnpike, keeping in the woods, and leaving Centreville well to
the right. He was now advancing in the tringle which is made
by the Little River and Warrenton turnpikes and the Frying
Pan road. Those who are familiar with the country there will

easily understand the object of this proceeding. By thus cutting
through the triangle, Captain Mosby avoided all pickets, scouting
parties, and the enemy generally, who would only keep a look-out
for intruders on the main roads.

Advancing in this manner through the woods, pierced with
devious and uncertain paths only, which the dense darkness
scarcely enabled them to follow, the partisan and his little band
finally struck into the Warrenton road, between Centreville and
Fairfax, at a point about midway between the two places. One
dauger had thus been successfully avoided—a challenge from
parties of cavalry on the Little River road, or discovery by the
force posted at Centreville. That place was now in their rear—
they had “snaked” around it and its warders; but the perils of
the enterprise had scarcely commenced. Fairfax Court-House
was still about four miles distant, and it was girdled with cavalry
and infantry. Every approach was guarded, and the attempt to
enter the place seemed desperate, but the Captain determined to
essay it.

Advancing resolutely, he came within a mile and a half of the
place, when he found the way barred by a heavy force. Directly
in his path were the infantry camps of which he had been notified,
and all advance was checked in that direction. The Captain
did not waver in his purpose, however. Making a detour to the
right, and leaving the enemy's camp far to his left, he struck into
the road leading from Fairfax southward to the railroad.

This avenue was guarded like the rest, but by a picket only;
and the Captain knew thoroughly how to deal with these. Before
the sleepy and unsuspicious pickets were aware of their danger,
they found pistols presented at their heads, with the option
of surrender or death presented to them. They surrendered
immediately, were taken in charge, and without further ceremony
Captain Mosby and his band entered the town.

From that moment the utmost silence, energy, and rapidity of
action were requisite. The Captain had designed reaching the
Court-House at midnight, but had been delayed two hours by
mistaking his road in the pitch darkness. It was now two o'clock
in the morning; and an hour and a half, at the very utmost, was

left him to finish his business and escape before daylight. If
morning found him anywhere in that vicinity he knew that his
retreat would be cut off, and the whole party killed or captured
—and this would have spoiled the whole affair. He accordingly
made his dispositions rapidly, enjoined complete silence, and set
to work in earnest. The small band was divided into detachments,
with special duties assigned to each. Two or three of
these detachments were sent to the public stables which the fine
horses of the General and his staff officers occupied, with instructions
to carry them off without noise. Another party was sent to
Colonel Wyndham's headquarters to take him prisoner. Another
to Colonel Johnson's, with similar orders.

Taking six men with him, Captain Mosby, who proceeded
upon sure information, went straight to the headquarters of
Brigadier-General Stoughton.

The Captain entered his chamber without much ceremony, and
found him asleep in bed.

Making his way toward the bed, in the dark, the partisan
shook him suddenly by the shoulder.

“What is that?” growled the General.

“Get up quick, I want you,” responded the Captain.

“Do you know who I am?” cried the Brigadier, sitting up in
bed, with a scowl. “I will have you arrested, sir!”

“Do you know who I am?” retorted the Captain, shortly.

“Who are you?”

“Did you ever hear of Mosby?”

“Yes! Tell me, have you caught the—rascal!”

“No, but he has caught you!”

And the Captain chuckled.

“What does all this mean, sir!” cried the furious officer.

“It means, sir,” the Captain replied, “that Stuart's cavalry are
in possession of this place, and you are my prisoner. Get up and
come along, or you are a dead man!”

Bitter as was this order, the General was compelled to obey,
and the partisan mounted him, and placed him under guard.
His staff and escort were captured without difficulty, but two of

the former, owing to the darkness and confusion, subsequently
made their escape.

Meanwhile the other detachments were at work. They entered
the stables, and led out fifty-eight very fine horses, with their
accoutrements, all belonging to officers, and took a number of
prisoners. Hundreds of horses were left, for fear of encumbering
the retreat.

The other parties were less successful. Colonel Wyndham had
gone down to Washington on the preceding day; but his A. A.
General and Aide-de-camp were made prisoners. Colonel Johnson
having received notice of the presence of the party, succeeded in
making his escape.

It was now about half-past three in the morning, and it behoved
Captain Mosby, unless he relished being killed or captured,
to effect his retreat. Time was barely left him to get out
of the lines of the enemy before daylight, and none was to be
lost.

He had intended to destroy the valuable quartermaster, commissary,
and sutler's stores in the place, but these were found to
be in the houses, which it would have been necessary to burn;
and even had the proceeding been advisable, time was wanting.
The band was encumbered by three times as many horses and
prisoners as it numbered men, and day was approaching. The
captain accordingly made his dispositions rapidly for retiring.

The prisoners, thirty-five in number, were as follows:

Brig.-Gen. E. H. Stoughton.

Baron R. Wordener, an Austrian, and Aide de-camp to Col.
Wyndham.

Capt. A. Barker, 5th New York Cavalry.

Col. Wyndham's A. A. General.

Thirty prisoners, chiefly of the 18th Pennsylvania and 1st
Ohio Cavalry, and the telegraph operator at the place.

These were placed upon the captured horses, and the band set
out in silence on their return.

Captain Mosby took the same road which had conducted him
into the Court-H use: that which led to Fairfax Station. But
this was only to deceive the enemy as to his line of retreat, if

they attempted pursuit. He soon turned off, and pursued the
same road which he had followed in advancing, coming out on
the Warrenton turnpike, about a mile and a half from the
town. This time, finding no guards on the main road, he continued
to follow the turnpike until he came to the belt of woods
which crosses the road about half a mile from Centreville. At
this point of the march, one of the prisoners, Captain Barker,
no doubt counting on aid from the garrison, made a desperate
effort to effect his escape. He broke from his guards, dashed
out of the ranks, and tried hard to reach the fort. He was
stopped, however, by a shot from one of the party, and returned
again, yielding himself a prisoner.

Again turning to the right, the Captain proceeded on his way,
passing directly beneath the frowning fortifications. He passed
so near them that he distinctly saw the bristling muzzles of the
cannon in the embrasures, and was challenged by the sentinel
on the redoubt. Making no reply he pushed on rapidly, for the
day was dawning, and no time was to be lost; passed within a
hundred yards of the infantry pickets without molestation, swam
Cub Run, and again came out on the Warrenton turnpike at
Groveton.

He had passed through all his enemies, flanked Centreville,
was on the open road to the South: he was safe!