University of Virginia Library

VII.
MOSBY.

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.

2. II.

The skill and boldness exhibited in the conception and execution
of this raid conferred upon Mosby just fame as a partisan
officer, and the regular organization of his command commenced.
He was made captain, then major, then lieutenant-colonel, and
colonel, as his force and his operations increased.

From the solitary scout, or humble partisan, operating with a
small squad, he had now grown to be an officer of rank and distinction,
entrusted with important duties, and eventually with
the guardianship of the whole extent of country north of the
Rappahannock and east of the Blue Ridge. The people of the
region speak of it, with a laugh, as “Mosby's Confederacy,” and
the name will probably adhere to it, in the popular mind, for
many years to come. Let us pass to these latter days when
“Colonel” Mosby gave the Federal forces so much trouble, and
aroused so much indignation in Custer, Sheridan, and others,
whose men he captured, and whose convoys he so frequently cut
off and destroyed. The question of most interest is—Was Colonel
Mosby a partisan officer, engaged in a perfectly legitimate warfare,
or was he a mere robber? The present writer regards any
imputations upon the character of this officer, or upon the nature
of the warfare which he carried on, as absurd. If the Confederate
States army generally was a mere unlawful combination, and
not entitled to be regarded as “belligerent,” the case is made
out; but there was no officer in that army who occupied a
more formally official position than Mosby, or whose operations
more perfectly conformed to the rules of civilized warfare. Virginia
was invaded by the Federal forces, and large portions of
her territory were occupied and laid under contribution. Especially
was the country north of the Rappahannock thus exposed.
It was a species of border-land which belonged to the party
which could hold it; and to protect it from the inroads of

the Federal forces, Mosby instituted a regular system of partisan
warfare. His headquarters were generally near Upperville,
just east of the ridge, and his scouts speedily brought him intelligence
of any advance of the Federal cavalry. As soon as he was
informed of their approach, he went to meet them, hovered near
them, took his moment, and attacked them, his superior skill
and knowledge of the country almost uniformly routing the force
opposed to him. Another important part of his duty was to cut
off and capture or destroy the trains of his adversaries. These
things were exceedingly annoying, and made the Federal commanders
whose movements were thus crippled quite furious
against the author of their embarrassments—but no person with
the least knowledge of military affairs will stigmatize the destruction
of wagon trains as the work of a brigand. In the same
manner the railroads supplying the Federal forces with commissary
and other stores were destroyed wherever it could be done.
Detached parties out foraging were, if possible, captured. Camps,
picket posts, vedette stations, were surprised, when practicable,
and prisoners seized upon. To harass, annoy, injure, and in
every manner cripple or embarrass the opposing force, was the
object of Colonel Mosby, as it has been of partisan officers in
all the wars of history. The violent animosity felt toward him
was attributable solely to the great skill, vigour, and success of
his operations. The present writer has a tolerably full acquaintance
with the military record of Colonel Mosby and his command,
and he states, in all sincerity, that he can find in it nothing
whatever that is “irregular” or unworthy of an officer and a
gentleman. Mosby carried on a legitimate partisan warfare
under a regular commission from the President of the Confederate
States, and was in command of a regularly organized body
of cavalry. He announced clearly his intention of disputing
military possession of the country north of the Rappahannock,
of harassing, retarding, or crippling any force invading Virginia,
and of inflicting as much injury as possible upon his opponents.
One single act of seeming cruelty is charged against him, the
hanging of seven of Custer's men—but this was in retaliation for
seven of his own which had been executed by that officer. This
retaliation was in accordance with the rules of warfare in every
country, and his superiors disavowed the course of General Custer,
and directed such proceedings to cease.

We have expended too much space upon this point. Colonel
Mosby can afford to wait to have justice done him. He was
respected by Jackson, Stuart, and Lee, and the world will not
willingly believe him to have been a bandit.

3. III.

What was the appearance and character of the actual individual?
What manner of personages were “Mosby and his
men,” as they really lived, and moved, and had their being in
the forests and on the hills of Fauquier, in Virginia, in the years
1863 and 1864? If the reader will accompany me, I will conduct
him to this beautiful region swept by the mountain winds,
and will introduce him—remember, the date is 1864—to a plain
and unassuming personage clad in gray, with three stars upon
his coat-collar, and two pistols in his belt.

He is slender, gaunt, and active in figure; his feet are small,
and cased in cavalry boots, with brass spurs; and the revolvers
in his belt are worn with an air of “business” which is unmistakable.
The face of this person is tanned, beardless, youthful-looking,
and pleasant. He has white and regular teeth, which
his habitual smile reveals. His piercing eyes flash out from
beneath his brown hat, with its golden cord, and he reins in his
horse with the ease of a practised rider. A plain soldier, low
and slight of stature, ready to talk, to laugh, to ride, to oblige
you in any way—such was Mosby, in outward appearance.
Nature had given no sign but the restless, roving, flashing eye,
that there was much worth considering beneath. The eye did
not convey a false expression. The commonplace exterior of
the partisan concealed one of the most active, daring, and penetrating
minds of an epoch fruitful in such. Mosby was born to
be a partisan leader, and as such was probably greater than any
other who took part in the late war. He had by nature all the
qualities which make the accomplished ranger; nothing could

daunt him; his activity of mind and body—call it, if you choose,
restless, eternal love of movement—was something wonderful;
and that untiring energy which is the secret of half the great
successes of history, drove him incessantly to plan, to scheme, to
conceive, and to execute. He could not rest when there was
anything to do, and scouted for his amusement, charging pickets
solus by way of sport. On dark and rainy nights, when other
men aim at being comfortably housed, Mosby liked to be moving
with a detachment of his men to surprise and attack some
Federal camp, or to “run in” some picket, and occasion consternation,
if not inflict injury.

The peculiar feature of his command was that the men occupied
no stated camp, and, in fact, were never kept together
except on an expedition. They were scattered throughout the
country, especially among the small farm-houses in the spurs of
the Blue Ridge; and here they lived the merriest lives imaginable.
They were subjected to none of the hardships and privations
of regular soldiers. Their horses were in comfortable
stables, or ranged freely over excellent pastures; the men lived
with the families, slept in beds, and had nothing to do with
“rations” of hard bread and bacon. Milk, butter, and all the
household luxuries of peace were at their command; and not
until their chief summoned them did they buckle on their arms
and get to horse. While they were thus living on the fat of the
land, Mosby was perhaps scouting off on his private account,
somewhere down toward Manassas, Alexandria, or Leesburg.
If his excursions revealed an opening for successful operations,
he sent off a well mounted courier, who travelled rapidly to the
first nest of rangers; thence a fresh courier carried the summons
elsewhere; and in a few hours twenty, thirty, or fifty men,
excellently mounted, made their appearance at the prescribed
rendezvous. The man who disregarded or evaded the second
summons to a raid was summarily dealt with; he received a note
for delivery to General Stuart, and on reaching the cavalry headquarters
was directed to return to the company in the regular
service from which he had been transferred. This seldom happened,
however. The men were all anxious to go upon raids,

to share the rich spoils, and were prompt at the rendezvous.
Once assembled, the rangers fell into column, Mosby said
“Come on,” and the party set forward upon the appointed
task—to surprise some camp, capture an army train, or ambush
some detached party of Federal cavalry out on a foraging expedition.

Such a life is attractive to the imagination, and the men came
to have a passion for it. But it is a dangerous service. It may
with propriety be regarded as a trial of wits between the opposing
commanders. The great praise of Mosby was, that his
superior skill, activity, and good judgment gave him almost
uninterrupted success, and invariably saved him from capture.
An attack upon Colonel Cole, of the Maryland cavalry, near
Loudon Heights, in the winter of 1863-64, was his only serious
failure; and that appears to have resulted from a disobedience
of his orders. He had here some valuable officers and men
killed. He was several times wounded, but never taken. On
the last occasion, in 1864, he was shot through the window of a
house in Fauquier, but managed to stagger into a darkened
room, tear off his stars, the badges of his rank, and counterfeit
a person mortally wounded. His assailants left him dying, as
they supposed, without discovering his identity; and when they
did discover it and hurried back, he had been removed beyond
reach of peril. After his wounds he always reappeared paler
and thinner, but more active and untiring than ever. They
only seemed to exasperate him, and make him more dangerous
to trains, scouting parties, and detached camps than before.

The great secret of his success was undoubtedly his unbounded
energy and enterprise. General Stuart came finally to repose
unlimited confidence in his resources, and relied implicitly upon
him. The writer recalls an instance of this in June, 1863.
General Stuart was then near Middleburg, watching the United
States army—then about to move toward Pennsylvania—but
could get no accurate information from his scouts. Silent, puzzled,
and doubtful, the General walked up and down, knitting
his brows and reflecting, when the lithe figure of Mosby appeared,
and Stuart uttered an exclamation of relief and satisfaction.

They were speedily in private consultation, and Mosby
only came out again to mount his quick gray mare and set out,
in a heavy storm, for the Federal camps. On the next day he
returned with information which put the entire cavalry in motion.
He had penetrated General Hooker's camps, ascertained
everything, and safely returned. This had been done in his
gray uniform, with his pistols at his belt—and I believe it was
on this occasion that he gave a characteristic evidence of his
coolness. He had captured a Federal cavalry-man, and they
were riding on together, when suddenly they struck a column of
the enemy's cavalry passing. Mosby drew his oil-cloth around
him, cocked his pistol, and said to his companion, “If you make
any sign or utter a word to have me captured, I will blow your
brains out, and trust to the speed of my horse to escape. Keep
quiet, and we will ride on without troubling anybody.” His
prisoner took the hint, believing doubtless that it was better to
be a prisoner than a dead man; and after riding along carelessly
for some distance, as though he were one of the column, Mosby
gradually edged off, and got away safely with his prisoner.

But the subject beguiles us too far. The hundreds of adventures
in which Mosby bore his part must be left for that extended
record which will some day be made. My chief object in this
brief paper has been to anticipate the sanguinary historians of
the “Lieutenant Colonel—” order; to show that Colonel
Mosby was no black-browed ruffian, but a plain, unassuming
officer of partisans, who gained his widely-extended reputation
by that activity and energy which only men of military ability
possess. This information in regard to the man is intended, as
I have said, for Northern readers of fairness and candour; for
that class who would not willingly do injustice even to an adversary.
In Virginia, Mosby is perfectly well known, and it would
be unnecessary to argue here that the person who enjoyed the
respect and confidence of Lee, Stuart, and Jackson, was worthy
of it. Mosby was regarded by the people of Virginia in his
true light as a man of great courage, decision, and energy, who
embarked like others in a revolution whose principles and
objects he fully approved. In the hard struggle he fought

bravely, exposed his person without stint, and overcame his
opponents by superior military ability. To stigmatize him as a
ruffian because he was a partisan is to throw obloquy upon the
memory of Marion, Sumter, and Harry Lee, of the old Revolution.
As long as war lasts, surprise of an enemy will continue
to be a part of military tactics; the destruction of his trains,
munitions, stores, and communications, a legitimate object of
endeavour. This Mosby did with great success, and he had no
other object in view. The charge that he fought for plunder is
singularly unjust. The writer of this is able to state of his own
knowledge that Colonel Mosby rarely appropriated anything to
his own use, unless it were arms, a saddle, or a captured horse,
when his own was worn out; and to-day, the man who captured
millions in stores and money is poorer than when he
entered upon the struggle.

This paper, written without the knowledge of Colonel Mosby,
who is merely an acquaintance of the writer, and intended as a
simple delineation of the man, has, in some manner, assumed the
form of an apology for the partisan and his career. He needs
none, and can await without fear that verdict of history which
the late President of the United States justly declared “could
not be avoided.” In the pages which chronicle the great struggle
of 1862, 1863, and 1864, Colonel Mosby will appear in his
true character as the bold partisan, the daring leader of cavalry,
the untiring, never-resting adversary of the Federal forces invading
Virginia. The burly-ruffian view of him will not bear
inspection; and if there are any who cannot erase from their
minds this fanciful figure of a cold, coarse, heartless adventurer,
I would beg them to dwell for a moment upon a picture which
the Richmond correspondent of a Northern journal drew the
other day.

On a summer morning a solitary man was seen beside the
grave of Stuart, in Hollywood Cemetery, near Richmond. The
dew was on the grass, the birds sang overhead, the green hillock
at the man's feet was all that remained of the daring leader of
the Southern cavalry, who, after all his toils, his battles, and the
shocks of desperate encounters, had come here to rest in peace.

Beside this unmarked grave the solitary mourner remained long,
pondering and remembering. Finally he plucked a wild flower,
dropped it upon the grave, and with tears in his eyes, left the
place.

This lonely mourner at the grave of Stuart was Mosby.