1. I.
General Meade's retreat from Culpeper, in October, 1863, was
one of the liveliest episodes of the late war. This officer was
not unpopular in the Southern army. Few depredations were
laid to his charge, and he was generally regarded as a fair and
honorable opponent. There was evidently no rhodomontade
about him, and few trumpets were blown in his honour; but
General Lee is said to have declared that he had given him as
much trouble as any Federal general of the war. Of his status
as a soldier, let history speak. The present sketch will show, I
think, that no general ever better understood the difficult art of
coolly retiring without loss, and promptly advancing to his former
position at the right moment. As in other sketches, the
writer will aim rather to present such details and incidents as
convey a clear idea of the actual occurrence, than to indulge in
historical generalization. Often the least trifling of things are
“trifles.”
In October, 1863, General Meade's army was around Culpeper
Court-House, with the advance at Mitchell's Station, on the
Orange road, and General Lee faced him on the south bank of
the Rapidan. One day there came from our signal-station, on
Clarke's Mountain, the message: “General Meade's head-quarters
are at Wallack's, and Pleasanton's at Cumberland, Georgia.”
General Fitz Lee thereupon sent to General Stuart, after the
jocose fashion of “General Fitz,” to ask why Pleasanton had
been sent to
“Cumberland, Georgia.” The message should have
been
Cumberland George's—the house, that is to say, of the Rev.
Mr. George, in the suburbs of Culpeper Court-House.
Every day, at that time, the whistle of the “Yankee cars,” as
we used to call them, was heard a few miles off, at Mitchell's
Station; and as General Meade was plainly going to advance, it
was obvious that he was going to fall back. It was at this time,
early in October, that “for reasons best known to himself,” General
Lee determined upon a movement through Madison, along
the base of the Blue Ridge, to flank General Meade's right, cut
him off from Manassas, and bring on a general engagement between
the two armies. The plan was a simple one. Ewell and
A. P. Hill were to move out with their corps from the works on
the Rapidan, and marching up that stream, cross into Madison,
leaving Fitz Lee's cavalry division to occupy their places in the
abandoned works, and repulse any assault. Once across the
Upper Rapidan, Ewell and Hill would move toward Madison
Court-House with the rest of Stuart's cavalry on their right flank,
to mask the movement; and, thence pushing on to the Rappahannock,
make for Warrenton, somewhere near which point it
was probable that they would strike General Meade's column on
its retreat: Then a decisive trial of strength in a pitched battle.
The cavalry, by common consent of the army, “did the work”
on this movement—the infantry having few opportunities to become
engaged—and I shall ask the reader to follow “Stuart and
his horsemen.”
I think it was the morning of the 10th of October when, moving
on the right of the long column of Ewell and Hill then
streaming toward Madison Court-House, Stuart came on the exterior
picket of the enemy—their advance force of cavalry, infantry,
and artillery, being near the little village of James City.
The picket on a little stream was driven in, and pushing on to
Thoroughfare Mountain (not to be confounded with that near
Manassas), we ran into a regiment of infantry which had hastily
formed line of battle at the noise of the firing. Gordon, that
gallant North Carolinian, at once became hotly engaged; but
there was no time to stop long. Stuart took Young's brigade—
he had but two—and, making a detour to the left, charged
straight down upon the enemy's right flank. Cheers, yells, carbines
cracking—and the infantry broke and scattered in the
mountains, dropping large numbers of the newest, brightest, and
handsomest muskets ever handled. The force was declared by
prisoners to have numbered two hundred and fifty, of whom
about twenty were taken. Stuart now pushed on without stopping,
and speedily became engaged with the main force of Federal
cavalry at James City. This force was commanded by General
Kilpatrick, we afterwards discovered, and this gentleman had
been enjoying himself greatly. There was a race-course near
the town where races were held, General Kilpatrick having, it
is said, a favorite mare called “Lively” which he used to run
against a blood horse in his artillery called the “Battery Horse.”
What became of the “Battery Horse” this historian cannot say;
but—to anticipate events—the fate of “Lively” can be stated.
Later in the fall, the general was running “Lively” near Manassas,
when she flew the track, and two men were sent after
her. Neither “Lively” nor the men ever returned. In fact,
some of “Mosby's people” had been unseen spectators of the
race from the adjoining woods, and these gentry took charge
both of the mare and the men sent after her. “I really must
have that mare,” General Stuart said, when he heard the incident,
but her captors retained her.
I am anticipating. General Kilpatrick was in command at
James City, and, drawing up his cavalry on the high ground
beyond, prepared to receive Stuart's attack. None was made.
It was not a part of the programme. Stuart's orders were to
keep the enemy off the infantry flanks, and this could best be
accomplished by remaining quiet. So, every demonstration was
made; lines of sharpshooters were advanced, our artillery
opened, and—no attack was made. Thus the hours passed on.
Shells raced across the little valley. Carbines cracked. An outside
spectator would have said that the opponents were afraid of
each other. The truth was that General Stuart was playing his
own game, and his adversary did not understand it. At last,
even the firing ceased. Fronting each other in line of battle, the
opponents waited in silence for some movement. The stillness
was, however, broken suddenly by an incident, amusing, but by
no means agreeable, at least from our point of view. General
Stuart was lying down, surrounded by his staff and escort, with
his flag floating on the top of the hill, when, behind a fringe of
woods, near the Federal cavalry drawn up in long line of battle
on the opposite plateau, was seen a puff of white smoke. A roar
followed, then the whistle of a shell, and this polite visitor fell
and burst in the very midst of the group. It was a percussion
shell, and exploded as it struck, tearing up a deep hole and
vanishing, without injuring a single individual. As the present
writer was covered with the dirt where he lay, and found by
inspection that it had been a “line shot,” striking within three
or four feet of his head, the incident was highly pleasing. The
shell was followed by others, but no harm was done by them,
and it is not necessary to say that the friendly group, with the
flag floating so temptingly above it, deployed to the right and
left, laughing, and not displeased at the result of the first “good
shot.”
At night the Federal cavalry were still there, and Stuart still
remained quiet. His headquarters that night were at Mr.
H—'s where that brave spirit, General Gordon, of the cavalry,
came to see him. It is a melancholy pleasure to recall the gallant
face of Gordon, now that he is dead; to remember his
charming smile, his gay humour; the elegant little speech which
he made as he gallantly presented a nosegay to the fair Miss
H—, bowing low as he did so amid friendly laughter. When
he fell he left behind him no braver soldier or kindlier gentleman.
