University of Virginia Library

IX.
MAJOR R—'S LITTLE PRIVATE SCOUT.

Nothing is more curious than the manner in which a sudden
and unexpected attack imposes upon the recipients thereof; and
it is safe to say that none but the best troops, trained and disciplined
to stand firm under all contingencies, can be counted on
in such moments of emergency.

The following incident will prove the truth of this assertion.
It is not related “for the greater glory” of the Southern arms,
so much as to present a curious illustration of the effect upon
the human mind of a sudden surprise.

A word first of the doughty sabreur who figured as hero on
the occasion, my friend, Major R—, of the C. S. A.

The Major is stout, rosy, of a portly figure, and from his appearance
you would not take him for a very active or dangerous
personage. But he is both. No man delights more in movement,
adventure, and combat. No man sits a horse with more
of the true cavalry ease. You may see from the manner in
which he handles his sabre that he is master of that weapon;
and in the charge he is a perfect thunderbolt. He fingers his
pistol and makes the barrels revolve with admirable grace; his
salute with the sabre is simply perfection; his air, as he listens
to an order from his superior officer, says plainly, “All I wish
is to know what you want me to do, General—if it can be done
it will be done.” This air does not deceive. It is well known
to the Major's friends that his motto is, “Neck or nothing.” At

Mine Run, when General Meade confronted the Southern lines,
the worthy said to me, “A soldier's duty is to obey his orders;
and if General Stuart told me to charge the Yankee army by
myself, I would do it. He would be responsible.”

It will be seen from the above sketch of the gallant Major,
that he is a thorough soldier. In fact he loves his profession,
and is not satisfied with performing routine duty. He is fond
of volunteering on forlorn hopes, and in desperate emergencies
—when he cannot get at the blue-coats for any length of time—
he pines.

This mood came to him in the fall of 1862. Quiet had
reigned along the lines so long, that he grew melancholy. His
appetite did not fail, as far as his friends could perceive, but
something obviously rested on his mind. He was rusting, and
was conscious of the process. “Why don't they come out and
fight?” the Major seemed to ask with his calm, sad eyes. They
were in Virginia for the purpose of “crushing the rebellion,”—
why didn't they set about the work?

These questions meeting with no satisfactory response, Major
R—determined himself to take the initiative, and see if he
could not bring on a little fight, all on his private account. He
would thus relieve his bosom of the perilous stuff which preyed
upon his heart. It had, indeed, become absolutely necessary to
his peace of mind to come into collision with his friends across
the way, and he set about devising the best plan for arriving at
his object.

The Southern cavalry to which the Major was attached, at
that time occupied the county of Culpeper, and picketed along
the Rappahannock. So did the enemy's horsemen, and the
Federal pickets were stationed on the southern bank at every
ford. This was the case at Warrenton Springs, where a bridge,
afterwards destroyed, spanned the Rappahannock; and at this
point Major R—determined to bring on the little affair which
had become so necessary to his happiness. He intended to combine
pleasure with business by visiting some young ladies at a
hospitable mansion not far from the bridge; and having thus
laid out his programme he proceeded to execute it, and “all

alone by himself” attack the picket guard of some twenty of
the enemy.

Behold the Major now in warlike panoply—that is to say, in
fine gray dress coat with burnished buttons (for the eyes of
Venus after the conflict with Mars); pistol carefully loaded, in
holster on his right side; and sabre in excellent order, jingling
against his top boots. It was a saying of the worthy, that he
“generally kept his arms in good order,” and on this occasion
nothing was left to be desired. His pistol revolved at the touch,
with a clear ringing click; and you could see your face in his
sabre blade. Thus accoutred, and mounted on a good, active
horse, he set off from Hazel river, and making a detour around
Jeffersonton, came to an elevation in rear of Mr.—'s house,
where he stopped to reconnoitre.

The Federal picket—of nineteen men, as he afterwards discovered—was
at the bridge; and in the yard of the mansion
were two videttes, with their horses tied to the trees under which
they were lying. Whether he could succeed in “driving in”
the whole picket was problematical, but the videttes were pretty
sure game. He would either run them off or capture them.

With the Major execution followed conception rapidly. Pushing
boldly over the crest from behind which he had made his
reconnoissance, he charged across the field at a thundering gallop,
whirling his burnished sabre around his head, yelling in a manner
that was truly awful; and shouting as he rode to a supposititious
squadron:

“Charge! charge! cut down every man!”

So portentous was the reverberating shout of onset from the
lips of the Major, that the videttes started to their feet, and
clutched the bridles of their horses instantly. As the warlike
figure, surrounded by the brilliant lightning of the flashing sabre,
swept on, the videttes probably saw at least a squadron of
“Rebel cavalry” in the dust which rose behind; and hastily
mounting, darted away, pursued by the triumphant Major, whose
yells were now more tremendous than ever.

Across the broad field, past the house, on toward the bridge,
galloped the furious assailant, bent on striking terror to the

enemy's hearts, and successfully completing his adventure
Before him fled the frightened videttes—their movements ac
celerated by several balls, which issued from the Major's pistol,
and whistled by their ears. On toward the bridge, and into the
midst of the picket fled the videttes; and as the Major's shouts,
and vociferous orders to his cavalry to charge, and let no one
escape, resounded nearer, the pickets, too, mounted in hot haste,
and clattered across the bridge, pursued by the Major's pistol
shots.

In vain did the officer in charge of the picket-post shout to his
men:

“Halt! halt! Shoot down the rascal! Shoot him down I
say! There's only one of them!”

His voice was unheard or his order unheeded. The picket
was composed of stuff less soldierly than their officer, and would
not obey him. Before their vivid imaginations rose at least a
squadron of Confederate cavarly, sweeping on to ride over them,
sword in hand.

The result was that Major R—in ten minutes had possession
of the bridge, and sat his horse defiantly in the middle of
it. He then amused himself by sending a few parting shots
after the demoralized picket, and having performed this agreeable
duty rode back to the house of Mr.—, laughing low in
his peculiar way; his breast completely lightened of the oppressive
weight which had so long weighed upon it.

At Mr.—'s he met with a triumphant reception; was
greeted with a perfect ovation. The young ladies of the mansion
were crazy almost with delight at the manner in which they
had been delivered from the presence of their enemies; and
when the hero of the occasion made his appearance they met
him as women only can meet their deliverers—with smiles such
as shine rarely for the poor “civilian.” After all it is something
to be a soldier. The trade is hard, but the feminine eye has a
peculiar brightness when it rests on the sons of Mars!—of Mars,
proverbially the favourite of Venus!

The Major was an old soldier, and in no hurry to depart. He
counted on the extent of the “scare” he had given the enemy,

and quietly enjoyed himself in the charming society of his hostesses.
He had once more become “excellent company.” The
smile had returned to his lips, the light to his eyes. That
melancholy which had made his friends uneasy had quite disappeared,
and the Major was “himself again”—that is to say, the
gayest and most delightful of companions.

When, rising slowly and carelessly, he bade his friendly entertainers
good-bye, he was again happy. He came back to camp,
smiling, amiable, the soul of sweetness and cheerfulness. I saw
him. He was absolutely radiant. His eloquent eye beamed
brightly; his countenance was charming; his movements energetic
and elastic; the fullest satisfaction was apparent in every
lineament of his face. His gay and friendly smile seemed to
say, “I went at nineteen of them; ran them off; held the bridge
against them; had an excellent supper, a delightful talk—I am
happy!”

Such was the gay little comedy which I heard from the family
of Mr.—, as I sat upon his porch and conversed with them
one day. The narrative is precisely true in every particular,
and has always impressed me as a curious illustration of the
effect of “surprises” upon troops—of the enormous power exerted
by the human imagination.