Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Documents and Narratives, Volume 7.
Frank Moore, Ed.

Saturday morning, July fourth, it became known that the enemy was in full retreat, and General Kilpatrick moved on to destroy his train and harass his column. A heavy rain fell all day, and the travelling was any thing but agreeable. We arrived at Emmetsburgh--one of the strongest secesh villages to be found — about midday, during a severe storm. After a short halt the column moved forward again, and at Fountaindale, just at dark, we commenced ascending the mountain. Imagine a long column of cavalry winding its way up the mountain, on a road dug out of the mountain side, which sloped at an angle of thirty degrees — just wide enough for four horses to march abreast — on one side a deep abyss and on the other an impassable barrier, in the shape of a sleep embankment; the hour ten o'clock at night, a drizzling rain falling, the sky overcast, and so dark as literally not to be able to see one's own hand if placed within a foot of the organs of vision; the whole command, both men and animals, worn out with fatigue and loss of sleep; then imagine that, just as the head of this tired, hungry and sleepy column nears the crest of the mountain, a piece of cannon belches forth fire and smoke and destructive missiles directly in front. Imagine all this, and a little more, and the reader can then form some idea of what occurred to General Kilpatrick's command, on Saturday night, July fourth, as it ascended the mountain to the Monterey Gap, and so across to Waterloo on the western slope. The column commenced to ascend the mountain at about dark, and arrived near the Monterey House, at the top, between nine and ten o'clock. The enemy had planted a piece of artillery near this spot, so as to command the road, and also had sharpshooters on the flanks. It was intended to make a strong defence here, as one half-mile beyond the enemy's train was crossing the mountain on the Gettysburgh and Hagerstown pike. The Fifth Michigan cavalry was in advance, and although on the look-out for just such an occurrence, it startled the whole column; a volley of musketry was fired by a concealed force at the same time at the head of the column; the first squadron of the Fifth broke, fell back upon the second and broke that — but there was no such thing as running back a great ways on that road; it was jammed with men and horses. The broken squadron immediately rallied, and skirmishers were posted on the most available points, and the First Virginia, Major Copeland, was ordered to the front, and upon arriving there was ordered to charge; and charge they did at a rapid gait down the mountain side into the inky darkness before them, accompanied by a detachment of the First Ohio, Captain Jones. As anticipated, the train was struck, just in rear of the centre, at the crossing one half-mile west of the Monterey House. A volley is fired as the train is reached. “Do you surrender?” “Yes,” is the response, and on the First Virginia dash to Ringgold, ordering the cowed and frightened trainguard to surrender, as they swept along for eight miles, where the head of the train was reached. Here the two hundred men who started on the charge had been reduced to twenty-five, and seizing upon a good position the rebels made a stand. As the force in front could not be seen, Major Copeland decided not to proceed further, but to await daylight and reenforcements. Both came and the enemy fled. Arriving at Gettysburgh pike, the Eighteenth Pennsylvania was placed there as a guard; for protection a barricade was hastily thrown up. No sooner was this done than cavalry was heard charging down the road. “Who comes there, etc.?” calls out the officer in charge at the barricade. “Tenth Virginia cavalry!” was the reply. “To----with you, Tenth Virginia cavalry,” and the squadron fired a volley into the darkness. That was the last heard of the Tenth Virginia cavalry that night, until numbers of the regiment came straggling in and gave themselves up as prisoners of war. Other cavalry moved up and down the road upon which the train was standing, and some most amusing scenes occurred. The train belonged to Ewell's division, and had in it also a large number of private carriages and teams, containing officers' baggage. Four regiments were doing guard-duty, but as they judged of the future by the past, they supposed our army would rest two or three months after winning a battle, and magnanimously permit the defeated enemy to get away his stores and ordnance, and have a little time also to recruit, and therefore the attack was a complete surprise. A thunderstorm was prevailing at the time, and the attack was so entirely unexpected that there was a general panic among both guard and teamsters. I am not surprised at this, for the howling of the storm, the rushing of water down the mountain-side, and the roaring of the wind, altogether were certainly enough in that wild spot to test the nerves of the strongest. But when is added to this a volley of pistol and carbine shots occasionally, a slap on the back with the flat of a sword, and a hoarse voice giving the unfortunate wight the choice of surrendering or being shot, then added to this the fearful yells and imprecations of the men wild with excitement, all made up a scene certainly never excelled before in the regions of fancy. Two rebel captains, two hours after the train had been captured, came up to one of the reserve commands and wanted to know what regiment that was — supposing it belonged to their own column. They discovered their mistake when Lieutenant Whittaker, of General Kilpatrick's staff, presented a pistol and advised them to surrender their arms. Several other officers who might have easily escaped came in voluntarily and gave themselves up. Under so good subjection were the enemy that there was no necessity of making any change in teamsters or drivers — they voluntarily continuing right on in Uncle Sam's service as they had been in the confederate service, until it was convenient to relieve