[416]
My capture and escape from Mosby.
Captain W. W. Badger, Inspector-General of Cavalry in the Army of the Shenandoah, thus relates, in the United States Service Magazine, the story of his capture by Mosby's guerillas, and his escape from them: Belle, my favorite mare, neighed impatiently in front of my tent, just as the bright sunrise of early autumn was gilding the hill. The morning was cold and brilliant and the first crisp of frost had just sufficiently stiffened the sod to make a brisk gallop agreeable to both rider and horse. The bold Shenandoah shook the icy wrinkles from its morning face, and rolled smoothly away before me into the gorgeous forest of crimson and gold below Front Royal. It is the day of the regular train, and a thousand army wagons are already rolling away from Sheridan's headquarters down the famous Valley Pike, to bring food and raiment to a shivering and hungry army. I spring into the saddle, and Belle, in excellent spirits, evidently thinks she can throw dust in the eyes of Mosby or any other guerilla who dares follow her track. it is nine miles to where the train is parked, and before I arrive there, the last wagon has passed out of sight, and the picket gate of the army has been closed for an hour behind it. My orders are imperative to accompany this train, and military law allows of no discretion. With a single orderly and my colored servant, George [417] Washington, a contraband, commonly called Wash, to constantly remind him of the Christian virtue of cleanliness, I pass out into the guerilla-infested country. It is but an hour's work to overtake the train, and mounted as I am, I feel great contempt for guerrillas, and inwardly defy any of them to catch me, as I give Belle the rein and dash on at a sweeping gallop till I come in sight of the train, a mile ahead, winding it way through the little village of Newtown, nine miles south of Winchester. “Mosby be hanged!” I said to myself, as I slacken speed and pass leisurely through the town, noticing the pretty women, who, for some reason, appear in unusual force at the doors and windows, and one or two of whom wave their handkerchiefs in a significant manner, which, however, I fail to understand, and ride heedlessly forward. Who would suppose. a pretty woman waving a handkerchief to be a sign of danger? Evidently no one but a cynic or a crusty old bachelor, and, as I am neither, I failed to interpret the well-meant warning. As I had nearly passed the town, I overtook a small party, apparently of the rear-guard of the train, who were lighting their pipes and buying cakes and apples at a small grocery on the right of the pike, and who seemed to be in charge of a non-commissioned officer. “ Good-morning, sergeant,” I said, in answer to his salute. “You had better close up at once. The train is getting well ahead, and this is the favorite beat of Mosby.” “All right, sir,” he replied, with a smile of peculiar intelligence, and nodding to his men they mounted at once and closed in behind me, while, quite to my surprise, [418] I noticed three more of the party, whom I had not before seen, in front of me. An instinct of danger at once possessed me. I saw nothing to justify it, but I felt a presence of evil which I could not shake off. The men were in Union blue complete, and wore in their caps the well known Greek cross, which distinguishes the gallant Sixth Corps. They were young, intelligent, cleanly, and good looking soldiers, armed with revolvers and Spencer's repeating carbine. I noticed the absence of sabres, but the presence of the Spencer, which is a comparatively new arm in our service, re-assured me, as I thought it impossible for the enemy to be, as yet, possessed of them. We galloped on merrily, and just as I was ready to laugh at my own fears, Wash, who had been riding behind me, and had heard some remark made by the soldiers, brushed up to my side, and whispered through his teeth, chattering with fear, “Massa, secesh sure! Run like de debbel!” I turned to look back at these words, and saw six carbines levelled at me at twenty paces' distance; and the sergeant, who had watched every motion of the negro, came riding toward me with his revolver drawn, and the sharp command, “Halt-surrender!” We had reached a low place where the Opequan Creek crosses the pike a mile from Newtown. The train was not a quarter of a mile ahead, but out of sight for the moment over the next ridge. High stone walls lined the pike on either side, and a narrow bridge across the stream in front of me was already occupied by the three rascals who had acted as advance-guard, who now [419] coolly turned round and presented carbines also from their point of view. I remembered the military maxim, a mounted man should never surrender until his horse is disabled, and hesitated an instant considering what to do, and quite in doubt whether I was myself, or some other fellow whom I had read of as captured and hung by guerrillas; but at the repetition of the sharp command “Surrender,” with the addition of the polite words, “you d- d Yankee son of a b — h,” aided by the somewhat disagreeable presence of the revolver immediately in my face, I concluded I was undoubtedly the other fellow, and surrendered accordingly. My sword and revolver were taken at once by the sergeant, who proved to be Lieutenant C. F. Whiting, of Clark County, Virginia, in disguise, and who remarked, laughing, as he took them, “We closed up, captain, as you directed; as this is a favorite beat of Mosby's, I hope our drill was satisfactory.” “All right, sergeant,” I replied. “Every dog has his day, and yours happens to come now. You have sneaked upon me in a cowardly way, disguised as a spy, and possibly my turn may come to-morrow.” “ Your turn to be hung,” he replied. And then, as we hurried along a wood path down the Opequan, he told me with great satisfaction, how they had lain in ambush in expectation of catching some stragglers from our train, and seeing me coming, had reached the little grocery from the woods behind it, just in time to appear as belonging to our party; that Mosby was three miles back, with a hundred men, and I should soon have the honor of seeing him in person [420] They were a jolly, good-natured set of fellows, who evidently thought they had done a big thing; and as I scanned them more closely, the only distinction in appearance between them and our soldiers which I could discover, was that the Greek cross on their caps was embroidered in yellow worsted. I was offered no further indignity or insult, and was allowed to ride my own horse for the present, though I was quietly informed on the way that Mosby had threatened to hang the first officer he should catch, in retaliation for his men who had been hung as guerrillas at Front Royal, and that I would undoubtedly be the unfortunate individual. With this consoling information I was ushered into the presence of the great modern highwayman, John S. Mosby, then lieutenant-colonel C. S. A. He stood a little apart from his men, by the side of a splendid gray horse, with his right hand grasping the bridle-rein, the forearm resting on the pommel of his saddle, his left arm akimbo, and his right foot thrown across the left ankle and resting on its toe. He is a slight, medium-sized man, sharp of feature, quick of sight, lithe of limb, with a bronzed face of the color and tension of whip-cord; his hair a yellow-brown, with full but light beard, and mustache of the same. A straight Grecian nose, firm-set expressive mouth, large ears, deep-grey eyes, high forehead, large well-shaped head, and his whole expression denoting hard services, energy, and love of whiskey. He wore top-boots, and a civilian's overcoat-black, lined with red-and beneath it the complete gray uniform of a Confederate lieutenant-colonel, with its two [421] stars on the sides of the standing collar, and the whole surmounted by the inevitable slouched hat of the whole Southern race. His men were about half in blue and half in butternut. He scarcely noticed me as I approached, but fixed his gaze on the noble animal I rode, as evidently the more valuable prize of the two. As I dismounted, he said to his servant, “Dick, take that horse;” and I knew the time had come when I must part with my beautiful Belle, whom I had rode nearly three years, through many a bloody field and hair's-breadth escape, and who loved me with an almost human love. Twice during the last three miles, as I came to a space of open country, had I resolved to dash away and trust to her nimble feet to distance their deadly rifles-and twice the sweet faces of home had appeared to scare me back to propriety. Ah! what will a man not endure for the sweet faces of home? Beware of tender ties, you who aspire to deeds of desperate daring! For, although ennobling and inspiring to all that is duty, you will be either more or less than man if they fail to compel you to prudence wherever there is a choice of action left. I could not refrain from throwing my arms around Belle's neck, and tenderly caressing her for the last time before she was led away. The lieutenant ventured to protest against Mosby's appropriating the mare to himself, without an apportionment and division of her value, in accordance with the rules of the gang; but he was promptly silenced, and ordered to content himself with his choice of the other two horses he had captured — which he immediately did [422] by taking both of them. While this colloquy was passing, Mosby was quietly examining my papers, which had been taken from my pocket on my arrival; and presently, looking up wit. a peculiar gleam of satisfaction on his face, he said:Oh, Captain B-! inspection-general of--'s cavalry? Good morning, captain-glad to see you, sir! Indeed, there is but one man I would prefer to see this morning to yourself, and that is your commander. Were you present, sir, the other day, at the hanging of eight of my men as guerrillas at Front Royal?This question pierced me like a sword, as I really had been present at the terrible scene he mentioned. And although I had used my full influence, even to incurring the charge of timidity, in attempting to save the lives of the wretched men, believing that retaliation would be the only result, I could not show that fact, and doubted if it would avail me aught if I could. I therefore answered him firmly: “I was present, sir, and, like you, have only to regret that it was not the commander, instead of his unfortunate men.” This answer seemed to please Mosby, for he apparently expected a denial. He assumed a grim smile, and directed Lieutenant Whiting to search me. My gold hunting watch and chain, several rings, a set of shirt studs and buttons, some coins, a Masonic pin, and about three hundred dollars in greenbacks, with some letters and pictures of the dear ones at home, and a small pocket Bible, were taken. A board of officers was assembled to appraise their value, also that of my clothing, and to determine the ownership of each of the articles — the rules of the gang [423] requiring that all captures shall be thus disposed of, or sold, and their value distributed proportionately among the captors. My boots were appraised at six hundred and fifty dollars in Confederate money; my watch at three thousand; and the other articles in the same proportion, including my poor old servant Wash, who was put up and raffled for at two thousand dollars. Wash was very indignant that he should be thought worth only two thousand dollars Confederate money, and informed them that he considered himself quite unappreciable; and that, among other accomplishments, he could make the best milk punch of any man in the Confederacy-and, if they had the materials, he would like to try a little of it now. This hit at the poverty of their resources raised a laugh; and Mosby's man Dick, to show that they had the materials, offered Wash a drink-which, quite to my surprise, and doubtless to that of his own stomach also, he stubbornly refused. On asking him privately why he refused, he replied: “You know, massa, too much freeder breeds despise!” When all this was concluded, Mosby took me one side, and returned to me the Bible, letters, and pictures, and the Masonic pin, saying quietly, as he did so, alluding to the latter with a significant sign:
You may as well keep this; it may be of use to you somewhere. Some of my men pay some attention to that sort of thing. Your people greatly err in thinking us merely guerrillas. Every man of mine is a duly enlisted soldier, and detailed to my command from various Confederate regiments. They are merely picked men, selected from the whole army for their intelligence and [424] courage. We plunder the enemy, as the rules of war clearly allow. To the victors belong the spoils, has been a maxim of war in all ages. I can hang two for one all the year round, if your men insist upon it; but I hope soon to have a better understanding. I yesterday executed eight of your poor fellows on the valley pike, your highway of travel, in retaliation for my men hung at Front Royal; and I have to-day written to General Sheridan, informing him of it, and proposing a cessation of such horrible work, which every true soldier cannot but abhor. I sincerely hope he will assent to it.I thanked him warmly for his kindness, as I took his offered hand with a grip known all the world over to the brethren of the mystic tie, and really began to think Mosby almost a gentleman and a soldier, although he had just robbed me in the most approved manner of modern highwaymen. The sun was now approaching the meridian, and immediate preparations were made for the long road to Richmond and the Libby. A guard of fifteen men, in command of Lieutenant Whiting, was detailed as our escort; and accompanied by Mosby himself, we started directly across the country, regardless of roads, in an easterly direction, toward the Shenandoah and the Blue Ridge. We were now in company of nine more of our men, who had been taken at different times, making eleven of our party in all, besides the indignant contraband, Wash, whom it was also thought prudent to send to the rear for safe keeping. I used every effort to gain the acquaintance and confidence of these men, and by assuming a jolly and reckless manner, I succeeded in drawing, them out and [425] satisfying myself that some of them could be depended on in any emergency. I had determined to escape if even half an opportunity should present itself, and the boys were quick in understanding my purpose and intimating their readiness to risk their lives in the attempt. Two of them, in particular-George W. McCauley, of Western Virginia, commonly known as Mack, and one Brown, of Blaser's scouts-afterward proved themselves heroes of the truest metal. We journeyed rapidly, making light of our misfortunes, and cracking many a joke with our rebel guard, until we reached Howittsville, on the Shenandoah, nine miles below Front Royal, where we bivouacked for the night in an old school-house, sole relic left of a former civilization. It is an old, unpainted two story building, with wooden blinds nailed shut, and seems to have been fitted up by Mosby as a kind of way station, in which to camp with his stranger guests. Many a sad heart, more hopeless and broken than our's, has doubtless throbbed restless on its naked floors, with premonitions of the dreary Libby. All of the guard confirmed Mosby's statement as to the organization of his band and the execution of our men the day previous; and his letter to Sheridan in regard to it has since been published, and certainly speaks for itself of the business-like habits of its author. Our party of eleven were assigned to one side of the lower floor of the school-house, where we lay down side by side, with our heads to the wall, and our feet nearly touching the feet of the guard, who lay in the same manner, opposite to us, with their heads to the other [426] wall, except three who formed a relief guard for the sentry's post at the door. Above the heads of the guard, along the wall, ran a low school desk, on which each man of them stood his carbine and laid his revolver before disposing himself to sleep. A fire before the door dimly lighted the room, and the scene as they dropped gradually to sleep was warlike in the extreme, and made a Rembrandt picture on my memory which will never be effaced. I had taken care, on lying down, to place myself between McCauley and Brown, and the moment the rebels began to snore and the sentry to nod over his pipe, we were in earnest and deep conversation. McCauley proposed to unite our party and make a simultaneous rush for the carbines, and take our chances of stampeding the guard and making our escape; but on passing the whisper quietly along our line, only three men were found willing to assent to it. As the odds were so largely against us, it was useless to urge the subject. The intrepid McCauley then proposed to go himself alone in the darkness among the sleeping rebels, and bring over to our party every revolver and every carbine before any alarm should be given, if we would only use the weapons when placed in our hands; but again timidity prevailed, and I must confess that I myself hesitated before this hardy courage, and refused to peril the brave boy's life in so rash a venture, as a single false step or the least alarm, in favor of which the chances were as a thousand to one, would have been to him, and probably to all of us, instant death. I forbade the attempt, but could not help clasping the brave fellow to my heart, and kissing him like a [427] brother for the noble heroism of which he was evidently made. He was a fair boy of but eighteen summers, with soft black eyes, and a rosy, round face as smooth and delicate as a girl's, with a noble forehead and an unusually intelligent countenance. I had picked him out at first sight as a hero, and every hour was increasing my admiration of him. He slept in my arms at last, as the long night wore away, till the morning broke dull and rainy, finding us exhausted and thoroughly wretched and despondent. The march began at an early hour, and our route ran directly up the Blue Ridge. We had emerged from the forest and ascended about one third the height of the mountain, when the full valley became visible, spread out like a map before us, showing plainly the lines of our army, its routes of supply, its foraging parties out, and my own camp at Front Royal as distinctly as if we stood in one of its streets. We now struck a wood path running southward and parallel with the ridge of the mountain, along which we travelled for hours, with this wonderful panorama of forest and river, mountain and plain, before us in all the gorgeous beauty of the early autumn. “ This is a favorite promenade of mine,” said Mosby. “I love to see your people sending out their almost daily raids after me.--There comes one of them now almost toward us. If you please, we will step behind this point and see them pass. It may be the last sight you will have of your old friends for some time.” The coolness of this speech enraged me, and yet I could not help admiring the quiet and unostentatious audacity which seemed to be the prominent characteristic [428] of its author. I could hardly restrain an impulse to rush upon him and
Try this quarrel hilt to hilt,but the important fact that I had not a hilt even, while he wore two revolvers, restrained me, and looking in the direction he pointed, I distinctly saw a squadron of my own regiment coming directly toward us on a road running under the foot of the mountain, and apparently on some foraging expedition down the valley. They passed within a half mile of us under the mountain, and Mosby stood with folded arms on a rock above them, the very picture of stoical pride and defiance, or, as Mack whispered:
Like patience on a monument smiling at grief.We soon moved on, and before noon reached the road running through Manassas Gap, which place we found held by about one hundred of Mosby's men, who signalled him as he approached; and here, much to my regret, the great chieftain left us, bidding me a kindly good-by, and informing me that my last hope of rescue or escape was now gone. We were hurried on through the gap and down the eastern slope of the mountain, and turning southward, in a few hours passed Chester Gap, finding it also occupied by Mosby's men in force, and we were only able to approach it after exchanging the proper signals. This gave me an idea of how Mosby conducts his raids so successfully, by leaving a garrison in each of the gaps behind him before he ventures far into the valley. These garrisons he can concentrate at any desired point by signals almost in an hour, and any of [429] them can communicate with him from the mountain tops to any part of the valley, and either warn him of danger or direct him where to strike. If pursued, he has but to retreat in such a direction as to draw his pursuers on to this reserve force, which he concentrates in some strong position, or in ambush, at his pleasure, and develops with fresh horses just as his pursuers are exhausted with the long chase. He is thus enabled, with about five hundred picked men, to remain, as he has been for two years past, the terror of the valley. After passing Chester Gap, we descend into the valley and move toward Sperryville, on the direct line to Richmond, the last gate of hope seeming to close behind us as we leave the mountains. Our guard is now reduced, as we are far within the Confederate lines, to Lieutenant Whiting and three men, well mounted and doubly armed, and our party of eleven prisoners have seven horses to distribute among us as we please, so that four of us are constantly dismounted. There is also a pack-horse carrying our forage, rations, and some blankets. To the saddle of this pack-horse are strapped two Spencer carbines, muzzle downward, with their accoutrements complete, including two well filled cartridge boxes. I called Mack's attention to this fact as soon as the guard was reduced, and he needed no second hint to comprehend its significance at once. He soon after dismounted, and when it came his turn again to mount, he secured, apparently by accident, the poorest and most broken down horse in the party, with which he appeared to find it very difficult to keep up, and which he actually succeeded in some mysterious way in laming. [430] He then dropped back to the lieutenant in charge, and modestly asked to exchange his lame horse for the pack-horse, and being particularly frank in his address, his request was at once granted, without a suspicion of its object, or a thought of the fatal carbines on the pack-saddle. I used some little skill in diverting the attention of the lieutenant while the pack was readjusted; and as the rain had now begun to fall freely, no one of the guard was particularly alert. I was presently gratified with the sight of Mack riding ahead on the pack-horse, with the two carbines still strapped to the saddle, but loosened and well concealed by his heavy poncho, which he had spread as protection front the rain. These carbines are seven-shooters, and load from the breech by simply drawing out from the hollow stock a spiral spring and dropping in the seven cartridges, one after the other, and then inserting the spring again behind them, which coils as it is pressed home, and by its elasticity forces the cartridges forward, one at a time, into the barrel, at the successive movements of the lock. I could see the movement of Mack's right arm by the shape into which it threw the poncho; and while guiding his horse with his left, looking the other way and chatting glibly with the other boys, I saw him carefully draw the springs from those carbines with his right hand and hook them into the upper button-hole of his coat to support them, while he dropped in the cartridges one after another, trotting his horse at the time to conceal the noise of their click, and finally forcing down the springs and looking round at me with a look of the fiercest triumph and heroism I have ever beheld. [431] I nodded approval, and fearing he would precipitate matters, yet knowing that any instant might lead to discovery and be too late, I rode carelessly across the road to Brown, who was on foot, and dismounting, asked him to tighten my girth, during which operation I told him as quietly as possible the position of affairs, and asked him to get up gradually by the side of Mack, communicate with him, and at a signal from me to seize one of the carbines and do his duty as a soldier if he valued his liberty. Brown, though a plucky fellow, was of quite a different quality from Mack. He was terribly frightened, and trembled like a leaf, yet went immediately to his post, and I did not doubt would do his duty well. I rode up again to the side of Lieutenant Whiting, and like an echo from the past came back to me my words of yesterday, “Possibly my turn may come tomorrow.” I engaged him in conversation, and among other things spoke of the prospect of sudden death as one always present in our army life, and the tendency it had to either harden or ameliorate the character according to the quality of the individual. He expressed the opinion which many hold that a brutal man is made more brutal by it, and a refined a:id cultivated man is softened and made more refined by it. I scanned the country closely for the chances of escape if we should succeed in gaining our liberty; knew that to fail or to be recaptured would be instant death, and the responsibility of risking the lives of the whole party, as well as my own, was oppressing me bitterly. I also had an instinctive horror of the shedding of blood, as it were, with my own hands, and the sweet [432] faces of home were haunting me again, but this time, strange to say, urging me on, and apparently crying aloud for vengeance. We were on the immediate flank of Early's army. His cavalry was all around us. The road was thickly inhabited. It was almost night. We had passed a rebel picket but a mile back, and knew not how near another of their camps might be. The three rebel guards were riding in front of us and on our left flank, our party of prisoners was in the centre, and I was by the side of Lieutenant Whiting, who acted as rear-guard, when we entered a small copse of willow which for a moment covered the road. The hour was propitious; Mack looked round impatiently; I wove the fatal signal, “Now's the time, boys,” into a story of our charge at Winchester, which I was telling to distract attention, and at the moment of its utterance threw myself upon the lieutenant, grasping him around the arms and dragging him from his horse, in the hope of securing his revolver, capturing him, and compelling him to pilot us outside of the rebel line. At the word, Mack raised one of the loaded carbines, and in less time than I can write it, shot two of the guard in front of him, killing them instantly; and then coolly turning in his saddle, and seeing me struggling in the road with the lieutenant, and the chances of obtaining the revolver apparently against me, he raised the carbine the third time, and as I strained the now desperate rebel to my breast, with his livid face over my left shoulder, he shot him as directly between the eyes as he could have done if firing at a target at ten paces' distance. The bullet went crashing through his skull, [433] the hot blood spirited from his mouth and nostrils into my face, his hold relaxed, and his ghastly corpse fell from my arms, leaving an impression of horror and soul-sickness which can never be effaced. I turned around in alarm at our now desperate situation, and saw Mack quietly smiling at me, with the remark:
Golly, cap! I could have killed five or six more of them as well as not. This is a bully carbine; I think I will take it home with me.Brown had not accomplished so much. He had seized the second carbine at the word, and fired at the third guard on our flank; but his aim was shaky, and he had only wounded his man in the side, and allowed him to escape to the front, where he was now seen half a mile away, at full speed, and firing his pistols to alarm the country. Our position was now perilous in the extreme; not a man of us knew the country, except its most general outlines. The rebel camps could not be far away; darkness was intervening; the whole country would be alarmed in an hour; and I doubted not that before sundown even bloodhounds would be on our track. One half of our party had already scattered, panic-stricken, at the first alarm, and, every man for himself were scouring the country in every direction. But five remained, including the faithful Wash, who immediately shows his practical qualities by searching the bodies of the slain, and recovering therefrom, among other things, my gold hunting watch from the person of Lieutenant Whiting, and over eleven hundred dollars in [434] greenbacks, the proceeds, doubtless, of their various robberies of our men. “Not quite 'nuff,” said Wash, snowing his ivories from ear to ear. “Dey vally dis nigger at two tousand dollers — I think I ought ter git de money.” We instantly mounted the best horses, and, well armed with carbines and revolvers, struck directly for the mountain on our right; but knowing that would be the first place where we should be sought for, we soon changed our direction to the south, and rode for hours directly into the enemy's country as fast as we could ride, and before complete darkness intervened, we had made thirty miles from the place of our escape; and then, turning sharp up the mountain, we pushed our exhausted horses as far as they could climb; and then abandoning them, we toiled on, on foot, all night, to the very summit of the Blue Ridge, whence we could see the rebel camp fires, and view their entire lines and position just as daylight was breaking over the valley. We broke down twigs from several trees in line to determine the points of compass and the direction of the rebel forces and pickets after it should be light, and then crawled into a thicket to rest our exhausted frames and await the return of friendly darkness in which to continue our flight. The length of this weary day, and the terrible pangs of hunger and thirst which we suffered on this barren mountain, pertain to the more common experience of a soldier's life, and I need not describe them here. Neither will I narrate, in detail, how some of out party who scattered arrived in camp before us, and how one feeble old man was recaptured and killed, nor our [435] hopeless despair as day after day we saw the mountain alive with rebel scouts sent out for our capture, and at night blazing with their picket fires; and how we even ate a poor little dog which had followed our fortunes to his untimely end, and were thinking seriously of eating the negro Wash, when he, to save himself from so unsavory a fate, ventured down in the darkness to a cornfield, and brought us up three ears of corn apiece, which we ate voraciously; and how we had to go still farther south and abandon the mountain altogether, to avoid the scouts and pickets; and how we finally struck tile Shenandoah, twenty miles to the rear of Early's army, and there built a raft and floated by night forty miles down that memorable stream, through his crafty pickets, and thereafter passed for rebel scouts, earnestly “looking for Yanks” until we found them, and the glorious old flag once more welcomed us to Union and liberty. These things the writer expects to tell, by the blessing of God, to the next generation, with his great-grandchildren on his knee.
