Browsing named entities in John Esten Cooke, Wearing of the Gray: Being Personal Portraits, Scenes, and Adventures of War.. You can also browse the collection for Averill or search for Averill in all documents.

Your search returned 2 results in 2 document sections:

John Esten Cooke, Wearing of the Gray: Being Personal Portraits, Scenes, and Adventures of War., Pelham the gallant (search)
Pelham the gallant I. On the morning of the 17th of March, 1863, Averill's Federal Cavalry, three thousand in the saddle, crossed the Rappahannock at Kelly's Ford, and attacked about eight hundred of General Fitz Lee's command, who faced, without shrinking, these great odds, and fought them stubbornly at every point throughout the entire day. When the sun set on that tranquil evening-sinking slowly down behind the quiet forest, unstirred by the least breath of wind — the long and desperate struggle was decided. The enemy was retiring, badly hurt, and General Stuart added in his dispatch: We are after him. His dead men and horses strew the road. No harder battle was fought during the entire war. The Southern forces won the day by hard and desperate fighting, in charge after charge; but lost in the struggle some of the most valiant hearts that ever beat. Puller, Harris, and Pelham were among the number — the gallant Pelham of the battle of Fredericksburg. He was in t
John Esten Cooke, Wearing of the Gray: Being Personal Portraits, Scenes, and Adventures of War., A dash at Aldie. (search)
e world at large. To those familiar with his peculiarities it will be different. Stuart named his various headquarters after some friend recently dead. Camp Pelham indicated that this young immortal had finished his career. Pelham, in fact, was dead. At Manassas, Williamsburg, Cold Harbour, Groveton, Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, and a hundred other battles, he had opposed his breast to the storm, but no bullet had ever struck him. In the hard and bitter struggle of Kelly's Ford, with Averill, in March, 1863, he had fallen. The whole South mourned him-dead thus at twenty-four. Stuart wept for him, and named his new quarters Camp Pelham. To-day, in this autumn of 1866, the landscape must be dreary there; the red flag floats no more, and Pelham lives only in memory. But that is enough. There are some human beings who, once encountered, dare you to forget. To terminate my sketch. In those days of 1863, I had long forgotten Mountsville, the little fight there, and Captain