George H. Gordon, From Brook Farm to Cedar Mountain

“Did you see the enemy's cavalry?” I asked.

“I saw the Maryland men run, and heard the firing; and then I thought it time to take care of myself,” he replied.

“But did you see any of the enemy?” I urged.

“No; but I was told there were twelve hundred.”

“Did you see any one killed?”

“No, sir. I laid low until they passed me, and then I ran here through the fields.”

“Can it be possible that this story is all of your own imagining?” I inquired.

“No, indeed, sir; I'm sure the camp is taken,” he answered.

The duty I was to perform was to capture, if possible, the captors, and if not, to bring back reliable information.

At daylight I resumed the march. We were but four miles from our destination. As we approached the river I came suddenly upon five or six men of the Maryland regiment, as they were crawling out of a hole that led from a barn-loft. These men confirmed the story of the teamster, saying that their regiment had been cut to pieces. Sweeping them in with my encircling line of skirmishers, I moved rapidly for the belt of woods in front of the ferry, where the regiment had been encamped. Near by was a small village, in which I saw the gleaming of bayonets, and troops apparently falling back; but with my glass I could not make out their colors nor their uniforms, so I threw out an entire company of skirmishers, and ordered up the artillery. But hardly had I made preparations for a fight, when one of my cavalry scouts came galloping back, saying, “Those are men of the Maryland ”