Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 17.
Reverend J. William Jones, Ed.

On Saturday, the 7th inst., I was seized with a chill followed by high fever, when, about dusk, a courier arrived with a note saying: ‘The enemy are advancing in force on our left!’

General Jackson immediately ordered his horse, and each of his staff did likewise, and I with the rest, contrary to the advice of Dr. McGuire, medical director, and of all of the staff. [173]

But I could not bear the thought of missing a fight, so I went. We were out riding late in the night air, and as the enemy would not attack us, we all returned to headquarters, I feeling much worse.

The next morning I heard that the fight was about to commence, but I very sensibly determined not to go. After the general and his staff had gone I lay in bed with my breakfast near me, thinking about the matter, when I heard the thundering of the artillery not a half a mile off. I could stand it no longer, so jumped up (although I was so weak I could hardly stand), dressed and ordered my horse. Whilst the boy was getting him I was talking to a little girl on the porch, and among other things I asked her: ‘Which she would rather see a prisoner, General Jackson or myself?’ Little did I think whilst uttering these idle words that I would be taken prisoner in less than ten minutes. Well, my horse was brought forth, I mounted him and started for the battle-field.

Port Republic was on my way, and in passing through it I met our cavalry retreating, followed by men, women and children. I ordered the cavalry to halt and tried to rally them, but all in vain. I was so disgusted that I rode on, and, as I saw more cavalry coming, I thought that I would draw my pistol and rally them by force. I rode on rapidly, the cavalry coming closer and closer, cheering, firing pistols, etc., etc. When right upon them (within thirty steps) I discovered that they were the enemy's cavalry. I was surprised that they did not fire on me, so I turned and tried to join them in the charge, thinking thus to deceive them. But they knew by my gray coat that I was a ‘Rebel,’ and I was soon surrounded by them. A Yankee with a sabre above my head ordered me to surrender. I knew that he was a private and refused. I had my hand on my pistol and my spurs to my horse, and I knew that he dared not cut, for I could have shot him easily and would have done so. He therefore allowed his sabre to fall harmless by his side.

A very gentlemanly fellow now rode up and said ‘Sir, I am a commissioned officer, hand me your arms.’ As I was surrounded by a regiment of Virginia (bogus) and Rhode Island cavalry, and seeing that resistance or even hesitation was folly, I, yes I, with all my love for the South and my contempt for the Yankees, handed him my pistol. It was the one Willie gave me and which I have shot at many a Yankee. That, I told him, was all the arms I had. I was then a prisoner, and I bore on with them in the charge. Our Confederate cavalry corps made a stand and drove us (Yankees) back, to my delight, though the balls whistled in rather close proximity to my [174] head, and many a Yankee bit the dust. After this I was taken before the colonel, who, to my great joy and surprise, was an old friend-Sprigg Carroll, of Washington, D. C. He was very glad to see me, and his delight when I told him I was a member of Stonewall's staff was uncontrollable. He offered me a drink, which, by the way, I declined, and, after many friendly questions, he said: ‘Willis, if you will give me your word of honor that you will not try to escape you can go anywhere you please and I will relieve the guard which is over you.’ As I was being exposed to a very heavy fire, and as that fire was from our own men, I accepted the offer.

Just then our cavalry (Rebel) pressed down on the town; a regiment of our infantry opened a galling fire, and a stampede among my captors took place. They made for the river, and I saw that I could easily escape, as I was left comparatively alone. But it was too late, I had given my word, so, with a firm spirit but a sorrowing heart, I dashed into the river with the Yankee cavalry. A perfect sheet of fire blazed in my face; saddles were emptied; dead, dying and wounded men and horses were floating or sinking as we swam that beautiful stream. I expected every minute would be my last, but I put my trust in Him, who, in the darkest hour, has never deserted me, and who, I believe, will carry me safely through the war. If I should fall, 'tis His will, and no one should complain.

Reaching the opposite bank we entered a thick wood, which the Confederates shelled to such an extent that we were forced to leave it and join the main body of Shields' army. To do this we had to cross an open corn-field exposed to the musketry and artillery of the Confederates.

I advised the Yankees to run the gauntlet, which we did at railroad speed, and, as the saying is, ‘I worked in the lead,’ taking good care to try and keep a Yankee or two to my left so as to protect me as much as possible. We cleared the field and I passed the whole Yankee army in battle array. It was a splendid sight. They called me ‘Rebel,’ ‘Secesh,’ etc., etc., and one fellow hallooed out as I passed the ‘stars and stripes’ gaily floating in the breeze, ‘I suppose you see the flag still floats?’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘and another waves across the river still.’ They asked me hundreds of questions, none of which, of course, I answered satisfactorily.

In the confusion I lost sight of Carroll, and I was then put under charge of a guard, which, of course, absolved me from my parole given to Carroll. From that moment I began to try to make my escape. I was carried about seven miles to a nice house, the residence [175] of the widow Ergenbright. I determined, as I was a little sick, I would take that cue as a basis for escape, and, as the result shows, it worked well.

I knew I was in a secession house from the following incident: I was walking up and down the room with my hand to my head telling my guard how inhuman it was for them to keep me up when I was so sick, when I heard a sweet voice say: ‘Never mind, you will all pay for it.’ I turned and saw a handsome young lady with flashing eyes, addressing herself thus to my guard. I knew that she was my friend, and she so proved herself. In a few minutes old Mrs. Ergenbright came to me and said, ‘I can get you a bed,’ and asked my guard if I could use it. They said I could. I had a long, pleasant sleep; dreamed I had escaped and was in the Southern army again. When I awoke my heart almost sank within me. Different members of the family would come and cheer me up, but my guard was by me all the time. Miss Ergenbright was to help me escape by drawing for me a map of the country. The Federals brought wounded Yankees into the house, and some of them into my room. Miss Ergenbright protested that she had nothing for them to eat, although she brought me every luxury. My guard accused her of trying to get me to escape, but she answered them defiantly, and among things said she had two brothers in the 6th Virginia cavalry, Southern Army, and I had a great mind to say, ‘and a lover, too,’ but I did not.

Well, that night my window was closed, the door fastened, and two men slept right against it. I had no arms. After thinking of my lot for some time I dropped into a profound sleep, from which I was awakened early the next morning by the distant booming of artillery.

I knew Jackson had whipped Fremont the day before, and that today he was trying Shields. Upon the issue of this last fight my captivity and destiny depended.

I saw at once that my safety depended on this issue. If I could play my cards so as to remain at this house, and Jackson should whip Shields and pursue him beyond the house in which I was, I would be recaptured. Thus my escape rested on Jackson's success, and his distance of pursuit depended on himself and his men. My staying at the house depended on myself.

I was accordingly much worse. Oh! I got very much worse! I sent for a Yankee surgeon, had a lotion prepared, and the old lady put a horseradish poultice on my throat. All this time the artillery [176] was heard in the distance; the young lady bringing me news from time to time. Finally she came up and told me (in fact I heard them) that the Yankee wagons were coming back. She said (and I thought, too,) that the Yankees were beaten.

I listened, and it seemed that the artillery then were getting further off. My spirits fell, but it was momentary only, for the wind varied around again, and I saw that they were nearer.

Then confusion began. Wounded Yankees were being brought in. Ambulances were rolling to and fro and I could see from the expression of the faces of the attendant guard that something was wrong. They would, too, occasionally say, ‘They are too strong for us,’ etc., etc.

Just about this time a Yankee surgeon came in and examined me—groaning terribly—and he pronounced me unfit to be moved.

They then tried to make me take the parole ‘not to take up arms against the United States until duly exchanged.’ This I refused very feebly to do. My refusal exasperated them, and they said that I should go if it killed me. But they were warned by the artillery, which was thundering ‘nearer, clearer, deadlier than before.’ A dismounted dragoon rushed in and announced their troops beaten and the Rebels in hot pursuit. They all rushed headlong from the room. The rattle of the musketry for the first time could be heard, and directly the Yankees began retreating by. A regular Manassas stampede followed. My guard, paralyzed with fear, was afraid to go out—afraid to stay. I still played my role, grunting and groaning, but awaiting the auspicious moment to seize him.

Miss Ergenbright rushed up and told me that Colonel Carroll, with the Federal cavalry covering the retreat, was now opposite the house and that he would come up and tell me ‘good bye.’ Whilst I was waiting for him, Miss Ergenbright came in again, and with joy in every lineament of her face cried, ‘Our cavalry are here, right out at mother's garden! Get up, you are safe! Safe!’

A terrible fire from our cavalry carbines verified the truth of her assertion—the balls whistled by the windows, and I jumped up and dressed. Carroll hallooed out, ‘Tell Willis his cavalry is too close, I can't come up. Good bye!’ Poor fellow! He was wounded a minute afterwards, and was rapidly carried off by two of his troopers.

I ran out, took my guard prisoner, and found that an adjutant of an Ohio regiment, who had pretended to be my friend the night before, had taken my three-hundred-dollar horse, with my saddle, bridle, shawl, etc., etc. [177]

I took the horse of my Yankee prisoner and made the latter get up behind me and rode back to our lines.

I soon met General Jackson, who was glad to see me, saying with a smile, ‘I guess you will stay in bed next time you are sick.’ I said I would; told him everything I knew, and went on with my prisoner, now as his guard.

When I met the Twelfth Georgia regiment such a cheer greeted me as I never heard before. They were in the advance, and said they were coming after me.

The Thirty-first and other regiments all cheered, to my delight and to the chagrin of my prisoner. I rode on. Everybody in the army seemed to know that I had been captured, congratulated me on my escape, and asked me an hundred questions.

I finally turned over my prisoner, who said to me: ‘I treated you well, now you do the same to me, will you?’ I instructed the guard under whom he was placed to treat him well, rode off with his horse and equipments and joined the army, if not ‘a wiser or better,’ certainly a more experienced man.

I am in splendid health and spirits, and will not get caught again. I will be more careful in everything.