After our return from Hardy County, bringing with us a large drove of cattle, we established our head-quarters at a railroad station, eight or ten miles beyond Staunton. General Early was down the Valley, in the neighborhood of Harrisonburg, and a large body of the enemy’s cavalry moved up to attack him. They expected to make a raid on Gordonsville, if they did not encounter Early. On the Monday before Christmas day, 1864, we moved out from camp with our division, and marched to Harrisonburg. It was desperately cold, and the sleet froze as it fell. My hat by the evening was as stiff as a board, and had a heavy fringe of icicles. The horses were slipping and sliding at every step, and the thirty miles seemed like fifty. We rested for a few hours at Harrisonburg, and General Rosser ascertained where the enemy’s cavalry, under Custer, were to encamp for the night. At one o’clock in the morning we moved out again, the plan being to go by devious paths to the neighborhood of Custer’s camp, and there attack him at daybreak. Our whole effective force did not exceed five or six hundred men. The march was conducted with great judgment, and a little before daybreak, with no alarm given, the division formed in the woods on the edge of the open fields where, surrounded by blazing fires of fence rails, Custer’s troopers lay. The rattling of the sleet and the howling of the wind had effectually concealed our movements; but the men were almost stiff with cold, and it was hard to see how they would manage to handle their carbines or sabres. Just before daybreak the order to charge was given. I was with General Rosser at the head of the column, and I shall never forget the astonishment of the Yankee sentinel, who, as our horses came upon him like ghosts from the bosom of the darkness, fired his carbine in the air, and cried out: “My God, where do all those men come from!” It was a complete surprise, and in ten minutes, and with very small loss to ourselves, we had driven Custer and his entire command, consisting of about 2,000 men, out of their camp, and sent them whirling down the Valley. I was slightly wounded in the left leg, but not disabled from duty. Custer was in a farm house near by, and the story goes that, when he made his escape, he was in the condition that Cavendish would have been in, if he had lost his trousers entirely.

After the first dash, which, happily for us, accomplished what was desired, our men were very hard to hold. Had Custer attacked us, I do not think that we should have stopped short of Staunton. Expecting a counter charge, I tried, with General William H. Payne, (“Billy” Payne of the Black Horse Cavalry) to rally some of our men on the colors; but when I had gathered a dozen or two together, and started after some more, the first squad melted away into the woods. By common consent, the whole command withdrew. Custer had gone off one way, and our people had gone off quietly in the opposite direction. No one remained but General Rosser, Minnigerode, Mason, Archie Randolph and I. General Rosser suggested that we might as well go on after Custer, and see what he was doing, and we moved down the Turnpike, following Custer’s rear-guard at a respectful distance.

Three or four hundred yards away, on our right, coming along a converging road, was a body of thirty or forty men. They had their oil-cloths on, and it was difficult to tell who they were; but I had an unpleasant conviction that they were Yankees. We were approaching fast the forks of the road where we should meet them, and I ventured to suggest to General Rosser that they were not our men, but he insisted that they were not Yankees, and that, anyhow, we had better go on and see. So we went on. We were not more than a hundred yards away when the strangers halted, and were evidently preparing to fire. The imperturbable Rosser remarked very serenely: “Well, Dawson, you are right, those fellows are Yankees, but there are not many of them. Let’s charge them.” And we four did charge them; and, to our amazement and relief, the Yankees put spurs to their horses and galloped off down the Valley. As often happens in war, audacity had saved us. Nothing would have been easier than for those Yankees to have gathered us in, for we were half frozen, and our horses were worn out with hard riding.

We rode back to Harrisonburg, and having accomplished what was desired, and given General Early time to withdraw his wounded and stores, we retired to Staunton. There we were soon joined by General Fitz Lee.

Staunton is a hospitable place, and few days passed without an invitation to a dinner or a dancing party. I realized completely the delightful difference between my position with Longstreet, and my position with General Lee. By General Lee we were treated always as if we were his kinsmen, but, intimate and affectionate as our intercourse was, no one of us could ever forget the respect due to his rank. What we did for him, however, was just as much for love as it was for military duty.

From Staunton, we now moved to Waynesboro’, where there was much merry-making, and Minnigerode fell in love again, and secured a provisional sweetheart. Soon we were hurried to Richmond to head off a raiding party of the enemy.

One way and another I saw a good deal of General Rosser, and to my mind, there were few officers in the service who had as much military genius as he had. Instinctively, he seemed to know what was best to do, and how to do it. It appeared almost impossible to tire him, or to break him down, and I have known him to ride day after day for a couple of weeks with a running wound in his leg. Had he had the unlimited command of horses and material that the cavalry Generals on the other side had, we should have known little peace in the Confederacy. Unfortunately, however, there was something lacking in Rosser’s character, which I can best express, perhaps, by repeating a warning which was given me soon after I joined the command. It was this: One of my fellow officers said to me, “If Rosser gives you any order to deliver for the movements of troops in action, be careful to get that order in writing, and then, if anything goes wrong in consequence of the order, it cannot be said that the fault is yours.”