CHAPTER XXXI. FAREWELL TO FREDERICKSBURG--GENERAL PLEASONTON--CAVALRY FIGHTING AT BRANDY AND ALDIE--LOOKING AFTER STUART'S REBEL CAVALRY--A COUPLE OF CLOSE CALLS--CHASED BY MOSBY'S GUERRILLAS--WITH CUSTER IN FREDERICK, MD--THE DAY BEFORE THE BATTLE, FLIRTING WITH THE GIRLS.

Just how long we of headquarters were on the march from Fredericksburg to Gettysburg is beyond my recollection. We went the longest way around to get there, I think, but we will hurry the reader along the war-path to Gettysburg. As it was Pleasonton's business to find out where Lee was going, we had to cover considerable ground in chasing the devil (Stuart) around the bush.

The first incident or date of importance was the great cavalry battle of Brandy Station, which has been so fully written up that I only need to mention that I was "thar or tharabouts"—in the rear of a haymow.

It was Buford, of my brigade, who should have the credit of manoeuvering the cavalry there. In result, it rather astonished the Confederates. After this encounter, a "Yankee on a horse" was more respected by them. It was the only cavalry battle of the war. We had other little skirmishes on the outposts, of no particular interest to this narrative. One little circumstance remains vividly fixed in my mind in connection with our cavalry skirmish along the rugged, rough Blue Ridge Mountains or Gaps.

At one point—Middleburg, I think—we had a rumpus with some of Imboden's, or Stuart's, men, who were opposed to our looking through the Gap to see what Lee was doing in the Valley.

I had been sent out to scout, and for this mounted secret service a second man was sent along.

The instructions were to get on some untraveled road and reach the top of the mountain, or, at least, some position from which we could use our signal glasses to view the Valley on the other side. It was understood that Lee was moving down or up the Valley, but Pleasonton desired to know just what infantry force was yet in front. To obtain this information, two of us started out alone about three or four o'clock one morning, hoping to get a secure place in the woods on a mountain-top by the light of an early dawn, where we would remain quietly all day, using our glasses from tree-tops, etc., and signal back from the mountain.

Now, bear this in mind, we were to signal back, indicating our position by the old Indian plan of a column of smoke. The signal men about headquarters, seeing the smoke ascend, would level their glasses at the point from which it was supposed to originate. We rode along quietly enough, without meeting anyone, and dressed so that we would have passed ordinarily for the guerrillas that infested the country thereabouts.

I was particular, however, to keep on my uniform jacket and pantaloons, saber, etc., though I disguised them by rents and rags as much as possible.

I knew very well that to have been captured in the disguise of countryman meant being hung as a Spy. The uniform and arms protected me from detection and immediate execution.

We got to a point in the road from which we turned into the woods, leading our horses over the rough growth of underbrush a half mile or so, where we securely tethered them in a little ravine, safe from observation. The poor, tired horses were only too glad of a chance for a little rest and quiet, and on this account we did not fear their making any noise.

Laboriously climbing up the rough mountain on foot with our paraphernalia, we at last reached a point from which we had a clear view of a certain portion of the country on the other side.

We saw nothing at all like an army below us; in fact, the Confederate army had previously passed out of sight at that point, en route to Gettysburg. I turned in leisurely to make our coffee and "smoke," while my chum stood guard with his glass.

After climbing half a dozen trees, to try to get a back view, we at last were compelled to give up, because of the presence of a dense wood below, behind which our headquarters were sunken completely from our sight. As the next best thing to do, we made the signal of "two smokes," which had been previously agreed upon to signify "no enemy in sight."

We remained long enough in the mountain to satisfy ourselves that there was no enemy there and not likely to be, and, as we could not flag back, we decided to smudge the two fires, so that the two smokes would be seen for some time after we should leave on our return.

Finding the horses all right, and feeling so well satisfied that there was no enemy near enough to trouble us, we probably became too careless. On reaching the road, I proposed riding ahead on the road to the summit before returning. My companion, who, by the way, was chief clerk of our Adjutant-General, and, being as big a fool as myself, consented, so we trotted on up the road, feeling perfectly safe. At a point right at the summit, probably, we were paralyzed to see a blockade or rifle-pit across the road.

We abruptly stopped at the sight of this, but receiving no salute of welcome, we sidled to one side of the road to make room for any cannon-balls that might want to pass down. Not stirring anyone, my friend suggested that it had been abandoned. Feeling assured by the deserted-looking appearance of the road, we were ready to advance again when, on looking to one side of the road in a direction we had not thought of scrutinizing, my comrade observed, as he jerked in his horse: "There's a man over by that old barn," pointing to the right, and then in hurried tones: "There come two more around the corner."

I looked in the direction indicated and saw a half-dozen mounted men at the edge of a wood; but the first one wore blue clothes, so I reassuringly said: "Why, it's some of our men who are out here foraging."

"No; I'm —— if it is. I'm going to get out of range, anyhow;" with that he turned his horse's head. I kept my eye on the men, and saw, to my horror, two of them raise their guns and point at us.

As quickly as if I had been shot, I jerked my horse around and dodged my head on the other side of his neck; the horse turning suddenly as I made this motion, threw me entirely out of the saddle on to my feet on the ground. Just as I turned there were two shots in quick succession.

As we were within very close range, the Rebel cavalrymen seeing me dropped out of the saddle, stopped firing, supposing, of course, I was hit. The funny part of it was, my companion's horse had been so accustomed to going "double" that he could not be made to budge a step until my horse was ready to go along with him.

I had not lost the reins and was soon in the saddle, hanging by the neck of the horse. I spurred him for dear life and led the other horse out of the scrape. It was a close call, and I have not the least doubt but that my fall out of the saddle saved us both, as they supposed we were sure game and didn't follow up until we were galloping down the road, there being a fence between us.

These men were part of the Confederate cavalry that had been on the very mountain below us all the time we had been in the woods above.

We returned to camp at Aldie, reported the matter, and were complimented highly as "two —— fools."

During these every-day cavalry skirmishes, while en route to Gettysburg, I saw a great many horrible sights in the way of wounded cavalrymen and horses. One of the most disagreeable, to me, was to see them carry a dead soldier across a led horse's back, while a companion walked along side, holding him steady by the heels, precisely as if the man was a bag of potatoes, or corn, going to mill. There was a great deal of this, which seemed to be the only method to get the dead out of those mountains, where ambulances could not travel. It is not pleasant to think or write about; but, dear me, I sometimes feel as if all the horrible truths should be told. In the war-papers we find but little mention of the rough manner of taking care of the wounded, and the disgusting disposition of the dead heroes. As General Sherman says: "I don't want to make any more speeches about the war—it's not a pleasant subject. You know, boys, as well as I do, that war is hell."

I will just observe, in passing, that a chapter on the "ruling passions" and dispositions of men, as they lie in field hospitals, would be a curious study. My observation has always been that the big, blustering fellow, who was often a bully in camp, on getting a little wound, was the fellow to make Rome howl when he got under the Surgeon in a hospital. Quiet, inoffensive boys, probably lying near him with serious and painful wounds, were compelled to hear the booby howl like a school-boy who had stumped his sore toe.

We were at Aldie several days. General Hooker's headquarters were somewhere about Fairfax Court House, some ten or twelve miles distant, or to our rear. Between this cavalry outpost and the Army of the Potomac communication was kept up over one of the best of Virginia pikes. I think it must be a section of the National pike, leading to Winchester and the West; anyway, it is a good and a very straight road, running up and down the hills, so that it seems to be always in sight. I remember the road very distinctly, from an adventure with guerrillas over it.

I had been ordered to take a lot of Quartermaster and Paymaster papers into Washington from the Adjutant-General's headquarters. A headquarters ambulance, driver and two good horses were furnished me to reach the railroad at Fairfax Station. Mr. Emerick, the civil-service Telegrapher who had been at our headquarters, accompanied me on this return to Washington. This was the same operator whom I had described at Aquia Creek, while en route to Old Capitol. He did not recognize me at all, and, of course, I was not anxious to identify myself. Being on the move, there was no telegraphing to do, and he, as an independent civilian, left the army for Washington when he desired to do so, without consulting the Generals in the field.

Right here I will say, as serving to further emphasize the policy of the telegraphs as well as the signals being under military control, that the Army of the Potomac was practically without a word of telegraph communication with Washington from the time they left Fairfax and the railroad until two days after the battle of Gettysburg. There was, of course, some telegraphing from Frederick, Maryland, but it was not reliable, as Stuart was somewhere between the lines.

This is an important fact that should not be forgotten. The civil telegraphers abandoned the army when they saw proper, and this at a time when it was most important of all the War that they should have been in communication with Washington. The Signal Corps, on the other hand, established and operated a line of signals all along the march from Sugar Loaf Mountain to South Mountain, Monterey, Green Castle, Pennsylvania, up to Parnell's Knob, in the Cumberland Valley, Pennsylvania.

The ambulance that brought us to the railroad was ordered to await my return from Washington. I reached Alexandria in the evening, when I was met by my elder brother, Spencer, then in charge of the railroad telegraphs. My brother took me to his boarding-house to spend the night. He, having recently married a wealthy Maryland lady, Miss Katie Hyatt, of Hyattsville, was living in considerable style for Alexandria war times. I therefore felt quite uncomfortable in their society, dressed only in my hard-used uniform. When shown to my room, in which was a comfortable, clean bed, I couldn't think of occupying it, so slept on the floor alongside, more comfortably than if I had been between the clean sheets.

The next day I delivered my package of papers, muster-rolls, pay-rolls and a whole haversack full of Adjutant-General's papers to the proper officers at the War Department, and started on my return via Alexandria and the railroad to Fairfax.

I found the ambulance waiting for me all right, and we at once started off via Fairfax Court House. Here I found a headquarters horse, and as the ambulance was to be detained at Fairfax for a couple of hours, waiting an escort to convey it out to Aldie, I concluded to ride on out in advance.

It was not a very sensible conclusion, to be sure; but, as I have so often said, I did not have very much sense, and acted usually as the spirit moved me, without thinking about the probable consequences.

I rode along nicely for several miles, passing our infantry and outposts, who were stationed along a little run some distance in advance of Fairfax Court House. Along in the evening, just about sunset, I reached a hill-top, from which I could see the road straight ahead over a valley and thence up another hill. The road on the other hill ahead of me was cut through a dense wood, such as is usually found on these hills.

I discovered something ahead, apparently standing in the road on the top of the further hill, but paid little attention to it, supposing it was merely a wagon-train stopping for a feed or going into camp for the night. I rode on down the hill carelessly, getting almost out of sight of the hill-top beyond while in the valley below.

Seeing considerable smoke ahead, I was confirmed in my first impression that it was a wagon-train camp just lighting their camp-fires.

On coming closer, I observed a great deal of bustle around the wagons, but, as that was nothing unusual among a lot of teamsters and mules, I paid but little attention to it, and jogged along on my horse, singing to myself the popular song of those days, "Gay and Happy."

But when I came in full view, and so close that I could see a wagon on fire, I began to get suddenly interested. Men were flying around at a lively rate, as I supposed putting out the fire. I didn't exactly like the looks of the thing, and determined, in my own mind, to reconnoiter and advance slowly. Discovering a little, old house in the edge of a clearing to the side of the road, a short distance from the scene I have described, I rode into the little yard, and called to a woman who was holding a baby in her arms: "Who are those men up the road?"

"Soldiers, I reckon, sir."

"Yes, I know; but what soldiers?"

"Colonel Mosby's soldiers, I reckon, sir."

That was enough. I had a package of reports and papers and some private letters in my pocket, to deliver to Pleasonton and other officers about headquarters. Feeling sure of my belt, pulling my cap down tight over my face, I took a short grip on the reins.

"What are they doing up there?"

"They done captured that wagon-train, sir; and I reckon they will burn the wagons when they get the horses away."

I turned my horse back to the main road, feeling a little nervous, but determined to run for my life.

The moment I got into the road, and without looking up at the burning wagons, I turned my horse's head back and put spurs deeply into his flanks. I had not made five jumps before I heard the cracks of at least a dozen rifles. This only nerved me to more desperate lashings with spurs, leaning forward to the horse's mane as I thrust the spurs into him at every jump. They came after me, yelling like a band of Comanche Indians; but I had a good start, and their guns were empty.

It was a good race for about three miles. I won, and saved my neck again. As I reached the picket-lines that I had passed, I reported to the officer in command that guerrillas were burning our train, but this fellow—a Colonel—refused to cross his men over the run to help to save them.

I rode on back toward Fairfax and met some officers of Hooker's Staff, giving them my adventure. While I was talking to them, we heard sounds as if a distant blast was going off. Looking ahead over the straight road, in the direction whence I had retreated, we saw a dense cloud of white smoke, like a fog-bank, rise over the tops of the trees. Hooker's aide said:

"Well, those fellows will get badly fooled if they are burning that ammunition train."

That was it. They hurried back to Fairfax, and, there being no other cavalry available, Hooker sent out his bodyguard—Rush Lancers—whom I piloted back to the hill-top. When we got near, one or two wagons were yet unburned, but as they were surrounded by the debris of the explosion, we were afraid to go near, lest another wagon-load of ammunition would go off.

I have read Mark Twain's old joke regarding his bravery, in being in the army where cannon-balls and bullets were thickest—right where whole wagon-loads of ammunition were going right past him—but after this experience with a wagon-train, I'm willing to admit this as about as dangerous as anything in an army.

I saved my papers, my life, and got back to Aldie and headquarters that night under the escort of Hooker's bodyguard—or "turkey drivers," as we called them.

It was Pleasonton's cavalry scouts that definitely ascertained that Lee had crossed the Potomac into Maryland. We of the headquarters moved rapidly from Aldie, crossing the Potomac at some point near Leesburg. I think it was the Sunday preceding the contact with Lee that headquarters spent in Frederick, Maryland. We were comfortably quartered at the City Hotel, on a main street of that old town. It was one of the old-fashioned country taverns, with a big yard or court in the rear, for the accommodation of the country teams that visited the city on market days. On this particular Sunday the stables were filled with the horses of the Headquarters Staff, while the yard was crowded with ambulances, baggage-wagons, commissary supplies, etc.

Custer was with us in Frederick all of that Sunday, and spent most of his time at the big parlor window up-stairs flirting with a couple of quite young girls who lived opposite the hotel. The people usually lived above their stores in the town, and I remember very distinctly the name on the sign was spelled "Schley"; so, if there were one or two Misses Schley in Frederick in 1863, their children will have the testimony of a very-much-interested eye-witness that their mothers were beautiful ladies, who so attracted the handsome General Custer that he almost forgot all about his cavalry pickets who were on the South Mountain hunting Stuart's lost cavalry. In those days Custer wore his hair long; it was quite curly, and touched the blue velvet boyish-looking jacket which he always wore; this, with the long, loose ends of the invariable red necktie, gave the cavalry hero a very picturesque appearance, especially when he dashed along on his horse with all the Staff and orderlies spurring after him in the dust. As I remember, we of the cavalry were after J. E. B. Stuart. No one seemed to know where he was; even General Lee was at that time in entire ignorance of Stuart's whereabouts.

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