WINTER QUARTERS IN STEVENSBURG

In the month of November, 1863, the army of the Potomac recrossed the Rappahannock and the army of Northern Virginia retired behind the Rapidan. General Meade took up the line through Culpeper, placing the Third division on the left flank with headquarters at Stevensburg.

The advance into Stevensburg was stoutly contested by Hampton's division, and the confederate cavalry showed that it had not lost any of its fighting qualities, if its dash and spirit had been somewhat dampened by the sturdy resistance put up in the recent campaign by the federal troopers led by Pleasonton, Buford, Gregg, Kilpatrick and Custer.

At the time of the "Mine Run" affair, the Michigan cavalry crossed the Rapidan at Morton's Ford and attacked Ewell's infantry, falling back after dark to the old position on the north side of the river.

After that episode, the army went into winter quarters. The three generals—Kilpatrick, Custer and Davies—had quarters in houses, the rest for the most part lived in tents or huts. The Sixth was hutted in temporary structures built of logs surmounted by tents. They were fitted with doors, chimneys and fireplaces—some of them with sashes and glass and were very comfortable. The winter was a very cold one. There was some snow, even in Virginia, and the first day of January, 1864, is still remembered as noteworthy for its extremely low temperature throughout the country.

While in this camp the Michigan regiments had a visit from Jacob M. Howard, the colleague of Zachariah Chandler in the United States senate. He was one of the ablest men who ever represented the state in the national congress. He had served with high distinction as attorney general of the state before being elected to the senate. As chairman of the senate committee on Pacific railroads, he had much to do with piloting the country through the many difficulties which stood in the way of the accomplishment of the great enterprise of laying tracks for the iron horse across the American desert—spanning the continent with railroads—and reducing the journey from the Missouri river to the Pacific ocean from one of months to one of days—the most important of the achievements that followed close on the heels of the civil war. The senator made a patriotic speech to the soldiers and was cordially cheered.

The cavalry picket line was twenty-five miles long, and it was no child's play to serve as field officer of the day, when every picket post and every vidette had to be visited at least once each twenty-four hours. The outer line was along the Rapidan river. The confederate pickets on the other side were infantry. The union pickets were mounted and the duty was very wearing on both men and horses. Stuart's cavalry performed comparatively but little picket duty, and was kept back in comfortable quarters, recruiting and fitting for the coming spring campaign.

During the winter there was very little firing between the pickets. There was a sort of tacit understanding that they were not to molest each other. Indeed, officers could ride along the line without fear of being shot at. When on inspection duty, they at times rode down to the bank and conversed with the enemy on the other side. The pickets were suspected of crossing and recrossing and exchanging civilities—trading tobacco for papers and the like. The word of honor would be given to allow the federal or confederate, as the case might be, to return in safety and it was never violated when given. These visits were always in the daytime, of course, for at night vigilance was never relaxed, and a vidette was not supposed to know anybody or permit even his own officers to approach without the proper countersign.

Life in winter quarters was at best dull and it relieved the monotony to go on picket. The detail as field officer of the day was welcomed, although it necessitated a ride of forty or fifty miles and continuous activity for the entire of the tour of duty, both night and day. On these rides I made the acquaintance of a number of Virginia families, who lived near the river and within our lines. Of these I can now recall but two. On the banks of the Rapidan, directly in front of Stevensburg, lived a man named Stringfellow, who owned a large plantation, which had been despoiled of everything of value, except the house and a few outbuildings. Every fence was gone, and not a spear of anything had been permitted to grow. Mr. Stringfellow was a tall man, with gray hair, and clerical in garb and aspect. He was, in fact, a clergyman, and the degree of doctor of divinity had been conferred upon him—a thing that in those days meant something. Degrees, like brevets, were not so easily obtained before the civil war period as they have been since.

Mr. Stringfellow was a gentleman of culture, a scholar and profound student of Biblical literature. He had written a book, a copy of which was to be seen in his house, in which he had demonstrated, to his own satisfaction, at least, that the "institution of slavery" was of divine origin. It was said that he was a brother of the Stringfellow who became so notorious during the Kansas troubles, as a leader of the "border ruffians," who tried to force slavery into that territory, before the breaking out of hostilities between the states. Living at home with this Virginia doctor of divinity, was a married daughter, whose husband was an officer in the confederate army. They were people of the old school, cultured, refined, and hospitable, though hard put to it to show any substantial evidences of their innate hospitality, on account of their impoverished condition, which they seemed to feel keenly, but were too proud to mention, except when driven to it by sheer necessity. The federal cavalrymen were always welcome in that house and the officers in many instances were very kind to them. Indeed, I suspect that more than once they were spared the pangs of hunger by the thoughtful kindness of officers who had found shelter in their home and had broken bread at their table, only to suspect that the family larder had been stripped of the last morsel, in order to keep up the reputation for Virginia hospitality.

About five miles farther down the river, in a lonely spot, where a small tributary of the Rapidan tumbled down a decline, was a water-power on which was a rude sawmill, where a single old-fashioned "sash saw" chewed its way lazily through hardwood logs. The mill was tended by its owner who, with his wife, lived in a house hard by the mill, the only occupants of the dwelling and the only inhabitants of the immediate neighborhood. They led a lonely life, and when its monotony was broken by the arrival of the officer of the day upon his tour of duty, extended a quiet, but what appeared to be a not over cordial welcome. The man was a dwarf. He was so low in stature that when he stood, his head came just above the top of the dining room table. His diminutive stature was due to a strange malformation. His legs looked as if they had been driven up into his body, so that there was little left but the feet. Otherwise, he was like another, with well formed head and trunk. His wife was a comely lady both in form and in feature, rather above than below medium height. Both were intelligent and well read, pleasant people to visit with; but when this man, with the head and trunk of an adult, the stature of a child and, to all intents and purposes, no legs at all, toddled across the floor the effect was queer and, taken in connection with his somewhat solitary environment, it suggested a scene from the "Black Dwarf." But when one was seated as a guest of these good people at their hospitable board his physical deformity was lost sight of in the zest of his conversation.

The winter of 1863-64 was one of hard work for the federal cavalry. In addition to their other duties, the Michigan regiments were required to change their tactical formation and learn a new drill. Up to that time, Philip St. George Cooke's single rank cavalry tactics had been used. The tactical unit was the set of fours and all movements were executed by wheeling these units. There was but one rank. For some reason, it was decided to substitute the old United States cavalry tactics and form in double ranks. The utility of the change was, to say the least, an open question, and it necessitated many weeks of hard and unremitting toil on the part of both officers and men. There was little time for rest or recreation. Long and tiresome drills and "schools of instruction" made up the daily routine. In one respect, however, these drills of troop, regiment and brigade were a good thing. Many hundreds of new recruits were sent on from Michigan and, being put in with the old men, they were worked into good soldiers before the campaign opened, and proved to be as reliable and efficient as the veterans with whom they were associated. The Sixth Michigan received over two hundred of these recruits at one time. They were fine soldiers and on the march from the Wilderness to the James, no inspecting officer could have picked out the recruits of 1863-64 from those who enlisted in 1862.

At division and brigade headquarters alone was there time for play. Generals Custer and Kilpatrick had a race course where they used to devote some time to the sport of horse racing. There were in the division a number of blooded and speedy animals, and not a little friendly rivalry was developed in the various commands when the merits of their respective favorites were to be tested on the turf.

It was while at Stevensburg that General Custer obtained leave of absence and went home to Michigan to claim his bride. He was married in February, 1864, to Miss Elizabeth B. Bacon, daughter of Judge Bacon, of Monroe, Michigan. Mrs. Custer accompanied him when he came back and from that time on till the end of the war, whenever the exigencies of the service would permit, she was by his side. He was then but two months past twenty-four years of age, though he had already achieved fame as a cavalry officer and general of brigade. He was the youngest officer of his rank who won any great measure of success. Kilpatrick was more than three years his senior, although both were graduated from West Point in 1861.

Some time after the beginning of the year 1864, there began to be rumors of some daring expedition that was on foot, to be led by the dashing general commanding the division. It was about the middle of February, when a number of statesmen of national prominence came to Stevensburg, and it did not take a prophet to tell that something of unusual importance was in the wind, though nothing very definite leaked out as to what it was. Among the visitors referred to, were Senators Chandler ("Zach."), of Michigan, and Wilkinson, of Minnesota. During their stay, there was a meeting in a public hall in Culpeper at which speeches were made by both these gentlemen and where General Kilpatrick demonstrated that he was no less an orator than a fighter. His speech was the gem of the evening and stirred up no end of enthusiasm. Hints were thrown out of an indefinite something that was going to happen. It is now known, as it was soon thereafter, that Kilpatrick had devised a daring scheme for the capture of Richmond, which had been received with so much favor by the authorities in Washington, that he was then awaiting only the necessary authority from the war department before setting out on what proved to be an ill-fated expedition.

Late in the month, permission was given and he proceeded to organize a force of picked men and horses, selected with great care from the various regiments. The Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Michigan and First Vermont were represented, the Sixth furnishing about three hundred men. The First Michigan had just re-enlisted at the expiration of its three years' term of service and was absent on "veteran furlough," so did not take part, as the officers and men of that fine regiment would have been only too glad to do, had they been given the opportunity. It was a small division, divided into two brigades. General Davies led one of them, but General Custer was taken away and entrusted with the command of an important diversion designed to attract the attention of the enemy by an attack on his left flank, while Kilpatrick passed around his right and by a quick march reached the confederate capital. That portion of Custer's brigade which went on the raid, as it was called, was commanded by Colonel Sawyer, of the First Vermont cavalry. Detachments from the Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Michigan were commanded by Captain Hastings, Major Kidd and Lieutenant Colonel Litchfield respectively; the First Vermont by Lieutenant Colonel Preston.

Custer's part of the work was successfully accomplished. He created so much commotion in the direction of Charlottesville, that Kilpatrick was across the Rapidan and well on his way before his purpose was either discovered or suspected. It was, however, a fatal mistake to leave Custer behind. There were others who could have made the feint which he so brilliantly executed, but in a movement requiring perfect poise, the rarest judgment and the most undoubted courage, Kilpatrick could illy spare his gifted and daring subordinate; and it is no disparagement to the officer who took his place to say that the Michigan brigade without Custer, at that time, was like the play of Hamlet with the melancholy Dane left out. With him the expedition as devised might well have been successful; without him it was foredoomed to failure.

At the Culpeper meeting there was a large gathering of both officers and enlisted men, attracted thither from various arms of the service by a natural curiosity to hear what the speakers had to say. There were also several ladies in the audience. On the platform sat many officers of high rank. I do not remember who presided, but recall distinctly the glitter of rich uniforms.

After the speaking had begun, an officer wearing the overcoat of an enlisted man came in from the wings and modestly took a seat at the back of the stage. "Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retired," he seemed to shun observation. When, later, he removed his overcoat it was seen that he wore the dress uniform of a brigadier general. Inquiry disclosed that he was Wesley Merritt, commander of the Reserve brigade of the First cavalry division. His brigade consisted of three regiments of regulars—the First, Second and Fifth United States cavalry—and two regiments of volunteers—the First New York dragoons and the Sixth Pennsylvania cavalry. This was a crack brigade and after the opening of the spring campaign it was closely associated with the Michigan brigade for the remaining period of the war.

merritt

WESLEY MERRITT

Wesley Merritt, whom I saw then for the first time, was one of the "youngsters" who received their stars in June, 1863. He was graduated from the West Point military academy in 1860, at the age of twenty-four, and made such rapid progress in rank and reputation that he was a brigadier at twenty-seven. As a cavalry commander he was trained by John Buford. The latter was rightly called, "Old Reliable," not because of his age, but for the reason that he rarely if ever failed to be in the right place at the right moment—solid rather than showy, not spectacular but sure. His courage and ability were both conspicuous. He belonged to the school of officers of which Thomas, Meade, Sedgwick and Gregg were exemplars, rather than to that of which Kearney, Sheridan and Custer were preeminent types.

Such also was Merritt, an apt pupil of an illustrious teacher, the lineal successor of Buford. He came by natural selection to be commander of the First division, and at the last was chief of cavalry of the army of the Potomac, the capable successor of Pleasonton and Sheridan, a position for which he was peculiarly fitted by nature, by acquirements, and by experience. Modesty which fitted him like a garment, charming manners, the demeanor of a gentleman, cool but fearless bearing in action, were his distinguishing characteristics. He was a most excellent officer, between whom and Custer there was, it seemed, a great deal of generous rivalry. But, in the association of the two in the same command there was strength, for each was in a sort the complement of the other. Unlike in temperament, in appearance, and in their style of fighting, they were at one in the essentials that go to make a successful career.

But, to return to the point in the narrative from whence this digression strayed, the force that was thus assembled in Stevensburg, somewhat against the protests, but in compliance with orders from army and corps headquarters, was brought together with much show of secrecy, albeit the secret was an open one. As has been seen, the rumor of the projected movement had been for some time flying about from ear to ear, and from camp to camp. Its flight, however, must have been with heavy pinions, for it did not extend beyond the river, where the confederates were resting in fancied security, innocent of the hatching of a plot for sudden mischief to their capital.

The composition of the Second brigade has already been given. Its numerical strength was about 1,800 officers and men. The First brigade consisted of nine regiments of cavalry and one battery of artillery. That is to say there were detachments from that number of regiments. These were distributed equally among the three divisions, as follows: From the First division, the Third Indiana, Fourth New York and the Seventeenth Pennsylvania; from the Second division, the First Maine, the Fourth Pennsylvania, and Sixteenth Pennsylvania; from the First brigade, Third division, Davies's own command, the Second New York, the Fifth New York, and Eighteenth Pennsylvania. Ransom's regular battery was assigned to duty with this brigade. The detachments from the First division were all consolidated under Major Hall of the Sixth New York; those from the Second division under Major Taylor of the First Maine. The aggregate strength of Davies's command was 1,817 officers and men, exclusive of the artillery. The total strength of Kilpatrick's command was about 3,500.

The expedition started after dark Sunday evening, February 28, 1864, with three days' rations. The route selected led toward the lower fords of the Rapidan. The advance guard consisted of 600 picked men from the various commands, all under Colonel Ulric Dahlgren, an officer of Meade's staff who had established a reputation for extraordinary daring and dash. He had been especially designated from army headquarters to accompany the expedition. Davies followed with the main body of his brigade including Ransom's battery. To Colonel Sawyer with the Vermont and Michigan men fell the irksome duty of bringing up the rear of the column, the chief care being to keep up the pace, not losing sight of those in front, of which for a good part of the night there was much danger.

The crossing was made a little before midnight at Ely's Ford, Dahlgren taking the confederate picket post by surprise and capturing every man. No alarm was given. The start was thus auspicious. We were within the enemy's lines and they were not yet aware of it.

There was no halt. The rapid march was continued throughout the night. It was clear and cold. The order for the march was "at a fast walk," but every experienced cavalryman knows that the letter of such an order can be obeyed only by those in advance. The rear of the column kept closed up with great difficulty. The sound of hoofs in front was the only guide as to the direction to be taken. Often it was necessary to take the trot, sometimes the gallop, and even then the leaders were at times out of sight and out of hearing. At such times, there was an apprehensive feeling after the touch, which had to be kept in order to be sure that we were on the right road. This was especially true of the heads of subdivisions—the commanders of regiments—who were charged with the responsibility of keeping in sight of those next in front.

The march was not only rapid but it was continuous. There was an air of undue haste—a precipitancy and rush not all reassuring. Only the stoical were entirely free from disquietude. Those of us who were with the extreme rear, and who had not been admitted to the confidence of the projectors and leaders of the expedition, began to conjecture what it all meant, where we were going and, if the pace were kept up, when we would get there, and what would be done when the destination was reached. All the excitement and enjoyment were Dahlgren's; all the dull monotony and nerve-racking strain ours.

The head of column reached Spottsylvania Courthouse at daylight. The tail came trailing in as best it could, some time later. Here, in accordance with the prearranged plan, Dahlgren with his six hundred troopers separated from the main body, bearing to the westward and following the direct road to Frederickshall station on the Virginia Central railroad, his objective point being Goochland, about twenty miles above Richmond on the James river. The plan was for Colonel Dahlgren to cross the river at or near that place, move down on the south side, and be in position to recross by the main bridge into Richmond at ten o'clock, Tuesday morning, March 1, at the same moment when Kilpatrick would enter the city from the north by way of the Brook turnpike.[22]

But, "the best laid schemes o' mice and men gang aft a-gley." General Sheridan pointed out that such combinations rarely work out as expected, and that when an engagement with the enemy is liable to take place at any moment it is better to keep the whole force well together.[23]

In this case for Kilpatrick to divide his force was a fatal error of judgment. In the light of what took place it is now clear, as it ought to have been at the time, that the entire command should have been kept together, on one road. General Custer made the same mistake when he went to his death at Little Big Horn, in 1876. The combination did not work out as he expected. It may be entirely safe and proper for detachments to be sent out to make diversions for the purpose of deceiving the enemy. This was done when, on approaching Ashland Station, Major Hall was despatched with a force of about five hundred men to drive in the pickets in front of that place and make a feint of attacking, leading the enemy to suppose that this was the main body, while Kilpatrick with most of his force proceeded without opposition on the road leading to Richmond. But care was taken that he could reunite at any moment.

It would have been better had Dahlgren continued as the advance guard, going directly to Richmond by way of one of the bridges of the South Anna river and the Brook, the main column closely following. In that way, the general commanding might have had all the parts of his expeditionary force well in hand, under his own eye, and there need have been no halting, hesitation, or waiting one for the other. Dahlgren utterly failed to carry out to fulfilment the part of the plan prearranged for him to accomplish, and lost his life into the bargain. And the pity of it is that his life was wasted. Had he died leading a charge through the streets of Richmond, compensation might have been found in the glory of his achievement. But he died in an ambush, laid for him by a small force of home guards and furloughed confederate soldiers, who managed to throw themselves across his way when, after admitted defeat, he was trying to make his escape with only a small portion of his command. He deserved a better fate.

The main body crossed the Po river in the morning of Monday, February 29, and made a halt of fifteen minutes to feed. Thence it pushed on, Davies's brigade still leading, by way of Newmarket, Chilesburg and Anderson's bridge across the South Anna river to Beaverdam Station on the Virginia Central railroad. This point was reached late in the afternoon, the rear guard not arriving until after dark. Here some buildings and stores were burned. A train coming into the station, warned by the reflection of the flames in the cloudy sky, backed out and escaped capture. A small force of confederates made its appearance but was easily brushed away. The brushing and burning, however, were done by Davies's men. The Michigan cavalrymen coming too late for the fair, were privileged to hover in the background and watch the interesting performance from a safe distance, leaving it for the imagination to picture what they would have done if they had had the chance.

This night was cold, raw and rainy, the atmosphere full of moisture which gradually turned to an icy sleet. This added greatly to the discomfort of the march, which was resumed after tearing up the track and taking down the telegraph wires and poles in the neighborhood of the station. The stop at Beaverdam Station was not worth mentioning so far as it gave any opportunity to men or horses for rest or refreshment. Out into the dark night—and it was a darkness that could be felt—rode those brave troopers. On and on, for hours and hours, facing the biting storm, feeling the pelting rain, staring with straining eyes into the black night, striving to see when nothing was visible to the keenest vision, listening with pricked up ears for the sound of the well-shod hoofs which with rhythmical tread signaled the way.

The night was well advanced when at last a halt was ordered to make coffee for the men and give the patient animals the modicum of oats that had been brought, strapped to the cantles of the saddles. The bivouac was in the neighborhood of the Ground Squirrel bridge. Davies in his official report said that he went into camp at eight o'clock in the evening. That may have been. Davies was at the head of column and, after the small advance guard, the first to reach the camp ground. It was fully two hours later when the last of the Second brigade reached the place. From seven o'clock Sunday evening, till ten o'clock Monday night there had been no stop to speak of—no chance to cook coffee or feed the horses—save the brief halt of barely fifteen minutes on the south bank of the Po river. The men were weary, wet, cold and hungry but there was no complaining, for they were all hardened veterans, accustomed to hardship and exposure. They had been schooled to endure the privations of campaigning with cheerful fortitude.

When, at one o'clock, Tuesday morning, March 1, the march was once more resumed, it was found that the First brigade still had the lead. As on the previous day Michigan and Vermont were relegated to the rear. By the custom of the service it was our turn to be in the advance. The rule was for brigades and even regiments to alternate in leading. That is because it is much easier to march in front than in rear. On that morning Sawyer's command was entitled to be in front and the first in the fray. That may, however, be looked upon as a trifling matter and not worth mentioning. Veterans will not so consider it. It was but natural that Kilpatrick should before all others have confidence in his old brigade and those officers with whom he had personally served. Davies was a gallant officer and had some fine officers and regiments with him. There were none better. It was an inglorious part that was assigned to us. Still, there was as it turned out not much glory in the expedition for anybody, least of all for Kilpatrick himself.

The march during the forenoon was along the Richmond and Potomac railroad, to and across the Chickahominy river, to the Brook turnpike. Davies advanced along the turnpike toward the city, driving in the pickets and capturing a few of them. He crossed the "Brook"[24] and succeeded in getting inside the outer entrenchments, within a mile of Richmond. From the high ground overlooking the intervening plain it was almost possible to look into the streets and count the spires on the churches.

The time which it would take to make the ride from the Rapidan to the "Brook" had been closely calculated. Ten o'clock, Tuesday morning, March 1, had been the hour set when Kilpatrick would arrive and begin the assault upon Richmond from the north, while Dahlgren attacked it from the south. The former was on time to the minute. But where was Dahlgren? He made no sign. There was no way to determine whether he was or was not carrying out his part of the prearranged plan. Signals did not work. Kilpatrick was left to his own resources. A condition had developed in which prompt decision and action were imperatively demanded. There was no time for delay or careful deliberation. To do or not to do, that was the question. And there was but one man who could settle it. The rationale of the raid was a hurried ride, timely arrival, great daring, a surprise, a sudden charge without a moment's hesitation—success.

Whatever was done must needs be done quickly. It was not conceivable that Kilpatrick with three thousand men and six pieces of artillery—Kilpatrick the bold, the dashing cavalryman, the hero of Middleburg and Aldie—the conceiver of the expedition, who knew in advance all about the perils he must meet, the chances he must take—that he would permit uncertainty as to what Dahlgren with but five or six hundred men and no artillery was doing to influence his own immediate action. For all that he knew, Dahlgren was already in position, ready to strike, but awaiting the sound of battle from the north as the signal to begin.

And yet he hesitated. The object of the expedition, as has been shown, was to ride into Richmond and liberate the prisoners. It was a daring enterprise. A courage to execute commensurate to the ability to conceive was presupposed. So far everything had gone by the clock. Officers and men alike knew what that forced march of thirty-six hours, without pause, meant, if it had any rational meaning. Each one had screwed his courage to the sticking point to follow wherever our gallant commander led, prepared to share with him success or failure, according to the event. Indeed, there was safety in following rather than in falling back. We were far afield in an enemy's country. It was necessary to "hang together to avoid hanging separately." The goal was in sight. By a bold and quick forward movement alone could it be reached. An order to move up into a line of squadron columns was momentarily expected. That a dash into the city, or at least an attempt would be made nobody doubted. Anything short of that would be farcical, and the expedition that set out big with promise would be fated to return barren of results. The good beginning was worthy of a better ending than that.

Well, some of Davies's advance regiments were dismounted and the men sent forward deployed as carbineers on foot to feel of the fortifications and make a tentative attack on their defenders. Some of Ransom's guns were unlimbered and opened fire at long range. Reply was made by the enemy's cannoneers, for some of the earthworks facing us were manned with artillerists.

In the meantime, Sawyer's brigade held on the pike in column of fours, mounted, anxiously awaiting orders and developments, listened intently to the desultory firing of the carbineers and the occasional boom of the cannon in front. There was a growing feeling of uneasiness and incertitude which began to frame our minds for doubts and fears as to the outcome.

At length, a staff officer was seen riding slowly from the front towards the rear. The thought that ran along the column was, "Now the order is surely coming to move forward at a trot." Not so, however. He had been directed by General Kilpatrick to notify commanding officers that in case any of their men should be wounded, they would be obliged to make their own arrangements for the transportation and care of them, since there were no ambulances available.

Cheerful intelligence, surely, and well timed to put men and officers upon their fighting mettle! From that moment, the mental attitude of the bravest was one of apathetic indifference. Such an announcement was enough to dampen the ardor of men as brave as those who had been selected to make up the personnel of this expedition.

Finally, anxious to get some idea of what was going on and what the outlook, I rode forward to a place overlooking the battle field. Away to the front, a thousand yards or more, was an open stretch of cleared fields, across which was a light line of dismounted cavalry skirmishers, firing away at the defenders of the earthworks. This defensive force did not appear to be formidable in numbers; nor was it particularly effective in its fire upon our troops. Along the union line rode Captain L.G. Estes, adjutant general of the division, his cape lined with red thrown back on one shoulder, making of him a conspicuous target. He was exposing himself in most audacious fashion, as was his wont. It looked like an act of pure bravado. It was not necessary for him to furnish evidence of his gallantry. His courage was proverbial among the cavalrymen of the Third division. They had seen him recklessly expose his life on many battle fields.

This was as near as the expedition ever came to capturing Richmond. Kilpatrick who, at the start, was bold and confident, at the last when quick resolution was indispensable, appeared to be overcome with a strange and fatal irresolution. Davies was recalled and the entire force was directed to take the road to Meadow Bridge. It was after dark when we were ordered into camp somewhere between Mechanicsville and Atlee's Station. When I received the order I inquired if we were to picket our own camp but was informed that details for that purpose had been made and it would not be necessary. This quieted my fears somewhat but not entirely. Precautions were taken against possible surprise and to ensure speedy mounting and getting into position in the event of an emergency requiring it. The regiment went into bivouac in line, a little back in the shadow and away from the fires. Few camp fires were permitted. The saddle girths were loosened slightly but the saddles were not removed. Each trooper lay in front of his own horse, pulling the bridle rein over his horse's head and slipping his arm through it. In this way they were to get such sleep as they could. In case of a sudden alarm they were to stand to horse and be ready instantly to mount.

Thinking that in any case it could be got ready while the regiment was being mounted, I allowed my own horse to be unsaddled and hitched him by the halter to a sapling in front of my shelter tent which was quickly pitched, Barnhart, the acting adjutant, and an orderly pitching theirs by the side of it. Then, removing sword and belt but keeping on overcoat, boots and spurs, I crawled in with a "poncho" under me, using the saddle for a pillow.

It was a raw, rainy night, and snow was falling. The bad weather of the first night out was worse than repeated. It seemed more like Michigan than Virginia. It was very dark. I do not believe that any man living could make a map of the camps which the two brigades occupied that night—the exact locations or even the relative positions of the various commands. I doubt if the actual participants could point them out were they to visit the place. I know that at the time I had not the slightest knowledge on the subject and could not have told which way to go to find any one of them or even brigade or division headquarters. It looked like a case of "wisdom consists in taking care of yourself." We were on the north side of the Chickahominy and, with the bridges guarded, it would be difficult for the forces with which we had been contending during the day to get in on our night encampment. At least they could not well take us by surprise. But this made the position all the more vulnerable from the north. It was idle to suppose that Stuart's cavalry was doing nothing. It was as certain as anything could be that his enterprising horsemen were gathering on our track, urging their steeds to the death in an endeavor to stop the audacious career of the federal commander.

During the early evening it was known throughout the command that the general had not given up the hope of capturing the city and liberating the prisoners. A body of five hundred men led by Lieutenant Colonel Addison W. Preston of the First Vermont cavalry was to start out from our camp by the Mechanicsville road, charge in, release the prisoners and bring them out, Kilpatrick covering the movement with his entire command. The latter's official report says there were two bodies, one to be led by Preston, the other by Major Taylor of the First Maine cavalry. The name of Preston was a guarantee that the dash, if made at all, would be bravely led. There was no more gallant officer in the whole cavalry corps.

The conditions were such as to make one wakeful and alert, if anything could. But the danger of yielding for an instant to the allurement of the drowsiness produced by the long ride without sleep was overpowering. In an instant after getting under cover of the shelter tent I was emulating the seven sleepers. It is doubtful if the trump of Gabriel himself, had it sounded, could have awakened me. The assurance that we were protected by pickets, and the order to go into camp having been given unaccompanied by any warning to be alert and on the watch for danger, had lulled me into such an absolutely false sense of security that I was for the time dead to all the surroundings. There was firing among the pickets. I did not hear it. A cannon boomed. I did not hear it. A second piece of artillery added to the tumult. I did not hear it. Shells hurtled through the trees, over the camp and the waves of sound did not disturb my ear. At last partial consciousness returned. There was a vague sense of something out of the usual order going on. Then I found that Barnhart and the orderly were pulling me out of the "pup" tent by the heels. That sufficed. I was instantly wide awake. Barnhart was ordered to get his horse and mount the regiment. The orderly to saddle my horse and his own. In a few moments all hands were in the saddle. The regiment was wheeled by fours and moved a short distance to the right, more in the shadow and out of range of the shells, and formed in line facing toward where the enemy was supposed to be, and held there awaiting orders. No orders to advance came, nor was any brigade line of battle formed. In a very short time a staff officer came riding fast and directed me to move out by fours on the road in rear of the alignment and follow the command which he said had gone and was retreating. He did not say what road it was nor whither it led. He then rode away. Wheeling into column the regiment was moved out on the road and, greatly confused as to the points of the compass, and not hearing or seeing anything of the column, turned in the wrong direction. The same staff officer soon overtook the head of the regiment and set us right. We had to countermarch and, as a matter of fact, were going towards the enemy instead of joining in the retreat. It was by mistake, however. We had gone probably an eighth of a mile before being stopped.

hull

LEVANT W. BARNHART
WILLIAM HULL

The march then led back within sight of the camp which had been vacated. As we passed that point, far away in the distance among the trees, by the light of the abandoned fires, could be seen men flitting like specters through the places where the camps had been. They were presumably the enemy and apparently bent on plunder rather than conquest. It was a good time to give them a Roland for their Oliver but there did not seem to be a disposition to make a concerted attack or, in fact, any attack at all. Kilpatrick was in full retreat toward Old Church, abandoning his plan of a midnight attack on Richmond.

The force which made the attack on the camps was led by Wade Hampton who, as soon as he knew of the expedition, set out on the trail, picking up odds and ends of confederate cavalry when and where he could. He marched that day from Hanover Courthouse and says he came in sight of the camp fires near Atlee's Station and to his right on the Telegraph or Brook road. He must have been deceived as to the direction, for it is not possible that any portion of the main body could have been in camp on either of those roads. The camp he attacked was that of the Seventh Michigan which bore the brunt of it. This regiment lost a number of prisoners including the commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Litchfield.

We must have marched at least a mile, perhaps more, when the column was overtaken. It was moving at a walk on the road leading to Old Church. Finding myself in rear with no rear guard I detached three troops (A, E and G) and held them with sufficient interval to cover the retreat. When there was a halt they were formed in line across the road and facing to the rear with carbines loaded and at a "ready" to repel any attack, should one be made. Once when halted the tread of horses could be heard approaching.

"Halt! Who comes there?" was the challenge.

"Major Wells and a portion of the First Vermont cavalry," was the reply.

He advanced and was recognized and for the remainder of the night we jointly looked after the rear until a camping ground was found near Old Church about daylight the next morning.

An amusing thing happened after Barnhart and the orderly pulled me out of the tent. The orderly saddled my horse and after buckling on sword and belt I put my foot in stirrup and proceeded to mount. The saddle slipped off to the ground. In the excitement he had neglected to fasten the girths. I put the saddle on again and, making all tight, mounted and gave the horse the spur, when to my dismay he proved to be still tied to the tree. It was necessary to dismount, untie and adjust the halter. By this time it is needless to say I was getting "rattled." But the precautions taken made it easy to get the regiment into shape and keep it well in hand. The most regrettable thing about it all was that Sawyer did not rush his entire brigade to the support of the picket line. Had that been done, it is more than likely that Litchfield and his men might have been saved from capture, though I do not know how Hampton found them when he stole into their camp. If they were scattered about and asleep it would have been impossible to rally them and get them into line for effective resistance. On the other hand, had Sawyer with his other regiments, or Davies with his brigade, or both of them together made a concerted attack Hampton might have been worsted. But there was no attempt to make a fight. Hampton's attack caused consternation, forced a precipitate retreat, and led to the final abandonment of the objects of the expedition.

In a previous chapter I have sought to show that official reports are often meager, sometimes misleading. There has always been a good deal of mystery about this affair. There is mystery still, which careful reading of the official records does not dispel. Sawyer made no report; or, if he did it was not published. Few if any of the regimental commanders submitted reports. The Michigan brigade suffered its usual fate in that regard.

Kilpatrick's report as published says:

"The command was moved out on the road to Old Church, and placed in position and after considerable hard fighting repulsed the enemy and forced him back on the road to Hanover Courthouse."