What in the newspaper slang of the day were termed "the depredations of guerillas," in the vicinity of Washington, induced the authorities there to make a change in outpost commanders. Wyndham, having played an unsuccessful game for over two months, during which time his headquarters had been raided, and his coat and hat carried off by us in his absence, had given it up in despair, and been sent to join his regiment at the front. The new person selected for the position was a major-general in the army, and a whiskered pandour, whose experience in foreign wars, it was hoped, would devise a remedy to suppress these annoyances. As soon as he took command, the cavalry camps in Fairfax resounded with the busy notes of preparation for a grand expedition, which he had resolved to undertake against us. It could no longer be endured that the war should be waged in full view of the dome of the Capitol, and the outposts could not stand the wear and tear of a perpetual skirmish, and the worry of lying awake all night waiting for an invisible foe to come and kill or capture them.

The spring campaign was about to open, and if the hostile band that created this trouble could be exterminated, the cavalry division, then doing duty in Fairfax, might be thrown forward to the Rappahannock to aid Hooker's operations. The Major-General was firmly persuaded, as no one had ever seen our camp, that the so-called guerillas were nobody but the country farmers, who collected together at night to make their incursions, and dispersed by day to take care of their fields and flocks. The fights at Chantilly and Dranesville ought to have convinced him that the men who had routed his best regiments had some training in war, and were no such irregular band as he imagined. It is true that, after I began operations in that region, many took up arms and joined me, who up to that time had followed peaceful pursuits. But whenever a citizen joined me and became a soldier, he discarded the habiliments of peace, put on his arms and uniform, and laid aside every other occupation.

When the struggle was over, they relapsed into the habits of their former life, and like the Puritan soldiers of Cromwell, became as marked for devotion to their civil duties as they had ever been in war. As for myself, it was for a long time maintained that I was a pure myth, and my personal identity was as stoutly denied as that of Homer or the Devil. All historic doubts about my own existence have, I believe, been settled; but the fables published by the Bohemians who followed the army made an impression that still lives in popular recollection.

There is a lingering belief that my command was not a part of the regularly organized military force of the Southern Confederacy. The theory of the Major-General, though contradicted by facts staring him in the face every day, got a lodgement in the minds of some people which has never been effaced. It was to confirm it that he now undertook to make a reconnoissance through the region infested by us. It happened that just at that time Hooker was preparing once more to cross the Rappahannock, and as a preliminary movement had sent Stoneman with the cavalry corps up the river to seize the Orange and Alexandria railroad and hold it as the line of communication with Washington. The line that connects an army with its base of supplies is the heel of Achilles—its most vital and vulnerable point. It is a great achievement in war to compel an enemy to make heavy detachments to guard it; it is equally as great a one to destroy the force that threatens it. It was to effect this latter object that in April, 1863, the Major-General set out on his expedition against me with two brigades of cavalry and a battery of artillery, which was to be the prelude of the opening of the campaign on the Rappahannock. Now it so happened that just about that time I received a letter from Stuart suggesting the capture of a train on the railroad. The effect of such a stroke of course would be to create uneasiness and alarm about the safety of Hooker's supplies.

The following is an extract from Stuart's letter: "There is now a splendid opportunity to strike the enemy in the rear of Warrenton Junction; the trains are running regularly to that point. Capture a train and interrupt the operation of the railroad, though it may be, by the time you get this, the opportunity may be gone. Stoneman's main body of cavalry is located near Warrenton Junction, Bealeton and Warrenton Springs. Keep far enough away from a brigade camp to give you time to get off your plunder and prisoners. Information of the movements of large bodies is of the greatest importance to us just now. The marching or transportation of divisions will often indicate the plan of a campaign. Be sure to give dates and numbers and names, as far as possible."

I could offer no better proof than this letter of the useful services that may be rendered by an active partisan corps in co-operation with the movements of an army. It not only cripples an adversary, but communicates intelligence of his movements. Accordingly I gave notice for a meeting at Upperville to undertake an enterprise against the railroad. I was willing to let the Union troops down in Fairfax rest while I turned my attention to Joe Hooker. On the evening of the day before the meeting I had been with Beattie up to the mountain to get a fresh horse to ride on the raid, and we returned about dark. I met a citizen, who informed me that a large Federal force was camped at Middleburg, and that there had been artillery firing there during the afternoon. I thought it was merely a false report that had gotten up a stampede, for I had not heard the firing, and I could not conceive what they could have been firing at, as we had no troops about there. I supposed that if they had come after me they would have tried to keep it a secret and make as little noise as possible.

About nine o'clock that night Beattie and I rode down in the direction of Middleburg to find out if there was any truth in the rumor. When we got on a high hill, about a mile off, that overlooks the town, we stopped to reconnoitre. The night was very cold, with a drizzling rain. Not a single camp-fire could be seen anywhere; and there was nothing to indicate the bivouacs of a military force. I said to Beattie: "This is just as I said—nothing but a stampede about nothing. If there were any troops about there, they would have camp-fires on such a cold night as this." We then rode forward, but had only gone a few hundred yards farther when we were halted and fired on by a picket. This, of course, proved that the rumor was true.

We fell back. But it was a mystery I could not solve, why there should be an encampment of troops in such weather without fires. Then, too, there had been artillery firing; what could possibly have been the reason for that? The next morning I went, according to appointment, to meet my men at Upperville, having sent out some scouts toward Middleburg, which is eight miles distant. My desire was to let the Union cavalry alone at Middleburg and strike the meditated blow at Hooker, on the railroad. The force that had come up from Fairfax after me had now been practically eliminated from the campaign. I wanted, therefore, if possible, to slip away from them undiscovered. Early that morning the Major-General put his column in motion on the pike for Upperville; but he had only gone a couple of miles before his advance-guard was driven in by Tom Richards and a few men. This caused him to halt and get ready for action. On the day before, on his march up the turnpike, he had seen horsemen on the hills watching him, who, like the Arab when he folds his tent, had silently stolen away.

On reaching Middleburg, the clouds seemed to thicken around him; for he had seen at least a dozen perched on the heights at different places gazing at him. They were evidently ready to light down on any stragglers, and bear them off in their talons. The Major-General unlimbered his guns, and opened fire on every moving object in his sight. He did no damage to anybody; but his firing gave notice for miles around to people to get out of his way. There was a large grove near Middleburg, in which he proposed to bivouac that night. But before entering it, he shelled it so effectively as not only to expel any guerillas that might be lurking there, but all animated nature. He carried along a newspaper correspondent to chronicle his exploits. His letter, published in the New York Tribune shortly after that, made clear a number of things which I had not been able to understand before reading it. It praised his consummate skill and prudence in allowing no camp-fires during the night, as they would have lighted the way for the guerillas to attack him; while the destructive artillery fire with which he had raked the forest showed that he possessed the foresight of a great general. It was also stated that he would only permit one half of his command to sleep at a time or unbridle and unsaddle their horses. With unconscious irony the letter concluded by stating that the result of the expedition had demonstrated that Mosby hadn't over twenty-five men, who had been totally exterminated. After remaining in line of battle for some time, waiting for me to attack him, the Major-General determined not to advance any farther toward Upperville, which lies just at the base of the Blue Ridge.

It was surmised that the guerillas, like the Cyclops, had taken refuge in caves on the mountainside, and there might be danger in approaching too closely, so he turned squarely off to his left. On his line of march he had swept the country of all the old men he could find, for he was firmly persuaded that in doing so he was breaking up my band. No plea in defence would be heard. A man named Hutchison, who was 70 years old, and had always used crutches, was among the prisoners. In vain he pleaded his age and infirmities as proof of the impossibility of his being a guerilla. A Vermont soldier stepped forward, and swore that he saw him leading the charge in the fight at Miskel's farm. He was sent to Washington as a trophy. The captives under guard marched in the rear of the column.

About eighty men had met me at Upperville. In order to elude the Major-General, and execute my plan of capturing a train on the railroad, I made a detour by Salem, going on toward Thoroughfare Gap in the Bull Run Mountains. The Major-General and myself, being ignorant of each other's plans, had also gone the same way, in order to avoid meeting the force that had driven in his advance from Upperville. Somehow he had got the idea in his head that a large body of Stuart's cavalry was in the neighborhood, and he was not looking for them. An hour or so after I had passed through Salem, the Major-General arrived there. He had started to return to Fairfax by making a circuit around through Thoroughfare Gap. Without any design on his part, he had struck right on my track. As I was marching very leisurely,—for I did not want to get to the railroad until about dark,—he might easily have overtaken me; but he did not seem to have the least desire to do so. He followed me at the rate of half a mile an hour. Having got all the old farmers prisoners, the measure of his ambition was full. He had at last destroyed the nest of vipers. He did not believe the body of cavalry that had gone on ahead were the very men he pretended to be looking for.

Just as I reached Thoroughfare Gap, two of my men—Alfred Glasscock and Norman Smith—came galloping up, and said that the enemy was pursuing me. They had, for some reason, remained behind at Salem, and saw the Major-General's command march through along the same road I was on. As he was only one hour behind me there, I felt certain that he was almost upon me. Some four miles back of where I was, the roads forked at a village called the Plains, one leading to Thoroughfare, and the other to Hopewell Gap in the Bull Run Mountains. I immediately wheeled around, and crossed over on the Hopewell road and started back toward the Plains. I supposed the Major-General was in pursuit of me, and as I could not undertake with less than 100 men to attack in front 4000 cavalry and a battery of artillery, my intention was to try to cut off his rear-guard before it passed the forks or the gap. But when I got on a high hill overlooking the Plains, instead of meeting his rear-guard, when I rode forward to reconnoitre, I saw his advance, that had just got to the forks. I halted, so did they, while their whole column rapidly deployed in line of battle, and the guns were placed in battery, ready for the expected onset.

Every disposition was made by him to receive an attack. We stayed there facing each other over one hour, until it grew dark, when I disbanded my men. I had abandoned my enterprise against the railroad because I supposed that it had been discovered where I was going, and that if I went on, with the Major-General behind me and Stoneman's cavalry in front, we would all be captured. He had learned at Salem that a body of cavalry had passed through just ahead of him, and at the Plains he saw that they had gone on the Thoroughfare road.

After giving us, as he supposed, ample time to get away, he started on the same route, when, with surprise, he saw a body of cavalry threatening him on the Hopewell road. He had no idea they were the same cavalry whose track he was on. If he continued his line of march he must go through one of the mountain passes, and remembering the fate of the Persians at ThermopylÆ, he determined now to halt. I took it for granted that he had stopped to go into camp at the Plains. But he, not knowing that I had disbanded my command and fearing a night attack, as soon as it became dark began a retreat back toward Middleburg. Being a cautious general, he did not go along the main public road, but cut across fields and took private ways. The bridges across every stream he crossed were broken down after he passed, although some were so narrow that a man could jump over them, and trees were felled across the road to prevent us from charging his rear. After marching all night he reached the vicinity of Middleburg about daybreak and went into camp. He had no idea that I had disbanded my men and gone off, but thought he had eluded us. Now, it had never entered my head that he was going to run away from me. Beattie and I had ridden on the same night over near Middleburg, and I stopped at the house of George McArty. About daybreak he came running to where we were sleeping and called out to us: "Boys! get up quick—the Yankees are all around you." We jumped up, and two or three hundred yards away we could see the field was blue with the Major-General's command. We bridled and saddled our horses quickly and rode off unmolested in full view of them. The Major-General and I had been running away from each other a whole day and night, and then came very near sleeping together. After taking a short rest from the fatigue of his night march, he started back to Fairfax with the battalion of graybeards he had taken prisoners, riding bareback with blind bridles on broken-down plow-horses. They were marched down to Washington and paraded through the streets to gratify the curiosity of the people. They created a greater sensation than a circus. Such was the grand anti-climax to the Major-General's Anabasis. It is so unique and complete in itself that I will not mar its epic unity by adding anything more to the narrative.

Provost-Marshal's Office, Fairfax Court House, Va.,
March 9, 1863, 3.30 A.M.

Capt. Mosby, with his command, entered this town this morning at 2 A.M. They captured my patrols, horses, &c. They took Brigadier-General Stoughton and horses, and all his men detached from his brigade. They took every horse that could be found, public and private; and the commanding officer of the post, Colonel Johnstone, of the Fifth New York Cavalry, made his escape from them in a nude state by accident. They searched for me in every direction, but being on the Vienna road visiting outposts, I made my escape.

L. L. CONNOR, Provost-Marshal.

P.S. All our available cavalry forces are in pursuit of them.

MAJ. HUNT, Asst. Adjt. Gen.

General Heintzelman's Headquarters.