At this time Gen. Lee was making the preliminary movement of the Gettysburg campaign up the left bank of the Rappahannock, while Hooker moved on a parallel line on the other. Pleasanton's cavalry corps was massed on the river, near Rappahannock station, about fifty miles from Washington, which was now covered by Hooker's army. In compliance with my request, Stuart sent me a small mountain howitzer by Beattie. A brigade of cavalry and one of infantry were lying between Manassas and Catlett's station; and here was the only possible chance of reaching the railroad without being discovered. On May 29, 1863, I set out with about forty men, and my little gun, to strike it somewhere between these points. I had no caisson; but carried fifteen rounds of ammunition in the limber-chest. The enterprise on which I was going, when judged by the common standards of prudence, appeared not only hazardous but foolhardy. The camps of the enemy were distributed along the road at intervals of one or two miles, with patrols continually passing. Every train had on board a strong infantry guard. If I should succeed in penetrating their lines and making a capture, it could not be done without alarming the camps, which would make my retreat difficult, if not impossible. But I thought the end justified the risk. An attack, even by my small band, at such a critical time, might create an important diversion in favor of Gen. Lee. If this could be done, then the loss of the gun, and even of my whole command, would be as dust in the balance against the advantage of it.

We bivouacked that night in the pines near Catlett's, and were awakened in the morning by the reveille in the Union camps, which were a mile or so distant on either side of us. There was a narrow pathway through the pines, along which we marched until within a hundred yards of the railroad. The telegraph wire was cut, and a rail sufficiently removed to allow a train to run off the track. The howitzer was in charge of the Rev. Sam Chapman, who had been so conspicuous in the fight at Miskel's; it was now made ready for action. All of us were under cover, with one man near the road to give notice of an approaching train. We had not waited long before he gave the signal. I rode forward, and saw it puffing along. Chapman rammed down a charge in his gun; and all awaited the event with breathless interest. I was in fear every moment of a patrol coming on the road who might give the alarm and stop the train. Fortunately, none came. The engineer, not suspecting danger, was driving at full speed, when suddenly the locomotive glided from the track. The infantry guard fired a volley, which did no injury to us except killing a horse. In an instant, a shell from Chapman's gun went crashing through the cars. They all jumped off and took to their heels through the pines. In the stampede, they did not take time to count our number. If they had stood their ground, they could have easily driven us away. Another shell was sent through the boiler of the engine. The infernal noise of the escaping steam increased the panic among the fugitives. There were several bales of hay on the train that were set on fire. The whole was soon in flames. One car was loaded with sutlers' goods, which the men did not permit to be entirely consumed by the fire. There was also a number of fresh shad; and each man secured one of these. The blockade of the Potomac had for a long time deprived us of that luxury. The United States mail bags were tied to the carriage of the howitzer; and we started to retrace our steps.

I have been criticised a good deal at the North for capturing trains on railroads used for military purposes. To justify myself, it is not necessary for me to use the tu quoque argument, and retort that my adversaries did the same whenever they could; for the plain reason that I was simply exercising a belligerent right. There was nobody but soldiers on this train; but, if there had been women and children, too, it would have been all the same to me. Those who travel on a road running through a military district must accept the risk of the accidents of war. It does not hurt people any more to be killed in a railroad wreck than having their heads knocked off by a cannon shot. One of the most effective ways of impeding the march of an army is by cutting off its supplies; and this is just as legitimate as to attack it in line of battle. Jomini says that the irregular warfare of the Cossacks did more to destroy the French army on the expedition to Moscow than the Élite regiments of the Russian guard. After the peace, all Europe hailed their hetman, Platoff, as the hero of the war, and the corporation of London gave him a sword.

But to return to my story. I had penetrated the enemy's lines, and the difficulty was now to get out. The sound of the cannon had given the alarm. The long roll was beaten through all the infantry camps, and the bugles sounded—"to horse." As I had never used a piece of artillery before, it was not known that I had it. It was thought at first that Stuart had come in behind them, and hence they advanced on me cautiously. When I had got about a mile from the railroad I met a regiment of New York cavalry (the 5th), in the road directly in front of me. It had come up from the camp below at Kettle Run to cut us off. We halted while Chapman unlimbered, and sent a shell at them, which, fortunately, burst at the head of the column, and killed the horse of the commanding officer. This created a stampede, and they scattered before another shell could get to them. The way was now open, and we went on by the horse lying with his accoutrements in the road. I made Foster and a few others gallop forward, to produce the impression that we were pursuing, but soon recalled them to the gun, as I was expecting the enemy every moment in my rear. We were now girt with foes on every side. It would, of course, have been easy to save ourselves by scattering through the woods, but I was fighting on a point of honor. I wanted to save the howitzer, or, if I had to lose it, I was determined to exact all that it was worth in blood. After we got about a mile further on, the regiment we had broken rallied, and with reinforcements came on again in pursuit. Another shell was thrown at them, and they fell back. We were just on the edge of a wood, and I ordered Chapman to go forward with his gun at a gallop, while I remained behind with six men as a rear-guard to cover the retreat.

Clouds of cavalry which had been attracted by the firing were now seen in different directions, and the enemy once more moved toward us. With less than 50 men I was confronting Deforest's brigade of cavalry. At one time we had been entirely enveloped by them, but had broken through their line. As the enemy came near we slowly withdrew. Their advance guard of 12 or 15 men suddenly dashed upon us as we were retiring through the woods. We wheeled and had a fierce hand-to-hand fight, in which they were routed and driven back. Several of their dead and wounded were left on the ground. I have before spoken of Capt. Hoskins, an English officer, who had recently joined me. He was riding by my side when the fight began. The tradition of chivalry inherited from the ancient knights of using the sword in single combat still asserted its dominion over him, but my other men had no more use for that antiquated weapon than a coat of mail. They had discarded it as a useless incumbrance. Hoskins was in the act of giving a thrust when he was shot. In an instant after, his adversary fell before a deadly revolver. Hoskins's wound was mortal. When the fight was over, he was taken to the house of an Englishman near by, and lived a day or two. Thus died as gallant a gentleman as ever pricked his steed over Palestine's plains. He had passed without a scar through the fire of the Redan and the Malakoff to fall in a petty skirmish in the American forests. I could not stay by him, and I had no means of carrying him off. The overwhelming numbers pressing upon us forced a retreat, and we had to leave him by the roadside with his life-blood ebbing fast away. The horse that I had presented to him disdained capture and followed us. I gave it to Beattie. He was buried in his martial cloak at Greenwich church, and now, like Lara,

Sleeps not where his fathers sleep.

Seeing that no hope was left us but to save our honor and stand by the gun, I sent Foster with an order to Chapman to halt and unlimber in a narrow lane on a hill. The high fences on both sides were some protection against a flank attack of cavalry. I knew we could hold the position as long as the ammunition lasted for the gun. Some of the men who had joined me, thinking that they were going on a picnic, had already left to fry their shad and eat the confectioneries they had got on the train. When I rode up to Chapman, he had his gun already shotted. Mountjoy and Beattie were standing by it. Their faces beamed with what the Romans called the gaudia certaminis, and they had never looked so happy in their lives. As for myself, realizing the desperate straits we were in, I wished I was somewhere else.

Sam Chapman and his brother William, who afterward became the lieutenant-colonel of my battalion, had commanded the battery which, under Longstreet's orders, had shattered Fitz John Porter's corps in its assault on Jackson's line at Groveton heights. When the Federal cavalry came in sight a couple of hundred yards off, he sent them a shell that exploded in their ranks, and they fell back in confusion to the woods. They re-formed and came again. If they had deployed as foragers, we would have been driven away without inflicting much loss on them. But they committed the error of charging up the road in a solid column of fours, where every discharge from the gun raked them with grape and canister. They made several successive onsets of this kind, which Chapman repulsed. In turn, we would charge and drive them a considerable distance, and then return to the gun. This was repeated several times over ground strewn with their killed and wounded men and horses. The damage done here to my side was that Bill Elzey had several teeth knocked out by a bullet. They used their sabres, and we the revolver. At last the supreme moment came. Chapman had rammed home his last round of ammunition, and a heavy column was again advancing. I sat on my horse just behind the gun: when they got within 50 yards, it again belched with fire and knocked down a number of men and horses in their front. They halted, and, at the same time, I ordered a charge, and drove them down to the foot of the hill. I was riding a spirited sorrel horse, who carried me with so much force that I could not hold him up until I had gone some distance through their ranks. Charlie McDonough followed me. As I passed by a big cavalryman he struck me a blow with his sabre on the shoulder that nearly knocked me from my seat. At the same instant my pistol flashed, and he reeled from his saddle. McDonough and I were now hemmed in by high fences on both sides; the Federal soldiers we had passed in the road, seeing that nearly all my men had left the gun, which had ceased firing, made a dash at it. Beattie managed to mount and get away. George Tuberville, who acted as driver, went off at full speed, and saved his two horses and limber-chest. Mountjoy, who was one of the bravest of the brave, was captured at the gun, after he had fired his last cartridge.

The Rev. Sam Chapman had passed through so many fights unscathed that the men had a superstition that he was as invulnerable as the son of Thetis. His hour had come at last, and a bullet pierced the celestial armor of the soldier-priest; but he fought with the rammer of his gun as he fell. He lived to pay the debt he contracted that day. "For time, at last, sets all things even." The victors now held the howitzer, and barred the only way for my escape; but I held in my hand a more potent talisman than Douglas threw into the Saracen ranks. My faith in the power of a six-shooter was as strong as the Crusader's was in the heart of the Bruce. I darted by the men who were now in possession of the gun, and received no hurt, except getting my face badly scratched by the limb of a tree as I passed. I had left Hoskins, Chapman, and Mountjoy in the hands of the enemy. Their shouts of triumph now rang through the woods; but no further pursuit was made. With a single companion, I stopped at a farmhouse, washed the blood from my face, and started back to get ready for another raid.

In a week I had rallied, and was down in Fairfax stirring up the outposts. Stuart sent me a message, that I might sell another gun for the same price. I had effected more than I had hoped. When the news of my rout reached headquarters at Fairfax Court House, a flaming despatch (which is printed in Moore's "Rebellion Record") was sent North, announcing that "within two or three days Mosby had lost 150 men, and Gen. Stahel will not let him rest until his band is exterminated." As I had all the time acted on the offensive, it was easy enough for me to get rest by keeping quiet. As I had never had one-half that number of men, of course I could not have lost them. As long as I could keep a thousand men watching on the defensive for every one that I had with me, it was a small matter who got the best in a fight.

The Count of Paris, who was a staff officer in the Union army, in his history of the war, mentions the two affairs on the railroad, and says: "In Washington itself, Gen. Heintzelman was in command, who, beside the depots, the regiments under instruction, and the artillery in the forts, had under his control several thousand infantry ready to take the field, and Stahel's division of cavalry, numbering 6000 horses, whose only task was to pursue Mosby and the few hundred partisans led by this daring chief." If Pleasanton had had those 6000 sabres with him a few days after this, on June 9, 1863, in his great cavalry combat with Stuart at Brandy Station, the result might have been different. Hooker had asked for them, but had been refused, on the ground that they could not be spared from the defence of Washington.3