But to return to where we left our friends (the enemy crossing the Rappahannock). We did not pursue them beyond the river, but moved northeast, crossing the river at the same place where we had crossed on the march to Gettysburg. It was about 9 o'clock at night; beyond we could see all the hills brilliantly illuminated with camp-fires. It was a gorgeous spectacle.

As we had driven the enemy across the river a few miles below, of course, we in the ranks, concluded that these were the camp-fires of the enemy, and that a night attack was to be made upon their camp. But we crossed, notwithstanding, and as we rode up to the blazing fires we discovered that we were right in the midst of Lee's infantry.

We went into camp for the night. Early in the morning we were in the saddle, with both cavalry and infantry on the march. Marching parallel to us was the whole Union army. They were making for the defences of Washington, and we were trying to cut them off.

When we got as far as Bristoe Station, not far from Mana.s.sas, Gen. Lee made a swoop down upon them and tried to bring them to battle, but they were too swift for us. We did, however, have quite a severe fight at Bristoe Station between the advance guard of our army and the rear of the enemy.

Gen. A.P. Hill, commanding one of Lee's corps, made the attack. It was very severe while it lasted, and the roar of the musketry was terrific.

But the enemy got away.

After it was over one of my company (Frank Peak) heard Gen. Lee severely reprimand Gen. A.P. Hill in these words: "Gen. Hill, your line was too short and thin." I presume Gen. Lee thought if Gen. Hill had extended his line farther out, he might have captured the entire force in our front.

In this battle Rev. A.W. Green (to whom I have already referred as being captured at Harper's Ferry by Jackson) had one of his fingers shot off.

I have often joked him and said it was I who shot it off. Just as I am writing this Mr. Green, whom I have not seen for 10 years, came into my office, and I told him what I was doing. He held up his hand, minus one finger, and said, "Yes, you did that."

We followed the retreating enemy some distance below Mana.s.sas, but could not overtake them. We halted for awhile, and a few days afterward the whole army, cavalry, infantry and artillery, marched slowly back toward the Rapidan.

The expedition was fruitless. The infantry, as is nearly always the case, marched with the wagon-trains, while the cavalry, in nearly every instance, leaves the wagons behind, depending upon whatever can be picked up from the farmers or the enemy.

In this particular section at this time, the farmers had no chance to plant crops. The trees had already been stripped of fruit. We could not even find a persimmon, and we suffered terribly with hunger. Of course, there was plenty of gra.s.s for the horses, but the men were entirely dest.i.tute of provisions.

We were looking forward to Mana.s.sas with vivid recollections of the rich haul that we had made there just prior to the second battle of Mana.s.sas, and everybody was saying, "We'll get plenty when we get to Mana.s.sas." We were there before we knew it. Everything was changed. There was not a building anywhere. The soil, enriched by the debris from former camps, had grown a rich crop of weeds that came half way up to the sides of our horses, and the only way we recognized the place was by our horses stumbling over the railroad tracks at the junction. It was a grievous disappointment to us.

While fighting just below Mana.s.sas, the enemy threw a sh.e.l.l in among the led horses, which burst and killed several of them.

A short time after that, while lying in camp, our stomachs crying bitterly for food, someone suggested we try horse flesh. I remember pulling out my knife and sharpening it on a stone preparatory to cutting a steak from one of the dead horses, but just at this point a caravan on horseback arrived with a supply of food. We had a rich feast, and were happy again.

I do not know where the Union army halted in their retreat toward Washington, but in a day or two after this, Lee moved his entire army back toward its old camp on the Rapidan, as I have just said.

I think this was early in November. We felt winter approaching, and I remember when we reached the Rappahannock, although there was a bridge a mile below, the cavalry forded the stream, the men getting wet above their knees, as the water came well up to the sides of the horses. Gen.

Lee, noticing that the men were wet from fording the river, said to our brigade commander (Gen. Lomax) in a kind and fatherly tone, "My!

general, you should have used the bridge below." I suppose Gen. Lomax thought that as we were soldiers we ought not to mind a little wetting, even if the cold November winds were blowing.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MRS. R.E. LEE,

Wife of Gen. R.E. Lee, taken from an old photograph soon after the close of the war. The spots are result of defects on the original photograph.]

My recollection is that the whole army, infantry, cavalry and artillery, encamped in and around Brandy Station and prepared for winter. The infantry began to build little low huts, the cracks filled up with mud and tops covered with slabs split from logs.

Every mess had its own hut. The cavalry, knowing that they would likely be kept on the march, made no preparation for winter.

Some time after this (I can't remember just how long) orders came to break camp and move back on the south side of the Rapidan. I do not know what commotion this move caused in the ranks of the infantry, but we cavalrymen, who remained for some time in that neighborhood and saw the deserted villages, sympathized with the infantry in the loss of their homes. But as the Six Hundred remarked, "It is not for us to ask the reason why, but to do and die."

Shortly afterward the cavalry withdrew to the south bank of the Rapidan, near the infantry. I think this was in Orange county, near Orange Courthouse, probably half a mile from the river.

Some time in January a courier came in from the front across the river and reported that the enemy's cavalry had been seen a few miles below, moving toward our camp.

The bugles sounded "saddle up" all through the camp, and several regiments of cavalry were soon in line and crossing the river. They dismounted, formed in line of battle, and moved across the fields. We soon found the enemy in our front, also dismounted, and firing began. We were ordered to fall back gradually toward the river, fighting as we retreated, the object being to draw the enemy toward the batteries that were on the opposite side of the river.

As we neared the banks of the river where the led horses were, our purpose was to remount and to cross the river, but the enemy pressed us so close that some of us, I among them, were compelled to cross on foot.

This was rather a chilly experience, when you consider that it was the middle of January. But we got over, and our batteries opened fire on the enemy and compelled them to fall back.

Just as we came out of the river we met the infantry coming down and taking position behind the breastworks that had been thrown up along the south bank of the river. Those who had forded the river were allowed to go to camp, a short distance off, to dry their clothes, for it was freezing weather.

I had mounted my horse, and as I pa.s.sed the column of infantry coming down to the river, a bullet fired by the enemy's sharpshooter on the opposite side struck one of the men, and he fell in a heap, dead, at the feet of my horse. He dropped as suddenly as if he had been taken by some powerful force and thrown violently to the ground. Every joint and muscle in his body seemed to have given way in an instant.

After we had dried our clothes before the camp-fire our command re-crossed the river to find out what the enemy proposed to do. We were again dismounted and formed in line across the field as before, and, moving forward, found the enemy just beyond the reach of our batteries.

Lying close to the ground we began firing at each other, continuing long after dark. Then the firing ceased. After remaining there for some time, someone in command (I don't know who it was) ordered Capt. Gibson of our company to send four men with instructions to creep up as near as they could to the enemy's lines, stay there, and report whenever the enemy withdrew.

I was selected as one of the four men. When we got pretty near their line we got down flat on the ground, and like so many snakes crawled along until we got as close as we dared. We could distinctly see them on their horses, but we did not remain long before we saw them withdraw. We heard their officers giving the command.

We then came back, and had some difficulty getting in without being shot, from the fact that the regiment to which we belonged had been withdrawn and another put in its place, and the men did not seem to understand that we were out on this mission. We made our report, and shortly afterward mounted, re-crossed the river and went into camp. It proved to be nothing more than a reconnoissance of the enemy's cavalry, probably to find out whether Lee's army was still encamped on the river.

Some time after this, perhaps two or three weeks, while on picket some miles up the river, a considerable distance from the main army's encampment, a body of the enemy's cavalry crossed the river somewhere between the pickets, and got behind the line of pickets un.o.bserved.

It was a very foggy morning. Our post consisted of six men, and our position was a few hundred yards back of the river.

Two of the men were on picket; the others were at the post.

About 6 o'clock in the morning we heard a few shots in our rear. One of our men was sent back to find out the cause of it. He had not been gone many minutes when we heard other shots, which forced us to the conclusion that the enemy in some way had gotten behind us. Our pickets had also heard the firing, and came in to find out what the trouble was.

We followed the direction of the shots, and had not gone far before we saw through the heavy fog quite a large body of cavalry.

Whether friend or foe, it was impossible to determine. So we thought discretion the better part of valor and immediately turned, each fellow taking care of himself.

Three went up the river. Faunt Neal and myself took the opposite course.

The Yankees (for it proved to be the enemy) had seen us, and started in pursuit. Neal and I rushed down the hill toward the river, pa.s.sing a grove of small pine trees. My comrade turned abruptly to the right and hid himself in this sanctuary, while I continued across the meadow and up the hill on the opposite side into the woods and escaped.

We all turned up in camp the next day except one. He had ridden straight into the enemy's lines, thinking they were Confederates. This ended his military career.

I think it was about the first of February an order had been sent from headquarters allowing a certain number of regiments a furlough. It extended to my regiment. Some of the companies could not avail themselves of it, because their homes were wholly in the territory occupied by the enemy. My company was among the fortunate ones, although many of our men were from Loudoun and Fauquier, and the enemy was occupying part of this territory and making frequent raids through the other portions. But our officers stood sponsor for us, and we started for our respective homes as happy as children let out of school.

Those of us living in Loudoun and Fauquier had to observe the greatest caution to keep from being picked up by the enemy's scouting cavalry before reaching home. But there were no misfortunes, and with joy unspeakable, we, one by one, reached the "Old Homesteads."

To attempt to express the pleasure we got out of this little vacation would tax the English language severely.

'Tis true that these were not just the old homes we had left three years before in our bright new uniforms, with well-groomed horses and full haversacks. The marching and counter-marching of first one army, then the other, destroying fences and barns and driving off cattle and horses, made a great change in the appearance of things.

No one attempted to keep up appearances. Besides, at this time, nearly every home mourned one or more dead. The most of my old schoolmates who had crossed the Potomac en route for Gettysburg went down on that hot July afternoon when Pickett made his famous charge, for the Eighth Virginia Infantry, in which nearly all my schoolmates had enlisted, was almost annihilated that b.l.o.o.d.y afternoon.

Among the killed was Edwin Bailey, whom I have already mentioned as going out with me from Middleburg in the spring of 1862, he to rejoin his regiment, and I to enlist in the Sixth Virginia Cavalry. By his side in that battle was his brother John. Edwin fell first, mortally wounded, and John, severely wounded, fell across him. Edwin said, "John, if you get home, tell them I died a Christian." These were his only and last words.

I have often used this incident as an exemplification of the claims of Christianity.

Notwithstanding all this, we enjoyed our vacation immensely, but there was not a day that we were not in danger of being surrounded and captured. The bluecoats were scouting through the country almost continuously in search of Mosby's "gang," as they called it. We had to keep on guard and watch the roads and hilltops every hour of the day. We had the advantage of knowing the country and the hiding places and the short cuts, and then we had our loyal servants, always willing to aid us to escape "them Yankees."

For instance, I made a visit to Sunny Bank, the home of my brother-in-law, E.C. Broun. My horse was. .h.i.tched to the rack, and I was inside enjoying the hospitalities of an old Virginia home, when one of the little darkies rushed in and said, "Yankees." They were soon all around the house, but, before getting there, one of the servants took the saddle and bridle off my steed, hid them, and turned him loose in the garden, where he posed as the old family driving nag, while I went to the back porch, climbed a ladder, and lifting a trap-door, got in between the ceiling and the roof. The trap-door was so adjusted that it did not show an opening. The ladder was taken away, and there I stayed until the enemy departed. I got back home safely, eight miles off, and had other close calls, but owing to the fidelity of the colored people, who were always on the watch, and whose loyalty to the Confederate soldiers, whether they belonged to the family in which they lived or not, was touching and beautiful beyond comprehension. They always called the Confederates "Our Soldiers," and the other side "Them Yankees."