Democratic Sentinel, Volume 10, Number 46, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 December 1886 — The Partisans of Virginia. [ARTICLE]

The Partisans of Virginia.

BY JAMES FRANKLIN FITTS.

We will take a long jump at the start, and come d6\vn to the middle of April, 1865. The weary, sanguinary war was practically over. Lee had surrendered; so had Johnston, or was just about to surrender; there were no more battles to be fought, aud it was plain enough that the immense Union armies would in a very brief time be required to doff their blue, and the soldiers tojake their chances in that great battle of life, which is always a very serious affair, although it has no “ guns, and drums, and wounds God save tlie mark!" The unmilitary reader might naturally say that nothing interesting could be expected to happen at such a time as that. So it would appear; yet it was at just that time that an incident occurred in the part of tho military situation where I served that, while not very important in itself, opened to me a whole field of the most interesting remiuiscences. The incident was the coming in of two of Mosby’s band to General Dwight’s headquarters near Winchester, Va., to surrender themselves and give their paroles not to take up arms against tho United States. They were the first of this noted band who had claimed this privilege, and the incident naturally excited some interest aud curiosity about headquarters. My narrative must not be unreasonably detained with the details of what is properly history, or by the wliys and wherefores of the case as it related to these men, and it will be sufficient under this head to say that, upon hearing of the surrender of Lee, Colonel Mosby assembled his command at one of their rendezvous between the Upper Blue Bidge nnd the Potomac, told them that the war was ended, that they had nothing now to do but to go home and peaceably submit to the authority of the United States, and that he should claim the national protection for them. Immediately upon disbanding his troop, he sent a message to General Hancock, who at this time commanded in the Shenandoah Valley, askiug if his men were to be accorded the Bam ■ terms that Grant had given to Lee. The character of Mqsby’s warfare in this section had been eu<ih that Hancock was in some doubt about the matter, and telegraphed direct to City Point for instructions.

The reply came promptly back, that these men were to have the same treatment as other Confederate soldiers. The dispatch was sent to Mosby, and his guerrillas hastened to give their paroles and receive their protection papers. The two who came to our headquarters were the “advance-guard” of this movement General Dwight at this time commanded a division of what had been the Army of the Shenandoah, and I was an officer on his staff. A soldier could not' possibly ■ have served through that tremendous and sanguinary valley campaign under Sheridan of the summer and fall of 1864, without hearing much—and perhaps seeing something—of Mosby’s guerrillas. I had often heard of them, and, as will appear later, had seen something of their work; and now that all the bloodshed was past, I had a great desire to see and talk with some of them about their novel experience, and their peculiar way of carrying on war. No better opportunity was likely to occur than this; so when our provost marshal had got through with these two disbanded warriors of the late Confederacy, and they were strolling about our headquarters, taking note of much that was new and strange to them, I took them under my protection long enough to have the long and interesting convers ition with them. My task was mainly with the younger of the two, a bright, brisk young Virginian, who had lived on a plantation in this valley before the war, and who had taken his horse and joined Mosi y upon the commencement of hostilities, just as thousands of young Virginians went to Stuart, Ashby, and Mosby, from love of excitement and adventure, and without very much thought or care as to which side was right or wrong. The conversation, as I remember it—whai I said to him, and what he said to me—will better illustrate the character and style of this partisan warfare in the Shenandoah Valley, which beset and hampered Sheridan from first to last, than any mere statement of facts could do. “lou Mosby men.” I remarked, “are treated as Confederate soldiers now, since Lee’s surrender; but our army in the valley here hasn’t been used to regard you so. Wo hav j always considered you a lot of partisans or guerrilla'! —irregulars, I believe, is the correct name.” “Well, sir, you’ve been mistaken. We re just as much Confederate soldiers as any in General Lee’s army. Every man is regularly mustered in, and our officers nil liave their commissions from Richmond.” “But you h ive not usually acted in a body, and not always even in a squad. Sometimes, to my knowledge, your men have prowled about our camps by twos and threes.” “O, yes,” ho said, “that’s our way of fighting. It’s not very often that as many **? a hundred of us have ridden together. Ever, man owns his horse; most of us have our homes within fifteen miles east or west of t:.e Blue Ridge. Mosby has always had certain established places of meeting, which are perfectly secure, and when the baud is dispersed and almost every man at bit own home, it would amaze you to see how quickly they can be all called in.

Most of the people, of course, were friendly to us; they would carry messages to and for us, and help and hide us when we were pressed. And then how could you folks ever know who we were? We did not usually wear any uniform—except your uniform, which we would sometimes put on. You couldn’t tell that the innocent-looking citizen standing ih front of his house by the side of the road as your army marched by was one of the Mosby troops, and that before night Mosby would know all that he had discovered about you. But that happened often.” “Yes; and I remember about General Custer hanging 6ome of your men as spies.” “And didn’t you hear of Mosby retaliating, and leaving half a dozen of your soldiers he had taken swinging to the trees, with a placard ou the breast of each? I have heard him say more than once that he’d Lang one of Sheridan’s soldiers for every one of his that Mas executed; nnd I think ho did. ” ” “What made you fellows throw trains off the track on the'Baltimore and Ohio liailroad, between Martinsburg and Harper’s Ferry?” “Oh!—that was for the greenbacks. Sometimes up in the mountains I’ve known Mosby to call a lot of us together and talk about like this: ‘Now, men, about five o’clock this afternoon there’s a train due at Harper’s Ferry from Baltimore. After a short stop it goes on to Martinsburg. There’ll be a Yankee paymaster aboard, with a chest full of greenbacks, to pay the troops at Martinsburg. I want those greenbacks! You know how to get them.’ And we did not often fail to do it.” “I hope you don’t call it civilized warfare to throw railroad trains off the track, with women and children aboard?” . “I don’t call it anything,” he replied with a laugh. “Mosby wuuted the money, and ordered us to get it; and we took the only way wo could. One of those groen dollars was worth Iwo in Confederate money an where in the valley.” Strange as this last statement may appear. I know it to be true from personal observation. “But,” I said, “what I particularly want to know, is whether Mosby’s men did really, as I have heard, put on blue overcoats and ride along with our columns at night on the march?” “Indeed we did! Do you happen to remember a time in August when your army fell back from near StrasburgtoHalltown?” I had good reason to remember that march. It was a disagreeable night’s tramp, in the rain, on which I marched with my company. “And perhaps you were along on a certain retreat from Snicker’s Ferry through the gap to Washington, the month before'?” Ah, was I not! That was the weary march, when soldiers already overtasked in the torrid July weather stumbled along, asleep—when I slept as I walked. “Well, sir, on both those times I rode along with your columns, riding sometimes with some General's escort, aud picking up all the information I could. I felt perfectly safe —I was perfectly safe. Those were dark nights, as you know, and nobody could detect me; my blue overcoat was a perfect protection. Just out of Snicker’s Gap. as daylight was coming on, and I was about ready to leave, one of your infantry soldiers straggled off a few rods for something or other. I rode up to him, showed him my pistol, told him who I was, and that I would shoot him if he did not go quietly along before my horse. He was too much astonished to disobey, and I took him right away as a prisoner. It was no uncommon thing for us to do this.” “Were your horses all good?” “As a rule, yes. It was rare that one of us did not own his animal, so wo had many real Virginia thoroughbreds among us. Witn such horses we could do almost anything. Shall I tell you my closest shave on an escape? It Mas over near Upperville, one night when I was stopping at a friends house. My horse was in the barn, unsaddled and unbridled, with nothing but a rope halter round his neck; I was up-stairs, abed and asleep, We never slept Mith both ears; anyway, the tramp of cavalry roused me, and I heard my friend’s whistle below. I knew it was neck or nothing, and it would have been prudent to surrender; but prudence Mas the last thing v/e fellows thought of. I jumped up, put on trousers and shoes, and, waiting for nothing else, raised the window and dropped out to the ground while the soldiers were coming up stairs. They had surrounded the house, of course, an 11 expected to be seen and halted as I darted for the barn; but I paid no attention to that, and a carbine-ball whistled over my head as I ran. I cut the rope, jumped on, and rode out right through half a dozen of the cavalrymen. I knew how to make my mate go from the start—and go she did, taking the fence at a leap, and flyiug up the road with a shoM-er of balls after us. Neither of *us was hit. But it was a great risk —too big a risk for any one to take. I mightn't have got off tM'ice out of a hundred times such as that.” “You people made yourselves very useful to the Confederacy seizing our M-agon-trains, last fall,” I remarked. “Yes. that was ahvays one of the Colonel’s strong points. He had a sys em about it, too. He usually chose the time Mhen the train Mas drawing out of park, in the morning, and there was more or less confusion among the mu’es and teamsters. Twenty horsemen dashing in at that time, with a yell, Mould put the teamsters to flight, and leave the train to us. The infantry guard was generally small, and Mould surrender at ouce.” “I can tell you of cue train that you fellows didn’t dare attack,” I observed. “Near the last of September the One Hundred and Fourteenth New York M-as sent by Sber- ! idan from Hairisonburg back to MartinsI burg, au hundred miles or more, to guard a long, empty train and one hundred prisoners, aud then to return witii tho wagons loaded Mith commissary stores and forage. We made the Mhole distance, and were j back to the army in time to lose half our ) men in the battle of Cedar Creek; M r e dej livered every prisoner to the provost mari shal at Martinsburg, aud lost not. a man ; nor a Magon. But Me were vigilant ! The | soldiers rode in the Magons, keeping their 1 muskets iu their bauds ; the officers were ou horseback, nding along witu the traiu ; we always had flankers out, and many times they reported hoi semen prowling about. Wi.en we camped at night the rgiment was formed in a square around the wagons aud prisoneis. “One incident of this march I shall never forget. A little north of Mount Crawford, as tlie train passed along, we saM’ a dead body lying by tlie side of the road. It Mas ; that of a soldier, dressed in a bright, new j oavalrv uniform, and the figures and letters on his hat showed that he belonged to a

Pennsylvania *egiment. Eight in the middle of his forehead was the round hole made by the bullet that had killed him. “This poor fellow was evidently some straggler, who had been ‘bushwhacked.’ Of course, 1 cannot say whether Mosby’s men or some others shot him down from behind the wall; but it was murder, whoever did it.” I then told an incident which occurred the previous summer, at which the whole Nineteenth Corps had laughed, and which illustrated not only the audacity of the guerrillas, but tbe nonchalance of General Emery, who commanded the corps. Jnst at nightfall, and the close of one of our long and M’eary marches, M'hen the headquarters tents had been pitched, a squad of horsemen came riding along at full gallop, close to the tents, crossed the turnpike, ! and disappeared. The whole thing was , over, and the interlopers had come and gono before it crept through the hair of the j astonished officer commanding the infantry i company M'hich acted as headquarters | guard that they were some of Mosby’s I guerrillas, and that he might have given them a volley and ■ illed every one of them —if he had been ready. It was to this officer that the irate General afterward said: “Such carelessness, 6ir—such shameful negligence! Why, those fellows might have stolen my boots !" My interview with the paroled guerrilla closed by my relating a most interesting incident, Mhich occurred early in the winter, which had been the ta’k of our little army of occupation, and of which this man had also heard, as will appear. The outpost at Summit Point, some miles easterly of Winchester, Mas held by the Thirtieth Massachusetts—an excellent regiment. One of its Lieutenants (his name I have forgotten, and it M’ould hardly be fair to give it if I knew it) had, during the campaign, made the acquaintance of a Virginia girl who lived about three miles from the camp. It was not a very prudent thing for the Lieutenant to ride over aud visit her, considering huw the guerrillas swarmed about this section; but, then, he M’as not the first man who got into trouble by running after a pretty face—aud he probably M ill not be the last. One afternoon he sat with the lady at her home, probably conversing about things that were remote from Mar aud slaughter, when he happened to look out of the M’indoM r . Two men had just ridden into the yard. They were both young; both were dressed in Virginia homespun; both rode powerful black horses. The Lieutenant's horse M’as in the bam, feeding ou Virginia corn. The Lieutenant looked down the road. A dozen more horseijien were coming. A very bad scrape it seemed to be; but the Lieutenant had pluck, coolness, and determination, and these high qualities saved him. He did not M’ait to find his hat—nor to say good-by to the lady- He bolted for the door—it was locked! He raised the sash and jumped out. The foremost of the two, however, was iu the act of throwing himself from his horse, when a bullet from the Lieutenant’s thirty-eight-caliber revolver sprawled him dead on the ground. The other rider had not time to draw a pistol when another ball went through his shoulder. The Lieutenant did not wait for any more enemies. He jumped on the dead man’s horse, gave him the spur, cleared the ft nee with a flying leap, and thundered down the road toM’ard the camp, M’ith the guerrillas yelling and firing in hot pursuit. But he had the leader’s horse, the best of the lot; he escaped the bullets and reached camp in safety. A detachment M r as immediately sent over to the scene of this remarkable escape. Save the Lieutenant's hat, and some blood on the ground before the door, no discoveries Mere made. The girl was crying bitterly. She insisted that she knew nothing about the guerrillas, but our Lieutenant never doubted that this modem Delilah was the betrothed of the guerrilla leader, and that he had himself narrowly escaped a clever plot for his capture. “Did you,” I asked of the paroled man, “know anything about this?” He smiled at first, and then looked grave. “I should think I ought to, sir; I was one of the squad that chased the officer to camp. We came back and found the Captain stone dead on the ground, and our Lieutenant with a wound that he hasn’t got over yet. The Captain mas one of Mosbv’s best officers. The Colonel felt dreadfully when he learned what had happened. But that Lieutenant of yours was a splendid fellow—just the kind of man Mosby likes for his officers.”