GIVING WARNING TO MOSBY
[From original manuscript, now in the Confederate Museum.]
My Dear Friend: * * * Soon after the Yankees went into winter quarters in Warrenton, I was requested by a soldier friend to avail myself of every opportunity to obtain and transmit information that might be of service to our scouts and guerrillas, and this of course I was 205 most willing to do. Our house was at that time within the lines in the day time, and beyond them at night. I walked up to Warrenton one bright but very cold morning, (the 22d of December) and as soon as I arrived was informed by a lady friend, who was also on the lookout, that she had just seen a negro, who looked like a newcomer, escorted by several officers to the provost marshal’s office. I immediately concluded that he was bearer of some tidings, most probably from “Mosby’s Confederacy,” and that I must know what it might be, but how could I accomplish it? A sentinel was placed always before the office. I had my purse with me. I fell into conversation with him. I offered him so much to let me pass into the basement of the house on pretense of wishing to transact some business with the negroes who occupied it. He accepted it, and I went—not into the room which the negroes occupied, but into the one adjoining it—a place very damp and dark, where I could hear, but not be seen, and suiting my purpose admirably, as it was immediately under the office. I listened; heard the negro questioned and heard him answer that he could and would guide a force to Mosby’s headquarters, to the houses where he knew many of his men boarded, to the place where the command had stored a quantity of corn. About the corn they seemed to care little, but oh! to catch Mosby,—they waxed warm at the thought—they talked long and loudly (all for my convenience, no doubt) and the result of the consultation was a plan to go “riding on a raid” with the “reliable contraband” acting as guide—to go that very night if certain reinforcements arrived in time, or should they fail to do so, the next night. I had heard enough. I came out of my cell, walked through town to a picket post, with the remaining contents of my purse bribed the faithful soldier of the Union to let me pass, then walked two miles to a neighbor’s where I thought I could get a horse, which was most gladly furnished me when my errand was made known. By this time it was late in the afternoon; it had been turning colder all day, and was now intensely cold with a blustering wind, the sky 206 covered with moving masses of black clouds. My friends wrapped me up as best they could. I mounted and rode three miles to a neighbor’s house, where I took a little boy up behind me for escort. My object now was to ride in what seemed the right direction until I met some Southern soldier to whom I could impart the information I gathered, and commission him to convey it to those whom it most nearly concerned. I rode on for miles—the country becoming entirely new to me—the cold increasing—the darkness deepening—the wind rising higher and higher. Mosby’s men were always hanging about the outposts of the enemy. Why was it that I could not meet one of them? Did they think the night too terrible to be out? Oh! how I ached with cold, and when I thoughtlessly said as much, my gallant little escort, who was not less so, I am sure, begged that he might be allowed to take off his overcoat and put it around me. Suddenly, just before me, I saw a large fire—the temptation was too great—I forgot that its light might reveal me to those whom the darkness hid, drew the reins—old Kitty Grey stood still, and I stretched out my hands toward the genial warmth. I then discovered that I was near the “View Tree” to reach which, though only four miles from Warrenton, I had traveled eight or ten. The fire, thought I to myself, was built by some Southern scouts, but they left it as I came on lest it should endanger them. The thought aroused me. I started on, but had scarcely done so when the moon came out, and almost immediately Walter called my attention to a body of men on my right, in the form of a V, each with his carbine levelled, and moving slowly toward me: I expected them to fire any moment, but I neither quickened nor slackened my pace. The moon went under a cloud and I passed into the sheltering darkness, wondering much why they did not fire. My curiosity on that point was afterwards satisfied. On I rode. It was not long before I saw a single horseman with his raised weapon just in front of me.
“Halt,” he said.
Boldness alone I believed could save me. The cold 207 wind made my voice hoarse; stern purpose made it strong. I tell you I was astonished at the manliness of its tone, as lifting my arm I said, “Surrender or I’ll blow your brains out.”
I only knew that a moment afterwards I heard his horse’s retreating hoofs clattering on the stony road. Now surely, thought I, I am safe; surely the last picket is passed, and my spirits rose. Soon after this, deceived by the darkness and my ignorance of the mountain ways, I lost my direction and took a wrong road; but believing myself right and at last out of danger, I moved on as fast as I could over the rough, frozen ground, when on reaching the top of the hill, what was my amazement and horror on finding that instead of proceeding I was retracing my steps, though by a different route. I saw distinctly, perhaps three miles off, the lights of the town of Warrenton. And this was all that I had accomplished after riding at least twelve miles. What should I do? Was I to fail altogether of my mission? To keep going toward Warrenton would inevitably lead me to the Yankees. If I turned and lost my way entirely, what would become of me on such a night? Just then there came into my mind those sweet quaint lines which I did not know that I could repeat:
“God shall charge his angel legions
Watch and ward o’er thee to keep,
Tho’ thou walk thro’ hostile regions,
Tho’ in desert wilds thou sleep.”
They were to me then an inspiration—a harbinger of safety and success. It would have been still further inspiration, could I have seen how just at the time, dear old Mrs. ——, who had helped to wrap me up when I started, and had encouraged me by her sympathy and interest, was watching for my return, keeping up a big fire—warming some of her own clothes for me; and when at last she laid down, it was with her lamp still burning, a pillow arranged for me close by her kind heart, and with a prayer for me on her lips, that she slept. God bless her!
Turning my back to the lights once more, I rode on. 208 I had only gone a few hundred yards when I saw just before me a horse and his dismounted rider. The man stepped out, laid his hand on my bridle and said: “Stop, lady, you can go no further; but where are you going?”
I answered in the very tone of candor: “I was trying to go to the neighborhood of Salem to see a sick friend. It was later than I thought when I set off. My poor old borrowed horse traveled very slowly; night overtook me suddenly and I determined to make my way back to my home near Warrenton, but have lost my way.”
He then said: “It is my painful duty to take you to the reserves, where you will be detained all night and taken to headquarters in the morning.”
I replied: “You can shoot me on the spot, but I will not spend this night unprotected among your soldiers. I cannot consent that you should perform your duty.”
“Nor am I willing to perform it!” he exclaimed.
After a few moments’ hesitation, which seemed to me a century, he pointed out to me a light at some distance and said, “Go to that house; no one will be so cruel as to turn you away on such a night.”
I turned into what I thought the right path, but presently he called out to me in a tone of earnest entreaty: “Not that way, for God’s sake; that leads to the reserves.”
He then came to me, and leading my horse into the right path said: “Good-by, I shall be three hours on picket to think of a freezing lady.”
Keeping the light in my eye, I soon reached the house, which was not far off, and although the inmates evidently looked upon me with suspicion, they agreed to let me stay all night and let me feed my horse. I gave them an assumed name, asked to go to bed immediately, had a hot brick put to my feet and plenty of cover; but I was too thoroughly cold to be warmed easily, so I lay and shivered and wept the live-long night.
Next morning six Yankees, just off post, rode up to the house. At first I feared the kind picket had proved as treacherous as the rest, had informed on me, and that they had come to arrest me. I hurried down to meet 209 them and was not a little relieved to find that they only wanted to buy milk and eggs. There was a captain among them.
“We had an alarm last night,” said he to me.
“Ah! how was it?”
“Why, the rebels wanted to attack our soldiers and they thought to fool us by sending one man on ahead as if he were alone, thinking we would all fire on him and not be ready for the rest when they came up; but we were too sharp for them, did not fire at all and the rascals were afraid to try it.”
Ah! what mistakes we sometimes make! I learned from them by a little judicious questioning that no raiding party had passed up during the night, and hoped that I might still be in time.
After they left I found that the mistress of the house was a true Southern woman. I told her my real name and my errand; she went with me to a house in the mountains, where were some of Mosby’s men. We also met several on the way. I entreated them to give due notice and then joyfully turned my face homewards. Gentle, faithful, old Kitty Grey stood me in good stead upon more than one occasion, but the Yankees have since stolen her, too. I soon returned her to her owners and had nothing to do but get through the lines to our house. This I accomplished without difficulty, and when I got in sight of the camp, just about sundown, I saw every preparation making for a raid—the raid which was to catch Mosby and his men. I had the satisfaction to learn in a few days that it met with very poor success. Not a few soldiers have since told me that the warning saved them from capture. Several were in bed when they received it. One had not left his boarding-house twenty minutes when it was surrounded by the enemy. They preferred one night in the mountains of Virginia to a winter in a Yankee dungeon. Am I not more than repaid by their thanks?
A few days after this, during Christmas, some friends in the neighborhood came through the lines to spend the 210 day and night with us. To show you how difficult it was to overcome a Yankee sentinel’s stern sense of duty, I must tell you that one of the young ladies of the party bribed the incumbent of the post on this occasion to let them all pass for the small consideration of two ginger-cakes and one turn-over pie.
Between 11 and 12 that night, as we girls were undressing and chatting around the fire, we heard a gentle tapping on the window below, and immediately mother came up and whispering as softly and mysteriously as if she feared the walls, which they so closely watched, or the winds, that whistled so keenly around the corners of the house, and also their ears might repeat her words to the pickets, informed me that Colonel Mosby and a few of his men were in the yard and wished to see me. I put on the first dress I came to and crept down noiselessly, lest I should arouse our spy of a guard. The colonel wanted to know the exact position of the pickets and videttes. I told him as well as I could, and in order to give him a more correct idea, I offered to go with any of them whom he might select to a certain hill, where I could point out their positions more definitely. Capt. Wm. R. Smith begged leave to go with me. He led his horse and we walked along, talking in a low tone. There was a full moon, but she wore a veil of fleecy clouds.
When we had gone about two hundred yards, very unexpectedly there rode out from behind a tree a Yankee picket.
“Halt,” he cried.
It was but the work of an instant for Captain Smith to spring on his horse, and with an effort of his strong arm, “Light to the croup the fair lady he swung.” The next instant a bullet seemed to graze our ears; in quick succession six bullets came, but they soon fell far behind us. We heard the whole line take up the alarm. As we flew along, Captain Smith said, very calmly, “A little romance for you.” We soon reached our reserve and after some further conversation, bade one another goodnight—they going forth to meet other adventures and I to my friends, 211 who having heard the firing, were awaiting my return somewhat anxiously. When I took off the dress I had worn, I discovered a very jagged rent, evidently made by the spur of a cavalier. Brave, brave Captain Smith! soon he gave his young life to our cause.