VIII. — FLEETWOOD.
At daylight a long thunder came up from the woods of the Rappahannock. The greatest cavalry combat of the war had begun.
At that sound Stuart leaped to the saddle, and rode rapidly toward the front. Fifteen minutes afterward his head-quarters had vanished. On the green slope of Fleetwood not a tent was visible.
Is the reader familiar with the country along the Upper Rappahannock? If so, he will remember that the river is crossed in Culpeper by numerous fords. The principal—beginning on the left, that is to say, up the river—are Welford’s, Beverly’s, the Railroad bridge, and Kelly’s fords.
Stuart’s left, under William H.F. Lee, was opposite Welford’s; his centre, under Jones, opposite Beverly’s; his right, under Hampton, toward Kelly’s; and a force under Robertson was posted in the direction of Stevensburg, to guard the right flank. The whole amounted to about seven or eight thousand cavalry.
The Federal column which now advanced to attack it, is said to have embraced all the cavalry of General Hooker’s army; and must have numbered more than twelve thousand sabres.
Stuart rode on rapidly down Fleetwood Hill, and was soon opposite Beverly’s Ford where the enemy had crossed in force. General Jones was heavily engaged, and the Napoleons of the horse artillery were roaring steadily. Every moment the round shot crashed, or the shell tore through the woods about three hundred yards in front of the pieces where the dismounted cavalry of the enemy had effected a lodgment. They kept up a hot fire at the cannoneers, and the steady rattle of carbines further up the river told that Lee was also engaged.
In face of the bursting shell, the blue tirailleurs could not advance; and Stuart sent an order to Hampton to move in and attack on the right.
The troopers of the Gulf States advanced at the word; their dense column was seen slowly moving, with drawn sabre, across the plain; the moment of decisive struggle seemed rapidly approaching, when suddenly a heavy blow was struck at Stuart’s rear.
I had been directed by him to ascertain if “every thing had been sent off from Fleetwood,” and to see that no papers had been dropped there in the hurry of departure. Going back at a gallop I soon reached the hill, and rode over the ground recently occupied by the head-quarters. The spot seemed swept. Not a paper was visible. All that I could see was a withered bouquet dropped by some young officer of the staff—a relic, no doubt, of the last night’s ball at the village.
I had already turned to ride back to Stuart, when my attention was attracted by a column of cavalry advancing straight on Brandy—that is, upon Stuart’s rear. What force was that? Could it be the enemy? It was coming from the direction of Stevensburg; but how could it have passed our force there?
“Look!” I said to an officer of the horse artillery, one battery of which was left in reserve on the hill, “look! what column is that?”
“It must be Wickham’s,” was his reply.
“I am sure they are Yankees!”
“Impossible!” he exclaimed.
But our doubts were soon terminated. From the rapidly advancing column two guns shot out and unlimbered. Then two white puffs of smoke spouted from their muzzles, and the enemy’s shell burst directly in our faces.
The horse artillery returned the fire, and I hastened back with the intelligence to Stuart.
“It is only a squadron, I suppose,” he replied with great coolness. “Go back and get all the cavalry you can, and charge the guns and bag them!”{1}
{Footnote: His words}
It is impossible to imagine any thing calmer than the speaker’s voice. I knew, however, that the attack was more critical than he supposed; hastened back; came up with two regiments; and they ascended the hill at full gallop, leaping the ravines, and darting toward the crest.
Suddenly it blazed with staggering volleys. The Federal cavalry had rushed straight across the fields toward the hill—ascended its western slope as we ascended the eastern, and met us—coming on, in squadron front, they struck the Confederates advancing in column of fours, and in confusion from the rough ground—they recoiled—were thrown into disorder; and with loud cheers the enemy swarmed all over Fleetwood Hill.
The battle seemed lost. Stuart was cut off, and hemmed in between two powerful bodies of Federal cavalry, supported by infantry and artillery.
All that saved us at that moment, was the “do or die” fighting of the cavalry and horse artillery.
On the crest of Fleetwood took place a bitter and obstinate struggle. It was one of those fights of the giants, which once witnessed is never forgotten. The cannoneers of the horse artillery fought as savagely, hand to hand, as the regular cavalry; and the crest became the scene of a mad wrestle, rather of wild beasts than men.
All at once the form of Davenant appeared amid the smoke. He had come rapidly from the front, and now threw himself into the combat like the bloodhound to which Stuart had compared him. His sad smile had disappeared; his cheeks were flushed; his eyes fiery;—leaping from his horse, he seized the sponge-staff of a gun, from which all the cannoneers had been driven, and ramming home a charge of canister, directed the gun upon a column of the enemy.
Before he could fire, a Federal cavalryman rode at him, and cut furiously at his bare head, with the full weight of his sabre.
Davenant did not try to draw his sword—the attempt would have been useless. In his hand he had a weapon; and with a swing of the rammer he swept the cavalryman from the saddle.{1} He fell headlong, covered with blood; and Davenant aimed and fired the charge of canister—leaped upon his horse—and drawing his sword, plunged into the melee, his head bare, his eyes flaming, his voice rising loud and inspiring, above the combat.
{Footnote 1: Fact.}
It was a stubborn, a superb struggle. Three times the enemy’s guns were charged and captured; three times the Confederates were furiously charged in turn, and the pieces recaptured by the enemy.{1} A final charge of the gray cavalry carried all before it. The Federal artillery was seized upon, and their cavalry driven back—but at that moment a heavier force still was seen advancing upon Stuart from the direction of Kelly’s ford.
{Footnote 1: Fact.}
It was a splendid spectacle. They came on in solid column, and rapidly formed line of battle on the slope of Fleetwood, with drawn sabres, and flags floating. As they moved they seemed to shake the very ground. I had never before seen so great a force of cavalry drawn up—and the critical moment of the battle had plainly come.
At that instant the great field presented a remarkable appearance. Cavalry were charging in every direction, and it was hard to tell friend from foe. Stuart was fighting, so to say, from the centre outwards. The enemy were in his front, in his rear, and on both his flanks. If they closed in, apparently, he would be crushed as in a vice. The iron hand would strangle him.
That moment tested the nerves. Stuart’s “heart of oak” bore the strain. He was aroused, stung, his cheeks burned, his eyes flamed—but the man was sufficient for the work. I looked closely at him. “Do or die” was plain on his face. From that instant I never had any doubts about Stuart.
He rushed two pieces of artillery to a knoll in front of the line of Federal horsemen. A moment afterward two reports were heard, and two shell burst precisely in the middle of the line, making a wide gap in it, and checking the charge which had begun.{1}
{Footnote 1: Fact.}
All at once I saw a column of cavalry coming up from the river, and turning to Stuart, said:—
“General, what cavalry is that?”
“Hampton’s!” Stuart exclaimed. “Bring it up like lightning!”{1}
{Footnote 1: His words.}
I set out at full gallop, and soon reached the column. At the head of it rode Young, the beau sabreur of Georgia, erect, gallant, with his brave eye and smile.
I pointed out the enemy and gave the order.
“All right!” exclaimed Young, and, turning to his men, he whirled his sabre around his head and shouted,
“Forward!”
The column thundered on, and as it passed I recognized Mohun, his flashing eye and burnished sabre gleaming from the dust-cloud.
In five minutes they were in front of the enemy—the men wheeled and faced the Federal line.
“Charge!” rose from a hundred lips. Spurs were buried in the hot flanks; the mass was hurled at the enemy; and clashing like thunder, sword against sword, swept every thing before it. Not a single shot was fired—the sabre only was used. The enemy were broken to pieces—what I saw was a wild mêlée of whirling swords, flying horses, men cloven to the chin, while others were seen throwing themselves from the saddle, and raising their hands to escape the keen swordsmen slashing at them.{1}
{Footnote 1: Fact.}
The great force of the enemy sweeping down on Stuart’s flank was thus routed. The spectacle which followed was ludicrous as well as exciting. The enemy fled in disorder. Never before had I seen the nails in the hind shoes of hundreds of horses—myriads of horses’ tails streaming like meteors as they ran!
The force disappeared in the woods, hotly pursued by their foes. The dust followed them in a great cloud—from that cloud arose yells and cheers—cannon thundered; carbines rattled;—but that sound receded more and more rapidly toward the river.
On our left the brave William H.F. Lee had been as successful. He had charged and repulsed the enemy, falling wounded at the head of his men. They had not again advanced upon him. Near the Barbour House he presented an unbroken front to them.
Stuart held with his cavalry, indeed, the whole Fleetwood range. The long thunder of his artillery said to the enemy,
“Come on!”
They did not come. They went back. Their cavalry had crossed the river to ascertain the meaning of the great review. They had discovered nothing, after heavy loss. The ground was strewed with their dead and dying—they retired, shattered and bleeding.
Stuart’s loss was also great—even his staff was not spared. One of my brother staff officers was killed, another wounded, a third captured.
But Stuart had won the greatest cavalry fight of the war.