The Coward: A Novel of Society and the Field in 1863

by Henry Morford

On Sunday the thirteenth day of September, 1863, and Monday the fourteenth, but principally on the former day, took place that running fight which displayed some of the very noblest qualities of the federal cavalry shown during the War for the Union, and which is better entitled than otherwise to be designated as the Battle of Culpeper. One of the first conclusive indications was given in that fight, that while the rebel cavalry, which at the beginning of the war was certainly excellent, had been running down from the giving out of their trained horses, and the deterioration of the quality of their riders through forced conscription,—the Union cavalry, at first contemptible in force and inefficient in comparison to their very numbers, had every day been improving as fast as augmenting, until they had become the superiors of what the best of their foes had been at the beginning of the contest. War can make any thing (except perhaps statesmen) out of a given quantity of American material; but it can unmake as well, when it strains the material existing and creates a forced supply for the vacant places of the dead and the vanquished, out of the infirm and the incapable; and before the end of this conflict the lesson will have been so closely read as never to need a repetition.

The rebels held Culpeper and the south bank of the Rappahannock, and had held the whole of that line for weeks, formidable in their occasional demonstrations, but still more formidable in what it was believed they might do by a sudden crossing of that dividing stream at some moment when the Union forces should be deficient in vigilance, preoccupied, or otherwise embarrassed. They were to be driven back if possible, from their threatening front, or if not driven back, at least struck such a blow as would make early offensive operations on their part improbable. These were the intentions, so far as they can be known and judged, which led to the crossing of the Rappahannock at that particular juncture.

At three o'clock on the morning of that Sunday which was to join with so many other days of battle during the rebellion in proving that "there are no Sabbaths in war,"—at an hour when the thick darkness preceding the dawn hung like a pall over the banks of the rugged stream and the hostile forces that fringed it on either side—the cavalry camps on the north side of the Rappahannock were all astir. All astir, and yet all strangely quiet, in comparison with the activity manifested. No mellow bugle rang out its notes of reveille; there was no rattle of drum or shrieking of fife; the laggard sleeper was awakened by a touch on the shoulder, a shake, or a quick word in his ear. Horses were saddled in silence; and at the commands: "Prepare to mount!" "Mount!" given in the lowest possible tones that could command attention, the drowsy blue-jacketted, yellow-trimmed troopers, all be-spurred and be-sabred as if equal foes to the horses they were to ride and the enemies they were to encounter,—vaulted lightly or swung themselves heavily, according to the manner of each particular man, into their high peaked McClellan saddles that seemed to be all that was left them of their old leader. The squadrons were formed as quietly and with as few words as had accompanied the awakening and the mounting; for if a surprise of the enemy's force was to take place, it was a matter of the highest consequence that no loud sound or careless exclamation should reach the ears of the wary pickets and wide-awake videttes of the rebels hugging close the banks on the south side of the narrow river.

The preparations were at last and hastily completed, long before the gray dawn after the moonless night had begun to break over the Virginia hills lying dark and cool to the eastward. Perhaps that very morning had been selected for the attack because on the night before the new moon had made its appearance and there was no tell-tale lingerer to throw an awkward gleam on an accoutrement and thus tell a story meant to be concealed. Troopers clustered together and formed squadrons, squadrons were merged into regiments which in turn swelled to brigades and brigades to divisions. It was only then that the extensive nature of the movement, which had Pleasanton at the head and Buford, Gregg and Kilpatrick all engaged in the execution, could have been conjectured even by an eye capable of peering through the darkness. It seemed scarcely an hour after the first awakening when the formation was complete and the order to "March!" given; and there was not even yet a gleam of red in the eastern sky when the whole command was in motion.

This large cavalry force, under Pleasanton as we have said, was composed of three divisions, commanded respectively by Buford, Gregg and Kilpatrick, all Brigadiers. The Rappahannock was crossed at as many different points, Buford with the First going over at Starke's Ford; Gregg, with the Second, at Sulphur Springs, four miles distant; and Kilpatrick, with the Third, at Kelly's Ford, nine miles farther down and thirteen miles distant from the place of crossing of the First. Stuart, the famous "Jeb," with his confederate cavalry, was known to be in force on the elevated ground at and around Culpeper Court House, with his pickets and videttes extending to the very edge of the Rappahannock; and a wide sweep of the Union force was believed to be necessary to circumvent him. Detachments of rebel troops were also known to hold all the prominent points between Culpeper and Brandy Station, where the brigades of Lomax and W. F. H. Lee were lying.

Pleasanton was over the river, with all his force before broad daylight—so rapid and successful had been the movement. The roads were dry and in as good order as Virginia roads are ever allowed to be by the powers that preside over highways; and the force, still in the three divisions, swept southward as silently as iron-shod animals have the capacity for bearing iron-accoutred riders. Napoleon la Petit had never yet succeeded in introducing gutta-percha scabbards for the swords of his troopers and gutta-percha shoes for their horses, even into the French cavalry; and the Yankee troops of Pleasanton had all the disadvantages of the usual rattling of bridle-bits, the clattering of sabres within steel scabbards, and the pounding of multitudinous hoofs upon the hard dry earth, the latter occasionally a little muffled by an inch of gray powdery dust, choking the riders as it made their advance less noisy.

Spite of the clanking of hoof and steel, however, the advance was made with such silence and celerity that the greater portion of the rebel pickets on the southern bank of the Rappahannock were captured, while the remainder—here and there one scenting danger afar off and holding an advantage in knowledge of the roads—fled in dismay to report that the whole Army of the Potomac, sappers and miners, pioneers and pontoniers, horse, foot and dragoons, was closing in upon Culpeper.

As the morning advanced and the light grew stronger, so that the danger and the persons of the attacking forces could at once be better distinguished, skirmishing commenced with that portion of the rebel force, stationed in more or less strength at various points and called to arms by their pickets being driven in upon them,—to meet and if possible check the advancing columns. Not long before they discovered that any effectual check to the forces which Pleasanton seemed to be pouring down every cross road and throwing out from behind every clump of woods on the roadsides, was impossible; and they fell back, skirmishing.

At Brandy Station (droll and unfortunate name, destined to supply more bad jokes at the expense of the dry throats of the army than almost any other spot on Virginia soil), a junction of the three divisions of Union troops was effected; and there, while that disposition was being made, a sharp fight took place between the First, under Buford, and the rebel cavalry under Colonel Beale of the Ninth Virginia. But that struggle, though sharp, was only of brief continuance: out-foughten, and it must be confessed, outnumbered, the enemy was driven back from the Station and pursued vigorously.

While the gallant Buford was thus occupied with the First, Gregg, with the Second division was making a detour to the right and pouring down his troopers upon Culpeper from the north by the Ridgeville road, driving before him upon the main body at the Court House a rebel brigade that had held the advance, under General Lomax (an officer whose name, we may as well say, apropos of the bad jokes of war-time, had caused nearly as many of those verbal outrages upon English, as the unfortunate Brandy Station itself).