This was my own idea; but still, I seemed intuitively to feel that all was not right. These men evidently saw or heard us, for, turning their horses’ heads toward camp, they marched slowly onward. This at once disarmed me of all doubt, for I knew camp was near, and if they were not ‘all right,’ they would hardly venture that way; so I resumed my canter, and soon overtook my fellow-travellers. When I approached, they filed to each side of the road, as if to let me pass, and I kept on. But no sooner was my orderly and myself past their last file of men, than in an instant we found ourselves confronted by half-a-dozen pistols and the sharp command, ‘Halt!’ (A sixth man had come out of the bush.)
‘Now, you Yanks want to keep your mouths shut, and do as you are told, or it will be all up with you,’ said the commander. ‘Forward—trot—march!’ and away we swept at a swinging trot, Leonard and I completely surrounded by this unwelcome bodyguard, and well covered by their pistols.
About a thousand yards we trotted on, and then swept into a narrow road, more bridle-path than road, along which we kept for a mile or so, when the command ‘Halt!’ was again given. Leonard and I were ordered to dismount and give up our arms. I had none; but my orderly was soon deprived of his. We were again put upon our horses and strapped to the saddles in not too gentle a manner. I ventured to ask where we were going to and who my captors were; and was told we were being taken to Mosby’s camp by some of his men; and furthermore, I was ordered to keep absolute silence on pain of death. From this I inferred that we had to pass very near some portion of our own camp or pickets, and for a moment I hoped some chance might yet arise for escape. But during the march we saw no soldier, or even camp-fire, and this road seemed specially devised to allow free passage from the front to the rear of our lines by any person who knew it. In about an hour or so we came once more upon the highway. Night had fallen, but a young moon partially illuminated the road.
The commander, a lieutenant of these free riders, reined his horse to my side, and said we had passed the Yankee lines, and I could now speak if I chose. I merely said the straps hurt me which bound me to the saddle. We halted, and Leonard and I were untied, with a caution that any attempt to escape would only end in our death. Two of the guerrillas still led our horses, and the commander gave the order to gallop. We moved rapidly, until about eight P.M. For some time we had been ascending, and then slackening our pace a little. Suddenly, before and below us, upon a plain of no great extent, I saw a camp of from five to six hundred men. ‘Here we are,’ said the lieutenant; and in a very short time Leonard and I found ourselves under strong guard in the headquarters of Colonel Mosby at Rectortown. Under the same guard were some score more of ‘Yankee’ prisoners. Supper being over, we were given a little cold ‘hoe’-cake and the run of a pail of water for our share.
I found that some of these my fellow-prisoners were infantry-men; and one lad of about fourteen was a drummer of infantry. The majority, however, were cavalry-men caught wandering too far from their commands. Apparently, I was the only commissioned officer; but as I wore a private’s overcoat, my rank was not known to my fellow-prisoners for some time.
The sentinels about us paced their beats; some of the men were asleep, and I was sitting on a log smoking, when, by the dim light of the fire, I saw a mounted figure approach. The figure halted at the guard; and presently the sergeant in charge called out: ‘Fall in—fall in, you Yankees. Hurry up. Get into line there.’ Finally, all being awake and placed to suit him, he turned, and saluting the horseman, said: ‘The prisoners are paraded, sir.’
‘How many have you?’ asked the rider.—‘Twenty-two in all, sir.’ And then I felt we were in the presence of that terror of the valley, Colonel John S. Mosby, the best provost-marshal Sheridan had in the Shenandoah.
As Mosby advanced nearer to the camp-fire, I was struck with the lack of daring in his face and manner; but I knew he had it, from his past career. His manner was not ferocious or tyrannical, and he quietly turned upon us his eye, which seemed to see the whole of us at a glance. He spoke as follows: ‘Men, your commander has seen fit to refuse all quarter to my soldiers when captured, and hangs or shoots them on the spot. I do not approve of this kind of warfare; but I must retaliate; and as I capture two of your army to every one you get of my command, that is not difficult. Just now, the balance is against you, and five of you twenty-two prisoners must die.’
You may imagine all were wide awake at this announcement.
‘It is not for me to order out any five of you to execution, so the fairest way will be for you to draw for your lives.’ Turning to the sergeant, he continued: ‘Get twenty-two pieces of paper prepared—five numbered from one to five. Let the other seventeen be blank, and have each man draw a ticket; and you supervise the drawing.’