"They knew at least the weather was dry, the water low, and that fifteen or twenty horse, confident from impunity and success, were on the other side. They could not have failed to know this much, and they were surprised, caught at breakfast, made prisoners on foot, with guns empty and horses grazing. Although the loss was insignificant, the events of that morning were among the least creditable that have occurred. Later, some of our best officers sacrificed their lives to redeem the day. A very fierce fight ensued, in which it is said, for the first time in this war, a considerable number of sabre wounds were given and received. In the end, the enemy retired or was driven—it is not yet clearly known which—across the river. Nor is it certainly known whether the fortunate result was achieved by the cavalry alone or with the assistance of Confederate infantry in the neighborhood."
From this account it may be seen that the Confederates regarded this action as a surprise. Maybe it was, but the Union forces had been preparing for it for some time. Some of the divisions had been in the saddle, moving from one point to another, for hours, in full sight of the Confederates on the further side of the Rappahannock.
At early dawn on the 9th of June, 1863, the Second Cavalry, with the Fifth leading the regular brigade, moved out. But one small brigade had passed over the river before them, led by Colonel B. F. Davis, of the Eighth New York. With the muddied water of the river up to their saddle-girths, several thousand men forded the stream without opposition, and climbed the bank to the level land beyond, where the Southern army was making ready with great haste to meet the advance of the wide blue lines.
No sooner had the first division formed than a volley broke out from the fringe of timber at the edge of the rising land, and in a charge upon the enemy that had now marched into sight, Davis had fallen, mortally wounded. This was the news that greeted the First, Second, and Fifth as they ranged up from the river and climbed this slippery bank, furrowed deep by the hoof-marks of the hundreds of horsemen that had preceded them. It was about five o'clock in the morning, and with this advance commenced the most memorable cavalry combat ever placed on record in any war. For twelve hours' time the struggle continued, and it was not until seven o'clock that the Second Cavalry left the field. Brave Captain Canfield fell dead, shot through the body. Captain Rodenbough, who had been despatched to the front, found his squadron hotly engaged. Dismounting his men and taking possession of a stone wall, he defended it against attacks of more than ten times his number, until his command was relieved by the squadron under command of Captain Loeser.
But the well-directed artillery fire and the singing bullets of the Confederate sharp-shooters from the hill were playing havoc with the waiting ranks of the men in blue, who, awaiting the general orders to advance, moved from one position to another as the Confederate artillerists got range of them. At last the long-hoped-for order came from General Buford, and the cavalry was ordered to advance and charge the batteries and riflemen in the woods. The men on foot were captured in their improvised defences, and forward rolled the Union line, a battery of artillery keeping company with them. Now for some time commenced an artillery battle, and then again the order was given to charge. The column of platoons under rapid motion were broken into fours to avoid a fence, and man after man scrambled over a sunken road, and then stopping only for half a moment, rapidly to reform, hot of foot and shouting, they rode with drawn sabres upon the hitherto invincible Southerners, who, seated on their horses, had been waiting the order to advance themselves.
It is a rule of cavalry fighting that no force of horsemen ever meet another force while standing still, for with the impetus of quick movement those in motion have force that would make up greatly for lack of numbers. Unfortunately for the Confederates their regiment that had charged the Union skirmishers, halted and broke before the main body of troopers as they came flying up the hill, and now ensued one of the strangest happenings of the war—the Southern line, stampeded and broken, was mingled with the horsemen of the North. Sabre blows and pistol-shots rang on every hand. No one halted to make prisoners, but riding on in one great fighting charge, it became an individual conflict, the victor never pausing to see how well he had done his work, but surging in the wild rush for a fresh foeman worthy of his steel.
The Captains, Lieutenants, non-commissioned officers, privates, fought boot to boot. Through the fierce heat and dust and smoke could be heard the chough of the sabre or the cracking of the revolver. Up the hill and across the plateau to the crest of the ridge they fought it out. So weakened had the men's sword-arms become from continual blows and parrying, that oftentimes two troopers of opposing sides rode on together, neither having the strength to unhorse the other.
Rodenbough, a good swordsman, who had lost his best horse early in the action, found himself opposite a tall Virginian, who also knew his sword-play, and succeeded in wounding the gallant Captain. But an instant later he was brought to the ground by a stroke of Rodenbough's sabre. Captain Loeser was severely wounded, and his two Lieutenants also.
SABRE BLOWS AND PISTOL SHOTS RANG ON EVERY HAND.