Our camp that night was about midway between Strasburg and Woodstock. At midnight we were awakened from our sound slumbers by the rattle of small arms in the direction of the former place, and shortly after a broken and disordered mass of cavalry came dashing into our camp, riding everything down that came in their way, and yelling at the top of their voices that the enemy was upon us.
Convinced that we were in more danger of bodily harm from the cowardly cavalrymen than from the enemy, we turned out en masse and drove them from the ground, and the last we saw of them they were making their way at the top of their horses’ speed towards Woodstock. It afterwards turned out that they had encountered a number of the broken down men, and mistaking each other for enemies, in the dark, a fight had ensued, in which the cavalrymen were routed.
Early next morning we resumed our march, the First Maryland being in the rear of the infantry, with orders to support the cavalry and artillery under Generals George H. Steuart and Turner Ashby, who were keeping the enemy’s advance in check.
When within a mile or two of Woodstock, Fremont’s cavalry, under Colonel Percy Wyndham, dashed upon the cavalry under Stewart and scattered it in every direction. It was in vain that gallant officer endeavored to rally the frightened troopers; but the harder he swore the faster they rode, until they came upon the First Maryland in the streets of Woodstock.
“Get out of the way! get out of the way! the enemy are upon you!” they called out at the top of their voices, as they dashed madly through the town.
But Colonel Johnson, not understanding such tactics, coolly wheeled his regiment across the street, and, charging them with the bayonet, drove them back in the direction from whence they came. Some were rallied by the General, who had by this time come up; but the majority took to the fields, and made good their escape from both friends and foes.
In this disgraceful affair we came near losing two pieces of the Baltimore Light Artillery. Entirely deserted by the cavalry supporting them, they were at the mercy of the enemy; but the brave Griffin, although surrounded, drove his guns through their ranks, and bore his pieces off in triumph.
These skirmishes were of daily occurrence as the Confederate army marched leisurely in the direction of Staunton. By burning bridges along our route we were enabled to retard the enemy’s advance, and by easy marches to rest and refresh our men and keep the wagon train and prisoners well up.
Finally, in the afternoon of the 5th of June, the army reached Harrisonburg, where we received intelligence that made the stoutest of us tremble. The turnpike bridge across the Shenandoah had been destroyed, and having no pontoons it was impossible to cross as the stream was very high and rapid.
Any other man but Jackson would have given up in despair, and we should have been lost. Not so with him. There was still another bridge that spanned the river at Port Republic, and thither he determined to march, over roads indescribable. Diverging to the left, therefore, about a mile from Harrisonburg, he took the road to Port Republic, and, after marching a mile or two, went into camp for the night, the enemy occupying Harrisonburg.