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Winchester, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.20
eutenant W— . His horse had mired in the swampy ground near the Barbour House, and he was incontinently gobbled up by his friends in the blue coats, and marched to the rear, that is to say, across the Rappahannock. Lieutenant W— was an excellent specimen of those brave youths of the Valley who gathered around Jackson in the early months of the war, and in the hot fights of the great campaign against Banks and Fremont had borne himself with courage and distinction. Wounded and captured at Kernstown — I think it was-he had been exchanged, secured a transfer to the cavalry, and was now again a prisoner. He was conducted across the Rappahannock with the Confederate prisoners captured during the day, and soon found himself minus horse, pistol, and sabre-all of which had, of course, been taken from him — in front of a bonfire on the north bank of the river. Around this fire a crowd of Federal cavalry-men were now assembled, discussing the events of the day, and many of them entered
Georgia (Georgia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.20
t and imposing spectacle of squadrons charging in every portion of the field-men falling, cut out of the saddle with the sabre; artillery roaring, carbines cracking --a perfect hurly-burly of conflict. Some day, perhaps, the present historian may give a page to this hard battle, and speak of its moving accidents; of the manner in which the cannoneers of the horse-artillery met and repulsed a charge upon their guns with clubs and sponge-staffs; how that gallant spirit, P. M. B. Young, of Georgia, met the heavy flanking column attacking from the side of Stevensburg, and swept it back with the sabre; how the brave William H. F. Lee received the charge upon the left and fell in front of his squadrons at the moment when the Federal forces broke; and how Stuart, on fire with the heat of battle, was everywhere the soul and guiding spirit of the desperate struggle. At four in the evening the assault had been repulsed, and the Federal cavalry were in hasty retreat across the river agai
Stevensburg (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.20
he field-men falling, cut out of the saddle with the sabre; artillery roaring, carbines cracking --a perfect hurly-burly of conflict. Some day, perhaps, the present historian may give a page to this hard battle, and speak of its moving accidents; of the manner in which the cannoneers of the horse-artillery met and repulsed a charge upon their guns with clubs and sponge-staffs; how that gallant spirit, P. M. B. Young, of Georgia, met the heavy flanking column attacking from the side of Stevensburg, and swept it back with the sabre; how the brave William H. F. Lee received the charge upon the left and fell in front of his squadrons at the moment when the Federal forces broke; and how Stuart, on fire with the heat of battle, was everywhere the soul and guiding spirit of the desperate struggle. At four in the evening the assault had been repulsed, and the Federal cavalry were in hasty retreat across the river again. Many prisoners remained in the hands of the Confederates, but t
Fleetwood Hill (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.20
those readers who take an interest in the veritable occurrences of the great struggle just terminated. On the ninth day of June, 1863, there took place at Fleetwood Hill, near Brandy Station, in Culpeper, the greatest and most desperate cavalry conflict of the war. Nearly twenty-five thousand horsemen fought there all a summerning about dawn, they came across the river, about seventeen thousand in number, to see what Old Uncle Robert was about. Thereupon followed the hard fight of Fleetwood Hill. A description of this long and desperate struggle is no portion of the present subject. The Federal forces advanced in front, on the right flank, on theus fought, so to speak, from the centre outwards. What the eye saw as Stuart rapidly fell back from the river and concentrated his cavalry for the defense of Fleetwood Hill, between him and Brandy, was a great and imposing spectacle of squadrons charging in every portion of the field-men falling, cut out of the saddle with the sa
Brandy Station (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.20
bearing a name so illustrious that, if I were to give it, the most ardent opponents of the F. F. V.'s would take a certain historic interest in what I am going to relate. When I say that he is called Lieutenant W— , you cannot possibly guess his name. But to the curious incident with which I propose to amuse those readers who take an interest in the veritable occurrences of the great struggle just terminated. On the ninth day of June, 1863, there took place at Fleetwood Hill, near Brandy Station, in Culpeper, the greatest and most desperate cavalry conflict of the war. Nearly twenty-five thousand horsemen fought there all a summer's day --as when Earl Percy met the Douglas in the glades of Chevy Chase-and the combat was of unexampled fury. General Stuart, commanding all the cavalry of General Lee's army, had held a grand review some days before, in the extensive fields below the Court-House, and a mimic battle had taken place, preceding the real one. The horse artillery, poste
Rappahannock (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.20
, and lounged carelessly by the fires. One of the men asked him what regiment he belonged to, as if they observed something unfamiliar in his demeanour; but his ready reply, giving the name of some Federal regiment, entirely disarmed suspicion. So much cavalry had taken part in the fight, and had been so much scattered, that W— was set down for one of the many stragglers; and walking by the fires, and the quarter-guard, who stared at, but did not challenge him, he gained the bank of the Rappahannock. He had thus succeeded in his second attempt; but obstacle number three threatened to be more serious. The river before him was broad, deep, black, and cold. The bridge near by was guarded; he heard the sentinel pacing to and fro, and a second at the further extremity. What was to be done? Kill the sentinel by suddenly attacking and seizing his weapon? That, under other circumstances, might have been done; but there was the other sentinel, who would at once give the alarm; then
Baltimore, Md. (Maryland, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.20
ed, discussing the events of the day, and many of them entered into conversation with the prisoners, their late adversaries. Lieutenant W— was standing by the fire, no doubt reflecting upon the curious ups and downs of that curious trade called war, when all at once something familiar in the voice of a young officer of the Federal force, who was not far from him, attracted his attention. Looking at the officer closely, he recognised in him an old friend of his who had formerly resided in Baltimore; and going up to him, the young Virginian made himself known. He was greeted with the utmost pleasure, and the youths shook hands, laughing like boys at the odd meeting. If I were a novelist instead of an historian, my dear reader, I would here insert a lengthy dialogue between the friends; but not having been present, I can only give you the bare outline of W—‘s adventure. From talk about old scenes, and things of the past, the conversation glided to the present, and the young Virg<
Culpeper, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.20
so illustrious that, if I were to give it, the most ardent opponents of the F. F. V.'s would take a certain historic interest in what I am going to relate. When I say that he is called Lieutenant W— , you cannot possibly guess his name. But to the curious incident with which I propose to amuse those readers who take an interest in the veritable occurrences of the great struggle just terminated. On the ninth day of June, 1863, there took place at Fleetwood Hill, near Brandy Station, in Culpeper, the greatest and most desperate cavalry conflict of the war. Nearly twenty-five thousand horsemen fought there all a summer's day --as when Earl Percy met the Douglas in the glades of Chevy Chase-and the combat was of unexampled fury. General Stuart, commanding all the cavalry of General Lee's army, had held a grand review some days before, in the extensive fields below the Court-House, and a mimic battle had taken place, preceding the real one. The horse artillery, posted on a hill, fir
Virginia (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.20
A young Virginian and his spurs. I. There is a young gentleman in Virginia bearing a name so illustrious that, if I were to give it, the most ardent opponents of the F. F. V.'s would take a certain historic interest in what I am going to relate. When I say that he is called Lieutenant W— , you cannot possibly guess his name. But to the curious incident with which I propose to amuse those readers who take an interest in the veritable occurrences of the great struggle just terminated. y in the mimic battle reached other ears than those for which it was intended. There were some friends of ours upon the opposite shore of the Rappahannock who took even greater interest in the movements of General Lee than the fair daughters of Virginia. The thunder of the artillery was heard by them, and they at once conceived a burning curiosity to know what all this firing meant. So, one bright morning about dawn, they came across the river, about seventeen thousand in number, to see what
P. M. B. Young (search for this): chapter 2.20
andy, was a great and imposing spectacle of squadrons charging in every portion of the field-men falling, cut out of the saddle with the sabre; artillery roaring, carbines cracking --a perfect hurly-burly of conflict. Some day, perhaps, the present historian may give a page to this hard battle, and speak of its moving accidents; of the manner in which the cannoneers of the horse-artillery met and repulsed a charge upon their guns with clubs and sponge-staffs; how that gallant spirit, P. M. B. Young, of Georgia, met the heavy flanking column attacking from the side of Stevensburg, and swept it back with the sabre; how the brave William H. F. Lee received the charge upon the left and fell in front of his squadrons at the moment when the Federal forces broke; and how Stuart, on fire with the heat of battle, was everywhere the soul and guiding spirit of the desperate struggle. At four in the evening the assault had been repulsed, and the Federal cavalry were in hasty retreat across
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