THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE 
 LAND 
 
ALEXANDER HUNTER 
 of the Rlack Morse Cavalry. 
 
The Women of the 
 Debatable Land 
 
 By ALEXANDER HUNTER 
 
 Author of "The Ancient Iron Pot," "The Old National," "The 
 
 Huntsmen of the South" and "Johnny Reb 
 
 and Billy Yank" 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY MISS ELIZABETH C. HARMON 
 
 CoBDBN Publishing Company 
 
 Washington. D. C. 
 
 1912 
 
£-5f/ 
 
 Copyrierht, 1912. 
 
 By Cobden Publishing Co. 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 ^CU328400 
 
DEDICATED 
 
 To the Southern Women of the Sixties: 
 
 The survivors of the Confederate Armies are on 
 their last march, their faces are turned to the setting 
 sun, and each step that they take is down hill. As one 
 of the veterans who followed Lee and Jackson, I es- 
 teem it a proud privilege to voice through this book 
 the sentiments of my comrades in paying a tribute to 
 the women of the South during the Civil War. 
 
 We admired those women for their devotion to the 
 cause for which we fought. We honored them for 
 their ceaseless effort to feed the hungry and clothe the 
 naked. We idealized them as being the highest type of 
 womanhood that had been evolved since the dawn of 
 time, and we loved them as uncrowned queens. How 
 many of us, when raving with the fever in the dim 
 wards of the hospitals, or wan, pallid, near bloodless, 
 blessed them for their tender care and gentle ministra- 
 tions. How many, how very many, died with a light in 
 their eyes, a prayer in their hearts, a benediction on 
 their lips for the women of the "Sixties." 
 
 And 
 
 To the United Daughters of the Confederacy: 
 
 Those noble women who have given their time, their 
 labor and their money to honor the men who fought for 
 their freedom; those who have aided the indigent and 
 infirm, and have labored to preserve the truth of his- 
 tory, whose strenuous work has been crowned with 
 success, and who have made the South "The Land of 
 Song and Story." 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 I write this book for a purpose. For years I have 
 tallced, spoken and written on one theme dear to my 
 heart, and that is a magnificent statue to the Virginia 
 woman of the sixties. The women of the Old Com- 
 monwealth have erected many monuments in remem- 
 brance of the Confederate Soldiers, and it should have 
 been a sacred duty for the Veterans to have a splendid 
 statue carved in memory of those who divided their 
 sorrows and doubled their joys. 
 
 A half a century has passed, and the survivors of the 
 Civil War are few and far between, but their children 
 and children's children should consider it a sacred obli- 
 gation to erect a memento to the women of Virginia 
 who sacrificed their all that the cause they loved should 
 never die. 
 
 If this book should even in a measure invoke popular 
 sentiment to accomplish this end, and if I live to see 
 such a statue before I cross the Mystic River, I can 
 exclaim with my last breath, "I have not lived in vain." 
 
 While the women in no section of Virginia failed in 
 the least to bear their share of the fearful burdens of 
 that terrible war, I know those of one section best, and 
 of them I particularly, therefore, write in this book. 
 That section during the Civil War was called the 
 Debatable Land, or "Mosby's Confederacy." By 
 turns it was swept by the rival armies of the Blue and 
 the Gray; and was like the great valley that divided 
 
Vlll THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 the Highlanders from the Lowlanders where the rival 
 clans, or the Briton and the Scot, fought, bled and died 
 during many a score of years of Scottish history. 
 
 The author takes pleasure in acknowledging his obli- 
 gations to Miss Bettie Miller Blackwell, of Oakspring, 
 Fauquier County, Virginia, for much of the material 
 that is in this book. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Old Fauquier i 
 
 "The Debatable Land" 8 
 
 Old Times Come Again No More 14 
 
 From Infantry to Cavalry 22 
 
 The Heroines of Fauquier, How They Lived, What They 
 
 Endured 27 
 
 The King of the Debatable Land 39 
 
 Mosby's Name, Fame and Success Largely Due to Women . 5 1 
 
 Neither Death nor Danger Appalls 60 
 
 The Jessie Scouts 67 
 
 An Adventure with the Jessie Scouts 89 
 
 Warrenton 97 
 
 Our Friends, the Enemy 114 
 
 The Old Poplar Tree at Ashby's Gap 125 
 
 The Yankee Ball at the Warren Green I33 
 
 One Gay and Festive Night in Mosby's Confederacy. ... 148 
 
 A Man and a Maid 154 
 
 The Strangest Wedding in Virginia 168 
 
 How the Women Loved the South 176 
 
 Mrs. Taylor Scott 187 
 
 Poor Sister Jane 196 
 
 Captain Sumner of the First New York Cavalry Salutes 
 
 the Stars and Bars 206 
 
 "Bert" Pollock's Ride 215 
 
 Aunt Em Spreads Herself 229 
 
 Representative Pictures from Old Letters by Women of 
 
 the Debatable Land 242 
 
 Give Honor to Whom Honor is Due 252 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Alexander Hunter, of the Black Horse Cavalry Frontispiece ' 
 
 Alexander Hunter in Infantry Uniform 22 
 
 Brought Little Children to Kiss Us 27 
 
 One of Mosby's Rangers 39 • 
 
 Robert Martin 59 ' 
 
 She Made Her Lover Stoop Down, and She Stood Over 
 
 Him 63^ 
 
 These Circes Invariably Wormed Out Every Military 
 
 Secret 112 
 
 The Old Poplar in Ashby's Gap 125 
 
 She Handed Him a Blue Veil 141 
 
 Miss Annie Lucas 147 
 
 Danced As They Never Danced Before 153 
 
 Miss Hallie Hume 160 
 
 The Loving Couple Simply Stood Up i6g 
 
 A Lighted Candle, a Chair Upon Which Sat the Girl. ... 183 
 
 His Eyes Rested Upon the Face on the Pillow 204 
 
 Will Spend the Time Thinking of the Half-frozen Virginia 
 
 Girl 226 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 OLD FAUQUIER. 
 
 The prelude of our story is back in the reign of that 
 corpulent King, George the Third, who, so Lord 
 Chatham wrote, "cared only for two things: the state 
 of his reigning mistress' health, and what he was going 
 to have for dinner." This obese monarch thought less 
 of his American possessions than he did of a haunch of 
 mutton. Nevertheless, the colonies were, even then, 
 a fair domain; and many of His Majesty's loyal sub- 
 jects lived happily in the Old Dominion, although to 
 the average Englishman, as well as to the King, this 
 land was only a "far countree across the sea;" and, out- 
 side of the coast towns, a veritable terra incognita in- 
 habited by warlike savages, dangerous beasts, and 
 poisonous reptiles. 
 
 From 1700 to 1770, while Europe was engaged in a 
 succession of wars, internecine as well as racial, the 
 colony of the Old Dominion was thriving and prosper- 
 ing amazingly, her tobacco a Pactolean stream which 
 brought wealth to her people. 
 
 The planters of Fauquier, like those of the Tide- 
 
2 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 water section, were devoted adherents of the King; and 
 this was but natural, as the Old Dominion had been for 
 years the Mecca of the adventurous younger sons of 
 noble birth, just as Canada and Africa are today their 
 rendezvous. 
 
 A recent number of the Westminster Review con- 
 tained the following: "The old English law of entail, 
 passing the title and hereditaments to the eldest son, 
 made him mtiltum, and his brothers parvo, and there 
 were but two roads for these juniors to take: they 
 could become soldiers, sailors, or clergymen, and with 
 luxurious tastes and stinted pay, live a shabby-genteel 
 existence. The other road was across the seas, and of 
 course the reliant and bold emigrated to Virginia, the 
 richest jewel of the Crown, and this Virginia was by all 
 rights entitled to the name of New England; but the 
 Puritans called the cold, rock-bound shores bordering 
 the Atlantic, by that title, though the settlement of Vir- 
 ginia antedated that of Massachusetts." So it came 
 that the names of the old families of Fauquier County 
 are good old English and Scotch. Virginia was in- 
 tensely Tory. Nearly every county was named after 
 blood royal. There was Alexandria, after Alexander 
 the youngest son of the Earl of Sterling; Augusta, after 
 the Queen; Albemarle, after the gracious Duke Am- 
 herst; another duke, Bedford; still another duke, Bote- 
 tourt, after My Lord the Governor General ; Brunswick, 
 after the noble house; and Buckingham, after the most 
 dissolute peer in England; Chesterfield was called after 
 
OLD FAUQUIER J 
 
 that man-of-the-world who boasted that "he had man- 
 ners but no heart;" Charlotte, after the Queen; Charles 
 City, after the pleasure-loving monarch called "The 
 Butterfly King;" Cumberland, after the Duke; and so 
 on through the alphabet. 
 
 When King George continued to treat his colonies as 
 he did Ireland, a change took place in the hearts of the 
 gentry, and when Patrick Henry, the "man of the 
 hour," ended his impassioned speech in the Hall of 
 Burgesses at Williamsburg, the Tories were changed 
 into ardent Patriots, and Henry's battle-cry, "Give me 
 liberty or give me death," became the tocsin of the men 
 of Fauquier, irrespective of occupation, creed or wealth. 
 And in a mass-meeting in the old town hall of Warren- 
 ton the people pledged their lives, their honor, and their 
 swords to aid the Colonists against the Crown. 
 
 How old Fauquier sent her best and bravest to serve 
 under Washington is a matter of record; and if there 
 was a Benedict Arnold or a Tory amongst the Patriots 
 of that glorious county it has never been chronicled. 
 One incident of their loyalty to their cause is but a type 
 of many: Elias Edmonds was a beardless lad at the 
 outbreak of the Revolution, and was elected lieutenant 
 of a company. He marched away to join the army, 
 and later was reported killed in battle, and his family 
 mourned him as dead. Some seven years after, when 
 the whole country was celebrating the surrender of 
 Lord Cornwallis' Army at Yorktown, there strolled 
 into the yard at "Edmonds" (the name of the planta- 
 
4 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 tion) a full-bearded man, youthful but with the car- 
 riage and port of one much older. He wore the pic- 
 turesque uniform of a full colonel of the Continental 
 Army, a position won, in those days, only by gallantry 
 on the field. The Edmonds gazed upon the handsome 
 colonel as he made some casual inquiry, but not a mem- 
 ber of the household recognized in the knightly soldier 
 the smooth-faced boy they had so long mourned as 
 dead. The colonel having sheathed his sword at York- 
 town, became a successful planter, reared a large fam- 
 ily, and, as the story books say, "lived happily ever 
 after." His grandson was a gallant soldier in a Vir- 
 ginia regiment during the Civil War. No doubt many 
 thoughts thronged the colonel's mind as he sat by his 
 camp fire at Valley Forge; many visions he had while 
 gazing at the stars at Yorktown, but in his wildest 
 dreams he could not have pictured the wonderful 
 changes his beloved State, and his descendants, would 
 pass through. Truth is stranger than fiction. From 
 the doughty rebel of the Revolutionary War, let us pass 
 to another Rebel, bearing his name, his great great- 
 grandson, Elias Edmonds, whom we find a prisoner at 
 the Old Capitol in 1863. He tried to escape, was de- 
 tected and carried to Point Lookout, Maryland, hand- 
 cuffed, and guarded by negro soldiers, and would have 
 been hanged but for the Intervention of a Federal offi- 
 cer who was married to a relative of the Rebel prisoner. 
 The Spartans taught their sons three things: to ride, 
 to shoot, and to tell the truth, and the Revolutionary 
 
OLD FAUQUIER 5 
 
 soldiers trained their boys along the same lines. When 
 Lafayette came back to America on a visit long after 
 the Revolution, he was entertained at a banquet in the 
 town hall of Warrenton by his old comrades in arms. 
 The gallant Frenchman's toast was: "To the people of 
 Fauquier! brave soldiers in times of war, good citizens 
 in times of peace, and intelligent patriots at all times." 
 But place aux dames! Chief Justice Marshall, of Vir- 
 ginia, followed him, and the sentiment he gave, "The 
 women of Fauquier, born to bloom and show us virtue 
 in its form!" was received with such cheers that the 
 very windows rattled. 
 
 In the North the rich man invests his spare cash 
 either in stocks, bonds, or handsome residences. In 
 the South, in the old days, the man of means bought 
 land, and the greater number of acres he possessed the 
 higher his prestige. There were many fine estates 
 founded by the English settlers, which descended from 
 father to son, until the beginning of the Civil War. 
 There was Leeton Forest, the home of Charles Lee o^ ^,Xt^ 
 tb^.Reifektttofl ; but there being no male heir the estate ^**J^'/ 
 passed to the female branch, who married a Presby- 
 terian minister from the North, named Pollock, and 
 the result of this union was four lovely girls. Roberta, 
 the youngest, was styled by Scott who wrote "Mosby's 
 Life," the greatest heroine in the South, for she saved 
 the Partisans from great danger. 
 
 A few miles away was Oakview, the estate of the 
 Morsons ; a great stone house built in the Tudor style, 
 
6 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 set in the midst of a grove of royal English oaks. In 
 this mansion there lived three maidens, as winsome 
 and sweet as could be found on this habitable globe. 
 
 There was the home of the Blackwells; a place 
 where its owner, Mrs. De Ruyter Blackwell, kept open 
 house for any soldier wearing the gray; and any home- 
 less refugee. De Ruyter Blackwell was a poet, one of 
 those who really was touched by the Divine fire, and 
 his two books of poems were to be found beside the 
 Bible in every Fauquier home. 
 
 The list of the old Colonial estates within the limits 
 of Mosby's Confederacy would fill pages; but after the 
 war the majority of the people were land poor; they 
 were rich in acres, but slim of purse, and the inevitable 
 result followed: the large estates were either sold in 
 entirety or divided by the heirs and disposed of in 
 smaller lots. If there is today a single estate of the 
 original owner's that remains intact, I have never heard 
 of it. The old feeling of keeping the landed pos- 
 sessions in the family vanished when grim poverty 
 knocked at the door. Among the yeomanry it was dif- 
 ferent; their small farms were tilled by sons following 
 father since the Revolution, and the descendants of 
 those sturdy English, Irish and Germans are there 
 today. 
 
 Among the early English and Scotch-Irish settlers 
 who received grants of lands within a few miles of 
 Warrcnton were the Chappalcars, Blackwells, Cald- 
 wells, Diggs, Morsons, Jennings, Hoovers, Campbells, 
 
OLD FAUQUIER 7 
 
 Lees, Scotts, Turners, Hamiltons, Edmunds, Morgans, 
 Moreheads, and many others. The people of Fauquier 
 were mostly of high grade; they had wealth, lineage, 
 and their ideals were high, and they squared up to them, 
 and for nearly a century this little commonwealth en- 
 joyed its life, living liberally, laughing joyously, riding 
 fearlessly, seeing little of the seamy side of things, and 
 cultivating those virtues which go to make a people 
 face, undaunted and serene, any adversity or danger 
 that may arise. These people little imagined that their 
 fair land was to be a "dark and bloody ground," and 
 that these fair descendants of the Revolutionary heroes 
 would be subjected, for years, to such ordeals as tried 
 the souls of the women of Carthage or tested the devo- 
 tion of the maids of Saragossa. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 'the debatable land/' 
 
 The great Civil War 
 covered a wide area. Every 
 Confederate State was the 
 scene of battles and skir- 
 mishes, and the warm, rich 
 blood of Anglo-Saxons and 
 Celts soaked the Southern 
 soil from the Potomac to 
 the Brazos. Only one dis- 
 tinctively Northern State (Pennsylvania) heard the 
 
 " — fitful cymbal's clash 
 And the growl of the sullen guns." 
 
 For ages to come the Southland will be the theme of 
 the historian, the poet, and the novelist. The siege of 
 Troy was the inspiration of geniuses for hundreds of 
 years, and not until this crime-stained earth shall cease 
 to revolve on its axis will the "Iliad" fail to stir the 
 pulse of adolescent youth and cause many a dreamer to 
 "wake to ecstasy the living lyre." 
 8 
 
"the debatable land" 9 
 
 The historian narrates in their order events and facts 
 often monotonous; but the novelist creates his plot, and 
 then gives us the people as they lived, and describes the 
 surroundings with absolute fidelity; hence, Walter Scott 
 has done more to arouse the national pride of Scotia 
 with his matchless sketches of Lowlander and High- 
 lander than Macauley with his history of Scotland. 
 
 The pen of Albert Bitozius and of Berthold Auer- 
 bach has accomplished more to unify Germany into one 
 nation than have all the proclamations of kings or the 
 edicts of emperors. 
 
 In our own country it is to the pen of Simms that we 
 owe our pride in the achievements of Marion with his 
 "Swamp Foxes" (as Tarleton called them), partisans 
 who followed Marion and Sumter. 
 
 The aboriginal American Indian would be but a myth 
 but for the genius of Cooper; "Leatherstockings" and 
 the men of the frontier will live as long as America. 
 
 When a second Walter Scott shall rise to portray the 
 splendid endurance of the Southern people in the early 
 sixties, and paint in vivid colors the romance and senti- 
 ment of grim-visaged war, he will choose the spot most 
 crowded with incident; and when from histories, books 
 and old newspapers will be caught the very "spirit and 
 body of the times," he will enthrall humanity and 
 charm the world with tales of "dare and do," and 
 prove that the highest type of woman was the Southern 
 girl of the sixties. 
 
 Now what region would the novelist choose for an 
 
10 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 historical novel? Many Southern States (the Caro- 
 linas, Florida, Georgia, Kentucky, Missouri, and espe- 
 cially Tennessee) would claim the honor; but there is 
 one section in Virginia that presents such pre-eminent 
 claims that none can dispute her right, and that spot 
 belonged to Mosby's Confederacy, as the theater of 
 his operations is called. This "Debatable Land" was 
 the theater where the most stirring and sensational war 
 drama was played. This region comprises the four 
 counties of Fairfax, Prince William, Culpeper and 
 Fauquier, and within its boundaries occurred the first 
 skirmish, when Captain Marr was killed in the early 
 summer of 1861. The battle of Blackburn Ford took 
 place on July 18, 1861, and the battle of Manassas was 
 fought three days later. Then followed the bloody 
 skirmish at Gainesville. 
 
 During the next year Mosby's Confederacy was a 
 place of suffering, wounds and death. Stonewall Jack- 
 son on August 20 burned Manassas Junction with all 
 Pope's supplies, captured Tyler's Federal brigade, 
 fought the battle of Grovestown for two days, and 
 held Pope at bay until Longstreet got through Thor- 
 oughfare Gap; and on the 31st of August occurred one 
 of the bloodiest and most decisive battles of the war. 
 At the Second Bull Run fully twenty thousand men lay 
 killed and wounded on the field. The next year was 
 fought the well-contested battles of Bristow and Mine 
 Run. In June, 1863, occurred the greatest cavalry 
 combats the world ever witnessed. Stuart was en- 
 
"THE DEBATABLE LAND" H 
 
 gaged in over a half dozen give-and-take cavalry bat- 
 tles, Mosby had over a score, while detached parties 
 and individual scouts had combats by the hundreds. 
 
 Certainly if human blood enriches the soil, Mosby's 
 Confederacy should be the garden spot of the world — 
 a place where the dead far outnumbered the living. 
 Fauquier County, however, was pre-eminently the "De- 
 batable Land." Its people were put to severer straits, 
 suffered more and endured more for the Confederacy, 
 than any community of civilized people ever did in the 
 annals of mankind. John Esten Cooke, the Southern 
 novelist, and Captain King, the Northern writer, chose 
 this region for their scene of action, and they are but 
 the pioneers of romance. 
 
 Fairfax and Prince William Counties were strongly 
 garrisoned by Federal forces and Culpeper was gen- 
 erally occupied by Confederate forces; but Fauquier 
 was the dark and bloody ground of Virginia, and for 
 three years it was the headquarters of Mosby and his 
 partisans; and the wild forays, the midnight dashes 
 upon the enemy's camps, the swoops upon the Federal 
 railroads, and the wild, mad charges on the Union 
 wagon-trains all had their origin In old Fauquier. All 
 the Federal plunder and the prisoners gathered in by 
 the partisans were disposed of within this county. 
 
 The County of Fauquier is about fifty miles from 
 the National Capital, and is one of the largest and 
 richest counties in the State. It is about thirty miles 
 long by twenty miles wide ; it is bounded on the north 
 
12 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 by Loudon, on the south by Stafford, on the east by 
 Prince William, and on the west by Culpeper and Rap- 
 pahannock Counties. 
 
 Fauquier County is much diversified, with its hills 
 and rich valleys, and the whole region is highly culti- 
 vated and occupied by well-to-do and refined people. 
 The middle part of the county is a famous farming 
 section. The southern part is flat land of poor quality, 
 and mostly occupied by the yeomanry. It was in the 
 northern part of Fauquier that Mosby often made his 
 headquarters, though if it can be truly said of any man 
 — freebooter or cavalryman, partisan or swashbuckler 
 — that "his headquarters were in the saddle," that man 
 was Mosby. 
 
 There was not a house In old Fauquier that did not 
 have Its war history; every one of them had its latch- 
 string hanging outside the door for the gray jackets; 
 all of them were searched by detachments of Federal 
 scouting parties, and many of the Black Horse men 
 and Mosby's men made running fights and dashes for 
 liberty as the Bluecoats surrounded one place or an- 
 other. The whole fruitful county, which in the begin- 
 ning of the war was gemmed with fine gardens, well- 
 tilled farms, and princely estates, for three long years 
 lay untouched by plow, harrow or hoe, and abandoned 
 so far as labor and tillage were concerned. The busy 
 hum of industry, the melodious chorus of the blacks in 
 the corn-shucking, the rhythmic music of the cradles as 
 they swung their steel blades through the golden wheat, 
 
"the debatable LANiy' I3 
 
 the cracking of the wagons loaded with grain, were no 
 more heard. The region was a desert where silence 
 reigned; the once fruitful fields were in parts grown up 
 in their primeval wilds; great stretches of pine coppice 
 were on every side, and these coverts were the favorite 
 lurking places of the scouts. The Federals never pene- 
 trated their depths, and if rebel scouts fleeing for life 
 could strike the pines, they were safe. 
 
 The lower part of Fauquier County was nearly al- 
 ways occupied by the Federal troops. The old Orange 
 and Alexandria Railroad was the only source of supply 
 of the Army of the Potomac when advancing; and 
 when they went into winter quarters their camps were 
 stretched along the railroad from Alexandria to the 
 Rappahannock River. 
 
 In winter time the Black Horse of the Fourth Vir- 
 ginia Cavalry, which was raised in Fauquier County, 
 was always sent to the "Debatable Land" to get fresh 
 mounts and to do all the damage they could to the 
 enemy. The Black Horse gained Mosby much of his 
 reputation, and some of his ablest oflicers were taken 
 from the ranks of this crack company. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 OLD TIMES COME AGAIN NO MORE. 
 
 From the end of the Revolutionary War of 1776 to 
 the beginning of the Civil War of 1861, a period of 
 eighty-five years, the planters of Fauquier, Loudon and 
 Prince William Counties led a life which was as per- 
 fect, as rounded and as contented as that of any com- 
 munity on this terrestrial globe. The section was purely 
 agricultural. These country Virginians cultivated their 
 lands, raised fine horses and enjoyed their domestic 
 life; their home was their castle, and hospitality one of 
 the cardinal virtues, the latchstring hanging always out- 
 side the door. 
 
 These planters lived in an atmosphere untainted 
 with moral malaria ; they were shielded from the heart- 
 hardening, conscience-searing process of holding their 
 own in fierce business conflicts. They were not taught 
 to be "en garde" against every man; the doctrine of 
 "dog eat dog" they had never heard of except in an 
 indefinite way. "The insolence of office, the proud 
 man's contumely, and the spurns that patient merit of 
 the unworthy takes," was to them only a poet's fancy, 
 not a grim, saturnine fact. Race hatred had not then 
 been engendered, and its hydra head, spitting poison, 
 
 14 
 
OLD TIMES COME AGAIN NO MORE 1 5 
 
 was a thing inconceivable; and that malignant ulcer on 
 the body politic, the negro preacher, who claimed to be 
 at one end of the heavenly telephone with the Almighty 
 at the other, had not then made his baleful appearance; 
 and the calm, clear stillness of night was not disturbed 
 by his raucous voice, haranguing upon the wrongs of his 
 race, and proclaiming the doctrine, "I'm as good as 
 you is," and social equality. There was in the sur- 
 roundings everything to elevate public morals; corrup- 
 tion in office was unknown; the mad rush for wealth 
 had not then begun, and the almighty dollar was not 
 the monarch before whom every man bowed. These 
 country Virginians tilled their rich lands that never 
 failed, reared their cattle, planted their corn and wheat, 
 bred their fine horses, and lived a life of contented ease, 
 which we of the strenuous present can hardly under- 
 stand. In truth their lines were cast in pleasant places. 
 Though uneventful, the life of these planters was 
 not dull, being fully occupied with domestic duties. 
 Sunday was really a day of rest, and nearly all were 
 regular in their attendance at church, and every man 
 in the county made it a point to be in town during court 
 day, which convened the first Monday in every month, 
 for it was there and then that the county business was 
 transacted, and the town was for the nonce a regular 
 farmers' club, the only one, by the way, they ever at- 
 tended. Here social engagements were made, healths 
 pledged, toasts drank, and whiskey flowed like water, 
 as it usually does where Anglo-Saxons congregate in 
 
I 6 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 crowds. In the summertime many families who were 
 fond of festivity spent several months at the springs; 
 the White Sulphur and the Old Sweet being favorites. 
 Those who could not afford the expense, or did not care 
 for fashionable life, could ride, in a few hours, to the 
 famous Fauquier White Sulphur, situated on the banks 
 of the Rappahannock, a charming resort, where many 
 of Virginia's best and bravest met. There were two 
 fine hotels in the place, but which were burnt during the 
 war. I recollect seeing them in flames when I was a 
 foot-soldier in Pickett's Division, our army being at 
 that time on the south banks of the river, and our foe- 
 men, the Army of the Potomac, on the north side. 
 
 In ante hellinn days Fauquier County was a great 
 sporting community, not of the Baden Baden or Monte 
 Carlo type, nor yet of the Epsom color; but it was of 
 the kind of sport which Frank Forester and gentle Sir 
 Isaac Walton loved. Nearly every mansion had its 
 setters and pointers and hounds, and a day's ride would 
 carry the sportsmen and fishermen to choice hunting 
 grounds. Quail piped in every field, while a few miles 
 away, in the slashes of the Wilderness, there were un- 
 numbered deer. Nearly every lad' in the section knew 
 how to handle a gun, and there were hundreds of crack 
 marksmen who supplied the planters with game. But 
 the strongest attribute of these people was their in- 
 herent love of fine horses; and as this section was an 
 ideal one for stock, their blooded horses were un- 
 equaled in America, save, perhaps, the blue grass region 
 
OLD TIMES COME AGAIN NO MORE 1 7 
 
 of Kentucky. The descendants of Flying Childers, 
 Eclipse and Planet were to be found on every Fauquier 
 plantation. 
 
 The women of Mosby's Confederacy who are alive 
 today look back to the life of half a century ago with 
 the same intense longing that filled the heart of the 
 royal emigre for the old regime before the days of the 
 Terror. 
 
 In that golden time, prior to the Civil War, for the 
 maidens of Fauquier life was as free from care as it is 
 possible to be in this mundane sphere. They were 
 taught to be truthful, high-minded, courteous and chari- 
 table; were refined, both by blood and training. 
 Womanhood was held in such reverence and esteem as 
 would cause wonder in these days of woman's suffrage; 
 every one of the fair sex expected and received respect- 
 ful devotion from the men; rudeness to a woman was 
 an unforgivable sin. 
 
 So much has been written about the ante helium 
 darkey that the subject has become hackneyed, and 
 people are simply tired of it. Playwright, poet and 
 novelist have all tried a 'prentice's hand at describing 
 and limning him. When a Southerner, brought up 
 with him, treats of the theme, he does so with full 
 knowledge and understanding of his subject; but when a 
 Northerner writes a novel and introduces Sambo he is 
 a novel creature indeed, an impossible darkey, gener- 
 ally a cross between an angel and a white gendeman; 
 a creation about as true as Cooper's "Noble Red Man." 
 
1 8 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 Personally, I have never believed in slavery, even in 
 my youth, though I was heir to a score of slaves. I 
 have always opined that every man's body was his own 
 to do with as he would, but if there was one bright spot 
 in the sombre mantle of slavery it was Fauquier County. 
 The farmers of Fauquier held their slaves by love 
 rather than fear. They had steady but easy work; 
 there was no driving; none of the brutality portrayed 
 in "Uncle Tom's Cabin." A gentleman in Fauquier 
 would have lost prestige if it were known that he ill- 
 treated his slaves who, be it said, were never overtaxed; 
 their food was abundant, every family having their own 
 garden, chickens and hogs. Their holidays were many. 
 They were well clothed and had not a care on their 
 minds, for they knew if they were to fall sick they 
 would receive the same care as one of the master's own 
 family, and they knew nothing of that haunting fear of 
 being in want in their old age, for there was evidence 
 on every plantation of the aged and infirm whose wan- 
 ing life was but a summer holiday. 
 
 The North did not care for the negro per se. It was 
 the institution they disliked. "Bob" Ingersoll, in a lec- 
 ture in Washington, said that the Northern people were 
 not willing that the South should reap all the benefit of 
 slavery while the North received nothing, but had to 
 share equally with the South the stigma before the 
 world. 
 
 It is no wonder that the hard-fisted, hard-headed 
 worklngmcn north of Mason and Dixon's line envied 
 
OLD TIMES COME AGAIN NO MORE 1 9 
 
 and disliked the Southern gentry, born as it were with 
 "a golden spoon in their mouths," living a life of 
 glorious ease and contentment, while with the North- 
 erner existence was a continual struggle, and the "sur- 
 vival of the fittest" was the law and the prophet. I 
 have no personal knowledge of the condition of the 
 slaves in the more Southern States, but in Virginia I am 
 positive that there were no serfs in the whole world 
 whose lives were so happy and free from care as that 
 of the negro of that State; and as for Fauquier County, 
 it was, in the parlence of that time, a veritable "nigger 
 Heaven." I have often heard the freedmen from that 
 county say that they would cheerfully forego their lib- 
 erty and their ballot if they could live as of yore. 
 
 When the war swept across the country all agricul- 
 ture ceased, and when the hands and handmaidens were 
 set free by Lincoln's proclamation the bulk of the 
 negroes w^re compelled to leave their homes to avoid 
 starvation; but the old mammy and cook were a part of 
 the family, and the proclamation was no more to them 
 than the sighing of the wind amid the tree tops. They 
 shared their masters' adversity as they did their pros- 
 perity, and were true to them as the needle to the pole. 
 
 It is not stretching the truth to say that in the Pied- 
 mont region, at least, the slaves looked up to and 
 reverenced their masters and their family next to their 
 God. 
 
 The abolitionists of the North predicted that when 
 the Southern slave-holder volunteered and went to the 
 
20 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 front, leaving his plantation unprotected, the slaves 
 would rise and kill, burn and destroy, as did Nat Turner 
 and his gang in the Southampton insurrection in the 
 thirties. 
 
 Certainly if there ever was a chance for a slave-rising 
 it was in Mosby's Confederacy during the second year 
 of the Civil War, before Mosby's Rough Riders were 
 organized. The region was absolutely denuded of men 
 except the aged and infirm. It was the borderland 
 where dwelt only helpless women, whose homes were at 
 the mercy of any desperado. Had the slaves any 
 hatred towards their masters, or any wrongs to avenge, 
 now was the golden opportunity. But the imagined 
 black man with an axe in one hand, a torch in the other, 
 surrounding the silent houses, did not materialize. 
 
 In truth the slaves loved and revered their masters 
 and would willingly and gladly have periled their lives 
 for them, and had they been enrolled as soldiers they 
 would have followed them to the cannon's mouth. One 
 of the great mistakes the Confederate Government 
 made was in not enlisting the blacks and giving to them 
 and their families their freedom. The English could 
 neither have conquered India nor held it without their 
 Sepoy contingent. Such a step as making the negro a 
 soldier would have paralyzed the abolitionists, and 
 won the South her independence. 
 
 While it is true that many of the youth and manhood 
 of the slaves sided with the North after they had ob- 
 tained their freedom, the house retainers were as 
 
OLD TIMES COME AGAIN NO MORE 21 
 
 Staunch as steel to their masters. This was brought to 
 the proof time and again in Mosby's Confederacy, 
 when they could have gained what to them was a for- 
 tune, by betraying the officers and men of Mosby's com- 
 mand; but they could not be cajoled or compelled. 
 There was not one of the Rough Riders who was not 
 indebted to them for kindnesses, and often for his 
 liberty and his life. It was no uncommon occurrence 
 that when a house was suddenly surrounded by a cordon 
 of cavalry, and the partisans had not time to flee, they 
 were concealed by the servants; and they invariably 
 proved faithful to the trust placed in them. They were 
 sorely tempted at times, but I never heard of but two 
 who succumbed. I have made many inquiries on this 
 subject and have only heard of those two instances that 
 occurred in Mosby's Confederacy during the Civil War. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FROM INFANTRY TO CAVALRY. 
 
 In the late fall of 1863 both armies, the Blue and 
 the Gray, went into winter quarters. The roads, ren- 
 dered impassable and unjackass-able by the alternate 
 thawing and freezing, made an activ^e campaign out of 
 the question. Strong picket lines were thrown out in 
 front; both flanks were heavily guarded by the cavalry, 
 and the artillery and infantry were moved back into the 
 woods, and the soldiers were told to build their homes 
 to suit themselves ; and they did so. Like a newly lo- 
 cated mining camp, a city arose in a night; and for four 
 months the two branches of the service had nothing to 
 do but take life easy. 
 
 The Black Horse Cavalry was from Farquier 
 County, and when the army had settled into winter 
 quarters the troop was detached to spend the winter 
 and early spring in Mosby's Confederacy. It was like 
 exchanging purgatory for paradise. Think of the dif- 
 ference. Idling and mooning through the long winter 
 months in camp in some shack that would not keep the 
 gentlest zephyr from entering freely, and when old 
 Boreas was on the rampage everything inside was 
 sprinkled with rain or powdered with snow; the ground 
 
ALKXAXDKU lllNTKU. 
 The Infantry T'niforni. 
 
FROM INFANTRY TO CAVALRY 23 
 
 was wet and soppy, the poor half-starved horses tied 
 to the pine trees whinnied their tales of hunger to ears 
 that heard not, for their masters were suffering keener 
 pangs of famine than were the brutes. Three crackers 
 a day and half a pound of rancid pork was the daily 
 rations of the regular army; about one-third of what a 
 hearty man could eat. The horses could gnaw the bark 
 off the trees to deaden the pangs of their hunger, but 
 their masters could not. 
 
 The South had no organization like "Old Sanitary" 
 of the North, where thousands of devoted women, 
 backed by the contributions of millions of men, made it 
 their business to pour out unceasing streams of luxuries, 
 clothing, books, and everything that could make the 
 rank and file of their army comfortable and contented 
 in their winter quarters. 
 
 The Bluecoats were as a community of well-to-do 
 burghers; the Grayjackets were as a colony of tramps, 
 half-clad and three-quarters starved. The Black Horse 
 Troop, by the waving of the magician's wand, was 
 transplanted into a land, not flowing with milk and 
 honey, but a land of romance, where a man astride a 
 fine horse, with a good six shooter in his holster, never 
 need want; for close by lay his enemy, who had more 
 of the good things of this life than he needed. Then 
 again, the homes of the Black Horse were in Mosby's 
 Confederacy, and the difference between camp life and 
 home is what only a veteran soldier can understand. 
 
 I had been an infantryman for two years, and I knew 
 
24 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 all there was to be known of that branch of the service, 
 as did all the footmen who followed Longstreet across 
 the sassafras and broomsedge fields of Manassas, 
 through the majestic gap at Thoroughfare, along the 
 muddy march to Richmond, into the deep sloughs and 
 morass of Yorktown, then back to defend Richmond, 
 thence onward again to the green fields of "My Mary- 
 land," only to retrace our steps back to poverty-stricken 
 Orange County, and to historic Fredericksburg, where 
 it was my privilege to witness the grandest charge ever 
 made by mortal men, that of Meagher's brigade of 
 Irishmen against Marye's Heights. Then on to Suf- 
 folk, marching often barefoot, infested with vermin, 
 almost naked, tramping with shoulders sore with carry- 
 ing a heavy musket, hips galled with toting a full cart- 
 ridge box, often mad with hunger, faint with thirst, 
 tramp ! tramp ! tramp ! up one hill and down another, 
 breathing nothing but dust and battle smoke; seeing 
 nothing but the sheen of the bayonets, hearing nothing 
 but the beat of the long roll or the roar of the cannon. 
 Oh, yes! I had been through it all; and this footing it 
 up and down and all around, bound by iron discipline, 
 made me sigh and long with all my mind and soul for 
 a trooper's life. I had see-sawed and traversed old 
 Virginia on two legs, and I wanted with all my might 
 to travel on four. Then, too, there was no romance in 
 being an infantryman. No swashbuckler or cavalier of 
 my reading ever toiled along on shank's mare. The 
 Paladins all bestrode fiery steeds; the heroes of all the 
 
FROM INFANTRY TO CAVALRY 25 
 
 wars always wore spurs; certainly if Charles O'Malley 
 had been a foot soldier he never would have been writ- 
 ten up in the book that sent more boys to the army than 
 ever Robinson Crusoe inspired with a love for the sea. 
 How many infantrymen tried to get into the cavalry 
 will never be known; probably all, or nearly all. The 
 soldier, if he had a pull, first sent his application to his 
 captain, who approved it; it was then in turn approved 
 by the colonel commanding the regiment, and was then 
 forwarded to the brigadier, who endorsed it and sent 
 it to the division general, whose approval or disap- 
 proval depended altogether on the state of his liver; 
 then it was sent to the corps commander, and finally to 
 the commander-in-chief. No wonder that poor Johnny 
 Reb, whose stomach was empty and his soul full of 
 longing, grew despondent and let his musket rust. He 
 felt that he was so little, and yet the powers that be 
 made so much of him; but it did not make him proud, 
 as Mr. Toots would say quite the contrary. 
 
 To step from the regular army, with its forms and 
 its discipline into Mosby's Confederacy, was like going 
 from Hades to Elysium. There were no forms in this 
 soldier's Paradise; no despots, no provost marshal 
 puffed up with bombastic pride ; no brigadiers with their 
 uniforms, from cap to boots, filled with bones, flesh 
 and egotism instead of blood. No, the Debatable Land 
 was governed, controlled and managed by King Mosby, 
 the only monarch North America ever possessed; a king 
 without a crown, without robes of state, without even a 
 
26 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 sword at his side. Such a king was never heard of be- 
 fore; but hke Robin Hood and his merry men, and the 
 Highlander Rob Roy, he could exclaim, "My foot is on 
 my native heath." Kings all, not by divine right, but 
 by the right of the bow, the steel and the pistol. In 
 their realm, like Crusoe, they could exclaim, *'I am 
 monarch of all I survey; my rights, few dare to dispute 
 them." 
 

 f'^Jl 
 
 
 ciiii;lit l.itilc Cliikii-en to Kiss Us. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE HEROINES OF FAUQUIER, HOW THEY LIVED, WHAT 
 THEY ENDURED. 
 
 In 1863, as I have said, I obtained a transfer from 
 the infantry to the Black Horse Cavalry, and spent the 
 winters of 1863, 1864 and 1865 in old Fauquier, and 
 though I recall many stormy scenes, yet the most vivid 
 picture my memory retains is that of the noblest, truest, 
 most patriotic women who ever lived. 
 
 Picture to yourself the scene of those long years. 
 The country seemed to lie under a curse; the country 
 roads were covered with grass, weeds and sprouts; the 
 ditches on either side a bed of briers; no ground was 
 tilled; no sound save the sighing of the wind among the 
 tree-tops; no animate creature to be seen anywhere, 
 save perhaps, a passing glimpse of a horseman who dis- 
 appeared before one could raise his eyes for a second 
 glance. In truth, the Debatable Land was the abomina- 
 tion of desolation. A man traveling through that 
 section was in more danger in those days than a rich 
 burgher in passing through Hounslow Heath when 
 Dick Turpin and Claude Duval held high sway. In 
 fact, a scout traversing Fauquier County carried his life 
 in his hands. 
 
 27 
 
28 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 The Federal Secret Service, with unlimited means, 
 had equipped a battalion of picked men, dressed them 
 in the Confederate uniform, whose business It was to 
 mix with the people, pass themselves off as Rebel scouts, 
 and gain all the information they could. They were 
 known as the Jessie Scouts, and though fearless, daring 
 men, they ran desperate risks for the high pay. They 
 had forged passes, furloughs and details, and met with 
 some success at first, as they gained full and accurate 
 information as to Mosby's command and the Black 
 Horse; but their manners, their talk and their accent 
 betrayed them. Many a time, solitary and alone, have 
 I gone to some house for shelter and food, and received 
 but cold courtesy; but after undergoing a close exami- 
 nation a wonderful change would take place, and I 
 would be welcomed as one who was near and dear. 
 
 Many of these Jessie Scouts disappeared from the 
 face of the earth; and when a Confederate cavalryman 
 met another cavalryman It was with cocked revolver, 
 and explanations were In order; If they were not satis- 
 factory, then and there was a duel to the death. 
 
 I came within an ace of losing my life once because 
 the girls of Mrs. Johnson's family mistook me for a 
 Jessie Scout. It was the day after Christmas of 1864; 
 the Federal General Merritt made a grand raid to cele- 
 brate the holidays, but it was a water-haul. A detach- 
 ment of the Black Horse hung on his flank and rear, 
 picking up stragglers. When going down a steep hill 
 full speed my mare fell and cut her knee to the bone. 
 
THE HEROINES OF FAUQUIER 29 
 
 I dismounted and led her to a house about a mile away. 
 All the Black Horse men wore the blue Yankee over- 
 coat, and when the ladies saw me approaching they 
 naturally thought I was a Federal. I tied my mare and 
 went to the house, and was received like a tax collector. 
 I tried to explain the situation to one of them, the rest 
 having left her to entertain me while they were hiding 
 their valuables. In a few moments the three girls (and 
 they were beautiful girls) burst into the parlor and 
 said : "If you are a Confederate soldier you had better 
 surrender, for the Yankees are all around the house." 
 I rushed to the porch and saw a squad tying their horses 
 to the palings of the fence. I ran down the hill, intend- 
 ing to reach the woods about a hundred yards away, 
 when the sergeant in charge rode at me full tilt and cut 
 me off. He dismounted and threw up his carbine. I 
 had only my army Colt's. The cap of his gun snapped. 
 This enabled me to reach the woods; but they got my 
 horse. 
 
 Often a party of us would stop at some lone farm- 
 house in the dead of night; after an interval a light 
 would gleam, and the white faces of a group of women 
 would be seen huddled together for safety. Then, no 
 matter what the hour, they would start a fire and cook 
 us a frugal meal. How those people lived, God only 
 knows. In the lower part of the county there was no 
 poultry, no hogs or meat of any kind; for a Federal 
 raid would sweep the barn, the pens and the smoke- 
 house clean. In summertime they had their gardens 
 
30 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 and vegetables, but in winter the common diet was cow- 
 beans and corn bread. 
 
 The closed season for three 
 years had filled the country 
 with game, but bird and beast, 
 except the rabbit, were safe. 
 Ah! those old hares! (known 
 as Stafford mutton) what a 
 blessing they were to those unfortunate non-combatants, 
 cooped up within Mosby's Confederacy! The boys and 
 girls had traps set all around the place, and rabbit 
 roasted, rabbit fried, rabbit hash, and rabbit fricassee, 
 was the prevailing cuisine. The people living near the 
 Federal camps fared better, for in all truth and honor 
 to the soldiers in blue, they would give to the country 
 people mess pork and hardtack; and when they broke 
 camp there would be left quantities of provisions, which 
 the soldiers freely bestowed upon those who came flock- 
 ing from far and wide to share in the spoil. But for 
 these supplies most of the people along the railroad 
 would actually have died of starvation. 
 
 The Muse of History has written on her scroll the 
 gallant deeds and the endurance of the Black Horse 
 Cavalry; but in heroic endurance they cannot compare 
 with the women of old Fauquier. It is impossible for 
 the average American of today, as he sits in his own 
 home, with his family and friends around him, with 
 civilization encompassing him, he and his protected by 
 
THE HEROINES OF FAUQUIER 3I 
 
 law, to understand or to picture the existence that the 
 dehcate, refined women of Mosby's Confederacy led 
 for three years. They were absolutely alone in their 
 dwellings. Every man capable of bearing arms or act 
 in the department was in the service. There was but 
 little visiting among the neighbors except in case of dire 
 necessity. There were no churches open, no entertain- 
 ments to relieve the somber lives they led. There were 
 no stores where they might purchase clothes or gro- 
 ceries, no mail, no letters except delivered by some 
 friendly hand, no social intermingling to shorten the 
 long hours of the winter nights, and just think of it! no 
 fashion to give joy to the feminine hearts. The 
 negroes, as a rule, had long ago left, and these delicate 
 women had to cut wood and carry it home on their 
 shoulders, bring water, and work in their gardens. 
 They cut the hay and cultivated corn patches in some 
 obscure spot where a scouting party would not be likely 
 to find it. 
 
 Many women today would feel nervous and fright- 
 ened if they had to remain in a house without a male 
 protector, even though they knew that law and order 
 reigned and that constables and police were watching 
 over their safety with sleepless vigilance. Think, then, 
 what they would feel today in a lone country home, in 
 a region between two great armies, with the knowledge 
 that there were soldiers constantly passing through the 
 country, deserters and bounty jumpers, vicious, unprin- 
 
32 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 cipled, and unmitigated scoundrels from the two armies 
 on tiieir way South or North, as it might happen their 
 army was encamped! Think of sitting huddled around 
 a fire, with no light save that of a sputtering tallow dip, 
 listening with fearful ears for the coming of — God 
 knows what I Think, matron and maid, what would 
 be the state of your feelings to be awakened out of a 
 fitful slumber by the noise of some one tapping on the 
 window pane, and then a long silence; or to hear the 
 sudden knocking at the door! 
 
 Such was often the experience of those women of old 
 Fauquier, who, when the knocking came, would hur- 
 riedly light the candle, and with throbbing heart and 
 shaking hands huddle on their clothes, and with lagging 
 feet, almost blind with fear, go to answer the summons, 
 and with horrid fancies rioting through their brain un- 
 lock the door, turn the knob, and open it to see — 
 Heaven knows what ! 
 
 Think, women of this fair land, who imagine you are 
 unhappy, with your petty trials and trivial troubles; 
 think of the suffering, the tribulations that the women 
 of the Debatable Land endured for three long years. 
 Yet not a word of complaint or despair fell from their 
 lips. 
 
 Those heroic women literally lived from hand to 
 mouth, only too thankful that they had a roof to cover 
 their heads. They existed in a strained state of ex- 
 pectancy, not knowing what one day would bring forth. 
 And this is no fancy sketch, for traveling on horseback 
 
THE HEROINES OF FAUQUIER 
 
 33 
 
 through this region after Lee's surrender, from Cul- 
 peper Court House to Fairfax Station, I did not see a 
 
 dozen houses 
 in a ride of 
 forty miles 
 along the rail- 
 road track. As 
 far as the eye 
 could reach the 
 only signs of 
 human habita- 
 tion were lone chimneys — war's tombstones marking 
 the spot where once had been happy homes. 
 
 None but a survivor of the Civil War can compre- 
 hend the life the people of Mosby's Confederacy lived. 
 Most of them subsisted on the barest necessities. Set- 
 ting the table was often a hollow farce, and grace be- 
 fore meat was but a bitter burlesque. In their daily 
 prayers for daily bread they usually added : "and a little 
 meat too, O Lord!" There was no tea, coffee, sugar 
 or milk, no preserves or pickles, no bread except the 
 corn pone or hard-tack. If one was taken ill, there was 
 no doctor to drive up in his family gig to bring hope 
 and comfort. There were no medicines except the 
 herbs of the field. The isolation from all humankind, 
 the blind ignorance of the future, the seasons that came 
 and went, the long winter nights, and those lingering 
 summer days so spun out that it seemed as though a 
 modern Joshua had commanded: "Thou sun, stand 
 
34 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 Still!" And the mid-summer times of dread! for the 
 women knew that the active campaign was in full swing, 
 and that the Blue and the Gray were in mortal combat; 
 that their friends and relatives were in dire danger, and 
 that, cut off from the world as they were, they must 
 pass days, weeks, even months perhaps, hoping, doubt- 
 ing, and fearing as to whether their loved ones were 
 alive or dead, and the brooding care and intense, 
 anxious thought made their very souls sicken. Yet in 
 their darkest hour of despair if you asked them, "If 
 you could, would you end it all by submission?" the 
 flash of the eye, the angry red in the cheek was answer 
 enough. It would seem as though the Brahma creed is 
 correct in that suffering purifies and eliminates the 
 grosser passions, for these women stood calm and 
 dauntless in every storm, and all the "slings and 
 arrows" hurled at them by "outrageous fortune" failed 
 to conquer or break them. Their faith was strong, 
 their hearts brave, and they smiled through their tears. 
 Yes, they loved their State next to their religion, and 
 to their adored cause they were as 
 
 "True as the dial to the sun." 
 
 I have seen the women of Fauquier in war times in 
 many situations, and on life's stage, in the bloody drama 
 of the Civil War, they played many parts. I have seen 
 many a delicately nurtured girl performing the coarsest 
 manual labor; I have seen them staggering through the 
 
THE HEROINES OF FAUQUIER 35 
 
 forest with heavy bundles of fagots on their backs; 
 I have seen them with blistered hands trying to cut 
 knotty wood with a dull ax, and wished that I was a 
 second Briareus and had a thousand arms to offer them 
 instead of only two; I have seen them cooking food for 
 the soldiers long after midnight, with the drum and 
 bugles of the enemy sounding in their ears; for hours I 
 have watched them sitting under the shade of the trees, 
 knitting socks or plaiting straw for their summer hats, 
 and even making footwear from the tops of the cavalry 
 boots, and turning out dresses from antique stuffs that 
 had been heirlooms for I know not how many genera- 
 tions; I have seen these same girls dressed in gowns 
 made from the blue overcoats of the cavalry; I have 
 seen them standing for hours on the roof with spyglass 
 in hand, watching the movements of the foe; I have 
 seen them speeding through brake and brier, forest and 
 fallow, to give the alarm to some neighbor who, they 
 knew, was entertaining Confederate soldiers; I have 
 watched them In the role of veritable picket guards, as 
 they kept watch and ward whilst the tired, overworked 
 soldier slept throughout the livelong night under their 
 roof-tree. Many a time I have slipped Into some house 
 for shelter and warmth during a bitter winter's night 
 and dropped Into peaceful slumber, though the camp of 
 the foe was not a musket shot off, feeling secure and 
 safe, "knowing that the girls were on guard" and would 
 not close their eyes or relax their vigilant watch until 
 the first dawn of day should lighten the distant moun- 
 
36 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 tain top. I have watched them with reverent wonder 
 as they bound up the wounds of some soldier, at the 
 same time conquering their sickness of heart over the 
 spurting blood and mangled bones. I have seen them 
 when they received the news of the death of some loved 
 one, their heart's dearest, who gave his life to the cause 
 he loved, and they met the blow as did the Roman 
 matrons who said: "Return with thy shield, or upon 
 it." They quivered for a time under the stroke, but 
 never gave way to unrestrained, hopeless grief nor to 
 unavailing despair; they only grew more defiant, more 
 bitter and irreconcilable. I have seen them on their 
 knees praying to Almighty God to give success to the 
 cause they loved better than life. 
 
 There were some timid, cowardly men in Fauquier 
 County (we had a half dozen in the Black Horse, and 
 there were a score or more of buttermilk rangers who 
 kept dodging in the bushes, arrant poltroons whose 
 greatest achievement was robbing some Federal desert- 
 er) ; but among the women, high-bred and ill-bred, edu- 
 cated and illiterate, the pampered child of fashion, and 
 the cruel sport of fortune high and low, there was the 
 same spirit animating them all. I never in all those 
 trying years met a woman in old Fauquier who coun- 
 seled surrender to the foe. The women for years saw 
 only the sterner, sorrowful side of life; they heard only 
 talk of war and things of war; tales of warlike deeds, 
 of deadly daring, "of hairbreadth escapes by flood and 
 field," of the melee, the fighting hand to hand excited 
 
THE HEROINES OF FAUQUIER 37 
 
 their imagination and fired their blood. The small de- 
 tails that go to fill up the average woman's existence 
 were not theirs. Instead, the martial air they breathed, 
 their thoughts, their dreams — all were tinctured with 
 war, and so they learned to love and admire personal 
 bravery in a man beyond and above all else. 
 
 Many a happy hour have I spent during the long win- 
 ter evenings with these matrons and maidens, and the 
 contrast between their firesides and the bivouac of the 
 half-starved, gaunt troopers in camp was to a soldier 
 the difference between Paradise and Purgatory. Yet I 
 noticed one thing: it was no use to try soft dalliance or 
 to play the Claude Melnotte with them ; no matter what 
 subject was broached, they would invariably bring the 
 conversation round to the war. It was the one absorb- 
 ing, enthralling topic, and nothing else gained or held 
 their attention. How they flattered, and what homage 
 they paid the soldier who had performed some special 
 act of bravery, and they treated him as though it had 
 been done for their own especial benefit ! Many a gray- 
 jacketed Othello charmed the ears and won the heart 
 of some Fauquier Desdemona by his tale of deadly 
 daring. 
 
 These girls had proposals a-plenty. The soldiers 
 did not waste time in their devoirs; they did not know 
 how long they were to live, as lives were cheap in those 
 days; but the women would not listen to such talk. 
 "Drive these people away, and when the war is over 
 we will then have time enough to listen to these tales," 
 
38 
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 was the unvarying reply to the oaths, declarations and 
 entreaties of their lovers to marry them. These women 
 knew, as did their officers, that a soldier newly wedded 
 was a soldier spoiled, for his heart would not be in his 
 work. By their words and example the scout's soul was 
 elevated, his heart beat stronger, and he became more 
 reckless and more daring. 
 
 It was a Fauquier tot of three summers who was sent 
 to visit her aunt in Boston just after the war ended, and 
 just before going to bed on the night of her arrival she 
 knelt down to say her prayers and ask Providence's 
 blessing for General Lee and Jeff Davis. When she 
 ended, her aunt said, "Mollie, the war is over now and 
 we are one people, and you 
 must pray for the Yankees, 
 too." Obediently, the little, 
 white-clad form sank back to 
 her knees, and raising her 
 hands said: "O Lord, bress 
 the damn Yankees, too." 
 
i 
 
 H^ 
 
 
 r^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 Ky 
 
 
 -. 1 ' 
 
 1 
 
 
 ■ i 
 
 i 
 
 \- 
 
 M 
 
 /-^ 
 
 ixr: "'I' Mosi'.vs i;.\\(;i:i;s. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE KING OF THE DEBATABLE LAND. 
 
 American historians have never done justice to 
 Mosby. He was in warfare what Poe was in literature : 
 absolutely unique; and like Poe his fame will grow. 
 
 It was an Englishman, Colonel Henderson, that dis- 
 cerned the genius of Stonewall Jackson, and lifted him 
 from an able corps commander (as modern historians 
 ranked him) and placed him on a pedestal for all time 
 to come as one of the greatest masters of the art of 
 warfare that ever lived. Some foreign military student, 
 with cool, critical eye, will some day study the tactics of 
 Mosby and will accord him the praise of having accom- 
 plished more with his limited resources than any cav- 
 alryman who ever swung himself into the saddle. 
 What he could have done had he been situated like Mor- 
 gan, Van Dorn or Wheeler, can only be conjectured, 
 His capabilities were unlimited. Like Stonewall Jack- 
 son, he never recalled his orderly after he had issued 
 a command, and like Jackson, his intuition was like 
 lightning. In the hurly-burly of frenzied conflict he 
 was as cool and calm as though the clash of arms 
 was a holiday show, and his eagle eye could gather in 
 at one glance the real situation, and it was this mar- 
 
 39 
 
40 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 velous gift that enabled him to extricate his commanc 
 from a score of conflicts, whereas a mere fighter woulc 
 have gone under. 
 
 The people of Fauquier believed implicitly in Mosby 
 and his men had unbounded faith in him. 
 
 When I recall Mosby as I saw him for the first tim( 
 at the head of his battalion in the little village of Salem 
 in old Fauquier, in the autumn of 1863, splendidly 
 mounted, his lithe, elegant form attired in a showy 
 new uniform, slouch hat with gilt cord, and sweeping 
 plume shading his clean-cut, cameo face, I thought ol 
 the days "when knighthood was in flowei," and that h( 
 was the knightliest of them all. He was the beau idea 
 of a beau sabreiir — a Centaur, Mars, and Apollo all ir 
 one. 
 
 Many men during the Civil War had unlimited powei 
 for a brief period, as did Butler at New Orleans, anc 
 Burbridge in Kentucky; and impartial history haj 
 summed up the good and evil resulting therefrom, but 
 there has never been an instance in free America where 
 a man was greater in his realm, for two whole years, 
 than czar or sultan. Mosby, a classical scholar, could 
 in those days have grasped the kingly precept of the 
 Caesars, and have proclaimed it as his own: "Roma 
 lociita est causa finita est." When he had declared his 
 verdict the die was cast; the law of the Medes and 
 Persians was not more unalterable. When the pale, 
 thin, statuesque soldier, wearing a major's star, un- 
 closed his thin lips and gave an order, not even the 
 
THE KING OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 4 1 
 
 power of the United States nor that of the Confederate 
 States of America could change it within his kingdom. 
 Like Rob Roy, he could exclaim, "I hold my sway from 
 Berwick Brae to Bannockburn," and no doubt he felt 
 the same pride that the Highland chieftain did when he 
 stamped his foot and cried: "My foot is on my native 
 heath and my name is MacGregor." 
 
 Scott writes of Mosby in 1864: 
 
 "But it is now time to speak of his civil administra- 
 tion. The civil structure in the district over which his 
 power extends had been totally subverted, and there 
 was no law to maintain the recognized rights of prop- 
 erty, or to protect the weak from the aggressions of the 
 strong. Finding himself in the possession of power, he 
 regards it as a trust to be exercised for the benefit of 
 those over whom his military jurisdiction extends. To 
 him, as the recognized depository of authority, all men 
 repair, preferring complaints, representations and ap- 
 plications. The ordinary place for the transaction of 
 such business is at a rendezvous for the command, 
 while the men are assembling. But this is not always 
 the case, for he often gives audiences and makes de- 
 cisions at other places and at other times. Thus Mosby 
 has reigned in the Upper Piedmont for nearly two 
 years undisputed Dictator." 
 
 It was Mr, John Marshall of Fauquier County who 
 gave to him the soubrequet of "the King of the De- 
 batable Land." Mr. Marshall was one of the wealth- 
 iest and brainiest residents of old Fauquier, and in a 
 
42 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 letter to the Richmond Examiner he wrote that "Old 
 Fauquier was now under the reign of a king, who heard 
 petitions, settled disputes, and by his justice and legal 
 knowledge gained universal approbation, and that the 
 section of the county had never during the memory of 
 man been so cheaply and ably governed." 
 
 The most enthralHng chapters of the Revolutionary 
 War are those dealing with the deeds of two great 
 partisan leaders, Marion and Sumpter, and their ac- 
 tions have long been the favorite theme of novelists 
 and poets. It was Marion, called by Tarleton "The 
 Swamp Box," who was the real leader, for Sumpter 
 was only a popular officer. It was the brain of Marion 
 to conceive, and the hand of Sumpter to strike, yet 
 Marion was no more to be compared with Mosby than 
 was Alvarez to Cortez. 
 
 Mosby with his battalion, numbering some three 
 hundred fighters, caused more trouble to the Federal 
 Army of the Potomac than any corps in the Confed- 
 erate Army; and he and his partisans kept over thirty 
 thousand Federals guarding their communications, their 
 railroads, their army posts, their frontier towns and 
 their depots of suppHes, when but for this ubiquitous 
 ranger these forces would have been in active service 
 in the field. 
 
 I will try to describe this great partisan ranger. 
 
 His early life did not foreshadow the checkered 
 career that was to be his. Indeed, up to the outbreak of 
 the Civil War no one could have lead a more simple 
 
THE KING OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 43 
 
 and peaceful existence. He was born in Powhatan 
 County, Virginia, on the plantation of his father, 
 some miles above Richmond. Although fond of hunt- 
 ing and early trained to ride and shoot, his was but the 
 ordinary training of the Virginia boys. But even in his 
 youth the fascinations of that mode of warfare, which 
 afterwards made him famous, appealed to his boyish 
 imagination, as appears from the tales of his mother 
 and his faithful old slave. Aaron used to t*ll how he 
 would lie upon his bed and devour the "Life of Gen- 
 eral Marion," rolling from side to side, and shouting 
 with glee when he came across some particularly stir- 
 ring episode in the history of that daring Revolutionary 
 raider; no doubt in after life that budding inspiration 
 blossomed into daring deeds of his own. But his nature 
 was quiet and peaceful. He was also a studious youth, 
 and had a strong predilection for anything Greek. "I 
 was born a Greek," he was often heard to say. 
 
 He began his military career by joining the cavalry, 
 and he was soon detailed to Stuart's headquarters as a 
 scout. His first appearance in the limelight was while 
 leading Stuart in his circle around the McCIellan army, 
 which was besieging Richmond in 1862. Stuart 
 thought so highly of him that he gave him a small in- 
 dependent command, which was designed more to pro- 
 tect the citizens living on this border than anything 
 else. To defend only was not in Mosby's nature. As 
 well expect the eagle, from his circling beat in the 
 arching skies, to refrain from slanting swoop when he 
 
44 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 perceives his quarry. In his spirited book, "Mosby's 
 Rangers," Private James W. Williamson, who was a 
 close personal friend of Mosby, thus describes him: 
 
 "Mosby was a brave man, and as a scout he was 
 unsurpassed; he was generally taciturn, particularly 
 towards strangers. At times he was quite talkative, 
 while at others he would scarcely answer a question. 
 He spoke plainly and to the point. Cool in danger, 
 quick to think and practical in carrying out his ideas. 
 These were the qualities which aided materially in his 
 success." And again Mr. Williamson describes the 
 tactics of the partisan leader in a nutshell: 
 
 "While the enemy were compelled to guard their 
 lines Mosby had none. When a body of troops was 
 sent in search of him, it was a very easy matter for him 
 to keep out of their way if in heavy force, or to cut off 
 and attack any detachment from the main body, and 
 harass them on the march." 
 
 Mosby's tactics were those of a war general : his aim 
 was to puzzle his opponents, to mystify them, to keep 
 them on a constant strain until they became nervous 
 and took counsel of their fears; to have them ill at 
 ease, looking everywhere, expecting, hoping and fear- 
 ing by turns, was a studied business with him, and he 
 succeeded beyond his hopes. It was the feelings he 
 inspired in his foes more than anything else that ac- 
 counted for his marvelous success. 
 
 Mosby, in his reminiscences, says: 
 
THE KING OF THE DEBATABLE tAND 45 
 
 "I endeavored to diminish as far as I was able the 
 aggressive power of the Army of the Potomac, by com- 
 peUing them to keep a large force on the defensive. I 
 assailed its rear, for there was its most vulnerable point. 
 My men had no camps. If they had gone in camp they 
 would have all been captured. They would scatter for 
 safety and gather at my call like the Children of the 
 Mist. A blow would be struck at a weak or unguarded 
 point, and then a quick retreat. The alarm would 
 spread through the sleeping camp, the long roll would 
 be beaten or the bugle would sound, "To horse," then 
 would be mounting in hot haste and rapid pursuit. But 
 the partisans would get off with their prey. Their pur- 
 suers were striking at an invisible foe. I often sent 
 small squads at night to attack and run in the pickets 
 along a line of several miles. I wanted to use up and 
 consume the Northern cavalry by hard work." 
 
 In many respects Mosby was exceptional : his power 
 over his Rough Riders was complete, but they did not 
 love him. He did not inspire them with the enthusias- 
 tic devotion that Turner Ashby received from his cav- 
 alrymen. Major John Scott of Fauquier, Mosby's 
 bosom friend, who, just after the war published a book 
 called "Partisan Life of Mosby," and who obtained 
 nearly all his data from Mosby, says of him : 
 
 "You ask If It is by love that Mosby controls his 
 men? No, he is not weak enough to be cheated by that 
 fallacy. Love, he knows, is an inconsistent charmer 
 
46 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 whose power, from the nature of things, can not be 
 made to pervade or control large masses of men. Fear 
 and confidence are the Genii he invokes." 
 
 Mosby, unlike most leaders of men, had no mag- 
 netism; he was as cold as an iceberg, and to shake 
 hands with him was like having the first symptoms of 
 a congestive chill. He was positive, evidence of a self- 
 centered man; and he did not know what human sym- 
 patliy was. He would have been a Stoic had he lived 
 in Athens in the days of Pericles. The general im- 
 pression of Mosby is that he was a rough-and-ready, 
 figiiting Cracker-Jack, while on the contrary he was a 
 literatus, a classical scholar and a thorough student; but 
 he reminded one strongly of Goldsmith's lines: 
 
 "Who wrote like an angel, 
 But talked like poor Poll." 
 
 Mosby was fond of reading the old English litera- 
 ture, and was familiar with Lord Chesterfield's letters; 
 yet, withal, he had the manners of an Indian. His was 
 a fascinating character to study; he was a "stormy 
 petrel," a born soldier, a light cavalryman by instinct, 
 and a partisan who, under no orders, could accomplish 
 wonders, but in the regular army he would, in all prob- 
 ability, never have been heard of. In the piping days 
 of peace he was as a fiftli spoke in the wheel, and 
 steady, plodding work was his abomination. He was 
 of the meteoric type. Though cold, indifferent and 
 
THE KING OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 47 
 
 Utterly self-centered, yet he was the greatest leader of 
 irregular warfare that history or tradition gives to us. 
 
 Marion and Sumter had the swamps in which to lie 
 perdu, but the Virginia partisans had no place in which 
 to hide. The nearest swamp was the Great Dismal, 
 over a hundred miles away; there were no caves in 
 which to burrow, no rough inaccessible mountains 
 where they might lose themselves like the brigands in 
 Spain; instead, Mosby's men dwelt in the thickly popu- 
 lated region, with two rivers, the Rapidan and the Rap- 
 pahannock, in the rear; yet they bade defiance to the 
 whole Federal army, and kept their ranks Intact until 
 the close of the war, and was the last organization in 
 Virginia to surrender. What was the secret of their 
 amazing success? It was the women of the Debatable 
 Land. 
 
 Even in La Vendee Napoleon found that bribery ac- 
 complished more than his armies. Even In Scotland, 
 Wallace was betrayed to his death. But In the De- 
 batable Land there was no traitor; men may have been 
 tempted, but the women were so devoted to their cause 
 that they nipped In the bud any talk of disloyalty to 
 their chief. 
 
 The King of Fauquier Issued his ukase defining the 
 boundaries of his realm, and also stringent orders that 
 none of his soldiers should stray outside the limits under 
 pain of being sent back under guard to the army, and 
 be drafted as a private. A few of his men disobeyed 
 his mandate, and neither excuse, apology nor Influence 
 
48 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 availed them. The bounds of his little confederacy 
 were sharply defined by Mosby himself; commencing 
 at Snickersville, along the Blue Ridge Mountains to 
 Loudoun, thence to Salem, thence to the Plains, then 
 following the Bull Run Mountain to Aldie. 
 
 There was one crime that Mosby viewed with as 
 much abhorrence as did any settler on the frontier a 
 score of years agone, and that was horse stealing. 
 That evil had reached the limit in Loudoun County, 
 especially among the Quakers who were non-combat- 
 ants. Mosby sent details of his most trusty men there, 
 with orders to kill the thieves on sight, no matter 
 whether his uniform was blue, gray or civilian. This 
 mandate was carried out literally, and many of these 
 gentry suddenly disappeared from the face of the earth. 
 
 Another evil was the manufacturing of liquor, and 
 many a squad was sent into the hidden fastness of the 
 Blue Ridge Mountains to destroy the illicit stills. The 
 soldiers dispatched on this duty left headquarters with 
 ill-concealed joy. Mosby himself never touched a drop 
 — had been a teetotaler since his college days. His 
 specials were supposed to be traveling in that same 
 conveyance, but it must be confessed that they were 
 somewhat like Colonel Byrd Lewis' old darkey, Man- 
 uel, who dwelt, in ante bellum days, on a plantation in 
 Henrico. Manuel was a pillar of the church, a gen- 
 eral factotum about the farm, and a favorite of the 
 Colonel, but he would get drunk. Again and again 
 
THE KING OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 49 
 
 his master had forgiven him, but at last he called 
 him up. 
 
 "See here, Manuel, my patience is at an end; you 
 have the easiest time of any darkey on the plantation, 
 but now I'm going to send you back to the field-gang 
 under the overseer." 
 
 "Marse Byrd, it's powerful hard work shearing dem 
 sheep, as you know." 
 
 "I am not talking of sheep-shearing time, but all the 
 time," responded the Colonel. The darkey scratched 
 his head. 
 
 "Now you see here, Marse Byrd, I done make a 
 bargain with you. If I kin drink all I wants to in sheep- 
 shearing time, I won't take no dram no other time; no, 
 sir! I won't touch nary a drop." 
 
 "Very well!" answered the Colonel, "it's a bargain; 
 but if you break it, back you go to the gang of field nig- 
 gers, remember that." 
 
 On several occasions old Manuel's actions were very 
 suspicious, and the climax came when he burst the 
 bottom out of a wash-tub when he brought it down 
 over his wife's head. She complained to the Colonel, 
 not on account of her head being hurt, but because her 
 best tub, she said, "was clean done busted." 
 
 The Colonel summoned his servant. "Manuel," 
 said he, "forbearance has ceased to be a virtue; now 
 you go and report to the overseer." 
 
 "Marse Byrd, ain't a bargain a bargain?" 
 
50 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 "It certainly is." 
 
 "Den I stands by it." 
 
 "And I'll stand by mine. That's enough; report to 
 the overseer." 
 
 "See now! Marse Byrd, you done tole me to drink 
 all I want in sheep-shearing time; now I'se done kept 
 my part of de bargain, for every time I wants a dram 
 I go get my shears, hunt up Jupe, that old ram, and 
 take a few clips on him, and I done sheared old Jupe 
 about twenty times since last Christmas." 
 
 Now when Mosby's men started to obey orders and 
 destroy the liquor traffic, they did it their own way, and 
 men have a thousand different ways of doing a thing, 
 but these Rangers, like old Uncle Manuel, had only 
 one way to destroy the liquor : they absorbed it at sheep- 
 shearing time. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 mosby's name, fame and success due largely 
 
 TO women. 
 
 It is not too much to say that much of the great fame 
 enjoyed by Mosby was won by the aid of the women 
 of the Debatable Land; and not only because the bril- 
 liant partisan leader, and every officer under him, owed 
 his life and erstwhile liberty to those maids and 
 matrons. Many of Mosby's dashing and successful 
 raids were but the outcome of information furnished 
 him by these fair dames. 
 
 The history of the world does not present such a 
 spectacle of a community of people, as a unit in thought 
 and feeling, as was true of the Debatable Land. An 
 hour's walk to the Federal lines with information of 
 Mosby's stopping place and the houses where his 
 rangers lay asleep would have made the informer rich. 
 It must be remembered that the partisans had no pickets 
 or videttes, roads were not patroled, and no guards 
 were set and relieved. A Federal detachment with 
 certain information could have scooped up the whole 
 crowd. But there were none who gave that informa- 
 tion. There might have been men in Mosby's Con- 
 federacy who were tempted to gain a life's competence 
 
52 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 by revealing the partisan's hiding place, but the women 
 — ah, the women 1 That was a different thing. 
 
 History has immortalized Paul Revere, who roused 
 the New Englanders; but Paul was on a fiery steed, 
 and it was a safe and exciting gallop. But there is no 
 history, neither poetry nor song, to tell of the wild ad- 
 ventures of the Fauquier maidens, who, threading their 
 tortuous ways through the woods, bursting through pine 
 coppice, mirey swamps, facing unknown danger to 
 reach some farmhouse and whisper with white lips and 
 panting breath: "The foe! He comes! He comes!" 
 
 So the rangers slept peacefully, firm in the faith that 
 their people were true as death to their cause. And 
 their belief was well-founded, for time and again the 
 Federals made night raids, but in every instance with- 
 out success. A trooper here and there would be 
 gathered in, but the mass, timely warned, would escape 
 in time, and strike the reconnoitering party when they 
 were least expecting it. 
 
 The Debatable Land, in the last year of the war, 
 did not occupy a space of more than thirty miles. On 
 the south it was hemmed in by the Federal garrison at 
 Warrenton; on the east were numerous camps of the 
 enemy stretching from Fairfax to Accomac; on the 
 north at Harper's Ferry was General Sullivan's bri- 
 gade, while on the west the Union forces were always 
 swarming in the Valley. 
 
 The partisans, in the center of the Union army, with 
 no safe rendezvous, no line of retreat open, were, ac- 
 
mosby's name, fame and success 53 
 
 cording to all reasoning, doomed to extinction. But 
 there is a difference between fighting a battalion of par- 
 tisans and fighting a united people. A soldier may be 
 captured, driven away or killed; but the women and 
 children yet remain, and against them military tactics 
 were as a pin's point against the shield of Peliades. 
 Major Scott cites an interesting instance of these truths 
 when he tells how the "Angel" (as he calls Miss Rat- 
 cliffe) saved the partisans. 
 
 "Mosby started for Fairfax with the intention of 
 striking a picket-post lying near Frying-pan Church, 
 which proved to be a trap that had been set for him, 
 but from which he was saved by the activity and cour- 
 age of Miss Laura Ratcliffe. She was informed by a 
 soldier who came to the house to ask for milk that 
 Lieutenant Palmer of the First West Virginia Union 
 Cavalry with a party had placed himself in the pines, 
 near Frying-pan Church, leaving a few of his men in 
 sight of the road as pickets. He added, 'We will surely 
 get Mosby this time. On his next raid he will cer- 
 tainly come by Frying-pan, and it will not be possible 
 for him to escape. I tell you this, though I know you 
 would give Mosby any information in your possession; 
 but, as you have no horses, and the mud is too deep for 
 women folks to walk, you can't tell him; so the next 
 you hear of your 'pet' he will be either dead or our 
 prisoner.' After the man left the ladies wondered 
 what they could do in that emergency. At last Miss 
 Laura concluded to go across the fields and leave word 
 
54 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 with the Southern families to watch for Mosby and put 
 him on his guard. While she was at Mr. George Cole- 
 man's in execution of this purpose, she beheld from the 
 window a small body of men, and, in company with a 
 lady friend, proceeded to intercept them. But as she 
 approached she saw among them so many blue-coats 
 that she feared she had fallen in with a band of Yan- 
 kees, but was soon relieved from her suspense by John 
 Underwood, who rode up to inquire the news, and was 
 soon followed by Mosby, whom she informed of the 
 ambuscade prepared for him." 
 
 Mosby, in his book, writes: "In the spring of 1863 
 I was proceeding with a detachment to Fryingpan, 
 when I got within a mile of it and stopped for a few 
 minutes to make my disposition for attacking the picket 
 guard. I observed two ladies walking rapidly towards 
 me; one was Miss Laura Radcliffe, the other her sister. 
 Their home was near Fryingpan, and they had gotten 
 information of a plan to capture me. But for meeting 
 them my life as a partisan would have closed that day. 
 There was a cavalry post in sight of Fryingpan; and 
 near there in the pines a large body of cavalry had been 
 concealed. It was expected I would attack the pickets, 
 then they would have made an end of me. 
 
 "A garrulous lieutenant had disclosed the plot to 
 Miss Laura, never dreaming she would walk through 
 the snow to get the news to me. This was not the only 
 time I owed my escape to the tact of a Southern 
 woman." 
 
mosby's name, fame and success 55 
 
 When Captain Chapman of Mosby's battalion with 
 twenty men struck a wagon train and captured twelve 
 men and nineteen horses, he was hotly pressed, but was 
 saved by the wit of Miss Marshall, who stopped the 
 pursuit by assuring the Federal commander that pur- 
 suit was hopeless, as Chapman's men had scattered, 
 each man for himself. 
 
 It was Mrs. Dawson who induced Mosby to close in 
 on a suttler's train, in what was called at the time the 
 "Calico Raid." The rangers arrayed themselves in 
 the captured goods, as they passed along the road, 
 decked in every imaginable article of fancy attire; all 
 had women's hats on their heads. Mrs. Dawson was 
 in her garden when they approached, and rushing to 
 her house she exclaimed to her daughters: "Run, my 
 children, to the garret, they are coming! They are 
 coming! They aren't Yankees, and they aren't Rebs, 
 they must be Indians! We will all be scalped. Run! 
 Run!" 
 
 When Captain Chapman was on a scout he came 
 upon the ruins of Dr. Sowers' house, and found Mrs. 
 Sowers and her children sitting, despondent and hope- 
 less, by the smoldering remains. The forlorn lady's 
 wet eyes brightened when she beheld the partisans, and 
 she urged them quickly to follow the inhuman wretches 
 who had rendered her and her children homeless, and 
 she said: "Smile and spare not, for though I have lost 
 my home, I am still for the South. I love her more 
 for the sacrifice I have made." 
 
56 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 Captain Chapman said that the piteous spectacle 
 and the woman's appeal maddened the partisans. As 
 they galloped off they shouted, "No quarter 1 No quar- 
 ter today I" 
 
 It may be well to state a fact which was known to 
 both the Black Horse and Mosby's men, that it was 
 rarely that a self-respecting native-born Northerner, 
 with malice prepense, applied the torch. It was the 
 foreigners and the riff-raff, or the hired substitutes and 
 bounty jumpers, who joined the army for plunder who 
 committed these outrages. 
 
 Frank Wilkeson, a brilliant Federal soldier of the 
 Second Corps, Army of the Potomac, who wrote a 
 clever book upon the war, says of the conscripts and 
 bounty men who were sent to swell Grant's legions: 
 
 "These men had dropped out of their commands as 
 they approached the battle line, and had hidden in the 
 woods. There were hundreds of them in the army at 
 Cold Harbor. There were hundreds of them around 
 Petersburg. They sneaked away from their regiments 
 during battle, or while marching to battle, to rejoin 
 them when on the march. They were always present 
 when rations were issued. They were never present 
 when cartridges were supplied. They were, without 
 exception, thieves. They robbed the dead. They stole 
 from the living. They were strongly suspected of kill- 
 ing wounded men at night. More cowardly creatures 
 were never clad in the uniform of English-speaking 
 
MOSBY S NAME, FAME AND SUCCESS 
 
 57 
 
 peoples. They plundered houses. They frightened 
 women and little children. They burned dwellings." 
 
 There was not a ranger of Mosby's battalion, or a 
 Black Horse man, who had not tipped a glass in honor 
 of Miss Jennie Chew, "The Rose of the Valley," as 
 she was called. She was a lovely, fascinating and ac- 
 
 THE ROSE OF THE VALLEY. 
 
 complished girl, and had more ardent suitors than any 
 woman in Virginia. Like the brilliant Parisian, Marie 
 Touchet, her motto was "Je charme tout." All fell be- 
 neath the spell of her witching beauty and magnetism — 
 the soldiers in blue as well as those who wore the gray. 
 
58 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 She sent General Early more valuable information than 
 all of his picked scouts together. The Rangers adored 
 her, and many risked their lives in visiting her, her 
 house being within the enemy's lines. She never mar- 
 ried during the Civil War. It was a common saying 
 among the soldiers that "The Rose of the Valley" had 
 not the heart to marry, for by such act she would make 
 one man happy, but scores of others miserable. She 
 pointed the way to the partisans for Mosby to make a 
 rattling dash on the Union wagon-train and sutler's 
 stores. There was not a movement of Sheridan's in the 
 Valley which did not come to her knowledge, and the 
 information was promptly sent to Gen. Jubal Early by 
 the "grapevine telegraph." 
 
 There was another woman whose name should be 
 added to the roll of Virginia's heroines, and that is 
 Miss Betty Martin, who lived within a few miles of 
 Vv^arrenton. 
 
 During the winter of '63 there had been a good 
 many captures made by rebel scouts in the vicinity of 
 Warrenton Junction, and the Union General Kilpatrick 
 determined to put an end to it. For that purpose he 
 sent out many scouting parties on a fixed night to sur- 
 round all the neighboring houses and search them for 
 the rebels. As the Martin house was a rendezvous of 
 the Black Horse, a whole company was detailed in- 
 stead of a squad. 
 
 It happened that Sergeant Martin and Mort Weaver 
 were staying at the Martin house that night. About 
 
i;(ir.i:i;i' maktix. 
 
 I Knulish .\(,hl..|iKui pivsontcMl will 
 itlc as thr liravcst man in the 
 Confrdcrat.' Annv. 
 
mosby's name, fame and success 59 
 
 one o'clock In the morning they were awakened by Miss 
 Betty Martin, Bob's sister, a young girl in her teens, 
 who was keeping watch. 
 
 "The Yankees are surrounding the house," she said. 
 Bob Martin had sworn that he would never be taken 
 alive, and he whispered to his sister to hold them back 
 as long as she could. She opened the door, and a Fed- 
 eral officer with pistol cocked tried to brush by her; 
 she met him breast to breast and declared he should 
 not enter. The officer parleyed, but she was undaunted. 
 Finally one of the party, infuriated, fired point blank 
 at her, but the bullet missed her head by an inch and 
 buried itself in the door. Hearing the report of the 
 weapon, the Federals rushed to the front of the house, 
 and taking advantage of this Martin leaped from the 
 window; and with a revolver in either hand he mingled 
 with the Blue-coats and thus slipped away. But Mort 
 Weaver was of different clay; the risk was too great for 
 him. After the Federals had obtained lights they 
 searched the house, and when they found Mort he 
 quietly surrendered. 
 
 Miss Betty married a gallant Black Horse Cavalry- 
 man, William Bowen, and since the war has lived a 
 calm, tranquil and happy life at her home near Casi- 
 nova, Virginia. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 NEITHER DEATH NOR DANGER APPALLS. 
 
 No woman is aware of her own capabilities until she 
 is tested, and there are some who will meet an emer- 
 gency on the spur of the moment and bravely face the 
 ordeal who did not dream they possessed such resolute 
 powers. 
 
 There was a young cavalryman (a cousin of mine 
 named Waller), a youth in his teens, who was visiting 
 his fiancee, a tall, stately girl but a year younger than 
 himself. She was a girl of gentle, winning manners, 
 refined and lovely in mind as she was in person. She 
 was the last one either family or friends would have 
 selected to play the role of heroine or to face a crisis 
 successfully. This was one of the instances where the 
 two extremes met. She was above the medium height; 
 he was below it, and measured only five feet three with 
 his boots off. She was timid; he was the incarnation of 
 recklessness. She was slow and stately in her move- 
 ments; he was lithe and quick as a wildcat. Even 
 among the plucky cavalrymen Waller was noted for 
 being the rashest of them all; he loved danger for dan- 
 ger's sake. On one occasion, out of pure bravado, he 
 
 60 
 
NEITHER DEATH NOR DANGER APPALLS 6 1 
 
 dashed through a Federal cavalry camp, in broad day- 
 light and in full uniform, and before they could recover 
 from their surprise he was out and away. 
 
 Another time he was concealed in a forest as a Fed- 
 eral detachment of cavalry was passing, and just as the 
 rear guard reached the point where Waller was hiding, 
 spurring his horse, the latter with a mighty bound 
 landed right behind them, discharged every barrel of 
 his six-shooter amongst them, and dashed into the 
 woods before the astonished men could fire upon him. 
 
 On the occasion when his life was saved by his 
 fiancee he was on his way to pay her a visit. With his 
 usual rashness he rode along the road as carelessly as 
 if he were in the midst of Lee's army instead of a side 
 road in Mosby's Confederacy, where, at the time, the 
 strains of the bugles of the Blue-coats were echoing 
 from crag to crag of the Blue Ridge. He was riding 
 in the open road close to his destination, when a com- 
 pany of Federal cavalry closed in on him. Waller, 
 though taken by surprise, did not lose his nerve; he 
 turned and shot the captain and then sped straight 
 down the road, with the crack of the pistols of his 
 pursuers sounding loud above the thunder of the beat 
 of the hoof strokes. A high rail fence ran along the 
 highway, and there was nothing for him to do but keep 
 straight on. As he neared the mansion he saw that the 
 gate was closed, but he was well mounted and a light 
 weight. With a bound his steed barely cleared it. But 
 the horse lost his balance and fell to his knees. In an 
 
62 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 Instant Waller was off and ran up the steps into the 
 house. 
 
 His sweetheart had seen the whole affair. The Fed- 
 erals had to stop to open the gate, and this gave him 
 time to reach her side before the Federals reached the 
 house. An ordinary woman would have screamed; an 
 extraordinary woman would have turned white to the 
 lips, and would have thrown herself before his bearded 
 foes and thus have given him a chance to fly; but a 
 heroine did neither. She heard the order to the troop- 
 ers to surround the house, and, worse than all, she 
 heard the clanking of spurred feet hurrying along the 
 gravel walk. There was no time for tears, no time to 
 think, only time to act on an inspiration that saved a 
 human life. To do so was violating every principle of 
 female modesty, every precept of the world, and doing 
 violence to every finer feeling and performing an act 
 which would in the common course of events cause her 
 long and continued shame and regret. She loved her 
 country; she loved its defenders; but most of all she 
 loved the man now being hunted to death. She stood 
 in the passage, her tall form rendered more imposing 
 by the monstrous crinoline skirt, so much worn during 
 the first two years of the war. Perforce, there may be 
 some few people with unimpaired memory, who can 
 recall the hoop-skirt so fashionable in that day. The 
 lower hoop measured at least six feet in diameter, while 
 the circumference could only be guessed at. The hoops 
 were made of steel bands, and when the woman stepped 
 
She made her lover stoop clovvu and she 
 stood over him. 
 
NEITHER DEATH NOR DANGER APPALLS 63 
 
 into it she was like the center pole of a tent. The 
 humorists of those times made those hoop-skirts the 
 subject of their diatribes; the pulpit thundered against 
 them; the men rose in revolt (as well they might), but 
 the women continued to wear them just the same. It 
 was the fashion — and the tale is told. 
 
 A splendid figure the stately maid presented, with her 
 regal head lifted high, and the contour of her form hid 
 in her voluminous drapery. She made her lover stoop 
 down, and she stood over him, her broad skirts ef- 
 fectually concealing his diminutive figure. As the Blue- 
 coats came streaming into the hall, an officer in front, 
 with his cocked Colt's in his hand, demanded to know 
 where the Rebel was. She motioned them to a rear 
 door, and she stood like a statue all the time they were 
 searching the house. When interrogated by the officer, 
 she answered coolly, calmly and plainly, as if she were 
 discussing a dinner; and her magnificent nerve kept her 
 standing there so naturally that not one of those men 
 had the slightest suspicion that she knew anything of 
 the Rebel fugitive. 
 
 After her sublime act it would seem that Fate would 
 have watched over and have protected her lover; but 
 her heart was broken when a year later tidings came to 
 her that he had fallen with a bullet through his heart, 
 his face to the foe. 
 
 In his book, "Mosby's Rangers," Williamson tells 
 how the gallant Waller met his death. 
 
 "John H. Waller of Company A and Harry T. Sin- 
 
64 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 nott of Company B were surprised in the house of Mr. 
 Fishback, living near the Plains Station. They ran out 
 the back way and Sinnott jumped the fence and escaped, 
 but Waller faced about. The troopers of the detach- 
 ment of the Eighth Illinois Cavalry reined up in front 
 of him and demanded his surrender. He fronted the 
 crowd — one against fifty — and his reply was the crack . 
 of his revolver; the fire was returned by a volley, and 
 he fell dead." 
 
 The Federal officer commanding the squadron told 
 Mr. Fishback that Waller was the bravest man he ever 
 saw. In the days of old, no higher tribute of a foeman 
 could be asked, no greater eulogium could knight 
 desire. 
 
 Again in the winter of 1864 occurred an incident 
 which proves the truth of this couplet: 
 
 "What will not gentle woman dare 
 When strong affection stirs her up?" 
 
 Shakespeare has made Cordelia the paragon of 
 daughters, but it is doubtful if she would have ventured 
 and dared for good King Lear what plain Mary Pilcher 
 did for her father. 
 
 It was a bitter, tempestuous night, with the rain fall- 
 ing spasmodically in torrents, and black as Erebus. 
 Mary's father was an aged man of seventy, and they 
 lived inside Mosby's Confederacy, about three miles 
 from the railroad, which was heavily garrisoned by 
 
NEITHER DEATH NOR DANGER APPALLS 65 
 
 Federal camps. The Pilcher family consisted of the 
 father, mother and three girls, Mary, the eldest, being 
 but eighteen, and the other two six and four re- 
 spectively. 
 
 Old Mr. Pilcher was a martyr to neuralgia, and on 
 the night in question was taken with a severe attack 
 which slowly moved toward his heart. His agony was 
 terrible, and there were no medicines in the house ex- 
 cept some simple lotions. Mrs. Pilcher did all in her 
 power; but her feeble efforts availed nothing, and she 
 told her daughter that death was certain unless a doctor 
 could be brought to his relief. Then it was that Mary 
 formed a heroic resolution, and, going to her room, 
 she put on her heaviest clothes and told her mother 
 that she was going to the Yankee camp for a surgeon. 
 Her mother, distraught by the dreadful suffering of 
 her husband, made no protest; so in the face of the 
 storm Mary started on her perilous journey. She had 
 to literally feel her way foot by foot. In a short while 
 she was drenched to the skin. As she neared the camp 
 her courage almost failed. She knew that at any mo- 
 ment she might unconsciously come upon a sentinel, 
 who would shoot her down without waiting for any 
 explanation; and this nearly happened, for as she 
 moved cautiously along the sudden sharp challenge of 
 a sentry but a few feet distant was followed by the 
 click of his gunlock. She gave a scream, and the 
 woman's voice saved her life. The momentary lifting 
 of the darkness showed her form dimly outlined against 
 
66 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 the sky. The guard kept her covered with his musket 
 and called for the corporal of the guard. When he 
 came with a squad at his heels the girl demanded that 
 she be taken to the colonel. 
 
 What a meeting! The tent dimly lighted, the officer 
 half-dressed and only half-awake as he listened to the 
 tale of the maiden, who was wan and white, as if she 
 had been fished out from the bottom of the river! That 
 Federal officer had a heart of gold; he treated her as 
 If she were his own sister. He roused his staff, an am- 
 bulance was soon ready, and the regimental surgeon, 
 as fine a gentleman as the earth could produce, accom- 
 panied her, and was the means of saving her father's 
 life. He called several times, carrying food and medi- 
 cine; but never after that first visit, with an armed 
 escort, for he knew his Southern foe, and he knew that 
 when on missions of mercy he was as safe in the dense 
 thickets or on the open plains of Mosby's Confederacy, 
 with the Rangers lurking In every covert, as he would 
 be on Broadway. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE JESSIE SCOUTS. 
 
 There was not a home within Mosby's Confederacy 
 where the name of the Jessie Scouts was not spoken 
 with bated breath. They came and vanished; there 
 was a mystery about them that could not be fathomed; 
 the crying children were threatened into silence by them, 
 as were the bairns of the Scottish Lowlands hushed by 
 their mothers telling them that Black Douglas would 
 catch them. They were an organized Union band from 
 the frontier — scouts, or rather spies, picked men, cool, 
 fearless and utterly merciless. They dressed up in the 
 Confederate uniform, and operated inside our lines; 
 their chief aim was to kill dispatch-bearers, and send 
 the papers to the Federal headquarters; also do all the 
 harm they could to the Rebels. They were not regu- 
 larly enlisted men, and examination at the War De- 
 partment shows that they were not borne on the rolls 
 of the army, but Mr. Staunton, Secretary of War, had 
 a vast Secret Service fund at his disposal, and they 
 must have been highly paid, for the risks they ran were 
 so great that no ordinary men would undergo them for 
 either love or money. 
 
 This outlaw organization was named for Jessie Fre- 
 
 67 
 
68 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 mont, the brilliant wife of General Fremont, who com- 
 manded a detachment of U. S. Dragoons on the fron- 
 tier of the Far West in the fifties. Mrs. Fremont was 
 of the dashing type of woman, a splendid horsewoman, 
 a good shot, and often accompanied her husband on 
 his campaigns against the Indians of the plains. She 
 was the idol of the troops and the backwoodsmen, and 
 a shining light in society in Washington in 1861 and 
 1862, when her husband commanded the army in the 
 Valley until he went down in defeat and oblivion before 
 Stonewall Jackson. The living survivors of Long- 
 street's Corps, who, in that never-to-be-forgotten forced 
 march from Gordonsville to Thoroughfare Gap in 
 August, 1862, to unite with Jackson, will remember the 
 thrill which ran through them as they saw the body of 
 a soldier clad in gray, swinging from the branch of a 
 big oak by the roadside. His face was covered by a 
 handkerchief, and the motionless figure swung and 
 turned in the passing breeze. As we filed past, not a 
 whisper was heard in the ranks. It was the first hanged 
 man many of us had ever seen. After we had passed 
 every soldier in the line was inquiring the cause. We 
 were told by our officers that it was a Yankee spy who 
 had been caught and tried by drumhead court martial. 
 It was a gruesome, awful sight. The men of Long- 
 street's Corps were veterans, and so familiar with 
 death that a prostrate, lifeless figure would receive only 
 a passing glance and no word of comment, but the 
 sight of a man suspended between heaven and earth 
 
THE JESSIE SCOUTS 69 
 
 deeply moved those dust-covered, foot-sore soldiers. 
 In the language of Holy Writ: "They looked, and 
 they marveled greatly." It was the body of a Jessie 
 Scout ! To state that yonder figure, swaying on the oak 
 tree, when animate came within an ace of destroying 
 Lee's Army, would be received with an ironic smile or 
 a cynical sneer, and the narrator accused of being a 
 greater liar than Baron Munchhausen himself. The 
 idea of a nameless man disputing the conquering legions 
 of Lee seems not only improbable, but preposterous; 
 and yet it is the very romance of history, and is a his- 
 torical fact. 
 
 A word of explanation: After the battles around 
 Richmond Lee sent Jackson northward to attack Pope. 
 The initial battle of Cedar Mountain, in Culpeper, was 
 fought, and the strategy of Lee was successful. The 
 besieging army of McClellan on the James River was 
 hastily recalled for the defense of Washington. Then 
 Longstreet marched to unite with Jackson on the Rap- 
 pahannock. Lee conceived a bold stroke, but it was 
 against all the principles of military maxims: he cut his 
 army in two and sent Stonewall Jackson by a detour of 
 more than sixty miles to get between Pope and Wash- 
 ington. Like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, Pope 
 found his communications cut off, his base of supplies 
 in the air, and his commissariat in flames. Yes, there 
 was a big blaze at Manassas tliat August day; trains 
 of cars loaded with provisions, hundreds of wagons 
 jammed with supplies for the army, depots crammed 
 
70 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 with ordnance stores, corrals of beef-cattle, and better 
 than all in Johnny Reb's eyes was the sutler town. 
 Such a collection of tents, shanties and stores was never 
 seen outside the frontier. These sutler-shops were 
 filled with the delicacies of life, and it was a sight in- 
 deed to see the gaunt, hungry foot-cavalry of Jackson's 
 knocking off the heads of the champagne bottles and 
 eating canned fruits; they satisfied aching stomachs 
 that had been void for many a long day. In Messin- 
 ger's play of "A New Way to Pay Old Debts," Justice 
 Greedy exclaims: "Guts, croak no more, for you shall 
 be filled." And so it was with those famished gray- 
 backs. Think of the thousands of starving Rebs, whose 
 regular rations were hardtack and rancid pork, filling 
 up on potted meat and champagne ! 
 
 Pope faced his army right about, and hurried to 
 crush Jackson's isolated command. If there ever was 
 a time when minutes were precious, that ,vas the time. 
 Jackson found that the combined armies of McClellan 
 and Pope were closing in on his front and on his right 
 and left flanks. Then Jackson performed a piece of 
 strategy unique in the annals of war: he split his corps 
 in two parts, and planted A. P. Hill in the center of 
 the enemy's line. Pope seeing this, consolidated his 
 whole command and telegraphed to Halleck that "he 
 would bag Jackson and his whole crowd." Jackson 
 then made a forced march to the right, reached Center- 
 ville, and finding the left flank of the Union Army 
 drawn in, ordered Hill to leave his campfires burning 
 
 i 
 
THE JESSIE SCOUTS 7 1 
 
 and slip off in the night and join him at Grovetown. 
 The next morning Pope, having made his dispositions, 
 hurled his whole force at the Rebel Army in his rear, 
 and found — nothing. This caused Pope to make a new 
 plan of battle, and this proved of infinite value to Jack- 
 son's men, giving his broken-down soldiers six hours of 
 sleep. At Grovetown, near Thoroughfare Gap, Jack- 
 son's Corps of 17,300 men awaited the onset of Pope's 
 Army of 55,600 rank and file. The odds were hope- 
 less. Jackson had only a limited supply of ammuni- 
 tion, and that gone, surrender was inevitable. Napo- 
 leon never prayed for Grouchy's advance guard as did 
 Jackson for the sight of Longstreet's skirmish line. A 
 high mountain separated him from his promised succor, 
 with only one narrow gap where a thousand men could 
 hold an army at bay. If this gap was seized by Pope, 
 Jackson's doom was written. 
 
 In the meantime, Longstreet made the greatest 
 forced march of his life to reach the gap and join his 
 forces to Jackson's. The fate of the campaign hung 
 upon a few hours — it might be minutes. Jackson, at 
 bay at Grovetown, had successfully repulsed one great 
 assault of Pope's, but he had fought to the limit and 
 could do no more than lie in line of battle and struggle 
 on until the last shell of the artillery and the last ball 
 cartridge of the infantry had been expended. 
 
 Now, whether Pope had bargained with the Jessie 
 Scouts to delay Longstreet's advance will never be 
 known. There was some prominent soldier in the plot 
 
72 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 who had thoroughly coached the spy, and the scheme, 
 desperate as it seemed, missed success by the turning 
 of a hair. 
 
 Colonel John Cussons of Glen Allen, Va., was, at 
 that time, captain of the Confederate Scouts, and wrote 
 down word for word that scene in the mighty war 
 drama of which he was the witness. He vividly 
 describes the occurrence in a little pamphlet. This is 
 Cusson's narrative: 
 
 "This way! General Hood," said the guide, grace- 
 fully saluting and pointing northward as the head of 
 Longstreet's column swung towards the east. The 
 guide, well-mounted and wearing the uniform of a Con- 
 federate cavalryman, was at the forks of the road near 
 the village of White Plains, in Fauquier County, Va. 
 
 The road which General Hood was taking leads to 
 Thoroughfare Gap in Bull Run Mountain, and is the 
 only practicable approach to the field of Manassas 
 where Stonewall Jackson was then struggling with the 
 army of General Pope. 
 
 Hood halted his column and closely questioned the 
 guide, feeling certain that he was in error; and yet it 
 would seem that the guide must be right; he was m- 
 telligent, confident, definite, certain of his instructions, 
 and prompt and clear in his replies. He was a hand- 
 some young fellow, with bold, frank eyes and a pleasant 
 voice, and the precision of his statements gave weight 
 to his words. The situation was critical; no exigency 
 of war could be more so; it was not merely the issue of 
 
THE JESSIE SCOUT* 73 
 
 a battle, but the fate of a campaign which hung In the 
 balance! 
 
 The time was lo A. M., August 28, 1862. 
 
 "Did General Jackson give you these instructions?" 
 asked General Hood. 
 
 "Yes, General." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "About four hours ago; I left soon after sunrise." 
 
 "What route did you come?" 
 
 "North of the mountain. General, by way of Gum 
 Springs; there is no other road." 
 
 "Do you know where Stuart is?" 
 
 "I saw most of his command this morning; he is 
 pushing, with his main body, for Sudley, to cover Jack- 
 son's rear. The brigade has gone north to guard the 
 trains on the Aldie road." 
 
 "Trains on the Aldie road!" exclaimed Hood; "what 
 trains are you talking about?" 
 
 "Stonewall Jackson's trains. General; he is pushing 
 them towards Aldie, where I supposed you would join 
 him." 
 
 "I have heard nothing of all this," said the General. 
 
 "Then I'll tell you what it is. General Hood; those 
 devilish Jessie Scouts are at it again — cutting off 
 Stuart's couriers. Jackson has heard nothing from 
 Longstreet since yesterday morning, and he's afraid 
 you'll follow the old order and try to join him by 
 Thoroughfare Gap." 
 
 "Where is Jackson?" asked General Hood. 
 
74 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 "I left him a little south of Sudley Springs, on the 
 high ground commanding the turnpike." 
 
 "What is he doing?" 
 
 "Shortening his lines, General. You see Porter 
 turned our right at Grovetovvn last night, and Mc- 
 Dowell took Thoroughfare Gap, and Pickett was sent 
 to attack Buford's cavalry, who had seized the pass at 
 Hopewell; at least that's what Stuart's scouts told me." 
 
 "You say Jackson's left is at Sudley Springs?" 
 
 "No, General Hood; I intended to say that his left 
 was near Sudley Springs, about a half-mile south. 
 Kearney and Hooker attacked there in column last 
 night, doubling us up, and the enemy now holds both 
 the road and the fords." 
 
 "But that would make Jackson's position untenable." 
 
 "Yes, General, that's the reason he's falling back. 
 They say McClellan has abandoned the James, and now 
 covers Washington, and that Burnside has arrived 
 from the coast. Within twenty-four hours — the way 
 they figure it — Pope will have over a hundred thousand 
 men. When I left there at sunrise Jed Hotchkiss had 
 all the pioneers out; he was cutting roads and clearing 
 fords, and bridging Catharpin Run, for that's the only 
 way out now." 
 
 "How did you learn all these things?" asked Gen- 
 eral Hood, and there was a note of severity in his 
 voice. 
 
 "Absorbed them from the atmosphere, I suppose," 
 answered the guide rather languidly. 
 
THE JESSIE SCOUTS 75 
 
 "Who, and what are you?" demanded General 
 Hood, who was perplexed and anxious, yet scarcely 
 suspicious of treachery, the guide was so bland and 
 free and unconstrained. 
 
 "I am Frank Lamar of Athens, Georgia, enrolled 
 with the cavalry of Hampton's Legion, but now de- 
 tailed on courier service at the headquarters of Stone- 
 wall Jackson." 
 
 "Where's your sabre?" 
 
 "I captured a handsome pistol from a Yankee officer 
 at Port Republic, and have discarded my sabre." 
 
 "Let me see your pistol." It was a very fine silver- 
 mounted Colt's revolver; one chamber was empty. 
 
 "When did you fire that shot?" 
 
 "Yesterday morning. General Hood; I shot a turkey- 
 buzzard sitting on the fence." 
 
 General Hood handed the pistol to Captain Cussons, 
 commander of scouts. Cussons scrutinized the pistol, 
 and the guide scrutinized Captain Cussons. As the 
 Captain drew General Hood's attention to the fact 
 that the powder was still moist, showing that the pistol 
 had been recently fired, the guide interposed, saying 
 that he had reloaded after yesterday's practice, and had 
 fired the shot in question at another buzzard just before 
 the column came in sight, but that he didn't suppose 
 General Hood would be interested in such a matter. 
 
 The guide was mistaken. General Hood was de- 
 cidedly interested in the matter! Guides do not prac- 
 tice marksmanship when on duty between the lines. 
 
76 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 "Search that manl" exclaimed General Hood, im- 
 patiently; for the General was baffled and still uncer- 
 tain. All his life had been passed in active service, yet 
 this was a new experience to him. 
 
 The search revealed strange things. In the guide's 
 haversack were little packages of prepared coffee and 
 blocks of condensed soup and good store of hardtack, 
 which facts the guide pleasantly dismissed with the re- 
 mark: "It's a poor sort of Reb that can't forage on 
 the enemy." 
 
 The next discovery had a deeper meaning. In the 
 lining of his vest were found the insignia of a Con- 
 federate captain, the three gold bars being secured to a 
 base which had a thin strip of flexible steel running 
 lengthwise through it and slightly projecting at the 
 ends. Further search revealed minute openings in the 
 collar of his jacket, and into those openings the device 
 was readily slipped and firmly held. 
 
 "What is the meaning of that?" asked General 
 Hood, sternly. 
 
 There was an air of boyish diffidence and a touch of 
 reproach in the. young man's reply. Its demure humor 
 was half playful, yet modest and natural, and its effect 
 on the spectators was mainly ingratiating. 
 
 "Really, General Hood," he said, "you ask me such 
 embarrassing questions. But I will tell you. It was 
 just this way. Our girls, God bless them, are as de- 
 voted and patriotic as can be, but you couldn't imagine 
 the difference they make between a commissioned officer 
 and a private soldier." 
 
THE JESSIE SCOUTS 77 
 
 Communicative as the guide was, the General could 
 not read him. He might be an honest youth whose 
 callow loquacity sprung from no worse a source than 
 that of inexperience and undisciplined zeal, or he might 
 be one of the most daring spies that ever hid supernal 
 subtlety beneath the mask of guileness. 
 
 Meanwhile the precious moments were slipping by! 
 — the fateful moments; moments on which hung the 
 tide of war ; the fortunes of a great campaign ; the doom 
 perhaps of a new-born nation. 
 
 And there at the parting of the ways sat our boyish 
 guide — frank, communicative, well-informed — leaning 
 on the pommel of his saddle with the negligent grace of 
 youth and replying with perfect good humor to all our 
 questioning. 
 
 We had every reason to believe that Stonewall Jack- 
 son at that moment was beset by overwhelming num- 
 bers, and nothing seemed to us more likely than that the 
 enemy would attempt to cut off our approach by the 
 seizure of Thoroughfare Gap. If Jackson's left flank 
 was really at Sudley Springs, and his right at Grove- 
 town, his right would be "in the air," and a movement 
 to turn it would virtually support an occupancy of the 
 mountain passes. This would naturally drive Jackson 
 northward, toward Aldie, as our guide had stated. 
 
 The whole situation was perilous in the extreme, and 
 our doubts were agonizing. If the Federals occupied 
 the pass at Thoroughfare they could easily hold it 
 against our assault, and If Jackson should attempt to 
 join us there, they could destroy him. On the other 
 
78 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 hand, if Jackson had really retreated toward Aldie we 
 must at once change our course and join him by a forced 
 march northward, and to do that would be not merely 
 to abandon the campaign as planned, but also to relin- 
 quish to the enemy the short line and the open way to 
 Richmond! 
 
 From his first moment of misgiving General Hood 
 had taken measures to verify or discredit the guide's 
 story. Swift reconnaisance was made in each direction, 
 but the roads were ambushed by Jessie Scouts and in- 
 fested with detachments of Buford's cavalry. Priceless 
 moments were thus lost, and although we felt that 
 Stonewall must be sore beset, yet we could not guess 
 which road would take us to his battle or lead us away 
 from it! 
 
 Meanwhile diligent questioning went on by staff offi- 
 cers and couriers, the benefit of every doubt being freely 
 accorded, for many of us believed, almost to the last, 
 that the guide was a true man. 
 
 When General Hood first halted his column a num- 
 ber of troops had strayed into the fields and woods to 
 pick berries, and it was afterwards remembered that 
 the guide's attention seemed to follow the soldiers, es- 
 pecially such of them as wandered toward a certain 
 thicket near the edge of the forest. We were soon to 
 learn the meaning of this, for in that thicket a frightful 
 secret was hidden — a secret which, if discovered, would 
 doom that guide to a shameful death — a death of in- 
 famy — of nameless horror, his sepulchre the gibbet, 
 
THE JESSIE SCOUTS 79 
 
 his unburied flesh a loathsome meal for those evil birds 
 which banquet on the dead. Was there some pre-vision 
 of this in that swift glance which he cast toward the 
 open country as he half turned in his saddle and took 
 a firmer grasp on the reins? There were those among 
 us who thought so afterwards. Yet he must have 
 known that escape by flight was impossible. 
 
 In a moment, however, the startled gesture was 
 gone, and there was again about him that same air of 
 negligent repose, that same tranquillity of spirit which 
 
 was enhanced rather than impaired by the amused and 
 half scornful smile with which he regarded the scrutiny 
 of those around him. 
 
 While we thus observed him, there was a sudden 
 commotion among the troops. Soldiers with grave 
 faces, and some with flashing eyes, were hurrying from 
 the eastward road. They had found a dying man, a 
 Confederate dispatch-bearer, who had been dragged 
 into the bushes and evidently left for dead. He had 
 
80 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 gasped out a few broken words, managing to say that 
 his dispatches had been taken — torn from his breast 
 pocket; and that he had been "shot by one of our own 
 men!" 
 
 The situation now was plain enough! That pre- 
 tended Southern guide was in reahty a Northern spy! 
 He had taken his life in his hand and boldly flung it 
 into the scale of war. The chances against him were 
 infinite, yet so superb was his courage, so sedate his 
 daring, that but for those unconsidered mishaps he 
 would have won his perilous way; he would have 
 blasted, at its fruition, the matchless strategy of Lee; 
 he would smilingly have beckoned that magnificent army 
 to its doom ! Never, perhaps, in all the tide of time 
 did consequences so vast pivot upon incidents so trivial. 
 Had General Hood followed the spy and turned to the 
 left, a certain trend of events would have been inevi- 
 table. Stonewall's beleagured detachment would have 
 perished; Longstreet's corps would have lost its base; 
 Richmond would have fallen; John Pope would have 
 been the nation's hero; the seat of war would have 
 drifted toward the Gulf States, and the great tides of 
 American history would have flowed along other 
 courses. 
 
 General Hood drew his brigadiers aside. The guide, 
 or rather the spy, glanced toward them, but remained 
 unshaken; there was a certain placid fortitude in his 
 manner which seemed incompatible with ruthless deeds; 
 there was something of devotion in it, and self-sacrifice. 
 
THE JESSIE SCOUTS 8 1 
 
 relieved, indeed, by just a touch of bravado, but with- 
 out a trace of fear. None knew better than he that 
 that group of stern-faced men was a drumhead court, 
 and none knew better what the award of that court 
 would be ; he had played boldly for a mighty stake. He 
 had lost, and was ready for the penalty! 
 
 There was a strip of forest where the roads forked, 
 and among the trees was a large post oak with spread- 
 ing branches. General Hood pointed to the tree, say- 
 ing, that any of its limbs would do, A Texas soldier 
 remarked that there was no better scaffold than the 
 back of a horse, and the spy, approving the suggestion, 
 sprang lightly up and stood on the saddle. Half a 
 dozen men were soon busy in the tree, fastening a 
 bridle-rein at one end and adjusting a loop at the other. 
 As they slipped the noose over his head the spy raised 
 his hand impressively: 
 
 "Stop !" he exclaimed, "I have three words more for 
 you. I am neither Frank Lamar of Georgia, nor 
 Harry Brooks of Virginia, I am Jack Sterry of the 
 Jessie Scouts. I did not kill that rebel, but I was with 
 those that did. His dispatches by this time are safe 
 enough! I should Hke my comrades to know that I 
 palavered with your army for a good half-hour, while 
 General Pope was battering down your precious old 
 Stonewall. Now, men, I am ready! — and in parting 
 I will simply ask you to say, if you ever should speak of 
 this, that Jack Sterry, when the Rebels got him, died as 
 a Jessie Scout should!" 
 
82 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 He folded his arms, and his horse was led from 
 beneath his feet. General Hood turned aside, and, in 
 subdued voice, gave the order of march, and the column 
 moved on. 
 
 The writhing figure swung for a little while in the 
 soft morning air, and was still, and there had gone 
 forth to the God who gave it as dauntless a spirit as 
 ever throbbed in mortal clay. 
 
 The distinguished and widely known Confederate 
 surgeon, Dr. B. F. Ward of Winona, Miss., writes in 
 a Jackson (Miss.) paper that he had read Cussons' ac- 
 count of the hanging of the spy, and said: 
 
 "I know it to be literally true, because I was present 
 and witnessed the execution of Jack Sterry, who had 
 baffled General Hood, and told him that the Federal 
 General McDowell had possession of Thoroughfare 
 Gap, and General Stonewall Jackson had sent him to 
 join him at Gum Spring by taking the left-hand road, 
 but Hood was too old a soldier to be caught," 
 
 Doctor Ward was captured and made friends with 
 a Federal surgeon, and further says: "Through his in- 
 tercession I was given the liberty of the city without 
 any restraint except my promise to return to headquar- 
 ters at night. This explains why I was walking about 
 the city without a guard. One day I was strolling aim- 
 lessly along Broadway, cautious not to get off very far 
 for fear I might be lost, when a man stepped in front 
 of me, bowed gracefully, and said 'Good morning!' 
 He was at least six feet in stature and would have 
 
THE JESSIE SCOUTS 83 
 
 weighed 180 pounds; he was very erect, with square 
 shoulders, and the carriage of a trained soldier. He 
 was elegandy dressed, his hair black, his eyes large, 
 dark and penetrating, while a heavy black moustache 
 drooped gracefully around the corners of his mouth. 
 His lower jaw was rather broad and firmly set, and as 
 he showed his white teeth and smiled at me, he seemed 
 to say, 'Now I have you.' I was uncomfortable ; he saw 
 it, and was evidently amused. He said, 'I think I know 
 you.' I replied, 'No, sir; you do not, and I certainly do 
 not know you.' He said, 'Yes, I met you once.' tasked 
 where? He said, 'Two years ago I took dinner with 
 you in Strasburg, at the house of a widow lady, Mrs. 
 Eberle; you had three friends with you. While you 
 were at dinner two cavalrymen came in and took seats 
 at the table. I sat directly in front of you on the oppo- 
 site side of the table, and my companion sat next to you 
 on your right. You asked me what cavalry we be- 
 longed to, and I told you Ashby's command. You 
 then asked me a number of questions about Ashby, 
 where he was, the size of his command, etc' Then 
 looking me straight in the eyes, he said in a low, meas- 
 ured, somewhat incisive tone, 'My friend who sat on 
 your right was hung by your people.' The announce- 
 ment went through me like a dagger of ice. I not only 
 remembered the two cavalrymen, in their bright, new 
 unsoiled uniforms, and the conversation, but I vividly 
 recalled the features of the man who stood before me, 
 and I realized with a shiver that the handsome young 
 
84 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 fellow who sat by my side at dinner was none other 
 than the dashing and fearless Jack Sterry, whom I had 
 seen hanged at White Plains." 
 
 Scout Cussons continues his narrative. He says: 
 "On August 31, 1862, I fell into the hands of the 
 enemy at Bull Run, and while my captors rested at a 
 spring by the roadside a squadron of Federal cavalry 
 rode up. They were as gay-looking a lot of dare-devils 
 as I ever beheld, but what struck me even more than 
 the dashing recklessness of the troopers was the splen- 
 did quality of the horses they rode ; many of the animals 
 appeared to be thoroughbred; all were superb. There 
 were perhaps a score of these troopers, and as they 
 drew rein around the spring their bugler sounded Teas 
 on trencher,' and in an instant — as by a stroke of magic 
 — their whole appearance changed! the troop of Union 
 cavalry had vanished, and there in its place was as jolly 
 a group of rebels as ever sang 'Jine the Cavalry' for the 
 delectation of that prince of cavaliers, the gallant and 
 mirth-loving Jeb Stuart. This sudden and complete 
 transformation was achieved by their simply flinging 
 off their butternut-lined blue overcoats and disclosing 
 the rebel gray beneath. All other clothing was prac- 
 tically common to the troopers of either side. Both 
 Federal and Confederate horsemen wore a service- 
 stained sombrero, and each had his dusty trousers 
 stuck in his still dustier boots, so that by merely pulling 
 on or throwing off his blue overcoat he could in an in- 
 stant be either a Northern or Southern soldier. 
 
THE JESSIE SCOUTS 85 
 
 "Their organization had rather the freedom of a 
 hunting party than the disciplined regularity of war, so 
 that it was not easy to mark their leader. But one of 
 them, apparently in command, presently threw himself 
 on the wet grass and asked in a free yet courteous way 
 what rank I held In Secessia, for I was In scouting dress. 
 This led to an exchange of badinage which provoked 
 plenty of laughter and a fair share of soldierly good 
 feeling. Then came a pause, and looking steadily into 
 my eyes he distinctly called me by my Indian name. 
 Yet why did I not know him? That seemed so strange. 
 He was familiar with Albert Sydney Johnson's Utah 
 march In 1857, yet he had never met the general and 
 knew no member of his staff. He recounted Summers' 
 exploit with the Sioux at Ash Hollow, yet did not know 
 Rubadeau or Big Phil or Louis Provo. He recounted 
 particulars of the killing of Mat-tpne lo-wa on North 
 Platte, and the swift vengeance of the Dakotahs; yet 
 he knew no member of the Laramie garrison. He was 
 quite familiar with life on the plains during the fifties, 
 and though I probably knew and was known by every 
 hunter and trapper and ranchman between the Sweet- 
 water and Fort Bridges, yet I could in no way identify 
 this mysterious plainsman. Finally the conviction set- 
 tled In my mind that he had belonged to the robber 
 band of Vasquez — a crew of bandits and cattle thieves 
 whose caches extended from the Wild River Moun- 
 tains to New Mexico, and who were known only by the 
 dark trail of their remorseless deeds. For years that 
 
86 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 little band of robbers — some thirty in number — had 
 been pursued with unrelenting zeal by the army of the 
 United States, but it was like a combat between a prize 
 ox and a gadfly. The robbers had their supplies 
 secreted at short intervals throughout a vast and un- 
 peopled region, and the Government troops could 
 neither surround, nor starve, nor snow-blockade, nor 
 trail them. The little band could cover a hundred miles 
 without making a fire or leaving a sign; they could 
 scatter in pairs and assemble at will wherever they 
 would. The birds of the air were not more free. 
 
 "And the horsemanship of those Jessie Scouts was so 
 noticeable. Most of them wore the Mexican spur and 
 carried a buckskin lariat. Their seat was snug with 
 the knee grip of the buffalo hunter, and many of 
 their saddles had the double girth and threaded cinch 
 seen only on the plains. As a matter of fact these 
 Jessie Scouts were not scouts at all, but spies — spies 
 who wore our uniform, impersonated guides, and slew 
 our dispatch bearers without mercy. And yet the dar- 
 ing fellows were not common criminals. They had 
 standards of their own — an esprit de corps and point of 
 honor which were absolute. They were immeasurably 
 more dangerous than mere law-breakers, for they were 
 adventurous and brave, and though doubtless they led 
 evil lives, yet they could die well." 
 
 I have given much space to the Jessie Scouts for the 
 reason that they turned their attention to Mosby's Con- 
 federacy, and they would have been a deadly menace 
 
 i 
 
THE JESSIE SCOUTS 87 
 
 to the partisans, for they could call to their aid any 
 detachment of Bluecoats nearest them. Their design 
 was to mix with the people as far as they could without 
 detection, and find out when and where the partisans 
 would strike, and then warn the Federals so that they 
 would be ready for them. Then again, they would 
 mark the houses where the scouts made their head- 
 quarters, and send the Bluecoats on a night-raid and 
 gobble them up. Doubtless, they had high hopes of 
 cleaning out Mosby's Confederacy, and their schemes 
 might have worked had it not been for the women. 
 The Jessies tried again and again to pose as Confed- 
 erate cavalrymen at the different homes they visited, 
 but in vain; no matter how perfect they were in details 
 relating to Mosby's battalion, no matter how they ac- 
 counted for their presence, they could not deceive the 
 maids and matrons. One thing, their accent betrayed 
 them; again, it was their make-up, and a certain inde- 
 scribable difference that caused the women to stamp 
 them as spies. Once the natives' suspicion was aroused 
 they became as close as clams, and would refuse in most 
 instances to give them anything to eat. As soon as the 
 people learned of the Jessie Scouts, they became ex- 
 ceedingly circumspect, and they would far prefer to see 
 a squad of Bluecoats ride up to the door than have a 
 couple of spurious Graybacks enter the house. When 
 two Confederate cavalrymen, unknown to each other, 
 met, explanations and proof were required at pistol 
 point, and to refuse to answer was to meet death. 
 
88 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 Three times in one day, when going along the road 
 from Orleans to Salem, I was halted by Mosby's men, 
 and not knowing who they were I watched them with a 
 cocked pistol in my hand, while they read my transfer 
 to the Black Horse. 
 
 Williamson tells in his book of meeting a party of 
 Jessie Scouts. He states: 
 
 "On the evening of the 13th, on the turnpike, we 
 saw a detachment of cavalry dressed in gray. We 
 viewed them with suspicion for some time, and finally 
 Colonel Mosby ordered Lieutenant Grogan to take a 
 few scouts and meet them. Discovering them to be 
 Jessie Scouts Grogan called out: 'Come on boys, we 
 will ride over them.' But the Jessies did not wait; they 
 broke and ran, leaving one dead and one prisoner." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 AN ADVENTURE WITH THE JESSIE SCOUTS. 
 
 It was a dull, murky evening in 
 November, damp and cold, and 
 just such a time as one who had no 
 important business to transact 
 would keep Indoors and make one's 
 self comfortable. 
 
 In a little negro hut, set well 
 back in the pines, were two men. 
 One was Jullen Robinson, and the 
 other one of Ashby's men, named 
 Clark, who was spending his furlough In Fauquier, and 
 was stopping at Mrs. Baker's, his aunt, who lived about 
 a mile away. The house was situated some distance 
 from the public road and was deemed a safe retreat 
 by the scouts. Mrs. Baker had three children, two well- 
 grown daughters, and one son about twelve years old. 
 Jullen was also billeted at Mrs. Baker's. Mrs. Baker 
 was an extremely nervous, timid woman, and begged 
 Jullen to remain away from the house as much as pos- 
 sible, so he complied with her request. Jullen, Martin 
 and the scout made their headquarters at the negro log 
 cabin. Mrs. Baker did many things to make them com- 
 
 89 
 
90 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 fortable; and, to an infantryman of Lee's army, It 
 would have been a luxurious abode. The cabin was 
 built of stout logs, had a wide fireplace, and there was 
 plenty of wood and water within easy reach. Martin 
 had gone on a visit to a neighboring farmhouse, and 
 Robinson and Clark intended to start for the Baker's 
 as soon as it was dark. 
 
 In the late evening there rode up to the Baker house 
 four Confederate cavalrymen. They were splendidly 
 mounted, and having hitched their horses to the paling 
 they advanced to the porch, where they were met by 
 Mrs. Baker and the girls, who gave them a warm 
 greeting and invited them in. 
 
 They were soon seated in the parlor, the girls left to 
 entertain them while Mrs. Baker, on hospitable 
 thoughts intent, went into the kitchen to prepare supper. 
 The girls, Miss Judith and Irene Baker, were much 
 impressed with the appearance of their visitors; they 
 were near the same age, about five and twenty years, 
 the girls judged; their uniforms were new and well- 
 made, and they all wore top boots, and each carried 
 two Colts. When asked by one of the girls what com- 
 mand they belonged to, they told their tale. They 
 were all from Maryland, near Hagerstown, and being 
 ardent Southerners had decided to join Mosby. When 
 asked if it was not rather late in the war to volunteer, 
 each explained his reasons, and good one they were, too. 
 One was married to a girl from Pennsylvania, and his 
 wife was intensely loyal, and in deference to her wishes 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH THE JESSIE SCOUTS 9 1 
 
 he had kept out of the fight; but she died, a year ago — 
 and here he was. Another's family was strongly seces- 
 sion (as he put it), and his Union neighbors, by false 
 evidence to the Federal commandant at Hagerstown, 
 induced him to order his father's house searched. This 
 indignity was more than he could stand, so he deter- 
 mined to cast in his lot with the South. The other had 
 no grievance, but went because his three friends did. 
 Then they told how they had gone to Baltimore, had 
 their uniforms made to order, secured their arms, and 
 crossed the Potomac near Monocacy Bridge. 
 
 The two girls sized them up, and came to the con- 
 clusion that those sinewy, whalebone figures had never 
 followed the plow; they all had the cut of resolute, cool- 
 headed, clear-gritted men, the very last to calmly plant 
 corn and hoe potatoes when fighting was going on all 
 around them; they looked to be typical dare-devils, 
 every one of them, and it was impossible for those 
 keenly observant girls, after hearing them talk, not to 
 be convinced that they were not Southerners. Their 
 quick, incisive language, their gestures, their mode of 
 expression, were utterly foreign to all their precon- 
 ceived ideas of a Confederate soldier. But these maids, 
 with true feminine tact, kept their thoughts to them- 
 selves, and their visitors never for a moment imagined 
 that they had been "judged and found wanting" by a 
 couple of unsophisticated country girls. 
 
 Miss Juliet excused herself, saying she must go and 
 help her mother; instead, she went to the study and 
 
92 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 wrote a note to Jullen, advising him to get as many 
 men as he could and steal into the house and give a tap 
 on the door; she would throw it open, and they could 
 catch them unprepared. 
 
 She gave the note to her brother to deliver to Robin- 
 son at once. 
 
 The supper passed off quietly. There was not much 
 to eat, but the visitors were blessed with good appetites. 
 After the meal was finished they adjourned to the par- 
 lor, where again the girls entertained them. The men 
 asked their advice as to where they could find Mosby 
 in the morning; where the partisans generally stayed, 
 and a whole torrent of questions concerning their life, 
 and, especially, where was their rendezvous when they 
 started on their raids. The girls answered shyly, dif- 
 fidently and ignorantly, and the ci-devant Grayjackets 
 evidently thought that they, at least, had found guile- 
 less girls, whose whole existence was wrapped up in 
 their humble home. They were soon to be undeceived. 
 Robinson received Miss Juliet's note and scribbled on 
 it: "Keep them as long as you can, and when you hear 
 a tap on the parlor door throw it wide open," and sent 
 it back to her. He then examined his pistols carefully, 
 saw that the cylinders revolved easily and that the caps 
 were fresh, then mounting his horse he rode like the 
 wind to reach Martin in time. By good luck they met 
 on the way to the Bakers, and Julien explained the situa- 
 tion to his friend, who was willing and eager to follow 
 him. 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH THE JESSIE SCOUTS 93 
 
 It was dark when they drew up at Mrs. Baker's, and 
 they could just make out the four horses tied to the 
 fence. They led their own horses to a piece of pine 
 woods a few hundred yards from the house, and on 
 their return Robinson gave his friend instructions. 
 They were very simple: "Do exactly as I do; draw 
 your revolvers and follow me, and remember to keep 
 on my side." Then they cautiously entered the house, 
 tip-toed along the passage, and Julien tapped lightly on 
 the parlor door. 
 
 Inside the four cavalrymen were sitting at their ease. 
 Miss Juliet had been singing, and they were compli- 
 menting her, when the listening ears caught the sound. 
 Without a moment's hesitation she rose, went to the 
 door and threw it wide. In a second there was an 
 impressive tableau. The four men jumped to their feet, 
 and they looked straight into the barrels of the Colts 
 and heard a clear, ringing voice say: "Surrender!" 
 
 There was nothing of gaucherie among those men; 
 they realized instantly that their assailants had the 
 drop on them, and they calmly and quietly unbuckled 
 their arms, which Julien motioned to Clark to collect 
 and carry to a safe place. In the meantime the girls 
 had fled from the room. 
 
 The four cavalrymen had not turned a hair; but as 
 they all sank back in their seats one said that he thought 
 it was rather a singular way to treat recruits of the 
 Confederate Army. Robinson replied that in Mosby's 
 Confederacy every man must not only show his colors, 
 
94 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 but prove them; that he was only acting under orders. 
 The men declared that they had come in good faith to 
 join Mosby and were willing to start that moment for 
 his headquarters. Julien assured them that they should 
 see the partisan chief the next morning. One of the 
 cavalrymen asked what he proposed to do with them? 
 Robinson answered that they would be held under 
 guard until the morning. 
 
 They started off on foot for the cabin, Martin lead- 
 ing the way with a lighted lantern, and Robinson bring- 
 ing up the rear. Reaching the hut, they entered; it con- 
 tained only one room, with an old bedstead in one cor- 
 ner, a few loose boards laid on the scantling above 
 formed the attic, which was reached by a ladder. Had 
 the two Confederates realized the desperate character 
 of the men they had to deal with they would have 
 placed them in this attic, withdrawn the ladder, and 
 kept a strict watch. But the bonhommie of the four 
 men was such that they quite captivated their guards, 
 who were profuse in their apologies for being com- 
 pelled by official orders to guard strictly until they could 
 identify themselves. 
 
 Leaving Martin as sentry, Robinson went to the 
 Bakers' house, gathered in the horses and returned. 
 He then took his own and his comrade's horses and 
 tethered them in the depths of the pines, then tied the 
 four horses of the unknown to trees close to the cabin. 
 The six men smoked an amicable pipe before turning 
 in. Robinson made a shake-down in one corner of the 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH THE JESSIE SCOUTS 95 
 
 cabin for the prisoners. A lighted candle was on an old 
 table, and there was one chair; this was taken by the 
 guard, Robinson seating himself, with a revolver lying 
 loose in its holster, while Martin lay on the bed to get 
 his two hours' sleep. 
 
 It was about three or four o'clock in the morning 
 when the four prostrate figures rose and found both 
 their guards sound asleep. It is almost impossible for 
 a healthy man to sit in a chair for two hours and keep 
 keenly alert and watchful; the drowsy god soothes the 
 senses, blurs the thoughts, deadens the will, and, for- 
 getting duty — forgetting danger — he journeys by im- 
 perceptible stages into dreamland. The prisoners had 
 them wholly at their mercy, but they had no wrongs to 
 redress, no bitter grievance to cause them to shoot a 
 sleeping man. Instead, they had been treated with 
 kindness and consideration. It is, of course, impos- 
 sible to know their thoughts and their plans, but their 
 actions spoke plainly. They were no murdering assas- 
 sins; they simple desired to get away quietly; and this 
 they did. Not until after daybreak did the guards dis- 
 cover that their prisoners had taken French leave. 
 They slipped the halters on their horses, mounted and 
 disappeard, leaving nothing for their Rebel acquaint- 
 ances to remember them by but their pistols. It is need- 
 less to say that neither Robinson nor his friend ever 
 boasted of their adventure ; they never alluded to it. A 
 man, especially a soldier, hates ridicule, and would 
 rather charge a six-gun battery than be laughed at. 
 
96 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 The escape of the Jessie Scouts was not a very dar- 
 ing adventure, but it proved to them that they might 
 deceive the men, but they could not delude the women 
 of the Debatable Land into thinking that every gray- 
 jacket covered a genuine Reb ; neither was Mrs. Baker's 
 house ever visited again by any of the Jessie Scouts. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 WARRENTON. 
 
 Passengers traveling southward on the S. A. L. R. 
 R., when about forty miles from Washington, will hear 
 the brakesman sing out: "Calverton. Change cars for 
 Warrenton." If he is a tourist or visitor he will get 
 out and be politely helped up the steps by Jack Colvin, 
 who has been conductor on this little one-track, one- 
 horse railroad since the days which no man remembers. 
 A fine specimen of a man is Jack, and he can tell a 
 visitor more about the historic town than all other 
 chroniclers put together. Six miles from the junction, 
 nestling among hills and valleys, this little town lies; 
 small as to population, numbering at the beginning of 
 the war, according to the 13th census, only 604 white 
 inhabitants; yet, with the exception of Richmond, this 
 little hamlet wielded greater political power than any 
 city of Virginia. This borough in ante bellum days 
 gave to the country a Chief Justice of the United States, 
 Senators, Congressmen and a governor. During the 
 war it also developed a genius, little less than mar- 
 velous: his name was Billy Smith, a stocky, freckle- 
 faced lad whose genial, open-hearted manner made 
 
 97 
 
98 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 friends with everybody. He began his career as a mail- 
 carrier, and was so adroit that one of his few enemies 
 nicknamed him "Extra Billy." The sobriquet stuck 
 to him for the remainder of his life, and proved to be 
 the right name for the right man. He ran for office, 
 and like all politicians made enemies all around, and 
 "Extra Billy" was derided and ridiculed by his political 
 opponents, but he won out. No one, not even his most 
 intimate friends, divined the powerful mentality of the 
 man; none suspected that the stiff-haired, shock-head 
 contained a brain equal to that of any man's Virginia 
 ever produced. When the war came on he volunteered, 
 and again the unthinking mocked and jibed, the idea of 
 the lucky politician. Extra Billy Smith, being a soldier! 
 But after-events proved he was a born warrior. His 
 magnificent handling of his regiment at Sharpsburg, in 
 all probability, saved the day. Had he been summoned 
 to command the Army of Northern Virginia he would, 
 doubtless, have been equal to the tremendous responsi- 
 bility. Called upon to be governor of Virginia at her 
 most momentous period, he so navigated the good Ship 
 of State among the rocks, shoals and quicksands as to 
 silence even envy's hiss and folly's bray. He was, In 
 the truest acceptation of the term, a great man. His 
 service to the State and the Confederacy was so great 
 that he alone of all the governors of the seceded 
 States was singled out by Mr. Stanton, the Federal 
 Secretary of War, as an object-lesson to make treason 
 odious, for after Lee surrendered a reward of $25,000 
 
WARRENTON 99 
 
 was offered "for the person of William Smith, late gen- 
 eral, and Governor of Virginia, of the late so-called 
 Confederacy, either dead or alive." 
 
 The grim old war horse did not run; he stood his 
 ground and challenged an investigation. Of course, 
 nothing came of it, and after real peace descended 
 upon the land the Governor was wont to say that the 
 highest compliment he ever received was the proclama- 
 tion of Secretary Stanton. He lived a long life, sur- 
 rounded by his family, endeared to and loved by a 
 legion of friends. His mortal remains now rest in the 
 cemetery at Warrenton. A fitting epitaph would be: 
 "Oh, seek no further, for a greater can't be found." 
 
 Because of his simplicity and unaffectedness; because 
 of his disrelish of pomp and parade and his love of the 
 simple life; because of his power to make friends and 
 his ability to lead men, ex-Governor Smith resembles 
 Cincinnatus, the noble Roman, more than any man I 
 ever met. 
 
 It is to be regretted that ink was so scarce within 
 Mosby's Confederacy that most of the correspondence 
 between soldiers and maidens was written with lead 
 pencils. What a world of romance would have been 
 saved! How many tales of daring have been lost 
 through the fading of the pencil strokes! Yet if the 
 truth must be told, the love letters were mostly confined 
 to the sterner sex. The girls would write a column 
 about war, and devote about one line to sentiment. 
 Then, again, they never knew into whose hands their 
 
100 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 letters might fall. The recipient might be captured, 
 wounded or killed, and curious eyes might glance over 
 their loving words. No! With the girls it was war! 
 War! and the knife to the hilt. The latest news from 
 the army was talked of, rumor speculated upon; the 
 relative merits of every general in the army were dis- 
 cussed, and the next campaign was the absorbing 
 theme. Many of the scouts carried a map of Virginia, 
 and many a fair head was bent over the plan to win a 
 great victory which some Napoleon or Johnny, in tat- 
 ters and rags, had outlined. It was a curious study to 
 see them receive some old newspaper that had passed 
 through many hands before reaching theirs; for it goes 
 without saying that there were no postoffice or post- 
 masters within Mosby's Confederacy. A newspaper 
 was a valued treasure in the isolated homes of that 
 section, and its news items were eagerly devoured by 
 the women; but they took no interest in the marriage 
 notices, lists of bargain sales or society news. It was 
 the war column and news from the front that absorbed 
 their minds. 
 
 Warrenton was called the capital of Mosby's Con- 
 federacy, and every raiding party would deflect from 
 its course and dash through its streets. To the Blue- 
 coats it must have been like "Sweet Auburn, loveliest 
 village of the plain," tho' every door and window was 
 tightly closed, and not a soul was visible. Yes, there 
 was one exception: the worthy Mayor always met the 
 visiting military with a bow and a smile, and offered 
 
WARRENTON lOI 
 
 them the keys and the freedom of the town. This hap- 
 pened so often that "His Honor," like the popular 
 country doctor, was often called up at the most untimely 
 hours of the night. 
 
 On one occasion a Federal brigade of cavalry swept 
 into town at noon most unexpectedly. It was a dull 
 day in November, and a heavy fog dimned everything, 
 and it caught the villagers napping. A dozen or more 
 old men were rounded up and taken before the general 
 commanding. "What is your name?" he asked of one. 
 
 "My name is Rabbitt, sir." 
 
 "And yours?" addressing the next one. 
 
 "My name is Coon, sir." 
 
 "Yours?" he shouted at a little Dutchman. 
 
 "Lion, Your Honor," was the reply. 
 
 "Adjutant," roared the general, "lead all these men 
 to their homes; we seem to have struck a damn 
 menagerie." 
 
 Yet these men had given their correct names. It 
 was a curious coincidence that they should all have 
 been together. 
 
 Now a word about glorious old Warrenton, the 
 capitol of Mosby's Confederacy. How many recollec- 
 tions that ancient burg invokes. Though numbering 
 only a few hundred inhabitants, the place has known 
 more of romance, comedy and tragedy than any other 
 spot in America. There is not a house which was 
 standing there in the sixties that has not a history. 
 The mighty hosts, the Army of the Potomac and the 
 
102 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 Army of Northern Virginia, have both repeatedly filed 
 through its streets, and the thunder of the guns from 
 each great battlefield could be heard there. The crack 
 of the carbine, the whip-hke note of the revolver, the 
 thud of the flying hoof-beats as the rival scouts and 
 cavalrymen met, was of such frequent occurrence as to 
 excite scarcely a remark. "Rude war's alarms" were 
 so common that they occasioned only a thrill, and acted 
 as a stimulant to many who had grown to love ex- 
 citement. 
 
 Warrenton before the clash of arms was a rushing, 
 thriving trade center. Huge wagons and vans came 
 over the mountains from the rich counties of Orange, 
 Culpeper, Rappahannock and Loudoun, loaded with 
 wheat, corn and oats; the housewife sent her poultry 
 and dried fruit; great herds of cattle wended their way 
 to this town, for the astute merchants of Warrenton 
 gained and held this enormous trade by making it the 
 most profitable market for the planters and farmers. 
 For its size Warrenton was the richest town, per capita, 
 in the whole South. When the war broke out the traffic 
 instandy ceased, and from a busy mart the town became, 
 to use a business term, "stone dead." To be sure, the 
 people remained, for there was no place for them to go, 
 and if there had been they could not move their lares 
 and penates, for there was absolutely no means of 
 transportation — neither ox, ass nor horse. It was a 
 situation that only a great Civil War could produce. 
 The merchants and shopkeepers in the town had a dis- 
 
WARRENTON IO3 
 
 mal time during the war. Those who remained at 
 home were either old or elderly men; there was not a 
 single young man in the place. The male inhabitants 
 felt, like Othello, the Moor, "their occupation was 
 gone." To the active, bustling business man, who had 
 spent most of his life in the counting-room or office, 
 free to buy and sell, free to go and come, this enforced 
 inaction was a heavy cross to bear. To wander, day 
 after day, aimlessly up and down, haunting, through 
 habit, the location of their former activities, look upon 
 the closed shops and stores, watch the long day spin out 
 its length, and feeling that the spectre Poverty was 
 everywhere dogging their steps, was all that remained 
 to be done. The only spark of comfort was in know- 
 ing that all were in the same boat; their only satisfac- 
 tion that they had a house over their heads. If misery 
 loves company, there was enough, and to spare. So 
 they swallowed their meager fare, and like so many 
 "Micawbers" waited for something to turn up. They 
 gnawed their hardtack, drank their decoction, miscalled 
 coffee, and nightly prayed "give us this day our daily 
 bread." 
 
 One of the greatest mysteries of today is why the 
 well-to-do people of the South did not, like a garrison, 
 when they learned that the enemy was approaching, 
 provision the place for a siege. The men of the border 
 heard the muttering of the tempest, they saw the storm- 
 clouds darken the sky, they gazed upon the fitful flash- 
 ing of the lightning, they listened to the distant rum- 
 
104 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 bling of the thunder, they knew the storm was about to 
 break, yet they hearkened not. Instead of collecting 
 their debts, withdrawing their gold from the banks and 
 reefing their sails for the coming tornado, they, like the 
 careless mariner, sailed unconcernedly on until they 
 were startled by the awful turmoil of the raging waters. 
 The wheel of progress stopped, commerce stood still, 
 banks closed, and ready money, even among the well- 
 to-do, became insufficient and impossible to obtain 
 either by note, bond or mortgage. The solution of this 
 situation, this dense blindness, was that these hard- 
 headed business men thought that the war would prove 
 but an episode of a few months instead of an epoch of 
 many years. So the war once on, the rich men of War- 
 renton were on a level with their poorer neighbors. 
 Though possessed of many broad acres, they could 
 jingle no more cash in their pockets than the street- 
 sweeper. Never was such a bewildering anomaly seen 
 outside the Debatable Land, for they lived between 
 two armies, being, as it were, the witch on one side and 
 the devil himself on the other. 
 
 It was the erstwhile rich who had the greater burden 
 to carry. Learned and eloquent lawyers, gentlemen of 
 the old school, sat in their cushioned chairs in office, 
 waiting, not for clients, but simply from force of habit. 
 "Inter ar?nes leges silent." Spiders spun their webs 
 over Chitty and Blackstone. For a time law was de- 
 funct, the rubicund judge, "whose fat belly with good 
 capon lined," the town clerk, the court crier, were now 
 
WARRENTON 
 
 105 
 
 but a memory. The only law of the land was might; 
 and the sword was mightier than the pen. But the 
 quintessence of silent suffering was to be found among 
 the bon vivants and epicures; some of them now eat to 
 live instead of live to eat. The formal dinner and the 
 invitation to take "pot luck," which was an informal 
 affair, was now but an irridescent pipe dream. No lon- 
 
 ger did the sybarites stretch their legs beneath the 
 mahogany. The noble haunch of venison had given 
 place to "sow belly;" the terrapin stew to pork hash. 
 If ever men did mortify the flesh those Warrentonians 
 did. 
 
106 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 But worse remains to be told: think of the appalling 
 situation of those who loved the red, red wine, who 
 smacked their lips over the fragrant Otard or the mel- 
 low Old Hennessey; think of the royal mint juleps 
 which transported men to Olympus; imagine if you can 
 the pathos of those rotund wine-bibbers, compelled in 
 their old age to climb into the water wagon. It was, 
 in their opinion, the saddest event of the Civil War. 
 
 But to go back a little. Warrenton was at the very 
 pinnacle of its glory in the summer and fall of 1861. 
 The small battle of Bull Run had been fought and won. 
 The Confederate Army was in camp at Centerville, in 
 Fairfax County, about twenty miles away, and was the 
 only town between Alexandria and Richmond, except 
 indeed Fredericksburg, which was far out of the way 
 on the Rappahannock River. Warrenton became the 
 headquarters of the great army, in one sense at least. 
 What was twenty miles when every house approached 
 was to the soldier a home, where he could stay as long 
 as he pleased. The town was thronged day and night. 
 The enemy had been beaten back, and as the Richmond 
 Examiner proclaimed, "lay cowering behind the shelter 
 of their garrisoned forts at Washington." Both, the 
 soldiers in gray and the people, believed this insane 
 foolishness was true, and they fairly revelled in the 
 fact that they were victors, and as such enjoyed each 
 passing hour. The iron hoof of war had not yet 
 stamped upon this fair land, and provisions were plenti- ' 
 ful, the barns full; the rich Piedmont region was at 
 
WARRENTON IO7 
 
 that time a land flowing with milk and honey. So 
 Warrenton, always famous for its lovely women and 
 unstinted hospitality, was the Mecca for every soldier 
 who worshiped at the shrine of Venus and Bacchus. 
 There may have been in the Army of Northern Vir- 
 ginia some Sir Galahad who could swear: 
 
 "My knees have bowed before crypt and shrine, 
 I never touched a maiden's lips, or held maiden's 
 hand in mine," 
 
 but if so he was never seen in Warrenton, for courting 
 and love-making were the chief diversion on week-days, 
 and the devotional exercises on Sunday, Parties, balls 
 and impromptu dancing were in full swing, for the sol- 
 dier's motto was: "Enjoy today, for tomorrow you 
 may die." And as there were thousands of soldiers 
 who by blood, birth and education were the beau ideal 
 of ardent lovers, in camp and close by this town 
 thronged with maidens fair to see, it is safe to say 
 there was "something stirring." Not even a summer 
 at the Greenbrier White Sulphur, or a winter in New 
 Orleans, ever saw the like; it was a swirl and dash of 
 gallantry; the very acme of a girl's dreams, the summit 
 of female felicity. Love, homage, fealty, worship from 
 a single one is exciting, but when offered from a score 
 or more, it becomes a hasheesh dream, as at Warren- 
 ton it lasted nearly a year. 
 
 "Oh 1 that was life !" remarked a matron to me some 
 
i08 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 years after, who had been one of the belles in that 
 glorious time. "I averaged from forty to fifty callers 
 a day, and held a veritable court, and was a veritable 
 queen, and I received in one week as much devotion as 
 a girl in ordinary circumstances receives in a lifetime. 
 Poor fellows, they owed us, they thought, a huge debt 
 for entertaining them, and bringing a light into their 
 lives; and they paid us with all they had to give, their 
 homage, their fancy, and their love." 
 
 Then a change came. In the spring of 1862 the 
 Army of Northern Virginia was rushed to Richmond 
 and thence to Yorktown to confront McClellan's great 
 host. Then ensued the seven days' battle around Rich- 
 mond, and the advance northward. The engagement 
 of Cedar Run was fought in the middle of August, 
 1862, and Stonewall Jackson, in his peculiar way, won 
 the battle, and uniting with Longstreet they pushed on, 
 and on the historic field of Manassas met their old foe- 
 men, the Army of the Potomac, under command of 
 Major-General John Pope. A more unfortunate se- 
 lection to command that magnificent legion could not 
 have been made. However, no army could have won 
 a victory under his leadership; so the bombastic Pope, 
 who boasted that his headquarters was in the saddle 
 (President Lincoln said he thought his hindquarters 
 were there), was hurled headlong back into the de- 
 fences of Washington. 
 
 This battle filled Warrenton to overflowing with the 
 desperately wounded who could not endure the arduous 
 
WARRENTON IO9 
 
 trip to Richmond. There was no regular hospital at 
 Warrenton, and the wounded were crowded in the 
 town without any preparation whatsoever. The Gov- 
 ernment trusted to the people, and they rose to the oc- 
 casion. Every church, public building and house was 
 filled, and it was then that the pleasure-loving, mirthful, 
 light-hearted girls of '61 gave place to the sad, serious 
 and devoted nurses of '62, and if there were ever more 
 tender, gentle and efficient attendants, history has never 
 proved it. Warrenton was but a vast hospital, and day 
 and night these Warrenton women ministered to and 
 watched over the maimed. There was blood every- 
 where ; the very air reeked with it, and as the hot sum- 
 mer days dragged by the little town became a veritable 
 charnel house. The wounded, most of them hopeless 
 cases from the first, died off like flies. Amid these grue- 
 some scenes of men torn by shot and shell, moaning in 
 their pain, muttering in their delirium, or screaming in 
 their agony, these gently-bred, refined girls, their hearts 
 torn with anguish, their very souls sickened with horror, 
 came and took their position by bedside and cot, 
 staunching blood, dressing amputated limbs, washing 
 suppurating wounds — all this terrible ordeal in this 
 modern day, performed only by trained nurses and ex- 
 perts, was done by the women of Warrenton. All the 
 pain they allayed and the number of lives they saved 
 will never be known in this world. What a test of the 
 heroic in woman! What a trial to heart and soul was 
 that experience of wounds and sudden death; yet not 
 
110 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 one flinched. The women of Warrenton made a splen- 
 did record in that bloody year of 1862. Six hundred 
 graves bear mute but powerful evidence to the arrests 
 made by "that fell sergeant, Death." Every battle- 
 field in Grant's bloody march through the Wilderness 
 sent its ghastly quota of torn, maimed and mutilated 
 humanity to Warrenton. In the town graveyard over 
 a thousand soldiers lie buried; but ten times that num- 
 ber were nursed back to health and strength by those 
 heroines. 
 
 I recall to mind two lovely girls, Miss Janet and 
 Meta Weaver, just entering womanhood; and Miss 
 Lily Pollock, Mamie Mason, Fannie Horner, Sue Scott, 
 Mrs. Richard Payne, Mrs. Dr. Ward, Mrs. Mcllhany, 
 Miss Mary Amelia Smith, Mrs. Brooks, Mrs. Shackle- 
 ford, Mrs. Caldwell, and the Misses Lucas, whose lives 
 for four long years were gemmed and jewelled by their 
 charity and good deeds. How they deprived them- 
 selves of the very necessaries of life to feed the hungry 
 and the sick; how they strived, schemed and worked to 
 get food for themselves and their patients, can never 
 be known. Of the tens of thousands of Confederate 
 soldiers who passed through the town during the war, 
 there was not one who appealed to the poverty-stricken 
 community in vain. How they accomplished it will al- 
 ways appear to be one of the miracles. There were no 
 markets wherein to buy or sell and no money, yet by 
 hook or crook they clothed the naked and fed the 
 hungry. 
 
WARRENTON 1 1 1 
 
 There was one woman In the town who dropped 
 everything and devoted herself to the task, day and 
 night, of nursing the wounded soldiers. Her name was 
 Mrs. Johnsie Tongue. She was the Florence Night- 
 ingale of Mosby's Confederacy. Certainly if every 
 good deed which she performed had been a block, of 
 granite, and had been placed over her last resting place, 
 she would sleep beneath a column that would overtop 
 the loftiest peak of the Blue Ridge. She was a saint to 
 the wounded whom she tended, and an angel to those 
 who held her hand as they entered into the "Valley and 
 the Shadow." So long as the traditions of the old burg 
 shall be handed down from father to son, from mother 
 to daughter, will the name of that white-souled woman, 
 Mrs. Tongue, be cherished and honored. 
 
 There were also many wounded Federal soldiers 
 brought to Warrenton, and then it was that the charity 
 and humanity of the women of Warrenton were sud- 
 jected to the crucial test. The foe was at their doors, 
 within their gates, but not with martial bearing, nor 
 armed with pistol, sabre and musket. Instead it was a 
 silent, pathetic throng, stretched on pallet, couch or cot, 
 mutilated with shot or burned with fever. These Vir- 
 ginia women met the ordeal and came out triumphant. 
 The maids and matrons, cool and defiant before their 
 armed enemies, were changed into sympathetic nurses. 
 They dropped the black garb of Ate and donned the 
 robe of the Vestals. The grateful glance, the mur- 
 
112 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 mured word of thanks of those stricken soldiers of the 
 Union, were the highest tribute ever paid to Warrenton 
 womanhood. Their metal was tempered and tested, 
 and proven pure gold. 
 
 General Lee always spoke of Warrenton in the most 
 affectionate and endearing terms; and to hear Jeb 
 Stuart, the leader of the cavalry, expound on the sub- 
 ject one would truly think Warrenton was inhabited by 
 angels. General Stuart was greatly indebted to the 
 town of Warrenton, for to him it was a veritable 
 "bureau of information," and gave him inside informa- 
 tion of the enemy's plans and forces that his scouts were 
 not able to obtain. 
 
 It was wonderful how quickly news of the move- 
 ments of the enemy could be discovered and dissemi- 
 nated and spread abroad by means of the grapevine 
 telegraph. There were some families, like the Arun- 
 dels, who were appointed by General Jeb Stuart him- 
 self to collect information, and it is safe to say he picked 
 out the loveliest, brainiest, most devoted and patriotic 
 among all the fair women of the Confederacy. It was 
 a solemn, sacred trust to them. These ladies received 
 and entertained Federal officers at their homes, and 
 were ostracized all during the war by the whole com- 
 munity, for their mission was kept a profound secret. 
 These Circes invariably wormed out every military 
 secret from their visitors, and by the time the Bluecoats 
 were hurrying buoyantly to the bugle's blare of "boots 
 
WARRENTON II3 
 
 and saddles," there would be several Paul Reveres of 
 every age and sex speeding throughout Mosby's Con- 
 federacy; and as a result of the Information the flying 
 Federal column might sweep through the country with- 
 out seeing a living thing, and return to report that the 
 country was quiet as a churchyard. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OUR FRIENDS, THE ENEMY. 
 
 When the Federal Army occupied 
 Fauquier County after the first battle of 
 Manassas, and the people of that county 
 saw the regiments, brigades and divi- 
 sions of the splendid Army of the Poto- 
 mac file by, superbly equipped and finely 
 officered, their eyes were opened, and 
 they knew that the conflict was not a 
 glorious pageant, with but a few battles 
 and a speedy independence of the Con- 
 federate States, but that it was to be grim-visaged war 
 in earnest, the certain issue of which no prophet could 
 foretell. So, true to their lineage and their blood, these 
 Virginians, figuratively, girded up their loins and made 
 up their minds to be brave and patient, and to endure 
 and suffer if needs be without murmur and without 
 complaint. The Rubicon had been crossed, and the 
 issue lay with the God of battles. So they turned their 
 backs upon their old life and faced the new. The field 
 servants were told they must leave, as all farming 
 would stop, and only the old family servitors would be 
 
 114 
 
OUR FRIENDS, THE ENEMY I 15 
 
 retained. All stock was driven south or disposed of to 
 the Government, old family silver and valuables was 
 either sent away or burled, and retrenchmen: and rigid 
 economy was the order of the day. 
 
 At this trying period, a Confederate soldier was 
 rarely seen, for it was not until the third year of the 
 war that Mosby's command was organized, and it was 
 a time when the households were absolutely defenceless, 
 save perhaps some patriarch too old for military serv- 
 ice. The whole section was at the mercy of the slaves, 
 and a gang like Nat Turner could have burnt every 
 house and killed every woman and child in Fauquier 
 County had they been so disposed, but the love, the 
 respect, the veneration the slaves had for their masters 
 was their safeguards. There was not a single case of 
 violence shown in the whole section, and the predictions 
 of Henry Lloyd Garrison and other Abolitionists that 
 "when the slaves should have a chance to rise the woods 
 and fields of Virginia would be filled with black men, 
 an axe in one hand and a torch in the other," was not 
 verified. No! if there was ever simple loyalty and 
 child-like trust, the slaves of Fauquier expressed it for 
 their masters. I have heard a score of times the farm- 
 ers tell of the departure of the servants; every one had 
 a stone in his heart and blinding tears in his eyes. They 
 were free at last; the dumb chattel was a man, but like 
 the Irish emigrant, the freedman turned to gaze at the 
 old plantation where all his life had been spent. Doubt- 
 less, to his untutored mind, freedom was the greatest 
 
Il6 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 curse that could come to him. Some few planters sent 
 their slaves South, but not many. 
 
 There was quite a difference between the women of 
 Fauquier and the fair dames of New Orleans in their 
 treatment of the Federal officers; especially in New 
 Orleans during Ben Butler's reign. They did not con- 
 sider it good taste to treat anyone, in their own house, 
 with marked discourtesy. They did not return frowns 
 for smiles or scorn courtliness. Those Virginia girls 
 did not turn up their noses, sweep aside their skirts as 
 if contamination dwelt in a Federal soldier, especially 
 if the man in blue were a gentleman. They could be 
 proud and cold, but never offensive. Many of the offi- 
 cers of the Army of the Potomac were men of the high- 
 est grade, graduates of Harvard and Yale, with blood 
 of the bluest; wealthy, cultured and sympathetic, and 
 some, like General Sedgwick, were as knightly as Bay- 
 ard himself. There was a politic side to the question; 
 courtesy and civility go a long way in this world. But 
 few homes in Fauquier would have been left standing 
 if the kindly overtures of the officers had been met with 
 superciliousness or insult. There is not a house in 
 Mosby's Confederacy that has not at one time or an- 
 other had guards stationed on the place to prevent 
 pillage, rapine and destruction. Suppose, as frequently 
 happened, a Federal officer approached a house with 
 the kindly offer of aid, and an irate female slams the 
 door in his face, as did the ladies of New Orleans? 
 That officer's feelings would undergo a sudden change, 
 
OUR FRIENDS, THE ENEMY II7 
 
 and it would be but human nature in him not to care a 
 continental whether or not the house was looted first 
 and burned afterward. 
 
 There were many beautiful maidens in Mosby's Con- 
 federacy, and beauty in distress brings out the better 
 part of a man's nature, and I have heard scores of the 
 Fauquier girls speak in the highest praise of the gal- 
 lantry and chivalry of the Federal soldiery. In all my 
 investigations I never heard of a Federal officer making 
 an assault on a woman, though many homes were ut- 
 terly unprotected. This is a grand and glorious record 
 which no defamation can change, or slander or false- 
 hood sully, and it has no parallel in wars of either 
 ancient or modern times. 
 
 There were many strikingly handsome men in blue 
 uniform, gallant and debonair. They had all the at- 
 tractions that should dazzle a maiden, and in camp 
 Mars becomes a devotee to Venus; but all their efforts 
 to beguile the girls of Fauquier into flirtation was liter- 
 ally "love's labor lost." I know of but one instance, 
 and one only, where the love of sex triumphed over the 
 amor patrae, and that was Miss Nannie Dixon, a beau- 
 tiful maiden, who fell madly in love with a Federal 
 captain of cavalry, and gave up, for a time at least, her 
 friends, her country and kinsmen for the belted and 
 spurred dragoon. 
 
 To the credit of the Anglo-Saxon race it may be said 
 that the worst pillagers in the Army of the Potomac 
 were men of foreign birth; and after them were the 
 
Il8 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 Pennsylvanians. Many of them were of mixed nation- 
 ality, who inherited a love of looting, and when the 
 Fauquier people learned that a brigade of Pennsyl- 
 vanians were going to camp near them, there was a rush 
 to headquarters for a guard. The Irish, the most 
 chivalric race on earth, never once, so far as I could 
 learn, were found guilty of marauding or looting; on 
 the contrary, women in distress found in every Irish- 
 man, high and low, big and little, a defender. 
 
 A lady living near Warrenton told me that one sum- 
 mer evening she and her sister, a lovely young girl, 
 were sitting in the dining-room. The household orig- 
 inally consisted of the women and two men, but now 
 Mr, Taylor was employed in the Nitre and Mining 
 Bureau in the Richmond Armory, her brother was a 
 soldier in Lee's Army, and only these two women re- 
 mained to take care of the house. As if by magic, the 
 place was surrounded by a squad of Bluecoats. The 
 two women rushed into the porch and saw at least a 
 score of cavalrymen, who were congregated in the front 
 yard. They proved to be a detachment who had sepa- 
 rated from the main body and were riding from house 
 to house to pillage. To Mrs. Taylor's anxious in- 
 quiries for the officer in command, they mocked and 
 jeered her, and declared that they commanded them- 
 selves, and had come to search the house for Rebels. 
 The lady declared there were no persons on the prem- 
 ises but herself and daughter. The squad started up 
 the steps, when the young girl, divining their Intention, 
 
OUR FRIENDS, THE ENEMY II9 
 
 threw herself in front of them, and with tears stream- 
 ing down her face begged them not to enter, that they 
 were but two defenceless women, but if one or two 
 would go through the house she would conduct them. 
 The crowd surged upward and onward, and seemed 
 bent upon rushing over her. Among the squad was an 
 Irishman, a mere lad, but he proved to be a hero. He 
 jumped to the door, drew his revolver, cocked it, and 
 told his comrades that he would shoot the first man who 
 entered the house. The girl, with the quick perception 
 born with woman, moved a few steps and stood beside 
 him. There were angry mutterings on the part of the 
 men, and some fingered their carbines, but the son of 
 Erin never flinched. The girl told me years afterward 
 that it was the most splendid sight she ever witnessed: 
 the young, stalwart soldier, his frame rigid as a statue, 
 his jaw set, and his blue eyes sparkling like the reflec- 
 tion of the sun on polished steel. It was a striking 
 tableau that was photographed on her brain, and she 
 often recalled the scene with vivid force. The house 
 was left unmolested, but when the tv/o women poured 
 warm thanks on their protector, the gallant Irishman, 
 confused and bashful, broke away, mounted his horse 
 and rode at break-neck speed to rejoin his comrades. 
 
 Another instance of the high-grade Yankee soldier 
 occurred in the lower part of the county. Rochefou- 
 cauld says that gratitude is but a lively expectation of 
 favors yet to come, but it remained for a boy in blue 
 to prove, in one instance at least, that the cynical 
 
120 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 Frenchman was wrong, and also that "good can come 
 out of Nazareth." 
 
 On the road from Morrisville to Fredericksburg 
 there stands a handsome mansion called Cold Spring, 
 owned by a young man named Bruce Stringfellow, who 
 was a cavalryman in Fitz Lee's Brigade. His mother 
 and sisters, dreading to live in that war-ravaged sec- 
 tion, left home and plantation to its fate; and but for 
 one woman there would not have been left one plank 
 above another. An empty house did not long remain 
 intact in Mosby's Confederacy. Bruce had an aunt, 
 Miss Sue Gutheridge, a spinster about thirty years old. 
 Miss Sue was a regular Amazon; nearly six feet tall, 
 spare and muscular. She did not know what fear 
 meant; she was a large-hearted, large-minded woman, 
 and with all her heart and mind she loved the South- 
 land. She would, at intervals, hitch up to an ancient 
 wagon, and securing by hook or crook passes to Alex- 
 andria, would return laden with quinine and opium, 
 and clothes for her soldier friends. Many of the Black 
 Horsemen were indebted to her for comfortable flan- 
 nels; and she gave me a fine pair of buckskin gauntlets 
 of which I was inordinately proud. Cold Spring, her 
 home, was the favorite rendezvous of the Black Horse- 
 men, but none were ever captured, as there was a dense 
 covert of pines close to the house, and Miss Sue kept 
 vigil herself if any of the scouts remained overnight. 
 The house had often been searched, but it was always 
 as empty as Mother Hubbard's cupboard. 
 
OUR FRIENDS, THE ENEMY 121 
 
 One evening in the autumn of 1864 Miss Sue was 
 sitting on the porch, when there approached a Yankee 
 cavalryman. He was on foot, his clothing torn, hands 
 and face scratched, and evidently he was badly fright- 
 ened. He was a young fellow about eighteen, and com- 
 ing to where Miss Sue sat, saluted her, trembling and 
 gasping for breath. He had been running at top speed. 
 She motioned him to take a seat and rest. As he sat 
 there panting and fanning himself with his cap. Miss 
 Sue scrutinized him narrowly, for she suspected this 
 might be only a Yankee trick. But the lad was so 
 young, his face so honest, his eyes so true, that she dis- 
 missed her suspicions for good and all. After recover- 
 ing his breath he told his tale. He was a private in 
 the Fifth Michigan Cavalry, and several miles below 
 his detachment, which had been on a scout to the Rap- 
 pahannock River, were passing along the old Fred- 
 ericksburg pike, when his horse fell suddenly lame. 
 Dismounting, he found a stone wedged in the hoof of 
 the front foot. He got a rock and began to hammer 
 the stone. The squadron was fully a couple of hundred 
 yards away when he was ready to mount. Suddenly a 
 Rebel soldier on foot darted from the pines and 
 ordered him to surrender. This he did, and as the 
 Rebel siezed his horse he tried to escape and rejoin his 
 regiment. He darted into the pines and started in the 
 direction of his troop, but the woods seemed full of 
 Rebels, for he was shot at several times. He plunged 
 into the thickest of the pines, and losing all sense of 
 
122 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 locality he ran until he dropped. Then he kept on until 
 he reached the house, and seeing her sitting on the 
 porch determined to approach and throw himself on 
 her mercy, and begged her to let him stay until next 
 morning as he was afraid of being bushwhacked. He 
 added that he was a country boy and would help her in 
 any way if she would only keep him safe. Miss Sue 
 told him he could remain over night, and that no Con- 
 federate soldier would harm him so long as he was 
 under her protection. 
 
 Now it may seem strange that a Southern woman 
 should protect a Yankee soldier, especially when she 
 could have quietly sent for some of the Black Horse- 
 men and have given him up as a prisoner, but there 
 were two objections to such a step: one was the youtn 
 of the soldier, and his having thrown himself unre- 
 servedly on her protection touched her; and after she 
 had given her promise she would never have swerved 
 from it. Another reason was that the scouts hated to 
 be bothered with prisoners, for it meant a long journey 
 across a barren country to reach Orange Court House, 
 where the provost-marshal had his headquarters, so the 
 scouts preferred to set their single prisoners free rather 
 than to take that disagreeable journey wherein they re- 
 ceived no thanks from anyone. Of course if a number 
 of the enemy were captured it was different, but for one 
 or two prisoners, why, they were not worth the bother. 
 
 That evening the boy pitched in, brought water from 
 the spring, cut wood, milked the cow, groomed the old 
 
OUR FRIENDS, THE ENEMY 1 23 
 
 horse, and actually insisted on polishing the huge brass 
 andirons in the parlor fireplace. Miss Sue cooked for 
 him a good supper, and gave him a room in the attic. 
 The next morning he rushed things, and did more work 
 about the farm before the setting of the sun than the 
 average darkey could do in a week. He gained the 
 confidence of Miss Sue to the extent of her showing 
 him where she kept her horse and cow in the woods. 
 That evening, sitting by the fire, he told Miss Sue all 
 about his home life In far-off Michigan, said that he 
 had entered a preparatory school, intending, eventually, 
 to enter the medical profession, and that he never had 
 Intended to take part In the war, as his people were 
 Democrats, but when Fort Sumter was fired upon he, 
 with most of the lads In that section, enlisted In the 
 army to save the Union. 
 
 Miss Sue tried to persuade him to desert and offered 
 to land him safe in Alexandria, but he said he would 
 die first. The girl saw that In fighting for the Union 
 he was actuated by a high sense of duty, and his truth 
 and earnestness so Impressed her that the haunting 
 fear that he would divulge the secret of her horse and 
 cow was dissipated forever. 
 
 One evening when "Denny," the soldier boy, was 
 away in the woods attending to his self-imposed duties, 
 a detachment of Federal cavalry halted near the house. 
 They were In a vile humor, for a squad of the Black 
 Horse had dashed Into their rear guard, killed and 
 wounded several, and captured about a dozen horses 
 
124 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 and a wagon and team of mules. They surged into the 
 house, and there is no telling what they would have 
 done, for some of the men called the house a damned 
 bushwhacker's den, when Denny appeared on the scene. 
 He told the officer how Miss Sue had saved him from 
 capture and had taken good care of him, that the coun- 
 try was so full of Rebels that he dared not go to 
 Fredericksburg alone, and that but for her he would 
 now be dead or a prisoner. His tale, truly told, had a 
 potential effect, and the black looks changed to smiles. 
 The officer thanked Miss Sue, and when Denny told 
 her goodby he said: "Miss Sue, I think better of the 
 Sessech than I ever did before." Her answer was as 
 quick and impulsive as his. "Goodby, Denny, I hope 
 you will get through the war safe. There are some 
 good Yankees, after all." 
 
 All this I gathered from Miss Sue a short time after, 
 when she gave me the splendid pair of gauntlets she 
 had bought in Alexandria. Miss Sue saved the house, 
 and at the end of the war turned it over intact to her 
 nephew. It was a brave, heroic act for her to remain 
 there by herself for three long years. But of such 
 components were the women in those parts in those 
 days. 
 
^•^^iww!**^:^ 
 
 'Ill- (ti,i) iMin.Ai; i.\ Asiinvs cw 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE OLD POPLAR TREE AT ASHBY's GAP. 
 
 The most famous mountain pass in America is 
 Ashby's Gap, for that historic spot was, during the 
 Civil War, the gateway in the Blue Ridge Mountains 
 through which the armies of the Blue and the Gray 
 defiled when passing to and fro from the Valley of 
 Virginia to the Piedmont section. The spot is full of 
 glamour and romance, and if the old poplar tree which 
 crowns the southern summit could only speak and tell 
 what has occurred beneath its branches, it would re- 
 quire a Walter Scott to do justice to the theme, for 
 beneath its shade thousands of the bravest and most 
 daring of North Americans have paused for a moment 
 to wipe the dust from their eyes and let their glance 
 sweep over the splendid scene where the glorious Valley 
 lay at their feet, and the swift waters of the Shenandoah 
 could be seen wending their way like a silver cord 
 through the landscape. Within its shadow Lee, sitting 
 on his horse Traveler, had often paused, and with the 
 aid of his field glass swept the country below. There, 
 also, on his raw-boned sorrel, Stonewall Jackson 
 paused before he struck McDowell's flank at Manassas. 
 Stuart, the great cavalryman of the Army of Northern 
 
 I2S 
 
126 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 Virginia, has scores of times, under Its shelter, bared 
 his head to catch the cool breeze that always blows at 
 this high altitude. Every general of note of both 
 armies has rested underneath Its sheltering arms, and 
 within a stone's throw of It uncounted thousands of 
 soldiery have reposed at ease. This spot was a favorite 
 rendezvous of Mosby's partisans, and many a rich haul 
 from the Federal camps In the Valley was divided at 
 this tree. At times, when a detachment of the Rangers 
 had captured some sutler's huge wagon, a veritable de- 
 partment store on wheels, the vehicle was driven up to 
 the poplar tree, and as soon as a pursuing force was 
 sighted the mules were unhitched, and carrying the 
 Rough Riders disappeared in a cloud of dust. 
 
 This tree was also a favorite meeting place for 
 lovers, and more vows have been exchanged of death- 
 less devotion, more troths plighted under Its boughs, 
 than there were leaves on its branches; and certainly 
 during the three years of the war there was more of 
 the love-making business performed under Its twenty 
 feet of foliage than in any similar space in Dixie. 
 
 The place Is full of both tender and glorious memo- 
 ries, and standing there on a summer's day one can 
 fancy that the roar of the falls in the Shenandoah is 
 the sound of the Yankee war shouts, and that the tic-tac 
 of the distant railroad car was the rat-a-plan of Lee's 
 drums. The cloud of dust raised by the wagons tolling 
 along the highway resolves itself Into a mist through 
 
THE OLD POPLAR TREE AT ASHBY's GAP 1 27 
 
 which breaks a column of Bluecoats, with Custer at 
 their head, thundering down the pike. 
 
 Nine miles east of the Gap is the house of Mr. Lake, 
 where Mosby received through his body a bullet fired 
 by Corporal Kane of the 13th New York Cavalry. 
 Mosby was sitting in the room after supper, the Fed- 
 erals surrounded the house, and the corporal, standing 
 without, shot him through the window, not knowing 
 who he was, but recognizing the Confederate officer's 
 uniform that Mosby wore. This was bushwhacking 
 pure and simple. 
 
 About two miles from Mr. Lake's is a farm called 
 Heartland, which was the headquarters of Mosby. A 
 few miles from the Gap was born one of the most mag- 
 nificent soldiers that ever swung himself into saddle. 
 Turner Ashby first saw the light October 23, 1828. 
 He was the third child of Col. Turner Ashby and 
 Dorothea Green. He received the ordinary education, 
 going to country schools, where rudiments of the three 
 R's were eagerly imbibed by him. He became a coun- 
 try merchant, and but for the war v/ould, doubtless, 
 have been known only as a peaceable, quiet citizen with 
 a fad for horses. A pen picture of him when at 
 Harper's Ferry during the first year of the war says: 
 "He was of low stature; his face a striking one, very 
 dark, heavily bearded, and the way he wore his slouch 
 hat made him look like Fra Diavalo himself." From a 
 sergeant he rose by rapid strides to be a brigadier- 
 
128 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 general, and commanded all the cavalry in the Valley 
 under Jackson. He was Stonewall's right arm, and 
 like his immortal superior he proved to be a born 
 leader. Ashby was by nature a cavalryman, and his 
 home was in the saddle. His military gifts were of the 
 highest order, and had he lived, and been permitted 
 to lead, it is certain that he would have become one of 
 the greatest cavalry commanders the world ever saw. 
 A chance bullet ended his life in the spring of 1862. 
 
 A short distance from Ashby's Gap is the home of 
 the Fauntleroys. Colonel Fauntleroy at the beginning 
 of the war was commanding the First United States 
 Dragoons. He was considered one of the most bril- 
 liant soldiers of the old army. When Virginia seceded 
 Colonel Fauntleroy resigned his commission and has- 
 tened to Richmond to offer his sword to his native 
 State. Of all the Southern army officers, General 
 Fauntleroy held the highest rank at the time of his 
 resignation. He overtopped General Lee by several 
 numbers in the old service. He was promptly com- 
 missioned general by the convention and appointed to 
 command the city of Richmond, and to place that city 
 in a state of defence. 
 
 When the Confederate Government was reorgan- 
 ized it published a call for all Southern born officers in 
 the United States army to come home and join the 
 forces of the South, and they pledged their faith and 
 honor that those officers who resigned their commis- 
 
THE OLD POPLAR TREE AT ASHBY'S GAP 1 29 
 
 sions in the regular army should have equal service 
 under the new government, and that their regular rank 
 should not be altered. 
 
 General Fauntleroy made an enemy of President 
 Davis. He was too blunt a soldier to pay court to king 
 or kaiser, and Mr. Davis broke the plighted faith of 
 his government by placing officers of inferior rank over 
 General Fauntleroy. This the proud officer would not 
 stand; and thus Mr. Davis forced from the service a 
 great warrior whom he did not like, and favored Gen- 
 eral Huger (a Northerner), Pemberton and Bragg. 
 Alas, for the South! 
 
 There were many fine estates around Ashby's Gap. 
 On the road leading from the Gap to Warrenton is 
 Chief Justice John Marshall's. Then there is Page- 
 brook, a fine colonial mansion, still standing, and if the 
 old walls could talk, what interesting tales they could 
 tell of the ancient time when unstinted hospitality kept 
 the doors wide open to all who entered within the gates. 
 Rokeby was another splendid estate near the Gap. It 
 was the home of Colonel Langborn, a Virginia gentle- 
 man of the old school, a sportsman, a literatus, and 
 very wealthy. Like Pagebrook, this house was a place 
 of princely hospitality. There were scores of fine plan- 
 tations in this portion of Fauquier, known as the blue- 
 grass section of Virginia. Wheat, corn and cattle were 
 the main products, but in the third year of the war 
 neither sheaf, shock nor hoof was seen, and solitude 
 
130 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 and stagnation reigned, and any traveler In those days 
 could rein up his horse, grasp his gun and exclaim like 
 Crusoe, "I am sole monarch of all I survey." 
 
 Not far from the Gap dwelt a middle-aged woman 
 who was as marked a character In Fauquier as Meg 
 Merrlles was In Bannockburn. This valley spinster 
 was named Nancy Benn. She lived alone on a small 
 farm; but this unprotected female could take care of 
 herself even in the troublous war time, for she was 
 noted for her utter fearlessness, violent temper, and a 
 tongue that was swung in the middle. She was (as the 
 marchioness called Sally Brass) "a regular oner." Her 
 farm was situated on the banks of the Shenandoah, not 
 far from the ferry. In the peaceful days a cable was 
 stretched across the river at this point and a large flat- 
 bottomed scow conveyed man and beast from shore to 
 shore. When Stonewall Jackson's men crossed over 
 the river to strike McClellan's flank near Richmond, 
 the rearguard filled this old craft, which was named 
 Jef Davis, with wood, set It on fire, and sent It spinning 
 down the the rlv^er. The scow, careening, half filled 
 with water, which quickly put out the blaze. Then it 
 settled on a sand bar and it lay for some time. When 
 the Federals resumed their former position on the 
 Shenandoah, the old boat tightened, cleaned and thor- 
 oughly repaired, was once again doing business at the 
 old stand. 
 
 Now it happened that the troops guarding the ferry 
 were a part of Bleuker's Dutch Division, and they had 
 
THE OLD POPLAR TREE AT ASHBY S GAP 131 
 
 the reputation of being the most persistent foragers 
 and unscrupulous pillagers in the Army of the Potomac. 
 It is said that even the chickens and geese would strike 
 for the woods when they heard the Dutch language 
 spoken. A squad of these Hessians descended upon 
 Miss Nancy's habitation and took all of her fowls, and 
 worse still, killed her pet pig. Miss Nancy put on her 
 war paint and started for the Federal camp, where she 
 created almost as much commotion as the beating of 
 the long roll. Finding she could get no redress for 
 her stolen property, she let her tongue loose on them — 
 and Miss Nancy could hold her own with any fish-wife 
 in Billingsgate. She uttered enough treason to have 
 packed the old capitol with the disloyal. The stolid 
 Dutch could not understand her; she then appealed to 
 the officers, but they could do nothing, and only 
 shrugged their shoulders as the torrent of invective 
 rolled from her lips. She was standing in the boat as 
 she delivered her harangue, and waving her arms fran- 
 tically ended by crying: "You have stole my chickens, 
 my pig and my corn, and I hope them Dutch who 
 robbed me may cross the river in old Jef Davis, and 
 that it will sink and drown every thieving, rapscallion 
 Yankee in it." 
 
 The very next day the catastrophe happened. Mr. 
 Curtis Chappelear, living near the ferry, wrote to the 
 Winchester Times: "A party of Dutch soldiers, in- 
 cluding one woman, went on board the Jef Davis and 
 started for the other side of the river. On reaching 
 
132 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 the current the boat capsized, and twenty-five were 
 drowned. Among those rescued was the woman, whose 
 hoopskirt acted as a Hfe preserver." 
 
 The curse of Nancy 
 Benn is one of the tradi- 
 tions of Mosby's Confed- 
 eracy. In the olden days 
 Nancy would have been 
 burned for a witch as being 
 in league with the devil. 
 
 1 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE YANKEE BALL AT THE WARREN GREEN. 
 
 Captain Mountjoy expected to go, but — 
 It was the Christmas of 1863 and the holiday was 
 observed by the grandest ball that was ever given in 
 Warrenton. Of course in the olden days the wealthy 
 planters had many a party that would have done honor 
 to the court of a king; and on such occasions up the five 
 roads leading into the town filed the cumberson family 
 carriages, each with its coat of arms painted on the 
 door, the coachman and footman in livery. The minuet 
 was danced by as wholesome, sweet maidens as could 
 be found in any principality in the "far off countree;" 
 and when the beaux and belles in brave attire swung 
 to and fro in the mazy dance, and the vigor and dash of 
 Sir Roger de Coverly put life and metal in their heels, 
 we may be sure it was a goodly sight. There were 
 numberless "blow-outs" in the old burg, for the people 
 were a mirth-loving race, and the gentry were ready to 
 celebrate any event by rout or ball, and the old Warren 
 Green was the scene of many a pleasure-seeking crowd. 
 But none of them ever equaled in cost, splendor, equip- 
 ments, decorations, or in gowns and jewels, the famous 
 
134 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 Yankee ball of the winter of 1863. The room was a 
 mass of color; the green holly with its red berries inter- 
 twined with costly hothouse roses, and the national 
 colors, festooned and furled, covered every inch of the 
 wall. Lamps with metal reflectors made an admirable 
 substitute for gas, and showed off effectively the wealth 
 of color in the room. 
 
 A select clique of ofllicers of the Army of the Poto- 
 mac had been making preparations for the coming fes- 
 tivities for weeks. In fact, the Warren Green was the 
 only ballroom in that whole region. 
 
 Among the thousands of shoulder straps and epau- 
 lets, only a hundred constituted the coterie that was the 
 pick and select of the whole army. It was mostly a line 
 and staff affair, and — good Lord! if a private soldier 
 with his blue blouse had strayed into the crowd of gold- 
 laced warriors he soon would have wished that he had 
 never been born. For the private to go would be the 
 proper thing, looking through our spectacles; for the 
 private was actuated by the same feeling of loyalty to 
 his country, and was risking his life in the same cause 
 as his officer. Yet the distinction of rank was so great 
 that for a private soldier in the ranks to have stepped 
 in and offered his arm to the belle of the ball would 
 have occasioned as much astonishment as if a coster- 
 monger should, having wormed his way into a court re- 
 ception, greeted the Lord High Chamberlain by slap- 
 ping him familiarly on the back. 
 
 Patriotism, fighting for the old flag, and whooping 
 
THE YANKEE BALL AT WARREN GREEN I35 
 
 Up "old glory" did not make the rank and file friendly 
 and chummy, and with the private soldiers, if the truth 
 must be told, sentiment had languished and died like 
 many other heroic emotions that had for the nonce 
 thrilled the public heart. 
 
 In the third year of the Civil War all volunteering 
 had ceased in the North, and substitutes were worth 
 the price of likely slaves, anywhere from $1500 to 
 $2000 spot cash each. The wild enthusiasm that 
 marked the rising of the mighty North, like the lion 
 aroused from his slumber, and that had the first year 
 filled the ranks with all kinds and conditions of men, 
 was now a thing of the past. The war had, to the 
 North, become a business of desperate resolve and 
 bloody purpose; and no man would remain a private in 
 the ranks if he had money, influence or brains; indeed, 
 it was tantamount to serving as a laborer to a boss con- 
 tractor. In the South it was, paradoxical as it may 
 seem, a greater honor to wear the gray jacket of a 
 private than the stars or bars of a staff officer, for the 
 wealthiest and brightest youths in the land were but 
 plain "Johnny Rebs." Hence at every dinner, rally, 
 banquet and dance the common gray jacket of the 
 private and the gold-laced coat of the officer rubbed 
 elbows in perfect equality. To see a gaunt, ragged Reb, 
 clad in his smoke-begrimed, sun-faded gray, his only 
 suit (God save the mark) — to see this tatterdemalion 
 sail in and walk away with the belle of the ballroom on 
 his arm, under the eyes of the well-fed, well-groomed 
 
136 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 general of division, resplendent in his new uniform, 
 was a spectacle to be seen nowhere on God's green 
 earth but in the Confederate States of America. 
 
 But there was no prospect of the blue blouses in- 
 truding on the ball that night. Whether the Grayjackets 
 might put in an appearance was an open question; cer 
 tainly, in the minds of many a booted and spurred par 
 tisan there had been dreams of attending the festivities 
 and of making the Duchess of Richmond ball at Brus 
 sels look, in comparison, like a Punch and Judy show 
 And if there were any of the fair Northerners who 
 pined for a sensation they would be satisfied to their 
 heart's content. 
 
 Wherever trouble is brewing, conspiracies being 
 made, or an unfathomable mystery, the Frenchman 
 shrugs his shoulders and propounds the query: "Qui 
 femmef" And the prospective attendance of the Gray- 
 jackets at the Yankee ball originated, of course, with 
 a woman. 
 
 Warrenton was at that time garrisoned by one regi- 
 ment of cavalry, the Eighth Illinois, a superb body of 
 men. Merritt's brigade was at Three Mile Station, 
 midway between the town and Warrenton Junction, 
 distant six miles; and Kilpatrick's division of cavalry 
 were in winter quarters at the latter place. 
 
 The town of Warrenton possessed no strategic im- 
 portance; but on account of the spacious stores and 
 warehouses it was a fine depot of supply, and the 
 topography of the country made it a good place for a 
 
THE YANKEE BALL AT WARREN GREEN I37 
 
 horse corral, several thousands of which were herded 
 near the town. 
 
 Now Mosby's command had been casting longing 
 eyes in the direction of Warrenton, and they knew if 
 they could sweep the town of the Federal troops they 
 would make the richest haul in history, except, perhaps, 
 Forrest's raid on Holly Spring, Miss., when he captured 
 Grant's supplies. 
 
 There lived in Warrenton at that time three maidens 
 named Lucas, and each was a belle by the royal dower 
 of Nature, who had gifted them with beauty; in the 
 words of the poet, "they were fair to look upon;" 
 but the youngest, Annie, a girl in her teens, was tran- 
 scendentally lovely. Helen, who filled the hearts of 
 the Grecian youths, and also the Trojan warriors, 
 could not have excelled her in form, in face or in car- 
 riage. Her beauty will always be a tradition in Vir- 
 ginia. Annie was bright in mind and possessed that 
 rare gift, tact, which, united to her charming presence, 
 made her irresistible. There were always horses 
 hitched to her palings, for she did not hesitate to enter- 
 tain the Federal officers, and whereas most of the War- 
 renton girls eyed them askance, the fair Annie gave 
 them her brightest smiles. But she did so with a pur- 
 pose. Her table was littered with flowers and fruit, 
 her kitchen stocked with dainty food, and she was 
 adored by soldiers of every rank, from a surgeon's 
 orderly to the general of a crack cavalry brigade. 
 Annie was sweet sixteen, and to see her was to forget 
 
138 THE WOxMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 all Other women. She was affianced to the handsomest, 
 brightest and bravest rough rider that ever swung him- 
 self into saddle. He was Captain Mountjoy, Mosby's 
 right hand man, and the hero of many a deadly game 
 of "dare and do." Mountjoy was the pride and boast 
 of the partisans, and while the Rangers feared and 
 trusted Mosby implicitly, they simply loved Mountjoy, 
 for he was a man of great bonhomie; and, like Mer- 
 cutio, had a sunny glance and warm greeting for all the 
 world (outside of the blue uniform). 
 
 Now the winsome Annie kept her lover advised of 
 all the military and social news of the little town, and 
 while the citizens of Warrenton found it impossible to 
 convey the smallest note to their friends in Mosby's 
 Confederacy, Annie sent her letters to her lady friends 
 in Oakspring, and they were carried by a courier of a 
 colonel of cavalry, who was smitten by the charms of 
 this Virginia Circe. The colonel was old enough to be 
 her father, and should have known better than to think 
 that because a maiden was so young, so gentle, and so 
 fair, she would not raise the devil if she got a chance. 
 As Washington Irving said: "Women, thou art the 
 author of so many follies in man that it will require all 
 the tears of the recording angel to wash them out." 
 
 The officers in charge of the ball had invited all the 
 society girls of Warrenton to attend, and when some 
 gave as reason for not attending, like Flora McFlimsy, 
 that "they had nothing to wear," the gallant gentle- 
 men offered to have the most fashionable modiste in 
 
THE YANKEE BALL AT WARREN GREEN 1 39 
 
 Washington summoned, with samples, to give a carte 
 blanche order for any gowns they might choose. That 
 some of the girls were sorely tempted would only be 
 stating it mildly. They had lived between the lines for 
 nearly two years, and the hermit-like existence did not 
 appeal to them; and then the splendid supper, with 
 oysters, game, salads, cream and wine, was an allure- 
 ment indeed to those healthy girls, who had for months 
 been living on salt pork and cow beans, washed down 
 with sassafras tea or parched corn coffee, sweetened 
 with sorghum. But the love of country rose superior 
 to the cravings for the world, the flesh and the devil, 
 and so without a single exception they declined. One 
 of them wrote to a friend in Richmond: "If it had 
 been in the days of peace and plenty we would have 
 been enchanted, but, with our boys in the dreary camps, 
 walking their beats, keeping lonely vigil on the picket 
 post, half-clad and faint with hunger, while we were 
 clasped in the arms of the enemy, revolving in a waltz, 
 or drinking their wine, was a situation that was un- 
 thinkable, and so we all declined with thanks," 
 
 Annie Lucas wrote all these details to her lover, and 
 Mountjoy, who was commanding the Rangers, for 
 Mosby was on wounded furlough, saw that the golden 
 opportunity had arrived. If he could close in on that 
 ball he would make a greater capture of officers than 
 was made in any great battle of the Civil War. So one 
 of the girls at Oakspring sent a note to Annie, saying 
 that "Montie would certainly be there;" and thus Annie 
 
140 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 knew that her lover would attend the ball with twice 
 one hundred dare-devils at his back, and that the 
 Rangers would participate in three things they loved 
 best in life — frolic, fun and a fight. 
 
 The coming ball at the Warren Green was the sub- 
 ject of much thought on the part of the commandant 
 of the Federal post at Warrenton. He, being an old 
 veteran, knew that the presence of so many officers of 
 high rank in town would offer a big temptation for the 
 Rebs to try to capture them. It would not do to call 
 for additional force to protect the revellers. Such a 
 step would be resented by both officers and privates 
 alike. After deep cogitation a bright thought struck 
 him ; he would wire the town. So on the very morning 
 of the day of the ball he had a large force closing all 
 the streets excepting those leading to their own camps. 
 Every thoroughfare save one on the outskirts of the 
 town was closed by two telegraph wires stretched from 
 curb to curb ; one was about knee-high, the other seven 
 feet from the ground; the first was designed to trip the 
 horse, the other to sweep the rider from his saddle. 
 
 When Annie Lucas saw the wires she was stricken 
 with horror and her heart was torn by conflicting emo- 
 tions. What had she done ! At that moment she felt 
 she had lured to destruction scores of the brightest, 
 bravest youths in the land. In imagination she beheld 
 the charging line, and heard the wild piercing yell; then 
 she saw horses and riders go down, the riders swept 
 from their saddles; then rattling volleys poured in on 
 
'ir—- :^M 1 
 
 
THE YANKEE BALL AT WARREN GREEN I4I 
 
 the prostrate jumble of men and beasts, and exultant 
 cheers changed to cries of terror and distress. Her 
 lover, always in the van leading his men in the charge, 
 would be first to be hurled panting and bleeding to the 
 frozen earth. And it was all her work! No wonder 
 she was appalled. Few women had ever been forced 
 to go through such an ordeal ; and not one in a thousand 
 would pass through it unnerved. Most women would 
 have become panic stricken and have sought for coun- 
 sel, and such wild consternation would have ensued that 
 suspicion of the true state of affairs would have reached 
 the authorities and caused them to be doubly on the 
 alert. All this the girl knew, and she felt that the 
 crisis must be met by her, and her alone. But how? 
 No one, not even Doctor Chilton, sent for on several 
 occasions, was allowed to leave town on his errand of 
 mercy. It was impossible; but Mahomet says "a 
 woman can dance where a man dare not crawl," and so 
 this young woman met the crisis. She went to the Fed- 
 eral colonel and handed him a blue veil, asking him, in 
 a nonchalant manner, to return the veil that very day 
 to a dear lady friend at the Blackwells, whose home 
 was near Paris in the county. No sooner had she 
 handed him the article than the colonel summoned his 
 orderly and directed him to leave the veil at Oakspring. 
 With a careless smile and a word of thanks the girl left 
 the room, her heart lighter, and her very soul singing 
 for joy. 
 
 The sun was slanting to the west when the sound of 
 
142 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 pounding hoof-beats on the flinty turnpike near the 
 Oakspring caught the listening ear of one of the Black- 
 wells, and soon the whole family were on the porch. 
 They saw a cavalryman enter the lane, swing around 
 by the barn and stop his horse at the hitching post. The 
 man slipped from the saddle, advanced towards the 
 ladies, made a military salute, and presented a package, 
 with the explanation that the lady had returned the 
 borrowed veil. He quickly mounted and galloped out 
 of sight before they had time to recover from their 
 astonishment. 
 
 The veil passed from hand to hand; it belonged 
 neither to the Blackwells nor to any of their guests; 
 none of them had loaned such an article. They ex- 
 amined it carefully. It was a plain blue veil, and noth- 
 ing more. They discussed the mysterious thing and 
 made many guesses, and in ordinary times they would 
 have come to the conclusion that it had been left at the 
 wrong house, or that a mistake had simply been made, 
 and then the matter would have been forgotten. But 
 living in a section where "war's horrid front" was un- 
 masked, the women's wits were sharpened, and when 
 anything unusual occurred it meant something, and that 
 something might be a matter of life and death. So that 
 trifles light as air were investigated, and the smallest 
 trifle was sometimes pregnant with meaning. So in this 
 case a common blue veil was the arbiter of the fate of 
 many brave, gallant youths, radiant with life and hope. 
 Only a blue veil to decide whether they would greet the 
 
THE YANKEE BALL AT WARREN GREEN 1 43 
 
 coming day with song and laughter, or lie cold and 
 pulseless 1 
 
 Several of the household examined the veil carefully, 
 then flung it aside; but there was one girl who said: 
 "Annie Lucas would never have sent that veil without 
 a motive. I know her too well, and it means something 
 very grave and important, as she could not write it." 
 So the girl got a needle and began to prick through the 
 fabric, and at one corner of the hem discovered re- 
 sistance. Then with scissors the stitches were cut; and 
 there concealed was a tiny piece of tissue paper, with 
 these brief words: "Town wired, tell Montie not to 
 come." 
 
 In the room occupied by the band, all hidden from 
 view, could be seen a miniature Vanity Fair, where 
 mortals were at their best, and where Laughter, that 
 rosy-lipped daughter of Joy, reigned undisputed queen. 
 Annie Lucas, chaperoned by that grand, noble woman, 
 Mrs. Tongue, sat in the darkest part of the gallery, 
 where, at last finding themselves all unnoticed, the two 
 breathed freer and soon began to take note of their 
 surroundings. 
 
 It was a gorgeous scene that night in the old tavern 
 of Warrenton, and there was more vim, warmth and 
 passion in that one ball than in a dozen affairs arranged 
 by the citizens in the humdrum days of peace. Every 
 man there was a warrior, seasoned and tried on many 
 a battlefield, and different from the little, dapper things 
 in swallow-tails that one sees nowadays at routs and 
 
144 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 receptions. The women, sisters and fiancees of the 
 soldiers who had come down to visit were the fairest of 
 the Northland; and treading the measure of the cotil- 
 lion or keeping step to the deux temp of the waltz, in a 
 strange tavern within the enemy's territory, who might 
 at any moment swoop down and capture them, gave a 
 piquancy and nervous delight such as they had never 
 experienced before. How many of those queenly 
 women would have paled with fear had they possessed 
 the secret of the maiden hidden in the gallery, who sat 
 there waiting in the best place to see and hear, were 
 Montie to come to the ball. The girl knew her lover's 
 indomitable spirit, and she feared that, even though he 
 received her note, he would not alter his plans, and 
 would attend, though he bore no invitation card. 
 
 The partisans were nocturnal and preferred to strike 
 their enemy after sunset. That great warrior, old 
 Suvarof, declared that all men were cowards in the 
 dark. Certainly, even trained troops attacked in pitchy 
 obscurity will go all to pieces. 
 
 There have been only two instances where veterans 
 undertook nocturnal warfare: one was when General 
 Gordon made a night attack on Grant's lines in the 
 Wilderness and caused a whole army corps to stampede. 
 Gordon captured General Sayler and his entire brigade, 
 amounting to five thousand men. 
 
 Another, and better illustration of the truth of the 
 old Russian's assertion, was given at Cedar Creek. 
 The splendid army of Sheridan, veterans of many bat- 
 
THE YANKEE BALL AT WARREN GREEN I45 
 
 ties, inured to every species of warfare, who did not 
 know what a rout meant, were camped, at the end of an 
 arduous campaign, on the Shenandoah River. The 
 Confederate forces under Early were on the opposite 
 side of the Massanuttan Mountain. The Federals had 
 their flanks well watched by the cavalry, and felt secure 
 against any surprise. General Gordon, wno was made 
 Lieutenant-General the year after, crossed the moun- 
 tain by a blind trail, forded the river, and just before 
 dawn of day he struck the sleeping army of Federals 
 precisely as Marco Bozaris did the Persian hordes, and 
 with the same result. Sheridan's stricken army broke 
 for the rear; only one division kept its formation, and 
 Gordon, in his book, says that he had trained sixty can- 
 nons on this remnnant, and had given orders to the 
 chief of artillery to let loose, when Early, who com- 
 manded the army, appeared upon the scene and ordered 
 Gordon to stop all offensive movements. Gordon says 
 he was stricken dumb. Early reiterated his order, and 
 concluded by saying: "Stop fighting, General Gordon, 
 we have won enough glory for one day." It was some- 
 thing new to those ragged Rebs to learn what they were 
 fighting for, and they could not be convinced that glory 
 would fill their empty bellies or shoe their bare feet. 
 
 The rest is history: how Sheridan arrived on the 
 scene and spent the rest of the day reorganizing his 
 scattered army, and then advanced and inflicted a 
 crushing defeat on his foe. And Gen. Jubal Early, who 
 had his fill of glory in the early morning, was seen rac- 
 
146 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 ing In the late evening for the woods, a flimsy halo of 
 glory around his head, and a flask of whiskey in his 
 pocket. 
 
 By long practice Mosby's partisans brought their 
 night attacks to a fine art. They had, by constant train- 
 ing, learned to keep cool and collected, and in the black- 
 est night to be in touch with one another; and when 
 charging the enemy and getting mixed up with them in 
 the darkness they were at their best; and there, amid 
 the plunging horses, the explosion of firearms, the 
 screams of the stricken, the hoarse shouts of command, 
 the frenzied outcries of the panic-stricken, the gasping 
 ejaculations of the bewildered, half-awakened soldiery, 
 the Rebel yell splitting the night air, high-pitched and 
 clear and distinct above the uproar, the partisans were 
 as much at home as the stormy petrel that revels in the 
 violence and turbulence of the tempest. They never 
 fired at random, and by the flash of the weapons they 
 could tell friend from foe ; and when they pulled trigger 
 the bullet went to Its mark. Besides, the partisans were 
 picked men from the whole Army of Northern Vir- 
 ginia, and If one showed timidity or backwardness he 
 was sent back to the regulars. 
 
 Throughout the long hours the girl and her com- 
 panion sat at the hotel, waiting and watching for the 
 coming of her lover, not with flying footsteps and mur- 
 mured words, but with the thundering hoof-strokes and 
 the vibrant yell. But as the hours passed and he came 
 not, she uttered a prayer of thanksgiving. The night 
 
f 
 
 MISS AxxiK i.rc.vt 
 
THE YANKEE BALL AT WARREN GREEN I47 
 
 waned, the lights burned dim, the air grew thick, and 
 the mirth changed into revelry, the wine had fired the 
 blood, the light embrace of the waltz changing to a 
 passionate caress, and the voluptuous strains of the 
 music had brought a flush to many a fair cheek and set 
 many a heart to beating wildly. The brilliant glance of 
 the eye had changed into voluptuous languor that 
 caused the snowy bosom to rise and fall like the ocean 
 tide kissed by the moonlight. Suddenly came the sound 
 of galloping horses; the girl arose, with eyes aflame. 
 She grew hot and cold by turns. Had Montie come at 
 last to the ball? The sound rose above the strains of 
 the German waltz, came closer, then died away. It was 
 but a relief of the guard of the outpost. The two 
 women stole out in the quiet street. Dawn was break- 
 ing, and the air was keen and cold, but neither felt the 
 chill, for their hearts were light, and they were warmed 
 by the fires of a great love and thanksgiving. The ball 
 was over, and the partisans had not come. The South- 
 ern girl's note had saved many a precious life. The joy 
 in Annie Lucas' heart was another evidence 
 
 "* * * That surest way to win the prize 
 Of tender glance from beauty's eyes 
 Is not at ball or festal board, 
 But at the front with flashing sword." 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ONE GAY AND FESTIVE NIGHT IN MOSBY's 
 CONFEDERACY. 
 
 During all the winters spent in Mosby's Confederacy 
 I never attended but one entertainment, and that was a 
 memorable one. 
 
 This occurred at Cool Spring, where Miss Sue 
 Gutheridge, as told before, lived her solitary life, 
 her only companions being a cat and a dog, which 
 from long companionship seemed to consider their 
 mistress as the only individual that existed. All the 
 rest of the world were shadows, but like the hump- 
 back Richard, shadows cast more terror on these souls 
 than anything that breathed. When a visitor entered 
 the front door the dog and cat retired by the back 
 door and remained away unseen, but not unheard. 
 Distant growls and yowls could be heard from the 
 dim recesses of the forest. Miss Sue was like Madame 
 Du Farge in the days of the Terror: cold, calm and 
 resolute. She was physically the bravest woman I ever 
 met in Mosby's Confederacy. I don't believe she 
 would have screamed if a mouse had run up her 
 skirts. Yet withal no gentler woman heart ever beat 
 beneath bodice or stay. She had an individuality so 
 148 
 
ONE GAY AND FESTIVE NIGHT 1 49 
 
 Strong that after people met her they never forgot 
 her. Withal she was womanly and refined. 
 
 When her uncle, who was about her age, wanted her 
 to move within the Confederate lines, she positively 
 refused to leave her ancestral roof-tree; and there 
 alone, except an old family servant, the cat and dog, 
 she remained during the war. She rendered great serv- 
 ice to the cause she loved so well; and she saved the old 
 family mansion from destruction. 
 
 Miss Sue would often run the blockade and go to 
 Baltimore; and thus she imperiled her life and her 
 liberty again and again. She would return with pre- 
 cious supplies for the sorely pressed people, such as 
 percussion caps, quinine and other medicines; and al- 
 ways brought back from each trip an assortment of 
 buckskin gauntlets and spurs as presents for her friends 
 in the Black Horse Cavalry. Her adventures when 
 running the blockade across the Potomac would fill a 
 book. 
 
 In the winter of '64 Bruce Stringfellow paid a visit 
 to the old home, and Miss Sue determined to give him 
 a warm welcome. 
 
 7'he Federal cavalry division under General Merritt 
 was camped about a couple of miles away; but that did 
 not disturb Miss Sue, nor deter her, after she had made 
 up her mind to give a party that should eclipse anything 
 ever seen in that part of the county, or the State either, 
 for that matter. 
 
 For a couple of weeks before Christmas she was 
 
150 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 busy with preparations, and actually got a pass from a 
 Federal general to go to Alexandria with her cart and 
 horse, and returned well-laden. On this, as on her 
 other trips north, she carried but little money, for the 
 Southern people on the north side of the Potomac joy- 
 ously furnished her with everything she asked for. 
 
 Miss Sue planned her party as a general would plan 
 a campaign. The most profound secrecy was neces- 
 sary. If her intentions became common property un- 
 invited guests, the gentlemen in blue, would come in 
 squadrons; and the Rebel scouts "tripping the light 
 fantastic toe" would soon be dancing to another 
 measure. 
 
 Miss Sue visited the farmhouses for several miles 
 around and chose the prettiest girls for her guests, and 
 insisted that "mum was the word." 
 
 In the days of peace and prosperity the idea of a 
 score of girls keeping their lips sealed about a glorious 
 entertainment would have been farcical, but in the De- 
 batable Land the women had learned by woeful experi- 
 ence that "silence is golden" and that an incautious 
 word might bring death to some soldier. So when 
 Christmas came the girls were ready, and not even the 
 negro servants in some of their homes had heard a 
 word of the impending event. 
 
 About fifteen miles from the Stringfellow plantation 
 was the Martin house, the rendezvous of the Black 
 Horse, and about twenty of the "cracks" of the company 
 assembled there on Christmas eve. Christmas morn- 
 
ONE GAY AND FESTIVE NIGHT 151 
 
 ing this squad, under command of Sergeant Martin, the 
 son of our host, started for Stringfellow's. We reached 
 there late in the day without any incident and received 
 a warm welcome. "Now," said Miss Sue, "after you 
 boys have had dinner and fed your horses, each of you 
 must go after some girl and bring her back behind you, 
 riding 'pillion,' for but few of them have horses or 
 escorts." Then she gave the name of one maiden to 
 each cavalryman, who at once started in a gallop on his 
 errand. 
 
 By dark all the scouts had returned with their pre- 
 cious burdens. 
 
 When I look back upon those Civil War times and 
 think of the purity and goodness of those Borderland 
 women, and the absolute trust and faith they had in the 
 man who wore the gray jacket, it seems to me that the 
 men and women lived in another age. Each cavalry- 
 man treated his charge as though she was his own sister, 
 and I think — nay, I know — that if any of those scouts 
 had uttered an indecent remark about these maidens he 
 would have been shot — no, riddled by his comrades. 
 
 If the women of Mosby's Confederacy held the 
 Rebel cavalrymen dear, we held the women dearer. 
 Their unceasing efforts on our behalf brought out the 
 noblest and the best in man's nature, and the tenderness 
 and regard we felt and expressed for those girls of the 
 Debatable Land would have done honor to the most 
 glowing days of chivalry. 
 
 It was the brilliant, beautiful and ill-fated Madame 
 
152 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 Roland who said that the noblemen of the Empire 
 never esteemed the women of France at their true 
 worth until the days of the "Terror." 
 
 What a dance that was 1 Lasting from Thursday 
 night and going on spasmodically at intervals for forty- 
 eight hours. The horses of the Black Horse were con- 
 cealed in a pine coppice about a hundred yards from 
 the house, and the girls — Dieu vous garde — would not 
 let the cavalrymen keep watch. One stood at the front 
 porch and the other in the rear, and Miss Sue took 
 charge of the reliefs. If the alarm should be given 
 every light was to be extinguished, and the scouts were 
 to steal silently and without confusion to their horses, 
 which were fastened to a tree by a halter with a slip 
 knot. These scouts, trained by years of border war- 
 fare, could reach each his own horse in the darkest 
 night as well as by day. There is a sixth sense that men 
 possess when inured to danger, and these men had the 
 coolness and nerve. To have captured the picked men 
 of the Black Horse would have been a feather in the 
 cap of any general. The Black Horsemen, to a man, 
 expected to have to make a run for it, and the girls, 
 too, but not one flinched, and if any felt that they were 
 dancing on the thin crust of a volcano, the strained ex- 
 pectancy did not check their rippling laughter nor show 
 itself in their bright eyes and rosy cheeks. 
 
 There were four fiddlers, all ancient darkiei who 
 could be trusted implicitly, and they played in couples, 
 turn and turn about, except at the winding up on Satur- 
 
ONE GAY AND FESTIVE NIGHT 1 53 
 
 day night by a Virginia reel, when the whole quartette, 
 with an extra allowance of applejack, played as they 
 never played before for men and women who danced 
 as they never danced before, for life was short. 
 
 Oh, the pity of it! Exactly one-third J those gal- 
 lant youths, before the year rolled around, were wan, 
 weak and crippled from wounds from shot, shell and 
 sabre, and seven of the twenty cavalrymen at the end of 
 Grant's campaign lay uncoffined in their shallow, nar- 
 row graves, with only a stick at the head of the mound 
 to mark their last resting place. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A MAN AND A MAID. 
 
 There was a girl visiting in Fauquier in those stir- 
 ring days who was a heroine in the truest acceptation 
 of the term. She was fine looking, and as she was 
 pointed out to me, cantering her horse through the 
 deserted streets of Paris, a little village lying under the 
 shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains, I thought her 
 the most striking figure my eyes ever rested upon. I 
 came to know her well afterwards, and she was as 
 gentle, refined and tender of heart as a woman could 
 be, though she looked like the Queen of the Amazons, 
 whose chosen sphere was the battlefield and not the 
 boudoir. She was called by the soldiers Lady Dl Ver- 
 non, after Scott's heroine, because of her splendid 
 horsemanship and her dexterity with firearms. 
 
 Miss Hallie Hume's home was just across the Rap- 
 pahannock River, but she spent at least half of her 
 time with her cousin, Annie Moore, who, with her 
 mother and aged grandfather and her little brother 
 Jack, a lad of some ten years, were all alone in their 
 home, her father, a captain in Pickett's Brigade, having 
 been killed at the battle of Manassas, and her eldest 
 brother was a trooper in Fitz Lee's cavalry. 
 154 
 
 I 
 
A MAN AND A MAID 1 55 
 
 In the winter of 1863 Mosby's partisans had been 
 so bold and aggressive in their operations that the Fed- 
 eral General Kilpatrick determined to either kill, cap- 
 ture or drive the command out of the country. For 
 this purpose he ordered General Merritt with his bri- 
 gade to start Christmas eve from Warrenton Junction, 
 and to sweep through Fauquier County like a whirl- 
 wind, searching as he went every mansion, 
 
 Merritt had orders to divide his brigade into de- 
 tachments, each to act in its allotted sphere, and the 
 villages, especially Upperville, Paris, Orleans and the 
 Plains, were to be thoroughly cleared out. The com- 
 mand was to rendezvous at Thoroughfare Gap. It 
 was a well-conceived plan. With such a large force, 
 amounting to at least four thousand troopers, it looked 
 as if success were certain, and Kilpatrick, like Fighting 
 Joe Hooker before Chancellorsville, lost his caution, 
 and the cavalry leader boasted to his staff that he was 
 sure of bagging Mosby and his partisans. 
 
 Now, it happened that Hallie Hume had slipped 
 into Warrenton through the pickets, and one of the 
 town girls told her that a staff officer of Kilpatrlck's 
 had repeated to her his chief's boast. In five minutes 
 Hallie was on her horse and headed for the open. 
 This time the pickets saw her and gave her a run; but 
 they might as well have chased a deer. Hallie reached 
 the Moore homestead, and a signal from the window 
 brought a partisan, to whom Hattie communicated the 
 sum and substance of her tale. 
 
156 THE WOilEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 The day after New Year a fagged out, tired and 
 wearied body of men reached Thoroughfare Gap. 
 Their trip had been emphatically a water haul. It is 
 said that Kilpatrick's language was simply sulphurous, 
 and he was noted as being one of the hardest swearers 
 in the Army of the Potomac. Yet, if he did but know 
 it, he alone had been the cause of the military con- 
 tretemps ! Had he but followed the old adage, "Speech 
 is silver, but silence is golden," Merritt might have 
 bagged a few rough riders here and there, and Kilpat- 
 rick might have kept his temper. 
 
 It was a matter of great surprise to the Federal 
 officers who sought to capture the partisans that they 
 managed to get warning; in fact, it was a profound 
 mystery to them how their best laid plans, faultless in 
 conception, and promptly carried out, should have 
 proved so barren of results. They could not conceive 
 that the girls they visited, soft, sweet and gentle, the 
 incarnation of languid grace, could, in a second, become 
 quick, bold and resolute, ready night and day to plunge 
 into dangers and undergo hardships that would daunt 
 a veteran, and it was almost unbelievable that these 
 soft-spoken, laughter-loving maidens were as quick to 
 gather army news and had the wit to transmit valuable 
 military items to their friends as the redoubtable 
 Madame Du Farge herself. 
 
 When a company of the Eighth Illinois Cavalry, a 
 few months later, surrounded Mrs. Moore's house at 
 the dawn of day, and the officer in charge had given 
 
A MAN AND A MAID 1 57 
 
 Strict orders that no one should leave the house under 
 penalty of being shot, would he not be in a bitter state 
 of mind to find that he himself had revoked his own 
 order, and thereby failed to make a coup that would 
 have brought him a handsome notice in "General 
 Orders," and certain promotion? Yet so it was, and 
 this is the way it happened: 
 
 Hattie Moore whispered to her mother that if the 
 Federals should reach the house to keep them there as 
 long as possible; that there was a squad of Rangers at 
 Mr. Knight's house not over a mile away, and she 
 wanted to warn them to escape. She also had a few 
 earnest words to say to Ike. 
 
 The captain and the lieutenant of the Federals were, 
 in the meantime, pacing back and forth in the passage. 
 The bulk of the company were guarding the outside, 
 and so close were the sentinels together that a cat could 
 not have slipped through the patrol unperceived. From 
 the floor above came the noise of moving furniture, 
 which showed the searching party at work. Miss Hal- 
 lie approached the two officers and said that if they 
 would come up to the dining-room she would give them 
 a hot cup of coffee. They assented eagerly, but said 
 they were in a great hurry and would like to have it as 
 soon as possible. She answered that she would go 
 down to the kitchen and hurry up the cook. In a few 
 minutes she came back, looking mad all over, and told 
 the officers that her little brother started for the spring 
 a few rods away to get water for the coffee, when he 
 
158 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 was Stopped by the sentry; and then the gentle-looking, 
 guileless Ike entered the room carrying a tin pail. The 
 captain summoned his orderly and told him to say to 
 the guard to let the child go to the spring; so out of the 
 room marched Ike, as brave as you please. His sister, 
 when he was well out of the room, whispered to the 
 lad to slip off unperceived, if he could, and run over 
 to the Knights' place, about a mile away, and warn the 
 soldiers to take to the woods. The boy nodded his 
 head, and as he passed to the spring he set his wits 
 working. He brought one pailful and gave it to his 
 sister, and whistling for his dog started again for the 
 spring. 
 
 Now, Ike was of that round-faced, blue-eyed type of 
 boy who looked like a cherub, but he had the cunning 
 of the street Arab. He would have given his little life 
 for his country. His father, who fell dead, sword in 
 hand, on the crest of Cemetery Heights at Gettysburg, 
 was to him a glorious martyr; and his brother was a 
 rough rider of the Black Horse, a regular Paladin, and 
 Ike felt a glow of pride, and not the shadow of a fear, 
 when it was up to him to do something for the Con- 
 federacy. 
 
 He had gotten near the spring, when he yelled to 
 the guard: "There's a rabbit! there's a rabbit I sic 
 'em, sic 'em, Mose !" And away went the boy and dog, 
 down through the coppice that lead to the woods. 
 Once out of the guard's sight Ike laid a bee-line for 
 the Knights'. Panting and breathless, he reached the 
 
A MAN AND A MAID 1 59 
 
 house, entered the kitchen, then made his way to the 
 passage, and as soon as he could get his breath his 
 childish treble rang out in the old familiar cry, "Runl 
 Run! the Yankees are coming!" 
 
 There were four of Mosby's men sitting with their 
 hostess at breakfast, but in a second their chairs were 
 vacant, and they had sped to the woods. Ike also dis- 
 appeared! he and Mose made their way home, reach- 
 ing there just as the detachment of cavalry was ready 
 to move. 
 
 "Sonny," said the sergeant, "did you catch that 
 rabbit?" 
 
 Without batting an eyelid, Ike replied: "No, sir, 
 he got away." But he was thinking of the soldiers who 
 were eating breakfast at Mrs. Knight's, when his yell 
 sent them skedaddling. 
 
 Ten minutes later, when the Yankees surrounded the 
 Knight mansion, they found a placid old lady sitting in 
 the dining-room knitting. The man-hunt that ensued 
 yielded nothing. 
 
 One of the bravest men I ever met in Mosby's Con- 
 federacy was Julien Robinson of Company D of the 
 Rangers, from King William County, Va., and the 
 most glorious woman was Miss Hallie Hume. I never 
 think of one without the other, for they were (as the 
 slang goes) regular "pals," and she saved Julien from 
 certain death, for he had sworn that he would never 
 again be taken prisoner. That there was an under- 
 standing between them, I always believed, but, alas! 
 
l6o THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 the failure of the Confederacy shattered many a dream 
 and knocked many a plan sky high. The last I saw of 
 Julien was just after the war, when he paid me a visit 
 at Alexandria, en route to the far West, to make or 
 mar his fortune. And the shades of Diana ! The dar- 
 ing, dashing Hallie, the child of the revolution, the 
 typical daughter of Virginia's stormy period, the girl 
 who laughed at danger, the maiden of quick wit and 
 ready action, the woman to adorn the salon, married a 
 Methodist preacher! Another instance of extremes 
 meeting! 
 
 Julien I knew intimately as one comrade could know 
 another, and was with him in prison and out, in sun- 
 shine and in storm. It was in the winter of 1864; I 
 had escaped from the Old Capital Prison, and while 
 trying to get across the Potomac near Harper's Ferry 
 in disguise was recaptured, carried to the ferry and 
 handcuffed, and while there Julien Robinson was 
 brought in, and we two remained in that hole until we 
 were sent to the penitentiary at Wheeling, West Vir- 
 ginia. We remained there only two days, and then 
 we were started for Bridgeport, across the Ohio River, 
 to take the cars for Columbus, where the military 
 prison, called Camp Chase, was located. We both well 
 knew that if those prison gates closed upon us we were 
 prisoners until the end of the war, and we both pre- 
 ferred death to a hopeless captivity. We had some 
 greenbacks hidden in our clothing. We purchased a 
 blue army overcoat apiece from the Union prisoners, 
 
.MISS IIAlylJK IIUMK 
 
 I'roiii nil old tin-typo. 
 
A MAN AND A MAID l6l 
 
 and in the dim morning light we escaped the guard, 
 made a rush through the city, and gained the refuge of 
 the mountains. We traded with a farmer our warm, 
 comfortable overcoats for old suits of homespun that 
 might, within the memory of man, have passed muster 
 without a remark. I was the best dressed of the lot, 
 for my coat was a sack, but Julien's had tails as long as 
 a peacock's. I used to sit down in the snow and weep 
 when I looked at him. Oh! he was a sight! And yet 
 there was no greater dandy in Company Darling, as 
 the Fauquier girls christened Company D. The clothes 
 were no infliction in the solitude of the forest, but when 
 we were obliged by hunger and fatigue to travel along 
 the railroad, and pass through hamlets and villages, 
 then the fun began. We made such a sight as to cause 
 the young children to stare, the boys to jeer, the girls to 
 giggle, the men to laugh, and not a few women to cry. 
 It was like the Old Mother Goose's couplet : 
 
 **Hark! hark! the dogs do bark. 
 The beggars have come to town." 
 
 It was the month of January, and the country was 
 covered with snow. Most of the time we slept out in 
 the open, with a fire to keep us from freezing, for the 
 Cheat River region is very sparsely settled. We 
 begged or bought food from the railroad section hands. 
 Yet in all those terrible hardships we suffered, half- 
 frozen, footsore and weary, ever haunted by the fear 
 
l62 
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 of recapture, the grit and nerve of that splendid lad 
 never weakened; he was of the type, in the words of 
 the old saying, "that with a frolic welcome took the 
 sunshine and the storm." 
 
 We were in the midst of a hostile population, and 
 played the role of two boys going to Martinsburg to 
 find work. 
 
 There is an oasis in every desert, and one glorious 
 rest, with "vittels and drink," and as Mickey Free has 
 it, "the run of the house," we would start on re- 
 freshed. 
 
 Julien had a weakness for 
 every pretty girl he met, and one 
 day as we were walking along 
 the railroad track we overtook 
 a comely mountain lass. I 
 passed on, but Julien stopped, 
 and soon that winning tongue of 
 his found favor with the maiden. 
 It could not have been his per- 
 sonal appearance, for he had not combed his hair for 
 a week, and one of the tails of his butternut coat had 
 caught fire and burned off in front; but what of that! 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 "He who has a tongue, I hold him no man, 
 If with that tongue he cannot win a woman." 
 
 I sat on a rail smoking my briar-root, waiting for the 
 interview to end, and after what appeared to me an 
 
A MAN AND A MAID 1 63 
 
 unconscionable length of time Julien came up. "Now 
 listen, and follow carefully," he said. "I told her we 
 were on the way to Cumberland to enlist, and she has 
 a brother belonging to the 15th Union Infantry, sta- 
 tioned there, and we are going to join his company. 
 She has invited us to stay all night at her house, so 
 come on." 
 
 We followed the damsel up the mountain side, and 
 came to a neat house of brown logs. She entered and 
 introduced us to her father and mother as recruits who 
 were going to join "Buddie's" company. The old 
 couple gave us a simple hearty welcome, and that night 
 we sat down to a meal that lingers in my memory yet. 
 Fried bacon, corn pone, hot cakes and maple syrup, and 
 some sure-enough coffee. Shades of Epicurus! How 
 we did eat ! Such a meal after prison fare and beggars' 
 scraps was not only pleasant, it was ecstatic ! 
 
 That night, sitting around a log fire, Julien told our 
 tale, and his fertile imagination was equal to the occa- 
 sion. We were brothers, he told them, and lived in 
 Morgan County, W. Va. Our father was dead many 
 years, and our mother married again, and our step- 
 father nearly worked us to death; he refused to let us 
 enlist to fight to save the Union, but at last our hearts 
 nearly bursting (Julien said "bustin' ") with love for 
 the old flag, we ran away. 
 
 I left all the talking to Julien, for I was not, as Mark 
 Twain expressed it, a cheerful liar. 
 
 Finally the old people got to talking, and it was all 
 
164 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 about their son in the army. The tales he had told 
 his parents of his soldier experiences made Julien hang 
 his head. This mountain hero in blue would have hung 
 Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree, left to himself. Killing 
 a half-dozen Rebs before breakfast was hardly any 
 more to him than taking a matutinal cocktail. And 
 this old couple believed every word! Julien asked 
 Martie, the girl, if she had ever seen any Rebels. She 
 said that a carload of prisoners had passed the station 
 on its way to Camp Chase, and she had got a good look 
 at them, and "they were all mean-looking critters." 
 
 Oh, it was a halcyon time! Julien making love to 
 the girl, I eating, sleeping and drinking hard cider. 
 We stayed there a week, and might have remained dur- 
 ing the war. The first principle of military strategy 
 is to forage on your enemy, and we had no compunc- 
 tions of conscience, at least I did not, but Julien must 
 have had, for they gave him a respectable suit of 
 clothes and pitched the long-tailed coat in the fire. 
 
 One morning the girl came from the postoflice in a 
 state of wild elation. She had received a letter from 
 "Buddie," who would visit home the next day on a 
 furlough. Martie's delight that we should meet her 
 brother was refreshing, and she and the old folks were 
 mutually happy. The old man harnessed up his spring 
 wagon, to go down to the grocery store at the station, 
 to get things for the dinner next day, which was to be a 
 regular lovefeast. 
 
A MAN AND A MAID 1 65 
 
 Julien and myself retired for consultation. I said: 
 "If that fire-eating, Reb-killing son-of-a-gun comes here, 
 I'm going to light out." Julien said: "I'm with you; 
 I hate to leave Martie, but my State needs me." Then 
 he commenced singing: 
 
 "Over the hills and far away — " 
 
 So, late that night, when the household was buried 
 in sleep, we slipped out and went to the station, caught 
 the midnight train, and stole a ride of over a dozen 
 miles before we were discovered and ordered off by 
 the brakeman. 
 
 Some pictures of surpassing interest, tense with feel- 
 ing, vivid in color, are photographed on one's brain. 
 Probably no American prisoner ever forgot the sensa- 
 tional picture when he thrust his hand in the bag to 
 draw the white or black bean in accordance with the 
 devilish order of Santa Anna. And I often recall 
 Julien Robinson's face when he rattled the dice with 
 death in the stockade at Sir John's Run. 
 
 We were recaptured at Berkley Springs, W. Va., a 
 few days after our midnight flitting, and placed in the 
 Yankee guardhouse, situated on the banks of the Poto- 
 mac River, which consisted of railroad ties placed up- 
 right in a circle, roofed with a tent cloth, making the 
 room, which was about ten feet in diameter, very com- 
 fortable. It had a big fireplace of logs chinked with 
 
1 66 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 clay, the broad chimney was some seven or eight feet 
 high, and was built right on the brinlc of the river. 
 
 In us that night hope was dead, for we knew that on 
 tomorrow we would be sent to Camp Chase under a 
 heavy guard. In vain we had played the role of simple 
 country yokels ; in vain we had sought every means in -< 
 our power to postpone the inevitable; it was of no use. i 
 Unless we would take the oath of allegiance we would 
 be immured in Camp Chase. Both Julien and myself 
 had solemnly sworn never to go to that prison alive. 
 
 Inside the stockade were two sleeping shelves about 
 the size of a Pullman berth. A sentinel stood within 
 the room, near the door, with loaded gun and fixed 
 bayonet watching us. We had drawn straws as to : 
 which of us should make the first essay; Julien had won. ^ 
 Whether the sentinel would bayonet him as he climbed, 
 or stand outside and shoot his head off as he emerged „ 
 from the chimney, or whether he would be burned 
 alive, Julien did not know. 
 
 It was near midnight; we had built a roaring fire, 
 but an armful of brushwood had nearly smothered it. 
 I pressed JuHen's hand. "Now!" I said, "now!" Our 
 eyes met in a long look, and his face was like marble; 
 his eyes glittered, his resolute jaw was closed tight; 
 there was no sign of fear or flinching; he was the per- 
 sonification of clean, clear grit. He convulsively 
 pressed my hand, and jumped into the smoldering 
 flame. 
 
A MAN AND A MAID 
 
 167 
 
 Julien was neither stabbed, 
 sliot, nor burned. The senti- 
 nel, a young fellow, lost his 
 nerv^e and ran from the guard- 
 house. In the meantime, 
 Robinson had climbed the 
 chimney, rolled off, and gone 
 his way up the railroad track 
 unmolested. 
 Now see the result of a brave bearing and a winning 
 tongue. If we had been captured, in our run-down con- 
 dition, we would have lifelessly submitted to our fate; 
 but a woman took him in — come to think of it, he also 
 took her in; and logically speaking, they both took each 
 other in, and I, like lago, could exclaim: "Whether 
 Roderigo kill Cassio, or Cassio him, or each do kill the 
 other, every way makes my gain." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE STRANGEST WEDDING IN VIRGINIA. 
 
 The only wedding I ever witnessed in the Debatable 
 Land was a remarkable one, and I doubt if the like of 
 it ever occurred on the North American Continent. It 
 is the favorite denouement of the novelist and the play- 
 wright to interrupt the nuptuals just as the bride is 
 about to utter the fateful words; but in real life it is 
 as rare as a thunderbolt from a clear sky. When a 
 plain farmhouse is changed into a temple of Hymen, 
 where the tyer of the nuptual knot was blind, where 
 the groom's attire was a faded gray jacket and dilapi- 
 dated breeches, and the bride's costume was a dress of 
 her mother's, where the groomsmen had spurs on their 
 heels, and revolvers in their belts, where the mother 
 gave the bride away, though there was no marriage 
 license, and the orchestra consisted of two fiddles, and 
 where the groom, within three hours, is torn from the 
 arms of his bride, and the two groomsmen die with 
 their boots on shortly after the minister has pronounced 
 the benediction — such a wedding is unique, to say the 
 least. It happened this way: 
 
 About six weeks after our dash within the enemy's 
 lines. Thorn received an invitation by the grapevine 
 i68 
 
THE STRANGEST WEDDING IN VIRGINIA 1 69 
 
 telegraph to attend the wedding of one of General 
 Bev. Robinson's scouts, who was to be married to Miss 
 Wright of Fairfax County. He was also requested to 
 procure two darkey fiddlers from Fauquier County. 
 
 Now, this "grapevine telegraph," as it was called in 
 Mosby's Confederacy, was more mysterious in its work- 
 ings than Marconi's system. In a section where there 
 was no telegraph, no postoffice, no special delivery, 
 and no social visiting, the news was disseminated by the 
 grapevine route; and it is astonishing how fast im- 
 portant messages were conveyed free of charge. 
 
 The next day Thorn and myself started for Mrs. 
 Wright's home, which was situated in Fairfax County, 
 near Accotink Creek, and almost in sight of a Federal 
 cavalry division. 
 
 We reached the small frame house about dusk, and 
 hiding our horses in the pines we approached the house 
 on foot. Thorn remarked at the time that it was a per- 
 fect trap, enclosed as it was by a picket fence. 
 
 We found all the company assembled: about a dozen 
 girls, the expectant groom, and four or five Confed- 
 erate soldiers. I have forgotten the name of the 
 groom, but he was a fine, manly fellow, about twenty- 
 one or twenty-two. The minister sat in the scantily- 
 furnished parlor, surrounded by the guests. No license 
 was needed in those days, as there was no court or 
 county officials. The Man of God was very old, and 
 totally blind. There were no preliminaries; the loving 
 couple simply stood up. 
 
170 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 In this instance the groom wore the only suit of 
 clothes he possessed, a tattered gray uniform. The 
 bride, a pretty little brunette, was robed In her mother's 
 wedding dress, and presented a striking contrast to her 
 future lord and master, like that of a dainty butterfly 
 wedding a drab-colored beetle. 
 
 The ceremony was by word of mouth, and soon over. 
 We shook hands with the groom and kissed the bride, 
 then went to the frugal supper. Afterwards the dining- 
 room was cleared and preparations made for the dance. 
 
 During all these proceedings I noticed that Thorn 
 was very uneasy. His eyes were constantly roving 
 around, and his ears cocked as it were, not so much to 
 listen to the words within, but to hear the sounds out- 
 side. While in conversation with the hostess he sig- 
 naled to me to follow him outside. 
 
 "We had better leave here at once," he said; "Mrs. 
 Wright told me that the negro girl who cooked for her 
 left yesterday, and she doesn't know where she has 
 gone." 
 
 I advised him to call out the other soldiers and tell 
 them. This he did, but to a man they laughed at his 
 fears, saying that the house was way back from the 
 road, and that they would put a picket out, so that in 
 the improbable event of the Yankees coming they would 
 have plenty of time to get away. I agreed with them, 
 for I longed to spend the evening with those pretty 
 girls "tripping the light fantastic toe," but Thorn was 
 obdurate. The other soldiers twitted Thorn with be- 
 
THE STRANGEST WEDDING IN VIRGINIA 171 
 
 ing an old married man, while they were young and in 
 for a lark, and intended to have it. 
 
 The two dusky fiddlers were over three-score, and 
 had played together for more than forty years; they 
 did not know one note from another, but in the words 
 of the rhymster, 
 
 "They never played a tune that was slow, 
 And perfectly hated an adagio, 
 But with nodding head, and time beating toe 
 And elbows squared, and the resinous bow 
 Not going up high, or coming down low, 
 But sawed right through in the middle; 
 They played by rule of the ancient school 
 On the old Virginia nigger fiddle." 
 
 They tuned their instruments and started the 
 "Devil's Dream." The soldiers hurried back and se- 
 lected their partners. We danced one soul-stirring 
 quadrille, and when it was ended Thorn started for the 
 woods, and I unwillingly followed him. We led our 
 horses into a dense pine thicket about a hundred yards 
 from the house, and unstrapping our blankets lay down 
 and soon dropped asleep. 
 
 It was a moonless night, and the sky was ablaze with 
 stars, but where we were lying in the covert it was 
 dark as Erebus. We were sleeping side by side, "spoon 
 fashion," as the soldiers used to say, when suddenly 
 Thorn sprang up, and instantly I did the same. 
 
17a THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 "What is it?" I asked. 
 
 "The devil's to pay over yonder, that's what's the 
 matter. Strap up and follow me, and lead your horse." 
 
 In a minute, trained as we were for sudden alarms, 
 our horses were bridled and bitted. Thorn led the 
 way and holding his horse's tail I followed. In a short 
 while we struck a small road. "Mount!" said Thorn, 
 "and keep close up." We had gone several miles be- 
 fore he halted, then finding cover we made our soldiers' 
 beds, and as we lay there Thorn told me he had been 
 awakened by the jar of the ground, and heard several 
 pistol shots. "The Yankees have made a rush, and I'll 
 bet they have scooped the whole crowd," said he. 
 
 The next morning we went to a nearby farmhouse, 
 where we fed our horses and got breakfast. The only 
 inmates of the house were an old man and woman, who 
 seemed to take no interest in anything except religion. 
 They asked Thorn and me if we were children of God; 
 and on being informed that we did not so consider our- 
 selves, the old fellow launched out in a fervid discourse, 
 intended to make us pause in our reckless careers. 
 
 We made our way to a high hill some distance off, 
 and from the summit we could see the country for miles 
 around. I gave one glance towards Wright's house, 
 then turned and grasped Thorn's hand with feeling 
 too deep for words. The house was surrounded by 
 Federal cavalry raiders; it seemed as if a whole regi- 
 ment was on the move. 
 
 We remained lying idle the whole day. When even- 
 
THE STRANGEST WEDDING IN VIRGINIA 1 73 
 
 ing came Thorn said: "We will mount now and find 
 out what was the upshot of last night." 
 
 "Why!" I answered, "the Yankee camps are buzzing 
 like a hive of bees; they will gobble us up, certain." 
 
 "No," said he, "they have scouted and searched the 
 country for miles, and cleaned out everything." 
 
 "All right," I responded, "lead on, you certainly are 
 the greatest combination of prudence and rashness I 
 ever met with." 
 
 Thorn grinned at the compliment. We went at a 
 fast gait, and when near the house we dismounted, tied 
 our horses and cautiously stole along to the house. 
 With cocked revolvers in hand, we reconnoitered the 
 buildings; all was dark except the gleam of a candle 
 upstairs. Going to a window. Thorn tapped on the 
 pane; immediately the casement upstairs was cautiously 
 opened, and Mrs. Wright asked who we were. We 
 gave our names, and she and her daughter came to the 
 door and let us in. 
 
 I have seen many crushed and broken women during 
 the war, but neither before nor since have I ever beheld 
 such a remorseful, sorrowing, grief-striken pair as that 
 mother and daughter. It was some time before we 
 could get anything coherent out of them. The mother 
 simply rocked herself to and fro, ejaculating, "My 
 God! My God!" and the daughter wailed, "I wish I 
 was dead! I wish I was dead! Oh, I wish I was 
 dead!" 
 
 Finally Mrs. Wright pulled herself together and 
 
174 IHE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 told of the bitter ending to a happy evening. It re- 
 minded me forcibly of the immortal lines of Childe 
 Harold: 
 
 "Since upon night so sweet, such awful morn 
 could rise." 
 
 About an hour after midnight, according to Mrs. 
 Wright, the fiddlers declared they were played out, 
 and that the dance must end; so as a "wind-up" the 
 Virginia reel was in full swing. The picket, thinking 
 all danger was over, left his post and came to join in 
 the dance. The hostess was sitting facing the parlor, 
 when suddenly the door was flung open and a Yankee 
 officer, followed by a crowd of his men, rushed into the 
 room. They all had revolvers in their hands. The 
 officer ordered the men to surrender. Most of the 
 scouts were too greatly surprised to move, and seeing 
 that resistance was useless threw up their hands. But 
 two of them, however, Richardson and Clarke, were 
 near the kitchen door, and in a second had darted 
 through it and made for the woods. There was a 
 fusilade of pistol shots outside, but none were fired in 
 the house. The groom tried to get out through the 
 window, but his newly wedded wife, who was dancing 
 with him, threw her arms around his neck and held him 
 tight. The Yankees then searched the house, but found 
 nobody concealed. 
 
 After a few minutes another officer came in and re- 
 ported that both Richardson and Clarke had been shot 
 
THE STRANGEST WEDDING IN VIRGINIA 175 
 
 while climbing the fence, for the Yankees, it seemed, 
 had surrounded the house. The two wounded Con- 
 federates were hurried to the Yankee camp, where a 
 surgeon attended them, but word came the next morn- 
 ing that they both died shortly after reaching camp, 
 for they had been shot in many places. Their bodies 
 were carried to Alexandria and buried in the grave- 
 yard there. All day the Yankees patrolled the country 
 and searched the houses around, but no other prisoners 
 were taken. "And to think," she wailed, rocking her- 
 self, and weeping, "but for this wedding those two poor 
 boys would be alive instead of lying cold in death." 
 And the girl, like Scott's heroine, "wedded wife and 
 widowed maid," with her wan cheeks and staring eyes, 
 kept repeating: "I wish I was dead! I shall see him 
 no more — no more! I wish I was dead!" 
 
 And the groom, torn away from the arms of his 
 virgin bride, with her tear-drops staining his face, her 
 agonized kiss wet on his lips; the sound of her wailing 
 sobs lingering in his ears — what must have been his 
 feelings, and with what dogged despair and enforced 
 resignation he must have watched the long days come 
 and go while a prisoner at Point Lookout. Verily a 
 honeymoon in that prison without his bride — half- 
 starved, guarded by negro soldiers — must have been an 
 experience that few men in this Republic have ever 
 undergone. One year and two months from the wed- 
 ding dance to the bridal chamber, would try any man's 
 patience. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 HOW THE WOMEN LOVED THE SOUTH. 
 
 Many instances came under my observation of the 
 intense love for the Southern cause entertained by the 
 women of the South, a love that seemed to rise above 
 that of all other ties. 
 
 About a week after the party I saw Miss Sue Guthe- 
 ridge at her home, and she told me that she had been 
 inside the enemy's lines to Fairfax Court House, and 
 that there was a fine chance for a couple of scouts to 
 capture horses and prisoners, that the Union cavalry 
 had gone into winter quarters and the troopers were 
 passing back and forth between Falls Church and Fair- 
 fax in small parties, and that the discipline was very 
 lax. 
 
 There is an old saying that "a wink is as good as a 
 nod to a blind man," and when I left Miss Sue I had 
 my mind made up to get within the Federal lines; and 
 I also decided that there was one man who could make 
 the trip with me, and that man was Billy Thorn of the 
 Black Horse Cavalry. 
 
 Before the war Billy had been the County Surveyor, 
 and was the most noted wild turkey hunter in all the 
 Piedmont region. In woodcraft he was unequaled, and 
 176 
 
HOW THE WOMEN LOVED THE SOUTH 1 77 
 
 his knowledge of the country was perfect. As for my- 
 self, if I strayed away from the main road, I was sure 
 to get hopelessly lost. 
 
 I had but small hope that Thorn would care for such 
 uncalled for and such fearful risk, for he was on fur- 
 lough, and worse than all, he was a married man with 
 a wife and two young children. 
 
 I started for Thorn's house, about ten miles distant, 
 and reached there late in the evening and received a 
 comrade's warm welcome. When I spoke of the raid. 
 Thorn dismissed it as being impracticable. I told him 
 what Miss Sue had said, and urged him to accompany 
 me. He said he had been in every battle in the past 
 year, and that just now he wanted a little peace and a 
 quiet time to spend with his wife and babies. We 
 talked the subject over before a large fire, and his girl- 
 ish wife, a lovely woman, asked me many questions. 
 I saw that Thorn had made up his mind not to go, and 
 his last words to me before retiring were, that if we go 
 and got within the enemy's lines we would in all prob- 
 ability never get out. 
 
 I went to bed feeling certain that the trip was aban- 
 doned. Of course, there were plenty of the Black 
 Horsemen who would volunteer to go, but none of 
 them had Thorn's consummate knowledge of wood- 
 craft, and in this case it was not reckless bravery, but 
 cool judgment and a thorough knowledge of the coun- 
 try that was required to insure success. To my great 
 surprise, Thorn told me at breakfast the next morning 
 
178 Tin: WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 tliat he was going with me, neck or nothing, and we 
 would start at once. 
 
 I did not witness the parting between Thorn and his 
 family, and we had walked some miles before he volun- 
 teered to clear up the mystery: "It was my wife who 
 made me go," he said, "and she told me, much as she 
 cared for me, she could not bear to have me hanging 
 around home when I might be able to do some harm 
 to the foe. Curious creatures, women !" 
 
 Before the day was over I saw another proof of 
 woman's unselfish love, only it was a case of misplaced 
 affection this time. 
 
 It was late in the forenoon, and we were traveling 
 on foot along an unused country road. Thorn leading, 
 with his Sharpe's carbine in his right hand, while I was 
 trotting behind with a Colt's in my belt and a double- 
 barrel shot gun on my shoulder, when Thorn suddenly 
 gave a jump like a startled horse, and sprinted down 
 the road with me close at his heels. In about a minute 
 we reached a little cabin standing on the side of the 
 road. I then witnessed a scene such as I never beheld 
 before nor since : On the ground lay a woman scream- 
 ing, while a hulking, middle-aged man stood over her, 
 kicking her and cursing vilely. We were within a dozen 
 feet of the pair, but they were unaware of our presence. 
 Never, even in the mad rush of battle, did I feel such a 
 wild longing to kill as I did at that moment. I threw 
 up my gun, which had twenty buckshot in each barrel, 
 
HOW THE WOMEN LOVED THE SOUTH 1 79 
 
 sighted the bead at the brute's head, and pulled trigger. 
 Ihorn saw the action and struck the gun upward with 
 his hand. The piece exploded with a stunning report, 
 and the buckshot tore through a tree. Then, what a 
 transformation! The red-faced, truculent scoundrel 
 was changed into a white-faced, abject wretch; the 
 woman, with the same tears running down her cheeks, 
 was pleading with us to spare him. He was her hus- 
 band, and was not a soldier. He may have been one of 
 the "Buttermilk Rangers." Thorn and myself gladly 
 gave ourselves a day's labor to dispatch this wife- 
 beater to our provost-marshal across the Rappahan- 
 nock, with the request to put him in some infantry regi- 
 ment. Both I and my comrade, when we bade him 
 good-bye, expressed the hope that he might stop some 
 good Union bullet with his head in his first engagement. 
 
 When we reached Fairfax County, close to the 
 enemy's line, we visited the homes of people who had 
 not seen an armed Confederate soldier for more than 
 a year. The sight of the ragged gray uniforms in- 
 variably brought tears to the women's eyes; and it was 
 pathetic to see them bring their little children to kiss us 
 because we were Southern soldiers. These people 
 risked their homes and their liberty in aiding us, but 
 they did it joyously and proudly. 
 
 We crossed the Union picket line, on the old Orange 
 and Alexandria Railroad, a little after midnight. There 
 were infantry guards patrolling the roadbed, but snake 
 
i8o 
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 fashion we wriggled across and made our way safely 
 to the Arundel House, a few miles distant. This fam- 
 ily and estate are worthy of a place in song and story. 
 
 Old man Arundel, his wife and three daughters, the 
 oldest then not yet twenty years old, were all born and 
 reared in Fairfax, and were devoted to the South, but 
 as they had hved within the enemy's lines for two years 
 and entertained Union officers and soldiers, common 
 report made them traitors to the soil. 
 
 On the way Thorn cautioned me to say nothing, and 
 never to speak of having stopped at the Arundel's; 
 "for," said he, "they are held by the enemy as 'truly 
 loyal' and they help us more than any company of sol- 
 diers. They have smuggled a great quantity of quinine 
 and gun caps, and are in direct communication with 
 Jeb Stuart, and report all the movements of the troops 
 to him." 
 
 We reached the house before dawn, 
 and it was dark and silent. Thorn went 
 to a certain window, and stooping gath- 
 ered a handful of earth and threw it 
 against the casement on the ground 
 floor. In a moment or two the window 
 was slightly raised and a woman's voice 
 was heard in whisper. Thorn replied, 
 and while I stood guard at the front he 
 was in consultation with them for fully 
 a half-hour. When he rejoined me he 
 
HOW THE WOMEN LOVED THE SOUTH l8l 
 
 had a haversack well-stuffed with provisions, and had 
 gained all the information he needed. 
 
 Thorn told me that the girls had offered to get up a 
 party and invite all the Federal officers so that we could 
 have our pick of their steeds; but the Arundels were 
 bound to be arrested, and would probably be sent to 
 the Old Capital; in any case their usefulness would be 
 destroyed. He thought our best chance was to flank 
 the pickets on their right. We determined to pass the 
 rest of the day close by. Fortunately for us there were 
 patches of pine coppice, and in one of these we lay hid 
 until night, then we saw by the glare of the Union 
 campfires that we would have to be very careful. 
 
 After two days of patient waiting on the highway 
 between Fairfax Court House and Falls Church we 
 captured three cavalrymen of the Eighth Illinois Cav- 
 alry. The alarm was given and a detachment chased 
 us like a pack of hounds on the trail of a fox, and for 
 ten miles the run continued and was ended only when 
 darkness closed in. 
 
 Thoroughly worn out, we stopped at a farmhouse, 
 where we received a warm welcome. We sat down to 
 a hot meal of camp beef, potatoes, roast pumpkins and 
 real coffee. What a supper we had after our ratding 
 ride ! The three prisoners belonged to Company L of 
 the crack cavalry regiment of the Army of the Poto- 
 mac. The youngest, who rode behind me, was about 
 my own age, still in his minority; the next older was 
 
I 82 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 about a year his senior, and McCaughery, the only real 
 soldier of the lot, was about twenty-five, and according 
 to his own account had had many ups and downs in the 
 world, "but this capture," he said, "was the dad dern- 
 dest luck of all. If you fellows had dropped out of the 
 sky I wouldn't have been more surprised." 
 
 "Yes," broke in another, "right in sight of our camp, 
 too." 
 
 "Wonder what our boys think!" added the third 
 prisoner. 
 
 After supper my comrade, the prisoners and myself 
 went into the parlor and had a long smoke together. 
 
 In all my army experiences, when Yank and Reb met, 
 the first thing they did was to fill their pipes, and un- 
 consciously they emulated the Indians; which goes to 
 show that "Poor Lo" was in some respects a philoso- 
 pher and a gentleman. 
 
 No one who saw those five men talking kindly and 
 amicably together would have guessed that a few hours 
 before they were mortal enemies. To see them now, 
 the forefingers of the two Rebel scouts poking the ribs 
 of the blue-bloused cavalrymen to illustrate the point of 
 some joke, one would have thought them old friends. 
 It was hard to realize that but for three hours before 
 the sportive fingers of the scouts had rested on the 
 fateful trigger ready to send the soul of the Bluecoat 
 to Eternity. 
 
 After an hour's smoking and talking, prisoners and 
 captors alike began to nod. The exciting, thrilling 
 
11- uiM.ii Which sat tl 
 
HOW THE WOMEN LOVED THE SOUTH 1 83 
 
 hours, the full meal and the sedative pipe were too 
 much, and I caught myself losing consciousness several 
 times. This would never do ! Thorn, who was of 
 more seasoned stuff, told me to go to the kitchen and 
 consult with the girls as to what should be done. I soon 
 perceived that the youngest had the brains of the fam- 
 ily, and when I explained to her that both my comrade 
 and myself were utterly broken down with our four 
 days and nights of nervous strain, and that we must 
 either let the prisoners go or be captured ourselves, the 
 eyes of the girls fairly snapped fire. 
 
 "It would be a shame and disgrace for you to do 
 either," said the younger. "Now you take the prison- 
 ers upstairs and put them in the room. You two lie in 
 the passage and I will keep guard beside you, while my 
 two sisters will keep watch outside." She led the way 
 upstairs. We placed the prisoners in a top room, which 
 contained one large bed. We bade them good-night, 
 and warned them that they had better go to sleep and 
 make no attempt to escape as it would be dangerous. 
 We then closed the door and lay down fully dressed, 
 with our revolvers beside us. 
 
 The scene remains in my memory to this day. The 
 narrow passage — the table at one end, with a lighted 
 candle; a chair near the door upon which sat the girl, 
 her cold, set face and her gleaming eyes. We felt that 
 watch and ward would be faithfully kept by her. We 
 were soon sound asleep. 
 
 It was nearly dawn when we were aroused by a light 
 
I 84 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 touch, and in a second we were awake and alert with 
 our revolvers in our hands. 
 
 It is curious to note how the senses can be trained. 
 The average man, in days of peace, when aroused from 
 deep slumber, takes some time to regain his normal 
 faculties. His dreams are mixed with the reality; his 
 wandering spirit must be recalled to its earthly taber- 
 nacle ; the cobwebs must be swept from his brain, and 
 the heavy eyes rubbed to clear the vision. But in the 
 case of a scout, who is often suddenly awakened, and 
 whose life depends on his promptitude, all is changed. 
 He may be sunk in sleep deep and profound, his sixth 
 sense comes to his aid; he meets every emergency. The 
 prone figure, with muscles relaxed and with measured 
 breathing, lying useless and inert, is by a touch changed 
 as quickly as the lightning's flash into a nervous steel- 
 muscled, open-eyed, clear-brained being, ready for in- 
 stant action. 
 
 The girl with finger to her lips pointed to the door. 
 We heard a movement within, and Thorn, with a re- 
 volver in one hand and the candle in the other, entered 
 the room with me at his heels. 
 
 The prisoners were in their bed and seemingly asleep. 
 We looked around and silently withdrew, closing the 
 door softly behind us, and returned to our blankets, 
 feeling well-assured that after the exhibition of wake- 
 fulness on our part they would not try again to escape. 
 
 It was broad day when we were again aroused, and 
 
HOW THE WOMEN LOVED THE SOUTH 1 85 
 
 we went in and ordered the Bluecoats to get ready, and 
 in a few minutes we were all at the breakfast table. 
 The prisoners and captors were fresh and rested, but 
 the girls looked wan and hollow-eyed, yet the bright 
 smiles on their faces showed that their hearts were 
 glad. The thought that their house had been used for 
 what our friends the enemy would call "a guerrilla den," 
 which, if found out, would result probably in its destruc- 
 tion, did not occur to them, or if it did, they were so 
 proud of having safely guarded three Yankee cavalry- 
 men that every other feeling was absorbed. 
 
 We learned that we were outside the enemy's lines, 
 and had nothing to fear except the chance of meeting 
 some scouting party. 
 
 We presented the girls with the arms captured from 
 the prisoners as a memento of the vigil. 
 
 After we had delivered the prisoners to the provost- 
 marshal at Orange Court House, I asked McCaughery, 
 the eldest, why he made no attempt to escape that night, 
 knowing that we were too tired and wornout to prevent 
 them? 
 
 He answered that he and his two companions had 
 all their plans made to make a rope of their bedclothes 
 with which to slide to the ground, but just as they set 
 about their work they heard us move, and had barely 
 time to throw themselves in bed and counterfeit sleep. 
 
 When I told him that the girls had kept guard, and 
 it was owing to them that they were still prisoners, he 
 
I 86 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 ripped out an oath, and said: "When the women of 
 the South turn soldiers, it is time for me and my friends 
 to quit." 
 
 I wrote down the names of these three heroines, and 
 it is a matter of keenest regret to me that I lost those 
 notes. 
 
 I 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MRS. TAYLOR SCOTT. 
 
 My first visit to Welby, the 
 home of Mrs. Taylor Scott, was 
 not made in cavalier fashion; in- 
 stead, I appeared there like a 
 fugitive from justice and as if a 
 price had been set on my head, 
 and I felt mean enough to have 
 sold myself for a Confederate 
 one-dollar note. It happened thus: 
 One bright morning in the win- 
 ter of '64 I set out from lower Fauquier for Salem, a 
 little village in the upper part of the county, where the 
 Black Horse troops, detached from the regular army, 
 had made their rendezvous for the winter. 
 
 I was mounted on a horse; at least it was called a 
 horse, and bore some resemblance to that animal, for it 
 walked on four legs and had a tail. At some remote 
 period it might have been a decent plough horse. It 
 was given me by a citizen who found it on the road, 
 where it had been left by a Federal raiding party, to 
 feed the buzzards probably. This old crowbait was 
 nearly blind, ringboned, had the staggers, and a cough 
 187 
 
1 88 THE WOMEN or the debatable land 
 
 that could be heard a mile away. I rode instead of 
 walking, because I wanted him to carry my saddle and 
 equipments. I was riilinj]; tlir()u<j;h the sylvan solitude 
 of the open woods, with malice toward none and charily 
 for all, except that son-of-a-jail-hird who stole my line 
 horse, and my soul at peace with the world, iiulul^ing 
 in those sweet images invoked by a briar-root londed 
 with (hat noble brand of tobacco called the "Soldier's 
 Comfort." Amblinjj; alonp; on my noble steed, my mind 
 steeped in day dreams, one leg thrown across the pum- 
 mel of the saildle, I came to a sharp turn of the road 
 and saw a column of I'ederal cavalry not over a hun- 
 dred yards away. Like Marmion, 1 turneil and 
 "dashed the rowels into my steed." Ihere was a dense 
 pine wooil a short distance away, and T thought if I 
 could but gain that 1 would be safe. // / could! Ah, 
 that was the rub! The old horse, awakened from his 
 dreams by the sting of the si)urs, started his bones down 
 the road. 
 
 The Bluecoats saw me, gave a "view halloa," and 
 put their horses to a run, certain of their quarry. I 
 beat a devil's tattoo on the gridiron sides of my I'lying 
 Childers, and he hobbled down the road as though he 
 were hauling an ox-cart. 
 
 'I'he Feilerals let loose their revolvers at every jump, 
 and the bullets whistled around me. I bent double and 
 tried to repeat the lord's pr;iyer; but I was so scarctl 
 that 1 could remetnber only the childish petition, "Now 
 I lay me down to sleep." 
 
MRS. TAYLOR SCOTT 1 89 
 
 None of the bullets touciicd iiic, lor notliiiig but my 
 Icj^s could be seen, and it is diditiilt to aim straight 
 when on the run. My pursuers, in all probability, were 
 lau^^hin^ at the spectacle I presented: my limbs were in 
 furious motion, and the spasmodic actions of "(he oUl 
 boss" was comical enough; my hat bad blown oil, and 
 one ol my spurs had ^one so dccj) that it stuck in tiie 
 animal's ribs, and remained there, sticking in jils side. 
 1 would never have reached the friendly pines but for a 
 ball which struck my horse somcwiicrc in the rear and 
 caused him to stop his up-and-tlown gait and lengthen 
 his stride; his hoofs, about the size of a prize i)umpkin 
 at a county fair, now struck the fro/en road with such 
 resounding whacks that they deadened the noise of the 
 pursuit. It was a close call, lor when I reacheil the 
 edge of the dense pine covert tlie foremost cavalryman 
 was not ten feet away. I did not draw rein, but slid off 
 the horse, ami was in the Incndly shelter in a second; 
 then 1 liid some tall running. No old hare chased by 
 tlogs ami shot at by sportsmen ever made a finer sprint. 
 After 1 had run myself out of breath 1 dropjicd dt)wn 
 beliiiul a log, incapable t)l lurther motion. 
 
 y\bout an hour be I ore sunset I resumed my journey. 
 'J\) what place? I knew not, for I had lost all sense of 
 locality; my meditations were rather gloomy, and ran 
 sometliing like this: "1 Icre am 1, a citi/cn of Virginia, 
 pursuing my harmless way througii the midst of a sylvan 
 solituile, when 1 am set ui)on by a lot of blood-thirsty 
 fellows, who take my horse — " Here my relleclions 
 
190 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 came to an end, and I burst out laughing as I thought 
 of what they were likely to do with that quadruped. 
 They could not dispose of him as there was no bone 
 factory around; and when I come to think of it, bones 
 of all kinds were a drug on the market in Mosby's Con- 
 federacy. What made me feel blue was not anxiety 
 for the horse, but what he carried. Items: one fine 
 McClellan saddle, a carbine, India rubber cape that 
 was rolled around some clothes. It was a small in- 
 ventory, but taking into consideration that it was all 
 the goods I possessed in the world, it was no small loss. 
 
 I kept on until I came to a blind road, which I fol- 
 lowed, and finally came to a spacious house. I knocked 
 at the door, and it was opened by a lovely matron in 
 the golden prime of youth; strikingly graceful. She 
 was one of the few people with a manner, such as 
 Madame De Stael describes, "Je ne sais qiioi" — a 
 woman whose individuality was so strong that it im- 
 pressed her being on the tablets of one's memory. She 
 stared at the bareheaded, tattered boy, whose face had 
 been scratched and his clothes rent and torn in the mad 
 rush through brake, swamp and brier. 
 
 When I had told my tale and convinced her of my 
 identity she gave me the warmest welcome. Her name 
 was Mrs. Scott, wife of Major Taylor Scott, who was 
 stationed at Charleston, S. C. I thought at the time 
 that my hostess was one of the gentlest women I had 
 ever met, and it was a revelation, when a short time 
 after, one of her family told me of an incident which, 
 
MRS. TAYLOR SCOTT I9I 
 
 for magnificent courage, has never been surpassed. 
 The maids of Saragossa are extolled in history; the 
 women of Carthage have been the theme of song and 
 story, but this retiring, gentle-voiced lady did more, 
 dared more and accomplished more than any one of 
 them. 
 
 Mrs, Scott's house was called Glen Welby, and its 
 latchstring always hung outside the door for any Con- 
 federate soldier. I copy entire the account of this in- 
 cident from Major John Scott's Life of Mosby: 
 
 "Since General Augur had taken up a position at 
 Rectortown, his cavalry had foraged almost exclusively 
 on the adjoining country. Every cornhouse and corn- 
 field in a large area were visted almost daily, and it was 
 only by secreting small quantities of grain in different 
 places that families were enabled to preserve food for 
 themselves and the little stock they had been able to 
 retain. Among the farms most frequently visited by 
 these foragers was Glen Welby, particularly obnoxious 
 because of the entertainment which Mosby's men was 
 known ever to receive beneath its hospitable roof, 
 
 "Early the next morning the watchful eye of Colonel 
 Mosby discovered a column of one hundred and fifty 
 of the enemy's cavalry approaching from the direction 
 of Rectortown, the residence of Major Carter. It soon 
 appeared that they were in search of hay, which they 
 tied up in large bundles and placed across their horses. 
 He had caught the Yankees flagrante delicto, and he 
 meant to make them pay for it. As the column passed 
 
192 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 out of the Glen Welby farm through a narrow lane 
 formed by high stone fences, Lieutenant Grogan, with 
 twenty men, charged and was soon in the midst of the 
 surprised and dismayed foragers, pouring into them a 
 destructive fire from their revolvers. At this time 
 Mosby struck the column at another point, and made 
 the rout complete. The flight was continued some dis- 
 tance before the Federals recovered from their dismay. 
 Then they rallied, but not until Grogan had drawn off 
 his party in safety. But this farce threatened to end in 
 a tragedy, for soon Colonel Gallop, at the head of his 
 regiment, made his appearance on the scene. Finding 
 one of his men killed, and a good many lying wounded 
 on the road and in the adjoining field, and learning that 
 it had been all produced by a mere squad of Mosby's 
 men, he was greatly enraged and determined that some 
 one should suffer. And whom do you suppose were 
 selected as the victims to be immolated by the wrathful 
 officer? Mosby's men? No. Men capable of bearing 
 arms against them? No. But a houseful of helpless 
 women and a large family of children. Upon them he 
 determined to take vengeance for this ordinary and 
 lawfully belligerent act. In accordance with this pur- 
 pose. Colonel Gallop, with his command, hastened to 
 Glen Welby, in full view of which the fight, if such It 
 can be called, had taken place. Very soon the house 
 was surrounded, sentinels thrown out on every side, 
 while a portion of the regiment dismounted, and, with 
 their commander, entered the house. I'hey were met 
 
MRS. TAYLOR SCOTT 1 93 
 
 at the door by Mrs. Carter and her daughter, Mrs. 
 Scott, whose husband, Major R. Taylor Scott, was like- 
 wise on duty with Lee's army. The officei's salutation 
 was: 
 
 " 'We have come for the purpose or burning this 
 house, and every building attached to tht ground.' 
 
 "Mrs. Carter inquired the cause. Colonel Gallop 
 replied: 
 
 " 'We have just been attacked by a party of Mosby's 
 cut-throats on this place, and I have no doubt you had 
 them concealed somewhere near by, and gave them 
 information.' 
 
 "The ladies assured him that they knew nothing of 
 Colonel Mosby's movements, and that the first knowl- 
 edge they had had of the presence of his men was the 
 firing of which he complained. 
 
 "But Colonel Gallop refused to credit a word they 
 uttered, and said: 
 
 " 'I know, madam, you are in the habit of harboring 
 those miserable cut-throats, and you shall suffer for it.' 
 
 "He immediately ordered a detail to be made to 
 execute his threat to fire the buildings. This was a most 
 trying moment. Mrs. Carter had been recently ex- 
 tremely ill, and was scarcely convalescent. Surrounded 
 by her daughters, a niece, one son — a mere boy, and a 
 tender nursling — she saw the incendiaries about to ap- 
 ply the torch to her home, which was a large and beau- 
 tiful building, comfortably and tastefully furnished, 
 and had been to herself and family for many years the 
 
194 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 abode of comfort and happiness. In a few moments 
 she was to witness its total destruction, and herself and 
 family were to be turned out without a shelter. Yet 
 even In this helpless and forlorn situation her fortitude 
 did not desert her. She bore herself with such dignity, 
 resignation and firmness that even the rude natures 
 around her were softened by compassion. The simple 
 request was made that time should be allowed to re- 
 move some clothing. Colonel Gallop replied: 'You 
 may have five minutes!' 
 
 "A small quantity of clothing was accordingly 
 brought out into the yard, but was seized and carried 
 off by the soldiers in the presence of the officers, under 
 the pretext of searching for something contraband. 
 Soon the family, Mrs, Scott and her little son excepted, 
 left the house condemned to the flames, the children in 
 extreme terror, hiding themselves in the fields and 
 orchard, while Mrs. Carter started in search of her 
 infant, who, then sick and but imperfectly clothed, was 
 exposed to the raw autumnal air. At this time oc- 
 curred a scene of the most tragic interest, which would 
 defy the pen even of the Wizard of the North to fully 
 depict. Mrs. Scott, as heroic as she was gentle and beau- 
 tiful, taking her little boy by the hand, seated herself m 
 one of the parlors, saying: 'Well, my son, if they will 
 burn this dear old home, we will perish in the flames.' 
 
 "This spectacle was too much for those American 
 soldiers. Soon one of them, supposed to be a corporal, 
 was seen to approach his commander and apparently to 
 
MRS. TAYLOR SCOTT 1 95 
 
 expostulate with him. Just then Colonel Gallop In- 
 quired for Mrs. Carter, who was summoned from the 
 field, and, in company with her daughter Sophie, known 
 as 'The Rosebud' among the Rangers, approached the 
 officer, who, in a very rough and unfeeling manner, be- 
 gan to address her; but Miss Sophie immediately inter- 
 posed, saying: 
 
 " 'If I had known you had called for my mother to 
 Insult her, she should not have come!' 
 
 "The colonel, thus rebuked, concluded by saying: 
 
 " 'I have determined, madam, to spare your house 
 this time; but if I ever catch or hear of one of these 
 cut-throats being here again, nothing shall save the 
 house or any building on the place.' 
 
 "To this Miss Sophie replied: 
 
 " 'We cannot make any promise of the kind; and if 
 we did It would be impossible for us to keep it, for, 
 when soldiers come, we cannot, if we would, order them 
 away.' " 
 
 Glen Welby still stands, and for some years after the 
 war visitors were shown the chair in the parlor where 
 Mrs. Taylor Scott sat and delivered her ultimatum: 
 "If they will burn this dear old home we will perish in 
 the flames." 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 POOR SISTER JANE. 
 
 When Julien reached Mosby's Confederacy after his 
 escape from the guardhouse, at Sir John's Run, he re- 
 ceived from his comrades and friends an ovation that 
 any man on earth would be proud of. They had given 
 up all hope of ever seeing him again during the war, 
 and they had pictured him as wearing out his life in 
 some stone prison; they believed that he had gone the 
 way of many a gallant partisan whose stirring adven- 
 tures had changed to a passive prisoner called by a 
 number, and whose very existence was but a memory. 
 
 The terrible hardships that Julien had undergone 
 would, to the average man, have made him ultra cau- 
 tious of entering any house in Mosby's Confederacy 
 where there was the slightest danger of being captured 
 like a coon in a hollow, or a possum in a log, but Julien 
 was a soldier who loved to take chances. The only 
 difference his prison experience had made was that he 
 had sworn he would never surrender as long as there 
 was a load in his Colt's. So he continued to visit houses 
 without taking any precautions whatsoever; and, of 
 course, the inevitable happened. 
 
 The aristocratic company of Mosby's Battalion was 
 196 
 
POOR SISTER JANE 1 97 
 
 Company D, and was made up of the beaux, fops and 
 macarones. Many of the fun-loving Rough Riders 
 used to whistle "Dandy Jim from Caroline" whenever 
 they saw a Company D cavalryman pass by. Most of 
 them were lads with beardless faces, and there was not 
 a razor in the whole outfit. They could have dressed 
 up in female attire and easily have passed as pupils of 
 Mrs. Black's Select Female Academy. They were the 
 pets of the ladies, and this troupe was aptly called 
 'Company Darling," and they were the best dressed 
 company of the battalion. Of course when a Yankee 
 sutler's wagon was captured they went in for the cloth, 
 while the rest of the command appropriated the solids 
 and liquids. There was not a "Company Darling" man 
 brave enough to wear a "biled" shirt, any more than he 
 would carry an umbrella, but they had slouch hats, uni- 
 forms of fine texture and shapely cavalry boots, all 
 spoils from the enemy. Their costumes were in marked 
 contrast to that of their comrades in the field, the typi- 
 cal Johnny Rebs, as there was between Cinderella in 
 her rags and her sisters in their satins. But these 
 beardless youths could fight, as many a picked body of 
 I'ederal troopers found to their cost, as they closed in a 
 wild melee, when it was take and give and no quarter 
 asked. 
 
 The troopers of the battalion were allowed to chose 
 their own billets. Mosby gave them a free hand in that 
 respect, and each man chose his home to suit his taste. 
 No maneuvers were practiced, no guard duty, no picket 
 
198 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 post; the men were expected to have sense enough to 
 get away from the house if the enemy approached, 
 and with a little caution and the constant watchfulness 
 of the women very few of Mosby's men were captured. 
 In the old Capital, in the early winter of 1863, when 
 there were over six hundred Rebs from Lee's Army, I 
 knew of only three who were Mosby's men. 
 
 Now it happened that Miss Hallie Hume was spend- 
 ing a few days at the home of Captain Ashby, who 
 lived on the main road to Snicker's Gap. The captain 
 was in the army, and only his wife, a grown daughter 
 and a group of young children lived in the house. Miss 
 Rose was an intimate friend of Hallie's, and they fre- 
 quendy exchanged visits when the times were propitious. 
 Of course, Julien Robinson hung around the Ashby 
 place, and he went there so often that he acted as if 
 sweet peace reigned over the land. 
 
 It was a couple of months after his escape from the 
 blazing chimney at St. John's Run that, one balmy 
 spring morning when the air was redolent of those 
 sweet, intangible odors that come with the opening buds 
 and bursting blossoms, Julien, who had just returned 
 from a scout in Fairfax County, rode up to the Ashbys' 
 mansion. Alighting from his tired horse, he tied him 
 to the hitchlng-post in front of the house, a first-rate 
 notice to any passer-by that there was a Rebel cavalry- 
 man inside. 
 
 The family were at breakfast, and Julien received a 
 warm greeting, of course; and he was soon showing 
 
POOR SISTER JANE 1 99 
 
 his hostess that there are times when a soldier can al- 
 most eat his own weight. 
 
 There was no suspicion of danger; the family said 
 that they had not laid eyes on a Yankee for weeks, and 
 they had not even heard that they had made any in- 
 cursions in the country. 
 
 It is the unexpected that happens, in war as well as in 
 civil life, and on that very day Colonel Gamble had 
 been sent to scout through Warren and Loudoun Coun- 
 ties. On his return to camp near Falls Church he con- 
 cluded to pass through Snicker's Gap and sweep through 
 Mosby's Confederacy and see what was going on. 
 When his advance picket reported that a cavalryman's 
 horse was hitched in front of a house, he ordered a cap- 
 tain to take his company and surround the house, 
 throwing a cordon around the rear the first thing, and 
 then complete the circle and bag the game. 
 
 The faint hoof-stroke, growing louder, struck the 
 ears of the inattentive household. They uttered ex- 
 clamations of dismay. Julien was at the window in a 
 bound; one look was enough! up the road, coming at a 
 gallop, was a squadron of Bluecoats. He ran to the 
 rear, with Hallie by his side, and as they opened the 
 kitchen door they saw the ring of Federals in the or- 
 chard, closing in on the house. Julien's face grew grim, 
 his eyes blazed, his mouth became a straight line; he 
 unloosed the revolvers in their holsters and said: "I 
 have taken a solemn oath never to be taken prisoner 
 again; I will take my stand in this room." 
 
200 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 "For heaven sake ! Julien, you will not only lose your 
 life, but cause the house to be burned down." Then 
 the light of inspiration gleamed in her eyes. "Follow 
 me," she cried, and going up the staircase like a flash 
 entered her bedroom. Running to a bureau she opened 
 a drawer and abstracted a nightgown and a nightcap. 
 "Undress," she said in a thrilling whisper. "Hide your 
 clothes in the bed, not under it. You are my sick sister 
 Jane. Open the door slightly when you are ready, and 
 I will come in and nurse you." 
 
 He opened his mouth to expostulate — 
 
 "Quick! quick! I hear them coming," she said, and 
 darted down stairs. 
 
 The troopers were even then dismounting at the 
 gate. She rushed for her hostess: 
 
 "For the love of heaven, Mrs. Ashby, detain them 
 as long as you can; Julien is in my bed and I will try 
 and pass him oft' as my sick sister Jane. Ask the search- 
 ing party not to alarm the sick lady upstairs." 
 
 Before Mrs. Ashby could recover from her aston- 
 ishment Hallie flew into the dining-room, seized a tray, 
 tumbled some glasses and spoons upon it, and sped up 
 stairs. She then dragged a small table to the bedside, 
 placed a wet handkerchief upon the lad's forehead, and 
 then, white to the lips, sat down and waited. 
 
 I may say here, I never knew a man who had a more 
 chivalrous regard for women than Julien Robinson, nor 
 one who had greater pride and self-respect, and withal 
 a keener sense of humor, and as he lay there in his 
 
POOR SISTER JANE 201 
 
 sweetheart's bed (the very last place on earth he would 
 have chosen to hide) his unspoken monologue ran some- 
 thing like this: 
 
 "Here lies Julien Robinson in the couch of the 
 woman he loves; am I happy? Not by a darn sight; 
 I am a craven wretch, with a woman's nightcap on my 
 head. Yet what could I do, run, and be shot in my 
 tracks? Surrender and break my soldier's oath, and 
 live a self-perjured traitor the rest of my days? Am I 
 dreaming? Yes! it must be a dreadful nightmare; it 
 can't be that I, Julien Robinson, a Cracker-jack of Com- 
 pany Darling of Mosby's Rough Riders, first one in ad- 
 vance, the last one in retreat, is lying here enacting a 
 girl, with a nightcap on her head and a bad taste in her 
 mouth. No! it is no dream; I have had many a night- 
 mare in my life, but never one like this. Each man In 
 his time plays many parts! then truly, I am the limit. 
 First a dandy cavalryman, next a hang-dog prisoner, 
 then a scarecrow fugitive, afterwards a highwayman, 
 stopping a poor sutler on the king's highway and rob- 
 bing him of all he possesses, and a few hours after I 
 am metamorphosed into a puling, silk woman with a 
 nightcap on my head. Why will women wear such 
 things, anyhow? The woman I marry — pshaw! I 
 wish I had a looking-glass to see myself as I really am; 
 I know the sight would last me till my dying day. Sup- 
 pose, after all, those confounded Yanks should dis- 
 cover the cheat and draw me out of bed, nightgown, 
 nightcap and all ! Oh ! what a sight, my countrymen 1 
 
302 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 Riding in front of my captors, arrayed as no prisoner 
 was ever arrayed since the world began; and, worse 
 than all, have those confounded artists draw me, and 
 show me up in the Northern papers under such flaring 
 headlines as: 'How the Rebel Warrior Hid;' or, 
 'Is This a Hiiti or a Her?;' or, 'This is the picture of 
 Sister Jane of Mosby's Rangers.' And, oh! what 
 would my good comrades say about poor, sick sister 
 Jane? Oh! they would crack their ribs with laughter. 
 Come to think of it, nearly all of Mosby's men, caught 
 in houses, were discovered hidden under a bed, and no 
 stigma or ridicule was attached, but to be caught in bed, 
 clad in feminine gear! why, if Jove himself had been 
 discovered in bed, with one of Juno's nightcaps on, he 
 would have been laughed out of Olympus." 
 
 When the Federal captain at the head of some 
 twenty Bluecoats strode into the passage, he found Mrs. 
 Ashby and Rose standing there looking the picture of 
 despair. The captain paused and saluted, and told her 
 that it was his painful but imperative duty to seize the 
 Rebel cavalryman, and if he would surrender quietly 
 the house would not be disturbed; otherwise, he would 
 have to go through the rooms, and that he would not 
 be responsible for what might happen. 
 
 Rose declared that the scout had made his escape, 
 but the cavalryman only laughed at her. Then Mrs. 
 Ashby argued and pleaded with him not to search the 
 house; that she had a daughter Jane just recovering 
 from attack of typhoid fever. This was news to Rose, 
 
POOR SISTER JANE 203 
 
 but she caught the cue and sobbed over poor sister Jane, 
 and said that any excitement might cause a relapse. 
 
 The officer reaffirmed that he must do his duty, and 
 calling an orderly-sergeant directed him to examine 
 the house from cellar to garret. The sergeant saluted 
 and went up the stairs with his men, their sabres clank- 
 ing against their spurs, and banging against the 
 banisters. 
 
 Upstairs poor, sick sister Jane heard them coming, 
 with the same feelings that the condemned felon has 
 when listening to the sound of the executioner mounting 
 the stone steps of the prison stairway. The door 
 opened and an orderly, followed by a file of men, en- 
 tered. They came to a sudden halt at the sight that 
 met their gaze: A form under the bedclothes, with 
 nothing visible but a head lying on a pillow, the hair 
 covered with a close-fitting nightcap, the face of a 
 ghastly hue, as though Death had already imprinted 
 his seal upon it. Sitting by the bedside, with a glass of 
 medicine in her hand, was a fair, buxom girl whose 
 attitude was that of deepest grief. 
 
 The sergeant advanced and swept the floor with his 
 cap, and said it was the saddest task he ever undertook, 
 but he must search the room! The girl replied that 
 her poor sister Jane was still dangerously ill and that a 
 sudden shock might kill her; and requested that they 
 perform their duty as quickly as possible. The cavalry- 
 man said with unwonted gentleness that he had lost a 
 sister by death only a year before, and that he would 
 
204 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 search the room himself. He signaled his men to re- 
 tire, and quickly and quietly proceeded to obey his 
 orders : he peeped up the chimney, looked in the closest, 
 moved the lounge, examined the windows, and lastly, 
 approached the bed. 
 
 It was a crucial moment ! The tension upon them 
 both was terrible. Would the soldier insist upon touch- 
 ing and examining the patient? The man's movements 
 were slow and deliberate; he bent down and carefully 
 examined the space beneath the bed; then he arose, and 
 both patient and nurse stiffened into stone. His eyes 
 rested upon the face on the pillow. It seemed so wan 
 and pale; the eyes were half-closed, and the breathing 
 was hardly perceptible through the parted lips. A 
 stillness, solemn and profound, ensued, broken only 
 now and then by the sound of the muffled footsteps 
 overhead, and the faint clink, clank of the sabre o/ 
 some moving soldier. Human endurance has its limits, 
 and it was strained to the breaking point as this bare- 
 headed trooper bent over the prostrate form. Whether 
 he had any suspicions, what feelings of emotion, or 
 what thoughts passed through his mind, the) never 
 knew. At last he turned, and without a word left the 
 room. Julien said afterwards that he felt an insane 
 desire to burst into a fit of laughter. Hallie acknowl- 
 edged that it was only by a powerful effort of will that 
 she refrained from shrieking. 
 
 Both actors in this drama gave a gasp of relief; but 
 neither spoke a word until sure the danger was gone I 
 
POOR SISTER JANE 205 
 
 After a short interval they heard the word of com- 
 mand from the officer in charge and tht sounds of de- 
 parture of the cavalry detachment. The woman went 
 to the window and in a moment returned to the bedside. 
 "Thank God! they have gone," she breathed rather 
 than spoke. 
 
 The invalid lifted his head from the pillow, a bright 
 sparkle in his eye, and said: 
 
 "Hallie, poor sister Jane feels like she would like to 
 have a drink." 
 
 A few minutes later a dashing cavalryman entered 
 the parlor, armed cap a pie; it was the whilom sister 
 Jane. A consultation ensued between him and the 
 household, and for many reasons the affair should be 
 kept quiet; so they all pledged themselves to inviolate 
 secrecy. Later Julien confided it to me under the same 
 pledge. And now, after a half-century, when the chief 
 participants have "passed across the river," I tell it as 
 it was unfolded to me. Miss Rose told me afterwards 
 that when the Yankees had left she found her mother 
 in the dining-room on her knees, but whether it was a 
 prayer of thanksgiving she offered up to heaven, or 
 whether she was asking forgiveness for that pyro- 
 technical falsehood about sister Jane, Miss Rose said 
 she couldn't tell to save her life. 
 
CHAPTER XXL 
 
 CAPTAIN SUMNER OF THE FIRST NEW YORK CAVALRY 
 SALUTES THE STARS AND BARS. 
 
 The railroad running from Gordonsville, Va., to 
 Washington, D. C, cuts Fauquier County into two 
 parts. The east half is rolling and undulating, a suc- 
 cession of hills and valleys as fertile as the famous blue 
 grass of Kentucky. The country lying on the west of 
 the railway is low and flat, with a sandy soil; only here 
 and there is an elevation that rises above the level 
 surface. 
 
 When the Federal Army camped in Piedmont, Va., 
 they had only two routes to draw their supplies and 
 munitions of war — one was over the old Orange and 
 Alexandria Railroad, the other by water to Acquia 
 Creek. Warrenton Junction was the right flank and 
 the left was Falmouth, opposite Fredericksburg, the 
 Rappahannock River separating the two armies. Both 
 of these flanks were heavily guarded and connected by 
 a broad country road some twenty miles long. The 
 river was strongly picketed, and the infantry camps 
 stretched at intervals along the thoroughfare. 
 
 Mosby's partisans, as a rule, left this part of Fau- 
 quier severely alone. The long road offered them 
 206 
 
SUMNER SALUTES THE STARS AND BARS 207 
 
 many chances for a dash on the convoys, but the risk 
 was too great, as three sides were occupied by the enemy, 
 with telegraph hnes along the route, and they had only 
 one part of the square open for retreat, and that could 
 be closed if an alarm was given, making the place a 
 veritable cid de sac. But the road was unsafe for small 
 parties, as the Federals soon found out. Small squads 
 of the Black Horse and dismounted cavalrymen on the 
 lookout for horses kept a close watch on this turnpike; 
 and any group of cavalrymen or sutler's wagon that 
 attempted to traverse this road would rarely ever reach 
 its destination. 
 
 As a general thing this section was inhabited by the 
 yeomanry who worked small farms — a large freehold 
 was the exception, not the rule. Not far from the little 
 village of Morrisville and within gunshot of the turn- 
 pike was the estate of one of the Paynes, one of the few 
 large farms. The house, a large roomy mansion, was 
 on the crest of one of the few hills in that section. 
 When the battle of Fredericksburg took place on the 
 memorable 13th day of December, 1862, and the thun- 
 der of two hundred cannon filled the air, it was too 
 much for Mr. Payne. He tooiv counsel of his fears and 
 gathering up the "lares and penates" he bundled his 
 family and one or two household servants into the 
 carriage; and, filling the wagons and carts with furni- 
 ture and provisions, he abandoned his home and 
 started southward, hoping to find some spot where gen- 
 tle peace brooded over the land. The house soon be- 
 
208 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 came a wreck and was literally the abode of bats and 
 owls. 
 
 Even when the Federals sent a single courier from 
 one camp to another, though the distance was not over 
 a mile, a company of cavalry guarded him with as much 
 care as if he had been the general of the brigade him- 
 self. The infantryman on his two legs strolled along 
 this long road at his leisure, it was none of his funeral. 
 The Rebel scout was not after him; his poverty, like 
 many others in different walks of life, was his safe- 
 guard. 
 
 Dick Martin of the Black Horse had an encounter 
 with some of the Blue Blouses that will point a moral 
 even if it does not adorn a tale. Dick at that time was 
 a harum scarum fellow of about twenty, a born scout 
 who was always seeking adventures, and loving hazard 
 for danger's sake. 
 
 One day he was prowling in the woods on foot near 
 an infantry camp when he saw a half-dozen soldiers 
 leave their quarters and make their way down a branch. 
 This excited his curiosity, and he followed them for 
 about a mile, then they halted and Dick wondered what 
 they were up to. He was not kept long in suspense. 
 They gathered together unacr a large tree, took off 
 their coats, spread an oilcloth on the ground, disgorged 
 several bottles, next a deck of cards and a box of bone 
 chips. Then after taking "a smile" all round, they sat 
 themselves down tailor fashion and began to deal the 
 cards. Then Dick knew that they were indulging in 
 
SUMNER SALUTES THE STARS AND BARS 209 
 
 that fascinating pursuit known as draw poker. Dick's 
 curiosity changed into a deep interest, for he was an 
 expert in that game, as many of the Black Horsemen 
 found out to their sorrow, so he edged himself to a 
 clump of briars within a few feet of the players. They 
 were so intensely absorbed in the game that they did 
 not look up, save when the bottle was passed around, 
 then Dick's mouth would water, and it required all his 
 self-control to refrain from rushing forward and taking 
 a swig himself. 
 
 So the forenoon wore away and the man in the 
 bushes noticed that the chips all gravitated one way, 
 and hands went into pockets and greenbacks were 
 handed over to buy more chips from the pile, but they 
 would gravitate as at first, and as the passion of greed 
 and gaming, fed by the liquor, rose in each breast the 
 stakes grew larger and the betting fiercer. Nothing 
 was heard but the mysterious words : "Jack pot, Kitty ! 
 Raise you! Pass! One card; two cards; three cards. 
 Flush; full house;" and constantly the chips were 
 scooped up by one man, who retailed for cash, until the 
 winner had a big wad of the green on the grass, upon 
 which he placed a bottle to keep the notes from blowing 
 away. 
 
 Finally Dick got tired, and jumping to his feet he 
 cried: "Surrender! Hands up!" 
 
 Now, if Satan himself, with horns, hoof and tail, 
 smelling with sulphur, with eyes of flame, had jumped 
 in the ring, he could not have created more dismay. 
 
2IO THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 The players' hands went up spasmodically, and they 
 seemed turned into stone and sat there, stolid, motion- 
 less, and stared and stared with mouths agape. 
 
 Dick's words eased the situation. "Gentlemen," he 
 said, making a courtly bow, for your real highwayman 
 Is always polite, "I don't mean any harm, but I'm play- 
 ing a lone hand and want that pile." It was silently 
 handed him by the winner, and at this the losers perked 
 up, the color came to their cheeks, the light to their 
 eyes, the open mouths closed In a grin, and then opened 
 again in convulsiv^e laughter, all except the winner. He 
 couldn't see the point in the joke. One of the players 
 handed Dick the bottle and he took "a smile," a very 
 long one indeed, and then disappeared In the bushes. 
 He did not search the other men. I never knew a Black 
 Horseman to rob a prisoner, but I am bound to confess 
 that I did not know the Black Horseman who would 
 have let that Yankee gambler walk off with his ill-got- 
 ten gains. 
 
 After the war Dick emigrated to Missouri, became 
 a schoolmaster, got converted, dropped his evil ways 
 and married, and became an estimable citizen and pillar 
 of the church. This was a combination of righteous- 
 ness that would lead one to expect that the conscience 
 fund of the War Department would be enriched to the 
 amount that he cabbaged from that Yankee sport, but 
 Dick was not that kind of hairpin Christian. 
 
 The Payne place was a favorite rendezvous In those 
 summer days of 1863 for the children living near, and 
 
SUMNER SALUTES THE STARS AND BARS 211 
 
 a wrecked house, especially if it has any windows to 
 smash, possesses an irresistible attraction to the average 
 boy. 
 
 There was one lad living in that locality, aged almost 
 ten summers, who had a big bump of ambition in his 
 head, an inspiring idea in his brain and a love for Old 
 Virginia in his heart, so he formed a military company, 
 anything on two legs, no matter how small, was eligible. 
 Captain Stringfellow had gotten his mother to make 
 him a Confederate uniform, his company of a dozen or 
 so, running from five years to nine, and varying in 
 height from thirty inches to four feet, were dressed as 
 they saw fit; some had an old gray jacket that came to 
 their knees, some had caps, others slouch hats and some 
 heads were covered with nothing but nature's tow- 
 colored hair; all were barefooted. The whole were 
 armed with sabres. As they had not place to put the 
 belt they carried the martial weapons on their shoulders. 
 They had no bugle, for there was not breath enough 
 even in the biggest of the lot to fill anything larger than 
 a penny whistle; but they had a real drum, and the fel- 
 low that wielded the sticks was the proudest warrior of 
 the lot except one, and he was the standard-bearer. 
 The flag was a small one, made by one of the boys out 
 of a piece of cotton, with the Southern Cross painted 
 on one side only, its staff was a broomstick, and the 
 colors were carried by the tallest boy of the lot. 
 
 As the command was neither infantry, artillery nor 
 cavalry, they had no drill. Captain Stringfellow, with 
 
212 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 the instinct of a born leader, had only instructed his 
 command to charge and follow. Such words as retro- 
 grade and retreat had no place in his vocabulary. With 
 the drummer well in the advance, beating his instrument 
 for all it was worth, Captain Stringfellow next to him, 
 waving his sword in the air and crying: "Chargem! 
 Chargem!" they presented a very martial sight indeed, 
 and made as big a racket and noise as if it were the 
 "real thing." 
 
 Now, it happened that Captain Sumner of the First 
 New York Cavalry was convoying with a squadron an 
 ordnance wagon to Falmouth, when he heard the roll- 
 ing of a drum. He halted his command and listened. 
 Yes, there was no mistake, and sounding clear above 
 the drum beat was the Rebel yell. "Heaven and earth ! 
 it must be that the Rebels have crossed the river," 
 thought the captain, "and listen to that, the roll of the 
 drum shows that they are Lee's infantry. It may be 
 that the whole Rebel army has crossed the Rappahan- 
 nock, captured all the pickets, and is in full tilt for 
 Washington." Now, what must he do ? Had it been 
 this time last year he would have struck for Warrenton 
 Junction, roused the whole cavalry division and there 
 would have been hot haste in mounting the panoplied 
 steeds of war, and Pleasanton with his whole cavalry 
 division would have rushed to the scene, but Captain 
 Sumner was a veteran soldier, who did not give awa) 
 to a panic. He remembered, doubtless, of the circum- 
 stance that happned when a little drummer of Long- 
 
SUMNER SALUTES THE STARS AND BARS 213 
 
 Street's brigade went in the woods to practice near 
 Munson's Hill, close to Alexandria (the first few 
 months after the war began), and the sound of the 
 pas de charge put the whole picket line to flight and 
 caused McDowell's whole camp to form in line of 
 battle. 
 
 Captain Sumner, after studying the situation, de- 
 cided to advance cautiously. Forming his command in 
 fours, he came within a few hundred yards of the 
 Payne house; and, leaving his command, rode forward 
 alone to reconnoiter. He beheld through the bushes 
 moving figures on the lawn, and caught the gleam and 
 flash of the weapons. 
 
 A company of Rebel infantry, he reasoned, that got 
 detached from the main body, and here and now was 
 the golden chance to strike a sudden blow and take the 
 enemy by surprise. His mind was made up; all his 
 soldierly instincts were aroused. He rode back to his 
 command and gave orders to draw sabres and follow 
 him. He started his command in a slow walk until he 
 reached the foot of the hill; then, turning, he gave the 
 order: "Forward! Charge!" Like the dash of a 
 torrent, the rush of the billows, the drive of an ava- 
 lanche, he burst into the yard. He had caught the 
 enemy by surprise. There was no resistance. The 
 troopers in blue at his command checked their headlong 
 speed and came to a standstill, and gazed bewildered at 
 the scene. Some of the youthful Rebels had taken to 
 flight, their spindle legs carrying them to the house, the 
 
2 14 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 drummer dropped his warlike instrument and tumbled 
 down a ditch ; but there were two boys that stood fast 
 in their tracks and faced the sweeping charge of the 
 blue squadron. One Avas the captain, the other the 
 bearer of the guerdon. 
 
 When Captain Sumner reined in his horse and sur- 
 veyed the scene and beheld the two lads white and 
 scared, but standing dauntless and defiant; when he be- 
 held the rest of the children in inglorious flight, he 
 "caught on" and he could only ejaculate: "Well, I'll 
 be damned." 
 
 Captain Sumner, in telling Miss Marsteller of Cat- 
 let's Station of this occurrence, said: "I saluted the 
 captain and I saluted the flag, and my men simply went 
 wild. It was a touch of nature that made all hearts 
 akin." And so the kids returned home, proud of hav- 
 ing seen something of real war. 
 
 There are in the South today many precious heir- 
 looms of that great conflict we called the Civil War, or 
 war between the States, many relics, many reminders 
 that are sacred and guarded with zealous care, but I 
 would rather possess that little home-made battle flag, 
 that was carried by that valiant boy, than all the rest. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 "bert'' pollock's ride. 
 
 A Southern orator, in speaking to a great assemblage 
 of his people, said: "When the last Confederate sol- 
 dier dies, chivalry in America will die with him." Now, 
 if he had said: "The American soldier," I would have 
 tipped glasses with him, for several instances that came 
 under my personal observation during the Civil War, 
 one act, especially of a Federal soldier, was so chivalric 
 that its parallel can hardly be matched in the annals of 
 war, as a perusal of this chapter will prove. 
 
 That "truth is stranger than fiction" was often ex- 
 emplified during the Civil War. Another instance of 
 this truth is the daring action of another Virginia 
 maiden; and it seems incredible to the humdrum, peace- 
 ful life that our American women lead today. None 
 but a participant in the Civil War can comprehend how 
 a woman's nerves can be keyed up to a state of utter 
 self-abnegation by breathing the air, vibrating with 
 burning excitement. Under such conditions their na- 
 tures seem to change, and they dare and do things which 
 they would shrink and fly from in a more peaceful 
 atmosphere. 
 
 At the beginning of the Civil War there was, on the 
 
 215 
 
2l6 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 outskirts of Warrenton, a large plantation owned by 
 Rev. Doctor Pollock. Many years before he had been 
 a Pennsylvania Presbyterian minister, and, being sta- 
 tioned in Virginia, his stately figure and burning elo- 
 quence won, against all comers, the hand and fortune 
 of Miss Lizzie Lee, a beauty and an heiress. Two sons 
 and three daughters blessed their union. The elder son. 
 Inspector General of Pickett's Division, was killed in 
 the charge at Gettysburg. The daughters were known 
 throughout the country side as the "Three Graces." 
 The youngest, Roberta Pollock, the heroine who saved 
 Mosby and a great portion of his command from cap- 
 ture, was at the time in her teens. She was the em- 
 bodiment of Shakespeare's description, "A young bud- 
 ding virgin, fair, fresh and sweet" — of medium height, 
 of the sylph rather than the Hebe style ; such a combina- 
 tion of the lily and the rose, with glorious eyes and per- 
 fect mouth, are rarely seen in one woman. She was 
 endowed with many charms and an intellect unusual in 
 a girl of her age. "Bert" was the pet of the family, 
 and had never spent a night away from home. To 
 think of this gentle, refined, tender girl daring what she 
 did! There were fair Parisians in the thrilling "days 
 of the Terror" who faced danger and death without 
 a tremor, yet there we find no parallel. Walter Scott, 
 in his tales of the Highlanders and the Lowlanders, 
 gives us scarcely a parallel. Even the story of Effie 
 Dean's devotion pales before the achievement of the 
 Virginia maiden. To face danger, to face death, and 
 
"BERT" pollock's RIDE 21'] 
 
 worse than all, possible outrage in the gloom and black- 
 ness of night for one's country, is an ordeal that few 
 women would or could endure. 
 
 A great writer once said: 
 
 "I.ove of country in times of civil war works a 
 miracle in woman. Men have not the steadfast patriot- 
 ism of women, for they do not possess their imagi- 
 nation." 
 
 As before stated, the Federals tried every measure, 
 used every expedient, set every trap ever conceived by 
 military mind to secure Mosby and his men. The Jes- 
 sie Scouts, Baker's detectives, deserters, spies, scouting 
 parties, midnight raids, ambuscades, all failed, but by 
 a singular caprice of Fate, an unlettered negro came 
 within an ace of succeeding. If Miss "Bert" Pollock 
 had not chanced to walk to Warrenton that day, Mos- 
 by's history would have had a different reading, and 
 there would have been weeping throughout "The De- 
 batable Land." 
 
 It was a bitter cold day in December, 1864, just be- 
 fore Christmas, and in every soldier's heart was the 
 feeling that fighting for a time should cease. Lee's 
 army was on the south side of the Rappahannock 
 River, and the Federals were on the north. There was 
 a truce, for the time, between the fighting men of both 
 armies, and Yank and Reb walked along the river's 
 banks in the open, and shouted to one another the com- 
 pliments of the season. 
 
 As bonny, lissom "Bert" Pollock walked along the 
 
21 8 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 Streets of Warrenton on her way to pay a visit, muffled 
 to the ears, for a stinging northwest wind was blowing, 
 she raised her eyes and saw a negro of middle age es- 
 corted by a guard of soldiers, and followed by several 
 officers who seemed greatly excited. The whole party 
 entered a dilapidated brick building occupied by the 
 provost-marshal. 
 
 Suspecting that the negro had valuable information 
 to impart concerning the partisans, the Virginia maiden 
 determined to find out what trouble was brewing. But 
 how? 
 
 The office of the provost-marshal was on the first 
 floor, and a sentinel stood at each door that led into the 
 street. Closing the rear door behind her Miss "Bert" 
 started to go in the room, telling the sentinel that she 
 wanted to see the provost. The guard replied that it 
 was impossible, as he was at that time busily engaged, 
 and that he had orders to admit no one to the house. 
 
 "Well," said Miss "Bert," "I must see him. I am 
 sure I will freeze to death in the streets, and besides 
 my shoes are very thin. Please let me go in and wait in 
 the passage." 
 
 The guard was a young man, evidently unmarried, 
 and susceptible to female charms, and to see a girl 
 suffer was too much for his patriotism or his philan- 
 thropy. He had heard, no doubt, how the Rebel girls 
 gained information for their friends, but surely there 
 could be no guile in this blue-eyed maid; then, again. 
 
"bert'' pollock's ride 219 
 
 she was such a winsome lass that he forgot all his warn- 
 ings. Every man is fooled some time or other by a 
 pretty woman; so he lowered his musket, and Miss 
 "Bert" passed in, warming his heart by a dazzling 
 smile. She knew the building well, and went down 
 stairs into the cellar, and standing by the aperture where 
 once was a stairway, she heard e-very word that was 
 uttered. 
 
 The negro was speaking. He told them how he lived 
 at Mr. Rector's, a few miles from Salem, and how one 
 of the Fauquier girls was to be married to a soldier, 
 and that the rangers were going to celebrate the rare 
 event in great style; how the next night (Christmas 
 Eve) there would be a wedding, and that Mosby and 
 all the rangers would be present. 
 
 He was asked whether his absence would not be sus- 
 pected, but he said no, that all the scouts knew him, 
 and that he often took his master's musket, and with 
 home-made shot would shoot old hares and quail on the 
 ground. That he had told Mr. Rector that he was 
 going to have a long hunt and get all the game he could 
 for the bridal supper. That he had slipped through the 
 woods, and he concluded by saying he wanted to start 
 North by the first train. 
 
 Miss "Bert" hurried out of the front door, past the 
 astonished sentinel, who wondered how the girl got in, 
 and walked the streets with her mind in a tumult. What 
 had she better do? The town was not only heavily 
 
2 20 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 guarded, but was encircled with a strong cordon of 
 pickets with double guards between the town and Salem, 
 Mosby's headquarters. 
 
 Nine hundred and ninety-nine women out of one 
 thousand would have imparted her tidings of pressing 
 import to some of the townsmen, and then have gone 
 home feeling glowing satisfaction that their work had 
 been so well done. But the thousandth woman had 
 brain as well as beauty, and she reasoned that no ordi- 
 nary person, in fact, no one, could reach Mosby in time. 
 Every foot in the circle around Warrenton was guarded 
 and absolutely no ingress or egress was allowed. Again 
 and again had Doctor Chilton tried to reach his pa- 
 tients in the country whom he knew required his at- 
 tendance, and had offered to give bond to attend strictly 
 to his professional business. His character was so high 
 that his word was the same as his bond, but the military 
 authorities had no option, word had come from head- 
 quarters that no visiting of any kind between citizens 
 should be allowed. The Federals were striving by 
 every means to capture the partisans, and the military 
 net was so tightly drawn around the city that no inside 
 information could possibly filter through, so it was 
 thought, and the girl was aware of all this. She was 
 devoted, heart and soul, to her cause, and she came to 
 the conclusion to do, dare, and if needs be, to die. She 
 walked about the town considering her plan; finally she 
 decided to make a dash on horseback rather than try 
 to evade the pickets by stealing past them. It hap- 
 
"BERT" pollock's ride 221 
 
 pened, as she passed the sutler's store, that she noticed 
 two horses, one evidently belonging to some officer, 
 while the other carried a lady's saddle, hitched in front 
 of the store. Miss Pollock did not hesitate a moment; 
 she untied the horse, led him to a curbstone, and with 
 her heart nearly bursting, climbed into the saddle and 
 set off at a canter, uttering a prayer that the owner 
 would not miss the steed until she would be well out of 
 town. Facing danger was one thing, but being ar- 
 rested for horse-stealing was quite another matter. 
 However, she made her way down a back street, 
 flanked the town, and reached the first picket line 
 through which her pass admitted her to proceed to her 
 home. When she reached her front gate she stopped 
 to plan out her route. Several miles away was a moun- 
 tain spur which she would have to cross by the county 
 roads, and which were heavily guarded. In some places 
 the country was open, but very rough in others. 
 
 The sun was sinking behind the crags of the old Blue 
 Ridge when the maid turned to take one last look at 
 her home, the window panes reflecting the red gleams 
 of the setting sun. It must have been a pathetic scene. 
 I asked her, a few months later, what her feelings were 
 as she turned for a farewell glance upon her home. 
 She laughed and said that she thought of her mother, 
 making a fuss because she had to hold back supper for 
 her. It was a custom of the old minister to have all his 
 family present when he said grace. 
 
 The girl turned her horse and cantered across what 
 
2 22 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 was once a broomsedge field, but was now fast relapsing 
 into its primeval wilds. 
 
 Had it been broad day Miss Pollock would have 
 struck a bee-line for her destination, for she had ridden 
 for miles across this section gathering chestnuts, and 
 knew the locality thoroughly, but as the shadows began 
 to fall the bushes, trees and the ground became merged 
 into one opaque hue, and she knew that she must trust 
 to Chance or Fate. 
 
 The horse ambled on, and soon the darkness became 
 complete, the stillness profound. She had to leave the 
 reins loose on the animal's neck; there must have been 
 some road or path, for the beast kept on in a fast walk. 
 
 Few people, comparatively speaking, have ever been 
 alone, defenceless, in a strange place, surrounded by 
 impenetrable darkness. It is an ordeal for the strong- 
 est, and to an imaginative person the situation is har- 
 rowing. Then morbid fancy has full sway and runs 
 riot. In vain calm reason tries to resume its control. 
 A wild panic ensues; hideous pictures, grotesque phan- 
 toms, horribly realistic, throng the brain. One takes 
 counsel only of one's fears. Shadows? Only shadows, 
 but they are deep, dark, harrowing. 
 
 "By the apostle Paul, shadows tonight 
 Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard." 
 
 To this high-strung girl. Fate could have offered no 
 severer test. She had only to turn her horse, and all 
 
 
"bert^' pollock^s ride 223 
 
 her trials would be ended ; to keep on was but a journey 
 of horrors. But she kept on. 
 
 It was bitterly cold, and the frequent contact with 
 bushes by the roadside, the overhanging limbs sur- 
 charged with rime, covered her from head to foot and 
 chilled her to the bone. Hours had passed, but she had 
 lost all count of time or place. Suddenly she ran into a 
 cavalry vidette. They were in the woods, and the 
 leaves deadened the sound of her horse's foot-falls, and 
 the scout did not hear her approach until she was within 
 a few feet of him. Then in her ears sounded his stern 
 "Halt! Who goes there?" Then followed the click 
 of the hammer as the cavalryman cocked his carbine. 
 
 A dramatist would hesitate long before placing upon 
 the stage a stalwart trooper, armed to the teeth, op- 
 posed only by a delicate maiden of seventeen, and then 
 cause that soldier to seek safety in headlong flight from 
 the fair Elaine ; yet such was the actual fact. 
 
 Again the challenge rang out: "Halt! Who goes 
 there?" 
 
 She came near screaming aloud, but in a second the 
 girl's wits brightened and in a flash thoughts were busily 
 forming in her brain. Knowing the terror Mosby had 
 inspired by his night attacks, with a sudden impulse, in 
 a voice which had become hoarse with emotion, she 
 ordered the vidette to "surrender." 
 
 The ruse succeeded perfectly. There was no reply 
 save the sound of rapidly retreating hoofs. It was 
 learned afterward that the vidette never stopped until 
 
224 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 he reached his post; there he asserted that he had nar- 
 rowly escaped capture by the partisans, and only by the 
 swiftness of his horse. 
 
 The deadly fear that blanched the girl's cheeks had 
 passed and the reaction almost made her fall from her 
 horse. However, she rallied, and in a few moments 
 emerged in the open. P'rom this high point she saw to 
 her dismay the lights of Warrenton not more than four 
 or five miles distant; then she knew she had traveled 
 in a half-circle, and for the first time since darkness 
 settled down she discovered her exact location. She 
 knew that by bearing to the south she would strike the 
 county road that led to Salem. She was shivering with 
 cold, and weary in both body and mind. The night 
 had waned, and the pole star had risen to its zenith. 
 In her forlorn condition it required almost a super- 
 human effort to carry her forward; but in that slender, 
 girlish form there dwelt a spirit that was twin to the 
 heroic soul of Charlotte Corday or that of Jeanne 
 d'Arc. 
 
 "The partisans must be saved," was the refrain that 
 rang through her brain, and into the dark forest she 
 plunged, urging her weary horse onward. 
 
 After going several miles she was crossing an open 
 field, when she again heard the sharp command to halt, 
 and before she had time to rouse herself a Federal 
 trooper was beside her and had grasped her bridle rein, 
 and she found herself a prisoner. 
 
"bert" pollock's ride 225 
 
 There under the light of the stars was enacted a 
 scene to delight the eyes and stir one's blood. 
 
 The girl could dimly see her captor, one hand firmly 
 grasping the bridle, while the other held a Colt's 
 revolver. 
 
 "Who are you, and where are you going?" he asked. 
 
 In a tone of innocence and candor which so well be- 
 came her youth and beauty, she said that she had 
 started to visit relatives, one of whom was very ill, 
 that she had lost her way. The cavalryman then told 
 her that it was his painful duty to conduct her to the 
 reserve, some distance away, where her case would be 
 looked into; and that he had strict orders to arrest any 
 person who crossed his beat without regard to color, 
 age or sex. 
 
 "I will not go," cried the girl; "you may shoot me, 
 but I will not go." 
 
 "It is my orders," he replied. 
 
 "I am willing for you to perform your duty," said 
 she, "but I will either die here or go free." The sol- 
 dier's arm dropped from the bridle rein. 
 
 "No one could be cruel enough to detain you," he 
 said. "Now listen! There is a farmhouse about a mile 
 away; I will escort you there, but I will have to flank 
 the reserve; so let your horse follow mine." And he 
 rode on in the silent, dark woods. 
 
 I knew Miss Pollock intimately, and heard from her 
 own lips the story of that night's adventures shortly 
 after they occurred. I asked her if she did not feel 
 
226 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 afraid to trust herself with an enemy in the darkness 
 of a dense forest? She answered, "No!" She said 
 that she could not see his face plainly, yet the tone of 
 his voice was positive sincerity, and intuition bade her 
 place absolute faith in him. 
 
 During the ride neither spoke. The house was 
 reached by a circuitous route, and the inmates were 
 aroused and received their visitors with warmth. The 
 cavalryman did not offer to shake hands when Miss 
 Pollock bade him good-night and thanked him, but sat 
 on his horse at the door and said: "I have three hours 
 yet of picket duty, and I will spend the time in thinking 
 of the half-frozen Virginia girl." He then gave a mili- 
 tary salute, touched his steed with his spur, and van- 
 ished in the darkness. 
 
 Major John Scott incidently mentions this occurrence, 
 and though he wrote at a time when resentment and 
 rancor were dominant, he yet felt constrained to say: 
 "That sentinel was not made of common earth !" And 
 the more we contemplate the scene and its surround- 
 ings, the more thoroughly we agree with him. A Union 
 soldier in the enemy's land, yes, in the detested Mosby's 
 Confederacy; in the darkness of night a beautiful girl 
 rides, all alone, into his arms. What a temptation for 
 a young man full of the fire of life, and with none to 
 stay the law of might, the rights of conquest 1 Yes, 
 beneath that soiled and rusted blue uniform beat the 
 heart of a man ! Not even in old Froissart's chronicles 
 was there a more chivalric act. It sounds like a tale 
 
t ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
"bert'' pollock's ride 227 
 
 from Morte d' Arthur and His Twelve Knights of the 
 Round Table, whose exploits were enriched by every 
 noble trait; it reminds one of a romance from the 
 Breton ballads of Charlemagne a la barhe, or the 
 legends of Roland. 
 
 The rising sun was just touching the tips of the Blue 
 Ridge with a roseate hue when Miss "Bert" mounted 
 her horse and started in a swift gallop for Salem. Mrs. 
 Marshall's boy, a lad of some ten years, took to the 
 woods and struck for the same place; in case one failed 
 the other would succeed. But no mishap occurred, and 
 the tidings were passed from mouth to mouth. 
 
 That night one thousand picked men from Kilpat- 
 rick's cavalry detachment swept silently through the 
 woods and surrounded Salem and its vicinity. Every 
 house was searched from cellar to garret, but it was a 
 water-haul, and not a Rebel soldier was captured. As 
 for the "colored gent," no one ever knew for a certainty 
 what became of hhn; the rangers swore to perforate 
 his hide if they ever saw him. The Union cavalrymen 
 who had had an all night ride were mad all through, 
 and declared that if they ever laid eyes on that "reliable 
 contraband" they would swing him from the first tree. 
 Which side got him was never divulged; but one darkey 
 mysteriously disappeared, and in military parlance "was 
 never accounted for." 
 
 In an old war scrapbook I found pasted the follow- 
 ing dispatch, cut from the JVashington Chronicle, dated 
 Warrenton, December 26, 1864: 
 
228 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 "Last night a picked squadron consisting of detach- 
 ments from the Eighth Illinois Cavalry, Seventeenth 
 Pennsylvania and the Fifth Michigan Cavalry left 
 Warrenton late on the evening of Christmas Eve to 
 bag Mosby. The officers, it is said, had certain infor- 
 mation of his whereabouts, but if they had the secret 
 was betrayed, for not a Rebel was captured, though 
 many houses were searched. The march was a severe 
 one, over almost impassable mountain-trails and half- 
 obliterated country roads. The troopers suffered 
 greatly, and they were in anything but a joyous mood 
 on their return from the goose-chasing expedition. 
 However, the boys braced up, and their night's ride 
 was a fine appetizer for a bountiful Christmas dinner 
 supplied by 'Old Sanitary.' " 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 AUNT EM SPREADS HERSELF. 
 
 It was a hot October afternoon in the year 1864, and 
 a deathly stillness brooded over the hills and dales of 
 Mosby's Confederacy. In a dense body of pines Hip- 
 kins, of Mosby's battalion, lay asleep on a blanket 
 spread on the ground. His horse, saddled and bridled, 
 was hitched by a halter to a tree. The animal was in 
 fine fettle, well fed and perfectly groomed, for the 
 steed was dearer to the ranger's heart than anything 
 that walked, flew or crawled. Perchance, had the rough 
 rider been obliged to give up either his steed or his 
 sweetheart, the maiden would have had to go, for the 
 horse was his sole capital in trade, his pistols merely an 
 adjunct. A dismounted ranger was like a fiddle without 
 a bow. 
 
 A casual observer would have wondered how the 
 partisans kept their horses in such prime condition in a 
 country so pillaged and harried as Mosby's Confed- 
 eracy, but the fact was that the enemy supplied the 
 forage as he did the other munitions of war. It only 
 needed a dash on a wagon train to keep them amply 
 supplied with abundance of oats, corn and baled hay. 
 
 A cavalryman naturally grows fond of his mount. 
 229 
 
230 
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 
 but the tie that binds the ranger to his horse is doubly 
 strong, because the steed is his associate by day and his 
 comrade by night, and an intelligent, blooded horse, 
 after a few months of close companionship, will serve 
 his master as faithfully as a dog. Some of the horses 
 of Mosby's men were trained to a docility that was 
 marvelous, and often their watchfulness saved their 
 masters' lives. The scriptural verse, "The war horse 
 sniffs the battle from afar," is not altogether a meta- 
 phor, for the booming of a gun, or the crack of a pistol 
 or carbine, would wake the horses of Mosby's men to 
 vivid life. If the riders left those horses free to follow 
 their own wills, they would strike a bee-line for skirmish 
 or fight, and seemed to enjoy as much as their masters 
 the charge and counter charge. 
 
 Mosby's command was 
 the best mounted of any 
 in America. His men, 
 let us not forget, had the 
 pick of the Federal 
 corrals. 
 
 Private Hipkins awoke 
 
 from his slumber, rose to 
 
 his feet and indulged in 
 
 ^_^ _^,^^^^^^^_^=s^:*^the luxury of sundry jaw- 
 
 ..__ ^ "^ "^^^^^--^ breaking yawns. His 
 
 horse seeing him moving 
 
 whinnied plaintively; and his master, untying a bag 
 
 of oats lying near, emptied a portion on his rubber 
 
AUNT EM SPREADS HERSELF 23 1 
 
 poncho. Then he changed the bridle to a halter 
 and gave the horse his feed. Then Hipkins, filling 
 his pipe from the tobacco bag hanging from a but- 
 ton on his jacket, struck a match, lit the briar-root; and, 
 reclining against a tree, gave himself up to a smoker's 
 reverie. After a while he knocked the ashes from the 
 bowl, placed it in his inner jacket pocket, rose to his 
 feet and made his way through the coppice to the edge 
 of the field, where he stopped and gazed long and wist- 
 fully at the only house in sight. It was a large frame 
 house with porches on three sides, situated on the sum- 
 mit of a high hill and surrounded by open fields. It 
 was a bad place for a scout to be caught in, either by 
 day or at night, for lying hid or a dash for liberty was 
 impossible. Two of Mosby's men had been captured in 
 that very house within the past year, and private Hip- 
 kins knew this, and moreover, it was positively against 
 orders for any of the partisans to stop at any place for 
 a lengthened visit unless there was a good line of re- 
 treat. Capture meant confinement until the end of the 
 war, for all exchange of prisoners had stopped by order 
 of the Federal Government. But there was a "maiden 
 fair to see" in that mansion, and if others had risked 
 life and liberty to watch the light in her eyes, the roseate 
 hue on her cheeks — why, there were others no less 
 brave. Hipkins was so tired of yawning his head off 
 in the weary solitude of the pines that he made up his 
 mind to pay that girl a short visit, and trust to luck. 
 So he made ready. First he securely tied his horse, next 
 
232 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 examined his brace of Colt's revolvers, with which 
 every one of Mosby's men was armed. Then he 
 climbed a tree that stood on a hill nearby, and with a 
 field glass closely scrutinized the surrounding country. 
 Not a moving object met his eye, and feeling confident 
 that it was perfectly safe, Private Hipkins struck 
 straight across the fields, making no attempt at conceal- 
 ment. Once seated in the parlor with an appreciative 
 damsel beside him, he lost all idea of time, chance or 
 circumstance. But his love dream was shattered, and 
 his manly ardor was changed into cold chills as the 
 strident voice of Aunt "Em" was heard : "De Yankees 
 is a comin'. Dey's almost here," she almost screamed. 
 
 The house of the Faulkners faced the public road, 
 some forty yards distant, which forked about a mile 
 away, one branch going to Upperville, the other leading 
 straight to Ashby's Gap. It is a curious fact that the 
 partisans had no regular pickets, and the enemy once 
 through the Gap were in the very heart of Mosby's 
 Confederacy. A score or so of Mosby's men had been 
 surprised and captured by some raiding squadron of 
 Bluecoats who slipped through the defile unnoticed. 
 
 The Faulkner house had a porch running along the 
 entire front, and on its steps that autumn afternoon 
 was seated "Aunt Em," the cook, one of the old family 
 servants who stuck by the family through thick and 
 thin. Nearly a half century before, in the room over 
 the kitchen, "Aunt Em" was born. There she was 
 raised, and in the same room she had brought five chil- 
 
 
AUNT EM SPREADS HERSELF 233 
 
 dren into the world; and she used to say that "please 
 God, I'se guine die in it." 
 
 "Aunt Em" had been queen of the kitchen and sov- 
 ereign of her realm for many years. It had been Mrs. 
 Faulkner's boast that she had the best cook in the 
 county, and after eating one of "Aunt Em's" dinners 
 the guests, if it so happened they had epicurean taste, 
 generally conceded that fact. A trained cook is a gem, 
 but a born cook is a pearl beyond price; for such an 
 artist gives more pleasure and placid content in a life- 
 time than any wielder of the painter's brush or sculp- 
 tor's chisel. "Aunt Em" could have gone to any city 
 and by her culinary attainments clothe herself in silk 
 and satin. Her boiled ham was a delight, and her 
 roasted leg of mutton was a thing to dream about. 
 
 "Aunt Em" was short, fat, and black as a coal, but 
 her soul was white as the driven snow. When the fam- 
 ily servants left to avoid starvation, "Aunt Em" re- 
 mained, saying what the family could live on she could, 
 too. What anguish of spirit, what torture of soul this 
 artist had to endure when she prepared the mess of 
 cow-beans and salt-horse, only the angels could tell. 
 Michael Angelo making plaster casts, or Rubens white- 
 washing a fence, would be a fit parallel. Imagine 
 "Aunt Em's" reflections as she prepared the family 
 dinner, using for the hunk of camp pork the same 
 rotund iron pot that had been sacred to the boiling of 
 Smithfield ham; and imagine her carrying in the dinner 
 in person, a proceeding that no decent cook, at the be- 
 
234 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 ginning of the war, had ever been known to do; and 
 see the air of outraged pride of the queen of the kitchen 
 as she placed the meager fare on the table with many 
 a grunt of contempt and disgust. As she pottered 
 about the kitchen preparing the meals (God save the 
 mark) she must have done a lot of thinking, seeing 
 that the breakfast consisted of only plain corn pone, or 
 hardtack and coffee; and such coffee! made of toasted 
 rye, or roasted chestnuts, and tea? — yes, the latter 
 made of sassafras roots sweetened with sorghum 
 molasses, a concoction that warmed the stomach, pro- 
 vided it remained long enough; a beverage that was, 
 to a Southerner, as hard to swallow as the oath of 
 allegiance. Conceive if you can the anguish of soul of 
 this splendid cook who had for a score of years catered 
 to the cultivated taste of gourmonds in her own dainty 
 way, compelled to serve mule rump and cow-beans. 
 Think of the cravings of her own stomach, "with good 
 capon lined" — lo, these many years, as she tried to fill 
 that delicate, pampered organ with sawdust pone and 
 salt horse. Consider, too, that she did this from choice, 
 not from iron-clad necessity. Truly no human heart 
 beat more fondly, no human soul clung more strongly 
 to those she loved than did that ebony heroine whose 
 skin only was black. 
 
 "Aunt Em" was but the type of many servants of the 
 South. Is there any statue of bronze too large or 
 column of granite too high to commemorate the virtues 
 
AUNT EM SPREADS HERSELF 235 
 
 of the faithful, tender and true black mammys of the 
 South ? 
 
 Just before the news of the Yankees, "Aunt Em" 
 had strolled out of the kitchen with her corncob pipe 
 in her mouth, for there was nothing doing in her line 
 in the house at that time of day. Tough living had 
 changed her rotund, roly-poly figure into a stocky one; 
 the shiny sleekness of skin that in the African tells of 
 rich nourishment had given place to a dull, dead jet; 
 and her eyes were sunken and bleery like those seen in 
 hungry animals; her old calico dress was tucked up at 
 one side, as was the way of all cooks who prepared 
 their meals at the open fireplace; a bandana handker- 
 chief was twisted into a turban, and soldier's brogans 
 covered her feet. Even those great shoes had many 
 wide gaps in the uppers, which had been slashed with a 
 knife to allow ample room for corns. As this very day 
 happened to be wash day, "Aunt Em's" stockings were 
 hanging on the clothes-line. 
 
 For some time before the alarm, "Aunt Em" sat on 
 the porch steps and puffed at her corncob pipe, filled 
 with "niggerhead," which was tobacco pure and simple, 
 the kind the darkeys preferred to the manufactured 
 brands. It was a lovely scene her eyes rested upon: 
 the cloud-flecked sky overhead, the trees clothed in 
 bright colors of yellow, green and crimson; the waters 
 of the creek gleaming like silver in the shade and like 
 gold in the sunshine. Afar off was the Blue Ridge, 
 
236 
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 dimly visible through the soft, radiant glow of the 
 Indian summer afternoon. 
 
 The langorous air had its effect upon "Aunt Em;" 
 her eyes closed, her head nodded and the smoke drifted 
 from her mouth. Suddenly her eyes opened; she 
 straightened herself, and the pipe fell clattering to the 
 ground unheeded, for she saw before her her youngest 
 child, a kid of eight or nine years, in a wild flight, his 
 eyes protruding and breath almost gone. 
 
 "Mammy!" he gasped, "I 
 was up in de top ob de chest- 
 nut tree when I seed dem Yan- 
 kees comin' up de road fas' as 
 dey kin ride." 
 
 "Aunt Em" jumped to her 
 feet. "Run in de kitchen, 
 chile," she said, "an' keep your 
 mouth shet tight," and as the 
 boy darted away she ran to the 
 parlor door and shouted the 
 fateful words: "De Yankees is comin'." 
 
 "The Yankees are coming!" How often that dread 
 cry had sent a thrill of fear to the heart of every man, 
 woman and child in Mosby's Confederacy! 
 
 Hipkins ran out to the porch, pistol in hand. He 
 
 gave one glance and saw the Bluecoats, a few hundred 
 
 yards away, divide right and left to surround the house. 
 
 "Too late, 'Aunt Em,' " he said, "I'm a goner." 
 
 The woman's eyes followed his, and she whispered : 
 
AUNT EM SPREADS HERSELF 237 
 
 "Follow me. I may fool dem Yankees yet," and she 
 hurried down the steps with Hipklns close behind her. 
 
 At the corner of the kitchen stood a large barrel, 
 which was used to catch the rainwater dripping from 
 the roof. She pointed to it: "Quick!" she panted; 
 "jump in thar." He scrambled in, and though the 
 barrel was half-full, he never noticed it. Seizing a 
 short board she laid it across the barrel, and, giving a 
 spring, she seated herself on top of it, then gazed 
 serenely around. She did the trick in the very niche of 
 time, for instantly the yard was filled with the Blue- 
 coats. At this juncture Mrs. Faulkner and her daugh- 
 ter appeared on the front porch, pale, silent and im- 
 passive. An officer walked up the steps and curtly told 
 her she must yield up the Rebel soldier in her house or 
 suffer the consequences. She replied that there was no 
 soldier within, but the officer insisted that there was, 
 and said that one of his scouts, while scanning the coun- 
 try through a field glass, had seen a Rebel soldier go 
 through the orchard, and later enter the house by the 
 rear entrance. Mrs. Faulkner declared positively that 
 there were no Confederate soldiers in the house, and 
 told him to search the place if he doubted her word. 
 
 The officer summoned a sergeant and ordered him 
 to take a squad of men and search every room in the 
 house, also the outhouses; examine every bed, box and 
 barrel where a man might be concealed. 
 
 The soldiers departed on their quest, and Mrs. 
 Faulkner, anxious to propitiate the officer, invited him 
 
238 
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 in the dining-room and set before him a bottle of black- 
 berry wine and some home-made cake. 
 
 After drinking several glasses, the social side of the 
 man appeared and he grew confidential. He said that 
 one of the Jessie Scouts, with a powerful field glass, 
 saw distinctly a Rebel soldier cross the hill and make 
 for the house. Mrs. Faulkner was discreetly silent on 
 this point, but she was a woman of infinite tact, and 
 she turned the conversation by asking the officer about 
 his own family and home, and soon the brusque, curt 
 captain of cavalry was changed Into a pleasant sociable 
 caller who let himself out as he talked of his wife and 
 child In far-off Michigan. No homesick soldier ever 
 had more appreciative, attentive and sympathetic lis- 
 teners than were those two women who were playing 
 a game of life and death. 
 
 In the meantime, out on the bar- 
 rel, "Aunt Em," In her scanty 
 drapery, literally spread herself to 
 conceal as much of the barrel as 
 possible, reminding one of a moth- 
 erly hen trying to cover an un- 
 usually large brood of chickens. 
 
 The soldiers asked her all sorts 
 of questions, and laughed at her 
 attitude and all too free display of 
 ankles; but "Aunt Em" kept her seat and her temper, 
 even when her kitchen and bedroom was being ran- 
 sacked. She must have felt grim satisfaction in know- 
 
AUNT EM SPREADS HERSELF 239 
 
 ing that they expected to find toothsome viands in the 
 kitchen, and were to meet with only woeful disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 Soon the cavalrymen gathered in the yard and clus- 
 tered on the porch; and then the captain, remembering 
 his duty, left the house, and approaching the woman on 
 the barrel plied her with questions and put "Aunt Em" 
 through what is known in modern days as the "third 
 degree." He might as well have interrogated the 
 sphinx. She said she "didn't know nuffin'," and behind 
 this breastwork she remained. Puzzled and angry, 
 the ojfficer gave it up. He came to the conclusion that 
 she was simply a deucedly ignorant, ugly old African, 
 with no idea above frying, boiling and stewing. 
 
 The ladles came on the porch with the sergeant and 
 his detail. The non-commissioned officer reported to 
 the captain that he had made a thorough and exhaustive 
 examination of the house and outbuildings, and not 
 even a cat could have escaped discovery. The scout 
 adhered firmly to his declaration that he had seen the 
 Rebel soldier enter the house and had watched the 
 place closely, but had seen no one go away. Had the 
 house been one of old colonial architecture there might 
 have been suspicion of a secret chamber, but In a mod- 
 ern frame mansion such an idea was Impracticable. 
 The Rebel came, and the Rebel disappeared; as he 
 could neither fly like an eagle nor burrow like a mole, 
 where was he? 
 
 A second time witnesses were hauled before the 
 
240 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 court. Mrs. Faulkner was asked many questions. 
 She told the truth, saying that a soldier had been there 
 that morning, but seeing the Federal soldiers coming 
 that he ran from the room, and she saw him no more. 
 Then the little darkey was brought before the captain 
 and warned that if he did not tell where the Rebel sol- 
 
 dier was that he would be shot. The little nigger-face 
 had changed from a deep black to a ashy liver color. 
 He was afraid of death, but more afraid of his mammy. 
 One was intangible, the other a living figure that sat 
 there on the barrel and never stirred. So the boy's 
 only answer was: "I ain't seed nuffin' ! I don't know 
 nuffin'l" 
 
AUNT EM SPREADS HERSELF 24 1 
 
 For some time the ladies stood on the porch waiting, 
 the soldiers resting at ease, chatting and smoking, while 
 the officer walked up and down in deep thought; but 
 the figure on the barrel never stirred. At last the cap- 
 tain gave the word, the bugle rang out "boots and sad- 
 dles;" the men mounted and soon disappeared down 
 the road. 
 
 "Aunt Em" called to her boy and bade him follow 
 and see if any of them remained behind. He returned 
 in a few moments and reported that every one had left 
 for good. 
 
 Then for the first time the motionless figure moved. 
 "Aunt Em" slid off the barrel and cried: "Come out;" 
 and there emerged a pale, dripping, trembling, hollow- 
 eyed youth. Straightening himself, he threw his arms 
 around the old black mammy and gave her a good hug; 
 and more, he kissed her gratefully and warmly. 
 
 "I heard it all," he cried; " 'Aunt Em,' you are a 
 Jewell" 
 
 "Was you skeered, honey?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes, 'Aunt Em,' I was scared nearly to death, for 
 I was afraid that some dearned Yankee would run his 
 sabre through the bung hole." 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 REPRESENTATIVE PICTURES FROM OLD LETTERS BY 
 WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND. 
 
 The following letter was written by Mrs. James De 
 Ruyter Blackwell, the mistress of Oakmont, and de- 
 scribes the situation in the early part of the war. She 
 pays a beautiful tribute to that gallant soldier, General 
 Sedgwick, who commanded the famous Sixth Corps of 
 the Army of the Potomac, and who was killed in the 
 Wilderness, in May, 1864: 
 242 
 
PICTURES FROM OLD LETTERS 243 
 
 *'The Other evening when I and the girls were sitting 
 around the fire, a soldier walked right in, unannounced, 
 stared at us and asked, 'Where are your men?' 
 
 "One of the girls spoke up: 'They are in the army, 
 where every Southern man ought to be.' 
 
 " 'Well!' said the soldier, 'they are acting according 
 to their lights; but it isn't right to leave you ladies all 
 alone; arn't you hungry?' We acknowledged that we 
 were. He then said: 
 
 " 'I'll go to camp and get you something.' And he 
 walked off. Of course we never expected to see him 
 again; but would you believe it, he returned with a 
 basket of crackers, meat, coffee, sugar and cakes, and 
 would not accept a cent for it. He said the place re- 
 minded him of his own home; very handsome of him, 
 was it not?" 
 
 In another letter Mrs. Blackwell says: 
 
 "We have been treated very kindly; it is true the 
 Northern soldiers help themselves to what they want — 
 all our horses and grain have been taken — yet they are 
 rarely insolent, and so far as I can hear the officers are 
 always courteous. 
 
 "I want to tell you about General Sedgwick, who 
 commands the troops around here. He is a most kind 
 
 and thorough gentleman. You know Miss , 
 
 how eccentric she is. Well, some of the soldiers took 
 her horse, and she started off all alone to see the gen- 
 eral. As you know, she is a lady born and bred, but 
 such a get-up ! She was dressed in a riding skirt made 
 
244 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 from an old tent, and on her head was an old sunbonnct 
 made of calico. She met Colonel McMahon, the gen- 
 eral's aide, and he conducted her to his tent and treated 
 her with as much courtesy as if she had been a princess 
 of the blood royal — and he had her horse restored to 
 her. 
 
 "The general's headquarters is on the road between 
 Oakspring and Warrenton. He is a big-hearted, noble 
 man, and I cannot begin to tell you of his unvarying 
 kindness to our people; he often ordered from the 
 North things that the ladies needed, and paid for them 
 out of his own pocket. He actually had forwarded to 
 him a lot of hoopskirts to present to the ladies of the 
 vicinity — and the general a bachelor, too!" 
 
 In another letter Mrs. Blackwell describes most 
 vividly how she hid her silver and five hundred dollars 
 in gold in a corner under the porch. She then describes 
 a visit of some Bluecoat marauders: 
 
 "They surrounded the house," she wrote, "a large 
 squad of them, and were evidently bent on a voyage of 
 discovery, rather then robbery. It was the secret hoard 
 they were after, and I cannot imagine where they ob- 
 tained the information, for we have closely guarded 
 our secret, but this much Is certain, they came for hid- 
 den treasure, and began hoeing the ground around the 
 house, and to my horror they approached the porch, 
 testing the ground to see if it had been disturbed re- 
 cently, and examining every inch of the surface. I grew 
 deathly sick, for I knew they would discover the spot 
 
PICTURES FROM OLD LETTERS 245 
 
 if let alone; so I rushed up stairs and got my jewel case 
 and cried to the servant to get my jewels and bring 
 them to me. This attracted the notice of the resurrec- 
 tion party, who came flying up stairs. They searched 
 the room most carefully, but found nothing. Of course 
 I found a new hiding-place that night, and as sharp as 
 Mr. Yankee is, I defy him to find it; I am sure that his 
 eyes will never be gladdened by the sight of my hidden 
 treasures." 
 
 In one letter the writer gives an amusing description 
 of some Federal deserters. She says: 
 
 "I was in the kitchen when Spot, the setter, and the 
 only living thing on four legs that the Yankees haven't 
 taken from the farm, gave one of his short, jerky barks, 
 and I knew that he was mad enough to bite, so I ran 
 out, and lo and behold! there were three Yankees, all 
 armed with muskets, and Spot dancing around them. 
 
 "I asked them what they wanted, and they com- 
 menced such a jargon as I never heard before; they 
 howled, they hollowed, they hooted, and they growled 
 way down in their stomachs. I was frightened, and 
 called ma, and when she came they turned on her, but 
 ma only shook her head. Then they commenced with 
 signs, and ma said they were Dutchmen and wanted 
 something to eat. We gave them some corn bread and 
 beans; they had never seen or eaten corn bread, and 
 they made wry mouths, and one spat out a piece; they 
 ate up all the beans, though. After they had finished 
 they talked and jabbered among themselves, and then 
 
246 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 they unbuckled their belts and threw them on the floor, 
 and leaned their guns against the wall and pointed to- 
 wards the north. Then mother cried out : 'They are 
 deserters and are running away from the army!' 
 
 "The next thing they did was to point to their uni- 
 forms and shake their heads, and mother told me to 
 run upstairs and get some old clothes that the boys had 
 left behind. When I came back their faces lighted up, 
 and they bowed and scraped, and went off talking their 
 outlandish Dutch. 
 
 "We hid their muskets and things and will send them 
 to our army." 
 
 A letter so blurred from time and exposure that a 
 portion must be read by the aid of a powerful magni- 
 fying glass, addressed to a lady in Richmond from a 
 girl in Fauquier in 1864, gives the following true and 
 representative picture of conditions in the Debatable 
 Land in the later years of the war: 
 
 "A brigade of Yankee infantry is camped in the fields 
 near the house, and every evening the regimental bands 
 march and play. Oh ! the music is divine ; that is, some 
 of it is. When they play their horrid national airs I 
 run in the house and cover my ears with my hands. 
 They played Trovatore last evening and it wafted me 
 to heaven; but just imagine — they followed it by that 
 hateful 'John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the 
 grave !' Anyway, I thought, there will be a good many 
 following John Brown's example if they keep trying to 
 subjugate the South." 
 
PICTURES FROM OLD LETTERS 247 
 
 An old veteran who married a Fauquier girl after 
 the war showed me a letter which he received from her 
 in 1864. They were affianced, and he urged her to 
 marry him, war or no war. A part of her reply is 
 given: 
 
 "It is true I am alone and unprotected, but so are 
 many others in this country, and it would give me the 
 joy of my life to have you beside me; and I long for 
 you as only a loving woman can. But this is not the 
 time; Virginia is a vast hospital, and I would feel 
 ashamed should I marry: a bride among the sick, 
 wounded and dying, and instead of the music of the 
 marriage bells I would hear only the groans, the cries 
 and the death rattle." 
 
 The following letter gives a very clear idea of the 
 straits to which the people in the southern portion of 
 Fauquier were reduced. It was written by a young girl 
 whose home was about three miles from Rappahannock 
 Station: 
 
 "Wyanoke, Nov. i, 1864. 
 "My Dear Lizzie: 
 
 "It was so sweet and thoughtful of you to send the 
 letter and little box by Frank, and to think that boy 
 dared ride for twenty miles all alone through this dan- 
 gerous country, shows what a brave soldier he will 
 make when he grows up. 
 
 "Your letter has been read and reread by the whole 
 household from grandpa down, even Aunt Hannah and 
 Uncle Peter demanded it be read to them. 
 
248 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 "All of our darkeys have left but those two. Uncle 
 Peter made them go, saying that there was 'not enough 
 for white folks, let alone the niggers.' Uncle Peter and 
 his wife still keep their quarters over the stable; though 
 Uncle Peter must miss his horses. Aunt Hannah is 
 still our cook, in name; don't you remember how you 
 used to rave over her biscuits and hot rolls? We don't 
 have any now. 
 
 "You asked me to tell you all about our life in 
 Wyanoke. Well, it's easily told; it is the abomination 
 of desolation, and We, Us & Co., meaning grandpa, 
 ma and Lucy and Jane and I, exist; I don't call it living. 
 It seems as if we were on a little island in the middle of 
 the ocean, for not a soul do we see; no visitors, nothing. 
 Both the Yankee and Lee's army have long since gone, 
 and we haven't laid eyes on a Confederate soldier since 
 last spring. Most all of our neighbors left last spring, 
 and we would have gone, too, but we had no place to go. 
 As our place sits well back from the main road, we are 
 spared the raiding parties, but they wouldn't get much, 
 for grandpa sent all of the silver, plate and money to 
 Richmond. Ma is not sick, but she is listless and in- 
 different to everything since pa was killed at Gettys- 
 burg. I don't know what would become of us without 
 Uncle Peter; he actually owns the place and we do as 
 he tells us. He still calls me 'Honey,' and I asked him 
 why he didn't call me Miss Minnie, now that I have 
 grown up, and he said: 'I done call you "Honey" de 
 
PICTURES FROM OLD LETTERS 249 
 
 same as Hannah do, and we bofe will call you that till 
 Kingdom cum.' 
 
 "Uncle Peter Is simply a wonder 1 He is as old as 
 grandpa, yet he Is on the go all the time; he plants our 
 garden and sets gums and snares, and we have plenty 
 of old hares, but the possums Aunt Hannah serves — I 
 can't eat the horrid, greasy things — like a big rat. But 
 I must tell you the last thing Uncle Peter did; he is 
 always roaming around the country and brings us all 
 sorts of things. When we ask him where he got them, 
 he always answers 'Larroes ketch meddlers.' Well, 
 as I was saying, he went off last week and returned 
 three or four days after with a bundle of six blue over- 
 coats. They came in very handy, and I have already 
 made a very good dress for myself, and there Is enough 
 to go around. 
 
 "Grandpa continues in good health; all during the 
 summer he sat in an armchair under the old oak; every 
 morning he reads the family prayers, and after break- 
 fast listens to Lucy and Jane recite their lessons, which 
 I taught them the day before. Grandpa has no Interest 
 In anything except the war. When Uncle Peter brings 
 home a newspaper he keeps It and reads every word 
 before he will let it go out of his possession. 
 
 "I dread the coming winter beyond words, though 
 Uncle Peter has two hogs fattening in the woods; and 
 we have much to be thankful for. We live on corn 
 bread; no butter since last spring, and as for tea and 
 
250 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 sugar, I have forgotten how they taste. We have 
 sassafras root for tea, sweetened with sorghum, which 
 Uncle Peter raises, and we have learned to eat to live, 
 not live to eat. 
 
 "But the winter is going to be hard; as we can rarely 
 get oil or candles, we have to go to bed soon after dark; 
 and then we have nothing to read; every book in the 
 house has been read and reread until it is so dog-eared 
 and finger-marked that it is ruined. Well, this cruel 
 war can't last forever. 
 
 "You would scarcely recognize in me the stylish 
 young lady you used to know. I wish I could show you 
 a picture of myself at the present writing. We have 
 about exhausted the wardrobes we owned before the 
 war and have to resort to all sorts of makeshifts. Be- 
 sides the dress made of the overcoats Uncle Peter 
 brought, I am wearing shoes made by my own hands 
 out of some old felt hats that Uncle Peter picked up 
 somewhere; they are warm, but not water-proof; stock- 
 ings made from the sleeves of wornout underclothes; 
 my headgear is a bonnet made from scraps; but the 
 masterpiece is a pair of gloves made from some pieces 
 of broadcloth which I fear Uncle Peter must have cut 
 from some Yankee officer's coat. They are not a 'per- 
 fect fit,' but they do very well and keep my hands warm 
 when I am obliged to go in the woods and gather fagots 
 to burn in the stove. 
 
 "Before I had this dress (made from the aforesaid 
 overcoats) ma and I took the last of our sheets and 
 
PICTURES FROM OLD LETTERS 25 1 
 
 dyed them with butternut bark and made ourselves 
 dresses of them, but they, too, are now in tatters. 
 
 "Sometime, possibly, we may be able to laugh at our 
 present condition and appearance, but just now it is too 
 pathetic. Oh I to once more sit down to a real dinner — 
 a piece of cake — a dish of pudding — but then when I 
 think of our poor soldiers living on corn or snow for 
 sugar (as many of them do), I am thankful for even 
 the corn bread and gravy made of meat drippings and 
 water with a little vinegar as a piquant flavoring. Did 
 you ever taste it? That's what we had yesterday. 
 
 "Lucy and Jane are very proud of their new shoes. 
 We found a leather valise in the attic and Uncle Peter 
 and I ripped it up and made moccasins for the two girls. 
 They are really fine; and as we never expect to travel 
 again, we do not regret the valise." 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 GIVE HONOR TO WHOM HONOR IS DUE. 
 
 America is rich in female heroism, and the sentiment 
 so forcible a century ago that "Westward the Star of 
 Empire makes its way," is but the untold tale of what 
 the women of that time suffered and endured. 
 
 Did the sun ever shine on a braver woman than 
 Elizabeth Zane, a daughter of Virginia? In mon- 
 archial Europe her name would be a household word; 
 253 
 
PICTURES FROM OLD LETTERS 253 
 
 but American history, so illuminant with the deeds of 
 the heroes of the American Revolution, gives to her 
 only a small paragraph. 
 
 The histories of the world might be searched, but no 
 grander tales of heroic women can be found than those 
 of the pioneer women of Kentucky, who, by the way, 
 mostly haled from the Valley of Virginia. The his- 
 torian Cook grows enthusiastic in their praise. 
 
 Henry Watterson said of these Virginia pioneers: 
 
 "The star that shone above him and led him on was 
 love of liberty, the beacon of his dreams, the light of 
 the fireside. He cut a clearing in the wildwood and 
 called it 'home.' He read not romance, he made it; 
 nor poetry, he lived it; his the forest epic, the Ilaid of 
 the canebrake, the Odyssey of the frontier, the un- 
 conscious prose-poem of the rifle and the camp, the 
 blockhouse and the plow, the Holy Bible and the old 
 field school. 
 
 "Happy the man who has sat in childhood upon a 
 well-loved grandsire's knee, awed by the telling of the 
 wondrous tale; how even as the Dardanae followed 
 Aeneas, the Virginians followed Boone; the route from 
 Troy to Tiber not wearier, nor flanked by greater 
 hazard, than that betwixt the shores of the Chesapeake 
 and the Falls of the Ohio; the mountains standing, 
 gorgon-like, across the pathless way, as if, defending 
 each defile, to hold inviolate some dread, forbidden 
 secret; the weird wastes of wilderness beyond; the ford- 
 less stream; the yawning chasm; the gleam of the toma- 
 
254 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 hawk and the hiss of the serpent; yet ever onward, 
 spite of the haunting voice of the elements, stripped for 
 the death-struggle with man, spite of the silence and the 
 solitude of reluctant Nature, like some fawn-eyed 
 maiden, resisting his rude intrusion; ever onward; be- 
 fore him the promised land of the hunter's vision; in 
 his soul the grace of God, the fear of hell and the love 
 of Virginia! 
 
 "They came, the Virginians, in their home-spun in 
 quest of homes; their warrant their rifles; their pay- 
 ment the blood of heroes; nor yet forgetting a proverb 
 the Chinese have that 'it needs a hundred men to make 
 a fortress, but only a woman to make a home' — for they 
 were quick to go back for their women — their wives 
 and their sweethearts, our grandmothers, who stood by 
 their side beautiful and dauntless, to load their fowling- 
 pieces, to dress their wounds, to cheer them on to bat- 
 tle, singing their simple requiem over the dead at 
 Boonesborough and bringing water from the spring at 
 Bryan's Station, heart-broken only when the news came 
 back from the River basin. 
 
 "God bless Virginia I Heaven smile upon her as she 
 prepares to celebrate with fitting rite three centuries of 
 majestic achievement, the star-crown upon her brow, 
 the distaff in her hand, nor spot, nor blur to dim the 
 radiance of her shield 1" 
 
 In the history of Boston by Daniel Neal, an English- 
 man, he states that the flame of the colonists' rebellion 
 was kindled at Boston in 1765, when the Stamp Act was 
 
PICTURES FROM OLD LETTERS 255 
 
 passed and the cargo of tea was burned in Boston Har- 
 bor, and that the women of Boston, putting behind them 
 their love of that beverage which "cheers but does not 
 inebriate," were the prime instigators of the movement. 
 
 In the Revolutionary War the Patriot's cause would 
 have failed but for the women. Thomas Payne de- 
 scribed the condition of the army at Valley Forge, the 
 winter after Arnold's treason, and the inability of the 
 Government to provide for the troops. Had it not 
 been for the women who furnished clothing and food, 
 and in every way helping to ameliorate the suffering of 
 the despairing soldiers, George Washington woCild 
 have been hiding in the caves of the Blue Ridge Moun- 
 tains, with a price on his head, and Benedict Arnold 
 would have been the despot of His Majesty's Provinces. 
 Man, egotistical man, claims everything; he even claims 
 to have been made in the image of his maker; and these 
 little tin gods, both on foot and on horseback, are to be 
 found in every part of the country. In great America 
 one may travel from Alaska's icy mountains to Flor- 
 ida's coral strand, yet never see one single shaft or 
 monument raised in honor of America's women. 
 
 Who was it that furnished Washington with full in- 
 formation as to the movements and station of the Brit- 
 ish that enabled Washington to cross the Delaware and 
 win the victory at Trenton? It was the rebel women of 
 Philadelphia. Who was it that handled the cannon at 
 Monmouth after the gunners were killed? A woman. 
 Who was It that saved Marlon three times from Tarle- 
 
256 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 ton's cavalry? A woman. Who won the Mighty 
 West? Not the traders, the trappers or the huntsmen, 
 whose coming and going left the virgin land as un- 
 touched as are the lakes from the dip of the paddle. 
 Was it the frontiersman, whose wagon or ox-cart car- 
 ried himself and wife towards the setting sun? It was 
 the wife who fed him, clothed him, loaded his rifle, and 
 often aimed it, to beat back his enemies. "Westward 
 the Star of Empire takes its way." Ah, yes ! But only 
 when women's footsteps echo in the land. 
 
 The West is sprinkled with statues to "My Lord," 
 but "My Lady" in bronze or marble is never seen ex- 
 cept in some tree-shadowed graveyard. "A monument 
 to me, a stone to her," has ever been man's ultimatum. 
 Yea, for his own self-glorification, he has caused to be 
 built a spacious room in which he has planted some 
 figures, and has named it "The Hall of Immortals." 
 Unlike Mrs. Jarley's waxworks, there are no females 
 on view. 
 
 The ancients honored their women far above modern 
 world. The Imperial City was full of statues to the 
 Roman women. Near the Coliseum was the equestrian 
 statue of the heroine Cornelia. On the Via Sacra was 
 a temple in honor of Tertinia, and another one to 
 Volumbria; and this, in a city where a woman had no 
 rights in law. The wife's fortune was her husband's, 
 and according to Cato, he could beat his wife or even 
 sell her. But the Romans could rise above sex and 
 commemorate in chiseled marble the noble qualities of 
 
GIVE HONOR TO WHOM HONOR IS DUE 257 
 
 her people. There Is also a statue to Cornelia, the 
 mother of the Gracchi, who refused Ptolemy and a 
 crown, who, both Plutarch and Quintilian declare, was 
 a gem of womanhood. 
 
 There was in Rome a woman who for half a century 
 did more towards shaping the destinies of the empire 
 than did the august Senate itself; her name was Livia, 
 the wife of the Emperor Augustus. Plutarch says: 
 "She united the purity of Diana, the benevolence of 
 Ceres and the wisdom and craft of Minerva. In fea- 
 tures, Venus; in manners, Juno." Says Ovid: "She 
 raised her head against all vices." There were many 
 busts and statues of this remarkable woman. 
 
 Among the Hebrews there were women whose names 
 will never die. Huldah, the prophetess, who spoke 
 when men were afraid to lift their voices; and Deborah, 
 who overcame the enemies of Israel, and Judith and 
 Esther, who saved the people of God. 
 
 In the Golden Age of Greece, when the standard for 
 culture, music, poetry and song was set for all ages to 
 come, women stood on a pedestal, where they will re- 
 main as long as history shall exist. There was Sappho, 
 who twenty-five centuries ago was the greatest lyric 
 poet that ever penned verses; they swept men's souls. 
 "The divine Sappho," as Byron called her, and his 
 tribute to her is among the finest lines in his odes to 
 Greece. There is a splendid statue of her in Byzantine. 
 Her face was stamped upon the coins of Greece. 
 
 Pericles said: "My wife rules me, I rule Athens, 
 
258 THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 and Athens rules the world." That is the grandest 
 compliment from a man to a woman, a husband to a 
 wife, that ever passed mortal lips. A noble statue was 
 erected to her memory. 
 
 Many essayists, and poets as well, have placed the 
 love of country above that of all other human affec- 
 tions. Leana, the Athenian, who valued her country 
 above her life, has carved upon her statue of white 
 marble, "The greatest patriot that immortal Greece 
 ever gave to the world." 
 
 In Europe there are many statues erected to women. 
 The Maid of Saragossa and Jeanne D'Arc are sculp- 
 tured, and there are fine statues of Mother Anna of 
 Saxony, Lady Seton of Scotland, Florence Nightingale 
 and Grace Darling of England. 
 
 On the battlefield of Gettysburg there are hundreds 
 of statues of men; but not one has ever been erected in 
 honor of those noble women who gathered there from 
 all quarters of the Union to nurse and comfort the 
 wounded and drop pitying tears upon the dead. 
 
 Now a word about the statues. The ones represent- 
 ing the officers of the Confederate Army are in the 
 main correct; their equipments and uniform are such 
 as they wore in the great conflict, for the wear and tear, 
 the hurly-burly of war, did not efface their uniforms, as 
 the staff officers, colonels and generals had each their 
 trunk, a body servant of sable hue, to brush their 
 
GIVE HONOR TO WHOM HONOR IS DUE 259 
 
 clothes, and the headquarters wagon for transportation. 
 But the private soldier, with his old slouch hat set 
 askew, his tarnished jacket tattered and torn, his pants 
 stuffed in his boots, his blanket slung across his 
 shoulder, containing in its folds an extra pair of socks 
 and a shirt, his rough brogans — Shades of Mars, what 
 a contrast! It was as if the officers of the French 
 King's household guards in their gallant showing were 
 leading a motley throng of "Sans Culottes." 
 
 The statues of the Confederate soldier throughout 
 the Southland are fine as a work of art, and reflect 
 credit on the artist, but as preserving the truth of his- 
 tory, they are a rank failure. When the generations 
 yet unborn gaze upon those plump, well-fed, well- 
 dressed figures standing on their pedestals on many a 
 courthouse green, supposed to be a striking prototype 
 of those matchless soldiers who followed Lee, the com- 
 ing race will conclude that the tales of misery, want and 
 poverty that the Confederate soldier went through 
 were but the traditions of "old wives' tales." 
 
 A "looker-on in Vienna" standing on the side of a 
 road in the "sixties" and watching the legions of Lee 
 streaming up the valley pike on their way to Gettys- 
 burg, or defiling their way through the slashes of the 
 wilderness, or during a double quick through the woods 
 of old Spottsylvania, could see the typical Confederate 
 soldier in his glory. Years of discipline, of diet, of drill, 
 had moulded them in a distinct type. They were 
 the flower of the Anglo-Saxon race, purified of dross, 
 
26o THE WOMEN OF THE DEBATABLE LAND 
 
 and tempered like steel. A prize-fighter takes three 
 months of hard training to throw off fat and get in 
 perfect physical condition, but Johnny Reb had been 
 three years on the job, and was a being of bone, blood 
 and sinew. He had got close to his primeval ancestor 
 and he could harmlessly undergo hardships which would 
 assuredly have sent the average citizen to the hospital 
 or the grave. The Confederate soldier could sleep on 
 the bare ground, he could make his thirty miles a day, 
 and forget about it the next morning; his face was 
 bronzed by the sun and tanned by the weather, and his 
 visage was lean and gaunt. He was, as the moun- 
 taineers expressed it, "lantern-jawed." His once gray 
 uniform was patched, hit or miss, and in an active cam- 
 paign, discolored with earth, tarnished with battle 
 smoke, and torn by the briers. The owner philosoph- 
 ically smoked his pipe and said he would dress up in 
 full dress when the war was over. The girls laughed 
 and cried by turns when he visited them, but were 
 prouder of him dressed in those rags than if he had 
 been arrayed in the showy uniform of the "Queen's 
 own," but minus his daring and glorious record. 
 
 As the surviving veteran of the South today views 
 these statues of the soldiers in gray, his mind flashes 
 back to those stirring days of the sixties, and he cannot 
 help thinking that they represent the men who carried 
 the gun, carried the sabre or pulled the lanyard about 
 as much as the picture of the reigning monarchs in 
 Mrs. Jarley's waxworks. 
 
 9K". 'f^ 
 
GIVE HONOR TO WHOM HONOR IS DUE a6l 
 
 If the women of the South proved their love for the 
 Southland during the Civil War, the true women of the 
 North also had their cause at heart. It was through 
 their efforts that the famous Sanitary Commission was 
 formed and worked. But no shaft commemorates their 
 noble work. 
 
 In 1865, after Grant's frightful loss in the Wilder- 
 ness and his bloody repulse at Cold Harbor and The 
 Crater, the New York Herald floated the white flag 
 and called for a Peace Congress. Henry Ward 
 Beecher wrote that the only thing that saved the Union 
 at that critical time was "the temper of the women that 
 rose above defeat." But no bust of marble or monu- 
 ment of bronze has been built in their honor. 
 
 And the South 1 The land of "Song and Story I" 
 Her history is illumined with the noble deeds of her 
 daughters. What must the coming generations think 
 of a country that neglected to commemorate with either 
 the mason's trowel, the sculptor's chisel or the artist's 
 brush the fame of the grand Southern women of '61 
 and '65? 
 
 North Carolina and South Carolina, of all this land, 
 have erected splendid statues of marble to honor and 
 commemorate the virtues of the women of their re- 
 spective States who worked, suffered and endured dur- 
 ing the Civil War, but Virginia has none ! 
 
MOV 14 1919 
 
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