Looking at him closely, this is what I saw: An officer superbly mounted who sat his charger as if to the manor born. Tall, lithe, active, muscular, straight as an Indian and as quick in his movements, he had the fair complexion of a school girl. He was clad in a suit of black velvet, elaborately trimmed with gold lace, which ran down the outer seams of his trousers, and almost covered the sleeves of his cavalry jacket. The wide collar of a blue navy shirt was turned down over the collar of his velvet jacket, and a necktie of brilliant crimson was tied in a graceful knot at the throat, the long ends falling carelessly in front. The double rows of buttons on his breast were arranged in groups of twos, indicating the rank of brigadier general. A soft, black hat with wide brim adorned with a gilt cord, and rosette encircling a silver star, was worn turned down on one side giving him a rakish air. His golden hair fell in graceful luxuriance nearly or quite to his shoulders, and his upper lip was garnished with a blonde mustache. A sword and belt, gilt spurs and top boots completed his unique outfit.

A keen eye would have been slow to detect in that rider with the flowing locks and gaudy tie, in his dress of velvet and of gold, the master spirit that he proved to be. That garb, fantastic as at first sight it appeared to be, was to be the distinguishing mark which, during all the remaining years of that war, like the white plume of Henry of Navarre, was to show us where, in the thickest of the fight, we were to seek our leader—for, where danger was, where swords were to cross, where Greek met Greek, there was he, always. Brave but not reckless; self-confident, yet modest; ambitious, but regulating his conduct at all times by a high sense of honor and duty; eager for laurels, but scorning to wear them unworthily; ready and willing to act, but regardful of human life; quick in emergencies, cool and self-possessed, his courage was of the highest moral type, his perceptions were intuitions. Showy like Murat, fiery like Farnsworth, yet calm and self-reliant like Sheridan, he was the most brilliant and successful cavalry officer of his time. Such a man had appeared upon the scene, and soon we learned to utter with pride the name of—Custer.

George A. Custer was, as all agree, the most picturesque figure of the civil war. Yet his ability and services were never rightly judged by the American people. It is doubtful if more than one of his superior officers—if we except McClellan, who knew him only as a staff subaltern—estimated him at his true value. Sheridan knew Custer for what he was. So did the Michigan brigade and the Third cavalry division. But, except by these, he was regarded as a brave, dashing, but reckless officer who needed a guiding hand. Among regular army officers as a class he cannot be said to have been a favorite. The meteoric rapidity of his rise to the zenith of his fame and success, when so many of the youngsters of his years were moving in the comparative obscurity of their own orbits, irritated them. Stars of the first magnitude did not appear often in the galaxy of military heroes. Custer was one of the few.

The popular idea of Custer is a misconception. He was not a reckless commander. He was not regardless of human life. No man could have been more careful of the comfort and lives of his men. His heart was tender as that of a woman. He was kind to his subordinates, tolerant of their weaknesses, always ready to help and encourage them. He was brave as a lion, fought as few men fought, but it was from no love of it. Fighting was his business; and he knew that by that means alone could peace be conquered. He was brave, alert, untiring, a hero in battle, relentless in the pursuit of a beaten enemy, stubborn and full of resources on the retreat. His tragic death at the Little Big Horn crowned his career with a tragic interest that will not wane while history or tradition endure. Hundreds of brave men shed tears when they heard of it—men who had served under and learned to love him in the trying times of civil war.

I have always believed that some of the real facts of the battle of the Little Big Horn were unknown. Probably the true version of the massacre will remain a sealed book until the dead are called upon to give up their secrets, though there are those who profess to believe that one man at least is still living who knows the real story and that some day he will tell it.

Certain it is that Custer never would have rushed deliberately on destruction. If, for any reason, he had desired to end his own life, and that is inconceivable, he would not have involved his friends and those whose lives had been entrusted to his care in the final and terrible catastrophe. He was not a reckless commander or one who would plunge into battle with his eyes shut. He was cautious and wary, accustomed to reconnoiter carefully and measure the strength of an enemy as accurately as possible before attacking. More than once the Michigan brigade was saved from disaster by Custer's caution. This may seem to many a novel—to some an erroneous estimate of Custer's characteristics as a military man. But it is a true one. It is an opinion formed by one who had good opportunity to judge of him correctly. In one sense only is it a prejudiced view. It is the judgment of a friend and a loyal one; it is not that of an enemy or a rival. As such it is appreciative and it is just.

Under his skilful hand the four regiments were soon welded into a coherent unit, acting so like one man that the history of one is oftentimes apt to be the history of the other, and it is difficult to draw the line where the credit that is due to one leaves off and that which should be given to another begins.



The result of the day at Hanover was that Stuart was driven still farther away from a junction with Lee. He was obliged to turn to the east, making a wide detour by the way of Jefferson and Dover Kilpatrick, meanwhile, maintaining his threatening attitude on the inside of the circle which the redoubtable confederate was traversing, and forcing the latter to swing clear around to the north as far as Carlisle, where he received the first reliable information as to the whereabouts of Lee. It was the evening of July 2, when he finally reached the main army. The battle then had been going on for two days, and the issue was still in doubt. During that day (2) both Stuart and Kilpatrick were hastening to rejoin their respective armies, it having been decided that the great battle would be fought out around Gettysburg. Gregg's division had been guarding the right flank of Meade's army, but at nightfall it was withdrawn to a position on the Baltimore pike near the reserve artillery.

Kilpatrick reached the inside of the union lines, in the vicinity of Gettysburg, late in the afternoon, at about the same hour that Hampton, with Stuart's leading brigade, arrived at Hunterstown, a few miles northeast of Gettysburg. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon when the Third division, moving in column of fours, was halted temporarily, awaiting orders where to go in, and listening to the artillery firing close in front, when a staff officer rode rapidly along the column, crying out: "Little Mac is in command and we are whipping them." It was a futile attempt to evoke enthusiasm and conjure victory with the magic of McClellan's name. There was scarcely a faint attempt to cheer. There was no longer any potency in a name.

Soon thereafter, receiving orders to move out on the road to Abbottstown, Kilpatrick started in that direction, Custer's brigade leading, with the Sixth Michigan in advance. When nearing the village of Hunterstown, on a road flanked by fences, the advance encountered a heavy force of confederate cavalry. A mounted line was formed across the road, while there were dismounted skirmishers behind the fences on either side. The leading squadron of the Sixth, led by Captain H.E. Thompson, boldly charged down the road, and at the same time, three troops were dismounted and deployed on the ridge to the right, Pennington's battery going into position in their rear. The mounted charge was a most gallant one, but Thompson, encountering an overwhelmingly superior force in front, and exposed to a galling fire on both flanks, as he charged past the confederates behind the fences, was driven back, but not before he himself had been severely wounded, while his first lieutenant, S.H. Ballard, had his horse shot under him and was left behind a prisoner. As Thompson's squadron was retiring, the enemy attempted a charge in pursuit, but the dismounted men on the right of the road kept up such a fusillade with their Spencer carbines, aided by the rapid discharges from Pennington's battery, that he was driven back in great confusion. General Kilpatrick, speaking in his official report of this engagement, says:

"I was attacked by Stuart, Hampton and Fitzhugh Lee near Hunterstown. After a spirited affair of nearly two hours, the enemy was driven from this point with great loss. The Second brigade fought most handsomely. It lost in killed and wounded and missing, 32. The conduct of the Sixth Michigan cavalry and Pennington's battery is deserving of the highest praise."

On the other hand, General Hampton states that he received information of Kilpatrick's advance upon Hunterstown and was directed by Stuart to go and meet it. He says:

"After some skirmishing, the enemy attempted a charge, which was met in front by the Cobb legion, and on either flank by the Phillips legion and the Second South Carolina cavalry."

The position at Hunterstown was held until near midnight when Kilpatrick received orders to move to Two Taverns, on the Baltimore turnpike, about five miles southeast of Gettysburg, and some three miles due south from the Rummel farm, on the Hanover road, east of Gettysburg, where the great cavalry fight between Gregg and Stuart was to take place on the next day. It was three o'clock in the morning (Kilpatrick says "daylight") when Custer's brigade went into bivouac at Two Taverns.

The Second cavalry division, commanded by General D. McM. Gregg, as has been seen, held the position on the Rummel farm on the second but was withdrawn in the evening to the Baltimore pike "to be available for whatever duty they might be called upon to perform on the morrow." On the morning of the third, Gregg was ordered to resume his position of the day before, but states in his report that the First and Third brigades (McIntosh and Irvin Gregg) were posted on the right of the infantry, about three-fourths of a mile nearer the Baltimore and Gettysburg pike, because he learned that the Second brigade (Custer's) of the Third division was occupying his position of the day before.

General Kilpatrick, in his report says:

"At 11 p.m. (July 2) received orders to move (from Hunterstown) to Two Taverns, which point we reached at daylight. At 8 a.m. (July 3) received orders from headquarters cavalry corps to move to the left of our line and attack the enemy's right and rear with my whole command and the reserve brigade. By some mistake, General Custer's brigade was ordered to report to General Gregg and he (Custer) did not rejoin me during the day."

General Custer, in his report, gives the following, which is without doubt, the true explanation of the "mistake." He says:

"At an early hour on the morning of the third, I received an order through a staff officer of the brigadier general commanding the division (Kilpatrick), to move at once my command and follow the First brigade (Farnsworth) on the road leading from Two Taverns to Gettysburg. Agreeably to the above instructions, my column was formed and moved out on the road designated, when a staff officer of Brigadier General Gregg, commanding the Second division, ordered me to take my command and place it in position on the pike leading from York[10] (Hanover) to Gettysburg, which position formed the extreme right of our line of battle on that day."

Thus it is made plain that there was no "mistake" about it. It was Gregg's prescience. He saw the risk of attempting to guard the right flank with only the two decimated brigades of his own division. Seeing with him was to act. He took the responsibility to intercept Kilpatrick's rear and largest brigade, turn it off the Baltimore pike, to the right, instead of allowing it to go to the left, as it had been ordered to do, and thus, doubtless, a serious disaster was averted. It makes one tremble to think what might have been, of what inevitably must have happened, had Gregg, with only the two little brigades of McIntosh and Irvin Gregg and Randol's battery, tried to cope single-handed with the four brigades and three batteries, comprising the very flower of the confederate cavalry and artillery, which those brave knights—Stuart, Hampton and Fitzhugh Lee—were marshaling in person on Cress's ridge. If Custer's presence on the field was, as often has been said, "providential," it is General D. McM. Gregg to whom, under Providence, the credit for bringing him there was due. Gregg was a great and a modest soldier and it will be proper, before entering upon a description of the battle in which he played so prominent a part, to pause a moment and pay to him the merited tribute of our admiration. In the light of all the official reports, put together link by link, so as to make one connected chain of evidence, we can see that the engagement which he fought on the right at Gettysburg, on July 3, 1863, was from first to last, a well planned battle, in which the different commands were maneuvered with the same sagacity displayed by a skilful chess player in moving the pawns upon a chessboard; in which every detail was the fruit of the brain of one man who, from the time when he turned Custer to the northward, until he sent the First Michigan thundering against the brigades of Hampton and Fitzhugh Lee, made not a single false move; who was distinguished not less for his intuitive foresight than for his quick perceptions at critical moments.

That man was General David McMutrie Gregg.

This conclusion has been reached by a mind not—certainly not—predisposed in that direction, after a careful study and review of all the information within reach bearing upon that eventful day. If, at Gettysburg, the Michigan cavalry brigade won honors that will not perish, it was to Gregg that it owed the opportunity, and his guiding hand it was that made its blows effective. It will be seen how, later in the day, he again boldly took responsibility at a critical moment and held Custer to his work on the right, even after the latter had been ordered by higher authority than himself (Gregg) to rejoin Kilpatrick and after Custer had begun the movement.



Now, having admitted, if not demonstrated that Gregg did the planning, it will be shown how gallantly Custer and his Michigan brigade did their part of the fighting. Up to a certain point, it will be best to let General Custer tell his own story:

"Upon arriving at the point designated, I immediately placed my command in a position facing toward Gettysburg. At the same time I caused reconnoissances to be made on my front, right and rear, but failed to discover any considerable force of the enemy. Everything remained quiet until 10 a.m., when the enemy appeared on my right flank and opened upon me with a battery of six guns. Leaving two guns and a regiment to hold my first position and cover the road leading to Gettysburg, I shifted the remaining portion of my command forming a new line of battle at right angles with my former position. The enemy had obtained correct range of my new position, and was pouring solid shot and shell into my command with great accuracy. Placing two sections of battery "M," Second regular artillery, in position, I ordered them to silence the enemy's battery, which order, notwithstanding the superiority of the enemy's position, was done in a very short space of time. My line as it then existed, was shaped like the letter "L." The shorter branch, supported by one section of battery "M" (Clark's), supported by four squadrons of the Sixth Michigan cavalry, faced toward Gettysburg, covering the pike; the long branch, composed of the two remaining sections of battery "M," supported by a portion of the Sixth Michigan cavalry on the left, and the First Michigan cavalry on the right—with the Seventh Michigan cavalry still further to the right and in advance—was held in readiness to repel any attack on the Oxford (Low Dutch) road.[11] The Fifth Michigan was dismounted and ordered to take position in front of my center and left. The First Michigan was held in column of squadrons to observe the movements of the enemy. I ordered fifty men to be sent one mile and a half on the Oxford (Low Dutch) road, and a detachment of equal size on the York (Hanover) road, both detachments being under the command of the gallant Major Weber (of the Sixth) who, from time to time, kept me so well informed of the movements of the enemy, that I was enabled to make my dispositions with complete success."

General Custer says further, that at twelve o'clock he received an order directing him, on being relieved by a brigade of the Second division, to move to the left and form a junction with Kilpatrick; that on the arrival of Colonel McIntosh's brigade he prepared to execute the order; but, to quote his own language:

"Before I had left my position, Brigadier General Gregg, commanding the Second division, arrived with his entire command. Learning the true condition of affairs, and rightly conjecturing the enemy was making his dispositions for vigorously attacking our position, Brigadier General Gregg ordered me to remain in the position I then occupied."

So much space has been given to these quotations because they cover a controverted point. It has been claimed, and General Gregg seems to countenance that view, that Custer was withdrawn and that McIntosh, who was put in his place, opened the fight, after which Gregg brought Custer back to reinforce McIntosh. So far from this being true, it is quite the reverse of the truth. Custer did not leave his position. The battle opened before the proposed change had taken place, and McIntosh was hurried in on the right of Custer. The latter was reluctant to leave his post—knew he ought not to leave it. He had already been attacked by a fire from the artillery in position beyond the Rummel buildings. Major Weber, who was out on the crossroad leading northwest from the Low Dutch road had observed the movement of Stuart's column, headed by Chambliss and Jenkins, past the Stallsmith farm, to the wooded crest behind Rummel's, and had reported it to Custer. Custer did, indeed, begin the movement. A portion of the Sixth Michigan and, possibly, of the Seventh, also, had begun to withdraw when Custer met Gregg coming on the field and explained to him the situation—that the enemy was "all around" and preparing to "push things." Gregg told him to remain where he was and that portion of the brigade which was moving away halted, countermarched, and reoccupied its former position. The Fifth Michigan had not been withdrawn from the line in front, and Pennington's guns had never ceased to thunder their responses to the confederate challenge.[12]

Custer says that the enemy opened upon him with a battery of six guns at ten a.m. Stuart on the contrary, claims to have left Gettysburg about noon. It is difficult to reconcile these two statements. A good deal of latitude may be given the word "about," but it is probable that the one puts the hour too early, while the other does not give it early enough; for, of course, before Custer could be attacked, some portion of Stuart's command must have been upon the field.

Official reports are often meagre, if not sometimes misleading, and must needs be reinforced by the memoranda and recollections of actual participants, before the exact truth can be known.

Major Charles E. Storrs, of the Sixth Michigan, who commanded a squadron, was sent out to the left and front of Custer's position, soon after the brigade arrived upon the ground. He remained there several hours and was recalled about noon—he is positive it was later than twelve m.—to take position with the troops on the left of the battery. He states that the first shot was not fired until sometime after his recall, and he is sure it was not earlier than two o'clock.[13]

When Stuart left Gettysburg, as he says about noon, he took with him Chambliss's and Jenkins's brigades of cavalry and Griffin's battery. Hampton and FitZhugh Lee were to follow; also Breathed's and McGregor's batteries, as soon as the latter had replenished their ammunition chests. Stuart moved two and a half miles out on the York turnpike, when he turned to the right by a country road that runs southeasterly past the Stallsmith farm. (This road intersects the Low Dutch road, about three-fourths of a mile from where the latter crosses the Hanover pike.) Turning off from this road to the right, Stuart posted the brigades of Jenkins and Chambliss and Griffin's battery on the commanding Cress's ridge, beyond Rummel's and more than a mile from the position occupied by Custer. This movement was noticed by Major Weber, who with his detachment of the Sixth Michigan cavalry, was stationed in the woods northeast of Rummel's, where he could look out on the open country beyond, and he promptly reported the fact to Custer.

The first shot that was fired came from near the wood beyond Rummel's. According to Major McClellan, who was assistant adjutant general on Stuart's staff, this was from a section of Griffin's Battery, and was aimed by Stuart himself, he not knowing whether there was anything in his front or not. Several shots were fired in this way.

Major McClellan is doubtless right in this, that these shots were fired as feelers; but it is inconceivable that Stuart was totally unaware of the presence of any federal force in his immediate front; that he did not know that there was stationed on the opposite ridge a brigade of cavalry and a battery. Gregg had been there the day before, and Stuart at least must have suspected, if he did not know, that he would find him there again. It is probable that he fired the shots in the hope of drawing out and developing the force he knew was there, to ascertain how formidable it might be, and how great the obstacle in the way of his farther progress toward the rear of the union lines.

The information he sought was quickly furnished.

It was then that Custer put Pennington's battery in position, and the three sections of rifled cannon opened with a fire so fast and accurate that Griffin was speedily silenced and compelled to leave the field.

Then there was a lull. I cannot say how long it lasted but, during its continuance, General Gregg arrived and took command in person. About this time, also, it is safe to say that Hampton and Fitzhugh Lee came up and took position on the left of Chambliss and Jenkins. The confederate line then extended clear across the federal front, and was screened by the two patches of woods between Rummel's and the Stallsmith farm.

A battalion of the Sixth Michigan cavalry, of which mine was the leading troop, was placed in support and on the left of Pennington's battery. This formed, at first, the short line of the "L" referred to in Custer's report, but it was subsequently removed farther to the right and faced in the same general direction as the rest of the line, where it remained until the battle ended. Its duty there was to repel any attempt that might be made to capture the battery.

The ground upon which these squadrons were stationed overlooked the plain, and the slightest demonstration in the open ground from either side was immediately discernible. From this vantage ground it was possible to see every phase of the magnificent contest that followed. It was like a spectacle arranged for us to see. We were in the position of spectators at joust or tournament where the knights, advancing from their respective sides, charge full tilt upon each other in the middle of the field.

The lull referred to was like the calm that precedes the storm. The troopers were dismounted, standing "in place rest" in front of their horses, when suddenly there burst upon the air the sound of that terrific cannonading that preceded Pickett's charge. The earth quaked. The tremendous volume of sound volleyed and rolled across the intervening hills like reverberating thunder in a storm.

It was then between one and two o'clock. (Major Storrs says after two.) It was not long thereafter, when General Custer directed Colonel Alger to advance and engage the enemy. The Fifth Michigan, its flanks protected by a portion of the Sixth Michigan on the left, by McIntosh's brigade on the right, moved briskly forward towards the wooded screen behind which the enemy was known to be concealed. In this movement the right of regiment was swung well forward, the left somewhat "refused," so that Colonel Alger's line was very nearly at right angles with the left of Stuart's position.

As the Fifth Michigan advanced from field to field and fence to fence, a line of gray came out from behind the Rummel buildings and the woods beyond. A stubborn and spirited contest ensued. The opposing batteries filled the air with shot and shrieking shell. Amazing marksmanship was shown by Pennington's battery, and such accurate artillery firing was never seen on any other field. Alger's men with their eight-shotted carbines, forced their adversaries slowly but surely back, the gray line fighting well and superior in numbers, but unable to withstand the storm of bullets. It made a final stand behind the strong line of fences, in front of Rummel's and a few hundred yards out from the foot of the slope whereon, concealed by the woods, Stuart's reserves were posted.

While the fight was raging on the plain, Weber with his outpost was driven in. His two troops were added to the four already stationed on the left of Pennington's battery. Weber, who had been promoted to major but a few days before, was ordered by Colonel Gray to assume command of the battalion. As he took his place by my side in front of the leading troop, he said:

"I have seen thousands of them over there," pointing to the front. "The country yonder, is full of the enemy."

He had observed all of Stuart's movements, and it was he who gave Custer the first important information as to what the enemy was doing; which information was transmitted to Gregg, and probably had a determining influence in keeping Custer on the field.

Weber was a born soldier, fitted by nature and acquirements for much higher rank than any he held. Although but 23 years of age, he had seen much service. A private in the Third Michigan infantry in 1861, he was next battalion adjutant of the Second Michigan cavalry, served on the staff of General Elliott, in the southwest, and came home with Alger in 1862, to take a troop in the Sixth Michigan cavalry. The valuable service rendered by him at Gettysburg was fitly recognized by Custer in his official report. He was killed ten days later at Falling Waters, while leading his squadron in a charge which was described by Kilpatrick as "the most gallant ever made." Anticipating a spirited fight, he was eager to have a part in it. "Bob," he said to me a few days before, while marching through Maryland, "I want a chance to make one saber charge." He thought the time had come. His eye flashed and his face flushed as he watched the progress of the fight, fretting and chafing to be held in reserve when the bugle was summoning others to the charge.

The Fifth Michigan, holding the most advanced position, suffered greatly, Hampton having reinforced the confederate line. Among those killed at this stage of the battle was Major Noah H. Ferry, of the Fifth. Repeating rifles are not only effective but wasteful weapons as well, and Colonel Alger, finding that his ammunition had given out, felt compelled to retire his regiment and seek his horses. Seeing this, the enemy sprang forward with a yell. The union line was seen to yield. The puffs of smoke from the muzzles of their guns had almost ceased. It was plain the Michigan men were out of ammunition and unable to maintain the contest longer. On from field to field, the line of gray followed in exultant pursuit. Breathed and McGregor opened with redoubled violence. Shells dropped and exploded among the skirmishers, while thicker and faster they fell around the position of the reserves. Pennington replied with astonishing effect, for every shot hit the mark, and the opposing artillerists were unable to silence a single union gun. But still they came, until it seemed that nothing could stop their victorious career. "Men, be ready," said Weber. "We will have to charge that line." But the course of the pursuit took it toward the right, in the direction of Randol's battery where Chester was serving out canister with the same liberal hand displayed by Pennington's lieutenants, Clark, Woodruff and Hamilton.

Just then, a column of mounted men was seen advancing from the right and rear of the union line. Squadron succeeded squadron until an entire regiment came into view, with sabers gleaming and colors gaily fluttering in the breeze. It was the Seventh Michigan, commanded by Colonel Mann. Gregg seeing the necessity for prompt action, had given the order for it to charge. As the regiment moved forward, and cleared the battery, Custer drew his saber, placed himself in front and shouted: "Come on you Wolverines!" The Seventh dashed into the open field and rode straight at the dismounted line which, staggered by the appearance of this new foe, broke to the rear and ran for its reserves. Custer led the charge half way across the plain, then turned to the left; but the gallant regiment swept on under its own leaders, riding down and capturing many prisoners.



There was no check to the charge. The squadrons kept on in good form. Every man yelled at the top of his voice until the regiment had gone, perhaps, five or six hundred yards straight towards the confederate batteries, when the head of column was deflected to the left, making a quarter turn, and the regiment was hurled headlong against a post-and-rail fence that ran obliquely in front of the Rummel buildings. This proved for the time an impassable barrier. The squadrons coming up successively at a charge, rushed pell mell on each other and were thrown into a state of indescribable confusion, though the rear troops, without order or orders, formed left and right front into line along the fence, and pluckily began firing across it into the faces of the confederates who, when they saw the impetuous onset of the Seventh thus abruptly checked, rallied and began to collect in swarms upon the opposite side. Some of the officers leaped from their saddles and called upon the men to assist in making an opening. Among these were Colonel George G. Briggs, then adjutant, and Captain H.N. Moore. The task was a difficult and hazardous one, the posts and rails being so firmly united that it could be accomplished only by lifting the posts, which were deeply set, and removing several lengths at once. This was finally done, however, though the regiment was exposed not only to a fire from the force in front, but to a flanking fire from a strong skirmish line along a fence to the right and running nearly at right angles with the one through which it was trying to pass.

While this was going on, Briggs's horse was shot and he found himself on foot, with three confederate prisoners on his hands. With these he started to the rear, having no remount. Before he could reach a place of safety, the rush of charging squadrons from either side had intercepted his retreat. In the melee that followed, two of his men ran away, the other undertook the duty of escorting his captor back to the confederate lines. The experiment cost him his life, but the plucky adjutant, although he did not "run away," lived to fight again on many "another day."

In the meantime, through the passage-way thus effected, the Seventh moved forward, the center squadron leading, and resumed the charge. The confederates once more fell back before it. The charge was continued across a plowed field to the front and right, up to and past Rummel's, to a point within 200 or 300 yards of the confederate battery. There another fence was encountered, the last one in the way of reaching the battery, the guns of which were pouring canister into the charging column as fast as they could fire. Two men, privates Powers and Inglede, of Captain Moore's troop, leaped this fence and passed several rods beyond. Powers came back without a scratch, but Inglede was severely wounded. These two men were, certainly, within 200 yards of the confederate cannon.



But, seeing that the enemy to the right had thrown down the fences, and was forming a column for a charge, the scattered portions of the Seventh began to fall back through the opening in the fence. Captain Moore, in whose squadron sixteen horses had been killed, retired slowly, endeavoring to cover the retreat of the dismounted men but, taking the wrong direction, came to the fence about 100 yards above the opening, just as the enemy's charging column struck him. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught the gleam of a saber thrust from the arm of a sturdy confederate. He ducked to avoid the blow, but received the point in the back of his head. At the same time, a pistol ball crashed through his charger's brain and the horse went down, Moore's leg under him. An instant later, Moore avenged his steed with the last shot in his revolver, and the confederate fell dead at his side. Some dismounted men of the Thirteenth Virginia cavalry took Moore prisoner and escorted him back to the rear of their battery, from which position, during the excitement that followed, he made his escape.

But now Alger who, when his ammunition gave out, hastened to his horses, had succeeded in mounting one battalion, commanded by Major L.S. Trowbridge, and when the Ninth and Thirteenth Virginia struck the flank of the Seventh Michigan, he ordered that officer to charge and meet this new danger. Trowbridge and his men dashed forward with a cheer, and the enemy in their turn were put to flight. Past the Rummel buildings, through the fields, almost to the fence where the most advanced of the Seventh Michigan had halted, Trowbridge kept on. But he, too, was obliged to retire before the destructive fire of the confederate cannon, which did not cease to belch forth destruction upon every detachment of the union cavalry that approached near enough to threaten them. The major's horse was killed, but his orderly was close at hand with another and he escaped. When his battalion was retiring it, also, was assailed in flank by a mounted charge of the First Virginia cavalry, which was met and driven back by the other battalion of the Fifth Michigan led by Colonel Alger.

Then, as it seemed, the two belligerent forces paused to get their second breath. Up to that time, the battle had raged with varying fortune. Victory, that appeared about to perch first on one banner, and then on the other, held aloof, as if disdaining to favor either. The odds, indeed, had been rather with the confederates than against them, for Stuart managed to out-number his adversary at every critical point, though Gregg forced the fighting, putting Stuart on his defense, and checkmating his plan to fight an offensive battle. But the wily confederate had kept his two choicest brigades in reserve for the supreme moment, intending then to throw them into the contest and sweep the field with one grand, resistless charge.



All felt that the time for this effort had come, when a body of mounted men began to emerge from the woods on the left of the confederate line, northeast of the Rummel buildings, and form column to the right as they debouched into the open field. Squadron after squadron, regiment after regiment, orderly as if on parade, came into view, and successively took their places.

Then Pennington opened with all his guns. Six rifled pieces, as fast as they could fire, rained shot and shell into that fated column. The effect was deadly. Great gaps were torn in that mass of mounted men, but the rents were quickly closed. Then, they were ready. Confederate chroniclers tell us there were two brigades—eight regiments—under their own favorite leaders. In the van, floated a stand of colors. It was the battle-flag of Wade Hampton, who with Fitzhugh Lee was leading the assaulting column. In superb form, with sabers glistening, they advanced. The men on foot gave way to let them pass. It was an inspiring and an imposing spectacle, that brought a thrill to the hearts of the spectators on the opposite slope. Pennington double-shotted his guns with canister, and the head of the column staggered under each murderous discharge. But still it advanced, led on by an imperturbable spirit, that no storm of war could cow.

Meantime, the Fifth Michigan had drawn aside a little to the left, making ready to spring. McIntosh's squadrons were in the edge of the opposite woods. The Seventh was sullenly retiring with faces to the foe. Weber and his battalion and the other troops of the Sixth were on edge for the fray, should the assault take the direction of Pennington's battery which they were supporting.

On and on, nearer and nearer, came the assaulting column, charging straight for Randol's battery. The storm of canister caused them to waver a little, but that was all. A few moments would bring them among Chester's guns who, like Pennington's lieutenants, was still firing with frightful regularity, as fast as he could load. Then Gregg rode over to the First Michigan, and directed Town to charge. Custer dashed up with similar instructions, and as Town ordered sabers to be drawn, placed himself by his side, in front of the leading squadron.

With ranks well closed, with guidons flying and bugles sounding, the grand old regiment of veterans, led by Town and Custer, moved forward to meet that host, outnumbering it three to one. First at a trot, then the command to charge rang out, and with gleaming saber and flashing pistol, Town and his heroes were hurled right in the teeth of Hampton and Fitzhugh Lee. Alger, who with the Fifth had been waiting for the right moment, charged in on the right flank of the column as it passed, as did some of McIntosh's squadrons, on the left. One troop of the Seventh, led by Lieutenant Dan. Littlefield, also joined in the charge.

Then it was steel to steel. For minutes—and for minutes that seemed like years—the gray column stood and staggered before the blow; then yielded and fled. Alger and McIntosh had pierced its flanks, but Town's impetuous charge in front went through it like a wedge, splitting it in twain, and scattering the confederate horsemen in disorderly rout back to the woods from whence they came.

During the last melee, the brazen lips of the cannon were dumb. It was a hand-to-hand encounter between the Michigan men and the flower of the southern cavaliers, led by their favorite commanders.

Stuart retreated to his stronghold, leaving the union forces in possession of the field.

The rally sounded, the lines were reformed, the wounded were cared for, and everything was made ready for a renewal of the conflict. But the charge of the First Michigan ended the cavalry fighting on the right at Gettysburg. Military critics have pronounced it the finest cavalry charge made during that war.

Custer's brigade lost one officer (Major Ferry) and 28 men killed; 11 officers and 112 men wounded; 67 men missing; total loss, 219. Gregg's division lost one man killed; 7 officers and 19 men wounded; 8 men missing; total, 35. In other words, while Gregg's division, two brigades, lost 35, Custer's single brigade suffered a loss of 219. These figures apply to the fight on July 3, only. The official figures show that the brigade, during the three days, July 1, 2 and 3, lost 1 officer and 31 men killed; 13 officers and 134 men wounded; 78 men missing; total, 257.[14]

For more than twenty years after the close of the civil war, the part played by Gregg, Custer and McIntosh and their brave followers in the battle of Gettysburg received but scant recognition. Even the maps prepared by the corps of engineers stopped short of Cress's Ridge and Rummel's fields. "History" was practically silent upon the subject, and had not the survivors of those commands taken up the matter, there might have been no record of the invaluable services which the Second cavalry division and Custer's Michigan brigade rendered at the very moment when a slight thing would have turned the tide of victory the other way. In other words, the decisive charge of Colonel Town and his Michiganders coincided in point of time with the failure of Pickett's assault upon the center, and was a contributing cause in bringing about the latter result.



About the year 1884, a monument was dedicated on the Rummel farm which was intended to mark as nearly as possible the exact spot where Gregg and Custer crossed swords with Hampton and Fitzhugh Lee in the final clash of the cavalry fight. This monument was paid for by voluntary contributions of the survivors of the men who fought with Gregg and Custer. Colonel George Gray of the Sixth Michigan alone contributed four hundred dollars. Many others were equally liberal. On that day Colonel Brooke-Rawle, of Philadelphia, who served in the Third Pennsylvania cavalry, of Gregg's division, delivered an address upon the "Cavalry Fight on the Right Flank, at Gettysburg." It was an eloquent tribute to Gregg and his Second division and to the Michigan brigade though, like a loyal knight, he claimed the lion's share of the glory for his own, and placed chaplets of laurel upon the brow of his ideal hero of Pennsylvania rather than upon that of "Lancelot, or another." In other words, he did not estimate Custer's part at its full value, an omission for which he subsequently made graceful and honorable acknowledgment. In this affair there were honors enough to go around.

Subsequently General Luther S. Trowbridge, of Detroit, who was an officer in the Fifth Michigan cavalry, who like Colonel Brooke-Rawle fought most creditably in the cavalry fight on the right, wrote a paper on the same subject which was read before the Michigan commandery of the Loyal Legion. This very fitly supplemented Colonel Brooke-Rawle's polished oration. In the year 1889, another monument erected by the state of Michigan on the Rummel farm, and but a hundred yards or such a matter from the other, was dedicated. The writer of these "Recollections" was the orator of the occasion, and the points of his address are contained in the narrative which constitutes this chapter. Those three papers and others written since that time, notably one by General George B. Davis, judge advocate general, U.S.A., and one by Captain Miller, of the Third Pennsylvania cavalry, have brought the cavalry fight at Gettysburg into the limelight, so that there is no longer any pretext for the historian or student of the history of the civil war to profess ignorance of the events of that day which reflect so much luster on the cavalry arm of the service.

To illustrate the point made in these concluding paragraphs that the part taken by the cavalry on the right is at last understood and acknowledged, the following extract from an address given before the students of the Orchard Lake military academy by General Charles King the gifted author of "The Colonel's Daughter," and many other writings, is herein quoted. General King is himself a cavalry officer with a brilliant record in the army of the United States. In that address to the students on "The Battle of Gettysburg," he said:

"And so, just as Gettysburg was the turning point of the great war, so, to my thinking, was the grapple with and overthrow of Stuart on the fields of the Rummel farm the turning point of Gettysburg. Had he triumphed there; had he cut his way through or over that glorious brigade of Wolverines and come sweeping all before him down among the reserve batteries and ammunition trains, charging furiously at the rear of our worn and exhausted infantry even as Pickett's devoted Virginians assailed their front, no man can say what scenes of rout and disaster might not have occurred. Pickett's charge was the grand and dramatic climax of the fight because it was seen of all men. Stuart's dash upon the Second division far out on the right flank was hardly heard of for years after. It would have rung the world over but for the Michigan men. Pennsylvania and New Jersey, New York and the little contingent of Marylanders had been fighting for days, were scattered, dismounted and exhausted when the plumes of Stuart came floating out from the woods of the Stallsmith farm, Hampton and Fitzhugh Lee at his back. It was Custer and the Wolverines who flew like bull dogs straight at the throat of the foes; who blocked his headlong charge; who pinned him to the ground while like wolves their comrade troops rushed upon his flanks.

"It may be, perhaps an out-cropping of the old trooper spirit now but, as I look back upon the momentous four years' struggle, with all its lessons of skill and fortitude and valor incomparable, it seems to me that, could I have served in only one of its great combats, drawn saber in just one supreme crisis on whose doubtful issue hung trembling the fate of the whole union, I would beg to live that day over again and to ride with Gregg and McIntosh and Custer; to share in the wild, fierce charge of the Michigan men; to have my name go down to posterity with those of Alger and Kidd, Town and Trowbridge, Briggs and gallant Ferry, whose dead hand gripped the saber hilt and the very grave. To have it said that I fought with the old Second division of the cavalry corps that day when it went and grappled and overwhelmed the foe in the full tide of his career, at the very climax of the struggle, and hurled him back to the banks of the Rubicon of the rebellion, to cross it then and there for the last time, to look his last upon the green hills of Maryland—nevermore to vex our soil until, casting away the sword, he could come with outstretched hand and be hailed as friend and brother."



CHAPTER XII

FROM GETTYSBURG TO FALLING WATERS

When the battle of Gettysburg was ended and the shadows of night began to gather upon the Rummel fields, the troopers of the Michigan cavalry brigade had a right to feel that they had acted well their parts, and contributed their full share to the glory and success of the Union arms. They had richly earned a rest, but were destined not to obtain it until after many days of such toil and hardship as to surpass even the previous experiences of the campaign.

After a brief bivouac on the battle field, the brigade was moved to the Baltimore pike whence, at daybreak, it marched to the vicinity of Emmittsburg. There, on the morning of July 4, the two brigades of the Third division reunited. The First brigade, under the lamented Farnsworth, it will be remembered had been engaged the previous day upon the left flank near "Round Top," under the eye of the division commander.

Farnsworth, the gallant young officer who had been a brigadier general but four days, had been killed while leading a charge against infantry behind stone walls. His brigade was compelled to face infantry because all of the confederate cavalry had been massed under Stuart against Meade's right. It was intended that Custer should report to Kilpatrick on the left flank but, as we have seen, he was providentially where he was most needed, and where his presence was effective in preventing disaster. The charge in which Farnsworth lost his life was ordered by Kilpatrick and was unquestionably against the former's judgment. But he was too brave a man and too conscientious to do anything else than obey orders to the letter. His courage had been put to the proof in more than a score of battles. As an officer in the Eighth Illinois cavalry and as an aid on the staff of General Pleasonton, chief of cavalry, he had won such deserved distinction that he, like Custer, was promoted from captain to brigadier general on June 28 and assigned to command of the First brigade of Kilpatrick's division when Custer took the Second. This was done in spite of the fact that he was not a graduate of the military academy or even an officer of the regular army. I knew him before the war when he was a student in the University of Michigan, and a more intrepid spirit than he possessed never resided within the breast of man. It was but a day, it might be said, that he had worn his new honors. He was proud, ambitious, spirited, loyal, brave, true as steel to his country and his convictions of duty, and to his own manhood.

He did not hesitate for one moment. Drawing his saber and placing himself at the head of his command, he led his men to the inevitable slaughter and boldly went to his own death. It was a pity to sacrifice such an officer and such men as followed him inside the confederate lines. The charge was one of the most gallant ever made, though barren of results. The little force came back shattered to pieces and without their leader. The cavalry corps had lost an officer whose place was hard to fill. Had he lived, the brave young Illinoisan might have been another Custer. He had all the qualities needed to make a great career—youth, health, a noble physique, courage, patriotism, ambition, ability and rank. He was poised, like Custer, and had discretion as well as dash. They were a noble pair, and nobly did they justify the confidence reposed in them. One lived to court death on scores of battle fields, winning imperishable laurels in them all; the other was cut down in the very beginning of his brilliant career, but his name will forever be associated with what is destined to be in history the most memorable battle of the war, and the one from which is dated the beginning of the downfall of the confederate cause, and the complete restoration of the union. Farnsworth will not be forgotten as long as a grateful people remember the name and the glory of Gettysburg.

Although General Judson Kilpatrick had been in command of the division since the 30th of June, at Hanover, many of the Michigan men had never set eyes upon him until that morning, and there was much curiosity to get a sight of the already famous cavalryman. He had begun to be a terror to foes, and there was a well-grounded fear that he might become a menace to friends as well. He was brave to rashness, capricious, ambitious, reckless in rushing into scrapes, and generally full of expedients in getting out, though at times he seemed to lose his head entirely when beset by perils which he, himself, had invited. He was prodigal of human life, though to do him justice he rarely spared himself. While he was not especially refined in manners and in conversation, he had an intellect that would at times emit flashes so brilliant as to blind those who knew him best to his faults. He was the very type of one of the wayward cavaliers who survived the death of Charles the First, to shine in the court of Charles the Second. He was a ready and fluent speaker—an orator, in fact—and had the gift of charming an audience with his insinuating tongue.

As closely as I can from memory, I will draw a pen-sketch of him as he appeared at that time: Not an imposing figure as he sat with a jaunty air upon his superb chestnut horse, for he was of slight build though supple and agile as an athlete; a small, though well-knit form, dressed in a close-fitting and natty suit of blue; a blouse with the buttons and shoulder straps of a brigadier-general; the conventional boots and spurs and saber; a black hat with the brim turned down on one side, up on the other, in a way affected by himself, which gave to the style his own name. This completed his uniform—not a striking or picturesque one in any respect. Save for the peculiar style of hat, there was nothing about it to distinguish him from others of like rank. But his face was a marked one, showing his individuality in every line. A prominent nose, a wide mouth, a firm jaw, thin cheeks set off by side whiskers rather light in color, and eyes that were cold and lusterless, but searching—these were the salient characteristics of a countenance that once seen, was never forgotten. His voice had a peculiar, piercing quality, though it was not unmusical in sound. In giving commands he spoke in brusque tones and in an imperious manner. It was not long till every man in the division had seen him and knew him well. In a few days he had fairly earned the soubriquet "Kill Cavalry," which clung to him till he left for the west. This was not because men were killed while under his command, for that was their business and every trooper knew that death was liable to come soon or late, while he was in the line of duty, but for the reason that so many lives were sacrificed by him for no good purpose whatever.



Well, on the morning of the Fourth, General Kilpatrick sent an order to regimental commanders to draw three days' rations and be prepared for a protracted absence from the army, as we were to go to the right and rear of Lee to try and intercept his trains, and in every way to harass his retreating columns as much as possible. We were all proud of our new commanders, for it was evident that they were fighting men, and that while they would lead us into danger, if we survived it there would be left the consciousness of having done our duty, and the credit of accomplishing something for the cause.

It must also be said that a strong feeling of "pride in the corps" had taken root. Men were proud that they belonged to Kilpatrick's division and to Custer's brigade, for it must not be supposed that the above estimate of the former is based upon what we knew of him at that time. We were under him for a long time after that. This was the first day that we felt the influence of his immediate presence.

When it was known that Kilpatrick was to lead a movement to the enemy's rear all felt that the chances were excellent for the country to hear a good deal about our exploits within the next few days, and nobody regretted it.

But before the start it began to rain in torrents. It has been said that a great battle always produces rain. My recollection is not clear as to the other battles, but I know that the day after Gettysburg the flood-gates of heaven were opened, and as the column of cavalry took its way towards Emmittsburg it was deluged. It seemed as if the firmament were an immense tank, the contents of which were spilled all at once. Such a drenching as we had! Even heavy gum coats and horsehide boots were hardly proof against it. It poured and poured, the water running in streams off the horses' backs, making of every rivulet a river and of every river and mountain stream a raging flood.

But Lee was in retreat and, rain or shine, it was our duty to reach his rear, so all day long we plodded and plashed along the muddy roads towards the passes in the Catoctin and South mountains. It was a tedious ride for men already worn out with incessant marching and the fatigues of many days. It hardly occurred to the tired trooper that it was the anniversary of the nation's natal day. There were no fireworks, and enthusiasm was quenched not by the weather only but by the knowledge that the confederate army, though repulsed, was not captured. The news of Grant's glorious victory in the west filled every heart with joy, of course, but the prospect of going back into Virginia to fight the war over again was not alluring.

But possibly that might not be our fate. Vigorous pursuit might intercept Lee on this side of the Potomac. Every trooper felt that he could endure wet and brave the storm to aid in such strategy, and all set their faces to the weather and rode, if not cheerfully, at least patiently forward in the rain.

I have said that on that memorable Fourth of July there were no fireworks. That was a mistake. The pyrotechnic display was postponed until a late hour, but it was an interesting and exciting exhibition, as all who witnessed it will testify. It was in the night and darkness lent intensity to the scene.

Toward evening the flood subsided somewhat, though the sky was overcast with wet-looking clouds, and the swollen and muddy streams that ran along and across our pathway fretted and frothed like impatient coursers under curb and rein. Their banks could hardly hold them.

During the afternoon and evening the column was climbing the South mountain. A big confederate wagon train was going through the gap ahead of us. If we could capture that, it would be making reprisal for some of Stuart's recent work in Maryland.

Toward midnight we were nearing the top, marching along the narrow defile, the mountain towering to the right, and sloping off abruptly to the left, when the boom of a cannon announced that the advance guard had encountered the enemy. The piece of artillery was planted in the road, at the summit, near the Monterey house, and was supported by the confederate rearguard, which at once opened fire with their carbines. It was too dark to distinguish objects at any distance, the enemy was across the front and no one could tell how large a force it might be. The First Michigan had been sent to the right, early in the evening, to attack a body of the enemy, hovering on the right flank in the direction of Fairfield, and had a hard fight, in which Captain Elliott and Lieutenant McElhenny, two brave officers, were killed. The Fifth and Sixth were leading and at once dismounted and deployed as skirmishers. Generals Kilpatrick and Custer rode to the place where the line was forming, and superintended the movement. The Sixth, under Colonel Gray, was on the right of the line, the road to its left. At least the portion of the regiment to which my troop belonged was in that position. I think, perhaps, a part of the regiment was across the road. The Fifth formed on the left; the First and Seventh in reserve, mounted. There is a good deal of guess work about it, for in the darkness one could not tell what happened except in his immediate neighborhood.

The order "Forward," finally came, and the line of skirmishers advanced up the slope, a column of mounted men following in the road, ready to charge when opportunity offered. Soon we encountered the confederate skirmishers, but could locate them only by the flashes of their guns. The darkness was intense and in a few moments we had plunged into a dense thicket, full of undergrowth, interlaced with vines and briars, so thick that it was difficult to make headway at all. More than once a trailing vine tripped me up, and I fell headlong. To keep up an alignment was out of the question. One had to be guided by sound and not by sight. The force in front did not appear to be formidable in numbers, but had the advantage of position, and was on the defensive in a narrow mountain pass where numbers were of little avail. We had a large force, but it was strung out in a long column for miles back, and it was possible to bring only a few men into actual contact with the enemy, whatever he might be. This last was a matter of conjecture and Kilpatrick doubtless felt the necessity of moving cautiously, feeling his way until he developed what was in his front. To the right of the road, had it not been for the noise and the flashing of the enemy's fire we should have wandered away in the darkness and been lost.

The confederate skirmishers were driven back across a swollen stream spanned by a bridge. The crossing at this point was contested fiercely, but portions of the Fifth and Sixth finally forced it and then the whole command crossed over.

In the meantime the rumbling of wagon wheels could be heard in the road leading down the mountain. It was evident we were being detained by a small force striving to hold us there while the train made its escape. A regiment was ordered up mounted to make a charge. I heard the colonel giving his orders. "Men," he said, "use the saber only; I will cut down any man who fires a shot." This was to prevent shooting our own men in the melee, and in the darkness. Inquiring, I learned it was the First (West) Virginia cavalry. This regiment which belonged in the First brigade had been ordered to report to Custer. At the word, the gallant regiment rushed like the wind down the mountain road, "yelling like troopers," as they were, and good ones too, capturing everything in their way.

This charge ended the fighting for that night. It was one of the most exciting engagements we ever had, for while the actual number engaged was small, and the casualties were not great, the time, the place, the circumstances, the darkness, the uncertainty, all combined to make "the midnight fight at Monterey" one of unique interest. General Custer had his horse shot under him which, it was said and I have reason to believe, was the seventh horse killed under him in that campaign. The force that resisted us did its duty gallantly, though it had everything in its favor. They knew what they had in their front, we did not. Still, they failed of their object, which was to save the train. That we captured after all. The Michigan men brushed the rear guard out of the way, the First Virginia gave the affair the finishing touch.

The fight over, men succumbed to fatigue and drowsiness. I had barely touched the saddle before I was fast asleep, and did not awake until daylight, and then looking around, could not see a man that I recognized as belonging to my own troop. As far as the eye could reach, both front and rear, was a moving mass of horses with motionless riders all wrapped in slumber. The horses were moving along with drooping heads and eyes half-closed. Some walked faster than others and, as a consequence, would gradually pull away from their companions through the column in front; others would fall back. So it came to pass that few men found themselves in the same society in the morning with which they started at midnight. As for myself, I awoke to wonder where I was and what had become of my men. Not one of them could I see. My horse was a fast walker, and I soon satisfied myself that I was in advance of my troop and, when the place designated for the division to bivouac was reached, dismounted and awaited their arrival. Some of them did not come up for an hour, and they were scattered about among other commands, in squads, a few in a place. It was seven o'clock before we were all together once more.

Then we had breakfast, and the men had a chance to look the captures over and quiz the prisoners. The wagons were soon despoiled of their contents and such stuff as was not valuable or could not be transported was burned. Among the prisoners was Colonel Davis, of the Tenth Virginia cavalry, who claimed that he led the charge against our position on the third. He expressed himself very freely as having had enough, and said, "This useless war ought to be ended at once."

During the day Stuart's cavalry appeared on our flank and we pushed on to Cavetown, thence to Boonsborough, harassed all the way by the enemy. We were now directly on Lee's path to the Potomac. At Smithburg there was quite a skirmish in which the Sixth had the duty of supporting the battery. My troop, deployed as skirmishers along the top of a rocky ridge, was forgotten when the division moved away after dark, and we lay there for an hour within sight of the confederate camp until, suspecting something wrong, I made a reconnoissance and discovered that our command had gone. I therefore mounted the men and followed the trail which led toward Boonsborough. At the latter place Kilpatrick turned over his prisoners and captured property.

On the 6th, along in the afternoon, we arrived in the vicinity of Hagerstown. The road we were on enters the town at right angles with the pike from Hagerstown to Williamsport, on reaching which we turned to the left, the position being something like the following diagram:

North Hagerstown



Boonsborough East Williamsport South

Lee's reserve wagon trains were at Williamsport under General Imboden. From Hagerstown to Williamsport was about five miles. We had Stuart's cavalry in our front, Lee's whole army on our right, and only five miles to our left the tempting prize which Kilpatrick was eager to seize. Besides, it was necessary for Lee to reach Williamsport in order to secure a crossing of the Potomac river.

The advance of his army reached Hagerstown simultaneously with ourselves, but the skirmishers of the First brigade drove them back to the northward, and then the Michigan brigade passed through and turned southward on the pike toward Williamsport. The Fifth Michigan had the advance and the Sixth the rear. The latter regiment had hardly more than turned in the new direction when the boom of a cannon in front told the story that the battle had begun.

General Kilpatrick had been attending to matters in Hagerstown. It was evident that there was considerable force there and that it was constantly augmenting. The opening gun at Williamsport called his attention to a new danger. It looked as though he had deliberately walked into a trap. In a moment I saw him coming, dashing along the flank of the column. He was urging his horse to its utmost speed. In his hand he held a small riding whip with which he was touching the flank of his charger as he rode. His face was pale. His eyes were gazing fixedly to the front and he looked neither to the right nor to the left. The look of anxiety on his countenance was apparent. The sound of cannon grew louder and more frequent; we were rushed rapidly to the front. The First brigade followed and to the officer in command of it was assigned the task of holding back Lee's army while the Michigan brigade tried titles with Imboden. Buford, with the First cavalry division, was fighting Stuart's cavalry to the left, towards Boonsborough, and on him it depended to keep open the only avenue of escape from the position in which Kilpatrick found himself.



In a little time the two brigades were fighting back to back, one facing north and the other south, and each having more than it could attend to.

Pretty soon we arrived on the bluff overlooking Williamsport. Imboden's artillery had the exact range and were pouring shell into the position where the brigade was trying to form.

Just before arriving at the point where we were ordered to turn to the right through an opening in a rail fence, into a field, Aaron C. Jewett, acting adjutant of the regiment, rode along the column delivering the order from the colonel. During the Gettysburg campaign Jewett had been acting adjutant and would have received his commission in a short time. His modest demeanor and affable manners had won the hearts of all his comrades. He had made himself exceedingly popular, as well as useful, and was greatly beloved in the regiment. When he delivered the order the pallor of his countenance was noticeable. There was no tremor, no shrinking, no indication of fear; he was intent upon performing his duty; gave the order and, turning, galloped back to where the shells were flying thick and fast. When I arrived at the gap in the fence he was there; he led the way into the field; told me where to go in; there was no trepidation on his part but still that deathly pallor. As we passed into the field a shell exploded directly in front of us. It took a leg off a man in troop H which preceded us and had dismounted to fight on foot, and I saw him hopping around on his one remaining limb and heard him shriek with pain. A fragment of the same shell took a piece off the rim of Lieutenant E.L. Craw's hat. He was riding at my side. I believe it was the same shell that killed Jewett. He had left me to direct the next troop in order, and a fragment of one of these shells struck him in the throat and killed him instantly. As I moved rapidly forward after getting into the field I did not see him again, and did not know he was killed until after dark, when we had succeeded in making our escape by a very narrow chance.

We were moved well over to the right—all the time under a furious fire of artillery—and kept there until almost dark, fighting all the time with the troops that were pushed out from Williamsport. In the meantime, the firing and yelling in rear could be heard distinctly and it seemed that at any moment the little force was to be closed in on and captured. Finally, just after dark, it was withdrawn. Those on the right of the road—the First and Sixth—the Fifth and Seventh being to the left, were obliged to reach and cross the pike to make their escape. Weber stealthily withdrew the battalion. He was the last man to leave the field. When we were forming in the road, after rallying the skirmishers, the enemy was in plain sight only a little way toward Hagerstown and it seemed as if one could throw a stone and hit them. We expected they would charge us, but they did not, and probably the growing darkness prevented it. In fact, there was manifest a disposition on their part to let us alone if we would not molest them.

We then marched off into a piece of woods and, the regiment having all reunited, learned—those who had not known of it before—of Jewett's death. His body was still where it fell. The suggestion was made to go and recover it. Weber and his men made an attempt to do so, but by that time the enemy had come up and taken possession of the field. This was a terrible blow to all, to be obliged to leave the body of a beloved comrade; to be denied the privilege of aiding in placing him in a soldier's grave, and performing the last offices of affection for a fallen friend.

The death of Jewett was a blow to the regiment the more severe because he was the first officer killed up to that time. A portion of the regiment had been roughly handled on the evening of July 2, at Hunterstown—where Thompson and Ballard were wounded—and the latter taken prisoner. A number of the rank and file were in the list of killed, wounded and missing. Enough had been seen of war to bring to all a realization of its horrors. Death was a familiar figure, yet Jewett's position as adjutant had brought him into close relations with both officers and men and his sudden death was felt as a personal bereavement. It was like coming into the home and taking one of the best beloved of the household.

After getting out of the Williamsport affair most of the night was taken up in marching and on the morning of the 7th, the brigade was back in Boonsborough where, remaining in camp all day, it obtained a much needed rest, though the Fourth of July rain storm was repeated. Lee's army had reached the Potomac, and not being able to cross by reason of the high water, was entrenching on the north side. Meade's army was concentrating in the vicinity but seemed in no hurry about it. During the day some heavy siege guns, coming down the mountain road, passed through Boonsborough going to the front. A big battle was expected to begin at any moment, and we wondered why there was so much deliberation, when Lee's army was apparently in a trap with a swollen river behind it. It did not seem possible that he would be permitted to escape into Virginia without fighting a battle. To the cavalry of Kilpatrick's division, which had been marching and countermarching over all the country between the South mountain and the Potomac river, the delay was inexplicable. Every trooper believed that the Army of the Potomac had the confederacy by the throat, at last, and that vigorous and persistent effort would speedily crush the life out of it.

But no battle took place and, on the morning of the 8th, Stuart's cavalry which was now covering Lee's front, was attacked in front of Boonsborough by Buford and Kilpatrick, and a hard battle resulted. Most of the fighting was done dismounted, the commands being deployed as skirmishers. Custer's brigade occupied the extreme left of the line, and I think the Sixth the left of the brigade. The enemy was also on foot, though many mounted officers could be seen on their line. We had here a good opportunity to test the qualities of the Spencer carbines and, armed as we were, we proved more than a match for any force that was encountered. The firing was very sharp at times, and took on the character of skirmishing, the men taking advantage of every cover that presented itself. The confederates were behind a stone fence, we in a piece of woods along a rail fence, which ran along the edge of the timber. Between was an open field. Several times they attempted to come over the stone wall, and advance on our position, but each time were driven back. Once an officer jumped up on the fence and tried to wave his men forward. A shot from a Spencer brought him headlong to the ground, and after that no one had the temerity to expose himself in that way.

At this stage of the battle (it must have been about eleven o'clock in the forenoon) a singular thing happened. It is one of those numberless incidents that do not appear in official reports, and which give to individual reminiscences their unique interest.

An officer, dressed in blue, with the regulation cavalry hat, riding a bay horse which had the look of a thoroughbred, rode along in rear of our line with an air of authority, and with perfect coolness said, as he passed from right to left, "General Kilpatrick orders that the line fall back rapidly." The order was obeyed promptly, though it struck us as strange that such a strong position should be given up without a struggle. We had not been under Kilpatrick long enough to recognize all the members of his staff on sight, and it did not occur to any one at the time to question the fellow's authority or make him show his credentials.

The line left the woods and retreated to a good defensive position on a ridge of high ground facing the woods, the enemy meantime advancing with a yell to the timber we had abandoned. Then it was learned that Kilpatrick had given no such order, but the "staff officer" had disappeared and, when we came to think about it, nobody could describe him very closely. He had seemed to flit along the line, giving the order but stopping nowhere, and leaving no very clear idea as to how he looked. There is but little doubt that he was an audacious confederate, probably one of Stuart's scouts clothed in federal uniform, who made a thorough tour of inspection of our line, and then, after seeing us fall back, very likely led his own line to the position which he secured by this daring stratagem. The confederates were up to such tricks, and occasionally the yankees were smart enough to give them a Roland for their Oliver.

It was presently necessary to advance and drive the enemy out of the woods, which was done in gallant style, the whole line joining. This time there was no stopping, but the pursuit was kept up for several miles. I can hear gallant Weber's voice now, as he shouted, "Forward, my men," and leaping to the front led them in the charge.

The Fifth Michigan was to our right, and Colonel Alger who was in command was wounded in the leg and had to leave the field. We did not see him again for some time, the command devolving upon Lieutenant Colonel Gould who, in turn, was himself wounded a day or two later, and Major Luther S. Trowbridge, who did such gallant fighting at Gettysburg, succeeded to the command.

From the night of the 8th to the morning of the 11th there was an interval of quietude. The cavalry was waiting and watching for Lee or Meade to do something and, to the credit of the union troopers, it must be said that they were eager for the conflict to begin believing, as they did, that the war ought to end in a day.

July 11, early in the morning, an attack was made on the lines around Hagerstown, which developed a hornets' nest of sharpshooters armed with telescopic rifles, who could pick a man's ear off half-a-mile away. The bullets from their guns had a peculiar sound, something like the buzz of a bumble-bee, and the troopers' horses would stop, prick up their ears and gaze in the direction whence the hum of those invisible messengers could be heard. Unable to reach them mounted, we finally deployed dismounted along a staked rail fence. The confederates were behind trees and shocks of grain, at least half-a-mile away. They would get the range so accurately that it was dangerous to stand still a moment. It was possible, however, to dodge the bullets by observing the puffs of smoke from their guns. The distance was so great that the puff was seen some seconds before the report was heard, and before the arrival of the leaden missile. By moving to the right or left the shot could be avoided, which in many cases was so accurately aimed as to have been fatal, had it been awaited. Once I was slow about moving. The scamp in my immediate front had evidently singled me out and was sending them in so close as to make it sure that he was taking deadly aim. I took my eye off his natural fortress for an instant, when he fired, and before I could jump, the ball struck a rail in front of me, and passing through the rail, fell to the ground at my feet.

Most of the men were content to keep behind the fence and try and give the confederates as good as they sent, aiming at the points whence the puffs of smoke came. But there was one daring fellow, Halleck by name, who climbed over the fence and amused himself shelling and eating the wheat while he dodged the bullets. So keen an eye did he keep out for the danger, that he escaped without a scratch. While he was there a man named Mattoon, a good soldier, came up, and seeing Halleck, jumped over with the exclamation, "What are you doing here?" "Just wait a minute and you will see," said Halleck. Mattoon was a fat, chubby fellow, and in just about "a minute" a bullet struck him in the face, going through the fleshy part of the cheek and making the blood spout. "I told you so," said Halleck, who kept on eating wheat and defying the sharpshooters, who were unable to hit him, though he was a conspicuous target. The secret of it was he did not stand still, but kept moving, and they had to hit him, if at all, like a bird on the wing which at the distance was a hard shot to make.

The entire day was passed in this kind of skirmishing, and it was both dangerous and exciting. The men had lots of fun out of it, and only a few of them were shot, though there were many narrow escapes.

On the morning of July 14, the Third cavalry division marched over the Hagerstown pike, into Williamsport. There was no enemy there. Lee had given Meade the slip. His army was across the Potomac, in Virginia once more, safe from pursuit. As he reined up his faithful steed upon the northern bank of the broad river, the union trooper looked wistfully at the country beyond. Well he knew that Lee had escaped, like a bird from the snare, and could march leisurely back to his strongholds. Visions of the swamps of the Chickahominy, of Bull Run, of Fredericksburg, of Chancellorsville, passed before his mind as with pensive thought he gazed upon the shining valley of the Shenandoah, stretching away to the southward in mellow perspective. He wondered how long the two armies were to continue the work of alternately chasing each other back and forth across this battle-ground of the republic. The wide, majestic river, no longer vexed by the splashing tread of passing squadrons, with smooth and tranquil flow swept serenely along, the liquid notes of its rippling eddies seeming to mock at the disappointment of the baffled pursuer. The calm serenity of the scene was in sharp contrast with the stormy passions of the men who sought to disturb it with the stern fatalities of war. The valley, rich with golden harvests, presented a charming dissolving view, melting away in the dim distance. On the left, the smoky summits of the Blue mountains marked the eastern limits of this "storehouse of the confederacy," the whole forming a picture in which beauty and grandeur were strikingly blended.

But this reverie of the soldier was soon rudely disturbed. Word came that they were not all across after all. Five miles below, at Falling Waters, in a bend of the river, was a ford where a portion of Longstreet's corps was yet to cross on a pontoon bridge. Kilpatrick started off in hot haste for Falling Waters, determined to strike the last blow on northern soil. The Sixth Michigan was in advance, two troops—B and F—under Major Weber, acting as advance guard. Kilpatrick and Custer followed Weber; then came Colonel Gray with the remainder of the regiment.

The march from Williamsport to Falling Waters was a wild ride. For the whole distance the horses were spurred to a gallop. Kilpatrick was afraid he would not get there in time to overtake the enemy, so he spared neither man nor beast. The road was soft and miry, and the horses sank almost to their knees in the sticky mud. For this reason the column straggled, and it was not possible to keep a single troop closed up in sets of fours. At such a rapid rate the column plunged through the muddy roads, Weber and his little force leading.

On nearing Falling Waters, the column turned to the right through a wood, which skirted a large cultivated field. To the right and front, beyond the field, was a high hill or knoll on which an earthwork had been thrown up. Behind the earthwork a considerable force of confederate infantry was seen in bivouac, evidently taking a rest, with arms stacked. As a matter of fact, for it will be as well to know what was there, though the general in command made very little note of it at the time, there were two brigades—an entire division—commanded by General Pettigrew, one of the men who participated in Pickett's charge at Gettysburg.

On sighting this force, Custer ordered Weber to dismount his men, advance a line of skirmishers toward the hill and ascertain what he had to encounter. Kilpatrick however ordered Weber to remount and charge the hill. At that time no other portion of the regiment had arrived so as to support the charge.

Weber, knowing no law for a soldier except implicit obedience to orders, first saw his men well closed up, then placed himself at their head and giving the order "Forward," emerged from the woods into the open field, took the trot until near the top of the slope, close to the earthworks, and then with a shout the little band of less than a hundred men charged right into the midst of ten times their number of veteran troops. The first onset surprised and astonished the enemy, who had mistaken Weber's force for a squadron of their own cavalry. The audacity of the thing dazed them for a minute, and for a minute only.

Weber, cutting right and left with his saber, and cheering on his men, pierced the first line, but there could be but one result. Recovering from their surprise, the confederate infantry rallied, and seizing their arms, made short work of their daring assailants. In a few minutes, of the three officers in the charge, two—Weber and Bolza—lay dead on the field, and the other—Crawford—had his leg shattered so it had to be amputated.

The two brave troops were more than decimated, though a considerable number succeeded in escaping with their lives.

This charge which Kilpatrick in his official report characterized as "the most gallant ever made," was described by a confederate eye-witness who was on the hill with Pettigrew and who wrote an account of the affair for a southern paper several years ago, as "a charge of dare-devils."



In the meantime, just as Weber's command was repulsed, the other squadrons of the regiment began to arrive, and were hurried across the field to the foot of the hill, and there dismounted to fight, dressing to the left as they successively reached the alignment and opening fire with their Spencers at once. But having disposed of the two mounted troops, the confederates filled the earthworks, and began to send a shower of bullets at those already formed or forming below.

My troop was the fourth from the rear of the regiment, and consequently several preceded it on the line. When I reached the fence, along the side of the field next the woods, I found Lieutenant A.E. Tower, who since the death of Jewett had been acting adjutant, at the gap giving orders. He directed me to take my command across the field, and form on the right of that next preceding. I had ridden so rapidly that only a few men had kept up the pace, and the remainder were strung out for some distance back. But taking those that were up, and asking the adjutant to tell the others to follow, I dashed into the field, and soon found that we were the targets for the enemy on the hill, who made the air vibrant with the whiz of bullets. It was hot, but we made our way across without being hit, and reached the place where the regiment was trying to form, under fire of musketry from the hill, and getting badly cut up. Reining up my horse, I gave the order, "Dismount, to fight on foot" and, glancing back, saw my men coming in single file, reaching to the fence—probably an eighth of a mile—and the rear had not yet left the woods. The two leading sets of fours which alone were closed up obeyed the order and, dismounting to direct the alignment, I stepped in front of my horse, still holding the bridle rein in my right hand, when a minie bullet from the hill in front with a vicious thud went through my right foot, making what the surgeon in Washington afterwards said was the "prettiest wound I ever saw."

I tried to stand but could not. The foot was useless. Private Halleck—the same who was eating wheat at Hagerstown a few days before—jumped to my rescue and helped me off the field.

Back of our position some distance, say 500 yards, was a log house in an orchard. To this we directed our steps, I leaning on Halleck's shoulder, and hopping along on the unhurt foot. The most uncomfortable experience I had during the war I believe was during the passage across the open field to the orchard. Our backs were to the foe and the whistling bullets which came thick and fast all about served to accelerate our speed. I expected every moment to be shot in the back. One poor fellow, already wounded, who was trying to run to the rear, was making diagonally across the field from the right. As he was about to pass us a bullet struck him and he fell dead in his tracks. Halleck succeeded in getting to the house, where he left me with the remark: "You are all right now, captain, the boys need me and I will go back on the line." And back he went into the thickest of it, and fought gallantly to the end of the engagement, as I learned by inquiry afterwards.

After a little, the confederates drove our line back beyond the house, and it was, for perhaps an hour, on the neutral ground between friends and foes. Shells from the opposing batteries hurtled around, and I did not know what moment one of them would come crashing through the building. A hospital flag had been displayed above it, which saved it.

Finally, sufficient force arrived to give our people the best of it, and the enemy was driven in confusion to the river, losing about 1,500 prisoners, one or two pieces of artillery and many small arms. General Pettigrew was killed by Weber or one of his men. Until the battle was over I did not know what fearful losses had befallen the regiment. The total casualties were 33 killed and 56 wounded. The loss in officers was heavy: Major Weber, killed; Lieutenant Bolza, commanding troop B, killed; Lieutenant Potter, troop C, wounded and prisoner; Captain Royce, troop D, killed; Captain Kidd, troop E, wounded; Lieutenant Crawford, troop F, lost a leg; Lieutenant Kellogg, troop H, wounded and a prisoner.

The story of "The Michigan Cavalry Brigade in the Gettysburg Campaign," properly ends with the death of General Pettigrew and Major Weber at Falling Waters. No more brilliant passage at arms took place during the war for the union, and it is a pity that some more able historian could not have written the story and immortalized the men, both dead and living who had a part in it.[15]



CHAPTER XIII

FROM FALLING WATERS TO BUCKLAND MILLS

The night following the battle of Falling Waters, July 14, 1863, was a memorable one to the Michigan cavalry brigade, especially to those who like myself passed it in the field hospital. The log house into which the wounded were taken was filled with maimed and dying soldiers, dressed in union blue. The entire medical staff of the division had its hands full caring for the sufferers. Many were brought in and subjected to surgical treatment only to die in the operation, or soon thereafter. Probes were thrust into gaping wounds in search of the deadly missiles, or to trace the course of the injury. Bandages and lint were applied to stop the flow of blood. Splintered bones were removed and shattered limbs amputated. All night long my ears were filled with the groans wrung from stout hearts by the agonies of pain, and the moans of the mortally hurt as their lives ebbed slowly away. One poor fellow, belonging to the First Michigan cavalry, was in the same room with me. He had a gun-shot wound in the bowels. It was fatal, and he knew it, for the surgeon had done his duty and told him the truth. He was a manly and robust young soldier who but a few hours before had been the picture of health, going into battle without a tremor and receiving his death wound like a hero. For hours, I watched and wondered at the fortitude with which he faced his fate. Not a murmur of complaint passed his lips. Racked with pain and conscious that but a few hours of life remained to him, he talked as placidly about his wound, his condition and his coming dissolution, as though conversing about something of common, everyday concern. He was more solicitous about others than about himself, and passed away literally like one "who wraps the drapery of his couch about him and lies down to pleasant dreams." He died about three o'clock in the morning and I could almost feel the reality of the flight of his tranquil spirit.

In striking contrast to the picture thus presented, was one in the room adjoining. Another trooper also fatally wounded, suffered so keenly from shock and pain that his fortitude gave way. He could not bear the thought of death. His nerve appeared to have deserted him and his anguish of mind and body, as he saw the relentless approach of the grim monster and felt his icy breath, will haunt my memory till I myself shall have joined the great army of union veterans who are beyond the reach of pain and the need of pensions.

My own wound gave little annoyance except when the surgeon ran an iron called a probe into it, which attempt met with so vigorous a protest from his patient that he desisted and that form of treatment stopped right there, so far as one cavalryman was concerned. The wound was well bandaged and plentiful applications of cold water kept out the inflammation.

Many of the officers and men came in to express their sympathy. Some of them entertained me with the usual mock congratulations on having won a "leave" and affected to regard me as a lucky fellow while they were the real objects of sympathy.

But the circumstances were such as to repress mirth or anything of that semblance. The regiment was in mourning for its bravest and best. The Sixth, having been the first regiment to get into the fight, had suffered more severely than any other. The losses had been grievous, and it seemed hard that so many bright lights of our little family should be so suddenly extinguished.

At daylight I was still wide awake but, even amidst such scenes as I have described, fatigue finally overcame me and I sank into dreamland only to be startled, at first, by the fancied notes of the bugle sounding "to horse" or the shouts of horsemen engaged in the fray. At last, however, "tired nature's sweet restorer" came to my relief and I fell into a dreamless sleep that lasted for several hours.