by Burke Davis
By three P.M. it became clear that plans had miscarried. The rolling of musket fire announced the premature clash of the vanguard with the enemy, and the struggle was on, much of it a bootless hand-to-hand affair pressed with gallantry by infantry on both sides, as they floundered through waist-deep water. Casualties were heavy, and no one seemed to know just how the battle was going. The Federals were driven back, but the price was fearful.
At the beginning of the heaviest artillery barrage, Stuart sent von Borcke with a dispatch to Fitz Lee. When he returned to Jeb's side, the Federal line was beginning to give way, and only in the center were the Confederates in trouble. There a North Carolina brigade was retreating. Von Borcke wrote: "Instantly General Stuart was at the spot, encouraging the troops to hold the position until our reinforcements could arrive. I followed him into the hail of bullets, of whizzing grape and bursting bombs, one of which rolled between my horse's legs."
As the North Carolinians fell back Stuart herded them into line, "here with threats, there with eloquent entreaties and brought them forward again into the battle to check the enemy. A Virginia brigade soon came up as reinforcement. With banners flying and loud warcries, they threw themselves on the foe, driving them before them, and taking their earthworks, which bristled with cannon."
Night fell on a field strewn with the dead, and in the dusk trains of prisoners shuffled toward the Confederate rear. Von Borcke wrote: "Terrible it was to see on every side the wounded returning from the battle; here a man with his head bleeding, there another with shattered arm or leg, reddening the path with his blood; then the more severely wounded in the ambulances, groaning and wail-mg.
On one stretcher was General Johnston, wounded in the shoulder by an exploding shell, and at the very end of the battle lost to his army. Before the field had begun to clear, President Davis had given the command to Robert E. Lee.
Davis passed over the senior commander on the field, G. W. Smith, because he seemed timid.
In his report of the day Smith said of Stuart: "He gave me the first information received from the right after the close of the action, and rendered me very important assistance during the night."
Stuart was on the field until late, with von Borcke at his heels. The German wrote of their departure: "The ride to headquarters was a dreadful one: hundreds of conveyances, some taking the wounded to Richmond, some coming out from the city with pro-r visions, were crossing each other in the almost impassable turnpike, and the groans and cries of the wounded were mingled with the curses and shouts of drivers, whose vehicles obstructed the way with broken wheels or exhausted horses."
Many Richmond families had sent carriages to help take off casualties, of whom there were 6,000, thrice the toll of First Manassas.
Stuart made headquarters at Montebello, a big country house overlooking the James. Von Borcke thought it was delightful, for Stuart accepted him as a volunteer aide, and the Prussian began at once to teach the young men cavalry skills. One day Captain Blackford would save von Borcke's life with one of the imported tricks.
Von Borcke could not forget his view of the battlefield at Seven Pines the next morning: "Friend and foe were lying here indiscriminately side by side, mown down in multitudes by musketry and by the guns... the artillery had here lost all their horses, which lay by the dozens, piled one upon another, and all around the ground was strewn with weapons, haversacks, cartridge boxes, ammunition."
A South Carolina brigade, the German noted, with an uneasy stomach, camped amid the corpses, gaily making breakfast of loot from the field.
Stuart and his staff rode near the Confederate front as a cannon ball sang overhead and ploughed into the soft earth fifty yards behind. Other shots came nearer, but Stuart continued inspecting enemy positions with field glasses. The group was showered with earth from exploding shells, obviously a target for a Federal battery. At last, when fragments flew near his head, Stuart turned to von Borcke in surprise.
"Lieutenant, they are firing at us here; let's ride a little faster."
The two riders galloped about three hundred yards in the open to a grove of trees, with shells falling about them. The enemy battery was guided by a scout in a treetop, closely observing Stuart, but he was soon shot from his perch by a Confederate marksman.
By one P.M. firing had ceased at Seven Pines and Stuart went to headquarters, where he met President Davis and many general officers. Von Borcke sketched Davis as "a tall thin man with sharply-defined features, an air of easy command, and frank, unaffected, gentlemanlike manners...." Davis inspected the German's big cavalry sword, and said he was happy that so good a blade and such a strong arm had joined his army.
With the end of fighting at Seven Pines, the army settled to another period of waiting; there was now improved morale. News from the Shenandoah was better by the day, for Stonewall Jackson was driving bigger Federal armies from the region. General Lee brought better times to the army before Richmond, too. There was more decent food and clothing and a reorganization of the brigades. Many of the old political officers were on their way out, and there were changes in the high command. The army also had a new name: The Army of Northern Virginia, thus styled in the first modest order to the troops from General Lee. Whispers of an offensive against the Yankees circulated through the camps.
CHAPTER 7
Fame at a Gallop
IN early June, Federal scouts peered into Richmond from a fat orange observation balloon which hung above the Chickahominy swamps. A single Rebel cannon banged at it in slow anger, but with poor aim, and the balloonists saw all they wished.
They watched the city in mourning, its streets filled with funeral processions and the walking wounded. Richmond had the look of a doomed capital.
The cavalry seemed unaware of the depressing outlook.
One morning Stuart had breakfast with John Mosby, the young lawyer-scout whom he had called to headquarters duty. Mosby had not been reluctant, though it may have cost him promotion: "The loss of my commission did not weigh a feather against the pleasure of being directly under the orders of a man of genius."
He learned of some of Jeb's talents as they sat alone at a camp table.
"I want you to have a look at McClellan for me," Stuart said. "Yes, sir."
"Take a small party, the smaller the better, and see what he's doing along Totopotomoy Creek. General Lee wants to know if he's fortifying his right."
Within half an hour Mosby led three men on their dangerous mission, "as joyful a party as if we were going to a wedding."
Mosby got as far as Hanover Court House, more than fifteen miles north of Richmond, and turned south-eastward down the Pamunkey River. He was far in the rear of Federal lines, and took a long look at McClellan's exposed position: The line of supply ran back by many roads to White House landing on the Pamunkey. The only protection for the entire line was a string of cavalry pickets.
Mosby returned to Stuart in excitement. He found headquarters in a holiday mood, for it had just got news of Stonewall Jackson's incredible victories over Generals Fremont and Shields in the Shenandoah Valley.
Stuart was anxious for Mosby's report, however. The scout was worn from his long ride, and the day was hot: "I laid down on the grass to tell him what I had learned. A martinet would have ordered me to stand in his presence."
(It was Mosby whose sly humor had so lately outraged the proper Fitz Lee, when he reported, "Colonel, the horn has blowed for dress parade!" Fitz had exploded, "Sir, if I ever hear you call a bugle a horn again, I'll put you under arrest!")
Stuart listened to Mosby's tale of McClellan's vulnerability and questioned him about the roads, the troops he had seen, and the country people he had interviewed. Stuart was at last satisfied: "Go to the adjutant's office and write down what you have said."
As Mosby left him, Jeb called for a courier.
Mosby returned. Stuart took a sheet of paper from him and read it through, nodding.
"You didn't sign it."
"No, I t
hought it was just a memorandum." "Go back and sign it," Stuart said.
He waited, with the courier standing by, holding two horses, as if the fate of the army hung on the scout's report—and when Mosby returned with it, Stuart thrust it into a pocket and rode away.
Jeb went to General Lee's headquarters where he was alone with the commander for a few minutes, studying Mosby's memorandum. He returned to camp in a gay mood.
For several days there was a stir in the army, as if great things were in the offing.1
Jefferson Davis watched anxiously as his new commander unfolded plans of attack so daring that Davis at first resisted, but as June wore on and trenches grew before Richmond, he weakened, and soon approved Lee's bold scheme: Jackson must be brought from the Valley, and the gray regiments would be hurled from Richmond against McClellan's flank.
As Lee's councils of war developed in the Dabbs farmhouse on Nine Mile Road, the commander had no lack of advice. He encouraged his lieutenants to speak, and though he made daily rides along the lines to study the situation for himself, he seemed anxious for the opinions of other officers.
Through it all he kept his own counsel.
One of the first to urge him to attack in the desperate situation was Jeb Stuart. Lee's command of the army was but a few hours old when Jeb sent him a remarkable manuscript, with only this introduction:
The present imperilled condition of the Nation, I presume, will be a sufficient apology for putting forth for your consideration, convictions derived from a close observation of the enemy's movements for months past, his system of war, and his conduct in Battle, as well as our own.
Stuart then gave Lee a lecture in military affairs. He suggested that McClellan would not smash at Richmond until he had completed fortifications south of the Chickahominy, and that Lee should attack in that quarter:
We have an army far better adapted to attack than defense. Let us fight at an advantage before we are forced to fight at disadvantage. It may seem presumption in me to give these views, but I have not thus far mistaken the policy and practice of the enemy. At any rate, I would rather incur the charge of presumption than fold my arms in silence and indifference to the momentous crisis at hand. Be assured, however, General, that whatever course you pursue you will find nowhere a more zealous and determined cooperator and supporter than,
Yours with the highest respect,
J. E. B. Stuart2
Headquarters did not linger long over Stuart's plan, for what he proposed was attack in the swampy fringes of the Chickahominy, where Lee's inferior force would be at a dangerous disadvantage. The attack, in Lee's mind, must be made in just the opposite fashion: Hold in the south with small force, and strike in the north.
In any event, the boldness of his youthful cavalry chief was in Lee's mind on June tenth, when he called Stuart to headquarters. If Stuart was disappointed at rejection of his battle plan, he soon forgot it in his enthusiasm for the assignment Lee gave him. The instructions were characteristic of Lee as commander—breathtakingly bold, tempered with insistent warnings of caution:
Stuart would make "a scout movement" in the enemy rear, inspecting communications, taking cattle and grain, burning Federal wagon trains. This was Mosby's foray, repeated in force. He would take only men and horses able to endure a hard ride and must leave enough cavalry to protect the main army.
Most of the order was a series of admonitions against Stuart's exuberance:
The utmost vigilance on your part will be necessary to prevent any surprise ... and the greatest caution must be practised in keeping well in your front and flanks reliable scouts to give you information. You will return as soon as the object of your expedition is accomplished; and you must bear constantly in mind, while endeavoring to execute the general purpose of your mission, not to hazard unnecessarily your command, or to attempt what your judgment may not approve; but be content to accomplish all the good you can, without feeling it necessary to obtain all that might be desired.
Even this was not all. As if he saw in the cinnamon-bearded cavalry commander the impulsive West Point cadet of eight short years ago—the year of the 129 demerits—Lee added:
Remember that one of the chief objects of your expedition is to gain intelligence for the guidance of future movements. . . . Should you find that the enemy is moving to his right, or is so strongly posted as to make your expedition inopportune, you will, after gaining all the information you can, resume your former position.3
But the prospect of a cautious probe vanished as Stuart replied to Lee, "And if I find the way open, it may be that I can ride all the way around him. Circle his whole army."
There was no one in the room to record Lee's reply, but at least he did not forbid the daring elaboration of his plan. He sent Stuart to work.
Stuart picked 1,200 men. His commanders were Fitz Lee, Lieutenant Colonel Will Martin and R. E. Lee's son, W. H. F. (Rooney) Lee. Lieutenant James Breathed was ordered to make ready a section of the horse artillery.
The men knew action was afoot only when they got orders to cook three days' rations. Not even the staff knew more. The troopers gathered in the darkness of June eleventh.
Von Borcke wrote: "It was two o'clock in the morning, and we were all fast asleep, when General Stuart's clear voice awoke us with the words, 'Gentlemen, in ten minutes every man must be in his saddle!'"
In half that time the officers were galloping to the main column a few miles away. John Esten Cooke pictured Stuart at the moment of departure: "As he mounted his horse on that moonlight night he was a gallant figure to look at. The gray coat buttoned to the chin; the light French saber, the pistol in its black holster; the cavalry boots above the knee, and the brown hat with its black plume floating above the bearded features, the brilliant eyes and the huge mustache, which curled with laughter at the slightest provocation— these made Stuart the perfect picture of a gay cavalier, and the spirited horse he rode seemed to feel that he carried one whose motto was to cdo or die.' "4
Cooke and Stuart rode together through the moonlight until the staff overtook the column at five A.M. The march began.
Mosby overheard a final conversation. An officer called to Stuart:
"When will you be back?"
"It may be for years, and it may be forever." Stuart's laugh trailed behind him.
Stuart did not allow the bugle calls he so much admired. Troopers were shaken awake and ordered into columns of fours, and the vanguard trotted northward.
There was gossip in the gray ranks, for despite the swift pace toward Louisa Court House, some troopers believed they were being sent against the flank of McClellan. The route was familiar to moving troops: Past Emmanuel Church, over a tributary of the Chicka-hominy at Brook Run, by the old Yellow Tavern, veering westward a bit at Turners, across the Richmond, Fredericksburg and Potomac tracks, then sharply northward in the afternoon, toward the crossing of the South Anna River.
Near the river, late in the day, suspicions of the men were confirmed. Stuart turned the leading squadrons sharply eastward across the railroad. They camped on the farm of the Winston family, near the post office of Taylorsville. Stuart ordered "a noiseless bivouac," with no camp fires allowed. Rooney Lee invited Jeb to ride to Hickory Hill, the home of his wife's family, some five miles away. Rooney's wife was Charlotte Wickham; when they arrived at Hickory Hill after midnight they found the wounded Colonel Williams Wickham, recuperating from his injuries of Williamsburg.
Rooney talked with the Wickhams until the early morning. Jeb fell asleep in a chair, but roused himself for breakfast and led the party back to camp at daylight.
The troopers were aroused "without flag or bugle sound," and signal rockets were used to alert the column down its length. The riders turned southeast toward Old Church, some twenty miles away on a country road between the Pamunkey and Chickahominy Rivers. Here, for the first time, Stuart confided his plan to Martin and the Lees "so as to secure an intelligent action and cooperation in whatever might occur."
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br /> Stuart was with the vanguard when, at nine A.M., they got the first glimpse of the enemy. Jeb halted outside the village of Hanover Court House and studied the scene.
There was the quaint brick courthouse where Patrick Henry had made his stirring speech against American preachers and the old tavern where Henry had once tended bar. A few houses bore signs of a recent skirmish. John Esten Cooke sketched the place:
FIRST FAME: STUART CIRCLES MC CLELLAN
June 12-1$, 1862
"In this little bird's nest, lost in a sea of rippling wheat and waving foliage, some Yankee cavalry had taken up their abode.
"Their horses stood ready saddled in the street, and this dark mass we now gazed at furtively from behind a wooded knoll, in rear of which Stuart's column was drawn up ready to move at the word."
Stuart sent Fitz Lee and his troopers behind a screen of trees, hoping to circle the enemy and cut off their retreat. He sent the main column downhill with sabers drawn, and as von Borcke said, "Friend and foe were soon enveloped in blinding clouds of dust, pistol and carbine shots darting like flashes of lightning."
Stuart expected the enemy to be driven back into the waiting ranks of Fitz Lee, but there was no slowing of the flight. The Federals, about 150 strong, turned southward toward Mechanicsville, and Stuart let them go in peace. He soon found that Fitz Lee had been delayed by crossing a swamp, and was too late to close the road.
The advance moved south out of Hanover Court House, and at eleven A.M. was detected by pickets from Federal headquarters. A three-day nightmare of confusion and fumbling had begun for the Union command on this flank.
