Battle in the Snow
(Originally
Published in the Star and Sentinel, November 16, 1881)
Cole’s Cavalry and
Mosby’s men at Loudon Heights
A dramatic and
touching incident in the late rebellion-Terrible struggle in pitch
darkness-Paxton’s boy-High praise from Hallook
One rather sultry day in
September, 1862, when the clouds of war were black, a second
Lieutenant of Calvary sat perched upon the top of a rail-fence at
Paxton’s Crossroads in Loudon County Virginia. He was covered with
the dust and smoke of a fight that his battalion was having with
Mosby’s command a few miles up the road. He had come back to the
point where this story opens, in charge of five severely wounded
men, a result of the skirmish. They were lying back of him under
an apple tree, one of them his own brother, shot through the body
and believed to be mortally wounded. The other four were not bound
to him by the tie of kindred, but they were very near to him, for
not only had they been his playmates in childhood but the
companions of his later years, and ever since the beginning of war
his closest comrades.
They were suffering terribly, and
while the officer was wondering how they were to be taken to the
Potomac River, where medical assistance could be secured, his
command came down the road somewhat in disorder, showing that the
battle had gone against them. The dread of capture was now added
to the gloom of the situation, but there was no time for
reflection or despondency. Mosby was coming and something must
quickly be done.
A Charitable Rebel
The officer sought the farmer
whose name the Crossroads bore and offered $100 for a wagon to
transport his wounded comrades to the river, a few miles distant.
"You can have the wagon in welcome. I am a Confederate and have a
boy in the Confederate army, and I do by you, sir, as I would want
others to do by him if he were wounded."
The farmer spurned the offer of
pay for his vehicle, and not only assisted the officer in laying
straw in the bottom of the wagon and placing the wounded men upon
it, but he drove with him to the Potomac River, where medical
assistance was summoned, and the life of each of the wounded men
saved. The farmer’s son was in Mosby’s command at this moment, and
in the fight where these men were wounded.
The tide of battle flowed on and
the disasters of war multiplied. Hardly a week during the two
eventful years which followed leading up to the climax of this
story, but that Mosby’s command and the battalion to which
belonged the Lieutenant and the five wounded men met in battle.
Both saw hard service. The four
companies of cavalry shown gallantry under the most trying
circumstances known in the warfare of all time gives me the theme
for this sketch, were raised from among the Union men of Western
Maryland and the adjoining counties of Pennsylvania. They were
enlisted for the difficult and dangerous duty of scouting along
the border, a service for which then farmhands with the general
lay of the country specifically fitted them.
Cole's Cavalry
Army operations along the Potomac
River were so active and important that this battalion almost from
the day of it’s muster into the service was called to the fore
front, and it was not long before Cole’s Cavalry was known far and
wide for it’s almost tireless activity and dauntless bravery.
Major Henry A. Cole of Frederick, Md, was the commander, and it is
needless to say that he was a man of great dash and courage. From
the very first fight in which he led his four companies of brave
mountaineers, down to the close of the war the cavalry he
commanded bore his name, and I doubt if there was ever one of
those sturdy veterans who did not take a pride in saying that he
belonged to Cole’s Cavalry.
Major H. S. McNair of Adams
County, Pa, the officer with whom I introduced this story, is
still living in York, Pa, and his brother who was supposed to be
mortally wounded is Postmaster at Emmitsburg. Captain Hunter,
Captain Buckinham, Lieutenant McIlhenny and many of the long list
of veterans who survived the war, I have lost sight of. Major
Horner of Adams County, the Adjutant of the battalion, is an
officer in the Baltimore Customhouse. J. A. Scott, one of the
veterans, lends proof in the Government Printing Office, and so
they are scattered to the four winds. Very many of them are still
living and will forcibly recognize the points of this sketch.
It would be almost impossible to
select any week during the years from ‘61 to ‘65 that was not
fruitful in the stories of the gallantry of this handful of
cavalry. But there is one bold deed that stands pre-eminent, not
only in the history of this battalion, but in the whole cavalry
service of the war.
Loudon Heights
If the reader could stand upon
the great iron bridge which spans the Potomac River at Harper’s
Ferry, and look upon Maryland Heights towering from the river’s
brink, two thousand feet into the air, and crowned with a great
stone fort useful in the days of which I wrote, and then turn the
eye toward the great pile of rocks on the Virginia side, known as
Loudon Heights, rising abruptly from the Shenandoah River to the
height of more than a thousand feet, and then upon Bolivar
Heights, standing as a bold background to the desolate village of
Harper’s Ferry, he could better appreciate the situation on which
this little band was placed at the time I will introduce them. He
could better realize it’s perils and understand the thrilling
episode of which I am to write.
In the winter of 1864 Cole’s
Cavalry was encamped on the east face of Loudon Heights, a little
more than two miles by road from Harper’s Ferry, but, "as the crow
flies," not more than half that distance.
They were the only troops on that
side of the river, and their position, as the sequel will show,
was a very dangerous one.
The single road leading past the
camp toward the point, where at the beginning of my story we found
this command engaged with Mosby, lead up the mountain side and at
times was almost impassible. Loudon County was the home of many of
Mosby’s officers and men. Every path and ravine in the
neighborhood of this isolated camp was, therefore, as familiar to
Mosby and his men as the high road. The camp was not established
here without reluctance, for both officers and men recognized the
perils which would surround it all through the weary winter. For a
time the men were cautions and never undressed at night. Then arms
were kept always within reach and ready for use, but the sense of
danger, which all felt at first, wore off as the weeks went by and
there was no attack, nor even an alarm. Both officers and men
relapsed into a feeling of security, which made them more mindful
of their own comfort than of the dangers with which they were
surrounded. About the 1st of January there was a heavy
snow fall, and the weather became intensely cold, inclining the
men to stow themselves snugly away at night as though going to bed
at home. I fear also that they were not very careful about their
arms and ammunition.
A Terrible Night
The 9th of January was
very cold and the night which followed intensely dark. The snow
carpet which covered the camp was the only relief to the great
black veil which seemed to be drawn over the face of all nature.
It was upon this night that Mosby had determined to attack and if
possible capture this battalion of cavalry, which, oftener than
any other, had met him in battle and dealt him hard blows. He
selected about 400 of the best of his command and left camp,
crossing the snow clad mountains to the right of Major Cole’s
camp. They came by paths and through ravines, avoiding the pickets
on the Hillsborough Road and finally capturing them from the rear
before they had a chance to fire a shot or alarm the camp. It was
between 2 and 3 o’clock on the morning of the 10th of
January, that Mosby captured the pickets and prepared his plan of
attack upon the slumbering camp. His command was quietly posted
along the lines of tents where the Union cavalrymen were sleeping
in fancied security, without even suspicion than an enemy was
near.
Shooting the Sleepers
At a given signal a deadly fire
was opened upon them. Naturally, all was confusion. The volley,
which killed some of the men in their tents and wounded others,
was the first warning of danger. There had been no call to arms.
Boots and saddles had not been sounded to prepare the men for
duty. The crack of the enemy’s guns was the stern call to arms
made upon these sleeping men with no time to reach their clothing
and almost less to grope for their arms in the dark. To be sure,
they had been used to hardships, and had never failed to respond
to the call of duty. Then pluck and endurance were now subjected
to the severest test known in modern war, and yet they did not
falter. Almost without waiting for the orders of the officers the
men turned out into the bitter cold and snow, ankle deep, in their
night clothes, and in most instances without shoes. They responded
to the attack with a determination which astonished their
assailants, who had expected to have an easy capture.
"Fire at every man on horseback!"
Was almost the first order of the commanding officer. "Men, do not
take to your horses!" The men obeyed both orders, and directed
their fire upon every man on horseback, and this judicious action
won them the day.
When the Confederates found that
they were to be resisted to the death, Captain Smith, one of the
principal officers in command of the attacking force, shouted to
his men, "Fire the tents and shoot ‘em by the light!" He was
sitting on his horse near the head of the row of tents occupied by
Company A. A Sergeant of that company who had been groping for his
carbine, had found it and was just pushing his head through the
tent when this order was given. He dropped on his knees, raised
his piece to his shoulder and fired at the officer giving the
command. The ball struck him near the eye and crashed through his
brain, and he fell dead into the mouth of the tent, almost upon
the man whose bullet had killed him.
A Desperate Struggle
For three-quarters of an hour
this fight in the snow continued, with varying chances of success.
With the brave men who were doing battle in the bitter cold,
without clothing, suffered no man can tell, and yet they never
wavered. The scene during the fight was simply indescribable. The
men on both sides fought like tigers, and volley after volley was
exchanged, the flash of the guns as each was discharged being the
only relief to the somber darkness of the night. The shouts of the
men engaged could be heard above the din of battle, and the groans
of the wounded mingled strangely with the confusion of the strife.
As each fresh volley would for a moment light up the camp with
it’s sickening, death-like glare, some comrade would fall and a
fresh stream of blood crimson the snow. How the men fought and how
they stood out during that hour was a marvel even to themselves,
and the history war within all the tide of time cannot produce a
more striking evidence of bravery and devotion.
Hardly had the flash form the
first volley died and the fight actually begun before they heard
the long-roll beat in the camps at Harper’s Ferry, and the
struggling men knew that if they could hold out for a little while
relief would come. The troops at Harper’s Ferry could see the
flash of every gun and hear the crack of every death-dealing
carbine. There was no relief there except infantry, and it was two
miles, so there was a whole hour and more the conflicting emotions
of hope and fear as to the fate of the courageous little band of
veterans on the mountain. The 34th Massachusetts was
ordered to the rescue on a "double-quick" as soon as it could be
ordered into line. But before it could reach the summit of Loudon
Heights the Confederates had been repulsed and Cole’s Cavalry had
won the fight upon the snow-clad mountain-top that added much to
the name and fame it had already gained.
After the Battle
When night lifted and day dawned
upon that battlefield there was a scene which can never be
described. The dead lay upon the ground frozen stiff by the
terrible cold. The severely wounded complained bitterly of the
frost, and the bullet-pierced tents of the men that did the
fighting were full of weary, powder stained veterans suffering
sorely form the effects of frozen feet, of which they were
unmindful until the battle was won. Seven Confederates, four of
them commissioned officers, were killed in this night attack upon
Major Cole’s camp, and a great many more were wounded, some of
whom were carried off by their comrades. In deed, those that were
able to follow the retreat decided that their path was literally
marked by a track of blood. Major Cole lost two killed, thirteen
wounded. Captain Vernon, now Surveyor at Customs at Baltimore,
lost an eye, and Lieutenant Rivers was wounded. A large number of
the command was sent to the hospital with frozen feet, and two
amputations were necessary. The suffering of these brave men did
not stop with the battle.
General Sullivan, who was in
command of the district, rode over from Harper’s Ferry after
daylight accompanied by his staff. He had the men drawn up in
line, and eulogized their conduct in the strongest terms that
words could express. He called the Department Commander’s
attention to the gallant conduct of this handful of men,
requesting that his report of the fight be transmitted to the
Commander-in-Chief. General Kelley in complying with General
Sullivan’s request, endorsed upon the report.
"I cheerfully comply with the
request of General Sullivan in calling the attention of the
General in chief to the gallant conduct of Major Henry A. Cole
and his brave command. His repulse of the murderous attack made
by an overwhelming force at 4 o’clock on a dark morning evinced
a watchfulness and bravery most commendable."
The following commendatory order
was at once issued by the General-in-Chief:
HEADQUARTERS OF THE ARMY
WASHINGTON, D C.
January 20, 1864
Major Gen. B. F. Kelley,
Cumberland, Md.
GENERAL I have just received
from your headquarters Major Henry A. Cole’s report of the
repulse of Mosby’s attack upon the camp on Loudon Heights on the
10th. Major Cole and his command, the battalion of P
H B Cavalry, Maryland Volunteers, deserve high praise for their
gallantry in repelling this Rebel assault. Very respectfully,
your obedient servant,
H. W. Haileck, General-in-Chief
This order was read to the army
and a copy forwarded to Major Cole. It was the only instance
during the Rebellion that such conspicuous commendation was
awarded from the head-quarters of the army to anything like such a
force as that commanded by Major Cole. Of course there are a
thousand incidents of this barefooted fight on the mountain, in
the snow worth relating, and the conscious instances of bravery
would include every man in the command. But there is one touching
incident necessary to join this story.
Paxton’s Boy
When daylight broke upon the
scene there was a young Confederate soldier lying upon the field
with a fatal wound in the neck near the jugular vein. He was not
more than 20 years of age, and a boy in appearance as well as in
years. The officer, who appears at the Crossroads in the beginning
of this story, found him. He raised up the dying lad and asked his
name. "My name is Paxton," replied the boy in broken tones. "My
God! Are you Mr. Paxton’s sone that lives at the Crossroads,
toward Waterville?" "I am" was the simple response. The humane act
of his father in 1862 was recalled, and full of emotion the
officer picked the lad up, carried him to the hospital, laid him
upon an easy couch, and summoned the doctor who replied
petulantly, "We can’t care for those men until we look after our
own wounded." "But this boy must be cared for," said the officer,
and in as few words as possible he told the story of 1862 when
five of their men belonging to Cole’s cavalry lay wounded upon
Paxton’s farm at the Crossroads.
There was no more parleying and
the boy was at once carefully attended to, but he was beyond human
aid. All that could be done for him was to ease his last moments,
and this was done. All the command felt, terribly as they
themselves had suffered and were suffering, that this boy was
entitled to every attention that could be shown him.
"I do this," said Mr. Paxton in
1862, when he assisted Lieutenant McNair in taking the wounded
men toward the river, "because I would want other to do the same
by my boy, who is in the Confederate army, if he should be
wounded."
The same officer and the same men
who heard these words and received that favor dealt the death-blow
to that son. Yet his dying moments were made easier by them for
the favor his father had done.
For this fight the battalion was
raised to the dignity of a regiment, and Major Henry A. Cole, who
is now living in Baltimore, was made it’s Colonel, and Captain
Vernon it’s Lieutenant Colonel. The other officers were promoted
to various positions in the regiment, but neither officers nor men
in their advanced places lost an opportunity to refer with pride
to "the old battalion" and it’s record.
F A B
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