My friend Snooks was there (of course) and the following may or may not be of any interest whatsoever:
In preparation for his own raid, Stuart moved his 9,000 or so troopers plus me into the rolling fields in the vicinity of a railway halt called Brandy Station, a name that promised much and delivered nothing. It was early the next morning after the review in front of Lee that the Yankees crossed the river in two places and surprised Jeb a-bed, as were we all, from front and behind. Stuart had set his headquarters on a hill called Fleetwood and around that eminence and the surrounding fields the blue and grey surged back and forth hour after hour in a deadly tide that left so many men and horses washed up on the shores of battle.
If you've ever been in a cavalry fight you know that it's one of the worst kinds of hell to endure. There is no front line and no rear, no nice files of capable soldiers working their pieces in cool unison to beat off the attack, no relatively safe place to stand and no place to hide. Instead it is a whirl of horsemen in groups and alone, charging and counter charging, clashing and withdrawing, taking each other prisoner and escaping again, shooting and sabreing and shouting the worst kind of language man ever created.
I did a lot of the latter and despite being twice taken prisoner some idiot in grey would insist upon shooting my captor and thus forcing my escape and continued involvement. Frantically I rode from place to place seeking whatever companies or regiments I could find that appeared to be even briefly unengaged in combat and attaching myself behind them striking defiant poses.
It was just my luck that Heros von Borcke caught me at such poltroonery, although I don't think he quite understood the real truth. He rode up to us at a gallop on what was little short of a carthorse, waving that ridiculous flagpole of a sword and pointing it at a group of Yankees who in my opinion would have preferred to be left to their own devices.
"You, colonel!" he cried at me, evidently taking me for the officer in charge of my current human shield. "You will lead these men with me now or I bring charges against you of cowardice! Come now or suffer!" It's possible that in all the blood lust that flooded his eyes he didn't recognise me.
He turned and ordered the charge and I bleated something and the regiment went after him straight at the enemy. I was actually calling for the men to come back, don't waste your lives and so on. It had an effect, much to my surprise. As von Borcke charged ahead at what looked like two entire regiments in blue, his followers began to reassess the situation and decided my idea was the better, turning to come back to a less dangerous spot that I was kind enough to mark out for them. Unfortunately Heros felt unfriended and managed to halt his own charge before reaching the necessity of dying alone.
He wrenched that poor screw around and somehow, although they say fear lends wings and we were indeed flying, he managed to overhaul us and gain a fence that barred our escape route. He blocked the only available gap with his huge body not to mention the horse and once again imposed his will, threatening to shoot any man who attempted to get away or come near him. By now the Yankees were close behind us, no longer solid in their ranks but spread apart and I knew from long experience that if we stayed together as a solid force, we'd carve them up. "Charge!" I cried, "Charge!" and von Borcke joined his voice to mine and off he thundered again, once more alone and leaving the gap now open. I spurred through and didn't bother pausing to see which one of us the men had followed.
When evening began to draw on, the Federals gave way and returned to their side of the river. Stuart claimed a victory for he held the field but others were not convinced. When we got the Richmond papers a few days later, we all read that if General Stuart wanted to be "the ears and eyes of the army, then he should see more and be seen less". Von Borcke did not care for my snickering over that one.
The fact was though, that no matter how Stuart might dismiss such rumbles from home, the boys in blue had got the bulge on him, thrashed him around his own fields for thirteen hours and, while they failed to route him, had returned to their own camps full of fire and spit, congratulating themselves on being bully fighters and hadn't they shown Old Jeb a thing or two? Indeed they had and from now on the Union cavalry began to act like the real thing and to draw to its head leaders who knew what they were about.
Forum Host
Keeper of the Scales
Bringing the