Secrets of the Late Rebellion

Of the bounty-jumpers who first tried the game of going over to the enemy, under the belief that they would soon be exchanged or paroled, and thus have opportunities for procuring additional bounties, quite a number were shot as spies. The "dead-board," as it was called, of General Lee's army, had a summary way of dealing with all cases which they deemed of a questionable character. A statement from the person making the arrest; where found, and under what circumstances; a few questions to the accused; a consultation of ten minutes among the seven officers who composed the board; sentence; and on the day following, and sometimes on the same day, the accused would be seen sitting on an empty coffin, on his way to execution.

But in August, 1863, a new thought crossed the brain of the Confederate authorities. They then concluded that, instead of shooting bounty-jumpers as spies, they could make them serviceable to the Confederate cause by using them as stool-pigeons, and like as stool-pigeons are used to draw whole flocks into the net, so these could be used to corrupt, and bring thousands into the Confederate lines. In pursuance of this new idea, five large tobacco warehouses, on Carey Street, each three stories high, directly opposite "Castle Thunder," in Richmond, were converted into a prison, and called "Castle Lightning." In this prison, bounty-jumpers alone were put, and the rations furnished them were doubly as good as the rations furnished the prisoners in other prisons. Whenever an exchange of prisoners was possible, those in Castle Lightning were always given the preference, and, when about to leave, they were told that they should take from the Yankees as many bounties as they possibly could; that, if again sent to the front, they should desert, and bring as many others along with them as possible; that they would always be well treated, and given the best rations the Confederacy could afford; that they would be exchanged, or otherwise sent back to their homes, at the first opportunity; and that to secure safety and good treatment, when coming into the Confederate lines, they should cry out, "Bounty-jumper! Bounty-jumper!" This was told them not only when about to leave, but again, and again, and again during their stay, and the superior treatment they received while prisoners, assured them that the promises made would all be fulfilled.

Within a few weeks after the return of the first batch of these bounty-jumpers to the North, the effect of the new policy began to show itself, and it steadily increased from that time onward. Hardly a day, and sometimes several times in a day, squads of Union prisoners arrived in Richmond, and were marched to Castle Lightning, who had voluntarily come within the lines, and claimed to be bounty-jumpers. Nor was there scarcely a day in which squads of these same men might not be seen leaving the prison, on their way to be exchanged, or otherwise sent back to the Union army, or direct to their homes. Like leaven, its tendency was to leaven the whole lump, as the authorities of the Confederacy believed would be the case when they adopted the policy. One such man in a company would, in time, taint the whole company; ten such men in a regiment would, in time, taint the whole regiment. When a battle is progressing, a single regiment, yea, a single company, going over to the enemy will sometimes so change the tide of battle that what seemed an assured victory, will prove a most disastrous defeat.

Of course it is not known, never can be known, how many millions of dollars, nor how many thousands of lives the adoption of this policy by the South cost the North; nor can the South ever know the amount of advantage which they derived from adopting the policy; but that it was a new mode of warfare, and showed great shrewdness on the part of those who conceived and carried out the project, all will agree in admitting.

Having thus shown how the Confederate authorities used Union prisoners to benefit their own cause, we will next proceed to state some additional facts as to the abuse received by other Union prisoners. The facts which we now purpose to state are not from hearsay, not from one-sided newspapers, nor from partisan historians, but directly from the lips of one who had occasion to visit Confederate prisoners frequently during the war, whose whole soul was in, and with, the Confederate cause, and who could not be, and would not be, by any who knew him, accused of sympathy with the "Yankees," as he usually styles Union soldiers when speaking of them. We have not space to write of all, and will limit our remarks to only four of the many places throughout the Confederate States at which Union prisoners were confined.

First. – "Libby Prison." This was located in Richmond, and had been a tobacco warehouse previous to its use as a prison. It was an immense brick building, three stories high, rough floors, no plastering, a great number of windows, no fire-places, and no means for heating other than for the office on the first floor. In this, hundreds of Union prisoners were thrust and kept for weeks, months, years – some with scarcely enough clothing left to cover their nakedness, and with no chance for a change; many without a blanket, even in the coldest winter weather; all without beds, or mattress, or anything but the hard floor to lie upon. Their ordinary daily ration consisted of a loaf made from one pint of corn-meal and one pint of rice soup. Occasionally, though rarely, they would have bread made from wheat flour and soup made from meat and bones. Once in a great while they were served with meat, but the quantity served to each man was so small that it could be taken at a mouthful. Our informant says he knows of a certainty that some actually starved to death– that others actually froze to death– that many were wantonly shot while thoughtlessly looking out of the windows, by sentinels on the sidewalks, who had positive orders from Lieutenant Turner, the officer in command of Libby, to shoot any "d – d Yankee" whose head might be seen at the window-bars; and that hundreds, yea, thousands, died from sickness brought upon them by the privations from which they suffered. We could give other details, but they are too horrible to write, and would be too sickening to read.

Second. – "Castle Thunder." All that we have said of "Libby" will apply equally well to this prison, except that in some cases the cruelty of treatment might be multiplied by two, and in some instances by three. Here our informant saw prisoners with ball and chain to their legs, and handcuffed together; chanced to be in the room when the brains of one of the prisoners were spattered against the wall, by a ball from the musket in the hands of a sentinel on the pavement two stories below, and only because the prisoner had dared to look out at a window; learned of many like cases which occurred before and after that visit; nor has he any doubt that scores were there inhumanly shot, because of orders from the officer in command, Captain Alexander. At least one Union prisoner, a Captain Dayton, was hung on the charge of being a spy. In this prison, dogs that chanced to stray in were seized, killed, and eaten; and rat-meat was regarded as a dainty dish.

Third. – Salisbury, N. C., was a large enclosure within a high board fence, on the outside of which was a walk for sentinels, and within which was the "dead-line," about thirty feet from the fence, to cross which meant instant death to any prisoner. The "sinks" for the camp were located on this "dead-line," and at one of his visits our informant saw the dead body of a prisoner lying in one of the "sinks," who had been shot by a sentinel in the afternoon of the day before while sitting on the pole at the "sink." The sentinel, when asked why he had shot the prisoner, replied that he thought he was trying to come over the dead-line and therefore shot him. At this same visit our informant saw sentinels, with guns on their shoulders, pacing their rounds on the outside of this fence, who were not over twelve years of age, and the one who had shot the prisoner at the "sink" was scarcely over this age. The whole regiment on guard at that camp, at that time, was made up of boys from twelve to sixteen years of age, and of very old men – not one of all of whom was fit for a soldier. The officer in command, a Major Gee, was himself a brute, and no more fit to have the care of human beings than a hyena would be to be placed in charge of a sheepfold. Here, as at Libby and Castle Thunder, the usual ration was a loaf made from one pint of corn-meal, each day, and occasionally a small bit of meat. For shelter most of them had to burrow for themselves, like rabbits, in holes under ground; and so poorly were they off for clothing and shoes, that our informant saw scores of men standing about the doors of hospitals, waiting for the clothing and shoes of those who might die within. Every morning carts came around to gather up the dead, to take them without the camp and throw in trenches.

Fourth. – Andersonville, Georgia. This was an enclosure of about twenty-five acres, surrounded by a high stockade, and by earthworks mounted with cannon. One end of the enclosure was a swamp, through which crept a sluggish, muddy stream, and this was the only water to which the prisoners had access. To add to the filthiness and consequent unhealthfulness of this water, a Confederate camp was located upon it, above the point where the stream entered the stockade. The few buildings within the enclosure were scarcely enough for hospital purposes, and here, as at Salisbury, the prisoners had to burrow in the earth for shelter. Even in the coldest of weather thousands had no blankets, nor scarcely clothing enough to cover their nakedness. Their ordinary ration here, as at the other places named, was a loaf made from one pint of corn-meal each day, and when, as occasionally they did, receive anything beyond this, it was regarded as a rare treat. The shooting of men on the "dead-line" was almost of daily occurrence.

Indeed, many of the prisoners became so crazed from suffering that they sought death in this way. General Winder was commander of the camp, and under him was the Captain Wirz who was tried, convicted, and hung at Washington near the close of the war. Thousands at the South, as well as at the North, believed then, and believe still, that General Winder, instead of his subordinate officer, should have stood beneath the hangman's noose. Undoubtedly he could have corrected these terrible wrongs had he tried. That he did not try is proof positive that he did not care. The world at large always gives to commanders the chief credit of all done by their subordinates, and, on the same principle, holds them responsible for all that their subordinates fail to do or do wrongfully. Had General Winder desired his prisoners to have had better treatment, neither Captain Wirz, nor any other of his subordinates, would have treated them as they did. How much they suffered none will ever know. The horrible things related in the foregoing pages, and the thousands of other terrible things related by others who have written the history of the Rebellion, are but as drops to the ocean, as sands to the sea-shore, to all that occurred during the war. Dark deeds seek to hide themselves always, and while the "secrets" of this volume, and a few-others, have oozed out since the war, others doubtless quite as bad have never yet, and probably never will, see the light of day. And possibly it is best so. There are some deeds that so harrow up one's feelings that, if related, they would, as said by Hamlet's ghost:

"Freeze the young blood;
Make the two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres;
The knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine."

Or, after hearing them, make us to cry out with Hamlet (slightly varied)

"O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else?
And shall I couple hell? O fie! Hold, hold my heart;
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
But bear me stiffly up! – Remember them?
Yea, from the table of my memory
'I'll wipe away all trivial records,
All saws of books, all forms, all pleasures past,
That youth and observation copied there,
And these base deeds alone, alone shall live
'Within the book and volume of my brain
'Unmixed with baser matter;
And on my tablets I will set it down
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain!"

We could ourself add more, much more, from what our informant told us; but our heart sickens over such recitals, and our readers, we are sure, have had quite enough of it.

The first question, and the most natural question for any one to ask, after reading the terrible atrocities just recited, would be, Who was or is accountable for all this suffering?

The gentleman from whose lips we gathered most of the foregoing facts had opportunities of learning the individual sentiments of President Davis upon this subject, as upon many others, quite as well, perhaps, as any man within the lines of the Confederacy, and he assured us that Mr. Davis regretted, as much as any man could regret, the sufferings of Union prisoners, and that, whenever reports of their ill-treatment came to his ears, he at once gave them attention. That, time and again, Mr. Davis appointed gentlemen of high character to visit the prison-places we have named, and report to him any and all abuses of which they might learn; that, again and again, he cautioned, reprimanded, and in some cases re moved, officers charged with cruelty to Union prisoners; and that he did whatever it was possible for him to do to mitigate their sufferings. In view of the high personal character which Mr. Davis bore before he became President of the Confederacy, and, of the consistent Christian character he has since borne, it is to be hoped that this is a correct interpretation of his sentiments with reference to Union prisoners. It would almost make one lose faith in humanity were it otherwise.

If President Davis was not responsible, the next most natural question would be, Who is? and to this answers would differ with almost every one who might attempt to make reply. While the outrages were being perpetrated, the people of the North generally held Mr. Davis responsible for all of them, on the principle heretofore stated; but towards the close of the war, and during the ten years following the war, public opinion greatly changed, until few, if any, held him longer responsible; and now there are not probably ten men in the whole United States, of such as know anything of the facts, who hold him personally responsible for these outrages.

Our informant thought the responsibility lay most, if not wholly, with the officers in immediate command of these prisons and camps. That, while food was undoubtedly scarce in the Confederacy, still he believed the prisoners did not get all that the government allowed and paid for; that while charged only with the safe-keeping of the prisoners, the officers in command went far beyond this, and made security a pretext for severity; that they were malicious, vindictive, devilish, and, while dressed in a "little brief authority," allowed these traits of their own characters to have full play in torturing those committed to their keeping. If this, or half of this, be true, God have pity on their souls when they stand, as all must, before Christ's judgment-seat!

CHAPTER VIII. GUERILLAS ON THE WAR-PATH. CUNNING AND DUPLICITY PROMPTING THE ACTORS. – DESTRUCTION IN THE BACKGROUND

THE remark is attributed to General Grant that he had "less dread of the whole of General Lee's army than of Colonel Moseby's cavalry." To one unacquainted with the irregular, predatory mode of warfare of these bands, such a remark, from such a source, would seem impossible; but when it is known that cunning, deception, downright lying, and any amount of cruelty needed to their ends, were principles and practices which they regarded as fair; that they did not hold themselves amenable to army regulations, nor to the law of nations, but were in all cases a "law unto themselves," then the wonder ceases, and we can understand that even so fearless and so wise a general as Grant might have made just such a remark.

During the war the newspapers of the whole country had considerable to say about Moseby and his marauding band; and, since the war, all who have written histories have had more or less to say about him; and yet not the one-hundredth part of his depredations have ever been recorded, nor is there one in a thousand, either North or South, who know how his band was organized, how they operated, or what were the results, except in a few cases, of their operations. With our army experience of nearly three years, and with all our reading of newspapers and histories, we admit to have known nothing, or next to nothing, of the plan on which his band was organized, of the principles on which they operated, and of the terrible results of those operations until quite recently. It chanced, not long since, that we met a gentleman who was an officer in the Confederate army during nearly the whole of the war, who was personally acquainted with Colonel Moseby and many of his men, and who had from their own lips carefully detailed accounts of many of their daring exploits, at a time when they gloried in them and delighted to tell them to their friends; and whose personal relations with President Davis, Adjutant-General Cooper, and others gave him the opportunity of knowing what was going on behind the scenes, as well as upon the stage. From him we gathered most of the following facts, and as many of them have never been published before, we are sure they will be of great interest, as showing another phase of the acts going on behind the scenes while the armies of the Union and of the Confederacy were fighting their battles on the public stage, with all the world as spectators.

It will be recollected that in the beginning of the Confederate government troops were called out by proclamation of the President, the same as at the North. But that, after a time, as the war progressed and volunteering became less and less, conscription had to be resorted to, and, finally, that every man at all able to bear arms was called into the service.

Early in the war Colonel Moseby proposed to the Confederate War Department to raise a company for "special and independent service," meaning guerilla service, though of course he did not use a word so objectionable in making the application. He was then a practising lawyer in a small town in Western Virginia, and wanted to keep up his own dignity as well as that of his profession. The War Department granted his request, and in a little while his company was full. Finding others eager to join him, as the young men of his own and of adjoining counties much preferred to join an "independent" command than go into the Confederate army (and they soon found they must do one or the other), he next proposed to the War Department to raise a regiment on the same basis. This, too, was granted him, and in due time he had about fifteen hundred men on his muster-rolls, divided up into companies, each with its captain, lieutenants, sergeants, etc., many of whom were not known to the general public, nor scarcely beyond their immediate friends and relatives. All his officers and all his men lived at their homes, on their farms, in their offices, in their stores, in their workshops, pursuing their usual vocations; but each was careful to carry, concealed about his person, a certificate showing that he belonged to Colonel Moseby's regiment of "independent" cavalry, so that if called upon by a conscripting officer he could at once show that he was already in the service. The regiment was called "independent," and was really so, for the reason that it was attached to no brigade, division, or corps, but operated and cooperated with other commands only as chance happened to throw them together. His orders came from the President, or the War Department, through Adjutant-General Cooper, who directed him whom to obey as his superior officer for the time being, and to whom to report at any time for special duty. Many, a great many, of his acts, however, were done purely on his own volition, on his own responsibility, and without orders from any superior officer, nor were these acts always approved by those at the seat of government. Two or three times he was summoned to Richmond to answer complaints lodged against him; but such was the influence he exerted with members of the Confederate Congress, through members of his regiment, many of whom were the sons or near relatives of some of the most wealthy and most influential families of Virginia, that each time he came off scot-free, and was worse after than before.

His ordinary manner of operating was as follows: His officers and men, as before stated, lived at home, and were only known as citizens, pursuing their ordinary vocations; and, for the last two years of the war, a considerable number, probably more than half, lived within the Union lines, and called themselves "Union" men. From and after the time when the Rapidan River became the line of the two armies this was especially so; and after that time nearly all his operations lay between the Rapidan and the Potomac, mostly in the counties of Loudon, Fauquier, Shenandoah, and Rockingham. Occasionally he would cross the Potomac into Maryland, and operate at points between Cumberland City and the Great Falls.

When from officers and members of his own regiment living within the Union lines, or from others, he would learn of the contemplated movements of certain supply-trains, of certain paymasters, of certain small squads on special duty, he would at once issue orders to enough of his men to meet him at a particular house, or a particular cross-roads, at ten or twelve o'clock of a particular night, fully armed, equipped, and mounted for the service in which they were about to engage. Sometimes the number ordered out would be ten, sometimes twenty, sometimes fifty, and sometimes a whole company or more, according to the force which they expected to meet and overcome. Only when ordered to join and cooperate with some general commanding officer, would he call out his whole available force. He had no fixed headquarters, but his officers and men always knew exactly where to communicate with him, as he always knew exactly where to find them; and when he issued an order it was speedily conveyed from lip to lip, and seldom failed to meet with the expected response. He and his men were all the while on the alert, and seldom failed to take prompt advantage of any opportunity that offered. His own men not unfrequently applied for (as farmers' sons living in the neighborhood) and obtained temporary employment as team-drivers, blacksmiths, farriers, etc., in the Union army, and in this way secured information in advance of every contemplated movement, whether of the army, of supplies, or of detachments on special service. As soon as such information was obtained, it was conveyed from lip to lip, until it reached the ears of Colonel Moseby. Then he would decide whether a raid was practicable or not; and if it was, the needed number of men were summoned to meet him at a certain place at a set time.

To get through the line of Union sentinels without alarming the whole Union army, he had numerous stratagems. Having men on both sides of the line, he knew the exact location of every post, just the hour at which each sentinel was placed and relieved, and the precise strength of the squad or company, and where located, from which each sentinel was detached. Where only a single sentinel needed to be removed, to allow him and his squad to pass in and out of the Union lines, he was stealthily pounced upon, disarmed, killed, or otherwise taken care of. If more than one needed removing, the same operation might be practised on two or more. Where a whole squad or company needed to be gobbled up, he had enough of his men to quietly surround them, and, at the blowing of a whistle or other signal, suddenly pounce upon and take them all prisoners, usually without the firing of a gun, or with scarcely a word spoken above a whisper. Secrecy, celerity, and "dead men tell no tales," were his maxims – and most fearfully did he put these maxims into practice. It would fill this entire volume to tell all the times; but the following instances, selected from the many, some of which have and some of which never have been told before, will fully corroborate all that we have heretofore said, and show the terrible character of the warfare carried on by this class of men behind the scenes, while the Union and Confederate armies were contending for the mastery in front of the scenes.

During the summer and fall of 1863, Moseby's guerillas were exceedingly active. Almost every night they had some enterprise on hand, large or small, and while most of them were of such a character as to excite but little attention and no alarm, yet now and then one would occur of so startling a nature, and of so villanous a character, as to arouse all who heard of it, and make every honest man wish that the perpetrators could be caught and hung higher than Haman. The first we purpose to relate was of this character, and, so far as we know, this will be its first publication in historic form, though well known at the time by everybody in the neighborhood, and by officers in both armies.

The position of Maryland during the war was exceedingly perplexing. Lying, as it does, midway between the North and the South, her soil was traversed by both armies, and her people were constantly subjected to annoyance, if not to danger, from both Union and Confederate troops. As a slaveholding State, the sympathies of her people were mostly with the Southern cause, and yet the business relations of many of her citizens with the people of the North, and her contiguity to Pennsylvania, had made many of her citizens strongly in favor of maintaining the Union. A considerable number of her citizens had joined the Confederate army; a considerable number had joined the Union army; while those who stayed at home endeavored to remain as nearly neutral as possible. To a Northern man or a Union soldier, they were all for the Union; to a Southern man or a Confederate soldier, they were all for Jefferson Davis and the Confederacy; to one who did not care a fig which side won, they were quite as indifferent as he dared be. Moseby and his midnight marauders seemed to have taken, for some cause, a special dislike to the Marylanders, and the first four instances we purpose to give occurred on that side of the Potomac.

Mr. B. (our informant had forgotten the name, though he had been at the place and was entirely familiar with the incident, having obtained it from the lips of one who was a participant) – Mr. B. was a quiet, inoffensive old man, who endeavored to live at peace with everybody, and who was probably as little of a partisan as any man in the State. He seldom, if ever, talked upon politics, rarely about the war, and, when upon either, was always careful to do it in such a way as not to offend his listener. He kept a small country store at a point where two roads crossed each other, and was as ready to exchange his coffee, sugar, or molasses, his calicoes, hardware, or queensware, for country produce or for money, with a Confederate as with a Union man, or with a Union man as with a Confederate, There was no village about his store, not even the usual accompaniments of a blacksmith- and wheelwright-shop.

Moseby had taken a dislike to this man. Why, it is not known, except it be that he sold his goods to Union men and Union soldiers, as well as to Confederates, when opportunity offered. So far as is known, the man had never given any personal offence to Moseby or his men, though they had several times visited his store, usually, if not always, in disguise; and we may here add, once for all, that when Moseby or his men were moving about within the Union lines on spying expeditions, they were always in disguise, and when they went to perpetrate a diabolical act, they always had their faces blackened, or were otherwise in mask.

On a dark night, or rather about two o'clock in the morning, in August, 1863, ten of Moseby's gang approached this store. One of the men was lifted up to, and crept in at, a window, and, going to the front door, unlocked and opened it, that some might enter while others remained on the outside as sentinels. Closing and locking the door, that there might be no escape of the inmates, they struck a light and then commenced a search for persons. They soon found the old man (the owner), two young men (his clerks or assistants), and a negro boy, all of whom had been asleep in the house adjoining, or in the second story of the store. As there were no women in the house, it is probable that he and his clerks had kept "bachelors' hall." Of course the proprietor, clerks, and negro boy were very much alarmed at seeing these men with blackened faces before them, and inquired what it all meant? They were quickly informed that it meant death to them, and a burning of the building, with all its contents: All commenced to plead for their lives, fell upon their knees, and besought their captors to spare their lives at least, whatever other punishment or destruction they might think proper to inflict; but the more they plead, the more deaf and the more lost to every sense of humanity their captors seemed to become. Taking some trace-chains which they found in the store, the old man, the two young men, and the negro boy were bound, hand and foot, and then secured to a post or some other fixed thing within the store. The only reason their captors would give for all this was that they were "d – d Yankees," that they had "supplied Union soldiers with food and clothing," that they were "traitors to the South," etc., etc., etc., all of which was interspersed with most horrid oaths and curses. When all four had been securely bound, gagged, and fastened, and their captors had helped themselves to whatever they wanted of the articles in the store, they left the building, and in a few moments thereafter it was in flames. Had the bound captives within not been gagged they would have almost raised the dead with their cries; but, as it was, nothing was heard save the fierce crackling of the flames, and in a little while the building and its contents lay in ashes, mingled and intermingled with the bones of the four victims. Again Moseby's oft-repeated maxims had found a terrible illustration, "Dead men tell no tales" – "Dead men never bite!"

The next instance of the doings of this gang of desperadoes which we purpose to relate, occurred not long after, near Shepherdstown, Md., and was of a much milder type of villany. We relate it here that our readers may see, by contrast, that these murdering guerillas were as ready to do small, mean things, as great, horrid things; and that personal malice and personal advantage, rather than advantage to the Southern Confederacy, were sometimes the incentives to their acts.

Lieutenant-Colonel Phillips, though a Marylander, was from the beginning of the agitation a strong Union man, and, when volunteers were called for from Maryland, did not hesitate a moment to offer his services in the Union cause, and became lieutenant-colonel of one of the Union Maryland regiments. He left at home, in care of his father, a very fine horse. Colonel Moseby heard of this horse, and determined to become its possessor. With blackened faces, he, or some of his men, went to the Phillips' farm at night, stole the horse, and returned to Virginia the same night. The fact soon after came to the ears of a chivalrous Confederate officer, who had known Lieutenant-Colonel Phillips when at the same college with himself, and who, though not liking Phillips now, disliked meanness still more. He informed General Breckinridge, and afterwards General Lee, of the theft. General Lee regarded such an act as a disgrace to the whole Confederate army, and at once sent a written order to Colonel Moseby to restore the horse. Colonel Moseby demurred, and tried to excuse the act as a legitimate capture from a well-known enemy; but General Lee was not to be deceived by any such sophistry, and insisted upon the return of the horse. The horse was returned!

The next instance, which occurred near Williamsport, Md., not long after, was of a far blacker and more diabolical character. A farmer living near this place, and known as a "Dunkard," was believed to have considerable quantities of gold and silver laid away in pots and stocking-legs about his house. He was not only a "neutral" in politics and with regard to the war, but his religion made him a non-combatant as well. Confederates, of course, denounced him as a traitor to the Southern cause, and thought he should at least contribute his money, if not his life, to defend it. He would say nothing, do nothing, no matter what others might say or do. One dark night three masked men came to his house, murdered him, and took his money. They were not recognized, not traced, nor did any one then find out, nor does any one now know, who really did the deed; but it was then believed, and is still believed, that Moseby's guerilla band were the perpetrators.

That same fall another instance occurred, in which Moseby's guerillas were certainly the actors, and which was of a much more warlike character.

To cut off, gobble up, capture, or destroy paymasters and their escorts, quartermaster trains; and commissary trains, Colonel Moseby regarded as his special and particular province, and every one of his men was on the special look-out for chances of this kind. On the occasion now under consideration, Brevet Major Paymaster Tilletson was on his way from Williamsport to Shepherdstown, Md., accompanied by a captain, three lieutenants, and six privates – the latter and one lieutenant as an escort, the other officers returning to their respective commands from sick-leaves. Suddenly, without a moment's warning, Moseby, with a number of his gang, sprang out upon them, and, holding a cocked pistol at the head of each, demanded their surrender. Of course, they could do nothing but submit. Each officer was securely bound, while the privates were either killed or made their escape. In due time the whole party arrived within the Confederate lines, when the Union officers would probably have been made to illustrate Moseby's maxim, that "dead men tell no tales," had not an officer who had his authority direct from the War Department met him and ordered him to send the prisoners to Richmond. Moseby and his men helped themselves to so much of the greenbacks as they could conveniently carry, while tens of thousands of dollars were found next day scattered along the road between Williamsport and Shepherdstown.

Not long after the capture just related, Moseby and his men gobbled up another squad of officers, consisting of one major, two captains, and three lieutenants, who had been absent on sick-leaves and were then returning to their respective commands. After they had surrendered as prisoners of war, their money, watches, and everything they had of any value was taken from them. When fairly within the Confederate lines they were taken into a dense pine-grove, some distance off the road, and then told they were all to be hung so soon as the needed preparations could be made. Had a thunderbolt fallen at their feet from a clear sky, these six Union officers could not have been more surprised. All protested against such unmilitary, unusual, inhuman treatment – some begged for life, some wept; but the only reply they could get from Moseby was, "Prepare for death!" Providentially, as it would seem, one young man of Moseby's band had a "heart of flesh," and determined, if possible, to save the lives of these officers. He knew that an officer who had the authority to command Moseby (the same referred to in the preceding incident) was at a farm-house only a few miles from the pine-grove in which they had stopped for temporary encampment, and where these Union officers were to be executed. Slipping away from his comrades, he hastened to the farm-house to tell this officer of what Moseby proposed to do. So soon as the officer was told, he determined to stop it, if they could only reach there before the men were executed. The officer and private mounted fresh horses, borrowed from the farmer, and rode with breakneck speed until they reached the grove. It was quite dark, but the camp-fires of Moseby and his men lighted them to the spot. Springing from his horse at the edge of the grove, the officer left the two horses in care of the young man and hastened to where he saw the camp-fire burning. Stopping for a moment to survey the scene before making his presence known, he observed the six Union officers seated on a log on the opposite side of the fire from where he stood, each with head dropped upon his breast, each with eyes glaring wildly into vacancy or suffused with tears, each with lips pale with fear or moving in silent prayer, and each the very picture of despair in feature and attitude. Moseby was walking to and fro in front of them, uttering oaths and imprecations against them; guards stood about them or walked their rounds silently; while only a little way off, in plain sight, others were busy throwing over or affixing ropes to limbs preparatory for execution. It was a scene which only the pencil of a Raphael might have sketched or a Gorreggio have painted.

The officer, having fully surveyed and comprehended the whole scene, suddenly sprang from the darkness into the light of the camp-fire, and in a sharp tone demanded of Colonel Moseby what all this meant.

"You see what it means," Moseby replied, pointing to the men who were affixing the ropes to the trees.

"Who are these prisoners, and what have they done that you propose to hang them?" asked the officer.

"They are d – d Yankee officers whom I captured this afternoon, and purpose to hang them to-night. Dead men never bite," answered Moseby.

"I purpose," said the officer, "that you do no such thing; that these officers be sent under guard to Richmond, and that you yourself report there at once under arrest." Of course a good deal more was said, and a great many oaths uttered on both sides, but the above is about the substance. The Union officers heard and saw all that was said and done, but were so dumbfounded that they could not say a word or utter a cry even to each other. When they did finally comprehend it all, they regarded their deliverer as one sent from heaven, and were ready to fall down and worship him. The transition from death to life was so sudden, so unexpected, that it was some time before they could fully realize whether they were in the body or out of the body, whether their natural senses were still of the earth, earthy, or whether they had been suddenly translated to another sphere, where angels only sing "peace on earth and good will towards men!"