Clashes of Cavalry

Introduction

THE QUESTION MAY BE ASKED: Why a dual Civil War biography of George Armstrong Custer and James Ewell Brown Stuart? The answer is quite simple: Two famous, flamboyant, swashbuckling cavaliers in one book means twice the fun—and twice the understanding of the mindset and strategies from both sides of the conflict. Most importantly, Custer and Stuart were destined to meet on the field in a series of significant battles, a couple of which had a huge impact on the war and on their lives.

Jeb Stuart had been a thorn in the side of the North throughout the first two years of the war. As commander of the Army of Northern Virginia’s elite cavalry, he had redefined the role of horsemen as an independent arm capable of wreaking havoc upon his enemy and had not come close to being challenged by the outclassed Yankee cavalry.

Stuart’s bold raids into enemy territory had disrupted communication and supply lines, gathered vital intelligence, and destroyed millions of dollars’ worth of property—in addition to bloodying his enemy at will. His spectacular ride around McClellan’s army had embarrassed the North and instilled confidence in the South’s belief that it could prevail in this bitter conflict.

Stuart had been elevated to a lofty position in the hearts of his Southern admirers which rivaled that of a knight of King Arthur’s court, and had gained at least grudging respect from his Northern opponents. Now he had been called upon to play a significant role in the Gettysburg battle.

The historic image and reputation of George Armstrong Custer has been unfairly established from the events of one day in his life—the day he died. Every other aspect of his career has been overshadowed by that lone Indian fight on the frontier. In his time, however, Custer was not a symbol of defeat but a national hero on a grand scale for his heroic achievements in the Civil War.

Just three days out of West Point, Custer had been cited for bravery for his actions during the Union retreat from Bull Run. His career as a cavalry officer was temporarily interrupted when he was assigned as an aide-de-camp to a succession of generals, including George B. McClellan, commander of the Army of the Potomac. But even in this noncombatant role, Custer could not be deterred from upon occasion joining the fray on the battlefield and distinguishing himself.

His propensity for a more active role eventually earned him the cavalry command that he so craved. He would time and again prove his leadership ability, personally leading electrifying cavalry charges in key Union victories, which would result in his accepting the Confederate white flag of surrender at Appomattox.

And much of Custer’s glory would come at the expense of Jeb Stuart—beginning with the bloody skirmish east of Gettysburg that would have a consequential impact on the course of that battle, if not history. Gettysburg was, however, only the first in a series of engagements between these two remarkable cavalry generals who shared numerous similar personal traits and whose Civil War legacies were destined to be intertwined.

The early chapters of this book will familiarize the reader with the backgrounds and accomplishments of both Custer and Stuart through the first two years of the war, leading up to the largest cavalry engagement of the century at Brandy Station.

Then, the stage has been set to mount up and ride alongside the blue and gray horsemen into the sanguinary fields of saber strokes and pistol fire, witnessing events through the eyes and actions of Jeb Stuart and Armstrong Custer as they engage each other in clashes of cavalry.

CHAPTER ONE

BEAUTY

THE SOUTH’S MOST CELEBRATED CAVALRYMAN, James Ewell Brown Stuart, was born at eleven thirty on the morning of February 6, 1833, at Laurel Hill, the family farm located in southwestern Patrick County, Virginia, on the fringes of the Blue Ridge Mountains. James, who was named after a paternal uncle, was the seventh child and youngest son born to Archibald and Elizabeth Stuart in a family that would eventually include ten children—four boys and six girls.

His father, Archibald, was of Scotch-Presbyterian heritage whose ancestors had departed Londonderry, Ireland, in 1726 to escape religious persecution. Archibald had served as an officer in the War of 1812 and was a lawyer who had embraced the political arena. He had been a delegate to the Virginia Constitutional Convention of 1829–30, would be elected by the Whig Party to a term in the United States House of Representatives (1837–39), and would later serve in the Virginia Senate (1852–54). Archibald, for whatever the reasons and in spite of his connections and reputation for possessing more than his share of wit and good humor, which made him the center of attention at social gatherings, would never prosper materially.

In June 1817, Archibald married Elizabeth Letcher Pannill, whose Welsh ancestors had immigrated to Virginia from Ireland some time before the Revolutionary War. The growing family would be raised on the fertile soil of the Laurel Hill plantation that Elizabeth had inherited from her grandfather. Archibald often traveled, and the responsibility of managing the place fell upon the shoulders of Elizabeth, which perhaps contributed to her being somewhat ill-tempered and judgmental from a Biblical standpoint. Elizabeth taught the children basic school subjects at home, with special emphasis on religious virtues. She made all her sons promise to never touch a drop of liquor, a pledge to which James remained faithful throughout his life.

Patrick County was an isolated rural community where the farmers grew tobacco and corn, and raised livestock, but many, including the Stuarts, also provided for themselves by subsistence farming with as many as twenty-eight slaves. James and his siblings were assigned chores around the farm but were also afforded ample time for play.

James spent many days in the saddle and considered his relationship with horses to be equal with that of friends or relatives. He enjoyed roaming the rolling hills that surrounded Laurel Hill and, perhaps through his love and appreciation of the outdoors, developed a sensitive side to the extent that he wrote poetry about nature. That trait, which included a love of flowers, was rarely displayed around his siblings or other boys for fear of appearing unmanly. Make no mistake about it, however, James was a rough-and-tumble youngster who would upon occasion demonstrate his youthful pluck.

His older brother, William Alexander, told the story about an encounter that he and nine-year-old James had with a hornet’s nest. The boys had happened upon the nest one summer day and decided to dislodge it. The nest was located too high in the tree for sticks to reach it, so they climbed up the branches with intentions of knocking it free. The hornets, however, instinctively protected their nest and attacked in force. William prudently leaped from the tree to escape the stinging insects. James, on the other hand, endured the pain of numerous stings until he had managed to remove the nest. This physical courage impressed William Alexander enough to speculate that James just might make a good soldier someday.

For all intents and purposes, childhood ended for James at the age of twelve. In order to continue his education, he was sent to boarding school in Wytheville, Virginia, in 1845. He lived with relatives or family friends and would return home over the ensuing years only for brief visits. From all indications, James resigned himself to this independence, reveling in his self-reliance, and quickly asserted himself in the pecking order of his peers. He proudly boasted to an older cousin that he had not had a single fight since leaving home, and added, perhaps conscious of suspicions about his tender side, that the reason was not related to cowardice.

But he was, after all, just a boy, and would complain about the lack of news from home. At one point, in an effort to solicit a letter, he humorously pled for his parents to have mercy upon a poor, little, insignificant whelp away from his mammy.

In 1848, James volunteered for service in the Mexican War, but was rejected due to his youth. He then ventured into the realm of higher learning by enrolling at Emory & Henry College, which was affiliated with the Methodist Church. He immersed himself in his studies, favoring classical literature to the extent that he joined a literary and debating society—and once became so absorbed while making a speech that he fell off the stage.

James Stuart also at this time abandoned his Episcopalian roots to embrace the Methodist religion. His letters indicated that he had undergone a conversion that today could be termed a born again experience. This personal relationship with God and Jesus Christ that he developed at an early age was often reflected in his character throughout life, and it set the tone of his future correspondence, in which he would frequently mention his prayers or invoke some element of spirituality.

James understood that he would not inherit property or wealth from his family and therefore would be required to make his own way in the world. Disdaining what he called hireling professions, such as law, medicine, or engineering, he set his sights on furthering his education with an appointment to the United States Military Academy at West Point.

Two years earlier, his father had been defeated in a bid for Congress, but the first official act by the gracious winner of that election, Democrat Thomas Hamlet Averett, was to appoint young James to West Point.

James departed Wytheville for West Point in late May 1850. On his way north, James visited Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello—where he appropriated two roses from the yard—and spent a day touring Washington, DC. He paid his respects to his benefactor, Congressman Averett, visited the Senate and House chambers, and observed President Zachary Taylor while walking around the city streets.

He described Taylor as a plain looking old fellow with a slight squat as he walks, and called Daniel Webster the finest looking man in the Senate. Henry Clay was very nervous but displayed an air of dignity and command, and Sam Houston appears better with his mouth shut than open. But, he added, of all the pleasant speakers give me Jeff Davis of Mississippi.

On July 1, 1850, James Ewell Brown Stuart joined 101 other cadets at West Point to comprise the class of 1854. As was the custom, the cadet corps spent the summer months at Camp Gaines, a tent complex in the nearby woods. First-year students, or plebes, were drilled by cadet officers three times a day in infantry tactics and once a day on the use of artillery. Within a month, Stuart had adjusted quite well to the military routine and social aspects of life at West Point and was particularly impressed with the ceremonies and parades. Before summer camp ended, he wrote to a cousin: So far as I know of no profession more desirable than that of the soldier.

On the first day of September, the cadets moved into sparsely furnished barracks rooms to begin their first year of classes. James shared his room with Judson D. Bigham from Indiana and fellow Virginian George G. Rogers. He was impressed with his roommates, whom he called very studious and clever fellows.

At this point in his life, the blue-eyed, brown-haired James stood about five feet, ten inches tall with a stocky build. He was rather plain looking with a high forehead, prominent nose, weak chin, and blunt features. Detracting from his appearance were occasional black eyes or cuts and bruises owing to his propensity to engage in fistfights—no matter the odds against him.

In the judgment of some classmates, James was not considered a particularly handsome young man. This characteristic was quickly exploited—for the most part good-naturedly—and he acquired a lasting nickname. According to his friend and future Confederate comrade in arms Fitzhugh Lee, Stuart was called Beauty to describe his personal comeliness in inverse ratio to the term employed.

At the end of his uneventful first year at West Point, Beauty Stuart ranked eighth in mathematics, fifteenth in French, twelfth in English, and eighth overall in a class that now numbered seventy-two. He had joined a debating club called the Dialectic Society but otherwise endured a mundane existence that he described as the dull career of a student and the monstrous routine of military and college life.

At the beginning of his second year, James distinguished himself by being appointed corporal of the corps, the third-highest rank in his class. He once again studied mathematics and French, and added a course in drawing, which was designed to familiarize the future officers with the representation of features on a map. Riding exercises and drills were included in this year’s curriculum, and James established himself as the best horseman in his class. He also had a romantic fling with the sister of a classmate, but by spring the relationship had become just a fond memory. The school year concluded with Stuart standing seventh overall in his class.

The end of classes brought a welcome respite from two years of rigorous studies. For the first time since entering West Point, cadets were awarded a furlough and could enjoy the summer at their leisure. James whiled away his ten-week vacation by visiting relatives, which oddly enough included only a ten-day stay at Laurel Hill. But, in his defense, there was a significant reason why he spent most of his time at a plantation near Martinsville, Virginia, called Beaver Creek. Sixteen-year-old Bettie Hairston, a distant cousin on his mother’s side of the family, lived at Beaver Creek, and James had become infatuated with her.

James courted Bettie throughout the summer, taking long walks with her, sharing his love of flowers and the garden, and relating his aspirations for the future. Although any seriousness to the relationship was likely more onesided than mutual, the two would correspond for years after his return to West Point—his letters more frequent that those from her. She had presented him with a gourd as a going-away present, which later compelled him to write a poem, To Bettie, about the gift that would hang in his room until graduation:

That gourd I’ll bear where’re I go

That name will be a charm

To nerve my arm ’gainst ev’ry foe

And ev’ry foe disarm.

’Mong those whom I can ne’er forget

(Let none their worth gainsay)

I’ll prize thee dearest-fondest yet

My Bettie—far away.

In September 1852, Colonel Robert E. Lee was appointed the new superintendent of West Point. James was already good friends with Lee’s son, Custis, and soon became a favorite of the Lee family and would often visit their home. He enjoyed the company of Lee’s daughter, Mary, to whom he was somewhat attracted, and developed a special fondness for Mrs. Lee. Another member of the family, Lee’s impetuous nephew, the aforementioned Fitzhugh, entered the academy that fall and became a lasting friend to Stuart.

James Ewell Brown Stuart, c. 1854 (The Museum of the Confederacy)

In between his studies, which included courses in philosophy and chemistry, James became quite social during the school year. He attended gatherings at the superintendent’s home and escorted various young ladies to cotillion parties. He developed a discriminating taste, once confiding that the more he saw of Northern girls, the more he was convinced of their inferiority in every aspect to our Virginia girls, in beauty especially.

James continued his active social life during the summer encampment of 1853, where he was named cadet captain and was selected by the Dialectic Society to read the Declaration of Independence at the annual Fourth of July observance.

Beauty Stuart was honored at the beginning of his fourth and final year at West Point with an appointment as second captain and one of eight cadets awarded the title of cavalry officer due to superior horsemanship. His courses this year included international law, mineralogy and geology, ethics, and civil engineering. He admitted that he found his engineering class quite interesting but fared poorly due to his lack of drawing skills. James did, however, excel in infantry, artillery, and cavalry tactics. He graduated in July 1854, ranked thirteenth in a class reduced to 46 from the original 102 that had entered four years earlier.

While awaiting orders for assignment, Stuart spent the summer visiting family and friends. According to family tradition, Stuart at this time proposed marriage to Bettie Hairston, but for unknown reasons, she either turned him down or put him off for the time being. Finally, he received a commission as a second lieutenant in the Mounted Riflemen and was ordered to report to Fort McIntosh in Western Texas by October 15.

After outfitting himself in New York for the trip west, he arrived in Washington to learn that due to a yellow fever epidemic in New Orleans his leave had been extended. He waited until November 29, when he booked passage on a steamer out of New Orleans.

After a bout of sea sickness when a storm swept through the Gulf of Mexico, Stuart reached Corpus Christi, where he stayed until December 29 before joining a wagon train headed for Laredo, 450 miles away. Upon arrival in Laredo, he learned that his company was on an expedition toward Fort Davis, located in the heart of western Texas between the Pecos and Rio Grande rivers. At Fort Davis on January 29, Stuart was told that his company was fifty miles farther west. Finally, two months after leaving St. Louis, he joined his unit, commanded by Major John S. Simonson, which was out hunting renegade Mescalero Apache and Comanche Indians.

Stuart quickly discovered that the rugged terrain in West Texas could be quite challenging. In many instances, the troopers were obliged to lead their horses. I wore out a pair of very thick shoes, he wrote to Bettie Hairston, and would have been barefooted but for a pair of embroidered slippers. The slippers had been a gift from a girlfriend, and he commented that she probably had no inkling that they would eventually walk Comanche trails. Adding to the frustration was the army’s inability to locate the enemy. We have threaded every trail, clambered every precipice and penetrated every ravine for hundreds of miles around, and we have not been able to find Mr. Comanche.

Despite the hardships, Stuart the nature lover became a student of the unusual scenery and wildlife. He called the blue quail the prettiest bird I ever saw, and spent hours observing prairie dogs, which he judged one of the most remarkable animals he had ever seen. Wolves howled every night, but he thought the most mournful cry was that of the mountain lion, which he and a companion hunted without success.

On a patrol toward the Guadalupe Mountains near the New Mexico border, Stuart was placed in command of the unit’s only piece of artillery. At one point, a series of switchbacks through a narrow mountain pass that rose 1,500 feet from the plain below thwarted his movements with the gun. Stuart refused to forsake the cannon and faced the predicament head-on. He ordered twenty-five of his men to embark on the arduous task of lowering the piece down the mountainside with ropes. Major Simonson, who had for all intents and purposes written off the gun, was pleased, if not amazed by Stuart’s determination and ingenuity.

Two days later, the soldiers happened upon an infantry unit from El Paso that was also out hunting Indians, and both outfits traveled together in a futile search for the enemy. That evening the combined columns set up camp "in a deep and narrow valley or arroyo, clothed in luxuriant grass. The men turned out their horses to graze and lit their cooking fires. Without warning, a gust of wind swept down the valley and scattered our fire over the grass like a tornado, setting the whole prairie in a blaze." Within a matter of moments, the fire had swept through the entire camp, burning bridles, saddles, blankets, caps, coats, and anything else that stood in its way—including many of the horses, which were badly singed.

Stuart patrolled West Texas for three more months, once having his horse stolen from outside his tent during the night, but never caught sight of his elusive prey. At that time, he grew a reddish-brown beard and mustache, which he would wear for the rest of his life.

During the spring of 1855, Secretary of War Jefferson Davis recognized the need to contend with the problem of renegade Plains Indians with a big, swift-striking force able to find the enemy in his own country and endure long campaigns. To that end, he established two elite cavalry regiments, the 1st and 2nd United States Cavalry, to which only the most capable officers would be selected. Stuart was delighted when he received a permanent appointment as a second lieutenant in the 1st Cavalry regiment stationed at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. He reported in July 1855 and was assigned duty as quartermaster and assistant commissary officer.

During that summer of 1855, Stuart was reviewing troops when he noticed a petite young lady handling a large and skittish horse like an expert. He fantasized that her mount would bolt, and he could gallop to her rescue, but that seemed unlikely given her riding prowess. At that moment, however, he decided that he would become acquainted with this lady.

The horsewoman who had impressed him was twenty-year-old Flora Cooke, the daughter of Lieutenant Colonel Philip St. George Cooke, who commanded the 2nd Regiment of Dragoons. Flora had recently completed finishing school and had rebuffed her parents’ wishes that she make her social debut in Philadelphia society. She had chosen instead to spend the summer visiting them at Fort Leavenworth.

Never one to be bashful around the ladies, Stuart asked Flora Cooke to go riding with him, and she agreed. Before long, the couple could be seen riding together almost every evening engaged in conversation. James learned that Flora was not only an excellent horsewoman but could also shoot, sing, and play the guitar, and she shared other interests with him as well. In addition, she came from an established Virginia family, and her father had attained high rank in the army.

This spirited, blue-eyed young woman who was blessed with those special qualities certainly appealed to the incurable romantic in James Ewell Brown Stuart. In September—after courting Flora for less than two months—James proposed marriage. She readily accepted. The whirlwind courtship was summarized by Stuart with a variation of a famous Latin quote: I came, I saw, I was conquered.

The couple received the blessing of their respective fathers and planned an elaborate wedding in November at Fort Riley, where Colonel Cooke had been recently named commandant. Lieutenant Stuart would first be required to accompany his unit on an 800-900-mile patrol along the Oregon Trail, which he did while attending to the details of the wedding by mail.

Upon returning from the patrol, James learned that Archibald Stuart had passed away on September 20. Stuart was predictably saddened by the loss of his father, although the two had not shared a close relationship. He nonetheless resumed his marriage plans, which due to the circumstances would be scaled down.

On November 14, a simple ceremony witnessed by a limited number of guests was performed to unite James Ewell Brown Stuart and Flora Cooke, who wore her white graduation dress, in holy matrimony.

The couple set up housekeeping at Fort Leavenworth in two rooms and a kitchen that Stuart jokingly called his ranch. They remained there only long enough for Stuart to obtain a furlough. The bride and groom honeymooned in Virginia, where Flora met her new relatives and graciously refused the offer of a female slave as a wedding gift from Elizabeth Stuart. While Flora stayed in the East with plans to return in the spring, Stuart arrived back in Kansas to learn that he had been promoted to first lieutenant on December 20. The promotion was quite an honor when taking into consideration that such a rapid rise up the ranks was rare in peacetime.

During the following year, Stuart’s unit was not only charged with keeping marauding Indians in check but confronted with the violent reaction resulting from the issue of whether Kansas should be a free or slave state. Pro-slavery bands from Missouri had been invading Kansas and attacking anti-slavery settlers, which had produced a small-scale civil war known by the term Bleeding Kansas.

On a peacekeeping mission in June 1856, Stuart became acquainted with the abolitionist John Brown, who had participated in several recent bloody skirmishes with pro-slavery Missouri militiamen. The army detachment, commanded by Colonel Edwin Sumner, entered Brown’s camp to secure the release of a deputy United States marshal who had been taken prisoner. Brown grudgingly released the man, but the incident served to reinforce his belief that the United States government was in collusion with the pro-slavery factions. This would not be the last time that Stuart would encounter John Brown, and his role the next instance would decidedly be more active.

Army life chasing Indians on the Great Plains would not be complete without at least one tale of great bravery and a harrowing escape, and Jeb Stuart’s personal experience assuredly qualifies in every aspect.

Cheyenne renegades had been killing and terrorizing settlers on raids in western Kansas, and the 1st Cavalry was ordered to participate in a campaign intended to punish the perpetrators. The column, which would eventually consist of six cavalry companies, three infantry companies, and a battery of artillery, rode out of Fort Leavenworth on May 20, 1857. First Lieutenant Stuart, after a dispute with Colonel Sumner, was relieved of his quartermaster duties and assigned leadership of G Company, his first command.

On July 29, the cavalry happened upon about 300 Cheyenne warriors on Solomon’s Fork of the Smoky Hill River in northwest Kansas. Sumner dispatched two companies to attack the enemy flank and ordered the remainder of his troops forward in a battle line. When the cavalrymen came within carbine range, Sumner ordered the charge. Yelling wildly, their sabers drawn, the horsemen raced toward the massed Cheyenne. The Indians were shocked by the sight of those gleaming blades and wisely fled in the face of this overwhelming force. The troops pursued their fleeing enemy, which had separated into small groups.

Stuart continued the chase until coming upon several troopers battling with a dismounted Cheyenne, who had leveled his revolver and was about to shoot one of the men. Stuart instinctively drew his saber and charged to protect his comrade. Stuart swung his blade, feeling the steel strike its target, but simultaneously, the Indian discharged his weapon from a distance of about one foot. The bullet struck Stuart squarely in the chest. He toppled from his mount to the ground but never lost consciousness.

Stuart was carried three miles to the doctor, who announced that the bullet had bounced off a bone and lodged in fatty tissue without causing serious damage to any vital organ. Barring complications from infection, he would likely make a full recovery within several weeks.

Two days later, Colonel Sumner resumed his pursuit of the Cheyenne with the main part of his force. Stuart, with five other wounded soldiers and one Cheyenne prisoner, escorted by an infantry company, would head for Fort Kearny, 120 miles away, in several days. By the time they marched on August 8, Stuart had recovered enough to ride.

No one had a compass, which meant that the detachment would have to depend on Pawnee Indian guides who had been provided by Colonel Sumner. On the sixth day of their journey, however, they awoke in the midst of a thick fog to discover that their guides had vanished. They were lost, food rations were low, and some of the infantrymen had worn through their shoes and were walking barefoot.

Without anyone who could provide reliable directions and with food running out, the situation grew more desperate with each passing day. Stuart finally decided to assert his leadership skills and volunteered to lead a scouting party to search for Fort Kearny. He and two other men prepared to leave on the morning of August 15, but a dense fog forced them to wait until noon when an impatient Stuart decided to go in spite of the lack of visibility. A late afternoon rainstorm forced them to take refuge before continuing until dark when they made camp. They awoke in the middle of the wet, miserable night to find that the grassy ravine where they had tied their horses had virtually turned into a river. The rushing water had already risen halfway up the bodies of the horses. They quickly led their mounts to higher ground.

The following morning, the soaked, cold, and hungry men resumed their search for Fort Kearny. Clouds concealed the sun, which made it impossible to determine in what direction they were traveling. At one point, the sun briefly broke through, which enabled Stuart to realize that they had been marching in the wrong direction. He corrected their course, but they soon came upon a stream that was too swollen to cross.

Stuart led the group upstream in hopes of finding a ford but instead happened upon a trail. Although they did not know who might appear on this trail, they blindly followed it until dark. The sky cleared during the night. Stuart was able to observe the stars and determine that they were finally headed in the right direction.

The night passed slowly. At first light, Stuart insisted that they swim across the stream, a task that was completed with some difficulty. On the other side, they came upon a wagon road indented with recent wheel and hoof tracks. Stuart recognized that the road connected Fort Leavenworth and Fort Kearny. Later that afternoon, the three weary men arrived at Fort Kearny. A detachment was quickly dispatched to rescue the soldiers that had been left behind.

Within a three-week period, First Lieutenant Stuart had engaged in his first hostile encounter with Indians, suffered a bullet wound, and braved the cruel elements on the Plains to save his comrades from certain death. If he had any doubts about his capacity for leadership or ability to persevere when faced with great odds, they were certainly dispelled during that summer of 1857.

During the first week of September,