uch opposition, he needed
to achieve some spectacular feat of arms which would capture the
popular imagination, make a public hero of himself, and place him
above criticism.

* * * * *

And all the while, his force was growing. The booty from his raids
excited the cupidity of the more venturesome farmers, and they were
exchanging the hoe for the revolver and joining him. A number of the
convalescents and furloughed soldiers were arranging transfers to his
command. Others, with no permanent military attachment, were drifting
to Middleburg, Upperville, or Rectortown, inquiring where they might
find Mosby, and making their way to join him.

There was a young Irishman, Dick Moran. There was a Fauquier County
blacksmith, Billy Hibbs, who reported armed with a huge broadsword
which had been the last product of his forge. There were Walter
Frankland, Joe Nelson, Frank Williams and George Whitescarver, among
the first to join on a permanent basis. And, one day, there was the
strangest recruit of all.

A meeting was held on the 25th of February at the Blackwell farm, near
Upperville, and Mosby and most of his men were in the kitchen of the
farmhouse, going over a map of the section they intended raiding, when
a couple of men who had been on guard outside entered, pushing a Union
cavalry sergeant ahead of them.

"This Yankee says he wants to see you, Captain," one of the men
announced. "He came on foot; says his horse broke a leg and had to be
shot."

"Well, I'm Mosby," the guerrilla leader said. "What do you want?"

The man in blue came to attention and saluted.

"I've come here to join your company, sir," he said calmly.

There was an excited outburst from the men in the kitchen, but Mosby
took the announcement in stride.

"And what's your name and unit, sergeant?"

"James F. Ames: late Fifth New York Cavalry, sir."

After further conversation, Mosby decided that the big Yankee was
sincere in his avowed decision to join the forces of the Confederacy.
He had some doubts about his alleged motives: the man was animated
with a most vindictive hatred of the Union government, all his former
officers and most of his former comrades. No one ever learned what
injury, real or fancied, had driven Sergeant Ames to desertion and
treason, but in a few minutes Mosby was sure that the man was through
with the Union Army.

Everybody else was equally sure that he was a spy, probably sent over
by W