eral hours, the
company halted for consultation, "and," says Glazier, "our lieutenant
put the question to vote, whether we should go on and capture the foe,
about one hundred strong, or return to camp. The vote was unanimous for
battle. I was in charge of the advance guard, having a squad of four
men, and received orders to strike a gallop. Just as we came within
sight of the Orchard, we saw the Confederates dismounting and making
leisurely arrangements for their repast. Dashing spurs into our horses'
flanks, we wheeled round the corner and along the Bull Church Road,
sweeping down upon them with tremendous clatter. 'Here they are, boys!'
I shouted; 'bring up the brigade!' We were about forty in number, but
surprised them completely, and they fled panic-stricken. Twelve men and
nine horses were captured. On reaching Dr. Flipper's house, I noticed a
dismounted Confederate officer who, with others, was running across a
wheat-field. I started in hot pursuit, jumping my horse over a six-rail
fence to reach him. He fired upon me with both carbine and revolver, but
missed his mark, and by this time I stood over him with my
navy-revolver, demanding his surrender. He gave up his arms and
equipments, which were speedily transferred to my own person. We made
quick work of the fight, the whole affair lasting not longer than
fifteen minutes. The Confederate reserves were only a short distance off
at Bull Church, and we hurried back with our spoils towards the
Rappahannock, fearful that we might be overtaken. My prisoner, as I
afterward learned, was Lieutenant Powell, in command of the patrol. His
revolver has a story of its own. It was a beautiful silver-mounted
weapon, and I resolved to keep possession of it as my especial trophy,
instead of turning it over to the Quartermaster's Department. This was
not an easy matter, as vigilant eyes were on the look-out for all
'munitions of war captured from the enemy,' which were consigned to a
common receptacle. I therefore dug a hole in the ground of our tent and
buried my treasure, where it remained until we changed our encampment.
One day, some time after, I carelessly left it lying on a log, a short
distance from camp, and on returning found it gone. While I stood there
deploring my ill luck, I heard a succession of clear, snapping shots
just beyond a rise of ground directly in front of me, and recognized the
familiar report of my revolver. Going in the direction of the shots, I
rescued