History of the Second Massachusetts Regiment of Infantry: Beverly Ford | Page 4

many a soul Shall pay full dearly for this
encounter, If once they join in trial."
The gallant and lamented Colonel Davis led the way with the Eighth

New York Cavalry, dashing over the Ford and surprising the enemy's
pickets, who fell back upon Jones' exposed artillery and wagons.
The Rebels were panic-stricken at the sudden approach of the "Yankee"
cavalry; and great confusion ensued. But the alarm quickly spread, and
part of Jones' troopers were soon in the saddle, charging furiously down
upon the Eighth New York, who broke; and, before Colonel Davis
could turn to rally his leading regiment, a Rebel soldier sprang from
behind a tree and shot him dead. But the avenging sabre of Lieutenant
Parsons (Davis' adjutant) severed the poor fellow's connection with this
life.
Colonel Davis was a serious loss to the "Cavalry Corps,"--a graduate of
West Point, an accomplished officer, a universal favorite,--and,
although a Southerner, he stuck to the flag he had sworn to defend.
Meantime, the Eighth Illinois Cavalry had gained the southern bank,
and rushed upon Jones' people, driving them back upon the main body,
who were forming in the rear of a bit of wood. Colonel Davis was
borne back in a blanket as General Pleasanton, who had accompanied
our column in person, arrived at the river bank.
The Third Indiana Cavalry followed the Eighth Illinois; and Ames' men
were now crossing under the eye of the distinguished group of
horsemen, to one of whom (Colonel F. C. Newhall, afterward of
Sheridan's staff) I am indebted for the following description:--
General Buford was there, with his usual smile. He rode a gray horse,
at a slow walk generally, and smoked a pipe, no matter what was going
on around him; and it was always reassuring to see him in the saddle
when there was any chance of a fight.
General Pleasanton's staff was partly composed of men who became
distinguished. The Adjutant General was A. J. Alexander, of Kentucky,
a very handsome fellow, who was afterward a Brigadier General with
Thomas, in the West. Among the aides was Captain Farnsworth, Eighth
Illinois Cavalry, who so distinguished himself in the coming battle, and
in the subsequent operations south of the Potomac, that he was made a

Brigadier General, and with that rank fell at Gettysburg, at the head of a
brigade of cavalry which he had commanded but a few days. Another
aide was the brilliant Custer, then a lieutenant, whose career and
lamented death there is no need to recall. Another was Lieutenant R. S.
McKenzie, of the engineers, now General McKenzie of well-won fame,
the youngest colonel of the regular army; and still another was Ulric
Dahlgren. General Pleasanton had certainly no lack of intelligence,
dash, and hard-riding to rely on in those about him.
The infantry had now cleared the woods of the enemy's troopers, who
were deceived as to the number of our rifles, and showed no inclination
to expose men and horses to the deadly fire of experienced infantry
skirmishers.
The old, time-honored Second Dragoons, the Fifth Regulars, and that
crack young regiment, the Sixth Pennsylvania Cavalry (forming what
was known as the "Reserve Brigade"), were massing on the southern
bank of the river. The sharp report of infantry rifles, the rising smoke,
and the thousand indescribable sounds, with the tramp of fresh cavalry
pressing forward to take their part in the fray, showed that the battle
was now waging in good earnest. The wounded arrived more rapidly at
the ford, stretcher-bearers plying their trade in the hot sun.
The soft, dewy grass of the morning was now kicked and trampled into
dry dust. The infantry held the enemy in the open space beyond the
woods; while Buford hurled his squadrons, with drawn sabres, upon the
Rebel cavalry on the right and left.
A sabre charge, with both sides going at top speed, is, perhaps, the
most exciting and picturesque combination of force, nerve, and courage
that can be imagined. The commanding officers leading in conspicuous
advance; the rush, the thunder of horses' hoofs; the rattle of arms and
equipments,--all mingling with the roar of voices, while the space
rapidly lessens between the approaching squadrons. The commanders
who were seen, a moment before, splendidly mounted, dashing on at
racing speed, turning in the saddle to look back at the tidal wave which
they are leading, disappear in a cloud of sabres, clashing and cutting;
but the fight is partly obscured by the rising dust and the mist from the

over-heated animals. Riderless horses come, wounded and trembling,
out of the mêlée; others appear, running in fright, carrying dying
troopers still sitting their chargers, the head drooping on the breast, the
sword-arm hanging lifeless, the blood-stained sabre dangling from the
wrist, tossing, swinging, and cutting the poor animal's flanks,