"Ah, there, Mr. C. H. D. Smitley, the Register wants one from you."
"Wants one, what?"
"Why, a Narrow Escape--you have had several, so trot out one, without any preliminaries."
"Shortly after the Cross-Key's fight in 1865 <correct date? >, I started out from Winchester about three o'clock in the morning, in company with a man by the name of John Dove, who had been employed in the army as guide. Could not say if he was an enlisted man or not. Our orders were to get all the information we could about the enemy in the vicinity of Staunton, and ascertain the whereabouts of Stonewall Jackson. Mr. Dove was dressed in a suit of gray home-made jeans and expected to pass for a refugee from Taylor Co. W. Va. in my employ as Quartermaster. I was dressed in a very handsome Confederate uniform, with insignia of Captain. We were mounted on a pair of magnificent Black Hawk Morgan horses, and proceeded up the valley on a back road which ran along the foot of the mountain on the west side of the valley, some 20 miles; then started up the mountain on a road crossing in a south-west direction to Moorsfield."

"Arriving at the top of the mountain we turned south on a road leading through a beautiful little cove, six or eight miles long in the direction of Brock's-Gap. After leaving Moorsfield four or five miles in our rear, we came to a large log-house that looked inviting, for dinner, and horsefeed. Riding up in front of the house, several women and children made their appearance manifesting astonishment and delight at the fine appearance of our horses, which, notwithstanding they had carried us for nine hours, without being fed, were in excellent condition, and with arched necks and distended nostrils were impatiently pawing the ground. We inquired the whereabouts of Capt. Wilson, who, although we were not anxious to meet, (as he bore the name of being an exceedingly blood-thirsty hater of the Yankee,) we expected to meet somewhere on the route to Brock's-Gap; was informed that he might be expected to pass over that road any hour and after a few interrogatives on the part of the ladies as to what command we belonged to, were invited to dinner and to feed our own horses as the man of the house was in the Confederate army.

We fed our horses in a large trough made from a hollow tree, 75 or 100 yds. from the house; entered the house, took seats and from the savory smell proceeding from the kitchen, anticipated momentarily an invitation to a good dinner. I was just in the act of picking up a Richmond paper, when a man sprang through the open door, with a double-barrel shotgun in his hand, followed by over half dozen bushwhackers armed with rifles and shotguns. I was seated within a few few feet of the door which they entered, leaning against the wall with my right side to the door. On my left side, Mr. Dove was sitting with a small stand table between us. The leader about-faced placed the muzzle of the gun against my breast drew back both hammers, and looking me right in the eyes, began the most wild, wicked, tirade of abuse to which I ever listened, cursing me for an abolition Yankee S.-B. and spy, threatening to blow my heart out--gave me two minutes to say my prayers. By the time he had fixed the limit for my prayers, he appeared out of breath, and as I had kept my eyes fixed on his from the start with a smile on my face and without moving a muscle,--he dropped his eyes. I felt confident from the start but knew when he dropped his eyes that I was the master of the situation. Breaking out in a laugh, I very innocently inquired if he shut his eyes to shoot. The women began screaming and begging him not to shoot. I commanded silence in a voice that might have been heard half a mile. Looking around at my comrade, I saw that he was white as the dead, and with a little laugh I said "Wilson, take your gun down. You have frightened him." Removing his gun, he inquired with an oath, "how I knew his name was Wilson." I answered, "We met an old man Hannon, back here on his way to Woodstock, with some applejack and he told us if we met Wilson on the road, the d---n fool would shoot me if he saw the U.S. on my horse. I think you are the man. What lunatic asylum did you escape from?" In tempting me with an oath, he asked "What I was doing with a Yankee hoss?" I answered, "You lunatic, what would you do with him?"

But as I am getting my story too long, I can only say that I finally convinced him that I was a true Southern man, Capt. and in the Q. M. Department; was looking around for a few extra fine horses for staff use, in the Stonewall Brigade, and that he had placed himself in jeopardy by threatening the life of an officer; ate dinner with the whole party; and Wilson and one of the men went with us, several miles to put us on a short cut to Brock's-Gap, telling us before parting of a number of Union men who had horses hid out in the mountains.

Well, I was fortunate in getting the desired information, but Dove was badly wounded and made prisoner by Capt. Elsie's Dixie-boys (bushwhackers) and I, after make three more exceeding narrow escapes reached our lines on foot and reported by telegraph from Petersburg, Hardy Co., W. Va. Never saw Wilson afterward; heard he was forced by the draft to volunteer in Mosby's command.

"Why that was a novel experience indeed. You must tell about Dove's death and how you finally escaped, at another time."

"All right."

SOURCE: Ironton Register, March 25, 1887