Valley Civil War history is almost always about the Shenandoah Valley and its vital Valley Turnpike. Whenever the parallel, smaller Page Valley is mentioned, it is seen as a sideshow to what was happening in the more well-known, larger Shenandoah. Jackson’s Valley campaign in spring of 1862, when he marched from Luray to Front Royal in 1862, is one of the few Page Valley only operations that garners much attention. The Page Valley however, on the south side of the Massanutten Mountain, has its own rich Civil War history.
William Watlington
William Watlington found his own unique history within the Page Valley. His story highlights the unique terrain and dangers that inhabited the region. But first, some context.
September, 1864 was an eventful time in the lower valley. The battle of Third Winchester had seen the Union army of Philip Sheridan throw Jubal Early’s Confederates out of Winchester in panic and confusion. Early’s men scampered south to the impressive heights of Fisher’s Hill just south of Strasburg. Sheridan had been frustrated by his Third Division of cavalry’s inability to get around the Confederate right flank and block the Valley Turnpike at Third Winchester. Brigadier General James Wilson’s division was the smallest of Sheridan’s three cavalry divisions and a lackluster attempt to turn the Confederate flank had foiled Sheridan’s plan to bag Early’s entire army.
Sheridan, however, saw another opportunity to “put the cork in the bottle” once again as he approached Fisher’s Hill. He ordered his Chief of Cavalry, Major General Alfred Torbert, to send horsemen down the Page Valley to Luray. From there, Torbert was to ride through the New Market Gap and block Early from proceeding further south at New Market.
Wilson’s division led the way and by September 20 they were skirmishing with Williams Carter Wickham’s small Confederate cavalry brigade just north of Front Royal. The next day, Wickham’s force stymied the Union advance at Gooney Creek, about six miles south of Front Royal. Torbert and the 1st Division caught up with Wilson and the plan was to resume the advance and breakthrough Wickham’s roadblock at Gooney Creek and race towards Luray.
Except Wickham wasn’t there on the morning of September 22. The Confederate cavalry had retreated a few miles further south to the small village of Milford (present day Overall). Here the valley narrowed considerably, and the Confederate position was formidable. After a few attempts to flank the Confederate position, Torbert called an end to fighting and retreated about four miles north of Milford. The next morning, the Union horsemen continued their retrograde movement, crossing the North Fork of the Shenandoah River, seven miles from Strasburg around noon. Torbert decided to report to Sheridan about this turn of events.
The 3rd Indiana Cavalry was a veteran unit that had been re-organized into two companies upon the completion of its three years of service. The two companies consisted of men who had reenlisted as well as recruits who had not yet served their three years of service. Too small for combat assignment, the companies had been assigned as the escort for Third Division commander James Wilson. Oftentimes, the escort was ordered to carry orders and messages between commands. Three men from the escort were assigned the duty of carrying the report, William Watlington, Robert Gray, and a man named Ward.
A recruit who joined the regiment in October, 1863, Watlington had also been under enlistment back in July when John Morgan made his raid through Indiana. Armed with a sixteen shot Henry carbine while members of the regiment in Virginia were armed with single shot Gallagers and Sharps, he had been part of a home guard unit that protected Madison, Indiana during Morgan’s Raid. Now a veteran of a year of service, Watlington would undergo a harrowing adventure in the Page Valley.
Initially, all went well. Leaving the column, the three men moved quickly to Strasburg where they were told of the battle of Fisher’s Hill and that Sheridan had moved up the Valley to Woodstock. Watlington recalled, “With a smooth pike now before us we pushed forward at a more lively gait. At no time since leaving the command had we come down to a walk.” This rapid pace had taken its toll on their mounts and Watlington and Robert Gray finally stopped at Fisher’s Hill to rest their horses while Ward rode ahead with the message. After resting their mounts, Watlington and his companion rode back to Strasburg where they bivouacked with a group of infantry and four members of their cavalry division.
Having been given no orders beyond the delivery of the message, the six cavalrymen decided to return to their division. Assuming that the command would be conveniently located where they had left it the day before, the squad moved out on the morning of September 24. Reaching the banks of the North Fork around noon, they were startled to find that the command was not there.
In between their leaving on the mission and their return, Torbert had learned of the victory at Fisher’s Hill and realized that it was vitally important for him to get to New Market as quickly as possible. On the morning of the 24, he reversed the command and headed south again, this time encountering no opposition at the ford as his horsemen raced south towards Luray and the New Market Gap.
This change of events put the little band of Union cavalrymen in a fix. They were alone in an area notorious for Mosby’s men and guerilla bands. Both groups were known to trail advancing Union columns to scoop up stragglers. For Mosby, the captures provided military information and sowed fear in the Union ranks. His captives were typically sent up the chain of command and to Confederate prisoner camps. For the guerillas, they provided booty and oftentimes death as they held no firm allegiance to any course other than their own. Prisoners only slowed them down.
The men decided that, if the Union troops had moved out that morning, they should be able to overtake the command in ten to fifteen miles. They were not sanguine about their chances, however; “With this hope in view we pushed forward at a rapid gait, but not without some misgivings as to our success,” admitted Watlington.
As they neared the crossing of the south fork of the Shenandoah River, they rode to a nearby cabin and asked the “Virginia Widow” living there as to when the cavalry had crossed. Being told by the woman that the command had crossed the night before, the men now realized that their comrades had to be at least 20 miles up the Luray Valley to Luray itself.
Realizing their danger, they once again held a short council of war. No one wanted to be captured by Mosby’s men and sent to a prisoner camp. Nor did anyone relish an encounter with any of the guerilla gangs that resided on the mountainsides of the Blue Ridge. Examining and priming their revolvers, they unslung their carbines and moved them to a more ready position across their saddles. Resolutely, they moved out.
They had traveled but a few hundred yards before turning at a sharp bend in the road and saw two men in Confederate uniforms. They duo made a short run for some bushes along the road. In the meantime, seeing that the men appeared unarmed and outnumbering them, the cavalrymen shouted for them to halt, which they did. Riding up to the pair, the Union men questioned their captives. The men claimed to be deserters from Early’s army and were returning to their homes down the valley. Not wanting to be burdened with prisoners, the cavalrymen wished them well and sent them on their way.
About a ½ mile further on, the small band came upon a camp site, recently used by their command. As was often the case, horses unable to continue had been released and replaced by captured horses. Watlington’s own mount was struggling to keep up and he observed one of the abandoned mounts that looked in better shape than his own. After examining the horse, he quickly transferred his saddle and equipment. The men moved out once again.
Two miles later they struck the Front Royal and Luray Pike. Almost simultaneously, Watlington’s mount revealed why he had been abandoned. “The horse I had taken up was one that had been abandoned because of a weakness in his back and loins, and his sudden breakdown in the road was the same effect as if his back had been broken.” Watlington, not wanting to be a burden to his companions, told them to move on and he would make do.
Now afoot in dangerous territory, Watlington hid his saddle and other horse equipment in a sink hole near the road, keeping only his revolver and carbine. As he completed his task, he was startled by the sound of several carbine and revolver shots. Running up the mountainside, he crept back towards the Pike to the origin of the shots and found nothing. He guessed that his friends had encountered a band of Confederates and either ran them off or been captured. Coming back out on the Pike, an eerie quiet prevailed. Now even more alarmed, Watlington moved slowly up the Pike.
Rounding another of the innumerable curves on the road, he spotted someone on horseback approaching him. Realizing there was only one, he fought the urge to dart into the bushes and moved toward the individual. The person was in fact a 10- or 12-year-old boy who was returning home from the mill with a peck of corn meal. The boy reluctantly dismounted when ordered and Watlington, once more mounted on “an old Yaller horse”, rode up the Pike much relieved to be mounted once again. He reasoned it shouldn’t take a great deal of time for him to overtake his comrades.
Having ridden about ¼ of a mile, Watlington was shocked to see a small group of men standing in the road about a half mile off. Some wore Union blue and all seemed to be in an intense discussion.
The conversation was so intense that the group did not see Watlington on his steed. Reasoning it was better to leave the Pike, he dismounted and headed up the mountain, away from the river. In front of him was an open field that ran along the Pike for 150 yards and leading up to a road that trailed up into the Blue Ridge Mountains. Beyond the field, only trees could be seen. If he could reach the tree line, his plan was to cross the mountain road, continue south and strike the Pike later near Milford.
His plan worked well as he crossed the open field furtively, darting from one small bush to another until he was into the woods. Once he entered the forest, his adrenalin pushed him deeper into the trees until he became so disoriented he didn’t know which direction he was traveling. After some time wandering around, he espied a clearing ahead with a small house located several hundred yards downslope. Beyond the clearing he could see a mountain range. Scattered across the mountain side were several wisps of blue smoke indicating a cabin or guerilla camp. He also saw a road to his left that passed along the edge of the woods and within a few yards of the cabin.
Watlington was so confused that he decided to risk approaching the cabin in hopes of determining the way to Milford. He decided the best approach was the direct approach and boldly climbed a fence and approached the cabin across the open clearing. As he approached the cabin, he observed a “very old man” sitting on the porch. In the adjoining room he could also see an old woman. Reaching the cabin, he asked for water. A younger woman stepped out of the entry way and showed him a bucket of water. After slaking his thirst, he asked the woman the way to Milford and the most direct way there. In reply, the woman said it was about 4 miles in the opposite way from Watlington’s most recent path. He had been traveling north instead of south.
Thanking the woman, he headed back across the clearing. He had gone but 100 yards when he heard several voices behind him. Turning, he saw several heads over the top of the fence headed his way. In a moment or two, he would be in plain view of the men.
Realizing it was too late to run, he frantically looked for any kind of cover. A few feet away was a small cedar tree. With only seconds to spare, he dropped behind the bush and tried to make himself as small as possible.
The group continued down the road and were absorbed in conversation. Passing only a few yards from his scant hiding place, Watlington slowly moved around the bush to keep it between himself and the group. As they passed, he realized that they were the same men who had forced him to give up his horse to escape their notice earlier. As the men disappeared from view, Watlington jumped up and ran the 100 yards to the woods, bounded across the fence, and crashed into the trees running for some distance before he dared to stop and rest. As he regained his strength, he assessed his situation and location.
He reckoned that he was 2-3 miles from the Pike on the Blue Ridge Mountain side. Walking south, he struck a road that seemed to lead in the right direction and was able to reach the Pike. Surmising he was only about a mile from Milford, he marched south. Arriving in the village about an hour before sundown, he headed to the first house he saw hoping for a drink of water.
As he approached the back of the house and before he could request a drink, a middle-aged woman met him and asked fearfully if he was a Union soldier. When Watlington responded in the affirmative, she responded, “For God’s sake, hide yourself as quickly as possible.” She hurriedly informed him that a guerilla gang was camped nearby. Of the worst kind, they attacked the rear of the Union columns to rob and murder “having no use for prisoners and consequently never took any.” More alarmingly, a party of them had been in Milford only a short time before and threatened all kinds of vengeance on Union soldiers.
Watlington was struck by her manner and was surprised to find someone so concerned for a lost Union soldier in such a dangerous area. The woman was so distraught and urgent in her warnings that he believed in her desire to keep him from harm. He felt he had no choice but to place his life in her hands.
After a quick drink of water, he asked the woman the best place to hide until dark. Pointing towards the river, the woman showed him a path down to the shore. Finding an old tree on the riverbank so undermined by the river that its roots were exposed, he crawled under and remained there until dark.
In his hideaway, Watlington had time to truly assess his situation. Because of all of his detours and misdirected marching, he figured he had only made 5 miles that day. Being mounted, the column would have made at least 10 miles. The only way to catch up was to travel that night. He resolved to continue his walk south as soon as it was fully dark. Deciding to march as lightly as possible, he left his carbine in his hiding place and ventured out to the Pike.
Hiking quickly, he moved rapidly for about 2 miles before the events of the day, lack of food, and adrenaline subsidence forced him to slow his pace. As he passed cabins along the road side, any that showed light from within were passed as quietly as possible so as to not arouse the occupants.
Around midnight, he reached a fork in the road. In the dimly lit road, he got down on his hands and knees and felt the ground for horse tracks. Both paths had had horse traffic but he determined that the right fork seemed to have been traveled by a larger body of cavalry. Trusting his instincts, he took the right fork.
In less than a ¼ mile he reached a small cluster of buildings. Warily approaching the little hamlet, he entered. With a few different roads and paths leading out of the town, he briefly became disoriented and felt he was going in circles. Backtracking to the fork, he chose the left fork and continued on his way. As he traveled throughout the night, an occasional campfire could be seen up on the mountainside indicating a guerilla camp. He was tiring quickly and had to make frequent stops to rest but would not lie down for fear of falling asleep. The continued flare of campfires along the mountainside served to spur him on even as he staggered south.
By dawn, his drowsiness had abetted somewhat and he began to pick up the pace. Suddenly, he was electrified to hear the familiar “saddle up” bugle call of the Union cavalry. “I assure you I made good use of my time and ‘let no grass grow under my feet’ while I was making for the command a mile beyond.” Running hard, he reached the Union camp. Watlington was safe.
This wild adventure had many twists and turns. The five other Union cavalrymen Watlington had left with from Strasburg had indeed been captured shortly after his horse broke down. Fortunately for them, it had been Mosby’s men who captured them and were sent to prison camps. Thomas Gray, the other 3rd Indiana Cavalry member, was sent to Richmond to sit out the rest of the war as a prisoner of war.
As William Watlington aged, this experience in the Page Valley was never far from his mind. Having kept a journal throughout his service, Watlington wrote and re-wrote his war memoirs over the next 60 years. Several versions of his memoirs were developed during this time, but these September 1864 events never wavered in their details. Those 24 hours alone in the Page Valley left an indelible mark on his memory. What particularly stuck out for him was the woman in Milford who had risked her life to help him.
Though not a veteran of Gettysburg, Watlington accompanied other 3rd Indiana Cavalry comrades to the 50th anniversary of the great battle. Upon the conclusion of those events, he – like many veterans – visited other sites from their military service. One he most wanted to visit was Milford. His hope was to find the woman who had shown him such kindness as to warn him away and directing him to a place to hide.
When he reached Milford, he found the woman’s house consisted of nothing more than the foundation. Fortunately, a neighbor directed him to Mary E. Larrick, a granddaughter of the woman. From her, he was able to finally learn the woman’s name: Harriett Haines. He also found out that she had left the area after the war and moved to Woodstock in the Shenandoah Valley. She died there in 1881.
At the age of 83, the 24 hours lost in the Page Valley had grown to almost mythical proportions. Mrs. Haines had become his savior in his time of need. He regretted never having been able to thank her for her help. Watlington, in April, 1925, 61 years after the event, penned this tribute to Harriett Haines.
“In this reminiscence of the occurrence herein recorded I – no doubt – was saved from being captured, and I ever afterward felt thankful to Mrs. Haines for her kindness in my behalf, on that 24th day of Sep 1864. Many times I have regretted that I never had the privilege of meeting her afterward, and expressing to her my gratitude and thankfulness for what she did for me that day…In Mrs. Haines we find a woman with the most noble traits of character – strong in her convictions of right, and as she saw the right, she had the courage and conviction of upholding it – under whatever conditions she might be surrounded.”
In my research for my history of the 3rd Indiana Cavalry, I found Watlington’s story compelling. In a 1923 typewritten version of his memoirs, he devotes 12 pages to those 24 hours in Page Valley. Later, I began to research Harriett Haines. What I found was a much bigger and more complex picture of life as a Page Valley Unionist. In future installments, I will tell the story of an execution, a Lincoln pardon, scouts and spies, and Galvanized Yankees – all connected to Harriett Haines and her family.
Copies of William Watlington’s various versions of his journal can be found at the Indiana State Archives and the Indiana Historical Society.
Jim Goecker is the author of “Hoosier Spies and Horse Marines: A History of the 3rd Indiana Cavalry, East Wing,” available from McFarland Publishing or your online book source.
Shenandoah Valley's Civil War 