History of the Raid: Source Materials Reminiscences of an Oldest Inhabitant: Kitty Kitchen Hanna by Virginia Carter Castleman Note: this book is available from the Herndon Historical Society at the Herndon Station Museum  "Never shall I forget that St. Patrick's Day, March 17, 1863--or them pies. As I turned from servin' the pies, I cast my eyes out'n the window toward that lone cedar tree--by the Fitzhughs house...an' I saw comin' a squad of grays! The rebel yell was no louder than my scream, 'the Southerns!" as they come tearin'down the hill..." Mosby Comes: As I said, it was in March '63, not long before my Johnny was born, that I first saw Colonel Mosby, an' the excitement made me nervouser than usual. One day when my man rode off to city horseback, after he'd gone, I lay me down a spell on the couch, not intendin' to cook any dinner, for we had plenty of bread an' preserves in the pantry. Mother had come to see me, an' whilst we was talkin' together, in walked Nat's brother from the farm like he often did when he come to sell hay to the soldiers--he made money that way durin' wartimes, from those who had any money to buy with--I mean, the Unions. "Kitty," he said, "Watson's on duty here today; he'll be comin' here for dinner mos' likely, as he's a friend of Nat's." "Oh, Mother!" I cried, 'there ain't any dinner cooked." 'I'll help you, Kitty," said Mother. 'We'll have a fry dinner an' do our bes' for him." It wasn't long before Lieutenant Watson did come, not knowin' Nat was away from home; air back, too, come my brother-in-law. We'd not more than sat down to dinner when somebody told us there was three Yankee officers who'd ridden from Dranesville to the store, an' they was lookin' for Nat, too. Nothin' mus' do but we mus' have them in, poor as the dinner was, for they'd lef' their beautiful horses an' come over to the house, all three. Lieutenant Watson got up from table to introduce 'em in turn, sayin' their names aloud-- "Major Wells, Captain Schofiel', Lieutenant Chiny," After they'd sat down to eat, layin' aside their sabres, I stepped to the door an' called Charlie. 'Run over to your Aunt Nance's house an' get her to send me two pies as quick as ever you can, Charlie!" Never shall I forget that St. Patrick's Day, March 17, 1863--or them pies. As I turned from servin' the pies, I cast my eyes out'n the window toward that lone cedar tree--by the Fitzhugh's house -- an' I saw comin' a squad of grays! The rebel yell was no louder than my scream, 'the Southerns!" as they come tearin'down the hill, an'every man at table ran to front door--the wors' thing to do, to show theyselves!--an' then the bullets jes' rained on our house. The Yankees ran inside an' I thought they was goin' to fight it out, but though they buckled on sabres, they followed my brother-in-law up the stairway, till I cried out in terror-- 'Gentlemen, go outside, or I'll be murdered in my own house!" Watson couldn't stand that, so he rushed out, firin' all the time, an' so did Lieutenant Chiny, an' I never saw either one on'em again, but I knew they'd been caught. Watson was a Vermonter, who was never more seen in these parts. The other two officers followed my brother-in-law to the garret, which was floored all over an' had a big brick chimney runnin' through the roof; an' behin' that chimney was a dark cubby protected by a closet one side, with only three boards for floorin'. The three men crawled in there, an' while they was hidin', Mother an' me ran over to Betsy Allen's--that's where Tom Reed lives now. I'd been hidin'Charlie in my hoop skirt, bendin' over, for I knew if a bullet struck him, I was done for, too; an' as we come out'n the door, I looked down toward the mill an' saw the line of boys in blue standin' with their sabres up, an' I felt sure they would all be kilt, so I turned my back not to see it, draggin' my boy after me to Allen's jes' nex' door, leavin' those men hidin' in attic. We could hear the Southerns rush in the house shootin' and bangin', an' I felt certain no one would be lef' alive. What did happen, my brother-in-law told me afterwards. Mosby's men rushed upstairs callin' them to surrender, which as the bullets whizzed 'round, they decided to do, an' they was taken prisoners of war. Nat's brother was lef' here, he not bein' in army, an' also known to Mosby's men, who took off the Yankee officers an' the beautiful horses to some place beyond the Union lines. Would you believe it? As Mosby's men rode off one way, here come a Union company the other; they could have caught up easy if they had tried hard enough, but they was feared of bein' outnumbered, so they pretended not to see the boys in gray--'cep'one man rode a piece up the road an' come back to join the res'. I went creepin' home, expectin' to see dead men at every step, but I found none; an' meetin' Pat the Irishman, I asked him 'bout it. He jes' began to laugh an' said- 'Indade there ain't nobody hurt much, ma'am, but they's scared a-plenty!" My man come home an' we had a few days quiet; but unlucky for us, the Yankees were angry with us an' blamed my husban' for lettin' their officers get caught, though Nat wasn't even at home; so some of the Union men come an' searched our house, takin' everythin' we had, includin' money out'n Nat's pocket; an' they carried him a prisoner to Fairfax Court House, but he was released soon afterwards. Whilst he was there, I was fearin' all sorts of terrors; then my baby come. When I saw what a beautiful boy he was, I felt glad despite my sufferin's; an' he was my great comfort ever after when worse troubles come, for he was always bright an' merry, my wartime baby, from cradle up. It was Charlie who helped name the baby for the two uncles that died--durin' 1862-- John an' Seymour; an' that name we was proud to call him thereafter. Where was I child? Oh! we didn't get out'n '63, did we? That's so, I mus' hasten on. My Johnny was born in '63, an' whilst he was a baby in long clothes, I remember lookin' out'n the west window of the Purdie house to see a squad of Mosby's men ridin' by. They halted at the depot, but the leader rode into our yard an' lef'' his horse standin' an' knocked at the front door. 'Madam," he says, 'I come to apologize to you for my men shootin' at your house a week or so back." "So they did," I replied, but said no more. "Can you let me have a newspaper to read, Madam?' (There was a pile on the table inside, but I answered,) "No, sir, I can't." Mosby was too polite to insist, an' he turned an' walked away. I never saw him after; but in his book he called me a 'Union woman--'; he little knew how my heart was torn to pieces. I wished harm to nobody, an' cared for many a soldier, Northern an' Southern alike. But Nat was suspected by first one side an' then the other, an' my heart was sore, an' I grew nervous seein' scouts at all hours, an' soldiers rushin' by with bayonets pointed at my home. But let that pass, an' bygones be bygones ...

Visit MosbysRangers.com For information on the event, contact: Richard Downer: mosbysraid@HRIAssociates.com (general information, logistics, civic involvement) Kathryn Coombs: MosbyWeb@aol.com (reenactors, living history program, website)