After a recent presentation, a member of the audience asked me what I thought of the relationship or bond between a cavalryman and his horse. In short, I believe the men formed a strong bond with their horses in the first two years of the war, especially Southerners who brought their own horses from home. I say this, because the odds of a horse lasting for a long period of time were better in the early years of the war than in the later years. I have never collected the popular heart-tugging postwar accounts of the bond, however, and thus have no real evidence to support my belief, beyond the commonsense idea that the mounted arm lost more horses and at a faster rate, as the cavalry saw, not just more combat, but more sustained intense combat.

I have long felt that by the summer of 1863, Union troopers saw their horses more as a piece of equipment than as a favored pet back on the farm. As an example, consider that most of the men in George Stoneman’s Cavalry Corps received new horses in early April 1863. When the men returned from Stoneman’s Raid, thousands of them needed another horse. I believe the corps may have lost a thousand horses, killed, wounded, lamed, or otherwise disabled at Brandy Station, and another thousand during the fighting in the Loudoun Valley. One regiment counted 72 horses lost on the march between the Potomac River and Gettysburg. These would have been non-battle related losses incurred on the march to the battlefield, but not to include the battle. If each regiment had lost a like number, the corps would have suffered the loss of nearly 1900 horses during the same few days. All of which begs the question as to how many men lost their horse in each instance or even in several of these examples? The men might have named each horse, but I doubt many had time to form a bond that would have led to the tender stories from aging veterans.

The question reminded me, however, that I have had a note on my desk for nearly a year regarding a letter Union general Alexander Hays wrote to his father on March 22, 1864, from his camp at Stevensburg, Virginia. During the winter encampment, the Army of the Potomac had been consolidated; old units disappeared, and Hays lost his division. The consolidation led to no end of discontent, at all levels, but fewer commands meant fewer generals, and Hays found himself commanding a brigade. While many of his letters reflect his displeasure at the demotion, he also speaks often of his horses. He rode nearly every day, inspecting his lines, his pickets, his camps and visiting with his men. He clearly had a bond with his horses, as evidenced by his contemporary letters, rather than reminiscences decades later.

“It is not denied that I command one of the best Divisions in the Army,” he told his father. “When I first took command of them they numbered nearly ten thousand, now there remains but one third of that number. Gettysburg, Mine Run, Locust Grove, Auburn, Bristoe and Morton’s Ford, each claimed a share of them… For my part, I have been most fortunate, under God’s Providence.

“I have had so many shots in my horses, since the war began, that I am unable to enumerate them.

“Dan, after having received five balls in previous actions, lost a portion of one hoof by a shell, and fifteen minutes afterwards was killed by a cannon ball through the heart. This was at [Gettysburg].

“Leet had received two balls, in previous engagements, and at [Gettysburg] was completely riddled. I did not attempt to count his wounds; perhaps I could not have done so, for he was so covered with blood. He died at [Gettysburg].

“In our last action at Morton’s Ford, Solomon was shot twice, one ball passing entirely through his body; one ball lodged in the saddle; my clothes were cut thirteen times; three holes through my drawers, and yet not a scratch on my body. Is that not Providence?

“You may think this a horse letter, perhaps, but when you were forty-four, you loved horses. I have one more still, to introduce, my mare Secessia. She has been in the thickest fight but has never been touched. She is as beautiful, brave, swift, and docile, as [any] Arab owned…”

A couple of thoughts: Hays had not escaped injury in battle. He had received a serious leg wound at Second Manassas. Though he returned to duty, the wound may have affected his gait, leading his men to refer to his wooden leg. He is often dismissed today as being a drunk, though he denied drinking any alcohol several times in letters during the spring of 1864. Regardless, I wonder how many of us would have carried on after such wounds, living in the conditions those men did, in all kinds of weather, and without the many painkillers we take for granted today. Alcohol was their only real alternative.

I used transcriptions of his letters and either Hays or the transcriber spelled Secessia’s name two different ways. I have stuck with one.  And, as will be seen, his opinion of Secessia’s appearance changes. Lastly, his horse Leet did not die at Gettysburg.

In a letter written in May 1863, Hays had spoken of both Dan and Leet as his “private family… who are taking their breakfast, priding themselves upon a new pair of shoes which each has received. They reply to my caress somewhat like children, pretending to bite, as I stroke their glossy skins, and ask me, in horse Latin, which I understand perfectly, ‘Let’s take a ride, this beautiful morning.”

He then chided his wife, Annie, for not writing, telling her, “My dear wife, you appear, like my horse Dan, to grow simpler as you grow older. Nevertheless, like my horse Dan, I love you more and more, for your wickedness.”

In several letters written in late-March 1864, Hays tells his wife, “Solomon is getting well since we cut the lead out of him. Secessia is in prime condition, and as beautiful as a picture.” The following day, he notes, “Solomon is so well I will be able to ride him in a few days.” He later writes, “I have Secessia and Solomon besides two extra horses, allowed me by orders.” He then mentions his “pet mule Puss.” At the end of the month, Hays tells her, “Solomon is again in service, better, and gayer than ever. Secessia is admired by all.”

In early April, Hays begins speaking of money he hopes to recover from the government for several of his horses lost in battle. As officers provided their own horses, they could file claims for lost animals and Hays had recently filed the necessary paperwork. “I expect daily to hear from my horse claims, and you shall have $200 of that,” he told Annie.

In mid-April, he told a friend in Pittsburgh, “I have three hundred Sharpshooters, many of whom will strike a man invariably at five hundred yards, and a horse at eight hundred.” I include his comment here as proof of what should be an obvious fact. The larger horse made an easier target and cavalrymen often shot an opponent’s horse deliberately, thus putting the rider afoot and easier to capture.

Later in the month, Hays begins speaking of another horse, he refers to as Kirkwood’s horse. “I am anxious to pay $150 for the Kirkwood horse…Kirkwood’s horse has been a dear animal to me…” I believe Hays received the horse from Col. William Kirkwood of the 63^rd Pennsylvania. Hays, then colonel of the 63^rd Pennsylvania, and Kirkwood, then a major, had both been wounded on August 29, 1862, at Second Manassas. Kirkwood took command of the regiment in April 1863, before being mortally wounded at Chancellorsville. He died June 25, and Hays may have owed the money to Kirkwood’s family.

On April 24, Hays tells his father, “Old clothes have been in much demand, and ‘bullet holes’ are announced to be worth five dollars each.” As a means of expressing his displeasure at the idea, Hays offered, “I think I will propose to some party to exhume my old horses at Gettysburg, Dan and Leet. There they will find bullet holes and bullets, and ornaments made from their bones ought to be appreciated by young ladies and ‘stay at home people.’ The bones of poor brutes would prove more devotion to our country than many cowardly humans can show.

“My old horse Solomon possesses all the attraction necessary…He is not only a ‘scared and veteran hero,’ but he is kind and gentle, most admirably calculated for a ladies hackney, and would make a prize to be raffled for in a fair.”

Hays continues by referring again to his horse claims. “In relation to the Kirkwood horse, I will remit $150 as soon as I receive my horse claims, daily expected… He was a perfect nuisance to me and entirely worthless for any useful purpose… He was put up for a race and would have won easily but in the first lunge, he actually dismembered his body, ran the race, got beaten, and died upon the track.”

I then went back to his post-Gettysburg letters to see what he may have said about the loss of Dan and Leet.

On August 4, 1863, Hays explained to his father, “In the matter of horses, in which you are much concerned, we have Kirkwood’s he is a good one, but a devil… It was fortunate we got him in time, otherwise I believe we would have been lost or ruined…Some time since, I took for my own team, my captured mare Secessia. Though as ugly as sin, she proves to be a trump. Her tread and bearing are much like Dan’s, and she has no competition in speed, although the horse has to know her rider.”

Hays then detailed rather graphically the loss of his horse, Daniel. “About an hour before the melancholy event, I was riding him through [an artillery] battery, a shell, or shot struck his fore shoe, tears off the shoe, and a good portion of the hoof. I sent him at once to the farrier to have his foot protected. He had just returned when that ‘Infernal’ cannonading began. As we dashed up the hill, to the front, a solid shot whistled by us, and as poor Dan turned towards us, as if to ask why he, for the first time was to be left behind, the ball pierced him through the heart, and he died without a struggle. The same shot cut the throat of Shield’s horse.” Lt. David Shields, 63^rd Pennsylvania, served Hays as an aide. Another member of the staff, Capt. George Corts, had two horses killed in the battle.

But Leet had not been killed at Gettysburg, as Hays explained in April 1864. “I have sent a special messenger for Leet and expect him daily. It will cost me a hundred dollars to get him back. Then with Secessia and Leet, I can dare the field…[Secessia] is the most spirited devil I ever rode, ugly as sin, no one can touch her on the road.” I am unable, as yet, to explain the confusion regarding Leet.

General Hays wrote a last letter to Annie on April 29, before setting out with the army. He was killed by a gunshot wound to the head on May 5 at the Wilderness.

Sources:

The Letters of Alexander Hays, in the Gilbert Hays Collections, Historical Society of Western Pennsylvania, Library and Archives Division.

The Official Records

Hunt, Roger, Colonels in Blue, The Mid-Atlantic States