On another occasion, in 1862, at the time of Imboden's first raid to St. George, Snyder met the Confederates in the road near that village, and the fight he gave them received a special mention I Imboden's report of his expedition. Snyder escaped through a laurel thicket. It was on that occasion that Jane Snyder, daughter of John Snyder, performed the perilous ride in the night down Dry Fork to notify the Union outpost at Abraham Parsons' mill, where the town of Parsons now stands, that Imboden was coming. She saved tea out post from capture, and probably also saved the railroad at Rowlesburg from destruction; for the Confederates were striking for that point. Jane Snyder's midnight ride through the mountains has often been misrepresented, both in prose and verse. The facts are these: Imboden did not pass down Dry Fork, but went through the wilderness over the Alleghenies to the head of Glady Fork, cutting a path, and passed down Glady to Dry Fork. Jane Snyder learned from a spy that the Rebels were in the woods on some mysterious expedition, and she correctly surmised their purpose. Her father had gone to St. George the preceding day, and it was more to save him than to notify the Federal posts that she hastened down Dry Fork to give the alarm. She out rode the Confederates and passed the mouth of Glady Fork (where that stream empties into Dry Fork) before they reached that point. Thus she was ahead of them and gave warning of their approach. A peculiar coincidence occurred that night as she approached the Federal pickets at Parsons' mill. The password that night was "Jane Snyder", and it had been selected by chance. When she approached the pickets, and was challenged, she replied "Jane Snyder", and they supposed it was some one with the countersign; but it was only an accident. Among the celebrations of the event in verse is the following extract:
The Rebels, equipped for a galloping raid,
Came over the mountain through forest and glade.
They followed no path that had ever been followed,
But through swamps were the bear and the buffalo wallowed
Long ages ago; and they took to the ridges,
And crossed the ravines without grading or bridges.
They had crowbars and axes and all kinds of tools,
And howitzers strapped on the saddles of mules;
They had powder and matches and fuses and funnels,
And they struck for the railroad to blow up the tunnels.
They were grizzled old warriors, as rugged as 1Odin,
And they followed the daring and dashing Imboden
Who aimed to strike quickly with blow that was bold
And come down in the night like a wolf on the fold.
There was only one thing that appeared in the way -
A squad of the Yankees out scouting that day
We're right in his road and he knew it, What next?
The grizzly old Rebel for once was perplext.
But small things like Yankees, though squarely his road in,
Could not long block or bother the plans of Imboden.
For, in one thing he always was quick and expert -
To start, go and get there and never get hurt.
If it happened the Yankees he found in his path,
He slugged them, like David the Giant of Gath;
Unless it so happened the Yankees came back
With a hillside maneuver and hit him a whack
Where he looked for it least, and when such was the case,
He could double and twist at a wonderful pace
Into gorges, o'er ridges, through ravine and hollow,
Confusing his tracks till no blood-hound could follow.
"There are Yankees ahead of us," Imboden said,
"Let us flank 'em and whip 'em; file on." and he led.
The night was as dark as the Land of the Nile
When the plagues were on Egypt; and mile after mile,
The Rebels rode sullenly. Seldom a word
To break the monotonous raindrip was heard.
The path which they followed was only a trail
On the shelves of the cliffs where the footing were frail;
While the noise of the dashing of water below
Came up through the night with a murmur of woe.
If a horse lost it's footing on terrace or scar,
And went down the abyss - 'twas the fortune of war:
If the rider fell too and went down in the gloom,
They left him What better than that for a tomb!
Then Imboden spoke: " 'Tis a treacherous track!
If the Yankees lambaste us we'll never get back."
"If they chase," replied one who was nobody's fool,
"We can stop them - blockading the path with a mule."
Thus they rode in that night which so many remember,
That terrible night of the stormy November,
When the winds through the pines on the mountains were roaring
And the torrents re-eched with plashing and pouring
But the rebels while flanking the Federal pickets
Were flanked by a woman who rode through the thickets,
O'er by-paths and no paths, o'er mountains that rose
To the clouds, and their summits were spattered with snows;
And she out-rode, the Rebels and came in ahead -
They were balked, they were beat; for the Yankees had fled.
She had warned them in time, but no moment to spare;
The sentinel's challenge: "Jane Snyder,"
The Yankees, disturbed by the sudden intrusion
Ran this way and that way in stupid confusion,
And they stumbled o'er luggage and saddles and packs,
Till she said, "Here, the Rebels are coming; make tracks!"
Then they went in stampede like the Clans of Colloden,
And were gone when the Rebels came down with Imboden,
And the oaths that he swore were of very high rank
As he reined up his horse on the bleak river bank.
Then one said: "We will cross, and will follow their tracks."
"If we do, we'll have Mulligan right on our backs,"
Said Imboden, adding: "Where laurel is thick
We can fight them or dodge them. And give lick for lick;
But the country before us is open and level,
And Mulligan's Irish will fight like the devil,
Let us take the back track." And they took the back track
Through the desolate mountains, stormy and black.
--Anonymous
