Here's an account of the Battle of Dandrige, written by a trooper in the 1st Wisconsin Cavalry.

About noon of the 17th, as we were getting our dinner, word came that the enemy were advancing and we were ordered immediately to take possession of a high ridge about a mile away, which was supposed they would try to seize. When we reached the foot of the ridge, it being very steep and wooded, we were ordered to dismount and prepare to fight on food, leaving every fourth man in charge of the horses. The regimental staff remained mounted. The men had barely got out of their saddles, and had not yet had time to form for the forward movement, when over the crest of the ridge came a solid line of rebel infantry, and they at once poured a volley into our disordered ranks. We were taken completely by surprise, but our men behaved nobly, rapidly forming, with a "cheer" they started up the hill. Of course those who remained mounted were more exposed, and it seemed to me that the air was just solid with bullets, and I remember that the thought occurred to me that if I should put my hand out in any direction it would surely get hit.

Just as we started up the hill a great commotion was heard in our rear; looking back over our shoulders, we saw some squadrons of the enemy's cavalry sweeping around the base of the hill in our rear to cut off our horses. They came on with a "yell" in fine style, and would surely have accomplished their prupose and have gotten our horses and taken us in the rear, had they not unexpectedly been stopped by a high fence which ran across the line of their charge, making it necessary for them to stop long enough to throw it down. The noise and confusion stampeded our led horses. They broke away from those in charge and with a wild rush, fled over the open field in the direction of our camp. Before the enemy's cavalry could get down the fence, they had swept past them and were beyond their reach. All this occurred so quickly that it could be taken in at a glance, and I remember laughing outnirght amid that storm of bullets, to see the mad rush of our horses and the ludicrous way in which the enemy were foiled. our men had gone only a short distance up the hill when this episode occurred, and seeing the enemy in their rear and their horses in danger of capture, for an instant the line halted and wavered, but looking back over the field in our rear we saw the Indiana cavalry, headed by our Colonel (who was in command of the brigade), coming to the rescue. We knew that they were armed with Colt's seven shooting carbines, and a wild cry went up from our line: "Hurray, boys, the Seven Shooters are coming. Forward." So with a rush we went up the hill, driving the enemy back over the crest; at the same time the Indiana regiment opened upon the cavalry in our rear, sending them flying back in disorder. Our gallant men had won the ridge, but at a great cost. Many of our brave fellows lay scattered over that hillside, among them the chivalrous young Captain Wallace La Grange (brother of our Colonel). He was greivously wounded while cheering on his men, but was brought off the field, and after bravely fighting with death for many months, died of his wound.

It soon became apparent that we could not hold the hill against the overwhelming force which the enemy was bringing up. Night was by this time coming on, and we were ordered to silently withdraw and take position in a wood not far from the foot of the hill. Here we hastily threw up a brestwork of lodgs and awaited further orders. In the meantime, some of us went back to our camp to look for our horses, and found that they had gone back and formed on their company lines just where they had passed the previous night. Our men lay behind their hastily constructed breastwork, while the enemy literally swarmed over the top of the ridge we had left; but it was now so dark that they made no forward movement. one by one their camp fires were lighted, and we could see them cooking and eating their rations, while we lay there in the darkness, cold and hungry. They were within easy range of our carbines, but they were ten times our number and it was necessary for us to "lie low". So not a shot was fired, and the enemy seemed totally unaware of our presence. They doubtless thought we had left the field entirely. About ten o'clock in the evening, orders came for us to leave our position, and fall back to Strawberry Plains, ten miles away. This we did, marching all night, but the enemy did not follow us.
(Personal Reminiscences of the War for the Union by T.B. Roberts, Marc and Beth Storch Collection)

Bryce A. Suderow