ROBERT E. LEE
A BOY'S IMPRESSIONS
The first vivid recollection I have of my father is his arrival in
Arlington, after his return from the Mexican War. I can remember
some events of which he seemed a part, when we lived at Fort
Hamilton, New York, about 1846, but they are more like dreams, very
indistinct and disconnected--naturally so, for I was at that time
about three years old. But the day of his return to Arlington, after
an absence of more than two years, I have always remembered. I had a
frock or blouse of some light wash material, probably cotton, a blue
ground dotted over with white diamond figures. Of this I was very
proud, and wanted to wear it on this important occasion. Eliza, my
"mammy," objecting, we had a contest and I won. Clothed in this, my
very best, and with my hair freshly curled in long golden ringlets,
I went down into the large hall where the whole household was
assembled, eagerly greeting my father, who had just arrived on
horseback from Washington, having missed in some way the carriage
which had been sent for him.
There was visiting us at this time Mrs. Lippitt, a friend of my
mother's, with her little boy, Armistead, about my age and size,
also with long curls. Whether he wore as handsome a suit as mine I
cannot remember, but he and I were left together in the background,
feeling rather frightened and awed. After a moment's greeting to
those surrounding him, my father pushed through the crowd,
exclaiming:
"Where is my little boy?"
He then took up in his arms and kissed--not me his own child, in his
best frock with clean face and well-arranged curls--but my little
playmate, Armistead. I remember nothing more of any circumstances
connected with that time, save that I was shocked and humiliated. I
have no doubt that he was at once informed of his mistake and made
ample amends to me.
A letter from my father to his brother, Captain S. S. Lee, United
States Navy, dated "Arlington, June 30, 1848," tells of his coming
home:
"Here I am once again, my dear Smith, perfectly surrounded by Mary
and her precious children, who seem to devote themselves to staring
at the furrows in my face and the white hairs in my head. It is not
surprising that I am hardly recognisable to some of the young eyes
around me and perfectly unknown to the youngest. But some of the
older ones gaze with astonishment and wonder at me, and seem at a
loss to reconcile what they see and what was pictured in their
imaginations. I find them, too, much grown, and all well, and I have
much cause for thankfulness, and gratitude to that good God who has
once more united us."
My next recollection of my father is in Baltimore, while we were on
a visit to his sister, Mrs. Marshall, the wife of Judge Marshall. I
remember being down on the wharves, where my father had taken me to
see the landing of a mustang pony which he had gotten for me in
Mexico, and which had been shipped from Vera Cruz to Baltimore in a
sailing vessel. I was all eyes for the pony, and a very miserable,
sad-looking object he was. From his long voyage, cramped quarters,
and unavoidable lack of grooming, he was rather a disappointment to
me, but I soon got over all that. As I grew older, and was able to
ride and appreciate him, he became the joy and pride of my life. I
was taught to ride on him by Jim Connally, the faithful Irish
servant of my father, who had been with him in Mexico. Jim used
often to tell me, in his quizzical way, that he and "Santa Anna"
(the pony's name) were the first men on the walls of Chepultepec.
This pony was pure white, five years old, and about fourteen hands
high. For his inches, he was as good a horse as I ever have seen.
While we lived in Baltimore, he and "Grace Darling," my father's
favorite mare, were members of our family.
Grace Darling was a chestnut of fine size and of great power, which
he had bought in Texas on his way out to Mexico, her owner having
died on the march out. She was with him during the entire campaign,
and was shot seven times; at least, as a little fellow I used to
brag about that number of bullets being in her, and since I could
point out the scars of each one, I presume it was so. My father was
very much attached to and proud of her, always petting her and
talking to her in a loving way, when he rode her or went to see her
in her stall. Of her he wrote on his return home:
"I only arrived yesterday, after a long journey up the Mississippi,
which route I was induced to take, for the better accommodation of
my horse, as I wished to spare her as much annoyance and fatigue as
possible, she already having undergone so much suffering in my
service. I landed her at Wheeling and left her to come over with
Jim."
Santa Anna was found lying cold and dead in the park of Arlington
one morning in the winter of '60-'61. Grace Darling was taken in the
spring of '62 from the White House [Footnote: My brother's place on
the Pamtmkey River, where the mare had been sent for safe keeping.]
by some Federal quartermaster, when McClellan occupied that place as
his base of supplies during his attack on Richmond. When we lived in
Baltimore, I was greatly struck one day by hearing two ladies who
were visiting us saying:
"Everybody and everything--his family, his friends, his horse, and
his dog--loves Colonel Lee."
The dog referred to was a black-and-tan terrier named "Spec," very
bright and intelligent and really a member of the family, respected
and beloved by ourselves and well known to all who knew us. My
father picked up its mother in the "Narrows" while crossing from
Fort Hamilton to the fortifications opposite on Staten Island. She
had doubtless fallen overboard from some passing vessel and had
drifted out of sight before her absence had been discovered. He
rescued her and took her home, where she was welcomed by his
children and made much of. She was a handsome little thing, with
cropped ears and a short tail. My father named her "Dart." She was a
fine ratter, and with the assistance of a Maltese cat, also a member
of the family, the many rats which infested the house and stables
were driven away or destroyed. She and the cat were fed out of the
same plate, but Dart was not allowed to begin the meal until the cat
had finished.
Spec was born at Fort Hamilton, and was the joy of us children, our
pet and companion. My father would not allow his tail and ears to be
cropped. When he grew up, he accompanied us everywhere and was in
the habit of going into church with the family. As some of the
little ones allowed their devotions to be disturbed by Spec's
presence, my father determined to leave him at home on those
occasions. So the next Sunday morning he was sent up to the front
room of the second story. After the family had left for church he
contented himself for a while looking out of the window, which was
open, it being summer time. Presently impatience overcame his
judgment and he jumped to the ground, landed safely notwithstanding
the distance, joined the family just as they reached the church, and
went in with them as usual, much to the joy of the children. After
that he was allowed to go to church whenever he wished. My father
was very fond of him, and loved to talk to him and about him as if
he were really one of us. In a letter to my mother, dated Fort
Hamilton, January 18, 1846, when she and her children were on a
visit to Arlington, he thus speaks of him:
"... I am very solitary, and my only company is my dog and cats. But
Spec has become so jealous now that he will hardly let me look at
the cats. He seems to be afraid that I am going off from him, and
never lets me stir without him. Lies down in the office from eight
to four without moving, and turns himself before the fire as the
side from it becomes cold. I catch him sometimes sitting up looking
at me so intently that I am for a moment startled...."
In a letter from Mexico written a year later--December 25, 1846, to
my mother, he says:
"... Can't you cure poor Spec? Cheer him up--take him to walk with
you and tell the children to cheer him up. ..."
In another letter from Mexico to his eldest boy, just after the
capture of Vera Cruz, he sends this message to Spec:
"... Tell him I wish he was here with me. He would have been of
great service in telling me when I was coming upon the Mexicans.
When I was reconnoitering around Vera Cruz, their dogs frequently
told me by barking when I was approaching them too nearly. ..."
When he returned to Arlington from Mexico, Spec was the first to
recognise him, and the extravagance of his demonstrations of delight
left no doubt that he knew at once his kind master and loving
friend, though he had been absent three years. Sometime during our
residence in Baltimore, Spec disappeared, and we never knew his
fate.
From that early time I began to be impressed with my father's
character, as compared with other men. Every member of the household
respected, revered, and loved him as a matter of course, but it
began to dawn on me that every one else with whom I was thrown held
him high in their regard. At forty-five years of age he was active,
strong, and as handsome as he had ever been. I never remember his
being ill. I presume he was indisposed at times; but no impressions
of that kind remain. He was always bright and gay with us little
folk--romping, playing, and joking with us. With the older children,
he was just as companionable, and I have seen him join my elder
brothers and their friends when they would try their powers at a
high jump put up in our yard. The two younger children he petted a
great deal, and our greatest treat was to get into his bed in the
morning and lie close to him, listening while he talked to us in his
bright, entertaining way. This custom we kept up until I was ten
years old and over. Although he was so joyous and familiar with us,
he was very firm on all proper occasions, never indulged us in
anything that was not good for us, and exacted the most implicit
obedience. I always knew that it was impossible to disobey my
father. I felt it in me, I never thought why, but was perfectly sure
when he gave an order that it had to be obeyed. My mother I could
sometimes circumvent, and at times took liberties with her orders,
construing them to suit myself; but exact obedience to every mandate
of my father was a part of my life and being at that time.
In January, 1849, Captain Lee was one of a board of army officers
appointed to examine the coasts of Florida and its defences, and to
recommend locations for new fortifications. In April he was assigned
to the duty of the construction of Fort Carroll, in the Patapsco
River, below Baltimore. He was there, I think, for three years, and
lived in a house on Madison Street, three doors above Biddle. I used
to go down with him to the Fort quite often. We went to the wharf in
a "bus," and there we were met by a boat with two oarsmen, who rowed
us down to Sellers Point, where I was generally left under the care
of the people who lived there, while my father went over to the
Fort, a short distance out in the river. These days were very happy
ones for me. The wharves, the shipping, the river, the boat and
oarsmen, and the country dinner we had at the house at Sellers
Point, all made a strong impression on me, but above all I remember
my father; his gentle, loving care for me, his bright talk, his
stories, his maxims and teachings. I was very proud of him and of
the evident respect for and trust in him every one showed. These
impressions, obtained at that time, have never left me. He was a
great favourite in Baltimore, as he was everywhere, especially with
ladies and little children. When he and my mother went out in the
evening to some entertainment, we were often allowed to sit up and
see them off; my father, as I remember, always in full uniform,
always ready and waiting for my mother, who was generally late. He
would then chide her gently, in a playful way and with a bright
smile. He would then bid us good-bye, and I would go to sleep with
this beautiful picture on my mind, the golden epaulets and all--
chiefly the epaulets.
In Baltimore, I went to my first school, that of a Mr. Rollins on
Mulberry Street, and I remember how interested my father was in my
studies, my failures, and my little triumphs. Indeed, he was so
always, as long as I was at school and college, and I only wish that
all of the kind, sensible, useful letters he wrote me had been
preserved.
My memory as to the move from Baltimore, which occurred in 1852, is
very dim. I think the family went to Arlington to remain until my
father had arranged for our removal to the new home at West Point.
My recollection of my father as Superintendent of the West Point
Military Academy is much more distinct. He lived in the house which
is still occupied by the Superintendent. It was built of stone,
large and roomy, with gardens, stables, and pasture lots. We, the
two youngest children, enjoyed it all. Grace Darling and Santa Anna
were with us, and many a fine ride did I have with my father in the
afternoons, when, released from his office, he would mount his old
mare and, with Santa Anna carrying me by his side, take a five or
ten-mile trot. Though the pony cantered delightfully, he would make
me keep him in a trot, saying playfully that the hammering I
sustained was good for me. We rode the dragoonseat, no posting, and
until I became accustomed to it I used to be very tired by the time
I got back.
My father was the most punctual man I ever knew. He was always ready
for family prayers, for meals, and met every engagement, social or
business, at the moment. He expected all of us to be the same, and
taught us the use and necessity of forming such habits for the
convenience of all concerned. I never knew him late for Sunday
service at the Post Chapel. He used to appear some minutes before
the rest of us, in uniform, jokingly rallying my mother for being
late, and for forgetting something at the last moment. When he could
wait no longer for her, he would say that he was off, and would
march along to church by himself or with any of the children who
were ready. There he sat very straight--well up the middle aisle--
and, as I remember, always became very sleepy, and sometimes even
took a little nap during the sermon. At that time, this drowsiness
of my father's was something awful to me, inexplicable. I know it
was very hard for me to keep awake, and frequently I did not; but
why he, who to my mind could do everything that was right without
any effort, should sometimes be overcome, I could not understand,
and did not try to do so.
It was against the rules that the cadets should go beyond certain
limits without permission. Of course they did go sometimes, and when
caught were given quite a number of "demerits." My father was riding
one afternoon with me, and, while rounding a turn in the mountain
road with a deep woody ravine on one side, we came suddenly upon
three cadets far beyond the limits. They immediately leaped over a
low wall on the side of the road, and disappeared from our view. We
rode on for a minute in silence; then my father said: "Did you know
those young men? But no; if you did, don't say so. I wish boys would
do what is right, it would be so much easier for all parties!"
He knew he would have to report them, but, not being sure of who
they were, I presume he wished to give them the benefit of the
doubt. At any rate, I never heard any more about it. One of the
three asked me next day if my father had recognised them, and I told
him what had occurred.
By this time I had become old enough to have a room to myself, and,
to encourage me in being useful and practical, my father made me
attend to it, just as the cadets had to do with their quarters in
barracks and in camp. He at first even went through the form of
inspecting it, to see if I had performed my duty properly, and I
think I enjoyed this until the novelty wore off. However, I was kept
at it, becoming in time very proficient, and the knowledge so
accquired has been of great use to me all through life.
My father always encouraged me in every healthy outdoor exercise and
sport. He taught me to ride, constantly giving me minute
instructions, with the reasons for them. He gave me my first sled,
and sometimes used to come out where we boys were coasting to look
on. He gave me my first pair of skates, and placed me in the care of
a trustworthy person, inquiring regularly how I progressed. It was
the same with swimming, which he was very anxious I should learn in
a proper manner. Professor Bailey had a son about my age, now
himself a professor of Brown University, Providence, Rhode Island,
who became my great chum. I took my first lesson in the water with
him, under the direction and supervision of his father. My father
inquired constantly how I was getting along, and made me describe
exactly my method and stroke, explaining to me what he considered
the best way to swim, and the reasons therefor. I went to a day
school at West Point, and had always a sympathetic helper in my
father. Often he would come into my room where I studied at night,
and, sitting down by me, would show me how to overcome a hard
sentence in my Latin reader or a difficult sum in arithmetic, not by
giving me the translation of the troublesome sentence or the answer
to the sum, but by showing me, step by step, the way to the right
solutions. He was very patient, very loving, very good to me, and I
remember trying my best to please him in my studies. When I was able
to bring home a good report from my teacher, he was greatly pleased,
and showed it in his eye and voice, but he always insisted that I
should get the "maximum," that he would never be perfectly satisfied
with less. That I did sometimes win it, deservedly, I know was due
to his judicious and wise method of exciting my ambition and
perseverance. I have endeavoured to show how fond my father was of
his children, and as the best picture I can offer of his loving,
tender devotion to us all, I give here a letter from him written
about this time to one of his daughters who was staying with our
grandmother, Mrs. Custis, at Arlington:
"WestPoint, February 25, 1853.
"My precious Annie: I take advantage of your gracious permission to
write to you, and there is no telling how far my feelings might
carry me were I not limited by the conveyance furnished by the Mim's
[Footnote: His pet name for my mother.] letter, which lies before
me, and which must, the Mim says so, go in this morning's mail. But
my limited time does not diminish my affection for you, Annie, nor
prevent my thinking of you and wishing for you. I long to see you
through the dilatory nights. At dawn when I rise, and all day, my
thoughts revert to you in expressions that you cannot hear or I
repeat. I hope you will always appear to me as you are now painted
on my heart, and that you will endeavour to improve and so conduct
yourself as to make you happy and me joyful all our lives. Diligent
and earnest attention to all your duties can only accomplish this. I
am told you are growing very tall, and I hope very straight. I do
not know what the cadets will say if the Superintendent's children
do not practice what he demands of them. They will naturally say he
had better attend to his own before he corrects other people's
children, and as he permits his to stoop it is hard he will not
allow them. You and Agnes [Footnote: His third daughter.] must not,
therefore, bring me into discredit with my young friends, or give
them reason to think that I require more of them than of my own. I
presume your mother has told all about us, our neighbours and our
affairs. And indeed she may have done that and not said much either,
so far as I know. But we are all well and have much to be grateful
for. To-morrow we anticipate the pleasure of your brother's
[Footnote: His son, Curtis.] company, which is always a source of
pleasure to us. It is the only time we see him, except when the
Corps come under my view at some of their exercises, when my eye is
sure to distinguish him among his comrades and follow him over the
plain. Give much love to your dear grandmother, grandfather, Agnes,
Miss Sue, Lucretia, and all friends, including the servants. Write
sometimes, and think always of your
"Affectionate father,
"R. E. LEE."
In a letter to my mother, written many years previous to this, he
says:
"I pray God to watch over and direct our efforts in guarding our
dear little son. ... Oh, what pleasure I lose in being separated
from my children! Nothing can compensate me for that. ..."
In another letter of about the same time:
"You do not know how much I have missed you and the children, my
dear Mary. To be alone in a crowd is very solitary. In the woods, I
feel sympathy with the trees and birds, in whose company I take
delight, but experience no pleasure in a strange crowd. I hope you
are all well and will continue so, and, therefore, must again urge
you to be very prudent and careful of those dear children. If I
could only get a squeeze at that little fellow, turning up his sweet
mouth to 'keese baba!' You must not let him run wild in my absence,
and will have to exercise firm authority over all of them. This will
not require severity or even strictness, but constant attention and
an unwavering course. Mildness and forebearance will strengthen
their affection for you, while it will maintain your control over
them."
In a letter to one of his sons he writes as follows:
"I cannot go to bed, my dear son, without writing you a few lines to
thank you for your letter, which gave me great pleasure ... You and
Custis must take great care of your kind mother and dear sisters
when your father is dead. To do that you must learn to be good. Be
true, kind and generous, and pray earnestly to God to enable you to
keep His Commandments 'and walk in the same all the days of your
life.' I hope to come on soon to see that little baby you have got
to show me. You must give her a kiss for me, and one to all the
children, to your mother, and grandmother."
The expression of such sentiments as these was common to my father
all through his life, and to show that it was all children and not
his own little folk alone that charmed and fascinated him, I quote
from a letter to my mother:
" ... I saw a number of little girls all dressed up in their white
frocks and pantalets, their hair plaited and tied up with ribbons,
running and chasing each other in all directions. I counted twenty-
three nearly the same size. As I drew up my horse to admire the
spectacle, a man appeared at the door with the twenty-fourth in his
arms.
"'My friend,' said I, 'are all these your children?'
"'Yes,' he said, 'and there are nine more in the house, and this is
the youngest.'
"Upon further inquiry, however, I found that they were only
temporarily his, and that they were invited to a party at his house.
He said, however, he had been admiring them before I came up, and
just wished that he had a million of dollars, and that they were all
his in reality. I do not think the eldest exceeded seven or eight
years old. It was the prettiest sight I have seen in the west, and,
perhaps, in my life. ..."
As Superintendent of the Military Academy at West Point my father
had to entertain a good deal, and I remember well how handsome and
grand he looked in uniform, how genial and bright, how considerate
of everybody's comfort of mind and body. He was always a great
favourite with the ladies, especially the young ones. His fine
presence, his gentle, courteous manners and kindly smile put them at
once at ease with him.
Among the cadets at this time were my eldest brother, Custis, who
graduated first in his class in 1854, and my father's nephew, Fitz
Lee, a third classman, besides other relatives and friends. Saturday
being a half--holiday for the cadets, it was the custom for all
social events in which they were to take part to be placed on that
afternoon or evening. Nearly every Saturday a number of these young
men were invited to our house to tea, or supper, for it was a good,
substantial meal. The misery of some of these lads, owing to
embarrassment, possibly from awe of the Superintendent, was pitiable
and evident even to me, a boy of ten or twelve years old. But as
soon as my father got command, as it were, of the situation, one
could see how quickly most of them were put at their ease. He would
address himself to the task of making them feel comfortable and at
home, and his genial manner and pleasant ways at once succeeded.
In the spring of 1853 my grandmother, Mrs. Custis, died. This was
the first death in our immediate family. She was very dear to us,
and was admired, esteemed, and loved by all who had ever known her.
Bishop Meade, of Virginia, writes of her:
"Mrs. Mary Custis, of Arlington, the wife of Mr. Washington Custis,
grandson of Mrs. General Washington, was the daughter of Mr. William
Fitzhugh, of Chatham. Scarcely is there a Christian lady in our land
more honoured than she was, and none more loved and esteemed. For
good sense, prudence, sincerity, benevolence, unaffected piety,
disinterested zeal in every good work, deep humanity and retiring
modesty--for all the virtues which adorn the wife, the mother, and
the friend--I never knew her superior."
In a letter written to my mother soon after this sad event my father
says:
"May God give you strength to enable you to bear and say, 'His will
be done.' She has gone from all trouble, care and sorrow to a holy
immortality, there to rejoice and praise forever the God and Saviour
she so long and truly served. Let that be our comfort and that our
consolation. May our death be like hers, and may we meet in
happiness in Heaven."
In another letter about the same time he writes:
"She was to me all that a mother could be, and I yield to none in
admiration for her character, love for her virtues, and veneration
for her memory."
At this time, my father's family and friends persuaded him to allow
R. S. Weir, Professor of Painting and Drawing at the Academy, to
paint his portrait. As far as I remember, there was only one
sitting, and the artist had to finish it from memory or from the
glimpses he obtained of his subject in the regular course of their
daily lives at "The Point." This picture shows my father in the
undress uniform of a Colonel of Engineers, [Footnote: His
appointment of Superintendent of the Military Academy earned with it
the temporary rank of Colonel of Engineers] and many think it a very
good likeness. To me, the expression of strength peculiar to his
face is wanting, and the mouth fails to portray that sweetness of
disposition so characteristic of his countenance. Still, it was like
him at that time. My father never could bear to have his picture
taken, and there are no likenesses of him that really give his sweet
expression. Sitting for a picture was such a serious business with
him that he never could "look pleasant."
In 1855 my father was appointed to the lieutenant-colonelcy of the
Second Cavalry, one of the two regiments just raised. He left West
Point to enter upon his new duties, and his family went to Arlington
to live. During the fall and winter of 1855 and '56, the Second
Cavalry was recruited and organised at Jefferson Barracks, Missouri,
under the direction of Colonel Lee, and in the following spring was
marched to western Texas, where it was assigned the duty of
protecting the settlers in that wild country.
I did not see my father again until he came to my mother at
Arlington after the death of her father, G. W. P. Custis, in
October, 1857. He took charge of my mother's estate after her
father's death, and commenced at once to put it in order--not an
easy task, as it consisted of several plantations and many negroes.
I was at a boarding-school, after the family returned to Arlington,
and saw my father only during the holidays, if he happened to be at
home. He was always fond of farming, and took great interest in the
improvements he immediately began at Arlington relating to the
cultivation of the farm, to the buildings, roads, fences, fields,
and stock, so that in a very short time the appearance of everything
on the estate was improved. He often said that he longed for the
time when he could have a farm of his own, where he could end his
days in quiet and peace, interested in the care and improvement of
his own land. This idea was always with him. In a letter to his son,
written in July, 1865, referring to some proposed indictments of
prominent Confederates, he says:
"... As soon as I can ascertain their intention toward me, if not
prevented, I shall endeavour to procure some humble, but quiet abode
for your mother and sisters, where I hope they can be happy. As I
before said, I want to get in some grass country where the natural
product of the land will do much for my subsistence, ..."
Again in a letter to his son, dated October, 1865, after he had
accepted the presidency of Washington College, Lexington, Virginia:
"I should have selected a more quiet life and a more retired abode
than Lexington. I should have preferred a small farm, where I could
have earned my daily bread."
About this time I was given a gun of my own, and was allowed to go
shooting by myself. My father, to give me an incentive, offered a
reward for every crow-scalp I could bring him, and, in order that I
might get to work at once, advanced a small sum with which to buy
powder and shot, this sum to be returned to him out of the first
scalps obtained. My industry and zeal were great, my hopes high, and
by good luck I did succeed in bagging two crows about the second
time I went out. I showed them with great pride to my father,
intimating that I should shortly be able to return him his loan, and
that he must be prepared to hand over to me very soon further
rewards for my skill. His eyes twinkled, and his smile showed that
he had strong doubts of my making an income by killing crows, and he
was right, for I never killed another, though I tried hard and long.
I saw but little of my father after we left West Point. He went to
Texas, as I have stated, in '55 and remained until the fall of '57,
the time of my grandfather's death. He was then at Arlington about a
year. Returning to his regiment, he remained in Texas until the
autumn of '59, when he came again to Arlington, having applied for
leave in order to finish the settling of my grandfather's estate.
During this visit he was selected by the Secretary of War to
suppress the famous "John Brown Raid," and was sent to Harper's
Ferry in command of the United States troops.
From his memorandum book the following entries are taken:
"October 17, 1859. Received orders from the Secretary of War, in
person, to repair in evening train to Harper's Ferry.
"Reached Harper's Ferry at 11 P. M. ... Posted marines in the United
States Armory. Waited until daylight, as a number of citizens were
held as hostages, whose lives were threatened. Tuesday about
sunrise, with twelve marines, under Lieutenant Green, broke in the
door of the engine-house, secured the insurgents and relieved the
prisoners unhurt. All the insurgents killed or mortally wounded, but
four, John Brown, Stevens, Coppie, and Shields."
Brown was tried and convicted, and sentenced to be hanged on
December 2, 1859. Colonel Lee writes as follows to his wife:
"Harper's Ferry, December 1, 1859.
"I arrived here, dearest Mary, yesterday about noon, with four
companies from Fort Monroe, and was busy all the evening and night
getting accommodation for the men, etc., and posting sentinels and
pickets to insure timely notice of the approach of the enemy. The
night has passed off quietly. The feelings of the community seemed
to be calmed down, and I have been received with every kindness. Mr.
Fry is among the officers from Old Point. There are several young
men, former acquaintance of ours, as cadets, Mr. Bingham of Custis's
class, Sam Cooper, etc., but the senior officers I never met before,
except Captain Howe, the friend of our Cousin Harriet R----.
"I presume we are fixed here till after the 16th. To-morrow will
probably be the last of Captain Brown. There will be less interest
for the others, but still I think the troops will not be withdrawn
till they are similarly disposed of.
"Custis will have informed you that I had to go to Baltimore the
evening that I left you, to make arrangements for the transportation
for the troops. ... This morning I was introduced to Mrs. Brown,
who, with a Mrs. Tyndall and a Mr. and Mrs. McKim, all from
Philadelphia, had come on to have a last interview with her husband.
As it is a matter over which I have no control I referred them to
General Taliaferro. [Footnote: General William B. Taliaferro,
commanding Virginia troops at Harper's Ferry.]
"You must write to me at this place. I hope you are all well. Give
love to everybody. Tell Smith [Footnote: Sidney Smith Lee, of the
United States Navy, his brother.] that no charming women have
insisted on taking care of me as they are always doing of him--I am
left to my own resources. I will write you again soon, and will
always be truly and affectionately yours, "R. E. LEE.
"MRS. M. C. LEE."
In February, 1860, he was ordered to take command of the Department
of Texas. There he remained a year. The first months after his
arrival were spent in the vain pursuit of the famous brigand,
Cortinez, who was continually stealing across the Rio Grande,
burning the homes, driving off the stock of the ranchmen, and then
retreating into Mexico. The summer months he spent in San Antonio,
and while there interested himself with the good people of that town
in building an Episcopal church, to which he contributed largely.