The scenes connected with the late war will recall to the mind of
every Southern man and woman the name of Robert E. Lee--a name which
will be loved and revered as long as home or fireside remains in old
Virginia, and which sets the crowning glory on the list of illustrious
men from plantation homes. Admiration and enthusiasm naturally belong
to victory, but the man must be rare indeed who in defeat, like
General Lee, receives the applause of his countrymen.
It was not alone his valor, his handsome appearance, his commanding
presence, his perfect manner, which won the admiration of his
fellow-men. There was something above and beyond all these--his true
Christian character. Trust in God ennobled his every word and action.
Among the grandest of human conquerors was he, for, early enlisting as
a soldier of the Cross, to fight against the world, the flesh, and the
devil, he fought the "good fight," and the victor's crown awaited him
in the "kingdom not made with hands."
Trust in God kept him calm in victory as in defeat. When I remember
General Lee during the war, in his family circle at Richmond, then at
the height of his renown, his manner, voice, and conversation were the
same as when, a year after the surrender, he came to pay my mother a
visit from his Lexington home.
His circumstances and surroundings were now changed: no longer the
stars and epaulets adorned his manly form; but, dressed in a simple
suit of pure white linen, he looked a king, and adversity had wrought
no change in his character, manner, or conversation.
To reach our house he made a journey, on his old war horse "Traveler,"
forty miles across the mountains, describing which, on the night of
his arrival, he said:
"To-day an incident occurred which gratified me more than anything
that has happened for a long time. As I was riding over the most
desolate mountain region, where not even a cabin could be seen, I was
surprised to find, on a sudden turn in the road, two little girls
playing on a large rock. They were very poorly clad, and after looking
a moment at me began to run away. 'Children,' said I, 'don't run away.
If you could know _who_ I am, you would know that I am the last man in
the world for anybody to run from now.'
"'But we do know you,' they replied.
"'You never saw me before,' I said, 'for I never passed along here.'
"'But we do know you,' they said. 'And we've got your picture up
yonder in the house, and you are General Lee! And we aint dressed
clean enough to see you.'
"With this they scampered off to a poor low hut on the mountain side."
It was gratifying to him to find that even in this lonely mountain hut
the children had been taught to know and revere him.
He told us, too, of a man he met the same day in a dense forest, who
recognized him, and, throwing up his hat in the air, said: "General,
_please_ let me cheer you," and fell to cheering with all his lungs!
My last recollections of General Lee, when making a visit of several
weeks at his house the year before his death, although not coming
properly under the head of "plantation reminiscences," may not be
inappropriate here.
It has been said that a man is never a hero to his valet; but this
could not have been said of General Lee, for those most intimately
connected with him could not fail to see continually in his bearing
and character something above the ordinary level, something of the
hero.
At the time of my visit the Commencement exercises of the college of
which he was president were going on. His duties were necessarily
onerous. Sitting up late at night with the board of visitors, and
attending to every detail with his conscientious particularity, there
was little time for him to rest. Yet every morning of that busy week
he was ready, with his prayer-book under his arm, when the church bell
called its members to sunrise service.
It is pleasant to recall all that he said at the breakfast, dinner,
and tea table, where in his hospitality he always insisted upon
bringing all who chanced to be at his house at those hours--on
business or on social call.[21] This habit kept his table filled with
guests, who received from him the most graceful courtesy.
[21] Here was seen the Mount Vernon silver, which had descended to
Mrs. General Washington's great-grandson, General Custis Lee, and
which was marvelously preserved during the war, having been concealed
in different places--and once was buried near Lexington in a barn
which was occupied by the enemy several days.
Only once did I hear him speak regretfully of the past. It was one
night when, sitting by him on the porch in the moonlight, he said to
me, his thoughts turning to his early childhood:
"It was not my mother's wish that I should receive a military
education, and I ought to have taken her advice; for," he continued
very sadly, "my education did not fit me for this civil life."
In this no one could agree with him, for it seemed to all that he
adorned and satisfactorily filled every position in life, civil or
military.
There was something in his manner which naturally pleased everyone
without his making an effort; at the same time a dignity and reserve
which commanded respect and precluded anything like undue
familiarity. All desirable qualities seemed united in him to render
him popular.
It was wonderful to observe--in the evenings when his parlors were
overflowing with people, young and old, from every conceivable
place--how by a word, a smile, a shake of the hand, he managed to give
_all_ pleasure and satisfaction, each going away charmed with him.
The applause of men excited in him no vanity; for those around soon
learned that the slightest allusion or compliment, in his presence, to
his valor or renown, instead of pleasing, rather offended him. Without
vanity, he was equally without selfishness.
One day, observing several quaint articles of furniture about his
house, and asking Mrs. Lee where they came from, she told me that an
old lady in New York city--of whom neither herself nor the general had
ever before heard--concluded to break up housekeeping. Having no
family, and not wishing to sell or remove her furniture to a
boarding-house, she determined to give it to "the _greatest living
man_" and that man was General Lee.
She wrote a letter asking his acceptance of the present, requesting
that, if his house was already furnished and he had no room, he would
use the articles about his college.
The boxes arrived. But--such was his reluctance at receiving
gifts--weeks passed and he neither had them opened nor brought to his
house from the express office.
Finally, as their house was quite bare of furniture, Mrs. Lee begged
him to allow her to have them opened, and he consented.
First there was among the contents a beautiful carpet large enough for
two rooms, at which she was delighted, as they had none. But the
general, seeing it, quickly said: "That is the very thing for the
floor of the new chapel! It must be put there."
Next were two sofas and a set of chairs. "The very things we want,"
again exclaimed the general, "for the platform of the new chapel!"
Then they unpacked a sideboard. "This will do _very well_," said the
general, "to be placed in the basement of the chapel to hold the
college papers!"
And so with everything the lady had sent, only keeping for his own
house the articles which could not possibly be used for the college
or chapel,--a quaint work-table, an ornamental clock, and some
old-fashioned preserve-dishes--although his own house was then bare
enough, and the donor had particularly requested that only those
articles which they did not need at their home should go to the
college.
The recollection of this visit, although reviving many pleasant hours,
is very sad, for it was the last time I saw the dear, kind face of
Mrs. Lee, of whom the general once said, when one of us, alluding to
him, used the word "hero": "My dear, _Mrs._ Lee is the hero. For
although deprived of the use of her limbs by suffering, and unable for
ten years to walk, I have never heard her murmur or utter one
complaint."
And the general spoke truly,--Mrs. Lee was a heroine. With gentleness,
kindness, and true feminine delicacy, she had strength of mind and
character a man might have envied. Her mind, well stored and
cultivated, made her interesting in conversation; and a simple
cordiality of manner made her beloved by all who met her.
During this last visit she loved to tell about her early days at
Arlington--her own and her ancestors' plantation home--and in one of
these conversations gave me such a beautiful sketch of her
mother--Mrs. Custis--that I wish her every word could be remembered
that I might write it here.
Mrs. Custis was a woman of saintly piety, her devotion to good works
having long been a theme with all in that part of Virginia. She had
only one child--Mrs. Lee--and possessed a very large fortune. In early
life she felt that God had given her a special mission, which was to
take care of and teach the three hundred negroes she had inherited.
"Believing this," said Mrs. Lee to me, "my mother devoted the best
years of her life to teaching these negroes, for which purpose she had
a school-house built in the yard, and gave her life up to this work;
and I think it an evidence of the ingratitude of their race that,
although I have long been afflicted, only one of those negroes has
written to inquire after me, or offered to nurse me."
These last years of Mrs. Lee's life were passed in much suffering, she
being unable to move any part of her body except her hands and head.
Yet her time was devoted to working for her church. Her fingers were
always busy with fancy-work, painting, or drawing,--she was quite an
accomplished artist,--the results of which were sold for the purpose
of repairing and beautifying the church in sight of her window, and as
much an object of zeal and affection with her as the chapel was with
the general.
Indeed, the whole family entered into the general's enthusiasm about
this chapel, just then completed, especially his daughter Agnes, with
whom I often went there, little thinking it was so soon to be her
place of burial.
In a few short years all three--General Lee, his wife and
daughter--were laid here to rest, and this chapel they had loved so
well became their tomb.