MY COMRADE GENERAL JEB STUART
One day General Stuart asked me in a teasing way:
“You wouldn’t really like to see Dan Grey, would you?”
“Oh, but I would, general,” I said, in too dead earnest to give
raillery for raillery.
“I don’t believe you really want to see Dan Grey.”
“Well, I don’t, then,” a bit sullenly.
“What a pity! You might see him now, if you really wanted to.”
I wouldn’t notice such a frivolous remark.
Dinner over, we went out on the veranda, as usual, and General Stuart
dropped into a chair beside me.
“I really thought you rather liked Dan Grey, but it seems I was
mistaken. And you really don’t want to see him? Sad--I must tell him
and condole with him.”
I tried to bury myself in a book I was reading, and to pay no
attention to him. A miserable old book it was--Children of the Abbey,
or something like it--that I had picked up somewhere at Mr. Bradford’s.
Hereafter, if I write “Aunt Sally’s” instead of Mr. Bradford’s, please
understand that one and the same place is meant. Aunt Sally was Mr.
Bradford’s wife, and I reckon the first term best describes the place.
“You wouldn’t really rather have Dan Grey sitting here in this chair
beside you than me?” continued my tease.
I lifted to him eyes wet with vexation and longing.
“I’ll make you smile now!” he said. “_Do_ you want to see Dan?”
“Yes, I do. I want to see him dreadfully, but I am not going to tell
you so again.”
“You will if I command you to, won’t you? If you are in the cavalry I
am your superior officer, you know. I can even make Dan mind what I
say, can’t I? If you are refractory, I can command Dan to bring you to
terms.”
“I’d like to see Dan do it! You may be commander-in-chief of the
cavalry, but you aren’t commander-in-chief of me--you or Dan either.”
“It seems not,” he commented meekly. “You are the most insubordinate
little rebel I ever saw. I have a great mind to court-martial you--no,
I believe I’ll send for Dan and let him do it.”
He called a courier, and wrote a despatch in regular form, ordering
Major Dan Grey to report at once to General Stuart. Then he added a
little private note to Dan which had for a postscript:
“Sweet Nellie is by my side.”
“That will bring him in a hurry!” laughed Stuart.
The courier, not knowing but that the fate of the Confederacy depended
upon that despatch, put spurs to his horse, galloped down the road and
out of sight. I suppose he ran his horse all the way, and that Dan ran
his all the way back, for before General Stuart left the veranda Dan
galloped into the yard.
“I’ll get the first kiss!” said General Stuart, still teasingly.
He leaped from the porch and ran across the yard, I tearing after him.
I caught up and passed him, and looking back at him from Dan’s arms,
into which I had stumbled, breathless and panting, I laughed out: “I
can beat the Yankees getting out of your way!”
Perhaps this race and General Stuart’s love of teasing may seem
undignified conduct for the chief of the Southern cavalry, but it is
history and it is fun, and those who knew him did not fail in respect
to Stuart. Many of us loved the ground he walked on. His boyish spirits
and his genial, sunny temperament helped to make him the idol of the
cavalry and the inspiration of his soldiers, and kept heart in them no
matter what happened.
That was a lovely evening. General Stuart had Sweeny, his banjo-player,
in. Sweeny was a dignified, solemn-looking man, but couldn’t he play
merry tunes on that banjo, and sad ones too! making you laugh and cry
with his playing and his singing.
“When the sad, chilly winds of December
Stole my flowers, my companions, from me.”
That was one of his mournful favorites. And you heard the jingle of
spurs in his rollicking:
“If you want a good time,
Jine the cavalry,
Bully boys, hey!”
We called for “Old Joe Hooker, won’t you Come Out of the Wilderness?”
and “O Johnny Booker, help this Nigger!” and “O Lord, Ladies, don’t
you mind Stephen!” and “Sweet Evelina,” and--oh! I can’t remember them
all, but if you choose to read Esten Cooke, he will tell you all about
Sweeny’s songs and banjo. Stuart sang “The Dew is on the Blossom” and
“The Bugles sang Truce.” He made Sweeny give, twice over, “Sweet Nellie
is by my Side,” and sat himself down beside me, and tried to tease Dan
because he sat at table with me every day and Dan couldn’t. In spite
of everything I was very happy in those old days at the Bradfords’! I
was not yet out of my teens, you know; so I hope I was not very much
to blame because I was always ready for a romp across that lawn at
Mr. Bradford’s with the commander-in-chief of the Southern cavalry.
His was the gentlest, merriest, sweetest-tempered soul I ever knew.
He was always ready to sympathize with me, to tease me, and to help
me. Whenever he teased me out of conceit with myself or him, he always
would put me in a good humor by saying nice things about Dan, or
sending a courier after him.
He had an idea that I was very plucky, and in after days when I was
ready to show the white feather, Dan would shame me by asking, “What
would General Stuart say?”
Mr. Bradford and his wife, “Aunt Sally,” were characters. Mr. Bradford
was a very quiet, peaceable man; Aunt Sally was strong-minded, and had
a tongue and mind of her own. Mr. Bradford had a good deal of property
and stayed out of the army to take care of it. I think Aunt Sally made
him stay out of the war for this reason, but she made home about as
hot for him as the field would have been. I can’t think he stayed at
home to keep out of war, for he was in war all the time. Aunt Sally
continually twitted him with staying at home, although she made him
do it. She was always sure to do this when the table was filled with
Confederate officers.
“The place for a _man_,” she would say, “is on the field. Just give me
the chance to fight! Just give me the chance to fight, and see where
I’ll be!”
And General Stuart would convulse me by whispering: “I don’t think she
needs a chance to fight, do you?”
Sometimes when Aunt Sally’s harangue would begin the general would
whisper, “Aunt Sally’s getting herself in battle array,” or “The
batteries have limbered up,” or “Aunt Sally’s scaled the breastworks,”
and Mr. Bradford’s meek and inoffensive face would make the situation
funnier. He would mildly help the boarders to the dish in front of
him and endeavor feebly to turn the conversation into a peaceful and
safe direction, though this never had the slightest effect upon his
belligerent wife.
One day--it was about the time of Stuart’s historical grand review--Mr.
Bradford invited all the cavalry generals whose forces were stationed
around us to dine with the commander-in-chief of the cavalry. He would
never have dared to do this if Aunt Sally had been at home, but Aunt
Sally at this auspicious moment was in Washington, where we all hoped
the fortunes of war and shopping would keep her indefinitely. Her
niece, Miss Morse, and I sat down, the only ladies present, at a table
with eighteen Confederate generals. Miss Molly and I were at first a
trifle embarrassed at being the only ladies, but they were all refined
and well-bred, and soon put us at our ease. General Wade Hampton led
me in to dinner, and I sat between him and General Ramseur. General
Ramseur was young and exceedingly handsome, and a paralyzed arm which
was folded across his breast made him all the more attractive.
“If you sit next me, Mrs. Grey,” he said with a little embarrassment,
“you will have to cut up my dinner for me. I am afraid that will be
putting you to a great deal of trouble. Perhaps I had better change my
seat.”
“Oh, no!” I said, “I will be very glad--if I can be satisfactory.”
He smiled. “Thank you. I am always both glad and sorry to impose upon
a lady this service. I am sorry, you know, to tax a lady with it, but
then, she always does it better than a man.”
I had been studying his face, and now, for want of something more
sensible I said:
“If I am to feed you, General Ramseur, I must measure your mouth.”
It happened that there was dead silence at the table when this silly
speech of mine was made. Everybody was listening.
“Madam,” said the handsome general, blushing and smiling, “I am
entirely willing that you should.”
I caught a mischievous light in General Stuart’s merry eyes, and
blushed furiously. Then I followed his laugh, and the whole table
roared.
“I will tell Dan Grey!” cried Stuart.
“I will tell Dan Grey!” ran around the table like a chorus.
But I fed my handsome general all the same.
It was while I was at Mr. Bradford’s that one of the most stirring
events in Confederate history occurred. This was the trampling down of
John Minor Botts’s corn. Very good corn it was, dropped and hilled by
Southern negroes and growing on a large, fine plantation next to Mr.
Bradford’s; and a very nice gentleman Mr. Botts was, too; but a field
of corn, however good, and a private citizen, however estimable, are
scarcely matters of national or international importance. The trouble
was that John Minor Botts was on the Northern side and the corn was on
the Southern side, and that Stuart held a grand review on the Southern
side and the corn got trampled down. The fame of that corn went abroad
into all the land. Northern and Southern papers vied with each other
in editorials and special articles, families who had been friends for
generations stopped speaking and do not speak to this day because of
it, more than one hard blow was exchanged for and against it, and it
brought down vituperation upon Stuart’s head. And yet I was present
at that naughty grand review--afterward writ in letters of blood upon
hearts that reached from Virginia to Florida--and I can testify that
General Stuart went there to review the troops, _not_ to trample down
the corn.
Afterward John Minor Botts came over to see General Stuart and to
quarrel about that corn. All that I can remember of how the general
took Mr. Botts’s visit and effort to quarrel was that Stuart wouldn’t
quarrel--whatever it was he said to Mr. Botts he got to laughing when
he said it. Our colored Abigail told us with bated breath that “Mr.
Botts ripped and rarred and snorted, but Genrul Stuart warn’t put out
none at all.”
There had been many reviews that week, all of them merely by way of
preparation and practise for that famous grand review before the battle
of Brandy or Fleetwood, but it is only of this particular grand review
I have many lively memories. Aunt Sally was away, and we attended it in
state. Mr. Bradford had out the ancient and honorable family carriage
and two shadowy horses, relics of days when corn was in plenty and
wheat not merely a dream of the past, and we went in it to the review
along with many other carriages and horses, whose title to respect lay,
alas! solely in the past.
That was a day to remember! Lee’s whole army was in Culpeper.
Pennsylvania and Gettysburg were before it, and the army was making
ready for invasion. On a knoll where a Confederate flag was planted and
surrounded by his staff sat General Lee on horseback; before him, with
a rebel yell, dashed Stuart and his eight thousand cavalry. There was
a sham battle. Charging and countercharging went on, rebels yelled and
artillery thundered. Every time the cannons were fired we would pile
out of our carriage, and as soon as the cannonading ceased we would
pile back again. General Stuart happened to ride up once just as we
were getting out.
“Why don’t you ladies sit still and enjoy the fun?” he asked in
amazement.
“We are afraid the horses might take fright and run away,” we answered.
I shall never forget his ringing laugh. Our lean and spiritless steeds
had too little life in them to run for anything--they hardly pricked up
their ears when the guns went off.
How well I remember Stuart as he looked that day! He wore a fine new
uniform, brilliant with gold lace, buff gauntlets reaching to his
elbows, and a canary-colored silk sash with tasseled ends. His hat, a
soft, broad-brimmed felt, was caught up at the side with a gold star
and carried a sweeping plume; his high, patent-leather cavalry boots
were trimmed with gold. He wore spurs of solid gold, the gift of some
Maryland ladies--he was very proud of those spurs--and his horse was
coal black and glossy as silk. And how happy he was--how full of faith
in the Confederacy and himself!
My own cavalry officer was there, resplendent in his new uniform--I
had had it made up for him in Richmond. Dan was very proud of the way
I got that uniform. He was almost ready to credit himself with having
put me up to running the blockade! He told General Stuart its history,
and that is how a greatness not always easy to sustain had been thrust
upon me. General Stuart thought me very brave--or said he thought so.
The maneuvers of Dan’s command were on such a distant part of the
field that I could not see him well with the naked eye, and General
Stuart lent me his field-glasses. The next morning, just as gray dawn
was breaking, some one called under my window, and gravel rattled
against the pane. I got up and looked out sleepily. My first thought
was that it might be Dan. There was not enough light for me to see very
well what was happening on the lawn, but I could make out that the
cavalry were mounted and moving, and under my window I saw a figure on
horseback.
“Is that Mrs. Grey?”
“Yes. What is the matter?”
“General Stuart sent me for his field-glasses. I am sorry to disturb
you, but it couldn’t be helped.”
I tied a string around the glasses and lowered them.
“What’s the matter? Where is the cavalry going?”
“To Brandy Station. Reckon we’ll have some hot fighting soon,” and the
orderly wheeled and rode away.
I stayed up and dressed, and thought of Dan, and wished I could know if
he was to be in the coming engagement, and that I could see him first.
But I didn’t see him all day.