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, received 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 make 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 ain't dressed clean
enough to see you.'
"With this they scampered off to a poor log 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 sun-rise service.
It is pleasant to recall all 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.[8]
This habit kept his table filled with guests, who received from him
elegant courtesy.
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 said 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 every one
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 or 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 side-board. "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 old lady sent, only keeping for his own
house the articles which could not be possibly 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
old lady had particularly requested that only those articles which they
did not need 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 enquire after me, or offered to nurse me."
These last years of Mrs. Lee's life were passed in much suffering,
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--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.