University of Virginia Library

2. II.

A glance at the headquarters of the “Third,” and a brief
notice of one of those worthies, may prove of interest to the descendants
of these doughty Revolutionnaires.

They dwelt in three or four cabins of considerable size, constructed
of plank—the middle and largest one being the headquarters
of their commander. These cabins were warmed by
old stoves, obtained on the Rob Roy principle from deserted
houses; and were fitted up with berths, popularly known as
“bunks,” filled with straw. The space above the cornice afforded
an excellent shelf for clothes, which were then economically
washed whenever it rained—but the great feature of the headquarter
mansion was the crevice at the summit of the roof.
This permitted the smoke to escape without difficulty, and on
windy nights when others were suffering, ventilated the apartment
superbly. Nor did the advantages stop there. The crevice
was no mere crack, but an honest opening; and when a

snow-storm came on, the snow entered without difficulty, driving
downward, and enveloping the sleepers in its close white mantle.
As the warmth which snow communicates to a sleeper is well
known, this circumstance will be duly appreciated.

From the headquarters let us pass to the inhabitants. The
“Third,” as I have said, were a gay and social set, and possessed
of many peculiarities, which their “Chief,” sitting apart with a
borrowed volume (from Leesburg) in his hand, was accustomed
to watch with a covert smile. A marked feature of the young
warriors was their devotion to the habit of eating. Rations
were ample and excellent then, but they did not satisfy the
youths. They foraged persistently: brought back eggs, butter,
pies, every delicacy; and these they as persistently consumed.
They always ate butter all day long, toasting slices of bread
upon the roaring stove with a perseverance that was truly admirable.
The announcement of dinner by the polite mulatto
who officiated as cook, was uniformly received with rapture;
and the appearance of a “box from home” supplied the fortunate
possessor with the largest and most affectionate circle of
visiting friends.

Among the “characters” of the detachment, Corporal Personne,
my gunner—he who superintended the construction of
the breastworks—occupied a prominent place. He was tall and
gaunt, with a portentous moustache; had the imposing air of a
Field-Marshal on parade, and a fund of odd humour that was
inexhaustible. To hear Personne laugh was to experience an
irresistible desire to do likewise; to listen while he talked was
better than to attend a theatrical performance. Personne rarely
relaxed into that commonplace deportment which characterizes
the great mass of dull humanity. He could not have been dull
even if he had tried, and his very melancholy was humorous.
In his tone of voice and hearing he was sui generis—“whole in
himself and due to none.” All his utterances were solemn and
impressive; his air deeply serious—when he laughed he seemed
to do so under protest. He generally went away after laughing;
no doubt to mourn over his levity in private. One of
Personne's peculiarities was a very great fondness for cant

phrases, and odd turns of expression. These afforded him undisguised
delight, and he handled them with the air of a master.
He was never known to ask for smoking tobacco in any other
words than, “Produce the damned invention!” which he uttered
with a truly terrific scowl, and an accent of wrath which was
calculated to strike terrour to the stoutest heart. A form of
logic in which he evidently reposed the fullest faith was, “An
ought's an ought—a figure's a figure—therefore you owe me a
dollar and a half;” and another mysterious phrase, “Speak to
me, Gimlet,” was a fund of unending emjoyment to him. His
comparison of distance was, “As far as a blue-winged pigeon
can fly in six months;” his measure of cold was, “Cold enough
to freeze the brass ears on a tin monkey;” his favourite oath,
“Now, by the gods who dwell on high Olympus!” and his
desire for a furlough was uniformly urged upon the ground that
he wished to “go home and see his first wife's relations.”

Personne was thus the victim of a depraved taste for slang,
but he was a scholar and a gentleman—a travelled man and a
very elegant writer. When the war broke out he was residing
in New York; but at the call of Virginia, his native State, he
had left all the delights of Broadway and the opera; abandoned
bright waiscoats, gay neckties, and fine boots, to put on the
regulation gray, and go campaigning with the Revolutionnaires.
The contrast was great, but Personne did not grumble; he
adapted himself to his new sphere with the air of a philospher.
It was only at long intervals that he spoke of his travels—only
occasionally that he broke forth with some opera air heard at the
Academy of Music, and now hummed with great taste and delicacy.
He supplied the stage action to these musical airs, but
his powers in that department were defective. The performance,
it is sufficient to say, would have done honour to a—windmill.

To witness Personne in the character of “Sergeant of the
Guard” was a superb spectacle. The stern and resolute air
with which he marshalled his guard; the hoarse and solemn
tones in which he called the roll; the fierce determination with
which he took command, and marched them to their post, was

enough to “tickle the ribs of death.” Once having posted them,
Personne returned as solemnly to his quarters, from which soon
afterwards would be heard his low guttural laugh. The great
tableau, however, was Personne in Leesburg, mounted. He
was a study at such moments, and attracted general attention.
He sat sternly erect upon his horse, never indulged in a smile
even, and had the air of a Field-Marshal at the head of an army.
It was only when he entered the presence of the ladies that his
brows unbent, his features relaxed. With these he was a very
great favourite, and he cultivated their regard in a manner
which exhibited a profound knowledge of human nature. A
proof of this assertion is here given. One day Personne, with a
friend of his, went forth on a foraging expedition, rations running
low, and appetite rising. But the neighbourhood had
been ransacked by a whole brigade, and by what device could
they operate uon the female heart? Personne found the device
he wished, and proceeded to execute it, having first drilled his
friend in the part assigned him. Before them was a modest
mansion; through the window were seen the faces of young
ladies; the friends entered the yard, bowed politely, and lay
down upon the grass. Then the following dialogue took place
in the hearing of the ladies:

Personne, carelessly.—“A charming day, my friend; hum—
what were you saying?”

Friend, with deference.—“I was saying, Mr. Personne, that the
remarkable feature in the present war is the rank and character
of the men who have embarked in it—on the Southern side—as
privates. Take yourself, for instance. You belong to one of the
first families of Mississippi; you have three or four plantations:
you are worth very nearly half a million of dollars—and here
you are, serving in the ranks as a private soldier.”

Personne, with an air of careless grandeur.—“No matter! no
matter! The cause is everything. My estates must take care
of themselves for the present, and I expect to live hard and fight
hard, and starve—as we are doing to-day, my friend. When
the war is over, things will be different. I intend to enjoy myself,
to live in luxury—above all, to marry some charming

creature—and I am now looking out for one to suit me. I do
not ask riches, my friend; a plain country girl would please
me best—one who is warm-hearted and kind to the soldier!”

A few moments afterwards a smiling face appeared at the
door; a pair of female lips said, “Walk in, gentlemen;” and
starting from a deep reverie into which he had fallen, Personne
rose, bowed, and accepted the invitation, bowing low again
as he entered, with his lofty air of Field-Marshal. Is it necessary
to continue the narrative, to say that Personne and his friend
nearly produced a famine, and when they retired had their
haversacks filled with every delicacy? It was only when well
beyond earshot that he laughed his low laugh, and exclaimed
with solemn earnestness, “Now by the gods that dwell on high
Olympus!—we are in luck to-day!”

Such was Personne, the pride of the “Third,” the object of
the admiring affection and regard of all the Revolutionnaires!
The writer designed drawing more than one additional portrait of
odd characters in his old detachment, but the figure of Personne
has pushed all others from the canvas—the brush moves in the
air. That canvas, it may be, perchance, is already too extensive;
not every one will find in these familiar recollections of the
“Third” that interest which the writer does; and terrible is the
crime of producing yawns! Do you think you never wearied
anybody, my dear reader, with your recollections? Do you fancy
that your past amuses others as it amuses you? But, for fear this
mass of logic will rebound upon the head of him who sets it
in motion, the “Annals of the Third” are here concluded.

As he closes up those Annals, and sets forward on his way,
the writer waves his hat in friendly farewell, salutes each one,
and calls out, “Good-by, Personne!—good-by, warriors of the
`Noble Third!'—all health and happiness attend you in the
coming years!—and never call your old commander anything
but `Sergeant!' ”