University of Virginia Library

3. III.

I have supposed that the reader would be more interested in
Stuart the man than in Stuart the Major-General commanding.
History will paint the latter—my page deals with the

former chiefly. It is in dress, habits, the tone of the voice,
the demeanour in private, that men's characters are read; and
I have never seen a man who looked his character more perfectly
than Stuart.

He was the cavalier par excellence; and everything which
he did, or said, was “in character.” We know a clergyman
sometimes by his moderation, mild address, black coat, and
white cravat; a merchant by his quick movements and “business-like”
manner; a senator by his gravity; and a poet by
his dreamy eye. You saw in the same manner, at a single
glance, that Stuart was a cavalry-man—in his dress, voice, walk,
manner, everything. All about him was military; and, fine
as his costume undoubtedly was, it “looked like work.” There
was no little fondness, as I have said, for bright colours and
holiday display in his appearance; and he loved the parade,
the floating banner, the ring of the bugle, “ladies' eyes”—
all the glory, splendour, and brilliant colouring of life; but
the solider of hard fibre and hard work was under the gallant.
Some day a generation will come who will like to know all
about the famous “Jeb Stuart”—let me therefore limn him
as he appeared in the years 1862 and 1863.

His frame was low and athletic—close knit and of very great
strength and endurance, as you could see at a glance. His
countenance was striking and attracted attention—the forehead
broad, lofty, and indicating imagination; the nose prominent,
and inclining to “Roman,” with large and mobile nostrils;
the lips covered with a heavy brown moustache, curled upward
at the ends; the chin by a huge beard of the same colour,
which descended upon the wearer's breast. Such was the rather
brigandish appearance of Stuart—but I have omitted to notice
the eyes. They were clear, penetrating, and of a brilliant blue.
They could be soft or fiery—would fill with laughter or dart
flame. Anything more menacing than that flame, when Stuart
was hard pressed, it would be difficult to conceive; but the
prevailing expression was gay and laughing. He wore a brown
felt hat looped up with a star, and ornamented with an ebon
feather; a double-breasted jacket always open and buttoned

back; gray waistcoat and pantaloons; and boots to the knee,
decorated with small spurs, which he wore even in dancing. To
proceed with my catalogue of the soldier's accoutrements: on
marches he threw over his shoulders his gray cavalry cape, and
on the pommel of his saddle was strapped an oil-cloth overall,
used as a protection in rain, which, instead of annoying him,
seemed to raise his spirits. In the midst of rain-storms, when
everybody was riding along grum and cowering beneath the
flood pouring down, he would trot on, head up, and singing
gaily. His arms were, a light French sabre, balanced by a pistol
in a black holster; his covering at night, a red blanket, strapped
in an oil-cloth behind the saddle. Such was the “outer man”
of Stuart in camp and field. His fondness for bright colours,
however, sometimes made him don additional decorations.
Among these was a beautiful yellow sash, whose folds he would
carefully wrap around his waist, skilfully tying the ends on the
left side so that the tassels fell full in view. Over this he would
buckle his belt; his heavy boots would be changed for a pair
equally high, but of bright patent leather, decorated with gold
thread; and then the gallant Jeb Stuart was ready to visit somebody.
This love of gay colours was shown in other ways. He
never moved on the field without his splendid red battle-flag; and
more than once this prominent object, flaunting in the wind,
drew the fire of the enemy's artillery on himself and staff.
Among flowers, he preferred the large dazzling “Giant of Battles,”
with its blood-red disk. But he loved all blooms for their
brilliance. Lent was not his favourite season. Life in his eyes
was best when it was all flowers, bright colours, and carnival.

He was a bold and expert rider, and stopped at nothing.
Frequently the headlong speed with which he rode saved him
from death or capture—as at Sharpsburg, where he darted close
along the front of a Federal regiment which rose and fired on
him. The speed of his horse was so great that not a ball struck
him. At Hanovertown, in 1863, and on a hundred occasions,
he was chased, when almost unattended, by Federal cavalry; but,
clearing fence and ravine, escaped. He was a “horse-man” in
his knowledge of horses, but had no “passion” for them; preferred

animals of medium size, which wheeled, leaped, and
moved rapidly; and, mounted upon his “Skylark,” “Star of the
East,” “Lady Margaret,” or “Lily of the Valley,” he was the
picture of a bold cavalier, prepared to go into a charge, or to
take a gallop by moonlight—ready for a fight or a frolic.

It was out of the saddle, however, that Stuart was most attractive.
There he was busy; in his tent, when his work was once
over, he was as insouciant as a boy. Never was there a human
being of readier laughter. He dearly loved a joke, and would
have one upon everybody. They were not mild either. He
loved a horse-joke, and a horse-laugh. But the edge of his
satire, although keen, was never envenomed. The uproarious
humour of the man took away anything like sarcasm from his
wit, and he liked you to “strike back.” What are called “great
people” sometimes break their jests upon lesser personages, with
a tacit understanding that the great personage shall not be jested
at in return. Such deference to his rank was abhorrent to Stuart.
He jested roughly, but you were welcome to handle him
as roughly in return. If you could turn the laugh upon him,
you were perfectly welcome so to do, and he never liked you
the less for it. In winter-quarters his tent was a large affair,
with a good chimney and fireplace; in the summer, on active
service, a mere breadth of canvas stretched over rails against a
tree, and open at both ends. Or he had no tent, and slept under
a tree. The canvas “fly” only came into requisition when he
rested for a few days from the march. Under this slight shelter,
Stuart was like a king of rangers. On one side was his chair
and desk; on the other, his blankets spread on the ground:
at his feet his two setters, “Nip” and “Tuck,” whom he had
brought out of Culpeper, on the saddle, as he fell back before
the enemy. When tired of writing, he would throw himself
upon his blankets, play with his pets, laugh at the least provocation,
and burst into some gay song.

He had a strong love for music, and sang, himself, in a clear,
sonorous, and correct voice. His favourites were: “The bugle
sang truce, for the night cloud had lowered;” “The dew is on
the blossom;” “Sweet Evelina,” and “Evelyn,” among pathetic

songs; but comic ones were equal or greater favourites with him:
“If you get there before I do;” “The old gray horse;” “Come
out of the wilderness,” and “If you want to have a good time,
join the cavalry,” came from his lips in grand uproarious merriment,
the very woods ringing with the strains. This habit
of singing had always characterized him. From the days in the
valley when he harassed Paterson so, with his omnipresent cavalry,
he had fought and sung alternately. Riding at the head
of his long column, bent upon some raid, or advancing to attack
the enemy, he would make the forest resound with his sonorous
songs; and a gentleman who met him one day, thus singing in
front of his men, said that the young cavalier was his perfect
ideal of a knight of romance. It might almost, indeed, be said
that music was his passion, as Vive la joie! might have been
regarded as his motto. His banjo-players, Sweeny, was the constant
inmate of his tent, rode behind him on the march, and
went with him to social gatherings. Stuart wrote his most important
dispatches and correspondence with the rattle of the gay
instrument stunning everybody, and would turn round from his
work, burst into a laugh, and join uproariously in Sweeny's
chorus. On the march, the banjo was frequently put in requisition;
and those “grave people” who are shocked by “frivolity”
must have had their breath almost taken away by this extraordinary
spectacle of the famous General Stuart, commanding all
the cavalry of General Lee's army, moving at the head of his
hard-fighting corps with a banjo-player rattling behind him.
But Stuart cared little for the “grave people.” He fought
harder than they did, and chose to amuse himself in his own
way. Lee, Johnston, and Jackson, had listened to that banjo
without regarding it as frivolous; and more than once it had
proved a relaxation after the exhausting cares of command. So
it rattled on still, and Stuart continued to laugh, without caring
much about “the serious family” class. He had on his side
Lee, Jackson, and the young ladies who danced away gaily
to Sweeny's music—what mattered it whether Aminadab Sleek,
Esq., approved or disapproved!

The “young lady” element was an important one with Stuart.

Never have I seen a purer, more knightly, or more charming
gallantry than his. He was here, as in all his life, the Christian
gentleman, the loyal and consistent professor of religion; but
with this delicacy of the chevalier was mingled the gaiety of
the boy. He was charmed, and charmed in return. Ladies
were his warmest admirers—for they saw that under his laughing
exterior was an earnest nature and a warm heart. Everything
drew them towards him. The romance of his hard career,
the adventurous character of the man, his mirth, wit, gallantry,
enthusiasm, and the unconcealed pleasure which he showed in
their society, made him their prime favourite. They flocked
around him, gave him flowers, and declared that if they could
they would follow his feather and fight with him. With all
this, Stuart was delighted. He gave them positions on his staff,
placed the flowers in his button-hole, kissed the fair hands that
presented them, and if the cheek was near the hand, he would
laugh and kiss that too. The Sleek family cried out at this,
and rolled their eyes in horror—but it is hard to please the
Sleek family. Stuart was married, a great public character, had
fought in defence of these young ladies upon a hundred battle-fields,
and was going to die for them. It does not seem so huge
an enormity as the Sleeks everywhere called it—that while the
blue eyes flashed, the eyes of women should give back their
splendour; while the lips were warm, they should not shrink
from them. Soon the eyes were to grow dim, and the lips
cold.

Stuart was best loved by those who knew him best; and it
may here be recorded that his devotion towards his young wife
and children attracted the attention of every one. His happiest
hours were spent in their society, and he never seemed so well
satisfied as when they were in his tent. To lie upon his campcouch
and play with one of his children, appeared to be the
summit of felicity with him; and when, during the hard falling
back near Upperville, in the fall of 1862, the news came of the
death of his little daughter Flora, he seemed almost overcome.
Many months afterwards, when speaking of her, the tears
gushed to his eyes, and he murmured in a broken voice; “I will

never get over it—never!” He seemed rough and hard to those
who only saw him now and then; but the persons who lived
with him knew his great kindness of heart. Under that careless,
jesting, and often curt demeanour, was a good, true heart.
The fibre of the man was tough under all strain, and his whole
organization was masculine; but he exhibited, sometimes, a softness
of feeling which might almost be called tenderness. A
marked trait of his character was this: that if he had offended
anybody, or wounded their feelings, he could never rest until he
had in some way made amends. His temper was irascible at
times, and he would utter harsh words; but the flaming eyes
soon softened, the arrogant manner disappeared. In ten minutes
his arm would probably be upon the shoulder or around the
neck of the injured individual, and his voice would become
caressante. This was almost amusing, and showed his good
heart. Like a child, he must “make up” with people he had
unintentionally offended; and he never rested until he succeeded.
Let it not be understood, however, that this placability
of temperament came into play in “official” affairs. There
Stuart was as hard as adamant, and nothing moved him. He
never forgave opposition to his will, or disobedience of his
orders; and though never bearing malice, was a thoroughly
good hater. His prejudices were strong; and when once he had
made up his mind deliberately, nothing would change him. He
was immovable and implacable; and against these offenders he
threw the whole weight of his powerful will and his high position,
determined to crush them. That, however, was in public
and official matters. In all the details of his daily life he was
thoroughly lovable, as many persons still living can testify.
He was the most approachable of major-generals, and jested
with the private soldiers of his command as jovially as though
he had been one of themselves. The men were perfectly unconstrained
in his presence, and treated him more like the chief
huntsman of a hunting party than as a major-general. His
staff were greatly attached to him, for he sympathized in all their
affairs as warmly as a brother, and was constantly doing them
some “good turn.” When with them off duty, he dropped
every indication of rank, and was as much a boy as the youngest
of them—playing marbles, quoits, or snowball, with perfect
abandon and enjoyment. Most charming of all in the eyes of
those gentlemen was the fact that he would not hesitate to
decline invitations to entertainments, on the plainly stated
ground that “his staff were not included”—after which I need
give myself no further trouble to explain why he was the most
beloved of generals!

I have spoken of his reckless exposure of his person in battle.
It would convey a better idea of his demeanour under fire
to say that he seemed unaware of the presence of danger. This
air of indifference was unmistakable. When brave men were
moving restlessly, or unconsciously “ducking” to avoid the bullets
showering around them, Stuart sat his horse, full front to
the fire, with head up, form unmoved—a statue of unconsciousness.
It would be difficult to conceive of a greater coolness and
indifference than he exhibited. The hiss of balls, striking down
men around him, or cutting off locks of his hair and piercing
his clothes, as at Fredericksburg, did not seem to attract his attention.
With shell bursting right in his face and maddening
his horse, he appeared to be thinking of something else. In
other men what is called “gallantry” is generally seen to be the
effect of a strong will; in Stuart it seemed the result of indifference.
A stouter-hearted cavalier could not be imagined; and if
his indifference gave way, it was generally succeeded by gaiety.
Sometimes, however, all the tiger was aroused in him. His face
flushed; his eyes darted flame; his voice grew hoarse and strident.
This occurred in the hot fight of Fleetwood Hill, in June,
1863, when he was almost surrounded by the heavy masses of
the enemy's cavalry, and very nearly cut off; and again near
Upperville, later in the same year, when he was driven back,
foot by foot, to the Blue Ridge. Stuart's face was stormy at
such moments, and his eyes like “a devouring fire.” His voice
was curt, harsh, imperious, admitting no reply. The veins in
his forehead grew black, and the man looked “dangerous.” If
an officer failed him at such moments, he never forgave him; as
the man who attracted his attention, or who volunteered for a

forlorn hope, was never forgotten. In his tenacious memory,
Stuart registered everybody; and in his command, his word, bad
or good, largely set up or pulled down.

To dwell still for a few moments upon the private and personal
character of the man—he possessed some accomplishments
unusual in famous soldiers. He was an excellent writer, and his
general orders were frequently very striking for their point and
eloquence. That in which he called on his men after the ride
around McClellan to “avenge Latanè!” and that on the death
of Major Pelham, his chief of artillery, are good examples.
There was something of the Napoleonic fervour in these compositions,
and, though dashed off rapidly, they were pointed, correct,
and without bombast. His letters, when collected, will be
found clear, forcible, and often full of grace, elegance, and wit.
He occasionally wrote verses, especially parodies, for which he
had a decided turn. Some of these were excellent. His letters,
verses, and orders, were the genuine utterances of the man; not
laboured or “stiff,” but spontaneous, flowing, and natural. He
had in conversation some humour, but more wit; and of badinage
it might almost be said that he was a master. His repartee was
excellent, his address ever gay and buoyant, and in whatever
society he was thrown he never seemed to lose that unaffected
mirthfulness which charms us more perhaps than all other qualities
in an associate. I need scarcely add that this uniform gaiety
was never the result of the use of stimulants. Stuart never drank
a single drop of any intoxicating liquid in his whole life, except
when he touched to his lips the cup of sacramental wine at
the communion. He made that promise to his mother in his
childhood, and never broke it. “If ever I am wounded,” he
said to me one day, “don't let them give me any whiskey or
brandy.” His other habits were as exemplary. I never saw him
touch a card, and he never dreamed of uttering an oath under
any provocation—nor would he permit it at his quarters. He
attended church whenever he could, and sometimes, though not
often, had service at his headquarters. One day a thoughtless
officer, who did not “know his man,” sneered at preachers in his
presence, and laughed at some one who had entered the ministry.

Stuart's face flushed; he exhibited unmistakable displeasure,
and said: “I regard the calling of a clergyman as the
noblest in which any human being can engage.” This was the
frivolous, irreverent, hard-drinking personage of some people's
fancies—the man who was sneered at as little better than a
reprobate by those whom he had punished, and who, therefore,
hated and slandered him!