University of Virginia Library

4. IV.

Such, in brief outline, was this “Flower of Cavaliers,” as he
moved in private, before the eyes of friends, and lived his life
of gentleman. An estimate of the military and intellectual
calibre of the man remains to be made—a rapid delineation of
those traits of brain and nerve combined which made him the
first cavalry officer of his epoch—I had nearly written of any
epoch.

Out of his peculiar sphere he did not display marked
ability. His mind was naturally shrewd, and, except in some
marked instances, he appeared to possess an instinctive knowledge
of men. But the processes of his brain, on ordinary occasions,
exhibited rather activity and force than profoundness of
insight. His mental organization seemed to be sound and practical
rather than deep and comprehensive. He read little when
I knew him, and betrayed no evidences of wide culture. His
education was that of the gentleman rather than the scholar.
“Napoleon's Maxims,” a translation of Jomini's Treatise on
War, and one or two similar works, were all in which he
appeared to take pleasure. His whole genius evidently lay in
the direction of his profession, and even here many persons
doubted the versatility of his faculties. It will remain an interesting
problem whether he would have made a great infantry
commander. He was confident of his own ability; always
resented the dictum that he was a mere “cavalry officer;” and I
believe, at one time, it was the purpose of the Confederate authorities
to place him in command of a corps of infantry. Upon
the question of his capacity, in this sphere, there will probably

be many opinions. At Chancellorsville, when he succeeded
Jackson, the troops, although quite enthusiastic about him, complained
that he had led them too recklessly against artillery;
and it is hard for those who knew the man to believe that, as an
army commander, he would ever have consented to a strictly
defensive campaign. Fighting was a necessity of his blood, and
the slow movements of infantry did not suit his genius. With
an army under him, it is probable that he would either have
achieved magnificent successes or sustained overwhelming
defeats. I confess I thought him equal to anything in his profession,
but competent judges doubted it. What every one
agreed about, however, was his supreme genius for fighting
cavalry.

He always seemed to me to be intended by nature for this
branch of the service. Some men are born to write great works,
others to paint great pictures, others to rule over nations. Stuart
was born to fight cavalry. It was only necessary to be with him
in important movements or on critical occasions, to realize this.
His instinct was unfailing, his coup d'oeil that of the master. He
was a trained soldier, and had truly graduated at West Point,
but it looked like instinct rather than calculation—that rapid
and unerring glance which took in at once every trait of the
ground upon which he was operating, and anticipated every
movement of his adversary. I never knew him to blunder.
His glance was as quick, and reached its mark as surely as the
lightning. Action followed like the thunder. In moments of
great emergency it was wonderful to see how promptly he swept
the whole field, and how quickly his mind was made up. He
seemed to penetrate, as by a species of intuition, every design
of his opponent, and his dispositions for attack or defence were
those of a master-mind. Sometimes nothing but his unconquerable
resolution, and a sort of desperation, saved him from
destruction; but in almost every critical position which he was
placed in during that long and arduous career, it was his wonderful
acumen, no less than his unshrinking nerve, which
brought him out victorious.

This nerve had in it something splendid and chivalric. It

never failed him for a moment on occasions which would have
paralysed ordinary commanders. An instance was given in
October, 1863. Near Auburn his column was surrounded by
the whole of General Meade's army, then retiring before General
Lee. Stuart massed his command, kept cool, listened hour
after hour as the night passed on, to the roll of the Federal
artillery and the heavy tramp of their infantry within a few
hundred yards of him, and at daylight placed his own guns in
position and made a furious attack, under cover of which he
safely withdrew. An earlier instance was his raid in rear of
General McClellan, in June, 1862, when, on reaching the lower
Chickahominy, he found the stream swollen and unfordable,
while at every moment an enraged enemy threatened to fall
upon his rear with an overpowering force of infantry, cavalry,
and artillery. Although the men were much disheartened, and
were gloomy enough at the certain fate which seemed to await
them, Stuart remained cool and unmoved. He intended, he said
afterwards, to “die game” if attacked, but he believed he could
extricate his command. In four hours he had built a bridge,
singing as he worked with the men; and his column, with the
guns, defiled across just as the enemy rushed on them. A third
instance was the second ride around McClellan in Maryland,
October, 1862; when coming to the Monocacy he found General
Pleasanton, with a heavy force of cavalry, infantry, and artillery,
in his path, but unhesitatingly attacked and cut his way through.
Still another at Jack's Shop, where he charged both ways—the
column in front, and that sent to cut him off—and broke
through. Still another at Fleetwood Hill, where he was
attacked in front, flank, and rear, by nearly 17,000 infantry and
cavalry, but charging from the centre outwards, swept them
back, and drove them beyond the Rappahannock.

Upon these occasions and twenty others, nothing but his stout
nerve saved him from destruction. This quality, however,
would not have served him without the quick military instinct
of the born soldier. His great merit as a commander was, that
his conception of “the situation” was as rapid and just as his
nerve was steady. His execution was unfaltering, but the brain

had devised clearly what was to be done before the arm was
raised to strike. It was this which distinguished Stuart from
others—the promptness and accuracy of his brain work “under
pressure,” and at moments when delay was destruction. The
faculty would have achieved great results in any department of
arms; but in cavalry, the most “sudden and dangerous” branch
of the service, where everything is decided in a moment as it
were, it made Stuart one of the first soldiers of his epoch.
With equal—or not largely unequal—forces opposed to him, he
was never whipped. More than once he was driven back, and
two or three times “badly hurt;” but it was not the superior
genius of Buford, Stoneman, Pleasanton, or other adversaries,
which achieved those results. It was the presence of an obstacle
which his weapon could not break. Numbers were too much
for brain and acumen, and reckless fighting. The hammer was
shattered by the anvil.