3. III.
In an hour the column moved again. Meanwhile a little incident
had happened which still makes me laugh. There was a
lady living some miles off in the enemy's line whom I wished
to visit, but I could not obtain the General's consent. “It is
certain capture,” he said; “send her a note by some citizen, say
Dr. H—; he lives near here.” This I determined to do, and
set off at a gallop through the moonlight for the house, some
half a mile distant, looking out for the scouting parties which
were probably prowling on our flanks. Reaching the lonely
house, outside the pickets, I dismounted, knocked at the front
door, then the back, but received no answer. All at once, however,
a dark figure was seen gliding beneath the trees, and this
figure cautiously approached. I recognised the Doctor, and
called to him, whereupon he quickly approached, and said, “I
thought you were a Yankee!” and greeting me cordially, led
the way into the house. Here I wrote my note and entrusted it
to him for delivery—taking one from him to his wife, within our
lines. In half an hour I rode away, but before doing so asked
for some water, which was brought from the well by a sleepy,
sullen, and insolent negro. This incident was fruitful of woes to
Dr. H—! A month or two afterwards I met him looking as
thin and white as a ghost.
“What is the matter?” I said.
“The matter is,” he replied, with a melancholy laugh, “that I
have been starving for three weeks in Fortress Monroe on your
account. Do you remember that servant who brought you the
water that night on Stuart's raid?”
“Perfectly.”
“Well, the very next day he went over to the Yankee picket
and told them that I had entertained Confederate officers, and
given you all information which enabled you to get off safely.
In consequence I was arrested, carried to Old Point, and am
just out!”
I rejoined the column at Talleysville just as it began to move
on the road to Forge Bridge. The highway lay before us, white
in the unclouded splendour of the moon. The critical moment
was yet to come. Our safety was to turn apparently on a throw
of the dice, rattled in the hand of Chance. The exhaustion of
the march now began to tell on the men. Whole companies
went to sleep in the saddle, and Stuart himself was no exception.
He had thrown one knee over the pommel of his saddle, folded
his arms, dropped the bridle, and—chin on breast, his plumed
hat drooping over his forehead—was sound asleep. His surefooted
horse moved steadily, but the form of the General tottered
from side to side, and for miles I held him erect by the
arm. The column thus moved on during the remainder of the
night, the wary advance guard encountering no enemies and
giving no alarm. At the first streak of dawn the Chickahominy
was in sight, and Stuart was spurring forward to the ford.
It was impassable! The heavy rains had so swollen the
waters that the crossing was utterly impracticable! Here we
were within a few miles of McClellan's army, with an enraged
enemy rushing on our track to make us rue the day we had
“circumvented” them, and inflicted on them such injury and
insult; here we were with a swollen and impassable stream
directly in our front—the angry waters roaring around the half-submerged
trunks of the trees—and expecting every instant to
hear the crack of carbines from the rear-guard indicating the
enemy's approach! The “situation” was not pleasing. I certainly
thought that the enemy would be upon us in about an
hour, and death or capture would be the sure alternative. This
view was general. I found that cool and resolute officer, Colonel
William H. F. Lee, on the river's bank. He had just attempted
to swim the river, and nearly drowned his horse among the
tangled roots and snags. I said to him:
“What do you think of the situation, Colonel?”
“Well, Captain,” was the reply, in the speaker's habitual tone
of cheerful courtesy, “I think we are caught.”
The men evidently shared this sentiment. The scene upon
the river's bank was curious, and under other circumstances
would have been laughable. The men lay about in every attitude,
half-overcome with sleep, but holding their bridles, and
ready to mount at the first alarm. Others sat their horses
asleep, with drooping shoulders. Some gnawed crackers; others
ate figs, or smoked, or yawned. Things looked “blue,” and
that colour was figuratively spread over every countenance.
When this writer assumed a gay expression of countenance,
laughed, and told the men it was “all right,” they looked at him
as same men regard a lunatic! The general conviction evidently
was that “all right” was the very last phrase by which to
describe the situation.
There was only one man who never desponded, or bated one
“jot or tittle of the heart of hope.” That was Stuart. I had
never been with him in a tight place before, but from that moment
I felt convinced that he was one of those men who rise
under pressure. He was aroused, strung for the hard struggle
before him, and resolute to do or die; but he was not excited. All
I noticed in his bearing to attract attention was a peculiar fashion
of twisting his beard, certain proof with him of surrounding
peril. Otherwise he was cool and looked dangerous. He
said a few words to Colonel Lee, found the ford impassable, and
then ordering his column to move on, galloped down the stream
to a spot where an old bridge had formerly stood. Reaching
this point, a strong rear-guard was thrown out, the artillery
placed in position, and Stuart set to work vigorously to
rebuild the bridge, determined to bring out his guns or die
trying.
The bridge had been destroyed, but the stone abutments remained
some thirty or forty feet only apart, for the river here ran
deep and narrow between steep banks. Between these stone sentinels,
facing each other, was an “aching void” which it was necessary
to fill. Stuart gave his personal superintendence to the work,
he and his staff labouring with the men. A skiff was procured;
this was affixed by a rope to a tree, in the mid-current just
above the abutments, and thus a movable pier was secured in
the middle of the stream. An old barn was then hastily torn
to pieces and robbed of its timbers; these were stretched down
to the boat, and up to the opposite abutment, and a foot-bridge
was thus ready. Large numbers of the men immediately unsaddled
their horses, took their equipments over, and then
returning, drove or rode their horses into the stream, and swam
them over. In this manner a considerable number crossed; but
the process was much too slow. There, besides, was the artillery,
which Stuart had no intention of leaving. A regular
bridge must be built without a moment's delay, and to this
work Stuart now applied himself with ardour.
Heavier blows resounded from the old barn; huge timbers
approached, borne on brawny shoulders, and descending into the
boat anchored in the middle of the stream, the men lifted them
across. They were just long enough; the ends rested on the
abutments, and immediately thick planks were hurried forward
and laid crosswise, forming a secure footway for the cavalry and
artillery horses. Standing in the boat beneath, Stuart worked
with the men, and as the planks thundered down, and the
bridge steadily advanced, the gay voice of the General was
heard humming a song. He was singing carelessly, although at
every instant an overpowering force of the enemy was looked
for, and a heavy attack upon the disordered cavalry.
At last the bridge was finished; the artillery crossed amid
hurrahs from the men, and then Stuart slowly moved his cavalry
across the shaky footway. A little beyond was another arm of
the river, which was, however, fordable, as I ascertained and
reported to the General; the water just deep enough to swim a
small horse; and through this, as through the interminable
sloughs of the swamp beyond, the head of the column moved.
The prisoners, who were numerous, had been marched over in
advance of everything, and these were now mounted on mules,
of which several hundred had been cut from the captured
wagons and brought along. They were started under an escort
across the ford, and into the swamp beyond. Here, mounted
often two on a mule, they had a disagreeable time; the mules
constantly falling in the treacherous mud-holes, and rolling their
riders in the ooze. When a third swamp appeared before them,
one of the Federal prisoners exclaimed, with tremendous indignation,
“How many d—d
Chicken-hominies are there, I wonder,
in this infernal country!”
The rear-guard, under Colonel W. H. F. Lee, had mean while
moved down steadily from the high ground, and defiled across
the bridge. The hoofs clattered on the hasty structure, the
head of the column was turned toward the ford beyond, the last
squadron had just passed, and the bridge was being destroyed,
when shots resounded on the opposite bank of the stream, and
Colonel Rush thundered down with his “lancers” to the bank.
He was exactly ten minutes too late. Stuart was over with his
artillery, and the swollen stream barred the way, even if Colonel
Rush thought it prudent to “knock up against” the one thousand
five hundred crack cavalry of Stuart. His men banged
away at Colonel Lee, and a parting salute whizzed through the
trees as the gray column slowly disappeared.
A lady of New Kent afterwards told me that Colonel Rush
stopped at her house on his return, looking weary, broken down,
and out of humour. When she asked him if he had “caught
Stuart,” he replied, “No, he has gone in at the back door. I
only saw his rear-guard as it passed the swamp.”
