University of Virginia Library

2. II.

I found the cavalry headquarters at an old house known as
Mellen's, but officially as “Camp Qui Vive,” between Centreville
and Fairfax Court-House.

It was a day of December; the sun shone brightly, the frosty
airs cut the cheek. The house was bare and bleak; everything
about it “looked like work.” Horses were picketed to the
fences and trees, couriers went and came with jingling spurs and
clanking sabres, and the bugle sounded the gay “stable-call.”
Before the door, the red battle-flag, just adopted, ripples in the
wind; and not far from it you see the grim muzzle of a Blakely
gun, for Stuart is devoted to artillery, and fights it whenever he

can. You may regard that gun as a somewhat unusual feature
of a cavalry camp upon the outpost, but the sentinel placed over
it to guard it is still queerer. It is nothing less than an enormous
raccoon—black, wary, with snarling teeth, and eyes full of
“fight!” Look at him for a moment as you pass. He is tied
by a rope around his neck to the trail by the lunettes, and roosts
serenely on the pintal-hook. When he stretches his rope he can
run over the rings for the trail handspike and the prolonge, to
the cascabel and brass base, for the pendulum hausse. His natural
line of sight, however, is between the spokes of the limber-wheels,
and he has a box to go in when he is tired.

The sentinel is evidently aware of his duty, for he snaps at
everybody. You will find, when General Stuart comes out
laughing to show him to you, that his owner regards him as the
pearl of sentinels, the paragon of “coons.”

It was sunset as I entered, and amid a gay group I saw the
young General of cavalry. Fancy a man of low stature and
athletic form, with an enormous brown beard; a huge moustache,
ready to curl with laughter; a broad and lofty forehead; an eye,
blue, brilliant, and penetrating as that of the eagle. This figure
was clad in a gray cavalry uniform, top-boots with small bright
spurs; and on a chair lay his sabre and pistol, beside the brown
felt hat looped up and adorned with a black feather.

In this man who wrote away busily at his desk, or, throwing
one leg carelessly over the arm of his chair, turned to utter some
jest or break out in some snatch of song, you could discern enormous
physical strength—a vigour of constitution which made him
a veritable war-machine. This person, it was plain, cared nothing
for the exhausting work which breaks down other men; could
live in the saddle, and was ever ready for a march, a raid, a
charge—anything. Young—he was then but twenty-seven—
ardent, ambitious, gay, jovial, of immense unbounded animal
spirits, with that clear, blue eye whose glance defies all peril, a
seat in the saddle, and a hand for the rein and the sabre unsurpassed,
Stuart was truly a splendid machine in magnificent
order, and plainly asked nothing better than to “clash against
his foe” and either fall or conquer. All this was evident in the

man before me, with that bronzed cheek, athletic figure, and eye
ready to fill full with laughter, or flash at the thought of battle.
In Stuart I saw a cavalier whom Rupert would have made his
bosom friend, and counted on to charge the pikes of the Ironsides,
and “die for King Charles” without a murmur.

Gayest of the gay was Stuart's greeting, and in five minutes
he had started up, put on his hat, and was showing me his
Blakely gun, then a recent acquisition. His satisfaction at the
ferocious snarling of his “coon” was immense; the incorruptible
fidelity of that black sentinel plainly charmed him, and he
made the place echo with his laughter.

I was truly sorry to hear afterwards that this animal, so
trusted and admired—who had at last become like a member of
the staff—betrayed a low dissatisfaction at short rations, and
gnawing in two the rope which confined him, actually deserted,
and was never more seen!

As night fell we reëntered the house; a table was brought
into the bare room for supper; and then to my astonishment—
enter two ladies! I thought the house entirely unoccupied
except by the gay cavalier and his “following;” but here was a
delegation from the fairer half of humanity. Who were they?
How did they come there? How did that little flower of seventeen,
with the rosy cheeks and the soft, blue eyes, come to bloom
on this hot surface of war, amid the rattle of spurs and sabres?

All these questions were speedily answered by General Stuart.
The beautiful girl of seventeen, and her grim, irate companion,
an elderly lady, were “prisoners of war!” On the preceding
evening they had—after making vain applications for a pass—
attempted to “flank the pickets” of Stuart, and steal through
his lines to Alexandria. Now, as General McClellan was sojourning
with a large escort near that place, and would doubtless be
glad to ascertain a number of things in relation to Beauregard,
Stuart had refused the pass. When the fugitives attempted to
elude his pickets they were caught, forwarded to headquarters,
and there they were.

The young lady was smiling, the elder frowning terribly.
The one evidently admired the gallant Stuart, with his bright,

blue eye and floating plume, regarding the whole affair as a
romantic adventure, to be enjoyed, not regretted; the other as
plainly resented the liberty taken with her movements, and was
determined to preserve a grim, forbidding, and hostile attitude—
that of the martyr overwhelmed, but defiant to the last. I saw
all this at a glance, and then I understood as plainly, in a very
few moments, that General Stuart had determined to charm
away, if possible, the evil spirit of hostility in the hearts of his
fair prisoners, and reconcile them to their fate.

He lost no time in this hospitable work. It was delightful,
and laughable too, to watch him. Never did gallant cavalier
demean himself with more profound and respectful courtesy,
with which, however, was mingled that easy off-hand fun which
never left Stuart. In the first advance he had been repulsed.
The ladies had been up-stairs when I arrived, and the General
had sent up his compliments: “Would they come down to supper?”
The reply was, “No, I thank you; we are not hungry.”
Whereupon that politest of Marylanders, Captain Tiernan Brien,
A.A.G., was dispatched—assault number two—and, under the
effect of his blandishments, the fair enemy gave way. They
appeared, the young lady blushing and smiling; the elder stern
and stormy. Stuart received them, as I have said, with charming
courtesy and frankness; compelled them to take part in his
supper, and then, although, as very soon appeared, he had a
great deal of work to do, did not suffer them to depart to their
room.

They were not to be allowed to mope there all the winter
evening. Music, dance, and song were to while away the hours
—so Stuart sent for three members of his military household,
and they soon appeared. All were black. The first was an
accomplished performer on the guitar; the second gifted with
the faculty of producing in his throat the exactest imitation of
every bird of the forest; and the third was a mighty master of
the back-step, viz. an old Virginia “breakdown.”

Upon their appearance the “performances commenced!”