2. II.
It was about three days after these events that Stuart sprang
with a gay laugh to saddle, turned his horse's head westward,
and uttered that exclamation:
“Ho! for the Valley!”
Now, if the reader will permit, I beg to descend from the
lofty heights of historic summary to the level champaign of my
personal observations and adventures. From the heights alluded
to, you see a long distance, and distinguish the “important
events” in grand outline; but in the level you are greeted by
more of the colouring of what occurs. In this paper I design
recording some scenes and incidents as they passed before my
own eyes, rather than to sum up facts in “official” form. A
memoir rather than a history is intended; and as a human
being can only remember what he has seen and felt, the present
writer—even at the risk of being charged with egotism—is going
to confine himself, as closely as possible, to his own adventures
and impressions de voyage.
“Ho for the Valley!” was a truly delightful exclamation to
me. Bright eyes of various colours shone there by the Shenandoah
and Opequon; there were some voices whose music I had
not heard for a long time. The prospect now of seeing the eyes,
and hearing the voices, banished every other thought, even the
remembrance of that heavy misfortune of having had my military
satchel, with all I possessed in the way of a wardrobe, captured
by the enemy a few days before when they drove us from
the Cross-Roads. There could certainly be no doubt about the
General's meaning. He had turned his horse toward the Ridge.
“Ho! for the Valley!” indicated his intended line of march;
he, like myself, was going to see his good friends all in that land
of lands along the Shenandoah.
Alas! and whenever that pithy word is employed by a writer,
the reader knows what he has to expect. General Stuart had
scarcely got out of sight of the village, carolling a gay song as
he rode, when the disconsolate staff-officer beside him observed a
movement of the General's left rein; his horse cleared a fence;
and ten minutes afterwards he was riding rapidly castward, in a
direction precisely opposite to the Blue Ridge. The General had
practised a little ruse to blind the eyes of the Cross-Roads villagers
—was doubling on the track; he was going after General
Hooker, then in the vicinity of Manassas, and thence—whither?
We bivouacked by the roadside under some pines that night,
advanced before dawn, drove a detachment of the enemy from
Glasscock's Gap, in the Bull Run mountain, and pushed on to
cut off any force which lingered in the gorge of Thoroughfare Gap.
When cavalry undertake to cut off infantry, the process is exciting,
but not uniformly remunerative. It was the rear of Hancock's
corps which we struck not far from Haymarket; there,
passing rapidly toward Manassas, about eight hundred yards off,
were the long lines of wagons and artillery; and behind these
came on the dense blue masses of infantry, the sunshine lighting
up their burnished bayonets.
Stuart hastened forward his artillery; it opened instantly upon
the infantry, and the first shot crashed into a caisson, making the
horses rear and run; the infantry line bending backward as
though the projectile had struck it. This “good shot” highly
delighted the General, who turned round laughing, and called
attention to the accuracy of the fire. The individual addressed
laughed in response, but replied, “Look out, though; they are
going to enfilade you from that hill on the right, General.”
“Oh! I reckon not,” responded the General; but he had scarcely
spoken when a puff of white smoke rose from the wooded
knoll in question, and a shot screamed by, just grazing the top
of one of our caissons near the guns. This was followed by
another and another; the enemy were seen hastily forming
line, and advancing sharpshooters; whereupon Stuart ordered
back his guns, and dismounted cavalry to meet them.
A running fight; enemy merely holding their flank intact;
soon the line had passed on and disappeared; the cavalry saw
vanish safely all those tantalizing wagons filled with good, rich
forage, and who knew what beside. Stuart meanwhile had sent
off Mosby, with a party of picked men, to reconnoitre, and was
sleeping with his head upon an officer's breast—to the very
extreme discomfort of that personage, whose profound respect for
his sleepy military superior prevented him from changing his
position.
With night came rain, and the General and his staff were
invited to the handsome mansion of Dr.—, near Bucklands,
where all slept under cover but Stuart. Everywhere he insisted
on faring like his men; and I well remember the direction given
to his body-servant a few days before, to spread his blankets
under a tree on a black and stormy night with the rain descending
in torrents—the house in which he had established his headquarters
being only twenty paces from the tree. On this night
at Bucklands he repeated the ceremony, but a gay supper preceded
it.
That supper is one of the pleasant memories the present writer
has of the late war. How the good companions laughed and
devoured the viands of the hospitable host! How the beautiful
girls of the family stood with mock submission, servant-wise,
behind the chairs, and waited on the guests with their sweetest
smiles, until that reversal of all the laws of the universe became
a perfect comedy, and ended in an éclat of laughter! General
and staff waited in turn on the waiters; and when the tired
troopers fell asleep on the floor of the portico, it is certain that a
number of bright eyes shone in their dreams. Such is the
occasional comedy which lights up the tragedy of war.
The bugle sounded; we got into the saddle again; the columns
moved; and that evening we had passed around Manassas,
where Hooker's rear force still lingered, and were approaching
Fairfax Station through the great deserted camps near Wolf
Run Shoals. The advance pushed on through the wild and
desolate locality, swarming with abandoned cabins and army
débris; and soon we had reached the station, which is not far
from the Court-House.
Here took place a little incident, known afterwards among the
present writer's friends as the “Cherry-Pie Breakfast.” A brief
notice of this historic occurrence may entertain the reader.
Three members of the staff and a young courier left the column
to seek a blacksmith, whose services were needed; and the house
of this worthy was found about half a mile east of the station.
He was a friend of the gray, prompt and courteous, and soon
was busy at the hoofs of the horses; his good wife meanwhile
getting breakfast for the party. It was speedily served, and
consisted of every delicacy—bread of all descriptions, fresh butter,
yellow cream, sweetmeats, real coffee, then an extreme
luxury, and some cherry pies, which caused the wandering staff
officers to break forth into exclamations of rapture. A heavy
attack was made upon all, and our “bluebird” friends themselves,
fond as they are said to be of the edible, could not have
surpassed the devotion exhibited toward the cherry pies. At
the end of the repast one of the party, in the enthusiasm of the
moment, piled up several pieces of the pie, drew out his purse,
and determined to carry off the whole for future consumption;
whereat a friendly contest occurred between himself and the
excellent dame, who could not be induced to receive pay from
any member of the party for her entertainment. “She had
never charged a Confederate soldier a cent, and never meant to.”
All this was peaceful and pleasing; but all at once there was
a stir in the yard, and without securing the pie, we went out.
Lo! a gentleman in a blue coat and mounted was seen rapidly
approaching below the house, followed by others.
“Look out!” said Major V—; “there are the Yankees!”
“They are running by—they won't stop. What are you
going to do?” I said.
“I am going to put the bridle on my horse!”
And the Major bridled up and mounted rapidly.
“Well, I am going to wait to have the shoes put on mine.”
Idle and absurd intent! Even as I spoke, the party scattered,
Major V— galloping to the right, Major Mc— to
the left, with the courier. A single glance revealed the “situation.”
Another party of blue-coats were rushing at full gallop
toward the house from above. Shots suddenly resounded.
“Hi! hi! halt!” followed; and I had just time to mount and
pass at full speed across the front of the party, pursued by more
shots and “hi-hi's!” Admire, reader, the spectacle of the stampeded
staff officers! My friend in front resembled the worthy
Gilpin, with a pistol holster for the jug—his horse's tail “floating
free,” and every nail in the hind shoes of the animal visible
as he darted headlong toward the protecting woods! We
plunged through a swamp, jumped fences and fallen trees, and
reaching the forest-cover, penetrated a thicket, and stopped to
listen. The shouts died away; no sound of hoofs came, and
doubling back, we came again to the station to find the meaning
of everything. Stuart had been quietly waiting there for his
column, with the bridle out of his horse's mouth, in order that
the animal might champ some “Yankee oats,” when all at once a
scouting-party had come at full gallop from the direction of the
Court-House. Before he was aware of their approach, they
' whenearly upon him; he had just had time to escape by seizing
the halter and digging the spurs into his horse.
Then the scouting party, finding the size of the hornets'enest
into which they had leaped, turned their horses'eheads eastward,
bore down on the blacksmith's whither we had gone, interrupted
the “cherry-pie breakfast,” and vanished toward Sanxter's, chasing
Major V— until he came up with Munford. When our
probable capture was announced to General Stuart, and a squadron
requested for our recovery, I am sorry to say that the
General responded with a laugh, “Oh! they are too intelligent
to be caught!” and when the incident of the abandonment of
the cherry-pie was related to Stuart, he enjoyed it in a remarkable
degree!
Do you remember still, my dear companions, that good cherry-pie
breakfast, the chase which followed, and the laughter of
Stuart? That was a jovial trip we made across the border in
the good year 1863; and the days and nights were full of incident
and adventure. Do you find the present year, 1866, as
“gay and happy” as its predecessor? I do not.
