Wearing of the gray :: :: University of Virginia Library

Of this great ride with the cavalry through Pennsylvania, the
present writer has preserved recollections rather amusing and
grotesque, than sad or tragic. The anxiety expressed by a fat
lady of Dutch origin, to secure a blue postage stamp with the
head of President Davis upon it, a gentleman whom she evidently
expected to find endued with horns and tail en Diable; the
manner in which an exceedingly pretty damsel in a town
through which the army was retreating, turned her back upon
the writer, as he smiled respectfully upon catching her eye;
turned her back, tossed her head, and “looked daggers;” the
air of hauteur and outraged feeling with which another refused
to lend a coffee-pot, not even melting at the offender's low bow,
and “I will not insist, madam”—these return to memory and
make the recollection of those times more amusing than disagreeable.
We were sore then, but time obliterates pain, and
heals nearly every wound. There were harsh emotions, painful
scenes, and bitter hostility; but there were some of the amenities
of war too; among which I recall the obliging manner in which
Major P—, of the United States cavalry, enabled me to gratify
some lady friends in Virginia.

The Major was brought in to the headquarters—or bivouac,
rather—in a grassy yard near Hagerstown, during the absence
of General Stuart, and whilst the present writer was in command.

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I found him very much of a gentleman; laughed at his
description of the manner in which he was captured—“Your
men snapped a carbine at me, and then `halted' me!”—and
simply took his parole not to attempt escape, after which we lay
down and slept on the grass, the major sharing my blankets.
On the next morning we were perfectly intimate; and hearing
me express a wish to secure some “greenbacks” for the purchase
of small articles in Hagerstown, where Confederate money
would not pass, the major politely pulled out his purse, declaring
that he would exchange dollar for dollar “as he only wished to
have enough of money to buy cigars in Richmond.” The
comedy of the scene which ensued lay in the mutual anxiety
of Major P— and the present writer, lest each should wrong
the other. Each was afraid he would get the advantage of his
companion, and the polite speeches delivered on the occasion
were truly admirable. An equitable arrangement was finally
made. I came into possession of about forty dollars in Federal
money, and with this bought out nearly the whole stock of lace,
ribands, and handkerchiefs of a milliner's store, to the extreme
but suppressed amusement of the young lady behind the counter,
who disinterestedly gave her advice in the selection. With
this big bundle on the pommel of his saddle, the present writer
made his exit from the State of Maryland!

Such, in rapid and discursive, outline, was the march of the
cavalry “to Gettysburg and back again,” in that last year but
one of the great civil war. Scores of miles were passed over,
while the weary cavalry-man who writes this, slept in the saddle.
So, it is no wonder Pennsylvania appears to him to-day
like a land seen in a dream! Gettysburg was, however, a rough
waking, and over that far locality where the fate of the struggle
was decided, a lurid cloud seems to hang, its edges steeped in
blood. “Gettysburg! Gettysburg!” That murmur comes to
the lips of many whose dear ones sleep their last sleep under the
sod there; but this souvenir is sad. Let me remember rather
the gay laugh of Stuart; the voices of Fitz Lee, Hampton, and
their noble comrades; the fun, the frolic, and the adventure of

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the long journey, when so much mirth lit up the dark horizon
zon of war.

It is a hard and brutal business, the trade of war; but the
odd, grotesque, and bizarre mix everywhere with the tears and
the blood. All were mingled in this heavy work of the bustling
year 1863.