University of Virginia Library

XI.
HOW I MISSED MY SUPPER.

My situation was now peculiar.

The hour of the night was advanced; I was in a
country nearly unknown to me, and swarming with
the blue people; Landon and his Rangers had disappeared,
and, to complicate the whole affair, I had
under my charge a young lady, for whose safety I
felt responsible.

It is possible that some readers of these pages will
suppose that the tableau here presented of the cavalier,
with his fair burden en croupe, is the result of
imagination. I assure them that such is not the
fact. The late war was a veritable repetition of the
scenes of romance, and I assure the reader that I
actually thus heroically “carried off” a very beautiful
girl, with the bullets whistling around us; that
her hand actually rested upon my shoulder; that her
ringlets, when I turned my head, nearly brushed my
cheek; and that, when I asked if she was afraid,
she replied with extreme calmness in the manner
above related.

To continue my narrative, Miss Adair scarcely

spoke during the whole ride, which was rapid, however,
and soon came to an end.

She seemed to labour under some painful emotion;
and I knew afterwards that this resulted from her
brief interview with Landon. We went on thus in
profound silence almost, and soon approached the
large mansion indicated by Landon.

It raised its walls amid deep foliage on a lofty hill,
and it was plain that the house and grounds had
once been models of elegance. Now all was changed.
The fences had been torn down; the boughs of the
ornamental trees were broken and champed by cavalry
horses, which had also trampled the fine turf,
and the house looked bare and melancholy. It
was a specimen of the houses and grounds of the
entire Shenandoah Valley. Generals Hunter and
Sheridan had not been able to conquer, — they had
destroyed. What one left, the other took. When
they retired, this Arcadia was a desert; the beautiful
valley a Vale of Jehoshaphat.

Miss Adair dismounted and begged me to enter.
I hesitated, but, after reflecting an instant, accepted
the invitation; impelled, I am afraid, by two ignoble
sentiments, — curiosity and — hunger!

I am trying to paint truly the “men and manners”
of the late war, my dear reader; and marching
and fighting made us terribly hungry!

It was plain that the good house had not lost the

old traditions of hospitality. A servant boy, — one
of the few left, I fancy, — ran and took my horse to the
stable; and then Miss Adair ushered me into a large
drawing-room, illumined only by the moon.

As I entered, I heard a voice from the apartment
opposite call out: —

“Is that you, my child?”

“Yes, father,” was the reply.

And the young lady hastened thither, having first
placed a lighted lamp upon the centre-table of the
drawing-room.

The apartment had been elegant, but now looked
“torn down.” At one end was a bow-window, the
recess half concealed by falling curtains.

I was gazing around me still, when the young
lady came back and said: —

“Papa will be glad to see you, Colonel Surry.
He is an invalid and cannot come out. Will you go
in and see him?”

I bowed, and, following Miss Adair, entered the
chamber where a gentleman of about sixty, with
long gray hair, sparkling eyes, and a thin face,
“thorough-bred,” and full of character, lay upon a
sofa.

He received me with old school courtesy, and Miss
Adair having hastened out to prepare supper, I conversed
for ten minutes with my host, Judge Adair,
of the Supreme Court of Virginia.

If the readers of this page have seen my Memoirs,
they will remember, perchance, the brief sketch
therein of Colonel Beverley of “The Oaks,”—that
ardent follower of Calhoun, and veritable firebrand
of revolution. Well, my dear reader, Judge Adair
rather surpassed the colonel. Need I say more? I
had heard bitter denunciation of the North, listened
to ferocious diatribes upon the doings of the blue
people, but they were all milk and water, sugar and
honey, compared with the observations of Judge
Adair on that night of 1864!

For the rest I was not astonished. Will any one
be? He lived in that region which a hostile fate
seemed to have surrendered to the furies. Outrage,
insult, and plunder had driven him to a species of
scornful frenzy.

Never shall I forget that spectacle. Prostrated
by sickness, unable almost to raise his head, the old
lion glared with his fiery eye; lamenting most, it
seemed, the weakness which kept his hand from the
sword.

I will not repeat our conversation. My narrative
deals with events. In the midst of it, Miss Adair
came in and informed me that supper was ready, and
I arose and followed her into the drawing-room,
where an excellent repast awaited me.

I had scarce approached the table, however, when
my fair young hostess laid her hand upon my arm.

I looked at her. Her head was turned over her
shoulder, and she was listening attentively.

Suddenly the origin of this movement was made
plain to me. The quick tramp of hoofs was distinguishable
on the turf without; the ring of a sabre,
as a cavalier dismounted; and rapid steps were heard
ascending the steps which led to the front door of the
mansion.

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Miss Adair, “they
are Yankees, and you will be captured! Come with
me, Colonel Surry!”— and she almost dragged me
toward the recess, concealed by the curtains, —
“there is no time to, — here they are!”

I ignobly retreated behind the curtain, and at the
same moment a man entered the apartment.