 | Hilt to hilt, or, Days and nights on the banks of the Shenandoah in the autumn of 1864 |  |
XIX.
FITZHUGH LEE, THE GAY AND GALLANT.
“Under all the circumstances,” I think I will
say nothing more of Miss May Beverley.
Unfortunately, that young lady has already been
brought too prominently before the world in the first
series of my Memoirs, to which my friend, the editor,
has given the title “Surry of Eagle's Nest.”
If you have perused that volume, you must have
felt some surprise, my dear reader, that a young
damsel's private life and affairs of the heart should
have been dwelt upon so unreservedly. But a word
will explain all. My memoirs were written for my
own family, and published only “by request of
friends.”
In sending off the MS., a pencil-mark was drawn
through the obnoxious chapters. By some accident,
however, they were printed, and Miss Beverley's
affairs were made public. To-day, to avoid all further
indiscretion, I preserve silence.
So, worthy reader, if you are curious about Miss
May Beverley; if you wish to know how this star of
loveliness and goodness (be still, madam, and don't
above the horizon of my life; if you would find
where we met first; how I became a fortunate victim,
— you have only to read the Memoirs to which
I refer.
In this place I will only say that mademoiselle
looked quite charming, and that the great violet
eyes and waving chestnut hair were brighter than
in the old days of 1861, at “The Oaks.” She had
come to Winchester on a visit, and I had not seen
her at Colonel Beverley's. Her smile was sunshine,
her lips as red as carnations, and the rose in her
hair looked faded beside the two that bloomed in her
cheeks! (Are you satisfied, madam? That is
rather well-turned, I think! You see I have not
forgotten; that I remember you with the eyes as well
as the heart! I go away from Eagle's Nest, where
I write this with your face bending over me, in 1868,
to Winchester, in 1864, when you were far less
demonstrative! I see your smiles, hear your voice,
and listen! There is the gay laughter of the gallant
General Fitz Lee, as he looks at me in triumph,
and bears you off, in the moonlight, with the white
hand on the gold braid of his gray coat-sleeve!)
I wish I had time and space to make a portrait of
that brave soldier and gentleman, Major-General
Fitzhugh Lee, or “General Fitz,” as we used to
call him in the army. Never was born into this
a finer representative of the great race of
cavaliers. You had only to look at this dashing
sabreur, — the bosom-friend of Stuart, — at this
“cavalryman all over,” with the soul of merriment,
truth, courage, frolic, resolution, and unwavering
“pluck,” to see that he was born for the career of
arms, for the life of the bivouac and the battle-field.
As we pass, however hurriedly, let us glance at him
for an instant. Here he is, with his low and athletic
figure, his well-worn uniform, cavalry boots, gay
sash, and brown hat with its black feather. See the
flowing brown beard, and heavy mustache, like
Stuart's; the lips curling with laughter; the eyes
flashing with good-humour; hear the voice, rich and
mellow; note the bearing full of fun, and the insouciant
cavalry ease. A glance tells you that this
man is ready to mount at a moment's warning; that
the small white hand will go to the sword-hilt instinctively,
and that, wherever sabres clash, he will
be present.
You will find in many volumes, reader, an account
of Fitzhugh Lee's performances: how he
fought through all the battles of Stuart; originated
the “Buckland-races” ruse; drove amain, with his
troopers, through the smoke of Manassas, Boonsboro',
Sharpsburg, Gettysburg; fought Sheridan in the
great campaigns of 1864, and on Lee's retreat, in
at every step, and made the last cavalry charge
at Appomattox, ten minutes before the surrender.
All this you will read, and you will find the testimony
of his great kinsman, General R. E. Lee:
“Your admirable conduct, devotion to the cause of
your country, and devotion to duty, fill me with
pleasure.” Read all that in the books, friend. Here
I show you not Major-General Fitzhugh Lee, fighting
obstinately on desperate fields, but Fitz Lee, the
gay and gallant, laughing as he bears off, with
twinkling eyes, in the moonlight, the sweetheart
(pardon that old word, reader!) of the unfortunate
Colonel Surry.
I had recaptured the young lady, had my own little
talk, and was laughing with my friend, “General
Fitz,” when a courier brought me a despatch. It
was from General Lee's head-quarters, through
General Early's, and directed me to make a thorough
inspection of the entire Partisan forces of the region.
An hour afterwards, I had made all my preparations
to obey this order, which would take me into
the heart of “Mosby's Confederacy.”
I had parted from Fitzhugh Lee with a warm
pressure of the hand, little supposing that in a few
days he would be prostrated by a dangerous wound,
in a hot fight with Sheridan's cavalry. It laid him
up for months, but he was again in the field in the
fighting, and he was the last to lay down his sword.
He is yonder to-day, at “Richland,” on the Potomac,
and an old comrade, from “Eagle's Nest,”
sends him greeting in the dull hours.
Health and happiness, “General Fitz!” May
the breezes of the Chesapeake, which pass Richland,
bear away the noise of laughter! Ten thousand
hearts are beating in the South to-day which remember
you. Ten thousand voices would repeat for
you the words of our old army ballad,
“Here's my heart, and here's my hand,”
page.
| Hilt to hilt, or, Days and nights on the banks of the Shenandoah in the autumn of 1864 | |