 | Hilt to hilt, or, Days and nights on the banks of the Shenandoah in the autumn of 1864 |  |
XXVIII.
ONE OF THE BRIGHT SPOTS IN MY MEMORY.
On the next morning I set out from “Bizarre,”
and crossing the Shenandoah, by placing my saddle
in a skiff, and swimming my horse, proceeded, by
way of Ashby's Gap, to Fauquier, where I expected
to find, and inspect, the Partisans of Mosby.
This duty I determined should be performed as
soon as possible. I was anxious to return to Landon,
who had evidently resolved upon some hazardous expedition.
He had informed me, however, that he
would remain at “Bizarre” for three or four days
to rest his horses; and I promised myself that I
would return, if possible, before he again moved.
I have attempted in this episode of my memoirs
to confine myself as closely as possible to the curious
events connected with the history of Landon. Were
I writing a romance, indeed, “St. Leger Landon”
would be an appropriate title for these pages; and,
doubtless, this introduction of a central figure gives
my narrative an interest more human and dramatic
than could otherwise be secured. Am I wrong in so
not dwell upon my visit to “Mosby and his men.”
At some other time I will attempt, perhaps, a
picture of those joyous Partisans, and describe their
free life amid the mountains, in the forests, or scouring
the great roads. It was a branch of the service
wholly different from the rest; between the Partisans
and the troops of the regular army there were few
points of resemblance, save their common courage,
their common cause, and the common enrolment of
all as soldiers of the Confederate States, fighting
under the Confederate flag.
To-day I cannot describe the Partisans, or their
lithe and “dangerous” commander, with his gray,
roving eyes, his smile, revealing the white teeth, his
brief words of command, and his daring soul.
Imagine this King of the Rangers, amid the great
forests of Fauquier, with his horse saddled near, and
his gay followers around him. Hear the jests and
laughter; see them mount and away; hear the crack
of their pistols; see the long string of blue prisoners,
the “U.S.” wagons, the numberless mules captured.
You will say that these men are good
soldiers, who fight fairly, pistol to pistol; but read
the Northern newspapers and you will discover that
they are outlaws.
Or you would have discovered that in the good
year 1864. Now the smoke has drifted. The world
commander, Colonel Mosby, visits the Gold Room in
Wall Street, some of the worthiest of his old foes
shake his hand, and say, “Welcome!”
I found Mosby below Piedmont; inspected his
command, which had just assembled for a raid toward
Alexandria; and on the next morning set out on my
return to the Valley.
I had hoped to reach the vicinity of Millwood on
the same evening; but you know when you set out,
you do not know when you will arrive.
Near Upperville I met my friend, Captain
D—, who insisted that I should go and dine
with him; and the afternoon found me still enthralled
by his charming household. Then I was
urged to attend a wedding festival at a neighbouring
mansion, “B—;” and, yielding to the kind persistence
of some irresistible personages, I went.
I wish I could describe that charming evening
and that wonderful supper! Ah! my dear reader,
there is a lurking vice in this life of peace; it destroys
the magical effect of contrasts. I had been
living for a long time upon about a quarter of a
pound of rancid bacon and some musty meal. I had
partaken of that imposing banquet from a tin plate,
on the lid of a camp-chest. Worse than all, I had
seen around me only gray uniforms and male human
a different world.
All around me, at the hospitable mansion of
Mrs.—, I saw bright eyes, rosy cheeks, smiling
lips, and braided hair. Round arms abounded, encircled
with bracelets and draped with lace. White
necks swam in “illusion” like heaps of snowy roses,
tinted with sunset. And then the supper! — the
wondrous supper! O supper to be ever remembered!
Rich viands, roasts, and stews; immense
pyramids of ice-cream; cakes, jellies, candied orange,
blanc-mange, meringues; real coffee! and actual
white sugar and cream!
When afterwards I described that supper to my
comrades, they smiled and nodded politely, but said
nothing. They were too polite to contradict me; but
I could see that I had made shipwreck of my character
for veracity, and was regarded, in Shakespearian
phrase, as a “measureless liar!”
In truth, that was a notable spectacle on the Virginia
border in 1864. Happy was the wandering
staff-officer who partook of those delicacies; happier
still in conducting the fair young bride to supper;
the sweet and kindly eyes, shining under the
snow of the long veil and the bridal
.
no human happiness is without alloy. Sud
check was put to the merrymaking.
I observed a stir in the company; whispered
words passed about; the guests flowed toward the
door; and then I heard, for the first time, the hurried
words, “The Yankees are coming!”
The effect of this announcement was disagreeable.
The wedding festival was brought to an untimely
end. I returned with my fair companion to the
drawing-room, and said to an acquaintance: —
“What is the origin of the alarm?”
The old gentleman whom I addressed, and who
was busily looking for his hat, laughed and hurriedly
replied: —
“Some of Mosby's men report that the Yankees
are rapidly advancing from Middleburg. They are
expected at Upperville in half an hour. You soldiers
had better get away from here!”
And he hastened to the door. The alarm had
now become general, and the guests were rolling off
in their vehicles, or hastily cantering homeward on
their horses.
I came last, with my friend Captain D —, having
made my bow to the bride, and received a pressure
of the small white hand, and a bright smile
which lit up the rosy face like sunshine.
Pardon my poor compliment, madam; I had
roses which bloomed that night, — may the human
fade, or turn to lilies!
Riding back to my friend's mansion, between
Upperville and Middleburg, I declined his invitation
to remain all night, and, resuming my arms, which I
had left there, turned the head of my horse once
more toward Ashby's Gap.
| Hilt to hilt, or, Days and nights on the banks of the Shenandoah in the autumn of 1864 | |