University of Virginia Library

106. CVI.
I GO WITH STUART TO CULPEPPER.

One day in March, when I visited General Stuart's head-quarters,
I found him buckling on his sabre and pistol. The
black satchel, in which he carried official papers, was already on.
His face was serious and earnest.

“My dear General,” I said, “I am such a good staff officer
that I not only never ask any questions, but never even form a
desire to know any thing. It is permitted, I hope, however, to
make a simple remark, and I beg leave to say that you appear to
me to be going somewhere.”

“You are the model of an aide,” was Stuart's reply, “and
such virtue ought to be rewarded. I won't tell you where I am
going, but, if you are willing, I will take you with me.”

“That is a fair proposition.”

“You accept?”

“Certainly—but there is my General, who must be consulted.”

Stuart went to his desk and wrote a line, calling for a courier
as he did so.

The courier appeared at the moment when the General finished.

“Does that express the idea?” asked the General.

And he handed me the paper. It was addressed to General
Jackson, and contained only these words:

“It has the military brevity of Veni, vidi, vici, General.”

And I returned the paper, which was intrusted to Moonshine,
scout and courier, for delivery to General Jackson. In half an
hour—for our head-quarters were now within a mile of Stuart's,
on the Massaponnax—Moonshine returned with the answer. It
was indorsed on the note, and in these words:

“The General beats me in brevity,” was Stuart's comment;
and he put on his riding-cape.

“Which route are we going?” I asked.

“We are going to take the train.”

“Ah! the train!—you say the train?”

“There, you have asked no less than two indiscreet questions,
Mr. Model Staff-Officer!”

“But your staff, doubtless, know your route?”

“Not a bit, Surry—they stay here.”

“Ah! Then you make a stolen march?”

“Come and see.”

And we mounted and set out for Hamilton's Crossing, where
—sending back my horse by a courier—I took the cars with
Stuart.

On the same evening we had travelled by Hanover Junction,
Gordonsville, and Orange, to Culpepper Court-House.

In front of the tavern, upon his gray mare “Nelly,” we found

General Fitz Lee—a gallant figure, in full war-harness, with
flowing beard and mustache, laughing face, and eyes sparkling
with gayety beneath his brown hat and ebon feather.

Behind him was Pelham, quiet, smiling, wearing his little
artillery-jacket, with red collar, and seated upon a huge artillery-horse,
his knees drawn up by the short stirrups.

“Well, Fitz! what news?” was Stuart's greeting, as he shook
hands with General Lee.

“Just heard from Randolph,[1] who is on picket at the bridge.
Averill is opposite Kelly's Ford.

“What force?”

“About three thousand.”

Stuart leaned over.

“What effective have you?”

“About eight hundred,” was the reply.

“Good,” said Stuart, “that will do.”

And they entered the tavern together.

I had shaken hands with “General Fitz,” and was talking
with Pelham, who had been in Culpepper for several days on a
visit of inspection.

The “Stuart Horse Artillery” had grown from a battery to a
battalion, with such officers as Breathed, Henry, McGregor, and
others—perfect tigers in a fight, and men after Stuart's own
heart.

I never knew Pelham to be more gay. He spoke of the “jolly
times” he expected to have in the coming campaign, and seemed
to look forward to the storm of battle, ready to burst forth,
with all the ardor of a lover who sees the approach of his
mistress.

His blue eyes sparkled; his lips were wreathed with smiles;
his voice was gay; his jest and laughter incessant.

“Now Stuart has come, we'll have it!” was his exclamation.
“There never was another man like Stuart, Surry!”[2]

“Poor boy!” said the General to me a month afterward,
“he loved me very much!”[3]