122. CXXII.
BOOTS AND SADDLES
By noon on the ensuing day I was again at “Camp Pelham.”
I hope that the reader approves of the summary style of
narrative—the convenient elision of all those scenes which are
either too dull or too full of emotion to admit of description.
What writer is equal to the task of painting the meeting
between a father and the son who has been lost to him for nearly
twenty years—who dare intrude upon that sacred mystery of
parental love, melting the soul of iron, convulsing the face of
bronze, and bringing tears to those fiery eyes that scarcely ever
wept before?
Nor have we time to pause at every scene—for we are living
over again an epoch crowded with vicissitudes, adventures,
emotions, treading on each other's heels. In the days of peace,
dear youthful reader, you hang around Inamorita, and lay siege
to her in form. But in war you press hands, smile—kiss, it may
be—then to horse, and she is gone! In peace, you follow your
friend's body to the church and the cemetery, where you stand
uncovered during the solemn service—in war, you see him fall,
amid the smoke of the conflict, you groan out “Poor fellow!”
but you are carrying an order, and you never see him more. A
sigh, a tear, a last look at his face—he has dropped out of life,
and the drama roars over him—you forget him. War hardens!
Listen! there is the laughter of Stuart as he welcomes us.
We are again at “Camp Pelham,” and the red battle-flag flaunts
in the April sunshine as before, couriers come and go with jingling
spurs, officers with clanking sabres—that gay cavalry sound
—and there is the bugle sounding the “stable call” from the
camp near by! As its loud triumphant music rings in the
wind, it seems like a summons to the field of battle—where soon
it will sound now, for the days of conflict hasten.
Stuart greeted me most cordially, asked with deep interest
“how I had left sweet Evelina, dear Evelina?” and then introdued
me to a tall and very courteous officer, wearing the uniform
of a brigadier-general, who was attentively examining a
map of the surrounding region. General William H. F. Lee—
for the officer was that gentleman, a son of the commanding
general—saluted me with cordial courtesy, and the conversation
turned upon a variety of subjects. I don't intend to record it,
my dear reader: if I set down every thing that was said in my
hearing, during the late war, what a huge volume my memoirs
would fill!
There are ten words of General William H. F. Lee, however,
which shall here be recorded. I had spoken of the passion
some generals seemed to have for fighting upon any and every
occasion—with or without object—and General Lee replied:
“Colonel, I would not have the little finger of one of my
brave fellows hurt unnecessarily, for all the fame and glory that
you could offer me.”[1]
That would make a good epitaph on an officer's tomb—would
it not, my dear reader? But I trust that a long time will elapse
before the brave and kindly heart which prompted the utterance
will need a tomb or an epitaph!
“Well, Surry,” said Stuart, “the ball is about to begin.
Hooker is going to advance.”
“Ah!”
“Yes, look out for your head!”
“He is going toward Chancellorsville this time, is he not, and
General Lee will fight there?”
Stuart made no reply.
“I merely ask for information,” I said, laughing, “as Chancellorsville
seems to be the strategic point; is it not, General?”
“You can't prove it by me!” was the gay reply of Stuart, in
a phrase which all who knew him will remember his fondness
for.
“Well, I see you intend to seal your lips, General. At least
you can tell me whether, in case I remain a day longer, I shall
have your cavalry as an escort to the Rapidan.”
“Ah! you are preparing the public mind for falling back, are
you? Wait and see!”
“Well, I accept your invitation, General. Oh! I forgot. Miss
Evelina sent her warmest regards to you—provided I did not
tell you her name!”
“Out with it! Who is she?”
“Her name is Incognita, and she lives in Dreamland. She
sent you this bunch of flowers, with the message that she wishes
she was a man, that she might follow your feather!”
Which were exactly the words of Miss May Beverley at our
parting.
Stuart laughed, put the flowers in his button-hole, and said:
“A man! I'm much mistaken if you are not very well satisfied
with her as she is. Well, give my love to her when you see
her, Surry, and tell her I mean to be present at her wedding!”
The promise was carried out; and, although she blushed
then, May boasts to-day that she kissed the “flower of cavaliers.”
But I anticipate. Stuart had hardly uttered the words above
recorded, when a courier came in in haste, and handed him a
dispatch. He read it, and, turning to General W. H. F. Lee,
said:
“General, get your men in the saddle. Hooker is moving!”
