128. CXXVIII.
UNDER THE SHADES OF THE WILDERNESS.
I was aroused about midnight by the voice of the General, and
found him sitting by the fire, reading a note which a courier had
just brought him from General Lee.
As he did so, he coughed slightly, and I soon discovered that
he had risen during the night, and, fearing that I would suffer
for want of my riding-cape, thrown it over me, thus leaving himself
exposed.[1]
“I thought you would be cold,” he said, smiling gently, as he
saw me looking at the cape; “and I am glad you have had a good
nap, Colonel, as I shall have to get you to ride for me.”
“Ready, General.”
And I buckled on my arms. My horse was already saddled
and standing near.
The General then gave me a message to Stuart, who
was making a reconnoissance over the route which Jackson
would advance by, on the next morning; and, having received
instructions where I would probably find Stuart, I set forth on
my mission.
The night was calm and clear. The moon, only half obscured
behind light drifting clouds, poured her mellow radiance upon
the weird landscape through which I rode; and from time to
time the plaintive cry of the whippoorwill was heard in the
tangled thickets, beyond which Hooker awaited Lee. The scene
was still and melancholy—the silence almost oppressive. No
sound carne from the opposing armies; and, as I vent along the
narrow and winding road through the thick bushes, the footfalls
of my horse were the only interruptions of the oppressive
silence.
All at once, however, as I approached the Brock road, leading
from Spottsylvania Court-House to Ely's Ford, I heard the
quick “Halt!” of a cavalry vedette, and the click of his carbine
as he cocked it,
“Friend!” was my reply, and “Advance!” came from the
vedette, who awaited me weapon in hand.
“Who are you?”
“Colonel Surry, of General Jackson's staff. Where is General
Stuart?”
The vedette turned to an officer who had ridden up.
“Lieutenant, here is an officer looking for General Stuart.”
“Who is it?” asked the voice of Harry Saltoun.
“A friend of yours, Lieutenant.”
And we shook hands.
“Any thing stirring?”
“Nothing, Colonel—all as quiet as a mouse. General Stuart
is a mile ahead. I will send a man with you.”
“And Mordaunt?”
“Making a reconnoissance on the road to Ely's Ford.”
“Good luck, Harry Mordaunt!” I said, pressing his hand.
And I rode on with the guide. Half a mile further, another
vedette halted us. Stuart had omitted, as usual, no precautions.
Every footpath was picketed.
“Where is the General?”
“On the Orange road, where it joins the Germanna plank,
sir, Orders are, not to ride upon the planks; the Yankees are
near there.”
“All right.”
And, sending back the guide, I rode on until I struck the
Orange road, turned to the right, and, avoiding the planking,
upon which the hoof-strokes of a horse could be heard a great
distance in the still night, drew near the spot where the Germanna
road debouches into the main highway.
As I did so, the stiffed hum of voices, and the occasional neigh
of a horse, from the more open thicket, indicated the presence
of cavalry; and soon I saw the dark masses, the men dismounted,
but waiting beside their horses.
Two hundred yards further I found Stuart.
He was standing under a tree, with his arm thrown over the
mane of his black mare “Lily of the Valley,” and the animal
had turned her head, and gazed at hint with her large, intelligent
eyes. Stuart was speaking in a low tone to an officer Captain
Breathed, of his horse artillery
“Look out, Surry!” said Stuart, as he gave me his hand;
“don't talk too loud; the enemy's pickets are yonder, within a
hundred yards of us.”
“All right, General.”
And I shook hands with Breathed, whom I knew intimately:
no braver spirit ever fought a gun, or went foremost in the
charge.
“Well, General,” he said, in a low tone, as he mounted his
horse, “I understand. I am to keep only a few yards behind
the line of sharpshooters as they advance; [2]
but, if I see an opening,
I'm going ahead.”
“Good. I know you'll do what you say, Breathed. Get every
thing ready.”
And, as Breathed rode cautiously away, Stuart asked if I had
any orders.
“A message, General, in reference to the movement in the
morning. Four cavalry, you know, will move in front and on
the flanks.”
And I gave him the message intrusted to me by Jackson.
“Good!” he said; “that is exactly what I designed doing,
My force is small, but it will do the work.”
And Stuart ceased speaking, and listened.
“They are working yonder like Beavers,” he whispered;
“suppose we go a little further and listen.”
We advanced cautiously on foot, in the shadow of the trees,
and came within sight of the dusky figure of a Federal vedette,
posted on the road in the moonlight.
“Listen!” said Stuart; and, bending down, he put his ear to
the ground.[2]
I imitated him, and the quick blows of pickaxes and rumble
of spades were heard from the direction of Chancellorsville.
“They are throwing up defences on their right,” whispered
Stuart, as we went cautiously back to where his horse wits
standing. “I am afraid Jackson will find the attack tough
work.”
As we reached the tree where we had left our horses, a dispatch
was handed to Stuart, which he read by the light of a
single match shaded front view.
“I was right,” he said; “Mordaunt reports that the enemy are
throwing up works across the road beyond Melzi Chancellor's.”
“Where is Mordaunt General?”
“About a mile from here.”
The idea suddenly struck me that lie might have heard something
of Violet Grafton, and, as no reply was necessary to my
message, I determined to go and find him.
“I wish to see Mordaunt for a moment, General. Will I find
you here when I come back?”
“Probably—unless there is some movement.”
“Good.”
And, taking Mordaunt's courier with me, I rode in the direction
which he indicated—following the narrow and winding
bridle-path of the Brock road, skirted with dense thickets.
It was the very route I had passed over in April, 1861.
Half a mile from the Plank road I came upon a column of
cavalry, and at the head of it, on horseback, and wrapped in his
cloak, I recognized Mordaunt.
Breathed's orders.
