7. VII.
MY COMMISSION.
On the floor of the Convention the advocates and opponents
of secession meanwhile thundered on from day to day, and in
the committees the leaders grappled furiously, as though in a
breast-to-breast struggle for life or death.
The shifting phases of that great contest will some day be delineated
by the historian. They will not be followed here.
These memoirs hurry on to other scenes, and cannot dwell upon
those fierce battles of the tongue preluding the conflict of bayonets.
I will here record, however, my conviction that I, for one,
did injustice to many who opposed the adoption of the Ordinance
of Secession. I then thought they were untrue to the honor of
the Commonwealth. I now think that they only differed with
their opponents upon the expediency of secession at the moment.
They thought that Virginia would be able to mediate between
the extremes of both sections—that she could “command the
peace”—and that her voice would be heard across the storm.
Vain hope! All at once these mists of delusion were divided by
the lightning flash. President Lincoln called for seventy-five
thousand men to coerce the Gulf States, and Virginia was directed
to furnish her quota.
From that moment all opposition to immediate secession ended.
Its advocates triumphed—its opponents were paralyzed, or, rather,
acknowledged that no other course was left. The choice was
now between fighting with and fighting against the Southern
States, and the Convention no longer hesitated.
It was on the 18th day of April, I think, that, hastening toward
the Capitol, whither I had been attracted by a sudden
rumor, I saw the Confederate flag rise in the place of the stars
and stripes.
The Convention had just adjourned for the day, and I met my
father in the throng. His countenance glowed, and in his earnest
look I read deep feeling. Many of the members' faces exhibited
traces of tears.
At my ardent expressions of joy, my father smiled—rather
sadly, I thought.
“We have done our duty, my son,” he said; “and you know
I have advocated this step from the beginning, when I think the
war might have been prevented. Now it is a fixed fact. What
do you propose to do?”
“To return at once to King William, and set about raising a
company. If they choose me to command them—good. If not,
I will serve in the ranks.”
My father walked on in silence, evidently reflecting.
“Wait two or three days,” he said; “there will be time
enough.”
And we continued our way.
Three days afterward he came into my chamber, and said, with
a smile:
“Good morning, Captain.”
I laughed, and replied:
“You give me my title in advance.”
“No; I have addressed you properly.”
And he handed me a large envelope, upon one corner of which
were stamped the Virginia arms. I tore it open, and found that
it contained my appointment as captain in the Provisional Army
of Virginia, with orders to report to Colonel Jackson, commanding
at Harper's Ferry!
Never did lover greet more rapturously the handwriting
of his mistress. I rose to my full height, waved the paper
round my head, and uttered a “hurrah!” which shook the
windows.
Turning with flushed face and sparkling eyes toward my
father, I saw him looking at me with inexpressible tenderness and
sweetness.
I addressed myself to the task of procuring my equipments
with an ardor which I now look back to with a satirical smile.
Ah, those good days of the good year 1861! How anxious we
all were to get to horse and march away under the bonnie blue
flag! How fearful we were that a battle would be fought before
we arrived; that we would not have an opportunity of
reaping the glory of having our heads carried off by a cannon
ball! That romance soon passed, and the war became a “heavy
affair”—but then it was all illusion and romance.
At the end of a week I had procured my uniform and equipments.
The first consisted of a suit of gray, the sleeves of the
coat profusely decorated by my fanciful tailor with the gold
braid of a captain: the latter of a light sabre, pistol, saddle, and
single blanket, strapped behind. My slender wardrobe was
carried in the valise upon the horse of my servant, an active
young negro, who had figured as my body servant, and was delighted
at “going to the wars.”
I bade my friends good-by, and then went to have a last interview
with my father. I still see his noble face, and hear his
grave, sweet accents. There were tears in his eyes as he pressed
my hand, and I think my own were not dry.
I got into the saddle, waved my hand, and, followed by my
servant, set out upon the untried future.
