12. XII.
HOW I ENCOUNTERED A TRAVELLER, AND OF WHAT
WE CONVERSED.
I FOLLOWED a winding road through the woods, and was now
approaching the Rappahannock.
I had found the country on fire with the war fever, and at
every cross-road crowds of idlers had congregated, who discussed
and rediscussed the events of the day. These would gladly
have stopped me to ascertain every circumstance which I had
ever known, heard, or imagined. But I had no desire to delay
my journey for the idle amusement of gossips and busybodies.
So I turned a deaf ear to all their allurements, and steadily
pressed on toward the Rappahannock.
I had reached a point within a few miles of the river, when I
saw in front of me a traveller on a superb white horse. Of the
animal's action I soon had a convincing proof.
A bridge on the road, over a stream with precipitous banks,
had been swept away, and I heard the roar of the waters. The
traveller, I supposed, would seek a crossing above or below, but
in this I was mistaken. All at once I saw him put his horse at
the opening—the animal rose in the air—and, with a gigantic
leap, cleared the chasm.
As I approached, the traveller halted, and I saw him look over
his shoulder. I glanced at him—then at the stream. It was
fully fifteen feet, and I assure you, my dear reader, I had not the
least idea of attempting it.
Ignominiously riding along the beach, I discovered a crossing,
and in a few moments had joined and saluted the man on the
white horse, who was courteously waiting for me.
He was low of stature, apparently about thirty, and his
costume was the careless dress of a gentleman. The face was
a striking one—very dark, heavily bearded, and rather brigandish.
But no bandit ever could boast a pair of eyes like the
stranger's. They were brown, and sparkled with unmistakable
good humor; the whole countenance, indeed, was full of gayety
and courtesy. Altogether, there was something in the cavalier
on the white horse which irresistibly attracted you.
“What a splendid animal, sir!” I said, when we had exchanged
the greeting of wayfarers; “I really envied you when
I saw you take that leap!”
“I have cleared wider places,” was his smiling reply, as we
rode on; “and I don't think the Yankees could catch me very
easily.”
“Do you belong to the army?”
“To a cavalry company of this county, sir. I fear that we
shall soon be cutting right and left.”
“You fear that?” was my rather discourteous question; but
the stranger did not seem to observe the word.
“Yes,” he said in his mild voice, “I am sorry to fight the
North. War is terrible, and, do you know, I have a lingering
affection for the stars and stripes still?”
“I felt as you do once, but we must choose a new flag.'
“Yes.”
“What will it be?” I said, “the Southern cross? the Palmetto?
We have a number of emblems to choose from.”
“Yes, but I have chosen mine,” said the stranger simply.
“What is it?”
He took off his hat and drew from it a small square of silk,
upon which was painted the Virgin of Virginia trampling upon
the neck of the tyrant, with the motto traced beneath, “Sic semper
tyrannis.”
“This is the flag I intend to fight under,”[1]
he said in the same mild voice.
“It is the best of all!”
“Yes,” he said; “I had it painted the day before I left Richmond,
and, sink or swim, live or die, I intend to fight under it to
the last!”
There was something so noble and chivalric in the dark face
of the stranger as he spoke, that I gazed at him with unconcealed
admiration. Again I observed, too, his perfect mastery
of his powerful white horse, his sinewy frame, his flashing eye
—and I thought, “You would be dangerous in a charge!”
But the traveller did not seem to observe the effect which his
words had produced. The glow disappeared from his countenance,
and he rode on—the picture of a kindly, unassuming gentleman.
Of that kindness of temperament I soon had an illustration.
On the road we came up with a little girl in a tattered frock,
without shoes or stockings, who limped along painfully over the
rocky way. My companion observed her weariness, and, checking
his horse, asked where she was going. The mild voice
seemed to disarm any fears the child had, and, looking out with
large eyes from her tangled hair, she replied that she had been
some miles to carry a message, and was returning home.
“How far is home?” asked the stranger, smiling.
“About two miles, sir,” replied the child.
“Two miles!” exclaimed the stranger; “you can never walk
that far, little one, with your sore feet. Come, get up, I will
give you a ride!”
And reaching down, he lifted the child and placed her before
him on the saddle. He did not seem to notice that the dirty
and tattered dress rubbed against his spotless shirt bosom, as,
resting in his arms, the child looked at him out of her great
eyes.
The stranger quietly rode on, still conversing, until we reached
a point opposite a poor house seen across the fields: here the
child slid down, and disappeared.
We then continued our ride, conversing as before, and I found
my companion a very delightful talker. He was perfectly modest
and unassuming, but a man of excellent sense. I should
have classed him with those persons who are described by the
phrase “they would not hurt a fly”—but at times his brown eyes
flashed, and a chivalric glow lit up his dark face, as we spoke
of the coming contest.
When we reached a cross-road, not far from the river, and,
checking his white horse, the stranger informed me that he must
leave me, to pay a visit to a friend, I really regretted the parting.
“I hope, however, to see you again, captain,” he said, addressing
me by the title which my uniform indicated. “My house is
on your road, and I shall be at home to-morrow. I live at Markham's,
near Manassas Gap, and trust you will make use of my
house to-night. My name is Turner Ashby, and my brother
Richard is at home. I shall expect to see you when I reach
home to-morrow morning.” I accepted this obliging offer with
many thanks, as my day's journey would terminate in the vicinity
of Markham's; and, with a friendly pressure of the hand, my
travelling companion disappeared at full speed on his white
horse.
I fully intended to make my way to his house, but, as the reader
will soon see, was prevented from doing so by “circumstances
over which I had no control.”
