23. XXIII.
A MOONLIGHT RIDE WITH STUART.
Stuart's head-quarters consisted of a single canvas “fly”—that
is, the outer covering of a tent—stretched over a horizontal pole.
One end of this pole was placed in the crotch of a large oak;
the other was supported by uprights, joined at top and tied
together—there was the tent. A desk, a chair, a mess-chest,
and bed of blankets on some straw—there was the rest. Overhead
drooped the boughs of the oak; in front stretched a grassy
meadow, reaching to the “Big Spring;” the horses were picketed
near, and a small flag rippled in the May breeze. In a
wood, near by, was the camp of the regiment.
Stuart called to his body-servant, a young mulatto, to know
if supper was ready, and then directed a company to be detailed,
with orders to report to him at once, for picket duty.
It soon appeared, and not only the officer in command, but
every squad, received the most explicit instructions from him.
If before I regarded Colonel Stuart as a somewhat boyish individual,
I had now good reason to consider him an excellent
cavalry officer. His directions were so plain and concise that a
child could understand them—and the manner of the speaker
was no longer gay and thoughtless. It was grave, almost imperious.
I can best describe it by saying that it was the manner
of a man who intends that his orders shall be obeyed to the
very letter, and who will not be trifled with.
But even with “business” that genius of mirth which seemed
to accompany Stuart everywhere was mixed up. He was instructing,
one after another, the sergeants and corporals commanding
squads, when there came up, in his turn, a huge,
black-bearded giant, with a voice like the rumble of distant
thunder, and the assured air of an old acquaintance of the
young Colonel.
“This is Corporal Hagan, one of my very best soldiers, Captain,”
said Stuart.
I saluted the tall corporal; and, exclaiming deferentially
“Captain!” Hagan made me a rigidly military salute in return
—two fingers to the cap, body erect, eyes front.
“Hagan,” said Stuart, “you must make your squad pay particular
attention to what I have explained.”
“Yes, Colonel,” came in tones of low thunder from the heavy
beard.
“I will hold you responsible.”
“I intend to be, Colonel.”
“You are an old soldier, Hagan, and know what is expected
of a good picket.”
“I think I do, Colonel—to keep one eye skinned for snakes
and the other for bees!”
And the giant looked as grave as if he had never smiled in
his life.
Stuart uttered a laugh, and said;
“What do you mean by that, Hagan?”
The tall corporal assumed an air of the deepest solemnity,
and, advancing a step, inclined his head to one side, and put
two fingers of his right hand in the palm of his left, with the
manner of a man about to explain some great problem. Then,
with unmoved solemnity, but a twinkle of the eye and a slight
movement of the mustache which indicated lurking fun, Hagan
thundered, in low tones:
“Well, you see, Colonel, you never know which way the
inimy will come. Maybe out of the ground,” and Hagan
pointed to his feet, “maybe down through the air,” and the
giant pointed, like a great orator, toward the sky. “Now, there's
only one way to sarcumvent 'em, Colonel. You must keep one
eye skinned for snakes—that is, down on the ground; and the
other skinned for bees—that is, up in the air. You are then
bound to know when the inimy is coming, and you can give the
alarm!”
This grave explanation highly tickled Stuart, who slapped the
big corporal on the back in a manner which evidently delighted
that worthy. Hagan ordered his squad to fall in, in a voice of
thunder, made his former salute with even deeper solemnity,
and then commanding “Forward!” disappeared like a moving
mountain.[1]
At the same moment the neatly dressed mulatto announced
supper, which was served on the lid of the camp-chest, under the
great oak; it was altogether a gay affair. The sunset lit up the
form of Stuart splendidly, and he exchanged with his excellent
adjutant, Captain Tiernan Brien, a hundred jests.
“This is the best beverage in the world, Captain,” he said,
holding up his silver mug; “only give me coffee and candles,
and I am satisfied.”
“You drink nothing else?”
“Only water: when I was a child I made a pledge to my
mother that I would never touch liquor, and I never drank a
drop in my life.”
“That is certainly uncommon.”
“Well, an officer ought to do his duty up to the hilt; and he
can't do it if he drinks.”[2]
In fifteen minutes Stuart rose and said.
“I am going on a little excursion this evening, Captain. Will
you ride with me?”
“At your orders, Colonel—dispose of me.”
“Then, to horse!”
And calling for Sweeny and his banjo, Stuart proceeded to
make a rapid toilet. His heavy boots were exchanged for a
lighter pair, ornamented with golden thread; around his waist
he tied a new and elegant sash over his sabre belt; and then
issuing forth—a splendid cavalier, ready for a raid, a charge, or
a frolic—with a single bound he was in the saddle. Sweeny followed
us with his banjo. I put spurs to my horse, and we set off
at a rapid gallop through the moonlight, I knew not whither.
Stuart rode as if the wild huntsman were on his track, and
sang as he went. We soon left the high road, and, striking into
the forest, fled onward beneath the moonlight foliage, my companion
paying no attention to obstacles, and more than once
leaping some fallen tree which obstructed the narrow road.
“Give me a gallop by moonlight!” he said, with his gay
laughter. “Come, captain, boot to boot! Your horse is a good
one, and I am riding `Skylark,' who never gets tired.”
The gallop became a run; the wood was passed; we followed
a road skirting the Opequon; descended an abrupt hill; forded
the stream near a little mill; and, passing through a gate which
led into some beautiful grounds studded with old century oaks,
the finest I had ever seen, ascended a hill, and stopped before a
large mansion, on the portico of which a group of ladies and
gentlemen were sitting in the moonlight.
“It is Colonel Stuart!” was the exclamation of the ladies;
and in an instant the young officer was shaking hands with
everybody; after which he introduced me as “one of his friends,
young, gallant, and not, like himself, married.”
The laughter of Stuart was contagious; I was received like an
old friend; and “Oh! there's Sweeny!” having indicated the
general joy at the advent of the banjo, a dance was immediately
proposed, and rapturously assented to by the young ladies—a
portion of whom had come that afternoon, on a visit, from a
neighboring village.
I have never spent a gayer evening, or enjoyed myself more
with new acquaintances. The piano and the banjo made excellent
music, and such ardor was thrown into the cotillons, reels, and
other dances, that the very portraits on the walls, of old-time
people in stiff cravats and piled-up curls, seemed to look on
with a smile.
Then commenced Sweeny's performances—his songs, his
recitations, and the wonderful solos on his magical instrument.
Quiet, sad-looking, with a retiring and repectful demeanor which
would have done no discredit to the finest gentleman, he assented
to every request, without idle excuses; and soon the
whole company, but more especially the small boys, were convulsed
with a sort of ecstasy of enjoyment. The appreciation
by those small boys of “The Old Gray Hoss,” “Stephen,” and
the song commencing—
“If you get there before I do.
Oh! tell 'em I'm a-coming too,”
was immense, unspeakable. They hung around the great musician,
watched his every gesture, and evidently regarded him as
the most remarkable personage of the epoch.
Having wound up with a tumultuous, deafening, wonderful
solo, which made the windows shake, Sweeny bowed and put
his banjo under his arm. It was past midnight, and, urging his
long ride on the morrow, Stuart rose and bade our kind entertainers
good-by.
An hour afterward, I was sleeping by Colonel Stuart's side
under his canvas, and dreaming that the Southern army had
advanced to attack the enemy, led by Sweeny, playing his
banjo!
I assure the reader that fancy has nothing to do with these
scenes. The picture to the minutest particulars is a transcript
from life, and the words uttered the Colonel's own.
