25. XXV.
THE RAID OF THE BEE-GUM.
I was about to set out on my return, on the following morning,
when an amusing scene, interrupted by a rather comic incident,
delayed my journey.
The men of the regiment had discovered a bee-gum, in the
vicinity of the Big Spring—that is to say, a hollow tree in which
a swarm of bees had taken up their abode, and stored away the
rich proceeds of their raids among the flowers. The hollow tree
thus contained a huge mass of honeycomb, and it was not long
before it crashed down before the quick blows of the men's axes,
and was split open.
The scene which followed was ludicrous. The jovial troopers
crowded round the bee-gum, and, scooping out the rich contents
with their hands, eagerly devoured them, smearing their faces
with the honey, and laughing like a party of schoolboys let
loose on a holiday.
The noise and confusion were at their height, the “general joy”
unbounded, and the shaggy beards and mustaches of the cavalry
men, to say nothing of their hands, were clogged with the
liquid honey, when suddenly a horseman appeared on the brow
of the neighboring hill, approaching at a furious gallop.
All heads were raised—all tongues hushed. On came the
horseman, making violent gestures, and, as he came within hearing,
the honey devourers distinguished above the clatter of his
horse's hoofs the exciting words, “Look out! The Yankees are
coming!”
In a moment all was confusion worse confounded. The men
abandoned their bee-gum, dropped their honeycomb, and ran to
their horses; but, as no attack was expected, all were unsaddled,
and they were compelled to seize the equipments with their
honey-covered hands, and saddle up in hot haste, without removing
the yellow liquid from their faces. The quick notes of
the bugle sounded “to horse!” and in a moment the regiment
was drawn up in line, with Stuart in front of them. A more
ludicrous spectacle I never witnessed. Every man's face resembled
a yellow mask, every mustache dripped, every beard disappeared
in masses of honeycomb.
Stuart burst into uncontrollable laughter, and when the officer,
whom he had hastily ordered to gallop forward and ascertain the
truth of the reported advance, returned and announced that it
was a false alarm, the young cavalier leaned back in his saddle,
and there issued from beneath his heavy mustache a “guffaw”
which made the air ring.
The men were ordered to unsaddle their horses, and were soon
securing the remainder of the honey, but all the life and spirit
were gone. The laugh was turned on them, and they soon disappeared
in the direction of their quarters.
I never heard an explanation of the alarm. Whether it was
brought by some excited picket who took “trees moving” for
Yankees, or was a practical joke gotten up by some wag of the
command, I never learned. It is certain that Stuart enjoyed it
too much to make very rigid inquiry, and I never before saw
such intense relish for a practical joke displayed by any human
being. He often mentioned this incident to me afterward, styling
it “The Raid of the Bee-gum,” and never without laughter.[1]
I soon afterward took leave of my gay host, and set out on my
return, promising to visit him again whenever I could do so. I
made my report to Colonel Jackson, and when he asked me how
I liked Stuart, I declared myself delighted with him.
Jackson smiled at my enthusiasm.
“Yes,” he said, “Stuart is an excellent companion. He is
more: he is a remarkable man.”
