34. XXXIV.
THE HEROINE OF MANASSAS.
The first person I saw was Mordaunt. That iron calmness
which habitually characterized his dark features was unchanged,
but I could see black marks under his eyes, and his pallor was
frightful.
As I afterward ascertained, he had brought General Beauregard
a detailed statement of the numbers and composition of
the Federal forces, which one of his scouts had arrived with,
an hour before. The same scout had brought the additional intelligence
that the enemy had begun their advance.
General Beauregard had not slept, having been up all night
receiving reports and sending orders. His face was sallower
than ever, but his black eyes were undimmed.
He handed me a paper in an envelope, and said:
“I will be glad, Captain, if you will immediately return to
General Johnston with this dispatch, and inform him that the
enemy's column is in motion to attack me.”
I bowed, and waited to hear any thing further.
“That is all, Captain—except that you can tell General Johnoton
that, if he wishes to help me, now is the time.”[1]
I was leaving the apartment when the voice of the General
arrested me.
“Upon reflection, you had better remain until daylight. I expect
to hear from the front soon, and you can carry the last
intelligence.
As he spoke, an orderly entered, and said:
“Here is a prisoner, General—a woman.”
“From whom?
“General Ewell, sir.”
“I will see her at once.”
The door opened, and suddenly I saw Mordaunt's eye flash. I
turned quickly, and looked toward the door. On the threshold
stood the prisoner. It was Violet Grafton.
She wore a long dark riding-skirt, and in her right hand
carried a small whip. Her manner was perfectly composed—
two red spots burning in the centre of her cheeks, otherwise
pale from fatigue and want of sleep, were the only evidences of
emotion which she exhibited.
The General rose, and gravely saluted her.
“Are you the prisoner mentioned, madam?”
“I suppose so, sir,” was her reply, in the calm sweet voice I
knew so well.
“General Ewell sent you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Suddenly, as she looked around the apartment, the young
lady's eyes encountered my own. She made a step forward,
and, holding out her hand with that inexpressible grace and
frankness which characterized her, said:
“Captain Surry, I am very glad you are here! They insist
upon regarding me as a spy and a prisoner, when I have ridden
until my strength is broken down to bring important news. If
this is General Beauregard, tell him that you know me, and that
I am worthy of credit. It is hard, after all my trouble and ex
posure—a girl riding by herself at night through an army—it is
very hard to be considered a spy.”
A few words from myself at once placed the young lady in
her proper light, and she made her statement. It was important.
She had passed through the Confederate lines a day or two
before, she said, on her way to Alexandria, when, on reaching
Annandale, she and her travelling companion received the intelligence
that the enemy were advancing. Before they could
leave the place, the Federal column had entered it, and the
house at which Miss Grafton had stopped was taken as the head-quarters
of one of the Generals, whose division encamped in
the adjoining fields. The Federal General seated himself, without
ceremony, at breakfast with the family, and indulged in
many jests at the expense of General Beauregard and the Confederates.
“They knew all about his lines on Bull Run,” said
the Federal officer; “they had no intention of attacking the
centre, opposite Manassas—nor the right. The attack would be
against the left of the rebel line above Stonebridge, and they
would be run out of their holes before they knew it.” Miss
Grafton had listened attentively to all this, not, however, without
some expression of disdain upon her countenance. The
Federal officer now added that he was supplied with a number
of Confederate flags, which he intended to make use of to deceive
the rebels; and Miss Grafton asked, if he was not afraid
to speak so freely before every one. “Pshaw!” was his laughing
reply, “you can't get through our lines. Before you could
arrive, even if you did, we'll have the rebels in full retreat on
Richmond.” Ten minutes afterward, an order came for the
division to march; it moved on—and Miss Grafton hastened to
present herself before General McDowell in person. She informed
him that the advance had caught her at Annandale, and
asked for a pass to return to her friends in the country near.
This was granted—she rode alone through the crowding Federal
camps—between long lines of red Zouaves—pushed her
horse to a gallop, and, travelling all night, came into General
Ewell's lines toward morning.[2]
“That is all, General,” said Miss Grafton; “it may not be very
important, but I am sure from the manner in which the Federal
officer spoke that he was in earnest.”
“Your communication is very important indeed, madam,”
said the General, with a thoughtful salute, “and you have done
the South good service. Now you must be fatigued. I beg that
you will repose yourself.”
And, summoning an old dame, the owner of the mansion, the
General intrusted Miss Grafton into her hands, holding open the
door, and again saluting with profound courtesy, as she retired.
“I believe that is their plan,” I heard him mutter; “yes, the
left! Captain Mordaunt, let us examine the papers brought by
your scout, once more.”
In the midst of the consultation I left the room, and sent to
request a few minutes' private conversation with Miss Grafton.
