70. LXX.
THE PURSUIT.
We had scarcely regained the house from which we had been
chased with so little ceremony, when a courier announced that
General Fitz Lee was approaching; and very soon his column
appeared, the General riding in front.
“General Fitz,” as his friends called him, was about twenty-six,
of low stature, and with a stout and vigorous person. His
face was ruddy and laughing, his eye bright, penetrating, and
full of humor. A heavy brown mustache and beard half covered
the gay and insouciant countenance. He wore a brown felt hat,
looped up and decorated with a feather; a gray dress coat, and
elegant cavalry boots, against which rattled his long sabre.
“General Fitz” seemed to enjoy the profession of arms—to like
movement, fun, and adventure—and was evidently a great favorite
with Stuart, who was soon laughing gayly at his late escapade.
Not a moment, however, was lost in following the Federal
column. Stuart, who had borrowed a hat from one of his men,
took command in person, and pushed after them in the direction
of Locust Grove.
“Come, Surry,” he said, “you ought to be present when I have
my revenge.”
“But what will General Jackson say, if I go scouting with the
cavalry? He will think that your adventurous life has demoralized
me.”
“Not a bit. Come! the army is moving, and we will join it
sooner by crossing the Rapidan below.”
I only wanted an excuse to yield. The cavalry had “demoralized”
me. After their gay life, so full of romantic scenes and
incidents, the infantry seemed tame.
I followed the General, and very soon we came upon the track
of the retreating brigade. Stuart now pushed on rapidly, and an
exciting chase commenced. Straight down the old turnpike
toward Chancellorsville swept the column, following the fresh
footprints of the enemy's horsemen; and soon I found myself
once more in that strange country of the Wilderness, where was
situated the house at which I had spent the night on my journey
from Richmond to report to Jackson, in April, 1861.
All at once, not far beyond Locust Grove, rapid shots were
heard from the advance-guard, which had pushed some distance
ahead, and Stuart went at a swift gallop to the front.
“Here they are!” he shouted, and, rising in the stirrups, he
cried, in his sonorous voice, as clear and ringing as a clarion:
“Form fours!—draw sabre!—charge!”
A yell rose from his column at the words; and on they came.
the sabres glittering in the brilliant sunshine.
Then followed, my dear reader, that brief but animated
spectacle, called a cavalry fight. Only the enemy did not make
a good, obstinate stand; they seemed to aim only at getting
off.
Bang! slash!—bang! bang! bang! And we were among
them, cutting right and left.
They did not stand long. In five minutes they were running,
followed at full speed by the yelling Southerners.
The chase continued as far as the river; and the Federal
cavalry-men scrambled down the steep hill toward the ford.
Stuart was about to follow, when a long dark line appeared
on the high ground beyond; a piece of artillery “counter-marched”
at a gallop; and then a puff of white smoke was
seen, followed by the shriek of a shell, which fell in the very
centre of the pursuing column. Another came, then another;
and, under cover of their artillery, the Federal cavalry crossed
the river.
Stuart ordered a halt, and, drawing up his column behind a
hill, rode forward to reconnoitre. The Federal force on the
opposite bank was ascertained to amount to at least a division
of cavalry; and finding that an assault was impracticable with
the small force which he then had, Stuart at once dispatched
orders to his main body, which had not come up, to move on
rapidly and join him.
“When they arrive,” said the General, “I will show you,
Surry, what my men can do in the way of charging across a
river in the face of sharpshooters and artillery. I don't intend
to let those fellows stop me. `Do or die' is my motto.”
And the General threw himself at full length under a tree,
with no trace of ill-humor at his morning's adventure. From
the bright surface of his splendid nature the breath of anger
quickly passed.
The long chase and the time lost at the river had consumed
the day, and the sun now began to decline. Stuart had given
up all idea of attacking until the next morning; and, seeing that
we were to be detained in our present quarters all night, my
thoughts persistently reverted to the fact that I was but a few
miles distant from that mysterious mansion in connection with
which I had so many curious recollections.
Were you ever haunted by one possessing thought, reader—so
that no effort could banish it? In vain did I endeavor to fix my
mind upon the events of the day—the chances of the coming
campaign—the probable result of the fight on the morrow.
Still came back to my mind the obscure mansion where I had
met with such strange adventures. Who lived there now? Not
Violet Grafton, nor the poor White Lady, who was sleeping
under the turf of Manassas. She would never await the coming
of her “darling” any more, as on that night of my arrival.
And the queenly girl who had loved and cherished her so tenderly
was out of the clutches of Fenwick and the harridan,
evidently his accomplice—beyond their reach, amid friends who
would watch over her.
But was the house in the Wilderness then deserted? Had the
human owls and night-hawks left the obscure nest and flown to
some other region? Where was Fenwick, the secret foe, spy,
plotter, and villain generally? Would a visit to that house and
a conversation with its possible inmates furnish any clue to his
whereabouts?
These thoughts incessantly recurred to my mind, and at last
the temptation to go and satisfy myself by a personal “reconnoissance”
became irresistible. I determined to take advantage
of the opportunity thus thrown in my way to revisit the place;
and availing myself of a moment when General Stuart's attention
was engaged—for I wished to avoid explanations—I mounted
my horse, and quietly took a road which I was tolerably sure
led in the direction of the mansion.
I soon found myself lost in the dense and lugubrious thicket,
but from time to time noticed some traces of my former route
—then I came to the road which I had followed in April,
1861.
The way was now plain. The house I knew was not a mile
distant, and I pushed on over the winding road, between the
impenetrable walls of thicket, vocal now, as before, with the
melancholy cries of the whippoorwill. Ere long I saw the
opening which I had expected; and, as the last rays of the sun
disappeared, and darkness slowly descended, came in sight of
the obscure mansion on the pine-encircled knoll.
This time I tied my horse to the thicket near the brushwood
fence, and ascended the hill on foot, making no sound as I did
so.
