88. LXXXVIII.
ONE OF STUARTS “TIGHT PLACES.”
The cavalry soon halted, and lay down in bivouac.
Stuart rode on with his staff through the black darkness;
and the sad story which he had just told me gradually disappeared
from his mind. This strong and exuberant nature could
not long remain gloomy.
Half an hour's ride brought us to a house near Frying-Pan
Church, where we halted, and were received with the warmest
hospitality by some young ladies, who seemed overjoyed at sight
of our gray coats, and the General, who was evidently an acquaintance
and favorite. If you recall that evening, fair and
charming “friends of the soldier,” and this page meets your eye,
receive the assurance of the unchanging regard and admiration
of one person who that night basked in the warm light of your
smiles.
If I were writing a romance, worthy reader, instead of my
veritable memoirs, what a favorable opportunity would now be
presented to make Stuart the hero of a “thrilling adventure!”
Contemplate the situation, and observe its dramatic capabilities!
Stuart, the bold cavalier, asleep in a remote mansion near the
enemy, far beyond his own pickets, without a single vedette out,
and liable to be “caught napping” as at Verdiersville. What
would be easier than to bring a whole Federal regiment of
cavalry down on the gay cavalier, and narrate in the most approved
and striking style the manner in which he engaged them
single-handed, and overcame them all! If necessary, Colonel
Mordaunt or General Fitz Lee might come to his assistance—
the ghost of Fenwick might appear—and indeed almost any
thing might be made to happen!
The present writer is much too conscientious, however, to indulge
in such “weak inventions.” No such incidents occurred,
therefore they cannot be narrated. Stern devotion to truth
compels me to say that, in spite of the fact that we had not a
single vedette posted to give warning of an enemy's approach
the night passed away in perfect quiet; the dawn appeared, and
with it our fair hostesses, who gave us an excellent breakfast,
and bade us God speed.
Do not the prayers of women shield us often? I think so.
They prayed with all their hearts in the late revolution, and
were angels to us all. The soldiers of the army and the women
did their duty; had the rest done likewise, we might have been
the founders of an empire!
So we left our smiling hostess and her friends, and again set
out toward Chantilly.
Jackson's column was already pressing forward, and when I
joined him he was sitting upon the ground, with his back against
a tree, his chin upon his breast, his hands crossed over his
bosom, fast asleep. The enemy's sharpshooters were firing
rapidly near by, but he slept tranquilly.[1]
An hour or two afterward he had pressed on and attacked
the enemy near Germantown, on the Oxhill road.
There, the beaten army of General Pope, with reserves from
Washington under Generals Franklin, Stevens, and Kearney,
made a last stand, and fought with desperation to effect their
retreat.
The opposing lines were soon engaged, and to the roar of musketry
and cannon was suddenly added that of a violent storm.
The thunder drowned the noise of the guns, and the drenching
rain which poured down threatened to put an end to the action.
Jackson was calmly watching the contest, when a courier from
one of his Generals came up and brought a message to the effect
that the rain had made the powder wet, and his command could
not continue the engagement.
“Tell him to hold his ground,” was Jackson's reply. “If it
makes his powder useless, it will make the enemy's too!”[2]
The result of the action was completely in favor of the
Southern arms, but I did not witness the latter portion of it. I
had been sent again to Stuart, who was moving around toward
Flint Hill, an eminence north of the Court-House, to occupy it
with artillery, and attack the enemy in flank.
I joined Stuart just as he reached a narrow road leading up
the hill. It was growing dark, and the storm was roaring down;
but the General did not give up his design. Leaving one regiment
at the mouth of the road to protect his rear, he advanced
with another, and had soon reached the elevated ground above.
Here the brave Colonel Wickham rode back from the advance-guard,
which he commanded, and said:
“General, I got near the Cross Roads, and find them heavily
picketed with infantry.”
Stuart reflected a moment, and then calling “Captain Farley,”
whom the reader may remember at Cold Harbor, gave him a
message to General Lee.
Farley immediately rode back, and in a few minutes shots were
heard in that quarter. At the same moment Colonel Wickham
again rode up, and reported the enemy rapidly advancing in front.
Stuart's position was now critical. He was in the midst of
the enemy's infantry, which hemmed him in in front and on his
right; night had descended, making any cavalry movement
hazardous; and there was but one avenue of retreat, the narrow
road by which the column had ascended the hill. Now the
firing had come from that direction. The enemy appeared to
have closed in upon front and rear.
I afterward remembered, with admiration, the coolness and
nonchalance of Stuart. He sat with one leg thrown across the
pommel of his saddle, drummed idly with his fingers upon his
knee, and seemed to be reflecting. It is impossible to imagine
greater sang-froid than his appearance, at the moment, indicated.[3]
“Well,” he said, at length, “I have accomplished the object I
had in view, and we'll go back.”
But the march back was in column of platoons, with drawn
sabres!
Halfway down the narrow road, now as black as night, firing
came from the advance-guard, and then a shout. The column
pushed on—shots hissed from the high banks on either side—
then the column debouched into the plain.
What was our astonishment at this moment to hear a bugle
in front sound the “charge!”
Colonel Lee, commanding the regiment left behind, took us for
Federal cavalry, it seemed, and nothing but the presence of
mind of an officer, who shouted “Hold!” prevented a bloody
catastrophe.
The firing we had heard was directed at Captain Farley, who
was also in great danger from his friends.
So much for night operations with cavalry. They are always
hazardous. I have recorded this little incident, however, as
characteristic of Stuart's coolness and self-possession.
I said to him, long afterward:
“General, you did not seem to think your command in any
danger that night at Flint Hill. I thought it in great danger.”
“You are right,” was his reply, in a low tone, with a short
laugh. “I tell you, Surry, that was a tight place!”[4]
