2. II.
Of this eminent soldier, I will say that, seeing him often in
many of those perilous straits which reveal hard fibre or its
absence, I always regarded him as a noble type of courage and
manhood—a gentleman and soldier “to the finger nails.” But
that is not enough; generalization and eulogy are unprofitable—
truth and minute characterization are better. One personal
anecdote of Cæsar would be far more valuable than a hundred
commonplaces—and that is true of others. It is not a “general
idea” I am to give; I would paint the portrait, if I can, of the
actual man. The individuality of the great South Carolinian
was very marked. You saw at a glance the race from which he
sprang, and the traits of heart and brain which he brought to
the hard contest. He was “whole in himself and due to none.”
Neither in physical nor mental conformation did he resemble
Stuart, the ideal cavalier—Forrest, the rough-rider—or the rest.
To compare him for an instant to the famous Stuart—the latter
laughed, sang, and revelled in youth and enjoyment. Hampton
smiled oftener than he laughed, never sang at all that I ever
heard, and had the composed demeanour of a man of middle age.
Stuart loved brilliant colours, gay scenes, and the sparkle of
bright eyes. Hampton gave little thought to these things; and
his plain gray coat, worn, dingy, and faded, beside the great
cavalier's gay “fighting jacket,” shining with gold braid, defined
the whole difference. I do not say that the dingy coat covered
a stouter heart than the brilliant jacket—there never lived a
more heroic soul than Stuart—but that in this was shown the
individuality of each. The one—Stuart—was young, gay, a
West Pointer, and splendid in his merriment, élan, and abandon.
The other, Hampton, a civilian approaching middle age, a
planter, not a soldier by profession—a man who embarked in
the arduous struggle with the coolness of the statesman, rather
than the ardor of the soldier. It was the planter, sword in hand,
not the United States officer, that one saw in Hampton—the
country gentleman who took up arms because his native soil was
invaded, as the race of which he came had done in the past.
That the plain planter, without military education, became the
eminent soldier, is an evidence that “the strain will show.”
Here is an outline of the South Carolinian as he appeared in
July, 1862, when the cavalry were resting after the battles of the
Chickahominy, and he often came to the old shady yard of
Hanover Court-House, to talk with General Stuart under the
trees there. What the eye saw in those days was a personage of
tall stature and “distinguished” appearance. The face was
browned by sun and wind, and half covered by dark side-whiskers
joining a long moustache of the same hue; the chin bold,
prominent, and bare. The eyes were brown, inclining to black,
and very mild and friendly; the voice low, sonorous, and with a
certain accent of dignity and composure. The frame of the soldier—straight,
vigorous, and stalwart, but not too broad for grace
—was encased in a plain gray sack coat of civilian cut, with the
collar turned down; cavalry boots, large and serviceable, with
brass spurs; a brown felt hat, without star or feather; the rest of
the dress plain gray. Imagine this stalwart figure with a heavy
sabre buckled around the waist, and mounted upon a large and
powerful animal of excellent blood and action, but wholly “unshowy,”
and a correct idea will be obtained of General Wade
Hampton. Passing from the clothes to the man—what impressed
all who saw him was the attractive union of dignity and simplicity
in his bearing—a certain grave and simple courtesy which
indicated the highest breeding. He was evidently an honest
gentleman who disdained all pretence or artifice. It was plain
that he thought nothing of personal decorations or military show,
and never dreamed of “producing an impression” upon any one.
This was revealed by that bearing full of a proud modesty; neither
stiff nor insinuating—simple.
After being in his presence for ten minutes, you saw that he
was a man for hard work, and not for display. That plain and
unassuming manner, without pretension, affectation, or “official”
coolness, was an index to the character of the individual. It is
easy to tell a gentleman; something betrays that character, as
something betrays the pretender. Refinement, good-breeding,
and fealty through all, to honour, were here embodied. The
General was as courteous to the humblest private soldier as to
the Commander-in-Chief, and you could discover in him no trace
whatever of that air of “condescension” and “patronage”
which small persons, aiming to be great, sometimes adopt. It
was the unforced courtesy of the gentleman, not the hollow
politeness of the pretender to that title, which all saw in
Hampton. He did not act at all, but lived his character.
In his voice, in his bearing, in all that he said and did, the
South Carolinian betrayed the man who is too proud not to be
simple, natural, and unassuming.
Upon this trait of manner, merely, I may seem to dwell too
long. But it is not a trifle. I am trying to delineate a man of
whom we Southerners are proud—and this rare grace was his.
It reflected clearly the character of the individual—the noble
pride, the true courtesy, and the high-bred honour of one who,
amid all the jarring strife of an excited epoch, would not suffer
his serene equanimity of gentleman to be disturbed; who aimed
to do his duty to his country, not rise above his associates; who
was no politer to the high than to the low, to the powerful than
to the weak; and who respected more the truth and courage
beneath the tattered jacket than the starts and wreath on the
braided coat. The result of this kindly feeling towards “men of
low estate” was marked. An officer long associated with him
said to me one day: “I do not believe there ever was a General
more beloved by his whole command; and he more than returns
it. General Hampton has a real tenderness, I do believe, for every
solider who has ever served under him.” He was always doing
the poorer members of his command some kindness. His hand
was open like his heart. Many a brave fellow's family was kept
from want by him; and a hundred instances of this liberality are
doubtless recorded in the grateful memories of the women and
children whom he fought for, and fed too, in those dark days.
This munificence was nowhere else recorded. The left hand
knew not what the right hand did.
A few words more upon his personal bearing. His composure
upon trying occasions, as in every-day life, indicated a self-poised
and independent character. He rarely yielded to hearty mirth,
but his smile was very friendly and attractive. You could see
that he was a person of earnest feelings, and had a good heart.
In camp he was a pleasant companion, and those who saw him
daily became most attached to him. His staff were devoted to
him. I remember the regret experienced by these brave gentlemen
when Hampton's assignment to the command of all the cavalry
separated them from him. The feeling which they then exhibited
left no doubt of the
entente cordiale between the members of the
military family. General Hampton liked to laugh and talk with
them around the camp fire; to do them every kindness he could
—but that was his weakness towards everybody—and to play
chess, draughts, or other games, in the intervals of fighting or
work. One of his passions was hunting. This amusement he
pursued upon every occasion—over the fields of Spotsylvania,
amid the woods of Dinwiddle, and on the rivers of South Carolina.
His success was great. Ducks, partridges, squirrels, turkey, and
deer, fell before his double-barrel in whatever country he pitched
his tents. He knew all the old huntsmen of the regions in which
he tarried, delighted to talk with such upon the noble science of
venery, and was considered by these dangerous critics a thorough
sportsman. They regarded him, it is said, as a comrade not
undistinguished; and sent him, in friendly recognition of his
merit, presents of venison and other game, which was plentiful
along the shores of the Rowanty, or in the backwoods of
Dinwiddie. Hampton was holding the right of General Lee's
line there, in supreme command of all the Virginia cavalry; but
it was not as a hunter of “bluebirds”—so we used to call our
Northern friends—that they respected him most. It was as a
deer hunter; and I have heard that the hard-fighting cavalier
relished very highly their good opinion of him in that character.
It is singular that a love for hunting should so often characterize
men of elegant scholarship and literary taste. The soldier and
huntsman was also a poet, and General Stuart spoke in high
praise of his writings. His prose style was forcible and excellent
—in letters, reports, and all that he wrote. The admirably
written address to the people of South Carolina, which was
recently published, will display the justice of this statement.
That paper, like all that came from him, was compact, vigorous,
lucid, “written in English,” and everywhere betrayed the scholar
no less than the patriot. It will live when a thousand octavos
have disappeared.
