Such is a rapid summary of the cavalry operations succeeding the action of Bristoe.

Those readers who cry out for "movement! movement!" are respectfully requested to observe that I have pa.s.sed over much ground, and many events in a few paragraphs:--and yet I might have dwelt on more than one scene which, possibly, might have interested the worthy reader.

There was the gallant figure of General Fitz Lee, at the head of his hors.e.m.e.n, advancing to charge what he supposed to be the enemy's artillery near Bristoe, and singing as he went, in the gayest voice:--

"Rest in peace! rest in peace!

Slumb'ring lady love of mine; Rest in peace! rest in peace!

Sleep on!"

There was the charge over the barricade near Yates's Ford, where a strange figure mingled just at dusk with the staff, and when arrested as he was edging away in the dark, coolly announced that he belonged to the "First Maine Cavalry."

There was the march toward Chantilly, amid the drenching storm, when Stuart rode along laughing and shouting his camp songs, with the rain descending in torrents from his heavy brown beard.

There was the splendid advance on the day succeeding, through the rich autumn forest, of all the colors of the rainbow.

Then the fight at Frying-Pan; arousing the hornets' nest there, and the feat performed by Colonel Surry, in carrying off through the fire of the sharp-shooters, on the pommel of his saddle, a beautiful girl who declared that she was "not at all afraid!"

These and many other scenes come back to memory as I sit here at Eagle's Nest. But were I to describe all I witnessed during the war, I should never cease writing. All these must be pa.s.sed over--my canvas is limited, and I have so many figures to draw, so many pictures to paint, that every square inch is valuable.

That is the vice of "memoirs," reader. The memory is an immense receptacle--it holds every thing, and often trifles take the prominent place, instead of great events. You are interested in those trifles, when they are part of your own experience; but perhaps, they bore your listener and make him yawn--a terrible catastrophe!

So I pa.s.s to some real and _bona fide_ "events." Sabres are going to clash now, and some figures whom the reader I hope has not forgotten are going to ride for the prize in the famous Buckland Races.

X.

I FALL A VICTIM TO TOM'S ILL-LUCK.

Stuart had fallen back, and had reached the vicinity of Buckland.

There was a bright light in his blue eyes, a meaning smile on his mustached lip, which in due time I was going to understand.

Kilpatrick was following him. From the rear guard came the crack of skirmishers. It seemed hard to understand, but the fact was perfectly evident, that Stuart was retreating.

I had fallen out of the column, and was riding with Tom Herbert. Have you forgotten that worthy, my dear reader? Has the roar of Gettysburg driven him quite from your memory? I hope not. I have not mentioned him for a long time, so many things have diverted me--but we had ridden together, slept together, fought together, and starved together! Tom had come to be one of my best friends, in fact, and his charming good humor beguiled many a weary march. To hear him laugh was real enjoyment; and when he would suddenly burst forth with,

"Oh look at the riggings On Billy Barlo--o--o--ow!"

the sternest faces relaxed, the sourest personages could not but laugh.

Brave and honest fop! Where are you to-day, _mon garcon_! I wish I could see you and hear you sing again!

But I am prosing. Riding beside Tom, I was looking down and thinking of a certain young lady, when an exclamation from my companion made me raise my head.

"By George! there's the house, old fellow!"

"The house?"

"Of the famous supper."

"So it is!"

"And my inamorata, Surry! I wonder if she is still there?"

"Inamorata? What is her other name?"

Tom laughed, and began to sing in his gayest voice,

"Oh, Katy! Katy!

Don't marry any other; You'll break my heart, and kill me dead, And then be hanged for murder!"

"That is answer enough," I said, laughing.

"Suppose we go and see if they are still alive," Tom said, blushing; "ten minutes will take us to the house."

In fact, I saw across the fields, embowered in foliage, the hospitable mansion in which we had eaten the famous supper, on the route to Pennsylvania.

"It is risky," I said, hesitating.

"But pleasing," retorted Tom, with a laugh.

And I saw, from his flushed face, that he had set his heart on the visit.

That conquered me. I never could refuse Tom Herbert any thing; and we were soon cantering toward the house.

Leaving our horses in a little grove, near the mansion, in order that they might not attract the attention of any of the enemy's vedettes, we hastened up the steps.

As we reached the door, it opened, and Miss Katy Dare, the heroine of Tom's dreams, very nearly precipitated herself into our arms.

"Oh, I am so glad to see you!" she exclaimed, with her auburn ringlets dancing, her eyes sparkling,--and taking care to look at _me_ as she uttered the words.

Then a whole bevy of young ladies hastened out to welcome us.

Where had we been? Why were we going back? Could General Stuart intend to leave them in the Yankee lines again? Oh, no! he could not! He could not have the heart to! Was he coming to see them? Oh, the sight of gray uniforms was HEAVENLY!!!

And the young damsels positively overwhelmed me with exclamations and interrogatories. Eyes danced, lips smiled, cheeks glowed--they hung around me, and seemed wild with enthusiasm and delight.

Around _me_, I say--for Tom and Miss Katy had accidentally strolled into a conservatory near at hand. A gla.s.s door gave access to it, and they had "gone to examine the flowers," the young ladies said, with rapturous smiles and little nods.

Meanwhile, "the wants of the soldiers" were by no means forgotten. Busy hands brought in china, silver, and snowy napkins. On the table the waiter was soon deposited, containing a splendid, miraculous array of edibles, and these were flanked by decanters containing excellent home-made wine.

This consumed half an hour--but at last the repast was ready, and one of the young ladies hastened toward the conservatory, uttering a discreet little "ahem!" which made her companions laugh.

In an instant Tom made his appearance with a decided color in his cheeks; and Miss Katy--well, Miss Katy's face was the color of a peony, or a carnation.