"On the word of Swartz!"

"That is enough, my dear Swartz; I will be at Alibi's, when we will come to terms. And now, pardon this visit, which has put you to so much inconvenience. I was merely jesting, my dear friend, when I spoke of arresting you. Arrest you! Nothing could induce me to think of so unfriendly a proceeding. And now, good night, my dear friend. I will return with you, colonel."

With which words Nighthawk saluted his "friend," and we returned toward the upper part of the city.

Such were the scenes of a night in the summer of 1864.

XII.

THE GRAVE OF STUART.

On the next morning a piece of good fortune befell me. In spite of continued visits to the war-office, and an amount of importunity which must have been exceedingly annoying to the gentlemen of the red tape, I found myself, at the end of August, apparently no nearer to an "a.s.signment to duty" than at first.

It really seemed that the Confederate States had no need of my services; that the privilege of performing military duty in behalf of the Government was one jealously guarded, and not to be lightly bestowed upon any one. I was in despair, and was revolving the project of resigning my empty commission, and enlisting in the cavalry as a private soldier, when the _deus ex machina_ to extricate me from all my troubles, appeared in the person of Colonel P-----, of army head- quarters.

This accomplished soldier and gentleman met me as I was coming out of the war-office, on the morning after the visit to Mr. X-----, looking I suppose, like some descendant of the Knight of the Sorrowful Countenance, and stopped to inquire the cause of my dejection. I informed him of the whole affair, and he laughed heartily. "You have set about your affairs, my dear colonel, in a manner entirely wrong,"

he said. "You should have gone to some general, discovered that your grandmother and his own were third cousins; expressed your admiration of his valor; denounced the brother-general with whom he was quarreling; written puffs to the papers about him; and then, one morning said, 'By the by, general, you are ent.i.tled to another staff officer.' The result would have been a glowing letter to the war department, requesting your a.s.signment--you would have attained your object--you would have been torn from the horrors of Richmond, and once more enjoyed the great privilege of being shot at!"

I echoed the colonel's laugh.

"Alas!" I said, "I have no genius for all that. I never yet could 'crook the hinges of the knee that thrift might follow fawning,' and I suppose I shall be compelled to resign, and enter the ranks. Why not?

Better men are there, carrying musket or carbine, or pulling the lanyard."

"Still you gained your rank by your services--and I am going to make you an offer which will enable you to retain it. Come and be my a.s.sistant inspector-general--an officer is required to inspect the cavalry and horse artillery, which is so distant, often, that I have no time to visit them."

"A thousand thanks, colonel! You could not offer me a more pleasant duty."

"You will have to ride a great deal, but will have a great deal of freedom. If you consent to my proposition, I will have the matter arranged at once, and will request you to make a tour of inspection to General Early's army, near Winchester."

He looked at me, laughing.

"'The Oaks' is--a charming place," he added, "and you are certain to be very tired when you reach the vicinity of Markham's! If you find it convenient to stop there--say, for a day or more--present my regards to Colonel Beverly, and any of the family you find present!"

With which words he laughed again, shook me by the hand, and then his tall form disappeared in the doorway of the war office.

On the next day I found my a.s.signment awaiting me. I was appointed a.s.sistant inspector-general of the cavalry and horse artillery of the army of Northern Virginia. Tremendous t.i.tle!

That evening I went by railway to Petersburg, to visit Colonel P-----, and receive his instructions. Returning the same night, the next day set out on horseback for the Valley of the Shenandoah, by way of Orange, Gaines's Cross Roads, and Ashby's Gap.

Of this journey it is unnecessary for me to speak in the present volume. Some curious adventures occurred to me, in the valley, near Millwood, and I made the acquaintance of St. Leger Landon, of "Bizarre," one of the bravest and truest gentlemen I have ever known.

The adventures alluded to, and some events in the strange history of my friend, Captain Landon, are embraced in a separate memoir, to which I have given the fanciful t.i.tle, _Hilt to Hilt, or Days and Nights on the Banks of the Shenandoah_.

I remained in the valley from the first to the eighteenth of September, when I set out on my return to Petersburg, little thinking that, on the very next day, General Early would be attacked on the Opequon, driven from Winchester, and forced to retreat up the valley, in spite of fighting which was never surpa.s.sed.

I had received some rough handling in a cavalry combat near the Old Chapel, beyond Millwood, and my ride back was tedious. But at last I reached Richmond, and made preparations to set out at once for the army. On the evening before my departure, I went to visit the grave of Stuart at Hollywood, on the beautiful hill above the falls, west of the city.

As I approached the lonely spot, where the great cavalier was lying beside his little Flora, of whom he had often spoken to me with tears, a thousand memories knocked at the door of my heart. With head bent down, and chin resting on my breast, I drew near the gra.s.sy mound over which waved the autumn foliage, tinted with yellow and crimson--and in these few moments, all the splendid career of Stuart pa.s.sed before me, as on that day when I rode with him toward the fatal field of Yellow Tavern.

I remembered all his hard combats, his glorious encounters, his victories over such odds as vindicated his claim to a descent from the dashing Rupert, and ranked him with the most famous leaders of cavalry in all history. I recalled the courage, the joy, the gay laughter of the great soldier--the blue eyes that flashed so--the sonorous voice singing the merry songs. I remembered all the occasions when he had led his men in the charge--how he had wept for Jackson, bowed his head above the cold face of Pelham--how he had met the torrent unmoved, shrunk from nothing in his path, fallen to save the Virginia capital, and died murmuring "G.o.d's will be done!"--I remembered all that, and with something in my throat that seemed choking me, drew near the quiet mound, beneath which rested such a career, and so much glory.

The birds were twittering and singing, the foliage waving gently--I raised my head--when suddenly I became aware that a solitary mourner was bending over the grave.

He was an officer in gray uniform. He held a flower in his hand, which he dropped upon the grave, uttering a low sob as he did so.

At the same moment he turned round, and I recognized the great partisan, Colonel Mosby.[1]

[Footnote 1: Real.]

XIII.

THE CEDARS.

Twenty-four hours after, I had pa.s.sed over the same number of miles, and found myself at the staff head-quarters, on the left bank of the Appomattox, above Petersburg.

I had soon pitched my tent, with the a.s.sistance of a servant; had erected a hedge of cedar boughs to protect it from the cutting blasts of the coming winter; and, a few days afterwards, was surrounded with many objects of comfort. My tent had been floored; at one end rose an excellent chimney; strips of planks, skillfully balanced on two logs, supplied a spring bed; I had secured a split bottom chair, and my saddle and bridle were disposed upon a rough rack, near a black valise containing my small stock of apparel, and the pine table and desk holding official papers.

Having christened this castle "The Cedars," I settled down for a long winter,--and it was not a great while before I congratulated myself on the good fortune which had provided me with that warm nest. More than once, however, I experienced something like a sentiment of shame, when, in the dark and freezing nights, with the hail rattling on my tent, I sat by my warm fire, and heard the crack of the sharp-shooters, along the lines beyond Petersburg. What right had I to be there, by that blazing fire, in my warm tent, when my brethren--many of them my betters--were yonder, fighting along the frozen hills? What had I done to deserve that comfort, and exemption from all pain? I was idling, or reading by my blazing fire,--_they_ were keeping back the enemy, and, perhaps, falling and dying in the darkness. I was musing in my chair, gazing into the blaze, and going back in memory to the fond scenes of home, so clearly, that I laughed the heart's laugh, and was happy. And they? They, too, were thinking of home, perhaps,--of their wives and children, to sink down the next moment shivering with cold, or stagger and fall, with spouting blood, as the bullet pierced them. Why should _I_ be thus favored by a good Providence? I often asked myself that question, and I could not answer it. I could only murmur, "I did not sneak here to get out of the way of the bullets,--those, yonder, are my betters,--G.o.d guard and keep the brave soldiers of this army!"

And now, worthy reader, having given you some idea of the manner in which the more fortunate ones wintered near Petersburg, in 1864, I am going to drop the subject of army head-quarters, and my surroundings there. Jackson and Stuart are dead, and have become figures of history.

I have drawn them as well as I could,--I dare not attempt to do the same with the great commander-in-chief. He is alive. May he live long!--and, saluting him, I pa.s.s on.

So if I speak of General Lee, it will be of the individual in his official character. What he utters, he will have uttered in the hearing of many.

With these words of preface, I resume the thread of my history.

XIV.

THE SITUATION.

October, 1864, had come.

The "situation" may be described in a few words.

Grant had drawn his lines from a point in Charles City, on the left bank of James River, across that stream and across the Appomattox, around Petersburg to the Squirrel Level road, where he threatened the Southside railroad, Lee's line of communication with the south and west. Fort Harrison had just been taken. Grant was gradually hemming in his opponent along the immense line extending across the two rivers, past the scene of the famous "Crater" explosion, to the vicinity of the Rowanty, a distance of nearly forty miles. One incessant crash and thunder went up, day and night. Grant was "hammering continuously,"