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To descend now from the heights of generalization to the plains of incident and personal observation. For this volume is not a history of the war in Virginia, but the memoirs of a staff officer belonging to Stuart's cavalry. May, 1864, had come; we were soon to be in the saddle; the thundering hammer of General Grant was about to commence its performances.
It seemed to them both that they had lived almost all their lives in war. Even Jeb Stuart's ball, stopped by the opening guns of a great battle, was far, far away, and to Harry, it was at least a century since he had closed his Tacitus in the Pendleton Academy, and put it away in his desk.
To the ears of the alert chieftain came the sound of battle at Gettysburg, accompanied with the intelligence, from prisoners mostly, that Stuart's main force was bent on doing mischief on the right of our infantry lines, which were not far from the night's bivouac.
And for a moment her heart stood still. "You know that all received methods, all military usages, fail as applied to Indian warfare. You can be of the greatest service to us in this emergency. Will you volunteer?" There was a little smile at the corner of Stuart's lip as he looked at her steadily. "No, no, I protest," cried Demeré. "Tell her first what she is to do."
Gibbon's division had taken post on their right; Biney and Newton were in support; and Doubleday, facing south, was engaged with Stuart's dismounted troopers. Twenty-one guns on the right, and thirty on the left, stationed on the Richmond road, a thousand yards from the Confederate position, formed a second tier to the heavier pieces on the heights, and fired briskly on the woods.
"Nay, sir, my sister has written of Court scandals in many of her letters, and it has grieved me to think her lot should be cast among people of whose reckless doings she tells me with a lively wit that makes sin seem something less than sin." "There is no such word as 'sin' in Charles Stuart's Court, my dear young lady.
I grew to feel almost at home at Mr. Stuart's. He was pleased to wonder at the education which I had given myself, as he called it. I sat many long mornings in Miss Stuart's drawing-room, and she had the power of making me talk of many things which had always been hidden even from myself.
The engraving is choicely bad; we do not know from what actual portrait, if from any, it was executed. Richard Burbage is known to have amused himself with the art of design; possibly he tried his hand on a likeness of his old friend and fellow-actor. If so, he may have succeeded no better than Mary Stuart's embroiderer, Oudry, in his copy of the portrait of her Majesty.
Then, replacing his foot in the stirrup, he said with great emphasis, "We'll drive McClellan into the Potomac." "Returning to my command, I repeated General Jackson's order to my brigade commanders and directed them to listen to the sound of Stuart's guns. We all confidently expected to hear the welcome sound by two o'clock at least, and as that hour approached every ear was on the alert.
"We'll go to Jeb Stuart's ball, as you say, and in the presence of the Virginia fair show everybody what real men are." "And we'll be glad to see you do it, Colonel," said Sherburne.
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