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Hardeman (search for this): chapter 1.12
ed to regard the whole affair as an excellent jest, and only the ordinary fortune of war. His gay laughter followed the narrative, and I remember the ardent light of the blue eyes looking out from the tangled curls of the brave boy. Well, Hardeman, you have had bad luck, I said, but get another horse and come on. I intend to; tell the General I'll soon be there. Yes. Good-bye. I shook the brave hand and rode on. I was never more to touch it. I have scarcely the heart to coe my narrative and relate the sequel. Something affects the throat as you think of these dead comrades whose hands you have clasped, whose voices you have heard. Some of the sunshine left the world when they went, and life grows dull. Poor Hardeman! But how can I call him poor? Rich, rather, beyond the wealth of kingdoms; for he died in the bloom of youth, before sorrow touched him, fighting for his native land. He did not succeed in procuring a horse, which is always difficult just
Longstreet (search for this): chapter 1.12
ive conflict with its old adversary. Going back in memory to that time, I recall with melancholy interest the little trifling details of this my last meeting and last greeting with Hardeman Stuart. I was riding, about noon, to the front of Longstreet's line in search of General Stuart. Under a tree, immediately in rear of his front line, General Longstreet had just dismounted, and was taking off a brown linen overall, the face of the old war horse composed, good-natured, but full of fight.General Longstreet had just dismounted, and was taking off a brown linen overall, the face of the old war horse composed, good-natured, but full of fight. Learning from him that General Stuart was just on the right of his line, I rode in that direction along the front of the infantry drawn up for battle; the men kneeling on the left knee; the bayonets bristling above; finger on trigger; eyes fixed intently on the crest in front over which the advancing enemy were about to appear. I went on, and in crossing a fallow of considerable extent, passed one of those small wooden houses which dot the region around Manassas. Often as I beheld such s
John Pelham (search for this): chapter 1.12
all duties assigned to him. He courted danger with a boyish gaiety which shone in his dancing eyes and on his smiling lips, and seemed to covet opportunities of exposing himself to the heaviest fire, in the thickest portion of the fight. No bullet touched him, however; the shot and shell, bursting and plunging everywhere, seemed determined to avoid him and do him no harm. He came out of the battle gay, laughing, and unharmed as he had entered it. At the White house, afterward, he went with Pelham in that boyish frolic, the chase of the gunboats, and then we rode back all a summer's day to the banks of the Chickahominy, conversing. The delightful gaiety of the boy made the long, hot miles of sandy highway slip away unseen; and here I first obtained an insight into the character of the noble young Mississippian, before a stranger, but to be to me from that moment a valued friend. His gallantry during the battle had attracted attention, and he now secured, through his cousin, Gener
Pope (search for this): chapter 1.12
r appeared to have visited him; and living, as it were, in an atmosphere of joy and hope and youthful gaiety, he made all around him gay, and had the whole world for his friends. The brief season of respite from hostilities which followed the battles around Richmond soon came to an end. General Stuart broke up his headquarters in the old grassy yard of Hanover Court-house; his bugle sounded to horse; and the cavalry advanced to place itself on the right of the army about to give battle to Pope on the Rapidan. Here Hardeman Stuart left us, in performance of his duties as signal officer and I never saw him again but for a single moment. That meeting was on the field of Manassas, when the opposing lines were about to grapple; when the Southern army, hungry, weary, and travel-worn, but undaunted, was about to enter upon the decisive conflict with its old adversary. Going back in memory to that time, I recall with melancholy interest the little trifling details of this my last mee
Hardeman Stuart (search for this): chapter 1.12
ver knew a braver or lovelier spirit than Hardeman Stuart's. When the wave of war rolled over his yhe served as a volunteer upon the staff of General Stuart. He was the model of an aide-de-camp thatn, and he now secured, through his cousin, General Stuart, the commission of captain in the signal cttles around Richmond soon came to an end. General Stuart broke up his headquarters in the old grasshe front of Longstreet's line in search of General Stuart. Under a tree, immediately in rear of hisbut full of fight. Learning from him that General Stuart was just on the right of his line, I rode ion, How d'ye, Captain! and I recognised Hardeman Stuart. But what a change! He had always bed rest his soul! Such was the fate of Hardeman Stuart — an event which brought the tears to manccurred a day or two after the battle. General Stuart followed the enemy on Sunday, and coming uin possession of one of the men was found Hardeman Stuart's coat, captured with his horse and accou[2 more...]
Chickahominy (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.12
s, and seemed to covet opportunities of exposing himself to the heaviest fire, in the thickest portion of the fight. No bullet touched him, however; the shot and shell, bursting and plunging everywhere, seemed determined to avoid him and do him no harm. He came out of the battle gay, laughing, and unharmed as he had entered it. At the White house, afterward, he went with Pelham in that boyish frolic, the chase of the gunboats, and then we rode back all a summer's day to the banks of the Chickahominy, conversing. The delightful gaiety of the boy made the long, hot miles of sandy highway slip away unseen; and here I first obtained an insight into the character of the noble young Mississippian, before a stranger, but to be to me from that moment a valued friend. His gallantry during the battle had attracted attention, and he now secured, through his cousin, General Stuart, the commission of captain in the signal corps. He performed the duties of his rank with alacrity, and I had f
Napoleon (Ohio, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.12
s to love him; and since his death even strangers have spoken of him in terms of the warmest affection, so deeply had he impressed all who saw him. He was scarce twenty-one when he died, and in the flush of youth and joy and hope. He was a native of the great State of Mississippi, where hearts are warm and tempers impulsive. The bright sun of the farthest South seemed to have fired his blood; and on the battle-field he fought with the gallantry and nerve, the vigour and elan of one of Napoleon's young heroes of the grand armee. His laughing face looked out on the world with an exquisite frankness; the lips were mobile, joyous, and expressive; the large, honest eyes met your own with smiles in their blue depths, which spoke the real character of the youth. I was first attracted toward the youthful stranger by the dash and nerve of his behaviour on the field. It was in the battle of Cold Harbour, where he served as a volunteer upon the staff of General Stuart. He was the mo
Germantown (Tennessee, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.12
d here my sketch might end. I will add, however, a somewhat curious incident which occurred a day or two after the battle. General Stuart followed the enemy on Sunday, and coming up with his rear at the bridge over Cub Run, had a slight artillery engagement, and took many prisoners. The bridge was destroyed and the cavalry turned to the left, and making a circuit came into the Little River turnpike, at the mouth of the Frying Pan road. Proceeding down the turnpike in the direction of Germantown, a squadron captured a company of the enemy's cavalry; and advancing further to a small tavern on the roadside, took prisoners another company who were feeding their horses in fancied security at the place. This cavalry formed a portion of that which had operated in the battles around Groveton; and in possession of one of the men was found Hardeman Stuart's coat, captured with his horse and accoutrements on the mountain. There was no trouble at all in identifying the coat. In the
Frying Pan (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.12
rought the tears to many eyes, albeit unused to the melting mood-and here my sketch might end. I will add, however, a somewhat curious incident which occurred a day or two after the battle. General Stuart followed the enemy on Sunday, and coming up with his rear at the bridge over Cub Run, had a slight artillery engagement, and took many prisoners. The bridge was destroyed and the cavalry turned to the left, and making a circuit came into the Little River turnpike, at the mouth of the Frying Pan road. Proceeding down the turnpike in the direction of Germantown, a squadron captured a company of the enemy's cavalry; and advancing further to a small tavern on the roadside, took prisoners another company who were feeding their horses in fancied security at the place. This cavalry formed a portion of that which had operated in the battles around Groveton; and in possession of one of the men was found Hardeman Stuart's coat, captured with his horse and accoutrements on the mountain
Manassas, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.12
Here Hardeman Stuart left us, in performance of his duties as signal officer and I never saw him again but for a single moment. That meeting was on the field of Manassas, when the opposing lines were about to grapple; when the Southern army, hungry, weary, and travel-worn, but undaunted, was about to enter upon the decisive conflg enemy were about to appear. I went on, and in crossing a fallow of considerable extent, passed one of those small wooden houses which dot the region around Manassas. Often as I beheld such spectacles, this melancholy mansion attracted my attention. It was torn and dismantled — the huge besom of war seemed to have swept over his old Mississippi company, entered its ranks, charged with them, and fell, shot through the heart. He died where he fell, and sleeps in the weird path of Manassas. God rest his soul! Such was the fate of Hardeman Stuart — an event which brought the tears to many eyes, albeit unused to the melting mood-and here my sket
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