Edward Alfred Pollard, The lost cause; a new Southern history of the War of the Confederates ... Drawn from official sources and approved by the most distinguished Confederate leaders.

1 From some memoirs of Gen. Stuart, collected from his staff officers, we extract some incidents indicative of the character of the man, designated as the “Prince Rupert of the Confederate army:”

One of the marked traits of this preux chevalier was his indifference to danger, which impressed every one. It would be difficult to imagine a coolness more supreme. It was not that he seemed to defy peril-he appeared unconscious of it. At the battle of Oxhill, in September, 1862, he advanced a piece of artillery down the road to Fairfax Court-house, and suddenly found himself in the presence of a buzzing hornet's nest of Federal sharp-shooters, who rose from the tall weeds a few score yards distant, and poured a deadly fire into the cannoniers. Stuart was at the gun directing the firing, and sat on his horse, full front to the fire, with so perfect an air of unconsciousness that it was hard to believe that he realized his danger. When a staff officer said, “This fire is rather peculiar, General,” Stuart seemed to wake up, as it were, to whistling bullets, and said, indifferently, “ It is getting rather warm.” He met his death in this way, and the only matter for astonishment is that he was not killed long before. He was constantly on the most advanced line of skirmishers, cheering them on, the most conspicuous mark to the enemy. He used to laugh when he was warned against such exposure of himself, and said that he was not afraid of any ball “ aimed at him; ” but I know that he never expected to get through the war. He deeply deplored its existence, and said, one day, “ I would lay down my right hand and have it cut off at the wrist to end it.” But he was conscientious in his espousal of the Southern cause, and was ready to die for it.

The habitual temper of his mind toward his adversaries was cool and soldierly. Federal prisoners were treated by him with uniform courtesy, and often left his headquarters declaring that they would never forget the kindness they had experienced. I remember an appeal once made to him by a prisoner, which amused everybody. One of his escort spoke roughly to the prisoner, when the latter, seeing the General, exclaimed : “ Gen. Stuart, I did not come here to be blackguarded,” at which Stuart laughed good-humouredly, and reprimanded the person who had addressed the prisoner.

At Verdiersville, in August, 1862, Stuart stopped at a deserted house on the roadside, and lay down with his staff and escort, without videttes, pickets, or other precaution. The consequence was that he was aroused by the tramp of Federal cavalry close on him, and had just time to throw himself, hatless, on his unbridled horse, leap the fence and fly. He left his hat, coat, and gloves, which his adversaries carried off in triumph; but at Catlett's soon after retorted by capturing General Pope's coat and hat, which was a fair offset.

The gay, humorous, and high spirits of the man, did not wholly desert him even on the most serious occasions. Nothing was more common than to hear him humming a song during an engagemeant, and I was reading the other day somewhere a soldier's description of a fight in Culpepper, and what an electric effect was produced upon the infantry by the appearance of Stuart riding in front of them, singing gaily and cheering them on. At Chancellorsville, when Jackson fell, he was called to command the corps, and led the assault in person on the next morning. An eye witness says that he could not get rid of the idea that Henry of Navarre had come back, except that Stuart's “plume” was black! Everywhere, like Navarre, he was in front, and the men “followed the feather.” At the risk, however, of spoiling this romantic picture, and passing from the sublime to what some persons may call the ridiculous, an additional fact may be stated, namely: That Gen. Stuart, attacking with Jackson's veteran corps, and carrying line after line of works, moved at the head of his men, singing “ Old Joe Hooker, will you come out of the wilderness.”

There was nothing notable in Stuart's habits except his abstinence from all stimulants, coffee excepted. At his broad, paper-covered desk, in the long winter evenings, he busied himself not with “official” work only. A favourite amusement with him was the composition of parodies in verse, some of them exceedingly good. He was not a great reader. He was fonder of society, of telling stories, jesting, and whiling away time with his staff. No boy could be merrier than Stuart, at such moments, and he dearly loved a practical joke.

No analysis of military movements or discussion of military endowments is here intended; but it is almost impossible to separate Stuart, the man, from Stuart, the soldier. He was ready for a “fight or a frolic,” and gifted by nature with an enormous animal physique, which enabled him to defy fatigue, whether produced by marching night and day, or dancing until dawn. Ambitious, fond of glory, and sensitive to blame or praise, he was yet endowed with a bold and independent spirit which enabled him to defy all enemies. He was warm-hearted, and never did man love friends more dearly. Stuart always seemed to be a perfect embodiment of the traits generally attributed to the English cavaliers. There was in him a rollicking love of frolic, a gallantry towards ladies, a fondness for bright colors, brilliant spectacles, and gay adventure, which made him resemble strongly the class of men who followed the fortunes of Charles the I., and at Naseby died rather than retreat or surrender. Stuart's nerve was of stern stuff, and under all that laughter there was a soul that no peril could touch. That bright blue eye looked into the very face of death without a quiver of the lid, and dared the worst. A man more absolutely indifferent to danger, I believe, never lived; and, like some chevalier of olden days, he rode to battle with his lady's glove upon his helm, humming a song, and determined to conquer or fall.

The following account of Gen. Stuart's last moments was published in the Richmond newspapers:

About noon, President Davis visited his bedside and spent some time with the dying chief. In reply to the question put by the President, “ General, how do you feel? ” he replied, “ Easy, but willing to die, if God and my country think I have fulfilled my destiny, and done my duty.”

During the day, occasional delirium attacked him, and, in his moments of mental wandering, his faculties were busy with the past. His campaigns on the Peninsula, his raid into Pennsylvania, his doings on the Rapidan, and his several engagements, were subjects that quickly chased themselves through his brain. Fresh orders were given as if still on the battlefield and injunctions to his couriers to “ make haste.” Then he would wander to his wife and children, one of whom, his eldest boy, had died a year previous, while fighting on the Rappahannock, and in relation to whom he had said, when receiving a telegram that the boy was dying, “ I must leave my child in the hands of God; my country needs me here; I cannot come.” Then his mind would again carry him on to the battlefield; and so it continued throughout the day. Occasionally his intellect was clear, and he was then calm and resigned, though at times suffering the most acute agony. He would even, with his own hand, apply the ice that was intended to relieve the pain of his wound.

As evening wore on, mortification set in rapidly. In answer to his inquiry, he was told that death was fast approaching. He then said, “I am resigned, if it be God's will, but I would like to see my wife. But, God's will be done.” Several times he roused up, and asked if she had come. Unfortunately, she was in the country at the time, and did not arrive until too late.

As the last moments approached, the dying man, with a mind perfectly clear and possessed, then made a disposition of his effects. To Mrs. Gen. R. E. Lee, he directed that the golden spurs be given as a dying memento of his love and esteem for her husband. To his staff officers he gave his horses; and other mementoes he disposed of in a similar manner. To his young son he left his sword. He then turned to the Rev. Dr. Peterkin, of the Episcopal Church, of which he was a strict member, and asked him to sing the hymn commencing:

Rock of ages cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee.

In this he joined with all the strength of voice his failing powers permitted. He then prayed with the minister and friends around him; and, with the words, “ I am going fast now. I am resigned; God's will be done,” yielded his fleeting spirit to Him who gave it.

The funeral of this much lamented and brave general took place on the 13th, at five o'clock, from St. James's Church, corner of Marshall and Fifth streets.

At the appointed hour the cortege appeared in front of the church, and the metallic coffin, containing the remains of the noble soldier, whose now silent voice had so often startled the enemy with his stirring battle-cry, was carried down the centre-aisle, and placed before the altar. Wreaths and a cross of evergreens, interwoven with delicate lilies of the valley, laurel, and other flowers of purest white, decked the coffin.

The pall-bearers were Gen. Bragg, Maj.-Gen. McCown, Gen. Chilton, Brig.-Gen. Lawton, Commodore Forrest, Capt. Lee, of the navy, and Gen. George W. Randolph, formerly Secretary of War.

The scene was sad and impressive. President Davis sat near the front, with a look of grief upon his careworn face; his cabinet officers were gathered around, while on either side were the Senators and Representatives of the Confederate Congress. Scattered through the church were a number of generals and other officers of less rank, among the former Gen. Ransom, commanding the Department of Richmond. Hundreds of sad faces witnessed the scene; but the brave Fitz Hugh Lee and other war-wearied and war-worn men, whom the dead Stuart had so often led where the red battle was fiercest, and who would have given their lives for his, were away in the fight, doubtless striking with a double courage as they thought of their fallen general.

The short service was read by Rev. Dr. Peterkin, a funeral anthem sung, and the remains were carried out and placed in the hearse, which proceeded to Hollywood Cemetery, followed by a long train of carriages.

No military escort accompanied the procession, but the hero was laid in his last resting-place on the hillside, while the earth trembled with the roar of artillery and the noise of the deadly strife of armies — the one bent upon desecrating and devastating his native land, and the other, proudly and defiantly standing in the path and invoking the blessing of Heaven upon their cause, to fight in better cheer for the memory of such as Stonewall Jackson and J. E. B. Stuart.