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John Esten Cooke, Wearing of the Gray: Being Personal Portraits, Scenes, and Adventures of War. 5 1 Browse Search
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ady for them at every point, and drove them back with heavy loss beyond the river. In like manner the Sleeks sneered at his banjo, sneered at his gay laughter, sneered at his plume, his bright colours, and his merry songs. The same good friends invented stories of rebukes he had incurred from General Lee, when he uniformly received from that great friend and commander the highest evidences of regard and confidence. These winged arrows, shot in secret by the hand of calumny, which in plain Saxon are called lies, accompanied Stuart everywhere at one period of his career; but the Southern people could not be brought to believe them. They flushed the face of the proud and honest cavalier, sometimes, and made the blue eyes flash; but what could he do? The calumnies were nameless; their authors slunk into shadow, and shrank from him. So he ended by laughing at them, as the country did, and going on his way unmindful of them. He answered slander by brave action-calumny by harder work,
a, was one of the most accomplished gentlemen of his time. He emigrated to South Carolina at the age of twenty-one, married, and commenced there the practice of law. To the son, the issue of this marriage, he gave the name of William Downs Farley, after his father-in-law, Colonel William F. Downs, a distinguished lawyer, member of the Legislature, and an officer of the war of 1812. The father of this Colonel Downs was Major Jonathan Downs, a patriot of ‘76; his mother, a daughter of Captain Louis Saxon, also distinguished in our first great struggle; thus our young partisan of 1863 had fighting blood in his veins, and, in plunging into the contest, only followed the traditions of his race. From earliest childhood he betrayed the instincts of the man of genius. Those who recollect him then, declare that his nature seemed composed of two mingled elements — the one gentle and reflective, the other ardent and enthusiastic. Passionately fond of Shakspeare and the elder poets, he lo
The scouts On the borders of Scotland, in the good old times, there was a Debatable land --bone of contention between Pict and Anglo-Saxon. In Virginia, lately, there was a similar region, the subject of dispute between Federal and Southron. In Scotland, the menat-arms and barons fought along the banks of the Tweed; in Virginia, Mosby's men and their blue opponents contended on the banks of the Rappahannock. Our Debatable land was, in fact, all that fine and beautiful country lying between the Potomac and the last-named river, over which the opposing armies of the North and the South alternately advanced and retired. This land was the home of the scout; the chosen field of the ranger and the partisan. Mosby was king there: and his liegemen lived as jovial lives as did the followers of Robin Hood in Sherwood Forest, in the old days of Merry England. But the romantic lives of Mosby and his men will not be touched on here. The subject would become enthralling were it to