I was not only called upon in that May of 1863, to mourn the
illustrious soldier, who had done me the honor to call me his friend; I
had also to look around me for some other general; some other position
in the army.
I was revolving this important subject in my mind, when I received a
note from General J.E.B. Stuart, Jackson's friend and brother in arms.
"Come and see me," said this note. Forty-eight hours afterward I was at
Stuart's head-quarters, near Culpeper Court-House.
When I entered his tent, or rather breadth of canvas, stretched beneath
a great oak, Stuart rose from the red blanket upon which he was lying,
and held out his hand. As he gazed at me in silence I could see his
face flush.
"You remind me of Jackson," he said, retaining my hand and gazing
fixedly at me.
I bowed my head, making no other reply; for the sight of Stuart brought
back to me also many memories; the scouting of the Valley, the hard
combats of the Lowland, Cold Harbor, Manassas, Sharpsburg,
Fredericksburg, and that last greeting between Jackson and the great
commander of the cavalry, on the weird moonlight night at
Chancellorsville.
Stuart continued to gaze at me, and I could see his eyes slowly fill
with tears.
"It is a national calamity!" he murmured. "Jackson's loss is
irreparable!"[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.
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