"Well, it is a trifle."
"It is a serious matter, general."
"You have lost something?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"A joint of my new flute."
And Tom Herbert's expression was so melancholy that Stuart burst into
laughter.
"You may have lost your flute, Tom," he said, leaning on his shoulder,
"but you have won your spurs at least, in the cavalry!"
XVIII.
DROWSYLAND.
At daylight, on the next morning, Stuart had crossed the Potomac into
Maryland.
He had advanced from Wolf Run Shoals to Fairfax Court House, where the
men rifled the sutlers' shops of tobacco, figs, white gloves, straw
hats, and every edible and wearable:--then the column pushed on toward
Seneca Falls, where the long wavering line of horsemen might have been
seen hour after hour crossing the moonlit river, each man, to prevent
wetting, holding above his head a shot or shell taken from the
caissons. Then the artillery was dragged through: the panting horses
trotted on, and the first beams of day saw the long column of Stuart
ready to advance on its perilous pathway to the Susquehanna, by the
route between the Federal army and Washington.
The word was given, and with the red flags fluttering, Stuart moved
toward Rockville, unopposed, save by a picket, which was driven off by
the advance guard.
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