But at last I
reached Richmond, and made preparations to set out at once for the
army. On the evening before my departure, I went to visit the grave of
Stuart at Hollywood, on the beautiful hill above the falls, west of the
city.
As I approached the lonely spot, where the great cavalier was lying
beside his little Flora, of whom he had often spoken to me with tears,
a thousand memories knocked at the door of my heart. With head bent
down, and chin resting on my breast, I drew near the grassy mound over
which waved the autumn foliage, tinted with yellow and crimson--and in
these few moments, all the splendid career of Stuart passed before me,
as on that day when I rode with him toward the fatal field of Yellow
Tavern.
I remembered all his hard combats, his glorious encounters, his
victories over such odds as vindicated his claim to a descent from the
dashing Rupert, and ranked him with the most famous leaders of cavalry
in all history. I recalled the courage, the joy, the gay laughter of
the great soldier--the blue eyes that flashed so--the sonorous voice
singing the merry songs. I remembered all the occasions when he had led
his men in the charge--how he had wept for Jackson, bowed his head
above the cold face of Pelham--how he had met the torrent unmoved,
shrunk from nothing in his path, fallen to save the Virginia capital,
and died murmuring "God's will be done!"--I remembered all that, and
with something in my throat that seemed choking me, drew near the quiet
mound, beneath which rested such a career, and so much glory.
Pages:
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356