by Burke Davis
Would you believe it? Redmond Burke rode up and reported for duty yesterday. We have made a great glorification over him. He had many narrow escapes and has a wonderful set of yarns to tell. We are delighted to see him.
Another Stuart scout was Frank Stringfellow, whose air of twenty-one-year-old innocence took him safely through many an escapade; he had become as much at home in enemy lines as among Jeb's cavalry. He once was forced into a remarkable hiding place in Alexandria which made him a legend in the Army of Northern Virginia.
Stringfellow was walking in the occupied border city one day when a Federal officer recognized him. A chase ensued through busy streets, with a growing party of Union soldiers running yelling after him.
The scout ran through the open door of a house, up a flight of stairs, and burst into a room occupied by an old woman, who sat at a table. She wore old-fashioned hoop skirts. Miraculously, she was a friend of Stringfellow's.
"Here, Frank," she said calmly, lifting her skirts. The scout crouched beneath her hoops, holding his breath, as Federal soldiers searched the house.
An officer shouted at the old woman, "Where is he? He came in here."
"Who are you looking for? Someone ran in the front door a moment ago. He must have run through and out the back door."
The Federals gave up the search, and Stringfellow emerged, resolved, he said, "to be a better and more Christian man."10
Christmas passed. Jeb sent Flora a gift of fifteen yards of silk goods in from Baltimore through the blockade; she sent him a golden sash and gaudy shoulder straps, made by women of War-renton. "Bless the ladies," Stuart wrote.
Flora urged him to come to her for a visit, and allow other officers to guard against the Federal invaders.
He wrote her:
How much better to have your husband in his grave after a career true to every duty and every responsibility, to you, his country, and his God, than inglorious existence—a living shame to you and to his children.
In January he wrote his brother-in-law, John R. Cooke:
I have felt great mortification at Col. Cooke's course. He will regret it but once, and that will be continuously. Let us so conduct ourselves as to have nothing in our course to be regretted. Certainly thus far we have nothing that we may not be proud of. It is a sad thing, but the responsibility of the present state of the separation in the family rests entirely with the Colonel. Let us bear our misfortunes in silence.11
He was in a mood to scold politicians, too, for the new bill reshuffling the army's commands:
Congress has thoroughly disgraced itself by passing the most outrageous abortion of a bill ever heard of for the reorganization of our forces.
He warned his wife not to reveal his opinion, for fear his foes would "use this speech against me."
But in camp Stuart revealed no concern; instead, as Esten Cooke saw him:
"He was the most approachable of generals, and jested with the private soldiers as jovially as if he had been one of them. The men were perfectly unconstrained in his presence, and treated him more like the chief of a hunting party than a general Stuart was like a king of rangers. On one side of his room was his chair and desk; on the other his blankets; at his feet his two setters, 'Nip' and 'Tuck.' . . . When tired of writing, he would throw himself upon his blankets, play with his pets, laugh at the least provocation, and burst into some gay song....
"His favorites were: The Bugle Sang Truce, For the Night Cloud Had Lowered'; The Dew Is On the Blossom,' 'Sweet Evelina,'and'Evelyn.'"
But Stuart also loved the roaring songs of his band, and was apt to cast aside his dispatches, or leave his games of marbles, quoits or snowballs with his staff, and join Sweeney and the others in "Hell Broke Loose in Georgia," "Billy in the Low Grounds," "Oh Lord, Gals, One Friday," or "Gal on the Log."
Stuart was seldom thoughtful, so far as the men of headquarters could discern. But Cooke once chided him for needless exposure on the front lines, and warned he would be killed if he did not use caution.
"Oh, I reckon not," Stuart said, "but if I am, they will easily find somebody to fill my place."
So far as one could see, he had no more serious concern for his life; the burdens of war seemed to rest lightly on him. Eggleston saw him in a railroad station at lighthearted play: "In the crowded waiting room with a babe on each arm; a great, bearded warrior with his plumed hat, and with golden spurs clanking at his heels, engaged in a mad frolic with all the little people in the room, charging them right and left with the pair of babies which he had captured from their mothers."
Despite this, there was alert watchfulness—though once during the winter the enemy drove in upon him, an event promptly reported by General D. H. Hill. President Davis was stung to criticism in a dispatch to General Johnston:
The letter of General Hill painfully impresses me with that which has heretofore been indicated—a want of vigilance and intelligent observation on the part of General Stuart. The officers commanding his pickets should be notified of all roads in their neighborhood, and sleepless watchfulness should be required of them.
It is the only complaint of record on the cavalry cordon of this period.12
Stuart had a counter-complaint, that his troops had not been properly recognized for their work at Manassas in the summer:
As you well know my regiment was the only cavalry that charged the enemy. .. . No cavalry has excelled it in the zeal and effectiveness of its captains and men, none of whom have been advanced, notwithstanding the promotion of every other captain on duty at Manassas. I respectfully ask that the company officers of the 1st Cavalry be not forgotten.
And of the action at Dranesville he wrote:
I notice that Congress voted thanks to all who have been engaged with the enemy except the brave men who were with me at Dranesville. Have I no friends in Congress?
Winter dragged by; picket duty was cruel, and the bottomless fields and roads ended Stuart's round of drills and reviews. The troops burrowed in their villages of huts to wait for spring.
CHAPTER 6
The Peninsula
THE rainstorm struck muted thunder from the equestrian statue of Washington in Capitol Square; waterfalls spilled down the theatrical figure and the bronze flanks of the horse. The statue rose in the center of the square between old St. Paul's Church and the Capitol, surrounded by lesser heroes on their pedestals, beneath the bare arms of giant trees. All the people of Richmond seemed to have crowded here on this miserable day.
It was February twenty-second; the Confederacy was a year old, and Jefferson Davis was to be inaugurated as permanent President. A sea of umbrellas stretched before the pale, thin Mississippian, whose voice was hushed by the drumming of the storm as he took the oath of office. He was none too popular in the Confederate capital at this moment, but one who watched saw a hopeful sign: "Something in his mien—something solemn in the surroundings ... for the moment raised him in the eyes of the people, high above party spite and personal prejudice.
"An involuntary murmur of admiration, not loud, but heart-deep, broke from the crowds who thronged the drenched walks; and every foot of space on the roof, windows and steps of the Capitol. As it died, Mr. Davis spoke to the people."
The President said the Confederacy's future would be as bright as tomorrow's sun. Keen listeners noted that he made no promises, no apologies for recent disasters. He spoke in a cold, calm, impersonal manner. His faith in the destiny of the Confederacy was unconquerable, he said, and his distant, almost diffident, air only emphasized his strength of will.
He drew a remarkable cheer from the people. A witness, T. C. DeLeon, described it: "Then, through the swooping blasts of the storm, came a low, wordless shout, wrenched from their inmost natures, that told, if not of renewed faith in his means, at least of dogged resolution to stand by him, heart and hand, to achieve the common end. It was a solemn sight, that inauguration."
Men and women left the Square with serious faces, DeLeon saw, though hundreds had doubtless h
eard only a few words spoken by the low, firm voice.1
The permanent government made few changes. Secretary of War Judah Benjamin, unpopular with the public, was removed from office, but reappeared immediately as Secretary of State, where, as one witness put it, "his rosy, smiling visage impressed all who approached him with the vague belief that he had just heard good news."
The Confederacy's news had been bad for months past. In mid-January General Crittenden was defeated at Mill Springs in the West, and General Zollicoffer was dead. Men in Richmond streets muttered that Zollicoffer was uselessly sacrificed.
Affairs in the West grew worse. Fort Henry fell. This news was followed by a report of a great Confederate victory at Fort Donelson, but after a day of rejoicing in Richmond the War Department came forth with the glum truth: Donelson had fallen, a twin to Fort Henry. There was widespread complaint that the government was somehow misusing the vast resources sacrificed by the people. "Nearly half the country" was in opposition to Davis this week.
On February seventh a new blow came. Roanoke Island, North Carolina, fell with its force of Virginia troops under Governor Henry Wise. Old Wise had been calling for help for weeks, with warnings that the whole North Carolina coast would fall to the enemy. Now it was too late for anything but a Congressional investigation: The War Department was to blame. Almost as soon as this document appeared, General Burnside led a Federal column into New Bern, North Carolina, and most of the coastal area immediately south of Richmond was lost to the Confederacy.
Not even this series of catastrophes dampened the gay spirits of the new Richmond. There were almost nightly receptions in the mansion occupied by President Davis and his family. Every fortnight there was an "undress review," thronged by thousands; a military band played, and cabinet and bureau heads moved in the crowd. Generals from the front were seen, including Joe Johnston, Longstreet and the blond giant John Hood. There were "senior wranglers" from Congress, editors and "dancing men wasting their time in the vain effort to talk."
DeLeon, who saw some of the revelry, wrote: "But not only the chosen ten thousand were called. Sturdy artisans, with their best coats and hands scrubbed to the proper point of cleanliness for shaking the President's, were always there. Moneyed men came, with speculation in their eyes, and lobby members trying to throw up dust therein; while country visitors, having screwed their courage up to the desperate point of being presented—always dropped Mr. Davis' hand as if its not over-cordial grasp burned them."
Dark-eyed Varina Howell Davis, "the Mississippi Rose," smiled gravely at the crowd from her husband's side; it was not long since Captain Blackford, on his way to join Stuart, had overheard her on the streets, cursing a Negro groom for cruelty to a horse, with all the crude profanity of a drover.
Many houses were open nightly and the young people, who were coming to dominate Richmond society, danced the Lancers. There were dozens of gambling hells, too, rich saloons of a sort the city had never seen before.
The observant DeLeon wrote as if he had visited the places: "Senators, soldiers, and the learned professions sat elbow to elbow round the generous table. In the handsome rooms above they puffed fragrant real Havanas, while the latest developments were discussed. Here men who had been riding raids in the mountains of the west, had lain shut up in water batteries of the Mississippi. . . met after long separation. Here the wondering young cadet would look first upon some noted raider, or some gallant brigadier, cool and invincible amid the rattle of Minie balls, as reckless but conquerable amid the rattle of ivory chips."
Inflation became worse by the day, but, strange to the eyes of Richmond, those who were fortunate enough to have gold lived like emperors, and flourished the more with each passing day, as the
Confederate Treasury ground out its banknotes in desperation, and the paper sank rapidly in value. Money halted briefly in its descent before it became almost literally worthless. Confederate bills would buy a Richmond hotel room for a day for $20, $1 in gold; a suit of clothes, $300 Confederate, $30, gold; whisky, $25 per gallon, Confederate, $1.25, gold. Prices in the North, in Washington and New York, were double Richmond's gold prices; thus a small class of speculators and blockade runners became rich beyond their dreams. Gold was the only vehicle for financial gambling.
Soldiers were being paid on the original basis, on the mythical theory that Confederate bills were truly valued. The result was that the $11 per month paid a private soon amounted to no more than 55 cents in coin. A brigadier general's income, translated into gold, was nearly $8 per month.
But though generals swarmed into Richmond during the winter, no one saw Stuart; he was with his men in the cold camp at Centreville, watching for the expected move of McClellan. Signs of Federal activity multiplied in early March.
On March second Jeb wrote Flora:
The next summer will probably be the most eventful in a century. We must nerve our hearts for the trial with a firm reliance on God. We must plant our feet firmly upon the platform of our inextinguishable hatred to the Northern Confederacy, with a determination to die rather than submit— What a mockery would such a liberty be with submission— I for one—though I stood alone in the Confederacy, without countenance or aid, would uphold the banner of Southern Independence as long as I had a hand left to grasp the staff—and then die before submitting. I want my wifey to feel that sort of enthusiasm. ...
Tell my boy when I am gone how I felt & wrote. Tell him never to do anything which his father would be ashamed of— never to forget the principles for which his father struggled. We are sure to win, what the sacrifices are to be, we cannot tell, but if the enemy held every town and hill top—Southern subjugation would be no nearer its consummation than now....
Stuart was not disheartened, even by the bad news from the West and the North Carolina coast. He thought it might serve to arouse the people of the Confederacy from their "criminal apathy."
He took no satisfaction from the evident failure of General Robert E. Lee in the mountains of West Virginia, however; his old West Point commandant had tried in vain to save a doomed campaign and the Federals had pushed forward, forcing Lee to give up his hope of holding the western Virginia frontier.
Jeb wrote: "With profound personal regard for General Lee, he has disappointed me as a General."
Stuart's own front abruptly demanded his attention.
On a frosty March morning his scouts brought ominous news: The enemy was moving on them. Stuart flung his cavalrymen toward the bluecoats on the length of his front. It was not long before he suspected that McClellan was only screening his real maneuver. He was right. Federal troopships were moving down the Potomac to Fortress Monroe, where McClellan would base his new drive against Richmond up the marshy highway between the York and the James.
General Johnston had been pleading with Richmond to allow him to evacuate the line around Manassas; one who opposed him was General R. E. Lee, now brought to the city to advise President Davis. Now Johnston reacted instantly to the Federal advance. He ordered Stuart to burn the vast stores accumulated at Manassas.
The infantry evacuated the junction and left Stuart's troopers to deal with the Federals. Captain Blackford did mournful duty, burning corn cribs with his own hands and directing his regiment in scorching a path before the enemy. Within a day or so the troopers had nothing to eat but parched corn—yet Johnston's orders destroyed millions of rations without making a fight for them. Captain Blackford lamented: "This may have been West Point science, but to ordinary mortals it looked not wise." At Manassas the troopers burned piles of bacon as high as houses, and watched unhappily as flames consumed the meat, wafting the odor for twenty miles. The cavalry fell back before the enemy. Pursuit was brief.
To Stuart this sudden withdrawal with its loss of clothing and food seemed absurd. He expressed his anger to Flora:
I am enduring the saddest, sorest trials of the soldier, to see this beautiful country abandoned to the enemy.
But it must be abandoned now, since
the enemy was clearly planning to attack The Peninsula. And Stuart hurried his command in the rear of Johnston's swarming army. Most of the route to Richmond was snowy and unpleasant.
As they left Manassas they rode through a severe sleet storm and camped in a pine wood. It was too dark for the weary soldiers to notice that the trees were bent far down with snow and ice. The cavalrymen built fires on the edge of these woods, fed horses corn from the burned cribs, and ate chicken and eggs snatched from farms in their path. While the hungry men waited for supper with the delicious odors in their nostrils, heat from the fires dumped disaster on them.
Masses of ice and snow melted free and crashed among the men, extinguishing the fires and ruining their meal. They salvaged such half-cooked food as they could find and slept on the snow.
Stuart arrived late at this bivouac and slept under a brush lean-to with Blackford on a makeshift bed of leaves. Stuart and Blackford combined their blankets for the night.2
The Confederate government had watched with dismay as Johnston's troops marched toward the defenses around Yorktown. Davis and Lee had advised partial rather than complete withdrawal to the new position. But the people of Richmond took courage at sight of the soldiers, even the first of the ragged infantry coming out of the muddy roads from the north. By the time Stuart's cavalry brought up the rear enthusiasm was at a peak.
Last year Jeb's troopers had been mounted on horses and mules of every description, in a variety of uniforms, armed with shotguns, muskets, rifles or old flintlocks. But on the March day when they trotted with precision up Franklin Street to Capitol Square and turned out Broad Street toward the front, they seemed to the populace the very ideal of mounted soldiers. There was little polish, and both uniforms and trappings were worn, with a sprinkling of captured Federal equipment.
