Jeb Stuart, The Last Cavalier

by Burke Davis

  They were so high on the mountain that no guides were to be had; they could return by Jackson's camp only with a circling sixty-mile ride—and Stuart must reach his command before morning.

  They stumbled through the night over the ridges, often losing their way, until at last the German found a ragged mountaineer with whom Stuart bargained:

  "You lead us to Barbee's Crossroads, over there, and I'll give you a reward. Betray us, and I'll shoot you down as quick as thought."

  They often dismounted to lead horses around precipices and over huge rocks; thorns tore their uniforms and scratched painfully. Before morning they came to a Confederate camp near the village of Macon, a point from which Dr. Eliason knew his way. Stuart gave the delighted guide a fifty-dollar bill, and galloped for his men.

  He found one squadron on picket at Barbee's Crossroads, and angrily sent von Borcke for Rosser, who had retreated seven miles beyond, to Orleans.

  "Tell him to bring the men back here. I'm not going to give it up without fighting, and I'll meet them here tomorrow."

  Rosser was "exceedingly annoyed," but got up his command and brought them back to Stuart.

  There were brave stories of the mountain fighting that had blazed in Stuart's brief absence. One of the tales was that some of Pelham's Horse Artillery, manned by adventurers from many nations, had a battery overrun in a Federal attack, and that the gunners, "The French Detachment," had fought their guns until the enemy fell back, the graycoats shouting the "Marseillaise" at the tops of their voices.

  Stuart fought again the next day near the crossroads, where the chief casualties were in the ist North Carolina, under Colonel James B. Gordon, who led a daring charge. Stuart ended the day by withdrawing once more, and repeated the process through the week. He was, as ever, moved by Pelham's tenacity:

  The Stuart Horse Artillery comes in for a full share of praise, and its gallant commander, Major John Pelham, exhibited a skill and courage which I have never seen surpassed. On this occasion I was more than ever struck with that extraordinary coolness and mastery of the situation which more eminently characterized this youthful officer than any other artillerist... his coup d’oeil was accurate and comprehensive, his choice of ground made with the eye of military genius, and his dispositions always such in retiring as to render it impossible for the enemy to press us without being severely punished for his temerity.

  In the midst of the rearguard fighting Stuart got bad news from home. Young Flora was dead, just after her fifth birthday. He wrote his wife on November sixth:

  The intelligence reached me this morning. I was somewhat expecting it, and yet it grieves me more the more I think of it. When I remember her sweet voice, her gentle ways, and affection for "Papa," and then think that she is gone, my heart is ready to burst. I want to see you so much. I know she is better off, but it is such a hard blow to us

  I have been harassing and checking a heavy force, believed to be McClellan's. God has shielded me thus far from bodily harm, but I feel perfect resignation to go at his bidding to join my little Flora.

  A few days later he wrote to Lily Parran Lee of his sorrow:

  I can think over her sweet little face, sweet temper and nature and extraordinary sensibilities and weep like a child to think that their embodiment who loved her Pa like idolatry is now lifeless clay. May you never feel such a blow.

  In the same letter he threw off his grief to add:

  I want a pair of very high top Russian leather boots No. 9. Can you go into as extensive a business as this?5

  But there was no question of Stuart's grief—and no question of his being able to leave the front to attend Flora's funeral. The enemy pressed him relentlessly.

  On November seventh Stuart had retreated as far as Waterloo Bridge, and that day was forced to watch his troopers fall back before the enemy "in disgraceful stampede," which was checked only by Pelham's guns. He burned the bridge at dark and spent the night at Jefferson in a blinding snowstorm, in a windowless abandoned house whose old chimneys filled the place with smoke. Jeb and the staff were driven outside to escape these discomforts.

  The disheveled force met the enemy again the next day and Stuart was forced back over the Hazel River, suffering the mortification of burying two of his cannon to keep them from the enemy. The shrunken ranks crossed the river with von Borcke riding behind the non-combatants of "Company Q," now grown to 500 men, shouting at them, "The Yankees are close on you!" Still the hungry men straggled, halting to gather persimmons at the roadside.

  The command crossed the Rappahannock in a fresh snowstorm —but the following day was sent on reconnaissance and met the enemy once more. Von Borcke noted a significant bravery among the blue regiments which had begun to beset Stuart with such fury in recent weeks:

  "I could not help admiring . . .the excellent behavior of a squadron of the 5th New York Cavalry, who received with the greatest coolness the heavy fire of our battery, maintaining perfect order while shell after shell exploded in their ranks, and saddle after saddle was emptied—quietly filling the gaps in their lines."

  The days of the early war were gone, when Stuart's fearless riders, on superior horses, stampeded the poorly trained bluecoats almost at will. The enemy had found his courage.

  Stuart had a narrow escape on this day. "Greatly provoked" at the withdrawal of his troopers, he concealed thirty riflemen in a woodland and waited until Federal horsemen were within two hundred yards.

  "General, we're in danger here," von Borcke said.

  Stuart was "in a very bad humor," and snapped: "If it's likely to be too hot for you, retire. I'll stay."

  "My duty is with you," the German said—but when the fire broke, he discreetly went behind a tree. Bullets whizzed about them, several tearing bark on von Borcke's tree.

  The German looked at Stuart, who passed his hand swiftly in front of his face with an expression of consternation. Von Borcke almost collapsed in laughter. An enemy bullet had cut off half of Stuart's "beloved mustache" as neatly as it could have been done by a barber's razor.

  The Federal attack was soon halted, and Stuart had thirty prisoners to show for his ambush. That night he sent von Borcke to General Lee's headquarters, but did not go himself. The German told the story of Jeb's lost mustache to the great amusement of Lee, Longstreet and their staffs.6

  Flora arrived in "Camp No Rest" the next day. As Jeb wrote a friend, "she is not herself since the loss of her little companion." Von Borcke was impressed by the courage of the Stuarts in their grief, but wrote: "Her manner was composed, but her eyes betrayed their frequent overflow of tears; and the warm pressure of the hand she silently gave me upon our meeting, indicated that words could not describe the agony she had endured."

  Flora had brought young Jimmy with her, and this three-year-old did much to enliven the grieving family. Von Borcke thought the infant much like his father; at every opportunity the child wandered among the cavalry horses, and the German aide took him on many gallops around the camp.

  General Lee came as soon as he heard of Flora's visit. Von Borcke wrote: "I was touched by the gentle sympathizing way in which he talked with Mrs. Stuart."

  Lawley and Vizetelly again appeared in camp, and the days became gay once more. The enemy was quieter. Stirring news came into camp: General McClellan had been removed from Federal command, and Ambrose Burnside had succeeded him.

  Longstreet said he was happy to see the change, because McClellan was developing into an aggressive officer. General Lee said thoughtfully, "McClellan and I always understood each other so well. I am afraid they may continue to make these changes until they find someone I don't understand."

  Stuart told John Esten Cooke that "Little Mac" had not only botched The Seven Days before Richmond, but had thrown away victory in the Sharpsburg campaign as well:

  "McClellan wasn't the man for the occasion. The Maryland campaign was full of faults. He ought to have pressed on McLaws after Boonsboro. That was a great oversight. If Harpers Ferry hadn't su
rrendered, we would have been in a bad way, up there."

  Headquarters moved in late November, for on the nineteenth Burnside shifted the big Federal army eastward, halting on the northern bank of the Rappahannock overlooking Fredericksburg, as if he intended to leap the river and drive on Richmond. To his surprise the watchful Robert Lee had Longstreet's men fortifying heights south of the river on the same day; within two weeks Jackson's corps joined them. Lee's line was dug along a curving ridge overlooking the flat river bottom, an impregnable position from which he waited to be attacked.

  Stuart's headquarters were five miles from Fredericksburg, in a tent made comfortable by two big fireplaces. Von Borcke found Jeb "as proud as an Indian nabob of his sumptuous palace." Mulatto Bob had returned from captivity, to Stuart's delight, and the bones rattled with the band as they had in the days before the raid on Chambersburg.

  A newcomer was Channing Price's brother Thomas, another of Stuart's cousins. Tom became a staff lieutenant, a young man whose air of sophistication had been gained in a German university.

  Lawley and Vizetelly were still in camp, and several other Englishmen with them, drawn by the prospect of coming battle. December came in, bitter cold.

  Death touched the staff once more. The daring Redmond Burke, who had been raiding in the border counties along the Potomac, had been killed in Shepherdstown in a night attack of Indiana infantry. Two of his sons were captured. Stuart was saddened. He wrote Flora:

  He died as he lived, true as steel. . . . His child-like devotion to me is one of those curious romances of this war which I will cherish next to my heart while I live.

  He also issued a general order to the cavalry:

  The Major General of Cavalry announces with the deepest regret the death of Capt. Redmond Burke whose valuable services and heroic conduct on our border are historic.

  He was killed by a lurking foe in a night attack on his little

  band

  He possessed a heart intrepid, a spirit invincible, a patriotism too lofty to admit of a selfish thought, and a conscience that scorned to do a mean thing.

  A devoted champion of the South, his grey hairs have descended to the grave leaving a shining example of patriotism and devotion to those who survive.

  And to his intimate friend, Lily Lee, from whom Stuart first learned of Burke's death, Jeb wrote:

  ... His death was a severe blow to us and to our cause..,. I deeply regret that he was not spared to enjoy the peace his prowess deserved.

  I intend to put a monument over Capt. B. if I live. Have the place marked.

  But from the same letter Stuart's irrepressible spirit shone, betraying once more his unflagging interest which was second not even to war: Women.

  If a truce .. . should take place I shall be sure to visit you to get that kiss I have strived in vain for heretofore.

  Do kiss the girls for me if you please, and tell them all the sweet things you know I would write if time allowed. Tell Miss Folly that someone stole her picture and another one I had and circumstances make Mrs. Stuart an object of strong suspicion. I have demanded immediate restitution.... Much love and kisses to the girls.

  But he did not forget the war:

  We are all all right here and trust very soon to have a glorious victory. Tell our friends everywhere to pray for us: Our army is in better fighting trim than it has been for six months.

  One morning Stuart's plan to go fox hunting was spoiled by Federal gunboats ascending the river; he went to watch Pelham's guns turn them back after a brisk duel. He rode back to camp through a snowstorm. The next morning brought one of the war's fiercest engagements, a snowball battle between the infantry divisions of Generals Hood and McLaws. The men fought over a field half a mile square, and did not spare Jeb and his staff.

  This fight had been brewing for weeks, with skirmishes at every light snowfall, but today there was ammunition for a decisive meeting. Hundreds of McLaw's men raided Hood's camp. The Texans boiled out with officers barking orders, regimental flags flying, and lines of battle forming. Hood's division charged. Von Borcke recorded: "The air was darkened with snowballs." The fight came nearer Stuart.

  He pleaded neutrality and von Borcke hoisted a white flag, but volleys burst around the cavalrymen and hundreds of men charged around the tents. Stuart watched with von Borcke from atop an ammunition box, cheering and calling suggestions to the infantry. McLaws' division at last chased the Texans into their camp. The day's casualties were one broken leg, an eye lost, myriad bruises. Von Borcke commented that the sham battle "gave ample proof of the excellent spirit of our troops, who, in the wet, wintry weather, many of them without blankets, some without shoes ... still maintained their good humor, and were ever ready for any sort of sport or fun."7

  Two lieutenants of the staff, "Honeybun" Hullihen and Thomas Turner, left this week on a dangerous mission; they crossed the Rappahannock into the enemy rear in an effort to bring Robert Lee's daughter, Mary, south to safety from the plantation house where she was marooned by war.

  Stuart knew that a major clash of the armies impended, and he was busy; he was not too busy to charm the women who still besieged him. A note of December tenth, "delivered by hand" to a girl at the plantation "Heartsease," was an example:

  Major General Stuart presents his affectionate regards to Miss Belle Hart and regrets exceedingly that an unavoidable circumstance will prevent the consummation of his wishes today. Should there be a concert tonight however he hopes she will hold herself unengaged in order to accompany him to it.8

  Jeb was thus forced to forego a party at the home of a courier near Chancellorsville on this night. He allowed his officers to go, however, on their promise to return by sunrise, and they went off in Pelham's yellow wagon. Von Borcke drove four mules borrowed from the medical department, his companions Sweeney, two fiddlers, Major Pelham, Captain Blackford, Lieutenant Dabney and an English visitor—and a couple of other musicians and dancers. They jounced over the frozen road, making the woods ring with music.

  The wagon overturned, giving Blackford a bad cut on the head, but the determined celebrants pushed on, and enjoyed a rollicking party, a big supper and night-long music.

  They were back in camp at daybreak, at about the time the army awoke to the roar of massed Federal artillery which filled the valley of the Rappahannock with thunder. The town of Fredericksburg was being destroyed.

  Most of the townspeople had been evacuated, and Blackford saw them, pitiable bands of women and children, wandering the roads and camping in the cold woods. But on December eleventh, when Burnside turned his guns on Fredericksburg, Blackford found a few civilians still hiding there, accompanied only by some Mississippi infantrymen.

  Blackford studied the wintry landscape where the hills dominated the river as if he anticipated that history would be made here:

  The Confederate army lay in a five-mile line just south of the Rappahannock, its upper end on the river half a mile above Fredericksburg, running farther south as it followed the crest of hills downstream. At the eastern end infantry was a mile and a half from the river; the gap was filled with cavalry.

  Cannon dotted the hills, dominating the river flats where the enemy must come—if he came.

  Over the river, where Stafford Heights soared, the enemy's columns wound out of sight and tents crowded the hills. Work parties threatened crossings at the riverside.

  Fog covered the lower valley and lay in the streets of Fredericksburg. At a hill on the Telegraph Road the army's commanders peered through the fog at the enemy. Their own men had dug in so industriously that hardly a Confederate remained exposed. Men and guns were so thick on the wooded slopes of Jackson's front that thousands of troops were at the rear, in reserve.

  Stuart sent Blackford to scout in Fredericksburg, and the captain and two men crept to the river through the ruined streets and saw an incomplete Federal pontoon bridge, its near end just a hundred yards away. Dead and wounded bluecoats lay on the bridge-way, dropped there by the Mis
sissippi riflemen. Blackford judged that the enemy would soon launch boats and try to storm the river crossing. He returned to Stuart.

  The fog rose, and the barrage began anew. The opposite hills were one great cloud of cannon smoke, and shells rained among the Colonial houses of the town. Fredericksburg began to burn.

  Federal bridges spanned the river after fierce fighting in the bottoms, and the Confederates spent the rest of the day watching the enemy; endless blue columns crossed to the south of the river and camped in the flats below.

  Stuart saw enemy parties digging along the river road from Fredericksburg, and about two P.M. rode with von Borcke to investigate. Jeb led the German to a barn, where they tied their horses and crept down a ditch near the enemy. Field glasses revealed growing earthworks; blue infantry and artillery were massed before

  Jackson's lines. Von Borcke counted thirty-two guns in one battery. Stuart sent him to General Lee with a report.

  Half an hour later von Borcke led Lee and Jackson to the spot. The commanders stared for a few minutes and went back to their hillside, apparently pleased at what they had seen.

  Stuart was not idle during the night. He called up extra couriers and ordered Fitz Lee and Rooney Lee to unite at the right of the line.

  Cavalry headquarters breakfasted before dawn, and the officers rode to the front. Infantry bands greeted the day in a cold wind which searched the hillside. As if summoned, the commanders rode out. Jackson was dazzling in his new uniform, and officers teased him. "It's the doing of my friend Stuart, I believe," Stonewall said.