"We are aware of that, and do not doubt, madam, that you would hand us over to them if you could, but we will keep our eyes open."
It was somewhat hazardous to get dinner so near a large body of Rebels, with no Union troops near at hand, but the flavor of roast turkey, after weeks of camp fare, was not to be resisted under the circumstances.
It would require much space to give a full report of our "table talk" on that occasion. It was rare and entertaining. But the dinner over, and our bills paid to the satisfaction of host and hostess, I said:—
"I hope that you will be delivered from the horrors of war. I do not wish you to suffer, but I do hope that those who have caused the
war, who are now in arms, will be speedily crushed; and when the conflict is over, I hope we shall meet under more auspicious circumstances."
The storm of passion had subsided. "I beg your pardon, sir. You have treated me like gentlemen, and I have acted like a fool," she replied, extending her hand, and we parted good friends. There was, after all, a tender place in her heart.
After dinner we rode on again. Stuart, instead of passing through the gap, had turned south along a rough and rocky road. Six miles below Markham, he made another stand at a place called Barbee's cross-roads,—roads which crossed from Markham to Chester Gap, from Thornton's Gap to Warrenton.
There was a rickety old house, once a tavern, where travelers from the valley to Warrenton and Alexandria found refreshment for themselves and food for their horses. But now grass was growing in the roads. There were old hats and cast-off garments in the windows. The roof was falling in; and there were props against the sides of the house to keep it from falling flat to the ground. The few farm-houses around were also tumbling down. Energy, enterprise, and industry had fled from the place; and it was as if the curse of God was upon it and upon the whole State. The people were reaping the inevitable reward which sooner or later must, according to the immutable laws of nature, come upon those who deliberately and systematically raise slaves for sale, as they would cattle, horses, sheep, and pigs.
Stuart placed three of his guns under the locust-trees, which shaded the road west of the old tavern. There were two more guns on a knoll, east of the tavern and south of it, hidden from sight, but so placed, that if Pleasanton charged down the turnpike, he would be cut to pieces by grape and canister. Stuart thought to get Pleasanton into a trap. He erected a barricade in the road behind a knoll, which Pleasanton could not see. He piled up wagons, rails, plows, harrows, boxes, and barrels. If Pleasanton charged, he would bring up against the barricade, where he would be destroyed by the cross-fire of the batteries.
But Pleasanton was cautious as well as courageous. He came into position half a mile distant, and opened a fire which cut down the locust-trees, tore through the old tavern, and made it more than ever a ruin. He kept three hundred men in the road sheltered by a hill, and out of Stuart's sight, ready for a charge, and deployed a squadron of the Eighth Illinois, the Eighth New York, and a portion of the Sixth Regulars in the fields on the right-hand side of the road, keeping them mounted. They faced south. He dismounted the remainder of the Sixth Regulars, who left their horses in the woods, and moved round upon Stuart's left, east of the old tavern. They saw the barricade, and told Pleasanton what they had discovered. They commenced a sharp fire, to which Stuart replied. He weakened his force behind the locust-trees, and sent reinforcements to his right to hold in check the dismounted Regulars.