XVII. — FORT DELAWARE.
To descend now from the heights of generalization to the plains of incident and personal observation.
For this volume is not a history of the war in Virginia, but the memoirs of a staff officer belonging to Stuart’s cavalry.
May, 1864, had come; we were soon to be in the saddle; the thundering hammer of General Grant was about to commence its performances.
One night—it was the night of the first of May—I was sitting in General Stuart’s tent, looking into his blazing log fire, and musing. In this luxury I was not interrupted. It was nearly midnight, and the rest of the staff had retired. Stuart was writing at his desk, by the light of a candle in a captured “camp candlestick,” and from time to time, without turning his head, ejaculated some brief words upon any subject which came into his head.
After writing ten minutes, he now said briefly:—
“Surry.”
“General,” was my as brief response.”