Stuart’s tent, or rather the strip of canvas which he called one, was pitched beneath a great oak on a wooded knoll about a mile south of the little village. Above it drooped the masses of fresh June foliage; around, were grouped the white canvas “flies” of the staff; in a glade close by gleamed the tents d’abri of the couriers. Horses, tethered to the trees, champed their corn in the shadow; in the calm, summer night, the battle-flag drooped and clung to its staff. Before the tent of Stuart, a man on guard, with drawn sabre, paced to and fro with measured steps.
A glance told me that Mohun’s singular prisoner had arrived. A courier was holding her fine animal near the general’s tent, and as I dismounted, three figures’ appeared in the illuminated doorway. These were the figures of Stuart, the “gray woman,” and a young aid-de-camp.
“Farewell, madam,” said Stuart, bowing and laughing; “I am sorry to have made your acquaintance under circumstances so disagreeable to you; but I trust you will appreciate the situation, and not blame me.”
“Blame you? Not in the least, general. You are a very gallant man.”
And the gay words were accompanied by a musical laugh.
“You will have an opportunity of seeing the Confederate capital,” said Stuart, smiling.
The lady made a humorous grimace.
“And of abusing me upon the way thither; and afterward on the route to Port Monroe and Washington, as you will not be detained, I am sure.”
“I shall not abuse you, sir. You are the noblest gentleman I have ever known."{1}
{Footnote 1: The real words of Stuart’s prisoner}