I found General Pleasonton, by the aid of the commissary candle I carried for a lantern, lying asleep on an ambulance stretcher. At the head of his couch stood an empty cracker-box, on which was the remnant of his student lamp—about an inch of candle—along side of which were two derringer pistols.
Probably because I was nervous or rattled, by the fuss I had raised in the hall outside, I abruptly awakened the General, at the same moment stooping down to light his candle with mine. The General must have been having a nightmare. The moment I spoke he started up, grabbed for his pistols, and scared me so badly that I dropped the candle on the floor, leaving us in the dark, retreating to the door, as I said: "Don't shoot; it's me." After another "blessing" for my midnight endeavor to deliver a message, I got the matter straightened out.
I was telling General Pleasonton of this incident recently, which he recalled in his usual pleasant manner, though he insists that he never carried a pistol during the entire war.
General Pleasonton was certainly one of the most courteous, gentlemanly General officers in the Army of the Potomac.
It was my privilege and pleasure to be near his person a great deal up to Gettysburg, and I cannot recall a single instance of his using harsh or ungentlemanly language toward his associates. Indeed, the General had more the appearance and manner of a Presbyterian minister than of a dashing cavalryman. During the war, he wore his full beard closely trimmed, going about the camps in his quiet, easy way, like a chaplain.
It was Custer, and Kilpatrick, and Gregg, who possessed the dashing, dare-devil style. Buford, like Pleasonton, was an old Regular, and went about among his troops as if the war was a business that could not be hurried.
I saw General Pleasonton angry one day at a matter that seemed so trifling that all the Staff enjoyed the affair. His servant, or hostler, who took care of his blooded riding horse, had been regularly supplied by the General with a little cash, to be used in keeping a supply of loaf or lump sugar on hand. It was the General's habit before mounting to receive from his hostler a lump of the sugar, which he fed himself to his horse. It is said, you know, that the feeding of a lump of sugar to a horse regularly has an effect similar to love powders, and creates a peculiar attachment of the horse to the feeder of the sugar.
On this occasion, either the contraband had spent the sugar allowance for "commissary," or some one desired to play a trick on the General by substituting some lumps of drugs from the hospital steward's chest for the sugar. The horse found out the deceit and kicked on it, and investigation showed the General that he had been trifled with, and he was very mad about it.
It is probably true that General Pleasonton, as the Chief of Cavalry, will be held responsible for not having obtained information of General Lee's escape from Fredericksburg. I have talked with General Pleasonton as recently as the summer of 1887 on this subject, but his explanation would make an interesting chapter in itself and does not pertain to this narrative of facts.
I hope it may not be considered egotistical in me to observe here that I, as a scout and spy at headquarters, was in no way responsible for the lack of information of Lee's departure. I was not Chief of the Secret Service. I cannot resist the temptation to say right here, in connection with my proposed services with Burnside, that, if he had remained in command, I would have been doing signal duty from Geno's house in Fredericksburg, or from some point in the enemy's lines.