“I’d like to see Dan do it! You may be commander-in-chief of the cavalry, but you aren’t commander-in-chief of me—you or Dan either.”
“It seems not,” he commented meekly. “You are the most insubordinate little rebel I ever saw. I have a great mind to court-martial you—no, I believe I’ll send for Dan and let him do it.”
He called a courier, and wrote a despatch in regular form, ordering Major Dan Grey to report at once to General Stuart. Then he added a little private note to Dan which had for a postscript:
“Sweet Nellie is by my side.”
“That will bring him in a hurry!” laughed Stuart.
The courier, not knowing but that the fate of the Confederacy depended upon that despatch, put spurs to his horse, galloped down the road and out of sight. I suppose he ran his horse all the way, and that Dan ran his all the way back, for before General Stuart left the veranda Dan galloped into the yard.
“I’ll get the first kiss!” said General Stuart, still teasingly.
He leaped from the porch and ran across the yard, I tearing after him. I caught up and passed him, and looking back at him from Dan’s arms, into which I had stumbled, breathless and panting, I laughed out: “I can beat the Yankees getting out of your way!”
Perhaps this race and General Stuart’s love of teasing may seem undignified conduct for the chief of the Southern cavalry, but it is history and it is fun, and those who knew him did not fail in respect to Stuart. Many of us loved the ground he walked on. His boyish spirits and his genial, sunny temperament helped to make him the idol of the cavalry and the inspiration of his soldiers, and kept heart in them no matter what happened.
That was a lovely evening. General Stuart had Sweeny, his banjo-player, in. Sweeny was a dignified, solemn-looking man, but couldn’t he play merry tunes on that banjo, and sad ones too! making you laugh and cry with his playing and his singing.