On another afternoon, as Professors White and Nelson, taking a horseback ride, approached the summit of a long hill, they heard behind them the sound of a horse’s feet running rapidly. In a few moments General Lee appeared on Traveller at full speed. On joining his friends he reined up and said:
“I thought a little run would be good for Traveller.”
He often gave his horse a “breather,” as he called it. The animal was so strong and powerful that he chafed at restraint, and, unless ridden regularly and hard, had a very disagreeable, fretful trot. After a good gallop up one of the long Rockbridge hills he would proceed at a quiet walk.
The tenderness in my father’s heart for children I have already often remarked upon. One afternoon two little girls, the daughters of two of his professors, were riding on a gentle old horse up and down one of the back streets of the town, fearing to go too far from home. The General, starting out on his afternoon ride, came up with them, and knowing them well, said gaily:
“Come with me, little girls, and I will show you a beautiful ride.”
Only too delighted, they consented to go. He took them out beyond the fair-grounds, from which point there is one of the grandest stretches of mountain scenery in the world. One of the little maidens had her face tied up, as she was just recovering from the mumps. He pretended that he was much alarmed lest his horse should catch them from her, and kept saying:
“I hope you won’t give Traveller the mumps!” and “What shall I do if Traveller gets the mumps?”
An hour later, this party was seen returning, the two little girls in sun-bonnets on the one old, sleepy horse, and General Lee by their side on Traveller, who was stepping very proudly, as if in scorn of his lowly companion. My father took the children to their homes, helped them dismount, took a kiss from each, and, waving a parting salute, rode away. It was such simple acts of kindness and consideration that made all children confide in him and love him.
Soon after the attack of cold mentioned above, he writes to his son Fitzhugh, then at the “White House” with his family:
“Lexington, Virginia, December 2, 1869.