The Sword (48 page)

Despairing of reaching Richmond, Dr. Fontaine finally ordered the couriers to ride ahead to Mechanicsville, a small outlying district of Richmond just to the northwest. He told them to go to the home of Dr. Charles Brewer and tell them to prepare a bed for the general.

Dr. Brewer was Jeb’s brother-in-law; he was married to Flora’s sister, Maria. It was very late before they reached the Brewer home. At midnight a dismal thunderstorm broke, and it began to rain.

In the city the bad news spread quickly. Even before dawn crowds lined the streets and gathered outside of the Brewer home. In the throngs, women wept.

Flora Stuart was in the country, at the home of Colonel Edmund Fontaine. He was the president of the Virginia Railroad, and his gracious plantation house was about a mile and a half from the major junction at Beaver Dam. She received the telegram with the news early the next morning.

Beaver Dam was about thirty-five miles from Mechanicsville, and in peaceful times she could have reached Jeb’s side in less than a day. But war was the ruler of this land, and along with bloodshed it brought all the follies and vagaries: railroad tracks were torn up, side roads were blocked by fiery skirmishes, bridges were burned. The raging storm continued on, turning even good roads into impossible quagmires. Flora did not reach her sister’s home until eleven o’clock that night. She was three hours late.

Throughout the day, Stuart’s condition grew steadily worse. Like Stonewall Jackson had, almost a year ago to the day, Jeb Stuart returned again and again to the battlefield, muttering orders to his men. Once he rose up and shouted, “Make haste!”

In one of his peaceful times, when he was calm and quiet and free from the terrible pain, he gave instructions about his personal effects. He gave away his two horses to two of his men; he instructed that his gold spurs be sent to his longtime friend, Lily Lee of Shepherdstown; he said that his official papers must be disposed of. “And,” he said quietly, “give my sword to my son.”

President Jefferson Davis had hurried to Jeb’s side. He asked, “General, how do you feel?”

“Easy, but willing to die if God and my country think I have fulfilled my destiny and done my duty.”

After the president left, Reverend Joshua Peterkin of Saint
James Episcopal Church came and prayed with Stuart. After the prayer, Jeb said slowly, “Sing. Let’s sing ‘Rock of Ages.’ ” The men gathered in the room sang the old stately hymn, and Stuart joined in, singing in a low voice. After the hymn was over, he was visibly weaker.

Later on in the afternoon, Stuart asked, “How long can I live, Charles? Can I last through the night?”

His brother-in-law shook his head. “I’m afraid the end is near.”

Stuart nodded. “I am resigned, if it be God’s will. I would like to see my wife. But God’s will be done.”

The day wore on, endlessly, it seemed, to Jeb’s attendants. That night Dr. Brewer was standing over him, and Jeb said, “I’m going fast now. God’s will be done.” And then he was gone. The pulse was still. It was twenty-two minutes before eight on the evening of May 12, 1864.

As soon as Flora arrived, she knew by the gravity of the men standing aimlessly about on the veranda and in the entryway exactly what had happened. She went in to him, to be alone with him in the candlelight. Slowly grief overwhelmed her. But it did not seem strange. In her deepest heart, she had always known this would happen.

And so passed the Knight of the Golden Spurs from this world. He had gone to his long home.

Weeping, Flora’s sister, Maria, snipped off a lock of Jeb’s red-gold hair, tied it with a ribbon, and thrust it into an envelope. Then she slowly assembled the few things in his pockets:

An embroidered pincushion, worked on one side in gold thread: Gen. J. E. B. Stuart. On the other side was a Confederate flag bearing the legend: G
LORY TO
O
UR
I
MMORTAL
C
AVALRY!

A copy of an order to Stuart’s troops, written with his customary dash and flair:

A letter to Flora, telling her of his plans to bring her to his headquarters.

An original general order of congratulations to the victorious infantry he had led at Chancellorsville.

A letter from his brother, W. A. Stuart.

A letter asking Jeb to find a government job for a friend.

A poem on the death of a child, clipped from a newspaper.

A New Testament.

A handkerchief.

A lock of Little Flora’s hair.

T
he funeral was held on May 13th at Saint James Church, with the Reverend Peterkin officiating. There was no music in the Richmond streets, no military escort. The city was so nearly under siege that customary honors could not be performed, even for this most well-beloved son of Virginia.

President Davis was at the funeral, and all of the officers that could be spared from active duty, but none of Jeb’s men were there. In the church, Flora’s helpless sobs were drowned out by the cannon fire on the heights just above the city.

The coffin went into the waiting hearse. Four white horses drew it, and their headdresses were made of black feathers, so suggestive of the fancy ostrich plumes that Jeb had worn in his wide-brimmed hat. At Hollywood Cemetery the Reverend Charles Minnegerode spoke very briefly in his thick German accent. They placed the coffin in a vault, and the carriages moved away. Just as the funeral party left the cemetery, the rain began once more.

North of Richmond, in a vicious skirmish on Drewry’s Bluff, Clay
paused for a moment as he realized that Jeb Stuart was being buried in the city below. He felt as if his heart would break, for he, and all of Jeb’s men, did not think of Stuart merely as their general. He was noble and fearless and valiant, he was their leader, and they loved him.

Clay thought, His time was so short, Lord, too short! He and Miss Flora were so happy, and even in her grief I know that she doesn’t regret a single minute. I’m a fool. I’ve been a fool. I need to beg Chantel to marry me, right now, war or not. Even if she were my wife for only a day and I died the next, it would be worth it!

Then, recalling his general’s last command, he turned, drew his saber, yelled, “Charge!” and galloped toward the enemy.