Mohun

Mohun, or, The Last Days of Lee

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Title: Mohun, or, The Last Days of Lee
Author: John Esten Cooke
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MOHUN
OR,
THE LAST DAYS OF LEE AND HIS PALADINS.

FINAL MEMOIRS
OF A
STAFF OFFICER SERVING IN VIRGINIA.
FROM THE MSS. OF
COLONEL SURRY, OF EAGLE'S NEST.

BY
JOHN ESTEN COOKE
AUTHOR OF "SURRY OF EAGLE'S NEST."

_Nec aspera terrent._

PROLOGUE.
On the wall over the mantel-piece, here in my quiet study at
Eagle's-Nest, are two crossed swords. One is a battered old sabre worn
at Gettysburg, and Appomattox; the other, a Federal officer's dress
sword captured in 1863.
It was a mere fancy to place them there, as it was a whim to hang upon
that nail yonder, the uniform coat with its stars and braid, which Stuart
wore on his famous ride around McClellan in 1862. Under the swords
hang portraits of Lee, Jackson, and Stuart. Jackson wears his old coat,
and his brow is raised as though he were looking out from beneath his
yellow old cadet cap. Stuart is seated, grasping his sabre, with his

plumed hat resting on his knee. His huge beard flows on his breast, his
eyes are clear and penetrating, and beneath the picture I have placed a
slip cut from one of his letters to me, and containing the words, "Yours
to count on, J.E.B. Stuart." Lastly, the gray commander-in-chief looks
with a grave smile over his shoulder, the eyes fixed upon that excellent
engraving of the "Good Old Rebel," a private of the Army of Northern
Virginia, seated on a log, after the war, and reflecting with knit brows
on the past and the present.
From this sketch of my surroundings, worthy reader, you will perceive,
that I amuse myself by recalling the old times when the Grays and
Blues were opposed to each other. Those two swords crossed--those
pictures of Lee, Jackson, Stuart, and the "Old Rebel"--you are certain to
think that the possessor of them is unreconstructed (terrible word!) and
still a rebel!
But is it wrong to remember the past? I think of it without bitterness.
God decreed it--God the all-wise, the all-merciful--for his own purpose.
I do not indulge any repinings, or reflect with rancor upon the issue of
the struggle. I prefer recalling the stirring adventure, the brave voices,
the gallant faces: even in that tremendous drama of 1864-5, I can find
something besides blood and tears: even here and there some sunshine!
In this last series of my memoirs I shall deal chiefly with that immense
campaign. In the first series which, I trust the reader of these pages will
have perused, I followed Jackson through his hard battles to the fatal
field of Chancellorsville. In this volume I shall beg the reader first to go
with Stuart from the great review of his cavalry, in June, 1863, to the
dark morning of May 11, 1864, at Yellow Tavern. Then the last days
will follow.
I open the drama with that fine cavalry review in June, 1863, on the
Plains of Culpeper.
It is a pleasure to return to it--for Gettysburg blackened the sunshine
soon. The column thundered by; the gay bugles rang; the great banner
floated. Where is that pageant to-day? Where the old moons of Villon?
Alas! the strong hours work their will. June, 1863, is long dead. The
cavalry horses, if they came back from the wars, are ploughing. The
rusty sabres stick fast in the battered old scabbards.