Recollections and Letters | Page 5

Last Days Letter to his wife--To Mr. Tagart--Obituary notice in
"Personal Reminiscences of General Robert E. Lee"--Mrs. Lee's
account of his death . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 431
Chapter I
Services in the United States Army
Captain Lee, of the Engineers, a hero to his child--The family pets--
Home from the Mexican War--Three years in
Baltimore--Superintendent of the West Point Military
Academy--Lieutenant-Colonel of Second Cavalry--Supresses "John
Brown Raid" at Harper's Ferry--Commands the Department of Taxes
The first vivid recollection I have of my father is his arrival at
Arlington, after his return from the Mexican War. I can remember some
events of which he seemed a part, when we lived at Fort Hamilton,
New York, about 1846, but they are more like dreams, very indistinct
and disconnected--naturally so, for I was at that time about three years
old. But the day of his return to Arlington, after an absence of more
than two years, I have always remembered. I had a frock or blouse of
some light wash material, probably cotton, a blue ground dotted over
with white diamond figures. Of this I was very proud, and wanted to
wear it on this important occasion. Eliza, my "mammy," objecting, we
had a contest and I won. Clothed in this, my very best, and with my
hair freshly curled in long golden ringlets, I went down into the larger
hall where the whole household was assembled, eagerly greeting my

father, who had just arrived on horseback from Washington, having
missed in some way the carriage which had been sent for him.
There was visiting us at this time Mrs. Lippitt, a friend of my mother's,
with her little boy, Armistead, about my age and size, also with long
curls. Whether he wore as handsome a suit as mine I cannot remember,
but he and I were left together in the background, feeling rather
frightened and awed. After a moment's greeting to those surrounding
him, my father pushed through the crowd, exclaiming:
"Where is my little boy?"
He then took up in his arms and kissed--not me, his own child in his
best frock with clean face and well-arranged curls--but my little
playmate, Armistead! I remember nothing more of any circumstances
connected with that time, save that I was shocked and humiliated. I
have no doubt that he was at once informed of his mistake and made
ample amends to me.
A letter from my father to his brother Captain S. S. Lee, United States
Nave, dated "Arlington, June 30, 1848," tells of his coming home:
"Here I am once again, my dear Smith, perfectly surrounded by Mary
and her precious children, who seem to devote themselves to staring at
the furrows in my face and the white hairs in my head. It is not
surprising that I am hardly recognisable to some of the young eyes
around me and perfectly unknown to the youngest. But some of the
older ones gaze with astonishment and wonder at me, and seem at a
loss to reconcile what they see and what was pictured in their
imaginations. I find them, too, much grown, and all well, and I have
much cause for thankfulness, and gratitude to that good God who has
once more united us."
My next recollection of my father is in Baltimore, while we were on a
visit to his sister, Mrs. Marshall, the wife of Judge Marshall. I
remember being down on the wharves, where my father had taken me
to see the landing of a mustang pony which he had gotten for me in
Mexico, and which had been shipped from Vera Cruz to Baltimore in a

sailing vessel. I was all eyes for the pony, and a very miserable,
sad-looking object he was. From his long voyage, cramped quarters and
unavoidable lack of grooming, he was rather a disappointment to me,
but I soon got over all that. As I grew older, and was able to ride and
appreciate him, he became the joy and pride of my life. I was taught to
ride on him by Jim Connally, the faithful Irish servant of my father,
who had been with him in Mexico. Jim used to tell me, in his quizzical
way, that he and "Santa Anna" (the pony's name) were the first men on
the walls of Chepultepec. This pony was pure white, five years old and
about fourteen hands high. For his inches, he was as good a horse as I
ever have seen. While we lived in Baltimore, he and "Grace Darling,"
my father's favourite mare, were members of our family.
Grace Darling was a chestnut of fine size and of great power,