His features were regular
and clear cut, his hair black and closely cropped, while his eyes
were of a steel gray, reflecting a strong and loyal character,
filled with fire and initiative. His manners were perfect, and
his courtliness was that of a typical southern gentleman of the
highest type.
His horsemanship, especially after hounds, was a marvel and delight
even in that country of magnificent horsemen. I have often heard
my father caution him against his wild recklessness, but he would
only laugh, and say that the tumble that killed him would be from
the back of a horse yet unfoaled.
When the war broke out he left us, nor did I see him again for some
fifteen or sixteen years. When he returned it was without warning,
and I was much surprised to note that he had not aged apparently a
moment, nor had he changed in any other outward way. He was, when
others were with him, the same genial, happy fellow we had known of
old, but when he thought himself alone I have seen him sit for
hours gazing off into space, his face set in a look of wistful
longing and hopeless misery; and at night he would sit thus looking
up into the heavens, at what I did not know until I read his
manuscript years afterward.
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