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TITLE: THE MAN IN GRAY
AUTHOR: THOMAS DIXON
EBOOK: E06817 (O'Briens Book Cellar)
LANGUAGE: ENGLISH

[ILLUSTRATION: "YOU'D LIKE YOUR PAPA TO COME BACK HOME FROM THE WAR?"]

THE MAN IN GRAY

_A ROMANCE OF NORTH AND SOUTH_

BY

THOMAS DIXON

AUTHOR OF "THE SOUTHERNER," "THE LEOPARD'S SPOTS," "THE BIRTH OF A
NATION," "THE CLANSMAN," ETC.

DEDICATED TO MY FELLOW MEMBERS OF THE KAPPA ALPHA FRATERNITY FOUNDED
UNDER THE INSPIRATION OF ROBERT E. LEE 1868

TO THE READER

Now that my story is done I see that it is the strangest fiction that I
have ever written.

Because it is true. It actually happened. Every character in it is
historic. I have not changed even a name. Every event took place.
Therefore it is incredible. Yet I have in my possession the proofs
establishing each character and each event as set forth. They are true
beyond question.

THOMAS DIXON CURRITUCK LODGE _Munden, Va._

LEADING CHARACTERS OF THE STORY

ROBERT E. LEE _The Southern Commander._

MRS. LEE _His Wife._

CUSTIS _His older Son._

MARY _His Daughter._

MRS. MARSHALL _Lee's Sister._

UNCLE BEN _The Butler._

SAM _A Slave._

J.E.B. STUART _"The Flower of Cavaliers."_

FLORA COOKE _His Sweetheart._

PHIL SHERIDAN _His Schoolmate._

FRANCIS PRESTON BLAIR _Lincoln's Messenger._

SENATOR ROBERT TOOMBS _of Georgia._

JOHN BROWN _of Osawatomie._

JOHN E. COOK _His Spy._

VIRGINIA KENNEDY _Cook's Victim._

GERRIT SMITH _A Philanthropist._

GEORGE EVANS _A Labor Leader._

F. B. SANBORN _Brown's Organizer._

REV. THOMAS W. HIGGINSON _A Revolutionist._

WM. C. RIVES _Confederate Senator_

GEN. E. P. ALEXANDER _of Lee's Artillery._

JOHN DOYLE _A Poor White._

MAHALA DOYLE _His Wife._

EDMOND RUFFIN _A Virginia Planter._

THE MAN IN GRAY

CHAPTER I

The fireflies on the Virginia hills were blinking in the dark places
beneath the trees and a katydid was singing in the rosebush beside the
portico at Arlington. The stars began to twinkle in the serene sky. The
lights of Washington flickered across the river. The Capitol building
gleamed, argus-eyed on the hill. Congress was in session, still
wrangling over the question of Slavery and its extension into the
territories of the West.

The laughter of youth and beauty sifted down from open windows.
Preparations were being hurried for the ball in honor of the departing
cadets--Custis Lee, his classmate, Jeb Stuart, and little Phil Sheridan
of Ohio whom they had invited in from Washington.

The fact that the whole family was going to West Point with the boys and
Colonel Robert E. Lee, the new Superintendent, made no difference. One
excuse for an old-fashioned dance in a Southern home was as good as
another. The main thing was to bring friends and neighbors, sisters and
cousins and aunts together for an evening of joy.

A whippo'will cried his weird call from a rendezvous in the shadows of
the lawn, as Sam entered the great hall and began to light the hundreds
of wax tapers in the chandeliers.

"Move dat furniture back now!" he cried to his assistants. "And mind yo'
p's and q's. Doan yer break nuttin."

His sable helpers quietly removed the slender mahogany and rosewood
pieces to the adjoining rooms. They laughed at Sam's new-found note of
dignity and authority.

He was acting butler to-night in Uncle Ben's place. No servant was
allowed to work when ill--no matter how light the tasks to which he was
assigned. Sam was but twenty years old and he had been given the honor
of superintending the arrangements for the dance. And, climax of all,
he had been made leader of the music with the sole right to call the
dances, although he played only the triangle in the orchestra. He was in
high fettle.

When the first carriage entered the grounds his keen ear caught the
crunch of wheels on the gravel. He hurried to call the mistress and
young misses to their places at the door. He also summoned the boys from
their rooms upstairs. He had seen the flash of spotless white in the
carriage. It meant beauty calling to youth on the hill. Sam knew.

Phil came downstairs with Custis. The spacious sweep of the hall, its
waxed floor clear of furniture, with hundreds of blinking candles
flashing on its polished surface, caught his imagination. It _was_ a
fairy world--this generous Southern home. In spite of its wide spaces,
and its dignity, it was friendly. It caught his boy's heart.

Mrs. Lee was just entering. Custis' eyes danced at the sight of his
mother in full dress. He grasped Phil's arm and whispered:

"Isn't my mother the most beautiful woman you ever saw?"

He spoke the words half to himself. It was the instinctive worship of
the true Southern boy, breathed in genuine reverence, with an awe that
was the expression of a religion.

"I was just thinking the same thing, Custis," was the sober reply.

"I beg your pardon, Phil," he hastened to apologize. "I didn't mean to
brag about my mother to you. It just slipped out. I couldn't help it. I
was talking to myself."

"You needn't apologize. I know how you feel. She's already made me think
I'm one of you--"

He paused and watched Mary Lee enter from the lawn leaning on Stuart's
arm. Stuart's boyish banter was still ringing in her ears as she smiled
at him indulgently. She hurried to her mother with an easy, graceful
step and took her place beside her. She was fine, exquisite, bewitching.
She had never come out in Society. She had been born in it. She had her
sweethearts before thirteen and not one had left a shadow on her quiet,
beautiful face. She demanded, by her right of birth as a Southern girl,
years of devotion. And the Southern boy of the old regime was willing to
serve.

Phil stood with Stuart and watched Custis kiss a dozen pretty girls as
they arrived and call each one cousin.

"Is it a joke?" he asked Stuart curiously.

"What?"

"This cousin business."

"Not much. You don't think I'd let him be such a pig if I could help
him, do you?"

"Are they all kin?"

"Yes--" Stuart laughed. "Some of it gets pretty thin in the second and
third cousin lines. But it's thick enough for him to get a kiss from
every one--confound him!"

The hall was crowding rapidly. The rustle of silk, the flash of pearls
and diamonds, the hum of soft drawling voices filled the perfumed air.

Phil's eyes were dazzled with the bevies of the younger set, from
sixteen to eighteen, dressed in soft tulle and organdy; slow of speech;
their voices low, musical, delicious. He was introduced to so many his
head began to swim. To save his soul he couldn't pick out one more
entrancing than another. The moment they spied his West Point uniform he
was fair game. They made eyes at him. They languished and pretended to
be smitten at first sight. Twice he caught himself about to believe one
of them. They seemed so sincere, so dreadfully in earnest. And then he
caught the faintest twinkle in the corner of a dark eye and blushed to
think himself such a fool.

But the sensation of being lionized was delightful. He was in a whirl
of foolish joy when he suddenly realized that Stuart had deserted him,
slipped through the crowd and found his way to Mary Lee. He threw a

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