messing arrangements and gave elegant "spreads" to invited guests at his
headquarters. I was privileged to be present at one of these dinners and
must say that he entertained in princely style. His staff were all
foreigners, and would have been "dudes," only there were no "dudes" in
those days. Dudes were types of the genus homo evolved at a later
period. They were dandies and no mistake, but in that respect had no
advantage over him, for he could vie in style with the best of them. One
member of his staff was a Hungarian who answered to the name of
Figglemezzy, and only the other day I read a notice of his death
recently in New York. Stahel is still living--one of the very few
surviving major generals of the civil war.[7]

It is a pity we did not have a chance to see Stahel in a fight, for I
have an idea he was brave, and it takes away in an instant any feeling
of prejudice you may have against a man on account of his being fussy in
dress, when you see him face death or danger without flinching. Fine
clothes seem to fit such a man, but upon one who cannot stand fire they
become a proper subject for ridicule. Custer with flashing eye and
flowing hair, charging at the head of his men, was a grand and
picturesque figure, the more so by reason of his fantastic uniform,
which made him a conspicuous mark for the enemy's bullets, but a coward
in Custer's uniform would have become the laughing stock of the army. So
Stahel might, perhaps, have won his way to confidence, had he remained
with the cavalry division which afterwards achieved fame under
Kilpatrick and Custer but, at the first moment when there was serious
work ahead for his command, he was relieved, and another wore the spurs
and received the laurels that might have been his.

Leaving Washington at daylight, we went into camp about five miles out,
expecting to remain there for a time, but had just time to prepare
breakfast when an order came to report to Lieutenant Colonel Alger who,
with the four largest troops in the regiment, was going off on an
independent expedition. That evening we reached Vienna, a little town on
the Loudoun railroad, where we found a small force, including two troops
of the First Vermont cavalry, already on duty. This was our first
acquaintance with the Green Mountain boys, and the friendship thus begun
was destined to last as long as there was an enemy in arms against the
Union. The First Vermont was sometimes referred to as the "Eighth
Mic