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Major-General George Washington Custis Lee. 
 
 By 
 W. GORDON McGABE, 
 
 Preiident of the yirginia Historical Society. 
 
 '^i y^Ld 'U ^ /i*v'f4 
 
 [An Extract reprinted from the President's "Annual Report," read befor« 
 ^ the Society in the Capitol, February 24th, 1914]. 
 
Hajor-General Georoe WasigtGii Cistis Lee. 
 
 ..' V^ By 
 
 ' I. . ■■ 
 
 W.^ GORDON McGABE, 
 
 ■■' '' 
 
 President of the Virginia Historiea! Society. 
 
 [An Extract reprinted from the President's "Annual Report," read before 
 the Society in the Capitol, February 24th, 191-4J. 
 

 
Major-General George Washington Custis Lee. 
 
 Only a single "Life Member," General George Washington 
 Custis Lee, has been lost to us since our last Report, yet is the 
 loss one that has brought such poignant sorrow to kinsmen, 
 comrades and friends, that, despite the fact that he had passed 
 fourscore and finally fell on sleep full of honors, revered and loved 
 by all who knew him, we scarce can measure in words our un- 
 affected grief at the passing of so noble a life, though well we 
 know such "Life is perfected by Death." 
 
 Outside his immediate family, few people, perhaps, might 
 claim to know him intimately, yet, reserved as he was, with a 
 nameless touch of aloofness due to innate shyness, such was the 
 compelling charm of his old-fashioned courtesy, his ready sym- 
 pathy with distress, his almost quixotic generosity to those in 
 need, that men and women instinctively came to love this grave 
 and silent gentleman, whose simplicity and kindliness uncon- 
 sciously won their abiding confidence and regard. 
 
 Probably, if the dead concern themselves at all with things 
 of earth, he himself would prefer that his name should be passed 
 over in silence and that no public utterance should vex the eternal 
 quiet of ' ' the keyless house. ' ' 
 
 So long had he Hved the Hfe of a recluse, so persistently, in his 
 later years, did he guard his seclusion from the outer world, that 
 it is not improbable that few of the general public, outside his 
 native State, knew that he was still alive. 
 
 Yet, in his unobtrusive way, had he done much good service 
 to nation as well as state, and, had fate willed that he should 
 have been rated according to his great talents and varied ac- 
 complishments, had fortune, in homely phrase, "given him his 
 chance, ' ' certain it is that his place in the world 's eye had been 
 a very high one, and that his name would have been linked for 
 all coming time with the greatest of that noble stock from which 
 he sprung. 
 
But the hard truth is, that the mahce of fortune did deny him 
 his full "chance" — his "heart's desire" — "most just and right 
 desire ' ' (in Shakespearian phrase)— and though m.any ' ' honors, ' ' 
 as the world counts ' ' honors, ' ' came to him in his long life — 
 professor in Virginia's famous military school — president of a 
 great university — degrees in plenty and honorary fellowships 
 from universities and learned societies at home and abroad — 
 who of us that often looked upon the sweet austerity of that 
 patrician face, touched with gentle melancholy and tranquil 
 dignity — who of us that did not divine that he himself, modest 
 as he was touching his own abilities and deserts, felt in his ' 'heart 
 of heart" that his life was, what the French in pregnant fashion 
 term, ' ' Une vie manqee! ' ' 
 
 In the contemplation of his career, one cannot, indeed, es- 
 cape the constant suggestion of the touch of tragedy, despite 
 the lofty reflection of England 's greatest laureate that the path 
 of duty, firmly trod, is ever the way to real glory. 
 
 Consider: he came of a great race — his name was the synonym 
 of all that was highest and noblest, not in Virginia alone, but 
 in the nation — he was a soldier bom of soldiers, and, despite the 
 fact that he was heir to a great estate, bequeathed him by his 
 maternal grandfather, Washington's adopted son, he had de- 
 liberately chosen the stem profession of arms as the calling closest 
 to his heart — no strange choice for the son of Robert E. Lee and 
 the grandson of ' ' Light Horse Harry. ' ' 
 
 In June, 1850, when not quite eighteen, he entered the United 
 States Military Academy at West Point, and, after four years 
 of severest study (during which time he received scarce a single 
 mark of demerit, so punctilious was his observance of all rules 
 of discipline and duty), in Jime, 1854, was graduated first in his 
 class. Just twenty-five years earlier, his illustrious father had 
 graduated there second in his class, though it must be allowed 
 that the class of '29 was far more distinguished for ability than 
 the class of '54. For seven years thereafter he served with 
 marked distinction in ' ' the Engineers, ' ' the corps d' elite of the 
 army, receiving repeated commendation from his superiors for 
 skill in the construction of forts from the Atlantic coast to the 
 Pacific, and especially for his able work in river improvement — 
 all of which led to his assignment to duty in the ' ' Engineer Bu- 
 reau ' ' at the seat of government. 
 
 2 
 
Then came the Secession of the Southern States, when every 
 Southern officer of the Amiy and of the Navy must needs meet 
 the question whether to adhere to the Union, or to draw his sword 
 against his native State. 
 
 His father left him absokitely free of all influence of his to 
 decide the momentous question. "Custis, " he writes to his 
 wife, "must decide for himself, and I shall respect his decision, 
 whatever it is. " 
 
 But that decision was never for a moment in doubt, for there 
 was bred in his bone the feeling of his grandfather, ' * Light Horse 
 Harry," who exclaimed, when the "Virginia and Kentucky 
 Resolutions, ' ' foreshadowing Secession, were under discussion 
 in the Virginia Legislature, in 1798 — "Virginia is my country; 
 her will I obey, however lamentable the fate to which it may 
 subject me. ' ' 
 
 When, on May 2nd, 1861, the die was cast, and, resigning his 
 commission in the army, he resolved to offer his sword to his 
 mother-state, it is safe to say that all those who knew him best 
 (including his father, ever temperate in his estimate of the abilities 
 of even his own sons) entertained no shadow of doubt that a 
 brilliant military career lay open before him in the conflict im- 
 pending between the sections. 
 
 He was then in the very flower of his young manhood (not 
 quite twenty-nine) and of high and imperturbable courage, as was 
 to be expected of one of his "valiant strain." He had received, 
 as we have seen, the severest professional training, was as cau- 
 tious of judgment as he was sparing of speech, and even those 
 comrades, who were resolved to oppose him, reckoned him, so 
 we now know, as ideally equipped for the great business of war. 
 
 Thus he came to Richmond in May of '61, eager to give proof, 
 in a cause he held most righteous, of ' * the mettle of his pasture, 
 and almost at once (oh! malicious fortune!) was assigned duty 
 in Richmond, as aide-de-camp to President Davis, with the rank 
 of colonel of cavalry. 
 
 Had the assignment lasted but a single year, it had been hard 
 enough to a young soldier, who had inherited the old fighting 
 Berseker blood, and who, though modest, was yet but mortal, 
 and could but be conscious of his fitness to share with kinsmen and 
 classmates the glories of that immortal army that was destmed 
 to write its name so often in the very "Temple of Victory." 
 
He had looked for command in the field, but ' ' Dis aliter visum, ' ' 
 and Mr. Davis saw fit to retain him at the seat of government 
 during the whole of those four eventful years. We do not knovv^ 
 positively that the silent young aide ever uttered one word of for- 
 mal complaint. 
 
 His habitual reticence was never pierced, save, perhaps, by one, 
 and that one his father. 
 
 But is it not all easy to divine by those who know the temper 
 of his breed? 
 
 Consider, again, what it must have meant to him to attend 
 day by day confidential conferences at the Executive Mansion, 
 while those, knit to him by blood or ^^outhful friendships, were 
 yonder "at the front," winning high ranl< and dazzling a world 
 with deeds. 
 
 For the rank he cared no whit; for we have Mr. Davis's ex- 
 plicit statement that he repeatedly offered him promotion (long 
 before he finally consented to accept it), and that he as steadily 
 refused it. ' ' The only obstacle to be overcome, ' ' writes Mr. 
 Davis, "was his own objection to receiving promotion. With a 
 refined delicacy, he shrank from the idea of superseding men 
 who had been actually serving in the field. ' ' 
 
 It was said at the time, and is still constantly repeated, that 
 he spoke to his father on the subject, requesting most earnestly 
 field-assignment, and that the latter told him that his highest 
 duty was obedience to the will of his superior. 
 
 The story is, probably, as apocryphal as the letter alleged to 
 have been written to him by his father when Custis Lee was a 
 cadet at West Point, in which occurs the oft-quoted platitude — 
 
 Duty is the sublimest word in our language " ; a letter spurious 
 beyond question, yet one that, having caught the popular fancy, 
 is as hard to "kill" as the myth of "Barbara Frietchie" and 
 destined, no doubt, to as long a tenure of popular credence. 
 
 True, he rendered eminent service in the position he held, 
 and the President bears emphatic testimony to the great weight 
 he attached to his sagacious counsel. Above all other members 
 of his staff, Mr. Davis entrusted to him delicate missions (of a 
 nature too confidential to be set down in writing) to his father 
 and to other generals commanding in the field. Much of high- 
 est import to the future historian he could have told, after the 
 
 4 
 
war, touching these inside shapings of events, but, as might 
 have been surely predicted of a man of his temperament, he 
 would neither talk nor write about them, and their secrets died 
 with him. 
 
 But the position at best was a trying one, and no one but a 
 soldier can fully understand what this enforced duty meant, 
 as the heroic years went by, to a man of high spirit and consum- 
 mate military equipment. 
 
 While, as said already, he cared little for the rank his class- 
 mates and kinsmen were steadily winning, Custis Lee was too 
 good a soldier not to care immensely for what that rank signified. 
 Above all, it must have been well-nigh intolerable to him that, all 
 question of rank and "glory" apart, he should not be allowed 
 to share their hardships and to brave with them the chances of 
 honorable wounds and noble death. 
 
 Of "the class of '54," whose highest honors he had achieved, 
 the records show, allowing for deaths and resignations, that 
 twenty-four espoused the Union side, of whom four fell in battle, 
 the first to fall on either side being Lieutenant John T. Greble, 
 U. S. A., who, at the early age of twenty-seven, died a soldier's 
 death at Big Bethel, fighting his guns to the last. Fourteen 
 of that class, including Custis Lee, cast their fortunes with the 
 South. Of these fourteen, four served on the staff and rose 
 only to "field rank," while ten became general officers. 
 
 Of the ten, eight (thinlc of it !) yielded up their lives for hearth 
 and home and country. 
 
 'Tis a glorious roll, and we, the lingering few, whose humbler 
 part it was to follow where these captains led, like Harry 's veterans 
 on "St. Crispian's day," still "stand a tip-toe" when that roll 
 is called. 
 
 Here it is in brief: 
 
 "Jeb" Stuart, of Virginia, barely thirty-one, yet Major- 
 General and Chief of Cavalry of the ' ' Army of Northern Virginia, ' ' 
 mortally wounded yonder at Yellow Tavern, while staying with 
 a handful of troopers the enemy thundering at our gates. 
 
 William D. Pender, of North Carolina, Major-General, though 
 still in ' ' the twenties, ' ' mortally wounded, while leading in, with 
 all the fire of youth and skill of age, the ' ' Light Division ' ' on the 
 third day at Gettysburg. 
 
 5 
 
John Pegram, of Virginia, "as full of valor as of kindness, princely 
 in both, ' ' commissioned Major-General, though the coi imission 
 had not reached him when he fell at the head of his Division at 
 "Hatcher's Run" in '65. 
 
 James Deshler, of Alabama, Brigadier, who died in the van 
 of his cheering Texans on Chickamauga 's crimson field. 
 
 "Archie" Gracie, bom in New York, but adopted son of Ala- 
 bama, Brigadier, who ever held his front with grim tenacity, 
 instantly killed in the trenches of Petersburg. 
 
 Horace Randall, of Texas, Brigadier, whose ' ' vigor, energy, 
 and daring ' ' (to quote the words of Dick Taylor 's official report) 
 were ever3rwhere conspicuous, mortally wounded in the battle 
 of Jenlvins' Ferry, Arkansas. 
 
 John T. Mercer, of Georgia, Acting-Brigadier, who died sword 
 in hand at the head of his stormers in the victorious assault on 
 Plymouth, N. C., in '64. 
 
 One other name there is — that of John D. Villepigue, of South 
 Carolina, Brigadier, but already marked out for higher rank — who, 
 ill, yet refusing "sick leave," stuck to his men and died of ex- 
 posure at Port Hudson, at the close of '62, yet not before his 
 sword had been forged to heroic temper by fire of battle at Fort 
 Pillow, at Corinth, at Shiloh, and elsewhere. 
 
 Of the two survivors of these ten, both were of the same name — 
 allied, indeed, in spirit, but not by blood — Custis Lee and, his 
 junior by a year, Stephen D. Lee, who, like "Edward Freer of the 
 43rd," "could count more combats than he could years," and 
 who, "with all his honor-owing wounds in front," closed his 
 brilliant military career as Lieutenant-General and Corps Com- 
 mander. 
 
 Of Custis Lee's close kinsmen, his younger brother, William 
 Henry Fitzhugh, became Major-General of cavalry before he 
 was twenty-seven, while his first cousin, gallant "Old Fitz," 
 Stuart's "right-bower" (as the latter loved to call him), became 
 Major-General before he was twenty-eight. 
 
 Such were the classmates and immediate kinsmen of Custis 
 Lee, who assuredly, had fortune given him his ' ' heart 's desire, ' ' 
 had proved himself the peer of any of them. 
 
 In June, 1863, Custis Lee himself consented to become Brig- 
 adier, having been placed in command, in addition to his staff 
 
 6 
 
duties, of the troops garrisoning the ' ' Defences of Richmond. ' ' 
 These ' ' Defences ' ' he greatly strengthened with trained engineer- 
 ing skill, and so improved the discipline and general efRciency 
 of the "heavy artillery" under his control, that, later on, in 
 Oct. '64, he was raised to the rank of Major-General and assigned 
 active command of all the outlying troops about the city, includ- 
 ing the forces at Drewry's and Chaffin's Blufif. 
 
 During the autumn and winter of that tragic time, when Lee, 
 with his handful of veterans of confirmed hardihood, was still 
 confronting the cruel odds of Grant with unabashed mien, Custis 
 Lee was repeatedly under fire, and bore himself with the serene 
 courage of his race. 
 
 But the bitter end was fast approaching; and when Richmond 
 was evacuated on the 2nd of April, 1865, and her garrison troops, 
 imder Custis Lee, taking the field as a skeleton Division in Ewell 's 
 skeleton Corps, joined the gaunt remnant of the ' ' Army of North- 
 em Virginia" on the "Retreat," the hope of a successful 
 issue of the desperate venture was, in truth, but the forlornest 
 of ' ' forlorn hopes. ' ' 
 
 But his constancy shone out as brightly in the gloom as did 
 his daring, and, though it was the irony of fate that his first 
 battle should be his last (and that battle a combat rather than 
 a pitched fight), he fought his Division in the disastrous affair at 
 
 Sailor 's Creek ' ' with such skill and audacity as drew from Ewell 
 (dear "Old Dick," hero of a hundred fights!), in his official re- 
 port, most emphatic and enthusiastic commendation. 
 
 There, on April 6th, 1865, just three days before "the Surren- 
 der" at Appomatox C. H., Swell's force of 3,000 was Hterally 
 surrounded by about 30,000 of the enemy's infantry and cav- 
 alry, and, after a stubborn resistance, in which the garrison 
 troops behaved with great steadiness, was forced to surrender — 
 Ewell, Custis Lee and four other general officers being among 
 the prisoners. 
 
 This ended the military career of the young soldier, who, we 
 must allow, had tasted but bitterly of the meagre ' ' chance ' ' 
 given him by fate, or fortune, or call it what you will. 
 
 Of his civil life, it is needless to speak, save in briefest 
 fashion. In the autumn of 1865, he was made "Professor 
 of Civil and Military Engineering and Applied Mathematics ' ' 
 
 7 
 
in the Virginia Military Institute. Here, possessed of notable 
 powers of lucid exposition, he taught successfully for five years, 
 resigning his chair at the beginning of 1871 to accept the 
 Presidency of Washington and Lee University, to which he 
 had been elected on the death of his father in October, 
 1870. This high position he held for over a quarter of a century, 
 evidencing executive ability of the first order; and when, in 1897, 
 owing to ill health, he resigned the headship of that institution, he 
 carried with him into retirement the profound respect and deep 
 affection of the whole academic body, professors and students 
 alike. 
 
 He was, by reason of his training, a strict disciplinarian, yet 
 was this strictness so tempered by tact and kindly sympathy 
 that he became the idol of the students, who constantly carried 
 to him their little troubles and perplexities, assured beforehand 
 of ready understanding and wise counsel. 
 
 Removing to beautiful ' ' Ravensworth, ' ' the old Fitzhugh 
 estate in Fairfax County, where lived the widow and sons of his 
 brother, General W. H. F. Lee, he spent the remaining years of 
 his life in scholarly seclusion, and it was there that he gently 
 fell asleep on the 18th day of February, 1913. 
 
 It may be added here that, during the long years when he had 
 a house of his own at Lexington, and, indeed, afterwards at 
 Ravensworth, ' ' he was the ideal host, full of delicate, unob- 
 trusive previsions for the comfort and entertainment of his guests, 
 charming them all, despite his habitual reserve when not under 
 his own roof-tree, by his gracious manners, his quiet humor, and 
 the modesty of his genial talk, which ranged over a wide field of 
 intellectual interest, and evidenced a literary taste and critical 
 perception most unusual in one whose life had been so persist- 
 ently devoted to scientific pursuits. 
 
 Though it is not unlikely that the recollection of the untoward 
 stroke of fate, that, in his younger days, had shattered his dream 
 of military distinction, never faded from his mind, casting in no 
 mean measure a shadow over his whole life, such was the inimita- 
 ble sweetness of his disposition that he never became embittered, 
 nor could the snows of eighty winters ever chill the generous 
 impulses of a noble heart. As Sheridan said of Warren Has- 
 tings, "his noble equanimity, tried by both extremes of fortune, 
 
 8 
 
was never disturbed by either," and, in contemplating the sac- 
 rifices imposed upon him by duty and patriotism, which he ac- 
 cepted with the unquestioning "humility of a high spirit, ' ' surely 
 we may say with Lear, 
 
 Upon such sacrifices 
 The gods themselves throw incense. 
 
 We have dwelt thus long upon his career, because we hold it a 
 part of the business of this Society to perpetuate, so far as may be 
 allowed us, the names and virtues of its members as they pass 
 away, and because we hold Custis Lee justly entitled to take high 
 place beside the best and noblest of our "Virginia Worthies." 
 
 Owing to his inbred shrinlving from publicity of every kind 
 and to his almost impenetrable reserv^e, which not even the most 
 persistent "interviewer" ever pierced, these few poor remarks 
 will probably constitute the sole memorial of him, though, of 
 course, his name will live, in some measure, in the memoirs of 
 his contemporaries, and especially in the intimate domestic letters 
 of his father, in many of which, still unpublished, there is (as some 
 few of us know, who have had the privilege of reading them) 
 constant mention of him. 
 
 As we salute him with this halting "Ave atque vale,'' we are 
 sustained by the abiding remembrance that, from "the prime of 
 youth" to "the frosty, yet kindly, winter of his age," he kept 
 inviolate the chastity of a pure and stainless life, and that with 
 "soft invincibility" he remained to the very end "the Master 
 of his fate, the Captain of his soul. 
 
 W. Gordon McCabe.