Jeb Stuart

If ever anyone “looked his part,” James Ewell Brown Stuart looked his. Everyone but his men called him “Jeb” and among this army of mismatched men, uniform only in their lack of uniformity, shoeless, frayed and worn, Jeb Stuart was a resplendent prince amongst retched paupers. He wore polished boots to the knee, highlighted on occasion with spurs of gold. His tunic was trimmed with garish amounts of garland and brass and the full thick beard and mustache were always elegantly curled and groomed even in the heat of battle.
But the vanities of vanities were the hat and the cape.
Pinned up on one side and plumed on the other, the broad brimmed hat was always noticed first, at least while he was standing still -- which was seldom. But the cape, the exquisite gray cape, trimmed with gold and lined with blood-red silk, that was the grandest touch of all. It flew behind him like a flag unfurled and told who saw, “This, by God, is a cavalryman. And a hell of a one at that.”
His men called him “Beauty.”

The preceding passage is an excerpt from To Make Men Free, and may not be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

No part of these excerpts may be reproduced or reprinted
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