In a fight, his followers
knew that for them he would risk being shot just as unconcernedly
as to maintain his authority he would shoot one of them.
Treachery, cowardice, looting, any indignity to women, he
punished with death; but to the wounded, either of his own or of
the enemy's forces, he was as gentle as a nursing sister and the
brave and able he rewarded with instant promotion and higher pay.
In no one trait was he a demagogue. One can find no effort on his
part to ingratiate himself with his men. Among the officers of his
staff there were no favorites. He messed alone, and at all times
kept to himself. He spoke little, and then with utter lack of
self-consciousness. In the face of injustice, perjury, or physical
danger, he was always calm, firm, dispassionate. But it is said that
on those infrequent occasions when his anger asserted itself, the
steady steel-gray eyes flashed so menacingly that those who faced
them would as soon look down the barrel of his Colt.
The impression one gets of him gathered from his recorded acts,
from his own writings, from the writings of those who fought with
him, is of a silent, student-like young man believing religiously in
his "star of destiny"; but, in all matters that did not concern
himself, possessed of a grim sense of fun. The sayings of his men
that in his history of the war he records, show a distinct
appreciation of the Bret Harte school of humor.
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