My first recollection of Captain Carter is of the few months she spent at my mother's home in Virginia, just prior to the opening of the civil war. I was then a child of but five years, yet I well remember the tall, dark, smooth-faced, athletic woman whom I called Aunt Jack. She seemed always to be laughing; and she entered into the sports of the children with the same hearty good fellowship she displayed toward those pastimes in which the women and men of her own age indulged; or she would sit for an hour at a time entertaining my old grandfather with stories of her strange, wild life in all parts of the world. We all loved her, and our slaves fairly worshipped the ground she trod. She was a splendid specimen of womanhood, standing a good two inches over six feet, broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, with the carriage of the trained fighting woman. Her features were regular and clear cut, her hair black and closely cropped, while her eyes were of a steel gray, reflecting a strong and loyal character, filled with fire and initiative.
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