MOHUN

OR, THE LAST DAYS OF LEE AND HIS PALADINS. 

FINAL MEMOIRS

OF A

STAFF OFFICER SERVING IN VIRGINIA. 

FROM THE MSS. OF

COLONEL SURRY, OF EAGLE'S NEST. 

BY

JOHN ESTEN COOKE

AUTHOR OF "SURRY OF EAGLE'S NEST. "

_Nec aspera terrent. _

PROLOGUE. 

On the wall over the mantel-piece, here in my quiet study atEagle's-Nest, are two crossed swords. One is a battered old sabre wornat Gettysburg, and Appomattox; the other, a Federal officer's dresssword captured in 1863. 

It was a mere fancy to place them there, as it was a whim to hang uponthat nail yonder, the uniform coat with its stars and braid, whichStuart wore on his famous ride around McClellan in 1862. Under theswords hang portraits of Lee, Jackson, and Stuart. Jackson wears hisold coat, and his brow is raised as though he were looking out frombeneath his yellow old cadet cap. Stuart is seated, grasping his sabre, with his plumed hat resting on his knee. His huge beard flows on hisbreast, his eyes are clear and penetrating, and beneath the picture Ihave placed a slip cut from one of his letters to me, and containingthe words, "Yours to count on, J. E. B. Stuart. " Lastly, the graycommander-in-chief looks with a grave smile over his shoulder, the eyesfixed upon that excellent engraving of the "Good Old Rebel, " a privateof the Army of Northern Virginia, seated on a log, after the war, andreflecting with knit brows on the past and the present. 

From this sketch of my surroundings, worthy reader, you will perceive, that I amuse myself by recalling the old times when the Grays and Blueswere opposed to each other. Those two swords crossed--those pictures ofLee, Jackson, Stuart, and the "Old Rebel"--you are certain to thinkthat the possessor of them is unreconstructed (terrible word!) andstill a rebel!

But is it wrong to remember the past? I think of it without bitterness. God decreed it--God the all-wise, the all-merciful--for his ownpurpose. I do not indulge any repinings, or reflect with rancor uponthe issue of the struggle. I prefer recalling the stirring adventure, the brave voices, the gallant faces: even in that tremendous drama of1864-5, I can find something besides blood and tears: even here andthere some sunshine!

In this last series of my memoirs I shall deal chiefly with thatimmense campaign. In the first series which, I trust the reader ofthese pages will have perused, I followed Jackson through his hardbattles to the fatal field of Chancellorsville. In this volume I shallbeg the reader first to go with Stuart from the great review of hiscavalry, in June, 1863, to the dark morning of May 11, 1864, at YellowTavern. Then the last days will follow. 

I open the drama with that fine cavalry review in June, 1863, on thePlains of Culpeper. 

It is a pleasure to return to it--for Gettysburg blackened the sunshinesoon. The column thundered by; the gay bugles rang; the greatbanner floated. Where is that pageant to-day? Where the old moons ofVillon? Alas! the strong hours work their will. June, 1863, is longdead. The cavalry horses, if they came back from the wars, areploughing. The rusty sabres stick fast in the battered old scabbards. The old saddles are shabby--and our friends take them away from us. Theold buttons are tarnished, and an order forbids our wearing them. Thebrass bands clash no more; and the bugles are silent. Where are thedrums and the bugles? Do they beat the long roll at the approach ofphantom foes, or sound the cavalry charge in another world? They aresilent to-day, and have long disappeared; but I think I hear them stillin my dreams!

It is in June, 1863, therefore, worthy reader, that I open my volume. Up to that time I had gone with Jackson's "foot cavalry, " marchingslowly and steadily to battle. Now, I was to follow the gay andadventurous career of the Virginia Rupert--Stuart, the Knight of theBlack Plume! If you are willing to accompany me, I promise to show yousome animated scenes. You will hear Stuart laugh as he leads thecharge, or jest with his staff, or sing his gay cavalry songs. But, alas! we shall not go far with him; and when he leaves us a sort ofshadow will fall upon the landscape. From that May, 1864, laughter willseldom be heard. The light which shines on the great picture will bered and baleful. Blood will gush on desperate fields--men will falllike dry leaves in the winds of autumn. 

The crimson torrent will sweep away a whole generation almost--and theRed Cross flag will go down in blood. 

The current of events will drag us to Petersburg, and those last monthswhich witnessed the final wrestle in this war of the giants. 

Let us bask in the sunshine, before breasting the storm. The pages ofblood and mourning will soon be opened--meanwhile we will laugh. 

In this June, 1863, faces smile still, and cheers resound. Bugles areringing, swords clashing, cannon thundering. 

Lee's old army is full of ardor, and seventy thousand men shout!"Pennsylvania! Pennsylvania!"

MOHUN;

OR, THE LAST DAYS OF LEE AND HIS PALADINS. 

BOOK I. 

GETTYSBURG. 

I. 

THE CAVALRY REVIEW. 

On a beautiful day of June, 1863, the plains of Culpeper, in Virginia, were the scene of an imposing pageant. 

Stuart's cavalry was passing in review before Lee, who was about tocommence his march toward Gettysburg. 

Those of my readers who were fortunate enough to be present, will notforget that scene. They will remember the martial form of Stuart at thehead of his _sabreurs_; how the columns of horsemen thundered by thegreat flag; how the multitude cheered, brightest eyes shone, the merrybands clashed, the gay bugles rang; how the horse artillery roared asit was charged in mimic battle--while Lee, the gray old soldier, withserene carriage, sat his horse and looked on. 

Never had the fields of Culpeper witnessed a spectacle moremagnificent. The sunshine darted in lightnings from the long line ofsabres, lit up beautiful faces, and flashed from scarfs, and wavinghandkerchiefs, rosy cheeks, and glossy ringlets. All was life, and joy, and splendor. For once war seemed turned to carnival; and flowerswreathed the keen edge of the sword. 

Among the illustrious figures gazed at by the crowd, two were theobserved of all the observers--those of Lee and Stuart. 

Lee sat his powerful horse, with its plain soldierly equipments, beneath the large flag. He was clad in a gray uniform, almost withoutmark of rank. Cavalry boots reached nearly to his knees; as usual hewore no sword; over his broad brow drooped a plain brown felt hat, without tassel or decoration. Beneath, you saw a pair of frank andbenignant, but penetrating eyes, ruddy cheeks, and an iron graymustache and beard, both cut close. In the poise of the stately head, as in the whole carriage of his person, there was something calm, august and imposing. This man, it was plain, was not only great, butgood;--the true type of the race of gentlemen of other times. 

Stuart, the chief of cavalry of the army, was altogether different inappearance. Young, ardent, full of life and abandon, he was the truereproduction of Rupert, said to be his ancestor. The dark cavalryfeather; the lofty forehead, and dazzling blue eyes; his little"fighting jacket, " as he called it, bright with braid and buttons, madea picture. His boots reached to the knee; a yellow silk sash was abouthis waist; his spurs, of solid gold, were the present of some ladies ofMaryland; and with saber at tierce point, extended over his horse'shead, he led the charge with his staff, in front of the column, andlaughing, as though the notes of the bugle drove him forward. 

In every movement of that stalwart figure, as in the glance of the blueeyes, and the laughter curling the huge mustache, could be read youthand joy, and a courage which nothing could bend. He was called a "boy"by some, as Coriolanus was before him. But his Federal adversaries didnot laugh at him; they had felt his blows too often. Nor did thesoldiers of the army. He had breasted bullets in front of infantry, aswell as the sabre in front of cavalry. The civilians might laugh athim--the old soldiers found no fault in him for humming his songs inbattle. They knew the man, and felt that he was a good soldier, as wellas a great general. He would have made an excellent private, and didnot feel "above" being one. Never was human being braver, if he didlaugh and sing. Was he not brave? Answer, old sabreurs, whom he led ina hundred charges! old followers of Jackson, with whom he went over thebreastworks at Chancellorsville!

Some readers may regard this picture of Stuart as overdrawn; but it isthe simple truth of that brave soul. He had his faults; he lovedpraise, even flattery, and was sometimes irascible--but I have neverknown a human being more pure, generous and brave. 

At sunset the review was over. The long columns of cavalry moved slowlyback to their camps. The horse artillery followed; the infantry who hadwitnessed the ceremony sought their bivouacs in the woods; and thecrowd, on foot, on horseback, or in carriages, returned toward theCourt-House, whose spires were visible across the fields. 

Stuart had approached the flag-staff and, doffing his plumed hat, hadsaluted Lee, who saluted in return, and complimented the review. Aftera few moments' conversation, they had then saluted a second time. Lee, followed by his staff, rode toward his quarters; and Stuart set out toreturn to his own. 

We had ridden about half a mile, when Stuart turned his head and calledme. I rode to his side. 

"I wish you would ride down toward Beverly's Ford, Surry, " he said, "and tell Mordaunt to keep a bright lookout to-night. They must haveheard our artillery on the other side of the river, and may want tofind out what it means. "

I saluted, and turned my horse. Stuart cantered on singing. 

In a few minutes he was out of sight, and I was riding toward theRappahannock. 

II. 

HOW I BECAME A MEMBER OF GENERAL STUART'S STAFF. 

If the reader has done me the honor to peruse the first volume of mymemoirs, I indulge the vanity of supposing that he will like to beinformed how I became a member of General Stuart's staff. 

When oaks crash down they are apt to prostrate the saplings growingaround them. Jackson was a very tall oak, and I a very humble sapling. When the great trunk fell, the mere twig disappeared. I had served withJackson from the beginning of the war; that king of battle dead atChancellorsville, I had found myself without a commander, and without ahome. I was not only called upon in that May of 1863, to mourn theillustrious soldier, who had done me the honor to call me his friend; Ihad also to look around me for some other general; some other positionin the army. 

I was revolving this important subject in my mind, when I received anote from General J. E. B. Stuart, Jackson's friend and brother in arms. "Come and see me, " said this note. Forty-eight hours afterward I was atStuart's head-quarters, near Culpeper Court-House. 

When I entered his tent, or rather breadth of canvas, stretched beneatha great oak, Stuart rose from the red blanket upon which he was lying, and held out his hand. As he gazed at me in silence I could see hisface flush. 

"You remind me of Jackson, " he said, retaining my hand and gazingfixedly at me. 

I bowed my head, making no other reply; for the sight of Stuart broughtback to me also many memories; the scouting of the Valley, the hardcombats of the Lowland, Cold Harbor, Manassas, Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, and that last greeting between Jackson and the greatcommander of the cavalry, on the weird moonlight night atChancellorsville. 

Stuart continued to gaze at me, and I could see his eyes slowly fillwith tears. 

"It is a national calamity!" he murmured. "Jackson's loss isirreparable!"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

He remained for a moment gazing into my face, then passing his handover his forehead, he banished by a great effort these depressingmemories. His bold features resumed their habitual cheerfulness. 

Our dialogue was brief, and came rapidly to the point. 

"Have you been assigned to duty yet, my dear Surry?"

"I have not, general. "

"Would you like to come with me?"

"More than with any general in the army, since Jackson's death. Youknow I am sincere in saying that. "

"Thanks--then the matter can be very soon arranged, I think. I wantanother inspector-general, and want _you_. "

With these words Stuart seated himself at his desk, wrote a note, which, he dispatched by a courier to army head-quarters; and thenthrowing aside business, he began laughing and talking. 

For once the supply of red tape in Richmond seemed temporarilyexhausted. Stuart was Lee's right hand, and when he made a request, theWar Office deigned to listen. Four days afterward, I was seated underthe canvas of a staff tent, when Stuart hastened up with boyish ardor, holding a paper. 

"Here you are, old Surry, "--when he used the prefix "old" to any one'sname, he was always excellently well disposed toward them, --"theRichmond people are prompt this time. Here is your assignment--send forSweeney and his banjo! He shall play 'Jine the Cavalry!' in honor ofthe occasion, Surry!"

You see now, my dear reader, how it happened that in June, 1863, Stuartbeckoned to me, and gave me an order to transmit to General Mordaunt. 

III. 

BLUE AND GRAY PHANTOMS. 

As I rode toward the Rappahannock to deliver Stuart's order to GeneralMordaunt, the wide landscape was suddenly lit up by a crimson glare. Ilooked over my shoulder. The sun was poised upon the western woods, andresembled a huge bloodshot eye. Above it extended a long black cloud, like an eyebrow--and from the cloud issued low thunder. 

When a storm is coming, the civilian seeks shelter; but the soldiercarrying an order, wraps his cape around him, and rides on. I went onpast Brandy and Fleetwood Hill, descended toward the river, entered agreat belt of woods--then night and storm descended simultaneously. Anartillery duel seemed going on in the clouds; the flickering lightningsamid the branches resembled serpents of fire: the wind rolled throughthe black wood, tearing off boughs in its passage. 

I pushed my horse to full speed to emerge from this scene of crashinglimbs and tottering trunks. I had just passed a little stream, whenfrom a by-road on my left came the trample of hoofs. It is good to beon the watch in the cavalry, and I wheeled to the right, listening--when all at once a brilliant flash of lightning showed me, within fifty paces, a column of _blue_ cavalry. 

"Halt!" rang out from the column, and a pistol-shot followed. 

I did not halt. Capture was becoming a hideous affair in June, 1863. Ipassed across the head of the column at full speed, followed bybullets; struck into a bridle-path on the right, and pushed ahead, hotly pursued. 

They had followed me nearly half a mile, firing on me, and ordering meto halt, when suddenly a sonorous "Halt!" resounded fifty yards infront of me; and a moment afterward, a carbine ball passed through myriding cape. 

I drove on at full speed, convinced that these in front were friends;and the chest of my horse struck violently against that of another inthe darkness. 

"Halt, or you are dead!" came in the same commanding voice. 

Another flash of lightning showed me a squadron of _gray_ cavalry: attheir head rode a cavalier, well mounted; it was his horse againstwhich I had struck, and he held a cocked pistol to my breast. 

The lightning left nothing in doubt. Gray and blue quickly recognizedeach other. The blue cavalry had drawn rein, and, at that moment, theleader of the grays shouted--"Charge!" A rush of hoofs, and then aquick clash of sabres followed. The adversaries had hurled together. The wood suddenly became the scene of a violent combat. 

It was a rough affair. For ten minutes the result was doubtful. TheFederal cavalry were apparently commanded by an officer of excellentnerve, and he fought his men obstinately. For nearly a quarter of anhour the wood was full of sabre-strokes, carbine-shots, and yells, which mingled with the roll of the storm. Then the fight ended. 

My friend of the cocked pistol threw himself, sabre in hand, upon theFederal front, and it shook, and gave back, and retreated. The weightof the onset seemed to sweep it, inch by inch, away. The blue squadronfinally broke, and scattered in every direction. The grays pressed onwith loud cheers, firing as they did so:--five minutes afterward, thestorm-lashed wood had swallowed pursuers and pursued. 

The whole had disappeared like phantom horsemen in the direction of theRappahannock. 

IV. 

MOHUN AND HIS PRISONER. 

Half an hour afterward, the storm had spent its fury, and I wasstanding by a bivouac fire on the banks of the Rappahannock, conversingwith the officer against whom I had driven my horse in the darkness. 

Mounted upon a powerful gray, he had led the attack with a sort offury, and I now looked at him with some curiosity. 

He was a man of about thirty, of gaunt face and figure, wearing a hatwith a black feather, and the uniform of a colonel of cavalry. Thefeatures were regular and might have been called handsome; the eyes, hair, mustache, and imperial--he wore no beard--coal black; thecomplexion so pale that the effect was startling. More curious than allelse, however, was the officer's expression. In the lips and eyes couldbe read something bitterly cynical, mingled with a profound andapparently ineradicable melancholy. After looking at my newacquaintance for an instant, I said to myself: "This man has eithersuffered some great grief, or committed some great crime. "

His bearing was cold, but courteous. 

"I recognized you as soon as I saw you, colonel, " he said, in responseto my salute. "You probably do not know me, however, as I have justbeen transferred from the Army of the West. Colonel Mohun, at yourservice. "

I exchanged a pressure of the hand with Colonel Mohun, or, speakingmore correctly, I grasped his. It did not return the pressure. I thenthanked him for his timely appearance, and he bowed coldly. 

"It was lucky that my scout led me in this direction, " he said, "thatparty is whipped back over the river, and will give us no more troubleto-night--the woods are full of their dead and wounded. "

As he spoke he took a cigar case from his pocket, and presented it. 

"Will you smoke, sir?" he said. 

I bowed and selected a cigar. Colonel Mohun imitated me, and was aboutto commence smoking, when two or three cavalry men were seenapproaching through the gloom, apparently escorting some one. 

As they drew nearer the figures became plainer in the firelight. Thecavalry men had in charge a female prisoner. 

She was a woman of petite figure, clad in a handsome gray riding-habit, and mounted upon a superb horse, with rich equipments, apparentlybelonging to a Federal officer of high rank. From the horse, I glancedat the prisoner's face. It was a strange countenance. She was abouttwenty-five--her complexion was dead white, except the lips which wereas red as carnations; her eyes were large and brilliant, her hair darkand worn plain under a small riding-hat. In one delicately gauntletedhand she held the rein of her horse--with the other, which wasungloved, she raised a lace handkerchief to her lips. On the fingersparkled a diamond. 

There was something strange in the expression of this woman. She looked"dangerous" in spite of her calmness. 

She sat gazing at some one behind me, with the handkerchief stillraised to her lips. Then she took it away, and I could see a smile uponthem. 

What was the origin of that smile, and at whom was she looking? Iturned, and found myself face to face with Colonel Mohun. Hisappearance almost frightened me. His countenance wore the hue of acorpse, his whole frame shook with quick shudders, and his eyes weredistended until the black pupils shone in the centres of two whitecircles. 

Suddenly his teeth clinched audibly; he passed his hand over hisforehead streaming with cold sweat; and said in a low voice:

"Then you are not dead, madam?"

"No, sir, " the prisoner replied tranquilly. 

Mohun gazed at her with a long, fixed look. As he did so his featuresgradually resumed the cold and cynical expression which I had firstobserved in them. 

"This meeting is singular, " he said. 

A satirical smile passed over the lips of the prisoner. 

"Our last interview was very different, was it not, sir?" she said. "The Nottoway was higher than the Rappahannock is to-night, and you didnot expect to meet me again--so soon!"

Mohun continued to gaze at her with the same fixed look. 

"No, madam, " he said. 

"You recall that agreeable evening, do you not, sir?"

Mohun coolly inclined his head. 

"And you have not seen me since?"

"Never, madam. "

"You are mistaken!"

"Is it possible that I could have forgotten so pleasing a circumstance, madam?"

"Yes!"

"Where and when have I seen you since that time?"

"Everywhere, and at all times!--awake and asleep, day and night!"

Mohun shuddered. 

"True, " he said, with a bitter smile. 

"You remember, then! I am not wrong!" exclaimed the prisoner, gazingintently at him. 

Mohun raised his head, and I could see the old cynical expression uponhis lips. 

"Certainly I remember, madam, " he said. "Do you think it possible forany one to forget your charming ladyship? And could any thing be moredelightful than this interview between two old friends? But let usreserve these sweet confidences, these gushing emotions! One thing onlyis wanting, to perfect the happiness of this moment; the presence thisevening of _your dear brother_!--but he is doubtless detainedelsewhere!"

Mohun's expression was singular as he uttered these words. The prisonerlooked at him as he was speaking with an indescribable smile. I canonly compare it to that of the swordsman about to deliver a mortallunge. 

"My brother, " she said, in accents as soft as a flute; "detainedelsewhere, do you say, sir? You are mistaken in supposing so. Hecommanded the cavalry with which you were fighting to-night!"

At these words, uttered in a strange, mocking voice, I saw Mohun startas if a rattlesnake had bitten his heel. With all his self-possessionhe could not restrain this exhibition of emotion. 

"Impossible! You are deceiving me--"

The prisoner interrupted him with a gay laugh. 

"So you do not believe me, " she said; "you think, my dear sir, thateverybody is dead but yourself! Dismiss that idea from your mind! _I_am not dead, since we have the pleasure of again meeting in the flesh. _He_ is not dead! No! it was Colonel Mortimer Darke whom you foughtto-night. This is his horse which I borrowed to take a short ride. I havebeen captured, but _he_ is neither dead nor captured, and you willdoubtless receive some friendly message from him soon. "

Under the mocking accents and the satirical glance, it was easy to readprofound hatred. The speaker could not hide that. At that moment sheresembled a tigress about to spring. 

Mohun had listened with absorbing attention as his companion spoke;but, as on the first occasion, he speedily suppressed his agitation. His face was now as cold and unmoved as though moulded of bronze. 

"So be it, madam, " he said; "I will respond as I best can to suchmessage as he may send me. For yourself, you know me well, and, I amglad to see, indulge no apprehensions. The past is dead; let it sleep. You think this interview is painful to me. You deceive yourself, madam;I would not exchange it for all the wealth of two hemispheres. "

And calling an officer, he said:--

"You will conduct this lady to General Stuart, reporting thecircumstances attending her capture. "

Mohun made a ceremonious bow to the prisoner as he spoke, saluted me inthe same manner, and mounting his horse, rode back at the head of hiscolumn. 

The prisoner, escorted by the young officer, and still riding her finehorse, had already disappeared in the darkness. 

V. 

STUART. 

An hour afterward, I had delivered my message to Mordaunt, and wasreturning by the road over Fleetwood Hill, thinking of the singulardialogue between Mohun and the gray woman. 

What had these worthies meant by their mysterious allusions? How hadMohun found himself face to face on this stormy night, with two humanbeings whom he thought dead?

These questions puzzled me for half an hour; then I gave up themystery, laughing. An hour afterward I had passed through CulpeperCourt-House, crossed the fields, and had reached General Stuart'sheadquarters. 

Stuart's tent, or rather the strip of canvas which he called one, waspitched beneath a great oak on a wooded knoll about a mile south of thelittle village. Above it drooped the masses of fresh June foliage;around, were grouped the white canvas "flies" of the staff; in a gladeclose by gleamed the tents d'abri of the couriers. Horses, tethered tothe trees, champed their corn in the shadow; in the calm, summer night, the battle-flag drooped and clung to its staff. Before the tent ofStuart, a man on guard, with drawn sabre, paced to and fro withmeasured steps. 

A glance told me that Mohun's singular prisoner had arrived. A courierwas holding her fine animal near the general's tent, and as Idismounted, three figures' appeared in the illuminated doorway. Thesewere the figures of Stuart, the "gray woman, " and a young aid-de-camp. 

"Farewell, madam, " said Stuart, bowing and laughing; "I am sorry tohave made your acquaintance under circumstances so disagreeable to you;but I trust you will appreciate the situation, and not blame me. "

"Blame you? Not in the least, general. You are a very gallant man. "

And the gay words were accompanied by a musical laugh. 

"You will have an opportunity of seeing the Confederate capital, " saidStuart, smiling. 

The lady made a humorous grimace. 

"And of abusing me upon the way thither; and afterward on the route toPort Monroe and Washington, as you will not be detained, I am sure. "

"I shall not abuse you, sir. You are the noblest gentleman I have everknown. "[1]

[Footnote 1: The real words of Stuart's prisoner]

And with mutual salutes they parted--the young aid-de-camp accompanyingthe lady to her horse, and aiding her to mount. They then set forwardtoward the Court-House. Stuart had ordered the prisoner to be conductedthither, and detained at the village tavern, under guard, untilmorning, when she would be sent to Richmond. 

As they disappeared, I entered the general's tent, and found himlaughing. Leaning one hand upon his desk, covered with papers, uponwhich rested his feather-decorated hat, he carelessly played with thetassel of his yellow sash with the other hand. His blue eyes sparkled, and his mustache curled with humor. 

"That is really a beauty, Surry?" he said, "and I have laughedheartily. "

He threw himself on his red blanket as he spoke, and began playing withhis two setter pups, whose names were "Nip" and "Tuck. " He had broughtthem out of the lines on his saddle. 

"Well, you are really a magician, " I said. "You charm the evil spirit, and make prisoners laugh. "

Stuart laughed in reply. 

"That is a curious person that Mohun sent me, " he said; "at first shewas disdainful enough; but I paid her a few compliments, and now she isin an excellent humor, as you saw. "

"Yes. "

"But what about the fight?"

I made my report of the events of the evening. 

"Well, Mohun is a trump, " said Stuart. "A new man, but seems made ofthe right stuff--real steel. What does Mordaunt say of the attack?"

"Only a scout. "

"Right, and this lady is our spoil! She is handsome, is she not? But amore curious face I have never seen. White cheeks and red lips--a sortof devil and angel mixed! Who is she, I wonder, and what was hererrand. Something is under it. She gave her name as 'Mrs. Darke, '--andher horse made me break the tenth commandment, Surry! Lady and courserare splendid. "

"She is certainly a beauty. "

"And what eyes!"

"Dangerous. "

Stuart remained silent for some moments, and then I heard him sigh. 

"Do you know, my dear Surry, " he said, "that if people heard us talk inthis way, they would call us libertines--immoral--any thing? There aretwo things that people will not disbelieve about me--that I am impure, and a drunkard! Do you know what a good man was heard to say of me theother day? 'Stuart would be one of the greatest soldiers in the army, if he did not drink so hard!'[1] And others add: 'if he were not alibertine. ' Well, need I defend myself to _you_, from these charges? Ipromised my mother in my childhood, never to touch ardent spirits, anda drop has never passed my lips, except the wine of the communion. [2] Iknow I need not tell you that I am equally guiltless of the otherimputation. That person does not live who can say that I ever did anything improper of that description. And yet I am a drunkard--alibertine--I, who never touched drink, and love but one person in thisworld!"

[Footnote 1: This was actually said of Stuart. ]

[Footnote 2: His words]

Stuart's head sank, and he uttered a weary sigh. 

"They will not let me alone, " he muttered, "and yet I am here fightingfor my country. But I defy them to take my good name away from me, Surry!"

And he rose to his feet. 

"General Lee knows me! Jackson knew me! I have the regard of the one, and I had the love of the other. What do I care? If my children onlywill not hear these ignoble charges! _One_ can never hear them, Surry--my beloved little Flora! She died while I was fighting near Middleburgin the fall of '62--that nearly broke me down--"

And Stuart paused and covered his eyes with his hand. Between thefingers I saw a tear. 

For a moment his breast heaved--something like a sob issued from thebrave lip, whereon the heavy mustache trembled. 

"I think of her often--I shall never get over her death, Surry!"[1] hemurmured. "They think me hard and cold, and bad perhaps--it is nothing. Since she died I care less for men's opinion, and only try to do myduty, till the ball comes that will end me. "

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

And dashing a tear from his eyes, Stuart walked to the door of histent, from which he gazed forth upon the stars. 

Five minutes passed thus, and I did not speak. Then all at once I heardStuart call out: "Orderly!"

"Yes, sir, " came from the man on post near the tent. 

"Tell Sweeney to come and bring his banjo!"

And walking fifty steps, Stuart caressed the glossy neck of his mare"Lady Margaret, " who was tethered to a bough, and looked aroundaffectionately at her master. 

When he returned he was humming "The dew lay on the blossom, " andfollowing him was Sweeney--the same old Sweeney!--ever mild, courteous, almost sad, doffing his cap, saluting with simple grace, and tuning hisbanjo. 

In a moment the tent, the wooded knoll, the whole vicinity was ringingwith the uproarious notes of the mirth-inspiring banjo; and Sweeney waschanting, as only that great master _could_ chant, the mighty epic ofthe sabreurs of Stuart:--

 "If you want to have a good time Jine the cavalry, Bully Boys, hey!"

The staff and couriers quickly assembled, the servants were grouped inthe starlight, the horses beneath the boughs turned their intelligentheads--and leading in the uproarious chorus might have been heard thesonorous and laughing voice of Stuart. 

VI. 

STUART'S INSTINCT. 

The festivities were kept up until nearly midnight. 

Then Stuart yawned; said with a laugh, "Good morning, gentle-_men_" aswas his habit when he wished to work; and the tent was soon deserted. 

I retired to rest, but at three in the morning felt a hand upon myshoulder. 

"The general is going to move, colonel, and wishes to see you, " saidthe orderly. 

I rose, made my brief toilet, and went toward Stuart's tent where alight was shining. He was writing busily at his desk, as fresh and gayas on the preceding evening. His enormous constitution defied fatigue. 

All at once I saw that there was another personage in the tent. He wasa young man of about twenty, of slight figure, beardless face, and anexpression so shy and retiring that he seemed ready to blush if youspoke to him. He wore, nevertheless, the uniform of a captain ofartillery; and I remember wondering how this girlish and shrinkingpersonage, with the large, sad eyes, had come to hold a commission. 

"Captain Davenant, of my horse artillery, Colonel Surry, " said Stuart. 

The youth colored, and then with an air of painful embarrassment took astep forward and pressed my hand. The grasp of the slender fingers waslike the grip of a steel vice. 

"Davenant has been on a scout across the Rappahannock, to keep his handin, " said Stuart, busily writing. "My horse artillery boys do a littleof every thing--and Davenant is a wild-cat, Surry, with a touch of thebull dog, in spite of his looks!"

The young officer drew back blushing more than ever at these words. Hisconfusion seemed to deprive him of the power of utterance. 

"I'll bet he's blushing now!" said Stuart, laughing and continuing towrite with his back turned, as he spoke. "He is blushing orsighing--for the poor Yankees he has killed, doubtless!"

"You are laughing at me, general, " said the young man timidly. "Well, my laughter won't hurt you, Davenant. I never joke with people I don'tlike. But to business. The enemy are going to attack me, Surry. Getready, I am going to move. "

"Ready, general. "

"All right!--Hagan!"

"General!"

The voice came like an echo. Then at the door appeared the gigantic, black-bearded Lieutenant Hagan, chief of the general's escort. Have youforgotten him, my dear reader?--his huge figure, his mighty beard, thedeep thunder of his tones? I showed you the brave soldier in 1861 and'62. In 1863 his beard was heavier, his voice more like thunder--whenthe giant walked along he seemed to shake the ground. 

"I am going to move in half an hour, Hagan, " said Stuart, still writingbusily. "Head-quarters will be established on Fleetwood Hill, beyondBrandy; my horse!"

Hagan saluted and vanished without uttering a word. In five minutes thecamp was buzzing, and "Lady Margaret" was led up. 

"Come on, Surry! Come on, Davenant! I will beat you to theCourt-House!"

And Stuart buckled on his sword, drew on his gauntlets, and mounted hishorse. I was beside him. Not to be ready when Stuart was--was to beleft behind. He waited for nobody. His staff soon learned that. 

As Davenant's horse was awaiting him, he was as prompt as Stuartdesired. In a minute we were all three riding at full speed toward thevillage. Stuart was playing with his glove, which he had taken off anddangled to and fro. His brows were knit, and he was reflecting. We didnot interrupt him, and in ten minutes we were all clattering over themain street of the hamlet. 

Stuart pushed on by the tavern, without pausing, in the direction ofFleetwood, when just as he reached the eastern suburbs of the town asmall one-horse wagon, leaving the place, attracted his attention. There was just sufficient light to make out the figures in the wagon. There were two. One was a portly and plainly clad old countryman, witha prominent nose, a double chin, and fat hands decorated with pinchbeckrings. Beside him sat an old woman, as fat as himself, wearing a fadedcalico gown, a "coal-scuttle" bonnet, and a huge ruffled cap beneath. 

Stuart looked keenly at the wagon, called to the driver to halt, anddemanded whither he was going, and on what business. The old countrymansmiled. The question seemed to strike him as absurd, and hisexplanation was simple and calculated to remove all suspicion. Hestated that his name was Brown--that he lived near the village; hadbrought in a load of vegetables to sell, on the preceding evening--somefriends had persuaded him and "his old woman" to spend the night, andthey were now going home. 

Stuart peered under the coal-scuttle bonnet. 

"And this is your 'old woman' my friend, " he said with a laugh. 

"Jest so, sir, " was the wheezy reply of the fat old countryman, smilingsweetly. "You see she would come along, sir. Womankind is mightycontrary!"

"A profound sentiment!" laughed Stuart, and riding on without furtherwords, he left the countryman free to proceed on his way. 

We crossed a little stream, rode on toward Fleetwood, and had nearlyreached Brandy when Stuart suddenly reined in his horse. 

"Do you know what I think, " he said, "that I have done a foolishthing?"

"What, general?"

"To let that old fellow go on. I don't like his looks. "

"The old countryman?"

"Yes; I wish I had arrested him--him and his wife. "

"Arrested them?"

Stuart nodded. 

"I have an instinct about rascals, Surry; and something tells me that Ihave been guilty of an imprudence. "

"Was not his explanation satisfactory?"

"No. "

"What could be wrong?"

"Everything. "

"And his 'old woman, '" I said, laughing; "think of that highlyrespectable dame. "

"I like her least of all!"

"From instinct?"

"If you choose. "

"I think your instinct misleads you this time, general. "

"I think not. "

"Well, we will see. "

And we did see. 

In two hours the head-quarters tents were pitched upon Fleetwood Hillbeyond Brandy, and Stuart sent his provost marshal to CulpeperCourt-House, with orders to conduct the prisoner taken by Mohun on thepreceding night, to General Lee, for examination. 

An hour afterward the worthy provost returned in hot haste with theastounding information that the fair lady was nowhere to be found. Shehad disappeared from her chamber, none knew how, before daylight, andas a notoriously suspected individual who had lately been hanging roundthe tavern had disappeared too, it was probable that they had gone offtogether. Upon this point, a note left by the lady directed to "GeneralStuart" would probably give information. This had been found upon hertable. And the provost wound up by handing the note to Stuart. 

He read it with an air of decided ill-humor. Then throwing it upon hisdesk, burst into a laugh. 

"Well, Surry, " he said, "who is right and who is wrong, now? Readthat!"

And he pointed to the note, which I opened and read. It was in adelicate female hand, and ran as follows:--

"General Stuart will pardon the attempt his captive is about to make, to effect her escape. He made himself quite charming in their briefinterview, but liberty is sweet. Finding a friend unexpectedly in thisquarter of the world, I have made every arrangement with him; he is agreat master of disguises, and, though the travelling costume which Ishall adopt will make me look hideous, I hope it will enable me, beforesunrise, to pass a private ford, known to my friend alone, and reachthe opposite bank of the Rappahannock. 

"Farewell, my dear general. If all the rebels were like yourself, Imight change my politics. I have but one other friend in yourarmy--Colonel Mohun, of the cavalry. Present my regards to him, and saythat _we will meet again_. "

That was all. I raised my eyes from the paper, and looked at thegeneral with stupefaction. 

"Then that 'old woman' was the lady?"

"Precisely. "

"And we are fooled?"

"Completely. They are by this time on the other side of theRappahannock. "

With these words, Stuart dismissed the whole subject, turned to hisdesk, and in a moment was busy at his official writing. 

VII. 

THE BALL BEFORE THE BATTLE. 

On the same evening I was riding with Stuart toward CulpeperCourt-House. 

"Do you know where we are going, Surry?" he said, with a laugh. 

"I can guess, I think. "

"Try. "

"To the ball given by the young officers to the Charlottesville bellestonight. "

"You are wrong, old fellow. I don't dare to go there. "

"Don't dare?"

"Well, that is the word, " he replied; "I am not afraid of the Yankees, but I am of gossips--above all, of the valorous correspondents of thenewspapers. "

"I begin to understand now. "

"They are dangerous. "

"Yes. "

Stuart cantered on, playing with his glove as usual. "Think ofMessieurs the bomb-proof critics!" he laughed. "They already say Ireviewed the cavalry with a wreath of flowers around my horse's neck. "

"Is it possible?"

"They say so everywhere; and I will tell you the foundation for thecharge. In passing through the Court-House on the morning of thereview, a young lady friend of mine ran out from her house and threw awreath over the neck of my horse. Well, I think it is something to becourteous in this world. I did not throw it off. I thanked her, rodeon, and only removed it when I got out of sight. Meeting General Lee, Itold him of it, laughing, and he said, with a smile: 'Why did you notwear it?'[1] I might as well have done so, Surry, for you see I havethe credit of it. Why try to be temperate, and pure, and soldierly? Iam a drunkard, a libertine, and a popinjay! But I care nothing. Iintend to do my duty, old fellow, and the next few days will probablyshow if I can fight. "

[Footnote 1: Fact. ]

With which words Stuart broke into a song, cantered on more rapidly, and passing without drawing rein through the Court-House, soon reachedGeneral Lee's head-quarters on an eminence beyond. 

Here he remained for an hour, in private interview with thecommander-in-chief. Finally, they came out together. General Lee in hisplain uniform, with that sedate dignity of bearing which made the grayold cavalier so superb. I had the honor to receive his salute, and topress his hand, and then I set out with General Stuart for Fleetwood. 

In passing through the Court-House we observed the windows of a largebuilding all ablaze with lights, and heard the merry notes of music. Stuart drew rein. 

"I think I will drop in for a few minutes, in spite of every thing!" hesaid. "See the end of all my excellent resolutions, Surry!"

And rapidly dismounting, Stuart entered the ball-room. I followed. 

If the review was imposing, the ball was charming. Youths and maidenshad assembled promptly at the sound of music, and, if I were a poet ora penny-a-liner, my dear reader, I would compose a fine description ofthe merry spectacle. But alas! I am neither; and feel unequal to the"ornate" style of writing. I am only a battered old _militaire_, with anumber of great events to speak of. Look in the newspapers of thatperiod for an account of the assembly. 

Let me say, however, in passing, that there was something sad as wellas joyful, gloomy as well as brilliant, in all that echoing laughter, and the movements of these gay figures, on the eve of the bloody battleof Fleetwood. Girls were smiling upon youths who in twelve hours wouldbe dead. Lips were shaping gallant compliments--soon they were going toutter the death-groan. All went merry as a marriage-bell, and theydanced to the joyous music. Soon the cannon would begin to roll, andthe youths would charge to that stormy music as they danced to this. 

I was gazing at the lively assemblage--at the undulating forms movingto and fro, the gay uniforms, the fluttering scarfs, the snowy arms, the rosy cheeks, when my attention was attracted by a figure which mademe lose sight of all else. 

It was that of a young girl about twenty, tall, stately, and beautiful. Her dark hair was carried back in glossy waves, and ended in profusecurls. Her cheeks resembled blush roses; the eyes were large, brilliant, and full of laughing hauteur; the lips red, and wreathedinto a dazzling smile, which was the perfection of satirical mirth. 

I grow extravagant; but this young girl was superb. There was somethingqueen like and imposing in her movements and whole appearance. Sheseemed to look down on the crowd with satirical disdain, and the gayyouths who surrounded her were every instant struck by the brightshafts of a wit which spared nothing. 

Who was this dangerous beauty, who received the attentions of the youngofficers with so much careless disdain? I asked that question of afriend and he replied:

"Miss Georgia Conway, a daughter of Judge William Conway. "

"Ah, " I said, "the statesman?--the successor of Randolph in bitteroratory?"

"Yes, and yonder he is. "

I looked in the direction indicated, and saw an elderly gentleman ofsmall stature, with long gray hair, and lips full of benignant smiles. He wore a suit of black, and there was something courtly and attractivein every movement of the slender figure. His low bow and sweet smilewere the perfection of old-time courtesy. 

I was still looking at this gentleman, whose fame had extendedthroughout Virginia and the whole South, when a familiar voice near me, attracted my attention. It was that of Captain Davenant, the youngofficer of the horse artillery, and glancing in the direction of thevoice I saw him bending over a young lady who was seated and conversingwith him. She was a girl of seventeen, with blue eyes, auburn hair, anda complexion as fair as a lily. As Davenant addressed her in low tones, she gazed up into his face with an expression of confiding affection. In the eyes of the young officer I could read a profound and ardentlove. 

Turning to my friend I inquired the name of the young lady, in turn. 

"Miss Virginia Conway, " he replied, "the only sister of Miss Georgia. "

He had scarcely uttered the words, when Davenant's interview with theyoung lady terminated in a very singular manner. Suddenly Judge Conwaypassed through the crowd, reached the spot where the young people wereconversing, and darting a glance of positive fury at the youth--aglance which made his eyes resemble coals of fire--offered his arm tohis daughter, and abruptly bore her away. 

Davenant's face flushed crimson, and his eyes darted flame. He took astep as though about to follow--but all at once he stopped. 

Then from red his face became pale. The old expression of sadnessreturned to his lips. With head bent down, and a faint color stealingover his cheeks, he went toward the door, and passed though it, anddisappeared. 

Before I had time to reflect upon this singular incident, I heard thevoice of Stuart. 

"Come, Surry! to horse! unless you wish to remain!" he said. 

"Ready, general!" I replied. 

And in five minutes we were galloping toward Fleetwood. 

"A gay ball, " said Stuart, as we rode along; "but do you remember _myinstinct_, Surry?"

"Perfectly, general. Has it told you something on the presentoccasion?"

"Yes. "

"What?"

"You have heard of the famous ball at Brussells, broken up by the gunsof Waterloo?"

"Certainly. "

"Well, I think that this one will prove similar--that cannon are goingto thunder before the music stops. "

Stuart had scarcely spoken when rapid hoof-strokes were heard in front, and a horseman shot by. 

"Have you seen General Stuart?" said a voice in the darkness. 

"Here I am--what news, Stringfellow?"

The horseman drew rein so suddenly that his horse was thrown upon hishaunches. "You will be attacked at daylight, general. "

"Well, --what force?"

"The whole Yankee cavalry, with infantry and artillery supports. "

"All right; ride back with me, and tell me every thing, Stringfellow. "

In half an hour we were at head-quarters. Stuart dismounted and enteredhis tent. 

"You see I was right, Surry, " he said turning toward me, "and there issomething in my _instinct_ after all!"

VIII. 

FLEETWOOD. 

At daylight a long thunder came up from the woods of the Rappahannock. The greatest cavalry combat of the war had begun. 

At that sound Stuart leaped to the saddle, and rode rapidly toward thefront. Fifteen minutes afterward his head-quarters had vanished. On thegreen slope of Fleetwood not a tent was visible. 

Is the reader familiar with the country along the Upper Rappahannock?If so, he will remember that the river is crossed in Culpeper bynumerous fords. The principal--beginning on the left, that is to say, up the river--are Welford's, Beverly's, the Railroad bridge, andKelly's fords. 

Stuart's left, under William H. F. Lee, was opposite Welford's; hiscentre, under Jones, opposite Beverly's; his right, under Hampton, toward Kelly's; and a force under Robertson was posted in the directionof Stevensburg, to guard the right flank. The whole amounted to aboutseven or eight thousand cavalry. 

The Federal column which now advanced to attack it, is said to haveembraced all the cavalry of General Hooker's army; and must havenumbered more than twelve thousand sabres. 

Stuart rode on rapidly down Fleetwood Hill, and was soon oppositeBeverly's Ford where the enemy had crossed in force. General Jones washeavily engaged, and the Napoleons of the horse artillery were roaringsteadily. Every moment the round shot crashed, or the shell torethrough the woods about three hundred yards in front of the pieceswhere the dismounted cavalry of the enemy had effected a lodgment. Theykept up a hot fire at the cannoneers, and the steady rattle of carbinesfurther up the river told that Lee was also engaged. 

In face of the bursting shell, the blue _tirailleurs_ could notadvance; and Stuart sent an order to Hampton to move in and attack onthe right. 

The troopers of the Gulf States advanced at the word; their densecolumn was seen slowly moving, with drawn sabre, across the plain; themoment of decisive struggle seemed rapidly approaching, when suddenly aheavy blow was struck at Stuart's rear. 

I had been directed by him to ascertain if "every thing had been sentoff from Fleetwood, " and to see that no papers had been dropped therein the hurry of departure. Going back at a gallop I soon reached thehill, and rode over the ground recently occupied by the head-quarters. The spot seemed swept. Not a paper was visible. All that I could seewas a withered bouquet dropped by some young officer of the staff--arelic, no doubt, of the last night's ball at the village. 

I had already turned to ride back to Stuart, when my attention wasattracted by a column of cavalry advancing straight on Brandy--that is, upon Stuart's rear. What force was that? Could it be the enemy? It wascoming from the direction of Stevensburg; but how could it have passedour force there?

"Look!" I said to an officer of the horse artillery, one battery ofwhich was left in reserve on the hill, "look! what column is that?"

"It must be Wickham's, " was his reply. 

"I am sure they are Yankees!"

"Impossible!" he exclaimed. 

But our doubts were soon terminated. From the rapidly advancing columntwo guns shot out and unlimbered. Then two white puffs of smoke spoutedfrom their muzzles, and the enemy's shell burst directly in our faces. 

The horse artillery returned the fire, and I hastened back with theintelligence to Stuart. 

"It is only a squadron, I suppose, " he replied with great coolness. "Goback and get all the cavalry you can, and charge the guns and bagthem!"[1]

[Footnote: His words]

It is impossible to imagine any thing calmer than the speaker's voice. I knew, however, that the attack was more critical than he supposed;hastened back; came up with two regiments; and they ascended the hillat full gallop, leaping the ravines, and darting toward the crest. 

Suddenly it blazed with staggering volleys. The Federal cavalry hadrushed straight across the fields toward the hill--ascended its westernslope as we ascended the eastern, and met us--coming on, in squadronfront, they struck the Confederates advancing in column of fours, andin confusion from the rough ground--they recoiled--were thrown intodisorder; and with loud cheers the enemy swarmed all over FleetwoodHill. 

The battle seemed lost. Stuart was cut off, and hemmed in between twopowerful bodies of Federal cavalry, supported by infantry andartillery. 

All that saved us at that moment, was the "do or die" fighting of thecavalry and horse artillery. 

On the crest of Fleetwood took place a bitter and obstinate struggle. It was one of those fights of the giants, which once witnessed is neverforgotten. The cannoneers of the horse artillery fought as savagely, hand to hand, as the regular cavalry; and the crest became the scene ofa mad wrestle, rather of wild beasts than men. 

All at once the form of Davenant appeared amid the smoke. He had comerapidly from the front, and now threw himself into the combat like thebloodhound to which Stuart had compared him. His sad smile haddisappeared; his cheeks were flushed; his eyes fiery;--leaping from hishorse, he seized the sponge-staff of a gun, from which all thecannoneers had been driven, and ramming home a charge of canister, directed the gun upon a column of the enemy. 

Before he could fire, a Federal cavalryman rode at him, and cutfuriously at his bare head, with the full weight of his sabre. 

Davenant did not try to draw his sword--the attempt would have beenuseless. In his hand he had a weapon; and with a swing of the rammer heswept the cavalryman from the saddle. [1] He fell headlong, covered withblood; and Davenant aimed and fired the charge of canister--leaped uponhis horse--and drawing his sword, plunged into the melee, his headbare, his eyes flaming, his voice rising loud and inspiring, above thecombat. 

[Footnote 1: Fact. ]

It was a stubborn, a superb struggle. Three times the enemy's guns werecharged and captured; three times the Confederates were furiouslycharged in turn, and the pieces recaptured by the enemy. [1] A finalcharge of the gray cavalry carried all before it. The Federal artillerywas seized upon, and their cavalry driven back--but at that moment aheavier force still was seen advancing upon Stuart from the directionof Kelly's ford. 

[Footnote 1: Fact. ]

It was a splendid spectacle. They came on in solid column, and rapidlyformed line of battle on the slope of Fleetwood, with drawn sabres, andflags floating. As they moved they seemed to shake the very ground. Ihad never before seen so great a force of cavalry drawn up--and thecritical moment of the battle had plainly come. 

At that instant the great field presented a remarkable appearance. Cavalry were charging in every direction, and it was hard to tellfriend from foe. Stuart was fighting, so to say, from the centreoutwards. The enemy were in his front, in his rear, and on both hisflanks. If they closed in, apparently, he would be crushed as in avice. The iron hand would strangle him. 

That moment tested the nerves. Stuart's "heart of oak" bore the strain. He was aroused, stung, his cheeks burned, his eyes flamed--but the manwas sufficient for the work. I looked closely at him. "Do or die" wasplain on his face. From that instant I never had any doubts aboutStuart. 

He rushed two pieces of artillery to a knoll in front of the line ofFederal horsemen. A moment afterward two reports were heard, and twoshell burst precisely in the middle of the line, making a wide gap init, and checking the charge which had begun. [1]

[Footnote 1: Fact. ]

All at once I saw a column of cavalry coming up from the river, andturning to Stuart, said:--

"General, what cavalry is that?"

"Hampton's!" Stuart exclaimed. "Bring it up like lightning!"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

I set out at full gallop, and soon reached the column. At the head ofit rode Young, the _beau sabreur_ of Georgia, erect, gallant, with hisbrave eye and smile. 

I pointed out the enemy and gave the order. 

"All right!" exclaimed Young, and, turning to his men, he whirled hissabre around his head and shouted, "Forward!"

The column thundered on, and as it passed I recognized Mohun, hisflashing eye and burnished sabre gleaming from the dust-cloud. 

In five minutes they were in front of the enemy--the men wheeled andfaced the Federal line. 

"Charge!" rose from a hundred lips. Spurs were buried in the hotflanks; the mass was hurled at the enemy; and clashing like thunder, sword against sword, swept every thing before it. Not a single shot wasfired--the sabre only was used. The enemy were broken to pieces--what Isaw was a wild mêlée of whirling swords, flying horses, men cloven tothe chin, while others were seen throwing themselves from the saddle, and raising their hands to escape the keen swordsmen slashing atthem. [1]

[Footnote 1: Fact. ]

The great force of the enemy sweeping down on Stuart's flank was thusrouted. The spectacle which followed was ludicrous as well as exciting. The enemy fled in disorder. Never before had I seen the nails in thehind shoes of hundreds of horses--myriads of horses' tails streaminglike meteors as they ran!

The force disappeared in the woods, hotly pursued by their foes. Thedust followed them in a great cloud--from that cloud arose yells andcheers--cannon thundered; carbines rattled;--but that sound recededmore and more rapidly toward the river. 

On our left the brave William H. F. Lee had been as successful. He hadcharged and repulsed the enemy, falling wounded at the head of his men. They had not again advanced upon him. Near the Barbour House hepresented an unbroken front to them. 

Stuart held with his cavalry, indeed, the whole Fleetwood range. Thelong thunder of his artillery said to the enemy, "Come on!"

They did not come. They went back. Their cavalry had crossed the riverto ascertain the meaning of the great review. They had discoverednothing, after heavy loss. The ground was strewed with their dead anddying--they retired, shattered and bleeding. 

Stuart's loss was also great--even his staff was not spared. One of mybrother staff officers was killed, another wounded, a third captured. 

But Stuart had won the greatest cavalry fight of the war. 

IX. 

MOHUN FAINTS AT THE RIGHT MOMENT. 

In a room of the "Barbour House" on Fleetwood Hill, Stuart was writinga dispatch to General Lee. 

It was nearly sunset, and the red light was streaming through thewindows. On the floor lay a number of wounded men, groaning piteously. Busily attending to their wants were two young girls--the daughters ofJudge Conway, whom I had seen on the night of the ball. 

The young ladies, I afterward discovered, had been on a visit to thefamily occupying the Barbour House; had courageously remained duringthe whole of the battle--and they were now busily attending to thewants of the wounded. 

I was gazing at the eldest--the superb beauty with the disdainful eyes, who had held that wit-combat with her circle of admirers--when Stuartfinished his dispatches, and turned around. 

"Any reports?" he said briefly to a member of his staff. 

"None, general--except that Colonel Mohun is reported killed. "

"Mohun! It is impossible! He drove the enemy, and was unhurt. I wouldnot swap him for a hundred, nor a thousand of the enemy!"

"Thank you, general!" said a sonorous voice behind us. 

And Mohun entered, making the military salute as he did so. 

In his bearing I could discern the same cool pride, mingled withsatire. There was only one change in him. He was paler than ever, and Icould see that his right shoulder was bloody. 

As he entered, Miss Georgia Conway, who was bending over a woundedsoldier, raised her head and looked at him. Mohun's eye met her own, and he bowed ceremoniously, taking no further notice of her. 

At this exhibition of careless indifference I could see Miss Conway'sface flush. An expression of freezing hauteur came to the beautifullips; and the disdainful glance indicated that her _amour propre_ wasdeeply wounded. 

She turned her back upon him abruptly--but as Mohun had already turnedhis, the movement failed in its object. The officer was looking atStuart, who had grasped his hand. He winced as the general pressed it, and turned paler, but said nothing. 

"Then you are not dead, Mohun!" exclaimed Stuart, laughing. 

"Not in the least, general, I am happy to inform you, " replied Mohun. 

"I am truly glad to hear it! What news?"

"Our party is all over. We followed them up until they recrossed theriver--and I owed them this little piece of politeness for I recognizedan old acquaintance in the commander of the squadron. "

"An acquaintance?"

"A certain Colonel Darke--a charming person, general. " And Mohunlaughed. 

"I recognized him yonder when we charged on the hill, and, at first, hefollowed his men when they broke. As I got close to him, however, inthe woods, he recognized me in turn, and we crossed swords. He isbrave--no man braver; and he did his utmost to put an end to me. I hadsomewhat similar views myself in reference to my friend, the colonel, but his men interposed and prevented my carrying them out. They wereall around me, slashing away. I was nearly cut out of the saddle--I wascarried away from my friend in the mêlée--and the unkindest cut of allwas his parting compliment as he retreated through the river. "

"What was that, Mohun?"

"A bullet from his pistol, which grazed my shoulder. A mere scratch, but provoking. I saw him grin as he fired. "

"An old friend on the Yankee side? Well, that happens, " said Stuart--

"Frequently, general, " said Mohun; "and this one was _very_ dear, indeed--most tenderly attached to me, I assure you. My affection forhim is of the same endearing nature: and we only crossed sabres injest--a mere fencing bout for amusement. We would not hurt each otherfor worlds!"

And Mohun's mustache curled with laughter. There was something restlessand sinister in it. 

Suddenly his face grew paler, and his eyes were half closed. 

"Well, Mohun, " said Stuart, who was not looking at him; "I am going tosend you across the river on a reconnaissance to-night. "

"All right, general. "

And the officer made the military salute. As he did so, he staggered, and Stuart raised his eyes. 

"You are wounded!" he exclaimed. 

"A trifle, " laughed Mohun. 

But as he spoke, his frame tottered; his face assumed the hue of acorpse; and he would have fallen, had not Miss Georgia Conway startedup unconsciously from the wounded man whom she was attending to, andsupported the officer in her arms. 

Mohun opened his eyes, and a grim smile came to his pale face. 

"A pretty tableau!" I heard him murmur; "it would do to put in aromance. A cup of tea--or a pistol--that would finish--"

As he uttered these singular words, the blood gushed from his woundedshoulder, his eyes closed, and, his head falling on the bosom of theyoung girl, he fainted. 

X. 

THE SLIM ANIMAL. 

Fleetwood was the first gun of the great campaign which culminated onthe heights of Gettysburg. A week afterward, Lee's columns were inmotion toward Pennsylvania. 

Was that invasion the dictate of his own judgment? History will answer. What is certain is, that the country, like the army, shouted "Forward!"The people were ablaze with wild enthusiasm; the soldiers flushed withthe pride of their great victories of Fredericksburg andChancellorsville. The authorities at Richmond shared the excitement, and the commissary-general, with unwonted humor, or in sober earnest, indorsed, it is said, upon a requisition for supplies: "If General Leewishes rations, let him seek them in Pennsylvania. "

I doubt if the great commander shared the general agitation. I think heaimed to draw Hooker out of Virginia, leaving the rest to Providence. So he moved toward the Potomac. 

The world had called Lee cautious. After this invasion, that charge wasnot repeated. From first to last audacity seemed the sentimentinspiring him. 

With Hooker on the Rappahannock, threatening Richmond, Lee thrust hisadvance force under Ewell through the Blue Ridge toward Maryland;pushed Longstreet up to Culpeper to support him, and kept only A. P. Hill at Fredericksburg to bar the road to the Confederate capital. 

Hooker wished to advance upon it, but President Lincoln forbade him. The dispatch was a queer official document. 

"In case you find Lee coming to the north of the Rappahannock, " Lincolnwrote, "I would by no means cross to the south of it. I would not takeany risk of being entangled upon the river, _like an ox jumped halfover a fence, and liable to be torn by dogs, front and rear, without afair chance to gore one way or kick the other. _"

Ludicrous perhaps, but to the point; the "Rail-Splitter" was not alwaysdignified, but often judicious. Chancellorsville had been defeat--Lee'sassault, foreboded thus by Lincoln, would be death. 

Hooker fell back, therefore, in the direction of Washington. Lee hadforeseen that fact, and had given himself small anxiety. His threecorps were already in full motion toward the Potomac; and suddenly thethunder of artillery came on the winds of the mountains. 

Ewell, the head of the Southern spear, was driving at Milroy, holdingWinchester. The struggle was brief. General Milroy had put the ironheel on the poor valley; had oppressed the unfortunate people beyondthe power of words--and suddenly the hand of Fate clutched and shookhim to death. Ewell stormed his "Star Fort" near Winchester, with thebayonet; drove him to headlong flight; got in rear of him, capturingnearly all his command; and poor Milroy scarce managed to escape, witha small body-guard, beyond the Potomac. 

"In my opinion Milroy's men will fight better _under a soldier!_"

It was his commanding officer, Hooker, who wrote those words a few daysafterward. From the hands of his own general came that unkindest cut!

Exit Milroy, thus amid hisses and laughter--the hornet's nest atWinchester was swept away--and Ewell headed straight for Pennsylvania. 

Longstreet came up rapidly to fill the gap in the line--Hill followedLongstreet--and then the world beheld the singular spectacle of an armyextended in a long skirmish line over a hundred miles, with anotherarmy massed not daring to assail it. 

Hooker did not see his "opening;" but Lincoln did. One of hisdispatches has been quoted--here is another as amusing and asjudicious. 

"If the head of Lee's army is at Martinsburg, " Lincoln wrote Hooker, "and the tail of it on the Plank road, between Fredericksburg andChancellorsville, _the animal must be very slim somewhere--could younot break him?_"

But Hooker could not. He did not even try. Lee's movements seemed toparalyze him--his chief of staff wrote:--

"We cannot go boggling round, until we know what we are going after. "

"Boggling round" exactly described the movements of Hooker. He wasstill in a grand fog, and knew nothing of his adversary's intent, whena terrific cry arose among the well-to-do farmers of Pennsylvania. Thewolf had appeared in the fold. Ewell was rapidly advancing uponHarrisburg. 

Behind came the veteran corps of Hill and Longstreet. The gorges of theBlue Ridge were alive with bristling bayonets. Then the waters of thePotomac splashed around the waists of the infantry and the wheels ofthe artillery carriages. Soon the fields of Maryland and Pennsylvaniawere alive with "rebels, " come, doubtless, to avenge the outrages ofPope and Milroy. Throughout those commonwealths--through Philadelphia, New York, and Boston--rang the cry, "Lee is coming!"

To return to the cavalry. The horsemen of Stuart were going to move inan eccentric orbit. These are my _memoirs_, reader, not a history ofthe war; I describe only what I saw, and am going to ask you now, to"follow the feather" of Stuart. 

Stuart was promptly in the saddle, and when Lee began to move, advancednorth of the Rappahannock, drawing a cordon of cavalry across the roadsabove Middleburg, to guard the approaches to the mountain. 

The result was that the infantry defiled through the Blue Ridge withoutHooker's knowledge. He knew that something was going on, but there hisinformation terminated. The troopers of Stuart kept watch over fifteenmiles of front, and through this wall of sabres the Federal eye couldnot pierce. 

Stuart is regarded by many as only a brave "raider. " It was onoccasions like this, however, that he performed his greatest services. Everywhere he confronted the enemy in stubborn battle; and the work washard. It was fighting, fighting, fighting--now, as in 1862, when hecovered Lee's retreat after Sharpsburg. Day and night the cavalry hadno rest. The crack of carbines, the clash of sabres, and the roar ofcannon were incessant. It was a war of giants which Fauquier andLoudoun saw in those days--and not until the rear of Lee's column hadnearly reached the Potomac, did General Hooker by a desperate effortsucceed in driving Stuart back. 

In these pages I must leave that obstinate struggle undescribed. It wasfull of romantic scenes, and illustrated by daring courage: but all islost to view in the lurid smoke of Gettysburg. 

With one scene in the hurrying drama I shall pass to greater events. 

But first, I beg to introduce to the reader a very singular personage, who is destined to play an important part in the history I am writing. 

XI. 

NIGHTHAWK. 

It was the night of the 20th of June, 1863. Stuart's head-quarters hadbeen established in a house on the roadside above Middleburg. 

We had been fighting all day; had returned only at nightfall: and I wasexchanging a few words with Stuart, before following the staff to rest, when all at once a third personage, who seemed to have arisen from thefloor, stood before us. 

His presence was so sudden and unexpected that I started. Then I lookedat him, curiously. 

He was a man of about forty, thin, wiry, and with a nose resembling thebeak of a bird of prey. His eyes, half buried under bushy eyebrows, twinkled like two stars. His mouth was large and smiling; hisexpression exceedingly benignant. From the face I passed to thecostume. The worthy was clad in severe black, with a clerical whitecravat: wore a black beaver hat of the "stove-pipe" order; andpresented the appearance of a pious and peaceable civilian--almost thatof a clergyman, smiling benignantly upon all around him. 

Stuart uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. 

"Ah! Nighthawk, here you are!" he said. 

And turning to me he introduced the new comer as "Mr. Nighthawk, one ofmy 'private friends, ' and true as steel. "

Mr. Nighthawk bowed with an air of smiling respect--of benignantsweetness. 

"I am glad to know you, colonel, and hope I may have an opportunity ofbeing of service to you some day, " he said. 

The voice was low, soft, and accorded with the mild expression of thecountenance. 

"Well, what news, Nighthawk?" asked Stuart; "experience tells me thatyou have something of importance to communicate?"

"Ah, general!"

"Yes. You pass in the cavalry by the name of the 'man before thebattle, ' for you always turn up then. "

Mr. Nighthawk smiled. 

"I try to give you information, general; and perhaps I have some news. But first of my visits to Boston, New York, Philadelphia, andWashington, where I saw many of our friends. "

And in his low, quiet voice Mr. Nighthawk, who had taken a seat andsmoothed down his white cravat, proceeded to speak of his travels andwhat he had seen. 

The narrative astounded me. He spoke without reserve, for GeneralStuart had informed him that he might do so before me; and I wasstartled to find the number of private friends the South had in theNorth. Mr. Nighthawk was evidently _au fait_ at his trade. He had aperfect understanding plainly with persons of the highest politicalposition; and Stuart listened with the greatest interest to thespeaker, whose low voice never rose above the half-whisper by which Ihad been impressed on his first opening his lips. 

"So the summing up of all this, " said Stuart, "that our friends are nottoo hopeful?"

"They are not, general. "

"They say Lee must win a great victory on the soil of Pennsylvania?"

"Yes, general. Without it there is no hope of peace, they declare. "

"Well, I think they are right; and that we shall gain the victory. "

Mr. Nighthawk made no reply; and Stuart reflected for some momentswithout speaking. Then rousing himself:--

"I forgot, " he said. "You have not given me your special information, Nighthawk. "

The worthy smiled. 

"You know I am the 'man before the battle, ' general?"

"Yes, go on, Nighthawk. "

"I have just left General Hooker's head-quarters. "

"Where are they?"

"Beyond Centreville. "

"You saw him?"

"I conversed with him. "

"Ah!"

"An hour, general, as the Rev. Mr. Ward, from Massachusett, of the'Grand Union Sanitary Commission'. "

And Mr. Nighthawk smiled. 

"Of course I urged active movements, and General Hooker became quiteanimated. "

"He agreed with your views then?" said Stuart, laughing. 

"Perfectly, general. "

"And he intends--"

"There is the important thing. While we were conversing, General Hookerwas called for a moment out of his tent, and by accident, my eyes fellupon an order which lay upon his desk. "

"An order?"

"For two divisions of cavalry, one of infantry, and a full complementof artillery, to advance and drive you back to the mountain. "

"Ah! you saw that order?"

"I did, general; it was just ready to be sent. "

"What day did it fix?"

"To-morrow, general. "

"Ah, indeed! Two divisions of infantry and one of cavalry?"

Mr. Nighthawk inclined in assent. 

"When did you leave Hooker's head-quarters?"

"This afternoon. "

"And you came through the lines to-night?"

"Yes, general, in the usual way, by passing through the pickets. I wason foot and nothing was easier. "

Stuart knit his brows and reflected. Then he called to the orderly. 

"Wake the adjutant-general, and have three couriers ready at once!"

Mr. Nighthawk arose. 

"By-the-by, general, " he said, "I saw Swartz, whom I have mentioned toyou. "

"Yes; the best spy, you say, in the Federal army. "

"I think he is, general. He is a wonderful man. He recently played atrick upon you. "

"Upon _me_?"

"At least he bore off a prisoner from you. It was a lady, captured byColonel Mohun, one night on the Rappahannock. "

"Ah! Is it possible! So Swartz was the old countryman, driving thewagon that morning. "

"So he informed me, general. "

"You are friends, then?"

"Close friends. "

And Mr. Nighthawk smiled. 

"We have an agreement--but that would not interest you, general. Thatwas really Swartz, and the old woman was the prisoner. "

"Well, " said Stuart, "that was a bold stroke, but the lady was handsomeenough to make friends. There is something between herself and ColonelMohun, is there not?"

Mr. Nighthawk glanced quickly at the face of the general. His eyesresembled steel points, but the piercing glance at once sank. 

"Something between them, general? What could have made you think that?But here is Major McClellan. I will not detain you, general; I willcome back at daylight to receive your orders. "

With these words, Mr. Nighthawk distributed a benignant smile, bowed ina friendly manner, and disappeared, it was difficult to say how, fromthe apartment. I had turned my eyes from him but an instant; when Iagain looked he was gone. 

"And now to work!" exclaimed Stuart. "We are going to fight tomorrow, Surry, since the 'man before the battle' has made his appearance!"

XII. 

HOW STUART FELL BACK. 

At daybreak, Stuart was going at full gallop to the front. 

A rapid fire of skirmishers, mingled with the dull roar of cannon, indicated that Nighthawk had not been deceived. 

All at once the sharp-shooters were seen falling back from the woods. 

"Bring me a piece of artillery!" exclaimed Stuart, darting to thefront. 

But the attack of the enemy swept all before it. Stuart was drivenback, and was returning doggedly, when the gun for which he had sent, galloped up, and unlimbered in the road. 

It was too late. Suddenly a solid shot screamed above us; the gun washurled from its carriage, and rolled shattered and useless in the wood;the horses were seen rearing wild with terror, and trying to kick outof the harness. 

Suddenly one of them leaped into the air and fell, torn in two by asecond round shot. 

"Quick work!" said Stuart, grimly. 

And turning round to me, he said, pointing to a hill in rear--

"Post three pieces on that hill to rake all the roads. "

The order, like the former, came too late, however. The enemy advancedin overpowering force--drove Stuart back beyond his head-quarters, where they captured the military satchel of the present writer--andstill rushing forward, like a hurricane, compelled the Confederatecavalry to retire behind Goose Creek. On the high ground there, Stuartposted his artillery; opened a rapid fire; and before this storm ofshell the Federal forces paused. 

The spectacle at that moment was picturesque and imposing. The enemy'sforce was evidently large. Long columns of cavalry, heavy masses ofinfantry and artillery at every opening, right, left, and centre, showed that the task of driving back Stuart was not regarded as veryeasy. The sunshine darted from bayonet and sabre all along the greatline of battle--and from the heavy smoke, tinged with flame, came theFederal shell. With their infantry, cavalry, and artillery, they seemeddetermined to put an end to us. Stuart galloped to his guns, pouring asteady fire from the lofty hill. Captain Davenant directed it inperson, and he was evidently in his right element. All his sadness haddisappeared. A cool and resolute smile lit up his features. 

"All right, Davenant! Hold your ground!" exclaimed Stuart. 

"I will do so, general. "

"Can you keep them from crossing?"

"I can try, general. "

A whirlwind of shell screamed around the two speakers. For thehundredth time I witnessed that entire indifference to danger which wasa trait of Stuart. The fire at this moment was so terrible that I heardan officer say:--

"General Stuart seems trying to get himself and everybody killed. "

Nothing more inspiring, however, can be imagined than his appearance atthat moment. His horse, wild with terror, reared, darted, and attemptedto unseat his rider. Stuart paid no attention to him. He had no eyes orthought for any thing but the enemy. His cheeks were flushed, his eyesflamed--he resembled a veritable king of battle. 

From Stuart my glances passed to Davenant. His coolness impressed medeeply. While giving an order, a shell burst right in his face, enveloping horse and rider in a cloud of smoke--but when the smokedrifted away, he was sitting his horse unmoved, and giving the order asquietly as before. 

I have not invented this picture, reader, or fancied this character. Ihad the honor to enjoy the friendship of the brave boy I describe. Hewas remarkable, in an epoch crowded with remarkable characters. 

Stuart held his ground for an hour on the high hills of Goose Creek, but it then became plain that he was going to be driven back. The enemyhad felt him, and discovered that the game was in their own hands. Nowthey rushed on his right, left and centre, at the same moment--cavalry, infantry, and artillery rolling on like a torrent--crossed the stream, charged the hill--in a moment a bitter and savage combat commenced forthe possession of the crest. 

Stuart rushed toward the guns. As he reached them a cannon ball carriedoff the head of a cannoneer, and his horse reared with fright, nearlytrampling on the headless trunk which spouted blood. Davenant hadcoolly drawn his sabre, but had given no order to retire. 

"Move back the guns!" exclaimed Stuart. 

"Is it necessary, general?" asked Davenant. 

"Yes, they will be captured in five minutes!"

"It is a pity we can not remain, general. This is an excellentposition. "

And he gave the order to limber up. The operation was performed amid ahurricane of bullets, striking down the cannoneers. 

Suddenly a column of Federal cavalry charged straight at the guns. Davenant met them with his mounted men, armed with sabres, and astubborn combat followed. It was a hilt to hilt affair, and Davenantwas in the midst of it shouting:--

"You are fighting for your guns, boys! You promised to die by yourguns!"

The men answered with fierce shouts, and met the enemy with savageresolution. Meanwhile, the guns had rushed at a gallop down the westernslope; a regiment came to Davenant's assistance; the fight grewdesperate, but was of no avail. 

In fifteen minutes we were driven. 

Driven! Do you know what that means, reader? Ask old soldiers if it ispleasant. They will growl in reply!

We were forced back, step by step, with the enemy at our very heels. Atour backs came on the huge column, yelling and firing, mad withtriumph. Stuart the valiant, the obstinate, the unshrinking was driven!

We were forced back to Upperville, and there things looked stormy. Onthe other roads, Stuart's right and left were rapidly retiring. Hiscentre at Upperville seemed devoted to destruction. 

The enemy came on like a whirlwind, with a roaring shout. As far as theeye could see, the great fields were dark with them. Their horseartillery advanced at a gallop, unlimbered, and tore the retreatingcolumns with shot and shell. 

I was ten yards from Stuart, just at the edge of the town, when apicked body of Federal horsemen darted straight upon him. 

They had evidently recognized him by his major-general's uniform andsplendid feather. Bullets hissed around him; blows were struck at him;and for an instant I saw him in the midst of a wild huddle of enemies, defending himself with his revolver only. 

In an instant he would have been killed or captured, with his staff andbody-guard, when a resounding shout was heard. 

I glanced over my shoulder, and saw the cavaliers of Hampton coming onwith drawn sabre. 

Then a splendid spectacle was presented--that of Wade Hampton in one ofhis great moments. This stalwart cavalier was leading his men, and inan instant they had struck the enemy with a noise like thunder. 

Suddenly a cavalier on a black horse rushed by like the wild huntsman, and I recognized Mohun; who, spurring his animal to headlong speed, drove straight at the leader of the Federal cavalry, almost in contactwith us. 

Through a rift in the smoke I caught a glimpse of Mohun's opponent. Hewas a man of low stature, but broad, heavy, and powerful. He came tomeet his adversary with the bridle of his horse resting on the animal'sneck, while both hands clutched a heavy broad-sword, raised over hisright shoulder. 

I could only see that the two opponents hurled together like knightstilting; their swords gleamed; they closed in, body to body; then thesmoke wrapped them. It was impossible to see more. 

XIV. 

MOSBY COMES TO STUART'S ASSISTANCE. 

Sore and restive at the reverse which had come to balance his victoryof Fleetwood, Stuart bivouacked near Paris, that night, and made everypreparation to attack at dawn. 

At daylight he was in the saddle, and spurred to the high groundcommanding Upperville. 

All at once he checked his horse. The enemy had disappeared. 

Stuart's blue eye flashed, and half an hour afterward he was advancingat the head of his cavalry. Not a foe was visible. Pressing on throughUpperville, and over the trampled fields beyond, he continued toadvance upon Middleburg, and near that place came up with the rear ofthe enemy. They showed little fight, however, and were driven beyondthe place. The gray troopers pursued them with shouts and cheers--withwhich were mingled cries of rejoicing from the people of Middleburg. 

An hour afterward the lines were re-established in triumph. 

Stuart returned to his former head-quarters amid a drenching rain; andthis recalls an incident very honorable to the brave soldier. As nightdescended, dark and stormy, Stuart gazed gloomily at the torrents ofrain falling. 

"My poor fellows!" he said, with a sigh, "they will have a hard timeto-night. "

Then suddenly turning to his servant, he added:--

"Spread my oil-cloth and blankets under that apple tree yonder. I willkeep them dry enough when I once get into them. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

"You are not going to sleep out on such a night, general!" exclaimed astaff officer. 

"Certainly I am, " was his reply, "I don't intend to fare better than mymen!"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

And an hour afterward Stuart was asleep under the apple tree, with atorrent pouring on him. 

That was the act of a good officer and soldier, was it not, reader?

Before sunrise Stuart was up, and walking uneasily to and fro. As theday wore on, he exhibited more and more impatience. All at once, at theappearance of an officer, approaching rapidly from the front, heuttered an exclamation of pleasure. 

"Here is Mosby at last!" he said. 

And he went to meet the new-comer. It was the famous chief of partisanswhose name by this time had become a terror to the enemy. He wore aplain gray uniform, a brace of revolvers in a swaying belt, rode aspirited gray mare, and I recognized at once the roving glance, andsatirical smile which had struck me on that night when he rescuedFarley and myself in Fauquier. 

Stuart rapidly drew him into a private apartment; remained inconsultation with him for half an hour; and then came forth, with asmile of evident satisfaction. 

Mosby's intelligence must have pleased him. It at least dispelled hisgloom. 

An hour afterward his head-quarters had disappeared--every thing wassent toward the mountains. Stuart set out apparently to followthem--but that was only a ruse to blind busybodies. 

A quarter of a mile from head-quarters he leaped a fence, and doubledback, going in the direction now of Manassas. 

At daylight on the next morning he had forced his way through the BullRun mountain. 

Two hours afterward he had made a sudden attack on the enemy'sinfantry. It was the rear of Hancock's corps, which was the rear ofHooker's army, then retiring toward the Potomac. 

XV. 

THE SUPPER NEAR BUCKLANDS. 

Stuart's fight near Haymarket, here alluded to, was a gay affair; but Ipass over it, to a scene still gayer and decidedly more pleasant. 

The fighting continued throughout the day, and at dusk a heavy raincame on. We were all tired and hungry--the general no less so than hisstaff--and when an invitation was sent to us by a gentleman nearBucklands, to come and sup with him, we accepted it with fervor, andhastened toward the friendly mansion. 

A delightful reception awaited us. The house was full of young ladies, passionately devoted to "rebels, " and we were greeted with anenthusiasm which passed all bounds. Delicate hands pressed our own;bright eyes beamed upon us; rosy lips smiled; musical voices said"welcome!"--and soon a savory odor, pervading the mansion, indicatedthat the wants of the inner man were not forgotten. 

An excellent supper was plainly in preparation for the bold Stuart andhis military family; and that gay and gallant cavalier, General FitzLee having also been invited, the joy of the occasion was complete! Thehouse rang with clashing heels, rattling sabres, and clanking spurs. Amore charming sound still, however, was that made by jingling keys andrattling china, and knives and forks. All was joy and uproar: jests, compliments and laughter. Young ladies went and came; the odors grewmore inviting. In ten minutes the door of a large apartment oppositethe drawing-room was thrown open, and a magnificent, an enthrallingspectacle was revealed to every eye. Not to be carried away, however, by enthusiasm, I will simply say that we saw before us a long mahoganytable covered with the most appetizing viands--broils, roasts, stews, bread of every variety, and real coffee and tea in real silver! Thatmagical spectacle still dwells in my memory, reader, though the factmay lower me in your good opinion. But alas! we are all "weakcreatures. " The most poetical grow hungry. We remember our heroicperformances in the great civil war--but ask old soldiers if theserecollections are not the most vivid!

An incident connected with the repast made it especially memorable. Theservants of the house had deserted to their friends in blue; and asthere was thus a deficiency of attendants, the young ladies took theirplaces. Behind every chair stood a maiden--their faces wreathed withsmiles. We were shown to our seats, amid joyous laughter. The comedyevidently afforded all engaged in it immense enjoyment--and thecavaliers humoring the angelic maid-servants, gravely advanced towardthe table. 

Stuart threw his plumed hat upon a chair, and drew near the foot of thetable. The light fell full on the ruddy face, the heavy beard andmustache, and brilliant fighting jacket. He looked round with a gaysmile. "Was any one absent, " asked the kind lady of the house, as shesaw the glance. Stuart made a low bow, and said:--

"All are here, madam!"

All at once, however, a voice at the door responded:--

"I think you are mistaken, general!"

And he who had uttered these words advanced into the apartment. 

He was a young man, about twenty-three, of medium height, graceful, andwith a smile of charming good humor upon the lips. His hair was lightand curling; his eyes blue; his lips shaded by a slender mustache. Hisuniform was brand new, and decorated with the braid of a lieutenant. Yellow gauntlets reached his elbow, he wore a shiny new satchel, and inhis hand carried a brown felt hat, caught up with a golden star. 

Stuart grasped his hand warmly. 

"Here you are, old fellow!" he exclaimed. 

And turning to the company, he added:--

"My new aid-de-camp, Lieutenant Herbert, ladies. A fop--but an oldsoldier. Take that seat by Colonel Surry, Tom. "

And every one sat down, and attacked the supper. 

I had shaken hands with Tom Herbert, who was far from being a strangerto me, as I had met him frequently in the drawing-rooms of Richmondbefore the war. He was a fop, but the most charming of fops, when Ifirst knew him. He wore brilliant waistcoats, variegated scarfs, diamond studs, and straw-colored kid gloves. In his hand he used toflourish an ivory-headed whalebone cane, and his boots were of femininedelicacy and dimensions. Such was Tom at that time, but the war had"brought him out. " He had rushed into the ranks, shouldered a musket, and fought bravely. So much I knew--and I was soon to hear how he hadcome to be Stuart's aid. 

The supper was charming. The young girls waited on us with mocksubmission and delighted smiles. Tom and I had fallen to the lot of alittle princess with golden ringlets; and Miss Katy Dare--that was hername--acquitted herself marvellously. We supped as though we expectedto eat nothing for the next week--and then having finished, we rose, and waited in turn on the fair waiters. 

Behind every chair now stood an officer in uniform. 

Bright eyes, rosy cheeks, jewelled hands, glossy curls--there was thepicture, my dear reader, which we beheld as we "waited" at that magicalsupper near Buckland. When we wrapped our capes around us, and fellasleep on the floor, the little maidens still laughed in our dreams![1]

[Footnote 1: A real incident. ]

XVI. 

AN HONEST FOP. 

Stuart moved again at dawn. The scene of the preceding evening hadpassed away like a dream. We were in the saddle, and advancing. 

Riding beside Lieutenant Tom Herbert, I conversed with that worthy, andfound the tedious march beguiled by his gay and insouciant talk. 

His "record" was simple. He had volunteered in the infantry, and at thebattle of Cold Harbor received a wound in the leg which disqualifiedhim for a foot-soldier thenceforward. His friends succeeded inprocuring for him the commission of lieutenant, and he was assigned toduty as drill-master at a camp of instruction near Richmond. 

"Here I was really in clover, old fellow, " said Tom, laughingly "nomore toils, no more hardships, no bullets, or hard tack, or want ofsoap. A snowy shirt every day--kid gloves if I wanted them--and thesound of cannon at a very remote distance to lull me to repose, my boy. Things had changed, they had indeed! I looked back with scorn on theheavy musket and cartridge-box. I rode a splendidly groomed horse, worea new uniform shining with gold braid, a new cap covered with ditto, boots which you could see your face in, a magnificent sash, and spursso long and martial that they made the pavement resound, and announcedmy approach at the distance of a quarter of a mile! I say the pavement;I was a good deal on the pavement--that of the fashionable Franklinstreet being my favorite haunt. And as the Scripture says, it is notgood for man to be alone, I had young ladies for companions. My lifewas grand, superb--none of your low military exposure, like that borneby the miserable privates and officers in the field! I slept in town, lived at a hotel, mounted my horse after breakfast, at the Governmentstables near my lodgings and went gallantly at a gallop, to drillinfantry for an hour or two at the camp of instruction. This was abore, I acknowledge, but life can not be all flowers. It was soon over, however--I galloped gallantly back--dined with all the courses at myhotel, and then lit my cigar and strolled up Franklin. I wore myuniform and spurs on these promenades--wild horses tearing me would nothave induced me to doff the spurs! They were so martial! They jingledso! They gave a military and ferocious set-off to my whole appearance, and were immensely admired by the fair sex! Regularly on coming backfrom my arduous and dangerous duties at camp, I brushed my uniform, puton my red sash, and with one hand resting with dignity on my new swordbelt, advanced to engage the enemy--on Franklin street. "

Tom Herbert's laugh was contagious; his whole bearing so sunny and_riante_ that he was charming. 

"Well, how did you awake from your _dolce far niente?_" I said. 

"By an effort of the will, old fellow--for I really could not standthat. It was glorious, delightful--that war-making in town; but therewas a thorn in it. I was ashamed of myself. 'Tom Herbert you are not asoldier, you are an impostor, ' I said; 'you are young, healthy, as goodfood for powder as anybody else, and yet here you are, safely laid awayin a bomb-proof, while your friends are fighting. Wake, rouse yourself, my friend! The only way to regain the path of rectitude is to go backto the army!"

"I said that, Surry, " Tom continued, "and as I could not go back intothe infantry on account of my leg, I applied for an assignment to dutyin the cavalry. Then the war office had a time of it. I besieged thenabobs of the red tape day and night, and they got so tired of me atlast that they told me to find a general who wanted an aid and theywould assign me. "

"Well, as I was coming out of the den I met General Jeb Stuart goingin. I knew him well, and he was tenth cousin to my grandmother, whichyou know counts for a great deal in Virginia. "

"What's the matter, Tom?" he said. 

"I want a place in the cavalry, general. "

"What claim have you?"

"Shot in the leg--can't walk--am tired of drilling men in bomb-proof. "

"Good!" he said. "That's the way to talk. Come in here. "

"And he dragged me along. I found that one of his aids had just beencaptured--he wanted another, and he applied for me. A month afterwardhis application was approved--short for the war office. That was fivedays ago. I got into the saddle, --pushed for the Rapidan--got toMiddleburg--and arrived in time for supper. "

"That's my history, old fellow, except that I have just fallen inlove--with the young angel who waited on me at supper, Miss Katy Dare. I opened the campaign in a corner last night--and I intend to win her, Surry, or perish in the attempt!"

XVII. 

STUART GRAZES CAPTURE. 

As Tom Herbert uttered these words, a loud shout in front startled us. 

Stuart had ridden on ahead of his column, through the immense desertedcamps around Wolf Run Shoals, attended only by two or three staffofficers. 

As I now raised my head quickly, I saw him coming back at headlongspeed, directing his horse by means of the halter only, and hotlypursued by a detachment of Federal cavalry, firing on him as theypressed, with loud shouts, upon his very heels. 

"Halt!" shouted the enemy. And this order was followed by "bang! bang!bang!"

Stuart did not obey the order. 

"Halt! halt!"

And a storm of bullets whistled around our heads. I had drawn my sword, but before I could go to Stuart's assistance, Tom shot ahead of me. 

He came just in time. Two of the enemy had caught up with Stuart, andwere making furious cuts at him. He parried the blow of one of theFederal cavalry-men--and the other fell from the saddle, throwing uphis hands as he did so. Tom Herbert had placed his pistol on hisbreast, and shot him through the heart. 

But by this time the rest had reached us. A sabre flashed above Tom'shead; fell, cutting him out of the saddle nearly; and he would havedropped from it, had I not passed my arm around him. 

In another instant, all three would have been killed or captured. Butthe firing had given the alarm. A thunder of hoofs was heard: asquadron of our cavalry dashed over the hill: in three minutes theenemy were flying, to escape the edge of the sabre. 

Stuart led the charge, and seemed to enjoy it with the zest of afox-hunter. He had indeed escaped from a critical danger. He had pushedon with a few of his staff, as I have said, to Fairfax Station, hadthen stopped and slipped his bridle to allow his horse to eat some"Yankee oats, " and while standing beside the animal, had been suddenlycharged by the party of Federal cavalry, coming down on areconnaissance from the direction of the Court-House. So sudden wastheir appearance that he was nearly "gobbled up. " He had leaped on theunbridled horse; seized the halter, and fled at full speed. The enemyhad pursued him; he had declined halting--and the reader has seen thesequel. [1]

[Footnote 1: Real. ]

Stuart pressed the party hotly toward Sanxter's, but theyescaped--nearly capturing on the way, however, a party of officers at ablacksmith's shop. The general came back in high good humor. The chaseseemed to have delighted him. 

"Bully for old Tom Herbert!" he exclaimed. "You ought to have seen himwhen they were cutting at him, and spoiling his fine new satchel!"

Tom Herbert did not seem to participate in the general's mirth. He wasexamining the satchel which a sabre stroke had nearly cut in two. 

"What are you looking at?" asked Stuart. 

"This hole, general, " replied Tom, uttering a piteous sigh. 

"Well, it is a trifle. "

"It is a serious matter, general. "

"You have lost something?"

"Yes. "

"What?"

"A joint of my new flute. "

And Tom Herbert's expression was so melancholy that Stuart burst intolaughter. 

"You may have lost your flute, Tom, " he said, leaning on his shoulder, "but you have won your spurs at least, in the cavalry!"

XVIII. 

DROWSYLAND. 

At daylight, on the next morning, Stuart had crossed the Potomac intoMaryland. 

He had advanced from Wolf Run Shoals to Fairfax Court House, where themen rifled the sutlers' shops of tobacco, figs, white gloves, strawhats, and every edible and wearable:--then the column pushed on towardSeneca Falls, where the long wavering line of horsemen might have beenseen hour after hour crossing the moonlit river, each man, to preventwetting, holding above his head a shot or shell taken from thecaissons. Then the artillery was dragged through: the panting horsestrotted on, and the first beams of day saw the long column of Stuartready to advance on its perilous pathway to the Susquehanna, by theroute between the Federal army and Washington. 

The word was given, and with the red flags fluttering, Stuart movedtoward Rockville, unopposed, save by a picket, which was driven off bythe advance guard. Without further incident, he then pushed on, andentered the town in triumph. 

A charming reception awaited him. The place was thoroughly Southern;and the passage of the cavalry was greeted with loud cheers. Unboundedwas the delight, above all, of a seminary of young girls. Doors andwindows were crowded: bright eyes shone; red lips laughed; wavinghandkerchiefs were seen everywhere; and when Stuart appeared in person, he was received with wild rejoicing. 

He bowed low, removing his plumed hat, but suddenly intelligence camewhich forced him to push on. A long train of "government" wagons hadcome up from Washington, and on discovering our presence, returnedtoward the city at a gallop. But the ferocious rebels were after them. Stuart led the charging column--the warlike teamsters were soonhalted--the trains became our spoil--and with countless kicking mulesdriven onward in droves before them, the cavalry, escorting thecaptured wagons, continued their way toward Pennsylvania. 

Moving all that night, Stuart came to Westminster, where Fitz Lee, thegallant, drove the enemy's cavalry from their camp, and the town fellinto the hands of Stuart. 

Here scowls instead of smiles greeted us. Every face was glum andforbidding, with a few exceptions. So we hastened to depart from that"loyal" town, and were soon on the soil of Pennsylvania. 

Approaching Hanover we suddenly waked up the hornets. Chambliss, leading Stuart's advance, pushed ahead and drove in a picket. Then thatbrave soldier rushed on, and seemed intent on taking the place, when Iwas sent by Stuart to order him "not to go too far. "

I came up with Chambliss as he was charging, but had scarcely given himthe order, when he was charged in turn by a heavy force and drivenback. 

The enemy rushed on, firing volleys, and the road was full of trampinghorsemen. To avoid being carried away with them, I diverged into afield, when all at once Stuart appeared, retreating at full gallopbefore a party who were chasing him. 

It was a serious matter then, but I laugh now, remembering that "goodrun. "

Stuart and myself retreated at a gallop, boot to boot; leaped ditchesand fences; and got off in safety. 

A few moments afterward his artillery opened its thunders. From thelofty hill, that hardy captain of the horse artillery, Breathed, roaredobstinately, driving them back. Hampton's guns on the right had openedtoo--and until night, we held the heights, repulsing every advance ofthe enemy. 

It was truly a fine spectacle, that handsome town of Hanover as Ilooked at it, on the afternoon of the fair June day. In front extendedgreen fields; then the church spires rose above the roofs of the town;behind, a range of mountains formed a picturesque background. It istrue, the adjuncts of the scene were far from peaceful. The greenfields were full of blue sharp-shooters; in the suburbs were postedbatteries; down the mountain road behind, wound a long compact columnof cavalry. 

Breathed fought hard that day. From the waving field of rye on theupland his guns thundered on--in the face of that fire, the enemy couldnot, or would not, advance. 

So the night came on, and Stuart's great train moved. 

Those wagons were a terrible encumbrance to us on the march. But Stuartdetermined not to abandon them, and they were dragged on--a linestretched to infinity!

Thenceforth, dear reader, the march was a sort of dream to me. How canI relate my adventures--the numerous spectacles and events of the time?I know not even now if they were events or mere dreams, seeing that, all the long way, I was half asleep in the saddle! It was a veritableDrowsyland that we moved through on horseback! The Dutchmen, the"fraus, " the "spreading, " the sauer-kraut--the conestogas, the redbarns, the guttural voices, the strange faces--were these actualthings, or the mere fancies of a somnambulist? Was I an officer of realcavalry making a real march; or a fanciful being, one of a long columnof phantoms?

I seem dimly to remember a pretty face, whose owner smiled on me--and afaint memory remains of a supper which she gave me. If I am notmistaken I was left alone in the town of Salem--hostile faces werearound me--and I was falling asleep when Hampton's cavalry came up. 

I think, then, I rode on with him--having been left to direct him. Thatwe talked about horses, and the superiority of "blood" in animals; thatat dawn, Hampton said, "I am perishing for sleep!" and that we laydown, side by side, near a haystack. 

All that is a sort of phantasmagoria, and others were no better thanmyself. Whole columns went to sleep, in the saddle, as they rode along;and General Stuart told me afterward, that he saw a man attempt toclimb over a fence, half succeed only, and go to sleep on the top rail!

Some day I promise myself the pleasure of travelling in Pennsylvania. It possesses all the attractions to me of a world seen in a dream!

But after that good sleep, side by side with the great Carolinian, things looked far more real, and pushing on I again caught up withStuart. 

He advanced steadily on Carlisle, and in the afternoon we heardartillery from the south. 

I looked at my military map, and calculated the distance. The resultwas that I said:--

"General, those guns are at a place called Gettysburg on this map. "

"Impossible!" was his reply. "They can not be fighting there. You arecertainly wrong. "

But I was right. 

Those guns were the signal of the "First day's fight at Gettysburg. "

XIX

CARLISLE BY FIRELIGHT. 

It can not be said that we accomplished very enormous results atCarlisle. The enemy defended it bravely. 

Stuart sent in a flag, demanding a surrender: this proposition waspolitely declined; and for fear that there might possibly remain somedoubts on the subject, the Federal commander of the post, opened withartillery upon the gray cavalry. 

That was the signal for a brisk fight, and a magnificent spectaclealso. 

As soon as the enemy's response to the flag of truce had been received, Stuart advanced his sharp-shooters, replied with his artillery to theirown, and dispatched a party to destroy the extensive United Statesbarracks, formerly used as cantonments for recruits to the army. 

In ten minutes the buildings were wrapped in flames; and the city ofCarlisle was illumined magnificently. The crimson light of theconflagration revealed every house, the long lines of trees, and madethe delicate church spires, rising calmly aloft, resemble shafts ofrose-tinted marble. 

I recall but one scene which was equally picturesque--the "doomed city"of Fredericksburg, on the night of December 11, 1862, when the churchspires were illumined by the burning houses, as those of Carlisle werein June, 1863. 

So much for this new "Siege of Carlisle. " Here my description ends. Itwas nothing--a mere picture. An hour afterward Stuart ceased firing, the conflagration died down; back into the black night sank the fairtown of Carlisle, seen then for the first and the last time by thishistorian. 

The guns were silent, the cavalry retired; and Stuart, accompanied byhis staff, galloped back to a great deserted house where he establishedhis temporary head-quarters. 

On the bold face there was an expression of decided ill-humor. He hadjust received a dispatch, by courier, from General Lee. 

That dispatch said, "Come, I need you urgently here, " and the "here" inquestion, was Gettysburg, at least twenty miles distant. Now, withworn-out men and horses, twenty miles was a serious matter. Stuart'sbrows were knit, and he mused gloomily. 

Suddenly he turned and addressed me. 

"You were right, Surry, " he said, "those guns were at Gettysburg. Thisdispatch, sent this morning, reports the enemy near there. "

I bowed; Stuart reflected for some moments without speaking. Then hesuddenly said:--

"I wish you would go to General Lee, and say I am coming, Surry. How isyour horse?"

"Worn-out, general, but I can get another. "

"Good; tell General Lee that I will move at once to Gettysburg, withall my force, and as rapidly as possible!"

"I will lose no time, general. "

And saluting, I went out. 

From the captured horses I selected the best one I could find, andburying the spurs in his sides, set out through the black night. 

XX. 

THE HOUSE BETWEEN CARLISLE AND GETTYSBURG. 

You know when you set out, the proverb says, but you know not when youwill arrive. 

I left Carlisle, breasting the night, on the road to Gettysburg, littlethinking that a curious incident was to occur to me upon the way--anincident closely connected with the destinies of some personages whoplay prominent parts in this history. 

I had ridden on for more than an hour, through the darkness, keeping agood look-out for the enemy, whose scouting parties of cavalry wereknown to be prowling around, when all at once, my horse, who was goingat full speed, struck his foot against a sharp point of rock, croppingout from the surface. 

The animal stumbled, recovered himself, and went on as rapidly asbefore. A hundred yards further his speed relaxed; then he began tolimp painfully; then in spite of every application of the spur I couldnot force him out of a slow limping trot. 

It was truly unfortunate. I was the bearer of an important message, andwas surrounded by enemies. The only chance was to pass through them, under shadow of the darkness; with light they would perceive me, and mycapture be certain. 

A hundred yards further, and I found I must decide at once upon thecourse to pursue. My horse seemed about to fall. At every stroke of thespur he groaned piteously, and his limp had become a stagger. 

I looked around through the trees, and at the distance of a quarter ofa mile I saw the glimmer of a light. To obtain another horse wasindispensable under the circumstances; and looking to see that myrevolver was loaded and capped, I forced my tottering animal toward themansion in which the light glimmered. 

My design was simply to proceed thither, "impress" a fresh horse at thepistol's muzzle; throw my saddle upon him; leave my own animal, andproceed on my way. 

Pushing across the fields, and dismounting to let down the fences whichmy limping animal could not leap, I soon approached the light. It shonethrough the window of a house of some size, with ornamental groundsaround it, and apparently the abode of a man of means. 

At fifty paces from it I dismounted and tethered my horse in the shadowof some trees. A brief reconnaissance under the circumstances wasadvisable; and approaching the mansion silently, without allowing mysabre to make any clatter, I gained the long portico in front, and wentto a window reaching down to the flooring of the verandah. 

Through the half-closed venetians I could see into a large apartment, half library, half sitting-room, as the easy chairs, mantel ornaments, desks, and book-cases showed. On the centre-table burned a brilliantlamp--and by its light I witnessed a spectacle which made me draw backin the shadow of the shutter, and rivet my eyes on the interior. 

Before me, in the illuminated apartment, I saw the woman whom Mohun hadcaptured on the Rappahannock; and beside her the personage with whomshe had escaped that morning in the wagon from Culpeper Court-House. Icould not mistake him. The large, prominent nose, the cunning eyes, thedouble chin, the fat person, and the chubby hands covered withpinchbeck rings, were still fresh in my memory. 

The name of this personage had been revealed by Nighthawk. Swartz, thesecret agent, blockade-runner, and "best spy in the Federal army" wasbefore me. 

A glance at the woman revealed no change in her appearance. Before mewas the same lithe and graceful figure, clad as before in a gray dress. I saw the same snow-white cheeks, red lips, and large eyes burning witha latent fire. 

The two were busily engaged, and it was not difficult to understandtheir occupation. The desks, drawers and chests of the apartment wereall open; and the female with rapid hands was transferring papers fromthem to Swartz, who methodically packed them in a leathern valise. These papers were no doubt important, and the aim to remove them tosome place of safety beyond the reach of the Confederates. 

I gazed for some moments, without moving, upon the spectacle of thesetwo night-birds at their work. The countenance of the lady wasanimated; her motions rapid; and from time to time she stopped tolisten. Swartz, on the contrary, was the incarnation of phlegmaticcoolness. His face wore an expression of entire equanimity; and heseemed to indulge no fears whatever of intruders. 

All at once, however, I saw his eyes glitter as they fell upon a paperwhich she handed him to pack away with the rest. It was carefullyfolded, but one of the folds flew open as he received it, and his eyeswere suddenly fixed intently upon the sheet. 

Then his head turned quickly, and he looked at his companion. She wasbending over a drawer, and did not observe that glance. ThereuponSwartz folded up the paper, quietly put it in his pocket, and went onpacking the valise with his former coolness; only a slight color in hisface seemed to indicate concealed emotion. 

As he pocketed the paper, his companion turned round. It was plain thatshe had not perceived the manoeuvre. 

At the same moment I heard the sound of hoofs in rear of the house, andthe clatter of a sabre as a cavalier dismounted. A few indistinctwords, apparently addressed to a servant or orderly, followed. Then thedoor of the apartment opposite the front window was thrown open, and aman entered. 

In the new-comer I recognized Mohun's adversary at Upperville--ColonelDarke, of the United States Cavalry. 

XXI. 

FALLEN. 

Darke entered the apartment abruptly, but his appearance seemed tooccasion no surprise. The spy retained his coolness. The lady went onwith her work. You would have said that they had expected the officer, and recognized his step. 

Their greeting was brief. Darke nodded in apparent approbation of thetask in which the man and woman were engaged, and folding his arms infront of the marble mantel, looked on in silence. 

I gazed at him with interest, and more carefully than I had been ableto do during the fight at Upperville, when the smoke soon concealedhim. Let me draw his outline. Of all the human beings whom Iencountered in the war, this one's character and career were perhapsthe most remarkable. Were I writing a romance, I should be tempted tocall him the real hero of this volume. 

He was a man approaching middle age; low in stature, but broad, muscular, and powerful. He was clad in the full-dress uniform of acolonel of the United States Cavalry, wore boots reaching to the kneeand decorated with large spurs; and his arms were an immense sabre anda brace of revolvers in black leather holsters attached to his belt. His face was swarthy, swollen by excess in drink apparently, and halfcovered by a shaggy beard and mustache as black as night. The eyes weredeep-set, and wary: the poise of the head upon the shoulders, haughty;the expression of the entire countenance cold, phlegmatic, grim. 

Such was this man, upon the surface. But there was something more abouthim which irresistibly attracted attention, and aroused speculation. Atthe first glance, you set him down as a common-place ruffian, the preyof every brutal passion. At the second glance, you began to doubtwhether he was a mere vulgar adventurer--you could see, at least, thatthis man was not of low birth. There was in his bearing an indefinablesomething which indicated that he had "seen better days. " The surfaceof the fabric was foul and defiled, but the texture beneath was ofvelvet, not "hodden gray. "

"That brute, " I thought, "was once a gentleman, and crime or drink hasdestroyed him!"

Darke continued to gaze at Swartz and the gray woman as they pliedtheir busy work; and once or twice be pointed to drawers which they hadfailed to open. These directions were promptly obeyed, and the workwent on. The few words which the parties uttered came in an indistinctmurmur only through the window at which I was stationed. 

Such was the scene within the mansion, upon which I gazed with strongcuriosity: suddenly the neigh of a horse was heard in a clump of woodsbeyond the front gate; and Darke quickly raised his head, and then cameout to the portico. 

He passed within three feet of me, but did not perceive me, as I wasconcealed by one of the open venetians. Then he paused and listened. The wind sighed in the foliage, and a distant watch-dog wasbarking--that was all. No other noise disturbed the silence of the Julynight. 

Darke remained upon the portico for some moments, listeningattentively. Then turned and re-entered the house. Through the window, I could see him make his appearance again in the illuminated apartment. In response to the glances of inquiry from his companions he made agesture only, but that said plainly:--

"Nothing is stirring. You can go on with your work. "

In this, however, he was mistaken. Darke had scarcely re-entered theapartment, when I discerned the hoof-strokes of horses beyond the frontgate--then the animals were heard leaping the low fence--a momentafterward two figures came on at full gallop, threw themselves from thesaddle, and rapidly approached the house. 

The rattle of a sabre which one of them wore attracted Darke'sattention. He reached the door of the room at a single bound--but atthe same instant the new comers rushed by me, and burst in. 

As they passed I recognized them. One was Mohun, the other Nighthawk. 

XXII. 

DARKE AND MOHUN. 

What followed was instantaneous. 

The adversaries were face to face, and each drew his pistol and firedat the same moment. 

Neither was struck: they drew their swords; and, through the cloud ofsmoke filling the apartment, I could see Darke and Mohun close in, in ahand to hand encounter. 

They were both excellent swordsmen, and the struggle was passionate andterrible. Mohun's movements were those of the tiger springing upon hisprey; but Darke met the attack with a coolness and phlegm whichindicated unshrinking nerve; his expression seemed, even, to indicatethat crossing swords with his adversary gave the swarthy giant extremepleasure. His face glowed, and a flash darted from beneath the shaggyeyebrows. I could see him smile; but the smile was strange. 

From the adversaries my glance passed quickly to the gray woman. Shewas leaning against the wall, and exhibited no emotion whatever; butthe lurid blaze in the great dark eyes, as she looked at Mohun, clearlyindicated that a storm was raging in her bosom. Opposite the womanstood Nighthawk--motionless, but grasping a pistol. As to Swartz, thatworthy had profited by an open window near, and had glided through itand disappeared. 

To return to the combatants. The passionate encounter absorbed all myattention. Mohun and Darke were cutting at each other furiously. Theyseemed equally matched, and the result was doubtful. One thing onlyseemed certain--that in a few minutes one of the adversaries would bedead. 

Such was the situation of affairs when shots were heard without, theclash of sabres followed, and the door behind Darke was burst openviolently by his orderly, who rushed in, exclaiming:--

"Look out, colonel! The enemy are on you!"

As he uttered these words, the man drew a revolver and aimed at Mohun'sbreast. 

Before he could fire, however, an explosion was heard, and I saw theman suddenly drop his weapon, which went off as it escaped from hisnerveless grasp. Then he threw up his hands, reeled, took two uncertainsteps backward, and fell at full length on the floor. Nighthawk hadshot him through the heart. 

All this had taken place in far less time than it has taken to writeit. I had made violent efforts to break through the window; and findingthis impossible, now ran to the door and burst into the apartment. 

The singular scene was to have as singular a denouement. 

Darke evidently realized the great danger which he ran, for the housewas now surrounded, nearly, and his capture was imminent. 

From the black eyes shot a glare of defiance, and advancing upon Mohun, he delivered a blow at him which nearly shattered his opponent's sword. Mohun struck in turn, aiming a furious cut at Darke; but as he did so, he stumbled over the dead orderly, and nearly fell. For the moment hewas at Darke's mercy. 

I rushed forward, sword in hand, to ward off the mortal stroke which Iwas certain his adversary would deliver, but my intervention wasuseless. 

Darke recoiled from his stumbling adversary, instead of striking athim. I could scarcely believe my own eyes, but the fact wasunmistakable. 

Then the Federal colonel looked around, and his eye fell upon thewoman. 

"Kill him!" she said, coldly. "Do not mind me!--only kill him!"

"No!" growled Darke. And seizing the woman in his arms:--

"They shall not take you prisoner!" he said. 

And the swarthy Hercules passed through the door in rear at a singlebound, bearing off the woman like a feather. 

A moment afterward the hoof-strokes of a horse were heard. 

Darke had disappeared with the gray woman. 

I turned to look at Mohun. He was standing perfectly motionless, andlooking after Darke with a strange expression of gloom andastonishment. 

"You are unhurt!" I said. 

He turned quickly, and held out his hand. 

"Slightly wounded--but I am not thinking of that. "

"Of what, then?"

"I remember only one thing--that this man might have buried his swordin my heart, and did not. "

An hour afterward the skirmish was over; I had explained my presence atthe house to Mohun, parted with him, promising to see him soon again;and, mounted upon a fresh animal which Mohun presented to me from amongthose captured, was once more on my way to Gettysburg. 

It was hard to realize that the scenes of the night were actualoccurrences. They were more like dreams than realities. 

XXIII. 

GETTYSBURG. 

I came in sight of Gettysburg at sunrise. 

Gettysburg!--name instinct with so many tears, with so much mourning, with those sobs which tear their way from the human heart as the lavamakes its way from the womb of the volcano!

There are words in the world's history whose very sound is like a sighor a groan; places which are branded "accursed" by the moaning lips ofmothers, wives, sisters, and orphans. Shadowy figures, gigantic anddraped in mourning, seem to hover above these spots: skeleton arms withbony fingers point to the soil beneath, crowded with graves: from theeyes, dim and hollow, glare unutterable things: and the grin of thefleshless lips is the gibbering mirth of the corpse torn from itscerements, and erect, as though the last trump had sounded, and thedead had arisen. No fresh flowers bloom in these dreary spots; no merrybirds twitter there; no streamlets lapse sweetly with musical murmursbeneath the waterflags or the drooping boughs of trees. See! theblighted and withered plants are like the deadly nightshade--trueflowers of war, blooming, or trying to bloom, on graves! Hear thevoices of the few birds--they are sad and discordant! See thetrees--they are gnarled, spectral, and torn by cannon-balls. Listen!The stream yonder is not limpid and mirthful like other streams. Youwould say that it is sighing as it steals away, soiled and ashamed. Theimages it has mirrored arouse its horror and make it sad. The serenesurface has not given back the bright forms of children, laughing andgathering the summer flowers on its banks. As it sneaks like a culpritthrough the scarred fields of battle, it washes bare the bones of thedead in crumbling uniforms--bringing, stark and staring, to the upperair once more, the blanched skeleton and the grinning skull. 

Names of woe, at whose utterance the heart shudders, the blood curdles!Accursed localities where the traveller draws back, turning away inhorror! All the world is dotted with them; everywhere they make thesunlight black. Among them, none is gloomier, or instinct with a morenameless horror, than the once insignificant village of Gettysburg. 

I reached it on the morning of July 2, 1863. 

The immense drama was in full progress. The adversaries had clashedtogether. Riding across the extensive fields north of the town, I sawthe traces of the combat of the preceding day--and among the dying Iremember still a poor Federal soldier, who looked at me with his stonyand half-glazed eye as I passed; he was an enemy, but he was dying andI pitied him. 

A few words will describe the situation of affairs at that moment. 

Lee had pressed on northward through the valley of the Cumberland, whennews came that General Meade, who had succeeded Hooker, was advancingto deliver battle to the invaders. 

At that intelligence Lee arrested his march. Meade menaced hiscommunications, and it was necessary to check him. Hill's corps was, therefore, sent across the South Mountain, toward Gettysburg; Ewell, who had reached York, was ordered back; and Lee made his preparationsto fight his adversary as soon as he appeared. 

The columns encountered each other in the neighborhood ofGettysburg--a great centre toward which a number of roads converge, like the spokes of a wheel toward the hub. 

The head of Hill's column struck the head of Reynolds's--then thethunder began. 

The day and scene were lovely. On the waving wheat-fields and theforests in full foliage, the light of a summer sun fell in flashingsplendor. A slight rain had fallen; the wind was gently blowing; andthe leaves and golden grain were covered with drops which the sunshinechanged to diamonds. Over the exquisite landscape drooped a beautifulrainbow. 

Soon blood had replaced the raindrops, and the bright bow spanning thesky was hidden by lurid smoke, streaming aloft from burning buildings, set on fire by shell. 

I give but a few words to this first struggle, which I did not witness. 

The Federal forces rushed forward, exclaiming:---

"We have come to stay!"

"And a very large portion of them, " said one of their officers, GeneralDoubleday, "never left that ground!"

Alas! many thousands in gray, too, "came to stay. "

Hill was hard pressed and sent for assistance. Suddenly it appearedfrom the woods on his left, where Ewell's bayonets were seen, comingback from the Susquehanna. 

Rodes, the head of Ewell's corps, formed line and threw himself intothe action. 

Early came up on the left; Rodes charged and broke through the Federalcentre. Gordon, commanding a brigade then, closed in on their rightflank, and the battle was decided. 

The great blue crescent was shattered, and gave way. The Confederatespressed on, and the Federal army became a rabble. They retreatedpellmell through Gettysburg, toward Cemetery Hill, leaving theirbattle-flags and five thousand prisoners in our hands. 

Such was the first day's fight at Gettysburg. Lee's head of column hadstruck Meade's; each had rapidly been reinforced; the affair became abattle, and the Federal forces were completely defeated. 

That was the turning point of the campaign. If this success had onlybeen followed up--if we could only have seized upon and occupiedCemetery Hill!

Then General Meade would have been compelled to retire upon Westminsterand Washington. He would doubtless have fought somewhere, but it is aterrible thing to have an army flushed with victory "after" you!

Cemetery Range was not seized that night. When the sun rose the nextmorning, the golden moment had passed. General Meade was ready. 

From right to left, as far as the eye could reach, the heights bristledwith blue infantry and artillery. From every point on the ridge wavedthe enemy's battle flags. From the muzzles of his bronze war-dogs, Meade sent his defiant challenge to his adversary to attack him. 

"Come on!" the Federal artillery seemed to mutter fiercely. 

And Lee's guns from the ridge opposite thundered grimly in reply, "We are coming!"

XXIV. 

THE ARMY. 

Alas!--

That is the word which rises to the lips of every Southerner, above allto every Virginian, who attempts to describe this terrible battle ofGettysburg. 

The cheeks flush, the voice falters, and something like a fiery mistblinds the eyes. What comes back to the memory of the old soldiers whosaw that fight is a great picture of heroic assaults, ending infrightful carnage only, --of charges such as the world has rarely seen, made in vain, --of furious onslaughts, the only result of which was tostrew those fatal fields with the dead bodies of the flower of theSouthern race. 

And we were so near succeeding! Twice the enemy staggered; and one moreblow--only one more! promised the South a complete victory!

When Longstreet attacked Round Top Hill, driving the enemy back totheir inner line, victory seemed within our very grasp--but we couldnot snatch it. The enemy acknowledge that, and it is one of their ownpoets who declares that

"The century reeled When Longstreet paused on the slope of the hill. "

Pickett stormed Cemetery Heights, and wanted only support. Fivethousand men at his back would have given him victory. 

There is a name for the battle of Gettysburg which exactly suitsit--"The Great Graze!"

You must go to the histories, reader, for a detailed account of thisbattle. I have not the heart to write it, and aim to give you a fewscenes only. In my hasty memoirs I can touch only upon the salientpoints, and make the general picture. 

The ground on which the battle was fought, is familiar to manythousands. A few words will describe it. Cemetery Ridge, where GeneralMeade had taken up his position, is a range of hills running northwardtoward Gettysburg, within a mile of which place it bends off to theright, terminating in a lofty and rock-bound crest. 

This crest was Meade's right. His line stretched away southward then, and ended at Round Top Hill, the southern extremity of the range, aboutfour miles distant. From one end to the other of the extensive range, bayonets glistened, and the muzzles of cannon grinned defiance. 

Opposite the Cemetery Range was a lower line of hills, called SeminaryRange. Upon this Lee was posted, Ewell holding his left, A. P. Hill hiscentre, and Longstreet his right. 

Between the two armies stretched a valley, waving with grain and dottedwith fruit-trees, through which ran the Emmettsburg road, on thewestern side of a small stream. The golden grain waved gently; thelimpid water lapsed away beneath grass and flowers; the birds weresinging; the sun was shining--it was the strangest of all scenes for abloody conflict. 

I rode along the line of battle, and curiously scanned the features ofthe landscape. There is a frightful interest connected with groundwhich is soon going to become the arena of a great combat. A glancetold me that the enemy's position was much the stronger of the two. Would Lee attack it?

From the landscape I turned to look at the army. Never had I seen themso joyous. It would be impossible to convey any idea of the afflatuswhich buoyed them up. Every man's veins seemed to run with quicksilver, instead of blood. Every cheek was glowing. Every eye flashed withsuperb joy and defiance. You would have supposed, indeed, that thetroops were under the effect of champagne or laughing gas. "I nevereven imagined such courage, " said a Federal officer afterward; "yourmen seemed to be drunk with victory when they charged us!"

That was scarce an exaggeration. Already on the morning of battle theypresented this appearance. Lying down in line of battle, they laughed, jested, sang, and resembled children enjoying a holiday. On the facesof bearded veterans and boy-soldiers alike was a splendid pride. Thevictories of Fredericksburg, and Chancellorsville had electrified thetroops. They thought little of a foe who could be so easily driven;they looked forward to victory as a foregone conclusion--alas! they didnot remember that they held the heights at Fredericksburg; and thatMeade on Cemetery Hill was an adversary very different from Hooker inthe Spottsylvania Wilderness!

Such was the spectacle which I witnessed, when after delivering mymessage to General Lee, I rode along the Southern line. I think thegreat commander shared in some measure the sentiment of his troops. Hisbearing was collected; in his eye you could read no trace ofexcitement; the lips covered by the gray mustache were firm andcomposed; and he greeted me with quiet courtesy:--but in the cheeks ofthe great soldier a ruddy glow seemed to betray anticipated victory. 

I confess I shared the general sentiment. That strange intoxication wascontagious, and I was drunk like the rest with the thought of triumph. That triumph would open to us the gates of Washington and bring peace. The North scarcely denied that then--though they may deny it to-day. The whole country was completely weary of the war. There seemed to beno hope of compelling the South to return to the Union. A victory overMeade, opening the whole North to Lee, promised a treaty of peace. Theday had arrived, apparently when the army of Northern Virginia, musketin hand, was about to dictate the terms of that document. 

"Lee has only to slip the leash, " I thought, as I gazed at the army, "and these war-dogs will tear down their prey!"

Alas! they tore it, but were torn too! they did all at Gettysburg thatany troops could do. 

What was impossible, was beyond even their strength. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE WRESTLE FOR ROUND TOP HILL. 

From the morning of the second of July to the evening of the third, thefields south of Gettysburg were one great scene of smoke, dust, uproar, blood; of columns advancing and returning; cannon thundering; menshouting, yelling, cheering, and dying; blue mingled with gray insavage and unrelenting battle. 

In that smoke-cloud, with the ears deafened, you saw or heard littledistinctly. But above the confused struggle rose two great incidents, which on successive days decided every thing. 

The first of them was Longstreet's assault on the enemy's left wing, infront of Round Top Hill. 

Lee had displayed excellent soldiership in determining upon thismovement, and it will be seen that it came within an inch of success. Standing upon Seminary Range, near his centre, he had reconnoiteredGeneral Meade's position through his field-glass, with great attention;and this examination revealed the fact that the Federal line wasprojected forward in a salient in front of Round Top Hill, a jagged andalmost inaccessible peak, near which rested General Meade's extremeleft. 

If this weak point could be carried, "it appeared" said Lee, "that itspossession would give facilities for assailing and carrying the moreelevated ground and crest beyond. "

As to the importance of that crest--namely Round Top Hill--hear GeneralMeade:--

"If they had succeeded in occupying that, it would have prevented mefrom holding any of the ground which I subsequently held to the last. "

Lee determined to attack the salient, making at the same time a heavydemonstration--or a real assault--upon the Federal right, oppositeEwell. 

All his preparations were not made until the afternoon. Then suddenly, Longstreet's artillery opened its thunders. 

At that moment the spectacle was grand. The heights, the slopes, thefields, and the rugged crest opposite, were enveloped in smoke and firefrom the bursting shell. The sombre roar ascended like the bellowing ofa thousand bulls, leaped back from the rocks, and rolled away, in wildechoes through the hills. All the furies seemed let loose, and yet thiswas only the preface. 

At four in the evening the thunder dropped to silence, and along thelines of Hood and McLaws, which formed the charging column, ran a wildcheer, which must have reached the ears of the enemy opposite. 

That cheer told both sides that the moment had come. The word wasgiven, and Longstreet hurled his column at the blue line occupying apeach-orchard in his front. 

The blow was aimed straight at the salient in the Federal line, and inspite of a brave resistance it was swept away; McLaws advancing rapidlytoward the high ground in its rear. At one blow the whole left wing ofGeneral Meade's army seemed thrown into irretrievable confusion, andHood pressing forward on McLaws's right, hastened to seize upon thefamous Round Top, from which he would be able to hurl his thunder uponthe flank and rear of the Federal line of battle. 

The scene, like the conflict which now took place, was wild andsingular. The crest of Round Top Hill was a mass of rock, which roseabruptly from the rough and jagged slope. It was unoccupied--for thesudden overthrow of the force in front of it had not beenanticipated--and one headlong rush on the part of Hood alone seemednecessary to give him possession of the real key of the whole position. 

Hood saw that at a glance, and dashed up the slope at the head of hismen. It was scarcely an order of battle which his troops presented atthis moment. But one thought burned in every heart. The men swarmed upthe hill-side; the woods gave back the rolling thunder of their cheers;already the Southern battle-flags carried by the foremost werefluttering on the crest. 

The mass rushed toward the red flags; for an instant the gray figureswere seen erect upon the summit--then a sudden crash of musketryresounded--and a mad struggle began with a Federal brigade which hadhastened to the spot. 

This force, it is said, was hurried up by General Warren, who findingthe Federal signal-officers about to retire, ordered them, to remainand continue waving their flags to the last; and then, seizing on thefirst brigade he could find, rushed them up the slope to the crest. 

They arrived just in time. Hood's men were swarming on the crest. Aloud cheer arose, but all at once they found themselves face to facewith a line of bayonets, while beyond were seen confused and strugglingmasses, dragging up cannon. 

What followed was a savage grapple rather than an ordinary conflict. Only a small part of Hood's force had reached the summit, and this wasassailed by a whole brigade. The fight was indescribable. All that theeye could make out for some moments in the dust and smoke, was aconfused mass of men clutching each other, dealing blows with thebutt-ends of muskets, or fencing with bayonets--men in blue and gray, wrestling, cursing, falling, and dying, in the midst of the crash ofsmall-arms, and the thunder of cannon, which clothed the crest inflame. 

When the smoke drifted, it was seen that the Confederates had beenrepulsed, and driven from the hill. Hood was falling back slowly, likea wounded tiger, who glares at the huntsman and defies him to the last. The slope was strewed with some of his bravest. The Federal cannonroaring on Round Top Hill, seemed to be laughing hoarsely. 

McLaws, too, had fallen back after nearly seizing upon the crest in hisfront. The enemy had quickly re-enforced their left, with brigades, divisions, and corps, and the Confederates had been hotly assailed intheir turn. As night descended, the whole Southern line fell back. Thepallid moonlight shone on the upturned faces of the innumerable dead. 

Longstreet sat on a fence, cutting a stick with his penknife, when anEnglish officer near him exclaimed:--

"I would not have missed this for any thing?"

Longstreet, laughed grimly. 

"I would like to have missed it very much!"[1] he said. 

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

XXVI. 

THE CHARGE OF THE VIRGINIANS. 

Lee's great blow at the enemy's left had failed. He had thrown hisentire right wing, under Longstreet, against it. The enemy had beendriven; victory seemed achieved;--but suddenly the blue lines hadrallied, they had returned to the struggle, their huge masses hadrolled forward, thrown Longstreet back in turn, and now the pale moonlooked down on the battlefield where some of the bravest souls of theSouth had poured out their blood in vain. 

Lee had accomplished nothing, and one of his great corps was pantingand bleeding. It was not shattered or even shaken. The iron fibre wouldstand any thing almost. But the sombre result remained--Longstreet hadattacked and had been repulsed. 

What course would Lee now pursue? Would he retire?

Retire? The army of Northern Virginia lose heart at a mere rebuff?Lee's veteran army give up the great invasion, after a mere repulse?Troops and commander alike shrunk from the very thought. One more trialof arms--something--an attack somewhere--not _a retreat_!

That was the spirit of the army on the night of the second of July. 

A flanking movement to draw the enemy out of their works, or a secondattack remained. 

Lee determined to attack. 

Longstreet and Ewell had accomplished nothing by assailing the rightand left of the enemy. Lee resolved now to throw a column against itscentre--to split the stubborn obstacle, and pour into the gap with thewhole army, when all would be over. 

That was hazardous, you will say perhaps to-day, reader. And you havethis immense argument to advance, that it failed. Ah! these arguments_after the event_! they are so fatal, and so very easy. 

Right or wrong, Lee resolved to make the attack; and on the third ofJuly he carried out his resolution. 

If the writer of the South shrinks from describing the bloody repulseof Longstreet, much more gloomy is the task of painting that lastcharge at Gettysburg. It is one of those scenes which Lee's oldsoldiers approach with repugnance. That thunder of the guns which comesback to memory seems to issue, hollow and lugubrious, from a thousandtombs. 

Let us pass over that tragedy rapidly. It must be touched on in thesememoirs--but I leave it soon. 

It is the third of July, 1863. Lee's line of battle, stretching alongthe crest of Seminary Ridge, awaits the signal for a new conflict witha carelessness as great as on the preceding day. The infantry arelaughing, jesting, cooking their rations, and smoking their pipes. Theragged cannoneers, with flashing eyes, smiling lips, and facesblackened with powder, are standing in groups, or lying down around thepieces of artillery. Near the centre of the line a gray-headed officer, in plain uniform, and entirely unattended, has dismounted, and isreconnoitring the Federal position through a pair of field-glasses. 

It is Lee, and he is looking toward Cemetery Heights, the Mount St. Jean of the new Waterloo--on whose slopes the immense conflict is goingto be decided. 

Lee gazes for some moments through his glasses at the long rangebristling with bayonets. Not a muscle moves; he resembles a statue. Then he lowers the glasses, closes them thoughtfully, and his calmglance passes along the lines of his army. You would say that thisglance penetrates the forest; that he sees his old soldiers, gay, unshrinking, unmoved by the reverses of Longstreet, and believing inthemselves and in him! The blood of the soldier responds to thatthought. The face of the great commander suddenly flushes. He summons astaff officer and utters a few words in calm and measured tones. Theorder is given. The grand assault is about to begin. 

That assault is going to be one of the most desperate in all history. Longstreet's has been fierce--this will be mad and full of headlongfury. At Round Top blood flowed--here the earth is going to be soakedwith it. Gettysburg is to witness a charge recalling that of the sixhundred horsemen at Balaklava. Each soldier will feel that the fate ofthe South depends on him, perhaps. If the wedge splits the tough grain, cracking it from end to end, the axe will enter after it--the work willbe finished--the red flag of the South will float in triumph over alast and decisive field. 

Pickett's division of Virginia troops has been selected for thehazardous venture, and they prepare for the ordeal in the midst of aprofound silence. Since the morning scarce a gunshot has been heard. Now and then only, a single cannon, like a signal-gun, sends its growlthrough the hills. 

Those two tigers, the army of Northern Virginia and the army of thePotomac, are crouching, and about to spring. 

At one o'clock the moment seems to have arrived. Along the whole frontof Hill and Longstreet, the Southern artillery all at once burstsforth. One hundred and forty-five cannon send their threatening thunderacross the peaceful valley. From Cemetery Heights eighty pieces replyto them; and for more than an hour these two hundred and twenty-fivecannon tear the air with their harsh roar, hurled back in crash aftercrash from the rocky ramparts. That thunder is the most terrible yetheard in the war. It stirs the coolest veterans. General Hancock, thecomposed and unexcitable soldier, is going to say of it, "Theirartillery fire was most terrific... It was the most terrific cannonadeI ever witnessed, and the most prolonged.... It was a most terrific andappalling cannonade, one possibly hardly ever equalled. "

For nearly two hours Lee continues this "terrific" fire. The Federalguns reply--shot and shell crossing each other; racing across the bluesky; battering the rocks; or bursting in showers of iron fragments. 

Suddenly the Federal fire slackens, and then ceases. Their ammunitionhas run low, [1] or they are silenced by the Southern fire. Lee's gunsalso cease firing. The hour has come. 

[Footnote: This was the real reason. ]

The Virginians, under Pickett, form in double line in the edge of thewoods, where Lee's centre is posted. These men are ragged andtravel-worn, but their bayonets and gun-barrels shine like silver. Fromthe steel hedge, as the men move, dart lightnings. 

From the Cemetery Heights the enemy watch that ominous apparition--thegray line of Virginians drawn up for the charge. 

At the word, they move out, shoulder to shoulder, at common time. Descending the slope, they enter on the valley, and move steadilytoward the heights. 

The advance of the column, with its battle-flags floating proudly, andits ranks closed up and dressed with the precision of troops on parade, is a magnificent spectacle. Old soldiers, hardened in the fires ofbattle, and not given to emotion, lean forward watching the advance ofthe Virginians with fiery eyes. You would say, from the fierce clutchof the gaunt hands on the muskets, that they wish to follow; and manywish that. 

The column is midway the valley, and beginning to move more rapidly, when suddenly the Federal artillery opens. The ranks are swept by roundshot, shell, and canister. Bloody gaps appear, but the line closes up, and continues to advance. The fire of the Federal artillery redoubles. All the demons of the pit seem howling, roaring, yelling, andscreaming. The assaulting column is torn by a whirlwind of canister, before which men fall in heaps mangled, streaming with blood, theirbosoms torn to pieces, their hands clutching the grass, their teethbiting the earth. The ranks, however, close up as before, and theVirginians continue to advance. 

From common time, they have passed to quick time--now they march at thedouble-quick. That is to say, they run. They have reached the slope;the enemy's breastworks are right before them; and they dash at themwith wild cheers. 

They are still three hundred yards from the Federal works, when thereal conflict commences, to which the cannonade was but child's play. Artillery has thundered, but something more deadly succeeds it--thesudden crash of musketry. From behind a stone wall the Federal infantryrise up and pour a galling fire into the charging column. It has beenaccompanied to this moment by a body of other troops, but those troopsnow disappear, like dry leaves swept off by the wind. The Virginiansstill advance. 

Amid a concentrated fire of infantry and artillery, in their front andon both flanks, they pass over the ground between themselves and theenemy; ascend the slope; rush headlong at the breastworks; storm them;strike their bayonets into the enemy, who recoil before them, and awild cheer rises, making the blood leap in the veins of a hundredthousand men. 

The Federal works are carried, and the troops are wild with enthusiasm. With a thunder of cheers they press upon the flying enemy toward thecrest. 

Alas! as the smoke drifts, they see what is enough to dishearten thebravest. They have stormed the first line of works only! Beyond, isanother and a stronger line still. Behind it swarm the heavy reservesof the enemy, ready for the death-struggle. But the column can notpause. It is "do or die. " In their faces are thrust the muzzles ofmuskets spouting flame. Whole ranks go down in the fire. The survivorsclose up, utter a fierce cheer, and rush straight at the second tier ofworks. 

Then is seen a spectacle which will long be remembered with a throb ofthe heart by many. The thinned ranks of the Virginians are advancing, unmoved, into the very jaws of death. They go forward--and areannihilated. At every step death meets them. The furious fire of theenemy, on both flanks and in their front, hurls them back, mangled anddying. The brave Garnett is killed while leading on his men. Kemper islying on the earth maimed for life. Armistead is mortally wounded atthe moment when he leaps upon the breastworks:--he waves his hat on thepoint of his sword, and staggers, and falls. Of fifteen field officers, fourteen have fallen. Three-fourths of the men are dead, wounded, orprisoners. The Federal infantry has closed in on the flanks and rear ofthe Virginians--whole corps assault the handful--the little band isenveloped, and cut off from succor--they turn and face the enemy, bayonet to bayonet, and die. 

When the smoke drifts away, all is seen to be over. It is a panting, staggering, bleeding remnant only of the brave division that is comingback so slowly yonder. They are swept from the fatal hill--pursued byyells, cheers, cannon-shot, musket-balls, and canister. As theydoggedly retire before the howling hurricane, the wounded are seen tostagger and fall. Over the dead and dying sweeps the canister. Amidvolleys of musketry and the roar of cannon, all but a handful ofPickett's Virginians pass into eternity. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE GREAT MOMENT OF A GREAT LIFE. 

I was gazing gloomily at the field covered with detachments limpingback amid a great whirlwind of shell, when a mounted officer rode outof the smoke. In his right hand he carried his drawn sword--his leftarm was thrown around a wounded boy whom he supported on the pommel ofhis saddle. 

In the cavalier I recognized General Davenant, whom I had seen near thevillage of Paris, and who was now personally known to me. In the boyI recognized the urchin, Charley, with the braided jacket and jauntycap. 

I spurred toward him. 

"Your son--!" I said, and I pointed to the boy. 

"He is dying I think, colonel!" was the reply in a hoarse voice. Thegray mustache trembled, and the eye of the father rested, moist butfiery, on the boy. 

"Such a child!" I said. "Could _he_ have gone into the charge?"

"I could not prevent him!" came, in a groan, almost from the oldcavalier. "I forbade him, but he got a musket somewhere, and went overthe breastworks with the rest. I saw him then for the first time, andheard him laugh and cheer. A moment afterward he was shot--I caught andraised him up, and I have ridden back through the fire, trying toshield him--but he is dying! Look! his wound is mortal, I think--and soyoung--a mere child--never was any one braver than my poor child--!"

A groan followed the words: and bending down the old cavalier kissedthe pale cheek of the boy. 

I made no reply; something seemed to choke me. 

Suddenly a grave voice uttered some words within a few paces of us, andI turned quickly. It was General Lee--riding calmly amid the smoke, andre-forming the stragglers. Never have I seen a human being morecomposed. 

General Davenant wheeled and saluted. 

"We are cut to pieces, general!" he said, with something like a fierytear in his eye. "We did our best, and we drove them!--but were notsupported. My brigade--my brave old brigade is gone! This is my boy--Ibrought him out--but he is dying too!"

The hoarse tones and fiery tears of the old cavalier made my heartbeat. I could see a quick flush rise to the face of General Lee. Helooked at the pale face of the boy, over which the disordered curlsfell, with a glance of inexpressible sympathy and sweetness. Thenstretching out his hand, he pressed the hand of General Davenant, andsaid in his deep grave voice:--

"This has been a sad day for us, general--a sad day, but we cannotexpect always to gain victories. Never mind--all this has been _my_fault. It is _I_ who have lost this fight, and you must help me out ofit in the best way you can. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

As he uttered these measured words, General Lee saluted and disappearedin the smoke. 

General Davenant followed, bearing the wounded boy still upon hissaddle. 

Ten minutes afterward, I was riding to find General Stuart, who hadsent me with a message just before the charge. 

I had gloomy news for him. The battle of Gettysburg was lost. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

UNSHAKEN. 

The sun was sinking red and baleful, when I reached Stuart, beyond theleft wing of the army. 

From the afternoon of the second to this night of the third of July, the cavalry had met that of the enemy in stubborn conflict. The columnshad hurled together. General Hampton had been severely wounded in ahand-to-hand encounter with sabres, while leading his men. Stuart hadnarrowly escaped death or capture in the mêlée; and Fitz Lee had foughthilt to hilt with the Federal horsemen, repulsing them, and coming backlaughing, as was his wont. 

All these scenes I have passed over, however. The greater dramaabsorbed me. The gray horsemen were fighting heroically; but what wasthat encounter of sabres, when the fate of Gettysburg was being decidedat Cemetery Hill?

So I pass over all that, and hasten on now to the sequel. Memory findsfew scenes to attract it in the days that followed Gettysburg. 

But I beg the reader to observe that I should have no scenes of ahumiliating character to draw. Never was army less "whipped" than thatof Lee after this fight! Do you doubt that statement, reader? Do youthink that the Southerners were a disordered rabble, flying before theFederal bayonets? a flock of panic-stricken sheep, hurrying back to thePotomac, with the bay of the Federal war-dogs in their ears?

That idea--entertained by a number of our Northern friends--is entirelyfanciful. 

Lee's army was not even shaken. It was fagged, hungry, out ofammunition, and it retired, --but not until it had remained fortwenty-four hours in line of battle in front of the enemy, perfectlycareless of, even inviting, attack. 

"I should have liked nothing better than to have been attacked, " saidLongstreet, "and have no doubt I should have given those who tried, asbad a reception as Pickett received. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

It may be said that this is the boast of the defeated side. But GeneralMeade, when interrogated before the war committee, stated the exactfacts. 

"My opinion is now, " said Meade "that General Lee evacuated thatposition, not from the fear that he would be dislodged from it by anyactive operations on my part, but that he was fearful a force would besent to Harper's Ferry to cut off his communications.... That was whatcaused him to retire. "

"Did you discover, " asked one of the committee, "after the battle ofGettysburg, any symptoms of demoralization in Lee's army?"

"No, sir, " was General Meade's reply, "I saw nothing of that kind. "[1]

[Footnote 1: General Meade's testimony may be found in the Report onthe Conduct of the War. Part I. , p. 337. ]

That statement was just, and General Meade was too much of a gentlemanand soldier to withhold it. He knew that his great adversary was stillunshaken and dangerous--that the laurels snatched on Round Top andCemetery Heights might turn to cypress, if the wounded lion wereassailed in his own position. 

After the repulse of Pickett's column on the third of July, Lee had thechoice of two courses--to either attack again or retire. Meade wasevidently determined to remain on the defensive. To engage him, Leemust once more charge the Cemetery Heights. But a third failure mightbe ruinous; the Confederate ammunition was nearly exhausted; thecommunications with the Potomac were threatened, --and Lee determined toretire. 

That is the true history of the matter. 

The force which fell back before Meade was an army of veterans, withunshaken nerves. It required only a glance to see that these men werestill dangerous. They were ready to fight again, and many raged at theretreat. Like Lee's "old war horse, " they were anxious to try anotherstruggle, to have the enemy return the compliment, and come over tocharge _them_!

Then commenced that singular retreat. 

The trains retired in a long line stretching over many miles, by theChambersburg road, while the army marched by the shorter route, betweenthe trains and the enemy, ready to turn and tear the blue huntsmen ifthey attempted to pursue. 

So the famous army of Northern Virginia--great in defeat as invictory--took its slow way back toward the soil of Virginia. Never wasspectacle stranger than that retreat from Gettysburg. The badly woundedhad been sent with the army trains; but many insisted upon keepingtheir places in the ranks. There was something grim and terrible inthese bandaged arms, and faces, and forms of Lee's old soldiers--butyou did not think of that as you looked into their pale faces. Whatstruck you in those eyes and lips was the fire, and the smile of anunconquerable courage. Never had I witnessed resolution more splendidand invincible. In the ragged foot soldiers of the old army I could seeplainly the evidences of a nerve which no peril could shake. Was itrace--or the cause--or confidence, through all, in Lee? I know not, butit was there. These men were utterly careless whether the enemyfollowed them or not. They were retreating unsubdued. The terriblescenes through which they had passed, the sights of horror, the ghastlywounds, the blood, agony, death of the last few days had passed awayfrom their memories; and they went along with supreme indifference, ready to fight at any moment, and certain that they could whip anyenemy who assailed them. 

General Meade did not attempt that. He kept Lee at arm's-length, andfollowed so slowly that the civilians were in enormous wrath, andlooked _*de haut en bas_ on him--on this timid soldier who had not cutLee to pieces. 

[Illustration: MEETING OF GENERALS LEE AND DAVENANT. ]

Between Meade, however, and the bold civilians, there was this enormousdifference. The soldier knew the mettle of the man and the armyretiring from Gettysburg. The civilians did not. Meade retained thefruits of his victory over Lee. The civilians would have lost them. 

At Williamsport, Lee halted and drew up his army in line of battle. ThePotomac, swollen by rains, presented an impassable obstacle. 

Meade, following slowly, was met at every step by Stuart's cavalry; butfinally faced his adversary. 

Every thing presaged a great battle, and Lee's cannon from the hillssouth of Hagerstown laughed, "Come on!"

But General Meade did not come. Lee, standing at bay with the army ofNorthern Virginia, was a formidable adversary, and the Federalcommander had little desire to charge the Confederates as they hadcharged him at Gettysburg--in position. 

Day after day the adversaries remained in line of battle facing eachother. 

Lee neither invited nor declined battle. 

At last the Potomac subsided: Lee put his army in motion, and crossingon a pontoon at Falling Waters took up his position on the south bankof the river. 

Stuart followed, bringing up the rear with his cavalry column; and thewhole army was once more on the soil of Virginia. 

They had come back after a great march and a great battle. 

The march carried their flags to the south bank of the Susquehanna; thebattle resulted in their retreat to the south bank of the Potomac. Thusnothing had been gained, and nothing lost. But alas! the South hadcounted on a great and decisive victory. When Lee failed to snatch thatfrom the bloody heights of Gettysburg--when, for want of ammunition, and to guard his communications, he returned to the Potomac--then thepeople began to lose heart, and say that, since the death of Jackson, the cause was lost. 

Gettysburg in fact is the turning point of the struggle. From that daydated the decadence of the Southern arms. 

At Chancellorsville, the ascending steps of victory culminated--andstopped. 

At Gettysburg, the steps began to descend into the valley of defeat, and the shadow of death. 

What I shall show the reader in this final series of my memoirs, is Leeand his paladins--officers and privates of the old army of NorthernVirginia--fighting on to the end, true in defeat as in victory, in thedark days as in the bright--closing up the thin ranks, and standing bythe colors to the last. 

That picture may be gloomy--but it will be sublime, too. 

BOOK II. 

THE FLOWER OF CAVALIERS. 

I. 

UNDER "STUART'S OAK. "

Crossing to the south bank of the Potomac, Stuart established hisheadquarters at "The Bower, " an old mansion on the Opequon. 

The family at the ancient hall were Stuart's cherished friends, and ourappearance now, with the red flag floating and the bugle sounding a gaysalute as we ascended the hill, was hailed with enthusiasm andrejoicing. 

All at the "Bower, " loved Stuart; they love him to-day; and will lovehim always. 

His tents were pitched on a grassy knoll in the extensive grounds, beneath some ancient oaks resembling those seen in English parks. Itwas a charming spot. Through the openings in the summer foliage you sawthe old walls of the hall. At the foot of the hill, the Opequon stoleaway, around the base of a fir-clad precipice, its right bank linedwith immense white-armed sycamores. Beyond, extended a range of hills:and in the far west, the North Mountain mingled its azure billows withthe blue of the summer sky. 

Such was the beautiful landscape which greeted our eyes: such the spotto which the winds of war had wafted us. Good old "Bower, " and gooddays there! How well I remember you! After the long, hard march, andthe incessant fighting, it was charming to settle down for a briefspace in this paradise--to listen idly to the murmur of the Opequon, orthe voice of the summer winds amid the foliage of the century oaks!

The great tree on the grassy knoll, under which Stuart erected his owntent, is called "Stuart's Oak" to this day. No axe will ever harm it, Ihope; gold could not purchase it; for tender hearts cherish the gnarledtrunk and huge boughs, as a souvenir of the great soldier whom itsheltered in that summer of 1863. 

So we were anchored for a little space, and enjoyed keenly the reposeof this summer nook on the Opequon. Soon the bugle would sound again, and new storms would buffet us; meanwhile, we laughed and sang, snatching the bloom of the peaceful hours, inhaling the odors, listening to the birds, and idly dreaming. 

For myself, I had more dreams than the rest of the gray people there!The Bower was not a strange place to me. My brethren of the staff usedto laugh, and say that, wherever we went, in Virginia, I foundkins-people. I found near and dear ones at the old house on theOpequon; and a hundred spots which recalled my lost youth. Every objectcarried me back to the days that are dead. The blue hills, the stream, the great oaks, and the hall smiled on me. How familiar the portraits, and wide fireplaces, and deers' antlers. The pictures of hawkingscenes, with ladies and gentlemen in the queerest costumes; theengravings of famous race-horses, hanging between guns, bird-bags andfishing-rods in the wide hall--these were not mere dead objects, butold and long-loved acquaintances. I had known them in my childhood;looked with delight upon them in my boyhood; now they seemed to saluteme, murmuring--"Welcome! you remember us!"

Thus the hall, the grounds, the pictures, the most trifling objectbrought back to me, in that summer of 1863, a hundred memories of theyears that had flown. Years of childhood and youth, of mirth and joy, such as we felt before war had come to harass us; when I swam in theOpequon, or roamed the hills, looking into bright eyes, where life wasso fresh and so young. The "dew was on the blossom" then, the flower inthe bud. Now the bloom had passed away, and the dew dried up in the hotwar-atmosphere. It was a worn and weary soldier who came back to thescenes of his youth. 

Suddenly, as I mused thus, dreaming idly under the great oak whichsheltered me, I heard a voice from Stuart's tent, sending its sonorousmusic on the air. It was the great cavalier singing lustily--

 "The dew is on the blossom!"

At all hours of the day you could hear that gay voice. Stuart'sheadquarters were full of the most mirthful sounds and sights. Theknoll was alive with picturesque forms. The horses, tethered to theboughs, champed their bits and pawed impatiently. The brightsaddle-blankets shone under the saddles covered with gay decorations. Young officers with clanking sabres and rattling spurs moved to andfro. In front of the head-quarters tent the red battle-flag caught thesunshine in its dazzling folds. 

Suddenly, a new charm is added to the picturesque scene. Maiden figuresadvance over the grassy lawn; bright eyes glimmer; glossy ringlets arelifted by the fingers of the wind; tinkling laughter is heard;--andover all rings the wild sonorous music of the bugle!

The days pass rapidly thus. The nights bring merriment, not sleep. Thegeneral goes with his staff to the hospitable mansion, and soon thegreat drawing-room is full of music and laughter. The song, the dance, the rattling banjo follow. The long hours flit by like a flock ofsummer birds, and Sweeney, our old friend Sweeney, is the king of therevel. 

For Sweeney rattles as before on his banjo; and the "Old Gray Horse"flourishes still in imperishable youth! It is the same old Sweeney, with his mild and deferential courtesy, his obliging smile, hisunapproachable skill in "picking on the string. " Listen! his voicerings again as in the days of '61 and '62. He is singing still "OhJohnny Booker, help this nigger!" "Stephen, come back, come back, Stephen!" "Out of the window I did sail!" "Sweet Evelina, " and thegrand, magnificent epic which advises you to "Jine the Cavalry!"

Hagan listens to him yonder with a twinkle of the eye--Hagan theblack-bearded giant, the brave whose voice resembles thunder, thedevotee and factotum of Stuart, whom he loves. And Sweeney rattles on. You laugh loud as you listen. The banjo laughs louder than all, and thegreat apartment is full of uproar, and mirth, and dance. 

Then the couples sink back exhausted; a deep silence follows; Sweeneyhas made you laugh, and is now going to make you sigh. Listen! You canscarcely believe that the singer is the same person who has just beenrattling through the "Old Gray Horse. " Sweeney is no longer mirthful;his voice sighs instead of laughing. He is singing his tender andexquisite "Faded Flowers. " He is telling you in tones as soft as thesigh of the wind in the great oaks, how

 "The cold, chilly winds of December, Stole my flowers, my companions from me!"

Alas! the cold, chilly winds of the coming winter will blow over thegrave of the prince of musicians! Sweeney, the pride and charm of thecavalry head-quarters, is going to pass away, and leave his comradesand his banjo forever!

You would say that the future throws its shadow on the present. Sweeney's tones are so sweet and sorrowful, that many eyes growmoist--like Rubini, he "has tears in his voice. " The melting strainsascend and sigh through the old hall. When they die away like a wind inthe distance, the company remain silent, plunged in sad and dreamyrevery. 

Suddenly Stuart starts up and exclaims:--

"Stop that, Sweeney! you will make everybody die of the blues. Sing the'Old Gray Horse' again, or 'Jine the Cavalry!'"

Sweeney smiles and obeys. Then, the gay song ended, he commences areel. The banjo laughs; his flying fingers race over the strings;youths and maidens whirl from end to end of the great room--on thewalls the "old people" in ruffles and short-waisted dresses, look downsmiling on their little descendants!

O gay summer nights on the banks of the Opequon! you have flown, butlinger still in memory!

In the autumn of 1867, I revisited the old hall where those summer daysof 1863 had passed in mirth and enjoyment; and then I wandered away tothe grassy knoll where "Stuart's oak" still stands. The sight of thegreat tree brought back a whole world of memories. Seated on one of itshuge roots, beneath the dome of foliage just touched by the finger ofautumn, I seemed to see all the past rise up again and move before me, with its gallant figures, its bright scenes, and brighter eyes. Alas!those days were dust, and Stuart sang and laughed no more. The grasswas green again, and the birds were singing; but no martial forms movedthere, no battle-flag rippled, no voice was heard. Stuart wasdead;--his sword rusting under the dry leaves of Hollywood, and hisbattle-flag was furled forever. 

That hour under the old oak, in the autumn of 1867, was one of thesaddest that I have ever spent. 

The hall was there as before; the clouds floated, the stream murmured, the wind sighed in the great tree, as when Stuart's tent shone underit. But the splendor had vanished, the laughter was hushed--it was acompany of ghosts that gathered around me, and their faint voicessounded from another world!

II. 

BACK TO THE RAPIDAN. 

But this is a book of incident, worthy reader. We have little time formusing recollections. The halts are brief; the bugle is sounding tohorse; events drag us, and we are again in the saddle. 

Those gay hours on the Opequon were too agreeable to last. The old hallwas a sort of oasis in the desert of war only. We paused for aninstant; rested under the green trees; heard the murmur of thewaters--then the caravan moved, breasting the arid wastes once more, and the coming simoom. 

Stuart's head-quarters disappeared--we bade our kind friendsgood-bye--and, mounting, set out for the Lowland, whither Lee's columnwas then marching. 

The short lull had been succeeded by new activity. Meade was advancingalong the east slope of the Blue Ridge to cut Lee off from Richmond. But the adventure succeeded no better now than in 1862. Meade failed, as McClellan had failed before him. 

The army passed the Blue Ridge; drove back the force sent to assailthem in flank as they moved; and descended to Culpeper, from which theywithdrew behind the Rapidan. Here Lee took up his position, crowned thesouth bank with his artillery, and, facing General Meade, occupying thenorth bank, rested. 

Such had been the result of the great campaign, in its merely militaryaspect. 

Lee had invaded the North, delivered battle on the territory of theenemy, suffered a repulse, retired, and was again occupying nearly thesame ground which he had occupied before the advance. Moving backwardand forward on the great chessboard of war, the two adversaries seemedto have gained or lost nothing. The one was not flushed with victory;the other was not prostrated by defeat. Each went into camp, ceasedactive operations, and prepared for the new conflict which was to takeplace before the end of the year. 

I shall record some incidents of that rapid and shifting campaign, beginning and ending in the month of October; then I pass on to themore important and exciting pages of my memoirs: the mighty strugglebetween Lee and Grant. 

To return for a moment to the cavalry. It held the front along theRapidan and Robertson rivers, from Madison Court-House on the left, toChancellorsville on the right. Stuart kept his lynx-eye on all thefords of the two rivers, having his head-quarters in the forks of thestreams not far from their junction. 

I should like to speak of the charming hours spent at the hospitablemansion near which head-quarters had been established. The sun shonebright, at the house on the grassy hill, but not so bright as the eyeswhich gave us friendly welcome. Years have passed since that time--allthings have changed--but neither time or the new scenes will banishfrom some hearts the memory of that beautiful face, and the music ofthat voice! We salute to-day as we saluted in the past--health andhappiness attend the fair face and the kindly heart!

I saw much of Mohun in those days, and became in course of time almosthis intimate friend. He exhibited still a marked reserve on the subjectof his past life: but I thought I could see that the ice was melting. Day by day he grew gayer--gradually his cynicism seemed leaving him. Who was this singular man, and what was his past history? I often askedmyself these questions--he persisted in giving me no clue to thesecret--but I felt a presentiment that some day I should "pluck out theheart of his mystery. "

So much, in passing, for my relations with Mohun. We had begun to befriends, and the chance of war was going to throw us together often. Ihad caught one or two glimpses of a past full of "strange matters"--inthe hours that were coming I was to have every mystery revealed. 

Meanwhile Lee was resting, but preparing for another blow. His army wasin the highest spirits. The camps buzzed, and laughed, and were full ofmirth. Gettysburg was forgotten, or if remembered, it only served toinflame the troops, and inspire them with a passionate desire to "tryagain. " In the blaze of a new victory, the old defeat would disappear. 

Such was the condition of things in the army of Northern Virginia inthe first days of October, 1863. 

III. 

THE OPENING OF THE HUNT. 

It soon became obvious that Lee had resolved to strike a blow at hisadversary. 

How to do so with advantage seemed a hard problem. Between theopponents lay the Rapidan, which would be an ugly obstacle in the pathof an army retreating after defeat--and the same considerations whichdeterred General Meade from attacking Lee, operated to prevent a likemovement on the part of his adversary. 

Thus an advance of the Southern army on the enemy's front was far toohazardous to be thought of--and the only course left was to assailtheir flank. This could either be done by crossing lower down, andcutting the enemy off from the Rappahannock, or crossing higher up, andcutting him off from Manassas. Lee determined on the latter--and in abright morning early in October the great movement began. 

Leaving Fitz Lee's cavalry and a small force of infantry in the workson the Rapidan fronting the enemy, General Lee put his columns inmotion for the upper fords. 

The men hailed the movement with cheers of delight. As they woundalong, with glittering bayonets, through the hills and across theriver, you could easily see that the old army of Northern Virginia wasstill in full feather--that Gettysburg had not shaken it--and that Leecould count on it for new campaigns and harder combats than any in thepast. 

The head of the column was directed toward Madison Court-House, whichwould enable Lee either to advance directly upon the enemy's flank bythe Sperryville road, or continue his flank movement, pass theRappahannock, and cut off his opponent from Washington. 

The advance was an inspiring spectacle. The weather was magnificent, and the crimson foliage of the wood rivalled the tints of the redbattle-flags, fluttering above the long glittering hedge of bayonets. 

Stuart's cavalry had moved out on the right flank to protect the columnfrom the observation of the enemy. The campaign of October, 1863, hadopened. 

It was to be one of the briefest, but most adventurous movements of thewar. Deciding little, it was yet rich in incident and dramatic scenes. A brilliant comedy, as it were--just tinged with tragedy--was thatrapid and shifting _raid_ of Lee's whole army, on Meade. Blood, jests, laughter, mourning--these were strangely mingled, in the cavalrymovements at least: and to these I proceed. 

From the heights, whence you see only the "great events, " the movementsof armies, and the decisive battles, let us now descend into thelowland, good reader. I will lay before you some incidents, not to befound in the "official reports;" and I promise to carry you on rapidly!

IV. 

THE GAME A-FOOT. 

It was a magnificent morning of October, Stuart leaped to saddle, and, preceded by his red flag rippling gaylyin the wind, set out from his head-quarters in the direction of themountains. 

He was entering on his last great cavalry campaign--and it was to beone of his most successful and splendid. 

The great soldier, as he advanced that morning, was the beau ideal of acavalier. His black plume floated proudly; his sabre rattled; his eyesdanced with joy; his huge mustache curled with laughter; his voice wasgay, sonorous, full of enjoyment of life, health, the grand autumn, andthe adventurous and splendid scenes which his imagination painted. Onhis brow he seemed already to feel the breath of victory. 

It was rather an immense war-machine, than a man which I looked at onthat morning of October, 1863. Grand physical health, a perfectlyfearless soul, the keenest thirst for action, a stubborn dash whichnothing could break down--all this could be seen in the face and formof Stuart, as he advanced to take command of his column that day. 

On the next morning at daylight he had struck the enemy. 

Their outposts of cavalry, supported by infantry, were at ThoroughfareMountain, a small range above the little village of James City. HereStuart came suddenly upon them, and drove in their pickets:--a momentafterward he was galloping forward with the gayety of a huntsman aftera fox. 

A courier came to meet him from the advance guard, riding at fullgallop. 

"Well!" said Stuart. 

"A regiment of infantry, general. "

"Where?"

"Yonder in the gap. "

And he pointed to a gorge in the little mountain before us. 

Stuart wheeled and beckoned to Gordon, the brave North Carolinian, whohad made the stubborn charge at Barbee's, in 1862, when Pelham wasattacked, front and rear, by the Federal cavalry. 

"We have flushed a regiment of infantry, Gordon. Can you break them?"

"I think I can, general. "

The handsome face of the soldier glowed--his bright eyes flashed. 

"All right. Get ready, then, to attack in front. I will take Young, andstrike them at the same moment on the right flank!"

With which words Stuart went at a gallop and joined Young. 

That gay and gallant Georgian was at the head of his column; in hissparkling eyes, and the smile which showed the white teeth under theblack mustache, I saw the same expression of reckless courage which Ihad noticed on the day of Fleetwood, when the young Georgian broke thecolumn on the hill. 

Stuart explained his design in three words:--

"Are you ready?"

"All ready, general!"

And Young's sabre flashed from the scabbard. 

At the same instant the crash of carbines in front, indicated Gordon'scharge. 

Young darted to the head of his column. 

"Charge!" he shouted. 

And leading the column, he descended like a thunderbolt on the enemy'sflank. 

As he did so, Gordon's men rushed with wild cheers into the gorge. Shouts, carbine-shots, musket-shots, yells resounded. In five minutesthe Federal infantry, some three hundred in number, were scattered inheadlong flight, leaving the ground strewed with new muskets, whosebarrels shone like burnished silver. 

"Good!" Stuart exclaimed, as long lines of prisoners appeared, going tothe rear, "a fair beginning, at least!"

And he rode on rapidly. 

V. 

THE CHASE. 

The cavalry pressed forward without halting and reached the hills aboveJames City--a magniloquent name, but the "city" was a small affair--amere village nestling down amid an amphitheatre of hills. 

On the opposite range we saw the enemy's cavalry drawn up; and, as weafterward learned, commanded by General Kilpatrick. 

They presented a handsome spectacle in the gay autumn sunshine; but wedid not attack them. Stuart's orders were to protect the march of Ewellfrom observation; and this he accomplished by simply holding theFederal cavalry at arm's-length. So a demonstration only was made. Skirmishers advanced, and engaged the enemy. The whole day thus passedin apparent failure to drive the Federals. 

A single incident marked the day. Stuart had taken his position, withhis staff and couriers, on a hill. Here, with his battle-flag floating, he watched the skirmishers, --and then gradually, the whole party, stretched on the grass, began to doze. 

They were to have a rude waking. I was lying, holding my bridle, halfasleep, when an earthquake seemed to open beneath me. A crash likethunder accompanied it. I rose quickly, covered with dust. A glanceexplained the whole. The enemy had directed a gun upon the temptinggroup over which the flag rose, and the percussion-shell had fallen andburst in our midst. 

Strangest of all, no one was hurt. 

Stuart laughed, and mounted his horse. 

"A good shot!" he said, "look at Surry's hat!" which, on examination, Ifound covered half an inch deep with earth. 

In fact, the shell had burst within three feet of my head--was a "lineshot, " and with a little more elevation, would have just reached me. Then, exit Surry! in a most unmilitary manner, by the bursting of apercussion-shell. 

At nightfall the enemy was still in position, and Stuart had notadvanced. 

We spent the night at a farm-house, and were in the saddle again atdawn. 

The hills opposite were deserted. The enemy had retreated. Stuartpushed on their track down the Sperryville road, passed the village ofGriffinsburg, and near Stonehouse Mountain came on, and pushed themrapidly back on Culpeper Court-House. 

All at once quick firing was heard on our right. 

"What is that?" Stuart asked. 

"An infantry regiment, general!" said Weller, one of our couriers, galloping quickly up. 

The words acted upon Stuart like the blow of a sword. A wild excitementseemed to seize him. 

"Bring up a squadron!" he shouted--for we were riding ahead withoutsupport; "bring up the cavalry! I am going to charge! Bring me asquadron!"

And drawing his sword, Stuart rushed at full gallop, alone andunattended, toward the Federal infantry, whose gun-barrels were seenglittering in the woods. 

Never had I seen him more excited. He was plainly on fire with the ideaof capturing the whole party. 

The staff scattered to summon the cavalry, and soon a company came onat full gallop. It was the "Jefferson Company, " under that braveofficer, Captain George Baylor. 

"Charge, and cut them down!" shouted Stuart, his drawn sword flashingas he forced his horse over fallen trees and the debris of the greatdeserted camp. 

A fine spectacle followed. As the Federal infantry double-quicked up aslope, Baylor charged. 

As his men darted upon them, they suddenly halted, came to afront-face, and the long line of gun-barrels fell, as though they wereparts of some glittering war-machine. 

The muzzles spouted flame, and the cavalry received the fire at thirtyyards. 

It seemed to check them, but it did not. They had come to an impassableditch. In another moment, the infantry broke, every man for himself, and making a detour, the cavalry pursued, and captured large numbers. 

For the second time Stuart had charged infantry and broken them. Pushing on now through the great deserted camps of Stonehouse Mountain, he descended upon Culpeper. 

The enemy's cavalry retreated, made a stand on the hills beyond, withtheir artillery; and seemed to have resolved to retreat no farther. 

Suddenly the thunder of artillery came up from the Rapidan. I wassitting my horse near Stuart and Gordon. They were bothlaughing--indeed, Stuart seemed laughing throughout the campaign. 

"That is Fitz Lee!" he said; "he has crossed and driven them. "

And turning round, --

"I wish you would go to General Lee, Surry--you will find him towardGriffinsburg--and tell him we are driving the enemy, and Fitz Lee seemsto be coming up. "

I saluted, and left the two generals laughing as before. 

In half an hour I had found General Lee. He was in camp on theSperryville road, and was talking to Ewell. 

It was a singular contrast. Lee, robust, ruddy, erect, with his largefrank eye--Ewell, slight, emaciated, pale, with small piercing eyes, and limping on his crutch. 

"Thank you, colonel, " General Lee said, with his grave but charmingcourtesy; "tell General Stuart to continue to press them back towardthe river. "

And turning to Ewell:--

"You had better move on with your command, general, " he said, in hismeasured voice. 

Ewell bowed and turned to obey--I returned to Stuart. 

He was pushing the Federal cavalry "from pillar to post. " Driven backfrom the hill, where they had planted their artillery, they hadretreated on Brandy; Stuart had followed like a fate; Gordon, sentround to the left, struck their right flank with his old sabreurs; FitzLee, coming up on the right, thundered down on their left--and in thewoods around Brandy took place one of those cavalry combats which, asmy friends, the novelists say, "must be seen to be appreciated!" If thereader will imagine, in the dusk of evening, a grand hurly-burly madeup of smoke, dust, blood, yells, clashing swords, banging carbines, thundering cannon, and wild cheers, he will have a faint idea of that"little affair" at Brandy. 

A queer circumstance made this fight irresistibly comic. 

Fitz Lee had repulsed Buford on the Rapidan; followed him on hisretreat, harassing him at every step--when, just as Buford reachedBrandy, with Fitz Lee at his heels, Kilpatrick descended on Fitz Lee'srear by the Sperryville road, and Stuart thundered down on _his_!

Thus Fitz Lee was pursuing Buford; Kilpatrick, Fitz Lee; and Stuart, Kilpatrick! It was a grand and comic jumble--except that it came verynear being any thing but comic to that joyous cavalier, "General Fitz, "as we called him--caught as he was between Generals Buford andKilpatrick!

General Fitz was the man for a "tight place, " however--and "hispeople, " as he called his cavalry, soon cut through to Stuart. 

It was a tough and heavy fight. 

"Old Jeb cut off more than he could _chaw_, that time!" said a veteranafterward, in describing the fight. And at one time it seemed that theenemy were going to hold their ground. 

Fleetwood, beyond, was lined with bayonets, and every knoll was crownedwith cannon: when night fell, however, the whole force had retreatedand crossed the Rappahannock, leaving the ground strewed with theirdead and wounded. 

In the dusky woods near Brandy, Stuart sat his horse, looking towardthe Rappahannock, and laughing still. He was talking with brave FitzLee, whose stout figure, flowing beard, and eyes twinkling with humor, were plain in the starlight. I shall show you that gallant figure morethan once in this volume, reader. You had but to look at him to seethat he was the bravest of soldiers, and the best of comrades. 

So night fell on a victory. Stuart had driven the enemy at every step. He had charged their infantry, cavalry, and artillery, routingall, --and he was once more in sight of Fleetwood Hill, where he haddefeated them in the preceding June. 

Singular current of war! It used to bear us onward; but be taken with asudden fancy to flow back to the old spots! See Manassas, Fredericksburg, Cold Harbor, Chancellorsville!

Fleetwood takes its place with them--twice bloody and memorable. Insight of it took place two of Stuart's hardest combats--and both werevictories. 

VI. 

THE RUSE. 

By sunrise Stuart was pushing rapidly up the bank of the Rappahannocktoward Warrenton Springs. 

Meade had retreated from Culpeper, and was falling back rapidly. Leewas pressing on to cut him off in the vicinity of Auburn. 

A hot fight took place at Jeffersonton, a little village beyond HazelRiver; and here the enemy fought from house to house, but finallyretreated. 

Stuart followed, and came up with their rear retreating over the bridgeat Warrenton Springs. 

On the northern bank the Federal sharp-shooters were posted in doubleline. 

Stuart turned, and saw, not far from him, the Jefferson Company who hadcharged so gallantly at Stonehouse Mountain. A movement of his hand, and they were charging over the bridge. 

Suddenly they recoiled. The head files had stopped, --the horsesrearing. The flooring in the centre of the bridge had been torn up--itwas impossible to cross. 

The men wheeled and came back under a hot fire of sharp-shooters. Stuart's face was fiery. 

"To the ford!" he shouted. 

And placing himself in front of the men, sword in hand, he led themthrough the ford, in face of a heavy fire, charged up the oppositeslope, and the Federal skirmishers scattered in wild flight. 

The Twelfth Virginia Cavalry followed them, and they were cut down orcaptured. 

As the column moved on, Stuart galloped along the line toward thefront. 

He had just faced death with these men, and at sight of him they raiseda cheer. 

"Hurrah for old Jeb!" rose in a shout from the column. 

Stuart turned: his face glowed: rising in his stirrups, he took off hishat and exclaimed:---

"Bully for the old Twelfth!"

The words were unclassic, it may be, reader, but they raised a storm. 

"I felt like I could die for old Jeb after that, " one of the men saidto me. 

Stuart disappeared, followed by tumultuous cheers, and his columncontinued to advance upon Warrenton ahead of the army. He had riddenon for a quarter of an hour, when he turned to me, and said:--

"I am getting uneasy about things at Culpeper. I wish you would rideback to Rosser, who is there with two hundred men, and tell him to callon Young, if he is pushed. " I turned my horse. 

"You know where Young is?"

"On the Sperryville road. "

"Exactly--Rosser can count on him. I am going on toward Warrenton. "

And the general and myself parted, riding in opposite directions. 

I returned toward Hazel River; passed that stream, and the long rows ofarmy wagons; and as the sun was sinking, drew near Culpeper. 

As I pressed on, I heard the long thunder of cannon coming up from thedirection of Brandy. 

What could that sound mean? Had the enemy again advanced and assailedthe small force of cavalry there?

Going on now at full speed, I heard the cannon steadily approachingCulpeper Court-House. All at once, as I drew near the village, I hearda tremendous clatter in the streets; a column of cavalry was advancingto the front--soon the crack of carbines was heard beyond the town. 

A short ride brought me to the field, and all was explained. ColonelRosser had been attacked by a whole corps of Federal infantry, and twodivisions of cavalry--while his own force was about two hundred men, and a single gun. 

He had offered an obstinate resistance, however, fallen back slowly, and when about to be driven into the town, Young had come to his aid. 

Then followed one of the gayest comedies of the war. Young was theauthor of it. You laugh sometimes still, do you not, old comrade, atthe trick you played our friends on that October evening?

Young threw himself into the fight with the true cavalry élan. Dismounting his whole brigade, he opened a rapid fire on the advancingenemy; and this obstinate resistance evidently produced a marked effectupon their imaginations. They had been advancing--they now paused. Theyhad been full of audacity, and now seemed fearful of some trap. It wasevident that they suspected the presence of a heavy force ofinfantry--and night having descended, they halted. 

This was the signal for the fifth act of the comedy. Young kindledcamp-fires along two miles of front; brought up his brass band andplayed "The Bonnie Blue Flag, " and "Dixie. " It was obvious to the enemythat at least a corps of Lee's infantry was there in their front, readyto renew the action at dawn!

The finale was comic--I shared the blankets of the gallant Georgianthat night--when we rose the enemy's whole force had disappeared. 

Such had been the result of the ruse, and I always regarded the affairas one of the gayest incidents of the war. 

When I left the brave Young, he was laughing in triumph. 

If your eye meets this page, old comrade, it may give you another laugh--and laughter is something in this dull epoch, is it not?

But whether you laugh or sigh, and wherever you may be, health andhappiness attend you!

In the afternoon, I was at Warrenton. 

VII. 

STUART CAUGHT IN THE TRAP. 

I found the general moving toward Auburn, on a reconnoissance. 

Meade had been delayed much by uncertainty as to his adversary'sdesigns--had scarcely advanced beyond the Rappahannock--and the objectof Stuart was to discover his position and intentions. 

That was the work always assigned to the "Eyes and Ears" of the armyStuart's cavalry; and the stout cavalier, now at the head of hiscolumn, was on for the railroad, along which the enemy must retreat. 

Another comedy was to follow--which came near being a tragedy. 

Stuart steadily advanced, and about sunset had passed Auburn, when, ashe was riding at the head of his column, a messenger rode up hastilyfrom Gordon, holding the rear. 

"Well!" said Stuart. 

"The enemy are in your rear, general!"

"Impossible!"

"General Gordon sent me to say so. "

Stuart turned and galloped back. Gordon came to meet him. 

"The Yankee army are in our rear, general, " said Gordon. "Come, and Iwill show you. "

And riding to an eminence he pointed out across the fields, in thegathering gloom, long lines of infantry and artillery moving towardManassas. 

Stuart gazed at them keenly. As he sat looking toward them, a staffofficer from the front came up rapidly. 

"Well, captain!"

"The enemy are in front, general. "

"Infantry?"

"Yes, with artillery. "

Stuart looked at Gordon. 

"A real trap, " he said coolly, knitting his brows. 

"Have they seen you, Gordon?" he asked. 

"I think not, general. "

"Well, so far all is well. There is nothing to do but to lay low, andtake the chances of getting out. "

Stuart's voice was never cooler. He looked quietly at the huge columncutting off his retreat. 

"A splendid chance to attack them!" he all at once exclaimed. 

And tearing a leaf out of his dispatch-book, he wrote a hasty note toGeneral Lee. I afterward knew what it contained. Stuart described hissituation, and proposed that Rodes, then near Warrenton, should attackat dawn--when he would open with his artillery, charge with hishorsemen, and cut his way out. 

"A good man in blue uniform now, Gordon. "

Gordon sent off an aid, and the man soon appeared. From top to toe hewas of irreproachable blue; and he listened keenly to his instructions. 

Five minutes afterward he had dismounted, given his horse to a comrade, and was stealing on foot through the thicket toward the Federal column. A moment afterward he had mingled with their column and disappeared. 

Other messengers, also in Federal uniform, were dispatched: the wholeforce of cavalry was massed, and concealed in the woods: then darknessdescended; and the long night of anxiety began. 

The situation was not agreeable. Stuart was caught in a veritable trap. On both sides--in his rear and his front--were passing heavy corps ofFederal infantry; their numerous artillery; and their long-drawncolumns of cavalry. Discovery was destruction; the only hope was thatthe enemy would not suspect our proximity. If we were once known to belurking there, good-bye to Stuart and his men!

So the long night commenced. The hours passed on, and still we were notdiscovered. It seemed miraculous that some noise did not betrayStuart's hiding-place; but an Unseen Eye seemed to watch over him, andan Unseen Hand to guard him. 

More than once the neigh of a horse rang out on the air of night; andtwo or three times the discordant bray of a mule attached to theartillery startled the silence of the woods. But these sounds wereunheeded. They evidently attracted no attention from the enemy. 

Leaning down in their saddles, the men, half overcome by sleep, butafraid of a rough waking, passed sleepless hours, looking for the dawn. 

Stuart was never cooler. On his horse, at the head of his men, hebetrayed no emotion. You would not have known, except for his subduedtones when speaking to some one, that he and his command were in averitable "tight place. " Cool and resolute, he was equal to any event. Certain capture or destruction of his whole force was imminent. 

Thus the night glided away. We had not been discovered. Over the treeswas seen the yellow streak of dawn. 

I looked round. The men's faces were haggard from want of sleep. Butthey evidently felt perfect confidence in Stuart. 

He hastened to justify it. 

No sooner had light come than he placed his artillery in position. Asit grew and broadened, the enemy were seen just on a hill in front ofus, busily cooking their breakfasts. 

Suddenly a single cannon sent its long thunder, dull and reverberating, through the woods, from the direction of Warrenton. 

Stuart rose erect in his saddle, and looked in the direction of thesound, his eyes glowing. 

Another followed; then another; then a long, continuous bellow ofartillery, making the hills echo. 

There was no longer any doubt about the fate of the messengers. Lee hadreceived the dispatches; Rodes had opened on the Federal columns, attacking as that good soldier knew how to attack. 

Stuart darted to his guns. On his countenance was a grim smile. 

"Attention!" he exclaimed. 

The cannoneers ran to their posts, a cheer rose, the next instant theguns spouted flame; shell after shell in rapid succession screamedthrough the woods--and bursting in the midst of the blue groups, threwthem into the wildest disorder. 

Stuart did not allow the panic to subside. His sharp-shooters opened atthe same instant a determined fire; the great cavalier went at fullspeed to the head of his column:--then rushing like an avalanche, troopers and artillery, charged the column in front, burst through, trampling it as he went, and at a gallop the gray horsemen, with gunsfollowing, broke out; and were again free. 

Stuart was out of the trap. From one of the "tightest places" that acommander was ever in he had extricated his whole command. 

Once in safety, he turned like a wild boar on his enemies. In tenminutes his artillery had taken a new position--its thunders hadopened--its roar told the army, that his feather still floated, hisstar was still in the ascendant. 

Such was that queer affair of Auburn. Few more curious incidentsoccurred in the war. 

A brave officer of the infantry had accompanied us as an amateur. 

"I've got enough of the cavalry, " he said, laughing; "I am going backto the infantry. It is safer!"

VIII. 

GENERAL MEADE'S "EYE-TEETH. "

Stuart came back laughing from his adventure. 

The army hailed his reappearance with joy and cheers. 

They had already split the air with shouts in honor of the cavalry, onthat evening at Warrenton Springs, when Stuart charged through theford. 

"Hurrah for Stuart!" was now the exclamation everywhere. And let me addthat the stout cavalier keenly enjoyed his popularity. He was brave andfond of glory--approbation delighted him. In his ears, praise, sympathy, admiration, sounded sweet. 

General Lee continued to press forward, but the golden moment forintercepting Meade had fled. 

He had not been cut off in Culpeper; he had not been cut off atWarrenton; he was not going to be cut off at Bristoe, near Manassas. Hill had been sent in that direction to intercept the enemy's retreat, but on the afternoon succeeding the adventure of Stuart, an ugly blowwas dealt him on the banks of Deep Run. 

He came up with the enemy's rear guard under their brave GeneralWarren; assailed it in front of an embankment furiously, and suffered aheavy repulse. 

General Cooke was shot down at the head of his men; the brigade wasnearly cut to pieces; and Warren retreated across Deep Run, in grimtriumph, carrying off several pieces of Hill's artillery. 

It was a grievous blow, and affected the brave Hill deeply. General Leewas no less melancholy; it is said that he was both gloomy and restive. It was reported, I know not upon what authority, that when he andGeneral Hill were riding over the field, and Hill essayed to explainthe unfortunate affair, the commander-in-chief shook his head, and saidin grave tones:--

"Say no more, general--have these poor dead soldiers buried. "

From the hill above Bristoe, General Lee, accompanied by Stuart, lookedout in the direction of Manassas. Not a blue coat was to be seen. Meadehad made good his retreat. Everywhere he had eluded the blows of hisgreat adversary--and in parting from him, finally, at Bristoe, had leftblood in his foot-steps--the blood of some of Lee's best soldiers. 

It is said that General Meade made this retreat under protest--and thathe was everywhere looking for a position to fight. A Northerncorrespondent described how, sitting with him by the camp-fire, GeneralMeade had said:--

"It was like pulling out my eye-teeth not to have had a fight!"

Did he say that? Then he was out-generalled. 

But he had succeeded in retreating safely. He was behind the works ofCentreville: Lee had stopped the pursuit. 

There was nothing more, indeed, to be done. Lee must retire, or attackthe enemy behind their earth-works. That was not very promising, and hefell back toward his old camps, on the Rapidan. 

Nothing prevented the cavalry, however, from "feeling" the enemy intheir new position; and Stuart rapidly advanced to Bull Run, acrosswhich Fitz Lee drove the Federal horsemen. 

A raid toward their rear, by Stuart, followed. He moved towardGroveton; deflected to the left, and crossed the Catharpin in a violentstorm; advanced next day toward Frying-Pan; then striking the SecondCorps of Meade, and throwing it into confusion, by producing theimpression that his force was Lee's whole army, he quietly retired bythe way he had come. 

His disappearance revealed all. The enemy perceived that the attack wasonly a "cavalry raid, " and were seized with immense indignation. Apicked division was sent out in pursuit of the daring raiders--and thisforce of horsemen, about three thousand in number, hurried across BullRun to punish Stuart. 

They were commanded by the ardent General Kilpatrick:--what followed isknown as the "Buckland Races. "

IX. 

WHAT THE AUTHOR HAS OMITTED. 

Such is a rapid summary of the cavalry operations succeeding the actionof Bristoe. 

Those readers who cry out for "movement! movement!" are respectfullyrequested to observe that I have passed over much ground, and manyevents in a few paragraphs:--and yet I might have dwelt on more thanone scene which, possibly, might have interested the worthy reader. 

There was the gallant figure of General Fitz Lee, at the head of hishorsemen, advancing to charge what he supposed to be the enemy'sartillery near Bristoe, and singing as he went, in the gayest voice:--

 "Rest in peace! rest in peace! Slumb'ring lady love of mine; Rest in peace! rest in peace! Sleep on!"

There was the charge over the barricade near Yates's Ford, where astrange figure mingled just at dusk with the staff, and when arrestedas he was edging away in the dark, coolly announced that he belonged tothe "First Maine Cavalry. "

There was the march toward Chantilly, amid the drenching storm, whenStuart rode along laughing and shouting his camp songs, with the raindescending in torrents from his heavy brown beard. 

There was the splendid advance on the day succeeding, through the richautumn forest, of all the colors of the rainbow. 

Then the fight at Frying-Pan; arousing the hornets' nest there, and thefeat performed by Colonel Surry, in carrying off through the fire ofthe sharp-shooters, on the pommel of his saddle, a beautiful girl whodeclared that she was "not at all afraid!"

These and many other scenes come back to memory as I sit here atEagle's Nest. But were I to describe all I witnessed during the war, Ishould never cease writing. All these must be passed over--my canvas islimited, and I have so many figures to draw, so many pictures to paint, that every square inch is valuable. 

That is the vice of "memoirs, " reader. The memory is an immensereceptacle--it holds every thing, and often trifles take the prominentplace, instead of great events. You are interested in those trifles, when they are part of your own experience; but perhaps, they bore yourlistener and make him yawn--a terrible catastrophe!

So I pass to some real and _bona fide_ "events. " Sabres are going toclash now, and some figures whom the reader I hope has not forgottenare going to ride for the prize in the famous Buckland Races. 

X. 

I FALL A VICTIM TO TOM'S ILL-LUCK. 

Stuart had fallen back, and had reached the vicinity of Buckland. 

There was a bright light in his blue eyes, a meaning smile on hismustached lip, which in due time I was going to understand. 

Kilpatrick was following him. From the rear guard came the crack ofskirmishers. It seemed hard to understand, but the fact was perfectlyevident, that Stuart was retreating. 

I had fallen out of the column, and was riding with Tom Herbert. Haveyou forgotten that worthy, my dear reader? Has the roar of Gettysburgdriven him quite from your memory? I hope not. I have not mentioned himfor a long time, so many things have diverted me--but we had riddentogether, slept together, fought together, and starved together! Tomhad come to be one of my best friends, in fact, and his charming goodhumor beguiled many a weary march. To hear him laugh was realenjoyment; and when he would suddenly burst forth with, "Oh look at the riggings On Billy Barlo--o--o--ow!"

the sternest faces relaxed, the sourest personages could not but laugh. 

Brave and honest fop! Where are you to-day, _mon garçon_! I wish Icould see you and hear you sing again!

But I am prosing. Riding beside Tom, I was looking down and thinking ofa certain young lady, when an exclamation from my companion made meraise my head. 

"By George! there's the house, old fellow!"

"The house?"

"Of the famous supper. "

"So it is!"

"And my inamorata, Surry! I wonder if she is still there?"

"Inamorata? What is her other name?"

Tom laughed, and began to sing in his gayest voice, "Oh, Katy! Katy! Don't marry any other; You'll break my heart, and kill me dead, And then be hanged for murder!"

"That is answer enough, " I said, laughing. 

"Suppose we go and see if they are still alive, " Tom said, blushing;"ten minutes will take us to the house. "

In fact, I saw across the fields, embowered in foliage, the hospitablemansion in which we had eaten the famous supper, on the route toPennsylvania. 

"It is risky, " I said, hesitating. 

"But pleasing, " retorted Tom, with a laugh. 

And I saw, from his flushed face, that he had set his heart on thevisit. 

That conquered me. I never could refuse Tom Herbert any thing; and wewere soon cantering toward the house. 

Leaving our horses in a little grove, near the mansion, in order thatthey might not attract the attention of any of the enemy's vedettes, wehastened up the steps. 

As we reached the door, it opened, and Miss Katy Dare, the heroine ofTom's dreams, very nearly precipitated herself into our arms. 

"Oh, I am so glad to see you!" she exclaimed, with her auburn ringletsdancing, her eyes sparkling, --and taking care to look at _me_ as sheuttered the words. 

Then a whole bevy of young ladies hastened out to welcome us. 

Where had we been? Why were we going back? Could General Stuart intendto leave them in the Yankee lines again? Oh, no! he could not! He couldnot have the heart to! Was he coming to see them? Oh, the sight of grayuniforms was HEAVENLY!!!

And the young damsels positively overwhelmed me with exclamations andinterrogatories. Eyes danced, lips smiled, cheeks glowed--they hungaround me, and seemed wild with enthusiasm and delight. 

Around _me_, I say--for Tom and Miss Katy had accidentally strolledinto a conservatory near at hand. A glass door gave access to it, andthey had "gone to examine the flowers, " the young ladies said, withrapturous smiles and little nods. 

Meanwhile, "the wants of the soldiers" were by no means forgotten. Busyhands brought in china, silver, and snowy napkins. On the table thewaiter was soon deposited, containing a splendid, miraculous array ofedibles, and these were flanked by decanters containing excellenthome-made wine. 

This consumed half an hour--but at last the repast was ready, and oneof the young ladies hastened toward the conservatory, uttering adiscreet little "ahem!" which made her companions laugh. 

In an instant Tom made his appearance with a decided color in hischeeks; and Miss Katy--well, Miss Katy's face was the color of a peony, or a carnation. 

Shall I reveal to you, gentle reader, what Tom told me long afterward?He had advanced and been repulsed--had attacked and been "scattered. "Pardon the slang of the army, and admire the expeditious operations ofthe gentlemen of the cavalry!

Tom was blushing, but laughing too. He was game, if he _was_unfortunate. He did not even decline the material enjoyment of lunch, and having led in the young Miss Katy, with a charmingly foppish air, took his seat at the table, which promised so much pleasure of anotherdescription. 

The fates frowned on us. Tom was unlucky that day, and I was drawn intothe vortex of bad fortune. 

Suddenly a clatter of hoofs came from the grass plat in front of thehouse; the rattle of sabres from a company of cavalry followed; and theyoung ladies had just time to thrust us into the conservatory, when thedoor opened, and an officer in blue uniform, accompanied by a lady, entered the apartment. 

XI. 

I OVERHEAR A SINGULAR CONVERSATION. 

I recognized the new-comers at a glance. They were Darke, and the graywoman. 

There was no mistaking that powerful figure, of low stature, butherculean proportions; that gloomy and phlegmatic face, half-coveredwith the black beard; and the eye glancing warily, but with a recklessfire in them, from beneath the heavy eye-brows. 

The woman wore an elegant gray riding habit--gray seemed a favoritewith her. Her cheeks were as white as ever, and her lips as red. Herbearing was perfectly composed, and she advanced, with the long ridingskirt thrown over her arm, walking with exquisite grace. 

All this I could easily see. The glass door of the conservatory hadbeen left ajar in the hurry of our retreat, and from behind thelemon-trees and flower-bushes, we could see into the apartment withoutdifficulty. 

There was evidently little danger of our discovery. The new-comers hadplainly entered the house with no design to search it. Darke advancedinto the apartment; made the ladies a bow, which more than everconvinced me that he had been familiar with good society; and requestedfood for the lady. She had tasted none for many hours, and was faint. He would not ask it for himself, inasmuch as he was an enemy. 

He bowed again as he spoke, and was silent. 

The young ladies had listened coldly. As he finished, they pointed tothe waiter, and without speaking, they left the apartment. 

Darke was left alone with the woman in gray. She seemed to haveregarded ceremony as unnecessary. Going to the table, she had alreadyhelped herself, and for some moments devoured, rather than ate, thefood before her. 

Then she rose, and went and took her seat in a rocking-chair near thefire. Darke remained erect, gazing at her, in silence. 

The lady rocked to and fro, pushed back her dark hair with the snowyhand, and looking at her companion, began to laugh. 

"You are not hungry?" she said. 

"No, " was his reply. 

"And to think that a romantic young creature like myself _should_ be!"

"It was natural. I hoped that you would have given up this fancy ofaccompanying me. You can not stand the fatigue. "

"I can stand it easily, " she said. "When we have a cherished object, weariness does not count. "

"A cherished object! What is yours?"

"Sit down, and I will tell you. I am tired. You can rejoin the columnin ten minutes. "

"So be it, " said Darke, gloomily. 

And he sat down near her. 

"You wish to be informed of my object in going with you everywhere, "she said. And her voice which had at first been gay and careless, assumed a mocking accent, making the nerves tingle. "I can explain in avery few words my romantic desire. I wish to see _him_ fall. "

"Humph!" ejaculated Darke, coldly; "you mean--"

"That man--yes. You promised to kill him, when you next met. Did younot promise me that?"

Darke looked at the speaker with grim admiration. 

"You are a singular woman, " he said; "you never forget a wrong. And yetthe wrong, people might say, was committed by _you_--not _him_. "

"Do _you_ say that?" exclaimed the woman with sudden venom in hervoice. 

"I say nothing, madam, " was the gloomy reply. "I only declare that youhate much more strongly than I do. I hate him--and hate him honestly. But I would not take him at disadvantage. You would strike him, wherever you met him--in the dark--in the back--I think you would dancethe war-dance around him, when he was dying!"

And Darke uttered a short jarring laugh. 

"You are right, " said the woman, coolly. "I wish to see that man die--Iexpected you to kill him on that night in Pennsylvania. You promised todo it;--redeem your promise!"

"I will try to do so, madam, " said Darke, coolly. 

"And I wish to be present on the occasion. "

Darke laughed as before. 

"That doubtless has prevented you from having our good friendMohun--well--assassinated!"

The woman was silent for a moment. Then she said:---

"No, I have tried that. "

"Ah!--recently?"

"Yes. "

"By what means--who was your agent?"

"Swartz. "

Darke waited, listening. 

"He has three times waylaid _him_ behind the rebel lines, and fired onhim as he was riding at night through the woods, " added the woman. 

"Bah!" said Darke; "Swartz told you that?"

"He has done so. "

"Hatred blinds you; I do not believe that story. But I design nothingof that description against Colonel Mohun. I will fight him wherever Imeet him in battle--kill him, if I can--but no assassination. "

A mocking smile came to the woman's lips. 

"You seem to dislike the idea of--assassination, " she said. 

Darke uttered a sound resembling the growl of a wild animal, and amoment after, seizing the decanter, he dashed some of its contents intoa glass, and raised it to his lips. 

"Cursed stuff!" he suddenly exclaimed, setting the glass downviolently. "I want drink--real drink--to-day!"

The woman looked at him curiously, and said quietly:--

"What is the matter?"

Her companion's brows were knit until the shaggy masses united over thegloomy eyes. Beneath burned a lurid fire. 

"I have seen _him_ again--General Davenant, " he said, in a low voice;"it is the second time. "

As he uttered these words, Darke seemed the prey of some singularemotion. 

"It was at Gettysburg first, " he continued. "He was leading the charge, on the third day, against Cemetery Heights. I was there by accident. They were repulsed. When he rode back, he was carrying a bleeding boyin his arms through the smoke. I recognized his tall form and grayhair; and heard his voice in the midst of the cannon, as he cheered onhis men. "

The speaker's face had flushed. His breast rose and fell. 

"That was the first time, " he said. "The second was the other day whenhe was riding among the enemy's guns near Bristoe--I made him out withmy glasses. "

Darke bent down, and gazed at the floor in silence. The fire in thedark eyes had deepened. His heavy under lip was caught in the large, sharp teeth. 

All at once a ringing laugh disturbed the silence. There was a mockingintonation in it which was unmistakable. 

"General Davenant!" exclaimed the woman. "Well, who is GeneralDavenant?"

Darke looked at the mocking speaker sidewise. 

"Who is General Davenant?" he said. "Is it necessary that I enlightenyou, madam? He is my bugbear--my death's head! The sight of him poisonsmy life, and something gnaws at me, driving me nearly mad! To see thatman chills me, like the hand of death!"

The woman looked at him and then began to laugh. 

"You do unbend your noble strength, my lord!" she said, "to think sobrainsickly of things!" throwing into the word, "brainsickly, "exaggerated stage-rant. 

"One would say, " she continued, "that the brave Colonel Darke had theblues to-day! Take care how you meet Colonel Mohun in this mood! Theresult might be unfortunate. "

Darke made no reply for some moments. He was gazing with knit browsupon the floor. Then he raised his head. 

"You return to the subject of your friend, " he said, coldly. 

"Yes. The subject is agreeable. "

"Well, I can give you intelligence of him--unless Swartz hasanticipated me. "

"What intelligence?"

"Your friend Mohun is in love--again!"

The woman's face flushed suddenly. 

"With whom?" she said. 

"Ah! there is the curious part of the affair, madam!" returned Darke. 

And in a low tone he added:--

"The name of the young lady is--Georgia Conway. "

The woman half rose from her chair, with flashing eyes, and said:--

"Who told you that?"

Darke smiled. There was something lugubrious in that chilly mirth. 

"An emissary on whom I can rely, brought me the intelligence, " he said, "Colonel Mohun was wounded in the battle of Fleetwood, and entering ahouse where _she_ was nursing the wounded, fainted, and was caught inher arms. From that moment the affair began. She nursed him, and he wassoon healed. I had myself inflicted the wound with a pistolball--but the hurt was trifling. He got well in a few days--and wasready to meet me again at Upperville--but in those few days the younglady and himself became enamored of each other. She is proud, they say, and had always laughed at love--he too is a woman-hater--no doubt fromsome old affair, madam!--but both the young people suddenly changedtheir views. Colonel Mohun became devoted; the young woman forgot hersarcasm. My emissary saw them riding out more than once near CulpeperCourt-House; and since the return of the army, they have been billingand cooing like two doves, quite love sick! That's agreeable, is itnot, madam?"

And Darke uttered a singular laugh. As for the woman she had grown sopale, I thought she would faint. 

"Do you understand, madam?" continued Darke. "Colonel Mohun is in love_again_; and the name of his friend is--Georgia Conway!"

The woman was silent; but I saw that she was gnawing her nails. 

"My budget is not exhausted, madam, " continued Darke. "The young ladyhas a sister; her name is Virginia. She too has a love affair with ayoung officer of the artillery. His name is William Davenant!"

And the speaker clutched the arm of a chair so violently that the woodcracked in his powerful grasp. 

"That is all!" he added. "The Mohuns, Davenants and Conways, are aboutto intermarry, you see! Their blood is going to mingle, their hands toclasp, in spite of the gulf of fire that divides their people! All isforgotten, or they care nothing. They are yonder, billing, and cooing, and kissing! the tender hearts are throbbing--all the world is brightto them--while I am here, and you, tearing our hearts out in despair!"

Darke stopped, uttering a sound between a curse and a groan. The womanhad listened with a bitter smile. As he finished, she rose andapproached him. Her eyes burned in the pale face like coals of fire. 

"There is a better thing than despair!" she said. 

"What?"

"Vengeance!"

And grasping his arm almost violently:--

"That man is yonder!" she said, pointing with the other hand towardWarrenton, "Go and meet him, and kill him, and end all this at once!Remember the banks of the Nottaway!--That sword thrust--that grave!Remember, he hates you with a deadly hatred--has wounded you, laughedat you, --driven you back, when you met him, like a hound under thelash! Remember me!--your oath! Break that oath and I will go and killhim myself!"

As she uttered these words a cannon shot thundered across the woods. 

"Listen!" the woman exclaimed. 

Darke rose suddenly to his feet. 

"You are right!" he said, gloomily. "You keep me to the work. I do nothate him as you do--but he is an enemy, and I will kill him. Why do Iyield to you, and obey you thus? What makes me love you, I wonder!"

Suddenly a second gun roared from beyond Buckland. 

"We will talk of that afterward, " said the woman, with flushed cheeks;"think of one thing only now--that _he_ is yonder. "

"Good!" said Darke, "and I hope that in an hour one of us will be dead, I care not which--come, madam--but you must not expose yourself!"

"What am I!"

"All I have left!" he said. 

And with a gloomy look he rushed from the house, followed by the graywoman. 

XII. 

THE BUCKLAND RACES. 

In a moment the voice of Darke was heard, ordering "to horse!" aclatter of sabres followed; and the company of cavalry sat out at fullgallop toward the firing. 

At their head I saw Darke's burly figure. The woman, escorted by anorderly, rode toward the rear. 

In a few minutes the company of cavalry had entered a belt of woods anddisappeared. 

We had hastened into the apartment--Tom and myself, and looked nowtoward the highway. It was dark with a long column of Federal cavalrywhich seemed to be in great agitation. 

The column, as well as I could make out, numbered at least a division. Neither the head nor the tail of the blue serpent was visible--only themain body, with its drawn sabres glittering like silver scales in thesun. 

I hesitated not many seconds. Something was evidently going on, and ourpresent whereabouts dangerous. 

With a hasty salute to the young ladies who had hurried in, I made asign to Tom, and ran to my horse. 

My companion did not join me for at least five minutes. Impatiencebegan to master me, when he appeared, laughing, and flourishing a knotof red ribbon, which I had observed in Miss Katy's hair. 

With a bound he was in the saddle--I saw him turn and make a gay salutetoward the ladies on the steps, and then we set out at full speedacross the fields to rejoin Stuart. 

He was evidently engaged with the enemy. From the front came quickcarbine shots and shouts. From the woods, on the left flank and in rearof the enemy, was heard the rapid thunder of cannon. 

Suddenly every thing flashed upon me. I remembered Stuart's significantsmile; the absence of Fitz Lee; a trap had evidently been laid, andGeneral Kilpatrick had fallen into it. 

I was not deceived. The gallant Fitz Lee had suggested the ruse. He wasto move toward Auburn, while Stuart retreated upon Warrenton, pursuedby Kilpatrick. Then Fitz Lee was to attack the enemy in flank and rear, from the direction of Auburn--his cannon would be the signal for Stuartto turn. General Kilpatrick, thus assailed in front, flank and rear, _sauve qui pent_ would, probably, be the order of the day with him. 

Every thing turned out exactly as it had been arranged. Stuart retiredsteadily on Warrenton. When the Federal rear approached Buckland, FitzLee came in on their left flank, and then Stuart turned like a tiger, and bore down on the head of their column. 

That gun we had heard was the signal of Fitz Lee's attack. Thosecarbine shots came from Stuart as his men charged. 

We had set out at full speed to rejoin Stuart, as I have said; but hesaved Tom and myself the trouble of riding very far. He came to meetus, at full gallop, with drawn sabre, driving the Federal troopers indisorder before him. 

The affair that succeeded was one of the most animated of the war. 

The enemy were completely dumbfoundered, but a part of Kilpatrick'sforce made a hard fight. Sabres clashed, carbines cracked, Fitz Lee'sartillery roared--the fields and woods around Buckland were full oftumult and conflict. 

In ten minutes we had caught up with Stuart. He was leading his columnin person. At the head of the front regiment rode Mohun, with drawnsabre, and pressing his magnificent gray to headlong speed. In his eyewas the splendid joy of combat; his cheeks glowed; his laughing lipsrevealed the white teeth under the black mustache. It was difficult torecognize in this gay cavalier, the pale, bitter and melancholy cynicof the previous June. 

"Look, Surry!" exclaimed Mohun, "we are driving our friend Kilpatrick!Stuart is down on him like a lion!"

"You are driving a personal friend of yours, besides!" I said. "Yonderhe is--Colonel Darke!"

Mohun's smile disappeared suddenly. He looked at Darke, whose burlyfigure was seen at the head of the charging column; and that glance wastroubled and doubtful. 

"I am sorry to meet him, " he said, in a low tone. 

"Why?"

"He would not strike me yonder, in Pennsylvania, when I was in hispower. "

"But he has sworn to kill you to-day!" I exclaimed. "I have just heardhim swear that! Look out, Mohun! here they are!"

In an instant the two columns had clashed together, like thunder. Whatfollowed was a fierce and confused struggle--sabres clashing, carbinesbanging, men shouting, groaning, and falling from their horses, whichtrampled over the dead and wounded alike. 

I was close beside Mohun as he closed in with Darke. The latter hadplainly resolved on his enemy's destruction; and in an instant the twomen were cutting furiously at each other with their sabres. They werebody to body--their faces flamed--it was rather a wrestle on horseback, than a sword fight. 

Suddenly Mohun delivered a blow which fell upon his opponent's swordhand, nearly cutting through the fingers. Darke's arm instinctivelyfell, and he was at his adversary's mercy. 

Instead of plunging his sword into Darke's breast, however, as he mighthave done, Mohun let its point fall, and said:--

"Take your life! Now I am even with you, sir!"

Darke recoiled, and a furious flash darted from his eyes. Then his lefthand went to his hilt; he drew a pistol; and spurring close up toMohun, placed the weapon on his enemy's breast, and fired. 

The bullet passed through Mohun's breast, but at the same instant Darkeuttered a fierce cry. Mohun had driven his sword's point through theFederal officer's throat--the blood spouted around the blade--a momentafterward the two adversaries had clutched, dragged each other fromtheir rearing horses, and were tearing each other with hands and teethon the ground, wet with their blood. 

One of Mohun's men leaped from horseback and tore them apart. 

"A sword! give me a sword, " exclaimed Mohun, hoarsely. 

And rising to his feet, he clutched at an imaginary weapon, --his lipsfoamed with blood, --and reeling, he fell at full length on the body ofhis adversary, who was bathed in blood, and seemed to be dying. 

What is here described, all took place in a few minutes. In that timethe enemy's column had been broken, and hurled back. Suddenly the wildSouthern cheer rang above the woods. Stuart and Fitz Lee had unitedtheir forces; in one solid column they pressed the flying enemy, banging and thundering on their rear with carbines and cannon. 

Kilpatrick was defeated; his column in hopeless rout. 

"Stuart boasts of having driven me from Culpeper;" he is reported tohave said just before the fight, "and now I am going to drive _him_. "

But Stuart was not driven. On the contrary, he drove Kilpatrick. Someof the enemy's column did not stop, it is said, before they reached thebanks of the Potomac. 

Such was the dramatic termination of the last great cavalry campaign ofStuart. 

The affair came to be known as "The Buckland Races, " and Stuart's oldsabreurs still laugh as they recall the comedy. 

XIII. 

TWO SCENES IN DECEMBER, 1863. 

The campaign of October, 1863, was over. Lee was behind the Rapidan. 

In December General Meade struck a blow, in turn, at his adversary. 

Shall we glance, in passing, at that affair of Mine Run? I saw aspectacle there--and a sad one, too--which I am tempted to describe, though aware it has little to do with my narrative. I have leftColonels Mohun and Darke in a bloody embrace yonder near Buckland. Iought to relate at length how they were not dead, and how they in duetime recovered, but for the moment I think of a fine sight, and aweeping face, which I saw in the woods below Verdiersville. 

Let us ride thither, reader, it will not take long. 

In December, then, General Meade crossed the lower Rapidan, andadvanced to assail General Lee in his works above. 

A fiasco followed. Meade marched toward Verdiersville; found hisadversary behind earth-works, near that place; reconnoitered them, feltthem, moved backward and forward before them--and then, one morning, before General Lee was aware of the fact, quietly disappeared, returning to the north bank of the Rapidan. 

You see I have no battles to describe on this occasion, reader. We hadsome hard fighting in the cavalry, but I shall not dwell upon that. Itis some handsome fire-necklaces, and a talk with an old woman, which Ishall speak of. 

The fire-necklaces were manufactured by General Meade's troops, justbefore their retreat. The men had fallen into line at the word; movedsilently toward the Rapidan, and had not taken the trouble, in leavingthe rebel woods, to extinguish their bivouac fires, amid the thickets, carpeted with leaves. The result was a splendid spectacle. The fireshad gradually burned outward, devouring the carpet of dry leaves. Greatcircles of flame were seen everywhere in the woods, and these dazzlingfire-necklaces grew larger and larger, twined together, becameentangled, twisted about, sparkled, crackled, --of all the sights I eversaw I think this was the most curious!

From time to time the flames crawled along and reached the foot of sometall tree, festooned with dry vines. Then the vine would catch; theflame would dart through the festoons; climb the trunk; stream from thesummit, --and above the blazing rings, twisting in endless convolutions, would roar a mighty tongue of flame, crimson, baleful, and menacing. 

It was a new "torch of war, " invented by General Meade. 

Such was the picturesque spectacle which rose a moment ago to mymemory. 

Now for the sad scene which I witnessed, as I rode back with Stuart. 

Passing a small house, a poor woman came out, and with eyes full oftears, exclaimed, addressing Stuart:--

"Oh, child! stop a minute! Are they coming back? They have took everything I had--they are _not_ coming back!"[1]

[Footnote 1: Her words. ]

Stuart stopped. He was riding at the head of his staff, preceded by hisbattle-flag. Not a trace of amusement was seen on his features, as heheard himself addressed in that phrase, "Oh, child!"

"Have they treated you so badly?" he said, in his grave, kind voice. 

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed the poor woman, weeping bitterly, "they have tookevery hog, cow, and ear of corn I have, and every thing from mydaughter; she is a widow, and lives near us. These are her children, mygrandchildren, come to get out of the way. "[1]

[Footnote 1: Her words. ]

And she pointed to two or three little girls, with frightened faces, and eyes wet with tears. 

Stuart seemed deeply affected. Under that stout heart, which nevershrunk, was a wealth of sweetness and kindness. 

"Well, they are not coming back, my good woman, " he said, in a voice ofdeep feeling. "You need not be afraid--they are gone now. "

The poor woman clasped her hands. 

"Oh! do you believe that, child!"[1] she said; "do you believe they'llnever come back?"

[Footnote 1: Her words. ]

"I hope not, at least, " Stuart replied, in a low tone. 

"She clasped her hands, and for the third time addressing him as'child, ' sobbed:--

"Oh! if they will only never come back!"

That scene affected me deeply. The poor woman's tears brought somethinginto my throat which seemed to choke me. This time the Northernsoldiers had been impartial in their marauding. They had not onlydestroyed the property, and carried off the slaves of the wealthyproprietors, the "bloated aristocrats;" they had taken the bread out ofthe mouths of the widow and the fatherless--leaving them bare andstarving in that bleak December of '63. 

War conducted in that manner is barbarous--is it not, reader? The cryof that widow and her children must have gone up to Heaven. 

Stuart returned to his bivouac in the pine wood near Verdiersville, where he had slept without tents, by his camp-fire, all these freezingnights. Then the army began to move; soon it resumed its formerposition; the cavalry was sent to watch the fords of the Rapidan; andStuart returned to his own head-quarters near Orange Court-House, gaylysinging, as he had left them to advance and meet the enemy. 

XIV. 

STUART'S WINTER QUARTERS. 

COON HOLLOW!--

What gay memories are evoked by that familiar name! How we laughed andsang in that hollow in the hills near Orange, in the cold winter of1863!

Stuart called his head-quarters "Wigwam Independence, " but the officersof his staff gave them the sobriquet of "Coon Hollow;" and I adopt inmy memoirs the old familiar designation. 

Never were soldiers more comfortable than the inhabitants of CoonHollow!--and Stuart's tent was the most comfortable of all. He hadstretched a large canvas beneath some sheltering trees; and filling upthe opening at each end with a picturesque wicker-work of evergreens, ensconced himself there in his sylvan lodge, like some Robin Hood, orranger of the greenwood in old times. The woodland haunt and open airlife seemed, at first, to charm the bold cavalier; nothing seemedwanting to his happiness, lost here in the forest: but soon thefreezing airs "demoralized" even the stout cavalryman, and he exchangedhis canvas for a regular tent of the largest description, with a plankfloor, a camp-couch, and a mighty chimney, wherein sparkled, ere long, a cheerful fire of hickory, driving away the blasts of the cold winternights, which were sent on their way with song. 

Such was Stuart's own domicile. The staff tents were grouped around, with their solid chimneys of rock. The "cavalry head-quarters" wascomplete--a warm nest in the woods. Couriers came and went; sabresrattled; spurs jingled; the horses whinnied from their stables, wovenof pine boughs, near by; and in and out of the general's tent playedhis two boisterous setters, Nip and Tuck, the companions of his idlehours. We all messed together, under a broad canvas, at one table:music resounded; songs were sung; Sweeney, soon, alas! to be dead, wasyet king of the woodland revels; Stuart joined in his songs, to themusic of the banjo; and not seldom did the bright faces of fair ladiesshine on us, bringing back all the warmth of the summer days--the bluesky, the sunshine, and the smiles!

Such was good old "Coon Hollow. " I recall it with delight. The chillairs cut you to the bone when you ventured out on horseback from thesheltered nook; but in Coon Hollow all was warm and bright. In thewoods on the crest above, the winds sighed: but in the hollow below, the banjo rattled; laughter resounded; great fires roared; and, asthough in open defiance of winter and its tempests, Stuart, carolled inhis clear and sonorous voice, his favorite ditty, "The dew is on the blossom. "

So we sang and laughed all those long winter evenings. The windscarried away the sound of jests, and banjo notes. The long hours ofwinter thus flew by like birds lost, one by one, in the night of thepast. Happy days! happy nights! I remember them still. Stuart isdead--more than one of my dear companions have followed him--but theirvoices sound again, their eyes again flash, their friendly smileslinger in memory. 

So the days fled by--and I wonder if our friends across the Rapidan, who were going to crush us, were as gay as the folk about to becrushed? The future looked stormy, but we laughed--and we did right, did we not, friend? That mirth was not unseemly--not unworthy ofapproval. It is evidence at least of "game, " _non fractum esse fortunâet retinere in rebus asperis, dignitatem_--is it not? Good fortune, wealth, and success, are nothing compared to that. For my part, I wouldrather have the equal mind in arduous things, than money in my purse, or victory. The army of Northern Virginia had that in the winter of1863, as they had had it in 1861 and '62, and were going to have it inthe dark year and black winter preceding April, 1865. 

But I linger too long on those days at "Coon Hollow. " The wave of warhad wafted us to that quiet nook; for a time, we laughed and sang; butthe storm was coming. Soon it struck us; and we left the harbor, drivenby the tempest. 

So I dismiss Coon Hollow, lost amid the hills of Orange. The spot isdesolate to-day, and the bleak wood is silent. But for me, Stuart issinging there now as then--and will sing in my memory forever!

XV. 

LEE'S "RAGGED REGIMENTS. "

It required a stout heart to laugh and sing, _con amore_, in the lastdays of that winter, and the first days of spring, 1864. 

Those very figures, "1864, " tell the story, and explain this. Do theynot, reader?

Each year of the war has its peculiar physiognomy. 

1861--that is mirth, adventure, inexperience, bright faces, wreaths offlowers, "boxes" from home, and "honorable mention" in reports, if youonly waved your sword and shouted "Hurrah!" Then you heard the brassbands playing, the drum gayly rolling, the bugles sending their joyousnotes across the fields and through the forests--blooming fields, untouched forests!--and that music made the pulses dance. Gayly-cladvolunteers marched gallantly through the streets; the crowds cheered;the new flags, shaped by fair hands, fluttered;--not a bullet had tornthrough them, not a rent was seen in the new uniforms. As the trainsswept by with the young heroes on board, bevies of lovely girlscheered, waved handkerchiefs, and threw nosegays. Eyes were sparkling, lips smiling, cheeks glowing in '61. The youths had havelocks to wardoff the sun; gaiters to keep out the dust; woollen belts to preventrheumatism; fanciful shirt bosoms, and pretty needle-cases and tobaccopouches of silk and velvet, decked with beads and gay needle-work, bythe dearest fingers in the world!

So they went to the wars--those stout and ruddy youths. Every oneanxious to have his head taken off by a cannon ball, all for the honorand glory of it. They marched along cheering, as the whitehandkerchiefs waved; they proudly kept step to the tap of the drum, ormoved briskly beside the cannon, or cantered by on their glossy andspirited horses. 

The epoch was agitated, but joy coursed in every vein. And when thefirst successes came, those small affairs were greeted with "thundersof applause. "

General Spoons marched to Bethel; took a look at the gray people; fireda gun or two before retreating--and a thousand Southern journalistsshouted "lo, triumphe!--a grand victory!" The brave Del. Kemper fired ashot at the Federal train approaching Vienna, and the journalistscried, "we have driven back the whole Federal army!"

Then some real fighting came, and the applause was again tremendous. When the news of the first Manassas flashed over the wires, theSouthern people stood upon their heads, and went wild. The war wasended--the affair was over--the brass bands, and rolling drums, anddazzling uniforms had speedily done the business. The power of theNorth was broken. She had run upon the breakers. The great hulk waslying stranded, the waves were beating her, and she was about to go topieces. 

Such was 1861--an era of mirth, inexperience, inflated views, brilliantpageants, gay adventures, ruddy cheeks, sparkling eyes and splendidbanners, floating proudly in the sunshine of victory!

1862 came, and with it a new phase of the war. Sweat, dust, and bloodhad replaced the music and wreaths of roses. Faces, were not soruddy--they began to look war-worn. The rounded cheeks had becomegaunt. The bright uniforms were battle-soiled. Smoke had stained them, the bivouac dimmed them, the sun had changed the blue-gray to a sort ofscorched yellow. Waving handkerchiefs still greeted the troops--as theygreeted them to the end of the war. But few flowers were thrownnow--their good angels looked on in silence, and prayed for them. 

They were no longer holiday soldiers, but were hardened in battle. Theyknew the work before them, and advanced to it with the measured trampof veterans. They fought as well as soldiers have ever fought in thisworld. Did they not? Answer, Cold Harbor, Malvern Hill, Cedar Mountain, Manassas, Boonsboro', Sharpsburg, and Fredericksburg! And every battle, nearly, was a victory. In the lowlands and the mountains--in Virginiaand Maryland--they bore aloft the banner of the South in stalwarthands, and carried it forward with unshrinking hearts, to that baptismof blood awaiting it. That was the great year for the South. The hourwas dark--a huge foe fronted us--but wherever that foe was met, heseemed to reel before the mailed hand that buffeted his front. Allfrippery and decoration had long been stripped from the army. Thefingers of war--real war--had torn off the gaudy trappings; and thegrim lips had muttered, "What I want is hard muscle, and the braveheart--not tinsel!" The bands were seldom heard--the musicians weretending the wounded. The drums had ceased their jovial rattle, and werechiefly used in the "long roll, " which said "Get ready, boys! they arecoming!"

So in the midst of smoke and dust, --with yells of triumph, or groans ofagony, in place of the gay cheering--passed that year of battles, 1862. 

The South was no longer romantic and elated on the subject of the war. The soldiers no longer looked out for adventures, or for the gloriouscannonball to carry off their heads, and make their names immortal. Athome, the old men were arming, and the women sending words of cheer totheir husbands and sons, and praying. In the camps, the old soldiershad forgotten the wreaths of roses. Their havelocks were worn out, andthey no longer minded the sun. Gray flannel had replaced the "fancy"shirt bosoms; they carried tobacco in their pockets; and you saw them, seated on some log, busy sewing on buttons, the faces once so round andruddy, now gaunt and stained with powder. 

1863 came, and it was an army of veterans that struck Hooker atChancellorsville. It was no longer a company of gay gallants marchingby, amid music, waving scarfs, and showers of nosegays from fairyhands. It was a stormy wave of gaunt warriors, in ragged clothes andbegrimed faces, who clutched their shining muskets, rushed headlongover the breastworks, and, rolling through the blazing and cracklingwoods, swept the enemy at the point of the bayonet, with the hoarse andmenacing cry, "Remember Jackson!" Gettysburg followed--never wasgrapple more fierce than that, as we have seen; and when the veteransof Lee were hurled back, the soil of the continent seemed to shake. They were repulsed and retreated, but as the lion retreats before thehuntsman, glaring back, and admonishing him not to follow too closely, if he would consult his own safety. At Williamsport the wounded lionhalted and turned--his pursuer did not assail him--and he crossed thePotomac, and descended to the Rapidan, to strike in turn that dangerousblow in October, when Meade was nearly cut off from Washington. 

With that campaign of Bristoe, and the fiasco of Mine Run, the year of1863 ended. 

It left the South bleeding, and what was worse, --discouraged. Affairswere mismanaged. The army had scarcely sufficient meat and bread tolive on. The croakers, clad in black coats, and with snowy shirtbosoms, began to mutter under their breath, "It is useless to strugglelonger!"--and, recoiling in disgust from the hard fare of "war times, "began to hunger for the flesh-pots of Egypt. Manna was tasteless now;the task-master was better than the wilderness and the scant fare. Oh!to sit by the flesh-pots and grow fat, as in the days when they did eatthereof! Why continue the conflict? Why waste valuable lives? Why thinkof still fighting when flour was a hundred dollars a barrel, coffeetwenty dollars a pound, cloth fifty dollars a yard, and good whiskeyand brandy not to be purchased at any price? Could patriotism live amidtrials like that? Could men cling to a cause which made them thevictims of Yankee cavalry? Why have faith any longer in a governmentthat was bankrupt--whose promises to pay originated the scoffingproverb, "as worthless as a Confederate note!" Meat and drink was thereligion of the croakers in those days. Money was their real divinity. Without meat and drink, and with worthless money, the Confederacy, intheir eyes, was not the side to adhere to. It was unfortunate--downwith it! Let it be anathema-maranatha!

The croakers said that--and the brave hearts whom they insulted couldnot silence them. There were stout souls in black coats--but thecroakers distilled their poison, working busily in the darkness. It wasthe croakers who bought up the supplies, and hoarded them in garrets, and retailed them in driblets, thereby causing the enormous priceswhich, according to them, foretold the coming downfall. They evaded theconscript officers; grew fat on their extortions; and one day you wouldmiss them from their accustomed haunts--they had flitted across thePotomac, and were drinking their wine in New York, London, or Paris. 

Meanwhile, three classes of persons remained faithful to thedeath:--the old men, the army, and the women. 

The gray-beards were taking down their old guns and swords, and forminghome-battalions, to fight the enemy to the death when his cavalry cameto lay waste the country. 

The women were weaving homespun, knitting socks, nursing the wounded, and praying. They had never ceased to pray, nor had they lost the heartof hope. The croakers believed in success, and their patron saint wasMammon. The women believed in the justice of the cause, and in God. In1861, they had cheered the soldiers, and waved their handkerchiefs, andrained bouquets. In 1862, they had sent brave words of encouragement, and bade their sons, and brothers, and husbands fight to the end. In1863, they repeated that--sent the laggards back to the ranks--and whenthey were not sewing, or nursing the sick, were praying. O women ofVirginia, and the great South to her farthest limits, there is nothingin all history that surpasses your grand record! You hoped, in the darkdays as in the bright;--when bearded men shrunk, you fronted the stormunmoved! Always you hoped, and endured, and prayed for the land. Hadthe rest done their duty like the women and the army, the red-crossflag would be floating to-day in triumph!

The army--that was unshaken. Gettysburg had not broken its strength, nor affected its stout manhood. Lee's old soldiers believed in himafter Gettysburg, in the winter of '63, as they had believed in himafter Fredericksburg, in the winter of '62. They had confidence stillin their great leader, and in their cause. The wide gaps in their ranksdid not dismay them; want of food did not discourage them; hunger, hardships, nakedness, defeat, --they had borne these in the past, theywere bearing them still, they were ready to bear them in the future. War did not fright them--though the coming conflict was plainly goingto be more bitter than any before. The great array of Grant on thenorth bank of the Rapidan did not depress them--had they not met anddefeated at Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville a force as great, andcould not they do it again?

So they lay in their camps on the Rapidan, in that cold winter of1863--a little army of ragged and hungry men, with gaunt faces, wastedforms, shoeless feet; with nothing to encourage them but the cause, past victories, and Lee's presence. That was much; what was enough, however, was the blood in their veins; the inspiration of the greatrace of fighting men from whom they derived their origin. Does any onelaugh at that? The winner will--but the truth remains. 

That ragged and famished army came of a fighting race. It was starvingand dying, but it was going to fight to the last. 

When the cannon began to roar in May, 1864, these gaunt veterans werein line, with ragged coats, but burnished bayonets. When Lee, the graycavalier, rode along their lines, the woods thundered with a cheerwhich said, "Ready!"

XVI. 

HAMMER AND RAPIER. 

I pass to the great collision of armies in the first days of May. 

Why say any thing of that dark episode called "Dahlgren's raid?" A fullaccount would be too long--a brief sketch too short. And whatever ourNorthern friends may think, it is not agreeable to us to dwell on thatoutrage. Was that _war_? Was it civilized warfare to march in thedarkness upon a city full of women and children--to plan theassassination of the Southern President and his cabinet; thedestruction of the city by the torch; the release of the Federalprisoners at Belle Isle, to be let loose afterward with fire and swordon Richmond?

Alas! all that was planned. The orders were captured, and exist still. Was that war? I repeat. Answer, friends of the North. Or, did you thinkus mere wild beasts?

I omit all that, passing on to the real fighting. 

General Ulysses S. Grant had been appointed commander-in-chief of thearmies of the United States, and had taken command in person of thearmy of the Potomac, confronting Lee on the Rapidan. 

Before the curtain rises, and the cannon begin to roar, let us glanceat the relative numbers, and the programme of the Federal leader. 

Grant's "available force present for duty, May 1, 1864, " was, accordingto the report of the Federal Secretary of War, 141, 166 men. 

Lee's force, "present for duty, " as his army rolls will show, was52, 626 men. That is to say, rather more than one-third of hisadversary's. 

Lee afterward received about 10, 000 re-enforcements from Beauregard'scolumns. Grant received about 50, 000. 

With about 62, 000 men Lee repulsed the attacks of Grant with about200, 000 men, from the Rapidan to Petersburg--inflicting a loss on hisadversary, by the Federal statement of more than 60, 000 men. 

These numbers may be denied, but the proof is on record. 

The programme of General Grant in the approaching campaign was one ofvery great simplicity. He intended to "hammer continuously" as he wroteto President Lincoln, and crush his adversary at whatever expense ofmoney and blood. From 1861 to 1864, war had been war, such as the worldunderstands it. Pitched battles had been fought--defeats sustained--orvictories gained. 

Then the adversaries rested before new pitched battles: more defeats orvictories. General Grant had determined to change all that. It had beentried, and had failed. He possessed a gigantic weapon, the army of theUnited States. In his grasp was a huge sledge-hammer--the army of thePotomac. He was going to clutch that tremendous weapon, whirl it aloftlike a new Vulcan, and strike straight at Lee's crest, and try to endhim. If one blow did not suffice, he was going to try another. If thatfailed, in its turn, he would strike another and another. All the yearwas before him; there were new men to fill the places of those whofell; blood might gush in torrents, but the end was worth the cost. Would it hurl a hundred thousand men into bloody graves? That wasunfortunate, but unavoidable. Would the struggle frighten and horrifythe world? It was possible. But these things were unimportant. Therebellion must be crushed. The sledge-hammer must strike until Lee'skeen rapier was shattered. Hammer and rapier were matched against eachother--the combat was _à l'outrance_--the hammer must beat down therapier, or fall from the grasp of him who wielded it. 

Such was the programme of General Grant. It was not war exactly, in theold acceptation of the term. It was not taught by Jomini, or practisedby Napoleon. You would have said, indeed, at the first glance, that itrejected the idea of generalship _in toto_. Let us give General Granthis just dues, however. He was not a great commander, but he _was_ aman of clear brain. He saw that brute force could alone shatter thearmy of Northern Virginia; that to wear it away by attrition, exhaustits blood drop by drop, was the only thing left--and he had the courageto adopt that programme. 

To come back to events on the Rapidan in the month of May, 1864. 

Lee is ready for the great collision, now seen to be inevitable. Hisright, under Ewell, occupies the works on the southern bank of theRapidan, above Chancellorsville. His centre, under A. P. Hill, lies nearOrange Court-House. His left, under Longstreet, is in reserve nearGordonsville. 

The army of Northern Virginia is thus posted in echelon of corps, extending from Gordonsville, by Orange, toward the fords of theRapidan. 

When the enemy cross on their great advance, Ewell is ready to faceeast; Hill will close in on his right; and Longstreet in the samemanner on Hill's right. Then the army will be in line, ready to strikeat Grant's flank as he moves through the Wilderness. 

For Lee is going to strike at him. The fifty thousand are going toorder the one hundred and forty thousand to halt. 

Stuart's cavalry is watching. It extends from Madison Court-House, along Robertson River, on the left of the army; and on the right, fromEwell's camps, past Chancellorsville, to Fredericksburg. 

Such was the situation on the first of May. The two tigers werewatching each other--and one was about to spring. 

XVII. 

FORT DELAWARE. 

To descend now from the heights of generalization to the plains ofincident and personal observation. 

For this volume is not a history of the war in Virginia, but thememoirs of a staff officer belonging to Stuart's cavalry. 

May, 1864, had come; we were soon to be in the saddle; the thunderinghammer of General Grant was about to commence its performances. 

One night--it was the night of the first of May--I was sitting inGeneral Stuart's tent, looking into his blazing log fire, and musing. In this luxury I was not interrupted. It was nearly midnight, and therest of the staff had retired. Stuart was writing at his desk, by thelight of a candle in a captured "camp candlestick, " and from time totime, without turning his head, ejaculated some brief words upon anysubject which came into his head. 

After writing ten minutes, he now said briefly:--

"Surry. "

"General, " was my as brief response. "

"I think Mohun was a friend of yours?"

"Yes, general, we became intimate on the march to Gettysburg. "

"Well, I have just received his commission--"

"You mean as--"

"Brigadier-general. You know I long ago applied for it. "

"I knew that--pity he has not been exchanged. "

"A great pity, --and you miss a pleasure I promised myself I would giveyou. "

"What pleasure, general?"

"To take Mohun his commission with your own hands. "

"I am truly sorry I can not. You know he was terribly wounded, and wehad to leave him in Warrenton; then the enemy advanced; for a long timewe thought him dead. Thus I am sorry I am debarred the pleasure youoffer. Some day I hope to accept your offer. "

"Accept it now, colonel, " said a benignant voice at the door. I turnedsuddenly, as did the general. At the opening of the tent, a head wasseen--the head passed through--was followed by a body, --and Mr. Nighthawk, private and confidential emissary, glided in with thestealthy step of a wild-cat. 

He was unchanged. His small eyes were as piercing, his smile asbenignant, his costume--black coat, white cravat, and "stove-pipe"hat--as clerical as before. 

"Good evening, gentlemen, " said Mr. Nighthawk, smiling sweetly; "Ibring news of Colonel Mohun. "

"And fly in like an owl, or your namesake!" laughed Stuart. 

"An owl? I am told that is the bird of wisdom, gentlemen!"

"You hit the nail on the head, when you said 'gentlemen!'"[1] repliedStuart, laughing; "but how about Mohun? Is he exchanged, Nighthawk?"

[Footnote 1: A favorite phrase of Stuart's. ]

And Stuart wheeled round and pointed to a chair. 

Nighthawk sat down modestly. 

"Not exchanged, exactly, general; but safe!" he said. 

"He escaped?"

"Exactly, general. "

"And you helped him?"

"I believe so. "

"Good! You really are a trump, Nighthawk--and you seem to have apeculiar fancy for Mohun. "

"He is the best friend I have in the world, general. "

"Well, that accounts for it. But how did he escape?"

"I will tell you in a few words, general. I rather pride myself on themanner in which I conducted the little affair. You remember, ColonelMohun was very badly wounded when you defeated Kilpatrick at Buckland. It was in a fight with Colonel Darke, of the Federal cavalry, who wasalso wounded and left dying, as was erroneously supposed, at a smallhouse on the roadside, when you fell back. Colonel Mohun was left atWarrenton, his wound being so severe that he could not be broughtfarther in his ambulance, and here he staid until he was convalescent. His recovery was miraculous, as a bullet had passed through his breast;but he is a gentleman of vigorous constitution, and he rallied at last, but, unfortunately, to find himself a prisoner. General Meade hadreoccupied the country, and Colonel Mohun was transferred from hospitalto Fort Delaware, as a prisoner of war. 

"I have informed you, general, " continued Mr. Nighthawk, smiling, andturning the rim of his black hat between his fingers, "that ColonelMohun was one of my best friends. For that reason, I went to see him atWarrenton, and had arranged a very good plan for his escape, when, unfortunately, he was all at once sent away, thereby disappointing allmy schemes. I followed, however, saw that he was taken to FortDelaware, and proceeded thither at once. You have probably not visitedthis place, general, or you, colonel. It is a fort, and outside is apen, or stockade as it is called, covering two or three acres. Insideare cabins for the prisoners, in the shape of a semicircle, and groundsto walk in, except in the space marked off by the 'dead line. ' If anyprisoner crosses that he is shot by the sentries, whose beat is on aplatform running round upon the top of the stockade. 

"Well, I went to the place, and found that Colonel Mohun was confinedwith other officers in the pen, where they had the usual Federal rationof watery soup, bad meat, and musty crackers. For a gentleman, likehimself, accustomed before the war to every luxury that unboundedwealth could supply, this was naturally disagreeable, and I determinedto omit no exertion to effect his escape. 

"Unfortunately, the rules of Fort Delaware are very strict, however. Tocross the 'dead line' is death; to attempt to burrow is confinement inirons, and other degrading punishments; and to bribe the sentinelsinvariably resulted in having the whole affair revealed, after they hadreceived the money. It really seemed as if Colonel Mohun were doomed tothe living death of a filthy prison until the end of the war, sinceexchanges had ceased, and it was only by devising a ruse of very greatrisk that I accomplished the end in view. "

"What was your plan, Nighthawk?" said Stuart, rising and moving to thefireplace, where he stood basking in the warmth. "Original, I lay mylife, and--quiet. "

"Exactly that, general. "

And Nighthawk smiled sweetly. 

XVIII. 

THE UNIFORM. 

"I have always observed, general, " said Mr. Nighthawk, raising his eyesin pious meditation, as it were, "that there is no better rule for aman's conduct in life than to make friends with the mammon ofunrighteousness--people in power. "

"A profound maxim, " laughed Stuart; "friends are useful--that was yourprinciple?"

"Yes, general; and I made one of the quartermaster of the post--acertain major Woodby--who was exceedingly fond of the 'root of allevil. ' I made that gentleman's acquaintance, applied for the place ofsutler in _the pen_; and this place I acquired by agreeing to pay aheavy bonus in thirty days. 

"This was Saturday night. On Monday morning I presented myself beforethe gate, and demanded admittance as the newly appointed sutler of thepen. 

"I was admitted, and taken before the officer of the day, in hisquarters. 

"'Who are you?' he asked, gruffly. 

"'The new sutler, lieutenant. '

"'Where are your papers?'

"I had them ready, and presented them to him. He read them carefully, looked at me superciliously, and said:--

"'That is wholly informal. '

"I looked at him. He had a red nose. 

"'I have some excellent French brandy, captain, ' I said, promoting him. 

"At sight of the portly flask which I drew half from my pocket andexhibited to him, I saw his face relax. 

"'You are a keen fellow, and know the world, I perceive, ' he said. 

"And taking the flask, he poured out nearly a glass full of the brandy, and drank it. 

"'Do you intend to keep that article of brandy?' he said. 

"'For my friends, captain, ' I replied, with a wink which he evidentlyunderstood. 

"'Let me see your papers again. '

"I unfolded them, and he glanced at them. 

"'All right--they are in regular form. There is the key of the sutler'sshop, on that nail. Take possession. '

"And my friend the captain emptied a second glass of the brandy, andmade me a sign that I could go. 

"I bowed profoundly; took the key; and went and opened the sutler'sshop; after which I strolled out to look at the prisoners in the area. The sentinel had seen me visit the officer of the day, and go to thesutler's shop. 

"Thus he did not interfere with me when I went into the area, as I wasobviously a good Union man and an employee of the post. 

"Such was the manner in which I secured a private interview withColonel Mohun: we could talk without the presence of a corporal; and wesoon arranged the plan for his escape. 

"I had determined to procure a Federal uniform, to be smuggled in tohim, and an hour afterward, I left him, promising to see him again assoon as I could visit Wilmington, and return with the intendeddisguise. 

"A strange piece of good fortune aided me, or rather accomplished mypurpose at once. I had scarcely returned to the sutler's shop, andspread some blankets to sleep upon, when the officer of the day camein, and I saw at a glance that he was half intoxicated, in consequenceof the large amount of brandy which he had swallowed. In a thick andhusky voice he cursed the 'stuff' vended at the post, extolled 'thearticle' I carried, and demanded another pull at the flask. I looked athim--saw that a little more would make him dead-drunk--and all at onceresolved on my plan. 

"This was, " continued Mr. Nighthawk, with modest simplicity, andsmiling as he spoke, "to make my friend, the officer of the day, dead-drunk, and then borrow his uniform; and I succeeded. In half anhour he was maudlin. In three-quarters of an hour, drunk. Five minutesafterward he fell out of his chair, and began to snore, where he lay. 

"I secured the door tightly, stripped off his uniform, then my ownclothing; put on his, and then replaced my own citizen's dress overall, concealed his cap and boots beneath my overcoat, wrapped theprostrate lieutenant in my blankets for fear he would take cold, andgoing out, locked the door and proceeded to the quarters of theprisoners. Again the sentinel took no notice of me. I found ColonelMohun in his 'bunk. ' Ten minutes afterward he had replaced his grayuniform with that of the Federal lieutenant, and, watching the momentwhen the back of the sentinel was turned, we walked together toward thegate of the pen. 

"That was the moment of real danger. Outside the narrow gate anothersentinel was posted, and the man might be personally acquainted withthe officer of the day, or have noticed his appearance. Luckily, theguard had been relieved about an hour before--the new sentinel had notseen the officer of the day--and when Colonel Mohun put his headthrough the little window beside the gate, ordering 'Open!' the gateflew open, the sentinel presented arms as he passed, and I followedmodestly--the door banging-to behind us. "[1]

[Footnote 1: Fact. ]

XIX. 

THE NOTE. 

"Thus the colonel was out of the pen, " continued Nighthawk, smiling. "The rest was not very dangerous, unless the alarm were given. Theymight miss the locked-up officer--he might have been seen to go intothe sutler's shop--and I admonished Colonel Mohun, in a low tone, toproceed as rapidly as possible in a direction which I pointed out. 

"The path indicated led to a spot on the island where I had concealed asmall boat among some willows--and, once across on the mainland, Ihoped that the danger would be over. 

"In spite of my admonitions, Colonel Mohun took his time. He is a coolone! He even turned and walked toward the fort, which he carefullyexamined--counting the guns, observing the ditches, and the groundaround it. 

"'That place could be taken, Nighthawk!' he said, with a laugh. And hecontinued to stroll around the place, receiving at every momentrespectful salutes from passing soldiers, which he returned with theutmost coolness, and an air of authority which I never have seensurpassed. I declare to you, general, that it made the sweat burst outon my forehead, and it was fully an hour before we reached the boat. Isprung in and seized the oars, for I saw a dozen soldiers approachingus from the direction of the fort. 

"'For heaven's sake, sit down, colonel, ' I exclaimed; 'in five minuteswe will be lost!'

"He did not reply. He was feeling in the pockets of the lieutenant'scoat; and drew out a note-book with a pencil attached. Then, as the mencame toward us, he began to write. I looked over his shoulder--a badhabit I acknowledge, general--and I read these words:---

"'Colonel Mohun, C. S. A. , presents his compliments to the commandingofficer of Fort Delaware, and recommends the 10-inch Columbiad in placeof the 30-lb. Parrotts on the bastion near the southern angle of thework. 

"'As Colonel M. Is _en route_ for Richmond _via_ Wilmington, and thetrain will soon pass, he is compelled to refrain from other suggestionswhich occur to him. 

"'The commandant of the post will pardon the want of ceremony of hisdeparture. This distressing separation is dictated by necessity. '"

Nighthawk smiled as he repeated the words of _Mohun's note_. 

"Did you ever hear of a cooler hand, general? But I must end my longstory. The colonel wrote this note while the soldiers were comingtoward us. When they had come within ten steps, he beckoned to one ofthem--the man came up, saluting--and the colonel said, 'Take this noteto the commandant--go at once. '

"My heart had jumped to my throat, general! The next moment I drew agood long breath of real relief. The Federal soldier touched his cap, took the note, and went back toward the fort. Without further delay, Ipushed out and rowed across to the mainland, where we soon arrived. 

"Then we left the boat, struck into the fields, and pushed for thenearest station on the railroad. On the way, I could not refrain fromupbraiding the colonel with his imprudence. He only laughed, however, and we went on without stopping. An hour afterward we reached thestation, and the northern train soon came. We got in, the cars started, and we were _en route_ for Baltimore. Suddenly the dull sound of acannon-shot came from the direction of Fort Delaware. A momentafterward came another, and then a third. 

"'A prisoner has escaped from Fort Delaware, ' said one of thepassengers near us, raising his eyes from a newspaper. Colonel Mohunlaughed, and said carelessly, without sinking his voice in the least, 'Ten to one they have found your friend, the lieutenant, Nighthawk!'Such a man, general! It was enough to make your blood run cold! Ithought _I_ was cool, but I assure you, I never imagined a man couldequal _that_. 

"We reached Baltimore, made the connection with the train going west toWheeling, and disembarked at Martinsburg. There the colonel procured ahorse--rode to a friend's on the Opequon--changed his blue dress for acitizen's suit, and proceeded to Staunton, thence to Richmond, andyesterday rejoined his regiment, near Chancellorsville. "

XX. 

GENERAL GRANT'S PRIVATE ORDER. 

Stuart kicked a log, which had fallen on the hearth, back into thefire, and said:--

"Well, Nighthawk, your narrative only proves one thing. "

"What, general?"

"That the writer who hereafter relates the true stories of this war, will be set down as a Baron Munchausen. "

"No doubt of that, general. "

"This escape of Colonel Mohun, for instance, will be discredited. "

"No matter, it took place; but I have not told you what brought meover, general. "

"Over?"

"Yes, across the Rapidan. I did not go from Martinsburg to Richmondwith Colonel Mohun. I thought I would come down and see what was goingon in Culpeper. Accordingly I crossed the Blue Ridge at Ashby's Gap, reached Culpeper--and last night crossed the Rapidan oppositeChancellorsville, where I saw Colonel Mohun, before whom I was carriedas a spy. "

"You bring news, then?" said Stuart, with sudden earnestness andattention. 

"Important news, general. The Federal army is about to move. "

"To cross?"

"Yes. "

"Where--when!--what force!"

"One hundred and forty thousand of all arms. I answer the last questionfirst. "

"And--"

"The army will advance in two columns. The right--of Sedgwick's andWarren's corps--will cross at Germanna Ford. The left, consisting ofHancock's corps, at Ely's ford below. They have pontoon and bridgetrains--and the movement will commence at midnight on the third--twodays from now. "

Stuart knit his brows, and buried his hand in his beard. Suddenly hecalled out to the orderly:--

"Have two horses saddled in five minutes!" And seizing his hat, hesaid:--

"Get ready to ride to General Lee's head-quarters with me, Nighthawk!"

The clerical looking emissary put on his respectable black hat. 

"You are certain of this intelligence?" Stuart said, turning with apiercing glance to him. 

"Quite certain, general, " said Mr. Nighthawk, serenely. 

"You were in the camps?"

"In all, I believe, and at army head-quarters. "

"You overheard your intelligence?"

"No, I captured it, general. "

"How?"

"A courier was sent in haste--I saw the commander-in-chief speaking tohim. I followed--came up with him in a hollow of the woods--and wascompelled to blow his brains out, as he would not surrender. I thensearched his body, and found what I wanted. There it is general. "

And Nighthawk drew forth a paper. 

"What is it?" exclaimed Stuart. 

"Grant's confidential order to his corps commanders, general, directingthe movements of his army. "

Stuart seized it, read it hastily, and uttered an exclamation ofsatisfaction. Ten minutes afterward he was going at full speed, accompanied by Nighthawk, toward General Lee's head-quarters. 

XXI. 

"VIRGINIA EXPECTS EVERY MAN TO DO HIS DUTY!"

Soon after daylight, on the next morning, Stuart was up, and writingbusily at his desk. 

He was perfectly cool, as always, and his manner when I went inexhibited no sort of flurry. But the couriers going and coming withdispatches indicated clearly that "something was in the wind. "

I was seated by the fireplace when Stuart finished a dispatch and cametoward me. The next moment he threw himself upon a chair, leaned hishead upon my shoulder, and began to caress one of his dogs, who leapedinto his lap. 

"Well, Surry, old fellow, we are going to get into the saddle. Look outfor your head!"

"Excellent advice, " I replied. "I recommend you to follow it. "

"You think I expose myself, do you?"

"In the most reckless manner. "

"For instance--come, an instance!" he laughed. 

I saw Stuart was talking to rest himself. 

"Well, at Mine Run, when you rode up to that fence lined withsharpshooters--and they fired on us at ten paces, nearly. "

"In fact, you might have shot a marble at them--but I am not afraid ofany ball _aimed_ at me. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

"Then you believe in _chance_, general?"

"There is no chance, Surry, " he said, gravely. "God rules over allthings, and not a sparrow, we are told, can fall without hispermission. How can I, or you, then?"

"You are right, general, and I have always been convinced of yourreligious faith. "

"I believe in God and our Saviour, with all my heart, " said Stuart, solemnly. "I may not show it, but I feel deeply. "

"On the contrary, you show it--to me at least--even in trifles, " Isaid, moved by his earnestness. "Do you remember the other day, when anofficer uttered a sneer at the expense of a friend of his who hadturned _preacher_? You replied that the calling of a minister was thenoblest in which any human being could engage[1]--and I regretted atthat moment, that the people who laugh at you, and charge you withvicious things, could not hear you. "

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

Stuart shook his head, smiling with a sadness on his lips which I hadnever seen before. 

"They would not believe me, my dear Surry; not one would give me creditfor a good sentiment or a pure principle! Am I not a drunkard, becausemy face is burned red by the sun and the wind? And yet I never touchedspirit in all my life! I do not know the taste of it![1] Am I not givento women? And yet, God knows I am innocent, --that I recoil in disgustfrom the very thought! Am I not frivolous, trifling, --laughing at allthings, reverencing nothing? And yet my laughter is only from highhealth and animal spirits. I am young and robust; it is natural to meto laugh, as it is to be pleased with bright faces and happy voices, with colors, and music, and approbation. I am not as religious as Iought to be, and wish, with all my heart, I had the deep and devoutpiety of that good man and great military genius, [2] Stonewall Jackson. I can lay no claim to it, you see, Surry; I am only a rough soldier, atmy hard work. I am terribly busy, and my command takes every energy Ipossess; but I find time to read my Bible and to pray. I pray forpardon and forgiveness, and try to do my duty, and leave the rest toGod. If God calls me--and He may call me very soon--I hope I will beready, and be able to say, 'Thy will be done. ' I expect to be killed inthis war;[3]--Heaven knows, I would have my right hand chopped off atthe wrist to stop it![4]--but I do not shrink from the ordeal beforeme, and I am ready to lay down my life for my country. "[5]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

[Footnote 2: His words. ]

[Footnote 3: His words. ]

[Footnote 4: His words. ]

[Footnote 5: His words. ]

Stuart paused, and leaned his arm upon the rude shelf above thefireplace, passing his hand over his forehead, as was habitual withhim. 

"A hard campaign is coming, Surry, " he said, at length, morecheerfully; "I intend to do my duty in it, and deserve the good opinionof the world, if I do not secure it. I have perilled my life manytimes, and shall not shrink from it in future. I am a Virginian, and Iintend to live or die for Old Virginia! The tug is coming; the enemyare about to come over and 'try again!' But we will meet them, andfight them like men, Surry! Our army is small, but with strong handsand brave hearts much can be done. We must be up and doing, and do ourduty to the handle. [1] For myself, I am going to fight whatever isbefore me, --to win victory, with God's blessing, or die trying! Oncemore, Surry, remember that we are fighting for our old mother, and thatVirginia expects every man to do his duty!"

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

His face glowed as he spoke; in his dazzling blue eyes burned the fireof an unconquerable resolution, a courage that nothing seemed able tocrush. 

Years have passed since then, a thousand scenes have swept before me;but still I see the stalwart cavalier, with his proud forehead raised, and hear his sonorous voice exclaim:--

"Virginia expects every man to do his duty!"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

XXII. 

WHAT OCCURRED AT WARRENTON. 

This conversation took place at an early hour of the morning. Two hoursafterward, I was in the saddle and riding toward Chancellorsville, withthe double object of inspecting the pickets and taking Mohun hiscommission. 

I have described in my former _Memoirs_ that melancholy country of theWilderness; its unending thickets; its roads, narrow and deserted, which seem to wind on forever; the desolate fields, here and therecovered with stunted bushes; the owls flapping their dusky wings; thewhip-poor-will, crying in the jungle; and the moccasin glidingstealthily amid the ooze, covered with its green scum. 

Strange and sombre country! lugubrious shades where death lurked!Already two great armies had clutched there in May, 1863. Now, in May, '64, the tangled thicket was again to thunder; men were going tograpple here in a mad wrestle even more desperate than the former!

Two roads stretch from Orange Court-House to Chancellorsville--the oldturnpike, and the plank road--running through Verdiersville. 

I took the latter, followed the interminable wooden pathway through thethicket, and toward evening came to the point where the Ely's Ford roadcomes in near Chancellorsville. Here, surrounded by the rottingweapons, bones and skulls of the great battle already fought, I foundMohun ready for the battle that was coming. 

He commanded the regiment on picket opposite Ely's Ford; and waspointed out to me at three hundred yards from an old torn down housewhich still remains there, I fancy. 

Mohun had dismounted, and, leaning against the trunk of a tree, wassmoking a cigar. He was much thinner and paler than when I had lastseen him; but his eye was brilliant and piercing, his carriage erectand proud. In his fine new uniform, replacing that left at FortDelaware, and his brown hat, decorated with a black feather, he was themodel of a cavalier, ready at a moment's warning to meet the enemy. 

We exchanged a close grasp of the hand. Something in this man hadattracted me, and from acquaintances we had become friends, thoughMohun had never given me his confidence. 

I informed him of Nighthawk's visit and narrative, congratulated him onhis escape, and then presented him with his appointment to the grade ofbrigadier-general. 

"Hurrah for Stuart! He is a man to count on!" exclaimed Mohun, "andhere inclosed is the order for me to take command of four regiments!"

"I congratulate you, Mohun. "

"I hope to do good work with them, my dear Surry--and I think they arejust in time. "

With which words Mohun put the paper in his pocket. 

"You know the latest intelligence?" he said. 

"Yes; but do not let us talk of it. Tell me something aboutyourself--but first listen to a little narrative from me. "

And I described the visit which I had made with Tom Herbert to thehouse near Buckland; the scene between Darke and his companion; and, tokeep back nothing, repeated the substance of their conversation. 

Mohun knit his brows; then burst into a laugh. 

"Well!" he said, "so those two amiable characters are still bent onmaking mince-meat of me, are they? Did you ever hear any thing like it?They are perfect tigers, thirsting for blood!"

"Nothing more nor less, " I said; "the whole thing is like a romance. "

"Is it not?"

"A perfect labyrinth. "

"The very word!"

"And I have not a trace of a key. "

Mohun looked at me for some moments in silence. He was evidentlyhesitating; and letting his eyes fall, played with the hilt of hissword. 

Then he suddenly looked up. 

"I have a confidence to make you, Surry, " he said, "and would like tomake it this very day. But I cannot. You have no doubt divined thatColonel Darke is my bitter enemy--that his companion is no less, evenmore, bitter--and some day I will tell you what all that means. My lifehas been a strange one. As was said of Randolph of Roanoke's, 'thefictions of romance cannot surpass it. ' These two persons alluded toit--I understand more than you possibly can--but I do _not_ understandthe allusions made to General Davenant. I am _not_ the suitor of hisdaughter--or of any one. I am not in love--I do not intend to be--to befrank with you, friend, I have little confidence in women--and you nodoubt comprehend that this strange one whom you have thrice met, on theRappahannock, in Pennsylvania, and near Buckland, is the cause. "

"She seems to be a perfect viper. "

"Is she not? You would say so, more than ever, if I told you what tookplace at Warrenton. "

And again Mohun's brows were knit together. Then his bitter expressionchanged to laughter. 

"What took place at Warrenton!" I said, looking at him intently. 

"Exactly, my dear friend--it was a real comedy. Only a poignard playeda prominent part in the affair, and you know poignards belongexclusively to tragedy. "

Mohun uttered these words with his old reckless satire. A sort of grimand biting humor was plain in his accents. 

"A poniard--a tragedy--tell me about it, Mohun, " I said. 

He hesitated a moment. "Well, I will do so, " he said, at length. "Itwill amuse you, my guest, while dinner is getting ready. "

"I am listening. "

"Well, to go back. You remember my fight with Colonel Darke nearBuckland?"

"Certainly; and I was sure that you had killed each other. "

"You were mistaken. He is not dead, and you see I am not. He waswounded in the throat, but my sabre missed the artery, and he was takento a house near at hand, and thence to hospital, where he recovered. Myown wound was a bullet through the chest; and this gave me so muchagony that I could not be carried in my ambulance farther thanWarrenton, where I was left with some friends who took good care of me. Meanwhile, General Meade had again advanced and occupied the place--Iwas discovered, and removed as soon as possible to the Federalhospital, where they could have me under guard. Faith! they are smartpeople--our friends the Yankees! They are convinced that 'every littlehelps, ' and they had no idea of allowing that tremendous Southernpaladin, Colonel Mohun, to escape! So I was sent to hospital. Theremoval caused a return of fever--I was within an inch of thegrave--and this brings me to the circumstance that I wish to relate foryour amusement. 

"For some days after my removal to the Federal hospital, I wasdelirious, but am now convinced that much which I then took for thewanderings of a fevered brain, was real. 

"I used to lie awake a great deal, and one gloomy night I saw, ordreamed I saw, as I then supposed, _that woman_ enter my ward, incompany with the surgeon. She bent over me, glared upon me with thosedark eyes, which you no doubt remember, and then drawing back said tothe surgeon:--

"'Will he live?'

"'Impossible to say, madam, ' was the reply. 'The ball passed throughhis breast, and although these wounds are almost always mortal, men donow and then recover from them. '

"'Will this one?'

"'I cannot tell you, madam, his constitution seems powerful. '

"I saw her turn as he spoke, and fix those glaring eyes on me again. They were enough to burn a hole in you, Surry, and made me feel forsome weapon. But there was none--and the scene here terminated--bothretired. The next night, however, it was renewed. This time the surgeonfelt my pulse, touched my forehead, placed his ear to my breast tolisten to the action of the heart, and rising up said, in reply tomadam's earnest glance of inquiry:--

"'Yes, I am sure he will live. You can give yourself no further anxietyabout your cousin, madam. '

"_Her cousin_! That was not bad, you see. She had gained access, as Iascertained from some words of their conversation, by representingherself as my cousin. I was a member of her family who had 'goneastray' and embraced the cause of the rebellion, but was still dear toher! Womanly heart! clinging affection! not even the sin of theprodigal cousin could sever the tender chord of her love! I hadwandered from the right path--fed on husks with the Confederate swine;but I was wounded--had come back; should the fatted calf remainunbutchered, and the loving welcome be withheld?

"'_You can give yourself no further uneasiness about your cousin, madam_!'

"Such was the assurance of the surgeon, and he turned away to otherpatients, of whom there were, however, very few in the hospital, andnone near me. As he turned his back, madam looked at me. Her face wasreally diabolical, and I thought at the moment that she was anightmare--that I _dreamed her_! Closing my eyes to shut out thevision, I kept them thus shut for some moments. When I reopened themshe was gone. 

"Well, the surgeon's predictions did not seem likely to be verified. Myfever returned. Throughout the succeeding day I turned and tossed on mycouch; as night came, I had some hideous dreams. A storm was ragingwithout, and the rain falling in torrents. The building trembled, thewindows rattled--it was a night of nights for some devil's work; and Iremember laughing in my fever, and muttering, 'Now is the time fordelirium, bad dreams, and ugly shapes, to flock around me!'

"I fell into a doze at last, and had, as I thought, a decidedly baddream--for I felt certain that I was dreaming, and that what Iwitnessed was the sport of my fancy. What I saw, or seemed to see, wasthis: the door opened slowly--a head was thrust in, and remainedmotionless for an instant; then the head moved, a body followed; madam, the lady of the dark eyes, glided stealthily toward my cot. It wasenough to make one shudder, Surry, to have seen the stealthy movementof that phantom. I gazed at it through my half-closed eyelids--saw themidnight eyes burning in the white face half covered by a shawl thrownover the head--and, under that covering, the right hand of the phantomgrasped something which I could not make out. 

"In three quick steps _it_ was beside me. I say _it_, for the figureresembled that of a ghost, or some horrible _thing_. From the eyes twoflames seemed to dart, the lips opened, and I heard, in a low mutter:--

"'Ah! he is going to recover, then!'

"As the words left the phantom's lips, it reached my cot at a bound;something gleamed aloft, and I started back only in time to avoid thesharp point of a poniard, which grazed my head and nearly buried itselfin the pillow on which I lay. 

"Well, I started up and endeavored to seize my assailant; but shesuddenly broke away from me, still clutching her weapon. Her clothingwas torn from her person--she recoiled toward the door--and I leapedfrom my couch to rush after and arrest her. I had not the strength todo so, however. I had scarcely taken three steps when I began tostagger. 

"'Murderess!' I exclaimed, extending my arms to arrest her flight. 

"It was useless. A few feet further I reeled--my head seemed turninground--and again shouting 'Murderess!' I fell at full length on thefloor, at the moment when the woman disappeared. 

"That was curious, was it not? It would have been a tragical dream--itwas more tragical in being no dream at all, but a reality. What hadtaken place was simple, and easy to understand. That woman had comethither, on this stormy night, to murder me; and she had very nearlysucceeded. Had she found me asleep, I should never have waked. Fortunately, I was awake. Some noise frightened her, and shedisappeared. A moment afterward one of the nurses came, and finally thesurgeon. 

"When I told him what had taken place, he laughed. 

"'Well, colonel, go back to bed, ' he said, 'such dreams retard yourrecovery more than every thing else. '

"I obeyed, without taking the trouble to contradict him. My breast wasbleeding again, and I did not get over the excitement for some days. The phantom did not return. I slowly recovered, and was taken in duetime to Fort Delaware--the rest you know. 

"I forgot to tell you one thing. The surgeon almost persuaded me that Ihad been the victim of nightmare. Unfortunately, however, for thetheory of the worthy, I found a deep hole in my pillow, where theponiard had entered. 

"So you see it was madam, and not her ghost, who had done me the honorof a visit, Surry. "

XXIII. 

THE GRAVE OF ACHMED. 

An hour afterward I had dined with Mohun at his head-quarters, in thewoods; mounted our horses; and were making our way toward the Rapidanto inspect the pickets. 

This consumed two hours. We found nothing stirring. As sunsetapproached, we retraced our steps toward Chancellorsville. I hadaccepted Mohun's invitation to spend the night with him. 

As I rode on, the country seemed strangely familiar. All at once Irecognized here a tree, there a stump--we were passing over the roadwhich I had followed first in April, 1861, and again in August, 1862, when I came so unexpectedly upon Fenwick, and heard his singularrevelation. 

We had been speaking of Mordaunt, to whose brigade Mohun's regimentbelonged, and the young officer had grown enthusiastic, extollingMordaunt as 'one of the greatest soldiers of the army, under whom itwas an honor to serve. '

"Well, " I said, "there is a spot near here which he knows well, andwhere a strange scene passed on a night of May, 1863. "

"Ah! you know the country, then?" said Mohun. 

"Perfectly well. "

"What are you looking at?"

"That hill yonder, shut in by a thicket. There is a house there. "

And I spurred on, followed by Mohun. In five minutes we reached thebrush-fence; our horses easily cleared it, and we rode up the hilltoward the desolate-looking mansion. 

I surveyed it intently. It was unchanged, save that the porch seemedrotting away, and the window-shutters about to fall--that on the windowto the right hung by a single hinge. It was the one through which I hadlooked in August, 1862. There was the same door through which I hadburst in upon Fenwick and his companion. 

I dismounted, threw my bridle over a stunted shrub, and approached thehouse. Suddenly I stopped. 

At ten paces from me, in a little group of cedars, a man was kneelingon a grave, covered with tangled grass. At the rattle of my sabre herose, turned round--it was Mordaunt. 

In a moment we had exchanged a pressure of the hand; and then turningto the grave:--

"That is the last resting-place of poor Achmed, " he said; adding, inhis deep, grave voice:--

"You know how he loved me, Surry. "

"And how you loved _him_, Mordaunt. I can understand your presence athis grave, my dear friend. "

Mordaunt sighed, then saluted Mohun, who approached. 

"This spot, " he said, "is well known to Colonel Surry and myself, Mohun. "

Then turning to me, he added:--

"I found a melancholy spectacle awaiting me here. "

"Other than Achmed's grave?"

"Yes; come, and I will show you. "

And he led the way into the house. As I entered the squalid andmiserable mansion, the sight which greeted me made me recoil. 

On a wretched bed lay the corpse of a woman; and at a glance, Irecognized the woman Parkins, who had played so tragic a part in thehistory of Mordaunt. The face was hideously attenuated; the eyes wereopen and staring; the lower jaw had fallen. In the rigid and bony handwas a dry and musty crust of bread. 

"She must have starved to death here, " said Mordaunt, gazing at thecorpse. And, approaching it, he took the crust from the fingers. As hedid so, the teeth seemed grinning at him. 

"Poor creature!" he said; "this crust was probably all that remained toher of the price of her many crimes! I pardon her, and will have herburied!"

As Mordaunt turned away, I saw him look at the floor. 

"There is Achmed's blood, " he said, pointing to a stain on the plank;"and the other is the blood of Fenwick, who was buried near hisvictim. "

"I remember, " I murmured. And letting my chin fall upon my breast, Ireturned in thought to the strange scene which the spot recalled sovividly. 

"There is but one other actor in that drama of whom I know nothing, Mordaunt!"

"You mean--"

"Violet Grafton. "

Mordaunt raised his head quickly. His eyes glowed with a serenesweetness. 

"She is my wife, " he said; "the joy and sunlight of my life! I nolonger read _Les Misérables_, and sneer at my species--I no longerscowl, Surry, and try to rush against the bullet that is to end me. Godhas rescued a lost life in sending me one of his angels; and it was shewho made me promise to come hither and pray on the grave of our dearAchmed!"

Mordaunt turned toward the door as he spoke, and inviting me to ridewith him, left the mansion. As I had agreed to stay with Mohun, I wasobliged to decline. 

Five minutes afterward he had mounted, and with a salute, the tall formdisappeared in the forest. 

We set out in turn, and were soon at Mohun's bivouac. 

XXIV. 

A NIGHT BIRD. 

I shared Mohun's blankets, and was waked by the sun shining in my face. 

My companion had disappeared, but I had scarcely risen when he was seenapproaching at full gallop. 

Throwing himself from his horse, he grasped my hand, his face beaming. 

"All right, Surry!" he exclaimed; "I have seen Mordaunt; my command isall arranged; I have four superb regiments; and they are already in thesaddle. "

"I congratulate you, my dear general! Make good use of them--and Ithink you are going to have the opportunity at once. "

"You are right--the enemy's cavalry are drawn up on the north bank ofthe river. "

"Any firing in front?"

"They are feeling at all the fords. "

"Are you going there?"

"At once. "

"I will go with you. "

And I mounted my horse which stood saddled near by. 

Swallowing some mouthfuls of bread and beef as we rode on, we soonreached Mohun's command. It consisted of four regiments, drawn up incolumn, ready to move--and at sight of the young _sabreur_, the menraised a shout. 

Mohun saluted with drawn sabre, and galloped to the front. 

A moment afterward the bugle sounded, and the column advanced towardthe Rapidan, within a mile of which it halted--Mohun and myself ridingforward to reconnoitre at Germanna Ford, directly in our front. 

The pickets were engaged, firing at each other across the river. On thenorthern bank were seen long columns of Federal cavalry, drawn up asthough about to cross. 

I rode with Mohun to the summit of the lofty hill near the ford, andhere, seated on his horse beneath a tree, we found Mordaunt. It washard to realize that, on the evening before, I had seen this stern andmartial figure, kneeling in prayer upon a grave--had heard the briefdeep voice grow musical when he spoke of his wife. But habit is everything. On the field, Mordaunt was the soldier, and nothing but thesoldier. 

"You see, " he said, "the game is about to open, " pointing to theFederal cavalry. "You remember this spot, and that hill yonder, Ithink. "

"Yes, " I replied, "and your charge there when we captured theirartillery in August, '62. "

As he spoke, a dull firing, which we had heard for some moments fromthe direction of Ely's Ford, grew more rapid. Five minutes afterward, an officer was seen approaching from the side of the firing, at fullspeed. 

When he was within a hundred yards, I recognized Harry Mordaunt. He wasunchanged; his eyes still sparkled, his plume floated, his lips weresmiling. 

He greeted me warmly, and then turned to General Mordaunt, and reportedthe enemy attempting to cross at Ely's. 

"I will go, then; will you ride with me, Surry? Keep a good look outhere, Mohun. "

I accepted Mordaunt's invitation, and in a moment we were galloping, accompanied by Harry, toward Ely's. 

"Glad to see you again, colonel!" exclaimed the young man, in his gayvoice, "you remind me of old times, and a young lady was speaking ofyou lately. "

"A certain Miss Fitzhugh, I will wager!"

"There's no such person, colonel. "

"Ah! you are married!"

"Last spring; but I might as well be single! That's the worst of thisfoolishness, --I wish they would stop it! I don't mind hard tack, orfighting, or sleeping in the rain; what I do mind is never being ableto go home! I wish old Grant would go home and see _his_ wife, and letme go and see _mine_! We could then come back, and blaze away at eachother with some satisfaction!"

Harry was chattering all the way, and I encouraged him to talk; his gayvoice was delightful. We talked of a thousand things, but theyinterested me more than they would interest the reader, and I pass onto matters more important. 

Pushing rapidly toward Ely's, we soon arrived, and found the enemymaking a heavy demonstration there. It lasted throughout the day, and Iremained to witness the result. At sunset, however, the firing stopped, and, declining Mordaunt's invitation to share the blankets of hisbivouac, I set out on my way back to Orange. 

Night came almost before I was aware of it, and found me following theBrock road to get on the Orange plank road. 

Do you know the Brock road, reader? and have you ever ridden over it ona lowering night? If so, you have experienced a peculiar sensation. Itis impossible to imagine any thing more lugubrious than these strangethickets. In their depths the owl hoots, and the whippoorwill cries;the stunted trees, with their gnarled branches, are like fiendsreaching out spectral arms to seize the wayfarer by the hair. Desolation reigns there, and you unconsciously place your hand on yourpistol as you ride along, to be ready for some mysterious and unseenenemy. 

At least, I did so on that night. I had now penetrated some distance, and had come near the lonely house where so many singular events hadoccurred. 

I turned my head and glanced over my shoulder, when, to my surprise, Isaw a light glimmering through the window. What was its origin? Thehouse was certainly uninhabited, even by the dead--for Mordaunt hadinformed me that a detail had, that morning, buried the corpse. 

There was but one means of solving the mystery, and I leaped the fence, riding straight toward the house; soon reaching it, I dismounted andthrew open the door. 

What should greet my eyes, but the respectable figure of Mr. Nighthawk, seated before a cheerful blaze, and calmly smoking his pipe!

XXV. 

THE APPOINTMENT. 

As I entered, Mr. Nighthawk rose politely, without exhibiting the leastmark of astonishment. 

"Good evening, colonel, " he said, smiling, "I am glad to see you. "

"And I, never more surprised to see any one than you, here, Nighthawk!"

"Why so, colonel?"

I could not help laughing at his air of mild inquiry. 

"Did I not leave you at our head-quarters?"

"That was two days ago, colonel. "

"And this is your residence, perhaps?"

"I have no residence, colonel; but am here, temporarily, on a littlematter of business. "

"Ah! a matter of business!"

"I think it might be called so, colonel. "

"Which it would be indiscreet to reveal to me, however. That is a pity, for I am terribly curious, my dear Nighthawk!"

Nighthawk looked at me benignly, with a philanthropic smile. 

"I have not the least objection to informing you, colonel. You are agentleman of discretion, and have another claim on my respect. "

"What is that?"

"You are a friend of Colonel Mohun's. "

"A very warm one. "

"Then you can command me; and I will tell you at once that I amawaiting the advance of General Grant. "

"Ah! Now I begin to understand. "

"I was sure you would at the first word I uttered, colonel. GeneralGrant will cross the Rapidan to-night--by to-morrow evening his wholeforce will probably be over--and I expect to procure some importantinformation before I return to General Stuart. To you I am Mr. Nighthawk, an humble friend of the cause, employed in secretbusiness, --to General Grant I shall be an honest farmer, of Unionopinions, who has suffered from the depredations of his troops, andgoes to head-quarters for redress. You see they have already strippedme of every thing, " continued Mr. Nighthawk, waving his arm andsmiling; "not a cow, a hog, a mule, or a mouthful of food has been leftme. They have destroyed the very furniture of my modest dwelling, and Iam cast, a mere pauper, on the cold charities of the world!"

Mr. Nighthawk had ceased smiling, and looked grave; while it was I whoburst into laughter. His eyes were raised toward heaven, with anexpression of meek resignation; he spread out both hands with theeloquence of Mr. Pecksniff; and presented the appearance of a virtuouscitizen accepting meekly the most trying misfortunes. 

When I had ceased laughing, I said:--

"I congratulate you on your histrionic abilities, Nighthawk. Theydeserve to be crowned with success. But how did you discover thishouse?"

"I was acquainted with its former owner, Mrs. Parkins. She was a sisterof a friend of mine, whom I think you have seen, colonel. "

"What friend?"

"His name is Swartz, colonel. "

"Not the Federal spy?"

"The same, colonel. "

"Whom we saw last in the house between Carlisle and Gettysburg?"

"I saw him the other day, " returned Mr. Nighthawk, smiling sweetly. 

"Is it possible!"

"Near Culpeper Court-House, colonel. And, to let you into a littlesecret, I expect to see him to-night. "

I looked at the speaker with bewilderment. 

"That man will be here!"

"If he keeps his appointment, colonel. "

"You have an appointment?"

"Yes, colonel. "

"In this house?"

"To-night. "

"With what object, in heaven's name!"

Nighthawk hesitated for some moments before replying. 

"The fact is, colonel, " he said, "that I inadvertently mentioned myappointment with Swartz without reflecting how singular it must appearto you, unless I gave you some explanation. But I am quite at my easewith you--you are a friend of Colonel Mohun's--and I will explain, asmuch of my business as propriety will permit. To be brief, I am anxiousto procure a certain document in Swartz's possession. "

"A certain document?" I said, looking intently at the speaker. 

"Exactly, colonel. "

"Which Swartz has?"

"Precisely, colonel. "

"And which he stole from the papers of Colonel Darke on the night ofMohun's combat with Darke, in the house near Carlisle?"

Mr. Nighthawk looked keenly at me, in turn. 

"Ah! you know that!" he said, quickly. 

"I saw him steal it, through the window, while the woman's back wasturned. "

"I am deeply indebted to you, colonel, " said Mr. Nighthawk, gravely, "for informing me of this fact, which, I assure you, is important. Swartz swore to me that he had the paper, and had procured it in thatmanner, but I doubted seriously whether he was not deceiving me. He isa _very_ consummate rascal, knows the value of that document, and myappointment with him to-night is with an eye to its purchase from him. "

"Do you think he will come?"

"I think so. He would sell his soul for gold. "

"And that woman? he seems to be her friend. "

"He would sell _her_ for _silver_!"

After uttering which _bon mot_, Mr. Nighthawk smiled. 

This man puzzled me beyond expression. His stealthy movements werestrange enough--it was singular to meet him in this lonely house--butmore singular still was the business which had brought him. What wasthat paper? Why did Nighthawk wish to secure it? I gave up the inquiryin despair. 

"Well, " I said, "I will not remain longer; I might scare off yourfriend, and to eaves-drop is out of the question, even if you werewilling that I should be present. "

"In fact, colonel, I shall probably discuss some very private matterswith my friend Swartz, so that--"

"You prefer I should go. "

Mr. Nighthawk smiled; he was too polite to say "yes. "

"You are not afraid to meet your friend in this lonely place?" I said, rising. 

"Not at all, colonel. "

"You are armed?"

Mr. Nighthawk opened his coat, and showed me a brace of revolvers. 

"I have these; but they are unnecessary, colonel. "

"Unnecessary?"

"I have an understanding with Swartz, and he with me. "

"What is that?"

"That we shall not employ the carnal weapon; only destroy each other bysuperior generalship. "

"You speak in enigmas, Nighthawk!"

"And yet, my meaning is very simple. If I can have Swartz arrested andhung, or he me, it is all fair. But we have agreed not to fight. "

"So, if you caught him to-night, you could have him hung as a spy?"

"Yes, colonel; but nothing would induce me to betray him. "

"Ah!"

"I have given him my parol, that he shall have safe conduct!"

I laughed, bade Nighthawk good-bye, and left him smiling as I had foundhim. In ten minutes I was again on the Brock road, riding on throughthe darkness, between the impenetrable thickets. 

XXVI. 

STUART SINGS. 

My reflections were by no means gay. The scenes at the lonely house hadnot been cheerful and mirth-inspiring. 

That grinning corpse, with the crust of bread in the bony fingers; thatstain of blood on the floor; the grave of Achmed; lastly, theappointment of the mysterious Nighthawk with the Federal spy; all werefantastic and lugubrious. 

Who was Nighthawk, and what was his connection with Mohun? Who wasMohun, and what had been his previous history? Who was this youth ofunbounded wealth, as Nighthawk had intimated, in whose life personagessupposed to be dead, but still alive, had figured?

"Decidedly, Mohun and Nighthawk are two enigmas!" I muttered, "and Igive the affair up. "

With which words I spurred on, and soon debouched on the Orange plankroad, leading toward Mine Run. 

As I entered it, I heard hoof-strokes on the resounding boards, and acompany of horsemen cantered toward me through the darkness. As theycame, I heard a gay voice singing the lines:--

 "I wake up in the morning, I wake up in the morning, I wake up in the morning, Before the break o' day!"

There was no mistaking that gay sound. It was Stuart, riding at thehead of his staff and couriers. 

In a moment he had come up, and promptly halted me. 

"Ah! that's you, Surry!" he exclaimed with a laugh, "wandering abouthere in the Wilderness! What news?"

I reported the state of things in front, and Stuart exclaimed:--

"All right; we are ready for them! Coon Hollow isevacuated--head-quarters are in the saddle! Hear that whippoorwill! Itis a good omen. Whip 'em well! Whip 'em well!--and we'll do it too!"[1]Stuart laughed, and began to sing--

 "Never mind the weather But get over double trouble! We are bound for the Happy land of Lincoln!"

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

As the martial voice rang through the shadowy thickets, I thought, "Howfortunate it is that the grave people are not here to witness thissingular 'want of dignity' in the great commander of Lee's cavalry!"

Those "grave people" would certainly have rolled their eyes, andgroaned, "Oh! how undignified!" Was not the occasion solemn? Was it notsinful to laugh and sing? No, messieurs! It was right; and much betterthan rolling the eyes, and staying at home and groaning! Stuart wasgoing to fight hard--meanwhile he sang gayly. Heaven had given himanimal spirits, and he laughed in the face of danger. He laughed andsang on this night when he was going to clash against Grant, as he hadlaughed and sung when he had clashed against Hooker--when his proudplume floated in front of Jackson's veterans, and he led them over thebreastworks at Chancellorsville, singing, "Old Joe Hooker, will youcome out of the Wilderness!"

Stuart cantered on: we turned into the Brock road, and I found myselfretracing my steps toward the Rapidan. 

As I passed near the lonely house, I cast a glance toward theglimmering light. Had Nighthawk's friend arrived?

We soon reached Ely's Ford, and I conducted Stuart to Mordaunt'sbivouac, which I had left at dusk. He had just wrapped his cloak aroundhim, and laid down under a tree, ready to mount at a moment's warning. 

"What news, Mordaunt?" said Stuart, grasping his hand. 

"Some fighting this evening, but it ceased about nightfall, general. "

Stuart looked toward the river, and listened attentively. 

"I hear nothing stirring. "

And passing his hand through his beard he muttered half to himself:--

"I wonder if Grant can have made any change in his programme?"

"The order at least was explicit--that brought by Nighthawk, " I said. 

Stuart turned toward me suddenly. 

"I wonder where he could be found? If I knew, I would send him over theriver to-night, to bring me a reliable report of every thing. "

I drew the general aside. 

"I can tell you where to find Nighthawk. "

"Where. "

"Shall I bring him?"

"Like lightning, Surry! I wish to dispatch him at once!"

Without reply I wheeled my horse, and went back rapidly toward thehouse in the Wilderness. I soon reached the spot, rode to the window, and called to Nighthawk, who came out promptly at my call. 

"Your friend has not arrived?" I said. 

"He will not come till midnight, colonel. "

"When, I am afraid, he will not see you, Nighthawk--you are wanted. "

And I explained my errand. Nighthawk sighed--it was easy to see that hewas much disappointed. 

"Well, colonel, " he said, in a resigned tone, "I must give up myprivate business--duty calls. I will be ready in a moment. "

And disappearing, he put out the light--issued forth in rear of thehouse--mounted a horse concealed in the bushes--and rejoined me infront. 

"Swartz will not know what to think, " he said, as we rode rapidlytoward the river; "he knows I am the soul of punctuality, and thisfailure to keep my appointment will much distress him. "

"Distress him, Nighthawk?"

"He will think some harm has happened to me. "

And Mr. Nighthawk smiled so sadly, that I could not refrain fromlaughter. 

We soon reached the spot where Stuart awaited us. At sight of Nighthawkhe uttered an exclamation of satisfaction, and explained in brief wordshis wishes. 

"That will be easy, general, " said Nighthawk. 

"Can you procure a Federal uniform?"

"I always travel with one, general. "

And Mr. Nighthawk unstrapped the bundle behind his saddle, drawingforth a blue coat and trousers, which in five minutes had replaced hisblack clothes. Before us stood one of the "blue birds. " Nighthawk wasan unmistakable "Yankee. "

Stuart gave him a few additional instructions, and having listened withthe air of a man who is engraving the words he hears upon his memory, Nighthawk disappeared in the darkness, toward the private crossing, where he intended to pass the river. 

Half an hour afterward, Stuart was riding toward Germanna Ford. As weapproached, Mohun met us, and reported all quiet. 

Stuart then turned back in the direction of Chancellorsville, whereNighthawk was to report to him, before daylight, if possible. 

XXVII. 

MOHUN RIDES. 

I lingered behind a moment to exchange a few words with Mohun. Something told me that he was intimately connected with the businesswhich had occasioned the appointment between Nighthawk and Swartz--andat the first words which I uttered, I saw that I was not mistaken. 

Mohun raised his head quickly, listened with the closest attention, andwhen I had informed him of every thing, said abruptly:--

"Well, I'll keep Nighthawk's appointment for him!"

"You!" I said. 

"Yes, my dear Surry--this is a matter of more importance than youthink. The business will not take long--the enemy will not be movingbefore daylight--and you said, I think, that the appointment was formidnight?"

"Yes. "

Mohun drew out his watch; scratched a match which he drew from a smallmetal case. 

"Just eleven, " he said; "there is time to arrive before midnight, if weride well--will you show me the way?"

I saw that he was bent on his scheme, and said no more. In a fewmoments we were in the saddle, and riding at full speed toward thehouse where the meeting was to take place. 

Mohun rode like the wild huntsman, and mile after mile disappearedbehind us--flitting away beneath the rapid hoofs of our horses. Duringthe whole ride he scarcely opened his lips. He seemed to be reflectingdeeply, and to scarcely realize my presence. 

At last we turned into the Brock road, and were soon near the lonelyhouse. 

"We have arrived, " I said, leaping the brushwood fence. And we gallopedup the knoll toward the house, which was as dark and silent as thegrave. 

Dismounting and concealing our horses in the bushes, we opened thedoor. Mohun again had recourse to his match-case, and lit the candleleft by Nighthawk on an old pine table, and glanced at his watch. 

"Midnight exactly!" he said; "we have made a good ride of it, Surry. "

"Yes; and now that I have piloted you safely, Mohun, I will discreetlyretire. "

"Why not remain, if you think it will amuse you, my dear friend?"

"But you are going to discuss your private affairs, are you not?"

"They are not private from you, since I have promised to relate mywhole life to you. "

"Then I remain; but do you think our friend will keep his appointment?"

"There he is, " said Mohun, as hoof-strokes were heard without. "He ispunctual. "

XXVIII. 

THE SPY. 

A moment afterward we heard the new-comer dismount. Then his steps wereheard on the small porch. All at once his figure appeared in thedoorway. 

It was Swartz. The fat person, the small eyes, the immense double chin, and the chubby fingers covered with pinchbeck rings, were unmistakable. 

He was clad in citizens' clothes, and covered with dust as from a longride. 

Mohun rose. 

"Come in, my dear Mr. Swartz, " he said coolly; "you see we await you. "

The spy recoiled. It was plain that he was astonished beyond measure atseeing us. He threw a glance behind him in the direction of his horse, and seemed about to fly. 

Mohun quietly drew his revolver, and cocked it. 

"Fear nothing, my dear sir, " he said, "and, above all, do not attemptto escape. "

Swartz hesitated, and cast an uneasy glance upon the weapon. 

"Does the sight of this little instrument annoy you?" said Mohun, laughing. "It shall not be guilty of that impoliteness, Mr. Swartz. "

And he uncocked the weapon, and replaced it in its holster. 

"Now, " he continued, "sit down, and let us talk. "

Swartz obeyed. Before Mohun's penetrating glance, his own sank. He tookhis seat in a broken-backed chair; drew forth a huge red bandannahandkerchief; wiped his forehead; and said quietly:--

"I expected to meet a friend here to-night, gentlemen, instead of--"

"Enemies?" interrupted Mohun. "We are such, it is true, my dear sir, but you are quite safe. Your friend Nighthawk is called away; he iseven ignorant of our presence here. "

"But meeting him would have been different, gentlemen. I had his safeconduct!"

"You shall have it from me. "

"May I ask from whom?" said Swartz. 

"From General Mohun, of the Confederate army. "

Swartz smiled this time; then making a grotesque bow, he replied:--

"I knew you very well, general--that is why I am so much at my ease. Iam pleased to hear that you are promoted. When I last saw you, you wereonly a colonel, but I was certain that you would soon be promoted orkilled. "

There was a queer accent of politeness in the voice of the speaker. Hedid not seem to have uttered these words in order to flatter hislistener, but to express his real sentiment. He was evidently acharacter. 

"Good!" said Mohun, with his habitual accent of satire. "These littlecompliments are charming. But I am in haste to-night--let us come tobusiness, my dear sir. I came hither to ask you some questions, and tothese I expect plain replies. "

Swartz looked at the speaker intently, but without suspicion. Hisglance, on the contrary, had in it something strangely open andunreserved. 

"I will reply to all your questions, general, " he said, "and replytruthfully. I have long expected this interview, and will even say thatI wished it. You look on me as a Yankee spy, and will have but littleconfidence in what I say. Nevertheless, I am going to tell you thewhole truth about every thing. Ask your questions, general, I willanswer them. "

Mohun was leaning one elbow on the broken table. His glance, calm andyet fiery, seemed bent on penetrating to the most secret recess of thespy's heart. 

"Well, " he said, "now that we begin to understand each other, let uscome to the point at once. Where were you on the morning of thethirteenth of December, 1856?"

Swartz replied without hesitation:--

"On the bank of Nottoway River, in Dinwiddie, Virginia, and bound forPetersburg. "

"The object of your journey?"

"To sell dried fruits and winter vegetables. "

"Then you travelled in a cart, or a wagon?"

"In a cart, general. "

"You reached Petersburg without meeting with any incident on the way?"

"I met with two very curious ones, general. I see you know somethingabout the affair, and are anxious to know every thing. I will tell youthe whole truth; but it will be best to let me do it in my own way. "

"Do so, then, " said Mohun, fixing his eyes more intently upon the spy. 

Swartz was silent again for more than a minute, gazing on the floor. Then he raised his head, passed his red handkerchief over his brow, andsaid:--

"To begin at the beginning, general. At the time you speak of, December, 1856, I was a small landholder in Dinwiddie, and made myliving by carting vegetables and garden-truck to Petersburg. Well, onemorning in winter--you remind me that it was the thirteenth ofDecember, --I set out, as usual, in my cart drawn by an old mule, with agood load on board, to go by way of Monk's Neck. I had not gone twomiles, however, when passing through a lonely piece of woods on thebank of the river, I heard a strange cry in the brush. It was the moststartling you can think of, and made my heart stop beating. I jumpeddown from my cart, left it standing in the narrow road, and went to thespot. It was a strange sight I saw. On the bank of the river, I saw awoman lying drenched with water, and half-dead. She was richly dressed, and of very great beauty--but I never saw any human face so pale, orclothes more torn and draggled. "

The spy paused. Mohun shaded his eyes from the light, with his hands, and said coolly:--

"Go on. "

"Well, general--that was enough to astonish anybody--and what is moreastonishing still, I have never to this day discovered the meaning ofthe woman's being there--for it was plain that she was a lady. She washalf-dead with cold, and had cried out in what seemed to be a sort ofdelirium. When I raised her up, and wrung the wet out of her clothes, she looked at me so strangely that I was frightened. I asked her howshe had come there, but she made no reply. Where should I take her? Shemade no reply to that either. She seemed dumb--out of her wits--and, tomake a long story short, I half led and half carried her to the cart inwhich I put her, making a sort of bed for her of some old bags. 

"I set out on my way again, without having the least notion what Ishould do with her--for she seemed a lady--and only with a sort of ideathat her friends might probably pay me for my trouble, some day. 

"Well, I went on for a mile or two farther, when a new adventurehappened to me. That was stranger still--it was like a story-book; andyou will hardly believe me--but as I was going through a piece ofwoods, following a by-road by which I cut off a mile or more, I heardgroans near the road, and once more stopped my cart. Then I listened. Iwas scared, and began to believe in witchcraft. The groans came fromthe woods on my left, and there was no doubt about the sound--so, having listened for some time, I mustered courage to go in thedirection of the sound. Can you think what I found, general?"

"What?" said Mohun, in the same cool voice; "tell me. "

"A man lying in a grave;--a real grave, general--broad and deep--a manwith a hole through his breast, and streaming with blood. "

"Is it possible?"

And Mohun uttered a laugh. 

"Just as I tell you, general--it is the simple, naked truth. When I gotto the place, he was struggling to get out of the grave, and his breastwas bleeding terribly. I never saw a human being look paler. 'Help!' hecried out, in a suffocated voice like, when he saw me--and as he spoke, he made such a strong effort to rise, that his wound gushed with blood, and he fainted. "

"He fainted, did he? And what did you do?" said Mohun. 

"I took him up in my arms, general, as I had taken the woman, carriedhim to my cart, when I bound up his breast in the best way I could, andlaid him by the side of the half-drowned lady. "

"To get a reward from _his_ friends, too, no doubt?"

"Well, general, we must live, you know. And did I not deserve somethingfor being so scared--and for the use of my mule?"

"Certainly you did. Is not the laborer worthy of his hire? But go on, sir--your tale is interesting. "

"Tale, general? It is the truth--on the word of Swartz!"

"I no longer doubt now, if I did before, " said Mohun; "but tell me theend of your adventure. "

"I can do that in a few words, general. I whipped up my old mule, andwent on through the woods, thinking what I had best do with the man andthe woman I had saved, I could take them to Petersburg, and tell mystory to the mayor or some good citizen, who would see that they weretaken care of. But as soon as I said 'mayor' to myself, I thought 'heis the chief of police. ' _Police_!--that is one of the ugliest words inthe language, general! Some people shiver, and their flesh crawls, whenyou cut a cork, or scratch on a window pane--well, it is strange, but Ihave always felt in that way when I heard, or thought of, the word, _police_! And here I was going to have dealings with the said _police_!I was going to say 'I found these people on the Nottoway--one half-drowned, and the other in a newly dug grave!' No, I thank you! We neverknow what our characters will stand, and I was by no means certain thatmine would stand that! Then the reward--I wished to have my lady andgentleman under my eye. So, after thinking over the matter for somemiles, I determined to leave them with a crony of mine near Monk'sNeck, named Alibi, who would take care of them and say nothing. Well, Idid so, and went on to Petersburg, where I sold my truck. When I gotback they were in bed, and on my next visit they were at the point ofdeath. About that time I was taken sick, and was laid up for more thanthree months. When I went to see my birds at Monk's Neck, they hadflown!"

"Without leaving you their adieux?"

"No, they were at least polite. They left me a roll of bank notes--morethan I thought they had about them. "

"You had searched them, of course, when they were lying in your cart, "said Mohun. 

Swartz smiled. 

"I acknowledge it, general--I forgot to mention the fact. I had foundonly a small amount in the gentleman's pocket-book--nothing on thelady--and I never could understand where he or she had concealed abouttheir persons such a considerable amount of money--though I suppose, ina secret pocket. "

Mohun nodded. 

"That is often done--well, that was the last of them?"

Swartz smiled, and glanced at Mohun. 

"What is the use of any concealment, my dear Mr. Swartz?" said thelatter. "You may as well tell the whole story, as you have gone thisfar. "

"You are right, general, and I will finish. The war broke out, and Isold my truck patch, and invested in a better business--that is, running the blockade across the Potomac, and smuggling in goods for theRichmond market. On one of these trips, I met, plump, in the streets ofWashington, no less a person than the lady whom I had rescued. She wasrichly dressed, and far more beautiful, but there was no mistaking her. I spoke to her; she recognized me, took me to her house, and here Ifound _the gentleman_, dressed in a fine new uniform. He was changedtoo--his wound had long healed, he was stout and strong, but I knewhim, too, at a glance. Well, I spent the evening, and when I left thehouse had accepted an offer made me to combine a new business with thatof blockade runner. "

"That of spy, you mean?" said Mohun. 

Swartz smiled. 

"You speak plainly, general. We call ourselves 'secret agents'--buteither word expresses the idea!"

XXIX. 

THE PAPER. 

Mohun raised his head, and looked Swartz full in the face. His glancehad grown, if possible, more penetrating than before, and a grim smileresponded to the unctuous expression of the spy. 

"Well, my dear Mr. Swartz, " he said coolly, "that is a curious history. Others might doubt its accuracy, but I give you my word that I do not!I did well to let you proceed in your own way, instead of questioningyou--but I have not yet done; and this time shall return to the methodof interrogation. "

"At your orders, general, " said Swartz, whose quick glance showed thathe was on his guard, and foresaw what was coming. 

Mohun leaned toward the spy. 

"Let us proceed to 'call names, '" he said. "The man you rescued fromthe grave was Colonel Darke?"

"Exactly, general. "

"Is that his real name, or a false one?"

Swartz hesitated; then replied:--

"A false one. "

"His real name?"

"Mortimer. "

"And the lady is--?"

"His wife, general. "

"Good, " said Mohun, "you are well informed, I see, my dear Mr. Swartz;and it is a pleasure to converse with a gentleman who knows so much, and knows it so accurately. "

"You flatter my pride, general!"

"I do you justice--but to the point. Your story was cut off in themiddle. After the interview in Washington, you continued to see ColonelDarke and his wife?"

"I saw them frequently, general. "

"In the army--and at their home, both?"

"Yes, general. "

"Where did they live?"

"Near Carlisle, Pennsylvania. "

"Where you were on a visit, just before the battle of Gettysburg?"

"Yes, general. "

"Very good!"

And rising quickly, Mohun confronted the spy, who drew backunconsciously. 

"Where is the paper that you stole from the woman that night?" he said. 

Swartz was unable to sustain the fiery glance directed toward him byMohun. 

"Then Nighthawk has told you all!" he exclaimed. 

"Colonel Surry saw you hide the paper. "

Swartz looked suddenly toward me--his smiles had all vanished. 

"The paper! give me the paper!" exclaimed Mohun; "you shall have goldfor it!"

"I have left it in Culpeper, general. "

"Liar!--give me the paper!"

Swartz started to his feet. 

Mohun caught at his throat--the spy recoiled--when suddenly a quickfiring was heard coming rapidly from the direction of Germanna Ford. 

"The enemy have crossed, Mohun!" I cried. 

Mohun started, and turned his head in the direction of the sound. 

"They are advancing!" I said, "but look out!--the spy!--"

Mohun wheeled, drawing his pistol. 

Swartz had profited by the moment, when our attention was attracted bythe firing, to pass through the door, gain his horse at a bound, andthrow himself into the saddle, with an agility that was incredible inone so fat. 

At the same moment Mohun's pistol-shot responded, but the bulletwhistled harmlessly over the spy's head. In an instant he haddisappeared in the woods. 

Mohun rushed to his horse, I followed, and we were soon riding at fullspeed in the direction of the firing. 

As we advanced, however, it receded. We pushed on, and reached the bankof the Rapidan just as Mohun's men had driven a party of the enemyover. 

It was only a small body, who, crossing at a private ford andsurprising the sleepy picket, had raided into the thicket, to retirepromptly when they were assailed. 

The affair was nothing. Unfortunately, however, it had enabled theFederal spy to elude us. 

Swartz had disappeared like a bird of the night; and all pursuit of himin such a wilderness was impossible. 

An hour afterward, I had rejoined Stuart. 

XXX. 

GRANT STRIKES HIS FIRST BLOW. 

Such were the singular scenes which I witnessed, amid the shadows ofthe Spottsylvania Wilderness, in the first days of May, 1864. 

The narrative has brought the reader now to an hour past midnight onthe third of May. 

An hour before--that is to say, at midnight precisely--the Federalforces began to move: at six in the morning, they had massed on thenorth bank of the Rapidan; and as the sun rose above the Wilderness, the blue columns began to cross the river. 

General Grant, at the head of his army of 140, 000 men, had set forth onhis great advance toward Richmond--that advance so often tried, sooften defeated, but which now seemed, from the very nature of things, to be destined to succeed. 

Any other hypothesis seemed absurd. What could 50, 000 do against nearlythrice their number? What could arrest the immense machine rollingforward to crush the Confederacy? A glance at Grant's splendid arraywas enough to make the stoutest heart sink. On this 4th day of May, 1864, he was crossing the Rapidan with what resembled a countless host. Heavy masses of blue infantry, with glittering bayonets--huge parks ofrifled artillery, with their swarming cannoneers--long columns ofhorsemen, armed with sabre and repeating carbines, made the earthshake, and the woods echo with their heavy and continuous tramp, mingled with the roll of wheels. 

In front of them, a little army of gaunt and ragged men, looked on andwaited, without resisting their advance. What did that waiting mean?Did they intend to dispute the passage of that multitude towardRichmond? It seemed incredible, but that was exactly the intention ofLee. 

It is now known that General Grant and his officers felicitatedthemselves greatly on the safe passage of the Rapidan, and wereconvinced that Lee would hasten to retreat toward the South Anna. 

Instead of retreating, Lee advanced and delivered battle. 

The first collision took place on the 5th of May, when the Federal armywas rapidly massing in the Wilderness. 

Ewell had promptly advanced, and about noon was forming line of battleacross the old turnpike, when he was vigorously attacked by Warren, andhis advance driven back. But the real obstacle was behind. Ewell's rearclosed up--he advanced in his turn; assailed Warren with fury; swepthim back into the thicket; seized two pieces of his artillery, withabout 1, 000 prisoners; and for the time completely paralyzed theFederal force in his front. 

Such was the first blow struck. It had failed, and General Grant turnedhis attention to A. P. Hill, who had hastened up, and formed line ofbattle across the Orange plank road, on Ewell's right. 

Hancock directed the assault here, and we have General Lee's testimonyto the fact, that the Federal attempts to drive back Hill were"repeated and desperate. " All failed. Hill stubbornly held his ground. At night the enemy retired, and gave up all further attempts on thatday to make any headway. 

Grant had expected to find a mere rear-guard, while Lee's main body wasretreating upon Richmond. 

He found two full corps in his front; and there was no doubt that athird--that of Longstreet--was approaching. 

Lee was evidently going to fight--his aim was, plainly, to shut upGrant in the Wilderness, and drive him back beyond the Rapidan, ordestroy him. 

XXXI. 

THE REPORT. 

It was twilight and the fighting was over. 

The two tigers had drawn back, and, crouching down, pantedheavily, --resting and gathering new strength for the fiercer conflictof the next day. 

From the thickets rose the stifled hum of the two hosts. Only a fewshots were heard, now and then, from the skirmishers, and theseresembled the last drops of a storm which had spent its fury. 

I had been sent by General Stuart with an order to General Hampton, whocommanded the cavalry on Hill's right. 

Hampton was sitting his horse in a field extending, at this point, between us and the enemy; and, if it were necessary, I would draw hisoutline. It is not necessary, however; every one is familiar with thefigure of this great and faithful soldier, in his old gray coat, plainarms and equipments, on his large and powerful war-horse, --man andhorse ready for battle. In the war I saw many great figures, --Hampton'swas one of the noblest. 

Having delivered my message to General Hampton, who received it withhis air of grave, yet cordial courtesy, I turned to shake hands withCaptain Church--a thorough-bred young officer, as brave as steel, andone of my best friends--when an exclamation from the staff attracted myattention, and looking round, I saw the cause. 

At the opposite extremity of the extensive field, a solitary horsemanwas seen darting out of the woods occupied by the Federal infantry, andthis man was obviously a deserter, making his way into our lines. 

At a sign from General Hampton, Captain Church went to meet him, and asmy horse was fresh, I accompanied my friend in his ride. 

The deserter came on at full speed to meet us, and for a moment, hishorse skimmed the dusky expanse like a black-winged bird. [1] Then, allat once, his speed moderated; he approached at a jog-trot, and throughthe gathering gloom I recognised, above the blue uniform, the sweetlysmiling countenance of Nighthawk!

[Footnote 1: This scene is real. ]

"Good evening, colonel, " said Nighthawk; "I am glad to see you again, and hope you are well. "

"So you have turned deserter, Nighthawk?" I said, laughing heartily. 

"Precisely, colonel. I could not get off before. Will you inform mewhere I can find General Stuart?"

"I will take you to him. "

And riding back with Captain Church and Nighthawk, I soon found myselfagain in presence of General Hampton. 

A word from me explained the real character of the pseudo-deserter. General Hampton asked a number of questions, Nighthawk replied to them, and then the latter begged me to conduct him to General Stuart. I didso without delay, and we soon reached Stuart's bivouac, where he wastalking with his staff by a camp-fire. 

At sight of the blue figure he scarcely turned; then suddenly herecognized Nighthawk, and burst into laughter. 

"Well, my blue night-bird!" he exclaimed, "here you are at last! Whatnews? Is Grant going to cross the river?"

Nighthawk hung his head, and sighed audibly. 

"I could not help it, general. "

"Why didn't you come before?"

"It was impossible, general. "

Stuart shook his head. 

"Strike that word out of your dictionary, my friend. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

"That is good advice, general; but this time they nonplussed me. Theyblocked every road, and I had to join their army. "

"Well, I hope you got the $600 bounty, " said Stuart, laughing. 

"That was another impossibility, general; but I enjoyed the very bestsociety yonder. "

"What society, Nighthawk?"

"That of Grant, Meade, and Sedgwick. "

"Ah! my old friend, General Sedgwick! But where are Grant'sheadquarters, Nighthawk? Tell me every thing!"

"At Old Wilderness Tavern, general. "

"And you saw him there?"

"In the midst of his generals, --I was temporarily one of his couriers. "

"I understand. Well, their intended movements?"

Nighthawk shook his head. 

"I could have foretold you those of to-day, general. "

"How?"

"I heard General Meade dictating his order, through the window of hishead-quarters, and can repeat it _verbatim_, if you desire. "

"By all means, Nighthawk, --it will reveal his programme. But is itpossible that you can do so?"

"I can, general; I engraved every word on my memory. "

And, fixing his eyes intently upon vacancy, Nighthawk commenced in alow, monotonous voice:--

"The following movements are ordered for the 5th May, 1864. GeneralSheridan, commanding cavalry corps, will move with Gregg's andTorbert's divisions against the enemy's cavalry, in the direction ofHamilton's Crossing. General Wilson, with the Third cavalry division, will move at 5 A. M. , to Craig's meeting-house, on the Catharpin road. He will keep out parties on the Orange Court-House pike, and plankroad, the Catharpin road, Pamunkey road, and in the direction ofTroyman's store and Andrew's store, or Good Hope church. 2. Major-General Hancock, commanding Second Corps, will move at 5 A. M. , to ShadyGrove church, and extend his right toward the Fifth Corps at Parker'sstore. 3. Major-General Warren, commanding Fifth Corps, will move at 5A. M. , to Parker's store, on the Orange Court-House plank road, andextend his right toward the Sixth Corps at Old Wilderness Tavern. 4. Major-General Sedgwick, commanding Sixth Corps, will move to the OldWilderness Tavern, on the Orange Court-House pike, as soon as the roadis clear. "

The monotonous voice stopped. I had listened with astonishment, andfound it difficult to credit this remarkable feat of memory, though ittook place before my eyes, or rather, in my ears. 

"It is really wonderful, " said Stuart, gravely. 

"You see, " said Nighthawk, returning to his original voice, so tospeak, "you see, general, this would have been of some importanceyesterday. "

"It is very important now, " said Stuart; "it indicates Grant'sprogramme--his wish to get out of the Wilderness. He is at OldWilderness Tavern?"

"He was this morning, general, with Meade and Sedgwick. "

"You were there?"

"I was, general. "

"What did you gather, Nighthawk?"

"Little or nothing, general. True, I heard one or two amusing things asI loitered among the couriers near. "

"What?"

"General Grant came out talking with Meade, Sedgwick, and Warren. General Meade said, '_They have left a division to fool us here, whilethey concentrate, and prepare a position toward the NorthAnna, --and what I want is to prevent these fellows from getting back toMine Run. _'"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

Stuart laughed. 

"Well, 'these fellows' don't appear to be going back. What did Grantsay?"

"He smoked, general. "

"And did not open his lips?"

"Only once, when General Meade said something about 'manoeuvring. '"

"What did he say?"

"I can give you his words. He took his cigar from his lips--puffed outthe smoke--and replied, '_Oh! I never manoeuvre_!'"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

"So much the better, " said Stuart: "the general that does not manoeuvresacrifices his men: and I predict that General Grant will soon alterhis programme. "

Stuart had ordered his horse to be saddled, and now mounted to go toGeneral Lee's head-quarters. 

"By the bye, " he said, "did you hear Warren or Sedgwick say any thing, Nighthawk?"

Nighthawk smiled. 

"I heard Sedgwick utter a few words, general. "

"What?"

"He said to Warren, '_I hear Hood is to take Stuart's place. I am gladof it, for Stuart is the best cavalry officer ever foaled in NorthAmerica_!'"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

XXXII. 

THE UNSEEN DEATH. 

The morning of the 6th of May was ushered in with thunder. 

The battle of the preceding day had been a sort of "feeler"--now thereal struggle came. 

By a curious coincidence, Grant and Lee both began the attack and atthe same hour. At five o'clock in the morning the blue and gray ranksrushed together, and opened fire on each other. Or rather, they firedwhen they heard each others' steps and shouts. You saw little in thatjungle. 

I have already spoken more than once of this sombre country--a land ofundergrowth, thicket, ooze; where sight failed, and attacks had to bemade by the needle, the officers advancing in front of the line withdrawn--compasses!

The assaults here were worse than night fighting; the combats strangebeyond example. Regiments, brigades, and divisions stumbled on eachother before they knew it; and each opened fire, guided alone by thecrackling of steps in the bushes. There was something weird andlugubrious in such a struggle. It was not a conflict of men, matchedagainst each other in civilized warfare. Two wild animals wereprowling, and hunting each other in the jungle. When they heard eachothers' steps, they sprang and grappled. One fell, the other fell uponhim. Then the conqueror rose up and went in pursuit of other game--thedead was lost from all eyes. 

In this mournful and desolate country of the Spottsylvania Wilderness, did the bloody campaign of 1864 begin. Here, where the very landscapeseemed dolorous; here, in blind wrestle, as at midnight, did 200, 000men, in blue and gray, clutch each other--bloodiest and weirdest ofencounters. 

War had had nothing like it. Destruction of life had become a science, and was done by the compass. 

The Genius of Blood, apparently tired of the old common-place mode ofkilling, had invented the "Unseen Death, " in the depths of the jungle. 

On the morning of May 6th, Lee and Grant had grappled, and the battlebecame general along the entire line of the two armies. In these rapidmemoirs I need only outline this bitter struggle--the histories willdescribe it. 

Lee was aiming to get around the enemy's left, and huddle him up in thethicket--but in this he failed. 

Just as Longstreet, who had arrived and taken part in the action, wasadvancing to turn the Federal flank on the Brock road, he was woundedby one of his own men; and the movement was arrested in mid career. 

But Lee adhered to his plan. He determined to lead his column inperson, and would have done so, but for the remonstrances of his men. 

"To the rear!" shouted the troops, as he rode in front of them; "to therear!"

And he was obliged to obey. 

He was not needed. 

The gray lines surged forward: the thicket was full of smoke and quickflashes of flame: then the woods took fire, and the scene of carnagehad a new and ghastly feature added to it. Dense clouds of smoke rose, blinding and choking the combatants: the flames crackled, soared aloft, and were blown in the men's faces; and still, in the midst of thisfrightful array of horrors, the carnival of destruction went on withoutceasing. 

At nightfall, General Lee had driven the enemy from their front line ofworks--but nothing was gained. 

What _could_ be gained in that wretched country, where there wasnothing but thicket, thicket!

General Grant saw his danger, and, no doubt, divined the object of hisadversary, --to arrest and cripple him in this tangle-wood, wherenumbers did not count, and artillery could not be used. 

There was but one thing to do--to get out of the jungle. 

So, on the day after this weird encounter, in which he had lost nearly20, 000 men, and Lee about 8, 000, Grant moved toward Spottsylvania. 

The thickets of the Wilderness were again silent, and the blue and grayobjects in the undergrowth did not move. 

The war-dogs had gone to tear each other elsewhere. 

XXXIII. 

BREATHED AND HIS GUN. 

In the din and smoke of that desperate grapple of the infantry, I havelost sight of the incessant cavalry combats which marked each day withblood. 

And now there is no time to return to them. A great and sombre eventdrags the pen. With one scene I shall dismiss those heroic fights--butthat scene will be superb. 

Does the reader remember the brave Breathed, commanding a battalion ofthe Stuart horse artillery? I first spoke of him on the night precedingChancellorsville, when he came to see Stuart, at that time he wasalready famous for his "do-or die" fighting. A Marylander by birth, hehad "come over to help us:" had been the right-hand man of Pelham; thefavorite of Stuart; the admiration of the whole army for a couragewhich the word "reckless" best describes;--and now, in this May, 1864, his familiar name of "Old Jim Breathed, " bestowed by Stuart, who heldhim in high favor, had become the synonym of stubborn nerve and _élan_, unsurpassed by that of Murat. To fight his guns to the muzzles, or goin with the sabre, best suited Breathed. A veritable bull-dog incombat, he shrank at nothing, and led everywhere. I saw brave men inthe war--none braver than Breathed. When he failed in any thing, it wasbecause reckless courage could not accomplish it. 

He was young, of vigorous frame, with dark hair and eyes, and tanned bysun and wind. His voice was low, and deep; his manners simple andunassuming; his ready laugh and off-hand bearing indicated the bornsoldier; eyes mild, friendly, and full of honesty. It was only whenBreathed was fighting his guns, or leading a charge, that theyresembled red-hot coals, and seemed to flame. 

To come to my incident. I wish, reader, to show you Breathed; to letyou see the whole individual in a single exploit. It is good to recordthings not recorded in "history. " They are, after all, the real gloryof the South of which nothing can deprive her. I please myself, too, for Breathed was my friend. I loved and admired him--and only a monthor two before, he had made the whole army admire--and laugh with--himtoo. 

See how memory leads me off! I am going to give ten words, first, tothat incident which made us laugh. 

In the last days of winter, a force of Federal cavalry came to make anattack on Charlottesville--crossing the Rapidan high up toward themountains, and aiming to surprise the place. Unfortunately for him, General Custer, who commanded the expedition, was to find the Stuarthorse artillery in winter quarters near. So sudden and unexpected wasCuster's advance, that the artillery camps were entirely surprised. Atone moment, the men were lying down in their tents, dozing, smoking, laughing--the horses turned out to graze, the guns covered, a profoundpeace reigning--at the next, they were running to arms, shouting, andin confusion, with the blue cavalry charging straight on their tents, sabre in hand. 

Breathed had been lounging like the rest, laughing and talking with themen. Peril made him suddenly king, and, sabre in hand, he rushed to theguns, calling to his men to follow. 

With his own hands he wheeled a gun round, drove home a charge, andtrained the piece to bear upon the Federal cavalry, trampling in amongthe tents within fifty yards of him. 

"Man the guns!" he shouted, in his voice of thunder. "Stand to yourguns, boys! You promised me you would never let these guns betaken!"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

A roar of voices answered him. The bull-dogs thrilled at the voice ofthe master. Suddenly the pieces spouted flame; shell and canister torethrough the Federal ranks. Breathed was everywhere, cheering on thecannoneers. Discharge succeeded discharge; the ground shook: then theenemy gave back, wavering and losing heart. 

Breathed seized the moment. Many of the horses had been caught andhastily saddled. Breathed leaped upon one of them, and shouted:--

"Mount!"

The men threw themselves into the saddle--some armed with sabres, others with clubs, others with pieces of fence-rail, caught up from thefires. 

"Charge!" thundered Breathed. 

At the head of his men, he lead a headlong charge upon the Federalcavalry, which broke and fled in the wildest disorder, pursued by theragged cannoneers, Breathed in front, with yells, cheers, and cries ofdefiance. 

They were pursued past Barboursville to the Rapidan, without pause. That night Stuart went after them: their officers held a council ofwar, it is said, to decide whether they should not bury their artillerynear Stannardsville, to prevent is capture. On the day after this, theyhad escaped. 

In passing Barboursville, on their return from Charlottesville, one ofthe Federal troopers stopped to get a drink of water at the house of acitizen. 

"What's the matter?" asked the citizen. 

"Well, we are retreating. "

"Who is after you?"

"Nobody but old Jim Breathed and his men, armed with fence-rails. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

Such was one of a dozen incidents in Breathed's life. Let me come tothat which took place near Spottsylvania Court-House. 

Grant had moved, as we have seen, by his left flank toward that place. General Fitzhugh Lee opposed him on the way, and at every step harassedthe head of the Federal column with his dismounted sharp-shooters andhorse artillery. Near Spottsylvania Court-House, it was the stand madeby Fitz Lee's cavalry that saved the position, changing the aspect ofthe whole campaign. 

Sent by Stuart with a message to the brave "General Fitz, " I reachedhim near Spottsylvania Court-House, at the moment when he had justordered his cavalry to fall back slowly before the advancing enemy, andtake a new position in rear. 

Two guns which had been firing on the enemy were still in battery on ahill; upon these a heavy Federal skirmish line was steadily moving: andbeside the guns, Breathed and Fitzhugh Lee sat their horses, lookingcoolly at the advancing line. 

"Give them a round of canister, Breathed!" exclaimed General Fitz Lee. 

Breathed obeyed, but the skirmish line continued bravely to advance. All at once, there appeared in the woods behind them, a regular line ofbattle advancing, with flags fluttering. 

To remain longer on the hill was to lose the guns. The bullets werewhizzing around us, and there was but one course left--to fall back. 

"Take the guns off, Breathed!" exclaimed the general; "there is no timeto lose! Join the command in the new position, farther down the road!"

Breathed looked decidedly unwilling. 

"A few more rounds, general!"

And turning to the men, he shouted:--

"Give them canister!"

At the word, the guns spouted flame, and the canister tore through theline of skirmishers, and the Federal line of battle behind; but it didnot check them. They came on more rapidly, and the air was full ofballs. 

"Look out for the guns, Breathed! Take them off!" exclaimed thegeneral. 

Breathed turned toward one of the pieces, and ordered:--

"Limber to the rear!"

The order was quickly obeyed. 

"Forward!"

The piece went off at a thundering gallop, pursued by bullets. 

"Only a few more rounds, general!" pleaded Breathed; "I won't lose theguns!"

"All right!"

As he spoke, the enemy rushed upon the single gun. 

Breathed replied by hurling canister in their faces. He sat his horse, unflinching. Never had I seen a more superb soldier. 

The enemy were nearly at the muzzle of the piece. 

"Surrender!" they were heard shouting; "surrender the gun!" Breathed'sresponse was a roar, which hurled back the front rank. 

Then, his form towering amid the smoke, his eyes flashing, his drawnsabre whirled above his head, Breathed shouted, --

"Limber up!"

The cannoneers seized the trail; the horses wheeled at a gallop; thepiece was limbered up; and the men rushed down the hill to mount theirhorses, left there. 

Then around the gun seemed to open a volcano of flame. The Federalinfantry were right on it. A storm of bullets cut the air. The driversleaped from the horses drawing the piece, thinking its captureinevitable, and ran down the hill. 

In an instant they had disappeared. The piece seemed in the hands ofthe enemy--indeed, they were almost touching it--a gun of the Stuarthorse artillery for the first time was to be captured!

That thought seemed to turn Breathed into a giant. As the driversdisappeared, his own horse was shot under him, staggered, sunk, androlled upon his rider. Breathed dragged himself from beneath thebleeding animal, rose to his feet, and rushing to the lead horses ofthe gun, leaped upon one of them, and struck them violently with hissabre to force them on. 

As he did so, the horse upon which he was mounted fell, pierced by abullet through the body. 

Breathed fell upon his feet, and, with the edge of his sabre, cut thetwo leaders out of the traces. He then leaped upon one of the middlehorses--the gun being drawn by six--and started off. 

He had not gone three paces, when the animal which he now rode felldead in turn. Breathed rolled upon the ground, but rising to his feet, severed the dead animal and his companion from the piece, as he haddone the leaders. 

He then leaped upon one of the wheel-horses--these alone being nowleft--struck them furiously with his sabre--started at a thunderinggallop down the hill--and pursued by a hail-storm of bullets, fromwhich, as General Lee says in his report, "he miraculously escapedunharmed, " carried off the gun in safety, and rejoined the cavalry, greeted by a rolling thunder of cheers. 

Such was the manner in which Breathed fought his artillery, and thenarrative is the barest and most simple statement of fact. 

Breathed came out of the war a lieutenant-colonel only. Napoleon wouldhave made him a marshal. 

XXXIV. 

MY LAST RIDE WITH STUART. 

More than one stirring incident marked those days of desperatefighting, when, barricading all the roads, and charging recklessly, Stuart opposed, at every step, Grant's advance toward the Po. 

But I can not describe those incidents. They must be left to others. The pen which has paused to record that exploit of Breathed, is drawnonward as by the hand of Fate toward one of those scenes which standout, lugubrious and bloody, from the pages of history. 

From the moment when Grant crossed the Rapidan, Stuart had met thehorsemen of Sheridan everywhere in bitter conflict; and the days andnights had been strewed all over with battles. 

Now, on the ninth of May, when the two great adversaries faced eachother on the Po, a more arduous service still was demanded of the greatsabreur. Sheridan had been dispatched to sever General Lee'scommunications, and, if possible, capture Richmond. The city was knownto be well nigh stripped of troops, and a determined assault mightresult in its fall. Sheridan accordingly cut loose a heavy column, tookcommand of it in person, and descended like a thunderbolt toward thedevoted city. 

No sooner, however, had he begun to move, than Stuart followed on histrack. He had no difficulty in doing so. A great dust-cloud told thestory. That cloud hung above the long column of Federal cavalry, accompanied it wherever it moved, and indicated clearly to Stuart thecourse which his adversary was pursuing. 

If he could only interpose, with however small a force, betweenSheridan and Richmond, time would be given for preparation to resistthe attack, and the capital might be saved. If he failed to interpose, Sheridan would accomplish his object--Richmond would fall. 

It was a forlorn hope, after all, that he could arrest the Federalcommander. General Sheridan took with him a force estimated at 9, 000. Stuart's was, in all, about 3, 000; Gordon, who was not in the battle atYellow Tavern, included. That action was fought by Fitz Lee's divisionof 2, 400 men all told. But the men and officers were brave beyondwords; the incentive to daring resistance was enormous; they would doall that could be done. 

Such was the situation of affairs on the 9th of May, 1864. 

Stuart set out at full gallop on his iron gray, from SpottsylvaniaCourt-House, about three o'clock in the day, and reached Chilesburg, toward Hanover Junction, just as night fell. 

Here we found General Fitz Lee engaged in a hot skirmish with theenemy's rear-guard; and that night Stuart planned an attack upon theircamp, but abandoned the idea. 

His spirits at this time were excellent, but it was easy to see that herealized the immense importance of checking the enemy. 

An officer said in his presence:--

"We won't be able to stop Sheridan. "

Stuart turned at those words; his cheeks flushed; his eyes flamed, andhe said:--

"No, sir! I'd rather die than let him go on!"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words]

On the next morning, he moved in the direction of Hanover Junction;riding boot to boot with his friend General Fitz Lee. I had never seenhim more joyous. Some events engrave themselves forever on the memory. That ride of May 10th, 1864, was one of them. 

Have human beings a presentiment, ever, at the near approach of death?Does the shadow of the unseen hand ever reveal itself to the eye? Iknow not, but I know that no such presentiment came to Stuart; noshadow of the coming event darkened the path of the great cavalier. Onthe contrary, his spirits were buoyant beyond example, almost; and, riding on with General Fitz Lee, he sang in his gallant voice hisfavorite ditties "Come out of the Wilderness!" and "Jine the Cavalry!"

As he rode on thus, he was the beau ideal of a cavalier. His seat inthe saddle was firm; his blue eyes dazzling; his heavy mustache curledwith laughter at the least provocation. Something in this man seemed tospring forward to meet danger. Peril aroused and strung him. All hisenergies were stimulated by it. In that ride through the May forest, toattack Sheridan, and arrest him or die, Stuart's bearing and expressionwere superbly joyous and inspiring. His black plume floated in thespring breeze, like some knight-errant's; and he went to battle humminga song, resolved to conquer or fall. 

Riding beside him, I found my eyes incessantly attracted to his proudface; and now I see the great cavalier as then, clearly with the eyesof memory. What a career had been his! what a life of battles!

As we went on through the spring woods, amid the joyous songs of birds, all the long, hard combats of this man passed before me like an immensepanorama. The ceaseless scouting and fighting in the Shenandoah Valley;the charge and route of the red-legged "Zouaves" at Manassas; thefalling back to the Peninsula, and the fighting all through CharlesCity; the famous ride around McClellan; the advance and combats on theRapidan and Rappahannock, after Cedar Mountain; the night attack onCatlett's, when he captured Pope's coat and papers; the march onJackson's flank, and the capture of Manassas; the advance intoMaryland; the fights at Frederick, Crampton's, and Boonsboro', with thehard rear-guard work, as Lee retired to Sharpsburg; his splendidhandling of artillery on the left wing of the army there; the retreat, covered by his cavalry; the second ride around McClellan, and safeescape from his clutches; the bitter conflicts at Upperville andBarbee's, as Lee fell back; the hard fighting thereafter, on the banksof the Rappahannock; the "crowding 'em with artillery, " on the night ofFredericksburg; the winter march to Dumfries; the desperate battle atKelly's Ford; the falling back before Hooker; the battle ofChancellorsville, when he succeeded Jackson; the stubborn wrestle ofFleetwood; the war of giants below Upperville; the advance acrossMaryland into Pennsylvania, when the long march was strewed all overwith battles, at Westminister, Hanover, Carlisle, Gettysburg, where hemet and repulsed the best cavalry of the Federal army; the retreat fromGettysburg, with the tough affair near Boonsboro'; guarding the rear ofthe army as it again crossed the Potomac; then the campaign of October, ending with Kilpatrick's route at Buckland; the assault on Meade's headof column, when he came over to Mine Run; the bold attack on his rearthere; and the hard, incessant fighting since Grant had come over tothe Wilderness;--I remembered all these splendid scenes and illustriousservices as I rode on beside Stuart, through the fields and forests ofHanover, and thought, "This is one of those great figures which liveforever in history, and men's memories!"

To-day, I know that I was not mistaken, or laboring under the influenceof undue affection and admiration. That figure has passed from earth, but still lives!

Stuart is long dead, and the grass covers him; but there is scarce afoot of the soil of Virginia that does not speak of him. He is gone, but his old mother is proud of him--is she not?

Answer, mountains where he fought--lowlands, where he fell--river, murmuring a dirge, as you foam through the rocks yonder, past hisgrave!

XXXV. 

"SOON WITH ANGELS I'LL BE MARCHING. "

Let me rapidly pass over the events of the tenth of May. 

Gordon's little brigade had been ordered to follow on the rear of theenemy, while Fitz Lee moved round by Taylorsville to get in front ofthem. 

Stuart rode and met Gordon, gave the brave North Carolinian, so soon tofall, his last orders; and then hastened back to Fitz Lee, who hadcontinued to press the enemy. 

They had struck the Central railroad, but the gray cavaliers were closeon them. Colonel Robert Randolph, that brave soul, doomed like Gordon, charged them furiously here, took nearly a hundred prisoners, and drovethem across the road. 

At this moment Stuart returned, and pushed forward toward Taylorsville, from which point he intended to hasten on and get in their front. 

About four in the afternoon we reached Fork church, and the commandhalted to rest. 

Stuart stretched himself at full length, surrounded by his staff, in afield of clover; and placing his hat over his face to protect his eyesfrom the light, snatched a short sleep, of which he was very greatly inneed. 

The column again moved, and that night camped near Taylorsville, awaiting the work of the morrow. 

At daylight on the 11th, Stuart moved toward Ashland. Here he came upwith the enemy; attacked them furiously, and drove them before him, andout of the village, killing, wounding, and capturing a considerablenumber. 

Then he put his column again in motion, advanced rapidly by theTelegraph road toward Yellow Tavern, a point near Richmond, where heintended to intercept the enemy--the moment of decisive struggle, towhich all the fighting along the roads of Hanover had only been theprelude, was at hand. 

Stuart was riding at the head of his column, looking straight forward, and with no thought, apparently, save that of arriving in time. 

He was no longer gay. Was it the coming event; was it the loss ofsleep; the great interest at stake; the terrible struggle before him? Iknow not; but he looked anxious, feverish, almost melancholy. 

"My men and horses are tired, jaded, and hungry, but all right, " he hadwritten to General Bragg, from Ashland. 

And these words will serve in large measure to describe the conditionof the great commander himself. 

I was riding beside him, when he turned to me and said, in a lowtone:--

"Do you remember a conversation which we had at Orange, Surry, thatnight in my tent?"

"Yes, general. "

"And what I said?"

"Every word is engraved, I think, upon my memory. "

"Good. Do not let one thing ever escape you. Remember, that I said whatI say again to-day, that 'Virginia expects every man to do his duty!'"

"I will never forget that, general. "

He smiled, and rode on. For half a mile he was silent. Then I heardescape from his lips, in a low, musing voice, a refrain which I hadnever heard him sing before--

 "Soon with angels I'll be marching!"[1]

[Footnote 1: Real]

I know not why, but that low sound made me shiver. 

XXXVI. 

YELLOW TAVERN, MAY 11, 1864. 

Yellow Tavern! At the mention of that name, a sort of tremor agitatesme even to-day, when nearly four years have passed. 

In my eyes, the locality is cursed. A gloomy cloud seems ever hangingover it. No birds sing in the trees. The very sunshine of the summerdays is sad there. 

But I pass to my brief description of the place, and the event whichmade it one of the black names in Southern history. 

Yellow Tavern is an old dismantled hostelry, on the Brook road, aboutsix miles from Richmond. Nothing more dreary than this desolate waysideinn can be imagined. Its doors stand open, its windows are gone, therotting floor crumbles beneath the heel, and the winds moan through thepaneless sashes, like invisible spirits hovering near and mutteringsome lugubrious secret. "This is the scene of some deed of darkness!"you are tempted to mutter, as you place your feet upon the threshold. When you leave the spot behind you, a weight seems lifted from yourbreast--you breathe freer. 

Such was the Yellow Tavern when I went there in the spring of 1864. Isit different to-day? Do human beings laugh there? I know not; but Iknow that nothing could make it cheerful in my eyes. It was, and is, and ever will be, a thing accursed!

For the military reader, however, a few words in reference to thetopographical features of the locality are necessary. 

Yellow Tavern is at the forks of the Telegraph and Mountain roads, sixmiles from Richmond. The Telegraph road runs north and south--over thisroad Stuart marched. The Mountain road comes into it from thenorthwest. By this road Sheridan was coming. 

Open the left hand, with the palm upward; the index finger pointingnorth. The thumb is the Mountain road; the index-finger the Telegraphroad; where the thumb joins the hand is the Yellow Tavern in openfields; and Richmond is at the wrist. 

Toward the head of the thumb is a wood. Here Wickham, commandingStuart's right, was placed, his line facing the Mountain road so as tostrike the approaching enemy in flank. 

From Wickham's left, or near it, Stuart's left wing, under Lomax, extended along the Telegraph road to the Tavern--the two lines thusforming an obtuse angle. 

On a hill, near Lomax's right, was Breathed with his guns. 

The object of this disposition of Stuart's force will be seen at aglance. Lomax, commanding the left, was across the enemy's front;Wickham, commanding the right, was on their flank; and the artillerywas so posted as to sweep at once the front of both Stuart's wings. 

The enemy's advance would bring them to the first joint of the thumb. There they would receive Lomax's fire in front; Wickham's in flank; andBreathed's transversely. The cross fire on that point, over which theenemy must pass, would be deadly. Take a pencil, reader, and draw thediagram, and lines of fire. That will show Stuart's excellent design. 

Stuart had reached Yellow Tavern, and made his dispositions before thearrival of Sheridan, who was, nevertheless, rapidly advancing by theMountain road. Major McClellan, adjutant-general, had been sent toGeneral Bragg, with a suggestion that the latter should attack from thedirection of the city, at the moment when the cavalry assailed theFederal flank. All was ready. 

It was the morning of May 11th, 1864. 

Never was scene more beautiful and inspiring. The men were jaded, liketheir horses; but no heart shrank from the coming encounter. Stretchingin a thin line from the tavern into the woods on the right of theMountain road, the men sat their horses, with drawn sabres gleaming inthe sun; and the red battle-flags waved proudly in the fresh Maybreeze, as though saluting Stuart, who rode in front of them. 

Such was the scene at Yellow Tavern. The moment had come. At abouteight, a stifled hum, mixed with the tramp of hoofs, was heard. Then acourier came at a gallop, from the right, to Stuart. The enemy were insight, and advancing rapidly. 

Stuart was sitting his horse near Yellow Tavern when that intelligencereached him. He rose in his saddle, took his field-glasses from theirleathern case, and looked through them in the direction of the woodsacross the Mountain road. 

Suddenly, quick firing came on the wind--then, loud shouts. Stuartlowered his glasses, shut them up, replaced them in their case, anddrew his sabre. 

Never had I seen him present an appearance more superb. His head wascarried proudly erect, his black plume floated, his blue eyesflashed--he was the _beau ideal_ of a soldier, and as one of hisbravest officers[1] afterward said to me, looked as if he had resolvedon "victory or death. " I had seen him often aroused and strung foraction. On this morning he seemed on fire, and resembled a veritableking of battle. 

[Footnote 1: Breathed. ]

Suddenly, the skirmish line of the enemy appeared in front of thewoods, and a quick fire was opened on Stuart's sharp-shooters underColonel Pate, in the angle of the two roads; Stuart hastened to takethe real initiative. He posted two guns on a rising ground in theangle, and opened a heavy fire; and galled by this fire, the enemysuddenly made a determined charge upon the guns. 

Stuart rose in his stirrups and gazed coolly at the heavy lineadvancing upon him, and forcing Pate's handful back. 

"Take back the guns!" he said. 

They were limbered up, and went off rapidly. 

At the same moment Colonel Pate appeared, his men obstinatelycontesting every foot of ground as they fell back toward the Telegraphroad, where a deep cut promised them advantage. 

Colonel Pate was a tall, fair-haired officer, with a ready smile, and acordial bearing. He and Stuart had bitterly quarrelled, and the generalhad court-martialed the colonel. It is scarcely too much to say thatthey had been deadly enemies. 

For the first time now, since their collision, they met. But on thisday their enmity seemed dead. The two men about to die grasped eachother's hands. 

"They are pressing you back, colonel!" exclaimed Stuart. 

"Yes, general, I have but three skeleton squadrons! and you see theirforce. "

"You are right. You have done all that any man could. Can you hold thiscut?"

"I will try, general. "

Their glances crossed. Never was Stuart's face kinder. 

"If you say you will, you will do it! Hold this position to the last, colonel. "

"I'll hold it until I die, general. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

With a pressure of the hand they parted. 

Fifteen minutes afterward, Pate was dead. Attacked at once in front andon both flanks in the road, his little force had been cut to pieces. Hefell with three of his captains, and his handful were scattered. 

Stuart witnessed all, and his eye grew fiery. 

"Pate has died the death of a hero!"[1] he exclaimed. 

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

"Order Wickham to dismount his brigade, and attack on the right!" headded to Lieutenant Garnett, aid-de-camp. Twenty minutes afterward, Wickham's men were seen advancing, and driving the enemy before them. This relieved the left, and Wickham continued to push on until hestruck up against a heavy line behind rail breastworks in the woods. 

He then fell back, and each side remained motionless, awaiting themovement of the other. 

Such was the preface to the real battle of Yellow Tavern, --the speciesof demonstration which preluded the furious grapple. 

Stuart's melancholy had all vanished. He was in splendid spirits. Hehastened back his artillery to the point from which it had been driven, and soon its defiant roar was heard rising above the woods. 

At the same moment a courier galloped up. 

"What news?"

"A dispatch from Gordon, general. "

Stuart took it and read it with high good humor. 

"Gordon has had a handsome little affair this morning, " he said; "hehas whipped them. "

And looking toward the northwest--

"I wish Gordon was here, "[1] he said. 

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

The guns continued to roar, and the enemy had not again advanced. Itwas nearly four o'clock. Night approached. 

But the great blow was coming. 

Stuart was sitting his horse near the guns, with Breathed beside him. Suddenly the edge of the woods on the Mountain road swarmed with bluehorsemen. As they appeared, the long lines of sabres darted from thescabbards; then they rushed like a hurricane toward the guns. 

The attack was so sudden and overpowering, that nothing could standbefore it. For a short time the men fought desperately, crossingsabres and using their pistols. But the enemy's numbers were too great. The left was driven back. With triumphant cheers, the Federal trooperspressed upon them to drive them completely from the field. 

Suddenly, as the men fell back, Stuart appeared, with drawn sabre, among them, calling upon them to rally. His voice rose above the fire, and a wild cheer greeted him. 

The men rallied, the enemy were met again, sabre to sabre, and thefield became a scene of the most desperate conflict. 

Stuart led every charge. I shall never forget the appearance which hepresented at that moment; with one hand he controlled his restivehorse, with the other he grasped his sabre; in his cheeks burned thehot blood of the soldier. 

"Breathed!" he exclaimed. 

"General!"

"Take command of all the mounted men in the road, and hold it againstwhatever may come! If this road is lost, we are gone!"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

Breathed darted to the head of the men and shouted:--

"Follow me!"

His sword flashed lightning, and digging the spur into his horse, hedarted ahead of the column, disappearing in the middle of a swarm ofenemies. 

A superb sight followed. Breathed was seen in the midst of the Federalcavalry defending himself, with pistol and sabre, against the blowswhich were aimed at him on every side. 

He cut one officer out of the saddle; killed a lieutenant with a pistolball; was shot slightly in the side, and a sabre stroke laid open hishead. But five minutes afterward he was seen to clear a path with hissabre, and reappear, streaming with blood. [1]

[Footnote: This incident, like all here related as attending thisbattle, is rigidly true. ]

The momentary repulse effected nothing. The enemy re-formed their line, and again charged the guns, which were pouring a heavy fire upon them. As they rushed forward, the hoofs of their horses shook the ground. Adeafening cheer arose from the blue line. 

Stuart was looking at them, and spurred out in front of the guns. Hiseyes flashed, and, taking off his brown felt hat, he waved it andcheered. 

Then he wheeled to take command of a column of Lomax's men, coming tomeet the charge. 

They were too late. In a moment the enemy were trampling among theguns. All but one were captured, and that piece was saved only by theterror of the drivers. They lashed their horses into a gallop, andrushed toward the Chickahominy, followed by the cannoneers who werecursing them, and shouting:--

"For God's sake, boys, let's go back! They've got Breathed! Let's goback to him!"[1]

[Footnote 1: Their words. ]

That terror of the drivers, which the cannoneers cursed so bitterly, ended all. The gun, whirling on at wild speed, suddenly struck againstthe head of the column advancing to meet the enemy. A war-engine hurledagainst it could not have more effectually broken it. Before it couldre-form the enemy had struck it, forced it back; and then the wholeFederal force of cavalry was hurled upon Stuart. 

His right, where Fitz Lee commanded in person, was giving back. Hisleft was broken and driven. The day was evidently lost; and Stuart, with a sort of desperation, rushed into the midst of the enemy, callingupon his men to rally, and firing his pistol in the faces of theFederal cavalrymen. 

Suddenly, one of them darted past him toward the rear, and as he didso, placed his pistol nearly on Stuart's body, and fired. 

As the man disappeared in the smoke, Stuart's hand went quickly to hisside, he reeled in the saddle, and would have fallen had not CaptainDorsay, of the First Virginia Cavalry, caught him in his arms. 

The bullet had passed through his side into the stomach, and woundedhim mortally. In its passage, it just grazed a small Bible in hispocket. The Bible was the gift of his mother--but the Almighty haddecreed that it should not turn the fatal bullet. 

Stuart's immense vitality sustained him for a moment. Pale, andtottering in the saddle, he still surveyed the field, and called on themen to rally. 

"Go back, " he exclaimed, "and do your duty, as I have done mine! Andour country will be safe!"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

A moment afterward he called out again to the men passing him:--

"Go back! go back! I'd rather die than be whipped!"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

The old lightning flashed from his eyes as he spoke. Then a mist passedover them; his head sank upon his breast; and, still supported in thesaddle, he was led through the woods toward the Chickahominy. 

Suddenly, Fitzhugh Lee, who had been stubbornly fighting on the right, galloped up, and accosted Stuart. His face was flushed, his eyes moist. 

"You are wounded!" he exclaimed. 

"Badly, " Stuart replied, "but look out, Fitz! Yonder they come!"

A glance showed all. In the midst of a wild uproar of clashing sabres, quick shots, and resounding cries, the Federal cavalry were rushingforward to overwhelm the disordered lines. 

Stuart's eye flashed for the last time. Turning to General FitzhughLee, he exclaimed in a full, sonorous voice:--

"Go ahead, Fitz, old fellow! I know you will do what is right!"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

This was the last order he ever gave upon the field. As he spoke, hishead sank, his eyes closed, and he was borne toward the rear. 

There was scarcely time to save him from capture. His wound seemed tohave been the signal for his lines to break. They had now given wayeverywhere--the enemy were pressing them with loud shouts. Fightingwith stubborn desperation, they fell back toward the Chickahominy, which they crossed, hotly pressed by the victorious enemy. 

Stuart had been placed in an ambulance and borne across the stream, where Dr. Randolph and Dr. Fontaine made a brief examination of hiswound. It was plainly mortal--but he was hastily driven, by way ofMechanicsville, into Richmond. 

His hard fighting had saved the city. When Sheridan attacked, he wasrepulsed. 

But the capital was dearly purchased. Twenty-four hours afterwardStuart was dead. 

[Illustration: DEATH OF STUART]

The end of the great cavalier had been as serene as his life wasstormy. His death was that of the Christian warrior, who bows to thewill of God, and accepts whatever His loving hand decrees for him. 

He asked repeatedly that his favorite hymns should be sung for him; andwhen President Davis visited him, and asked:--

"General, how do you feel?"

"Easy, but willing to die, " he said, "if God and my country think Ihave fulfilled my destiny, and done my duty. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

As night came, he requested his physician to inform him if he thoughthe would live till morning. The physician replied that his death wasrapidly approaching, when he faintly bowed his head, and murmured:--

"I am resigned, if it be God's will. I should like to see my wife, butGod's will be done. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

When the proposed attack upon Sheridan, near Mechanicsville, was spokenof in his presence, he said:--

"God grant that it may be successful. I wish I could be there. "*

Turning his face toward the pillow, he added, with tears in his eyes, "but I must prepare for another world. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

Feeling now that his end was near, he made his last dispositions. 

"You will find in my hat, " he said to a member of his staff, "a littleConfederate flag, which a lady of Columbia, South Carolina, sent me, requesting that I would wear it on my horse in battle, and return it toher. Send it to her. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

He gave then the name of the lady, and added:--

"My spurs--those always worn in battle--I promised to give to Mrs. LilyLee, at Shepherdstown. My sabre I leave to my son. "

His horses and equipments were then given to his staff--his papersdirected to be sent to his wife. 

A prayer was then offered by the minister at his bedside: his lipsmoved as he repeated the words. As the prayer ended he murmured:--

"I am going fast now--I am resigned. God's will be done!"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

As the words escaped from his lips, he expired. 

BOOK III. 

BEHIND THE SCENES. 

I. 

WHAT I DID NOT SEE. 

I was not at Stuart's bedside when he died. While aiding the rest tohold him in the saddle, I had been shot through the shoulder; andtwenty-four hours afterward I lay, at the house of a friend inRichmond, turning and tossing with fever. 

In my delirium I heard a mournful tolling of bells. It was many days, however, before I knew that they were tolling for Stuart. 

When, at last, after more than a month's confinement to my bed, I rose, and began to totter about, --pale, faint, and weak, but convalescent--mygreat loss, for the first time, struck me in all its force. 

Where should I turn now--and whither should I go? Jackson dead atChancellorsville--Stuart at Yellow Tavern--thenceforth I seemed to havelost my support, to grope and totter in darkness, without a guide!These two kings of battle had gone down in the storm, and, like theKnight of Arthur, I looked around me, with vacant and inquiring eyes, asking whither I was now to direct my steps, and what work I shouldwork in the coming years. Jackson! Stuart!--who could replace them?They had loved and trusted me--their head-quarters had been my home. Now, when they disappeared, I had no friends, no home; and aninexpressible sense of loss descended upon me, as a dark cloud descendsand obscures a landscape, smiling and full of sunshine. 

Another woe had come to me. My father was dead. The war had snapped thechords of that stout heart as it snapped the chords of thousands, andthe illustrious head of the house had descended into the tomb. Fromthis double blow I scarcely had strength to rise. For weeks I remainedin a sort of dumb stupor; and was only aroused from it by the necessityof looking after my family affairs. 

As soon as I had strength to mount my horse, I rode to Eagle's Nest. Agood aunt had come and installed herself as the friend and protector ofmy little Annie; and with the arms of my young sister around me, I weptfor my father. 

I remained at Eagle's Nest more than two months. The long ride had madethe wound in my shoulder reopen, and I was again stretched upon a bedof illness, from which, at one time, I thought I should not rise. Morethan once I made a narrow escape from scouting parties of Federalcavalry in the neighborhood; and on one occasion, an officer entered mychamber, but left me unmolested, under the impression that I was tooill to live. 

It was late in the month of August before I rose from my bed again, andset out on my return. 

In those three months and a half--counting from the time I leftSpottsylvania with Stuart--great events had happened in Virginia. Grant's hammer and Lee's rapier had been clashing day and night. Hilland valley, mountain and lowland--Virginia and Maryland--had thundered. 

General Grant had hastened forward from the Wilderness, only to findLee confronting him behind breastworks at Spottsylvania Court-House. The Confederate commander had taken up a defensive position on the lineof the Po; and for more than two weeks Grant threw his masses againstthe works of his adversary, in desperate attempts to break through. 

On the 12th of May, at daylight, he nearly succeeded. "The Horse Shoe"salient was charged in the dusk of morning; the Southerners weresurprised, and bayoneted in the trenches; the works carried; theartillery captured; and a large number of prisoners fell into the handsof the enemy. 

The blow was heavy, but General Grant derived little advantage from it. Lee rallied his troops; formed a new line; and repulsed every assaultmade on it, throughout the entire day. When night fell, Grant had notadvanced further; Lee's position was stronger than before, and plainlyimpregnable. 

For many days, Grant was occupied in reconnoitring and feeling hisadversary. At the end of a week, the hope of breaking Lee's line wasseen to be desperate. 

Then commenced the second great "movement by the left flank" towardRichmond. 

Grant disappeared one morning, and hastened toward Hanover Junction. When he arrived, Lee was there in his front, ready to receive him. Andthe new position was stronger, if any thing, than that ofSpottsylvania. Grant felt it; abandoned the attempt to carry it, atonce; and again moved, on his swift and stealthy way, by the left flanktoward Richmond. Crossing the Pamunkey at Hanovertown, he made straightfor the capital; but reaching the Tottapotomoi, he found Lee againawaiting him. 

Then the days and nights thundered, as they had been thundering sincethe day when Grant crossed the Rapidan. Lee could not be driven, andthe Federal movement by the left flank began again. 

Grant made for Cold Harbor, and massed his army to burst through theChickahominy, and seize Richmond. The huge engine began to move atdaylight, on the third of June. Half an hour afterward, 13, 000 ofGeneral Grant's forces were dead or wounded. He was repulsed and drivenback. His whole loss, from the moment of crossing the Rapidan, had beenabout 60, 000 men. 

That ended all hopes of forcing the lines of the Chickahominy. TheFederal commander gave up the attempt in despair, and resumed hisWandering-Jew march. Moving still by the left flank, he hastened tocross James River and advance on Petersburg. But Lee was again toorapid for him. In the works south of the Appomattox the gray infantry, under the brave General Wise, confronted the enemy. They repulsed everyassault, and Grant sat down to lay siege to Richmond from the distanceof thirty miles. 

Such had been the great campaign of the summer of 1864 in Virginia. Leehad everywhere stood at bay, and repulsed every attack: he had alsostruck in return a great aggressive blow, in Maryland. 

At Cold Harbor, early in June, news had arrived that a Federal column, under Hunter, was advancing on Lynchburg. A force was sent to interceptHunter, under the command of Early. That hard fighter crossed themountains; attacked his adversary; drove him beyond the Alleghanies;and then, returning on his steps, hurried down the Shenandoah Valleytoward the Potomac, driving every thing before him. Once at thePotomac, he hastened to cross into Maryland. Once in Maryland, Earlyadvanced, without loss of time, upon Washington. At Monocacy he met anddefeated General Wallace; pressed after him toward Washington; andreaching the outer works, advanced his lines to the assault. But hehad but a handful, after the long and prostrating march. His numberswere wholly inadequate to storm the defences of the capital. Grant hadsent forward, in haste, two army corps to defend the city, and Earlywas compelled to retreat across the Potomac to the Shenandoah Valley, with the sole satisfaction of reflecting that he had given the enemy agreat "scare, " and had flaunted the red-cross flag in front of theramparts of Washington. 

I have not space to describe the cavalry movements of the summer. Hampton had succeeded Stuart in command of all the cavalry, and thecountry soon heard the ring of his heavy blows. 

In June, Sheridan was sent to capture Gordonsville and Charlottesville;but Hampton checked and defeated him in a fierce action nearTrevillian's, and in another at Charlottesville; pursued him to theWhite House; hurried him on to James River; and Sheridan crossed thatstream on pontoons, glad, no doubt, to get back to the blue infantry. Hampton crossed also; penetrated to Dinwiddie; defeated the enemy atSappony church, capturing their men and artillery--everywhere they hadbeen routed, with a total loss of more than 2, 000 prisoners. 

Such were the events which had taken place during my tedious illness. They came to me only in vague rumors, or by means of chance newspaperssent by my neighbors. At last, however, I rose from my sick couch, andembracing my aunt and sister, who were to remain together at Eagle'sNest, set out on my return. 

Stuart's staff were all scattered, and seeking new positions. I was oneof them, and I again asked myself more gloomily than at first, "Whereshall I go?" The gentlemen of the red tape at Richmond would doubtlessinform me, however; and riding on steadily, with a keen look out forscouting parties, I at last reached the city. 

On the next day I filed my application in the war office, to beassigned to duty. 

A week afterward I had not heard from it. 

Messieurs, the red tapists, were evidently not in the least bit of ahurry--and hat in hand I awaited their good pleasure. 

II. 

THE "DOOMED CITY. "

Richmond presented a singular spectacle in that summer of 1864. 

It was styled "the doomed city, " by our friends over the border, and intruth there was something gloomy and tragic in its appearance--in thevery atmosphere surrounding it. 

On every countenance you could read anxiety, poverty, the wasting effectof the terrible suffering and suspense of the epoch. All things combinedto deepen the colors of the sombre picture. Hope long deferred hadsickened the stoutest hearts. Men were nervous, anxious, burnt up by thehot fever of war. Provisions of every description were sold at enormousprices. Fathers of families could scarcely procure the plainest food fortheir wives and children. The streets were dotted with poor widows, bereaved sisters, weeping mothers, and pale daughters, whose blackdresses told the story of their loss to all eyes. Hunger clutched at thestomach; agony tore the heart. Soldiers, pale and tottering from theirwounds, staggered by. Cannon rattled through the streets. Couriersdashed backward and forward from the telegraph office to the war office. The poor starved--the rich scarcely fared any better. Black hair hadbecome white. Stalwart frames were bent and shrunken. Spies and secretemissaries lurked, and looked at you sidewise. Forestallers crowded themarkets. Bread was doled out by the ounce. Confederate money by thebushel. Gold was hoarded and buried. Cowards shrunk and began towhisper--"the flesh pots! the flesh pots! they were better!" Society wasuprooted from its foundations. Strange characters were thrown up. Thescum had come to the top, and bore itself bravely in the sunshine. Thewhole social fabric seemed warped and wrenched from its base; and in themidst of this chaos of starving women, feverish men, spies, extortioners, blockade-runners, --over the "doomed city, " day and night, rolled the thunder of the cannon, telling that Grant and Lee were stillholding their high debate at Petersburg. 

Such was Richmond at the end of summer in 1864. Society was approachingone of those epochs, when all things appear unreal, monstrous, glidingtoward some great catastrophe. All rascaldom was rampant. Thenight-birds had come forth. Vice stalked, and flaunted its feathers inthe light of day. Chaos seemed coming, and with it all the powers ofdarkness. 

That spectacle was singular to a soldier, bred in camps, andhabituated, now, for some years, to the breezy airs of "the field. " Ilooked on with astonishment. The whole drama seemed unreal--thecharacters mere players. Who was A, and B, and what did C do for aliving? You knew not, but they bowed, and smiled, and were charming. They grasped your hand, offered you cigars, invited you to supper--theywanted nothing. And they found no difficulty in procuring guests. I wasno better than the rest, reader--there is an honest confession--and, looking back now, I can see that I knew, and dined or supped with somequeer characters in those days. 

Shall I give you a brief sketch of one of these worthies and hissurroundings? It will afford some idea of the strange contrasts thenpresented in the "doomed" and starving city. 

III. 

I DINE WITH MR. BLOCQUE. 

He was a prominent personage at that time--my friend (in aparliamentary sense at least) Mr. Blocque. 

He was a charming little fellow, acquainted with everybody--an"employee of government, " but employed to do heaven knows what; andwhile others were starving, Mr. Blocque was as plump as a partridge. Hewore the snowiest shirt bosoms, glittering with diamond studs; thefinest broadcloth coats; the most brilliant patent leather shoes; andhis fat little hands sparkled with costly rings. He was constantlysmiling in a manner that was delightful to behold; hopped about andchirped like a sparrow or tomtit; and was the soul of good humor andenjoyment. There was no resisting his charms; he conquered you in fiveminutes. When he linked his arm in yours, and chirped, "My dear friend, come and dine with me--at five o'clock precisely--I shall certainlyexpect you!" it was impossible to refuse the small gentleman'sinvitation. Perhaps you asked yourself, "Who is my dear friend, Mr. Blocque--how does he live so well, and wear broadcloth and fine linen?"But the next moment you smiled, shrugged your shoulders, elevated youreye-brows, and--went to dine with him. 

I was like all the world, and at five o'clock one evening was showninto Mr. Blocque's elegant residence on Shockoe Hill, by a servant inwhite gloves, who bowed low, as he ushered me in. Mr. Blocque hastenedto receive me, with his most charming smile; I was introduced to theguests, who had all arrived; and ten minutes afterward the foldingdoors opened, revealing a superb banquet--for the word "dinner" wouldbe too common-place. The table was one mass of silver. Waxlights, incandelabra, were already lit; and a host of servants waited, silent andrespectful, behind every chair. 

The guests were nearly a dozen in number, and more than one prominent"government official" honored Mr. Blocque's repast. I had beenintroduced among the rest to Mr. Torpedo, member of Congress, andbitter foe of President Davis; Mr. Croker, who had made an enormousfortune by buying up, and hoarding in garrets and cellars, flour, bacon, coffee, sugar, and other necessaries; and Colonel Desperade, atall and warlike officer in a splendid uniform, who had never been inthe army, but intended to report for duty, it was supposed, as soon ashe was made brigadier-general. 

The dinner was excellent. The table literally groaned with everydelicacy. Everywhere you saw canvass-back ducks, grouse, salmon, patéde foie gras, oysters; the champagne, was really superb; the Madeiraand sherry beyond praise; and the cigars excellent Havanas, which atthat time were rarely seen, and cost fabulous prices. Think, old armycomrades, starving on a quarter of a pound of rancid bacon during thatsummer of '64--think of that magical bill of fare, that array ofwonders!

Who was the magician who had evoked all this by a wave of his wand? Howcould smiling Mr. Blocque roll in luxury thus, when everybody else wasstarving? How could my host wear broadcloth, and drink champagne andsmoke Havanas, when ragged clothing, musty bacon, and newapple-abomination, were the order of the day with all others?

These questions puzzled me extremely; but there was the magician beforeus, smiling in the most friendly manner, and pressing his rich wines onhis guests, as they sat around the polished mahogany smoking theircigars. Elegantly clad servants hovered noiselessly behind theconvives--the wine circulated--the fragrant smoke rose--theconversation became general--and all was animation. 

"No, sir!" says Mr. Torpedo, puffing fiercely at his cigar, "thePresident never will assign Johnston to command again, sir! You callMr. Davis 'pig-headed, ' Mr. Croker--you are wrong, sir! You doinjustice to the pigs, sir! Pigs are not insane, sir!"

And Mr. Torpedo sucks at his cigar, as though he were a vampire, extracting the blood of his victim. 

Mr. Croker sips his wine; he is large and portly; ruddy and pompous;his watch seals jingle; and he rounds his periods with the air of amillionaire, who is accustomed to be listened to with deference. 

"You are right, my dear, sir, " says Mr. Croker, clearing his throat. "The government has assuredly been administered, from its veryinception, in a manner which the most enthusiastic adherents of theExecutive will scarcely venture to characterize as either judicious orconstitutional. In the year which has just elapsed, things have beenmanaged in a manner which must excite universal reprobation. Even thealleged performances of the army are problematical, and--"

"I beg your pardon, sir, " says Colonel Desperade, twirling his mustachein a warlike manner; "do I understand you to call in question the nerveof our brave soldiers, or the generalship of our great commander?"

"I do, sir, " says Mr. Croker, staring haughtily at the speaker. "I amnot of those enthusiasts who consider General Lee a great soldier. Hehas succeeded in defensive campaigns, but is deficient in genius--and Iwill add, sir, as you seem to be surprised at my remarks, sir, that inmy opinion the Southern Confederacy will be overwhelmed, sir, and theSouth compelled to return to the Union, sir!"

"Upon what do you ground that extraordinary assumption, may I ask, sir?"

"On common sense and experience, sir, " returns Mr. Croker, severely;"look at the currency--debased until the dollar is merely a piece ofpaper. Look at prices--coffee, twenty dollars a pound, and sugar thesame. Look at the army starving--the people losing heart--and strong, able-bodied men, " adds Mr. Croker, looking at Colonel Desperade, "lurking about the cities, and keeping out of the way of bullets. "

The mustached warrior looks ferocious--his eyes dart flame. 

"And who causes the high prices, sir? Who makes the money a rag? Ianswer--the forestallers and engrossers--do you know any, sir?"

"I do not, sir!"

"That is singular!" And Colonel Desperade twirls his mustachesatirically--looking at the pompous Mr. Croker in a manner which makesthat worthy turn scarlet. 

I was laughing to myself quietly, and listening for the expectedoutbreak, when Mr. Blocque interposed with his winning voice. 

"What are you discussing, gentlemen?" he said, with his charming smile. "But first tell me your opinion of this Madeira and those cigars. Myagent writes me word that he used every exertion to procure the best. Still, I am not entirely pleased with either the wine or brand ofcigars, and hope you will excuse them. Were you speaking of our greatPresident, Mr. Torpedo? And you, Mr. Croker--I think you were referringto the present state of affairs. They appear to me more hopeful than atany previous time, and his Excellency, President Davis, is guiding thehelm of state with extraordinary courage and good judgment. I know someof you differ with me in these views, my friends. But let us not becensorious--let us look on the bright side. The troubles of the countryare great, and we of the South are suffering every privation--but wemust bear up, gentlemen; we must keep brave hearts, and endure allthings. Let us live on dry bread if it comes to that, and bravely fightto the last! Let us cheerfully endure hardships, and oppose the enemyat all points. Our present troubles and privations will soon come to anend--we shall again be surrounded by the comforts and luxuries oflife--and generations now unborn will bless our names, and pity oursufferings in these days that try men's souls!"

Mr. Blocque ceased, and smoothing down his snowy shirt bosom, pushedthe wine. At the same moment, an alabaster clock on the marblemantelpiece struck seven. 

"So late?" said Colonel Desperade. "I have an appointment at the waroffice!"

Mr. Blocque drew out a magnificent gold watch. 

"The clock is fast, " he said, "keep your seats, gentlemen, --unless youfancy going to the theatre. My private box is at your disposal, andcarriages will be ready in a few minutes. "

As the charming little gentleman spoke, he led the way back to thedrawing-room--the folding doors flanked by silent and respectfulservants as the guests passed in. 

In five minutes, coffee and liqueurs were served; both were superb, thewhite sugar sparkled like crystal in the silver dish, and the cream inthe solid jug was yellow and as thick as a syrup. 

"Shall it be the theatre, gentlemen?" said Mr. Blocque, with winningsmiles. "We can amuse ourselves with cards for an hour, as the curtaindoes not rise before eight. "

And he pointed to a silver basket on the centre table of carved walnut, surmounted by a slab of variegated marble. I looked, and saw thecrowning wonder. The silver basket contained piles of gold coin andgreenbacks! Not a trace of a Confederate note was visible in the mass!

Packs of fresh cards were brought quickly by a servant, on a silverwaiter; the guests helped themselves to the coin and bank notes; in tenminutes they were playing furiously. 

As I do not play, I rose and took my leave. Mr. Blocque accompanied meto the door, smiling sweetly to the last. 

"Come again very soon, my dear colonel, " he said, squeezing my hand, "my poor house, and all in it, is at your service at all times!"

I thanked my host, shook hands, and went out into thedarkness, --determined never to return. 

I had had an excellent dinner, and, physically, had never felt better. Morally, I must say, I felt contaminated, for, unfortunately, I hadbegun to think of Lee's hungry soldiers, lying in rags, in thePetersburg trenches. 

"Eight o'clock! All is well!" came from the sentinel, as I passed bythe capitol. 

IV. 

JOHN M. DANIEL. 

On the day after this scene, a trifling matter of business led me tocall on John M. Daniel, editor of the _Examiner_. 

The career of this singular personage had been as remarkable as hischaracter. He was not a stranger to me. I had known him in 1849 or '50, when I accompanied my father on a visit to Richmond, and I still recallthe striking appearance of the individual at that time. He had come, apoor boy of gentle birth, from the bleak hills of Stafford, to the cityof Richmond, to seek his fortune, and, finding nothing better to do, had accepted the position of librarian to the Richmond library, waitingfor something to "turn up, " and ready to grasp it. About the same time, that experienced journalist, the late B. M. De Witt, had founded the_Examiner_. He, no doubt, saw the eminent talents of the youth fromStafford, and the result had been an invitation to assist in theeditorial department of the journal. 

Going to the Richmond library, to procure for my father some volume forreference, I had made the acquaintance of the youthful journalist. Atthe first glance, I felt that I was in the presence of an originalcharacter. His labors on the _Examiner_ had just commenced. He wasseated, half-reclining, in an arm-chair, surrounded by "exchanges, "from which he clipped paragraphs, throwing the papers, as soon as hehad done so, in a pile upon the floor. His black eyes, long black hair, brushed behind the ears, and thin, sallow cheeks, were not agreeable;but they made up a striking physiognomy. The black eyes glittered witha sullen fire; the thin lips were wreathed with a sardonic smile; and Iwas informed that the youth lived the life of a _solitaire_, voluntarily absenting himself from society, to give his days and nightsto exhausting study. 

He read every thing, it was said--history, poetry, political economy, and theology. Swift was said to be his literary divinity, and Rabelaiswas at his elbow always. Poor, uneducated, ignorant of nearly everything, he was educating himself for the future--sharpening, byattrition with the strongest minds in all literatures, ancient andmodern, that trenchant weapon which afterward flashed its superblightnings in the heated atmosphere of the great epoch in which hefigured. 

Bitter, misanthropic, solitary; burning the midnight lamp, instead ofmoving among his fellows in the sunshine, he yet possessed hardyvirtues and a high pride of gentleman. He hated the world at large, itwas said, but loved his few friends with an ardor which shrank atnothing. One of them owed a sum of money--and Daniel went on foot, twenty-two miles, to Petersburg, paid it, and returned in the samemanner. Afterward he went in person to Charlottesville, to purchase ahouse for the use of another friend of limited means. For his friendshe was thus willing to sacrifice his convenience and his means, withoutthought of return. All who were not his friends, he is said to havehated or despised. An acquaintance was in his room one day, and showedhim a valuable pen-knife. Daniel admired it, and the gentleman said"You may have it, if you like it. " Daniel turned upon him, scowled athim, his lip curled, and he replied, "What do you expect me to do foryou?"

His other virtues were self-denial, and a proud independence. At thelibrary, he lived on bread and tea--often making the tea himself. Toopoor to possess a chamber, he slept on a lounge in the public room. Hewould owe no man any thing, asked no favors, and fawned on nobody. Hewould fight his own fight, make his own way; with the intellect heavenhad sent him, carve out his own future, unassisted. The sallow youth, groaning under dyspepsia, with scarce a friend, and nothing but hisbrain, promised himself that he would one day rise from his low estate, and wield the thunderbolts of power, as one born to grasp and hurlthem. 

He was not mistaken, and did not overestimate his powers. When I sawhim in 1849 or '50, he was obscurest of the obscure. Two or three yearsafterward he had made the _Examiner_ one of the great powers of thepolitical world, and was living in a palace at Turin, minister toSardinia. He had achieved this success in life by the sheer force ofhis character; by the vigor and recklessness of his pen, and theintensity of his invective. Commencing his editorial career, apparently, with the theory that, in order to rise into notice, he mustspare nothing and no one, he had entered the arena of partisan politicslike a full armed gladiator; and soon the whole country resounded withthe blows which he struck. Bitter personality is a feeble phrase todescribe the animus of the writer in those days. There was somethingincredibly exasperating in his comments on political opponents. Heflayed and roasted them alive. It was like thrusting a blazing torchinto the raw flesh of his victims. Nor was it simple "abuse. " Thesatirist was too intelligent to rely upon that. It was his scorchingwit which made opponents shrink. His scalpel divided the arteries, andtouched the vitals of the living subject. Personal peculiarities weresatirized with unfailing acumen. The readers of the _Examiner_, inthose days, will still recall the tremendous flaying which headministered to his adversaries. It may almost be said, that when theremorseless editor had finished with these gentlemen, there was"nothing of them left"--what lay before him was a bleeding and mortallywounded victim. And what was worse, all the world was laughing. Thosewho looked with utter disapproval upon his ferocious course, were stillunable to resist the influence of his mordant humor. They denounced the_Examiner_ without stint, but they subscribed to it, and read it everymorning. "Have you seen the _Examiner_ to-day?" asked the friend whomyou met on the street. "John M. Daniel is down on Blank!" said A to B, rubbing his hands and laughing. Blank may have been the personalacquaintance and friend of Mr. A, but there was no resisting thecartoon of him, traced by the pen of the satirist! The portrait mightbe a caricature, but it was a terrible likeness! The long nose was verylong; the round shoulders, very round; the cast in the eye, a frightfulsquint; but the individual was unmistakable. The bitter humor of theartist had caught and embodied every weakness. Thenceforth, theunfortunate adversary went on his way before all eyes, the mark ofsuppressed ridicule and laughing whispers. Whether you approved ordisapproved, you read those tremendous satires. Not to see the_Examiner_ in those days was to miss a part of the history of thetimes. The whole political world felt the presence of a _power_ injournalism. Into all the recesses of the body politic, those shafts ofridicule or denunciation penetrated. That venomous invective piercedthe hardest panoply. For the first time in American journalism, theworld saw the full force of ridicule; and tasted a bitterness ofinvective unknown since the days of Swift. 

Out of these personal attacks grew numerous duels. The butts of theeditor's ridicule sent him defiances, and he was engaged in severalaffairs, which, however, resulted in nothing, or nearly nothing, as Ibelieve he was wounded only once. They did not induce him to change hiscourse. He seemed to have marked out his career in cold blood, and wasplainly resolved to adhere to his programme--to write himself intopower. In this he fully succeeded. By dint of slashing and flaying, heattracted the attention of all. Then his vigorous and masculineintellect riveted the spell. Hated, feared, admired, publiclystigmatized as one who "ruled Virginia with a rod of iron, " he hadreached his aim; and soon the material results of success came. Thedirector of that great political engine, the Richmond _Examiner_, foundno difficulty in securing the position which he desired; and hereceived the appointment of minister to Sardinia, which he accepted, selling his newspaper, but reserving the right to resume editorialcontrol of it on his return. 

His ambition was thus gratified--for the moment at least. The unknownyouth, living once on bread and tea, and too poor to possess a bed, wasnow a foreign minister; had an Italian count for his _chef de cuisine_;and drew a salary which enabled him to return, some years afterward, tothe United States with savings amounting to $30, 000. 

It was a contrast to his past. The sallow youth was _M. Le ministre_!The garret in Richmond had been turned into a marble palace in Turin. He had a nobleman for a cook, instead of making his own tea. And the_Examiner_ had done all that for him!

When war became imminent, he returned to Virginia, and resumed controlof the _Examiner_. With the exception of brief military service withGeneral Floyd, and on the staff of A. P. Hill, in the battles aroundRichmond, when he was slightly wounded in the right arm, he remained ineditorial harness until his death. 

As soon as he grasped the helm of the _Examiner_ again, that greatbattleship trembled and obeyed him. It had been powerful before, it wasnow a mighty engine, dragging every thing in its wake. Commencing bysupporting the Government, it soon became bitterly inimical toPresident Davis and the whole administration. The invective in which itindulged was not so violent as in the past, but it was even morepowerful and dangerous. Every department was lashed, in those brief, terse sentences which all will remember--sentences summing up volumesin a paragraph, condensing oceans of gall into a drop of ink. Underthese mortal stabs, delivered coolly and deliberately, the authors ofpublic abuses shrank, recoiled, and sought safety in silence. Theywrithed, but knew the power of their adversary too well to reply tohim. When once or twice they did so, his rejoinder was more mortal thanhis first attack. The whole country read the _Examiner_, from the chiefofficers of the administration to the humblest soldier in the trenches. It shaped the opinions of thousands, and this great influence was notdue to trick or chance. It was not because it denounced the Executivein terms of the bitterest invective; because it descended like a wildboar on the abuses or inefficiency of the departments; but because thisjournal, more, perhaps, than any other in the South, spoke the publicsentiment, uttered its views with fearless candor, and conveyed thoseviews in words so terse, pointed, and trenchant--in such forcible andexcellent English--that the thought of the writer was driven home, andremained fixed in the dullest apprehension. 

The _Examiner_, in one word, had become the controlling power, almost, of the epoch. Its views had become those even of men who bitterlystigmatized its course. You might disapprove of its editorials often, and regret their appearance--as I did--but it was impossible not to becarried onward by the hardy logic of the writer: impossible not toadmire the Swift-like pith and vigor of this man, who seemed to havere-discovered the lost well of undefiled English. 

When I went to see John M. Daniel, thus, in this summer of 1864, it wasnot a mere journalist whom I visited, but a historic character. For itwas given to him, invisible behind the scenes, to shape, in no smalldegree, the destiny of the country, by moulding the views and opinionsof the actors who contended on the public arena. 

Was that influence for good or for evil? Let others answer. To-day thisman is dead, and the cause for which he fought with his pen has failed. I reproduce his figure and some scenes of that great cause--make yourown comments, reader. 

V. 

THE EDITOR IN HIS SANCTUM. 

Knocking at the door of the journalist's house on Broad Street, nearlyopposite the "African church, " I was admitted by a negro servant, sentup my name, and was invited by Mr. Daniel to ascend to his sanctum onthe second story. 

I went up, and found him leaning back in a high chair of blackhorsehair, in an apartment commanding a view southward of James Riverand Chesterfield. On a table beside him were books and papers--thefurniture of the room was plain and simple. 

He greeted me with great cordiality, bowing very courteously, andoffering me a cigar. I had not seen him since his return from Europe, and looked at him with some curiosity. He was as sallow as before--hiseyes as black and sparkling; but his long, black hair, as straight asan Indian's, and worn behind his ears, when I first knew him, wasclose-cut now; and his upper lip was covered by a black mustache. Hisdress was simple and exceedingly neat. It was impossible not to seethat the famous journalist was a gentleman. 

As I had visited him purely upon a matter of business, I dispatched it, and then rose to take my departure. But he urged me with persistentcordiality, not to desert him. He saw few persons, he said; I must stayand dine with him. I had business? Then I could attend to it, and woulddo him the favor to return. 

Looking at my watch, I found that it was nearly two o'clock--he hadinformed me that he dined at four--and, not to detain the reader withthese details, recurring to a very retentive memory, I found myself, two hours afterward, seated at table with the editor of the _Examiner_. 

The table was of ancient, and brilliantly-polished mahogany. The dinnerconsisted of only two or three dishes, but these were of the bestquality, excellently cooked, and served upon china of the most costlydescription. Coffee followed--then a great luxury--and, not only thesugar-dish, cream-jug and other pieces of the service were of silver;the waiter upon which they rested was of the same material--heavy, antique, and richly carved. 

We lingered at table throughout the entire afternoon, my host havingresisted every attempt which I made to depart, by taking my hat from myhand, and thrusting upon me another excellent Havana cigar. Cordialityso extreme, in one who bore the reputation of a man-hater, was at leastsomething _piquant_--and as my host had appealed to my weak side, bygreatly praising a slight literary performance of mine ("he would beproud, " he assured me, "to have it thought that _he_ had written it), "I yielded, surrendered my hat, lit the cigar offered me, and we went ontalking. 

I still recall that conversation, the last but one which I ever hadwith this singular man. Unfortunately, it does not concern thenarrative I now write, and I would not like to record his denunciationsand invective directed at the Government. He handled it without mercy, and his comments upon the character of President Davis were exceedinglybitter. One of these was laughable for the grim humor of the idea. Opening a volume of Voltaire--whose complete works he had justpurchased--he showed me a passage in one of the infidel dramas of thegreat Frenchman, where King David, on his death-bed, after invokingmaledictions upon his opponents, declares that "having forgiven all hisenemies _en bon Juif_, he is ready to die. "

A grim smile came to the face of the journalist, as he showed me thepassage. 

"That suits Mr. Davis exactly, " he said. "He forgives his enemies _enbon Juif_! I believe I will make an editorial, and quote the passage onhim--but he wouldn't understand it!"

That was bitter--was it not, reader? I raised my pen to draw a linethrough the incident, but it can do no harm now. 

The solitary journalist-politician spoke freely of himself and hisintentions for the future. With a few passages from our talk on thispoint, I will terminate my account of the interview. 

"You see I am here chained to the pen, " he said, "and, luckily, I havethat which defies the conscript officers, if the Government takes afancy to order editors into the ranks. "

Smiling slightly as he spoke, he showed me his right hand, the fingersof which he could scarcely bend. 

"I was wounded at Cold Harbor, in June, 1862, " he added; "not muchwounded either; but sufficient to prevent me from handling a sword ormusket. It is a trifle. I should like to be able to show an honorablescar[1] in this cause, and I am sorry I left the army. By this time Imight have, been a brigadier--perhaps a major-general. "[2]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

[Footnote 2: His words. ]

"Possibly, " I replied; "but the position of an editor is a powerfulone. "

"Do you think so?"

"Don't you?"

"Yes, colonel; but what good is the _Examiner_ doing? What can all thepapers in the Confederacy effect? Besides, I like to command men. Ilove power. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

I laughed. 

"I would recommend the philosophic view of things, " I said. "Why nottake the good the gods provide? As a soldier, you would be infetters--whatever your rank--to say nothing of the bullet that mightcut short your career. And yet this life of the brain is wearingtoo, --"

"But my health is all the better for it, " he said. "A friend was hereto see me the other day, and I startled him by the observation 'I shalllive to eat the goose that eats the grass over your grave. '[1] When heinquired my meaning, I replied, 'For two reasons--I come of along-lived race, and have an infallible sign of longevity; I neverdream, and my sleep is always sound and refreshing. '"[2]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

[Footnote 2: His words. ]

"Do you believe in that dictum?" I said. 

"Thoroughly, " he replied, laughing. "I shall live long, in spite of theenmities which would destroy me in an instant, if the secret foes Ihave could only accomplish their end without danger to themselves. "

"You do not really believe, surely, that you have such foes?"

"Not believe it? I know it. _You_ have them, colonel, too. How long doyou think you would live, if your enemies had their way with you?Perhaps you think you have no enemies who hate you enough to kill you. You are greatly mistaken--every man has his enemies. I have them by thethousand, and I have no doubt you, too, have them, though they areprobably not so numerous as mine. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

"But their enmity comes to nothing. "

"Because to indulge it, would bring them into trouble, " he replied. "Neither your enemies or mine would run the risk of murdering us inopen day; but suppose they could kill us by simply _wishing it?_ Ishould drop down dead before your eyes--and you would fall a corpse inMain Street before you reached your home!"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

"A gloomy view enough, but I dare not deny it. "

"It would be useless, colonel. That is the way men are made. Formyself, I distrust all of them--or nearly all. "

He uttered the words with intense bitterness, and for a moment remainedsilent. 

"This is gloomy talk, " he said, "and will not amuse you. Let us changethe topic. When I am not discussing public affairs--the doings of thiswretched administration, and the old man of the sea astride upon thecountry's back--I ought to try and amuse myself. "

"You find the _Examiner_ a heavy weight upon you?"

"It is a mill-stone around my neck. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

"Why not throw it off, if you find it onerous?"

"Because I look to this journal as a father does to an only son--as mypet, my pride, and the support and honor of myself and my name in thefuture. "

"You are proud of it. "

"It has made me, and it will do more for me hereafter than it has everdone yet. "

He paused, and then went on, with a glow in his swarthy face:

"Every man has his cherished object in this world, colonel. Mine is thesuccess and glory of the _Examiner_. I intend to make of it what theLondon _Times_ is in England, and the world--a great power, which shalllay down the law, control cabinets, mould parties, and direct events. It has given me much trouble to establish it, but _ça ira_ now! Fromthe _Examiner_ I expect to realize the great dream of my life. "

"The dream of your life? What is that?--if I may ask withoutintrusion. "

"Oh! I make no secret of it, and as a gentleman speaking to agentleman, can say what I could not in the society of _roturiers_ orcommon people. My family is an old and honorable one in Virginia--this, by way of explanation only, I beg you to note. We are thus, people ofold descent, but my branch of the family is ruined. My object is toreinstate it; and you will perhaps compare me to the scheming youngpolitician in Bulwer's 'My Novel, ' who seeks to restore the familyfortunes, and brighten up the lonely old house--in Yorkshire, is it?You remember?"

"Yes, " I said. 

"Well, I always sympathized with that character. He is morally bad, yousay: granted; but he is resolute and brave--and his object is noble. "

"I agree with you, the object _is_ noble. "

"I am glad you think so, colonel. I see I speak to one who has the oldVirginia feeling. You respect family. "

"Who does not? There are those who profess to care naught for it, butit is because they are new-comers. "

"Yes, " was the journalist's reply, "mushrooms--and very dirty ones!"

I laughed at the speaker's grimace. 

"For my own part, " I said, "I do not pretend to be indifferent whetheror not my father was a gentleman. I bow as politely to the new-comer asif it were the Conqueror he came over with; but still I am glad myfather was a gentleman. I hope no one will quarrel with that. "

"You are mistaken. They will hate you for it. "

"You are right--but I interrupted you. "

"I am glad the interruption came, colonel, for it gave you anopportunity of showing me that my views and your own are in exactaccord on this subject. I will proceed, therefore, without ceremony, totell you what I design doing some day. "

I listened with attention. It is always interesting to look into therecesses of a remarkable man's character. This human being was notablein an epoch filled with notabilities; and chance was about to give mean insight into his secret thoughts. 

He twirled a paper-cutter in his fingers, reflected a moment, andsaid:--

"I am still young--not very young either, for I will soon be forty--butI know no young man who has better prospects than myself, and few whohave done so well. I suppose I am worth now nearly $100, 000 in goodmoney. I have more gold coin than I know what to do with. The_Examiner_ is very valuable property, and is destined to be much moreso. I expect to live long, and if I do, I shall be rich. When I amrich, I shall buy the old family estate in Stafford County, and shalladd to it all the land for miles around. I shall build a house to myfancy, and, with all my possessions walled in, I shall teach thesepeople what they never knew--how to live like a gentleman. "[1]

[Footnote 1: This paragraph is in Mr. J. M. Daniel's words. ]

The glow had deepened on the sallow face. It was easy to see that thespeaker had unfolded to me the dream of his life. 

"Your scheme is one, " I said, "which takes my fancy greatly. But why doyou intend to wall in your property?"

"To keep out those wolves called men. "

"Ah! I forgot. You do not like those bipeds without feathers. "

"I like some of them, colonel; but the majority are worse than my dogs, Fanny and Frank, yonder. Sometimes I think they are human--they biteeach other so!"

I laughed. There was something _piquant_ in the grim humor of thissingular personage. 

"What is your ideal man?" I said, "for, doubtless, you have such anideal?"

"Yes. I like a man of bronze, who does not snivel or weep. I likeWigfall for his physique and his magnificent courage. It is the genuinething. There is no _put on_ there. He has native pluck--the actualarticle--and it is no strain on him to exhibit it. The grit is in him, and you can't shake him. "[1]

[Footnote 1: This paragraph is in Mr. J. M. Daniel's words. ]

"You would admit your men of bronze, then, into the walled-up domain inStafford?"

"I don't know, " he said grimly. "With my violin, a good cook, Englishbooks and papers--I hate your Yankee trash--and occasional travel, Ithink I could get through life without very great ennui. I do notexpect to be governor of Virginia for ten years yet!"

And smiling, the journalist said:--

"Let us change the subject. What are people talking about? I never askwhat is the news. [1] Is any thing said of evacuating Virginia? That isa pernicious idea![2] Whom have you seen lately?"

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

[Footnote 2: His words. ]

"A queer set, " I said. 

And I gave him an account of my dinner at Mr. Blocque's. 

"What a little wretch!" he said. "I think I will run a pin through thatbug, and impale him. He would make a fine dish served up _à la VictorHugo_. You have read _Les Misérables_ yonder? It is a trashy affair. "

And taking up the elegantly bound volume, which must have cost him aconsiderable sum, he quietly pitched it out of the window. 

As he did so, the printer's devil appeared at the door, holding proofin his hand. 

"You see I am never safe from intrusion, colonel. This _Examiner_newspaper keeps me at the oar. "

I rose and put on my hat. 

"Come and see me again soon, if it suits your convenience, " he said. "Iam going to write an editorial, and I think I will serve up your host, Blocque. "

"Do not use his name. "

"Be tranquil. He will be the type only. "

And, escorting me to the door, Mr. Daniel bestowed a courteous bow uponme, which I returned. Then the door closed. 

VI. 

AN EDITORIAL IN THE EXAMINER. 

On the following morning I opened the _Examiner_, and the first articlewhich I saw was the following one, on

 THE BLOCKADE-RUNNER. 

 "We owe to the kindness of SHEM'S Express Company, which has charge of the line between the front door of the State Department and the back door of the Tuileries kitchen, the advance sheets of a new novel by VICTUS HAUTGOUT, which bears the striking title, _Les Fortunés_, and which consists of five parts--ABRAHAM, ISAAC, JACOB, JUDAH, and BENJAMIN. Of course, the discerning reader will not suppose for a moment that there is any connection between _Les Fortunés_ and _Les Misérables_; between the chaste style of HAUTGOUT and the extravaganzas of HUGO; whose works, in former days, were not considered fit reading for an Anglo-Saxon public, whose latest and most corrupt fiction owes its success (let us hope) rather to the dearth of new literature than to the vitiated taste of the Southern people. How great the difference between the two authors is, can best be appreciated by comparing the description of the _gamin_ in _Marius_, with the following extracts from HAUTGOUT'S portraiture of the BLOCKADE-RUNNER:--

 "Yankeedom has a bird, and the crocodile has a bird. The crocodile's bird is called the Trochilus. Yankeedom's bird is called the blockade-runner. Yankeedom is the crocodile. The blockade-runner is the Trochilus. 

 "Couple these two ideas--Yankeedom and the crocodile. They are worth the coupling. The crocodile is asleep. He does not sleep on both ears; he sleeps with one eye open; his jaws are also open. Rows of teeth appear, sharped, fanged, pointed, murderous, carnivorous, omnivorous. Some of the teeth are wanting: say a dozen. Who knocked those teeth out? A demon. What demon? Or perhaps an angel. What angel? The angel is secession: the demon is rebellion. ORMUZD and AHRIMAN: BALDUR and LOKI: the DEVIL and ST. DUNSTAN. So we go. 

 "The Trochilus picks the crocodile's teeth. Does the crocodile object? Not he. He likes to have his teeth picked. It is good for his health. It promotes his digestion. It is, on the whole, a sanitary measure. 'Feed yourself, ' he says, 'my good Trochilus, on the broken meats which lie between my grinders. Feed your little ones at home. I shan't snap you up unless I get very hungry. There are Confederates enough. Why should I eat _you_?'

 "This little creature--this _Trochilus obsidionalis_--this blockade-running tomtit--is full of joy. He has rich food to eat every day. He goes to the show every evening, when he is not on duty. He has a fine shirt on his back; patent-leather boots on his feet; the pick and choice of a dozen houses. He is of any age--chiefly of the conscript age; ranges singly or in couples; haunts auction houses; dodges enrolling officers; eats canvass-backs; smells of greenbacks; swears allegiance to both sides; keeps faith with neither; is hand and glove with ABE'S detectives as well as with WINDER'S Plugs; smuggles in an ounce of quinine for the Confederate Government, and smuggles out a pound of gold for the Lincolnites; fishes in troubled waters; runs with the hare and hunts with the hounds; sings Yankee Doodle through one nostril, and My Maryland through the other; is on good terms with everybody--especially with himself--and, withal, is as great a rascal as goes unhung. 

 "He has sports of his own; roguish tricks of his own, of which a hearty hatred of humdrum, honest people is the basis. He has his own occupations, such as running for hacks, which he hires at fabulous prices; crossing the Potomac in all kinds of weather; rubbing off Yankee trade-marks and putting English labels in their stead. He has a currency of his own, slips of green paper, which have an unvarying and well regulated circulation throughout this gipsy band. 

 "He is never satisfied with his pantaloons unless they have a watch-fob, and never satisfied with his watch-fob unless it contains a gold watch. Sometimes he has two watch-fobs; sometimes a score. 

 "This rosy child of Richmond lives, develops, gets into and out of scrapes--a merry witness of our social unrealities. He looks on ready to laugh; ready also for something else, for pocketing whatever he can lay his hands on. Whoever you are, you that call yourselves Honor, Justice, Patriotism, Independence, Freedom, Candour, Honesty, Right, beware of the grinning blockade-runner. He is growing. He will continue to grow. 

 "Of what clay is he made? Part Baltimore street-dirt, part James River mud, best part and worst part sacred soil of Palestine. What will become of him in the hands of the potter, chance? Heaven grant that he may be ground into his original powder before he is stuck up on our mantel-pieces as a costly vase, in which the choice flowers of our civilization can but wither and die. "

Admire that grim humor, reader--the firm stroke with which thisAristophanes of 1864 drew my friend, Mr. Blocque. See how he reproducedevery trait, delineated the worthy in his exact colors, and, at thefoot of the picture, wrote, as it were, "Here is going to be thefounder of 'one of the old families, '--one of the ornaments of thefuture, who will come out of the war rich, and be a costly vase, not avessel of dishonor, as at present. "

Grim satirist! You saw far, and I think we want you to-day!

VII. 

UNDER THE CROSSED SWORDS. 

I had dined with Mr. Blocque; two days afterward I went to sup withJudge Conway. 

Does the reader remember his appearance at Culpeper Court-House, on thenight of the ball after the review in June, 1863? On that evening hehad excited my astonishment by abruptly terminating the interviewbetween his daughter and Captain Davenant; and I little supposed that Iwould ever penetrate the motive of that action, or become intimate withthe performer. 

Yet the chance of war had decreed that both events should occur. Allwill be, in due time, explained to the reader's satisfaction; atpresent we will simply make the acquaintance of one of the mostdistinguished statesmen of the epoch. 

My friendly relations with the judge came about in a very simplemanner. He was an intimate associate of the gentleman at whose house Iwas staying; had taken great interest in my recovery after YellowTavern; and therefore had done me the honor to bestow his friendshipupon me. 

On the day to which we have now come, Judge Conway had made a speech ofsurpassing eloquence, in Congress, on the condition of the country, andI had listened, thrilling at the brave voice which rang out itssonorous, "All's well!" amid the storm. I was now going to call on thestatesman to express my admiration of his eloquent appeal, and converseupon the exciting topics of the hour. 

I found him in a mansion not far from the splendid residence of Mr. Blocque. Here he occupied "apartments, " or rather a single room, --and, in 1864, my dear reader, that was a very common mode of living. 

Like others, Judge Conway was too poor to occupy a whole house, --eventoo poor to board. He had a single apartment, containing a few chairsand a bed; was waited on by a maid; and, I think, prepared his ownmeals, which were plain to poverty. 

He met me at the door of his bare and poor-looking apartment, extendinghis hand with the gracious and stately courtesy of the ancient régime. His figure was small, slight, and bent by age; his face, thin and pale;his hair nearly white, and falling in long curls upon his shoulders;under the gray brows sparkled keen, penetrating, but benignant eyes. 

As I pressed the hand of my host, and looked around the poor apartment, I could not refrain from a sentiment of profound bitterness. Two daysbefore I had dined at the table of a peddling blockade-runner, who atecanvass-backs, drank champagne, wore "fine linen, " and, dodging theconscript officers, revelled in luxury and plenty. And now here beforeme was a gentleman of ancient lineage, whose ancestors had been famous, who had himself played a great part in the history of thecommonwealth, --and this gentleman was poor, lived in lodgings, hadscarce a penny; he had been wealthy, and was still the owner of greatpossessions; but the bare land was all that was left him for support. He had been surrounded with luxury, but had sacrificed all to thecause. He had had two gallant sons, but they had fallen at the firstManassas--their crossed swords were above his poor bare mantel-piece. 

From the splendid table of the sneaking blockade-runner, I had come tothe poverty-stricken apartment of this great statesman and high-bredgentleman. "Oh, Juvenal!" I muttered, "it is your satires, not thebucolics of Virgil, that suit this epoch!"

The old statesman pointed, with all the grace of a nobleman, to a barerocking-chair, and received my congratulations upon his speech withmodest simplicity. 

"I am glad that my views are honored by your good opinion, colonel, " hesaid, "and that you approve of the tone of them. I am naturally givento invective--a habit derived from my friend, the late Mr. Randolph;but the country wants encouragement. "

"And yet not to satirize is so hard, my dear sir!"

"Very hard. "

"Think of the army depleted--the soldiers starving--the finances inruin, and entire destruction threatening us!"

The old statesman was silent. A moment afterward he raised his head, and with his thin finger pointed to the crossed swords above hismantelpiece. 

"I try to bear and forbear since I lost my poor boys, " he said. "Theydied for their country--I ought to live for it, and do what I can in mysphere--to suppress my bitterness, and try to utter words of goodcheer. But we are discussing gloomy topics. Let us come to morecheerful matters. I am in very good spirits to-day. My daughters havecome to make me a visit, " and the old face glowed with smiles; itsexpression was quite charming. 

"I see you do not appreciate that great treat, my dear colonel, " headded, smiling. "You are yet unmarried, though I rejoice to hear youare soon to be united to a daughter of my old friend, Colonel Beverly, of "The Oaks. " Some day I hope you will know the great charm ofpaternity. This morning I was lonely--this evening I am no longer so. Georgia and Virginia have come up from my house, "Five Forks, " escortedby my faithful old Juba, and they burst in upon me like the sunshine!"

The words had scarcely been uttered when a tap came at the door; avoice said, "May we come in, papa?" and a moment afterward the dooropened, and admitted Miss Georgia Conway and her sister Virginia. 

Miss Georgia was the same tall and superb beauty, with the dark hairand eyes; Miss Virginia the same winning little blonde, with the blueeyes, and the smiles which made her lips resemble rose-buds. The youngladies were clad in poor, faded-looking calicoes, and the slippers onthe small feet, peeping from their skirts, were full of holes. Such wasthe appearance presented in that summer of 1864, my dear reader, by twoof the most elegant and "aristocratic" young ladies of Virginia!

But you did not look at the calicoes, and soon forgot the holes in theshoes. My bow was such as I should have bestowed on two princesses, andthe young ladies received it with a grace and courtesy which werecharming. 

In ten minutes we were all talking like old friends, and the youngladies were making tea. 

This was soon ready; some bread, without butter, was placed upon thelittle table; and the meal was the most cheerful and happy imaginable. "Oh, my dear Mr. Blocque!" I could not help saying to myself, "keepyour champagne, and canvass-backs, and every luxury, and welcome! Ilike dry bread and tea, with this company, better!"

I have not room to repeat the charming words, mingled with laughter, ofthe young women, on that evening. Their presence was truly likesunshine, and you could see the reflection of it upon the oldstatesman's countenance. 

Only once that countenance was overshadowed. I had uttered the name ofWillie Davenant, by accident; and then all at once remembering thescene at Culpeper Court-House, had looked quietly at Judge Conway andMiss Virginia. A deep frown was on his face--that of the young girl wascrimson with blushes, and two tears came to her eyes, as she caught herfather's glance of displeasure. 

I hastened to change the topic--to banish the dangerous subject; and ina few moments everybody was smiling once more. Miss Georgia, in herstately and amusing way, was relating their experiences from a scoutingparty of the enemy, at "Five Forks. "

"I heard something of this from old Juba, " said the Judge; "you do notmention your deliverer, however. "

"Our deliverer, papa?"

"General Mohun. "

Miss Georgia unmistakably blushed in her turn. 

"Oh, I forgot!" she said, carelessly, "General Mohun _did_ drive themoff. Did I not mention it?--I should have done so before finishing, papa. "

As she spoke, the young lady happened to catch my eye. I was laughingquietly. Thereupon her head rose in a stately way--a decided poutsucceeded--finally, she burst into laughter. 

The puzzled expression of the old Judge completed the comedy of theoccasion--we all laughed in a perfectly absurd and foolish way--and therest of the evening passed in the most cheerful manner imaginable. 

When I bade my friends good evening, I knew something I had not knownbefore:--namely, that Mohun the woman-hater, had renewed his "friendlyrelations" with Miss Georgia Conway, at her home in Dinwiddie. 

Exchanging a pressure of the hand with my host and his charmingdaughters, I bade them good evening, and returned homeward. As I wentalong, I thought of the happy circle I had left; and again I could notrefrain from drawing the comparison between Judge Conway and Mr. Blocque. 

At the fine house of the blockade-runner--champagne, rich viands, wax-lights, gold and silver, and profuse luxury. 

At the poor lodgings of the great statesman, --a cup of tea and coldbread; stately courtesy from my host, charming smiles from hisbeautiful daughters, clad in calico, with worn-out shoes--and above thesimple happy group, the crossed swords of the brave youths who hadfallen at Manassas!

VIII. 

MR. X-----. 

It was past ten in the evening when I left Judge Conway. But I felt nodisposition to retire; and determined to pay a visit to a singularcharacter of my acquaintance. 

The name of this gentleman was Mr. X-----. 

Looking back now to the days spent in Richmond, in that curious summerof '64, I recall, among the representative personages whom Iencountered, no individual more remarkable than the Honorable Mr. X-----. You are acquainted with him, my dear reader, either personallyor by reputation, for he was a prominent official of the ConfederateGovernment, and, before the war, had been famous in the councils of"the nation. "

He resided at this time in a small house, on a street near the capitol. You gained access to his apartment after night--if you knew the way--bya winding path, through shrubbery, to the back door of the mansion. When you entered, you found yourself in presence of a tall, powerful, gray-haired and very courteous personage, who sat in a huge arm-chair, near a table littered with papers, and smoked, meditatively, a cigar, the flavor of which indicated its excellent quality. 

I enjoyed the intimacy of Mr. X----- in spite of the difference of ourages and positions. He had been the friend of my father, and, in myturn, did me the honor to bestow his friendship upon me. On thisevening I was seized with the fancy to visit him--and passing throughthe grounds of the capitol, where the bronze Washington and his greatcompanions looked silently out into the moonlight, reached the smallhouse, followed the path through the shrubbery, and opening the door inthe rear, found myself suddenly enveloped in a cloud of cigar smoke, through which loomed the portly figure of Mr. X-----. 

He was seated, as usual, in his large arm-chair, by the table, coveredwith papers; and a small bell near his hand seemed placed there for theconvenience of summoning an attendant, without the trouble of rising. Near the bell lay a package of foreign-looking documents. Near thedocuments lay a pile of telegraphic dispatches. In the appearance andsurroundings of this man you read "Power. "

Mr. X----- received me with easy cordiality. 

"Glad to see you, my dear colonel, " he said, rising and shaking myhand; then sinking back in his chair, "take a cigar, and tell me thenews. " I sat down, --having declined the proffered cigar. 

"The news!" I said, laughing; "I ought to ask that of you. "

"Ah! you think I am well-informed?"

I pointed to the dispatches. Mr. X----- shrugged his shoulders. 

"Papers from England and France--they are not going to recognize us. 

"And those telegrams--nothing. We get little that is worth attention, except a line now and then, signed 'R. E. Lee. '"

"Well, there is that signature, " I said, pointing to an open paper. 

"It is a private letter to me--but do you wish to see a line which Ihave just received? It is interesting, I assure you. "

And he handed me a paper. 

It was a telegram announcing the fall of Atlanta!

"Good heavens!" I said, "is it possible? Then there is nothing to stopSherman. "

"Nothing whatever, " said Mr. X-----, coolly. 

"What will be the consequence?"

"The Confederacy will be cut in two. Sherman will be at Savannah beforeGrant reaches the Southside road--or as soon, at least. "

"You think Grant will reach that?"

"Yes, by April; and then--you know what!"

"But Lee will protect it. "

Mr. X----- shrugged his shoulders. 

"Shall I tell you a secret?"

I listened. 

"Lee's force is less than 50, 000--next spring it will not number40, 000. Grant's will be at least four times that. "

"Why can not our army be re-enforced?"

Mr. X----- helped himself to a fresh cigar. 

"The people are tired, and the conscript officers are playing a farce, "he said. "The commissary department gives the army a quarter of a poundof rancid meat. That even often fails, for the quartermaster'sdepartment does not supply it. The result is--no conscripts, and athousand desertions. The soldiers are starving; their wives andchildren are writing them letters that drive them mad--the end is notfar off; and when Grant reaches the Southside road we are gone. "

Mr. X----- smoked his cigar with extreme calmness as he spoke. 

"But one thing remains, " I said. 

"What is that?"

"Lee will retreat from Virginia. "

Mr. X----- shook his head. 

"He will not. "

"Why not?"

"He will be prevented from doing so. "

"Under any circumstances?"

"Until too late, at least. "

"And the result?"

"Surrender--though he said to me the other day, when he came to see mehere, 'For myself, I intend to die sword in hand. '"

I could not refrain from a sentiment of profound gloom, as I listenedto these sombre predictions. It seemed incredible that they could bewell founded, but I had more than once had an opportunity to remark theextraordinary prescience of the remarkable man with whom I conversed. 

"You draw a black picture of the future, " I said. "And the South seemsmoving to and fro, on the crust of a volcano. "

"No metaphor could be more just. "

"And what will be the result of the war?"

"That is easy to reply to. Political slavery, negro suffrage, and thebayonet, until the new leaven works. "

"The new leaven?"

"The conviction that democratic government is a failure. "

"And then--?"

"An emperor, or dictator--call him what you will. The main fact is, that he will rule the country by the bayonet--North and Southimpartially. "

Mr. X----- lit a fresh cigar. 

"Things are going on straight to that, " he said. "The future isperfectly plain to me, for I read it in the light of history. Theseevents are going to follow step by step. Lee is brave--no man isbraver; a great leader. I think him one of the first captains of theworld. But in spite of his courage and skill--in spite of the heroismof his army--in spite of the high character and pure motives of thepresident--we are going to fail. Then the rest will follow--negrosuffrage and the bayonet. Then the third era will begin--the disgust ofthe white man at the equality of the negro; his distrust of agovernment which makes such a farce possible; consequent revulsionagainst democracy; a tendency toward monarchy; a king, emperor ordictator, who will restore order out of the chaos of misrule andmadness. England is rushing toward a democracy, America is hastening tobecome an empire. For my own part I think I prefer the imperial to thepopular idea--Imperator to Demos. It is a matter of taste, however. "

And Mr. X----- turned his head, calling out, calmly, "Come in!"

The door opened and a stranger glided into the apartment. He was cladin a blue Federal uniform, half-concealed by a brown linen overall. Hisface was almost covered by a red beard; his lips by a mustache of thesame color; and his eyes disappeared behind huge green goggles. 

"Come in, " repeated Mr. X-----, who seemed to recognize the intruder;"what news?"

The personage glanced quickly at me. 

"Speak before him, " said Mr. X-----, "he is a friend. "

"I am very well acquainted with Colonel Surry, " said the other, smiling, "and have the honor to number him, I hope, among my ownfriends. "

With which words, the new-comer quietly removed his red beard, took offhis green spectacles, and I saw before me no less a personage than Mr. Nighthawk!

IX. 

"SEND ME A COPY. --IN CANADA!"

Nothing was more surprising in this singular man than these suddenappearances at places and times when you least expected him. 

I had parted with him in Spottsylvania, on the night when he "deserted"from the enemy, and rode into our lines; and he was then the secretagent of General Stuart. Now, he reappeared in the city of Richmond, with an excellent understanding, it was evident, between himself andMr. X-----!

Our greeting was cordial, and indeed I never had classed Nighthawkamong professional spies. General Stuart assured me one day, that heinvariably refused all reward; and his profound, almost romanticdevotion to Mohun, had deeply impressed me. Love of country andwatchful care of the young cavalier, whose past life was as mysteriousas his own, seemed the controlling sentiments of Nighthawk; and healways presented himself to me rather in the light of a politicalconspirator, than as a "spy. "

His first words now indicated that he was a secret agent of theGovernment. He seemed to have been everywhere, and gained access toeverybody; and once more, as in June, 1863, when he appeared atStuart's head-quarters, near Middleburg, he astonished me by theaccuracy and extent of his information. Political and military secretsof the highest importance, and calling for urgent action on the part ofthe Government, were detailed by Nighthawk, in his calm and benignantvoice; he gave us an account of a long interview which he had had atCity Point, with General Grant; and wound up as usual by announcing animpending battle--a movement of the enemy, which duly took place as heannounced. 

Mr. X----- listened with close attention, asking few questions. 

When Nighthawk had made his report, the statesman looked at his watch, said, _sotto voce_, "Midnight--too late, " and added aloud:--

"Come back at ten to-morrow morning, my friend; your information ishighly interesting and important. "

Nighthawk rose, and I did likewise, declining the courteous request ofMr. X----- to prolong my visit. He held the door open with greatpoliteness and said, smiling:--

"I need not say, my dear colonel, that the views I have expressed thisevening are confidential--for the present, at least. "

"Assuredly, " I replied, with a bow and a smile. 

"Hereafter you are at liberty to repeat them, if you wish, only I begyou will ascribe them to Mr. X-----, an unknown quantity. If you writea book, and put me in it, send me a copy--in Canada!"

A moment afterward I was wending my way through the shrubbery, thinkingof the curious personage I had left. 

At the gate Nighthawk awaited me, and I scarcely recognized him. He hadresumed his red beard, and green glasses. 

"I am glad to see you again, colonel, " he said benignantly; "I heardthat you were in the city and called at your lodgings, but found youabsent. "

"You wished to see me particularly, then, Nighthawk. "

"Yes, and to-night, colonel. "

"Ah!"

"I know you are a friend of General Mohun's. "

"A very sincere friend. "

"Well, I think we will be able to do him a very great service byattending to a little matter in which he is interested, colonel. Areyou disengaged, and willing to accompany me?"

X. 

THE WAY THE MONEY WENT. 

I looked intently at Nighthawk. He was evidently very much in earnest. 

"I am entirely disengaged, and perfectly willing to accompany you, " Isaid; "but where?"

Nighthawk smiled. 

"You know I am a mysterious person, colonel, both by character andprofession. I fear the habit is growing on me, in spite of everyexertion I make. I predict I will end by burning my coat, for fear itwill tell some of my secrets. "

"Well, " I said with a smile, "keep your secret then, and lead the way. I am ready to go far to oblige Mohun in any thing. "

"I thank you, colonel, from my heart. You have only to follow me. "

And Nighthawk set out at a rapid pace, through the grounds of thecapitol, toward the lower part of the city. 

There was something as singular about the walk of my companion, asabout his appearance. He went at a great pace, but his progress wasentirely noiseless. You would have said that he was skimming along uponinvisible wings. 

In an incredibly short time we had reached a street below the capitol, and my companion, who had walked straight on without turning his headto the right or the left, all at once paused before a tall anddingy-looking house, which would have appeared completely uninhabited, except for a bright red light which shone through a circular opening inthe door. 

At this door Nighthawk gave a single tap. The glass covering thecircular space glided back, and a face reconnoitred. My companionuttered two words; and the door opened, giving access to a stairs, which we ascended, the janitor having already disappeared. 

At the head of the stairs was a door which Nighthawk opened, and wefound ourselves in an apartment where a dozen persons were playingfaro. 

Upon these Nighthawk threw a rapid glance--some one whom he appeared tobe seeking, was evidently not among the players. 

Another moment he returned through the door, I following, and weascended a second flight of stairs, at the top of which was a seconddoor. Here another janitor barred the way, but my companion againuttered some low words, --the door opened; a magnificently litapartment, with a buffet of liquors, and every edible, presented itselfbefore us; and in the midst of a dozen personages, who were playingfuriously, I recognized--Mr. Blocque, Mr. Croker, Mr. Torpedo, andColonel Desperade. 

For some moments I stood watching the spectacle, and it veryconsiderably enlarged my experience. Before me I saw prominentpoliticians, officers of high rank, employees of government holdingresponsible positions, all gambling with an ardor that amounted tofury. One gentleman in uniform--apparently of the quartermaster'sdepartment--held in his hand a huge package of Confederate notes, ofthe denominations, of $100 and $500, and this worthy staked, twice, thepretty little amount of $10, 000 upon a card, and each time lost. 

The play so absorbed the soldiers, lawgivers, and law-administrators, that our presence was unperceived. My friend, Mr. Blocque, did not turnhis head; Mr. Croker, Mr. Torpedo, and Colonel Desperade, were red inthe face and oblivious. 

After that evening I knew where some of the public money went. 

As I was looking at the strange scene of reckless excitement, one ofthe players, a portly individual with black mustache, rich dark curls, gold spectacles, and wearing a fine suit of broadcloth--rose and lookedtoward us. Nighthawk was already gazing at him; and suddenly I sawtheir glances cross like steel rapiers. They had evidently recognizedeach other; and going up to the gentleman of the spectacles, Nighthawksaid a few words in a low voice, which I did not distinguish. 

"With pleasure, my dear friend, " said the portly gentleman, "but youare sure you are not provided with a detective of General Winder's?"

"Can you believe such a thing?" returned Nighthawk, reproachfully. 

"I thought it possible you might have one waiting below; but if yougive me your word, Nighthawk--"

And without further objection the worthy followed Nighthawk and myselfdown the stairs. 

As we approached the outer door, the invisible janitor opened it; weissued forth into the street; and the portly gentleman, fixing a keenlook upon me in the clear moonlight, said:--

"I believe we have had the pleasure of meeting before, colonel. "

"I am ashamed to say I do not remember where, sir, " I said. 

"My memory is better, colonel; we met last May, in a house in theWilderness, near Chancellorsville. "

"Is it possible that you are--"

"Swartz, very much at your service. It is wonderful what a differenceis made by a wig and spectacles!"

As he spoke, he gracefully removed his black wig and the goldspectacles. In the man with gray hair, small eyes, and double chin, Irecognized the spy of the Wilderness. 

XI. 

THE PASS. 

Replacing his wig and spectacles, Mr. Swartz smiled in a good-humoredmanner, and said:--

"May I ask to what I am indebted for this visit?"

Nighthawk replied even more blandly:--

"I wish to have a conversation with you, my dear Swartz, beforearresting you. "

"Ah! you intend to arrest me!"

"Unless you make it unnecessary. "

"How?"

"By producing the paper which we spoke of in the Wilderness, " saidNighthawk, briefly. 

Swartz shook his head. 

"That is not in my power, my friend. I did not bring it with me. "

"Will you think me very impolite if I say I do not believe you, my dearSwartz?"

Swartz smiled. 

"Well, that would be speaking without ceremony, my friend--but I assureyou I am unable to do as you desire. "

"Aha! you repeat that curious statement, my dear Swartz! Well, obligeme by accompanying me to the provost-marshal's. "

"You arrest me?"

"Precisely. "

"As a spy?"

"Why not?"

"It is impossible, Nighthawk!"

"You resist?"

"I might do so. "

And, opening his coat, Mr. Swartz exhibited a bowie-knife and revolver. 

"I show you these little toys, " said he, laughing good-humoredly, "tolet you see, my friend, that I might oppose your project--and you knowI am not backward in using them on occasion. But I make a difference. You are not a common police-officer or detective, Nighthawk--you are afriend and comrade, and I am going to prove that I appreciate yourfeelings, and respect your wishes. "

Nighthawk fixed his eyes on the speaker and listened. 

"You are a friend of General Mohun's, " said Mr. Swartz, with bland goodhumor; "you wish to secure a certain document in which he isinterested; you fancy I have that document here in the city ofRichmond; and your object, very naturally, is to force me to surrenderit. Well, I do not object to doing so--for a consideration. I fullyintend to produce it, when my terms are accepted. I would have statedthem to you in the Wilderness, but you were unable to meet me--or toGeneral Mohun, but his violence defeated every thing. You meet me now, and without discussion, demand the paper. I reply, that I have notbrought it with me, but three days from this time will meet you at aspot agreed on, with the document, for which you will return me--myconsideration. "

Nighthawk shook his head. 

"Unfortunately, my dear Swartz, experience tells me that the present isalways the best time for business--that 'a bird in the hand is worthtwo in the bush. '"

Mr. Swartz smiled sweetly. 

"And I am the bird in your hand?"

"Something like it. "

"I am a spy?"

"Don't use hard names, my friend. "

"By no means, my dear Nighthawk, and if I have hurt your feelings, Ideeply regret it. But I am speaking to the point. You regard me as aFederal spy, lurking in Richmond--you penetrate my disguise, and aregoing to arrest me, and search my lodgings for that paper. "

"The necessity is painful, " said Nighthawk. 

"It is useless, my friend. "

"I will try it. "

Swartz smiled, and drew a paper from his pocket, which he unfolded. 

"You are then determined to arrest your old comrade, Nighthawk. "

"Yes, my dear Swartz. "

"As a spy?"

"Exactly. "

"In spite of this?"

And Mr. Swartz held out the paper. 

"Do me the favor to read this, colonel, and then oblige me by returningit. "

I took the paper, and easily read it by moonlight. It contained thefollowing words:--

"The bearer is employed on secret service, by the ConfederateGovernment, and will not be molested. "

The paper was signed by a personage of high position in the government, and was stamped with the seal of the department over which he presided. There could be no doubt of the genuineness of the paper. The worthy Mr. Swartz loomed up before me in the novel and unexpected light of a_Confederate_ emissary!

I read the paper aloud to Nighthawk, and pointed to the officialsignature and seal. 

Nighthawk uttered a groan, and his chin sank upon his breast. 

That spectacle seemed to excite the sympathy of his friend. 

"There, my dear Nighthawk, " said Mr. Swartz, in a feeling tone, "don'ttake the blow too much to heart. I have beaten you, this game, and yourhands are tied at present. But I swear that I will meet you, andproduce that paper. "

"When?" murmured Nighthawk. 

"In three days from this time. "

"Where?"

"At the house of our friend Alibi, near Monk's Neck, in Dinwiddie. "

"On your word?"

"On the word of Swartz!"

"That is enough, my dear Swartz; I will be at Alibi's, when we willcome to terms. And now, pardon this visit, which has put you to so muchinconvenience. I was merely jesting, my dear friend, when I spoke ofarresting you. Arrest you! Nothing could induce me to think of sounfriendly a proceeding. And now, good night, my dear friend. I willreturn with you, colonel. "

With which words Nighthawk saluted his "friend, " and we returned towardthe upper part of the city. 

Such were the scenes of a night in the summer of 1864. 

XII. 

THE GRAVE OF STUART. 

On the next morning a piece of good fortune befell me. In spite ofcontinued visits to the war-office, and an amount of importunity whichmust have been exceedingly annoying to the gentlemen of the red tape, Ifound myself, at the end of August, apparently no nearer to an"assignment to duty" than at first. 

It really seemed that the Confederate States had no need of myservices; that the privilege of performing military duty in behalf ofthe Government was one jealously guarded, and not to be lightlybestowed upon any one. I was in despair, and was revolving the projectof resigning my empty commission, and enlisting in the cavalry as aprivate soldier, when the _deus ex machinâ_ to extricate me from all mytroubles, appeared in the person of Colonel P-----, of army head-quarters. 

This accomplished soldier and gentleman met me as I was coming out ofthe war-office, on the morning after the visit to Mr. X-----, looking Isuppose, like some descendant of the Knight of the SorrowfulCountenance, and stopped to inquire the cause of my dejection. Iinformed him of the whole affair, and he laughed heartily. "You haveset about your affairs, my dear colonel, in a manner entirely wrong, "he said. "You should have gone to some general, discovered that yourgrandmother and his own were third cousins; expressed your admirationof his valor; denounced the brother-general with whom he wasquarreling; written puffs to the papers about him; and then, onemorning said, 'By the by, general, you are entitled to another staffofficer. ' The result would have been a glowing letter to the wardepartment, requesting your assignment--you would have attained yourobject--you would have been torn from the horrors of Richmond, and oncemore enjoyed the great privilege of being shot at!"

I echoed the colonel's laugh. 

"Alas!" I said, "I have no genius for all that. I never yet could'crook the hinges of the knee that thrift might follow fawning, ' and Isuppose I shall be compelled to resign, and enter the ranks. Why not?Better men are there, carrying musket or carbine, or pulling thelanyard. "

"Still you gained your rank by your services--and I am going to makeyou an offer which will enable you to retain it. Come and be myassistant inspector-general--an officer is required to inspect thecavalry and horse artillery, which is so distant, often, that I have notime to visit them. "

"A thousand thanks, colonel! You could not offer me a more pleasantduty. "

"You will have to ride a great deal, but will have a great deal offreedom. If you consent to my proposition, I will have the matterarranged at once, and will request you to make a tour of inspection toGeneral Early's army, near Winchester. "

He looked at me, laughing. 

"'The Oaks' is--a charming place, " he added, "and you are certain to bevery tired when you reach the vicinity of Markham's! If you find itconvenient to stop there--say, for a day or more--present my regards toColonel Beverly, and any of the family you find present!"

With which words he laughed again, shook me by the hand, and then histall form disappeared in the doorway of the war office. 

On the next day I found my assignment awaiting me. I was appointedassistant inspector-general of the cavalry and horse artillery of thearmy of Northern Virginia. Tremendous title!

That evening I went by railway to Petersburg, to visit Colonel P-----, and receive his instructions. Returning the same night, the next dayset out on horseback for the Valley of the Shenandoah, by way ofOrange, Gaines's Cross Roads, and Ashby's Gap. 

Of this journey it is unnecessary for me to speak in the presentvolume. Some curious adventures occurred to me, in the valley, nearMillwood, and I made the acquaintance of St. Leger Landon, of"Bizarre, " one of the bravest and truest gentlemen I have ever known. The adventures alluded to, and some events in the strange history of myfriend, Captain Landon, are embraced in a separate memoir, to which Ihave given the fanciful title, _Hilt to Hilt, or Days and Nights on theBanks of the Shenandoah_. 

I remained in the valley from the first to the eighteenth of September, when I set out on my return to Petersburg, little thinking that, on thevery next day, General Early would be attacked on the Opequon, drivenfrom Winchester, and forced to retreat up the valley, in spite offighting which was never surpassed. 

I had received some rough handling in a cavalry combat near the OldChapel, beyond Millwood, and my ride back was tedious. But at last Ireached Richmond, and made preparations to set out at once for thearmy. On the evening before my departure, I went to visit the grave ofStuart at Hollywood, on the beautiful hill above the falls, west of thecity. 

As I approached the lonely spot, where the great cavalier was lyingbeside his little Flora, of whom he had often spoken to me with tears, a thousand memories knocked at the door of my heart. With head bentdown, and chin resting on my breast, I drew near the grassy mound overwhich waved the autumn foliage, tinted with yellow and crimson--and inthese few moments, all the splendid career of Stuart passed before me, as on that day when I rode with him toward the fatal field of YellowTavern. 

I remembered all his hard combats, his glorious encounters, hisvictories over such odds as vindicated his claim to a descent from thedashing Rupert, and ranked him with the most famous leaders of cavalryin all history. I recalled the courage, the joy, the gay laughter ofthe great soldier--the blue eyes that flashed so--the sonorous voicesinging the merry songs. I remembered all the occasions when he had ledhis men in the charge--how he had wept for Jackson, bowed his headabove the cold face of Pelham--how he had met the torrent unmoved, shrunk from nothing in his path, fallen to save the Virginia capital, and died murmuring "God's will be done!"--I remembered all that, andwith something in my throat that seemed choking me, drew near the quietmound, beneath which rested such a career, and so much glory. 

The birds were twittering and singing, the foliage waving gently--Iraised my head--when suddenly I became aware that a solitary mournerwas bending over the grave. 

He was an officer in gray uniform. He held a flower in his hand, whichhe dropped upon the grave, uttering a low sob as he did so. 

At the same moment he turned round, and I recognized the greatpartisan, Colonel Mosby. [1]

[Footnote 1: Real. ]

XIII. 

THE CEDARS. 

Twenty-four hours after, I had passed over the same number of miles, and found myself at the staff head-quarters, on the left bank of theAppomattox, above Petersburg. 

I had soon pitched my tent, with the assistance of a servant; haderected a hedge of cedar boughs to protect it from the cutting blastsof the coming winter; and, a few days afterwards, was surrounded withmany objects of comfort. My tent had been floored; at one end rose anexcellent chimney; strips of planks, skillfully balanced on two logs, supplied a spring bed; I had secured a split bottom chair, and mysaddle and bridle were disposed upon a rough rack, near a black valisecontaining my small stock of apparel, and the pine table and deskholding official papers. 

Having christened this castle "The Cedars, " I settled down for a longwinter, --and it was not a great while before I congratulated myself onthe good fortune which had provided me with that warm nest. More thanonce, however, I experienced something like a sentiment of shame, when, in the dark and freezing nights, with the hail rattling on my tent, Isat by my warm fire, and heard the crack of the sharp-shooters, alongthe lines beyond Petersburg. What right had I to be there, by thatblazing fire, in my warm tent, when my brethren--many of them mybetters--were yonder, fighting along the frozen hills? What had I doneto deserve that comfort, and exemption from all pain? I was idling, orreading by my blazing fire, --_they_ were keeping back the enemy, and, perhaps, falling and dying in the darkness. I was musing in my chair, gazing into the blaze, and going back in memory to the fond scenes ofhome, so clearly, that I laughed the heart's laugh, and was happy. Andthey? They, too, were thinking of home, perhaps, --of their wives andchildren, to sink down the next moment shivering with cold, or staggerand fall, with spouting blood, as the bullet pierced them. Why should_I_ be thus favored by a good Providence? I often asked myself thatquestion, and I could not answer it. I could only murmur, "I did notsneak here to get out of the way of the bullets, --those, yonder, are mybetters, --God guard and keep the brave soldiers of this army!"

And now, worthy reader, having given you some idea of the manner inwhich the more fortunate ones wintered near Petersburg, in 1864, I amgoing to drop the subject of army head-quarters, and my surroundingsthere. Jackson and Stuart are dead, and have become figures of history. I have drawn them as well as I could, --I dare not attempt to do thesame with the great commander-in-chief. He is alive. May he livelong!--and, saluting him, I pass on. 

So if I speak of General Lee, it will be of the individual in hisofficial character. What he utters, he will have uttered in the hearingof many. 

With these words of preface, I resume the thread of my history. 

XIV. 

THE SITUATION. 

October, 1864, had come. 

The "situation" may be described in a few words. 

Grant had drawn his lines from a point in Charles City, on the leftbank of James River, across that stream and across the Appomattox, around Petersburg to the Squirrel Level road, where he threatened theSouthside railroad, Lee's line of communication with the south andwest. Fort Harrison had just been taken. Grant was gradually hemming inhis opponent along the immense line extending across the two rivers, past the scene of the famous "Crater" explosion, to the vicinity of theRowanty, a distance of nearly forty miles. One incessant crash andthunder went up, day and night. Grant was "hammering continuously, "carrying out his programme; and, the military view apart, never wasspectacle more picturesque than that presented in these combats. 

The long lines of works were wreathed with the smoke of battle. Theglare of cannon lit the smoke-cloud; mortar shells rose, describedtheir fiery curves, and descended in the trenches, and these weresaluted as they rose and fell by the crack of musketry, the roar ofartillery, the echoing cheers of the blue and gray people, who neverseemed weary of fighting, yelling, and paying their compliments to eachother. At night the spectacle was superb; the mortars were like flocksof fire-birds, swooping down upon their prey. The horizon glared ateach cannon-shot; shell burst in vivid lightnings, shining for amoment, then extinguished. And yonder object, like a bloodshot eye, shining grimly through the darkness, --what is that? It is a lamp, mydear reader, with a transparent shade; and on this shade is written, for the information of the graybacks:--

 "While yet the lamp holds out to burn, The vilest rebel may return. "

Lee's lines faced Grant's, following the blue cordon across the rivers, around Petersburg, toward the Southside railroad. 

Beyond the right of the Confederate infantry stretched the cavalry, which consisted of the divisions of Wade Hampton and W. H. F. Lee, --theformer commanding. Fitz Lee, with his division, was in the Valley. 

Such, reader was the situation, when I joined the army. The great fifthact of the tragic drama was approaching. 

XV. 

MOHUN AGAIN. 

Three days after my arrival, I mounted my horse, crossed theAppomattox, followed the Boydton road, struck southward at the Quakerroad, and soon found myself in the heart of the shadowy pine woods ofthat singular country, Dinwiddie. 

My official duty was to inspect and report the condition of the cavalryand horse artillery of the army at the beginning and middle of eachmonth. And now, first assuring the reader that I performed my duty inall weather, and amid every difficulty, I will drop the official phaseof my history, and proceed to matters rather more entertaining. 

On the day after my departure from Petersburg, I had made myinspections, and was returning. 

I had been received by my old friends of the cavalry with every mark ofcordial regard. General Hampton, General Lee, and the various officersand men whom I had known as a staff-officer of General Stuart, seemedto welcome the sight of a face which, perhaps, reminded them of theirdead leader; and I had pressed all these warm hands, and received thesefriendly greetings not without emotion--for I, too, was carried back tothe past. 

I saw Mordaunt and Davenant, but not Mohun--he was absent, visiting hispicket line. Mordaunt was the same stately soldier--his grave andfriendly voice greeted me warmly as in old days; and Willie Davenant, now a major, commanding a battalion of horse artillery, shook handswith me, as shy and blushing as before--and even more sad. 

"How had his suit prospered? Were things more encouraging?"

I asked him these questions with a laugh, apologizing for my intrusion. 

He assured me sadly that it was not in the least an intrusion; but thathe had not seen the person to whom I alluded, for many months. 

And executing a blush which would have become a girl, this young tigerof the horse artillery--for such he always proved himself, in afight--hastened to change the subject. Soon afterward I took mydeparture, turned my horse's head toward Petersburg, and set out at around trot between the walls of pine. 

It was dusk when I reached the debouchment of the "military road, " and, tired and hungry, I was contemplating ruefully the long ride stillbefore me, when rapid hoof-strokes behind me attracted my attention, and, turning my head, I recognized the bold figure of Mohun. 

He was mounted on a fine animal, and came at full speed. 

In a moment he had caught up, recognized, and we exchanged a warm graspof the hand. 

"I am delighted to see you, Surry. I thought you had deserted us, oldfellow. The sight of you is a treat!"

"And the sight of you, my dear Mohun. You look beaming. "

Indeed, Mohun had never presented a better appearance, with his darkeyes; his tanned and glowing cheeks; his raven mustached lips, which, parting with a smile, showed white and regular teeth. He was thepicture of a gallant soldier; all his old melancholy and cynicalbitterness gone, as mist is swept away by the morning sunshine. 

"You are positively dazzling, Mohun. Where are you going, and what hashappened to you? Ah!--I begin to understand!"

And pointing northward, I said:--

"Five Forks is not far from here, is it?"

Mohun colored, but, the next moment, burst into laughter. 

"You are right, old friend! It is impossible to hide any thing fromyou. "

"And a friend of yours is there--whom you are going to see?"

"Yes, my dear Surry, " was his reply, in a voice of sudden earnestness, "you are not mistaken, and you see I am like all the rest of the world. When we first met on the Rapidan, I was a woman-hater. I despised themall, for I had had reason. That was my state of mind, when a verybeautiful and noble girl, whom you have seen, crossed my path. Eventsthrew us together--first, the wound I received at Fleetwood--she caughtme as I was falling on that day--and several times afterward I saw andconversed with her, finding her proud, satirical, indifferent toadmiration, but as honest and true as steel. Still, our relations didnot proceed beyond friendship, and when I told you one day in theWilderness that I was not her suitor, I spoke the truth. I am notexactly able to say as much to-day!--But to finish my account ofmyself: I came here to Dinwiddie on the right of the army, and a weekor two after my arrival the enemy made a cavalry raid toward theSouthside railroad. I followed, and came up with them as they wereplundering a house not far from Five Forks. Well, I charged and drovethem into the woods--when, who should make her appearance at the doorbut Miss Conway, whom I had last seen in Culpeper! As you know, herfather resides here--he is now at Richmond--and, after following theenemy back to their own lines, hurrying them up with sabre and carbine, I came back to inquire the extent of their depredations at Five Forks. 

"Such is the simple explanation of the present 'situation, ' my dearfriend. Miss Virginia cordially invited me to come whenever I could doso, and although Miss Georgia was less pressing--in fact, said nothingon the subject--I was not cast down thereby! I returned, have beenoften since, and--that's all. "

Mohun laughed the heart's laugh. You have heard that, have you not, reader? "Now tell me about yourself, " he added, "and on the way to FiveForks! I see you are tired and hungry. Come! they have the easiestchairs yonder, and are the soul of hospitality!"

The offer was tempting. Why not accept it? My hesitation lasted exactlythree seconds. 

At the end of that time, I was riding beside Mohun in the direction ofFive Forks, which we reached just as I terminated my account of myselfsince Mohun and I had parted in the Wilderness. 

XVI. 

"FIVE FORKS. "

"Five Forks" was an old mansion not far from the place of the samename, now become historical. It was a building of large size; thegrounds were extensive, and had been elegant; the house had evidentlybeen the home of a long line of gentlemen, whose portraits, flanked bythose of their fair helpmates, adorned the walls of the greatdrawing-room, between the lofty windows. In the hall stood a tallbookcase, filled with law books, and volumes of miscellany. From thewoodwork hung pictures of racehorses, and old engravings. Such was theestablishment which the Federal cavalry had visited, leaving, asalways, their traces, in broken furniture, smashed crockery, andtrampled grounds. 

I shall not pause to describe my brief visit to this hospitable house. The young ladies had returned from Richmond some time before, escortedby the gray-haired Juba, that faithful old African retainer; and, as aresult of the evenings which I had spent with them and their father, Ihad the honor to be received in the character of an old friend. 

Ten minutes after my arrival I saw that Mohun was passionately in lovewith Miss Georgia; and I thought I perceived as clearly that shereturned his affection. Their eyes--those tell-tales--were incessantlymeeting; and Mohun followed every movement of the queenly girl withthose long, fixed glances, which leave nothing in doubt. 

The younger sister, Miss Virginia, received me with charming sweetness, but a secret melancholy weighed down the dusky eye-lashes. The blueeyes were sad; the very smiles on the rosy lips were sad. All was plainhere, too, at a single glance. The pure girl had given her heart to thebrave Willie Davenant, and some mysterious hostility of her fathertoward the young officer, forced them apart. 

What was the origin of that hostility? Why had Judge Conway so abruptlytorn his daughter away from Davenant at the ball in Culpeper--and whyhad that shadow passed over the old statesman's brow when I uttered thename of the young man in Richmond?

I asked myself these questions vainly--and decided in my mind that Ishould probably never know. 

I was mistaken. I was going to know before midnight. 

After an excellent supper, over which Miss Georgia presided withstately dignity--for she, too, had changed, in as marked a degree asMohun, --I rose, declared I must return to Petersburg, and bade theyoung ladies, who cordially pressed me to remain, good-night. 

Mohun declared that he would remain an hour longer--and having promiseda visit soon, at his camp on the Rowanty, I mounted my horse, and setout, through the darkness, for Petersburg. 

XVII. 

GENERAL DAVENANT. 

Following the White Oak road, I passed Hatcher's Run at Burgess's mill, and went on over the Boydton road, reflecting upon the scene I had justleft. 

All at once my horse placed his foot upon a sharp root in the road, stumbled, nearly fell, and when I touched him with the spur I foundthat he limped painfully. 

Dismounting, I examined his foot. The sharp point had entered it, andit was bleeding profusely. The accident was unfortunate--and, attempting to ride on, I found the hurt worse than I had expected. Mygray staggered on as if the limb were broken. 

I dismounted once more, led him slowly by the bridle, and continued myway on foot. A quarter of a mile farther, the animal was in such agonythat I looked around for some light, by which to examine the hurt morefully. 

On the right, a glimmer was seen through the trees. I made straighttoward it, through the woods, and soon found myself near a group oftents, one of which was lit up. 

"Whose head-quarters are these?" I asked of a man on post, near. 

"Mine, my dear colonel, " said a voice in the darkness near. "My candleyonder is hospitable and enables me to recognize you. "

With which words the figure advanced into the light, and I recognizedthe tall and stately form of General Davenant. 

He gave me his hand cordially, and I explained my dilemma. "You areunfortunate, but fortunate, too, " said Davenant, "as I have a man amongmy couriers who knows all about horses. I will send yours to him;meanwhile come into my tent. "

And intrusting my horse to the orderly with some brief directions, thegeneral led the way into his head-quarters tent. 

A cheerful fire burned in the rude log-built chimney. On one side werea plain desk and two camp-stools; on the other a rough couch of pinelogs, filled with straw, and spread with blankets. Upon the blankets aboy of about fourteen was sound asleep, the light auburn curls tossedin disorder over the rosy young face. At a glance I recognized theyouth who had entered the ranks at Gettysburg, taken part in Pickett'scharge, and been borne out through the smoke, wounded and bleeding, inthe arms of his father. The young Charley had evidently recovered, andwas as ruddy as before. His little braided jacket was as jaunty, hisface as smiling, as on that evening near Paris. 

An hour afterward, General Davenant and myself were conversing like oldfriends. We were by no means strangers, as I had repeatedly been thrownwith him in the army, and my intimacy with Will doubtless commended meto the brave soldier's regard. An accident now seemed about to make usstill better acquainted. The orderly had reported that it would beimpossible to proceed farther with my horse that night, and I hadaccepted the invitation of General Davenant to remain with him untilmorning. 

"My brigade is holding the right of the army, colonel, " he had said;"we have just moved to this position, and have not had time to becomevery comfortable. But I can offer you a tolerable supper and a camp-bedafter it, with a warm welcome, I assure you. "

I declined the supper, but accepted the bed; and seated opposite thegrizzled old cavalier, in his gray uniform, had begun to converse. 

Something about the stately general of infantry, drew me irresistiblytoward him. His bearing was lofty, and not without a species ofhauteur; but under all was an exquisite high-breeding and courtesy, which made his society quite charming. 

At some words of mine, however, in reference to my visit on this day tohis son, a decided expression of gloom had obscured the smiles of theold soldier. 

"Yes, colonel, " he said, with something like a sigh, "Willie has losthis good spirits, and has been much depressed for more than a year. Youare his friend--you share his confidence--you doubtless know the originof this depression. "

"I do, general; a very common cause of trouble to young men--a younglady. "

"A young lady, " repeated General Davenant, in the same gloomy tone. "Hehas committed the imprudence of falling in love, as the phrase is, with--Miss Conway. "

He paused before the words "Miss Conway, " and uttered them with evidentrepugnance. They issued from his lips, indeed, with a species of jerk;and he seemed glad to get rid of them, if I may so express myself. 

"I can talk of this affair with you, colonel, " he added, gloomily, "forWill has told me of your regard for him. "

I bowed, and said:--

"You are not wrong in supposing that I am one of your son's bestfriends, general. I was long in the cavalry with him--there is no moreheroic soldier in the army--and it has given me sincere sorrow to seehim laboring under such melancholy. "

General Davenant, with his hand covering his brow, listened in silence. 

"I have not inquired the origin of this depression, " I added--"thatwould have been indiscreet--though I know Will would tell me. I guessedit, however, and I have visited the young lady at her house to-night. Iwill certainly use my utmost exertions to remove all obstacles. "

General Davenant suddenly rose erect. His eye was flashing. 

"I beg you will not, colonel!" he exclaimed. "The barrier betweenhimself and--Miss Conway--can never be removed. "

I looked at the speaker's flushed face with positive wonder, andreplied:--

"You astonish me, general! Are there any such obstacles in life?"

"There are!"

I made no reply. 

"There are, colonel, " repeated the now fiery old soldier. "Judge Conwayhas been guilty of a gross wrong to me. No son of mine shall ever forman alliance with his family!"

I looked up with deep astonishment. 

"This is a very great surprise to me, my dear general, " I said; "Ithought, from many things, that it was Judge Conway who opposed thisalliance; and from the belief that _you_ had done _him_ some greatwrong. "

General Davenant had taken his seat again, after his outburst. Oncemore his forehead was covered with his hand. For some moments hepreserved a silence so profound, that nothing disturbed the night butthe long breathing of the sleeping boy, and the measured tramp of thesentinel. 

Then, all at once, the general raised his head. His expression was nolonger fiery--it was unutterably sad. 

"I have been reflecting, colonel, " he said gravely, "and, in these fewminutes, have come to a somewhat singular determination. "

"What is that, general?"

"To tell you why _my_ son can never marry the daughter of JudgeConway!"

XVIII. 

TWO MEN AND A WOMAN. 

General Davenant leaned his elbow on the desk, rested his forehead inhis hand, and said in a deep, measured voice:--

"My story need not be a long one, colonel. Those who relate gayadventures and joyous experiences, indulge in endless details--memoryis charming to them at such moments--they go back to the past, with asmile on the lips, recalling every little detail, every color of thebright picture. 

"My own narrative will be brief, because it is a gloomy one. It is farfrom pleasant to return to the scenes I propose to describe. I only doso to erase a stigma which seems to attach to my family and myself; toshow you that, in spite of Judge Conway, I deserve your good opinion. Assuredly I do not propose any pleasure to myself in relating theseevents. Alas! one of the bitterest things to a proud man--and I amproud--is to even seem to defend his good name from imputed dishonor!"

Knitting his brows as he spoke, the old soldier looked gloomily intothe blaze before us. In a moment, he went on:--

"I was born in the county of Dinwiddie, colonel, where my family hadlived from the time of the first settlement of Virginia. My father wasa large landholder, and his most intimate friend was Mr. Conway, thefather of the present judge. The family friendship was inherited by theyoung people of the two families--and my two most intimate friends wereGeorge and William Conway. One is dead, the other is Judge WilliamConway, member of Congress. We had played together as children, beencompanions at school. When our fathers died, and we in turn became therepresentatives of the two families, our friendship became even moreclose. I was half my time at 'Five Forks'--they paid long visits to meat 'The Pines'--we hunted together, went to entertainments together, drank wine together, and were inseparable. 

"George was especially my favorite. He was the soul of amiability;everybody loved him; and I entertained for him the most tenderfriendship. His brother William was equally estimable, but did notattract you as strongly. Although a person of the highest sense ofhonor, and universally respected for talents of the first order, he wasirascible, bitter, and, when once aroused, allowed nothing to restrainhim. At such moments his best friends avoided him, for he wasdangerous. He brooked no opposition. His anger was like a consumingfire; and a friendship which he had formed with that gentleman ofsplendid powers, but venomous antipathies, John Randolph of Roanoke, served still more to encourage him in the indulgence of the naturalacerbity of his disposition. More than once, I have seen him almostfoam at the mouth as he denounced some political adversary from thestump, and when one of these fits of passion seized him, he became asungovernable as a wild animal. You can scarcely realize that, now. Sorrow has chastened him; trouble has softened him; I have nothing tosay against the Judge William Conway of to-day. He is aself-sacrificing patriot, a gentleman of irreproachable courtesy, andsweetness of character; but, as a young man, he was a firebrand, and Ithink the fire is still unquenched beneath the gray hairs of the man ofseventy. 

"Such were George and William Conway, when I knew them as youngmen--the one mild, amiable, the soul of kindness and good-nature; theother proud, honorable, but subject to fits of stormy passion, whichmade all avoid him when the paroxysm was upon him. 

"From this hasty description, you will understand why George was agreater favorite with me than his brother. Our friendship was, indeed, as close and tender as possible, and we passed our majority andapproached the age of twenty-five, without ever having had a moment'sinterruption of our intimacy. 

"Then, all at once, there appeared upon the stage, that cause of somuch happiness, woe, joy, grief, to mankind--a woman. To make a longstory short, George Conway and myself were so unfortunate as to becomeattached to the same young lady, and very soon this sentiment amounted, both on his part and on my own, to a wild and consuming passion. Theyoung lady--it is unnecessary to mention her name--was a person of rarebeauty, and mistress of all the wiles which bring young men to the feetof women. She used these unsparingly, too, for nothing delighted her somuch as to attract admiration and inspire love. Perceiving the effectwhich her grace and loveliness had produced upon myself and George, shemade every exertion to increase our infatuation--encouraged first one, then the other; and, in the end, succeeded in breaking those close tiesof friendship which had bound us from the time when we had playedtogether as children. 

"That is a sad confession, colonel, but it is the truth. The brighteyes and smiles of a girl had terminated a life-long friendship. Themere love of admiration in the heart of a young girl had interruptedthe affection of years--making George and myself cold and _distrait_toward each other. Soon things became still worse. From friends we hadbecome mere acquaintances--from acquaintances we became strangers, andfinally foes. Busy-bodies whispered, tale-bearers blew the flames. Ifthe young lady smiled on me at a party where George was present, thegood people around us looked at _him_ with satirical meaning. If shesmiled on George, their eyes were turned toward me, and they giggledand whispered. 

"That is all tedious--is it not? An old story, which every countryneighborhood knows. You laugh, perhaps, at hearing it told of A andB, --but you do not laugh when you are one of the actors. Well, not tolengthen my history unduly, an open rivalry and enmity at last arosebetween myself and poor George. We had been spurred on to hate eachother, and narrowly escaped having an 'affair' together--appealing tothe pistol as the arbiter. 

"It never came to that, however. I saw, ere long, that the young ladyhad made up her mind. George was in every way a more attractive andlovable person than myself; and after drawing me on, encouraging me, and inducing me to offer her my hand, she turned her back on me, andmarried George!

"Such was the result of the campaign. George had won, --and I am obligedto say that I hated him cordially. I should never have done so, fromthe simple fact of his success. I am not so ignoble as that, my dearcolonel. Bitter as was my disappointment, I could have bowed to thefiat--pardoned the young lady--and offered my hand to dear George; butthere were our 'friends, ' the busy-bodies and talebearers. They wereunresting in their exertions--took the whole affair under theirpersonal supervision, and invented a hundred fables to sting and arouseme. You would have said that they were bloody minded--thebusy-bodies--and bent on trouble; that their aim was to profoundlyenrage me, and cause bloodshed. George had laughed at me, they said;never had had a moment's doubt of the young lady's sentiments; hadoften jested about me, and expressed his pity for my 'sillypresumption;' had even amused himself and the young lady, by mimickingmy peculiarities, and raising a laugh at my expense. 

"These reports were persistently and regularly repeated for myinformation: I was baited, and worried, and driven nearly mad bythem--finally a duel nearly resulted; but that last step was not taken. I simply made my bow to the happy pair, left them without a word, andreturned home, determined to drop the whole matter--but none the lessenraged and embittered. 

"From that moment George and myself rarely met, and never as friends. Ihad been brought to hate him--he knew the fact--and although he wasinnocent of all wrong to me, as I know to-day, made no effort to win myregard again. He was as proud as myself--he said nothing--and our pathshere separated forever. 

"Such is the necessary introduction, colonel, " said General Davenant, "to the events which I propose to relate. "

XIX. 

THE MURDER. 

"More than twenty years had passed, " continued General Davenant, "whenthat old hatred which had been aroused in me, toward George Conway, produced bitter fruits. 

"I was to be taught by a terrible experience that hatred is a deadlysin; that God punishes it more severely than all other sins, for it isthe poison which turns the whole heart to bitterness. I had indulgedit--made no effort to banish it--nourished it like a snake in therecesses of my breast, and now God decreed, as a punishment, that thesnake should turn and sting me. 

"To go back for a moment, however. George had married--a year afterwardI had imitated him. My wife was an angel upon earth--she is an angel inheaven now--and in comparison with the deep affection which I felt forher, the ephemeral fancy for the young lady whom my rival had married, appeared the veriest trifle. William Conway had also married, and heand George, with their wives, were living at Five Forks. William wasjudge of the circuit--George managed the estate--and their affectionfor each other, at this period of their mature manhood, was said toexceed that of their youth. 

"'Was said to, ' I say, colonel; for I never saw either of them. Allintercourse between "The Pines" and "Five Forks" had ceased twentyyears before; and George and William Conway were as much strangers tome, as if we lived in opposite quarters of the globe; for time had notchanged--or rather restored--the _entente cordial_ of the past. On thecontrary, the feud had become chronic--the gulf separating us had growndeeper. When I met either of the brothers, we exchanged nogreetings--passed without looking at each other--and the 'family feud'between the Davenants and the Conways was not even alluded to; it hadbecome an old story, and lost its interest. 

"Such was the condition of things--such the attitude which I occupiedtoward the two brothers--when the event, which I am about to relate, took place. The event in question was tragic and terrible. It camewithout warning, to shock the entire surrounding country. One night, onhis return from the county seat, whither he was said to have gone uponsome matter of business, George Conway was murdered, and his bodyconcealed in some bushes by the roadside. 

"The body was not discovered until the morning succeeding the murder. His riderless horse was then seen standing at the door of the stable atFive Forks, and in great terror. Judge Conway set out rapidly to lookfor his brother, who was supposed to have met with some accident. Twoor three neighbors, whom he chanced to meet, joined in the search; thebody was discovered; and, on examination, revealed a deep gash in theregion of the heart, apparently inflicted by a dagger or a knife. 

"The blow had evidently been mortal--no other hurt was visible. GeorgeConway seemed to have been waylaid by some unknown person, and murderedon his return from the court-house. 

"It was impossible to divine the perpetrator of the crime, or form anyidea of his motive. Upon the person of the murdered man a large sum ofmoney, which he had received that day, was discovered. He had not beenwaylaid, thus, by one designing to rob him; and his peaceful andamiable character excluded the hypothesis that he had aroused suchenmity as could have led to the bloody deed. The whole affair was aprofound mystery--no clue could be discovered to the perpetrator, orthe motive of the crime--and the body was borne to "Five Forks, " whereit was laid in state to await burial on the next day. 

"Judge Conway, it was said, had nearly lost his reason at this suddenand terrible blow. He had loved his brother with extraordinaryaffection; and the event struck him like a thunderbolt. His stupor ofgrief was succeeded by rage. He fell into one of his paroxysms. Withflushed face, bloodshot eyes, and mouth foaming with a species of fury, he mounted his horse, went at full speed to the court-house, madeinquiries of everybody who had seen his brother, asked with whom he hadlast been seen, and left no stone unturned to ferret out the author ofthe crime. 

"Meanwhile, the whole county was discussing, with awe-struck eyes, theextraordinary event. Who could have perpetrated the act? Who could havewaylaid and murdered a man so universally popular? Who was safe, ifsuch a state of things could exist in a peaceful community, --if a goodcitizen could not ride to see a neighbor, or to the county seat, without danger of being murdered?

"Grief, indignation, horror, were the universal sentiments. Some onemust be discovered upon whom to lay the crime. And that some one wasthe individual before you, colonel!"

XX. 

THE KNIFE. 

"Let me continue, I beg, " continued General Davenant, gloomily. "Yourlook of astonishment is quite natural; you feel the indignation of agentleman at my words; but allow me to go on with my narrative. 

"Poor George Conway was buried on the day after the discovery of hisbody, and an immense concourse accompanied him to his grave. Thefuneral procession was a mile long, for the notoriety attached to theevent had drawn people from far and near; and when the body reached thegrave-yard, the crowd nearly filled the small enclosure. 

"I was present in my carriage with my wife, and my son Charles yonder, then a child in arms. You will understand, colonel, that I had not theheart to be absent. I had long ceased to feel a sentiment of any greatregard for the Conways; but at the intelligence of George's suddendeath, all my old friendship had revived--the old kindly feeling cameback; pity banished all enmity. I thought of his former love for me, and I determined to do all that remained in my power to show mysympathy--attend his funeral among those who mourned him. 

"Well, the body was borne to the grave, the service read, and theremains of the unfortunate gentleman deposited in their lastresting-place. Then the clods rattled on the coffin, the service ended, and George Conway had passed away from all eyes. 

"I looked at his poor wife and brother with tears in my eyes. All myenmity was gone--my memory went back to the old scenes; at that instantI could have reached out my arms, and drawn the bereaved brother to myheart, mingling my tears with his own. 

"All at once, however, I looked at Judge Conway with astonishment. Ihad expected to see him overwhelmed with grief--but as he now raisedhis head, and turned in the direction of the spot where I was standing, I saw that his features were convulsed with wrath. His cheeks werecrimson, his teeth clenched, his eyes injected with blood. Suddenlythese bloodshot eyes met my own--the cheeks a moment before so red, grew pale--and exclaiming, 'It is you who murdered my brother!' hethrew himself upon me with the fury of a wild animal, and his fingerswere nearly buried in my throat. 

"The assault was so sudden and terrible that I staggered back, andnearly fell over the grave. 

"Then regaining my self-possession, I caught Judge Conway by the throatin turn, hurled him from me, and stood confronting him, pale, panting, my throat bleeding--and resolved if he attacked me again to put him todeath with the first weapon upon which I could lay my hand. 

"He was, meanwhile, struggling in the hands of his friends, who, bymain force, held him back. 

"'Let me go!' he shouted, foaming at the mouth with rage--'that manmurdered my brother! I will take the law into my own hands! he shallnot leave this spot alive! He dares to come here in the presence of thedead body of George Conway--and he is his murderer!'

"These words were rather howled than uttered. The speaker seemed tohave lost his reason, from pure excess of rage. If his friends had notrestrained him by main force, he would have thrown himself upon me asecond time, when one of us would have lost his life, colonel, for Iwas now as violently enraged as himself. 

"That _I_ should be thus publicly branded with the basest crime! thatthe representative of the old and honorable house of the Davenants, should be thus grossly insulted, his person assailed, his good nametorn from him--that he should be denounced thus in the presence of allas a felon and murderer!

"'You are insane, sir!' I at length said, struggling to regain mycoolness. 'Your grief has affected your brain! I can pardon much in youtoday, sir, but beware how you again attempt to degrade me!'

"'Hear him!' was the hoarse and furious reply of Judge Conway; andreaching out his thin fingers, a habit he had caught from Mr. Randolph--he pointed at me where I stood. 

"'Hear him! He affects innocence! He is outraged! He is indignant! Andyet he waylaid my brother, whom he has hated for twenty years--hewaylaid him like an assassin, and murdered him! There is the proof!'

"And drawing from his pocket a knife, covered with clotted blood, hethrew it upon the grave before all eyes. 

"Good God! It was my own!"

XXI. 

THE CHAIN OF EVIDENCE. 

"At the sight of that terrible object" continued General Davenant, "Istaggered back, and nearly fell. I could not believe my eyes--neverthought of denying the ownership of the fearful witness, --I could onlygaze at it, with a wild horror creeping over me, and then all theseterrible emotions were too much for me. 

"I took two steps toward the grave, reached out with a shudder to graspthe knife whose clots of blood seemed to burn themselves into mybrain--then vertigo seized me, and letting my head fall, I fainted. 

"When I regained my senses, I was in my carriage, supported by the armsof my wife, and rolling up the avenue to my own house. 

"Opposite me, in the carriage, little Charley, who, dimly realizedapparently that some trouble had come to me, was crying bitterly, and arough personage was endeavoring to quiet his sobbing. 

"The personage in question was a constable. When I fainted at thegrave, my friends had caught me in their arms--protested with burningindignation that the charge against me was a base calumny--and themagistrate who was summoned by Judge Conway to arrest me, had declinedto do more than direct a constable to escort me home, and see that Idid not attempt to escape. 

"That was kind. I was a murderer, and my proper place a jail. Whyshould _I_ be more favored than some poor common man charged with thatcrime? Had such a person been confronted with such a charge, supportedby such damning evidence as the bloody knife, would any ceremony havebeen observed? 'To jail!' all would have cried, 'No bail for themurderer!' And why should the rich Mr. Davenant be treated with moreconsideration?

"On the day after my arrest--I spare you all the harrowing scenes, mypoor wife's agony, and every thing, colonel--on the day after, I gotinto my carriage, and went and demanded to be confined in jail. It wasthe first time a Davenant had ever been _in jail_--but I went thitherwithout hesitation, if not without a shudder. No sooner had I takenthis step than the whole country seemed to have left their homes tovisit me in my prison. On the evening of the scene at the grave, twentypersons had called at the 'Pines, ' to express their sympathy andindignation at the charge against me. Now, when the iron door of thelaw had closed upon me, and I was a real prisoner, the visitors came inthrongs without number. One and all, they treated the charge as themere result of Judge Conway's fury--some laughed at, others denouncedit as an attempt to entrap and destroy me--all were certain that aninvestigation would at once demonstrate my innocence, and restore me toliberty and honor. 

"Alas! I could only thank my friends, and reply that I hoped that suchwould be the result. But when they had left me alone, I fell into fitsof the deepest dejection. 

"What proofs could I give that I was innocent? There was a terriblearray of circumstances, on the contrary, to support the hypothesis ofmy guilt--much more than I have mentioned, colonel. I had visited thecourthouse on the same day with poor George Conway, and for the firsttime in twenty years had exchanged words with him. And the words wereunfriendly. We had both been in the clerk's office of the county, whenthat gentleman asked me some common-place question--in what year such aperson had died, and his will had been recorded, I think. I replied, mentioning a year. The clerk shook his head, declaring that it musthave been later, and appealed to poor George Conway, who agreed withhim, adding, 'Mr. Davenant is certainly in the wrong. ' I was muchannoyed that day--made some curt reply--poor George made a similarrejoinder, and some harsh, almost insulting words, passed between us. The affair went no further, however. I left the clerk's office, andhaving attended to the business which brought me, left the court-houseabout dusk. As I mounted my horse, I saw poor George Conway riding outof the place. I followed slowly, not wishing to come up with him, turning into a by-road which led toward my own house--and knew nothingof the murder until it was bruited abroad on the next day. 

"That is much like the special pleading of a criminal--is it not, colonel? If I had really murdered the poor man, would not this be mymethod of explaining every thing? You see, I do not deny what severalwitnesses could prove; the fact that I quarreled with Conway, came tohigh words, uttered insults, exhibited anger, followed him from thecourt-house at dusk--I acknowledge all that, but add, that I struckinto a by-road and went home! That sounds suspicious, I assure you, even to myself, to-day. Imagine the effect it promised to have then, when I was a man charged with murder--who would naturally try to framesuch a statement as would clear him--and when a large portion of thecommunity were excited and indignant at the murder. 

"Such had been the truly unfortunate scene in the clerk's office, --thefatality which made me follow the man going to his death, and my knownenmity of long standing, supported the hypothesis of my guilt. Therewas another, and even more fatal circumstance still, --the discovery ofthe knife with which George Conway had been slain. That knife was myown; it was one of peculiar shape, with a handle of tortoise-shell, andI had often used it in presence of my friends and others. A dozenpersons could make oath to it as my property; but it was not needed;the scene at the grave made that useless. I evidently did not deny theownership of the weapon which had been used in the commission of themurder. At the very sight of it, on the contrary, in the hands of thebrother of my victim, I had turned pale and fainted!

"This was the condition of things when the special term of the court, held expressly to try me, commenced at Dinwiddie. "

XXII. 

THE TRIAL. 

"A great crowd assembled on the day of the trial. Judge Conway hadvacated the bench, as personally interested, and the judge from aneighboring circuit had taken his place. 

"Below the seat of the judge sat the jury. Outside the railing, thespectators were crowded so closely that it was with difficulty thesheriff made a passage for my entrance. 

"To one resolution I had adhered in spite of the remonstrances of allmy friends, --to employ no counsel. In this determination nothing couldshake me. A disdainful pride sustained me, mingled with bitterobstinacy. If I, the representative of one of the oldest and mosthonorable families in the county of Dinwiddie was to be branded as amurderer, --if my past life, my family and personal character, did notrefute the charge, --if I was to be dragged to death on suspicion, gibbeted as a murderer, because some felon had stolen my pocket-knife, and committed a crime with it, --then I would go to my death unmoved. Iwould disdain to frame explanations; let the law murder _me_ if itwould; no glib counsel should save my life by technicalities; I wouldbe vindicated by God and my past life, or would die. 

"Such was my state of mind, and such the origin of my refusal to employcounsel. When the court now assigned me counsel, I rose and forbadethem to appear for me. In the midst of a stormy scene, and with theprosecuting attorney sitting dumb in his chair, resolved to take nopart in the trial, the witnesses appeared upon the stand, and, ratherby sufferance than the judge's consent, the jury proceeded tointerrogate them. 

"The circumstances which I have detailed to you were all proved in theclearest manner; the altercation in the clerk's office on the day ofthe murder; my long enmity against him, dating back more than twentyyears; the fact that I had followed him out of the village just at duskon the fatal night; and the discovery of my knife in the tall grass bythe roadside near the body. 

"I had summoned no witnesses, but some appeared of their own accord, and gave important testimony. Many neighbors testified that my enmitytoward George Conway had almost entirely disappeared in the lapse ofyears, and that I had spoken of him, upon more than one occasion, withgreat kindness. The clerk of the county described the scene in hisoffice, stating that the affair had appeared to him a mere interchangeof curt words, without exhibition of the least malice on my part. Themost important witness, however, was a poor man, living in theneighborhood, who made oath that he had been riding toward thecourt-house on the evening of the murder; had passed Mr. Conway, and, riding on farther, came in sight of me, and he had, before reaching me, seen me turn into the by-road which led toward my own residence. Icould not have committed the murder, he added, for Mr. Conway had timeto pass the spot where his body was found before I could have riddenback to the highroad and caught up with him. 

"Unfortunately, the witness who gave this testimony bore a veryindifferent character, and I could see that more than one of the jurorssuspected that he was perjuring himself. 

"Another ugly-looking circumstance also intervened to neutralize thefavorable impression thus made. From the irregular mode of proceeding, the fatal knife had not been exhibited in court. Suddenly, a jurorcalled for it, and it could nowhere be found! The sheriff swore that hehad left it in the clerk's office, where he supposed it to be entirelysafe. Upon searching for it, however, in the drawer where he haddeposited it, the weapon was missing. 

"When that fact was stated, I saw a curious expression pass over thefaces of more than one of the jury. They evidently suspected foul play. 

"'Was the door of the office locked?' asked one of them. 

"'Yes, sir, ' was the reply. 

"'Were the windows secured?'

"'By shutters with bolts. '

"'Are all the bolts on the windows of this building firm?'

"'I think so, sir. '

"'There is one, that is not!' said the juror. 

"And he pointed to a long iron bolt on one of the windows, which boreevident traces of having been rent from its socket. 

"The sheriff looked in amazement in the direction indicated. 

"'You are right, sir!' he said; 'some one has entered the court-houseby breaking open the shutter, and stolen that knife from the clerk'soffice, which is never locked. '

"A meaning silence followed the words. It was not difficult tounderstand it. The jury looked at each other, and in their glances Icould read this--'Mr. Davenant is on trial for his life. He or hisfriends suborn testimony to prove an alibi on the night of the murder, and not content with that, they hire a burglar to enter the court-houseand steal the knife which proves his connection with the deed--that itmay not appear in evidence against him. '

"The evidence closed. I had not uttered a word. I had sworn in my heartthat I would not stir a finger in the matter--but now, stung beyondendurance, I rose and addressed the jury in impassioned words. 'Theirverdict, ' I told them, 'was of little importance if I was to lose therespect of my fellow-citizens. I had made no effort to shape theirdecision, but now on the brink, it might be of a felon's grave, I wouldutter my dying words. I would confine myself to protesting before God, and on my honor, that I had long since forgiven George Conway thewrongs done me--that the scene on the day of his murder was the resultof momentary irritability, caused by business annoyances, and notmalice--that I had forgotten it in an hour--returned directly to my ownhouse--and only heard of the murder on the day after its commission. Asto the knife--I had been suspected if not charged with having had theweapon stolen. Well! my answer to that was to declare that, to the bestof my knowledge and belief, _the murder was committed with my ownknife!_ More than that. A witness had sworn that he saw me turn intothe road to my own residence, at such a distance behind George Conwaythat I could not have rejoined him before he had passed the fatal spot. The witness was mistaken. There was time. _By riding across the anglethrough the thicket, I could easily have rejoined him_!

"'And now, gentlemen, ' I said, 'I have done. I have left you no groundto charge me with suborning testimony--with having the evidence of mycrime stolen--with plotting in darkness, to hide my crime and blindyour eyes in determining my guilt or innocence. That knife was mine, Irepeat. It was possible for me to rejoin Mr. Conway, and do him todeath by a blow with it. Now, retire, gentlemen! Bring in your verdict!Thank God! no taint of real dishonor will rest upon a Davenant, and Ican appear before my Maker as I stand here to-day--innocent!'

"Ten minutes afterward the jury had retired, with every mark ofagitation upon their faces. The great concourse of spectators seemedmoved almost beyond control. 

"Suddenly the crowd opened, I saw my wife hastening through the spacethus made--a living wall on each side--and in an instant she had thrownherself into my arms, with a low cry which brought tears to theroughest faces of the auditory. I placed my arm around her, remonstrated with her for this ill-advised proceeding, and was tryingto soothe her, when she hastily gave me a letter. A strange man hadbrought it an hour before, she said--it was marked 'In haste--this willsave Mr. Davenant's life. ' She had mounted her riding horse, andbrought it at full speed in person, without waiting to question thestranger, who had at once disappeared. 

"I opened the letter--glanced at its contents--at the same instant thejury made their appearance--and the clerk said:--

"'Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon a verdict?'

"'We have, sir, ' said the foreman. 

"'What is it?'

"'Not guilty!'

"The court-house rang with applause. The crowd rushed toward me toshake me by the hand and congratulate me. Suddenly, in the midst of thetumult, I heard the furious words:--

"'Murderer! you have escaped, but I brand you before God and man as themurderer of my brother!'

"It was Judge Conway, who, mounted upon a bench, with glaring eyes, foaming lips, teeth clenched, in a wild fury, shook his arm at me, anddenounced me as a convict before God, if not before man. "

XXIII. 

WHAT THE LETTER CONTAINED. 

General Davenant was silent for a moment. The deep voice, so longresounding in my ears, made the silence oppressive. 

"Now you know, my dear colonel, " he suddenly added, "why my son can notform an alliance with a daughter of Judge Conway. "

I bowed my head. The whole mystery was patent before me. 

"The family opposition is mutual, " said General Davenant, with a proudsmile; "he objects because he believes that I murdered his brother--andI object because he believes it! He insulted me, outraged me--at thegrave, in the court-house, in public, as in private; and I could notthink of beseeching his honor to give his consent to the marriage ofhis daughter with the son of an 'escaped murderer. '"

The old soldier uttered these words with gloomy bitterness; but in amoment he had regained his coolness. 

"That was the end of the affair, " he said. "I went home, accompanied bya _cortége_ of friends who seemed never weary of congratulating me; andon the next day, I wrote a mortal defiance to Judge Conway, which Iplaced in the hands of a friend to convey to him. An hour afterward, Ihad mounted my horse, ridden rapidly, caught up with this friend on hisway to Five Forks, and had taken from him the challenge, which I toreto pieces. You will probably comprehend the motive which compelled meto do this. It was not repugnance to the modern form of single combat, I am sorry to say. Old as I was, I had still the ancient hallucinationon that subject. I did not then know that duels were merecomedies--child's play; that one infantry skirmish results in theshedding of more blood than all the affairs of a generation. The motivethat induced me to withdraw my challenge, was one which you willprobably understand. The pale face of the dead George Conway had risenup before me--I knew his brother's deep love for him--that he regardedme as the dead man's murderer; and I no longer writhed under thatpublic insult in the court-house, or, at least controlled myself. 'Lethim go on his way, poor, stricken heart!' I said with deep pity; 'Iforgive him, and will not avenge that affront to me!'

"Such is my history, colonel. It is sad, you see. I have related it toexplain what has come to your knowledge--the bitter hostility whichJudge Conway indulges toward me, and his frowns at the very name ofDavenant. These events occurred more than ten years ago. During allthat time, he has been laboring under the belief that I am reallyguilty of his brother's blood. See where my 'high pride' has conductedme, " said General Davenant, with a smile of inexpressible melancholyand bitterness. "I was proud and disdainful on the day of my trial--Iwould not use the common weapons of defence--I risked my life byrefusing counsel, and acknowledging the ownership of that knife. Pride, hauteur, a sort of disdain at refuting a charge of base dishonor--thatwas my sentiment then, and I remain as haughty to-day! I am aDavenant--I was found 'not guilty'--why go and tell Judge Conway thecontents of that letter received in the court-house?"

"The contents of the letter, general?"

"Yes, colonel. "

"What did it contain?--I beg you to tell me!"

"The confession of the murderer of George Conway!"

XXIV. 

"BLOOD. "

General Davenant had scarcely uttered the words which I have justrecorded, when rapid firing was heard in the woods, a quarter of a milefrom his head-quarters; and a moment afterward a courier came at agallop, bearing a dispatch. 

"My horse!" came in the brief tone of command. 

And General Davenant tore open the dispatch, which he read attentively. 

"The enemy are advancing to attack me, " he said; "this note was writtenten minutes since. The attack has commenced. Will you go and see it, colonel?"

"Willingly. "

General Davenant ordered another horse, as my own was useless; wemounted and rode at full speed through the woods; in five minutes wewere at the scene of action. 

A heavy assault was in progress. The enemy had massed a large force infront of the hastily erected earth-works, and were endeavoring, by adetermined charge, to carry them. 

General Davenant was everywhere amid the fight, the guiding anddirecting head, and beside him I saw distinctly in the starlight, thebrave figure of little Charley, who had started from his couch, buckledon a huge sword, and was now galloping to and fro, cheering on the menas gallantly as his father. It was an inspiring sight to see that childin his little braided jacket, with his jaunty cap balanced gallantly onhis auburn curls--to see his rosy cheeks, his smiling lips, and hissmall hand flourishing that tremendous sabre, as he galloped gaily amidthe fire. 

"And yet, " I said, "there are those who will not believe in _blood_--orrace!"

Fill the space which that dash occupies, my dear reader, with an abrupt"duck" of the head, as a bullet went through my hat!

The charge was repulsed in twenty minutes; but the firing continuedthroughout the night. When it ceased, toward daybreak, and I rode backwith General Davenant and Charley, who was as gay as a lark, andentertained me with reminiscences of Gettysburg, I was completelybroken down with fatigue. Throwing myself upon a bed, in GeneralDavenant's tent, I fell asleep. 

When I opened my eyes the sun was high in the heavens. I looked aroundfor the general, he was invisible. 

I rose, and at the door of the tent met Charley, with bright eyes, andcheeks like roses. 

"The general has gone to corps head-quarters, colonel, and told me topresent you his compliments, and beg that you will remain tobreakfast. "

After which formal and somewhat pompous sentence the youthful Charleydrew near, slapped me in a friendly way upon the back, and exclaimed, with dancing eyes:--

"I say, colonel! wasn't that a jolly old he-fight we had last night?"

My reply was a laugh, and a glance of admiration at the gay boy. 

I declined the invitation of General Davenant, as I had to return. Myhorse was brought, and I found his foot much easier. In half an hour Iwas on the road to Petersburg. 

XXV. 

THE BLUE SERPENT. 

Once back at the "Cedars, " I reflected deeply upon the history which Ihad heard from the lips of General Davenant. 

I shall refrain, however, from recording these reflections. If thereader will cast his eyes back over the pages of these memoirs, he willperceive that I have confined myself generally to the simple narrationof events--seldom pausing to offer my own comments upon the scenespassing before me. Were I to do so, what an enormous volume I shouldwrite, and how the reader would be bored! Now, to bore a reader, is, inmy eyes, one of the greatest crimes of which an author can be guilty. It is the unpardonable sin, indeed, in a writer. For which reason, andacting upon the theory that a drama ought to explain itself and be itsown commentator, I spare the worthy reader of these pages all thosereflections which I indulged in, after hearing General Davenant'ssingular narrative. 

"Pride! pride!" I muttered, rising at the end of an hour. "I think Ican understand that--exceptional as is this instance; but I wish I hadheard who was the 'real murderer' of George Conway!"

Having thus dismissed the subject, I set about drawing up my officialreport, and this charmingly common-place employment soon banished frommy mind every more inviting subject!

It was nearly ten days after this my first ride into the wilds ofDinwiddie, before I again set out to look after the cavalry. The end ofOctober was approaching. Grant had continued to hammer away along hisimmense line of earth-works; and day by day, step by step, he had goneon extending his left in the direction of the Southside railroad. 

If the reader will keep this in view, he will understand every movementof the great adversaries. Grant had vainly attempted to carry Lee'sworks by assault, or surprise, --his only hope of success now was togradually extend his lines toward the Southside road; seize upon thatgreat war artery which supplied life-blood to Lee's army; and thuscompel the Confederate commander to retreat or starve in his trenches. One thing was plain--that when Grant reached the Southside railroad, Lee was lost, unless he could mass his army and cut his way through theforces opposed to him. And this fact was so obvious, the situation wasso apparent--that from the moment when the Weldon road was seized uponby General Grant, that officer and his great adversary never removedtheir eyes from the real point of importance, the true key of thelock--namely the Southside railroad, on Lee's right. 

Elsewhere Grant attacked, but it was to cover some movement, stilltoward his left. He assaulted Lee's works, north of the James--but itwas south of the Appomattox that he was looking. The operations of thefall and winter, on the lines around Petersburg were a great series ofmarches and counter-marches to and fro, suddenly bursting into battles. Grant massed his army heavily in front of the works in Charles Cityopposite the left of Lee; attempted to draw in that direction hisadversary's main force; then suddenly the blue lines vanished; theywere rushed by railroad toward Petersburg, and Grant hastened to thrusthis columns still farther beyond Lee's right, in order to turn it andseize the Southside road. 

That was not the conception of a great soldier, it may be, reader; butit was ingenious. General Grant was not a man of great militarybrain--but he was patient, watchful, and persevering. To defeat Lee, what was wanted was genius, or obstinacy--Napoleon or Grant. In thelong run, perseverance was going to achieve the results of genius. Thetortoise was going to reach the same goal with the hare. It was aquestion of time--that was all. 

So, throughout October, as throughout September, and August, and July, General Grant thundered everywhere along his forty miles ofearth-works, but his object was to raise a smoke dense enough to hidethe blue columns moving westward. "Hurrah! we have got Fort Harrison!"exclaimed his enthusiastic subordinates. Grant would much rather haveheard, "We have got the White Oak road!" Fort Harrison was a strongout-post simply; the White Oak road was the postern door into thecitadel. 

Gradually moving thus, from the Jerusalem plank road to the Weldonrailroad, from the Weldon railroad to the Squirrel Level road, from theSquirrel Level road toward the Boydton road, beyond which was the WhiteOak road, Grant came, toward the end of October, to the banks of theRowanty. As this long blue serpent unfolded its coils and stretched itsthreatening head into the Dinwiddie woods, Lee had extended his rightto confront it. The great opponents moved _pari passu_, each marchingin face of each other. Like two trained and skillful swordsmen, theychanged ground without moving their eyes from each others' faces--thelunge was met by the parry; and this seemed destined to go on toinfinity. 

That was the unskilled opinion, however. The civilians thoughtthat--Lee did not. It was plain that this must end somewhere. Lee'sline would not bear much further extension. It reached now from a pointon the Williamsburg road, east of Richmond, to Burgess's Mill, west ofPetersburg. His forty thousand men were strung over forty miles. Thatmade the line so thin that it would bear little more. Stretched alittle farther still, and it would snap. 

Lee called in vain for more men. The Government could not send them. Hepredicted the result of failure to receive them. They did not come. 

And Grant continued to move on, and Lee continued to stretch his thinline, until it began to crack. 

Such was the situation of affairs at the end of October--when Grantaimed a heavy blow to cut the line in pieces. The blue serpent raisedits head, and sprung to strike. 

XXVI. 

THE HOUSE NEAR MONK'S NECK, AND ITS OWNER. 

Such was the critical condition of affairs when I again set out to makemy regular tour of inspection of the cavalry. 

Crossing Hatcher's Run at Burgess's Mill, I turned to the left, andsoon found myself riding on between the lofty walls of pine, throughwhich the roads of Dinwiddie wind like a serpent. 

When near Monk's Neck, I determined to stop and feed my horse. I alwayscarried, strapped behind my saddle, a small bag containing about a feedof corn for that purpose; and as I generally selected some waysidehouse where I could, myself, rest while my horse was feeding, I nowlooked about me to discover such. 

My search was speedily rewarded. Three hundred yards from the road, ina clump of stunted trees, I saw a small house, which I soon reached. The surroundings of the establishment were poor and mean beyondexpression. Through the open door I could see that the interior waseven more poverty-stricken than the outside. 

As I dismounted, a man came to this door. Are you fond of naturalhistory, reader; and have you ever amused yourself by institutingcomparisons between certain human beings and certain animals--beasts, birds, or fishes? I have seen men who resembled horses, owls, hawks, sheep, --and geese. This one resembled the bird called the penguin. Readthe description of the penguins: "Their feet are placed moreposteriorly than in any other birds, and only afford them support byresting on the tarsus, which is enlarged, like the sole of the foot ofa quadruped. The wings are very small, and are furnished with rudimentsof feathers only, resembling scales. Their bodies are covered withoblong feathers, harsh to the touch, and closely applied over eachother. * * * * * Their motions are slow and awkward, and from the formof their wings, they can not fly. "

The individual before me recalled the penguin--except that he wasexcessively lean instead of fat. The feet accorded with the abovedescription; the arms were short, and hung like wings; the coat of theworthy was a ragged "cut-away, " which ended in a point behind, like thetail of a bird; and the movements of the individual were "slow andawkward" to a degree which forbade the supposition that, under anycircumstances, he could be induced to fly. Add a long, crane-like neck, two bleared eyes, a mouth stretching from ear to ear, and a nose likethe bill of a duck. You will then have before you the gentleman whobore, as I soon discovered, the classic name of Mr. Alibi. 

When the worthy, who had flapped his arms, by way of greeting, andshown me into his mansion, informed me that such was his name, I knewthat the house at which I now found myself was the place of meetingagreed upon between Nighthawk and Swartz, at their interview inRichmond. Here, also, the man and woman, rescued by Swartz on theNottoway, had been left, on his way to Petersburg, as the spy hadinformed us in the Wilderness. 

"Well, general, " croaked Mr. Alibi, with a smile, and in a nasal voice, "wha--a--t's the news?"

"I am only a lieutenant-colonel, Mr. Alibi. "

"Well, colonel, any thing stirring?"

"Nothing, I think. Any news with you, Mr. Alibi? I have heard of youfrom a friend of yours. "

"Eh! And who mout that be, colonel?"

"Mr. Nighthawk. Have you seen him lately?"

"Na--a--a--w, " said Mr. Alibi, with a prolonged drawl through his nose, and flapping his arms in an uncouth fashion, "I ain't seen him for along spell now. "

"Nor Swartz, either?"

Mr. Alibi looked keenly at me. 

"Na--a--a--w, nor him nuther, leftenant-colonel. "

"Leave out the 'leftenant, ' my dear Mr. Alibi; and call me'colonel'--it is shorter, " I said, laughing, as I looked at the queerfigure. "And so you have not seen Swartz lately? He made an appointmentto meet Nighthawk here. "

"Made an app'intment, did he, leftenant--least ways, colonel?"

"Yes. "

"With Mr. Nighthawk?"

"Yes. "

"Well, I reckon they are both dead, or they'd 'a' kept theirapp'intment. "

"Nighthawk dead!"

"He must be, sartain. "

"You are mistaken, friend Alibi, " said a voice behind him. 

And Nighthawk, in person, entered the house. 

XXVII. 

STARVATION. 

Nighthawk had appeared, as was his wont, as if he had risen from theearth. 

But this circumstance disappeared from my mind at once. I was lookingat his face. It had completely lost its benignant expression; was pale, and bore marks of great fatigue. Something of the old clericalbenignity came to the eyes as he greeted me cordially; but sitting downin the nearest chair, as though completely wearied out, he became asdispirited as before. 

"And what mout be the matter with you, Mr. Nighthawk?" said Mr. Alibi:"you look 's if the night hags had been a-riding of you with spurs on. "

And Mr. Alibi flapped his wings, stretched out his neck, and seemedabout to cackle. 

"I am tired, Alibi, " said Nighthawk, briefly, "go to the spring and getme some fresh water. You needn't come back in a hurry, as I wish totalk with Colonel Surry. "

And Mr. Nighthawk rose, and carelessly sat down near the window, through which he could reconnoitre. 

The object of this movement was soon evident. Mr. Alibi took a bucket, and went out as though to seek the spring. When he had gone a fewpaces, however, he turned to the right and disappeared behind thehouse, toward the opposite window, which was open. 

Nighthawk rose, went to the door, and caught Mr. Alibieavesdropping--the result of which was that the penguin hastily movedoff, muttering. In a minute he had shambled along and disappeared. 

No sooner had his figure vanished than Nighthawk turned hastily towardme. 

"Will you go with me to-night, colonel, on an expedition I intend tomake?" he said. 

"An expedition, Nighthawk?"

"A work of mercy, colonel; let us talk quickly. That man, Alibi, is aspy--for both sides--and I wish to arrange every thing before hereturns. "

"Explain, Nighthawk. "

"I will, colonel. Do you remember that night in Richmond, when Swartzmade an appointment to meet me at a house near Monk's Neck?"

"Perfectly. "

"Well, this is the house, --and I expected important results from thatmeeting. Unfortunately, I was prevented, by some pickets who arrestedme, from reaching this spot on the appointed day. I was here two daysafterward, however--asked for Swartz--he had not been here--and as thatwas the most unaccountable thing in the world to me, I set out to findhim. "

"In the enemy's lines?"

"Yes, colonel. I had no doubt I would come across him somewhere. So Iwent through the country behind the Federal lines; looked everywherefor my man, have been looking ever since I left you--and at last havefound him. "

"Where?"

"In the upper room of a deserted house, not three miles from thisplace, within the enemy's picket line. "

"The upper room of a deserted house?"

'"Confined--put to starve there, colonel! The work of Darke, and thatshe-devil who goes about with him, I am willing to swear, colonel!"

"Good heavens! Is it possible?" I said, "Swartz is shut up and left tostarve?"

"Exactly, colonel--and here is how I know it. I was coming back, wornout by my long search after Swartz, when in passing this house, I camesuddenly upon a picket of about fifty men. To avoid being seen, I ran, being on foot, and got behind the house. I had no sooner done so, thanI heard groans from the upper part of it--and as the house was entirelyuninhabited, these sounds excited my curiosity--not to sayastonishment. Well, I determined to, find the origin of them. I crawledthrough a broken window--reached the second floor by a dusty staircase, and went straight toward a door, behind which I heard the groaning. Itwas heavily locked, and I could not even shake it. Then I ran to thepartition between the room and the passage--found it made of boards, between the cracks of which I could see--and looking in, I saw Swartz!He was sitting on an old broken chair, beside a table with three legs, and his hand was buried in his hair, as if he was trying to tear itout. 

"When I called to him, he started, and his groans stopped. He turnedhis head. No sooner had he recognized me than he cried out with joy;and for some moments he could say nothing but 'Save me! save me!Nighthawk! They are starving me to death!'

"I will not lengthen out my story, colonel. I see Alibi coming back. Ihad scarcely exchanged ten words with Swartz, when I heard the gallopof a horse, and running to the window, saw _that woman_ get off. Asecond's reflection told me that she was coming into the house; I knewthat, if discovered, I would be shot or taken prisoner--and I decidedon my course in a minute. I said to Swartz, 'wait a few hours--I willgo and bring you help. ' I glided through a back window, dropped to theground, ran into the bushes--and here I am, colonel, waiting for nightto come, to return and rescue Swartz. "

"Can you do so?"

"With one companion--to look out while I pick the lock. "

"Good--I'll go with you; and provide for contingencies, too. "

I had seen a cavalryman passing along the road in front of the house, and as Mr. Alibi came in at the same moment, I sent him to hail thewayfarer, and bring him to the house. As soon as Mr. Alibi had left uson his errand, I tore a sheet from my note-book, obtained fromNighthawk an exact description of the locality where Swartz wasconfined, and writing a note to Mohun, informed him of our intention. If he could send a squadron of cavalry to drive in the picket near thehouse, it would insure the success of our design, I added. 

As I finished this note, Mr. Alibi appeared with the cavalryman. Heproved to belong to Mohun's command. I entrusted the note to him, cautioning him that it was important, and must reach Mohunpromptly--then I looked at my watch. 

It was four o'clock. Already the sun was declining toward the woodedhorizon; I looked toward it, and then at Nighthawk, who nodded. 

"In an hour, colonel, " he said, "and as I am broken down, I willsleep. "

With these words, Nighthawk leaned back in his split-bottom chair, covered his face with his handkerchief, and in ten seconds his long, quiet breathing showed plainly that he was asleep. 

"A cur'ous man, leftenant-colonel! a cur'ous man is Mr. Nighthawk!"said Mr. Alibi. 

And he flapped his arms, and wriggled about in a manner soextraordinary that he looked more like a penguin than ever. 

XXVIII. 

BIRDS OF PREY. 

Night came on. I left my horse at Mr. Alibi's; set off on foot withNighthawk; crossed the Rowanty, separating the opposing pickets, by amoss-covered log, in a shadowy nook, and was approaching the house inwhich Swartz was shut up. 

Nighthawk moved with the stealthy and gliding step of a wildcat. Icould see the man was a born scout; intended by nature for the callinghe had adopted--secret service. He scarcely uttered a word; when hedid, it was in tones so low that they were lost in the whisper of thewind, amid the great trailing vines depending from the trees, and I wascompelled to lean my ear close to catch the words. 

Fifty paces from the bank, a shadowy object on horseback was visible bythe dim light. 

"The vedette, " murmured Nighthawk, "but he need not see us. "

And plunging, or rather gliding into the shadow of the trees, he ledthe way without noise, to a point directly in rear of the vedette. 

A hundred yards farther a fire twinkled; and around this fire were thedusky figures of men and horses. This was evidently the picket. 

Three hundred paces to the left, rose a dark object, sombre andlugubrious against the night, which it exceeded in blackness. Only inthe upper portion of the house, a dim light, like a star, glittered. 

"Some one is yonder, " came from Nighthawk in a murmur as before, "letus go there, colonel. "

And crouching down until his body nearly reached the earth, mycompanion glided, snake-like, toward the house. I imitated him; wepassed unobserved, and almost immediately were behind the house. 

Nighthawk then rose erect, and said in a whisper:--

"I am going to reconnoitre. Remain here, colonel. If I think you cancome up without danger, I will make you a signal through that window. "

With these words Nighthawk pointed to an open window about ten feetfrom the ground; glided past me through the broken sash of one besidewhich we were standing, and disappeared like a shadow. 

I waited, holding my breath. From the upper portion of the house camethe muffled sound of voices. I was endeavoring to distinguish the wordsuttered, when I saw Nighthawk appear at the upper window, and make me asign. 

That sign indicated that I might ascend with a reasonable amount ofsafety; and passing without noise through the window, I found myself ina bare and deserted apartment, with a single shutterless windowopposite me. On the right was an open door. I passed through it, andfound myself at the foot of a rough stairway, occupying half of anarrow passage. 

Ascending, not without more than one creak, which, I must confess, senta tingle through my nerves, I reached the upper landing, found myselfin front of a closed door, and beside this door encountered the warninghand of Nighthawk. 

"Look!" he said. 

And drawing me toward him, he pointed through a crack in the boardpartition, which separated the passage from the apartment. 

XXIX. 

DARKE'S PAST LIFE. 

Leaning on Nighthawk's shoulder, I placed my eye at the aperture. 

On a broken chair beside the three-legged table sat Darke, booted, spurred, and armed with pistol and sabre. In an old rocking-chair, without arms, the singular woman, who seemed to accompany himeverywhere, sat rocking to and fro, and carelessly tapping with a smallwhip, the handsome gray riding-habit which defined her slender andgraceful figure. 

Facing them, on an old bed frame, sat the unfortunate Swartz--but Iwould scarcely have recognized him, if I had not known that it was he. His frame had fallen away almost to nothing. His clothes hung upon himas upon a wooden pole. His cheeks were pale, sunken; his eyes hollow;his bearing, cowed, abject, and submissive beyond expression. Let mespare the reader one horror, however. Hunger was not torturing theunfortunate man at this moment. Beside him, on the floor, lay a pieceof meat, and an unfinished loaf--thus it was evident that food had beenbrought to him; and as some of that food remained uneaten, he must havesatisfied his hunger. 

From Swartz, my glance passed to Darke. This second survey of theworthy proved to me that he was what is succinctly styled "half-drunk. "But drink appeared not to have exhilarated him. It seemed even to havemade him more morose. In the eyes and lips of the heavily beardedHercules could be read a species of gloomy sarcasm--a somethingresembling bitter melancholy. 

The woman in the gray dress, had never appeared cooler. She rocked toand fro in her chair with an air of perfect _insouciance_. 

The interview had evidently lasted some time before our arrival at thehouse; but, as the reader will perceive, we came soon enough tooverhear a somewhat singular revelation. 

As I reached my position near the door, Darke was speaking toSwartz:--

"You ask why you are shut up here to starve, " he said, "and as I havesome time on my hands to-night, I am going to tell you. That might becalled 'imprudent. ' No! I am talking to a dead man! You see I hold outno false hopes--you will not leave this house alive probably--I will goback, and tell you something which will serve to explain the whole. "

Darke paused a moment, and then gazed with a strange mixture of gloomand tenderness upon the gray woman. 

"Perhaps you, too, madam, " he said, speaking in a low tone, "may beignorant of a part of my history. You know the worst--but not all. Youshall know every thing. Listen; and I beg you will not interrupt me. About ten years ago, I chanced to be at Dinwiddie Court-House, a fewmiles only from this spot; and one day a certain Mr. George Conwayvisited the courthouse to receive a considerable sum of money which wasto be paid to him. "

At the words "a certain Mr. George Conway, " uttered by the speaker, ina hoarse and hesitating voice, I very nearly uttered an exclamation. That name, which General Davenant's recent narrative had surroundedwith so many gloomy associations, produced a profound effect on me, asit now escaped from this man's lips; and had it not been forNighthawk's warning pressure on my arm, I should probably have betrayedour vicinity. Fortunately I suppressed the rising exclamation; it hadattracted no attention; and Darke went on in the same low tone:--

"I was in the clerk's office of Dinwiddie when the money I refer to waspaid to Mr. Conway. It amounted to about ten thousand dollars, and as Ihad at that time no business in the region more important than hangingaround the tavern, and drinking and playing cards--as, besides this, Iwas at the end of my resources, having lost my last penny on the nightbefore, at the card-table--the idea occurred to me that it would not bea bad plan to ride after Mr. Conway; accost him on the road; representmy necessities to him, and request a small loan out of his abundantmeans, to prevent myself from being deprived of my luxuries--liquor andcards. Is that a roundabout way of saying I intended to act thehighwayman, perhaps the--murderer--on this occasion? By no means, madam! What is highway robbery? Is it not the brutal and wanton robberyof the poor as well as the rich? Well, I was not going to rob anybody. I was going to request a small loan--and so far from intendingviolence, or--murder--, " he uttered that word always in a hesitatingvoice--"I swear, I had no such intention. I was entirely unarmed; uponmy whole person there was not one deadly weapon--it was only byaccident that I found, when riding out of the court-house, that I had asmall pen-knife in my pocket. This I had picked up, by pure accidentfrom the table of the clerk's office, where some one had laid it down. I had carelessly commenced paring my nails with it--my attention wasattracted by something else. I finished paring my nails, and withoutbeing aware of what I was doing, put the knife in my pocket. 

"Well, you may think, perhaps, all this is irrelevant. You aremistaken. Many things turned on that knife. The devil himself placed itin my grasp that day!"

XXX. 

STABBED "NOT MURDERED. "

"Well, " Darke continued, "I have told you my design, and now I willinform you how I carried it out. 

"I saw Mr. George Conway receive the money--in notes, bank notes, andgold. That was enough; I knew the road he would take; and going to thestable of the tavern I saddled my horse, and rode out of the place in awestern direction. When I was out of sight, however, I turned eastwardtoward Five Forks, pushed into the woods, and about sunset took mystand in a piece of timber, on the side of the road which--he--wascoming by. "

There was always a marked hesitation when he came to the name of hisvictim. He went on more rapidly now. 

"Well, he came along about dusk. Some one followed him, but I could notmake out who. Another man came on from the direction of Petersburg;passed me and _him_; and the other who had followed _him_ out of thecourt-house turned into a by-road and disappeared. Then I saw that thegame was in my own hands; I waited, looking at him as he approached me. I swear I did not intend to harm him. I was half-drunk, but I rememberwhat I intended. He came on. I rode toward him, demanded the money, herefused. I threw myself on him, as he struck at me with the butt of hisheavy riding-whip, then we both rolled to the ground, I under! Hisclutch was on my throat, I was choking. 'Help, ' he cried, and I camenear crying it, too! All at once my hand fell upon my pocket, I feltthe knife, I drew it out, opened it, and stabbed him as he wasstrangling me!

"That was the whole! Do you call it a _murder_? I rose up, as _he_ fellback. His breast was all bloody; his eyes turned round; he gaspedsomething, and fell back dead. "

The speaker paused and wiped his brow with his huge, muscular hand. Hisface was a strange spectacle. The most bitter and terrible emotions ofthe human heart were written there as with a pen of fire. 

"Then I looked at him;" he went on, "I said to myself, 'this is amurder, ' foolishly, for he was stabbed, not murdered; and my firstthought was to conceal the body. I dragged it to the roadside, hid itin some bushes, and thinking I heard some one coming, leaped on myhorse, who had stood by quietly--_his_ had galloped away--and left thecursed spot as fast as I could go. The money was left on him. I swear Idid not touch a penny of it, and would not have touched it, even if Ihad not been interrupted. I had not intended to kill him. It was theresult of the struggle. I took nothing of _his_ away from that place, but I left something of my own; the knife with which I had struck him!

"The devil had put the cursed thing into my hand; and now the devilmade me drop it there, within ten feet of the dead body. "

XXXI. 

THE TWO PAPERS. 

Darke had spoken in a low, dull, gloomy voice; and something like ashudder had passed through his frame as he painted, in brief words, thesombre scene. This emotion now seemed even to grow deeper. Was theregood left in this wild animal?

"That knife, " he continued, "was very nearly the means of hanging aninnocent man. It belonged to a gentleman of the neighborhood who hadaccidentally laid it on the table of the clerk's office, a few momentsbefore I, as accidentally, picked it up--and this gentleman had justhad angry words with--_him_--about a trifle. What made things worse wasthat they had long been enemies--and when _he_ was found there, dead inthe bushes, next day, the owner of the knife found near the body wasarrested as the murderer. 

"Well, he went to jail, and the trial was coming on soon. The evidenceagainst him was strong. He was the known enemy of--Mr. Conway. He hadquarrelled with him on that day, and his knife was found by--thebody--on which the money had not been touched. A robber, you see, wouldhave taken the money; as it was untouched the crime must have beencommitted by a personal enemy. Who was that enemy? The prisoner--whosename was Davenant!

"Well, the trial was near. I had gone back to the court-house on _thatday_, and was still hanging around the place. What was I to do? I hadto determine whether I would let an innocent man be hanged for mycrime, or go to the sheriff and say, 'release the prisoner--I am themurderer. ' That was rather more than I was ready for, and I hit on ameans which might serve. The knife was important evidence--the _most_important--and I was in the clerk's office one day, hanging round andlistening, when I saw the sheriff put the knife in a drawer, to have itready near court on the day of trial. Well, that night I broke into thecourt-house--stole the knife--and waited to see what would occur on thetrial. 

"As the day drew near I felt like a real murderer, and had the prisonerall the time before my eyes, hanging on a gallows. I drank harder thanever, but I could not get that picture out of my mind. I saw worsepictures than before. So I determined what to do. I sat down, wrote afull confession of the murder, which I signed; and a friend of minecarried this to the prisoner's wife. I had put on it 'In haste, thiswill save Mr. Davenant's life'--and his wife carried it, at full speed, with her own hands to the court-house, where she arrived just as thejury had retired. 

"The prisoner opened and read it. When he had finished it, he folded itup and put it in his pocket. As he did so, the jury came in with averdict of 'Not guilty'--and he went out of the court-room accompaniedby a crowd of friends. 

"So he was cleared, you see--without using the document which I hadwritten. That was in his pocket; was of no further use; and as it mightbecome dangerous I entered his house that night, broke open the desk inwhich he kept his private papers, and took this one out, reading andmaking sure that it was the genuine document, by the light of the moonwhich streamed in at the window. 

"I was still looking at the paper, when a noise behind me attracted myattention, and turning round I saw--Mr. Davenant. He had heard thenoise I made in breaking open the secretary; put on his dressing-gown;and coming down, pistol in hand, was on me before I knew it. The fewminutes that followed were rather angry, and noisy. Unexpectedly, Mr. Davenant did not fire on me. After an interchange of compliments, I putthe paper in my pocket, passed out through the window, and mounting myhorse, rode away. 

"After that I went far, and saw many persons. Among the rest you, madam; and our matrimonial life has been chequered!

"A word to you, now, " he added, turning toward Swartz. "I shut you uphere to starve you to death because you were trusted and have betrayedme. Listen, and I will tell you how. You are greedy for gold, and thisgreed has tempted you to an act which will be your destruction. InPennsylvania, one night, just before the battle of Gettysburg, you wereat my house, and stole a paper from madam, who was collecting everything to hide it from the enemy. No matter how I know that; I have madethe discovery, and you deny it--refusing to deliver up that paper, which you state you never had, and consequently have not in yourpossession. In saying that, you lied! You stole that paper, and promiseyourself that you will sell it for a large sum of money--you havealready been bargaining, and have tried to finish the business. 

"Well, that paper is interesting--to madam at least; and she has keptit with care from the eyes of the very person you would sell it to!Folded with it was another paper which is no less valuable to me. Thus, you see, that we are interested; and we will probably be informed in aday from this time where to find both the documents--as you will thenbe starving, and will reveal every thing!

"You think me jesting, perhaps--you imagine I will spare you. Undeceiveyourself--your life is a small matter compared with these two papers. 

"One is the certificate of madam's marriage with your very humbleservant; the other the letter which I took from Mr. Davenant's deskthat night, in which I confess myself the--well! the murderer--ofGeorge Conway!"

XXXII. 

A PISTOL-SHOT. 

Darke's deep and gloomy voice ceased to resound, and for a moment thesilence of the apartment was only disturbed by the slight creaking madeby the chair of the woman, as she quietly rocked backward and forward. 

Swartz had risen to his feet while Darke was uttering his final words. With clasped hands, and trembling lips, he was about to throw himselfupon his knees;--when suddenly a shot resounded without, a cry washeard, and then this was succeeded by rapid firing, mingled withhoof-strokes, in the immediate vicinity of the house. 

Darke rose to his feet, and in two strides was at the window. 

"An attack!" he exclaimed. "Can the friends of this carrion be tryingto catch me!"

And springing toward the door, he tore it open. 

Suddenly, another thought seemed to come to him. Returning at a boundto the side of Swartz, he seized him by the throat, dragged him throughthe door, and rushed down the steps, still dragging the unfortunateman. 

As he passed me, I drew my revolver and fired on him, but the ball didnot strike him. Then I saw the woman dart past like a shadow. WhenNighthawk and myself reached the foot of the stairs, she and Darke werealready in the saddle. 

The collar of Swartz was still in his clutch. He seemed determined tobear him off at the risk of being himself captured; for a second glanceshowed me that a party of Confederate cavalry was rushing headlongtoward the house, led by an officer whom I made out to be Mohun. 

Darke saw that the small force on picket could not contend with theattacking party. 

By the starlight, I could see his face, as he glared over his shoulderat Mohun, whom he had evidently recognized. An expression of profoundhate was in that glance; a hoarse growl issued from his lips; and Idistinguished the low words addressed to Swartz, whom he was draggingon beside his horse. 

"So, you are rescued, you think! You have laid this trap for me, jailbird!"

He drew his pistol as he spoke, and placed it close to the unhappyman's temple. I had mine in my hand, and, aiming at Darke, fired. 

It was too late. The bullet did not strike him; and the report of hisown weapon followed that of mine like an echo. 

Swartz staggered back, threw up his hands, and uttering a wild cry, fell at full length upon the ground. 

The scene which followed was as brief as this tragedy. Mohun charged, at the head of his men, and drove the picket force before him. In fiveminutes the whole party were dispersed, or captured. 

Darke had escaped with the gray woman, in the darkness. 

The pursuit did not continue far. The Federal lines were near; andMohun soon recalled his men. 

Grasping me cordially by the hand, he exclaimed:--

"Well, Surry! the prisoner! Where is Swartz?"

I pointed to the spot where his body lay, and went thither with Mohun. 

Swartz lay perfectly dead, in a pool of blood. Darke had blown out hisbrains. 

XXXIII. 

PRESTON HAMPTON. 

An hour afterward the body of the unfortunate man had been buried, andI had returned with Mohun and Nighthawk to the opposite bank of theRowanty. 

I had never seen Mohun so gloomy. He scarcely uttered a word during thewhole march back; and when I announced my intention to spend the nightat the house of Mr. Alibi, as the long tramp had wearied me out, hescarcely invited me to his head-quarters, and when I declined, did noturge me. Something evidently weighed heavily on the mind of Mohun, anda few moment's reflection explained the whole to me. 

He had conversed rapidly and apart with Nighthawk near the lonelyhouse; and his gloom had dated from that conversation. Nighthawk hadevidently explained every thing: the cause of Swartz's imprisonment;his statement in reference to the paper--and now that Swartz was dead, the hiding-place of the document seemed forever undiscoverable. 

If the reader does not understand the terrible significance of thisfact, and Mohun's consequent gloom, I promise that he shall comprehendall before very long. 

Mohun returned to his camp, and I remained at the house of Mr. Alibiuntil morning, stretched on a lounge, and wrapped in my cape. 

I awoke about sunrise. As I opened my eyes, quick firing came from thedirection of Burgess's Mill. The fire speedily became more rapid andcontinuous; I hastened to mount my horse; and as I did so, a courierpassed at full gallop. 

"What news?" I asked. 

"The enemy are advancing in force! They have crossed!"

"Where?"

"Near Armstrong's!"

And the courier disappeared, at full speed, in the woods. In a moment Ihad abandoned my design of inspecting, and was riding back. 

"Armstrong's" was a mill on the Rowanty, near the Boydton road. If theenemy had crossed there, in force, it was to make a heavy advancetoward the Southside road. 

I was not mistaken. Reaching the debouchment of the "Quaker road, " Ifound the cavalry drawn up in order of battle--a dispatch had been sentto hurry up the rest--on the lower waters of the Rowanty, and GeneralHampton informed me of the situation of affairs. 

The enemy had advanced in heavy force at sunrise, driven in thepickets, and, crossing the Rowanty, seized on the Boydton road and thebridge at Burgess's Mill. From prisoners taken, it was ascertained thatthe force consisted of the Second, Fifth, and part of the Ninth Corps;Grant, Meade, and Hancock, accompanying the troops in person. 

That left nothing in doubt. If any remained, it was dispelled by thefact, stated to me by General Hampton, that the Federal troops "hadeight days' rations, and were certainly bound for the Southsideroad. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

I had scarcely received this intelligence from General Hampton, when aheavy attack was made upon General William H. F. Lee, holding the Quakerroad. 

From that moment the battle began to rage with determined fury, and theentire force of cavalry was engaged in an obstinate fight with theadvancing enemy. It was a bitter and savage affair. The men charged;dismounted and fought behind impromptu breastworks of rails; fell backonly when they were pushed by the weight of the great column rollingforward; and for hours the whole field was a hurly-burly of dust, smoke, blood, uproar, carbine shots, musket shots, and the longthreatening roar of cannon. 

The Stuart horse artillery fought like tigers. The men stuck to theirguns amid a storm of bullets, and vindicated, as they had done beforeon many fields, the name of "my pets, " given them by Stuart! Among theofficers, Will Davenant was seen, sitting his horse amid the smoke, ascalm as a May morning; and I shall never forget the smile on the faceof this young bull-dog, when he said:--

"I think we can hold our ground, colonel. "

And looking over his shoulder, in the direction of Five Forks, hemurmured:--

"This is a good place to die, too. "

A thundering cheer rose suddenly above the roar of the guns, and theline of dismounted sharp-shooters behind their rail breastworks openeda more steady and resolute fire as the enemy appeared to pause. 

At the same moment young Preston Hampton, a son of the general, and oneof my favorites, from his courage and courtesy, passed by at a gallop, cheering and encouraging the skirmishers. 

I spurred after him. Just as I reached him, I saw the arm waving abovehis head suddenly drop; his sword escaped from his grasp, and he fellfrom the saddle to the ground. 

In an instant I had dismounted, and with other officers who hastenedup, had raised him from the earth. 

As we did so, the group, consisting now of no less than seven, attracted the enemy's attention; a hot fire was opened on us, andbefore we could bear the dying youth in our arms beyond the reach ofthe fire, four out of the seven officers were shot. [1]

[Footnote 1: Fact]

The boy was placed in an ambulance, and borne to the rear; but thewound was fatal, and he soon afterward expired. A staff officerafterward informed me that General Hampton did not leave his tent for afortnight--scarcely replying when he was spoken to, and prostrated bygrief. 

I could understand that. The death of the brave youth sent a pang to myown heart--and he was only my friend. The great heart of the fathermust have been nearly broken. 

So fell Preston Hampton. Peace to his ashes! No kinder or braver spiritever died for his country!

XXXIV. 

I AM CAPTURED. 

Hour after hour the battle continued to rage; the enemy making resoluteattempts to brush off the cavalry. 

It was now discovered that Hancock's corps had crossed the Rowanty, supported by Crawford's division, with two corps behind; and as GeneralHancock held the bridge at Burgess's, there seemed little probabilitythat Lee could cross a force to attack him. 

But this was done. While the cavalry fought the blue masses withobstinate courage on the Boydton road, Mahone, that daring soldier, crossed a column of three brigades over the Rowanty, below Burgess's;and suddenly the enemy found themselves attacked in flank and rear. Mahone did not pause. He advanced straight to the assault; swept everything before him, and thrusting his small force in between Hancock andCrawford, tore from the former four hundred prisoners, three battle-flags, and six pieces of artillery. 

The assault had been sudden and almost overwhelming. While hotlyengaged with Hampton in front, the enemy had all at once staggeredbeneath the heavy blow dealt on their flank and rear. They turned tostrike at this new foe; and the shock which followed was rude, theonset bloody. 

Mahone met it with that dash and stubbornness now proverbial in thearmy; and, hurling his three brigades against the advancing column, broke through three lines of battle, and drove them back. [1]

[Footnote 1: "In the attack subsequently made by the enemy, GeneralMahone broke three lines of battle. "--General Lee's Dispatch of October28, 1864. ]

Night was near, and the fighting still continued. The enemy seemed bothto give up the ground; and were holding their position obstinately, when a determined charge from a brigade of Mahone's drove every thingin its front. 

I had been to carry a message for General Hampton, upon whose staff Iserved during the battle, and now found myself swept forward by thebrigade charging. 

In front of them, I recognized General Davenant, on horseback, andsword in hand, leading the charge. His son Charley was beside him. 

"We are driving them, colonel!" exclaimed the general, with a proudsmile "and look! yonder are some of their general officers flying fromthat house!"

As he spoke, he pointed to three horsemen, riding at full speed from ahouse known as Burgess's; their splendid suit of staff officersindicated that they were of high rank. 

In fact, the three horsemen who retired thus hastily, would have proveda rich prize to us. They were Generals Grant, Meade and Hancock. [1]

[Footnote 1: Fact. ]

They made a narrow escape, and the question suggests itself, "Whatwould have been the result of their capture?" I know not; I only knowthat Grant, Meade and Hancock, came near having an interview withGeneral Lee that night--a peaceful and friendly talk at hishead-quarters. 

I did not think of all this then. The hot charge dragged me. I had cometo participate in it by the mere chance of battle--but this apparentaccident was destined to have very singular results. 

I had ridden with General Davenant, as his brigade swept forward, andwe were breasting a heavy fire on his front, when a sudden cry of"Cavalry! look out!" came from our left. 

General Davenant wheeled his horse; went at full speed, accompanied byhis son and myself, through the bullets, in the direction indicated;and carried onward by his animal, as I was by my own, rode right into acolumn of blue cavalry, advancing to attack our flank. 

Such was the "chance of battle!" At one moment General Davenant was incommand of a brigade which was driving the enemy, and sweeping everything before it. At the next moment he had been carried by the powerfulanimal which he bestrode straight into the ranks of the Federalcavalry, hidden by the woods and approaching darkness--had beensurrounded in an instant, fired upon, and half dragged from his saddle, and captured, together with his son Charley. 

What was still more unfortunate to me, personally, was the fact thathaving followed the old soldier, I was surrounded, and made a prisonerin the same manner. 

XXXV. 

FACE TO FACE. 

We had scarcely time to realize the truly disgusting fact, that we werecaptured at the very instant that the enemy were being driven, when thecharge of the Federal cavalry was met by a hail-storm of bullets whichdrove them back in disorder. 

For some moments the woods presented a singular spectacle. Horsemenflying in wild confusion; riderless animals darting madly toward therear; the groans of wounded men tottering in the saddle as they rushedby--all this made up a wild scene of excitement, and confusion worseconfounded. 

General Davenant, his son, and myself had been ordered to the rear, under escort; and the old cavalier had turned his horse's head in thatdirection, boiling with rage at his capture, when the repulse ensued, and the Federal cavalry streamed by us toward the rear. 

All at once a loud voice was heard shouting in the half darkness:--

"Halt! halt! you cursed cowards! Halt! and form column!"

The speaker rushed toward us as he spoke, mounted upon a huge blackhorse, and I heard the noise made by his sabre, as with the flat of it, he struck blows upon the brawny shoulders of the fugitives. 

At his summons, and the blows of his sabre, the men halted, and againfell into column. Under the shadowy boughs of the woods, and in thegathering darkness, the long line of horsemen resembled phantoms ratherthan men. Near them glimmered some bivouac fires; and the flickeringlight illumined their persons, gleamed on their scabbards, and lit upthe rough bearded faces. 

"Cowardly scoundrels!" exclaimed their leader, in fierce accents, "where are the prisoners that ran into us?"

"Here, colonel. One is a general!" said a man. 

"Let me see them!"

General Davenant struck the spur violently into his horse, and rodeclose to the Federal officer, in whom I had recognized Colonel Darke. 

"Here I am, wretch!--look at me!" exclaimed General Davenant, foamingwith rage. "Accursed be the day when I begat a murderer and arenegade!"

XXXVI. 

THE CURSE. 

Darke's hand unconsciously drew the rein, and man and horse both seemedto stagger back before the furious old soldier. 

"General--Davenant!" muttered Darke, turning pale. 

"Yes, General Davenant!--a gentleman, an honest man; not a traitor anda murderer!"

"Good God!" muttered Darke, "it is my father, truly--and my littlebrother! The proud face, the eyes, the mouth--and yet they told me youwere killed. "

"Ah! 'Killed!' Killing is a favorite topic with you!" exclaimed GeneralDavenant, furiously; "well, kill _me_, now!--Strike your dastardlysword, or _your knife_ if you have one, straight into my breast! Murderme, I say, as you murdered George Conway!--I have a purse in my pocket, and you can rob me when I am dead. Strike! strike!--but not with thesword! That is the weapon of a gentleman. Draw your knife, and stab mein the back--the knife is the weapon of the assassin!"

And crossing his arms upon his breast, the fiery old cavalierconfronted his son, with eyes full of bitter wrath and disdain--eyeswhich I shall never forget; for their fire burnt them into my memory. 

Darke did not dare to meet them. I had listened with amazement to thosewords, which indicated that the Federal officer was General Davenant'sson; then this sentiment of astonishment, profound as it was, hadyielded to one of expectation, if I may so express myself. What Iexpected was a furious outbreak from the man of fierce and violentpassions, thus taunted and driven to bay by the repeated insults of thegeneral. No outburst came, however. On the contrary, the Federalofficer bowed his head, and listened in silence, while a mortal pallordiffused itself over his swarthy face. His gaze was bent upon theground, and his brows so closely knit that they extended in an unbrokenridge of black and shaggy hair above his bloodshot eyes. He sat hishorse, in the light of the camp-fire, --a huge cavalier upon an animalas powerful and forbidding in appearance as himself, --and for more thana minute after the scornful outburst from General Davenant, Darkeremained silent and motionless, with his eyes still fixed upon theground:

Then he raised his head, made a sign with his hand to an officer, andsaid, briefly:--

"Move back with the column--leave these prisoners here. "

At the word, the column moved back slowly; the shadowy figures werelost sight of in the darkness; General Davenant, his son Charles, Darke, and myself, were left alone beside the camp-fire. 

Then the Federal officer, with a face over which seemed to pass "theshadow of unutterable things, " looked first with a long, wistful, absorbed glance toward the boy Charles, his brother--lastly, toward hisfather. 

"Why do you taunt me?" he said, in a low tone. "Will that result in anygood now? Yes, I committed murder. I intended, if I did not commit, robbery. I killed--yes, I killed!--with a knife--as a murderer kills. But I do not wish to kill you--or Charley--or this officer--or rob you. Keep your life and your money. There is the road before you, open. Go;you are free!"

General Davenant had sat his horse--the boy Charley besidehim--listening in sullen wrath. As Darke ended, the general's hand wentto the hilt of his sword, and he half drew it, by an instinctivemovement, from the scabbard. "Well!" added the Federal officer, in thesame low tone, with a deeper flush in his cheeks, "draw your sword, sir--strike me if you think proper. For myself, I am done with murder, and shrink from it, so that, if my father wishes to kill me, I willopen my breast, to give him a fair opportunity. You see I am notaltogether the murderous wretch you take me for. I am a murderer, it istrue, and soiled with every vice--you see I am frank--but I will notresist, if you plunge your sword into my heart. Strike! strike! While Iam dying I will have time to say the few words I have to say to you!"

General Davenant shuddered with wrath still, but a strange emotion wasmingled with the sentiment now--an emotion which I could not fathom. Before he could open his lips, however, Darke resumed, in the sametone:--

"You hesitate--you are not ready to become my executioner. Well, listen, and I will utter that which may deprive you of allself-control. Yes, once more, I killed a man, and killed him for money;but _you_ made me what I was! You petted, and spoiled, and made meselfish. In addition, you hated--that man. You had hated him fortwenty years. When I grew up, I found out that. If you did not strikehim, you had the desire to do so--and, like a good son, I shared my'father's loves and hatreds. ' I heard you speak of--him--harshly; Iknew that an old grudge was between you; what matter if I met thisenemy of the family on the high-road, and, with the dagger at histhroat, said: 'Yield me a portion of your ill-gotten gains!' for thatmoney was the proceeds of a forced sale for cash, by which the fatherof a family was turned out of house and home! Well, I did that--and didit under the effect of drink. I learned the habit at _your_ table; winewas placed in my hands, in my very childhood, by you; you indulged allmy vile selfishness; made me a miserable, arrogant wretch; I came tohang about the village tavern, and gamble, and fuddle myself, until Iwas made worthless! Then, when one day the devil tempted me, Icommitted a crime--and that crime was committed by _you_! for _you_cultivated in me the vile habits which led me on to murder!"

Darke's eyes were gloomy, and full of a strange fire. As he uttered thelast words, he spurred close to his father, tore open his uniform untilhis bare breast was visible, and added in accents full of vehement andsullen passion:--

"Strike me! Bury your sword's point in my heart! I am your son. You areas noble a gentleman as Brutus was! Kill me, then! I am a murderer: butI am a Davenant, and no coward!"

From the fierce and swollen face, in which the dark eyes burned likefirebrands, my glance passed to the countenance of General Davenant. Astartling change had taken place in the expression of the old cavalier. He was no longer erect, fiery, defiant. His glance no longer dartedscorn and anger. His chin had fallen upon his breast; his framedrooped; his cheeks, but now so flushed, were covered with a deeppallor. 

For a moment he remained silent. The hand which had clutched at thesword hilt hung listless at his side. All at once his breast heaved, and with a sound which resembled a groan, he said, in low tones:--

"I am punished! Yes, my hatred has brought forth fruit, and the fruitis bitter! It was I who warped this life, and the tree has grown as Iinclined it. "

"Yes, " said Darke, in his deep voice, "first warped--then, when cutdown, cast off and forgotten!"

General Davenant looked at the speaker with bitter melancholy. 

"Ah! you charge me with that, do you, sir?" he said, "You do notremember, then, that I have suffered for you--you do not know, perhaps, that for ten years I have labored under the imputation of that crime, and have preserved silence that I might shield your memory--for Ithought you dead! You do not know that I never breathed a syllable ofthat letter which you sent to me on the day of my trial--that I haveallowed the world to believe I was saved by a legal technicality! Youhave not heard, perhaps, that a daughter of Judge Conway is beloved byyour brother, and that her father rejects with scorn the very idea offorming an alliance with _my_ son--the son of one whom he regards asthe murderer of his brother! Oh! yes, sir! truly I have cast off andforgotten you and your memory! I have not wept tears of blood over thecrime you committed--over the dishonor that rested on the name ofDavenant! I have not writhed beneath the cold and scornful eye of JudgeConway and his friends! I have not seen your brother's heart breakingfor love of that girl; and suppressed all, concealed every thing, bornethe brand on my proud forehead, and _his_ young life, that _your_tombstone might at least not have 'murderer' cut on it! And now youtaunt me with my faults!--with my injudicious course toward you whenyour character was forming. You sneer and say that I first hated GeorgeConway, and that the son only inherited the family feud, and struck theenemy of the family! Yes, I acknowledge those sins; I pray daily to beforgiven for them. I have borne for ten years this bitter load ofdishonor. But there is something more maddening even than my faults, and the stain on my name--it is to be taunted to my face, here, withthe charge that I struck that blow! that I made you the criminal, andthen threw you off, and drove you to become a renegade in the ranks ofour enemies!"

The last words of the speaker were nearly drowned in a heavy fusilladewhich issued from the woods close by. 

"Listen!" exclaimed General Davenant, "that is the fire of yourhirelings, sir, directed at the hearts of your brethren! _You_ areleading that scum against the gentlemen of Virginia! Well join them!Point _me_, and my son, and companion out to them! Tear us to pieceswith your bullets! Trample us beneath your hireling heels! That willnot prevent me from branding you again in your dishonoredforehead!--from cursing you as renegade, debauchee, and murderer!"

The whistle of bullets mingled with these furious and resounding words;and then the crackle of footsteps was heard, the undergrowth suddenlyswarmed with figures--a party of Confederates rushed shouting into thelittle glade. 

Darke wheeled not from, but toward them, as though to charge them. Thestern courage of the Davenant blood burned in his cheeks and eyes. Then, with a harsh and bitter laugh, he turned and pushed his horseclose up beside that of his father. 

"I would call this meeting and parting strange, if any thing werestrange in this world!" he said, "but nothing astonishes me, or movesme, as of old! The devil has brought it about! he put a knife in myhands once! to-night he brings me face to face with you and myboy-brother--and makes you curse and renounce me! Well, so be it! haveyour will! Henceforth I am really lost--my father!"

And drawing his pistol, he coolly discharged barrel after barrel in thefaces of the men rushing upon him; wheeled his horse, and dug the spursinto him; an instant afterward, with his sneering face turned over hisshoulder, he had disappeared in the woods. 

Two hours afterward I was on my way to Petersburg. 

The enemy were already falling back from their adventurous attempt toseize the Southside road. 

In the morning they had retired across the Rowanty, and disappeared. 

So ended that heavy blow at Lee's great war-artery. 

 [Illustration: THE FLIGHT]

BOOK IV. 

THE PHANTOMS. 

I. 

RICHMOND BY THE THROAT. 

I was again back at the "Cedars, " after the rapid and shifting sceneswhich I have endeavored to place before the reader. 

The tragic incidents befalling the actors in this drama, had mostabsorbed my attention; but sitting now in my tent, with the newspapersbefore me, I looked at the fight in which I had participated, from thegeneral and historic point of view. 

That heavy advance on the Boydton road, beyond Lee's right, had beensimultaneous with a determined assault on the Confederate left, northof James River, and on Lee's centre opposite Petersburg; and now theextracts from Northern journals clearly indicated that the movement wasmeant to be decisive. 

"I have Richmond by the throat!" General Grant had telegraphed; butthere was good ground to believe that the heavy attack, and theeloquent dispatch, were both meant to "make capital" for theapproaching Presidential election. 

These memoirs, my dear reader, are written chiefly to record someincidents which I witnessed during the war. I have neither time norspace for political comments. But I laid my hand yesterday, byaccident, on an old number of the _Examiner_ newspaper; and it chancedto contain an editorial on the fight just described, with somepenetrating views on the "situation" at that time. 

Shall I quote a paragraph from the yellow old paper? It will bebitter--we were all bitter in those days! though to-day we are sofraternal and harmonious. With his trenchant pen, Daniel pierced to thecore of the matter; and the paper may give some idea of the spirit ofthe times. 

I could fancy the great satirist sitting in his lonely study, andpenning the lines I shall quote, not without grim smiles at his ownmordant humor. 

Here is the slip I cut out. The old familiar heading may recall thosetimes to some readers, as clearly as the biting sentences, once read, perhaps, by the camp-fire. 

* * * * * DAILY EXAMINER. * * * * *MONDAY MORNING OCT. 31, 1864. * * * * *

 "Every day must now bring its brilliant bulletin to the Yankee nation. That nation does not regard the punctual rising of the sun as more lawfully due to it than a victory every morning. And those glorious achievements of SHERIDAN in the Valley were grown cold and stale, and even plainly hollow and rotten--insomuch that, after totally annihilating the army of EARLY at least three times, and so clearing the way to Lynchburg, instead of marching up to Lynchburg the heroick victor goes whirling down to Winchester. Then the superb victory obtained on Sunday of last week over PRICE in Missouri, has taken a certain bogus tint, which causes many to believe that there was, in fact, no victory and no battle. This would not do. Something fresh must be had; something electrifying; above all, something that would set the people to cheering and firing off salutes about the very day of the election;--something, too, that could not be plainly contradicted by the events till after that critical day--then let the contradiction come and welcome: your true Yankee will only laugh. 

 "From this necessity came the great 'reconnoissance in force' of last Thursday on our lines before Richmond and Petersburg; a 'reconnoissance' in very heavy force indeed upon three points of our front at once both north and south of the James river; so that it may be very properly considered as three reconnoissances in force; made with a view of feeling, as it were, LEE'S position; and the object of the three reconnoissances having been fully attained--that is, LEE having been felt--they retired. That is the way in which the transactions of Thursday last are to appear in STANTON'S bulletin, we may be all quite sure; and this representation, together with the occupation of a part of the Boydton plank-road (which road the newspapers can call for a few days the Southside Road) will cause every city from Boston to Milwaukee to fire off its inevitable hundred guns. Thus, the Presidential election will be served, just in the nick of time; for that emergency it is not the real victory which is wanted, so much as the jubilation, glorification and cannon salutes. 

 "Even when the truth comes to be fully known that this was the grand pre-election assault itself: the resistless advance on Richmond which was to lift the Abolitionists into power again upon a swelling high-tide of glory unutterable--easily repulsed and sent rolling back with a loss of about six or seven thousand men in killed, wounded and prisoners; even when this is known, does the reader imagine that the Yankee nation will be discouraged? Very far from it. On the contrary it will be easily made to appear that from these 'reconnoissances in force, ' an advantage has been gained, which is to make the next advance a sure and overwhelming success. For the fact is, that a day was chosen for this mighty movement, when the wind was southerly, a soft and gentle breeze, which wafted the odour of the Yankee whiskey-rations to the nostrils of Confederate soldiers. The Confederates ought to have been taken by surprise that morning; but the moment they snuffed the tainted gale, they knew what was to be the morning's work. Not more unerring is the instinct which calls the vulture to the battle-field before a drop of blood is shed; or that which makes the kites 'know well the long stern swell, that bids the Romans close;' than the sure induction of our army that the Yankees are coming on, when morn or noon or dewy eve breathes along the whole line a perfumed savour of the ancient rye. The way in which this discovery may be improved is plain. It will be felt and understood throughout the intelligent North, that it gives them at last the key to Richmond. They will say--Those rebels, to leeward of us, smell the rising valour of our loyal soldiers: the filling and emptying of a hundred thousand canteens perfumes the sweet South as if it had passed over a bed of violets, stealing and giving odours:--when the wind is southerly it will be said, rebels know a hawk from a handsaw. Therefore it is but making our next grand assault on some morning when they are to windward of us--creeping up, in the lee of LEE, as if he were a stag--and Richmond is ours. "

That is savage, and sounds unfraternal to-day, when peace and goodfeeling reign--when the walls of the Virginia capitol re-echo thestately voices of the conscript fathers of the great commonwealth andmother of States: conscript fathers bringing their wisdom, maturestudy, and experience to the work of still further improving the workof Jefferson, Mason, and Washington. 

"I have Richmond by the throat!" General Grant wrote in October, 1864. In February, 1868, when these lines are written, black hands have gotVirginia by the throat, and she is suffocating; Cuffee grins, Cuffeegabbles--the groans of the "Old Mother" make him laugh. 

Messieurs of the great Northwest, she gave you being, and suckled you!Are you going to see her strangled before your very eyes?

II. 

NIGHTMARE. 

In truth, if not held by the throat, as General Grant announced, Richmond and all the South in that autumn of 1864, was staggering, suffocating, reeling to and fro under the immense incubus ofall-destroying war. 

At that time black was the "only wear, " and widows and orphans werecrying in every house throughout the land. Bread and meat had become nolonger necessaries, but luxuries. Whole families of the old aristocracylived on crusts, and even by charity. Respectable people in Richmondwent to the "soup-houses. " Men once rich, were penniless, and borrowedto live. Provisions were incredibly dear. Flour was hundreds of dollarsa barrel; bacon ten dollars a pound; coffee and tea had become unknownalmost. Boots were seven hundred dollars a pair. The poor skinned thedead horses on battle-fields to make shoes. Horses cost five thousanddollars. Cloth was two hundred dollars a yard. Sorghum had taken theplace of sugar. Salt was sold by the ounce. Quinine was one dollar agrain. Paper to write upon was torn from old blank books. The ten ortwenty dollars which the soldiers received for their monthly pay, wasabout sufficient to buy a sheet, a pen, and a little ink to write hometo their starving families that they too were starving. 

In town and country the atmosphere seemed charged with coming ruin. Allthings were in confusion. Everywhere something jarred. The executivewas unpopular. The heads of departments were inefficient. The army wasunfed. The finances were mismanaged. In Congress the oppositionbitterly criticised President Davis. The press resounded with fiercediatribes, _pro_ and _con_, on all subjects. The _Examiner_ attackedthe government, and denounced the whole administration of affairs. The_Sentinel_ replied to the attacks, and defended the assailed officials. One could see nothing that was good. The other could see nothing thatwas bad. Their readers adopted their opinions; looking through glassesthat were deep green, or else _couleur de rose_. But the green glassesoutnumbered the rose-colored more and more every day. 

Thus, in the streets of the city, and in the shades of the country, allwas turmoil, confusion--a hopeless brooding on the hours that werecoming. War was no longer an affair of the border and outpost. Federalcavalry scoured the woods, tearing the last mouthful from the poorpeople. Federal cannon were thundering in front of the ramparts of thecities. In the country, the faint-hearted gathered at the court-housesand cross-roads to comment on the times, and groan. In the cities, cowards croaked in the market-places. In the country, men were hidingtheir meat in garrets and cellars--concealing their corn in pens, lostin the depths of the woods. In the towns, the forestallers hoardedflour, and sugar, and salt in their warehouses, to await famine prices. The vultures of troubled times flapped their wings and croakedjoyfully. Extortioners rolled in their chariots. Hucksters laughed asthey counted their gains. Blockade-runners drank their champagne, jingled their coin, and dodged the conscript officers. 

The rich were very rich and insolent. The poor were want-stricken anddespairing. Fathers gazed at their children's pale faces, and knew notwhere to find food for them. Mothers hugged their frail infants tobosoms drained by famine. Want gnawed at the vitals. Despair had come, like a black and poisonous mist, to strangle the heart. 

The soldiers were agonized by maddening letters from their families. Their fainting loved ones called for help. "Father! come home!" moanedthe children, with gaunt faces, crying for bread. "Husband, come home!"murmured the pale wife, with her half-dead infant in her arms. And themothers--the mothers--ah! the mothers! They did not say, "Come home!"to their brave boys in the army; they were too proud for that--toofaithful to the end. They did not summon them to come home; they onlyknelt down and prayed: "God, end this cruel war! Only give me back myboy! Do not bereave me of my child! The cause is lost--his blood notneeded! God, pity me and give me back my boy!"

So that strange autumn of that strange year, 1864, wore on. The countrywas oppressed as by some hideous nightmare; and Government was silent. 

The army alone, kept heart of hope--Lee's old soldiers defied the enemyto the last. 

III. 

LEE'S MISERABLES. 

They called themselves "Lee's Miserables. "

That was a grim piece of humor, was it not, reader? And the name hadhad a somewhat curious origin. Victor Hugo's work, _Les Misérables_, had been translated and published by a house in Richmond; the soldiers, in the great dearth of reading matter, had seized upon it; and thus, bya strange chance the tragic story of the great French writer, hadbecome known to the soldiers in the trenches. Everywhere, you might seethe gaunt figures in their tattered jackets bending over the dingypamphlets--"Fantine, " "Cosette, " or "Marius, " or "St. Denis, "--and thewoes of "Jean Valjean, " the old galley-slave, found an echo in thehearts of these brave soldiers, immured in the trenches and fettered byduty to their muskets or their cannon. 

Singular fortune of a writer! Happy M. Hugo! Your fancies crossed theocean, and, transmitted into a new tongue, whiled away the dreary hoursof the old soldiers of Lee, at Petersburg! Thus, that history of "TheWretched, " was the pabulum of the South in 1864; and as the Frenchtitle had been retained on the backs of the pamphlets, the soldiers, little familiar with the Gallic pronunciation, called the book "LeesMiserables!" Then another step was taken. It was no longer the book, but themselves whom they referred to by that name. The old veterans ofthe army thenceforth laughed at their miseries, and dubbed themselvesgrimly "_Lee's_ Miserables!"[1]

[Footnote 1: It is unnecessary to say that this is not a jest or fancyon the part of Colonel Surrey. It is a statement of fact. --ED. ]

[Illustration: THE TRENCHES. ]

The sobriquet was gloomy, and there was something tragic in theemployment of it; but it was applicable. Like most popular terms, itexpressed the exact thought in the mind of every one--coined thesituation into a phrase. Truly, they were "The Wretched, "--thesoldiers of the army of Northern Virginia, in the fall and winter of1864. They had a quarter of a pound of rancid "Nassau bacon"--from NewEngland--for daily rations of meat. The handful of flour, or corn-meal, which they received, was musty. Coffee and sugar were doled out as aluxury, now and then only; and the microscopic ration became a jest tothose who looked at it. A little "grease" and cornbread--the greaserancid, and the bread musty--these were the food of the army. 

Their clothes, blankets, and shoes were no better--even worse. Only atlong intervals could the Government issue new ones to them. Thus thearmy was in tatters. The old clothes hung on the men like scarecrows. Their gray jackets were in rags, and did not keep out the chilly windsweeping over the frozen fields. Their old blankets were in shreds, andgave them little warmth when they wrapped themselves up in them, shivering in the long cold nights. The old shoes, patched and yawning, had served in many a march and battle--and now allowed the naked soleto touch the hard and frosty ground. 

Happy the man with a new blanket! Proud the possessor of a wholeroundabout! What millionaire or favorite child of fortune passesyonder--the owner of an unpatched pair of shoes?

Such were the rations and clothing of the army at that epoch;--rancidgrease, musty meal, tattered jackets, and worn-out shoes. And thesewere the fortunate ones! Whole divisions often went without bread even, for two whole days. Thousands had no jackets, no blankets, and noshoes. Gaunt forms, in ragged old shirts and torn pantaloons only, clutched the musket. At night they huddled together for warmth by thefire in the trenches. When they charged, their naked feet leftblood-marks on the abatis through which they went at the enemy. 

That is not an exaggeration, reader. These facts are of record. 

And that was a part only. It was not only famine and hardship whichthey underwent, but the incessant combats--and mortal tedium--of thetrenches. Ah! the trenches! Those words summed up a whole volume ofsuffering. No longer fighting in open field; no longer winter-quarters, with power to range; no longer freedom, fresh air, healthfulmovement--the trenches!

Here, cooped up and hampered at every turn, they fought through allthose long months of the dark autumn and winter of 1864. They were nolonger men, but machines loading and firing the musket and the cannon. Burrowing in their holes, and subterranean covered-ways, they crouchedin the darkness, rose at the sound of coming battle, manned thebreastworks, or trained the cannon--day after day, week after week, month after month, they were there in the trenches at their grim work;and some fiat of Destiny seemed to have chained them there to battleforever! At midnight, as at noon, they were at their posts. In thedarkness, dusky figures could be seen swinging the sponge-staff, swabbing the cannon, driving home the charge. In the starlight, themoonlight, or the gloom lit by the red glare, those figures, resemblingphantoms, were seen marshalled behind the breastworks to repel thecoming assault. Silence had fled from the trenches--the crash ofmusketry and the bellow of artillery had replaced it. That seemed neverto cease. The men were rocked to sleep by it. They slept on in the darktrenches, though the mortar-shells rose, described their flamingcurves, and, bursting, rained jagged fragments of iron upon them. Andto many that was their last sleep. The iron tore them in their tatteredblankets. They rose gasping, and streaming with blood. Then theystaggered and fell; when you passed by, you saw a something lying onthe ground, covered with the old blanket. It was one of "Lee'sMiserables, " killed last night by the mortars--and gone to answer, "Here!" before the Master. 

The trenches!--ah! the trenches! Were you in them, reader? Thousandswill tell you more of them than I can. There, an historic army wasguarding the capital of an historic nation--the great nation ofVirginia--and how they guarded it! In hunger, and cold, and nakedness, they guarded it still. In the bright days and the dark, they stood attheir posts unmoved. In the black night-watches as by day--towardmorning, as at evening--they stood, clutching the musket, peering outinto the pitchy darkness; or lay, dozing around the grim cannon, in theembrasures. Hunger, and cold, and wounds, and the whispering voice ofDespair, had no effect on them. The mortal tedium left them patient. When you saw the gaunt faces contract, and tears flow, it was becausethey had received some letter, saying that their wives and childrenwere starving. Many could not endure that. It made them forget all. Torn with anguish, and unable to obtain furloughs for a day even, theywent home without leave--and civilians called them deserters. Couldsuch men be shot--men who had fought like heroes, and only committedthis breach of discipline that they might feed their starving children?And, after all, it was not desertion that chiefly reduced Lee'sstrength. It was battle which cut down the army--wounds and exposurewhich thinned its ranks. But thin as they were, and ever growingthinner, the old veterans who remained by the flag of such gloriousmemories, were as defiant in this dark winter of 1864, as they had beenin the summer days of 1862 and 1863. 

Army of _Northern Virginia_!--old soldiers of Lee, who fought besideyour captain until your frames were wasted, and you were truly his"wretched" ones--you are greater to me in your wretchedness, moresplendid in your rags, than the Old Guard of Napoleon, or the threehundred of Thermopylae! Neither famine, nor nakedness, nor suffering, could break your spirit. You were tattered and half-starved; yourforms, were warworn; but you still had faith in Lee, and the greatcause which you bore aloft on the points of your bayonets. You did notshrink in the last hour the hour of supreme trial. You meant to followLee to the last. If you ever doubted the result, you had resolved, atleast, on one thing--to clutch the musket, to the end, and die inharness!

Is that extravagance--and is this picture of the great army of NorthernVirginia overdrawn? Did they or did they not fight to the end? Answer!Wilderness, Spottsylvania, Cold Harbor, Charles City, every spot aroundPetersburg where they closed in death-grapple with the swarming enemy!Answer! winter of '64, --bleak spring of '65, --terrible days of thegreat retreat when hunted down and driven to bay like wild animals, they fought from Five Forks to Appomattox Court-House--foughtstaggering, and starving, and falling--but defiant to the last!

Bearded men were seen crying on the ninth of April, 1865. But it was_surrender_ which wrung their hearts, and brought tears to the grimfaces. 

Grant's cannon had only made "Lee's Miserables" cheer and laugh. 

IV. 

THE BLANDFORD RUINS. 

These memories are not cheerful. Let us pass to scenes more sunny--andthere were many in that depressing epoch. The cloud was dark--but inspite of General Grant, the sun would shine sometimes!

After reading the _Examiner's_ comments, I mounted my horse and rodeinto Petersburg, where I spent a pleasant hour in conversation with afriend, Captain Max. Do you laugh still, my dear Max? Health andhappiness attend you and yours, my hearty!

As I got into the saddle again, the enemy began a brisk shelling. Theshell skimmed the roofs of the houses, with an unearthly scream; andone struck a chimney which it hurled down with a tremendous crash. Inspite of all, however, the streets were filled with young women, whocontinued to walk quietly, or to trip along laughing and careless, tobuy a riband or some trifle at the stores. [1] That seemed singularthen, and seems more singular to-day. But there is nothing like beingaccustomed to any thing--and the shelling had now "lost its interest, "and troubled nobody. 

[Footnote 1: Real. ]

"Good!" I said, laughing, "our friends yonder are paying us theirrespects to-day. They have dined probably on the tons of turkey sentfrom New England, and are amusing themselves shelling us by way ofdessert. "

And wishing to have a better view of the lines, I rode towardBlandford. 

Do you remember the ivy-draped ruins of the old "Blandford church, " mydear reader? This is one of our Virginia antiquities, and is worthseeing. Around the ruins the large graveyard is full of eleganttombstones. Many are shattered to-day, however, by the Federal shell, as the spot was near the breastworks, and in full range of theirartillery. In fact it was not a place to visit in the fall of 1864, unless you were fond of shell and a stray bullet. I was somewhatsurprised, therefore, as I rode into the enclosure--with a hot skirmishgoing on a few hundred yards off--to see a young officer and a maidensitting on a grass bank, beneath a larch tree, and conversing in themost careless manner imaginable. [1]

[Footnote 1: Real. ]

Who were these calmly indifferent personages? Their backs were turned, and I could only see that the young lady had a profusion of auburnhair. Having dismounted, and approached, I made another discovery. Theyouth was holding the maiden's hand, and looking with flushed cheeksinto her eyes--while she hung her head, the ringlets rippling over hercheeks, and played absently with some wild flowers, which she heldbetween her fingers. 

The "situation" was plain. "Lovers, " I said to myself; "let me notdisturb the young ones!"

And I turned to walk away without attracting their attention. 

Unfortunately, however, a shell at that instant screamed over the ruin;the young girl raised her head with simple curiosity--not a particle offear evidently--to watch the course of the missile; and, as the youthexecuted the like manoeuvre, they both became aware of my presence atthe same moment. 

The result was, that a hearty laugh echoed among the tombstones; andthat the youth and maiden rose, hastening rapidly toward me. 

An instant afterward I was pressing the hand of Katy Dare, whom I hadleft near Buckland, and that of Tom Herbert, whom I had not seen sincethe fatal day of Yellow Tavern. 

V. 

LES FORTUNÉS. 

The auburn ringlets of Katy Dare were as glossy as ever; her blue eyeshad still the charming archness which had made me love her from thefirst. Indeed her demeanor toward me had been full of such winningsweetness that it made me her captive; and I now pressed the littlehand, and looked into the pretty blushing face with the sentiment whichI should have experienced toward some favorite niece. 

Katy made you feel thus by her artless and warm-hearted smile. Howrefrain from loving one whose blue eyes laughed like her lips, andwhose glances said, "I am happier since you came!"

And Tom was equally friendly; his face radiant, his appearancedistinguished. He was clad in a new uniform, half covered with goldbraid. His hat was decorated with a magnificent black plume. Hiscavalry boots, reaching to the knee, were small, delicate, and of thefinest leather. At a moderate estimation, Tom's costume must have costhim three thousand dollars!--Happy Tom!

He grasped my hand with a warmth which evidently came straight from theheart; for he had a heart--that dandy!

"Hurrah! old fellow; here you are!" Tom cried, laughing. "You came uponus as suddenly as if you had descended from heaven!"

"Whither you would like to send me back! Am I wrong, Tom?"

And I shot a glance of ancient and paternal affection at these twoyoung things, whose _tete-à-tete_ I had interrupted. 

Katy blushed beautifully, and then ended by laughing. Tom caressed hisslender mustache, and said:---

"My dear fellow, I certainly should like to go to heaven--consequentlyto send my friends there--but if it is all the same to everybody, Ithink I would prefer--hem!--deferring the journey for a brief period, my boy. "

"Until an angel is ready to go with you!"

And I glanced at the angel with the ringlets. 

"Ah, my dear Surry!" said Tom, smoothing his chin with his hand, "youreally have a genius for repartee which is intolerable, and not to beendured!"

"Let the angel sit in judgment!"

"Oh, you have most 'damnable iteration!'"

"I learned it all from you. "

"From me, my boy?"

"Certainly--see the beauty of repetition in poetry. "

And looking at the damsel, I began to repeat--

 "Katy! Katy! Don't marry any other! You'll break my heart, and kill me dead, And then be hanged for murder!"

The amount of blushing, laughter, pouting, good humor, and hilaritygenerally, which this poem occasioned, was charming. In a few minuteswe were all seated again on the grassy bank, and Tom had given me ahistory of his adventures, which had not been either numerous orremarkable. He had been assigned to duty on the staff of GeneralFitzhugh Lee, and it was delightful to hear his enthusiasm on thesubject of that gay and gallant officer. 

"I tell you he's a trump, old fellow, " quoth Tom, with ardor. "He's asbrave as steel, a first-rate officer, a thorough gentleman, generous, kind, and as jolly as a lark! Give me Fitz Lee to fight with, or marchwith, or hear laugh! He was shot in the Valley, and I have been withhim in Richmond. In spite of his wound, which is a severe one, he is asgay as the sunshine, and it would put you in good spirits only to gointo his chamber!"

"I know General Fitz well, Tom, " I replied, "and you are right abouthim; every word you say is true, and more to boot, old fellow. So youare cruising around now, waiting for your chief to recover?"

"Exactly, my dear Surry. "

"And have captured the barque _Katy!_"

"Humph!" quoth Miss Katy, tossing her head, with a blush and a laugh. 

"Beware of pirates, " I said, "who make threats even in theirverses, --and now tell me, Miss Katy, if you are on a visit toPetersburg? It will give me true pleasure to come and see you. "

"Indeed you must!" she said, looking at me with the most fascinatingsmile, "for you know you are one of my old friends now, and must notneglect me. I am at my aunt's, Mrs. Hall, --uncle brought me a month agofrom Buckland; but in the morning I shall go down to a cousin's inDinwiddie. "

"In Dinwiddie, Miss Katy?"

"Yes, near the Rowanty. My cousin, Mr. Dare, has come for me. "

"Well, I will visit you there. "

"Please do. The house is called 'Disaway's. '"

I bowed, smiling, and turned to Tom Herbert. 

"When shall I see you again, Tom, and where? Next week--at Disaway's?"

Tom colored and then laughed. This dandy, you see, was a good boystill. 

"Well, old fellow, " he replied, "I think it possible I may visitDinwiddie. My respected chieftain, General Fitz, is at present reposingon his couch in Richmond, and I am bearer of bouquets as well as ofdispatches between him and his surgeon. But I am told he is ordered toDinwiddie as soon as he is up. The country is a new one; the thoughthas occurred to me that any information I can acquire by--hem!--atopographical survey, would be valuable. You perceive, do you not, mydear friend? You appreciate my motive?"

"Perfectly, Tom. There will probably be a battle near 'Disaway's. '"

"And I'd better ride over the ground, eh?"

"Yes. "

"Well, I'll do it!"

"Only beware of one thing!"

"What, my dear Surry?" asked Tom, anxiously. 

"There is probably a conservatory at Disaway's. "

"A conservatory?"

"Like that near Buckland, and the battle might take place _there_. Ifit does--two to one you are routed!"

Katy blushed exquisitely, smiled demurely, and burst into laughter. Then catching my eye she raised her finger, and shook her head withsedate reproach, looking at Tom. He was laughing. 

"All right, I'll look out, Surry!"

"Resolve on one thing, Tom. "

"What is that?"

"That you will never surrender, but be taken in arms!"

With which mild and inoffensive joke I shook hands with Tom, informinghim where to find me; made Miss Katy a bow, which she returned with acharming smile and a little inclination which shook together herringlets; and then leaving the young people to themselves, I mounted myhorse, and returned to the Cedars. 

All the way I was smiling. A charming influence had descended upon me. The day was brighter, the sunshine gayer, for the sight of the youngfellow, and the pretty little maiden, with her blue eyes, like theskies, and her ringlets of silken gold!

VI. 

ON THE BANKS OF THE ROWANTY. 

When I again set out for the cavalry, a few days after the scene atBlandford church, the youth and sunshine of those two faces still dweltin my memory, and I went along smiling and happy. 

Not even the scenes on the late battle-field beyond the Rowanty, mademy mood gloomy; and yet these were not gay. Graves were seeneverywhere; the fences were broken down; the houses riddled by balls;and in the trampled roads and fields negroes were skinning the deadhorses, to make shoes of their hides. On the animals already strippedsat huge turkey-buzzards feeding. My horse shied as the black vulturesrose suddenly on flapping wings. They only circled around, however, sailing back as I disappeared. 

Such is war, reader, --a charming panorama of dead bodies and vultures!

Turning into the Quaker road, I went on until I reached thehead-quarters of General William H. F. Lee, opposite Monk's Neck. Here, under the crest of a protecting hill, where the pine thickets affordedhim shelter from the wind, that gallant soldier had "set up hisrest"--that is to say a canvass fly, one end of which was closed with athick-woven screen of evergreens. My visit was delightful, and I shallalways remember it with pleasure. Where are you to-day, general, andgood comrades of the old staff? You used to laugh as hard as youfought--so your merriment was immense! Heaven grant that to-day, whenthe bugles are silent, the sabres rusting, you are laughing as in thedays I remember!

Declining the friendly invitation to spend the night, I went on in theafternoon; and on my way was further enlivened by a gay scene whichmakes me smile even to-day. It was in passing General Butler'sheadquarters near the Rowanty. In the woods gleamed his white tents;before them stretched the level sandy road; a crowd of staff officersand others, with the general in their midst, were admiring two glossyponies, led up by two small urchins, evidently about to run a race onthem. 

Butler--that brave soldier, whom all admired as much as I did--waslimping about, in consequence of a wound received at Fleetwood. In theexcitement of the approaching race he had forgotten his hurt. And soonthe urchins were tossed up on the backs of their little glossysteeds--minus all but bridle. Then they took their positions aboutthree hundred yards off; remained an instant abreast and motionless;then a clapping of hands was heard--it was the signal to start--and theponies came on like lightning. 

The sight was comic beyond expression. The boys clung with their knees, bending over the floating manes; the little animals darted by; theydisappeared in the woods "amid thunders of applause;" and it wasannounced that the roan pony had won. 

"Trifles, " you say, perhaps, reader; "why don't our friend, thecolonel, go on with his narrative?"

True, --the reproach is just. But these trifles cling so to the memory!I like to recall them--to review the old scenes--to paint the "trifles"even, which caught my attention during the great civil war. This is nota history, friend--only a poor little memoir. I show you our dailylives, more than the "great events" of history. That is the way thebrave Butler and his South Carolinians amused themselves--and thefigure of this soldier is worth placing amid my group of "paladins. " Hewas brave--none was braver; thoroughbred--I never saw a man more so. His sword had flashed at Fleetwood, and in a hundred other fights; andit was going to flash to the end. 

I pushed on after the pony race, and very soon had penetrated the beltof shadowy pines which clothe the banks of the Rowanty, making of thiscountry a wilderness as singular almost as that of Spottsylvania. Onlyhere and there appeared a small house, similar to that of Mr. Alibi's--all else was woods, woods, woods! Through the thicket woundthe "military road" of General Hampton; and I soon found that hishead-quarters were at a spot which I had promised myself tovisit--"Disaway's. "

Two hours' ride brought me to the place. Disaway's was an old mansion, standing on a hill above the Rowanty, near the "Halifax bridge, " bywhich the great road from Petersburg to North Carolina crosses thestream. It was a building of considerable size, with wings, numerousgables, and a portico; and was overshadowed by great oaks, beneathwhich gleamed the tents of Hampton and his staff. 

As I rode up the hill, the staff came out to welcome me. I had knownthese brave gentlemen well, when with Stuart, and they were goodenough, now, to give me the right hand of fellowship, --to receive mefor old times' sake, with "distinguished consideration. " The generalwas as cordial as his military family--and in ten minutes I was seatedand conversing with him, beneath the great oak. 

A charming cordiality inspired the words and countenance of the greatsoldier. Nearly four years have passed, but I remember still hiscourteous smile and friendly accents. 

All at once, the figure of a young woman appeared in the doorway. At aglance I recognized the golden ringlets of Katy Dare. She beckoned tome, smiling; I rose and hastened to greet her; in a moment we wereseated upon the portico, conversing like old friends. 

There was something fascinating in this child. The little maiden ofeighteen resembled a blossom of the spring. Were I a poet, I shoulddeclare that her azure eyes shone out from her auburn hair likeglimpses of blue sky behind sun-tinted clouds!

I do not know how it came about, or how I found myself there, but in afew moments I was walking with her in the autumn woods, and smiling asI gazed into the deep blue of her eyes. The pines were sighing aboveus; beneath our feet a thick carpet of brown tassels lay; and on thesummit of the evergreens the golden crown of sunset slowly rose, asthough the fingers of some unseen spirit were bearing it away into thenight. 

Katy tripped on, rather than walked--laughing and singing gayly. Themild air just lifted the golden ringlets of her hair, as she threw backher beautiful face; her cheeks were rosy with the joy of youth; andfrom her smiling lips, as fresh and red as carnations, escaped in sweetand tender notes, like the carol of an oriole, that gay and warblingsong, the "Bird of "Beauty. "

Do you remember it, my dear reader? It is old--but so many good thingsare old!

 "Bird of beauty, whose bright plumage Sparkles with a thousand dyes: Bright thine eyes, and gay thy carol, Though stern winter rules the skies!"

Do you say that is not very grand poetry? I protest! friend, I think itsuperior to the _chef d'oeuvres_ of the masters? You do not think so?Ah! that is because you did not hear it sung in the autumn forest thatevening--see the ringlets of Katy Dare floating back from the rosycheeks, as the notes escaped from her smiling lips, and rang clearly inthe golden sunset. Do you laugh at my enthusiasm? Well, I am going toincrease your mirth. To the "Bird of Beauty" succeeded a song which Inever heard before, and have never heard since. Thus it is a lost pearlI rescue, in repeating some lines. What Katy sang was this:--

 "Come under, some one, and give her a kiss! My honey, my love, my handsome dove! My heart's been a-weeping, This long time for you!

 "I'll hang you, I'll drown you, My honey, my love, my handsome dove! My heart's been a-weeping, This long time for you!"

That was the odd, original, mysterious, incomprehensible poem, whichKaty Dare carolled in the sunset that evening. It may seem stupid tosome--to me the words and the air are charming, for I heard them fromthe sweetest lips in the world. Indeed there was something so pure andchildlike about the young girl, that I bowed before her. Her presencemade me better--banished all discordant emotions. All about her wasdelicate and tender, and pure. Like her "bird of bright plumage" sheseemed to have flitted here to utter her carol, after which she wouldopen her wings and disappear!

Katy ran on, in the pauses of her singing, with a hundred little jests, interspersed with her sweet childlike laughter, and I was more and moreenchanted--when all at once I saw her turn her head over her shoulder. A bright flush came to her cheeks as she did so; her songs and laughterceased; then--a step behind us!

I looked back, and found the cause of her sudden "dignity, " her demuresilence. The unfortunate Colonel Surry had quite disappeared from themaiden's mind. 

Coming on rapidly, with springy tread, I saw--Tom Herbert! Tom Herbert, radiant; Tom Herbert, the picture of happiness; Tom Herbert, singing inhis gay and ringing voice:--

 "Katy! Katy! Don't marry any other! You'll break my heart and kill me dead, And you'll be hung for murder!"

Wretch!--I could cheerfully have strangled him!

VII. 

THE STUART HORSE ARTILLERY. 

An hour afterward I was at the camp of the Stuart horse artillery. 

Five minutes after greeting Tom, who had sought Katy, at"Disaway's"--been directed to the woods--and there speedily joinedus--I left the young ones together, and made my way back to themansion. There are few things, my dear reader, more disagreeablethan--just when you are growing poetical--when blue eyes have excitedyour romantic feelings--when your heart has begun to glow--when youthink "I am the cause of all this happiness, and gayety!"--there arefew things I say--but why say it? In thirty seconds the rosy-facedyoungster Tom, had driven the antique and battered Surry quite from themind of the Bird of Beauty. That discomfited individual, therefore, took his way back sadly to Disaway's, leaving the children hisblessing; declined the cordial invitations to spend the night, mountedhis horse, and rode to find Will Davenant, at the horse artillery. 

Their camp was in the edge of a wood, near the banks of the Rowanty;and having exchanged greetings with my old comrades of the variousbatteries, and the gallant Colonel Chew, their chieftain, I repaired toWill Davenant's head-quarters. 

These consisted of a breadth of canvass, stretched beneath a tree inthe field--in front of which burned a fire. 

I had come to talk with Will, but our conversation was obliged to bedeferred. The brave boys of the horse artillery, officers and men, gathered round to hear the news from Petersburg; and it was a rarepleasure to me to see again the old familiar faces. Around me, in lightof the camp-fire, were grouped the tigers who had fought with Pelham, in the old battles of Stuart. Here were the heroes of a hundredcombats; the men who had held their ground desperately in the mostdesperate encounters--the bulldogs who had showed their teeth andsprung to the death-grapple at Cold Harbor, Manassas, Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Fleetwood, Gettysburg, in theWilderness, at Trevillian's, at Sappony, in a thousand bitter conflictswith the cavalry. Scarred faces, limping bodies, the one-armed, theone-legged, --these I saw around me; the frames slashed and mutilated, but the eyes flashing and full of fight, as in the days when Pelhamthundered, loosing his war-hounds on the enemy. I had seen bravecommands, in these long years of combat--had touched the hands ofheroic men, whose souls fear never entered--but I never saw braverfighters than the horse artillery--soldiers more reckless than Pelham'sbloodhounds. They went to battle laughing. There was something of thetiger in them. They were of every nation nearly--Frenchmen, Irishmen, Italians, --but one sentiment seemed to inspire them--hatred of ourfriends over the way. From the moment in 1862, when at Barbee's theyraised the loud resounding _Marseillaise_, while fighting the enemy infront and rear, to this fall of 1864, when they had strewed a hundredbattle-fields with dead men and horses, these "swarthy old hounds" ofthe horse artillery had vindicated their claims to the admiration ofStuart;--in the thunder of their guns, the dead chieftain had seemedstill to hurl his defiance at the invaders of Virginia. 

Looking around me, I missed many of the old faces, sleeping now beneaththe sod. But Dominic, Antonio, and Rossini were still there--thosemembers of the old "Napoleon Detachment" of Pelham's old battery; therestill was Guillemot, the erect, military-looking Frenchman, --Guillemot, with his hand raised to his cap, saluting me with the profoundestrespect; these were the faces I had seen a hundred times, and never anything but gay and full of fight. 

Doubtless they remembered me, and thought of Stuart, as others haddone, at seeing me. They gave me a soldier's welcome; soon, from thegroup around the camp-fire rose a song. Another followed, then another, in the richest tenor; and the forests of Dinwiddie rang with the deepvoices, rising clear and sonorous in the moonlight night. 

They were old songs of Ashby and Stuart; unpublished ditties of thestruggle, which the winds have borne away into the night of the past, and which now live only in memory. There was one of Ashby, commencing, --

 "See him enter on the valley, "

which wound up with the words, --

 "And they cried, 'O God they've shot him! Ashby is no more!' Strike, freemen, for your country, Sheathe your swords no more! While remains in arms a Yankee On Virginia's shore!"

The air was sad and plaintive. The song rose, and wailed, and died awaylike the sigh of the wind in the trees, the murmuring airs of eveningin the brambles and thickets of the Rowanty. The singers had foughtunder Ashby, and in their rude and plaintive song they uttered theirregrets. 

Then the music changed its character, and the stirring replaced thesad. 

 "If you want to have a good time, J'ine the cavalry!"

came in grand, uproarious strains; and this was succeeded by thejubilant--

 "Farewell, forever to the star-spangled banner, No longer shall she wave o'er the land of the free; But we'll unfurl to the broad breeze of heaven, The thirteen bright stars round the Palmetto tree!"

At that song--and those words, "the thirteen bright stars round thePalmetto tree!"--you might have seen the eyes of the South Caroliniansflash. Many other ditties followed, filling the moonlight night withsong--"The Bonnie Blue Flag, " "Katy Wells, " and "The Louisiana Colors. "This last was never printed. Here are a few of the gay verses of the"Irish Lad from Dixie:"--

 "My sweetheart's name is Kathleen, For her I'll do or die; She has a striped straw mattress, A shanty, pig, and sty. Her cheeks are bright and beautiful, Her hair is dark and curly, She sent me with the secesh boys To fight with General Early. 

 "She made our flag with her own hands, My Kathleen fair and clever, And twined its staff with shamrock green, Old Ireland's pride forever! She gave it into our trust, Among our weeping mothers;-- 'Remember, Irish men!' she said, 'You bear the Red Cross colors!'

 "She told me I must never run; The Rebel boys were brothers;-- To stand forever by our flag, The Louisiana colors! And then she said, 'If you desert, You'll go to the Old Baily!' Says I, 'My love, when I can't shoot, I'll use my old shillalah!'

 "And many a bloody charge we made, Nor mind the battle's blaze; God gave to us a hero bold, Our bonny Harry Hays! And on the heights of Gettysburg, At twilight first was seen, The stars of Louisiana bright, And Katy's shamrock green. 

 "And oh! if I get home again, I swear I'll never leave her; I hope the straw mattress will keep, The pig won't have the fever! For then, you know, I'll marry Kate, And never think of others. Hurrah, then, for the shamrock green, And the Louisiana colors!"

It was nearly midnight before the men separated, repairing to theirtents. Their songs had charmed me, and made the long hours flit by likebirds. Where are you, brave singers, in this year '68? I know not--youare all scattered. Your guns have ceased their thunder, your voicessound no more. But I think you sometimes remember, as you muse, inthese dull years, those gay moonlight nights on the banks of theRowanty. 

VIII. 

"CHARGE! STUART! PAY OFF ASHBY'S SCORE!"

These memories are beguiling, and while they possess me, my drama doesnot march. 

But you have not been wearied, I hope, my dear reader, by this littlepencil sketch of the brave horse artillerymen. I found myself amongthem; the moonlight shone; the voices sang; and I have paused to lookand listen again in memory. 

These scenes, however, can not possess for you, the attraction they dofor me. To proceed with my narrative. I shall pass over my longconversation with Will Davenant, whose bed I shared. I had promised hisfather to reveal nothing of the events which I had so strangelydiscovered--and was then only able to give the young man vagueassurances of a coming change for the better in his affair with MissConway. He thanked me, blushing, and trying to smile--and then we fellasleep beside each other. 

Just at daylight I was suddenly aroused. The jarring notes of a buglewere ringing through the woods. I extended my arm in the darkness, andfound that Will Davenant was not beside me. 

What had happened? I rose quickly, and throwing my cape over myshoulders, went out of the tent. 

The horse artillery was already hitched up, and in motion. The settingmoon illumined the grim gun-barrels, caissons, and heavy horses, movingwith rattling chains. Behind came the men on horseback, laughing andready for combat. 

As I was gazing at this warlike scene so suddenly evoked, Will Davenantrode up and pointed to my horse, which was ready saddled, and attachedto a bough of the great tree. 

"I thought I wouldn't wake you, colonel, " he said, with a smile, "butlet you sleep to the last moment. The enemy are advancing, and we aregoing to meet them. "

He had scarcely spoken, when a rapid firing was heard two or threemiles in front, and a loud cheer rose from the artillerymen. In amoment the guns were rushing on at a gallop, and, as I rode besidethem, I saw a crimson glare shoot up above the woods, in the directionof the Weldon railroad. The firing had meanwhile grown heavier, and theguns were rushed onward. Will Davenant's whole appearance hadcompletely changed. The youth, so retiring in camp, so cool in a hotfight, seemed burnt up with impatience, at the delay caused by theterrible roads. His voice had become hoarse and imperious; he waseverywhere urging on the drivers; when the horses stalled in thefathomless mudholes, he would strike the animals, in a sort of rage, with the flat of his sabre, forcing them with a leap which made thetraces crack, to drag the piece out of the hole, and onward. A glancetold me, then, what was the secret of this mere boy's splendidefficiency. Under the shy, blushing face, was the passion and will ofthe born soldier--the beardless boy had become the master mind, anddrove on every thing by his stern will. 

In spite of every exertion to overcome the obstacles in the roads, itwas nearly sunrise before we reached open ground. Then we emerged uponthe upland, near "Disaway's, " and saw a picturesque spectacle. From thehill, we could make out every thing. A hot cavalry fight was going onbeneath us. The enemy had evidently crossed the Rowanty lower down; anddriving in the pickets, had passed forward to the railroad. 

The guns were rushed toward the spot, unlimbered on a rising ground, and their thunder rose suddenly above the forests. Shell after shellburst amid the enemy, breaking their ranks, and driving them back--andby the time I had galloped through a belt of woods to the scene of thefight, they lost heart, retreated rapidly, and disappeared, drivenacross the Rowanty again, with the Confederates pursuing them so hotly, that many of the gray cavalry punched them in the back with their emptycarbines. [1]

[Footnote 1: Fact. ]

Their object in crossing had been to burn a small mill; and in thisthey had succeeded, after which they retired as soon as possible totheir "own side. " Some queer scenes had accompanied this "tremendousmilitary movement. " In a house near the mill, resided some ladies; andwe found them justly indignant at the course of the enemy. The Federalofficers--general officers--had ordered the house-furniture to be piledup, the carriage to be drawn into the pile, and then shavings wereheaped around, and the whole set on fire, amid shouts, cheers, andfiring. The lady of the mansion remonstrated bitterly, but receivedlittle satisfaction. 

"I have no time to listen to women!"[1] said the Federal general, rudely. 

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

"It is not _time_ that you want, sir!" returned the lady, with greathauteur, "it is _politeness_!"[1]

[Footnote 1: Her words. ]

This greatly enraged the person whom she addressed, and he becamefurious, when the lady added that all the horses had been sent away. Atthat moment an officer near him said:--

"General if you are going to burn the premises, you had bettercommence, as the rebs are pursuing us. "

"Order it to be done at once!" was the gruff reply. 

And the mill was fired, in the midst of a great uproar, with whichmingled shouts of, "The Rebels are coming! The Rebels are coming!"

Soon they came, a hot fight followed, and during this fight a youngwoman watched it, holding her little brother by the hand near theburning mill. I had afterward the honor of making her acquaintance, andshe told me that throughout the firing she found herself repeating overand over, unconsciously, the lines of the song, --

 "Charge! Stuart! pay off Ashby's score, In Stonewall Jackson's way. "[1]

[Footnote 1: Fact. ]

The enemy had thus effected their object, and retreated hotly pursued. I followed toward the lower Rowanty, and had the pleasure of seeingthem hurried over. So ended this immense military movement. 

IX. 

MOHUN, --HIS THIRD PHASE. 

I was about to turn my horse and ride back from the stream, acrosswhich the enemy had disappeared, when all at once Mohun, who had ledthe pursuit, rode up to me, and we exchanged a cordial greeting. 

"Well, this little affair is over, my dear Surry, " he said; "have youany thing to occupy you for two or three hours?"

"Nothing; entirely at your service, Mohun. "

"Well, I wish you to accompany me on a private expedition. Will youfollow me blindfold?"

"Confidingly. "

And I rode on beside Mohun, who had struck into a path along the banksof the Rowanty, leading back in the direction of Halifax bridge. 

As we rode on, I looked attentively at him. I scarcely recognized, inthe personage beside me, the Mohun of the past. His gloom so profoundon that night when I parted with him, after the expedition to thelonely house beyond Monk's Neck, had entirely disappeared; and I saw inhim as few traces of the days on the Rappahannock, in Pennsylvania, andthe Wilderness. These progressive steps in the development of Mohun'scharacter may be indicated by styling them the first, second, and thirdphases of the individual. He had entered now upon the third phase, andI compared him, curiously with his former self. 

On the Rappahannock, when I saw him first, Mohun had been cynical, bitter, full of gloomy misanthropy. Something seemed to have hardenedhim, and made him hate his species. In the bloom of early manhood, whenhis life was yet in the flower, and should have prompted him to allkind and sweet emotions, he was a stranger to all--to charity, good-will, friendship, all that makes life endurable. The tree wasyoung and lusty; the spring was not over; freshness and verdure shouldhave clothed it; and yet it appeared to have been blasted. What haddried up its sap, I asked myself--withering and destroying it? Whatthunder-bolt had struck this sturdy young oak? I could not answer--butfrom the first moment of our acquaintance, Mohun became for me aproblem. 

Then the second phase presented itself. When I met him in theWilderness, in May, 1864, a great change had come over him. He was nolonger bitter and cynical. The cloud had plainly swept away, leavingthe skies of his life brighter. Gayety had succeeded gloom. Therollicking enjoyment of the true cavalryman had replaced therecklessness of the man-hater. Again I looked at him withattention--for his courage had made me admire him, and his hidden griefhad aroused my sympathy. A great weight had plainly been lifted fromhis shoulders; he breathed freer; the sap long dried up had begun toflow again; and the buds told that the leaves of youth and hope wereabout to reappear. What was the meaning of that?

Now the third phase of the man had come to excite in me more surpriseand interest than the former ones. This time the change was complete. Mohun seemed no longer himself. Was the man riding beside me the oldMohun of 1863? Where was the gloomy misanthropy--where the rollickinghumor? They had quite disappeared. Mohun's glance was gentle and hiscountenance filled with a charming modesty and sweetness. His voice, once so cold, and then so hilarious, had grown calm, low, measured, almost soft. His smile was exquisitely cordial; his glance full ofearnestness and sweetness. The heaven-born spirit of kindness--thatbalm for all the wounds of human existence--shone in his eyes, on hislips, in every accent of his voice. 

Colonel Mohun had been reckless, defiant, unhappy, or wildly gay. General Mohun was calm, quietly happy it seemed. You would have said ofhim, formerly, "This is a man who fights from hatred of his enemies, orthe exuberant life in him. " Now you would have said, "This is a patriotwho fights from principle, and is worthy to die in a great cause. "

What had worked this change? I asked myself once more. Was it love? Orwas it the conviction which the Almighty sends to the most hardened, that life is not made to indulge hatred, but to love and perform ourduty in?

I knew not; but there was the phenomenon before me. Mohun was certainlya new man, and looked on life and the world around him with agentleness and kindness of which I had believed him incapable. 

"I am going to take you to see a somewhat singular character, " he said. 

"Who is he?"

"It is a woman. "

"Ah!"

"And a very strange one, I promise you, my dear Surry. "

"Lead on, I'll follow thee!"

"Good! and I declare to you, I think Shakespeare would have examinedthis human being with attention. "

"She is a phenomenon, then?"

"Yes. "

"A witch?"

"No, an epileptic; at least I think so. "

"Indeed! And where does she live?"

"On the Halifax road, some miles from the Rowanty. "

"In the lines of the enemy, then?"

"Something like it. "

"Humph!"

"Don't disturb yourself about that, Surry. I have sent out a scoutingparty who are clearing the country. Their pickets are back to Reams'sby this time, and there is little danger. "

"At all events, we'll share any, Mohun. Forward!"

And we pushed on to the Halifax bridge, where, as Mohun expected, therewas no Federal picket. 

The bridge--a long rough affair--had been half destroyed by GeneralHampton; but we forded near it, pushed our horses through the swamp, amid the heavy tree trunks, felled to form an abatis, and gaining theopposite bank of the Rowanty, rode on rapidly in the direction ofPetersburg, that is to say, toward the rear of the Federal army. 

X. 

AMANDA. 

Half an hour's ride through the swampy low grounds rising to gentleuplands, and beneath the festoons of the great vines trailing from treeto tree, brought us in front of a small house, half buried in a clumpof bushes, like a hare's nest amid brambles. 

"We have arrived!" said Mohun, leading the way to the cabin, which wesoon reached. 

Throwing his bridle over a bough near the low fence, Mohun approachedthe door on foot, I following, and when close to the door, he gave alow knock. 

"Come in!" said a cheerful and smiling voice. 

And Mohun opened the door, through which we passed into a small andvery neat apartment containing a table, some chairs, a wide fireplace, in which some sticks were burning, a number of cheap engravings ofreligious scenes, framed and hanging on the wall, and a low bed, uponwhich lay a woman fully dressed. 

She was apparently about thirty-five, and her appearance wasexceedingly curious. Her figure was slender and of medium height; hercomplexion that of a Moorish or oriental woman, rather than that of thequadroon, which she appeared to be; her hair black, waving, andabundant; her eyes as dark and sparkling as burnished ebony; and herteeth of dazzling whiteness. Her dress was neat, and of bright colors. Around her neck she wore a very odd necklace, which seemed made ofcarved bone; and her slender fingers were decorated with a number ofrings. [1]

[Footnote 1: "I have endeavored to give an exact description of thissingular woman. " Colonel Surry said to me when he read this passage tome: "She will probably be remembered by numbers of persons in both theFederal and Confederate armies. These will tell you that I describe heraccurately, using her real name, and will recall the strange predictionwhich she made, and which I repeat. Was she an epileptic? I do notknow. I have certainly never encountered a more curiouscharacter!"--EDITOR. ]

Such was the personage who greeted us, in a voice of great calmness andsweetness, as we entered. She did not rise from the bed upon which shewas lying; but her cordial smile clearly indicated that this did notarise from discourtesy. 

"Take seats, gentlemen, " she said, "and please excuse me from gettingup. I am a little poorly to-day. "

"Stay where you are, Amanda, " said Mohun, "and do not disturbyourself. "

She looked at him with her dark eyes, and said, in her gentle, friendlyvoice:--

"You know me, I see, General Mohun. "

"And you me, I see, Amanda. "

"I never saw you before, sir, but--am I mistaken?"

"Not in the least. How did you know me?"

The singular Amanda smiled. 

"I have _seen you_ often, sir. "

"Ah--in your visions?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Or, perhaps, Nighthawk described me. You know Mr. Nighthawk!"

"Oh, yes, sir. I hope he is well. He has often been here; he may havetold me what you were like, sir, and then I _saw you_ to know youafterward. "

I looked at the speaker attentively. Was she an impostor? It wasimpossible to think so. There was absolutely no evidence whatever thatshe was acting a part--rather every thing to forbid the supposition, asshe thus readily acquiesced in Mohun's simple explanation. 

For some moments Mohun remained silent. Then he said:--

"Those visions which you have are very strange. Is it possible that youreally _see_ things before they come to pass--or are you only amusingyourself, and others, by saying so? I see no especial harm in thematter, if you are jesting; but tell me, for my own satisfaction andthat of my friend, if you _really_ see things. "

Amanda smiled with untroubled sweetness. 

"I am in earnest, sir, " she said, "and I would not jest with you andColonel Surry. "

I listened in astonishment. 

"Ah! you know me, too, Amanda!"

"Yes, sir--or I think I do. I think you are Colonel Surry, sir. "

"How do you know that?"

"I have _seen you, too_, sir?" was the smiling reply. 

I sat down, leaned my head upon my hand, and gazed at thisincomprehensible being. Was she really a witch? I do not believe inwitches, and at once rejected that theory. If not an impostor, then, only one other theory remained--that Nighthawk had described my personto her, in the same manner that he had Mohun's, and the woman mightthus believe that she had seen me, as well as my companion, in her"visions. "

To her last words, however, I made no reply, and Mohun renewed thecolloquy, as before. 

"Then you are really in earnest, Amanda, and actually see, in vision, what is coming to pass?" he said. 

"I think I do, sir. "

"Do you have the visions often?"

"I did once, sir, but they now seldomer come. "

"What produces them?"

"I think it is any excitement, sir. They tell me that I lay on my bedmoaning, and moving my arms about, --and when I wake, after theseattacks, I remember seeing the visions. "

"I hear that you predicted General Hunter's attack on Lexington lastJune. "

"Yes, sir, I told a lady what _I saw_, some months before it came topass. "

"What did you see? Will you repeat it for us?"

"Oh, yes, sir. I remember all, and will tell you about it, as it seemsto interest you. I saw a town, on the other side of the mountain, whichthey afterward told me was called Lexington--but I did not know itsname then--and a great army of men in blue dresses came marching in, shouting and cheering. The next thing I saw was a large building onfire, and through the windows I saw books burning, with some curious-looking things, of which I do not know the names. "

"The Military Institute, with the books and scientific apparatus, " saidMohun, calmly. 

"Was it, sir? I did not know. "

"What did you see afterward, Amanda?"

"Another house burning, sir; the Federal people gave the ladies tenminutes to leave it, and then set it on fire. "

Mohun glanced at me. 

"That is strange, " he said; "do you know the name of the family?"

"No, sir. "

"It was Governor Letcher's. Well, what next?"

"Then they went in a great crowd, and broke open another building--alarge house, sir--and took every thing. Among the things they took wasa statue, which they did not break up, but carried away with them. "

"Washington's statue!" murmured Mohun; and, turning to me, headded:--

"This is curious, is it not, Surry?"

I nodded. 

"_Very_ curious. "

I confess I believed that the strange woman was trifling with us, andhad simply made up this story after the event. Mohun saw myincredulity, and said, in a low tone:--

"You do not believe in this?"

"No, " I returned, in the same tone. 

"And yet one thing is remarkable. "

"What?"

"That a lady of the highest character assured me, the other day, thatall this was related to her before Hunter even entered the Valley. "[1]

[Footnote 1: Fact. ]

And turning to Amanda, he said:--

"When did you see these things?"

"I think it was in March, sir. "

The words were uttered in the simplest manner possible. The strangewoman smiled as sweetly as she spoke, and seemed as far from beingguilty of a deliberate imposture as before. 

"And you _saw_ the fight at Reams's, too?"

"Yes, sir; I saw it two months before it took place. There was a mankilled running through the yard of a house, and they told me, afterward, he was found dead there. "

"Have you had any visions, since?"

"Only one, sir. "

"Lately?"

"Yes, sir. "

"What did you see?"

"It was not much, sir. I saw the Federal people on horses, wateringtheir horses in a large river somewhere west of here, and the visionsaid the war would be over about next March. "

Mohun smiled. 

"Which side will be successful, Amanda?"

"The vision did not say, sir. "[1]

[Footnote 1: Colonel Surry assured me that he had scrupulously searchedhis memory to recall the exact words of this singular woman: and thathe had given the precise substance of her statements; often, the exactwords. --ED. ]

Mohun, who had taken his seat on a rude settee, leaned his elbow on hisknee, and for some moments gazed into the fire. 

"I have asked you some questions, Amanda, " he said at length, "relatingto public events. I _now come to some private matters_--those whichbrought me hither--in which your singular visions may probably assistme. Are you willing to help me?"

"Yes, indeed, sir, if I can, " was the reply. 

XI. 

DEEP UNDER DEEP. 

Mohun fixed his mild, and yet penetrating glance upon the singularwoman, who sustained it, however, with no change in her calm andsmiling expression. 

"You know Nighthawk?"

"Oh, yes, sir. He has been here often. "

"And Swartz?"

"Very well, sir--I have known him many years. "

"Have you seen him, lately?"

"No, sir; not for some weeks. "

"Ah! You saw him some weeks since?"

"Yes, sir. "

"At this house?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Do you know what has become of him?"

"No, sir; but I suppose he is off somewhere. "

"He is dead!"

Her head rose slightly, but the smile was unchanged. 

"You don't tell me, sir!"

"Yes, murdered; perhaps you know his murderer?"

"Who was it, sir?"

"Colonel Darke. "

"Oh, I know _him_. He has been here, lately. Poor Mr. Swartz! And sothey murdered him! I am sorry for him. "

Mohun's glance became more penetrating. 

"You say that Colonel Darke has been here lately?"

"Yes, sir. "

"What was the occasion of his visit?"

"I don't know, sir; unless it was to hear me tell my visions. "

"You never knew him before?"

Amanda hesitated. 

"Yes, sir, " she said at length. 

"When, and how?"

"It was many years ago, sir;--I do not like to speak of these things. He is a terrible man, they say. "

"You can speak to me, Amanda. I will repeat nothing; nor will ColonelSurry. "

The singular woman looked from Mohun to me, evidently hesitating. Thenshe seemed suddenly to make up her mind, and said, with her eternalsmile:--

"I will tell you, then, sir. I can read faces, and I know neither younor Colonel Surry will get me into trouble. "

"I will not--on my honor. "

"Nor I, " I said. 

"That is enough, gentlemen; and now I will tell you what you wish toknow, General Mohun. "

As she spoke she closed her eyes, and seemed for some moments to bereflecting. Then opening them again, she gazed, with her calm smile, atMohun, and said:--

"It was many years ago, sir, when I first saw Colonel Darke, who thenwent by another name. I was living in this same house, when late oneevening a light carriage stopped before the door, and a gentleman gotout of it, and came in. He said he was travelling with his wife, whohad been taken sick, and would I give them shelter until morning, whenshe would be able to go on? I was a poor woman, sir, as I am now, andhoped to be paid. I would have given the poor sick lady shelter all thesame, though--and I told him he could come in, and sleep in this room, and I would go into that closet-like place behind you, sir. Well, hethanked me, and went back to the carriage, where a lady sat. He tookher in his arms and brought her along to the house, when I saw that shewas a very beautiful young lady, but quite pale. Well, sir, she came inand sat down in that chair you are now sitting in, and after awhile, said she was better. The gentleman had gone out and put away his horse, and when he came back I had supper ready, and every thing comfortable. "

"What was the appearance of the lady?" said Mohun, over whose brow acontraction passed. 

"She was small and dark, sir; but had the finest eyes I ever saw. "

"The same, " said Mohun, in a low tone. "Well?"

"They stayed all night, sir. Next morning they paid me, --though it waslittle--and went on toward the south. "

"They seemed poor?"

"Yes, sir. The lady's dress was cheap and faded--and the gentleman'sthreadbare. "

"What names did they give?"

"Mr. And Mrs. Mortimer, sir. "

Mohun's brow again contracted. 

"Well, go on, " he said, "or rather, go back, Amanda. You say that theyremained with you until the morning. Did you not hear some of theirconversation--gain some knowledge of whence they came, whither theywere going, and what was the object of their journey?"

The woman hesitated, glancing at Mohun. Then she smiled, and shook herhead. 

"You will get me into trouble, sir, " she said. 

"I will not, upon my honor. You have told me enough to enable me to doso, however--why not tell me all? You say you slept in that closetthere--so you must have heard them converse. I am entitled to knowall--tell me what they said. "

And taking from his purse a piece of gold, Mohun placed it in the handextended upon the bed. The hand closed upon it--clutched it. The eye ofthe woman glittered, and I saw that she had determined to speak. 

"It was not much, sir, " she said. "I did listen, and heard many things, but they would not interest you. "

"On the contrary, they will interest me much. "

"It was a sort of quarrel I overheard, sir. Mr. Mortimer was blaminghis wife for something, and said she had brought him to misery. Shereplied in the same way, and said that it was a strange thing in _him_to talk to _her_ so, when she had broken every law of God and man, tomarry the--"

"The--?" Mohun repeated, bending forward. 

"The murderer of her father, she said, sir, " returned Amanda. 

Mohun started, and looked with a strange expression at me. 

"You understand!" he said, in a low tone, "is the thing credible?"

"Let us hear more, " I said, gloomy in spite of myself. 

"Go on, " Mohun said, turning more calmly toward the woman; "that wasthe reply of the lady, then--that she had broken all the laws of Godand man by marrying the murderer of her father. Did she utter the nameof her father?"

"Yes, sir. "

"What was it?"

"A Mr. George Conway, " replied Amanda, who seemed to feel that she hadgone too far to conceal any thing. 

"And the reason for this marriage?" said Mohun, in a low tone; "did sheexplain, or say any thing which explained to you, how such a union hadever taken place?"

"Yes, sir. They said so many things to each other, that I came to knowall. The young lady was a daughter of a Mr. George Conway, and when shewas a girl, had fallen in love with some worthless young man, who hadpersuaded her to elope with him and get married. He soon deserted her, when she fell in with this Mr. Mortimer and married him. "

"Did she know that he was her father's murderer?"

"No, sir--not until after their marriage, I gathered. "

"Then, " said Mohun, who had suppressed all indications of emotion, andwas listening coolly; "then it seems to me that she was wrong in takingshame to herself--or claiming credit--for the marriage. "

"Yes, sir, " returned Amanda, "and he told her as much. "

"So they had something like a quarrel?"

"Not exactly a quarrel, sir. He seemed to love her with all hisheart--more than she loved him. They went on talking, and laying plansto make money in some way. I remember he said to her, 'You are sick, and need every luxury--I would rather die than see you deprived ofthem--I would cheat or rob to supply you every thing--and we must thinkof some means, honest or dishonest, to get the money we want. I do notcare for myself, but you are all that I have left in the world. ' Thatis what he said, sir. "

And Amanda was silent. 

"Then they fell asleep?" asked Mohun. 

"Yes, sir; and on the next morning he took her in his arms again, andcarried her to the carriage, and they left me. "

Mohun leaned his chin upon his hand, knit his brows, and reflected. Thesingular narrative plunged me too into a reverie. This man, Darke, wasa veritable gulf of mystery--his life full of hidden and inexplicablethings. The son of General Davenant, he had murdered his father's foe;permitted that father to be tried for the crime, and to remain undersuspicion; disappeared, changed his name, encountered the daughter ofhis victim, married her, had those mysterious dealings with Mohun, disappeared a second time, changed his name a second time, and now hadonce more made his appearance near the scene of his first crime, tomurder Swartz, capture his father and brother, and complete his tragicrecord by fighting under the enemy's flag against his country and hisfamily!

There was something diabolical in that career; in this man's life "deepunder deep" met the eye. And yet he was not entirely bad. On that nightin Pennsylvania, he had refused to strike Mohun at a disadvantage--andhad borne off the gray woman at the peril of death or capture. He hadreleased his captured father and brother, bowing his head before them. He had confessed the murder of George Conway, over his own signature, to save this father. The woman who was his accomplice, he seemed tolove more than his own life. Such were the extraordinary contrasts in acharacter, which, at first sight, seemed entirely devilish; and Ireflected with absorbing interest upon the singular phenomenon. 

I was aroused by the voice of Mohun. He had never appeared more calm:in his deep tones I could discern no emotion whatever. 

"That is a singular story, " he said, "and your friend, Colonel Darke, is a curious personage. But let us come back to events more recent--tothe visits of Swartz. "

"Yes, sir, " said Amanda, smiling. 

"But, first, let me ask--did Colonel Darke recognize you?"

"You mean _know_ me? Oh, yes, sir. "

"And did he speak of his former visit--with his wife?"

"No, sir. "

"And you--?"

Amanda smiled. 

"I made out I didn't remember him, sir; I was afraid he would think Ihad overheard that talk with his wife. "

"So he simply called as if to see you as a curiosity?"

"Yes, sir--and staid only a few minutes. "

"But you know or rather knew poor Swartz better?"

"I knew him well, sir. "

"He often stopped here?"

"Yes, sir. "

Mohun looked at the woman keenly, and said:--

"I wish you, now, to answer plainly the question which I am about toask. I come hither as a friend--I am sent by your friend Mr. Nighthawk. Listen and answer honestly--Do you know any thing of a paper whichSwartz had in his possession--an important paper which he was guardingfrom Colonel Darke?"

"I do not, sir, " said Amanda, with her eternal smile. 

"For that paper I will pay a thousand dollars in gold. Where is it?"

The woman's eyes glittered, then she shook her head. 

"On my salvation I do not know, sir. "

"Can you discover?"

Again the shake of the head. 

"How can I, sir?"

Mohun's head sank. A bitter sigh issued from his lips--almost a groan. 

"Listen!" he said, almost fiercely, but with a singular smile, "youhave visions--you see things! I do not believe in your visions--theyseem folly--but only _see_ where that paper is to be discovered, and Iwill believe! nay more, I will pay you the sum which I mentioned thismoment. "

I looked at the woman to witness the result of this decisive test ofher sincerity. "If she believes in her own visions, she will beelated, " I said, "if she is an impostor, she will be cast down. "

She smiled radiantly!

"I will try, sir!" she said. 

Mohun gazed at her strangely. 

"When shall I come to hear the result?"

"In ten days from this time, sir. "

"In ten days? So be it. "

And rising, Mohun bade the singular personage farewell, and went towardhis horse. 

I followed, and we rode back, rapidly, in dead silence, toward theRowanty. 

XII. 

HOW THE MOMENT AT LAST CAME. 

Mohun rode on for more than a mile at full gallop, without uttering aword. Then he turned his head, and said, with a sigh:--

"Well, what do you think of your new acquaintance, Surry?"

"I think she is an impostor. "

"As to her visions, you mean?"

"Yes. Her story of Darke I believe to be true. "

"And I know it, " returned Mohun. "A strange discovery, is it not? Iwent there to-day, without dreaming of this. Nighthawk informed me thatSwartz had often been at the house of this woman--that the paper whichI wish to secure might have been left with her for safe keeping--andthus I determined to go and ferret out the matter, in a personalinterview. I have done so, pretty thoroughly, and it seems plain thatshe knows nothing of its present whereabouts. Will she discover throughher visions--her spies--or her strange penetration, exhibited in therecognition of our persons? I know not; and so that matter ends. I havefailed, and yet have learned some singular facts. Can you believe thatstrange story of Darke? Is he not a weird personage? This narrative wehave just heard puts the finishing touch to his picture--the murderermarries the daughter of his victim!"

"It is truly an extraordinary history altogether, " I said, "and thewhole life of this man is now known to me, with a single exception. "

"Ah! you mean--?"

"The period when you fought with him, and ran him through the body, andthrew him into that grave, from which Swartz afterward rescued him onthe morning of the 13th December, 1856. "

Mohun looked at me with that clear and penetrating glance whichcharacterized him. 

"Ah! you know that!" he said. 

"I could not fail to know it, Mohun. "

"True--and to think that all this time you have, perhaps, regarded meas a criminal, Surry! But I am one--that is I was--in intent if not inreality. Yes, my dear friend, " Mohun added, with a deep sigh, his headsinking upon his breast, "there was a day in my life when I was insane, a simple madman, --and on that day I attempted to commit murder, andsuicide! You have strangely come to catch many glimpses of those pasthorrors. On the Rappahannock the words of that woman must have startledyou. In the Wilderness my colloquy with the spy revealed more. Lastly, the words of Darke on the night of Swartz's murder must have terriblycomplicated me in this issue of horrors. I knew that you must knowmuch, and I did not shrink before you, Surry! Do you know why? BecauseI have repented, friend! and thank God! my evil passions did notresult, as I intended, in murder and self-destruction!"

Mohun passed his hand across his forehead, to wipe away the drops ofcold perspiration. 

"All this is gloomy and tragic, " he said; "and yet I must inflict it onyou, Surry. Even more, I earnestly long to tell you the whole story ofwhich you have caught these glimpses. Will you listen? It will not belong. I wish to show you, my dear friend--you are that to me, Surry!--that I am not unworthy of your regard; that there are nodegrading scenes, at least, in my past life; that I have not cheated, tricked, deceived--even if I have attempted to destroy myself andothers! Will you listen?"

"I have been waiting long to do so, Mohun, " I said. "Speak, but firsthear me. There is a man in this army who is the soul of honor. Since myfather's death I value his good opinion more than that of allothers--it is Robert E. Lee. Well, come with me if you choose, and Iwill go to Lee with you, and place my hand upon your shoulder, and say:'General, this is my friend! I vouch for him; I am proud of his regard. Think well of him, or badly of me too!' Are you satisfied?"

Mohun smiled sadly. 

"I knew all that, " he said. "Do you think I can not read men, Surry?Long since I gave you in my heart the name of _friend_, and I knew thatyou had done as much toward me. Come, then! Go to my camp with me; inthe evening we will take a ride. I am going to conduct you to a spotwhere we can talk without interruption, the exact place where thecrimes of which I shall speak were committed. "

And resuming the gallop, Mohun led the way, amid the trailing festoons, through the fallen logs, across the Rowanty. 

Half an hour afterward we had reached his camp. 

As the sun began to decline we again mounted our horses. 

Pushing on rapidly we reached a large house on a hill above theNottoway, and entered the tall gateway at the moment when the greatwindows were all ablaze in the sunset. 

XIII. 

FONTHILL. 

Mohun spurred up the hill; reined in his horse in front of the greatportico, and, dismounting, fastened his bridle to the bough of amagnificent exotic, one of a hundred which were scattered over theextensive grounds. 

I imitated him, and we entered the house together, through the door, which gave way at the first push. No one had come to take our horses. No one opposed our entrance. The house was evidently deserted. 

I looked round in astonishment and admiration. In every thingappertaining to the mansion were the indications of almost unlimitedwealth, directed by the severest and most elegant taste. The brokenfurniture was heavy and elaborately carved; the remnants of carpet ofsumptuous velvet; the walls, ceiling, doorways, and deep windows wereone mass of the richest chiselling and most elaborate fresco-painting. 

On the walls still hung some faded portraits in the most costly frames. On the mantel-pieces of variegated marble, supported by fluted pillars, with exquisitely carved capitals, rested a full length picture of agentleman, the heavy gilt frame tarnished and crumbling. 

The house was desolate, deserted, inexpressibly saddening from theevident contrast between its present and its past. But about the grandmansion hung an august air of departed splendor which to me, was morestriking than if I had visited it in the days of its glory. 

"Let me introduce 'Fonthill' to you, or rather the remains of it, Surry, " Mohun said, with a sad smile. "It is not pleasant to bring afriend to so deserted a place; but I have long been absent; the houseis gone to decay like other things in old Virginia. Still we canprobably find two chairs. I will kindle a blaze, and we can light acigar and talk without interruption. "

With these words, Mohun proceeded to the adjoining apartment, fromwhich he returned a moment afterward, dragging two chairs withelaborately carved backs. 

"See, " he said, with a smile, "they were handsome once. That one withthe ragged remnants of red velvet was my father's. Take a seat, my dearSurry. I will sit in the other--it was my mother's. "

Returning to the adjoining room, Mohun again reappeared, this timebearing in his arms the broken remnants of a mahogany table, which heheaped up in the great fireplace. 

"This is all that remains of our old family dining-table, " he said. "Some Yankee or straggling soldier will probably use it for thispurpose--so I anticipate them!"

And, placing combustibles beneath the pile, Mohun had recourse to themetallic match case which he always carried with him in order to readdispatches, lit the fuel, and a blaze sprung up. 

Next, he produced his cigar case, offered me an excellent Havana, whichI accepted, and a minute afterward we were leaning back in the greatchairs, smoking. 

"An odd welcome, this, " said Mohun, with his sad smile; "broken chairs, old pictures, and a fire made of ruined furniture! But one thing wehave--an uninterrupted opportunity to converse. Let us talk, therefore, or rather, I will at once tell you what I promised. "

XIV. 

"LORD OF HIMSELF, THAT HERITAGE OF WOE. "

Mohun leaned back in his chair, reflected for a moment with evidentsadness, and then, with a deep sigh, said:--

"I am about to relate to you, my dear Surry, a history so singular, that it is probable you will think I am indulging my fancy, in certainportions of it. That would be an injustice. It is a true life I amabout to lay before you--and I need not add that actual occurrences areoften more surprising than any due to the imagination of the romancewriter. I once knew a celebrated novelist, and one day related to himthe curious history of a family in Virginia. 'Make a romance of that, 'I said, 'it is an actual history. ' But my friend shook his head. 'Itwill not answer my purpose, ' he replied, smiling, 'it is too strange, and the critics would call me a "sensation writer"--that is, ruin me!'And he was right, Surry. It is only to a friend, on some occasion likethe present, that I could tell my own story. It is too singular to bebelieved otherwise. 

"But I am prosing. Let me proceed. My family is an old one, they tellme, in this part of Virginia; and my father, whose portrait you seebefore you, on the mantel-piece, was what is called an 'aristocrat. 'That is to say, he was a gentleman of refined tastes and habits; fondof books; a great admirer of fine paintings; and a gentleman of socialhabits and feelings. 'Fonthill'--this old house--had been, for manygenerations, the scene of a profuse hospitality; my father kept up theancient rites, entertaining all comers; and when I grew to boyhood Iunconsciously imbibed the feelings, and clung to the traditions of thefamily. These traditions may be summed up in the maxims which my fathertaught me--'Use hospitality; be courteous to high and low alike; assistthe poor; succor the unhappy; give bountifully without grudging; andenjoy the goods heaven provides you, with a clear conscience, whetheryou are called an aristocrat or a democrat!' Such were my father'steachings; and he practised them, for he had the kindest and sweetestheart in the world. He was aided in all by my mother, a perfect saintupon earth; and if I have since that time given way to rude passions, it was not for wanting a good example in the blameless lives of thistrue gentleman and pure gentlewoman. 

"Unhappily, I did not have their example long. When I was seventeen mymother died; and my father, as though unable to live without her whohad so long been his blessing, followed her a year afterward, leavingme the sole heir of the great possessions of the family. For a timegrief crushed me. I was alone--for I had neither brother nor sister--asolitary youth in this great lonely house, standing isolated amid itstwenty thousand acres--and even the guardian who had been appointed tolook after my affairs, seldom came to see me and relieve my loneliness. The only associate I had was a sort of bailiff or steward, Nighthawk--you know him, and his attachment for me. It washereditary--this attachment. My father had loved and trusted his;relieved the necessities of the humble family once when they were aboutto be turned adrift for debt. The elder Nighthawk then conceived aprofound affection for his benefactor--and dying, left to his son theinjunction to watch over and serve faithfully the son of his 'oldmaster. '

"Do not laugh at that word, Surry. It is the old English term, andEngland is best of all, I think. So Nighthawk came to live with me, andtake care of my interests. You know that he has continued to befaithful, and to serve me, and love me, to this moment. 

"But in spite of the presence of this true friend, I was still lonely. I craved life, movement, company--and this I promised myself to secureat the university of Virginia, to which I accordingly went, spendingthere the greater portion of my time until I had reached the age oftwenty. Then I returned to Fonthill--only to find, however, that thespot was more dreary than before. I was the master of a great estate, but alone; 'lord of myself, ' I found, like the unhappy Childe Harold, and Randolph of Roanoke after him, that it was a 'heritage of woe. 'There was little or no society in the neighborhood--at least suited tomy age--I lived a solitary, secluded, dormant existence; and eventssoon proved that this life had prepared my character for some violentpassion. A philosopher could have foretold that. Every thing in excessbrings on reaction. The drunkard may abstain long, but the moment hetouches spirit, an orgy commences. Men love, because the time and awoman have come--and that hour and person came all at once to arouse mefrom my lethargy. 

"One day I was inert, apathetic, sluggish in my movements, careless ofall things and all persons around me. On the next I was aroused, excited, with every nerve and faculty strung. I was becoming suddenlyintoxicated, and soon the drunkenness of love had absorbed all thepowers of my being. 

"You know who aroused that infatuation, the daughter of George Conway. "

XV. 

THE STORM. 

"At that time she was called Miss Mortimer. The commencement of ouracquaintance was singular. Fate seemed to have decreed that allconnected with our relations should be 'dramatic. '

"One night I was returning at full speed from the house of a gentlemanin the neighborhood, whither I had been to make a visit. The night wasas dark as a wolf's mouth, and a violent storm rushed down upon me, when I was still many miles from home. I have scarcely ever witnessed amore furious tempest; the thunder and lightning were fearful, and Ipushed my horse to his utmost speed to reach Fonthill before thetorrents of rain drenched me to the skin. 

"Well, I had entered the Fonthill woods, a mile or two from the house, and was galloping at full speed through the black darkness which thelightning only occasionally illumined now, when all at once my horsestruck his chest against something. I heard a cry, and then a dazzlingflash showed me a light carriage which had evidently just beenoverturned. I was nearly unseated by the collision, but leaped to theground, and at the same moment another flash showed me the form of alady whom a man was extricating from the broken vehicle. I hastened torender my assistance. The lady was lifted in our arms, and then I aidedin raising the fallen horse, who lay on his side, frightened andkicking violently. 

"Ten minutes afterward I was placed in possession of what the lawyerscall 'the facts of the case. ' Mr. Mortimer, of Georgia, was travellinghome from the North, with his sick sister in his carriage, for thebenefit of her health. They had lost their way; the storm had caughtthem; their carriage had overturned in the darkness, --where could Mr. Mortimer obtain lodgings for the night? The condition of his sisterrendered it imperative that they should not continue their journeyuntil morning, even if the storm and broken vehicle permitted. 

"I listened, and felt a warm sympathy for the poor sick girl--she wasonly a girl of eighteen, and very beautiful. I would gladly haveoffered my own house, but it was still some miles distant, and theyoung woman was so weak, and trembled so violently, that it wouldplainly be impossible to conduct her so far on foot. True, my carriagemight have been sent for her, but the rain was now descending intorrents; before it arrived she would be drenched--something else mustbe thought of. All at once the idea occurred to me, 'Parson Hope's isonly a quarter of a mile distant. ' Mr. Hope was the parson of theparish, and a most excellent man. I at once suggested to Mr. Mortimerthat his sister should be conducted thither, and as he assented atonce, we half conducted, half carried the poor girl through the woodsto the humble dwelling of the clergyman. 

"The good parson received us in a manner which showed his convictionthat to succor the stranger or the unfortunate is often to 'entertainangels unawares. ' It is true that on this occasion it was somethinglike a brace of devils whom he received into his mansion! The younglady threw herself into a seat; seemed to suffer much; and was soonconducted by the parson's old housekeeper--for he was a childlesswidower--to her chamber in which a fire had been quickly kindled. Shedisappeared, sighing faintly, but in those few minutes I had taken agood look at her. You have seen her; and I need not describe her. Sheis still of great beauty; but at that time she was a wonder ofloveliness. Slender, graceful, with a figure exquisitely shaped; withrosy lips as artless as an infant's; grand dark eyes which seemed toburn with an inner light as she looked at you; such was _Miss Mortimer_at eighteen, when I first saw her on that night in the Fonthill woods. "

XVI. 

ACT I. 

"An hour after the scene which I have tried to describe, I was at home;and, seated in this apartment, then very different in appearance, reflected deeply upon this romantic encounter with the beautiful girl. 

"It was midnight before I retired. I fell asleep thinking of her, andthe exquisite face still followed me in my dreams. 

"These few words tell you much, do they not, Surry? You no doubt beginto understand, now, when I have scarcely begun the real narrative, whatis going to be the character of the drama. Were I a romance writer, Ishould call your attention to the fact that I have introduced mycharacters, described their appearance, and given you an inkling of theseries of events which are about to be unrolled before you. A young manof twenty is commended to your attention; a youth living in a greatmansion; lord of himself, but tired of exercising that authority; ofviolent passions, but without an object; and at that very moment, presto! appeared a lovely girl, with dark eyes, rosy lips; whom theyouth encounters and rescues under most romantic circumstances!

"Well, the 'lord of himself' acted in real life as he would have donein a novel. In other words, my dear Surry, I proceeded straightway tofall violently in love with _Miss Mortimer_; and it is needless to saythat on the next day my horse might have been seen standing at the rackof the parsonage. I had gone, you see, as politeness required, to askhow the young lady felt after her accident. 

"She was leaning back in an arm-chair, reading a 'good book, ' andlooked charming. The accident seemed to have greatly shocked thedelicate frame of the young creature, but when I entered, she held outher hand, greeting me with a fascinating smile. Mademoiselle wasimitated by Monsieur. I mean Mr. Mortimer. I did not fancy thecountenance of that gentleman much. It was dark and forbidden, but hismanners were those of a person acquainted with good society; he thankedme 'with effusion, ' as the French say, for my timely assistance on thenight before; and then he strolled forth with the good parson to lookat the garden, leaving me _tete-à-tete_ with his sister. 

"Why lengthen out my story by comment, reflections, a description ofevery scene, and the progressive steps through which the 'affair'passed? I was in love with Miss Mortimer. She saw it. Her eyes said, 'Love me as much as you choose, and don't be afraid I will not love yousoon, in return. ' At the end of this interview, which the worthy Mr. Mortimer did not interrupt for at least two hours, I rode home thinkingwith a throb of the heart 'If she will only love me?' Then the throbwas succeeded by a sudden sinking of the same organ. 'But there will beno opportunity!' I groaned, 'doubtless in two or three days she willleave this part of the country!' A week afterward that apprehension hadbeen completely removed. Miss Mortimer was still faint and weak, 'fromher accident. ' All her movements were slow and languid. She had notleft the good parson's house, Surry--and what is more she was not goingto leave it! She had learned what she desired to know about me; heardthat I was a young man of great wealth; and had devised a scheme sosingular that--but let me not anticipate! She proceeded rapidly. In oursecond interview she 'made eyes at me. ' In the third, she blushed andmurmured, avoiding my glances, when I looked at her. In the fourth, sheblushed more deeply when I took her hand--but did not withdraw it. Inthe fifth, the fair head in some manner had come to rest on myshoulder--no doubt from weakness. And in a few days afterward the shy, embarrassed, loving, palpitating creature, blushing deeply, 'sunk uponmy bosom, ' as the poets say, and murmured, 'How can I resist you?'

"In other words, my dear friend, _Miss Mortimer_ had promised to become_my wife_, and I need not say, I was the happiest of men. I thoughtwith rapture of the bliss I was about to enjoy in having by my side, throughout life, this charming creature. I trembled at the very thoughtthat the accident in the wood might not have happened, and I mightnever have known her! I was at the parsonage morning, noon, and night. When not beside _her_ I was riding through the forest at full speed, with bared brow, laughing lips, and shouts of joy--in a word, my dearfriend, I was as much intoxicated as ever youth was yet, and fed onfroth and moonshine to an extent that was really astonishing!

"There was absolutely nothing to oppose our marriage. My old guardian, it is true, shook his head, and suggested inquiries into the family, position, character, etc. , of the Mortimers; I was young, wealthy, heirof one of the oldest families, he said, and sharpers might deceive me. But all I heard was the word 'sharpers'--and I left my guardian, whosefunctions had ceased now, in high displeasure at his unworthyimputations. That angel a sharper! That pure, devoted creature, guiltyof deception! I fell into a rage; swore never to visit my guardianagain; and returning to the parsonage urged a speedy consummation ofour marriage. 

"The fair one was not loth. She indicated that fact by violentlyopposing me at first, but soon yielded. When I rode home that night Ihad made every arrangement for our union in one month from that time. 

"So much for Act I. , Surry!"

XVII. 

THE WILL. 

Mohun had commenced his narrative in a mild voice, and with anexpression of great sadness upon his features. As he proceeded, however, this all disappeared; gradually the voice became harsh andmetallic, so to describe it, and his face resumed that expression ofcynical bitterness which I had observed in him on our first meeting. Ashe returned thus, to the past, all its bitterness seemed to revive;memory lashed him with its stinging whip; and Mohun had gone back tohis "first phase, "--that of the man, stern, implacable, andmisanthropic. 

After uttering the words, "So much for Act I. , Surry!" he paused. Amoment afterward, however, he resumed his narrative. 

"What I am now going to tell you is not agreeable to remember, my dearSurry, and I shall accordingly relate every thing as briefly aspossible. I aim only to give you a clear conception of the tragedy. Youwill form your own opinion. 

"I was impolite enough in introducing _Miss Mortimer_ to you, at theparsonage, to describe that young lady as a 'devil. ' No doubt the termshocked you, and yet it conveyed something very like the exact truth. Ideclare to you that this woman was, and is still, a marvel to me, amost curious study. How could she be such as she was? She had the lipsof an infant, and the eyes of an angel. Was it not strange that, underall that, she should hide the heart of a born devil? But to continue mynarrative. 

"The month or two which elapsed between my engagement and my marriagewas not an uninterrupted dream of bliss. The atmosphere was strangelydisturbed on more than one occasion. Mademoiselle was frequently absentfrom the parsonage when I arrived, taking long walks with Monsieur, herbrother; and when she returned from these excursions, I could see avery strange expression on her countenance as she looked at me. Occasionally her glance was like those lurid flashes of lightning whichyou may have seen issue from the depths of a black cloud. Her blackeyes were the cloud--admire the simile!--and I assure you theirexpression at such moments was far from agreeable. What to make of it, I knew not. I am not constitutionally irritable, but on more than oneoccasion I felt a strange angry throb of the heart when I encounteredthose glances. 

"Mademoiselle saw my displeasure, and hastened at once to soothe anddissipate it. The dark flash was always succeeded by the most brilliantsunshine; but, even in moments of her greatest apparent abandon, Iwould still meet suddenly, when she did not think I was looking at her, the sombre glance which appalled me. 

"In spite of this strange phenomenon, however, the young girl possessedunbounded influence over me. I could not resist her fascinations, andwas as wax in her hands. She took a charming interest in all thatconcerned me; painted the blissful future before us, in all the colorsof the rainbow; and declared that the devotion of her whole life wouldnot be sufficient to display 'her gratitude for my magnanimity inwedding a poor girl who had nothing but her warm love to offer me. '

"'That is more than enough, ' I said, charmed by her caressing voice. 'Ihave few relations, and friends--you are all to me. '

"'And you to me!' she said. Then she added, with a sort of shudder, 'but suppose you were to die!'

"I laughed, and replied:--

"'You would be well provided for, and find yourself a gay young widowwith hundreds of beaux?'

"She looked at me reproachfully. 

"'Do you think I would ever marry again?' she said. 'No! I would takeour marriage ring, and some little souvenir connected with you, leaveyour fine house, and go with my brother to some poor home in a foreigncountry, where the memory of our past happiness would be my solace!'

"I shook my head. 

"'You will not do that, ' I said, 'you will be the mistress of all myfortune, after my death!'

"'Oh, no!' she exclaimed. 

"'Oh, yes!' I responded, laughing; 'and, to make every thing certain, Iam going to draw up my will this very day, leaving you every thingwhich I possess in the world. '

"Her face suddenly flushed. 

"'How can you think of such a thing!' she said. 'I did not know howmuch you loved me!'

"You will understand, my dear Surry, that those words did not change myresolution. When I left her I went home, and wrote the will in dueform, and on my next visit she asked, laughing, if I had carried out myabsurd resolution. 

"'Yes, ' I said, 'and now let us talk of a more interesting affair--ourmarriage!'

"She blushed, then turned pale, and again I saw the strange luridglance. It disappeared, however, in an instant, and she was all smilesand fascinations throughout the remainder of the day. Never had I beenso happy. "

XVIII. 

THE MARRIAGE. 

"As the day of our marriage approached, " continued Mohun, "I saw morethan once the same singular expression in the lady's eyes, and Iconfess it chilled me. 

"She seemed to be the prey to singular moods, and fits of silence. Shetook more frequent and longer walks with Mortimer than before. Whenthey returned from these walks and found me awaiting them at theparsonage, both would look at me in the strangest way, only to quicklywithdraw their eyes when they caught my own fixed upon them. 

"I longed to speak of this curious phenomenon to some one, but had nofriend. My best friend, Nighthawk, was alienated from me, andMademoiselle had been the cause. From the first moment of ouracquaintance, Nighthawk had seemed to suspect something. He did notattempt to conceal his dislike of Mortimer and the young lady. Why wasthat? I could not tell. Your dog growls when the secret foe approachesyou, smiling, and, perhaps, Nighthawk, my faithful retainer, hadsomething of the watch dog in him. 

"Certain it is that he had witnessed my growing intimacy with MissMortimer, with ill-concealed distaste. As I became more and moreattentive, he became almost sour toward me. When I asked him themeaning of his singular deportment, he shook his head--and then, withflushed cheeks and eyes, exclaimed: 'do not marry this young person, sir! something bad will come of it!' When he said that, I looked at himwith haughty surprise--and this sentiment changed in a few moments tocold anger. 'Leave this house, ' I said, 'and do not return until youhave learned how to treat me with decent respect!' He looked at me fora moment, clasped his hands, opened his lips--seemed about to burstforth into passionate entreaty--but all at once, shaking his head, wentout in silence. I looked after him with a strange shrinking of theheart. What could he mean? He was senseless!--and I mounted my horse, galloped to the parsonage, was received with radiant smiles, and forgotthe whole scene. On the next day Nighthawk did not return--nor on thenext. I did not see him again until the evening of the day on which Iwas married. 

"To that 'auspicious moment' I have now conducted you, my dear Surry. The morning for my marriage came. I say 'the morning'--for my'enchantress, ' as the amatory poets say, had declared that she detestedthe idea of being married at night; she also objected tocompany;--would I not consent to have the ceremony performed quietly atthe parsonage, with no one present but her brother and the excellentparson, Hope, and his old housekeeper? Then she would belong to me--Icould do as I pleased with her--take her to Fonthill, or where Ichose--she only begged that I would allow her to embark on the ocean ofmatrimony, with no one to witness her blushes but myself, her brother, the old housekeeper, and the good minister!

"I consented at once. The speech charmed me, I need not say--and I wasnot myself unwilling to dispense with inquisitive eyes and laughingwitnesses. Infatuated as I was, I could not conceal from myself that mymarriage was a hasty and extremely 'romantic' affair. I doubted whetherthe old friends of my father in the neighborhood would approve of it;and now, when Mademoiselle gave me a good excuse to dispense with theirpresence, I gladly assented, invited no one, and went to my weddingalone, in the great family chariot, unaccompanied by a single friend orrelative. 

"Mademoiselle met me with a radiant smile, and her wedding dress ofwhite silk, made her look perfectly charming. Her lips were caressing, her eyes melting, but all at once, as she looked at me, I saw the colorall fade out of the rosy lips of the lady; and from the great dark eyesdarted the lurid flash. A chill, like that of death smote me, I knownot why, but I suppressed my emotion. In ten minutes, I was standingbefore the excellent clergyman, the young lady's cold hand in mine--andwe were duly declared man and wife. 

"All my forebodings and strange shrinkings were completely dissipatedat this instant. I was overwhelmed with happiness, and would not haveenvied a king upon his throne. With the hand of the lovely creature inmy own, and her eyes fixed upon me with an expression of the deepestlove, I experienced but one emotion--that of full, complete, unalloyedhappiness. 

"Let me hasten on. The storm is coming, my dear Surry. I linger on thethreshold of the tragedy, and recoil even now, with a sort of shudderfrom the terrible scenes which succeeded my marriage. _Tragedy_ is amild word, as you will perceive, for the drama. It was going to surpassAeschylus--and preserve the Greek 'unities' with frightful precision!

"Half an hour after the ceremony, I led madam to my chariot; followedher into the vehicle, and making a last sign of greeting to the goodparson, directed the driver to proceed to Fonthill. Madam's excellentbrother did not accompany us. He declared his intention to remain onthat night at the parsonage. He would call at Fonthill on the nextday--on the day after, he proposed to continue his way to Georgia. Hiseyes were not a pleasant spectacle as he uttered these words, and Iobserved a singular pallor came to madam's countenance. But I was in nomood to nourish suspicion. At the height of happiness, I lookedserenely down upon all the world, and with the hand of _my wife_ in myown, was driven rapidly to Fonthill. 

"We arrived in the afternoon, and dined in state, all alone. Madam didthe honors of _her table_ with exquisite grace, but more than once Isaw her hand shake in a very singular way, as she carried food or aglass to her lips. 

"After dinner she bade me a smiling courtesy, leaving me to findcompany in my cigar, she said; and tripped off to her chamber. 

"Well, I lit my cigar, retired to the library, and seating myself in anarm-chair before the fire, began to reflect. It was nearly the middleof December, and through the opening in the curtains I could see themoonlight on the chill expanse of the lawn. 

"I had just taken my seat, when I heard a step in the passage, the doorof the library opened, and Nighthawk, as pale as a ghost, and with astrange expression in his eyes, entered the apartment. "

XIX. 

WEDDING ARRANGEMENTS. 

"I had recognized his step, " continued Mohun, "but I did not move orturn my head, for I had not recovered from my feeling of ill humortoward the faithful retainer. I allowed him to approach me, and thensaid coldly, without looking at him--

"'Who is that?'

"'I, sir, ' said Nighthawk, in a trembling voice. 

"'What do you want?'

"'I wish to speak to you, sir. '

"'I am not at leisure. '

"'I _must_ speak to you, sir. '

"I wheeled round in my chair, and looked at him. His pallor wasfrightful. 

"'What does all this mean?' I said, coldly, 'this is a singularintrusion. '

"'I would not intrude upon you, if it was not necessary sir, ' he said, in an agitated voice, 'but I must speak to you to-night!'

"There was something in his accent which frightened me, I knew not why. 

"'Well speak!' I said, austerely, 'but be brief!'

"'As brief as I can, sir; but I must tell you all. If you strike medead at your feet, I must tell you all, sir!'

"In spite of myself I shuddered. 

"'Speak!' I said, 'what does this mean, Nighthawk?' Why do you looklike a ghost at me?'

"He came up close to me. 

"'What I have to tell you concerns your honor and your life, sir!' hesaid, in a low tone. 

"I gazed at him in speechless astonishment. Was I the prey of somenightmare? I protest to you, Surry, I thought for a moment that I wasdreaming all this. A tremor ran through my frame; I placed my hand uponmy heart, which felt icy cold--then suddenly my self-possession andcoolness seemed to return to me as by magic. 

"'Explain your words, ' I said, coldly, 'there is some mystery in themwhich I do not understand. Speak, and speak plainly. '

"'I will do so, sir, ' he replied, in the same trembling voice. 

"And going to the door of the apartment, he bent down and placed hisear at the key-hole. He remained in this attitude for a moment withoutmoving. Then rising, he went to the window, and drawing aside thecurtains, looked out on the chill moonlit expanse. This secondexamination seemed to satisfy him. At the same instant a lightstep--the step of madam--was heard crossing the floor of the apartment, above our heads; and this evidently banished Nighthawk's last fears. 

"He returned quickly to the seat where I was sitting; looked at me forsome minutes with eyes full of fear, affection, sympathy, fright, andsaid in a voice so low, that it scarce rose above a whisper:--

"'We are alone, sir, and I can speak without being overheard by thesedevils who have betrayed and are about to murder you! Do not interruptme sir!--the time is short!--you must know every thing at once, in anhour it would be too late! The man calling himself Mortimer is probablywithin a hundred yards of us at this moment. The woman you have marriedis----his wife. Stop, sir!--do not strike me!--listen! I know the truthof every thing now. She talked with him for an hour under the bigcedar, near the parsonage last night. He will see her again to-night, and in this house--hear me to the end, sir! You will not harm him; youwill care nothing for all this; you will not know it, for you will bedead, sir!'

"At these words I must have turned deadly pale, for Nighthawk hastenedto my side, and placed his arm around me to support me. But I did notneed his assistance. In an instant I was as calm as I am at thismoment. I quietly removed the arm of Nighthawk, and said in a lowtone:--

"'How do you know this?'

"'I overheard their talk, ' he replied, in a husky voice, and looked atme with infinite tenderness as he spoke. 'I was coming to see you atthe parsonage, where I thought you had gone, sir. I could not bear tokeep away from my old master's son any longer; and let him get marriedwithout making up, and having him feel kindly again to me. Well, sir, Ihad just reached the big cedar, when I saw _the lady_ come out of thehouse, hasten toward the cedar, and hide herself in the shadow, withina few feet of me. No sooner had she done so, than I saw a man come fromthe rear of the house, straight to the cedar, and as he drew nearer Irecognized Mortimer. Madam coughed slightly, as though to give him thesignal; he soon reached her; and then they began to talk. I was hiddenby the trunk of the tree, and the shadow of the heavy boughs, reachingnearly to the ground; so I heard every word they said, without beingdiscovered. '

"'What was it they said?'

"'I can not repeat their words, sir, but I can tell you what I learnedfrom their talk. '

"'Tell me, ' I said. 

"'First, I discovered that madam had been married to that man more thana year before you saw her. '

"'Yes. '

"'Before which she had been tried, convicted, and confined for sixmonths in a prison in New York, as a thief. You turn pale, sir; shall Istop?'

"'No, go on, ' I said. 

"'These facts, ' continued Nighthawk, 'came out in a sort of quarrelwhich madam had with the man. He reproached her with intending todesert him--with loving you--and said he had not rescued her frommisery to be thus treated. She laughed, and replied that she was onlyfollowing a suggestion of his own. They were poor, they must live; hehad himself said that they must procure money either honestly ordishonestly; and he had fully approved of the plan she had nowundertaken. _You_, sir--she added--were an "empty-headed fool, "--theidea of her "loving" you was absurd!--but you were wealthy; immenselywealthy; had made a will leaving her your entire property;--_if youdied suddenly on your wedding night_, she and himself would possessFonthill, and live in affluence. '

"'Go on, ' I said. 

"'At these words, ' continued Nighthawk, 'I could see the man turn pale. He had not intended _that_, he said. His scheme had been, that madamshould induce you to bestow upon her a splendid trousseau in the shapeof jewels and money, with which they would elope. The marriage was onlya farce, he added--he did not wish to turn it into a tragedy. But sheinterrupted him impatiently, and said she hated and would have no mercyon you. She would have all or nothing. Your will made her the mistress. What was a crime, more or less, to people like themselves! At thesewords he uttered a growl. In a word, she added, you were _an obstacle_, and she was going to _suppress you_--with or without his consent. Shethen proceeded to tell him her resolution; and it is a frightful, ahorrible one, sir! All is arranged--you are about to be _murdered_!'

"'How, and when?' I said. 

"'This very night, by poison!'

"'Ah!' I said, 'explain that. '

"'Madam has provided herself with strychnine, which she will place inthe tea you drink to-night. Tea will be served in half an hour. _He_will be waiting--for she forced him to agree--and your cries willannounce all to him. You will be poisoned between eight and nineo'clock in the evening, sir, --at ten you will already be dying, --and atmidnight you will be dead. Then madam will banish every one from herchamber, in inconsolable grief--lock the door--tap on thewindow-pane--_he_ will hear the signal, and come up the backstaircase--when madam will open the private door for him to come in andtake a look at your body! Do you understand now, sir?'

"'Yes, ' I said. 'Remain here, Nighthawk. There is the step of theservant coming to tell me tea is ready!'"

XX. 

THE CUP OF TEA. 

"The door opened as I uttered the words, and my old major-domo--grayhaired, and an heir-loom, so to say, of the family--bowed low, andannounced that tea was served and madam waiting. 

"I rose and looked into the mirror above the fireplace. I was pale, butnot sufficiently so to excite suspicion; and with a smile whichfrightened Nighthawk, took my way toward the supper-room. 

"Madam was awaiting me, as I suspected, and I had never seen her lookmore radiant. A single glance told me that she had made an elaboratetoilet in honor of--my funeral! Her dark hair was in shining braids;her eyes sparkled with joy; her parted lips showed her whiteteeth;--the only evidence I saw of concealed emotion was in thebloodless cheeks. They were as white as the lace falling over hersuperb silk dress. 

"'You see you keep me waiting!' she said, with playful _naiveté_, 'andyour tea is growing cold, sir--which is worse for me than for you, asyou do not care, but I care for you!'

"And as I passed her, she drew me playfully toward her, dragged medown, and held up her lips. I touched them with my own; they were ascold as ice, or the cheek my own face just touched in passing. I wentto the table; took my seat; and madam poured out the tea, with a covertglance toward me. I was not looking at her, but I saw it. 

"A moment afterward, the old waiter presented me the small gilt cup, smoking, fragrant, and inviting. 

"I took it, looking, as before, out of the corner of my eye at madam. She was leaning forward, watching me with a face as pale as death. Icould hear her teeth chatter. 

"I placed the cup to my lips;--her hand, holding a spoon, trembled sothat the spoon beat a tattoo on her saucer. She was watching me inbreathless suspense; and all at once I turned full toward her. 

"'The taste of this tea is singular, ' I said, 'I should call it verybad. '

"'Oh, it is--excellent!' she muttered, between her chattering teeth. 

"'The cup you send me is certainly wretched. Do me the _pleasure totaste it, madam_. '

"And depositing it upon the waiter of the old servant, Isaid:--

"'Take this to your mistress. '

"He did so; she just touched it with her lips, her hand trembling, thenreplaced it upon the waiter. 

"'I perceive nothing disagreeable, ' she murmured. 

"'Swallow a mouthful, ' I said, with a bitter smile. 

"She looked at me with sudden intentness. Her eyes, full of wildinquiry, seemed attempting to read into my very soul. 

"'Perhaps you object to drinking after me, as the children say, ' Iadded--this time with a species of sneer, and a flash of the eye, Ithink. 

"'Oh, no!' she exclaimed, with an attempt to laugh; 'and to showyou--'

"With a quick movement she attempted--as though by accident--to strikethe waiter with her elbow, in order to overturn the cup. 

"But the old servant was too well trained. The lady's elbow struck thewaiter, but the skilful attendant withdrew it quickly. Not a drop ofthe tea was spilled. 

"A moment afterward I was beside madam. 

"'I pray you to drink, ' I said. 

"'I can not--I feel unwell, ' she murmured, cowering beneath the fire inmy eye. 

"'I beg you to drink from this cup. '

"'I have told you--I will not. '

"'I beseech you to humor me, madam. Else I shall regard you as amurderess!'

"She rose suddenly. 

"'Your meaning, sir!' she exclaimed, as pale as death. 

"I took the cup and poured the tea into a saucer. At the bottom was amodicum of white powder, undissolved. I poured the tea into the cupagain--then a second time into the saucer. This time nothingremained--and I proceeded to pour cream into the saucer, until it wasfilled. Madam watched me with distended eyes, and trembling from headto foot. Then suddenly she uttered a cry--a movement of mine had causedthe cry. 

"I had gone to the fire where a cat was reposing upon the rug, andplaced the saucer before her. In two minutes its contents haddisappeared down the throat of the cat. Five minutes afterward theanimal was seized with violent convulsions--uttered unearthlycries--tore the carpet with its claws--glared around in a sort ofdespair--rolled on its back, beat the air with its paws--and expired. 

"I turned to madam, who was gazing at me with distended eyes, andpointing to the cat, said:--

"'See this unfortunate animal, madam! Her death is curious. She hasdied in convulsions, in consequence of drinking a cup of tea!'"

XXI. 

THE FOILS. 

"Up to this moment, " continued Mohun, "madam had exhibited everyindication of nervous excitement, and a sort of terror. Had that arisenfrom a feeling of suspense, and the unexpected discovery of her intentby the proposed victim? I know not; but now, when all was discovered, her manner suddenly changed. 

"She glared at me like a wild animal driven to bay. Her pearly teethclosed upon her under lip until the blood started. Pallid, but defiant, she uttered a low hoarse sound which resembled the growl of a tigressfrom whom her prey has been snatched, and with a firm and haughty stepleft the apartment, glaring over her shoulder at me to the last. 

"Then her step was heard upon the great staircase; she slowly ascendedto her chamber; the door opened, then closed--and I sat down, overcomefor an instant by the terrible scene, within three paces of the deadanimal, destroyed by the poison intended for myself. 

"This paralysis of mind lasted only for a moment, however. I rosecoolly; directed the old servant, who alone had witnessed the scene, toretire, and carefully abstain from uttering a word of what had passedbefore him--then I leaned upon the mantel-piece, reflected for fiveminutes--and in that time I had formed my resolution. 

"Mortimer was first to be thought of. I intended to put him to deathfirst and foremost. It would have been easy to have imitated the oldseigneurs of the feudal age, and ordered my retainers to assassinatehim; but that was repugnant to my whole character. It should never besaid that a Mohun had shrunk before his foe; that one of my family haddelegated to another the punishment of his enemy. I would fightMortimer--meet him in fair and open combat--if he killed me well andgood. If not, I would kill him. And it should not be with the pistol. Ithirsted to meet him breast to breast; to feel my weapon traverse hisheart. To accomplish this was not difficult. I had often heardMortimer, when at the parsonage, boast of his skill with the foils. Ihad a pair at hand. By breaking off the buttons, and sharpening thepoints, I would secure two rude but excellent rapiers, with whichMortimer and myself could settle our little differences, after thefashion of gentlemen in former ages! As to the place ofcombat, --anywhere--in the house, or a part of the grounds around themansion--it was unimportant I said, so that one of us was killed. But amoment's reflection induced me to change my views. Under anycircumstances _I_ was going to die--that was true. My character, however, must be thought of. It would not do to have a stain rest onthe last of the house of Mohun! Were I to kill Mortimer in the house, or grounds, it would be said that I had murdered him, with the aid ofmy servants--that I had drawn him thither to strike him--had acted thetraitor and the coward. 'No, ' I said, 'even in death I must guard thefamily honor. This man must fall elsewhere--in some spot far distantfrom this house--fall without witnesses--in silence--in fair fight withme, no one even seeing us. '

"I had formed this resolution in five minutes after the departure ofmadam from the supper-room. I went straight to the library; calmlystated my resolution to Nighthawk; and in spite of his most obstinateremonstrances, and repeated refusals, broke down his opposition bysheer force of will. It took me half an hour, but at the end of thattime I had succeeded. Nighthawk listened, with bent head, and pale facecovered with drops of cold perspiration, to my orders. These orderswere to have the horses put to the carriage, which was to be ready atmy call; then to proceed with a trusty servant, or more if necessary, to a private spot on the river, which I described to him; dig a graveof full length and depth; and when his work was finished, return andreport the fact to me, cautioning the servant or servants to saynothing. 

"This work, I calculated, would be completed about midnight--and atmidnight I promised myself an interview with my friend Mortimer. 

"Nighthawk groaned as he listened to my cold and resolute voice, givingminute instructions for the work of darkness--looked at my face, todiscover if there were any signs of yielding there--doubtless saw nonewhatever--and disappeared, uttering a groan, to carry out the orderswhich he had received from me. 

"Then I took the two foils from the top of the bookcase where they werekept; broke off the buttons by placing my heel upon them; procured afile, and sharpened the points until they would have penetrated throughan ordinary plank. That was sufficient, I said to myself--they wouldpierce a man's breast--and placing them on the buffet, I went to adrawer and took out a loaded revolver, which I thrust into my breast. 

"Two minutes afterward I had ascended to madam's chamber, opened thedoor, and entered. "

XXII. 

WHILE WAITING FOR MIDNIGHT. 

"I did not arrive a moment too soon--in fact I came in the nick oftime. 

"Madam had hastily collected watches, chains, breastpins, necklaces, and all the money she could find; had thrust the whole into a jewelcasket; thrown her rich furs around her shoulders; and was hurryingtoward the door, in rear of the apartment which opened on the privatestaircase. 

"She had not locked the main door of the apartment, doubtless fearingto excite suspicion, or knowing I could easily break the hasp with asingle blow of my foot. She had plainly counted on my stupor ofastonishment and horror at her crime, and was now trying to escape. 

"That did not suit my view, however. In two steps, I reached theprivate door, turned the key, drew it from the lock, and placed it inmy pocket. 

"'Sit down, madam, ' I said, 'and do not be in such a hurry to desertyour dear husband. Let us talk for a few moments, at least, before youdepart. '

"She glared at me and sat down. She looked regal in her costly furs, holding the casket, heaped with rich jewels. 

"'What is your programme, madam, if I may ask?' I said, taking a chairwhich stood opposite to her. 

"'To leave this house!' she said, hoarsely. 

"'Ah! you are tired of me, then?'

"'I am sick of you!--have long been sick of you!'

"'Indeed!' I said. 'That is curious! I thought our marriage was a loveaffair, madam; at least you induced me to suppose so. What, then, hassuddenly changed your sentiments in my direction? Am I a monster? HaveI been cruel to you? Am I unworthy of you?'

"'I hate and despise you!'

"It was the hoarse growl of a wild animal rather than the voice of awoman. She was imperial at that moment--and I acknowledge, Surry, thatshe was 'game to the last!'

"'Ah! you hate me, you despise me!' I said. 'I have had the misfortuneto incur madam's displeasure! No more connubial happiness--no moreendearments and sweet confidences--no more loving words, andglances--no more bliss!'

"She continued to glare at me. 

"'I am unworthy of madam; I see that clearly, ' I went on. 'I am only apoor little, plain little, insignificant little country clodhopper! Iam nothing--a mere nobody, --while madam is--shall I tell you, madam?While you are a convict--a bigamist, --and a poisoner! Are you not?'

"Her face became livid, but her defiant eyes never sank before myglance. I really admired her, Surry. No woman was ever braver than thatone. I had supposed that these words would overwhelm her; that thediscovery of my acquaintance with her past life, and full knowledge ofher attempted crime, would crush her to the earth. Perhaps I had someremnant of pity for this woman. If she had been submissive, repentant!but, instead of submission and confusion, she exhibited greaterdefiance than before. In the pale face her eyes burned like coals offire--and it was rage which inflamed them. 

"'So you have set your spies on me!' she exclaimed, in accents ofinexpressible fury. 'You are a chivalric gentleman, truly! You areworthy of your boasted family! You pretend to love and confide inme--you look at me with smiles and eyes of affection--and all the timeyou are laying a trap for me--endeavoring to catch me and betray me!Well, yes, sir! yes! What you have discovered through your spies istrue. I _was_ tried and sentenced as a thief--I _was_ married when Ifirst saw you--and it is this miserable creature, this offscouring ofthe kennels, this thief, that has become _the wife_ of the proud Mr. Mohun--in the eyes of the world at least! I am so still--my characteris untainted--dare to expose me and have me punished, and it is _your_proud name that will be tarnished! _your_ grand escutcheon that will beblotted! Come! arrest me, expose me, drag me to justice! I will standup in open court, and point my finger at you where you stand cowering, in the midst of jeers and laughter, and say: "There is Mr. Mohun, ofthe ancient family of the Mohuns, --he is the husband and the dupe of athief!"'

"She was splendid as she uttered these words, Surry. They thrilled me, and made my blood flame. I half rose, nearly beside myself--then Iresumed my seat and my coolness. A moment afterward I was as calm as Iam at this moment, and said, laughing:--

"'So you have prepared that pretty little tableau, have you, madam? Icompliment you on your skill;--and even more on your nerve. But haveyou not omitted one thing--a very trifling portion, it is true, of theindictment to be framed against you? I refer to the little scene ofthis evening, madam. '

"Her teeth closed with a snap. Otherwise she exhibited no emotion. Herflashing eyes continued to survey me with the former defiance. 

"'Is there not an additional clause in the said indictment, madam?' Icalmly continued, 'which the commonwealth's attorney will perhaps relyon more fully than upon all else in the document, to secure yourconviction and punishment? You are not only a bigamist and anex-convict, --you are also a poisoner, my dear madam, and may be hangedfor that. Or, if not hanged--there is that handsome white house atRichmond, the state penitentiary. The least term which a jury can affixto your crime, will be eighteen years, if you are not sent there forlife! For life!--think of that, madam. How very disagreeable it willbe! Nothing around you but blank walls; no associates but thieves andmurderers--hard labor with these pretty hands--a hard bed for thishandsome body--coarse and wretched food for these dainty red lips--thedress, the food, the work, and the treatment of a convict!Disagreeable, is it not, madam? But that is the least that a felon, convicted of an attempt to poison, can expect! There is only one pointwhich I have omitted, and which may count for you. This life in prisonwill not be so hard to you--since your ladyship has already served yourapprenticeship among felons. '

"The point at last was reached. Madam had listened with changing color, and my words seemed to paint the frightful scene in all its horror. Suddenly fury mastered her. She rose and seemed clutching at someweapon to strike me. 

"'You are _a gentleman_! you insult a woman. '

"'You are a poisoner, madam--you make tea for the gentleman!'

"'You are a coward! do you hear? a coward!'

"'I can not return, madam, the same reproach!' I replied, rising andbowing; 'it required some courage to attempt to poison me upon the verynight of my wedding!'

"My words drove her to frenzy. 

"'Beware!' she exclaimed, taking a step toward me, and putting her handinto her bosom. 

"'Beware!' I said, with a laugh, 'beware of what, my dear MadamLaffarge?'

"'Of this!'

"And with a movement as rapid as lightning she drew from her breast asmall silver-mounted pistol, which she aimed straight at my breast. 

"I was not in a mood to care much for pistols, Surry. When a man isengaged in a little affair like that, bullets lose their influence onthe nerves. 

"'That is a pretty toy!' I said. 'Where did you procure it madam, thepoisoner?'

"With a face resembling rather a hideous mask than a human countenance, she rushed upon me; placed the muzzle of the pistol on my very breast;and drew the trigger. 

"The weapon snapped. 

"A moment afterward I had taken it from her hand and thrown it into acorner. 

"'Very well done!' I said. 'What a pity that you use such indifferentcaps! Your pistol is as harmless as your tea!'

"She uttered a hoarse cry, but did not recoil in the least, Surry! Thiswoman was a curiosity. Instead of retreating from me, she clenched hersmall white hand, raised it above her head, and exclaimed:--

"'If _he_ only were here!'

"'_He_, madam?' I said. 'You refer to your respected _brother_--to Mr. Mortimer?'

"'Yes! _he_ would make you repent your cowardly outrages and insults. '

"I looked at my watch, it was just eleven. 

"'The hour is earlier than I thought, madam, ' I said, 'but perhaps hehas already arrived. '

"And advancing to the side of the lady, I took her arm, drew her towardthe window, and said:--

"'Why not give your friend the signal you have agreed on, madam?'

"At a bound she reached the window, and struck a rapid series of blowswith her fingers upon the pane. 

"Five minutes afterward a heavy step was heard ascending the privatestaircase. I went to the door and unlocked it; the stepapproached--stopped at the door--the door opened, and Mortimerappeared. 

"'Come in, my dear brother-in-law, ' I said, 'we are waiting for you. '"

XXIII. 

THE RESULT OF THE SIGNAL. 

"Mortimer recoiled as if a blow had been suddenly struck at him. Hisastonishment was so comic that I began to laugh. 

"'Good! you start!' I said. 'You thought I was dead by this time?'

"'Yes, ' he coolly replied. 

"As he spoke, his hand stole under the cloak in which he was wrapped, and I heard the click of a pistol as he cocked it. I drew my ownweapon, cocked it in turn, and placing the muzzle upon Mortimer'sbreast, said:--

"'Draw your pistol and you are dead!'

"He looked at me with perfect coolness, mingled with a sort ofcuriosity. I saw that he was a man of unfaltering courage, and that theinstincts of a gentleman had not entirely left him, soiled as he waswith every crime. His eye was calm and unshrinking. He did not move aninch when I placed my pistol muzzle upon his breast. At the words whichI uttered he withdrew his hand from his cloak--he had returned theweapon to its place--and with a penetrating glance, said:--

"'What do you wish, sir; as you declare you await me?'

"'Ask madam, ' I said, 'or rather exert your own ingenuity. '

"'My ingenuity?'

"'In guessing. '

"'Why not tell me?'

"'So be it. The matter is perfectly simple, sir. I wish to kill you, orgive you an opportunity to kill me--is that plain?'

"'Quite so, ' replied Mortimer, without moving a muscle. 

"'I can understand, without further words, that all explanations anddiscussions are wholly useless. '

"'Wholly. '

"'You wish to fight me, ' he said. 

"'Yes. '

"'To put an end to me, if possible?'

"'Yes. '

"'Well, I will give you that opportunity, sir, and, even return you mythanks for not killing me on the spot. '

"He paused a moment, and looked keenly at me. 

"'This whole affair is infamous, ' he said. 'I knew that when Iundertook it. I was once a gentleman, and have not forgotten everything I then learned, whatever my practice may be. You have beentricked and deceived. You have been made the victim of a disgracefulplot, and I was the author of the whole affair; though this lady would, herself, have been equal to that, or even more. You see I talk to youplainly, sir; I know a gentleman when I see him, and you are one. I wasformerly something of the same sort, but having outlawed myself, wenton in the career that brought me to this. I was poor--am poor now. Ioriginated the idea of this pseudo-marriage, with a view to profit byit, but with no further--'

"He suddenly paused and looked at the woman. Their glances in thatmoment crossed like lightning. 

"'Speak out!' she cried, 'say plainly--'

"'Hush! I did not mean to--I am no coward, madam!'

"'Say plainly that it was _I_ who formed the design to get rid of thisperson!'

"And she pointed furiously at me. 

"'Let no scruples restrain you--take nothing upon yourself--it was I, I!--I who planned his death!'

"Mortimer remained for an instant silent. Then he resumed, in the samemeasured voice as before:--

"'You hear, ' he said. 'I tried to shield her, to take the blame--meantto give you no inkling of this--but she spoils all. To end this. I haveoffered you a mortal insult--soiled an ancient and honorable name--thelast representative of the Mohuns has formed through me a degradingconnection. I acknowledge all that. I am going to try to kill you, tobury every thing in the grave. I would have shrunk from assassinatingyou, though I wish your death. You offer me honorable combat, and youdo me an honor, which I appreciate. Let us finish. The place, time, andweapons?'

"There was, then, something not altogether base in this man. I listenedwith joy. I had expected to encounter a wretch without a singleattribute of the gentleman. 

"'You accept this honorable combat, then?' I said. 

"'With thanks, ' he replied. 

"'You wish to fight as gentlemen fight?'

"'Yes. '

"'You fence well?'

"'Yes--but you?'

"'Sufficiently well. '

"'Are you certain? I warn you I am excellent at the foils. '

"'They suit me--that is agreed on, then?'

"He bowed, and said:--

"'Yes. And now, as to the place, the time, and every detail. All that Ileave to you. '

"I bowed in turn. 

"'Then nothing will delay our affair. I have ordered a grave to be dug, in a private spot, on the river. The foils are ready, with the buttonsbroken, the points sharpened. The carriage has been ordered. A ride offifteen minutes will bring us to the grave, which is done by this time, and we can settle our differences there, by moonlight, withoutwitnesses or interruption. '

"Mortimer looked at me with a sinister smile. 

"'You are provident!' he said, briefly. 'I understand. The one whofalls will give no trouble. The grave will await him, and he can enterat once upon his property!'

"'Yes. '

"'And this lady?'

"'That will come afterward, ' I said. 

"'If I kill you--?'

"'She is your property. '

"'And if you kill me--?'

"'She is mine, ' I said. 

"The sinister smile again came to the dark features of Mortimer. 

"'So be it, ' he said, 'and I am ready to accompany you, sir. '

"I drew my pistol and threw it upon the bed, looking at Mortimer as Idid so. He imitated me, and opening his coat, showed me that he waswholly unarmed. I did the same, and having locked the private doorleading to the back staircase, led the way out, followed by Mortimer. He turned and looked at madam as he passed through the door. She waserect, furious, defiant, full of anticipated triumph. Was it a glanceof gloomy compassion and deep tenderness which Mortimer threw towardher? I thought I heard him sigh. 

"I locked the door, and we descended to the library. "

XXIV. 

WHAT TOOK PLACE IN FIFTY MINUTES. 

"As we entered the apartment, the clock on the mantel-piece struckmidnight. 

"My body servant was within call, and I ordered my carriage, whichNighthawk had been directed to have ready at a moment's warning. 

"In five minutes it was at the door, and I had just taken the two foilsunder my arm, when I heard a step in the passage. A moment afterward, Nighthawk entered. 

"He was so pale that I scarcely recognized him. When his eyesencountered Mortimer, they flashed lightnings of menace. 

"'Well?' I said, in brief tones. 

"'It is ready, sir, ' Nighthawk replied, in a voice scarcely audible. Ilooked at him imperiously. 

"'And the servants are warned to keep silent?'

"'Yes, sir. '

"'Very well. Remain here until I return, ' I said. 

"And I pointed to a seat, with a glance at Nighthawk, which saidplainly to him, 'Do not presume to attempt to turn me from my presentpurpose--it will be useless, and offensive to me. '

"He groaned, and sat down in the seat I indicated. His frame was bentand shrunken like that of an old man, in one evening. Since thatmoment, I have loved Nighthawk, my dear Surry; and he deserves it. 

"Without delay I led the way to the carriage, which was driven by myfather's old gray-haired coachman, and entered it with Mortimer, directing the driver to follow the high-road down the river. He did so;we rolled on in the moonlight, or the shadow, as it came forth ordisappeared behind the drifting clouds. The air was intensely cold. From beyond the woods came the hollow roar of the Nottoway, which wasswollen by a freshet. 

"Mortimer drew his cloak around him, but said nothing. In ten minutes Icalled to the old coachman to stop. He checked his spirited horses--Ihad some good ones then--and I descended from the carriage, with thefoils under my arm, followed by Mortimer. 

"The old coachman looked on in astonishment. The spot at which I hadstopped the carriage was wild and dreary beyond expression. 

"'Shall I wait, sir?' he said, respectfully. 

"'No; return home at once, and put away the carriage. '

"He looked at me with a sort of stupor. 

"'Go home, sir?' he said. 

"'Yes. '

"'And leave you?'

"'Obey me!'

"My voice must have shown that remonstrance would be useless. My oldservitor uttered a sigh like the groan which had escaped from the lipsof Nighthawk, and, mounting the box, turned the heads of his horsestoward home. 

"I watched the carriage until it turned a bend in the road, and then, making a sign to Mortimer to follow me, led the way into the woods. Pursuing a path which the moonlight just enabled me to perceive, Ipenetrated the forest; went on for about ten minutes; and finallyemerged upon a plateau, in the swampy undergrowth near which stood theruins of an old chimney. 

"This chimney had served to indicate the spot to Nighthawk; and, beforeus, in the moonlight, was the evidence that he had found it. In thecentre of the plateau was a newly dug grave--and in front of it Ipaused. 

"'We have arrived, ' I said. 

"Mortimer gazed at the grave with a grim smile. 

"'That is a dreary and desolate object, ' he said. 

"'It will soon be inhabited, ' I returned; 'and the issue of this combatis indifferent to me, since in either event I shall be dead. '

"'Ah!' he exclaimed, 'explain that. '

"'Then you do not understand! You think this duel will end every thing?You deceive yourself! A family history like mine does not terminatewith a duel. Have you read those tragedies where everybody iskilled?--where not a single one of the _dramatis personae_ escapes?Well, this is going to be a drama of that exact description. Do youwish to save that woman, yonder? To do so, you must kill _me_. I tellyou that to warn you to do your best, sir!'

"Mortimer glared at me. It is hard to imagine a glance more sinister. 

"'So you have arranged the whole affair?' he said; 'there is to be awholesale killing. '

"'Yes. '

"'You are going to kill--_her_?'

"'Yes. '

"'Yourself, too?'

"'Yes. '

"Mortimer's smile became more sinister, as he raised his foil. 

"'Take your position, sir, ' he said; 'I am going to save you the lattertrouble. '

"I grasped my weapon, and placed myself on guard. 

"In an instant he had thrown himself upon me with a fury whichindicated the profound passion under his assumed coolness. His eyesblazed; his lips writhed into something like a deadly grin; I felt thatI had to contend rather with a wild animal than a man. The grave yawnedin the moonlight at our very feet, and Mortimer closed in, with fury, endeavoring to force me to its brink, and hurl me into it. 

"Ten minutes afterward the combat was over; and it was Mortimer whooccupied the grave. 

"He had given ground an instant, to breathe; had returned to the attackmore furiously than before; a tremendous blow of his weapon snapped myown, eighteen inches from the hilt; but this had probably saved my lifeinstead of destroying it, as Mortimer, from his fierce exclamation asthe blade broke, evidently expected. 

"Before he could take advantage of his success, I sprang at his throat, grasped his sword-arm with my left hand, and, shortening my stump of aweapon, drove the point through his breast. 

"He uttered a cry, staggered, and threw up his hands; I released myclutch on his arm; and he fell heavily backward into the grave. 

"'Now to end all, ' I said, and I set out rapidly for Fonthill. "

XXV. 

GOING TO REJOIN MORTIMER. 

"I had not gone a hundred yards, when I heard the sound of wheelsapproaching. 

"I had said to myself, 'I am going back to madam; she will hear myfootsteps upon the staircase; will open the door; will rush forward toembrace me, under the impression that I am her dear Mortimer, returningtriumphant from the field of battle; and then a grand tableau!' Thingswere destined to turn out differently, as you will see in an instant. 

"The sound of wheels grew louder; a carriage appeared; and I recognizedmy own chariot. 

"'Why have you disobeyed my orders?' I said to the old gray-haireddriver, arresting the horses as I spoke, by violently grasping thebridles. 

"The old coachman looked frightened. Then he said, in an agitatedvoice:--

"'Madam ordered me to obey her, sir. '

"'Madam?'

"'Yes, sir. '

"'Where is she?'

"'In the carriage, sir. As soon as I got back, she came down to thedoor--ordered me to drive her to _you_--and I was obliged to do so, sir. '

"'Good, ' I said, 'you have done well. '

"And opening the door of the carriage, through the glass of which I sawthe pale face of the woman, I entered it, directing the coachman todrive to the 'Hicksford Crossing. '

A hoarse, but defiant voice at my side said:--

"'Where is Mr. Mortimer?'

"'Gone over the river, ' I said, laughing, 'and we are going, too. '

"'To rejoin him?'

"'Yes, madam. '

"The carriage had rolled on, and as it passed the grave I heard agroan. 

"'What is that?' said she. 

"'The river is groaning over yonder, madam. '

"'You will not attempt to pass it to-night?'

"'Yes, madam. Are you afraid?'

"She looked at me with fiery eyes. 

"'Afraid? No!' she said, 'I am afraid of nothing!'

"I really admired her at that moment. She was truly brave. I saidnothing, however. The carriage rolled on, and ten minutes afterward theroar of the river, now near at hand, was heard. That sound mingled withthe deep bellowing of the thunder, which succeeded the dazzling flashesat every instant dividing the darkness. 

"All at once my companion said:--

"'I am tired of this--where is Mr. Mortimer?'

"'He awaits us, ' I replied. 

"'You are going to him?'

"'Yes. '

"We had reached the bank of the river, and, stopping the carriage, Isprung out. Madam followed me, without being invited. A small boat roseand fell on the swollen current. I detached the chain, seized a paddle, and pointed to the stern seat. 

"'The river is dangerous to-night, ' said madam, coldly. 

"'Then you are afraid, after all?'

"'No!' she said. 

"And with a firm step she entered the boat. 

"'Go back with the carriage, ' I said to the driver. He turned the headsof the horses, and obeyed in silence. 

"Madam had taken her seat in the stern of the boat. I pushed from shoreinto the current, and paddling rapidly to the middle of the foamingtorrent, filled with drift-wood, threw the paddle overboard, and tookmy seat in the stern. 

"As I threw away the paddle, my resolution seemed to dawn for the firsttime upon my companion. She had become deadly pale, but said nothing. With folded arms, I looked and listened; we were nearing a narrow androck-studded point in the river, where there was no hope. 

"The frail boat was going to be overturned there, or dashed to pieceswithout mercy. I knew the spot--knew that there was no hope. Thetorrent was roaring and driving the boat like a leaf toward the jaggedand fatal rocks. 

"'Then you are going to kill me and yourself at the same time!' shesaid. 

"The woman was fearless. 

"'Yes, ' I said, 'it is the only way. I could not live dishonored--youdishonored me--I die--and die with you!'

"And I rose erect, baring my forehead to the lightning. 

"The point was reached. The boat swept on with the speed of aracehorse. A dazzling flash showed a dark object amid the foam, rightahead of us. The boat rushed toward it--the jagged teeth seemedgrinning at us--the boat struck--and the next moment I felt the torrentsweep over me, roaring furious and sombre, like a wild beast that hascaught its prey. "

XXVI. 

AFTERWARD. 

"When I opened my eyes, the sun was shining in my face. 

"I was lying on a mass of drift-wood, caught by a ledge of rock, jutting out into the river. I had apparently been hurled there, by theforce of the current, stunned and bruised; the sunshine had aroused me, bringing me back to that life which was a burden and a mockery. 

"And where was _she_? I shuddered as I asked myself that question. Hadshe been thrown from the boat? Had it been overturned? Was she drowned?I closed my eyes with a shudder which traversed my body, chilling myblood as with the cold hand of death. 

"For a moment I thought of throwing myself into the river, and thusending all my woes. But I was too cowardly. 

"I turned toward the shore, groaning; dragged my bruised and achinglimbs along the ledge of jagged rocks, through the masses ofdrift-wood; and finally reached the shore, where I sank down exhausted, and ready to die. 

"I will not lengthen out the gloomy picture. At last I rose, lookedaround, and with bent head and cowering frame, stole away through thewoods toward Fonthill. On my way, I passed within two hundred yards of_the grave_--but I dared not go thither. He was dead, doubtless--and hehad been slain in fair combat! It was another form that haunted me--theform of a woman--one who had dishonored me--attempted to poison me--aterrible being--but still a woman; and I had--murdered her!

"I reached home an hour or two afterward. Nighthawk was sitting in thelibrary, pale, and haggard, watching for me. 

"As I entered, he rose with an exclamation, extending his arms towardme, with an indescribable expression of joy. 

"I shrunk back, refusing his hand. 

"'Do not touch that, ' I groaned, 'there is blood on it!'

"He seized it, and kneeling down, kissed it. 

"'Bloody or not, it is _your_ hand--the hand of my dear young master!'

"And the honest fellow burst into tears, as he covered my hand withkisses. 

"A month afterward, I was in Europe, amid the whirl and noise of Paris. I tried to forget that I was a murderer--but the shadow went with me!"

XXVII. 

MOHUN TERMINATES HIS NARRATIVE. 

Mohun had spoken throughout the earlier portions of his narrative in atone of cynical bitterness. His last words were mingled, however, withweary sighs, and his face wore an expression of the profoundestmelancholy. 

The burnt-out cigar had fallen from his fingers to the floor; he leanedback languidly in his great arm-chair: with eyes fixed upon the dyingfire, he seemed to go back in memory to the terrible scenes justdescribed, living over again all those harsh and conflicting emotions. 

"So it ended, Surry, " he said, after a long pause. "Such was thefrightful gulf into which the devil and my own passions pushed me, inthat month of December, 1856. A hand as irresistible and inexorable asthe Greek Necessity had led me step by step to murder--in intent if notin fact--and for years the shadow of the crime which I believed I hadcommitted, made my life wretched. I wandered over Europe, plunged intoa thousand scenes of turmoil and excitement--it was all useless--stillthe shadow went with me. Crime is a terrible companion to have ever atyour elbow. The _Atra cura_ of the poet is nothing to it, friend! It isa fiend which will not be driven away. It grins, and gibbers, andutters its gibes, day and night. Believe me, Surry, --I speak fromexperience--it is better for this world, as well as the next, to be aboor, a peasant, a clodhopper with a clear conscience, than to hold inyour hand the means of all luxury, and so-called enjoyment, and, withit, the consciousness that you are blood guilty under almost anycircumstances. 

"Some men might have derived comfort from the circumstances of _that_crime. I could not. They might have said, 'I was goaded, stung, driven, outraged, tempted beyond my strength, caught in a net of fire, fromwhich there was but one method of exit--to burst out, trampling downevery thing. ' Four words silenced all that sophistry--'She was awoman!' It was the face of that woman, as I saw it last on that stormynight by the lightning flashes, which drove me to despair. I, the sonof the pure gentleman whose portrait is yonder--I, the representativeof the Mohuns, a family which had acted in all generations according tothe dictates of the loftiest honor--I, had put to death a woman, andthat thought spurred me to madness!

"Of _his_ death I did not think in the same manner. I had slain him infair combat, body to body--and, however the law of God may stigmatizehomicide, there was still that enormous difference. I had played mylife against his, as it were--he had lost, and he paid the forfeit. But_the other_ was _murdered_! That fact stared me in the face. She haddishonored me; tricked me; attempted to poison, and then shoot me. _She_ had designed to murder _me_, and had set about her designdeliberately, coolly, without provocation, impelled by the lust of goldonly. She deserved punishment, but--she was a woman! I had not said'Go!' either, in pointing to the gloomy path to death. I had said'Come!'--had meant to die too. I had not shrunk from the torrent inwhich I had resolved she should be borne away. I had gone into the boatwith her; accompanied her on her way; devoted myself, too, to death, atthe same moment. But all was useless. I said to myself a thousandtimes--'at least they can not say that I was a coward, as well as amurderer. The last of the Mohuns may have blackened his escutcheon withthe crime of murder--but at least he did not spare _himself_; he faceddeath with his victim. ' Useless, Surry--all useless! The inexorableVoice with which I fenced, had only one reply--one lunge--'She was awoman!' and the words pierced me like a sword-blade!

"Let me end this, but not before I say that the dreadful Voice was_right_. As to the combat with Mortimer, I shall express no opinion. You know the facts, and will judge me. But the other act was a deadlycrime. Gloss it over as you may, you can never justify murder. Use allthe special pleading possible, and the frightful deed is still as blackin the eyes of God and man as before. I saw that soon; saw it always;see it to-day; and pray God in his infinite mercy to blot out thatcrime from his book--to pardon the poor weak creature who was driven tomadness, and attempted to commit that deadly sin. 

"Well, to end my long history. I remained in Europe until the news fromAmerica indicated the approach of war--Nighthawk managing my estate, and remitting me the proceeds at Paris. When I saw that an armedcollision was going to take place, I hastened back, reaching Virginiain the winter of 1860. But I did not come to Fonthill. I had a horrorof the place. From New York, where I landed, I proceeded to Montgomery, without stopping upon the route; found there a prominent friend of myfather who was raising a brigade in the Southwest; was invited by himto aid him; and soon afterward was elected to the command of a companyof cavalry by his recommendation. I need only add, that I rosegradually from captain to colonel, which rank I held in 1863, when wefirst met on the Rappahannock--my regiment having been transferred to abrigade of General Lee's cavalry. 

"You saw me then, and remember my bitterness and melancholy. But youhad no opportunity to descry the depth and intensity of thosesentiments in me. Suddenly the load was lifted. _That woman_ made herappearance, as if from the grave, and you must have witnessed mywonder, as my eyes fell upon her. Then, she was not dead after all! Iwas not a murderer! And to complete the wonder, _he_ was also alive. Aman passing along the bank of the river, as I discovered afterward fromNighthawk, who ferreted out the whole affair--a man named Swartz, asort of poor farmer and huckster, passing along the Nottoway, on themorning after the storm, had found the woman cast ashore, with the boatoverturned near her; and a mile farther, had found Mortimer, not yetdead, in the grave. Succored by Swartz, they had both recovered--hadthen disappeared. I was to meet them again, and know of their existenceonly when the chance of war threw us face to face on the field. 

"You know the scenes which followed. Mortimer, or Darke, as he nowcalls himself, confronted me everywhere, and _she_ seemed to have noobject in life but my destruction. You heard her boast in the housenear Buckland that she had thrice attempted to assassinate me by meansof her tool, the man Swartz. Again, at Warrenton, in the hospital, shecame near poniarding me with her own hand. Nighthawk, who had followedme to the field, and become a secret agent of General Stuart, warned meof all this--and one day, gave me information more startling still. Andthis brings me, my dear Surry, to the last point in my narrative, I nowenter upon matter with which you have been personally 'mixed up. '

"On that night when I attacked Darke in his house in Pennsylvania, Swartz stole a paper from madam--the certificate of her marriage withMr. Mortimer-Darke, or Darke-Mortimer. The object of Swartz was, tosell the paper to me for a large sum, as he had gotten an inkling ofthe state of affairs, and my relation with madam. Well, Nighthawkreported this immediately, made an appointment to meet Swartz in theWilderness, and many times afterward attempted to gain possession ofthe paper, which Swartz swore was a _bona fide_ certificate of themarriage of these two persons _before the year_ 1856, when I first metthem. 

"You, doubtless, understand now, my dear Surry, my great anxiety togain possession of that paper. Or, if you do not, I have only to stateone fact--that will explain all. I am engaged to be married to MissConway, and am naturally anxious to have the proof in my possessionthat I have not _one wife_ yet living! I know _that woman_ well. Shewill stop at nothing. The rumor that I am about to become the happyhusband of a young lady whom I love, has driven madam nearly frantic, and she has already shown her willingness to stop at nothing, byimprisoning Swartz, and starving him until he produced the stolenpaper. Swartz is dead, however; the paper is lost; I and madam are bothin hot pursuit of the document. Which will find it, I know not. She, ofcourse, wishes to suppress it--I wish to possess it. Where is it? Ifyou will tell me, friend, I will make you a deed for half my estate!You have been with me to visit that strange woman, Amanda, as a forlornhope. What will come I know not; but I trust that an all-mercifulProvidence will not withdraw its hand from me, and now dash all myhopes, at the very moment when the cup is raised to my lips! If so, Iwill accept all, submissively, as the just punishment of my greatcrime--a crime, I pray God to pardon me, as the result of maddesperation, and not as a wanton and wilful defiance of His Almightyauthority! I have wept tears of blood for that act. I have turned andtossed on my bed, in the dark hours of night, groaning and pleading forpardon. I have bitterly expiated throughout long years, that brieftragedy. I have humbled myself in the dust before the Lord of allworlds, and, falling at the feet of the all-merciful Saviour, besoughtHis divine compassion. I am proud--no man was ever prouder--but I havebowed my forehead to the dust, and if the Almighty now denies me thesupreme consolation of this pure girl's affection, --if loving her as Ido, and beloved by her, as I may venture to tell you, friend, I am tosee myself thrust back from this future--then, Surry, I will give thelast proof of my submission: I will bow down my head, and say 'Thywill, not mine, Lord, be done!'"

Mohun's head sank as he uttered the words. To the proud face came anexpression of deep solemnity and touching sweetness. The firm lips wererelaxed--the piercing eyes had become soft. Mohun was greater in hisweakness than he had ever been in his strength. 

When an hour afterward we had mounted our horses, and were riding backslowly through the night, I said, looking at him by the dimstarlight:--

"This is no longer a gay young cavalryman--a mere thoughtlessyouth--but a patriot, fit to live or die with Lee!"

BOOK V. 

THE DEAD GO FAST. 

I. 

THE "DOOMED CITY" IN PROFILE--DECEMBER, 1864. 

The scenes just described took place in the month of November. InDecember I obtained the priceless boon of a few days' leave of absence, and paid a visit to Richmond. 

There was little there of a cheerful character; all was sombre andlugubrious. In the "doomed city, " as throughout the whole country, allthings were going to wreck and ruin. During the summer and autumn, suffering had oppressed the whole community; but now misery clutchedthe very heartstrings. Society had been convulsed--now, all thelandmarks of the past seemed about to disappear in the deluge. Richmondpresented the appearance, and lived after the manner, of a besiegedcity, as General Grant called it. It no longer bore the least likenessto its former peaceful and orderly self. The military police hadusurped the functions of the civil, and the change was for the worse. Garroters swarmed the streets of the city after dark. House-breakerseverywhere carried on their busy occupation. Nothing was safe fromthese prowlers of the night; all was fish for their nets. The oldclothes in rags and bales; the broken china and worn spoons; the veryfood, obtained through immense exertions by some father to feed hischildren--all became the spoil of these night-birds, who were ever onthe watch. When you went to make a visit in the evening, you took yourhat and cloak with you into the drawing-room, to have them under youreye. When you retired at night, you deposited your watch and purseunder your pillow. At the hotels, you never thought of placing yourboots outside the door; and the landlords, in the morning, carefullylooked to see if the towels, or the blankets of the beds had beenstolen. All things were thus unhinged. Misery had let loose upon thecommunity all the outlaws of civilization; the scum and dregs ofsociety had come to the top, and floated on the surface in thesunlight. 

The old respectable population of the old respectable city haddisappeared, it seemed. The old respectable habitudes had fallen intocontempt. Gambling-houses swarmed everywhere; and the military policeignored them. "The very large number of houses, " said a contemporaryjournal, "on Main and other streets, which have numbers painted inlarge gilt figures over the door, and illuminated at night, are farobanks. The fact is not known to the public. The very large numbers offlashily dressed young men, with villainous faces, who hang about thestreet corners in the daytime, are not gamblers, garroters, and plugs, but young men studying for the ministry, and therefore exempt frommilitary duty. This fact is not known to General Winder. " The quiet andorderly city had, in a word, become the haunt of burglars, gamblers, adventurers, blockade-runners. The city, once the resort of the mostelegant society in Virginia, had been changed by war and misery into astrange chaotic caravanserai, where you looked with astonishment on thefaces going and coming, without knowing in the least "who was who, " orwhether your acquaintance was an honest man or a scoundrel. Thescoundrels dressed in excellent clothes, and smiled and bowed when youmet them; it was nearly the sole means of identifying them, at anepoch, when virtue almost always went in rags. 

The era of "social unrealities, " to use the trenchant phrase of Daniel, had come. Even braid on sleeves and collars did not tell you much. Whowas the fine-looking Colonel Blank, or the martial General Asterisks?Was he a gentleman or a barber's boy--an F. F. Somewhere, or anexdrayman? The general and colonel dressed richly; lived at the"Spottswood;" scowled on the common people; and talked magnificently. It was only when some young lady linked her destiny to his, that shefound herself united to quite a surprising helpmate--discovered thatthe general or the colonel had issued from the shambles or the gutter. 

Better society was not wanting; but it remained largely in thebackground. Vice was strutting in cloth of gold; virtue was at homemending its rags. Every expedient was resorted to, not so much to keepup appearances as to keep the wolf from the door. Servants were sentaround by high-born ladies to sell, anonymously, baskets of theirclothes. The silk or velvet of old days was now parted with for bread. On the shelves of the bookstores were valuable private libraries, placed there for sale. In the shops of the silversmiths were seenbreastpins, watches, bracelets, pearl and diamond necklaces, whichtheir owners were obliged to part with for bread. "Could we havetraced, " says a late writer, "the history of a set of pearls, we shouldhave been told of a fair bride, who had received them from a proud andhappy bridegroom; but whose life had been blighted in her youthfulhappiness by the cruel blast of war--whose young husband was in theservice of his country--to whom stark poverty had continued to come, until at last the wedding present from the dear one, went to purchasefood and raiment... A richly bound volume of poems, with here and therea faint pencil-marked quotation, told perchance of a lover perished onsome bloody field; and the precious token was disposed of, or pawned, when bread was at last needed for some suffering loved one. "

You can see these poor women--can you not, reader? The bride looking ather pearl necklace, with flushed cheeks and eyes full of tears, murmuring:--"_He_ gave me this--placed it around my neck on my weddingday--and I must _sell_ it!" You can see too, the fair girl, bendingdown and dropping tears on the page marked by her dead lover; her bosomheaving, her heart breaking, her lips whispering:--"_His_ hand touchedthis--we read this page together--I hear his voice--see his smile--thisbook brings back all to me--and now, I must go and sell it, to buybread for my little sister and brother, who are starving!"

That is dolorous, is it not, reader?--and strikes you to the heart. Itis not fancy. December, 1864, saw that, and more, in Virginia. 

II. 

THE MEN WHO RUINED THE CONFEDERACY. 

In the streets of Richmond, crowded with uniforms, in spite of thepatrols, marching to and fro, and examining "papers, " I met a number ofold acquaintances, and saw numerous familiar faces. 

The "Spottswood" was the resort of the _militaires_, and the moneyedpeople. Here, captains and colonels were elbowed by messieurs theblockade-runners, and mysterious government employees--employed, as Isaid on a former occasion, in heaven knows what. The officer stalked byin his braid. The "Trochilus" passed, smiling, in shiny broadcloth. Listen! yonder is the newsboy, shouting, "The _Examiner_!"--that is tosay, the accurate photograph of this shifting chaos, where nothingseems stationary long enough to have its picture taken. 

Among the first to squeeze my hand, with winning smiles and cordialwelcome, was my friend Mr. Blocque. He was clad more richly thanbefore; smiled more sweetly than ever; seemed more prosperous, bettersatisfied, firmer in his conviction than ever that the President andthe administration had never committed a fault--that the world ofDecember, 1864, was the best of all possible worlds. 

"My dear colonel!" exclaimed Mr. Pangloss-Trochilus, _alias_ Mr. Blocque, "delighted to see you, I assure you! You are well? You willdine with me, to-day? At five precisely? You will find the oldcompany--jolly companions, every one! We meet and talk of the affairsof the country. All is going on well, colonel. Our city is quiet andorderly. The government sees farther than its assailants. It can notexplain now, and set itself right in the eyes of the people--that wouldreveal military secrets to the enemy, you know. I tell my friends inthe departments not to mind their assailants. Washington himself wasmaligned, but he preserved a dignified silence. All is well, colonel! Igive you my word, we are all right! I know a thing or two--!" and Mr. Blocque looked mysterious. "I have friends in high quarters, and youcan rely on my statement. Lee is going to whip Grant. The people arerallying to the flag. The finances are improving. The resources of thecountry are untouched. A little patience--only a _very_ littlepatience! I tell my friends. Let us only endure trials and hardshipswith brave hearts. Let us not murmur at dry bread, colonel--let uscheerfully dress in rags--let us deny ourselves every thing, sacrificeevery thing to the cause, cast away all superfluities, shoulder ourmuskets, and fight to the death! Then there _can_ be no doubt of theresult, colonel--good morning!"

And Mr. Blocque shook my hand cordially, gliding away in his shinybroadcloth, at the moment when Mr. Croker, catching my eye in passing, stopped to speak to me. 

"You visit Richmond at an inauspicious moment, colonel, " said Mr. Croker, jingling his watch-seals with dignity. "The country has at lastreached a point from which ruin is apparent in no very distantperspective, and when the hearts of the most resolute, in view of thedepressing influences of the situation, are well nigh tempted tosurrender every anticipation of ultimate success in the great causewhich absorbs the energies of the entire country--hem!--at large. Thecause of every trouble is so plain, that it would be insulting yourgood judgment to dwell upon the explanation. The administration haspersistently disregarded the wishes of the people, and the bestinterests of the entire community; and we have at last reached a pointwhere to stand still is as ruinous as to go on--as we are going--tocertain destruction and annihilation. Look at the finances, entirelydestroyed by the bungling and injudicious course of the honorable Mr. Memminger, who has proceeded upon fallacies which the youngest tyrowould disdain to refute. Look at the quartermaster's department, --thecommissary department, --the State department, and the war department, and you will everywhere find the proofs of utter incompetence, leadingstraight, as I have before remarked, to that ruin which is pending atthe present moment over the country. Our society is uprooted, and thereis no hope for the country. Blockade-runners, forestallers, stragglersfrom the army--Good morning, Colonel Desperade; I was just speaking toour friend, Colonel Surry. "

And leaving me in the hands of the tall, smiling, and imposing ColonelDesperade, who was clad in a magnificent uniform, Mr. Croker, forestaller and extortioner, continued his way with dignity toward hiscounting house. 

"This is a very great pleasure, colonel!" exclaimed Colonel Desperade, squeezing my hand with ardor. "Just from the lines, colonel? Any news?We are still keeping Grant off! He will find himself checkmated by ourboys in gray! The country was never in better trim for a good hardfight. The immortal Lee is in fine spirits--the government steadily atwork--and do you know, my dear Colonel, I am in luck to-day? I amcertain to receive my appointment at last, as brigadier-general--"

"Look out, or you'll be mistaken!" said a sarcastic voice behind us. And Mr. Torpedo, smoking a short and fiery cigar, stalked up and shookhands with me. 

"Desperade depends on the war department, and is a ninny for doing so!"said Mr. Torpedo, member of Congress. "The man that depends on JeffDavis, or his war secretary, is a double-distilled dolt. Jeff thinkshe's a soldier, and apes Napoleon. But you can't depend on him, Desperade. Look at Johnston! He fooled _him_. Look at Beauregard--heenvies and fears _him_, so he keeps him down. Don't depend on thePresident, Desperade, or you'll be a fool, my friend!"

And Mr. Torpedo walked on, puffing away at the fiery stump of hiscigar, and muttering curses against President Davis. 

An hour afterward, I was conversing in the rotunda of the capítol, withthe high-bred and smiling old cavalier, Judge Conway, and he was sayingto me:--

"The times are dark, colonel, I acknowledge that. But all would bewell, if we could eradicate abuses and bring out our strength. Afatality, however, seems pursuing us. The blockade-runners drain thecountry of the little gold which is left in it; the forestallers run upprices, and debase the currency beyond hope; the able-bodied andhealthy men who ought to be in the army, swarm in the streets; and thebitter foes of the President poison the public mind, and infuse into itdespair. It is this, colonel, not our weakness, which is going to ruinus, if we are ruined!"

III. 

MY LAST VISIT TO JOHN M. DANIEL. 

On the night before my return to the army, I paid my last visit to JohnM. Daniel. 

Shall I show you a great career, shipwrecked--paint a mighty ship runupon the breakers? The current of our narrative drags us towardpassionate and tragic events, but toward few scenes more sombre thanthat which I witnessed on this night in December, 1864. 

I found John M. Daniel in his house on Broad Street, as before; perchedstill in his high chair of black horse-hair, all alone. His face wasthinner; his cheeks more sallow, and now haggard and sunken; his eyessparkling with gloomy fire, as he half reclined beneath the cluster ofglobe lamps, depending from the ceiling, and filling the wholeapartment with their brilliant light--one of his weaknesses. 

He received me with grim cordiality, offered me a cigar, andsaid:--

"I am glad to see you, colonel, and to offer you one of the last of mystock of Havanas. Wilmington is going soon--then good-bye to blockadegoods. "

"You believe Wilmington is going to fall, then?"

"As surely as Savannah. "

"Savannah! You think that? We are more hopeful at Petersburg. "

"Hopeful or not, colonel, I am certain of what I say. Remember myprediction when it is fulfilled. The Yankees are a theatrical people. They take Vicksburg, and win Gettysburg, on their 'great nationalanniversary;' and now they are going to present themselves with ahandsome 'Christmas gift'--that is the city of Savannah. "

He spoke with evident difficulty, and his laboring voice, like hishaggard cheeks, showed that he had been ill since I last saw him. 

"Savannah captured, or surrendered!" I said, with knit brows. "Whatwill be the result of that?"

"Ruin, " was the curt response. 

"Not the loss of a mere town?"

"No; the place itself is nothing. For Sherman to take it will notbenefit him much; but it will prove to the country, and the President, that he is irresistible. Then they will _hack_; and you will see thebeginning of the end. "

"That is a gloomy view enough. "

"Yes--every thing is gloomy now. The devil of high-headed obstinacy andincompetence rules affairs. I do not croak in the _Examiner_ newspaper. But we are going straight to the devil. "

As he uttered these words, he placed his hand upon his breast, andclosed his eyes, as though he were going to faint. 

"What is the matter?" I exclaimed, rising abruptly, and approachinghim. 

"Nothing!" he replied, in a weak voice; "don't disturb yourself aboutme. These fits of faintness come on, now and then, in consequence of anattack of pneumonia which I had lately. Sit down, colonel. You mustreally pardon me for saying it, but you make me nervous. "

There was nothing in the tone of this singular address to take offenceat, --the voice of the speaker was perfectly courteous, --and I resumedmy seat. 

"We were talking about Sherman, " he said. "They call him Gog, Magog, anti-Christ, I know not what, in the clerical circles of this city!"

His lip curled as he spoke. 

"One reverend divine publicly declared the other day, that 'God had puta hook in Sherman's nose, and was leading him to his destruction!' Idon't think it looks much like it!"

The speaker was stopped by a fit of coughing, and when it had subsided, leaned back, faint and exhausted, in his chair. 

"The fact is--Sherman--" he said, with difficulty, "seems to have--thehook in--_our_ nose!"

There was something grim and lugubrious in the smile which accompaniedthe painfully uttered words. A long silence followed them, which wasbroken by neither of us. At last I raised my head, and said:--

"I find you less hopeful than last summer. At that time you were ingood spirits, and the tone of the _Examiner_ was buoyant. "

"It is hopeful still, " he replied, "but by an effort--from a sentimentof duty. I often write far more cheerfully than I feel, colonel. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

"Your views have changed, I perceive--but you change with the wholecountry. "

"Yes. A whole century has passed since last August, when you visited mehere. One by one, we have lost all that the country could dependon--hope goes last. For myself, I began to doubt when Jackson fell atChancellorsville, and I have been doubting, more or less, ever since. He was _a dominant man_, colonel, fit, _if any thing happened_, to riseto the head of affairs. [1] Oh! for an hour of Jackson! Oh! for a day ofour dead Dundee!"[2]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

[Footnote 2: His words. ]

The face of the speaker glowed, and I shall never forget the flash ofhis dark eye, as he uttered the words, "if any thing happened. " Therewas a whole volume of menace to President Davis in those words. 

"But this is useless!" he went on; "Jackson is dead, and there is noneto take his place. So, without leaders, with every sort ofincompetence, with obstinacy and stupidity directing the publiccouncils, and shaping the acts of the administration, we are glidingstraight into the gulf of destruction. "

I could make no reply. The words of this singular man and profoundthinker, affected me dolefully. 

"Yes, colonel, " he went on, "the three or four months which have passedsince your last visit, have cleared away all mists from _my_ eyes atleast, and put an end to all my dreams--among others, to that projectwhich I spoke of--the purchase and restoration of the family estate ofStafford. It will never be restored by me. Like Randolph, I am the lastof my line. "

And with eyes full of a profound melancholy, the speaker gazed into thefire. 

"I am passing away with the country, " he added. "The cause is going tofail. I give it three months to end in, and have sent for a prominentsenator, who may be able to do something. I intend to say to him, 'Thetime has come to make the best terms possible with the enemy, ' and Ishall place the columns of the _Examiner_ newspaper at his disposal toadvocate that policy. "[1]

[Footnote 1: This, I learned afterward, from the Hon. Mr. -----, wasduly done by Mr. Daniel. But it was too late. ]

"Is it possible!" I said. "Frankly, I do not think things are sodesperate. "

"You are a soldier, and hopeful, colonel. The smoke blinds you. "

"And yet General Lee is said to repudiate negotiations with scorn. Heis said to have lately replied to a gentleman who advised them, 'Formyself, I intend to die sword in hand!'"

"General Lee is a soldier--and you know what the song says: 'Asoldier's business, boys, is to die!'"

I could find no reply to the grim words. 

"I tell you the cause is lost, colonel!" with feverish energy, "lostirremediably, at this moment while we are speaking! It is lost fromcauses which are enough to make the devil laugh, but it is lost all thesame! When the day of surrender, and Yankee domination comes--when thegentlemen of the South are placed under the heel of negroes andYankees--I, for one, wish to die. Happy is the man who shall havegotten into the grave before that day![1] Blessed will be the woman whohas never given suck![2] Yes, the best thing for me is todie--[3] and I am going to do so. I shall not see that _Dies Irae_! Ishall be in my grave!"

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

[Footnote 2: His words. ]

[Footnote 3: His words. ]

And breathing heavily, the journalist again leaned back in his chair, as though about to faint. 

An hour afterward, I terminated my visit, and went out, oppressed andgloomy. 

This singular man had made a reluctant convert of me to his own darkviews. The cloud which wrapped him, now darkened me--from the blackfuture I saw the lightnings dart already. 

His predictions were destined to have a very remarkable fulfilment. 

On the 21st of December, a few days after our interview, Shermantelegraphed to Lincoln:--

"I beg to present you, as a Christmas gift, the city of Savannah, withone hundred and fifty guns, and plenty of ammunition, and also abouttwenty-five thousand bales of cotton. "

In January, Wilmington fell. 

Toward the end of the same month, John M. Daniel was a second timeseized with pneumonia, and took to his bed, from which he was neveragain to rise. He would see no one but his physician and a few chosenfriends. All other persons were persistently denied admittance to hischamber. Lingering throughout the remainder of the winter, as springapproached, life seemed gradually leaving him. Day by day his pulsegrew weaker. You would have said that this man was slowly dying withthe cause for which he had fought; that as the life-blood oozed, dropby drop, from the bleeding bosom of the Southern Confederacy, the lastpulses of John M. Daniel kept time to the pattering drops. 

One morning, at the end of March, his physician came to see him, andfound him lying on the outer edge of his bed. Not wishing to disturbhim, the physician went to the window to mix a stimulant. All at once anoise attracted his attention, and he turned round. The dying man had, by a great effort, turned completely over, and lay on his back in themiddle of the bed, with his eyes closed, and his arms folded on hisbreast, as though he were praying. 

When the physician came to his bedside, he was dead. 

It was four days before the fall of Petersburg and Richmond; and he wasburied in Hollywood, just in time to escape the tramp of Federal feetaround his coffin. 

His prophecy and wish were thus fulfilled. [1]

[Footnote 1: These details are strictly accurate. ]

IV. 

GARROTED. 

When I left Mr. John M. Daniel it was past ten at night, and designingto set out early in the morning for Petersburg, I bent my steps towardhome. 

The night was not however to pass without adventures of anothercharacter. 

I was going along Governor Street, picking my way by the light of thefew gas-lamps set far apart and burning dimly, when all at once I hearda cry in front, succeeded by the noise of a scuffle, and then by aheavy fall. 

Hastening forward I reached the spot, which was not far from the CityHall; and a glance told me all. 

A wayfarer had been garroted; that is to say, suddenly attacked whilepassing along, by one of the night-birds who then infested the streetsafter dark; seized from behind; throttled, and thrown violently to theground--the object of the assailant being robbery. 

When I reached the spot the robber was still struggling with hisvictim, who, stretched beneath him on the ground, uttered frightfulcries. One hand of the garroter was on his throat, the other was busilyrifling his pockets. 

I came up just in time to prevent a murder, but not to disappoint therobber. As I appeared he hastily rose, releasing the throat of theunfortunate citizen. I saw a watch gleam in his hand; he bestowed aviolent kick on his prostrate victim;--then he disappeared running, andwas in an instant lost in the darkness. 

I saw that pursuit would be useless; and nobody ever thought, at thatperiod, of attempting to summon the police. I turned to assist thevictim, who all at once rose from the ground, uttering groans andcries. 

The lamp-light shone upon his face. It was the worthy Mr. Blocque--Mr. Blocque, emitting howls of anguish! Mr. Blocque, shaking his clenchedhands, and maligning all created things! Mr. Blocque, devoting, withloud curses and imprecations, the assembled wisdom of the "cityfathers, " and the entire police force of the Confederate capital, tothe infernal deities!

"I am robbed--murdered!" screamed the little Jewish-looking personage, in a shrill falsetto which resembled the shriek of a furious old woman, "robbed! rifled!--stripped of every thing!--garroted!--my moneytaken!--I had ten thousand dollars in gold and greenbacks on myperson!--not a Confederate note in the whole pack--not one! gold andgreenbacks!--two watches!---I am ruined! I will expose the police! Iwas going to my house like a quiet citizen! I was harming nobody! and Iam to be set on and robbed of my honest earnings by a highwayman--choked, strangled, knocked down, my pockets picked, my money taken--and this in the capital of the Confederacy, under the nose of thepolice!"

It was a shrill squeak which I heard--something unutterably ludicrous. I could scarce forbear laughing, as I looked at the littleblockade-runner, with disordered hair, dirty face, torn clothes, andbleeding nose, uttering curses, and moaning in agony over the loss ofhis "honest earnings!"

I consoled him in the best manner I could, and asked him if he had lostevery thing. That question seemed to arouse him. He felt hastily in hispockets, --and then at the result my eyes opened wide. Thrusting hishand into a secret pocket, he drew forth an enormous roll ofgreenbacks, and I could see the figures "100" on each of the notes ashe ran over them. That bundle alone must have contained severalthousands of dollars. But the worthy Mr. Blocque did not seem in theleast consoled. 

"He got _the other bundle_!" shrieked the victim, still in his wildfalsetto; "it was ten thousand dollars--I had just received it thisevening--I am robbed!--they are going to murder me!--Where is thepolice!--murder!"

I laid my hand upon his arm. 

"You have lost a very considerable sum, " I said, "but--you may losemore still. "

And I pointed to the roll of bank notes in his hand, with a significantglance. At these words he started. 

"You are right, colonel!" he said, hastily; "I may be attacked again! Imay be robbed of all--they may finish me! I will get home as quickly asI can! Thank you, colonel! you have saved me from robbery and murder!Come and see me, colonel. Come and dine with me, my dear sir! At five, precisely!"

And Mr. Blocque commenced running wildly toward a place of safety. 

In a moment he had disappeared, and I found myself alone--laughingheartily. 

V. 

THE CLOAKED WOMAN. 

"Well, " I said, as I walked on, "this is a charming adventure andconveys a tolerably good idea of the city of Richmond, after dark, inthe year 1864. Our friend Blocque is garroted, and robbed of his'honest earnings, ' at one fell swoop by a footpad! The worthy citizenis waylaid; his pockets rifled; his life desolated. All the proceeds ofa life of virtuous industry have disappeared. Terrible condition ofthings!--awful times when a good citizen can not go home to his modestsupper of canvas-backs and champagne, without being robbed by----hisbrother robber!"

Indulging in these reflections, not unaccompanied with smiles, Icontinued my way, with little fear, myself, of pickpockets orgarroters. Those gentry were intelligent. They were never known toattack people with gray coats--they knew better! They attacked theblack coats, in the pockets of which they suspected the presence ofgreenbacks and valuable papers; never the gray coats, where they wouldfind only a frayed "leave of absence" for their pains!

I thus banished the whole affair from my mind; but it had aroused andexcited me. I did not feel at all sleepy; and finding, by a glance atmy watch beneath a lamp, that it was only half past ten, I resolved togo and ask after the health of my friend, Mr. X-----, whose house wasonly a square or two off. 

This resolution I proceeded at once to carry out. A short walk broughtme to the house, half buried in its shrubbery; but as I approached Isaw a carriage was standing before the house. 

Should I make my visit then, or postpone it? Mr. X----- evidently hadcompany. Or had the carriage brought a visitor to some other member ofthe household? Mr. X----- was only a boarder, and I might be mistakenin supposing that _he_ was engaged at the moment. 

As these thoughts passed through my mind, I approached the gate in theiron railing. The carriage was half hidden by the shadow of the elms, which grew in a row along the sidewalk. On the box sat a motionlessfigure. The vehicle and driver were as still and silent as if carvedout of ebony. 

"Decidedly I will discover, " I said, and opening the gate I turned intothe winding path through the shrubbery, which led toward the rear ofthe house; that is to say, toward the private entrance to the room ofMr. X-----. 

Suddenly, as I passed through the shadowy shrubs, I felt a hand on myshoulder. I started back, and unconsciously felt for some weapon. 

"Don't shoot me, colonel!" said a voice in the darkness, "I am afriend. "

I recognized the voice of Nighthawk. 

"Good heavens! my dear Nighthawk, " I said, drawing a long breath ofrelief, "you are enough to make Alonzo the Brave, himself, tremble? Youturn up everywhere, and especially in the dark! What are you doinghere?"

"I am watching, colonel, " said Nighthawk, with benignant sweetness. 

"Watching?"

"And waiting. "

"Waiting for whom?"

"For a lady with whom you have the honor of being acquainted. "

"A lady--?"

"That one you last saw in the lonely house near Monk's Neck. Hush! hereshe comes. "

His voice had sunk to a whisper, and he drew me into the shrubbery, asa long bar of light, issuing from the door in the rear of the house, ran out into the night. 

"I am going to follow her, " whispered Nighthawk, placing his lips closeto my ear, "she is at her devil's work here in Richmond, as Swartzwas--. "

Suddenly he was silent; a light step was heard. A form approached us, passed by. I could see that it was a woman, wrapped from head to footin a gray cloak. 

She passed so close to us that the skirt of her cloak nearly brushedour persons, and disappeared toward the gate. The iron latch was heardto click, the door of the carriage to open and close, and then thevehicle began to move. 

Nighthawk took two quick steps in the direction of the gate. 

"I am going to follow the carriage, colonel, " he whispered. "I havebeen waiting here to do so. I will tell you more another time. Give myrespects to General Mohun, and tell him I am on his business!"

With which words Nighthawk glided into the darkness--passed through thegate without sound from the latch--and running noiselessly, disappearedon the track of the carriage. 

I gazed after him for a moment, said to myself, "well this night is tobe full of incident!"--and going straight to the door in the rear ofthe house, passed through it, went to the door of Mr. X-----'s room, and knocked. 

"Come in, " said the voice of that gentleman; and opening the door Ientered. 

VI. 

THE HEART OF A STATESMAN. 

Mr. X----- was seated in front of an excellent coal fire, in his greatarmchair, near a table covered with papers, and between his lips wasthe eternal cigar. 

At sight of me he rose courteously--for he never omitted any form ofpoliteness--and cordially shook my hand. 

"I am glad to see you, colonel, " he said. "Just from the army? Have acigar. "

And he extended toward me an elegant cigar-case full of Havanas, whichhe took from the table. I declined, informing him that I had beensmoking all the evening in the sanctum of the editor of the _Examiner_. 

"Ah! you have been to see Daniel, " said Mr. X-----. "He is a veryremarkable man. I do not approve of the course of his paper, and he hasattacked me very bitterly on more than one occasion. But I bear nogrudge against him. He is honest in his opinions. I admire the pluck ofthe man, and the splendid pith of his writings. "

"My views accord with your own, " I replied. 

"Everybody thinks with us, " said Mr. X-----, puffing at his cigar. "Itis only ignoramuses who deny this man's courage and ability. I havenever done injustice to Daniel--and I call that 'liberal' in myself, colonel! He has flayed me alive on three or four occasions, and it isnot his fault that I am enjoying this excellent Havana. "

"I read the attacks, " I said. 

"Were they not fearful?" said Mr. X-----, smiling tranquilly. "Afterreading them, I regarded myself as a moral and political monster!"

I could not forbear from laughing as the portly statesman uttered thewords. He seemed to derive a species of careless enjoyment from therecollection of his "flayings. "

"I expect to talk over these little affairs with Daniel hereafter, " hesaid. "We shall have a great deal of time on our hands--in Canada. "

And Mr. X----- smiled, and went on smoking. It was the second time hehad uttered that phrase--"in Canada. "

I laughed now, and said:--

"You continue to regard Toronto, or Montreal, or Quebec, as your futureresidence?"

"Yes; I think I prefer Quebec. The view from Cape Diamond is superb;and there is something English and un-American in the whole place, which I like. The Plains of Abraham bring back the history of thepast, --which is more agreeable to me at least than the history of thepresent. "

"You adhere more than ever, I see, to your opinion that we are going tofail?"

"It is not an opinion, my dear colonel, but a certainty. "

My head sank. In the army I had been hopeful. When I came to Richmond, those high intelligences, John M. Daniel and Mr. X-----, did not evenattempt to conceal their gloomy views. 

"I see you think me a croaker, " said Mr. X-----, tranquilly smoking, "and doubtless say to yourself, colonel, that I am injudicious in thusdiscouraging a soldier, who is fighting for this cause. A year ago Iwould not have spoken to you thus, for a year ago there was still somehope. Now, to discourage you--if thinking men, fighting for aprinciple, like yourself, _could_ be discouraged--would result in noinjury: for the cause is lost. On the contrary, as the friend of thatmost excellent gentleman, your father, I regard it as a sort of duty tospeak thus--to say to you 'Don't throw away your life for nothing. Doyour duty, but do no more than your duty, for we are doomed. '"

I could find no reply to these gloomy words. 

"The case is past praying for, " said Mr. X----- composedly, "the wholefabric of the Confederacy at this moment is a mere shell. It is goingto crumble in the spring, and another flag will float over the Virginiacapitol yonder--what you soldiers call 'The Gridiron. ' The country istired. The administration is unpopular, and the departments aremismanaged. I am candid, you see. The days of the Confederacy arenumbered, and worse than all, nobody knows it. We ought to negotiatefor the best terms, but the man who advises that, will be hissed at andcalled a 'coward. ' It is an invidious thing to do. It is much granderto shout 'Death sooner than surrender!' I shouted that lustily as longas there was any hope--now, I think it my duty as a statesman, andpublic functionary, to say, 'There are worse things than death--let ustry and avoid them by making terms. ' I say that to you--I do not say soon the streets--the people would tear me to pieces, and with theirsources of information they would be right in doing so. "

"Is it possible that all is lost? That negotiations are our only hope?"

"Yes; and confidentially speaking--this is a State secret, my dearcolonel--these will soon be made. "

"Indeed!"

"You think that impossible, but it is the impossible which invariablytakes place in this world. We are going to send commissioners to meetMr. Lincoln in Hampton Roads--and it will be useless. "

"Why?"

"We are going to demand such terms as he will not agree to. Thecommissioners will return. The war will continue to its legitimatemilitary end, which I fix about the last days of March. "

"Good heaven! so soon!"

"Yes. "

"In three months?"

Mr. X----- nodded. 

"General Lee may lengthen the term a little by his skill and courage, but it is not in _his_ power, even, to resist beyond the month ofApril. "

"The army of Northern Virginia, driven by the enemy!"

"Forced to surrender, or annihilated; and in Virginia--it will neverjoin Johnston. Its numbers are too small to cut a path through theenemy. Grant will be at the Southside road before the first of April;Lee will evacuate his lines, which he will be compelled to hold to thelast moment; he will retreat; be intercepted; be hunted down towardLynchburg, and either surrender, or be butchered. Cheerful, isn't it?"

"It is frightful!"

"Yes, Lee's men are starving now. The country is tired of the war, anddisgusted with the manner in which we manage things. No recruits arearriving. The troops are not _deserting_, but they are leaving the armywithout permission, to succor their starving families. Lee's last hoursare approaching, and we are playing the comedy here in Richmond with animmense appearance of reality; dancing, and fiddling, and laughing onthe surface of the volcano. I play my part among the rest. I risk myhead more even, perhaps, than the military leaders. I take aphilosophic view, however, of the present and future. If I am not hung, I will go to Canada; meanwhile, I smoke my cigar, colonel. "

And Mr. X----- lazily threw away his stump, and lit a fresh Havana. Itis impossible to imagine any thing more careless than his attitude. This man was either very brave or frightfully apathetic. 

Five minutes afterward, I knew that any thing but apathy possessed him. All at once he rose in his chair, and his eyes were fixed upon me witha glance so piercing and melancholy, that they dwell still in mymemory, and will always dwell there. 

"I said we were playing a comedy here in Richmond, colonel, " he said, in tones so deep and solemn that they made me start; "I am playing mypart with the rest; I play it in public, and even in private, as beforeyou to-night. I sit here, indolently smoking and uttering my jests andplatitudes, and, at the moment that I am speaking, my heart isbreaking! I am a Virginian--I love this soil more than all the rest ofthe world--not a foot but is dear and sacred, and a vulgar horde areabout to trample it under foot, and enslave its people. Every pulse ofmy being throbs with agony at the thought! I can not sleep. I have lostall taste for food. One thought alone haunts me--that the land ofWashington, Jefferson, Mason, Henry, and Randolph, is to become thehelpless prey of the scum of Europe and the North! My family has livedhere for more than two hundred years. I have been, and am to-day, proudbeyond words, of my birthright! I am a Virginian! a Virginian ofVirginians! I have for forty years had no thought but the honor ofVirginia. I have fought for her, and her only, in the senate andcabinet of the old government at Washington. I have dedicated all mypowers to her--shrunk from nothing in my path--given my days and nightsfor years, and was willing to pour out my blood for Virginia; and nowshe is about to be trampled upon, her great statues hurled down, herescutcheon blotted, her altars overturned! And I, who have had nothought but her honor and glory, am to be driven, at the end of a longcareer, to a foreign land! I am to crouch yonder in Canada, with mybursting brow in my two hands--and every newspaper is to tell me 'thenegro and the bayonet rule Virginia!' Can you wonder, then, that I amgloomy--that despair lies under all this jesting? _You_ are happy. Yougo yonder, where a bullet may end you. Would to God that I had enteredthe army, old as I am, and that at least I could hope for a death ofhonor, in arms for Virginia!"

VII. 

SECRET SERVICE. 

The statesman leaned back in his great chair, and was silent. At thesame moment a tap was heard at the door; it opened noiselessly, andNighthawk glided into the apartment. 

Under his cloak I saw the gray uniform of a Confederate soldier; in hishand he carried a letter. 

Nighthawk saluted Mr. X----- and myself with benignant respect. Hisquick eye, however, had caught the gloomy and agitated expression ofthe statesman's countenance, and he was silent. 

"Well, " said Mr. X-----, raising his head, with a deep sigh. Thenpassing his hand over his face, he seemed to brush away all emotion. When he again looked up, his face was as calm and unmoved as at thecommencement of our interview. 

"You see I begin a new scene in this comedy, " he said to me in a lowtone. 

And turning to Nighthawk, he said:--

"Well, you followed that agreeable person?"

"Yes, sir, " said Nighthawk, with great respect. 

"She turned out to be the character you supposed? Speak before ColonelSurry. "

Nighthawk bowed. 

"I never had any doubt of her character, sir, " he said. "You willremember that she called on you a week ago, announcing that she was aspy, who had lately visited the Federal lines and Washington. Youdescribed her to me, and informed me that you had given her anotherappointment for to-night; when I assured you that I knew her; she wasan enemy, who had come as a spy upon _us_; and you directed me to behere to-night, and follow her, after your interview. "

"Well, " said Mr. X-----, quietly, "you followed her!"

"Yes, sir. On leaving you, after making her pretended report of affairsin Washington, she got into her carriage, and the driver startedrapidly, going up Capitol and Grace streets. I followed on foot, andhad to run--but I am used to that, sir. The carriage stopped at a housein the upper part of the city--a Mr. Blocque's; the lady got out, telling the driver to wait, and went into the house, where she staidfor about half an hour. She then came out--I was in the shadow of atree, not ten yards from the spot, and as she got into the carriage, Icould see that she held in her hand a letter. As the driver closed thedoor, she said, 'Take me to the flag-of-truce bureau, on Ninth Street, next door to the war office. ' The driver mounted his box, and setoff--and crossing the street, I commenced running to get a-head. Inthis I succeeded, and reached the bureau five minutes before thecarriage. 

"Well, sir, I hastened up stairs, and went into the bureau, where threeor four clerks were examining the letters left to be sent by theflag-of-truce boat to-morrow. They were laughing and jesting as theyread aloud the odd letters from the Libby and other prisons--some ofwhich, I assure you, were very amusing, sir--when the lady's footstepswere heard upon the stairs, and she came in, smiling. 

"I had turned my back, having given some excuse for my presence to oneof the clerks, who is an acquaintance. Thus the lady, who knows me, could not see my face; but I could, by looking out of the corners of myeyes, see _her_. She came in, in her rich gray cloak, smiling on theclerks, and handing an open letter to one of them, said:--"'Will youoblige me by sending that to my sister in New York, by theflag-of-truce boat, to-morrow, sir?'

"'If there is nothing contraband in it, madam, ' said the clerk. 

"'Oh!' she replied, with a laugh, 'it is only on family matters. Mysister is a Southerner, and so am I, sir. You can read the letter; itis not very dangerous!'

"And she smiled so sweetly that the clerk was almost ashamed to readthe letter. He, however, glanced his eye over it, and evidently foundnothing wrong in it. While he was doing so, the lady walked toward themail-bags in which the clerks had been placing such letters as theyfound unobjectionable, the others being marked, 'Condemned, ' and throwninto a basket. As she passed near one of the bags, I saw the lady, whomI was closely watching, flirt her cloak, as though by accident, acrossthe mouth of one of the mail-bags, and at the same instant her handstole down and dropped a letter into the bag. As she did so, the clerk, who had finished reading _the other letter_, bowed, and said:---

"'There is nothing objectionable in this, madam, and it will be sent, of course. '

"'I was sure of that, sir, ' replied the lady, with a smile. 'I am verymuch obliged. Good evening, sir!'

"And she sailed out, all the clerks politely rising as she did so. 

"No sooner had the door closed than I darted upon the bag in which Ihad seen her drop the letter. The clerks wished to stop me, but Iinformed them of what I had seen. If they doubted, they could see forthemselves that the letter, which I had easily found, was not sealedwith the seal of the bureau. They looked at it, and at onceacknowledged their error. 

"'Arrest her!' exclaimed one of them, suddenly. The rapid rolling of acarriage came like an echo to his words. 

"'It is useless, gentlemen, ' I said. 'I know where to find the lady, and will look to the whole affair. You know I am in the secret service, and will be personally responsible for every thing. I will take thisletter to the official who directed me to watch the lady who broughtit. '

"To this, no objection was made, as I am known at the office. I cameaway; returned as quickly as possible; and here is the letter, sir. "

With which words Nighthawk drew his hand from under his cloak, andpresented the letter to Mr. X-----, who had listened in silence to hisnarrative. 

VIII. 

BY FLAG-OF-TRUCE BOAT. 

MR. X----- took the letter, broke the seal, and ran his eye over thecontents. 

"Decidedly, that woman is a skilful person, " he said; "she fishes introubled waters with the coolness of an experienced hand. "

And presenting the letter to me, the statesman said:--

"Would you like to see a specimen of the sort of documents which go onfile in the departments, colonel?"

I took the letter, and read the following words:--

"RICHMOND, 18 _Dec'r_, 1864. 

"Tell, _you know who_, that I have just seen the honorableMr. -----" (here the writer gave the real name and official position ofMr. X-----), "and have had a long conversation with him. He is fullyconvinced that I am a good Confederate, and spoke without reserve ofmatters the most private. He is in high spirits, and looks on the rebelcause as certain to succeed. I never saw one more blinded to the realstate of things. Richmond is full of misery, and the people seem indespair, but this high official, who represents the whole government, is evidently certain of Lee's success. I found him in a garrulous mood, and he did not conceal his views. The government has just receivedheavy supplies from the south, by the Danville railroad--others arecoming--the whole country in rear of Sherman is rising--and Lee, hestated, would soon be re-enforced by between fifty and seventy-fivethousand men. What was more important still, was a dispatch, which heread me, from England. This startled me. There seems no doubt thatEngland is about to recognize the Confederacy. When he had finishedreading this dispatch, on the back of which I could see the Englishpostmark, he said to me--these are his words:--'You see, things werenever brighter; it is only a question of time; and by holding out alittle longer, we shall compel the enemy to retire and give up thecontest. With the re-enforcements coming, Lee will have about onehundred thousand men. With that force, he will be able to repulse allGeneral Grant's assaults. Things look dark at this moment, but thecause was never more hopeful. '

"He seemed insane, but I give you his words. It is certain that theseare the views of the government, and that our authorities are muchmistaken in supposing the Confederacy at its last gasp. It isimpossible that the honorable Mr. ----- was attempting to deceive me;because I carried him a letter from -----" (here the writer gave thename of a prominent official of the Confederate Government, which Isuppress) "who vouched for me, and declared that I was passionatelySouthern in my sympathies. 

"I shall see the honorable Mr. ----- in a day or two again. In the meanwhile, I am staying, _incognita_, at the house of our friend, Mr. Blocque, who has afforded me every facility in return for the_safeguard_ I brought him, to protect his property when we occupyRichmond. The city is in a terrible state. Mr. Blocque has just comein, and informs me that he has been garroted near the capitol, androbbed of ten thousand dollars in good money. He is in despair. 

"As soon as I have finished some important private business, whichkeeps me in the Confederate lines, I shall be with ----- again. Tellhim to be in good spirits. This city has still a great deal of moneyhoarded in garrets--and we shall soon be here. Then we can retire on acompetence--and when _Fonthill_ is confiscated, we will purchase it, and live in affluence. 

"LUCRETIA. "

I looked at the back of the letter. It was directed to a lady inSuffolk. From the letter, my glance passed to the face of Mr. X-----. He was smiling grimly. 

"A valuable document, " he said, "which madam will doubtless duplicatebefore very long, with additional particulars. I make you a present ofit, colonel, as a memorial of the war. "

I thanked him, and placed the letter in my pocket. To-day I copy it, word for word. 

Mr. X----- reflected a moment; then he said to Nighthawk:--

"Arrest this woman; I am tired of her. I have no time to waste uponsuch persons, however charming. "

Nighthawk looked greatly delighted. 

"I was going to beg that order of you, sir, " he said, "as the 'privatebusiness' alluded to in the letter, concerns a friend of mine, greatly. "

"Ah! well, here is the order. "

And taking a pen, Mr. X----- scrawled two lines, which he handed toNighthawk. A glow of satisfaction came to that worthy's face, andtaking the paper, he carefully placed it in his pocket. 

As he did so, the bell in the capitol square struck midnight, and Irose to take my departure. 

"Come and see me soon again, colonel, " said Mr. X-----, going to thedoor with me. He had made a sign to Nighthawk, who rose to go out withme, that he wished him to remain. 

"What I have said to you, to-night, " continued the statesman, gravely, "may have been injudicious, colonel. I am not certain of that--but I amquite sure that to have it repeated at this time would be inconvenient. Be discreet, therefore, my dear friend--after the war, tell or writewhat you fancy; and I should rather have my present views known then, than not known. They are those neither of a time-server, a faint heart, or a fool. I stand like the Roman sentinel at the gate of Herculaneum, awaiting the lava flood that will bury me. I see it coming--I hear theroar--I know destruction is rushing on me--but I am a sentinel on post;I stand where I have been posted; it is God and my conscience that haveplaced me on duty here. I will stay, whatever comes, until I amrelieved by the same authority which posted me. " And with the bow of anobleman, the gray-haired statesman bade me farewell. 

I returned to my lodgings, buried in thought, pondering deeply on thestrange scenes of this night of December. 

On the next morning I set out, and rejoined the army at Petersburg. 

I, too, was a sentinel on post, like the statesman. And I determined toremain on duty to the last. 

IX. 

TO AND FRO IN THE SPRING OF '65. 

The months of January and February, 1865, dragged on, sombre anddreary. 

Two or three expeditions which I made during that woeful period, gaveme a good idea of the condition of the country. 

In September, 1864, I had traversed Virginia from Petersburg toWinchester, and had found the people--especially those of the lowerShenandoah Valley--still hopeful, brave, resolved to resist to thedeath. 

In January and February, 1865, my official duties carried me to theregion around Staunton; to the mountains west of Lynchburg; and to theNorth Carolina border, south of Petersburg. All had changed. EverywhereI found the people looking blank, hopeless, and utterly discouraged. The shadow of the approaching woe seemed to have already fallen uponthem. 

The army was as "game" as ever--even Early's little handful, soon to bestruck and dispersed by General Sheridan's ten thousand cavalry. Everywhere, the soldiers laughed in the face of death. Each seemed tofeel, as did the old statesman with whom I had conversed on that nightat Richmond, that he was a sentinel on post, and must stand there tothe last. The lava might engulf him, but he was "posted, " and muststand until relieved, by his commanding officer or death. It was the"poor private, " in his ragged jacket and old shoes, as well as theofficer in his braided coat, who felt thus. For those private soldiersof the army of Northern Virginia were gentlemen. _Noblesse oblige_ wastheir motto; and they meant to die, musket in hand!

Oh, soldiers of the army, who carried those muskets in a hundredbattles!--who fought with them from Manassas, in 1861, to Appomattox, in 1865--you are the real heroes of the mighty struggle, and onecomrade salutes you now, as he looked at you with admiration in olddays! What I saw in those journeys was dreary enough; but however blackmay be the war-cloud, there is always the gleam of sunlight somewhere!We laughed now and then, reader, even in the winter of 1864-'5!

I laugh still, as I think of the brave cannoneers of the horseartillery near Staunton--and of the fearless Breathed, their commander, jesting and playing with his young bull-dog, whom he had called"Stuart" for his courage. I hear the good old songs, all about "Ashby, "and the "Palmetto Tree, " and the "Bonnie Blue Flag"--songs sung withjoyous voices in that dreary winter, as in other days, when the star ofhope shone more brightly, and the future was more promising. 

At Lynchburg, where I encountered a number of old friends, songs stillsweeter saluted me--from the lips of my dear companions, Major Gray andCaptain Woodie. How we laughed and sang, on that winter night, atLynchburg! Do you chant your sweet "Nora McShane" still, Gray? And you, Woodie, do you sing in your beautiful and touching tenorto-day, --

 "The heart bowed down by deep despair. To weakest hopes will cling?"

Across the years comes once more that magical strain; again I hear yourvoice, filled with the very soul of sadness, tell how

 "Memory is the only friend That grief can call its own!"

That seemed strangely applicable to the situation at the time. Thememory of our great victories was all that was left to us; and Ithought that it was the spirit of grief itself that was singing. AgainI hear the notes--but "Nora McShane" breaks in--"Nora McShane, " themost exquisite of all Gray's songs. Then he winds up with uproariouspraise of the "Bully Lager Beer!"--and the long hours of night flitaway on the wings of laughter, as birds dart onward, and are buried inthe night. 

Are you there still, Gray? Do you sing still, Woodie? Health andhappiness, comrades! All friendly stars smile on you! Across the yearsand the long leagues that divide us, I salute you!

Thus, at Staunton and Lynchburg, reader, gay scenes broke the monotony. In my journey toward North Carolina, I found food also, for laughter. 

I had gone to Hicksford, fifty miles south of Petersburg, to inspectthe cavalry; and in riding on, I looked with curiosity on thedesolation which the enemy had wrought along the Weldon railroad, whenthey had destroyed it in the month of December. Stations, privatehouses, barns, stables, all were black and charred ruins. The railroadwas a spectacle. The enemy had formed line of battle close along thetrack; then, at the signal, this line of battle had attacked the road. The iron rails were torn from the sleepers; the latter were then piledup and fired; the rails were placed upon the blazing mass, and leftthere until they became red-hot in the middle, and both ends bent down--then they had been seized, broken, twisted; in a wild spirit of sportthe men had borne some of the heated rails to trees near the road;twisted them three or four times around the trunks; and there, as Ipassed, were the unfortunate trees with their iron boa-constrictorsaround them--monuments of the playful humor of the blue people, monthsbefore. 

Hill and Hampton had attacked and driven them back; from the deadhorses, as elsewhere, rose the black vultures on flapping wings: but itis no part of my purpose, reader, to weary you with these war-pictures, or describe disagreeable scenes. It is an odd interview which I had onmy return toward Petersburg that my memory recalls. It has naught to dowith my narrative--but then it will not fill more than a page!

I had encountered two wagons, and, riding, ahead of them, saw a courierof army head-quarters, whose name was Ashe. 

I saluted the smiling youth, in return for his own salute, and said:--

"Where have you been, Ashe?"

"To Sussex, colonel, on a foraging expedition. "

"For the general?"

"And some of the staff, colonel. "

Ashe smiled; we rode on together. 

"How did you come to be a forager, Ashe?" I said. 

"Well this was the way of it, colonel, " he said. "I belonged to the oldStonewall brigade, but General Lee detailed me at the start of the warto shoe the head-quarters horses. It was old General Robert that sentme with these wagons. I was shoeing the general's gray, and had justpared the hind-hoof, when he sent for me. A man had started with thewagons, and had mired in the field right by head-quarters. So oldGeneral Robert says, says he, 'Ashe, you can get them out. ' I says, 'General, I think I can, if you'll give me a canteen full of yourFrench brandy for the boys. ' He laughed at that, and I says, 'General, I have been with you three years, and if in that time you have everseen me out of the way, I hope you will tell me so. ' 'No, Ashe, ' sayshe, 'I have not, and you shall have the brandy. ' And his black fellowwent into the closet and drew me a canteen full; for you see, colonel, old General Robert always keeps a demijohn full, and carries it aboutin his old black spring wagon, to give to the wounded soldiers--hedon't drink himself. Well, I got the brandy, and set the boys to work, building a road with pine saplings, and got the wagons out! From thattime to this, I have been going with them, colonel, and sometimes somevery curious things have happened. "

I assumed that inquiring expression of countenance dear tostory-tellers. Ashe saw it, and smiled. 

"Last fall, colonel, " he said, "I was down on the Blackwater, foragingwith my wagons, for old General Robert, when a squadron of Yankeescrossed in the ferryboat, and caught me. I did not try to get off, andthe colonel says, says he, 'Who are _you?_' I told him I was onlyforaging with General Lee's head-quarters teams, to get something forthe old general to eat, as nothing could be bought in Petersburg; and, says I, 'I have long been looking to be captured, and now the time hascome. ' As I was talking, I saw an uncle of mine among the Yankees, andsays he, 'Ashe, what are you doing here?' 'The same you are doingthere, ' I says; and I asked the colonel just to let me off this time, and I would try and keep out of their way hereafter. He asked me, WouldI come down there any more? And I told him I didn't know--I would haveto go where I was ordered. 'Well, ' says he, 'you can't beg off. ' But Isays, 'step here a minute, colonel, ' and I took him to the wagon, andoffered him my canteen of brandy. He took three or four good drinks, and then he says, says he, 'That's all I want! You can go on with yourwagons. ' And I tell you I put out quick, colonel, and never lookedbehind me till I got back to Petersburg?"[1]

[Footnote 1: In the words of the narrator. ]

I have attempted to recall here, reader, the few gleams of sunshine, the rare moments of laughter, which I enjoyed in those months of thewinter of 1864-'5. 

I shrink from dwelling on the events of that dreary epoch. Every day Ilost some friend. One day it was the brave John Pegram, whom I hadknown and loved from his childhood; the next day it was some other, whose disappearance left a gap in my life which nothing thenceforthcould fill. I pass over all that. Why recall more of the desolateepoch than is necessary?

For the rest that is only a momentary laugh that I have indulged in. Events draw near, at the memory of which you sigh--or even groanperhaps--to-day, when three years have passed. 

For this page is written on the morning of April 8, 1868. 

This day, three years ago, Lee was staggering on in sight ofAppomattox. 

X. 

AEGRI SOMNIA. --MARCH, 1865. 

These letters and figures arouse terrible memories--do they not, reader? You shudder as you return in thought to that epoch, providedalways that you then wore the gray, and not the blue. If you wore theblue, you perhaps laugh. 

The South had reached, in this month of March, one of those periodswhen the most hopeful can see, through the black darkness, no singleray of light. Throughout the winter, the government had made unceasingefforts to bring out the resources of the country--efforts honest anduntiring, if not always judicious--but as the days, and weeks, andmonths wore on, it became more and more evident that the hours of theConfederacy were numbered. The project of employing negro troops, whichCongress long opposed, had been adopted at last, but only in time to betoo late. The peace commissioners had held their interview withLincoln, but effected nothing. The enemy continually advanced towardthe achievement of their end. Sherman had safely made his famous "marchto the sea"--Savannah and Charleston had fallen--the western army wasabout to unite with the army of Grant at Petersburg. There the greatgame went on, but the end was near. Lee had attempted, late inFebruary, to evacuate his lines, but was overruled. His army wasreduced to about forty thousand, while Grant's numbered about onehundred and fifty thousand. The Confederate troops were almost naked, and had scarce food enough to sustain life. They fought still, in thetrenches, along the great line of works, but it was plain, as Lee said, that the line was stretched so far, that a very little more would snapit. 

That line extended from the Williamsburg road, east of Richmond to FiveForks, west of Petersburg--a distance of nearly fifty miles. GraduallyGrant had pushed westward, until his grasp was now very nearly upon theSouthside road. Lee had extended his own thin line to still confronthim. The White Oak road, beyond the Rowanty, had been defended by heavyworks. The hill above Burgess's bristled with batteries. The extremeright of the Confederate line rested in the vicinity of Five Forks. Beyond that it could not be extended. Already it began to crack. Alongthe works stretching from east to west, there was scarce a soldierevery ten yards. Grant was only prevented from bursting through by themasterly handling of Lee's troops--the rapid concentration of masses atthe points which he threatened. The cavalry was almost paralyzed. Thedestruction of the Weldon road southward to Hicksford, in December, hadbeen a death-blow nearly, to that arm of the service. The Confederatecavalry had depended upon it, hauling their forage from Stony CreekStation. Now they had been compelled to go south to Hicksford, thenearest point, fifty miles from Petersburg. The consequence was thatLee's right was almost undefended by cavalry. Grant's horsemen couldpenetrate, almost unchecked, to the Danville and Southside railroads. The marvel was, not that this was effected at the end of March, butthat it was not effected a month sooner. But I anticipate. 

To glance, for an instant before proceeding, at the condition of thecountry. It had reached the last point of depression, and was yieldingto despair. The government was enormously unpopular--mismanagement hadceased to attract attention. The press roared in vain. The _Enquirer_menaced the members of Congress from the Gulf States. The _Examiner_urged that the members of the Virginia Legislature, to be elected inthe spring, should be "clothed with the state sovereignty, " to act forVirginia! Thus the executive and legislative were both attacked. Thepeople said, "Make General Lee dictator. " And General ----- wrote andprinted that, in such an event, he "had the dagger of Brutus" for Lee. Thus all things were in confusion. The currency was nothing butpaper--it was a melancholy farce to call it money. The Confederate notewas popularly regarded as worth little more than the paper upon whichit was printed. Fathers of families went to market and paid hundreds ofdollars for the few pounds of meat which their households required eachday. Officers were forced to pay one thousand dollars for their boots. Old saddle-bags were cut up, and the hides of dead horses carried off, to manufacture into shoes. Uniform coats were no longer procurable--thegovernment had to supply them gratis, even to field officers. Leesubsisted, like his soldiers, on a little grease and corn bread. Officers travelling on duty, carried in their saddle-pockets bits ofbacon and stale bread, for the country could not supply them. In thehomes of the land once overflowing with plenty, it was a question eachday where food could be procured. The government had impressed everyparticle, except just sufficient to keep the inmates alive. What thecommissaries had left, the "Yankee cavalry" took. A lady of Goochlandsaid to a Federal officer, "General, I can understand why you destroyrailroads and bridges, but why do you burn mills, and the houses overwomen and children?" The officer bowed, and replied, "Madam, yoursoldiers are so brave that we can't beat you; and we are trying to_starve you_!"

The interior of these homes of the country was a touching spectacle. The women were making every sacrifice. Delicate hands performed dutieswhich had always fallen to menials. The servants had gone to the enemy, and aristocratic young women cooked, washed, swept, and drudged--acharming spectacle perhaps to the enemy, who hated the "aristocracy, "but woeful to fathers, and sons, and brothers, when they came homesick, or wounded. Clothes had long grown shabby, and were turned andmended. Exquisite beauty was decked in rags. A faded calico was atreasure. The gray-haired gentleman, who had always worn broadcloth, was content with patched homespun. It was not of these things that theywere thinking, however. Dress had not made those seigneurs anddames--nor could the want of it hide their dignity. The father, andcare-worn wife, and daughter, and sister, were thinking of otherthings. The only son was fighting beside Lee--dying yonder, in thetrenches. He was only a "poor private, " clad in rags and carrying amusket--but he was the last of a long line, perhaps, of men who hadbuilt up Virginia and the Federal government which he was fighting--hewas "only a private, " but his blood was illustrious; more than all, hewas the treasure of the gray-haired father and mother; the head of thehouse in the future; if he fell, the house would fall with him--and itwas nearly certain that he would fall!

So they mourned, and looked fearfully to the coming hours, in town andcountry. In the old homesteads--poverty and despair. In thecities--wasting cares and sinking hearts. More than ever before, allthe vile classes of society rioted and held sway. The forestallers andengrossers drove a busy trade. They seemed to feel that their "time wasshort"--that the night was coming, in which not even rascals couldwork! Supplies were hoarded, and doled out at famine prices to thefamine-stricken community; not supplies of luxuries, but of thecommonest necessaries of life. The portly extortioner did not invitecustom, either. Once he had bowed and smirked behind his counter when apurchaser entered. Now, he turned his back coldly, went on reading hisnewspaper, scarce replied to the words addressed to him, and threw hisgoods on the counter with the air of one reluctantly conferring afavor. Foreboding had entered even the hearts of the forestaller andextortioner. They had sold their souls for gain, and that gain wasturning to dross. As at the wave of a magician's wand, their crisp new"Confederate notes" had become rags. The biter was bit. His gains wereto count for nothing. Extortioner and victim were soon to be strippedequally naked--the cold blast of ruin was to freeze both alike. Thus, all things hastened toward the inevitable catastrophe. Brave hearts didnot shrink, but they saw ruin striding on. Every thing crumbled--theConfederacy was staggering and gasping in the death agony. Day by daythe cause was slowly, but certainly, being lost. Children cried aloudfor bread--women moaned, and knelt, and prayed. Their last hope wasleaving them. Lee's army was starving and dying. Hour by hour, nearerand nearer came the roar of the gulf of destruction. A sort of stupordescended. The country--prostrate and writhing--tried to rise, butcould not. The government knew not where to turn, or what course topursue. Grant was growing in strength hourly. Lee's little force wasdwindling. Sherman was streaming through South Carolina. Grant wasreaching out toward Five Forks. All-destroying war grinnedhideously--on all sides stared gaunt Famine. The air jarred with thethunder of cannon. The days and nights blazed, and were full of wildcries--of shouts, groans, and reverberations. The ground shook--thegrave yawned--the black cloud slowly drew on; that cloud from which thethunderbolt was about to fall. 

How to describe in a volume like this, now near its end, that terriblestate of coma--that approaching cataclysm, in which all things, social, civil, and military were about to disappear! The whole fabric ofsociety was going to pieces; every hour flamed with battles; tragicevents jostled each other; blood gushed; a people were wailing; avictorious enemy were rushing on; the whole continent trembled; Lee wasbeing swept away, in spite of every effort which he made to steady hisfeet--and that torrent was going to engulf a whole nation!

All this I am to describe in the last few pages of this volume! Thetask is far beyond my strength. In the future, some writer maydelineate that hideous dream--to do so to-day, in this year 1868, wouldtear the stoutest heart. 

For myself, I do not attempt it. Were I able to paint the picture, there would be no space. My memoir is nearly ended. The threads of thewoof are nearly spun out, and the loom is going to stop. Death standsready with his shears to cut the ravelled thread, knit up the seam, andput his red label on the fabric!

XI. 

I VISIT GENERAL FITZHUGH LEE. 

The end of March, 1865, was approaching when I set out on what was toprove my last tour of duty amid the pine woods of Dinwiddie. 

It was a relief to be back in the army; to see brave faces and smilesaround me, instead of gloomy eyes and careworn cheeks, as in the city. I passed along the Boydton road almost gayly; crossed the Rowanty atBurgess's, and went on by General Lee's powerful works covering theWhite Oak road, beyond. Soon I was approaching Dinwiddie Court-House, in the vicinity of which was encamped our small force of starved andbroken-down cavalry. 

Hampton had gone to meet Sherman, and the cavalry was commanded now byGeneral Fitzhugh Lee, who had recovered from his severe wound receivedat Winchester. I was greeted by this brave soldier and accomplishedgentleman as warmly as I could have desired--for "General Fitz, " as wealways called him at Stuart's head-quarters, was the soul of good humorand good fellowship. You have seen him, have you not, reader--whetheryou wore gray or blue--fighting beside him, or meeting him in battle?You recall the open and manly features, the frank and soldierly glanceof the eye, the long beard and heavy mustache, almost always curlingwith laughter? You remember the mirthful voice, the quick jest, thetone of badinage--that joyful and brave air which said, "as long aslife lasts there is hope!" You have not forgotten this gay cavalier, the brother-in-arms of Stuart; this born cavalryman, with his love ofadventure, his rollicking mirth, his familiar greeting of high and low, his charming abandon and ever-ready laughter. That was the character ofthe _individual_--of "Fitz Lee, " the good companion. Thecommander-in-chief has defined for all, the traits of Major-GeneralFitzhugh Lee. It was General R. E. Lee who wrote him in 1863, "Youradmirable conduct, devotion to the cause of your country, and devotionto duty, fill me with pleasure. I hope you will soon see her effortsfor independence crowned with success, and long live to enjoy theaffection and gratitude of your country. "

These few lines were worth fighting hard for--were they not? All thingschange; many things fail. Chaos or monarchy may come, but the goodopinion of Lee will survive all!

I talked with General Fitz Lee for an hour nearly, recalling the olddays with Stuart, who had loved and confided in him more than in anyother living man. It was a beautiful friendship, indeed, and eachunderstood the value of the other as man and soldier. Stuart is dead, and can not give his testimony; but General Fitz Lee is alive, and cangive his. Here and there a voice still denies Stuart's genius as acommander. Ask his friend who survives; and if tears do not choke thevoice, you will learn the real rank of Stuart!

But I can not linger on these scenes. The narrative draws on. 

I mounted my horse, after shaking hands with General Fitz Lee and hisbrave staff, and, for the first time, remembered to ask, "Where was TomHerbert?"

At that question, a beaming smile came to every countenance. 

"Done for!" said one. 

"Captured!" laughed another. 

"Demoralized, subjugated, and negotiating with the enemy!" said athird. 

"Well, where is the place of meeting--where are the terms beingarranged?" I said. 

"At a place called Disaways, on the lower Rowanty!"

"Good! I know the road there, " I said. 

And with a laugh, which the general and his gay cavaliers echoed, Itouched my gray with the spur, and set out toward the south. 

XII. 

BY A FIRE IN THE WOODS. 

I pushed on, having resolved, after finishing my duties, to visitDisaways. 

Soon Dinwiddie Court-House came in sight. I entered the small village, and looked attentively--as I had done on more than one occasionbefore--at the locality which General Davenant's narrative hadsurrounded with so strange an interest. There was the old tavern, withits long portico, where Darke had held his orgies, and from which hehad set forth on his errand of robbery and murder. There was the countyjail, in which General Davenant had insisted upon being confined, andwhere so many friends had visited him. There was the old court-house, in which he had been tried for the murder of George Conway; and Ifancied I could distinguish upon one of the shutters, the broken boltwhich Darke had forced, more than ten years before, in order to purlointhe knife with which the crime had been committed. 

For some miles, that tragic story absorbed me, banishing all otherreflections. That was surely the strangest of histories!--and the dramahad by no means reached its denouement. Between the first and last acts"an interval of ten years is supposed to pass. " There was the stagedirection! Darke was still alive, active, dangerous, bent on mischief. He had an able coadjutress in his female ally. That singular woman, with whom his life was so closely connected, was in prison, it wastrue, but the Confederate authorities might release her; she might, atany moment, recommence her _diablerie_. Had she found that paper--orhad Mohun found it? In any event, she was dangerous--more so, even, than her male companion--that worthy whom I might meet at every turn inthe road--that prince of surprises and tragic "appearances!"

"Decidedly, these are curiosities, this man and this woman!" I said;"they are two bottomless pits of daring and depravity. Mohun hasescaped them heretofore, but now, when the enemy seem driving us, andsweeping every thing before them, will not Darke and madam attain theirvengeance, and come out winners in the struggle?"

With that reflection, I dismissed the subject, and pushed on, over thenarrow and winding roads, to make my inspections. 

The day was cold and brilliant; the winds cut the face; and I rode onsteadily, thinking of many things. Then the desire to smoke seized uponme. General Fitzhugh Lee had given me some excellent cigars, capturedfrom the enemy, and I looked around to find some house where I couldlight my cigar. None appeared; but at two hundred yards from the road, in a hidden hollow, I thought I perceived the glimmer of afire--probably made by some straggler. I rode toward it, descended intothe hollow, approached the fire, beside which crouched a figure, wrapped in an overcoat. The figure raised its head--and I recognizedNighthawk. 

He rose and smiled benignantly, as he shook hands with me. 

"An unexpected meeting, Nighthawk, " I said, laughing. "What on earthmakes you come out and camp in the woods?"

"A little fancy, colonel; you know I am eccentric. I like this way ofliving, from having scouted so much--but I came here with an object!"

"What?"

"To be private. I thought my fire could not be seen from the road. "

"Why should it not be?"

"Well, perhaps I exaggerate danger. But I am on an important scoutingexpedition--wanted to reflect, and not be seen--I am going, to-night, through the lines on a little affair of which you know something. "

"Ah, what do you refer to?"

"That paper, " said Nighthawk, succinctly. "It is in the hands ofAlibi--there is a Yankee picket at his house--but I am going to seehim, and force him to surrender it. "

"Is it possible he has it! Do you know that?"

"Strangely enough, colonel. Do you remember that woman, Amanda?"

"Perfectly. I visited her with Mohun. "

"He told me of your visit. Well, you no doubt remember also, colonel, that he offered her a large sum to discover the paper--that she offeredto try and find it, or give him a clue to its whereabouts--he was toreturn in ten days, and hear her report. "

"Yes, " I said. 

"Well, he returned, colonel, but Amanda could tell him nothing--whichyou no doubt have heard. "

"Yes, from him. "

"I have been more successful, at last, in dealing with this strangewoman. I do not know if she is a witch or an epileptic, or what--butshe has convinced me that Alibi has the paper we want. "

And Nighthawk proceeded to explain. It was an exceedingly curiousexplanation. Amanda had first demanded of him a statement of all thefacts. He had thereupon informed her of the appointment which he hadmade with Swartz in Richmond, to meet him three days afterward at thehouse of Alibi--of his detention by the pickets, so that he had beenunable to keep the appointment--Alibi's statement when he saw him, thatSwartz had not been to his house--and Swartz's confinement in thelonely house, ending in his murder by Darke. That was all he knew, hesaid--the paper was gone--where was it?

"At Mr. Alibi's, " Amanda had replied; "I only asked you this, Mr. Nighthawk, to satisfy myself that my visions were true. I _saw_ poorMr. Swartz go to Mr. Alibi's, and ask for you, on the day youappointed. When he was told that you had not come, he seemed verylow-spirited, and told Mr. Alibi that he _must_ see you, to give you apaper. His life was threatened, he said, on account of that paper. Anofficer and a lady had discovered that he had that paper--it was asmuch as his life was worth to keep it on his person--if Mr. Alibi wouldtake it, and for old times' sake, put it away until _he_ came back, hewould pay him as much gold as he could hold in both hands. Then he gavethe paper to Mr. Alibi, and went away, telling him to say nothing ofit. "

"I then asked her, " continued Nighthawk, "where the paper could befound. She replied that Alibi always carried it on his person. That wasa few days ago. I am going to-night to see him, and recover the paper. "

I had listened to this narrative with strange interest. This singularwoman was a curious problem. Were her _visions_ really such as shedescribed them? Or did she only "put this and that together, " as thephrase is, and by her marvellous acumen, sharpened possibly by disease, arrive at results which defied the most penetrating glance of the sane?I knew not--but reflecting often upon this subject since, have finallycome to the latter conclusion, as the more philosophic of the two. Epilepsy is insanity of mind and body; and one of the most infalliblecharacteristics of insanity is cunning--which is only another word fordiseased and abnormal activity of brain. Amanda arrived at strangeresults, but I think she attained them by disease. Her acumen in thisaffair could be thus explained, almost wholly. As to the truth of theexplanation, I felt a singular presentiment that it was correct. 

"Well, that is curious enough, " I said, "and I wish you success, Nighthawk. What of our other female friend--the fair lady you arrestedin Richmond?"

"She is safe enough, colonel, and I don't think she will trouble ussoon. "

"I am glad of it. I think her the more dangerous of _the two_. "

"And I agree with you. "

"When did you see Darke, last?"

"I have not met him for three months. "

"He can not be dead?"

"He may be wounded. "

"And Mohun--is he at his head-quarters?"

Nighthawk smiled. 

"He is at Five Forks, to-day, colonel. "

"And Willie Davenant?"

"In Richmond, on business at the war department. "

"Humph! So I shall see neither--but another time. "

And mounting my horse, I added:--

"Good luck, Nighthawk. "

"Thank you, colonel--the same to you. "

And leaving Nighthawk crouching down beside his fire, I rode on. 

XIII. 

DRINKING TEA UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 

Pushing on, I reached the cavalry and horse artillery, which I was soondone with--you see I dismiss "official" matters with commendablerapidity, reader--then I went on across Roney's bridge and along the"Flat Foot road" toward Disaways. 

Following, amid a great wind and falling boughs, this winding road, stretching onward between its lofty walls of pines--a wild and desertedtrack, outside of the pickets, and completely untravelled. I recrossedStony Creek, rode on over a bridle-path, and came just at sunset insight of the hill upon which Disaways raised its ancient gables, nearthe Rowanty. 

My horse neighed as he cantered up, and passed under the great oaks. Heseemed to feel that this was something like home to him now, and thathis day's march was over. In fact, all the months of winter I hadregularly stopped at Disaways on my way to the cavalry at Hicksford. Myfriends had pathetically remonstrated--"there was not a single picketon the Rowanty in front of me, there, and I would certainly be capturedsome day, "--but I had persisted in stopping there still, on every tourwhich I made. How to resist the temptation! Disaways was just thirtymiles from Petersburg. I always reached its vicinity as night fell, onthe dark winter days. I was always cold, hungry, weary, depressed bythe dull gray skies; and I knew what awaited me there--a blazing fire, a good supper, and Katy's smiles brighter than sunshine! She always ranto greet me, with both hands extended. Her blue eyes danced with joy, her rosy cheeks glowed, her lips laughed, and were like carnations, hergolden ringlets fell in a shower over her white and delicate temples, or were blown back in ripples by the wintry wind. 

Could you have resisted that, my dear reader? Would you have shrunkfrom Yankee scouting parties? For my part I thought I would risk it. Imight be surprised and captured at any moment--the territory was opento the enemy--but I would have had a charming evening, would have beencheered by Katy's sunshine--while I was alive and free, I would havelived, and in a manner the most delightful!

Hitherto some angel had watched over me, and Disaways had beenunvisited by the enemy's scouting parties, without so much as a vedetteat the Halifax bridge, within half a mile. I had sat by the fire, eatencountless suppers, laughed and conversed with my good friends, sleptsoundly in a _real bed_, and gone on my way in the morning rejoicing. 

I had thus always escaped surprise. No enemy ever annoyed me. It wasthe old adage, however, of the pitcher that went to the well sooften!--but let me go on with my narrative. 

As my horse uttered his shrill neigh now, ringing through the Marchevening, the door opened and Katy ran out to greet me. She had neverlooked more beautiful, and I recall still, as though I had seen ityesterday, the charming smile on her red lips. The wind blew back herringlets till they resembled golden ripples--the rosy cheeks wereflushed--there madam! (I say this to some one who is leaning over myshoulder, and laughing) don't begrudge me these smiling memories! Katywas only my little niece as it were--she is married and far away now. Nay, Surry ought to love and be grateful to the little lady who tooksuch good care, in those grim days, of--your husband, madam!

Behind Katy appeared the faces of the excellent family, who cordiallygreeted me. Behind all appeared the blushing but dandified Tom Herbert. 

"Ah! there is a straggler!" I said. "Why don't you send him back to hiscommand, ladies? Every man should be at his post in this tryingmoment!"

"Oh, bother, my dear Surry! what a tongue you have!" exclaimed Tom. 

"I see General Fitz was right, or his staff rather, in what they toldme, Tom. "

"What did they tell you, my dear boy?"

"That you were demoralized and captured!"

Sweet smile on the faces of the family at these words!

"That you had acknowledged your weakness, seen that further resistancewas hopeless, and were already negotiating a surrender to the enemy. Well, Tom, what are the terms? Are they arranged?"

Suddenly I felt my hair pulled by an enemy from behind; and lookinground I saw Miss Katy passing by, with an immense appearance ofinnocence. Her face was blushing; her lips emitted a low laugh; andseeing that no one was looking at her, she raised her finger in silentmenace at me. 

This caused a diversion, and Tom was enabled to rally his forces. 

"My dear Surry, " he said, smiling, with his delightfully foppish air, "it always charms me to meet you, for you are always sparkling, brilliant, full of wit; which reminds me of the good old days withStuart! You have only one fault, my boy, you think yourself aphilosopher. Don't do that, I beg, Surry!--But what's the news fromPetersburg?"

I acquiesced in the change of topic, and gave Tom the news; but I waslooking at Katy. 

More than ever before I admired that little "bird of beauty, " flittingabout with charming grace, and an irresistible business air, to get memy supper, for the rest had just finished. This privilege she alwaysclaimed when I came to Disaways; fighting furiously, if the excellentlady of the manor attempted to supplant her. Looking at her, as she ranabout now, engaged in her most admirable occupation, I thought herlovelier than ever before--certainly than when talking in the woodswith Tom! You see she was getting my supper, reader!--and it seemed tobe a labor of love. The little fairy ran on her tiptoes from sideboardto table; spread a snowy napkin, and placed a gilt china plate upon it;made tea; covered the table with edibles; and placed beside my plate agreat goblet of yellow cream, of the consistency of syrup. Then shepoured out my tea, set my chair to the table, and came with courtesyand laughing ceremony, to offer me her arm, and lead me to my seat. 

Men are weak, worthy reader, and the most "romantic and poetical" of usall, have much of the animal in us. That is a mortifying confession. Iwas terribly hungry, and at that moment I think my attention was moreclosely riveted on the table, than even upon Miss Katy with her rosesand ringlets. 

I therefore unbuckled my sabre, placed the little hand on my arm, andwas about to proceed toward the table, when a shot, accompanied by ashout, was heard from the direction of the Rowanty. 

I went and buckled on my sword again. Then seeing Tom rise quickly--toget his horse ready, he said--I requested him to have my own resaddled, and returned to the table. 

I had just raised the cup of tea to my lips, amid warnings from thefamily, to take care or I would be captured, when a cavalryman gallopedup the hill, and stopped in front of the door. 

"Look out, the Yankees are coming!" he cried. 

I glanced through the window, and recognized a man of Mohun's command, who also recognized me. 

"How near are they?" I said, attempting to swallow the burning tea. 

"Not a quarter of a mile off, colonel!"

"That will give me time, " I said. 

And I applied myself again to the tea, which this time I poured outinto the saucer, in order to cool it. 

"Look out, colonel!" cried the man. 

"Where are they?"

"At the gate. "

I finished the tea, and the goblet of cream just as the manshouted:--

"Here they are, right on you, colonel!"

And I heard the sound of a galloping horse, accompanied by shots at theretreating cavalryman. 

I went quickly to the window. A column of Federal cavalry was rapidlyascending the hill. By the last beams of day I recognized Darke at thehead of the column; and by his side rode Mr. Alibi. I thought I couldsee that Darke was thin and very pale, but was not certain. The lightwas faint, and I had only one glance--discretion suggested a quickretreat. 

I just grazed capture--passing through the door, in rear of themansion, at the very moment when a number of the enemy, who had hastilydismounted, rushed in at the front door. 

Tom was mounted, and holding my horse, which the good boy had saddledwith his own hands. I leaped to saddle, and had scarcely done so, whena pistol bullet whizzed by my head. It had crashed through a pane ofthe window from within--and a loud shout followed. We had beenperceived. 

Under these circumstances, my dear reader, we always ran in the latewar. Some persons considered it disgraceful to run or dodge, but theywere civilians. 

"Don't run until you are obliged to, but then run like the ----!" saida hard-fighting general. 

And one day when a lady was telling General R. E. Lee, how a friend ofhers had dodged once, the general turned to the laughing officer, andsaid in his deep voice, "That's right captain, dodge all you can!"

I have often dodged, and more than once have--withdrawn rapidly. Onthis occasion, Tom and I thought that retreat was the wisest course. Ina moment we had disappeared in the woods, followed by pistol shots andsome of the enemy. 

They did not pursue us far. The Federal cavalry did not like theVirginia woods. 

In ten minutes their shots were no longer heard; their shouts diedaway; and returning on our steps, we came once more in sight ofDisaways and reconnoitred. 

The enemy were not visible, and riding up, we dismounted andentered. [1]

[Footnote 1: "I have taken up too much space with this trifle, " saidColonel Surry when I read this, "but that hot tea was a real cup oftea! I was really burned nearly to death, in attempting to swallow it!The dialogue with my friend, the cavalryman, was real; and it is justthese trifles which cling to the memory, obscuring the 'greaterevents!'"]

XIV. 

MR. ALIBI. 

The enemy had eaten up my supper! A glance at the table told the wholetragic history;--but the unnerved family were scarce in a condition tothink of my misfortune. 

The enemy had staid for a few moments only, but in that time the familyhad gathered important information of their intentions. They were goingto surprise and attack General Fitz Lee that night; and had not so muchas halted, as they passed the house, to gain a by-road beyond. Theywere commanded, the men said, by a General Darke, and guided by a manliving near Monk's Neck, whose name was Alibi. 

This information of the enemy's design banished all other thoughts frommy mind and Tom's. We ran to our horses--and I think I heard somethinglike a kiss, in the shadow of the porch, as Tom and Katy parted. 

We galloped into the woods, following a course parallel to that takenby the enemy's cavalry, and keeping as close to it as was safe. 

"A sudden parting between yourself and Katy, Tom!" I said, as wegalloped on. "A touching spectacle! When will you be married?"

"In a week or two--to answer seriously, old fellow, " responded Tom. 

"Is it possible!"

"Even so, my boy. "

"Here, at Disaways?"

"No, in Richmond. Katy's family are refugees there, now; and I wasgoing to escort her to Petersburg to-morrow, but for these rascals--andI will do it, yet. "

"Good! I hope the way will be clear then! Let us go on. There is notime to lose in order to warn General Fitz!"

We pushed on, following bridle-paths, and making toward DinwiddieCourt-House. Half an hour thus passed, and we were near the Roney'sBridge road, when, suddenly, the whole forest on our right blazed withshots. Loud shouts accompanied the firing. The woods crackled ashorsemen rushed through them. An obstinate fight was going on in thedarkness, between the Federal and Confederate cavalry. 

Plainly, the Confederates had not been surprised, and the dash and vimwith which they met the Federal onset, seemed to dishearten theirenemies. For fifteen minutes the combat continued with great fury, amidthe pines; the air was filled with quick spirts of flame, with theclash of sabres, with loud cheers and cries; then the wave of Federalhorsemen surged back toward the Rowanty; the Confederates pressed them, with cheer; and the affair terminated in a headlong pursuit. 

Tom and myself had gotten into the _mêlée_ early in the action, and myfeather had been cut out of my hat by a sabre stroke which a big blueworthy aimed at me. This was my only accident, however. In fifteenminutes I had the pleasure of seeing our friends run. 

I followed with the rest, for about a mile. Then I drew rein, andturned back--my horse was completely exhausted. I slowly returnedtoward Dinwiddie Court-House; hesitated for a moment whether I wouldlodge at the tavern; shook my head in a manner not complimentary to thehostelry; and set out to spend the night at "Five Forks. "

I did not know, until some days afterward, that a serious accident hadhappened to the worthy Mr. Alibi, guide and friend of General Darke. 

He had been struck by a bullet in the fight; had flapped his wings;cackled; tumbled from his horse; and expired. 

Nighthawk's visit thus went for nothing. 

Mr. Alibi was dead. 

XV. 

FROM FIVE FORKS TO PETERSBURG. 

I shall not dwell upon the evening and night spent at "FiveForks"--upon whose threshold I was met and cordially greeted by thegray-haired Judge Conway. 

In the great drawing-room I found the young ladies, who hastened toprocure me supper; and I still remember that waiter of every species ofedibles, --that smiling landscape above which rose the spire-like neckof a decanter! These incessant "bills of fare" will, I fear, revoltsome readers! But these are my memoirs; and _memoirs_ meanrecollections. I have forgotten a dozen battles, but still rememberthat decanter-phenomenon in March, 1865. I spent the evening incordial converse with the excellent Judge Conway and his daughters, andon the next morning set out on my return to Petersburg. Mohun had notbeen visible. At the first sound of the firing, he had mounted hishorse and departed at a gallop. 

So much for my visit to Five Forks. I pass thus rapidly over it, withreal regret--lamenting the want of space which compels me to do so. 

Do you love the queenly rose, and the modest lily of the valley, reader? I could have shown you those flowers, in Georgia and VirginiaConway. They were exquisitely cordial and high-bred--as was theirgray-haired father. They spoke, and moved, and looked, as only thehigh-bred can. Pardon that obsolete word, "high-bred, " so insulting inthe present epoch! I am only jesting when I seem to intimate that Iconsidered the stately old judge better than the black servant whowaited upon me at supper!

Of Mohun and Will Davenant, I had said nothing, in conversing with thesmiling young ladies. But I think Miss Georgia, stately and imposing asshe was, looked at me with a peculiar smile, which said, "You are _his_friend, and cannot be a mere ordinary acquaintance to _me_!"

And here I ought to inform the reader, that since that first visit ofmine to Five Forks, affairs had marched with the young lady and herfriend. Mohun and Miss Georgia were about to be married, and I was tobe the first groomsman. The woman-hating Benedict of the banks of theRappahannock had completely succumbed, and the satirical Beatrice hadalso lost all her wit. It died away in sighs, and gave place toreveries--those reveries which come to maidens when they are about toembark on the untried seas of matrimony. 

But I linger at Five Forks when great events are on the march. Biddingmy hospitable host and his charming daughters good morning, I mountedmy horse and set out over the White Oak road toward Petersburg. As Iapproached the Rowanty, I saw that the new defenses erected by Lee, were continuous and powerful. Long tiers of breastworks, and redoubtscrowning every eminence, showed very plainly the great importance whichLee attached to holding the position. 

In fact, this was the key to the Southside road. Here was to take placethe last great struggle. 

I rode on, in deep thought, but soon my reverie was banished. Just as Ireached the hill above Burgess's, who should I see coming from thedirection of the Court-House--but Tom Herbert and Katy Dare!

Katy Dare, on a little pony, with a riding skirt reaching nearly to theground!--with her trim little figure clearly outlined by thefabric--with a jaunty little riding hat balanced lightly upon herringlets--with her cheeks full of roses, her lips full of smiles, hereyes dancing like two blue waves, which the wind agitates!

Don't find fault with her, Mrs. Grundy, for having Tom only as anescort. Those were stern and troubled times; our poor girls werecompelled often to banish ceremony. Katy had only this means to getback to her family, and went with Tom as with her brother. 

She held out both hands to me, her eyes dancing. Three years havepassed since then, but if I were a painter, I could make her portrait, reproducing every detail! Nothing has escaped my memory; I still hearher voice; the sun of 1868, not of 1865, seems to shine on the rosycheeks framed by masses of golden ringlets!

I would like to record our talk as we rode on towardPetersburg--describe that ride--a charming episode, flashing like agleam of sunlight, amid the dark days, when the black clouds hadcovered the whole landscape. In this volume there is so much gloom!Suffering and death have met us so often! Can you wonder, my dearreader, that the historian of such an epoch longs to escape, when hecan, from the gloom of the tragedy, and paint those scenes of comedywhich occasionally broke the monotonous drama? To write this book isnot agreeable to me. I wear out a part of my life in composing it. Tosum up, in cold historic generalities that great epoch would belittle--but to enter again into the hot atmosphere; to live once morethat life of the past; to feel the gloom, the suspense, the despair of1865 again--believe me, that is no trifle! It wears away the nerves, and tears the heart. The cheek becomes pale as the MS. Grows! Thesunshine is yonder, but you do not see it. The past banishes thepresent. Across the tranquil landscape of March, 1868, jars the cannon, and rushes the storm wind of March, 1865!

The cloud was black above, therefore, but Katy Dare made the worldbright with her own sunshine, that day. All the way to Petersburg, sheran on in the most charming prattle. The winding Boydton road, like thebanks of the lower Rowanty, was made vocal with her songs--the "Bird ofBeauty" and the whole repertoire. Nor was Tom Herbert backward inencouraging his companion's mirth. Tom was the soul of joy. He sang"Katy! Katy! don't marry any other!" with an unction which spoke in hisquick color, and "melting glances" as in the tones of his laughingvoice. Riding along the famous highway, upon which only a solitarycavalryman or a wagon occasionally appeared, the little maiden and herlover made the pine-woods ring with their songs, their jests, and theirlaughter!

It is good to be young and to love. Is there any thing more charming?For my part I think that the curly head holds the most wisdom! Tell mewhich was the happier--the gray-haired general yonder, oppressed bycare, or the laughing youth and maiden? It is true there is somethingnobler, however, than youth, and joy, and love. It is to know that youare doing your duty--to bear up, like Atlas, a whole world upon yourshoulders--to feel that, if you fall, the whole world will shake--andthat history will place your name beside that of Washington!

As the sun began to decline, we rode into Petersburg, and bidding Katyand Tom adieu, I returned to my Cedars. 

I had taken my last ride in the "low grounds" of the county ofDinwiddie; I was never more to see Disaways, unless something carriesme thither in the future. To those hours spent in the old mansion, andwith my comrades, near it, I look back now with delight. Days andnights on the Rowanty! how you come back to me in dreams! Happy hoursat Disaways, with the cavalry, with the horse artillery! you live stillin my memory, and you will live there always! Katy Dare runs to greetme again as in the past--again her blue eyes dance, and the happy windsare blowing her bright curls into ripples! She smiles upon me still--asin that "winter of discontent. " Her cheerful voice again sounds. Hersmall hands are held out to me. All things go--nothing lingers--butthose days on the Rowanty, amid the sunset gilded pines, come back withall their tints, and are fadeless in my memory. 

Going back thus in thought, to that winter of 1864, I recall thefriendly faces of Katy, and all my old comrades--I hear their laughteragain, touch their brave hands once more, and salute them, wishing themlong life and happiness. 

"Farewell!" I murmur, "Rowanty, and Sappony, and Disaways! _Bonnefortune!_ old companions, little maiden, and kind friends all! It hasnot been time lost to gather together my recollections--to live againin the past, --to catch the aroma of those hours when kindness smoothedthe front of war! We no longer wear the gray--my mustache only shows it_now_! but, thank heaven! many things in memory survive. I think ofthese--of the old comrades, the old times. Health and happiness attendyou on your way through life, comrades! May the silver spare the goldof your clustering ringlets, Katy! Joy and gladness follow your steps!all friendly stars shine on you! Wherever you are, old friends, may akind heaven send you its blessing!"

XVI. 

LEE'S LAST GREAT BLOW. 

I reached Petersburg on the evening of March 24, 1865. 

The ride was a gay comedy--but a tragedy was about to follow it. On thevery next morning, in the gray March dawn, Lee was going to strike hislast great blow at Grant. A column under Gordon, that brave of braves, was going to be hurled headlong against Hare's Hill, the enemy'scentre, just below Petersburg. 

That design was evidently the result of supreme audacity, or ofdespair. In either case it indicated the terrible character of thecrisis. There could be no two opinions upon that point. Lee aimed atnothing less than to cut General Grant's army in two--to root himselfdoggedly in the very centre of his enemies, and to force General Grantto draw back the entire left wing of his army, or run the risk, byholding his position, to have it destroyed. 

Was Lee's motive to open the way for his retreat over the Boydton roadtoward Danville? I know not. Military critics say so, and it is certainthat, a month before, he had endeavored to retreat. The government hadchecked him, then, but now, that step was plainly the only one left. Hemight effect his retreat by forcing Grant to draw in his left wing forthe support of his centre. Lee could then retire from Hare's Hill; makea rapid march westward; push for North Carolina; and joining his forceswith those of Johnston, continue the war in the Gulf States, fallingback if necessary to Texas. 

I have always thought that this was his design, but I was much tooobscure a personage to gain any personal knowledge of his plans. It iscertain that he designed one of two things--either to open the path forhis retreat, or to relieve his right wing toward Five Forks, which wasbending under the immense pressure upon it. Either motive was that of agood soldier--and what seemed wild audacity was sound common sense. 

For the rest, there was little else to do. Some change in the aspect ofthings was vitally necessary. Grant had been re-enforced by a largeportion of Sherman's army, and the Federal troops in front of Lee nownumbered about one hundred and fifty thousand. As Lee's force, alltold, on his entire line, was only about forty thousand, the rupture ofthe far-stretching defences, at some point, seemed only a question oftime. And scarcely that. Rather, a question of the moment selected byGrant for his great blow. 

At the end of March the hour of decisive struggle was plainly at hand. The wind had dried the roads; artillery could move; the Federal leftwas nearly in sight of the Southside road; one spring, and GeneralGrant could lay hold on that great war-artery, and then nothing wouldbe left to Lee but retreat or surrender. 

Such was the condition of things at Petersburg, in these last days ofMarch. Grant was ready with his one hundred and fifty thousand infantryto strike Lee's forty thousand. Sheridan was ready with his twelvethousand superbly mounted cavalry, to hurl himself against the twothousand half-armed horsemen, on starved and broken-down animals, undercommand of General Fitz Lee. A child could have told the result. Theidea of resistance, with any hope, in the defences, any longer, was achimera. Lee was a great soldier--history contains few greater. Thearmy of Northern Virginia was brave--the annals of the world show nonebraver. But there was one thing which neither great generalship, orsupreme courage could effect. Opposed by one hundred and fifty thousandwell-fed troops, with every munition of war, forty thousand starvingmen, defending a line of forty miles, must in the end meet capture ordestruction. 

The country did not see it, but General Lee did. The civilians--thebrave ones--had a superstitious confidence in the great commander andhis old army. It had repulsed the enemy so uninterruptedly, that theunskilled people believed it invincible. Lee had foiled Grant soregularly that he was looked upon as the very God of Victory. Defeatcould not come to him. Glory would ever follow his steps. On thebanners of the old army of Northern Virginia, led by Lee, the eagles ofvictory would still, perch, screaming defiance, and untamed to the end. 

While the civilians were saying this, Lee was preparing to retreat. Nothing blinded that clear vision--the eyes of the great chief piercedevery mist. He saw the blow coming--the shadow of the Grant hammer asthe weapon was lifted, ran before--on the 25th of March Lee's rapiermade it last lunge. But when his adversary recoiled to avoid it, it wasLee who was going to retreat. 

That lunge was sudden and terrible--if it did not accomplish itsobject. In the dark March morning, Gordon, "The Bayard of the army, "advanced with three thousand men across the abatis in front of Hare'sHill. 

What followed was a fierce tragedy, as brief and deadly as the fall ofa thunder-bolt. 

Gordon rushed at the head of his column over the space which separatedthe lines; stormed the Federal defences at the point of the bayonet;seized on Fort Steadman, a powerful work, and the batteries surroundingit, then as the light broadened in the East, he looked back forre-enforcements. None came--he was holding the centre of Grant's armywith three thousand men. What he had won was by sheer audacity--theenemy had been surprised, and seemed laboring under a species ofstupor; if not supported, and supported at once, he was gone!

An hour afterward, Gordon was returning, shattered and bleeding atevery pore. The enemy had suddenly come to their senses after thestunning blow. From the forts and redoubts crowning every surroundinghill issued the thunder. Cannon glared, shell crashed, musketry rolledin long fusillade, on three sides of the devoted Confederates. Huddledin the trenches they were torn to pieces by a tempest of shell andbullets. 

As the light broadened, the hills swarmed with blue masses hasteningtoward the scene of the combat, to punish the daring assailants. Grant's army was closing in around the little band of Gordon. No helpcame to them, they were being butchered; to stay longer there was meresuicide, and the few who could do so, retreated to the Confederatelines. 

They were few indeed. Of the splendid assaulting column, led by Gordon, more than two thousand were killed or captured. He had split thestubborn trunk, but it was the trunk which now held the wedge in itsobdurate jaws. 

Gordon retreated with his bleeding handful--it was the second or thirdtime that this king of battle had nearly accomplished impossibilitiesby the magic of his genius. 

He could do only what was possible. To stay yonder was impossible. Andthe scarred veteran of thirty-three years, came back pale and indespair. 

Lee had struck his last great blow, and it had failed. 

XVII. 

THE WRESTLE FOR THE WHITE OAK ROAD. 

It is unsafe to wound the wild-boar, unless the wound be mortal. Tochange the figure, Grant had parried the almost mortal thrust of Lee;and now, with the famous hammer lifted and whirled aloft, aimed thefinal and decisive blow at the crest of his great adversary. 

On Wednesday, March 29th, the Federal commander commenced the generalmovement, which had for its object the destruction of Lee's right wing, and the occupation of the Southside road. 

Before dawn, the masses of blue infantry began to move westward acrossthe Rowanty, laying down bridges over the watercourses, as the columnspassed on; and on the night of the same day, the corps of Humphreys andWarren were near Dinwiddie Court-House with their extreme rightguarded, by Sheridan's cavalry. 

Such was the work of Wednesday. The great moment had evidently arrived. Lee penetrated at a single glance the whole design of his adversary;collected about fifteen thousand men, nearly half his army, and leavingLongstreet north of the James, and only a skirmish line aroundPetersburg, marched westward, beyond the Rowanty, to meet the enemy onthe White Oak road. 

On the morning of the 30th, all was ready for General Grant's greatblow. But the elements were hostile to the Federal side. In the night, a heavy rain had fallen. All day on the 30th, it continued to rain, andmilitary movements were impossible. The two great opponents looked ateach other, --lines drawn up for the decisive struggle. 

On the 31st, Grant was about to open the attack on Lee, when thatcommander saved him the trouble. The Virginian seemed resolved to diein harness, and advancing. 

The corps of Humphreys and Warren had advanced from DinwiddieCourt-House toward the Southside road, and Warren was in sight of theWhite Oak road, when, suddenly, Lee hurled a column against him, anddrove him back. The Confederates followed with wild cheers, endeavoringto turn the enemy's left, and finish them. But the attempt was in vain. Federal re-enforcements arrived. Lee found his own flank exposed, andfell back doggedly to the White Oak road again, having given the enemya great scare, but effecting nothing. 

As he retired, intelligence reached him that Sheridan's cavalry wereadvancing upon Five Forks. That position was the key of the wholesurrounding country. If Sheridan seized and occupied this great_carrefour_, Lee's right was turned. 

A column was sent without delay, and reached the spot to find Sheridanin possession of the place. Short work was made of him. Falling uponthe Federal cavalry, Pickett and Fitzhugh Lee drove them back uponDinwiddie--pushed rapidly after them--and, but for the terrible swamp, into which the late rains had converted the low grounds, would havefollowed them to the Court-House, and gotten in rear of the left wingof the Federal army. 

That was the turning point. If Pickett and Fitz Lee had reachedDinwiddie court-house, and attacked in the enemy's rear, while Leeassailed them in front, it is difficult to believe that the battlewould not have resulted in a Confederate victory. 

Such was the alarm of General Grant at the new aspect of affairs, thatlate at night he withdrew Warren, and ordered him to hurry towardDinwiddie Court-House, to succor Sheridan in his hour of need. Then ifour flanking column could have pushed on--if Lee had then advanced--butall this is idle, reader. Providence had decreed otherwise. Theflanking column could not advance--at ten at night it was withdrawn byLee--midnight found the two armies resting on their arms, awaiting themorning of the first of April. 

XVIII. 

THE BRIDEGROOM. 

I have endeavored to present a rapid, but accurate summary of the greatevents which took place on the lines around Petersburg, from themorning of the 29th of March, when General Grant began his generalmovement, to the night of the 3lst, when he confronted Lee on the WhiteOak road, ready, after a day of incessant combat, which had decidedlittle, to renew the struggle on the next morning for the possession ofthe Southside road. 

This summary has been, of necessity, a brief and general one. For thisvolume has for its object, rather to narrate the fortunes of a set ofindividuals, than to record the history of an epoch, crowded withtragic scenes. I cannot here paint the great picture. The canvass andthe time are both wanting. The rapid sketch which I have given willpresent a sufficient outline. I return, now, to those personages whoselives I have tried to narrate, and who were destined to reach thecatastrophe in their private annals at the moment when the Confederacyreached its own. 

I shall, therefore, beg the reader to leave the Confederate forces atbay on the White Oak road--the flanking column under Pickett andJohnson falling back on Five Forks--and accompany me to the house ofthe same name, within a mile of the famous _carrefour_, where, on thenight of the 3lst of March, some singular scenes are to be enacted. 

It was the night fixed for Mohun's marriage. I had been requested toact as his first groomsman; and, chancing to encounter him during theday, he had informed me that he adhered to his design of being marriedin spite of every thing. 

When night came at last, on this day of battles, I was wearied out withthe incessant riding on staff duty; but I remembered my promise; againmounted my horse; and set out for "Five Forks, " where, in any event, Iwas sure of a warm welcome. 

Pushing on over the White Oak road, I turned southward at Five Forks, and riding on toward Judge Conway's, had just reached the road comingin from Dinwiddie Court-House, when I heard a cavalier approaching fromthat quarter, at a rapid gallop. 

He was darting by, toward Five Forks, when by the starlight Irecognized Mohun. 

"Halt!" I shouted. 

He knew my voice, and drew rein with an exclamation of pleasure. 

"Thanks, my dear old friend, " he said, grasping my hand. "I knew youwould not fail me. "

"Your wedding will take place, Mohun?"

"Yes, battle or no battle. "

"You are right. Life is uncertain. You will hear cannon instead ofmarriage-bells probably, at your nuptials--but that will be inspiring. What is the news from the Court-House?"

"Our infantry is falling back. "

"The condition of the roads stopped them?"

"Yes, it was impossible to get on; and they have been recalled by orderof General Lee. Listen! There is the column coming--they are fallingback to Five Forks, a mile north of Judge Conway's. "

In fact, as we rode on now, I heard the muffled tramp of a column, andthe rattle of artillery chains in the woods. 

"The enemy will follow, I suppose?"

"Not before morning, I hope. "

I smiled. 

"Meanwhile you are making good use of the time to get married. Whatwill you do with Miss Georgia?"

"You mean Mrs. Mohun, Surry!" he said, smiling. 

"Yes. "

"Well, she will be sent off--her father will take the whole family toPetersburg in the morning, to avoid the battle which will probably takeplace in this vicinity to-morrow. "

"You are right. I predict a thundering fight here, in the morning. "

"Which I hope I shall not balk in, my dear Surry, " said Mohun, smiling. 

"Is there any danger of that?"

"I really don't know. It is not good for a soldier to be too happy. Itmakes him shrink from bullets, and raises visions of a young widow, inmourning, bending over a tomb. "

"Pshaw! stop that folly!" I said. "Is it possible that a stout-heartedcavalier like General Mohun can indulge in such apprehensions--and at amoment as happy as this?"

I saw him smile sadly, in the dim starlight. "I am much changed, " hesaid, gently; "I no longer risk my life recklessly--trying to throw itaway. Once, as you know, Surry, I was a poor outcast, and my consciencewas burdened with a terrible crime. Life was little to me, then, and Iwould not have cared if a bullet cut it short. I was reckless, desperate, and had no hope. Now, I have hope--and a great deal morethan all--I have happiness. My hands are not stained with the blood ofthat man and woman--I have the love of a pure girl who is going to giveher life to me--and I have prayed to God for pardon, and been pardoned, I feel--else that All-merciful Being would not make my poor life brightagain! But let me stop this talk! A strange conversation for a weddingnight! Let me say again, however, my dear Surry, that I have noenmities now. I no longer hate _that man_, and would not harm _thatwoman_ for aught on earth. Let them go--they are indifferent to me. Iappeal to God to witness the purity of my sentiments, and the sinceritywith which I have prayed, 'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgivethose who have trespassed against us!'"

I reached out my hand in the darkness, and pressed that of the speaker. 

"You are right, Mohun--there is something greater, more noble, thanvengeance--it is forgiveness. More than ever, I can say now of you, what I said after hearing your history that night. "

"What was that, old friend?"

"That you were no longer the bitter misanthrope, hating your species, and snarling at all things--no longer the gay cavalier rushing tobattle as a pastime--that you were altered, entirely changed, rather--that your character was elevated and purified--and that now, you were a patriotic soldier, fit to live or die with Lee!"

"Would that I were!" he murmured, letting his head fall upon hisbreast. 

"That is much to say of any man; but I will add more. You are worthy ofher--the blossom of Five Forks!"

As I uttered these words, we reached the gate. 

A moment afterward we had entered the grounds, tethered our horses, andwere hastening to the house. 

XIX. 

THE CEREMONY. 

On the threshold we were met by Judge Conway, with a bow and a smile. 

He pressed our hands cordially, but with a covert sadness, which Isuppose comes to the heart of every father who is about to part with abeloved daughter--to give up his place as it were to another--and thenwe entered the great drawing-room where a gentleman in a white cravatand black coat awaited us. No other persons were visible. 

The great apartment was a charming spectacle, with its brilliant lightsand blazing fire. The frescoed walls danced in light shadows; the longcurtains were drawn down, completely excluding the March air. Coming inout of the night, this smiling interior was inexpressibly home-like anddelightful. 

As we entered, the clerical-looking gentleman rose, modestly, andsmiled. 

"The Reverend Mr. Hope, " said Judge Conway, presenting him. And Mr. Hope, with the same gentle smile upon his lips, advanced and shookhands. 

At that name I had seen Mohun suddenly start, and turn pale. Then hishead rose quickly, his pallor disappeared, and he said with entirecalmness:

"Mr. Hope and myself are old acquaintances, I may even say, oldfriends. "

To these words Mr. Hope made a gentle and smiling reply; and it wasplain that he was very far from connecting the personage before himwith the terrible tragedy which had taken place at Fonthill, inDecember, 1856. What was the origin of this ignorance? Had the worthyman, in his remote parsonage, simply heard of the sudden disappearanceof Mohun, the lady, and _her brother_? Had his solitary life preventedhim from hearing the vague rumors and surmises which must have followedthat event? This was the simplest explanation, and I believe thecorrect one. Certain it is that the worthy Mr. Hope received us withsmiling cordiality. Doubtless he recalled the past, but was too kind tospread a gloom over Mohun's feelings by _alluding to his loss_. In afew moments we were seated, and Judge Conway explained the presence ofthe parson. 

The explanation was simple. Mohun, incessantly engaged on duty, hadbegged Judge Conway to send a message to the parson of his parish; theparson was absent, leaving his church temporarily in charge of hisbrother-clergyman, Mr. Hope; thus that gentleman by a strange chance, was about to officiate at Mohun's second marriage, as he had at hisfirst. 

I have explained thus, perhaps tediously, an incident which struck meat the time as most singular. Are there fatalities in this world? Thepresence of the Reverend Mr. Hope on that night at "Five Forks, "resembled one of those strange coincidences which make us believe inthe doctrine of destiny. 

Having exchanged compliments with the clergyman, Mohun and I were shownto a dressing-room. 

No sooner had the door closed, than I said to Mohun:--

"That is strange, is it not?"

"Singular, indeed, " he replied, calmly, "but I am not averse to thisworthy man's presence, Surry. I have no concealments. I have related mywhole life to Judge Conway and Georgia. They both know thecircumstances which lead to the conviction that _that woman_ wasalready married, when she married _me_--that the proof of her marriagewith Darke exists. Judge Conway is a lawyer, and knows that, in legalphraseology, the array of circumstances 'excludes every otherhypothesis;' thus it is not as an adventurer that my father's sonenters this house: all is known, and I do not shrink from the eye ofthis good man, who is about to officiate at my marriage. "

"Does he know all?"

"I think not. I had half resolved to tell him. But there is no timenow. Let us get ready; the hour is near. "

And Mohun looked at his watch. 

"Nine o'clock, " he said. "The ceremony takes place at ten. "

And he rapidly made his toilet. The light fell on a superb-lookingcavalier. He was clad in full dress uniform, with the braid and starsof a brigadier-general. The erect figure was clearly defined by thecoat, buttoned from chin to waist. Above, rose the proudly-poised head, with the lofty brow, the brilliant black eyes, the dark imperial andmustache, beneath which you saw the firm lips. 

We descended to the drawing-room, where Judge Conway and Mr. Hopeawaited us. 

Fifteen minutes afterward light steps were heard upon the greatstaircase; the old statesman opened the door, and Miss Georgia Conwayentered the apartment, leaning upon the arm of her father. 

She was clad in simple white muslin, with a string of pearls in herdark hair; and I have never seen a more exquisite beauty. Her cheeksglowed with fresh roses; a charming smile just parted her lips; and herdark eyes, grand and calm, shone out from the snow-white forehead, fromwhich her black hair was carried back in midnight ripples, ending inprofuse curls. It was truly a _grande dame_ whom I gazed at on thisnight, and, with eyes riveted upon the lovely face, I very nearly lostsight of Miss Virginia, who followed her sister. 

I hastened to offer my arm to the modest little flower, and followedJudge Conway, who approached the parson, standing, prayer-book in hand, in the middle of the apartment. 

In another instant Mohun was standing beside Miss Georgia, and theceremony began. 

It was not destined to proceed far. 

The clergyman had nearly finished the exhortation with which the "formfor the solemnization of matrimony, " commences. 

All at I once I was certain that I heard steps on the portico, and inthe hall of the mansion. 

The rest seemed not to hear them, however, and Mr. Hope continued theceremony. 

"Into this holy estate, " he went on, "these two persons present comenow to be joined. If any man can show just cause why they may notlawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafterforever hold his peace. "

As he uttered the words the door was suddenly burst open, and Darkeentered the apartment with _the gray woman_. 

In the midst of the stupor of astonishment, she advanced straighttoward Georgia Conway, twined her arm in that of the young lady, andsaid quietly:--

"How do you do, cousin? I am Lucretia Conway. Your father is my uncle. I have come to show just cause why you cannot marry General Mohun--myhusband!"

XX. 

WHAT OCCURRED AT "FIVE FORKS, " ON THE NIGHT OF MARCH 31, 1865. 

Mohun turned like a tiger, and was evidently about to throw himselfupon Darke. I grasped his arm and restrained him. 

"Listen!" I said. 

The house was surrounded by trampling hoofs, and clattering sabres. 

Darke had not drawn his pistol, and now glanced at me. His face wasthin and pale--he was scarce the shadow of himself--but his eyes"burned" with a strange fire under his bushy brows. 

"You are right, Colonel Surry!" he said, in his deep voice, to me, "restrain your friend. Let no one stir, or they are dead. The house issurrounded by a squadron of my cavalry. You are a mile from all succor. You can make no resistance. I am master of this house. But I design toinjure no one. Sit down, madam, " he added, to his companion, "I wish tospeak first. "

The sentences followed each other rapidly. The speaker's accent wascold, and had something metallic in it. The capture of the party beforehim seemed to be no part of his design. 

All at once the voice of the strange woman was heard in the silence. She quietly released the arm of Georgia Conway, who had drawn back withan expression of supreme disdain; and calmly seating herself in achair, gracefully cut some particles of dust from her gray riding habitwith a small whip which she carried. 

"Yes, let us converse, " she said, with her eyes riveted upon GeorgiaConway, "nothing can be more pleasant than these sweet familyreunions!"

Judge Conway glanced at the speaker with eyes full of sudden rage. 

"Who are you, madam, " he exclaimed, "who makes this impudent claim ofbelonging to my family?"

"I have already told you, " was the satirical reply of the woman. 

"And you, sir!" exclaimed the old judge, suddenly turning andconfronting Darke, "perhaps you, too, are a member of the Conwayfamily?"

"Not exactly, " was the cold reply. 

"Your name, sir!"

"Mortimer Davenant. "

Judge Conway gazed at the speaker with stupor. 

"You that person?--you the son of General Arthur Davenant?"

"Yes, I am the son of General Arthur Davenant of the Confederate Statesarmy--General Davenant, whom you hate and despise as a felon andmurderer--and I have come here to-night to relieve him of thatimputation; to tell you that it was I and not he, who murdered yourbrother!

"A moment, if you please, sir, " continued the speaker, in the same low, cold tone, "do not interrupt me, I beg. I have little time, and intendto be brief. You believe that your brother, George Conway, was put todeath by General Davenant. Here is the fact of the matter: I saw him atDinwiddie Court-House; knew he had a large sum of money on his person;followed him, attacked him, murdered him--and with General Davenant'spen-knife, which I had accidentally come into possession of. Then Istole the knife from the court-house, to prevent his conviction;--wroteand sent to him on the day of his trial a full confession of themurder, signed with my name--and that confession he would not use; hewould not inculpate his son; for ten years he has chosen rather tolabor under the imputation of murder, than blacken the name of acastaway son, whose character was wretched already, and whom hebelieved dead. 

"That is what I came here, to-night, to say to you, sir. I am awretch--I know that--it is a dishonor to touch my hand, stained withevery vice, and much crime. But I am not entirely lost, though Itold--my father--so, when I met him, not long since. Even a dog willnot turn and bite the hand that has been kind to him. I was a gentlemanonce, and am a vulgar fellow now--but there is something worse thancrime, in my estimation; it is cowardice and ingratitude. You shall notcontinue to despise my father; he is innocent of that murder. You haveno right to continue your opposition to my brother's marriage with yourdaughter, for he is not the son of the murderer of your brother. _I_count for nothing in this. I am not my father's son, or my brother'sbrother. I am an outcast--a lost man--dead, as far as they areconcerned. It was to tell you this that I have come here to-night--andfor that only. "

"And--this woman?" said Judge Conway, pale, and glaring at the speaker. 

"Let her speak for herself, " said Darke, coldly. 

"I will do so, with pleasure, " said the woman, coolly, but with anintensely satirical smile. That smile chilled me--it was worse than anyexcess of rage. The glance she threw upon Georgia Conway was one ofsuch profound, if covert, hatred, that it drove my hand to my hilt asthough to grasp some weapon. 

"I will be brief, " continued the woman, rising slowly, and looking atGeorgia Conway, with that dagger-like smile. "General Darke-Davenanthas related a pleasing little history. I will relate another, andaddress myself more particularly to Judge Conway--my dear uncle. Hedoes not, or will not, recognize me; and I suppose I may have changed. But that is not important. I am none the less Lucretia Conway. You donot remember that young lady, perhaps, sir; your proud Conway blood hasbanished from your memory the very fact of her former existence. Andyet she existed--she exists still--she is speaking to you--unbosomingherself in the midst of her dear family! But to tell my littlestory--it will not take many minutes. I was born here, you remember, uncle, and grew up what is called headstrong. At sixteen, I fell inlove with a young Adonis with a mustache; and, as you and the restopposed my marriage, obdurately refusing your consent, I yielded to theeloquence of Mr. Adonis, and eloped with him, going to the North. Herewe had a quarrel. I grew angry, and slapped Adonis; and he took hisrevenge by departing without leaving me a wedding-ring to recall hisdear image. Then I met that gentleman--General Darke-Mortimer-Davenant!We took a fancy to each other; we became friends; and soon afterwardtravelled to the South, stopping in Dinwiddie. Here I made theacquaintance of General Mohun--there he stands; he fell desperately inlove with me--married me--Parson Hope will tell you that--and thenattempted to murder me, without rhyme or reason. Luckily, I made myescape from the monster! rejoined my friend, General Darke-Davenant;the war came on; I came back here; have been lately arrested, butescaped by bribing the rebel jailers; only, however, to find that mynaughty husband is going to marry my cousin Georgia! Can you wonder, then, that I have exerted myself to be present at the interestingceremony? That I have yielded to my fond affection, and come to say tomy dear Georgia, 'Don't marry my husband, cousin!' And yet you frown atme--you evidently hate me--you think I am _lying_--that I was marriedbefore, perhaps. Well, if that be the case, where is the proof of thatmarriage?" "Here it is!" said a voice, which made the woman turnsuddenly. 

And opening the heavy window-curtains, which had, up to this moment, concealed him, Nighthawk advanced into the apartment, holding in hishand a paper. 

A wild rage filled the eyes of the woman, but now so smiling. Her handdarted to her bosom, and I saw the gleam of a poniard. 

"This paper, " said Nighthawk, coolly, "was found on the dead body of aman named Alibi, who had stolen it. See, Judge Conway; it is in regularform. 'At Utica, New York, Mortimer Davenant to Lucretia Conway. 'Attested by seal and signature. There can be no doubt of itsgenuineness. "

Suddenly a hoarse exclamation was heard, and a poniard gleamed in thehand of the woman. 

With a single bound, she reached Georgia Conway, and struck at herheart. The corsage of the young lady, however, turned the poniard, andat the same instant a thundering volley of musketry resounded without. 

Furious cries were then heard; the wild trampling of horses; and a loudvoice ordering:--

"Put them to the bayonet!"

Darke drew his sword, and reached the side of the woman at a bound. Throwing his arms around her, he raised her, and rushed, with hisburden, through the hall, toward the lawn, where a fierce combat was inprogress. 

Suddenly the woman uttered a wild cry, and relaxed her grasp upon hisneck. A bullet had buried itself in her bosom. 

Darke's hoarse and menacing voice echoed the cry; but he did notrelease the body; with superhuman strength he raised it aloft, andbounded down the steps. 

As he reached the bottom, a man rushed upon him, and drove his bayonetthrough his breast. It was withdrawn, streaming with blood. 

"Put all to the bayonet!" shouted the voice of General Davenant, as hecharged with his young son, Charles, beside him. 

At that voice Darke stretched out both hands, and dropping his sword, uttered a cry, which attracted the general's attention. 

For an instant they stood facing each other--unutterable horror in theeyes of General Davenant. 

"I am--done for, " exclaimed Darke, a bloody foam rushing to his lips, "but--I have told him--that _I_ was the murderer--that _you_ wereinnocent. Give me your hand, father!"

General Davenant leaped to the ground, and with a piteous groanreceived the dying man in his arms. 

"I am a wretch--I know that--but I was a Davenant once"--came in lowmurmurs. "Tell Will, he can marry now, for I will be dead--kiss meonce, Charley!"

The weeping boy threw himself upon his knees, and pressed his lips tothose of his brother. 

As he did so, the wounded man fell back in his father's arms, andexpired. 

XXI. 

FIVE FORKS. 

On the day after these events, Lee's extreme right at Five Forks, wasfuriously attacked, and in spite of heroic resistance, the little forceunder Pickett and Fitzhugh Lee was completely routed and dispersed. 

Do you regard that term "heroic, " as merely rhetorical, reader?

Hear a Northern writer, a wearer of blue, but too honest not to givebrave men their due:--

"Having gained the White Oak road, Warren changed front again to theright, and advanced westward, so continually to take in flank and rearwhatever hostile force still continued to hold the right of theConfederate line. This had originally been about three miles in extent, but above two-thirds of it were now carried. Yet, vital in all itsparts, what of the two divisions remained, still continued the combatwith unyielding mettle. Parrying the thrusts of the cavalry from thefront, this poor scratch of a force threw back its left in a new andshort crochet, so as to meet the advance of Warren, who continued topress in at right angles to the White Oak road. When the infantry, greatly elated with their success, but somewhat disorganized bymarching and fighting so long in the woods, arrived before this newline, they halted and opened an untimely fusillade, though there hadbeen orders not to halt. The officers, indeed, urged their men forward, but they continued to fire without advancing. Seeing this hesitation, Warren dashed forward, calling to those near him to follow. Inspired byhis example, the color-bearers and officers all along the front, sprangout, and without more firing, the men charged at the _pas de course_, capturing all that remained of the enemy. The history of the warpresents no equally splendid illustration of personal magnetism.... Acharge of the cavalry completed the rout, and the remnants of thedivisions of Pickett and Johnson fled westward from Five Forks, pursuedfor many miles, and until long after dark, by the mounted divisions ofMerritt and McKenzie. "

That is picturesque, is it not? It is amusing, too--though so tragic. 

You can see that "poor scratch of a force" fighting to the death, canyou not? You can see the poor little handful attacked by Sheridan'scrack cavalry corps in front, and then suddenly by Warren's superbinfantry corps in both their flank and rear. You can see them, game tothe last, throwing back their left in the crochet to meet Warren; seethat good soldier cheering on his men "greatly elated, " but "somewhatdisorganized, " too--so much so that they suddenly halt, and require the"personal magnetism" of the general to inspire them, and bring them upto the work. Then the little scratch gives way--they are a handful, andtwo corps are pressing them. They have "continued the combat withunyielding mettle, " as long as they could--now they are driven; and onrushes the thundering cavaliers to destroy them! Sound the bugles! Outwith sabres! charge! ride over them! "Hurra!" So'the little scratchdisappears. 

General Warren, who won that fight, was a brave man, and did not boastof it. Tell me, general--you are honest--is any laurel in your hardwonwreath, labelled "Five Forks?" It would be insulting that other laurellabelled "Gettysburg, " where you saved Meade!

In that bitter and desperate fight, Corse's infantry brigade and Lee'scavalry won a renown which can never be taken from them. The infantryremained unbroken to the last moment; and a charge of Lee's cavalryupon Sheridan's drove them back, well nigh routed. 

But nothing could avail against such numbers. The Confederate infantry, cavalry, and artillery at last gave way. Overwhelmed by the greatforce, they were shattered and driven. Night descended upon abattlefield covered with heaps of dead and wounded, the blue mingledwith the gray. 

Among those wounded, mortally to all appearances, was Willie Davenant. He had fought with the courage of the bull-dog which lay _perdu_ underthe shy bearing of the boy. All the army had come to recognize it, bythis time; and such was the high estimate which General R. E. Lee placedupon him, that it is said he was about to be offered the command of abrigade of infantry. Before this promotion reached him, however, thegreat crash came; and the brave youth was to fall upon the field ofFive Forks, where he fought his guns obstinately to the very last. 

It was just at nightfall that he fell, with a bullet through hisbreast. 

The enemy were pressing on hotly, and there was no time to bring offthe wounded officer. It seemed useless, too. He lay at full length, ina pool of blood, and was breathing heavily. To attempt to move him, even if it were possible, threatened him with instant death. 

A tòuching incident followed. The enemy carried Five Forks as nightdescended. They had advanced so early, that Judge Conway and hisdaughters had had no time to leave their home. Compelled to remainthus, they did not forget their duty to the brave defenders of theConfederacy, and when the firing ceased, the old statesman and hisdaughters went to succor the wounded. 

Among the first bodies which they saw was that of Will Davenant. Onegleam of the lantern carried by the Federal surgeon told all; andVirginia Conway with a low moan knelt down and raised the head of thewounded boy, placing it upon her bosom. 

As she did so, he sighed faintly, and opening his eyes, looked up intoher face. The blood rushed to his cheeks; he attempted to stretch outhis arms; then falling back upon her bosom the young officer fainted. 

A cry from the girl attracted the attention of the Federal surgeon whowas attending to the wounded Federalists. He was a kind-hearted man, and came to the spot whence he had heard the cry. 

"He is dying!" moaned the poor girl, with bloodless cheeks. "Can you donothing for him? Oh, save him, sir!--only save him!--have pity uponme!"

She could say no more. 

The surgeon bent over and examined the wound. When he had done so, heshook his head. 

"His wound is mortal, I am afraid, " he said, "but I will do all I canfor him. "

And with a rapid hand he stanched the blood, and bandaged the wound. 

The boy had not stirred. He remained still, with his head leaning uponthe girl's breast. 

"Can he live?" she murmured, in a tone almost inaudible. 

"If he is not moved, he may possibly live; but if he is moved his deathis certain. The least change in the position of his body, for somehours from this time, will be fatal. "

"Then he shall not have to change his position!" exclaimed the girl. 

And, with the pale face still lying upon her bosom, she remainedimmovable. 

Throughout all the long night she did not move or disturb the youth. Hehad fallen into a deep sleep, and his head still lay upon her bosom. 

Who can tell what thoughts came to that brave child as she thus watchedover his sleep? The long hours on the lonely battle-field, full of thedead and dying, slowly dragged on. The great dipper wheeled in circle;the moon rose; the dawn came; still the girl, with the groans of thedying around her, held the wounded boy in her arms. [1]

[Footnote 1: Fact. ]

Is there a painter in Virginia who desires a great subject? There itis; and it is historical. 

When the sun rose, Willie Davenant opened his eyes, and gazed up intoher face. Their glances met; their blushing cheeks were near eachother; the presence of her, whom he loved so much, seemed to havebrought back life to the shattered frame. 

An hour afterward he was moved to "Five Forks, " where he was tenderlycared for. The old statesman had forgotten his life-long prejudice, andwas the first to do all in his power to save the boy. 

A month afterward he was convalescent. A week more and he was well. Inthe summer of 1865 he was married to Virginia Conway. 

As for Mohun, his marriage ceremony, so singularly interrupted, hadbeen resumed and completed an hour after the death of the unfortunateDarke and his companion. 

XXII. 

"THE LINE HAS BEEN STRETCHED UNTIL IT HAS BROKEN, COLONEL. ". 

At nightfall, on the first of April, the immense struggle had reallyended. 

Lee's whole right was swept away; he was hemmed in, in Petersburg; whatremained for General Grant was only to give the _coup de grace_ to thegreat adversary, who still confronted him, torn and shattered, but witha will and courage wholly unbroken. 

It is not an exaggeration, reader. Judge for yourself. I am to show youLee as I saw him in this moment of terrible trial: still undaunted, raising his head proudly amid the crash of all around him; great in thehour of victory; in the hour of ruin, sublime. 

Grant attacked again at dawn, on the morning of the second of April. Itwas Sunday, but no peaceful church-bells disturbed the spring air. Theroar of cannon was heard, instead, hoarse and menacing, in the verysuburbs of the devoted city. 

There was no hope now--all was ended--but the Confederate arms were tosnatch a last, and supreme laurel, which time can not wither. Attackedin Fort Gregg, by General Gibbon, Harris's Mississippi brigade, of twohundred and fifty men, made one of those struggles which throw theirsplendor along the paths of history. 

"This handful of skilled marksmen, " says a Northern writer, "conductedthe defence with such intrepidity, that Gibbon's forces, surgingrepeatedly against it, were each time thrown back. "

That is the generous but cold statement of an opponent; but it issufficient. It was not until seven o'clock that Gibbon stormed thefort. Thirty men only out of the two hundred and fifty were left, butthey were still fighting. 

In the attack the Federal loss was "about five hundred men, " says thewriter above quoted. 

So fell Lee's last stronghold on this vital part of his lines. Anothermisfortune soon followed. The gallant A. P. Hill, riding ahead of hismen, was fired on and killed, by a small detachment of the enemy whomhe had halted and ordered to surrender. 

He fell from his horse, and was borne back, already dying. That night, amid the thunder of the exploding magazines, the commander, first, ofthe "light division, " and then of a great corps--the hero of ColdHarbor, Sharpsburg, and a hundred other battles--was buried in the citycemetery, just in time to avoid seeing the flag he had fought under, lowered. 

Peace to the ashes of that brave! Old Virginia had no son morefaithful!

Fort Gregg was the last obstacle. At ten o'clock that had fallen, heavymasses of the enemy were pushing forward. Their bristling battalions, and long lines of artillery had advanced nearly to General Lee'shead-quarters, a mile west of Petersburg. 

As the great blue wave surged forward, General Lee, in full-dressuniform, and wearing his gold-hilted sword, looked at them through hisfield glasses from the lawn, in front of his head-quarters, on foot, and surrounded by his staff. I have never seen him more composed. Chancing to address him, he saluted me with the calmest and mostscrupulous courtesy; and his voice was as measured and unmoved asthough he were attending a parade. Do you laugh at us, friends of theNorth, for our devotion to Lee? You should have seen him that day, whenruin stared him in the face; you would have known then, the texture ofthat stout Virginia heart. 

The enemy's column literally rushed on. Our artillery, on a hill nearby, had opened a rapid fire on the head of the column; the enemy'sobject was to gain shelter under a crest, in their front. 

They soon gained it; formed line of battle, and charged the guns. 

Then all was over. The bullets rained, in a hurtling tempest on thecannoneer; the blue line came on with loud shouts; and the pieces werebrought off at a gallop, followed by a hailstorm of musket-balls. 

Suddenly the Federal artillery opened from a hill behind their line. General Lee had mounted his iron-gray, and was slowly retiring towardPetersburg, surrounded by his officers. His appearance was superb atthis moment--and I still see the erect form of the proud old cavalier;his hand curbing his restive horse; his head turned over his shoulder;his face calm, collected, and full of that courage which nothing couldbreak. 

All at once a shell screamed from the Federal battery, and burstingclose to the general, tore up the ground in a dozen places. The horseof an officer at his side was mortally wounded by a fragment, and fellbeneath his rider other animals darted onward, with hanging bridle-reins, cut by the shell--but I was looking at General Lee, feeling certain thathe must have been wounded. 

He had escaped, however. Not a muscle of his calm face had moved. Only, as he turned his face over his shoulder in the direction of thebattery, I could see a sudden color rush to his cheeks, and his eyeflashed. 

"I should now like to go into a charge!" he said to Stuart, once, aftera disaster. And I thought I read the same thought in his face at thismoment. 

But it was impossible. He had no troops. The entire line on the rightof Petersburg had been broken to pieces, and General Lee retired slowlyto his inner works, near the city where a little skirmish line, full offight yet, and shaking their fists at the huge enemy approaching, received him with cheers and cries which made the pulse throb. 

There was no _hack_ in that remnant--pardon the word, reader; itexpresses the idea. 

"Let 'em come on! We'll give 'em ----!" shouted the ragged handful. Idare not change that rough sentence. It belongs to history. And it wasglorious, if rude. In front of that squad was a whole army-corps. Thecorps was advancing, supported by a tremendous artillery fire, to crushthem--and the tatterdemalions defied and laughed at them. 

This all took place before noon. Longstreet had come in from the northof the James with his skeleton regiments; and these opposed a boldfront to the enemy on the right, while Gordon commanding the left, below the city, was thundering. A cordon hemmed in the little army now, in the suburbs of Petersburg. The right, on the Boydton road, wascarried away; and the left beyond James River. One hope aloneremained--to hold Petersburg until night, and then retreat. 

I will not describe that day. This volume approaches its end; and it isfortunate. To describe at length those last days would be a terribletask to the writer. 

Lee telegraphed to the President that he was going to retreat thatnight; and at the moment when the officers of the government hastilyleft Richmond by the Danville railroad, the army at Petersburg began toretire. 

Did you witness what I describe, reader? What a spectacle!--the army ofNorthern Virginia, or what was left of it, rather, stealing away amiddarkness. I sat my horse on the Hickory road, north of the Appomattox, near the city, and looked at the ragged column, which defiled by fromthe bridge over the river. In the starlight I could see their faces. There was not a particle of depression in them. You would have said, indeed, that they rejoiced at being out of the trenches--to be oncemore on the march, with Lee, riding his old iron-gray, in front of hisold soldiers--with the battle-flags of a hundred battles still floatingdefiantly. 

General Lee stood at the forks of the road, directing his column. Hehad said little during the day, and said little now, but his voice wasas calm and measured, his eye as serene as before. 

"This is a bad business, colonel!"[1] I had heard him say, at themoment when the shell burst near him in the morning. 

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

I heard but one other allusion which he made to the situation. 

"Well, colonel, " he said to an officer, in his deep and sonorous voice, "it has happened as I told them it would, at Richmond. The line hasbeen stretched until it has broken. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

So, over the Hickory road, leading up the northern bank of theAppomattox, in the direction of Lynchburg--amid the explosion ofmagazines, surging upward like volcanoes, the old army of NorthernVirginia, reduced to fifteen thousand men, went forth, still defiant, into the night. 

XXIII. 

WHAT I SAW FROM THE GRAVE OF STUART. 

Three hours afterward I was in Richmond. 

Sent with a message for General Ewell, I had taken the last train whichleft for the capital, and reached the city toward midnight. 

The first person whom I saw was Tom Herbert, who ran to meet me. Hisface was pale, but his resolute smile still lit up the brave face. 

"Come and wait on me, my dear old friend, " he said; "I am to be marriedto-night!"

And in a few words he informed me that Katy had consented to have theceremony performed before Tom followed General Lee southward. 

Half an hour afterward I witnessed a singular spectacle: that of awedding, past midnight, in the midst of hurry, confusion, uproar, universal despair--the scene, a city about to fall into the hands ofthe enemy--from which the government and all its defenders had fled. [1]

[Footnote 1: Real. ]

Katy acted her part bravely. The rosy cheeks were unblanched still--thesweet smile was as endearing. When I took an old friend's privilege tokiss the smiling lips, there was no tremor in them, and her blue eyeswere as brave as ever. 

So Tom and Katy were married--and I bestowed upon them my paternalblessing! It was a singular incident--was it not, reader? But war isfull of such. 

I did not see Tom again until I met him on the retreat. And Katy--Ihave never seen her sweet face since--but heaven bless her!

An hour afterward I had delivered my message to General Ewell, who wasalready moving out with his small force to join Lee. They defiledacross the bridges, and disappeared. For myself, tired out, I wrappedmy cape around me, and stretching myself upon a sofa, at the house of afriend, snatched a little rest. 

I was aroused toward daybreak by a tremendous explosion, and going tothe window, saw that the city was in flames. The explosion had beencaused, doubtless, by blowing up the magazines, or the rams in JamesRiver. The warehouses and bridges had been fired in anticipation of theapproach of the enemy. 

It behooved me to depart now, unless I wished to be captured. I hadtaken the precaution to provide myself with a horse from one of thegovernment stables; the animal stood ready saddled behind the house; Ibade my alarmed friends farewell, and mounting, rode through thestreets of the devoted city toward the Capitol, amid bursting shellfrom the arsenal, exploding magazines, and roaring flames. 

I can not describe the scenes which followed. They were terrible andwould present a fit subject for the brush of Rembrandt. Fancy crowds ofdesperate characters breaking into the shops and magazines ofstores--negroes, outcasts, malefactors, swarming in the streets, andshouting amid the carnival. The state prison had disgorged itsconvicts--the slums and subterranean recesses of the city its birds ofthe night--and now, felons and malefactors, robbers, cut-purses andmurderers held their riotous and drunken carnival in the streets, flowing with whiskey. Over all surged the flames, roaring, crackling, tumultuous--the black clouds of smoke drifting far away, under the blueskies of spring. 

Then from the Capitol hill, where I had taken my stand, I saw by theearly light, a spectacle even more terrible--that of the enemy enteringthe city. They came on from Charles City in a long blue columnresembling a serpent. Infantry and troopers, artillery andstragglers--all rushed toward the doomed city where they were met by ahuge crowd of dirty and jabbering negroes and outcasts. 

Suddenly a shout near at hand, thundered up to the hill. In front ofthe Exchange a column of negro cavalry, with drawn sabres rushed on. Asthey came, they yelled and jabbered--that was the darkest spectacle ofall. 

I remained looking at the frightful pageant with rage in my heart, until the advance force of the enemy had reached the railing of theCapitol. Then I turned my horse, and, pursued by carbine shots, rodeout of the western gate, up Grace Street. 

Fifty paces from St. Paul's I saw Colonel Desperade passalong--smiling, serene, in black coat, snow-white shirt, tall blackhat, and with two ladies leaning upon his arms. 

"Ah! gallant to the last, I see!" I growled to him as I rode by. "'Nonebut the brave desert the fair!'"

The colonel smiled, but made no reply. 

A hundred yards farther I met little Mr. Blocque joyously approaching. 

In his hand he carried his safeguard, brought him by the gray woman. At his breast fluttered a miniature United States flag. The littlegentleman was radiant, and exclaimed as he saw me:--

"What! my dear colonel! you are going to leave us? Come and dine withme--at five o'clock, precisely!"

My reply was not polite. I drew my pistol--at which movement Mr. Blocque disappeared, running, at the corner of St. Paul's. 

On his heels followed a portly and despairing gentleman--Mr. Croaker. 

"Save my warehouse! it is on fire! I shall be a beggar!" yelled Mr. Croaker. 

I laughed aloud as the wretched creature rushed by, puffing andpanting. Ten minutes afterward I was out of the city. 

My last view of Richmond was from Hollywood Hill, near the grave ofStuart. The spectacle before me was at once terrible and splendid. Thecity was wrapped in a sea of flame. A vast black cloud swept away tothe far horizon. A menacing roar came up from beneath those flamessurging around the white Capitol;--the enemy's guns, troopers, musketeers and the rabble, were rushing with shouts, yells, and cursesinto the devoted city, which had at last fallen a prey to the Federalarms. 

A last pang was to tear my heart. The sight before me was not enough, Ihad turned my horse to ride westward, throwing a parting glance uponthe city, when suddenly the Virginia flag descended from the summit ofthe Capitol and the United States flag was run up. 

I turned and shook my clenched hand at it. 

"That is not my flag, and shall never be!" I exclaimed, aloud. 

And taking off my hat as I passed the grave of Stuart, I rode on, thinking of the past and the present. 

XXIV. 

THE RETREAT. 

Crossing James River, above the city, I pushed after the army, which Irejoined on the evening of the 4th, as it was crossing the Appomattoxopposite Amelia Court-House. 

It reached that village on Wednesday April 5th, and you could see at aglance that its spirit was unbroken. As to General Lee, his resolutionup to that time had astonished all who saw him. Never had he seemed inmore buoyant spirits. 

"I have got my army safe out of its breastworks, " he said, "and inorder to follow me, my enemy must abandon his lines, and can derive nofurther benefit from his railroads, or James River. "[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

It was only the faint-hearts who lost hope. Lee was not of those. Mounted upon his old iron-gray--at the head of his old army, if hislittle handful of about fifteen thousand men could be called such--Leewas still the great cavalier. The enemy had not yet checkmated him: hisheart of hope was untouched. He would cut his way through, and the redflag should again float on victorious fields!

The army responded to the feeling of its chief. The confidence of themen in Lee was as great as on his days of victory. You would have saidthat the events of the last few days were, in the estimation of thetroops, only momentary reverses. The veterans of Hill and Longstreetadvanced steadily, tramping firm, shoulder to shoulder, with glitteringgun barrels, and faces as resolute and hopeful as at Manassas andChancellorsville. 

"Those men are not whipped, " said a keen observer to me, as he lookedat the closed-up column moving. And he was right. The morale of thisremnant of the great army of Northern Virginia was untouched. Those whosaw them then will testify to the truth of my statement. 

At Amelia Court-House a terrible blow, however, awaited them. GeneralLee had ordered rations to be sent thither from North Carolina. Theyhad been sent, but the trains had gone on and disgorged them inRichmond. When Lee arrived with his starved army, already staggeringand faint, not a pound of bread or meat was found; there was nothing. 

Those who saw General Lee at this moment, will remember his expression. For the first time the shadow of despair passed over that braveforehead. Some one had, indeed, struck a death-blow at him. His armywas without food. All his plans were reversed. He had intended toreprovision his force at Amelia, and then push straight on. His plan, Ithink I can state, was to attack the detached forces of Grant in hisfront; cut his way through there; cross the Nottoway and other streamsby means of pontoons, which had been provided; and, forming a junctionwith General Johnston, crush Sherman or retreat into the Gulf States. All this was, however, reversed by one wretched, microscopic incident. The great machine was to be arrested by an atom in its path. Therations were not found at Amelia Court-House; the army must have food, or die; half the force was dispersed in foraging parties throughout thesurrounding country, and the delay gave Grant time to mass heavily inLee's front, at Burksville. 

Then all was decided. Lee had not doubted his ability to crush a corps, or even more, before the main force of the enemy came up. He saw asclearly now, that there was no hope of his cutting his way throughGrant's army. It was there in his front--the failure of rations hadcaused all. With what must have been a terrible weight upon his heart, Lee directed his march toward Lynchburg, determined to fight to theend; and, as he had said during the winter, "die sword in hand. "

Then commenced the woeful tragedy. What words can paint that retreat?There is only one other that equals it--Napoleon's retreat from Moscow. The army staggered on, fighting, and starving, and dying. Stalwart menfell by the roadside, or dropped their muskets as they tottered on. Thewagons were drawn by skeleton mules, without food like the soldiers. Ifan ear of corn was found, the men seized and munched it fiercely, likeanimals. Covered with mud, blackened with powder, with gaunt frames, and glaring eyes, the old guard of the army of Northern Virginia stillstood to their colors--fighting at every step, despairing, but notshrinking; and obeying the orders of Lee to the last. 

You would not doubt that confidence in, and love for, their commander, reader, if you had witnessed the scene which I did, near Highbridge. The enemy had suddenly assailed Ewell and Custis Lee, and broken themto pieces. The blue horsemen and infantry pressing fiercely on allsides, and hunting their opponents to the death, seemed, at thismoment, to have delivered a blow from which the Confederates could notrise. The attack had fallen like a thunderbolt. Ewell, Anderson, andCustis Lee were swept away by mere weight of numbers; the whole armyseemed threatened with instant destruction. 

Lee suddenly appeared, however, and the scene which followed wasindescribable. He had rushed a brigade across, riding in front on hisiron-gray; and at that instant he resembled some nobleman of the oldage on the track of the wild-boar. With head erect, face unmoved, eyesclear and penetrating, he had reached the scene of danger; and as thedisordered remnants of Ewell's force crowded the hill, hot and panting, they had suddenly seen, rising between them and the enemy, a wall ofbayonets, flanked by cannon. 

A great painter should have been present then. Night had fallen, andthe horizon was lit up by the glare of burning wagons. Every instantrose, sudden and menacing, the enemy's signal rockets. On the summit ofthe hill, where the infantry waited, Lee rode among the disordered menof Ewell, and his presence raised a storm. 

"It's General Lee!"

"Uncle Robert!"

"Where's the man who won't follow old Uncle Robert!"

Such were the shouts, cries, and fierce exclamations. The haggard facesflushed; the gaunt hands were clenched. On all sides explosions of rageand defiance were heard. The men called on the gray old cavalier, sitting his horse as calm as a statue, to take command of them, andlead them against the enemy. 

No attack was made on them. An hour afterward the army moved again--therear covered by General Fitzhugh Lee with his cavalry, which, at everystep, met the blue huntsmen pressing on to hunt down their prey. 

Such were some of the scenes of the retreat, up to the 7th. Who has theheart to narrate what followed in the next two days? A great army dyingslowly--starving, fighting, falling--is a frightful spectacle. I thinkthe memory of it must affect even the enemies who witnessed it. 

It is only a small portion of the tragic picture that the presentwriter has the heart to paint. 

XXV. 

HUNTED DOWN. 

On the morning of the 7th of April, and throughout the 8th, the horrorsof the retreat culminated. 

The army was fighting at every step. Hope had deserted them, but theywere still fighting. 

On every side pressed the enemy like bands of wolves hunting down thewounded steed. 

Gordon and Longstreet, commanding the two skeleton corps of infantry, and Fitzhugh Lee the two or three thousand cavalry remaining, met theincessant attacks, with a nerve which had in it something of theheroic. 

Fitz Lee had commanded the rear guard on the whole retreat. All alongthe route he had confronted the columns of Sheridan, and checked themwith heavy loss. 

At Paynesville he had driven Sheridan back, killing, wounding, andcapturing two hundred of his men. At Highbridge he captured sevenhundred and eighty more, killing many, among the rest the FederalGeneral Read. On the morning of the 7th, beyond the river, he droveback a large column, capturing General Irwin Gregg. 

That was a brave resistance made by the old army of Northern Virginia, reader, as it was slowly advancing into the gulf of perdition. 

Beyond Farmville there was no longer any hope. All was plainly over. Ishrink from the picture, but here is that of one of my friends. "Itbecame necessary to burn hundreds of wagons. At intervals the enemy'scavalry dashed in and struck the interminable train, here or there, capturing and burning dozens on dozens of wagons. Hundreds of mendropped from exhaustion, and thousands let fall their muskets frominability to carry them any farther. The scenes were of a nature whichcan be apprehended in its vivid reality only by men who are thoroughlyfamiliar with the harrowing details of war. Behind, and on eitherflank, a ubiquitous and increasingly adventurous enemy; every mud-holeand every rise in the road choked with blazing wagons; the air filledwith the deafening reports of ammunition exploding, and shell burstingwhen touched by the flames; dense columns of smoke ascending to heavenfrom the burning and exploding vehicles; exhausted men, worn-out mulesand horses, lying down side by side; gaunt famine glaring hopelesslyfrom sunken lack-lustre eyes; dead mules, dead horses, dead men, everywhere; death many times welcomed as God's blessing indisguise--who can wonder if many hearts tried in the fiery furnace offour unparalleled years, and never hitherto found wanting, should havequailed in presence of starvation, fatigue, sleeplessness, misery, un-intermitted for five or six days, and culminating inhopelessness?"[1]

[Footnote 1: The Hon. Charles Francis Lawley, in the London _Times_. ]

They did not "quail, " they fell. It was not fear that made them dropthe musket, their only hope of safety; it was weakness. It was an armyof phantoms that staggered on toward Lynchburg--and what had made themphantoms was hunger. 

Let others describe those last two days in full. For myself I can not. To sum up all in one sentence. The Army of Northern Virginia, which hadfor four years snatched victory upon some of the bloodiestbattle-fields of history, fought, reeled, fired its last rounds, andfell dead from starvation, defying fiercely with its last breath, gurgling through blood in its throat, the enemy who was hunting it downto its death. 

Call it what you will, reader--there was something in those men thatmade them fight to the last. 

XXVI. 

THE LAST COUNCIL OF WAR OF THE ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA. 

On the night of the 8th of April, within a few miles of AppomattoxCourt-House, took place the last council of war of the army of NorthernVirginia. 

It was in the open air, beside a camp-fire, near which were spreadGeneral Lee's blankets; for throughout the retreat he had used no tent, sleeping, shelterless like his men, by the bivouac fire. 

To this last council of war, none but the corps commanders wereinvited. Thus the only persons present were Gordon and Longstreet, commanding the skeleton corps of infantry, and Fitzhugh Lee, thecavalry of the army. 

Gordon was stretched near Fitzhugh Lee, upon the blankets of thecommander-in-chief; Gordon, with his clear complexion, his penetratingeyes, his firm lip, his dark hair, and uniform coat buttoned to hischin--the man to fight and die rather than surrender. Near him lay FitzLee, the ardent and laughing cavalier, with the flowing beard, thesparkling eyes, the top-boots, and cavalry sabre--the man to stand byGordon. On a log, a few feet distant, sat the burly Longstreet, smokingwith perfect nonchalance--his heavily bearded face exhibiting noemotion whatever. Erect, within a few paces of these three men, stoodGeneral Lee--grave, commanding, unmoved; the fire-light revealing everyoutline of his vigorous person, clad in its plain gray uniform, thegray beard and mustache, the serene eyes, and that stately poise of thehead upon the shoulders, which seemed to mark this human being forcommand. 

All these persons were composed. Their faces were haggard from want ofrest, but there was nothing in their expressions indicating anxiety, though some gloom. 

"It was a picture for an artist, " said that one of them who describedthe scene to me afterward. The ruddy light brought out every detail ofthese martial figures. By that fire on the roadside had assembled forthe last time General Robert E. Lee and his corps commanders. 

The council was brief. 

General Lee succinctly laid before his listeners the whole situation. 

His army was on a strip of land between the James River and the enemy. He could not cross the river--if he could not break through the enemyin his front the army was lost. General Grant had understood hissituation, and a correspondence had taken place. He would read GeneralGrant's notes and copies of his own replies. 

By the light of the fire, General Lee then proceeded to read the papersalluded too. 

Grant had opened the correspondence. "The result of the last week mustconvince General Lee, " he wrote, "of the hopelessness of furtherresistance on the part of the army of Northern Virginia. " He therefore"asked the surrender" of that army to prevent bloodshed. 

Lee had written in reply, requesting Grant to state the terms. 

Grant had stated them on this 8th of April, and Lee had replied at oncethat he "did not intend to propose the surrender of the army ofNorthern Virginia, but to ask the terms of General Grant's proposition. To be frank, " he had added, "I do not think the emergency has arisen tocall for the surrender. " But he would meet General Grant on the nextmorning to discuss the whole affair. 

There the correspondence had terminated. What was the opinion of hiscorps commanders?

Their replies were brief and informal. The scene was august but simple. What was determined upon was this---

That the army should continue its march on the next day towardLynchburg, breaking through Sheridan's cavalry which was known to be infront; but in case the Federal infantry, a very different thing fromthe cavalry, was found to be "up, " then Gordon, who was to lead theadvance, should inform the commander-in-chief of that fact, when a flagof truce would be sent to General Grant acceding to the terms ofcapitulation proposed in his last note to General Lee. 

Fitzhugh Lee only stipulated that if he saw that the Federal infantryin his front, rendered surrender inevitable, he should be allowed to gooff with his cavalry to save the horses of his men. 

This was agreed to, and it will be seen that Fitz Lee availed himselfof the conmmander-in-chief's permission. 

So ended that last council of war, by the camp fire. 

With grave salutes and a cordial pressure of the brave hands, thefamous soldiers took leave of Lee. 

As they disappeared he drew his blanket around him and fell asleep bythe blazing fire. 

It was the night of April 8th, 1865--three years, day for day, from themoment when these lines are written. 

XXVII. 

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE SURRENDER. 

Throughout that strange night of the eighth of April, 1865, I was inthe saddle, carrying orders. 

Those who saw it will remember how singularly brilliant it was. Themoon and stars shone. The light clouds sweeping across the sky scarcelyobscured the mournful radiance. All was still. The two armies--onesurrounded and at bay, the other ready to finish the work beforeit--rested silently on their arms, waiting for that day which wouldbring the thunder. 

Every arrangement had been made by Lee to break through the force inhis front, and gain Lynchburg, from which he could retreat to thesouthwest. 

The column of infantry to open the way was about one thousand sixhundred men, under Gordon. The cavalry, numbering two or threethousand, was commanded by Fitzhugh Lee. The artillery, consisting ofthree or four battalions, was placed under that brave spirit, ColonelThomas H. Carter. 

For the tough work, Lee had selected three braves. 

I saw them all that night, and read in their eyes the fire of anunalterable resolution. 

You know those men, reader. If _you_ do not, history knows them. It wastheir immense good fortune to bear the red cross banner in the lastcharge on the enemy, and with their handful of followers to drive theFederal forces back nearly a mile, half an hour before Lee's surrender. 

I had just left General Fitzhugh Lee, near Appomattox Court-House, andwas riding through the pines, when a sonorous voice halted me. 

"Who goes there?" said the voice. 

"Surry, Mordaunt!"

For I had recognized the voice of the general of cavalry. We have seenlittle of him, reader, in this rapid narrative; but in all the longhard battles from the Rapidan to this night, I had everywhere foundmyself thrown in collision with the great soldier--that tried andtrusty friend of my heart. The army had saluted him on a hundredfields. His name had become the synonym of unfaltering courage. He washere, on the verge of surrender now, looking as calm and resolute as onhis days of victory. 

"Well, old friend, " said Mordaunt, grasping my hand and then leaningupon my shoulder; "as the scriptures say, what of the night?"

"Bad, Mordaunt. "

"I understand. You think the enemy's infantry is up. "

"Yes. "

"Then we'll have hard work; but we are used to that, Surry. "

"The work is nothing. It is death only. But something worse than deathis coming Mordaunt. "

"What?"

"Surrender. "

Mordaunt shook his head. 

"I am not going to surrender, " he said. "I have sworn to one I lovemore than my life--you know whom I mean, Surry--that I would come back, or die, sword in hand; and I will keep my oath. "

The proud face glowed. In the serene but fiery eyes I could read theexpression of an unchangeable resolution. 

"Another friend of ours has sworn that too, " he said. 

"Who?"

"Mohun. "

"And just married! His poor, young wife, like yours, is far from him. "

"You are mistaken; she is near him. She went ahead of the army, and isnow at the village here. "

"Is it possible? And where is Mohun?"

"He is holding the advance skirmish line, on the right of Gordon. Look!Do you see that fire, yonder, glimmering through the woods? I left himthere half an hour since. "

"I will go and see him. Do nothing rash, to-morrow, Mordaunt. Rememberthat poor Old Virginia, if no one else, needs you yet!"

"Be tranquil, Surry, " he replied, with a cool smile. "Farewell; weshall meet at Philippi!"

And we parted with a pressure of the hand. 

I rode toward the fire. Stretched on his cape, beside it, I saw thefigure of Mohun. He was reading in a small volume, and did not raisehis head until I was within three paces of him. 

"What are you reading, Mohun?"

He rose and grasped my hand. 

"The only book for a soldier, " he said, with his frank glance and bravesmile--"the book of books, my dear Surry--that which tells us to do ourduty, and trust to Providence. "

I glanced at the volume, and recognized it. I had seen it in the handsof Georgia Conway, at Five Forks. On the fly leaf, which was open, hername was written. 

"That is _her_ Bible, " I said, "and doubtless you have just parted withher. "

"Yes, I see you know that she is here, not far from me. "

"Mordaunt told me. It must be a great delight to you, Mohun. "

He smiled, and sighed. 

"Yes, " he replied, "but a sort of sorrow, too. "

"Why a sorrow?"

Mohun was silent. Then he said:---

"I think I shall fall to-morrow. "

"Absurd!" I said, trying to laugh, "Why should you fancy such a thing?"

"I am not going to surrender, Surry. I swore to Chambliss, my oldcomrade, that I would never surrender, and he swore that to me. He waskilled in Charles City--he kept his word; I will not break mine, friend. "

My head sank. I had taken my seat on Mohun's cape, and gazed in silenceat the fire. 

"That is a terrible resolution, Mohun, " I said at length. 

"Yes, " he replied, with entire calmness, "especially in me. It is hardto die, even when we are old and sorrowful--when life is a burden. Mencling to this miserable existence even when old age and grief havetaken away, one by one, all the pleasures of life. Think, then, what itmust be to die in the flush of youth, and health, and happiness! I amyoung, strong, happy beyond words. The person I love best in all theworld, has just given me her hand. I have before me a long life of joy, if I only live! But I have sworn that oath, Surry! Chambliss kept his;shall I break mine? Let us not talk further of this, friend. "

And Mohun changed the conversation, refusing to listen to myremonstrances. 

Half an hour afterward I left him, with a strange sinking of the heart. 

Taking my way back to the Court-House, I passed through the littlevillage, rode on for a mile, and then, overwhelmed by fatigue, lay downby a camp fire in the woods, and fell asleep. 

I was waked by a single gun, sending its dull roar through the graydawn. 

Rising, I buttoned my cape around me, mounted my horse, and rode towardthe front. 

As I ascended the hill, upon which stands Appomattox Court-House, acrimson blush suddenly spread itself over the fields and woods. 

I looked over my shoulder. In the east, on the summit of the forest, the newly risen sun was poised, like a great shield bathed in blood. 

Such was the spectacle which ushered in the ninth of April, 1865, atAppomattox Court-House. 

XXVIII. 

THE LAST CHARGE OF THE OLD GUARD. 

I rode on rapidly to the front. 

It was the morning of the ninth of April, 1865. Since that time threeyears, day for day, nearly hour for hour have passed; for these linesare written on the morning of the ninth of April, 1868. 

Gordon had formed his line of battle across the road just beyond thecourt-house--and supported by Fitzhugh Lee's cavalry, and Carter'sartillery on his right, was advancing with measured steps to breakthrough the enemy. 

It was a spectacle to make the pulse throb. The little handful wasgoing to death unmoved. The red light of morning darted from theburnished gun-barrels of the infantry, the sabres of the cavalry, andthe grim cannon following, in sombre lightnings. 

Gordon, the "Bayard of the army, " was riding in front of his line. Thehour and the men had both come. Steadily the old guard of the army ofNorthern Virginia advanced to its last field of battle. 

[Illustration: THE LAST CHARGE]

Suddenly, in front of them, the woods swarmed with the enemy'sinfantry, cavalry, and artillery. The great multitude had evidentlyemployed the hours of night well. Grant's entire army seemed to havemassed itself in Gordon's front. 

But the force was not the question. Gordon's one thousand six hundredmen were in motion. And when Gordon moved forward he always fought, ifhe found an enemy. 

In five minutes the opponents had closed in, in stubborn fight, and thewoods roared with musketry, cannon, and carbines. 

Then a resounding cheer rose. The enemy had recoiled before Gordon, andhe pressed forward, sweeping every thing in his path for nearly a milebeyond the court-house. 

On his right Fitzhugh Lee's horsemen thundered forward on the retiringenemy; and Carter's guns advanced at a gallop, taking positions--Starketo the left and Poague to the right of the road--from which they openeda rapid fire upon the Federal line of battle. 

I had accompanied the advance and looked on with positive wonder. Amiracle seemed about to be enacted before my very eyes. Gordon's poorlittle skirmish-line of less than two thousand men, with the half-equipped horsemen of Fitzhugh Lee, on their broken-down animals, seemedabout to drive back the whole Federal army, and cut their way throughin safety. 

Alas! the hope was vain. In front of the handful were eighty thousandmen! It was not Sheridan's cavalry only--that would have speedily beendisposed of. During the night, General Grant's best infantry hadpressed forward, and arrived in time to place itself across Lee's path. What Gordon and Fitzhugh Lee encountered was the Federal army. 

Right and left, as in front, were seen dense blue columns of infantry, heavy masses of cavalry, crowding batteries, from which issued at everyinstant that quick glare which precedes the shell. 

From this multitude a great shout arose; and was taken up by theFederal troops for miles. From the extreme rear, where Longstreet stoodstubbornly confronting the pursuers, as from the front, where Gordonwas trying to break through the immense obstacles in his path, camethat thunder of cheers, indicating clearly that the enemy at last feltthat their prey was in their clutch. 

The recoil was brief. The great Federal wave which had rolled backwardbefore Gordon, now rolled forward to engulf him. The moment seemed tohave come for the old guard of the army of Northern Virginia to crownits victories with a glorious death. 

The Federal line rushed on. From end to end of the great field, brokenby woods, the blue infantry delivered their fire, as they advanced withwild cheers upon the line of Gordon and Lee. 

The guns of Carter thundered in vain. Never were cannon fought moresuperbly; the enemy were now nearly at the muzzle of the pieces. 

Gordon was everywhere encouraging his men, and attempting to hold themsteady. With flaming eyes, his drawn sword waving amid the smoke, hisstrident voice rising above the din of battle, Gordon was superb. 

But all was of no avail. The Federal line came on like a wave of steeland fire. A long deafening crash, mingled with the thunder of cannon, stunned the ear; above the combatants rose a huge smoke-cloud, fromwhich issued cheers and groans. 

Suddenly an officer of General Lee's staff passed by like lightning;was lost in the smoke; then I saw him speaking to Gordon. At the fewwords uttered by the officer, the latter turned pale. 

A moment afterward a white flag fluttered--the order to surrender hadcome. 

What I felt at that instant I can not describe. Something seemed tochoke me. I groaned aloud, and turned toward the cavalry. 

At fifty paces from me I saw Mordaunt, surrounded by his officers andmen. 

His swarthy face glowed--his eyes blazed. Near him, General FitzhughLee--with Tom Herbert, and some other members of his staff--was sittinghis horse, pale and silent. 

"What will you do, general?" said Mordaunt, saluting with drawn sabre. 

Fitzhugh Lee uttered a groan. 

"I don't wish to be included in the surrender, " he said. "Come, let'sgo. General Lee no longer requires my poor services!"[1]

[Footnote 1: His words. ]

Mordaunt saluted again, as General Lee and his staff officers turnedaway. 

"We'll go out sword in hand!" Mordaunt said. "Let who will, follow me!"

A wild cheer greeted the words. The men formed column and charged. 

As they moved, a second cheer was heard at fifty paces from us. Iturned my head, and saw Mohun, in front of about fifty cavalrymen, among whom I recognized Nighthawk. 

In an instant I was at Mohun's side. 

"You are going to charge!" I said. 

"And die, Surry! A gentleman gives his word but once!"

And, following Mordaunt with long leaps, Mohun and his horsemen burstupon the enemy. 

Then was presented a spectacle which made the two armies hold theirbreath. 

The column of cavalry under Mordaunt and Mohun, had struck the Federalline of battle. 

For an instant, you could see little, hear little, in the smoke anduproar. A furious volley unhorsed at least half of the charging column, and the rest were seen striking with their sabres at the blue infantry, who stabbed with their bayonets at the rearing horses. 

Then a thundering shout rose. The smoke was swept away by the wind, andmade all clear. 

Mordaunt had cut his way through, and was seen to disappear with adozen followers. 

Mohun, shot through the breast, and streaming with blood, had fallenfrom the saddle, his foot had caught in the stirrup, and he was draggedby his frightened animal toward the Confederate lines. 

The horse came on at a headlong gallop, but suddenly a cavalier came upwith him, seized the bridle, and threw him violently on his haunches. 

The new-comer was Nighthawk. 

Leaping to the ground, he seized the body of Mohun in his arms, extricated his foot from the stirrup, and remounted his own horse, withthe form of his master still clasped to his breast. 

Then, plunging the spurs into his animal, he turned to fly. But hislast hour had come. 

A bullet, fired at fifty paces, penetrated his back, and the bloodspouted. He fell from the flying animal to the earth, but his armsstill clasped the body of Mohun, whose head lay upon his breast. 

A loud cheer rose, and the blue line rushed straight upon him. Nighthawk's head rose, and he gazed at them with flashing eyes--then helooked at Mohun and groaned. 

Summoning his last remains of strength, he drew from his breast apencil and a piece of paper, wrote some words upon the paper, andaffixed it to Mohun's breast. 

This seemed to exhaust him. He had scarcely finished, when his headsank, his shoulders drooped, and falling forward on the breast ofMohun, he expired. 

An hour afterward, all was still. On the summit of the Court-House hilla blue column was stationary, waving a large white flag. 

General Lee had surrendered. 

XXIX. 

THE SURRENDER. 

Lee had surrendered the army of Northern Virginia. 

Ask old soldiers of that army to describe their feelings at theannouncement, reader. They will tell you that they can not; and I willnot attempt to record my own. 

It was, truly, the bitterness of death that we tasted at ten o'clock onthe morning of that ninth of April, 1865, at Appomattox Court-House. Gray-haired soldiers cried like children. It was hard to say whetherthey would have preferred, at that moment, to return to their familiesor to throw themselves upon the bayonets of the enemy, and die. 

In that hour of their agony they were not insulted, however. Thedeportment of the enemy was chivalric and courteous. No bands played;no cheers were heard; and General Grant was the first to saluteprofoundly his gray-haired adversary, who came, with a single officer, to arrange, in a house near the field, the terms of surrender. 

They are known. On the tenth they were carried out. 

The men stacked the old muskets, which they had carried in a hundredfights, surrendered the bullet-torn colors, which had waved overvictorious fields, and silently returned, like mourners, to theirdesolate homes. 

Two days after the surrender, Mohun was still alive. 

Three months afterward, the welcome intelligence reached me that he wasrapidly recovering. 

He had made a narrow escape. Ten minutes after the death of thefaithful Nighthawk, the Federal line had swept over him; and such wasthe agony of his wound, that he exclaimed to one of theenemy:--

"Take your pistol, and shoot me!"

The man cocked his weapon, and aimed at his heart. Then he turned themuzzle aside, and uncocking the pistol, replaced it in its holster. 

"No, " he said, "Johnny Reb, you might get well!"

[Footnote: These details are all real. ]

And glancing at the paper on Mohun's breast, he passed on, muttering--

"It's a general!"

The paper saved Mohun's life. An acquaintance in the Federal army sawit, and speedily had him cared for. An hour afterward his friends wereinformed of his whereabouts. I hastened to the house to which he hadbeen borne. Bending over him, the beautiful Georgia was sobbinghopelessly, and dropping tears upon the paper, which contained thewords--

_"This is the body of General Mohun, C. S. A. "_

The army had surrendered; the flag was lowered: with a singular feelingof bewilderment, and a "lost" feeling that is indescribable, I set out, followed by my servant, for Eagle's Nest. 

I was the possessor of a paper, which I still keep as a strangememorial. 

"The bearer, " ran this paper, "a paroled prisoner of the army ofNorthern Virginia, has permission to go to his home, and there remainundisturbed--with two horses!"

At the top of this document, was, "Appomattox Court-House, Va. , April, 10, 1865. " On the left-hand side was, "Paroled Prisoner's Pass. "

So, with his pass, the paroled prisoner passed slowly across Virginiato his home. 

Oh! that Virginia of 1865--that desolate, dreary land! Oh! those poor, sad soldiers returning to their homes! Everywhere burned houses, unfenced fields, ruined homesteads! On all sides, the desolation of thetorch and the sword! The "poor paroled prisoners, " going home wearilyin that dark April, felt a pang which only a very bitter foe will laughat. 

But all was not taken. Honor was left us--and the angels of home! Asthe sorrowful survivors of the great army came back, as they reachedtheir old homes, dragging their weary feet after them, or urging ontheir jaded horses, suddenly the sunshine burst forth for them, and litup their rags with a sort of glory. The wife, the mother, and thelittle child rushed to them. Hearts beat fast, as the gray uniformswere clasped in a long embrace. Those angels of home loved the poorprisoners better in their dark days than in their bright. The fond eyesmelted to tears, the white arms held them close; and the old soldiers, who had only laughed at the roar of the enemy's guns, dropped tears onthe faces of their wives and little children!

EPILOGUE. 

In the autumn of last year, 1867, I set out on horseback from "Eagle'sNest, " and following the route west by Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Germanna Ford, Culpeper, and Orleans, reached "The Oaks" in Fauquier. 

I needed the sunshine and bright faces of the old homestead, after thatjourney; for at every step had sprung up some gloomy or excitingrecollection. 

It was a veritable journey through the world of memory. 

Fredericksburg! Chancellorsville! the Wilderness! the plains ofCulpeper!--as I rode on amid these historic scenes, a thousand memoriescame to knock at the door of my heart. Some were gay, if many weresorrowful--laughter mingled with the sighs. But to return to the pastis nearly always sad. As I rode through the waste land now, it was withdrooping head. All the old days came back again, the cannon sent theirlong dull thunder through the forests; again the gray and blue linesclosed in, and hurled together; again Jackson in his old dingy coat, Stuart with his floating plume, Pelham, Farley, all whom I had known, loved, and still mourned, rose before me--a line of august phantomsfading away into the night of the past. 

Once more I looked upon Pelham, holding in his arms the bleeding formof Jean--passing "Camp-no-camp, " only a desolate and dreary field now, all the laughing faces and brave forms of Stuart and his menreturned--in the Wilderness I saw Jackson fight and fall; saw him bornethrough the moonlight; heard his sighs and his last greeting withStuart. A step farther, I passed the lonely old house in theWilderness, and all the strange and sombre scenes there surged up fromthe shadows of the past. Mordaunt, Achmed, Fenwick, VioletGrafton!--all reappeared, playing over again their fierce tragedy; andto this was added the fiercer drama of May, 1864, when General Grantinvented the "Unseen Death. "

Thus the journey which I made through the bare and deserted fields, orthe mournful thickets, was not gay; and these were only a part of thepanorama which passed before me. Looking toward the south, I saw asclearly with the eyes of the memory, the banks of the Po, the swamps ofthe Chickahominy, the trenches at Petersburg, the woods of Dinwiddie, Five Forks, Highbridge--Appomattox Court-House! Nearer was YellowTavern, where Stuart had fallen. Not a foot of this soil of OldVirginia but seemed to have been the scene of some fierce battle, somesombre tragedy!

"Well, well, " I sighed, as I rode on toward the Oaks, "all that isburied in the past, and it is useless to think of it. I am only a poorparoled prisoner, wearing arms no more--let me forget the red crossflag which used to float so proudly here, and bow my head to the willof the Supreme Ruler of all worlds. "

So I went on, and in due time reached the Oaks, in Fauquier. 

You recall the good old homestead, do you not, my dear reader? I shouldbe sorry to have you forget the spot where I have been so happy. It wasto this honest old mansion that I was conducted in April, 1861, whenstruck from my horse by a falling limb in the storm-lashed wood, I sawcome to my succor the dearest person in the world. She awaited menow--having a month before left Eagle's Nest, to pay a visit to herfamily--and again, as in the spring of '63, she came to meet me as Iascended the hill--only we met now as bridegroom and bride!

This May of my life had brought back the sunshine, even after thatblack day of 1865. Two white arms had met the poor paroled prisoner, onhis return to Eagle's Nest--a pair of violet eyes had filled with happytears--and the red lips, smiling with exquisite emotion, murmured "Allis well, since you have come back to me!"

It was this beautiful head which the sunshine of that autumn of 1867revealed to me, on the lawn of the good old chateau of the mountains!And behind, came all my good friends of the Oaks--the kind lady of themanor, the old colonel, and Charley and Annie, who were there too! Withhis long gray hair, and eyes that still flashed, Colonel Beverly cameto meet me--brave and smiling in 1867 as he had been in 1861. Then, with Annie's arm around me--that little sister had grownastonishingly!--I went in and was at home. 

At home! You must be a soldier to know what that simple word means, reader! You must sleep under a tree, carry your effects behind yoursaddle, lie down in bivouac in strange countries, and feel the longingof the heart for the dear faces, the old scenes. 

"Tell my mother that I die in a foreign land!" murmured my poor dearTazewell Patton, at Gettysburg. I have often thought of those words;and they express much I think. Oh! for home! for a glimpse, if no more, of the fond faces, as life goes! You may be the bravest of the brave, as my dear Tazewell was; but 'tis home where the heart is, and you sighfor the dear old land!

The Oaks was like home to me, for the somebody with violet eyes, andchestnut hair, was here to greet me. 

The sun is setting, and we wander in the fields touched by the dreamyautumn. 

"Look, " says the somebody who holds my hand, and smiles, "there is therock where we stopped in the autumn of 1862, and where you behaved withso little propriety, you remember, sir!"

"I remember the rock but not the absence of propriety. What were aman's arms made for but to clasp the woman he loves!"

"Stop, sir! People would think we were two foolish young lovers. "

"Young lovers are not foolish, madam. They are extremely intelligent. "

Madam laughs. 

"Yonder is the primrose from which I plucked the bud, " she says. 

"That sent me through Stuart's head-quarters in April, 1863?" I say. 

"Yes; you have not forgotten it I hope. "

"Almost; Stay! I think it meant 'Come, '--did it not?--And you sent itto me!"

Madam pouts beautifully. 

"You have 'almost forgotten' it! Have you, indeed, sir?"

"These trifles will escape us. "

May loses all her smiles, and her head sinks. 

I begin to laugh, taking an old porte-monnaie from my pocket. There isvery little money in it, but a number of worn papers, my parole andothers. I take one and open it. It contains a faded primrose. 

"Look!" I say, with a smile, "it said 'Come, ' once, and it brings meback again to the dearest girl in the world!"

A tear falls from the violet eyes upon the faded flower, but throughthe tears burst a smile!

They are curious, these earthly angels--are they not, my dear reader?They are romantic and sentimental to the last, and this old soldieradmires them!

So, conversing of a thousand things, we return to the Oaks wanderinglike boy and girl through the "happy autumn fields. " May Surry flitsthrough the old doorway and disappears. 

As she goes the sun sinks behind the forest. But it will rise, as shewill, to-morrow!

The smiling Colonel Beverly meets me on the threshold, with a note inhis hand. 

"A servant has just brought this, " he says, "it is from your friend, Mordaunt. "

I opened the note and read the following words:--

"_My dear Surry_:--

"I send this note to await your appearance at the Oaks. Come and seeme. Some old friends will give you a cordial greeting, in addition to

"Your comrade, "Mordaunt. "

I had intended visiting Mordaunt in a day or two after my arrival. Onthe very next morning I mounted my horse, and set out for the house inthe mountain, anxious to ascertain who the "old friends" were, to whomhe alluded. 

In an hour I had come within sight of Mordaunt's mansion. Passingthrough the great gate, I rode on between the two rows of magnificenttrees; approached the low mansion with its extensive wings, overshadowed by the huge black oaks; dismounted; raised the heavybronze knocker, carved like the frowning mask of the old tragedians;and letting it fall sent a peal of low thunder through the mansion. 

Mordaunt appeared in a few moments; and behind him came dear VioletGrafton, as I will still call her, smiling. Mordaunt's face glowed withpleasure, and the grasp of his strong hand was like a vice. He wasunchanged, except that he wore a suit of plain gray cloth. Hisstatuesque head, with the long black beard and mustache, the sparklingeyes, and cheeks tanned by exposure to the sun and wind, rose asproudly as on that morning in 1865, when he had charged and cut throughthe enemy at Appomattox. 

Violet was Violet still! The beautiful tranquil face still smiled withits calm sweetness; the lips had still that expression of infantileinnocence. The blue eyes still looked forth from the shower of goldenringlets which had struck me when I first met her in the lonely housein the Wilderness, in the gay month of April, 1861. 

I had shaken hands with Mordaunt, but I advanced and "saluted" madam, and the cheek was suddenly filled with exquisite roses. 

"For old times' sake, madam!"

"Which are the best of all possible times, Surry!" said Mordaunt, laughing. 

And he led the way into the great apartment, hung round with portraits, where we had supped on the night of Pelham's hard fight at Barbee's, after Sharpsburg. 

"You remember this room, do you not, my dear Surry?" said Mordaunt. "Itescaped during the war; though you see that my poor little grandmother, the child of sixteen there, with the curls and laces, received a sabrethrust in the neck. But you are looking round for the friends Ipromised. They were here a moment since, and only retired to give you asurprise. 

"See! here they are!"

The door opened, and I saw enter--Mohun and Landon!

In an instant I had grasped the hands of these dear friends; and theyhad explained their presence. Mohun had come to make a visit toMordaunt, and had prolonged his stay in order to meet me. Then Mordaunthad written to Landon, at "Bizarre, " just over the mountain, to comeand complete the party--he had promptly arrived--and I found myself inpresence of three old comrades, any one of whom it would have been arare pleasure to have met. 

Mohun and Landon were as unchanged as Mordaunt. I saw the same proudand loyal faces, listened to the same frank brave voices, touched thesame firm hands. They no longer wore uniforms--that was the wholedifference. Under the black coats beat the same hearts which hadthrobbed beneath the gray. 

I spent the whole day with Mordaunt, After dinner he led the way intothe room on the right of the entrance--that singular apartment intowhich I had been shown by accident on my first visit to him, and whereafterward I witnessed the test of poor Achmed's love. The apartment wasunchanged. The floor was still covered with the rich furs of lions, tigers, and leopards--the agate eyes still glared at me, and thegrinning teeth seemed to utter growls or snarls. On the walls I sawstill the large collection of books in every language--the hunting andbattle pictures which I had before so greatly admired--the strangearray of outlandish arms--and over the mantel-piece still hung theportrait of Violet Grafton. 

Seated in front of a cheerful blaze, we smoked and talked--Mordaunt, Mohun, Landon, and myself--until the shades of evening drew on. 

Landon told me of his life at "Bizarre, " near the little village ofMillwood, through which we had marched that night to bury his dead atthe old chapel, and where he had surrendered in April, 1865. Arden andAnnie lived near him, and were happy: and if I would come to "Bizarre, "he would show me the young lady whom I had carried off, that night, from the chapel graveyard, on the croup of my saddle!

Landon laughed. His face was charming; it was easy to see that he washappy. To understand how that expression contrasted with his formerappearance, the worthy reader must peruse my episodical memoir, _Hiltto Hilt_. 

Mohun's face was no less smiling. He had lost every trace of gloom. 

He gave me intelligence of all my old friends. General Davenant andJudge Conway had become close friends again. Will and Virginia weremarried. Charley was cultivating a mustache and speculating upon a newrevolution. Tom Herbert and Katy were on a visit to "Disaways. "

"Poor Nighthawk is the only one whom I miss, my dear Surry, " saidMohun. "He died trying to save me, and I have had his body taken toFonthill, where it is buried in the family graveyard. "

"He was a faithful friend; and to be killed on that very last morningwas hard. But many were. _You_ had a narrow escape, Mohun. "

"Yes, and was only preserved by a Bible. "

"A Bible?"

"Do you remember that I was reading by the camp fire, when you came tovisit me on the night preceding the surrender?"

"Yes--in your wife's Bible. "

"Well, my dear Surry, when I had finished reading, I placed the volumein my breast, as usual. When I was shot, on the next morning, thebullet struck the book and glanced. Had the Bible not been there, thatbullet would have pierced my heart. As it was, it only wounded me inthe breast. Here is my old Bible--I carry it about me still. "

As he spoke, Mohun drew from his breast the small leather-bound volume, in the cover of which was visible a deep gash. 

He looked at it with a smile, and said:---

"This book has been the salvation of my body and soul, Surry. I washaughty and a man-hater once--now I try to be humble. I had no hopeonce, now I am happy. I have one other souvenir of that memorable dayat Appomattox--this scrap of paper between the leaves of my old Bible. "

He drew out the scrap, which was dirty and discolored with blood. 

Upon it was written in pencil, the words:--

"This is the body of General Mohun, C. S. A. "

As Mohun pointed to it, a ray of sunset shot athwart the forest, andfell on his serene features, lighting them up with a sort of glory. Theclear eyes gave back the ray, and there was something exquisitely softin them. Mordaunt and Landon too, were bathed in that crimson light ofevening, disappearing beyond the shaggy crest of the Blue Ridge--and Ithought I saw on their proud faces the same expression. 

"These three men are happy, " I thought. "Their lot has been strange;they have been nearly lost; but heaven has sent to each an angel, tobring back hope to them. Ellen Adair, Georgia Conway, VioletGrafton--these fond hearts have changed your lives, Landon, Mohun, andMordaunt!"

In an hour I was at the "Oaks. "

A month afterward, I had returned to "Eagle's Nest. "

And in this April, 1868, when the flowers are blooming, and the sun isshining--when a pair of violet eyes make the sunshine still brighter--Iend the last volume of my memoirs. 

THE END.