34473	----	generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) ROBERT E. LEE A STORY AND A PLAY LITTLE FOLKS' PLAYS OF AMERICAN HEROES GEORGE WASHINGTON BENJAMIN FRANKLIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN ULYSSES S. GRANT ROBERT E. LEE JOHN JOSEPH PERSHING MAKERS OF AMERICA Richard G. Badger, Publisher Boston _Little Folks' Plays of American Heroes_ ROBERT E. LEE A STORY AND A PLAY RUTH HILL [Illustration: ARTI et VERITATI] BOSTON RICHARD G. BADGER THE GORHAM PRESS Copyright, 1920, by Richard G. Badger All Rights Reserved MADE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA THE GORHAM PRESS, BOSTON, U. S. A. CONTENTS THE STORY-- PAGE Growing Up 9 A Young Soldier 10 The Mexican War 12 A Returned Hero 15 The Civil War 16 The College President 21 THE PLAY-- Act I 29 Act II 37 Act III 44 Act IV 52 THE STORY THE STORY OF ROBERT E. LEE GROWING UP Once upon a time in beautiful Virginia there lived a little boy named Robert Edward Lee. It was in the days before the Civil War when, if we may believe all we hear, all the women were charming, and all the men were gentlemen. The boy's father was one of the most gallant of the gentlemen, for he was Light Horse Harry of Revolutionary War fame. He it was who said of Washington, "First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen." Mr. Lee did not realize, then, how many people would apply this same remark to his own son. No doubt little Robert got in and out of as many scrapes as any other active little boy, but all the time he was hard at work learning to control his temper. I started to say he was learning to be a gentleman, but that was something he did not have to learn. A gentleman he was by nature, as the Lees of Virginia had been for generations. He did not have a very happy boyhood. His father died when Robert was only eleven. His mother was an invalid and Robert was the one who did all the thoughtful little things that mean so much when one is sick. He would race home from school to take her out to ride. He would arrange all the pillows carefully and then tell her everything amusing he could think of, because he said unless she was cheerful the ride would do her no good. In her last illness he nursed her day and night. If Robert left the room, she kept her eyes on the door until he returned, but she never had long to wait. A YOUNG SOLDIER When the time came for Robert to choose a profession he decided to be a soldier. He prepared himself for West Point. His teacher said that everything Robert started to do, he finished beautifully, even if it were only a plan drawn on his slate. When the time came, he received his appointment to West Point through Andrew Jackson, who was greatly taken by the appearance of this straightforward young man. At West Point he graduated second in his class, and better than that, he never received a demerit all the time he was there. Right after graduation, he was made second lieutenant of Engineers and for some time he was busy looking after our coast defenses. Two years afterwards he married. Who do you suppose the bride was? The granddaughter of Washington's stepson. Robert and Mary Park Custis had played together as children. She was an heiress, while Lieutenant Lee was poor, but that did not lessen her pride in her husband. Some years later, after he had been made Captain the Mississippi River threatened to flood St. Louis. General Scott was asked for help and he sent Captain Lee. "He is young," Scott wrote, "but if the work can be done, he can do it." The city government grew impatient because they thought the young engineer was not working fast enough. They withdrew the money they had voted to spend on the work, but this did not stop Captain Lee. All he said was "They can do as they like with their own, but I was sent here to do certain work, and I will do it." And he did it. Feeling in the city ran high, riots broke out, and it was said that cannons were placed ready to fire on the working force. But Lee kept calmly on to the end, and his work still stands today. Just as when he was a boy, anything he began, he finished beautifully. THE MEXICAN WAR Later, when the Mexican War broke out, of course Captain Lee was sent to the border. You know what sort of country that is, how easy it is for Mexicans to hide in the mountains, and how hard it is for Americans to find them. So successful was Lee as a scout, however, that first he was made major, then lieutenant-colonel, and finally colonel, all in one year. General Scott declared years afterward that Lee was the very best soldier he had ever seen. Early in the war, he started out with a single Mexican guide whom he forced to serve at the point of a pistol. The Americans had received a report that the Mexicans had crossed the mountains and were near, ready to attack. Lee started out to find how near the Mexicans really were. Soon Lee and his frightened guide came upon tracks of mules and wagons in the road. This would have satisfied many scouts, but Lee determined to press on until he reached the pickets of the enemy. To his surprise he found no pickets, but he saw large camp-fires on a hillside not far away. By this time, his guide was ready to die of fright and begged Lee to return. But he was not quite satisfied and rode forward. Soon he saw what carried out the report he had heard of the mountain side covered with the tents of the Mexicans, for there it gleamed white in the moonlight. Still riding on, he heard the loud talking and usual noises of a camp. But by this time he discovered that what others had taken for tents were,--well what do you suppose? Why, nothing but sheep! Riding into the herders' camp, he learned that the Mexicans had not yet crossed the mountains, so he galloped back to his own camp with this important news,--much to the relief of his guide. At another time he set out in darkness in the midst of a terrible tropic storm, across lava beds where Mexicans lurked. By carrying an important message, he forced the Mexicans to retreat. Seven officers were sent on the same errand, but all except Lee returned without delivering the message. General Scott called it the bravest act of the whole war. A story which shows how Lee kept right on doing anything that he knew was right, is told of him when he was in Mexico. He had been ordered to take some marines and make a battery to be manned by them afterwards. The sailors did not like to dig dirt and swore. Even their captain said his men were fighters, not moles. Lee simply showed his orders and made them keep on. When the firing began, the marines found their trenches very useful. The captain apologized to Lee saying, "I suppose after all, your work helped the boys a good deal. But the fact is, I never did like this land fighting--it ain't clean." After the fall of Mexico when the American officers were celebrating with a banquet in the palace, a health was proposed to the gallant young captain of engineers who had found a way for the army into the city. Then they noticed that Lee was not there, so one of them went in search of him. At last Lee was found in a faraway room, hard at work studying a map. When his friend asked him why he was not at the banquet, he pointed to his work. Then his friend told him that was just drudgery and that some one else could do it just as well. "No," said Lee, "No, I am only doing my duty." A RETURNED HERO After the war with Mexico, Lee was one of the most popular war heroes. The Cubans tried to get him to lead them in a revolution against Spain. They offered him far more money then he could receive here, but he thought it dishonorable to accept service in a foreign army when he held a United States commission. Three years later he was made superintendent of West Point. When he learned of his new position, he wrote just what we might expect of him. He said he was sorry to learn that the Secretary of War had decided on him, because he was afraid that he did not have skill and experience enough. As a matter of fact, he made a highly successful superintendent. One day when Lee was out riding with his son, they caught sight of three cadets who were far out of bounds, and were going farther just as fast as they could. After a moment Lee said, "Did you know those young men? But no, if you did, don't say so. I wish boys would do what is right; it would be so much easier for all parties." After three years' service at West Point, Lee was made lieutenant-colonel in a new cavalry regiment, intended to keep peace in the South Western territory which had been taken over from Mexico. His time was spent in fighting Indians. He happened to be in Washington at the time of the famous John Brown raid and he was sent to end it. Lee captured John Brown and then turned him over to the civil authorities. If it had not been for Lee, John Brown and his party would have been lynched. In talking with a friend afterwards Lee said, "I am glad we did not have to kill him, for I believe he is an honest, conscientious old man." THE CIVIL WAR Day by day the feeling between the Northern and Southern states grew more bitter. Lee thought both sides were somewhat in the wrong but he kept right to his military duties. He said a soldier should not dabble in politics. At last the break came for Lee when Virginia decided to leave the union. Can't you just imagine how the heart of Lee was torn? Here he was an officer in the United States army, and yet his beloved Virginia was no longer to be a part of the nation. It is said that he was offered the position of Commander-in-Chief of the United States forces if he would remain loyal to the union, but he could not turn his back upon Virginia. It was not as if he had felt bitterly against the North. It was not as if he felt strongly on the slave question. As a matter of fact he had freed his own slaves before. He wanted peace but since Virginia had decided to withdraw from the union and so needed him, he was not the man to fail her. We still remember how he refused to take command in Cuba because he was a United States officer. Now he was obliged to resign his commission, but he said he hoped never to draw his sword again except in defence of his native state. As soon as it was known that Lee had retired from the United States army, the Governor offered him the position of Commander-in-Chief of the forces of Virginia. The president of the Virginia convention gave him his commission saying, "Sir, we have by this unanimous vote expressed our convictions that you are at this day, among the living citizens of Virginia, first in war, and we pray God that it may soon be said of you that you are first in peace, and when that time comes you will have gained the still prouder distinction of being first in the hearts of your countrymen." So, at the age of fifty-four, after thirty-two years of service in the United States army, Lee accepted the command which he felt to be his duty. For four years, the life of General Lee was a part of all men's history. You know how he took charge of raw recruits and in two months had sixty trained regiments ready for the service of his state. You know how hard it was for the South to get arms and ammunition. General Lee called upon all the citizens to give up all the guns they owned and saw that factories turned out as much ammunition as possible. I don't have to tell you of Lee's victories and defeats, because you have read of them all. He had not only to fight with the Northern armies but he had also to battle against home sickness and measles (measles during the Civil War were no joke) in his own camp. Because the Southern States were fighting for their separate rights, the feeling of independence was particularly strong among the Southern officers, and General Lee was sometimes seriously hindered by not having his orders carried out. Then came the last terrible years and months of the war when the South could not get food or clothes or shoes for her army. But the men inspired by Lee, continued to fight bravely on. They knew that their general was not feasting while they starved; for often one cold sweet potato would be all that General Lee would have for a meal. You can see how great an influence Lee had on the army, by the words that would pass from mouth to mouth before a battle. "Remember, General Lee is looking at us." Before one of the later battles of war, Lee was reviewing the troops. "These," said one of the officers, "Are the brave Virginians." Without saying a word, Lee removed his hat and rode the length of the line. One man said it was the most eloquent speech he had ever heard. A few minutes later as the men advanced to the charge one of the youngest called out, "Any man who would not fight after what General Lee said is a blame coward!" During battle, Lee seemed not to know the meaning of fear. His officers were forever telling him to keep out of danger. On one occasion he was so determined to fight in the front of the battle, they had to refuse to advance until he went back. He said one time in his quiet vein of humor, "I wish some one would tell me what my place is on the battlefield, I seem never to be in it." Another time, he was seen to advance in the midst of firing, stoop, and pick something up. He was replacing a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest. Finally with all supplies cut off, General Lee saw all further fighting was useless, and he accepted arrangements for surrender. One of his officers told him that history would blame him for surrendering. He replied that it did not matter if he knew it was right. So at the courthouse at Appomattox, Lee proved himself as great as ever he had been in victory. It is easy enough to be great in the midst of victory, but the truly great man is the one who remains great in spite of defeat. That is the test. General Grant was so much touched by the bravery and suffering of the Southern army that by his orders no salutes of joy were fired. After signing the articles of surrender, Lee came out of the courthouse, looked up for a moment at the Virginia hills for which he had fought so bravely, struck his hands together just once in agony, then mounted his confederate grey horse, Traveller, and rode calmly away. As he rode, he passed in view of his men,--as many as remained of them. News of the surrender had spread, so they were standing about in dejected groups, when they caught sight of Lee. For a moment they forgot hunger and defeat and let out a mighty shout. Then they crowded around their former commander kissing his hands through their tears. "Men," he said, "we have fought through the war together. I have done my best for you. My heart is too full to say more." THE COLLEGE PRESIDENT The Lees' beautiful home, Arlington, across the river from Washington, had been used as headquarters for the Union Army during the war. The country home they owned had been burned. The family was now living at Richmond, and General Lee went to join them there. You can imagine how glad they were to see each other after their long and terrible separation. But Lee was not allowed the peaceful home life for which he longed. Callers of every class crowded the house. One morning an Irishman who had fought on the Northern side came with a basket of provisions, and insisted upon seeing General Lee. The servant could not put him off, so when the General appeared, Pat said to him, "Sure, sir, you're a great soldier, and it's I that knows it. I've been fighting against you all these years, and many a hard knock we've had. But, General, I honor you for it, and now they tell me you are poor and in want, and I've brought you this basket. Please take it from a soldier." Lee, of course, thanked him for it and told him that although he himself was not in need there were poor soldiers in the hospital who would be glad to be remembered by so generous a foe. With the death of President Lincoln, feeling in the North against the South took new life. Friends of Lee began to fear for his safety. One day a confederate soldier in a tattered uniform called upon the general saying he was speaking for four other fellows around the corner who were too ragged to come to the house. They offered their loved general a home in the mountains where they would guard him with their lives. Lee thanked them with tears in his eyes, but he said he could not live the life of an outlaw. He gave them some of his clothes and the soldier went back to his friends around the corner. Because of Mrs. Lee's poor health, it became necessary to leave Richmond. A friend offered them a country house near Cartersville in Cumberland county. But people followed him even here. An English nobleman offered him an estate abroad, but Lee would not leave Virginia now that she needed him more than ever. He received all sorts of offers of money, of land, of stock if he would allow business companies just to use his name. He was offered the presidency of an insurance company at a salary of $50,000 a year. He said he could not accept because he knew nothing about the insurance business. "But General, you will not be expected to do any work; what we wish is the use of your name." "Don't you think," said General Lee, "that if my name is worth $50,000 a year, I ought to be very careful about taking care of it?" As one of his daughters said, "They are offering my father everything but the only thing he will accept,--a chance to earn honest bread while engaged in some useful work." That speech made to a trustee of Washington College, brought Lee the offer of presidency of the college at a salary of $1,500 a year. At first Lee would not accept, because he was afraid that because he was still a prisoner on parole it might hurt the college to have him as its head. When the trustees told him what an honor it would be to the college to have his name connected with it, he finally accepted. On his old war horse, Traveller, he rode into Lexington alone to take up his college duties. At first he was met with a reverent silence, but soon his old soldiers broke out into their far-famed rebel yell. He took his oath as president on October 2, 1865, and from then until his death, he devoted himself to the needs of the college. When he took charge there were only four professors and forty students. Don't you think most men who had been commanders-in-chief would have considered it beneath their dignity to accept a position like that? He put every student on his honor. If he found that a student was getting no good from the college, and that his influence might be bad on the others, the student was given the chance to leave instead of being expelled. Even as the college grew bigger, Lee knew every student personally, and even most of his marks. Lee was still pursued by offers of large salaries for the mere use of his name. To one of these he replied what he might have said to all, "I am grateful, but I have a self-imposed task which I must accomplish. I have led the young men of the South in battle. I have seen many of them die on the field; I shall devote my remaining energies to training young men to do their duty in life." The trustees of Washington College wanted to give him as a home, the house erected for him as president. But he insisted that the building be kept by the college, he said he could not allow himself or his family to be a tax on the college. Because of poor health, Lee went South during his last winter. While he was gone, the trustees voted to give his family three thousand dollars a year. But this, like everything else, Lee refused. After Lee's Southern trip, it was hoped that he had regained his health, for he took up his college duties with such energy. On the morning of September 28, 1870, General Lee was at his desk promptly as usual. In the afternoon he went to a business meeting of the Church officers. A steady rain was falling and the air was chilly. He presided at the meeting, sitting in the cold, damp church. When it was announced that the minister's salary had not been raised, Lee said he would pay what was lacking. Tea was waiting for him when he came home. He stood up as if to say grace, but he could not speak. When the doctor came, he told Lee he would soon be up again riding his favorite gray, but Lee only shook his head. Then later in his delirium, he showed his mind had wandered back to the battlefields, for once he said, "Strike the tents." And again speaking of one of his favorite officers who had been killed in the war, he said, "Tell Hill he _must_ come up." Then at last Lee passed peacefully away from all battlefields. One time a young student was called to the president's office and was told gently that only patience and industry would prevent the failure that would otherwise certainly come to him. "But, General, you failed." "I hope that you may be more fortunate than I," was the quiet answer. But it was only the General's great modesty that made him consider himself a failure. What greater success could come to any man than to be always a Christian and always a gentleman? THE PLAY ACT I SCENE I _Scene: Alexandria, Va., the garden in front of the Lees' home in the spring of 1819._ Characters Robert Lee, aged 12 Bud, his chum, aged 11 Slats, a friend, aged 12 Fat, another friend, aged 13 (_Enter ROBERT and BUD. BUD has a fishing rod. ROBERT is carrying his school books. SLATS follows tossing a ball in the air and catching it. FAT trails along last, as usual._) BUD--An say, Rob, get your pole and come on fishing. They say they're biting great. Have you asked your mother if you could go? ROBERT--No, I haven't. SLATS--Well what do you think she is, a mind reader or something? FAT--No, probably he thinks if he waits long enough, somebody will ask her for him. BUD--Don't judge everybody by yourself. Rob always does everything for himself and a lot of things for other people, and you know it, unless your head's too fat. SLATS--Well, aren't you going to ask her Rob? ROBERT--No, I told you before, I couldn't go fishing. FAT--Well, how do you know you can't if you haven't even asked? Talk about my head being fat! BUD--You better be careful what you say to Rob. He could trim the life out of you, and you know it. ROBERT--I don't see what you boys are making all this fuss about. I just can't go fishing, that's all. You fellows go ahead and have a good time and tomorrow tell me all about that biggest fish that got away. BUD--Don't you want to go, Rob? ROBERT--Of course I want to go, but I simply can't this afternoon, that's all. BUD--Aw what's the secret, Rob? Aren't you and I pardners? ROBERT--There isn't any secret, Bud. I'm just going to take mother out to ride just as I always do. SLATS--Well say, can't she stay home just for once? ROBERT--She does stay home all the time except when I take her out to ride. Now be careful, or she might hear you, and not want me to take her out. FAT--Say, if I'd thought of that sooner, I'd have talked at the top of my lungs. BUD--Be careful, Fat, or Rob'll have you yelling at the top of your lungs. ROBERT--Good luck, boys. Run along and have a good time. I hope the fish bite as fast as snapping turtles. (_He goes in the house._) BUD--Come on boys, no use trying to get Rob. When he makes up his mind, you might just as well not try to budge him. FAT--Aw, he's tied to his mother's apron strings. SLATS--You shut up before I make you! BUD (_To FAT_)--Say if you were half as manly as he is, no one would know you. FAT--I didn't mean anything. I like Rob just as well as the rest of you, but if I did all the things for my mother that he does for his, everyone'd call me a sissy. SLATS--Yes, and probably they'd be right. Come on, Fat, I mean "Sissy." (_BUD, SLATS and FAT go on their way. Negro servant leads out horse and carriage. ROBERT comes out of the house helping his mother down the stairs._) MRS. LEE--Don't strain yourself, Robert. ROBERT--You don't know how strong I am, Mother. Lean harder. I don't feel you at all. MRS. LEE--I don't know what I'd do without you Robert. You're both sons and daughters to me. (_ROBERT helps her into the carriage._) ROBERT--There, are you quite comfortable, mother? (_He arranges the cushions for her._) MRS. LEE--Yes thank you dear, but I do feel as if you ought to be out playing instead of taking an old invalid like me out to ride. ROBERT--You aren't old and you must get well so fast that you won't be an invalid any longer, and both of us are going to have the best possible ride. (_They drive away._) SCENE II _The Harbor of St. Louis, banks of the Mississippi River, 1839._ Characters Captain Robert E. Lee First Lieutenant Smith Buck Brown, Town Bully Coyote Jim, his pal, a half-breed Soldiers at work Eight friends of Buck and Coyote Jim BUCK--I'm a-lookin' for the boss of these diggin's. LIEUTENANT--You want Captain Lee. (_Pointing to him._) BUCK--Be you Captain Lee? LEE--That's my name. What can I do for you? BUCK--You can't do nothin' for me. Me and my friends can do anything we want for ourselves. We ain't helpless, see? LEE--That being the case, I wish you would proceed to your own affairs and allow me to attend to mine. BUCK--We'd be happy to have you, but this here you're doing now, don't happen to be none of your business. LEE--Evidently you are looking for trouble, but I am much too busy to oblige you. BUCK--Unless you leave off being busy right here and now, you're pretty liable to land in a heap o' trouble. LEE--I am not in the least interested in your threats and I will ask you to be kind enough to leave in order to save me the trouble of having you put out. BUCK--I reckon you don't know who you're talking to. I'm Buck Brown and this is Coyote Jim, my running mate, and all the rest of these here is our pals and have come to back us up in anything we say. LEE--I am here to work not to argue. If you are not away from these works in three minutes, I will take means to see that you are. BUCK--Did you know the city gov'ment wasn't going to give you no money for your work? LEE--They can do as they like with their own, but I was sent here to do certain work, and I will do it. BUCK--(_Pointing._) Do you see them cannons up there? Unless you quit your dirty meddlin', you'll have a chance to get acquainted with them. LEE--Do you think I'd be kept from doing my duty by a pack of bullies and cowards? Go back and hide behind your cannon. You'll need more than those to protect you if you meddle again. (_BUCK and his friends skulk out._) SCENE III _Banquet Hall of the Palace, City of Mexico, after its conquest by the American forces. Officers sitting around the table._ Characters General Scott General Wilcox General Twiggs General Magruder Thirty other officers WILCOX--Well, I must say I'm thankful it's all over and I do hope it isn't long before we can get back to God's own country. Furthermore, I for one am thankful enough to be sitting here enjoying myself. SCOTT--I am inclined to believe that if it had not been for one Captain Robert E. Lee, you and I would still be fighting those slippery Mexicans. PIERCE--Yes, I have the utmost confidence in the skill and judgment of Captain Lee. TWIGGS--His gallantry and good conduct deserve the highest praise. WILCOX--(_Rising and raising his glass._) Gentlemen, I wish to propose a toast that I know you will all drink heartily. I propose the health of the Captain of Engineers who found a way for our army into the city. Gentlemen, (_Raising his glass again_) the health of Captain Robert E. Lee! (_All the officers rise at once and lift their glasses. Then look around for LEE._) WILCOX--Why he isn't here. What can be the matter. MAGRUDER--I'll go and fetch him. SCOTT--You might know Lee would be first in the battle and last at a banquet. TWIGGS--I thought all of the crowd were here. SCOTT--They are all here but Lee. Evidently we were all too much interested in our food to notice anything else. Let's sing a song to welcome him. (_They sing two stanzas of "Yankee Doodle."_) TWIGGS--Here comes Magruder alone. (_MAGRUDER enters._) Why, what's the matter? Couldn't you find him? MAGRUDER--Oh, I found him all right, but that was all the good it did me. SCOTT--Is he ill? MAGRUDER--If he is, I wish I had the same thing the matter with me. He's suffering from a sense of duty. TWIGGS--You don't have to worry then. WILCOX--Tell us all about it. MAGRUDER--You might as well sit down first because he isn't coming. (_They all sit down but MAGRUDER._) You see I found him in a little room in a corner of the palace hard at work on a map. I asked him why he wasn't at the banquet and he said he was too busy. I told him it was just drudgery and to let some one else do it, but he looked up at me with that mild, calm gaze we all know so well and said, "No, I'm just doing my duty." ACT II SCENE I _General Scott's office, Washington, April 18, 1861._ Characters Colonel Lee General Scott SCOTT--The nation is in a terrible condition. LEE--As far as I can judge from the papers we are between a state of anarchy and civil war. May God avert from us both! I see that four States have declared themselves out of the Union. Four more apparently will follow their example. Then if the border States are dragged into the gulf of revolution, one half of the country will be arrayed against the other. I must try to be patient and wait the end, for I can do nothing to hasten or retard it. SCOTT--I don't quite see why conditions have become so serious. LEE--The position of the two sections which they hold to each other has been brought about by the politicians of the country. The great masses of the people, if they understood the real question would avoid it. I believe that it is an unnecessary condition of affairs and might have been avoided, if forbearance and wisdom had been practised on both sides. SCOTT--Which side do you think is more to blame? LEE--The South, in my opinion, has been aggrieved by the act of the North. I feel the aggression and am willing to take every proper step for redress. It is the principle I contend for, not individual or private interest. As an American citizen, I take great pride in my country, her prosperity, and her institutions. But I can anticipate no greater calamity for this country than a dissolution of the Union. It would be an accumulation of all the evils we complain of, and I am willing to sacrifice everything but honor for its preservation. I hope, therefore, that all constitutional means will be exhausted before there is a resort to force. Secession is nothing but revolution. Still a Union that can be maintained only by swords and bayonets, and in which strife and civil war are to take the place of brotherly love and kindness, has no charm for me. I shall mourn for my country and for the welfare and progress of mankind. SCOTT--But do you think slavery is just? LEE--If all the slaves of the South were mine, I would surrender them all without a struggle to avert this war. SCOTT--Then your sympathies are with the North? LEE--Though opposed to secession and war, I can take no part in an invasion of the Southern States. SCOTT--But surely you could not desert the United States army? LEE--I deeply regret being obliged to separate myself from the service to which I have devoted the best years of my life and all the ability I possessed. SCOTT--But I have been given to understand that in case you remained loyal, you would be given a very exalted command. LEE--Yes, Blair has just been talking to me in regard to the matter, but no consideration on earth could induce me to act a part however gratifying to me, which could be construed into disregard of, or faithlessness to the Commonwealth. If I am compelled to resign I cannot consult my own feelings in the matter. Virginia is my country, her will I obey, however lamentable the fate to which it may subject me. If the Union is dissolved and the Government disrupted, I shall return to my native State and share the miseries of my people, and, save in her defence, will draw my sword no more. SCENE II _Convention of Virginia, Richmond, April 23, 1861._ Characters Robert E. Lee Mr. Janney, President of the Convention Convention members and citizens JANNEY--In the name of the people of our native State, here represented, I bid you a cordial and heartfelt welcome to this hall, in which we may almost hear the echoes of the voices of the statesmen, the soldiers, and the sages of bygone days who have borne your name and whose blood now flows in your veins. We met in the month of February last charged with the solemn duty of protecting the rights, the honor, and the interests of the people of this commonwealth. We differed for a time as to the best means of accomplishing that object, but there never was at any moment a shade of difference among us as to the great object itself; and now, Virginia having taken her position, we stand animated by one impulse, governed by one desire and one determination, and that is, that she shall be defended, and that no spot on her soil shall be polluted by the foot of an invader. When the necessity of having a leader for our forces became apparent, all hearts and all eyes turned to the old county of Westmoreland. We knew how prolific she had been in other days of heroes and statesmen; we knew she had given birth to the Father of his country, to Richard Henry Lee, to Monroe, and last, though not least, to your own gallant father; and we knew well by your deeds that her productive power was not exhausted. Sir, we watched with the most profound and intense interest the triumphal march of the army led by General Scott, to which you were attached, from Vera Cruz to the capital of Mexico. We read of the conflicts and blood-stained fields, in all of which victory perched upon our banners. We knew of the unfading lustre which was shed upon the American arms by that campaign, and we know also what your modesty has always disclaimed, that no small share of the glory of those achievements was due to your valor and your military genius. Sir, one of the proudest recollections of my life will be that I yesterday had the honor of submitting to this body the confirmation of the nomination, made by the governor of this State, of you as commander-in-chief of the naval and military forces of this commonwealth. I rose to put the question and when I asked if this body would advise and consent to that appointment, there rushed from the hearts to the tongues of all the members an affirmative response, which told with an emphasis that could leave no doubt of the feeling whence it emanated. I put the negative of the question for form's sake, but there was an unbroken silence. Sir, we have by this unanimous vote expressed our convictions that you are at this day, among the living citizens of Virginia, first in war, and we pray God most fervently that you may so conduct the operations committed to your charge that it may soon be said of you that you are first in peace, and when that time comes you will have gained the still prouder distinction of being first in the hearts of your countrymen. Yesterday your mother, Virginia, placed her sword in your hands upon the implied condition--which we knew you will keep to the letter and in the spirit--that you will draw it only in defence, and that you will fall with it in your hand rather than the object for which it was placed there shall fail. (_Long applause from convention members and citizens._) LEE--Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Convention: Profoundly impressed with the solemnity of the occasion, for which I must say I was not prepared, I accept the position assigned me by your partiality. I would have much preferred it had your choice fallen upon an abler man. Trusting in Almighty God, an approving conscience, and the aid of my fellow-citizens, I devote myself to the service of my native State, in whose behalf alone will I ever again draw my sword. ACT III SCENE I _General Lee's Tent._ Characters General Lee Major W. H. Fitzhugh Lee, his son Hon. B. H. Hill General Starke An Orderly HILL--I have come to ask your advice. Do you think it would be wise to move the Southern capital farther South? LEE--That is a political question and you politicians must answer it. I am only a soldier. HILL--That is the proudest name today. LEE--Yes, there never were such men in an army before. They will go anywhere and do anything if properly led. HILL--They could have no commander equal to General Lee. LEE--No, we made a great mistake Mr. Hill in the beginning of our struggle, and I fear in spite of all we can do, it will prove to be a fatal mistake. HILL--What mistake is that General? LEE--Why sir, in the beginning we appointed all our worst generals to command the armies, and all our best generals to edit the newspapers. As you know, I have planned some campaigns and quite a number of battles. I have given the work all the care and thought I could, and sometimes when my plans were completed, so far as I could see they seemed perfect. But when I have fought them through I have discovered defects, and occasionally wondered I did not see some of the defects in advance. When it was all over I found by reading a newspaper that these best editor-generals saw all the defects plainly from the start. Unfortunately, they did not communicate this knowledge to me until it was too late. I have no ambition but to serve the Confederacy and do all I can to win our independence. I am willing to serve in any capacity to which the authorities may assign me. I have done the best I could in the field, and have not succeeded as I should wish. I am willing to yield my place to the best generals, and will do my best for the cause in editing a newspaper. Even as poor a soldier as I am can generally discover mistakes _after it is all over_. But if I could only induce these wise gentlemen, who see them so clearly _beforehand_, to communicate with me in advance, instead of waiting till the evil has come upon us--to let me know what _they knew all the time_--it would be far better for my reputation, and, what is of more consequence, far better for the cause. HILL--Don't let those waspish editors annoy you. The South is behind you to a man. They know what General Lee cannot accomplish, no man can. (_ORDERLY enters and salutes._) LEE--What is it? ORDERLY--General Starke wishes to see you. HILL--I must leave you General, I am grateful for the audience. LEE--I am always glad to talk to those interested in our common cause. Good day, Mr. Hill. HILL--Good day, General. (_Exit._) LEE--Show General Starke in. (_Enter GEN. STARKE. He salutes._) LEE--(_Saluting._) Good morning, General, what can I do for you. STARKE--Nothing for me sir, but a good deal for yourself. LEE--This is no time to think of private benefits. STARKE--But General your reputation is suffering, the press is denouncing you, your own State is losing confidence in you, and the army needs a victory to add to its enthusiasm. LEE--I cannot afford to sacrifice five or six hundred of my people to silence public clamor. When it is time to strike, we will strike with a will. STARKE--I wish those Northerners were all dead. LEE--How can you say so? Now I wish they were all at home attending to their own business, and leaving us to do the same. They also are my countrymen. General, there is a good old book which says, "Love your enemies." What a cruel thing is war; to separate and destroy families and friends, and mar the purest joys and happiness God has granted us in this world; to fill our hearts with hatred instead of love for our neighbors and to devastate the fair face of the beautiful world. STARKE--But think of our men who have laid down their lives so bravely. LEE--The loss of our gallant officers and men throughout the army causes me to weep tears of blood and to wish that I might never hear the sound of a gun again. STARKE--I am sorry to have worried you General, you are right, good day! (_Salutes and exit. Enter MAJOR W. H. FITZHUGH LEE._) W. H. F. LEE--Father! LEE--Fitzhugh, how good it is to see you. You don't know how much I have missed you and your mother and your brothers and sisters. W. H. F. LEE--Won't it be wonderful when the war will be over and we can all be together again. LEE--God grant that it may be so! W. H. F. LEE--I can't stay any longer, Father. I just came in to see you a moment before starting. I must be about my duty. LEE--I know that wherever you may be placed, you will do your duty. That is all the pleasure, all the comfort, all the glory we can enjoy in this world. Duty is the sublimest word in the language. There is a true glory and a true honor, the glory of duty done, the honor of integrity of principles. (_They salute._) SCENE II _Battlefield, the Southern Lines. Shells falling all around._ Characters General Lee General Gordon General Gracie General Stuart Northern Prisoners Soldiers (_Enter squad of Soldiers with three Northern prisoners. One without a cap._) LEE--(_Addressing prisoner without cap._) Where is your cap? Did the Rebels shoot it off? PRISONER--(_Saluting._) No, General, but one of them took it off. LEE--(_Noticing a blue cap on one of the Confederate soldiers._) Give him back his cap, even if your own is ragged. Men, you had better go farther to the rear, they are firing up here, and you are exposing yourselves. (_Exeunt soldiers and prisoners._) (_Enter General Gracie who places himself directly in front of General Lee in the direction of the firing._) LEE--Why General Gracie, you will certainly be killed. GRACIE--It is better, General, that I should be killed than you. When you go to the rear, I will. (_Enter General Gordon with company of men._) GORDON--General Lee, this is no place for you. Do go to the rear. These are Virginians and Georgians, sir--men who have never failed--and they will not fail now--Will you boys? Is it necessary for General Lee to lead this charge. SOLDIERS--No! no! General Lee to the rear. General Lee to the rear! We will drive them back, if General Lee will only go to the rear. GORDON--Forward! Charge! and remember your promise to General Lee. (_Exeunt._) GEN. STUART--General, this is no place for you, do go away at once to a safe place. LEE--I wish I knew where my place is on the battlefield: wherever I go some one tells me it is not the place for me to be. LEE--(_To soldiers._) Soldiers, I am more than satisfied with you. Your country will thank you for the heroic conduct you have displayed,--conduct worthy of men engaged in a cause so just and sacred, and deserving a nation's gratitude and praise. Now you must go farther back, you are exposing yourselves unnecessarily. (_As they pass back a little, slowly and unwillingly, Lee goes farther forward, stoops down and picks up something._) FIRST SOLDIER--What is he doing? SECOND SOLDIER--Why he's picking up a little bird that had fallen from its nest. FIRST SOLDIER--"He who heeds the sparrow's fall." SECOND SOLDIER--I've heard of God, but here is General Lee! SCENE III _Outside Appomatox Courthouse during Lee's conference with Grant._ _Ragged Confederate soldiers on one side. Northern troops on the other._ 1ST CONFEDERATE--Their uniforms don't look much like ours, do they? 2ND CONFEDERATE--No, nor their General doesn't look much like ours either. 3RD CONFEDERATE--Didn't Marse Robert look wonderful when he went through that door? Just naturally hating to go in, but going just the same, because he knew it was right. 1ST CONFEDERATE--Of course he had to go in, we couldn't have stood another day without any rations. 2ND CONFEDERATE--You mean you couldn't. I could have gone till I dropped without rations, if Marse Robert had said so. 3RD CONFEDERATE--But he wouldn't let his men suffer any longer when he saw it was no use. Sh! Here he comes now. (_Soldiers stand at attention. The door slowly opens and LEE steps out. He looks up to the hills and sky. Silently clasps his hands together, then slowly and almost bent, walks down the steps. For a moment the men are silent. Then the sight of GEN. LEE is too much for them and they crowd around him cheering him._) LEE--(_Lifting his hand for silence._) Men, we have fought through the war together. I have done my best for you. My heart is too full to say more. ACT IV _Scene--Lee's Parlor at Richmond._ Characters Gen. Lee Mrs. Jackson, a family friend Jack Sharpe, a former Confederate soldier Sam, an old negro servant G. W. Custis Lee, Gen. Lee's son Mr. Brown, representative of an Insurance Company Judge Brockenborough, Trustee of Washington College PAT--(_Bursting through door with a huge basket of provisions, salutes._) Sure, sir, you're a great soldier and it's I that knows it. I've been fighting against you all these years, and many a hard knock we've had. But, General, I honor you for it, and now they tell me you are poor and in want, and I've brought you this basket. Please take it from a soldier. LEE--I thank you comrade, but I'm glad to tell you I am not in need. But there are plenty of poor fellows over at the hospital who would be only too glad to get food from so generous a foe. PAT--Just as you say, sir, but if ever you are in need just let Pat Murphy know, that's all. (_Exit._) (_Enter MRS. JACKSON._) LEE--How do you do, Mrs. Jackson. MRS. JACKSON--Good morning General, and how are all the family? LEE--We are all as usual, the women of the family very fierce and the men very mild. MRS. JACKSON--I think every woman of the South is fierce now. I am bringing up all my sons to hate the Yankees. LEE--Madam, don't bring up your sons to detest the United States Government. Recollect that we form one country now. Abandon all this local hatred and make your sons Americans. MRS. JACKSON--How can you talk that way after the way you have been treated. LEE--General Grant has acted with magnanimity. MRS. JACKSON--If there ever was a saint on earth, you are one. Now I must go upstairs and tell your wife so, but I reckon she knows it. Good morning. (_Exit MRS. JACKSON. Enter JACK SHARPE dressed in ragged clothes, he looks all around, then goes up to Lee and salutes._) SHARPE--General, I'm one of your soldiers, and I've come here as the representative of four of my comrades who are too ragged and dirty to venture to see you. We are all Virginians, General, from Roanoke County, and they sent me here to see you on a little business. They've got our President in prison and now--they--talk--about--arresting--you. And, General, we can't stand--we'll never stand and see that. Now, General, we five men have got about two hundred and fifty acres of land in Roanoke--very good land, too, it is, sir--and if you'll come up there and live, I've come to offer you our land, all of it and we five men will work as your field hands, and you'll have very little trouble in managing it with us to help you. And, General, there are near about a hundred of us left in old Roanoke, and they could never take you there, for we could hide you in the hollows of the mountains, and the last man of us would die in your defense. LEE--I thank you and your friends, but my place is among the people of Virginia. If ever they needed me, it is now. (_He goes to the door and calls SAM. Enter SAM._) LEE--Sam I want you to find all the clothes I can do without and give them to this soldier for his friends. SHARPE--I thank you general, and if ever you change your mind, just let Jack Sharpe hear from you. (_Exit JACK and SAM. Enter Lee's oldest son, G. W. CUSTIS LEE._) G. W. LEE--Well, Father, hard at work entertaining visitors as usual, I suppose. LEE--Yes, I don't see how so many find the time to come here. G. W. C. LEE--Lots of the poor soldiers are out of work. LEE--I am sorry. Tell them they must all set to work, and if they cannot do what they prefer, do what they can. Virginia wants all their aid, all their support, and the presence of all her sons to sustain her now. G. W. C. LEE--I don't quite know what I'm going to do myself yet. LEE--You can work for Virginia, to build her up again. You can teach your children to love and cherish her. G. W. C. LEE--You are right, Father, all my life you have never failed to give me inspiration. (_Exit. Enter SAM and hands LEE a letter. He opens it and reads._) LEE--"Dear General: we have been fighting hard for four years, and now the Yankees have got us in Libby Prison. The boys want you to get us out if you can, but, if you can't, just ride by the Libby, and let us see you and give you a cheer. We will all feel better after it." SAM--Will you all go for to see 'em, Marse Robert? LEE--They would make too much fuss over the old rebel. Why should they care to see me? I am only a poor old Confederate. (_Exit SAM, shaking his head. Enter MR. BROWN, a well-dressed business man._) BROWN--I have not the honor of your acquaintance, General, except as all the world knows you. My name is Brown and I represent a well known Insurance Company. LEE--I am afraid my life is hardly worth insuring, Mr. Brown. BROWN--It is not about that I came to see you. I understand you are not as yet permanently employed and I have come, therefore, to offer you the presidency of our company at a yearly salary of $50,000. LEE--I thank you, sir, but I would be of no value to your company, as I know nothing whatever in regard to insurance. BROWN--But, General, you will not be expected to do any work, what we wish is the use of your name. LEE--My name is not for sale. I thank you, sir. Good morning. (_Exit BROWN. Enter Judge Brockenborough._) GEN. LEE--Good morning, Judge, what a pleasure to see an old friend! JUDGE--Good morning, General, I should not have dared to call on so busy a man if I did not have a special mission. I have come to offer you the presidency of Washington College, at a salary of $1,500 a year. I am sorry we can offer no more, but the war has left the college in a wretched condition. LEE--I am afraid because of my many enemies that my connection with the college would make its condition far more wretched. JUDGE--No, General, the whole South loves and respects you, and if you will only accept this position you will make us the happiest of all colleges. LEE--I would have much preferred that your choice had fallen upon an abler man. But if you really want me, I will be only too glad to come. I have led the young men of the South in battle. I have seen many of them die on the field. I shall try to devote my remaining energies to training young men to do their duty in life. **Transcribers Notes** Minor punctuation errors corrected Page 15 dishonerable changed to dishonorable Page 20 Appomattox and Page 51 Appomatox both spellings left intact Multiple use of defence/defense left intact 
4098	----	ON THE TRAIL OF GRANT AND LEE By Frederick Trevor Hill To Howard Ogden Wood, Jr. Forward During the early years of the Civil War someone tauntingly asked Mr. Charles Francis Adams, the United States Minister to England, what he thought of the brilliant victories which the confederate armies were then gaining in the field. "I think they have been won by my fellow countrymen," was the quiet answer. Almost half a century has passed since that reproof was uttered, but its full force is only just beginning to be understood. For nearly fifty years the story of the Civil War has been twisted to suit local pride or prejudice in various parts of the Union, with the result that much which passes for American history is not history at all, and whatever else it may be, it is certainly not American. Assuredly, the day has now arrived when such historical "make-believes" should be discountenanced, both in the North and in the South. Americans of the present and the coming generations are entitled to take a common pride in whatever lent nobility to the fraternal strife of the sixties, and to gather equal inspiration from every achievement that reflected credit on American manhood during those years when the existence of the Union was at stake. Until this is rendered possible by the elimination of error and falsehood, the sacrifices of the Civil War will, to a large extent, have been endured in vain. In some respects this result has already been realized. Lincoln is no longer a local hero. He is a national heritage. To distort or belittle the characters of other men who strove to the end that their land "might have a new birth of freedom," is to deprive the younger generations of part of their birthright. They are entitled to the facts from which to form a just estimate of the lives of all such men, regardless of uniforms. It is in this spirit that the strangely interwoven trials of Grant and Lee are followed in these pages. Both were Americans, and widely as they differed in opinions, tastes and sympathies, each exhibited qualities of mind and character which should appeal to all their fellow countrymen and make them proud of the land that gave them birth. Neither man, in his life, posed before the public as a hero, and the writer has made no attempt to place either of them on a pedestal. Theirs is a very human story, requiring neither color nor concealment, but illustrating a high development of those traits that make for manhood and national greatness. The writer hereby acknowledges his indebtedness to all those historians whose scholarly research has made it possible to trace the careers of these two great commanders with confidence in the accuracy of the facts presented. Where equally high authorities have differed he has been guided by those who, in his judgment, have displayed the most scrupulous impartiality, and wherever possible he has availed himself of official records and documents. The generous service rendered by Mr. Samuel Palmer Griffin in testing the vast record upon which these pages are based, his exhaustive research and scientific analysis of the facts, have given whatever of authority may be claimed for the text, and of this the writer hereby makes grateful acknowledgment. To Mr. Arthur Becher he is likewise indebted for his careful studies at West Point and elsewhere which have resulted in illustrations conforming to history. Frederick Trevor Hill. New York, September, 1911. Contents Chapter I.--Three Civil Wars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 II.--Washington and Lee . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 III.--Lee at West Point . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 IV.--The Boyhood of Grant . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 V.--Grant at West Point . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 VI.--Lieutenant Grant Under Fire . . . . . . . . 35 VII.--Captain Lee at the Front . . . . . . . . . . 44 VIII.--Colonel Lee After the Mexican War . . . . . 52 IX.--Captain Grant in a Hard Fight . . . . . . . 59 X.--Grant's Difficulties in Securing a Command . 67 XI.--Lee at the Parting of the Ways . . . . . . . 75 XII.--Opening Moves . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83 XIII.--Grant's First Success . . . . . . . . . . . 93 XIV.--The Battle of Shiloh . . . . . . . . . . . . 106 XV.--Lee in the Saddle . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116 XVI.--A Game of Strategy . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125 XVII.--Lee and the Invasion of Maryland . . . . . . 133 XVIII.--The Battle of Antietam or Sharpsburg . . . . 141 XIX.--Lee Against Burnside and Hooker . . . . . . 148 XX.--In the Hour of Triumph . . . . . . . . . . . 163 XXI.--Grant at Vicksburg . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171 XXII.--The Battle of Gettysburg . . . . . . . . . . 180 XXIII.--In the Face of Disaster . . . . . . . . . . 193 XXIV.--The Rescue of Two Armies . . . . . . . . . . 201 XXV.--Lieutenant-General Grant . . . . . . . . . . 213 XXVI.--A Duel to the Death . . . . . . . . . . . . 224 XXVII.--Check and Countercheck . . . . . . . . . . . 238 XXVIII.--The Beginning of the End . . . . . . . . . . 248 XXIX.--At Bay . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 256 XXX.--The Surrender . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269 XXXI.--Lee's Years of Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . 280 XXXII.--The Head of the Nation . . . . . . . . . . . 294 List of Illustrations Illustrations in Color Grant running the gauntlet of the Mexicans at Monterey in riding to the relief of his comrades . . Frontispiece September 23, 1846. Lee with Mrs. Lewis (Nellie Custis) applying to General Andrew Jackson to aid in securing his cadetship at West Point . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 1825. Grant on his horse, "York," making exhibition jump in the Riding Academy at West Point . . . . . . . . . . 32 June, 1843. Lee sending the Rockbridge battery into action for the second time at Antietam or Sharpsburg . . . . . . . 144 September 17, 1862. Lee rallying his troops at the Battle of the Wilderness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 232 May 6, 1864. Grant at the entrenchments before Petersburg . . . . . 260 March, 1865. Illustrations in the Text Signature of Grant on reporting at West Point . . . . 25 (From the original records of the U. S. Military Academy.) First signature of Grant as U. S. Grant . . . . . . . 27 (From the original records of the U.S. Military Academy.) Grant's letter demanding unconditional surrender of forces at Fort Donnelson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 Diagram map (not drawn to scale) showing strategy of the opening of the Battle of Chancellorsville, May 1 and 2, 1863 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157 Diagram map (not drawn to scale) showing Grant's series of movements by the left flank from the Wilderness to Petersburg . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229 Facsimile of telegraphic message drafted by Lieutenant- General Grant, announcing Lee's surrender, May 9, 1865 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275 Lee's letter of August 3, 1866, acknowledging receipt of the extension of his furlough . . . . . . . . . . . 283 Chapter I. -- Three Civil Wars England was an uncomfortable place to live in during the reign of Charles the First. Almost from the moment that that ill-fated monarch ascended the throne he began quarreling with Parliament; and when he decided to dismiss its members and make himself the supreme ruler of the land, he practically forced his subjects into a revolution. Twelve feverish years followed--years of discontent, indignation and passion--which arrayed the Cavaliers, who supported the King, against the Roundheads, who upheld Parliament, and finally flung them at each other's throats to drench the soil of England with their blood. Meanwhile, the gathering storm of civil war caused many a resident of the British Isles to seek peace and security across the seas, and among those who turned toward America were Mathew Grant and Richard Lee. It is not probable that either of these men had ever heard of the other, for they came from widely separated parts of the kingdom and were even more effectually divided by the walls of caste. There is no positive proof that Mathew Grant (whose people probably came from Scotland) was a Roundhead, but he was a man of humble origin who would naturally have favored the Parliamentary or popular party, while Richard Lee, whose ancestors had fought at Hastings and in the Crusades, is known to have been an ardent Cavalier, devoted to the King. But whether their opinions on politics differed or agreed, it was apparently the conflict between the King and Parliament that drove them from England. In any event they arrived in America at almost the same moment; Grant reaching Massachusetts in 1630, the year after King Charles dismissed his Parliament, and Lee visiting Virginia about this time to prepare for his permanent residence in the Dominion which began when actual hostilities opened in the mother land. The trails of Grant and Lee, therefore, first approach each other from out of the smoke of a civil war. This is a strangely significant fact, but it might be regarded merely as a curious coincidence were it not for other and stranger events which seem to suggest that the hand of Fate was guiding the destinies of these two men. Mathew Grant originally settled in Massachusetts but he soon moved to Connecticut, where he became clerk of the town of Windsor and official surveyor of the whole colony--a position which he held for many years. Meanwhile Richard Lee became the Colonial Secretary and a member of the King's Privy Council in Virginia, and thenceforward the name of his family is closely associated with the history of that colony. Lee bore the title of colonel, but it was to statesmanship and not to military achievements that he and his early descendants owed their fame; while the family of Grant, the surveyor, sought glory at the cannon's mouth, two of its members fighting and dying for their country as officers in the French and Indian war of 1756. In that very year, however, a military genius was born to the Virginia family in the person of Harry Lee, whose brilliant cavalry exploits were to make him known to history as "Light Horse Harry." But before his great career began, the house of Grant was represented in the Revolution, for Captain Noah Grant of Connecticut drew his sword in defense of the colonies at the outbreak of hostilities, taking part in the battle of Bunker Hill; and from that time forward he and "Light Horse Harry" served in the Continental army under Washington until Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown. Here the trails of the two families, AGAIN DRAWN TOGETHER BY A CIVIL STRIFE, merge for an historic moment and then cross; that of the Grants turning toward the West, and that of the Lees keeping within the confines of Virginia. It was in 1799 that Captain Noah Grant migrated to Ohio, and during the same year Henry Lee delivered the memorial address upon the death of Washington, coining the immortal phrase "first in war, first in peace and first in the hearts of his countrymen." Ulysses Grant, the Commander of the Union forces in the Civil War, was the grandson of Captain Grant, who served with "Light Horse Harry" Lee during the Revolution; and Robert Lee, the Confederate General, was "Light Horse Harry's" son. Thus, for the THIRD time in two and a half centuries, a civil conflict between men of the English-speaking race blazed the trails of Grant and Lee. Chapter II. -- Washington and Lee "Wakefield," Westmoreland County, Virginia, was the birthplace of Washington, and at Stratford in the same county and state, only a few miles from Wakefield, Robert Edward Lee was born on January 19, 1807. Seventy-five years had intervened between those events but, except in the matter of population, Westmoreland County remained much the same as it had been during Washington's youth. Indians, it is true, no longer lurked in he surrounding forests or paddled the broad Potomac in their frail canoes, but the life had much of the same freedom and charm which had endeared it to Washington. All the streams and woods and haunts which he had known and loved were known and loved by Lee, not only for their own sake, but because they were associated with the memory of the great Commander-in-Chief who had been his father's dearest friend. It would have been surprising, under such circumstances, if Washington had not been Lee's hero, but he was more than a hero to the boy. From his father's lips he had learned to know him, not merely as a famous personage of history, but as a man and a leader of men. Indeed, his influence and example were those of a living presence in the household of "Light Horse Harry;" and thus to young Lee he early became the ideal of manhood upon which, consciously or unconsciously, he molded his own character and life. But quite apart from this, the careers of these two great Virginians were astonishingly alike. Washington's father had been married twice, and so had Lee's; each was a son of the second marriage, and each had a number of brothers and sisters. Washington lost his father when he was only eleven years old, and Lee was exactly the same age when his father died. Mrs. Washington had almost the entire care of her son during his early years, and Lee was under the sole guidance of his mother until he had almost grown to manhood. Washington repaid his mother's devotion by caring for her and her affairs with notable fidelity, and Lee's tenderness and consideration for his mother were such that she was accustomed to remark that he was both a son and a daughter to her. Washington's ancestors were notable, if not distinguished, people in England; while Lee could trace his descent, through his father, to Lancelot Lee, who fought at the battle of Hastings, and through his mother to Robert the Bruce of Scotland. Neither man, however, prided himself in the least on his ancestry. Indeed, neither of them knew anything of his family history until his own achievements brought the facts to light. Washington was a born and bred country boy and so was Lee. Both delighted in outdoor life, loving horses and animals of all kinds and each was noted for his skillful riding in a region which was famous for its horsemanship. There was, however, a vast difference between Washington's education and that of Lee. The Virginian schools were very rudimentary in Washington's day; but Lee attended two excellent institutions of learning, where he had every opportunity, and of this he availed himself, displaying much the same thoroughness that characterized Washington's work, and the same manly modesty about any success that he achieved. By reason of his father's death and other circumstances Washington was burdened with responsibility long before he arrived at manhood, making him far more reserved and serious-minded than most school boys. This was precisely the case with Lee, for his father's death, the ill health of his mother and the care of younger children virtually made him the head of the family, so that he became unusually mature and self-contained at an early age. Neither boy, however, held aloof from the sports and pastimes of his schoolmates and both were regarded as quiet, manly fellows, with no nonsense about them, and with those qualities of leadership that made each in turn the great military leader of his age. Never has history recorded a stranger similarity in the circumstances surrounding the youth of two famous men, but the facts which linked their careers in later years are even stranger still. Chapter III. -- Lee at West Point As his school days drew to a close, it became necessary for Lee to determine his future calling. But the choice of a career, often so perplexing to young men, presented no difficulty to "Light Horse Harry's" son. He had apparently always intended to become a soldier and no other thought had seemingly ever occurred to any member of his family. Appointments to the United States Military Academy were far more a matter of favor than they are to-day, and young Lee, accompanied by Mrs. Lewis (better known as Nellie Custis, the belle of Mount Vernon and Washington's favorite grandchild), sought the assistance of General Andrew Jackson. Rough "Old Hickory" was not the easiest sort of person to approach with a request of any kind and, doubtless, his young visitor had grave misgivings as to the manner in which his application would be received. But Jackson, the hero of the battle of New Orleans in the War of 1812, only needed to be told that his caller was "Light Horse Harry's" son to proffer assistance; and in his nineteenth year, the boy left home for the first time in his life to enroll himself as a cadet at West Point. Very few young men enter that institution so well prepared for military life as was Lee, for he had been accustomed to responsibility and had thoroughly mastered the art of self-control many years before he stepped within its walls. He was neither a prig nor a "grind," but he regarded his cadetship as part of the life work which he had voluntarily chosen, and he had no inclination to let pleasure interfere with it. With his comrades he was companionable, entering into all their pastimes with zest and spirit, but he let it be understood, without much talk, that attention to duty was a principle with him and his serious purpose soon won respect. Rigid discipline was then, as it is to-day, strictly enforced at West Point, and demerits were freely inflicted upon cadets for even the slightest infraction of the rules. Indeed, the regulations were so severe that it was almost impossible for a cadet to avoid making at least a few slips at some time during his career. But Lee accomplished the impossible, for not once throughout his entire four years did he incur even a single demerit--a record that still remains practically unique in the history of West Point. This and his good scholarship won him high rank; first, as cadet officer of his class, and finally, as adjutant of the whole battalion, the most coveted honor of the Academy, from which he graduated in 1829, standing second in a class of forty-six. Men of the highest rating at West Point may choose whatever arm of the service they prefer, and Lee, selecting the Engineer Corps, was appointed a second lieutenant and assigned to fortification work at Hampton Roads, in his twenty-second year. The work there was not hard but it was dull. There was absolutely no opportunity to distinguish oneself in any way, and time hung heavy on most of the officers' hands. But Lee was in his native state and not far from his home, where he spent most of his spare time until his mother died. Camp and garrison life had very little charm for him, but he was socially inclined and, renewing his acquaintance with his boyhood friends, he was soon in demand at all the dances and country houses at which the young people of the neighborhood assembled. Among the many homes that welcomed him at this time was that of Mr. George Washington Parke Custis (Washington's adopted grandson), whose beautiful estate known as "Arlington" lay within a short distance of Alexandria, where Lee had lived for many years. Here he had, during his school days, met the daughter of the house and, their boy-and-girl friendship culminating in an engagement shortly after his return from West Point, he and Mary Custis were married in his twenty-fifth year. Lee thus became related by marriage to Washington, and another link was formed in the strange chain of circumstances which unite their careers. A more ideal marriage than that of these two young people cannot be imagined. Simple in their tastes and of home-loving dispositions, they would have been well content to settle down quietly to country life in their beloved Virginia, surrounded by their family and friends. But the duties of an army officer did not admit of this, and after a few years' service as assistant to the chief engineer of the army in Washington, Lee was ordered to take charge of the improvements of the Mississippi River at St. Louis, where, in the face of violent opposition from the inhabitants, he performed such valuable service that in 1839 he was offered the position of instructor at West Point. This, however, he declined, and in 1842 he was entrusted with the task of improving the defenses of New York harbor and moved with his family to Fort Hamilton, where he remained for several years. Meanwhile, he had been successively promoted to a first lieutenancy and a captaincy, and in his thirty-eighth year he was appointed one of the visitors to West Point, whose duty it was to inspect the Academy and report at stated intervals on its condition. This appointment, insignificant in itself, is notable because it marks the point at which the trails of Grant and Lee first approach each other, for at the time that Captain Lee was serving as an official visitor, Ulysses Grant was attempting to secure an assistant professorship at West Point. Chapter IV. -- The Boyhood of Grant Deerfield, Ohio, was not a place of any importance when Captain Noah Grant of Bunker Hill fame arrived there from the East. Indeed, it was not then much more than a spot on the map and it has ever won any great renown. Yet in this tiny Ohio village there lived at one and the same time Owen Brown, the father of John Brown, who virtually began the Civil War, and Jesse Grant, the father of Ulysses Grant, who practically brought it to a close. It is certainly strange that these two men should, with all the world to choose from, have chanced upon the same obscure little village, but it is still stranger that one of them should have become the employer of the other and that they should both have lived in the very same house. Such, however, is the fact, for when Jesse Grant first began to earn his living as a tanner, he worked for and boarded with Owen Brown, little dreaming that his son and his employer's son would some day shake the world. It was not at Deerfield, however, but at Point Pleasant, Ohio, that Jesse Grant's distinguished son was born on April 27, 1822, in a cottage not much larger than the cabin in which Abraham Lincoln first saw the light. Mr. and Mrs. Grant and other members of their family differed among themselves as to what the boy should be called, but they settled the question by each writing his or her favorite name on a slip of paper and then depositing all the slips in a hat, with the understanding that the child should receive the first two names drawn from that receptacle. This resulted in the selection of Hiram and Ulysses, and the boy was accordingly called Hiram Ulysses Grant until the United States government re-christened him in a curious fashion many years later. To his immediate family, however, he was always known as Ulysses, which his playmates soon twisted into the nickname "Useless," more or less good-naturedly applied. Grant's father moved to Georgetown, Ohio, soon after his son's birth, and there his boyhood days were passed. The place was not at that time much more than a frontier village and its inhabitants were mostly pioneers--not the adventurous, exploring pioneers who discover new countries, but the hardy advance-guard of civilization, who clear the forests and transform the wilderness into farming land. Naturally, there was no culture and very little education among these people. They were a sturdy, self-respecting, hard-working lot, of whom every man was the equal of every other, and to whom riches and poverty were alike unknown. In a community of this sort there was, of course, no pampering of the children, and if there had been, Grant's parents would probably have been the last to indulge in it. His father, Jesse Grant, was a stern and very busy man who had neither the time nor the inclination to coddle the boy, and his mother, absorbed in her household duties and the care of a numerous family, gave him only such attention as was necessary to keep him in good health. Young Ulysses was, therefore, left to his own devices almost as soon as he could toddle, and he quickly became self-reliant to a degree that alarmed the neighbors. Indeed, some of them rushed into the house one morning shouting that the boy was out in the barn swinging himself on the farm horses' tails and in momentary danger of being kicked to pieces; but Mrs. Grant received the announcement with perfect calmness, feeling sure that Ulysses would not amuse himself in that way unless he knew the animals thoroughly understood what he was doing. Certainly this confidence in the boy's judgment was entirely justified as far as horses were concerned, for they were the joy of his life and he was never so happy as when playing or working in or about the stables. Indeed, he was not nine years old when he began to handle a team in the fields. From that time forward he welcomed every duty that involved riding, driving or caring for horses, and shirked every other sort of work about the farm and tannery. Fortunately, there was plenty of employment for him in the line of carting materials or driving the hay wagons and harrows, and his father, finding that he could be trusted with such duties, allowed him, before he reached his teens, to drive a 'bus or stage between Georgetown and the neighboring villages entirely by himself. In fact, he was given such free use of the horses that when it became necessary for him to help in the tannery, he would take a team and do odd jobs for the neighbors until he earned enough, with the aid of the horses, to hire a boy to take his place in the hated tan-yard. This and other work was, of course, only done out of school hours, for his parents sent him as early as possible to a local "subscription" school, which he attended regularly for many years. "Spare the rod and spoil the child" was one of the maxims of the school, and the first duty of the boys on assembling each morning was to gather a good-sized bundle of beech-wood switches, of which the schoolmaster made such vigorous use that before the sessions ended the supply was generally exhausted. Grant received his fair share of this discipline, but as he never resented it, he doubtless got no more of it than he deserved and it probably did him good. Among his schoolmates he had the reputation of talking less than any of the other boys and of knowing more about horses than all of them put together. An opportunity to prove this came when he was about eleven, for a circus appeared in the village with a trick pony, and during the performance the clown offered five dollars to any boy who could ride him. Several of Ulysses' friends immediately volunteered, but he sat quietly watching the fun while one after another of the boys fell victim to the pony's powers. Finally, when the little animal's triumph seemed complete, Grant stepped into the ring and sprang upon his back. A tremendous tussle for the mastery immediately ensued, but though he reared and shied and kicked, the tricky little beast was utterly unable to throw its fearless young rider, and amid the shouts of the audience the clown at last stopped the contest and paid Ulysses the promised reward. From that time forward his superiority as a horseman was firmly established, and as he grew older and his father allowed him to take longer and longer trips with the teams, he came to be the most widely traveled boy in the village. Indeed, he was only about fifteen when he covered nearly a hundred and fifty miles in the course of one of his journeys, taking as good care of his horses as he did of himself, and transacting the business entrusted to him with entire satisfaction to all concerned. These long, and often lonely, trips increased his independence and so encouraged his habit of silence that many of the village people began to think him a dunce. His father, however, was unmistakably proud of the quiet boy who did what he was told to do without talking about it, and though he rarely displayed his feelings, the whole village knew that he thought "Useless" was a wonder and smiled at his parental pride. But the smile almost turned to a laugh when it became known that he proposed to send the boy to West Point, for the last cadet appointed from Georgetown had failed in his examinations before he had been a year at the Academy, and few of the neighbors believed that Ulysses would survive as long. Certainly, the boy himself had never aspired to a cadetship, and when his father suddenly remarked to him one morning that he was likely to obtain the appointment, he receive the announcement with uncomprehending surprise. "What appointment?" he asked "To West Point," replied his father. "I have applied for it." "But I won't go!" gasped the astonished youth. "I think you will," was the quiet but firm response, and Grant, who had been taught obedience almost from his cradle, decided that if his father thought so, he did, too. But, though the young man yielded to his parent's wishes, he had no desire to become a soldier and entirely agreed with the opinion of the village that he had neither the ability nor the education to acquit himself with credit. In fact, the whole idea of military life was so distasteful to him that he almost hoped he would not fulfill the physical and other requirements for admission. Indeed, the only thought that reconciled him to the attempt was that it necessitated a trip from Ohio to New York, which gratified his longing to see more of the world. This was so consoling that it was almost with a gay heart that he set out of the Hudson in the middle of May, 1839. For a boy who had lived all his life in an inland village on the outskirts of civilization the journey was absolutely adventurous, for although he was then in his eighteenth year, he had never even as much as seen a railroad and his experiences on the cars, canal boats and steamers were all delightfully surprising. Therefore, long as the journey was, it was far too short for him, and on May 25th he reached his destination. Two lonely and homesick weeks followed, and then, much to his astonishment and somewhat to his regret, he received word that he had passed the examination for admission and was a full-fledged member of the cadet corps of West Point. Chapter V. -- Grant at West Point Grant's father had obtained his son's appointment to the Academy through the intervention of a member of Congress, who, remembering that the boy was known as Ulysses and that his mother's name before her marriage was Simpson, had written to the Secretary of War at Washington, requesting a cadetship for U. S. Grant. This mistake in his initials was not discovered until the young man presented himself at West Point, but when he explained that his name was Hiram Ulysses Grant and not U. S. Grant, the officials would not correct the error. The Secretary of War had appointed U. S. Grant to the Academy and U. S. Grant was the only person they would officially recognize without further orders. They, therefore, intimated that he could either enroll himself as U. S. Grant or stay out of the Academy, making it quite plain that they cared very little which course he adopted. Confronted with this situation, he signed the enlistment paper as U. S. Grant and the document, bearing his name, which thus became his, can be seen to-day among the records at West Point. This re-christening, of course, supplied his comrades with endless suggestions for nicknames and they immediately interpreted his new initials to suit themselves. "United States," "Under Sized" and "Uncle Sam" all seemed to be appropriate, but the last was the favorite until the day arrived when a more significant meaning was found in "Unconditional Surrender" Grant. The restrictions and discipline of West Point bore much more harshly on country-bred boys in those years than they do to-day when so many schools prepare students for military duties. But to a green lad like Grant, who had been exceptionally independent all his life, the preliminary training was positive torture. It was then that his habitual silence stood him in good stead, for a talkative, argumentative boy could never have survived the breaking-in process which eventually transformed him from a slouchy bumpkin into a smart, soldier-like young fellow who made the most of his not excessive inches. Still, he hated almost every moment of his first year and ardently hoped that the bill for abolishing the Academy, which was under discussion in Congress, would become a law and enable him to return home without disgrace. But no such law was passed and more experience convinced him that West Point was a very valuable institution which should be strengthened rather than abolished. He had not reached this conclusion, however, at the time of his first furlough, and when he returned to his more and found that his father had procured a fine horse for his exclusive use during his holiday, it was hard to tear himself away and resume his duties. Nevertheless, he did so; and, considering the fact that he was not fond of studying, he made fair progress, especially in mathematics, never reaching the head of his class, but never quite sinking to the bottom. Indeed, if he had not been careless in the matter of incurring demerits from small infractions of the rules, he might have attained respectable, if not high rank in the corps, for he was a clean living, clean spoken boy, without a vicious trait of any kind. Even as it was, he became a sergeant, but inattention to details of discipline finally cost him his promotion and reduced him again to the ranks. At no time, however, did he acquire any real love for the military profession. His sole ambition was to pass the examinations and retire from the service as soon as he could obtain a professorship at some good school or college. At this, he might easily have succeeded with his unmistakable talent for mathematics, and it is even conceivable that he might have qualified as a drawing master or an architect, if not as an artist, for he was fond of sketching and some of his works in this line which have been preserved shows a surprisingly artistic touch. Graduation day at the Academy brought no distinguished honors to Grant, where he stood twenty-first in a class of thirty-nine, but it did win him one small triumph. As almost everyone knows, the West Point cadets are trained for all arms of the service, sometimes doing duty as infantry, sometimes as artillery and at other times acting as engineers or cavalry; and during the closing week of the year, they give public exhibitions of their proficiency before the official visitors. On this particular occasion the cavalry drill was held in the great riding hall, and after the whole corps had completed their evolutions and were formed in line ready to be dismissed, the commanding officer ordered an extraordinarily high hurdle to be placed in position, and while the great throng of spectators were wondering what this meant they heard the sharp command, "Cadet Grant." A young man of slight stature, not weighing more than a hundred and twenty pounds, and mounted on a powerful chestnut horse, sprang from the ranks with a quick salute, dashed to the further end of the hall and, swinging his mount about, faced the hurdle. There was a moment's pause and then the rider, putting spurs to his steed, rushed him straight at the obstruction and, lifting him in masterly fashion, cleared the bar as though he and the animal were one. A thunder of applause followed as the horseman quietly resumed his place in the ranks, and after the corps had been dismissed Grant was sought out and congratulated on his remarkable feat. But his response was characteristic of the boy that was, and the man that was to be. "Yes, 'York' is a wonderfully good horse," was all he said. A lieutenancy in the engineers or cavalry was more than a man of low standing in the Academy could expect, and Grant was assigned to the Fourth Infantry, with orders to report for duty at Jefferson Barracks, St. Louis, Missouri, at the end of a short leave of absence. The prospect of active service, far from his native state, was anything but pleasing to the new officer; but he had come home with a bad cough, and had he not been ordered to the South, it is highly probable that he would have fallen a victim to consumption, of which two of his uncles had already died. The air of Camp Salubrity, Louisiana, where his regiment was quartered, and the healthy, outdoor life, however, quickly checked the disease, and at the end of two years he had acquired a constitution of iron. Meanwhile, he had met Miss Julia Dent, the sister of one of his classmates whose home was near St. Louis, and had written to the Professor of Mathematics at West Point, requesting his aid in securing an appointment there as his assistant, to which application he received a most encouraging reply. Doubtless, his courtship of Miss Dent made him doubly anxious to realize his long-cherished plan of settling down to the quiet life of a professor. But all hope of this was completely shattered by the orders of the Fourth Infantry which directed it to proceed at once to Texas. Long before the regiment marched, however, he was engaged to "the girl he left behind him" and, although his dream of an instructorship at West Point had vanished, he probably did not altogether abandon his ambition for a career at teaching. But Fate had other plans for him as he journeyed toward Mexico, where the war clouds were gathering. Lee was moving in the same direction and their trails were soon to merge at the siege of Vera Cruz. Chapter VI. -- Lieutenant Grant Under Fire The movement of the United States troops towards Mexico did not take the country by surprise. It was the direct result of the action of Congress admitting Texas to the Union. Ever since it had won its independence from Mexico, Texas had been seeking to become part of the United States; but there had been violent objection in the North to the admission of any new slave state, and this opposition had effectually prevented its annexation. At the last election (1844), however, a majority of the voters apparently favored the admission of Texas, which was accordingly received into the Union, and the long-standing dispute which it had waged with Mexico as to its proper boundaries was assumed by the United States. Texas claimed to own far more territory than Mexico was willing to concede, but the facts might easily have been ascertained had the United States government desired to avoid a war. Unfortunately, it had no such desire, and General Zachary Taylor was soon ordered to occupy the disputed territory with about 3,000 men. This force, of which Grant's regiment formed a part, was called the Army of Observation, but it might better have been called the Army of Provocation, for it was obviously intended to provoke an attack on the part of Mexico and to give the United States an excuse for declaring war and settling the boundary question to suit itself. Probably, there were not many in the army who thought much about the rights or the wrongs of the impending war. There had been no fighting in the United States for more than thirty years, and most of the officers were more interested in seeing real service in the field than they were in discussing the justice or injustice of the cause. Grant was as anxious for glory as any of his comrades, but he cherished no illusions as to the merits of the dispute in which his country was involved. With the clear vision of the silent man who reads and thinks for himself, he saw through the thinly disguised pretenses of the politicians and, recognizing that force was being used against a weaker nation in order to add more slave states to the Union, he formed a very positive opinion that the war was unjustifiable. But though he was forced to this disagreeable conclusion, the young Lieutenant was not the sort of man to criticize his country once she was attacked, or to shirk his duty as a soldier because he did not agree with his superiors on questions of national policy. He thought and said what he liked in private, but he kept his mouth closed in public, feeling that his duties as an officer were quite sufficient without assuming responsibilities which belonged to the authorities in Washington. War was inevitable almost from the moment that Texas was annexed, but with full knowledge of this fact neither the President nor Congress made any effective preparations for meeting the impending crisis, and when hostilities actually began, General Taylor was directed to advance under conditions which virtually required him to fight his way to safety. Indeed, he was practically cut off from all hope of reënforcement as soon as the first shot was fired, for his orders obliged him to move into the interior of the country, and had his opponents been properly commanded, they could have overwhelmed him and annihilated his whole force. The very audacity of the little American army, however, seemed to paralyze the Mexicans who practically made no resistance until Taylor reached a place called Palo Alto, which in Spanish means "Tall Trees." Meanwhile Grant had been made regimental quartermaster, charged with the duty of seeing that the troops were furnished with proper food and caring for all property and supplies. Heartily as he disliked this task, which was not only dull and difficult, but also bade fair to prevent him from taking active part in the prospective battles, he set to work with the utmost energy. By the time the enemy began to dispute the road, he had overcome the immense difficulty of supplying troops on a march through a tropical country and was prepared to take part in any fighting that occurred. But the Mexicans gathered at TALL TREES on May 8, 1846, were not prepared for a serious encounter. They fired at the invaders, but their short-range cannon loaded with solid shot rarely reached the Americans, and when a ball did come rolling towards them on the ground, the troops merely stepped to one side and allowed the missile to pass harmlessly through their opened ranks. After the American artillery reached the field, however, the enemy was driven from its position and the next day the advance was resumed to Resaca de la Palma, where stronger opposition was encountered. Grant was on the right wing of the army as it pressed forward through dense undergrowth to drive the Mexicans from the coverts in which they had taken shelter. It was impossible to give any exact orders in advancing through this jungle, and the men under Grant's command struggled forward until they reached a clearing where they caught sight of a small body of Mexicans. The young Lieutenant instantly ordered a charge and, dashing across the open ground, captured the party only to discover that they were merely stragglers left behind by other American troops who had already charged over the same ground. No one appreciated the humor of this exploit more than Grant. It reminded him, he said, of the soldier who boasted that he had been in a charge and had cut off the leg of one of the enemy's officers. "Why didn't you cut off his head?" inquired his commander. "Oh, somebody had done that already," replied the valiant hero. Slight as the fighting was at Resaca, it completely satisfied the Mexicans, and for over three months they left the Americans severely alone. Meanwhile, General Taylor received reënforcements and in August, 1846, he proceeded against the town of Monterey, which the enemy had fortified with considerable skill and where they were evidently prepared to make a desperate resistance. Grant was again quartermaster, and the terrific heat which forced the army to do its marching at night or during the early hours of the morning, greatly increased his labors and severely tested his patience. Almost all the transportation animals were mules, and as very few of them were trained for the work, they were hard to load and even harder to handle after their burdens were adjusted. One refractory animal would often stampede all the rest, scattering provisions and ammunition in their tracks, driving the teamsters to the point of frenzy and generally hurling confusion through the camp. Even Grant, who never uttered an oath in his life, was often sorely tried by these exasperating experiences, but he kept command of his temper and by his quiet persistence brought order out of chaos in spite of beasts and men. His disappointment was bitter, however, when the attack on Monterey began and he found himself left without any assignment in the field. Lieutenant Meade, destined at a later date to command the Union forces at Gettysburg, was one of the officers entrusted with the preliminary reconnoissance against the city, and when the fighting actually commenced on September 21st, 1846, the deserted Quartermaster mounted his horse and rode to the scene of the action, determined to see something of the battle even if he could not take part in it. He arrived at the moment when his regiment was ordered to charge against what was known as the Black Fort, and dashed forward with his men into the very jaws of death. Certainly "someone had blundered," for the charge which had been intended merely as a feint was carried too far and scores of men were mowed down under the terrible fire of the enemy's guns. Temporary shelter was at last reached, however, and under cover of it the Adjutant borrowed Grant's horse; but he fell soon after the charge was renewed and the Colonel, noticing the impetuous Quartermaster, promptly appointed him to take the fallen officer's place. By this time the troops had fought their way into the town and the enemy, posted in the Plaza or Principal Square, commanded every approach to it. As long as the Americans kept in the side streets they were comparatively safe, but the moment they showed themselves in any of the avenues leading to the Plaza, they encountered a hail of bullets. This was serious enough; but at the end of two days the situation became critical, for the ammunition began to run low, and it was realized that, if the Mexicans discovered this, they would sweep down and cut their defenseless opponents to pieces. Face to face with this predicament, the Colonel on September 23rd, called for a volunteer to carry a dispatch to Headquarters, and Grant instantly responded. To reach his destination it was necessary to run the gantlet of the enemy, for every opening from the Plaza was completely exposed to their fire. But trusting in the fleetness of his horse, the young lieutenant leaped into the saddle and, swinging himself down, Indian fashion, on one side of his steed so as to shield himself behind its body, he dashed away on his perilous mission. A roar of muskets greeted him at every corner, but he flashed safely by, leaping a high wall which lay across his path and then, speeding straight for the east end of the town, reached the commanding General and reported the peril of his friends. Meanwhile the Americans began one of the most curious advances ever made by an army, for General Worth, finding that he could not force his troops through the streets leading to the Plaza without great loss of life, ordered them to enter the houses and break down the intervening walls, so that they could pass from one adjoining house to another under cover, directly to the heart of the city. This tunneling maneuver was executed with great skill, and when the walls of the houses nearest the Plaza were reached and masses of men stood ready to pour through the openings into the Square, its astonished defenders gave up the fight and promptly surrendered the city. Chapter VII. -- Captain Lee at the Front Astonishing as General Taylor's success had been, the authorities at Washington decided, largely for political reasons, to appoint a new commander, and three months after the battle of Monterey, General Winfield Scott, the Commander-in-Chief of the United States army, was ordered to the seat of the war. It would be impossible to imagine two officers more utterly different than Taylor and Scott, but each in his own way exerted a profound influence upon the careers of Grant and Lee. Taylor was a rough, uncultivated man, fearless, shrewd and entirely capable, but with nothing to suggest the soldier in his appearance, dress or dignity. On the contrary, he usually appeared sitting slouchily on some woe-begone old animal, his long legs dangling on one side of the saddle, the bridle rein looped over his arm and a straw hat on his head, more like a ploughman than an officer of high rank. Indeed, he seldom donned a uniform of any description, and his only known appearance in full dress occurred during an official meeting with an admiral, when, out of regard for naval etiquette, he attired himself in his finest array. But this effort at politeness was not calculated to encourage him, for the admiral, knowing his host's objection to uniforms, had been careful to leave his on his ship and appeared in civilian attire. Scott, on the other hand, was a fussy and rather pompous individual, who delighted in brass buttons and gold lace and invariably presented a magnificent appearance. But, like Taylor, he was an excellent officer and thoroughly competent to handle an army in the field. He was, moreover, entirely familiar with the material of which the American army was composed, and his first move on assuming command was to order practically all the regular United States troops and their officers to join him near Vera Cruz, leaving Taylor virtually nothing but volunteer regiments. The Fourth Infantry accordingly parted with its old commander and reported to Scott, where it was assigned to the division of General Worth, and for the first time Grant met many of the men with and against whom he was to be thrown during the Civil War. It was certainly a remarkable body of officers that Scott gathered about him at the outset of his campaign, for it included such men as Stonewall Jackson, Jefferson Davis, McClellan, Joseph Johnson, Jubal Early, A. P. Hill, Meade, Beauregard, Hooker, Longstreet, Hancock, Thomas and, last but not least, Ulysses Grant and Robert Lee. Lee had arrived in Mexico soon after the battle of Monterey, but he had no opportunity for distinction until the spring of 1847, when preparations were begun for the siege of Vera Cruz. He had, however, already demonstrated his ability as an engineer, and with Lieutenant Beauregard who, fourteen years later, commanded the attack on Fort Sumter, he was entrusted with posting the American batteries at Vera Cruz. This he did to such advantage that they made short work of the city which fell into the invaders' hands, March 29, 1847, after a week's siege. Scott was quick to recognize the merit of officers, and Lee was straightway attached to his personal staff, with the result that when the army began its forward movement most of the difficult and delicate work was confided to his care. Scott's object was the capture of the City of Mexico, the capital of the Republic, and against this stronghold he moved with energy and skill. At Cerro Gordo the Mexicans opposed him with considerable force, but maneuvers, suggested by Lee, enabled him to outflank the enemy and drive them, without much trouble, from his path. Again at Contreras a check occurred, part of the army having advanced over a well-nigh impassable country and lost touch with the Commander-in-Chief. One after another seven officers were dispatched to carry the necessary orders, but all returned without effecting their purpose. But at midnight, in the midst of a torrential storm Lee arrived from the front, having overcome all difficulties--an achievement which Scott subsequently described as "the greatest feat of physical and moral courage performed by any individual in my knowledge, pending the campaign." But Lee was more than merely brave and daring. He was thorough. When work was entrusted to his care he performed it personally, never relying on others further than was absolutely necessary, and never resting satisfied until he was certain that he had accomplished his task. On one of his most important reconnoissances he rode into the interior of the country at night to locate the position of the enemy, and after he had proceeded a considerable distance his guide informed him that if he went any further he would be a prisoner, for the whole Mexican army lay directly in his path. He, accordingly, advanced more cautiously, but the guide again begged him to halt, declaring that he could already see the enemies' tents lying on the hillside below. Peering through the darkness in the direction indicated, Lee discovered what appeared to be an encampment of many thousand men, and for the moment he was tempted to accept his companion's conclusion that this was the main force of the Mexicans. Second thoughts, however, convinced him that he ought not to make a report based upon the eyes of the guide, and, despite the man's frightened protests, he decided to stay where he was and see the situation for himself by daylight. But, before the morning fairly dawned, it was apparent that the supposed army of Mexicans was nothing but a huge flock of sheep and, galloping back with the news that the road was clear, he led a troop of cavalry forward and located the enemy posted many miles away in an entirely different position. The Mexicans stubbornly, though unsuccessfully, resisted the American army as it pushed toward their capital, and in the battles which ensued Lee was so active that his gallant conduct was praised in almost every dispatch of his Chief, who subsequently attributed much of his success "to the skill and valor of Robert E. Lee," whom he did not hesitate to describe as "the greatest military genius in America." Continuous praise from such a source would have been more than sufficient to turn the average officer's head, but Lee continued to perform his duties without showing the least sign of vanity or conceit. Quiet, thoughtful, quick to take advantage of any opportunity, but greedy of neither honors nor personal distinction of any kind, he won the admiration of his comrades as well as the confidence of his superiors, and his promotion, first to the rank of major and then to that of lieutenant-colonel, was universally approved. Meanwhile, Grant had been acquitting himself with high credit in all the work which fell to his share. He was in no position to render service of anything like the importance of Lee's, but he did what he was ordered to do and did it well, being brevetted a first lieutenant for conspicuous gallantry at the battle of Molino del Rey, September 8, 1847. Again, on September 13, in the fighting around Chapultepec, where Lee, though wounded, remained in the saddle until he fell fainting from his horse, Grant gained considerable distinction by his quick action in relieving a dangerous pressure on part of the American lines by posting a small gun in the belfry of a church and galling the enemy with his deadly accurate fire. It was characteristic of the man that when complimented upon this achievement and told that a second gun would be sent to him, Grant merely saluted. He might, with truth, have informed his commanding officer that the belfry could not accommodate another gun, but it was not his habit to talk when there was no need of it, or to question the wisdom of his superior officer. He, therefore, quietly accepted the praise and the superfluous gun and, returning to his post, resumed his excellent service. This and other similar conduct won him further promotion, and on September 14, 1847, when the Americans marched triumphantly into the Mexican capital, he was brevetted a captain. The war practically ended with this event and within a year Grant was married to Miss Julia Dent and stationed at Sackett's Harbor, New York, while Lee was assigned to the defenses of Baltimore, not far from his old home. Chapter VIII. -- Colonel Lee After the Mexican War It is probable that Lee would have been well content to remain indefinitely at Baltimore, for his duties there enabled him to be more with his family than had been possible for some years. To his boys and girls he was both a companion and a friend and in their company he took the keenest delight. In fact, he and his wife made their home the center of attraction for all the young people of the neighborhood, and no happier household existed within the confines of their beloved Virginia. It was not to be expected, however, that an officer of Lee's reputation would be allowed to remain long in obscurity, and in 1852, he was appointed Superintendent at West Point. A wiser selection for this important post could scarcely have been made, for Colonel Lee, then in his forty-sixth year, possessed rare qualifications for the duties entrusted to his charge. He was not only a man whose splendid presence, magnificent physique and distinguished record were certain to win the admiration and respect of young men, but he combined in his character and temperament all the qualities of a tactful teacher and an inspiring leader. Quiet and dignified, but extremely sympathetic, he governed the cadets without seeming to command them and, as at his own home, he exerted a peculiarly happy influence upon all with whom he came into personal contact. Among the cadets during his service at West Point were J. E. B. Stuart, who was to prove himself one of the greatest cavalry leaders that this country has ever produced, and his elder son, Custis Lee, who, improving on his father's almost perfect record, graduated first in his class. About this time certain important changes were effected in the organization of the regular army, and the popular Superintendent of West Point was immediately appointed Lieutenant-Colonel of the newly formed Second Cavalry, with orders to proceed to Texas and protect the settlers against the attacks of hostile Indians. It was with keen regret that Lee received this assignment, for, though intended as a promotion, it removed him from the corps of engineers to which he had always been attached and obliged him to break all his home ties for what was practically police duty in the wilderness. Nevertheless, no thought of resigning from the army apparently crossed his mind. He soon joined his regiment in Texas, where, for almost three years, he patrolled the country, ruling the Indians by diplomacy or force, as occasion required, practically living in the saddle and experiencing all the discomforts and privations of garrison life at an outpost of civilization. Almost his only relaxation during this lonely and exhausting service was his correspondence with his wife and children, and his letters to them, written in rough camps and on the march, show that his thoughts were constantly with his home and loved ones. "It has been said that our letters are good representations of our minds," he wrote his youngest daughter from Texas in 1857; and certainly Lee's correspondence, exhibiting as it does, consideration for others, modesty, conscientiousness, affection and a spirit of fun, affords an admirable reflection of the writer. "Did I tell you that 'Jim Nooks,' Mrs. Waite's cat, was dead?" he wrote one of his girls. "He died of apoplexy. I foretold his end. Coffee and cream for breakfast, pound cake for lunch, turtle and oysters for dinner, buttered toast for tea and Mexican rats, taken raw, for supper! He grew enormously and ended in a spasm. His beauty could not save him.... But I saw 'cats as is cats' at Sarassa.... The entrance of Madame [his hostess] was foreshadowed by the coming in of her stately cats with visages grim and tails erect, who preceded, surrounded and followed her. They are of French breed and education, and when the claret and water were poured out for my refreshment they jumped on the table for a sit-to.... I had to leave the wild-cat on the Rio Grande; he was too savage and had grown as large as a small sized dog. He would pounce on a kid as Tom Tita [his daughter's cat] would on a mouse and would whistle like a tiger when you approached him." But it was not always in this chatty fashion that he wrote, for in 1856, when the question of slavery was being fiercely discussed throughout the country, he expressed his views on the subject with a moderation and broadmindedness exceedingly rare in those excited times. "In this enlightened age," he wrote his wife, "there are few, I believe, but will acknowledge that slavery as an institution is a moral and political evil in any country. I think it, however, a greater evil to the white than to the black race; and while my feelings are strongly interested in behalf of the latter, my sympathies are stronger for the former. The blacks are immeasurably better off here than in Africa--morally, socially and physically. The painful discipline they are undergoing is necessary for their instruction as a race and I hope it will prepare and lead them to better things. How long this subjection may be necessary is known and ordered by a wise and merciful Providence. Their emancipation will sooner result from a mild and melting influence than from the storms and contests of fiery controversy. This influence though slow is sure." Such were the views of Robert Lee on this great question of the day, and even as he wrote the country was beginning to notice a country lawyer named Abraham Lincoln, who was expressing almost identically the same opinions in no uncertain terms. But the calm advice of Lincoln and Lee did not appeal to the hot-heads who were for abolishing slavery instantly at any and every cost. In October, 1859, when Lee was on a short visit to Arlington, John Brown, whose father had once lived with Grant's father, attempted to take the whole matter into his already blood-stained hands. It is a strange coincidence that Lee should have chanced to be in Virginia just at this particular crisis, and still stranger that the errand which had called him home should have related to the emancipation of slaves. But the facts were that Mr. Custis, his father-in-law, had died a few weeks previously, leaving him as the executor of his will, which provided, among other things, for the gradual emancipation of all his slaves. Lee had accordingly obtained leave of absence to make a flying trip to Virginia for the purpose of undertaking this duty, and he was actually making arrangements to carry out Mr. Custis's wishes in respect to his slaves when the news of John Brown's raid on Harper's Ferry reached Arlington. Word of this reckless attempt to free the slaves by force reached him in the form of a dispatch from the Secretary of War, ordering him to take immediate charge of the United States marines who were being hurried to the scene of action. He instantly obeyed and, with Lieutenant J. E. B. Stuart as his second in command, hastened to Harper's Ferry and, directing his troops to storm the engine-house where Brown and his followers had taken refuge, effected their capture almost without striking a blow. Then, after delivering his prisoners to the proper authorities, he completed his work at Arlington and returned to Texas and the rough life of guarding the frontier line. From this duty he was recalled to Washington in March, 1861, when the Southern States were rapidly forming the Confederacy, the whole country was in wild confusion and the nation was facing the prospect of a terrific civil war. Chapter IX. -- Captain Grant in a Hard Fight Meanwhile, what had become of Grant? The War Department did not know and apparently did not care. Jefferson Davis, the Secretary of War, responded to his father's anxious inquiry that Captain U. S. Grant had resigned from the army in July, 1854, but that he had no official knowledge as to why he had taken this action. Mr. Grant, however, soon learned the facts from other sources, and in his bitter disappointment was heard to exclaim that "West Point had ruined one of his boys for him." It was natural enough that the stern and proud old gentleman should have blamed West Point for the heart-breaking failure of his favorite son, but, as a matter of fact, West Point was in no way responsible for what had occurred. Neither during his cadetship at the Academy nor for some years after his graduation from that institution had Ulysses Grant touched wine or stimulants in any form. He had, indeed, tried to learn to smoke during his West Point days but had merely succeeded in making himself ill. During his hard campaigning in Mexico, however, he had learned not only to smoke, but to drink, though it was not until some years after the war closed that he began to indulge to excess. As a matter of fact, he ought never to have touched a drop of any intoxicant, for a very little was always too much for him, and the result was that he soon came to be known in the army as a drinking man. Had he been at home, surrounded by his wife and children and busily engaged, perhaps he might not have yielded to his weakness. But his orders carried him to lonely posts on the Pacific, many hundreds of miles away from his family, with no duties worthy of the name, and the habit grew on him until the exasperated Colonel of his regiment at last gave him the choice of resigning or being court-martialed for conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. Face to face with this ugly alternative, he chose resignation, and the army, officially, knew him no more. It was not only social and professional disgrace, but financial ruin which confronted the broken officer as he bade good-bye to his regiment at its desolate quarters in California, after fifteen years of service to the army. He was absolutely without money and, at the age of thirty-two, it was by no means easy for him to begin life all over again and earn his own living at a new calling. His fellow officers provided him with enough cash for his immediate wants, and with their help he managed to find his way back to Sackett's Harbor, New York, where there was a little money owing him. But he failed to collect this and remained hopelessly stranded until another officer came to his rescue and provided him with sufficient funds to take him to his home. This friend in time of need was Simon B. Buckner, whom he was to meet again under strange and dramatic circumstances. It was hardly to be expected, under such conditions, that stern old Jesse Grant would welcome the home-coming of his eldest son. Nevertheless, he helped him on his way to his wife and children, and, sick at heart and broken in health, the young man joined his family and began a desperate struggle to earn his own living. Mrs. Grant's father was a slave owner and a sympathizer with the South in the growing trouble between that section of the country and the North. But the quarrel had not yet reached the breaking point, and although he did not approve of his son-in-law's northern views and heartily disapproved of his conduct, he gave him a start as a farmer and then left him to work out his own salvation. Farming was the only occupation at which Grant could hope to make a living, but he soon found that he did not know enough about this to make a success of it, and gradually fell back on his youthful experience as a teamster, hauling wood to the city where he sold it to the railroad or to anyone that would buy. At this he was fairly successful and, encouraged by his wife who stood bravely by him, he built a house with his own hands, which, although it was not much more than a log cabin, was sufficiently large to shelter his small family. All this time he was making a hard fight to conquer his drinking habits, but the vice had taken a terrible hold on him and he could not easily shake it off. It was only a matter of time, therefore, before his experiment at farming failed and with the aid of his father-in-law he entered business as a real estate broker in St. Louis. But for this calling he had no qualification whatsoever, and after a disheartening experience in attempting to secure the post of county engineer, he accepted his father's suggestion that he join his brothers in the leather business in Galena, Illinois, and retired there with his family in the spring of 1860. The position which his father had made for him was not much more than a clerkship and the work was dull for a man who had been accustomed to active, outdoor life; but he was received with tact and kindness, no reference was made to his past record of failure and all this helped him to continue the successful struggle which he was making to regain control of himself and his habits. Indeed, from the time he began his residence in Galena he already had the battle well in hand and he fought it out with such grim resolution that before a year had passed his victory was complete. Scarcely anyone in the little town knew of this silent struggle for self-mastery. Indeed, very few people knew anything at all about the newcomer, save that he was a quiet, hard-working man who occasionally appeared on the streets wearing a blue army overcoat which had seen rough service. This weather-stained garment, however, forced Grant to break his habitual silence, for he fully shared General Taylor's prejudice against a uniform and felt obliged to apologize for wearing even part of one. So one day he explained to a neighbor that he wore the coat because it was made of good material and he thought he ought to use it as long as it lasted. That was all the citizens of Galena then learned of the record of the man who had served with high honor in well-nigh every battle of the Mexican War. Had it depended upon him, their information would probably have begun and ended there. During all this time the feeling between the North and the South was growing more and more bitter, but Galena was a town divided against itself on the slavery question. Grant himself was a Democrat. If he was not in favor of slavery, he certainly was not opposed to it, for he favored Douglas and not Lincoln in the contest for the Presidency, and Douglas was strongly against any interference with slavery. Indeed, it is a curious coincidence that at or about the time when Lee's family was ceasing to own slaves, Grant's family acquired some. Such, however, is the fact, for on the death of her father, Mrs. Grant inherited several Negroes and there is some evidence that Grant himself sold or attempted to sell them. But, though he was at that time no champion of the black race, Grant was always a strong Union man, opposed heart and soul to secession. Indeed, when news of the attack upon Fort Sumter arrived in Galena, he arrayed himself with the defenders of the flag gathered at a mass meeting held in the town to form a company in response to the President's call for 75,000 volunteers. Moreover, this meeting had no sooner been called to order than someone proposed him as chairman, and to his utter astonishment, he found himself pushed from the rear of the room to the front and from the front to the platform. Probably few in the audience knew who or what he was, and his embarrassment was such that for a few minutes no words came to his lips. Finally, however, he managed to announce the object of the meeting, warning those who intended to enlist that they would be engaged in serious business involving hard work and privation, expressing his willingness to aid in forming the Galena Company and ending with a simple statement of his own intention to reënter the army. There was nothing eloquent about his short speech but it had the tone of a man who knew what he was talking about, and the audience, availing itself of his military experience, immediately voted to entrust the organization and drilling of the volunteers to his care, and from that moment he never again entered his father's place of business. Chapter X. -- Grant's Difficulties in Securing a Command The command of the local company was, of course, offered to Grant as soon as it was formed, but he declined, believing himself qualified for somewhat higher rank than a captaincy of volunteers. Nevertheless, he did all he could to prepare the recruits for active service in the field and when they were ordered to Springfield, the capital of Illinois, he journeyed there to see them properly mustered into the service of the state. Springfield was a hubbub of noise and a rallying point for well-meaning incompetence when he arrived upon the scene. New officers in new uniforms swaggered in every public meeting place, bands of music played martial airs at every street corner and volunteers sky-larked and paraded in all sorts of impossible uniforms and with every form of theatric display. But system and order were absolutely lacking, and the adjutant-general's office, littered with blanks and well-nigh knee deep with papers, was the most helpless spot in the welter of confusion. All the material for a respectable army was at hand, but how to form it into an effective force was more than anyone seemed to know. The mass of military forms and blanks intended for that purpose was mere waste paper in the hands of the amiable but ignorant insurance agent who bore the title of adjutant-general, and no one of the patriotic mob had sufficient knowledge to instruct him in his duties. In the midst of all this hopeless confusion, however, someone suggested that a man by the name of Grant, who had come down with the Galena Company, had been in the army and ought to know about such things. The Governor accordingly sought out "the man from Galena" just as he was starting for his home, with the result that he was soon at a desk in the adjutant's office, filling out the necessary papers at three dollars a day, while the brand new captains, colonels and generals posed in the foreground to the tune of popular applause. From this time forward order gradually took the place of chaos and the political generals and comic-opera soldiers were slowly shifted from the scene. But scarcely anyone noticed the silent man, hard at work in his shirt sleeves in a corner of the adjutant's room, and such inquiries as were made concerning him elicited the information that he was a cast-off of the regular army, with a dubious reputation for sobriety, who had been hired as a clerk. But the Governor of Illinois was an intelligent man, and he was well aware of the service which the ex-Captain of regulars was performing for the State, and on the completion of his work in the adjutant's office Grant was given a nominal title and assigned to visit the various regiments at their encampments to see that they were properly mustered in. He, accordingly, straightway set to work at this task, and his brisk, business-like manner of handling it made an impression upon those with whom he came in contact, for one of the temporary camps became known as Camp Grant. Meanwhile, seeing his duties coming to an end without much hope of further employment, he wrote the following letter to the Adjutant-General of the United States Army at Washington: "Sir: "Having served for fifteen years in the regular army, including four years at West Point, and feeling it the duty of every one who has been educated at the Government expense to offer their services for the support of that Government, I have the honor, very respectfully, to tender my services until the close of the war in such capacity as may be offered. I would say in view of my present age and length of service, I feel myself competent to command a regiment, if the President, in his judgment, should see fit to entrust one to me. Since the first call of the President I have been serving on the staff of the Governor of this State, rendering such aid as I could in the organization of our State militia, and am still engaged in that capacity. A letter addressed to me at Springfield, Ill., will reach me." But the authorities at Washington took no notice whatsoever of this modest letter, which was evidently tossed aside and completely forgotten. Indeed, it was so completely buried in the files of the War Department that it disappeared for years and, when it was at last discovered, the war was a thing of the past. This silent rebuff was enough to discourage any sensitive man and Grant felt it keenly, but he did not entirely despair of accomplishing his end. He tried to gain an interview with General Frémont who was stationed in a neighboring state and, failing in this, sought out McClellan, his comrade in the Mexican War, who had been made a major-general and was then in the vicinity of Covington, Kentucky, where Grant had gone to visit his parents. But McClellan either would not or could not see him. Indeed, he had about reached the conclusion that his quest was hopeless, when he happened to meet a friend who offered to tell the Governor of Ohio that he wished to reenter the army, with the result that before long he was tendered the colonelcy of an Ohio regiment. In the meantime, however, he had unexpectedly received a telegram from the Governor of Illinois, appointing him to the command of the 21st Illinois regiment, and this he had instantly accepted. Had he known the exact circumstances under which this post was offered him, perhaps he might not have acted so promptly, but he knew enough to make him aware that the appointment was not altogether complimentary and it is quite likely that he would have accepted it in any event. The facts were, however, that the Colonel of the 21st Regiment had proved to be an ignorant and bombastic adventurer, who had appeared before his troops clothed in a ridiculous costume and armed like a pirate king, and there was such dissatisfaction among both the officers and men that a new commander was urgently demanded. Of this Grant already knew something, but he was not advised that the regiment had become so utterly demoralized by its incompetent leader that it was nothing less than a dangerous and unruly mob, of which the Governor could not induce any self-respecting officer to take charge. He had, indeed, offered the command to at least half a dozen other men before he tendered it to Grant, and he must have been intensely relieved to receive his prompt acceptance. The new Colonel did not wait to procure a new uniform before reporting for duty, but, hastening to the Fair Grounds close to Springfield where his troops were stationed, ordered them to assemble for inspection. But incompetent leadership had played havoc with the discipline of the regiment, and the men shambled from their tents without any attempt at military formation, more from curiosity than in obedience to orders. The new Colonel stepped to the front, wearing a rusty suit of civilian's clothes, his trousers tucked into his dusty boots, a battered hat on his head, a bandanna handkerchief tied around his waist in place of a sash and carrying a stick in place of a sword. Altogether he presented a most unimpressive figure and it would not have been surprising if a wild guffaw of laughter had greeted him, but the troops, studying his strong, calm face, contented themselves with calling for a speech. Then they waited in silence for his response and they did not have to wait long. "Men!" he commanded sharply. "Go to your quarters!" The regiment fairly gasped its astonishment. It had never heard a speech like that before and, taken completely by surprise, it moved quietly from the field. Sentries were instantly posted, camp limits established and preparations made for enforcing strict discipline. It was not to be supposed that such prompt reforms would pass unchallenged, but arrests followed the first signs of disobedience and punishment swiftly followed the arrests. "For every minute I'm kept here I'll have an ounce of your blood!" threatened a dangerous offender whom the Colonel had ordered to be tied up. "Gag that man!" was the quiet response. "And when his time is up I'll cut him loose myself." Before night, all was quiet in the camp of the 21st Regiment of Illinois Volunteers. Grant was in command. Chapter XI. -- Lee at the Parting of the Ways While Grant was thus striving to reënter the army, Lee was having a struggle of a very different sort. Summoned from his distant post in Texas, where only an occasional rumble of the coming tempest reached his ears, he suddenly found himself in the center of the storm which threatened to wreck the Republic. In the far South seven states had already seceded; in Washington, Congressmen, Senators, and members of the Cabinet were abandoning their posts; in the army and navy his friends were daily tendering their resignations; and his own state, divided between love for the Union and sympathy with its neighbors, was hovering on the brink of secession. The issue in Lee's mind was not the existence of slavery. He had long been in favor of emancipation, and Virginia had more than once come so close to abolishing slavery by law that its disappearance from her borders was practically assured within a very short period. All his own slaves he had long since freed and he was gradually emancipating his father-in-law's, according to the directions of Mr. Custis's will. But the right of each state to govern itself without interference from the Federal Government seemed to Lee essential to the freedom of the people. He recognized, however, that secession was revolution and, calmly and conscientiously examining the question, he concluded that, if force were used to compel any state to remain in the Union, resistance would be justifiable. Most Virginians reached this decision impulsively, light-heartedly, defiantly or vindictively, and more or less angrily, according to their temperaments and the spirit of the times, but not so Lee. He unaffectedly prayed God for guidance in the struggle between his patriotism and his devotion to a principle which he deemed essential to liberty and justice. He loved his country as only a man in close touch with its history and with a deep reverence for its great founder, Washington, could love it; he had fought for its flag; he wore its uniform; he had been educated at its expense; and General Scott, the Commander of the army, a devoted Union man, was his warm personal friend. Patriotism, personal pride, loyalty and even gratitude, therefore, urged him toward the support of the Union, and only his adherence to a principle and the claims of his kinsmen and friends forbade. For a time Virginia resisted every effort to induce her to cast her lot with the Confederacy. Indeed she actually voted against secession when the question was first presented. But when Fort Sumter resisted attack on April 12, 1861, and the President called upon the various states to furnish troops to enforce the national authority, practically all affection for the Union disappeared and by a decisive vote Virginia determined to uphold the Southern cause. At that crisis President Lincoln made a strong effort to induce Lee to support the Union, for he actually offered him the command of the United States Army which was about to take the field. The full force of this remarkable tribute to his professional skill was not lost upon Lee. He had devoted his whole life to the army, and to be a successor of Washington in the command of that army meant more to him than perhaps to any other soldier in the land. Certainly, if he had consulted his own ambition or been influenced by any but the most unselfish motives, he would have accepted the call as the highest honor in the gift of the nation. But to do so he would have been obliged to surrender his private principles and desert his native state, and it is impossible to imagine that a man of his character would, even for an instant, consider such a course. Gravely and sadly he declined the mighty office, and two days later he tendered his resignation from the service he had honored for almost six and thirty years. For this and his subsequent action Lee has been called a traitor and severely criticized for well-nigh fifty years. But, when a nation has been divided against itself upon a great issue of government, millions upon one side and millions upon the other, and half a century has intervened, it is high time that justice be given to the man who did what he thought right and honorably fought for a principle which he could have surrendered only at the expense of his conscience and his honor. Lee was a traitor to the United States in the same sense that Washington was a traitor to England. No more and no less. England takes pride to-day in having given Washington to the world. Americans deprive their country of one of her claims to greatness when they fail to honor the character and the genius of Robert Lee. It was in a letter to his old commander, Scott, that Lee announced his momentous decision, and its tone well indicated what the parting cost him. "Arlington, Va., April 20, 1861. "General: "Since my interview with you on the 18th inst., I have felt that I ought not longer to retain my commission in the army. I, therefore, tender my resignation, which I request you will recommend for acceptance. It would have been presented at once but for the struggle it has cost me to separate myself from a service to which I have devoted the best years of my life and all the ability I possessed. During the whole of that time...I have experienced nothing but kindness from my superiors and a most cordial friendship from my comrades. To no one, General, have I been as much indebted as to yourself for uniform kindness and consideration.... Save in the defense of my native State, I never desire again to draw my sword." Lee was fully aware of the serious nature of the conflict in which the country was about to engage. Americans were to be pitted against Americans and he knew what that meant. Wise men, both North and South, were prophesying that the war would not last more than ninety days, and foolish ones were bragging of their own powers and questioning the courage of their opponents, quite oblivious of the adage that when Greek meets Greek there comes a tug of war. But Lee did not concern himself with such childish exhibitions of judgment and temper. "Do not put your faith in rumors of adjustment," he wrote his wife before serious fighting had begun. "I see no prospect of it. It cannot be while passions on both sides are so infuriated. MAKE YOUR PLANS FOR SEVERAL YEARS OF WAR. I agree with you that the inflammatory articles in the papers do us much harm. I object particularly to those in the Southern papers, as I wish them to take a firm, dignified course, free from bravado and boasting. The times are indeed calamitous. The brightness of God's countenance seems turned from us. It may not always be so dark and He may in time pardon our sins and take us under his protection." Up to this time his son Custis, who had graduated first in his class at West Point, was still in the service of the United States as a lieutenant in the Engineers and of him Lee wrote to his wife in the same comradely spirit that he had always shown toward his boys. "Tell Custis he must consult his own judgment, reason and conscience, as to the course he may take. The present is a momentous question which every man must settle for himself, and upon principle. I do not wish him to be guided by my wishes or example. If I have done wrong let him do better." Virginia was not slow in recognizing that she had within her borders the soldiers whom the chief general of the United States described as the greatest military genius in America, and within three days of his resignation from the old army, Lee was tendered the command of all the Virginia troops. Convinced that the brunt of the heavy fighting would fall on his native state, to whose defense he had dedicated his sword, he accepted the offer and thus there came to the aid of the Confederacy one of the few really great commanders that the world has ever seen. Chapter XII. -- Opening Moves It was to no very agreeable task that Lee was assigned at the outset of his command. The forces of the Confederacy were even less prepared to take the field than those of the United States, and for three months Lee was hard at work organizing and equipping the army for effective service. This important but dull duty prevented him from taking any active part in the first great battle of the War at Bull Run (July 21, 1861), but it was his rare judgment in massing the troops where they could readily reënforce each other that enabled the Confederate commanders on that occasion to form the junction which resulted in the overwhelming defeat of the Union army. This fact was well recognized by the authorities and, when the situation in western Virginia assumed a threatening aspect, he was ordered there with the highest hopes that he would repeat the success of Bull Run and speedily expel the Union forces from that part of the state. A more unpromising field of operation than western Virginia could scarcely have been selected for the new commander. The people of that region generally favored the Union, and the Federal troops had already obtained possession of the strongest positions, while some of the Confederate commanders were quarreling with each other and otherwise working at cross purposes. For a time, therefore, Lee had to devote himself to smoothing over the differences which had arisen among his jealous subordinates, but when he at last began an aggressive movement, bad weather and a lack of coöperation between the various parts of his small army defeated his designs, and in October, 1861, the three-months' campaign came to an inglorious close. This complete failure was a bitter disappointment to the Confederate hopes and Lee was severely blamed for the result. Indeed, for the time being he was regarded as an overrated individual who had had his opportunity and had proved unequal to the task of conducting military operations on a large scale. It was not easy to suffer this unjust criticism to pass unnoticed, but the discipline of the army life had taught Lee to control his tongue, and he made no protest even when he found himself removed from the front to superintend the fortifying of the coast. A small-minded man would probably have retired in sulky silence under such circumstances, but Lee entered upon his new duties with cheerful energy, and in four months he devised such skillful defenses for Charleston, Savannah and other points on the Confederate coast line, that they were enabled to defy all assaults of the Union army and navy until almost the close of the war. This invaluable service attracted no public attention, but it was fully appreciated by the Confederate authorities, who in no wise shared the popular opinion concerning Lee's talents. On the contrary, President Jefferson Davis, himself a graduate of West Point, continued to have the highest regard for his ability, and in March, 1862, he reappointed him as his chief military adviser at Richmond. It was about this time that the roar of cannon in the West attracted the attention of the country, making it realize for the first time how far flung was the battle line of the contending armies; and on hard-fought fields, hundreds and hundreds of miles away from Washington and Richmond, the mud-splashed figure of Grant began to loom through heavy clouds of smoke. It was by no brilliant achievement that Grant regained his standing in the army. The unruly 21st Illinois had been sufficiently disciplined within a fortnight after he assumed command to take some pride in itself as an organization and when its short term of service expired, it responded to the eloquence of McClernand and Logan, two visiting orators, by reënlisting almost to a man. Then the Colonel set to work in earnest to make his regiment ready for the field, drilling and hardening the men for their duties and waiting for an opportunity to show that this was a fighting force with no nonsense about it. The opportunity came sooner than he expected, for about two weeks after he had assumed command, his regiment was ordered to northern Missouri, and a railroad official called at his camp to inquire how many cars he would need for the transportation of his men. "I don't want any," was the bluff response; and, to the astonishment of the local authorities who, at that period of the war, never dreamed of moving troops except by rail or river, the energetic Colonel assembled his regiment in marching order and started it at a brisk pace straight across country. But, though he had moved with such commendable promptness, Grant was not nearly so confident as his actions seemed to imply. In fact, before he reached his destination, he heartily wished himself back again, and by the time he arrived at the point where the enemy was expected his nerves were completely unstrung. It was not the fright of cowardice that unmanned him, but rather the terror of responsibility. Again and again he had braved death in battle but now, for the first time, the safety of an entire regiment depended solely upon him as he approached the summit of the hill from which he expected to catch sight of his opponents he dreaded to fight them, lest he prove unequal to the emergency. But, while he was tormenting himself with this over-anxiety, he suddenly remembered that his opponent was just as new at his duties as he was and probably quite as nervous, and from that moment his confidence gradually returned. As a matter of fact, Colonel Harris, who commanded the Confederate force, displayed far more prudence than valor, for, on hearing of the advance of the Union troops, he speedily retreated and the 21st Illinois encountered no opposition whatever. But the march taught Grant a lesson he never forgot and, thereafter, in the hour of peril, he invariably consoled himself by remembering that his opponents were not free from danger and the more he made them look to their own safety the less time they would have for worrying him. It was in July, 1861, when Grant entered Missouri, and about a month later the astonishing news reached his headquarters that President Lincoln had appointed him a Brigadier General of Volunteers. The explanation of this unexpected honor was that the Illinois Congressmen had included his name with seven others on a list of possible brigadiers, and the President had appointed four of them without further evidence of their qualifications. Under such circumstances, the promotion was not much of an honor, but it placed Grant in immediate command of an important district involving the control of an army of quite respectable size. For a time the new General was exclusively occupied with perfecting the organization of his increased command, but to this hard, dull work he devoted himself in a manner that astonished some of the other brigadiers whose ideas of the position involved a showy staff of officers and a deal of picturesque posing in resplendent uniforms. But Grant had no patience with such foolery. He had work to do and when his headquarters were established at Cairo, Illinois, he took charge of them himself, keeping his eyes on all the details like any careful business man. In fact he was, as far as appearances were concerned, a man of business, for he seldom wore a uniform and worked at his desk all day in his shirt sleeves, behind ramparts of maps and papers, with no regard whatever for military ceremony or display. A month of this arduous preparation found his force ready for active duty and about this time he became convinced that the Confederates intended to seize Paducah, an important position in Kentucky at the mouth of the Tennessee River, just beyond the limits of his command. He, accordingly, telegraphed his superiors for permission to occupy the place. No reply came to this request and a more timid man would have hesitated to move without orders. But Grant saw the danger and, assuming the responsibility, landed his troops in the town just in time to prevent its capture by the Confederates. Paducah was in sympathy with the South, and on entering it the Union commander issued an address to the inhabitants which attracted far more attention than the occupation of the town, for it contained nothing of the silly brag and bluster so common then in military proclamations on both sides. On the contrary, it was so modest and sensible, and yet so firm, that Lincoln, on reading it, is said to have remarked: "The man who can write like that is fitted to command." Paducah was destined to be the last of Grant's bloodless victories, for in November, 1861, he was ordered to threaten the Confederates near Belmont, Missouri, as a feint to keep them from reënforcing another point where a real assault was planned. The maneuver was conducted with great energy and promised to be completely successful, but after Grant's raw troops had made their first onslaught and had driven their opponents from the field, they became disorderly and before he could control them the enemy reappeared in overwhelming numbers and compelled them to fight their way back to the river steamers which had carried them to the scene of action. This they succeeded in doing, but such was their haste to escape capture that they actually tumbled on board the boats and pushed off from the shore without waiting for their commander. By this time the Confederates were rapidly approaching with the intention of sweeping the decks of the crowded steamboats before they could get out of range, and Grant was apparently cut off from all chance of escape. Directly in front of him lay the precipitous river bank, while below only one transport was within hail and that had already started from its moorings. Its captain, however, caught sight of him as he came galloping through a corn field and instantly pushed his vessel as close to the shore as he dared, at the same time throwing out a single plank about fifteen feet in length to serve as an emergency gangway. To force a horse down the cliff-like bank of the river and up the narrow plank to the steamer's deck, was a daring feat, but the officer who was riding for his life had not forgotten the skill which had marked him at West Point and, compelling his mount to slide on its haunches down the slippery mud precipice, he trotted coolly up the dangerous incline to safety. The battle of Belmont (November 7, 1861), as this baptism of fire was called, is said to have caused more mourning than almost any other engagement of the war, for up to that time there had been but little loss of life and its list of killed and wounded, mounting into the hundreds, made a painfully deep impression. In this respect, it was decidedly ominous of Grant's future record, but it accomplished his purpose in detaining the Confederates and he was soon to prove his willingness to accept defeats as necessary incidents to any successful campaign and to fight on undismayed. Chapter XIII. -- Grant's First Success Up to this time the war in the West had been largely an affair of skirmishes. A body of Union troops would find itself confronting a Confederate force, one of the two commanders would attack and a fight would follow; or the Confederates would march into a town and their opponents would attempt to drive them out of it, not because it was of any particular value, but because the other side held it. "See-a-head-and-hit-it" strategy governed the day and no plan worthy of the name had been adopted for conducting the war on scientific principles. But Grant had studied the maps to some purpose in his office at Cairo and he realized that the possession of the Mississippi River was the key to the situation in the West. As long as the Confederates controlled that great waterway which afforded them free access to the ocean and fairly divided the Eastern from the Western States, they might reasonably hope to defy their opponents to the end of time. But, if they lost it, one part of the Confederacy would be almost completely cut off from the rest. Doubtless, other men saw this just as clearly and quite as soon as Grant did; but having once grasped an idea he never lost sight of it, and while others were diverted by minor matters, he concentrated his whole attention on what he believed to be the vital object of all campaigning in the West. The Tennessee River and the Cumberland River both flow into the Ohio, not far from where that river empties into the Mississippi. They, therefore, formed the principal means of water communication with the Mississippi for the State of Tennessee, and the Confederates had created forts to protect them at points well within supporting distance of each other. Fort Henry, guarding the Tennessee River, and Fort Donelson, commanding the Cumberland River, were both in Grant's district, and in January, 1862, he wrote to General Halleck, his superior officer in St. Louis, calling attention to the importance of these posts and offering suggestions for their capture. But Halleck did not take any notice of this communication and Grant thereupon resolved to go to St. Louis and present his plans in person. This was the first time he had been in the city since the great change in his circumstances and those who had known him only a few years before as a poverty-stricken farmer and wagoner could scarcely believe that he was the same man. He had, as yet, done nothing very remarkable, but he held an important command, his name was well and favorably known and he had already begun to pay off his old debts. All this enabled his father and mother to regain something of the pride they had once felt for their eldest son, and his former friends were glad to welcome him and claim his acquaintance. Pleasant as this was, the trip to St. Louis was a bitter disappointment in other respects, for Halleck not only rejected his subordinate's proposition for the capture of Fort Henry and Fort Donelson, but dismissed him without even listening to the details of his plan. Most officers would have been completely discouraged by such treatment, but Grant had been accustomed to disappointments for many years and did not readily despair. Meeting Flag-Officer Foote who had charge of a fleet of gun boats near Cairo, he explained his idea and finding him not only sympathetic, but enthusiastic, he and Foote each sent a telegram to Halleck assuring him that Fort Henry could be taken if he would only give his consent. These messages brought no immediate response, but Grant continued to request permission to advance until, on the 1st of February, 1862, the necessary order was obtained and within twenty-four hours the persistent officer had his expedition well upon its way. His force consisted of some 15,000 men and seven gun boats, and Halleck promised him reënforcements, sending a capable officer to see that they were promptly forwarded. This officer was Brigadier General Sherman who thus, for the first time, came in touch with the man with whom he was destined to bring the war to a close. Four days after the troops started they were ready to attack and the gun-boats at once proceeded to shell the fort, with the result that its garrison almost immediately surrendered (February 6, 1862), practically all of its defenders having retreated to Fort Donelson as soon as they saw that their position was seriously threatened. Grant promptly notified his Chief of this easy conquest, at the same time adding that he would take Fort Donelson within forty-eight hours, but he soon had reason to regret this boast--one of the few of which he was ever guilty. Indeed, his troops had scarcely started on their journey when rapid progress became impossible, for the rain descended in torrents, rendering the roads impassable for wagons and cannon, and almost impracticable for infantry or cavalry. Moreover, many of the men had foolishly thrown away their blankets and overcoats during the march from Fort Henry and their suffering under the freezing winter blasts was exceedingly severe, especially as camp fires were not permitted for fear that their smoke would attract the gunners in the fort. Under these circumstances the advance was seriously delayed, and it was February 14, 1862--six days after he had prophesied that he would take the place--before Grant had his army in position. By this time, however, the gun-boats had arrived and he determined to attack at once, although Halleck had advised him to wait for reënforcements to occupy Fort Henry, lest the Confederates should recapture it while his back was turned. There was, of course, a chance of this, but Grant felt sure that if he delayed the Confederates would seize the opportunity to strengthen Fort Donelson, and then 50,000 men would not be able to accomplish what 15,000 might immediately effect. He, accordingly, directed Foote to bombard the fort at once from the river front and try to run its batteries. Desperate as this attempt appeared his orders were instantly obeyed, the fearless naval officer forcing his little vessels into the very jaws of death under a terrific fire, to which he responded with a hail of shot and shell. Grant watched this spectacular combat with intense interest, waiting for a favorable moment to order an advance of his troops, but to his bitter disappointment one after another of Foote's vessels succumbed to the deadly fire of the water batteries and drifted helplessly back with the current. Indeed, the flagship was struck more than sixty times and Foote himself was so severely wounded that he could not report in person, but requested that the General come on board his ship for a conference, which disclosed the fact that the fleet was in no condition to continue the combat and must retire for repairs. There was nothing for Grant to do, therefore, but prepare for a siege, and with a heavy heart he returned from the battered gun-boat to give the necessary orders. He had scarcely set his foot on shore, however, before a staff officer dashed up with the startling intelligence that the Confederates had sallied forth and attacked a division of the army commanded by General McClernand and that his troops were fleeing in a panic which threatened to involve the entire army. Grant knew McClernand well. He was one of the Congressmen who had made speeches to the 21st Illinois and, realizing that the man was almost wholly ignorant of military matters and utterly incapable of handling such a situation, he leaped on his horse and, spurring his way across the frozen ground to the sound of the firing, confronted the huddled and beaten division just in the nick of time. Meanwhile, General Lew Wallace--afterwards famous as the author "Ben Hur"--had arrived and thrown forward a brigade to cover the confused retreat, so that for the moment the Confederate advance was held in check. But despite this, McClernand's men continued to give way, muttering that their ammunition was exhausted. There were tons of ammunition close at hand, as the officers ought to have known had they understood their duties, but even when assured of this the panic-stricken soldiers refused to return to the field. They were in no condition to resist attack, they declared, and the enemy was evidently intending to make a long fight of it, as the haversacks of those who had fallen contained at least three days' rations. This excuse was overheard by Grant and instantly riveted his attention. "Let me see some of those haversacks," he commanded sharply, and one glance at their contents convinced him that the Confederates were not attempting to crush his army, but were trying to break through his lines and escape. If they intended to stay and defend the fortress, they would not carry haversacks at all; but if they contemplated a retreat, they would not only take them, but fill them with enough provisions to last for several days. In reaching this conclusion Grant was greatly aided by his knowledge of the men opposing him. He had served in Mexico with General Pillow, the second in command at Fort Donelson, and, knowing him to be a timid man, felt certain that nothing but desperation would ever induce him to risk an attack. He also knew that Floyd, his immediate superior, who had recently been the United States Secretary of War, had excellent reasons for avoiding capture and, putting all these facts together, he instantly rose to the occasion. "Fill your cartridge boxes, quick, and get into line," was his order to the men as he dashed down the wavering lines. "The enemy is trying to escape and he must not be permitted to do so!" The word flew through the disordered ranks, transforming them as it passed, and at the same time orders were issued for the entire left wing to advance and attack without a moment's delay. This unexpected onslaught quickly threw the Confederates back into the fortress, but before they again reached the shelter of its walls the Union forces had carried all the outer defenses and had virtually locked the door behind their retreating adversaries. From that moment the capture of the imprisoned garrison was only a question of time, and within twenty-four hours Grant received a communication from the Confederate commander asking for a truce to consider the terms of surrender. To his utter astonishment, however, this suggestion did not come from either General Floyd or General Pillow but from Simon Buckner, his old friend at West Point, who had so generously aided him when he reached New York, penniless and disgraced after his resignation from the army. This was an embarrassing situation, indeed, but while he would have done anything he could for Buckner personally, Grant realized that he must not allow gratitude or friendship to interfere with his duty. He, therefore, promptly answered the proposal for a truce in these words: "No terms except an unconditional and immediate surrender can be accepted. I propose to move immediately upon your works." [NOTE from Brett: The full letter is also shown in Grant's handwriting which leaves something to be desired. I will do my best to transcribe it below: Hd Qrs. Army in the Field Camp Fort Donelson, Feb. 16th 1862 Cmdr. S. B. Buckner Confed. Army. Sir, Yours of this inst. proposing armistice, and appointment of Commissioners to settle terms of Capitulation is just received. No terms except an unconditional and immediate surrender can be accepted. I propose to move immediately upon your works. I am Sir, very respectfully, your obt. svt. [obedient servant], U. S. Grant Brig. Gen.] But no more fighting was necessary, for Buckner yielded as gracefully as he could, and on February 16, 1862, he and the entire garrison of about 15,000 men became prisoners of war. Generals Pillow and Floyd, it appeared, had fled with some 4,000 men the night before, leaving Buckner in charge and as Grant's force had by that time been increased to 27,000 men, further resistance would have been useless. The capture of these two forts gave the Union forces command of the Tennessee and the Cumberland Rivers, and to that extent cleared the way for the control of the Mississippi. It was the first real success which had greeted the Union cause and it raised Grant to a Major-Generalship of Volunteers, gave him a national reputation and supplied a better interpretation of his initial than West Point had provided, for from the date of his letter to Buckner he was known as "Unconditional Surrender" Grant. Chapter XIV. -- The Battle of Shiloh Grant did not waste any time in rejoicing over his success. The capture of Fort Henry and Fort Donelson was an important achievement but it was only one step toward the control of the Mississippi River, which was the main object of the campaign. The next step in that direction was toward Corinth a strategically important point in Mississippi, and he immediately concentrated his attention upon getting the army in position to attack that stronghold. Some of his fellow commanders, however, were extremely cautious and he had to labor for days before he could persuade General Buell, who was stationed at Nashville, Tennessee, with a large army, to advance his troops to a point where they could be of service. But in the midst of this work he was suddenly interrupted by an order which removed him from his command and virtually placed him under arrest on charges of disregarding instructions and of being absent from his department without permission. These astonishing accusations were caused by his failure to answer dispatches from Headquarters which had never reached him, and by his visit to General Buell which had obliged him to travel beyond the strict limits of his command. The whole matter was soon explained by the discovery that a Confederate had been tampering with the dispatches in the telegraph office, but it was exceedingly annoying to Grant to find himself publicly condemned without a hearing. Nevertheless, it supplied a very fair test of his character, for he neither lost his temper nor displayed any excitement whatsoever. On the contrary, he remained perfectly calm in the face of grave provocation, replying firmly but respectfully to the harsh criticisms of his superiors, and behaving generally with a dignity and composure that won the silent approval of all observers. Of course, as soon as the facts were known he was restored to his command with an ample apology, but his preparations for the advance against Corinth had been seriously interrupted and it was some time before he again had the work in hand. Nevertheless, within five weeks of the surrender of Fort Donelson, he was headed toward Mississippi with over 30,000 men, having arranged with General Buell to follow and support him with his army of 40,000, the combined forces being amply sufficient to overpower the Confederates who were guarding Corinth. This vast superiority, however, probably served to put Grant off his guard, for on March 16, 1862, his advance under General Sherman reached Pittsburg Landing, not far from Corinth, and encamped there without taking the precaution to intrench. Sherman reported on April 5th that he had no fear of being attacked and Grant, who had been injured the day before by the fall of his horse and was still on crutches, remained some distance in the rear, feeling confident that there would be no serious fighting for several days. But the Union commander, who had studied his opponents with such good results at Fort Donelson, made a terrible mistake in failing to do so on this occasion, for he knew, or ought to have known, that General Albert Sidney Johnston and General Beauregard, the Confederate commanders were bold and energetic officers who were well advised of the military situation and ready to take advantage of every opportunity. Indeed, their sharp eyes had already noted the gap between Grant's and Buell's armies and at the moment Sherman was penning his dispatch to his superior, informing him that all was well, a force of 40,000 men was preparing to crush his unprotected advance guard before Buell could reach the field. It was Sunday morning, April 6, 1862, when the ominous sound of firing in the direction of Shiloh Church smote Grant's ears. For a few moments he could not believe that it indicated a serious attack, but the roar of heavy guns soon convinced him that a desperate battle had begun and, directing his orderlies to lift him into the saddle, he dashed to the nearest boat landing and proceeded to the front with all possible speed. Before he reached the ground, however, the Confederates had driven the Union outposts from the field in frightful disorder and were hurling themselves with ferocious energy upon those who still held fast. The surprise had been well-nigh complete and the first rush of the gray infantry carried everything before it, leaving the foremost Union camp in their hands. Indeed, for a time the Federal army was not much more than a disorganized mob, completely bewildered by the shock of battle, and thousands of men blindly sought refuge in the rear, heedless of their officers who, with a few exceptions, strove valiantly to organize an effective defense. The tumult and confusion were at their worst when Grant reached the field and it seemed almost hopeless to check the panic and prevent the destruction of his entire army. But in the midst of the maddening turmoil and wild scenes of disaster he kept his head and, dashing from one end of the line to the other, ordered regiments into position with a force and energy that compelled obedience. There was no time to formulate any plan of battle. Each officer had to do whatever he thought best to hold back the Confederates in his immediate front, and for hours the fight was conducted practically without orders. But Grant supplied his gallant subordinates with something far more important than orders at that crisis. Undismayed by the chaos about him he remained cool and inspired them with confidence. Not for one instant would he admit the possibility of defeat, and under his strong hand the huddled lines were quickly reformed, the onrush of the Confederates was gradually checked and a desperate conflict begun for every inch of ground. For a time the victorious gray-coats continued to push their opponents back and another line of tents fell into their hands. But their advance was stubbornly contested and knowing that Buell was at hand, Grant fought hard for delay, using every effort to encourage his men to stand fast and present the boldest possible front to the foe. Meanwhile, however, Sherman was wounded, and when darkness put an end to the furious combat the shattered Union army was on the verge of collapse. So perilous, indeed, was the situation that when Buell arrived on the field his first inquiry was as to what preparations Grant had made to effect a retreat. But the silent commander instantly shook his head and announced, to the intense astonishment of his questioner, that he did not intend to retreat but to attack at daylight the next morning with every man at his disposal, leaving no reserves. Such was Grant at one of the darkest moments of his career. Behind him lay the battered remnants of regiments, screening a welter of confusion and fear; before him stretched the blood-soaked field of Shiloh held by the confident Confederate host; while at his elbow stood anxious officers, well satisfied to have saved the army from destruction and ready to point out a convenient line of retreat. All his surroundings, in fact, were calculated to discourage him and the intense pain of his injured leg, which allowed him neither rest nor sleep, was a severe strain upon his nerves. Yet he would not yield to weakness of any kind. He was responsible for the position in which the Union army found itself and he determined to retrieve its fortunes. Therefore, all night long while reënforcements were steadily arriving, he developed his plans for assuming the offensive, and at break of day his troops hurled themselves against the opposing lines with dauntless energy. Meanwhile the Confederates had sustained an irreparable loss, for Albert Sidney Johnston, their brilliant leader, had fallen. Moreover, they had no reserves to meet the Union reënforcements. Nevertheless, they received the vigorous onslaught with splendid courage and another terrible day of carnage followed. Again and again Grant exposed himself with reckless daring, narrowly escaping death from a bullet which carried away the scabbard of his sword as he reconnoitered in advance of his men, but despite his utmost efforts the gray lines held fast, and for hours no apparent advantage was gained. Then, little by little, the heavy Union battalions began to push them back until all the lost ground was recovered, but the Confederates conducted their retreat in good order and finally reached a point of safety, leaving very few prisoners in their pursuers' hands. Grant had saved his army from destruction and had even driven his adversary from the field, but at a fearful cost, for no less than 10,000 Union soldiers were killed or wounded in the two days' desperate fighting at Shiloh and almost 3,000 had been captured. The Confederates, it is true, had lost nearly 10,000 men, but their army, which should have been crushed by the combined efforts of Grant and Buell, was still in possession of Corinth and had come dangerously near to annihilating half of the Union forces. The results of the battle were, therefore, received at Washington with surprise and indignation; the country at large, horrified at the frightful slaughter, denounced it as a useless butchery; Halleck hastily assumed charge of all the forces in the field and from that time forward Grant, though nominally the second in command, was deprived of all power and virtually reduced to the rôle of a mere spectator. Indeed, serious efforts were made to have him dismissed from the service, but Lincoln after carefully considering the charges, refused to act. "I can't spare this man," was his comment. "He FIGHTS." Lincoln intended to imply by that remark that there were generals in the army who did not fight, and Halleck was certainly one of them, for he took thirty-one days to march the distance that the Confederates had covered in three. Indeed, he displayed such extraordinary caution that with an army of 100,000 at his back he inched his way toward Corinth, erecting intrenchments at every halt, only to find, after a month, that he had been frightened by shadows and dummy guns and that the city had been abandoned by the Confederates. No commander responsible for such a ridiculous performance could retain the confidence of an army in the field, and Sherman assured Grant that Halleck would not long survive the fiasco. This advice was sorely needed, for Grant had grown tired of being constantly humiliated and had already requested Halleck to relieve him from duty when Sherman persuaded him to remain and wait for something to happen. Something happened sooner then either man expected, for Halleck was suddenly "kicked up stairs" by his appointment to the chief command with headquarters in Washington, and on July 11, 1862, about three months after the battle of Shiloh, Grant found himself again at the head of a powerful army. Chapter XV. -- Lee in the Saddle While Grant was earning a reputation as a fighting general in the West, Lee had been at a desk in Richmond attending to his duties as chief military adviser to the Confederate President, which prevented him from taking active part in any operations in the field. As a matter of fact, however, there had been no important engagements in the East, for "On to Richmond!" had become the war cry of the North, and all the energies of the Federal government had been centered on preparations for the capture of the Southern capital. Indeed, if Richmond had been the treasure house and last refuge of the Confederacy, no greater efforts could have been made to secure it, although it was by no means essential to either the North or the South and the war would have continued no matter which flag floated above its roofs. Nevertheless, the idea of marching into the enemy's capital appealed to the popular imagination and this undoubtedly dictated much of the early strategy of the war. At all events, while the opening moves in the campaign for the possession of the Mississippi were being made, a vast army was being equipped near Washington for the express purpose of capturing Richmond. The preparation of this force had been entrusted to General George B. McClellan whose ability in organizing, drilling and disciplining the troops had made him a popular hero and given him such a reputation as a military genius that he was universally hailed as "the young Napoleon." He had, indeed, created the most thoroughly equipped army ever seen in America, and when he advanced toward Virginia in April, 1862, at the head of over 100,000 men the supporters of the Union believed that the doom of the Confederacy was already sealed. From this office in Richmond Lee watched these formidable preparations for invading the South with no little apprehension. He knew that the Confederates had only about 50,000 available troops with which to oppose McClellan's great army and had the Union commander been aware of this he might have moved straight against the city and swept its defenders from his path. But McClellan always believed that he was outnumbered and on this occasion he wildly exaggerated his opponents' strength. In fact, he crept forward so cautiously that the Confederates, who had almost resigned themselves to losing the city, hastened to bring up reënforcements and erect defensive works of a really formidable character. The best that was hoped for, however, was to delay the Union army. To defeat it, or even to check its advance, seemed impossible, and doubtless it would have proved so had it not been for the brilliant exploits of the man who was destined to become Lee's "right hand." This man was General Thomas Jonathan Jackson, who had earned the nickname of "Stonewall" at Bull Run and was at that time in command of about 15,000 men guarding the fertile Shenandoah Valley, the "granary of Virginia." Opposing this comparatively small army were several strong Union forces which were considered amply sufficient to capture or destroy it, and McClellan proceeded southward, with no misgivings concerning Jackson. But the wily Confederate had no intention of remaining idle and McClellan's back was scarcely turned before he attacked and utterly routed his nearest opponents. A second, third and even a fourth army was launched against him, but he twisted, turned and doubled on his tracks with bewildering rapidity, cleverly luring his opponents apart; and then, falling on each in turn with overwhelming numbers, hurled them from his path with astonishing ease and suddenly appeared before Washington threatening its capture. Astounded and alarmed at this unexpected peril, the Federal authorities instantly ordered McDowell's corps of 40,000 men, which was on the point of joining McClellan, to remain and defend the capital. This was a serious blow to McClellan who had counted upon using these troops, though even without them he greatly outnumbered the Confederates. But the idea that he was opposed by an overwhelming force had taken such a firm hold on his mind that he was almost afraid to move, and while he was timidly feeling his way General Joseph Johnston, commanding the defenses at Richmond, attacked his advance corps at Seven Pines, May 31, 1862. A fierce contest followed, during which Johnston was severely wounded, and Jefferson Davis, who was on the field, promptly summoned General Lee to the command. It was a serious situation which confronted Lee when he was thus suddenly recalled to active duty, for McClellan's army outnumbered his by at least 40,000 men and it was within six miles of Richmond, from the roofs of whose houses the glow of the Union campfires was plainly visible. Nevertheless, he determined to put on a bold front and attack his opponent at his weakest point. But how to discover this was a difficult problem and the situation did not admit of a moment's delay. Under ordinary circumstances the information might have been secured through spies, but there was no time for this and confronted by the necessity for immediate action, Lee thought of "Jeb" Stuart, his son's classmate at West Point, who had acted as aide in the capture of John Brown. Stuart was only twenty-nine years old but he had already made a name for himself as a general of cavalry, and Lee knew him well enough to feel confident that, if there was any one in the army who could procure the needed information, he was the man. He, accordingly, ordered him to take 1,200 troopers and a few field guns and ride straight at the right flank of the Union army until he got near enough to learn how McClellan's forces were posted at that point. This perilous errand was just the opportunity for which Stuart had been waiting, and without the loss of a moment he set his horsemen in motion. Directly in his path lay the Federal cavalry but within twenty-four hours he had forced his way through them and carefully noted the exact position of the Union troops. His mission was then accomplished, but by this time the Federal camp was thoroughly aroused and, knowing that if he attempted to retrace his steps his capture was almost certain, he pushed rapidly forward and, passing around the right wing, proceeded to circle the rear of McClellan's entire army. So speedily did he move that the alarm of his approach was no sooner given in one quarter than he appeared in another and thus, like a boy disturbing a row of hornets' nests with a long stick, he flashed by the whole line, reached the Union left, swung around it and reported to Lee with his command practically intact. That a few squadrons of cavalry should have been able to ride around his army of 100,000 men and escape unscathed astonished and annoyed McClellan but he utterly failed to grasp the true purpose of this brilliant exploit, and Lee took the utmost care to see that his suspicions were not aroused. Stuart's information had convinced him that the right wing of the Union army was badly exposed and might be attacked with every prospect of success, but to insure this it was necessary that McClellan's attention should be distracted from the real point of danger. The Confederate commander thoroughly understood his opponent's character and failings, for he had taken his measure during the Mexican War and knowing his cautious nature, he spread the news that heavy reënforcements had been forwarded to Jackson in the Shenandoah Valley. This he felt sure would confirm McClellan's belief that he had such overwhelming numbers that he could afford to withdraw troops from Richmond, and the ruse was entirely successful, for the Union commander hesitated to advance, and the Federal authorities, hearing of Jackson's supposed reënforcement, became increasingly alarmed for the safety of Washington. Meanwhile, a courier had been secretly hurried to Jackson, ordering him to rush his troops from the Shenandoah Valley and attack McClellan's right wing from the rear while Lee assaulted it from the front. But the Union right wing numbered fully 25,000 men and Jackson had only 15,000. So to make the attack overwhelming it was necessary for Lee to withdraw 40,000 men from the defenses of Richmond, leaving the city practically unprotected. Unquestionably, this was a most dangerous move, for had McClellan suspected the truth he might have forced his way into the capital without much difficulty. But here again Lee counted upon his adversary's character, for he directed the troops that remained in the trenches to keep up a continuous feint of attacking the Union left wing, in the hope that this show of force would cause McClellan to look to his safety in that quarter, which is precisely what he did. Indeed, he was still busy reporting the threatening movements against his left, when Lee and Jackson's combined force of 55,000 men fell upon his right with fearful effect at Gaines' Mill (June 27, 1862). From that moment his campaign for the capture of Richmond became a struggle to save his own army from capture or destruction. The only safety lay in flight but at the moment of defeat and impending disaster it was not easy to extricate the troops from their dangerous position, and McClellan showed high skill in masking his line of retreat. Lee did not, therefore, immediately discover the direction in which he was moving and this delay probably prevented him from annihilating the remnants of the Union army. Once on the trail, however, he lost no time and, loosing "his dogs of war," they fell upon the retreating columns again and again in the series of terrible conflicts known as the "Seven Days' Battles." But the Union army was struggling for its life and, like a stag at bay, it fought off its pursuers with desperate courage, until finally at Malvern Hill (July 1, 1862), it rolled them back with such slaughter that a bolder leader might have been encouraged to advance again toward Richmond. As it was, however, McClellan was well content to remove his shattered legions to a point of safety at Harrison's Landing, leaving Lee in undisturbed possession of the field dyed with the blood of well-nigh 30,000 men. Chapter XVI. -- A Game of Strategy While the remnants of McClellan's fine army were recuperating from the rough handling they had received, Lee was developing a plan to remove them still further from the vicinity of Richmond. Harrison's Landing was too close to the Confederate capital for comfort and the breastworks which the Union commander erected there were too formidable to be attacked. But, though he could not hope to drive his adversary away by force, Lee believed that he could lure him from his stronghold by carrying the war into another part of Virginia. The opportunity to do this was particularly favorable, for the Union forces in front of Washington, consisting of about 45,000 men, had been placed under the command of General John Pope. Pope had served with Grant in the Mississippi campaign and had begun his career in the East by boasting of the great things he was about to accomplish, referring contemptuously to his opponents and otherwise advertising himself as a braggart and a babbler. He had come, so he told his soldiers in a flamboyant address, from an army which had seen only the backs of its enemies. He had come to lead them to victories. He wanted to hear no more of "lines of retreat" or backward movements of any kind. His headquarters were "in the saddle" and his mission was to terrorize the foe. These absurd proclamations pretty thoroughly exposed Pope's character, but he had been at West Point with General Longstreet, one of Lee's ablest advisers, and that officer speedily acquainted his chief with the full measure of his opponent's weaknesses. This was exceedingly useful to Lee and when he discovered that McClellan and Pope were pulling at different directions like balky circus horses, while Halleck with one foot on each was in imminent peril of a fall, he determined to take advantage of the situation and hasten the disaster. McClellan, having 90,000 men, wanted Pope to reënforce him with his 45,000, and thus insure a renewal of his campaign against Richmond. But this, of course, did not suit Pope who wished McClellan's army to reënforce him and march to victory under his banner. But while each of the rivals was insisting that his plan should be adopted and Halleck, who held the chief of command, was wobbling between them, trying to make up his mind to favor one or the other, Lee took the whole matter out of his hands and decided it for him. He did not want McClellan to be reënforced; first, because he was the abler officer and, second, because he had or soon would have more than sufficient men to capture Richmond and might wake to a realization of this fact at any moment. From the Confederate standpoint it was much safer to have Pope reënforced, for he did not have the experience necessary to handle a large army. Therefore, the more troops he had to mismanage the better. Moreover, Lee knew that McClellan would cease to be dangerous as soon as he was obliged to send any part of his forces away, for, as usual, he imagined that his opponents already outnumbered him and that the withdrawal of even a single regiment would place him practically at their mercy. Carefully bearing all these facts in mind and thinking that it was about time to force Halleck to transfer some of McClellan's troops to Pope, Lee ordered Jackson to attack the man who thus far had seen "only the backs of his foes." But at the Battle of Cedar Mountain, which followed (August 9, 1862), his enemies would not turn their backs and the fact evidently alarmed him, for he immediately began shouting lustily for help. Perhaps he called a little louder than was necessary in order to get as many of his rival's men as possible under his own command, but the result was that McClellan's army began rapidly melting away under orders to hurry to the rescue. Lee's first object was, therefore, accomplished at one stroke and, as fast as McClellan's troops moved northward, he withdrew the forces guarding Richmond and rushed them by shorter routes to confront Pope, whom he had determined to destroy before his reënforcements reached the field. Indeed, a very neat trap had already been prepared for that gentleman who was on the point of stepping into it when he intercepted one of his adversary's letters which gave him sufficient warning to escape by beating a hasty retreat across the Rappahannock River. This was a perfectly proper movement under the circumstances, but in view of his absurd ideas concerning retreats it opened him up to public ridicule which was almost more than a man of his character could endure. He was soon busy, therefore, complaining, explaining, and protesting his readiness to recross the river at a moment's notice. But, while he was thus foolishly wearing out the telegraph lines between his headquarters and Washington, Lee was putting into operation a plan which would have been rash to the point of folly against a really able soldier but which was perfectly justified against an incompetent. This plan was to divide his army, which numbered less than 50,000 men, into two parts, sending "Stonewall" Jackson with 25,000 to get behind the Union forces, while he attracted their commander's attention at the front. Of course, if Pope had discovered this audacious move, he could easily have crushed the divided Confederate forces in turn before either could have come to the other's rescue, for he had 70,000 at his command. But the armies were not far from Manassas or Bull Run, where the first important engagement of the war had been fought and Lee know every inch of the ground. Moreover, he believed that all Pope's provisions and supplies upon which he depended for feeding his army were behind him, and that, if Jackson succeeded in seizing them and getting between the Union army and Washington, Pope would lose his head and dash to the rescue regardless of consequences. Great, therefore, as the risk was he determined to take it, and Jackson circled away with his 25,000 men, leaving Lee with the same number confronting an army of 70,000 which might have swept the field. But its commander never dreamed of the opportunity which lay before him and he remained utterly unsuspicious until the night of August 26, 1862, when his flow of telegrams was suddenly checked and he was informed that there was something the matter with the wires connecting him to Washington. There was, indeed, something the matter with them, for Jackson's men had cut them down and were at that moment greedily devouring Pope's provisions, helping themselves to new uniforms and shoes and leaving facetious letters complaining of the quality of the supplies. For a while, however, the Union general had no suspicion of what was happening, for he interpreted the interference with the telegraph wires as the work of cavalry riders whom a comparatively small force could quickly disperse. But when the troops dispatched for this purpose came hurrying back with the news that Jackson's whole army was behind them, he acted precisely as Lee had expected, and completely forgetting to close the doors behind him, dashed madly after "Stonewall," whom he regarded as safe as a cat in a bag. The door which he should have closed was Thoroughfare Gap, for that was the only opening through which Lee could have led his men with any hope of arriving in time to help his friends, and a few troops could have blocked it with the utmost ease. But it was left unguarded and Pope had scarcely turned his back to spring on Jackson before Lee slid through the Gap and sprang on him. The contest that followed, called the Second Battle of Bull Run or Manassas (August 30, 1862), was almost a repetition of the first, except that in the earlier battle the Union soldiers had a fair chance and on this occasion they had none at all. Indeed, Lee and Jackson had Pope so situated that, despite the bravery of his men, they battered and pounded him until he staggered from the field in a state of hysterical confusion, wildly telegraphing that the enemy was badly crippled and that everything would be well, and following up this by asking if the capital would be safe, if his army should be destroyed. It is indeed possible that his army would have been reduced to a mere mob, had it not been for the proximity of the fortifications of Washington, into which his exhausted regiments were safely tumbled on the 2nd of September, 1862. Thus, for the second time in two months, Lee calmly confronted the wreck of an opposing host, which, at the outset, had outnumbered him and confidently planned for his destruction. Chapter XVII. -- Lee and the Invasion of Maryland Lee's masterly defense of Richmond, and his complete triumph over McClellan and Pope had, in three months, made him the idol of the Confederacy. In all military matters his word was law, while the army adored him and the people of the South as a whole regarded him with a feeling akin to reverence. This was not entirely the result of his achievements on the field. Jackson had displayed an equal genius for the art of war and in the opinion of many experts he was entitled to more credit than his chief. But Jackson was regarded with awe and curiosity rather than affection. He was hailed as a great commander, while Lee was recognized as a great man. It was not by spectacular efforts or assertiveness of any kind that Lee had gained this hold upon his countrymen. He avoided everything that even tended toward self-display. His army reports were not only models of modesty, but generous acknowledgements of all he owed to his officers and men. He addressed none but respectful words to his superiors and indulged in no criticisms or complaints. He accepted the entire responsibility for whatever reverses occurred to the forces under his command and never attempted to place the blame on the shoulders of any other man. In a word, he was so absolutely free from personal ambition that the political schemers unconsciously stood abashed in his presence, and citizens and soldiers alike instinctively saluted the mere mention of his name. Never by any chance did he utter a word of abuse against the North. Even when his beloved Arlington was seized, and the swords, pictures, silverware and other precious mementos of Washington were carried off, his protest was couched in quiet and dignified language, well calculated to make those to whom it was addressed (and later every American) blush with shame. Likewise in the heat of battle, when wild tongues were loosed and each side accused the other of all that hate could suggest, he never forgot that his opponents were Americans. "Drive those people back," or "Don't let those people pass you," were the harshest words he ever uttered of his foes. To him war was not a mere license to destroy human life. It was a terrible weapon to be used scientifically, not with the idea of slaughtering as many of the enemy as possible, but to protect the State for whose defense he had drawn his sword. This was distinctly his attitude as he watched Pope's defeated columns reeling from the field. Neither by word nor deed did he exult over the fallen foe or indulge in self-glorification at his expense. His sole thought was to utilize the victory that the war would be speedily brought to a successful close; and, spreading out his maps in the quiet of his tent, he proceeded to study them with this idea. Almost directly in front of his victorious army stretched the intrenchments of Washington but, although he knew something of the panic into which that city had been thrown by the last battle, he had not troops enough to risk assaulting fortifications to the defense of which well-nigh every able-bodied man in the vicinity had been called. The fall of Washington might perhaps have ended the war, but the loss of the neighboring state of Maryland and an attack on some of the Pennsylvania cities, such as Harrisburg and Philadelphia, promised to prove equally effective. The chances of wresting Maryland from the Union seemed particularly favorable, for it had come very close to casting its lot with the Confederacy and thousands of its citizens were serving in the Southern ranks. He, accordingly, made up his mind to march through Maryland, arousing its people to the support of the Confederate cause, and then carry the war into Pennsylvania where a decisive victory might pave the way to an acknowledgment of the independence of the Southern States and satisfactory terms of peace. Thus, four days after Pope's defeat at Manassas saw Lee's tattered battle flags slanted toward the North, and on September 6, 1862, the vanguard under "Stonewall" Jackson passed through the streets of Frederick City, singing "Maryland, My Maryland!" This was the moment which Whittier immortalized in his verses recording the dramatic meeting between "Stonewall" and Barbara Frietchie [Note from Brett: The poem is entitled "Barbara Frietchie" and there is some question as to the accuracy of the details of the poem. In general, however, Whittier retold the story (poetically) that he claims he heard ("from respectable and trustworthy sources") and Barbara Frietchie was strongly against the Confederacy and was not a fictional character. It is believed that Ms. Frietchie, who was 95 at the time, was sick in bed on the day the soldiers marched through, but did wave her flag when the Union army marched through two days later. A Ms. Quantrill and her daughters, however, did wave the Union flag as the Confederate soldiers marched through the town, so there is some thought that the two got combined.]; but, though no such event ever took place, the poet was correctly informed as to the condition of Jackson's men, for they certainly were a "famished rebel horde." Indeed, several thousand of them had to be left behind because they could no longer march in their bare feet, and those who had shoes were sorry-looking scarecrows whose one square meal had been obtained at Pope's expense. For all practical purposes Maryland was the enemy's country, but into this hostile region they advanced carrying very little in the way of provisions except salt for the ears of corn that they might pick up in the fields. The authorities at Washington watched Lee's movement with mingled feelings of anxiety and relief. They were relieved because he was evidently not aiming at the national capital. They were alarmed because the real point of attack was unknown. Sixty thousand men, flushed with triumph and under seemingly invincible leadership were headed somewhere, and as the rumor spread that that "somewhere" was Harrisburg or Philadelphia, the North stood aghast with consternation. Face to face with this desperate crisis, McClellan, who had been practically removed from command, was restored to duty and given charge of all the Union forces in the field. Had he been invested with supreme authority, at least one grievous blunder might have been avoided, for as he proceeded to the front, calling loudly as usual for reënforcements, he advised the evacuation of Harper's Ferry, garrisoned by some 12,000 men who were exposed to capture by Lee's advance on Frederick City. But Halleck rejected this advice and on September 15, 1862, "Stonewall" Jackson, with about 20,000 men, swooped down upon the defenseless post and gobbled up almost the entire garrison with all its guns and stores. To accomplish this, however, he was forced to separate himself from Lee, and while McClellan, with over 87,000 men, was protesting that his opponent had 120,000 and that it was impossible to win against such odds, Lee's strength had been reduced to about 35,000 and his safety absolutely depended upon his adversary's fears. It was hardly to be hoped, however, that McClellan's imagination would cause him to see three men for every one opposed to him, but such was the fact, and even when one of Lee's confidential orders fell into his hands, revealing the fact that Jackson's whole force was absent, he still thought himself outnumbered. The discovery of this order was a serious blow to Lee, for it not only exposed his immediate weakness, but actually disclosed his entire plan. How it was lost has never been explained, for its importance was so fully realized that one of the officers who received a copy pinned it in the inside pocket of his coat, another memorized his copy and then chewed it up and others took similar precautions to protect its secret. Some officer, however, must have been careless, for when the Union troops halted at Frederick City, through which the Confederates had just passed, a private in an Indiana regiment found it lying on the ground wrapped around some cigars and, recognizing its value, carried it straight to his superiors who promptly bore it to Headquarters. Had Lee remained ignorant of this discovery it is possible that McClellan might have effected the capture of his army. But a civilian, favoring the South who happened to be present when the paper reached Headquarters, slipped through the Union lines and put the Confederate commander on his guard. Lee had already noted that McClellan was moving toward him at unusual speed for so cautious an officer and, this was readily explained by the news that his plans were known and Jackson's absence discovered. He accordingly posted his troops so that he could form a junction with the rest of the army at the earliest possible moment and halted in the vicinity of Sharpsburg near Antietam Creek. Chapter XVIII. -- The Battle of Antietam or Sharpsburg Had McClellan not absurdly overestimated the number of troops opposed to him when his army neared Sharpsburg on the 15th of September, 1862, he might have defeated Lee and possibly destroyed or captured his entire force. Never before had a Union commander had such an opportunity to deliver a crushing blow. He had more than 80,000 men under his control--fully twice as many as his adversary; he had the Confederate plan of campaign in his hands and such fighting as had occurred with the exception of that at Harper's Ferry had been decidedly in his favor. Moreover, Lee had recently met with a serious accident, his horse having knocked him down and trampled on him, breaking the bones of one hand, and otherwise injuring him so severely that he had been obliged to superintend most of the posting of his army from an ambulance. By a curious coincidence, too, "Stonewall" Jackson had been hurt in a similar manner a few days previously, so that if the battle had begun promptly, it is highly probable that he, too, would have been physically handicapped, and it is certain that his troops could not have reached the field in time to be of any assistance. To Lee's immense relief, however, McClellan made no serious attack on either the 15th or 16th of September, but spent those two days in putting his finishing touches on his preparations, and before he completed them that Opportunity "which knocks but once at each man's gate" had passed him by, never to return. The battle of Antietam or Sharpsburg began at dawn of the 17th, but by that time Jackson had arrived and both he and Lee had so far recovered from their injuries that they were able to be in the saddle and personally direct the movements of their men. The Confederate position had been skillfully selected for defense on the hills back of Antietam Creek and McClellan's plan was to break through his opponent's line, gain his rear and cut him off from retreat. But Lee, who had closely watched the elaborate massing of the Union forces for this attempt, was fully prepared for it and the first assault against his line was repulsed with fearful slaughter. No subtle strategy or brilliant tactics of any kind marked McClellan's conduct of the battle. Time and again he hurled his heavy battalions against his opponent's left, center and right in a desperate effort to pierce the wall of gray, and once or twice his heroic veterans almost succeeded in battering their way through. But at every crisis Lee rose to the emergency and moved his regiments as a skillful chess player manipulates his pieces on the board, now massing his troops at the danger point and now diverting his adversary's attack by a swift counter-stroke delivered by men unacquainted with defeat. Both his hands were heavily swathed in bandages and far too painful to admit of his even touching the bridle rein, but he had had himself lifted into the saddle and for fully fourteen hours he remained mounted on "Traveller," his famous war horse, watching every movement with the inspiring calmness of a commander born to rule the storm. The situation was perilous and no one realized its dangers more keenly than he, but not a trace of anxiety appeared upon his face. Only twice was he betrayed into an expression of his feelings, once when he asked General Hood where the splendid division was which he had commanded in the morning and received the reply: "They are lying in the field where you sent them," and again when he directed the Rockbridge battery to go into action for a second time after three of its four guns had been disabled. The captain of this battery had halted to make a report of its condition and receive instructions, and Lee, gazing at the group of begrimed and tattered privates behind the officer, ordered them to renew their desperate work before he recognized that among them stood his youngest son, Robert. Very few men in the Confederate commander's position would have suffered a son to serve in the ranks. A word from him would, of course, have made the boy an officer. But that was not Lee's way. To advance an inexperienced lad over the heads of older men was, to his mind, unjust and he would not do it even for his own flesh and blood. Nor had his son himself expected it, for he had eagerly accepted his father's permission to enter the ranks and had cheerfully performed his full duty, never presuming on his relationship to the Commander-in-Chief or asking favors of any kind. All this was known to Lee but this unexpected meeting at a moment when privates were being mowed down like grass was a terrible shock and strain. Nevertheless, it was characteristic of the man that no change was made in the orders of the Rockbridge battery, which continued on its way to the post of danger and, with young Lee, gallantly performed the work he had called on it to do. By night the Confederates still held the field, but the struggle had cost them nearly 11,000 men, reducing their force to less than 45,000, while McClellan, despite even heavier losses, had more than 74,000 left. Lee, accordingly, withdrew his army under cover of darkness to another part of the field and again awaited attack. But McClellan neither attacked nor attempted anything like a pursuit until his opponent was safely out of reach, being well satisfied with having checked the advance of his formidable foe and spoiled his plans. This he was certainly entitled to claim, for Lee's campaign against Maryland and Pennsylvania was effectually balked by his enforced retreat. Indeed, it is quite possible that had McClellan been adventurous he might have ended the war at Antietam, for the day after the battle he outnumbered his opponents at least two to one and possessed enormous advantage in the way of equipment and supplies. But the Union commander, though he possessed a genius for army organization and knew the art of inspiring confidence in his men, was no match for Lee in the field, and he probably realized this. At all events, he displayed no anxiety to renew hostilities and when urged, and at last positively ordered to advance, he argued, protested, offered excuses for delay and in fact did everything but obey. Weeks thus slipped by and finally Lee himself became impatient to know what his adversary was doing. He, accordingly, again summoned Stuart and ordered him to repeat the experiment of riding around the opposing army. News of this second, almost derisive defiance of McClellan soon reached the North, for Stuart, swiftly circling his right flank, suddenly appeared with 1,800 men at Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, terrorizing the country and destroying vast quantities of stores. Stern and indignant orders from Washington warned the Union Commander that this time he must not permit the daring troopers to escape. But only a few scouts were captured, and once more Stuart sped safely back to his chief with full information as to the strength and position of the Federal lines. Even this did not arouse McClellan, and two more weeks of inaction passed before he again set his vast army in motion. But by this time, the demand for his dismissal had become clamorous and, on November 5, 1862, President Lincoln reluctantly removed him from command. Chapter XIX. -- Lee against Burnside and Hooker Lincoln had good reason for hesitating to change commanders, for, unsatisfactory as McClellan had proved, the President was by no means sure that any of his other generals would do better. In fact, with all his defects, there was much to be said in McClellan's favor. As an organizer of troops or chief of staff he had displayed talents of the highest possible order, transforming the armed mob which had flocked to the defense of the Union at the opening of the war into a well-drilled and disciplined army. That he had not accomplished much with this great engine of war after it had been constructed, had not been wholly his fault, for he had never been entirely free from interference at the hands of incompetent superiors, and he had had the misfortune to be pitted against a past master of the art of war. Moreover, he had been called to the chief command at a moment of panic and peril and, if he had not succeeded in defeating Lee, he had, at Antietam, given the North the only semblance of victory which it could claim in all its campaigning in the South. But that one taste of triumph had whetted the public appetite for more. Despite McClellan's continuous talk about the overpowering numbers of his foes, the supporters of the Union knew that they outmatched the Confederacy in men, arms, ships, money, and resources of every kind. They accordingly insisted that the immense army which had lain idle in its camps for almost two months after the drawn battle at Antietam should be set to work. In response to this popular demand, General Ambrose Burnside was appointed to take McClellan's place, and a more utterly unfitted man for prosecuting a successful campaign against Lee could scarcely have been selected. He himself fully realized this. Indeed, he had already twice refused the chief command on the ground that he did not feel competent to conduct a great campaign. But the public, which had become disgusted with boasters, admired his modesty, and his preparations for carrying the war again into Virginia were followed with high hopes for his success. The officers of the army, however, did not share the popular confidence in their new chief and some of those highest in authority gave him only a half-hearted support. But nothing could have saved Burnside's extraordinary campaign. Had he been assigned to lead a forlorn hope, regardless of consequences, his plan, if it can be called a plan, might have been justified, but under the existing circumstances it was reckless to the point of madness. His first moves, however, were characterized by an excess of caution and so slowly did he advance that before he was fairly started for the South, Lee blocked the road, concentrating his whole army on the hills behind the City of Fredericksburg in a position practically defying attack. To attempt a direct assault against this fortress-like post was suicidal, but apparently no thought of maneuvering crossed Burnside's mind. His one idea was to brush aside the foe. But before he could even reach him his army had to cross the Rappahannock, a formidable river, and march over an open plain, absolutely at the mercy of its intrenched opponents, who could, as one of their artillery officers expressed it, "comb the ground" with their cannon. Nevertheless, into this death trap the Union troops were plunged on the 13th of December, 1862, and they advanced to destruction with a dash and courage that won the admiration of friends and foes alike. The result was, of course, inevitable. No human beings could withstand the storm of shot and shell which burst upon them, and though some of the devoted columns actually reached the foot of the Confederate breastworks, they could do no more, and over 12,000 men fell victims to the disastrous attack. For once, Lee was at an utter loss to comprehend his adversary's plan. He could not believe that this wanton butchery of men was all there was to the contest. To his mind such an awful sacrifice of human life would never have been made unless for the purpose of paving the way for another enterprise absolutely certain of success. But nothing more was attempted and the battle of Fredericksburg, reflecting the conception of a disordered brain rather than the trained intelligence of a graduate of West Point, was added to the already long list of blunders which prolonged the war. Burnside brought severe charges against several of his generals for their failure to support his sorry tactics, and even went so far as to demand their dismissal from the army. There was undoubtedly some ground for his complaints, but such obviously incompetent leadership was enough to demoralize any army, and not long after his crippled battalions retreated behind the Rappahannock he was relieved of his command, which was given to General Joseph Hooker, one of the officers he most seriously accused. Hooker was familiarly known to the country as "Fighting Joe," a name he had well earned on many a hard-fought field. He, like his predecessors, was a graduate of West Point and his record, in many respects worthy of the best traditions of that famous school, inspired the army with the belief that it had, at last, found a leader who would pilot it to victory. Certainly, the new commander was not troubled with Burnside's self-distrust. His confidence in himself and in his plans was unbounded, and there was no little justification for his hopes, for his campaign was well thought out and he had a force of over 130,000 men under his orders--fully 70,000 more than his adversary could bring into the field. Lee still lay intrenched on the hills behind Fredericksburg, and there Hooker ordered General Sedgwick to hold him with part of the army while he himself, with another and more powerful part, crossed the Rappahannock River by a ford twenty-seven miles above. By this move he hoped to get behind Lee and then crush him, as nut-crackers would crush a nut, by closing in on him with a front and rear attack. This was not a strikingly original plan. It was in fact merely a flanking movement on a huge scale, but compared to Burnside's performance it was highly scientific and the vast superiority of the Union forces almost insured its success. Hooker was certainly convinced that he had at last solved the great problem of the war and that Lee was practically in his power. Indeed, as his flanking army forded the river, he issued an address of congratulation in which he informed his troops that they had the Confederates in a position from which they must either "ingloriously fly" or come out in the open where certain defeat awaited them. But "Fighting Joe" was soon to learn the folly of crowing until one is out of the woods, for as he emerged from the forests sheltering the fords, he discovered that Lee's army had not remained tamely in its intrenchments, but had quietly slipped away and planted itself squarely across his path. For a moment the Union commander was fairly astounded. He had prophesied that his adversary would fly from Fredericksburg, but he had not expected him to move so soon or in this direction. Indeed, his well-matured plans were based on the supposition that Lee would remain where he wanted him to be until he was ready to spring his trap, quite forgetting that though it is easy to catch birds after you have put salt on their tails, it is rather difficult to make them wait while you salt them. As a matter of fact, Lee had taken alarm the moment his cavalry scouts reported his opponent's movement towards the fords and, realizing that he would be caught if he remained where he was, he had rapidly departed from Fredericksburg, leaving only enough force to occupy Sedgwick's attention. Even then he was in a precarious position, for Hooker's flanking army alone outnumbered him and the force threatening Fredericksburg would certainly start in pursuit of him as soon as it discovered that the bulk of his army had withdrawn from that city. All this was equally clear to Hooker after his first gasp of astonishment, and as he hurriedly ordered Sedgwick to attack Fredericksburg with part of his forces and to send the rest as reënforcement against Lee, he confidently believed that his foe had delivered himself into his hands. But Lee, though cornered, was not yet caught. He had to think and act quickly but though he had only 45,000 men and Hooker had 70,000 on the spot, his idea was not to escape but to attack. A close examination of the opposing lines in front and at the Federal left disclosed no weakness, but the right beyond Chancellorsville looked more hopeful. Then a brilliant idea suddenly occurred to his mind. The Union commander was evidently awaiting or meditating a direct attack and had no fear except that his prey might escape him. Might it not be possible to keep him busily occupied in front, while a force stole behind his right wing and caught it between two fires? This was precisely what Hooker had been endeavoring to do to him, but Lee was well aware that what was safe for a large army might be ruinous for a small one and that his proposed maneuver would require him to divide his small army into two smaller parts, both of which would be annihilated if the move was discovered. But capture or destruction stared him in the face any way, so, learning from a certain Colonel Welford that a road used by him in former years for transporting materials to a local furnace could be utilized to swing a considerable force behind Hooker's right, he determined to take the desperate chance. The necessary orders were accordingly issued during the night of May 1, 1863, and by daylight the next morning Jackson started off on the back trail with about 30,000 men, leaving Lee with only 15,000 to face Hooker's overwhelming array. The success of the whole enterprise depended upon the secrecy and speed with which it was conducted, but Jackson had already proved his ability in such work and his men set off at a brisk pace well screened by vigilant cavalry. It was not possible, however, wholly to conceal the march, and not long after it began several quite definite reports of its progress reached Hooker. But though he duly warned his Corps Commanders to be on their guard against a flank movement, he himself evidently interpreted it as the beginning of a retreat. Indeed, by four o'clock in the afternoon of May 2nd he became convinced that his victims were striving to escape, for he advised Sedgwick, "We know that the enemy is fleeing, trying to save his trains." But even as he dispatched this message Jackson was behind at the Union right and his men were forming in line of battle under cover of a heavy curtain of woods. Meanwhile, some of the division commanders at the threatened position had become disquieted by the reports that a large body of Confederates was marching somewhere, though just where no one seemed to know. Two of them accordingly faced their men toward the rear in readiness for an attack from that direction. But the assurances which reached them from headquarters that the enemy was in full flight discouraged precautions of this kind, and when Jackson crept up a neighboring hill to examine the Union position, he found most of the troops had their backs turned to the point of danger. In fact, the camp, as a whole presented a most inviting spectacle, for the soldiers were scattered about it, playing cards or preparing their evening meal, with their arms stacked in the rear, little dreaming that one of their most dreaded foes was watching them from a hilltop, behind which crouched thousands of his men. Every detail of the scene was impressed on Jackson's memory when he quietly slipped back into the woods, and for the next two hours he busied himself posting his troops to the best advantage. It was six o'clock when the order to attack was given and most of the Union soldiers were still at their suppers when deer, foxes, rabbits and other animals, alarmed by a mass of men advancing through the forest, began to tear through the camp as though fleeing from a prairie fire. But before the startled soldiers could ask an explanation of this strange stampede, the answer came in the form of a scattering musketry fire and the fearsome yells of 26,000 charging men. The panic that followed beggars description. Regiments huddled against regiments in helpless confusion; artillery, infantry and cavalry became wedged in narrow roads and remained hopelessly jammed; officers and men fought with one another; generals were swept aside or carried forward on the human waves, hoarsely bellowing orders which no one heeded, while into the welter the Confederates poured a deadly fire and rounded up masses of bewildered prisoners. It was well-nigh dusk before even the semblance of a line of defense could be formed to cover the disorganized masses of men, but the gathering darkness increased the terror of the hapless fugitives, who, stumbling and crashing their way to safety, carried confusion in their wake. Meanwhile Lee, advised of what was happening at the Union right, vigorously attacked Hooker's left, and a fierce conflict at that point added to the general turmoil until the contending forces could no longer distinguish each other, save by the flashing of their guns. The fighting then ceased all along the line and both sides busied themselves with preparations for renewing the struggle at the earliest possible moment. Jackson, accompanied by some of his staff, instantly began a reconnoissance of the Union position. He had just completed this and was returning to his lines when some of his own pickets, mistaking his party for Union cavalry, fired on them killing a captain and a sergeant. The Confederate commander immediately turned his horse and sought safety at another point, but he had not progressed far before he drew the fire of another picket squad and fell desperately wounded. General A. P. Hill then assumed command, but fighting had scarcely been resumed the next morning before he was wounded and Jeb Stuart took his place. Meanwhile, Hooker had been injured and the next day Lee fiercely assailed Sedgwick. For the best part of two days the battle raged with varying success. But, little by little, the Confederates edged their opponents toward the Rappahannock, and by the night of May 5th, 1863, Hooker withdrew his exhausted forces across the river. The battle of Chancellorsville cost Lee over 12,000 men; but with a force which never exceeded 60,000, he had not only extricated himself from a perilous position, but had inflicted a crushing blow on an army of 130,000, an achievement which has passed into history as one of the most brilliant feats of modern warfare. Chapter XX. -- In the Hour of Triumph Great as Lee's reputation had been before the battle of Chancellorsville, it was immensely increased by that unexpected triumph. But no trace of vanity or self-gratulation of any kind marked his reception of the chorus of praise that greeted him. On the contrary, he modestly disclaimed the honors from the very first and insisted that to Jackson belonged the credit of the day. "Could I have directed events," he wrote the wounded General, "I should have chosen to have been disabled in your stead. I congratulate you on the victory which is due to your skill and energy." Indeed, when the news first reached him that Jackson's left arm had been amputated, he sent him a cheery message, saying, "You are better off than I am, for while you have only lost your LEFT, I have lost my RIGHT arm." And when, at last, he learned that "Stonewall" had passed away, he no longer thought of the victory but only of his dead comrade and friend. "Any victory would be dear at such a price," was his sorrowful comment on the day. Jackson was indeed Lee's "right arm" and his place among the great captains of the world is well indicated by the fact that a study of his campaign is to-day part of the education of all English and American officers. Nevertheless, it was unquestionably Lee's genius that enabled his great Lieutenant to accomplish what he did, and this Jackson himself fully realized. "Better that ten Jacksons should fall than one Lee," was his response to his commander's generous words. But though Lee had won an international reputation, anyone seeing him in the field among his soldiers might well have imagined that he was wholly unaware that the world was ringing with his fame. He steadily declined all offers to provide comfortable quarters for his accommodation, preferring to live in a simple tent and share with his men the discomforts of the field. Indeed, his thoughts were constantly of others, never of himself, and when gifts of fruit and other dainties for his table were tendered him, he thanked the givers but suggested that they were needed for the sick and wounded in the hospitals, where they would be gratefully received. "...I should certainly have endeavored to throw the enemy north of the Potomac," he wrote his wife, "but thousands of our men were barefooted, thousands with fragments of shoes, and all without overcoats, blankets or warm clothing. I could not bear to expose them to certain suffering.... I am glad you have some socks for the army. Send them to me.... Tell the girls to send all they can. I wish they could make some shoes, too." Even the hardships of the dumb animals moved him to a ready sympathy, and he was constantly planning to spare them in every possible way. "Our horses and mules suffer most," he wrote one of his daughters. "They have to bear the cold and rain, tug through the mud and suffer all the time with hunger." And again on another occasion he wrote his wife: "This morning the whole country is covered with a mantle of snow, fully a foot deep.... Our poor horses were enveloped. We have dug them out...but it will be terrible.... I fear our short rations for man and horse will have to be curtailed." The whole army realized the great-hearted nature of its Chief, and its confidence in his thought and care is well illustrated by a letter which a private addressed to him, asking him if he knew upon what short rations the men were living. If he did, the writer stated, their privations were doubtless necessary and everyone would cheerfully accept them, knowing that he had the comfort of his men continually in mind. War had no illusions for this simple, God-fearing man. He regarded it as a terrible punishment for the shortcomings of mankind. For him it had no glory. "The country here looks very green and pretty, notwithstanding the ravages of war," he wrote his wife. "What a beautiful world God, in His loving kindness to His creatures, has given us! What a shame that men endowed with reason and knowledge of right should mar His gifts." The awful responsibility of his public duty was almost more than any man could bear, but he had also to endure personal anxiety and sorrow of the keenest kind. During his absence in the field one of his daughters died, his wife was in failing health and his three sons were in the army daily exposed to injury and death. Fitzhugh and Custis had been made generals, and Robert had been promoted to a lieutenancy and assigned to his elder brother's staff. Up to the battle of Chancellorsville they had escaped unharmed, but while the contending armies lay watching each other on either side of the Rappahannock, Fitzhugh was severely wounded in a cavalry engagement and Lee's first thought was to comfort and reassure the young man's wife. "I am so grieved," ...he wrote her, "to send Fitzhugh to you wounded.... With his youth and strength to aid him, and your tender care to nurse him, I trust he will soon be well again. I know that you will unite with me in thanks to Almighty God, who has so often sheltered him in the hour of danger." Then came the news that the young General had been captured by Federal troops who surrounded the house to which he had been removed, and again Lee sought, in the midst of all his cares, to cheer his daughter-in-law who was herself becoming ill. "I can see no harm that can result from Fitzhugh's capture except his detention.... He will be in the hands of old army officers and surgeons, most of whom are men of principle and humanity. His wound, I understand, has not been injured by his removal, but is doing well. Nothing would do him more harm than for him to learn that you were sick and sad. How could he get well? So cheer up and prove your fortitude.... You may think of Fitzhugh and love him as much as you please, but do not grieve over him or grow sad." But the young wife grew steadily worse and, when her life was despaired of, Custis Lee offered to take his brother's place in prison, if the authorities would allow him to visit his dying wife. But, when this was refused and news of her death reached Lee, he refrained from all bitterness. "...I grieve," he wrote his wife, "...as a father only can grieve for a daughter, and my sorrow is heightened by the thought of the anguish her death will cause our dear son, and the poignancy it will give to the bars of his prison. May God in His mercy enable him to bear the blow...." It was in the midst of such severe afflictions that Lee conducted some of the most important moves of his campaign, and while family anxieties were beginning to crowd on him, the condition of his army and the political situation were already demanding another invasion of the North. As far as spirit and discipline were concerned, his troops were never more ready for active service and their numbers had been so considerably increased during the weeks that followed the battle of Chancellorsville that by the 1st of June, 1863, he could count on almost 70,000 fairly well-armed men, supported by over two hundred cannon. But the question of supplying food for this great array was every day becoming more urgent, and the remark of the Commissary-General that his Chief would soon have to seek his provisions in Pennsylvania was significant of the situation. Lee thoroughly realized that the strength of the Confederacy was waning and that unless some great success in the field should soon force the Union to make terms, the end of the struggle was in sight. Great victories had already been won, but always on Southern soil, and the news that Grant was closing in on Vicksburg demanded that a supreme effort be made to offset that impending disaster in the West. If the Southern army could force its way into the North and there repeat its triumphs, England and France would probably recognize the Confederacy and the half-hearted supporters of the Union, already murmuring against the war, would clamor for peace. With this idea Lee devoted the month following the battle of Chancellorsville to recruiting his strength and watching for some move on Hooker's part. But Hooker remained quietly within his lines, so on June 3, 1863, his opponent, concealing his purpose, moved rapidly and secretly toward Pennsylvania. Chapter XXI. -- Grant at Vicksburg While Lee had been disposing of McClellan, Pope and Burnside, Grant had remained in comparative idleness near Corinth, Mississippi. He had, it is true, been assigned to high command in the West when Halleck was ordered to Washington, but the battle of Shiloh had prejudiced the authorities against him and his troops were gradually transferred to other commanders, leaving him with an army barely sufficient to guard the territory it already held. This treatment seriously depressed him and with plenty of time to brood over his troubles, he was in some danger of lapsing into the bad habits which had once had such a fatal hold upon him. But at this crisis his wife was by his side to steady and encourage him, and the Confederates soon diverted his thoughts from his own grievances by giving him plenty of work to keep them at arm's length. Meanwhile, however, something much more disturbing occurred, for he suddenly discovered that preparations were being made to place his long-cherished campaign for the opening of the Mississippi River in the hands of McClernand, the political General whose conduct at Fort Donelson had demonstrated his ignorance of military affairs. That aroused Grant to action and hastily summoning Admiral Porter and General Sherman to his aid, he started towards Vicksburg, Mississippi, on November 2, 1862, determined to be the first in the field and thus head off any attempt to displace him from the command. McClernand's project was accordingly nipped in the bud, for, of course, he could not be authorized to conduct a campaign already undertaken by a superior officer, and the troops which had been intended for him were immediately forwarded to Grant. Doubtless, the President was not displeased at this turn of affairs, for although McClernand was a highly important person in the political world and had rendered valuable services in raising troops, his defects as a general were widely recognized, and there had been grave doubts as to the wisdom of permitting him to attempt so difficult an undertaking as the capture of Vicksburg. Within a few months, however, there were even graver doubts as to the wisdom of having entrusted the enterprise to Grant, for by the end of March, 1863, the general opinion was that no one could have made a worse mess of it than he was making, and that it was hopeless to expect anything as long as he was in authority. As a matter of fact, the immense difficulty of capturing a city such as Vicksburg had not been realized until the work was actually undertaken. It was practically a fortress commanding the Mississippi, and whoever held it ruled the river. The Confederate leaders understood this very thoroughly and they had accordingly fortified the place, which was admirably adapted for defense, with great care and skill. In front of it flowed the Mississippi, twisting and turning in such snake-like conditions that it could be navigated only by boats of a certain length and build, and on either side of the city stretched wide swamp lands and bayous completely commanded by batteries well posted on the high ground occupied by the town. All this was formidable enough in itself, but shortly after Grant began his campaign, the river overflowed its banks and the whole country for miles was under water which, while not deep enough for steamers, was an absolute barrier to the approach of an army. Indeed, the capture of the city seemed hopeless from a military standpoint, but Grant would not abandon the task. Finding traces of an abandoned canal, he attempted to complete it in the hope of changing the course of the river, or at least of diverting some of the water from the overflowed land, but the effort was a stupendous failure almost from the start. Then he ordered the levees of the Mississippi protecting two great lakes to be cut, with the idea of flooding the adjacent streams and providing a waterway for his ships. This gigantic enterprise was actually put into operation, the dams were removed, and gun-boats were forced on the swollen watercourses far into the interior until some of them became hopelessly tangled in the submerged forests and their crews, attacked by the Confederate sharpshooters, were glad to make their escape. Week after week and month after month this exhausting work continued, but, at the end of it all, Vicksburg was no nearer capture than before. Indeed, the only result of the campaign was the loss of thousands of men who died of malaria, yellow fever, smallpox, and all the diseases which swamp lands breed. For this, of course, Grant was severely criticized and the denunciations at last became so bitter that an order removing him from the command was entrusted to an official who was directed to deliver it, if, on investigation, the facts seemed to warrant it. But the visiting official, after arriving at the front, soon learned that the army had complete confidence in its commander and that it would be a mistake to interfere with him. Indeed, by this time "the silent General," who had neither answered the numerous complaints against him nor paid the least attention to the storm of public indignation raging beyond his camp, had abandoned his efforts to reach Vicksburg from the front and was busily engaged in swinging his army behind it by a long overland route in the face of appalling difficulties, but with a grim resolution which forced all obstructions from his path. Meanwhile, the gun-boats under Admiral Porter were ordered to attempt to run the land batteries, and April 16, 1863, was selected as the date for their perilous mission. Each vessel had been carefully protected by cotton bales, and the crews stood ready with great wads of cotton to stop leaks, while all lights were extinguished except one in the stern of each ship to guide the one that followed. It was a black night when the Admiral started down the river in his flagship, and for a while it was hoped that the fleet would slip by the batteries under cover of darkness. The leading vessels did, indeed, escape the lookouts of the first forts, but before long a warning rocket shot into the sky and the river was instantly lit by immense bonfires which had been prepared for just this emergency, and by the glare of their flames the gunners poured shot and shell at the black hulls as they sped swiftly by. Shot after shot found its mark, but still the fleet continued on its course. Then, after the bonfires died down, houses were set on fire to enable the artillerists to see their targets, but before daylight the whole fleet had run the gauntlet and lay almost uninjured below Vicksburg, ready to coöperate with Grant's advancing army. By this time the Confederates must have realized that they were facing defeat. Nevertheless, for fully a month they stubbornly contested every foot of ground. But Grant, approaching the rear by his long, roundabout marches, handled his veteran troops with rare good judgment, moving swiftly and allowing his adversaries no rest, so that by the 17th of May, 1863, General Pemberton, commanding the defenses of Vicksburg, was forced to take refuge in the town. Grant immediately swung his army into position, blocking every avenue of escape and began a close siege. The prize for which he had been struggling for more than half a year was now fairly within his grasp, but there was still a chance that it might slip through his fingers, for close on his heels came General Joseph Johnston with a powerful army intent upon rescuing General Pemberton and his gallant garrison. If Johnston could come to Pemberton's relief or if Pemberton could break through and unite with Johnston, they could together save Vicksburg. But Grant had resolved that they should not join forces, and to the problem confronting him he devoted himself body and mind. Constantly in the saddle, watching every detail of the work as the attacking army slowly dug its way toward the city and personally posting the troops holding Johnston at bay, his quiet, determined face and mud-splashed uniform became familiar sights to the soldiers, and his appearance on the lines was invariably greeted with inspiring cheers. By July, the trenches of the besieged and the besiegers were so close together that the opposing pickets could take to each other, and the gun-boats threw shells night and day into the town. Still Pemberton would not surrender and many of the inhabitants of Vicksburg were forced to leave their houses and dig caves in the cliffs upon which the city was built to protect themselves and their families from the iron hail. It was only when food of every kind had been practically exhausted and his garrison was threatened with starvation that Pemberton yielded. On July 3, 1863, however, he realized that the end had come and raised the white flag. Nearly twenty-four hours passed before the terms of surrender were agreed upon, but Grant, who had served in the same division with Pemberton in the Mexican War, was not inclined to exact humiliating conditions upon his old acquaintance whose men had made such a long and gallant fight. He, accordingly, offered to free all the prisoners upon their signing a written promise not to take arms again unless properly exchanged, and to allow all the officers to retain their side arms and horses. These generous terms were finally accepted, and on July 4, 1863, the Confederate army, numbering about 30,000, marched out in the presence of their opponents and stacked their arms, receiving the tribute of absolute silence from the 75,000 men who watched them from the Union ranks. Four months before this event, Halleck, the Commander-in-Chief, had advised Grant and other officers of his rank that there was a major generalship in the Regular Army for the man who should first win a decisive victory in the field. The captor of Vicksburg had certainly earned this promotion, for with its fall the Mississippi River was controlled by the Union and, in the words of Lincoln, "The Father of Waters again ran unvexed to the sea." Chapter XXII. -- The Battle of Gettysburg The news that Grant was slowly, but surely, tightening his grip upon Vicksburg, and that nothing but an accident could prevent its capture, was known to the whole country for fully a week before the surrender occurred, but it neither encouraged the North nor discouraged the South. To the minds of many people no victory in the West could save the Union, for Lee was already in Pennsylvania, sweeping northward toward Harrisburg and Philadelphia, and even threatening New York. Hooker, in the field, and Halleck, in Washington, were squabbling as to what should be done, and the Union army was groping blindly after the invaders without any leadership worthy of the name. It was certainly a critical moment demanding absolute harmony on the part of the Union leaders; but while the fate of the Union trembled in the balance, Hooker and Halleck wrangled and contradicted each other, apparently regardless of consequences, and the climax of this disgraceful exhibition was a petulant telegram from Hooker (June 27, 1863) resigning his command. Had "Fighting Joe" been the greatest general in the world this resignation, in the presence of the enemy, would have ruined his reputation, and the moment President Lincoln accepted it Hooker was a discredited man. To change commanders at such a crisis was a desperately perilous move, but the President knew that the army had lost confidence in its leader since the battle of Chancellorsville and the fact that he could even think of resigning on the eve of a battle demonstrated his utter unfitness for the task at hand. It was, therefore, with something of relief that Lincoln ordered General Meade to take immediate charge of all the troops in the field, and the new commander assumed the responsibility in these words, "As a soldier I obey the order placing me in command of this army and to the utmost of my ability will execute it." At the moment he dispatched this manly and modest response to the unexpected call to duty, Meade knew little of Hooker's plans and had only a vague idea of where his troops were posted. Under such conditions success in the coming battle was almost impossible, but he wasted no time in complaints or excuses, but instantly began to move his forces northward to incept the line of Lee's advance. Even up to this time, however, the exact position of the Confederate army had not been ascertained, for Lee had concealed his infantry behind his cavalry, which effectually prevented his adversaries from getting near enough to discover the direction of his march. Another "cavalry screen," however, covered the Union forces and though Lee dispatched Stuart to break through and discover what lay behind it, the daring officer for once failed to accomplish his purpose and Lee had to proceed without the information he usually possessed. This was highly advantageous to Meade, for his forces were badly scattered and had Lee known that fact he might have crushed the various parts of the army before they united, or at least have prevented some of them from reaching the field in time. He soon learned, of course, that Meade had taken Hooker's place, but if he had not heard the news directly, he would have guessed that some great change had occurred in the generalship of his opponents, for within twenty-four hours of his appointment Meade had his army well in hand, and two days later the rapid and skillful concentration of his force was clear to Lee's experienced eyes. By this time both armies had passed beyond their cavalry screens, and on the 30th of June, 1863, the advance of the Confederate troops neared the little town of Gettysburg. But Lee was not yet ready to fight, for, although he was better prepared than his adversary, he wanted to select the best possible ground before joining battle. By a strange chance, however, it was not Lee but his bare-footed followers who decided where the battle should be fought, for as his advance-guard approached Gettysburg one of the brigade commanders asked and received permission from his superior to enter the town and procure shoes for his men. But Gettysburg was found to be occupied by Union cavalry and the next day (July 1st) a larger force was ordered forward to drive them away and "get the shoes." Meanwhile, the Union cavalry had been reënforced and, to offset this, more Confederates were ordered to the support of their comrades. Once more Union reënforcements were hurried to the front, and again the Confederates responded to the challenge, until over 50,000 men were engaged in a savage conflict, and before noon the battle of Gettysburg, one of the greatest battles of history, had begun. The men in gray, who thus unwittingly forced the fighting, were veterans of many campaigns and they attacked with a fury that carried all before them. The Union troops fought with courage, but General Reynolds, their commander, one of the ablest officers in the army, was soon shot through the head and instantly killed, and from that moment the Confederates crowded them to the point of panic. Indeed, two of Meade's most effective fighting corps were practically annihilated and the shattered remnants of the defenders of Gettysburg were hurled through the town in headlong flight toward what was known as Cemetery Hill, where their new commander, General Hancock, found them huddled in confusion. Meade had displayed good judgment in selecting Hancock to take Reynolds' place, for he was just the man to inspire confidence in the disheartened soldiers and rise to the emergency that confronted him. But, though he performed wonders in the way of restoring order and encouraging his men to make a desperate resistance, it is more than probable that the Confederates would have swept the field and gained the important position of Cemetery Hill had they followed up their victory. Fortunately for the Union cause, however, the pursuit was not continued much beyond the limits of Gettysburg and, as though well satisfied to have got the shoes they came for, the victors contented themselves with the undisputed possession of the town. Neither Lee nor Meade took any part in this unexpected battle, but Lee arrived during the afternoon while the Union troops were in full flight for the hills and, seeing the opportunity of delivering a crushing blow, advised Ewell, the commanding General, to pursue. His suggestion, however, was disregarded, and being unwilling to interfere with another officer in the midst of an engagement, he did not give a positive order, with the result that Cemetery Hill was left in possession of the Federal troops. Meanwhile Meade, having learned of the situation, was hurrying to the scene of action, where he arrived late at night, half dead with exhaustion and on the verge of nervous collapse from the fearful responsibilities which had been heaped upon him during the previous days. But the spirit of the man rose superior to his physical weakness and, keeping his head in the whirlwind of hurry and confusion, he issued orders rushing every available man to the front, made a careful examination of the ground and chose an admirable position for defense. To this inspiring example the whole army made a magnificent response, and before the 2nd of July dawned the widely scattered troops began pouring in and silently moving into position for the desperate work confronting them. Meade had determined to await an attack from Lee and he had accordingly selected Cemetery Ridge as the position best adapted for defense. This line of hills not only provided a natural breastwork, but at the left and a little in front lay two hillocks knows as Round Top and Little Round Top, which, when crowned by artillery, were perfect fortresses of strength. Strange as it may seem, however, Round Top was not immediately occupied by the Union troops and had it not been for the quick eye and prompt action of General Warren, Little Round Top, the key to the entire Union position, would have been similarly neglected. Lee was reasonably assured, at the end of the first day's fighting, that his adversary had not succeeded in getting all his troops upon the field and, realizing what an advantage this gave him, he determined to begin the battle at daylight, before the Union reënforcements could arrive. But for once, at least, the great commander received more objections than obedience from his subordinates, General Longstreet, one of his most trusted lieutenants, being the principal offender. Longstreet had, up to this moment, made a splendid record in the campaigns and Lee had such confidence in his skill that he seldom gave him a peremptory order, finding that a suggestion carried all the weight of a command. But, on this occasion, Longstreet did not agree with the Chief's plan of battle and he accordingly took advantage of the discretion reposed in him to postpone making an attack until he received a sharp and positive order to put his force in action. By this time, the whole morning had passed and every hour had brought more and more Union troops into the field, so that by the afternoon Meade had over 90,000 men opposing Lee's 70,000 veterans. There was nothing half-hearted about Longstreet once he was in motion and the struggle for the possession of Little Round Top was as desperate a conflict as was ever waged on any field. Again and again the gray regiments hurled themselves into the very jaws of death to gain the coveted vantage ground, and again and again the blue lines, torn, battered and well-nigh crushed to earth, re-formed and hurled back the assault. Dash and daring were met by courage and firmness, and at nightfall, though the Confederates had gained some ground, their opponents still held their original position. Both sides had paid dearly, however, for whatever successes they had gained, the Union army alone having lost at least 20,000 men [Note from Brett: While this is possible, it is highly unlikely as the total casualties for the three day battle from the Unionist side were 23,053 according to official records. Current (circa 2000) estimates are that both sides lost about 9,000 soldiers on this day.]. Indeed, the Confederate attack had been so formidable that Meade called a council of war at night to determine whether the army should remain where it was for another day or retreat to a still stronger position. The council, however, voted unanimously to "stay and fight it out," and the next morning (July 3rd) saw the two armies facing each other in much the same positions as they had occupied the day before, the Unionists crowding the heights of Cemetery Ridge and the Confederates holding the hills known as Seminary Ridge and clinging to the bases of Round Top and Little Round Top, to which point the tide of valor had carried them. A mile of valley and undulating slopes separated Cemetery Hill from Seminary Ridge, and their crests were crowded with artillery when the sun rose on July 3, 1863. But for a time the battle was confined to the infantry, the Confederates continuing fierce assaults of the previous evening. Then, suddenly, all their troops were withdrawn, firing ceased and absolute silence ensued along their whole lines. At an utter loss to understand this complete disappearance of the foe, the Union commanders peered through their glasses at the silent and apparently deserted heights of Seminary Ridge, growing more and more nervous as time wore on. What was the explanation of this ominous silence? Was it possible that Lee had retreated? Was he trying to lure them out of their position and catch them in some giant ambuscade? Was he engaged in a flanking movement such as had crumpled them to pieces at Chancellorsville? Doubtless, more than one soldier shot an apprehensive glance toward the rear during the strange hush as he remembered the terrifying appearance of Jackson on that fearful day. But no Jackson stood at Lee's right hand, and suddenly two sharp reports rang out from the opposing height. Then, in answer to this signal, came the crash of a hundred and thirty cannon and instantly eighty Union guns responded to the challenge with a roar which shook the earth, while the air was filled with exploding shells and the ground was literally ploughed with shot. For an hour and a half this terrific duel continued; and then the Union chief of artillery, seeing that his supply of ammunition was sinking, ordered the guns to cease firing and the Confederates, believing that they had completely demolished the opposing batteries, soon followed their example. Another awful silence ensued and when the Union troops peered cautiously from behind the stone walls and slopes which had completely protected them from the wild storm of shot and shell, they saw a sight which filled them with admiration and awe. From the woods fringing the opposing heights 15,000 men [Note from Brett: (circa 2000) just under 12,000 men] were sweeping in perfect order with battle flags flying, bayonets glistening and guidons fluttering as though on dress parade. Well to the front rode a gallant officer with a cap perched jauntily over his right ear and his long auburn hair hanging almost to his shoulders flying in the wind. This was General Pickett, and he and the men behind him had almost a mile of open ground to cross in the charge which was to bring them immortal fame. For half the distance they moved triumphantly forward, unscathed by the already thundering artillery, and then the Union cannon which had apparently been silenced by the Confederate fire began to pour death and destruction into their ranks. Whole rows of men were mowed down by the awful cannonade, but their comrades pressed forward undismayed, halting for a moment under cover of a ravine to re-form their ranks and then springing on again with a heroism unsurpassed in the history of war. A hail of bullets from the Union trenches fairly staggered them, yet on and on they charged. Once they actually halted in the face of the blazing breastworks, deliberately fired a volley and came on again with a rush, seized some of the still smoking guns that had sought to annihilate them and, beating back the gunners in a hand-to-hand conflict, actually planted their battle flags on the crest of Cemetery Ridge. Then the whole Union army seemed to leap from the ground and hurl itself upon them. They reeled, turned, broke into fragments and fled, leaving 5,000 dead and wounded in their trail. Such was Pickett's charge--a wave of human courage which recorded "the high-water mark of the Rebellion." Chapter XXIII. -- In the Face of Disaster As the survivors of Pickett's heroic legion came streaming back toward the Confederate lines Lee stood face to face with defeat for the first time in his career. His long series of victories had not spoiled him and the hour of triumph had always found him calm and thankful, rather than elated and arrogant. But many a modest and generous winner has proved himself a poor loser. It is the moment of adversity that tries men's souls and revels the greatness or smallness of character, and subjected to this test more than one commander in the war had been found wanting. McClellan, staggering from his campaign against Richmond, blamed almost everyone but himself for the result; Pope, scurrying toward the fortifications of Washington, was as ready with excuses as he had been with boasts; Burnside, reeling from the slaughter-pen of Fredericksburg, had demanded the dismissal of his principal officers, and Hooker hurled accusations right and left in explaining the Chancellorsville surprise. But Lee resorted neither to accusation nor excuse for the battle of Gettysburg. With the tide of disaster sweeping relentlessly down upon him, he hastened to assume entire responsibility for the result. "It is all my fault," he exclaimed, as the exhausted and shattered troops were seeking shelter from the iron hail, and then as calmly and firmly as though no peril threatened, he strove to rally the disorganized fugitives and present a bold front to the foe. It was no easy task, even with a veteran army, to prevent a panic and restore order and confidence in the midst of the uproar and confusion of defeat, but the quiet dignity and perfect control of their commander steadied the men, and at sight of him even the wounded raised themselves from the ground and cheered. "All this will come right in the end," he assured the wavering troops, as he passed among them. "We'll talk it over afterwards, but in the meantime all good men must rally." Not a sign of excitement or alarm was to be detected in his face, as he issued his orders and moved along the lines. "All this has been my fault," he repeated soothingly to a discouraged officer. "It is I that have lost this fight and you must help me out of it the best way you can.... Don't whip your horse, Captain," he quietly remarked, as he noted another officer belaboring his mount for shying at an exploding shell.... "I've got just another foolish horse myself, and whipping does no good." Nothing escaped his watchful eyes, nothing irritated him, and nothing provoked him to hasty words or actions. Completely master of himself, he rose superior to the whirling storm about him and, commanding order out of chaos, held his shattered army under such perfect control that had Meade rushed forward in pursuit he might have met with a decisive check. But Meade did not attempt to leave his intrenchments and the Confederate army slowly and defiantly moved toward the South. The situation was perilous--desperately perilous for Lee. His troops were in no condition to fight after battling for three days, their ammunition was almost exhausted, their food supply was low and they were retreating through a hostile country with a victorious army behind them and a broad river in their path. But not a man in the gray ranks detected even a shadow of anxiety on his commander's face, and when the Potomac was reached and it was discovered that the river was impassable owing to an unexpected flood, the army faced about and awaited attack with sublime confidence in the powers of its chief. Meanwhile Meade, who had been cautiously following his adversary, began to receive telegrams and dispatches urging him to throw himself upon the Confederates before they could recross the Potomac and thus end the war. But this, in the opinion of the Union commander, was easier said than done, and he continued to advance with the utmost deliberation while Lee, momentarily expecting attack, ferried his sick and wounded across the river and prepared for a desperate resistance. Absolute ruin now stared him in the face, for no reënforcements of any kind could reach him and a severe engagement would soon place him completely at his opponent's mercy. Nevertheless, he presented a front so menacing and unafraid that when Meade called his officers to a council of war all but two voted against risking an attack. In the meantime the river began to fall, and without the loss of a moment Lee commenced building a bridge across which his troops started to safety on the night of July 13th, ten days after the battle. Even then the situation was perilous in the extreme, for had Meade discovered the movement in time he could undoubtedly have destroyed a large part of the retreating forces, but when he appeared on the scene practically the whole army was on the other side of the river and only a few stragglers fell into his hands. Great as Lee's success had been he never appeared to better advantage than during this masterly retreat, when, surrounded by difficulties and confronted by overwhelming numbers, he held his army together and led it to safety. Through the dust of defeat he loomed up greater as a man and greater as a soldier than at any other moment of his career. Even the decisive victories at Gettysburg and Vicksburg failed to offset President Lincoln's bitter disappointment at Lee's miraculous escape, and had it not been for his success on the field of battle, Meade would undoubtedly have been removed from the chief command. As it was, however, he retained his position and for months he lay comparatively idle, watching his opponent who busied himself with filling the broken ranks of his army for a renewal of the struggle. Meanwhile, the Confederate newspapers began a bitter criticism of Lee, charging that he had displayed bad judgment and worse generalship in attempting to invade the North. A man of different caliber would, doubtless, have answered these attacks by exposing some of the officers whose conduct was largely responsible for the failure of the campaign. Indeed, the facts would have justified him in dismissing more than one of his subordinates from the army in disgrace, and had he chosen to speak the word he might easily have ruined the reputation of at least one distinguished general. But no such selfish or vindictive thought ever crossed Lee's mind. Keenly as he suffered from the abuse which was heaped upon him, he endured it without a murmur and, when at last he felt obliged to notice it, his reply took the form of a letter to the Confederate President requesting his permission to resign. "The general remedy for the want of success in a military commander is his removal," he wrote a month after the battle of Gettysburg. "I do not know how far the expressions of discontent in the public journals extend in the army. My brother officers have been too kind to report it and, so far, the troops have been too generous to exhibit it. I, therefore, beg you to take measures to supply my place, because if I cannot accomplish what I myself desire, how can I fulfill the expectations of others? I must confess, too that my eyesight is not good and that I am so dull that in making use of the eyes of others I am frequently misled. Everything, therefore, points to the advantages to be derived from a new commander. A younger and abler man can readily be obtained--one that would accomplish more than I can perform and all that I have wished. I have no complaints to make of anyone but myself. I have received nothing but kindness from those above me and the most considerate attention from my comrades and companions in arms." This generous, dignified statement, modest to the point of self-effacement, instantly hushed all discontent and, before it, even the newspaper editors stood abashed. "Where am I to find the new commander who is to possess that greater ability which you believe to be required?" wrote Jefferson Davis in reply. "If Providence should kindly offer such a person I would not hesitate to avail myself of his services. But my sight is not sufficiently penetrating to discover such hidden merit, if it exists. To ask me to substitute you by someone more fit to command is to demand an impossibility." In the face of this graceful response Lee could no longer urge his resignation, and after waiting for more than three months for Meade to attack, he suddenly assumed the offensive and during the next five months he and Meade maneuvered their armies as two chess experts handle the pieces on the board. Again and again, Meade swung his powerful army into a favorable position and, again and again, Lee responded with a move which placed his opponent on the defensive. But while this game of check and countercheck was being played, the North was becoming more and more impatient and events were rapidly bringing another player to the fore. Chapter XXIV. -- The Rescue of Two Armies The defeats and disappointments of the various campaigns in Virginia had gradually convinced the authorities at Washington that too many people were trying to direct the Union forces. With Lee there was practically no interference; but the commanders who opposed him were subject to the orders of the General-in-Chief at Washington, who was, to some extent, controlled by the Secretary of War, whose superior was the President, and after almost every engagement a Congressional Committee, known as the "committee on the conduct of the war," held a solemn investigation in which praise and blame were distributed with the best intentions and worst possible results. All these offices and officials were accordingly more or less responsible for everything that occurred, but not one of them was ever wholly to blame. This mistake, however, was at last fully realized and a careful search began for some one man to whom the supreme command could be entrusted. But for a long time no one apparently thought that the Western army contained any very promising material. Nevertheless, Grant, Sheridan, Sherman and Rosecrans were then in that army and, of these four; Rosecrans was regarded by many as the only real possibility. Indeed, at the moment when Grant was closing in upon Vicksburg, and Lee and Meade were struggling at Gettysburg, Rosecrans, who had been entrusted with the important duty of conducting a campaign to drive the Confederates out of Tennessee, was fully justifying the high opinions of his admirers. Between June 24, 1863, and September 9th of that year he certainly outmaneuvered his opponents, occupying the all-important position of Chattanooga, and forcing the able Confederate General Bragg to fall back with more speed than order. During all this time the North had been insisting that the army should be placed in charge of some commander who could master Lee, and this demand had found expression in a popular poem bearing the refrain "Abraham Lincoln! Give us a Man!" To the minds of many people Rosecrans had clearly demonstrated that he was "the Man," and it is possible that his subsequent acts were prompted by over-eagerness to end his already successful campaign with a startlingly brilliant feat of arms. At all events, he determined not to rest satisfied with having driven the Confederates from the field, but to capture or destroy their entire force. With this idea he divided his army and rushed it by different routes over the mountains in hot pursuit of the foe. But the trouble with this program was that Bragg had not really retreated at all, having merely moved his army aside waiting for an opportunity to strike. Indeed, Rosecrans had barely plunged his troops into the various mountain passes on their fruitless errand before the whole Confederate force loomed up, threatening to destroy his widely-separated, pursuing columns, one by one, before they could be united. This unexpected turn of affairs utterly unnerved the Union General, and although he did manage by desperate exertions to collect his scattered army, he completely lost his head when Bragg attacked him at Chickamauga, Georgia, on the 19th of September, 1863, and before the savage battle of that name had ended he retired from the field, believing that his army had been totally destroyed. Such, undoubtedly, would have been its fate had not General Thomas and his brave troops covered the retreat, by holding the whole Confederate army in check for hours and even forcing it to yield portions of the bloody field. From that day forward Thomas was known as "The Rock of Chickamauga," but the heroic stand of his gallant men barely sufficed to save the Union army, which reached the intrenchments of Chattanooga only just in time, with the Confederates hot upon its trail. Had Bragg overtaken his flying opponent, he would doubtless have made an end of him then and there, but it was not altogether with regret that he saw him enter Chattanooga, for with the roads properly blocked he knew the place would prove a perfect trap. He, accordingly, began a close siege which instantly cut off all Rosecrans' communication with the outside world, except by one road which was in such a wretched condition as to be impossible for a retreating army. Indeed, the heavy autumn rains soon rendered it impracticable even for provision wagons, and as no supplies could reach the army by any other route, it was not long before starvation began to stare the besieged garrison in the face. Meanwhile, Rosecrans, almost wild with anxiety and mortification, sent dispatch after dispatch to Washington describing his condition and imploring aid, but though he still had an effective army under his command and plenty of ammunition, he made no attempt whatever to save himself from his impending doom. Day by day the situation grew more and more perilous; thousands upon thousands of horses and mules died for lack of food and the men were so nearly reduced to starvation that they greedily devoured the dry corn intended for the animals. All this time the authorities in Washington were straining every nerve to rescue the beleaguered army. Sixteen thousand men under General Hooker were rushed to its relief, provisions were forwarded within a day's march of the town, awaiting the opening of new roads, and finally, when the stream of frantic telegrams from the front showed that the army had practically no leadership, hurried orders were forwarded to Grant, authorizing him to remove Rosecrans, place Thomas temporarily in control and take the field himself at the earliest possible moment. This unexpected summons found Grant in a serious condition, for some weeks earlier his horse had fallen under him, crushing his leg so severely that for a time it was feared he might be crippled for life, and he was still on crutches suffering intense pain when the exciting orders were placed in his hands. Nevertheless, he promptly started on his desperate errand, traveling at first by rail and steamer and then in an ambulance, until its jolting motion became unbearable when he had himself lifted into the saddle with the grim determination of riding the remainder of the way. Even for a man in perfect physical condition the journey would have been distressing, for the roads, poor at their best, were knee deep in mud and a wild storm of wind and rain was raging. Time and again his escort had to lift the General from his horse and carry him across dangerous washouts and unaffordable streams, but at the earliest possible moment they were always ordered to swing him into the saddle again. Thus, mile after mile and hour after hour, the little cavalcade crept toward Chattanooga, Grant's face becoming more haggard and furrowed with pain at every step, but showing a fixed determination to reach his goal at any cost. On every side signs of the desperate plight of the besieged garrison were only too apparent. Thousands of carcasses of starved horses and mules lay beside the road amid broken-down wagons, abandoned provisions and all the wreckage of a disorganized and demoralized army. But if the suffering officer noted these ominous evidences of disaster, his face afforded no expression of his thought. Plastered with mud and drenched to the skin, he rode steadily forward, speaking no word and scarcely glancing to the right or left, and when at last the excruciating journey came to an end, he hastened to interview Thomas and hear his report, without even waiting to change his clothes or obtain refreshment of any kind. It was not a very cheerful story which Thomas confided to his Chief before the blazing headquarters' fire, but the dripping and exhausted General listened to it with no indication of discouragement or dismay. "What efforts have been made to open up other roads for provisioning the army?" was the first question, and Thomas showed him a plan which he and Rosecrans had worked out. Grant considered it in silence for a moment and then nodded his approval. The only thing wrong with the plan was that it had not been carried out, was his comment, and after a personal inspection of the lines he gave the necessary authority for putting it into immediate operation. Orders accordingly began flying right and left, and within twenty-four hours the army was busily engaged in gnawing a way out of the trap. Additional roads were essential for safety but to gain them the Confederates had to be attacked and a heavy force was therefore ordered to seize and hold a point known as Brown's Ferry. This relieved the situation at once and meanwhile the new commander had hurried a special messenger to Sherman, ordering him to drop everything else and march his Vicksburg veterans toward Chattanooga without an instant's delay. The advance of this strong reënforcement was promptly reported to Bragg, who saw at a glance that unless it could be stopped there was every prospect that his Chattanooga victims would escape. He accordingly determined upon a very bold but very dangerous move. Not far away lay General Burnside and a small Union army, guarding the important city of Knoxville, Tennessee, and against this the Confederate commander dispatched a heavy force, in the hope that Grant would be compelled to send Sherman to the rescue. But the effect of this news upon Grant was very different from Bragg's expectations, for realizing that his adversary must have seriously weakened himself in sending the expedition against Burnside, he ordered Hooker, whose 16,000 men were already on hand, to make an immediate attack with a force drawn from various parts of the army, and on November 24, 1863, after a fierce engagement known as the battle of Lookout Mountain, the Union troops drove their opponents from one of the two important heights commanding Chattanooga. In this success Sherman had effectively cooperated by attacking and holding the northern end of Missionary Ridge and Grant determined to follow up his advantage by moving the very next morning against this second and more formidable range of hills. Therefore, ordering Hooker to attack the Confederate right on Missionary Ridge and get in their rear at that point while Sherman assaulted their left, he held Thomas's troops lying in their trenches at the front awaiting a favorable opportunity to send them crashing through the center. The main field of battle was plainly visible to the silent commander as he looked down upon it from a hill known as Orchard Knob, and he watched the effect of the attacks on both wings of the Confederate line with intense interest. Reënforcements were evidently being hurried to the Confederate right and left and Hooker, delayed by the destruction of a bridge, did not appear at the critical moment. Nevertheless, for some time Sherman continued to advance, but as Grant saw him making slower progress and noted the heavy massing of troops in his path, he ordered Thomas's waiting columns to attack the center and carry the breastworks at the foot of Missionary Ridge. With a blare of bugles, 20,000 blue-coated men seemed to leap from the ground and 20,000 bayonets pointed at Missionary Ridge whose summits began to blaze forth shot and shell. Death met them at every stride but the charging troops covered the ground between them and the rifle pits they had been ordered to take in one wild rush and tore over them like an angry sea. Then, to the utter astonishment of all beholders, instead of halting, they continued charging up the face of Missionary Ridge, straight into the mouths of the murderous cannon. "By whose order is this?" Grant demanded sternly. "By their own, I fancy," answered Thomas. Incredible as this suggestion seemed, it offered the only possible explanation of the scene. No officer would have dared to order troops to such certain destruction as apparently awaited them on the fire-crowned slopes of Missionary Ridge. Spellbound Grant followed the men as they crept further and further up the height, expecting every instant to see them hurled back as Pickett's heroes were at Gettysburg, when suddenly wave upon wave of blue broke over the crest, the Union flags fluttered all along the line and before this extraordinary charge the Confederates broke and fled in disorder. Setting spur to his horse, Grant dashed across the hard-fought field and up the formidable ridge, issuing orders for securing all that had been gained. An opening wedge had now been inserted in Chattanooga's prison doors, and by midnight the silent captain had thrown his whole weight against them and they fell. Then calmly turning his attention to Burnside, he ordered him to hold his position at every hazard until he could come to the rescue and, setting part of his victorious veterans in motion toward Knoxville, soon relieved its garrison from all danger. With the rescue of two Union armies to his credit Grant was generally regarded as the most fitting candidate for the chief command of the army, but by this time it was fully realized that the man who held that position would have to be invested with far greater powers than any Union general had thus far possessed. Halleck expressed himself as only too anxious to resign; Congress passed a law reviving the grade of lieutenant-general with powers which, up to that time, had never been entrusted to anyone save Washington, and responded to the cry, "Abraham Lincoln! Give us a MAN!" the President, on March 1st, 1864, nominated Ulysses Grant as Commander-in-Chief of all the armies of the United States. Chapter XXV. -- Lieutenant-General Grant Until he arrived in Washington Lincoln had never met the man to whom he had entrusted the supreme command of the army, and the new General was a very different individual from those who had been previously appointed to high rank. Some of his predecessors had possessed undoubted ability, but most of them had soon acquired an exaggerated idea of their own importance, surrounding themselves with showy staffs in gorgeous attire, delighting in military pomp and etiquette of every kind, and generally displaying a great weakness for popular admiration and applause. Moreover, all of them, with the exception of Meade, had talked too much for their own good and that of the army, so that many of their plans had become known in Richmond almost as soon as they had been formed. Indeed, they not only talked, but wrote too much, and in discussions with their superiors and wrangling with their fellow officers more than one proved far mightier with the pen than with the sword. All this, to a very large extent, was the fault of the public, for it had made an idol of each new General, deluging him with praise, flattering his vanity and fawning on him until he came to regard the war as a sort of background for his own greatness. Thus, for almost three years, the war was conducted more like a great game than a grim business, and not until it began visibly to sap the life blood and resources of the nation did the people, as a whole, realize the awful task confronting them. Both sides had begun the conflict in much the same careless fashion, but the South had immediately become the battle ground, and the horrors of war actually seen and felt by its people quickly sobered even the most irresponsible. But from the very first Lee had taken a serious view of the whole situation. Every word he spoke or wrote concerning it was distinctly tinged with solemnity, if not sadness, and his sense of responsibility had a marked influence upon the whole Confederacy. It had taken the North almost three years to respond in a similar spirit, but by that time it was ready for a leader who knew what war really meant and for whom it had no glory, and such a leader had undoubtedly been found in Grant. In the evening of March 8, 1864, the new commander arrived in Washington and made his way, without attracting any attention, to one of the hotels. There was nothing in his presence or manner to indicate that he was a person of any importance. Indeed, he presented a decidedly commonplace appearance, for he walked with an awkward lurch and bore himself in a slouchy fashion which made him even shorter than he was. Moreover, his uniform was faded and travel-stained, his close-cropped beard and hair were unkempt, and his attire was careless to the point of slovenliness. There was, however, something in the man's clear-cut features, firm mouth and chin and resolute blue eyes which suggested strength, and while his face, as a whole, would not have attracted any particular notice in a crowd, no one in glancing at it would have been inclined to take any liberties with its owner. But though Grant had arrived unheralded and unrecognized at the national capital, he had barely given his name to the hotel clerk before the whole city was surging about him eager to catch a glimpse of the new hero and cheer him to the echo. But however much notoriety of this sort had pleased some of his predecessors, Grant soon showed that he wanted no applauding mob to greet him in the streets, for he quickly escaped to the seclusion of his own room. But the same public that had cheered itself hoarse for McClellan, Pope and Hooker, and then hissed them all in turn, had found another hero and was not to be cheated of its prey. Indeed, the newcomer was not even allowed to eat his dinner in peace, for a crowd of gaping and congratulating enthusiasts descended upon him the moment he reappeared and soon drove him from the dining room in sheer disgust. Possibly the fate of the fallen idols had warned Grant against making a public exhibition of himself or encouraging the hysterical acclamations of the crowd, but he was naturally a man of sound, common sense, entirely free from conceit, and he had no idea of allowing the idle or curious mob to amuse itself at his expense. He, therefore, quickly made it plain that he had serious work to do and that he intended to do it without nonsense of any kind. Ceremonies and forms with such a man would have been impossible, and on March 9, 1864, President Lincoln handed him his commission as a Lieutenant-General, with a few earnest words to which he made a modest reply, and then, with the same calmness he had displayed in assuming the colonelcy of the 21st Illinois, he turned to the duties involved in the command of half a million men. From that time forward no more councils of war were held at the White House and no more military secrets were disclosed to the Confederate chiefs. "I do not know General Grant's plans, and I do not want to know them!" exclaimed Lincoln with relief. But other people did want to know them and the newspaper reporters and busybodies of all sorts incessantly buzzed about him, employing every device from subtle flattery to masked threats to discover his designs. But Grant knew "how to keep silent in seven different languages" and no one could beguile him into opening his lips. Neither had he time nor inclination to listen to other people talk. His troops were spread over a thousand miles of territory, and never before had they been under the absolute control of any one man. With the Army of the Potomac he had had but little practical experience; of the country in which its campaigns had been conducted he knew nothing at first hand; with a few exceptions he had no personal acquaintance with the officers under his immediate command, and there were countless other difficulties which had to be overcome. He, therefore, had no leisure for trifling and quickly sent all intruders about their business while he attended to his own. The problem involved in a grand campaign was in many respects new to him, but doing his own thinking in silence, instead of puzzling himself with the contradictory opinions of other men, Grant reached a more accurate conclusion in regard to the war than any of his predecessors. In the first place, he saw that the various campaigns which had been conducted in different parts of the country would have been far more effective had they all formed part of one plan enabling the different armies to coöperate with each other. He, accordingly, determined to conduct the war on a gigantic scale, keeping the Confederates in the West so busy that they would not be able to reënforce Lee and giving Lee no chance to help them. In a word, he intended to substitute team play for individual effort all along the line. Again, he saw the capture of Richmond, upon which the Army of the Potomac had expended all its efforts, would be futile if Lee's army remained undefeated in the field, and he resolved that Lee and not Richmond should thereafter be the main object of the campaign. "Where Lee's army goes, there you will go also," was the substance of his first order to Meade who virtually became his Chief of Staff, and those who were straining every nerve to discover his plan and expecting something very brilliant or subtle never guessed that those nine words contained the open secret of his whole campaign. Such, however, was the fact. "I never maneuver," he remarked to his Chief of Staff; and Meade, who had spent the best part of a year in a great series of maneuvers with Lee, listened to this confession with astonishment and dismay, scarcely believing that his superior really meant what he said. But Grant did mean it. No elaborate moves or delicate strategy had been employed in any of his campaigns and he had yet to meet with a serious defeat. To make his first experiment in maneuvering against such an expert in the science of war as Lee, would have been to foredoom himself to defeat. With a far smaller force then either McClellan, Pope, Burnside, Hooker or Meade had possessed, the Confederate leader had practically fought a drawn battle with them for three years. His science had not, it is true, been able to overcome their numbers, but their numbers had not overpowered him. This, as far as anyone could see, might go on forever. But Grant knew that the North had long been tiring of the war and that unless it were speedily closed the Union might be sacrificed in order to obtain peace. Moreover, he saw that every day the war lasted cost an enormous sum of money, and that the loss of life on the battle field was nothing compared to that in the hospitals and prisons, where disease and starvation were claiming scores of victims every hour. He, therefore, determined to fight and continue fighting until he pounded his opponent to pieces, well knowing that almost every able-bodied man in the South was already in the army and that there was practically no one left to take the place of those who fell. This policy, in the minds of many people, proves that Grant was no general, but merely a brute and a butcher. But history has never yet revealed a military leader who, having the advantage of numbers, did not make the most of it. Had Grant been waging war for war's sake, or been so enamored with his profession as to care more for its fine points than for the success of his cause, he might have evolved some more subtle and less brutal plan. But he had no love for soldiering and no sentimental ideas whatever about the war. Common sense, with which he was liberally supplied, told him that the only excuse for fighting was to uphold principles which were vital to the national life and the only way to have those principles upheld was to defeat those who opposed them and to do this he determined to use all the resources at his command. The two men whom Fate or Chance had been drawing together for over two hundred years were utterly different in appearance and manner, but in other respects they were singularly alike. Lee was, at the time of their meeting, already in his 58th year, his hair and beard were almost white, but his calm, handsome face, clear eyes and ruddy complexion, made him appear younger than he was. His bearing also was that of a young man, for his erect, soldierly carriage showed his height to full advantage; his well-knit figure was almost slight for a man standing over six feet, and, mounted on his favorite horse "Traveller," he was the ideal soldier. Grant was barely forty-two years of age, short of stature, careless in dress and generally indifferent to appearances. His face, though strong, was somewhat coarse, his manners were not polished and he had nothing of the cultivation or charm which Lee so unmistakably possessed. But though Grant thus reflected his Roundhead ancestors and Lee his Cavalier descent, the contrast between them was mainly external. Both were modest and courageous; both were self-contained; each had his tongue and temper under complete control; each was essentially an American in his ideas and ideals; each fought for a principle in which he sincerely believed, and neither took the least delight in war. Had they met in times of peace, it is not probable that they would have become intimate friends, but it is certain that each would have respected, if not admired the other for his fine qualities, and this was undoubtedly their attitude toward each other from the beginning of the struggle. Chapter XXVI. -- A Duel to the Death For nearly two months after Grant assumed command no important move was attempted by either the Union or the Confederate forces except in Mississippi. Both sides realized that a desperate struggle was impending and each needed all the time it could gain to prepare for the coming fray. Heavy reënforcements were hurried to Grant, until the Army of the Potomac under his immediate command included over 120,000 men; a hundred thousand more were assembled at Chattanooga in charge of Sherman; and two other forces of considerable size were formed to coöperate with Grant--one being entrusted to General Benjamin Butler and the other to General Franz Sigel. To oppose this vast army Lee had less than 65,000 men in the Army of Northern Virginia and the only other formidable Confederate force in the field was that commanded by General Joseph Johnston, who, with some 53,000 men, was stationed in Georgia guarding the cotton states and the far South. If these two armies could be captured or destroyed, all organized resistance to the Union would be at an end, and Grant, accordingly, determined to throw his entire weight upon them, sending Sherman against Johnston, Butler against the City of Richmond and Sigel against the rich Shenandoah Valley which supplied the Confederate armies with food, while he himself attacked Lee with an overwhelming force. Never before had a Union general undertaken a campaign covering such a vast extent of country and never before had such a united effort been made to exhaust the armies and the resources of the South. With his own forces threatened by superior numbers Lee would not be able to reënforce Johnston with safety and, confronted by Sherman, Johnston would find it impossible to send assistance to Lee. This promised to bring the war to a speedy close, and the supporters of the Union redoubled their praises of the Lieutenant-General as they began to understand his plan. Indeed, the more he avoided publicity and applause and the more indifference he showed for popular opinion, the more the newspapers and the general public fawned upon him, and when, on May 3, 1864, he ordered his armies to advance, the whole North was fairly aflame with enthusiasm. It was certainly a momentous occasion. Three years earlier Grant had been utterly unknown to the country at large and the small group who acknowledged his acquaintance had regarded him as a rather pitiful failure, while the Government to whom he had offered his services had ignored him altogether. Now, at his nod, hundreds of thousands of men instantly sprang to arms and the most powerful armies that America had ever seen moved forward in obedience to his will, Sherman marching southward, Butler creeping toward Richmond, Sigel advancing into the fertile Shenandoah Valley, and the Army of the Potomac crossing the Rapidan River to renew its struggle with Lee. Lee had watched the elaborate preparations of his new antagonist with keen interest and no little apprehension, for Grant's record as a fighting man promised a duel to the death and the South had no more men. The situation was certainly serious but, anxious as he was, the Confederate commander did not by any means despair. He was familiar with every inch of the country through which Grant would have to advance and the chances were that this would, sooner or later, give him not only the advantage of position, but possibly the choice of weapons. With this idea he allowed the Union forces to cross the Rapidan unopposed, hoping that he would soon be able to drive them back and that the river would then be as valuable as cavalry in hampering their retreat. Just beyond the Rapidan lay the dense thickets and waste lands of scrub oak and undergrowth known as the Wilderness, which had witnessed the Chancellorsville surprise and virtually sealed the fate of Hooker's army. If the Union forces advanced directly through this jungle, there was more than a possibility that they might outflank their opponents and gain the road to Richmond, but Lee scarcely dared hope that his adversary would attempt so dangerous a route. Nevertheless, he maneuvered to leave the trap undisturbed, and when he saw the Union columns entering the forests he felt that they were actually being delivered into his hands. Once in those tangled thickets he knew that Grant's artillery and cavalry would be practically useless and without them his superiority in numbers disappeared. Of course, it would be impossible to conduct a scientific battle in such a region, for it would virtually be fighting in the dark, but knowing that his men were thoroughly familiar with the ground, Lee determined to hurl them upon the advancing bluecoats, trusting to the gloom and the terrors of the unknown to create confusion and panic in their ranks. But the men whom Grant commanded were no longer the inexperienced volunteers who had been stampeded at Bull Run. They were veterans of many campaigns and, though they staggered for a moment under the shock of battle, they speedily rallied and fought with stubborn courage. The conflict that followed was one of the most brutal recorded in the annals of modern war. Whole regiments sprang at each other's throats, the men fighting each other like animals; trees were cut down by the bullets which tore through them from every direction; bursting shells set fire to the woods, suffocating the wounded or burning them to death; wild charges were made, ending in wilder stampedes or bloody repulses; the crackle of flames rose high above the pandemonium of battle and dense smoke-clouds drifted chokingly above this hideous carnival of death. Thus for two days the armies staggered backward and forward with no result save a horrible loss of life. Once the Union forces almost succeeded in gaining a position which would have disposed of their adversaries, but Lee saw the danger just in the nick of time and, rushing a Texas brigade to the rescue, led the charge in person until his troops recognized him and forced him to retire. It was May 7, 1864, when this blind slaughter known as the Battle of the Wilderness ceased, but by that time nearly 18,000 Union soldiers and 12,000 Confederates lay upon the field. Lee could not claim a victory but he still held his ground and he felt confident that Grant would fall back behind the Rapidan River to recuperate his shattered forces. No Union commander, thus far, had tarried long on Virginian soil after such a baptism of blood, and when the news that Grant's columns were retreating reached the Confederate commander he breathed a sigh of thanksgiving and relief. To the veterans who had served under McClellan, Pope, Burnside and Hooker, retreats were a wretchedly familiar experience, but they had not been long on the road before they realized that they were not retreating but were marching southward. As the truth of this dawned upon the disheartened columns they burst into frantic cheers for Grant and pressed forward with springy steps, shouting and singing for joy. A less able commander would have been fatally misled by Grant's apparent retreat, but Lee knew that he might again attempt to swing around his right flank and edge toward Richmond by way of Spotsylvania, and to guard against this a body of troops had been ordered to block that road. Therefore, by the time Grant began his great turning movement, Lee was planted squarely across his path and another series of battles followed. Here the Union commander was able to make some use of his cavalry and artillery, but the Confederates offset this by fighting behind intrenchments and they repulsed charge after charge with fearful slaughter. Again, as at the Battle of the Wilderness, the gray line was pierced, this time at a point known as the "Bloody Angle" or "Hell's Half Acre," and twice Lee sprang forward to lead a desperate charge to recover the lost ground. But each time the troops refused to advance until their beloved leader retired to a point of safety, and when he yielded they whirled forward, sweeping everything before them. These charges saved the battle of Spotsylvania for the Confederates. But though Lee had again blocked his opponent, the fact that he had thrice had to rally his troops at the peril of his life showed that he had been harder pressed than in any of his other Virginia campaigns. Nevertheless, when the last furious attack had been repulsed and Grant began moving sullenly away, it seemed as though he had at last been compelled to abandon the campaign. But the wearied Confederates had yet to learn that their terrible opponent was a man who did not know when he was beaten, for in spite of his awful losses he had written his government May 11, 1864, "I propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer," and his army, instead of retreating, continued to move southward, crossing the North Anna River and circling once more toward the left flank. Again Grant was on the road to Richmond, but in crossing the North Anna River he left an opening between the two wings of his army and before he could close it Lee threw his whole force into the breach and, completely cutting off one part of the Union army from the other, held both firmly in check. This masterly move might have brought Grant's campaign to a disastrous end, but just as he was planning to take full advantage of it, Lee fell ill and during his absence from the field Grant made his first backward move, recrossing the North Anna River and, bringing the two wings of his army together, rescued it from its perilous position. The moment he reached a point of safety, however, the persistent commander recommenced his march by the left flank, sidling once more toward Richmond until he reached Cold Harbor, only eight miles from the Confederate capital. Here Lee once more interposed his battered forces, strongly intrenching them in a position that fairly defied attack. With any other adversary against him he would have concluded that the game was won, for by all the rules of war the Union army was completely balked and could not avoid a retreat. But Grant was a man of a different caliber from any he had encountered heretofore. In spite of checks and disasters and unheard-of slaughter he had pushed inexorably forward; foiled in front he had merely turned aside to hew another bloody path. To him defeat only seemed to mean delay, and apparently he could not be shaken from his dogged purpose, no matter what the cost. At Cold Harbor, however, the Confederate position was so strong that to assault it was madness, and Lee could not believe that even his grim opponent would resort to such a suicidal attempt. But retreat or attack offered no choice to Grant's mind, and on June 2, 1864, the troops were fiercely hurled against the Confederate works, only to be repulsed with fearful slaughter. A few hours later orders were issued to renew the assault, and then postponed for a day. That delay gave the soldiers an opportunity to understand the desperate nature of the work that lay before them and, realizing that charging against murderous batteries and trenches meant rushing into the jaws of death, they offered a silent protest. Not a man refused to obey orders, not one fell from his place in the line, but to their coats they sewed strips of cloth bearing their names and addresses so that their bodies might be identified upon the field. This dramatic spectacle might well have warned their commander of the hopelessness of his attempt, but fixed in his resolve to thrust his opponent from his path, he gave the fatal order to charge, and twenty minutes later 3,000 of his best troops fell before the smoking trenches and the balance reeled back aghast at the useless sacrifice. This horrifying slaughter, which Grant himself confessed was a grievous blunder, brought the first stage of his campaign to a close. In but little over a month he had lost nearly 55,000 men--almost as many as Lee had had in his entire army, and almost in sight of the spires of Richmond his adversary held him securely at arm's length. A wave of horror, indignation and disappointment, swept over the North. Another campaign had proved a failure. There were, however, two men who did not agree with this conclusion. One was Grant, pouring over the maps showing the movements of all his armies. The other was Lee, looking in vain for reënforcements to fill the gaps in his fast thinning lines. Chapter XXVII. -- Check and Countercheck The six-weeks' campaign in Virginia had been quite sufficient to check all enthusiasm for Grant, but the fact that he was no longer a popular hero did not trouble him at all. Indeed, he displayed the same indifference to the storm of angry criticism that he had shown for the salvos of applause. He had made no claims or boasts before he took the field and he returned no answers to the accusations and complaints after his apparent failures. Had he posed before the public as a hero or been tempted to prophesy a speedy triumph for his army, the humiliation and disappointment might have driven him to resign from the command. But he had recognized the difficulty of his task from the outset, modestly accepting it with no promise save that he would do his best, and he silently resolved to pursue the campaign he had originally mapped out in spite of all reverses. Certainly, he required all his calmness and steadfastness to overcome his discouragement and disgust at the manner in which the coöperating armies had been handled. In the Shenandoah Valley Sigel had proved utterly incompetent and the Confederates, instead of having been driven from that important storehouse, had tightened their hold upon it. Moreover, Butler, who was supposed to threaten Richmond while Grant fought Lee, had made a sorry mess of that part of the program. In fact he had maneuvered in such a ridiculous fashion that he and about 35,000 troops were soon cooped up by a far smaller force of Confederates who held them as a cork holds the contents of a bottle; and last, but not least, the Army of Potomac lay badly mutilated before the impassable intrenchments of Lee. In one particular, however, Grant's expectations bade fair to be realized, for Sherman was steadily pushing his way through Georgia, driving Johnston before him, and inflicting terrible damage upon the country through which he passed. As Grant watched this triumphant advance he silently resolved upon another move. The north or front door of Richmond was closed and firmly barred. There was nothing to be gained by further battering at that portal. But the southern or rear door had not yet been thoroughly tried and upon that he concluded to make a determined assault. To do this it would be necessary to renew his movement around his opponent's right flank by crossing the formidable James River--a difficult feat at any time, but double difficult at that moment, owing to the fact that Butler's "bottled" force might be crushed by a Confederate attack while the hazardous passage of the river was being effected. Nevertheless, he decided to risk this bold stroke, and during the night of June 12, 1864, about ten days after the repulse at Cold Harbor, the great movement was begun. Meanwhile Lee, confident that he had completely checked his opponent, but disappointed that he had not forced him to retreat, determined to drive him away by carrying the war into the North and threatening the Federal capital. That he should have been able to attempt this in the midst of a campaign deliberately planned to destroy him, affords some of the indication of the brilliant generalship he had displayed. But it does not fully reflect his masterful daring. At the outset of the campaign the Union forces had outnumbered him two to one and its losses had been offset by reënforcements, while every man that had fallen in the Confederate ranks had left an empty space. It is highly probable, therefore, that at the moment he resolved to turn the tables on his adversary and transform the campaign against Richmond into a campaign against Washington, he had not much more than one man to his opponent's three. Nevertheless, in the face of these overwhelming numbers, he maintained a bold front towards Grant and detached General Jubal Early with 20,000 men to the Shenandoah Valley, with orders to clear that region of Union troops, cross the Potomac River and then march straight on Washington. It was at this moment that Grant began creeping cautiously away toward the rear door of Richmond. To keep a vigilant enemy in entire ignorance of such a tremendous move was, of course, impossible, but the system and discipline which he had instilled into his army almost accomplished the feat. Indeed, so rapidly and silently did the troops move, so perfect were the arrangements for transporting their baggage and supplies, so completely were the details of the whole undertaking ordered and systematized, that over a hundred thousand men, infantry, cavalry, and artillery, with their horses, hospital and wagon trains, and all the paraphernalia of a vast army virtually faded away, and when Lee gazed from his intrenchments on June 13, 1864, there was no sign of his opponent and he did not discover where he had gone for fully four days. In the meantime, Grant had thrown his entire army across the James River and was advancing, horse and foot, on Petersburg, the key to the approach to Richmond from the south, and Butler, whose troops had been extricated from their difficulties, was ordered to seize it. Petersburg was at that moment wholly unprepared to resist a strong attack. Indeed, there were only a handful of men guarding the fortification, the capture of which would case the fall of Richmond, but Butler was not the man to take advantage of this great opportunity. On the contrary, he delayed his advance and otherwise displayed such wretched judgment that the Confederates had time to rush reënforcements to the rescue, and when Grant arrived on the scene the intrenchments were strongly occupied. Notwithstanding this the Union commander ordered a vigorous assault, and for three days the troops were hurled against the breastworks without result. The last attack was made on June 18, 1864, but by this time 10,000 Union soldiers had been sacrificed and Lee had arrived in person with strong support. Grant accordingly, abandoning his efforts to carry the place by storm, began to close in upon it for a grimly sullen siege. Meanwhile, General Early, to whom Lee had entrusted his counter-move, was sweeping away the Federal forces in the Shenandoah Valley with resistless fury, and suddenly, to the intense surprise and mortification of the whole North, advanced upon Washington, threatening it with capture. Washington was almost as completely unprepared for resistance as Petersburg had been, its defenses being manned by only a small force mainly composed of raw recruits and invalid soldiers, while outside the city there was but one body of troops near enough to oppose the Confederate advance. That little army, however, was commanded by General Lew Wallace, later the famous author of "Ben Hur," and he had the intelligence to see that he might at least delay Early by offering battle and that gaining time might prove as valuable as gaining a victory. Accordingly, he threw himself across the Confederate's path and, though roughly handled and at last driven from the field, he hung on long enough to accomplish his purpose and although his adversary attempted to make up for lost time by rapid marching he did not succeed. This undoubtedly saved Washington from capture, for shortly after Early appeared on the 7th Street Road leading to the capital, the reënforcements which Grant had rushed forward reached the city, and before any attack on the intrenchments was attempted they were fully defended and practically unassailable. Seeing this, Early retreated with the Union troops following in half-hearted pursuit. It was the 12th of July, 1864, when, with a sigh of intense relief, Washington saw the backs of the retreating Confederates, but its satisfaction at its escape was mingled with indignation against Grant for having left it open to attack. Indeed, he was regarded by many people as the greatest failure of all the Union commanders, for he had lost more men in sixty days than McClellan had lost in all his campaigns without getting any nearer to Richmond, and by the end of July another lamentable failure was recorded against him. In the intrenchments facing Petersburg lay the 48th Pennsylvania Volunteers, largely composed of miners from the coal regions of that state. Late in June Colonel Pleasants of this regiment had submitted a plan whereby his men were to dig a tunnel to a point directly under one of the Confederate forts, plant a gunpowder mine there and blow a breach in the defenses through which troops could be poured and the town carried by assault. The scheme was plausible, provided the tunnel could be bored and Grant gave his consent, with the result that within a month an underground passage over 500 feet long was completed, a mine was planted with four tons of powder and elaborate preparations made for storming the Confederate works. Grant's orders were that all obstructions in front of the Union lines should be removed to enable the troops to charge the moment the explosion occurred, and that they should be rushed forward without delay until they were all within the Confederate lines. Accordingly, in the dead of night on July 29th, the assaulting columns were moved into position and when everything was in apparent readiness the signal was given to explode the mine. But though the match was applied no explosion occurred, and in the awful hush that followed Lieut. Jacob Douty and Sergeant Henry Rees volunteered to crawl into the tunnel and see what was wrong. To enter the passage at that moment was almost defying death, but the two men took their lives in their hands and, creeping in, discovered that the fuse had smoldered and gone out. They then relit it and made their escape just as a fearful explosion rent the air and great masses of earth, stones and timbers, intermingled with human bodies, leaped toward the sky. For a moment the waiting troops watched this terrifying spectacle and then, as the cloud of wreckage apparently swerved toward them threatening to descend and bury them beneath it, they fell back in great confusion and some time elapsed before order was restored and the charge begun. But Grant's orders to clear their path had not been obeyed, and the charging troops had to climb over their own breastworks, causing more delay and confusion. Finally, however, the leading brigades reached the great excavation torn by the mine, and there they halted awaiting further orders. But no orders came, for their terror-stricken commander had sought safety in a bomb-proof and when his hiding place was discovered the miserable cur merely mumbled something about "moving forward" and remained cowering in his refuge. Meanwhile, other regiments rushed forward, tumbling in upon one another, until the chasm was choked with men upon whom the Confederates began to pour shot, shell and canister. From that moment everything was lost and at last orders came from Grant to rescue the struggling mass of men from the awful death trap into which they had been plunged, but despite all exertions fully 4,000 were killed, wounded or captured. Again his subordinates had blundered terribly but Grant accepted the responsibility and assumed the blame, waiting patiently for the hour, then near at hand, when he would find commanders he could trust to carry out his plans. Chapter XXVIII. -- The Beginning of the End The right man to conduct the Shenandoah campaign was already in the Army of the Potomac, but it was not until about a week after the failure of the Petersburg mine that circumstances enabled Grant to place General Philip Sheridan in charge of that important task. Sheridan, like Sherman, had served with Grant in the West and had developed into a brilliant cavalry leader. Indeed, he was the only man in the Northern armies whose record could be compared with that of Jeb Stuart and many other great cavalry commanders in the South. But Grant felt that Sheridan could handle an entire army as well as he had handled the cavalry alone and he soon showed himself fully worthy of this confidence, for from the moment he took over the command of the Union forces in the Shenandoah Valley, the Confederates were compelled to fight for it as they had never fought before. Up to this time, the war had been conducted with comparatively little destruction of private property on either side. But the moment had now arrived for harsher measures, for Sherman had occupied Atlanta on September 2, 1864, and was preparing to march to the sea coast and cut the Confederacy in two. If Grant's plan of depriving Lee of the fertile valley to the north was to be put in operation, there was no time to lose. Sheridan, accordingly, at once proceeded to attack the Confederates with the utmost vigor, defeating them in two engagements at Winchester and Fisher's Hill, and following up this success by laying waste the fields and ruthlessly destroying all the stores of grain and provisions which might prove useful to Lee's army. For a month or more he continued to sweep through the country practically unchecked. But on October 19.1864, during his absence, his army was surprised and furiously attacked by General Early's men at Cedar Creek, and before long they had the Union troops in a perilous position which threatened to end in their destruction and the recapture of the entire valley. Sheridan was at Winchester on his way to the front from Washington when the news of this impending disaster reached him and, mounting his horse, he dashed straight across country for the scene of action. He was then, however, fully twenty miles from the field and there seemed but little chance of his reaching it any time to be of any service. Nevertheless, he spurred forward at a breakneck pace and his splendid horse, responding gamely, fairly flew over the ground, racing along mile after mile at killing speed in a lather of foam and sweat, until the battle field was reached just as the Union troops came reeling back, panic-stricken, under cover of a thin line of troops who had at last succeeded in making a stand. Instantly, the General was among the fugitives ordering them to turn and follow him and inspired by his presence, they wheeled as he dashed down their broken lines and, madly cheering, hurled themselves upon their pursuers. Completely surprised by this unexpected recovery, the Confederates faltered and the Union troops, gathering force as they charged, rolled them back with irresistible fury and finally swept them completely from the field. Indeed, Early's force was so badly shattered and scattered by this overwhelming defeat that it virtually abandoned the Valley and Sheridan continued his work of destruction almost unopposed, until the whole region was so barren that, as he reported, a crow flying across it would have to carry his own provisions or starve to death. Meanwhile, Sherman had begun to march from Atlanta to Savannah, Georgia, where he intended to get in touch with the navy guarding the coast and then sweep northward to Grant. Behind him lay the Confederate army, formerly commanded by General Joseph Johnston but now led by General Hood, a daring officer who was expected to retrieve Johnston's failure by some brilliant feat of arms. Whether he would attempt this by following Sherman and attacking him at the first favorable moment or take advantage of his departure to turn north and play havoc with Tennessee and the region thus exposed to attack, was uncertain. To meet either of these moves Sherman sent a substantial part of his army to General Thomas at Nashville, Tennessee, and swung off with the rest of his troops toward the sea. Hood instantly advanced against Thomas, and Grant at Petersburg, closely watching the movement saw a great opportunity to dispose of one of the Confederate armies. He, accordingly, ordered Thomas to attack with his whole strength as soon as Hood reached Nashville, but although the Confederates reached that point considerably weakened by a partial defeat inflicted on them by a retreating Union column, Thomas delayed his assault. Days of anxious waiting followed and then Grant hurried General Logan, one of his most trusted officers, to the scene of action with orders to take over the command, unless Thomas immediately obeyed his instructions. In the meantime, however, Thomas, slow but sure, had completed his preparations and, hurling himself upon Hood with a vastly superior force, pursued his retreating columns (Dec. 16, 1864) until they were split into fragments, never again to be reunited as a fighting force. It was not until this practical annihilation of Hood that the North began to realize how far reaching and complete Grant's plans were. But that event and the Shenandoah campaign made it clear that he had determined that no army worthy of the name should be left to the Confederacy when he finally closed in upon Lee, so that with his destruction or surrender there should be no excuse for prolonging the war. It was in furtherance of this plan that Sherman left ruin and desolation behind him as he blazed his way up from the South. The inhabitants of the region through which he was marching had, up to this time, been living in perfect security and Sherman intended to make war so hideous that they would have no desire to prolong the contest. He, accordingly, tore up the railroads, heating the rails and then twisting them about trees so that they could never be used again, burned public buildings and private dwellings, allowed his army to live on whatever food they could find in the houses, stores or barns, and generally made it a terror to all who lay in the broad path he was sweeping towards Petersburg. Grant then had Lee fairly caught. His only possible chances of prolonging the contest lay in taking refuge in the mountains or joining his forces with the remnants of Hood's army which had been gathered together and again entrusted with other troops to the command of General Joseph Johnston. Had it been possible to do this, nothing practical would have been achieved, for he had less than 30,000 effective men and Johnston's whole force did not amount to much more than 30,000, while Grant, Sherman and Sheridan together had a quarter of a million men under arms. From a military standpoint Lee knew that the situation was hopeless, but until the authorities who had placed him in the field gave up the cause he felt in duty bound to continue the fight to the bitter end. Had the Union army been his only opponent, it is possible that he might have succeeded in escaping the rings of steel which Grant was daily riveting around him. But he had to fight hunger, and from the day that Sheridan mastered the Shenandoah Valley and Sherman cut off all supplies from the South starvation stared him in the face. Meanwhile, his troops, though almost reduced to skeletons and clothed in rags, confidently believed that in spite of everything he would find some way of leading them out of Grant's clutches and, inspired by this implicit faith, they hurled themselves again and again upon the masses of troops which were steadily closing around them. But though they frequently checked the advancing columns and sometimes even threw them back, inflicting heavy losses and taking many prisoners, the blue lines soon crept forward again, closing up gap after gap with a resistless tide of men. At last the road to the west leading toward the mountains beyond Lynchburg alone remained open. But to avail himself of this Lee knew that he would have to abandon Petersburg and Richmond and he hesitated to take this step; while Grant, seeing the opening and fearing that his opponent would take advantage of it, strained every nerve to get his troops into a position where they could block the road. Such was the condition of affairs at the end of March, 1865, but neither the starving soldiers in the Confederate trenches nor the people of Richmond or Petersburg imagined that the end was desperately near. While "Marse Robert," as Lee's men affectionately called him, was in command they felt that no real danger could come nigh them, and their idol was outwardly as calm as in the hour of his greatest triumph. Chapter XXIX. -- At Bay It would be impossible to imagine a more hopeless situation than that which had confronted Lee for many months. To guard the line of intrenchments stretching around Petersburg and Richmond for more than thirty-five miles, he had less than 30,000 effective men, and starvation and disease were daily thinning their impoverished ranks; the soldiers were resorting to the corn intended for the horses, and the cavalry were obliged to disperse through the country seeking fodder for their animals in the wasted fields; the defenders of the trenches, barefooted and in rags, lay exposed to the cold and wet, day and night; there were no medicines for the sick and no great supply of ammunition for the guns. Perhaps no one but Lee fully realized to what desperate straits his army had been reduced. Certainly his opponents were ignorant of the real condition of affairs or they would have smashed his feeble defenses at a blow, and the fact that he held over a hundred thousand troops at bay for months with a skeleton army shows how skillfully he placed his men. But though his brilliant career threatened to end in defeat and disaster, no thought of himself ever crossed Lee's mind. Regardless of his own comfort and convenience, he devoted himself day and night to relieving the suffering of his men, who jestingly called themselves "Lee's Miserables," but grimly stuck to their posts with unshaken faith in their beloved chief who, in the midst of confusion and helplessness, remained calm and resourceful, never displaying irritation, never blaming anyone for mistakes, but courageously attempting to make the best of everything and finding time, in spite of all distractions, for the courtesy and the thoughtfulness of a gentleman unafraid. His letters to his wife and children during these perilous days reveal no anxiety save for the comfort of his men, and no haste except to provide for their wants. At home his wife--confined to an invalid's chair--was busily knitting socks for the soldiers, and to her he wrote in the face of impending disaster: ..."After sending my note this morning I received from the express office a bag of socks. You will have to send down your offerings as soon as you can, and bring your work to a close, for I think General Grant will move against us soon--within a week if nothing prevents--and no man can tell what will be the result; but trusting to a merciful God, who does not always give the battle to the strong, I pray we may not be overwhelmed. I shall, however, endeavor to do my duty and fight to the last. Should it be necessary to abandon our position to prevent being surrounded, what will you do? You must consider the question and make up your mind. It is a fearful condition and we must rely for guidance and protection upon a kind Providence...." Shortly after this letter was written Lee made a desperate effort to force his adversary to loosen his grip but though the exhausted and starved troops attacked with splendid courage, they could not pierce the solid walls of infantry and fell back with heavy losses. Then Sheridan, who had been steadily closing in from the Shenandoah, swung 10,000 sabres into position and the fate of Petersburg was practically sealed. But, face to face with this calamity, Lee calmly wrote his wife: "I have received your note with a bag of socks. I return the bag and receipt. I have put in the bag General Scott's autobiography which I thought you might like to read. The General, of course, stands out prominently and does not hide his light under a bushel, but he appears the bold, sagacious, truthful man that he is. I enclose a note from little Agnes. I shall be very glad to see her to-morrow but cannot recommend pleasure trips now...." At every point Grant was tightening his hold upon the imprisoned garrison and difficulties were crowding fast upon their commander, but he exhibited neither excitement nor alarm. Bending all his energies upon preparations for a retreat, he carefully considered the best plan for moving his troops and supplying their needs on the march, quietly giving his orders to meet emergencies, but allowing no one to see even a shadow of despair on his face. Concerning the gravity of the situation he neither deceived himself nor attempted to deceive others who were entitled to know it, and with absolute accuracy he prophesied the movements of his adversary long before they were made. ..."You may expect Sheridan to move up the Valley," he wrote the Confederate Secretary of War.... "Grant, I think, is now preparing to draw out by his left with the intent of enveloping me. He may wait till his other columns approach nearer, or he may be preparing to anticipate my withdrawal. I cannot tell yet.... Everything of value should be removed from Richmond. It is of the first importance to save all the powder. The cavalry and artillery of the army are still scattered for want of provender and our supply and ammunition trains, which ought to be with the army in case of a sudden movement, are absent collecting provisions and forage. You will see to what straits we are reduced; but I trust to work out." At last, on March 29th, 1865, Grant pushed forward 50,000 cavalry and infantry to execute the very move which Lee had outlined and for which he was as thoroughly prepared as it was possible to be with the men he had on hand. But to check this advance which threatened to surround his army and cut off his retreat, he had to withdraw the troops guarding the defenses of Petersburg, abandoning some of the intrenchments altogether and leaving nothing much more formidable than a skirmish line anywhere along his front. Even then he could not stop the onrush of the Union troops, which, under Sheridan, circled his right on April 1st and drove back his men in the fierce engagement known as the battle of Five Forks. With the news of this success Grant promptly ordered an assault against the intrenchments and his troops tore through the almost defenseless lines in several places, encountering little or no resistance. Petersburg was not yet taken, but Lee immediately saw that to protect it further would be to sacrifice his entire army. He, therefore, sent a dispatch to Richmond, advising the immediate evacuation of the city. "I see no prospect of doing more than hold our position here till night. I am not certain that I can do that," he wrote. But he did hold on till the Confederate authorities had made their escape, and then on the night of April 2nd he abandoned the capital which he had successfully defended for four years and started on a hazardous retreat. The one chance of saving his army lay in reaching the mountains to the west, before Grant could bar the road, but his men were in no condition for swift marching and the provision train which he had ordered to meet him at Amelia Court House failed to put in an appearance, necessitating a halt. Every moment was precious and the delay was exasperating, but he did his best to provide some sort of food for his famished men and again sent them on their way. By this time, however, the Union troops were hot upon their trail and soon their rear-guard was fighting desperately to hold the pursuit in check. Now and again they shook themselves free, but the moment they paused for food or rest they were overtaken and the running fight went on. Then, little by little, the pursuing columns began to creep past the crumbling rear-guard; cavalry pounced on the foragers searching the countryside for food and captured the lumbering provision-wagons and the railroad supply trains which had been ordered to meet the fleeting army, while hundreds upon hundreds of starving men dropped from the ranks as they neared the bypaths leading to their homes. Still some thousands held together, many begging piteously for food at every house they passed and growing weaker with each step, but turning again and again with a burst of their old spirit to beat back the advance-guard of the forces that were slowly enfolding them. "There was as much gallantry displayed by some of the Confederates in these little engagements as was displayed at any time during the war, notwithstanding the sad defeats of the past week," wrote Grant many years later, and it was this splendid courage in the face of hardship and disaster that enabled the remnants of the once invincible army to keep up their exhausting flight. As they neared Appomattox Court House, however, the blue battalions were closing in on them from every side like a pack of hounds in full cry of a long-hunted quarry and escape was practically cut off. For five days Grant had been in the saddle personally conducting the pursuit with restless energy, and he knew that he was now in a position to strike a crushing blow, but instead of ordering a merciless attack, he sent the following letter to Lee: "Headquarters Armies of the U.S. "5 P.M. Apr. 7, 1865. "General R. E. Lee,--Commanding Confederate States Armies. "The results of the last week must convince you of the hopelessness of further resistance on the part of the Army of Northern Virginia in this struggle. I feel that it is so and regard it as my duty to shift from myself the responsibility of any further effusion of blood by asking of you the surrender of that portion of the Confederate States Army known as the Army of Northern Virginia. "U. S. Grant, "Lieut. General." Meanwhile the retreating columns staggered along, their pace growing slower and slower with every mile, and at last a courier arrived bearing Lee's reply. "General: "I have received your note of this day. Though not entertaining the opinion you express on the hopelessness of further resistance on the part of the Army of Northern Virginia I reciprocate your desire to avoid useless effusion of blood and therefore, before considering your proposition, ask the terms you will offer on condition of its surrender. "R. E. Lee, "General." Grant promptly responded that peace being his great desire, there was only one condition he would insist upon and that was that the surrendered men and officers should not again take up arms against the United States until properly exchanged. But Lee was not yet ready to yield and continuing to move forward with his faithful veterans, he sent a dignified reply, declining to surrender but suggesting a meeting between himself and Grant, with the idea of seeing if some agreement could not be reached for making peace between the two sections of the country. This was not the answer that Grant had hoped for, but he had too much admiration for his gallant adversary to ride rough shod over him when he held him completely in his power, and while he gave the necessary orders to prepare for closing in, he sent another courteous note to Lee dated April 9, 1865: "General. "Your note of yesterday is received. I have no authority to treat on the subject of peace; the meeting proposed for 10 A.M. today could lead to no good. I will state, however, General, that I am equally anxious for peace with yourself and the whole North entertains the same feeling. The terms upon which peace can be had are well understood.... Seriously hoping that all our difficulties may be settled without the loss of another life, I subscribe myself, etc., "U. S. Grant, "Lt. General." The courier bearing this message dashed off and disappeared and the chase continued, masses of blue infantry pressing forward under cover of darkness and overlapping the weary columns of gray that stumbled on with lagging steps. Meanwhile, the morning of April 9th dawned and Lee determined to make one more desperate effort at escape. Behind him an overwhelming force was crowding and threatening to crush his rear-guard; on either flank the blue-coated lines were edging closer and closer; but in front there appeared to be only a thin screen of cavalry which might be pierced; and beyond lay the mountains and safety. At this cavalry then he hurled his horsemen with orders to cut their way through and force an opening for the rest of the army, who vigorously supported the attack. It was, indeed, a forlorn hope that was thus entrusted to the faithful squadrons, but they responded with matchless dash and spirit, tearing a wide gap through the opposing cavalry and capturing guns and prisoners. Then they suddenly halted and surveyed the field with dumb despair. Behind the parted screen of horsemen lay a solid wall of blue infantry arrayed in line of battle and hopelessly blocking the road. One glance was enough to show them what Grant's night march had accomplished, and the baffled riders wheeled and reported the situation to their chief. Lee listened calmly to the news which was not wholly unexpected. There was still a chance that a portion of his force might escape, if he was willing to let them attempt to fight their way out against awful odds, but no thought of permitting such a sacrifice crossed his mind. "Then there is nothing left for me but to go and see Gen. Grant," he observed to those around him. But desperate as their plight had been for days, his officers were unprepared for this announcement. "Oh, General!" one of them protested, "What will history say of the surrender of the army in the field?" "Yes," he replied. "I know they will say hard things of us; they will not understand how we were overwhelmed by numbers. But that is not the question, Colonel. The question is, is it right to surrender this army? If it is right, then I will take all the responsibility." No response was offered by the little group and turning to one of his staff, Lee quietly gave an order. A few moments later white flags were fluttering at the head of the halted columns and an officer rode out slowly from the lines bearing a note to Grant. Chapter XXX. -- The Surrender While Lee's messenger was making his way toward the Union lines, Grant was riding rapidly to the front where his forces had foiled the Confederate cavalry. For more than a week he had been constantly in the saddle, moving from one point on his lines to another and begrudging even the time for food and sleep in his efforts to hasten the pursuit. But the tremendous physical and mental strain to which he had subjected himself had already begun to tell upon him, and he had passed the previous night under a surgeon's care endeavoring to put himself in fit condition for the final struggle which Lee's refusal to surrender led him to expect. The dawn of April 9th, however, found him suffering with a raging headache, and well-nigh exhausted after his sleepless night he rode forward feeling more like going to the hospital than taking active command in the field. He had already advanced some distance and was within two or three miles of Appomattox Court House, when an officer overtook him and handed him these lines from Lee: "Apr. 9, 1865. "General: "I received your note of this morning on the picket line whither I had come to meet you and ascertain definitely what terms were embraced in your proposal of yesterday with reference to the surrender of this army. I now ask an interview in accordance with the offer contained in your letter of yesterday for that purpose. "R. E. Lee, "General." The moment Grant's eyes rested on these words his headache disappeared, and instantly writing the following reply, he put spurs to his horse and galloped on: "Apr. 9, 1865. "Your note of this date is but this moment (11:50 A. M.) received in consequence of my having passed from the Richmond and Lynchburg Road to the Farmville and Lynchburg Road. I am at this writing about four miles west of Walker's Church and will push forward to the front for the purpose of meeting you. Notice sent to me on this road where you wish the interview to take place will meet me. "U. S. Grant, "Lt. General." The troops under Sheridan were drawn up in line of battle when Grant arrived on the scene and his officers, highly excited at the favorable opportunity for attacking the Confederates, urged him to allow no cessation of hostilities until the surrender was actually made. But Grant would not listen to anything of this sort, and directing that he be at once conducted to General Lee, followed an orderly who led him toward a comfortable two-story, brick dwelling in Appomattox village owned by a Mr. McLean who had placed it at the disposal of the Confederate commander. Mounting the broad piazza steps, Grant entered the house, followed by his principal generals and the members of his staff, and was ushered into a room at the left of the hall, where Lee, accompanied by only one officer, awaited him. As the two commanders shook hands the Union officers passed toward the rear of the room and remained standing apart. Then Lee motioned Grant to a chair placed beside a small marble-topped table, at the same time seating himself near another table close at hand. Neither man exhibited the slightest embarrassment and Grant, recalling that they had served together during the Mexican War, reminded Lee of this fact, saying that he remembered him very distinctly as General Scott's Chief of Staff but did not suppose that an older and superior officer would remember him. But Lee did remember him and in a few minutes he was chatting quietly with his former comrade about the Mexican campaign and old army days. It would be impossible to imagine a greater contrast than that afforded by the two men as they thus sat conversing. Lee wore a spotless gray uniform, long cavalry boots, spurs and gauntlets, and carried the beautiful sword given to him by Virginia, presenting altogether a most impressive appearance; and his tall, splendidly proportioned figure and grave dignified bearing heightened the effect. His well-trimmed hair and beard were almost snow white, adding distinction to his calm, handsome face without suggesting age, and his clear eyes and complexion and erect carriage were remarkable for a man of fifty-eight. Grant was barely forty-three, and his hair and beard were brown with a touch of gray, but his face was worn and haggard from recent illness, and his thickset figure and drooping shoulders were those of a man well advanced in years. For uniform he wore the blouse of a private, to which the shoulder straps of a lieutenant-general had been stitched; his trousers were tucked into top boots worn without spurs; he carried no sword and from head to foot he was splashed with mud. He, himself, was conscious of the strange contrast between his appearance and that of his faultlessly attired opponent, for he apologized for his unkempt condition, explaining that he had come straight from active duty in the field, and then as the conversation regarding Mexico continued he grew so pleasantly interested that the object of the meeting almost passed from his mind, and it was Lee who first recalled it to his attention. He then called for pencil and paper, and without having previously mapped out any phrases in his mind, he began to draft an informal letter to Lee, outlining the terms of surrender. Nothing could have been more clear and simple than the agreement which he drafted, nor could the document have been more free from anything tending to humiliate or offend his adversary. It provided merely for the stacking of guns, the parking of cannon and the proper enrollment of the Confederate troops, all of whom were to remain unmolested as long as they obeyed the laws and did not again take up arms against the Government, and it concluded with the statement that the side arms of the officers were not to be surrendered and that all such officers who owned their own horses should be permitted to retain them. Lee watched the writing of this letter in silence, and when Grant handed it to him he read it slowly, merely remarking as he returned it that the provision allowing the officers to keep their horses would have a happy effect, but that in the Confederate army the cavalry and artillerymen likewise owned their own horses. That hint was quite sufficient for Grant, who immediately agreed to make the concession apply to all the soldiers, whether officers or privates, observing as he again handed the paper to Lee that his men would probably find their horses useful in the spring ploughing when they returned to their farms. Lee responded that the concession would prove most gratifying to his soldiers, and, turning to his secretary, dictated a short, simple reply to his opponent, accepting his conditions. While these letters were being copied in ink, Grant introduced his officers to Lee and strove to make the situation as easy as possible for him. Indeed, throughout the whole interview he displayed the most admirable spirit, tactfully conceding all that his adversary might reasonably have asked, thus saving him from the embarrassment of making any request and generally exhibiting a delicate courtesy and generosity which astonished those who judged him merely by his rough exterior. But Grant, though uncouth in appearance and unpolished in manners, was a gentleman in the best sense of the word, and he rose to the occasion with an ease and grace that left nothing to be desired. As soon as the letters were signed the Confederate commander shook his late opponent's hand and turned to leave the room. The Union officers followed him to the door as he departed but tactfully refrained from accompanying him further and attended only by his secretary, he passed down the broad steps of the piazza, gravely saluted the group of officers gathered there who respectfully rose at his approach, mounted his old favorite "Traveller" and rode slowly toward his own lines. By this time the news of the surrender had reached the Union army and cannon began booming a salute in honor of the joyful tidings. But Grant instantly stopped this and ordered that there should be no demonstrations or exultation of any kind which would offend Lee's men. In the same generous spirit he kept his men strictly within their own lines when the Confederates stacked their guns and no one, except the officers assigned to receive the arms, was permitted to witness this final act of surrender[1]. He likewise declined to visit Richmond lest his presence should be regarded as the triumphal entry of a conqueror or smack of exulting over his fallen foes, and with fully a million bayonets behind him ready to win him further glory, his foremost thought was to end the war without the loss of another life. With this idea, on the morning after the surrender, he sought another interview with Lee. [1]Since the first edition of this volume was published the writer has been furnished, through the courtesy of Mr. Jefferson K. Cole of Massachusetts, with documentary proof that the formal surrender of what remained of Lee's infantry was made in the presence of the First Division of the 5th Corps of the Army of the Potomac, General Joshua L. Chamberlain commanding. Therefore, although it is true that Grant avoided all humiliation of the Confederates, it is evident that a small portion of his troops did witness the final act of surrender, and the statement in the text should be accordingly amended. Chapter XXXI. -- Lee's Years of Peace Desperate as their plight had been for many days, Lee's men had not wholly abandoned the hope of escape, but when their beloved commander returned from the Federal lines they saw by his face that the end had come, and crowding around him, they pressed his hands, even the strongest among them shedding bitter tears. For a time he was unable to respond in words to this touching demonstration, but finally, with a great effort, he mastered his emotion and bravely faced his comrades. "Men," he said, "we have fought through the war together; I have done my best for you; my heart is too full to say more." Brief as these words were, all who heard them realized that Lee saw no prospect of continuing the struggle and meant to say so. He was, of course, well aware that the Confederates had many thousand men still in the field, and that by separating into armed bands they could postpone the end for a considerable period. But this to his mind was not war and he had no sympathy with such methods and no belief that they could result in anything but more bloodshed and harsher terms for the South. A word from him would have been quite sufficient to encourage the other commanders to hold out and prolong the cruelly hopeless contest, but he had determined not to utter it. Grant was firmly convinced that this would be his attitude, but whether he would actually advise the abandonment of the cause was another question, and it was to suggest this course that the Union commander sought him out on the morning after the surrender. This second interview occurred between the lines of the respective armies and as the former adversaries sat conversing on horseback, Grant tactfully introduced the subject of ending the war. He knew, he told Lee, that no man possessed more influence with the soldiers and the South in general than he did, and that if he felt justified in advising submission his word would doubtless have all the effect of law. But to this suggestion Lee gravely shook his head. He frankly admitted that further resistance was useless, but he was unwilling to pledge himself to give the proposed advice until he had consulted with the Confederate President, and Grant did not urge him, feeling certain that he would do what he thought right. Nor was this confidence misplaced, for though Lee never positively advised a general surrender, his opinions soon came to be known and in a short time all the Confederate forces in the field yielded. But though peace was thus restored, the war had left two countries where it had found one, and to the minds of many people they could never be united again. It was then that Lee showed his true greatness, for from the moment of his surrender he diligently strove by voice and pen and example to create harmony between the North and South and to help in the rebuilding of the nation. To those who asked his opinion as to whether they should submit to the Federal authorities and take the required oath of allegiance, he unhesitatingly replied, "If you intend to reside in this country and wish to do your part in the restoration of your state and in the government of the country, which I think is the duty of every citizen, I know of no objection to your taking the oath." He denounced the assassination of Lincoln as a crime to be abhorred by every American, discountenanced the idea of Southerners seeking refuge in foreign lands, scrupulously obeyed every regulation of the military authorities regarding paroled prisoners and exerted all the influence at his command to induce his friends to work with him for the reconciliation of the country. Even when it was proposed to indict and try him for treason he displayed no resentment or bitterness. "I have no wish to avoid any trial that the Government may order. I hope others may go unmolested," was his only comment. But no such persecution was to be permitted, for Grant interfered the moment he heard of it, insisting that his honor and that of the nation forbade that Lee should be disturbed in any way, and his indignant protest straightway brought the authorities to their senses. In the meanwhile, innumerable propositions reached Lee, offering him great monetary inducements to lend his name and fame to business enterprises of various kinds, but although he had lost all his property and was practically penniless, he would not consent to undertake work that he did not feel competent to perform and would listen to no suggestion of receiving compensation merely for the use of his name. His desire was to identify himself with an institution of learning where he could be of some public service, and at the same time gain the peaceful home life of which he had dreamed for so many years. As soon as this was understood offers came to him from the University of Virginia and the University of the South at Suwannee, Tennessee, but he feared that his association with a State institution like the University of Virginia might create a feeling of hostility against it on the part of the Federal Government, and the Vice-Chancellorship of the Tennessee university would have required him to leave his native state. Finally, the Trustees of Washington College offered him the Presidency of that institution and the fact that it bore the name of the first President and had been endowed by him straightway appealed to his imagination. At one time the college had been in a flourishing condition but it had suffered severely from the war, much of its property having been destroyed and only a handful of students remained when he was invited to take charge of its tottering fortunes. Indeed, the Trustees themselves were so impoverished that none of them possessed even a decent suit of clothes in which to appear before Lee and submit their proposition. Nevertheless, one of them borrowed a respectable outfit for the occasion and presented the offer with much dignity and effect and Lee, after modestly expressing some doubts as to whether he could "discharge the duties to the satisfaction of the Trustees or to the benefit of the country," accepted the office at a merely nominal salary, closing his formal acceptance of Aug. 11, 1865, with these words: "I think it the duty of every citizen in the present condition of the country to do all in his power to aid in the restoration of peace and harmony and in no way to oppose the policy of the state or general Government directed to that object." This was the key-note of his thought from this time forward. "Life is indeed gliding away and I have nothing of good to show for mine that is past," he wrote shortly after assuming his new duties. "I pray I may be spared to accomplish something for the benefit of mankind and the honor of God." It was no easy task to reëstablish an institution practically destitute of resources in a poverty-stricken community struggling for a bare subsistence after the ravages of war. But Lee devoted himself body and soul to the work, living in the simplest possible fashion. Indeed, he refused to accept an increase in his meager salary, which would have provided him with some of the ordinary comforts of life, on the ground that the institution needed every penny of its funds for its development. But though the work was hard he took keen pleasure in seeing it grow under his hands, and, little by little, the college regained its prestige, while with the help of his daughters he made his new home a place of beauty, planting flowers about the little house and doing all in his power to make it attractive for his invalid wife. Thus, for five years he lived far removed from the turmoil of public life, performing a constant public service by exerting a direct personal influence upon the students who came under his charge, and by doing everything in his power to reunite the nation. Suggestions were constantly made to him to enter politics and had he cared to do so, he could undoubtedly have been elected to the Governorship of Virginia. But he steadily declined to consider this, declaring that it might injure the state to have a man so closely identified with the war at its head and that he could best help in restoring harmony to the country in the capacity of a private citizen. During all this time he took an active interest in his sons, encouraging them in their efforts to establish themselves and earn their own living, visiting their farms and advising them in the comradely spirit which had always characterized his relations with them. Indeed, every moment he could spare from his collegiate duties was devoted to his family, and his letters to his children, always cheerful and affectionate and sometimes even humorously gay, expressed contentment and unselfishness in every line. At times it required great self-restraint to avoid bitterness toward the Government, but even when Congress refused his wife's petition for the restoration of the mementos of Washington, taken from her home in Arlington during the war, he refrained from making any public protest and his private comment showed how completely he subordinated his personal wishes to the good of the country. "In reference to certain articles which were taken from Arlington..." he wrote, "Mrs. Lee is indebted...for the order from the present Administration for their restoration to her. Congress, however, passed a resolution forbidding their return. They were valuable to her as having belonged to her great grandmother (Mrs. General Washington) and having been bequeathed to her by her father. But as the country desires them she must give them up. I hope their presence at the capital will keep in the remembrance of all Americans the principles and virtues of Washington." [These articles were restored to Lee's family by the order of President McKinley in 1903.] Toward the individuals, however, who had looted his house and appropriated its treasures to their own use, he felt rather differently. But his rebuke to them was written rather more in sorrow than in anger and it likewise reflects the regard for his country which was ever the uppermost thought in his mind. "...A great many things formerly belonging to General Washington, bequeathed to Mrs. Lee by her father, in the shape of books, furniture, camp equipage, etc., were carried away by individuals and are now scattered over the land," he wrote. "I hope the possessors appreciate them and may imitate the example of their original owners whose conduct must at times be brought to their recollection by these silent monitors. In this way they will accomplish good to the country...." For his first four years at Washington College Lee accomplished his arduous duties with scarcely a sign of fatigue, but from that time forward his health began to fail and though he kept at his work, it told so heavily upon him that his friends at last persuaded him to take a vacation. He, accordingly, started south with his daughter in March, 1870. Had he permitted it, his journey would have been one continual ovation, for this was the first time he had traveled any considerable distance from his home since the war and people flocked to greet him from all sides with bands and speeches and cart-loads of flowers and fruits. Indeed, it was extremely difficult to escape the public receptions, serenades and other honors thrust upon him, and though he returned to his duties in somewhat better condition, he was soon obliged to retire to Hot Springs, Virginia, for another rest, from which he returned toward the end of the summer vacation apparently restored to health. Meanwhile he had undertaken various other duties in addition to his collegiate work and some two weeks after the reopening of the college he attended a vestry meeting of the Episcopal Church. At this meeting the subject of rebuilding the church and increasing the rector's salary was under discussion and the session lasted for three hours, at the close of which he volunteered to subscribe from his own meager funds the sum needed to complete the proposed increase of the clergyman's salary. By this time it was seven in the evening and he at once returned to his own house, and finding his family ready for tea, stood at the head of the table as he usually did to say grace. But no words came from his lips, and with an expression of resignation on his face he quietly slipped into his chair and sat there upright as though he had heard an order to which he was endeavoring to respond by remaining at "attention." Physicians were immediately called who diagnosed the trouble as hardening of the arteries combined with rheumatism of the heart, and though their patient never quite lost consciousness, he gradually fell asleep, and on October 12, 1870, passed quietly away. Three days later "Traveller," led by two old soldiers and followed by a small but distinguished assemblage, accompanied his master to the grave outside the little chapel which Lee had helped to build for the college which soon thereafter changed its name to Washington and Lee University. Nothing could have been more grateful to Lee then to have his name thus associated with that of the man whom he revered above all other men and upon whom he had patterned his whole life, and in this graceful tribute he had his heart's desire. Chapter XXXII. -- The Head of the Nation While Lee was passing the closing years of his life in tranquility, Grant was entering upon a stormy career in politics. But before he had any thought of the honors that lay before him he proved himself a good friend to the South and a really great American. Toward his late adversaries he maintained that the true policy was "to make friends of enemies," and by word and deed he earnestly strove to accomplish that result, never losing an opportunity to protect the people of the South from humiliation and injustice. Indeed, if he and some of the other Union commanders had been given complete authority directly after the war, the South would have been spared much suffering and the nation would have escaped some of the evils which inflict it to this day. But Grant's service to the country, as a whole, was far greater than that which he undertook on behalf of any particular section, for at a critical moment he held the destiny of the nation in the hollow of his hand and a word from him would have subjected the people to a military control from which they might never have recovered. At the time of Lee's surrender the United States had probably the most powerful and the most perfectly equipped army in the world. It was absolutely at Grant's disposal and there were plenty of excuses for employing it in the field, had he been ambitious for military glory. An attack on the French in Mexico or the English in Canada would have been regarded by many people as perfectly justified by their treatment of the United States during the Civil War. But no idea of perpetuating his own power or of making his country a military nation entered Grant's mind. On the contrary, his first thought was to hasten by every possible means the disbanding of the mighty army which hailed him as its chief. At the close of the war that army numbered over a million men. Six months later only 183,000 remained in the service, and in eight months more the whole force of volunteers had disappeared. No other great commander in the history of the world ever strove thus to deprive himself of power, or with a gigantic instrument of war under his control thought only of peace. Grant was not the greatest military genius of the ages, or even of his own time, but when, with a million bayonets responsive to his nod, he uttered the benediction, "Let us have peace," he took a place apart among those Americans whose fame will never die. One great triumphant pageant marked the success of the Union cause when the returning armies were reviewed by the President in Washington, cavalry, infantry and artillery by the tens of thousands passing down Pennsylvania Avenue for two whole days, presenting a magnificent spectacle never surpassed in the military annals of any land. But the same spirit which had actuated Grant in refusing to visit Richmond caused him to shun any part of this historic parade, and those who expected to see him on a prancing horse at the head of his veteran troops had little knowledge of his character. He had never made an exhibition of himself at any time during the war, and though he was present on this occasion, he kept in the background and few people caught even a glimpse of him as the well-nigh endless ranks of blue swept by in proud array. For a time the work of disbanding the army obliged him to remain at Washington, but at the first opportunity he started west to revisit Galena, Georgetown and the scenes of his boyhood days. But, if he hoped to renew his acquaintance with old friends without public recognition and acclaim he was speedily disillusioned, for the whole countryside turned out to welcome him with processions, banners and triumphal arches, hailing as a hero the man who had lived among them almost unnoticed and somewhat despised. Many people had already declared that he would be the next President of the United States, but when some prophecy of this kind had been repeated to him, he had laughingly replied that he did not want any political office, though he would like to be Mayor of Galena long enough to have a sidewalk laid near his home, and this rumor had reached the town. The first sight that greeted his eyes, therefore, as he entered Galena was an arch bearing the words "General, the sidewalk is laid!" and his fellow townsmen straightway carried him off to inspect this improvement, at the same time showing him a new house built and furnished by his neighbors for his use and in which they begged that he would make himself at home. It was a proud moment for his father and mother when they saw the son who had once disappointed them so deeply received with such marks of affection and honored as the greatest man of his day, and their joy was the most satisfying reward he was ever destined to obtain. But gratifying as all these kindly attentions were the returning hero was somewhat relieved to find that Georgetown, which had largely sympathized with the Confederacy, offered him a less demonstrative welcome. Nevertheless, even there curiosity and admiration combined to rob him of all privacy, and he at last decided to avoid the public gaze by slipping away for one of those long solitary drives which had been his delight in boyhood days. But the residents of the village toward which he turned received word of his coming and started a delegation out to meet him half way. After journeying many miles, however, without seeing any signs of the cavalcade they were expecting, the procession encountered a dusty traveler driving a team in a light road wagon, and halting him asked if he had heard anything of General Grant. "Yes," he reported, "he's on the way," and clicking to his horses quickly disappeared from view. Then someone suggested that perhaps the General might not be traveling on horseback surrounded by his staff and that the dusty traveler who had reported Grant as on the way looked somewhat like the man himself. But the solitary stranger "who looked like Grant" was miles away before this was realized, and when the procession started on his track he was safely out of reach. Doubtless, the sight of this unpretentious man in citizen attire was disappointing to many who expected to see a dashing hero in a gorgeous uniform, but his dislike of all military parade soon came to be widely known. His hosts at one village, however, were not well informed of this, for they urged him to prolong his stay with them in order that he might see and review the local troops which were to assemble in his honor, but he quickly begged to be excused, remarking that he wished he might never see a uniform again. Certainly there was nothing of the conquering hero or even of the soldier about him when a little later in the course of his duty, he made a tour of the South in order to report on its general condition, and in many places he came and went entirely unnoticed. But though the mass of the people did not know of his presence, he formed an unusually accurate estimate of their views on public questions. "The citizens of the Southern States,..." he reported, "are in earnest in wishing to do what is required by the Government, not humiliating them as citizens, and if such a course was pointed out they would pursue it in good faith." Happy would it have been for the South and for the whole country if this advice had been followed, but the President and Congress were soon engaged in a violent struggle over the reconstruction of the seceded states, and anger, rather than wisdom, ruled the day. In the course of this quarrel Stanton, the Secretary of War, was removed and Grant, temporarily appointed in his place (Aug. 12, 1867), held the office for about five months, thus taking the first step in the long political career which lay before him. Ten months later he was elected President of the United States and at the end of his term (1872) he was reëlected by an overwhelming vote. Those eight years were years of stress and strain, and his judgment in surrounding himself with men unworthy of his confidence made bitter enemies of many of those who had once supported him. He was, however, intensely loyal by nature and having once made a friend he stuck to him through thick and thin, making his cause his own and defending him, even in the face of the facts, against any and all attack. He, accordingly, assumed a heavy burden of blame that did not rightly rest upon his shoulders, but in spite of this many people desired to see him again elected to the presidency and they were sorely disappointed when he refused to become a candidate. On the whole, he had deserved well of the country and the people recognized that he had done much to uphold their honor and dignity, even though he had been too often imposed upon by unreliable and even dangerous friends. A long tour around the world followed his retirement from the Presidency and his reception in the various countries was a magnificent tribute to his record as a general and a ruler. Meanwhile, an effort was being made by his friends to secure his nomination for a third Presidential term, and shortly after he returned home (1880) he was persuaded to enter the field again. At first he regarded the result with indifference, but as time wore on he warmed with the enthusiasm of his friends and keenly desired to secure the honor. But no man had ever been elected three times to the Presidency and there was a deep-centered prejudice against breaking this tradition. Grant's candidacy therefore encountered bitter opposition, and though a large number of his friends held out for him to the last and almost forced his nomination, General Garfield was finally selected in his place. This virtually retired him from politics, and to occupy himself and make a living he went into business with one of his sons who had associated himself with certain bankers in Wall Street. Here, however, his notoriously bad judgment of men and his utter ignorance of the business world soon brought him to grief, for he and his son left the management of their firm to the other partners who outrageously imposed upon them for a time and then left them face to face with ruin and disgrace. The shock of this disaster fairly staggered Grant, but he bravely met the situation and stripping himself of every vestige of his property, including the swords that had been presented him and the gifts bestowed by foreign nations, strove to pay his debts. But, though reduced to penury, he was able to prove his entire innocence of the rascality of his partners and the general verdict of the country acquitted him of any dishonorable act. To earn sufficient money for his family in their dire necessity he then began to write the story of his military life and campaigns, but in the midst of this employment he was stricken with a most painful disease which incapacitated him for work and left him well-nigh helpless. At this crisis Congress came to his rescue by restoring him to his former rank in the army, with sufficient pay to meet his immediate needs. Then, to the amazement of his physicians, he rallied, and, though still suffering intensely and greatly enfeebled, he at once recommenced work upon his book. From that time forward his one thought was to live long enough to complete this task, and to it he devoted himself with almost superhuman courage and persistence, in the hope of being able to provide for his wife and family after he had gone. Indeed, in this daily struggle against disease and death he showed, not only all the qualities that had made him invincible in the field, but also the higher qualities of patience and unselfishness with which he had not been fully credited. Uncomplaining and considerate of everyone but himself, he looked death steadily in the face and wrote on day after day while the whole nation, lost in admiration of his dauntless courage, watched at his bedside with tender solicitude. At last, on July 23, 1885, the pencil slipped from his fingers. But his heroic task was done and no monument which has been or ever will be erected to his memory will serve as will those pages to insure him immortality, for "Grant's Memoirs," modest as the man himself, have become a part of the literature of the world. Authorities The following is a partial list of the authorities relied upon in the text: Grant's Personal Memoirs; Recollections and Letters of General Robert E. Lee (Captain R. E. Lee); Life of Robert E. Lee (Fitzhugh Lee); Robert E. Lee--Memoirs of His Military and Personal History (Long); Military History of U. S. Grant (Badeau); Grant in Peace (Badeau); R. E. Lee--The Southerner (Page); Robert E. Lee (Trent); Robert E. Lee and the Southern Confederacy (White); McClelland's Own Story; Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War (Henderson); The Story of the Civil War (Ropes); The Rise and Fall of the Confederate Government (Davis); History of the United States (1850-1877 Rhodes); The Campaign of Chancellorsville (Bigelow); Personal Memoirs (Sheridan); Memoirs of General Sherman; Reminiscences of Carl Shurz; From Manassas to Appomattox (Longstreet); Abraham Lincoln--A History (Nicolay and Hay); The Army Under Pope (Ropes); The Antietam and Fredericksburg (Palfrey); The Virginia Campaign of 1864 and 1865 (Humphreys); Chncellorsville (Doubleday); Life and Letters of Robert E. Lee (Jones); Ulysses S. Grant (Wister); Ulysses S. Grant (Garland); Campaigning with Grant (Porter); Autobiography of O. O. Howard. 
2805	----	WITH LEE IN VIRGINIA A Story Of The American Civil War. by G. A. Henty PREFACE. My Dear Lads: The Great War between the Northern and Southern States of America possesses a peculiar interest for us, not only because it was a struggle between two sections of a people akin to us in race and language, but because of the heroic courage with which the weaker party, with ill-fed, ill-clad, ill-equipped regiments, for four years sustained the contest with an adversary not only possessed of immense numerical superiority, but having the command of the sea, and being able to draw its arms and munitions of war from all the manufactories of Europe. Authorities still differ as to the rights of the case. The Confederates firmly believed that the States having voluntarily united, retained the right of withdrawing from the Union when they considered it for their advantage to do so. The Northerners took the opposite point of view, and an appeal to arms became inevitable. During the first two years of the war the struggle was conducted without inflicting unnecessary hardship upon the general population. But later on the character of the war changed, and the Federal armies carried wide-spread destruction wherever they marched. Upon the other hand, the moment the struggle was over the conduct of the conquerors was marked by a clemency and generosity altogether unexampled in history, a complete amnesty being granted, and none, whether soldiers or civilians, being made to suffer for their share in the rebellion. The credit of this magnanimous conduct was to a great extent due to Generals Grant and Sherman, the former of whom took upon himself the responsibility of granting terms which, although they were finally ratified by his government, were at the time received with anger and indignation in the North. It was impossible, in the course of a single volume, to give even a sketch of the numerous and complicated operations of the war, and I have therefore confined myself to the central point of the great struggle--the attempts of the Northern armies to force their way to Richmond, the capital of Virginia and the heart of the Confederacy. Even in recounting the leading events in these campaigns, I have burdened my story with as few details as possible, it being my object now, as always, to amuse as well as to give instruction in the facts of history. G. A. HENTY. Contents Chapter 1. A Virginian Plantation. Chapter 2. Buying a Slave. Chapter 3. Aiding a Runaway. Chapter 4. Safely Back. Chapter 5. Secession. Chapter 6. Bull Run. Chapter 7. The Merrimac and the Monitor. Chapter 8. McClellan's Advance. Chapter 9. A Prisoner. Chapter 10. The Escape. Chapter 11. Fugitives. Chapter 12. The Bush-Whackers. Chapter 13. Laid Up. Chapter 14. Across the Border. Chapter 15. Fredericksburg. Chapter 16. The Search for Dinah. Chapter 17. Chancellorsville. Chapter 18. A Perilous Undertaking. Chapter 19. Free. Chapter 20. The End of the Struggle. WITH LEE IN VIRGINIA: A STORY OF THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR CHAPTER I. A VIRGINIAN PLANTATION. "I won't have it, Pearson; so it's no use your talking. If I had my way you shouldn't touch any of the field hands. And when I get my way--that won't be so very long--I will take good care you sha'n't. But you sha'n't hit Dan." "He is not one of the regular house hands," was the reply; "and I shall appeal to Mrs. Wingfield as to whether I am to be interfered with in the discharge of my duties." "You may appeal to my mother if you like, but I don't think that you will get much by it. I tell you you are a deal too fond of that whip, Pearson. It never was heard of on the estate during my father's time, and it sha'n't be again when it comes to be mine, I can tell you. Come along, Dan; I want you at the stables." So saying, Vincent Wingfield turned on his heel, and followed by Dan, a negro lad of some eighteen years old, he walked off toward the house, leaving Jonas Pearson, the overseer of the Orangery estate, looking after him with an evil expression of face. Vincent Wingfield was the son of an English officer, who, making a tour in the States, had fallen in love with and won the hand of Winifred Cornish, a rich Virginian heiress, and one of the belles of Richmond. After the marriage he had taken her home to visit his family in England; but she had not been there many weeks before the news arrived of the sudden death of her father. A month later she and her husband returned to Virginia, as her presence was required there in reference to business matters connected with the estate, of which she was now the mistress. The Orangery, so called from a large conservatory built by Mrs. Wingfield's grandfather, was the family seat, and the broad lands around it were tilled by upward of two hundred slaves. There were in addition three other properties lying in different parts of the State. Here Vincent, with two sisters, one older and one younger than himself, had been born. When he was eight years old Major and Mrs. Wingfield had gone over with their children to England, and had left Vincent there for four years at school, his holidays being spent at the house of his father's brother, a country gentleman in Sussex. Then he had been sent for unexpectedly; his father saying that his health was not good, and that he should like his son to be with him. A year later his father died. Vincent was now nearly sixteen years old, and would upon coming of age assume the reins of power at the Orangery, of which his mother, however, would be the actual mistress as long as she lived. The four years Vincent had passed in the English school had done much to render the institution of slavery repugnant to him, and his father had had many serious talks with him during the last year of his life, and had shown him that there was a good deal to be said upon both sides of the subject. "There are good plantations and bad plantations, Vincent; and there are many more good ones than bad ones. There are brutes to be found everywhere. There are bad masters in the Southern States just as there are bad landlords in every European country. But even from self-interest alone, a planter has greater reason for caring for the health and comfort of his slaves than an English farmer has in caring for the comfort of his laborers. Slaves are valuable property, and if they are overworked or badly cared for they decrease in value. Whereas if the laborer falls sick or is unable to do his work the farmer has simply to hire another hand. It is as much the interest of a planter to keep his slaves in good health and spirits as it is for a farmer to feed and attend to his horses properly. "Of the two, I consider that the slave with a fairly kind master is to the full as happy as the ordinary English laborer. He certainly does not work so hard, if he is ill he is carefully attended to, he is well fed, he has no cares or anxieties whatever, and when old and past work he has no fear of the workhouse staring him in the face. At the same time I am quite ready to grant that there are horrible abuses possible under the laws connected with slavery. "The selling of slaves, that is to say, the breaking up of families and selling them separately, is horrible and abominable. If an estate were sold together with all the slaves upon it, there would be no more hardship in the matter than there is when an estate changes hands in England, and the laborers upon it work for the new master instead of the old. Were I to liberate all the slaves on this estate to-morrow and to send them North, I do not think that they would be in any way benefited by the change. They would still have to work for their living as they do now, and being naturally indolent and shiftless would probably fare much worse. But against the selling of families separately and the use of the lash I set my face strongly. "At the same time, my boy, whatever your sentiments may be on this subject, you must keep your mouth closed as to them. Owing to the attempts of Northern Abolitionists, who have come down here stirring up the slaves to discontent, it is not advisable, indeed it is absolutely dangerous, to speak against slavery in the Southern States. The institution is here, and we must make the best we can of it. People here are very sore at the foul slanders that have been published by Northern writers. There have been many atrocities perpetrated undoubtedly, by brutes who would have been brutes whenever they had been born; but to collect a series of such atrocities, to string them together into a story, and to hold them up, as Mrs. Beecher Stowe has, as a picture of slave-life in the Southern States, is as gross a libel as if any one were to make a collection of all the wife-beatings and assaults of drunken English ruffians, and to publish them as a picture of the average life of English people. "Such libels as these have done more to embitter the two sections of America against each other than anything else. Therefore, Vincent, my advice to you is, be always kind to your slaves--not over-indulgent, because they are very like children and indulgence spoils them--but be at the same time firm and kind to them, and with other people avoid entering into any discussions or expressing any opinion with regard to slavery. You can do no good and you can do much harm. Take things as you find them and make the best of them. I trust that the time may come when slavery will be abolished; but I hope, for the sake of the slaves themselves, that when this is done it will be done gradually and thoughtfully, for otherwise it would inflict terrible hardship and suffering upon them as well as upon their masters." There were many such conversations between father and son, for feeling on the subject ran very high in the Southern States, and the former felt that it was of the utmost importance to his son that he should avoid taking any strong line in the matter. Among the old families of Virginia there was indeed far less feeling on this subject than in some of the other States. Knowing the good feeling that almost universally existed between themselves and their slaves, the gentry of Virginia regarded with contempt the calumnies of which they were the subject. Secure in the affection of their slaves, an affection which was afterward abundantly proved during the course of the war, they scarcely saw the ugly side of the question. The worst masters were the smallest ones; the man who owned six slaves was far more apt to extort the utmost possible work from them than the planter who owned three or four hundred. And the worst masters of all were those who, having made a little money in trade or speculation in the towns, purchased a dozen slaves, a small piece of land, and tried to set up as gentry. In Virginia the life of the large planters was almost a patriarchal one; the indoor slaves were treated with extreme indulgence, and were permitted a far higher degree of freedom of remark and familiarity than is the case with servants in an English household. They had been the nurses or companions of the owners when children, had grown up with them, and regarded themselves, and were regarded by them, as almost part of the family. There was, of course, less connection between the planters and their field hands; but these also had for the most part been born on the estate, had as children been taught to look up to their white masters and mistresses, and to receive many little kindnesses at their hands. They had been cared for in sickness, and knew that they would be provided for in old age. Each had his little allotment, and could raise fruit, vegetables, and fowls for his own use or for sale in his leisure time. The fear of loss of employment or the pressure of want, ever present to English laborers, had never fallen upon them. The climate was a lovely one, and their work far less severe than that of men forced to toil in cold and wet, winter and summer. The institution of slavery assuredly was capable of terrible abuses, and was marked in many instances by abominable cruelty and oppression; but taken all in all, the negroes on a well-ordered estate, under kind masters, were probably a happier class of people than the laborers upon any estate in Europe. Jonas Pearson had been overseer in the time of Major Wingfield, but his authority had at that time been comparatively small, for the major himself personally supervised the whole working of the estate, and was greatly liked by the slaves, whose chief affections were, however, naturally bestowed upon their mistress, who had from childhood been brought up in their midst. Major Wingfield had not liked his overseer, but he had never had any ground to justify him making a change. Jonas, who was a Northern man, was always active and energetic; all Major Wingfield's orders were strictly and punctually carried out, and although he disliked the man, his employer acknowledged him to be an excellent servant. After the major's death, Jonas Pearson had naturally obtained greatly increased power and authority. Mrs. Wingfield had great confidence in him, his accounts were always clear and precise, and although the profits of the estate were not quite so large as they had been in her husband's lifetime, this was always satisfactorily explained by a fall in prices, or by a part of the crops being affected by the weather. She flattered herself that she herself managed the estate, and at times rode over it, made suggestions, and issued orders, but this was only in fits and starts; and although Jonas came up two or three times a week to the house nominally to receive her orders, he managed her so adroitly that while she believed that everything was done by her directions, she in reality only followed out the suggestions which, in the first place, came from him. She was aware, however, that there was less content and happiness on the estate than there had been in the old times. Complaints had reached her from time to time of overwork and harsh treatment. But upon inquiring into these matters, Jonas had always such plausible reasons to give that she was convinced he was in the right, and that the fault was among the slaves themselves, who tried to take advantage of the fact that they had no longer a master's eye upon them, and accordingly tried to shirk work, and to throw discredit upon the man who looked after the interests of their mistress; and so gradually Mrs. Wingfield left the management of affairs more and more in the hands of Jonas, and relied more implicitly upon him. The overseer spared no pains to gain the good-will of Vincent. When the latter declared that the horse he rode had not sufficient life and spirit for him, Jonas had set inquiries on foot, and had selected for him a horse which, for speed and bottom, had no superior in the State. One of Mrs. Wingfield's acquaintances, however, upon hearing that she had purchased the animal, told her that it was notorious for its vicious temper, and she spoke angrily to Jonas on the subject in the presence of Vincent. The overseer excused himself by saying that he had certainly heard that the horse was high spirited and needed a good rider, and that he should not have thought of selecting it had he not known that Mr. Vincent was a first-class rider, and would not care to have a horse that any child could manage. The praise was not undeserved. The gentlemen of Virginia were celebrated as good riders; and Major Wingfield, himself a cavalry man, had been anxious that Vincent should maintain the credit of his English blood, and had placed him on a pony as soon as he was able to sit on one. A pony had been kept for his use during his holidays at his uncle's in England, and upon his return Vincent had, except during the hours he spent with his father, almost lived on horseback, either riding about the estate, or paying visits to the houses of other planters. For an hour or more every day he exercised his father's horses in a paddock near the house, the major being wheeled down in an easy-chair and superintending his riding. As these horses had little to do and were full of spirit, Vincent's powers were often taxed to the utmost, and he had many falls; but the soil was light, and he had learned the knack of falling easily, and from constant practice was able at the age of fourteen to stick on firmly even without a saddle, and was absolutely fearless as to any animal he mounted. In the two years which had followed he had kept up his riding. Every morning after breakfast he rode to Richmond, six miles distant, put up his horse at some stable there, and spent three hours at school; the rest of the day was his own, and he would often ride off with some of his schoolfellows who had also come in from a distance, and not return home till late in the evening. Vincent took after his English father rather than his Virginian mother both in appearance and character, and was likely to become as tall and brawny a man as the former had been when he first won the love of the rich Virginian heiress. He was full of life and energy, and in this respect offered a strong contrast to most of his schoolfellows of the same age. For although splendid riders and keen sportsmen, the planters of Virginia were in other respects inclined to indolence; the result partly of the climate, partly of their being waited upon from childhood by attendants ready to carry out every wish. He had his father's cheerful disposition and good temper, together with the decisive manner so frequently acquired by a service in the army, and at the same time he had something of the warmth and enthusiasm of the Virginian character. Good rider as he was he was somewhat surprised at the horse the overseer had selected for him. It was certainly a splendid animal, with great bone and power; but there was no mistaking the expression of its turned-back eye, and the ears that lay almost flat on the head when any one approached him. "It is a splendid animal, no doubt, Jonas," he said the first time he inspected it; "but he certainly looks as if he had a beast of a temper. I fear what was told my mother about him is no exaggeration; for Mr. Markham told me to-day, when I rode down there with his son, and said that we had bought Wildfire, that a friend of his had had him once, and only kept him for a week, for he was the most vicious brute he ever saw." "I am sorry I have bought him now, sir," Jonas said. "Of course I should not have done so if I had heard these things before; but I was told he was one of the finest horses in the country, only a little tricky, and as his price was so reasonable I thought it a great bargain. But I see now I was wrong, and that it wouldn't be right for you to mount him; so I think we had best send him in on Saturday to the market and let it go for what it will fetch. You see, sir, if you had been three or four years older it would have been different; but naturally at your age you don't like to ride such a horse as that." "I sha'n't give it up without a trial," Vincent said shortly. "It is about the finest horse I ever saw; and if it hadn't been for its temper, it would be cheap at five times the sum you gave for it. I have ridden a good many bad-tempered horses for my friends during the last year, and the worst of them couldn't get me off." "Well, sir, of course you will do as you please," Jonas said; "but please to remember if any harm comes of it that I strongly advised you not to have anything to do with it, and I did my best to dissuade you from trying." Vincent nodded carelessly, and then turned to the black groom. "Jake, get out that cavalry saddle of my father's, with the high cantle and pommel, and the rolls for the knees. It's like an armchair, and if one can't stick on on that, one deserves to be thrown." While the groom was putting on the saddle, Vincent stood patting the horse's head and talking to it, and then taking its rein led it down into the inclosure. "No, I don't want the whip," he said, as Jake offered him one. "I have got the spurs, and likely enough the horse's temper may have been spoiled by knocking it about with a whip; but we will try what kindness will do with it first." "Me no like his look, Massa Vincent; he debbil ob a hoss dat." "I don't think he has a nice temper, Jake; but people learn to control their temper, and I don't see why horses shouldn't. At any rate we will have a try at it. He looks as if he appreciates being patted and spoken to already. Of course if you treat a horse like a savage he will become savage. Now, stand out of the way." Gathering the reins together, and placing one hand upon the pommel, Vincent sprang into the saddle without touching the stirrups; then he sat for a minute or two patting the horse's neck. Wildfire, apparently disgusted at having allowed himself to be mounted so suddenly, lashed out viciously two or three times, and then refused to move. For half an hour Vincent tried the effect of patient coaxing, but in vain. "Well, if you won't do it by fair means you must by foul," Vincent said at last, and sharply pricked him with his spurs. Wildfire sprang into the air, and then began a desperate series of efforts to rid himself of his rider, rearing and kicking in such quick succession that he seemed half the time in the air. Finding after awhile that his efforts were unavailing, he subsided at last into sulky immovability. Again Vincent tried coaxing and patting, but as no success attended these efforts, he again applied the spur sharply. This time the horse responded by springing forward like an arrow from a bow, dashed at the top of his speed across the inclosure, cleared the high fence without an effort, and then set off across the country. He had attempted to take the bit in his teeth, but with a sharp jerk as he drove the spurs in, Vincent had defeated his intention. He now did not attempt to check or guide him, but keeping a light hand on the reins let him go his own course. Vincent knew that so long as the horse was going full speed it could attempt no trick to unseat him, and he therefore sat easily in his saddle. For six miles Wildfire continued his course, clearing every obstacle without abatement to his speed, and delighting his rider with his power and jumping qualities. Occasionally, only when the course he was taking would have led him to obstacles impossible for the best jumper to surmount, Vincent attempted to put the slightest pressure upon one rein or the other, so as to direct it to an easier point. At the end of six miles the horse's speed began slightly to abate, and Vincent, abstaining from the use of his spurs, pressed it with his knees and spoke to it cheerfully urging it forward. He now from time to time bent forward and patted it, and for another six miles kept it going at a speed almost as great as that at which it had started. Then he allowed it gradually to slacken its pace, until at last first the gallop and then the trot ceased, and it broke into a walk. "You have had a fine gallop, old fellow," Vincent said, patting it; "and so have I. There's been nothing for you to lose your temper about, and the next road we come upon we will turn our face homeward. Half a dozen lessons like this, and then no doubt we shall be good friends." The journey home was performed at a walk, Vincent talking the greater part of the time to the horse. It took a good deal more than six lessons before Wildfire would start without a preliminary struggle with his master, but in the end kindness and patience conquered. Vincent often visited the horse in the stables, and, taking with him an apple or some pieces of sugar, spent some time there talking to and petting it. He never carried a whip, and never used the spurs except in forcing it to make its first start. Had the horse been naturally ill-tempered Vincent would probably have failed, but, as he happened afterward to learn, its first owner had been a hot-tempered and passionate young planter, who, instead of being patient with it, had beat it about the head, and so rendered it restive and bad-tempered. Had Vincent not laid aside his whip before mounting it for the first time, he probably would never have effected a cure. It was the fact that the animal had no longer a fear of his old enemy the whip as much as the general course of kindness and good treatment that had effected the change in his behavior. It was just when Vincent had established a good under-standing between himself and Wildfire that he had the altercation with the overseer, whom he found about to flog the young negro Dan. Pearson had sent the lad half an hour before on a message to some slaves at work at the other end of the estate, and had found him sitting on the ground watching a tree in which he had discovered a possum. That Dan deserved punishment was undoubted. He had at present no regular employment upon the estate. Jake, his father, was head of the stables, and Dan had made himself useful in odd jobs about the horses, and expected to become one of the regular stable hands. The overseer was of opinion that there were already more negroes in the stable than could find employment, and had urged upon Mrs. Wingfield that one of the hands there and the boy Dan should be sent out to the fields. She, however, refused. "I know you are quite right, Jonas, in what you say. But there were always four hands in the stable in my father's time, and there always have been up to now; and though I know they have an easy time of it, I certainly should not like to send any of them out to the fields. As to Dan, we will think about it. When his father was about his age he used to lead my pony when I first took to riding, and when there is a vacancy Dan must come into the stable. I could not think of sending him out as a field hand, in the first place for his father's sake, but still more for that of Vincent. Dan used to be told off to see that he did not get into mischief when he was a little boy, and he has run messages and been his special boy since he came back. Vincent wanted to have him as his regular house servant; but it would have broken old Sam's heart if, after being my father's boy and my husband's, another had taken his place as Vincent's." And so Dan had remained in the stable, but regarding Vincent as his special master, carrying notes for him to his friends, or doing any odd jobs he might require, and spending no small portion of his time in sleep. Thus he was an object of special dislike to the overseer; in the first place because he had not succeeded in having his way with regard to him, and in the second because he was a useless hand, and the overseer loved to get as much work as possible out of every one on the estate. The message had been a somewhat important one, as he wanted the slaves for some work that was urgently required; and he lost his temper, or he would not have done an act which would certainly bring him into collision with Vincent. He was well aware that the lad did not really like him, and that his efforts to gain his good-will had failed, and he had foreseen that sooner or later there would be a struggle for power between them. However, he relied upon his influence with Mrs. Wingfield, and upon the fact that she was the life-owner of the Orangery, and believed that he would be able to maintain his position even when Vincent came of age. Vincent on his side objected altogether to the overseer's treatment of the hands, of which he heard a good deal from Dan, and had already remonstrated with his mother on the subject. He, however, gained nothing by this. Mrs. Wingfield had replied that he was too young to interfere in such matters, that his English ideas would not do in Virginia, and that naturally the slaves were set against the overseer; and that now Pearson had no longer a master to support him, he was obliged to be more severe than before to enforce obedience. At the same time it vexed her at heart that there should be any severity on the Orangery estate, where the best relations had always prevailed between the masters and slaves, and she had herself spoken to Jonas on the subject. He had given her the same answer that she had given her son: "The slaves will work for a master, Mrs. Wingfield, in a way they will not for a stranger. They set themselves against me, and if I were not severe with them I should get no work at all out of them. Of course, if you wish it, they can do as they like; but in that case they must have another overseer. I cannot see a fine estate going to ruin. I believe myself some of these Abolition fellows have been getting among them and doing them mischief, and that there is a bad spirit growing up among them. I can assure you that I am as lenient with them as is possible to be. But if they won't work I must make them, so long as I stay here." And so the overseer had had his way. She knew that the man was a good servant, and that the estate was kept in excellent order. After all, the severities of which she had heard complaints were by no means excessive; and it was not to be expected that a Northern overseer could rule entirely by kindness, as the owner of an estate could do. A change would be most inconvenient to her, and she would have difficulty in suiting herself so well another time. Besides, the man had been with her sixteen years, and was, as she believed, devoted to her interests. Therefore she turned a deaf ear to Vincent's remonstrances. She had always been somewhat opposed to his being left in England at school, urging that he would learn ideas there that would clash with those of the people among whom his life was to be spent; and she still considered that her views had been justified by the result. The overseer was the first to give his version of the story about Dan's conduct; for on going to the house Vincent found his sisters, Rosa and Annie, in the garden, having just returned from a two days' visit to some friends in Richmond, and stayed chatting with them and listening to their news for an hour, and in the meantime Jonas had gone in and seen Mrs. Wingfield and told his story. "I think, Mrs. Wingfield," he said when he had finished, "that it will be better for me to leave you. It is quite evident that I can have no authority over the hands if your son is to interfere when I am about to punish a slave for an act of gross disobedience and neglect. I found that all the tobacco required turning, and now it will not be done this afternoon owing to my orders not being carried out, and the tobacco will not improbably be injured in quality. My position is difficult enough as it is; but if the slaves see that instead of being supported I am thwarted by your son, my authority is gone altogether. No overseer can carry on his work properly under such circumstances." "I will see to the matter, Jonas," Mrs. Wingfield said decidedly. "Be assured that you have my entire support, and I will see that my son does not again interfere." When, therefore, Vincent entered the house and began his complaint he found himself cut short. "I have heard the story already, Vincent. Dan acted in gross disobedience, and thoroughly deserved the punishment Jonas was about to give him. The work of the estate cannot be carried on if such conduct is to be tolerated; and once for all, I will permit no interference on your part with Jonas. If you have any complaints to make, come to me and make them; but you are not yourself to interfere in any way with the overseer. As for Dan, I have directed Jonas that the next time he gives cause for complaint he is to go into the fields." Vincent stood silent for a minute, then he said quietly: "Very well, mother. Of course you can do as you like; but at any rate I will not keep my mouth shut when I see that fellow ill-treating the slaves. Such things were never done in my father's time, and I won't see them done now. You said the other day you would get me a nomination to West Point as soon as I was sixteen. I should be glad if you would do so. By the time I have gone through the school, you will perhaps see that I have been right about Jonas." So saying, he turned and left the room and again joined his sisters in the drawing-room. "I have just told mother that I will go to West Point, girls," he said. "Father said more than once that he thought it was the best education I could get in America." "But I thought you had made up your mind that you would rather stop at home, Vincent?" "So I had, and so I would have done, but mother and I differ in opinion. That fellow Jonas was going to flog Dan, and I stopped him this morning, and mother takes his part against me. You know, I don't like the way he goes on with the slaves. They are not half so merry and happy as they used to be, and I don't like it. We shall have one of them running away next, and that will be a nice thing on what used to be considered one of the happiest plantations in Virginia. I can't make mother out; I should have thought that she would have been the last person in the world to have allowed the slaves to be harshly treated." "I am sure we don't like Jonas more than you do, Vincent; but you see mamma has to depend upon him so much. No, I don't think she can like it; but you can't have everything you like in a man, and I know she thinks he is a very good overseer. I suppose she could get another?" Vincent said he thought that there could not be much difficulty about getting an overseer. "There might be a difficulty in getting one she could rely on so thoroughly," Rosa said. "You see a great deal must be left to him. Jonas has been here a good many years now, and she has learned to trust him. It would be a long time before she had the same confidence in a stranger; and you may be sure that he would have his faults, though, perhaps, not the same as those of Jonas. I think you don't make allowance enough for mamma, Vincent. I quite agree with you as to Jonas, and I don't think mamma can like his harshness to the slaves any more than you do; but every one says what a difficulty it is to get a really trustworthy and capable overseer, and, of course, it is all the harder when there is no master to look after him." "Well, in a few years I shall be able to look after an overseer," Vincent said. "You might do so, of course, Vincent, if you liked; but unless you change a good deal, I don't think your supervision would amount to much. When you are not at school you are always on horseback and away, and we see little enough of you, and I do not think you are likely for a long time yet to give up most of your time to looking after the estate." "Perhaps you are right," Vincent said, after thinking for a minute; "but I think I could settle down too, and give most of my time to the estate, if I was responsible for it. I dare say mother is in a difficulty over it, and I should not have spoken as I did; I will go in and tell her so." Vincent found his mother sitting as he had left her. Although she had sided with Jonas, it was against her will; for it was grievous to her to hear complaints of the treatment of the slaves at the Orangery. Still, as Rosa had said, she felt every confidence in her overseer, and believed that he was an excellent servant. She was conscious that she herself knew nothing of business, and that she must therefore give her entire confidence to her manager. She greatly disliked the strictness of Jonas; but if, as he said, the slaves would not obey him without, he must do as he thought best. "I think I spoke too hastily, mother," Vincent said as he entered; "and I am sure that you would not wish the slaves to be ill-treated more than I should. I dare say Jonas means for the best." "I feel sure that he does, Vincent. A man in his position cannot make himself obeyed like a master. I wish it could be otherwise, and I will speak to him on the subject; but it will not do to interfere with him too much. A good overseer is not easy to get, and the slaves are always ready to take advantage of leniency. An easy master makes bad work, but an easy overseer would mean ruin to an estate. I am convinced that Jonas has our interests at heart, and I will tell him that I particularly wish that he will devise some other sort of punishment, such as depriving men who won't work of some of their privileges instead of using the lash." "Thank you, mother. At any rate, he might be told that the lash is never to be used without first appealing to you." "I will see about it, Vincent, and talk it over with him." And with that Vincent was satisfied. CHAPTER II. BUYING A SLAVE. Mrs. Wingfield did talk the matter over with the overseer, and things went on in consequence more smoothly. Vincent, however, adhered to his wish, and it was arranged that as soon as he could get a nomination he should go to West Point, which is to the American army what Sandhurst and Woolwich are to England. Before that could be done, however, a great political agitation sprang up. The slave States were greatly excited over the prospect of a Republican president being chosen, for the Republicans were to a great extent identified with the abolition movement; and public feeling, which had for some time run high, became intensified as the time approached for the election of a new president, and threats that if the Democrats were beaten and a Republican elected the slave States would secede from the Union, were freely indulged in. In Virginia, which was one of the most northern of the slave States, opinion was somewhat divided, there being a strong minority against any extreme measures being taken. Among Vincent's friends, however, who were for the most part the sons of planters, the Democratic feeling was very strongly in the ascendant, and their sympathies were wholly with the Southern States. That these had a right to secede was assumed by them as being unquestionable. But in point of fact there was a great deal to be said on both sides. The States which first entered the Union in 1776 considered themselves to be separate and sovereign States, each possessing power and authority to manage its own affairs, and forming only a federation in order to construct a central power, and so to operate with more effect against the mother country. Two years later the constitution of the United States was framed, each State giving up a certain portion of its authority, reserving its own self-government and whatever rights were not specifically resigned. No mention was made in the constitution of the right of a State to secede from the Union, and while those who insisted that each State had a right to secede if it chose to do so declared that this right was reserved, their opponents affirmed that such a case could never have been contemplated. Thus the question of absolute right had never been settled, and it became purely one of force. Early in November, 1860, it became known that the election of Mr. Lincoln, the Republican candidate, was assured, and on the ninth of that month the representatives of South Carolina met at Charleston, and unanimously authorized the holding of a State convention to meet in the third week in December. The announcement caused great excitement, for it was considered certain that the convention would pass a vote of secession, and thus bring the debated question to an issue. Although opinion in Virginia was less unanimous than in the more southern States, it was generally thought that she would imitate the example of South Carolina. On the day following the receipt of the news, Vincent, who had ridden over to the plantations of several of his friends to talk the matter over, was returning homeward, when he heard the sound of heavy blows with a whip and loud curses, and a moment later a shrill scream in a woman's voice rose in the air. Vincent checked his horse mechanically with an exclamation of anger. He knew but too well what was going on beyond the screen of shrubs that grew on the other side of the fence bordering the road. For a moment he hesitated, and then muttering, "What's the use!" was about to touch the horse with the whip and gallop on, when the shriek again rose louder and more agonizing than before. With a cry of rage Vincent leaped from his horse, threw the reins over the top of the fence, climbed over it in a moment, and burst his way through the shrubbery. Close by a negro was being held by four others, two having hold of each wrist and holding his arms extended to full length, while a white lad, some two years Vincent's senior, was showering blows with a heavy whip upon him. The slave's back was already covered with weals, and the blood was flowing from several places. A few yards distant a black girl, with a baby in her arms, was kneeling on the ground screaming for mercy for the slave. Just as Vincent burst through the bushes, the young fellow, irritated at her cries, turned round and delivered a tremendous blow with the whip on her bare shoulders. This time no cry came from her lips, but the slave, who had stood immovable while the punishment was being inflicted upon himself, made a desperate effort to break from the men who held him. He was unsuccessful, but before the whip could again fall on the woman's shoulders, Vincent sprang forward, and seizing it, wrested it from the hands of the striker. With an oath of fury and surprise at this sudden interruption, the young fellow turned upon Vincent. "You are a coward and a blackguard, Andrew Jackson!" Vincent exclaimed, white with auger. "You are a disgrace to Virginia, you ruffian!" Without a word the young planter, mad with rage at this interference, rushed at Vincent; but the latter had learned the use of his fists at his English school, and riding exercises had strengthened his muscles, and as his opponent rushed at him, he met him with a blow from the shoulder which sent him staggering back with the blood streaming from his lips. He again rushed forward, and heavy blows were exchanged; then they closed and grappled. For a minute they swayed to and from but although much taller, the young planter was no stronger than Vincent, and at last they came to the ground with a crash, Vincent uppermost, Jackson's head as he fell coming with such force against a low stump that he lay insensible. The contest had been so sudden and furious that none had attempted to interfere. Indeed the negroes were so astonished that they had not moved from the moment when Vincent made his appearance upon the scene. The lad rose to his feet. "You had better carry him up to the house and throw some water on him," he said to the negroes, and then turned to go away. As he did so, the slave who had been flogged broke from the others, who had indeed loosened their hold, and ran up to Vincent, threw himself on his knees, and taking the lad's hand pressed it to his lips. "I am afraid I haven't done you much good," Vincent said. "You will be none the better off for my interference; but I couldn't help it." So saying he made his way through the shrubbery, cleared the fence, mounted, and rode homeward. "I have been a fool," he said to himself as he rode along. "It will be all the worse for that poor beggar afterward; still I could not help it. I wonder will there be any row about it. I don't much expect there will, the Jacksons don't stand well now, and this would not do them any good with the people round; besides I don't think Jackson would like to go into court to complain of being thrashed by a fellow a head shorter than himself. It's blackguards like him who give the Abolitionists a right to hold up the slave-owners as being tyrants and brutes." The Jacksons were newcomers in Virginia. Six years before, the estate, of which the Cedars, as their place was called, formed a part, was put up for sale. It was a very large one, and having been divided into several portions to suit buyers, the Cedars had been purchased by Jackson, who, having been very successful as a storekeeper at Charleston, had decided upon giving up the business and leaving South Carolina, and settling down as a land-owner in some other State. His antecedents, however, were soon known at Richmond, and the old Virginian families turned a cold shoulder to the newcomer. Had he been a man of pleasant manners, he would gradually have made his way; but he was evidently not a gentleman. The habits of trade stuck to him, and in a very short time there were rumors that the slaves, whom he had bought with the property, found him a harsh and cruel master. This in itself would have been sufficient to bring him disrepute in Virginia, where as a rule the slaves were treated with great kindness, and indeed considered their position to be infinitely superior to that of the poorer class of whites. Andrew Jackson had been for a few months at school with Vincent; he was unpopular there, and from the rumors current as to the treatment of the slaves on the estate, was known by the nickname of the "slave-driver." Had Vincent been the son of a white trader, or a small cultivator, he knew well enough that his position would be a very serious one, and that he would have had to ride to the border of the State with all speed. He would have been denounced at once as an Abolitionist, and would have been accused of stirring up the slaves to rebellion against their masters; a crime of the most serious kind in the Southern States. But placed as he was, as the heir of a great estate worked by slaves, such a cry could hardly be raised against him. He might doubtless be fined and admonished for interfering between a master and his slave; but the sympathy of the better classes in Virginia would be entirely with him. Vincent, therefore, was but little concerned for himself; but he doubted greatly whether his interference had not done much more harm than good to the slave and his wife, for upon them Andrew Jackson would vent his fury. He rode direct to the stables instead of alighting as usual at the door. Dan, who had been sitting in the veranda waiting for him, ran down to the stables as he saw him coming. "Give the horse to one of the others, Dan; I want to speak to you. Dan," he went on when he had walked with him a short distance from the stables, "I suppose you know some of the hands on Jackson's plantation." Dan grinned, for although there was not supposed to be any communication between the slaves on the different estates, it was notorious that at night they were in the habit of slipping out of their huts and visiting each other. "I know some ob dem, Massa Vincent. What you want ob dem? Berry bad master, Massa Jackson. Wust master hereabouts." Vincent related what had happened, to Dan's intense delight. "Now, Dan," he went on, "I am afraid that after my interference they will treat that poor fellow and his wife worse than before. I want you to find out for me what is going on at Jackson's. I do not know that I can do anything, however badly they treat them; but I have been thinking that if they ill-treat them very grossly, I will get together a party of fifteen or twenty of my friends and we will go in a body to Jackson's, and warn him that if he behaves with cruelty to his slaves, we will make it so hot for him that he will have to leave the state. I don't say that we could do anything; but as we should represent most of the large estates round here, I don't think old Jackson and his son would like being sent to Coventry. The feeling is very strong at present against ill-treatment of the slaves. If these troubles lead to war almost all of us will go into the army, and we do not like the thought of the possibility of troubles among the hands when the whites are all away." "I will find out all about it for you to-night, sah. I don't suspect dat dey will do nuffin to-day. Andrew Jackson too sick after dat knock against de tump. He keep quiet a day or two." "Well, Dan, you go over to-night and find out all about it. I expect I had better have left things alone, but now I have interfered I shall go on with it." Mrs. Wingfield was much displeased when Vincent told her at dinner of his incident at Jackson's plantation and even his sisters were shocked at this interference between a master and his slave. "You will get yourself into serious trouble with these fanciful notions of yours," Mrs. Wingfield said angrily. "You know as well as I do how easy it is to get up a cry against any one as an Abolitionist and how difficult to disprove the accusation; and just at present, when the passions of every man in the South are inflamed to the utmost, such an accusation will be most serious. In the present instance there does not seem that there is a shadow of excuse for your conduct. You simply heard cries of a slave being flogged. You deliberately leave the road and enter these people's plantation and interfere without, so far as I can see, the least reason for doing so. You did not inquire what the man's offense was; and he may for aught you know have half murdered his master. You simply see a slave being flogged and you assault his owner. If the Jacksons lay complaints against you it is quite probable that you may have to leave the state. What on earth can have influenced you to act in such a mad-brained way?" "I did not interfere to prevent his flogging the slave, mother, but to prevent his flogging the slave's wife, which was pure wanton brutality. It is not a question of slavery one way or the other. Any one has a right to interfere to put a stop to brutality. If I saw a man brutally treating a horse or a dog I should certainly do so; and if it is right to interfere to save a dumb animal from brutal ill-treatment surely it must be justifiable to save a woman in the same case. I am not an Abolitionist. That is to say, I consider that slaves on a properly managed estate, like ours, for instance, are just as well off as are the laborers on an estate in Europe; but I should certainly like to see laws passed to protect them from ill-treatment. Why, in England there are laws against cruelty to animals; and a man who brutally flogged a dog or a horse would get a month's imprisonment with hard labor. I consider it a disgrace to us that a man may here ill-treat a human being worse than he might in England a dumb animal." "You know, Vincent," his mother said more quietly, "that I object as much as you do to the ill-treatment of the slaves, and that the slaves here, as on all well-conducted plantations in Virginia, are well treated; but this is not a time for bringing in laws or carrying out reforms. It is bad enough to have scores of Northerners doing their best to stir up mischief between masters and slaves without a Southern gentleman mixing himself up in the matter. We have got to stand together as one people and to protect our State rights from interference." "I am just as much in favor of State rights as any one else, mother; and if, as seems likely, the present quarrel is to be fought out, I hope I shall do my best for Virginia as well as other fellows of my own age. But just as I protest against any interference by the Northerners with our laws, I say that we ought to amend our laws so as not to give them the shadow of an excuse for interference. It is brutes like the Jacksons who have afforded the materials for libels like 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' upon us as a people; and I can't say that I am a bit sorry for having given that young Jackson what he deserved." "Well, I hope there will be no trouble come of it," Mrs. Wingfield said. "I shouldn't think the Jacksons would like the exposure of their doings which would be caused by bringing the matter into court; but if they do, you may be quite sure that a jury in Richmond at the present time would find against you." "I don't suppose that they will do anything, mother. But if they must, they must; and I don't suppose anything serious will come of it any way." The next morning Vincent went down early to the stables. As he approached them Dan came out to meet him. "Well, Dan, what's your news?" "Berry great bobbery ober at Jackson's last night, Massa Vincent. Fust of all I crept round to de huts ob de field hands. Dey all know nuffin bout it; but one of dem he goes off and gets to hab a talk with a gal employed in de house who was in de habit of slipping out to see him. She say when de young un war carried in de old man go on furious; he bring suit against you, he hab you punished berry much--no saying what he not going to do. After a time de young un come round, he listen to what the old man say for some time; den he answer: 'No use going on like dat. Set all de county families against us if we have suit. As to dat infernal young villain, me pay him out some other way.' Den de old man say he cut de flesh off de bones ob dat nigger; but de young one say: 'Mustn't do dat. You sure to hear about it, and make great bobbery. Find some oder way to punish him.' Den dey talk together for some time, but girl not hear any more." "Well, then, there will be no suit anyhow," Vincent said. "As to paying me out some other way, I will look after myself, Dan. I believe that fellow Jackson is capable of anything, and I will be on the lookout for him." "Be sure you do, Massa Vincent. You ride about a great deal, dat fellow bery like take a shot at you from behind tree. Don't you go near dat plantation, or sure enuff trouble come." "I will look out, Dan. There is one thing, I always ride fast; and it wants a very good shot to hit one at a gallop. I don't think they will try that; for if he missed, as he would be almost sure to do, it would be a good deal worse for him than this affair would have been had he brought it into court. You keep your ears open, Dan, and find out how they are thinking of punishing that poor fellow for my interference on his behalf." After breakfast a negro arrived with a note for Mrs. Wingfield from Mr. Jackson, complaining of the unwarrantable and illegal interference by her son on behalf of a slave who was being very properly punished for gross misconduct; and of the personal assault upon his son. The writer said that he was most reluctant to take legal proceedings against a member of so highly respected a family, but that it was impossible that he could submit to such an outrage as this. Although Mrs. Wingfield had expressed her disapproval of Vincent's conduct on the evening before, there was no trace of that feeling in her reply to this letter. She wrote in the third person, coldly acknowledging the receipt of Mr. Jackson's letter, and saying that she had heard from her son of his interference to put a stop to one of those brutal scenes which brought discredit upon the Southern States, and that she considered he had most rightly punished Mr. Jackson, jun., for his inhuman and revolting conduct; that she was perfectly aware the interference had been technically illegal, but that her son was fully prepared to defend his conduct if called upon to do so in the courts, and to pay any fine that might be inflicted for his suffering himself to be carried away by his righteous indignation. She ended by saying that as Mr. Jackson was a stranger in Virginia, he was perhaps not aware that the public sentiment of that State was altogether opposed to such acts of brutality as that of which his son had been guilty. "What have you been doing to that fellow Andrew Jackson?" one of Vincent's friends, a young fellow two years older than himself, said to him a few days later. "There were a lot of us talking over things yesterday, in Richmond, and he came up and joined in. Something was said about Abolitionists, and he said that he should like to see every Abolitionist in the State strung up to a tree. He is always pretty violent, as you know; but on the present occasion he went further than usual, and then went on to say that the worst and most dangerous Abolitionists were not Northern men but Southerners, who were traitors to their State. "He said: 'For example, there is that young Wingfield. He has been to England, and has come back with his heart filled with Abolitionist notions;' and that such opinions at the present time were a danger to the State. "Two or three of us took the matter up, as you might guess, and told him he had better mind what he was saying or it would be the worse for him. Harry Furniss went so far as to tell him that he was a liar, and that if he didn't like that he would have satisfaction in the usual way. Master Jackson didn't like it, but muttered something and slunk off. What's the matter between you?" "I should not have said anything about it," Vincent replied, "if Jackson had chosen to hold his tongue; but as he chooses to go about attacking me, there is no reason why I should keep the matter secret." And he then related what had taken place. The young Virginian gave a low whistle. "I don't say I blame you, Wingfield; but I tell you, you might have got yourself into an awful mess if the Jacksons had chosen to take it up. You know how hot the feeling is at present, and it is a serious matter at any time to interfere between a master and his slaves in the Southern States. Of course among us our feelings would be all against Jackson; but among the poorer class of whites, who have been tremendously excited by the speeches, both in the North and here, the cry of Abolitionist at the present moment is like a red rag to a bull. However, I understand now the fellow's enmity to you. "None of us ever liked him when he was at school with us. He is an evil-tempered brute, and I am afraid you may have some trouble with him. If he goes about talking as he did to us, he would soon get up a feeling against you. Of course it would be nonsense to openly accuse a member of an old Virginian family of being an Abolitionist; but it would be easy enough to set a pack of the rough classes of the town against you, and you might get badly mauled if they caught you alone. The fellow is evidently a coward or he would have taken up what Furniss said; but a coward who is revengeful is a good deal more dangerous than an open foe. However, I will talk it over with some of the others, and we will see if we can't stop Andrew Jackson's mouth." The result of this was that the next day half a dozen of Vincent's friends wrote a joint letter to Andrew Jackson, saying that they regarded his statements respecting Vincent as false and calumnious, and that if he repeated them they would jointly and severally hold him responsible; and that if, as a result of such accusations, any harm happened to Vincent, they should know where to look for the originator of the mischief, and punish him accordingly. "You should be more careful, Andrew," his father said, as white with fury, he showed him his letter. "It was you who were preaching prudence the other day, and warning me against taking steps that would set all the whole country against us; and now, you see, you have been letting your tongue run, and have drawn this upon yourself. Keep quiet for the present, my son; all sorts of things may occur before long, and you will get your chance. Let this matter sleep for the present." A day or two later when Vincent went down to the stables he saw that Dan had something to tell him, and soon found out that he wished to speak to him alone. "What is your news, Dan?" "I heard last night, Massa Vincent, that old man Jackson is going to sell Dinah; dat de wife ob de man dey flogged." "They are going to sell her!" Vincent repeated indignantly. "What are they going to do that for?" "To punish Tony, sah. Dar am no law against dar selling her. I hear dat dey are going to sell two oder boys, so dat it cannot be said dat dey do it on purpose to spite Tony. I reckon, sah, day calculate dat when dey sell his wife Tony get mad and run away, and den when dey catch him again day flog him pretty near to death. Folk always do dat with runaway slaves; no one can say nuffin agin dem for dat." "It's an infamous shame that it should be lawful to separate man and wife," Vincent said. "However, we will see what we can do. You manage to pass the word to Tony to keep up his spirits, and not let them drive him to do anything rash. Tell him I will see that his wife does not get into bad hands. I suppose they will sell the baby too?" "Yes, Massa Vincent. Natural the baby will go wid de modder." Vincent watched the list of advertisements of slaves to be sold, and a day or two later saw a notice to the effect that Dinah Morris, age twenty-two, with a male baby at her breast, would be sold on the following Saturday. He mounted his horse and rode into Richmond. He had not liked to speak to his mother on the subject, for she had not told him of the letter she had written to Jackson; and he thought that she might disapprove of any interference in the matter, consequently he went down to Mr. Renfrew, the family solicitor. "Mr. Renfrew," he said, "I want some money; can you lend it me?" "You want money," the solicitor said in surprise. "What on earth do you want money for? and if you want it, why don't you ask your mother for it? How much do you want?" "I don't know exactly. About eight hundred dollars, I should think; though it may be a thousand. I want to buy a slave." "You want to buy a slave!" repeated Mr. Renfrew. "What on earth do you want to buy a slave for? You have more than you want now at the Orangery." "It's a slave that man Jackson is going to sell next Saturday, on purpose to spite the poor creature's husband and drive him to desperation," and Vincent then repeated the whole story of the circumstances that had led up to the sale. "It is all very abominable on the part of these Jacksons," Mr. Renfrew said, "but your interference was most imprudent, my young friend; and, as you see, it has done harm rather than good. If you are so quixotic as to become the champion of every ill-treated slave in the State, your work is pretty well cut out for you." "I know that, sir," Vincent replied, smiling, "and I can assure you I did not intend to enter upon any such crusade; but, you see, I have wrongly or rightly mixed myself up in this, and I want to repair the mischief which, as you say, I have caused. The only way I can see is to buy this negress and her baby." "But I do not see that you will carry out your object if you do, Vincent. She will be separated just as much from her husband if you buy her as if any one else does. He is at one plantation and she is at another, and were they ten miles apart or a hundred, they are equally separated." "I quite see that, Mr. Renfrew; but, at least, she will be kindly treated, and his mind will be at rest on that score. Perhaps some day or other the Jacksons may put him up for sale, and then I can buy him, and they will be reunited. At any rate, the first step is to buy her. Can you let me have the money? My mother makes me a very good allowance." "And I suppose you spend it," the lawyer interrupted. "Well, yes, I generally spend it; but then, you see, when I come of age I come in for the outlying estates." "And if you die before, or get shot, or any other accident befalls you," Mr. Renfrew said, "they go to your sisters. However, one must risk something for a client, so I will lend you the money. I had better put somebody up to bid for you, for after what has happened the Jacksons would probably not let her go if they knew that you were going to be the purchaser." "Thank you very much," Vincent said warmly; "it will be a great weight off my mind," and with a light heart he rode back to the Orangery. Vincent said nothing during the next two days to any of his friends as to the course the Jacksons were taking in selling Tony's wife; for he thought that if the news got about, some of his friends who had heard the circumstances might go down to the auction and make such a demonstration that Jackson would be obliged to withdraw Dinah from the sale, in which case he would no doubt dispose of her privately. On the Saturday he mounted his horse and rode into Richmond, telling Dan to meet him there. At the hour the sale was announced he went to the yard where it was to take place. This was a somewhat quiet and secluded place; for although the sale of slaves was permitted by law in Virginia, at any rate these auctions were conducted quietly and with as little publicity as possible. For although the better classes still regarded slavery as a necessary institution, they were conscious that these sales, involving as they did the separation of families, were indefensible, and the more thoughtful would gladly have seen them abolished, and a law passed forbidding the sale of negroes save as part and parcel of the estate upon which they worked, an exception only being made in the case of gross misconduct. Many of the slave-owners, indeed, forbade all flogging upon their estates, and punished refractory slaves, in the first place, by the cutting off of the privileges they enjoyed in the way of holidays, and if this did not answer, threatened to sell them--a threat which was, in the vast majority of cases, quite sufficient to ensure good behavior; for the slaves were well aware of the difference between life in the well-managed establishments in Virginia and that in some of the other Southern States. Handing his horse to Dan, Vincent joined a knot of four or five of his acquaintances who had strolled in from mere curiosity. There were some thirty or forty men in the yard, a few of whom had come in for the purpose of buying; but the great majority had only attended for the sake of passing an idle hour. Slaves had fallen in value; for although all in the South professed their confidence that the law would never attempt by force of arms to prevent their secession, it was felt that slave property would in future be more precarious, for the North would not improbably repeal the laws for the arrest of fugitive slaves, and consequently all runaways who succeeded in crossing the border would be lost to their masters. Upon the other side of the yard Vincent saw Andrew Jackson talking to two or three men who were strangers to him, and who, he guessed, were buyers from some of the more southern States There were in all twelve lots to be disposed of. Of these two or three were hands who were no longer fit for field work, and who were bought at very low prices by men who owned but a few acres of land, and who could utilize them for odd jobs requiring but little strength. Then there was a stir of attention. Dinah Moore took her stand upon the platform, with her baby in her arms. The message which Dan had conveyed from Vincent to her husband had given her some hope, and though she looked scared and frightened as she clasped her babe to her breast, she was not filled with such utter despair as would otherwise have been the case. The auctioneer stated the advantages of the lot in the same business-like tone as if he had been selling a horse: "Lot 6. Negro wench, Dinah; age twenty-two; with male child. Strong and well made, as you see, gentlemen; fit for field work, or could be made a useful hand about a house; said to be handy and good-tempered. Now, gentlemen, what shall we say for this desirable lot?" One of the men standing by Andrew Jackson bid a hundred dollars. The bid was raised to a hundred and fifty by a rough-looking fellow standing in front of the platform. For some time the bidding was confined to these two, and it rose until it reached seven hundred and fifty, at which point the man near the platform retired, and there was a pause. Vincent felt uncomfortable. He had already been round to Mr. Renfrew, who had told him that he had deputed an agent to buy; and until the man near the platform stopped he had supposed that he was the solicitor's agent. "Now, gentlemen," the auctioneer said, "surely you are not going to let this desirable piece of property go for seven fifty? She would be cheap at double the price. I have sold worse articles for three thousand." "I will go another twenty-five dollars," a tall man in homespun and a broad planter's straw hat said quietly. The contest now recommenced, and by bids of twenty-five dollars at a time the amount was raised to twelve hundred and fifty dollars. "That's enough for me," the man standing by Andrew Jackson said; "he may have her at twelve fifty, and dear enough, too, as times go." "Will any one else make an offer?" the auctioneer asked. There was no response, and the hammer fell. "What name?" "Nathaniel Forster," the tall man said; and advancing to the table he counted out a roll of notes and gave them to the auctioneer, who handed to him a formal note certifying to his having duly and legally purchased Dinah Moore and her infant, late the property of Andrew Jackson, Esquire, of the Cedars, State of Virginia. The purchaser had evidently made up his mind beforehand to secure the lot, for he handed a parcel he had been holding to Dinah, and said briefly, "Slip those things on, my lass." The poor girl, who had before been simply attired in the scantiest of petticoats, retired to a corner of the yard, and speedily came forward again dressed in a neat cotton gown. There were several joking remarks made by the bystanders, but Dinah's new master took no notice of them, but with a motion of his hand to her to follow him, walked out of the yard. A minute later Vincent followed, and although he had no doubt that the man was the agent Mr. Renfrew had employed, he did not feel thoroughly satisfied until he saw them enter the lawyer's office. He quickly followed. They had just entered the private room of Mr. Renfrew. "That's right, Wingfield," the lawyer said. "You see we have settled the business satisfactorily, and I think you have got a fairly cheap bargain. Just wait a moment and we will complete the transaction." Dinah gave a start as Vincent entered, but with the habitual self-repression of a slave she stood quietly in the corner to which she had withdrawn at the other end of the room. The lawyer was busy drawing up a document, and touching the bell ordered a clerk to go across to Mr. Rawlins, justice of the peace, and ask him to step across the road. In a minute Mr. Rawlins entered. "I want you to witness a deed of sale of a slave," Mr. Renfrew said. "Here are the particulars: 'Nathaniel Forster sells to Vincent Wingfield his slave, Dinah Moore and her male infant, for the sum of fourteen hundred dollars.' These are the parties. Forster sign this receipt." The man did so. The justice put his signature as witness to the transaction, dropped into his pocket the fee of five dollars that the lawyer handed to him, and without a word strolled out again. "There, Dinah," Mr. Renfrew said, "Mr. Wingfield is now your master." The girl ran forward, fell on her knees before Vincent, seized his hand and kissed it, sobbing out her thanks as she did so. "There, that will do, Dinah," the lawyer said, seeing that Vincent was confused by her greeting. "I think you are a lucky girl, and have made a good exchange for the Orangery instead of the Cedars. I don't suppose you will find Mr. Wingfield a very hard master. What he is going to do with you I am sure I don't know." Vincent now went to the door and called in Dan and told him to take Dinah to the Orangery, then mounting his horse he rode off home to prepare his mother for the reception of his new purchase. CHAPTER III. AIDING A RUNAWAY. "Well, you are an extraordinary boy, Vincent," Mrs. Wingfield said as her son told her the story, while his sisters burst into fits of laughter at the idea of Vincent owning a female slave with a baby. "Why did you not tell me that you wanted the money instead of going to Mr. Renfrew? I shall tell him I am very angry with him for letting you have it for such a purpose." "I was not sure whether you would let me have it, mother; and if you had refused, and I had got it afterward from Mr. Renfrew, I should not have liked to bring her home here." "That would have been fun," Annie said. "Fancy Vincent's troubles with a female slave on his hands and nowhere to put her. What would you have done, Vincent?" "I suppose I could have got a home for her somewhere," Vincent said quietly. "I don't think there would have been any difficulty about that. Still I am glad I didn't have to do so, and one slave more or less can make no difference here." "Not at all," Mrs. Wingfield said; "I dare say Chloe will find something for her to do in the way of washing, and such other light work that she is fit for about the house. It is not that, but it is years since a slave was brought into the Orangery; never since I can remember. We raise more than we want ourselves; and when I see all those children about, I wonder sometimes what on earth we are to find for them all to do. Still, it was a scandalous thing of that man Jackson selling the girl to punish her husband; and as you say it was your foolish interference in the matter that brought it about, so I do not know that I can blame you for doing what you can to set the matter straight. Still, except that the knowledge that she is here and will be well treated will be a comfort to the man, I do not see that he will be much the better off, unless indeed the Jacksons should try to sell him also, in which case I suppose you would want to buy him." "I am afraid they won't do that, mother. Still, somehow or other, in time they may come together again." "I don't see how they can, Vincent. However we need not think of that now. At any rate I hope there will be no further opportunity for your mixing yourself up in this business. You have made two bitter enemies now, and although I do not see that such people as these can do you any harm, it is always well not to make enemies, especially in times like these when no one can foresee exactly what may occur." And so Dinah Moore became an inmate of the Orangery; and though the girls had laughed at their brother, they were very kind to her when she arrived with Dan, and made much of her and of her baby. The same night Dan went over to the Cedars, and managed to have an interview with Tony, and to tell him that his wife had been bought by Vincent. The joy of the negro was extreme. The previous message had raised his hopes that Vincent would succeed in getting her bought by some one who would be kind to her, but he knew well that she might nevertheless fall to the lot of some higher bidder and be taken hundreds of miles away, and that he might never again get news of her whereabouts. He had then suffered terrible anxiety all day, and the relief of learning that Vincent himself had bought her, and that she was now installed as a house servant at the Orangery, but a few miles away, was quite overpowering, and for some minutes he could only gasp out his joy and thankfulness. He could hope now that when better times came he might be able to steal away some night and meet her, and that some day or other, though how he could not see, they might be reunited. The Jacksons remained in ignorance that their former slave was located so near to them. It was for this reason that Mr. Renfrew had instructed his agent to buy her in his own name instead of that of Vincent; and the Jacksons, having no idea of the transfer that had subsequently taken place, took no further interest in the matter, believing that they had achieved their object of torturing Tony, and avenging upon him the humiliation that Andrew had suffered at Vincent's hands. Had they questioned their slaves, and had these answered them truly, they would have discovered the facts. For although Tony himself said no word to any one of what he had learned from Dan, the fact that Dinah was at the Orangery was speedily known among the slaves; for the doings at one plantation were soon conveyed to the negroes on the others by the occasional visits which they paid at night to each other's quarters, or to some common rendezvous far removed from interruption. Occasionally Tony and Dinah met. Dan would come up late in the evening to the house, and a nod to Dinah would be sufficient to send her flying down the garden to a clump of shrubs, where he would be waiting for her. At these stolen meetings they were perfectly happy; for Tony said no word to her of the misery of his life--how he was always put to the hardest work and beaten on the smallest pretext, how in fact his life was made so unendurable that the idea of running away and taking to the swamps was constantly present to him. As to making his way north, it did not enter his mind as possible. Slaves did indeed at times succeed in traveling through the Northern States and making their way to Canada, but this was only possible by means of the organization known as the underground railway, an association consisting of a number of good people who devoted themselves to the purpose, giving shelter to fugitive slaves during the day, and then passing them on to the next refuge during the night. For in the Northern States as well as the Southern any negro unprovided with papers showing that he was a free man was liable to be arrested and sent back to the South a prisoner, large rewards being given to those who arrested them. As he was returning from one of these interviews with his wife, Tony was detected by the overseer, who was strolling about round the slaves' quarters, and was next morning flogged until he became insensible. So terrible was the punishment that for some days he was unable to walk. As soon as he could get about he was again set to work, but the following morning he was found to be missing. Andrew Jackson at once rode into Richmond, and in half an hour placards and handbills were printed offering a reward for his capture. These were not only circulated in the neighborhood, but were sent off to all the towns and villages through which Tony might be expected to pass in the endeavor to make his way north. Vincent soon learned from Dan what had taken place. "You have no idea, I suppose, Dan, as to which way he is likely to go?" Dan shook his head. "Me suppose, massa, dat most likely he gone and hidden in de great woods by de James River. Berry difficult to find him dere." "Difficult to find him, no doubt," Vincent agreed. "But he could not stop there long--he would find nothing to eat in the woods; and though he might perhaps support himself for a time on corn or roots from the clearings scattered about through the James Peninsula, he must sooner or later be caught." "Dar are runaways in de woods now, Massa Vincent," Dan said; "some ob dem hab been dar for month." "But how do they live, Dan?" "Well, sah, you see dey hab friends on de plantations, and sometimes at night one of de slaves will steal away wid a basket ob yams and corn-cakes and oder things and put dem down in a certain place in de forest, and next morning, sure enough, dey will be gone. Dangerous work dat, massa; because if dey caught with food, it known for sure dat dey carry it to runaway, and den you know dey pretty well flog the life out of dem." "Yes, I know, Dan; it is a very serious matter hiding a runaway slave, and even a white man would be very heavily punished, and perhaps lynched, if caught in the act. Well, make what inquiries you can among the slaves, and find out if you can whether any of those Jacksons have an idea which way Tony has gone. But do not go yourself on to Jackson's place; if you were caught there now it would be an awkward matter for both of us." "I will find out, Massa Vincent; but I don't s'pose Tony said a word to any of the others. He know well enough dat de Jacksons question ebery one pretty sharp, and perhaps flog dem all round to find out if dey know anything. He keep it to himself about going away for suah." The Jacksons kept up a vigorous hunt after their slave and day after day parties of men ranged through the woods but without discovering any traces of him. Bloodhounds were employed the first day, but before these could be fetched from Richmond the scent had grown cold; for Tony had gone off as soon as the slaves had been shut up for the night and had, directly he left the hut, wrapped leaves round his feet, therefore the hounds, when they arrived from Richmond, were unable to take up the scent. A week after Tony's escape, Vincent returned late one evening from a visit to some friends. Dan, as he took his horse, whispered to him: "Stop a little on your way to house, Massa Vincent; me hab something to tell you." "What is it, Dan?" Vincent asked, as the lad, after putting up his horse in the stable, came running up to him. "Me have seen Tony, sah. He in de shrubs ober dar. He want to see Dinah, but me no take message till me tell you about him. He half starved, sah; me give him some yams." "That's right, Dan." "He pretty nigh desperate, sah; he say dey hunt him like wild beast." "I will see him, Dan. If I can help him in any way I will do so. Unfortunately I do not know any of the people who help to get slaves away, so I can give him no advice as to the best way to proceed. Still I might talk it over with him. When I have joined him, do you go up to the house and tell Chloe from me to give you a pile of corn-cake--it's no use giving him flour, for he would be afraid to light a fire to cook it. Tell her to give you, too, any cold meat there may be in the house. Don't tell Dinah her husband is here till we have talked the matter over." Dan led Vincent up to a clump of bushes. "It am all right, Tony," he said; "here is Massa Vincent come to see you." The bushes parted and Tony came out into the full moonlight. He looked haggard and worn; his clothes were torn into strips by the bushes. "My poor fellow," Vincent said kindly, "I am sorry to see you in such a state." A great sob broke from the black "De Lord bress you, sah, for your goodness and for saving Dinah from de hands of dose debils! Now she safe wid you and de child, Tony no care berry much what come to him--de sooner he dead de better. He wish dat one day when dey flog him dey had kill him altogether; den all de trouble at an end. Dey hunt him ebery day with dogs and guns, and soon dey catch him. No can go on much longer like dis. To-day me nearly gib myself up. Den me thought me like to see Dinah once more to say good-by, so make great effort and ran a bit furder." "I have been thinking whether it would be possible to plan some way for your escape, Tony." The negro shook his head. "Dar never escape, sah, but to get to Canada; dat too far any way. Not possible to walk all dat way and get food by de road. Suah to be caught." "No, I do not think it will be possible to escape that way, Tony. The only possible plan would be to get you on board some ship going to England." "Ships not dare take negro on board," Tony said. "Me heard dat said many times--dat against de law." "Yes, I know it's against the law," Vincent said, "and it's against the law my talking to you here, Tony; but you see it's done. The difficulty is how to do it. All vessels are searched before they start, and an officer goes down with them past Fortress Monroe to see that they take no one on board. Still it is possible. Of course there is risk in the matter; but there is risk in everything. I will think it over. Do not lose heart. Dan will be back directly with enough food to last you for some days. If I were you I would take refuge this time in White Oak Swamp. It is much nearer, and I hear it has already been searched from end to end, so they are not likely to try again; and if you hear them you can, if you are pressed, cross the Chickahominy and make down through the woods. Do you come again on Saturday evening--that will give me four days to see what I can do. I may not succeed, you know; for the penalty is so severe against taking negroes on board that I may not be able to find any one willing to risk it. But it is worth trying." "De Lord bless you, sah!" Tony said. "I will do juss what you tole me; but don't you run no risks for me, my life ain't worth dat." "I will take care, Tony. And now here comes Dan with the provisions." "Can I see Dinah, sah?" Tony pleaded. "I think you had better not," Vincent replied. "You see the Jacksons might at any moment learn that she is here, and then she might be questioned whether she had seen you since your escape; and it would be much better for her to be able to deny having done so. But you shall see her next time you come, whether I am able to make any arrangements for your escape or not. I will let her know to-morrow morning that I have seen you, and that you are safe at present." The next morning Vincent rode over to City Point, where ships with a large draught of water generally brought up, either transferring their goods into smaller craft to be sent up by river to Richmond, or to be carried on by rail through the town of Petersburg. Leaving his horse at a house near the river, he crossed the James in a boat to City Point. There were several vessels lying here, and for some hours he hung about the wharf watching the process of discharging. By the end of that time he had obtained a view of all the captains, and had watched them as they gave their orders, and had at last come to the conclusion as to which would be the most likely to suit his purpose. Having made up his mind, he waited until the one he had fixed upon came ashore. He was a man of some five-and-thirty years old, with a pleasant face and good-natured smile. He first went into some offices on the wharf, and half an hour later came out and walked toward the railway-station. Vincent at once followed him, and as he overtook him said: "I want very much to speak to you, sir, if you could spare me a minute or two." "Certainly," the sailor said with some surprise. "The train for Petersburg does not go for another half hour. What can I do for you?" "My name is Vincent Wingfield. My father was an English officer, and my mother is the owner of some large estates near Richmond. I am most anxious to get a person in whom I am interested on board ship, and I do not know how to set about it." "There's no difficulty about that," the captain said smiling; "you have only to go to an office and pay for his passage to where he wants to go." "I can't do that," Vincent replied; "for unfortunately it is against the law for any captain to take him." "You mean he is a negro?" the captain asked, stopping short in his walk and looking sharply at Vincent. "Yes, that is what I mean," Vincent said. "He is a negro who has been brutally ill-treated and has run away from his master, and I would willingly give five hundred dollars to get him safely away." "This is a very serious business in which you are meddling, young sir," the sailor said. "Putting aside the consequences to yourself, you are asking me to break the law and to run the risk of the confiscation of my ship. Even if I were willing to do what you propose it would be impossible, for the ship will be searched from end to end before the hatches are closed, and an official will be on board until we discharge the pilot after getting well beyond the mouth of the river." "Yes, I know that," Vincent replied; "but my plan was to take a boat and go out beyond the sight of land, and then to put him on board after you have got well away." "That might be managed, certainly," the captain said. "It would be contrary to my duty to do anything that would risk the property of my employers; but if when I am out at sea a boat came alongside, and a passenger came on board, it would be another matter. I suppose, young gentleman, that you would not interfere in such a business, and run the risk that you certainly would run if detected, unless you were certain that this was a deserving case, and that the man has committed no sort of crime; for I would not receive on board my ship a fugitive from justice, whether he was black or white." "It is indeed a deserving case," Vincent said earnestly. "The poor fellow has the misfortune of belonging to one of the worst masters in the State. He has been cruelly flogged on many occasions, and was finally driven to run away by their selling his wife and child." "The brutes!" the sailor said. "How you people can allow such things to be done is a mystery to me. Well, lad, under those circumstances I will agree to do what you ask me, and if your boat comes alongside when I am so far away from land that it cannot be seen, I will take the man to England." "Thank you very much indeed," Vincent said; "you will be doing a good action. Upon what day do you sail?" "I shall drop down on Monday into Hampton Roads, and shall get up sail at daylight next morning. I shall pass Fortress Monroe at about seven in the morning, and shall sail straight out." "And how shall I know your ship?" Vincent asked. "There may be others starting just about the same time." The sailor thought for a moment. "When I am four or five miles out I will hoist my owner's flag at the foremast-head. It is a red flag with a white ball, so you will be able to make it out a considerable distance away. You must not be less than ten or twelve miles out, for the pilot often does not leave the ship till she is some miles past Fortress Monroe, and the official will not leave the ship till he does. I will keep a sharp lookout for you, but I cannot lose my time in waiting. If you do not come alongside I shall suppose that you have met with some interruption to your plans." "Thank you very much, sir. Unless something goes wrong I shall be alongside on Tuesday." "That's settled, then," the captain said, "and I must be off, or else I shall lose my train. By the way, when you come alongside do not make any sign that you have met me before. It is just as well that none of my crew should know that it is a planned thing, for if we ever happened to put in here again they might blab about it, and it is just as well not to give them the chance. Good-by, my lad; I hope that all will go well. But, you know, you are doing a very risky thing; for the assisting of a runaway slave to escape is about as serious an offense as you can commit in these parts. You might shoot half a dozen men and get off scot free, but if you were caught aiding a runaway to escape there is no saying what might come of it." After taking leave of the captain, Vincent recrossed the river and rode home. He had friends whose fathers' estates bordered some on the James and others on the York River, and all of these had pleasure-boats. It was obviously better to go down the York River, and thence round to the mouth of the James at Fortress Monroe, as the traffic on the York was comparatively small, and it was improbable that he would be noticed either going down or returning. He had at first thought of hiring a fishing-boat from some of the free negroes who made their living on the river. But he finally decided against this; for the fact of the boat being absent so long would attract its owner's attention, and in case any suspicion arose that the fugitive had escaped by water, the hiring of a boat by one who had already befriended the slave, and its absence for so long a time, would be almost certain to cause suspicion to be directed toward him. He therefore decided upon borrowing a boat from a friend, and next morning rode to the plantation of the father of Harry Furniss, this being situated on a convenient position on the Pamunkey, one of the branches of the York River. "Are you using that sailing-boat of yours at present, Harry? Because, if not, I wish you would let me have the use of it for a week or so." "With pleasure, Vincent; and my fishing-lines and nets as well, if you like. We very seldom use the boat. Do you mean to keep it here or move it higher up the river, where it would be more handy for you, perhaps?" "I think I would rather leave it here, Furniss. A mile or two extra to ride makes no difference. I suppose it's in the water?" "Yes; at the foot of the boathouse stairs. There is a padlock and chain. I will give you the key, so you can go off whenever you like without bothering to come up to the house. If you just call in at the stable as you ride by, one of the boys will go down with you and take your horse and put him up till you come back again." "That will do capitally," Vincent replied. "It is some time since I was on the water, and I seem to have a fancy for a change at present. One is sick of riding into Richmond and hearing nothing but politics talked of all day. Don't be alarmed if you hear at any time that the boat has not come back at night, for if tide and wind are unfavorable at any time I might stop at Cumberland for the night." "I have often had to do that," Furniss said. "Besides, if you took it away for a week, I don't suppose any one would notice it; for no one goes down to the boathouse unless to get the boat ready for a trip." The next day Vincent rode over to his friend's plantation, sending Dan off an hour beforehand to bail out the boat and get the masts and sails into her from the boathouse. The greater part of the next two days was spent on the water, sometimes sailing, sometimes fishing. The evening of the second of these days was that upon which Vincent had arranged to meet Tony again, and an hour after dark he went down through the garden to the stable; for that was the time the fugitive was to meet him, for he could not leave his place of concealment until night fell. After looking at the horses, and giving some instructions to the negroes in charge, he returned to the shrubbery, and, sending Dan up to summon Dinah, he went to the bushes where he had before met Tony. The negro came out as he approached. "How are you, Tony?" "Much better dan I was, massa. I hab not been disturbed since I saw you, and, thanks to dat and to de good food and to massa's kind words, I'm stronger and better now, and ready to do whatever massa think best." "Well, Tony, I am glad to say that I think I have arranged a plan by which you will be got safely out of the country. Of course, it may fail; but there is every hope of success. I have arranged for a boat, and shall take you down the river, and put you on board a ship bound for England." The black clapped his hands in delight at the news. "When you get there you will take another ship out to Canada, and as soon as I learn from you that you are there, and what is your address, I will give Dinah her papers of freedom and send her on to you." "Oh, massa, it is too much," Tony said, with the tears running down his cheeks; "too much joy altogeder." "Well, I hope it will all come right, Tony. Dinah will be here in a minute or two. Do not keep her long, for I do not wish her absence from the house to be observed just now. Now, listen to my instructions. Do you know the plantation of Mr. Furniss, on the Pamunkeyunky, near Coal harbor?" "No, sir; but me can find out." "No, you can't; because you can't see any one or ask questions. Very well, then, you must be here again to-morrow night at the same hour. Dan will meet you here, and act as your guide. He will presently bring you provisions for to-morrow. Be sure you be careful, Tony, and get back to your hiding-place as soon as you can, and be very quiet to-morrow until it is time to start. It would be terrible if you were to be caught now, just as we have arranged for you to get away." On the following afternoon Vincent told his mother that he was going over that evening to his friend Furniss, as an early start was to be made next morning; they intended to go down the river as far as Yorktown, if not further; that he certainly should not be back for two days, and probably might be even longer. "This new boating freak of yours, Vincent, seems to occupy all your thoughts. I wonder how long it will last." "I don't suppose it will last much longer, mother," Vincent said with a laugh. "Anyhow, it will make a jolly change for a week. One had got so sick of hearing nothing talked about but secession that a week without hearing the word mentioned will do one lots of good, and I am sure I felt that if one had much more of it, one would be almost driven to take up the Northern side just for the sake of a change." "We should all disown you, Vin," Annie said, laughing; "we should have nothing to say to you, and you would be cut by all your friends." "Well, you see, a week's sailing and fishing will save me from all that, Annie; and I be all be able to begin again with a fresh stock of patience." "I believe you are only half in earnest in the cause, Vincent," his mother said gravely. "I am not indeed, mother. I quite agree with what you and every one say as to the rights of the State of Virginia, and if the North should really try to force us and the other Southern States to remain with them, I shall be just as ready to do everything I can as any one else; but I can't see the good of always talking about it, and I think it's very wrong to ill-treat and abuse those who think the other way. In England in the Civil War the people of the towns almost all thought one way, and almost all those of the counties the other, and even now opinions differ almost as widely as to which was right. I hate to hear people always laying down the law as if there could not possibly be two sides of the case, and as if every one who differed from them must be a rascal and a traitor. Almost all the fellows I know say that if it comes to fighting they shall go into the State army, and I should be quite willing, if they would really take fellows of my age for soldiers, to enlist too; but that is no reason why one should not get sick of hearing nothing but one subject talked of for weeks." It was nearly dark when Vincent started for his walk of ten miles; for he had decided not to take his horse with him, as he had no means of sending it back, and its stay for three days in his friend's stables would attract attention to the fact of his long absence. After about three hours' walking he reached the boat house, having seen no one as he passed through the plantation. He took the oars and sails from the boathouse and placed them in the boat, and then sat down in the stern to await the coming of the negroes. In an hour they arrived; Tony carrying a bundle of clothes that Dan had by Vincent's orders bought for him in Richmond, while Dan carried a large basket of provisions. Vincent gave an exclamation of thankfulness as he saw the two figures appear, for the day having been Sunday he knew that a good many men would be likely to join the search parties in hopes of having a share in the reward offered for Tony's capture, and he had felt very anxious all day. "You sit in the bottom of the boat, Tony, and do you steer, Dan. You make such a splashing with your oar that we should be heard a mile away. Keep us close in shore in the shadow of the trees; the less we are noticed the better at this time of night." Taking the sculls, Vincent rowed quietly away. He had often been out on boating excursions with his friends, and had learned to row fairly. During the last two days he had diligently instructed Dan, and after two long days' work the young negro had got over the first difficulties, but he was still clumsy and awkward. Vincent did not exert himself. He knew he had a long night's row before him, and he paddled quietly along with the stream. The boat was a good-sized one, and when not under sail was generally rowed by two strong negroes accustomed to the work. Sometimes for half an hour at a time Vincent ceased rowing, and let the boat drift along quietly. There was no hurry, for he had a day and two nights to get down to the mouth of the river, a distance of some seventy miles, and out to sea far enough to intercept the vessel. At four o'clock they arrived at Cumberland, where the Pamunkey and Mattapony Rivers unite and form the York River. Here they were in tidal waters; and as the tide, though not strong, was flowing up, Vincent tied the boat to the branch of a tree, and lay down in the bottom for an hour's sleep, telling Dan to wake him when the tide turned, or if he heard any noise. Day had broken when the boat drifted round, and Dan aroused him. The boat was rowed off to the middle of the river, as there could be no longer any attempt at concealment. Dan now took the bow oar, and they rowed until a light breeze sprang up. Vincent then put up the mast, and, having hoisted the sail, took his place at the helm, while Dan went forward into the bow. They passed several fishing-boats, and the smoke was seen curling up from the huts in the clearings scattered here and there along the shore. The sun had now risen, and its heat was pleasant after the damp night air. Although the breeze was light, the boat made fair way with the tide, and when the ebb ceased at about ten o'clock the mouth of the river was but a few miles away. The mast was lowered and the sails stowed. The boat was then rowed into a little creek and tied up to the bushes. The basket of provisions was opened, and a hearty meal enjoyed, Tony being now permitted for the first time to sit up in the boat. After the meal Vincent and Dan lay down for a long sleep, while Tony, who had slept some hours during the night, kept watch. At four in the afternoon tide again slackened, and as soon as it had fairly turned they pushed out from the creek and again set sail. In three hours they were at the mouth of the river. A short distance out they saw several boats fishing, and dropping anchor a short distance away from these, they lowered their sail, and taking the fishing-lines from the locker of the boat, set to to fish. As soon as it was quite dark the anchor was hauled up, and Vincent and Dan took the oars, the wind having now completely dropped. For some time they rowed steadily, keeping the land in sight on their right hand. Tony was most anxious to help, but as he had never had an oar in his hand in his life, Vincent thought that he would do more harm than good. It was, he knew, some ten miles from the mouth of the York River to Fortress Monroe, at the entrance to Hampton Roads, and after rowing for three hours he thought that he could not be far from that point, and therefore turned the boat's head out toward the sea. They rowed until they could no longer make out the land astern, and then laying in their oars waited till the morning, Vincent sitting in the stern and often nodding off to sleep, while the two negroes kept up a constant conversation in the bow. As soon as it was daylight the oars were again got out. They could clearly make out the outline of the coast, and saw the break in the shore that marked the entrance to Hampton Roads. There was a light breeze now, but Vincent would not hoist the sail lest it might attract the attention of some one on shore. He did not think the boat itself could be seen, as they were some eight or nine miles from the land. They rowed for a quarter of an hour, when Vincent saw the white sails of a ship coming out from the entrance. The breeze was so light that she would, he thought, be nearly three hours before she reached the spot where they were now, and whether she headed to the right or left of it he would have plenty of time to cut her off. For another two hours he and Dan rowed steadily. The wind had freshened a good deal, and the ship was now coming up fast to them. Two others had come out after her, but were some miles astern. They had already made out that the ship was flying a flag at her masthead, and although they had not been able to distinguish its colors, Vincent felt sure that it was the right ship; for he felt certain that the captain would get up sail as soon as possible, so as to come up with them before any other vessels came out. They had somewhat altered their course, to put themselves in line with the vessel. When she was within a distance of about a mile and a half Vincent was able to make out the flag, and knew that it was the right one. "There's the ship, Tony," he said; "it is all right, and in a few minutes you will be on your way to England." Tony had already changed his tattered garments for the suit of sailor's clothes that Dan had bought for him. Vincent had given him full instructions as to the course he was to pursue. The ship was bound for Liverpool; on his arrival there he was at once to go round the docks and take a passage in the steerage of the next steamer going to Canada. "The fare will be about twenty-five dollars," he said. "When you get to Canada you will land at Quebec, and you had better go on by rail to Montreal, where you will, I think, find it easier to get work than at Quebec. As soon as you get a place you are likely to stop in, get somebody to write for you to me, giving me your address. Here are a hundred dollars, which will be sufficient to pay your expenses to Montreal and leave you about fifty dollars to keep you till you can get something to do." CHAPTER IV. SAFELY BACK. When the ship came within a few hundred yards, Vincent stood up and waved his cap, and a minute later the ship was brought up into the wind and her sails thrown aback. The captain appeared at the side and shouted to the boat now but fifty yards away: "What do you want there?" "I have a passenger for England," Vincent replied. "Will you take him?" "Come alongside," the captain said. "Why didn't he come on board before I started?" The boat was rowed alongside, and Vincent climbed on board. The captain greeted him as a stranger and led the way to his cabin. "You have managed that well," he said when they were alone, "and I am heartily glad that you have succeeded. I made you out two hours ago. We will stop here another two or three minutes so that the men may think you are bargaining for a passage for the negro, and then the sooner he is on board and you are on your way back the better, for the wind is rising, and I fancy it is going to blow a good deal harder before night." "And won't you let me pay for the man's passage, captain? It is only fair anyhow that I should pay for what he will eat." "Oh, nonsense!" the captain replied. "He will make himself useful and pay for his keep. I am only too glad to get the poor fellow off. Now, we will have a glass of wine together and then say good-by." Two minutes later they returned to the deck. Vincent went to the side. "Jump on board, Tony. I have arranged for your passage." The negro climbed up the side. "Good-by, captain, and thank you heartily. Good-by, Tony." The negro could not speak, but he seized the hand Vincent held out to him and pressed it to his lips. Vincent dropped lightly into his boat; and pushed off from the side of the vessel. As he did so he heard orders shouted, the yards swung round, and the vessel almost at once began to move through the water. "Now, Dan, up with the mast; and sail again; but let me put two reefs in first, the wind is getting up." In five minutes the sail was hoisted, and with Vincent at the helm and Dan sitting up to windward, was dashing through the water. Although Vincent understood the management of a sailing-boat on the calm waters of the rivers, this was his first experience of sea-sailing; and although the waves were still but small, he felt at first somewhat nervous as the boat dashed through them, sending up at times a sheet of spray from her bows. But he soon got over this sensation, and enjoyed the lively motion and the fresh wind. The higher points of the land were still visible; but even had they not been so it would have mattered little, as he had taken the precaution to bring with him a small pocket-compass. The wind was from the southwest; and he was therefore able, with the sheet hauled in, to make for a point where he judged the mouth of the York River lay. "Golly, massa! how de boat do jump up and down." "She is lively, Dan, and it would be just as well if we had some ballast on board; however, she has a good beam and walks along splendidly. If the wind keeps as it is, we shall be back at the mouth of the York in three or four hours. You may as well open that basket again and hand me that cold chicken and a piece of bread; cut the meat off the bones and put it on the bread, for I have only one hand disengaged; and hand me that bottle of cold tea. That's right. Now you had better take something yourself. You must be hungry. We forgot all about the basket in our interest in the ship." Dan shook his head. "A little while ago, massa, me seem berry hungry, now me doesn't feel hungry at all." "That's bad, Dan. I am afraid you are going to be seasick." "Me no feel seasick, massa; only me don't feel hungry." But in a few minutes Dan was forced to confess that; he did feel ill, and a few moments afterward was groaning in the agonies of seasickness. "Never mind, Dan," Vincent said cheerfully. "You will be better after this." "Me not seasick, massa; de sea have nuffin to do with it. It's de boat dat will jump up and down instead of going quiet." "It's all the same thing, Dan; and I hope she won't jump about more before we get into the river." But in another half hour Vincent had to bring the boat's head up to the wind, lower the lug, and tie down the last reef. "There, she goes easier now, Dan," he said, as the boat resumed her course; but Dan, who was leaning helplessly over the side of the boat, could see no difference. Vincent, however, felt that; under her close sail the boat was doing better, and rising more easily on the waves, which were now higher and farther apart than before. In another hour the whole of the shore-line was visible; but the wind had risen so much that, even under her reduced sail, the boat had as much as she could carry, and often heeled over until her gunwale was nearly under water. Another hour and the shore was but some four miles away, but Vincent felt he could no longer hold on. In the hands of an experienced sailor, who would have humored the boat and eased her up a little to meet the seas, the entrance to the York River could no doubt have been reached with safety; but Vincent was ignorant of the art of sailing a boat in the sea, and she was shipping water heavily. Dan had for some time been bailing, having only undertaken the work in obedience to Vincent's angry orders, being too ill to care much what became of them. "Now, Dan, I am going to bring her head up to the wind, so get ready to throw off that halyard and gather in the sail as it; comes down. That's right, man; now down with the mast." Vincent had read that the best plan when caught in an open boat in a gale, was to tie the oars and mast, if she had one, together, and to throw them overboard with the head rope tied to them, as by that means the boat would ride head to sea. The oars, sculls, mast, and sail were firmly tied together and launched overboard, the rope being first taken off the anchor and tied round the middle of the clump of spars. Vincent carefully played out the rope till some fifteen yards were over, then he fastened it to the ring of the head rope, and had the satisfaction of finding that the boat rode easily to the floating anchor, rising lightly over the waves, and not shipping a drop of water. He then took the bailer and got rid of the water that had found its way on board, Dan, after getting down the sail, having collapsed utterly. "Now, Dan, sit up; there, man, the motion is much easier now, and we are taking no water on board. I will give you a glass of rum, that will put new strength into you. It's lucky we put it in the basket in case of emergency." The negro, whose teeth were chattering from cold, fright, and exhaustion, eagerly drank off the spirit. Vincent, who was wet to the skin with the spray, took a little himself, and then settled himself as comfortably as he could on the floor-boards in the stern of the boat, and quietly thought out the position. The wind was still rising, and a thick haze obscured the land. He had no doubt that by night it would be blowing a gale; but the boat rode so easily and lightly that he believed she would get through it. They might, it was true, be blown many miles off the shore, and not be able to get back for some time, for the gale might last two or three days. The basket of provisions was, however, a large one. Dan had received orders to bring plenty and had obeyed them literally, and Vincent saw that the supply of food, if carefully husbanded, would last; without difficulty for a week. The supply of liquor was less satisfactory. There was the bottle of rum, two bottles of claret, and a two-gallon jar, nearly half empty, of water. The cold tea was finished. "That would be a poor supply for a week for two of us," Vincent; muttered, as he removed the contents of the basket and stored them carefully in the locker; "however, if it's going to be a gale there is sure to be some rain with it, so I think we shall manage very well." By night it was blowing really heavily, but although the waves were high the boat shipped but little water. Dan had fallen off to sleep, and Vincent had been glad to wrap himself in the thick coat he had brought with him as a protection against the heavy dews when sleeping on the river. At times sharp rain squalls burst upon them, and Vincent had no difficulty in filling up the water-bottle again with the bailer. The water was rather brackish, but not sufficiently so to be of consequence. All night the boat was tossed heavily on the waves. Vincent dozed off at times, rousing himself occasionally and bailing out the water, which came in the shape of spray and rain. The prospect in the morning was not cheering. Gray clouds covered the sky and seemed to come down almost on to the water, the angry sea was crested with white heads, and it seemed to Vincent wonderful that the boat should live in such a sea. "Now, Dan, wake yourself up and get some breakfast," Vincent said, stirring up the negro with his foot. "Oh Lor'!" Dan groaned, raising himself into a sitting position from the bottom of the boat, "dis am awful; we neber see the shore no more, massa." "Nonsense, man," Vincent said cheerily; "we are getting on capitally." "It hab been an awful night, sah." "An awful night! You lazy rascal, you slept like a pig all night, while I have been bailing the boat and looking out for you. It is your turn now, I can tell you. Well, do you feel ready for your breakfast?" Dan, after a moment's consideration, declared that he was. The feeling of seasickness had passed off, and except that he was wet through and miserable, he felt himself again, and could have eaten four times the allowance of food that Vincent handed him. A pannikin of rum and water did much to restore his life and vitality, and he was soon, with the light-heartedness of his race, laughing and chatting cheerfully. "How long dis go on, you tink, sah?" "Not long, I hope, Dan. I was afraid last night it was going to be a big gale, but I do not think it is blowing so hard now as it was in the night." "Where have we get to now, sah?" "I don't exactly know, Dan; but I do not suppose that we are very many miles away from shore. The mast and oars prevent our drifting fast, and I don't think we are further off now than we were when we left that ship yesterday. But even if we were four or five times as far as that, we should not take very long in sailing back again when the wind drops, and as we have got enough to eat for a week we need not be uncomfortable about that." "Not much food for a week, Massa Vincent." "Not a very great deal, Dan; but quite enough to keep us going. You can make up for lost time when you get to shore again." In a few hours it was certain that the wind was going down. By midday the clouds began to break up, and an hour later the sun was shining brightly. The wind was still blowing strongly, but the sea had a very different appearance in the bright light of the sun to that which it had borne under the canopy of dark gray clouds. Standing up in the boat two hours later, Vincent could see no signs of land. "How shall we find our way back, Massa Vincent?" "We have got a compass; besides, we should manage very well even if we had not. Look at the sun, Dan. There it is right ahead of us. So, you know, that's the west--that's the way we have to go." "That very useful ob de sun, sah; but suppose we not live in de west de sun not point de way den." "Oh, yes, he would, just the same, Dan. We should know whether to go away from him, or to keep him on the right hand or on the left." This was beyond Dan. "And I s'pose the moon will show de way at night, massa?" "The moon would show the way if she were up, but she is not always up; but I have got a compass here, and so whether we have the sun or the moon, or neither of them, I can find my way back to land." Dan had never seen a compass, and for an hour amused himself turning it round and round and trying to get it to point in some other direction than the north. "Now, Dan," Vincent said at last, "give me that compass, and get out the food. We will have a better meal than we did this morning, for now that the wind is going down there's no chance of food running short. When we have had dinner we will get up the sail again. The sea is not so rough as it was, and it is certainly not so high as it was before we lowered the sail yesterday." "De waves berry big, massa." "They are big, Dan; but they are not so angry. The heads are not breaking over as they did last night, and the boat will go better over those long waves than she did through the choppy sea at the beginning of the gale." Accordingly the bundle of spars was pulled up alongside and lifted. The mast was set up and the sail hoisted. Dan in a few minutes forgot his fears and lost even his sense of uneasiness as he found the boat mounted wave after wave without shipping water. Several times, indeed, a shower of spray flew high up in the air, but the gusts no longer buried her so that the water came over the gunwale, and it was a long time before there was any occasion to use the bailer. As the sun set it could be seen that there was a dark line between it and the water. "There is the land, Dan; and I do not suppose it is more than twenty miles away, for most of the coast lies low." "But how we find de York River, massa? Will de compass tell you dat?" "No, Dan. I don't know whether we have drifted north or south of it. At ordinary times the current runs up the coast, but the wind this morning was blowing from the north of west, and may have been doing so all through the night for anything I know. Well, the great thing is to make land. We are almost sure to come across some fishing-boats, but, if not, we must run ashore and find a house." They continued sailing until Vincent's watch told him it was twelve o'clock, by which time the coast was quite close. The wind now almost dropped, and, lowering their sail, they rowed in until, on lowering the anchor, they found that it touched the ground. Then they lay down and slept till morning. Dan was the first to waken. "Dar are some houses dere close down by the shore, sah, and some men getting out a boat." "That's all right, Dan," Vincent said as he roused himself and looked over. "We shall learn soon where we are." In a quarter of an hour the fishing-boat put off, and the lads at once rowed to it. "How far are we from the mouth of the York River?" Vincent asked the two negroes on board. "About twenty miles, sah. Where you come from?" "We were off the mouth of the river, and were blown off in the gale." "You tink yourself berry lucky you get back," one of them said. "Berry foolish to go out like dat when not know how to get back." "Well, we have managed to get back now, you see, and none the worse for it. Now, Dan, up with the sail again." There was a light wind off shore, and all the reefs being shaken out the boat ran along fast. "I should think we are going about five miles an hour, Dan. We ought to be off the mouth of the river in four hours. We must look out sharp or else we shall pass it, for many of these islets look just like the mouth of the river. However, we are pretty sure to pass several fishing-boats on our way, and we shall be able to inquire from them." There was no need, however, to do this. It was just the four hours from the time of starting when they saw some eight or ten fishing-boats ahead of them. "I expect that that is the entrance to the river. When we get half a mile further we shall see it open." On approaching the fishing-boats they recognized at once the appearance of the shore, as they had noticed it when fishing there before, and were soon in the entrance to the river. "It will be high tide in about two hours," Vincent said, "according to the time it was the other day. I am afraid when it turns we shall have to get down our sails; there will be no beating against both wind and tide. Then we must get out oars and row. There is very little tide close in by the bank, and every little gain will be a help. We have been out four days. It is Thursday now, and they will be beginning to get very anxious at home, so we must do our best to get back." Keeping close under the bank, they rowed steadily, making on an average about two miles an hour. After five hours' rowing they tied up to the bank, had a meal, and rested until tide turned; then they again hoisted their sail and proceeded on their way. Tide carried them just up to the junction of the two rivers, and landing at Cumberland they procured beds and slept till morning. Another long day's work took them up to the plantation of Mr. Furniss, and fastening up the boat, and carrying the sails and oars on shore, they started on their walk home. "Why, Vincent, where on earth have you been all this time?" Mrs. Wingfield said as her son entered. "You said you might be away a couple of nights; and we expected you back on Wednesday at the latest, and now it is Friday evening." "Well, mother, we have had great fun. We went sailing about right down to the mouth of the York River. I did not calculate that it would take me more than twice as long to get back as to get down; but as the wind blew right down the river it was precious slow work, and we had to row all the way. However, it has been a jolly trip, and I feel a lot better for it." "You don't look any better for it," Annie said. "The skin is all off your face, and you are as red as fire. Your clothes look shrunk as well as horribly dirty. You are quite an object, Vincent." "We got caught in a heavy gale," Vincent said, "and got a thorough ducking. As to my face, a day or two will set it all to rights again; and so they will my hands, I hope, for I have got nicely blistered tugging at those oars. And now, mother, I want some supper, for I am as hungry as a hunter. I told Dan to go into the kitchen and get a good square meal." The next morning, just after breakfast, there was the sound of horses' hoofs outside the house, and, looking out, Vincent saw Mr. Jackson, with a man he knew to be the sheriff, and four or five others. A minute later one of the servants came in, and said that the sheriff wished to speak to Mrs. Wingfield. "I will go out to him," Mrs. Wingfield replied. Vincent followed her to the door. "Mrs. Wingfield," the sheriff said, "I am the holder of a warrant; to search your slave-huts and grounds for a runaway negro named Anthony Moore, the property of Mr. Jackson here." "Do you suppose, sir," Mrs. Wingfield asked angrily, "that I am the sort of person to give shelter to runaway slaves?" "No, madam, certainly not," the sheriff replied; "no one would suppose for a moment that Mrs. Wingfield of the Orangery would have anything to do with a runaway, but Mr. Jackson here learned only yesterday that the wife of this slave was here, and every one knows that where the wife is the husband is not likely to be far off." "I suppose, sir," Mrs. Wingfield said coldly, "that there was no necessity for me to acquaint Mr. Jackson formerly with the fact that I had purchased through my agent the woman he sold to separate her from her husband." "By no means, madam, by no means; though, had we known it before, it might have been some aid to us in our search. Have we your permission to see this woman and to question her?" "Certainly not," Mrs. Wingfield said; "but if you have any question to ask I will ask her and give you her answer." "We want to know whether she has seen her husband since the day of his flight from the plantation?" "I shall certainly not ask her that question, Mr. Sheriff. I have no doubt that, as the place from which he has escaped is only a few miles from here, he did come to see his wife. It would have been very strange if he did not. I hope that by this time the man is hundreds of miles away. He was brutally treated by a brutal master, who, I believe, deliberately set to work to make him run away, so that he could hunt him down and punish him. I presume, sir, you do not wish to search this house, and you do not suppose that the man is hidden here. As to the slave-huts and the plantation, you can, of course, search them thoroughly; but as it is now more than a fortnight since the man escaped, it is not likely you will find him hiding within a few miles of his master's plantation." So saying she went into the house and shut the door behind her. Mr. Jackson ground his teeth with rage, but the sheriff rode off toward the slave-huts without a word. The position of Mrs. Wingfield of the Orangery, connected as she was with half the old families of Virginia, and herself a large slave-owner, was beyond suspicion, and no one would venture to suggest that such a lady could have the smallest sympathy for a runaway slave. "She was down upon you pretty hot, Mr. Jackson," the sheriff said as they rode off. "You don't seem to be in her good books." Jackson muttered an imprecation. "It is certainly odd," the sheriff went on, "after what you were telling me about her son pitching into Andrew over flogging this very slave, that she should go and buy his wife. Still, that's a very different thing from hiding a runaway. I dare say that, as she says, the fellow came here to see his wife when he first ran away; but I don't think you will find him anywhere about here now. It's pretty certain from what we hear that he hasn't made for the North, and where the fellow can be hiding I can't think. Still the woods about this country are mighty big, and the fellow can go out on to the farms and pick corn and keep himself going for a long time. Still, he's sure to be brought up sooner or later." A thorough search was made of the slave-huts, and the slaves were closely questioned, but all denied any knowledge of the runaway. Dan escaped questioning, as he had taken up Vincent's horse to the house in readiness for him to start as soon as he had finished breakfast. All day the searchers rode about the plantation examining every clump of bushes, and assuring themselves that none of them had been used as a place of refuge for the runaway. "It's no good, Mr. Jackson," the sheriff said at last. "The man may have been here; he ain't here now. The only place we haven't; searched is the house, and you may be quite sure the slaves dare not conceal him there. Too many would get to know it. No, sir, he's made a bolt of it, and you will have to wait now till he is caught by chance, or shot by some farmer or other in the act of stealing." "I would lay a thousand dollars," Andrew Jackson exclaimed passionately, "that young Wingfield knows something about his whereabouts, and has lent him a hand!" "Well, I should advise you to keep your mouth shut about it till you get some positive proof," the sheriff said dryly. "I tell you it's no joke to accuse a member of a family like the Wingfields of helping runaway slaves to escape." "I will bide my time," the planter said. "You said that some day you would lay hands on Tony dead or alive. You see if some day I don't lay hands on young Wingfield." "Well, it seems, Mr. Jackson," the sheriff remarked with a sneer, for he was out of temper at the ill success of the day's work, "that he has already laid hands on your son. It seems to me quite as likely that he will lay hands on you as you on him." Two days afterward as Vincent was riding through the streets of Richmond he saw to his surprise Andrew Jackson in close conversation with Jonas Pearson. "I wonder what those two fellows are talking about?" he said to himself. "I expect Jackson is trying to pump Pearson as to the doings at the Orangery. I don't like that fellow, and never shall, and he is just the sort of man to do one a bad turn if he had the chance. However, as I have never spoken to him about that affair from beginning to end, I don't see that he can do any mischief if he wants to." Andrew Jackson, however, had obtained information which he considered valuable. He learned that Vincent had been away in a boat for five days, and that his mother had been very uneasy about him. He also learned that the boat was one belonging to Mr. Furniss, and that it was only quite lately that Vincent had taken to going out sailing. After considerable trouble he succeeded in getting at one of the slaves upon Mr. Furniss' plantation. But he could only learn from him that Vincent had been unaccompanied when he went out in the boat either by young Furniss or by any of the plantation hands; that he had taken with him only his own slave, and had come and gone as he chose, taking out and fastening up the boat himself, so that no one could say when he had gone out, except that his horse was put up at the stables. The slave said that certainly the horse had only stood there on two or three occasions, and then only for a few hours, and that unless Mr. Wingfield had walked over he could never have had the boat out all night, as the horse certainly had not stood all night in the stables. Andrew Jackson talked the matter over with his son, and both agreed that Vincent's conduct was suspicious. His own people said he had been away for five days in the boat. The people at Furniss' knew nothing about this, and therefore there must be some mystery about it, and they doubted not that that mystery was connected with the runaway slave, and they guessed that he had either taken Tony and landed him near the mouth of the York River on the northern shore, or that he had put him on board a ship. They agreed, however, that whatever their suspicions, they had not sufficient grounds for openly accusing Vincent of aiding their runaway. CHAPTER V. SECESSION. While Vincent had been occupied with the affairs of Tony and his wife, public events had moved forward rapidly. The South Carolina Convention met in the third week in December, and on the 20th of that month the Ordinance of Secession was passed. On the 10th of January, three days after Vincent returned home from his expedition, Florida followed the example of South Carolina and seceded. Alabama and Mississippi passed the Ordinance of Secession on the following day; Georgia on the 18th, Louisiana on the 23d, and Texas on the 1st of February. In all these States the Ordinance of Session was received with great rejoicing: bonfires were lit, the towns illuminated, and the militia paraded the streets, and in many cases the Federal arsenals were seized and the Federal forts occupied by the State troops. In the meantime the Northern Slave States, Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Missouri, remained irresolute. The general feeling was strongly in favor of their Southern brethren; but they were anxious for peace, and for a compromise being arrived at. Whether the North would agree to admit the constitutional rights of secession, or whether it would use force to compel the Seceding States to remain in the Union, was still uncertain; but the idea of a civil war was so terrible a one that the general belief was that some arrangement to allow the States to go their own way would probably be arrived at. For the time the idea of Vincent going to West Point was abandoned. Among his acquaintances were several young men who were already at West Point, and very few of these returned to the academy. The feeling there was very strongly on the side of secession. A great majority of the students came from the Southern States, as while the sons of the Northern men went principally into trade and commerce, the Southern planters sent their sons into the army, and a great proportion of the officers of the army and navy were Southerners. As the professors at West Point were all military men, the feeling among them, as well as among the students, was in favor of State rights; they considering that, according to the constitution, their allegiance was due first to the States of which they were natives, and in the second place to the Union. Thus, then, many of the professors who were natives of the seven States which had seceded resigned their appointments, and returned home to occupy themselves in drilling the militia and the levies, who were at once called to arms. Still all hoped that peace would be preserved, until on the 11th of April General Beauregard, who commanded the troops of South Carolina, summoned Major Anderson, who was in command of the Federal troops in Fort Sumter, to surrender, and on his refusal opened fire upon the fort on the following day. On the 13th, the barracks of the fort being set on fire, and Major Anderson seeing the hopelessness of a prolonged resistance, surrendered. The effect of the news throughout the United States was tremendous, and Mr. Lincoln at once called out 75,000 men of the militia of the various States to put down the rebellion--the border States being ordered to send their proportion. This brought matters to a climax. Virginia, North Carolina, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Missouri all refused to furnish contingents to act against the Southern States; and Virginia, North Carolina, and Kansas a few days later passed Ordinances of Secession and joined the Southern States. Missouri, Maryland, and Delaware were divided in their counsels. The struggle that was about to commence was an uneven one. The white population of the Seceding States was about 8,000,000; while that the Northern States were 19,614,885. The North possessed an immense advantage, inasmuch as they retained the whole of the Federal navy, and were thereby enabled at once to cut off all communication between the Southern States and Europe, while they themselves could draw unlimited supplies of munitions of war of all kinds from across the Atlantic. Although the people of Virginia had hoped to the last that some peaceful arrangement might be effected, the Act of Secession was received with enthusiasm. The demand of Mr. Lincoln that they should furnish troops to crush their Southern brethren excited the liveliest indignation, and Virginia felt that there was no course open to her now but to throw in her lot with the other Slaves States. Her militia was at once called out, and volunteers called for to form a provisional army to protect the State from invasion by the North. The appeal was answered with enthusiasm; men of all ages took up arms; the wealthy raised regiments at their own expense, generally handing over the commands to experienced army officers, and themselves taking their places in the ranks; thousand of lads of from fifteen to sixteen years of age enrolled themselves, and men who had never done a day's work in their life prepared to suffer all the hardships of the campaign as private soldiers. Mrs. Wingfield was an enthusiastic supporter of State rights; and when Vincent told her that numbers of his friends were going to enroll themselves as soon as the lists were opened, she offered no objection to his doing the same. "Of course you are very young, Vincent; but no one thinks there will be any serious fighting. Now that Virginia and the other four States have cast in their lot with the seven that have seceded, the North can never hope to force the solid South back into the Union. Still it is right you should join. I certainly should not like an old Virginian family like ours to be unrepresented; but I should prefer your joining one of the mounted corps. "In the first place it will be much less fatiguing than carrying a heavy rifle and knapsack; and in the second place, the cavalry will for the most part be gentlemen. I was speaking only yesterday when I went into Richmond to Mr. Ashley, who is raising a corps. He is one of the best riders in the country, and a splendid specimen of a Virginian gentleman. He tells me that he has already received a large number of applications from young volunteers, and that he thinks he shall be able without any difficulty to get as many as he wants. I said that I had a son who would probably enroll himself, and that I should like to have him in his corps. "He said that he would be glad to put down your name, and that he had had many applications from lads no older than yourself. He considered that for cavalry work, scouting, and that sort; of thing age mattered little, and that a lad who was at once a light weight, a good rider, and a good shot was of as much good as a man." "Thank you, mother. I will ride into Richmond to-morrow morning and see Ashley. I have often met him at one house or another, and should like to serve under him very much. I should certainly prefer being in the cavalry to the infantry." Rosie and Annie, who were of course enthusiastic for the South, were almost as pleased as was Vincent when they heard that their mother had consented to his enrolling himself. So many of the girls of their acquaintance had brothers or cousins who were joining the army, that they would have felt it as something like a slur upon the family name had Vincent remained behind. On the following morning Vincent rode over and saw Mr. Ashley, who had just received his commission as major. He was cordially received. "Mrs. Wingfield was speaking to me about you, and I shall be glad to have you with me--the more so as you are a capital rider and a good shot. I shall have a good many in my ranks no older than you are. Did I not hear a few months since that you bought Wildfire? I thought when I heard it; that you would be lucky if you did not get your neck broken in the course of a week. Peters, who owns the next estate to mine, had the horse for about three weeks, and was glad enough to get rid of it for half what he had given for it. He told me the horse was the most savage brute he ever saw. I suppose you did not keep it many days?" "I have got it still, and mean to ride it with you. The horse was not really savage. It was hot-tempered, and had, I think, been badly treated by its first owner. Who-ever it had belonged to, I found no difficulty with it. It only wanted kindness and a little patience; and as soon as it found that it could not get rid of me, and that I had no intention of ill-treating it, it settled down quietly, after running away a few times and giving me some little trouble at starting. And now I would not change it for any horse in the State." "You must be a first-rate rider," Major Ashley said, "to be able to tame Wildfire. I never saw the horse, for I was away when Peters had him, but from his description it was a perfect savage." "Are we allowed to bring a servant with us?" Vincent asked. "Yes, if you like. I know that a good many are going to do so, but you must not make up your mind that you will get much benefit from one. We shall move rapidly, and each man must shift for himself, but at the same time we shall of course often be stationary; and then servants will be useful. At any rate I can see no objection to men having them. We must be prepared to rough it to any extent when it is necessary, but I see no reason why at other times a man should not make himself comfortable. I expect the order to-morrow or next day to begin formally to enroll volunteers. As I have now put down your name there will be no occasion for you to come in then. You will receive a communication telling you when to report yourself. "I shall not trouble much about uniform at first. High boots and breeches, a thick felt hat that will turn the edge of a sword, and a loose coat-jacket of dark-gray cloth. That is the name of the tailor who has got the pattern, and will make them. So I should advise you to go to him at once, for he will be so busy soon that; there is no saying when the whole troop will get their uniforms." Upon his return home Vincent related to his mother and sisters the conversation that he had had with Major Ashley. "Certainly you had better take a servant with you," his mother said. "I suppose when you are riding about; you will have to clean your horse, and cook your dinner, and do everything for yourself; but when you are in a town you should have these things done for you. Who would you like to take? "I should like to take Dan, mother, if you have no objection. He is very strong and active, and I think would generally be able to keep up with us; besides, I know he would always stick to me." "You shall have him certainly, Vincent; I will make him over formally to you." "Thank you, mother," Vincent said joyfully; for he had often wished that Dan belonged to him, as he would then be able to prevent any interference with him by the overseer or any one else, and could, if he liked, give him his freedom--although this would, he knew, be of very doubtful advantage to the lad as long as he remained in the South. The next morning the necessary papers were drawn up, and the ownership of Dan was formally transferred to Vincent. Dan was wild with delight when he heard that Vincent was now his master, and that he was to accompany him to the war. It had been known two days before that Vincent was going, and it seemed quite shocking to the negroes that the young master should go as a private soldier, and have to do everything for himself--"just," as they said, "like de poor white trash;" for the slaves were proud to belong to an old family, and looked down with almost contempt upon the poorer class of whites, regarding their own position as infinitely superior. Four days later Vincent received an official letter saying that the corps would be mustered in two days' time. The next day was spent in a long round of farewell visits, and then Vincent mounted Wildfire, and, with Dan trotting behind, rode off from the Orangery amid a chorus of blessings and good wishes from all the slaves who could on any pretext get away from their duties, and who had assembled in front of the house to see him start. The place of meeting for the regiment was at Hanover Courthouse--a station on the Richmond and Fredericksburg Railway, close to the Pamunkey River, about eighteen miles from the city. The Orangery was a mile from the village of Gaines, which lay to the northeast of Richmond, and was some twelve miles from Hanover Courthouse. A month was spent in drill, and at the end of that time the corps were able to execute any simple maneuver. More than this Major Ashley did not care about their learning. The work in which they were about to engage was that of scouts rather than that of regular cavalry, and the requirements were vigilance and attention to orders, good shooting and a quick eye. Off duty there was but little discipline. Almost the whole of the men were in a good position in life, and many of them very wealthy; and while strict discipline and obedience were expected while on duty, at all other times something like equality existed between officers and men, and all were free to live as they chose. The rations served out were simple and often scanty, for at present the various departments were not properly organized, and such numbers of men were flocking to the standards that the authorities were at their wit's end to provide them with even the simplest food. This mattered but little, however, to the regiment, whose members were all ready and willing to pay for everything they wanted, and the country people round found a ready market for all their chickens, eggs, fruit, and vegetables at Hanover Courthouse, for here there were also several infantry regiments, and the normally quiet little village was a scene of bustle and confusion. The arms of the cavalry were of a very varied description. Not more than a dozen had swords; the rest were armed with rifles or shot-guns, with the barrels cut short to enable them to be carried as carbines. Many of them were armed with revolvers, and some carried pistols so antiquated that they might have been used in the revolutionary war. A certain number of tents had been issued for the use of the corps. These, however, were altogether insufficient for the numbers, and most of the men preferred to sleep in shelters composed of canvas, carpets, blankets, or any other material that came to hand, or in arbors constructed of the boughs of trees, for it was now April and warm enough to sleep in the open air. In the third week in May the order came that the corps was to march at once for Harper's Ferry--an important position at the point where the Shenandoah River runs into the Potomac, at the mouth of the Shenandoah Valley. The order was received with the greatest satisfaction. The Federal forces were gathering rapidly upon the northern banks of the Potomac, and it was believed that, while the main army would march down from Washington through Manassas Junction direct upon Richmond, another would enter by the Shenandoah Valley, and, crossing the Blue Ridge Mountains, come down on the rear of the Confederate army, facing the main force at Manassas. The cavalry marched by road, while the infantry were despatched by rail as far as Manassas Junction, whence they marched to Harper's Ferry. The black servants accompanied the infantry. The cavalry march was a pleasant one. At every village through which they passed the people flocked out with offerings of milk and fruit. The days were hot, but the mornings and evenings delightful; and as the troops always halted in the shade of a wood for three or four hours in the middle of the day, the marches although long were not fatiguing. At Harper's Ferry General Johnston had just superseded Colonel Jackson in command. The force there consisted of 11 battalions of infantry, 16 guns, and after Ashley's force arrived, 300 cavalry. Among the regiments there Vincent found many friends, and learned what was going on. He learned that Colonel Jackson had been keeping them hard at work. Some of Vincent's friends had been at the Virginia Military Institute at Lexington, where Jackson was professor of natural philosophy and instructor of artillery. "He was the greatest fun," one of the young men said; "the stiffest and most awkward-looking fellow in the institute. He used to walk about as if he never saw anything or anybody. He was always known as Old Tom, and nobody ever saw him laugh. He was awfully earnest in all he did, and strict, I can tell you, about everything. There was no humbugging him. The fellows liked him because he was really so earnest about everything, and always just and fair. But he didn't look a bit like a soldier except as to his stiffness, and when the fellows who had been at Lexington heard that he was in command here they did not think he would have made much hand at it; but I tell you, he did. You never saw such a fellow to work. "Everything had to be done, you know. There were the guns, but no horses and no harness. The horses had to be got somehow, and the harness manufactured out of ropes; and you can imagine the confusion of nine battalions of infantry, all recruits, with no one to teach them except a score or two of old army and militia officers. Old Tom has done wonders, I can tell you. You see, he is so fearfully earnest himself every one else has got to be earnest. There has been no playing about anything, but just fifteen hours' hard work a day. Fellows grumbled and growled and said it was absurd, and threatened to do all sorts of things. You see, they had all come out to fight if necessary, but hadn't bargained for such hard work as this. "However, Jackson had his way, and I don't suppose any one ever told him the men thought they were too hard worked. He is not the sort of man one would care about remonstrating with. I don't know yet whether he is as good at fighting as he is at working and organizing; but I rather expect a fellow who is so earnest about everything else is sure to be earnest about fighting, and I fancy that when he once gets into the thick of it he will go through with it. He had such a reputation as an oddity at Lexington that there were a lot of remarks when he was made colonel and sent here; but there is no doubt that he has proved himself the right man so far, and although his men may grumble they believe in him. "My regiment is in his brigade, and I will bet any money that we have our share of fighting. What sort of man is Johnston? He is a fine fellow--a soldier, heart and soul. You could tell him anywhere, and we have a first-rate fellow in command of the cavalry--Colonel Stuart--a splendid dashing fellow, full of life and go. His fellows swear by him. I quite envy you, for I expect you will astonish the Yankee horsemen. They are no great riders up there, you know, and I expect the first time you meet them you will astonish them." Here he suddenly stopped, stood at attention, and saluted. Vincent at once did the same, although, had he not been set the example by his friend, he would never have thought of doing so to the figure who passed. "Who is it?" he asked, as his companion resumed his easy attitude. "Why, that's Old Tom." "What! Colonel Jackson!" Vincent said in surprise. "Well, he is an odd-looking fellow." The figure that had passed was that of a tall, gaunt man, leaning awkwardly forward in his saddle. He wore an old gray coat, and there was no sign of rank, nor particle of gold lace upon the uniform. He wore on his head a faded cadet cap, with the rim coming down so far upon his nose that he could only look sideways from under it. He seemed to pay but little attention to what was going on around him, and did not enter into conversation with any of the officers he met. The brigade commanded by Jackson was the first of the army of the Shenandoah, and consisted of the 2d, 4th, 5th, and 27th Virginians, to which was shortly afterward added the 33d. They were composed of men of all ranks and ages, among them being a great number of lads from fifteen and upward; for every school had been deserted. Every boy capable of carrying a musket had insisted upon joining, and among them were a whole company of cadets from Lexington. The regiments selected their own officers, and among these were many who were still lads. Many of the regiments had no accouterments, and were without uniforms, and numbers carried no better arms than a double-barreled shot-gun; but all were animated with the same spirit of enthusiasm in their cause, and a determination to die rather than to allow the invaders to pass on through the fertile valleys of their native land. Of all these valleys that of Shenandoah was the richest and most beautiful. It was called the Garden of Virginia; and all writers agreed in their praises of the beauties of its fields and forests, mountains and rivers, its delicious climate, and the general prosperity which prevailed among its population. It was a pleasant evening that Ashley's horse spent at Harper's Ferry on the day they marched in. All had many friends among the other Virginian regiments, and their camp-fires were the center toward which men trooped by scores. The rest was pleasant after their hard marches; and, although ready to do their own work when necessary, they appreciated the advantage of having their servants again with them to groom their horses and cook their food. The negroes were not less glad at being again with their masters. Almost all were men who had, like Dan, been brought up with their young owners, and felt for them a strong personal attachment, and, if it had been allowed, would gladly have followed them in the field of battle, and fought by their side against the "Yankees." Their stay at Harper's Ferry was to be a short one. Colonel Stuart, with his 200 horse, was scouting along the whole bank of the Potomac, watching every movement of the enemy, and Ashley's horse was to join them at once. It was not difficult for even young soldiers to form an idea of the general nature of the operations. They had to protect the Shenandoah Valley, to guard the five great roads by which the enemy would advance against Winchester, and not only to save the loyal inhabitants and rich resources of the valley from falling into the hands of the Federals, but what was of even greater importance, to prevent the latter from marching across the Blue Ridge Mountains, and falling upon the flank of the main Confederate army at Manassas. The position was a difficult one, for while "the grand army" was assembling at Alexandria to advance against Manassas Junction, McClellan was advancing from the northwest with 20,000 men, and Patterson from Pennsylvania with 18,000. In the morning before parading his troop, 100 strong, Ashley called them together and told them that, as they would now be constantly on the move and scattered over a long line, it was impossible that they could take their servants with them. "I should never have allowed them to be brought," he said, "had I known that we should be scouting over such an extensive country; at the same time, if we can manage to take a few on it would certainly add to our comfort. I propose that we choose ten by lot to go on with us. They must be servants of the troop and not of individuals. We can scatter them in pairs at five points, with instructions to forage as well as they can, and to have things in readiness to cook for whoever may come in off duty or may for the time be posted there. Henceforth every man must groom and see to his own horse, but I see no reason, military or otherwise, why we shouldn't get our food cooked for us; and it will be just as well, as long as we can, to have a few bundles of straw for us to lie on instead of sleeping on the ground. "Another ten men we can also choose by lot to go to Winchester; which is, I imagine, the point we shall move to if the enemy advance, as I fancy they will, from the other side of the Shenandoah Valley. The rest must be sent home." Each man accordingly wrote his name on a piece of paper, and placed them in a haversack. Ten were then drawn out; and their servants were to accompany the troop at once. The servants of the next ten were to proceed by train to Winchester, while the slaves of all whose names remained in the bag were to be sent home at once, provided with passes permitting them to travel. To Vincent's satisfaction his name was one of the first ten drawn, and Dan was therefore to go forward. The greater part of the men evaded the obligation to send their servants back to Richmond by despatching them to friends who had estates in the Shenandoah Valley, with letters asking them to keep the men for them until the troop happened to come into their neighborhood. At six o'clock in the morning the troop mounted and rode to Bath, thirty miles away. It was here that Stuart had his headquarters, whence he sent out his patrols up and down the Potomac, between Harper's Ferry on the east and Cumberland on the west. Stuart was away when they arrived, but he rode in a few hours afterward. "Ah! Ashley, I am glad you have arrived," he said, as he rode up to the troop, who had hastily mounted as he was seen approaching. "There is plenty for you to do, I can tell you; and I only wish that you had brought a thousand men instead of a hundred. I am heartily glad to see you all, gentlemen," he said to the troop. "I am afraid just at first that the brightness of your gray jackets will put my men rather to shame; but we shall soon get rid of that. But dismount your men, Ashley; there is plenty for them and their horses to do without wasting time in parade work. There is very little of that here, I can tell you. I have not seen a score of my men together for the last month." Vincent gazed with admiration at the young leader, whose name was soon to be celebrated throughout America and Europe. The young Virginian--for he was not yet twenty-eight years old--was the beau ideal of a cavalry officer. He was singularly handsome, and possessed great personal strength and a constitution which enabled him to bear all hardships. He possessed unfailing good spirits, and had a joke and laugh for all he met; and while on the march at the head of his regiment he was always ready to lift up his voice and lead the songs with which the men made the woods resound. He seemed to live in his saddle, and was present at all hours of the night and day along the line he guarded seeing that the men were watchful and on the alert, instructing the outposts in their duty, and infusing his own spirit and vigilance among them. He had been educated at West Point, and had seen much service with the cavalry against the Indians in the West. Such was the man who was to become the most famous cavalry leader of his time. So far he had not come in contact with the enemy, and his duties were confined to obtaining information regarding their strength and intentions, to watching every road by which they could advance, and to seeing that none passed north to carry information to the enemy as to the Confederate strength and positions, for even in the Shenandoah Valley there were some whose sympathies were with the Federals. These were principally Northern men settled as traders in the towns, and it was important to prevent them from sending any news to the enemy. So well did Stuart's cavalry perform this service, and so general was the hostility of the population against the North, that throughout the whole of the war in Virginia it was very seldom that the Northern generals could obtain any trustworthy information as to the movements and strength of the Confederates, while the latter were perfectly informed of every detail connected with the intentions of the invaders. The next morning Ashley's troop took up their share of the work at the front. They were broken up into parties of ten, each of which was stationed at a village near the river, five men being on duty night and day. As it happened that none of the other men in his squad had a servant at the front, Vincent was able without difficulty to have Dan assigned to his party. A house in the village was placed at their disposal, and here the five off duty slept and took their meals while the others were in the saddle. Dan was quite in his element, and turned out an excellent cook, and was soon a general favorite among the mess. CHAPTER VI. BULL RUN. The next fortnight passed by without adventure. Hard as the work was, Vincent enjoyed it thoroughly. When on duty by day he was constantly on the move, riding through the forest, following country lanes, questioning every one he came across; and as the men always worked in pairs, there was no feeling of loneliness. Sometimes Ashley would draw together a score of troopers, and crossing the river in a ferryboat, would ride twenty miles north, and, dashing into quiet villages, astonish the inhabitants by the sight of the Confederate uniform. Then the villagers would be questioned as to the news that had reached them of the movement of the troops; the post office would be seized and the letters broken open; any useful information contained in them being noted. But in general questions were readily answered; for a considerable portion of the people of Maryland were strongly in favor of the South, and were only prevented from joining it by the strong force that held possession of Baltimore, and by the constant movement of Federal armies through the State. Vincent was often employed in carrying despatches from Major Ashley to Stuart, being selected for that duty as being the best mounted man in the troop. The direction was always a vague one. "Take this letter to Colonel Stuart, wherever he may be," and however early he started, Vincent thought himself fortunate if he carried out his mission before sunset; for Stuart's front covered over fifty miles of ground, and there was no saying where he might be. Sometimes after riding thirty or forty miles, and getting occasional news that Stuart had passed through ahead of him, he would learn from some outpost that the colonel had been there but ten minutes before, and had ridden off before he came, and then Vincent had to turn his horse and gallop back again, seldom succeeding in overtaking his active commander until the latter had halted for his supper at one or other of the villages where his men were stationed. Sometimes by good luck he came upon him earlier, and then, after reading the despatch, Stuart would, if he were riding in the direction where Ashley's command lay, bid him ride on with him, and would chat with him on terms of friendly intimacy about people they both knew at Richmond, or as to the details of his work, and sometimes they would sit down together under the shade of some trees, take out the contents of their haversacks, and share their dinners. "This is the second time I have had the best of this," the colonel laughed one day; "my beef is as hard as leather, and this cold chicken of yours is as plump and tender as one could wish to eat." "I have my own boy, colonel, who looks after the ten of us stationed at Elmside, and I fancy that in the matter of cold rations he gives me an undue preference. He always hands me my haversack when I mount with a grin, and I quite understand that it is better I should ask no questions as to its contents." "You are a lucky fellow," Stuart said. "My own servant is a good man, and would do anything for me; but my irregular hours are too much for him. He never knows when to expect me; and as he often finds that when I do return I have made a meal an hour before at one of the outposts, and do not want the food he has for hours been carefully keeping hot for me, it drives him almost to despair, and I have sometimes been obliged to eat rather than disappoint him. But he certainly has not a genius for cooking, and were it not that this riding gives one the appetite of a hunter, I should often have a good deal of difficulty in devouring the meat he puts into my haversack." But the enemy were now really advancing, and on the 12th of June a trooper rode in from the extreme left, and handed to Vincent a despatch from Colonel Stuart. "My orders were," he said, "that, if you were here, you were to carry this on at all speed to General Johnston. If not, some one else was to take it on." "Any news?" Vincent asked, as aided by Dan he rapidly saddled Wildfire. "Yes," the soldier said; "2,000 of the enemy have advanced up the Western side and have occupied Romney, and they say that all Patterson's force is on the move." "So much the better," Vincent replied, as he jumped into the saddle. "We have been doing nothing long enough, and the sooner it comes the better." It was a fifty-mile ride; but it was done in five hours, and at the end of that time Vincent dismounted in front of General Johnston's quarters. "Is the general in?" he asked the sentry at the door. "No, he is not in; but here he comes," the soldier replied, and two minutes later the general, accompanied by three or four officers, rode up. Vincent saluted, and handed him the despatch. The general opened it and glanced at the contents. "The storm is going to burst at last, gentlemen," he said to the officers. "Stuart writes me that 2,000 men, supposed to be the advance of McClellan's army, are at Romney, and that he hears Patterson is also advancing from Chambersburg on Williamsport. His despatch is dated this morning at nine o'clock. He writes from near Cumberland. No time has been lost, for that is eighty miles away, and it is but five o'clock now. How far have you brought this despatch, sir?" "I have brought it from Elmside, general; twenty miles on the other side of Bath. A trooper brought it in just at midday, with orders for me to carry it on at once." "That is good work," the general said. "You have ridden over fifty miles in five hours. You must be well mounted, sir." "I do not think there is a better horse in the State," Vincent said, patting Wildfire's neck. The general called an orderly. "Let this man picket his horse with those of the staff," he said, "and see that it has forage at once. Take the man to the orderly's quarters, and see that he is well cared for." Vincent saluted, and, leading Wildfire, followed the orderly. When he had had a meal, he strolled out to see what was going on. Evidently some movement was in contemplation. Officers were riding up or dashing off from the general's headquarters. Two or three regiments were seen marching down from the plateau on which they were encamped into the town. Bells rang and drums beat, and presently long trains of railway wagons, heavily laden, began to make their way across the bridge. Until next morning the movement continued unceasingly; by that time all the military stores and public property, together with as much private property belonging to inhabitants who had decided to forsake their homes for a time rather than to remain there when the town was occupied by the enemy, as could be carried on in the available wagons, had been taken across the bridge. A party of engineers, who had been all night hard at work, then set fire both to the railway bridge across the river and the public buildings in the town. The main body of troops had moved across in the evening. The rear-guard passed when all was in readiness for the destruction of the bridge. General Johnston had been preparing for the movement for some time; he had foreseen that the position must be evacuated as soon as the enemy began to advance upon either of his flanks, and a considerable portion of his baggage and military stores had some time previously been sent into the interior of Virginia. The troops, formed up on the high grounds south of the river, looked in silence at the dense volumes of smoke rising. This was the reality of war. Hitherto their military work had been no more than that to which many of them were accustomed when called out with the militia of their State; but the scene of destruction on which they now gazed brought home to them that the struggle was a serious one--that it was war in its stern reality which had now begun. The troops at once set off on their march, and at night bivouacked in the woods around Charlestown. The next day they pushed across the country and took up a position covering Winchester; and then the enemy, finding that Johnston's army was in front of them ready to dispute their advance, recrossed the river, and Johnston concentrated his force round Winchester. Vincent joined his corps on the same afternoon that the infantry marched out from Harper's Ferry, the general sending him forward with despatches as soon as the troops had got into motion. "You will find Colonel Stuart in front of the enemy; but more than that I cannot tell you." This was quite enough for Vincent, who found the cavalry scouting close to Patterson's force, prepared to attack the enemy's cavalry should it advance to reconnoiter the country, and to blow up bridges across streams, fell trees, and take every possible measure to delay the advance of Patterson's army, in its attempt to push on toward Winchester before the arrival of General Johnston's force upon the scene. "I am glad to see you back, Wingfield," Major Ashley said, as he rode up. "The colonel tells me that in the despatch he got last night from Johnston the general said that Stuart's information had reached in a remarkably short time, having been carried with great speed by the orderly in charge of the duty. We have scarcely been out of our saddles since you left. However, I think we have been of use, for we have been busy all round the enemy since we arrived here in the afternoon, and I fancy he must think us a good deal stronger than we are. At any rate, he has not pushed his cavalry forward at all; and, as you say Johnston will be up to-morrow afternoon. Winchester is safe anyhow." After the Federals had recrossed the river, and Johnston had taken up his position round Winchester, the cavalry returned to their old work of scouting along the Potomac. On the 20th of June movements of considerable bodies of the enemy were noticed; and Johnston at once despatched Jackson with his brigade to Martinsburg, with orders to send as much of the rolling-stock of the railroad as could be removed to Winchester, to destroy the rest, and to support Stuart's cavalry when they advanced. A number of locomotives were sent to Winchester along the highroad, drawn by teams of horses. Forty engines and 300 cars were burned or destroyed, and Jackson then advanced and took up his position on the road to Williamsport, the cavalry camp being a little in advance of him. This was pleasant for Vincent, as when off duty he spent his time with his friends and schoolfellows in Jackson's brigade. On the 2d of July the scouts rode into camp with the news that a strong force was advancing from Williamsport. Jackson at once advanced with the 5th Virginia Infantry, numbering 380 men and one gun, while Stuart, with 100 cavalry, started to make a circuitous route, and harassed the flank and rear of the enemy. There was no intention on the part of Jackson of fighting a battle, his orders being merely to feel the enemy; whose strength was far too great to be withstood even had he brought his whole brigade into action, for they numbered three brigades of infantry, 500 cavalry, and some artillery. For some hours the little Confederate force skirmished so boldly that they checked the advance of the enemy, whose general naturally supposed that he had before him the advanced guard of a strong force, and therefore moved forward with great caution. Then the Confederates, being threatened on both flanks by the masses of the Federals, fell back in good order. The loss was very trifling on either side, but the fact that so small a force had for hours checked the advance of an army greatly raised the spirits and confidence of the Confederates. Stuart's small cavalry force, coming down upon the enemy's rear, captured a good many prisoners--Colonel Stuart himself capturing forty-four infantry. Riding some distance ahead of his troop to find out the position of the enemy, he came upon a company of Federal infantry sitting down in a field, having no idea whatever that any Confederate force was in the neighborhood. Stuart did not hesitate a moment, but riding up to them shouted the order, "Throw down your arms, or you are all dead men." Believing themselves surrounded, the Federals threw down their arms, and when the Confederate cavalry came up were marched off as prisoners. Jackson, on reaching his camp, struck his tents and sent them to the rear, and formed up his whole brigade in order of battle. The Federals, however, instead of attacking, continued their flank movement, and Jackson fell back through Martinsburg and halted for the night a mile beyond the town. Next day he again retired, and was joined six miles further on by Johnston's whole force. For four days the little army held its position, prepared to give battle if the enemy advanced; but the Federals, though greatly superior in numbers, remained immovable at Martinsburg, and Johnston, to the great disgust of his troops, retired to Winchester. The soldiers were longing to meet the invaders in battle, but their general had to bear in mind that the force under his command might at any moment be urgently required to join the main Confederate army and aid in opposing the Northern advance upon Richmond. Stuart's cavalry kept him constantly informed of the strength of the enemy gathering in his front. Making circuits round Martinsburg, they learned from the farmers what numbers of troops each day came along; and while the Federals knew nothing of the force opposed to them, and believed that it far outnumbered their own, General Johnston knew that Patterson's force numbered about 22,000 men, while he himself had been joined only by some 3,000 men since he arrived at Winchester. On the 18th of July a telegram from the government at Richmond announced that the Federal grand army had driven in General Beauregard's pickets at Manassas, and had begun to advance, and Johnston was directed if possible to hasten to his assistance. A few earthworks had been thrown up at Winchester, and some guns mounted upon them, and the town was left under the protection of the local militia. Stuart's cavalry was posted in a long line across the country to prevent any news of the movement reaching the enemy. As soon as this was done the infantry, 8,300 strong, marched off. The troops were in high spirits now, for they knew that their long period of inactivity was over, and that, although ignorant when and where, they were on their march to meet the enemy. They had no wagons or rations, the need for speed was too urgent even to permit of food being cooked. Without a halt they pressed forward steadily, and after two days' march, exhausted and half famished, they reached the Manassas Gap Railroad. There they were put into trains as fast as these could be prepared, and by noon on the 20th joined Beauregard at Manassas. The cavalry had performed their duty of preventing the news of the movement from reaching the enemy until the infantry were nearly a day's march away, and then Stuart reassembled his men and followed Johnston. Thus the Confederate plans had been completely successful. Over 30,000 of the enemy, instead of being in line of battle with the main army, were detained before Winchester, while the little Confederate force who had been facing them had reached Beauregard in time to take part in the approaching struggle. In the North no doubt as to the power of the grand army to make its way to Richmond was entertained. The troops were armed with the best weapons obtainable, the artillery was numerous and excellent, the army was fed with every luxury, and so confident were the men of success that they regarded the whole affair in the light of a great picnic. The grand army numbered 55,000 men, with 9 regiments of cavalry and 49 rifle-guns. To oppose these, the Confederate force, after the arrival of Johnston's army, numbered 27,833 infantry, 35 smooth-bored guns, and 500 cavalry. Many of the infantry were armed only with shot-guns and old fowling-pieces, and the guns were small and ill-supplied with ammunition. There had been some sharp fighting on the 18th, and the Federal advance across the river of Bull Run had been sharply repulsed; therefore their generals determined, instead of making a direct attack on the 31st against the Confederate position, to take a wide sweep round, cross the river higher up, and falling upon the Confederate left flank, to crumple it up. All night the Federal troops had marched, and at daybreak on the 21st nearly 40,000 men were in position on the left flank of the Confederates. The latter were not taken by surprise when Stuart's cavalry brought in news of the Federal movement, and General Beauregard, instead of moving his troops toward the threatened point, sent orders to General Longstreet on the right to cross the river as soon as the battle began, and to fall upon the Federal flank and rear. Had this movement been carried out, the destruction of the Federal army would have been complete; but by one of those unfortunate accidents which so frequently occur in war and upset the best laid plans, the order in some way never came to hand, and when late in the day the error was discovered it was too late to remedy it. At eight o'clock in the morning two of the Federal divisions reached the river, and while one of them engaged the Confederate force stationed at the bridge, another crossed the river at a ford. Colonel Evans, who commanded the Confederate forces, which numbered but fifteen companies, left 200 men to continue to hold the bridge, while with 800 he hurried to oppose General Hunter's division, which had crossed at the ford. This consisted of 16,000 infantry, with cavalry and artillery, and another division of equal force had crossed at the Red House ford higher up. To check so great a force with this handful of men seemed all but impossible; but Colonel Evans determined to hold his ground to the last, to enable his general to bring up reinforcements. His force consisted of men of South Carolina and Louisiana, and they contested every foot of the ground. The regiment which formed the advance of the Federals charged, supported by an artillery fire, but was repulsed. As the heavy Federal line advanced, however, the Confederates were slowly but steadily pressed back, until General Bee, with four regiments and a battery of artillery, came up to their assistance. The newcomers threw themselves into the fight with great gallantry, and maintained their ground until almost annihilated by the fire of the enemy, who outnumbered them by five to one. As, fighting desperately, they fell back before Hunter's division, the Federals who had crossed at Red House Ford suddenly poured down and took them in flank. Swept by a terrible musketry fire, these troops could no longer resist, and in spite of the efforts of their general, who rode among them imploring them to stand firm until aid arrived, they began to fall back. Neither entreaties nor commands were of avail; the troops had done all that they could, and broken and disheartened they retreated in great confusion. But at this moment, when all seemed lost, a line of glittering bayonets was seen coming over the hill behind, and the general, riding off in haste toward them, found Jackson advancing with the first brigade. Unmoved by the rush of the fugitives of the brigades of Bee and Evans, Jackson moved steadily forward, and so firm and resolute was their demeanor, that Bee rode after his men, and pointing with his sword to the first brigade, shouted, "Look, there is Jackson standing like a stone wall." The general's words were repeated, and henceforth the brigade was known as the Stonewall Brigade, and their general by the nickname of Stonewall Jackson, by which he was ever afterward known. The greater part of the fugitives rallied, and took up their position on the right of Jackson, and the Federal forces, who were hurrying forward assured of victory, found themselves confronted suddenly by 2,000 bayonets. After a moment's pause they pressed forward again, the artillery preparing a way for them by a tremendous fire. Jackson ordered his men to lie down until the enemy arrived within fifty yards, and then to charge with the bayonet. Just at this moment Generals Johnston and Beauregard arrived on the spot, and at once seeing the desperate nature of the situation, and the whole Federal army pressing forward against a single brigade, they did their best to prepare to meet the storm. First they galloped up and down the disordered lines of Bee, exhorting the men to stand firm; and seizing the colors of the 4th Alabama, Johnston led them forward and formed them up under fire. Beauregard hurried up some reinforcements and formed them on the left of Jackson, and thus 6,500 infantry and artillery, and Stuart's two troops of cavalry, stood face to face with more than 20,000 infantry and seven troops of regular cavalry, behind whom at the lower fords were 35,000 men in reserve. While his men were lying down awaiting the attack, Jackson rode backward and forward in front of them as calm and as unconcerned to all appearance as if on the parade ground, and his quiet bravery greatly nerved and encouraged the young troops. All at once the tremendous artillery fire of the enemy ceased, and their infantry came on in massive lines. The four Confederate guns poured in their fire and then withdrew behind the infantry. When the line came within fifty yards of him, Jackson gave the word, his men sprang to their feet, poured in a heavy volley, and then charged. A wild yell rose from both ranks as they closed, and then they were mingled in a desperate conflict. For a time all was in wild confusion, but the ardor and courage of Jackson's men prevailed, and they burst through the center of the Federal line. Immediately Jackson had charged, Beauregard sent forward the rest of the troops, and for a time a tremendous struggle took place along the whole line. Generals Bee and Barlow fell mortally wounded at the head of their troops. General Hampton was wounded, and many of the colonels fell. So numerous were the Federals, that although Jackson had pierced their center, their masses drove back his flanks and threatened to surround him. With voice and example he cheered on his men to hold their ground, and the officers closed up their ranks as they were thinned by the enemy's fire, and for an hour the struggle continued without marked advantage on either side. Jackson's calmness was unshaken even in the excitement of the fight. At one time an officer rode up to him from another portion of the field and exclaimed, "General, I think the day is going against us!" To which Jackson replied in his usual curt manner, "If you think so, sir, you had better not say anything about it." The resolute stand of the Confederates enabled General Beauregard to bring up fresh troops, and he at last gave the word to advance. Jackson's brigade rushed forward on receiving the order, burst through the Federals with whom they were engaged, and, supported by the reserves, drove the enemy from the plateau. But the Federals, still vastly superior in force, brought up the reserves, and prepared to renew the attack; but 1,700 fresh men of the army of the Shenandoah came upon the field of battle, Smith and Early brought up their division from the river, and the whole Southern line advanced at the charge, drove the enemy down the slopes and on toward the fords. A panic seized them, and their regiments broke up and took to headlong flight, which soon became an utter rout. Many of them continued their flight for hours, and for a time the Federal army ceased to exist; and had the Confederates advanced, as Jackson desired that they should do, Washington would have fallen into their hands without a blow being struck in its defense. This, the first great battle of the war, is sometimes known as the battle of Manassas, but more generally as Bull Run. With the exception of one or two charges, the little body of Confederate horse did not take any part in the battle of Bull Run. Had they been aware of the utter stampede of the Northern troops, they could safely have pressed forward in hot pursuit as far as Washington, but being numerically so inferior to the Federal cavalry, and in ignorance that the Northern infantry had become a mere panic-stricken mob, it would have been imprudent in the extreme for such a handful of cavalry to undertake the pursuit of an army. Many of the Confederates were of opinion that this decisive victory would be the end of the war, and that the North, seeing that the South was able as well as willing to defend the position it had taken up, would abandon the idea of coercing it into submission. This hope was speedily dissipated. The North was indeed alike astonished and disappointed at the defeat of their army by a greatly inferior force, but instead of abandoning the struggle, they set to work to retrieve the disaster, and to place in the field a force which would, they believed, prove irresistible. Vincent Wingfield saw but little of the battle at Bull Run. As they were impatiently waiting the order to charge while the desperate conflict between Jackson's brigade and the enemy was at its fiercest, a shell from one of the Federal batteries burst a few yards in front of the troop, and one of the pieces striking Vincent on the side hurled him insensible from his horse. He was at once lifted and carried by Dan and some of the other men-servants, who had been told off for this duty, to the rear, where the surgeons were busily engaged in dressing the wounds of the men who straggled back from the front. While the conflict lasted those unable to walk lay where they fell, for no provision had at present been made for ambulance corps, and not a single man capable of firing a musket could be spared from the ranks. The tears were flowing copiously down Dan's cheeks as he stood by while the surgeons examined Vincent's wound. "Is he dead, sah?" he sobbed as they lifted him up from his stooping position. "Dead." the surgeon repeated. "Can't you see he is breathing, and did you not hear him groan when I examined his side? He is a long way from being a dead man yet. Some of his ribs are broken, and he has had a very nasty blow; but I do not think there is any cause for anxiety about him. Pour a little wine down his throat, and sprinkle his face with water. Raise his head and put a coat under it, and when he opens his eyes and begins to recover, don't let him move. Then you can cut up the side of his jacket and down the sleeve, so as to get it off that side altogether. Cut his shirt open, and bathe the wound with some water and bit of rag of any sort; it is not likely to bleed much. When it has stopped bleeding put a pad of linen upon it, and keep it wet. When we can spare time we will bandage it properly." But it was not until late at night that the time could be spared for attending to Vincent; for the surgeons were overwhelmed with work, and the most serious cases were, as far as possible, first attended to. He had soon recovered consciousness. At first he looked with a feeling of bewilderment at Dan, who was copiously sprinkling his face with water, sobbing loudly while he did so. As soon as the negro perceived that his master had opened his eyes he gave a cry of delight. "Tank de Lord, Marse Vincent; dis child tought you dead and gone for sure." "What's the matter, Dan? What has happened?" Vincent said, trying to move, and then stopping suddenly with a cry of pain. "You knocked off your horse, sah, wid one of de shells of dem cussed Yanks." "Am I badly hurt, Dan?" "Berry bad, sah; great piece of flesh pretty nigh as big as my hand come out ob your side, and doctor says some of de ribs broken. But de doctor not seem to make much ob it; he hard sort ob man dat. Say you get all right again. No time to tend to you now. Hurry away just as if you some poor white trash instead of Massa Wingfield ob de Orangery." Vincent smiled faintly. "It doesn't make much difference what a man is in a surgeon's eyes, Dan; the question is how badly he is hurt, and what can be done for him? Well, thank God it's no worse. Wildfire was not hurt, I hope?" "No, sah; he is standing tied up by dat tree. Now, sah, de doctor say me cut your jacket off and bave de wound." "All right, Dan; but be a little careful with the water, you seem to be pretty near drowning me as it is. Just wipe my face and hair, and get the handkerchief from the pocket of my jacket, and open the shirt collar and put the handkerchief inside round my neck. How is the battle going on? The roar seems louder than ever." Dan went forward to the crest a of slight rise of the ground whence he could look down upon the field of battle, and made haste to return. "Can't see berry well, sah; too much smoke. But dey in de same place still." "Look round, Dan, and see if there are any fresh troops coming up." "Yes, sah; lot of men coming ober de hill behind." "That's all right, Dan. Now you can see about this bathing my side." As soon as the battle was over Major Ashley rode up to where Vincent and five or six of his comrades of the cavalry were lying wounded. "How are you getting on, lads? Pretty well I hope?" he asked the surgeon as he dismounted. "First rate, major," one of the men answered. "We all of us took a turn as soon as we heard that the Yanks were whipped." "Yes, we have thrashed them handsomely," the major said. "Ah, Wingfield, I am glad to see you are alive. I thought when you fell it was all over with you." "I am not much hurt, sir," Vincent replied. "A flesh wound and some ribs are broken, I hear; but they won't be long mending I hope." "It's a nasty wound to look at," the major said, as Dan lifted the pad of wet linen. "But with youth and health you will soon get round it, never fear." "Ah, my poor lad, yours is a worse case," he said as he bent over a young fellow who was lying a few paces from Vincent. "It's all up with me, major," he replied faintly; "the doctor said he could do nothing for me. But I don't mind, now we have beaten them. You will send a line to the old people, major, won't you, and say I died doing my duty? I've got two brothers, and I expect they will send one on to take my place." "I will write to them, my lad," the major said, "and tell them all about you." He could give the lad no false hopes, for already a gray shade was stealing over the white face, and the end was close at hand; in a few minutes he ceased to breathe. Late in the evening the surgeons, having attended to more urgent cases, came round. Vincent's wound was now more carefully examined than before, but the result was the same. Three of the ribs were badly fractured, but there was no serious danger. "You will want quiet and good nursing for some time, my lad," the principal surgeon said. "There will be a train of wounded going off for Richmond the first thing in the morning, and you shall go by it. You had better get a door, lads," he said to some of the troopers who had come across from the spot where the cavalry were bivouacked to see how their comrades were getting on, "and carry him down and put him in the train. One has just been sent off, and another will be made up at once, so that the wounded can be put in it as they are taken down. Now I will bandage the wound, and it will not want any more attention until you get home." A wad of lint was placed upon the wound and bandaged tightly round the body. "Remember you have got to be perfectly quiet, and not attempt to move till the bones have knit. I am afraid that they are badly fractured, and will require some time to heal up again." A door was fetched from an out-house near, and Vincent and two of his comrades, who were also ordered to be sent to the rear, were one by one carried down to the nearest point on the railway, where a train stood ready to receive them, and they were then laid on the seats. All night the wounded kept arriving, and by morning the train was packed as full as it would hold, and with two or three surgeons in charge started for Richmond. Dan was permitted to accompany the train, at Vincent's urgent request, in the character of doctor's assistant, and he went about distributing water to the wounded, and assisting the surgeons in moving such as required it. It was night before the train reached Richmond. A number of people were at the station to receive it; for as soon as the news of the battle had been received, preparations had been made for the reception of the wounded, several public buildings had been converted into hospitals, and numbers of the citizens had come forward with offers to take one or more of the wounded into their houses. The streets were crowded with people, who were wild with joy at the news of the victory which, as they believed, had secured the State from any further fear of invasion. Numbers of willing hands were in readiness to carry the wounded on stretchers to the hospitals, where all the surgeons of the town were already waiting to attend upon them. Vincent, at his own request, was only laid upon a bed, as he said that he would go home to be nursed the first thing in the morning. This being the case it was needless to put him to the pain and trouble of being undressed. Dan had started as soon as he saw his master carried into the hospital to take the news to the Orangery, being strictly charged by Vincent to make light of his injury, and on no account whatever to alarm them. He was to ask that the carriage should come to fetch him the first thing in the morning. It was indeed but just daybreak when Mrs. Wingfield drove up to the hospital. Dan had been so severely cross-examined that he had been obliged to give an accurate account of Vincent's injury. There was bustle and movement even at that early hour, for another train of wounded had just arrived. As she entered the hospital she gave an exclamation of pleasure, for at the door were two gentlemen in conversation, one of whom was the doctor who had long attended the family at the Orangery. "I am glad you are here, Dr. Mapleston; for I want your opinion before I move Vincent. Have you seen him?" "No, Mrs. Wingfield; I did not know he was here. I have charge of one of the wards, and have not had time to see who are in the others. I sincerely hope Vincent is not seriously hurt." "That's want I want to find out, doctor. His boy brought us news late last night that he was here. He said the doctors considered that he was not in any danger; but as it seems that he had three ribs broken and a deep flesh wound from the explosion of a shell, it seems to me that it must be serious." "I will go up and see him at once, Mrs. Wingfield, and find out from the surgeon in charge of his ward exactly what is the matter with him." Dan led the way to the bed upon which Vincent was lying. He was only dozing, and opened his eyes as they came up. "My poor boy," Mrs. Wingfield said, struggling with her tears at the sight of his pale face, "this is sad indeed." "It is nothing very bad, mother," Vincent replied cheerfully; "nothing at all to fret about. The wound is nothing to the injuries of most of those here. I suppose, doctor, I can be moved at once?" Doctor Mapleston felt his pulse. "You are feverish, my lad; but perhaps the best thing for you would be to get you home while you can be moved. You will do far better there than here. But I must speak to the surgeon in charge of you first, and hear what he says." "Yes, I think you can move him," the surgeon of the ward said. "He has got a nasty wound, and the ticket with him said that three ribs were badly fractured; but I made no examination, as he said he would be fetched the first thing this morning. I only put on a fresh dressing and bandaged it. The sooner you get him off the better, if he is to be moved. Fever is setting in, and he will probably be wandering by this evening. He will have a much better chance at home, with cool rooms and quiet and careful nursing, than he can have here; though there would be no lack of either comforts or nurses, for half the ladies in the town have volunteered for the work, and we have offers of all the medical comforts that could be required were the list of wounded ten times as large as it is." A stretcher was brought in, and Vincent was lifted as gently as possible upon it. Then he was carried down-stairs and the stretcher placed in the carriage, which was a large open one, and afforded just sufficient length for it. Mrs. Wingfield took her seat beside him. Dan mounted the box beside the coachman. "I will be out in an hour, Mrs. Wingfield," Dr. Mapleston said. "I have to go round the ward again, and will then drive out at once. Give him lemonade and cooling drinks; don't let him talk. Cut his clothes off him, and keep the room somewhat dark, but with a free current of air. I will bring out some medicine with me." The carriage drove slowly to avoid shaking, and when they approached the house Mrs. Wingfield told Dan to jump down and come to the side of her carriage. Then she told him to run on as fast as he could ahead, and to tell her daughters not to meet them upon their arrival, and that all the servants were to be kept out of the way, except three men to carry Vincent upstairs. The lad was consequently got up to his room without any excitement, and was soon lying on his bed with a sheet thrown lightly over him. "That is comfortable," he said, as his mother bathed his face and hands and smoothed his hair. "Where are the girls, mother?" "They will come in to see you now, Vincent; but you are to keep quite quiet you know, and not to talk." The girls stole in and said a few words, and left him alone again with Mrs. Wingfield. He did not look to them so ill as they had expected, for there was a flush of fever on his cheeks. Dr. Mapleston arrived in another half-hour, examined and redressed the wound, and comforted Mrs. Wingfield with the assurance that there was nothing in it likely to prove dangerous to life. "Our trouble will be rather with the effect of the shock than with the wound itself. He is very feverish now, and you must not be alarmed if by this evening he is delirious. You will give him this cooling draught every three hours; he can have anything in the way of cooling drinks he likes. If he begins to wander, put cloths dipped in cold water and wrung out on his head, and sponge his hands with water with a little eau de Cologne in it. If he seems very hot set one of the women to fan him, but don't let her go on if it seems to worry him. I will come round again at half past nine this evening and will make arrangements to pass the night here. We have telegrams saying that surgeons are coming from Charleston and many other places, so I can very well be spared." When the doctor returned in the evening, he found, as he had anticipated, that Vincent was in a high state of fever. This continued four or five days, and then gradually passed off; and he woke up one morning perfectly conscious. His mother was sitting on a chair at the bedside. "What o'clock is it, mother?" he asked. "Have I been asleep long?" "Some time, dear," she answered gently; "but you must not talk. You are to take this draught and to go off to sleep again; when you wake you may ask any questions you like." She lifted the lad's head, gave him the draught and some cold tea, then darkened the room, and in a few minutes he was asleep again. CHAPTER VII. THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR. It was some weeks before Vincent was able to walk unaided. His convalescence was somewhat slow, for the shock to the system had been a severe one. The long railway journey had been injurious to him, for the bandage had become somewhat loose and the broken pieces of bone had grated upon each other, and were much longer in knitting together than they would have been had he been treated on the spot. As soon as he could walk he began to be anxious to rejoin his troop, but the doctor said that many weeks must elapse before he would be ready to undergo the hardships of campaign. He was reconciled to some extent to the delay by letters from his friends with the troop and by the perusal of the papers. There was nothing whatever doing in Virginia. The two armies still faced each other, the Northerners protected by the strong fortifications they had thrown up round Washington--fortifications much too formidable to be attacked by the Confederates, held as they were by a force immensely superior to their own, both in numbers and arms. The Northerners were indeed hard at work, collecting and organizing an army which was to crush out the rebellion. General Scott had been succeeded by McClellan in the supreme command, and the new general was indefatigable in organizing the vast masses of men raised in the North. So great were the efforts that in a few months after the defeat of Bull Run the North had 650,000 men in arms. But while no move had at present been made against Virginia there was sharp fighting in some of the border states, especially in Missouri and Kentucky, in both of which public opinion was much divided, and regiments were raised on both sides. Various operations were now undertaken by the Federal fleet at points along the coast, and several important positions were taken and occupied, it being impossible for the Confederates to defend so long a line of sea-coast. The South had lost rather than gained ground in consequence of their victory at Bull Run. For a time they had been unduly elated, and were disposed altogether to underrate their enemies and to believe that the struggle was as good as over. Thus, then, they made no effort at all corresponding to that of the North; but as time went on, and they saw the vastness of the preparations made for their conquest, the people of the Southern States again bestirred themselves. Owing to the North having the command of the sea, and shutting up all the principal ports, they had to rely upon themselves for everything, while the North could draw arms and ammunition and all the requisites of war from the markets of Europe. Foundries were accordingly established for the manufacture of artillery, and factories for muskets, ammunition, and percussion caps. The South had, in fact, to manufacture everything down to the cloth for her soldiers uniforms and the leather for their shoes; and, as in the past she had relied wholly upon the North for such goods, it was for a time impossible to supply the troops with even the most necessary articles. The women throughout the States were set to work, spinning and weaving rough cloth, and making uniforms from it. Leather, however, cannot be produced all at once, and indeed with all their efforts the Confederate authorities were never throughout the war able to provide a sufficient supply of boots for the troops, and many a battle was won by soldiers who fought almost barefooted and who reshod themselves for the most part by stripping the boots from their dead foes. Many other articles could not be produced in the Southern States, and the Confederates suffered much from the want of proper medicines and surgical appliances. For these and many other necessaries they had to depend solely upon the ships which succeeded in making their way through the enemy's cruisers and running the blockade of the ports. Wine, tea, coffee, and other imported articles soon became luxuries beyond the means of all, even the very wealthy. All sorts of substitutes were used; grain roasted and ground being chiefly used as a substitute for coffee. Hitherto the South had been principally occupied in raising cotton and tobacco, depending chiefly upon the North for food; and it was necessary now to abandon the cultivation of products for which they had no sale, and to devote the land to the growth of maize and other crops for food. By the time that the long period of inaction came to a close, Vincent had completely recovered his strength, and was ready to rejoin the ranks as soon as the order came from Colonel Stuart, who had promised to send for him directly there was a prospect of active service. One of Vincent's first questions as soon as he became convalescent was whether a letter had been received from Tony. It had come, he was told, among the last batch of letters that crossed the frontier before the outbreak of hostilities, and Mrs. Wingfield, had, as he had requested, opened it. As had been arranged, it had merely contained Tony's address at a village near Montreal; for Vincent had warned him to say nothing in the letter, for there was no saying, in the troubled times which were approaching when Tony left, into whose hands it might fall. Vincent had before starting told his mother of the share he had taken in getting the negro safely away, and Mrs. Wingfield, brought up as she had been to regard those who assisted runaway slaves to escape in the same light as those who assisted to steal any other kind of property, was at first greatly shocked when she heard that her son had taken part in such an enterprise, however worthy of compassion the slave might be, and however brutal the master from whose hands he had fled. However, as Vincent was on the point of starting for the war to meet danger, and possibly death, in the defense of Virginia, she had said little, and that little was in reference rather to the imprudence of the course he had taken than to what she regarded in her own mind as its folly, and indeed its criminality. She had, however, promised that as soon as Tony's letter arrived she would, if it was still possible, forward Dinah and the child to him, supplying her with money for the journey, and giving her the papers freeing her from slavery which Vincent had duly signed in the presence of a justice. When the letter came, however, it was already too late. Fighting was on the point of commencing, all intercourse across the border was stopped, the trains were all taken up for the conveyance of troops, and even a man would have had great difficulty in passing northward, while for an unprotected negress with a baby such a journey would have been impossible. Mrs. Wingfield had therefore written four times at fort-nightly intervals to Tony, saying that it was impossible to send Dinah off at present, but that she should be despatched as soon as the troubles were over, upon receipt of another letter from him saying that his address was unchanged, or giving a new one. These letters were duly posted, and it was probable that one or other of them would in time reach Tony, as mails were sent off to Europe whenever an opportunity offered for them to be taken by a steamer running the blockade from a Southern port. Dinah, therefore, still remained at the Orangery. She was well and happy, for her life there was a delightful one indeed after her toil and hardship at the Jackson's; and although she was anxious to join her husband, the knowledge that he was well and safe from all pursuit, and that sooner or later she would join him with her child, was sufficient to make her perfectly contented. During Vincent's illness she had been his most constant attendant; for her child now no longer required her care, and passed much of its time down at the nursery, where the young children of the slaves were looked after by two or three aged negresses past active work. She had therefore begged Mrs. Wingfield to be allowed to take her place by the bedside of her young master, and, after giving her a trial, Mrs. Wingfield found her so quiet, gentle, and patient that she installed her there, and was able to obtain the rest she needed, with a feeling of confidence that Vincent would be well attended to in her absence. When Vincent was well enough to be about again, his sisters were surprised at the change that had taken place in him since he had started a few months before for the war. It was not so much that he had grown, though he had done so considerably, but that he was much older in manner and appearance. He had been doing man's work: work requiring vigilance, activity, and courage, and they could no longer treat him as a boy. As he became stronger he took to riding about the plantation; but not upon Wildfire, for his horse was still with the troop, Colonel Stuart having promised to see that the animal was well cared for, and that no one should ride upon it but himself. "I hope you like Jonas Pearson better than you used to do, Vincent," Mrs. Wingfield said a day or two before he started to rejoin his troop. "I can't say I do, mother," he replied shortly. "The man is very civil to me now--too civil, in fact; but I don't like him, and I don't believe he is honest. I don't mean that he would cheat you, though he may do so for anything I know; but he pretends to be a violent Secessionist, which as he comes from Vermont is not natural, and I imagine he would sing a different tune if the blue coats ever get to Richmond. Still I have nothing particular to say against him, except that I don't like him and I don't trust him. So long as everything goes on well for the Confederacy I don't suppose it matters, but if we should ever get the worst of it you will see that fellow will be mischievous. "However, I hear that he has obeyed your orders, and that there has been no flogging on the estate since I went away. In fact, as far as I can see, he does not keep anything like such a sharp hand over the slaves as he used to do; and in some of the fields the work seems to be done in a very slovenly way. What his game is I don't know; but I have no doubt whatever that he has some game in his mind." "You are a most prejudiced boy," Mrs. Wingfield said, laughing. "First of all the man is too strict, and you were furious about it; now you think he's too lenient, and you at once suspect he has what you call a game of some sort or other on. You are hard to please indeed." Vincent smiled. "Well, as I told you once before, we shall see. I hope I am wrong, and that Pearson is all that you believe him to be. I own that I may be prejudiced against him; but nothing will persuade me that it was not from him that Jackson learned that Dinah was here, and it was to that we owe the visit of the sheriff and the searching the plantation for Tony. However, whatever the man is at heart, he can, as far as I see, do you no injury as long as things go on as they are, and I sincerely trust he will never have an opportunity of doing so." During the winter Vincent had made the acquaintance of many of the Southern leaders. The town was the center of the movement, the heart of the Confederacy. It was against it, as the capital of the Southern States, that the efforts of the Northerns were principally directed, and to it flocked the leading men from all parts of the country. Although every Virginian family had some of its members at the front, and a feeling of anxiety reigned everywhere, a semblance of gaiety was kept up. The theater was opened, and parties and balls given, in order to keep up the spirits of the people by the example of those of higher rank. These balls differed widely in appearance from those of eighteen months before. The gentlemen were almost all in uniform, and already calicoes and other cheap fabrics were worn by many of the ladies, as foreign dress materials could no longer be purchased. Mrs. Wingfield made a point of always attending with her daughters at these entertainments, which to the young people afforded a cheerful break in the dullness and monotony of their usual life; for, owing to the absence of almost all the young men with the army, there had been a long cessation of the pleasant interchange of visits, impromptu parties, and social gatherings that had formed a feature in the life in Virginia. The balls would have been but dull affairs had only the residents of Richmond been present; but leave was granted as much as possible to officers stationed with regiments within a railway run of the town, and as these eagerly availed themselves of the change from the monotony of camp life, the girls had no reason to complain of want of partners. Here and at the receptions given by President Davis, Vincent met all the leaders of the Confederacy, civil and military. Many of them had been personal friends of the Wingfields before the Secession movement began, and among them was General Magruder, who commanded the troops round Richmond. Early in the winter the general had called at the Orangery. "We are going to make a call upon the patriotism of the planters of this neighborhood, Mrs. Wingfield," he said during lunch time. "You see, our armies are facing those of the Federals opposite Washington, and can offer a firm front to any foe marching down from the North; but, unfortunately they have the command of the sea, and there is nothing to prevent their embarking an army on board ship and landing it in either the James or the York Rivers, and in that case they might make a rush upon Richmond before there would be time to bring down troops to our aid. I am therefore proposing to erect a chain of works between the two rivers, so as to be able to keep even a large army at bay until reinforcements arrive; but to do this a large number of hands will be required, and we are going to ask the proprietors of plantations to place as many negroes as they can spare at our disposal." "There can be no doubt as to the response your question will meet with, general. At present we have scarce enough work for our slaves to do. I intend to grow no tobacco next year, for it will only rot in the warehouse, and a comparatively small number of hands are required to raise corn crops. I have about a hundred and seventy working hands on the Orangery, and shall be happy to place a hundred at your disposal for as long a time as you may require them. If you want fifty more you can of course have them. Everything else must at present give way to the good of the cause." "I thank you much, Mrs. Wingfield, for your offers, and will put your name down the first on the list of contributors." "You seem quite to have recovered now," he said to Vincent a few minutes afterward. "Yes; I am quite ashamed of staying here so long, general. But I feel some pain at times; and as there is nothing doing at the front, and my doctor says that it is of importance I should have rest as long as possible, I have stayed on. Major Ashley has promised to recall me as soon as there is a prospect of active work." "I think it is quite likely that there will be active work here as soon as anywhere else," the general said. "We know pretty well what is doing at Washington, and though nothing has been decided upon, there is a party in favor of a landing in force here; and if so, we shall have hot work. What do you say? If you like I will get you a commission and appoint you one of my aides-de-camp. Your knowledge of the country will make you useful, and as Ashley has specially mentioned your name in one of his despatches, you can have your commission by asking for it. "If there is to be fighting round here, it will be of more interest to you defending your own home than in taking part in general engagements for the safety of the State. It will, too, enable you to be a good deal at home; and although so far the slaves have behaved extremely well, there is no saying exactly what may happen if the Northerners come among us. You can rejoin your own corps afterward, you know, if nothing comes of this." Vincent was at first inclined to decline the offer, but his mother and sisters were so pleased at having him near them that he finally accepted with thanks, being principally influenced by the general's last argument, that possibly there might be trouble with the slaves in the event of a landing in the James Peninsula by the Northerners. A few days later there came an official intimation that he had received a commission in the cavalry, and had at General Magruder's request been appointed to his staff, and he at once entered upon his new duties. The fortress of Monroe, at the entrance of Hampton Roads, was still in the hands of the Federals, and a large Federal fleet was assembled here, and was only prevented from sailing up the James River by the Merrimac, a steamer which the Confederates had plated with railway iron. They had also constructed batteries upon some high bluffs on each side of the river. In a short time 5,000 negroes were set to work erecting batteries upon the York River at Yorktown and Gloucester Point, and upon a line of works extending from Warwick upon the James River to Ship Point on the York, through a line of wooded and swampy country intersected by streams emptying themselves into one or other of the rivers. This line was some thirty miles in length, and would require 25,000 men to guard it; but Magruder hoped that there would be sufficient warning of an attack to enable reinforcements to arrive in time to raise his own command of about 10,000 men to that strength. The negroes worked cheerfully, for they received a certain amount of pay from the State; but the work was heavy and difficult, and different altogether to that which they were accustomed to perform. The batteries by the sides of the rivers made fair progress, but the advance of the long line of works across the peninsula was but slow. Vincent had, upon receiving his appointment, written at once to Major Ashley, sending his letter by Dan, who was ordered to bring back Wildfire. Vincent stated that had he consulted his personal feeling he should have preferred remaining in the ranks of his old corps; but that as the fighting might be close to his home, and there was no saying what might be the behavior of the slave population in the event of a Northern invasion, he had, for the sake of his mother and sisters, accepted the appointment, but as soon as the danger was over he hoped to rejoin the corps and serve under his former commander. Dan, on his return with Wildfire, brought a letter from the major saying that although he should have been glad to have had him with him, he quite agreed with the decision at which he had, under the circumstances, arrived. Vincent now took up his quarters at the camp formed a short distance from the city, and much of his time was spent in riding to and from the peninsula, seeing that the works were being carried out according to the plan of the general, and reporting upon the manner in which the contractors for the supply of food to the negroes at work there performed their duties. Sometimes he was away for two or three days upon this work; but he generally managed once or twice a week to get home for a few hours. The inhabitants of Richmond and its neighborhood were naturally greatly interested in the progress of the works for their defense, and parties were often organized to ride or drive to Yorktown, or to the batteries on the James River, to watch the progress made. Upon one occasion Vincent accompanied his mother and sisters, and a party of ladies and gentlemen from the neighboring plantations, to Drury's Bluff, where an entrenched position named Fort Darling had been erected, and preparations made to sink vessels across the river, and close it against the advance of the enemy's fleet should any misfortune happen to the Merrimac. Several other parties had been made up, and each brought provisions with them. General Magruder and some of his officers received them upon their arrival, and conducted them over the works. After this the whole party sat down to a picnic meal on the ground, and no stranger could have guessed that the merry party formed part of a population threatened with invasion by a powerful foe. There were speeches and toasts, all of a patriotic character, and General Magruder raised the enthusiasm to the highest point by informing them that in a few days--the exact day was a secret, but it would be very shortly--the Merrimac, or, as she had been re-christened, the Virginia, would put out from Norfolk Harbor, and see what she could do to clear Hampton Roads of the fleet that now threatened them. As they were riding back to Richmond the general said to Vincent: "I will tell you a little more than I told the others, Wingfield. I believe the Merrimac will go out the day after to-morrow. I wish I could get away myself to see the affair; but, unfortunately, I cannot do so. However, if you like to be present, I will give you three days' leave, as you have been working very hard lately. You can start early to-morrow, and can get down by train to Norfolk in the evening. I should advise you to take your horse with you, and then you can ride in the morning to some spot from which you will get a fair view of the Roads, and be able to see what is going on." "Thank you very much, sir," Vincent said. "I should like it immensely." The next day Vincent went down to Norfolk. Arriving there, he found that although there was a general expectation that the Merrimac would shortly go out to try her strength with the enemy, nothing was known of the fact that the next morning had been fixed for the encounter, the secret being kept to the last lest some spy or adherent of the North might take the news to the fleet. After putting up his horse Vincent went down to the navy yard, off which the Merrimac was lying. This ship had been sunk by the Federals when at the commencement of hostilities they had evacuated Norfolk. Having been raised by the Confederates, the ship was cut down, and a sort of roof covered with iron was built over it, so that the vessel presented the appearance of a huge sunken house. A ram was fixed to her bow, and she was armed with ten guns. Her steam-power was very insufficient for her size, and she could only move through the water at the rate of five knots an hour. "She is an ugly-looking thing," a man observed to Vincent as he gazed at the ship. "Frightfully ugly," Vincent agreed. "She may be a formidable machine in the way of fighting, but one can scarcely call her a ship." "She is a floating-battery, and if they tried their best to turn out the ugliest thing that ever floated they could not have succeeded better. She is just like a Noah's ark sunk down to the eaves of her roof." "Yes, she is a good deal like that," Vincent agreed. "The very look of her ought to be enough to frighten the Federals, even if she did nothing else." "I expect it will not be long before she gives them a taste of her quality," the man said. "She has got her coal and ammunition on board, and there's nothing to prevent her going out this evening if she wants to." "It will be worth seeing when she does go out to fight the Northerners," Vincent said. "It will be a new experiment in warfare, and, if she turns out a success, I suppose all the navies in the world will be taking to cover themselves up with iron." The next morning, which was the 8th of March--a date forever memorable in naval annals--smoke was seen pouring out from the funnels of the Merrimac, and there were signs of activity on board the Patrick Henry, of six guns, and the Jamestown, Raleigh, Beaufort, and Teazer, little craft carrying one gun each, and at eleven o'clock they all moved down the inlet on which Norfolk is situated. The news that the Merrimac was going out to attack the enemy had now spread, and the whole population of Norfolk turned out and hastened down toward the mouth of the inlet on horseback, in vehicles, or on foot, while Vincent rode to the batteries on Sewell's Point, nearly facing Fort Monroe. He left his horse at a farmhouse a quarter of a mile from the battery; for Wildfire was always restless under fire, and it was probable that the batteries would take a share in the affair. At one o'clock some of the small Federal lookout launches were seen to be at work signaling, a bustle could be observed prevailing among the large ships over by the fortress, and it was evident that the Merrimac was visible to them as she came down the inlet. The Cumberland and Congress men-of-war moved out in that direction, and the Minnesota and the St. Lawrence, which were at anchor, got under weigh, assisted by steam-tugs. The Merrimac and the fleet of little gunboats were now visible from the battery, advancing against the Cumberland and Congress. The former opened fire upon her at a distance of a mile with her heavy pivot guns, but the Merrimac, without replying, continued her slow and steady course toward them. She first approached the Congress, and as she did so a puff of smoke burst from the forward end of her pent-house, and the water round the Congress was churned up by a hail of grape-shot. As they passed each other both vessels fired a broadside. The officers in the fort, provided with glasses, could see the effect of the Merrimac's fire in the light patches that showed on the side of the Congress, but the Merrimac appeared entirely uninjured. She now approached the Cumberland, which poured several broadsides into her, but altogether without effect. The Merrimac, without replying, steamed straight on and struck the Cumberland with great force, knocking a large hole in her side, near the water-line. Then backing off she opened fire upon her. For half an hour the crew of the Cumberland fought with great bravery. The ships lay about three hundred yards apart, and every shot from the Merrimac told on the wooden vessel. The water was pouring in through the breach. The shells of the Merrimac crushed through her side, and at one time set her on fire; but the crew worked their guns until the vessel sank beneath their feet. Some men succeeded in swimming to land, which was not far distant, others were saved by small boats from the shore, but nearly half of the crew of 400 men were either killed in action or drowned. The Merrimac now turned her attention to the Congress, which was left to fight the battle alone, as the Minnesota had got aground, and the Roanoake and St. Lawrence could not approach near enough to render them assistance from their draught of water. The Merrimac poured broadside after broadside into her, until the officer in command and many of the crew were killed. The lieutenant who succeeded to the command, seeing there was no prospect of help, and that resistance was hopeless, hauled down the flag. A gunboat was sent alongside, with orders that the crew should leave the Congress and come on board, as the ship was to be burned. But the troops and artillery lining the shore now opened fire on the little gunboat, which consequently hauled off. The Merrimac, after firing several more shells into the Congress, moved away to attack the Minnesota, and the survivors of the 200 men who composed the crew of the Congress were conveyed to shore in small boats. The vessel was set on fire either by her own crew or the shells of the Merrimac, and by midnight blew up. Owing to the shallowness of the water the Merrimac could not get near enough to the Minnesota to use her own small guns to advantage, and the gunboat was driven off by the heavy ten-inch gun of the Federal frigate, and therefore at seven o'clock the Merrimac and her consorts returned to Norfolk. The greatest delight was felt on shore at the success of the engagement, and on riding back to Norfolk Vincent learned that the ram would go out again next morning to engage the rest of the Federal fleet. She herself had suffered somewhat in the fight. Her loss in men was only two killed and eight wounded; but two of her guns had the muzzles shot off, the armor was damaged in some places, and most serious of all she had badly twisted her ram in running into the Cumberland. Still it appeared that she was more than a match for the rest of the Federal fleet, and that these must either fly or be destroyed. As the general had given him three days' leave, Vincent was able to stay to see the close of the affair, and early next morning again rode down to Sewell's Point, as the Merrimac was to start at daybreak. At six o'clock the ironclad came out from the river and made for the Minnesota, which was still aground. The latter was seen to run up a signal, and the spectators saw an object which they had not before perceived coming out as if to meet the ram. The glasses were directed toward it, and a general exclamation of surprise was heard. "What is the thing? It looks like a raft with two round turrets upon it, and a funnel." A moment's consideration, and the truth burst upon them. It was the ship they had heard of as building at New York, and which had been launched six weeks before. It was indeed the Monitor, which had arrived during the night, just in time to save the rest of the Federal fleet. She was the first regular ironclad ever built. She was a turret ship, carrying two very heavy guns, and showing only between two and three feet above the water. The excitement upon both shores as these adversaries approached each other was intense. They moved slowly, and not until they were within a hundred yards distance did the Monitor open fire, the Merrimac replying at once. The fire for a time was heavy and rapid, the distance between the combatants varying from fifty to two hundred yards. The Monitor had by far the greatest speed, and was much more easily turned than the Confederate ram, and her guns were very much heavier, and the Merrimac while still keeping up the fight made toward the mouth of the river. Suddenly she turned and steamed directly at the Monitor, and before the latter could get out of her way struck her on the side; but the ram was bent and her weak engines were insufficient to propel her with the necessary force. Consequently she inflicted no damage on the Monitor, and the action continued, the turret-ship directing her fire at the iron roof of the ram, while the latter pointed her guns especially at the turret and pilot-house of the Monitor. At length, after a battle which had lasted six hours, the Monitor withdrew, one of the plates of her pilot-house being seriously damaged and her commander injured in the eyes. When her foe drew off the Merrimac steamed back to Norfolk. There were no men killed in either battle, and each side claimed a victory; the Federals upon the ground that they had driven off the Merrimac, the Confederates because the Monitor had retreated from the fight. Each vessel however held the strength of the other in respect, the Monitor remaining as sentinel over the ships and transports at Fortress Monroe, while the Merrimac at Norfolk continued to guard the entrance into the James River. As soon as the fight was over Vincent Wingfield, greatly pleased that he had witnessed so strange and interesting a combat, rode back to Norfolk, and the same evening reached Richmond, where his description of the fight was received with the greatest interest and excitement. CHAPTER VIII. McCLELLAN'S ADVANCE. It was not until three weeks after the fight between the ironclads that the great army under General McClellan arrived off Fortress Monroe, the greater portion of the troops coming down the Potomac in steam transports. Vast quantities of stores had been accumulated in and around the fortress. Guns of a size never before used in war were lying on the wharfs in readiness to be placed in batteries, while Hampton Roads were crowded with transports and store vessels watched over by the Monitor and the other war ships. McClellan's army was a large one, but not so strong a force as he had intended to have taken with him, and as soon as he arrived at Fortress Monroe he learned that he would not be able to expect much assistance from the fleet. The Merrimac completely closed the James River; and were the more powerful vessels of the fleet to move up the York River, she would be able to sally out and destroy the rest of the fleet and the transports. As it was most important to clear the peninsula between the two rivers before Magruder should receive strong reinforcements, a portion of the troops were at once landed, and on the 4th of April 56,000 men and 100 guns disembarked and started on their march against Yorktown. As soon as the news of the arrival of the Northern army at Fortress Monroe reached Richmond fresh steps were taken for the defense of the city. Magruder soon found that it would be impossible with the force at his command to hold the line he had proposed, and a large body of negroes and troops were set to work to throw up defenses between Yorktown and a point on the Warwick River thirteen and a half miles away. A portion of this line was covered by the Warwick Creek, which he dammed up to make it unfordable, and erected batteries to guard the dams. Across the intervening ground a weak earthwork with trenches was constructed, there being no time to raise stronger works; but Magruder relied chiefly upon the swampy and difficult nature of the country, and the concealment afforded by the forest, which rendered it difficult for the enemy to discover the weakness of the defenders. He posted 6,000 men at Yorktown and Gloucester Point, and the remaining 5,000 troops under his command were scattered along the line of works to the Warwick River. He knew that if McClellan pushed forward with all his force he must be successful; but he knew also that if the enemy could but be held in check for a few days assistance would reach him from General Johnston's army. Fortunately for the Confederates, the weather, which had been fine and clear during the previous week, changed on the very day that McClellan started. The rain came down in torrents, and the roads became almost impassable. The columns struggled on along the deep and muddy tracks all day, and bivouacked for the night in the forests. The next morning they resumed their march, and on reaching the first line of intrenchments formed by the Confederates found them deserted, and it was not until they approached the Warwick Creek that they encountered serious opposition. Had they pushed forward at once they would have unquestionably captured Richmond. But McClellan's fault was over-caution, and he believed himself opposed by a very much larger force than that under the command of Magruder; consequently, instead of making an attack at once he began regular siege operations against the works on Warwick Creek and those at Yorktown. The delay saved Richmond. Every day reinforcements arrived, and by the time that McClellan's army, over 100,000 strong, had erected their batteries and got their heavy guns into position, Magruder had been reinforced by some 10,000 men under General Johnston, who now assumed the command, while other divisions were hurrying up from Northern and Western Virginia. Upon the very night before the batteries were ready to open, the Confederates evacuated their positions and fell back, carrying with them all their guns and stores to the Chickahominy River, which ran almost across the peninsula at a distance of six miles only from Richmond. The Confederates crossed and broke down the bridges, and prepared to make another stand. The disappointment of the Federals was great. After ten days of incessant labor and hardship they had only gained possession of the village of Yorktown and a tract of low swampy country. The divisions in front pressed forward rapidly after the Confederates; but these had managed their plan so well that all were safely across the stream before they were overtaken. The dismay in Richmond had for a few days been great. Many people left the town for the interior, taking their valuables with them, and all was prepared for the removal of the state papers and documents. But as the Federals went on with their fortifications, and the reinforcements began to arrive, confidence was restored, and all went on as before. The great Federal army was so scattered through the forests, and the discipline of some of the divisions was so lax that it was some days before McClellan had them ranged in order on the Chickahominy. Another week elapsed before he was in a position to undertake fresh operations; but General Johnston had now four divisions on the spot, and he was too enterprising a general to await the attack. Consequently he crossed the Chickahominy, fell upon one of the Federal divisions and almost destroyed it, and drove back the whole of their left wing. The next morning the battle was renewed, and lasted for five hours. It was fortunate indeed for the Confederates that the right wing of the Northern army did not, while the action was going on, cross the river and march straight upon Richmond; but communication was difficult from one part of the army to another, owing to the thick forests and the swampy state of the ground, and being without orders they remained inactive all day. The loss on their side had been 7,000 men, while the Confederates had lost 4,500; and General Johnston being seriously wounded, the chief command was given to General Lee, by far the ablest soldier the war produced. Satisfied with the success they had gained, the Confederates fell back across the river again. On the 4th of June, General Stuart--for he had now been promoted--started with 1,200 cavalry and two guns, and in forty-eight hours made one of the most adventurous reconnaissances ever undertaken. First the force rode out to Hanover Courthouse, where they encountered and defeated, first, a small body of cavalry, and afterward a whole regiment. Then, after destroying the stores there they rode round to the Pamunkey, burned two vessels and a large quantity of stores, captured a train of forty wagons, and burned a railway bridge. Then they passed right round the Federal rear, crossed the river, and re-entered the city with 165 prisoners and 200 horses, having effected the destruction of vast quantities of stores, besides breaking up the railways and burning bridges. Toward the end of June McClellan learned that Stonewall Jackson, having struck heavy blows at the two greatly superior armies which were operating against him in the valley of the Shenandoah, had succeeded in evading them, and was marching toward Richmond. He had just completed several bridges across the river, and was about to move forward to fight a great battle when the news reached him. Believing that he should be opposed by an army of 200,000 men, although, in fact, the Confederate army, after Jackson and all the available reinforcements came up, was still somewhat inferior in strength to his own, he determined to abandon for the present the attempt upon Richmond, and to fall back upon the James River. Here his ships had already landed stores for his supply, for the river was now open as far as the Confederate defenses at Fort Darling. Norfolk Navy Yard had been captured by the 10,000 men who formed the garrison of Fortress Monroe. No resistance had been offered, as all the Confederate troops had been concentrated for the defense of Richmond. When Norfolk was captured the Merrimac steamed out to make her way out of the river; but the water was low, and the pilot declared that she could not be taken up. Consequently she was set on fire and burned to the water's edge, and thus the main obstacle to the advance of the Federal fleet was removed. They had advanced as far as Fort Darling and the ironclad gunboats had engaged the batteries there. Their shot, however, did little damage to the defenders upon the lofty bluffs, while the shot from the batteries so injured the gunboats that the attempt to force the passage was abandoned. While falling back to a place called Harrison's Landing on the James River, the Federals were attacked by the Confederates, but after desperate fighting on both sides, lasting for five days, they succeeded in drawing off from the Chickahominy with a loss of fifty guns, thousands of small arms, and the loss of the greater part of their stores. All idea of a further advance against Richmond was for the present abandoned. President Lincoln had always been opposed to the plan, and a considerable portion of the army was moved round to join the force under General Pope, which was now to march upon Richmond from the north. From the commencement of the Federal advance to the time when, beaten and dispirited, they regained the James River, Vincent Wingfield had seen little of his family. The Federal lines had at one time been within a mile of the Orangery. The slaves had some days before been all sent into the interior, and Mrs. Wingfield and her daughters had moved into Richmond, where they joined in the work, to which the whole of the ladies of the town and neighborhood devoted themselves, of attending to the wounded, of whom, while the fighting was going on, long trains arrived every day at the city. Vincent himself had taken no active part in the fighting. Magruder's division had not been engaged in the first attack upon McClellan's force; and although it had taken a share in the subsequent severe fighting, Vincent had been occupied in carrying messages from the general to the leaders of the other divisions, and had only once or twice come under the storm of fire to which the Confederates were exposed as they plunged through the morasses to attack the enemy. As soon as it was certain that the attack was finally abandoned, and that McClellan's troops were being withdrawn to strengthen Pope's army, Vincent resigned his appointment as aide-de-camp, and was appointed to the 7th Virginian Cavalry, stationed at Orange, where it was facing the Federal cavalry. Major Ashley had fallen while protecting the passage of Jackson's division when hard pressed by one of the Federal armies in Western Virginia. No action in the war had been more brilliant than the manner in which Stonewall Jackson had baffled the two armies--each greatly superior in force to his own--that had been specially appointed to destroy him if possible, or at any rate to prevent his withdrawing from the Shenandoah Valley and marching to aid in the defense of the Confederate capital. His troops had marched almost day and night, without food, and depending entirely upon such supplies as they could obtain from the scattered farmhouses they passed. Although Richmond was for the present safe, the prospect of the Confederates was by no means bright. New Orleans had been captured; the blockade of the other ports was now so strict that it was difficult in the extreme for a vessel to make her way in or out; and the Northerners had placed flotillas of gunboats on the rivers, and by the aid of these were gradually making their way into the heart of several of the States. "Are you thinking of going out to the Orangery again soon, mother?" Vincent asked on the evening before setting out on the march north. "I think not, Vincent. There is so much to do in the hospitals here that I cannot leave. I should be ashamed to be living in luxury at the Orangery with the girls while other women are giving up their whole time nursing the wounded. Besides, although I do not anticipate that after the way they have been hurled back the Northerners will try again for some time, now they are in possession of Harrison's Landing they can at any moment advance. Besides, it is not pleasant being obliged to turn out of one's house and leave everything to their mercy. I wrote yesterday to Pearson to bring the slaves back at once and take up the work, and I shall go over occasionally to see that everything is in order; but at any rate for a time we will stop here." "I think that is best, mother. Certainly I should feel more comfortable knowing that you are all at Richmond than alone out there." "We should be no worse off than thousands of ladies all over the State, Vincent. There are whole districts where every white capable of using a gun has gone to the war, leaving nothing but women and slaves behind, and we have not heard of a single case in which there has been trouble." "Certainly there is no chance of trouble with your slaves, mother; but in some of the other plantations it may not be so. At any rate the quiet conduct of the slaves everywhere is the very best answer that could be given to the accusations that have been made as to their cruel treatment. At present the whole of the property of the slave-owners throughout the Southern States is at their mercy, and they might burn, kill, and destroy; and yet in no single instance have they risen against what are called their oppressors, even when the Federals have been close at hand. "Please keep your eye on Dinah, mother. I distrust that fellow Jackson so thoroughly that I believe him capable of having her carried off and smuggled away somewhere down south, and sold there if he saw a chance. I wish, instead of sending her to the Orangery, you would keep her as one of your servants here." "I will if you wish it, Vincent; but I cannot believe for a moment that this Jackson or any one else would venture to meddle with any of my slaves." "Perhaps not, mother; but it is best to be on the safe side. Anyhow, I shall be glad to know that she is with you. Young Jackson will be away, for I know he is in one of Stuart's troops of horse, though I have never happened to run against him since the war began." The firing had hardly ceased before Harrison's Landing, when General Jackson, with a force of about 15,000 men, composed of his own division, now commanded by General Winder, General Ewell's division, and a portion of that of General Hill, started for the Rapidan to check General Pope, who, plundering and wasting the country as he advanced, was marching south, his object being to reach Gordonsville, where he would cut the line of railway connecting Richmond with Western Virginia. Vincent was glad that the regiment to which he had been appointed would be under Jackson's command, and that he would be campaigning again with his old division, which consisted largely of Virginian troops and contained so many of his old friends. With Jackson, too, he was certain to be engaged in stirring service, for that general ever kept his troops upon the march, striking blows where least expected, and traversing such an extent of country by rapid marches that he and his division seemed to the enemy to be almost ubiquitous. It was but a few hours after he received his appointment that Vincent took train from Richmond to Gordonsville, Dan being in the horse-box with Wildfire in the rear of the train. His regiment was encamped a mile or two away, and he at once rode on and reported himself to Colonel Jones, who commanded it. "I am glad to have you with me, sir," the colonel said. "I had the pleasure of knowing your father, and am an old friend of your mother's family. As you were in Ashley's horse and have been serving on Magruder's staff, you are well up in your duties; and it is a comfort to me that the vacancy has been filled up by one who knows his work instead of a raw hand. We have had a brush or two already with the enemy; but at present we are watching each other, waiting on both sides till the generals have got their infantry to the front in readiness for an advance. Jackson is waiting for Hill's division to come up, and I believe Pope is expecting great reinforcements from McClellan." A few days later Colonel Jones was ordered to take charge of the pickets posted on the Rapidan, but before reaching Orange a gentleman rode up at full speed and informed them that the enemy were in possession of that town. Colonel Jones divided his regiment into two parts, and with one charged the Federal cavalry in the main street of Orange, while the other portion of the regiment, under Major Marshall, attacked them on the flank. After a sharp fight the enemy were driven from the place; but they brought up large reinforcements, and, pouring in a heavy fire, attacked the town on both sides, and the Confederates had to fall back. But they made another stand a little way out of the town, and drove back the Federal cavalry who were pressing them. Although the fight had been but a short one the losses in the cavalry ranks had been serious. Colonel Jones, while charging at the head of his men, had received a saber-wound, and Major Marshall was taken prisoner. Five days later, on the 7th of August, Jackson received certain intelligence that General Burnside, with a considerable portion of McClellan's force, had embarked, and was on the way to join Pope. He determined to strike a blow at once, and marched with his entire force from Gordonsville for Barnett Ford on the Rapidan. At daybreak next morning the cavalry crossed the river and attacked and routed a body of Federal cavalry on the road to Culpepper Courthouse. On the following day Jackson came up with his infantry to a point about eight miles from Culpepper, where Pope's army, 32,000 strong, were stationed upon the crest of a hill. General Ewell's division, which was the only one then up, at once advanced, and, after a severe artillery fight, gained a point on a hill where his guns could command the enemy's position. Jackson's division now came up, and as it was moving into position General Winder was killed by a shell. For some hours Jackson did not attempt to advance, as Hill's division had not come up. Encouraged by this delay, the enemy at five o'clock in the afternoon took the offensive and advanced through some cornfields lying between the two armies and attacked Ewell's division on the Confederate right; while shortly afterward they fell with overwhelming strength on Jackson's left, and, attacking it in front, flank, and rear, drove it back, and pressed upon it with such force that the day appeared lost. At this moment Jackson himself rode down among the confused and wavering troops, and by his voice and example rallied them. At the same moment the old Stonewall Brigade came up at a run and poured their fire into the advancing enemy. Jackson led the troops he had rallied forward. The Stonewall Brigade fell upon the enemy's flank and drove them back with terrible slaughter. Other brigades came up, and there was a general charge along the whole Confederate line, and the Federals were driven back a mile beyond the position they had occupied at the commencement of the fight to the shelter of some thick woods. Four hundred prisoners were taken and over 5,000 small-arms. The battle was known as Cedar Run, and it completely checked Pope's advance upon Richmond. The troops were too much exhausted to follow up their victory, but Jackson urged them to press forward. They moved a mile and a half in advance, and then found themselves so strongly opposed that Jackson, believing that the enemy must have received reinforcements, halted his men. Colonel Jones was sent forward to reconnoiter, and discovered that a large force had joined the enemy. For two days Jackson remained on the field he had won; his troops had been busy in burying the dead, in collecting the wounded and sending them to the rear, and in gathering the arms thrown away by the enemy in their flight. Being assured that the enemy were now too strong to be attacked by the force under his command, Jackson fell back to Orange Courthouse. There was now a few days' delay, while masses of troops were on both sides moving toward the new field of action. McClellan marched his troops across the James Peninsula from Harrison's Landing to Yorktown, and there the greater portion were embarked in transports and taken up the Rappahannock to Aquia Creek, landed there, and marched to Fredericksburg. Lee, instead of attacking McClellan on his march across the peninsula, determined to take his army north at once to join Jackson and attack Pope before he was joined by McClellan's army. But Pope, although already largely reinforced, retired hastily and took up a new position so strongly fortified that he could not be attacked. General Stuart had come up with Lee, and was in command of all the cavalry. "We shall see some work now," was the remark round the fires of the 7th Virginian Cavalry. Hitherto, although they had been several times engaged with the Federals, they had been forced to remain for the most part inactive owing to the vast superiority in force of the enemy's cavalry; but now that Stuart had come up they felt certain that, whatever the disparity of numbers, there would soon be some dashing work to be done. Except when upon actual duty the strict lines of military discipline were much relaxed among the cavalry, the troopers being almost all the sons of farmers and planters and of equal social rank with their officers, many of whom were their personal friends or relatives. Several of Vincent's schoolfellows were in the ranks; two or three of them were fellow officers, and these often gathered together round a camp fire and chatted over old schooldays and mutual friends. Many of these had already fallen, for the Virginian regiments of Stonewall Jackson's brigade had been terribly thinned; but the loss of so many friends and the knowledge that their own turn might come next did not suffice to lessen the high spirits of the young fellows. The hard work, the rough life, the exposure and hardship, had braced and invigorated them all, and they were attaining a far more vigorous manhood than they would ever have possessed had they grown up in the somewhat sluggish and enervating life led by young planters. Many of these young men had, until the campaign began, never done half an hour's hard work in their lives. They had been waited upon by slaves, and their only exercise had been riding. For months now they had almost lived in the saddle, had slept in the open air, and had thought themselves lucky if they could obtain a sufficient meal of the roughest food to satisfy their hunger once a day. In this respect, however, the cavalry were better off than their comrades of the infantry, for scouting as they did in small parties over a wide extent of country, they were sure of a meal and a hearty welcome whenever they could spare time to stop for half an hour at the house of a farmer. "It's a glorious life, Wingfield! When we chatted over the future at school we never dreamed of such a life as this, though some of us did talk of entering the army; but even then an occasional skirmish with Indians was the limit of our ideas." "Yes, it is a glorious life!" Vincent agreed. "I cannot imagine anything more exciting. Of course, there is the risk of being shot, but somehow one never seems to think of that. There is always something to do and to think about; from the time one starts on a scout at daybreak to that when one lies down at night one's senses are on the stretch. Besides, we are fighting in defense of our country and not merely as a profession, though I don't suppose, after all, that makes much difference when one is once in for it. As far as I have read all soldiers enjoy campaigning, and it does not seem to make any difference to them who are the foe or what they are fighting about. But I should like to feel a little more sure that we shall win in the long run." There was a chorus of indignant protests against there being any possible doubts as to the issue. "Why, we have thrashed them every time we have met them, Wingfield." "That is all very well," Vincent said. "Here in Virginia we have held our own, and more than held it. We have beat back Scott and McClellan, and now we have thrashed Pope; and Stonewall Jackson has won a dozen battles in Western Virginia. But you must remember that in other parts they are gradually closing in; all the ports not already taken are closely blockaded; they are pushing all along the lines of the great rivers; and worst of all, they can fill up their vacancies with Irishmen and Germans, and as fast as one army disappears another takes its place. I believe we shall beat them again and again, and shall prove, as we have proved before, that one Southerner fighting for home and liberty is more than a match for two hired Germans or Irishmen, even with a good large sprinkling of Yankees among them. But in the long run I am not sure that we shall win, for they can go on putting big armies into the field, while some day we must get used up. "Of course it is possible that we may some day capture Washington, and that the North may get weary of the tremendous drain of money and men caused by their attempt to conquer us. I hope it may be so, for I should like to think that we should win in the long run. I never feel any doubt about our winning a battle when we begin. My only fear is that we may get used up before the North are tired of it." "I did not expect to hear you talk so, Wingfield, for you always seem to be in capital spirits." "I am in capital spirits," Vincent replied, "and ready to fight again and again, and always confident we shall lick the Yankees; the fact that I have a doubt whether in the long run we shall outlast them does not interfere in the slightest degree with my comfort at present. I am very sorry though that this fellow Pope is carrying on the war so brutally instead of in the manner in which General McClellan and the other commanders have waged it. His proclamation that the army must subsist upon the country it passes through gives a direct invitation to the soldiers to pillage, and his order that all farmers who refuse to take the oath to the Union are to be driven from their homes and sent down south means ruin to all the peaceful inhabitants, for there is scarcely a man in this part of Virginia who is not heartily with us." "I hear," one of the other officers said, "that a prisoner who was captured this morning says that Pope already sees that he has made a mistake, and that he yesterday issued a fresh order saying that the proclamation was not meant to authorize pillage. He finds that the inhabitants who before, whatever their private sentiments were, maintained a sort of neutrality, are now hostile, that they drive off their cattle into the woods, and even set fire to their stacks, to prevent anything from being carried off by the Yanks; and his troops find the roads broken up and bridges destroyed and all sorts of difficulties thrown in their way." "It does not always pay--even in war--to be brutal. I am glad to see he has found out his mistake so soon," another officer said. "McClellan waged war like a gentleman; and if blackguards are to be allowed to carry fire and sword through the land they will soon find it is a game that two can play at, and matters will become horribly embittered." "We shall never do that," Vincent said. "Our generals are all gentlemen, and Lee and Jackson and many others are true Christians as well as true soldiers, and I am sure they will never countenance that on our side whatever the Northerners may do. We are ready to fight the hordes of Yankees and Germans and Irishmen as often as they advance against us, but I am sure that none of us would fire a homestead or ill-treat defenseless men and women. It is a scandal that such brutalities are committed by the ruffians who call themselves Southerners. The guerrillas in Missouri and Tennessee are equally bad whether on our side or the other, and if I were the president I would send down a couple of regiments, and hunt down the fellows who bring dishonor on our cause. If the South cannot free herself without the aid of ruffians of this kind she had better lay down her arms at once." "Bravo, Wingfield! spoken like a knight of chivalry!" one of the others laughed. "But many of these bands have done good nevertheless. They have kept the enemy busy there, and occupied the attention of a very large force who might otherwise have been in the woods yonder with Pope. I agree with you, it would be better if the whole thing were fought out with large armies, but there is a good deal to be said for these bands you are so severe upon. They are composed of men who have been made desperate by seeing their farms harried and their buildings burned by the enemy. They have been denounced as traitors by their neighbors on the other side, and if they retaliate I don't know that they are to be altogether blamed. I know that if my place at home were burned down and my people insulted and ill-treated I should be inclined to set off to avenge it." "So would I," Vincent agreed, "but it should be upon those who did the wrong, not upon innocent people." "That is all very well, but if the other side destroy your people's farms, it is only by showing them that two can play at the game that you can make them observe the laws of war. I grant it would be very much better that no such thing should take place; but if the Northerners begin this sort of work they may be sure that there will be retaliation. Anyhow, I am glad that I am an officer in the 7th Virginians and not a guerrilla leader in Missouri. Well, all this talking is dry work. Has no one got a full canteen?" "I have," Vincent said. "Dan managed to buy a gallon of rum at a farmhouse yesterday. I think the farmer was afraid that the enemy might be paying him a visit before many days, and thought it best to get rid of his spirits. Anyhow, Dan got the keg at ordinary city prices, as well as that couple of fine turkeys he is just bringing along for our supper. So you had better each get your ration of bread and fall to." There was a cheer as Dan placed the turkeys down in the center of the group, and soon the whole party, using their bread as plates, fell to upon them, and afterward joined in many a merry song, while Dan handed round the jar of spirits. CHAPTER IX. A PRISONER. The party round the fire were just about to disperse when the captain of Vincent's troop approached. He took the horn of spirits and water that Vincent held up to him and tossed it off. "That is a stirrup-cup, Wingfield." "What! are we for duty, captain?" Vincent asked as he rose to his feet. "Yes; our troop and Harper's are to muster. Get the men together quietly. I think it is a serious business; each of the regiments furnish other troops, and I believe Stuart himself takes the command." "That sounds like work, indeed," Vincent said. "I will get the troop together, sir." "There are to be no trumpet calls, Wingfield; we are to get off as quietly as possible." Most of the men were already fast asleep, but as soon as they learned that there was a prospect of active work all were full of life and animation. The girths of the saddles were tightened, swords buckled on, and revolvers carefully examined before being placed in the holsters. Many of the men carried repeating rifles, and the magazines were filled before these were slung across the riders' shoulders. In a few minutes the three troops were mounted and in readiness for a start, and almost directly afterward Colonel Jones himself rode up and took the command. A thrill of satisfaction ran through the men as he did so, for it was certain that he would not himself be going in command of the detachment unless the occasion was an important one. For a few minutes no move was made. "I suppose the others are going to join us here," Vincent said to the officer next him. "I suppose so," he replied. "We lie in the middle of the cavalry brigade with two regiments each side of us, so it is likely enough this is the gathering place. Yes, I can hear the tramping of horses." "And I felt a spot of rain," Vincent said. "It has been lightning for some time. I fear we are in for a wet ride." The contingent from the other regiments soon arrived, and just as the last came up General Stuart himself appeared and took his place at the head of the party, now some 500 strong. Short as the time had been since Vincent felt the first drop, the rain was now coming down in torrents. One by one the bright flames of the fires died down, and the darkness became so intense that Vincent could scarcely see the officer on his right hand. "I hope the man who rode up with the general, and is no doubt to be our guide, knows the country well. It is no joke finding our way through a forest on such a night as this." "I believe Stuart's got eyes like a cat," the officer said. "Sometimes on a dark night he has come galloping up to a post where I was in command, when one could scarcely see one's hand before one. It never seems to make any difference to him; day or night he rides about at a gallop." "He trusts his horse," Vincent said. "That's the only way in the dark. They can see a lot better than we can, and if men would but let them go their own way instead of trying to guide them they would seldom run against anything. The only thing is to lie well down on the horse's neck, otherwise one might get swept out of the saddle by a bough. It's a question of nerve, I think not many of us would do as Stuart does, and trust himself entirely to his horse's instinct." The word was now passed down the line that perfect silence was to be observed, and that they were to move forward in column, the ranks closing up as much as possible so as not to lose touch of each other. With heads bent down, and blankets wrapped round them as cloaks, the cavalry rode off through the pouring rain. The thunder was clashing overhead, and the flashes of the lightning enabled them to keep their places in close column. They went at a rapid trot, and even those who were ready to charge a body of the enemy, however numerous, without a moment's hesitation, experienced a feeling of nervousness as they rode on in the darkness through the thick forest on their unknown errand. That they were going northward they knew, and knew also, after a short time, that they must be entering the lines of the enemy. They saw no signs of watch-fires, for these would long since have been quenched by the downpour. After half an hour's brisk riding all knew by the sharp sound of the beat of the horses' hoofs that they had left the soft track through the forest and were now upon a regular road. "Thank goodness for that!" Vincent said in a low tone to his next neighbor. "I don't mind a brush with the enemy, but I own I don't like the idea that at any moment my brains may be knocked out by the branch of a tree." "I quite agree with you," the other replied; "and I fancy every man felt the same." There was no doubt as to this. Hitherto no sound had been heard save the jingling of accouterments and the dull heavy sound of the horses' tread; but now there could be heard mingled with these the buzz of voices, and occasionally a low laugh. They were so accustomed to wet that the soaking scarce inconvenienced them. They were out of the forest now, and felt sure of their guide; and as to the enemy, they only longed to discover them. For another hour the rapid advance continued, and all felt sure that they must now have penetrated through the enemy's lines and be well in his rear. At last they heard a challenge of sentry. Then Stuart's voice shouted, "Charge!" and at full gallop they rode into the village at Catlet's Station on the Orange and Alexandria railroad, where General Pope had his headquarters. Another minute and they were in the midst of the enemy's camp, where the wildest confusion reigned. The Federal officers rushed from their tents and made off in the darkness; but the soldiers, who were lying on the line of railroad, leaped to their feet and opened a heavy fire upon their invisible foes. Against this the cavalry, broken up in the camp, with its tents, its animals, and its piles of baggage, could do little, for it was impossible to form them up in the broken and unknown ground. The quarters of Pope were soon discovered; he himself had escaped, leaving his coat and hat behind. Many of his officers were captured, and in his quarters were found a box of official papers which were invaluable, as among them were copies of his letters asking for reinforcements, lists giving the strength and position of his troops, and other particulars of the greatest value to the Confederates. No time was lost, as the firing would set the whole Federal army on the alert, and they might find their retreat cut off. Therefore placing their prisoners in the center, and taking the box of papers with them, the cavalry were called off from the camp, and without delay started on their return ride. They did not take the road by which they had come, but made a long detour, and just as daylight was breaking re-entered the Confederate lines without having encountered a foe from the time of their leaving Catlet's Station. Short as their stay in the camp had been, few of the men had returned empty handed. The Northern army was supplied with an abundance of excellent food of all descriptions, forming the strongest possible contrast to the insufficient rations upon which the Confederate troops existed, and the troopers had helped themselves to whatever they could lay hands upon in the darkness and confusion. Some rode in with a ham slung on each side of their saddle, others had secured a bottle or two of wine or spirits. Some had been fortunate enough to lay hands on some tins of coffee or a canister of tea, luxuries which for months had been unknown to them save when they were captured from the enemy. The only article captured of no possible utility was General Pope's coat, which was sent to Richmond, where it was hung up for public inspection; a wag sticking up a paper beside it, "This is the coat in which General Pope was going to ride in triumph into Richmond. The coat is here, but the general has not yet arrived." The Confederates had lost but two or three men from the fire of the Federal infantry, and they were in high spirits at the success of their raid. No sooner had General Lee informed himself of the contents of the papers and the position of the enemy's forces than he determined to strike a heavy blow at him; and General Jackson, who had been sharply engaged with the enemy near Warrenton, was ordered to make a long detour, to cross the Blue Ridge mountains through Thoroughfare Gap, to fall upon Pope's rear and cut his communications with Washington, and if possible to destroy the vast depot of stores collected at Manassas. The cavalry, under Stuart, were to accompany him. The march would be a tremendous one, the danger of thus venturing into the heart of the enemy's country immense, but the results of such an expedition would, if successful, be great; for Lee himself was to advance with his army on Pope's flank, and there was therefore a possibility of the utter defeat of that general before he could be joined by the army marching to reinforce him from Fredericksburg. It was on Monday the 25th of August that Jackson started on his march, ascending the banks of the Rappahannock, and crossed the river at a ford, dragging his artillery with difficulty up the narrow and rocky road beyond. There was not a moment to be lost, for if the news reached the enemy the gorge known as Thoroughfare Gap would be occupied, and the whole object of the movement be defeated. Onward the force pushed, pressing on through fields and lanes without a single halt, until at night, hungry and weary but full of spirit, they marched into the little town of Salem, twenty miles from their starting-place. They had neither wagons nor provisions with them, and had nothing to eat but some ears of corn and green apples plucked on the road. It was midnight when they reached Salem, and the inhabitants turned out in blank amazement at the sight of Confederate troops in that region, and welcomed the weary soldiers with the warmest manifestations. At daylight they were again upon the march, with Stuart's cavalry, as before, out upon each flank. Thoroughfare Gap was reached, and found undefended, and after thirty miles' marching the exhausted troops reached the neighborhood of Manassas. The men were faint from want of food, and many of them limped along barefooted; but they were full of enthusiasm. Just at sunset, Stuart, riding on ahead, captured Bristoe, a station on the Orange and Alexandria Railroad four miles from Manassas. As they reached it a train came along at full speed. It was fired at, but did not stop, and got safely through to Manassas. Two trains that followed were captured; but by this time the alarm had spread, and no more trains arrived. Jackson had gained his point. He had placed himself on the line of communication of the enemy, but his position was a dangerous one indeed. Lee, who was following him, was still far away. An army was marching from Fredericksburg against him, another would be despatched from Washington as soon as the news of his presence was known, and Pope might turn and crush him before Lee could arrive to his assistance. Worn out as the troops were, it was necessary at once to gain possession of Manassas, and the 21st North Carolina and 21st Georgia volunteered for the service, and, joined by Stuart with a portion of his cavalry, marched against it. After a brief contest the place was taken, the enemy stationed there being all taken prisoners. The amount of arms and stores captured was prodigious: Eight pieces of artillery, 250 horses, 3 locomotives, and tens of thousands of barrels of beef, pork, and flour, with an enormous quantity of public stores and the contents of innumerable sutlers' shops. The sight of this vast abundance to starving men was tantalizing in the extreme. It was impossible to carry any of it away and all that could be done was to have at least one good meal. The troops therefore were marched in and each helped himself to as much as he could consume, and the ragged and barefooted men feasted upon tinned salmon and lobsters, champagne and dainties of every description forwarded for the use of officers. Then they set to work to pile the enormous mass of stores together and to set it on fire. While they were engaged at this a brigade of New Jersey troops which had come out from Washington to save Manassas was attacked and utterly routed. Ewell's division had remained at Bristoe, while those of Hill and Jackson moved to Manassas, and in the course of the afternoon Ewell saw the whole of Pope's army marching against him. He held them in check for some hours, and thus gave the troops at Manassas time to destroy completely the vast accumulation of stores, and when Stuart's cavalry, covering the retreat, fell back at nightfall through Manassas, nothing but blackened cinders remained where the Federal depots had been situated. The blow to the Northerners was as heavy as it was unexpected. Pope had no longer either provisions for his men or forage for his cattle, and there was nothing left for him but to force his way past Jackson and retire upon Washington. Jackson had now the option of falling back and allowing the enemy to pass, or of withstanding the whole Federal army with his own little force until Lee came up to the rescue. He chose the latter course, and took up a strong position. The sound of firing at Thoroughfare Gap was audible, and he knew that Longstreet's division of Lee's army was hotly engaged with a force which, now that it was too late, had been sent to hold the gorge. It was nearly sunset before Pope brought up his men to the attack. Jackson did not stand on the defensive, but rushed down and attacked the enemy--whose object had been to pass the position and press on--with such vigor that at nine o'clock they fell back. An hour later a horseman rode up with the news that Longstreet had passed the Gap and was pressing on at full speed, and in the morning his forces were seen approaching, the line they were taking bringing them up at an angle to Jackson's position. Thus their formation as they arrived was that of an open V, and it was through the angle of this V that Pope had to force his way. Before Longstreet could arrive, however, the enemy hurled themselves upon Jackson, and for hours the Confederates held their own against the vast Federal army, Longstreet's force being too far away to lend them a hand. Ammunition failed, and the soldiers fought with piles of stones, but night fell without any impression being made upon these veterans. General Lee now came up with General Hood's division, and hurled this against the Federals and drove them back. In the evening Longstreet's force took up the position General Lee had assigned to it, and in the morning all the Confederate army had arrived, and the battle recommenced. The struggle was long and terrible; but by nightfall every attack had been repulsed, and the Confederates, advancing on all sides, drove the Northerners, a broken and confused crowd, before them, the darkness alone saving them from utter destruction. Had there been but one hour more of daylight the defeat would have been as complete as was that in the battle of Bull Run, which had been fought on precisely the same ground. However, under cover of the darkness the Federals retreated to Centreville, whence they were driven on the following day. In the tremendous fighting in which Jackson's command had for three long days been engaged, the cavalry bore a comparatively small part. The Federal artillery was too powerful to permit the employment of large bodies of cavalry and although from time to time charges were made when an opportunity seemed to offer itself, the battle was fought out by the infantry and artillery. When the end came Jackson's command was for a time hors de combat. During the long two days' march they had at least gathered corn and apples to sustain life; but during these three days' fighting they had had no food whatever, and many were so weak that they could no longer march. They had done all that was possible for men to do; had for two days withstood the attack of an enemy of five times their numbers, and had on the final day borne their full share in the great struggle, but now the greater part could do no more, thousands of men were unable to drag themselves a step further, and Lee's army was reduced in strength for the time by nearly 20,000 men. All these afterward rejoined it; some as soon as they recovered limped away to take their places in the ranks again, others made their way to the depot at Warrenton, where Lee had ordered that all unable to accompany his force should rendezvous until he returned and they were able to rejoin their regiments. Jackson marched away and laid siege to Harper's Ferry, an important depot garrisoned by 11,000 men, who were forced to surrender just as McClellan with a fresh army, 100,000 strong, which was pressing forward to its succor, arrived within a day's march. As soon as Jackson had taken the place he hurried away with his troops to join Lee, who was facing the enemy at the Antietam river. Here upon the following day another terrible battle was fought; the Confederates, though but 39,000 strong, repulsing every attack by the Federals, and driving them with terrible slaughter back across the river. Their own loss, however, had been very heavy, and Lee, knowing that he could expect no assistance, while the enemy were constantly receiving reinforcements, waited for a day to collect his wounded, bury his dead, and send his stores and artillery to the rear, and then retired unpursued across the Rappahannock. Thus the hard-fought campaign came to an end. Vincent Wingfield was not with the army that retired across the Rappahannock. A portion of the cavalry had followed the broken Federals to the very edge of the stream, and just as they reined in their horses a round shot from one of the Federal batteries carried away his cap, and he fell as if dead from his horse. During the night some of the Northerners crossed the stream to collect and bring back their own wounded who had fallen near it, and coming across Vincent, and finding that he still breathed, and was apparently without a wound, they carried him back with them across the river as a prisoner. Vincent had indeed escaped without a wound, having been only stunned by the passage of the shot that had carried away his cap, and missed him but by the fraction of an inch. He had begun to recover consciousness just as his captors came up, and the action of carrying him completely restored him. That he had fallen into the hands of the Northerners he was well aware; but he was unable to imagine how this had happened. He remembered that the Confederates had been, up to the moment when he fell, completely successful, and he could only imagine that in a subsequent attack the Federals had turned the tables upon them. How he himself had fallen, or what had happened to him, he had no idea. Beyond a strange feeling of numbness in the head he was conscious of no injury, and he could only imagine that his horse had been shot under him, and that he must have fallen upon his head. The thought that his favorite horse was killed afflicted him almost as much as his own capture. As soon as his captors perceived that their prisoner's consciousness had returned they at once reported that an officer of Stuart's cavalry had been taken, and at daybreak next morning General McClellan on rising was acquainted with the fact, and Vincent was conducted to his tent. "You are unwounded, sir?" the general said in some surprise. "I am, general," Vincent replied. "I do not know how it happened, but I believe that my horse must have been shot under me, and that I must have been thrown and stunned; however, I remember nothing from the moment when I heard the word halt, just as we reached the side of the stream, to that when I found myself being carried here." "You belong to the cavalry?" "Yes, sir." "Was Lee's force all engaged yesterday?" "I do not know," Vincent said. "I only came up with Jackson's division from Harper's Ferry the evening before." "I need not have questioned you," McClellan said. "I know that Lee's whole army, 100,000 strong, opposed me yesterday." Vincent was silent. He was glad to see that the Federal general, as usual, enormously overrated the strength of the force opposed to him. "I hear that the whole of the garrison of Harper's Ferry were released on parole not to serve again during the war. If you are ready to give me your promise to the same effect I will allow you to return to your friends; if not, you must remain a prisoner until you are regularly exchanged." "I must do so, then, general," Vincent said quietly. "I could not return home and remain inactive while every man in the South is fighting for the defense of his country, so I will take my chance of being exchanged." "I am sorry you choose that alternative," McClellan said. "I hate to see brave men imprisoned if only for a day; and braver men than those across yonder stream are not to be found. My officers and men are astonished. They seem so thin and worn as to be scarce able to lift a musket, their clothes are fit only for a scarecrow, they are indeed pitiful objects to look at; but the way in which they fight is wonderful. I could not have believed had I not seen it, that men could have charged as they did again and again across ground swept by a tremendous artillery and musketry fire; it was wonderful! I can tell you, young sir, that even though you beat us we are proud of you as our countrymen; and I believe that if your General Jackson were to ride through our camp he would be cheered as lustily and heartily by our men as he is by his own." Some fifty or sixty other prisoners had been taken; they had been captured in the hand-to-hand struggle that had taken place on some parts of the field, having got separated from their corps and mixed up with the enemy, and carried off the field with them as they retired. These for the most part accepted the offered parole; but some fifteen, like Vincent, preferred a Northern prison to promising to abstain from fighting in defense of their country, and in the middle of the day they were placed together in a tent under a guard at the rear of the camp. The next morning came the news that Lee had fallen back. There was exultation among the Federals, not unmingled with a strong sense of relief; for the heavy losses inflicted in the previous fighting had taken all the ardor of attack out of McClellan's army, and they were glad indeed that they were not to be called upon to make another attempt to drive the Confederates from their position. Vincent was no less pleased at the news. He knew how thin were the ranks of the Confederate fighting men, and how greatly they were worn and exhausted by fatigue and want of food, and that, although they had the day before repulsed the attacks of the masses of well-fed Northerners, such tremendous exertions could not often be repeated, and a defeat, with the river in their rear, approachable only by one rough and narrow road, would have meant a total destruction of the army. The next morning Vincent and his companions were put into the train and sent to Alexandria. They had no reason to complain of their treatment upon the way. They were well fed, and after their starvation diet for the last six weeks their rations seemed to them actually luxurious. The Federal troops in Alexandria, who were for the most part young recruits who had just arrived from the north and west, looked with astonishment upon these thin and ragged men, several of whom were barefooted. Was it possible that such scarecrows as these could in every battle have driven back the well-fed and cared-for Northern soldiers! "Are they all like this?" one burly young soldier from a western state asked their guard. "That's them, sir," the sergeant in charge of the party replied. "Not much to look at, are they? But, by gosh, you should see them fight! You wouldn't think of their looks then." "If that's soldiering," the young farmer said solemnly, "the sooner I am back home again the better. But it don't seem to me altogether strange as they should fight so hard, because I should say they must look upon it as a comfort to be killed rather than to live like that." A shout of laughter from the prisoners showed the young rustic that the objects of his pity did not consider life to be altogether intolerable even under such circumstances, and he moved away meditating on the discomforts of war, and upon the remarks that would be made were he to return home in so sorrowful a plight as that of these Confederate prisoners. "I bargained to fight," he said, "and though I don't expect I shall like it, I sha'n't draw back when the time comes; but as to being starved till you are nigh a skeleton, and going about barefooted and in such rags as a tramp wouldn't look at, it ain't reasonable." And yet, had he known it, among those fifteen prisoners more than half were possessors of wide estates, and had been brought up from their childhood in the midst of luxuries such as the young farmer never dreamed of. Among many of the soldiers sympathy took a more active form, and men pressed forward and gave packets of tobacco, cigars, and other little presents to them, while two or three pressed rolls of dollar notes into their hands, with words of rough kindness. "There ain't no ill feeling in us, Rebs. You have done your work like men and no doubt you thinks your cause is right, just as we does; but it's all over now, and maybe our turn will come next to see the inside of one of your prisons down south. So we are just soldiers together, and can feel for each other." Discipline in small matters was never strictly enforced in the American armies, and the sergeant in charge offered no opposition to the soldiers mingling with the prisoners as they walked along. Two days later they were sent by railway to the great prison at Elmira, a town in the southwest of the State of New York. When they reached the jail the prisoners were separated, Vincent, who was the only officer, being assigned quarters with some twenty others of the same rank. The prisoners crowded round him as he entered, eager to hear the last news from the front, for they heard from their guards only news of constant victories won by the Northerners; for every defeat was transformed by the Northern papers into a brilliant victory, and it was only when the shattered remains of the various armies returned to Alexandria to be re-formed that the truth gradually leaked out. Thus Antietam had been claimed as a great Northern victory, for although McClellan's troops had in the battle been hurled back shattered and broken across the river, two days afterward Lee had retired. One of the prisoners, who was also dressed in cavalry uniform, hung back from the rest, and going to the window looked out while Vincent was chatting with the others. Presently he turned round, and Vincent recognized with surprise his old opponent Jackson. After a moment's hesitation he walked across the room to him. "Jackson," he said, "we have not been friends lately, but I don't see why we should keep up our quarrel any longer; we got on all right at school together; and now we are prisoners together here it would be foolish to continue our quarrel. Perhaps we were both somewhat to blame in that affair. I am quite willing to allow I was, for one, but I think we might well put it all aside now." Jackson hesitated, and then took the hand Vincent held out to him. "That's right, young fellows," one of the other officers said. "Now that every Southern gentleman is fighting and giving his life, if need be, for his country, no one has a right to have private quarrels of his own. Life is short enough as it is, certainly too short to indulge in private animosities. A few weeks ago we were fighting side by side, and facing death together; to-day we are prisoners; a week hence we may be exchanged, and soon take our places in the ranks again. It's the duty of all Southerners to stand shoulder to shoulder, and there ought to be no such thing as ill-feeling among ourselves." Vincent was not previously aware that Jackson had obtained a commission. He now learned that he had been chosen by his comrades to fill a vacancy caused by the death of an officer in a skirmish just before Pope fell back from the Rappahannock, and that he had been made prisoner a few days afterward in a charge against a greatly superior body of Federal cavalry. The great majority of the officers on both sides were at the commencement of the war chosen by their comrades, the elections at first taking place once a year. This, however, was found to act very badly. In some cases the best men in the regiment were chosen; but too often men who had the command of money, and could afford to stand treat and get in supplies of food and spirits, were elected. The evils of the system were found so great, indeed, that it was gradually abandoned; but in cases of vacancies occurring in the field, and there being a necessity for at once filling them up, the colonels of the regiments had power to make appointments, and if the choice of the men was considered to be satisfactory their nominee would be generally chosen. In the case of Jackson, the colonel had hesitated in confirming the choice of the men. He did not for a moment suspect him to be wanting in courage; but he regarded him as one who shirked his work, and who won the votes of the men rather by a fluent tongue and by the violence of his expressions of hatred against the North than by any soldierly qualities. Some of the officers had been months in prison, and they were highly indignant at the delays that had occurred in effecting their exchange. The South, indeed, would have been only too glad to get rid of some of their numerous prisoners, who were simply an expense and trouble to them, and to get their own men back into their ranks. They could ill spare the soldiers required to guard so large a number of prisoners, and a supply of food was in itself a serious matter. Thus it was that at Harper's Ferry and upon a good many other occasions they released vast numbers of prisoners on their simple paroles not to serve again. The North, however, were in no hurry to make exchange; and moreover, their hands were so full with their enormous preparations that they put aside all matters which had not the claim of urgency. CHAPTER X. THE ESCAPE. The discipline in the prison at Elmira was not rigorous. The prisoners had to clean up the cells, halls, and yard, but the rest of their time they could spend as they liked. Some of those whose friends had money were able to live in comparative luxury, and to assist those who had no such resources; for throughout the war there was never any great difficulty in passing letters to and from the South. The line of frontier was enormous, and it was only at certain points that hostilities, were actively carried on; consequently letters and newspapers were freely passed, and money could be sent in the same way from one part of the country to another. At certain hours of the day hawkers and vendors of such articles as were in most demand by the prisoners were allowed to enter the yard and to sell their wares to the Confederates. Spirits were not allowed to be carried in, but tobacco and all kinds of food were permitted to pass. Vincent had at Alexandria written a letter to his mother, and had given it to a man who represented that he made it his business to forward letters to an agent at Richmond, being paid for each letter the sum of a dollar on its delivery. Vincent therefore felt confident that the anxiety that would be felt at home when they learned that he was among the missing at the battle of Antietam would be relieved. He was fairly supplied with money. He had, indeed, had several hundred dollars with him at the time he was captured; but these were entirely in Confederate notes, for which he got but half their value in Northern paper at Alexandria. He himself found the rations supplied in the prison ample, and was able to aid any of his fellow-prisoners in purchasing clothes to replace the rags they wore when captured. One day Vincent strolled down as usual toward the gate, where, under the eye of the guard, a row of men and women, principally negroes and negresses, were sitting on the ground with their baskets in front of them containing tobacco, pipes, fruit, cakes, needles and thread, buttons, and a variety of other articles in demand, while a number of prisoners were bargaining and joking with them. Presently his eye fell upon a negro before whom was a great pile of watermelons. He started as he did so, for he at once recognized the well-known face of Dan. As soon as the negro saw that his master's eye had fallen upon him he began loudly praising the quality of his fruit. "Here, massa officer, here berry fine melyons, ripe and sweet; no green trash; dis un good right through. Five cents each, sah. Berry cheap dese." "I expect they cost you nothing, Sambo," one of the Confederate soldiers said as he bought a melon. "Got a neighbor's patch handy, eh?" Dan grinned at the joke, and then selecting another from the bottom of his pile in the basket, offered it to Vincent. "Dis fine fruit, sah. Me sure you please with him!" Vincent took the melon and handed Dan five cents. A momentary glance was exchanged, and then he walked away and sat down in a quiet corner of the yard and cut open the melon. As he expected, he found a note rolled up in the center. A small piece of the rind had been cut out and the pulp removed for its reception. The bit of rind had then been carefully replaced so that the cut would not be noticed without close inspection. It was from one of his fellow-officers, and was dated the day after his capture. He read as follows: "My Dear Wingfield.-We are all delighted this afternoon to hear that instead, as we had believed, of your being knocked on the head you are a prisoner among the Yanks. Several of us noticed you fall just as we halted at the river, and we all thought that from the way in which you fell you had been shot through the head or heart. However, there was no time to inquire in that terrific storm of shot and shell. In the morning when the burying parties went down we could find no signs of you, although we knew almost to a foot where you had fallen. "We could only conclude at last that you had been carried off in the night by the Yanks, and as they would hardly take the trouble of carrying off a dead body, it occurred to us that you might after all be alive. So the colonel went to Lee, who at once sent a trumpeter with a flag down to the river to inquire, and we were all mightily pleased, as you may imagine, when he came back with the news that you were not only a prisoner, but unwounded, having been only stunned in some way. From the way you fell we suppose a round shot must have grazed your head; at least that is the only way we can account for it. "Your horse came back unhurt to the troop, and will be well cared for until you rejoin us, which we hope will not be long. Your boy kept the camp awake last night with his howlings, and is at present almost out of his mind with delight. He tells me he has made up his mind to slip across the lines and make his way as a runaway to Alexandria, where you will, of course, be taken in the first place. He says he's got some money of yours; but I have insisted on his taking another fifty dollars, which you can repay me when we next meet. As he will not have to ask for work, he may escape the usual lot of runaways, who are generally pounced upon and set to work on the fortifications of Alexandria and Washington. "He intends to find out what prison you are taken to, and to follow you, with some vague idea of being able to aid you to escape. As he cannot write, he has asked me to write this letter to you, telling you what his idea is. He will give it to you when he finds an opportunity, and he wishes you to give him an answer, making any suggestion that may occur to you as to the best way of his setting about it. He says that he shall make acquaintances among the negroes North, and will find some one who will read your note to him and write you an answer. I have told him that if he is caught at the game he is likely to be inside a prison a bit longer than you are, even if worse doesn't befall him. However, he makes light of this, and is bent upon carrying out his plans, and I can only hope he will succeed. "I have just heard that we shall fall back across the Rappahannock to-morrow, and I imagine there will not be much hard fighting again until spring, long before which I hope you will be in your place among us again. We lost twenty-three men and two officers (Ketler and Sumner) yesterday. Good-by, old fellow! I need not say keep up your spirits, for that you are pretty sure to do. "Yours truly, "James Sinclair." After the first start at seeing Dan, Vincent was scarcely surprised, for he had often thought over what the boy would do, and had fancied that while, if he supposed him dead, he would go straight back to the Orangery, it was quite possible that, should he hear that he was a prisoner, Dan might take it into his head to endeavor to join him. As to his making his escape, that did not appear to be a very difficult undertaking now that he had a friend outside. The watch kept up was not a very vigilant one, for such numbers of prisoners were taken on both sides that they were not regarded as of very great importance, and, indeed, the difficulty lay rather in making across the country to the Southern border than in escaping from prison; for with a friend outside, with a disguise in readiness, that matter was comparatively easy. All that was required for the adventure was a long rope, a sharp file, and a dark night. The chief difficulty that occurred to Vincent arose from the fact that there were some twenty other prisoners in the same ward. He could hardly file through the bars of the window unnoticed by them, and they would naturally wish to share in his flight; but where one person might succeed in evading the vigilance of the guard, it was unlikely in the extreme that twenty would do so, and the alarm once given all would be recaptured. He was spared the trouble of making up his mind as to his plans, for by the time he had finished his letter the hour that the hucksters were allowed to sell their goods was passed, and the gates were shut and all was quiet. After some thought he came to the conclusion that the only plan would be to conceal himself somewhere in the prison just before the hour at which they were locked up in their wards. The alarm would be given, for the list of names was called over before lock-up, and a search would of course be made. Still, if he could find a good place for concealment, it might succeed, since the search after dark would not be so close and minute as that which would be made next morning. The only disadvantage would be that the sentries would be especially on the alert, as, unless the fugitive had succeeded in some way in passing out of the gates in disguise, he must still be within the walls, and might attempt to scale them through the night. This certainty largely increased the danger, and Vincent went to bed that night without finally determining what had better be done. The next morning while walking in the grounds he quite determined as to the place he would choose for his concealment if he adopted the plan he had thought of the evening before. The lower rooms upon one side of the building were inhabited by the governor and officers of the prison, and if he were to spring through an open window unnoticed just as it became dusk, and hide himself in a cupboard or under a bed there he would be safe for a time, as, however close the search might be in other parts of the building, it would be scarcely suspected, at any rate on the first alarm, that he had concealed himself in the officers' quarters. There would, of course, be the chance of his being detected as he got out of the window again at night, but this would not be a great risk. It was the vigilance of the sentries that he most feared, and the possibility that, as soon as the fact of his being missing was known, a cordon of guards might be stationed outside the wall in addition to those in the yard. The danger appeared to him to be so great that he was half inclined to abandon the enterprise. It would certainly be weary work to be shut up there for perhaps a year while his friends were fighting the battles of his country; but it would be better after all to put up with that than to run any extreme risk of being shot. When he had arrived at this conclusion he went upstairs to his room to write a line to Dan. The day was a fine one, and he found that the whole of the occupants of the room had gone below. This was an unexpected bit of good fortune, and he at once went to the window and examined the bars. They were thick and of new iron, but had been hastily put up. The building had originally been a large warehouse, and when it had been converted into a prison for the Confederate prisoners the bars had been added to the windows. Instead, therefore, of being built into solid stone and fastened in by lead, they were merely screwed on to the wooden framework of the windows, and by a strong turn-screw a bar could be removed in five minutes. This altogether altered the position. He had only to wait until the rest of the occupants of the room were asleep and then to remove the bar and let himself down. He at once wrote: "I want twenty yards of strong string, and the same length of rope that will bear my weight; also a strong turn-screw. When I have got this I will let you know night and hour. Shall want disguise ready to put on." He folded the note up into a small compass, and at the hour at which Dan would be about to enter he sauntered down to the gate. In a short time the vendors entered, and were soon busy selling their wares. Dan had, as before, a basket of melons. Vincent made his way up to him. "I want another melon," he said, "as good as that you me last night." "Dey all de same, sah. First-rate melyons dose; just melt away in your mouf like honey." He held up one of the melons, and Vincent placed in his hands the coppers in payment. Between two of them he had placed the little note. Dan's hands closed quickly on the coins, and dropping them into his pocket he addressed the next customer, while Vincent sauntered away again. This time the melon was a whole one, and Vincent divided it with a couple of other prisoners for the fruit was too large for one person to consume, being quite as large as a man's head. The next day another melon was bought, but this time Vincent did not open it in public. Examining it closely, he perceived that it had been cut through the middle, and no doubt contained a portion of the rope. He hesitated as to his next step. If he took the melon up to his room he would be sure to find some men there, and would be naturally called upon to divide the fruit; and yet there was nowhere else he could hide it. For a long time he sat with his back to the wall and the melon beside him, abusing himself for his folly in not having told Dan to send the rope in small lengths that he could hide about him. The place where he had sat down was one of the quietest in the yard, but men were constantly strolling up and down. He determined at last that the only possible plan was in the first place to throw his coat over his melon, to tuck it up underneath it, then to get hold of one end of the ball of rope that it doubtless contained and to endeavor to wind it round his body without being observed. It was a risky business, and he would gladly have tossed the melon over the wall had he dared to do so; for if he were detected, not only would he be punished with much more severe imprisonment, but Dan might be arrested and punished most severely. Unfortunately the weather was by no means hot, and it would look strange to take off his coat, besides, if he did so, how could he coil the rope round him without being observed? So that idea was abandoned. He got up and walked to an angle in the wall, and there sat down again, concealing the melon as well as he could between him and the wall when any one happened to come near him. He pulled the halves apart and found, as he had suspected, it was but a shell, the whole of the fruit having been scooped out. But he gave an exclamation of pleasure on seeing that instead, as he feared, of a large ball of rope being inside, the interior was filled with neatly-made hanks, each containing several yards of thin but strong rope, together with a hank of strong string. Unbuttoning his coat, he thrust them in; then he took the melon rind and broke it into very small pieces and threw them about. He then went up to his room and thrust the hanks, unobserved, one by one among the straw which, covered by an army blanket, constituted his bed. To-morrow, no doubt, Dan would supply him somehow with a turn-screw. On going down to the gate next day he found that the negro had changed his commodity, and that this time his basket contained very large and fine cucumbers. These were selling briskly, and Vincent saw that Dan was looking round anxiously, and that an expression of relief came over his face as he perceived him. He had, indeed, but eight or ten cucumbers left. "Cucumbers to-day, sah? Berry fine cucumbers--first-rate cucumbers dese." "They look rather over-ripe," Vincent said. "Not a bit, sah; dey just ripe. Dis berry fine one--ten cents dis." "You are putting up your prices, darkey, and are making a fortune out of us," Vincent said as he took the cucumber, which was a very large and straight one. He had no difficulty with this, as with the melon; a sharp twist broke it in two as he reached the corner he had used the day previously. It had been cut in half, one end had been scooped out for the reception of the handle of the turn-screw, and the metal been driven in to the head in the other half. Hiding it under his jacket, he felt that he was now prepared for escape. He now asked himself whether he should go alone or take one or more of his comrades into his confidence, and finally determined to give a young Virginian officer named Geary, with whom he had been specially friendly during his imprisonment, and Jackson, a chance of escape. He did not like the latter, but he thought that after the reconciliation that had taken place between them it was only right to take him rather than a stranger. Drawing them aside, then, he told them that he had arranged a mode of escape; it was impossible that all could avail themselves of it, but that they were welcome to accompany him. They thanked him heartily for the offer, and, when he explained the manner in which he intended to make off, agreed to try their fortune with him. "I propose," he said, "as soon as we are fairly beyond the prison, we separate, and each try to gain the frontier as best he can. The fact that three prisoners have escaped will soon be known all over the country, and there would be no chance whatever for us if we kept together. I will tell my boy to have three disguises ready; and when we once put aside our uniforms I see no reason why, traveling separately, suspicion should fall upon us; we ought to have no difficulty until at any rate we arrive near the border, and there must be plenty of points where we can cross without going anywhere near the Federal camps." The others at once agreed that the chances of making their way separately were much greater than if together. This being arranged, Vincent passed a note next day to Dan, telling him to have three disguises in readiness, and to be at the foot of the western wall, halfway along, at twelve o'clock on the first wet night. A string would be thrown over, with a knife fastened to it. He was to pull on the string till the rope came into his hand, and to hold that tight until they were over. Vincent chose this spot because it was equally removed from the sentry-boxes at the corners of the yard, and because there was a stone seat in the yard to which one end of the rope could be attached. That night was fine, but the next was thick and misty. At nine o'clock all were in bed, and he lay listening to the clocks in the distance. Ten struck, and eleven, and when he thought it was approaching twelve he got up and crept to the window. He was joined immediately by the others; the turn-screw was set to work; and, as he expected, Vincent found no trouble whatever with the screws, which were not yet rusted in the wood, and turned immediately when the powerful screw-driver was applied to them. When all were out the bar was carefully lifted from its place and laid upon the floor. The rope was then put round one of the other bars and drawn through it until the two ends came together. These were then dropped to the ground below. Geary went first, Jackson followed, and Vincent was soon standing beside them. Taking one end of the rope, he pulled it until the other passed round the bar and fell at their feet. All three were barefooted, and they stole noiselessly across the yard to the seat, which was nearly opposite their window. Vincent had already fastened his clasp-knife to the end of the string, and he now threw it over the wall, which was about twenty feet high. He had tied a knot at forty feet from the end, and, standing close to the wall, he drew in the string until the knot was in his hand. Another two yards, and he knew that the knife was hanging a yard from the ground against the wall. He now drew it up and down, hoping that the slight noise the knife made against the wall might aid Dan in finding it. In two or three minutes he felt a jerk, and knew that Dan had got it. He fastened the end of the string to the rope and waited. The rope was gradually drawn up; when it neared the end he fastened it to the stone seat. "Now," he said, "up you go, Geary." The order in which they were to ascend had been settled by lot, as Geary insisted that Vincent, who had contrived the whole affair, should be the first to escape; but Vincent declined to accept the advantage, and the three had accordingly tossed up for precedence. Geary was quickly over, and lowered himself on the opposite side. The others followed safely, but not without a good deal of scraping against the wall, for the smallness of the rope added to the difficulty of climbing it. However, the noise was so slight that they had little fear of attracting attention, especially as the sentries would be standing in their boxes, for the rain was now coming down pretty briskly. As soon as they were down Vincent seized Dan by the hand. "My brave lad," he said, "I owe you my freedom, and I sha'n't forget it. Now, where are the clothes?" "Here day are, sah. One is a rough suit, like a workingman's; another is a black-and-white sort of suit--a check-suit; de oder one is for you--a clargy's suit, sir. You make very nice young minister, for sure." "All right, Dan!" Vincent said laughing; "give me the minister's suit." "Then I will be the countryman," Geary said. There was a little suppressed laughter as they changed their clothes in the dark; and then, leaving their uniforms by the wall, they shook hands and started at once in different directions, lest they might come across some one who would, when the escape was known, remember four men having passed him in the dark. "Now, Dan, what is the next move?" Vincent asked as they walked off. "Have you fixed upon any plan?" "No special plan, sah, but I have brought a bag; you see I have him in my hand." "I suppose that's what you carried the clothes in?" "No, sir; I carried dem in a bundle. Dis bag has got linen, and boots, and oder tings for you, sah. What I tink am de best way is dis. Dar am a train pass trou here at two o'clock and stop at dis station. Some people always get out. Dar is an hotel just opposite the station, and some of de passengers most always go there. I thought the best way for you would be to go outside the station. Just when the train come in we walk across de road wid the others and go to hotel. You say you want bedroom for yo'self, and that your sarvant can sleep in de hall. Den in de morning you get up and breakfast, and go off by de fust train." "But then they may send down to look at the passengers starting, and I should be taken at once." "De train go out at seven o'clock, sah. I don't expect dey find dat you have got away before dat." "No, Dan. We all turn out at seven, and I shall be missed then; but it will be some little time before the alarm is given, and they find out how we got away, and send out search-parties. If the train is anything like punctual we shall be off long before they get to the station." "Besides, sah, dar are not many people knows your face, and it not likely de bery man dat know you come to the station. Lots of oder places to search, and dey most sure to tink you go right away--not tink you venture to stop in town till the morning." "That is so, Dan; and I think your plan is a capital one." Dan's suggestion was carried out, and at seven o'clock next morning they were standing on the platform among a number of other parsons waiting for the train. Just as the locomotive's whistle was heard the sound of a cannon boomed out from the direction of the prison. "That means some of the prisoners have escaped," one of the porters on the platform said. "There have been five or six of them got away in the last two months, but most of them have been caught again before they have gone far. You see, to have a chance at all, they have got to get rid of their uniforms, and as we are all Unionists about here that ain't an easy job for 'em to manage." Every one on the platform joined in the conversation, asking which way the fugitive would be likely to go, whether there were any cavalry to send after him, what would be done to him if he were captured, and other questions of the same kind, Vincent joining in the talk. It was a relief to him when the train drew up, and he and Dan took their place in it, traveling, however, in different cars. Once fairly away, Vincent had no fear whatever of being detected, and could travel where he liked, for outside the prison there were not ten people who knew his face throughout the Northern States. It would be difficult for him to make his way down into Virginia from the North as the whole line of frontier there was occupied by troops, and patrols were on the watch night and day to prevent persons from going through the lines. He therefore determined to go west to St. Louis, and from there work his way down through Missouri. After two days' railway traveling they reached St. Louis, a city having a large trade with the South, and containing many sympathizers with the Confederate cause. Vincent, having now no fear of detection, went at once to an hotel, and taking up the newspaper, one of the first paragraphs that met his eye was headed: "Escape of three Confederate officers from Elmira. Great excitement was caused on Wednesday at Elmira by the discovery that three Confederate officers had, during the night, effected their escape from prison. One of the bars of the window of the ward on the first floor in which they were, with fifteen other Confederate officers, confined, had been removed; the screws having been taken out by a large screw-driver which they left behind them. They had lowered themselves to the yard, and climbed over the wall by means of a rope which was found in position in the morning. The rest of the prisoners professed an entire ignorance of the affair, and declare that until they found the beds unoccupied in the morning they knew nothing of the occurrence. "This is as it may be, but it is certain they must have been aided by traitors outside the prison, for the rope hung loose on the outside of the wall, and must have been held by some one there as they climbed it. The inside end was fastened to a stone seat, and they were thus enabled to slide down it on the other side. Their uniforms were found lying at the foot of the wall, and their accomplice had doubtless disguises ready for them. The authorities of the prison are unable to account for the manner in which the turn-screw and rope were passed in to them, or how they communicated with their friends outside." Then followed the personal description of each of the fugitives, and a request that all loyal citizens would be on the look-out for them, and would at once arrest any suspicious character unable to give a satisfactory account of himself. As Vincent sat smoking in the hall of the hotel he heard several present discussing the escape of the prisoners. "It does not matter about them one way or the other," one of the speakers said. "They seem to be mere lads, and whether they escape or not will not make any difference to any one. The serious thing is that there must be some traitors among the prison officials, and that next time, perhaps two or three generals may escape, and that would be a really serious misfortune." "We need not reckon that out at present," another smoker said. "We haven't got three of the rebel generals yet, and as far as things seem to be going on, we may have to wait some time before we have. They are pretty well able to take care of themselves, I reckon." "They are good men, some of them, I don't deny," the first speaker said; "but they might as well give up the game. In the spring we shall have an army big enough to eat them up." "So I have heard two or three times before. Scott was going to eat them up, McClellan was going to eat them up, then Pope was going to make an end of 'em altogether. Now McClellan is having a try again, but somehow or other the eating up hasn't come off yet. It looks to me rather the other way." There was an angry growl from two or three of those sitting round, while others uttered a cordial "That's so." "It seems to me, by the way you put it, that you don't wish to see this business come to an end." "That's where you are wrong now. I do wish to see it come to an end. I don't want to see tens of thousands of men losing their lives because one portion of these States wants to ride roughshod over the other. The sooner the North looks this affair squarely in the face and sees that it has taken up a bigger job than it can carry through, and agrees to let those who wish to leave it go if they like, the better for all parties. That's what I think about it." "I don't call that Union talk," the other said angrily. "Union or not Union, I mean to talk it, and I want to know who is going to prevent me?" The two men rose simultaneously from their chairs, and in a second the crack of two revolvers sounded. As if they had only been waiting for the signal, a score of other men leaped up and sprang at each other. They had, as the altercation grew hotter, joined in with exclamations of anger or approval, and Vincent saw that although the Unionists were the majority the party of sympathizers with the South was a strong one. Having neither arms nor inclination to join in a broil of this kind he made his escape into the street the instant hostilities began, and hurried away from the sound of shouts, oaths, the sharp cracks of pistols, and the breaking of glass. Ten minutes later he returned. The hotel was shut up, but an angry mob were assembled round the door shouting, "Down with the rebels! down with the Secessionists!" and were keeping up a loud knocking at the door. Presently a window upstairs opened, and the proprietor put out his head. "Gentlemen," he said, "I can assure you that the persons who were the cause of this disturbance all left the hotel by the back way as soon as the affair was over. I have sent for the police commissioner, and upon his arrival he will be free to search the house, and to arrest any one concerned in this affair." The crowd were not satisfied, and renewed their knocking at the door; but two or three minutes later an officer, with a strong body of police, arrived on the spot. In a few words he told the crowd to disperse, promising that the parties concerned in the affair would be taken in and duly deal with. He then entered the house with four of his men, leaving the rest to wait. Vincent entered with the constables, saying that he was staying at the house. The fumes of gunpowder were still floating about the hall, three bodies were lying on the floor, and several men were binding up their wounds. The police-officer inquired into the origin of the broil, and all present concurred in saying that it arose from some Secessionists speaking insultingly of the army of the Union. Search was then made in the hotel, and it was found that eight persons were missing. One of the killed was a well-known citizen of the town; he was the speaker on the Union side of the argument. The other two were strangers, and no one could say which side they espoused. All those present declared that they themselves were Union men, and it was supposed that the eight who were missing were the party who had taken the other side of the question. The evidence of each was taken down by the police-officer. Vincent was not questioned, as, having entered with the constables, it was supposed he was not present at the affair. In the morning Vincent read in the local paper a highly colored account of the fray. After giving a large number of wholly fictitious details of the fray, it went on to say: "The victims were Cyrus D. Jenkins, a much-esteemed citizen and a prominent Unionist; the other two were guests at the hotel; one had registered as P. J. Moore of Vermont, the other James Harvey of Tennessee. Nothing is as yet known as to the persons whose rooms were unoccupied, and who had doubtless made their escape as soon as the affray was over; but the examination of their effects, which will be made by the police in the morning, will doubtless furnish a clew by which they will be brought to justice." Having read this, Vincent looked for the news as to the escape from Elmira, being anxious to know whether his companions had been as fortunate as himself in getting clear away. He was startled by reading the following paragraph: "We are enabled to state that the police have received a letter stating that one of the officers who escaped from Elmira prison has adopted the disguise of a minister, and is traveling through the country with a black servant. At present the authorities are not disposed to attach much credit to this letter, and are inclined to believe that it has been sent in order to put them on a wrong scent. However a watch will doubtless be kept by the police throughout the country for a person answering to this description." Accustomed to rise early, Vincent was taking his breakfast almost alone, only two or three of the other guests having made their appearance. He finished his meal hastily, and went out to Dan, who was lounging in front of the hotel. "Dan, go upstairs at once, pack the bag, bring it down and get out with it immediately. I will pay the bill. Don't stop to ask questions now." Vincent then walked up to the desk at the end of the hall, at which a clerk was sitting reading the paper. Sincerely hoping that the man's eye had not fallen on this paragraph, he asked if his account was made out. As he had fortunately mentioned on the preceding evening that he should be leaving in the morning, the bill was ready; and the clerk, scarce looking up from the paper, handed it to him. Vincent paid him the amount, saying carelessly, "I think I have plenty of time to catch the train for the east?" The clerk glanced at the clock. "Yes, it goes at 8, and you have twenty minutes. It's only five minutes' walk to the station." CHAPTER XI. FUGITIVES. On leaving the hotel Vincent walked a short distance, and then stopped until Dan came up to him. "Anyting de matter, sah?" "Yes, Dan. There is a notice in the paper that the police have obtained information that I am traveling disguised as a minister, and have a negro servant with me.." "Who told dem dat?" Dan asked in surprise. "We can talk about that presently, Dan; the great thing at present is to get away from here. The train for the south starts at ten. Give me the bag, and follow me at a distance. I will get you a ticket for Nashville, and as you pass me in the station I will hand it to you. It must not be noticed that we are traveling together. That is the only clew they have got." Dan obeyed his instructions. The journey was a long one. The train was slow and stopped frequently; passengers got in and out at every station. The morning's news from the various points at which the respective forces were facing each other was the general topic of conversation, and Vincent was interested in seeing how the tone gradually changed as the passengers from St. Louis one by one left the train and their places were taken by those of the more southern districts. At first the sentiment expressed had been violently Northern, and there was no dissent from the general chorus of hope and expectation that the South were on their last legs and that the rebellion would shortly be stamped out; but gradually, as the train approached the State of Tennessee, the Unionist opinion, although expressed with even greater force and violence, was by no means universal. Many men read their papers in silence and took no part whatever in the conversation, but Vincent could see from the angry glances which they shot at the speakers that the sentiments uttered were distasteful to them. He himself had scarcely spoken during the whole journey. He had for some time devoted himself to the newspaper, and had then purchased a book from the newsboy who perambulated the cars. Presently a rough-looking man who had been among the wildest and most violent in his denunciation of the South said, looking at Vincent: "I see by the papers to-day that one of the cursed rebel officers who gave them the slip at Elmira is traveling in the disguise of a minister. I guess it's mighty unpleasant to know that even if you meet a parson in a train like as not he is a rebel in disguise. Now, mister, may I ask where you have come from and where you are going to?" "You may ask what you like," Vincent said quietly; "but I am certainly not going to answer impertinent questions." A hum of approval was heard from several of the passengers. "If you hadn't got that black coat on," the man said angrily, "I would put you off the car in no time." "Black coat or no black coat," Vincent said, "you may find it more difficult than you think. My profession is a peaceful one; but even a peaceful man, if assaulted, may defend himself. You say it's unpleasant to know that if you travel with a man in a black coat he may be a traitor. It's quite as unpleasant to me to know that if I travel with a man in a brown one he may be a notorious ruffian, and may as likely as not have just served his time in a penitentiary." Two or three of the passengers laughed loudly. The man, starting up, crossed the car to where Vincent was sitting and laid his hand roughly on his shoulder. "You have got to get out!" he said. "No man insults Jim Mullens twice." "Take your hand off my shoulder," Vincent said quietly, "or you will be sorry for it." The man shifted his hold to the collar of Vincent's coat amid cries of shame from some of the passengers, while the others were silent, even those of his own party objecting to an assault upon a minister. It was only the fact that the fellow was a notorious local ruffian that prevented their expressing open disapproval of the act. As the man grasped Vincent's collar with his right hand Vincent saw his left go under his coat toward the pocket in the back of the trousers where revolvers were always carried. In an instant he sprang to his feet, and before the man, who was taken by surprise at the suddenness of the movement, could steady himself, he struck him a tremendous blow between the eyes, and at the same moment, springing at his throat, threw him backward on to the floor of the carriage. As he fell the man drew out his revolver, but Vincent grasped his arm and with a sharp twist wrenched the revolver from his grasp, and leaping up, threw it out of the open window. The ruffian rose to his feat, for a moment half dazed by the violence with which he had fallen, and poured out a string of imprecations upon Vincent. The latter stood calmly awaiting a fresh attack. For a moment the ruffian hesitated, and then, goaded to fury by the taunting laughter of the lookers-on, was about to spring upon him when he was seized by two or three of the passengers. "I reckon you have made a fool enough of yourself already," one of them said; "and we are not going to see a minister ill-treated, not if we know it." "You need not hold him," Vincent said. "It is not because one wears a black coat and is adverse to fighting that one is not able to defend one's self. We all learn the same things at college whether we are going into the church or any other profession. You can let him alone if he really wants any more, which I do not believe. I should be ashamed of myself if I could not punish a ruffian of his kind." "Let me get at him!" yelled Mullens; and the men who held him, taking Vincent at his word, released him. He rushed forward, but was received with another tremendous blow on the mouth. He paused a moment in his rush, and Vincent, springing forward, administered another blow upon the same spot, knocking him off his legs on to the floor. On getting up he gave no sign of a desire to renew the conflict. His lips were badly cut and the blood was streaming from his mouth, and he looked at Vincent with an air of absolute bewilderment. The latter, seeing that the conflict was over, quietly resumed his seat; while several of the passengers came up to him, and, shaking him warmly by the hand, congratulated him upon having punished his assailant. "I wish we had a few more ministers of your sort down this way," one said. "That's the sort of preaching fellows like this understand. It was well you got his six-shooter out of his hand, for he would have used it as sure as fate. He ought to have been lynched long ago, but since the troubles began these fellows have had all their own way. But look to yourself when he gets out; he belongs to a band who call themselves Unionists, but who are nothing but plunderers and robbers. If you take my advice, when you get to the end of your journey you will not leave the station, but take a ticket straight back north. I tell you your life won't be safe five minutes when you once get outside the town. They daren't do anything there, for though folks have had to put up with a good deal they wouldn't stand the shooting of a minister; still, outside the town I would not answer for your life for an hour." "I have my duties to perform," Vincent said, "and I shall certainly carry them through; but I am obliged to you for your advice. I can quite understand that ruffian," and he looked at Mullens, who, with his handkerchief to his mouth, was sitting alone in a corner--for the rest had all drawn away from him in disgust--and glaring ferociously at him, "will revenge himself if he has the opportunity. However as far as possible I shall be on my guard." "At any rate," the man said, "I should advise you when you get to Nashville to charge him with assault. We can all testify that he laid hands on you first. That way he will get locked up for some days anyhow, and you can go away about your business, and he won't know where to find you when he gets out." "Thank you--that would be a very good plan; but I might lose a day or two in having to appear against him; I am pressed for time and have some important business on hand and I have no doubt I shall be able to throw him off my track, finish my business, and be off again before he can come across me." "Well, I hope no harm will come of it," the other said. "I like you, and I never saw any one hit so quickly and so hard. It's a downright pity you are a preacher. My name's John Morrison, and my farm is ten miles from Nashville, on the Cumberland River. If you should be going in that direction I should be right glad if you would drop in on me." The real reason that decided Vincent against following the advice to give his assailant in charge was that he feared he himself might be questioned as to the object of his journey and his destination. The fellow would not improbably say that he believed he was the Confederate officer who was trying to escape in the disguise of a clergyman and that he had therefore tried to arrest him. He could of course give no grounds for the accusation, still questions might be asked which would be impossible for him to answer; and, however plausible a story he might invent, the lawyer whom the fellow would doubtless employ to defend him might suggest that the truth of his statements might be easily tested by the despatch of a telegram, in which case he would be placed in a most awkward situation. It was better to run the risk of trouble with the fellow and his gang than to do anything which might lead to inquiries as to his identity. When the train reached Nashville, Vincent proceeded to an hotel. It was already late in the afternoon, for the journey had occupied more than thirty hours. As soon as it was dark he went out again and joined Dan, whom he had ordered to follow him at a distance and to be at the corner of the first turning to the right of the hotel as soon as it became dark. Dan was at the point agreed upon, and he followed Vincent until the latter stopped in a quiet and badly lighted street. "Things are going badly, Dan. I had a row with a ruffian in the train, and he has got friends here, and this will add greatly to our danger in getting to our lines. I must get another disguise. What money have you left?" "Not a cent, sah. I had only a five-cent piece left when we left St. Louis, and I spent him on bread on de journey." "That is bad, Dan. I did not think your stock was so nearly expended." "I had to keep myself, sah, and to pay for de railroad, and to buy dem tree suits of clothes, and to make de nigger I lodged with a present to keep him mouth shut." "Oh, I know you have had lots of expenses, Dan, and I am sure that you have not wasted your money; but I had not thought about it. I have only got ten dollars left, and we may have a hundred and fifty miles to travel before we are safe. Anyhow, you must get another disguise, and trust to luck for the rest. We have tramped a hundred and fifty miles before now without having anything beyond what we could pick up on the road. Here's the money. Get a rough suit of workingman's clothes, and join me here again in an hour's time. Let us find out the name of the street before we separate, for we may miss our way and not be able to meet again." Passing up into the busy streets, Vincent presently stopped and purchased a paper of a newsboy who was running along shouting, "News from the war. Defeat of the rebels. Fight in a railway car near Nashville; a minister punishes a border ruffian." "Confound those newspaper fellows!" Vincent muttered to himself as he walked away. "They pick up every scrap of news. I suppose a reporter got hold of some one who was in the car." Turning down a quiet street, he opened the paper and by the light of the lamp read a graphic and minute account of the struggle in the train. "I won't go back to the hotel," he said to himself. "I shall be having reporters to interview me. I shall be expected to give them a history of my whole life; where I was born, and where I went to school, and whether I prefer beef to mutton, and whether I drink beer, and a thousand other things. No; the sooner I am away the better. As to the hotel, I have only had one meal, and they have got the bag with what clothes there are; that will pay them well." Accordingly when he rejoined Dan he told him that they would start at once. "It is the best way, anyhow," he said. "To-morrow, no doubt, the fellow I had the row with will be watching the hotel to see which way I go off, but after once seeing me go to the hotel he will not guess that I shall be starting this evening. What have you got left, Dan?" "I got two dollars, sah." "That makes us quite rich men. We will stop at the first shop we come to and lay in a stock of bread and a pound or two of ham." "And a bottle of rum, sah. Berry wet and cold sleeping out of doors now, sah. Want a little comfort anyhow." "Very well, Dan; I think we can afford that." "Get one for half a dollar, massa. Could not lay out half a dollar better." Half an hour later they had left Nashville behind them, and were tramping along the road toward the east, Dan carrying a bundle in which the provisions were wrapped, and the neck of the bottle of rum sticking out of his pocket. As soon as they were well in the country Vincent changed his clothes for those Dan had just bought him, and making the others up into a bundle continued his way. "Why you not leave dem black clothes behind, sah? What good take dem wid you?" "I am not going to carry them far, Dan. The first wood or thick clump of bushes we come to I shall hide them away; but if you were to leave them here they would be found the first thing in the morning, and perhaps be carried into the town and handed over to the police, and they might put that and the fact of my not having returned to the hotel--which is sure to be talked about--together, and come to the conclusion that either Mullens was right and that I was an escaped Confederate, or that I had been murdered by Mullens. In either case they might get up a search, and perhaps send telegrams to the troops in the towns beyond us. Anyhow, it's best the clothes should not be found." All night they tramped along, pausing only for half an hour about midnight, when Dan suggested that as he had only had some bread to eat--and not too much of that--during the last forty-eight hours, he thought that he could do with some supper. Accordingly the bundle was opened, and they sat down and partook of a hearty meal. Dan had wisely taken the precaution of having the cork drawn from the bottle when he bought it, replacing it so that it could be easily extracted when required, and Vincent acknowledged that the spirit was a not unwelcome addition to the meal. When morning broke they had reached Duck's River, a broad stream crossing the road. Here they drew aside into a thick grove, and determined to get a few hours' sleep before proceeding. It was nearly midday before they woke and proceeded to the edge of the trees. Vincent reconnoitered the position. "It is just as well we did not try to cross, Dan. I see the tents of at least a regiment on the other bank. No doubt they are stationed there to guard the road and railway bridge. This part of the country is pretty equally divided in opinion, though more of the people are for the South than for the North; but I know there are guerrilla parties on both sides moving about, and if a Confederate band was to pounce down on these bridges and destroy them it would cut the communication with their army in front, and put them in a very ugly position if they were defeated. No doubt that's why they have stationed that regiment there. Anyhow, it makes it awkward for us. We should be sure to be questioned where we are going, and as I know nothing whatever of the geography of the place we should find it very difficult to satisfy them. We must cross the river somewhere else. There are sure to be some boats somewhere along the banks; at any rate, the first thing to do is to move further away from the road." They walked for two or three miles across the country. The fields for the most part were deserted, and although here and there they saw cultivated patches, it was evident that most of the inhabitants had quitted that part of the country, which had been the scene of almost continued fighting from the commencement of the war; the sufferings of the inhabitants being greatly heightened by the bands of marauders who moved about plundering and destroying under the pretense of punishing those whom they considered hostile to the cause in whose favor--nominally, at least--they had enrolled themselves. The sight of ruined farms and burned houses roused Vincent's indignation; for in Virginia private property had, up to the time of Pope's assuming command of the army, been respected, and this phase of civil war was new and very painful to him. "It would be a good thing," he said to Dan, "if the generals on both sides in this district would agree to a month's truce, and join each other in hunting down and hanging these marauding scoundrels. On our side Mosby and a few other leaders of bands composed almost entirely of gentlemen, have never been accused of practices of this kind; but, with these exceptions, there is little to choose between them." After walking for four or five miles they again sat down till evening, and then going down to the river endeavored to find a boat by which they could cross, but to their disappointment no craft of any kind was visible, although in many places there were stages by the riverside, evidently used by farmers for unloading their produce into boats. Vincent concluded at last that at some period of the struggle all the boats must have been collected and either sunk or carried away by one of the parties to prevent the other crossing the river. Hitherto they had carefully avoided all the farmhouses that appeared to be inhabited; but Vincent now determined to approach one of them and endeavor to gain some information as to the distance from the next bridge, and whether it was guarded by troops, and to find out if possible the position in which the Northern forces in Tennessee were at present posted--all of which points he was at present ignorant of. He passed two or three large farmhouses without entering, for although the greater part of the male population were away with one or other of the armies, he might still find two or three hands in such buildings. Besides, it was now late, and whatever the politics of the inmates they would be suspicious of such late arrivals, and would probably altogether refuse them admittance. Accordingly another night was spent in the wood. The next morning, after walking a mile or two, they saw a house at which Vincent determined to try their fortune. It was small, but seemed to have belonged to people above the class of farmer. It stood in a little plantation, and was surrounded by a veranda. Most of the blinds were down, and Vincent judged that the inmates could not be numerous. "You remain here, Dan, and I will go and knock at the door. It is better that we should not be seen together." Vincent accordingly went forward and knocked at the door. An old negress opened it. "We have nothing for tramps," she said. "De house am pretty well cleared out ob eberyting." She was about to shut the door when Vincent put his foot forward and prevented it closing. "Massa Charles," the negress called out, "bring yo' shot-gun quick; here am tief want to break into the house." "I am neither a thief nor a tramp," Vincent said; "and I do not want anything, except that I should be glad to buy a loaf of bread if you have one that you could spare. I have lost my way, and I want to ask directions." "Dat am pretty likely story," the old woman said. "Bring up dat shot-gun quick, Massa Charles." "What is it, Chloe?" another female voice asked. "Here am a man pretend he hab lost his way and wants to buy a loaf. You stand back, Miss Lucy, and let your broder shoot de villain dead." "I can assure you that I am not a robber, madam," Vincent said through the partly opened door. "I am alone, and only beg some information, which I doubt not you can give me." "Open the door, Chloe," the second voice said inside; "that is not the voice of a robber." The old woman reluctantly obeyed the order and opened the door, and Vincent saw in the passage a young girl of some sixteen years old. He took off his hat. "I am very sorry to disturb you," he said; "but I am an entire stranger here, and am most desirous of crossing the river, but can find no boat with which to do so." "Why did you not cross by the bridge?" the girl asked. "How did you miss the straight road?" "Frankly, because there were Northern troops there," Vincent said, "and I wish to avoid them if possible." "You are a Confederate?" the girl asked, when the old negress interrupted her: "Hush! Miss Lucy, don't you talk about dem tings; der plenty of mischief done already. What hab you to do wid one side or do oder?" The girl paid no attention to her words, but stood awaiting Vincent's answer. He did not hesitate. There was something in her face that told him that, friend or foe, she was not likely to betray a fugitive, and he answered: "I am a Confederate officer, madam. I have made my escape from Elmira prison, and am trying to find my way back into our lines." "Come in, sir," the girl said, holding out her hand. "We are Secessionists, heart and soul. My father and my brother are with our troops--that is, if they are both alive. I have little to offer you, for the Yankee bands have been here several times, have driven off our cattle, emptied our barns, and even robbed our hen-nests, and taken everything in the house they thought worth carrying away. But whatever there is, sir, you are heartily welcome to. I had a paper yesterday--it is not often I get one--and I saw there that three of our officers had escaped from Elmira. Are you one of them?" "Yes, madam. I am Lieutenant Wingfield." "Ah! then you are in the cavalry. You have fought under Stuart," the girl said. "The paper said so. Oh, how I wish we had Stuart and Stonewall Jackson on this side! we should soon drive the Yankees out of Tennessee." "They would try to, anyhow," Vincent said, smiling, "and if it were possible they would assuredly do it. I was in Ashley's horse with the Stonewall division through the first campaign in the Shenandoah Valley and up to Bull Run, and after that under Stuart. But is not your brother here? Your servant called to him." "There is no one here but ourselves," the girl replied. "That was a fiction of Chloe's, and it has succeeded sometimes when we have had rough visitors. And now what can I do for you, sir? You said you wanted to buy a loaf of bread, and therefore, I suppose, you are hungry. Chloe, put the bacon and bread on the table, and make some coffee. I am afraid that is all we can do, sir, but such as it is you are heartily welcome to it." "I thank you greatly," Vincent replied, "and will, if you will allow me, take half my breakfast out to my boy who is waiting over there." "Why did you not bring him in?" the girl asked. "Of course he will be welcome too." "I did not bring him in before because two men in these days are likely to alarm a lonely household; and I would rather not bring him in now, because, if by any possibility the searchers, who are no doubt after me, should call and ask you whether two men, one a white and the other a negro, had been here, you could answer no." "But they cannot be troubling much about prisoners," the girl said. "Why, in the fighting here and in Missouri they have taken many thousands of prisoners, and you have taken still more of them in Virginia; surely they cannot trouble themselves much about one getting away." "I am not afraid of a search of that kind," Vincent said; "but, unfortunately, on my way down I had a row in the train with a ruffian named Mullens, who is, I understand, connected with one of these bands of brigands, and I feel sure that he will hunt me down if he can." The girl turned pale. "Oh!" she said, "I saw that in the paper too, but it said that it was a minister. And it was you who beat that man and threw his revolver out of the window? Oh, then, you are in danger indeed, sir. He is one of the worst ruffians in the State, and is the leader of the party who stripped this house and threatened to burn it to the ground. Luckily I was not at home, having gone away to spend the night with a neighbor. His band have committed murders all over the country, hanging up defenseless people on pretense that they were Secessionists. They will show you no mercy if they catch you." "No. I should not expect any great mercy if I fell into their hands, Miss Lucy. I don't know your other name." "My name is Kingston. I ought to have introduced myself to you at once." "Now you understand, Miss Kingston, how anxious I am to get across the river, and that brings me to the question of the information I want you to give me. How far is it from the next bridge on the south, and are there any Federal troops there?" "It is about seven miles to the bridge at Williamsport, we are just halfway between that and the railway bridge at Columbus. Yes, there are certainly troops there--" "Then I see no way for it but to make a small raft to carry us across, Miss Kingston. I am a good swimmer, but the river is full and of considerable width; still, I think I can get across. But my boy cannot swim a stroke." "I know where there is a boat hid in the wood near the river," the girl said. "It belongs to a neighbor of ours, and when the Yankees seized the boats he had his hauled up and hidden in the woods. He was a Southerner, heart and soul, and thought that he might be able sometimes to take useful information across the river to our people; but a few weeks afterward his house was attacked by one of these bands--it was always said it was that of Mullens--and he was killed defending it to the last. He killed several of the band before he fell, and they were so enraged that after plundering it they set it on fire and fastened the door, and his wife and two maid-servants were burned to death." "I wish instead of throwing his pistol out of the window I had blown his brains out with it," Vincent said; "and I would have done so if I had known what sort of fellow he was. However, as to the boat, can you give me instructions where to find it, and is it light enough for two men to carry?" "Not to carry, perhaps, but to push along. It is a light boat he had for pleasure. He had a large one, but that was carried away with the others. I cannot give you directions, but I can lead you to the place." "I should not like you to do that," Vincent said. "We might be caught, and your share in the affair might be suspected." "Oh! there is no fear of that," the girl said; "besides, I am not afraid of danger." "I don't think it is right, Miss Kingston, for a young lady like you to be living here alone with an old servant in such times as these. You ought to go into a town until it's all over." "I have no one to go to," the girl said simply. "My father bought this place and moved here from Georgia only six years ago, and all my friends are in that State. Except our neighbors round here I do not know a soul in Tennessee. Besides, what can I do in a town? We can manage here, because we have a few fowls, and some of our neighbors last spring plowed an acre or two of ground and planted corn for us, and I have a little money left for buying other things; but it would not last us a month if we went into a town. No, I have nothing to do but to stay here until you drive the Yankees back. I will willingly take you down to the boat to-night. Chloe can come with us and keep me company on the way back. Of course it would not be safe to cross in the daytime." "I thank you greatly, Miss Kingston, and shall always remember your kindness. Now, when I finish my meal I will go out and join my boy, and will come for you at eight o'clock; it will be quite dark then." "Why should you not stay here till then, Mr. Wingfield? It is very unlikely that any one will come along." "It is unlikely, but it is quite possible," Vincent replied, "and were I caught here by Mullens, the consequence would be very serious to you as well as to myself. No, I could not think of doing that. I will go out, and come back at eight o'clock. I shall not be far away; but if any one should come and inquire, you can honestly say that you do not know where I am." "I have two revolvers here, sir; in fact I have three. I always keep one loaded, for there is never any saying whether it may not be wanted; the other two I picked up last spring. There was a fight about a quarter of a mile from here and after it was over and they had moved away, for the Confederates won that time and chased them back toward Nashville, I went out with Chloe with some water and bandages to see if we could do anything for the wounded. We were at work there till evening, and I think we did some good. As we were coming back I saw something in a low bush, and going there found a Yankee officer and his horse both lying dead; they had been killed by a shell, I should think. Stooping over to see if he was quite dead I saw a revolver in his belt and another in the holster of his saddle, so I took them out and brought them home, thinking I might give them to some of our men, for we were then, as we have always been, very short of arms; but I never had an opportunity of giving them away, and I am very glad now that I have not. Here they are, sir, and two packets of cartridges, for they are of the same size as those of the pistol my father gave me when he went away. You are heartily welcome to them." "Thank you extremely," Vincent said, as he took the pistols and placed the packets of ammunition in his pocket. "We cut two heavy sticks the night we left Nashville so as to be able to make something of a fight; but with these weapons we shall feel a match for any small parties we may meet. Then at eight o'clock I will come back again." "I shall be ready," the girl said; "but I wish you would have stopped, there are so many things I want to ask you about, and these Yankee papers, which are all we see now, are full of lies." "They exaggerate their successes and to some extent conceal their defeats," Vincent said; "but I do not think it is the fault of the newspapers, whose correspondents do seem to me to try and tell the truth to their readers, but of the official despatches of the generals. The newspapers tone matters down, no doubt, because they consider it necessary to keep up the public spirit; but at times they speak out pretty strongly too. I am quite as sorry to leave as you can be that I should go, Miss Kingston, but I am quite sure that it is very much the wisest thing for me to do. By the way, if I should not be here by half-past eight I shall not come at all, and you will know that something has occurred to alter our plans. I trust there is no chance of anything doing so, but it is as well to arrange so that you should not sit up expecting me. Should I not come back you will know that I shall be always grateful to you for your kindness, and that when this war is over, if I am alive, I will come back and thank you personally." "Good-by till this evening!" the girl said. "I will not even let myself think that anything can occur to prevent your return." "Golly, Massa Vincent, what a time you hab been!" Dan said when Vincent rejoined him. "Dis child began to tink dat somefing had gone wrong, and was going in anoder five minutes to knock at do door to ask what dey had done to you." "It is all right, Dan, I have had breakfast, and have brought some for you; here is some bread and bacon and a bottle of coffee." "Dat good, massa; my teeth go chatter chatter wid sleeping in dese damp woods; dat coffee do me good, sah. After dat I shall feel fit for anyting." CHAPTER XII. THE BUSHWHACKERS. "By the way, Dan," Vincent said when the negro had finished his meal, "we have not talked over that matter of my clothes. I can't imagine how that letter saying that one of us was disguised as a minister and would have a negro servant came to be written. Did you ever tell the people you lodged with anything about the disguise?" "No, sah, neber said one word to dem about it; dey know nothing whatsoeber. De way me do wid your letter was dis. Me go outside town and wait for long time. At last saw black fellow coming along. Me say to him, 'Can you read?' and he said as he could. I said 'I got a letter, I want to read him, I gib you a quarter to read him to me;' so he said yes, and he read de letter. He a long time of making it out, because he read print but not read writing well. He spell it out word by word, but I don't tink he understand dat it come from prison, only dat it come from some one who wanted some rope and a turn-screw. Me do just de same way wid de second letter. As for de clothes, me buy dem dat day, make dem up in bundle, and not go back to lodging at all. Me not know how any one could know dat I buy dat minister clothes for you, sah. Me told de storekeeper dat dey was for cousin of mine, who preach to de colored folk, and dat I send him suit as present. Onless dat man follow me and watch me all de time till we go off together, sah, me no see how de debbil he guess about it." "That's quite impossible, Dan; it never could have been that way. It is very strange, for it would really seem that no one but you and I and the other two officers could possibly know about it." "Perhaps one of dem want to do you bad turn, massa, and write so as to get you caught and shut up again." Vincent started at the suggestion. Was it possible that Jackson could have done him this bad turn after his having aided him to make his escape It would be a villainous trick; but then he had always thought him capable of villainous tricks, and it was only the fact that they were thrown together in prison that had induced him to make up his quarrel with him; but though Jackson had accepted his advances, it was probable enough that he had retained his bad feeling against him, and had determined, if possible, to have his revenge on the first opportunity. "The scoundrel," he said to himself, "after my getting him free, to inform against me! Of course I have no proof of it, but I have not the least doubt that it was him. If we ever meet again, Mr. Jackson, I will have it out with you." "You got two pistols, sah," Dan said presently. "How you get dem?" "The lady of that house gave them to me, Dan; they are one for you and one for me." "Dis chile no want him, sah; not know what to do wid him. Go off and shoot myself, for sure." "Well, I don't suppose you would do much good with it, Dan. As I am a good shot, perhaps I had better keep them both. You might load them for me as I fire them." "Berry well, sah; you show me how to load, me load." Vincent showed Dan how to extricate the discharged cartridge-cases and to put in fresh ones, and after a quarter of an hour's practice Dan was able to do this with some speed. "When we going on, sah?" he said as, having learned the lesson, he handed the pistol back to Vincent. "We are not going on until the evening, Dan. When it gets dark the lady is going to take us to a place where there is a boat hidden, and we shall then be able to cross the river." "Den I will hab a sleep, sah. Noting like sleeping when there is a chance." "I believe you could sleep three-quarters of your time, Dan. However, you may as well sleep now if you can, for there will be nothing to do till night." Vincent went back to the edge of the wood, and sat down where he could command a view of the cottage. The country was for the most part covered with wood, for it was but thinly inhabited except in the neighborhood of the main roads. Few of the farmers had cleared more than half their ground; many only a few acres. The patch, in which the house with its little clump of trees stood nearly in the center, was of some forty or fifty acres in extent, and though now rank with weeds, had evidently been carefully cultivated, for all the stumps had been removed, and the fence round it was of a stronger and neater character than that which most of the cultivators deemed sufficient. Presently he heard the sound of horses' feet in the forest behind him, and he made his way back to a road which ran along a hundred yards from the edge of the wood. He reached it before the horsemen came up, and lay down in the underwood a few yards back. In a short time two horsemen came along at a walking pace. "I call this a fool's errand altogether," one of them said in a grumbling tone. "We don't know that they have headed this way; and if they have, we might search these woods for a month without finding them." "That's so," the other said; "but Mullens has set his heart on it, and we must try for another day or two. My idea is that when the fellow heard what sort of a chap Mullens was, he took the hack train that night and went up north again." Vincent heard no more, but it was enough to show him that a sharp hunt was being kept up for him; and although he had no fear of being caught in the woods, he was well pleased at the thought that he would soon be across the water and beyond the reach of his enemy. He went back again to the edge of the clearing and resumed his watch. It was just getting dusk, and he was about to join Dan when he saw a party of twelve men ride out from the other side of the wood and make toward the house. Filled with a vague alarm that possibly some one might have caught sight of him and his follower on the previous day, and might, on being questioned by the searchers, have given them a clew as to the direction in which they were going, Vincent hurried to the spot where he left Dan. The negro jumped up as he approached. "Me awake long time, sah. Began to wonder where you had got to." "Take your stick and come along, Dan, as fast as you can." Without another word Vincent led the way along the edge of the wood to the point where the clump of trees at the back of the house hid it from his view. "Now, Dan, stoop low and get across to those trees." Greatly astonished at what was happening, but having implicit faith in his master, Dan followed without a question. It was but ten minutes since Vincent had seen the horsemen, but the darkness had closed in rapidly, and he had little fear of his approach being seen. He made his way through the trees, and crept up to the house, and then kept close along it until he reached the front. There stood the horses, with the bridles thrown over their neck. The riders were all inside the house. "Look here, Dan," he whispered, "you keep here perfectly quiet until I join you again or you hear a pistol-shot. If you do hear a shot, rush at the horses with your stick and drive them off at full gallop. Drive them right into the woods if you can and then lie quiet there till you hear me whistle for you. If you don't hear my whistle you will know that something has happened to me, and then you must make your way home as well as you can." "Oh, Master Vincent," Dan began; but Vincent stopped him. "It's no use talking, Dan; you must do as I order you. I hope all will be well; but it must be done anyhow." "Let me come and load your pistol and fight with you, sah." "You can do more good by stampeding the horses, Dan. Perhaps, after all, there will be no trouble." So saying, leaving Dan with the tears running down his cheeks, Vincent went to the back of the house and tried the door there. It was fastened. Then he went to the other side; and here, the light streaming through the window, which was open, and the sound of loud voices, showed him the room where the party were. He crept cautiously up and looked in. Mullens was standing facing Lucy Kingston; the rest of the men were standing behind him. The girl was as pale as death, but was quiet and composed. "Now," Mullens said, "I ask you for the last time. You have admitted that a man has been here to-day, and that you gave him food. You say he is not in the house; and as we have searched it pretty thoroughly, we know that's right enough. You say you don't know where he is, and that may be true enough in a sense; but I have asked you whether he is coming back again, and you won't answer me. I just give you three seconds;" and he held out his arm with a pistol in it. "One!" As the word "Two" left his lips, a pistol cracked, and Mullens fell back with a bullet in his forehead. At the same time Vincent shouted at the top of his voice, "Come on, lads; wipe 'em out altogether. Don't let one of them escape." As he spoke he discharged his pistol rapidly into the midst of the men, who were for the moment too taken by surprise to move, and every shot took effect upon them. At the same moment there was a great shouting outside, and the trampling of horses' feet. One or two of the men hastily returned Vincent's fire, but the rest made a violent rush to the door. Several fell over the bodies of their comrades, and Vincent had emptied one of his revolvers and fired three shots with the second before the last of those able to escape did so. Five bodies remained on the floor. As they were still seven to one against him, Vincent ran to the corner of the house, prepared to shoot them as they came round; but the ruffians were too scared to think of anything but escape, and they could be heard running and shouting across the fields. Vincent ran into the house. He had seen Lucy Kingston fall prostrate at the same instant as the ruffian facing her. Strung up to the highest tension, and expecting in another second to be shot, the crack of Vincent's pistol had brought her down as surely as the bullet of Mullens would have done. Even in the excitement of firing, Vincent felt thankful when he saw her fall, and knew that she was safe from the bullets flying about. When he entered the room he found the old negress lying beside her, and thought at first that she had fallen in the fray. He found that she was not only alive, but unhurt, having, the instant she saw her young mistress fall, thrown herself upon her to protect her from harm. "Am dey all gone, sah?" she asked, as Vincent somewhat roughly pulled her off the girl's body. "They have all gone, Chloe; but I do not know how soon they may be back again. Get your mistress round as soon as you can. I am sure that she has only fainted, for she fell the instant I fired, before another pistol had gone off." Leaving the old woman to bring Miss Kingston round, he reloaded his pistols and went to the door. In a few minutes the sound of horses galloping was heard. "Halt, or I fire!" he shouted. "Don't shoot, sah! Don't shoot! It am me!" and Dan rode up, holding a second horse by the bridle. "I thought I might as well get two ob dem, so I jump on de back ob one and get hold ob anoder bridle while I was waiting to hear your pistol fire. Den de moment I heard dat I set de oders off, and chased dem to de corner where de gate was where dey came in at, and along de road for half a mile; dey so frightened dey not stop for a long time to come. Den I turn into de wood and went through de trees, so as not to meet dem fellows, and lifted two of de bars of the fence, and here I am. You are not hurt, massa?" "My left arm is broken, I think, Dan; but that is of no consequence. I have shot five of these fellows--their leader among them--and I expect three of the others have got a bullet somewhere or other in them. There was such a crowd round the door that I don't think one shot missed. It was well I thought of stampeding the horses; that gave them a greater fright than my pistols. No doubt they thought that there was a party of our bushwhackers upon them. Now, Dan, you keep watch, and let me know if you see any signs of their returning. I think they are too shaken up to want any more fighting; but as there are seven of them, and they may guess there are only two or three of us, it is possible they may try again." "Me don't tink dey try any more, sah. Anyhow, I look out sharp." So saying, Dan, fastening up one of the horses, rode the other in a circle round and round the house and little plantation, so that it would not be possible for any one to cross the clearing without being seen. Vincent returned to the house, and found Miss Kingston just recovering consciousness. She sat upon the ground in a confused way. "What has happened, nurse?" "Never mind at present, dearie. Juss you keep yourself quiet, and drink a little water." The girl mechanically obeyed. The minute she put down the glass her eye fell upon Vincent, who was standing near the door. "Oh! I remember now!" she said, starting up. "Those men were here and they were going to shoot me. One--two--and then he fired, and it seemed that I fell dead. Am I not wounded?" "He never fired at all, Miss Kingston; he will never fire again. I shot him as he said 'two,' and no doubt the shock of the sudden shot caused you to faint dead away. You fell the same instant that he did." "But where are the others?" the girl said with a shudder. "How imprudent of you to come here! I hoped you had seen them coming toward the house." "I did see them, Miss Kingston, and that was the reason I came. I was afraid they might try rough measures to learn from you where I was hidden. I arrived at the window just as the scoundrel was pointing his pistol toward you, and then there was no time to give myself up, and I had nothing to do for it but to put a bullet through his head in order to save you. Then I opened fire upon the rest, and my boy drove off their horses. They were seized with a panic and bolted, thinking they were surrounded. Of course I kept up my fire, and there are four of them in the next room besides their captain. And now, if you please, I will get you, in the first place, to bind my arm tightly across my chest, for one of their bullets hit me in the left shoulder, and has, I fancy, broken it." The girl gave an exclamation of dismay. "Do not be alarmed, Miss Kingston; a broken shoulder is not a very serious matter, only I would rather it had not happened just at the present moment; there are more important affairs in hand. The question is, What is to become of you? It is quite impossible that you should stay here after what has happened. Those scoundrels are sure to come back again." "What am I to do, Chloe?" the girl asked in perplexity. "I am sure we cannot stay here. We must find our way through the woods to Nashville, and I must try and get something to do there." "There is another way, Miss Kingston, if you like to try it," Vincent said. "Of course it would be toilsome and unpleasant, but I do not think it would be dangerous, for even if we got caught there would be no fear of your receiving any injury from the Federal troops. My proposal is that you and Chloe should go with us. If we get safely through the Federal lines I will escort you to Georgia and place you with your friends there." The girl looked doubtful for a moment, and then she shook her head. "I could not think of that, sir. It would be difficult enough for you to get through the enemy by yourselves It would add terribly to your danger to have us with you." "I do not think so," Vincent replied. "Two men would be sure to be questioned and suspected, but a party like ours would be far less likely to excite suspicion. Every foot we get south we shall find ourselves more and more among people who are friendly to us, and although they might be afraid to give shelter to men, they would not refuse to take women in. I really think, Miss Kingston, that this plan is the best. In the first place it would be a dangerous journey for you through the woods to Nashville and if you fall into the hands of any of those ruffians who have been here you may expect no mercy. At Nashville you will have great difficulty in obtaining employment of any kind and even suppose you went further north your position as a friendless girl would be a most painful one. As to your staying here that is plainly out of the question. I think that there is no time to lose in making a decision. Those fellows may go to the camp at the bridge, give their account of the affair, declare they have been attacked by a party of Confederate sympathizers, and return here with a troop of horse." "What do you say, Chloe?" Lucy asked. "I'se ready to go wid you whereber you like, Miss Lucy; but I do tink dat in times like dis dat a young gal is best wid her own folk. It may be hard work getting across, but as to danger dar can't be much more danger than dar has been in stopping along here, so it seems to me best to do as dis young officer says." "Very well, then, I will, sir. We will go under your protection, and will give you as little trouble as we can. We will be ready in five minutes. Now, Chloe, let us put a few things together. The fewer the better. Just a small bundle which we can carry in our hands." In a few minutes they returned to the room, Chloe carrying a large basket, and looking somewhat ruffled. "Chloe is a little upset," the girl said, smiling, "because I won't put my best things on; and the leaving her Sunday gown behind is a sore trouble to her." "No wonder, sah," Chloe said, "why dey say dat thar am no pretty dresses in de 'Federacy, and dat blue gown wid red spots is just as good as new, and it am downright awful to tink dat dose fellows will come back and take it." "Never mind, Chloe," Vincent said, smiling. "No doubt we are short of pretty dresses in the South, but I dare say we shall be able to find you something that will be almost as good. But we must not stand talking. You are sure you have got everything of value, Miss Kingston?" "I have got my purse," she said, "and Chloe has got some food. I don't think there is anything else worth taking in the house." "Very well, we will be off," Vincent said, leading the way to the door. A minute later Dan rode past, and Vincent called him and told him they were going to start. "Shall we take de horses, sah?" "No, Dan. We are going to carry out our original plan of crossing the river in a boat, and I think the horses would be rather in our way than not. But you had better not leave them here. Take them to the farther side of the clearing and get them through the fence into the forest, then strike across as quickly as you can and join us where we were stopping to-day. Miss Kingston and her servant are going with us. They cannot stay here after what has taken place." Dan at once rode off with the two horses, and the others walked across to the edge of the clearing and waited until he rejoined them. "Now, Miss Kingston, you must be our guide at present." "We must cross the road first," the girl said. "Nearly opposite to where we are there is a little path through the wood leading straight down to the river. The boat lies only a short distance from it." The path was a narrow one, and it was very dark under the trees. "Mind how you go," Vincent said as the girl stepped lightly on ahead. "You might get a heavy fall if you caught your foot on a root." She instantly moderated her pace. "I know the path well, but it was thoughtless of me to walk so fast. I forgot you did not know it, and if you were to stumble you might hurt your arm terribly. How does it feel now?" "It certainly hurts a bit," Vincent replied in a cheerful tone; "but now it is strapped tightly to me it cannot move much. Please do not worry about me." "Ah!" she said, "I cannot forget how you got it--how you attacked twelve men to save me!" "Still less can I forget, Miss Kingston, how you, a young girl, confronted death rather than say a word that would place me in their power." "That was quite different, Mr. Wingfield. My own honor was pledged not to betray you, who had trusted me." "Well, we will cry quits for the present, Miss Kingston; or, rather, we will be content to remain for the present in each other's debt." A quarter of an hour's walking brought them to the river. "Now," Lucy said, "we must make our way about ten yards through these bushes to the right." With some difficulty they passed through the thick screen of bushes, the girl still leading the way. "Here it is," she said; "I have my hand upon it." Vincent was soon beside her, and the negroes quickly joined them. "There are no oars in the boat," Vincent said, feeling along the seat. "Oh! I forgot! They are stowed away behind the bushes on the right; they were taken out, so that if the Yankees found the boat it would be of no use to them." Dan made his way through the bushes, and soon found the oars. Then uniting their strength they pushed the boat through the high rushes that screened it from the river. "It is afloat," Vincent said. "Now, Dan, take your place in the bow." "I will row, Mr. Wingfield. I am a very good hand at it. So please take your seat with Chloe in the stern." "Dan can take one oar, anyhow," Vincent replied; "but I will let you row instead of me. I am afraid I should make a poor hand of it with only one arm." The boat pushed quietly out. The river was about a hundred yards wide at this point. They had taken but a few strokes when Vincent said: "You must row hard, Miss Kingston, or we shall have to swim for it. The water is coming through the seams fast." The girl and Dan exerted themselves to the utmost; but, short as was the passage, the boat was full almost to the gunwale before they reached the opposite bank, the heat of the sun having caused the planks to open during the months it had been lying ashore. "This is a wet beginning," Lucy Kingston said laugh as she tried to wring the water out of the lower part of her dress. "Here, Chloe; you wring me and I will wring you." "Now, Dan, get hold of that head-rope," Vincent said; "haul her up little by little as the water runs out over the stern." "I should not trouble about the boat, Mr. Wingfield; it is not likely we shall ever want it again." "I was not thinking of the boat; I was thinking of ourselves. If it should happen to be noticed at the next bridge as it drifted down, it would at once suggest to any one on the lookout for us that we had crossed the river; whereas, if we get it among the bushes here, they will believe that we are hidden in the woods or have headed back to the north, and we shall be a long way across the line, I hope, before they give up searching for us in the woods on the other side." "Yes; I didn't think of that. We will help you with the rope." The boat was very heavy, now that it was full of water. Inch by inch it was pulled up, until the water was all out except near the stern. Dan and Vincent then turned it bottom upward, and it was soon hauled up among the bushes. "Now, Miss Kingston, which do you think is our best course? I know nothing whatever of the geography here." "The next town is Mount Pleasant; that is where the Williamsport road passes the railway. If we keep south we shall strike the railway, and that will take us to Mount Pleasant. After that the road goes on to Florence, on the Tennessee River. The only place that I know of on the road is Lawrenceburg. That is about forty miles from here, and I have heard that the Yankees are on the line from there right and left. I believe our troops are at Florence; but I am not sure about that, because both parties are constantly shifting their position, and I hear very little, as you may suppose, of what is being done. Anyhow, I think we cannot do better than go on until we strike the railway, keep along by that till we get within a short distance of Mount Pleasant, and then cross it. After that we can decide whether we will travel by the road or keep on through the woods. But we cannot find our way through the woods at night; we should lose ourselves before we had gone twenty yards." "I am afraid we should, Miss Kingston." "Please call me Lucy," the girl interrupted. "I am never called anything else, and I am sure this is not a time for ceremony." "I think that it will be better; and will you please call me Vin. It is much shorter and pleasanter using our first names; and as we must pass for brother and sister if we get among the Yankees, it is better to get accustomed to it. I quite agree with you that it will be too dark to find our way through the woods unless we can discover a path. "Dan and I will see if we can find one. If we can, I think it will be better to go on a little way at any rate, so as to get our feet warm and let our clothes dry a little." "They will not dry to-night," Lucy said. "It is so damp in the woods that even if our clothes were dry now they would be wet before morning." "I did not think of that. Yes, in that case I do not see that we should gain anything by going farther; we will push on for two or three hundred yards, if we can, and then we can light a fire without there being any chance of it being seen from the other side." "That would be comfortable, Mr.--I mean Vin," the girl agreed. "That is, if you are quite sure that it would be safe. I would rather be wet all night than that we should run any risks." "I am sure if we can get a couple of hundred yards into this thick wood the fire would not be seen through it," Vincent said; "of course I do not mean to make a great bonfire which would light up the forest." For half an hour they forced their way through the bushes, and then Vincent said he was sure that they had come far enough. Finding a small open space, Dan, and Lucy, and the negress set to work collecting leaves and dry sticks. Vincent had still in his pocket the newspaper he had bought in the streets of Nashville, and he always carried lights. A piece of the paper was crumpled up and lighted, a few of the driest leaves they could find dropped upon it, then a few twigs, until at last a good fire was burning. "I think that is enough for the present," Vincent said. "We will keep on adding wood as fast as it burns down, so as to get a great pile of embers, and keep two or three good big logs burning all night." He then gave directions to Dan, who cut a long stick and fastened it to two saplings, one of which grew just in front of the fire. Then he set to work and cut off branches, and laid them sloping against it, and soon had an arbor constructed of sufficient thickness to keep off the night dews. "I think you will be snug in there," Vincent said when he had finished. "The heat of the fire will keep you dry and warm, and if you lie with your heads the other way I think your things will be dry by the morning. Dan and I will lie down by the other side of the fire. We are both accustomed to sleep in the open air, and have done so for months." "Thank you very much," she said. "Our things are drying already, and I am as warm as a toast; but, indeed, you need not trouble about us. We brought these warm shawls with us on purpose for night-work in the forest. Now, I think we will try the contents of the basket Dan has been carrying." The basket, which was a good-sized one, was opened. Chloe had before starting put all the provisions in the house into it, and it contained three loaves, five or six pounds of bacon, a canister of tea and loaf-sugar, a small kettle, and two pint mugs, besides a number of odds and ends. The kettle Dan had, by Chloe's direction, filled with water before leaving the river, and this was soon placed among the glowing embers. "But you have brought no teapot, Chloe." "Dar was not no room for it, Miss Lucy. We can make tea berry well in de kettle." "So we can. I forgot that. We shall do capitally." The kettle was not long in boiling. Chloe produced some spoons and knives and forks from the basket. "Spoons and forks are luxuries, Chloe," Vincent said laughing. "We could have managed without them." "Yes, sah; but me not going to leave massa's silver for dose villains to find." Lucy laughed. "At any rate, Chloe, we can turn the silver into money if we run short. Now the kettle is boiling." It was taken off the fire, and Lucy poured some tea into it from the canister, and then proceeded to cut up the bread. A number of slices of bacon had already been cut off, and a stick thrust through them, and Dan, who was squatted at the other side of the fire holding it over the flames, now pronounced them to be ready. The bread served as plates, and the party were soon engaged upon their meal, laughing and talking over it as if it had been an ordinary picnic in the woods, though at times Vincent's face contracted from the sharp twitching of pain in his shoulder. Vincent and Lucy first drank their tea, and the mugs were then handed to Dan and Chloe. "This is great fun," Lucy said. "If it goes on like it all through our journey we shall have no need to grumble. Shall we Chloe?" "If you don't grumble, Miss Lucy, you may be quite sure dat Chloe will not. But we hab not begun our journey at present; and I spec dat we shall find it pretty hard work before we get to de end. But neber mind dat; anyting is better dan being all by ourselves in dat house. Terrible sponsibility dat." "It was lonely," the girl said, "and I am glad we are away from it whatever happens. What a day this has been. Who could have dreamed when I got up in the morning that all this would take place before night. It seems almost like a dream, and I can hardly believe"--and here she stopped with a little shiver as she thought of the scene she had passed through with the band of bushwhackers. "I would not think anything at all about it," Vincent said. "And now I should recommend your turning in, and getting to sleep as soon as you can. We will be off at daybreak, and it is just twelve o'clock now." Five minutes later Lucy and her old nurse were snugly ensconced in their little bower, while Vincent and Dan stretched themselves at full length on the other side of the fire. In spite of the pain in his shoulder Vincent dozed off occasionally, but he was heartily glad when he saw the first gleam of light in the sky. He woke Dan. "Dan, do you take the kettle down to the river and fill it. We had better have some breakfast before we make our start. If you can't find your way back, whistle and I will answer you." Dan, however, had no occasion to give the signal. It took him little more than five minutes to traverse the distance that had occupied them half an hour in the thick darkness, and Vincent was quite surprised when he reappeared again with the kettle. Not until it was boiling, and the bacon was ready, did Vincent raise his voice and call Lucy and the nurse. "This is reversing the order of things altogether," the girl said as she came out and saw breakfast already prepared. "I shall not allow it another time, I can tell you." "We are old campaigners, you see," Vincent said, "and accustomed to early movements. Now please let us waste no time, as the sooner we are off the better." In a quarter of an hour breakfast was eaten and the basket packed, and they were on their way. Now the bright, glowing light in the east was sufficient guide to them as to the direction they should take, and setting their face to the south they started through the forest. In a quarter of an hour they came upon a little stream running through the wood, and here Vincent suggested that Lucy might like a wash, a suggestion which was gratefully accepted. He and Dan went a short distance down the streamlet, and Vincent bathed his face and head. "Dan, I will get you to undo this bandage and get off my coat; then I will make a pad of my handkerchief and dip it in the water and you can lay it on my shoulder, and then help me on again with my coat. My arm is getting horribly painful." Vincent's right arm was accordingly drawn through the sleeve and the coat turned down so as to enable Dan to lay the wet pad on the shoulder. "It has not bled much," Vincent said, looking down at it. "No, sah, not much blood on de shirt." "Pull the coat down as far as the elbow, Dan, and bathe it for a bit." Using his cap as a bailer, Dan bathed the arm for ten minutes, then the wet pad was placed in position, and with some difficulty the coat got on again. The arm was then bandaged across the chest, and they returned to the women, who were beginning to wonder at the delay. CHAPTER XIII. LAID UP. "You must see a surgeon whatever the risk," Lucy said when the others joined them, for now that it was light she could see by the paleness of Vincent's face, and the drawn expression of the mouth, how much he had suffered. "You have made so light of your wound that we have not thought of it half as much as we ought to do, and you must have thought me terribly heartless to be laughing and talking when you were in such pain. But it will never do to go on like this; it is quite impossible for you to be traveling so far without having your shoulder properly attended to." "I should certainly be glad to have it looked to," Vincent replied. "I don't know whether the bullet's there or if it has made its way out, and if that could be seen to, and some splints or something of that sort put on to keep things in their right place, no doubt I should be easier; but I don't see how it is to be managed. At any rate, for the present we must go on, and I would much rather that you said nothing about it. There it is, and fretting over it won't do it any good, while if you talk of other things I may forget it sometimes." In two hours they came upon the railway, whose course lay diagonally across that they were taking. They followed it until they caught sight of the houses of Mount Pleasant, some two miles away, and then crossed it. After walking some distance farther they came upon a small clearing with a log-hut, containing apparently three or four rooms, in the center. "We had better skirt round this," Vincent suggested. "No," Lucy said in a determined voice. "I have made up my mind I would go to the first place we came to and see whether anything can be done for you. I can see you are in such pain you can hardly walk, and it will be quite impossible for you to go much further. They are sure to be Confederates at heart here, and even if they will not take us in, there is no fear of their betraying us; at any rate we must risk it." Vincent began to remonstrate, but without paying any attention to him the girl left the shelter of the trees and walked straight toward the house. The others followed her. Vincent had opposed her suggestion, but he had for some time acknowledged to himself that he could not go much further. He had been trying to think what had best be done, and had concluded that it would be safest to arrange with some farmer to board Lucy and her nurse for a time, while he himself with Dan went a bit further; and then, if they could get no one to take them in, would camp up in the woods and rest. He decided that in a day or two if no improvement took place in his wound he would give himself up to the Federals at Mount Pleasant, as he would there be able to get his wound attended to. "I don't think there is any one in the house," Lucy said, looking back over her shoulder; "there is no smoke coming from the chimney, and the shutters are closed, and besides the whole place looks neglected." Upon reaching the door of the house it was evident that it had been deserted. Lucy had now assumed the command. "Dan," she said, "there is no shutter to the window of that upper room. You must manage to climb up there and get in at that window, and then open the door to us." "All right, missie, me manage dat," Dan said cheerfully. Looking about he soon found a long pole which would answer his purpose, placed the end of this against the window, and climbed up. It was not more than twelve feet above the ground. He broke one of the windows, and inserting his hand undid the fastening and climbed in at the window. A minute later they heard a grating sound, and then the lock shot back under the application of his knife, and the door swung open. "That will do nicely," Lucy said, entering. "We will take possession. If the owners happen to come back we can pay them for the use of the place." The furniture had been removed with the exception of a few of the heavy articles, and Chloe and Lucy at once set to work, and with bunches of long grass swept out one of the rooms. Dan cut a quantity of grass and piled it upon an old bedstead that stood in the corner, and Lucy smoothed it down. "Now, sir," she said peremptorily to Vincent, "you will lie down and keep yourself quiet, but first of all I will cut your coat off." One of the table-knives soon effected the work, and the coat was rolled up as a pillow. Dan removed his boots, and Vincent, who was now beyond even remonstrating, laid himself down on his cool bed. "Now, Chloe," Miss Kingston said when they had left Vincent's room, "I will leave him to your care. I am sure that you must be thoroughly tired, for I don't suppose you have walked so many miles since you were a girl." "I is tired, missie; but I am ready to do anyting you want." "I only want you to attend to him, Chloe. First of all you had better make some tea. You know what is a good thing to give for a fever, and if you can find anything in the garden to make a drink of that sort, do; but I hope he will doze off for some time. When you have done, you had better get this place tidy a little; it is in a terrible litter. Evidently no one has been in since they moved out." The room, indeed, was strewed with litter of all sorts, rubbish not worth taking away, old newspapers, and odds and ends of every description. Lucy looked about among these for some time, and with an exclamation of satisfaction at last picked up two crumpled envelopes. They were both addressed "William Jenkins, Woodford, near Mount Pleasant." "That is just what I wanted," she said. "What am you going to do, Miss Lucy?" "I am going to Mount Pleasant," she said. "Lor' a marcy, dearie, you are not going to walk that distance! You must have walked twelve miles already." "I should if it were twice as far, Chloe. There are some things we must get. Don't look alarmed, I shall take Dan with me. Now, let me see. In the first place there are lemons for making drink and linseed for poultices, some meat for making broth, and some flour, and other things for ourselves; we may have to stay here for some time. Tell me just what you want and I will get it." Chloe made out a list of necessaries. "I sha'n't be gone long," the girl said. "If he asks after me or Dan, make out we are looking about the place to see what is useful. Don't let him know I have gone to Mount Pleasant, it might worry him." Dan at once agreed to accompany the girl to Mount Pleasant when he heard that she was going to get things for his master. Looking about he found an old basket among the litter, and they started without delay by the one road from the clearing, which led, they had no doubt, to the town. It was about two miles distant, and was really but a large village. A few Federal soldiers from the camp hard by were lounging about the streets but these paid no attention to them. Lucy soon made her purchases, and then went to the house that had been pointed out to her as being inhabited by the doctor who attended to the needs of the people of Mount Pleasant and the surrounding district. Fortunately he was at home. Lucy looked at him closely as he entered the room and took his seat. He was a middle-aged man with a shrewd face, and she at once felt that she might have confidence in it. "Doctor," she said, "I want you to come out to see some one who is very ill." "What is the matter with him? Or is it him or her?" "It is--it's--" and Lucy hesitated, "a hurt he has got." "A wound, I suppose?" the doctor said quietly. "You may as well tell me at once, as for me to find out when I get there, then I can take whatever is required with me." "Yes, sir. It is a wound," Lucy said. "His shoulder is broken, I believe, by a pistol bullet." "Umph!" the doctor said. "It might have been worse. Do not hesitate to tell me all about it, young lady. I have had a vast number of cases on hand since these troubles began. By the way, I do not know your face, and I thought I knew every one within fifteen miles around." "I come from the other side of the Duck river. But at present he is lying at a place called Woodford, but two miles from here." "Oh, yes! I know it. But I thought it was empty. Let me see, a man named Jenkins lived there. He was killed at the beginning of the troubles in a fight near Murfreesboro. His widow moved in here; and she has married again and gone five miles on the other side. I know she was trying to sell the old place." "We have not purchased it, sir; we have just squatted there. My friend was taken so bad that we could go no further. We were trying, doctor, to make our way down south." "Your friend, whoever he is, did a very foolish thing to bring a young lady like yourself on such a long journey. You are not a pair of runaway lovers, are you?" "No, indeed," Lucy said, flushing scarlet; "we have no idea of such a thing. I was living alone, and the house was attacked by bushwhackers, the band of a villain named Mullens." "Oh! I saw all about that in the Nashville paper this morning. They were attacked by a band of Confederate plunderers, it said." "They were attacked by one man," the girl replied. "They were on the point of murdering me when he arrived. He shot Mullens and four of his band and the rest made off, but he got this wound. And as I knew the villains would return again and burn the house and kill me, I and my old nurse determined to go southward to join my friends in Georgia." "Well, you can tell me more about it as we go," the doctor said. "I will order my buggy round to the door, and drive you back. I will take my instruments and things with me. It is no business of mine whether a sick man is a Confederate or a Federal; all my business is to heal them." "Thank you very much, doctor. While the horse is being put in I will go down and tell the negro boy with me to go straight on with a basket of things I have been buying." "Where is he now?" the doctor asked. "I think he is sitting down outside the door, sir." "Then you needn't go down," the doctor said. "He can jump up behind and go with us. He will get there all the quicker." In five minutes they were driving down the village, with Dan in the back seat. On the way the doctor obtained from Lucy a more detailed account of their adventures. "So he is one of those Confederate officers who broke prison at Elmira," he said. "I saw yesterday that one of his companions was captured." "Was he, sir? How was that?" "It seems that he had made his way down to Washington, and was staying at one of the hotels there as a Mr. James of Baltimore. As he was going through the street he was suddenly attacked by a negro, who assaulted him with such fury that he would have killed him had he not been dragged off by passers-by. The black would have been very roughly treated, but he denounced the man he had attacked as one of the Confederate officers who had escaped from the prison. It seems that the negro had been a slave of his who had been barbarously treated, and finally succeeded in making his escape and reaching England, after which he went to Canada; and now that it is safe for an escaped slave to live in the Northern States without fear of arrest or ill-treatment he had come down to Washington with the intention of engaging as a teamster with one of the Northern armies, in the hope when he made his way to Richmond of being able to gain some news of his wife, whom his master had sold before he ran away from him." "It served the man right!" Lucy said indignantly. "It's a good thing that the slaves should turn the tables sometimes upon masters who ill-treat them." "You don't think my patient would ill-treat his slaves?" the doctor asked with a little smile. "I am sure he wouldn't," the girl said indignantly. "Why, the boy behind you is one of his slaves, and I am sure he would give his life for his master." Dan had overheard the doctor's story, and now exclaimed: "No, sah. Massa Vincent de kindest of masters. If all like him, do slaves everywhere contented and happy. What was de name of dat man, sah, you was speaking of?" "His name was Jackson," the doctor answered. "I tought so," Dan exclaimed in excitement. "Massa never mentioned de names of de two officers who got out wid him, and it war too dark for me to see their faces, but dat story made me tink it must be him. Berry bad man that; he libs close to us, and Massa Vincent one day pretty nigh kill him because he beat dat bery man who has catched him now on de street of Washington. When dat man sell him wife Massa Vincent buy her so as to prevent her falling into bad hands. She safe now wid his mother at de Orangery--dat's the name of her plantation." "My patient must be quite an interesting fellow, young lady," the doctor said, with a rather slight twinkle of his eye. "A very knight-errant. But there is the house now; we shall soon see all about him." Taking with him the case of instruments and medicines he had brought, the doctor entered Vincent's room. Lucy entered first; and although surprised to see a stranger with her, Vincent saw by her face that there was no cause for alarm. "I have brought you a doctor," she said. "You could not go on as you were, you know. So Dan and I have been to fetch one." The doctor now advanced and took Vincent's hand. "Feverish," he said, looking at his cheeks, which were now flushed. "You have been doing too much, I fancy. Now let us look at this wound of yours. Has your servant got any warm water?" he asked Lucy. Lucy left the room, and returned in a minute with a kettleful of warm water and a basin, which was among the purchases she had made at Mount Pleasant. "That is right," the doctor said, taking it from her. "Now we will cut open the shirt sleeve. I think, young lady, you had better leave us, unless you are accustomed to the sight of wounds." "I am not accustomed to them, sir; but as thousands of women have been nursing the wounded in the hospitals, I suppose I can do so now." Taking a knife from the case, the doctor cut open the shirt from the neck to the elbow. The shoulder was terribly swollen and inflamed, and a little exclamation of pain broke from Lucy. "That is the effect of walking and inattention," the doctor said. "If I could have taken him in hand within an hour of his being hit the matter would have been simple enough; but I cannot search for the ball, or in fact do anything, till we have reduced the swelling. You must put warm poultices on every half-hour, and by to-morrow I hope the inflammation will have subsided, and I can then see about the ball. It evidently is somewhere there still, for there is no sign of its having made its exit anywhere. In the meantime you must give him two tablespoonfuls of this cooling draught every two hours, and to-night give him this sleeping draught. I will be over to-morrow morning to see him. Do not be uneasy about him; the wound itself is not serious, and when we have got rid of the fever and inflammation I have no doubt we shall pull him round before long." "I know the wound is nothing," Vincent said; "I have told Miss Kingston so all along. It is nothing at all to one I got at the first battle of Bull Run, where I had three ribs badly broken by a shell. I was laid up a long time over that business. Now I hope in a week I shall be fit to travel." The doctor shook his head. "Not as soon as that. Still we will hope it may not be long. Now all you have to do is to lie quiet and not worry, and to get to sleep as quick as you can. You must not let your patient talk, Miss Kingston. It will be satisfactory to you, no doubt," he went on turning to Vincent, "to know that there is no fear whatever of your being disturbed here. The road leads nowhere, and is entirely out of the way of traffic. I should say you might be here six months without even a chance of a visitor. Every one knows the house is shut up, and as you have no neighbor within half a mile no one is likely to call in. Even if any one did by accident come here you would be in no danger; we are all one way of thinking about here." "Shall we make some broth for him?" Lucy asked after they had left the room. "No; he had best take nothing whatever during the next twenty-four hours except his medicine and cooling drinks. The great thing is to get down the fever. We can soon build him up afterward." By nightfall the exertions of Dan, Lucy, and Chloe had made the house tidy. Beds of rushes and grass had been made in the room upstairs for the women, and Dan had no occasion for one for himself, as he was going to stop up with his master. He, however, brought a bundle of rushes into the kitchen, and when it became dark threw himself down upon them for a few hours' sleep, Lucy and her old nurse taking their place in Vincent's room, and promising to rouse Dan at twelve o'clock. During the easy part of the night Vincent was restless and uneasy, but toward morning he became more quiet and dozed off, and had but just awoke when the doctor drove up at ten o'clock. He found the inflammation and swelling so much abated that he was able at once to proceed to search for the ball. Chloe was his assistant. Lucy felt that her nerves would not be equal to it, and Dan's hand shook so that he could not hold the basin. In a quarter of an hour, which seemed to Lucy to be an age, the doctor came out of the room. "There is the bullet, Miss Kingston." "And is he much hurt, sir?" "It is a nasty wound," the doctor replied. "The collarbone is badly broken, and I fancy the head of the bone of the upper arm, to put it in language you will understand, is fractured; but of that I cannot be quite sure. I will examine it again to-morrow, and will then bandage it in its proper position. At present I have only put a bandage round the arm and body to prevent movement. I should bathe it occasionally with warm water, and you can give him a little weak broth to-day. I think, on the whole, he is doing very well. The feeling that you are all for the present safe from detection has had as much to do with the abatement of the fever as my medicine." The next morning the report was still satisfactory. The fever had almost disappeared, and Vincent was in good spirits. The doctor applied the splints to keep the shoulder up in its proper position, and then tightly bandaged it. "It depends upon yourself now," he said, "whether your shoulders are both of the same width as before or not. If you will lie quiet, and give the broken bones time to reunite, I think I can promise you that you will be as straight as before; but if not--putting aside the chances of inflammation--that shoulder will be lower than the other, and you will never get your full strength in it again. Quiet and patience are the only medicines you require, and as there can be no particular hurry for you to get south, and as your company here is pleasant and you have two good nurses, there is no excuse for your not being quiet and contented." "Very well, doctor. I promise that unless there is a risk of our being discovered I will be as patient as you can wish. As you say, I have everything to make me contented and comfortable." The doctor had a chat with Lucy, and agreed with her that perhaps it would be better to inform the mistress of the house that there were strangers there. Some of the people living along the road might notice him going or coming, or see Dan on his way to market, and might come and ascertain that the house was inhabited, and communicate the fact to their old neighbor. "I will see her myself, Miss Kingston, and tell her that I have sent a patient of mine to take up his quarters here. I will say he is ready to pay some small sum weekly as long as he occupies the house. I have no doubt she would be willing enough to let you have it without that; for although I shall say nothing actually I shall let her guess from my manner that it is a wounded Confederate, and that will be enough for her. Still, I have no doubt that the idea of getting a few dollars for the rent of an empty house will add to her patriotism. People of her class are generally pretty close-fisted, and she will look upon this as a little pocket-money. Good-by! I shall not call to-morrow, but will be round next day again." On his next visit the doctor told Lucy that he had arranged the matter with her landlady, and that she was to pay a dollar a week as rent. "I should not tell your patient about this," he said. "It will look to him as if I considered his stay was likely to be a long one, and it might fidget him." "How long will it be, doctor, do you think?" "That I cannot say. If all goes well, he ought in a month to be fairly cured; but before starting upon a journey which will tax his strength, I should say at least six weeks." Ten days later Vincent was up, and able to get about. A pile of grass had been heaped up by the door, so that he could sit down in the sun and enjoy the air. Lucy was in high spirits, and flitted in and out of the house, sometimes helping Chloe, at others talking to Vincent. "What are you laughing at?" she asked as she came out suddenly on one of these occasions. "I was just thinking," he said, "that no stranger who dropped in upon us would dream that we were not at home here. There is Dan tidying up the garden; Chloe is quite at her ease in the kitchen, and you and I might pass very well for brother and sister." "I don't see any likeness between us--not a bit." "No, there is no personal likeness; but I meant in age and that sort of thing. I think, altogether, we have a very homelike look." "The illusion would be very quickly dispelled if your stranger put his head inside the door. Did any one ever see such a bare place?" "Anyhow, it's very comfortable," Vincent said, "though I grant that it would be improved by a little furniture." "By a great deal of furniture, you mean. Why, there isn't a chair in the house, nor a carpet, nor a curtain, nor a cupboard, nor a bed; in fact all there is is the rough dresser in the kitchen and that plank table, and your bedstead. I really think that's all. Chloe has the kettle and two cooking-pots, and there is the dish and six plates we bought." "You bought, you mean," Vincent interrupted. "We bought, sir; this is a joint expedition. Then, there is the basin and a pail. I think that is the total of our belongings." "Well, you see, it shows how little one can be quite comfortable upon," Vincent said. "I wonder how long it will be before the doctor gives me leave to move. It is all very well for me who am accustomed to campaigning, but it is awfully rough for you." "Don't you put your impatience down to my account, at any rate until you begin to hear me grumble. It is just your own restlessness, when you are pretending you are comfortable." "I can assure you that I am not restless, and that I am in no hurry at all to be off on my own account. I am perfectly contented with everything. I never thought I was lazy before, but I feel as if I could do with a great deal of this sort of thing. You will see that you will become impatient for a move before I do." "We shall see, sir. Anyhow, I am glad you have said that, because now whatever you may feel you will keep your impatience to yourself." Another four weeks passed by smoothly and pleasantly. Dan went into the village once a week to do the shopping, and the doctor had reduced his visits to the same number. He would have come oftener, for his visits to the lonely cottage amused him; but he feared that his frequent passage in his buggy might attract notice. So far no one else had broken the solitude of their lives. If the doctor's calls had been noticed, the neighbors had not taken the trouble to see who had settled down in Jenkins' old place. His visits were very welcome, for he brought newspapers and books, the former being also purchased by Dan whenever he went into the village, and thus they learned the course of events outside. Since Antietam nothing had been done in Northern Virginia; but Burnside, who had succeeded McClellan, was preparing another great army, which was to march to Richmond and crush out the rebellion. Lee was standing on the defensive. Along the whole line of the frontier, from New Orleans to Tennessee, desultory fighting was going on, and in these conflicts the Confederates had generally the worse of things, having there no generals such as Lee, Jackson, and Longstreet, who had made the army of Virginia almost invincible. At the last of these visits the doctor told Vincent that he considered he was nearly sufficiently restored in health to be able to start on their journey. "It is a much better job than I had expected it would turn out. I was almost afraid that your shoulder would never be quite square again. However, as you can see for yourself it has come out quite right; and although I should not advise you to put any great strain on your left arm, I believe that in a very short time it will be as strong as the other." "And now, doctor, what am I in debt to you? Your kindness cannot be repaid, but your medical bill I will discharge as soon as I get home. We have not more than twenty dollars left between us, which is little enough for the journey there is before us. You can rely that the instant I get to Richmond I will send you the money. There is no great difficulty in smuggling letters across the frontier." "I am very pleased to have been able to be of service to you," the doctor said. "I should not think of accepting payment for aid rendered to an officer of our army; but it will give me real pleasure to receive a letter saying you have reached home in safety. It is a duty to do all we can for the brave men fighting for our cause. As I have told you, I am not a very hot partisan, for I see faults on both sides. Still, I believe in the principle of our forefathers, that each State has its own government and is master of its own army, joining with the others for such purposes as it may think fit. If I had been a fighting man I should certainly have joined the army of my State; but as it is, I hope I can do more good by staying and giving such aid and comfort as I can to my countrymen. You will, I am sure, excuse my saying that I think you must let me aid you a little further. I understand you to say that Miss Kingston will go to friends in Georgia, and I suppose you will see her safely there. Then you have a considerable journey to make to Richmond, and the sum that you possess is utterly inadequate for all this. It will give me real pleasure if you will accept the loan of one hundred dollars, which you can repay when you write to me from Richmond. You will need money for the sake of your companions rather than your own. When you have once crossed the line you will then be able to appear in your proper character." "Thank you greatly, doctor. I will accept your offer as frankly as it is made. I had intended telegraphing for money as soon as I was among our own people, but there would be delay in receiving it, and it will be much more pleasant to push on at once." "By the way, you cannot cross at Florence, for I hear that Hood has fallen back across the river, the forces advancing against him from this side being too strong to be resisted. But I think that this is no disadvantage to you, for it would have been far more difficult to pass the Federals and get to Florence than to make for some point on the river as far as possible from the contending armies." "We talked that over the last time you were here, doctor, and you know we agreed it was better to run the risk of falling into the hands of the Yankee troops than into those of one of those partisan bands whose exploits are always performed at a distance from the army. However, if Hood has retreated across the Tennessee there is an end of that plan, and we must take some other route. Which do you advise?" "The Yankees will be strong all round the great bend of the river to the west of Florence and along the line to the east, which would, of course, be your direct way. The passage, however, is your real difficulty, and I should say that instead of going in that direction you had better bear nearly due south. There is a road from Mount Pleasant that strikes into the main road from Columbia up to Camden. You can cross the river at that point without any question or suspicion, as you would be merely traveling to the west of the State. Once across you could work directly south, crossing into the State of Mississippi, and from there take train through Alabama to Georgia. "It seems a roundabout way, but I think you would find it far the safest, for there are no armies operating upon that line. The population, at any rate as you get south, are for us, and there are, so far as I have heard, very few of these bushwhacking bands about either on one side or the other. The difficult part of the journey is that up to Camden, but as you will be going away from the seat of war instead of toward it there will be little risk of being questioned." "I had thought of buying a horse and cart," Vincent said. "Jogging along a road like that we should attract no attention. I gave up the idea because our funds were not sufficient, but, thanks to your kindness, we might manage now to pick up something of the sort." The doctor was silent for a minute. "If you will send Dan over to me to-morrow afternoon I will see what can be done," he said. "It would certainly be the safest plan by far; but I must think it over. You will not leave before that, will you?" "Certainly not, doctor. In any case we should have stayed another day to get a few more things for our journey." The next afternoon Dan went over to Mount Pleasant. He was away two hours longer than they had expected, and they began to feel quite uneasy about him, when the sound of wheels was heard, and Dan appeared coming along the road driving a cart. Vincent gave a shout of satisfaction, and Lucy and the negress ran out from the house in delight. "Here am de cart. Me had to go to five miles from de town to get him. Dat what took me so long. Here am a letter, sah, from the doctor. First-rate man dat. Good man all ober." The letter was as follows: "My Dear Mr. Wingfield: I did not see how you would be able to buy a cart, and I was sure that you could not obtain one with the funds in your possession. As from what you have said I knew that you would not in the least mind the expense, I have taken the matter upon myself, and have bought from your landlady a cart and horse, which will, I think, suit you well. I have paid for them a hundred and fifty dollars, which you can remit me with the hundred I handed you yesterday. Sincerely trusting that you may succeed in carrying out your plans in safety, and with kind regards to yourself and Miss Kingston, "I remain, yours truly, "James Spencer." "That is a noble fellow," Vincent said, "and I trust, for his sake as well as our own, that we shall get safely through. Now, Lucy, I think you had better go into the town the first thing and buy some clothes of good homely fashion. What with the water and the bushes your dress is grievously dilapidated, to say the least of it. Dan can go with you and buy a suit for me--those fitted for a young farmer. We shall look like a young farmer and his sister jogging comfortably along to market; we can stop and buy a stock of goods at some farm on the way." "That will be capital," the girl said. "I have been greatly ashamed of my old dress, but knowing we were running so short, and that every dollar was of consequence, I made the best of it; now that we are in funds we can afford to be respectable." Lucy started early the next morning for the town, and the shopping was satisfactorily accomplished. They returned by eleven o'clock. The new purchases were at once donned, and half an hour later they set off in the cart, Vincent sitting on the side driving, Lucy in the corner facing him on a basket turned topsy-turvy, Dan and Chloe on a thick bag of rushes in the bottom of the cart. CHAPTER XIV. ACROSS THE BORDER. Dan on his return with the cart had brought back a message from its late owner to say that if she could in any way be of use to them she should be glad to aid them. Her farm lay on the road they were now following, and they determined therefore to stop there. As the cart drew up at the door the woman came out. "Glad to see you," she said; "come right in. It's strange now you should have been lodging in my house for more than six weeks and I should never have set eyes on you before. The doctor talked to me a heap about you, but I didn't look to see quite such a young couple." Lucy colored hotly and was about to explain that they did not stand in the supposed relationship to each other, but Vincent slightly shook his head. It was not worth while to undeceive the woman, and although they had agreed to pass as brother and sister Vincent was determined not to tell an untruth about it unless deceit was absolutely necessary for their safety. "And you want to get out of the way without questions being asked, I understand?" the woman went on. "There are many such about at present. I don't want to ask no questions; the war has brought trouble enough on me. Now is there anything I can do? If so, say it right out." "Yes, there is something you can do for us. We want to fill up our cart with the sort of stuff you take to market--apples and pumpkins, and things of that sort. If we had gone to buy them anywhere else there might have been questions asked. From what the doctor said you can let us have some." "I can do that. The storeroom's chuck full; and it was only a few days ago I said to David it was time we set about getting them off. I will fill your cart, sir; and not overcharge you neither. It will save us the trouble of taking it over to Columbia or Camden, for there's plenty of garden truck round Mount Pleasant, and one cannot get enough to pay for the trouble of taking them there." The cart was soon filled with apples, pumpkins, and other vegetables, and the price put upon them was very moderate. "What ought we to ask for these?" Vincent soon inquired. "One does not want to be extra cheap or dear." The woman informed them of the prices they might expect to get for the produce; and they at once started amid many warm good wishes from her. Before leaving the farm the woman had given them a letter to her sister who lived a mile from Camden. "It's always awkward stopping at a strange place," she said, "and farmers don't often put up at hotels when they drive in with garden truck to a town, though they may do so sometimes; besides it's always nice being with friends. I will write a line to Jane and tell her you have been my tenants at Woodford and where you are going, and ask her to take you in for the night and give you a note in the morning to any one she or her husband may know a good bit along that road." When they reached the house it was dark, but directly Vincent showed the note the farmer and his wife heartily bade them come in. "Your boy can put up the horse at the stable, and you are heartily welcome. But the house is pretty full, and we can't make you as comfortable as we should wish at night; but still we will do our best." Vincent and Lucy were soon seated by the fire. Their hostess bustled about preparing supper for them, and the children, of whom the house seemed full, stared shyly at the newcomers. As soon as the meal was over, Chloe's wants were attended to, and a lunch of bread and bacon taken out by the farmer to Dan in the stables. The children were then packed off to bed, and the farmer and his wife joined Vincent and Lucy by the fire. "As to sleeping," the woman said, "John and I have been talking it over, and the best way we can see is that you should sleep with me, ma'am, and we will make up a bed on the floor here for my husband and yours." "Thank you--that will do very nicely; though I don't like interfering with your arrangements." "Not at all, ma'am, not at all, it makes a nice change having some one come in, especially of late, when there is no more pleasure in going about in this country, and people don't go out after dark more than they can help. Ah! it's a bad time. My sister says you are going west, but I see you have got your cart full of garden truck. How you have raised it so soon I don't know; for Liza wrote to me two months since as she hadn't been able to sell her place, and it was just a wilderness. Are you going to get rid of it at Camden to-morrow?" Vincent had already been assured as to the politics of his present host and hostess, and he therefore did not hesitate to say: "The fact is, madam, we are anxious to get along without being questioned by any Yankee troops we may fall in with; and we have bought the things you see in the cart from your sister, as, going along with a cart full, any one we met would take us for farmers living close by on their road to the next market-town." "Oh, oh! that's it!" the farmer said significantly. "Want to get through the lines, eh?" Vincent nodded. "Didn't I think so!" the farmer said, rubbing his hands. "I thought directly my eyes hit upon you that you did not look the cut of a granger. Been fighting--eh? and they are after you?" "I don't think they are after me here," Vincent said. "But I have seen a good deal of fighting with Jackson and Stuart; and I am just getting over a collar-bone which was smashed by a Yankee bullet." "You don't say!" the farmer exclaimed. "Well, I should have gone out myself if it hadn't been for Jane and the children. But there are such a lot of them that I could not bring myself to run the chance of leaving them all on her hands. Still, I am with them heart and soul." "Your wife's sister told me that you were on the right side," Vincent said, "and that I could trust you altogether." "Now, if you tell me which road you want to go, I don't mind if I get on my horse to-morrow and ride with you a stage, and see you put for the night. I know a heap of people, and I am sure to be acquainted with some one whichever road you may go. We are pretty near all the right side about here, though, as you get further on, there are lots of Northern men. Now, what are your ideas as to the roads?" Vincent told him the route he intended to take. "You ought to get through there right enough," the farmer said. "There are some Yankee troops moving about to the west of the river, but not many of them; and even if you fell in with them, with your cargo of stuff they would not suspect you. Anyhow, I expect we can get you passed down so as always to be among friends. So you fought under Jackson and Stuart, did you? Ah, they have done well in Virginia! I only wish we had such men here. What made you take those two darkies along with you? I should have thought you would have got along better by yourself." "We couldn't very well leave them," Vincent said; "the boy has been with me all through the wars, and is as true as steel. Old Chloe was Lucy's nurse, and would have broken her heart had she been left behind." "They are faithful creatures when they are well treated. Mighty few of them have run away all this time from their masters, though in the parts the Yankees hold there is nothing to prevent their bolting if they have a mind to it. I haven't got no niggers myself. I tried them, but they want more looking after than they are worth; and I can make a shift with my boys to help me, and hiring a hand in busy times to work the farm. Now, sir, what do you think of the look-out?" The subject of the war fairly started, his host talked until midnight, long before which hour Lucy and the farmer's wife had gone off to bed. "We will start as soon as it is light," the farmer said, as he and Vincent stretched themselves upon the heap of straw covered with blankets that was to serve as their bed, Chloe having hours before gone up to share the bed of the negro girl who assisted the farmer's wife in her management of the house and children. "It's best to get through Camden before people are about. There are Yankee soldiers at the bridge, but it will be all right you driving in, however early, to sell your stuff. Going out you ain't likely to meet with Yankees; but as it would look queer, you taking your garden truck out of the town, it's just as well to be on the road before people are about. Once you get five or six miles the other side you might be going to the next place to sell your stuff." "That is just what I have been thinking," Vincent said, "and I agree with you the earlier we get through Camden the better." Accordingly as soon as daylight appeared the horse was put in the cart, the farmer mounting his own animal, and with a hearty good-by from his wife the party started away. The Yankee sentinels at each end of the bridge were passed without questions, for early as it was the carts were coming in with farm produce. As yet the streets of the town were almost deserted, and the farmer, who before starting had tossed a tarpaulin into the back of the cart, said: "Now, pull that over all that stuff, and then any one that meets us will think that you are taking out bacon and groceries and such like for some store way off." This suggestion was carried out, and Camden was soon left behind. A few carts were met as they drove along. The farmer knew some of the drivers and pulled up to say a few words to them. After a twenty-mile drive they stopped at another farm, where their friend's introduction ensured them as cordial a welcome as that upon the preceding evening. So step by step they journeyed on, escorted in almost every case by their host of the night before and meeting with no interruption. Once they passed a strong body of Federal cavalry, but these supposing that the party belonged to the neighborhood asked no questions; and at last, after eight days' traveling, they passed two posts which marked the boundary between Tennessee and Alabama. For the last two days they had been beyond the point to which the Federal troops had penetrated. They now felt that all risk was at an end. Another day's journey brought them to a railway station, and they learned that the trains were running as usual, although somewhat irregular as to the hours at which they came along or as to the time they took upon their journey. The contents of the cart had been left at the farm at which they stopped the night before, and Vincent had now no difficulty in disposing of the horse and cart, as he did not stand out for price, but took the first offer made. Two hours later a train came along, and the party were soon on their way to the east. After many hours' traveling they reached Rome, in Georgia, and then proceeded by the southern line a few miles to Macon, at which place they alighted and hired a conveyance to take them to Antioch, near which place Lucy's relatives resided. The latter part of the journey by rail had been a silent one. Lucy felt none of the pleasure that she had expected at finding herself safely through her dangers and upon the point of joining relations who would be delighted to see her, and she sat looking blankly out of the window at the surrounding country. At last Vincent, who had been half an hour without speaking, said: "Are you sorry our journey is just over, Lucy?" The girl's lip quivered, but she did not speak for a moment. "Of course it is unpleasant saying good-by when people have been together for some time," she said with an effort. "I hope it will not be good-by for long," he said. "I shall be back here as soon as this horrible war is over." "What for?" the girl asked, looking round in surprise. "You live a long way from here, and you told me you knew nobody in these parts." "I know you," Vincent said, "and that is quite enough. Do you not know that I love you?" The girl gave a start of surprise, her cheek flushed, but her eyes did not drop as she looked frankly at him. "No, Vin," she said after a pause, "I never once thought you loved me, never once. You have not been a bit like what I thought people were when they felt like that." "I hope not, Lucy. I was your protector then, that is to say when you were not mine. Your position has been trying enough, and I should have been a blackguard if I had made it more uncomfortable than it was by showing you that I cared for you. I have tried my best to be what people thought me--your brother; but now that you are just home and among your own people, I think I may speak and tell you how I feel toward you and how I have loved you since the moment I first saw you. And you, Lucy, do you think you could care for me?" "Not more than I do now, Vin. I love you with all my heart. I have been trying so hard to believe that I didn't, because I thought you did not care for me that way." For some minutes no further word was spoken. Vincent was the first to speak: "It is horrid to have to sit here in this stiff, unnatural way, Lucy, when one is inclined to do something outrageous from sheer happiness. These long, open cars, where people can see from end to end what every one is doing, are hateful inventions. It is perfectly absurd, when one finds one's self the happiest fellow living, that one is obliged to look as demure and solemn as if one was in church." "Then you should have waited, sir," the girl said. "I meant to have waited, Lucy, until I got to your home, but directly I felt that there was no longer any harm in my speaking, out it came; but it's very hard to have to wait for hours perhaps." "To wait for what?" Lucy asked demurely. "You must wait for explanations until we are alone, Lucy. And now I think the train begins to slacken, and it is the next station at which we get out." "I think, Lucy," Vincent said, when they approached the house of her relatives, "you and Chloe had better get out and go in by yourselves and tell your story. Dan and I will go to the inn, and I will come round in an hour. If we were to walk in together like this it would be next to impossible for you to explain how it all came about." "I think that would be the best plan. My two aunts are the kindest creatures possible, but no doubt they will be bewildered at seeing me so suddenly. I do think it would be best to let me have a talk with them and tell them all about it before you appear upon the scene." "Very well, then, in an hour I will come in." When they arrived at the gate, therefore, Vincent helped Lucy and Chloe to alight, and then jumping into the buggy again told the driver to take him to the inn. Having engaged a room and indulged in a thorough wash Vincent sallied out into the little town, and was fortunate enough to succeed in purchasing a suit of tweed clothes, which, although they scarcely fitted him as if they had been made for him, were still an immense improvement upon the rough clothes in which he had traveled. Returning to the hotel he put on his new purchases, and then walked to the house of Lucy's aunts, which was a quarter of a mile outside the town. Lucy had walked up the little path through the garden in front of the house, and turning the handle of the door had entered unannounced and walked straight into the parlor. Two elderly ladies rose with some surprise at the entry of a strange visitor. It was three years since she had paid her last visit there, and for a moment they did not recognize her. "Don't you know me, aunts?" "Why, goodness me!" the eldest exclaimed, "if it isn't our little Lucy grown into a woman! My dear child, where have you sprung from?" And the two ladies warmly embraced their niece, who, as soon as they released her from their arms, burst into a fit of crying, and it was some time before she could answer the questions showered upon her. "It is nothing, aunts," she said at last, wiping her eyes; "but I am so glad to be with you again, and I have gone through so much, and I am so happy, and it is so nice being with you again. Here is Chloe waiting to speak to you, aunts. She has come with me all the way." The old negress, who had been waiting in the passage, was now called in. "Why, Chloe, you look no older than when you went away from here six years ago," Miss Kingston said. "But how ever did you both get through the lines? We have been terribly anxious about you. Your brother was here only a fortnight ago, and he and your father were in a great way about you, and reproached themselves bitterly that they did not send you to us before the troubles began, which certainly would have been a wiser step, as I told them. Of course your brother said that when they left you to join the army they had no idea that matters were going so far, or that the Yankees would drive us out of Tennessee, or they would never have dreamed of leaving you alone. However, here you are, so now tell me all about it." Lucy told the story of the various visits of the Federal bushwhackers to the house, and how they had narrowly escaped death for refusing to betray the Confederate officer who had come to the house for food. Her recital was frequently interrupted by exclamations of indignation and pity from her aunts. "Well, aunts, after that," she went on, "you see it was impossible for me to stop there any longer. No doubt they came back again a few hours afterward and burned the house, and had I been found there I should have been sure to be burned in it, so Chloe agreed with me that there was nothing to do but to try and get through the lines and come to you. There was no way of my getting my living at Nashville except by going out as a help, and there might have been some difficulties about that." "Quite right, my dear. It was clearly the best thing for you to come to us--indeed, the only thing. But how in the world did you two manage to travel alone all that distance and get through the Federal lines?" "You see, we were not alone, aunts," Lucy said; "the Confederate officer and his servant were coming through, and of course they took care of us. We could never have got through alone, and as Chloe was with me we got on very nicely; but we have been a long time getting through, for in that fight, where he saved my life and killed five of the band, he had his shoulder broken by a pistol bullet, and we had to stop in a farmhouse near Mount Pleasant, and he was very ill for some time, but the doctor who attended him was a true Southerner, and so we were quite safe till he was able to move again." "And who is this officer, Lucy?" Miss Kingston asked rather anxiously. "He is a Virginian gentleman, auntie. His mother has large estates near Richmond. He was in the cavalry with Stuart, and was made prisoner while he was lying wounded and insensible, at Antietam; and I think, auntie, that that--" and she hesitated--"some day we are going to be married." "Oh, that's it, is it?" the old lady said kindly. "Well, I can't say anything about that until I see him, Lucy. Now tell us the whole story, and then we shall be better able to judge about it. I don't think, my dear, that while you were traveling under his protection he ought to have talked to you about such things." "He didn't, auntie; not until we were half a mile from the station here. I never thought he cared for me the least bit; he was just like a brother to me--just like what Jack would have been if he had been bringing me here." "That's right, my dear; I am glad to hear it. Now, let us hear all about it." Lucy told the whole story of her escape and her adventures, and when she had finished her aunts nodded to each other. "That's all very satisfactory, Lucy. It was a difficult position to be placed in, though I don't see how it was to be avoided, and the young man really seems to have behaved very well. Don't you think so, Ada?" The younger Miss Kingston agreed, and both were prepared to receive Vincent with cordiality when he appeared. The hour had been considerably exceeded when Vincent came to the door. He felt it rather an awkward moment when he was ushered into the presence of Lucy's aunts, who could scarcely restrain an exclamation of surprise at his youth, for although Lucy had said nothing about his age, they expected to meet an older man, the impression being gained from the recital of his bravery in attacking singlehanded twelve men, and by the manner in which he had piloted the party through their dangers. "We are very glad to see you--my sister Ada and myself," Miss Kingston said, shaking hands cordially with their visitor. "Lucy has been telling us all about you; but we certainly expected from what you had gone through that you were older." "I am two or three years older than she is, Miss Kingston, and I have gone through so much in the last three years that I feel older than I am. She has told you, I hope, that she has been good enough to promise to be my wife some day?" "Yes, she has told us that, Mr. Wingfield; and although we don't know you personally, we feel sure--my sister Ada and I--from what she has told us of your behavior while you have been together that you are an honorable gentleman, and we hope and believe that you will make her happy." "I will do my best to do so," Vincent said earnestly. "As to my circumstances, I shall in another year come into possession of estates sufficient to keep her in every comfort." "I have no doubt that that is all satisfactory, Mr. Wingfield, and that her father will give his hearty approval when he hears all the circumstances of the case. Now, if you will go into the next room, Mr. Wingfield, I will call her down"--for Lucy had run upstairs when she heard Vincent knock. "I dare say you will like a quiet talk together," she added smiling, "for she tells me you have never been alone together since you started." Lucy required several calls before she came down. A new shyness such as she had never before felt had seized her, and it was with flushed cheeks and timid steps that she at last came downstairs, and it needed an encouraging--"Go in, you silly child, your lover will not eat you," before she turned the handle and went into the room where Vincent was expecting her. Vincent had telegraphed from the first station at which he arrived within the limits of the Confederacy to his mother, announcing his safe arrival there, and asking her to send money to him at Antioch. Her letter in reply reached him three days after his arrival. It contained notes for the amount he wrote for; and while expressing her own and his sisters' delight at hearing he had safely reached the limits of the Confederacy, she expressed not a little surprise at the out-of-the-way place to which he had requested the money to be sent. "We have been examining the maps, my dear boy," she said, "and find that it is seventy or eighty miles out of your direct course, and we have puzzled ourselves in vain as to why you should have made your way there. The girls guess that you have gone there to deliver in person some message from one of your late fellow-prisoners to his family. I am not good at guessing, and am content to wait until you return home. We hope that you will leave as soon as you get the remittance. We shall count the hours until we see you. Of course we learned from a Yankee paper smuggled through the lines that you had escaped from prison, and have been terribly anxious about you ever since. We are longing to hear your adventures." A few hours after the receipt of this letter Vincent was on his way home. It was a long journey. The distance was considerable, and the train service greatly disordered and unpunctual. When within a few hours of Richmond he telegraphed, giving the approximate time at which he might be expected to arrive. The train, however, did not reach Richmond until some hours later. The carriage was waiting at the station, and the negro coachman shouted with pleasure at the sight of his young master. "Missis and the young ladies come, sah; but de station-master he say de train no arrive for a long time, so dey wait for you at de town house, sah." Dan jumped up beside the coachman and Vincent leaped into the carriage, and a few minutes later he was locked in the arms of his mother and sisters. "You grow bigger and bigger, Vincent," his mother said after the first greeting was over. "I thought you must have done when you went away last, but you are two or three inches taller and ever so much wider." "I think I have nearly done now, mother--anyhow as to height. I am about six feet one." "You are a dreadful trouble to us, Vincent," Annie said. "We have awful anxiety whenever we hear of a battle being fought, and it was almost a relief to us when we heard that you were in a Yankee prison. We thought at least you were out of danger for some time; but since the news came of your escape it has been worse than ever, and as week passed after week without our hearing anything of you we began to fear that something terrible had happened to you." "Nothing terrible has happened at all, Annie. The only mishap I had was getting a pistol bullet in my shoulder which laid me up for about six weeks. There was nothing very dreadful about it," he continued, as exclamations of alarm and pity broke from his mother and sister. "I was well looked after and nursed. And now I will tell you my most important piece of news, and then I will give you a full account of my adventures from the time when Dan got me out of prison, for it is entirely to him that I owe my liberty." "Well, what is the piece of news?" Annie asked. "Guess!" Vincent replied smiling. "You have got promoted?" his mother said. He shook his head. "Is it about a lady?" Annie asked. Vincent smiled. "Oh, Vincent, you are not engaged to be married! That would be too ridiculous!" Vincent laughed and nodded. "Annie is right, mother; I am engaged to be married." Mrs. Wingfield looked grave, Rosie laughed, and Annie threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. "You dear, silly old boy:" she said. "I am glad, though it seems so ridiculous. Who is she, and what is she like?" "We needn't ask where she lives," Rosie said. "Of course it is in Antioch, though how in the world you managed it all in the two or three days you were there I can't make out." Mrs. Wingfield's brow cleared. "At any rate, in that case, Vincent, she is a Southerner. I was afraid at first it was some Yankee woman who had perhaps sheltered you on your way." "Is she older than you, Vincent?" Annie asked suddenly. "I shouldn't like her to be older than you are." "She is between sixteen and seventeen," Vincent replied, "and she is a Southern girl, mother, and I am sure you will love her, for she saved my life at the risk of her own, besides nursing me all the time I was ill." "I have no doubt I shall love her, Vincent, for I think, my boy, that you would not make a rash choice. I think you are young, much too young, to be engaged; still, that is a secondary matter. Now tell us all about it. We expected your story to be exciting, but did not dream that love-making had any share in it." Vincent accordingly told them the whole story of his adventures from the time of his first meeting Dan in prison. When he related the episode of Lucy's refusal to say whether he would return, although threatened with instant death unless she did so, his narrative was broken by the exclamations of his hearers. "You need not say another word in praise of her," his mother said. "She is indeed a noble girl, and I shall be proud of such a daughter." "She must be a darling!" Annie exclaimed. "Oh, Vincent, how brave she must be! I don't think I ever could have done that, with a pistol pointing straight at you, and all those dreadful men round, and no hope of a rescue; it's awful even to think of." "It was an awful moment, as you may imagine," Vincent replied. "I shall never forget the scene, or Lucy's steadfast face as she faced that man; and you see at that time I was a perfect stranger to her--only a fugitive Confederate officer whom she shielded from his pursuers." "Go on, Vincent; please go on," Annie said. "Tell us what happened next." Vincent continued his narrative to the end, with, however, many interruptions and questions on the part of the girls. His mother said little, but sat holding his hand in hers. "It has been a wonderful escape, Vincent," she said when he had finished. "Bring your Lucy here when you like, and I shall be ready to receive her as my daughter, and to love her for her own sake as well as yours. She must be not only a brave but a noble girl, and you did perfectly right to lose not a single day after you had taken her safely home in asking her to be your wife. I am glad to think that some day the Orangery will have so worthy a mistress. I will write to her at once. You have not yet told us what she is like, Vincent." "I am not good at descriptions, but you shall see her photograph when I get it." "What, haven't you got one now?" "She had not one to give me. You see, when the troubles began she was little more than a child, and since that time she has scarcely left home, but she promised to have one taken at once and send it me, and then, if it is a good likeness, you will know all about it." "Mother, when you write to-night," Rosie said, "please send her your photograph and ours, and say we all want one of our new relative that is to be." "I think, my dear, you can leave that until we have exchanged a letter or two. You will see Vincent's copy, and can then wait patiently for your own." "And now, mother, I have told you all of my news; let us hear about every one here. How are all the old house hands, and how is Dinah? Tony is at Washington, I know, because I saw in the paper that he had made a sudden attack upon Jackson." Mrs. Wingfield's face fell. "That is my one piece of bad news, Vincent. I wish you hadn't asked the question until to-morrow, for I am sorry that anything should disturb the pleasure of this first meeting; still as you have asked the question I must answer it. About ten days ago a negro came, as I afterward heard from Chloe, to the back entrance and asked for Dinah. He said he had a message for her. She went and spoke to him, and then ran back and caught up her child. She said to Chloe, 'I have news of my husband. I think he is here. I will soon be back again.' Then she ran out, and has never returned. We have made every inquiry we could, but we have not liked to advertise for her, for it may be that she has met her husband, and that he persuaded her to make off at once with him to Yorktown or Fortress Monroe." "This is bad news indeed, mother," Vincent said. "No, I do not think for a moment that she has gone off with Tony. There could be no reason why she should have left so suddenly without telling any one, for she knew well enough that you would let her go if she wished it; and I feel sure that neither she nor Tony would act so ungratefully as to leave us in this manner. No, mother, I feel sure that this has been done by Jackson. You know I told you I felt uneasy about her before I went. No doubt the old rascal has seen in some Northern paper an account of his son having been attacked in the streets of Washington, and recaptured by Tony, and he has had Dinah carried off from a pure spirit of revenge. Well, mother," he went on in answer to an appealing look from her, "I will not put myself out this first evening of my return, and will say no more about it. There will be plenty of time to take the matter up to-morrow. And now about all our friends and acquaintances. How are they getting on? Have you heard of any more of my old chums being killed since I was taken prisoner at Antietam?" It was late in the evening before Vincent heard all the news. Fortunately, the list of casualties in the army of Virginia had been slight since Antietam; but that battle had made many gaps among the circle of their friends, and of these Vincent now heard for the first time, and he learned too, that although no battle had been fought since Antietam, on the 17th of September, there had been a sharp skirmish near Fredericksburg, and that the Federal army, now under General Burnside, who had succeeded McClellan, was facing that of Lee, near that town, and that it was believed that they would attempt to cross the Rappahannock in a few days. It was not until he retired for the night that Vincent allowed his thoughts to turn again to the missing woman. Her loss annoyed and vexed him much more than he permitted his mother to see. In the first place, the poor girl's eagerness to show her gratitude to him upon all occasions, and her untiring watchfulness and care during his illness from his wound, had touched him, and the thought that she was now probably in the hands of brutal taskmasters was a real pain to him. In the next place, he had, as it were, given his pledge to Tony that she should be well cared for until she could be sent to join him. And what should he say now when the negro wrote to claim her? Then, too, he felt a personal injury that the woman should be carried off when under his mother's protection, and he was full of indignation and fury at the dastardly revenge taken by Jackson. Upon hearing the news he had at once mentally determined to devote himself for some time to a search for Dinah; but the news that a great battle was expected at the front interfered with his plan. Now that he was back, capable of returning to duty, his place was clearly with his regiment; but he determined that while he would rejoin at once, he would as soon as the battle was over, if he were unhurt, take up the search. His mother and sisters were greatly distressed when at breakfast he told them that he must at once report himself as fit for duty, and ready to join his regiment. "I was afraid you would think so," Mrs. Wingfield said, while the girls wept silently; "and much as I grieve at losing you again directly you have returned, I can say nothing against it. You have gone through many dangers, Vincent, and have been preserved to us through them all. We will pray that you may be so to the end. Still, whether or not, I as a Virginian woman cannot grudge my son to the service of my country, when all other mothers are making the same sacrifice; but it is hard to give you up when but yesterday you returned to us." CHAPTER XV. FREDERICKSBURG. As soon as breakfast was over Vincent mounted Wildfire--which had been sent back after he had been taken prisoner, and rode into Richmond. There he reported himself at headquarters as having returned after escaping from a Federal prison, and making his way through the lines of the enemy. "I had my shoulder-bone smashed in a fight with some Yankees," he said, "and was laid up in hiding for six weeks; but have now fairly recovered. My shoulder, at times, gives me considerable pain, and although I am desirous of returning to duty and rejoining my regiment until the battle at Fredericksburg has taken place, I must request that three months' leave be granted to me after that to return home and complete my cure, promising of course to rejoin my regiment at once should hostilities break out before the spring." "We saw the news that you had escaped," the general said, "but feared, as so long a time elapsed without hearing from you, that you had been shot in attempting to cross the lines. Your request for leave is of course granted, and a note will be made of your zeal in thus rejoining on the very day after your return. The vacancy in the regiment has been filled up, but I will appoint you temporarily to General Stuart's staff, and I shall have great pleasure in to-day filling up your commission as captain. Now let me hear how you made your escape. By the accounts published in the Northern papers it seemed that you must have had a confederate outside the walls." Vincent gave a full account of his escape from prison and a brief sketch of his subsequent proceedings, saying only that he was in the house of some loyal people in Tennessee, when it was attacked by a party of Yankee bushwhackers, that these were beaten off in the fight, but that he himself had a pistol bullet in his shoulder. He then made his way on until compelled by his wound to lay up for six weeks in a lonely farmhouse near Mount Pleasant; that afterward in the disguise of a young farmer he had made a long detour across the Tennessee river and reached Georgia. "When do you leave for the front, Captain Wingfield?" "I shall be ready to start to-night, sir." "In that case I will trouble you to come round here this evening. There will be a fast train going through with ammunition for Lee at ten o'clock, and I shall have a bag of despatches for him, which I will trouble you to deliver. You will find me here up to the last moment. I will give orders that a horse-box be put on to the train." After expressing his thanks Vincent took his leave. As he left the general's quarters, a young man, just alighting from his horse, gave a shout of greeting. "Why, Wingfield, it is good to see you! I thought you were pining again in a Yankee dungeon, or had got knocked on the head crossing the lines. Where have you sprung from, and when did you arrive?" "I only got in yesterday after sundry adventures which I will tell you about presently. When did you arrive from the front?" "I came down a few days ago on a week's leave on urgent family business," the young man laughed, "and I am going back again this afternoon by the four o'clock train." "Stay till ten," Vincent said, "and we will go back together. There is a special train going through with ammunition, and as everything will make way for that it will not be long behind the four o'clock, and likely enough may pass it on the way. There is a horse-box attached to it, and as I only take one horse there will be room for yours." "I haven't brought my horse down," Harry Furniss said; "but I will certainly go with you by the ten o'clock. Then we can have a long talk. I don't think I have seen you since the day you asked me to lend you my boat two years ago." "Can you spare me two hours now?" Vincent asked. "You will do me a very great favor if you will." Harry Furniss looked at his watch. "It is eleven o'clock now; we have a lot of people to lunch at half-past one, and I must be back by then." "You can manage that easy enough," Vincent replied; "in two hours from the time we leave here you can be at home." "I am your man, then, Vincent. Just wait five minutes. I have to see some one in here." A few minutes later Harry Furniss came out again and mounted. "Now which way, Vincent? and what is it you want me for?" "The way is to Jackson's place at the Cedars, the why I will tell you about as we ride." Vincent then recounted his feud with the Jacksons, of which, up to the date of the purchase of Dinah Morris, his friend was aware, having been present at the sale. He now heard of the attack upon young Jackson by Tony, and of the disappearance of Dinah Morris. "I should not be at all surprised, Wingfield, if your surmises are correct, and that old scoundrel has carried off the girl to avenge himself upon Tony. Of course, if you could prove it, it would be a very serious offense; for the stealing a slave, and by force too, is a crime with a very heavy penalty, and has cost men their lives before now. But I don't see that you have anything like a positive proof, however strong a case of suspicion it may be. I don't see what you are going to say when you get there." "I am going to tell him that if he does not say what he has done with the girl, I will have his son arrested for treachery as soon as he sets foot in the Confederacy again." "Treachery!" Furniss said in surprise; "what treachery has he been guilty of? I saw that he was one of those who escaped with you, and I rather wondered at the time at you two being mixed up together in anything. I heard that he had been recaptured through some black fellow that had been his slave, but I did not read the account. Have you got proof of what you say?" "Perhaps no proof that would hold in a court of law," Vincent replied, "but proof enough to make it an absolute certainty to my mind." Vincent then gave an account of their escape, and of the anonymous denunciation of himself and Dan. "Now," he said, "no one but Dan knew of the intended escape, no one knew what clothes he had purchased, no one could possibly have known that I was to be disguised as a preacher and Dan as my servant. Therefore the information must have been given by Jackson." "I have not the least doubt but that the blackguard did give it, Wingfield; but there is no proof." "I consider that there is a proof--an absolute and positive proof," Vincent asserted, "because no one else could have known it." "Well, you see that as a matter of fact the other officer did know it, and might possibly have given the information." "But why should he? The idea is absurd. He had never had a quarrel with me, and he owed his liberty to me." "Just so, Wingfield. I am as certain that it was Jackson as you are, because I know the circumstances; but you see there is no more absolute proof against one man than against the other. It is true that you had had a quarrel with Jackson some two years before, but you see you had made it up and had become friends in prison--so much so that you selected him from among a score of others in the same room to be the companion of your flight. You and I, who know Jackson, can well believe him guilty of an act of gross ingratitude--of ingratitude and treachery; but people who do not know would hardly credit it as possible--that a man could be such a villain. The defense he would set up would be that in the first place there is no shadow of evidence that he more than the other turned traitor. In the second place he would be sure to say that such an accusation against a Confederate officer is too monstrous and preposterous to be entertained for a moment; and that doubtless your negro, although he denies the fact, really chattered about his doings to the negroes he was lodging with, and that it was through them that some one got to know of the disguise you would wear. We know that it wasn't so, Wingfield; but ninety-nine out of every hundred white men in the South would rather believe that a negro had chattered than that a Confederate officer had been guilty of a gross act of treachery and ingratitude." Vincent was silent. He felt that what his companion said was the truth; and that a weapon by which he had hoped to force the elder Jackson into saying what he had done with Dinah would probably fail in its purpose. The old man was too astute not to perceive that there was no real proof against his son, and would therefore be unlikely at once to admit that he had committed a serious crime, and to forego his revenge. "I will try at any rate," he said at last; "and if he refuses I will publish the story in the papers. When the fellow gets back from Yankee-land he may either call me out or demand a court of inquiry. I may not succeed in getting a verdict from twelve white men, but I think I can convince every one of our own class that the fellow did it; and when this battle that is expected is over I have got three months' leave, and I will move heaven and earth to find the woman; and if I do, Jackson will either have to bolt or stand a trial, with the prospect of ten years' imprisonment if he is convicted. In either case we are not likely to have his son about here again; and if he did venture back and brought an action against me, his chance of getting damages would be a small one." Another half-hour's ride brought them to the Cedars. They dismounted at the house, and fastening their horses to the portico knocked at the door. It was opened by a negro. "Tell your master," Vincent said, "that Mr. Wingfield wishes to speak to him." Andrew Jackson himself came to the door. "To what do I owe the very great pleasure of this visit, Mr. Wingfield?" he said grimly. "I have come to ask you what you have done with Dinah Morris, whom, I have every ground for believing, you have caused to be kidnaped from my mother's house." "This is a serious charge, young gentleman," Andrew Jackson said, "and one that I shall call upon you to justify in the law-courts. Men are not to be charged with criminal actions even by young gentlemen of good Virginian families." "I shall be quite ready to meet you there, Mr. Jackson, whenever you choose; but my visit here is rather to give you an opportunity of escaping the consequences that will follow your detection as the author of the crime; for I warn you that I will bring the crime home to you, whatever it costs me in time and money. My offer is this: produce the woman and her child, and not only shall no prosecution take place, but I will remain silent concerning a fact which affects the honor of your son." Andrew Jackson's face had been perfectly unmoved during this conversation until he heard the allusion to his son. Then his face changed visibly. "I know nothing concerning which you can attack the honor of my son, Mr. Wingfield," he said, with an effort to speak as unconcernedly as before. "My charge is as follows," Vincent said quietly: "I was imprisoned at Elmira with a number of other officers, among them your son. Thinking that it was time for the unpleasantness that had been existing between us to come to an end, I offered him my hand. This he accepted and we became friends. A short time afterward a mode of escape offered itself to me, and I proved the sincerity of my feelings toward him by offering to him and another officer the means of sharing my escape. This they accepted. Once outside the walls, I furnished them with disguises that had been prepared for them, assuming myself that of a minister. We then separated, going in different directions, I myself being accompanied by my negro servant, to whose fidelity I owed our escape. Two days afterward an anonymous writer communicated to the police the fact that I had escaped in the disguise of a minister, and was accompanied by my black servant. This fact was only known to the negro, myself, and the two officers. My negro, who had released me, was certainly not my betrayer; the other officer could certainly have had no possible motive for betraying me. There remains, therefore, only your son, whose hostility to me was notorious, and who had expressed himself with bitterness against me on many occasions, and among others in the hearing of my friend Mr. Furniss here. Such being the case, it is my intention to charge him before the military authorities with this act of treachery. But, as I have said, I am willing to forego this and to keep silence as to your conduct with reference to my slave Dinah Morris, if you will restore her and her child uninjured to the house from which you caused her to be taken." The sallow cheeks of the old planter had grown a shade paler as he listened to Vincent's narrative, but he now burst out in angry tones: "How dare you, sir, bring such an infamous accusation against my son--an accusation, like that against myself, wholly unsupported by a shred of evidence? Doubtless your negro had confided to some of his associates his plans for assisting you to escape from prison, and it is from one of these that the denunciation has come. Go, sir, report where you will what lies and fables you have invented; but be assured that I and my son will seek our compensation for such gross libels in the courts." "Very well, sir," Vincent said, as he prepared to mount his horse; "if you will take the trouble to look in the papers to-morrow, you will see that your threats of action for libel have no effect whatever upon me." "The man is as hard as a rock, Wingfield," Furniss said, as they rode off together. "He wilted a little when you were telling your story, but the moment he saw you had no definite proofs he was, as I expected he would be, ready to defy you. What shall you do now?" "I shall ride back into Richmond again and give a full account of my escape from the jail, and state that I firmly believe that the information as to my disguise was given by Jackson, and that it was the result of a personal hostility which, as many young men in Richmond are well aware, has existed for some time between us." "Well, you must do as you like, Wingfield, but I think it will be a risky business." "It may be so," Vincent said; "but I have little doubt that long before Jackson is exchanged I shall have discovered Dinah, and shall prosecute Jackson for theft and kidnaping, in which case the young man will hardly venture to prosecute me or indeed to show his face in this part of the country." That evening the two young officers started for the front, and the next morning the Richmond papers came out with a sensational heading, "Alleged Gross Act of Treachery and Ingratitude by a Confederate Officer." It was the 10th of December when Vincent joined the army at Fredericksburg. He reported himself to General Stuart, who received him with great cordiality. "You are just in time, Wingfield," he said. "I believe that in another twenty-four hours the battle will be fought. They have for the last two days been moving about in front, and apparently want us to believe that they intend to cross somewhere below the town; but all the news we get from our spies is to the effect that these are only feints and that they intend to throw a bridge across here. We know, anyhow, they have got two trains concealed opposite, near the river. Burnside is likely to find it a hard nut to crack. Of course they are superior in number to us, as they always are; but as we have always beat them well on level ground I do not think their chances of getting up these heights are by any means hopeful. Then, too, their change of commanders is against them. McClellan fought a drawn battle against us at Antietam and showed himself a really able general in the operations in front of Richmond. The army have confidence in him, and he is by far the best man they have got so far, but the fools at Washington have now for the second time displaced him because they are jealous of him. Burnside has shown himself a good man in minor commands, but I don't think he is equal to command such a vast army as this; and besides, we know from our friends at Washington that he has protested against this advance across the river, but has been overruled. You will see Fredericksburg will add another to the long list of our victories." Vincent shared a tent with another officer of the same rank in General Stuart's staff. They sat chatting till late, and it was still dark when they were suddenly aroused by an outbreak of musketry down at the river. "The general was right," Captain Longmore, Vincent's companion, exclaimed. "They are evidently throwing a bridge across the river, and the fire we hear comes from two regiments of Mississippians who are posted down in the town under Barksdale." It was but the work of a minute to throw on their clothes and hurry out. The night was dark and a heavy fog hung over the river. A perfect roar of musketry came up from the valley. Drums and bugles were sounding all along the crest. At the same moment they issued out General Stuart came out from his tent, which was close by. "Is that you, Longmore? Jump on your horse and ride down to the town. Bring back news of what is going on." A few minutes later an officer rode up. Some wood had been thrown on the fire, and by its light Vincent recognized Stonewall Jackson. "Have you any news for us?" he asked. "Not yet, I have sent an officer down to inquire. The enemy have been trying to bridge the river. "I suppose so," Jackson replied. "I have ordered one of my brigades to come to the head of the bank as soon as they can be formed up, to help Barksdale if need be, but I don't want to take them down into the town. It is commanded by all the hills on the opposite side, and we know they have brought up also all their artillery there." In a few minutes Captain Longmore returned. "The enemy have thrown two pontoon bridges across, one above and one below the old railway bridge. The Mississippians have driven them back once, but they are pushing on the work and will soon get it finished; but General Barksdale bids me report that with the force at his command he can repulse any attempt to cross." The light was now breaking in the east, but the roar of musketry continued under the canopy of fog. General Lee, Longstreet, and others had now arrived upon the spot, and Vincent was surprised that no orders were issued for troops to reinforce those under General Barksdale. Presently the sun rose, and as it gained in power the fog slowly lifted, and it was seen that the two pontoon bridges were complete; but the fire of the Mississippians was so heavy that although the enemy several times attempted to cross they recoiled before it. Suddenly a gun was fired from the opposite height, and at the signal more than a hundred pieces of artillery opened fire upon the town. Many of the inhabitants had left as soon as the musketry fire began, but the slopes behind it soon presented a sad spectacle. Men, women, and children poured out from the town, bewildered with the din and terrified by the storm of shot and shell that crashed into it. Higher and higher the crowd of fugitives made their way until they reached the crest; among them were weeping women and crying children, many of them in the scantiest attire and carrying such articles of dress and valuables as they had caught up when startled by the terrible rain of missiles. In a very few minutes smoke began to rise over the town, followed by tongues of flame, and in half an hour the place was on fire in a score of places. All day the bombardment went on without cessation and Fredericksburg crumbled into ruins. Still, in spite of this terrible fire the Mississippians clung to the burning town amid crashing walls, falling chimneys, and shells exploding in every direction. As night fell the enemy poured across the bridges, and Barksdale, contesting every foot of ground, fell back through the burning city and took up a position behind a stone wall in its rear. Throughout the day not a single shot had been fired by the Confederate artillery, which was very inferior in power to that of the enemy. General Lee had no wish finally to hinder the passage of the Federals, the stubborn resistance of Barksdale's force being only intended to give him time to concentrate all his army as soon as he knew for certain the point at which the enemy was going to cross; and he did not wish, therefore, to risk the destruction of any of his batteries by calling down the Federal fire upon them. During the day the troops were all brought up into position. Longstreet was on the left and Jackson on the right, while the guns, forty-seven in number, were in readiness to take up their post in the morning on the slopes in front of them. On the extreme right General Stuart was posted with his cavalry and horse artillery. The night passed quietly and by daybreak the troops were all drawn up in their positions. As soon as the sun rose it was seen that during the night the enemy had thrown more bridges across and that the greater portion of the army was already over. They were, indeed, already in movement against the Confederate position, their attack being directed toward the portion of the line held by Jackson's division. General Stuart gave orders to Major Pelham, who commanded his horse artillery, and who immediately brought up the guns and began the battle by opening fire on the flank of the enemy. The guns of the Northern batteries at once replied, and for some hours the artillery duel continued, the Federal guns doing heavy execution. For a time attacks were threatened from various points, but about ten o'clock, when the fog lifted, a mass of some 55,000 troops advanced against Jackson. They were suffered to come within 800 yards before a gun was fired, and then fourteen guns opened upon them with such effect that they fell back in confusion. At one o'clock another attempt was made, covered by a tremendous fire of artillery. For a time the columns of attack were kept at bay by the fire of the Confederate batteries, but they advanced with great resolution, pushed their way through Jackson's first line, and forced them to fall back. Jackson brought up his second line and drove the enemy back with great slaughter until his advance was checked by the fire of the Northern artillery. All day the fight went on, the Federals attempting to crush the Confederate artillery by the weight of their fire in order that their infantry columns might again advance. But although outnumbered by more than two to one the Confederate guns were worked with great resolution, and the day passed and darkness begun to fall without their retiring from the positions they had taken up. Just at sunset General Stuart ordered all the batteries on the right to advance. This they did and opened their fire on the Northern infantry with such effect that these fell back to the position near the town that they had occupied in the morning. On the left an equally terrible battle had raged all day, but here the Northern troops were compelled to cross open ground between the town and the base of the hill, and suffered so terribly from the fire that they never succeeded in reaching the Confederate front. Throughout the day the Confederates held their position with such ease that General Lee considered the affair as nothing more than a demonstration of force to feel his position, and expected an even sterner battle on the following day. Jackson's first and second lines, composed of less than 15,000 men, had repulsed without difficulty the divisions of Franklin and Hooker, 55,000 strong; while Longstreet with about the same force had never been really pressed by the enemy, although on that side they had a force of over 50,000 men. In the morning the Northern army was seen drawn up in battle array as if to advance for fresh assault, but no movement was made. General Burnside was in favor of a fresh attack, but the generals commanding the various divisions felt that their troops, after the repulse the day before, were not equal to the work, and were unanimously of opinion that a second assault should not be attempted. After remaining for some hours in order of battle they fell back into the town and two days later the whole army recrossed the Rappahannock River. The loss of the Confederates was 1,800 men, who were for the most part killed or wounded by the enemy's artillery, while the Federal loss was no less than 13,771. General Burnside soon afterward resigned his command, and General Hooker, an officer of the same politics as the president and his advisers, was appointed to succeed him. The cavalry had not been called upon to act during the day, and Vincent's duties were confined to carrying orders to the commanders of the various batteries of artillery posted in that part of the field, as these had all been placed under General Stuart's orders. He had many narrow escapes by shot and fragments of shells, but passed through the day uninjured. General Lee has been blamed for not taking advantage of his victory and falling upon the Federals on the morning after the battle; but although such an assault might possibly have been successful he was conscious of his immense inferiority in force, and his troops would have been compelled to have advanced to the attack across ground completely swept by the fire of the magnificently served Northern artillery posted upon their commanding heights. He was moreover ignorant of the full extent of the loss he had inflicted upon the enemy, and expected a renewed attack by them. He was therefore, doubtless, unwilling to risk the results of the victory he had gained and of the victory he expected to gain should the enemy renew their attack, by a movement which might not be successful, and which would at any rate have cost him a tremendous loss of men, and men were already becoming scarce in the Confederacy. As soon as the enemy had gone back across the river and it was certain that there was little chance of another forward movement on their part for a considerable time, Vincent showed to General Stuart the permit he had received to return home until the spring on leave, and at once received the general's permission to retire from the staff for a time. He had not been accompanied by Dan on his railway journey to the front, having left him behind with instructions to endeavor by every means to find some clew as to the direction in which Dinah had been carried off. He telegraphed on his way home the news of his coming, and found Dan at the station waiting for him. "Well, Dan, have you obtained any news?" he asked as soon as his horse had been removed from its box, and he had mounted and at a foot-pace left the station, with Dan walking beside him. "No, sah; I hab done my best, but I cannot find out anyting. The niggers at Jackson's all say dat no strangers hab been there wid de old man for a long time before de day dat Dinah was carried off. I have been over dar, massa, and hab talked wid the hands at de house. Dey all say dat no one been dere for a month. Me sure dat dey no tell a lie about it, because dey all hate Massa Jackson like pison. Den de lawyer, he am put de advertisement you told him in the papers: Five hundred dollars to whoever would give information about de carrying off of a female slave from Missy Wingfield, or dat would lead to de discovery of her hiding-place. But no answer come. Me heard Missy Wingfield say so last night." "That's bad, Dan; but I hardly expected anything better. I felt sure the old fox would have taken every precaution, knowing what a serious business it would be for him if it were found out. Now I am back I will take the matter up myself, and we will see what we can do. I wish I could have set about it the day after she was carried away. It is more than a fortnight ago now, and that will make it much more difficult than it would have been had it been begun at once." "Well, Vincent, so you have come back to us undamaged this time," his mother said after the first greeting. "We were very anxious when the news came that a great battle had been fought last Friday; but when we heard the next morning the enemy had been repulsed so easily we were not so anxious, although it was not until this morning that the list of killed and wounded was published, and our minds set at rest." "No, mother; it was a tremendous artillery battle, but it was a little more than that--at least on our side. But I have never heard anything at all like it from sunrise to sunset. But, after all, an artillery fire is more frightening than dangerous, except at comparatively close quarters. The enemy must have fired at least fifty shots for every man that was hit. I counted several times, and there were fully a hundred shots a minute, and I don't think it lessened much the whole day. I should think they must have fired two or three hundred rounds at least from each gun. The roar was incessant, and what with the din they made, and the replies of our own artillery, and the bursting of shells, and the rattle of musketry, the din at times was almost bewildering. Wildfire was hit with a piece of shell, but fortunately it was not a very large one, and he is not much the worse for it, but the shock knocked him off his legs; of course I went down with him, and thought for a moment I had been hit myself. No; it was by far the most hollow affair we have had. The enemy fought obstinately enough, but without the slightest spirit or dash, and only once did they get up anywhere near our line, and then they went back a good deal quicker than they came." "And now you are going to be with us for three months, Vincent?" "I hope so, mother; at least if they do not advance again. I shall be here off and on. I mean to find Dinah Morris if it is possible, and if I can obtain the slightest clew I shall follow it up and go wherever it may lead me." "Well, we will spare you for that, Vincent. As you know, I did not like your mixing yourself up in that business two years ago, but it is altogether different now. The woman was very willing and well conducted, and I had got to be really fond of her. But putting that aside, it is intolerable that such a piece of insolence as the stealing of one of our slaves should go unpunished. Therefore if you do find any clew to the affair we will not grumble at your following it up, even if it does take you away from home for a short time. By the by, we had letters this morning from a certain young lady in Georgia inclosing her photograph, and I rather fancy there is one for you somewhere." "Where is it, mother?" Vincent asked, jumping from his seat. "Let me think," Mrs. Wingfield replied. "Did either of you girls put it away, or where can it have been stowed?" The girls both laughed. "Now, Vincent, what offer do you make for the letter? Well, we won't tease you," Annie went on as Vincent gave an impatient exclamation. "Another time we might do so, but as you have just come safely back to us I don't think it will be fair, especially as this is the very first letter. Here it is"--and she took out of the workbox before her the missive Vincent was so eager to receive. CHAPTER XVI. THE SEARCH FOR DINAH. "By the by, Vincent," Mrs. Wingfield remarked next morning at breakfast, "I have parted with Pearson." "I am glad to hear it, mother. What! did you discover at last that he was a scamp?" "Several things that occurred shook my confidence in him, Vincent. The accounts were not at all satisfactory, and it happened quite accidentally that when I was talking one day with Mr. Robertson, who, as you know, is a great speculator in tobacco, I said that I should grow no more tobacco, as it really fetched nothing. He replied that it would be a pity to give it up, for so little was now cultivated that the price was rising, and the Orangery tobacco always fetched top prices. 'I think the price I paid for your crop this year must at any rate have paid for the labor that is to say, paid for the keep of the slaves and something over.' He then mentioned the price he had given, which was certainly a good deal higher than I had imagined. I looked to my accounts next morning, and found that Pearson had only credited me with one-third of the amount he must have received, so I at once dismissed him. Indeed, I had been thinking of doing so some little time before, for money is so scarce and the price of produce so low that I felt I could not afford to pay as much as I have been giving him." "I am afraid I have been drawing rather heavily, mother," Vincent put in. "I have plenty of money, Vincent. Since your father's death we have had much less company than before, and I have not spent my income. Besides, I have a considerable sum invested in house property and other securities. But I have, of course, since the war began been subscribing toward the expenses of the war--for the support of hospitals and so on. I thought at a time like this I ought to keep my expenses down at the lowest point, and to give the balance of my income to the State." "How did Jonas take his dismissal, mother?" "Not very pleasantly," Mrs. Wingfield replied; "especially when I told him that I had discovered he was robbing me. However, he knew better than to say much, for he has not been in good odor about here for some time. After the fighting near here there were reports that he had been in communication with the Yankees. He spoke to me about it at the time, but as it was a mere matter of rumor, originating, no doubt, from the fact that he was a Northern man by birth, I paid no attention to them." "It is likely enough to be true," Vincent said. "I always distrusted the vehemence with which he took the Confederate side. How long ago did this happen?" "It is about a month since I dismissed him." "So lately as that! Then I should not be at all surprised if he had some hand in carrying off Dinah. I know he was in communication with Jackson, for I once saw them together in the street, and I fancied at the time that it was through him that Jackson learned that Dinah was here. It is an additional clew to inquire into, anyhow. Do you know what has become of him since he left you?" "No; I have heard nothing at all about him, Vincent, from the day I gave him a check for his pay in this room. Farrell, who was under him, is now in charge of the Orangery. He may possibly know something of his movements." "I think Farrell is an honest fellow," Vincent said "He was always about doing his work quietly never bullying or shouting at the hands, and yet seeing that they did their work properly. I will ride out and see him at once." As soon as breakfast was over Vincent started, and found Farrell in the fields with the hands. "I am glad to see you back, sir," the man said heartily. "Thank you, Farrell. I am glad to be back, and I am glad to find you in Pearson's place. I never liked the fellow, and never trusted him." "I did not like him myself, sir, though we always got on well enough together. He knew his work, and got as much out of the hands as any one could do; but I did not like his way with them. They hated him." "Have you any idea where he went when he left here?" "No, sir; he did not come back after he got his dismissal. He sent a man in a buggy with a note to me, asking me to send all his things over to Richmond. I expect he was afraid the news might get here as soon as he did, and that the hands would give him an unpleasant reception, as indeed I expect they would have done." "You don't know whether he has any friends anywhere in the Confederacy to whom he would be likely to go?" "I don't know about friends, sir; but I know he has told me he was overseer, or partner, or something of that sort, in a small station down in the swamps of South Carolina. I should think, from things he has let drop, that the slaves must have had a bad time of it. I rather fancy he made the place too hot for him, and had to leave; but that was only my impression." "In that case he may possibly have made his way back there," Vincent said. "I have particular reasons for wishing to find out. You don't know anything about the name of the place?" The man shook his head. "He never mentioned the name in my hearing." "Well, I must try to find out, but I don't quite see how to set about it," Vincent said. "By the way, do you know where his clothes were sent to?" "Yes; the man said that he was to take them to Harker's Hotel. It's a second-rate hotel not far from the railway station." "Thank you. That will help me. I know the house. It was formerly used by Northern drummers and people of that sort." After riding back to Richmond and putting up his horse, Vincent went to the hotel there. Although but a secondary hotel it was well filled, for people from all parts of the Confederacy resorted to Richmond, and however much trade suffered, the hotels of the town did a good business. He first went up to the clerk in a little office at the entrance. "You had a man named Pearson," he said, "staying here about a month ago. Will you be good enough to tell me on what day he left?" The clerk turned to the register, and said after a minute's examination: "He came on the 14th of November, and he left on the 20th." This was two days after the date on which Dinah had been carried off. In American hotels the halls are large and provided with seats, and are generally used as smoking and reading-rooms by the male visitors to the hotel. At Harker's Hotel there was a small bar at the end of the hall, and a black waiter supplied the wants of the guests seated at the various little tables. Vincent seated himself at one of these and ordered something to drink. As the negro placed it on the table he said: "I will give you a dollar if you will answer a few questions." "Very good, sah. Dat am a mighty easy way to earn a dollar." "Do you remember, about a month ago, a man named Pearson being here?" The negro shook his head. "Me not know de names of de gentlemen, sah. What was de man like?" "He was tall and thin, with short hair and a gray goatee--a regular Yankee." "Me remember him, sah. Dar used to be plenty ob dat sort here. Don't see dem much now. Me remember de man, sah, quite well. Used to pass most of de day here. Didn't seem to have nuffin to do." "Was he always alone, or did he have many people here to see him?" "Once dar war two men here wid him, sah, sitting at dat table ober in de corner. Rough-looking fellows dey war. In old times people like dat wouldn't come to a 'spectable hotel, but now most ebery one got rough clothes, can't get no others, so one don't tink nuffin about it; but dose fellows was rough-looking besides dar clothes. Didn't like dar looks nohow. Dey only came here once. Dey was de only strangers that came to see him. But once Massa Jackson--me know him by sight--he came here and talk wid him for a long time. Earnest sort of talk dat seemed to be. Dey talk in low voice, and I noticed dey stopped talking when any one sat down near dem." "You don't know where he went to from here, I suppose?" "No, sah, dat not my compartment. Perhaps de outside porter will know. Like enough he take his tings in hand-truck to station. You like to see him, sah?" "Yes, I should like to have a minute's talk with him. Here is your dollar." The waiter rang a bell, and a minute later the outdoor porter presented himself. "You remember taking some tings to station for a tall man wid gray goatee, Pomp?" the waiter asked. "It was more dan tree weeks ago. I tink he went before it was light in de morning. Me seem to remember dat." The negro nodded. "Me remember him bery well, sah. Tree heavy boxes and one bag, and he only give me quarter dollar for taking dem to de station. Mighty mean man dat." "Do you know what train he went by?" "Yes, sah, it was de six o'clock train for de souf." "You can't find out wher his luggage was checked for?" "I can go down to station, sah, and see if I can find out. Some of de men dar may remember." "Here is a dollar for yourself," Vincent said, "and another to give to any of the men who can give you the news. When you have found out come and tell me. Here is my card and address." "Bery well, sah. Next time me go up to station me find about it, for sure, if any one remember dat fellow." In the evening the negro called at the house and told Vincent that he had ascertained that a man answering to his description and having luggage similar to that of Pearson had had it checked to Florence in South Carolina. Vincent now called Dan into his counsel and told him what he had discovered. The young negro had already given proof of such intelligence that he felt sure his opinion would be of value. "Dat all bery plain, sah," Dan said when Vincent finished his story. "Me no doubt dat old rascal Jackson give money to Pearson to carry off de gal. Ob course he did it just to take revenge upon Tony. Pearson he go into de plot, because, in de fust place, it vex Missy Wingfield and you bery much; in de second place, because Jackson gib him money; in de third place, because he get hold of negro slave worf a thousand dollar. Dat all quite clear. He not do it himself, but arrange wid oder fellows, and he stop quiet at de hotel for two days after she gone so dat no one can 'spect his having hand in de affair." "That is just how I make it out, Dan; and now he has gone off to join them." Dan thought for some time. "Perhaps dey join him dar, sah, perhaps not; perhaps him send him baggage on there and get out somewhere on de road and meet them." "That is likely enough, Dan. No doubt Dinah was taken away in a cart or buggy. As she left two days before he did, they may have gone from forty to sixty miles along the road, to some place where he may have joined them. The men who carried her off may either have come back or gone on with him. If they wanted to go south they would go on; if they did not, he would probably have only hired them to carry her off and hand her over to him when he overtook them. I will look at the timetable and see where that train stops. It is a fast train, I see," he said, after consulting it; it stops at Petersburg, fifteen miles on, and at Hicks Ford, which is about fifty miles. I should think the second place was most likely, as the cart could easily have got there in two days. Now, Dan, you had better start to-morrow morning, and spend two days there if necessary; find out if you can if on the twentieth of last month any one noticed a vehicle of any kind, with two rough men in it, and with, perhaps, a negro woman. She might not have been noticed, for she may have been lying tied up in the bottom of the cart, although it is more likely they frightened her by threats into sitting up quiet with them. They are sure not to have stopped at any decent hotel, but will have gone to some small place, probably just outside the town. "I will go with you to Mr. Renfrew the first thing in the morning and get him to draw up a paper testifying that you are engaged in lawful business, and are making inquiries with a view to discovering a crime which has been committed, and recommending you to the assistance of the police in any town you may go to. Then if you go with that to the head constable at Hicks Ford he will tell you which are the places at which such fellows as these would have been likely to put up for the night, and perhaps send a policeman with you to make inquiries. If you get any news telegraph to me at once. I will start by the six o'clock train on the following morning. Do you be on the platform to meet me, and we can then either go straight on to Florence, or, should there be any occasion, I will get out there; but I don't think that is likely. Pearson himself will, to a certainty, sooner or later, go to Florence to get his luggage, and the only real advantage we shall get if your inquiries are successful will be to find out for certain whether he is concerned in the affair. We shall then only have to follow his traces from Florence." Two days later Mr. Renfrew received a telegram from the head constable at Hicks Ford: "The two men with cart spent day here, 20th ult. Were joined that morning by another man--negro says Pearson. One man returned afternoon, Richmond. Pearson and the other drove off in buggy. A young negress and child were with them. Is there anything I can do?" Mr. Renfrew telegraphed back to request that the men, who were kidnaping the female slave, should if possible be traced and the direction they took ascertained. He then sent the message across to Vincent, who at once went to his office. "Now," the lawyer said, "you must do nothing rashly in this business, Vincent. They are at the best of time a pretty rough lot at the edge of these Carolina swamps, and at present things are likely to be worse than usual. If you were to go alone on such an errand you would almost certainly be shot. In the first place, these fellows would not give up a valuable slave without a struggle; and in the next place, they have committed a very serious crime. Therefore it is absolutely necessary that you should go armed with legal powers and backed by the force of the law. In the first place, I will draw up an affidavit and sign it myself, to the effect that a female slave, the property of Vincent Wingfield, has, with her male child, been kidnaped and stolen by Jonas Pearson and others acting in association with him, and that we have reason to know that she has been conveyed into South Carolina. This I will get witnessed by a justice of the peace, and will then take it up to Government House. There I will get the usual official request to the governor of South Carolina to issue orders that the aid of the law shall be given to you in recovering the said Dinah Morris and her child and arresting her abductors. You will obtain an order to this effect from the governor, and armed with it you will, as soon as you have discovered where the woman is, call upon the sheriff of the county to aid you in recovering her, and in arresting Pearson and his associates." "Thank you, sir. That will certainly be the best way. I run plenty of risk in doing my duty as an officer of the state, and I have no desire whatever to throw my life away at the hands of ruffians such as Pearson and his allies." Two hours later Vincent received from Mr. Renfrew the official letter to the governor of South Carolina, and at six o'clock next morning started for Florence. On the platform of the station at Hicks Ford Dan was waiting for him. "Jump into the car at the end, Dan; I will come to you there, and you can tell me all the news. We are going straight on to Columbia. Now, Dan," Vincent went on when he joined him--for in no part of the United States were negroes allowed to travel in any but the cars set apart for them--"what is your news? The chief constable telegraphed that they had, as we expected, been joined by Pearson here." "Yes, sah, dey war here for sure. When I get here I go straight to de constable and tell him dat I was in search of two men who had kidnaped Captain Wingfield's slave. De head constable he Richmond man, and ob course knew all about de family; so he take de matter up at once and send constable wid me to seberal places where it likely dat the fellows had put up, but we couldn't find nuffin about dem. Den next morning we go out again to village four mile out of de town on de north road, and dere we found sure 'nough dat two men, wid negro wench and chile, had stopped dere. She seem bery unhappy and cry all de time. De men say dey bought her at Richmond, and show de constable of de village de paper dat dey had bought a female slave Sally Moore and her chile. De constable speak to woman, but she seem frightened out of her life and no say anything. Dey drive off wid her early in de morning. Den we make inquiries again at de town and at de station. We find dat a man like Pearson get out. He had only little hand-bag with him. He ask one of de men at de station which was de way to de norf road. Den we find dat one of de constables hab seen a horse and cart wid two men in it, with negro woman and child. One of de men look like Yankee--dat what make him take notice of it. We s'pose dat oder man went back to Richmond again." "That is all right, Dan, and you have done capitally. Now at Florence we will take up the hunt. It is a long way down there; and if they drive all the way, as I hope they will, it will take them a fortnight, so that we shall have gained a good deal of time on them. The people at the station are sure to remember the three boxes that lay there for so long without being claimed. Of course they may have driven only till they got fairly out of reach. Then they may either have sold the horse and trap, or the fellow Pearson has with him may have driven it back. But I should think they would most likely sell it. In that case they would not be more than a week from the time they left Richmond to the time they took train again for the south. However, whether they have got a fortnight or three weeks' start of us will not make much difference. With the description we can give of Pearson, and the fact that there was a negress and child, and those three boxes, we ought to be able to trace him." It was twelve at night when the train arrived at Florence. As nothing could be done until next morning Vincent went to an hotel. As soon as the railway officials were likely to be at their offices he was at the station again. The tip of a dollar secured the attention of the man in the baggage-room. "Three boxes and a black bag came on here a month ago, you say, and lay here certainly four or five days--perhaps a good deal longer. Of course I remember them. Stood up in that corner there. They had been checked right through. I will look at the books and see what day they went. I don't remember what sort of men fetched them away. Maybe I was busy at the time, and my mate gave them out. However, I will look first and see when they went. What day do you say they got here?" "They came by the train that left Richmond at six o'clock on the morning of the 20th." "Then they got in late that night or early next morning. Ah, the train was on time that day, and got in at half-past nine at night. Here they are--three boxes and a bag, numbers 15020, went out on the 28th. Yes, that's right enough. Now I will just ask my mate if he remembers about their going out." The other man was called. Oh, yes, he remembered quite well the three boxes standing in the corner. They went out some time in the afternoon. It was just after the train came in from Richmond. He noticed the man that asked for them. He got him to help carry out the boxes and put them into a cart. Yes, he remembered there was another man with him, and a negress with a child. He wondered at the time what they were up to, but supposed it was all right. Yes, he didn't mind trying to find out who had hired out a cart for the job. Dessay he could find out by to-morrow--at any rate he would try. Five dollars are worth earning anyway. Having put this matter in train, Vincent, leaving Dan at Florence, went down at once to Charleston. Here, after twenty-four hours' delay, he obtained a warrant for the arrest of Jonas Pearson and others on the charge of kidnaping, and then returned to Florence. He found that the railway man had failed in obtaining any information as to the cart, and concluded it must have come in from the country on purpose to meet the train. "At any rate," Vincent said, "it must be within a pretty limited range of country. The railway makes a bend from Wilmington to this place and then down to Charleston, so this is really the nearest station to only a small extent of country." "That's so," the railway man said. He had heard from Dan a good deal about the case, and had got thoroughly interested in it. "Either Marion or Kingstree would be nearer, one way or the other, to most of the swamp country. So it can't be as far as Conwayborough on the north or Georgetown on the south, and it must lie somewhere between Jeffries' Creek and Lynch's Creek; anyhow it would be in Marion County--that's pretty nigh sure. So if I were you I would take rail back to Marion Court house, and see the sheriff there and have a talk over the matter with him. You haven't got much to go upon, because this man you are after has been away from here a good many years and won't be known; besides, likely enough he went by some other name down here. Anyhow, the sheriff can put you up to the roads, and the best way of going about the job." "I think that would be the best way," Vincent said. "We shall be able to see the county map too and to learn all the geography of the place." "You have got your six-shooters with you, I suppose, because you are as likely as not to have to use them?" "Yes, we have each got a Colt; and as I have had a good deal of practice, it would be awkward for Pearson if he gives me occasion to use it." "After what I hear of the matter," the man said, "I should say your best plan is just to shoot him at sight. It's what would serve him right. You bet there will be no fuss over it. It will save you a lot of trouble anyway." Vincent laughed. "My advice is good," the man went on earnestly. "They are a rough lot down there, and hang together. You will have to do it sudden, whatever you do, or you will get the hull neighborhood up agin you." On reaching Marion Courthouse they sought out the sheriff, produced the warrant signed by the States' authority, and explained the whole circumstances. "I am ready to aid you in any way I can," the sheriff said when he concluded; "but the question is, where has the fellow got to? You see he may be anywhere in this tract;" and he pointed out a circle on the map of the county that hung against the wall. "That is about fifty mile across, and a pretty nasty spot, I can tell you. There are wide swamps on both sides of the creek, and rice grounds and all sorts. There ain't above three or four villages altogether, but there may be two or three hundred little plantations scattered about, some big and some little. We haven't got anything to guide us in the slightest, not a thing, as I can see." "The man who was working under Pearson, when he was with us, told me he had got the notion that he had had to leave on account of some trouble here. Possibly that might afford a clew." "It might do so," the sheriff said. "When did he come to you?" "I think it was when I was six or seven years old. That would be about twelve or thirteen years ago; but, of course, he may not have come direct to us after leaving here." "We can look anyway," the sheriff said, and, opening a chest, he took out a number of volumes containing the records of his predecessors. "Twelve years ago! Well, this is the volume. Now, Captain Wingfield, I have got some other business in hand that will take me a couple of hours. I will leave you out this volume and the one before it and the one after it, and if you like to go through them you may come across the description of some man wanted that agrees with that of the man you are in search of." It took Vincent two hours and a half to go through the volume, but he met with no description answering to that of Pearson. "I will go through the first six months of the next year," he said to himself, taking up that volume, "and the last six months of the year before." The second volume yielded no better result, and he then turned back to the first of the three books. Beginning in July, he read steadily on until he came to December. Scarcely had he begun the record of that month than he uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. "December 2nd.--Information laid against gang at Porter's Station, near Lynch's Creek. Charged with several robberies and murders in different parts of the county. Long been suspected of having stills in the swamps. Gang consists of four besides Porter himself. Names of gang, Jack Haverley, Jim Corben, and John and James Porter. Ordered out posse to start to-morrow. "December 5th.--Returned from Porter's Station. Surprised the gang. They resisted. Haverley, Corben, and James Porter shot. John Porter escaped, and took to swamp. Four of posse wounded; one, William Hannay, killed. Circulated description of John Porter through the county. Tall and lean; when fifteen years old shot a man in a brawl, and went north. Has been absent thirteen years. Assumed the appearance of a northern man and speaks with Yankee twang. Father was absent at the time of attack. Captured three hours after. Declares he knows nothing about doings of the gang. Haverley and Corben were friends of his sons. Came and went when they liked. Will be tried on the 15th." On the 16th there was another entry: "William Porter sentenced to three years' imprisonment for giving shelter to gang of robbers. Evidence wanting to show he took any actual part in their crimes." The sheriff had been in and out several times during the five hours that Vincent's search had taken up. When he returned again Vincent pointed out the entry he had found. "I should not be at all surprised if that's our man," the sheriff said. "I know old Porter well, for he is still alive and bears a pretty bad reputation still, though we have never been able to bring him to book. I remember all the circumstances of that affair, for I served upon the posse. While Porter was in prison his house was kept for him by a married daughter and her husband. There was a strong suspicion that the man was one of the gang too, but we couldn't prove it. They have lived there ever since. They have got five or six field hands, and are said to be well off. We have no doubt they have got a still somewhere in the swamps, but we have never been able to find it. I will send a man off to-morrow to make inquiries whether any stranger has arrived there lately. Of course, Pearson will not have kept that name, and he will not have appeared as John Porter, for he would be arrested on a fresh warrant at once for his share in that former business. I think, Captain Wingfield, you had better register at the hotel here under some other name. I don't suppose that he has any fear of being tracked here; still it is just possible his father may have got somebody here and at Florence to keep their eyes open and let him know if there are any inquiries being made by strangers about a missing negress. One cannot be too careful. If he got the least hint, his son and the woman would be hidden away in the swamps before we could get there, and there would be no saying when we could find him." Vincent took the sheriff's advice, and entered his name in the hotel book as Mr. Vincent. Late in the evening the sheriff came round to him. "I have just sent summonses to six men. I would rather have had two or three more, but young men are very scarce around here now; and as with you and myself that brings it up to eight that ought to be sufficient, as these fellows will have no time to summon any of their friends to their assistance. Have you a rifle, Captain Wingfield?" "No; I have a brace of revolvers." "They are useful enough for close work," the sheriff said, "but if they see us coming, and barricade their house and open fire upon us, you will want something that carries further than a revolver. I can lend you a rifle as well as a horse if you will accept them." Vincent accepted the offer with thanks. The next morning at daylight he went round to the sheriff's house, where six determined-looking men, belonging to the town or neighboring farms, were assembled. Slinging the rifle that the sheriff handed him across his back, Vincent at once mounted, and the party set off at a brisk trot. "My man came back half an hour ago," the sheriff said to Vincent as they rode along. "He found out that a man answering to your description arrived with another at Porter's about a fortnight ago, and is staying there still. Whether they brought a negress with them or not no one seems to have noticed. However, there is not a shadow of doubt that it is our man, and I shall be heartily glad to lay hold of him; for a brother of mine was badly wounded in that last affair, and though he lived some years afterward he was never the same man again. So I have a personal interest in it, you see." "How far is it to Porter's?" "About thirty-five miles. We shall get there about two o'clock, I reckon. We are all pretty well mounted and can keep at this pace, with a break or two, till we get there. I propose that we dismount when we get within half a mile of the place. We will try and get hold of some one who knows the country well, and get him to lead three of us round through the edge of the swamp to the back of the house. It stands within fifty yards of the swamp. I have no doubt they put it there so that they might escape if pressed, and also to prevent their being observed going backward and forward to that still of theirs." This plan was followed out. A negro lad was found who, on the promise of a couple of dollars, agreed to act as guide. Three of the party were then told off to follow him, and the rest, after waiting for half an hour to allow them to make the detour, mounted their horses and rode down at a gallop to the house. When they were within a short distance of it they heard a shout, and a man who was lounging near the door ran inside. Almost instantly they saw the shutters swing back across the windows, and when they drew up fifty yards from the door the barrels of four rifles were pushed out through slits in the shutters. The sheriff held up his hand. "William Porter, I want a word with you." A shutter in an upper room opened, and an elderly man appeared with a rifle in his hand. "William Porter," the sheriff said, "I have a warrant for the arrest of two men now in your house on the charge of kidnaping a female slave, the property of Captain Wingfield here. I have no proof that you had any share in the matter, or that you are aware that the slave was not honestly obtained. In the second place, I have a warrant for the arrest of your son John Porter, now in your house and passing recently under the name of Jonas Pearson, on the charge of resisting and killing the officers of the law on the 5th of December, 1851. I counsel you to hand over these men to me without resistance. You know what happened when your sons defied the law before, and what will happen now if you refuse compliance." "Yah!" the old man shouted. "Do you suppose we are going to give in to five men? Not if we know it. Now, I warn you, move yourself off while I let you, else you will get a bullet in you before I count three." "Very well, then. You must take the consequences," the sheriff replied, and at once called the party to fall back. "We must dismount," he said in answer to Vincent's look of surprise; "they would riddle us here on horseback in the open. Besides we must dismount to break in the door." They rode back a quarter of a mile, and then dismounted. The sheriff took two heavy axes that hung from his saddle, and handed them to two of the men. "I reckoned we should have trouble," he said. "However, I hope we sha'n't have to use these. My idea is to crawl up through the corn-field until we are within shooting distance, and then to open fire at the loopholes. They have never taken the trouble to grub up the stumps, and each man must look out for shelter. I want to make it so hot for them that they will try to bolt to the swamp, and in that case they will be covered by the men there. I told them not to fire until they got quite close; so they ought to dispose of three of them, and as they have got pistols they will be able to master the others; besides, directly we hear firing behind, we shall jump up and make a rush round. Do you, sir, and James Wilkins here, stop in front. Two of them might make a rush out behind, and the others, when they have drawn us off, bolt in front." Several shots were fired at the party as they made their way across to the end of the field, where the tall stalks of maize were still standing, though the corn had been gathered weeks before. As soon as they reached the shelter they separated, each crawling through the maize until they arrived within fifty yards of the house. There were, as the sheriff had said, many stumps still standing, and each ensconced himself behind one of those, and began to reply to the fire that the defenders had kept up whenever they saw a movement among the corn stalks. At such a distance the shutters were but of slight advantage to the defenders of the house; for the assailants were all good shots, and the loopholes afforded excellent targets at such a distance. After a few shots had been fired from the house the fire of the defenders ceased, the men within not daring to protrude the rifles through the loopholes, as every such appearance was instantly followed by a couple of shots from the corn patch. "Give me one of those axes," the sheriff said. "Now, Withers, do you make a rush with me to the door. Get your rifle loaded before you start, and have your revolver handy in your belt. Now, Captain Wingfield, do you and the other two keep a sharp lookout at the loopholes, and see that they don't get a shot at us as we run. Now, Withers," and the sheriff ran forward. Two rifles were protruded through the loopholes. Vincent and his companions fired at once. One of the rifles gave a sharp jerk and disappeared, the other was fired, and Withers dropped his axe, but still ran forward. The sheriff began an onslaught at the door, his companion's right arm being useless. A minute later the sharp crack of rifles was heard in the rear, and the sheriff and two men rushed in that direction, while Vincent and the other lay watching the door. Scarcely had the sheriff's party disappeared round the house than the door was thrown open, and Pearson ran out at full speed. Vincent leaped to his feet. "Surrender," he said, "or you are a dead man." Jonas paused for a moment with a loud imprecation, and then leveling a revolver, fired. Vincent felt a moment's pain in the cheek, but before he could level his rifle his companion fired, and Pearson fell forward dead. A minute later the sheriff and his party ran round. "Have you got him?" he asked. "He will give no more trouble, sheriff," the young man who fired said. "I fancy I had him plum between the eyes. How about the others?" "Dick Matheson is killed; he got two bullets in his body. The other man is badly wounded. There are no signs of old Porter." They now advanced to the door, which stood open. As the sheriff entered there was a sharp report, and he fell back shot through the heart. The rest made a rush forward. Another shot was fired, but this missed them, and before it could be repeated they had wrested the pistol from the hand of Matheson's wife. She was firmly secured, and they then entered the kitchen, where, crouched upon the floor, lay some seven or eight negro men and women in an agony of terror. Vincent's question, "Dinah, where are you?" was answered by a scream of delight; and Dinah, who had been covering her child with her body, leaped to her feet. "It's all right, Dinah," Vincent said; "but stay here, we haven't finished this business yet." "I fancy the old man's upstairs," one of the men said. "It was his rifle, I reckon, that disappeared when we fired." It was as he expected. Porter was found dead behind the loophole, a bullet having passed through his brain. The deputy-sheriff, who was with the party, now took the command. A cart and horse were found in an out-building; in these the wounded man, who was one of those who had taken part in the abduction of Dinah, was placed, together with the female prisoner and the dead body of the sheriff. The negroes were told to follow; and the horses having been fetched the party mounted and rode off to the next village, five miles on their way back. Here they halted for the night, and the next day went on to Marion Courthouse, Vincent hiring a cart for the conveyance of Dinah and the other women. It was settled that Vincent's attendance at the trial of the two prisoners would not be necessary, as the man would be tried for armed resistance to the law, and the woman for murdering the sheriff. The facts could be proved by other witnesses, and as there could be no doubt about obtaining convictions, it would be unnecessary to try the charge against the man for kidnaping. Next day, accordingly, Vincent started with Dinah and Dan for Richmond. Two months afterward he saw in the paper that Jane Matheson had been sentenced to imprisonment for life, the man to fourteen years. CHAPTER XVII. CHANCELLORSVILLE. The news of the fight between the sheriff's posse and the band at Lynch's Creek was telegraphed to the Richmond papers by their local agent upon the day after it occurred. The report said that Captain Wingfield, a young officer who had frequently distinguished himself, had followed the traces of a gang, one of whom was a notorious criminal who had evaded the pursuit of the law and escaped from that section fifteen years ago, and had, under an assumed name, been acting as overseer at Mrs. Wingfield's estate of the Orangery. These men had carried off a negress belonging to Mrs. Wingfield, and had taken her down South. Captain Wingfield, having obtained the assistance of the sheriff with a posse of determined men, rode to the place which served as headquarters for the gang. Upon being summoned to surrender the men opened a fire upon the sheriff and his posse. A sharp fight ensued, in which the sheriff was killed and one of his men wounded; while the four members of the gang were either killed or taken prisoners. It was reported that a person occupying a position as a planter in the neighborhood of Richmond is connected with this gang. The reporter had obtained his news from Vincent, who had purposely refrained from mentioning the names of those who had fallen. He had already had a conversation with the wounded prisoner. The latter had declared that he had simply acted in the affair as he had been paid to do by the man he knew in Richmond as Pearson, who told him that he wanted him to aid in carrying off a slave woman, who was really his property, but had been fraudulently taken from him. He had heard him say that there was another interested in the affair, who had his own reasons for getting the woman out of the way, and had paid handsomely for the job. Who that other was Pearson had never mentioned. Vincent saw that he had no absolute evidence against Jackson, and therefore purposely suppressed the fact that Pearson was among the killed in hopes that the paragraph would so alarm Jackson that he would at once decamp. His anticipations were entirely justified; for upon the day of his return to Richmond he saw a notice in the paper that the Cedars, with its field hands, houses, and all belonging to it, was for sale. He proceeded at once to the estate agent, and learned from him that Jackson had come in two days before and had informed him that sudden and important business had called him away, and that he was starting at once for New York, where his presence was urgently required, and that he should attempt to get through the lines immediately. He had asked him what he thought the property and slaves would fetch. Being acquainted with the estate, he had given him a rough estimate, and had, upon Jackson's giving him full power to sell, advanced him two-thirds of the sum. Jackson had apparently started at once; indeed, he had told him that he should take the next train as far North as he could get. Vincent received the news with great satisfaction. He had little doubt that Jackson had really made down to the South, and that he would try to cross the lines there, his statement that he intended to go direct North being merely intended to throw his pursuers off his track should a warrant be issued against him. However, it mattered little which way Jackson had gone, so that he had left the State. There was little chance of his ever returning; for even when he learned that his confederate in the business had been killed in the fight, he could not be certain that the prisoner who had been taken was not aware of the share he had in the business. A fortnight later Vincent went down into Georgia and brought back Lucy Kingston for a visit to his mother. She had already received a letter from her father in reply to one she had written after reaching her aunt's protection, saying how delighted he was to hear that she had crossed the lines, for that he had suffered the greatest anxiety concerning her, and had continually reproached himself for not sending her away sooner. He said that he was much pleased with her engagement to Captain Wingfield, whom he did not know personally, but of whom he heard the most favorable reports from various Virginian gentlemen to whom he had spoken since the receipt of her letter. Lucy remained at Richmond until the beginning of March, when Vincent took her home to Georgia again, and a week after his return rejoined the army on the Rappahannock. Every effort had been made by the Confederate authorities to raise the army of General Lee to a point that would enable him to cope with the tremendous force the enemy were collecting for the ensuing campaign. The drain of men was now telling terribly, and Lee had at the utmost 40,000 to oppose the 160,000 collected under General Hooker. The first fight of the campaign had already taken place when Vincent rejoined the army. A body of 3,000 Federal cavalry had crossed the river on the 17th of March at Kelley's Ford, but had been met by General Fitz Lee with about 800 cavalry, and after a long and stubborn conflict had been driven back with heavy loss across the river. It was not until the middle of April that the enemy began to move in earnest. Every ford was watched by Stuart's cavalry, and the frequent attempts made by the Federal horse to push across to obtain information were always defeated. On the 27th of April General Hooker's preparations were complete. His plan of action was that 20,000 men should cross the river near the old battlefield of Fredericksburg, and thus lead the Confederates to believe that this was the point of attack. The main body were, however, to cross at Kelley's Ford, many miles higher up the river, and to march down toward Fredericksburg. The other force was then to recross, march up the river, cross at Kelley's Ford, and follow and join the main army. At the same time the Federal cavalry, which was very numerous and well-organized, was, under General Stoneman, to strike down through the country toward Richmond, and thus cut the Confederate communication with their capital, and so prevent Longstreet's division, which was lying near Richmond, from rejoining Lee. The passage of the river was effected at the two fords without resistance on the 29th of April, and upon the same day the cavalry column marched south. General Lee directed a portion of his cavalry under General Fitz Lee to harass and delay this column as much as possible. Although he had with him but a few hundred men, he succeeded in doing good service in cutting off detached bodies of the enemy, capturing many officers and men, and so demoralizing the invaders that, after pushing on as far as the James River, Stoneman had to retreat in great haste across the Rapidan River. Hooker having crossed the river, marched on to Chancellorsville, where he set to to entrench himself, having sent word to General Sedgwick, who commanded the force that had crossed near Fredericksburg, to recross, push round, and join as soon as possible. Chancellorsville was a large brick mansion standing in the midst of fields surrounded by extensive forests. The country was known as the Wilderness. Within a range of many miles there were only a few scattered houses, and dense thickets and pine-woods covered the whole country. Two narrow roads passed through the woods, crossing each other at Chancellorsville; two other roads led to the fords known as Ely's Ford and the United States Ford. As soon as he reached Chancellorsville Hooker set his troops to work cutting down trees and throwing up earthworks for infantry and redoubts for artillery, erecting a double line of defenses. On these he mounted upward of a hundred pieces of artillery, commanding the narrow roads by which an enemy must approach, for the thickets were in many places so dense as to render it impossible for troops to force their way through them. When Sedgwick crossed the river, Lee drew up his army to oppose him; but finding that no more troops crossed, and that Sedgwick did not advance, he soon came to the conclusion that this was not the point at which the enemy intended to attack, and in twenty-four hours one of Stuart's horsemen brought the news that Hooker had crossed the Rappahannock at Kelley's Ford and the Rapidan at Ely's Ford. Lee at once left one division to face General Sedgwick, and ordered the three others to join General Anderson, who with 8,000 men had fallen back before Hooker's advance, and taken his post at Tabernacle Church, about halfway between Fredericksburg and Tabernacle. Lee himself rode forward at once and joined Anderson. Jackson led the force from Fredericksburg, and pressed the enemy back toward Chancellorsville until he approached the tremendous lines of fortifications, and then fell back to communicate with Lee. That night a council of war was held, and it was agreed that an attack upon the front of the enemy's position was absolutely impossible. Hooker himself was so positive that his position was impregnable that he issued a general order of congratulation to his troops, saying that "the enemy must now ingloriously fly or give us battle on our own ground, where certain destruction awaits him." Jackson then suggested that he should work right round the Wilderness in front of the enemy's position, march down until well on its flank, and attack it there, where they would be unprepared for an assault. The movement was one of extraordinary peril. Lee would be left with but one division in face of an immensely superior force; Jackson would have to perform an arduous march exposed to an attack by the whole force of the enemy; and both might be destroyed separately without being able to render the slightest assistance to each other. At daybreak on the 2d of May Jackson mustered his troops for the advance. He had in the course of the night caught a severe cold. In the hasty march he had left his blankets behind him. One of his staff threw a heavy cape over him as he lay on the wet ground. During the night Jackson woke, and thinking that the young officer might himself be suffering from the want of his cape, rose quietly, spread the cape over him, and lay down without it. The consequence was a severe cold, which terminated in an attack of pneumonia that, occurring at a time when he was enfeebled by his wounds, resulted in his death. If he had not thrown that cape over the officer it is probable that he would have survived his wounds. At daybreak the column commenced its march. It had to traverse a narrow and unfrequented road through dense thickets, occasionally crossing ground in sight of the enemy, and at the end to attack a tremendous position held by immensely superior forces. Stuart with his cavalry moved on the flank of the column whenever the ground was open, so as to conceal the march of the infantry from the enemy. As the rear of the column passed a spot called the Furnace, the enemy suddenly advanced and cut off the 23d Georgia, who were in the rear of the column, and captured the whole regiment with the exception of a score of men. At this point the road turned almost directly away from Chancellorsville, and the enemy believed that the column was in full retreat, and had not the least idea of its real object. So hour after hour the troops pressed on until they reached the turnpike road passing east and west through Chancellorsville, which now lay exactly between them and the point that they had left in the morning. Jackson's design was to advance upon this line of road, to extend his troops to the left and then to swing round, cut the enemy's retreat to the fords, and capture them all. Hooker had already been joined by two of Sedgwick's army corps, and had now six army corps at Chancellorsville, while Jackson's force consisted of 22,000 men. Lee remained with 13,000 at Tabernacle. The latter general had not been attacked, but had continued to make demonstrations against the Federal left, occupying their attention and preventing them from discovering how large a portion of his force had left him. It was at five o'clock in the evening that Jackson's troops, having gained their position, advanced to the attack. In front of them lay Howard's division of the Federals, intrenched in strong earthworks covered by felled trees; but the enemy were altogether unsuspicious of danger, and it was not until with tumultuous cheers the Confederates dashed through the trees and attacked the entrenchment that they had any suspicion of their presence. They ran to their arms, but it was too late. The Confederates rushed through the obstacles, climbed the earthworks, and carried those in front of them, capturing 700 prisoners and five guns. The rest of the Federal troops here, throwing away muskets and guns, fled in wild confusion. Steadily the Confederates pressed on, driving the enemy before them, and capturing position after position, until the whole right wing of the Federal army was routed and disorganized. For three hours the Confederates continued their march without a check; but owing to the denseness of the wood, and the necessity of keeping the troops in line, the advance was slow, and night fell before the movement could be completed. One more hour of daylight and the whole Federal army would have been cut off and captured, but by eight o'clock the darkness in the forest was so complete that all movement had to be stopped. Half an hour later one of the saddest incidents of the war took place. General Jackson with a few of his staff went forward to reconnoiter. As he returned toward his lines, his troops in the dark mistook them for a reconnoitering party of the enemy and fired, killing or wounding the whole of them, General Jackson receiving three balls. The enemy, who were but a hundred yards distant, at once opened a tremendous fire with grape toward the spot, and it was some time before Jackson could be carried off the field. The news that their beloved general was wounded was for some time kept from the troops; but a whisper gradually spread, and the grief of his soldiers was unbounded, for rather would they have suffered a disastrous defeat than that Stonewall Jackson should have fallen. General Stuart assumed the command, General Hill, who was second in command, having, with many other officers, been wounded by the tremendous storm of grape and canister that the Federals poured through the wood when they anticipated an attack. At daybreak the troops again moved forward in three lines, Stuart placing his thirty guns on a slight ridge, where they could sweep the lines of the Federal defenses. Three times the position was won and lost; but the Confederates fought with such fury and resolution, shouting each time they charged the Federal ranks "Remember Jackson," that the enemy gradually gave way, and by ten o'clock Chancellorsville itself was taken, the Federals being driven back into the forest between the houses and the river. Lee had early in the morning begun to advance from his side to the attack, but just as he was moving forward the news came that Sedgwick had recrossed at Fredericksburg, captured a portion of the Confederate force there, and was advancing to join Hooker. He at once sent two of his three little divisions to join the Confederates who were opposing Sedgwick's advance, while with the three or four thousand men remaining to him, he all day made feigned attacks upon the enemy's position, occupying their attention there, and preventing them from sending reinforcements to the troops engaged with Stuart. At night he himself hurried away, took the command of the troops opposed to Sedgwick, attacked him vigorously at daybreak, and drove him with heavy loss back across the river. The next day he marched back with his force to join in the final attack upon the Federals; but when the troops of Stuart and Lee moved forward they encountered no opposition. Hooker had begun to carry his troops across the river on the night he was hurled back out of Chancellorsville, and the rest of his troops had crossed on the two following nights. General Hooker issued a pompous order to his troop after getting across the river, to the effect that the movement had met with the complete success he had anticipated from it; but the truth soon leaked out. General Sedgwick's force had lost 6,000 men, Hooker's own command fully 20,000 more; but splendid as the success was, it was dearly purchased by the Confederates at the price of the life of Stonewall Jackson. His arm was amputated the day after the battle; he lived for a week, and died not so much from the effect of his wounds as from the pneumonia, the result of his exposure to the heavy dew on the night preceding his march through the Wilderness. During the two days' fighting Vincent Wingfield had discharged his duties upon General Stuart's staff. On the first day the work had been slight, for General Stuart, with the cannon, remained in the rear, while Jackson's infantry attacked and carried the Federal retrenchments. Upon the second day, however, when Stuart assumed the command, Vincent's duties had been onerous and dangerous in the extreme. He was constantly carrying orders from one part of the field to the other, amid such a shower of shot and shell that it seemed marvelous that any one could exist within it. To his great grief Wildfire was killed under him, but he himself escaped without a scratch. When he came afterward to try to describe the battle to those at home he could give no account of it. "To me," he said, "it was simply a chaos of noise and confusion. Of what was going on I knew nothing. The din was appalling. The roar of the shells, the hum of grape and canister, the whistle of bullets, the shouts of the men, formed a mighty roar that seemed to render thinking impossible. Showers of leaves fell incessantly, great boughs of trees were shorn away, and trees themselves sometimes came crashing down as a trunk was struck full by a shell. The undergrowth had caught fire, and the thick smoke, mingled with that of the battle, rendered it difficult to see or to breathe. I had but one thought, that of making my way through the trees, of finding the corps to which I was sent, of delivering my message, and finding the general again. No, I don't think I had much thought of danger, the whole thing was somehow so tremendous that one had no thought whatever for one's self. It was a sort of terrible dream, in which one was possessed of the single idea to get to a certain place. It was not till at last we swept across the open ground down to the house, that I seemed to take any distinct notice of what was going on around me. Then, for the first time, the exulting shouts of the men, and the long lines advancing at the double, woke me up to the fact that we had gained one of the most wonderful victories in history, and had driven an army of four or five times our own strength from a position that they believed they had made impregnable." The defeat of Hooker for a time put a stop to any further advance against Richmond from the North. The Federal troops, whose term of service was up, returned home, and it was months before all the efforts of the authorities of Washington could place the army in a condition to make a renewed advance. But the Confederates had also suffered heavily. A third of the force with which Jackson had attacked had fallen, and their loss could not be replaced, as the Confederates were forced to send every one they could raise to the assistance of the armies in the West, where Generals Banks and Grant were carrying on operations with great success against them. The important town of Vicksburg, which commanded the navigation of the Mississippi, was besieged, and after a resistance lasting for some months, surrendered, with its garrison of 25,000 men, on the 3d of July, and the Federal gunboats were thus able to penetrate by the Mississippi and its confluents into the heart of the Confederacy. Shortly after the battle of Chancellorsville, Vincent was appointed to the command of a squadron of cavalry that was detached from Stuart's force and sent down to Richmond to guard the capital from any raids by bodies of Federal cavalry. It had been two or three times menaced by flying bodies of horsemen, and during the cavalry advance before the battle of Chancellorsville small parties had penetrated to within three miles of the city, cutting all the telegraph wires, pulling up rails, and causing the greatest terror. Vincent was not sorry for the change. It took him away from the great theater of the war, but after Chancellorsville he felt no eager desire to take part in future battles. His duties would keep him near his home, and would give ample scope for the display of watchfulness, dash, and energy. Consequently he took no part in the campaign that commenced in the first week in June. Tired of standing always on the defensive, the Confederate authorities determined to carry out the stop that had been so warmly advocated by Jackson earlier in the war, and which might at that time have brought it to a successful termination. They decided to carry the war into the enemy's country. By the most strenuous efforts Lee's army was raised to 75,000 men, divided into three great army corps, commanded by Longstreet, Ewell, and Hill. Striking first into Western Virginia, they drove the Federals from Winchester, and chased them from the State with the loss of nearly 4,000 prisoners and 30 guns. Then they entered Maryland and Pennsylvania, and concentrating at Gettysburg they met the Northern army under Meade, who had succeeded Hooker. Although great numbers of the Confederates had seen their homes wasted and their property wantonly destroyed, they preserved the most perfect order in their march through the North, and the Federals themselves testify to the admirable behavior of the troops, and to the manner in which they abstained from plundering or inflicting annoyance upon the inhabitants. At Gettysburg there was three days' fighting. In the first a portion only of the forces were engaged, the Federals being defeated and 5,000 of their men taken prisoners. Upon the second the Confederates attacked the Northerners, who were posted in an extremely strong position, but were repulsed with heavy loss. The following day they renewed the attack, but after tremendous fighting again failed to carry the height. Both parties were utterly exhausted. Lee drew up his troops the next day, and invited an attack from the Federals; but contented with the success they had gained they maintained their position, and the Confederates then fell back, Stuart's cavalry protecting the immense trains of wagons loaded with the stores and ammunition captured in Pennsylvania. But little attempt was made by the Northerners to interfere with their retreat. On reaching the Potomac they found that a sudden rise had rendered the fords impassable. Intrenchments and batteries were thrown up, and for a week the Confederate army held the lines, expecting an attack from the enemy, who had approached within two miles; but the Federal generals were too well satisfied with having gained a success when acting on the defensive in a strong position to risk a defeat in attacking the position of the Confederates, and their forces remained impassive until pontoon bridges were thrown across the river, and the Confederate army, with their vast baggage train, had again crossed into Virginia. The campaign had cost the Northern army 23,000 men in killed, wounded, and prisoners, besides a considerable number of guns. The Confederates lost only two guns, left behind in the mud, and 1,500 prisoners, but their loss in killed and wounded at Gettysburg exceeded 10,000 men. Even the most sanguine among the ranks of the Confederacy were now conscious that the position was a desperate one. The Federal armies seemed to spring from the ground. Strict discipline had taken the place of the disorder and insubordination that had first prevailed in their ranks. The armies were splendidly equipped. They were able to obtain any amount of the finest guns, rifles, and ammunition of war from the workshops of Europe; while the Confederates, cut off from the world, had to rely solely upon the makeshift factories they had set up, and upon the guns and stores they captured from the enemy. The Northerners had now, as a blow to the power of the South, abolished slavery, and were raising regiments of negroes from among the free blacks of the North, and from the slaves they took from their owners wherever their armies penetrated the Southern States. Most of the Confederate ports had been either captured or were so strictly blockaded that it was next to impossible for the blockade-runner to get in or out, while the capture of the forts on the Mississippi enabled them to use the Federal flotillas of gunboats to the greatest advantage, and to carry their armies into the center of the Confederacy. Still, there was no talk whatever of surrender on the part of the South, and, indeed, the decree abolishing slavery, and still more the action of the North in raising black regiments, excited the bitterest feeling of animosity and hatred. The determination to fight to the last, whatever came of it, animated every white man in the Southern States, and, although deeply disappointed with the failure of Lee's invasion of the North, the only result was to incite them to greater exertions and sacrifices. In the North an act authorizing conscription was passed in 1863, but the attempt to carry it into force caused a serious riot in New York, which was only suppressed after many lives had been lost and the city placed under martial law. While the guns of Gettysburg were still thundering, a Federal army of 18,000 men under General Gillmore, assisted by the fleet, had laid siege to Charleston. It was obstinately attacked and defended. The siege continued until the 5th of September, when Fort Wagner was captured; but all attempts to take Fort Sumter and the town of Charleston itself failed, although the city suffered greatly from the bombardment. In Tennessee there was severe fighting in the autumn, and two desperate battles were fought at Chickamauga on the 19th and 20th of September, General Bragg, who commanded the Confederate army there, being reinforced by Longstreet's veterans from the army of Virginia. After desperate fighting the Federals were defeated, and thirty-six guns and vast quantities of arms captured by the Confederates. The fruits of the victory, however, were very slight, as General Bragg refused to allow Longstreet to pursue, and so to convert the Federal retreat into a rout, and the consequence was that this victory was more than balanced by a heavy defeat inflicted upon them in November at Chattanooga by Sherman and Grant. At this battle General Longstreet's division was not present. The army of Virginia had a long rest after their return from Gettysburg, and it was not until November that the campaign was renewed. Meade advanced, a few minor skirmishes took place, and then, when he reached the Wilderness, the scene of Hooker's defeat, where Lee was prepared to give battle, he fell back again across the Rappahannock. The year had been an unfortunate one for the Confederates. They had lost Vicksburg, and the defeat at Chattanooga had led to the whole State of Tennessee falling into the hands of the Federals, while against these losses there was no counterbalancing success to be reckoned. In the spring of 1864 both parties prepared to the utmost for the struggle. General Grant, an officer who had shown in the campaign in the West that he possessed considerable military ability, united with immense firmness and determination of purpose, was chosen as the new commander-in-chief of the whole military force of the North. It was a mighty army, vast in numbers, lavishly provided with all materials of war. The official documents show that on the 1st of May the total military forces of the North amounted to 662,000 men. Of these the force available for the advance against Richmond numbered 284,630 men. This included the army of the Potomac, that of the James River, and the army in the Shenandoah Valley--the whole of whom were in readiness to move forward against Richmond at the orders of Grant. To oppose these General Lee had less than 53,000 men, including the garrison of Richmond and the troops in North Carolina. Those stationed in the seaport towns numbered in all another 20,000, so that if every available soldier had been brought up Lee could have opposed a total of but 83,000 men against the 284,000 invaders. In the West the numbers were more equally balanced. General Sherman, who commanded the army of invasion there, had under his orders 230,000 men, but as more than half this force was required to protect the long lines of communication and to keep down the conquered States, he was able to bring into the field for offensive operations 99,000 men, who were faced by the Confederate army under Johnston of 58,000 men. Grant's scheme was, that while the armies of the North were, under his own command, to march against Richmond, the army of the West was to invade Georgia and march upon Atlanta. His plan of action was simple, and was afterward stated by himself to be as follows: "I determined first to use the greatest number of troops practicable against the main force of the enemy, preventing him from using the same force at different seasons against first one and then another of our armies, and the possibility of repose for refitting and producing necessary supplies for carrying on resistance. Second, to hammer continuously against the armed force of the enemy and his resources until, by mere attrition if in no other way, there should be nothing left to him but submission." This was a terrible programme, and involved an expenditure of life far beyond anything that had taken place. Grant's plan, in fact, was to fight and to keep on fighting, regardless of his own losses, until at last the Confederate army, whose losses could not be replaced, melted away. It was a strategy that few generals have dared to practice, fewer still to acknowledge. On the 4th of May the great army of the Potomac crossed the Rapidan and advanced toward Chancellorsville. Lee moved two divisions of his army to oppose them. Next morning the battle began at daybreak on the old ground where Lee had defeated Hooker the year before. All day long the division of Ewell supported the attack of the army corps of Sedgwick and Hancock. Along a front of six miles, in the midst of the thick forest, the battle raged the whole of the day. The Confederates, in spite of the utmost efforts of the Northerners, although reinforced in the afternoon by the army corps of General Burnside, held their position, and when night put an end to the conflict the invaders had not gained a foot of ground. As soon as the first gleam of light appeared in the morning the battle recommenced. The Federal generals, Sedgwick, Warren, and Hancock, with Burnside in reserve, fell upon Hill and Ewell. Both sides had thrown up earthworks and felled trees as a protection during the night. At first the Confederates gained the advantage; but a portion of Burnside's corps was brought up and restored the battle, while on the left flank of the Federals Hancock had attacked with such vigor that the Confederates opposed to him were driven back. At the crisis of the battle, Longstreet, who had marched all night, appeared upon the ground, drove back Hancock's men, and was on the point of aiding the Confederates in a decisive attack upon the enemy, when, riding rapidly forward into the wood to reconnoiter, he was, like Jackson, struck down by the fire of his own men. He was carried to the rear desperately, and it was feared for a time mortally wounded, and his loss paralyzed the movement which he had prepared. Nevertheless during the whole day the fight went on with varying success, sometimes one side obtaining a slight advantage, the other then regaining the ground they had lost. Just as evening was closing in a Georgia brigade, with two other regiments, made a detour, and fell furiously upon two brigades of the enemy, and drove them back in headlong rout for a mile and a half, capturing their two generals and many prisoners. The artillery, as on the previous day, had been little used on either side, the work being done at short range with the rifle, the loss being much heavier among the thick masses of the Northerners than in the thinner lines of the Confederates. Grant had failed in his efforts to turn Lee's right and to accomplish his direct advance; he therefore changed his base and moved his army round toward Spotsylvania. Lee soon perceived his object, and succeeded in carrying his army to Spotsylvania before the Federals reached it. On the afternoon of Monday, the 9th, there was heavy fighting and on the 10th another pitched battle took place. This time the ground was more open, and the artillery was employed with terrible effect on both sides. It ended, however, as the previous battles had done, by the Confederates holding their ground. Upon the next day there was but little fighting. In the night the Federals moved quietly through the wood, and at daybreak four divisions fell upon Johnston's division of Ewell's corps, took them completely by surprise, and captured the greater part of them. But Lee's veterans soon recovered from their surprise and maintained their position until noon. Then the whole Federal army advanced, and the battle raged till nightfall terminated the struggle, leaving Lee in possession of the whole line he had held, with the exception of the ground lost in the morning. For the next six days the armies faced each other, worn out by incessant fighting, and prevented from moving by the heavy rain which fell incessantly. They were now able to reckon up the losses. The Federals found that they had lost, in killed, wounded, or missing, nearly 30,000 men; while Lee's army was diminished by about 12,000. While these mighty battles had been raging the Federal cavalry under Sheridan had advanced rapidly forward, and, after several skirmishes with Stuart's cavalry, penetrated within the outer intrenchments round Richmond. Here Stuart with two regiments of cavalry charged them and drove them back, but the gallant Confederate officer received a wound that before night proved fatal. His loss was a terrible blow to the Confederacy, although his successor in the command of the cavalry, General Wade Hampton, was also an officer of the highest merit. In the meantime General Butler, who had at Fort Monroe under his command two corps of infantry, 4,000 cavalry, and a fleet of gunboats and transports, was threatening Richmond from the east. Shipping his men on board the transports he steamed up the James River, under convoy of the fleet, and landed on a neck of land known as Bermuda Hundred. To oppose him all the troops from North Carolina had been brought up, the whole force amounting to 19,000 men, under the command of General Beauregard. Butler, after various futile movements, was driven back again to his intrenched camp at Bermuda Hundred, where he was virtually besieged by Beauregard with 10,000 men, the rest of that general's force being sent up to reinforce Lee. In western Virginia, Breckenridge, with 3,500 men, was called upon to hold in check Sigel, with 15,000 men. Advancing to Staunton, Breckenridge was joined by the pupils of the military college at Lexington, 250 in number, lads of from 14 to 17 years of age. He came upon Sigel on the line of march, and attacked him at once. The Federal general placed a battery in a wood and opened fire with grape. The commander of the Lexington boys ordered them to charge, and, gallantly rushing in through the heavy fire, they charged in among the guns, killed the artillerymen, drove back the infantry supports, and bayoneted their colonel. The Federals now retired down the valley to Strasburg, and Breckenridge was able to send a portion of his force to aid Lee in his great struggle. After his six days' pause in front of Lee's position at Spotsylvania, Grant abandoned his plan of forcing his way through Lee's army to Richmond, and endeavored to outflank it; but Lee again divined his object, and moved round and still faced him. After various movements the armies again stood face to face upon the old battle-grounds on the Chickahominy. On the 3d of June the battle commenced at half-past four in the morning. Hancock at first gained an advantage, but Hill's division dashed down upon him and drove him back with great slaughter; while no advantage was gained by them in other parts of the field. The Federal loss on this day was 13,000, and the troops were so dispirited that they refused to renew the battle in the afternoon. Grant then determined to alter his plan altogether, and sending imperative orders to Butler to obtain possession of Petersburg, embarked Smith's corps in transports, and moved with the rest of his army to join that general there. Smith's corps entered the James River, landed, and marched against Petersburg. Beauregard had at Petersburg only two infantry and two cavalry regiments under General Wise, while a single brigade fronted Butler at Bermuda Hundred. With this handful of men he was called upon to defend Petersburg and to keep Butler bottled up in Bermuda Hundred until help could reach him from Lee. He telegraphed to Richmond for all the assistance that could be sent to him, and was reinforced by a brigade, which arrived just in time, for Smith had already captured a portion of the intrenchments, but was now driven out. The next day Beauregard was attacked both by Smith's and Hancock's corps, which had now arrived. With 8,000 men he kept at bay the assaults of two whole army corps, having in the meantime sent orders to Gracie, the officer in command of the brigade before Butler, to leave a few sentries there to deceive that general, and to march with the rest of his force to his aid. It arrived at a critical moment. Overwhelmed by vastly superior numbers, many of the Confederates had left their posts, and Breckenridge was in vain trying to rally them when Gracie's brigade came up. The position was reoccupied and the battle continued. At noon Burnside with his corps arrived and joined the assailants; while Butler, discovering at last that the troops in front of him were withdrawn, moved out and barred the road against reinforcements from Richmond. Nevertheless the Confederates held their ground all the afternoon and until eleven o'clock at night, when the assault ceased. At midnight Beauregard withdrew his troops from the defenses that they were too few to hold, and set them to work to throw up fresh intrenchments on a shorter line behind. All night the men worked with their bayonets, canteens, and any tools that came to hand. It was well for them that the enemy were so exhausted that it was noon before they were ready to advance again, for by this time help was at hand. Anderson, who had succeeded to the command of Longstreet's corps, and was leading the van of Lee's army, forced his way through Butler's troops and drove him back into the Bermuda Hundred, and leaving one brigade to watch him marched with another into Petersburg just as the attack was recommenced. Thus reinforced Beauregard successfully defeated all the assaults of the enemy until night fell. Another Federal army corps came up before morning, and the assault was again renewed, but the defenders, who had strengthened their defenses during the night, drove their assailants back with terrible loss. The whole of Lee's army now arrived, and the rest of Grant's army also came up, and that general found that after all his movements his way to Richmond was barred as before. He was indeed in a far worse position than when he had crossed the Rapidan, for the morale of his army was much injured by the repeated repulses and terrible losses it had sustained. The new recruits that had been sent to fill up the gaps were far inferior troops to those with which he had commenced the campaign. To send forward such men against the fortifications of Petersburg manned by Lee's veteran troops was to court defeat, and he therefore began to throw up works for a regular siege. Fighting went on incessantly between the outposts, but only one great attempt was made during the early months of the siege to capture the Confederate position. The miners drove a gallery under the works, and then drove other galleries right and left under them. These were charged with eight thousand pounds of powder. When all was ready, masses of troops were brought up to take advantage of the confusion which would be caused by the explosion, and a division of black troops were to lead the assault. At a quarter to five in the morning of the 30th of July the great mine was exploded, blowing two guns, a battery, and its defenders into the air, and forming a huge pit two hundred feet long and sixty feet wide. Lee and Beauregard hurried to the scene, checked the panic that prevailed, brought up troops, and before the great Federal columns approached the breach the Confederates were ready to receive them. The assault was made with little vigor, the approaches to the breach were obstructed by abattis, and instead of rushing forward in a solid mass they occupied the great pit, and contented themselves with firing over the edge of the crater, where regiments and divisions were huddled together. But the Confederate batteries were now manned, and from the works on either side of the breach, and from behind, they swept the approaches, and threw shell among the crowded mass. The black division was now brought up, and entered the crater, but only added to the confusion. There was no officer of sufficient authority among the crowded mass there to assume the supreme command. No assistance could be sent to them, for the arrival of fresh troops would but have added to the confusion. All day the conflict went on, the Federals lining the edge of the crater, and exchanging a heavy musketry fire with the Confederate infantry, while the mass below suffered terribly from the artillery fire. When night closed the survivors of the great column that had marched forward in the morning, confident that victory was assured to them, and that the explosion would lay Petersburg open to capture, made their retreat, the Confederates, however, taking a considerable number of prisoners. The Federal loss in killed, wounded and captured was admitted by them to be 4,000; the Confederate accounts put it down at 6,000. After this terrible repulse it was a long time before Grant again renewed active operations, but during the months that ensued his troops suffered very heavily from the effects of fever, heightened by the discouragement they felt at their want of success, and at the tremendous losses they had suffered since they entered Virginia on their forward march to Richmond. CHAPTER XVIII. A PERILOUS UNDERTAKING. Vincent Wingfield had had an arduous time of it with his squadron of cavalry. He had taken part in the desperate charge that checked the advance of Sheridan's great column of cavalry which approached within three miles of Richmond, the charge that had cost the gallant Stuart his life; and the death of his beloved general had been a heavy blow for him. Jackson and Stuart, two of the bravest and noblest spirits of the Confederate army, were gone. Both had been personally dear to Vincent, and he felt how grievous was their loss to the cause for which he was fighting; but he had little time for grief. The enemy, after the tremendous battles of the Wilderness, swung their army round to Cold Harbor, and Vincent's squadron was called up to aid Lee in his struggle there. Then they were engaged night and day in harassing the enemy as they marched down to take up their new base at Petersburg, and finally received orders to ride round at full speed to aid in the defense of that place. They had arrived in the middle of the second day's fighting, and dismounting his men Vincent had aided the hard-pressed Confederates in holding their lines till Longstreet's division arrived to their assistance. A short time before the terrible disaster that befell the Federals in the mine they exploded under the Confederate works, he was with General Wade Hampton, who had succeeded General Stuart in the command of the cavalry, when General Lee rode up. "They are erecting siege works in earnest," General Lee said. "I do not think that we shall have any more attacks for the present. I wish I knew exactly where they are intending to place their heavy batteries. If I did we should know where to strengthen our defenses, and plant our counter batteries. It is very important to find this out; but now that their whole army has settled down in front of us, and Sheridan's cavalry are scouring the woods, we shall get no news, for the farmers will no longer be able to get through to tell us what is going on. "I will try and ride round, if you like, general," Vincent said. "By making a long detour one could get into the rear of their lines and pass as a farmer going into camp to sell his goods." "It would be a very dangerous service, sir," General Lee said. "You know what the consequence would be if you were caught?" "I know the consequence," Vincent said; "but I do not think, sir, that the risk is greater than one runs every time one goes into battle." "Perhaps not," General Lee replied; "but in one case one dies fighting for one's country by an honorable death, in the other--" and he stopped. "In the other one is shot in cold blood," Vincent said quietly. "One dies for one's country in either case, sir; and it does not much matter, so far as I can see, whether one is killed in battle or shot in cold blood. As long as one is doing one's duty, one death is surely as honorable as the other." "That is true enough," General Lee said, "although it is not the way men generally view the matter. Still, sir, if you volunteer for the work, I do not feel justified in refusing the opportunity of acquiring information that may be of vital consequence to us. When will you start?" "In half an hour, sir. I shall ride back to Richmond, obtain a disguise there, and then go round by train to Burksville Junction and then ride again until I get round behind their lines. Will you give me an order for my horse and myself to be taken?" "Very well, sir," General Lee said. "So be it. May God be with you on your way and bring you safely back." Vincent rode off to his quarters. "Dan," he said, "I am going away on special duty for at least three days. I have got a couple of letters to write, and shall be ready to start in half an hour. Give the horse a good feed and have him at the door again by that time." "Am I to go with you, sah?" "No, Dan; I must go by myself this time." Dan felt anxious as he went out, for it was seldom that his master ever went away without telling him where he was going, and he felt sure that the service was one of unusual danger; nor was his anxiety lessened when at the appointed time Vincent came out and handed him two letters. "You are to keep these letters, Dan, until I return, or till you hear that something has happened to me. If you hear that, you are to take one of these letters to my mother, and take the other yourself to Miss Kingston. Tell her before you give it her what has happened as gently as you can. As for yourself, Dan, you had your letters of freedom long ago, and I have left you five hundred dollars; so that you can get a cabin and patch of your own, and settle down when these troubles are over." "Let me go with you, master," Dan said, with the tears streaming down his cheeks. "I would rather be killed with you a hundred times than get on without you." "I would take you if I could, Dan; but this is a service that I must do alone. Good-by, my boy; let us hope that in three or four days at the outside I shall be back here again safe and sound." He wrung Dan's hand, and then started at a canter and kept on at that pace until he reached Richmond. A train with stores was starting for the south in a few minutes; General Lee's order enabled Vincent to have a horse-box attached at once, and he was soon speeding on his way. He alighted at Burksville Junction, and there purchased some rough clothes for himself and some country-fashioned saddlery for his horse. Then, after changing his clothes at an inn and putting the fresh saddlery on his horse, he started. It was getting late in the afternoon, but he rode on by unfrequented roads, stopping occasionally to inquire if any of the Federal cavalry had been seen in the neighborhood, and at last stopped for the night at a little village inn. As soon as it was daybreak he resumed his journey. He had purchased at Burksville some colored calico and articles of female clothing, and fastened the parcel to the back of his saddle. As he rode forward now he heard constant tales of the passing of parties of the enemy's cavalry, but he was fortunate enough to get well round to the rear of the Federal lines before he encountered any of them. Then he came suddenly upon a troop. "Where are you going to, and where have you come from?" "Our farm is a mile away from Union Grove," he said, "and I have been over to Sussex Courthouse to buy some things for my mother." "Let me see what you have got there," the officer said. "You are rebels to a man here, and there's no trusting any of you." Vincent unfastened the parcel and opened it. The officer laughed. "Well, we won't confiscate them as contraband of war." So saying he set spurs to his horse and galloped on with his troop. Vincent rode on to Union Grove, and then taking a road at random kept on till he reached a small farmhouse. He knocked at the door, and a woman came out. "Mother," he said, "can you put me up for a couple of days? I am a stranger here, and all the villages are full of soldiers." The woman looked at him doubtfully. "What are you doing here?" she asked at last. "This ain't a time for strangers; besides a young fellow like you ought to be ashamed to show yourself when you ought to be over there with Lee. My boys are both there and my husband. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, a strong-looking young fellow like you, to be riding about instead of fighting the Yankees. Go along! you will get no shelter here. I would scorn to have such as you inside my doors." "Perhaps I have been fighting there," Vincent said significantly. "But one can't be always fighting, and there are other things to do sometimes. For instance, to find out what the Yankees are doing and what are their plans." "Is that so?" the woman asked doubtfully. "That is so," he answered earnestly. "I am an officer in Wade Hampton's cavalry, and, now Sheridan's troopers have cut off all communication, I have come out to find for General Lee where the Yankees are building their batteries before Petersburg." "In that case you are welcome," the woman said. "Come straight in. I will lead your horse out and fasten him up in the bush, and give him a feed there. It will never do to put him in the stable; the Yankees come in and out and they'd take him off sharp enough if their eyes fell on him. I think you will be safe enough even if they do come. They will take you for a son of mine, and if they ask any questions I will answer them sharp enough." "I wonder they have left you a feed of corn," Vincent said, when the woman returned after taking away his horse. "It's no thanks to them," she answered; "they have cleared out everything that they could lay their hands on. But I have been expecting it for months, and, as I have had nothing to do since my man and boys went away, I have been digging a great pit in the wood over there, and have buried most all my corn, and have salted my pigs down and buried them in barrels; so they didn't find much. They took the old horse and two cows; but I hope the old horse will fall down the first time they uses him, and the cow meat will choke them as eats it. Now, is there anything as I can do to help you?" "I want a basket with some eggs and chickens or vegetables to take into their camp to sell, but I am afraid I have not much chance of getting them." "I can help you there too," the woman said. "I turned all my chickens into the wood the day I heard the Yankees had landed. They have got rather wild like; but I go out and give them some corn every evening. I expect if we look about we shall find some nests; indeed I know there are one or two of them sitting. So if you will come out with me we can soon knock down five or six of the creatures, and maybe get a score or two of eggs. As for vegetables, a horde of locusts couldn't have stripped the country cleaner than they have done." They went out into the wood. Six hens were soon killed, and hunting about they discovered several nests and gathered about three dozen eggs. Vincent aided in plucking the chickens and they then returned to the house. "You had best take a bite before you go," she said. "It's noon now, and you said you started at daybreak. Always get a meal when you can, say I." She produced a loaf and some bacon from a little cupboard hidden by her bed, and Vincent, who, now he thought of it, was feeling hungry, made a hearty meal. "I will pay you for these chickens and eggs at once," he said. "There is no saying whether I shall come back again." "I will not say no to your paying for the chickens and eggs," she said, "because money is scarce enough, and I may have long to wait before my man and the boys come back; but as to lodging and food I would not touch a cent. You are welcome to all I have when it's for the good cause." Vincent started with the basket on his arm, and after walking three miles came upon the Federal camps. Some of the regiments were already under canvas, others were still bivouacked in the open air, as the store-ships carrying the heavy baggage had not yet arrived. The generals and their staffs had taken up their quarters in the villages. Vincent had received accurate instructions from his hostess as to the position of the various villages, and avoided them carefully, for he did not want to sell out his stock immediately. He had indeed stowed two of the fowls away in his pocket so that in case any one insisted upon buying up all his stock he could place these in his basket and still push on. He avoided the camps as much as he could. He could see the smoke rising in front of him, and the roar of guns was now close at hand. He saw on his right an elevated piece of ground, from which a good view could be obtained of the fortifications upon which the Federals were working. A camp had been pitched there, and a large tent near the summit showed that some officer of superior rank had his quarters there. He made a detour so as to come up at the back of the hill and when he reached the top he stood looking down upon the line of works. They were nearly half a mile distant. The intervening ground had already been stripped of its hedges, and the trees cut down to form gabions, fascines, and platforms for the cannon. Thousands of men were at work; but in some parts they were clustered much more thickly than in others, and Vincent had no difficulty in determining where the principal batteries were in course of construction along this portion of the position. He was still gazing intently when two horsemen rode up from behind. "Hallo you, sir! What are you looking at?" one of them asked sharply. "What are you spying about here?" Vincent turned slowly round with a silly smile on his lips. "I am spying all them chaps at work," he said. "It reminds me for all the world of an ant-hill. Never did see so many chaps before. What be they a-doing? Digging a big drain or making a roadway, I guess." "Who are you, sir?" the officer asked angrily. "Seth Jones I be, and mother's sent me to sell some fowls and eggs. Do you want to buy any? Fine birds they be." "Why, Sheridan," laughed the other officer, "this is a feather out of your cap. I thought your fellows had cleared out every hen-roost within twenty miles of Petersburg already." "I fancy they have emptied most of them," the general said grimly. "Where do you come from, lad?" "I comes from over there," Vincent said, jerking his thumb back. "I lives there with mother. Father and the other boys they have gone fighting Yanks; but they wouldn't take me with them 'cause I ain't sharp in my wits, though I tells them I could shoot a Yank as well as they could if they showed me." "And who do you suppose all those men are?" General Sheridan asked, pointing toward the trenches. "I dunno," Vincent replied. "I guess they be niggers. There be too many of them for whites; besides whites ain't such fools to work like that. Doesn't ye want any fowl?" and he drew back the cloth and showed the contents of the basket. "Take them as a matter of curiosity, general," the other officer laughed. "It will be downright novelty to you to buy chickens." "What do you want for them, boy?" "Mother said as I wasn't to take less nor a dollar apiece." "Greenbacks, I suppose?" the officer asked. "I suppose so. She didn't say nothing about it; but I has not seen aught but greenbacks for a long time since." "Come along, then," the officer said; "we will take them." They rode up to the large tent, and the officers alighted, and gave their horses to two of the soldiers. "Give your basket to this soldier." "I want the basket back again. Mother would whop me if I came back without the basket again." "All right," the officer said; "you shall have it back in a minute." Vincent stood looking anxiously after the orderly. "Do you think that boy is as foolish as he seems?" General Sheridan asked his companion. "He admits that he comes of a rebel family." "I don't think he would have admitted that if he hadn't been a fool. I fancy he is a half-witted chap. They never would have left a fellow of his age behind." "No, I think it's safe," Sheridan said; "but one can't be too particular just at present. See, the trees in front hide our work altogether from the rebels, and it would be a serious thing if they were to find out what we are doing." "That boy could not tell them much even if he got there," the other said; "and from this distance it would need a sharp eye and some military knowledge to make out anything of what is going on. Where does your mother live, boy?" "I ain't going to tell you," Vincent said doggedly. "Mother said I wasn't to tell no one where I lived, else the Yankee thieves would be a-coming down and stealing the rest of our chickens." The officers laughed. "Well, go along, boy; and I should advise you not to say anything about Yankee thieves another time, for likely enough you will get a broken head for your pains." Vincent went off grumbling, and with a slow and stumbling step made his way over the brow of the hill and down through the camps behind. Here he sold his last two fowls and his eggs, and then walked briskly on until he reached the cottage from which he had started. "I am glad to see you back," the woman said as he entered. "How have you got on?" "Capitally," he said. "I pretended to be half an idiot, and so got safely out, though I fell into Sheridan's hands. He suspected me at first, but at last he thought I was what I looked--a fool. He wanted to know where you lived, but I wouldn't tell him. I told him you told me not to tell any one, 'cause if I did the Yankee thieves would be clearing out the rest of the chickens." "Did you tell him that, now?" the woman said in delight; "he must have thought you was a fool. Well, it's a good thing the Yanks should hear the truth sometimes. Well, have you done now?" "No, I have only seen one side of their works yet; I must try round the other flank to-morrow. I wish I could get something to sell that wouldn't get bought up by the first people I came to, something I could peddle among the soldiers." "What sort of thing?" "Something in the way of drinks, I should say," Vincent said. "I saw a woman going among the camps. She had two tin cans and a little mug. I think she had lemonade or something of that sort." "It wouldn't be lemonade," the woman said "I haven't seen a lemon for the last two years; but they do get some oranges from Florida. Maybe it was that, or perhaps it was spirits and water." "Perhaps it was," Vincent agreed; "though I don't think they would let any one sell spirits in the camp." "I can't get you any lemons or oranges neither," the woman said; "but I might make you a drink out of molasses and herbs, with some spirits in it. I have got a keg of old rye buried away ever since my man went off, six months ago; I am out of molasses, but I dare say I can borrow some from a neighbor, and as for herbs they are about the only thing the Yankees haven't stole. I think I could fix you up something that would do. As long as it has got spirits in it, it don't much matter what you put in besides, only it wouldn't do to take spirits up alone. You can call it plantation drink, and I don't suppose any one would ask too closely what it's made of." "Thank you, that will do capitally." The next morning Vincent again set out, turning his steps this time toward the right flank of the Federal position. He had in the course of the evening made a sketch of the ground he had seen, marking in all the principal batteries, with notes as to the number of guns for which they seemed to be intended. "Look here," he said to the woman before leaving. "I may not be as lucky to-day as I was yesterday. If I do not come back to-night, can you find any one you can trust to take this piece of paper round to Richmond? Of course he would have to make his way first up to Burksville junction, and then take train to Richmond. When he gets there he must go down to Petersburg, and ask for General Lee. I have written a line to go with it, saying what I have done this for, and asking the general to give the bearer a hundred dollars." "I will take it myself," the woman said; "not for the sake of the hundred dollars, though I ain't saying as it wouldn't please the old man when he comes back to find I had a hundred dollars stored away; but for the cause. My men are all doing their duty, and I will do mine. So trust me, and if you don't come back by daybreak to-morrow morning, I will start right away with these letters. I will go out at once and hide them somewhere in case the Yanks should come and make a search. If you are caught they might, like enough, trace you here, and then they would search the place all over and maybe set it alight. If you ain't here by nightfall I shall sleep out in the wood, so if they come they won't find me here. If anything detains you, and you ain't back till after dark, you will find me somewhere near the tree where your horse is tied up." Provided with a large can full of a liquor that the woman compounded, and which Vincent, on tasting, found to be by no means bad, he started from the cottage. Again he made his way safely through the camps, and without hindrance lounged up to a spot where a large number of men belonging to one of the negro regiments were at work. "Plantation liquor?" he said, again assuming a stupid air, to a black sergeant who was with them. "First-rate stuff; and only fifteen cents a glass." "What plantation liquor like?" the negro asked. "Me not know him." "First-rate stuff," Vincent repeated. "Mother makes it of spirit and molasses and all sorts. Fifteen cents a glass." "Well, I will take a glass," the sergeant said. "Mighty hot work dis in de sun; but don't you say nuffin about the spirit. Ef dey ask you, just you say molasses and all sorts, dat's quite enough. De white officer won't let spirits be sold in de camp. "Dat bery good stuff," he said, smacking his lips as he handed back the little tin measure. "You sell him all in no time." Several of the negroes now came round, and Vincent disposed of a considerable quantity of his plantation liquor. Then he turned to go away, for he did not want to empty his can at one place. He had not gone many paces when a party of three or four officers came along. "Hallo, you sir, what the deuce are you doing here?" one asked angrily. "Don't you know nobody is allowed to pass through the lines?" "I didn't see no lines. What sort of lines are they? No one told me nothing about lines. My mother sent me out to sell plantation liquor, fifteen cents a glass." "What's it like?" one of the officers said laughing. "Spirits, I will bet a dollar, in some shape or other. Pour me out a glass. I will try it, anyhow." Vincent filled the little tin mug, and handed it to the officer. As he lifted his face to do so there was a sudden exclamation. "Vincent Wingfield!" and another officer drawing his sword attacked him furiously, shouting, "A spy! Seize him! A Confederate spy!" Vincent recognized with astonishment in the Federal officer rushing at him with uplifted sword his old antagonist, Jackson. Almost instinctively he whirled the can, which was still half full of liquor, round his head and dashed it full in the face of his antagonist, who was knocked off his feet by the blow. With a yell of rage he started up again and rushed at Vincent. The latter snatched up a shovel that was lying close by and stood his ground. The officers were so surprised at the suddenness of the incident and the overthrow of their companion, and for the moment so amused at the latter's appearance, covered as he was from head to foot with the sticky liquor and bleeding from a cut inflicted by the edge of the can, that they were incapable of interference. Blinded with rage, and with the liquid streaming into his eyes, Jackson rushed at Vincent. The latter caught the blow aimed at him on the edge of the shovel, and then swinging his weapon round smote his antagonist with all his strength, the edge of the shovel falling fairly upon his head. Without a cry the traitor fell dead in his tracks. The other officers now drew their swords and rushed forward. Vincent, seeing the futility of resistance, threw down his shovel. He was instantly seized. "Halloo there!" the senior officer called to the men, who had stopped in their work and were gazing at the sudden fray that had arisen, "a sergeant and four men." Four of the negro soldiers and a sergeant at once stepped forward. "Take this man and conduct him to the village. Put him in a room, and stay there with him. Do you, sergeant, station yourself at the door, so that I shall know where to find you. Put on your uniforms and take your guns." The men put on their coats, which they had removed while at work, shouldered their muskets, and took their places, two on each side of the prisoner. The officers then turned to examine their prostrate comrade. "It's all over with him," one said, stooping down; "the shovel has cut his skull nearly in half. Well, I fancy he was a bad lot. I don't believe in Southerners who come over to fight in our ranks; besides he was at one time in the rebel army." "Yes, he was taken prisoner," another said. "Then his father, who had to bolt from the South, because, he said, of his Northern sympathies, but likely enough for something else, came round, made interest somehow and got his son released, and then some one else got him a commission with us. He always said he had been obliged to fight on the other side, but that he had always been heart and soul for the North; anyhow, he was always blackguarding his old friends. I always doubted the fellow. Well, there's an end of him; and anyhow he has done useful service at last by recognizing this spy. Fine-looking young fellow that. He called him Vincent Wingfield. I seem to remember the name; perhaps I have read it in some of the rebel newspapers we got hold of; likely enough some one will know it. Well, I suppose we had better have Jackson carried into camp." Four more of the negroes were called out, and these carried the body into the camp of his regiment. An officer was also sent from the working party to report the capture of a spy to his colonel. "I will report it to the general," the latter said; "he rode along here about a quarter of an hour ago, and may not be back again for some hours. As we have got the spy fast it cannot make any difference." As he was marched back to the village Vincent felt that there was no hope for him whatever. He had been denounced as a spy, and although the lips that had denounced him had been silenced forever, the mischief had been done. He could give no satisfactory account of himself. He thought for a moment of declaring that a mistake had been made, but he felt that no denial would counterbalance the effect of Jackson's words. The fury, too, with which the latter had attacked him would show plainly enough that his assailant was absolutely certain as to his identity, and even that there had been a personal feud between them. Then he thought that if he said that he was the son of the woman in the line she would hear him out in the assertion. But it was not likely that this would be accepted as against Jackson's testimony; besides, inquiry among her neighbors would certainly lead to the discovery that she was speaking an untruth, and might even involve her in his fate as his abettor. But most of all he decided against this course because it would involve the telling of a lie. Vincent considered that while in disguise, and doing important service for his country, he was justified in using deceit; but merely for the purpose of saving his own life, and that perhaps uselessly, he would not lie. His fate, of course, was certain. He was a spy, and would be shot for it. Vincent had so often been in the battlefield, so often under a fire from which it seemed that no one could come alive, that the thought that death was at hand had not for him the terrors that possess those differently circumstanced. He was going to die for the Confederacy as tens of thousands of brave men had died before, and he rejoiced over the precaution he had taken as to the transmission of his discoveries on the previous day, and felt sure that General Lee would do full justice to his memory, and announce that he had died in doing noble service to the country. He sighed as he thought of his mother and sisters; but Rose had been married in the spring, and Annie was engaged to an officer in General Beauregard's staff. Then he thought of Lucy away in Georgia and for the first time his lip quivered and his cheek paled. The negro guards, who had been enlisted but a few weeks, were wholly ignorant of their duties, and having once conveyed their prisoner into the room, evidently considered that all further necessity for military strictness was at an end. They had been ordered to stay in the room with the prisoner, but no instructions had been given as to their conduct there. They accordingly placed their muskets in one corner of the room, and proceeded to chatter and laugh without further regarding him. Under other circumstances this carelessness would have inspired Vincent with the thought of escape, but he knew that it was out of the question here. There were Federal camps all round and a shout from the negroes would send a hundred men in instant pursuit of him. There was nothing for him to do but to wait for the end, and that end would assuredly come in the morning. From time to time the door opened, and the negro sergeant looked in. Apparently his ideas on the subject of discipline were no stricter than those of his men, for he made no remark as to their carelessness. Presently, when he looked in, the four soldiers were standing at the window watching a regiment passing by on its way to take its share of the work in the trenches. Vincent, who was sitting at a table, happened to look up, and was astonished at seeing the sergeant first put his finger on his lips, then take off his cap, put one hand on his heart, and gesticulate with the other. Vincent gazed at him in blank surprise, then he started and almost sprang to his feet, for in the Yankee sergeant he recognized Tony Morris; but the uplifted hand of the negro warned him of the necessity of silence. The negro nodded several times, again put his hand on his heart, and then disappeared. A thrill of hope stirred every vein in Vincent's body. He felt his cheeks flush and had difficulty in maintaining his passive attitude. He was not, then, utterly deserted; he had a friend who would, he was sure, do all in his power to aid him. It was extraordinary indeed that it should be Tony who was now his jailer; and yet, when he thought it over, it was not difficult to understand. It was natural enough that he should have enlisted when the black regiments were raised. He had doubtless heard his name shouted out by Jackson, and had, as Vincent now remembered, stepped forward as a sort of volunteer when the officer called for a sergeant and four men. Yes, Tony would doubtless do all in his power to save him. Whether it would be possible that he could do so was doubtful; but at least there was a hope, and with it the feeling of quiet resignation with which Vincent had faced what appeared to be inevitable at once disappeared, and was succeeded by a restless longing for action. His brain was busy at once in calculating the chances of his being ordered for instant execution or of the sentence being postponed till the following morning, and, in the latter case, with the question of what guard would be probably placed over him, and how Tony would set about the attempt to aid him to escape. Had the general been in camp when he was brought in he would probably have been shot at sunset, but if he did not return until the afternoon he would most likely order the sentence to be carried out at daybreak. In any case, as he was an officer, some time might be granted to him to prepare for death. Then there was the question whether he would be handed over to a white regiment for safekeeping or left in the hands of the black regiment that had captured him. No doubt after the sentence was passed the white officers of that regiment would see that a much stricter watch than that now put over him was set. It was not probable that he would still be in charge of Tony, for as the latter would be on duty all day he would doubtless be relieved. In that case how would he manage to approach him, and what means would he use to direct the attention of the sentries in another direction? He thought over the plans that he himself would adopt were he in Tony's place. The first thing would be, of course, to make the sentries drunk if possible. This should not be a difficult task with men whose notions of discipline were so lax as those of the negroes; but it would be no easy matter for Tony to obtain spirits, for these were strictly prohibited in the Federal camp. Perhaps he might help Tony in this way. He fortunately had a small notebook with a pencil in his pocket, and as his guards were still at the window he wrote as follows: "I am captured by the Yankees. So far as I can see, my only chance of escape is to make the sentries drunk. The bearer is absolutely to be trusted. Give him his canteen full of spirits, and tell him what I have written here." He tore this page out, folded it up, and directed it to Mrs. Grossmith, Worley Farm, near Union. Presently Tony looked in again and Vincent held up the note. The sergeant stepped quickly forward and took it, and then said sharply to the men: "Now den, dis not keeping guard. Suppose door open and dis fellow run away. What dey say to you? Two of you keep your eye on dis man. Suppose Captain Pearce come in and find you all staring out window. He kick up nice bobbery." Thus admonished as to their duty, two of the negroes took up their muskets and stood with their backs to the door, with their eyes fixed on the prisoner with such earnestness that Vincent could not suppress a smile. The negroes grinned responsively. "Dis bad affair, young sah," one said; "bery bad affair. Ob course we soldiers ob de Union, and got to fight if dey tell us; but no like dis job ob keeping guard like dis." "It can't be helped," Vincent said; "and of course you must do your duty. I am not going to jump up the chimney or fly through the window, and as there are four of you, to say nothing of the sergeant outside, you needn't be afraid of my trying to escape." "No sah, dat not possible nohow; we know dat bery well. Dat's why we no trouble to look after you. But as de sargent say watch, ob course we must watch. We bery pleased to see you kill dat white officer. Dat officer bery hard man and all de men hate him, and when you knock him down we should like to hab given cheer. We all sorry for you; still you see, sah, we must keep watch. If you were to get away, dar no saying what dey do to us." "That's all right," Vincent said; "I don't blame you at all. As you say, that was a very bad fellow. I had quarreled with him before, because he treated his slaves so badly." CHAPTER XIX. FREE. It was not until late in the afternoon that a white officer entered, and ordered the soldiers to conduct the prisoner to the general's tent. "What is your name, sir, and who are you?" the general asked as he was brought in. "I hear that you were denounced by Lieutenant Jackson as being a spy, and that he addressed you as Vincent Wingfield. What have you got to say to the charge?" "My name is Vincent Wingfield, sir," Vincent replied quietly. "I am upon the staff of General Wade Hampton, and in pursuance of my duty I came here to learn what I could of your movements and intentions." The general was silent for a moment. "Then, sir, as you are an officer, you must be well aware of the consequence of being discovered in disguise here. I regret that there is no course open to me but to order you to be shot as a spy to-morrow morning." One of the officers who was standing by the general here whispered to him. "Ah, yes, I remember," he said. "Are you the same officer, sir, who escaped from Elmira?" "I am, sir," Vincent replied; "and at the same time aided in the escape of the man who denounced me to-day, and who then did his best to have me arrested by sending an anonymous letter stating the disguise in which I was making my way through the country. I was not surprised to find that he had carried his treachery further, and was now fighting against the men with whom he had formerly served." "He deserved the fate that has befallen him," the general said. "Still this does not alter your position. I regret that I must order my sentence to be carried out." "I do not blame you, sir. I knew the risks I ran when I accepted the mission. My only regret is that I failed in supplying my general with the information they required." The general then turned to the officer who had brought Vincent up. "This officer will remain in charge of your men for to-night, Captain Pearce. You will see that the sentence is carried into effect at daybreak. I need not tell you that a vigilant guard must be placed over him." Vincent was again marched back to the village, but the officer halted the party when he arrived there. "Stop here a few minutes, sergeant," he said. "That room is required for an officer's quarters. I will look round and find another place." In a few minutes he returned, and Vincent was conducted to a shed standing in the garden of one of the houses. "Place one man on guard at the door and another behind," he said to the sergeant. "Let the other two relieve them, and change the watch once an hour." The sergeant saluted. "De men hab been on duty since daylight, sah, and none of us hab had anything to eat." "Oh, I forgot that," the officer replied. "Very well, I will send another party to relieve you at once." In ten minutes another sergeant and four men arrived at the spot, and Tony and his companions returned to the camp. As soon as Tony had devoured a piece of bread he left the camp, walked with careless gait through the camps behind, and went on until he reached a village in which were comparatively few soldiers. He went up to a woman who was standing at a door. "Missus," he said, "I hab got a letter to take, and I ain't bery sure as to de name. Will you kindly tell me what is de address writ on dis paper?" The woman looked at it. "Mrs. Grossmith, Worley Farm, near Union. That's about two miles along the road. If you go on any one will tell you which is Mrs. Grossmith's." Tony hurried on, for he wanted to get back to the camp before it was dark. He had no difficulty in finding Worley Farm. "Now, then, what do you want?" its owner said sharply, as she opened the door in reply to his knock. "There's nothing for you here. You can look round if you like. It's been all stripped clean days ago, so I tell you." "Me no want anything, ma'am. Me hab a letter for you." The woman in surprise took the note and opened it. She read it through and looked earnestly at Tony. "He says you are to be trusted," she said. "Is that so?" "I would gib my life for him twenty times over," Tony replied. "He got me away from a brutal master and bought my wife out ob slavery for me. What does he say, ma'am? For de Lord sake tell me. Perhaps he tell me how to get him clar." The woman read out the contents of the note. "Dat's it, missus, sure enough; dat's the way," he exclaimed in delight. "Me tink and tink all day, and no manage to tink of anything except to shoot de sentry and fight wid de oders and get him out; but den all de oder sojers come running down, and no chance to escape. If me can get de spirits dat's easy enough. Me make dem all drunk as hogs." "I can give you that," the woman said. "Is there anything else you will want? What are you going to do with him if you get him free? They will hunt you down like vermin." "I tought we might get down to de river and get ober somehow. Dere will be no getting trou der cavalry. Dey will hab dem on every road." "Well, you want some clothes, anyhow; you can't go about in these soldier clothes. The first Yank you came across would shoot you for a deserter, and the first of our men as a traitor. Well, by the time you get back to-night, that is if you do come back, I will get up a chest I've get buried with my men's clothes in it. They didn't want to take them away to the war with them, so I hid them up." She had by this time dug up the keg from its hiding-place, and now filled Tony's canteen. "Tank you, missus; de Lord bress you for what you've done, wheder I get Massa Wingfield off or wheder we bofe get killed ober de job. But I must get back as fast as I can. Ef it was dark before I got to camp dey would wonder whar I had been." "Oh, you have plenty of time," the woman said; "it won't be dark till eight o'clock, and it's not seven yet. I will set to and boil a good chunk of pork and bake some cakes. It's no use getting out of the hands of the Yanks and then going and getting starved in the swamps." Directly Tony got back to his regiment he strolled over to the shed where Vincent was confined. Two sentinels were on duty, the sergeant and the two other men were lying at full length en the ground some twenty yards away. Their muskets were beside them, and it was evident to Tony by the vigilant watch that they kept upon the shed that their responsibility weighed heavily upon them and that Captain Pearce had impressed upon them that if the prisoner escaped they would certainly be shot. "Well, Sergeant John Newson," Tony began, "I hab just walked ober to see how you getting on. It am a mighty 'sponsible business dis. I had six hours of him, and it make de perspiration run down my back to tink what a job it would be for me if dat fellow was to run away." "Dat's just what dis chile feel, Sergeant Tony Morris; I am zactly like dat, and dat's what dese men feel too. We am all on guard. De captain say, put two on guard at de shed and let de oders relieb dem ebery hour. So dey shall; but dose off duty must watch just the same. When it gets dark we get close up, so as to be ready to jump in directly we hear a stir. Dis fellow no fool us." "Dat's the way, Sergeant Newson, dat am de way. Neber close your eye, but keep a sharp look on dem. It's a pity dat you not in camp to-night." "How am dat, how am dat?" the sergeant asked. "To tell you de truf, sergeant, tree or four ob us hab smuggled in some spirits, and you are one of dose who would hab come in for a share of it if you had been dere." "Golly!" the sergeant exclaimed; "but dat is bery unfortunate. Can't you manage to bring me a little here?" "Well, you know, it's difficult to get out ob camp." "Oh, you could get through. Dere is no fear about you being caught." "I don't know," Tony replied with an air of reluctance. "Well, I will see about it. Ef I can crawl troo de sentries, and bring some for you and de oders, I will. It will help keep you awake and keep out de damp. "Dat's right down good ob you," the other said cordially. "You good man, Tony Morris; and if I can do as much for you anoder time, I do it." Having settled this, Tony went round to the hospital tent in rear of the regiment, having tied up his face with a handkerchief. "Well, what is it, sergeant?" the negro, who acted as an orderly and sometimes helped the surgeon mix his drugs, asked. "De doctor am gone away, and I don't 'spect he come back again to-night." "Dat am bery bad ting," Tony said dolefully. "Can't you do something for me, Sam Smith? I tink you know quite as much about de medicines as de doctor himself." "Not quite so much, sergeant, not quite so much; but I'se no fool, and my old mother she 'used to make medicine for de plantation and knew a heap about herbs, so it am natural dat I should take to it. What can I gib you?" "Well, Sam, you see sometimes I'se 'flicted dre'fful wid de faceache him just go jump, jump, jump, as ef he bust right up. Mose times I find de best ting am to put a little laudabun in my mouf, and a little on bit of rag and put him outside. De best ting would be for you to gib me little bottle of him; den when de pain come on I could jess take him, and not be troubling you ebery day. And Sam, jus you whisper--I got hold of a little good stuff. You gib me tin mug; me share what I hab got wid you." The negro grinned with delight, and going into the tent brought out a tin mug. "Dat's all right, Sam; but you hab no brought de bottle of laudabun too. You just fetch dat, and I gib you de spirit." The negro went in again, and in two minutes returned with a small bottle of laudanum. "Dat's a fair exchange," Tony said, taking it, and handing to the man his mug half full of spirit. "Dat am someting like," the black said, looking with delight at the liberal allowance. "Me drink him de last ting at night, den me go to sleep and no one 'spect nuffin'. Whereber you get dat spirit?" "Never you mind, Sam," Tony said with a grin. "Dar's more where dat comes from, and maybe you will get anoder taste ob it." Then after leaving the hospital tent he poured half the spirits away, for he had not now to depend upon the effect of that alone; and it were better not to give it too strong, for that might arouse the suspicion of the guard. Then he uncorked the bottle of laudanum. "I don't know how much to gib," he said to himself. "No good to kill dem. Me don't 'spect de stuff bery strong. Dese rogues sell all sorts of stuff to de government. Anyting good enough for de soldier. Dey gib him rotten boots, and rotten cloth, and bad powder, and all sorts of tings. I spect dey gib him bad drugs too. However, me must risk it. Dis bottle not bery big, anyhow--won't hold more dan two or three teaspoon. Must risk him." So saying he poured the contents of the vial into the canteen, and then going to a water-cart filled it up. He waited until the camp was quiet, and then, taking off his boots and fastening in his belt his own bayonet and that of one of the men sleeping near, he quietly and cautiously made his way out of camp. There were no sentries placed here, for there was no fear whatever of an attack, and he had little difficulty in making his way round to the back of the village to the spot where Vincent was confined. He moved so quietly that he was not perceived until he was within a few yards of the shed. "Sergeant Newson, am you dere?" "Bress me, what a start you hab given me, for suah!" the sergeant said. "I did not hear you coming. "You didn't s'pose I was coming along shouting and whistling, Sergeant Newson? Don't you talk so loud. Dar am no saying who's about." "Hab you brought de stuff?" "You don't suppose I should hab come all dis way to tell you I hab not got it. How am de prisoner?" "Oh, he's dere all right. My orders was to look in at dat little winder ebery five minutes, and dat when it began to get dark me was to tie him quite tight, and me hab done so. And one of de sentries goes in every five minutes and feels to see if de ropes are tight. He am dar, sure enough." "Dat's quite right, Sergeant Newson. I knew when you came to have me as de captain knew what he was doing when he choose you for dis job. He just pick out de man he considers de very best in de regiment. Now, here is de spirit; and fuss-rate stuff it am, too." "Golly, but it am strong!" the sergeant said, taking a long gulp at the canteen. "Dat warm de cockles ob de heart in no time. Yes, it am good stuff--just de ting for dis damp air. I hear as a lot of de white soldiers are down wid de fever already, and dere will be lots and lots more if we stop here long. Here, you two men, take a drink of dis; but mind, you mustn't tell no one 'bout it. Dis a secret affair." The two negroes each took a long drink, and returned the canteen with warm expressions of approval. "De oder men are on duty," the sergeant said with the air of a man who knew his business; "dey mustn't hab none of it, not until dey comes off. As we are de relief, it am proper and right dat we drink a drop out of a canteen ef we want it." "Quite so, Sergeant Newson," Tony said in a tone of admiration. "Dat's de way to manage dese tings--duty first and pleasure afterward." "It am nearly time to relieve guard," the other said; "and den dey can have a drink." In five minutes the two soldiers relieved those on guard, and they also took a long drink at the canteen, to which the sergeant also again applied his lips. "Now I must be going," Tony said. "I will leave the canteen with you, sergeant. I have got some more of the stuff over there, and I dare say you will like another drink before morning." So saying he stole away, but halted and lay down twenty yards distant. In ten minutes he heard the sergeant say: "I feel as if I could do just five minutes' sleep. You keep your eyes on de shed, and ef you hear any officer coming his rounds you wake me up." Tony waited another half-hour and then crawled up. The sergeant was lying on his back sound asleep; the two men with him were on their faces, with their rifles pointing toward the shed, as if they had dropped off to sleep while they were staring at it. Then he crawled on to the shed. The soldier on sentry at the back had grounded his musket and was leaning against the shed fast asleep, while the one at the door had apparently slid down in a sitting position and was snoring. "I hope I haben't given it to dem too strong," Tony said to himself; "but it can't be helped anyhow." He opened the door and entered the shed. "Are you awake, Marse Wingfield?" "Yes, I am awake, Tony. Thank God you have come! How did you manage it?" "I hab managed it, sah, and dey are all fast asleep," Tony said, as he cut the ropes which bound Vincent. "Now, sah, let's be going quick. Dar am no saying when dey may come round to look after de guards. Dat's what I hab been worrying about de last quarter ob an hour." Vincent sprang to his feet as the ropes fell from him, and grasped Tony's hand. "Here am a bayonet, sah. I hope we sha'n't want to use dem, but dar am no saying." They made their way cautiously across the fields till they approached another camp. A few sentries were walking up and down in front of it, but they crawled round these and passed through the space between the regiment and that next to it. Several other camps were passed; and then, when Vincent knew that they were well in rear of the whole of them, they rose to their feet and started forward at a run. Suddenly Tony touched Vincent, and they both stood still. A distant shout came through the air, followed by another and another. "I 'spect dey hab found out we have gone, sah. Dey go round two or tree times in de night to see dat de sentries are awake. Now, sah, come along." They were on the road now, and ran at full speed until they approached Union. They left the track as they neared the village, and as they did so they heard the sound of a horse at full gallop behind them. "That's an orderly taking the news of our escape. Sheridan's cavalry are scattered all over the country, and there are two squadrons at Union Grove. The whole country will be alive at daybreak." Making their way through the fields they soon struck the track leading to Worley Farm, and in a few minutes were at the door. The woman opened it at once. "I have been watching for you," she said, "and I am real glad you have got safe away. Wait a minute and I will strike a light." "You had better not do that," Vincent said. "They have got the alarm at Union Grove already, and if any one caught sight of a light appearing in your window, it would bring them down here at once." "They can't see the house from Union," the woman said. "Still, perhaps it will be best. Now, sir, I can't do anything for you, because my men's clothes are the same sort of cut as yours; but here's a suit for this man." Thanking her warmly Vincent handed the things to Tony. "Make haste and slip them on. Tony; and make your other things up into a bundle and bring them with you for a bit. We must leave nothing here, for they will search the whole country to-morrow. We will take the horse away too; not that we want it, but it would never do for it to be found here." "Will you take your letter again?" the woman asked. "No, I will leave it with you. It will be no use now if I get through, but if you hear to-morrow or next day that I am caught, please carry it as we arranged. What is this?" he asked as the woman handed him a bundle. "Here are eight or ten pounds of pork," she said, "and some corn-cakes. If you are hiding away you will want something, and I reckon anyhow you won't be able to make your way to our people for a bit. Now, if you are ready I will start with you." "You will start with us!" Vincent repeated in surprise. "Certainly I will start with you," the woman said. "How do you think you would be able to find your way a dark night like this? No, sir; I will put you on your way till morning. But, in the first place, which line do you mean to take?" "I do not think there is much chance of getting back the way we came," Vincent said. "By morning Sheridan's cavalry will have got a description of me, and they will be scouring the whole country. The only chance will be to go north and cross the river somewhere near Norfolk." "I think, sah, you better go on wid your horse at once. No use wait for me. I come along on foot, find my own way." "No, Tony, I shall certainly not do that. We will either get off or be taken together. Well, I think the best plan will be to go straight down to the river. How far is it away?" "About fifteen miles," the woman said. "If we got there we can get hold of a boat somehow, and either cross and then make straight for Richmond on foot, or go up the river in the boat and land in the rear of our lines. That we can settle about afterward. The first thing is to get to the river bank. We are not likely to meet with any interruption in that direction. Of course the cavalry are all on the other flank, and it will be supposed that I shall try either to work round that way or to make straight through the lines. They would hardly suspect that I shall take to the river, which is covered with their transports and store-ships." "I think that is the best plan," the woman said. "There are scarce any villages between this and the river. It's only just when you cross the road between Petersburg and Williamsburg that you would be likely to meet a soul, even in the daytime. There is scarce even a farmhouse across this section. I know the country pretty well. Just stop a minute and I will run up to the wood and fetch down the horse. There's a big wood about a mile away, and you can turn him in there." A few minutes later they started, Vincent leading the horse and Tony carrying the bundle of food and his castoff uniform. The woman led them by farm roads, sometimes turning off to the right or left, but keeping her way with a certainty which showed how well she was acquainted with the country. Several times they could hear the dull sound of bodies of cavalry galloping along the roads; but this died away as they got further into the country. The horse had been turned loose a mile from their starting place. Vincent removed the bridle and saddle, saying: "He will pick up enough to feed on here for some time. When he gets tired of the wood he can work his way out into a clearing." Here Tony hid away his uniform among some thick bushes, and the three walked steadily along until the first tinge of daylight appeared on the sky. Then the woman stopped. "The river is not more than half a mile in front of you," she said; "so I will say good-by." "What will you do?" Vincent asked. "You might be questioned as you get near home." "I am going to put up at the last house we passed," she said, "about three miles back. I know the people there, and they will take me in. I will stop there for a day or two, maybe, then walk back, so I shall have a true story to tell. That's all right." Vincent said good-by to her, with many hearty thanks for the services she had rendered him, and had almost to force her to take notes for two hundred dollars from the bundle he had sewn up in the lining of his coat. "You have saved my life," he said, "and some day I hope to be able to do more to show my gratitude; but you must take this anyhow to tide you over the hard times, and find food for your husband and sons when they come back from the war." As soon as the woman had turned back Vincent and Tony continued on their way. The former had, as soon as they were fairly out from the Federal camp, told Tony in a few words that his wife was safe at home and their boy flourishing, and he now gave him further details of them. "And how came you to enter the army, Tony?" "Well, sah, dere wasn't much choice about it. De Northern people, dey talk mighty high about der love for de negro, but I don't see much of it in der ways. Why, sah, dey is twice as scornful ob a black man as de gentleman is in de Souf. I list in de army, sah, because dey say dey go to Richmond, and den I find Dinah and de boy." "Well, Tony, I little thought when I did you a service that it would be the means of you being able to save my life some day." "Not much in dat, sah. You sabe my life, because dey would, for suah, hab caught me and killed me. Den you save my wife for me, den you pay out dat Jackson, and now you hab killed him. I could hab shouted for joy, sah, when I saw you hit him ober de head wid de shovel, and I saw dat dis time he gib no more trouble to no one. I should hab done for him bery soon, sah. I had my eye upon him, and the fust time we go into battle he get a ball in his back. Lucky he didn't see me. He not officer ob my company, and me look quite different in de uniform to what me was when I work on de plantation; but I know him, and wheneber I see him pass I hung down my head and I say to myself, 'My time come soon, Massa Jackson; my time come bery soon, and den we get quits.'" "It is wrong to nourish revenge, Tony; but I really can't blame you very much as to that fellow. Still, I should have blamed you if you had killed him--blamed you very much. He was a bad man, and he treated you brutally, but you see he has been already punished a good deal." "Yes, you knock him down, sah. Dat bery good, but not enough for Tony." "But that wasn't all, Tony. You see, the affair set all my friends against him, and his position became a very unpleasant one. Then, you see, if it hadn't been for you he would probably have got through to our lines again after he had escaped with me. Then, you see, his father, out of revenge, stole Dinah away." "Stole Dinah!" Tony exclaimed, stopping in his work. "Why, sah, you hab been telling me dat she is safe and well wid Mrs. Wingfield." "So she is, Tony. But he stole her for all that, and had her carried down into Carolina; but I managed to bring her back. It's a long story, but I will tell you about it presently. Then the knowledge that I had found Dinah, and the fear of punishment for his share of taking her away, caused old Jackson to fly from the country, getting less than a quarter of the sum his estate would have fetched two or three years ago. That was what made him and his son turn Unionists. So, you see, Jackson was heavily punished for his conduct to you, and it did not need for you to revenge yourself." "So he was, sah, so he was," Tony said thoughtfully. "Yes, it does seem as if all dese tings came on kinder one after de oder just out ob dat flogging he gabe me; and now he has got killed for just de same cause, for if he hadn't been obliged to turn Unionist he wouldn't have been in dat dar battery at de time you came dere. Yes, I sees dat is so, sah; and I'se glad now I didn't hab a chance ob shooting him down, for I should have done so for suah ef I had." They had now reached the river. The sun was just showing above the horizon, and the broad sheet of water was already astir. Steamers were making their way up from the mouth of the river laden with stores for the army. Little tugs were hurrying to and fro. Vessels that had discharged their cargo were dropping down with the tide, while many sailing-vessels lay at anchor waiting for the turn of tide to make their way higher up. Norfolk was, however, the base from which the Federal army drew the larger portion of its stores; as there were great conveniences for landing here, and a railway thence ran up to the rear of their lines. But temporary wharfs and stages had been erected at the point of the river nearest to their camps in front of Petersburg, and here the cattle and much of the stores required for the army were landed. At the point at which Vincent and Tony had struck the river the banks were somewhat low. Here and there were snug farms, with the ground cultivated down to the river. The whole country was open and free from trees, except where small patches had been left. It was in front of one of these that Vincent and Tony were now standing. "I do not think there is any risk of pursuit now, Tony. This is not the line on which they will be hunting us. The question is--how are we to get across?" "It's too far to swim, sah." "I should think it was," Vincent said with a laugh. "It's three or four miles, I should say, if it's a foot. The first question is--where are we to get a boat? I should think that some of these farmhouses are sure to have boats, but the chances are they have been seized by the Yankees long ago. Still they may have some laid up. The Yanks would not have made much search for those, though they would no doubt take all the larger boats for the use of the troops or for getting stores ashore. Anyhow, I will go to the next farmhouse and ask." "Shall I go, sah?" "No, Tony, they would probably take you for a runaway. No, I will go. There can be no danger. The men are all away, and the women are sure to be loyal. I fancy the few who were the other way before will have changed their minds since the Yanks landed." They followed the bank of the river for a quarter of a mile, and then Vincent walked on to a small farmhouse standing on the slope fifty yards from the water. Two or three children who were playing about outside at once ran in upon seeing a stranger, and a moment later two women came out. They were somewhat reassured when they saw Vincent approaching alone. "What is it, stranger?" one of them asked. "Do you want a meal? We have got little enough to offer you, but what there is you are welcome to; the Yanks have driven off our cows and pigs and the two horses, and have emptied the barns, and pulled up all the garden stuff, and stole the fowls, and carried off the bacon from the beams, so we have got but an empty larder. But as far as bread and molasses go, you are welcome." "Thank you," Vincent said; "I am not in want of food. What I am in want of is a boat." "Boat!" the women repeated in surprise. "Yes, I want to get across to the other side, or else to get up the river and land between Petersburg and Bermuda." "Sakes alive!" the woman exclaimed; "what do you want to do that for?" "I will tell you," Vincent replied. "I know I can trust my life to any woman in the Confederacy. I am one of General Wade Hampton's officers, and I have come through their lines to find out what they are doing. I have been caught once, but managed to slip through their hands, but there is no possibility of making my way back across the country, for the Yankee cavalry are patrolling every road, and the only chance I have is of getting away by boat." "Step right in, sir," the woman said. "It's a real pleasure to us to have one of our officers under our roof." "I have a friend with me," Vincent said; "a faithful negro, who has helped me to escape, and who would be hung like a dog if they could lay hands on him." "Bring him in, sir," the woman said hospitably. "I had four or five niggers till the Yanks came, but they all ran away 'cause they knew they would either be set to work or made to fight; so they went. They said they would come back again when the trouble is over; maybe they will and maybe they won't. At first the niggers about here used to look for the Yanks coming, but as the news got about of what happened to those they took from their masters, they concluded they were better off where they were. Call your boy in, sir; call him in." Vincent gave a shout, and Tony at once came up. "Thank you, we don't want anything to eat," Vincent went on as the woman began to put some plates on the table. "We have just had a hearty meal, and have got enough food for three or four days in that bundle. But we want a boat, or, if we can't find that, some sailors' clothes. If I had them I would keep along the river down to Norfolk. The place will be full of sailors. We should not be likely to be noticed there." "I can't help you in that," the woman said; "but there are certainly some boats laid up along the shore. Now, Maria, who has got boats that haven't been taken?" "I expect the Johnsons have got one," the other woman replied. "They had a small boat the boys and girls used to go out fishing in. I don't think the Yanks have got that. I expect they hid it away somewhere; but I don't know as they would let you have it. She is a close-fisted woman is Sarah Johnson." "I could pay her for its value," Vincent said. "Oh, well, if you could pay her she would let you have it. I don't say she wouldn't, anyhow, seeing as you are an officer, and the Yanks are after you. Still, she is close is Sarah Johnson, and I don't know as she is so set on the Confederacy as most people. I tell you what I will do, sir. I will go down and say as a stranger wants to buy her boat, and no questions asked. She is just to show where the boat is hidden, and you are to pay for it and take it away when you want it." "That would be a very good plan," Vincent said, "if you wouldn't mind the trouble." "The trouble is nothing," she said. "Johnson's place ain't above a mile along the shore." "I will go with you until you get close to the house," Vincent said; "then, when you hear what she wants for the boat, I will give you the money for it, and you can show me where it is hidden." This was accordingly done. Mrs. Johnson, after a considerable amount of bargaining with Vincent's guide, agreed to take twenty dollars for the boat, and upon receiving the money sent down one of her boys with her to show her where it was hidden. It was in a hole that had been scooped out in the steep bank some ten foot above the water's edge, and was completely hidden from the sight of any one rowing past by a small clump of bushes. When the boys had returned to the farmhouse the woman took Vincent to the spot, and they then went back together. Here he and Tony had a long talk as to whether it would be better to put out at once or to wait till nightfall. It was finally determined that it was best to make an immediate start. A boat rowed by two men would attract little attention. It might belong to any of the ships at anchor in the river, and might be supposed to have gone on shore to fetch eggs or chickens, or with a letter or a message. "You see, both shores are in the hands of the Yankees," Vincent said, "and there will not be any suspicion of a boat in the daytime. At night we might be hailed, and if we gave no answer fired upon, and that night bring a gunboat along to see what was the matter. No, I think it will be far best to go on boldly. There are not likely to be any bodies of Federal troops on the opposite shore except at Fortress Monroe, and perhaps opposite the point where they have got their landing below Petersburg. Once ashore we shall be safe. The peninsula opposite is covered with forest and swamp, and we shall have no difficulty in getting through however many troops they may have across it. You know the place pretty well, don't you, Tony?" Tony nodded. "Once across, sah, all de Yank army wouldn't catch us. Me know ob lots ob hiding-places." "Them broad hats will never do," the woman said; "but I have got some blue nightcaps I knitted for my husband. They are something like the caps I have seen some sailors wear; anyhow, they will pass at a distance, and when you take your coats and vests off, them colored flannel shirts will be just the right thing." "That will do capitally, and the sooner we are off the better," Vincent said, and after heartily thanking the two women, and bestowing a present upon each of the children, they started along the shore. The boat was soon got into the water, the oars put out, and they started. The tide was just low now, and they agreed to pull along at a short distance from the shore until it turned. As soon as it did so the vessels at anchor would be getting up sail to make up to the landing-place, and even had any one on board noticed the boat put out, and had been watching it, they would have other things to think about. "It is some time since we last rowed in a boat together, Tony." "About three years, sah; dat time when you got me safe away. I had a bad fright dat day you left me, sah. It came on to blow bery hard, and some ob de men told me dat dey did not tink you would ever get back to shore. Dat made me awful bad, sah; and me wish ober and ober again dat me hab died in de forest instead ob your taking me off in a boat and trowing away your life. I neber felt happy again, sah, till I got your letter up in Canady, and knew you had got back safe dat day." "We had a narrow squeak of it, Tony, and were blown some distance up. We were nearly swamped a score of times, and Dan quite made up his mind that it was all up with us. However, we got through safe, and I don't think a soul, except perhaps Jackson and that rascally overseer of ours, who afterward had a hand in carrying off your wife, and lost his life in consequence, ever had a suspicion we had been doing more than a long fishing expedition. I will tell you all about it when we are going through the woods. Now I think it's pretty nearly dead water, and we will begin to edge across." CHAPTER XX. THE END OF THE STRUGGLE. Vincent directed his course so that while the boat's head was still pointing up the stream, and she was apparently moving in the same direction as the ships, she was gradually getting out to the middle of the river. Had he tried to row straight across suspicion might at once have been excited. In half an hour they were in the middle of the stream. A vessel passing under full sail swept along at a distance of a hundred yards, and they were hailed. Vincent merely waved his hand and continued his course. "I dare say those fellows wonder what we are up to, Tony; but they are not likely to stop to inquire. In another quarter of an hour we shall be pretty safe. Ah! there's a fellow who might interfere with us," he added looking round. "Do you see that little black thing two miles ahead of us? that's a steam launch. If she sees us making over she's likely enough to come and ask us some questions. We had better head a little more toward the shore now. If it comes to a race every foot is of importance." Up to now they had been rowing in an easy and leisurely manner, avoiding all appearance of haste. They now bent to their oars, and the boat began to travel a good deal faster through the water. Vincent glanced over his shoulder frequently at the steam launch. "She is keeping straight on in the middle of the channel, Tony; evidently she hasn't noticed us yet." Ten minutes after passing the ship he exclaimed sharply: "Row, Tony, as hard as you can; the launch has just passed that ship, and has changed her course. I expect the captain has called their attention to us. It's a race now." The boat, at the moment the launch changed her course, was rather more than halfway between the center of the channel and the shore. The launch was in the center of the channel, and three-quarters of a mile higher up. She had evidently put on steam as she started to cut off the boat, for there was now a white wave at her bow. "I think we shall do it, Tony," Vincent said. "I don't suppose she can go above eight miles an hour and we are certainly going four, and she has more than twice as far to travel as we have." Those on board the launch were evidently conscious that they were likely to lose the race, for in a few minutes they began to open fire with their rifles. "Fire away," Vincent said. "You ain't likely to hit us a thousand yards off, and we haven't another three hundred to row." The bullets whistled overhead, but none of them struck the water within many yards of the boat, and the launch was still four or five hundred yards away when the bow of the boat touched the shore. Several muskets were discharged as Vincent and Tony leaped out and plunged into the bushes that came down to the water's edge. The launch sent up a sharp series of whistles, and random shots were for some time fired into the bushes. "It is lucky she didn't carry a small gun in her bow," Vincent said; "for though seven or eight hundred yards is a long range for a rifle, they might likely enough have hit us if they had had a gun. Now, Tony, we shall have to be careful, for those whistles are no doubt meant as an alarm; and although she cannot tell who we are, she will probably steam up, and if they have any force opposite Bermuda will give them news that two suspicious characters have landed, and they will have parties out to look for us." "Dey can look as long as dey like, sah. Ef dose slave-hunters can't find people in de swamps what chance you tink dose soldiers have? None at all. Dey haven't got no reward before dere eyes, and dey won't want to be going in ober dere shoes into de mud and dirtying dere uniforms. No fear ob dem, sah. Dey make as much noise when dey march in de wood as a drove ob pigs. You can hear dem a quarter ob a mile away." They tramped on through the woods through which McClellan's force had so painfully made their way during their first advance against Richmond. From time to time they could hear noises in the forest--shouts, and once or twice the discharge of firearms. "Dey call dat hunting, I s'pose," Tony said scornfully. They kept steadily on until it began to grow dark in the forest. They were now in the White Oak Swamp and not eight miles from Richmond, and they thought it better to pause until it became quite dark, for they might be picked up by any raiding party of cavalry. Vincent was in high spirits. Now, that he had succeeded in his enterprise, and had escaped almost by a miracle, he was eager to get back to Richmond and carry his news down to General Lee. Tony was even more anxious to push on. At last, after three years' absence, he was to see his wife and child again, and he reluctantly agreed to Vincent's proposal for a halt. "We sha'n't stop very long, Tony; and I own I am waiting quite as much because I am hungry and want to eat, and because I am desperately tired, as from any fear of the enemy. We walked twenty miles last night from Union Grove to the river, then I walked to the boat, back to the farm and then back to the boat again--that's three more miles--and we have gone another twenty now. I am pretty nearly dead beat, I can tell you." "I'se tired too, sah; but I feel I could go on walking all night if I was to see Dinah in de morning." "Well, I couldn't, Tony; not to see any one. I might be willing enough, but my legs wouldn't take me." They ate a hearty meal, and almost as soon as they had finished Vincent stood up again. "Well, Tony, I can feel for your impatience, and so we will struggle on. I have just been thinking that when I last left my mother a week since she said she was thinking of going out to the Orangery for a month before the leaves fell, so it is probable that she may be there now. It is only about the same distance as it is to Richmond, so we will go straight there. I shall lose a little time, of course; but I can be driven over to Richmond, so it won't be too much. Besides, I can put on a pair of slippers. That will be a comfort, for my feet feel as if they were in vises. A cup of tea won't be a bad thing, too." During their walk through the wood Vincent had related the circumstances of the carrying away of Dinah and of her rescue. When he had finished Tony had said: "Well, Massa Wingfield, I don't know what to say to you. I tought I owed you enuff before, but it war nothing to dis. Just to tink dat you should take all dat pains to fetch Dinah back for me. I dunno how it came to you to do it. It seems to me like as if you been sent special from heben to do dis poor nigger good. Words ain't no good, sah; but if I could give my life away a hundred times for you I would do it." It took them nearly three hours' walking before they came in sight of the Orangery. "There are lights in the windows," Vincent said. "Thank goodness they are there." Vincent limped slowly along until he reached the house. "You stay out here, Tony. I will send Dinah out to you directly. It will be better for her to meet you here alone." Vincent walked straight into the drawing-room, where his mother and Annie were sitting. "Why, Vincent!" Mrs. Wingfield exclaimed, starting up, "what has happened to you? What are you dressed up like that for? Is anything the matter?" "Nothing is the matter, mother, except that I am as tired as a dog. Yes, my dress is not quite fit for a drawing-room," he laughed, looking down at the rough trousers splashed with mud to the waist, and his flannel shirt, for they had not waited to pick up their coats as they left the boat; "but nothing is the matter, I can assure you. I will tell you about it directly, but first please send for Dinah here." Mrs. Wingfield rang the bell on the table beside her. "Tell Dinah I want to speak to her at once," she said to the girl that answered it. Dinah appeared in a minute. "Dinah," Vincent said, "has your boy gone to bed?" "Yes, sah; been gone an hour ago." "Well, just go to him, and put a shawl round him, and go out through the front door. There is some one standing there you will be glad to see." Dinah stood with open eyes, then her hands began to tremble. "Is it Tony, sah; for de Lord's sake, is it Tony?" Vincent nodded, and with a little scream of joy she turned and ran straight to the front door. She could not wait now even to fetch her boy, and in another moment she was clasped in her husband's arms. "Now, Vincent, tell us all about it," his mother said. "Don't you see we are dying of curiosity?" "And I am dying of fatigue," Vincent said; "which is a much more painful sort of death, and I can think of nothing else until I have got these boots off. Annie, do run and tell them to bring me a pair of slippers and a cup of tea, and I shall want the buggy at the door in half an hour." "You are not going away again to-night, Vincent, surely?" his mother said anxiously. "You do look completely exhausted." "I am exhausted, mother. I have walked seven or eight-and-forty miles, and this cavalry work spoils one for walking altogether." "Walked forty-eight miles, Vincent! What on earth have you done that for?" "Not from choice, I can assure you, mother; but you know the old saying, 'Needs must when the devil drives,' and in the present case you must read 'Yankee' instead of 'the gentleman in black.' "But has Petersburg fallen?" Mrs. Wingfield asked in alarm. "No; Petersburg is safe, and is likely to continue so. But you must really be patient, mother, until I have had some tea, then you can hear the story in full." When the servant came in with the tea Vincent told her that she was to tell Dinah, whom she would find on the veranda, to bring her husband into the kitchen, and to give him everything he wanted. Then, as soon as he had finished tea, he told his mother and sister the adventures he had gone through. Both were crying when he had finished. "I am proud of you, Vincent," his mother said. "It is hard on us that you should run such risks; still I do not blame you, my boy, for if I had ten sons I would give them all for my country." Vincent had but just finished his story when the servant came in and said that the buggy was at the door. "I will go in my slippers, mother, but I will run up and change my other things. It's lucky I have got a spare suit here. Any of our fellows who happened to be going down to-night in the train would think that I was mad were I to go like this." It was one o'clock in the morning when Vincent reached Petersburg. He went straight to his quarters, as it would be no use waking General Lee at that hour. A light was burning in his room, and Dan was asleep at the table with his head on his arms. He leaped up with a cry of joy as his master entered. "Well, Dan, here I am safe again," Vincent said cheerily. "I hope you had not begun to give me up." "I began to be terribly frightened, sir--terribly frightened. I went dis afternoon and asked Captain Burley if he had any news ob you. He said 'No;' and asked me ef I knew where you were. I said 'No, sah;' that I knew nuffin about it except that you had gone on some dangerous job. He said he hoped that you would be back soon; and certainly, as far as dey had heard, nuffin had happened to you. Still I was bery anxious, and tought I would sit up till de last train came in from Richmond. Den I tink I dropped off to sleep." "I think you did, Dan. Well, I am too tired to tell you anything about it now, but I have one piece of news for you; Tony has come back to his wife." "Dat's good news, sah; bery good news. I had begun to be afraid dat Tony had been shot or hung or someting. I know Dinah hab been fretting about him though she never said much, but when I am at home she allus asks me all sorts of questions 'bout him. She bery glad woman now." The next morning Vincent went to General Lee's quarters. "I am heartily glad to see you back," the general said warmly as he entered. "I have blamed myself for letting you go. Well, what success have you had?" "Here is a rough plan of the works, general. I have not had time to do it out fairly, but it shows the positions of all their principal batteries, with a rough estimate as to the number of guns that each is intended to carry." "Excellent!" the general said, glancing over the plan. "This will give us exactly the information we want. We must set to with our counter-works at once. The country is indeed indebted to you, sir. So you managed to cheat the Yankees altogether?" "I should have cheated them, sir; but unfortunately I came across an old acquaintance who denounced me, and I had a narrow escape of being shot." "Well, Captain Wingfield, I must see about this business, and give orders at once. Will you come and breakfast with me at half-past eight? Then you can give me an account of your adventures." Vincent returned to his quarters, and spent the next two hours in making a detailed drawing of the enemy's positions and batteries, and then at half-past eight walked over to General Lee's quarters. The general returned in a few minutes with General Wade Hampton and several other officers, and they at once sat down to breakfast. As the meal was proceeding an orderly entered with a telegram for the general. General Lee glanced through it. "This, gentlemen, is from the minister of war. I acquainted him by telegraph this morning that Captain Wingfield, who had volunteered for the dangerous service, had just returned from the Federal lines with a plan of the positions and strength of all the works that they are erecting. I said that I trusted that such distinguished service as he had rendered would be at once rewarded with promotion, and the minister telegraphs to me now that he has this morning signed this young officer's commission as major. I heartily congratulate you, sir, on your well-earned step. And now, as I see you have finished your breakfast, perhaps, you will give us an account of your proceedings." Vincent gave a detailed account of his adventures, which were heard with surprise and interest. "That was a narrow escape, indeed," the general said, as he finished. "It was a marvelous thing your lighting upon this negro, whom you say you had once had an opportunity of serving, just at that moment; and although you do not tell us what was the nature of the service you had rendered him, it must have been a very considerable service or he would never have risked his life in that way to save yours. When these negroes do feel attachment for their masters there are no more faithful and devoted fellows. Well, in your case certainly a good action has met with its reward; if it had not been for him there could be no question that your doom was sealed. It is a strange thing too your meeting that traitor. I remember reading about that escape of yours from the Yankee prison. He must have been an ungrateful villain, after your taking him with you." "He was a bad fellow altogether, I am afraid," Vincent said; "and the quarrel between us was a long-standing one." "Whatever your quarrel was," the general said hotly, "a man who would betray even an enemy to death in that way is a villain. However, he has gone to his account, and the country can forgive his treachery to her, as I have no doubt you have already done his conduct toward yourself." A short time afterward Vincent had leave for a week, as things were quiet at Petersburg. "Mother," he said on the morning after he got home, "I fear that there is no doubt whatever now how this struggle will end. I think we might keep Grant at bay here, but Sherman is too strong for us down in Georgia. We are already cut off from most of the Southern States, and in time Sherman will sweep round here, and then it will be all over. You see it yourself, don't you, mother?" "Yes, I am afraid it cannot continue much longer, Vincent. Well, of course, we shall fight to the end." "I am not talking of giving up, mother; I am looking forward to the future. The first step will be that all the slaves will be freed. Now, it seems to me that however attached they may be to their masters and mistresses they will lose their heads over this, flock into the towns, and nearly starve there; or else take up little patches of land and cultivate them, and live from hand to mouth, which will be ruin to the present owners as well as to them. Anyhow for a time all will be confusion and disorder. Now, my idea is this, if you give all your slaves their freedom at once, offer them patches of land for their own cultivation and employ them at wages, you will find that a great many of them will stop with you. There is nowhere for them to go at present and nothing to excite them, so before the general crash comes they will have settled down quietly to work here in their new positions, and will not be likely to go away." "It is a serious step to take, Vincent," Mrs. Wingfield said, after thinking the matter over in silence for some time. "You do not think there is any probability of the ultimate success of our cause?" "None, mother; I do not think there is even a possibility. One by one the Southern States have been wrested from the Confederacy. Sherman's march will completely isolate us. We have put our last available man in the field, and tremendous as are the losses of the enemy they are able to fill up the gaps as fast as they are made. No, mother, do not let us deceive ourselves on that head. The end must come, and that before long. The slaves will unquestionably be freed, and the only question for us is how to soften the blow. There is no doubt that our slaves, both at the Orangery and at the other plantations, are contented and happy; but you know how fickle and easily led the negroes are, and in the excitement of finding them selves free and able to go where they please, you may be sure that the greater number will wander away. My proposal is, that we should at once mark out a plot of land for each family and tell them that as long as they stay here it is theirs rent-free; they will be paid for their work upon the estate, three, four, or five days a week, as they can spare time from their own plots. In this way they will be settled down, and have crops upon their plots of land, before the whole black population is upset by the sudden abolition of slavery." "But supposing they won't work at all, even for wages, Vincent?" "I should not give them the option, mother; it will be a condition of their having their plots of land free that they shall work at least three days a week for wages." "I will think over what you say, Vincent, and tell you my decision in the morning. I certainly think your plan is a good one." The next morning Mrs. Wingfield told Vincent that she had decided to adopt his plan. He at once held a long consultation with the overseer, and decided which fields should be set aside for the allotments, choosing land close to the negroes' quarters and suitable for the raising of vegetables for sale in the town. In the afternoon Mrs. Wingfield went down with him. The bell was rung and the whole of the slaves assembled. Vincent then made them a speech. He began by reminding them of the kind treatment they had always received, and of the good feeling that had existed between the owners of the Orangery and their slaves. He praised them for their good conduct since the beginning of the troubles, and said that his mother and himself had agreed that they would now take steps to reward them, and to strengthen the tie between them. They would all be granted their freedom at once, and a large plot of land would be given to each man, as much as he and his family could cultivate with an average of two days a week steady labor. Those who liked would, of course, be at liberty to leave; but he hoped that none of them would avail themselves of this freedom, for nowhere would they do so well as by accepting the offer he made them. All who accepted the offer of a plot of land rent-free must understand that it was granted them upon the condition that they would labor upon the estate for at least three days a week, receiving a rate of pay similar to that earned by other freed negroes. Of course they would be at liberty to work four or five days a week if they chose; but at least they must work three days and any one failing to do this would forfeit his plot of land. "Three days' work," he said, "will be sufficient to provide all necessaries for yourselves and families and the produce of your land you can sell, and will so be able to lay by an ample sum to keep yourselves in old age. I have already plotted out the land and you shall cast lots for choice of the plots. There will be a little delay before all your papers of freedom can be made out, but the arrangement will begin from to-day, and henceforth you will be paid for all labor done on the estate." Scarcely a word was spoken when Vincent concluded. The news was too surprising to the negroes for them to be able to understand it all at once. Dan and Tony, to whom Vincent had already explained the matter, went among them, and they gradually took in the whole of Vincent's meaning. A few received the news with great joy, but many others were depressed rather than rejoiced at the responsibilities of their new positions. Hitherto they had been clothed and fed, the doctor attended them in sickness, their master would care for them in old age. They had been literally without a care for the morrow, and the thought that in future they would have to think of all these things for themselves almost frightened them. Several of the older men went up to Mrs. Wingfield and positively declined to accept their freedom. They were quite contented and happy, and wanted nothing more. They had worked on the plantation since they had been children, and freedom offered them no temptations whatever. "What had we better do, Vincent?" Mrs. Wingfield asked. "I think, mother, it will be best to tell them that all who wish can remain upon the old footing, but that their papers will be made out and if at any time they wish to have their freedom they will only have to say so. No doubt they will soon become accustomed to the idea, and seeing how comfortable the others are with their pay and the produce of their gardens they will soon fall in with the rest. Of course it will decrease the income from the estate, but not so much as you would think. They will be paid for their labor, but we shall have neither to feed nor clothe them; and I think we shall get better labor than we do now, for the knowledge that those who do not work steadily will lose their plots of land, and have to go out in the world to work, their places being filled by others, will keep them steady." "It's an experiment, Vincent, and we shall see how it works." "It's an experiment I have often thought I should like to make, mother, and now you see it is almost forced upon us. To-morrow I will ride over to the other plantations and make the same arrangements." During the month of August many battles took place round Petersburg. On the 12th the Federals attacked, but were repulsed with heavy loss, and 2,500 prisoners were taken. On the 21st the Confederates attacked, and obtained a certain amount of success, killing, wounding, and capturing 2,400 men. Petersburg was shelled day and night, and almost continuous fighting went on. Nevertheless, up to the middle of October the positions of the armies remained unaltered. On the 27th of that month the Federals made another general attack, but were repulsed with a loss of 1,500 men. During the next three months there was little fighting, the Confederates having now so strengthened their lines by incessant toil that even General Grant, reckless of the lives of his troops as he was, hesitated to renew the assault. But in the South General Sherman was carrying all before him. Generals Hood and Johnston, who commanded the Confederate armies there, had fought several desperate battles, but the forces opposed to them were too strong to be driven back. They had marched through Georgia to Atlanta and captured that important town on the 1st of September, and obtained command of the network of railways, and thus cut off a large portion of the Confederacy from Richmond. Then Sherman marched south, wasting the country through which he marched, and capturing Savannah on the 21st of September. While he was so doing, General Hood had marched into Tennessee, and after various petty successes was defeated, after two days' hard fighting, near Nashville. In the third week in January, 1865, Sherman set out with 60,000 infantry and 10,000 cavalry from Savannah, laying waste the whole country--burning, pillaging, and destroying. The town of Columbia was occupied, sacked, and burned, the white men and women and even the negroes being horribly ill-treated. The Confederates evacuated Charleston at the approach of the enemy, setting it in flames rather than allow it to fall into Sherman's hands. The Federal army then continued its devastating route through South Carolina, and at the end of March had established itself at Goldsboro, in North Carolina, and was in readiness to aid Grant in his final attack on Richmond. Lee, seeing the imminence of the danger, made an attack upon the enemy in front of Petersburg, but was repulsed. He had now but 37,000 men with which to oppose an enemy of nearly four times that strength in front of him, while Sheridan's cavalry, 10,000 strong, threatened his flank, and Sherman with his army was but a few days' march distant. There was fierce fighting on the 29th, 30th, and 31st of March, and on the 2d of April the whole Federal army assaulted the positions at Petersburg, and after desperate fighting succeeded in carrying them. The Confederate troops, outnumbered and exhausted as they were by the previous week's marching and fighting, yet retained their discipline, and Lee drew off with 20,000 men and marched to endeavor to effect a junction with Johnston, who was still facing Sherman. But his men had but one day's provision with them. The stores that he had ordered to await them at the point to which he directed his march had not arrived there when they reached it, and, harassed at every foot of their march by Sheridan's cavalry and Ord's infantry, the force fought its way on. The horses and mules were so weak from want of food that they were unable to drag the guns, and the men dropped in numbers from fatigue and famine. Sheridan and Ord cut off two corps, but General Lee, with but 8,000 infantry and 2,000 cavalry, still pressed forward toward Lynchburg. But Sheridan threw himself in the way, and, finding that no more could be done, General Lee and the infantry surrendered, and a few days later Generals Lee and Grant met and signed terms of peace. General Johnston's army surrendered to General Sherman, and the long and desperate struggle was at an end. It was a dreadful day in Richmond when the news came that the lines of Petersburg were forced, and that General Lee no longer stood between the city and the invaders. The president and ministers left at once, and were followed by all the better class of inhabitants who could find means of conveyance. The negroes, Irish, and some of the lower classes at once set to work to pillage and burn, and the whole city would have been destroyed had not a Federal force arrived and at once suppressed the rioting. Whatever had been the conduct of the Federal troops during the last year of the war, however great the suffering they had inflicted upon the unarmed and innocent population of the country through which they marched, the terms of peace that General Grant agreed upon, and which were, although with some reluctance, ratified by the government, were in the highest degree liberal and generous. No one was to be injured or molested for the share he had taken in the war. A general amnesty was granted to all, and the States were simply to return to the position in the Union that they occupied previous to the commencement of the struggle. More liberal terms were never granted by a conqueror to the vanquished. Vincent was with the cavalry who escaped prior to Lee's surrender, but as soon as the terms of peace were ratified the force was disbanded and he returned home. He was received with the deepest joy by his mother and sister. "Thank God, my dear boy, that all is over, and you have been preserved to us. We are beaten, but no one can say that we have been disgraced. Had every State done its duty as Virginia has we should never have been overpowered. It has been a terrible four years, and there are few families indeed that have no losses to mourn." "It was well you were not in Richmond, mother, the day of the riots." "Yes; but we had our trouble here too, Vincent. A number of the slaves from some of the plantations came along this way, and wanted our hands to join them to burn down their quarters and the house, and to march to Richmond. Tony and Dan, hearing of their approach, armed themselves with your double-barreled guns, went down and called out the hands and armed them with hoes and other implements. When the negroes came up there was a desperate quarrel, but our hands stood firm, and Tony and Dan declared that they would shoot the first four men that advanced, and at last they drew off and made their way to Richmond. "Your plan has succeeded admirably. One or two of the hands went to Richmond next day, but returned a day or two afterward and begged so hard to be taken on again that I forgave them. Since then everything has been going on as quietly and regularly as usual, while there is scarcely a man left on any of the estates near." "And now, mother, that I find things are quiet and settled here, I shall go down to Georgia and fetch Lucy home. I shall be of age in a few months, and the house on the estate that comes to me then can be enlarged a bit, and will do very well." "Not at all, Vincent. Annie will be married next month. Herbert Rowsell was here two days ago, and it's all settled. So I shall be alone here. It will be very lonely and dull for me, Vincent, and I would rather give up the reins of government to Lucy and live here with you, if you like the plan." "Certainly, I should like it, mother, and so, I am sure, would Lucy." "Well, at any rate, Vincent, we will try the experiment, and if it does not work well I will take possession of the other house." "There is no fear of that, mother, none whatever." "And when are you thinking of getting married, Vincent?" "At once, mother. I wrote to her the day we were disbanded saying that I should come in a week, and would allow another week and no longer for her to get ready." "Then, in that case, Vincent, Annie and I will go down with you. Annie will not have much to do to get ready for her own wedding. It must, of course, be a very quiet one, and there will be no array of dresses to get; for I suppose it will be some time yet before the railways are open again and things begin to come down from the North." Happily Antioch had escaped the ravages of war, and there was nothing to mar the happiness of the wedding. Lucy's father had returned, having lost a leg in one of the battles of the Wilderness a year before, and her brother had also escaped. After the wedding they returned to their farm in Tennessee, and Mrs. Wingfield, Annie, Vincent, and Lucy went back to the Orangery. For the next three or four years times were very hard in Virginia, and Mrs. Wingfield had to draw upon her savings to keep up the house in its former state; while the great majority of the planters were utterly ruined. The negroes, however, for the most part remained steadily working on the estate. A few wandered away, but their places were easily filled; for the majority of the freed slaves very soon discovered that their lot was a far harder one than it had been before, and that freedom so suddenly given was a curse rather than a blessing to them. Thus, while so many went down, the Wingfields weathered the storm, and the step that had been taken in preparing their hands for the general abolition of slavery was a complete success. With the gradual return of prosperity to the South the prices of produce improved, and ten years after the conclusion of the rebellion the income of the Orangery was nearly as large as it had been previous to its outbreak. Vincent, two years after the conclusion of the struggle, took his wife over to visit his relations in England, and, since the death of his mother in 1879, has every year spent three or four months at home, and will not improbably ere long sell his estates in Virginia and settle in England altogether. 
19154	----	Transcribers note: Some inconsistencies of spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been normalised. WITH LEE IN VIRGINIA _A STORY OF THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR_ BY G. A. HENTY AUTHOR OF "WITH CLIVE IN INDIA," "WITH WOLFE IN CANADA," "BY ENGLAND'S AID," "IN THE REIGN OF TERROR," "THE DRAGON AND THE RAVEN" NEW YORK HURST AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS PREFACE. My Dear Lads: The Great War between the Northern and Southern States of America possesses a peculiar interest to us, not only because it was a struggle between two sections of a people akin to us in race and language, but because of the heroic courage with which the weaker party, with ill-fed, ill-clad, ill-equipped regiments, for four years sustained the contest with an adversary not only possessed of immense numerical superiority, but having the command of the sea, and being able to draw its arms and munitions of war from all the manufactories of Europe. Authorities still differ as to the rights of the case. The Confederates firmly believed that the States, having voluntarily united, retained the right of withdrawing from the Union when they considered it for their advantage to do so. The Northerners took the opposite point of view, and an appeal to arms became inevitable. During the first two years of the war the struggle was conducted without inflicting unnecessary hardship upon the general population. But later on the character of the war changed, and the Federal armies carried widespread destruction wherever they marched. Upon the other hand, the moment the struggle was over the conduct of the conquerors was marked by a clemency and generosity altogether unexampled in history, a complete amnesty being granted, and none, whether soldiers or civilians, being made to suffer for their share in the rebellion. The credit of this magnanimous conduct was to a great extent due to Generals Grant and Sherman, the former of whom took upon himself the responsibility of granting terms which, although they were finally ratified by his government, were at the time received with anger and indignation in the North. It was impossible, in the course of a single volume, to give even a sketch of the numerous and complicated operations of the war, and I have therefore confined myself to the central point of the great struggle--the attempts of the Northern armies to force their way to Richmond, the capital of Virginia and the heart of the Confederacy. Even in recounting the leading events in these campaigns, I have burdened my story with as few details as possible, it being my object now, as always, to amuse, as well as to give instruction in the facts of history. Yours sincerely, G. A. Henty. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. A Virginia Plantation, II. Buying a Slave, III. Aiding a Runaway, IV. Safely Back, V. Secession, VI. Bull Run, VII. The "Merrimac" and the "Monitor," VIII. McClellan's Advance, IX. A Prisoner, X. The Escape, XI. Fugitives, XII. The Bushwhackers, XIII. Laid Up, XIV. Across the Border, XV. Fredericksburg, XVI. The Search for Dinah, XVII. Chancellorsville, XVIII. A Perilous Undertaking, XIX. Free! XX. The End of the Struggle, WITH LEE IN VIRGINIA. CHAPTER I. A VIRGINIA PLANTATION. "I won't have it, Pearson; so it's no use your talking. If I had my way you shouldn't touch any of the field hands. And when I get my way--that won't be so very long--I will take very good care you shan't. But you shan't hit Dan." "He is not one of the regular house hands," was the reply; "and I shall appeal to Mrs. Wingfield as to whether I am to be interfered with in the discharge of my duties." "You may appeal to my mother if you like, but I don't think that you will get much by it. You are too fond of that whip, Pearson. It never was heard on the estate during my father's time, and it shan't be again when it comes to be mine, I can tell you. Come along, Dan; I want you at the stables." Vincent Wingfield turned on his heel, and followed by Dan, a negro lad of some eighteen years old, he walked toward the house, leaving Jonas Pearson, the overseer of the Orangery Estate, looking after him with an evil expression of face. Vincent Wingfield was the son of an English officer, who, making a tour in the States, had fallen in love with and won the hand of Winifred Cornish, a Virginia heiress, and one of the belles of Richmond. After the marriage he had taken her to visit his family in England; but she had not been there many weeks before the news arrived of the sudden death of her father. A month later she and her husband returned to Virginia, as her presence was required there in reference to business matters connected with the estate, of which she was now the mistress. The Orangery, so called from a large conservatory built by Mrs. Wingfield's grandfather, was the family seat, and the broad lands around it were tilled by upward of two hundred slaves. There were in addition three other properties lying in different parts of the State. Here Vincent, with two sisters, one older and one younger than himself, had been born. When he was eight years old Major and Mrs. Wingfield had gone over with their children to England, and had left Vincent there for four years at school, his holidays being spent at the house of his father's brother, a country gentleman in Sussex. Then he had been sent for unexpectedly; his father saying that his health was not good, and that he should like his son to be with him. A year later his father died. Vincent was now nearly sixteen years old, and would upon coming of age assume the reins of power at the Orangery, of which his mother, however, would be the actual mistress as long as she lived. The four years Vincent had passed in the English school had done much to render the institution of slavery repugnant to him, and his father had had many serious talks with him during the last year of his life, and had shown him that there was a good deal to be said upon both sides of the subject. "There are good plantations and bad plantations, Vincent; and there are many more good ones than bad ones. There are brutes to be found everywhere. There are bad masters in the Southern States just as there are bad landlords in every European country. But even from self-interest alone, a planter has greater reason for caring for the health and comfort of his slaves than an English farmer has in caring for the comfort of his laborers. Slaves are valuable property, and if they are over-worked or badly cared for they decrease in value. Whereas if the laborer falls sick or is unable to do his work the farmer has simply to hire another hand. It is as much the interest of a planter to keep his slaves in good health and spirits as it is for a farmer to feed and attend to his horses properly. "Of the two, I consider that the slave with a fairly kind master is to the full as happy as the ordinary English laborer. He certainly does not work so hard, if he is ill he is carefully attended to, he is well fed, he has no cares or anxieties whatever, and when old and past work he has no fear of the workhouse staring him in the face. At the same time I am quite ready to grant that there are horrible abuses possible under the laws connected with slavery. "The selling of slaves, that is to say, the breaking up of families and selling them separately, is horrible and abominable. If an estate were sold together with all the slaves upon it, there would be no more hardship in the matter than there is when an estate changes hands in England, and the laborers upon it work for the new master instead of the old. Were I to liberate all the slaves on this estate to-morrow and to send them North, I do not think that they would be in any way benefited by the change. They would still have to work for their living as they do now, and being naturally indolent and shiftless would probably fare much worse. But against the selling of families separately and the use of the lash I set my face strongly. "At the same time, my boy, whatever your sentiments may be on this subject, you must keep your mouth closed as to them. Owing to the attempts of Northern Abolitionists, who have come down here stirring up the slaves to discontent, it is not advisable, indeed it is absolutely dangerous, to speak against slavery in the Southern States. The institution is here, and we must make the best we can of it. People here are very sore at the foul slanders that have been published by Northern writers. There have been many atrocities perpetrated undoubtedly, by brutes who would have been brutes wherever they had been born; but to collect a series of such atrocities, to string them together into a story, and to hold them up, as Mrs. Beecher Stowe has, as a picture of slave life in the Southern States, is as gross a libel as if anyone were to make a collection of all the wife-beatings and assaults of drunken English ruffians, and to publish them as a picture of the average life of English people. "Such libels as these have done more to embitter the two sections of America against each other than anything else. Therefore, Vincent, my advice to you is, be always kind to your slaves--not over-indulgent, because they are very like children and indulgence spoils them--but be at the same time firm and kind to them, and with other people avoid entering into any discussions or expressing any opinion with regard to slavery. You can do no good, and you can do much harm. Take things as you find them and make the best of them. I trust that the time may come when slavery will be abolished; but I hope, for the sake of the slaves themselves, that when this is done it will be done gradually and thoughtfully, for otherwise it would inflict terrible hardship and suffering upon them as well as upon their masters." There were many such conversations between father and son, for feeling on the subject ran very high in the Southern States, and the former felt that it was of the utmost importance to his son that he should avoid taking any strong line in the matter. Among the old families of Virginia there was indeed far less feeling on this subject than in some of the other States. Knowing the good feeling that almost universally existed between themselves and their slaves, the gentry of Virginia regarded with contempt the calumnies of which they were the subject. Secure in the affection of their slaves, an affection which was afterward abundantly proved during the course of the war, they scarcely saw the ugly side of the question. The worst masters were the smallest ones; the man who owned six slaves was far more apt to extort the utmost possible work from them than the planter who owned three or four hundred. And the worst masters of all, were those who, having made a little money in trade or speculation in the towns, purchased a dozen slaves, a small piece of land, and tried to set up as gentry. In Virginia the life of the large planters was almost a patriarchal one; the indoor slaves were treated with extreme indulgence, and were permitted a far higher degree of freedom of remark and familiarity than is the case with servants in an English household. They had been the nurses or companions of the owners when children, had grown up with them, and regarded themselves, and were regarded by them, as almost part of the family. There was, of course, less connection between the planters and their field hands; but these also had for the most part been born on the estate, had as children been taught to look up to their white masters and mistresses, and to receive many little kindnesses at their hands. They had been cared for in sickness, and knew that they would be provided for in old age. Each had his little allotment, and could raise fruit, vegetables, and fowls, for his own use or for sale, in his leisure time. The fear of loss of employment, or the pressure of want, ever present to our English laborers, had never fallen upon them. The climate was a lovely one, and their work far less severe than that of men forced to toil in cold and wet, winter and summer. The institution of slavery assuredly was capable of terrible abuses, and was marked in many instances by abominable cruelty and oppression; but taken all in all, the negroes on a well-ordered estate, under kind masters, were probably a happier class of people than the laborers upon any estate in Europe. Jonas Pearson had been overseer in the time of Major Wingfield, but his authority had at that time been comparatively small, for the major himself personally supervised the whole working of the estate, and was greatly liked by the slaves, whose chief affections were, however, naturally bestowed upon their mistress, who had from childhood been brought up in their midst. Major Wingfield had not liked his overseer, but he had never any ground to justify him making a change. Jonas, who was a Northern man, was always active and energetic; all Major Wingfield's orders were strictly and punctually carried out, and although he disliked the man, his employer acknowledged him to be an excellent servant. After the major's death, Jonas Pearson had naturally obtained greatly increased power and authority. Mrs. Wingfield had great confidence in him, his accounts were always clear and precise, and although the profits of the estate were not quite so large as they had been in her husband's lifetime, this was always satisfactorily explained by a fall in prices, or by a part of the crops being affected by the weather. She flattered herself that she herself managed the estate, and at times rode over it, made suggestions, and issued orders, but this was only in fits and starts; and although Jonas came up two or three times a week to the house nominally to receive her orders, he managed her so adroitly, that while she believed that everything was done by her directions, she in reality only followed out the suggestions which, in the first place, came from him. She was aware, however, that there was less content and happiness on the estate than there had been in the old times. Complaints had reached her from time to time of overwork and harsh treatment. But upon inquiring into these matters, Jonas had always such plausible reasons to give that she was convinced he was in the right, and that the fault was among the slaves themselves, who tried to take advantage of the fact that they had no longer a master's eye upon them, and accordingly tried to shirk work, and to throw discredit upon the man who looked after the interests of their mistress; and so gradually Mrs. Wingfield left the management of her affairs more and more in the hands of Jonas, and relied more implicitly upon him. The overseer spared no pains to gain the good will of Vincent. When the latter declared that the horse he rode had not sufficient life and spirit for him, Jonas had set inquiries on foot, and had selected for him a horse which, for speed and bottom, had no superior in the State. One of Mrs. Wingfield's acquaintances, however, upon hearing that she had purchased the animal, told her that it was notorious for its vicious temper, and she spoke angrily to Jonas on the subject in the presence of Vincent. The overseer excused himself by saying that he had certainly heard that the horse was high spirited and needed a good rider, and that he should not have thought of selecting it had he not known that Mr. Vincent was a first-class rider, and would not care to have a horse that any child could manage. The praise was not undeserved. The gentlemen of Virginia were celebrated as good riders; and Major Wingfield, himself a cavalry man, had been anxious that Vincent should maintain the credit of his English blood, and had placed him on a pony as soon as he was able to sit on one. A pony had been kept for his use during his holidays at his uncle's in England, and upon his return Vincent had, except during the hours he spent with his father, almost lived on horseback, either riding about the estate, or paying visits to the houses of other planters. For an hour or more everyday he exercised his father's horses in a paddock near the house, the major being wheeled down in an easy-chair and superintending his riding. As these horses had little to do and were full of spirit, Vincent's powers were often taxed to the utmost, and he had many falls; but the soil was light, and he had learned the knack of falling easily, and from constant practice was able at the age of fourteen to stick on firmly even without a saddle, and was absolutely fearless as to any animal he mounted. In the two years which had followed he had kept up his riding. Every morning after breakfast he rode to Richmond, six miles distant, put up his horse at some stable there, and spent three hours at school; the rest of the day was his own, and he would often ride off with some of his schoolfellows who had also come in from a distance, and not return home till late in the evening. Vincent took after his English father rather than his Virginia mother, both in appearance and character, and was likely to become as tall and brawny a man as the former had been when he first won the love of the Virginia heiress. He was full of life and energy, and in this respect offered a strong contrast to most of his schoolfellows of the same age. For although splendid riders and keen sportsmen, the planters of Virginia were in other respects inclined to indolence; the result partly of the climate, partly of their being waited upon from childhood by attendants ready to carry out every wish. He had his father's cheerful disposition and good temper, together with the decisive manner so frequently acquired by a service in the army, and at the same time he had something of the warmth and enthusiasm of the Virginia character. Good rider as he was, he was somewhat surprised at the horse the overseer had selected for him. It was certainly a splendid animal, with great bone and power; but there was no mistaking the expression of its turned-back eye, and the ears that lay almost flat on the head when anyone approached him. "It is a splendid animal, no doubt, Jonas," he said the first time he inspected it; "but he certainly looks as if he had a beast of a temper. I fear what was told my mother about him is no exaggeration; for Mr. Markham told me to-day, when I rode down there with his son, and said we had bought Wildfire, that a friend of his had had him once, and only kept him for a week, for he was the most vicious brute he ever saw." "I am sorry I have bought him now, sir," Jonas said. "Of course I should not have done so if I had heard these things before; but I was told he was one of the finest horses in the country, only a little tricky, and as his price was so reasonable I thought it a great bargain. But I see now I was wrong, and that it wouldn't be right for you to mount him; so I think we had best send him in on Saturday to the market and let it go for what it will fetch. You see, sir, if you had been three or four years older it would have been different; but naturally at your age you don't like to ride such a horse as that." "I shan't give up without a trial," Vincent said shortly. "It is about the finest horse I ever saw; and if it hadn't been for its temper, it would have been cheap at five times the sum you gave for it. I have ridden a good many bad-tempered horses for my friends during the last year, and the worst of them couldn't get me off." "Well, sir, of course you will do as you please," Jonas said; "but please to remember if any harm comes of it, that I strongly advised you not to have anything to do with it, and I did my best to dissuade you from trying." Vincent nodded carelessly, and then turned to the black groom. "Jake, get out that cavalry saddle of my father's, with the high cantle and pommel, and the rolls for the knees. It's like an armchair, and if one can't stick on on that, one deserves to be thrown." While the groom was putting on the saddle, Vincent stood patting the horse's head and talking to it, and then taking its rein led it down into the inclosure. "No, I don't want the whip," he said, as Jake offered him one. "I have got the spurs, and likely enough the horse's temper may have been spoiled by knocking it about with a whip; but we will try what kindness will do with it first." "Me no like his look, Massa Vincent; he debble of a hoss dat." "I don't think he has a nice temper, Jake; but people learn to control their temper, and I don't see why horses shouldn't. At any rate we will have a try at it. He looks as if he appreciates being patted and spoken to already. Of course if you treat a horse like a savage he will become savage. Now, stand out of the way." Gathering the reins together, and placing one hand upon the pommel, Vincent sprang into the saddle without touching the stirrups; then he sat for a minute or two patting the horse's neck. Wildfire, apparently disgusted at having allowed himself to be mounted so suddenly, lashed out viciously two or three times, and then refused to move. For half an hour Vincent tried the effect of patient coaxing, but in vain. "Well, if you won't do it by fair means you must by foul," Vincent said at last, and sharply pricked him with his spurs. Wildfire sprang into the air, and then began a desperate series of efforts to rid himself of his rider, rearing and kicking in such quick succession that he seemed half the time in the air. Finding after a while that his efforts were unavailing, he subsided at last into sulky immovability. Again Vincent tried coaxing and patting, but as no success attended these efforts, he again applied the spur sharply. This time the horse responded by springing forward like an arrow from a bow, dashed at the top of his speed across the inclosure, cleared the high fence without an effort, and then set off across the country. He had attempted to take the bit in his teeth, but with a sharp jerk as he drove the spurs in, Vincent had defeated his intention. He now did not attempt to check or guide him, but keeping a light hand on the reins let him go his own course. Vincent knew that so long as the horse was going full speed it could attempt no trick to unseat him, and he therefore sat easily in his saddle. For six miles Wildfire continued his course, clearing every obstacle without abatement to his speed, and delighting his rider with his power and jumping qualities. Occasionally, only when the course he was taking would have led him to obstacles impossible for the best jumper to surmount, Vincent attempted to put the slightest pressure upon one rein or the other, so as to direct it to an easier point. At the end of six miles the horse's speed began slightly to abate, and Vincent, abstaining from the use of his spurs, pressed it with his knees and spoke to it cheerfully, urging it forward. He now from time to time bent forward and patted it, and for another six miles kept it going at a speed almost as great as that at which it had started. Then he allowed it gradually to slacken its pace, until at last first the gallop and then the trot ceased, and it broke into a walk. "You have had a fine gallop, old fellow," Vincent said, patting it; "and so have I. There's been nothing for you to lose your temper about, and the next road we come upon we will turn your face homeward. Half a dozen lessons like this, and then, no doubt, we shall be good friends." The journey home was performed at a walk, Vincent talking the greater part of the time to the horse. It took a good deal more than six lessons before Wildfire would start without a preliminary struggle with his master, but in the end kindness and patience conquered. Vincent often visited the horse in the stables, and, taking with him an apple or some pieces of sugar, spent some time there talking to and petting it. He never carried a whip, and never used the spurs except in forcing it to make its first start. Had the horse been naturally ill-tempered Vincent would probably have failed, but, as he happened afterward to learn, its first owner had been a hot-tempered and passionate young planter, who, instead of being patient with it, had beat it about the head, and so rendered it restive and bad-tempered. Had Vincent not laid aside his whip before mounting it for the first time, he probably would never have effected a cure. It was the fact that the animal had no longer fear of his old enemy the whip, as much as the general course of kindness and good treatment, that had effected the change in his behavior. It was just when Vincent had established a good understanding between himself and Wildfire that he had the altercation with the overseer, whom he found about to flog the young negro Dan. Pearson had sent the lad half an hour before on a message to some slaves at work at the other end of the estate, and had found him sitting on the ground watching a tree in which he had discovered a 'possum. That Dan deserved punishment was undoubted. He had at present no regular employment upon the estate. Jake, his father, was head of the stables, and Dan had made himself useful in odd jobs about the horses, and expected to become one of the regular stable hands. The overseer was of opinion that there were already more negroes in the stable than could find employment, and had urged upon Mrs. Wingfield that one of the hands there and the boy Dan should be sent out to the fields. She, however, refused. "I know you are quite right, Jonas, in what you say. But there were always four hands in the stable in my father's time, and there always have been up to now; and though I know they have an easy time of it, I certainly should not like to send any of them out into the fields. As to Dan, we will think about it. When his father was about his age he used to lead my pony when I first took to riding, and when there is a vacancy Dan must come into the stable. I could not think of sending him out as a field hand; in the first place for his father's sake, but still more for that of Vincent. Dan used to be told off to see that Vincent did not get into mischief when he was a little boy, and he has run his messages and been his special boy since he came back. Vincent wanted to have him as his regular house servant; but it would have broken old Sam's heart if, after being my father's boy and my husband's, another had taken his place as Vincent's." And so Dan had remained in the stable, but regarding Vincent as his special master, carrying messages for him to his friends, or doing any odd jobs he might require, and spending no small portion of his time in sleep. Thus he was an object of special dislike to the overseer; in the first place because he had not succeeded in having his way with regard to him, and in the second because he was a useless hand, and the overseer loved to get as much work as possible out of everyone on the estate. The message had been a somewhat important one, as he wanted the slaves for some work that was urgently required; and he lost his temper, or he would not have done an act which would certainly bring him into collision with Vincent. He was well aware that the lad did not really like him, and that his efforts to gain his good will had failed, and he had foreseen that sooner or later there would be a struggle for power between them. However, he relied upon his influence with Mrs. Wingfield, and upon the fact that she was the life owner of the Orangery, and believed that he would be able to maintain his position even when Vincent came of age. Vincent on his side objected to the overseer's treatment of the hands of which he heard a good deal from Dan, and had already remonstrated with his mother on the subject. He, however, gained nothing by this. Mrs. Wingfield had replied that he was too young to interfere in such matters, that his English ideas would not do in Virginia, and that naturally the slaves were set against the overseer; and that now Pearson had no longer a master to support him, he was obliged to be more severe than before to enforce obedience. At the same time it vexed her at heart that there should be any severity on the Orangery Estate, where the best relations had always prevailed between the masters and slaves and she had herself spoken to Jonas on the subject. He had given her the same answer that she had given her son: "The slaves will work for a master, Mrs. Wingfield, in a way they will not for a stranger. They set themselves against me, and if I were not severe with them I should get no work at all out of them. Of course, if you wish it, they can do as they like; but in that case they must have another overseer. I cannot see a fine estate going to ruin. I believe myself some of these Abolition fellows have been getting among them and doing mischief, and that there is a bad spirit growing up among them. I can assure you that I am as lenient with them as it is possible to be. But if they won't work I must make them, so long as I stay here." And so the overseer had had his way. She knew that the man was a good servant, and that the estate was kept in excellent order. After all, the severities of which she had heard complaints were by no means excessive, and it was not to be expected that a Northern overseer could rule entirely by kindness, as the owner of an estate could do. A change would be most inconvenient to her, and she would have difficulty in suiting herself so well another time. Besides, the man had been with her sixteen years, and was, as she believed, devoted to her interests. Therefore she turned a deaf ear to Vincent's remonstrances. She had always been somewhat opposed to his being left in England at school, urging that he would learn ideas there that would clash with those of the people among whom his life was to be spent; and she still considered that her views had been justified by the result. The overseer was the first to give his version of the story about Dan's conduct; for on going to the house Vincent found his sisters, Rosa and Annie, in the garden, having just returned from a two days' visit to some friends in Richmond, and stayed chatting with them and listening to their news for an hour, and in the meantime Jonas had gone in and seen Mrs. Wingfield and told his story. "I think, Mrs. Wingfield," he said when he had finished, "that it will be better for me to leave you. It is quite evident that I can have no authority over the hands if your son is to interfere when I am about to punish a slave for an act of gross disobedience and neglect. I found that all the tobacco required turning, and now it will not be done this afternoon, owing to my orders not being carried out, and the tobacco will not improbably be injured in quality. My position is difficult enough as it is; but if the slaves see that instead of being supported I am thwarted by your son, my authority is gone altogether. No overseer can carry on his work properly under such circumstances." "I will see to the matter, Jonas," Mrs. Wingfield said decidedly. "Be assured that you have my entire support, and I will see that my son does not again interfere." When, therefore, Vincent entered the house and began his complaint, he found himself cut short. "I have heard the story already, Vincent. Dan acted in gross disobedience, and thoroughly deserved the punishment Jonas was about to give him. The work of the estate cannot be carried on if such conduct is to be tolerated; and once for all, I will permit no interference on your part with Jonas. If you have any complaints to make, come to me and make them; but you are not to interfere in any way with the overseer. As for Dan, I have directed Jonas that the next time he gives cause for complaint he is to go into the fields." Vincent stood silent for a minute, then he said quietly: "Very well, mother. Of course you can do as you like; but at any rate I will not keep my mouth shut when I see that fellow ill-treating the slaves. Such things were never done in my father's time, and I won't see them done now. You said the other day you would get me a nomination to West Point as soon as I was sixteen. I should be glad if you would do so. By the time I have gone through the school, you will perhaps see that I have been right about Jonas." So saying, he turned and left the room and again joined his sisters in the drawing room. "I have just told mother that I will go to West Point, girls," he said. "Father said more than once that he thought it was the best education I could get in America." "But I thought you had made up your mind that you would rather stop at home, Vincent?" "So I had, and so I would have done, but mother and I differ in opinion. That fellow Jonas was going to flog Dan, and I stopped him this morning, and mother takes his part against me. You know, I don't like the way he goes on with the slaves. They are not half so merry and happy as they used to be, and I don't like it. We shall have one of them running away next, and that will be a nice thing on what used to be considered one of the happiest plantations in Virginia. I can't make mother out; I should have thought that she would have been the last person in the world to have allowed the slaves to be harshly treated." "I am sure we don't like Jonas any more than you do, Vincent; but you see mamma has to depend upon him so much. No, I don't think she can like it; but you can't have everything you like in a man, and I know she thinks he is a very good overseer. I suppose she could get another?" Vincent said he thought that there could not be much difficulty about getting an overseer. "There might be a difficulty in getting one she could rely on so thoroughly," Rosa said. "You see a great deal must be left to him. Jonas has been here a good many years now, and she has learned to trust him. It would be a long time before she had the same confidence in a stranger; and you may be sure that he would have his faults, though, perhaps, not the same as those of Jonas. I think you don't make allowance enough for mamma, Vincent. I quite agree with you as to Jonas, and I don't think mamma can like his harshness to the slaves any more than you do; but everyone says what a difficulty it is to get a really trustworthy and capable overseer, and, of course, it is all the harder when there is no master to look after him." "Well, in a few years I shall be able to look after an overseer," Vincent said. "You might do so, of course, Vincent, if you liked; but unless you change a good deal, I don't think your supervision would amount to very much. When you are not at school you are always on horseback and away, and we see little enough of you, and I do not think you are likely for a long time yet to give up most of your time to looking after the estate." "Perhaps you are right," Vincent said, after thinking for a minute; "but I think I could settle down, too, and give most of my time to the estate, if I was responsible for it. I dare say mother is in a difficulty over it, and I should not have spoken as I did; I will go in and tell her so." Vincent found his mother sitting as he had left her. Although she had sided with Jonas, it was against her will; for it was grievous to her to hear complaints of the treatment of the slaves at the Orangery. Still, as Rosa had said, she felt every confidence in her overseer, and believed that he was an excellent servant. She was conscious that she herself knew nothing of business, and that she must therefore give her entire confidence to her manager. She greatly disliked the strictness of Jonas, but if, as he said, the slaves would not obey him without this strictness, he must do as he thought best. "I think I spoke too hastily, mother," Vincent said as he entered; "and I am sure that you would not wish the slaves to be ill-treated more than I should. I dare say Jonas means for the best." "I feel sure that he does, Vincent. A man in his position cannot make himself obeyed like a master. I wish it could be otherwise, and I will speak to him on the subject; but it will not do to interfere with him too much. A good overseer is not easy to get, and the slaves are always ready to take advantage of leniency. An easy master makes bad work, but an easy overseer would mean ruin to an estate. I am convinced that Jonas has our interests at heart, and I will tell him that I particularly wish that he will devise some other sort of punishment, such as depriving men who won't work of some of their privileges, instead of using the lash." "Thank you, mother. At any rate, he might be told that the lash is never to be used without first appealing to you." "I will see about it, Vincent, and talk it over with him." And with that Vincent was satisfied. CHAPTER II. BUYING A SLAVE. Mrs. Wingfield did talk the matter over with the overseer, and things went on in consequence more smoothly. Vincent, however, adhered to his wish, and it was arranged that as soon as he could get a nomination he should go to West Point, which is to the American army what Sandhurst and Woolwich are to England. Before that could be done, however, a great political agitation sprang up. The slave States were greatly excited over the prospect of a Republican president being chosen, for the Republicans were to a great extent identified with the abolition movement; and public feeling, which had for some time run high, became intensified as the time approached for the election of a new president, and threats that if the Democrats were beaten and a Republican elected the slave States would secede from the Union, were freely indulged in. In Virginia, which was one of the most northern of the slave States, opinion was somewhat divided, there being a strong minority against any extreme measures being taken. Among Vincent's friends, however, who were for the most part the sons of planters, the Democratic feeling was very strongly in the ascendant and their sympathies were wholly with the Southern States. That these had a right to secede was assumed by them as being unquestionable. But, in point of fact, there was a great deal to be said on both sides. The States which first entered the Union in 1776 considered themselves to be separate and sovereign States, each possessing power and authority to manage its own affairs, and forming only a federation in order to construct a central power, and so to operate with more effect against the mother country. Two years later the Constitution of the United States was framed, each State giving up a certain portion of its authority, reserving its own self-government and whatever rights were not specifically resigned. No mention was made in the Constitution of the right of a State to secede from the Union, and while those who insisted that each State had a right to secede if it chose to do so declared that this right was reserved, their opponents affirmed that such a case could never have been contemplated. Thus the question of absolute right had never been settled, and it became purely one of force. Early in November, 1860, it became known that the election of Mr. Lincoln, the Republican candidate, was assured, and on the 9th of that month the representatives of South Carolina met at Charleston, and unanimously authorized the holding of a State convention to meet on the third week in December. The announcement caused great excitement, for it was considered certain that the convention would pass a vote of secession, and thus bring the debated question to an issue. Although opinion in Virginia was less unanimous than in the more southern States, it was generally thought that she would imitate the example of South Carolina. On the day following the receipt of the news, Vincent, who had ridden over to the plantations of several of his friends to talk the matter over, was returning homeward, when he heard the sound of heavy blows with a whip, and loud curses, and a moment later a shrill scream in a woman's voice rose in the air. Vincent checked his horse mechanically with an exclamation of anger. He knew but too well what was going on beyond the screen of shrubs that grew on the other side of the fence bordering the road. For a moment he hesitated, and then muttering, "What's the use!" was about to touch the horse with the whip and gallop on, when the shriek again rose louder and more agonizing than before. With a cry of rage Vincent leaped from his horse, threw the reins over the top of the fence, climbed over it in a moment, and burst his way through the shrubbery. Close by, a negro was being held by four others, two having hold of each wrist and holding his arms extended to full length, while a white lad, some two years Vincent's senior, was showering blows with a heavy whip upon him. The slave's back was already covered with weals, and the blood was flowing from several places. A few yards distant a black girl, with a baby in her arms, was kneeling on the ground screaming for mercy for the slave. Just as Vincent burst through the bushes, the young fellow, irritated at her cries, turned round and delivered a tremendous blow with the whip on her bare shoulders. This time no cry came from her lips, but the slave, who had stood immovable while the punishment was being inflicted upon himself, made a desperate effort to break from the men who held him. He was unsuccessful, but before the whip could again fall on the woman's shoulders, Vincent sprang forward, and seizing it, wrested it from the hands of the striker. With an oath of fury and surprise at this sudden interruption, the young fellow turned upon Vincent. "You are a coward and a blackguard, Andrew Jackson!" Vincent exclaimed, white with anger. "You are a disgrace to Virginia, you ruffian!" Without a word the young planter, mad with rage at this interference, rushed at Vincent; but the latter had learned the use of his fists at his English school, and riding exercises had strengthened his muscles, and as his opponent rushed at him, he met him with a blow from the shoulder which sent him staggering back with the blood streaming from his lips. He again rushed forward, and heavy blows were exchanged; then they closed and grappled. For a minute they swayed to and fro; but although much taller, the young planter was no stronger than Vincent, and at last they came to the ground with a crash, Vincent uppermost, Jackson's head as he fell coming with such force against a low stump that he lay insensible. The contest had been so sudden and furious that none had attempted to interfere. Indeed the negroes were so astonished that they had not moved from the moment when Vincent made his appearance upon the scene. The lad rose to his feet. "You had better carry him up to the house and throw water on him," he said to the negroes, and then turned away. As he did so, the slave who had been flogged broke from the others, who had, indeed, loosened their hold, and ran up to Vincent, threw himself on his knees, and taking the lad's hand pressed it to his lips. "I am afraid I haven't done you much good," Vincent said. "You will be none the better off for my interference; but I couldn't help it." So saying he made his way through the shrubbery, cleared the fence, mounted, and rode homeward. "I have been a fool," he said to himself as he rode along. "It will be all the worse for that poor beggar afterward; still I could not help it. I wonder will there be any row about it. I don't much expect there will, the Jacksons don't stand well now, and this would not do them any good with the people round; besides I don't think Jackson would like to go into court to complain of being thrashed by a fellow a head shorter than himself. It's blackguards like him who give the Abolitionists a right to hold up the slave-owners as being tyrants and brutes." The Jacksons were newcomers in Virginia. Six years before, the estate, of which the Cedars, as their place was called, formed a part, was put up for sale. It was a very large one, and having been divided into several portions to suit buyers, the Cedars had been purchased by Jackson, who, having been very successful as a storekeeper at Charleston, had decided upon giving up the business and leaving South Carolina, and settling down as a landowner in some other State. His antecedents, however, were soon known at Richmond, and the old Virginian families turned a cold shoulder to the newcomer. Had he been a man of pleasant manners, he would gradually have made his way; but he was evidently not a gentleman. The habits of trade stuck to him, and in a very short time there were rumors that the slaves, whom he had bought with the property, found him a harsh and cruel master. This in itself would have been sufficient to bring him into disrepute in Virginia, where as a rule the slaves were treated with great kindness, and, indeed, considered their position to be infinitely superior to that of the poorer class of whites. Andrew Jackson had been for a few months at school with Vincent; he was unpopular there, and from the rumors current as to the treatment of the slaves on the estate was known by the nickname of the "slave-driver." Had Vincent been the son of a white trader, or a small cultivator, he knew well enough that his position would be a very serious one, and that he would have had to ride to the border of the State with all speed. He would have been denounced at once as an Abolitionist, and would have been accused of stirring up the slaves to rebellion against their masters; a crime of the most serious kind in the Southern States. But placed as he was, as the heir of a great estate worked by slaves, such a cry could hardly be raised against him. He might doubtless be fined and admonished for interfering between a master and his slave; but the sympathy of the better classes in Virginia would be entirely with him. Vincent, therefore, was but little concerned for himself; but he doubted greatly whether his interference had not done much more harm than good to the slave and his wife, for upon them Andrew Jackson would vent his fury. He rode direct to the stables instead of alighting as usual at the door. Dan, who had been sitting in the veranda waiting for him, ran down to the stables as he saw him coming. "Give the horse to one of the others, Dan, I want to speak to you. Dan," he went on when he had walked with him a short distance from the stables, "I suppose you know some of the hands on Jackson's plantation." Dan grinned, for although there was not supposed to be any communication between the slaves on the different estates, it was notorious that at night they were in the habit of slipping out of their huts and visiting each other. "I know some ob dem, Marse Vincent. What you want ob dem? Bery bad master, Marse Jackson. Wust master hereabout." Vincent related what had happened, to Dan's intense delight. "Now, Dan," he went on, "I am afraid that after my interference they will treat that poor fellow and his wife worse than before. I want you to find out for me what is going on at Jackson's. I do not know that I can do anything, however badly they treat them; but I have been thinking that if they ill-treat them very grossly, I will get together a party of fifteen or twenty of my friends, and we will go in a body to Jackson's and warn him that, if he behaves with cruelty to his slaves, we will make it so hot for him that he will have to leave the State. I don't say that we could do anything; but as we should represent most of the large estates round here, I don't think old Jackson and his son would like being sent to coventry. The feeling is very strong at present against ill-treatment of the slaves. If these troubles lead to war, almost all of us will go into the army, and we do not like the thought of the possibility of troubles among the hands when the whites are all away." "I will find out all about it for you to-night, sah. I don't suspect dat dey will do nuffin to-day. Andrew Jackson too sick after dat knock against de tump. He keep quiet a day or two." "Well, Dan, you go over to-night and find out all about it. I expect I had better have left things alone, but now I have interfered I shall go on with it." Mrs. Wingfield was much displeased when Vincent told her at dinner of his incident at Jackson's plantation, and even his sisters were shocked at the interference between a master and his slave. "You will get yourself into serious trouble with these fanciful notions of yours," Mrs. Wingfield said angrily. "You know as well as I do how easy it is to get up a cry against anyone as an Abolitionist, and how difficult to disprove the accusation; and just at present, when the passions of every man in the South are inflamed to the utmost, such an accusation will be most serious. In the present instance there does not seem that there is a shadow of excuse for your conduct. You simply heard cries of a slave being flogged. You deliberately leave the road and enter these people's plantation, and interfere without, so far as I can see, the least reason for doing so. You did not inquire what the man's offense was; and he may, for aught you know, have half murdered his master. You simply see a slave being flogged, and you assault his owner. If the Jacksons lay complaints against you, it is quite probable that you may have to leave the State. What on earth can have influenced you to act in such a mad-brained way?" "I did not interfere to prevent his flogging the slave, mother, but to prevent his flogging the slave's wife, which was pure wanton brutality. It is not a question of slavery one way or the other. Anyone has a right to interfere to put a stop to brutality. If I saw a man brutally treating a horse or a dog, I should certainly do so; and if it is right to interfere to save a dumb animal from brutal ill-treatment, surely it must be justifiable to save a woman in the same case. I am not an Abolitionist. That is to say, I consider that slaves on a properly managed estate, like ours for instance, are just as well off as are the laborers on an estate in Europe; but I should certainly like to see laws passed to protect them from ill-treatment. Why, in England there are laws against cruelty to animals; and a man who brutally flogged a dog or a horse would get a month's imprisonment with hard labor. I consider it a disgrace to us that a man here may ill-treat a human being worse than he might in England a dumb animal." "You know, Vincent," his mother said more quietly, "that I object as much as you do to the ill-treatment of the slaves, and that the slaves here, as on all well-conducted plantations in Virginia, are well treated; but this is not a time for bringing in laws or carrying out reforms. It is bad enough to have scores of Northerners doing their best to stir up mischief between masters and slaves, without a Southern gentleman mixing himself up in the matter. We have got to stand together as one people and to protect our State rights from interference." "I am just as much in favor of State rights as anyone else, mother; and if, as seems likely, the present quarrel is to be fought out, I hope I shall do my best for Virginia as well as other fellows of my own age. But just as I protest against any interference by the Northerners with our laws, I say that we ought to amend our laws so as not to give them the shadow of an excuse for interference. It is brutes like the Jacksons who afford the materials for libels like 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' upon us as a people; and I can't say that I am a bit sorry for having given that young Jackson what he deserved." "Well, I hope there will be no trouble come of it," Mrs. Wingfield said. "I shouldn't think the Jacksons would like the exposure of their doings, which would be caused by bringing the matter into court; but if they do, you may be quite sure that a jury in Richmond at the present time would find against you." "I don't suppose that they will do anything, mother. But if they must, they must; and I don't suppose anything serious will come of it, anyway." The next morning Vincent went down early to the stables. As he approached them Dan came out to meet him. "Well, Dan, what's your news?" "Bery great bobbery ober at Jackson's last night, Massa Vincent. Fust of all I crept round to de huts ob de field hands. Dey all knew nuffin about it; but one of dem he goes off and gets to hab a talk with a gal employed in de house who was in de habit of slipping out to see him. She say when de young un war carried in de old man go on furious; he bring suit against you, he hab you punished berry much--no saying what he not going to do. After a time de young un come round, he listen to what the old man say for some time; den he answer: 'No use going on like dat. Set all de county families against us if we have suit. As to dat infernal young villain, me pay him out some other way.' Den de old man say he cut de flesh off de bones ob dat nigger; but de young one say: 'Mustn't do dat. You sure to hear about it, and make great bobbery. Find some oder way to punish him.' Den dey talk together for some time, but girl not hear any more." "Well, then, there will be no suit anyhow," Vincent said. "As to paying me out some other way, I will look after myself, Dan. I believe that fellow Jackson is capable of anything, and I will be on the lookout for him." "Be sure you do, Massa Vincent. You ride about a great deal, dat fellow bery like take a shot at you from behind tree. Don't you go near dat plantation, or sure enuff trouble come." "I will look out, Dan. There is one thing, I always ride fast; and it wants a very good shot to hit one at a gallop. I don't think they will try that; for if he missed, as he would be almost sure to do, it would be a good deal worse for him than this affair would have been had he brought it into court. You keep your ears open, Dan, and find out how they are thinking of punishing that poor follow for my interference on his behalf." After breakfast a negro arrived with a note for Mrs. Wingfield from Mr. Jackson, complaining of the unwarrantable and illegal interference by her son on behalf of a slave who was being very properly punished for gross misconduct; and of the personal assault upon his son. The writer said that he was most reluctant to take legal proceedings against a member of so highly respected a family, but that it was impossible that he could submit to such an outrage as this. Although Mrs. Wingfield had expressed her disapproval of Vincent's conduct on the evening before, there was no trace of that feeling in her reply to this letter. She wrote in the third person, coldly acknowledging the receipt of Mr. Jackson's letter, and saying that she had heard from her son of his interference to put a stop to one of those brutal scenes which brought discredit upon the Southern States, and that she considered he had most rightly punished Mr. Jackson, Jr., for his inhuman and revolting conduct; that she was perfectly aware the interference had been technically illegal, but that her son was fully prepared to defend his conduct if called upon to do so in the courts, and to pay any fine that might be inflicted for his suffering himself to be carried away by his righteous indignation. She ended by saying that as Mr. Jackson was a stranger in Virginia, he was perhaps not aware that the public sentiment of that State was altogether opposed to such acts of brutality as that of which his son had been guilty. "What have you been doing to that fellow Andrew Jackson?" one of Vincent's friends, a young fellow two years older than himself, said to him a few days later. "There were a lot of us talking over things yesterday, in Richmond, and he came up and joined in. Something was said about Abolitionists, and he said that he should like to see every Abolitionist in the State strung up to a tree. He is always pretty violent, as you know; but on the present occasion he went further than usual, and then went on to say that the worst and most dangerous Abolitionists were not Northern men, but Southerners, who were traitors to their State. He said: 'For example, there is that young Wingfield. He has been to England, and has come back with his head filled with Abolitionist notions;' and that such opinions at the present time were a danger to the State. "Two or three of us took the matter up, as you might guess, and told him he had better mind what he was saying or it would be the worse for him. Harry Furniss went so far as to tell him that he was a liar, and that if he didn't like that he could have satisfaction in the usual way. Master Jackson didn't like it, but muttered something and slunk off. What's the matter between you?" "I should not have said anything about it," Vincent replied, "if Jackson had chosen to hold his tongue; but as he chooses to go about attacking me, there is no reason why I should keep the matter secret." And he then related what had taken place. The young Virginian gave a low whistle. "I don't say I blame you, Wingfield; but I tell you, you might have got yourself into an awful mess if the Jacksons had chosen to take it up. You know how hot the feeling is at present, and it is a serious matter at any time to interfere between a master and his slaves in the Southern States. Of course among us our feelings would be all against Jackson; but among the poorer class of whites, who have been tremendously excited by the speeches, both in the North and here, the cry of Abolitionist at the present moment is like a red rag to a bull. However, I understand now the fellow's enmity to you. "None of us ever liked him when he was at school with us. He is an evil-tempered brute, and I am afraid you may have some trouble with him. If he goes about talking as he did to us, he would soon get up a feeling against you. Of course it would be nonsense to openly accuse a member of an old Virginian family of being an Abolitionist; but it would be easy enough to set a pack of the rough classes of the town against you, and you might get badly mauled if they caught you alone. The fellow is evidently a coward, or he would have taken up what Furniss said; but a coward who is revengeful is a good deal more dangerous than an open foe. However, I will talk it over with some of the others, and we will see if we can't stop Andrew Jackson's mouth." The result of this was that the next day half a dozen of Vincent's friends wrote a joint letter to Andrew Jackson, saying that they regarded his statements respecting Vincent as false and calumnious, and that if he repeated them they would jointly and severally hold him responsible; and that if, as a result of such accusations, any harm happened to Vincent, they should know where to look for the originator of the mischief, and punish him accordingly. "You should be more careful, Andrew," his father said, as, white with fury, he showed him his letter. "It was you who were preaching prudence the other day and warning me against taking steps that would set all the county families against us; and now, you see, you have been letting your tongue run, and have drawn this upon yourself. Keep quiet for the present, my son; all sorts of things may occur before long, and you will get your chance. Let this matter sleep for the present." A day or two later when Vincent went down to the stables he saw that Dan had something to tell him and soon found out that he wished to speak to him alone. "What is your news, Dan?" "I heard last night, Marse Vincent, dat old man Jackson is going to sell Dinah; dat de wife ob de man dey flogged." "They are going to sell her!" Vincent repeated indignantly. "What are they going to do that for?" "To punish Tony, sah. Dar am no law against dar selling her. I hear dat dey are going to sell two oder boys, so dat it cannot be said dat dey do it on purpose to spite Tony. I reckon, sah, dey calculate dat when dey sell his wife Tony get mad and run away, and den when dey catch him again dey flog him pretty near to death. Folk always do dat with runaway slaves; no one can say nuffin agin dem for dat." "It's an infamous shame that it should be lawful to separate man and wife," Vincent said. "However, we will see what we can do. You manage to pass the word to Tony to keep up his spirits, and not let them drive him to do anything rash. Tell him I will see that his wife does not get into bad hands, I suppose they will sell the baby too?" "Yes. Marse Vincent. Natural the baby will go wid de modder." Vincent watched the list of advertisements of slaves to be sold, and a day or two later saw a notice to the effect that Dinah Moore, age twenty-two, with a male baby at her breast, would be sold on the following Saturday. He mounted his horse and rode into Richmond. He had not liked to speak to his mother on the subject, for she had not told him of the letter she had written to Jackson; and he thought that she might disapprove of any interference in the matter, consequently he went down to Mr. Renfrew, the family solicitor. "Mr. Renfrew," he said, "I want some money; can you lend it me?" "You want money," the solicitor said in surprise. "What on earth do you want money for? and if you want it why don't you ask your mother for it? How much do you want?" "I don't know exactly. About eight hundred dollars, I should think; though it may be a thousand. I want to buy a slave." "You want to buy a slave!" repeated Mr. Renfrew. "What on earth do you want to buy a slave for? You have more than you want now at the Orangery." "It's a slave that man Jackson is going to sell next Saturday, on purpose to spite the poor creature's husband and drive him to desperation," and Vincent then repeated the whole story of the circumstances that had led up to the sale. "It is very abominable on the part of these Jacksons," Mr. Renfrew said, "but your interference was most imprudent, my young friend; and as you see, it has done harm rather than good. If you are so quixotic as to become the champion of every ill-treated slave in the State, your work is pretty well cut out for you." "I know that, sir," Vincent replied, smiling, "and I can assure you I did not intend to enter upon any such crusade; but, you see, I have wrongly or rightly mixed myself up in this, and I want to repair the mischief which, as you say, I have caused. The only way I can see is to buy this negress and her baby." "But I do not see that you will carry out your object if you do, Vincent. She will be separated just as much from her husband if you buy her as if anyone else does. He is at one plantation and she is at another, and were they ten miles apart or a hundred, they are equally separated." "I quite see that, Mr. Renfrew; but, at least she will be kindly treated, and his mind will be at rest on that score. Perhaps some day or other the Jacksons may put him up for sale, and then I can buy him, and they will be reunited. At any rate, the first step is to buy her. Can you let me have the money? My mother makes me a very good allowance." "And I suppose you spend it," the lawyer interrupted. "Well, yes, I generally spend it; but then, you see, when I come of age I come in for the outlying estates." "And if you die before, or get shot, or any other accident befalls you," Mr. Renfrew said, "they go to your sisters. However, one must risk something for a client, so I will lend you the money. I had better put somebody up to bid for you, for after what has happened the Jacksons would probably not let her go if they knew that you were going to be the purchaser." "Thank you very much," Vincent said warmly; "it will be a great weight off my mind," and with a light heart he rode back to the Orangery. Vincent said nothing during the next two days to any of his friends as to the course the Jacksons were taking in selling Tony's wife; for he thought that if the news got about, some one of his friends who had heard the circumstances might go down to the auction and make such a demonstration that Jackson would be obliged to withdraw Dinah from the sale, in which case he could no doubt dispose of her privately. On the Saturday he mounted his horse and rode into Richmond, telling Dan to meet him there. At the hour the sale was announced he went to the yard where it was to take place. This was a somewhat quiet and secluded place; for although the sale of slaves was permitted by law in Virginia, at any rate these auctions were conducted quietly and with as little publicity as possible. For although the better classes still regarded slavery as a necessary institution, they were conscious that these sales, involving as they did the separation of families, were indefensible, and the more thoughtful would gladly have seen them abolished, and a law passed forbidding the sale of negroes save as part and parcel of the estate upon which they worked, an exception only being made in the case of gross misconduct. Many of the slave-owners, indeed, forbade all flogging upon their estates, and punished refractory slaves, in the first place, by the cutting off of the privileges they enjoyed in the way of holidays, and if this did not answer, threatened to sell them--a threat which was, in the vast majority of cases, quite sufficient to insure good behavior; for the slaves were well aware of the difference between life in the well-managed establishments in Virginia and that in some of the other Southern States. Handing his horse to Dan, Vincent joined a knot of four or five of his acquaintances who had strolled in from mere curiosity. There were some thirty or forty men in the yard, a few of whom had come in for the purpose of buying; but the great majority had only attended for the sake of passing an idle hour. Slaves had fallen in value; for although all in the South professed their confidence that the law would never attempt by force of arms to prevent their secession, it was felt that slave property would in future be more precarious, for the North would not improbably repeal the laws for the arrest of fugitive slaves, and consequently all runaways who succeeded in crossing the border would be lost to their masters. Upon the other side of the yard Vincent saw Andrew Jackson talking to two or three men who were strangers to him, and who, he guessed, were buyers from some of the more southern States. There were in all twelve lots to be disposed of. Of these two or three were hands who were no longer fit for field work, and who were bought at very low prices by men who owned but a few acres of land, and who could utilize them for odd jobs requiring but little strength. Then there was a stir of attention. Dinah Moore took her stand upon the platform, with her baby in her arms. The message which Dan had conveyed from Vincent to her husband had given her some hope, and though she looked scared and frightened as she clasped her babe to her breast, she was not filled with such utter despair as would otherwise have been the case. The auctioneer stated the advantages of the lot in the same business like tone as if he had been selling a horse. "Lot 6. Negro wench, Dinah; age twenty-two; with male child. Strong and well made, as you see, gentlemen; fit for field work, or could be made a useful hand about the house; said to be handy and good-tempered. Now gentlemen, what shall we say for this desirable lot?" One of the men standing by Andrew Jackson bid a hundred dollars. The bid was raised to a hundred and fifty by a rough-looking fellow standing in front of the platform. For some time the bidding was confined to these two, and it rose until it reached seven hundred and fifty, at which point the man near the platform retired, and there was a pause. Vincent felt uncomfortable. He had already been round to Mr. Renfrew, who had told him that he had deputed an agent to buy; and until the man near the platform stopped he had supposed that he was the solicitor's agent. "Now, gentlemen," the auctioneer said, "surely you are not going to let this desirable piece of property go for seven fifty? She would be cheap at double the price. I have sold worse articles for three thousand." "I will go another twenty-five dollars," a tall man in homespun and a planter's broad straw hat said quietly. The contest now recommenced, and by bids of twenty-five dollars at a time the amount was raised to twelve hundred and fifty dollars. "That's enough for me," the man standing by Andrew Jackson said; "he may have her at twelve fifty, and dear enough, too, as times go." "Will anyone else make an offer?" the auctioneer asked. There was no response, and the hammer fell. "What name?" "Nathaniel Forster," the tall man said; and advancing to the table he counted out a roll of notes and gave them to the auctioneer, who handed to him a formal note certifying to his having legally purchased Dinah Moore and her infant, late the property of Andrew Jackson, Esquire, of the Cedars, State of Virginia. The purchaser had evidently made up his mind beforehand to secure the lot, for he handed a parcel he had been holding to Dinah, and said briefly, "Slip those things on, my lass." The poor girl, who had before been simply attired in the scantiest of petticoats, retired to a corner of the yard, and speedily came forward again dressed in a neat cotton gown. There were several joking remarks made by the bystanders, but Dinah's new master took no notice of them, but with a motion of his hand to her to follow him, walked out of the yard. A minute later Vincent followed, and although he had no doubt that the man was the agent Mr. Renfrew had employed, he did not feel thoroughly satisfied until he saw them enter the lawyer's office. He quickly followed. They had just entered the private room of Mr. Renfrew. "That's right, Wingfield," the lawyer said. "You see we have settled the business satisfactorily, and I think you have got a fairly cheap bargain. Just wait a minute and we will complete the transaction." Dinah gave a start as Vincent entered, but with the habitual self-repression of a slave, she stood quietly in the corner to which she had withdrawn at the other end of the room. The lawyer was busy drawing up a document, and, touching a bell, ordered a clerk to go across to Mr. Rawlins, justice of the peace, and ask him to step across the road. In a minute Mr. Rawlins entered. "I want you to witness a deed of sale of a slave," Mr. Renfrew said. "Here are the particulars: 'Nathaniel Forster sells to Vincent Wingfield his slave, Dinah Moore and her male infant, for the sum of fourteen hundred dollars.' These are the parties. Forster, sign this receipt." The man did so. The justice put his signature as witness to the transaction, dropped into his pocket the fee of five dollars that the lawyer handed to him, and without a word strolled out again. "There, Dinah," Mr. Renfrew said, "Mr. Wingfield is now your master." The girl ran forward, fell on her knees before Vincent, seized his hand and kissed it, sobbing out her thanks as she did so. "There, that will do, Dinah," the lawyer said, seeing that Vincent was confused by her greeting. "I think you are a lucky girl, and have made a good exchange for the Orangery instead of the Cedars. I don't suppose you will find Mr. Wingfield a very hard master. What he is going to do with you I am sure I don't know." Vincent now went to the door and called in Dan and told him to take Dinah to the Orangery, then mounting his horse he rode off home to prepare his mother for the reception of his new purchase. CHAPTER III. AIDING A RUNAWAY. "Well, you are an extraordinary boy, Vincent," Mrs. Wingfield said as her son told her the story, while his sister burst into fits of laughter at the idea of Vincent owning a female slave with a baby. "Why did you not tell me that you wanted the money, instead of going to Mr. Renfrew? I shall tell him I am very angry with him for letting you have it for such a purpose." "I was not sure whether you would let me have it, mother; and if you had refused, and I had got it afterward from Mr. Renfrew, I should not have liked to bring her home here." "That would have been fun," Annie said. "Fancy Vincent's troubles with a female slave on his hands and nowhere to put her. What would you have done, Vincent?" "I suppose I could have got a home for her somewhere," Vincent said quietly. "I don't think there would have been any difficulty about that. Still I am glad I didn't have to do so, and one slave more or less can make no difference here." "Not at all," Mrs. Wingfield said; "I dare say Chloe will find something for her to do in the way of washing, and such other light work that she is fit for about the house. It is not that, but it is years since a slave was brought into the Orangery; never since I can remember. We raise more than we want ourselves; and when I see all those children about, I wonder sometimes what on earth we are to find for them all to do. Still, it was a scandalous thing of that man Jackson selling the girl to punish her husband; and, as you say, it was your foolish interference in the matter that brought it about, so I do not know that I can blame you for doing what you can to set the matter straight. Still, except that the knowledge that she is here, and will be well treated, will be a comfort to the man, I do not see that he will be much better off, unless, indeed, the Jacksons should try to sell him also, in which case I suppose you will want to buy him." "I am afraid they won't do that, mother. Still, somehow or other, in time they may come together again." "I don't see how they can, Vincent. However, we need not think of that now. At any rate I hope there will be no further opportunity for your mixing yourself up in this business. You have made two bitter enemies now, and although I do not see that such people as these can do you any harm, it is always well not to make enemies, especially in times like these when no one can foresee exactly what may occur." And so Dinah Moore became an inmate of the Orangery; and though the girls had laughed at their brother, they were very kind to her when she arrived with Dan, and made much of her and of her baby. The same night Dan went over to the Cedars, and managed to have an interview with Tony, and to tell him that his wife had been bought by Vincent. The joy of the negro was extreme. The previous message had raised his hopes that Vincent would succeed in getting her bought by someone who would be kind to her, but he knew well that she might nevertheless fall to the lot of some higher bidder and be taken hundreds of miles away, and that he might never again get news of her whereabouts. He had then suffered terrible anxiety all day, and the relief of learning that Vincent himself had bought her, and that she was now installed as a house servant at the Orangery, but a few miles away, was quite overpowering, and for some minutes he could only gasp out his joy and thankfulness. He could hope now that when better times came he might be able to steal away some night and meet her, and that some day or other, though how he could not see, they might be reunited. The Jacksons remained in ignorance that their former slave was located so near to them. It was for this reason that Mr. Renfrew had instructed his agent to buy her in his own name instead of that of Vincent; and the Jacksons, having no idea of the transfer that had subsequently taken place, took no further interest in the matter, believing that they had achieved their object of torturing Tony, and avenging upon him the humiliation that Andrew had suffered at Vincent's hands. Had they questioned their slaves, and had these answered them truly, they would have discovered the facts. For although Tony himself said no word to anyone of what he had learned from Dan, the fact that Dinah was at the Orangery was speedily known among the slaves; for the doings at one plantation were soon conveyed to the negroes on the others by the occasional visits which they paid at night to each other's quarters, or to some common rendezvous far removed from interruption. Occasionally Tony and Dinah met. Dan would come up late in the evening to the house, and a nod to Dinah would be sufficient to send her flying down the garden to a clump of shrubs, where he would be waiting for her. At these stolen meetings they were perfectly happy; for Tony said no word to her of the misery of his life--how he was always put to the hardest work and beaten on the smallest pretext, how in fact his life was made so unendurable that the idea of running away and taking to the swamps was constantly present to him. As to making his way north, it did not enter his mind as possible. Slaves did, indeed, at times succeed in traveling through the Northern States and making their way to Canada, but this was only possible by means of the organization known as the underground railway, an association consisting of a number of good people who devoted themselves to the purpose, giving shelter to fugitive slaves during the day, and then passing them on to the next refuge during the night. For in the Northern States as well as the Southern any negro unprovided with papers showing that he was a free man was liable to be arrested and sent back to the South a prisoner, large rewards being given to those who arrested them. As he was returning from one of these interviews with his wife, Tony was detected by the overseer, who was strolling about around the slaves' quarters, and was next morning flogged until he became insensible. So terrible was the punishment that for some days he was unable to walk. As soon as he could get about he was again set to work, but the following morning he was found to be missing. Andrew Jackson at once rode into Richmond, and in half an hour placards and handbills were printed offering a reward for his capture. These were not only circulated in the neighborhood, but were sent off to all the towns and villages through which Tony might be expected to pass in the endeavor to make his way north. Vincent soon learned from Dan what had taken place. "You have no idea, I suppose, Dan, as to which way he is likely to go?" Dan shook his head. "Me suppose, massa, dat most likely he gone and hidden in de great woods by the James River. Bery difficult to find him dere." "Difficult to find him, no doubt," Vincent agreed. "But he could not stop there long--he would find nothing to eat in the woods; and though he might perhaps support himself for a time on corn or roots from the clearings scattered about through the James Peninsula, he must sooner or later be caught." "Dar are runaways in de woods now, Marse Vincent," Dan said; "some ob dem hab been dar for months." "But how do they live, Dan?" "Well, sar, you see dey hab friends on de plantations; and sometimes at night one of de slaves will steal away wid a basket ob yams and corn cakes and oder things and put dem down in a certain place in de forest, and next morning, sure enough, dey will be gone. Dangerous work, dat, massa; because if dey caught with food, it know for sure dat dey carry it to runaway, and den you know dey pretty well flog the life out of dem." "Yes, I know, Dan; it is a very serious matter hiding a runaway slave, and even a white man would be very heavily punished, and perhaps lynched, if caught in the act. Well, make what inquiries you can among the slaves, and find out if you can whether any of those Jacksons have an idea which way Tony has gone. But do not go yourself on to Jackson's place; if you were caught there now it would be an awkward matter for both of us." "I will find out, Marse Vincent; but I don't s'pose Tony said a word to any of the others. He know well enough dat de Jacksons question eberyone pretty sharp, and perhaps flog dem all round to find out if dey know anything. He keep it to himself about going away, for suah." The Jacksons kept up a vigorous hunt after their slave, and day after day parties of men ranged through the woods, but without discovering any traces of him. Bloodhounds were employed the first day, but before these could be fetched from Richmond the scent had grown cold; for Tony had gone off as soon as the slaves had been shut up for the night, and had directly he left the hut wrapped leaves round his feet, therefore the hounds when they arrived from Richmond were unable to take up the scent. A week after Tony's escape Vincent returned late one evening from a visit to some friends. Dan, as he took his horse, whispered to him: "Stop a little on your way to house, Marse Vincent; me hab someting to tell you." "What is it, Dan?" Vincent asked as the lad, after putting up his horse in the stable, came running up to him. "Me have seen Tony, sah. He in de shrubs ober dar. He want to see Dinah, but me no take message till me tell you about him. He half starved, sah; me give him some yams." "That's right, Dan." "He pretty nigh desperate, sah; he say dey hunt him like wild beast." "I will see him, Dan. If I can help him in any way I will do so. Unfortunately I do not know any of the people who help to get slaves away, so I can give him no advice as to the best way to proceed. Still I might talk it over with him. When I have joined him, do you go up to the house and tell Chloe from me to give you a pile of corn cakes--it's no use giving him flour, for he would be afraid to light a fire to cook it. Tell her to give you, too, any cold meat there may be in the house. Don't tell Dinah her husband is here till we have talked the matter over." Dan led Vincent up to a clump of bushes. "It am all right, Tony," he said; "here is Massa Vincent come to see you." The bushes parted and Tony came out into the full moonlight. He looked haggard and worn; his clothes were torn into strips by the bushes. "My poor fellow," Vincent said kindly, "I am sorry to see you in such a state." A great sob broke from the black. "De Lord bless you, sah, for your goodness and for saving Dinah from de hands of dose debils! Now she safe wid you and de child, Tony no care bery much what come to him--de sooner he dead de better. He wish dat one day when dey flog him dey had kill him altogether; den all de trouble at an end. Dey hunt him ebery day with dogs and guns, and soon they catch him. No can go on much longer like dis. To-day me nearly gib myself up. Den me thought me like to see Dinah once more to say good-by, so make great effort and ran a bit furder." "I have been thinking whether it would be possible to plan some way for your escape, Tony." The negro shook his head. "Dar never escape, sah, but to get to Canada; dat too far, anyway. Not possible to walk all dat way and get food by the road. Suah to be caught." "No, I do not think it will be possible to escape that way, Tony. The only possible plan would be to get you on board some ship going to England." "Ships not dare take negro on board," Tony said. "Me heard dat said many times--dat against de law." "Yes, I know it's against the law," Vincent said, "and it's against the law my talking to you here, Tony; but you see it's done. The difficulty is how to do it. All vessels are searched before they start, and an officer goes down with them past Fortress Monroe to see that they take no one on board. Still it is possible. Of course there is risk in the matter; but there is risk in everything. I will think it over. Do not lose heart. Dan will be back directly with enough food to last you for some days. If I were you I would take refuge this time in White Oak Swamp. It is much nearer, and I hear it has already been searched from end to end, so they are not likely to try again; and if you hear them you can, if you are pressed, cross the Chickahominy and make down through the woods. Do you come again on Saturday evening--that will give me four days to see what I can do. I may not succeed, you know; for the penalty is so severe against taking negroes on board that I may not be able to find anyone willing to risk it. But it is worth trying." "De Lord bless you, sah!" Tony said. "I will do juss what you tell me; but don't you run no risks for me, my life aint worth dat." "I will take care, Tony. And now here comes Dan with the provisions." "Can I see Dinah, sah?" Tony pleaded. "I think you had better not," Vincent replied. "You see the Jacksons might at any moment learn that she is here, and then she might be questioned whether she had seen you since your escape; and it would be much better for her to be able to deny having done so. But you shall see her next time you come, whether I am able to make any arrangements for your escape or not. I will let her know to-morrow morning that I have seen you, and that you are safe at present." The next morning Vincent rode over to City Point, where ships with a large draught of water generally brought up, either transferring their goods into smaller craft to be sent up by river to Richmond, or to be carried on by rail through the town of Petersburg. Leaving his horse at a house near the river, he crossed the James in a boat to City Point. There were several vessels lying here, and for some hours he hung about the wharf watching the process of discharging. By the end of that time he had obtained a view of all the captains, and had watched them as they gave their orders, and had at last come to the conclusion as to which would be the most likely to suit his purpose. Having made up his mind, he waited until the one he had fixed upon came ashore. He was a man of some five and thirty years old, with a pleasant face and good-natured smile. He first went into some offices on the wharf, and half an hour later came out and walked toward the railway station. Vincent at once followed him, and as he overtook him said: "I want very much to speak to you, sir, if you could spare me a minute or two." "Certainly," the sailor said, with some surprise. "The train for Petersburg does not go for another half hour. What can I do for you?" "My name is Vincent Wingfield. My father was an English officer, and my mother is the owner of some large estates near Richmond. I am most anxious to get a person in whom I am interested on board ship, and I do not know how to set about it." "There's no difficulty about that," the captain said, smiling; "you have only to go to an office and pay for his passage to where he wants to go." "I can't do that," Vincent replied; "for unfortunately it is against the law for any captain to take him." "You mean he is a negro?" the captain asked, stopping short in his walk and looking sharply at Vincent. "Yes, that is what I mean," Vincent said. "He is a negro who has been brutally ill-treated and has run away from his master, and I would willingly give a hundred pounds to get him safely away." "This is a very serious business in which you are meddling, young sir," the sailor said. "Putting aside the consequences to yourself, you are asking me to break the law and to run the risk of the confiscation of my ship. Even if I were willing to do what you propose, it would be impossible, for the ship will be searched from end to end before the hatches are closed, and an official will be on board until we discharge the pilot after getting well beyond the mouth of the river." "Yes, I know that," Vincent replied; "but my plan was to take a boat and go out beyond the sight of land, and then to put him on board after you have got well away." "That might be managed, certainly," the captain said. "It would be contrary to my duty to do anything that would risk the property of my employers; but if when I am out at sea a boat came alongside, and a passenger came on board, it would be another matter. I suppose, young gentleman, that you would not interfere in such a business, and run the risk that you certainly would run if detected, unless you were certain that this was a deserving case, and that the man has committed no sort of crime; for I would not receive on board my ship a fugitive from justice, whether he was black or white." "It is indeed a deserving case," Vincent said earnestly. "The poor fellow has the misfortune of belonging to one of the worst masters in the State. He has been cruelly flogged on many occasions, and was finally driven to run away by their selling his wife and child." "The brutes!" the sailor said. "How you people can allow such a thing to be done is a mystery to me. Well, lad, under those circumstances I will agree to do what you ask me, and if your boat comes alongside when I am so far away from land that it cannot be seen, I will take the man to England." "Thank you very much indeed," Vincent said; "you will be doing a good action. Upon what day do you sail?" "I shall drop down on Monday into Hampton Roads, and shall get up sail at daylight next morning. I shall pass Fortress Monroe at about seven in the morning, and shall sail straight out." "And how shall I know your ship?" Vincent asked. "There may be others starting just about the same time." The sailor thought for a moment. "When I am four or five miles out I will hoist my owner's flag at the fore-masthead. It is a red flag with a white ball, so you will be able to make it out a considerable distance away. You must not be less than ten or twelve miles out, for the pilot often does not leave the ship till she is some miles past Fortress Monroe, and the official will not leave the ship till he does. I will keep a sharp lookout for you, but I cannot lose any time in waiting. If you do not come alongside I shall suppose that you have met with some interruption to your plans." "Thank you very much, sir. Unless something goes wrong I shall be alongside on Tuesday." "That's settled," the captain said, "and I must be off, or else I shall lose my train. By the way, when you come alongside do not make any sign that you have met me before. It is just as well that none of my crew should know that it is a planned thing, for if we ever happen to put in here again they might blab about it, and it is just as well not to give them the chance. Good-by, my lad; I hope that all will go well. But, you know, you are doing a very risky thing; for the assisting a runaway slave to escape is about as serious an offense as you can commit in these parts. You might shoot half a dozen men and get off scot free, but if you were caught aiding a runaway to escape, there is no saying what might come of it." After taking leave of the captain, Vincent recrossed the river and rode home. He had friends whose fathers' estates bordered some on the James and others on the York River, and all of these had pleasure boats. It was obviously better to go down the York River, and thence round to the mouth of the James at Fortress Monroe, as the traffic on the York was comparatively small, and it was improbable that he would be noticed either going down or returning. He had at first thought of hiring a fishing boat from some of the free negroes who made their living on the river. But he finally decided against this; for the fact of the boat being absent so long would attract its owner's attention, and in case any suspicion arose that the fugitive had escaped by water, the hiring of a boat by one who had already befriended the slave and its absence for so long a time, would be almost certain to cause suspicion to be directed toward him. He therefore decided upon borrowing a boat from a friend, and next morning rode to the plantation of the father of Harry Furniss, this being in a convenient position on the Pamunky, one of the branches of the York River. "Are you using that sailboat of yours at present, Harry? Because, if not, I wish you would let me have the use of it for a week or so." "With pleasure, Vincent; and my fishing lines and nets as well, if you like. We very seldom use the boat. Do you mean to keep it here or move it higher up the river, where it would be more handy for you, perhaps?" "I think I would rather leave it here, Furniss. A mile or two extra to ride makes no difference. I suppose it's in the water?" "Yes; at the foot of the boathouse stairs. There is a padlock and chain. I will give you the key, so you can go off whenever you like without bothering to come up to the house. If you just call in at the stable as you ride by, one of the boys will go down with you and take your horse, and put him up till you come back again." "That will do capitally," Vincent replied. "It is some time since I was on the water, and I seem to have a fancy for a change at present. One is sick of riding into Richmond and hearing nothing but politics talked of. Don't be alarmed if you hear at any time that the boat has not come back at night, for if tide and wind are unfavorable at any time, I might stop at Cumberland for the night." "I have often had to do that," Furniss said. "Besides, if you took it away for a week I don't suppose anyone would notice it; for no one goes down to the boathouse unless to get the boat ready for a trip." The next day Vincent rode over to his friend's plantation, sending Dan off an hour beforehand to bale out the boat and get the masts and sails into her from the boathouse. The greater part of the next two days was spent on the water, sometimes sailing, sometimes fishing. The evening of the second of these days was that upon which Vincent had arranged to meet Tony again, and an hour after dark he went down through the garden to the stable; for that was the time the fugitive was to meet him, for he could not leave his place of concealment until night fell. After looking at the horses, and giving some instructions to the negroes in charge, he returned to the shrubbery, and, sending Dan up to summon Dinah, he went to the bushes where he had before met Tony. The negro came out as he approached. "How are you, Tony?" "Much better dan I was, massa. I have not been disturbed since I saw you, and, thanks to dat and to de good food and to massa's kind words, I'm stronger and better now, and ready to do whatever massa think best." "Well, Tony, I am glad to say that I think I have arranged a plan by which you will be got safely out of the country. Of course, it may fail; but there is every hope of success. I have arranged for a boat, and shall take you down the river, and put you on board a ship bound for England." The black clapped his hands in delight at the news. "When you get there you will take another ship out to Canada, and as soon as I learn from you that you are there, and what is your address, I will give Dinah her papers of freedom and send her on to you." "Oh! massa, it is too much," Tony said, with the tears running down his cheeks; "too much joy altogeder." "Well, I hope it will all come right, Tony. Dinah will be here in a minute or two. Do not keep her long, for I do not wish her absence from the house to be observed just now. Now, listen to my instructions. Do you know the plantation of Mr. Furniss, on the Pamunky, near Coal Harbor?" "No, sir; but me can find out." "No, you can't; because you can't see anyone or ask questions. Very well, then, you must be here again to-morrow night at the same hour. Dan will meet you here, and act as your guide. He will presently bring you provisions for to-morrow. Be sure you be careful, Tony, and get back to your hiding place as soon as you can, and lie very quiet to-morrow until it is time to start. It would be terrible if you were to be caught now, just as we have arranged for you to get away." On the following afternoon Vincent told his mother that he was going over that evening to his friend Furniss, as an early start was to be made next morning; they intended to go down the river as far as Yorktown, if not further; that he certainly should not be back for two days, and probably might be even longer. "This new boating freak of yours, Vincent, seems to occupy all your thoughts. I wonder how long it will last." "I don't suppose it will last much longer, mother," Vincent said, with a laugh. "Anyhow, it will make a jolly change for a week. One has got so sick of hearing nothing talked about but secession, that a week without hearing the word mentioned will do one lots of good, and I am sure I felt that if one had much more of it, one would be almost driven to take up the Northern side, just for the sake of a change." "We should all disown you, Vin," Annie said, laughing; "we should have nothing to say to you, and you would be cut by all your friends." "Well, you see, a week's sailing and fishing will save me from all that, Annie; and I shall be able to begin again with a fresh stock of patience." "I believe you are only half in earnest in the cause, Vincent," his mother said gravely. "I am not, indeed, mother. I quite agree with what you and everyone say as to the rights of the State of Virginia, and if the North should really try to force us and the other Southern States to remain with them, I shall be just as ready to do everything I can as anyone else; but I can't see the good of always talking about it, and I think it's very wrong to ill-treat and abuse those who think the other way. In England in the Civil War the people of the towns almost all thought one way, and almost all those of the counties the other, and even now opinions differ almost as widely as to which was right. I hate to hear people always laying down the law as if there could not possibly be two sides to the case, and as if everyone who differed from them must be a rascal and a traitor. Almost all the fellows I know say that if it comes to fighting they shall go into the State army, and I should be quite willing, if they would really take fellows of my age for soldiers, to enlist too; but that is no reason why one should not get sick of hearing nothing but one subject talked of for weeks." It was nearly dark when Vincent started for his walk of ten miles; for he had decided not to take his horse with him, as he had no means of sending it back, and its stay for three days in his friend's stables would attract attention to the fact of his long absence. After about three hours' walking he reached the boathouse, having seen no one as he passed through the plantation. He took the oars and sails from the boathouse and placed them in the boat, and then sat down in the stern to await the coming of the negroes. In an hour they arrived; Tony carrying a bundle of clothes that Dan had by Vincent's orders bought for him in Richmond, while Dan carried a large basket of provisions. Vincent gave an exclamation of thankfulness as he saw the two figures appear, for the day having been Sunday, he knew that a good many men would be likely to join the search parties in hopes of having a share in the reward offered for Tony's capture, and he had felt very anxious all day. "You sit in the bottom of the boat, Tony, and do you steer, Dan. You make such a splashing with your oar that we should be heard a mile away. Keep us close in shore in the shadow of the trees; the less we are noticed the better at this time of night." Taking the sculls, Vincent rowed quietly away. He had often been out on boating excursions with his friends, and had learned to row fairly. During the last two days he had diligently instructed Dan, and after two long days' work the young negro had got over the first difficulties, but he was still clumsy and awkward. Vincent did not exert himself. He knew he had a long night's row before him, and he paddled quietly along with the stream. The boat was a good-sized one, and when not under sail was generally rowed by two strong negroes accustomed to the work. Sometimes for half an hour at a time Vincent ceased rowing, and let the boat drift along quietly. There was no hurry, for he had a day and two nights to get down to the mouth of the river, a distance of some seventy miles, and out to sea, far enough to intercept the vessel. At four o'clock they arrived at Cumberland, where the Pamunky and Mattapony Rivers unite and form the York River. Here they were in tidal waters; and as the tide, though not strong, was flowing up, Vincent tied the boat to the branch of a tree, and lay down in the bottom for an hour's sleep, telling Dan to wake him when the tide turned, or if he heard any noise. Day had broken when the boat drifted round, and Dan aroused him. The boat was rowed off to the middle of the river, as there could be no longer any attempt at concealment. Dan now took the bow oar, and they rowed until a light breeze sprang up. Vincent then put up the mast, and, having hoisted the sail, took his place at the helm, while Dan went forward into the bow. They passed several fishing boats, and the smoke was seen curling up from the huts in the clearings scattered here and there along the shore. The sun had now risen, and its heat was pleasant after the damp night air. Although the breeze was light, the boat made fair way with the tide, and when the ebb ceased, at about ten o'clock, the mouth of the river was but a few miles away. The mast was lowered and the sails stowed. The boat was then rowed into a little creek and tied up to the bushes. The basket of provisions was opened, and a hearty meal enjoyed, Tony being now permitted for the first time to sit up in the boat. After the meal Vincent and Dan lay down for a long sleep, while Tony, who had slept some hours during the night, kept watch. At four in the afternoon the tide again slackened, and as soon as it had fairly turned they pushed out from the creek and again set sail. In three hours they were at the mouth of the river. A short distance out they saw several fishing boats, and dropping anchor a short distance away from these, they lowered their sail, and taking the fishing lines from the locker of the boat, set to to fish. As soon as it was quite dark the anchor was hauled up, and Vincent and Dan took the oars, the wind having now completely dropped. For some time they rowed steadily, keeping the land in sight on their right hand. Tony was most anxious to help, but as he had never had an oar in his hand in his life, Vincent thought that he would do more harm than good. It was, he knew, some ten miles from the mouth of the York River to Fortress Monroe, at the entrance to Hampton Roads, and after rowing for three hours he thought that he could not be far from that point, and therefore turned the boat's head toward the sea. They rowed until they could no longer make out the land astern, and then laying on their oars waited till the morning, Vincent sitting in the stern and often nodding off to sleep, while the two negroes kept up a constant conversation in the bow. As soon as it was daylight the oars were again got out. They could clearly make out the outline of the coast, and saw the break in the shore that marked the entrance to Hampton Roads. There was a light breeze now, but Vincent would not hoist the sail lest it might attract the attention of someone on shore. He did not think the boat itself could be seen, as they were some eight or nine miles from the land. They rowed for a quarter of an hour, when Vincent saw the white sails of a ship coming out from the entrance. The breeze was so light that she would, he thought, be nearly three hours before she reached the spot where they were now, and whether she headed to the right or left of it he would have plenty of time to cut her off. For another two hours he and Dan rowed steadily. The wind had freshened a good deal, and the ship was now coming up fast to them. Two others had come out after her, but were some miles astern. They had already made out that the ship was flying a flag at her masthead, and although they had not been able to distinguish its colors, Vincent felt sure that it was the right ship; for he felt certain that the captain would get up sail as soon as possible, so as to come up with them before any other vessels came out. They had somewhat altered their course, to put themselves in line with the vessel. When she was within a distance of about a mile and a half Vincent was able to make out the flag, and knew that it was the right one. "There's the ship, Tony," he said; "it is all right, and in a few minutes you will be on your way to England." Tony had already changed his tattered garments for the suit of sailor's clothes that Dan had bought for him. Vincent had given him full instructions as to the course he was to pursue. The ship was bound for Liverpool; on his arrival there he was at once to go round the docks and take a passage in the steerage of the next steamer going to Canada. "The fare will be about five pounds," he said. "When you get to Canada you will land at Quebec, and you had better go on by rail to Montreal, where you will, I think, find it easier to get work than at Quebec. As soon as you get a place you are likely to stop in, get somebody to write for you to me, giving me your address. Here are a hundred dollars, which will be sufficient to pay your expenses to Montreal and leave you about fifty dollars to keep you till you can get something to do." CHAPTER IV. SAFELY BACK. When the ship came within a few hundred yards, Vincent stood up and waved his cap, and a minute later the ship was brought up into the wind and her sails thrown aback. The captain appeared at the side and shouted to the boat, now but fifty yards away. "What do you want, there?" "I have a passenger for England," Vincent replied. "Will you take him?" "Come alongside," the captain said. "Why didn't he come on board before I started?" The boat was rowed alongside, and Vincent climbed on board. The captain greeted him as a stranger and led the way to his cabin. "You have managed that well," he said, when they were alone, "and I am heartily glad that you have succeeded. I made you out two hours ago. We will stop here another two or three minutes, so that the men may think you are bargaining for a passage for the negro, and then the sooner he is on board and you are on your way back the better, for the wind is rising, and I fancy it is going to blow a good deal harder before night." "And won't you let me pay for the man's passage, captain? It is only fair, anyhow, that I should pay for what he will eat." "Oh, nonsense!" the captain replied. "He will make himself useful, and pay for his keep. I am only too glad to get the poor fellow off. Now, we will have a glass of wine together and then say good-by." Two minutes later they returned to the deck. Vincent went to the side. "Jump on board, Tony. I have arranged for your passage." The negro climbed up the side. "Good-by, captain, and thank you heartily. Good-by, Tony." The negro could not speak, but seized the hand Vincent held out to him and pressed it to his lips. Vincent dropped lightly into his boat and pushed off from the side of the vessel. As he did so he heard orders shouted, the yards swung round, and the vessel almost at once began to move through the water. "Now, Dan, up with the mast and sail again; but let me put two reefs in first, the wind is getting up." In five minutes the sail was hoisted, and with Vincent at the helm and Dan sitting up to windward, was dashing through the water. Although Vincent understood the management of a sailing-boat on the calm waters of the rivers, this was his first experience of sea-sailing; and although the waves were still but small, he felt somewhat nervous as the boat dashed through them, sending up at times a sheet of spray from her bows. But he soon got over this sensation, and enjoyed the lively motion and fresh wind. The higher points of the land were still visible; but even had they not been so it would have mattered little, as he had taken the precaution to bring with him a small pocket-compass. The wind was from the southwest, and he was therefore able, with the sheet hauled in, to make for a point where he judged the mouth of the York River lay. "Golly, massa! how de boat do jump up and down." "She is lively, Dan, and it would be just as well if we had some ballast on board; however, she has a good beam and walks along splendidly. If the wind keeps as it is, we shall be back at the mouth of the York in three or four hours. You may as well open that basket again and hand me that cold chicken and a piece of bread; cut the meat off the bones and put it on the bread, for I have only one hand disengaged, and hand me that bottle of cold tea. That's right. Now you had better take something yourself. You must be hungry. We forgot all about the basket in our interest in the ship." Dan shook his head. "A little while ago, massa, me seem bery hungry, now me doesn't feel hungry at all." "That's bad, Dan. I am afraid you are going to be seasick." "Me no feel seasick, massa; only me don't feel hungry." But in a few minutes Dan was forced to confess that he did feel ill, and a few moments afterward was groaning in the agonies of seasickness. "Never mind, Dan," Vincent said cheerfully. "You will be better after this." "Me not seasick, massa; de sea have nuffin to do with it. It's de boat dat will jump up and down instead of going quiet." "It's all the same thing, Dan; and I hope she won't jump about more before we get into the river." But in another half hour Vincent had to bring the boat's head up to the wind, lower the lug, and tie down the last reef. "There she goes easier now, Dan," he said, as the boat resumed her course; but Dan, who was leaning helplessly over the side of the boat, could see no difference. Vincent, however, felt that under close sail the boat was doing better, and rising more easily on the waves which were now higher and farther apart than before. In another hour the whole of the shore-line was visible; but the wind had risen so much that, even under her reduced sail, the boat had as much as she could carry, and often heeled over until her gunwale was nearly under water. Another hour and the shore was but some four miles away, but Vincent felt he could no longer hold on. In the hands of an experienced sailor, who would have humored the boat and eased her up a little to meet the seas, the entrance to the York River could no doubt have been reached with safety; but Vincent was ignorant of the art of sailing a boat in the sea, and she was shipping water heavily. Dan had for some time been baling, having only undertaken the work in obedience to Vincent's angry orders, being too ill to care much what became of them. "Now, Dan, I am going to bring her head up to the wind, so get ready to throw off that halyard and gather in the sail as it comes down. That's right, man, now down with the mast." Vincent had read that the best plan, when caught in an open boat in a gale, was to tie the oars and mast, if she had one, together, and to throw them overboard with the head rope tied to them, as by this means the boat would ride head to sea. The oars, sculls, mast, and sail were firmly tied together and launched overboard, the rope being first taken off the anchor and tied round the middle of the clump of spars. Vincent carefully payed out the rope till some fifteen yards were over, then he fastened it to the ring of the head rope, and had the satisfaction of finding that the boat rode easily to the floating anchor, rising lightly over the waves, and not shipping a drop of water. He then took the baler and got rid of the water that had found its way on board, Dan, after getting down the sail, having collapsed utterly. "Now, Dan, sit up; there, man, the motion is much easier now, and we are taking no water on board. I will give you a glass of rum, that will put new strength into you. It's lucky we put it in the basket in case of emergency." The negro, whose teeth were chattering from cold, fright, and exhaustion, eagerly drank off the spirit. Vincent, who was wet to the skin with the spray, took a little himself, and then settled himself as comfortably as he could on the floorboards in the stern of the boat, and quietly thought out the position. The wind was still rising, and a thick haze obscured the land. He had no doubt that by night it would be blowing a gale; but the boat rode so easily and lightly that he believed she would get through it. They might, it was true, be blown many miles off the shore, and not be able to get back for some time, for the gale might last two or three days. The basket of provisions was, however, a large one. Dan had received orders to bring plenty and had obeyed them literally, and Vincent saw that the supply of food, if carefully husbanded, would last without difficulty for a week. The supply of liquid was less satisfactory. There was a bottle of rum, and a two-gallon jar, nearly half empty, of water. The cold tea was finished. "That would be a poor supply for a week for two of us," Vincent muttered, as he removed the contents of the basket and stored them carefully in the locker; "however, if it's going to be a gale there is sure to be some rain with it, so I think we shall manage very well." By night it was blowing real heavily, but although the waves were high the boat shipped but little water. Dan had fallen off to sleep, and Vincent had been glad to wrap himself in the thick coat he had brought with him as a protection against the heavy dews when sleeping on the river. At times sharp rain squalls burst upon them, and Vincent had no difficulty in filling up the water-bottle again with the baler. The water was rather brackish, but not sufficiently so to be of consequence. All night the boat was tossed heavily on the waves. Vincent dozed off at times, rousing himself occasionally and baling out the water, which came in the shape of spray and rain. The prospect in the morning was not cheering. Gray clouds covered the sky and seemed to come down almost on to the water, the angry sea was crested with white heads, and it seemed to Vincent wonderful that the boat should live in such a sea. "Now, Dan, wake yourself up and get some breakfast," Vincent said, stirring up the negro with his foot. "Oh, Lor!" Dan groaned, raising himself into a sitting position from the bottom of the boat, "dis am awful; we neber see the shore no more, massa." "Nonsense, man," Vincent said cheerily; "we are getting on capitally." "It hab been an awful night, sah." "An awful night! You lazy rascal, you slept like a pig all night, while I have been baling the boat and looking out for you. It is your turn now, I can tell you. Well, do you feel ready for your breakfast?" Dan, after a moment's consideration, declared that he was. The feeling of seasickness had passed off, and except that he was wet through and miserable, he felt himself again, and could have eaten four times the allowance of food that Vincent handed him. A pannikin of rum and water did much to restore his life and vitality, and he was soon, with the light-heartedness of his race, laughing and chatting cheerfully. "How long dis go on, you tink, sah?" "Not long, I hope, Dan. I was afraid last night it was going to be a big gale, but I do not think it is blowing so hard now as it was in the night." "Where have we got to now, sah?" "I don't exactly know, Dan; but I do not suppose that we are very many miles away from shore. The mast and oars prevent our drifting fast, and I don't think we are further off now than we were when we left that ship yesterday. But even if we were four or five times as far as that, we should not take very long in sailing back again when the wind drops; and as we have got enough to eat for a week we need not be uncomfortable about that." "Not much food for a week, Massa Vincent." "Not a great deal, Dan; but quite enough to keep us going. You can make up for lost time when you get to shore again." In a few hours it was certain that the wind was going down. By midday the clouds began to break up, and an hour later the sun was shining brightly. The wind was still blowing strongly, but the sea had a very different appearance in the bright light of the sun to that which it had borne under the canopy of dark gray clouds. Standing up in the boat two hours later, Vincent could see no signs of land. "How shall we find our way back, Marse Vincent?" "We have got a compass; besides, we should manage very well even if we had not. Look at the sun, Dan. There it is right ahead of us. So, you know that's the west--that's the way we have to go." "That very useful ob de sun, sah; but suppose we not live in de west de sun not point de way den." "Oh, yes, he would, just the same, Dan. We should know whether to go away from him, or to keep him on the right hand or on the left." This was beyond Dan. "And I s'pose the moon will show de way at night, massa?" "The moon would show the way if she were up, but she is not always up; but I have got a compass here, and so whether we have the sun or the moon, or neither of them, I can find my way back to land." Dan had never seen a compass, and for an hour amused himself turning it round and round and trying to get it to point in some other direction than the north. "Now, Dan," Vincent said at last, "give me that compass, and get out the food. We will have a better meal than we did this morning, for now that the wind is going down there's no chance of food running short. When we have had dinner we will get up the sail again. The sea is not so rough as it was, and it is certainly not so high as it was before we lowered the sail yesterday." "De waves bery big, massa." "They are big, Dan; but they are not so angry. The heads are not breaking over as they did last night, and the boat will go better over these long waves than she did through the choppy sea at the beginning of the gale." Accordingly the bundle of spars was pulled up alongside and lifted. The mast was set up and the sail hoisted. Dan in a few minutes forgot his fears and lost even his sense of uneasiness as he found the boat mounted wave after wave without shipping water. Several times, indeed, a shower of spray flew high up in the air, but the gusts no longer buried her so that the water came over the gunwale, and it was a long time before there was any occasion to use the baler. As the sun set it could be seen that there was a dark line between it and the water. "There is the land, Dan; and I do not suppose it is more than twenty miles away, for most of the coast lies low." "But how we find de York River, massa? Will de compass tell you dat?" "No, Dan. I don't know whether we have drifted north or south of it. At ordinary times the current runs up the coast, but the wind this morning was blowing from the north of west, and may have been doing so all through the night for anything I know. Well, the great thing is to make land. We are almost sure to come across some fishing boats, but, if not, we must run ashore and find a house." They continued sailing until Vincent's watch told him it was twelve o'clock, by which time the coast was quite close. The wind now almost dropped, and, lowering their sail, they rowed in until, on lowering the anchor, they found that it touched the ground. Then they lay down and slept till morning. Dan was the first to waken. "Dar are some houses dere close down by the shore, sah, and some men getting out a boat." "That's all right, Dan," Vincent said, as he roused himself and looked over. "We shall learn soon where we are." In a quarter of an hour the fishing boat put off, and the lads at once rowed to it. "How far are we from the mouth of the York River?" Vincent asked the two negroes on board. "About twenty miles, sah. Where you come from?" "We were off the mouth of the river, and were blown off in the gale." "You tink yourself bery lucky you get back," one of them said. "Bery foolish to go out like dat when not know how to get back." "Well, we have managed to get back now, you see, and none the worse for it. Now, Dan, up with the sail again." There was a light wind offshore, and all the reefs being shaken out the boat ran along fast. "I should think we are going about five miles an hour, Dan. We ought to be off the mouth of the river in four hours. We must look out sharp or else we shall pass it, for many of these islets look just like the mouth of the river. However, we are pretty sure to pass several fishing boats on our way, and we shall be able to inquire from them." There was no need, however, to do this. It was just four hours from the time of starting when they saw some eight or ten fishing boats ahead of them. "I expect that that is the entrance to the river. When we get half a mile further we shall see it open." On approaching the fishing boats they recognized at once the appearance of the shore, as they had noticed it when fishing there before, and were soon in the entrance to the river. "It will be high tide in about two hours," Vincent said, "according to the time it was the other day. I am afraid when it turns we shall have to get down our sails; there will be no beating against both wind and tide. Then we must get out oars and row. There is very little tide close in by the bank, and every little gain will be a help. We have been out four days. It is Thursday now, and they will be beginning to get very anxious at home, so we must do our best to get back." Keeping close under the bank, they rowed steadily, making on an average about two miles an hour. After five hours' rowing they tied up to the bank, had a meal, and rested until tide turned; then they again hoisted their sail and proceeded on their way. Tide carried them just up to the junction of the two rivers, and landing at Cumberland they procured beds and slept till morning. Another long day's work took them up to the plantation of Mr. Furniss, and fastening up the boat, and carrying the sails and oars on shore, they started on their walk home. "Why, Vincent, where have you been all this time?" Mrs. Wingfield said as her son entered. "You said you might be away a couple of nights, and we expected you back on Wednesday at the latest, and now it is Friday evening." "Well, mother, we have had great fun. We went sailing about right down to the mouth of the York River. I did not calculate that it would take me more than twice as long to get back as to get down; but as the wind blew right down the river it was precious slow work, and we had to row all the way. However, it has been a jolly trip, and I feel a lot better for it." "You don't look any better for it," Annie said. "The skin is all off your face, and you are as red as fire. Your clothes look shrunk as well as horribly dirty. You are quite an object, Vincent." "We got caught in a heavy gale," Vincent said, "and got a thorough ducking. As to my face, a day or two will set it all to rights again; and so they will my hands, I hope, for I have got nicely blistered tugging at those oars. And now, mother, I want some supper, for I am as hungry as a hunter. I told Dan to go into the kitchen and get a good square meal." The next morning, just after breakfast, there was the sound of horses' hoofs outside the house, and, looking out, Vincent saw Mr. Jackson, with a man he knew to be the sheriff, and four or five others. A minute later one of the servants came in, and said that the sheriff wished to speak to Mrs. Wingfield. "I will go out to him," Mrs. Wingfield replied. Vincent followed her to the door. "Mrs. Wingfield," the sheriff said, "I am the holder of a warrant to search your slave-huts and grounds for a runaway negro named Anthony Moore, the property of Mr. Jackson here." "Do you suppose, sir," Mrs. Wingfield asked angrily, "that I am the sort of person to give shelter to runaway slaves?" "No, madam, certainly not," the sheriff replied; "no one would suppose for a moment that Mrs. Wingfield of the Orangery would have anything to do with a runaway, but Mr. Jackson here learned only yesterday that the wife of this slave was here and everyone knows that where the wife is the husband is not likely to be far off." "I suppose, sir," Mrs. Wingfield said coldly, "that there was no necessity for me to acquaint Mr. Jackson formally with the fact that I had purchased through my agent the woman he sold to separate her from her husband." "By no means, madam, by no means; though, had we known it before, it might have been some aid to us in our search. Have we your permission to see this woman and to question her?" "Certainly not," Mrs. Wingfield said; "but if you have any question to ask I will ask her and give you her answer." "We want to know whether she has seen her husband since the day of his flight from the plantation." "I shall certainly not ask her that question, Mr. Sheriff. I have no doubt that, as the place from which he has escaped is only a few miles from here, he did come to see his wife. It would have been very strange if he did not. I hope that by this time the man is hundreds of miles away. He was brutally treated by a brutal master, who, I believe, deliberately set to work to make him run away, so that he could hunt him down and punish him. I presume, sir, you do not wish to search this house, and you do not suppose that the man is hidden here. As to the slave-huts and the plantation, you can, of course, search them thoroughly; but as it is now more than a fortnight since the man escaped, it is not likely you will find him hiding within a few miles of his master's plantation." So saying, she went into the house and shut the door behind her. Mr. Jackson ground his teeth with rage, but the sheriff rode off toward the slave-huts without a word. The position of Mrs. Wingfield of the Orangery, connected as she was with half the old families of Virginia, and herself a large slave-owner, was beyond suspicion, and no one would venture to suggest that such a lady could have the smallest sympathy for a runaway slave. "She was down upon you pretty hot, Mr. Jackson," the sheriff said as they rode off. "You don't seem to be in her good books." Jackson muttered an imprecation. "It is certainly odd," the sheriff went on, "after what you were telling me about her son pitching into Andrew over flogging this very slave, that she should go and buy his wife. Still, that's a very different thing from hiding a runaway. I dare say that, as she says, the fellow came here to see his wife when he first ran away; but I don't think you will find him anywhere about here now. It's pretty certain from what we hear that he hasn't made for the North, and where the fellow can be hiding I can't think. Still the woods about this country are mighty big, and the fellow can go out on the farms and pick corn and keep himself going for a long time. But he's sure to be brought up, sooner or later." A thorough search was made of the slave-huts, and the slaves were closely questioned, but all denied any knowledge of the runaway. Dan escaped questioning, as he had taken up Vincent's horse to the house in readiness for him to start as soon as he had finished breakfast. All day the searchers rode about the plantation, examining every clump of bushes, and assuring themselves that none of them had been used as a place of refuge for the runaway. "It's no good, Mr. Jackson," the sheriff said at last. "The man may have been here; he aint here now. The only place we haven't searched is the house, and you may be quite sure the slaves dare not conceal him there. Too many would get to know it. No, sir, he's made a bolt of it, and you will have to wait now till he is caught by chance, or shot by some farmer or other in the act of stealing." "I would lay a thousand dollars," Andrew Jackson exclaimed passionately, "that young Wingfield knows something about his whereabouts, and has lent him a hand!" "Well, I should advise you to keep your mouth shut about it till you get some positive proof," the sheriff said dryly. "I tell you it's no joke to accuse a member of a family like the Wingfields of helping runaway slaves to escape." "I will bide my time," the planter said. "You said that some day you would lay hands on Tony, dead or alive. You see if some day I don't lay hands on young Wingfield." "Well, it seems, Mr. Jackson," the sheriff remarked with a sneer, for he was out of temper at the ill success of the day's work, "that he has already laid hands on your son. It seems to me quite as likely that he will lay hands on you as you on him." Two days afterward, as Vincent was riding through the streets of Richmond he saw to his surprise Andrew Jackson in close conversation with Jonas Pearson. "I wonder what those two fellows are talking about!" he said to himself. "I expect Jackson is trying to pump Pearson as to the doings at the Orangery. I don't like that fellow, and never shall, and he's just the sort of man to do one a bad turn if he had the chance. However, as I have never spoken to him about that affair from beginning to end, I don't see that he can do any mischief if he wants to." Andrew Jackson, however, had obtained information which he considered valuable. He learned that Vincent had been away in a boat for five days, and that his mother had been very uneasy about him. He also learned that the boat was one belonging to Mr. Furniss, and that it was only quite lately that Vincent had taken to going out sailing. After considerable trouble he succeeded in getting at one of the slaves upon Mr. Furniss' plantation. But he could only learn from him that Vincent had been unaccompanied, when he went out in the boat, either by young Furniss or by any of the plantation hands; that he had taken with him only his own slave, and had come and gone as he chose, taking out and fastening up the boat himself, so that no one could say when he had gone out, except that his horse was put up at the stables. The slave said that certainly the horse had only stood there on two or three occasions, and then only for a few hours, and that unless Mr. Wingfield had walked over he could never have had the boat out all night, as the horse certainly had not stood all night in the stables. Andrew Jackson talked the matter over with his son, and both agreed that Vincent's conduct was suspicious. His own people said he had been away for five days in the boat. The people at Furniss' knew nothing about this, and therefore there must be some mystery about it, and they doubted not that that mystery was connected with the runaway slave, and they guessed that he had either taken Tony and landed him near the mouth of the York River on the northern shore, or that he had put him on board a ship. They agreed, however, that whatever their suspicions, they had not sufficient grounds for openly accusing Vincent of aiding their runaway. CHAPTER V. SECESSION. While Vincent had been occupied with the affairs of Tony and his wife, public events had moved forward rapidly. The South Carolina Convention met in the third week in December, and on the 20th of that month the Ordinance of Secession was passed. On the 10th of January, three days after Vincent returned home from his expedition, Florida followed the example of South Carolina and seceded. Alabama and Mississippi passed the Ordinance of Secession on the following day; Georgia on the 18th, Louisiana on the 23d, and Texas on the 1st of February. In all these States the Ordinance of Secession was received with great rejoicings: bonfires were lit, the towns illuminated, and the militia paraded the streets, and in many cases the Federal arsenals were seized and the Federal forts occupied by the State troops. In the meantime the Northern slave States--Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Missouri--remained irresolute. The general feeling was strongly in favor of their Southern brethren; but they were anxious for peace, and for a compromise being arrived at. Whether the North would agree to admit the constitutional right of secession, or whether it would use force to compel the seceding States to remain in the Union, was still uncertain; but the idea of a civil war was so terrible a one that the general belief was that some arrangement to allow the States to go their own way would probably be arrived at. For the time the idea of Vincent going to West Point was abandoned. Among his acquaintances were several young men who were already at West Point, and very few of these returned to the academy. The feeling there was very strongly on the side of secession. A great majority of the students came from the Southern States, as, while the sons of the Northern men went principally into trade and commerce, the Southern planters sent their sons into the army, and a great proportion of the officers of the army and navy were Southerners. As the professors at West Point were all military men, the feeling among them, as well as among the students, was in favor of State rights; they considering that, according to the Constitution, their allegiance was due first to the States of which they were natives, and in the second place to the Union. Thus, then, many of the professors who were natives of the seven States which had seceded resigned their appointments, and returned home to occupy themselves in drilling the militia and the levies, who were at once called to arms. Still all hoped that peace would be preserved, until on the 11th of April General Beauregard, who commanded the troops of South Carolina, summoned Major Anderson, who was in command of the Federal troops in Fort Sumter, to surrender, and on his refusal opened fire upon the fort on the following day. On the 13th the barracks of the fort being set on fire, Major Anderson, seeing the hopelessness of a prolonged resistance, surrendered. The effect of the news throughout the United States was tremendous, and Mr. Lincoln at once called out 75,000 men of the militia of the various States to put down the rebellion--the border States being ordered to send their proportion. This brought matters to a climax. Virginia, North Carolina, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Missouri all refused to furnish contingents to act against the Southern States; and Virginia and North Carolina a few days later passed Ordinances of Secession and joined the Southern States. Missouri, Maryland, and Delaware were divided in their counsels. The struggle that was about to commence was an uneven one. The white population of the Seceding States was about 8,000,000; while that of the Northern States was 19,614,885. The North possessed an immense advantage, inasmuch as they retained the whole of the Federal navy, and were thereby enabled at once to cut off all communication between the Southern States and Europe, while they themselves could draw unlimited supplies of munitions of war of all kinds from across the Atlantic. Although the people of Virginia had hoped to the last that some peaceful arrangement might be effected, the Act of Secession was received with enthusiasm. The demand of Mr. Lincoln that they should furnish troops to crush their Southern brethren excited the livliest indignation, and Virginia felt that there was no course open to her now but to throw in her lot with the other slave States. Her militia was at once called out, and volunteers called for to form a provisional army to protect the State from invasion by the North. The appeal was answered with enthusiasm; men of all ages took up arms; the wealthy raised regiments at their own expense, generally handing over the commands to experienced army officers, and themselves taking their places in the ranks; thousands of lads of from fifteen to sixteen years of age enrolled themselves, and men who had never done a day's work in their lives prepared to suffer all the hardships of the campaign as private soldiers. Mrs. Wingfield was an enthusiastic supporter of State rights; and when Vincent told her that numbers of his friends were going to enroll themselves as soon as the lists were opened, she offered no objection to his doing the same. "Of course you are very young, Vincent; but no one thinks there will be any serious fighting. Now that Virginia and the other four States have cast in their lot with the seven that have seceded, the North can never hope to force the solid South back into the Union. Still it is right you should join. I certainly should not like an old Virginian family like ours to be unrepresented; but I should prefer your joining one of the mounted corps. "In the first place, it will be much less fatiguing than carrying a heavy rifle and knapsack; and in the second place, the cavalry will for the most part be gentlemen. I was speaking only yesterday, when I went into Richmond, to Mr. Ashley, who is raising a corps. He is one of the best riders in the country, and a splendid specimen of a Virginian gentleman. He tells me that he has already received a large number of applications from young volunteers, and that he thinks he shall be able without any difficulty to get as many as he wants. I said that I had a son who would probably enroll himself, and that I should like to have him in his corps. "He said that he would be glad to put down your name, and that he had had many applications from lads no older than yourself. He considered that for cavalry work, scouting, and that sort of thing age mattered little, and that a lad who was at once a light weight, a good rider, and a good shot was of as much good as a man." "Thank you, mother. I will ride into Richmond to-morrow morning and see Ashley. I have often met him and should like to serve under him very much. I should certainly prefer being in the cavalry to the infantry." Rosie and Annie, who were of course enthusiastic for the South, were almost as pleased as was Vincent when they heard that their mother had consented to his enrolling himself. So many of the girls of their acquaintance had brothers or cousins who were joining the army, that they would have felt it as something of a slur upon the family name had Vincent remained behind. On the following morning Vincent rode over and saw Mr. Ashley, who had just received his commission as major. He was cordially received. "Mrs. Wingfield was speaking to me about you, and I shall be glad to have you with me--the more so as you are a capital rider and a good shot. I shall have a good many in my ranks no older than you are. Did I not hear a few months since that you bought Wildfire? I thought, when I heard it, that you would be lucky if you did not get your neck broken in the course of a week. Peters, who owns the next estate to mine, had the horse for about three weeks, and was glad enough to get rid of it for half what he had given for it. He told me that the horse was the most savage brute he ever saw. I suppose you didn't keep it many days?" "I have got it still, and mean to ride it with you. The horse is not really savage. It was hot-tempered, and had, I think, been badly treated by its first owner. It only wanted kindness and a little patience; and as soon as it found that it could not get rid of me, and that I had no intention of ill-treating it, it settled down quietly, after running away a few times and giving me some little trouble at starting. And now I would not change it for any horse in the State." "You must be a first-rate rider," Major Ashley said, "to be able to tame Wildfire. I never saw the horse, for I was away when Peters had her; but from his description it was a perfect savage." "Are we allowed to bring a servant with us?" Vincent asked. "Yes, if you like. I know that a good many are going to do so, but you must not make up your mind that you will get much benefit from one. We shall move rapidly, and each man must shift for himself, but at the same time we shall of course often be stationary; and then servants will be useful. At any rate I can see no objection to men having them. We must be prepared to rough it to any extent when it is necessary, but I see no reason why at other times a man should not make himself comfortable. I expect the order to-morrow or next day to begin formally to enroll volunteers. As I have now put down your name there will be no occasion for you to come in then. You will receive a communication telling you when to report yourself. "I shall not trouble much about uniform at first. High boots and breeches, a thick felt hat that will turn the edge of a sword, and a loose coat-jacket of dark-gray cloth. Here is the name of the tailor who has got the pattern, and will make them. So I should advise you to go to him at once, for he will be so busy soon that there is no saying when the whole troop will get their uniforms." Upon his return home Vincent related to his mother and sisters the conversation that he had had with Major Ashley. "Certainly you had better take a servant with you," his mother said. "I suppose, when you are riding about you will have to cook your dinner and do everything for yourself; but when you are in a town you should have these things done for you. Who would you like to take?" "I should like to take Dan, mother, if you have no objection. He is very strong and active, and I think would generally be able to keep up with us; besides, I know he would always stick to me." "You shall have him certainly, Vincent; I will make him over formally to you." "Thank you, mother," Vincent said joyfully; for he had often wished that Dan belonged to him, as he would then be able to prevent any interference with him by the overseer or anyone else, and could, if he liked, give him his freedom--although this would, he knew, be of very doubtful advantage to the lad as long as he remained in the South. The next morning the necessary papers were drawn up, and the ownership of Dan was formally transferred to Vincent. Dan was wild with delight when he heard that Vincent was now his master, and that he was to accompany him to the war. It had been known two days before that Vincent was going, and it seemed quite shocking to the negroes that the young master should go as a private soldier, and have to do everything for himself--"just," as they said, "like de poor white trash"; for the slaves were proud to belong to an old family, and looked down with almost contempt upon the poorer class of whites, regarding their own position as infinitely superior. Four days later Vincent received an official letter saying that the corps would be mustered in two days' time. The next day was spent in a long round of farewell visits, and then Vincent mounted Wildfire, and, with Dan trotting behind, rode off from the Orangery amidst a chorus of blessings and good wishes from all the slaves who could on any pretext get away from their duties, and who had assembled in front of the house to see him start. The place of meeting for the regiment was at Hanover Courthouse--a station on the Richmond and Fredericksburg Railway, close to the Pamunky River, about eighteen miles from the city. The Orangery was a mile from the village of Gaines, which lay to the northeast of Richmond, and was some twelve miles from Hanover Courthouse. A month was spent in drill, and at the end of that time the corps were able to execute any simple maneuver. More than this Major Ashley did not care about their learning. The work in which they were about to engage was that of scouts rather than that of regular cavalry, and the requirements were vigilance and attention to orders, good shooting, and a quick eye. Off duty there was but little discipline. Almost the whole of the men were in a good position in life, and many of them very wealthy; and while strict discipline and obedience were expected while on duty, at all other times something like equality existed between officers and men, and all were free to live as they chose. The rations served out were simple and often scanty, for at present the various departments were not properly organized, and such numbers of men were flocking to the standards that the authorities were at their wits' end to provide them with even the simplest food. This mattered but little, however, to the regiment, whose members were all ready and willing to pay for everything they wanted, and the country people round found a ready market for all their chickens, eggs, fruit, and vegetables at Hanover Courthouse, for here there were also several infantry regiments, and the normally quiet little village was a scene of bustle and confusion. The arms of the cavalry were of a very varied description. Not more than a dozen had swords; the rest were armed with rifles or shot-guns, with the barrels cut short to enable them to be carried as carbines. Many of them were armed with revolvers and some carried pistols so antiquated that they might have been used in the Revolutionary War. A certain number of tents had been issued for the use of the corps. These, however, were altogether insufficient for the numbers, and most of the men preferred to sleep in shelters composed of canvas, carpets, blankets, or any other material that came to hand, or in arbors constructed of the boughs of trees, for it was now April and warm enough to sleep in the open air. In the third week in May the order came that the corps was to march at once for Harper's Ferry--an important position at the point where the Shenandoah River runs into the Potomac, at the mouth of the Shenandoah Valley. The order was received with the greatest satisfaction. The Federal forces were gathering rapidly upon the northern banks of the Potomac, and it was believed that, while the main army would march down from Washington through Manassas Junction direct upon Richmond, another would enter by the Shenandoah Valley, and, crossing the Blue Ridge Mountains, come down on the rear of the Confederate army, facing the main force at Manassas. The cavalry marched by road, while the infantry were dispatched by rail as far as Manassas Junction, whence they marched to Harper's Ferry. The black servants accompanied the infantry. The cavalry march was a pleasant one. At every village through which they passed the people flocked out with offerings of milk and fruit. The days were hot, but the mornings and evenings delightful; and as the troops always halted in the shade of a wood for three or four hours in the middle of the day, the marches, although long, were not fatiguing. At Harper's Ferry General Johnston had just superseded Colonel Jackson in command. The force there consisted of eleven battalions of infantry, sixteen guns, and after Ashley's force arrived, three hundred cavalry. Among the regiments there Vincent found many friends, and learned what was going on. He learned that Colonel Jackson had been keeping them hard at work. Some of Vincent's friends had been at the Virginia Military Institute at Lexington, where Jackson was professor of natural philosophy and instructor of artillery. "He was the greatest fun," one of the young men said; "the stiffest and most awkward-looking fellow in the Institute. He used to walk about as if he never saw anything or anybody. He was always known as Old Tom, and nobody ever saw him laugh. He was awfully earnest in all he did, and strict, I can tell you, about everything. There was no humbugging him. The fellows liked him because he was really so earnest about everything, and always just and fair. But he didn't look a bit like a soldier except as to his stiffness, and when the fellows who had been at Lexington heard that he was in command here they did not think he would have made much hand at it; but I tell you, he did. You never saw such a fellow to work. "Everything had to be done, you know. There were the guns, but no horses and no harness. The horses had to be got somehow, and the harness manufactured out of ropes; and you can imagine the confusion of nine battalions of infantry, all recruits, with no one to teach them except a score or two of old army and militia officers. Old Tom has done wonders, I can tell you. You see, he is so fearfully earnest himself everyone else has got to be earnest. There has been no playing about anything, but just fifteen hours' hard work a day. Fellows grumbled and growled and said it was absurd, and threatened to do all sorts of things. You see, they had all come out to fight, if necessary, but hadn't bargained for such hard work as this. "However, Jackson had his way, and I don't suppose anyone ever told him the men thought they were too hard worked. He is not the sort of man one would care about remonstrating with. I don't know yet whether he is as good at fighting as he is at working and organizing; but I rather expect a fellow who is so earnest about everything else is sure to be earnest about fighting, and I fancy that, when he once gets into the thick of it, he will go through with it. He had such a reputation as an oddity at Lexington that there were a lot of remarks when he was made colonel and sent here; but there is no doubt that he has proved himself the right man so far, and although his men may grumble they believe in him. "My regiment is in his brigade, and I will bet any money that we have our share of fighting. What sort of man is Johnston? He is a fine fellow--a soldier, heart and soul. You could tell him anywhere, and we have a first-rate fellow in command of the cavalry--Colonel Stuart--a splendid, dashing fellow, full of life and go. His fellows swear by him. I quite envy you, for I expect you will astonish the Yankee horsemen. They are no great riders up there, you know, and I reckon the first time you meet them you will astonish them." [Illustration: Map--GENL. LEE'S CAMPAIGNS IN VIRGINIA.] Here he suddenly stopped, stood at attention, and saluted. Vincent at once did the same, although, had he not been set the example by his friend, he would never have thought of doing so to the figure who had passed. "Who is it?" he asked, as his companion resumed his easy attitude. "Why, that's Old Tom." "What! Colonel Jackson!" Vincent said in surprise, "Well, he is an odd-looking fellow!" The figure that had passed was that of a tall, gaunt man, leaning awkwardly forward in his saddle. He wore an old gray coat, and there was no sign of rank, nor particle of gold lace upon the uniform. He wore on his head a faded cadet cap, with the rim coming down so far upon his nose that he could only look sideways from under it. He seemed to pay but little attention to what was going on around him, and did not enter into conversation with any of the officers he met. The brigade commanded by Jackson was the 1st of the Army of the Shenandoah, and consisted of the 2d, 4th, 5th, and 27th Virginians, to which was shortly added the 33d. They were composed of men of all ranks and ages, among them being a great number of lads from fifteen and upward; for every school had been deserted. Every boy capable of carrying a musket had insisted upon joining, and among them were a whole company of cadets from Lexington. The regiments selected their own officers, and among these were many who were still lads. Many of the regiments had no accouterments, and were without uniforms, and numbers carried no better arms than a double-barreled shot-gun; but all were animated with the same spirit of enthusiasm in their cause, and a determination to die rather than to allow the invaders to pass on through the fertile valleys of their native land. Of all these valleys that of the Shenandoah was the richest and most beautiful. It was called the Garden of Virginia; and all writers agreed in their praises of the beauties of its fields and forests, mountains and rivers, its delicious climate, and the general prosperity which prevailed among its population. It was a pleasant evening that Ashley's horse spent at Harper's Ferry on the day they marched in. All had many friends among the other Virginia regiments, and their campfires were the center toward which men trooped by scores. The rest was pleasant after their hard marches; and, although ready to do their own work when necessary, they appreciated the advantage of having their servants again with them to groom their horses and cook their food. The negroes were not less glad at being again with their masters. Almost all were men who had, like Dan, been brought up with their young owners, and felt for them a strong personal attachment, and, if it had been allowed, would gladly have followed them in the field of battle, and fought by their side against the "Yankees." Their stay at Harper's Ferry was to be a short one. Colonel Stuart, with his 200 horse, was scouting along the whole bank of the Potomac, watching every movement of the enemy, and Ashley's horse was to join them at once. It was not difficult for even young soldiers to form an idea of the general nature of the operations. They had to protect the Shenandoah Valley, to guard the five great roads by which the enemy would advance against Winchester, and not only save the loyal inhabitants and rich resources of the valley from falling into the hands of the Federals, but what was of even greater importance, to prevent the latter from marching across the Blue Ridge Mountains, and falling upon the flank of the main Confederate army at Manassas. The position was a difficult one, for while "the grand army" was assembling at Alexandria to advance against Manassas Junction, McClellan was advancing from the northwest with 20,000 men, and Patterson from Pennsylvania with 18,000. In the morning, before parading his troop, 100 strong, Ashley called them together and told them that, as they would now be constantly on the move and scattered over a long line, it was impossible that they could take their servants with them. "I should never have allowed them to be brought," he said, "had I known that we should be scouting over such an extensive country; at the same time, if we can manage to take a few on it would certainly add to our comfort. I propose that we choose ten by lot to go on with us. They must be servants of the troop and not of individuals. We can scatter them in pairs at five points, with instructions to forage as well as they can, and to have things in readiness to cook for whoever may come in off duty or may for the time be posted there. Henceforth every man must groom and see to his own horse, but I see no reason, military or otherwise, why we shouldn't get our food cooked for us; and it will be just as well, as long as we can, to have a few bundles of straw for us to lie on instead of sleeping on the ground. "Another ten men we can also choose by lot to go to Winchester; which is, I imagine, the point we shall move to if the enemy advance, as I fancy they will, from the other side of the Shenandoah Valley. The rest must be sent home." Each man accordingly wrote his name on a piece of paper, and placed it in a haversack. Ten were then drawn out; and their servants were to accompany the troop at once. The servants of the next ten were to proceed by train to Winchester, while the slaves of all whose names remained in the bag were to be sent home at once, provided with passes permitting them to travel. To Vincent's satisfaction his name was one of the first ten drawn, and Dan was therefore to go forward. The greater part of the men evaded the obligation to send their servants back to Richmond by dispatching them to friends who had estates in the Shenandoah Valley, with letters asking them to keep the men for them until the troop happened to come into their neighborhood. At six o'clock in the morning the troop mounted and rode to Bath, thirty miles away. It was here that Stuart had his headquarters, whence he sent out his patrols up and down the Potomac, between Harper's Ferry on the east and Cumberland on the west. Stuart was away when they arrived, but he rode in a few hours afterward. "Ah, Ashley! I am glad you have arrived," he said as he rode up to the troop, who had hastily mounted as he was seen approaching. "There is plenty for you to do, I can tell you; and I only wish you had brought a thousand men instead of a hundred. I am heartily glad to see you all, gentlemen," he said to the troop. "I am afraid just at first that the brightness of your gray jackets will put my men rather to shame; but we shall soon get rid of that. But dismount your men, Ashley; there is plenty for them and their horses to do without wasting time in parade work. There is very little of that here, I can tell you. I have not seen a score of my men together for the last month." Vincent gazed with admiration at the young leader, whose name was soon to be celebrated throughout America and Europe. The young Virginian--for he was not yet twenty-eight years old--was the _beau ideal_ of a cavalry officer. He was singularly handsome, and possessed great personal strength and a constitution which enabled him to bear all hardships. He possessed unfailing good spirits, and had a joke and laugh for all he met; and while on the march, at the head of his regiment, he was always ready to lift up his voice and lead the songs with which the men made the woods resound. He seemed to live in his saddle, and was present at all hours of the night and day along the line he guarded, seeing that the men were watchful and on the alert, instructing the outposts in their duty, and infusing his own spirit and vigilance among them. He had been educated at West Point, and had seen much service with the cavalry against the Indians in the West. Such was the man who was to become the most famous cavalry leader of his time. So far he had not come in contact with the enemy, and his duties were confined to obtaining information regarding their strength and intentions, to watching every road by which they could advance, and to seeing that none passed North to carry information to the enemy as to the Confederate strength and positions, for even in the Shenandoah Valley there were some whose sympathies were with the Federals. These were principally Northern men settled as traders in the towns, and it was important to prevent them from sending any news to the enemy. So well did Stuart's cavalry perform this service, and so general was the hostility of the population against the North, that throughout the whole of the war in Virginia it was very seldom that the Northern generals could obtain any trustworthy information as to the movements and strength of the Confederates, while the latter were perfectly informed of every detail connected with the intentions of the invaders. The next morning Ashley's troop took up their share of the work at the front. They were broken up into parties of ten, each of which was stationed at a village near the river, five men being on duty night and day. As it happened that none of the other men in his squad had a servant at the front, Vincent was able without difficulty to have Dan assigned to his party. A house in the village was placed at their disposal, and here the five off duty slept and took their meals while the others were in the saddle. Dan was quite in his element, and turned out an excellent cook, and was soon a general favorite among the mess. CHAPTER VI. BULL RUN. The next fortnight passed by without adventure. Hard as the work was, Vincent enjoyed it thoroughly. When on duty by day he was constantly on the move, riding through the forest, following country lanes, questioning everyone he came across; and as the men always worked in pairs, there was no feeling of loneliness. Sometimes Ashley would draw together a score of troopers, and crossing the river in a ferry-boat, would ride twenty miles north, and dashing into quiet villages, astonish the inhabitants by the sight of the Confederate uniform. Then the villagers would be questioned as to the news that had reached them of the movements of the troops; the post-office would be seized and the letters broken open; any useful information contained in them being noted. But in general questions were readily answered; for a considerable portion of the people of Maryland were strongly in favor of the South, and were only prevented from joining it by the strong force that held possession of Baltimore, and by the constant movement of Federal armies through the State. Vincent was often employed in carrying dispatches from Major Ashley to Stuart, being selected for that duty as being the best mounted man in the troop. The direction was always a vague one. "Take this letter to Colonel Stuart, wherever he may be," and however early he started, Vincent thought himself fortunate if he carried out his mission before sunset; for Stuart's front covered over fifty miles of ground, and there was no saying where he might be. Sometimes, after riding thirty or forty miles, and getting occasional news that Stuart had passed through ahead of him, he would learn from some outpost that the colonel had been there but ten minutes before, and had ridden off before he came, and then Vincent had to turn his horse and gallop back again, seldom succeeding in overtaking his active commander until the latter had halted for his supper at one or other of the villages where his men were stationed. Sometimes by good luck he came upon him earlier, and then, after reading the dispatch, Stuart would, if he were riding in the direction where Ashley's command lay, bid him ride on with him, and would chat with him on terms of friendly intimacy about people they both knew at Richmond, or as to the details of his work, and sometimes they would sit down together under the shade of some trees, take out the contents of their haversacks, and share their dinners. "This is the second time I have had the best of this," the colonel laughed one day; "my beef is as hard as leather, and this cold chicken of yours is as plump and tender as one could wish to eat." "I have my own boy, colonel, who looks after the ten of us stationed at Elmside, and I fancy that in the matter of cold rations he gives me an undue preference. He always hands me my haversack when I mount with a grin, and I quite understand that it is better I should ask no questions as to its contents." "You are a lucky fellow," Stuart said. "My own servant is a good man, and would do anything for me; but my irregular hours are too much for him. He never knows when to expect me; and as he often finds that when I do return I have made a meal an hour before at one of the outposts, and do not want the food he has for hours been carefully keeping hot for me, it drives him almost to despair, and I have sometimes been obliged to eat rather than disappoint him. But he certainly has not a genius for cooking, and were it not that this riding gives one the appetite of a hunter, I should often have a good deal of difficulty in devouring the meal he puts into my haversack." But the enemy were now really advancing, and on the 12th of June a trooper rode in from the extreme left, and handed Vincent a dispatch from Colonel Stuart. "My orders were," he said, "that, if you were here, you were to carry this on at all speed to General Johnston. If not, someone else was to take it on." "Any news?" Vincent asked, as, aided by Dan, he rapidly saddled Wildfire. "Yes," the soldier said; "2000 of the enemy have advanced up the western side, and have occupied Romney, and they say all Patterson's force is on the move." "So much the better," Vincent replied, as he jumped into the saddle. "We have been doing nothing long enough, and the sooner it comes the better." It was a fifty-mile ride; but it was done in five hours, and at the end of that time Vincent dismounted in front of General Johnston's quarters. "Is the general in?" he asked the sentry at the door. "No, he is not in; but here he comes," the soldier replied, and two minutes later the general, accompanied by three or four officers, rode up. Vincent saluted, and handed him the dispatch. The general opened it and glanced at the contents. "The storm is going to burst at last, gentlemen," he said to the officers. "Stuart writes me that 2000 men, supposed to be the advance of McClellan's army, are at Romney, and that he hears Patterson is also advancing from Chambersburg on Williamsport. His dispatch is dated this morning at nine o'clock. He writes from near Cumberland. No time has been lost, for that is eighty miles away, and it is but five o'clock now. How far have you brought this dispatch, sir?" "I have brought it from Elmside, general; twenty miles on the other side of Bath. A trooper brought it in just at midday, with orders for me to carry it on at once." "That is good work," the general said. "You have ridden over fifty miles in five hours. You must be well mounted, sir." "I do not think there is a better horse in the State," Vincent said, patting Wildfire's neck. The general called an orderly. "Let this man picket his horse with those of the staff," he said, "and see that it has forage at once. Take the man to the orderlies' quarters, and see that he is well cared for." Vincent saluted, and, leading Wildfire, followed the orderly. When he had had a meal, he strolled out to see what was going on. Evidently some movement was in contemplation. Officers were riding up or dashing off from the general's headquarters. Two or three regiments were seen marching down from the plateau on which they were encamped into the town. Bells rang and drums beat, and presently long trains of railway wagons, heavily laden, began to make their way across the bridge. Until next morning the movement continued unceasingly; by that time all the military stores and public property, together with as much private property, belonging to inhabitants who had decided to forsake their homes for a time rather than to remain there when the town was occupied by the enemy, as could be carried on in the available wagons, had been taken across the bridge. A party of engineers, who had been all night hard at work, then set fire both to the railway bridge across the river and the public buildings in the town. The main body of troops had moved across in the evening. The rearguard passed when all was in readiness for the destruction of the bridge. General Johnston had been preparing for the movement for some time; he had foreseen that the position must be evacuated as soon as the enemy began to advance upon either of his flanks, and a considerable portion of his baggage and military stores had some time previously been sent into the interior of Virginia. The troops, formed up on the high grounds south of the river, looked in silence at the dense volumes of smoke rising. This was the reality of war. Hitherto their military work had been no more than that to which many of them were accustomed when called out with the militia of their State; but the scene of destruction on which they now gazed brought home to them that the struggle was a serious one--that it was war in its stern reality which had now begun. The troops at once set off on their march, and at night bivouacked in the woods around Charleston. The next day they pushed across the country and took up a position covering Winchester; and then the enemy, finding that Johnston's army was in front of them, ready to dispute their advance, recrossed the river, and Johnston concentrated his force round Winchester. Vincent joined his corps on the same afternoon that the infantry marched out from Harper's Ferry, the general sending him forward with dispatches as soon as the troops had got into motion. "You will find Colonel Stuart in front of the enemy; but more than that I cannot tell you." This was quite enough for Vincent, who found the cavalry scouting close to Patterson's force, prepared to attack the enemy's cavalry, should it advance to reconnoiter the country, and to blow up bridges across streams, fell trees, and take every possible measure to delay the advance of Patterson's army, in its attempt to push on toward Winchester before the arrival of General Johnston's force upon the scene. "I am glad to see you back, Wingfield," Major Ashley said, as he rode up. "The colonel tells me that in the dispatch he got last night from Johnston the general said that Stuart's information reached him in a remarkably short time, having been carried with great speed by the orderly in charge of the duty. We have scarcely been out of our saddles since you left. However, I think we have been of use, for we have been busy all round the enemy since we arrived here in the afternoon, and I fancy he must think us a good deal stronger than we are. At any rate, he has not pushed his cavalry forward at all; and, as you say Johnston will be up to-morrow afternoon, Winchester is safe anyhow." After the Federals had recrossed the river, and Johnston had taken up his position round Winchester, the cavalry returned to their old work of scouting along the Potomac. On the 20th of June movements of considerable bodies of the enemy were noticed; and Johnston at once dispatched Jackson with his brigade to Martinsburg, with orders to send as much of the rolling-stock of the railroad as could be removed to Winchester, to destroy the rest, and to support Stuart's cavalry when they advanced. A number of locomotives were sent to Winchester along the highroad, drawn by teams of horses. Forty engines and three hundred cars were burned or destroyed, and Jackson then advanced and took up his position on the road to Williamsport, the cavalry camp being a little in advance of him. This was pleasant for Vincent, as, when off duty, he spent his time with his friends and schoolfellows in Jackson's brigade. On the 2d of July the scouts rode into camp with the news that a strong force was advancing from Williamsport. Jackson at once advanced with the 5th Virginia Infantry, numbering 380 men and one gun, while Stuart, with 100 cavalry, started to make a circuitous route, and harassed the flank and rear of the enemy. There was no intention on the part of Jackson of fighting a battle, his orders being merely to feel the enemy, whose strength was far too great to be withstood, even had he brought his whole brigade into action, for they numbered three brigades of infantry, 500 cavalry, and some artillery. For some hours the little Confederate force skirmished so boldly that they checked the advance of the enemy, whose general naturally supposed that he had before him the advanced guard of a strong force, and therefore moved forward with great caution. Then the Confederates, being threatened on both flanks by the masses of the Federals, fell back in good order. The loss was very trifling on either side, but the fact that so small a force had for hours checked the advance of an army greatly raised the spirits and confidence of the Confederates. Stuart's small cavalry force, coming down upon the enemy's rear, captured a good many prisoners--Colonel Stuart himself capturing forty-four infantry. Riding some distance ahead of his troop to find out the position of the enemy, he came upon a company of Federal infantry sitting down in a field, having no idea whatever that any Confederate force was in the neighborhood. Stuart did not hesitate a moment, but riding up to them shouted the order, "Throw down your arms, or you are all dead men!" Believing themselves surrounded, the Federals threw down their arms, and when the Confederate cavalry came up were marched off as prisoners. Jackson, on reaching his camp, struck his tents and sent them to the rear, and formed up his whole brigade in order of battle. The Federals, however, instead of attacking, continued their flank movement, and Jackson fell back through Martinsburg and halted for the night a mile beyond the town. Next day he again retired, and was joined six miles further on by Johnston's whole force. For four days the little army held its position, prepared to give battle if the enemy advanced; but the Federals, though greatly superior in numbers, remained immovable at Martinsburg, and Johnston, to the great disgust of his troops, retired to Winchester. The soldiers were longing to meet the invaders in battle, but their general had to bear in mind that the force under his command might at any moment be urgently required to join the main Confederate army and aid in opposing the Northern advance upon Richmond. Stuart's cavalry kept him constantly informed of the strength of the enemy gathering in his front. Making circuits round Martinsburg, they learned from the farmers what number of troops each day came along; and while the Federals knew nothing of the force opposed to them, and believed that it far outnumbered their own, General Johnston knew that Patterson's force numbered about 22,000 men, while he himself had been joined only by some 3000 men since he arrived at Winchester. On the 18th of July a telegram from the government at Richmond announced that the Federal grand army had driven in General Beauregard's pickets at Manassas, and had begun to advance, and Johnston was directed, if possible, to hasten to his assistance. A few earthworks had been thrown up at Winchester, and some guns mounted upon them, and the town was left under the protection of the local militia. Stuart's cavalry was posted in a long line across the country to prevent any news of the movement reaching the enemy. As soon as this was done the infantry, 8300 strong, marched off. The troops were in high spirits now, for they knew that their long period of inactivity was over, and that, although ignorant when and where, they were on their march to meet the enemy. They had no wagons or rations; the need for speed was too urgent even to permit of food being cooked. Without a halt they pressed forward steadily, and after two days' march, exhausted and half famished, they reached the Manassas Gap Railroad. Here they were put into trains as fast as these could be prepared, and by noon on the 20th joined Beauregard at Manassas. The cavalry had performed their duty of preventing the news of the movement from reaching the enemy until the infantry were nearly a day's march away, and then Stuart reassembled his men and followed Johnston. Thus the Confederate plans had been completely successful. Over 30,000 of the enemy, instead of being in line of battle with the main army, were detained before Winchester, while the little Confederate force which had been facing them had reached Beauregard in time to take part in the approaching struggle. In the North no doubt as to the power of the grand army to make its way to Richmond was entertained. The troops were armed with the best weapons obtainable, the artillery was numerous and excellent, the army was well fed, and so confident were the men of success that they regarded the whole affair in the light of a great picnic. The grand army numbered 55,000 men, with nine regiments of cavalry and forty-nine rifle-guns. To oppose these, the Confederate force, after the arrival of Johnston's army, numbered 27,833 infantry, thirty-five smooth-bore guns, and 500 cavalry. Many of the infantry were armed only with shot-guns and old fowling-pieces, and the guns were small and ill-supplied with ammunition. There had been some sharp fighting on the 18th, and the Federal advance across the river of Bull Run had been sharply repulsed, therefore their generals determined, instead of making a direct attack on the 31st against the Confederate position, to take a wide sweep round, cross the river higher up, and falling upon the Confederate left flank, to crumple it up. All night the Federal troops had marched, and at daybreak on the 21st nearly 40,000 men were in position on the left flank of the Confederates. The latter were not taken by surprise when Stuart's cavalry brought in news of the Federal movement, and General Beauregard, instead of moving his troops toward the threatened point, sent orders to General Longstreet on the right to cross the river as soon as the battle began, and to fall upon the Federal flank and rear. Had this movement been carried out, the destruction of the Federal army would probably have been complete; but by one of those unfortunate accidents which so frequently occur in war and upset the best laid plans, the order in some way never came to hand, and when late in the day the error was discovered, it was too late to remedy it. At eight o'clock in the morning two of the Federal divisions reached the river, and while one of them engaged the Confederate force stationed at the bridge, another crossed the river at a ford. Colonel Evans, who commanded the Confederate forces, which numbered but fifteen companies, left 200 men to continue to hold the bridge, while with 800 he hurried to oppose General Hunter's division, which had crossed at the ford. This consisted of 16,000 infantry, with cavalry and artillery, and another division of equal force had crossed at the Red House Ford, higher up. To check so great a force with this handful of men seemed all but impossible; but Colonel Evans determined to hold his ground to the last, to enable his general to bring up re-enforcements. His force consisted of men of South Carolina and Louisiana, and they contested every foot of the ground. The regiment which formed the advance of the Federals charged, supported by an artillery fire, but was repulsed. As the heavy Federal line advanced, however, the Confederates were slowly but steadily pressed back, until General Bee, with four regiments and a battery of artillery, came up to their assistance. The newcomers threw themselves into the fight with great gallantry, and maintained their ground until almost annihilated by the fire of the enemy, who outnumbered them by five to one. As, fighting desperately, they fell back before Hunter's division, the Federals, who had crossed at Red House Ford, suddenly poured down and took them in flank. Swept by a terrible musketry fire, these troops could no longer resist, and in spite of the efforts of their general, who rode among them imploring them to stand firm until aid arrived, they began to fall back. Neither entreaties nor commands were of avail; the troops had done all that they could, and broken and disheartened they retreated in great confusion. But at this moment, when all seemed lost, a line of glittering bayonets was seen coming over the hill behind, and the general, riding off in haste toward them, found Jackson advancing with the first brigade. Unmoved by the rush of the fugitives of the brigades of Bee and Evans, Jackson moved steadily forward, and so firm and resolute was their demeanor that Bee rode after his men, and pointing with his sword to the first brigade, shouted, "Look, there is Jackson standing like a stone wall!" The general's words were repeated, and henceforth the brigade was known as the Stonewall Brigade, and their general by the nickname of Stonewall Jackson, by which he was ever afterward known. The greater part of the fugitives rallied, and took up their position on the right of Jackson, and the Federal forces, who were hurrying forward assured of victory, found themselves confronted suddenly by 2600 bayonets. After a moment's pause they pressed forward again, the artillery preparing a way for them by a tremendous fire. Jackson ordered his men to lie down until the enemy arrived within fifty yards, and then to charge with the bayonet. Just at this moment Generals Johnston and Beauregard arrived on the spot, and at once seeing the desperate nature of the situation, and the whole Federal army pressing forward against a single brigade, they did their best to prepare to meet the storm. First they galloped up and down the disordered lines of Bee, exhorting the men to stand firm; and seizing the colors of the 4th Alabama, Johnston led them forward and formed them up under fire. Beauregard hurried up some re-enforcements and formed them on the left of Jackson, and thus 6500 infantry and artillery, and Stuart's two troops of cavalry, stood face to face with more than 20,000 infantry and seven troops of regular cavalry, behind whom, at the lower fords, were 35,000 men in reserve. While his men were lying down awaiting the attack, Jackson rode backward and forward in front of them as calm and as unconcerned to all appearance as if on the parade ground, and his quiet bravery greatly nerved and encouraged the young troops. All at once the tremendous artillery fire of the enemy ceased, and their infantry came on in massive lines. The four Confederate guns poured in their fire and then withdrew behind the infantry. When the line came within fifty yards of him, Jackson gave the word, his men sprang to their feet, poured in a heavy volley, and then charged. A wild yell rose from both ranks as they closed, and then they were mingled in a desperate conflict. For a time all was in wild confusion, but the ardor and courage of Jackson's men prevailed, and they burst through the center of the Federal line. Immediately Jackson had charged, Beauregard sent forward the rest of the troops, and for a time a tremendous struggle took place along the whole line. Generals Bee and Barlow fell mortally wounded at the head of their troops. General Hampton was wounded, and many of the colonels fell. So numerous were the Federals, that although Jackson had pierced their center, their masses drove back his flanks and threatened to surround him. With voice and example he cheered on his men to hold their ground, and the officers closed up their ranks as they were thinned by the enemy's fire, and for an hour the struggle continued without marked advantage on either side. Jackson's calmness was unshaken even in the excitement of the fight. At one time an officer rode up to him from another portion of the field and exclaimed, "General, I think the day is going against us!" To which Jackson replied in his usual curt manner, "If you think so, sir, you had better not say anything about it." The resolute stand of the Confederates enabled General Beauregard to bring up fresh troops, and he at last gave the word to advance. Jackson's brigade rushed forward on receiving the order, burst through the Federals with whom they were engaged, and, supported by the reserves, drove the enemy from the plateau. Then the Federals, though vastly superior in force, brought up the reserves, and prepared to renew the attack; but 1700 fresh men of the Army of the Shenandoah came upon the field of battle, Smith and Early brought up their divisions from the river, and the whole Southern line advanced at the charge, and drove the enemy down the slopes and on toward the ford. A panic seized them, and their regiments broke up and took to headlong flight, which soon became an utter rout. Many of them continued their flight for hours, and for a time the Federal army ceased to exist; and had the Confederates advanced, as Jackson desired that they should do, Washington would have fallen into their hands without a blow being struck in its defense. This, the first great battle of the war, is sometimes known as the battle of Manassas, but more generally as Bull Run. With the exception of one or two charges, the little body of Confederate horse did not take any part in the battle of Bull Run. Had they been aware of the utter stampede of the Northern troops, they could safely have pressed forward in hot pursuit as far as Washington, but being numerically so inferior to the Federal cavalry, and in ignorance that the Northern infantry had become a mere panic-stricken mob, it would have been imprudent in the extreme for such a handful of cavalry to undertake the pursuit of an army. Many of the Confederates were of opinion that this decisive victory would be the end of the war, and that the North, seeing that the South was able as well as willing to defend the position it had taken up, would abandon the idea of coercing it into submission. This hope was speedily dissipated. The North was indeed alike astonished and disappointed at the defeat of their army by a greatly inferior force, but instead of abandoning the struggle, they set to work to retrieve the disaster, and to place in the field a force which would, they believed, prove irresistible. Vincent Wingfield saw but little of the battle at Bull Run. As they were impatiently waiting the order to charge, while the desperate conflict between Jackson's brigade and the enemy was at its fiercest, a shell from one of the Federal batteries burst a few yards in front of the troop, and one of the pieces, striking Vincent on the side, hurled him insensible from his horse. He was at once lifted and carried by Dan and some of the other men-servants, who had been told off for this duty, to the rear, where the surgeons were busily engaged in dressing the wounds of the men who straggled back from the front. While the conflict lasted those unable to walk lay where they fell, for no provision had at present been made for ambulance corps, and not a single man capable of firing a musket could be spared from the ranks. The tears were flowing copiously down Dan's cheeks as he stood by while the surgeons examined Vincent's wound. "Is he dead, sah?" he sobbed as they lifted him up from his stooping position. "Dead!" the surgeon repeated. "Can't you see he is breathing, and did you not hear him groan when I examined his side? He is a long way from being a dead man yet. Some of his ribs are broken, and he has had a very nasty blow; but I do not think there is any cause for anxiety about him. Pour a little wine down his throat, and sprinkle his face with water. Raise his head and put a coat under it, and when he opens his eyes and begins to recover, don't let him move. Then you can cut up the side of his jacket and down the sleeve, so as to get it off that side altogether. Cut his shirt open, and bathe the wound with some water and bit of rag of any sort; it is not likely to bleed much. When it has stopped bleeding put a pad of linen upon it, and keep it wet. When we can spare time we will bandage it properly." But it was not until late at night that the time could be spared for attending to Vincent; for the surgeons were overwhelmed with work, and the most serious cases were, as far as possible, first attended to. He had soon recovered consciousness. At first he looked with a feeling of bewilderment at Dan, who was copiously sprinkling his face with water, sobbing loudly while he did so. As soon as the negro perceived that his master had opened his eyes he gave a cry of delight. "Thank de Lord, Marse Vincent! Dis child tought you dead and gone for sure." "What's the matter, Dan? What has happened?" Vincent said, trying to move, and then stopping suddenly with a cry of pain. "You knocked off your horse, sah, wid one of de shells of dem cussed Yanks." "Am I badly hurt, Dan?" "Bery bad, sah; great piece of flesh pretty nigh as big as my hand come out ob your side, and doctor says some ob de ribs broken. But de doctor not seem to make much ob it; he hard sort ob man dat. Say you get all right again. No time to tend to you now. Hurry away just as if you some poor white trash instead of Massa Wingfield ob de Orangery." Vincent smiled faintly. "It doesn't make much difference what a man is in a surgeon's eyes, Dan. The question is how badly he is hurt, and what can be done for him? Well, thank God it's no worse. Wildfire was not hurt, I hope?" "No, sah; he is standing tied up by dat tree. Now, sah, de doctor say me cut your jacket off and bave de wound." "All right, Dan; but be a little careful with the water, you seem to be pretty near drowning me as it is. Just wipe my face and hair, and get the handkerchief from the pocket of my jacket, and open the shirt collar and put the handkerchief inside round my neck. Then see how the battle is going on. The roar seems louder than ever." Dan went forward to the crest of a slight rise of the ground whence he could look down upon the field of battle, and made haste to return. "Can't see bery well, sah; too much smoke. But dey in de same place still." "Look round, Dan, and see if there are any fresh troops coming up." Dan again went to the rise of ground. "Yes, sah; lot of men coming ober de hill behind." "That's all right, Dan. Now you can see about this bathing my side." As soon as the battle was over, Major Ashley rode up to where Vincent and five or six of his comrades of the cavalry were lying wounded. "How are you getting on, lads? Pretty well, I hope?" he asked as he dismounted. "First-rate, major," one of the men answered. "We all of us took a turn as soon as we heard that the Yanks were whipped." "Yes, we have thrashed them handsomely," the major said. "Ah, Wingfield! I am glad to see you are alive. I thought, when you fell, it was all over with you." "I am not much hurt, sir," Vincent replied. "A flesh wound and some ribs are broken, I hear; but they won't be long mending, I hope." "It's a nasty wound to look at," the major said, as Dan lifted the pad of wet linen. "But with youth and health you will soon get round it, never fear." "Ah, my poor lad! yours is a worse case," he said as he bent over a young fellow who was lying a few paces from Vincent. "It's all up with me, major," he replied faintly; "the doctor said he could do nothing for me. But I don't mind, now we have beaten them. You will send a line to the old people, major, won't you, and say I died doing my duty? I've got two brothers, and I expect they will send one on to take my place." "I will write to them, my lad," the major said, "and tell them all about you." He could give the lad no false hopes, for already a gray shade was stealing over the white face, and the end was close at hand; in a few minutes he ceased to breathe. Late in the evening the surgeons, having attended to more urgent cases, came round. Vincent's wound was now more carefully examined than before, but the result was the same. Three of the ribs were badly fractured, but there was no serious danger. "You will want quiet and good nursing for some time," the principal surgeon said. "There will be a train of wounded going off for Richmond the first thing in the morning, and you shall go by it. You had better get a door," he said to some of the troopers, who had come across from the spot where the cavalry were bivouacked to see how their comrades were getting on, "and carry him down and put him in the train. One has just been sent off and another will be made up at once, so that the wounded can be put in it as they are taken down. Now I will bandage the wound, and it will not want any more attention until you get home." A wad of lint was placed upon the wound and bandaged tightly round the body. "Remember you have got to lie perfectly quiet, and not attempt to move till the bones have knit. I am afraid that they are badly fractured, and will require some time to heal up again." A door was fetched from an outhouse near, and Vincent and two of his comrades, who were also ordered to be sent to the rear, were one by one carried down to the nearest point on the railway, where a train stood ready to receive them, and they were then laid on the seats. All night the wounded kept arriving, and by morning the train was packed as full as it would hold, and with two or three surgeons in charge started for Richmond. Dan was permitted to accompany the train, at Vincent's urgent request, in the character of doctor's assistant, and he went about distributing water to the wounded, and assisting the surgeons in moving such as required it. It was night before the train reached Richmond. A number of people were at the station to receive it; for as soon as the news of the battle had been received, preparations had been made for the reception of the wounded, several public buildings had been converted into hospitals, and numbers of the citizens had come forward with offers to take one or more of the wounded into their houses. The streets were crowded with people, who were wild with joy at the news of the victory which, as they believed, had secured the State from further fear of invasion. Numbers of willing hands were in readiness to carry the wounded on stretchers to the hospitals, where all the surgeons of the town were already waiting to attend upon them. Vincent, at his own request, was only laid upon a bed, as he said that he would go home to be nursed the first thing in the morning. This being the case, it was needless to put him to the pain and trouble of being undressed. Dan had started, as soon as he saw his master carried into the hospital, to take the news to the Orangery; being strictly charged by Vincent to make light of his injury, and on no account whatever to alarm them. He was to ask that the carriage should come to fetch him the first thing in the morning. It was just daybreak when Mrs. Wingfield drove up to the hospital. Dan had been so severely cross-examined that he had been obliged to give an accurate account of Vincent's injury. There was bustle and movement even at that early hour, for another train of wounded had just arrived. As she entered the hospital she gave an exclamation of pleasure, for at the door were two gentlemen in conversation, one of whom was the doctor who had long attended the family at the Orangery. "I am glad you are here, Dr. Mapleston; for I want your opinion before I move Vincent. Have you seen him?" "No, Mrs. Wingfield; I did not know he was here. I have charge of one of the wards, and have not had time to see who are in the others. I sincerely hope Vincent is not seriously hurt." "That's what I want to find out, doctor. His boy brought us news late last night that he was here. He said the doctors considered that he was not in any danger; but as he had three ribs broken, and a deep flesh wound from the explosion of a shell, it seems to me that it must be serious." "I will go up and see him at once, Mrs. Wingfield, and find out from the surgeon in charge of his ward exactly what is the matter with him." Dan led the way to the bed upon which Vincent was lying. He was only dozing, and opened his eyes as they came up. "My poor boy!" Mrs. Wingfield said, struggling with her tears at the sight of his pale face, "this is sad indeed." "It is nothing very bad, mother," Vincent replied cheerfully; "nothing at all to fret about. The wound is nothing to the injuries of most of those here. I suppose, doctor, I can be moved at once?" Dr. Mapleston felt his pulse. "You are feverish, Vincent; but perhaps the best thing for you would be to get you home while you can be moved. You will do far better there than here. But I must speak to the surgeon in charge of you first, and hear what he says." "Yes, I think you can move him," the surgeon of the ward said. "He has got a nasty wound, and the ticket with him said that three ribs were badly fractured; but I made no examination, as he said he would be fetched the first thing this morning. I only put on a fresh dressing and bandaged it. The sooner you get him off the better, if he is to be moved. Fever is setting in, and he will probably be wandering by this evening. He will have a much better chance at home, with cool rooms and quiet and careful nursing, than he can have here; though there would be no lack of either comforts or nurses, for half the ladies in the town have volunteered for the work, and we have offers of all the medical comforts that could be required were the list of wounded ten times as large as it is." A stretcher was brought in, and Vincent was lifted as gently as possible upon it. Then he was carried down stairs and the stretcher placed in the carriage; which was a large open one, and afforded just sufficient length for it. Mrs. Wingfield took her seat beside him, Dan mounted the box beside the coachman. "I will be out in an hour, Mrs. Wingfield," Dr. Mapleston said. "I have got to go round the ward again, and will then drive out at once. Give him lemonade and cooling drinks; don't let him talk. Cut his clothes off him, and keep the room somewhat dark, but with a free current of air. I will bring out some medicine with me." The carriage drove slowly to avoid shaking, and when they approached the house Mrs. Wingfield told Dan to jump down and come to the side of the carriage. Then she told him to run on as fast as he could ahead, and to tell her daughters not to meet them upon their arrival, and that all the servants were to be kept out of the way, except three men to carry Vincent upstairs. The lad was consequently got up to his room without any excitement, and was soon lying on his bed with a sheet thrown lightly over him. "That is comfortable," he said, as his mother bathed his face and hands and smoothed his hair. "Where are the girls, mother?" "They will come in to see you now, Vincent; but you are to keep quite quiet, you know, and not to talk." The girls stole in and said a few words, and left him alone again with Mrs. Wingfield. He did not look to them so ill as they had expected, for there was a flush of fever on his cheeks. Dr. Mapleston arrived a little later, examined and redressed the wound, and comforted Mrs. Wingfield with the assurance that there was nothing in it likely to prove dangerous to life. "Our trouble will be rather with the effect of the shock than with the wound itself. He is very feverish now, and you must not be alarmed if by this evening he is delirious. You will give him this cooling draught every three hours; he can have anything in the way of cooling drinks he likes. If he begins to wander, put cloths dipped in cold water and wrung out on his head, and sponge his hands with water with a little Eau de Cologne in it. If he seems very hot set one of the women to fan him, but don't let her go on if it seems to worry him. I will come round again at half-past nine this evening and will make arrangements to pass the night here. We have telegrams saying that surgeons are coming from Charleston and many other places, so I can very well be spared." When the doctor returned in the evening, he found, as he had anticipated, that Vincent was in a high state of fever. This continued four or five days, and then gradually passed off; and he woke up one morning perfectly conscious. His mother was sitting on a chair at the bedside. "What is the time, mother?" he asked. "Have I been asleep long?" "Some time, dear," she answered gently; "but you must not talk. You are to take this draught and go off to sleep again; when you wake you may ask any questions you like." She lifted the lad's head, gave him the draught and some cold tea, then darkened the room, and in a few minutes he was asleep again. CHAPTER VII. THE "MERRIMAC" AND THE "MONITOR." It was some weeks before Vincent was able to walk unaided. His convalescence was somewhat slow, for the shock to the system had been a severe one. The long railway journey had been injurious to him, for the bandage had become somewhat loose and the broken pieces of bone had grated upon each other, and were much longer in knitting together than they would have been had he been treated on the spot. As soon as he could walk he became anxious to rejoin his troop, but the doctor said that many weeks must elapse before he would be able to undergo the hardships of a campaign. He was reconciled to some extent to the delay by letters from his friends with the troop and by the perusal of the papers. There was nothing whatever doing in Virginia. The two armies still faced each other, the Northerners protected by the strong fortifications they had thrown up round Washington--fortifications much too formidable to be attacked by the Confederates, held as they were by a force immensely superior to their own, both in numbers and arms. The Northerners were indeed hard at work, collecting and organizing an army which was to crush out the rebellion. General Scott had been succeeded by McClellan in the supreme command, and the new general was indefatigable in organizing the vast masses of men raised in the North. So great were the efforts that, in a few months after the defeat of Bull Run, the North had 650,000 men in arms. But while no move had at present been made against Virginia there was sharp fighting in some of the border States, especially in Missouri and Kentucky, in both of which public opinion was much divided, and regiments were raised on both sides. Various operations were now undertaken by the Federal fleet at points along the coast, and several important positions were taken and occupied, it being impossible for the Confederates to defend so long a line of seacoast. The South had lost rather than gained ground in consequence of their victory at Bull Run. For a time they had been unduly elated, and were altogether disposed to underrate their enemies and to believe that the struggle was as good as over. Thus, then, they made no effort at all corresponding to the North; but as time went on, and they saw the vastness of the preparations made for their conquest, the people of the Southern States again bestirred themselves. Owing to the North having the command of the sea, and shutting up all the principal ports, they had to rely upon themselves for everything, while the North could draw arms and ammunition and all the requisites of war from the markets of Europe. Foundries were accordingly established for the manufacture of artillery, and factories for muskets, ammunition, and percussion caps. The South had, in fact, to manufacture everything down to the cloth for her soldiers' uniforms and the leather for their shoes; and, as in the past she had relied wholly upon the North for such goods, it was for a time impossible to supply the troops with even the most necessary articles. The women throughout the States were set to work spinning and weaving rough cloth and making uniforms from it. Leather, however, cannot be produced all at once, and indeed, with all their efforts, the Confederate authorities were never, throughout the war, able to provide a sufficient supply of boots for the troops, and many a battle was won by soldiers who fought almost barefooted, and who reshod themselves for the most part by stripping the boots from their dead foes. Many other articles could not be produced in the Southern States, and the Confederates suffered much from the want of proper medicines and surgical appliances. For these and many other necessaries they had to depend solely upon the ships which succeeded in making their way through the enemy's cruisers and running the blockade of the ports. Wine, tea, coffee, and other imported articles soon became luxuries beyond the means of all, even the very wealthy. All sorts of substitutes were used; grain, roasted and ground, being chiefly used as a substitute for coffee. Hitherto the South had been principally occupied in raising cotton and tobacco, depending chiefly upon the North for food; and it was necessary now to abandon the cultivation of products for which they had no sale, and to devote the land to the growth of maize and other crops for food. By the time that the long period of inaction came to a close, Vincent had completely recovered his strength, and was ready to rejoin the ranks as soon as the order came from Colonel Stuart, who had promised to send for him directly there was a prospect of active service. One of Vincent's first questions, as soon as he became convalescent, was whether a letter had been received from Tony. It had come, he was told, among the last batch of letters that crossed the frontier before the outbreak of hostilities, and Mrs. Wingfield had, as he had requested, opened it. As had been arranged, it had merely contained Tony's address at a village near Montreal; for Vincent had warned him to say nothing in the letter, for there was no saying, in the troubled times which were approaching when Tony left, into whose hands it might fall. Vincent had, before starting, told his mother of the share he had taken in getting the negro safely away, and Mrs. Wingfield, brought up, as she had been, to regard those who assisted runaway slaves to escape in the same light as those who assisted to steal any other kind of property, was at first greatly shocked when she heard that her son had taken part in such an enterprise, however worthy of compassion the slave might be, and however brutal the master from whose hands he had fled. However, as Vincent was on the point of starting for the war to meet danger, and possibly death, in the defense of Virginia, she had said little, and that little was in reference rather to the imprudence of the course he had taken than to what she regarded in her own mind as its folly, and indeed its criminality. She had, however, promised that as soon as Tony's letter arrived she would, if still possible, forward Dinah and the child to him, supplying her with money for the journey, and giving her the papers freeing her from slavery which Vincent had duly signed in the presence of a justice. When the letter came, however, it was already too late. Fighting was on the point of commencing, all intercourse across the border was stopped, the trains were all taken up for the conveyance of troops, and even a man would have had great difficulty in passing northward, while for an unprotected negress with a baby such a journey would have been impossible. Mrs. Wingfield had therefore written four times at fortnightly intervals to Tony, saying that it was impossible to send Dinah off at present, but that she should be dispatched as soon as the troubles were over, upon receipt of another letter from him saying that his address was unchanged, or giving a new one. These letters were duly posted, and it was probable that one or other of them would in time reach Tony, as mails were sent off to Europe, whenever an opportunity offered for them to be taken by a steamer running the blockade from a Southern port. Dinah, therefore, still remained at the Orangery. She was well and happy, for her life there was a delightful one indeed after her toil and hardship at the Jacksons'; and although she was anxious to join her husband, the knowledge that he was well and safe from all pursuit, and that sooner or later she would join him with her child, was sufficient to make her perfectly contented. During Vincent's illness she had been his most constant attendant; for her child now no longer required her care, and passed much of its time down at the nursery, where the young children of the slaves were looked after by two or three aged negresses past active work. She had therefore begged Mrs. Wingfield to be allowed to take her place by the bedside of her young master, and, after giving her a trial, Mrs. Wingfield found her so quiet, gentle, and patient that she installed her there, and was able to obtain the rest she needed, with a feeling of confidence that Vincent would be well attended to in her absence. When Vincent was well enough to be about again, his sisters were surprised at the change that had taken place in him since he had started a few months before for the war. It was not so much that he had grown, though he had done so considerably, but that he was much older in manner and appearance. He had been doing man's work,--work requiring vigilance, activity, and courage,--and they could no longer treat him as a boy. As he became stronger he took to riding about the plantation; but not upon Wildfire, for his horse was still with the troop, Colonel Stuart having promised to see that the animal was well cared for, and that no one should ride upon it but himself. "I hope you like Jonas Pearson better than you used to do, Vincent," Mrs. Wingfield said a day or two before he started to rejoin his troop. "I can't say I do, mother," he replied shortly. "The man is very civil to me now--too civil, in fact; but I don't like him, and I don't believe he is honest. I don't mean that he would cheat you, though he may do so for anything I know; but he pretends to be a violent Secessionist, which, as he comes from Vermont, is not natural, and I imagine he would sing a different tune if the bluecoats ever get to Richmond. Still I have nothing particular to say against him, except that I don't like him, and I don't trust him. So long as everything goes on well for the Confederacy I don't suppose it matters, but if we should ever get the worst of it you will see that fellow will be mischievous. [Illustration: Map--THE COUNTRY BETWEEN RICHMOND AND FORT MONROE.] "However, I hear that he has obeyed your orders, and that there has been no flogging on the estate since I went away. In fact, as far as I can see, he does not keep anything like such a sharp hand over the slaves as he used to do; and in some of the fields the work seems to be done in a very slovenly way. What his game is I don't know; but I have no doubt whatever that he has some game in his mind." "You are a most prejudiced boy," Mrs. Wingfield said, laughing. "First of all the man is too strict, and you were furious about it; now you think he is too lenient, and at once you suspect he has what you call a game of some sort or other on. You are hard to please, indeed." Vincent smiled. "Well, as I told you once before, we shall see. I hope I am wrong, and that Pearson is all that you believe him to be. I own that I may be prejudiced against him, but nothing will persuade me that it was not from him that Jackson learned that Dinah was here, and it was to that we owe the visit of the sheriff and the searching the plantation for Tony. However, whatever the man is at heart, he can, as far as I see, do you no injury as long as things go on as they are, and I sincerely trust he will never have an opportunity of doing so." During the winter Vincent had made the acquaintance of many of the Southern leaders. The town was the center of the movement, the heart of the Confederacy. It was against it, as the capital of the Southern States, that the efforts of the Northerners were principally directed, and to it flocked the leading men from all parts of the country. Although every Virginian family had some of its members at the front, and a feeling of anxiety reigned everywhere, a semblance of gayety was kept up. The theater was opened, and parties and balls given in order to keep up the spirits of the people by the example of those of higher rank. These balls differed widely in appearance from those of eighteen months before. The gentlemen were almost all in uniform, and already calicoes and other cheap fabrics were worn by many of the ladies, as foreign dress materials could no longer be purchased. Mrs. Wingfield made a point of always attending these entertainments with her daughters, which to the young people afforded a cheerful break in the dullness and monotony of their usual life; for owing to the absence of almost all the young men with the army, there had been a long cessation of the pleasant interchange of visits, impromptu parties, and social gatherings that had formed a feature in the life of Virginia. The balls would have been but dull affairs had only the residents of Richmond been present; but leave was granted as much as possible to officers stationed with regiments within a railway run of the town, and as these eagerly availed themselves of the change from the monotony of camp life, the girls had no reason to complain of want of partners. Here, and at the receptions given by President Davis, Vincent met all the leaders of the Confederacy, civil and military. Many of them had been personal friends of the Wingfields before the Secession movement began, and among them was General Magruder, who commanded the troops round Richmond. Early in the winter the general had called at the Orangery. "We are going to make a call upon the patriotism of the planters of this neighborhood, Mrs. Wingfield," he said, during lunch time. "You see our armies are facing those of the Federals opposite Washington, and can offer a firm front to any foe marching down from the North; but unfortunately they have command of the sea, and there is nothing to prevent their embarking an army on board ship and landing it in either the James or the York rivers, and in that case they might make a rush upon Richmond before there would be time to bring down troops to our aid. I am therefore proposing to erect a chain of works between the two rivers, so as to be able to keep even a large army at bay until re-enforcements arrive; but to do this a large number of hands will be required, and we are going to ask the proprietors of plantations to place as many negroes as they can spare at our disposal." "There can be no doubt as to the response your quest will meet with, general. At present we have scarcely enough work for our slaves to do. I intend to grow no tobacco next year, for it will only rot in the warehouse, and a comparatively small number of hands are required to raise corn crops. I have about a hundred and seventy working hands on the Orangery, and shall be happy to place a hundred at your disposal for as long a time as you may require them. If you want fifty more, you can of course have them. Everything else must at present give way to the good of the cause." "I thank you much, Mrs. Wingfield, for your offers, and will put your name down the first on the list of contributors." "You seem quite to have recovered now," he said to Vincent a few minutes afterward. "Yes; I am ashamed of staying here so long, general. But I feel some pain at times; and as there is nothing doing at the front, and my doctor says that it is of importance I should have rest as long as possible, I have stayed on. Major Ashley has promised to recall me as soon as there is a prospect of active work." "I think it is quite likely that there will be active work here as soon as anywhere else," the general said. "We know pretty well what is doing at Washington, and though nothing has been decided upon, there is a party in favor of a landing in force here; and if so, we shall have hot work. What do you say? If you like, I will get you a commission and appoint you one of my aids-de-camp. Your knowledge of the country will make you useful, and as Ashley has specially mentioned your name in one of his dispatches, you can have the commission by asking for it. "If there is to be fighting round here, it will be of more interest to you defending your own home than in taking part in general engagements for the safety of the State. It will, too, enable you to be a good deal at home; and although, so far, the slaves have behaved extremely well, there is no saying exactly what may happen if the Northerners come among us. You can rejoin your own corps afterward, you know, if nothing comes of this." Vincent was at first inclined to decline the offer, but his mother and sisters were so pleased at having him near them that he finally accepted with thanks, being principally influenced by the general's last argument, that possibly there might be trouble with the slaves in the event of a landing in the James Peninsula by the Northerners. A few days later there came an official intimation that he had received a commission in the cavalry, and had at General Magruder's request been appointed to his staff, and he at once entered upon his new duties. Fortress Monroe, at the entrance of Hampton Roads, was still in the hands of the Federals, and a large Federal fleet was assembled here, and was only prevented from sailing up the James River by the _Merrimac_, a steamer which the Confederates had plated with railway iron. They had also constructed batteries upon some high bluffs on each side of the river. In a short time 5000 negroes were set to work erecting batteries upon the York River at Yorktown and Gloucester Point, and upon a line of works extending from Warwick upon the James River to Ship Point on the York, through a line of wooded and swampy country intersected by streams emptying themselves into one or other of the rivers. This line was some thirty miles in length, and would require 25,000 men to guard it; but Magruder hoped that there would be sufficient warning of an attack to enable re-enforcements to arrive in time to raise his own command of about 10,000 men to that strength. The negroes worked cheerfully, for they received a certain amount of pay from the State; but the work was heavy and difficult, and different altogether to that which they were accustomed to perform. The batteries by the sides of the rivers made fair progress, but the advance of the long line of works across the peninsula was but slow. Vincent had, upon receiving his appointment, written at once to Major Ashley, sending his letter by Dan, who was ordered to bring back Wildfire. Vincent stated that, had he consulted his personal feeling, he should have preferred remaining in the ranks of his old corps; but that, as the fighting might be close to his home, and there was no saying what might be the behavior of the slave population in the event of a Northern invasion, he had, for the sake of his mother and sisters, accepted the appointment, but as soon as the danger was over he hoped to rejoin the corps and serve under his former commander. Dan, on his return with Wildfire, brought a letter from the major saying that, although he should have been glad to have had him with him, he quite agreed with the decision at which he had, under the circumstances, arrived. Vincent now took up his quarters at the camp formed a short distance from the city, and much of his time was spent in riding to and from the peninsula, seeing that the works were being carried out according to the plan of the general, and reporting upon the manner in which the contractors for the supply off food to the negroes at work there performed their duties. Sometimes he was away for two or three days upon this work; but he generally managed once or twice a week to get home for a few hours. The inhabitants of Richmond and its neighborhood were naturally greatly interested in the progress of the works for their defense, and parties were often organized to ride or drive to Yorktown, or to the batteries on the James River, to watch the progress made. Upon one occasion Vincent accompanied his mother and sisters, and a party of ladies and gentlemen from the neighboring plantations, to Drury's Bluff, where an intrenched position named Fort Darling had been erected, and preparations made to sink vessels across the river, and close it against the advance of the enemy's fleet, should any misfortune happen to the _Merrimac_. Several other parties had been made up, and each brought provisions with them, General Magruder and some of his officers received them upon their arrival, and conducted them over the works. After this the whole party sat down to a picnic meal on the ground, and no stranger could have guessed that the merry party formed part of a population threatened with invasion by a powerful foe. There were speeches and toasts, all of a patriotic character, and General Magruder raised the enthusiasm to the highest point by informing them that in a few days--the exact day was a secret, but it would be very shortly--the _Merrimac_, or, as she had been rechristened, the _Virginia_, would put out of Norfolk Harbor, and see what she could do to clear Hampton Roads of the fleet that now threatened them. As they were riding back to Richmond the general said to Vincent: "I will tell you a little more than I told the others, Wingfield. I believe the _Merrimac_ will go out the day after to-morrow. I wish I could get away myself to see the affair; but, unfortunately, I cannot do so. However, if you like to be present, I will give you three days' leave, as you have been working very hard lately. You can start early to-morrow, and can get down by train to Norfolk in the evening. I should advise you to take your horse with you, and then you can ride in the morning to some spot from which you will get a fair view of the Roads, and be able to see what is going on." "Thank you very much, sir," Vincent said. "I should like it immensely." The next morning Vincent went down to Norfolk. Arriving there, he found that, although there was a general expectation that the _Merrimac_ would shortly go out to try her strength with the enemy, nothing was known of the fact that the next morning had been fixed for the encounter; the secret being kept to the last, lest some spy or adherent of the North might take the news to the fleet. After putting up his horse Vincent went down to the navy yard, off which the _Merrimac_ was lying. This ship had been sunk by the Federals when, at the commencement of hostilities, they had evacuated Norfolk. Having been raised by the Confederates, the ship was cut down, and a sort of roof covered with iron was built over it, so that the vessel presented the appearance of a huge sunken house. A ram was fixed to her bow, and she was armed with ten guns. Her steam-power was very insufficient for her size, and she could only move through the water at the rate of five knots an hour. "She is an ugly-looking thing," a man observed to Vincent, as he gazed at the ship. "Frightfully ugly," Vincent agreed. "She may be a formidable machine in the way of fighting, but one can scarcely call her a ship." "She is a floating battery, and if they tried their best to turn out the ugliest thing that ever floated they could not have succeeded better. She is just like a Noah's ark sunk down to the eaves of her roof." "Yes, she is a good deal like that," Vincent agreed. "The very look of her ought to be enough to frighten the Federals, even if she did nothing else." "I expect it will not be long before she gives them a taste of her quality," the man said. "She has got her coal and ammunition on board, and there's nothing to prevent her going out this evening if she wants to." "It will be worth seeing when she does go out to fight the Northerners," Vincent said. "It will be a new experiment in warfare, and, if she turns out a success, I suppose all the navies in the world will be taking to cover themselves up with iron." The next morning, which was the 8th of March,--a date forever memorable in naval annals,--smoke was seen pouring out from the funnels of the _Merrimac_, and there were signs of activity on board the _Patrick Henry_, of six guns, and the _Jamestown_, _Raleigh_, _Beaufort_, and _Teazer_, little craft carrying one gun each, and at eleven o'clock they all moved down the inlet on which Norfolk is situated. The news that the _Merrimac_ was going out to attack the enemy had now spread, and the whole population of Norfolk turned out and hastened down toward the mouth of the inlet on horseback, in vehicles, or on foot, while Vincent rode to the batteries on Sewell's Point, nearly facing Fortress Monroe. He left his horse at a farmhouse a quarter of a mile from the battery; for Wildfire was always restless under fire, and it was probable that the batteries would take a share in the affair. At one o'clock some of the small Federal lookout launches were seen to be at work signaling, a bustle could be observed prevailing among the large ships over by the fortress, and it was evident that the _Merrimac_ was now visible to them as she came down the inlet. The _Cumberland_ and _Congress_ men-of-war moved out in that direction, and the _Minnesota_ and the _St. Lawrence_, which were at anchor, got under way, assisted by steam tugs. The _Merrimac_ and the fleet of little gunboats were now visible from the battery, advancing against the _Cumberland_ and _Congress_. The former opened fire upon her at a distance of a mile with the heavy pivot guns, but the _Merrimac_, without replying, continued her slow and steady course toward them. She first approached the _Congress_, and as she did so a puff of smoke burst, from the forward end of her pent-house, and the water round the _Congress_ was churned up by a hail of grape-shot. As they passed each other both vessels fired a broadside. The officers in the fort, provided with glasses, could see the effect of the _Merrimac's_ fire in the light patches that showed on the side of the _Congress_, but the _Merrimac_ appeared entirely uninjured. She now approached the _Cumberland_, which poured several broadsides into her, but altogether without effect. The _Merrimac_, without replying, steamed straight on and struck the _Cumberland_ with great force, knocking a large hole in her side, near the water line. Then backing off, she opened fire upon her. For half an hour the crew of the _Cumberland_ fought with great bravery. The ships lay about three hundred yards apart, and every shot from the _Merrimac_ told on the wooden vessel. The water was pouring in through the breach. The shells of the _Merrimac_ crushed in through her side, and at one time set her on fire; but the crew worked their guns until the vessel sank beneath their feet. Some men succeeded in swimming to land, which was not far distant, others were saved by small boats from the shore, but nearly half of the crew of 400 men were either killed in action or drowned. The _Merrimac_ now turned her attention to the _Congress_, which was left to fight the battle alone, as the _Minnesota_ had got aground, and the _Roanoke_ and _St. Lawrence_ could not approach near enough to render them assistance from their draught of water. The _Merrimac_ poured broadside after broadside into her, until the officer in command and many of the crew were killed. The lieutenant who succeeded to the command, seeing there was no prospect of help, and that resistance was hopeless, hauled down the flag. A gunboat was sent alongside, with orders that the crew should leave the _Congress_ and come on board, as the ship was to be burned. But the troops and artillery lining the shore now opened fire on the little gunboat, which consequently hauled off. The _Merrimac_, after firing several more shells into the _Congress_, moved away to attack the _Minnesota_, and the survivors of the 200 men who composed the crew of the _Congress_ were conveyed to shore in small boats. The vessel was set on fire either by her own crew or the shells of the _Merrimac_, and by midnight blew up. Owing to the shallowness of the water the _Merrimac_ could not get near enough to the _Minnesota_ to use her own small guns to advantage, and the gunboat was driven off by the heavy ten-inch gun of the Federal frigate, and, therefore, at seven o'clock the _Merrimac_ and her consorts returned to Norfolk. The greatest delight was felt on shore at the success of the engagement, and on riding back to Norfolk Vincent learned that the ram would go out again next morning to engage the rest of the Federal fleet. She herself had suffered somewhat in the fight. Her loss in men was only two killed and eight wounded; but two of her guns had the muzzles shot off, the armor was damaged in some places, and, most serious of all, she had badly twisted her ram in running into the _Cumberland_. Still it appeared that she was more than a match for the rest of the Federal fleet, and that these must either fly or be destroyed. As the general had given him three days' leave, Vincent was able to stay to see the close of the affair, and early next morning again rode down to Sewell's Point, as the _Merrimac_ was to start at daybreak. At six o'clock the ironclad came out from the river and made for the _Minnesota_, which was still aground. The latter was seen to run up a signal, and the spectators saw an object which they had not before perceived coming out as if to meet the ram. The glasses were directed toward it, and a general exclamation of surprise was heard. "What is the thing? It looks like a raft with two round turrets upon it, and a funnel." A moment's consideration, and the truth burst upon them. It was the ship they had heard of as building at New York, and which had been launched six weeks before. It was indeed the _Monitor_, which had arrived during the night, just in time to save the rest of the Federal fleet. She was the first regular ironclad ever built. She was a turret ship, carrying two very heavy guns, and showing only between two and three feet above the water. The excitement upon both shores as these adversaries approached each other was intense. They moved slowly, and not until they were within a hundred yards distance did the _Monitor_ open fire, the _Merrimac_ replying at once. The fire for a short time was heavy and rapid, the distance between the combatants varying from fifty to two hundred yards. The _Monitor_ had by far the greatest speed, and was much more easily turned than the Confederate ram, and her guns were very much heavier, and the _Merrimac_, while still keeping up the fight, made toward the mouth of the river. Suddenly she turned and steamed directly at the _Monitor_, and before the latter could get out of her way struck her on the side; but the ram was bent, and her weak engines were insufficient to propel her with the necessary force. Consequently she inflicted no damage on the _Monitor_, and the action continued, the turret ship directing her fire at the iron roof of the ram, while the latter pointed her guns especially at the turret and pilot-house of the _Monitor_. At length, after a battle which had lasted six hours, the _Monitor_ withdrew, one of the plates of her pilot house being seriously damaged and her commander injured in the eyes. When her foe drew off the _Merrimac_ steamed back to Norfolk. There were no men killed in either battle, and each side claimed a victory; the Federals upon the ground that they had driven off the _Merrimac_, the Confederates because the _Monitor_ had retreated from the fight. Each vessel, however, held the strength of the other in respect; the _Monitor_ remaining as sentinel over the ships and transports at Fortress Monroe, while the _Merrimac_ at Norfolk continued to guard the entrance into the James River. As soon as the fight was over Vincent Wingfield, greatly pleased that he had witnessed so strange and interesting a combat, rode back to Norfolk, and the same evening reached Richmond, where his description of the fight was received with the greatest interest and excitement. CHAPTER VIII. McCLELLAN'S ADVANCE. It was not until three weeks after the fight between the ironclads that the great army under General McClellan arrived off Fortress Monroe, the greater portion of the troops coming down the Potomac in steam transports. Vast quantities of stores had been accumulated in and around the fortress. Guns of a size never before used in war were lying on the wharfs in readiness to be placed in batteries, while Hampton Roads were crowded with transports and store vessels watched over by the _Monitor_ and the other warships. McClellan's army was a large one, but not so strong a force as he had intended to have taken with him, and as soon as he arrived at Fortress Monroe he learned that he would not be able to expect much assistance from the fleet. The _Merrimac_ completely closed the James River; and were the more powerful vessels of the fleet to move up York River, she would be able to sally out and destroy the rest of the fleet and the transports. As it was most important to clear the peninsula between the two rivers before Magruder should receive strong re-enforcements, a portion of the troops were at once landed, and on the 4th of April 56,000 men and one hundred guns disembarked and started on their march against Yorktown. As soon as the news of the arrival of the Northern army at Fortress Monroe reached Richmond fresh steps were taken for the defense of the city. Magruder soon found that it would be impossible with the force at his command to hold the line he had proposed, and a large body of negroes and troops were set to work to throw up defenses between Yorktown and a point on the Warwick River thirteen and a half miles away. A portion of this line was covered by the Warwick Creek which he dammed up to make it unfordable, and erected batteries to guard the dams. Across the intervening ground a weak earthwork with trenches was constructed, there being no time to raise stronger works; but Magruder relied chiefly upon the swampy and difficult nature of the country, and the concealment afforded by the forest, which rendered it difficult for the enemy to discover the weakness of the defenders. He posted 6000 men at Yorktown and Gloucester Point, and the remaining 5000 troops under his command were scattered along the line of works to the Warwick River. He knew that if McClellan pushed forward with all his force he must be successful; but he knew also that, if the enemy could be held in check for a few days, assistance would reach him from General Johnston's army. Fortunately for the Confederates the weather, which had been fine and clear during the previous week, changed on the very day that McClellan started. The rain came down in torrents, and the roads became almost impassable. The columns struggled on along the deep and muddy tracks all day, and bivouacked for the night in the forests. The next morning they resumed their march, and on reaching the first line of intrenchments formed by the Confederates found them deserted, and it was not until they approached the Warwick Creek that they encountered serious opposition. Had they pushed forward at once they would have unquestionably captured Richmond. But McClellan's fault was over-caution, and he believed himself opposed by a very much larger force than that under the command of Magruder; consequently, instead of making an attack at once, he began regular siege operations against the works on Warwick Creek and those at Yorktown. The delay saved Richmond. Every day re-enforcements arrived, and by the time that McClellan's army, over 100,000 strong, had erected their batteries and got their heavy guns into position, Magruder had been re-enforced by some 10,000 men under General Johnston, who now assumed the command, while other divisions were hurrying up from Northern and Western Virginia. Upon the very night before the batteries were ready to open, the Confederates evacuated their positions and fell back, carrying with them all their guns and stores to the Chickahominy River, which ran almost across the peninsula at a distance of six miles only from Richmond. The Confederates crossed and broke down the bridges, and prepared to make another stand. The disappointment of the Federals was great. After ten days of incessant labor and hardship they had only gained possession of the village of Yorktown, and a tract of low, swampy country. The divisions in front pressed forward rapidly after the Confederates; but these had managed their plan so well that all were safely across the stream before they were overtaken. The dismay in Richmond had for a few days been great. Many people left the town for the interior, taking their valuables with them, and all was prepared for the removal of the State papers and documents. But as the Federals went on with their fortifications, and the re-enforcements began to arrive, confidence was restored, and all went on as before. The great Federal army was so scattered through the forests, and the discipline of some of the divisions was so lax, that it was some days before McClellan had them ranged in order on the Chickahominy. Another week elapsed before he was in a position to undertake fresh operations; but General Johnston had now four divisions on the spot, and he was too enterprising a general to await the attack. Consequently he crossed the Chickahominy, fell upon one of the Federal divisions and almost destroyed it, and drove back the whole of their left wing. The next morning the battle was renewed, and lasted for five hours. It was fortunate indeed for the Confederates that the right wing of the Northern army did not, while the action was going on, cross the river and march straight upon Richmond; but communication was difficult from one part of the army to another, owing to the thick forests and the swampy state of the ground, and being without orders they remained inactive all day. The loss on their side had been 7000 men, while the Confederates had lost 4500; and General Johnston being seriously wounded, the chief command was given to General Lee, by far the ablest soldier the war produced. Satisfied with the success they had gained, the Confederates fell back across the river again. On the 4th of June, General Stuart--for he had now been promoted--started with 1200 cavalry and two guns and in forty-eight hours made one of the most adventurous reconnoissances ever undertaken. First the force rode out to Hanover Courthouse, where they encountered and defeated, first, a small body of cavalry, and afterward a whole regiment. Then, after destroying the stores there, they rode round to the Pamunky, burned two vessels and a large quantity of stores, captured a train of forty wagons, and burned a railway bridge. Then they passed right round the Federal rear, crossed the river, and re-entered the city with 165 prisoners and 200 horses, having effected the destruction of vast quantities of stores, besides breaking up the railways and burning bridges. Toward the end of June McClellan learned that Stonewall Jackson, having struck heavy blows at the two greatly superior armies which were operating against him in the valley of the Shenandoah, had succeeded in evading them, and was marching toward Richmond. He had just completed several bridges across the river, and was about to move forward to fight a great battle when the news reached him. Believing that he should be opposed by an army of 200,000 men, although, in fact, the Confederate army, after Jackson and all the available re-enforcements came up, was still somewhat inferior in strength to his own, he determined to abandon for the present the attempt upon Richmond, and to fall back upon the James River. Here his ships had already landed stores for his supply, for the river was now open as far as the Confederate defenses at Fort Darling. Norfolk Navy Yard had been captured by the 10,000 men who formed the garrison of Fortress Monroe. No resistance had been offered, as all the Confederate troops had been concentrated for the defense of Richmond. When Norfolk was captured the _Merrimac_ steamed out to make her way out of the river; but the water was low, and the pilot declared that she could not be taken up. Consequently she was set on fire and burned to the water's edge, and thus the main obstacle to the advance of the Federal fleet was removed. They had advanced as far as Fort Darling, and the ironclad gunboats had engaged the batteries there. Their shot, however, did little damage to the defenders upon the lofty bluffs, while the shot from the batteries so injured the gunboats that the attempt to force the passage was abandoned. While falling back to a place called Harrison's Landing on the James River, the Federals were attacked by the Confederates, but after desperate fighting on both sides, lasting for five days, they succeeded in drawing off from the Chickahominy with a loss of fifty guns, thousands of small-arms, and the loss of the greater part of their stores. All idea of a further advance against Richmond was for the present abandoned. President Lincoln had always been opposed to the plan, and a considerable portion of the army was moved round to join the force under General Pope, which was now to march upon Richmond from the north. From the commencement of the Federal advance to the time when, beaten and dispirited, they regained the James River, Vincent Wingfield had seen little of his family. The Federal lines had at one time been within a mile of the Orangery. The slaves had some days before been all sent into the interior, and Mrs. Wingfield and her daughters had moved into Richmond, where they joined in the work, to which the whole of the ladies of the town and neighborhood devoted themselves, of attending to the wounded, of whom, while the fighting was going on, long trains arrived every day at the city. Vincent himself had taken no active part in the fighting. Magruder's division had not been engaged in the first attack upon McClellan's force; and although it had taken a share in the subsequent severe fighting, Vincent had been occupied in carrying messages from the general to the leaders of the other divisions, and had only once or twice come under the storm of fire to which the Confederates were exposed as they plunged through the morasses to attack the enemy. As soon as it was certain that the attack was finally abandoned, and that McClellan's troops were being withdrawn to strengthen Pope's army, Vincent resigned his appointment as aid-de-camp, and was appointed to the 7th Virginia Cavalry, stationed at Orange, where it was facing the Federal cavalry. Major Ashley had fallen while protecting the passage of Jackson's division, when hard pressed by one of the Federal armies in West Virginia. No action in the war had been more brilliant than the manner in which Stonewall Jackson had baffled the two armies--each greatly superior in force to his own--that had been specially appointed to destroy him if possible, or at any rate to prevent his withdrawing from the Shenandoah Valley and marching to aid in the defense of the Confederate capital. His troops had marched almost day and night, without food, and depending entirely upon such supplies as they could obtain from the scattered farmhouses they passed. Although Richmond was for the present safe, the prospect of the Confederates was by no means bright. New Orleans had been captured; the blockade of the other ports was now so strict that it was difficult in the extreme for a vessel to make her way in or out; and the Northerners had placed flotillas of gunboats on the rivers, and by the aid of these were gradually making their way into the heart of several of the States. "Are you thinking of going out to the Orangery again soon, mother?" Vincent asked on the evening before setting out on the march north. "I think not, Vincent. There is so much to do in the hospitals here that I cannot leave. I should be ashamed to be living in luxury at the Orangery with the girls while other women are giving up their whole time nursing the wounded. Besides, although I do not anticipate that after the way they have been hurled back the Northerners will try again for some time, now they are in possession of Harrison's Landing they can at any moment advance. Besides, it is not pleasant being obliged to turn out of one's house and leave everything to their mercy. I wrote yesterday to Pearson to bring the slaves back at once and take up the work, and I shall go over occasionally to see that everything is in order; but at any rate for a time we will stop here." "I think that is best, mother. Certainly I should feel more comfortable knowing that you are all at Richmond than alone out there." "We should be no worse off than thousands of ladies all over the State, Vincent. There are whole districts where every white capable of using a gun has gone to the war, leaving nothing but women and slaves behind, and we have not heard of a single case in which there has been trouble." "Certainly there is no chance of trouble with your slaves, mother; but in some of the other plantations it may not be so. At any rate the quiet conduct of the slaves everywhere is the very best answer that could be given to the accusations that have been made as to their cruel treatment. At present the whole of the property of the slave-owners throughout the Southern States is at their mercy, and they might burn, kill, and destroy; and yet in no single instance have they risen against what are called their oppressors, even when the Federals have been close at hand. "Please keep your eye on Dinah, mother. I distrust that fellow Jackson so thoroughly that I believe him capable of having her carried off and smuggled away somewhere down south, and sold there if he saw a chance. I wish, instead of sending her to the Orangery, you would keep her as one of your servants here." "I will if you wish it, Vincent; but I cannot believe for a moment that Jackson or anyone else would venture to meddle with any of my slaves." "Perhaps not, mother; but it is best to be on the safe side. Anyhow, I shall be glad to know that she is with you. Young Jackson will be away, for I know he is in one of Stuart's troops of horse, though I have never happened to run against him since the war began." The firing had hardly ceased before Harrison's Landing, when General Jackson, with a force of about 15,000 men, composed of his own division, now commanded by General Winder, General Ewell's division, and a portion of that of General Hill, started for the Rapidan to check General Pope, who, plundering and wasting the country as he advanced, was marching south, his object being to reach Gordonsville, where he would cut the line of railway connecting Richmond with West Virginia. Vincent was glad that the regiment to which he had been appointed would be under Jackson's command, and that he would be campaigning again with his old division, which consisted largely of Virginian troops and contained so many of his old friends. With Jackson, too, he was certain to be engaged in stirring service, for that general ever kept his troops upon the march; striking blows where least expected, and traversing such an extent of country by rapid marches that he and his division seemed to the enemy to almost ubiquitous. It was but a few hours after he received his appointment that Vincent took train from Richmond to Gordonsville, Dan being in the horse-box with Wildfire in the rear of the train. His regiment was encamped a mile or two away, and he at once rode on and reported himself to Colonel Jones, who commanded it. "I am glad to have you with me, sir," the colonel said. "I had the pleasure of knowing your father, and am an old friend of your mother's family. As you were in Ashley's horse and have been serving on Magruder's staff, you are well up in your duties; and it is a comfort to me that the vacancy has been filled up by one who knows his work instead of a raw hand. We have had a brush or two already with the enemy; but at present we are watching each other, waiting on both sides till the generals have got their infantry to the front in readiness for an advance. Jackson is waiting for Hill's division to come up, and I believe Pope is expecting great re-enforcements from McClellan." A few days later Colonel Jones was ordered to take charge of the pickets posted on the Rapidan, but before reaching Orange a gentleman rode up at full speed and informed them that the enemy were in possession of that town. Colonel Jones divided his regiment into two parts, and with one charged the Federal cavalry in the main street of Orange, while the other portion of the regiment, under Major Marshall, attacked them on the flank. After a sharp fight the enemy were driven from the place; but they brought up large re-enforcements, and pouring in a heavy fire, attacked the town on both sides, and the Confederates had to fall back. But they made another stand a little way out of the town, and drove back the Federal cavalry who were pressing them. Although the fight had been but a short one, the losses in the cavalry ranks had been serious. Colonel Jones, while charging at the head of his men, had received a saber-wound, and Major Marshall was taken prisoner. Five days later, on the 7th of August, Jackson received intelligence that General Burnside, with a considerable portion of McClellan's force, had embarked, and was on the way to join Pope. He determined to strike a blow at once, and marched with his entire force from Gordonsville for Barnett Ford on the Rapidan. At daybreak next morning the cavalry crossed the river and attacked and routed a body of Federal cavalry on the road to Culpeper Courthouse. On the following day Jackson came up with his infantry to a point about eight miles from Culpeper, where Pope's army, 32,000 strong, were stationed upon the crest of a hill. General Ewell's division, which was the only one then up, at once advanced, and after a severe artillery fight, gained a point on a hill where his guns could command the enemy's position. Jackson's division now came up, and as it was moving into position General Winder was killed by a shell. For some hours Jackson did not attempt to advance, as Hill's division had not come up. Encouraged by this delay, the enemy at five o'clock in the afternoon took the offensive and advanced through some cornfields lying between the two armies and attacked Ewell's division on the Confederate right; while shortly afterward they fell with overwhelming strength on Jackson's left, and, attacking it in front, flank, and rear, drove it back, and pressed upon it with such force that the day appeared lost. At this moment Jackson himself rode down among the confused and wavering troops, and by his voice and example rallied them. At the same moment the old Stonewall Brigade came up at a run and poured their fire into the advancing enemy. Jackson led the troops he had rallied forward. The Stonewall Brigade fell upon the enemy's flank and drove them back with terrible slaughter. Other brigades came up, and there was a general charge along the whole Confederate line, and the Federals were driven back a mile beyond the position they had occupied at the commencement of the fight to the shelter of some thick woods; 400 prisoners were taken and over 5000 small-arms. The battle was known as Cedar Run, and it completely checked Pope's advance upon Richmond. The troops were too much exhausted to follow up their victory, but Jackson urged them to press forward. They moved a mile and a half in advance, and then found themselves so strongly opposed that Jackson, believing that the enemy must have received re-enforcements, halted his men. Colonel Jones was sent forward to reconnoiter, and discovered that a large force had joined the enemy. For two days Jackson remained on the field he had won; his troops had been busy in burying the dead, in collecting the wounded and sending them to the rear, and in gathering the arms thrown away by the enemy in their flight. Being assured that the enemy were now too strong to be attacked by the force under his command, Jackson fell back to Orange Courthouse. There was now a few days' delay, while masses of troops were on both sides moving toward the new field of action. McClellan marched his troops across the James Peninsula from Harrison's Landing to Yorktown, and there the greater portion were embarked in transports and taken up the Rappahannock to Aquia Creek, landed there, and marched to Fredericksburg. Lee, instead of attacking McClellan on his march across the peninsula, determined to take his army north at once to join Jackson and attack Pope before he was joined by McClellan's army. But Pope, although already largely re-enforced, retired hastily and took up a new position so strongly fortified that he could not be attacked. General Stuart had come up with Lee, and was in command of all the cavalry. "We shall see some work now," was the remark round the fires of the 7th Virginia Cavalry. Hitherto, although they had been several times engaged with the Federals, they had been forced to remain for the most part inactive owing to the vast superiority in force of the enemy's cavalry; but now that Stuart had come up they felt certain that, whatever the disparity of numbers, there would soon be some dashing work to be done. Except when upon actual duty the strict lines of military discipline were much relaxed among the cavalry, the troopers being almost all the sons of farmers and planters and of equal social rank with their officers, many of whom were their personal friends or relatives. Several of Vincent's schoolfellows were in the ranks, two or three of them were fellow-officers, and these often gathered together round a camp fire and chatted over old schooldays and mutual friends. Many of these had already fallen, for the Virginia regiments of Stonewall Jackson's brigade had been terribly thinned; but the loss of so many friends and the knowledge that their own turn might come next did not suffice to lessen the high spirits of these brave young men. The hard work, the rough life, the exposure and hardship, had braced and invigorated them all, and they were attaining a far more vigorous manhood than they would ever have possessed had they grown up in the somewhat sluggish and enervating life led by young planters. Many of these young men had, until the campaign began, never done half an hour's hard work in their lives. They had been waited upon by slaves, and their only exercise had been riding. For months now they had almost lived in the saddle, had slept in the open air, and had thought themselves lucky if they could obtain a sufficient meal of the roughest food to satisfy their hunger once a day. In this respect, however, the cavalry were better off than their comrades of the infantry, for scouting as they did in small parties over a wide extent of country, they were sure of a meal and a hearty welcome whenever they could spare time to stop for half an hour at the house of a farmer. "It's a glorious life, Wingfield! When we chatted over the future at school we never dreamed of such a life as this, though some of us did talk of entering the army; but even then an occasional skirmish with Indians was the limit of our ideas." "Yes, it is a glorious life!" Vincent agreed. "I cannot imagine anything more exciting. Of course, there is the risk of being shot, but somehow one never seems to think of that. There is always something to do and to think about; from the time one starts on a scout at daybreak to that when one lies down at night one's senses are on the stretch. Besides we are fighting in defense of our country and not merely as a profession, though I don't suppose, after all, that makes much difference when one is once in for it. As far as I have read, all soldiers enjoy campaigning, and it does not seem to make any difference to them who are the foe or what they are fighting about. But I should like to feel a little more sure that we shall win in the long run." There was a chorus of indignant protests against there being any possible doubts as to the issue. "Why, we have thrashed them every time we have met them, Wingfield." "That is all very well," Vincent said. "Here in Virginia we have held our own, and more than held it. We have beat back Scott and McClellan, and now we have thrashed Pope; and Stonewall Jackson has won a dozen battles in West Virginia. But you must remember that in other parts they are gradually closing in; all the ports not already taken are closely blockaded. They are pushing all along the lines of the great rivers; and worst of all, they can fill up their vacancies with hired emigrants, and as fast as one army disappears another takes its place. I believe we shall beat them again and again, and shall prove, as we have proved before, that one Southerner fighting for home and liberty is more than a match for two hired soldiers, even with a good large sprinkling of Yankees among them. But in the long run I am not sure that we shall win, for they can go on putting big armies into the field, while some day we must get used up. "Of course it is possible that we may some day capture Washington, and that the North may get weary of the tremendous drain of money and men caused by their attempt to conquer us. I hope it may be so, for I should like to think that we should win in the long run. I never feel any doubt about our winning a battle when we begin. My only fear is that we may get used up before the North are tired of it." "I did not expect to hear you talk so, Wingfield, for you always seem to be in capital spirits." "I am in capital spirits," Vincent replied, "and ready to fight again and again, and always confident we shall lick the Yankees; the fact that I have a doubt whether in the long run we shall outlast them does not interfere in the slightest degree with my comfort at present. I am very sorry though that this fellow Pope is carrying on the war so brutally, instead of in the manner in which General McClellan and the other commanders have waged it. His proclamation that the army must subsist upon the country it passes through gives a direct invitation to the soldiers to pillage, and his order that all farmers who refuse to take the oath to the Union are to be driven from their homes and sent down South means ruin to all the peaceful inhabitants, for there is scarcely a man in this part of Virginia who is not heartily with us." "I hear," one of the other officers said, "that a prisoner who was captured this morning says that Pope already sees that he has made a mistake, and that he yesterday issued a fresh order saying that the proclamation was not meant to authorize pillage. He finds that the inhabitants who before, whatever their private sentiments were, maintained a sort of neutrality, are now hostile, that they drive off their cattle into the woods, and even set fire to their stacks, to prevent anything from being carried off by the Yanks; and his troops find the roads broken up and bridges destroyed and all sorts of difficulties thrown in their way." "It does not always pay--even in war--to be brutal. I am glad to see he has found out his mistake so soon," another officer said. "McClellan waged war like a gentleman; and if blackguards are to be allowed to carry fire and sword through the land they will soon find it is a game that two can play at, and matters will become horribly embittered." "We shall never do that," Vincent said. "Our generals are all gentlemen, and Lee and Jackson and many others are true Christians as well as true soldiers, and I am sure they will never countenance that on our side, whatever the Northerners may do. We are ready to fight the hordes of Yankees and their hired soldiers as often as they advance against us, but I am sure that none of us would fire a homestead or ill-treat defenseless men and women. It is a scandal that such brutalities are committed by the ruffians who call themselves Southerners. The guerrillas in Missouri and Tennessee are equally bad, whether on our side or the other, and if I were the President I would send down a couple of regiments, and hunt down the fellows who bring dishonor on our cause. If the South cannot free herself without the aid of ruffians of this kind, she had better lay down her arms at once." "Bravo, Wingfield! Spoken like a knight of chivalry!" one of the others laughed. "But many of these bands have done good, nevertheless. They have kept the enemy busy there, and occupied the attention of a very large force who might otherwise have been in the woods yonder with Pope. I agree with you, it would be better if the whole thing were fought out with large armies, but there is a good deal to be said for these bands you are so severe upon. They are composed of men who have been made desperate by seeing their farms harried and their buildings burned by the enemy. They have been denounced as traitors by their neighbors on the other side, and if they retaliate I don't know that they are to be altogether blamed. I know that if my place at home were burned down, and my people insulted and ill-treated, I should be inclined to set off to avenge it." "So would I," Vincent agreed, "but it should be upon those who did the wrong, not upon innocent people." "That is all very well, but if the other side destroy your people's farms, it is only by showing them that two can play at the game that you can make them observe the laws of war. I grant it would be very much better that no such thing should take place; but if the Northerners begin this sort of work they may be sure that there will be retaliation. Anyhow, I am glad that I am an officer in the 7th Virginia and not a guerrilla leader in Missouri. Well, all this talking is dry work. Has no one got a full canteen?" "I have," Vincent said. "Dan managed to buy a gallon of rum at a farmhouse yesterday. I think the farmer was afraid that the enemy might be paying him a visit before many days, and thought it best to get rid of his spirits. Anyhow, Dan got the keg at ordinary city prices, as well as that pair of fine turkeys he is just bringing along for our supper. So you had better each get your ration bread and fall to." There was a cheer as Dan placed the turkeys down in the center of the group, and soon the whole party, using their bread as plates, fell to upon them, and afterward joined in many a merry song, while Dan handed round the jar of spirits. CHAPTER IX. A PRISONER. The party round the fire were just about to disperse when the captain of Vincent's troop approached. He took the horn of spirits and water that Vincent held up to him and tossed it off. "That is a stirrup-cup, Wingfield." "What! are we for duty, captain?" Vincent asked as he rose to his feet. "Yes; our troop and Harper's are to muster. Get the men together quietly. I think it is a serious business; each of the regiments furnishes troops, and I believe Stuart himself takes the command." "That sounds like work, indeed," Vincent said. "I will get the troop together, sir." "There are to be no trumpet calls, Wingfield; we are to get off as quietly as possible." Most of the men were already fast asleep, but as soon as they learned that there was a prospect of active work all were full of life and animation. The girths of the saddles were tightened, swords buckled on, and revolvers carefully examined before being placed in the holsters. Many of the men carried repeating rifles, and the magazines were filled before these were slung across the riders' shoulders. In a few minutes the three troops were mounted and in readiness for a start, and almost directly afterward Colonel Jones himself rode up and took the command. A thrill of satisfaction ran through the men as he did so, for it was certain that he would not himself be going in command of the detachment unless the occasion was an important one. For a few minutes no move was made. "I suppose the others are going to join us here," Vincent said to the officer next him. "I suppose so," he replied. "We lie in the middle of the cavalry brigade with two regiments each side of us, so it is likely enough this is the gathering place. Yes, I can hear the tramping of horses." "I felt a spot of rain," Vincent said. "We have been having lightning for some time, and I fear we are in for a wet ride." The contingent from the other regiments soon arrived, and just as the last came up General Stuart himself appeared and took his place at the head of the party, now some 500 strong. Short as the time had been since Vincent felt the first drop, the rain was now coming down in torrents. One by one the bright flames of the fires died down, and the darkness became so intense that Vincent could scarcely see the officer on his right hand. "I hope the man who rode up with the general, and is no doubt to be our guide, knows the country well. It is no joke finding our way through a forest on such a night as this." "I believe Stuart's got eyes like a cat," the officer said. "Sometimes on a dark night he has come galloping up to a post where I was in command, when one could scarcely see one's hand before one. It never seems to make any difference to him; day or night he rides about at a gallop." "He trusts his horse," Vincent said. "That's the only way in the dark. They can see much better than we can, and if men would but let them go their own way instead of trying to guide them, they would seldom run against anything. The only thing is to lie well down on the horse's neck, otherwise one might get swept out of the saddle by a bough. It's a question of nerve. I think not many of us would do as Stuart does, and trust himself entirely to his horse's instinct." The word was now passed down the line that perfect silence was to be observed, and that they were to move forward in column, the ranks closing up as much as possible, so as not to lose touch of each other. With heads bent down, and blankets wrapped around them as cloaks, the cavalry rode off through the pouring rain. The thunder was crashing overhead, and the flashes of lightning enabled them to keep their places in close column. They went at a rapid trot, and even those who were ready to charge a body of the enemy, however numerous, without a moment's hesitation, experienced a feeling of nervousness as they rode on in the darkness through the thick forest on their unknown errand. That they were going northward they knew, and knew also, after a short time, that they must be entering the lines of the enemy. They saw no signs of watch-fires, for these would long since have been quenched by the downpour. After half an hour's brisk riding all knew, by the sharp sound of the beat of the horses' hoofs, that they had left the soft track through the forest and were now upon a regular road. "Thank goodness for that!" Vincent said in a low tone to his next neighbor. "I don't mind a brush with the enemy, but I own I don't like the idea that at any moment my brains may be knocked out by the branch of a tree." "I agree with you," the other replied; "and I fancy every man felt the same." There was no doubt as to this. Hitherto no sound had been heard save the jingling of accouterments and the dull heavy sound of the horses' tread; but now there could be heard mingled with these the buzz of voices, and occasionally a low laugh. They were so accustomed to wet that the soaking scarcely inconvenienced them. They were out of the forest now, and felt sure of their guide; and as to the enemy, they only longed to discover them. For another hour the rapid advance continued, and all felt sure that they must now have penetrated through the enemy's lines and be well in his rear. At last they heard a challenge of sentry. Then Stuart's voice shouted, "Charge!" and at full gallop they rode into the village at Catlet's Station on the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, where General Pope had his headquarters. Another minute and they were in the midst of the enemy's camp, where the wildest confusion reigned. The Federal officers rushed from their tents and made off in the darkness; but the soldiers, who were lying on the line of railroad, leaped to their feet and opened a heavy fire on their invisible foes. Against this the cavalry, broken up in the camp with its tents, its animals, and its piles of baggage, could do little, for it was impossible to form them up in the broken and unknown ground. The quarters of Pope were soon discovered; he himself had escaped, leaving his coat and hat behind. Many of his officers were captured, and in his quarters was found a box of official papers, which were invaluable, as among them were copies of his letters asking for re-enforcements, lists giving the strength and position of his troops, and other particulars of the greatest value to the Confederates. No time was lost, as the firing would set the whole Federal army on the alert, and they might find their retreat cut off. Therefore, placing the prisoners in the center, and taking the box of papers with them, the cavalry were called off from the camp, and without delay started on their return ride. They did not take the road by which they had come, but made a long detour, and just as daylight was breaking re-entered the Confederate lines, without having encountered a foe from the time of their leaving Catlet's Station. Short as their stay in camp had been, few of the men had returned empty-handed. The Northern army was supplied with an abundance of excellent food of all descriptions, forming the strongest possible contrast to the insufficient rations upon which the Confederate troops existed, and the troopers had helped themselves to whatever they could lay hands upon in the darkness and confusion. Some rode in with a ham slung on each side of their saddle, others had secured a bottle or two of wine or spirits. Some had been fortunate enough to lay hand on some tins of coffee or a canister of tea, luxuries which for months had been unknown to them save when they were captured from the enemy. The only article captured of no possible utility was General Pope's coat, which was sent to Richmond, where it was hung up for public inspection; a wag sticking up a paper beside it, "This is the coat in which General Pope was going to ride in triumph into Richmond. The coat is here, but the general has not yet arrived." The Confederates had lost but two or three men from the fire of the Federal infantry, and they were in high spirits at the success of their raid. No sooner had General Lee informed himself of the contents of the papers and the position of the enemy's forces than he determined to strike a heavy blow at him; and General Jackson, who had been sharply engaged with the enemy near Warrenton, was ordered to make a long detour, to cross the Blue Ridge Mountains through Thoroughfare Gap, to fall upon Pope's rear and cut his communications with Washington, and, if possible, to destroy the vast depot of stores collected at Manassas. The cavalry, under Stuart, were to accompany him. The march would be a tremendous one, the danger of thus venturing into the heart of the enemy's country immense, but the results of such an expedition would, if successful, be great; for Lee himself was to advance with his army on Pope's flank, and there was therefore a possibility of the utter defeat of that general before he could be joined by the army marching to re-enforce him from Fredericksburg. It was on Monday, the 25th of August, that Jackson started on his march, ascending the banks of the Rapahannock, and crossed the river at the ford, dragging his artillery with difficulty up the narrow and rocky road beyond. There was not a moment to be lost, for if the news reached the enemy the gorge known as Thoroughfare Gap would be occupied, and the whole object of the movement would be defeated. Onward the force pushed, pressing on through fields and lanes without a single halt, until at night, hungry and weary but full of spirit, they marched into the little town of Salem, twenty miles from their starting place. They had neither wagons nor provisions with them, and had nothing to eat but some ears of corn and green apples plucked on the road. It was midnight when they reached Salem, and the inhabitants turned out in blank amazement at the sight of Confederate troops in that region, and welcomed the weary soldiers with the warmest manifestations. At daylight they were again upon the march, with Stuart's cavalry, as before, out upon each flank. Thoroughfare Gap was reached, and found undefended, and after thirty miles' marching the exhausted troops reached the neighborhood of Manassas. The men were faint from want of food, and many limped along barefooted; but they were full of enthusiasm. Just at sunset, Stuart, riding on ahead, captured Bristoe, a station on the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, four miles from Manassas. As they reached it a train came along at full speed. It was fired at, but did not stop, and got safely through to Manassas. Two trains that followed were captured; but by this time the alarm had spread, and no more trains arrived. Jackson had gained his point. He had placed himself on the line of communication of the enemy, but his position was a dangerous one indeed. Lee, who was following him, was still far away. An army was marching from Fredericksburg against him, another would be dispatched from Washington as soon as the news of his presence was known, and Pope might turn and crush him before Lee could arrive to his assistance. Worn out as the troops were, it was necessary at once to gain possession of Manassas, and the 21st North Carolina and 21st Georgia volunteered for the service, and joined by Stuart with a portion of his cavalry, marched against it. After a brief contest the place was taken, the enemy stationed there being all taken prisoners. The amount of arms and stores captured was prodigious. Eight pieces of artillery, 250 horses, 3 locomotives, and tens of thousands of barrels of beef, pork, and flour, with an enormous quantity of public stores and the contents of innumerable sutlers' shops. The sight of this vast abundance to starving men was tantalizing in the extreme. It was impossible to carry any of it away, and all that could be done was to have at least one good meal. The troops therefore were marched in, and each helped himself to as much as he could consume, and the ragged and barefooted men feasted upon canned salmon and lobsters, champagne, and dainties of every description forwarded for the use of officers. Then they set to work to pile the enormous mass of stores together and to set it on fire. While they were engaged at this a brigade of New Jersey troops, which had come out from Washington to save Manassas, was attacked and utterly routed. Ewell's division had remained at Bristoe, while those of Hill and Jackson moved to Manassas, and in the course of the afternoon Ewell saw the whole of Pope's army marching against him. He held them in check for some hours, and thus gave the troops at Manassas time to destroy completely the vast accumulation of stores, and when Stuart's cavalry, covering the retreat, fell back at nightfall through Manassas, nothing but blackened cinders remained where the Federal depots had been situated. The blow to the Northerners was as heavy as it was unexpected. Pope had no longer either provisions for his men or forage for his cattle, and there was nothing left for him but to force his way past Jackson and retire upon Washington. [Illustration: Map--THE SECOND BATTLE OF BULL RUN.] Jackson had now the option of falling back and allowing the enemy to pass, or of withstanding the whole Federal army with his own little force until Lee came up to the rescue. He chose the latter course, and took up a strong position. The sound of firing at Thoroughfare Gap was audible, and he knew that Longstreet's division of Lee's army was hotly engaged with a force which, now that it was too late, had been sent to hold the gorge. It was nearly sunset before Pope brought up his men to the attack. Jackson did not stand on the defensive, but rushed down and attacked the enemy--whose object had been to pass the position and press on--with such vigor that at nine o'clock they fell back. An hour later a horseman rode up with the news that Longstreet had passed the Gap and was pressing on at full speed, and in the morning his forces were seen approaching, the line they were taking bringing them up at an angle to Jackson's position. Thus their formation as they arrived was that of an open V, and it was through the angle of this V that Pope had to force his way. Before Longstreet could arrive, however, the enemy hurled themselves upon Jackson, and for hours the Confederates held their own against the vast Federal army, Longstreet's force being too far away to lend them a hand. Ammunition failed, and the soldiers fought with piles of stones, but night fell without any impression being made upon these veterans. General Lee now came up with General Hood's division, and hurled this against the Federals and drove them back. In the evening Longstreet's force took up the position General Lee had assigned to it, and in the morning all the Confederate army had arrived, and the battle recommenced. The struggle was long and terrible; but by nightfall every attack had been repulsed, and the Confederates, advancing on all sides, drove the Northerners, a broken and confused crowd, before them, the darkness alone saving them from utter destruction. Had there been but one hour more of daylight the defeat would have been as complete as was that in the battle of Bull Run, which had been fought on precisely the same ground. However, under cover of the darkness, the Federals retreated to Centreville, whence they were driven on the following day. In the tremendous fighting in which Jackson's command had for three long days been engaged, the cavalry bore a comparatively small part. The Federal artillery was too powerful to permit the employment of large bodies of cavalry, and although from time to time charges were made when an opportunity seemed to offer itself, the battle was fought out by the infantry and artillery. When the end came Jackson's command was for a time _hors de combat_. During the long two-days' march they had at least gathered corn and apples to sustain life; but during these three-days' fighting they had had no food whatever, and many were so weak that they could no longer march. They had done all that was possible for men to do; had for two days withstood the attack of an enemy of five times their numbers, and had, on the final day, borne their full share in the great struggle, but now the greater part could do no more, thousands of men were unable to drag themselves a step further, and Lee's army was reduced in strength for the time by nearly 20,000 men. All these afterward rejoined it; some, as soon as they recovered, limped away to take their places in the ranks again, others made their way to the depot at Warrenton, where Lee had ordered that all unable to accompany his force should rendezvous until he returned and they were able to rejoin their regiments. Jackson marched away and laid siege to Harper's Ferry, an important depot garrisoned by 11,000 men, who were forced to surrender just as McClellan with a fresh army, 100,000 strong, which was pressing forward to its succor, arrived within a day's march. As soon as Jackson had taken the place he hurried away with his troops to join Lee, who was facing the enemy at the Antietam River. Here, upon the following day, another terrible battle was fought; the Confederates, though but 39,000 strong, repulsing every attack by the Federals and driving them with terrible slaughter back across the river. Their own loss, however, had been very heavy, and Lee, knowing that he could expect no assistance, while the enemy was constantly receiving re-enforcements, waited for a day to collect his wounded, bury his dead, and send his stores and artillery to the rear, and then retired, unpursued, across the Rappahannock. Thus the hard-fought campaign came to an end. Vincent Wingfield was not with the army that retired across the Rappahannock. A portion of the cavalry had followed the broken Federals to the very edge of the stream, and just as they reined in their horses a round shot from one of the Federal batteries carried away his cap, and he fell as if dead from his horse. During the night some of the Northerners crossed the stream to collect and bring back their own wounded who had fallen near it, and coming across Vincent, and finding that he still breathed, and was apparently without a wound, they carried him back with them across the river as a prisoner. Vincent had indeed escaped without a wound, having been only stunned by the passage of the shot that had carried away his cap, and missed him by the fraction of an inch. He had begun to recover consciousness just as his captors came up, and the action of carrying him completely restored him. That he had fallen into the hands of the Northerners he was well aware; but he was unable to imagine how this had happened. He remembered that the Confederates had been, up to the moment he fell, completely successful, and he could only imagine that in a subsequent attack the Federals had turned the tables upon them. How he himself had fallen, or what had happened to him, he had no idea. Beyond a strange feeling of numbness in the head he was conscious of no injury, and he could only imagine that his horse had been shot under him, and that he must have fallen upon his head. The thought that his favorite horse was killed afflicted him almost as much as his own capture. As soon as his captors perceived that their prisoner's consciousness had returned they at once reported that an officer of Stuart's cavalry had been taken, and at daybreak next morning General McClellan, on rising, was acquainted with the fact, and Vincent was conducted to his tent. "You are unwounded, sir," the general said in some surprise. "I am, general," Vincent replied. "I do not know how it happened, but I believe that my horse must have been shot under me, and that I must have been thrown and stunned; however, I remember nothing from the moment when I heard the word halt, just as we reached the side of the stream, to that when I found myself being carried here." "You belong to the cavalry?" "Yes, sir." "Was Lee's force all engaged yesterday?" "I do not know," Vincent said. "I only came up with Jackson's division from Harper's Ferry the evening before." "I need not have questioned you," McClellan said. "I know that Lee's whole army, 100,000 strong, opposed me yesterday." Vincent was silent. He was glad to see that the Federal general, as usual, enormously overrated the strength of the force opposed to him. "I hear that the whole of the garrison of Harper's Ferry were released on parole not to serve again during the war. If you are ready to give me your promise to the same effect I will allow you to return to your friends; if not you must remain a prisoner until you are regularly exchanged." "I must do so, then, general," Vincent said quietly. "I could not remain home and remain inactive while every man in the South is fighting for the defense of his country, so I will take my chance of being exchanged." "I am sorry you choose that alternative," McClellan said. "I hate to see brave men imprisoned if only for a day; and braver men than those across yonder stream are not to be found. My officers and men are astonished. They seem so thin and worn as to be scarce able to lift a musket, their clothes are fit only for a scarecrow, they are indeed pitiful objects to look at; but the way in which they fight is wonderful. I could not have believed, had I not seen it, that men could have charged as they did again and again across ground swept by a tremendous artillery and musketry fire; it was wonderful! I can tell you, young man, that even though you beat us we are proud of you as our countrymen; and I believe that if your General Jackson were to ride through our camp, he would be cheered as lustily and heartily by our men as he is by his own." Some fifty or sixty other prisoners had been taken; they had been captured in the hand-to-hand struggle that had taken place on some parts of the field, having got separated from their corps and mixed up with the enemy, and carried off the field with them as they retired. These, for the most part, accepted the offered parole; but some fifteen, like Vincent, preferred a Northern prison to promising to abstain from fighting in defense of their country, and in the middle of the day they were placed together in a tent under a guard at the rear of the camp. The next morning came the news that Lee had fallen back. There was exultation among the Federals, not unmingled with a strong sense of relief; for the heavy losses inflicted in the previous fighting had taken all the ardor of attack out of McClellan's army, and they were glad indeed that they were not to be called upon to make another attempt to drive the Confederates from their position. Vincent was no less pleased at the news. He knew how thin were the ranks of the Confederate fighting men, and how greatly they were worn and exhausted by fatigue and want of food, and that, although they had the day before repulsed the attacks of the masses of well-fed Northerners, such tremendous exertions could not often be repeated, and a defeat, with the river in their rear, approachable only by one rough and narrow road, would have meant a total destruction of the army. The next morning Vincent and his companions were put into the train and sent to Alexandria. They had no reason to complain of their treatment upon the way. They were well fed, and after their starvation diet for the last six weeks their rations seemed to them actually luxurious. The Federal troops in Alexandria, who were for the most part young recruits who had just arrived from the North and West, looked with astonishment upon these thin and ragged men, several of whom were barefooted. Was it possible that such scarecrows as these could in every battle have driven back the well-fed and cared-for Northern soldiers! "Are they all like this?" one burly young soldier from a Western State asked their guard. "That's them, sir," the sergeant in charge of the party replied. "Not much to look at, are they? But, by gosh, you should see them fight! You wouldn't think of their looks then." "If that's soldiering," the young farmer said solemnly, "the sooner I am back home again the better. But it don't seem to me altogether strange as they should fight so hard, because I should say they must look upon it as a comfort to be killed rather than to live like that." A shout of laughter from the prisoners showed the young rustic that the objects of his pity did not consider life to be altogether intolerable even under such circumstances, and he moved away meditating on the discomforts of war, and upon the remarks that would be made were he to return home in so sorrowful a plight as that of these Confederate prisoners. "I bargained to fight," he said, "and though I don't expect I shall like it, I shan't draw back when the time comes; but as to being starved till you are nigh a skeleton, and going about barefooted and in such rags as a tramp wouldn't look at, it aint reasonable." And yet, had he known it, among those fifteen prisoners more than half were possessors of wide estates, and had been brought up from their childhood in the midst of luxuries such as the young farmer never dreamed of. Among many of the soldiers sympathy took a more active form, and men pressed forward and gave packets of tobacco, cigars, and other little presents to them, while two or three pressed rolls of dollar notes into their hands, with words of rough kindness. "There aint no ill feeling in us, Rebs. You have done your work like men, and no doubt you thinks your cause is right, just as we does; but it's all over now, and maybe our turn will come next to see the inside of one of your prisons down south. So we are just soldiers together, and can feel for each other." Discipline in small matters was never strictly enforced in the American armies, and the sergeant in charge offered no opposition to the soldiers mingling with the prisoners as they walked along. Two days later they were sent by railway to the great prison at Elmira, in the State of New York. When they reached the jail the prisoners were separated; Vincent, who was the only officer, being assigned quarters with some twenty others of the same rank. The prisoners crowded round him as he entered, eager to hear the last news from the front, for they had heard from their guards only news of constant victories won by the Northerners; for every defeat was transformed by the Northern papers into a brilliant victory, and it was only when the shattered remains of the various armies returned to Alexandria to be re-formed that the truth gradually leaked out. Thus Antietam had been claimed as a great Northern victory, for, although McClellan's troops had in the battle been hurled back, shattered and broken, across the river, two days afterward Lee had retired. One of the prisoners, who was also dressed in cavalry uniform, hung back from the rest, and going to the window looked out while Vincent was chatting with the others. Presently he turned round, and Vincent recognized with surprise his old opponent Jackson. After a moment's hesitation he walked across the room to him. "Jackson," he said, "we have not been friends lately, but I don't see why we should keep up our quarrel any longer; we got on all right at school together; and now we are prisoners together here it would be foolish to continue our quarrel. Perhaps we were both somewhat to blame in that affair. I am quite willing to allow I was, for one, but I think we might well put it aside now." Jackson hesitated, and then took the hand Vincent held out to him. "That's right, young fellows," one of the other officers said. "Now that every Southern gentleman is fighting and giving his life, if need be, for his country, no one has a right to have private quarrels of his own. Life is short enough as it is, certainly too short to indulge in private animosities. A few weeks ago we were fighting side by side, and facing death together; to-day we are prisoners; a week hence we may be exchanged, and soon take our places in the ranks again. It's the duty of all Southerners to stand shoulder to shoulder, and there ought to be no such thing as ill-feeling among ourselves." Vincent was not previously aware that Jackson had obtained a commission. He now learned that he had been chosen by his comrades to fill a vacancy caused by the death of an officer in a skirmish just before Pope fell back from the Rappahannock, and that he had been made prisoner a few days afterward in a charge against a greatly superior body of Federal cavalry. The great majority of the officers on both sides were at the commencement of the war chosen by their comrades, the elections at first taking place once a year. This, however, was found to act very badly. In some cases the best men in the regiment were chosen; but too often the men who had the command of money, and could afford to stand treat and get in supplies of food and spirits, were elected. The evils of the system were found so great, indeed, that it was gradually abandoned; but in cases of vacancies occurring in the field, and there being a necessity for at once filling them up, the colonels of the regiments had power to make appointments, and if the choice of the men was considered to be satisfactory, their nominee would be generally chosen. In the case of Jackson, the colonel had hesitated in confirming the choice of the men. He did not for a moment suspect him to be wanting in courage; but he regarded him as one who shirked his work, and who won the votes of the men rather by a fluent tongue and by the violence of his expressions of hatred against the North than by any soldierly qualities. Some of the officers had been months in prison, and they were highly indignant at the delays that had occurred in effecting their exchange. The South, indeed, would have been only too glad to get rid of some of their numerous prisoners, who were simply an expense and trouble to them, and to get their own men back into their ranks. They could ill spare the soldiers required to guard so large a number of prisoners, and a supply of food was in itself a serious matter. Thus it was at Harper's Ferry, and upon a good many other occasions, they released vast numbers of prisoners on their simple paroles not to serve again. The North, however, were in no hurry to make exchange; and moreover, their hands were so full with their enormous preparations that they put aside all matters which had not the claim of urgency. CHAPTER X. THE ESCAPE. The discipline in the prison at Elmira was not rigorous. The prisoners had to clean up the cells, halls, and yard, but the rest of their time they could spend as they liked. Some of those whose friends had money were able to live in comparative luxury and to assist those who had no such resources; for throughout the War there was never any great difficulty in passing letters to and from the South. The line of frontier was enormous and it was only at certain points that hostilities were actively carried on, consequently letters and newspapers were freely passed, and money could be sent in the same way from one part of the country to another. At certain hours of the day hawkers and venders of such articles as were in most demand by the prisoners were allowed to enter the yard and to sell their wares to the Confederates. Spirits were not allowed to be carried in, but tobacco and all kinds of food were permitted to pass. Vincent had at Alexandria written a letter to his mother, and had given it to a man who represented that he made it his business to forward letters to an agent at Richmond, being paid for each letter the sum of a dollar on its delivery. Vincent, therefore, felt confident that the anxiety that would be felt at home, when they learned that he was among the missing at the battle of Antietam, would be relieved. He was fairly supplied with money. He had, indeed, had several hundred dollars with him at the time he was captured; but these were entirely in Confederate notes, for which he got but half their value in Northern paper at Alexandria. He himself found the rations supplied in the prison ample, and was able to aid any of his fellow-prisoners in purchasing clothes to replace the rags they wore when captured. One day Vincent strolled down as usual toward the gate, where, under the eye of the guard, a row of men and women, principally negroes and negresses, were sitting on the ground with their baskets in front of them containing tobacco, pipes, fruit, cakes, needles and thread, buttons, and a variety of other articles in demand, while a number of prisoners were bargaining and joking with them. Presently his eye fell upon a negro before whom was a great pile of watermelons. He started as he did so, for he at once recognized the well-known face of Dan. As soon as the negro saw that his master's eye had fallen upon him he began loudly praising the quality of his fruit. "Here, massa officer, here bery fine melyons, ripe and sweet; no green trash; dis un good right through. Five cents each, sah. Bery cheap, dese." "I expect they cost you nothing, Sambo," one of the Confederate soldiers said as he bought a melon. "Got a neighbor's patch handy, eh?" Dan grinned at the joke, and then selecting another from the bottom of his pile in the basket, offered it to Vincent. "Dis fine fruit, sah. Me sure you please with him!" Vincent took the melon and handed Dan five cents. A momentary glance was exchanged, and then he walked away and sat down in a quiet corner of the yard and cut open the melon. As he expected, he found a note rolled up in the center. A small piece of the rind had been cut out and the pulp removed for its reception. The bit of rind had then been carefully replaced so that the cut would not be noticed without close inspection. It was from one of his fellow-officers, and was dated the day after his capture. He read as follows: "My Dear Wingfield: "We are all delighted this afternoon to hear that instead, as we had believed, of your being knocked on the head you are a prisoner among the Yanks. Several of us noticed you fall just as we halted at the river, and we all thought that, from the way in which you fell, you had been shot through the head or heart. However, there was no time to inquire in that terrific storm of shot and shell. In the morning, when the burying parties went down, we could find no signs of you, although we knew almost to a foot where you had fallen. "We could only conclude at last that you had been carried off in the night by the Yanks, and as they would hardly take the trouble of carrying off a dead body, it occurred to us that you might, after all, be alive. So the colonel went to Lee, who at once sent a trumpeter with a flag down to the river to inquire, and we were all mightily pleased, as you may imagine, when he came back with the news that you were not only a prisoner, but unwounded, having been only stunned in some way. From the way you fell we suppose a round shot must have grazed your head; at least that is the only way we can account for it. "Your horse came back unhurt to the troop, and will be well cared for until you rejoin us, which we hope will not be long. Your boy kept the camp awake last night with his howlings, and is at present almost out of his mind with delight. He tells me he has made up his mind to slip across the lines and make his way as a runaway to Alexandria, where you will, of course, be taken in the first place. He says he's got some money of yours; but I have insisted on his taking another fifty dollars, which you can repay me when we next meet. As he will not have to ask for work, he may escape the usual lot of runaways, who are generally pounced upon and set to work on the fortifications of Alexandria and Washington. "He intends to find out what prison you are taken to, and to follow you, with some vague idea of being able to aid you to escape. As he cannot write, he has asked me to write this letter to you, telling you what his idea is. He will give it to you when he finds an opportunity, and he wishes you to give him an answer, making any suggestion that may occur to you as to the best way of his setting about it. He says that he shall make acquaintances among the negroes North, and will find someone who will read your note to him and write you an answer. I have told him that if he is caught at the game he is likely to be inside a prison a bit longer than you are, even if worse doesn't befall him. However, he makes light of this, and is bent upon carrying out his plans, and I can only hope he will succeed. "I have just heard that we shall fall back across the Rappahannock to-morrow, and I imagine there will not be much hard fighting again until spring, long before which I hope you will be in your place among us again. We lost twenty-three men and two officers (Ketler and Sumner) yesterday. Good-by, old fellow! I need not say keep up your spirits, for that you are pretty sure to do. "Yours truly, "James Sinclair." After the first start at seeing Dan, Vincent was scarcely surprised, for he had often thought over what the boy would do, and had fancied that while, if he supposed him dead, he would go straight back to the Orangery, it was quite possible that, should he hear that he was a prisoner, Dan might take it into his head to endeavor to join him. As to his making his escape, that did not appear to be a very difficult undertaking now that he had a friend outside. The watch kept up was not a very vigilant one, for such numbers of prisoners were taken on both sides that they were not regarded as of very great importance, and indeed the difficulty lay rather in making across the country to the Southern border than in escaping from prison; for with a friend outside, with a disguise in readiness, that matter was comparatively easy. All that was required for the adventure was a long rope, a sharp file, and a dark night. The chief difficulty that occurred to Vincent arose from the fact that there were some twenty other prisoners in the same ward. He could hardly file through the bars of the window unnoticed by them, and they would naturally wish to share in his flight; but where one person might succeed in evading the vigilance of the guard, it was unlikely in the extreme that twenty would do so, and the alarm once given all would be recaptured. He was spared the trouble of making up his mind as to his plans, for by the time he had finished his letter the hour that the hucksters were allowed to sell their goods was passed, and the gates were shut and all was quiet. After some thought he came to the conclusion that the only plan would be to conceal himself somewhere in the prison just before the hour at which they were locked up in their wards. The alarm would be given, for the list of names was called over before lock-up, and a search would of course be made. Still, if he could find a good place for concealment, it might succeed, since the search after dark would not be so close and minute as that which would be made next morning. The only disadvantage would be that the sentries would be specially on the alert, as, unless the fugitive had succeeded in some way in passing out of the gates in disguise, he must still be within the walls, and might attempt to scale them through the night. This certainty largely increased the danger, and Vincent went to bed that night without finally determining what had better be done. The next morning, while walking in the grounds, he determined the place he would choose for his concealment if he adopted the plan he had thought of the evening before. The lower rooms upon one side of the building were inhabited by the governor and officers of the prison, and if he were to spring through an open window unnoticed just as it became dusk, and hide himself in a cupboard or under a bed there, he would be safe for a time, as, however close the search might be in other parts of the building, it would be scarcely suspected, at any rate on the first alarm, that he had concealed himself in the officers' quarters. There would, of course, be the chance of his being detected as he got out of the window again at night, but this would not be a great risk. It was the vigilance of the sentries that he most feared, and the possibility that, as soon as the fact of his being missing was known, a cordon of guards might be stationed outside the wall in addition to those in the yard. The danger appeared to him to be so great that he was half inclined to abandon the enterprise. It would certainly be weary work to be shut up there for perhaps a year while his friends were fighting the battles of his country; but it would be better after all to put up with that than to run any extreme risk of being shot. When he arrived at this conclusion he went upstairs to his room to write a line to Dan. The day was a fine one, and he found that the whole of the occupants of the room had gone below. This was an unexpected bit of good fortune, and he at once went to the window and examined the bars. They were thick and of new iron, but had been hastily put up. The building had originally been a large warehouse, and when it had been converted into a prison for the Confederate prisoners the bars had been added to the windows. Instead, therefore, of being built into solid stone and fastened in by lead, they were merely screwed on to the wooden framework of the windows, and by a strong screw-driver a bar could be removed in five minutes. This altogether altered the position. He had only to wait until the rest of the occupants of the room were asleep and then to remove the bar and let himself down. He at once wrote: "I want twenty yards of strong string, and the same length of rope that will bear my weight; also a strong screw-driver. When I have got this I will let you know night and hour. Shall want disguise ready to put on." He folded the note up into a small compass, and at the hour at which Dan would be about to enter he sauntered down to the gate. In a short time the venders entered, and were soon busy selling their wares. Dan had, as before, a basket of melons. Vincent made his way up to him. "I want another melon," he said, "as good as that you sold me last night." "Dey all de same, sah. First-rate melyons, dese; just melt away in your mouf like honey." He held up one of the melons, and Vincent placed in his hands the coppers in payment. Between two of them he had placed the little note. Dan's hands closed quickly on the coins, and dropping them into his pocket he addressed the next customer, while Vincent sauntered away again. This time the melon was a whole one, and Vincent divided it with a couple of other prisoners, for the fruit was too large for one person to consume, being quite as large as a man's head. The next day another melon was bought, but this time Vincent did not open it in public. Examining it closely, he perceived that it had been cut through the middle, and no doubt contained a portion of the rope. He hesitated as to his next step. If he took the melon up to his room he would be sure to find some men there, and would be naturally called upon to divide the fruit; and yet there was nowhere else he could hide it. For a long time he sat with his back to the wall and the melon beside him, abusing himself for his folly in not having told Dan to send the rope in small lengths that he could hide about him. The place where he had sat down was one of the quietest in the yard, but men were constantly strolling up and down. He determined at last that the only possible plan was in the first place to throw his coat over his melon, to tuck it up underneath it, then to get hold of one end of the ball of rope that it doubtless contained and to endeavor to wind it round his body without being observed. It was a risky business, and he would gladly have tossed the melon over the wall had he dared to do so; for if he were detected, not only would he be punished with much more severe imprisonment, but Dan might be arrested and punished most severely. Unfortunately the weather was by no means hot, and it would look strange to take off his coat; besides, if he did so, how could he coil the rope round him without being observed? So that idea was abandoned. He got up and walked to an angle in the wall, and there sat down again, concealing the melon as well as he could between him and the wall when anyone happened to come near him. He pulled the halves apart and found, as he had suspected, it was but a shell, the whole of the fruit having been scooped out. But he gave an exclamation of pleasure on seeing that instead, as he feared, of a large ball of rope being inside, the interior was filled with neatly made hanks, each containing several yards of thin but strong rope, together with a hank of strong string. Unbuttoning his coat, he thrust them in; then he took the melon rind and broke it into very small pieces and threw them about. He then went up to his room and thrust the hanks, unobserved, one by one among the straw which, covered by an army blanket, constituted his bed. To-morrow, no doubt, Dan would supply him somehow with a screw-driver. On going down to the gate next day he found that the negro had changed his commodity, and that this time his basket contained very large and fine cucumbers. These were selling briskly, and Vincent saw that Dan was looking round anxiously, and that an expression of relief came over his face as he perceived him. He had, indeed, but eight or ten cucumbers left. "Cucumbers to-day, sah? Bery fine cucumbers--first-rate cucumbers dese." "They look rather over-ripe," Vincent said. "Not a bit, sah; dey just ripe. Dis bery fine one--ten cents, dis." "You are putting up your prices, darky, and are making a fortune out of us," Vincent said as he took the cucumber, which was a very large and straight one. He had no difficulty with this, as with the melon; a sharp twist broke it in two as he reached the corner he had used the day previously. It had been cut in half, one end had been scooped out for the reception of the handle of the screw-driver and the metal been driven in to the head in the other half. Hiding it under his jacket, he felt that he was now prepared for escape. He now asked himself whether he should go alone or take one or more of his comrades into his confidence, and finally determined to give a young Virginian officer named Geary, with whom he had been specially friendly during his imprisonment, and Jackson, a chance of escape. He did not like the latter, but he thought that, after the reconciliation that had taken place between them, it was only right to take him rather than a stranger. Drawing them aside, then, he told them that he had arranged a mode of escape; it was impossible that all could avail themselves of it, but that they were welcome to accompany him. They thanked him heartily for the offer, and, when he explained the manner in which he intended to make off, agreed to try their fortunes with him. "I propose," he said, "as soon as we are fairly beyond the prison, we separate, and each try to gain the frontier as best he can. The fact that three prisoners have escaped will soon be known all over the country, and there would be no chance whatever for us if we kept together. I will tell my boy to have three disguises ready; and when we once put aside our uniforms I see no reason why, traveling separately, suspicion should fall upon us; we ought to have no difficulty until at any rate we arrive near the border, and there must be plenty of points where we can cross without going anywhere near the Federal camps." The others at once agreed that the chances of making their way separately were much greater than if together. This being arranged, Vincent passed a note next day to Dan, telling him to have three disguises in readiness, and to be at the foot of the western wall, halfway along, at twelve o'clock on the first wet night. A string would be thrown over, with a knife fastened to it. He was to pull on the string till the rope came into his hand, and to hold that tight until they were over. Vincent chose this spot because it was equally removed from the sentry-boxes at the corners of the yard, and because there was a stone seat in the yard to which one end of the rope could be attached. That night was fine, but the next was thick and misty. At nine o'clock all were in bed, and he lay listening to the clocks in the distance. Ten struck, and eleven, and when he thought it was approaching twelve he got up and crept to the window. He was joined immediately by the others; the screw-driver was set to work; and, as he expected, Vincent found no trouble whatever with the screws, which were not yet rusted in the wood, and turned immediately when the powerful screw-driver was applied to them. When all were out the bar was carefully lifted from its place and laid upon the floor. The rope was then put round one of the other bars and drawn through it until the two ends came together. These were then dropped to the ground below. Geary went first, Jackson followed, and Vincent was soon standing beside them. Taking one end of the rope, he pulled it until the other passed round the bar and fell at their feet. All three were barefooted, and they stole noiselessly across the yard to the seat, which was nearly opposite their window. Vincent had already fastened his clasp-knife to the end of the string, and he now threw it over the wall, which was about twenty feet high. He had tied a knot at forty feet from the end, and, standing close to the wall, he drew in the string until the knot was in his hand. Another two yards, and he knew that the knife was hanging a yard from the ground against the wall. He now drew it up and down, hoping that the slight noise the knife made against the wall might aid Dan in finding it. In two or three minutes he felt a jerk, and knew that Dan had got it. He fastened the end of the string to the rope and waited. The rope was gradually drawn up; when it neared the end he fastened it to the stone seat. "Now," he said, "up you go, Geary." The order in which they were to ascend had been settled by lot, as Geary insisted that Vincent, who had contrived the whole affair, should be the first to escape; but Vincent declined to accept the advantage, and the three had accordingly tossed up for precedence. Geary was quickly over, and lowered himself on the opposite side. The others followed safely, but not without a good deal of scraping against the wall, for the smallness of the rope added to the difficulty of climbing it. However, the noise was so slight that they had little fear of attracting attention, especially as the sentries would be standing in their boxes, for the rain was now coming down pretty briskly. As soon as they were down Vincent seized Dan by the hand. "My brave boy," he said, "I owe you my freedom, and I shan't forget it. Now, where are the clothes?" "Here dey are, sah. One is a rough suit, like a working man's, another is a black-and-white sort of suit--a check suit; de oder one is for you--a clargy's suit, sir. You make very nice young minister, for sure." "All right, Dan!" Vincent said, laughing; "give me the minister's suit." "Then I will be the countryman," Geary said. There was a little suppressed laughter as they changed their clothes in the dark; and then, leaving their uniforms by the wall, they shook hands and started at once in different directions, lest they might come across someone who would, when the escape was known, remember four men having passed him in the dark. "Now, Dan, what is the next move?" Vincent asked, as they walked off. "Have you fixed upon any plan?" "No special plan, sah, but I have brought a bag; you see I have him in my hand." "I suppose that's what you carried the clothes in?" "No, sir; I carried dem in a bundle. Dis bag has got linen, and boots, and oder tings for you, sah. What I tink am de best way dis. Dar am a train pass trou here at two o'clock and stop at dis station. Some people always get out. Dar is an hotel just opposite the station, and some of de passengers most always go there. I thought de best way for you would be to go outside the station. Just when the train come in we walk across de road wid the oders and go to hotel. You say you want bedroom for yo'self, and that your sarvant can sleep in de hall. Den in de morning you get up and breakfast and go off by de fust train." "But then they may send down to look at the passengers starting, and I should be taken at once." "De train go out at seven o'clock, sah. I don't expect they find that you have got away before dat." "No, Dan. We all turn out at seven, and I shall be missed then; but it will be some little time before the alarm is given, and they find out how we got away, and send out search-parties. If the train is anything like punctual we shall be off long before they get to the station." "Besides, sah, dar are not many people knows your face, and it not likely de bery man dat know you come to the station. Lots of oder places to search, and dey most sure to tink you go right away--not tink you venture to stop in town 'til the morning." "That is so, Dan, and I think your plan is a capital one." Dan's suggestion was carried out, and at seven o'clock next morning they were standing on the platform among a number of other persons waiting for the train. Just as the locomotive's whistle was heard the sound of a cannon boomed out from the direction of the prison. "That means some of the prisoners have escaped," one of the porters on the platform said. "There have been five or six of them got away in the last two months, but most of them have been caught again before they have gone far. You see, to have a chance at all, they have got to get rid of their uniforms, and as we are all Unionists about here that aint an easy job for 'em to manage." Everyone on the platform joined in the conversation, asking which way the fugitive would be likely to go, whether there were any cavalry to send after him, what would be done to him if he were captured, and other questions of the same kind, Vincent joining in the talk. It was a relief to him when the train drew up, and he and Dan took their place in it, traveling, however, in different cars. Once fairly away, Vincent had no fear whatever of being detected, and could travel where he liked, for outside the prison there were not ten people who knew his face throughout the Northern States. It would be difficult for him to make his way down into Virginia from the North, as the whole line of frontier there was occupied by troops, and patrols were on the watch night and day to prevent persons from going through the lines. He therefore determined to go west to St. Louis, and from there work his way down through Missouri. After two days' railway traveling they reached St. Louis, a city having a large trade with the South, and containing many sympathizers with the Confederate cause. Vincent, having now no fear of detection, went at once to an hotel, and taking up a newspaper, one of the first paragraphs that met his eye was headed: "ESCAPE OF THREE CONFEDERATE OFFICERS FROM ELMIRA. "Great excitement was caused on Wednesday at Elmira by the discovery that three Confederate officers had, during the night, effected their escape from prison. One of the bars of the window of the ward on the first floor in which they were, with fifteen other Confederate officers, confined, had been removed; the screws having been taken out by a large screw-driver which they left behind them. They had lowered themselves to the yard, and climbed over the wall by means of a rope which was found in position in the morning. The rest of the prisoners professed an entire ignorance of the affair, and declared that, until they found the beds unoccupied in the morning, they knew nothing of the occurrence. "This is as it may be, but it is certain they must have been aided by traitors outside the prison, for the rope hung loose on the outside of the wall, and must have been held by someone there as they climbed it. The inside end was fastened to a stone seat, and they were thus enabled to slide down it on the other side. Their uniforms were found lying at the foot of the wall, and their accomplice had doubtless had disguises ready for them. The authorities of the prison are unable to account for the manner in which the screw-driver and rope were passed in to them, or how they communicated with their friends outside." * * * * * Then followed the personal description of each of the fugitives, and a request that all loyal citizens would be on the lookout for them, and would at once arrest any suspicious character unable to give a satisfactory account of himself. As Vincent sat smoking in the hall of the hotel he heard several present discussing the escape of the prisoners. "It does not matter about them one way or the other," one of the speakers said. "They seem to be mere boys, and whether they escape or not will not make any difference to anyone. The serious thing is that there must be some traitors among the prison officials, and that next time perhaps two or three generals may escape, and that would be a really serious misfortune." "We need not reckon that out at present," another smoker said. "We haven't got three of the rebel generals yet, and as far as things seem to be going on, we may have to wait some time before we have. They are pretty well able to take care of themselves, I reckon." "They are good men, some of them, I don't deny," the first speaker said; "but they might as well give up the game. In the spring we shall have an army big enough to eat them up." "So I have heard two or three times before. Scott was going to eat them up, McClellan was going to eat them up, then Pope was going to make an end of 'em altogether. Now McClellan is having a try again, but somehow or other the eating up hasn't come off yet. It looks to me rather the other way." There was an angry growl from two or three of those sitting round, while others uttered a cordial "That's so." "It seems to me, by the way you put it, that you don't wish to see this business come to an end." "That's where you are wrong now. I do wish to see it come to an end. I don't want to see tens of thousands of men losing their lives because one portion of these States wants to ride rough-shod over the other. The sooner the North looks this affair squarely in the face and sees that it has taken up a bigger job than it can carry through, and agrees to let those who wish to leave it go if they like, the better for all parties. That's what I think about it." "I don't call that Union talk," the other said angrily. "Union or not Union, I mean to talk it, and I want to know who is going to prevent me?" The two men rose simultaneously from their chairs, and in a second the cracks of two revolvers sounded. As if they had only been waiting for the signal, a score of other men leaped up and sprang at each other. They had, as the altercation grew hotter, joined in with exclamations of anger or approval, and Vincent saw that although the Unionists were the majority, the party of sympathizers with the South was a strong one. Having neither arms nor inclination to join in a broil of this kind he made his escape into the street the instant hostilities began, and hurried away from the sound of shouts, oaths, the sharp cracks of pistols, and the breaking of glass. Ten minutes later he returned. The hotel was shut up, but an angry mob were assembled round the door shouting, "Down with the rebels! down with the Secessionists!" and were keeping up a loud knocking at the door. Presently a window upstairs opened, and the proprietor put out his head. "Gentlemen," he said, "I can assure you that the persons who were the cause of this disturbance all left the hotel by the back way as soon as the affair was over. I have sent for the police commissioner, and upon his arrival he will be free to search the house, and to arrest anyone concerned in this affair." The crowd were not satisfied, and renewed their knocking at the door; but two or three minutes later an officer, with a strong body of police, arrived on the spot. In a few words he told the crowd to disperse, promising that the parties concerned in the affair would be arrested and duly dealt with. He then entered the house with four of his men, leaving the rest to wait. Vincent entered with the constables, saying that he was staying at the house. The fumes of gunpowder were still floating about the hall, three bodies were lying on the floor, and several men were binding up their wounds. The police officer inquired into the origin of the broil, and all present concurred in saying that it arose from some Secessionists speaking insultingly of the army of the Union. Search was then made in the hotel, and it was found that eight persons were missing. One of the killed was a well-known citizen of the town; he was the speaker on the Union side of the argument. The other two were strangers, and no one could say which side they espoused. All those present declared that they themselves were Union men, and it was supposed that the eight who were missing were the party who had taken the other side of the question. The evidence of each was taken down by the police officer. Vincent was not questioned, as, having entered with the constables, it was supposed he was not present at the affair. In the morning Vincent read in the local paper a highly colored account of the fray. After giving a large number of wholly fictitious details, it went on to say: "The victims were Cyrus D. Jenkins, a much-esteemed citizen and a prominent Unionist; the other two were guests at the hotel; one had registered as P. J. Moore of Vermont, the other as James Harvey of Tennessee. Nothing is as yet known as to the persons whose rooms were unoccupied, and who had doubtless made their escape as soon as the affray was over; but the examination of their effects, which will be made by the police in the morning, will doubtless furnish a clew by which they will be brought to justice." Having read this, Vincent looked for the news as to the escape from Elmira, being anxious to know whether his companions had been as fortunate as himself in getting clear away. He was startled by reading the following paragraph: "We are enabled to state that the police have received a letter stating that one of the officers who escaped from Elmira prison has adopted the disguise of a minister, and is traveling through the country with a black servant. At present the authorities are not disposed to attach much credit to this letter, and are inclined to believe that it has been sent in order to put them on a wrong scent. However, a watch will doubtless be kept by the police throughout the country for a person answering to this description." Accustomed to rise early, Vincent was taking his breakfast almost alone, only two or three of the other guests having made their appearance. He finished his meal hastily, and went out to Dan, who was lounging in front of the hotel. "Dan, go upstairs at once, pack the bag, bring it down and go out with it immediately. I will pay the bill. Don't stop to ask questions now." Vincent then walked up to the desk at the end of the hall, at which a clerk was sitting reading the paper. Sincerely hoping that the man's eye had not fallen on this paragraph, he asked if his account was made out. As he had fortunately mentioned on the preceding evening that he should be leaving in the morning, the bill was ready; and the clerk, scarce looking up from the paper, handed it to him. Vincent paid him the amount, saying carelessly, "I think I have plenty of time to catch the train for the East?" The clerk glanced at the clock. "Yes, it goes at eight, and you have twenty minutes. It's only five minutes' walk to the station." CHAPTER XI. FUGITIVES. On leaving the hotel Vincent walked a short distance and then stopped until Dan came up to him. "Anything de matter, sah?" "Yes, Dan. There is a notice in the paper that the police have obtained information that I am traveling disguised as a minister, and have a negro servant with me." "Who told dem dat?" Dan asked in surprise. "We can talk about that presently, Dan; the great thing at present is to get away from here. The train for the South starts at ten. Give me the bag, and follow me at a distance. I will get you a ticket for Nashville, and as you pass me in the station I will hand it to you. It must not be noticed that we are traveling together. That is the only clew they have got." Dan obeyed his instructions. The journey was a long one. The train was slow and stopped frequently; passengers got in and out at every station. The morning's news from the various points at which the respective forces were facing each other was the general topic of conversation, and Vincent was interested in seeing how the tone gradually changed as the passengers from St. Louis one by one left the train and their places were taken by those of the more southern districts. At first the sentiment expressed had been violently Northern, and there was no dissent from the general chorus of hope and expectation that the South were on their last legs and that the rebellion would shortly be stamped out; but gradually, as the train approached the State of Tennessee, the Unionist opinion, although expressed with even greater force and violence, was by no means universal. Many men read their papers in silence and took no part whatever in the conversation, but Vincent could see from the angry glances which they shot at the speakers that the sentiments uttered were distasteful to them. He himself had scarcely spoken during the whole journey. He had for some time devoted himself to the newspaper, and had then purchased a book from the newsboy who perambulated the cars. Presently a rough-looking man, who had been among the wildest and most violent in his denunciation of the South, said, looking at Vincent: "I see by the papers to-day that one of the cursed rebel officers who gave them the slip at Elmira is traveling in the disguise of a minister. I guess it's mighty unpleasant to know that even if you meet a parson in a train, like as not he is a rebel in disguise. Now, mister, may I ask where you have come from and where you are going to?" "You may ask what you like," Vincent said quietly; "but I am certainly not going to answer impertinent questions." A hum of approval was heard from several of the passengers. "If you hadn't got that black coat on," the man said angrily, "I would put you off the car in no time." "Black coat or no black coat," Vincent said, "you may find it more difficult than you think. My profession is a peaceful one; but even a peaceful man, if assaulted, may defend himself. You say it's unpleasant to know that if you travel with a man in a black coat he may be a traitor. It's quite as unpleasant to me to know that if I travel with a man in a brown one he may be a notorious ruffian, and may as likely as not have just served his time in a penitentiary." Two or three of the passengers laughed loudly. The man, starting up, crossed the car to where Vincent was sitting and laid his hand roughly on his shoulder. "You have got to get out!" he said. "No man insults Jim Mullens twice." "Take your hand off my shoulder," Vincent said quietly, "or you will be sorry for it." The man shifted his hold to the collar of Vincent's coat amid cries of shame from some of the passengers, while the others were silent, even those of his own party objecting to an assault upon a minister. It was only the fact that the fellow was a notorious local ruffian that prevented their expressing open disapproval of the act. As the man grasped Vincent's collar with his right hand Vincent saw his left go under his coat toward the pocket in the back of the trousers where revolvers were always carried. In an instant he sprang to his feet, and before the man, who was taken by surprise at the suddenness of the movement, could steady himself, he struck him a tremendous blow and at the same moment springing at his throat, threw him backward on to the floor of the carriage. As he fell the man drew out his revolver, but Vincent grasped his arm and with a sharp twist wrenched the revolver from his grasp, and, leaping up, threw it out of the open window. The ruffian rose to his feet for a moment half-dazed by the violence with which he had fallen, and poured out a string of imprecations upon Vincent. The latter stood calmly awaiting a fresh attack. For a moment the ruffian hesitated, and then, goaded to fury by the taunting laughter of the lookers-on, was about to spring upon him when he was seized by two or three of the passengers. "I reckon you have made a fool enough of yourself already," one of them said; "and we are not going to see a minister ill-treated, not if we know it." "You need not hold him," Vincent said. "It is not because one wears a black coat and is adverse to fighting that one is not able to defend one's self. We all learn the same things at college, whether we are going into the Church or any other profession. You can let him alone if he really wants any more, which I do not believe. I should be ashamed of myself if I could not punish a ruffian of his kind." "Let me get at him!" yelled Mullens; and the men who held him, taking Vincent at his word, released him. He rushed forward, but was received with another tremendous blow on the mouth. He paused a moment in his rush, and Vincent, springing forward, administered another blow upon the same spot, knocking him off his legs on to the floor. On getting up he gave no sign of a desire to renew the conflict. His lips were badly cut and the blood was streaming from his mouth, and he looked at Vincent with an air of absolute bewilderment. The latter, seeing that the conflict was over, quietly resumed his seat; while several of the passengers came up to him, and, shaking him warmly by the hand, congratulated him upon having punished his assailant. "I wish we had a few more ministers of your sort down this way," one said. "That's the sort of preaching fellows like this understand. It was well you got his six-shooter out of his hand, for he would have used it as sure as fate. He ought to have been lynched long ago, but since the troubles began, these fellows have had all their own way. But look to yourself when he gets out; he belongs to a gang who call themselves Unionists, but who are nothing but plunderers and robbers. If you take my advice, when you get to the end of your journey you will not leave the station, but take a ticket straight back North. I tell you your life won't be safe five minutes when you once get outside of the town. They daren't do anything there, for, though folks have had to put up with a great deal, they wouldn't stand the shooting of a minister; still, outside the town I would not answer for your life for an hour." "I have my duties to perform," Vincent said, "and I shall certainly carry them through; but I am obliged to you for your advice. I can quite understand that ruffian," and he looked at Mullens, who, with his handkerchief to his mouth, was sitting alone in a corner--for the rest had all drawn away from him in disgust--and glaring ferociously at him, "will revenge himself, if he has the opportunity. However, as far as possible, I shall be on my guard." "At any rate," the man said, "I should advise you, when you get to Nashville, to charge him with assault. We can all testify that he laid hands on you first. That way he will get locked up for some days anyhow, and you can go away about your business, and he won't know where to find you when he gets out." "Thank you--that would be a very good plan; but I might lose a day or two in having to appear against him. I am pressed for time and have some important business on hand, and I have no doubt I shall be able to throw him off my track, finish my business, and be off again before he can come across me." "Well, I hope no harm will come of it," the other said. "I like you, and I never saw anyone hit so quickly and so hard. It's a downright pity you are a preacher. My name's John Morrison, and my farm is ten miles from Nashville, on the Cumberland River. If you should be going in that direction, I should be right glad if you would drop in on me." The real reason that decided Vincent against following the advice to give his assailant in charge was that he feared he himself might be questioned as to the object of his journey and his destination. The fellow would not improbably say that he believed he was the Confederate officer who was trying to escape in the disguise of a clergyman and that he had therefore tried to arrest him. He could, of course, give no grounds for the accusation, still questions might be asked which would be impossible for him to answer; and, however plausible a story he might invent, the lawyer whom the fellow would doubtless employ to defend him might suggest that the truth of his statements might be easily tested by the dispatch of a telegram, in which case he would be placed in a most awkward situation. It was better to run the risk of trouble with the fellow and his gang than to do anything which might lead to inquiries as to his identity. When the train reached Nashville, Vincent proceeded to an hotel. It was already late in the afternoon, for the journey had occupied more than thirty hours. As soon as it was dark he went out again and joined Dan, whom he had ordered to follow him at a distance and to be at the corner of the first turning to the right of the hotel as soon as it became dark. Dan was at the point agreed upon, and he followed Vincent until the latter stopped in a quiet and badly lighted street. "Things are going badly, Dan. I had a row with a ruffian in the train, and he has got friends here, and this will add greatly to our danger in getting to our lines. I must get another disguise. What money have you left?" "Not a cent, sah. I had only a five-cent piece left when we left St. Louis, and I spent him on bread on de journey." "That is bad, Dan. I did not think your stock was so nearly expended." "I had to keep myself, sah, and to pay for de railroad, and to buy dem t'ree suits of clothes, and to make de nigger I lodged with a present to keep him mouth shut." "Oh, I know you have had lots of expenses, Dan, and I am sure that you have not wasted your money; but I had not thought about it. I have only got ten dollars left, and we may have a hundred and fifty miles to travel before we are safe. Anyhow, you must get another disguise, and trust to luck for the rest. We have tramped a hundred and fifty miles before now without having anything beyond what we could pick up on the road. Here's the money. Get a rough suit of workingman's clothes, and join me here in an hour's time. Let us find out the name of the street before we separate, for we may miss our way and not be able to meet again." Passing up into the busy streets, Vincent presently stopped and purchased a paper of a newsboy who was running along shouting, "News from the war! Defeat of the rebels! Fight in a railway car near Nashville! A minister punishes a border ruffian!" "Confound those newspaper fellows!" Vincent muttered to himself as he walked away. "They pick up every scrap of news. I suppose a reporter got hold of someone who was in the car." Turning down a quiet street, he opened the paper and, by the light of the lamp, read a graphic and minute account of the struggle in the train. "I won't go back to the hotel," he said to himself. "I shall be having reporters to interview me. I shall be expected to give them a history of my whole life: where I was born, and where I went to school, and whether I prefer beef to mutton, and whether I drink beer, and a thousand other things. No, the sooner I am away the better. As to the hotel, I have only had one meal, and they have got the bag with what clothes there are; that will pay them well." Accordingly, when he rejoined Dan, he told him that they would start at once. "It is the best way, anyhow," he said. "To-morrow, no doubt, the fellow I had the row with will be watching the hotel to see which way I go off, but after once seeing me go to the hotel he will not guess that I shall be starting this evening. What have you got left, Dan?" "I got two dollars, sah." "That makes us quite rich men. We will stop at the first shop we come to and lay in a stock of bread and a pound or two of ham." "And a bottle of rum, sah. Bery wet and cold, sleeping out of doors now, sah. Want a little comfort, anyhow." "Very well, Dan; I think we can afford that." "Get one for half a dollar, massa. Could not lay out half a dollar better." Half an hour later they had left Nashville behind them, and were tramping along the road toward the east, Dan carrying a bundle in which the provisions were wrapped, and the neck of the bottle of rum sticking out of his pocket. As soon as they were well in the country Vincent changed his clothes for those Dan had just brought him, and making the others up into a bundle, continued his way. "Why you not leave dem black clothes behind, sah? What good take dem wid you?" "I am not going to carry them far, Dan. The first wood or thick clump of bushes we come to I shall hide them away; but if you were to leave them here they would be found the first thing in the morning, and perhaps be carried into the town and handed over to the police, and they might put that and the fact of my not having returned to the hotel--which is sure to be talked about--together, and come to the conclusion that either Mullens was right and that I was an escaped Confederate, or that I had been murdered by Mullens. In either case they might get up a search, and perhaps send telegrams to the troops in the towns beyond us. Anyhow, it's best the clothes should not be found." All night they tramped along, pausing only for half an hour about midnight, when Dan suggested that as he had only had some bread to eat--and not too much of that--during the last forty-eight hours, he thought that he could do with some supper. Accordingly the bundle was opened, and they sat down and partook of a hearty meal. Dan had wisely taken the precaution of having the cork drawn from the bottle when he bought it, replacing it so that it could be easily extracted when required, and Vincent acknowledged that the spirit was a not unwelcome addition to the meal. When morning broke they had reached Duck's River, a broad stream crossing the road. Here they drew aside into a thick grove, and determined to get a few hours' sleep before proceeding. It was nearly midday before they woke and proceeded to the edge of the trees. Vincent reconnoitered the position. "It is just as well we did not try to cross, Dan. I see the tents of at least a regiment on the other bank. No doubt they are stationed there to guard the road and railway bridge. This part of the country is pretty equally divided in opinion, though more of the people are for the South than for the North; but I know there are guerrilla parties on both sides moving about, and if a Confederate band was to pounce down on these bridges and destroy them it would cut the communication with their army in front, and put them in a very ugly position if they were defeated. No doubt that's why they have stationed that regiment there. Anyhow, it makes it awkward for us. We should be sure to be questioned where we are going, and as I know nothing whatever of the geography of the place, we should find it very difficult to satisfy them. We must cross the river somewhere else. There are sure to be some boats somewhere along the banks; at any rate, the first thing to do is to move further away from the road." They walked for two or three miles across the country. The fields for the most part were deserted, and although here and there they saw cultivated patches, it was evident that most of the inhabitants had quitted that part of the country, which had been the scene of almost continued fighting from the commencement of the war; the sufferings of the inhabitants being greatly heightened by the bands of marauders who moved about plundering and destroying under the pretense of punishing those whom they considered hostile to the cause in whose favor--nominally, at least--they had enrolled themselves. The sight of ruined farms and burned houses roused Vincent's indignation; for in Virginia private property had, up to the time of Pope's assuming command of the army, been respected, and this phase of civil war was new and very painful to him. "It would be a good thing," he said to Dan, "if the generals on both sides in this district would agree to a month's truce, and join each other in hunting down and hanging these marauding scoundrels. On our side Mosby and a few other leaders of bands composed almost entirely of gentlemen have never been accused of practices of this kind; but, with these exceptions, there is little to choose between them." After walking for four or five miles they again sat down till evening, and then, going down to the river, endeavored to find a boat by which they could cross, but to their disappointment no craft of any kind was visible, although in many places there were stages by the riverside, evidently used by farmers for unloading their produce into boats. Vincent concluded at last that at some period of the struggle all the boats must have been collected and either sunk or carried away by one of the parties to prevent the other crossing the river. Hitherto they had carefully avoided all the farmhouses that appeared to be inhabited; but Vincent now determined to approach one of them and endeavor to gain some information as to the distance from the next bridge, and whether it was guarded by troops, and to find out, if possible, the position in which the Northern forces in Tennessee were at present posted--all of which points he was at present ignorant of. He passed two or three large farmhouses without entering, for although the greater part of the male population were away with one or other of the armies, he might still find two or three hands in such buildings. Besides, it was now late, and whatever the politics of the inmates they would be suspicious of such late arrivals, and would probably altogether refuse them admittance. Accordingly another night was spent in the wood. The next morning, after walking a mile or two, they saw a house at which Vincent determined to try their fortune. It was small, but seemed to have belonged to people above the class of farmer. It stood in a little plantation, and was surrounded by a veranda. Most of the blinds were down, and Vincent judged that the inmates could not be numerous. "You remain here, Dan, and I will go and knock at the door. It is better that we should not be seen together." Vincent accordingly went forward and knocked at the door. An old negress opened it. "We have nothing for tramps," she said. "De house am pretty well cleared out ob eberything." She was about to shut the door when Vincent put his foot forward and prevented its closing. "Massa Charles," the negress called out, "bring yo' shot-gun quick; here am tief want to break into the house." "I am neither a thief nor a tramp," Vincent said; "and I do not want anything, except that I should be glad to buy a loaf of bread if you have one that you could spare. I have lost my way, and I want to ask directions." "Dat am pretty likely story," the old woman said. "Bring up dat shot-gun, quick, Massa Charles." "What is it, Chloe?" another female voice asked. "Here am a man pretend he hab lost his way and wants to buy a loaf. You stand back, Miss Lucy, and let your brudder shoot de villain dead." "I can assure you I am not a robber, madam," Vincent said through the partly opened door. "I am alone, and only beg some information, which I doubt not you can give me." "Open the door, Chloe," the second voice said inside; "that is not the voice of a robber." The old woman reluctantly obeyed the order and opened the door, and Vincent saw in the passage a young girl of some sixteen years old. He took off his hat. "I am very sorry to disturb you," he said, "but I am an entire stranger here, and am most desirous of crossing the river, but can find no boat with which to do so." "Why did you not cross by the bridge?" the girl asked. "How did you miss the straight road?" "Frankly, because there were Northern troops there," Vincent said, "and I wish to avoid them, if possible." "You are a Confederate?" the girl asked, when the old negress interrupted her: "Hush, Miss Lucy! don't you talk about dem tings; der plenty of mischief done already. What hab you to do wid one side or de oder?" The girl paid no attention to her words, but stood awaiting Vincent's answer. He did not hesitate. There was something in her face that told him that, friend or foe, she was not likely to betray a fugitive, and he answered: "I am a Confederate officer, madam. I have made my escape from Elmira prison, and I am trying to find my way back into our lines." "Come in, sir," the girl said, holding out her hand. "We are Secessionists, heart and soul. My father and my brother are with our troops--that is, if they are both alive. I have little to offer you, for the Yankee bands have been here several times, have driven off our cattle, emptied our barns, and even robbed our hen nests, and taken everything in the house they thought worth carrying away. But whatever there is, sir, you are heartily welcome to. I had a paper yesterday--it is not often I get one--and I saw there that three of our officers had escaped from Elmira. Are you one of them?" "Yes, madam. I am Lieutenant Wingfield." "Ah! then you are in the cavalry. You have fought under Stuart," the girl said. "The paper said so. Oh, how I wish we had Stuart and Stonewall Jackson on this side! We should soon drive the Yankees out of Tennessee." "They would try to, anyhow," Vincent said, smiling, "and if it were possible they would assuredly do it. I was in Ashley's horse with the Stonewall division through the first campaign in the Shenandoah Valley and up to Bull Run, and after that under Stuart. But is not your brother here? Your servant called to him." "There is no one here but ourselves," the girl replied. "That was a fiction of Chloe's, and it has succeeded sometimes when we have had rough visitors. And now, what can I do for you, sir? You said you wanted to buy a loaf of bread, and therefore, I suppose, you are hungry. Chloe, put the bacon and bread on the table, and make some coffee. I am afraid that is all we can do, sir, but such as it is you are heartily welcome to it." "I thank you greatly," Vincent replied, "and will, if you will allow me, take half my breakfast out to my boy, who is waiting over there." "Why did you not bring him in?" the girl asked. "Of course he will be welcome, too." "I did not bring him in before because two men in these days are likely to alarm a lonely household; and I would rather not bring him in now, because, if by any possibility the searchers, who are no doubt after me, should call and ask you whether two men, one a white and the other a negro, had been here, you could answer no." "But they cannot be troubling much about prisoners," the girl said. "Why, in the fighting here and in Missouri they have taken many thousands of prisoners, and you have taken still more of them in Virginia; surely they cannot trouble themselves much about one getting away." "I am not afraid of a search of that kind," Vincent said; "but, unfortunately, on my way down I had a row in the train with a ruffian named Mullens, who is, I understand, connected with one of these bands of brigands, and I feel sure that he will hunt me down, if he can." The girl turned pale. "Oh!" she said, "I saw that in the paper too, but it said that it was a minister. And it was you who beat that man and threw his revolver out of the window? Oh, then, you are in danger indeed, sir. He is one of the worst ruffians in the State, and is the leader of the party who stripped this house and threatened to burn it to the ground. Luckily I was not at home, having gone away to spend the night with a neighbor. His band have committed murders all over the country, hanging up defenseless people on pretense that they were Secessionists. They will show you no mercy, if they catch you." "No. I should not expect any great mercy, if I fell into their hands, Miss Lucy. I don't know your other name." "My name is Kingston. I ought to have introduced myself to you at once." "Now you understand, Miss Kingston, how anxious I am to get across the river, and that brings me to the question of the information I want you to give me. How far is it from the next bridge on the south, and are there any Federal troops there?" "It is about seven miles to the bridge at Williamsport; we are just halfway between that and the railway bridge at Columbus. Yes, there are certainly troops there." "Then I see no way for it but to make a small raft to carry us across, Miss Kingston. I am a good swimmer, but the river is full and of considerable width; still, I think I can get across. But my boy cannot swim a stroke." "I know where there is a boat hid in the wood near the river," the girl said. "It belongs to a neighbor of ours, and when the Yankees seized the boats he had his hauled up and hidden in the woods. He was a Southerner, heart and soul, and thought that he might be able sometimes to take useful information across the river to our people; but a few weeks afterward his house was attacked by one of these bands--it was always said it was that of Mullens--and he was killed, defending it to the last. He killed several of the band before he fell, and they were so enraged that, after plundering it, they set it on fire and fastened the door, and his wife and two maidservants were burned to death." "I wish instead of throwing his pistol out of the window, I had blown his brains out with it," Vincent said; "and I would have done so, if I had known what sort of fellow he was. However, as to the boat, can you give me instructions where to find it, and is it light enough for two men to carry?" "Not to carry, perhaps, but to push along. It is a light boat he had for pleasure. He had a large one, but that was carried away with the others. I cannot give you directions, but I can lead you to the place." "I should not like you to do that," Vincent said. "We might be caught, and your share in the affair might be suspected." "Oh there is no fear of that," the girl said; "besides, I am not afraid of danger." "I don't think it is right, Miss Kingston, for a young lady like you to be living here alone with an old servant in such times as these. You ought to go into a town until it's all over." "I have no one to go to," the girl said simply. "My father bought this place and moved here from Georgia only six years ago, and all my friends are in that State. Except our neighbors round here I do not know a soul in Tennessee. Besides, what can I do in a town? We can manage here, because we have a few fowls, and some of our neighbors last spring plowed an acre or two of ground and planted corn for us, and I have a little money left for buying other things; but it would not last us a month if we went into a town. No, I have nothing to do but to stay here until you drive the Yankees back. I will willingly take you down to the boat to-night. Chloe can come with us and keep me company on the way back. Of course it would not be safe to cross in the daytime." "I thank you greatly, Miss Kingston, and shall always remember your kindness. Now, when I finish my meal, I will go out and join my boy, and will come to you at eight o'clock; it will be quite dark then." "Why should you not stay here till then, Mr. Wingfield? It is very unlikely that anyone will come along." "It is unlikely, but it is quite possible," Vincent replied; "and were I caught here by Mullens, the consequence would be very serious to you as well as to myself. No, I could not think of doing that. I will go out, and come back at eight o'clock. I shall not be far away; but if anyone should come and inquire, you can honestly say that you do not know where I am." "I have two revolvers here, sir; in fact I have three. I always keep one loaded, for there is never any saying whether it may not be wanted; and the other two I picked up last spring. There was a fight about a quarter of a mile from here, and it was after it was over and they had moved away, for the Confederates won that time and chased them back toward Nashville, I went with Chloe with some water and bandages to see if we could do anything for the wounded. We were at work there till evening, and I think we did some good. As we were coming back I saw something in a low bush, and going there found a Yankee officer and his horse both lying dead; they had been killed by a shell, I should think. Stooping over to see if he was quite dead I saw a revolver in his belt and another in the holster of his saddle, so I took them out and brought them home, thinking I might give them to some of our men, for we were then, as we have always been, very short of arms; but I have never had an opportunity of giving them away, and I am very glad now that I have not. Here they are, sir, and two packets of cartridges, for they are of the same size as those of the pistol my father gave me when he went away. You are heartily welcome to them." "Thank you extremely," Vincent said as he took the pistols and placed the packets of ammunition in his pocket. "We cut two heavy sticks the night we left Nashville so as to be able to make something of a fight; but with these weapons we shall feel a match for any small parties we may meet. Then at eight o'clock I will come back again." "I shall be ready," the girl said; "but I wish you would have stopped, there are so many things I want to ask you about, and these Yankee papers, which are all we see now, are full of lies." "They exaggerate their successes and to some extent conceal their defeats," Vincent said; "but I do not think it is the fault of the newspapers, whose correspondents do seem to me to try and tell the truth to their readers, but of the official dispatches of the generals. The newspapers tone matters down, no doubt, because they consider it necessary to keep up the public spirit; but at times they speak out pretty strongly, too. I am quite as sorry to leave as you can be that I should go, Miss Kingston, but I am quite sure that it is very much the wisest thing for me to do. By the way, if I should not be here by half-past eight I shall not come at all, and you will know that something has occurred to alter our plans. I trust there is no chance of anything doing so, but it is as well to arrange so that you should not sit up expecting me. Should I not come back you will know that I shall be always grateful to you for your kindness, and that when this war is over, if I am alive, I will come back and thank you personally." "Good-by till this evening!" the girl said. "I will not even let myself think that anything can occur to prevent your return." "Golly, Massa Vincent, what a time you hab been!" Dan said when Vincent rejoined him. "Dis chile began to tink dat somefing had gone wrong, and was going in anoder five minutes to knock at the door to ask what dey had done to you." "It is all right, Dan. I have had breakfast, and have brought some for you; here is some bread and bacon and a bottle of coffee." "Dat good, massa; my teeth go chatter, chatter wid sleeping in these damp woods; dat coffee do me good, sah. After dat I shall feel fit for anyting." CHAPTER XII. THE BUSHWHACKERS. "By the way, Dan," Vincent said when the negro had finished his meal, "we have not talked over that matter of my clothes. I can't imagine how that letter saying that one of us was disguised as a minister and would have a negro servant came to be written. Did you ever tell the people you lodged with anything about the disguise?" "No, sah, neber said one word to dem about it; dey know nothing whatsoeber. De way me do wid your letter was dis. Me go outside town and wait for long time. At last saw black fellow coming along. Me say to him, 'Can you read?' and he said as he could. I said 'I got a letter, I want to read him. I gib you a quarter to read him to me;' so he said yes, and he read the letter. He a long time of making it out, because he read print, but not read writing well. He spell it out word by word, but I don't tink he understand dat it come from prison, only dat it come from someone who wanted some rope and a turn-screw. Me do just the same way wid de second letter. As for de clothes, me buy dem dat day, make dem up in bundle, and not go back to lodging at all. Me not know how anyone could know dat I buy dat minister clothes for you, sah. Me told de storekeeper dat dey was for cousin of mine, who preach to de colored folk, and dat I send him suit as present. Onless dat man follow me and watch me all de time till we go off together, sah, me no see how de debbil he guess about it." "That's quite impossible, Dan; it never could have been that way. It is very strange, for it would really seem that no one but you and I and the other two officers could possibly know about it." "Perhaps one ob dem want to do you bad turn, massa, and write so as to get you caught and shut up again." Vincent started at this suggestion. Was it possible that Jackson could have done him this bad turn after his having aided him to make his escape! It would be a villainous trick; but then he had always thought him capable of villainous tricks, and it was only the fact that they were thrown together in prison that had induced him to make up his quarrel with him; but though Jackson had accepted his advances, it was probable enough that he had retained his bad feeling against him, and had determined, if possible, to have his revenge on the first opportunity. "The scoundrel," he said to himself, "after my getting him free, to inform against me! Of course I have no proof of it, but I have not the least doubt that it was he. If we ever meet again, Mr. Jackson, I will have it out with you." "You got two pistols, sah," Dan said presently. "How you get dem?" "The lady of the house gave them to me, Dan; they are one for you and one for me." "Dis chile no want him, sah; not know what to do wid him. Go off and shoot myself, for sure." "Well, I don't suppose you would do much good with it, Dan. As I am a good shot, perhaps I had better keep them both. You might load them for me as I fire them." "Bery well, sah: you show me how to load, me load." Vincent showed Dan how to extricate the discharged cartridge cases and to put in fresh ones, and after a quarter of an hour's practice Dan was able to do this with some speed. "When we going on, sah?" he said as, having learned the lesson, he handed the pistol back to Vincent. "We are not going on until the evening, Dan. When it gets dark the lady is going to take us to a place where there is a boat hidden, and we shall then be able to cross the river." "Den I will hab a sleep, sah. Noting like sleeping when there is a chance." "I believe you could sleep three-quarters of your time, Dan. However, you may as well sleep now if you can, for there will be nothing to do till night." Vincent went back to the edge of the wood, and sat down where he could command a view of the cottage. The country was for the most part covered with wood, for it was but thinly inhabited except in the neighborhood of the main roads. Few of the farmers had cleared more than half their ground; many only a few acres. The patch, in which the house with its little clump of trees stood nearly in the center, was of some forty or fifty acres in extent, and though now rank with weeds, had evidently been carefully cultivated, for all the stumps had been removed, and the fence round it was of a stronger and neater character than that which most of the cultivators deemed sufficient. Presently he heard the sound of horses' feet in the forest behind him, and he made his way back to a road which ran along a hundred yards from the edge of the wood. He reached it before the horseman came up, and lay down in the underwood a few yards back. In a short time two horsemen came along at a walking pace. "I call this a fool's errand altogether," one of them said in a grumbling tone. "We don't know that they have headed this way; and if they have, we might search these woods for a month without finding them." "That's so," the other said; "but Mullens has set his heart on it, and we must try for another day or two. My idea is that when the fellow heard what sort of a chap Mullens was, he took the train back that night and went up North again." Vincent heard no more, but it was enough to show him that a sharp hunt was being kept up for him; and although he had no fear of being caught in the woods, he was well pleased at the thought that he would soon be across the water and beyond the reach of his enemy. He went back again to the edge of the clearing and resumed his watch. It was just getting dusk, and he was about to join Dan when he saw a party of twelve men ride out from the other side of the wood and make toward the house. Filled with a vague alarm that possibly someone might have caught sight of him and his follower on the previous day, and might, on being questioned by the searchers, have given them a clew as to the direction in which they were going, Vincent hurried to the spot where he left Dan. The negro jumped up as he approached. "Me awake long time, sah. Began to wonder where you had got to." "Take your stick and come along, Dan, as fast as you can." Without another word Vincent led the way along the edge of the wood to the point where the clump of trees at the back of the house hid it from his view. "Now, Dan, stoop low and get across to those trees." Greatly astonished at what was happening, but having implicit faith in his master, Dan followed without a question. It was but ten minutes since Vincent had seen the horsemen, but the darkness had closed in rapidly, and he had little fear of his approach being seen. He made his way through the trees, and crept up to the house, and then kept close along it until he reached the front. There stood the horses with the bridles thrown over their necks. The riders were all inside the house. "Look here, Dan," he whispered, "you keep here perfectly quiet until I join you again or you hear a pistol shot. If you do hear a shot, rush at the horses with your stick and drive them off at full gallop. Drive them right into the woods if you can, and then lie quiet till you hear me whistle for you. If you don't hear my whistle you will know something has happened to me, and then you must make your way home as well as can." "Oh, Master Vincent!" Dan began; but Vincent stopped him. "It's no use talking, Dan; you must do as I order you. I hope all will be well; but it must be done, anyhow." "Let me come and load your pistol and fight with you, sah." "You can do more good stampeding the horses, Dan. Perhaps, after all, there will be no trouble." So saying, leaving Dan with the tears running down his cheeks, Vincent went to the back of the house and tried the door there. It was fastened. Then he went to the other side; and here the light streaming through the window, which was open, and the sound of loud voices, showed him the room where the party were. He crept cautiously up and looked in. Mullens was standing facing Lucy Kingston; the rest of the men were standing behind him. The girl was as pale as death, but was quiet and composed. "Now," Mullens said, "I ask you for the last time. You have admitted that a man has been here to-day and that you gave him food. You say he is not in the house; and as we have searched it pretty thoroughly, we know that's right enough. You say you don't know where he is, and that may be true enough in a sense; but I have asked you whether he is coming back again, and you won't answer me. I just give you three seconds;" and he held out his arm with a pistol in it. "One!" As the word "Two" left his lips, a pistol cracked and Mullens fell back with a bullet in his forehead. At the same time Vincent shouted at the top of his voice, "Come on, boys; wipe 'em out altogether! Don't let one of them escape!" As he spoke he discharged his pistol rapidly into the midst of the men, who were for the moment too taken by surprise to move, and every shot took effect upon them. At the same moment there was a great shouting outside, and the trampling of horses' feet. One or two of the men hastily returned Vincent's fire, but the rest made a violent rush to the door. Several fell over the bodies of their comrades, and Vincent had emptied one of his revolvers and fired three shots with the second before the last of those able to escape did so. Five bodies remained on the floor. As they were still seven to one against him, Vincent ran to the corner of the house, prepared to shoot them as they came round; but the ruffians were too scared to think of anything but escape, and they could be heard running and shouting across the fields. Vincent ran into the house. He had seen Lucy Kingston fall prostrate at the same instant as the ruffian facing her. Strung up to the highest tension, and expecting in another second to be shot, the crack of Vincent's pistol had brought her down as surely as the bullet of Mullens would have done. Even in the excitement of firing, Vincent felt thankful when he saw her fall, and knew that she was safe from the bullets flying about. When he entered the room he found the old negress lying beside her, and thought at first that she had fallen in the fray. He found that she was not only alive, but unhurt, having, the instant she saw her young mistress fall, thrown herself upon her to protect her from harm. "Am dey all gone, sah?" she asked, as Vincent somewhat roughly pulled her off the girl's body. "They have all gone, Chloe; but I do not know how soon they may be back again. Get your mistress round as soon as you can. I am sure that she has only fainted, for she fell the instant I fired, before another pistol had gone off." Leaving the old woman to bring Miss Kingston round, he reloaded his pistols and went to the door. In a few minutes the sound of horses galloping was heard. "Halt, or I fire!" he shouted. "Don't shoot, sah! don't shoot! it am me!" and Dan rode up, holding a second horse by the bridle. "I thought I might as well get two ob dem, so I jump on de back ob one and get hold ob anoder bridle while I was waiting to hear your pistol fire. Den de moment I heard dat, I set de oders off, and chased dem to de corner where de gate was where dey came in at, and along de road for half a mile; dey so frightened dey not stop for a long time to come. Den I turn into de wood and went through de trees, so as not to meet dem fellows, and lifted two of de bars of the fence, and here am I. You are not hurt, massa?" "My left arm is broken, I think, Dan; but that is of no consequence. I have shot five of these fellows--their leader among them--and I expect three of the others have got a bullet somewhere or other in them. There was such a crowd round the door that I don't think one shot missed. It was well I thought of stampeding the horses; that gave them a greater fright than my pistols. No doubt they thought that there was a party of our bushwhackers upon them. Now, Dan, you keep watch, and let me know if you see any signs of their returning. I think they are too shaken up to want any more fighting; but as there are seven of them, and they may guess there are only two or three of us, it is possible they may try again." "Me don't tink dey try any more, sah. Anyhow, I look out sharp." So saying, Dan, fastening up one of the horses, rode the other in a circle round and round the house and little plantation, so that it would not be possible for anyone to cross the clearing without being seen. Vincent returned to the house, and found Miss Kingston just recovering consciousness. She sat upon the ground in a confused way. "What has happened, nurse?" "Never mind at present, deary. Juss you keep yourself quiet, and drink a little water." The girl mechanically obeyed. The minute she put down the glass her eye fell upon Vincent, who was standing near the door. "Oh, I remember now!" she said, starting up. "Those men were here, and they were going to shoot me. One--two--and then he fired, and it seemed that I fell dead. Am I not wounded?" "He never fired at all, Miss Kingston; he will never fire again. I shot him as he said 'two,' and no doubt the shock of the sudden shot caused you to faint dead away. You fell the same instant that he did." "But where are the others?" the girl said with a shudder. "How imprudent of you to come here! I hoped you had seen them coming toward the house." "I did see them, Miss Kingston, and that was the reason I came. I was afraid they might try rough measures to learn from you where I was hidden. I arrived at the window just as the scoundrel was pointing his pistol toward you, and then there was no time to give myself up, and I had nothing to do for it but to put a bullet through his head in order to save you. Then I opened fire upon the rest, and my boy drove off their horses. They were seized with a panic and bolted, thinking they were surrounded. Of course I kept up my fire, and there are four of them in the next room besides their captain. And now, if you please, I will get you, in the first place, to bind my arm tightly across my chest, for one of their bullets hit me in the left shoulder, and has, I fancy, broken it." The girl gave an exclamation of dismay. "Do not be alarmed, Miss Kingston; a broken shoulder is not a serious matter, only I would rather it had not happened just at the present moment; there are more important affairs in hand. The question is, What is to become of you? It is quite impossible that you should stay here after what has happened. Those scoundrels are sure to come back again." "What am I to do, Chloe?" the girl asked in perplexity. "I am sure we cannot stay here. We must find our way through the woods to Nashville, and I must try and get something to do there." "There is another way, Miss Kingston, if you like to try it," Vincent said. "Of course it would be toilsome and unpleasant, but I do not think it would be dangerous, for even if we got caught there would be no fear of your receiving any injury from the Federal troops. My proposal is that you and Chloe should go with us. If we get safely through the Federal lines I will escort you to Georgia and place you with your friends there." The girl looked doubtful for a moment, and then she shook her head. "I could not think of that, sir. It would be difficult enough for you to get through the enemy by yourselves. It would add terribly to your danger to have us with you." "I do not think so," Vincent replied. "Two men would be sure to be questioned and suspected, but a party like ours would be far less likely to excite suspicion. Every foot we get south we shall find ourselves more and more among people who are friendly to us, and although they might be afraid to give shelter to men, they would not refuse to take women in. I really think, Miss Kingston, that this plan is the best. In the first place, it would be a dangerous journey for you through the woods to Nashville, and if you fall into the hands of any of those ruffians who have been here you may expect no mercy. At Nashville you will have great difficulty in obtaining employment of any kind, and even suppose you went further north your position as a friendless girl would be a most painful one. As to your staying here, that is plainly out of the question. I think that there is no time to lose in making a decision. Those fellows may go to the camp at the bridge, give their account of the affair, declare that they have been attacked by a party of Confederate sympathizers, and return here with a troop of horse." "What do you say, Chloe?" Lucy asked. "I'se ready to go wid you whereber you like, Miss Lucy; but I do tink dat, in times like dis, dat a young gal is best wid her own folk. It may be hard work getting across, but as to danger dar can't be much more danger than dar has been in stopping along here, so it seems to me best to do as dis young officer says." "Very well, then, I will, sir. We will go under your protection, and will give you as little trouble as we can. We will be ready in five minutes. Now, Chloe, let us put a few things together. The fewer the better. Just a small bundle which we can carry in our hands." In a few minutes they returned to the room, Chloe carrying a large basket, and looking somewhat ruffled. "Chloe is a little upset," the girl said, smiling, "because I won't put my best clothes on; and the leaving her Sunday gown behind is a sore trouble to her." "No wonder, sah," Chloe said. "Why, dey say dat thar am no pretty dresses in de 'Federacy, and dat blue gown wid red spots is just as good as new, and it am downright awful to tink dat dose fellows will come back and take it." "Never mind, Chloe," Vincent said, smiling. "No doubt we are short of pretty dresses in the South, but I dare say we shall be able to find you something that will be almost as good. But we must not stand talking. You are sure you have got everything of value, Miss Kingston?" "I have got my purse," she said, "and Chloe has got some food. I don't think there is anything else worth taking in the house." "Very well, we will be off," Vincent said, leading the way to the door. A minute later Dan rode past, and Vincent called him and told him they were going to start. "Shall we take de horses, sah?" "No, Dan. We are going to carry out our original plan of crossing the river in a boat, and I think the horses would be rather in our way than not. But you had better not leave them here. Take them to the farther side of the clearing, and get them through the fence into the forest, then strike across as quickly as you can and join us where we were stopping to-day. Miss Kingston and her servant are going with us. They cannot stay here after what has taken place." Dan at once rode off with the two horses, and the others walked across to the edge of the clearing and waited until he rejoined them. "Now, Miss Kingston, you must be our guide at present." "We must cross the road, first," the girl said. "Nearly opposite to where we are there is a little path through the wood, leading straight down to the river. The boat lies only a short distance from it." The path was a narrow one, and it was very dark under the trees. "Mind how you go," Vincent said, as the girl stepped lightly on ahead. "You might get a heavy fall if you caught your foot in a root." She instantly moderated her pace. "I know the path well, but it was thoughtless of me to walk so fast. I forgot you did not know it, and if you were to stumble you might hurt your arm terribly. How does it feel now?" "It certainly hurts a bit," Vincent replied in a cheerful tone; "but now it is strapped tightly to me it cannot move much. Please do not worry about me." "Ah!" she said, "I cannot forget how you got it--how you attacked twelve men to save me!" "Still less can I forget, Miss Kingston, how you, a young girl, confronted death rather than say a word that would place me in their power." "That was quite different, Mr. Wingfield. My own honor was pledged not to betray you, who had trusted me." "Well, we will cry quits for the present, Miss Kingston; or, rather, we will be content to remain for the present in each other's debt." A quarter of an hour's walking brought them to the river. "Now," Lucy said, "we must make our way about ten yards through these bushes to the right." With some difficulty they passed through the thick screen of bushes, the girl still leading the way. "Here it is," she said; "I have my hand upon it." Vincent was soon beside her, and the negress quickly joined them. "There are no oars in the boat," Vincent said, feeling along the seat. "Oh, I forgot! They are stowed away behind the bushes on the right; they were taken out, so that if the Yankees found the boat it would be of no use to them." Dan made his way through the bushes, and soon found the oars. Then, uniting their strength, they pushed the boat through the high rushes that screened it from the river. "It is afloat," Vincent said. "Now, Dan, take your place in the bow." "I will row, Mr. Wingfield. I am a very good hand at it. So please take your seat with Chloe in the stern." "Dan can take one oar, anyhow," Vincent replied; "but I will let you row instead of me. I am afraid I should make a poor hand of it with only one arm." The boat pushed quietly out. The river was about a hundred yards wide at this point. They had taken but a few strokes when Vincent said: "You must row hard, Miss Kingston, or we shall have to swim for it. The water is coming through the seams fast." The girl and Dan exerted themselves to the utmost; but, short as was the passage, the boat was full almost to the gunwale before they reached the opposite bank, the heat of the sun having caused the planks to open during the months it had been lying ashore. "This is a wet beginning," Lucy Kingston said, laughing, as she tried to wring the water out of the lower part of her dress. "Here, Chloe; you wring me and I will wring you." "Now, Dan, get hold of that head-rope," Vincent said; "haul her up little by little as the water runs out over the stern." "I should not trouble about the boat, Mr. Wingfield; it is not likely we shall ever want it again." "I was not thinking of the boat; I was thinking of ourselves. If it should happen to be noticed at the next bridge as it drifted down, it would at once suggest to anyone on the lookout for us that we had crossed the river; whereas, if we get it among the bushes here, they will believe that we are hidden in the woods or have headed back to the North; and we shall be a long way across the line, I hope, before they give up searching for us in the woods on the other side." "Yes; I didn't think of that. We will help you with the rope." The boat was very heavy, now that it was full of water. Inch by inch it was pulled up, until the water was all out except near the stern. Dan and Vincent then turned it bottom upward, and it was soon hauled up among the bushes. "Now, Miss Kingston, which do you think is our best course? I know nothing whatever of the geography here." "The next town is Mount Pleasant; that is where the Williamsport road passes the railway. If we keep south we shall strike the railway, and that will take us to Mount Pleasant. After that the road goes on to Florence on the Tennessee River. The only place that I know of on the road is Lawrenceburg. That is about forty miles from here, and I have heard that the Yankees are on the line from there right and left. I believe our troops are at Florence; but I am not sure about that, because both parties are constantly shifting their position, and I hear very little, as you may suppose, of what is being done. Anyhow, I think we cannot do better than go on until we strike the railway, keep along by that till we get within a short distance of Mount Pleasant, and then cross it. After that we can decide whether we will travel by the road or keep on through the woods. But we cannot find our way through the woods at night; we should lose ourselves before we had gone twenty yards." "I am afraid we should, Miss Kingston." "Please call me Lucy," the girl interrupted. "I am never called anything else, and I am sure this is not a time for ceremony." "I think that it will be better; and will you please call me Vincent? It is much shorter and pleasanter using our first names; and as we must pass for brother and sister, if we get among the Yankees, it is better to get accustomed to it. I quite agree with you that it will be too dark to find our way through the woods unless we can discover a path. Dan and I will see if we can find one. If we can, I think it will be better to go on a little way at any rate, so as to get our feet warm and let our clothes dry a little." "They will not dry to-night," Lucy said. "It is so damp in the woods that even if our clothes were dry now they would be wet before morning." "I did not think of that. Yes, in that case I do not see that we should gain anything by going farther; we will push on for two or three hundred yards, if we can, and then we can light a fire without there being any chance of its being seen from the other side." "That would be comfortable, Mr.--I mean Vincent," the girl agreed. "That is, if you are quite sure that it would be safe. I would rather be wet all night than that we should run any risks." "I am sure if we can get a couple of hundred yards into this thick wood the fire would not be seen through it," Vincent said; "of course I do not mean to make a great bonfire which would light up the forest." For half an hour they forced their way through the bushes, and then Vincent said he was sure that they had come far enough. Finding a small open space, Dan and Lucy, and the negress set to work collecting leaves and dry sticks. Vincent had still in his pocket the newspaper he had bought in the streets of Nashville, and he always carried lights. A piece of the paper was crumpled up and lighted, a few of the driest leaves that they could find dropped upon it, then a few twigs, until at last a good fire was burning. "I think that is enough for the present," Vincent said. "Now we will keep on adding wood as fast as it burns down, so as to get a great pile of embers, and keep two or three good big logs burning all night." He then gave directions to Dan, who cut a long stick and fastened it to two saplings, one of which grew just in front of the fire. Then he set to work and cut off branches, and laid them sloping against it, and soon had an arbor constructed of sufficient thickness to keep off the night dews. "I think you will be snug in there," Vincent said when he had finished, "The heat of the fire will keep you dry and warm, and if you lie with your heads the other way I think your things will be dry by the morning. Dan and I will lie down by the other side of the fire. We are both accustomed to sleep in the open air and have done so for months." "Thank you very much," she said. "Our things are drying already, and I am as warm as toast; but, indeed you need not trouble about us. We brought these warm shawls with us on purpose for night work in the forest. Now, I think we will try the contents of the basket Dan has been carrying." The basket, which was a good-sized one, was opened. Chloe had, before starting, put all the provisions in the house into it, and it contained three loaves, five or six pounds of bacon, a canister of tea, loaf-sugar, a small kettle, and two pint mugs, besides a number of odds and ends. The kettle Dan had, by Chloe's direction, filled with water before leaving the river, and this was soon placed among the glowing embers. "But you have brought no teapot, Chloe!" "Dar was not no room for it, Miss Lucy. We can make tea bery well in de kettle." "So we can. I forgot that. We shall do capitally." The kettle was not long in boiling. Chloe produced some spoons and knives and forks from the basket. "Spoons and forks are luxuries, Chloe," Vincent said, laughing. "We could have managed without them." "Yes, sah; but me not going to leave massa's silver for dose villains to find." Lucy laughed. "At any rate, Chloe, we can turn the silver into money if we run short. Now the kettle is boiling." It was taken off the fire, and Lucy poured some tea into it from the canister, and then proceeded to cut up the bread. A number of slices of bacon had already been cut-off, and a stick thrust through them, and Dan, who was squatted at the other side of the fire holding it over the flames, now pronounced them to be ready. The bread served as plates, and the party were soon engaged upon their meal, laughing and talking over it as if it had been an ordinary picnic in the woods, though at times Vincent's face contracted from the sharp twitching of pain in his shoulder. Vincent and Lucy first drank their tea, and the mugs were then handed to Dan and Chloe. "This is great fun," Lucy said, "If it goes on like it all through our journey, we shall have no need to grumble. Shall we, Chloe?" "If you don't grumble, Miss Lucy, you may be quite sure dat Chloe will not. But we hab not begun our journey at present; and I spec dat we shall find it pretty hard work before we get to de end. But neber mind dat; anyting is better dan being all by ourselves in dat house. Terrible sponsibility dat!" "It was lonely," the girl said, "and I am glad we are away from it, whatever happens. What a day this has been! Who could have dreamed, when I got up in the morning, that all this would take place before night? It seems almost like a dream, and I can hardly believe"--and here she stopped with a little shiver as she thought of the scene she had passed through with the band of bushwhackers. "I would not think anything at all about it," Vincent said. "And now I should recommend your getting to sleep as soon as you can. We will be off at daybreak and it is just twelve o'clock now." Five minutes later Lucy and her old nurse were snugly ensconced in their little bower, while Vincent and Dan stretched themselves at full length on the other side of the fire. In spite of the pain in his shoulder Vincent dozed off occasionally, but he was heartily glad when he saw the first gleam of light in the sky. He woke Dan. "Dan, take the kettle down to the river and fill it. We had better have some breakfast before we make our start. If you can't find your way back, whistle, and I will answer you." Dan, however, had no occasion to give the signal. It took him little more than five minutes to traverse the distance that had occupied them half an hour in the thick darkness, and Vincent was surprised when he appeared again with the kettle. Not until it was boiling, and the bacon was ready, did Vincent raise his voice and call Lucy and the nurse. "This is reversing the order of things altogether," the girl said as she came out and saw breakfast already prepared. "I shall not allow it another time, I can tell you." "We are old campaigners, you see," Vincent said, "and accustomed to early movements. Now please let us waste no time, as the sooner we are off the better." In a quarter of an hour breakfast was eaten and the basket packed, and they were on their way. Now the bright, glowing light in the east was sufficient guide to them as to the direction they should take, and setting their face to the south they started through the forest. Soon they came upon a little stream running through the wood, and here Vincent suggested that Lucy might like to bathe her face, a suggestion which was gratefully accepted. He and Dan went a short distance down the streamlet, and Vincent bathed his face and head. "Dan, I will get you to undo this bandage and get off my coat; then I will make a pad of my handkerchief and dip it in the water and you can lay it on my shoulder, and then help me on again with my coat. My arm is getting horribly painful." Vincent's right arm was accordingly drawn through the sleeve and the coat turned down so as to enable Dan to lay the wet pad on the shoulder. "It has not bled much," Vincent said, looking down at it. "No, sah; not much blood on de shirt." "Pull the coat down as far as the elbow, Dan, and bathe it for a bit." Using his cap as a baler, Dan bathed the arm for ten minutes, then the wet pad was placed in position, and with some difficulty the coat got on again. The arm was then bandaged across the chest, and they returned to the women, who were beginning to wonder at the delay. CHAPTER XIII. LAID UP. "You must see a surgeon, whatever the risk," Lucy said when the others joined them, for now that it was light she could see by the paleness of Vincent's face, and the drawn expression of the mouth, how much he had suffered. "You have made so light of your wound that we have not thought of it half as much as we ought to do, and you must have thought me terribly heartless to be laughing and talking when you were in such pain. But it will never do to go on like this; it is quite impossible for you to be traveling so far without having your shoulder properly attended to." "I should certainly be glad to have it looked to," Vincent replied. "I don't know whether the bullet's there or if it has made its way out, and if that could be seen to, and some splints or something of that sort put on to keep things in their right place, no doubt I should be easier; but I don't see how it is to be managed. At any rate, for the present we must go on, and I would much rather that you said nothing about it. There it is, and fretting over it won't do it any good, while if you talk of other things I may forget it sometimes." In two hours they came upon the railway, whose course lay diagonally across that they were taking. They followed it until they caught sight of the houses of Mount Pleasant, some two miles away, and then crossed it. After walking some distance farther they came upon a small clearing with a log-hut, containing apparently three or four rooms, in the center. "We had better skirt round this," Vincent suggested. "No," Lucy said in a determined voice, "I have made up my mind I would go to the first place we came to and see whether anything can be done for you. I can see you are in such pain you can hardly walk, and it will be quite impossible for you to go much further. They are sure to be Confederates at heart here, and even if they will not take us in, there is no fear of their betraying us; at any rate we must risk it." Vincent began to remonstrate, but without paying any attention to him the girl left the shelter of the trees and walked straight toward the house. The others followed her. Vincent had opposed her suggestion, but he had for some time acknowledged to himself that he could not go much further. He had been trying to think what had best be done, and had concluded that it would be safest to arrange with some farmer to board Lucy and her nurse for a time, while he himself with Dan went a bit farther; and then, if they could get no one to take them in, would camp up in the woods and rest. He decided that in a day or two, if no improvement took place in his wound, he would give himself up to the Federals at Mount Pleasant, as he would there be able to get his wound attended to. "I don't think there is anyone in the house," Lucy said, looking back over her shoulder; "there is no smoke coming from the chimney, and the shutters are closed, and besides the whole place looks neglected." Upon reaching the door of the house it was evident that it had been deserted. Lucy had now assumed the command. "Dan," she said, "there is no shutter to the window of that upper room. You must manage to climb up there and get in at that window, and then open the door to us." "All right, missie, me manage dat," Dan said cheerfully. Looking about he soon found a long pole which would answer his purpose, placed the end of this against the window and climbed up. It was not more than twelve feet above the ground. He broke one of the windows, and inserting his hand undid the fastening and climbed in at the window. A minute later they heard a grating sound, and then the lock shut back under the application of his knife, and the door swung open. "That will do nicely," Lucy said, entering. "We will take possession. If the owners happen to come back we can pay them for the use of the place." The furniture had been removed with the exception of a few of the heavy articles, and Chloe and Lucy at once set to work, and with bunches of long grass swept out one of the rooms. Dan cut a quantity of grass and piled it upon an old bedstead that stood in the corner, and Lucy smoothed it down. "Now, sir," she said peremptorily to Vincent, "you will lie down and keep yourself quiet, but first of all I will cut your coat off." One of the table-knives soon effected the work, and the coat was rolled up as a pillow. Dan removed his boots, and Vincent, who was now beyond even remonstrating, laid himself down on his cool bed. "Now, Chloe," Miss Kingston said when they had left Vincent's room, "I will leave him to your care. I am sure that you must be thoroughly tired, for I don't suppose you have walked so many miles since you were a girl." "I is tired, missie: but I am ready to do anything you want." "I only want you to attend to him, Chloe. First of all you had better make some tea. You know what is a good thing to give for a fever, and if you can find anything in the garden to make a drink of that sort, do; but I hope he will doze off for some time. When you have done, you had better get this place tidy a little; it is in a terrible litter. Evidently no one has been in since they moved out." The room, indeed, was strewed with litter of all sorts, rubbish not worth taking away, old newspapers, and odds and ends of every description. Lucy looked about among these for some time, and with an exclamation of satisfaction at last picked up two crumpled envelopes. They were both addressed "William Jenkins, Woodford, near Mount Pleasant." "That is just what I wanted," she said. "What am you going to do, Miss Lucy?" "I am going to Mount Pleasant," she said. "Lor a marcy, dearie, you are not going to walk that distance! You must have walked twelve miles already." "I should, if it were twice as far, Chloe. There are some things we must get. Don't look alarmed, I shall take Dan with me. Now, let me see. In the first place there are lemons for making drink and linseed for poultices, some meat for making broth, and some flour, and other things for ourselves; we may have to stay here for some time. Tell me just what you want and I will get it." Chloe made out a list of necessaries. "I shan't be gone long," the girl said. "If he asks after me or Dan, tell him we are looking about the place to see what is useful. Don't let him know I have gone to Mount Pleasant, it might worry him." Dan at once agreed to accompany the girl to Mount Pleasant when he heard that she was going to get things for his master. Looking about he found an old basket and they started without delay by the one road from the clearing which led, they had no doubt, to the town. It was about two miles distant, and was really but a large village. A few Federal soldiers from the camp hard by were lounging about the streets, but these paid no attention to them. Lucy soon made her purchases, and then went to the house that had been pointed out to her as being inhabited by the doctor who attended to the needs of the people of Mount Pleasant and the surrounding district. Fortunately he was at home. Lucy looked at him closely as he entered the room and took his seat. He was a middle-aged man with a shrewd face, and she at once felt that she might have confidence in it. "Doctor," she said, "I want you to come out to see someone who is very ill." "What is the matter with him? or is it him or her?" "It is--it's----" and Lucy hesitated, "a hurt he has got." "A wound, I suppose?" the doctor said quietly. "You may as well tell me at once, as for me to find out when I get there; then I can take whatever is required with me." "Yes, sir. It is a wound," Lucy said. "His shoulder is broken, I believe, by a pistol bullet." "Umph!" the doctor said. "It might have been worse. Do not hesitate to tell me all about it, young lady. I have had a vast number of cases on hand since these troubles began. By the way, I do not know your face, and I thought I knew everyone within fifteen miles around." "I come from the other side of the Duck River. But at present he is lying at a place called Woodford, but two miles from here." "Oh, yes! I know it. But I thought it was empty. Let me see, a man named Jenkins lived there. He was killed at the beginning of the troubles in a fight near Murfreesboro. His widow moved in here; and she has married again and gone five miles on the other side. I know she was trying to sell the old place." "We have not purchased it, sir; we have just squatted there. My friend was taken so bad that we could go no further. We were trying, doctor, to make our way further south." "Your friend, whoever he is, did a very foolish thing to bring a young lady like yourself on such a long journey. You are not a pair of runaway lovers, are you?" "No, indeed," Lucy said, flushing scarlet; "we have no idea of such a thing. I was living alone, and the house was attacked by bushwhackers, the band of a villain named Mullens." "Oh! I saw all about that in the Nashville paper this morning. They were attacked by a band of Confederate plunderers, it said." "They were attacked by one man," the girl replied. "They were on the point of murdering me when he arrived. He shot Mullens and four of his band and the rest made off, but he got this wound. And as I knew the villains would return again and burn the house and kill me, I and my old nurse determined to go southward to join my friends in Georgia." "Well, you can tell me more about it as we go," the doctor said. "I will order my buggy round to the door, and drive you back. I will take my instruments with me. It is no business of mine whether a sick man is a Confederate or a Federal; all my business is to heal him." "Thank you very much, doctor. While the horse is being put in I will go down and tell the negro boy with me to go straight on with a basket of things I have been buying." "Where is he now?" the doctor asked. "I think he is sitting down outside the door, sir." "Then you needn't go down," the doctor said. "He can jump up behind and go with us. He will get there all the quicker." In five minutes they were driving down the village, with Dan in the back seat. On the way the doctor obtained from Lucy a more detailed account of their adventures. "So he is one of those Confederate officers who broke prison at Elmira," he said. "I saw yesterday that one of his companions was captured." "Was he, sir? How was that?" "It seems that he had made his way down to Washington, and was staying at one of the hotels there as a Mr. James of Baltimore. As he was going through the streets he was suddenly attacked by a negro, who assaulted him with such fury that he would have killed him had he not been dragged off by passers-by. The black would have been very roughly treated, but he denounced the man he had attacked as one of the Confederate officers who had escaped from the prison. It seems that the negro had been a slave of his who had been barbarously treated, and finally succeeded in making his escape and reaching England, after which he went to Canada; and now that it is safe for an escaped slave to live in the Northern States without fear of arrest or ill-treatment, he had come down to Washington with the intention of engaging as a teamster with one of the Northern armies, in the hope, when he made his way to Richmond, of being able to gain some news of his wife, whom his master had sold before he ran away from him." "It served the man right!" Lucy said indignantly. "It's a good thing that the slaves should turn the table sometimes upon masters who ill-treat them." "You don't think my patient would ill-treat his slaves?" the doctor asked with a little smile. "I am sure he wouldn't," the girl said indignantly. "Why, the boy behind you is one of his slaves, and I am sure he would give his life for his master." Dan had overheard the doctor's story and now exclaimed: "No, sah. Massa Vincent de kindest ob masters. If all like him, de slaves eberywhere contented and happy. What was de name of dat man, sah, you was speaking of?" "His name was Jackson," the doctor answered. "I tought so," Dan exclaimed in excitement. "Massa never mentioned de names ob de two officers who got out wid him, and it war too dark for me to see their faces, but dat story made me tink it must be him. Bery bad man dat; he libs close to us, and Massa Vincent one day pretty nigh kill him because he beat dat bery man who has catched him now on de street ob Washington. When dat man sell him wife Massa Vincent buy her so as to prevent her falling into bad hands. She safe now wid his mother at de Orangery--dat's the name of her plantation." "My patient must be quite an interesting fellow, young lady," the doctor said, with a rather slight twinkle of his eye. "A very knight-errant! But there is the house now; we shall soon see all about him." Taking with him the case of instruments and medicines he had brought, the doctor entered Vincent's room. Lucy entered first; and although surprised to see a stranger with her, Vincent saw by her face that there was no cause for alarm. "I have brought you a doctor," she said. "You could not go on as you were, you know. So Dan and I have been to fetch one." The doctor now advanced and took Vincent's hand. "Feverish," he said, looking at his cheeks, which were now flushed. "You have been doing too much, I fancy. Now let us look at this wound of yours. Has your servant got any warm water?" he asked Lucy. Lucy left the room, and returned in a minute with a kettleful of warm water and a basin, which was among the purchases she had made at Mount Pleasant. "That is right," the doctor said, taking it from her. "Now we will cut open the shirt-sleeve. I think, young lady, you had better leave us, unless you are accustomed to the sight of wounds." "I am not accustomed to them, sir; but as thousands of women have been nursing the wounded in the hospitals, I suppose I can do so now." Taking a knife from the case, the doctor cut open the shirt from the neck to the elbow. The shoulder was terribly swollen and inflamed, and a little exclamation of pain broke from Lucy. "That is the effect of walking and inattention," the doctor said. "If I could have taken him in hand within an hour of his being hit, the matter would have been simple enough; but I cannot search for the ball, or in fact do anything, till we have reduced the swelling. You must put warm poultices on every half hour, and by to-morrow I hope the inflammation will have subsided, and I can then see about the ball. It evidently is somewhere there still, for there is no sign of its having made its exit anywhere. In the meantime you must give him two tablespoonfuls of this cooling draught every two hours, and to-night give him this sleeping draught. I will be over to-morrow morning to see him. Do not be uneasy about him; the wound itself is not serious, and when we have got rid of the fever and inflammation I have no doubt we shall pull him round before long." "I know the wound is nothing," Vincent said; "I have told Miss Kingston so all along. It is nothing at all to one I got at the first battle of Bull Run, where I had three ribs badly broken by a shell. I was laid up a long time over that business. Now I hope in a week I shall be fit to travel." The doctor shook his head. "Not as soon as that. Still we will hope it will not be long. Now all you have to do is to lie quiet and not worry, and to get to sleep as quick as you can. You must not let your patient talk, Miss Kingston. It will be satisfactory to you, no doubt," he went on, turning to Vincent, "to know that there is no fear whatever of your being disturbed here. The road leads nowhere, and is entirely out of the way of traffic. I should say you might be here six months without even a chance of a visitor. Everyone knows the house is shut up, and as you have no neighbor within half a mile no one is likely to call in. Even if anyone did by accident come here you would be in no danger; we are all one way of thinking about here." "Shall we make some broth for him?" Lucy asked after they had left the room. "No; he had better take nothing whatever during the next twenty-four hours except his medicine and cooling drinks. The great thing is to get down the fever. We can soon build him up afterward." By nightfall the exertions of Dan, Lucy, and Chloe had made the house tidy. Beds of rushes and grass had been made in the room upstairs for the women, and Dan had no occasion for one for himself, as he was going to stop up with his master. He, however, brought a bundle of rushes into the kitchen, and when it became dark threw himself down upon them for a few hours' sleep, Lucy and her old nurse taking their place in Vincent's room and promising to rouse Dan at twelve o'clock. During the early part of the night Vincent was restless and uneasy, but toward morning he became more quiet and dozed off, and had but just awoke when the doctor drove up at ten o'clock. He found the inflammation and swelling so much abated that he was able at once to probe for the ball. Chloe was his assistant. Lucy felt that her nerves would not be equal to it, and Dan's hand shook so that he could not hold the basin. In a quarter of an hour, which seemed to Lucy to be an age, the doctor came out of the room. "There is the bullet, Miss Kingston." "And is he much hurt, sir?" "It is a nasty wound," the doctor replied. "The collar-bone is badly broken, and I fancy the head of the bone of the upper arm, to put it in language you will understand, is fractured; but of that I cannot be quite sure. I will examine it again to-morrow, and will then bandage it in its proper position. At present I have only put a bandage round the arm and body to prevent movement. I should bathe it occasionally with warm water, and you can give him a little weak broth to-day. I think, on the whole, he is doing very well. The feeling that you are all for the present safe from detection has had as much to do with the abatement of the fever as my medicine." The next morning the report was still satisfactory. The fever had almost disappeared, and Vincent was in good spirits. The doctor applied the splints to keep the shoulder up in its proper position, and then tightly bandaged it. "It depends upon yourself now," he said, "whether your shoulders are both of the same width as before or not. If you will lie quiet, and give the broken bones time to reunite, I think I can promise you that you will be as straight as before; but if not--putting aside the chances of inflammation--that shoulder will be lower than the other, and you will never get your full strength in it again. Quiet and patience are the only medicines you require, and as there can be no particular hurry for you to get south, and as your company here is pleasant and you have two good nurses, there is no excuse for your not being quiet and contented." "Very well, doctor. I promise that, unless there is a risk of our being discovered, I will be as patient as you can wish. As you say, I have everything to make me contented and comfortable." The doctor had a chat with Lucy, and agreed with her that perhaps it would be better to inform the mistress of the house that there were strangers there. Some of the people living along the road might notice him going or coming, or see Dan on his way to market, and might learn that the house was inhabited, and communicate the fact to their old neighbor. "I will see her myself, Miss Kingston, and tell her that I have sent a patient of mine to take up his quarters here. I will say he is ready to pay some small sum weekly as long as he occupies the house. I have no doubt she would be willing enough to let you have it without that; for, although I shall say nothing actually, I shall let her guess from my manner that it is a wounded Confederate, and that will be enough for her. Still I have no doubt that the idea of getting a few dollars for the rent of an empty house will add to her patriotism. People of her class are generally pretty close-fisted, and she will look upon this as a little pocket-money. Good-by! I shall not call to-morrow, but will be round next day again." On his next visit the doctor told Lucy that he had arranged the matter with her landlady, and that she was to pay a dollar a week as rent. "I should not tell your patient about this," he said. "It will look to him as if I considered his stay was likely to be a long one, and it might fidget him." "How long will it be, doctor, do you think?" "That I cannot say. If all goes well, he ought in a month to be fairly cured; but before starting upon a journey which will tax his strength, I should say at least six weeks." Ten days later Vincent was up, and able to get about. A pile of grass had been heaped up by the door, so that he could sit down in the sun and enjoy the air. Lucy was in high spirits, and flitted in and out of the house, sometimes helping Chloe, at others talking to Vincent. "What are you laughing at?" she asked as she came out suddenly on one of these occasions. "I was just thinking," he said, "that no stranger who dropped in upon us would dream that we were not at home here. There is Dan tidying up the garden; Chloe is quite at her ease in the kitchen, and you and I might pass very well for brother and sister." "I don't see any likeness between us--not a bit." "No, there is no personal likeness; but I meant in age and that sort of thing. I think, altogether, we have a very homelike look." "The illusion would be very quickly dispelled if your stranger put his head inside the door. Did anyone ever see such a bare place?" "Anyhow, it's very comfortable," Vincent said, "though I grant that it would be improved by a little furniture." "By a great deal of furniture, you mean. Why, there isn't a chair in the house, nor a carpet, nor a curtain, nor a cupboard, nor a bed; in fact all there is is the rough dresser in the kitchen and that plank table, and your bedstead. I really think that's all. Chloe has the kettle and two cooking-pots, and there is the dish and six plates we bought." "You bought, you mean," Vincent interrupted. "We bought, sir; this is a joint expedition. Then there is the basin and a pail. I think that is the total of our belongings." "Well, you see, it shows how little one can be quite comfortable upon," Vincent said. "I wonder how long it will be before the doctor gives me leave to move. It is all very well for me who am accustomed to campaigning, but it is awfully rough for you." "Don't you put your impatience down to my account, at any rate until you begin to hear me grumble. It is just your own restlessness, when you are pretending you are comfortable." "I can assure you that I am not restless, and that I am in no hurry at all to be off on my own account. I am perfectly contented with everything. I never thought I was lazy before, but I feel as if I could do with a great deal of this sort of thing. You will see that you will become impatient for a move before I do." "We shall see, sir. Anyhow, I am glad you have said that, because now, whatever you may feel, you will keep your impatience to yourself." Another four weeks passed by smoothly and pleasantly. Dan went into the village once a week to do the shopping, and the doctor had reduced his visits to the same number. He would have come oftener, for his visits to the lonely cottage amused him; but he feared that his frequent passage in his buggy might attract notice. So far, no one else had broken the solitude of their lives. If the doctor's calls had been noticed, the neighbors had not taken the trouble to see who had settled in Jenkins' old place. His visits were very welcome, for he brought newspapers and books, the former being also purchased by Dan whenever he went into the village, and thus they learnt the course of events outside. Since Antietam nothing had been done in Northern Virginia; but Burnside, who had succeeded McClellan, was preparing another great army, which was to march to Richmond and crush out the rebellion. Lee was standing on the defensive. Along the whole line of the frontier, from New Orleans to Tennessee, desultory fighting was going on, and in these conflicts the Confederates had generally the worse of things, having there no generals such as Lee, Jackson, and Longstreet, who had made the army of Virginia almost invincible. At the last of these visits the doctor told Vincent that he considered he was nearly sufficiently restored in health to be able to start on their journey. "At one time I was almost afraid that your shoulder would never be quite square again. However, as you can see for yourself, it has come out quite right; and although I should not advise you to put any great strain on your left arm, I believe that in a very short time it will be as strong as the other." "And now, doctor, how much am I in debt to you? Your kindness cannot be repaid, but your medical bill I will discharge as soon as I get home. We have not more than twenty dollars left, which is little enough for the journey there is before us. You can rely that the instant I get to Richmond I will send you the money. There is no great difficulty in smuggling letters across the frontier." "I am very pleased to have been able to be of service to you," the doctor said. "I should not think of accepting payment for aid rendered to an officer of our army; but it will give me real pleasure to receive a letter saying you have reached home in safety. It is a duty to do all we can for the brave men fighting for our cause. As I have told you, I am not a very hot partisan, for I see faults on both sides. Still I believe in the principle of our forefathers that each State has its own government and is master of its own army, joining with the others for such purposes as it may think fit. If I had been a fighting man, I should certainly have joined the army of my State; but as it is, I hope I can do more good by staying and giving such aid and comfort as I can to my countrymen. You will, I am sure, excuse my saying that I think you must let me aid you a little farther. I understand you to say that Miss Kingston will go to friends in Georgia, and I suppose you will see her safely there. Then you have a considerable journey to make to Richmond, and the sum that you possess is utterly inadequate for all this. It will give me real pleasure if you will accept the loan of a hundred dollars, which you can repay when you write to me from Richmond. You will need money for the sake of your companions rather than your own. When you have once crossed the line you will then be able to appear in your proper character." Vincent grasped the doctor's hand, and with suffused eyes replied: "Thank you greatly, doctor. I will accept your offer as frankly as it was made. I had intended telegraphing for money as soon as I was among our own people, but there would be delay in receiving it, and it will be much more pleasant to push on at once." "By the way, you cannot cross at Florence, for I hear that Hood has fallen back across the river, the forces advancing against him from this side being too strong to be resisted. But I think that this is no disadvantage to you, for it would have been far more difficult to pass the Federals and get to Florence than to make for some point on the river as far as possible from the contending armies." "We talked that over the last time you were here, doctor, and you know we agreed it was better to run the risk of falling into the hands of the Yankee troops than into those of one of those partisan bands whose exploits are always performed at a distance from the army. However, if Hood has retreated across the Tennessee, there is an end of that plan, and we must take some other route. Which do you advise?" "The Yankees will be strong all around the great bend of the river to the west of Florence and along the line to the east, which would, of course, be your direct way. The passage, however, is your real difficulty, and I should say that, instead of going in that direction, you had better bear nearly due south. There is a road from Mount Pleasant that strikes into the main road from Columbia up to Camden. You can cross the river at that point without any question or suspicion, as you would be merely traveling to the west of the State. Once across you could work directly south, crossing into the State of Mississippi, and from there take the cars through Alabama to Georgia. "It seems a roundabout way, but I think you would find it far the safest, for there are no armies operating upon that line. The population, at any rate as you get south, are for us, and there are, so far as I have heard, very few of these bushwhacking bands about, either on one side or the other. The difficult part of the journey is that up to Camden, but as you will be going away from the seat of war instead of toward it, there will be little risk of being questioned." "I had thought of buying a horse and cart," Vincent said. "Jogging along a road like that, we should attract no attention. I gave up the idea because our funds were not sufficient, but, thanks to your kindness, we might manage now to pick up something of the sort." The doctor was silent for a minute. "If you will send Dan over to me to-morrow afternoon, I will see what can be done," he said. "It would certainly be the safest plan by far; but I must think it over. You will not leave before that, will you?" "Certainly not, doctor. In any case we should have stayed another day to get a few more things for our journey." The next afternoon Dan went over to Mount Pleasant. He was away two hours longer than they had expected, and they began to feel quite uneasy about him, when the sound of wheels was heard, and Dan appeared, driving a cart. Vincent gave a shout of satisfaction in which Lucy and Chloe joined. "Here am de cart. Me had to go five miles from de town to get him. Dat what took me so long. Here am a letter, sah, from the doctor. First-rate man dat. Good man all ober." The letter was as follows: "My Dear Mr. Wingfield: "I did not see how you would be able to buy a cart, and I was sure that you could not obtain one with the funds in your possession. As, from what you have said, I knew that you would not in the least mind the expense, I have taken the matter upon myself, and have bought from your landlady a cart and horse, which will, I think, suit you well. I have paid for them a hundred and fifty dollars, which you can remit me, with the hundred I handed you yesterday. Sincerely trusting that you may succeed in carrying out your plans in safety, and with kind regards to yourself and Miss Kingston, "I remain, yours truly, "James Spencer." "That is a noble fellow," Vincent said, "and I trust, for his sake as well as our own, that we shall get safely through. Now, Lucy, I think you had better go into town the first thing, and buy some clothes of good homely fashion. Dan can go with you and buy a suit for me--those fitted for a young farmer. Then we shall look like a young farmer and his sister jogging comfortably along to market; we can stop and buy a stock of goods at some farm on the way." "That will be capital," the girl said. Lucy started early the next morning for the town, and the shopping was satisfactorily accomplished. They returned by eleven o'clock. The new purchases were at once donned, and half an hour later they set off in the cart: Vincent sitting on the side driving; Lucy in the corner facing him, on a basket turned upside down; Dan and Chloe on a thick bag of rushes in the bottom of the cart. CHAPTER XIV. ACROSS THE BORDER. Dan, on his return with the cart, had brought back a message from its late owner to say that if she could in any way be of use to them, she should be glad to aid them. Her farm lay on the road they were now following, and they determined therefore to stop there. As the cart drew up at the door the woman came out. "Glad to see you," she said; "come right in. It's strange now you should have been lodging in my house for more than six weeks and I should never have set eyes on you before. The doctor talked to me a heap about you, but I didn't look to see quite such a young couple." Lucy colored hotly, and was about to explain that they did not stand in the supposed relationship to each other, but Vincent slightly shook his head. It was not worth while to undeceive the woman, and although they had agreed to pass as brother and sister, Vincent was determined not to tell an untruth about it unless deceit was absolutely necessary for their safety. "And you want to get out of the way without questions being asked, I understand?" the woman went on. "There are many such about at present. I don't want to ask no questions; the war has brought trouble enough on me. Now is there anything I can do? If so, say it right out." "Yes, there is something you can do for us. We want to fill up our cart with the sort of stuff you take to market--apples and pumpkins, and things of that sort. If we had gone to buy them anywhere else, there might have been questions asked. From what the doctor said you can let us have some." "I can do that. The storeroom's chuck-full; and it was only a few days ago I said to David it was time we set about getting them off. I will fill your cart, sir, and not overcharge you neither. It will save us the trouble of taking it over to Columbia or Camden, for there's plenty of garden truck round Mount Pleasant, and one cannot get enough to pay for the trouble of taking them there." The cart was soon filled with apples, pumpkins, and other vegetables, and the price put upon them was very moderate. "What ought we to ask for these?" Vincent soon inquired. "One does not want to be extra cheap or dear." The woman informed them of the prices they might expect to get for the produce; and they at once started, amid many warm good wishes from her. Before leaving the farm the woman had given them a letter to her sister, who lived a mile from Camden. "It's always awkward stopping at a strange place," she said, "and farmers don't often put up at hotels when they drive in with garden truck to a town, though they may do sometimes; besides it's always nice being with friends. I will just write a line to Jane and tell her you have been my tenants at Woodford, and where you are going, and ask her to take you in for the night and give you a note in the morning to anyone she or her husband may know, a good bit along that road." When they reached the house it was dark, but, directly Vincent showed the note, the farmer and his wife heartily bade them come in. "Your boy can put up the horse at the stable, and you are heartily welcome. But the house is pretty full, and we can't make you as comfortable as we should wish at night; but still we will do our best." Vincent and Lucy were soon seated by the fire. Their hostess bustled about preparing supper for them, and the children, of whom the house seemed full, stared shyly at the newcomers. As soon as the meal was over Chloe's wants were attended to, and a lunch of bread and bacon taken out by the farmer to Dan in the stables. The children were then packed off to bed, and the farmer and his wife joined Vincent and Lucy by the fire. "As to sleeping," the woman said, "John and I have been talking it over, and the best way we can see is that you should sleep with me, ma'am, and we will make up a bed on the floor here for my husband and yours." "Thank you, that will do very nicely; though I don't like interfering with your arrangements." "Not at all, ma'am--not at all; it makes a nice change having someone come in, especially of late, when there is no more pleasure in going about in this country, and people don't go out after dark more than they can help. Ah, it's a bad time! My sister says you are going west, but I see you have got your cart full of garden truck. How you have raised it so soon, I don't know; for Liza wrote to me two months since as she hadn't been able to sell her place, and it was just a wilderness. Are you going to get rid of it at Camden to-morrow?" Vincent had already been assured as to the politics of his present host and hostess, and he therefore did not hesitate to say: "The fact is, madam, we are anxious to get along without being questioned by any Yankee troops we may fall in with; and we have bought the things you see in the cart from your sister, as, going along with a cart full, anyone we met would take us for farmers living close by, on their road to the next market town." "Oh, oh! that's it!" the farmer said significantly. "Want to get through the lines, eh?" Vincent nodded. "Didn't I think so!" the farmer said, rubbing his hands. "I thought directly my eyes hit upon you that you did not look the cut of a granger. Been fighting--eh? and they are after you?" "I don't think they are after me here," Vincent said. "But I have seen a good deal of fighting with Jackson and Stuart; and I am just getting over a collar bone, which was smashed by a Yankee bullet." "You don't say!" the farmer exclaimed. "Well, I should have gone out myself, if it hadn't been for Jane and the children. But there are such a lot of them that I could not bring myself to run the chances of leaving them all on her hands. Still, I am with our army, heart and soul." "Your wife's sister told me that you were on the right side," Vincent said, "and that I could trust you altogether." "Now, if you tell me which road you want to go, I don't mind if I get on my horse to-morrow and ride with you a stage, and see you put up for the night. I know lots of people, and I am sure to be acquainted with someone, whichever road we may go. We are pretty near all the right side about here, though, as you get further on, there are lots of Northern men. Now, what are your ideas as to the roads?" Vincent told him the route he intended to take. "You ought to get through there right enough," the farmer said. "There are some Yankee troops moving about to the west of the river, but not many of them; and even if you fell in with them, with your cargo of stuff they would not suspect you. Anyhow, I expect we can get you passed down so as to be among friends. So you fought under Jackson and Stuart, did you? Ah, they have done well in Virginia! I only wish we had such men here. What made you take those two darkies along with you? I should have thought you would have got along better by yourself." "We couldn't very well leave them," Vincent said; "the boy has been with me all through the wars, and is as true as steel. Old Chloe was Lucy's nurse, and would have broken her heart had she been left behind." "They are faithful creatures when they are well treated. Mighty few of them have run away all this time from their masters, though in the parts the Yankees hold there is nothing to prevent their bolting if they have a mind to it. I haven't got no niggers myself. I tried them, but they want more looking after than they are worth; and I can make a shift with my boys to help me, and hiring a hand in busy times to work the farm. Now, sir, what do you think of the lookout?" The subject of the war fairly started, his host talked until midnight, long before which Lucy and the farmer's wife had gone off to bed. "We will start as soon as it is light," the farmer said, as he and Vincent stretched themselves upon a heap of straw covered with blankets that was to serve as their bed, Chloe having hours before gone up to share the bed of the negro girl who assisted the farmer's wife in her management of the house and children. "It's best to get through Camden before people are about. There are Yankee soldiers at the bridge, but it will be all right you driving in, however early, to sell your stuff. Going out you aint likely to meet with Yankees; but as it would look queer, you taking your garden truck out of the town, it's just as well to be on the road before people are about. Once you get five or six miles the other side you might be going to the next place to sell your stuff." "That is just what I have been thinking," Vincent said, "and I agree with you the earlier we get through Camden the better." Accordingly, as soon as daylight appeared, the horse was put in the cart, the farmer mounting his own animal, and with a hearty good-by from his wife the party started away. The Yankee sentinels at each end of the bridge were passed without questions, for, early as it was, the carts were coming in with farm produce. As yet the streets of the town were almost deserted, and the farmer, who, before starting, had tossed a tarpaulin into the back of the cart, said: "Now, pull that over all that stuff, and then anyone that meets us will think that you are taking out bacon and groceries, and such like, for some store way off." This suggestion was carried out, and Camden was soon left behind. A few carts were met as they drove along. The farmer knew some of the drivers and pulled up to say a few words to them. After a twenty-mile drive they stopped at another farm, where their friend's introduction insured them as cordial a welcome as that upon the preceding evening. So, step by step, they journeyed on, escorted in almost every case by their host of the night before, and meeting with no interruption. Once they passed a strong body of Federal cavalry, but these, supposing that the party belonged to the neighborhood, asked no questions; and at last, after eight days' traveling, they passed two posts which marked the boundary between Tennessee and Alabama. For the last two days they had been beyond the point to which the Federal troops had penetrated. They now felt that all risk was at an end. Another day's journey brought them to a railway station, and they learned that the trains were running as usual, although somewhat irregular as to the hours at which they came along or as to the time they took upon their journey. The contents of the cart had been left at the farm at which they stopped the night before, and Vincent had now no difficulty in disposing of the horse and cart, as he did not stand out for price, but took the first offer made. Two hours later a train came along, and the party were soon on their way to Rome in Georgia; after their arrival there they went to Macon, at which place they alighted and hired a conveyance to take them to Antioch, near which place Lucy's relatives resided. The latter part of the journey by rail had been a silent one. Lucy felt none of the pleasure that she had expected at finding herself safely through her dangers and upon the point of joining relations who would be delighted to see her, and she sat looking blankly out of the window at the surrounding country. At last Vincent, who had been half an hour without speaking said: "Are you sorry our journey is just over, Lucy?" The girl's lip quivered, but she did not speak for a moment. "Of course it is unpleasant saying good-by when people have been together for some time," she said with an effort. "I hope it will not be good-by for long," he said. "I shall be back here as soon as this horrible war is over." "What for?" the girl asked, looking round in surprise. "You live a long way from here, and you told me you knew nobody in these parts." "I know you," Vincent said, "and that is quite enough. Do you not know that I love you?" The girl gave a start of surprise, her cheek flushed but her eyes did not drop as she looked frankly at him. "No, Vincent," she said after a pause, "I never once thought you loved me--never once. You have not been a bit like what I thought people were when they felt like that." "I hope not, Lucy. I was your protector then, I have tried my best to be what people thought me--your brother; but now that you are just home and among your own people, I think I may speak and tell you how I feel toward you, and how I loved you since the moment I first saw you. And you, Lucy, do you think you could care for me?" "Not more than I do now, Vincent. I love you with all my heart. I have been trying so hard to believe that I didn't because I thought you did not care for me that way." For some minutes no further word was spoken. Vincent was the first to speak: "It is horrid to have to sit here in this stiff, unnatural way, Lucy, when one is inclined to do something outrageous from sheer happiness. These long, open cars, where people can see from end to end what everyone is doing, are hateful inventions. It is perfectly absurd, when one finds one's self the happiest fellow living, that one is obliged to look as demure and solemn as if one was in church." "Then you should have waited, sir," the girl said. "I meant to have waited, Lucy, until I got to your home; but as soon as I felt that there was no longer any harm in speaking, out it came; but it's very hard to have to wait for hours, perhaps." "To wait for what?" Lucy asked demurely. "You must wait for explanations until we are alone, Lucy. And now I think the train begins to slacken, and it is the next station at which we get out." "I think, Lucy," Vincent said, when they had approached the house of her relatives, "you and Chloe had better get out and go in by yourselves and tell your story. Dan and I will go to the inn, and I will come round in an hour. If we were to walk in together like this, it would be next to impossible for you to explain how it all came about." "I think that would be the best plan. My two aunts are the kindest creatures possible, but no doubt they will be bewildered at seeing me so suddenly. I do think it would be best to let me have a talk with them, and tell them all about it, before you appear upon the scene." "Very well, then, in an hour I will come in." When they arrived at the gate, therefore, Vincent helped Lucy and Chloe to alight, and then, jumping into the buggy again, told the driver to take him to the hotel. After engaging a room and enjoying a bath, Vincent sallied out into the little town, and was fortunate enough to succeed in purchasing a suit of tweed clothes, which, although they scarcely fitted as if they had been made for him, were still an immense improvement upon the rough clothes in which he had traveled. Returning to the hotel, he put on his new purchases, and then walked to the house of Lucy's aunts, which was a quarter of a mile outside the town. Lucy had walked up the little path through the garden in front of the house, and turning the handle of the door, had entered unannounced and walked straight into the parlor. The two elderly ladies rose with some surprise at the entry of a strange visitor. It was three years since she had paid her last visit there, and for a moment they did not recognize her. "Don't you know me, aunts?" "Why, goodness me!" the eldest exclaimed, "if it isn't our little Lucy grown into womanhood! My dear child, where have you sprung from?" And the two ladies warmly embraced their niece, who, as soon as they released her from their arms, burst into a fit of crying, and it was some time before she could answer the questions showered upon her. "It is nothing, aunts," she said at last, wiping her eyes; "but I am so glad to be with you again, and I have gone through so much, and I am so happy, and it's so nice being with you again! Here is Chloe waiting to speak to you, aunts. She has come with me all the way." The old negress, who had been waiting in the passage, was now called in. "Why, Chloe, you look no older than when you went away from here six years ago," Miss Kingston said. "But how did you get through the lines? We have been terribly anxious about you. Your brother was here only a fortnight ago, and he and your father were in a great way about you, and reproached themselves bitterly that they did not send you to us before the troubles began, which certainly would have been a wiser step, as I told them. Of course your brother said that, when they left you to join the army, they had no idea that matters were going so far, or that the Yankees would drive us out of Tennessee, or they would never have dreamed of leaving you alone. However, here you are, so now tell me all about it." Lucy told the story of the various visits of the Federal bushwhackers to the house, and how she had narrowly escaped death for refusing to betray the Confederate officer who had come to the house for food. Her recital was frequently interrupted by exclamations of indignation and pity from her aunts. "Well, aunts, after that," she went on, "you see it was impossible for me to stop there any longer. No doubt they came back again a few hours afterward and burned the house, and had I been found there, I should have been sure to be burned in it, so Chloe agreed with me that there was nothing to do but to try and get through the lines and come to you." "Quite right, my dear. It was clearly the best thing for you to come to us--indeed, the only thing. But how in the world did you two manage to travel alone all that distance and get through the Federal lines?" "You see, we were not alone, aunts," Lucy said; "the Confederate officer and his servant were coming through and, of course, they took care of us. We could never have got through alone, and as Chloe was with me, we got on very nicely; but we have been a long time getting through, for in the fight, where he saved my life and killed five of the band, he had his shoulder broken by a pistol bullet, and we had to stop in a farmhouse near Mount Pleasant, and he was very ill for some time, but the doctor who attended him was a true Southerner, and so we were quite safe till he was able to move again." "And who is this officer, Lucy?" Miss Kingston asked rather anxiously. "He is a Virginia gentleman, auntie. His mother has large estates near Richmond. He was in the cavalry with Stuart, and was made prisoner while he was lying wounded and insensible at Antietam; and I think, auntie, that--that--" and she hesitated--"some day we are going to be married." "Oh, that's it, is it?" the old lady said kindly. "Well, I can't say anything about that until I see him, Lucy. Now tell us the whole story, and then we shall be better able to judge about it. I don't think, my dear, that, while you were traveling under his protection, he ought to have talked to you about such things." "He didn't, auntie; not until we were half a mile from the station here. I never thought he cared for me the least bit; he was just like a brother to me--just like what Jack would have been, if he had been bringing me here." "That's right, my dear; I am glad to hear it. Now, let us hear all about it." Lucy told the whole story of her escape and her adventures, and when she had finished, her aunts nodded to each other. "That's all very satisfactory, Lucy. It was a difficult position to be placed in, though I don't see how it was to be avoided, and the young man really seems to have behaved very well. Don't you think so, Ada?" The younger Miss Kingston agreed, and both were prepared to receive Vincent with cordiality when he appeared. The hour had been considerably exceeded when Vincent came to the door. He felt it rather an awkward moment when he was ushered into the presence of Lucy's aunts, who could scarcely restrain an exclamation of surprise at his youth, for, although Lucy had said nothing about his age, they expected to meet an older man--the impression being gained from the recital of his bravery in attacking, single-handed, twelve men, and by the manner in which he had piloted the party through their dangers. "We are very glad to see you--my sister Ada and myself," Miss Kingston said, shaking hands cordially with their visitor. "Lucy has been telling us all about you; but we certainly expected, from what you had gone through, that you were older." "I am two or three years older than she is, Miss Kingston, and I have gone through so much in the last three years that I feel older than I am. She has told you, I hope, that she has been good enough to promise to be my wife some day?" "Yes, she has told us that, Mr. Wingfield; and although we don't know you personally, we feel sure--my sister Ada and I--from what she has told us of your behavior while you have been together, that you are an honorable gentleman, and we hope and believe that you will make her happy." "I will do my best to do so," Vincent said earnestly. "As to my circumstances, I shall, in another year, come into possession of estates sufficient to keep her in every comfort." "I have no doubt that that is all satisfactory, Mr. Wingfield, and that her father will give his hearty approval when he hears all the circumstances of the case. Now, if you will go into the next room, Mr. Wingfield, I will call her down"--for Lucy had run upstairs when she heard Vincent knock. "I dare say you will like a quiet talk together," she added, smiling, "for she tells me you have never been alone together since you started." Lucy required several calls before she came down. A new shyness, such as she had never before felt, had seized her, and it was with flushed cheeks and timid steps that she at last came downstairs, and it needed an encouraging--"Go in, you silly child, your lover will not eat you," before she turned the handle and went into the room where Vincent was expecting her. Vincent had telegraphed from the first station at which he arrived within the limits of the Confederacy to his mother, announcing his safe arrival there, and asking her to send money to him at Antioch. Her letter in reply reached him three days after his arrival. It contained notes for the amount he wrote for; and while expressing her own and his sisters' delight at hearing he had safely reached the limits of the Confederacy, she expressed not a little surprise at the out-of-the-way place to which he had requested the money to be sent. "We have been examining the maps, my dear boy," she said, "and find that it is seventy or eighty miles out of your direct course, and we have puzzled ourselves in vain as to why you should have made your way there. The girls guess that you have gone there to deliver in person some message from one of your late fellow-prisoners to his family. I am not good at guessing, and am content to wait until you return home. We hope that you will leave as soon as you get the remittance. We shall count the hours until we see you. Of course we learned from a Yankee paper smuggled through the lines that you had escaped from prison, and have been terribly anxious about you ever since. We are longing to hear your adventures." A few hours after the receipt of this letter, Vincent was on his way home. It was a long journey. The distance was considerable, and the train service greatly disordered and unpunctual. When within a few hours of Richmond he telegraphed, giving the approximate time at which he might be expected to arrive. The train, however, did not reach Richmond until some hours later. The carriage was waiting at the station, and the negro coachman shouted with pleasure at the sight of his young master. "Missis and the young ladies come, sah; but de station master he say de train no arrive for a long time, so dey wait for you at de town house, sah." Dan jumped up beside the coachman and Vincent leaped into the carriage, and in a few minutes later he was locked in the arms of his mother and sisters. "You grow bigger and bigger, Vincent," his mother said after the first greeting was over. "I thought you must have done when you went away last, but you are two or three inches taller and ever so much wider." "I think I have nearly done now, mother--anyhow as to height. I am six feet one." "You are a dreadful trouble to us, Vincent," Annie said. "We have awful anxiety whenever we hear of a battle being fought, and it was almost a relief to us when we heard that you were in a Yankee prison. We thought at least you were out of danger for some time; but since the news came of your escape it has been worse than ever, and as week passed after week without hearing anything of you we began to fear that something terrible had happened to you." "Nothing terrible has happened at all, Annie. The only mishap I had was getting a pistol bullet in my shoulder which laid me up for about six weeks. There was nothing very dreadful about it," he continued, as exclamations of alarm and pity broke from mother and sister. "I was well looked after and nursed. And now I will tell you my most important piece of news, and then I will give you a full account of my adventures from the time when Dan got me out of prison, for it is entirely to him that I owe my liberty." "Well, what is the piece of news?" Annie asked. "Guess!" Vincent replied, smiling. "You have got promoted?" his mother said. He shook his head. "Is it about a lady?" Annie asked. Vincent smiled. "Oh, Vincent, you are not engaged to be married! That would be too ridiculous!" Vincent laughed and nodded. "Annie is right, mother; I am engaged to be married." Mrs. Wingfield looked grave, Rosie laughed, and Annie threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. "You dear, silly old boy!" she said. "I am glad, though it seems so ridiculous. Who is she, and what is she like?" "We needn't ask where she lives," Rosie said. "Of course it is in Antioch, though how in the world you managed it all in the two or three days you were there I can't make out." Mrs. Wingfield's brow cleared. "At any rate, in that case, Vincent, she is a Southerner. I was afraid at first it was some Yankee woman who had perhaps sheltered you on your way." "Is she older than you, Vincent?" Annie asked suddenly. "I shouldn't like her to be older than you are." "She is between sixteen and seventeen," Vincent replied, "and she is a Southern girl, mother, and I am sure you will love her, for she saved my life at the risk of her own, besides nursing me all the time I was ill." "I have no doubt I shall love her, Vincent, for I think, my boy, that you would not make a rash choice. I think you are young, much too young, to be engaged; still, that is a secondary matter. Now tell us all about it. We expected your story to be exciting, but did not dream that love-making had any share in it." Vincent accordingly told them the whole story of his adventures from the time of his first meeting Dan in prison. When he related the episode of Lucy's refusal to say whether he would return, although threatened with instant death unless she did so, his narrative was broken by the exclamations of his hearers. "You need not say another word in praise of her," his mother said. "She is indeed a noble girl, and I shall be proud of such a daughter." "She must be a darling!" Annie exclaimed. "Oh, Vincent, how brave she must be! I don't think I ever could have done that, with a pistol pointing straight at you, and all those dreadful men round, and no hope of a rescue; it's awful even to think of." "It was an awful moment, as you may imagine," Vincent replied. "I shall never forget the scene, or Lucy's steadfast face as she faced that man; and you see at that time I was a perfect stranger to her--only a fugitive Confederate officer whom she shielded from his pursuers." "Go on, Vincent; please go on," Annie said. "Tell us what happened next." Vincent continued his narrative to the end, with, however, many interruptions and questions on the part of the girls. His mother said little, but sat holding his hand in hers. "It has been a wonderful escape, Vincent," she said when he had finished. "Bring your Lucy here when you like and I shall be ready to receive her as my daughter, and to love her for her own sake as well as yours. She must be not only a brave girl but a noble girl, and you did perfectly right to lose not a single day after you had taken her safely home in asking her to be your wife. I am glad to think that some day the Orangery will have so worthy a mistress. I will write to her at once. You have not yet told us what she is like, Vincent." "I am not good at descriptions, but you shall see her photograph, when I get it." "What, haven't you got one now?" "She had not one to give me. You see, when the troubles began she was little more than a child, and since that time she has scarcely left home, but she promised to have one taken at once and send it to me, and then, if it is a good likeness, you will know all about it." "Mother, when you write to-night," Rosie said, "please send her your photograph and ours, and say we all want one of our new relative that is to be." "I think, my dear, you can leave that until we have exchanged a letter or two. You will see Vincent's copy, and can then wait patiently for your own." "And now, mother, I have told you all of my news; let us hear about everyone here. How are all the old house hands, and how is Dinah? Tony is at Washington, I know, because I saw in the paper that he had made a sudden attack upon Jackson." Mrs. Wingfield's face fell. "That is my one piece of bad news, Vincent. I wish you hadn't asked the question until to-morrow, for I am sorry that anything should disturb the pleasure of this first meeting; still, as you have asked the question, I must answer it. About ten days ago a negro came, as I afterward heard from Chloe, to the back entrance and asked for Dinah. He said he had a message for her. She went and spoke to him, and then ran back and caught up her child. She said to Chloe, 'I have news of my husband. I think he is here. I will soon be back again.' Then she ran out, and she has never returned. We have made every inquiry we could, but we have not liked to advertise for her, for it may be that she has met her husband, and that he has persuaded her to make off at once with him to Yorktown or Fortress Monroe." "This is bad news indeed, mother," Vincent said. "No, I do not think for a moment that she has gone off with Tony. There could be no reason why she should have left so suddenly without telling anyone, for she knew well enough that you would let her go if she wished it; and I feel sure that neither she nor Tony would act so ungratefully as to leave us in this manner. No, mother, I feel sure that this has been done by Jackson. You know I told you I felt uneasy about her before I went. No doubt the old rascal has seen in some Northern paper an account of his son having been attacked in the streets of Washington, and recaptured by Tony, and he has had Dinah carried off from a pure spirit of revenge. Well, mother," he went on in answer to an appealing look from her, "I will not put myself out this first evening of my return, and will say no more about it. There will be plenty of time to take the matter up to-morrow. And now about all our friends and acquaintances. How are they getting on? Have you heard of any more of my old chums being killed since I was taken prisoner at Antietam?" It was late in the evening before Vincent heard all the news. Fortunately, the list of casualties in the Army of Virginia had been slight since Antietam; but that battle had made many gaps among the circle of their friends, and of these Vincent now heard for the first time, and he learned, too, that although no battle had been fought since Antietam, on the 17th of September, there had been a sharp skirmish near Fredericksburg, and that the Federal army, now under General Burnside, who had succeeded McClellan, was facing that of Lee, near that town, and that it was believed that they would attempt to cross the Rappahannock in a few days. It was not until he had retired for the night that Vincent allowed his thoughts to turn again to the missing woman. Her loss annoyed and vexed him much more than he permitted his mother to see. In the first place, the poor girl's eagerness to show her gratitude to him upon all occasions, and her untiring watchfulness and care during his illness from his wound, had touched him, and the thought that she was now probably in the hands of brutal taskmasters was a real pain to him. In the next place, he had, as it were, given his pledge to Tony that she should be well cared for until she could be sent to join him. And what should he say now when the negro wrote to claim her? Then, too, he felt a personal injury that the woman should be carried off when under his mother's protection, and he was full of indignation and fury at the dastardly revenge taken by Jackson. Upon hearing the news he had at once mentally determined to devote himself for some time to a search for Dinah; but the news that a great battle was expected at the front interfered with his plan. Now that he was back, capable of returning to duty, his place was clearly with his regiment; but he determined that while he would rejoin at once, he would, as soon the battle was over, if he were unhurt, take up the search. His mother and sisters were greatly distressed when, at breakfast, he told them that he must at once report himself as fit for duty, and ready to join his regiment. "I was afraid you would think so," Mrs. Wingfield said, while the girls wept silently; "and much as I grieve at losing you again so soon, I can say nothing against it. You have gone through many dangers, Vincent, and have been preserved to us through them all. We will pray that you may be so to the end. Still, whether or not, I, as a Virginia woman, cannot grudge my son to the service of my country, when all mothers are making the same sacrifice; but it is hard to give you up when but yesterday you returned to us." CHAPTER XV. FREDERICKSBURG. As soon as breakfast was over Vincent mounted Wildfire, which had been sent back after he had been taken prisoner, and rode into Richmond. There he reported himself at headquarters as having returned after escaping from a Federal prison and making his way through the lines of the enemy. "I had my shoulder-bone smashed in a fight with some Yankees," he said, "and was laid up in hiding for six weeks; but have now fairly recovered. My shoulder, at times, gives me considerable pain, and although I am desirous of returning to duty and rejoining my regiment until the battle at Fredericksburg has taken place, I must request that three months' leave be granted to me after that to return home and complete my cure, promising, of course, to rejoin my regiment at once should hostilities break out before the spring." "We saw the news that you had escaped," the general said, "but feared, as so long a time elapsed without hearing from you, that you had been shot in attempting to cross the lines. Your request for leave is granted, and a note will be made of your zeal in thus rejoining on the very day after your return. The vacancy in the regiment has been filled up, but I will appoint you temporarily to General Stuart's staff, and I shall have great pleasure in to-day filling up your commission as captain. Now let me hear how you made your escape. By the accounts published in the Northern papers it seemed that you must have had a confederate outside the walls." Vincent gave a full account of his escape from prison and a brief sketch of his subsequent proceedings, saying only that he was in the house of some loyal people in Tennessee when it was attacked by a party of Yankee bushwhackers; that these were beaten off in the fight, but that he himself had a pistol bullet in his shoulder. He then made his way on until compelled by his wound to lay up for six weeks in a lonely farmhouse near Mount Pleasant; that afterward, in the disguise of a young farmer, he had made a long detour across the Tennessee River and reached Georgia. "When do you leave for the front, Captain Wingfield?" "I shall be ready to start to-night, sir." "In that case I will trouble you to come here again this evening. There will be a fast train going through with ammunition for Lee at ten o'clock, and I shall have a bag of dispatches for him, which I will trouble you to deliver. You will find me here up to the last moment. I will give orders that a horse-box be attached to the train." After expressing his thanks Vincent took his leave. As he left the general's quarters, a young man, just alighting from his horse, gave a shout of greeting. "Why, Wingfield, it is good to see you! I thought you were pining again in a Yankee dungeon, or had got knocked on the head crossing the lines. Where have you sprung from, and when did you arrive?" "I only got in yesterday after sundry adventures which I will tell you about presently. When did you arrive from the front?" "I came down a few days ago on a week's leave on urgent family business," the young man laughed, "and I am going back again this afternoon by the four o'clock train." "Stay till ten," Vincent said, "and we will go back together. There is a special train going through with ammunition, and as everything will make way for that it will not be long behind the four o'clock, and likely enough may pass it on the way. There is a horse-box attached to it, and as I only take one horse there will be room for yours." "I haven't brought my horse down," Harry Furniss said; "but I will certainly go with you by the ten o'clock. Then we can have a long talk. I don't think I have seen you since the day you asked me to lend you my boat, two years ago." "Can you spare me two hours now?" Vincent asked. "You will do me a very great favor if you will." Harry Furniss looked at his watch. "It is eleven o'clock now; we have a lot of people to lunch at half-past one, and I must be back by then." "You can manage that easy enough," Vincent replied; "in two hours from the time we leave here you can be at home." "I am your man, then, Vincent. Just wait five minutes--I have to see someone in here." A few minutes later Harry Furniss came out again and mounted. "Now which way, Vincent? and what is it you want me for?" "The way is to Jackson's place at the Cedars; the why I will tell you about as we ride." Vincent then recounted his feud with the Jacksons, of which, up to the date of the purchase of Dinah Moore, his friend was aware, having been present at the sale. He now heard of the attack upon young Jackson by Tony, and of the disappearance of Dinah Moore. "I should not be at all surprised, Wingfield, if your surmises are correct, and that the old scoundrel has carried off the girl to avenge himself upon Tony. Of course, if you could prove it, it would be a very serious offense; for the stealing of a slave, and by force too, is a crime with a very heavy penalty, and has cost men their lives before now. But I don't see that you have anything like a positive proof, however strong a case of suspicion it may be. "I don't see what you are going to say when you get there." "I am going to tell him that, if he does not say what he has done with the girl, I will have his son arrested for treachery as soon as he sets foot in the Confederacy again." "Treachery?" Furniss said in surprise. "What treachery has he been guilty of? I saw that he was one of those who escaped with you, and I rather wondered at the time at you two being mixed up together in anything. I heard that he had been recaptured through some black fellow that had been his slave, but I did not read the account. Have you got proof of what you say?" "Perhaps no proof that would hold in a court of law," Vincent replied, "but proof enough to make it an absolute certainty to my mind." Vincent then gave an account of their escape, and of the anonymous denunciation of himself and Dan. "Now," he said, "no one but Dan knew of the intended escape, no one knew what clothes he had purchased, no one could possibly have known that I was to be disguised as a preacher and Dan as my servant. Therefore the information must have been given by Jackson." "I have not the least doubt but that the blackguard did give it, Wingfield; but there is no proof." "I consider that there is a proof--an absolute and positive proof," Vincent asserted, "because no one else could have known it." "Well, you see that, as a matter of fact, the other officer did know it, and might possibly have given the information." "But why should he? The idea is absurd. He had never had a quarrel with me, and he owed his liberty to me." "Just so, Wingfield. I am as certain that it was Jackson as you are, because I know the circumstances; but you see there is no more absolute proof against one man than against the other. It is true that you had had a quarrel with Jackson some two years before, but you see you had made it up and had become friends in prison--so much so that you selected him from among a score of others in the same room to be the companion of your flight. You and I, who know Jackson, can well believe him guilty of an act of gross ingratitude--of ingratitude and treachery; but people who do not know would hardly credit it as possible that a man could be such a villain. The defense he would set up would be that in the first place there is no shadow of evidence that he more than the other turned traitor. In the second place he would be sure to say that such an accusation against a Confederate officer is too monstrous and preposterous to be entertained for a moment; and that doubtless your negro, although he denies the fact, really chattered about his doings to the negroes he was lodging with, and that it was through them that someone got to know of the disguise you would wear. We know that it wasn't so, Wingfield; but ninety-nine out of every hundred white men in the South would rather believe that a negro had chattered than that a Confederate officer had been guilty of a gross act of treachery and ingratitude." Vincent was silent. He felt that what his companion said was the truth; and that a weapon by which he had hoped to force the elder Jackson into saying what he had done with Dinah would probably fail in its purpose. The old man was too astute not to perceive that there was no real proof against his son, and would therefore be unlikely at once to admit that he had committed a serious crime and to forego his revenge. "I will try, at any rate," he said at last; "and if he refuses I will publish the story in the papers. When the fellow gets back from Yankee-land he may either call me out or demand a court of inquiry. I may not succeed in getting a verdict from twelve white men, but I think I can convince everyone of our own class that the fellow did it; and when this battle that is expected is over I have got three months' leave, and I will move heaven and earth to find the woman; and if I do, Jackson will either have to bolt or to stand a trial, with the prospect of ten years' imprisonment if he is convicted. In either case we are not likely to have his son about here again; and if he did venture back and brought an action against me, his chance of getting damages would be a small one." Another half-hour's ride brought them to the Cedars. They dismounted at the house, and fastening their horses to the portico knocked at the door. It was opened by a negro. "Tell your master," Vincent said, "that Mr. Wingfield wishes to speak to him." Andrew Jackson himself came to the door. "To what do I owe the very great pleasure of this visit, Mr. Wingfield?" he said grimly. "I have come to ask you what you have done with Dinah Moore, whom, I have every ground for believing, you have caused to be kidnaped from my mother's house." "This is a serious charge, young gentleman," Andrew Jackson said, "and one that I shall call upon you to justify in the law courts. Men are not to be charged with criminal actions even by young gentlemen of good Virginian families." "I shall be quite ready to meet you there, Mr. Jackson, whenever you choose; but my visit here is rather to give you an opportunity of escaping the consequences that will follow your detection as the author of the crime; for I warn you that I will bring the crime home to you, whatever it costs me in time and money. My offer is this: produce the woman and her child, and not only shall no prosecution take place, but I will remain silent concerning a fact which affects the honor of your son." Andrew Jackson's face had been perfectly unmoved during this conversation until he heard the allusion to his son. Then his face changed visibly. "I know nothing concerning which you can attack the honor of my son, Mr. Wingfield," he said with an effort to speak as unconcernedly as before. "My charge is as follows," Vincent said quietly: "I was imprisoned at Elmira with a number of other officers, among them your son. Thinking that it was time for the unpleasantness that had been existing between us to come to an end, I offered him my hand. This he accepted and we became friends. A short time afterward a mode of escape offered itself to me, and I proved the sincerity of my feelings toward him by offering to him and another officer the means of sharing my escape. This they accepted. Once outside the walls, I furnished them with disguises that had been prepared for them, assuming myself that of a minister. We then separated, going in different directions, I myself being accompanied by my negro servant, to whose fidelity I owed our escape. Two days afterward an anonymous writer communicated to the police the fact that I had escaped in the disguise of a minister, and was accompanied by my black servant. This fact was only known to the negro, myself, and the two officers. My negro, who had released me, was certainly not my betrayer; the other officer could certainly have had no possible motive for betraying me. There remains, therefore, only your son, whose hostility to me was notorious, and who had expressed himself with bitterness against me on many occasions, and among others in the hearing of my friend Mr. Furniss here. Such being the case, it is my intention to charge him before the military authorities with this act of treachery. But, as I have said, I am willing to forego this and to keep silence as to your conduct with reference to my slave Dinah Moore, if you will restore her and her child uninjured to the house from which you caused her to be taken." The sallow cheeks of the old planter had grown a shade paler as he listened to Vincent's narrative, but he now burst out in angry tones: "How dare you, sir, bring such an infamous accusation against my son--an accusation, like that against myself, wholly unsupported by a shred of evidence? Doubtless your negro had confided to some of his associates his plans for assisting you to escape from prison, and it is from one of these that the denunciation has come. Go, sir, report where you will what lies and fables you have invented; but be assured that I and my son will seek our compensation for such gross libels in the courts." "Very well, sir," Vincent said, as he prepared to mount his horse; "if you will take the trouble to look in the papers to-morrow, you will see that your threats of action for libel have no effect whatever upon me." "The man is as hard as a rock, Wingfield," Furniss said, as they rode off together. "He wilted a little when you were telling your story, but the moment he saw you had no definite proofs he was, as I expected he would be, ready to defy you. What shall you do now?" "I shall ride back into Richmond again and give a full account of my escape from the jail, and state that I firmly believe that the information as to my disguise was given by Jackson, and that it was the result of a personal hostility which, as many young men in Richmond are well aware, has existed for some time between us." "Well, you must do as you like, Wingfield, but I think it will be a risky business." "It may be so," Vincent said; "but I have little doubt that long before Jackson is exchanged I shall have discovered Dinah, and shall prosecute Jackson for theft and kidnaping, in which case the young man will hardly venture to prosecute me or indeed to show his face in this part of the country." That evening the two young officers started for the front, and the next morning the Richmond papers came out with a sensational heading, "Alleged Gross Act of Treachery and Ingratitude by a Confederate Officer." It was the 10th of December when Vincent joined the army at Fredericksburg. He reported himself to General Stuart, who received him with great cordiality. "You are just in time, Wingfield," he said. "I believe that in another twenty-four hours the battle will be fought. They have for the last two days been moving about in front, and apparently want us to believe that they intend to cross somewhere below the town; but all the news we get from our spies is to the effect that these are only feints and that they intend to throw a bridge across here. We know, anyhow, they have got two trains concealed opposite, near the river. Burnside is likely to find it a hard nut to crack. Of course they are superior in number to us, as they always are; but as we have always beat them well on level ground I do not think their chances of getting up these heights are by any means hopeful. Then, too, their change of commanders is against them. McClellan fought a drawn battle against us at Antietam and showed himself a really able general in the operations in front of Richmond. The army have confidence in him, and he is by far the best man they have got so far, but the fools at Washington have now for the second time displaced him because they are jealous of him. Burnside has shown himself a good man in minor commands, but I don't think he is equal to command such a vast army as this; and besides, we know from our friends at Washington that he has protested against this advance across the river, but has been overruled. You will see Fredericksburg will add another to the long list of our victories." Vincent shared a tent with another officer of the same rank in General Stuart's staff. They sat chatting till late, and it was still dark when they were suddenly aroused by an outbreak of musketry down at the river. "The general was right," Captain Longmore, Vincent's companion exclaimed. "They are evidently throwing a bridge across the river, and the fire we hear comes from two regiments of Mississippians who are posted down in the town under Barksdale." It was but the work of a minute to throw on their clothes and hurry out. The night was dark and a heavy fog hung over the river. A roar of musketry came up from the valley. Drums and bugles were sounding all along the crest. At the same moment they issued out General Stuart came out from his tent, which was close by. "Is that you, Longmore? Jump on your horse and ride down to the town. Bring back news of what is going on." A few minutes later an officer rode up. Some wood had been thrown on the fire, and by its light Vincent recognized Stonewall Jackson. "Have you any news for us?" he asked. "Not yet; I have sent an officer down to inquire. The enemy have been trying to bridge the river." "I suppose so," Jackson replied. "I have ordered one of my brigades to come to the head of the bank as soon as they can be formed up, to help Barksdale if need be, but I don't want to take them down into the town. It is commanded by all the hills on the opposite side, and we know they have brought up also all their artillery there." In a few minutes Captain Longmore returned. "The enemy have thrown two pontoon bridges across, one above and one below the old railway bridge. The Mississippians have driven them back once, but they are pushing on the work and will soon get it finished; but General Barksdale bids me report that with the force at his command he can repulse any attempt to cross." The light was now breaking in the east, but the roar of musketry continued under the canopy of fog. Generals Lee, Longstreet, and others had now arrived upon the spot, and Vincent was surprised that no orders were issued for troops to re-enforce those under General Barksdale. Presently the sun rose, and as it gained in power the fog slowly lifted, and it was seen that the two pontoon bridges were complete; but the fire of the Mississippians was so heavy that although the enemy several times attempted to cross they recoiled before it. Suddenly a gun was fired from the opposite height, and at the signal more than a hundred pieces of artillery opened fire upon the town. Many of the inhabitants had left as soon as the musketry fire began, but the slopes behind it soon presented a sad spectacle. Men, women, and children poured out from the town, bewildered with the din and terrified by the storm of shot and shell that crashed into it. Higher and higher the crowd of fugitives made their way until they reached the crest; among them were weeping women and crying children, many of them in the scantiest attire and carrying such articles of dress and valuables as they had caught up when startled by the terrible rain of missiles. In a very few minutes smoke began to rise over the town, followed by tongues of flame, and in half an hour the place was on fire in a score of places. All day the bombardment went on without cessation and Fredericksburg crumbled into ruins. Still, in spite of this terrible fire, the Mississippians clung to the burning town amid crashing walls, falling chimneys, and shells exploding in every direction. As night fell the enemy poured across the bridges, and Barksdale, contesting every foot of ground, fell back through the burning city and took up a position behind a stone wall in its rear. Throughout the day not a single shot had been fired by the Confederate artillery, which was very inferior in power to that of the enemy, as General Lee had no wish finally to hinder the passage of the Federals; the stubborn resistance of Barksdale's force being only intended to give him time to concentrate all his army as soon as he knew for certain the point at which the enemy was going to cross; and he did not wish, therefore, to risk the destruction of any of his batteries by calling down the Federal fire upon them. During the day the troops were all brought up into position. Longstreet was on the left and Jackson on the right, while the guns, forty-seven in number, were in readiness to take up their post in the morning on the slopes in front of them. On the extreme right General Stuart was posted with his cavalry and horse artillery. The night passed quietly and by daybreak the troops were all drawn up in their positions. As soon as the sun rose it was seen that during the night the enemy had thrown more bridges across and that the greater portion of the army was already over. They were, indeed, already in movement against the Confederate position, their attack being directed toward the portion of the line held by Jackson's division. General Stuart gave orders to Major Pelham, who commanded his horse artillery, and who immediately brought up the guns and began the battle by opening fire on the flank of the enemy. The guns of the Northern batteries at once replied, and for some hours the artillery duel continued, the Federal guns doing heavy execution. For a time attacks were threatened from various points, but about ten o'clock, when the fog lifted, a mass of some 55,000 troops advanced against Jackson. They were suffered to come within eight hundred yards before a gun was fired, and then fourteen guns opened upon them with such effect that they fell back in confusion. At one o'clock another attempt was made, covered by a tremendous fire of artillery. For a time the columns of attack were kept at bay by the fire of the Confederate batteries, but they advanced with great resolution, pushed their way through Jackson's first line, and forced them to fall back. Jackson brought up his second line and drove the enemy back with great slaughter until his advance was checked by the fire of the Northern artillery. All day the fight went on, the Federals attempting to crush the Confederate artillery by the weight of their fire in order that their infantry columns might again advance. But although outnumbered by more than two to one, the Confederate guns were worked with great resolution, and the day passed and darkness began to fall without their retiring from the positions they had taken up. Just at sunset General Stuart ordered all the batteries on the right to advance. This they did, and opened their fire on the Northern infantry with such effect that these fell back to the position near the town that they had occupied in the morning. On the left an equally terrible battle had raged all day, but here the Northern troops were compelled to cross open ground between the town and the base of the hill and suffered so terribly from the fire that they never succeeded in reaching the Confederate front. Throughout the day the Confederates held their position with such ease that General Lee considered the affair as nothing more than a demonstration in force to feel his position and expected an even sterner battle on the following day. Jackson's first and second lines, composed of less than 15,000 men, had repulsed without difficulty the divisions of Franklin and Hooker, 55,000 strong; while Longstreet, with about the same force, had never been really pressed by the enemy, although on that side they had a force of over 50,000 men. In the morning the Northern army was seen drawn up in battle array as if to advance for fresh assault, but no movement was made. General Burnside was in favor of a fresh attack, but the generals commanding the various divisions felt that their troops, after the repulse the day before, were not equal to the work, and were unanimously of opinion that a second assault should not be attempted. After remaining for some hours in order of battle they fell back into the town and two days later the whole army recrossed the Rappahannock River. The loss of the Confederates was 1800 men, who were for the most part killed or wounded by the enemy's artillery, while the Federal loss was no less than 13,771. General Burnside soon afterward resigned his command, and General Hooker, an officer of the same politics as the President and his advisers, was appointed to succeed him. The cavalry had not been called upon to act during the day, and Vincent's duties were confined to carrying orders to the commanders of the various batteries of artillery posted in that part of the field, as these had all been placed under General Stuart's orders. He had many narrow escapes by shot and fragments of shells, but passed through the day uninjured. General Lee has been blamed for not taking advantage of his victory and falling upon the Federals on the morning after the battle; but although such an assault might possibly have been successful he was conscious of his immense inferiority in force, and his troops would have been compelled to have advanced to the attack across ground completely swept by the fire of the magnificently served Northern artillery posted upon their commanding heights. He was, moreover, ignorant of the full extent of the loss he had inflicted upon the enemy, and expected renewed attack by them. He was therefore, doubtless, unwilling to risk the results of the victory he had gained and of the victory he expected to gain should the enemy renew their attack, by a movement which might not be successful, and which would at any rate have cost him a tremendous loss of men, and men were already becoming scarce in the Confederacy. As soon as the enemy had fallen back across the river and it was certain that there was little chance of another forward movement on their part for a considerable time, Vincent showed to General Stuart the permit he had received to return home until the spring on leave, and at once received the general's permission to retire from the staff for a time. He had not been accompanied by Dan on his railway journey to the front, having left him behind with instructions to endeavor by every means to find some clew as to the direction in which Dinah had been carried off. He telegraphed on his way home the news of his coming, and found Dan at the station waiting for him. "Well, Dan, have you obtained any news?" he asked as soon as his horse had been moved from its box, and he had mounted and at a foot-pace left the station, with Dan walking beside him. "No, sah; I hab done my best, but I cannot find out anything. The niggers at Jackson's all say dat no strangers hab been dere wid de old man for a long time before de day dat Dinah was carried off. I have been over dar, massa, and hab talked wid the hands at de house. Dey all say dat no one been dere for a month. Me sure dat dey no tell a lie about it, because dey all hate Massa Jackson like pison. Den de lawyer, he am put de advertisement you told him in the papers: Five hundred dollars to whoever would give information about de carrying off of a female slave from Missy Wingfield, or dat would lead to de discovery of her hiding-place. But no answer come. Me heard Missy Wingfield say so last night." "That's bad, Dan; but I hardly expected anything better. I felt sure the old fox would have taken every precaution, knowing what a serious business it would be for him if it were found out. Now I am back I will take the matter up myself, and we will see what we can do. I wish I could have set about it the day after she was carried away. It is more than a fortnight ago now, and that will make it much more difficult than it would have been had it been begun at once." "Well, Vincent, so you have come back to us undamaged this time," his mother said after the first greeting. "We were very anxious when the news came that a great battle had been fought last Friday; but when we heard the next morning the enemy had been repulsed so easily we were not so anxious, although it was not until this morning that the list of killed and wounded was published, and our minds set at rest." "No, mother; it was a tremendous artillery battle, but it was little more than that--at least on our side. But I have never heard anything at all like it from sunrise to sunset. But, after all, an artillery fire is more frightening than dangerous, except at comparatively close quarters. The enemy must have fired at least fifty shots for every man that was hit. I counted several times, and there were fully a hundred shots a minute, and I don't think it lessened much the whole day. I should think they must have fired two or three hundred rounds at least from each gun. The roar was incessant, and what with the din they made, and the replies of our own artillery, and the bursting of shells, and the rattle of musketry, the din at times was almost bewildering. Wildfire was hit with a piece of shell, but fortunately it was not a very large one, and he is not much the worse for it, but the shock knocked him off his legs; of course I went down with him, and thought for a moment I had been hit myself. No; it was by far the most hollow affair we have had. The enemy fought obstinately enough, but without the slightest spirit or dash, and only once did they get up anywhere near our line, and then they went back a good deal quicker than they came." "And now you are going to be with us for three months, Vincent?" "I hope so, mother; at least if they do not advance again. I shall be here off and on. I mean to find Dinah Moore if it is possible, and if I can obtain the slightest clew I shall follow it up and go wherever it may lead me." "Well, we will spare you for that, Vincent. As you know, I did not like your mixing yourself up in that business two years ago, but it is altogether different now. The woman was very willing and well conducted, and I had got to be really fond of her. But putting that aside, it is intolerable that such a piece of insolence as the stealing of one of our slaves should go unpunished. Therefore, if you do find any clew to the affair, we will not grumble at your following it up, even if it does take you away from home for a short time. By the bye, we had letters this morning from a certain young lady in Georgia, inclosing her photograph, and I rather fancy there is one for you somewhere." "Where is it, mother?" Vincent asked, jumping from his seat. "Let me think," Mrs. Wingfield replied. "Did either of you girls put it away, or where can it have been stowed?" The girls both laughed. "Now, Vincent, what offer do you make for the letter? Well, we won't tease you," Annie went on as Vincent gave an impatient exclamation. "Another time we might do so, but as you have just come safely back to us I don't think it would be fair, especially as this is the very first letter. Here it is!" and she took out of the workbox before her the missive Vincent was so eager to receive. CHAPTER XVI. THE SEARCH FOR DINAH. "By the bye, Vincent," Mrs. Wingfield remarked next morning at breakfast, "I have parted with Pearson." "I am glad to hear it, mother. What! did you discover at last that he was a scamp?" "Several things that occurred shook my confidence in him, Vincent. The accounts were not at all satisfactory, and it happened quite accidentally that when I was talking one day with Mr. Robertson, who, as you know, is a great speculator in tobacco, I said that I should grow no more tobacco, as it really fetched nothing. He replied that it would be a pity to give it up, for so little was now cultivated that the price was rising, and the Orangery tobacco always fetched top prices. 'I think the price I paid for your crop this year must at any rate have paid for the labor--that is to say, paid for the keep of the slaves and something over.' He then mentioned the price he had given, which was certainly a good deal higher than I had imagined. I looked at my accounts next morning, and found that Pearson had only credited me with one-third of the amount he must have received, so I at once dismissed him. Indeed, I had been thinking of doing so some little time before, for money is so scarce and the price of produce so low that I felt I could not afford to pay as much as I had been giving him." "I am afraid I have been drawing rather heavily, mother," Vincent put in. "I have plenty of money, Vincent. Since your father's death we have had much less company than before, and I have not spent my income. Besides, I have a considerable sum invested in house property and other securities. But I have, of course, since the war began been subscribing toward the expenses of the war--for the support of hospitals and so on. I thought at a time like this I ought to keep my expenses down to the lowest point, and to give the balance of my income to the State." "How did Jonas take his dismissal, mother?" "Not very pleasantly," Mrs. Wingfield replied, "especially when I told him that I had discovered he was robbing me. However, he knew better than to say much, for he has not been in good odor about here for some time. After the fighting near here there were reports that he had been in communication with the Yankees. He spoke to me about it at the time; but as it was a mere matter of rumor, originating, no doubt, from the fact that he was a Northern man by birth, I paid no attention to them." "It is likely enough to be true," Vincent said. "I always distrusted the vehemence with which he took the Confederate side. How long ago did this happen?" "It is about a month since I dismissed him." "So lately as that! Then I should not be at all surprised if he had some hand in carrying off Dinah. I know he was in communication with Jackson, for I once saw them together in the street, and I fancied at the time that it was through him that Jackson learned that Dinah was here. It is an additional clew to inquire into, anyhow. Do you know what has become of him since he left you?" "No; I have heard nothing at all about him, Vincent, from the day I gave him a check for his pay in this room. Farrell, who was under him, is now in charge of the Orangery. He may possibly know something of his movements." "I think Farrell is an honest fellow," Vincent said. "He was always about, doing his work quietly; never bullying or shouting at the hands, and yet seeing that they did their work properly. I will ride out and see him at once." As soon as breakfast was over Vincent started, and found Farrell in the fields with the hands. "I am glad to see you back, sir," the man said heartily. "Thank you, Farrell. I am glad to be back, and I am glad to find you in Pearson's place. I never liked the fellow, and never trusted him." "I did not like him myself, sir, though we always got on well enough together. He knew his work and got as much out of the hands as anyone could do; but I did not like his way with them. They hated him." "Have you any idea where he went when he left here?" "No, sir; he did not come back after he got his dismissal. He sent a man in a buggy with a note to me, asking me to send all his things over to Richmond. I expect he was afraid the news might get here as soon as he did, and that the hands would give him an unpleasant reception, as indeed I expect they would have done." "You don't know whether he has any friends anywhere in the Confederacy to whom he would be likely to go?" "I don't know about friends, sir; but I know he has told me he was overseer, or partner, or something of that sort, in a small station down in the swamps of South Carolina. I should think, from things he has let drop, that the slaves must have had a bad time of it. I rather fancy he made the place too hot for him, and had to leave; but that was only my impression." "In that case he may possibly have made his way back there," Vincent said. "I have particular reasons for wishing to find out. You don't know anything about the name of the place?" The man shook his head. "He never mentioned the name in my hearing." "Well, I must try to find out; but I don't quite see how to set about it," Vincent said. "By the way, do you know where his clothes were sent to?" "Yes; the man said that he was to take them to Harker's Hotel. It's a second-rate hotel not far from the railway station." "Thank you; that will help me. I know the house. It was formerly used by Northern drummers and people of that sort." After riding back to Richmond and putting up his horse, Vincent went to the hotel there. Although but a second-rate hotel it was well filled, for people from all parts of the Confederacy resorted to Richmond, and however much trade suffered, the hotels of the town did a good business. He first went up to the clerk in a little office at the entrance. "You had a man named Pearson," he said, "staying here a month ago. Will you please tell me on what day he left?" The clerk turned to the register, and said, after a minute's examination: "He came on the 14th of November, and he left on the 20th." This was two days after the date on which Dinah had been carried off. In American hotels the halls are large and provided with seats, and are usually used as smoking and reading rooms by the male visitors to the hotel. At Harker's Hotel there was a small bar at the end of the hall, and a black waiter supplied the wants of the guests seated at the various little tables. Vincent seated himself at one of these and ordered something to drink. As the negro placed it on the table he said: "I will give you a dollar if you will answer a few questions." "Very good, sah. Dat am a mighty easy to earn dollar." "Do you remember, about a month ago, a man named Pearson being here?" The negro shook his head. "Me not know de names ob de gentlemen, sah. What was de man like?" "He was tall and thin, with short hair and a gray goatee--a regular Yankee." "Me remember him, sah. Dar used to be plenty ob dat sort here. Don't see dem much now. Me remember de man, sah, quite well. Used to pass most of de day here. Didn't seem to have nuffin to do." "Was he always alone, or did he have many people here to see him?" "Once dar war two men wid him, sah, sitting at dat table ober in de corner. Rough-looking fellows dey war. In old times people like dat wouldn't come to a 'spectable hotel, but now eberyone got rough clothes, can't get no others, so one don't tink nuffin about it; but dose fellows was rough-looking besides dar clothes. Didn't like dar looks nohow. Dey only came here once. Dey was de only strangers that came to see him. But once Massa Jackson--me know him by sight--he came here and talk wid him for a long time. Dey talk in low voice, and I noticed dey stopped talking when anyone sat down near dem." "You don't know where he went to from here, I suppose?" "No, sah; dat not my compartment. Perhaps de outside porter will know. Like enough he takes his tings in hand-truck to station. You like to see him, sah?" "Yes, I should like to have a minute's talk with him. Here is your dollar." The waiter rang a bell, and a minute later the outdoor porter presented himself. "You recommember taking some tings to station for a tall man with gray goatee, Pomp?" the waiter asked. "It was more dan three weeks ago. I tink he went before it was light in de morning. Me seem to remember dat." The negro nodded. "Me remember him bery well, sah. Tree heavy boxes and one bag, and he only gave me a quarter dollar for taking dem to de station. Mighty mean man dat." "Do you know what train he went by?" "Yes, sah, it was de six o'clock train for de Souf." "You can't find out where his luggage was checked for?" "I can go down to station, sah, and see if I can find out. Some of de men thar may remember." "Here is a dollar for yourself," Vincent said, "and another to give to any of the men who can give you the news. When you have found out come and tell me. Here is my card and address." "Bery well, sah. Next time me go up to station me find about it, for sure, if anyone remember dat fellow." In the evening the negro called at the house and told Vincent that he had ascertained that a man answering to his description, and having luggage similar to that of Pearson, had had it checked to Florence in South Carolina. Vincent now called Dan into his counsel and told him what he had discovered. The young negro had already given proof of such intelligence that he felt sure his opinion would be of value. "Dat all bery plain, sah," Dan said when Vincent finished his story. "Me no doubt dat old rascal Jackson give money to Pearson to carry off de gal. Ob course he did it just to take revenge upon Tony. Pearson he go into de plot, because, in de fust place, it vex Missy Wingfield and you bery much; in de second place, because Jackson gib him money; in de third place, he get hold of negro slave worf a thousand dollar. Dat all quite clear. He not do it himself, but arrange wid oder fellows, and he stop quiet at de hotel for two days after she gone so dat no one can 'spect his having hand in de affair." "That is just how I make it out, Dan; and now he has gone off to join them." Dan thought for some time. "Perhaps dey join him thar, sah, perhaps not; perhaps him send him baggage on there and get out somewhere on de road and meet dem." "That is likely enough, Dan. No doubt Dinah was taken away in a cart or buggy. As she left two days before he did, they may have gone from forty to sixty miles along the road, or to some place where he may have joined them. The men who carried her off may either have come back or gone on with him. If they wanted to go South they would go on; if they did not, he would probably have only hired them to carry her off and hand her over to him when he overtook them. I will look at the time-table and see where the train stops. It is a fast train I see," after consulting it. "It stops at Petersburg, fifteen miles on, and at Hicks Ford, which is about fifty miles. I should think the second place was most likely, as the cart could easily have gone there in two days. Now, Dan, you had better start to-morrow morning, and spend two days there, if necessary; find out, if you can, if on the 20th of last month anyone noticed a vehicle of any kind, with two rough-looking men in it, and with, perhaps, a negro woman. She might not have been noticed, for she may have been lying tied up in the bottom of the cart, although it is more likely they frightened her by threats into sitting up quiet with them. They are sure not to have stopped at any decent hotel, but will have gone to some small place, probably just outside the town. "I will go with you to Mr. Renfrew the first thing in the morning and get him to draw up a paper testifying that you are engaged in lawful business, and are making inquiries with a view to discovering a crime which has been committed, and recommending you to the assistance of the police in any town you may go to. Then, if you go with that to the head constable at Hicks Ford, he will tell you which are the places at which such fellows as these would have been likely to put up for the night, and perhaps send a policeman with you to make inquiries. If you get any news, telegraph to me at once. I will start by the six o'clock train on the following morning. Do you be on the platform to meet me, and we can then either go straight on to Florence, or, should there be any occasion, I will get out there; but I don't think that is likely. Pearson himself will to a certainty, sooner or later, go to Florence to get his luggage, and the only real advantage we shall get, if your inquiries are successful, will be to find out for certain whether he is concerned in the affair. We shall then only have to follow his traces from Florence." Two days later Mr. Renfrew received a telegram from the head constable at Hicks Ford: "The two men with cart spent day here, 20th ult. Were joined that morning by another man--negro says Pearson. One man returned afternoon, Richmond. Pearson and the other drove off in buggy. A young negress and child were with them. Is there anything I can do?" Mr. Renfrew telegraphed back to request that the men, who were kidnaping the female slave, should if possible be traced, and the direction they took ascertained. He then sent the message across to Vincent, who at once went to his office. "Now," the lawyer said, "you must do nothing rashly in this business, Vincent. They are at the best of times a pretty rough lot at the edge of these Carolina swamps, and at present things are likely to be worse than usual. If you were to go alone on such an errand you would almost certainly be shot. In the first place these fellows would not give up a valuable slave without a struggle; and, in the next place, they have committed a very serious crime. Therefore it is absolutely necessary that you should go armed with legal powers and backed by the force of the law. In the first place, I will draw up an affidavit and sign it myself, to the effect that a female slave, the property of Vincent Wingfield, has, with her male child, been kidnaped and stolen by Jonas Pearson and others, acting in association with him, and that we have reason to know that she has been conveyed into South Carolina. This I will get witnessed by a justice of the peace, and will then take it up to the State House. There I will get the usual official request to the Governor of South Carolina to issue orders that the aid of the law shall be given to you in recovering the said Dinah Moore and her child, and arresting her abductors. You will obtain an order to this effect from the Governor, and armed with it you will, as soon as you have discovered where the woman is, call upon the sheriff of the county to aid you in recovering her and in arresting Pearson and his associates." "Thank you, sir. That will certainly be the best way. I run plenty of risks in doing my duty as an officer of the State, and I have no desire whatever to throw my life away at the hands of ruffians such as Pearson and his allies." Two hours later Vincent received from Mr. Renfrew the official letter to the Governor of South Carolina, and at six o'clock next morning started for Florence. On the platform of the station at Hicks Ford Dan was waiting for him. "Jump into the car at the end, Dan; I will come to you there, and you can tell me all the news. We are going straight on to Columbia. Now, Dan," Vincent went on when he joined him--for in no part of the United States were negroes allowed to travel in any but the cars set apart for them--"what is your news? The chief constable telegraphed that they had, as we expected, been joined by Pearson here." "Yes, sah, dey war here for sure. When I got here I go straight to de constable and tell him dat I was in search of two men who had kidnaped Captain Wingfield's slave. De head constable he Richmond man, and ob course knew all about de family; so he take de matter up at once and send constable wid me to seberal places whar it likely dat the fellows had put up, but we couldn't find nuffin about dem. Den next morning we go out again to village four mile out of de town on de north road, and dare we found sure 'nough dat two men, wid negro wench and chile, had stopped dere. She seem bery unhappy and cry all de time. De men say dey bought her at Richmond, and show de constable of de village de paper dat dey had bought female slabe Sally Moore and her chile. De constable speak to woman, but she seem frightened out of her life and no say anyting. Dey drive off wid her early in de morning. Den make inquiries again at de town and at de station. We find dat a man like Pearson get out. He had only little hand-bag with him. He ask one of de men at de station which was de way to de norf road. Den we find dat one of de constables hab seen a horse and cart wid two men in it, with negro woman and child. One of de men look like Yankee--dat what make him take notice of it. We 'spose dat oder man went back to Richmond again." "That is all right, Dan, and you have done capitally. Now at Florence we will take up the hunt. It is a long way down there; and if they drive all the way, as I hope they will, it will take them a fortnight, so that we shall have gained a good deal of time on them. The people at the station are sure to remember the three boxes that lay there for so long without being claimed. Of course they may have driven only till they got fairly out of reach. Then they may either have sold the horse and cart, or the fellow Pearson has with him may have driven it back. But I should think they would most likely sell it. In that case they would not be more than a week from the time they left Richmond to the time they took train again for the South. However, whether they have got a fortnight or three weeks' start of us will not make much difference. With the description we can give of Pearson, and the fact that there was a negress and child, and those three boxes, we ought to be able to trace him." It was twelve at night when the train arrived at Florence. As nothing could be done until next morning, Vincent went to an hotel. As soon as the railway officials were likely to be at their offices he was at the station again. The tip of a dollar secured the attention of the man in the baggage room. "Three boxes and a black bag came on here a month ago, you say, and lay here certainly four or five days--perhaps a good deal longer. Of course I remember them. Stood up in that corner there. They had been checked right through. I will look at the books and see what day they went. I don't remember what sort of men fetched them away. Maybe I was busy at the time, and my mate gave them out. However, I will look first and see when they went. What day do you say they got here?" "They came by the train that left Richmond at six o'clock on the morning of the 20th." "Then they got in late that night or early next morning. Ah, the train was on time that day, and got in at half-past nine at night. Here they are--three boxes and a bag, numbered 15,020, went out on the 28th. Yes, that's right enough. Now I will just ask my mate if he remembers about their going out." The other man was called. Oh, yes! he remembered quite well the three boxes standing in the corner. They went out some time in the afternoon. It was just after the train came in from Richmond. He noticed the man that asked for them. He got him to help carry out the boxes and put them into a cart. Yes, he remembered there was another man with him, and a negress with a child. He wondered at the time what they were up to, but supposed it was all right. Yes, he didn't mind trying to find out who had hired out a cart for the job. Dare say he could find out by to-morrow--at any rate he would try. Five dollars was worth earning, anyway. Having put the matter in train, Vincent, leaving Dan at Florence, went down at once to Charleston. Here, after twenty-four hours' delay, he obtained a warrant for the arrest of Jonas Pearson and others on the charge of kidnaping, and then returned to Florence. He found that the railway man had failed in obtaining any information as to the cart, and concluded it must have come in from the country on purpose to meet the train. "At any rate," Vincent said, "it must be within a pretty limited range of country. The railway makes a bend from Wilmington to this place and then down to Charleston, so this is really the nearest station to only a small extent of country." "That's so," the railway man said. He had heard from Dan a good deal about the case, and had got thoroughly interested in it. "Either Marion or Kingstree would be nearer, one way or the other, to most of the swamp country. So it can't be as far as Conwayborough on the north, or Georgetown on the south, and it must lie somewhere between Jeffries' Creek and Lynch's Creek; anyhow it would be in Marion County--that's pretty nigh sure. So, if I were you, I would take rail back to Marion Courthouse, and see the sheriff there and have a talk over the matter with him. You haven't got much to go upon, because this man you are after has been away from here a good many years and won't be known; besides, likely enough he went by some other name down here. Anyhow, the sheriff can put you up to the roads and the best way of going about the job." "I think that would be the best way," Vincent said. "We shall be able to see the county map, too, and to learn all the geography of the place." "You have got your six-shooters with you, I suppose, because you are likely as not to have to use them?" "Yes, we have each got a Colt; and as I have had a good deal of practice, it would be awkward for Pearson if he gives me occasion to use it." "After what I hear of the matter," the man said, "I should say your best plan is just to shoot him at sight. It's what would serve him right. You bet there will be no fuss over it. It will save you a lot of trouble anyway." Vincent laughed. "My advice is good," the man went on earnestly. "They are a rough lot down there, and hang together. You will have to do it sudden, whatever you do, or you will get the hull neighborhood up agin you." On reaching Marion Courthouse they sought out the sheriff, produced the warrant signed by the State authority, and explained the whole circumstances. "I am ready to aid you in any way I can," the sheriff said when he concluded; "but the question is, where has the fellow got to? You see he may be anywhere in this tract," and he pointed out a circle on the map of the county that hung against the wall. "That is about fifty mile across, and a pretty nasty spot, I can tell you. There are wide swamps on both sides of the creek, and rice grounds and all sorts. There aint above three or four villages altogether, but there may be two or three hundred little plantations scattered about, some big and some little. We haven't got anything to guide us in the slightest; not a thing, as I can see." "The man who was working under Pearson, when he was with us, told me he had got the notion that he had had to leave on account of some trouble here. Possibly that might afford a clew." "It might do so," the sheriff said. "When did he come to you?" "I think it was when I was six or seven years old. That would be about twelve or thirteen years ago; but, of course, he may not have come direct to us after leaving here." "We can look, anyway," the sheriff said, and, opening a chest, he took out a number of volumes containing the records of his predecessors. "Twelve years ago! Well, this is the volume. Now, Captain Wingfield, I have got some other business in hand that will take me a couple of hours. I will leave you out this volume and the one before it and the one after it, and if you like to go through them you may come across the description of some man that agrees with that of the man you are in search of." It took Vincent two hours and a half to go through the volume, but he met with no description answering to that of Pearson. "I will go through the first six months of the next year," he said to himself, taking up that volume, "and the last six months of the year before." The second volume yielded no better result, and he then turned back to the first of the three books. Beginning in July, he read steadily on until he came to December. Scarcely had he begun the record of that month when he uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. "December the 2d.--Information laid against a gang at Porter's station, near Lynch's Creek. Charged with several robberies and murders in different parts of the country. Long been suspected of having stills in the swamps. Gang consists of four besides Porter himself. Names of gang, Jack Haverley, Jim Corben, and John and James Porter. Ordered out posse to start to-morrow." "December 5th.--Returned from Porter's Station. Surprised the gang. They resisted. Haverley, Corben, and Jas. Porter shot. John Porter escaped, and took to the swamp. Four of posse wounded; one, William Hannay, killed. Circulated description of John Porter through the country. Tall and lean; when fifteen years old shot a man in a brawl, and went North. Has been absent thirteen years. Assumed the appearance of a Northern man and speaks with the Yankee twang. Father was absent at the time of attack. Captured three hours after. Declares he knows nothing about doings of the gang. Haverley and Corben were friends of his sons. Came and went when they liked. Will be tried on the 15th." On the 16th there was another entry: "William Porter sentenced to three years' imprisonment for giving shelter to a gang of robbers. Evidence wanting to show he took any actual part in their crimes." The sheriff had been in and out several times during the five hours that Vincent's search had taken up. When he returned again Vincent pointed out the entry he had found. "I should not be at all surprised if that's our man," the sheriff said. "I know old Porter well, for he is still alive and bears a pretty bad reputation still, though we have never been able to bring him to book. I remember all the circumstances of that affair, for I served upon the posse. While Porter was in prison his house was kept for him by a married daughter and her husband. There was a strong suspicion that the man was one of the gang too, but we couldn't prove it. They have lived there ever since. They have got five or six field hands, and are said to be well off. We have no doubt they have got a still somewhere in the swamps, but we have never been able to find it. I will send a man off to-morrow to make inquiries whether any stranger has arrived there lately. Of course, Pearson will not have kept that name, and he will not have appeared as John Porter, for he would be arrested on a fresh warrant at once for his share in that former business. I think, Captain Wingfield, you had better register at the hotel here under some other name. I don't suppose that he has any fear of being tracked here; still it is just possible his father may have got somebody here and at Florence to keep their eyes open and let him know if there are any inquiries being made by strangers about a missing negress. One cannot be too careful. If he got the least hint, his son and the woman would be hidden away in the swamps before we could get there, and there would be no saying when we could find him." Vincent took the sheriff's advice, and entered his name in the hotel books as Mr. Vincent. Late in the evening the sheriff came round to him. "I have just sent summonses to six men. I would rather have had two or three more, but young men are very scarce around here now; and as with you and myself that brings it up to eight that ought to be sufficient, as these fellows will have no time to summon any of their friends to their assistance. Have you a rifle, Captain Wingfield?" "No; I have a brace of revolvers." "They are useful enough for close work," the sheriff said, "but if they see us coming, and barricade their house and open fire upon us, you will want something that carries further than a revolver. I can lend you a rifle as well as a horse, if you will accept them." Vincent accepted the offer with thanks. The next morning at daylight he went round to the sheriff's house, where six determined-looking men, belonging to the town or neighboring farms, were assembled. Slinging the rifle that the sheriff handed him across his back, Vincent at once mounted, and the party set off at a brisk trot. "My man came back half an hour ago," the sheriff said to Vincent as they rode along. "He found out that a man answering to your description arrived with another at Porter's about a fortnight ago, and is staying there still. Whether they brought a negress with them or not no one seems to have noticed. However, there is not a shadow of doubt that it is our man, and I shall be heartily glad to lay hold of him; for a brother of mine was badly wounded in that last affair, and though he lived some years afterward he was never the same man again. So I have a personal interest in it, you see." "How far is it to Porter's?" "About thirty-five miles. We shall get there about two o'clock, I reckon. We are all pretty well mounted and can keep at this pace, with a break or two, till we get there. I propose that we dismount when we get within half a mile of the place. We will try and get hold of someone who knows the country well, and get him to lead three of us round through the edge of the swamp to the back of the house. It stands within fifty yards of the swamp. I have no doubt they put it there so that they might escape if pressed, and also to prevent their being observed going backward and forward to that still of theirs." This plan was followed out. A negro lad was found who, on the promise of a couple of dollars, agreed to act as guide. Three of the party were then told off to follow him, and the rest, after waiting for half an hour to allow them to make the detour, mounted their horses and rode down at a gallop to the house. When they were within a short distance of it they heard a shout, and a man who was lounging near the door ran inside. Almost instantly they saw the shutters swing back across the windows, and when they drew up, fifty yards from the door, the barrels of four rifles were pushed out through slits in the shutters. The sheriff held up his hand. "William Porter, I want a word with you." A shutter in an upper room opened, and an elderly man appeared with a rifle in his hand. "William Porter," the sheriff said, "I have a warrant for the arrest of two men now in your house on the charge of kidnaping a female slave, the property of Captain Wingfield here. I have no proof that you had any share in the matter, or that you were aware that the slave was not honestly obtained. In the second place, I have a warrant for the arrest of your son John Porter, now in your house and passing, recently, under the name of Jonas Pearson, on the charge of resisting and killing the officers of the law on the 5th of December, 1851. I counsel you to hand over these men to me without resistance. You know what happened when your sons defied the law before, and what will happen now if you refuse compliance." "Yah!" the old man shouted. "Do you suppose we are going to give in to five men? Not if we know it. Now, I warn you, move yourself off while I let you; else you will get a bullet in you before I count three." "Very well, then. You must take the consequences," the sheriff replied, and at once called the party to fall back. "We must dismount," he said in answer to Vincent's look of surprise. "They would riddle us here on horseback in the open. Besides, we must dismount to break in the door." They rode back a quarter of a mile, and then dismounted. The sheriff took two heavy axes that hung from his saddle, and handed them to two of the men. "I reckon we shall have trouble," he said. "However, I hope we shan't have to use these. My idea is to crawl up through the cornfield until we are within shooting distance, and then to open fire at the loopholes. They have never taken the trouble to grub up the stumps, and each man must look out for shelter. I want to make it so hot for them that they will try to bolt to the swamp, and in that case they will be covered by the men there. I told them not to fire until they got quite close; so they ought to dispose of three of them, and as they have got pistols they will be able to master the others; besides, when we hear firing behind, we shall jump up and make a rush round. Do you, sir, and James Wilkins here, stop in front. Two of them might make a rush out behind, and the others, when they have drawn us off, bolt in front." Several shots were fired at the party as they made their way across to the end of the field, where the tall stalks of maize were still standing, though the corn had been gathered weeks before. As soon as they reached the shelter they separated, each crawling through the maize until they arrived within fifty yards of the house. There were, as the sheriff had said, many stumps still standing, and each ensconced himself behind one of these, and began to reply to the fire that the defenders kept up whenever they saw a movement among the cornstalks. At such a distance the shutters were but of slight advantage to the defenders of the house; for the assailants were all good shots, and the loopholes afforded excellent targets at such a distance. After a few shots had been fired from the house the fire of the defenders ceased, the men within not daring to protrude the rifles through the loopholes, as every such appearance was instantly followed by a couple of shots from the corn patch. "Give me one of those axes," the sheriff said. "Now, Withers, do you make a rush with me to the door. Get your rifle loaded before you start, and have your revolver handy in your belt. Now, Captain Wingfield, do you and the other two keep a sharp lookout at the loopholes, and see that they don't get a shot at us as we run. Now, Withers!" and the sheriff ran forward. Two rifles were protruded through the loopholes. Vincent and his companions fired at once. One of the rifles gave a sharp jerk and disappeared, the other was fired, and Withers dropped his ax, but still ran forward. The sheriff began an onslaught at the door, his companion's right arm being useless. A minute later the sharp crack of rifles was heard in the rear, and the sheriff and two men rushed in that direction, while Vincent and the other lay watching the door. Scarcely had the sheriff's party disappeared round the house when the door was thrown open, and Pearson ran out at full speed. Vincent leaped to his feet. "Surrender," he said, "or you are a dead man!" Jonas paused for a moment with a loud imprecation, and then, leveling a revolver, fired. Vincent felt a moment's pain in the cheek, but before he could level his rifle his companion fired, and Pearson fell forward dead. A minute later the sheriff and his party ran round. "Have you got him?" he asked. "He will give no more trouble, sheriff," the young man who fired said. "I fancy I had him plum between the eyes. How about the others?" "Dick Matheson is killed; he got two bullets in his body. The other man is badly wounded. There are no signs of old Porter." They now advanced to the door, which stood open. As the sheriff entered there was a sharp report, and he fell back, shot through the heart. The rest made a rush forward. Another shot was fired, but this missed them, and before it could be repeated they had wrested the pistol from the hand of Matheson's wife. She was firmly secured, and they then entered the kitchen, where, crouched upon the floor, lay seven or eight negro men and women in an agony of terror. Vincent's question, "Dinah, where are you?" was answered by a scream of delight; and Dinah, who had been covering her child with her body, leaped to her feet. "It's all right, Dinah," Vincent said; "but stay here, we haven't finished this business yet." "I fancy the old man's upstairs," one of the men said. "It was his rifle, I reckon, that disappeared when we fired." It was as he expected. Porter was found dead behind the loophole, a bullet having passed through his brain. The deputy sheriff, who was with the party, now took the command. A cart and horse were found in an out-building; in these the wounded man, who was one of those who had taken part in the abduction of Dinah, was placed, together with the female prisoner and the dead body of the sheriff. The negroes were told to follow; and the horses having been fetched, the party mounted and rode off to the next village, five miles on their way back. Here they halted for the night, and the next day they went on to Marion Courthouse, Vincent hiring a cart for the conveyance of Dinah and the other women. It was settled that Vincent's attendance at the trial of the two prisoners would not be necessary, as the man would be tried for armed resistance to the law, and the woman for murdering the sheriff. The facts could be proved by other witnesses, and as there could be no doubt about obtaining convictions, it would be unnecessary to try the charge against the man for kidnaping. Next day, accordingly, Vincent started with Dinah and Dan for Richmond. Two months afterward he saw in the paper that Jane Matheson had been sentenced to imprisonment for life, the man to fourteen years. CHAPTER XVII. CHANCELLORSVILLE. The news of the fight between the sheriff's posse and the band at Lynch's Creek was telegraphed to the Richmond papers by their local agent upon the day after it occurred. The report said that Captain Wingfield, a young officer who had frequently distinguished himself, had followed the traces of a gang one of whom was a notorious criminal who had evaded the pursuit of the law and escaped from that section fifteen years ago, and had, under an assumed name, been acting as overseer at Mrs. Wingfield's estate of the Orangery. These men had carried off a negress belonging to Mrs. Wingfield, and had taken her South. Captain Wingfield, having obtained the assistance of the sheriff with a posse of determined men, rode to the place which served as headquarters of the gang. Upon being summoned to surrender, the men opened fire upon the sheriff and his posse. A sharp fight ensued, in which the sheriff was killed and one of his men wounded; while the four members of the gang were either killed or taken prisoners. It was reported that a person occupying a position as a planter in the neighborhood of Richmond is connected with this gang. The reporter had obtained his news from Vincent, who had purposely refrained from mentioning the names of those who had fallen. He had already had a conversation with the wounded prisoner. The latter had declared that he had simply acted in the affair as he had been paid to do by the man he knew in Richmond as Pearson, who told him that he wanted him to aid in carrying off a slave woman, who was really his property, but had been fraudulently taken from him. He had heard him say that there was another interested in the affair, who had his own reasons for getting the woman out of the way, and had paid handsomely for the job. Who that other was Pearson had never mentioned. Vincent saw that he had no absolute evidence against Jackson, and therefore purposely suppressed the fact that Pearson was among the killed in hopes that the paragraph would so alarm Jackson that he would at once decamp. His anticipations were entirely justified; for upon the day of his return to Richmond he saw a notice in the paper that the Cedars, with its field hands, houses, and all belonging to it, was for sale. He proceeded at once to the estate agent, and learned from him that Jackson had come in two days before and had informed him that sudden and important business had called him away, and that he was starting at once for New York, where his presence was urgently required, and that he should attempt to get through the lines immediately. He had asked him what he thought the property and slaves would fetch. Being acquainted with the estate, he had given him a rough estimate, and had, upon Jackson's giving him full powers to sell, advanced him two-thirds of the sum. Jackson had apparently started at once; indeed, he had told him that he should take the next train as far North as he could get. Vincent received the news with great satisfaction. He had little doubt that Jackson had really made down to the South, and that he would try to cross the lines there, his statement that he intended to go direct North being merely intended to throw his pursuers off his track should a warrant be issued against him. However, it mattered little which way Jackson had gone, so that he had left the State. There was little chance of his ever returning; for even when he learned that his confederate in the business had been killed in the fight, he could not be certain that the prisoner who had been taken was not aware of the share he had in the business. A fortnight later Vincent went down into Georgia and brought back Lucy Kingston for a visit to his mother. She had already received a letter from her father in reply to one she had written after reaching her aunts' protection, saying how delighted he was to hear that she had crossed the lines, for that he had suffered the greatest anxiety concerning her and had continually reproached himself for not sending her away sooner. He said he was much pleased with her engagement to Captain Wingfield, whom he did not know personally, but of whom he heard the most favorable reports from various Virginia gentlemen to whom he had spoken since the receipt of her letter. Lucy remained at Richmond until the beginning of March, when Vincent took her home to Georgia again, and a week after his return rejoined the army on the Rappahannock. Every effort had been made by the Confederate authorities to raise the army of General Lee to a point that would enable him to cope with the tremendous force the enemy were collecting for the ensuing campaign. The drain of men was now telling terribly, and Lee had at the utmost 40,000 to oppose the 160,000 collected under General Hooker. The first fight of the campaign had already taken place when Vincent rejoined the army. A body of 3000 Federal cavalry had crossed the river on the 17th of March, at Kelly's Ford, but had been met by General Fitz Lee with about 800 cavalry, and after a long and stubborn conflict had been driven back with heavy loss across the river. It was not until the middle of April that the enemy began to move in earnest. Every ford was watched by Stuart's cavalry, and the frequent attempts made by the Federal horse to push across to obtain information were always defeated. On the 27th of April General Hooker's preparations were complete. His plan of action was that 20,000 men should cross the river near the old battlefield of Fredericksburg, and thus lead the Confederates to believe that this was the point of attack. The main body were, however, to cross at Kelly's Ford, many miles higher up the river, and to march down toward Fredericksburg. The other force was then to recross, march up the river, cross at Kelly's Ford, and follow and join the main army. At the same time the Federal cavalry, which was very numerous and well-organized, was, under General Stoneman, to strike down through the country toward Richmond, and thus cut the Confederate communication with their capital, and so prevent Longstreet's division, which was lying near Richmond, from rejoining Lee. The passage of the river was effected at the two fords without resistance on the 29th of April, and upon the same day the cavalry column marched South. General Lee directed a portion of his cavalry under General Fitz Lee to harass and delay this column as much as possible. Although he had with him but a few hundred men he succeeded in doing good service in cutting off detached bodies of the enemy, capturing many officers and men, and so demoralizing the invaders that, after pushing on as far as the James River, Stoneman had to retreat in great haste across the Rapidan River. Hooker, having crossed the river, marched on to Chancellorsville, where he set to to intrench himself, having sent word to General Sedgwick, who commanded the force that had crossed near Fredericksburg, to recross, push round, and join him as soon as possible. Chancellorsville was a large brick mansion standing in the midst of fields surrounded by extensive forests. The country was known as the Wilderness. Within a range of many miles there were only a few scattered houses, and dense thickets and pine-woods covered the whole country. Two narrow roads passed through the woods, crossing each other at Chancellorsville; two other roads led to the fords known as Ely's Ford and the United States Ford. As soon as he reached Chancellorsville Hooker set his troops to work cutting down trees and throwing up earthworks for infantry and redoubts for artillery, erecting a double line of defenses. On these he mounted upward of a hundred pieces of artillery, commanding the narrow roads by which an enemy must approach, for the thickets were in many places so dense as to render it impossible for troops to force their way through them. When Sedgwick crossed the river, Lee drew up his army to oppose him; but finding that no more troops crossed, and that Sedgwick did not advance, he soon came to the conclusion this was not the point at which the enemy intended to attack, and in twenty-four hours one of Stuart's horsemen brought the news that Hooker had crossed the Rappahannock at Kelly's Ford and the Rapidan at Ely's Ford. Lee at once left one division to face General Sedgwick, and ordered the three others to join General Anderson, who with 8000 men had fallen back before Hooker's advance, and taken his post at Tabernacle Church, about halfway between Fredericksburg and Tabernacle. Lee himself rode forward at once and joined Anderson. Jackson led the force from Fredericksburg, and pressed the enemy back toward Chancellorsville until he approached the tremendous lines of fortifications, and then fell back to communicate with Lee. That night a council of war was held, and it was agreed that an attack upon the front of the enemy's position was absolutely impossible. Hooker himself was so positive that his position was impregnable that he issued a general order of congratulation to his troops, saying that "the enemy must now ingloriously fly or give us battle on our own ground, where certain destruction awaits him." Jackson then suggested that he should work right round the Wilderness in front of the enemy's position, march down until well on its flank, and attack it there, where they would be unprepared for an assault. The movement was one of extraordinary peril. Lee would be left with but one division in face of an immensely superior force; Jackson would have to perform an arduous march, exposed to an attack by the whole force of the enemy; and both might be destroyed separately without being able to render the slightest assistance to each other. At daybreak on the 2d of May Jackson mustered his troops for the advance. He had in the course of the night caught a severe cold. In the hasty march he had left his blankets behind him. One of his staff threw a heavy cape over him as he lay on the wet ground. During the night Jackson woke, and thinking that the young officer might himself be suffering from the want of his cape, rose quietly, spread the cape over him, and lay down without it. The consequence was a severe cold, which terminated in an attack of pneumonia that, occurring at a time when he was enfeebled by his wounds, resulted in his death. If he had not thrown that cape over the officer it is probable that he would have survived his wounds. At daybreak the column commenced its march. It had to traverse a narrow and unfrequented road through dense thickets, occasionally crossing ground in sight of the enemy, and at the end to attack a tremendous position held by immensely superior forces. Stuart with his cavalry moved on the flank of the column whenever the ground was open, so as to conceal the march of the infantry from the enemy. As the rear of the column passed a spot called the Furnace, the enemy suddenly advanced and cut off the 23d Georgia, who were in the rear of the column, and captured the whole regiment with the exception of a score of men. At this point the road turned almost directly away from Chancellorsville, and the enemy believed that the column was in full retreat, and had not the least idea of its real object. So hour after hour the troops pressed on until they reached the turnpike road passing east and went through Chancellorsville, which now lay exactly between them and the point that they had left in the morning. Jackson's design was to advance upon this line of road, to extend his troops to the left and then to swing round, cut the enemy's retreat to the fords, and capture them all. Hooker had already been joined by two of Sedgwick's army corps, and had now six army corps at Chancellorsville, while Jackson's force consisted of 22,000 men. Lee remained with 13,000 at Tabernacle. The latter general had not been attacked, but had continued to make demonstrations against the Federal left, occupying their attention and preventing them from discovering how large a portion of his force had left him. It was at five o'clock in the evening that Jackson's troops, having gained their position, advanced to the attack. In front of them lay Howard's division of the Federals, intrenched in strong earthworks covered by felled trees; but the enemy were altogether unsuspicious of danger, and it was not until with tumultuous cheers the Confederates dashed through the trees and attacked the intrenchment that they had any suspicion of their presence. They ran to their arms, but it was too late. The Confederates rushed through the obstacles, climbed the earthworks, and carried those in front of them, capturing 700 prisoners and five guns. The rest of the Federal troops here, throwing away muskets and guns, fled in wild confusion. Steadily the Confederates pressed on, driving the enemy before them, and capturing position after position, until the whole right wing of the Federal army was routed and disorganized. For three hours the Confederates continued their march without a check; but owing to the denseness of the wood, and the necessity of keeping the troops in line, the advance was slow, and night fell before the movement could be completed. One more hour of daylight and the whole Federal army would have been cut off and captured, but by eight o'clock the darkness in the forest was so complete that all movement had to be stopped. Half an hour later one of the saddest incidents of the war took place. General Jackson with a few of his staff went forward to reconnoiter. As he returned toward his lines, his troops in the dark mistook them for a reconnoitering party of the enemy and fired, killing or wounding the whole of them, General Jackson receiving three balls. The enemy, who were but a hundred yards distant, at once opened a tremendous fire with grape toward the spot, and it was some time before Jackson could be carried off the field. The news that their beloved general was wounded was for some time kept from the troops; but a whisper gradually spread, and the grief of his soldiers was unbounded, for rather would they have suffered a disastrous defeat than that Stonewall Jackson should have fallen. General Stuart assumed the command; General Hill, who was second in command, having, with many other officers, been wounded by the tremendous storm of grape and canister that the Federals poured through the wood when they anticipated an attack. At daybreak the troops again moved forward in three lines, Stuart placing his thirty guns on a slight ridge, where they could sweep the lines of the Federal defenses. Three times the position was won and lost; but the Confederates fought with such fury and resolution, shouting each time they charged the Federal ranks, "Remember Jackson," that the enemy gradually gave way, and by ten o'clock Chancellorsville itself was taken, the Federals being driven back into the forest between the house and the river. [Illustration: Map--THE BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE May 2nd. & 3rd. 1863.] Lee had early in the morning begun to advance from his side to the attack, but just as he was moving forward the news came that Sedgwick had recrossed at Fredericksburg, captured a portion of the Confederate force there, and was advancing to join Hooker. Lee at once sent two of his three little divisions to join the Confederates who were opposing Sedgwick's advance, while, with the three or four thousand men remaining to him, he all day made feigned attacks upon the enemy's position, occupying their attention there, and preventing them from sending re-enforcements to the troops engaged with Stuart. At night he himself hurried away, took the command of the troops opposed to Sedgwick, attacked him vigorously at daybreak, and drove him with heavy loss back across the river. The next day he marched back with his force to join in the final attack upon the Federals; but when the troops of Stuart and Lee moved forward they encountered no opposition. Hooker had begun to carry his troops across the river on the night he was hurled back out of Chancellorsville, and the rest of his troops had crossed on the two following nights. General Hooker issued a pompous order to his troops, after getting across the river, to the effect that the movement had met with the complete success he had anticipated from it; but the truth soon leaked out. General Sedgwick's force had lost 6000 men, Hooker's own command fully 20,000 more; but splendid as the success was, it was dearly purchased by the Confederates at the price of the life of Stonewall Jackson. His arm was amputated the day after the battle; he lived for a week, and died not so much from the effect of his wound as from the pneumonia, the result of his exposure to the heavy dew on the night preceding his march through the Wilderness. During the two days' fighting Vincent Wingfield had discharged his duties upon General Stuart's staff. On the first day the work had been slight, for General Stuart, with the cannon, remained in the rear, while Jackson's infantry attacked and carried the Federal intrenchments. Upon the second day, however, when Stuart assumed the command, Vincent's duties had been onerous and dangerous in the extreme. He was constantly carrying orders from one part of the field to the other, amid such a shower of shot and shell that it seemed marvelous that anyone could exist within it. To his great grief Wildfire was killed under him, but he himself escaped without a scratch. When he came afterward to try to describe the battle to those at home, he could give no account of it. "To me," he said, "it was simply a chaos of noise and confusion. Of what was going on I knew nothing. The din was appalling. The roar of the shells, the hum of grape and canister, the whistle of bullets, the shouts of men, formed a mighty roar that seemed to render thinking impossible. Showers of leaves fell incessantly, great boughs of trees were shorn away, and trees themselves sometimes came crashing down as a trunk was struck full by a shell. The undergrowth had caught fire, and the thick smoke, mingled with that of the battle, rendered it difficult to see or to breathe. I had but one thought, that of making my way through the trees, of finding the corps to which I was sent, of delivering my message, and finding the general again. No, I don't think I had much thought of danger, the whole thing was somehow so tremendous that one had no thought whatever for one's self. It was a sort of terrible dream, in which one was possessed of the single idea to get to a certain place. It was not till at last we swept across the open ground down to the house, that I seemed to take any distinct notice of what was going on around me. Then, for the first time, the exulting shouts of the men, and the long lines advancing at the double, woke me up to the fact that we had gained one of the most wonderful victories in history, and had driven an army of four or five times our own strength from a position that they believed they had made impregnable." The defeat of Hooker for a time put a stop to any further advance against Richmond from the North. The Federal troops whose term of service was up returned home, and it was months before all the efforts of the authorities of Washington could place the army in a condition to make a renewed advance. But the Confederates had also suffered heavily. A third of the force with which Jackson had attacked had fallen, and their loss could not be replaced, as the Confederates were forced to send everyone they could raise to the assistance of the armies in the West, where Generals Banks and Grant were carrying on operations with great success against them. The important town of Vicksburg, which commanded the navigation of the Mississippi, was besieged, and after a resistance lasting for some months, surrendered, with its garrison of 25,000 men, on the 3d of July, and the Federal gunboats were thus able to penetrate the Mississippi and its confluents into the heart of the Confederacy. Shortly after the battle of Chancellorsville Vincent was appointed to the command of a squadron of cavalry that was detached from Stuart's force and sent down to Richmond to guard the capital from any raids by bodies of Federal cavalry. It had been two or three times menaced by flying bodies of horsemen, and during the cavalry advance before the battle of Chancellorsville small parties had penetrated to within three miles of the city, cutting all the telegraph wires, pulling up the rails, and causing the greatest terror. Vincent was not sorry for the change. It took him away from the great theater of the war, but after Chancellorsville he felt no eager desire to take part in future battles. His duties would keep him near his home, and would give ample scope for the display of watchfulness, dash, and energy. Consequently he took no part in the campaign that commenced in the first week in June. Tired of standing always on the defensive, the Confederate authorities determined to carry out the step that had been so warmly advocated by Jackson earlier in the war, and which might at that time have brought it to a successful termination. They decided to carry the war into the enemy's country. By the most strenuous efforts Lee's army was raised to 75,000 men, divided into three great army corps, commanded by Longstreet, Ewell, and Hill. Striking first into Virginia, they drove the Federals from Winchester, and chased them from the State with the loss of nearly 4000 prisoners and thirty guns. Then they entered Maryland and Pennsylvania, and concentrating at Gettysburg they met the Northern army under Meade, who had succeeded Hooker. Although great numbers of the Confederates had seen their homes wasted and their property wantonly destroyed, they preserved the most perfect order in their march through the North, and the Federals themselves testify to the admirable behavior of the troops, and to the manner in which they abstained from plundering or inflicting annoyance upon the inhabitants. At Gettysburg there was three days' fighting. In the first a portion only of the forces were engaged, the Federals being defeated and 5000 of their men taken prisoners. Upon the second the Confederates attacked the Northerners, who were posted in an extremely strong position, but were repulsed with heavy loss. The following day they renewed the attack, but after tremendous fighting again failed to carry the height. Both parties were utterly exhausted. Lee drew up his troops the next day, and invited an attack from the Federals; but contented with the success they had gained they maintained their position, and the Confederates then fell back, Stuart's cavalry protecting the immense trains of wagons loaded with the stores and ammunition captured in Pennsylvania. But little attempt was made by the Northerners to interfere with their retreat. On reaching the Potomac, they found that a sudden rise had rendered the fords impassable. Intrenchments and batteries were thrown up, and for a week the Confederate army held the lines, expecting an attack from the enemy, who had approached within two miles; but the Federal generals were too well satisfied with having gained a success, when acting on the defensive in a strong position, to risk a defeat in attacking the position of the Confederates, and their forces remained impassive until pontoon bridges were thrown across the river, and the Confederate army, with their vast baggage train, had again crossed into Virginia. The campaign had cost the Northern army 23,000 men in killed, wounded, and prisoners, besides a considerable number of guns. The Confederates lost only two guns, left behind in the mud, and 1500 prisoners, but their loss in killed and wounded at Gettysburg exceeded 10,000 men. Even the most sanguine among the ranks of the Confederacy were now conscious that the position was a desperate one. The Federal armies seemed to spring from the ground. Strict discipline had taken the place of the disorder and insubordination that had first prevailed in their ranks. The armies were splendidly equipped. They were able to obtain any amount of the finest guns, rifles, and ammunition of war from the workshops of Europe; while the Confederates, cut off from the world, had to rely solely upon the make-shift factories they had set up, and upon the guns and stores they captured from the enemy. The Northerners had now, as a blow to the power of the South, abolished slavery, and were raising regiments of negroes from among the free blacks of the North, and from the slaves they took from their owners wherever their armies penetrated the Southern States. Most of the Confederate ports had been either captured or were so strictly blockaded that it was next to impossible for the blockade-runners to get in or out, while the capture of the forts on the Mississippi enabled them to use the Federal flotillas of gunboats to the greatest advantage, and to carry their armies into the center of the Confederacy. Still, there was no talk whatever of surrender on the part of the South, and, indeed, the decree abolishing slavery, and still more the action of the North in raising black regiments, excited the bitterest feeling of animosity and hatred. The determination to fight to the last, whatever came of it, animated every white man in the Southern States, and, although deeply disappointed with the failure of Lee's invasion of the North, the only result was to incite them to greater exertions and sacrifices. In the North an act authorizing conscription was passed in 1863, but the attempt to carry it into force caused a serious riot in New York, which was only suppressed after many lives had been lost and the city placed under martial law. While the guns of Gettysburg were still thundering, a Federal army of 18,000 men under General Gillmore, assisted by the fleet, had laid siege to Charleston. It was obstinately attacked and defended. The siege continued until the 5th of September, when Fort Wagner was captured; but all attempts to take Fort Sumter and the town of Charleston itself failed, although the city suffered greatly from the bombardment. In Tennessee there was severe fighting in the autumn, and two desperate battles were fought at Chickamauga on the 19th and 20th of September, General Bragg, who commanded the Confederate army there, being reinforced by Longstreet's veterans from the army of Virginia. After desperate fighting the Federals were defeated, and thirty-six guns and vast quantities of arms captured by the Confederates. The fruits of the victory, however, were very slight, as General Bragg refused to allow Longstreet to pursue, and so to convert the Federal retreat into a rout, and the consequence was that this victory was more than balanced by a heavy defeat inflicted upon them in November at Chattanooga by Sherman and Grant. At this battle General Longstreet's division was not present. The army of Virginia had a long rest after their return from Gettysburg, and it was not until November that the campaign was renewed. Meade advanced, a few minor skirmishes took place, and then, when he reached the Wilderness, the scene of Hooker's defeat, where Lee was prepared to give battle, he fell back again across the Rappahannock. The year had been an unfortunate one for the Confederates. They had lost Vicksburg, and the defeat at Chattanooga had led to the whole State of Tennessee falling into the hands of the Federals, while against these losses there was no counterbalancing success to be reckoned. In the spring of 1864 both parties prepared to the utmost for the struggle. General Grant, an officer who had shown in the campaign in the West that he possessed considerable military ability, united with immense firmness and determination of purpose, was chosen as the new commander-in-chief of the whole military force of the North. It was a mighty army, vast in numbers, lavishly provided with all materials of war. The official documents show that on the 1st of May the total military forces of the North amounted to 662,000 men. Of these the force available for the advance against Richmond numbered 284,630 men. This included the Army of the Potomac, that of the James River, and the army in the Shenandoah Valley--the whole of whom were in readiness to move forward against Richmond at the orders of Grant. To oppose these General Lee had less than 53,000 men, including the garrison of Richmond and the troops in North Carolina. Those stationed in the seaport towns numbered in all another 20,000; so that, if every available soldier had been brought up, Lee could have opposed a total of but 83,000 men against the 284,000 invaders. In the West the numbers were more equally balanced. General Sherman, who commanded the army of invasion there, had under his orders 230,000 men, but as more than half this force was required to protect the long lines of communication and to keep down the conquered States, he was able to bring into the field for offensive operations 99,000 men, who were faced by the Confederate army under Johnston of 58,000 men. Grant's scheme was that, while the armies of the North were, under his own command, to march against Richmond, the Army of the West was to invade Georgia and march upon Atlanta. His plan of action was simple, and was afterward stated by himself to be as follows: "I determined first to use the greatest number of troops practicable against the main force of the enemy, preventing him from using the same force at different seasons against first one and then another of our armies, and the possibility of repose for refitting and producing necessary supplies for carrying on resistance. Second, to hammer continuously against the armed force of the enemy and his resources, until, by mere attrition if in no other way, there should be nothing left to him but submission." This was a terrible programme, and involved an expenditure of life far beyond anything that had taken place. Grant's plan, in fact, was to fight and to keep on fighting, regardless of his own losses, until at last the Confederate army, whose losses could not be replaced, melted away. It was a strategy that few generals have dared to practice, fewer still to acknowledge. On the 4th of May the great Army of the Potomac crossed the Rapidan and advanced toward Chancellorsville. Lee moved two divisions of his army to oppose them. Next morning the battle began at daybreak on the old ground where Lee had defeated Hooker the year before. All day long the division of Ewell supported the attack of the army corps of Sedgwick and Hancock. Along a front of six miles, in the midst of the thick forest, the battle raged the whole of the day. The Confederates, in spite of the utmost efforts of the Northerners, although re-enforced in the afternoon by the army corps of General Burnside, held their position, and when night put an end to the conflict the invaders had not gained a foot of ground. As soon as the first gleam of light appeared in the morning the battle recommenced. The Federal generals, Sedgwick, Warren, and Hancock, with Burnside in reserve, fell upon Hill and Ewell. Both sides had thrown up earthworks and felled trees as a protection during the night. At first the Confederates gained the advantage; but a portion of Burnside's corps was brought up and restored the battle, while on the left flank of the Federals Hancock had attacked with such vigor that the Confederates opposed to him were driven back. At the crisis of the battle Longstreet, who had marched all night, appeared upon the ground, drove back Hancock's men, and was on the point of aiding the Confederates in a decisive attack upon the enemy, when, riding rapidly forward into the wood to reconnoiter, he was, like Jackson, struck down by the fire of his own men. He was carried to the rear desperately, and it was feared for a time mortally, wounded; and his loss paralyzed the movement which he had prepared. Nevertheless, during the whole day the fight went on with varying success; sometimes one side obtaining a slight advantage, the other then regaining the ground they had lost. [Illustration: Map--THE BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS May 5th. to 9th. 1864.] Just as evening was closing in a Georgia brigade, with two other regiments, made a detour, and fell furiously upon two brigades of the enemy, and drove them back in headlong rout for a mile and a half, capturing their two generals and many prisoners. The artillery, as on the previous day, had been little used on either side, the work being done at short range with the rifle, the loss being much heavier among the thick masses of the Northerners than in the thinner lines of the Confederates. Grant had failed in his efforts to turn Lee's right and to accomplish his direct advance; he therefore changed his base and moved his army round toward Spottsylvania. Lee soon perceived his object, and succeeded in carrying his army to Spottsylvania before the Federals reached it. On the afternoon of Monday the 9th, there was heavy fighting, and on the 10th another pitched battle took place. This time the ground was more open, and the artillery was employed with terrible effect on both sides. It ended, however, as the previous battles had done, by the Confederates holding their ground. Upon the next day there was but little fighting. In the night the Federals moved quietly through the wood and at daybreak four divisions fell upon Johnston's division of Ewell's corps, took them completely by surprise, and captured the greater part of them. But Lee's veterans soon recovered from their surprise and maintained their position until noon. Then the whole Federal army advanced, and the battle raged till nightfall terminated the struggle, leaving Lee in possession of the whole line he had held, with the exception of the ground lost in the morning. For the next six days the armies faced each other, worn out by incessant fighting, and prevented from moving by the heavy rain which fell incessantly. They were now able to reckon up the losses. The Federals found that they had lost, in killed, wounded, or missing, nearly 30,000 men; while Lee's army was diminished by about 12,000. While these mighty battles had been raging the Federal cavalry under Sheridan had advanced rapidly forward, and, after several skirmishes with Stuart's cavalry, penetrated within the outer intrenchments round Richmond. Here Stuart, with two regiments of cavalry, charged them and drove them back, but the gallant Confederate officer received a wound that before night proved fatal. His loss was a terrible blow to the Confederacy, although his successor in the command of the cavalry, General Wade Hampton, was also an officer of the highest merit. In the meantime General Butler, who had at Fortress Monroe under his command two corps of infantry, 4000 cavalry, and a fleet of gunboats and transports, was threatening Richmond from the east. Shipping his men on board the transports he steamed up the James River, under convoy of the fleet, and landed on a neck of land known as Bermuda Hundred. To oppose him all the troops from North Carolina had been brought up, the whole force amounting to 19,000 men, under the command of General Beauregard. Butler, after various futile movements, was driven back again to his intrenched camp at Bermuda Hundred, where he was virtually besieged by Beauregard with 10,000 men, the rest of that general's force being sent up to re-enforce Lee. In West Virginia, Breckenridge, with 3500 men, was called upon to hold in check Sigel, with 15,000 men. Advancing to Staunton, Breckenridge was joined by the pupils of the military college at Lexington, 250 in number, lads of from fourteen to seventeen years of age. He came upon Sigel on the line of march and attacked him at once. The Federal general placed a battery in a wood and opened fire with grape. The commander of the Lexington boys ordered them to charge, and, gallantly rushing in through the heavy fire, they charged in among the guns, killed the artillerymen, drove back the infantry supports, and bayoneted their colonel. The Federals now retired down the valley to Strasburg, and Breckenridge was able to send a portion of his force to aid Lee in his great struggle. After his six days' pause in front of Lee's position at Spottsylvania, Grant abandoned his plan of forcing his way through Lee's army to Richmond, and endeavored to outflank it; but Lee again divined his purpose, and moved round and still faced him. After various movements the armies again stood face to face upon the old battle-grounds on the Chickahominy. On the 3d of June the battle commenced at half-past four in the morning. Hancock at first gained an advantage, but Hill's division dashed down upon him and drove him back with great slaughter; while no advantage was gained by him in other parts of the field. The Federal loss on this day was 13,000, and the troops were so dispirited that they refused to renew the battle in the afternoon. [Illustration: Map--BATTLE of COLD HARBOR May 31st. to June 12th. 1864.] Grant then determined to alter his plan altogether, and sending imperative orders to Butler to obtain possession of Petersburg, embarked Smith's corps in transports, and moved with the rest of his army to join that general there. Smith's corps entered the James River, landed, and marched against Petersburg. Beauregard had at Petersburg only two infantry and two cavalry regiments under General Wise, while a single brigade fronted Butler at Bermuda Hundred. With this handful of men he was called upon to defend Petersburg and to keep Butler bottled up in Bermuda Hundred until help could reach him from Lee. He telegraphed to Richmond for all the assistance that could be sent to him, and was re-enforced by a brigade, which arrived just in time, for Smith had already captured a portion of the intrenchments, but was now driven out. The next day Beauregard was attacked both by Smith's and Hancock's corps, which had now arrived. With 8000 men he kept at bay the assaults of two whole army corps, having in the meantime sent orders to Gracie, the officer in command of the brigade before Butler, to leave a few sentries there to deceive that general, and to march with the rest of his force to his aid. It arrived at a critical moment. Overwhelmed by vastly superior numbers, many of the Confederates had left their posts, and Breckenridge was in vain trying to rally them when Gracie's brigade came up. The position was reoccupied and the battle continued. At noon Burnside with his corps arrived and joined the assailants; while Butler, discovering at last that the troops in front of him were withdrawn, moved out and barred the road against re-enforcements from Richmond. Nevertheless, the Confederates held their ground all the afternoon and until eleven o'clock at night, when the assault ceased. At midnight Beauregard withdrew his troops from the defenses that they were too few to hold, and set them to work to throw up fresh intrenchments on a shorter line behind. All night the men worked with their bayonets, canteens, and any tools that came to hand. It was well for them that the enemy were so exhausted that it was noon before they were ready to advance again, for by this time help was at hand. Anderson, who had succeeded to the command of Longstreet's corps, and was leading the van of Lee's army, forced his way through Butler's troops and drove him back into Bermuda Hundred, and leaving one brigade to watch him marched with another into Petersburg just as the attack was recommenced. Thus re-enforced, Beauregard successfully defeated all the assaults of the enemy until night fell. Another Federal army corps came up before morning, and the assault was again renewed, but the defenders, who had strengthened their defenses during the night, drove their assailants back with terrible loss. The whole of Lee's army now arrived, and the rest of Grant's army also came up, and that general found that, after all his movements, his way to Richmond was barred as before. He was indeed in a far worse position than when he had crossed the Rapidan, for the morale of his army was much injured by the repeated repulses and terrible losses it had sustained. The new recruits that had been sent to fill up the gaps were far inferior troops to those with which he had commenced the campaign. To send forward such men against the fortifications of Petersburg, manned by Lee's veteran troops, was to court defeat, and he therefore began to throw up works for a regular siege. Fighting went on incessantly between the outposts, but only one great attempt was made during the early months of the siege to capture the Confederate position. The miners drove a gallery under the works, and then drove other galleries right and left under them. These were charged with eight thousand pounds of powder. When all was ready, masses of troops were brought up to take advantage of the confusion which would be caused by the explosion, and a division of black troops were to lead the assault. At a quarter to five in the morning of the 30th of July the great mine was exploded, blowing two guns, a battery, and its defenders into the air, and forming a huge pit two hundred feet long and sixty feet wide. Lee and Beauregard hurried to the scene, checked the panic that prevailed, brought up troops, and before the great Federal columns approached the breech the Confederates were ready to receive them. The assault was made with little vigor, the approaches to the breech were obstructed by abattis, and instead of rushing forward in a solid mass they occupied the great pit, and contented themselves with firing over the edge of the crater, where regiments and divisions were huddled together. But the Confederate batteries were now manned, and from the works on either side of the breech, and from behind, they swept the approaches, and threw shell among the crowded mass. The black division was now brought up and entered the crater, but only added to the confusion. There was no officer of sufficient authority among the crowded mass there to assume the supreme command. No assistance could be sent to them, for the arrival of fresh troops would but have added to the confusion. All day the conflict went on, the Federals lining the edge of the crater, and exchanging a heavy musketry fire with the Confederate infantry, while the mass below suffered terribly from the artillery fire. When night closed, the survivors of the great column that had marched forward in the morning, confident that victory was assured to them, and that the explosion would lay Petersburg open to capture, made their retreat, the Confederates, however, taking a considerable number of prisoners. The Federal loss in killed, wounded, and captured was admitted by them to be 4000; the Confederate accounts put it down at 6000. After this terrible repulse it was a long time before Grant again renewed active operations, but during the months that ensued his troops suffered very heavily from the effects of fever, heightened by the discouragement they felt at their want of success, and at the tremendous losses they had suffered since they entered Virginia on their forward march to Richmond. CHAPTER XVIII. A PERILOUS UNDERTAKING. Vincent Wingfield had had an arduous time of it with his squadron of cavalry. He had taken part in the desperate charge that checked the advance of Sheridan's great column of cavalry, which approached within three miles of Richmond--the charge that had cost the gallant Stuart his life; and the death of his beloved general had been a heavy blow for him. Jackson and Stuart, two of the bravest and noblest spirits of the Confederate army, were gone. Both had been personally dear to Vincent, and he felt how grievous was their loss to the cause for which he was fighting; but he had little time for grief. The enemy, after the tremendous battles of the Wilderness, swung their army round to Cold Harbor, and Vincent's squadron was called up to aid Lee in his struggle there. Then they were engaged night and day in harassing the enemy as they marched down to take up their new base at Petersburg, and finally received orders to ride round at full speed to aid in the defense of that place. They had arrived in the middle of the second day's fighting, and dismounting his men, Vincent had aided the hard-pressed Confederates in holding their lines till Longstreet's division arrived to their assistance. A short time before the terrible disaster that befell the Federals in the mine they exploded under the Confederate works, he was with General Wade Hampton, who had succeeded General Stuart in the command of the cavalry, when General Lee rode up. "They are erecting siege works in earnest," General Lee said. "I do not think that we shall have any more attacks for the present. I wish I knew exactly where they are intending to place their heavy batteries. If I did, we should know where to strengthen our defenses and plant our counter-batteries. It is very important to find this out; and now that their whole army has settled down in front of us, and Sheridan's cavalry are scouring the woods, we shall get no news, for the farmers will no longer be able to get through to tell us what is going on." "I will try and ride round if you like, general," Vincent said. "By making a long detour one could get into the rear of their lines and pass as a farmer going into camp to sell his goods." "It would be a very dangerous service, sir," General Lee said. "You know what the consequence would be if you were caught?" "I know the consequence," Vincent said; "but I do not think, sir, that the risk is greater than one runs every time one goes into battle." "Perhaps not," General Lee replied; "but in one case one dies fighting for one's country, by an honorable death; in the other----" and he stopped. "In the other one is shot in cold blood," Vincent said quietly. "One dies for one's country in either case, sir; and it does not much matter, so far as I can see, whether one is killed in battle or shot in cold blood. As long as one is doing one's duty, one death is surely as honorable as the other." "That is true enough," General Lee said, "although it is not the way men generally view the matter. Still, sir, if you volunteer for the work, I shall not feel justified in refusing the opportunity of acquiring information that may be of vital consequence to us. When will you start?" "In half an hour, sir. I shall ride back to Richmond, obtain a disguise there, and then go round by train to Burksville Junction, and then ride again until I get round behind their lines. Will you give me an order for my horse and myself to be taken?" "Very well, sir," General Lee said. "So be it! May God be with you on your way and bring you safely back!" Vincent rode off to his quarters. "Dan," he said, "I am going away on special duty for at least three days. I have got a couple of letters to write, and shall be ready to start in half an hour. Give the horse a good feed and have him at the door again by that time." "Am I to go with you, sah?" "No, Dan; I must go by myself this time." Dan felt anxious as he went out, for it was seldom that his master ever went away without telling him where he was going, and he felt sure that the service was one of unusual danger; nor was his anxiety lessened when, at the appointed time, Vincent came out and handed him two letters. "You are to keep these letters, Dan, until I return, or till you hear that something has happened to me. If you hear that, you are to take one of these letters to my mother, and take the other yourself to Miss Kingston. Tell her before you give it her what has happened, as gently as you can. As for yourself, Dan, you had your letters of freedom long ago, and I have left you five hundred dollars; so that you can get a cabin and patch of your own, and settle down when these troubles are over." "Let me go with you, master," Dan said, with the tears streaming down his cheeks. "I would rather be killed with you a hundred times than get on without you." "I would take you if I could, Dan; but this is a service that I must do alone. Good-by, my boy; let us hope that, in three or four days at the outside, I shall be back here again, safe and sound." He wrung Dan's hand, and then started at a canter and kept on at that pace until he reached Richmond. A train with stores was starting for the south in a few minutes; General Lee's order enabled Vincent to have a horse-box attached at once, and he was soon speeding on his way. He alighted at Burksville Junction, and there purchased some rough clothes for himself and some country-fashioned saddlery for his horse. Then, after changing his clothes at an inn and putting the fresh saddlery on his horse, he started. It was getting late in the afternoon, but he rode on by unfrequented roads, stopping occasionally to inquire if any of the Federal cavalry had been seen in the neighborhood, and at last stopped for the night at a little village inn. As soon as it was daybreak he resumed his journey. He had purchased at Burksville some colored calico and articles of female clothing, and fastened the parcel to the back of his saddle. As he rode forward now he heard constant tales of the passing of parties of the enemy's cavalry, but he was fortunate enough to get well round to the rear of the Federal lines before he encountered any of them. Then he came suddenly upon a troop. "Where are you going to, and where have you come from?" "Our farm is a mile away from Union Grove," he said, "and I have been over to Sussex Courthouse to buy some things for my mother." "Let me see what you have got there," the officer said. "You are rebels to a man here, and there's no trusting any of you." Vincent unfastened the parcel and opened it. The officer laughed. "Well, we won't confiscate them as contraband of war." So saying, he set spurs to his horse and galloped on with his troop. Vincent rode on to Union Grove, and then, taking a road at random, kept on till he reached a small farmhouse. He knocked at the door, and a woman came out. "Mother," he said, "can you put me up for a couple of days? I am a stranger here, and all the villages are full of soldiers." The woman looked at him doubtfully. "What are you doing here?" she asked at last. "This aint a time for strangers; besides, a young fellow like you ought to be ashamed to show yourself when you ought to be over there with Lee. My boys are both there and my husband. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, a strong-looking young fellow like you, to be riding about instead of fighting the Yankees. Go along! you will get no shelter here. I would scorn to have such as you inside the door." "Perhaps I have been fighting there," Vincent said significantly. "But one can't be always fighting, and there are other things to do sometimes. For instance, to find out what the Yankees are doing and what are their plans." "Is that so?" the woman asked doubtfully. "That is so," he answered earnestly. "I am an officer in Wade Hampton's cavalry, and now Sheridan's troopers have cut off all communication, I have come out to find for General Lee where the Yankees are building their batteries before Petersburg." "In that case you are welcome," the woman said. "Come straight in! I will lead your horse out and fasten him up in the bush, and give him a feed there. It will never do to put him in the stable; the Yankees come in and out, and they'd take him off sharp enough if their eyes fell on him. I think you will be safe enough, even if they do come. They will take you for a son of mine, and if they ask any questions I will answer them sharp enough." "I wonder they have left you a feed of corn," Vincent said, when the woman returned after taking away his horse. "It's no thanks to them," she answered; "they have cleared out everything that they could lay their hands on. But I have been expecting it for months, and, as I have had nothing to do since my man and boys went away, I have been digging a great pit in the wood over there, and have buried most all my corn, and have salted my pigs down and buried them in barrels; so they didn't find much. They took the old horse and two cows; but I hope the old horse will fall down the first time they uses him, and the cow meat will choke them as eats it. Now, is there anything as I can do to help you?" "I want a basket with some eggs and chickens or vegetables to take into their camp to sell, but I am afraid I have not much chance of getting them." "I can help you there, too," the woman said, "I turned all my chickens into the wood the day I heard the Yankees had landed. They have got rather wild like; but I go out and give them some corn every evening. I expect, if we look about, we shall find some nests; indeed I know there are one or two of them sitting. So, if you will come out with me, we can soon knock down five or six of the creatures, and maybe get a score or two of eggs. As for vegetables, a horde of locusts couldn't have stripped the country cleaner than they have done." They went out into the wood. Six hens were soon killed, and hunting about they discovered several nests and gathered about three dozen eggs. Vincent aided in plucking the chickens, and they then returned to the house. "You had best take a bite before you go," she said. "It's noon now, and you said you started at daybreak. Always get a meal when you can, say I." She produced a loaf and some bacon from a little cupboard hidden by her bed, and Vincent, who, now he thought of it, was feeling hungry, made a hearty meal. "I will pay you for these chickens and eggs at once," he said. "There's no saying whether I shall come back again." "I will not say no to your paying for the chickens and eggs," she said, "because money is scarce enough, and I may have long to wait before my man and the boys come back; but as to lodging and food I would not touch a cent. You are welcome to all I have when it's for the good cause." Vincent started with the basket on his arm, and after walking three miles came upon the Federal camps. Some of the regiments were already under canvas, others were still bivouacked in the open air, as the storeships carrying the heavy baggage had not yet arrived. The generals and their staffs had taken up their quarters in the villages. Vincent had received accurate instructions from his hostess as to the position of the various villages, and avoided them carefully, for he did not want to sell out his stock immediately. He had indeed stowed two of the fowls away in his pocket, so that, in case anyone insisted upon buying up all his stock, he could place these in his basket and still push on. He avoided the camps as much as he could. He could see the smoke rising in front of him, and the roar of guns was now close at hand. He saw on his right an elevated piece of ground, from which a good view could be obtained of the fortifications upon which the Federals were working. A camp had been pitched there, and a large tent near the summit showed that some officer of superior rank had his quarters here. He made a detour so as to come up at the back of the hill, and when he reached the top he stood looking down upon the line of works. They were nearly half a mile distant. The intervening ground had already been stripped of its hedges, and the trees cut down to form gabions, fascines, and platforms for the cannon. Thousands of men were at work; but in some parts they were clustered much more thickly than in others, and Vincent had no difficulty in determining where the principal batteries were in course of construction along this portion of the position. He was still gazing intently when two horsemen rode up from behind. "Hallo, you, sir! What are you looking at?" one of them asked sharply. "What are you spying about here?" Vincent turned slowly round with a silly smile on his lips. "I am spying all them chaps at work," he said. "It reminds me for all the world of an ant-hill. Never did see so many chaps before. What be they a-doing? Digging a big drain or making a roadway, I guess." "Who are you, sir?" the officer asked angrily. "Seth Jones I be, and mother's sent me to sell some fowls and eggs. Do you want to buy any? Fine birds they be." "Why, Sheridan," laughed the other officer, "this is a feather out of your cap. I thought your fellows had cleared out every hen-roost within twenty miles of Petersburg already." "I fancy they have emptied most of them," the general said grimly. "Where do you come from, lad?" "I comes from over there," Vincent said, jerking his thumb back. "I lives there with mother. Father and the other boys they have gone fighting Yanks; but they wouldn't take me with them 'cause I aint sharp in my wits, though I tells them I could shoot a Yank as well as they could if they showed me." "And who do you suppose all those men are?" General Sheridan asked, pointing toward the trenches. "I dunno," Vincent replied. "I guess they be niggers. There be too many of them for whites; besides, whites aint such fools to work like that. Doesn't ye want any fowl?" and he drew back the cloth and showed the contents of the basket. "Take them as a matter of curiosity, general," the other officer laughed. "It will be a downright novelty to you to buy chickens." "What do you want for them, boy?" "Mother said as I wasn't to take less nor a dollar apiece." "Greenbacks, I suppose?" the officer asked. "I suppose so. She didn't say nothing about it; but I have not seen aught but greenbacks for a long time since." "Come along, then," the officer said; "we will take them." They rode up to the large tent, and the officers alighted, and gave their horses to two of the soldiers. "Give your basket to this soldier." "I want the basket back again. Mother would whop me if I came back without the basket again." "All right," the officer said; "you shall have it back in a minute." Vincent stood looking anxiously after the orderly. "Do you think that boy is as foolish as he seems?" General Sheridan asked his companion. "He admits that he comes of a rebel family." "I don't think he would have admitted that if he hadn't been a fool. I fancy he is a half-witted chap. They never would have left a fellow of his age behind." "No, I think it's safe," Sheridan said; "but one can't be too particular just at present. See, the trees in front hide our work altogether from the rebels, and it would be a serious thing if they were to find out what we are doing." "That boy could not tell them much, even if he got there," the other said; "and from this distance it would need a sharp eye and some military knowledge to make out anything of what is going on. Where does your mother live, boy?" "I aint going to tell you," Vincent said doggedly. "Mother said I wasn't to tell no one where I lived, else the Yankee thieves would be a-coming down and stealing the rest of our chickens." The officers laughed. "Well, go along, boy; and I should advise you not to say anything about Yankee thieves another time, for likely enough, you will get a broken head for your pains." Vincent went off grumbling, and with a slow and stumbling step made his way over the brow of the hill and down through the camps behind. Here he sold his last two fowls and his eggs, and then walked briskly on until he reached the cottage from which he had started. "I am glad to see you back," the woman said as he entered. "How have you got on?" "Capitally," he said. "I pretended to be half an idiot, and so got safely out, though I fell into Sheridan's hands. He suspected me at first, but at last he thought I was what I looked--a fool. He wanted to know where you lived, but I wouldn't tell him. I told him you told me not to tell anyone, 'cause, if I did, the Yankee thieves would be clearing out the rest of the chickens." "Did you tell him that, now?" the woman said in delight; "he must have thought you was a fool. Well, it's a good thing the Yanks should hear the truth sometimes. Well, have you done now?" "No, I have only seen one side of their works yet. I must try round the other flank to-morrow. I wish I could get something to sell that wouldn't get bought up by the first people I came to--something I could peddle among the soldiers." "What sort of thing?" "Something in the way of drinks, I should say," Vincent said. "I saw a woman going among the camps. She had two tin cans and a little mug. I think she had lemonade or something of that sort." "It wouldn't be lemonade," the woman said. "I haven't seen a lemon for the last two years; but they do get some oranges from Florida. Maybe it was that, or perhaps it was spirits and water." "Perhaps it was," Vincent agreed; "though I don't think they would let anyone sell spirits in the camp." "I can't get you any lemons or oranges neither," the woman said; "but I might make you a drink out of molasses and herbs, with some spirits in it. I have got a keg of old rye buried away ever since my man went off, six months ago; I am out of molasses, but I dare say I can borrow some from a neighbor, and as for herbs they are about the only thing the Yankees haven't stole. I think I could fix you up something that would do. As long as it has got spirits in it, it don't much matter what you put in besides, only it wouldn't do to take spirits alone. You can call it plantation drink, and I don't suppose anyone will ask too closely what it's made of." "Thank you, that will do capitally." The next morning Vincent again set out, turning his steps this time toward the right flank of the Federal position. He had, in the course of the evening, made a sketch of the ground he had seen, marking in all the principal batteries, with notes as to the number of guns for which they seemed to be intended. "Look here," he said to the woman before leaving; "I may not be as lucky to-day as I was yesterday. If I do not come back to-night, can you find anyone you can trust to take this piece of paper round to Richmond? Of course he would have to make his way first up to Burksville Junction, and then take train to Richmond. When he gets there he must go down to Petersburg and ask for General Lee. I have written a line to go with it, saying what I have done this for, and asking the general to give the bearer a hundred dollars." "I will take it myself," the woman said; "not for the sake of the hundred dollars, though I aint saying as it wouldn't please the old man, when he comes back, to find I had a hundred dollars stored away; but for the cause. My men are all doing their duty, and I will do mine. So you trust me, and if you don't come back by daybreak to-morrow morning, I will start right away with these letters. I will go out at once and hide them somewhere, in case the Yanks should come and make a search. If you are caught they might, like enough, trace you here, and then they would search the place all over and maybe set it alight. If you aint here by nightfall I shall sleep out in the wood, so if they come they won't find me here. If anything detains you, and you aint back till after dark, you will find me somewhere near the tree where your horse is tied up." Provided with a large can full of a liquor that the woman compounded, and which Vincent, on tasting, found to be by no means bad, he started from the cottage. Again he made his way safely through the camps, and without hindrance lounged up to a spot where a large number of men belonging to one of the negro regiments were at work. "Plantation liquor?" he said, again assuming a stupid air, to a black sergeant who was with them. "First-rate stuff, and only fifteen cents a glass." "What plantation liquor like?" the negro asked. "Me not know him." "First-rate stuff!" Vincent repeated. "Mother makes it of spirit and molasses and all sorts. Fifteen cents a glass." "Well, I will take a glass," the sergeant said. "Mighty hot work dis in de sun; but don't you say nuffin about the spirit. Ef dey ask you, just you say molasses and all sorts, dat's quite enough. De white officer won't let spirits be sold in de camp. "Dat berry good stuff," he said, smacking his lips as he handed back the little tin measure. "You sell him all in no time." Several of the negroes now came round, and Vincent disposed of a considerable quantity of his plantation liquor. Then he turned to go away, for he did not want to empty his can at one place. He had not gone many paces when a party of three or four officers came along. "Hallo, you, sir, what the deuce are you doing here?" one asked angrily. "Don't you know nobody is allowed to pass through the lines?" "I didn't see no lines. What sort of lines are they? No one told me nothing about lines. My mother sent me out to sell plantation liquor, fifteen cents a glass." "What's it like?" one of the officers said, laughing. "Spirits, I will bet a dollar, in some shape or other. Pour me out a glass. I will try it anyhow." Vincent filled the little tin mug and handed it to the officer. As he lifted his face to do so there was a sudden exclamation: "Vincent Wingfield!" and another officer, drawing his sword, attacked him furiously, shouting, "A spy! Seize him! A Confederate spy!" Vincent recognized with astonishment, in the Federal officer rushing at him with uplifted sword, his old antagonist, Jackson. Almost instinctively he whirled the can, which was still half full of liquor, round his head and dashed it full in the face of his antagonist, who was knocked off his feet by the blow. With a yell of rage he started up again and rushed at Vincent. The latter snatched up a shovel that was lying close by and stood his ground. The officers were so surprised at the suddenness of the incident and the overthrow of their companion, and for a moment so amused at the latter's appearance, covered as he was from head to foot with the sticky liquor and bleeding from a cut inflicted by the edge of the can, that they were incapable of interference. Blinded with rage, and with the liquid streaming into his eyes, Jackson rushed at Vincent. The latter caught the blow aimed at him on the edge of the shovel, and then swinging his weapon round, smote his antagonist with all his strength, the edge of the shovel falling fairly upon his head. Without a cry the traitor fell dead in his tracks. The other officers now drew their swords and rushed forward. Vincent, seeing the futility of resistance, threw down his shovel. He was instantly seized. "Hallo, there!" the senior officer called to the men, who had stopped in their work and were gazing at the sudden fray that had arisen, "a sergeant and four men!" Four of the negro soldiers and a sergeant at once stepped forward. "Take this man and conduct him to the village. Put him in a room, and stay there with him. Do you, sergeant, station yourself at the door, so that I shall know where to find you. Put on your uniforms and take your guns." The men put on their coats, which they had removed while at work, shouldered their muskets, and took their places, two on each side of the prisoner. The officers then turned to examine their prostrate comrade. "It's all over with him," one said, stooping down; "the shovel has cut his skull nearly in half. Well, I fancy he was a bad lot. I don't believe in Southerners who come over to fight in our ranks; besides, he was at one time in the rebel army." "Yes, he was taken prisoner," another said. "Then his father, who had to bolt from the South, because, he said, of his Northern sympathies, but likely enough for something else, came round, made interest somehow and got his son released, and then someone else got him a commission with us. He always said he had been obliged to fight on the other side, but that he had always been heart and soul for the North; anyhow, he was always blackguarding his old friends. I always doubted the fellow. Well, there's an end of him; and anyhow he has done useful service at last by recognizing this spy. Fine-looking young fellow that! He called him Vincent Wingfield. I seem to remember the name; perhaps I have read it in some of the rebel newspapers we got hold of; likely enough someone will know it. Well, I suppose we had better have Jackson carried into camp." Four more of the negroes were called out, and these carried the body into the camp of his regiment. An officer was also sent from the working party to report the capture of a spy to his colonel. "I will report it to the general," the latter said; "he rode along here about a quarter of an hour ago, and may not be back again for some hours. As we have got the spy fast it cannot make any difference." As he marched back to the village Vincent felt that there was no hope for him whatever. He had been denounced as a spy, and, although the lips that had denounced him had been silenced forever, the mischief had been done. He could give no satisfactory account of himself. He thought for a moment of declaring that a mistake had been made, but he felt that no denial would counterbalance the effect of Jackson's words. The fury, too, with which the latter had attacked him would show plainly enough that his assailant was absolutely certain as to his identity, and even that there had been a personal feud between them. Then he thought that if he said that he was the son of the woman in the hut she would bear him out in the assertion. But it was not likely that this would be accepted as against Jackson's testimony; besides, inquiry among her neighbors would certainly lead to the discovery that she was speaking an untruth, and might even involve her in his fate as his abettor. But most of all he decided against this course because it would involve the telling of a lie. Vincent considered that while in disguise, and doing important service for his country, he was justified in using deceit; but merely for the purpose of saving his own life, and that perhaps uselessly, he would not lie. His fate, of course, was certain. He was a spy, and would be shot. Vincent had so often been in the battlefield, so often under a fire from which it seemed that no one could come alive, that the thought that death was at hand had not for him the terrors that possess those differently circumstanced. He was going to die for the Confederacy as tens of thousands of brave men had died before, and he rejoiced over the precaution he had taken as to the transmission of his discoveries on the previous day, and felt sure that General Lee would do full justice to his memory, and announce that he had died in doing noble service to the country. He sighed as he thought of his mother and sisters; but Rose had been married in the spring, and Annie was engaged to an officer in General Beauregard's staff. Then he thought of Lucy away in Georgia, and for the first time his lips quivered and his cheek paled. The negro guards, who had been enlisted but a few weeks, were wholly ignorant of their duties, and having once conveyed their prisoner into the room, evidently considered that all further necessity for military strictness was at an end. They had been ordered to stay in the room with the prisoner, but no instruction had been given as to their conduct there. They accordingly placed their muskets in one corner of the room, and proceeded to chatter and laugh without further regarding him. Under other circumstances this carelessness would have inspired Vincent with the thought of escape, but he knew that it was out of the question here. There were Federal camps all round, and a shout from the negroes would send a hundred men in instant pursuit of him. There was nothing for him to do but to wait for the end, and that end would assuredly come in the morning. From time to time the door opened, and the negro sergeant looked in. Apparently his ideas on the subject of discipline were no stricter than those of his men, for he made no remark as to their carelessness. Presently, when he looked in, the four soldiers were standing at the window, watching a regiment passing by on its way to take its share of the work in the trenches. Vincent, who was sitting at a table, happened to look up, and was astonished at seeing the sergeant first put his finger on his lips, then take off his cap, put one hand on his heart, and gesticulate with the other. Vincent gazed at him in blank surprise, then he started and almost sprang to his feet, for in the Yankee sergeant he recognized Tony Moore; but the uplifted hand of the negro warned him of the necessity of silence. The negro nodded several times, again put his hand on his heart, and then disappeared. A thrill of hope stirred every vein in Vincent's body. He felt his cheeks flush and had difficulty in maintaining his passive attitude. He was not, then, utterly deserted; he had a friend who would, he was sure, do all in his power to aid him. It was extraordinary indeed that it should be Tony who was now his jailer; and yet, when he thought it over, it was not difficult to understand. It was natural enough that he should have enlisted when the black regiments were raised. He had doubtless heard his name shouted out by Jackson, and had, as Vincent now remembered, stepped forward as a sort of volunteer when the officer called for a sergeant and four men. Yes, Tony would doubtless do all in his power to save him. Whether it would be possible that he could do so was doubtful; but at least there was a hope, and with it the feeling of quiet resignation with which Vincent had faced what appeared to be inevitable at once disappeared, and was succeeded by a restless longing for action. His brain was busy at once in calculating the chances of his being ordered for instant execution or of the sentence being postponed till the following morning, and, in the latter case, with the question of what guard would be probably placed over him, and how Tony would set about the attempt to aid him to escape. Had the general been in camp when he was brought in he would probably have been shot at sunset, but if he did not return until the afternoon he would most likely order the sentence to be carried out at daybreak. In any case, as he was an officer, some time might be granted him to prepare for death. Then there was the question whether he would be handed over to a white regiment for safe-keeping or left in the hands of the black regiment that had captured him. No doubt, after the sentence was passed, the white officers of that regiment would see that a much stricter watch than that now put over him was set. It was not probable that he would still be in charge of Tony, for as the latter would be on duty all day, he would doubtless be relieved. In that case how would he manage to approach him, and what means would he use to direct the attention of the sentries in another direction? He thought over the plans he himself would adopt were he in Tony's place. The first thing would be, of course, to make the sentries drunk if possible. This should not be a difficult task with men whose notions of discipline were so lax as those of the negroes; but it would be no easy matter for Tony to obtain spirits, for these were strictly prohibited in the Federal camp. Perhaps he might help Tony in this way. He fortunately had a small notebook with a pencil in his pocket, and as his guards were still at the window he wrote as follows: "I am captured by the Yankees. So far as I can see, my only chance of escape is to make the sentries drunk. The bearer is absolutely to be trusted. Give him his canteen full of spirits, and tell him what I have written here." He tore this page out, folded it up, and directed it to Mrs. Grossmith, Worley Farm, near Union. Presently Tony looked in again and Vincent held up the note. The sergeant stepped quickly forward and took it, and then said sharply to the men: "Now den, dis not keeping guard. Suppose door open and dis fellow run away. What dey say to you? Two of you keep your eye on dis man. Suppose Captain Pearce come in and find you all staring out window. He kick up nice bobbery." Thus admonished to do their duty, two of the negroes took up their muskets and stood with their backs to the door, with their eyes fixed on the prisoner with such earnestness that Vincent could not suppress a smile. The negroes grinned responsively. "Dis bad affair young sah," one said; "bery bad affair. Ob course we soldiers ob de Union, and got to fight if dey tell us; but no like dis job ob keeping guard like dis." "It can't be helped," Vincent said; "and of course you must do your duty. I am not going to jump up the chimney or fly through the window, and as there are four of you, to say nothing of the sergeant outside, you needn't be afraid of my trying to escape." "No, sah, dat not possible nohow; we know dat bery well. Dat's why we no trouble to look after you. But as de sargeant say watch, of course we must watch. We bery pleased to see you kill dat white officer. Dat officer bery hard man and all de men hate him, and when you knock him down we should like to hab given cheer. We all sorry for you; still you see, sah, we must keep watch. If you were to get away, dar no saying what dey do to us." "That's all right," Vincent said; "I don't blame you at all. As you say, that was a very bad fellow. I had quarreled with him before, because he treated his slaves so badly." CHAPTER XIX. FREE! It was not until late in the afternoon that a white officer entered, and ordered the soldiers to conduct the prisoner to the general's tent. "What is your name, sir, and who are you?" the general asked as he was brought in. "I hear that you were denounced by Lieutenant Jackson as being a spy, and that he addressed you as Vincent Wingfield. What have you got to say to the charge?" "My name is Vincent Wingfield, sir," Vincent replied quietly. "I am upon the staff of General Wade Hampton, and in pursuance of my duty I came here to learn what I could of your movements and intentions." The general was silent for a moment. "Then, sir, as you are an officer, you must be well aware of the consequence of being discovered in disguise here. I regret that there is no course open to me but to order you to be shot as a spy to-morrow morning." One of the officers who were standing by the general here whispered to him. "Ah, yes! I remember," he said. "Are you the same officer, sir, who escaped from Elmira?" "I am, sir," Vincent replied; "and at the same time aided in the escape of the man who denounced me to-day, and who then did his best to have me arrested by sending an anonymous letter stating the disguise in which I was making my way through the country. I was not surprised to find that he had carried his treachery further, and was now fighting against the men whom he had formerly served." "He deserved the fate that has befallen him," the general said. "Still this does not alter your position. I regret that I must order my sentence to be carried out." "I do not blame you, sir. I knew the risks I ran when I accepted the mission. My only regret is that I failed in supplying my general with the information he required." The general then turned to the officer who had brought Vincent up. "This officer will remain in charge of your men for to-night, Captain Pearce. You will see that the sentence is carried into effect at daybreak. I need not tell you that a vigilant guard must be placed over him." Vincent was again marched back to the village, but the officer halted the party when he arrived there. "Stop here a few minutes, sergeant," he said. "That room is required for an officer's quarters. I will look round and find another place." In a few minutes he returned, and Vincent was conducted to a shed standing in the garden of one of the houses. "Place one man on guard at the door and another behind," the officer said to the sergeant. "Let the other two relieve them, and change the watch once an hour." The sergeant saluted. "De men hab been on duty since daylight, sah, and none ob us hab had anyting to eat." "Oh, I forgot that!" the officer replied. "Very well, I will send another party to relieve you at once." In ten minutes another sergeant and four men arrived at the spot, and Tony and his companions returned to the camp. As soon as Tony had devoured a piece of bread he left the camp, walked with careless gait through the camps behind, and went on until he reached a village in which were comparatively few soldiers. He went up to a woman who was standing at a door. "Missus," he said, "I hab got a letter to take, and I aint bery sure as to de name. Will you kindly tell me what is de address writ on this paper?" The woman looked at it. "'Mrs. Grossmith, Worley Farm, near Union.' That's about two miles along the road. If you go on, anyone will tell you which is Mrs. Grossmith's." Tony hurried on, for he wanted to get back to the camp before it was dark. He had no difficulty in finding Worley Farm. "Now then, what do you want?" its owner said sharply, as she opened the door in reply to his knock. "There's nothing for you here. You can look round if you like. It's been all stripped clean days ago, so I tell you." "Me no want anyting, ma'am. Me hab a letter for you." The woman in surprise took the note and opened it. She read it through and looked earnestly at Tony. "He says you are to be trusted," she said. "Is that so?" "I would gib my life for him twenty times over," Tony replied. "He got me away from a brutal master and bought my wife out of slavery for me. What does he say, ma'am? For de Lord sake tell me. Perhaps he tell me how to get him clar." The woman read out the contents of the note. "Dat's it, missus, sure enough; dat's the way," he exclaimed in delight. "Me tink and tink all day, and no manage to tink of anyting except to shoot de sentry and fight wid de oders and get him out; but den all de oder sojers come running down, and no chance to escape. If me can get de spirits dat's easy enough. Me make dem all drunk as hogs." "I can give you that," the woman said. "Is there anything else you will want? What are you going to do with him if you get him free? They will hunt you down like vermin." "I tought we might get down to de river and get ober somehow. Dere will be no getting troo der cavalry. Dey will hab dem on ebery road." "Well, you want some clothes, anyhow; you can't go about in these soldier clothes. The first Yank you came across would shoot you for a deserter, and the first of our men as a traitor. Well, by the time you get back to-night,--that is, if you do come back,--I will get up a chest I've got buried with my men's clothes in them. They didn't want to take them away to the war with them, so I hid them up." She had by this time dug up the keg from its hiding-place, and now filled Tony's canteen. "Tank you, missus; de Lord bress you for what you've done, wheder I get Massa Wingfield off or wheder we bofe get killed ober de job. But I must get back as fast as I can. Ef it was dark before I got back to camp dey would wonder whar I had been." "Oh, you have plenty of time," the woman said; "it won't be dark till eight o'clock, and it's not seven yet. I will set to and boil a big chunk of pork and bake some cakes. It's no use getting out of the hands of the Yanks and then going and getting starved in the swamps." When Tony got back to his regiment he strolled over to the shed where Vincent was confined. Two sentinels were on duty, the sergeant and the two other men were lying at full length on the ground some twenty yards away. Their muskets were beside them, and it was evident to Tony, by the vigilant watch that they kept on the shed, that their responsibility weighed heavily upon them, and that Captain Pearce had impressed upon them that, if the prisoner escaped, they would certainly be shot. "Well, Sergeant John Newson," Tony began, "I hab just walked over to see how you getting on. It am a mighty 'sponsible business dis. I had six hours of him, and it make de perspiration run down my back to tink what a job it would be for me if dat fellow was to run away." "Dat's just what dis chile feel, Sergeant Tony Moore; I am zactly like dat, and dat's what these men feel, too. We am all on guard. De captain say put two on guard at de shed and let de oders relieb dem ebery hour. So dey shall; but dose off duty must watch just de same. When it gets dark we get close up, so as to be ready to jump in directly we hear a stir. Dis fellow no fool us." "Dat's the way Sergeant Newson, dat am de way. Neber close your eye, but keep a sharp look on dem. It's a pity dat you not in camp to-night." "How am dat, how am dat?" the sergeant asked. "To tell you de truf, sergeant, tree or four ob us hab smuggled in some spirits, and you are one of dose who would hab come in for a share of it if you had been dere." "Golly!" the sergeant exclaimed; "but dat is bery unfortunate. Can't you manage to bring me a little here?" "Well, you know, it's difficult to get out ob camp." "Oh, you could get through! Dere is no fear about you being caught." "I don't know," Tony replied with an air of reluctance. "Well, I will see about it. Ef I can crawl troo de sentries, and bring some for you and de oders, I will. It will help keep you awake and keep out de damp." "Dat's right down good ob you," the other said cordially. "You a good man, Tony Moore; and if I can do as much for you anoder time, I do it." Having settled this, Tony went round to the hospital tent in rear of the regiment, having tied up his face with a handkerchief. "Well, what is it, sergeant?" the negro who acted as an orderly, and sometimes helped the surgeon mix his drugs, asked. "De doctor am gone away, and I don't 'spect he come back again to-night." "Dat am bery bad ting," Tony said dolefully. "Can't you do something for me, Sam Smith? I tink you know quite as much about de medicines as de doctor himself." "Not quite so much, sergeant, not quite so much; but I'se no fool, and my old mother she used to make medicine for de plantation and knew a heap about herbs, so it am natural dat I should take to it. What can I gib you?" "Well, Sam, you see, sometimes I'se 'flicted dre'fful wid de faceache--him just go jump, jump, jump, as if he bust right up. Mose times I find de best ting am to put a little laudabun in my mouf, and a little on bit of rag and put him outside. De best ting would be for you to gib me little bottle of him; den when de pain come on I could jes take him, and not be troubling you ebery day. And, Sam, jus you whisper--I got hold of a little good stuff. You gib me tin mug; me share what I hab got with you." The negro grinned with delight, and going into the tent brought out a tin mug. "Dat's all right, Sam; but you hab no brought de bottle of laudabun. You just fetch dat, and I gib you de spirit." The negro went in again, and in two minutes returned with a small bottle of laudanum. "Dat's a fair exchange," Tony said, taking it, and handing to the man his mug half full of spirit. "Dat am someting like," the black said, looking with delight at the liberal allowance. "Me drink him de last ting at night, den me go to sleep and no one 'spect nuffin'. Whereber you get dat spirit?" "Neber you mind, Sam!" Tony said with a grin. "Dar's more where dat comes from, and maybe you will get anoder taste ob it." Then, after leaving the hospital tent, he poured half the spirits away, for he had not now to depend upon the effect of that alone; and it were better not to give it too strong, for that might arouse the suspicion of the guard. Then he uncorked the bottle of laudanum. "I don't know how much to gib," he said to himself. "No good to kill dem. Me don't 'spect dis stuff bery strong. Dose rogues sell all sorts of stuff to de Government. Anyting good enough for de soldier. Dey gib him rotten boots, and rotten cloth, and bad powder, and all sorts of tings. I 'spect dey gib him bad drugs, too. However, me must risk it. Dis bottle not bery big, anyhow--won't hold more dan two or three teaspoon. Must risk him." So saying, he poured the contents of the vial into the canteen, and then, going to a water-cart, filled it up. He waited until the camp was quiet, and then, taking off his boots and fastening in his belt his own bayonet and that of one of the men sleeping near, he quietly and cautiously made his way out of camp. There were no sentries placed here, for there was no fear whatever of an attack, and he had little difficulty in making his way round to the back of the village to the spot where Vincent was confined. He moved so quietly that he was not perceived until he was within a few yards of the shed. "Sergeant Newson, am you dere?" "Bless me! what a start you hab given me, for suah," the sergeant said. "I did not hear you coming." "You didn't s'pose I was coming along shouting and whistling, Sergeant Newson? Don't you talk so loud! Dar am no saying who's about." "Hab you brought de stuff?" "You don't suppose I should hab come all dis way to tell you I hab not got it. How am do prisoner?" "Oh, he's dere all right. My orders was to look in at dat little winder ebery five minutes, and dat when it began to get dark me was to tie him quite tight, and me hab done so. And one ob de sentries goes in every five minutes and feels to see if de ropes are tight. He am dar, sure enough." "Dat's quite right, Sergeant Newson. I knew, when you came to 'lieve me, as de captain knew what he was doing when he choose you for dis job. He just pick out de man he considers de very best in de regiment. Now, here is de spirit; and fuss-rate stuff it am, too." "Golly, but it am strong!" the sergeant said, taking a long gulp at the canteen. "Dat warm de cockles ob de heart in no time. Yes, it am good stuff--just de ting for dis damp air. I hear as a lot of de white soldiers are down wid de fever already, and dere will be lots and lots more ef we stop here long. Here, you two men, take a drink of dis; but mind, you mustn't tell no one 'bout it. Dis a secret affair." The two negroes each took a long drink, and returned the canteen with expressions of approval. "De oder men are on duty," the sergeant said with the air of a man who knew his business; "dey mustn't hab none of it, not until dey comes off. As we are de relief, it am proper and right dat we drink a drop out ob a canteen ef we want it." "Quite so, Sergeant Newson," Tony said in a tone of admiration. "Dat's de way to manage dese tings--duty first and pleasure afterward." "It am nearly time to relieve guard," the other said; "and den dey can hab a drink." In five minutes the two soldiers relieved those on guard, and they, also, took a long drink at the canteen, to which the sergeant also again applied his lips. "Now I must be going," Tony said. "I will leave the canteen with you, sergeant. I have got some more of the stuff over there, and I dare say you will like another drink before morning." Then he stole away, but halted and lay down twenty yards distant. In ten minutes he heard the sergeant say: "I feel as if I could do jus five minutes' sleep. You keep your eyes on de shed, and ef you hear any officer coming his rounds you wake me up." Tony waited another half hour and then crawled up. The sergeant was lying on his back sound asleep; the two men with him were on their faces, with their rifles pointing toward the shed, as if they had dropped off to sleep while they were staring at it. Then he crawled on to the shed. The soldier on sentry at the back had grounded his musket and was leaning against the shed fast asleep, while the one at the door had apparently slid down in a sitting position and was snoring. "I hope I haben't given it to dem too strong," Tony said to himself; "but it can't be helped anyhow." He opened the door and entered the shed. "Are you awake, Marse Wingfield?" "Yes, I am awake, Tony. Thank God you have come! How did you manage it?" "I hab managed it, sah, and dey are all fast asleep," Tony said, as he cut the ropes which bound Vincent. "Now, sah, let's be going, quick. Dar am no saying when dey may come round to look after de guards. Dat's what I hab been worrying about de last quarter ob an hour." Vincent sprang to his feet as the ropes fell from him, and grasped Tony's hand. "Here am a baynet, sah. I hope we shan't want to use dem, but dar am no saying." They made their way cautiously across the fields till they approached another camp. A few sentries were walking up and down in front of it, but they crawled round these and passed through the space between the regiment and that next to it. Several other camps were passed and then, when Vincent knew that they were well in rear of the whole of them, they rose to their feet and started forward at a run. Suddenly Tony touched Vincent, and they both stood still. A distant shout came through the air, followed by another and another. "I 'spect dey hab found out we have gone, sah. Dey go round two or three times in de night to see dat de sentries are awake. Now, sah, come along." They were on the road now, and ran at full speed until they approached Union. They left the track as they neared the village, and as they did so they heard the sound of a horse at full gallop behind them. "That's an orderly taking the news of our escape. Sheridan's cavalry are scattered all over the country, and there are two squadrons at Union Grove. The whole country will be alive at daybreak." Making their way through the fields they soon struck the track leading to Worley Farm, and in a few minutes were at the door. The woman opened it at once. "I have been watching for you," she said, "and I am real glad you have got safe away. Wait a minute and I will strike a light." "You had better not do that," Vincent said. "They have got the alarm at Union Grove already, and if anyone caught sight of a light appearing in your window, it would bring them down here at once. "They can't see the house from Union," the woman said. "Still, perhaps it will be best. Now, sir, I can't do anything for you, because my men's clothes are the same sort of cut as yours; but here's a suit for this man." Thanking her warmly Vincent handed the things to Tony. "Make haste and slip them on, Tony; and make your other things up into a bundle and bring them with you for a bit. We must leave nothing here, for they will search the whole country to-morrow. We will take the horse away, too; not that we want it, but it would never do for it to be found here." "Will you take your letter again?" the woman asked. "No, I will leave it with you. It will be no use now, if I get through, but if you hear to-morrow or next day that I am caught, please carry it as we arranged. What is this?" he asked, as the woman handed him a bundle. "Here are eight or ten pounds of pork," she said, "and some corn cakes. If you are hiding away you will want something, and I reckon, anyhow, you won't be able to make your way to our people for a bit. Now, if you are ready, I will start with you." "You will start with us!" Vincent repeated in surprise. "Certainly I will start with you," the woman said. "How do you think you would be able to find your way a dark night like this? No, sir; I will put you on your way till morning. But, in the first place, which line do you mean to take?" "I do not think there is much chance of getting back the way I came," Vincent said. "By morning Sheridan's cavalry will have got a description of me, and they will be scouring the whole country. The only chance will be to go north and cross the river somewhere near Norfolk." "I think, sah, you better go on wid your horse at once. No use wait for me. I come along on foot, find my own way." "No, Tony, I shall certainly not do that. We will either get off or be taken together. Well, I think the best plan will be to go straight down to the river. How far is it away?" "About fifteen miles," the woman said. "If we get there we can get hold of a boat somehow, and either cross and then make straight for Richmond on foot, or go up the river in the boat and land in the rear of our lines. That we can settle about afterward. The first thing is to get to the river bank. We are not likely to meet with any interruption in that direction. Of course the cavalry are all on the other flank, and it will be supposed that I shall try either to work round that way or to make straight through the lines. They would hardly suspect that I shall take to the river, which is covered with their transports and storeships." "I think that is the best plan," the woman said. "There are scarcely any villages between this and the river. It's only just when you cross the road between Petersburg and Williamsburg that you would be likely to meet a soul, even in the daytime. There is scarce even a farmhouse across this section. I know the country pretty well. Just stop a minute and I will run up to the wood and fetch down the horse. There's a big wood about a mile away, and you can turn him in there." A few minutes later they started, Vincent leading the horse and Tony carrying the bundle of food and his cast-off uniform. The woman led them by farm roads, sometimes turning off to the right or left, but keeping her way with a certainty which showed how well she was acquainted with the country. Several times they could hear the dull sound of bodies of cavalry galloping along the roads; but this died away as they got further into the country. The horse had been turned loose a mile from their starting place. Vincent removed the bridle and saddle, saying: "He will pick up enough to feed on here for some time. When he gets tired of the woods he can work his way out into a clearing." Here Tony hid away his uniform among some thick bushes, and the three walked steadily along until the first tinge of daylight appeared on the sky. Then the woman stopped. "The river is not more than half a mile in front of you," she said; "so I will say good-by." "What will you do?" Vincent asked. "You might be questioned as you get near home." "I am going to put up at the last house we passed," she said; "about three miles back. I know the people there, and they will take me in. I will stop there for a day or two, maybe, then walk back, so I shall have a true story to tell. That's all right." Vincent said good-by to her, with many hearty thanks for the services she had rendered him, and had almost to force her to take notes for two hundred dollars from the bundle he had sewn up in the lining of his coat. "You have saved my life," he said, "and some day I hope to be able to do more to show my gratitude; but you must take this, anyhow, to tide you over the hard time, and find food for your husband and sons when they come back from the war." As soon as the woman had turned back Vincent and Tony continued on their way. The former had, as soon as they were fairly out from the Federal camp, told Tony in a few words that his wife was safe at home and their boy flourishing, and he now gave him further details of them. "And how came you to enter the army, Tony?" "Well, sah, dare wasn't much choice about it. De Northern people, dey talk mighty high about der love for de negro, but I don't see much of it in der ways. Why, sah, dey is twice as scornful ob a black man as de gentlemen in de Souf. I list in de army, sah, because dey say dey go to Richmond, and den I find Dinah and de boy." "Well, Tony, I little thought when I did you a service that it would be the means of you being able to save my life some day." "Not much in dat, sah. You sabe my life, because dey would, for suah, hab caught me and killed me. Den you save my wife for me, den you pay out dat Jackson, and now you hab killed him. I could hab shouted for joy, sah, when I saw you hit him ober de head wid de shovel, and I saw dat dis time he gib no more trouble to no one. I should hab done for him bery soon, sah. I had my eye upon him, and the fust time we got into battle he got a ball in his back. Lucky he didn't see me. He not officer ob my company, and me look quite different in de uniform to what me was when I worked on de plantation; but I knew him, and wheneber I see him pass I hang down my head and I say to myself, 'My time come soon, Massa Jackson; my time come bery soon, and den we get quits.'" "It is wrong to nourish revenge, Tony; but I really can't blame you very much as to that fellow. Still, I should have blamed you if you had killed him--blamed you very much. He was a bad man, and he treated you brutally, but, you see, he has been already punished a good deal." "Yes, you knock him down, sah. Dat bery good, but not enough for Tony." "But that wasn't all, Tony. You see, the affair set all my friends against him, and his position became a very unpleasant one. Then, you see, if it hadn't been for you he would probably have got through to our lines again after he had escaped with me. Then, you see, his father, out of revenge, stole Dinah away." "Stole Dinah!" Tony exclaimed, stopping in his walk. "Why, sah, you hab been telling me dat she is safe and well wid Mrs. Wingfield." "So she is, Tony. But he stole her for all that, and had her carried down into Carolina; but I managed to bring her back. It's a long story, but I will tell you about it presently. Then the knowledge that I had found Dinah, and the fear of punishment for his share of taking her away, caused old Jackson to fly from the country, getting less than a quarter of the sum his estate would have fetched two or three years ago. That was what made him and his son turn Unionists. So, you see, Jackson was heavily punished for his conduct to you, and it did not need for you to revenge yourself." "So he was, sah, so he was," Tony said thoughtfully. "Yes, it does seem as if all dese tings came on kinder one after de oder, just out ob dat flogging he gabe me: and now he has got killed for just de same cause, for if he hadn't been obliged to turn Unionist he wouldn't have been in dat dar battery at de time you came dere. Yes, I sees dat is so, sah; and I'se glad now I didn't hab a chance ob shooting him down, for I should have done so for suah, ef I had." They had now reached the river. The sun was just showing above the horizon, and the broad sheet of water was already astir. Steamers were making their way up from the mouth of the river, laden with stores for the army. Little tugs were hurrying to and fro. Vessels that had discharged their cargo were dropping down with the tide, while many sailing vessels lay at anchor, waiting for the turn of tide to make their way higher up. Norfolk was, however, the base from which the Federal army drew the larger portion of its stores; as there were great conveniences for landing here, and a railway thence ran up to the rear of their lines. But temporary wharves and stages had been erected at the point of the river nearest to their camps in front of Petersburg, and here the cattle and much of the stores required for the army were landed. At the point at which Vincent and Tony had struck the river the banks were somewhat low. Here and there were snug farms, with the ground cultivated down to the river. The whole country was open and free from trees, except where small patches had been left. It was in front of one of these that Vincent and Tony were now standing. "I do not think there is any risk of pursuit now, Tony. This is not the line on which they will be hunting us. The question is--how are we to get across?" "It's too far to swim, sah." "I should think it was," Vincent said with a laugh. "It's three or four miles, I should say, if it's a foot. The first question is--where are we to get a boat? I should think that some of these farmhouses are sure to have boats, but the chances are they have been seized by the Yankees long ago. Still they may have some laid up. The Yanks would not have made much search for these, though they would no doubt take all the larger boats for the use of the troops or for getting stores ashore. Anyhow, I will go to the next farmhouse and ask." "Shall I go, sah?" "No, Tony, they would probably take you for a runaway. No, I will go. There can be no danger. The men are all away, and the women are sure to be loyal. I fancy the few who were the other way before will have changed their minds since the Yanks landed." They followed the bank of the river for a quarter of a mile, and then Vincent walked on to a small farmhouse standing on the slope fifty yards from the water. Two or three children, who were playing outside, at once ran in upon seeing a stranger, and a moment later two women came out. They were somewhat reassured when they saw Vincent approaching alone. "What is it, stranger?" one of them asked. "Do you want a meal? We have got little enough to offer you, but what there is you are welcome to. The Yanks have driven off our cows and pigs and the two horses, and have emptied the barns, and pulled up all the garden stuff, and stole the fowls, and carried off the bacon from the beams, so we have got but an empty larder. But, as far as bread and molasses go, you are welcome." "Thank you," Vincent said; "I am not in want of food. What I am in want of is a boat." "Boat!" the woman repeated in surprise. "Yes, I want to get across to the other side, or else to get up the river and land between Petersburg and Bermuda." "Sakes alive!" the woman exclaimed; "what do you want to do that for?" "I will tell you," Vincent replied. "I know I can trust my life to any woman in the Confederacy. I am one of General Wade Hampton's officers, and I have come through their lines to find out what they are doing. I have been caught once, but managed to slip through their hands, but there is no possibility of making my way back across the country, for the Yankee cavalry are patrolling every road, and the only chance I have is of getting away by boat." "Step right in, sir," the woman said. "It's a real pleasure to us to have one of our officers under our roof." "I have a friend with me," Vincent said; "a faithful negro, who has helped me to escape, and who would be hung like a dog if they could lay hands on him." "Bring him in, sir," the woman said hospitably. "I had four or five niggers till the Yanks came, but they all ran away 'cause they knew they would either be set to work or made to fight; so they went. They said they would come back again when the trouble is over; maybe they will and maybe they won't. At first the niggers about here used to look for the Yanks coming, but as the news got about of what happened to those they took from their masters, they concluded they were better off where they were. Call your boy in, sir; call him in!" Vincent gave a shout, and Tony at once came up. "Thank you, we don't want anything to eat," Vincent went on, as the woman began to put some plates on the table. "We have just had a hearty meal, and have got enough food for three or four days in that bundle. But we want a boat, or, if we can't find that, some sailors' clothes. If I had them I would keep along the river down to Norfolk. The place will be full of sailors. We should not be likely to be noticed there." "I can't help you in that," the woman said; "but there are certainly some boats laid up along the shore. Now, Maria, who has got boats that haven't been taken?" "I expect the Johnsons have got one," the other woman replied. "They had a small boat the boys and girls used to go out fishing in. I don't think the Yanks have got that. I expect they hid it away somewhere; but I don't know as they would let you have it. She is a close-fisted woman is Sarah Johnson." "I could pay her for its value," Vincent said. "Oh, well, if you could pay her she would let you have it. I don't say she wouldn't, anyhow, seeing as you are an officer and the Yanks are after you. Still, she is close is Sarah Johnson, and I don't know as she is so set on the Confederacy as most people. I tell you what I will do, sir. I will go down and say as a stranger wants to buy her boat, and no questions asked. She is just to show where the boat is hidden, and you are to pay for it and take it away when you want it." "That would be a very good plan," Vincent said, "if you wouldn't mind the trouble." "The trouble is nothing," she said. "Johnson's place aint above a mile along the shore." "I will go with you until you get close to the house," Vincent said; "then, when you hear what she wants for the boat, I will give you the money for it, and you can show me where it is hidden." This was accordingly done. Mrs. Johnson, after a considerable amount of bargaining with Vincent's guide, agreed to take twenty dollars for the boat, and, upon receiving the money, sent one of her boys with her to show her where it was hidden. It was in a hole that had been scooped out in the steep bank some ten feet above the water's edge, and was completely hidden from the sight of anyone rowing past by a small clump of bushes. When the boy had returned to the farmhouse the woman took Vincent to the spot, and they then went back together. Here he and Tony had a long talk as to whether it would be better to put out at once or to wait till nightfall. It was finally determined that it was best to make an immediate start. A boat rowed by two men would attract little attention. It might belong to any of the ships at anchor in the river, and might be supposed to have gone on shore to fetch eggs or chickens, or with a letter or a message. "You see, both shores are in the hands of the Yankees," Vincent said, "and there will not be any suspicion of a boat in the daytime. At night we might be hailed, and, if we gave no answer, fired upon, and that might bring a gunboat along to see what was the matter. No, I think it will be far best to go on boldly. There are not likely to be any bodies of Federal troops on the opposite shore except at Fortress Monroe, and perhaps opposite the point where they have got their landing below Petersburg. Once ashore we shall be safe. The peninsula opposite is covered with forest and swamp, and we shall have no difficulty in getting through, however many troops they may have across it. You know the place pretty well, don't you, Tony?" Tony nodded. "Once across, sah, all de Yank army wouldn't catch us. Me know ob lots ob hiding places." "Them broad hats will never do," the woman said; "but I have got some blue nightcaps I knitted for my husband. They are something like the caps I have seen some sailors wear; anyhow, they will pass at a distance, and when you take your coats and vests off, them colored flannel shirts will be just the right thing." "That will do capitally, and the sooner we are off the better," Vincent said, and after heartily thanking the two women, and bestowing a present upon each of the children, they started along the shore. The boat was soon got into the water, the oars put out, and they started. The tide was just low now, and they agreed to pull along at a short distance from the shore until it turned. As soon as it did so the vessels at anchor would be getting up sail to make up to the landing place, and even had anyone on board noticed the boat put out, and had been watching it, they would have other things to think about. "It is some time since we last rowed in a boat together, Tony." "About three years, sah; dat time when you get me safe away. I had a bad fright dat day you left me, sah. It came on to blow bery hard, and some ob de men told me dat dey did not tink you would ever get back to shore. Dat made me awful bad, sah; and me wish ober and ober again dat me hab died in de forest instead of your taking me off in a boat and trowing away your life. I neber felt happy again, sah, till I got your letter up in Canady, and knew you had got back safe dat day." "We had a narrow squeak of it, Tony, and were blown some distance up. We were nearly swamped a score of times, and Dan quite made up his mind that it was all up with us. However, we got through safe, and I don't think a soul except perhaps Jackson and that rascally overseer of ours, who afterward had a hand in carrying off your wife, and lost his life in consequence, ever had a suspicion we had been doing more than a long fishing expedition. I will tell you all about it when we are going through the woods. Now I think it's pretty nearly dead water, and we will begin to edge across." CHAPTER XX. THE END OF THE STRUGGLE. Vincent directed his course so that, while the boat's head was still pointing up the stream, and she was apparently moving in the same direction as the ships, she was gradually getting out to the middle of the river. Had he tried to row straight across, suspicion might at once have been excited. In half an hour they were in the middle of the stream. A vessel passing under full sail swept along at a distance of a hundred yards, and they were hailed. Vincent merely waved his hand and continued his course. "I dare say those fellows wonder what we are up to, Tony; but they are not likely to stop to inquire. In another quarter of an hour we shall be pretty safe. Ah! there's a fellow who might interfere with us," he added, looking round. "Do you see that little black thing two miles ahead of us? That's a steam launch. If she sees us making over, she's likely enough to come and ask us some questions. We had better head a little more toward the shore now. If it comes to a race, every foot is of importance." Up to now they had been rowing in an easy and leisurely manner, avoiding all appearance of haste. They now bent to their oars, and the boat began to travel a good deal faster through the water. Vincent glanced over his shoulder frequently at the steam launch. "She is keeping straight on in the middle of the channel, Tony; evidently she hasn't noticed us yet." Ten minutes after passing the ship he exclaimed sharply: "Row, Tony, as hard as you can! The launch has just passed that ship, and has changed her course. I expect the captain has called their attention to us. It's a race now." The boat, at the moment the launch changed her course, was rather more than halfway between the center of the channel and the shore. The launch was in the center of the channel, and three-quarters of a mile higher up. She had evidently put on steam as she started to cut off the boat, for there was now a white wave at her bow. "I think we shall do it, Tony," Vincent said. "I don't suppose she can go above eight miles an hour, and we are certainly going four, and she has more than twice as far to travel as we have." Those on board the launch were evidently conscious that they were likely to lose the race, for in a few minutes they began to open fire with their rifles. "Fire away!" Vincent said. "You aint likely to hit us a thousand yards off, and we haven't another three hundred to row." The bullets whistled overhead, but none of them struck the water within many yards of the boat, and the launch was still four or five hundred yards away when the bow of the boat touched the shore. Several muskets were discharged, and Vincent and Tony leaped out and plunged into the bushes that came down to the water's edge. The launch sent up a sharp series of whistles, and random shots were for some time fired into the bushes. "It is lucky she didn't carry a small gun in her bows," Vincent said, "for though seven or eight hundred yards is a long range for a rifle, they might likely enough have hit us if they had had a gun. Now, Tony, we shall have to be careful, for those whistles are no doubt meant as an alarm; and although she cannot tell who we are, she will probably steam up, and if they have any forces opposite Bermuda will give them news that two suspicious characters have landed, and they will have parties out to look for us." "Dey can look as long as dey like, sah. Ef dose slave-hunters can't find people in de swamps what chance you tink dose soldiers have? None at all! Dey haven't got no reward before dere eyes, and dey won't want to be going in ober dere shoes into the mud and dirting dere uniforms. No fear ob dem, sah. Dey make as much noise when dey march in de wood as a drove ob pigs. You can hear dem a quarter ob a mile away." They tramped on through the woods through which McClellan's force had so painfully made their way during their first advance against Richmond. From time to time they could hear noises in the forest--shouts, and once or twice the discharge of firearms. "Dey call dat hunting, I s'pose," Tony said scornfully. They kept steadily on until it began to grow dark in the forest. They were now in the White Oak Swamp and not eight miles from Richmond, and they thought it better to pause until it became quite dark, for they might be picked up by any raiding party of cavalry. Vincent was in high spirits. Now that he had succeeded in his enterprise, and had escaped almost by a miracle, he was eager to get back to Richmond and carry his news down to General Lee. Tony was even more anxious to push on. At last, after three years' absence, he was to see his wife and child again, and he reluctantly agreed to Vincent's proposal for a halt. "We shan't stop very long, Tony; and I own I am waiting quite as much because I am hungry and want to eat, and because I am desperately tired, as from any fear of the enemy. We walked twenty miles last night from Union Grove to the river; then I walked to the boat, back to the farm, and then back to the boat again--that's three more miles--and we have gone another twenty now. I am pretty nearly dead beat, I can tell you." "I'se tired, too, sah; but I feel I could go on walking all night if I was to see Dinah in de morning." "Well, I couldn't, Tony; not to see anyone. I might be willing enough, but my legs wouldn't take me." They ate a hearty meal, and almost as soon as they had finished Vincent stood up again. "Well, Tony, I can feel for your impatience, and so we'll struggle on. I have just been thinking that when I last left my mother, a week since, she said she was thinking of going out to the Orangery for a month before the leaves fell, so it is probable that she may be there now. It is only about the same distance as it is to Richmond, so we will go straight there. I shall lose a little time, of course; but I can be driven over to Richmond, so it won't be too much. Besides, I can put on a pair of slippers. That will be a comfort, for my feet feel as if they were in vises. A cup of tea won't be a bad thing, too." During their walk through the wood Vincent related the circumstances of the carrying away of Dinah, and of her rescue. When he had finished Tony said: "Well, Massa Wingfield, I don't know what to say to you. I tought I owed you enuff before, but it war nothing to dis. Just to tink dat you should take all dat pains to fetch Dinah back for me! I dunno how it came to you to do it. It seems to me like as if you been sent special from heaben to do dis poor nigger good. Words aint no good, sah; but if I could give my life away a hundred times for you I would do it." It took them nearly three hours' walking before they came in sight of the Orangery. "There are lights in the windows," Vincent said. "Thank goodness, they are there!" Vincent limped slowly along until he reached the house. "You stay out here, Tony. I will send Dinah out to you directly. It will be better for her to meet you here alone." Vincent walked straight into the drawing room, where his mother and Annie were sitting. "Why, Vincent!" Mrs. Wingfield exclaimed, starting up, "what has happened to you? What are you dressed up like that for? Is anything the matter?" "Nothing is the matter, mother, except that I am as tired as a dog. Yes, my dress is not quite fit for a drawing room," he laughed, looking down at the rough trousers, splashed with mud to the waist, and his flannel shirt, for they had not waited to pick up their coats as they left the boat; "but nothing is the matter, I can assure you. I will tell all about it directly, but first please send for Dinah here." Mrs. Wingfield rang the bell on the table beside her. "Tell Dinah I want to speak to her at once," she said to the girl that answered it. Dinah appeared in a minute. "Dinah," Vincent said, "has your boy gone to bed?" "Yes, sah; been gone an hour ago." "Well, just go to him, and put a shawl round him, and go out through the front door. There is someone standing there you will be glad to see." Dinah stood with open eyes, then her hands began to tremble. "Is it Tony, sah; for de Lord's sake, is it Tony?" Vincent nodded, and, with a little scream of joy, she turned and ran straight to the front door. She could not wait now even to fetch her boy, and in another moment she was clasped in her husband's arms. "Now, Vincent, tell us all about it," his mother said. "Don't you see we are dying of curiosity?" "And I am dying of fatigue," Vincent said; "which is a much more painful sort of death, and I can think of nothing else until I have got these boots off. Annie, do run and tell them to bring me a pair of slippers and a cup of tea, and I shall want the buggy at the door in half an hour." "You are not going away again to-night, Vincent, surely?" his mother said anxiously. "You do look completely exhausted." "I am exhausted, mother. I have walked seven or eight and forty miles, and this cavalry work spoils one for walking altogether." "Walked forty-eight miles, Vincent! What on earth have you done that for?" "Not from choice, I can assure you, mother; but you know the old saying, 'Needs must when the devil drives,' and in the present case you must read 'Yankee' instead of 'the gentleman in black.'" "But has Petersburg fallen?" Mrs. Wingfield asked in alarm. "No; Petersburgh is safe, and is likely to continue so. But you must really be patient, mother, until I have had some tea, then you can hear the story in full." When the servant came in with the tea, Vincent told her that she was to tell Dinah, whom she would find in the veranda, to bring her husband into the kitchen, and to give him everything he wanted. Then, as soon as he had finished tea, he told his mother and sister the adventures he had gone through. Both were crying when he had finished. "I am proud of you, Vincent," his mother said. "It is hard on us that you should run such risks; still I do not blame you, my boy, for, if I had ten sons, I would give them all for my country." Vincent had just finished his story when the servant came in and said that the buggy was at the door. "I will go in my slippers, mother, but I will run up and change my other things. It's lucky I have got a spare suit here. Any of our fellows who happened to be going down to-night in the train would think that I was mad, were I to go like this." It was one o'clock in the morning when Vincent reached Petersburg. He went straight to his quarters, as it would be no use waking General Lee at that hour. A light was burning in his room, and Dan was asleep at the table with his head on his arms. He leaped up with a cry of joy as his master entered. "Well, Dan, here I am safe again," Vincent said cheerily. "I hope you had not begun to give me up." "I began to be terribly frightened, sir--terribly frightened. I went dis afternoon and asked Captain Burley if he had any news ob you. He said 'No'; and asked me ef I knew where you were. I said 'No, sah;' that I knew nuffin about it except that you had gone on some dangerous job. He said as dey had heard nuffin had happened to you. Still I was bery anxious, and tought I would sit up till de last train came in from Richmond. Den I tink I dropped off to sleep." "I think you did, Dan. Well, I am too tired to tell you anything about it now, but I have one piece of news for you: Tony has come back to his wife." "Dat's good news, sah; bery good news. I had begun to be afraid dat Tony had been shot or hung or someting. I know Dinah hab been fretting about him, though she neber said much, but when I am at home she allus asks me all sorts of questions 'bout him. She bery glad woman now." The next morning Vincent went to General Lee's quarters. "I am heartily glad to see you back," the general said warmly as he entered. "I have blamed myself for letting you go. Well, what success have you had?" "Here is a rough plan of the works, general. I have not had time to do it out fairly, but it shows the positions of all their principal batteries, with a rough estimate as to the number of guns that each is intended to carry." "Excellent!" the general said, glancing over the plan. "This will give us exactly the information we want. We must set to with our counter-works at once. The country is indeed indebted to you, sir. So you managed to cheat the Yankees altogether?" "I should have cheated them, sir; but, unfortunately, I came across an old acquaintance who denounced me, and I had a narrow escape of being shot." "Well, Captain Wingfield, I must see about this business and give orders at once. Will you come and breakfast with me at half-past eight? Then you can give me an account of your adventures." Vincent returned to his quarters, and spent the next two hours in making a detailed drawing of the enemy's positions and batteries, and then, at half-past eight, walked over to General Lee's quarters. The general returned in a few minutes with General Wade Hampton and several other officers, and they at once sat down to breakfast. As the meal was proceeding an orderly entered with a telegram for the general. General Lee glanced through it. "This, gentlemen, is from the minister of war. I acquainted him by telegraph this morning that Captain Wingfield, who had volunteered for the dangerous service, had just returned from the Federal lines with a plan of the positions and strength of all the works that they are erecting. I said that I trusted that such distinguished service as he had rendered would be at once rewarded with promotion, and the minister telegraphs to me now that he has this morning signed this young officer's commission as major. I heartily congratulate you, sir, on your well-earned step. And now, as I see you have finished your breakfast, perhaps you will give us an account of your proceedings." Vincent gave a detailed account of his adventures, which were heard with surprise and interest. "That was a narrow escape indeed," the general said, as he finished. "It was a marvelous thing your lighting upon this negro, whom you say you had once had an opportunity of serving, just at that moment; and although you do not tell us what was the nature of the service you had rendered him, it must have been a very considerable service or he would never have risked his life in that way to save yours. When these negroes do feel attachment for their masters, there are no more faithful and devoted fellows. Well, in your case certainly a good action has met with its reward; if it had not been for him there could be no question that your doom was sealed. It is a strange thing, too, your meeting that traitor. I remember reading about that escape of yours from the Yankee prison. He must have been an ungrateful villain, after your taking him with you." "He was a bad fellow altogether, I am afraid," Vincent said; "and the quarrel between us was a long-standing one." "Whatever your quarrel was," the general said hotly, "a man who would betray even an enemy to death in that way is a villain. However, he has gone to his account, and the country can forgive his treachery to her, as I have no doubt you have already done his conduct toward yourself." A short time afterward Vincent had leave for a week, as things were quiet at Petersburg. "Mother," he said, on the morning after he got home, "I fear that there is no doubt whatever now how this struggle will end. I think we might keep Grant at bay here, but Sherman is too strong for us down in Georgia. We are already cut off from most of the Southern States, and in time Sherman will sweep round here, and then it will be all over. You see it yourself, don't you, mother?" "Yes, I am afraid it cannot continue much longer, Vincent. Well, of course, we shall fight to the end." "I am not talking of giving up, mother; I am looking forward to the future. The first step will be that all the slaves will be freed. Now, it seems to me that, however attached they may be to their masters and mistresses, they will lose their heads over this, flock into the towns, and nearly starve there; or else take up little patches of land, cultivate them, and live from hand to mouth, which will be ruin to the present owners as well as to them. Anyhow, for a time all will be confusion and disorder. Now, my idea is this: If you give all your slaves their freedom at once, offer them patches of land for their own cultivation, and employ them for wages, you will find that a great many of them will stop with you." There is nowhere for them to go at present and nothing to excite them, so, before the general crash comes, they will have settled down quietly to work here in their new positions, and will not be likely to go away. "It is a serious step to take, Vincent," Mrs. Wingfield said, after thinking the matter over in silence for some time. "You do not think there is any probability of the ultimate success of our cause?" "None, mother; I do not think there is even a possibility. One by one the Southern States have been wrested from the Confederacy. Sherman's march will completely isolate us. We have put our last available man in the field, and tremendous as are the losses of the enemy they are able to fill up the gaps as fast as they are made. No, mother, do not let us deceive ourselves on that head. The end must come, and that before long. The slaves will unquestionably be freed, and the only question for us is how to soften the blow. There is no doubt that our slaves, both at the Orangery and at the other plantations, are contented and happy; but you know how fickle and easily led the negroes are, and in the excitement of finding themselves free and able to go where they please, you may be sure that the greater number will wander away. My proposal is that we should at once mark out a plot of land for each family, and tell them that as long as they stay here it is theirs, rent free; they will be paid for their work upon the estates, three, four, or five days a week, as they can spare time from their own plots. In this way they will be settled down, and have crops upon their plots of land, before the whole black population is upset by the sudden abolition of slavery." "But suppose they won't work at all, even for wages, Vincent?" "I should not give them the option, mother; it will be a condition of their having their plots of land free that they shall work at least three days a week for wages." "I will think over what you say, Vincent, and tell you my decision in the morning. I certainly think your plan is a good one." The next morning Mrs. Wingfield told Vincent that she had decided to adopt his plan. He at once held a long consultation with the overseer, and decided which fields should be set aside for the allotments, choosing land close to the negroes' quarters and suitable for the raising of vegetables for sale in the town. In the afternoon Mrs. Wingfield went down with him. The bell was rung and the whole of the slaves assembled. Vincent then made them a speech. He began by reminding them of the kind treatment they had always received, and of the good feeling that had existed between the owners of the Orangery and their slaves. He praised them for their good conduct since the beginning of the troubles, and said that his mother and himself had agreed that they would now take steps to reward them, and to strengthen the tie between them. They would all be granted their freedom at once, and a large plot of land would be given to each man, as much as he and his family could cultivate with an average of two days a week steady labor. Those who liked would, of course, be at liberty to leave; but he hoped that none of them would avail themselves of this freedom, for nowhere would they do so well as by accepting the offer he made them. All who accepted the offer of a plot of land, rent free, must understand that it was granted them upon the condition that they would labor upon the estate for at least three days a week, receiving a rate of pay similar to that earned by other freed negroes. Of course they would be at liberty to work four or five days a week if they chose; but at least they must work three days, and anyone failing to do this would forfeit his plot of land. "Three days' work," he said, "will be sufficient to provide all necessaries for yourselves and families, and the produce of your land you can sell, and will so be able to lay by an ample sum to keep yourselves in old age. I have already plotted out the land, and you shall cast lots for choice of the plots. There will be a little delay before all your papers of freedom can be made out, but the arrangement will begin from to-day, and henceforth you will be paid for all labor done on the estate." Scarcely a word was spoken when Vincent concluded. The news was too surprising to the negroes for them to be able to understand it all at once. Dan and Tony, to whom Vincent had already explained the matter, went among them, and they gradually took in the whole of Vincent's meaning. A few received the news with great joy, but many others were depressed rather than rejoiced at the responsibilities of their new positions. Hitherto they had been clothed and fed, the doctor attended them in sickness, their master would care for them in old age. They had been literally without a care for the morrow, and the thought that, in the future, they would have to think of all these things for themselves almost frightened them. Several of the older men went up to Mrs. Wingfield and positively declined to accept their freedom. They were quite contented and happy, and wanted nothing more. They had worked on the plantation since they had been children, and freedom offered them no temptations whatever. "What had we better do, Vincent?" Mrs. Wingfield asked. "I think, mother, it will be best to tell them that all who wish can remain upon the old footing, but that their papers will be made out, and if, at any time, they wish to have their freedom they will only have to say so. No doubt they will soon become accustomed to the idea, and, seeing how comfortable the others are with their pay and the produce of their gardens, they would soon fall in with the rest. Of course it will decrease the income from the estate, but not so much as you would think. They will be paid for their labor, but we shall have neither to feed nor clothe them; and I think we shall get better labor than we do now, for the knowledge that those who do not work steadily will lose their plots of land and have to go out in the world to work, their places being filled by others, will keep them steady." "It's an experiment, Vincent, and we shall see how it works." "It's an experiment I have often thought I should like to make, mother, and now, you see, it is almost forced upon us. To-morrow I will ride over to the other plantations and make the same arrangements." During the month of August many battles took place round Petersburg. On the 12th the Federals attacked, but were repulsed with heavy loss, and 2500 prisoners were taken. On the 21st the Confederates attacked, and obtained a certain amount of success, killing, wounding, and capturing 2400 men. Petersburg was shelled day and night, and almost continuous fighting went on. Nevertheless, up to the middle of October the positions of the armies remained unaltered. On the 27th of that month the Federals made another general attack, but were repulsed with a loss of 1500 men. During the next three months there was little fighting, the Confederates having now so strengthened their lines by incessant toil that even General Grant, reckless of the lives of his troops as he was, hesitated to renew the assault. But in the South General Sherman was carrying all before him. Generals Hood and Johnston, who commanded the Confederate armies there, had fought several desperate battles, but the forces opposed to them were too strong to be driven back. They had marched through Georgia to Atlanta and captured that important town on the 1st of September, and obtained command of the network of railways, and thus cut off a large portion of the Confederacy from Richmond. Then Sherman marched south, wasting the country through which he marched, and capturing Savannah on the 21st of September. While he was so doing, General Hood had marched into Tennessee, and after various petty successes, was defeated, after two days' hard fighting, near Nashville. In the third week in January, 1865, Sherman set out with 60,000 infantry and 10,000 cavalry from Savannah, laying waste the whole country--burning, pillaging, and destroying. The town of Columbia was occupied, sacked, and burned, the white men and women and even the negroes being horribly ill-treated. The Confederates evacuated Charleston at the approach of the enemy, setting it in flames rather than allow it to fall into Sherman's hands. The Federal army then continued its devastating route through South Carolina, and at the end of March had established itself at Goldsboro, in North Carolina, and was in readiness to aid Grant in his final attack on Richmond. Lee, seeing the imminence of the danger, made an attack upon the enemy in front of Petersburg, but was repulsed. He had now but 37,000 men with which to oppose an enemy of nearly four times that strength in front of him, while Sheridan's cavalry, 10,000 strong, threatened his flank, and Sherman with his army was but a few days' march distant. There was fierce fighting on the 29th, 30th, and 31st of March, and on the 2d of April the whole Federal army assaulted the positions at Petersburg, and after desperate fighting succeeded in carrying them. The Confederate troops, outnumbered and exhausted as they were by the previous week's marching and fighting, yet retained their discipline, and Lee drew off with 20,000 men and marched to endeavor to effect a junction with Johnston, who was still facing Sherman. But his men had but one day's provisions with them. The stores that he had ordered to await them at the point to which he directed his march had not arrived there when they reached it, and, harassed at every foot of their march by Sheridan's cavalry and Ord's infantry, the force fought its way on. The horses and mules were so weak from want of food that they were unable to drag the guns, and the men dropped in numbers from fatigue and famine. Sheridan and Ord cut off two corps, but General Lee, with but 8000 infantry and 2000 cavalry, still pressed forward toward Lynchburg. But Sheridan threw himself in the way, and, finding that no more could be done, General Lee and the infantry surrendered and a few days later Generals Lee and Grant met and signed terms of peace. General Johnston's army surrendered to General Sherman, and the long and desperate struggle was at an end. It was a dreadful day in Richmond when the news came that the lines of Petersburg were forced, and that General Lee no longer stood between the city and the invaders. The President and ministers left at once, and were followed by all the better class of inhabitants who could find means of conveyance. The negroes and some of the lower classes at once set to work to pillage and burn, and the whole city would have been destroyed had not a Federal force arrived and at once suppressed the rioting. Whatever had been the conduct of the Federal troops during the last year of the war, however great suffering they had inflicted upon the unarmed and innocent population of the country through which they marched, the terms of peace that General Grant agreed upon, and which were, although with some reluctance, ratified by the government, were in the highest degree liberal and generous. No one was to be injured or molested for the share he had taken in the war. A general amnesty was granted to all, and the States were simply to return to the position in the Union that they occupied previous to the commencement of the struggle. More liberal terms were never granted by a conqueror to the vanquished. Vincent was with the cavalry who escaped prior to Lee's surrender, but as soon as the terms of peace were ratified the force was disbanded and he returned home. He was received with the deepest joy by his mother and sister. "Thank God, my dear boy, that all is over, and you have been preserved to us. We are beaten, but no one can say that we are disgraced. Had every State done its duty as Virginia has we should never have been overpowered. It has been a terrible four years, and there are few families indeed that have no losses to mourn." "It was well you were not in Richmond, mother, the day of the riots." "Yes; but we had our trouble here, too, Vincent. A number of the slaves from the plantations came along this way, and wanted our hands to join them to burn down their quarters and the house, and to march to Richmond. Tony and Dan, hearing of their approach, armed themselves with your double-barreled guns, went down and called out the hands, and armed them with hoes and other implements. When the negroes came up there was a desperate quarrel, but our hands stood firm, and Tony and Dan declared that they would shoot the first four men that advanced, and at last they drew off and made their way to Richmond. "Your plan has succeeded admirably. One or two of the hands went to Richmond next day, but returned a day or two afterward and begged so hard to be taken on again that I forgave them. Since then everything has been going on as quietly and regularly as usual, while there is scarcely a man left on any of the estates near." "And now, mother, that I find things are quiet and settled here, I shall go down to Georgia and fetch Lucy home. I shall be of age in a few months, and the house on the estate that comes to me then can be enlarged, and will do very well." "Not at all, Vincent. Annie will be married next month. Herbert Rowsell was here two days ago, and it's all settled. So I shall be alone here. It will be very lonely and dull for me, Vincent, and I would rather give up the reins of government to Lucy and live here with you, if you like the plan." "Certainly, I should like it, mother; and so, I am sure, would Lucy." "Well, at any rate, Vincent, we will try the experiment, and if it does not work well I will take possession of the other house." "There is no fear of that, mother--none whatever." "And when are you thinking of getting married, Vincent?" "At once, mother. I wrote to Lucy the day we were disbanded, saying that I should come in a week, and would allow another week and no longer for her to get ready." "Then, in that case, Vincent, Annie and I will go down with you. Annie will not have much to do to get ready for her own wedding. It must, of course, be a very quiet one, and there will be no array of dresses to get; for I suppose it will be some time yet before the railways are open again and things begin to come down from the North." Happily Antioch had escaped the ravages of war, and there was nothing to mar the happiness of the wedding. Lucy's father had returned, having lost a leg in one of the battles of the Wilderness a year before, and her brother had also escaped. After the wedding they returned to their farm in Tennessee, and Mrs. Wingfield, Annie, Vincent, and Lucy went back to the Orangery. For the next three or four years times were very hard in Virginia, and Mrs. Wingfield had to draw upon her savings to keep up the house in its former state; while the great majority of the planters were utterly ruined. The negroes, however, for the most part remained steadily working on the estate. A few wandered away, but their places were easily filled; for the majority of the freed slaves very soon discovered that their lot was a far harder one than it had been before, and that freedom so suddenly given was a curse rather than a blessing to them. Thus, while so many went down, the Wingfields weathered the storm, and the step that had been taken in preparing their hands for the general abolition of slavery was a complete success. With the gradual return of prosperity to the South the prices of produce improved, and ten years after the conclusion of the rebellion the income of the Orangery was nearly as large as it had been previous to its outbreak. Vincent, two years after the conclusion of the struggle, took his wife over to visit his relations in England, and, since the death of his mother, in 1879, has every year spent three or four months at home, and will not improbably, ere long sell his estates in Virginia and settle here altogether. 
8462	----	[ILLUSTRATION: "YOU'D LIKE YOUR PAPA TO COME BACK HOME FROM THE WAR?"] THE MAN IN GRAY _A ROMANCE OF NORTH AND SOUTH_ BY THOMAS DIXON AUTHOR OF "THE SOUTHERNER," "THE LEOPARD'S SPOTS," "THE BIRTH OF A NATION," "THE CLANSMAN," ETC. DEDICATED TO MY FELLOW MEMBERS OF THE KAPPA ALPHA FRATERNITY FOUNDED UNDER THE INSPIRATION OF ROBERT E. LEE 1868 TO THE READER Now that my story is done I see that it is the strangest fiction that I have ever written. Because it is true. It actually happened. Every character in it is historic. I have not changed even a name. Every event took place. Therefore it is incredible. Yet I have in my possession the proofs establishing each character and each event as set forth. They are true beyond question. THOMAS DIXON CURRITUCK LODGE _Munden, Va._ LEADING CHARACTERS OF THE STORY ROBERT E. LEE _The Southern Commander._ MRS. LEE _His Wife._ CUSTIS _His older Son._ MARY _His Daughter._ MRS. MARSHALL _Lee's Sister._ UNCLE BEN _The Butler._ SAM _A Slave._ J.E.B. STUART _"The Flower of Cavaliers."_ FLORA COOKE _His Sweetheart._ PHIL SHERIDAN _His Schoolmate._ FRANCIS PRESTON BLAIR _Lincoln's Messenger._ SENATOR ROBERT TOOMBS _of Georgia._ JOHN BROWN _of Osawatomie._ JOHN E. COOK _His Spy._ VIRGINIA KENNEDY _Cook's Victim._ GERRIT SMITH _A Philanthropist._ GEORGE EVANS _A Labor Leader._ F. B. SANBORN _Brown's Organizer._ REV. THOMAS W. HIGGINSON _A Revolutionist._ WM. C. RIVES _Confederate Senator_ GEN. E. P. ALEXANDER _of Lee's Artillery._ JOHN DOYLE _A Poor White._ MAHALA DOYLE _His Wife._ EDMOND RUFFIN _A Virginia Planter._ THE MAN IN GRAY CHAPTER I The fireflies on the Virginia hills were blinking in the dark places beneath the trees and a katydid was singing in the rosebush beside the portico at Arlington. The stars began to twinkle in the serene sky. The lights of Washington flickered across the river. The Capitol building gleamed, argus-eyed on the hill. Congress was in session, still wrangling over the question of Slavery and its extension into the territories of the West. The laughter of youth and beauty sifted down from open windows. Preparations were being hurried for the ball in honor of the departing cadets--Custis Lee, his classmate, Jeb Stuart, and little Phil Sheridan of Ohio whom they had invited in from Washington. The fact that the whole family was going to West Point with the boys and Colonel Robert E. Lee, the new Superintendent, made no difference. One excuse for an old-fashioned dance in a Southern home was as good as another. The main thing was to bring friends and neighbors, sisters and cousins and aunts together for an evening of joy. A whippo'will cried his weird call from a rendezvous in the shadows of the lawn, as Sam entered the great hall and began to light the hundreds of wax tapers in the chandeliers. "Move dat furniture back now!" he cried to his assistants. "And mind yo' p's and q's. Doan yer break nuttin." His sable helpers quietly removed the slender mahogany and rosewood pieces to the adjoining rooms. They laughed at Sam's new-found note of dignity and authority. He was acting butler to-night in Uncle Ben's place. No servant was allowed to work when ill--no matter how light the tasks to which he was assigned. Sam was but twenty years old and he had been given the honor of superintending the arrangements for the dance. And, climax of all, he had been made leader of the music with the sole right to call the dances, although he played only the triangle in the orchestra. He was in high fettle. When the first carriage entered the grounds his keen ear caught the crunch of wheels on the gravel. He hurried to call the mistress and young misses to their places at the door. He also summoned the boys from their rooms upstairs. He had seen the flash of spotless white in the carriage. It meant beauty calling to youth on the hill. Sam knew. Phil came downstairs with Custis. The spacious sweep of the hall, its waxed floor clear of furniture, with hundreds of blinking candles flashing on its polished surface, caught his imagination. It _was_ a fairy world--this generous Southern home. In spite of its wide spaces, and its dignity, it was friendly. It caught his boy's heart. Mrs. Lee was just entering. Custis' eyes danced at the sight of his mother in full dress. He grasped Phil's arm and whispered: "Isn't my mother the most beautiful woman you ever saw?" He spoke the words half to himself. It was the instinctive worship of the true Southern boy, breathed in genuine reverence, with an awe that was the expression of a religion. "I was just thinking the same thing, Custis," was the sober reply. "I beg your pardon, Phil," he hastened to apologize. "I didn't mean to brag about my mother to you. It just slipped out. I couldn't help it. I was talking to myself." "You needn't apologize. I know how you feel. She's already made me think I'm one of you--" He paused and watched Mary Lee enter from the lawn leaning on Stuart's arm. Stuart's boyish banter was still ringing in her ears as she smiled at him indulgently. She hurried to her mother with an easy, graceful step and took her place beside her. She was fine, exquisite, bewitching. She had never come out in Society. She had been born in it. She had her sweethearts before thirteen and not one had left a shadow on her quiet, beautiful face. She demanded, by her right of birth as a Southern girl, years of devotion. And the Southern boy of the old regime was willing to serve. Phil stood with Stuart and watched Custis kiss a dozen pretty girls as they arrived and call each one cousin. "Is it a joke?" he asked Stuart curiously. "What?" "This cousin business." "Not much. You don't think I'd let him be such a pig if I could help him, do you?" "Are they all kin?" "Yes--" Stuart laughed. "Some of it gets pretty thin in the second and third cousin lines. But it's thick enough for him to get a kiss from every one--confound him!" The hall was crowding rapidly. The rustle of silk, the flash of pearls and diamonds, the hum of soft drawling voices filled the perfumed air. Phil's eyes were dazzled with the bevies of the younger set, from sixteen to eighteen, dressed in soft tulle and organdy; slow of speech; their voices low, musical, delicious. He was introduced to so many his head began to swim. To save his soul he couldn't pick out one more entrancing than another. The moment they spied his West Point uniform he was fair game. They made eyes at him. They languished and pretended to be smitten at first sight. Twice he caught himself about to believe one of them. They seemed so sincere, so dreadfully in earnest. And then he caught the faintest twinkle in the corner of a dark eye and blushed to think himself such a fool. But the sensation of being lionized was delightful. He was in a whirl of foolish joy when he suddenly realized that Stuart had deserted him, slipped through the crowd and found his way to Mary Lee. He threw a quick glance at the pair and one of the four beauties hovering around him began to whisper: "Jeb Stuart's just crazy about Mary--" "Did you ever see anything like it!" "He couldn't stop even to say how-d'y-do." "And she's utterly indifferent--" Sam's voice suddenly rang out with unusual unction and deliberation. He was imitating Uncle Ben's most eloquent methods. "Congress-man and Mrs. Rog-er A. Pry-or!" Mrs. Lee hastened to greet the young editor who had taken high rank in Congress from the day of his entrance. Mrs. Pryor was evidently as proud of her young Congressman as he was of her regal beauty. Colonel Lee joined the group and led the lawmaker into the library for a chat on politics. The first notes of a violin swept the crowd. The hum of conversation and the ripple of laughter softened into silence. The dusky orchestra is in place on the little platform. Sam, in all his glory, rises and faces the eager youth. He was dressed in his young master's last year's suit, immaculate blue broadcloth and brass buttons, ruffled shirt and black-braided watch guard hanging from his neck. His eyes sparkled with pride and his rich, sonorous voice rang over the crowd like the deep notes of a flute: "Choose yo' pardners fur de fust cowtillun!" Again the quick rustle of silk and tulle, the low hum of excited, young voices and the couples are in place. A boy cries to the leader: "We're all ready, Sam." The young caller of the set knew his business better. He lifted his hand in a gesture of reverence and silence, as he glanced toward the library door. "Jes' a minute la-dees, an' gem-mens," he softly drawled. "Marse Robert E. Lee and Missis will lead dis set!" The Colonel briskly entered from the library with his wife on his arm. A ripple of applause swept the room as they took their places with the gay youngsters. Sam lifted his hand; the music began--sweet and low, vibrating with the sensuous touch of the negro slave whose soul was free in its joyous melody. At the first note of his triangle, loud above the music rang Sam's voice: "Honors to yo' pardners!" With graceful courtesies and stately bows the dance began. And over all a glad negro called the numbers: "Forward Fours!" The caller's eyes rolled and his body swayed with the rhythm of the dance as he watched each set with growing pride. They danced a quadrille, a mazurka, another quadrille, a schottische, the lancers, another quadrille, and another and another. They paused for supper at midnight and then danced them over again. While the fine young forms swayed to exquisite rhythm and the music floated over all, the earnest young Congressman bent close to his host in a corner of the library. "I sincerely hope, Colonel Lee, that you can see your way clear to make a reply to this book of Mrs. Stowe which Ruffin has sent you." "I can't see it yet, Mr. Pryor--" "Ruffin is a terrible old fire-eater, I know," the Congressman admitted. "But _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ is the most serious blow the South has received from the Abolitionists. And what makes it so difficult is that its appeal is not to reason. It is to sentiment. To the elemental emotions of the mob. No matter whether its picture is true or false, the result will be the same unless the minds who read it can be cured of its poison. It has become a sensation. Every Northern Congressman has read it. A half million copies have been printed and the presses can't keep up with the demands. This book is storing powder in the souls of the masses who don't know how to think, because they've never been trained to think. This explosive emotion is the preparation for fanaticism. We only wait the coming of the fanatic--the madman who may lift a torch and hurl it into this magazine. The South is asleep. And when we don't sleep, we dance. There's no use fooling ourselves. We're dancing on the crust of a volcano." Pryor rose. "I've a number with Mrs. Pryor. I wish you'd think it over, Colonel. This message is my big reason for missing a night session to be here." Lee nodded and strolled out on the lawn before the white pillars of the portico to consider the annoying request. He hated controversy. Yet he was not the type of man to run from danger. The breed of men from which he sprang had always faced the enemy when the challenge came. In the carriage of his body there was a quiet pride--a feeling not of vanity, but of instinctive power. It was born in him through generations of men who had done the creative thinking of a nation in the building. His face might have been described as a little too regular--a little too handsome perhaps for true greatness, but for the look of deep thought in his piercing eyes. And the finely chiseled lines of character, positive, clean-cut, vigorous. He had backbone. And yet he was not a bitter partisan. He used his brain. He reasoned. He looked at the world through kindly, conservative eyes. He feared God, only. He believed in his wife, his children, his blood. And he loved Virginia, counting it the highest honor to be--not seem to be--an old-fashioned Virginia gentleman. He believed in democracy guided by true leaders. This reservation was not a compromise. It was a cardinal principle. He could conceive of no democracy worth creating or preserving which did not produce the superman to lead, shape, inspire and direct its life. The man called of God to this work was fulfilling a divine mission. He must be of the very necessity of his calling a nobleman. Without vanity he lived daily in the consciousness of his own call to this exalted ideal. It made his face, in repose, grave. His gravity came from the sense of duty and the consciousness of problems to be met and solved as his fathers before him had met and solved great issues. His conservatism had its roots in historic achievements and the chill that crept into his heart as he thought of this book came, not from the fear of the possible clash of forces in the future, but from the dread of changes which might mean the loss of priceless things in a nation's life. He believed in every fiber of his being that, in spite of slavery, the old South in her ideals, her love of home, her worship of God, her patriotism, her joy of living and her passion for beauty stood for things that are eternal. And great changes _were_ sweeping over the Republic. He felt this to-day as never before. The Washington on whose lights he stood gazing was rapidly approaching the end of the era in which the Nation had evolved a soul. His people had breathed that soul into the Republic. To this hour the mob had never ruled America. Its spirit had never dominated a crisis. The nation had been shaped from its birth through the heart and brain of its leaders. But he recalled with a pang that the race of Supermen was passing. Calhoun had died two years ago. Henry Clay had died within the past two months. Daniel Webster lay on his death bed at Mansfield. And there were none in sight to take their places. We had begun the process of leveling. We had begun to degrade power, to scatter talent, to pull down our leaders to the level of the mob, in the name of democracy. He faced this fact with grave misgivings. He believed that the first requirement of human society, if it shall live, is the discovery of men fit to command--to lead. With the passing of Clay, Calhoun and Webster the Washington on which he gazed, the Washington of 1852, had ceased to be a forum of great thought, of high thinking and simple living. It had become the scene of luxury and extravagance. The two important establishments of the city were Gautier's, the restaurateur and caterer--the French genius who prepared the feasts for jeweled youth; and Gait, the jeweler who sold the precious stones to adorn the visions of beauty at these banquets. The two political parties had fallen to the lowest depths of groveling to vote getting by nominating the smallest men ever named for Presidential honors. The Democrats had passed all their real leaders and named as standard-bearer an obscure little politician of New Hampshire, Mr. Franklin Pierce. His sole recommendation for the exalted office was that he would carry one or two doubtful Northern states and with the solid South could thus be elected. The Whig convention in Baltimore had cast but thirty-two votes for Daniel Webster and had nominated a military figurehead, General Winfield Scott. The Nation was without a leader. And the low rumble of the crowd--the growl of the primal beast--could be heard in the distance with increasing distinctness. The watcher turned from the White City across the Potomac and slowly walked into his rose garden. Even in September the riot of color was beyond description. In the splendor of the full Southern moon could be seen all shades from deep blood red to pale pink. All sizes from the tiniest four-leaf wild flowers to the gorgeous white and yellow masses that reared their forms like waves of the surf. He breathed the perfume and smiled again. A mocking bird, dropping from the bough of a holly, was singing the glory of a second blooming. The scene of entrancing beauty drove the thought of strife from his heart. He turned back toward the house and its joys of youth. Sam's sonorous voice was ringing in deliberation the grand call of the evening's festivities: "Choose-yo-pardners-fer-de-ol-Virginy-Reel!" And then the stir, the rush, the commotion for place in the final dance. The reel reaches the whole length of the hall with every foot of space crowded. There are thirty couples in line when the musicians pause, tune their instruments and with a sudden burst play "The Gray Eagle." The Virginia Reel stirs the blood of these Southern boys and girls. Its swift, graceful action and the inspiration of the old music seem part of the heart beat of the youth and beauty that sway to its cadences. The master of Arlington smiled at the memory of the young Congressman's eloquence. Surely it was only a flight of rhetoric. CHAPTER II Phil had finally reached the boys' room after the dance, his head in a whirl of excitement. Sleep was the last thing he wished. His imagination was on fire. He had heard of Southern hospitality. He had never dreamed of such waste of good things, such joy in living, such genuine pleasure in the meeting of friends and kinfolks. Custis had insisted on every boy staying all night. A lot of them had stayed. The wide rooms bulged with them. There were cots and pallets everywhere. He had seen the housemaids and the menservants carrying them in after the dance. Their own room contained four beds and as many pallets, and they were all full. He tried to sleep and couldn't. He dozed an hour, waked at dawn and began day-dreaming. There was no sense of weariness. His mind was too alert. The great house, in which he was made to feel as much at home as in the quiet cottage of his mother in Ohio, fascinated him with its endless menservants, housemaids, serving boys, cooks, coachmen and hostlers. He thought of the contrast with the quiet efficiency and simplicity of his mother's house. He could see her seated at the little table in the center of the room, a snow-white cap on her head. The work of the house had been done without a servant. It had been done so simply and quietly, he had never been conscious of the fact that it was work at all. It had seemed a ministry of love for her children. Their help had been given with equal joy, unconscious of toil, her kitchen floor was always spotless, with every pot and pan and shining dish in its place as if by magic. He wondered how Custis' mother could bear the strain of all these people. He wondered how she could manage the army of black servants who hung on her word as the deliverance of an oracle. He could hear the hum of the life of the place already awake with the rising sun. Down in the ravine behind the house he caught the ring of a hammer on an anvil and closer in the sweep of a carpenter's plane over a board. A colt was calling to his mother at the stables and he could hear the chatter and cries of the stable boys busy with the morning feed. He rose, stepped gingerly beside the sleepers on the floor and stood by an open window. His mind was stirring with a curious desire to see the ghost that haunted this house, its spacious grounds and fields. He, too, had read _Uncle Tom's Cabin_, and wondered. The ghost must be here hiding in some dark corner of cabin or field--the ghost of deathless longing for freedom--the ghost of cruelty--the ghost of the bloodhound, the lash and the auction block. Somehow he couldn't realize that such things could be, now that he was a guest in a Southern home and saw the bright side of their life. Never had he seen anything brighter than the smiles of those negro musicians as they proudly touched their instruments: the violin, the banjo, the flute, the triangle and castanets, and watched the dancers swing through each number. There could be no mistake about the ring of joy in Sam's voice. It throbbed with unction. It pulsed with pride. Its joy was contagious. He caught himself glancing at his rolling eyes and swaying body. Once he muttered aloud: "Just look at that fool nigger!" But somewhere in this paradise of flowers and song birds, of music and dance, of rustling silk, of youth and beauty, the Ghost of Slavery crouched. In a quiet way he would watch for it to walk. He had to summon all his pride of Section and training in the catch words of the North to keep from falling under the charm of the beautiful life he felt enfolding him. He no longer wondered why every Northern man who moved South forgot the philosophy of the Snows and became a child of the Sun. He felt the subtle charm of it stealing into his heart and threw off the spell with an effort. A sparrow chirped under the window. A redbird flashed from a rosebush and a mocking bird from a huge magnolia began to softly sing his morning love song to his mate. He heard a yawn, turned and saw Custis rubbing his eyes. "For heaven's sake, Phil, why don't you sleep?" "Tried and can't." "Don't like your bed?" "Too much excited." "One of those girls hooked you?" "No. I couldn't make up my mind. So many beauties they rattled me." "All right," Custis said briskly. "Let's get up and look around the old plantation." "Good," Phil cried. Custis called Jeb Stuart in vain. He refused to answer or to budge. Phil found his shoes at the door neatly blacked and the moment he began to stir a grinning black boy was at his heels to take his slightest order. "I don't want _any_thing!" he said at last to his dusky tormentor. "Nuttin tall, sah?" "Nuttin tall!" Phil smiled at the eager, rolling eyes. "Get out--you make me laugh--" The boy ducked. "Yassah--des call me if ye wants me--I'se right outside de do'." The two cadets ate breakfast alone. The house was yet asleep--except the children. Their voices could be heard on the lawn at play. They had been put to bed early, at eleven o'clock. They were up with the birds as usual. The sun was an hour high, shining the glory of a perfect September morning. The boys strolled on the lawn. The children were everywhere, playing in groups. Little black and white boys mixed indiscriminately. Robbie Lee was playing rooster fight with Sid, his boon companion. The little black boy born nearest his birthday was dedicated to be his friend, companion and body servant for life. Phil paused to see the rooster fight. The boys folded their arms and flew at each other sideways, using their elbows as a rooster uses his spurs. Robbie was pressing Sid against the fence of the rose garden. Sid's return blows lacked strength. Robbie stamped his foot angrily. "Come on now--no foolin'--fight! There's no fun in a fight, if you don't fight!" Sid bucked up and flew at his enemy. Robbie saw the two older boys watching and gave a star performance. As Sid lunged at him with uplifted arms, and drew back to strike a stunning blow, Robbie suddenly stooped, hurled his elbow under Sid's arm, lifted him clear of the ground and he fell sprawling. Robbie stood in triumph over the prostrate figure. Phil laughed. "You got him that time, Robbie!" Robbie squared himself, raised his spurs and waited for Sid to rise. Sid was in no hurry. He had enough. He hadn't cried. But he was close to it. "Ye needn't put up dem spurs at me no mo'." "Come on again!" Robbie challenged. "Na, sah. I'se done dead. Ye stick dat spur clean froo me. Hit mighty nigh come out on de odder side!" "Got enough?" The game was suddenly ended by a barefoot white boy approaching Robbie. Johnny Doyle carried a dozen teal ducks, six in each hand. They were so heavy for his hands that their heads dragged the ground. Robbie rushed to meet his friend. "Oh, John, where'd you get the ducks?" "Me and daddy killed 'em this mornin' at sun-up on the river." "Why, the duck season isn't on yet, is it?" Custis asked the boy. "No, sir, but daddy saw a big raft of teal swingin' into the bend of the river yesterday and we got up before daylight and got a mess." "You brought 'em to me, John?" Robbie asked eagerly. "Jes the same, Robbie. Dad sent 'em to Colonel Lee." "That's fine of your daddy, John," Custis said, placing his hand on the little bare sunburnt head. "Yessir, my daddy says Colonel Lee's the greatest man in this county and he's mighty proud to be his neighbor." "Tell him my father will thank him personally before we leave and say for all that he has given us a treat." Custis handed the ducks to Sid. "Take them to the kitchen and tell Aunt Hannah to have them for dinner, sure." Sid started for the kitchen and Robbie called after him: "Hurry back, Sid--" "Yassah--right away, sah!" Robbie seized John's hand. "You'll stay all day?" "I can't." "We're goin' fishin'--" "Honest?" "Sure. Uncle Ben's sick. But after dinner he's promised to take us. He's not too sick to fish." "I can't stay," the barefoot boy sighed. "Come on. There's three bird's nests in the orchard. The second layin'. It ain't no harm to break up the second nest. Birds've no business layin' twice in one season. We _ought_ to break 'em up." "I'm afraid I can't." His tone grew weaker and Robbie pressed him. "Come on. We'll get the bird's eggs and chase the calves and colts till the dinner bell rings, ride the horses home from the fields, and go fishin' after dinner and stay till dark." "No--" "Come on!" John glanced up the road toward the big gate beyond which his mother was waiting his return. The temptation was more than his boy's soul could resist. He shook his head--paused--and grinned. "Come on, Sid, John's goin' with us," Robbie called to his young henchman as he approached. "All right," John consented, finally throwing every scruple to the winds. "Ma'll whip me shore, but, by granny, it'll be worth it!" The aristocrat slipped his arm around his chum and led him to the orchard in triumph. Custis laughed. "He'd rather play with that little, poor white rascal than any boy in the country." "Don't blame him," Phil replied. "He may be dirty and ragged but he's a real boy after a real boy's heart. And the handsomest little beggar I ever saw--who is he?" "The boy of a poor white family, the Doyles. They live just outside our gate on a ten-acre farm. His mother's trying to make him go to school. His father laughs and lets him go hunting and fishing." They were strolling past the first neat row of houses in the servants' quarters. Phil thought of them as the slave quarters. Yet he had not heard the word slave spoken since his arrival. These black people were "servants" and some of them were the friends and confidants of their master and his household. Phil paused in front of a cottage. The yard flamed with autumn flowers. Through the open door and windows came the hum of spinning wheels and the low, sweet singing of the dark spinners, spinning wool for the winter clothing of the estate. From the next door came the click and crash of the looms weaving the warm cloth. "You make your own cloth?" the Westerner asked in surprise. "Of course, for the servants. It takes six spinners and three weavers working steadily all year to keep up with it, too." "Isn't it expensive?" "Maybe. We never thought of it. We just make it. Always have in our family for a hundred years." They passed the blacksmith's shop and saw him shoeing a blooded colt. Phil touched the horse's nostrils with a gentle hand and the colt nudged him. "It's funny how a horse knows a horseman instinctively--isn't it, Phil?" "Yes. He knows I'm going to join the cavalry." They moved down the long row of whitewashed cottages, each with its yard of flowers and each with a huge pile of wood in the rear--wood enough to keep a sparkling fire through the winter. Chubby-faced babies were playing in the sanded walks and smiling young mothers watched them from the doors. Phil started to put a question, stammered and was silent. "What is it?" Custis asked. "You'll pardon my asking it, old boy, but are these black folks married?" The Southern boy laughed heartily. "I should say so. A negro wedding is one of the joys of a plantation boy's life." "But isn't it awful when they're separated?" "They're not separated." "Never?" "Not on this plantation. Nor on any estate whose master and mistress are our friends. It's not done in our set." "You keep them when they're old, lazy and worthless?" "If they're married, yes. It's a luxury we never deny ourselves, this softening of the rigor of the slave regime. It's not business. But it's the custom of the country. To separate a husband and wife is an unheard-of thing among our people." The thing that impressed the Westerner in those white rows of little homes was the order and quiet of it all. Every yard was swept clean. There was nowhere a trace of filth or disease-breeding refuse. And birds were singing in the bushes beside these slave cottages as sweetly as they sang for the master and mistress in the pillared mansion on the hill. They passed the stables and paused to watch a dozen colts playing in the inclosure. Beyond the stable under the shadows of great oaks was the dog kennel. A pack of fox hounds rushed to the gate with loud welcome to their young master. He stooped to stroke each head and call each dog's name. A wagging tail responded briskly to every greeting. In another division of the kennel romped a dozen bird-dogs, pointers and setters. The puppies were nearly grown and eager for the fields. They climbed over Custis in yelping puppy joy that refused all rebuffs. Phil looked in vain for the bloodhounds. He was afraid to ask about them lest he offend his host. Custis had never seen a bloodhound and could not guess the question back of his schoolmate's silence. Sam entered the inclosure with breakfast for the dogs. Phil couldn't keep his eyes off the sunlit, ebony face. His smile was contagious. His voice was music. The Westerner couldn't resist the temptation to draw him out. "You were certainly dressed up last night, Sam!" "Yer lak dat suit I had on, sah?" "It was a great combination." "Yassah, dat's me, sah," the negro laughed. "I'se a great combination--yassah!" He paused and threw his head back as if to recall the words. Then in a voice rich and vibrant with care-free joy he burst into song: "Yassah!" "When I goes out ter promenade I dress so fine and gay I'm bleeged to take my dog along Ter keep de gals away." Again his laughter rang in peals of sonorous fun. They joined in his laugh. A stable boy climbed the fence and called: "Don't ye want yer hosses, Marse Custis?" He was jealous of Sam's popularity. Custis glanced at Phil. "Sure. Let's ride." "All right, Ned--saddle them." The boy leaped to the ground and in five minutes led two horses to the gate. As they galloped past the house for the long stretch of white roadway that led across the river to the city, Phil smiled as he saw Jeb Stuart emerge from the rose garden with Mary Lee. Custis ignored the unimportant incident. CHAPTER III Stuart led Mary to a seat beneath an oak, brushed the dust away with his cap and asked her to honor him. He bowed low over her hand and dared to kiss it. She passed the gallant act as a matter of course and sat down beside him with quiet humor. She knew the symptoms. A born flirt, as every true Southern girl has always been, she eyed his embarrassment with surprise. She knew that he was going to speak under the resistless impulse of youth and romance, and that no hearts would be broken on either side no matter what the outcome. She watched him indulgently. She had to like him. He was the kind of boy a girl couldn't help liking. He was vital, magnetic and exceptionally good looking. He sang and danced and flirted, but beneath the fun and foolishness slumbered a fine spirit, tender, reverent, deeply religious. It was this undercurrent of strength that drew the girl. He was always humming a song, his heart bubbling over with joy. He had never uttered an oath or touched a drop of liquor amid all the gaiety of the times in which he lived. "Miss Mary," he began slowly. "Now Jeb," she interrupted. "You don't _have_ to, you know--" Stuart threw his head back, laughed, and sang a stanza from "Annie Laurie" in a low, tender voice. He paused and faced his fair tormentor. "Miss Mary, I've got to!" "You don't have to make love to me just because you're my brother's classmate--" "You know I'm not!" he protested. "You're about to begin." "But not for that reason, Miss Mary--" He held her gaze so seriously that she blushed before she could recover her poise. He saw his advantage and pressed it. "I'm telling you that I love you because you're the most adorable girl I've ever known." His boyish, conventional words broke the spell. "I appreciate the tribute which you so gallantly pay me, Sir Knight. But I happen to know that the moonlight, the music of a dance, the song of birds this morning and the beauty of the landscape move you, as they should. You're young. You're too good looking. You're fine and unspoiled and I like you, Jeb. But you don't know yet what love means." "I do, Miss Mary, I do." "You don't and neither do I. You're in love with love. And so am I. It's the morning of life and why shouldn't we be like this?" "There's no hope?" he asked dolefully. "Of course, there's hope. There's something fine in you, and you'll find yourself in the world when you ride forth to play your part. And I'll follow you with tender pride." "But not with love," he sighed. "Maybe--who knows?" she smiled. "Is that all the hope you can give me?" "Isn't it enough?" He gazed into her serious eyes a moment and laughed with boyish enthusiasm. "Yes, it is, Miss Mary! You're glorious. You're wonderful. You make me ashamed of my foolishness. You inspire me to do things. And I'm going to do them for your sake." "For your own sake, because God has put the spark in your soul. Your declaration of love has made me very happy. We're too young yet to take it seriously. We must both live our life in its morning before we settle down to the final things. They'll come too soon." "I'm going to love you always, Miss Mary," he protested. "I want you to. But you'll probably marry another girl." "Never!" "And I know you'll be her loyal knight, her devoted slave. It's a way our Southern boys have. And it's beautiful." Stuart studied the finely chiseled face with a new reverence. "Miss Mary, you've let me down so gently. I don't feel hurt at all." A sweet silence fell between them. A breeze blew the ringlets of the girl's hair across the pink of her cheek. A breeze from the garden laden with the mingled perfume of roses. A flock of wild ducks swung across the lawn high in the clear sky and dipped toward the river. Across the fields came a song of slaves at work in the cornfield, harvesting the first crop of peas planted between the rows. Stuart caught her hand, pressed it tenderly and kissed it. "You're an angel, Miss Mary. And I'm going to worship you, if you won't let me love you." The girl returned his earnest look with a smile and slowly answered: "All right, Beauty Stuart, we'll see--" CHAPTER IV The dinner at night was informal. Colonel Lee had invited three personal friends from Washington. He hoped in the touch of the minds of these leaders to find some relief from the uneasiness with which the reading of Mrs. Stowe's book had shadowed his imagination. The man about whom he was curious was Stephen A. Douglas of Illinois, the most brilliant figure in the Senate. In the best sense he represented the national ideal. A Northern man, he had always viewed the opinions and principles of the South with broad sympathy. The new Senator from Georgia, on the other hand, had made a sensation in the house as the radical leader of the South. Lee wondered if he were as dangerous a man as the conservative members of the Whig party thought. Toombs had voted the Whig ticket, but his speeches on the rights of the South on the Slavery issues had set him in a class by himself. Mr. and Mrs. Pryor had spent the night of the dance at Arlington and had consented to stay for dinner. Douglas had captured the young Virginia congressman. And Mrs. Douglas had become an intimate friend of Mrs. Pryor. When Douglas entered the library and pressed Lee's hand, the master of Arlington studied him with keen interest. He was easily the most impressive figure in American politics. The death of Calhoun and Clay and the sudden passing of Webster had left but one giant on the floor of the Senate. They called him the "Little Giant." He was still a giant. He had sensed the approaching storm of crowd madness and had sought the age-old method of compromise as the safety valve of the nation. He had not read history in vain. He knew that all statesmanship is the record of compromise--that compromise is another name for reason. The Declaration of Independence was a compromise between the radicalism of Thomas Jefferson and the conservatism of the colonies. In the original draft of the Declaration, Jefferson had written a paragraph arraigning slavery which had been omitted: "He (the King of Great Britain) has waged cruel war against human nature itself, violating its most sacred rights of life and liberty in the persons of a distant people who never offended him; capturing and carrying them into slavery in another hemisphere, or to incur miserable death in their transportation thither. This piratical warfare, the opprobrium of infidel powers, is the warfare of the _Christian_ King of Great Britain. Determined to keep open a market where men should be bought and sold, he prostituted his negative for suppressing every legislative attempt to prohibit or restrain this execrable commerce. And that this assemblage of horrors might want no fact of distinguished dye, he is now exciting these very people to rise in arms among us, and to purchase that liberty of which he has deprived them, by murdering the people on whom he also obtruded them; thus paying off former crimes committed against the liberties of one people with crimes which he urges them to commit against the lives of another." This indictment of Slavery and the Slave trade was stricken from the Declaration of Independence in deference to the opposition of both Northern and Southern slave owners who held that the struggling young colonies must have labor at all hazards. Lee knew that the Constitution also was a compromise of conflicting interests. But for the spirit of compromise--of reason--this instrument of human progress could never have been created. The word "Slave" or "Slavery" does not occur within it, and yet three of its most important provisions established the institution of chattel slavery as the basis of industrial life. The statesmen who wrote the Constitution did not wish these clauses embodied in it. Yet the Union could not have been established without them. Our leaders reasoned, and reasoned wisely, that Slavery must perish in the progress of human society, and, therefore, they accepted the compromise. There has never been a statesman in the history of the world who has not used this method of constructive progress. There will never be a statesman who succeeds who can use any other method in dealing with masses of his fellow men. Douglas was the coming constructive statesman of the republic and all eyes were being focused on him. His life at the moment was the fevered center of the nation's thought. That his ambitions were boundless no one who knew the man doubted. That his patriotism was as genuine and as great all knew at last. Lee studied every feature of his fine face. No eye could miss him in an assemblage of people, no matter how great the numbers. His compact figure was erect, aggressive, dominant. A personage, whose sense of power came from within, not without. He was master of himself and of others. He looked the lion and he was one. The lines of his face were handsome in the big sense, strong, regular, masculine. He drew young men as a magnet. His vitality inspired them. His stature was small in height, measured by inches, but of such dignity, power and magnetism that he suggested Napoleon. He smiled into Colonel Lee's face and his smile lighted the room. Every man and woman present was warmed by it. Douglas had scarcely greeted Mrs. Lee and passed into an earnest conversation with the young Congressman when Robert Toombs of Georgia entered. Toombs had become within two years the successor of John C. Calhoun. He had the genius of Calhoun, eloquence as passionate, as resistless; and he had all of Calhoun's weaknesses. He called a spade a spade. He loathed compromise. Three years before he had swept the floor and galleries of the House with a burst of impassioned eloquence that had made him a national figure. Lifting his magnificent head he had cried: "I do not hesitate to avow before this House and the Country, and in the presence of the living God, that if by your legislation you seek to drive us from the Territory of California and New Mexico, purchased by the blood of Southern white people, and to abolish Slavery in the District of Columbia, thereby attempting to fix a national degradation upon half the States of this Confederacy, _I am for disunion_. The Territories are the common property of the United States. You are their common agents; it is your duty while they are in the Territorial state to remove all impediments to their free enjoyment by both sections--the slave holder and the non-slave holder!" He was the man of iron will, of passionate convictions. He might lead a revolution. He could not compromise. His rapidly growing power was an ominous thing in the history of the South. Lee studied his face with increasing fascination. In this gathering no man or woman thought of wealth as the source of power or end of life. No one spoke of it. Office, rank, position, talent, beauty, charm, personality--these things alone could count. These men and women _lived_. They did not merely exist. They were making the history of the world and yet they refused to rush through life. Their souls demanded hours of repose, of thought, of joy and they took them. Toombs' pocket was stuffed with a paper-backed edition of a French play. It was his habit to read them in the original with keen enjoyment in moments of leisure. The hum of social life filled the room and strife was forgotten. Douglas and Toombs were boys again and Lee was their companion. Mary Lee managed to avoid Stuart and took her seat beside Phil Sheridan--not to tease her admirer but to give to her Western guest the warmest welcome of the old South. She knew the dinner would be a revelation to Phil and she would enjoy his appreciation. The long table groaned under the luxuries of the season. Course succeeded course, cooked with a delicate skill unknown to the world of to-day. The oysters, fresh, fat, luscious, were followed by diamond-back terrapin stew as a soup. Phil tasted it and whispered to his fair young hostess. "Miss Mary, what is this I'm eating?" "Don't you like it?" "I never expected to taste it on earth. I've only dreamed about it on high." "It's only terrapin stew. We serve it as a soup." "The angels made it." "No, Aunt Hannah." "I won't take it back. Angels only could brew this soup." The terrapin was followed by old Virginia ham and turnip greens. And then came the turkey with chestnut stuffing and jellies. The long table, flashing with old china and silver, held the staples of ham and turkey as ornaments as well as dainties for the palate. The real delicacies were served later, the ducks which Doyle had sent the Colonel, and plate after plate of little, brown, juicy birds called sora, so tender and toothsome they could be eaten bones and all. When Phil wound up with cakes and custards, apples, pears and nuts from the orchard and fields, his mind was swimming in a dream of luxury. And over it all the spirit of true hospitality brooded. A sense of home and reality as intimate, as genuine as if he sat beside his mother's chair in the little cottage in Ohio. "Lord save me," he breathed. "If I stay here long I'll have but one hope, to own a plantation and a home like this--" Toombs sat on Lee's right and Douglas on his left. Mr. and Mrs. Pryor occupied the places of honor beside Mrs. Lee. The Colonel's keen eye studied Douglas with untiring patience. To his rising star, the man who loved the Union, was drawn as by a magnet. Toombs, the Whig, belonged to his own Party, the aristocracy of brains and the inheritors of the right to leadership. He was studying Toombs with growing misgivings. He dreaded the radicalism within the heart of the Southern Whig. His eye rested on Sam, serving the food as assistant butler in Ben's absence. In the kink of his hair, the bulge of his smiling lips, the spread of his nostrils, the whites of his rolling eyes, he saw the Slave. He saw the mystery, the brooding horror, the baffling uncertainty, the insoluble problem of such a man within a democracy of self-governing freemen. He stood bowing and smiling over his guests, in shape a man. And yet in racial development a million years behind the wit and intelligence of the two leaders at his side. Over this dusky figure, from the dawn of American history our fathers had wrangled and compromised. More than once he had threatened to divide or destroy the Union. Reason and the compromises of great minds had saved us. In Sam he saw this grinning skeleton at his feast. He could depend on the genius of Douglas when the supreme crisis came. He felt the quality of his mind tonight. But could Douglas control the mob impulse of the North where such appeals as _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ had gripped the souls of millions and reason no longer ruled life? There was the rub. There was no question of the genius of Douglas. The question was could any leadership count if the mob, not the man, became our real ruler? The task of Douglas was to hold the fanatic of the North while he soothed the passions of the radical of the South. Henry Clay had succeeded. But _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ had not been written in his day. Toombs was becoming a firebrand. His eloquence was doing in the South what Mrs. Stowe's novel was doing in the North--preparing the soil for revolution--planting gunpowder under the foundations of society. Could these forces yet be controlled or were they already beyond control? CHAPTER V After dinner, Jeb Stuart succeeded in separating Mary from Phil and began again his adoration. The men adjourned to the library to discuss the Presidential Campaign and weigh the chances of General Scott against Franklin Pierce. The comment of Toombs was grim in its sarcasm and early let him out of the discussion. "It doesn't matter in the least, gentlemen, who is elected in November," he observed. "There's nothing before the country as yet. Not even an honest-to-God man." Lee shook his head gravely. Toombs parried his protest. "I know, Colonel Lee, you're fond of the old General. You fought with him in Mexico. But--" he dropped his voice to a friendly whisper--"all the same, you know that what I say is true." He took a cigar from the mantel, lighted it and waved to the group. "I'll take a little stroll and smoke." Custis took Phil to the cottage of the foreman to see a night school in session. "You mean the overseer's place?" Phil asked eagerly, as visions of Simon Legree flashed through his mind. "No--I mean Uncle Ike's cottage. He's the foreman of the farm. We have no white overseer." Phil was shocked. He had supposed every Southern plantation had a white overseer as slave driver with a blacksnake whip in his hand. A negro foreman was incredible. As a matter of fact there were more negro foremen than white overseers in the South. In Uncle Ike's cottage by the light of many candles the school for boys was in session. Custis' brother "Rooney," was the teacher. He had six pupils besides Sam. Not one of them knew his lesson to-night and Rooney was furious. As Phil and Custis entered, he was just finishing a wrathful lecture. His pupils were standing in a row grinning their apologies. "I've told you boys for the last three weeks that I won't stand this. You don't have to go to school to me if you don't want to. But if you join my school you've got to study. Do you hear me?" "Yassah!" came the answer in solid chorus. "Well, you'll do more than hear me to-night. You're going to heed what I say. I'm going to thrash the whole school." Sam broke into a loud laugh. And a wail of woe came from every dusky figure. "Dar now!" "Hear dat, folks--?" "I been a tellin' ye chillun--" "I lubs my spellin' book--but, oh, dat hickory switch!" "Oh, Lordy--" "Gib us anudder chance, Marse Rooney!" "Not another chance," was the stern answer. "Lay off your coats." They began to peel their coats. Big, strapping, husky fellows nudging one another and grinning at their fourteen-year-old schoolmaster. It was no use to protest. They knew they deserved it. A whipping was one of the minor misfortunes of life. Its application was universal. No other method of discipline had yet been dreamed by the advanced thinkers and rulers of the world. "Spare the rod and spoil the child" was accepted as the Word of God and only a fool could doubt it. The rod was the emblem of authority for child, pupil, apprentice and soldier. The negro slave as a workman got less of it than any other class. It was the rule of a Southern master never to use the rod on a slave except for crime if it could be avoided. To flog one for laziness was the exception, not the rule. The old Virginia gentleman prided himself particularly on the tenderness and care with which he guarded the life of his servants. If the weather was cold and his men exposed, he waited to see that they had dry clothes and a warm drink before they went to bed. He never failed to remember that his white skin could endure more than their sunburned dark ones. The young school-teacher had no scruples on applying the rod. He selected his switches with care, and tested their strength and flexibility while he gave the bunch a piece of his mind. "What do you think I'm coming down here every night for, anyhow?" he stormed. "Lordy, Marse Rooney," Sam pleaded, "doan we all pay you fur our schoolin'?" "Yes, you do when I can manage to choke it out of you. One dozen eggs a month or one pullet every two months. And I don't even ask you where you got the eggs or the pullet." "Marse Rooney!" protested Sam. "Yer know we gets 'em outen our own yards er buys 'em from de servants." "I hope you do. Though my mother says she don't know how we eat so many chickens and eggs at the house. Anyhow I'm not here because I'm going to get rich on the tuition you pay me. I'm not here for my health. I'm here from a sense of duty to you boys--" "Yassah, we know dat, sah!" "Give us annuder chance an' we sho' study dem lessons--" "I gave you another chance the last time. I'll try a little hickory tea this time." He began at the end of the line and belabored each one faithfully. They shouted in mockery and roared with laughter, scampered over the room and dodged behind chairs and tables. Phil fairly split his sides laughing. When the fun was over, they drew close to their teacher and promised faithfully to have every word of the next lesson. They nudged each other and whispered their jokes about the beating. "Must er bin er flea bitin' me!" "I felt sumfin. Don't 'zactly know what it wuz. Mebbe a chigger!" "Must er been a flea. Hit bit me, too!" Sam tried to redeem himself for failing on his lessons in arithmetic. He had long ago learned to read and write and had asked for a course in history. The young teacher had given him a copy of _Gulliver's Travels_. "Look a here, Marse Rooney, I been a readin' dat book yer gimme--" "Well, that's good." "Yer say dat book's history?" "Well, it's what we call fiction, but I think fiction's the very best history we can read. It may not have happened just that way but it's true all the same." "Well, ef hit nebber happened, I dunno 'bout dat," Sam objected. "I been suspicionin' fer a long time dat some o' dem things that Gulliver say nebber happen nohow." "You read it," the teacher ordered. "Yassah, I sho gwine ter read it, happen er no happen. Glory be ter God. Just 'cause yer tells me, sah!" CHAPTER VI The next morning found Phil walking again between the white, clean rows of the quarter houses. He was always finding something to interest him. Every yard had its gorgeous red autumn flowers. Some of them had roses in bloom. The walks from the gate to the door were edged with white-washed bricks or conch shells. The conch shells were souvenirs of summer outings at the seashore. In the corner of the back yard there was the tall pole on which were hung five or six dried gourds with tiny holes cut in the sides for the martins. And every gourd had its black family. The martins were the guardians of the servants' chicken yards. The hawks were numerous and the woods close to the quarters. Few chickens were lost by hawks. The martins circled the skies in battalions, watching, chattering, guarding, basking in the southern sun. At noon the assembly bell rang at the end of the Broadway of the quarters. From every cottage, from field and stable, blacksmith shop, carpenter's shop, the house of the spinners, the weavers, the dairy, the negroes poured toward the shed beside the bell tower. "What is it?" Phil asked of Custis. "Saturday noon. All work stops." "My Lord, it's been raining nearly all morning. The field hands haven't worked a lick all day. Do they stop, too?" "It's the unwritten law of the South. We would no more think of working on Saturday afternoon than on Sunday." "What are they gathering under that shed for?" Phil inquired. Custis led him to the shed where Ike, the foreman, stood with Mrs. Lee beside a long table on which were piled the provisions for the week to follow. The negroes laughed and chattered like a flock of blackbirds picking grain in a wheat field. To each head of a family was given six pounds of meat for each person. A father, mother and two children received twenty-four pounds. Their bread was never rationed. The barrel in each cottage was filled from the grist mill, a bag full at a time. They had their own garden and flocks of chickens. Sugar, coffee and molasses were given on the first of each month. "Come right back here now all ob you!" Ike shouted, "des ez quick ez yer put yo vittles away. De Missis gwine gib ye yo' winter close now, case she gwine ter Wes' Pint next week." The provisions were swept from the long table. Out of the storehouse came huge piles of clothing and blankets. Each package was marked with the owner's name. To each pair, man and wife, or two children, was given a new wool blanket. This was, of course, added to the stock each house had already. A woolen blanket was good for ten years' wear. Many a servant's house had a dozen blankets for each bed. Besides the blankets, to every woman with a baby was given a quilted comfort. To each man, woman and child were allotted two complete woolen suits for the winter, a new pair of shoes and three pairs of stockings. In the spring two suits of cotton would be given for summer. The thrifty ones had their cedar chests piled with clothes. Many had not worn the suits given out a year ago. The heads of large families trudged away with six or seven blankets, a comfort, and twenty suits of clothes. It sometimes took the father, mother and two of the children to carry the load. But the most amazing thing which Phil saw was the sudden transformation of the shed into a market for the sale of slave produce to the mistress of Arlington. Mrs. Lee had watched the distribution of clothes, blankets, quilts, shoes and stockings for the winter and then became the purchaser of all sorts of little luxuries which the slave had made in his leisure hours on Saturday afternoons and at night. The little boys and girls sold her dried wild fruits. The women had made fine jellies. They all had chickens and eggs to sell to the big house. Some had become experts in making peanut brittle and fudge. They not only sold their wares here, but they also sold them in the market in Washington. The old men were expert basket and broom makers. The slaves made so much extra money on their chickens, peanuts, popcorn, fudge, brittle, molasses cakes, baskets, brooms, mats and taking in sewing, that they were able to buy many personal luxuries. Phil observed one dusky belle already arrayed in a silk dress for the Saturday afternoon outing with her beau. A few of them had their Sunday dresses made by fashionable mantua makers in Washington. In addition to the regular distribution of clothing, the household supplied to the servants in rapid succession everything worn by master, mistress, son or daughter. Knowing that their clothes were being watched and guarded by longing eyes, they never wore them very long. Mary Lee was distributing a dozen dresses now to the girls. They had been made within the past year. Phil observed Sam arrayed in a swallowtail coat of immaculate cut stroll by with his best girl. She was dressed in silk with full hoop-skirts, ruffles, ribbons and flowers. Sid annoyed Sam by calling loudly: "Doan yer stay too late ter dat party. Ef ye do I'll hatter sing fur ye-- "Run, nigger, run, de patterole ketch you. Nigger run, de nigger flew, De nigger loss his best ole shoe! Run, nigger, run. Run, nigger, run. Run, nigger, run." Sam waved his arm in a long laugh. "Dey won't git me, chile. I'se er conjur man, I is!" Phil had supposed the patrol of the mysterious mounted police of the South--the men who rode at night--were to the slave always a tragic terror. It seemed a thing for joke and ribald song. After lunch, the negroes entered on the afternoon's fun or work. The industrious ones plied their trades to earn money for luxuries. The boys who loved to fish and hunt rabbits hurried to the river and the fields. There was always a hound at their service for a rabbit hunt on Saturday afternoons. Some were pitching horse shoes. Two groups began to play marbles. The marketing done for the house, the mistress of Arlington, with medicine case in hand, started on her round of healing for body and mind. Mary offered to go with her but the mother saw Stuart hovering about and quietly answered: "No. You can comfort poor Jeb. He looks disconsolate." Into every cottage she moved, a quiet, ministering angel. Every hope and fear of ailing young or old found in her an ear to hear, a heart to pity and an arm to save. If she found a case of serious illness, a doctor was called and a nurse set to watch by the bedside. Every delicacy and luxury the big house held was at the command of the sufferer and that without stint. In all these clean flower-set cottages there was not a single crippled servant maimed in the service of his master. No black man or woman was allowed to do dangerous work. All dangerous tasks were done by hired white laborers. They were hired by the day under contract through their boss. Even ditches on the farm if they ran through swamp lands infested by malaria, were dug by white hired labor. The master would not permit his slave to take such risks. But the most important ministry of the mistress of Arlington was in the medicine for the soul which she brought to the life and character of each servant for whose training she had accepted responsibility. To her even the master proudly and loyally yielded authority. Her sway over the servants was absolute in its spiritual power. Into their souls in hours of trial she poured the healing and inspiration of a beautiful spirit. The mistress of Arlington was delicate and frail in body. But out of her physical suffering the spirit rose to greater heights with each day's duty and service. This mysterious power caught the warm imagination of the negroes. They were "servants" to others. They were her _slaves_ and they rejoiced in the bond that bound them. They knew that her body had no rest from morning until far into the hours of the night if one of her own needed care. The master could shift his responsibility to a trained foreman. No forewoman could take her place. To the whole scheme of life she gave strength and beauty. The beat of her heart made its wheels go round. The young Westerner studied her with growing admiration and pity. She was the mistress of an historic house. She was the manager of an estate. She was the counselor of every man, woman and child in happiness or in sorrow. She was an accomplished doctor. She was a trained nurse. She taught the hearts of men and women with a wisdom more profound and searching than any preacher or philosopher from his rostrum. She had mastered the art of dressmaking and the tailor's trade. She was an expert housekeeper. She lived at the beck and call of all. She was idolized by her husband. Her life was a supreme act of worship--a devotion to husband, children, friends, the poor, the slave that made her a high-priestess of humanity. The thing that struck Phil with terrific force was that this beautiful delicate woman was the slave of slaves. As a rule, they died young. He began to wonder how a people of the intelligence of these proud white Southerners could endure such a thing as Slavery. Its waste, its extravagance, its burdens were beyond belief. He laughed when he thought of his mother crying over _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. Yet a new edition of a hundred thousand copies had just come from the press. Early Sunday morning Custis asked him to go down to the quarters to see Uncle Ben, the butler, who had not yet resumed his duties. He had sent an urgent message to his young master asking him to be kind enough to call on Sunday. The message was so formal and reserved Custis knew it was of more than usual importance. They found the old man superintending a special breakfast of fried fish for two little boys, neatly served at a table with spotless cloth. Robbie and his friend, John Doyle, were eating the fish they had caught with Uncle Ben the day before. They were as happy as kings and talked of fish and fishing with the unction of veteran sportsmen. The greeting to Custis was profound in its courtesy and reverence. He was the first born of the great house. He was, therefore, the prospective head of the estate. Jeffersonian Democrats had long ago abolished the old English law of primogeniture. But the idea was in the blood of the Virginia planter. The servants caught it as quickly as they caught the other English traits of love of home, family, kin, the cult of leisure, the habit of Church, the love of country. It was not an accident that the decisions of the courts of the Old South were quoted by English barristers and accepted by English judges as law. The Common Law of England was the law of Southern Seaboard States. It always had been and it is to-day. "How is you dis mornin', Marse Custis?" Ben asked with a stately bow. "Fine, Uncle Ben. I hope you're better?" "Des tolerble, sah, des tolerble--" he paused and bowed to Phil. "An' dis is you' school-mate at Wes' Pint, dey tells me about?" "Yes, Uncle," Phil answered. "I'se glad ter welcome yer ter Arlington, sah. And I'se powerful sorry I ain't able ter be in de big house ter see dat yer git ebry thing ter make yer happy, sah. Dese here young niggers lak Sam do pooty well. But dey ain't got much sense, sah. And dey ain't got no unction'tall. Dey do de best dey kin an' dat ain't much." "Oh, I'm having a fine time, Uncle Ben," Phil assured him. "Praise de Lord, sah." "Sam told me you wanted to see me, Uncle Ben," Custis said. "'Bout sumfin mos' particular, sah--" "At your service." The old man waved to his wife to look after the boys' breakfast. "Pile dem fish up on der plates, Hannah. Fill 'em up--fill'em up!" "We're mos' full now!" Robbie shouted. "No we ain't," John protested. "I jis begun." Ben led the young master and his friend out the back door, past the long pile of cord wood, past the chicken yard to a strong box which he had built on tall legs under a mulberry tree. It was constructed of oak and the neatly turned gable roof was covered with old tin carefully painted with three coats of red. A heavy hasp, staple and padlock held the solid door. Ben fumbled in his pocket, drew forth his keys and opened it. The box was his fireproof and ratproof safe in which the old man kept his valuables. His money, his trinkets, his hammer and nails, augur and bits, screwdriver and monkeywrench. From the top shelf he drew a tin can. A heavy piece of linen tied with a string served as a cover. He carefully untied the string in silence. He shook the can. The boys saw that it was filled with salt of the coarse kind used to preserve meats. Ben felt carefully in the salt, drew forth a shriveled piece of dark gristle, and held it up before his young master. "Yer know what dat is, Marse Custis?" Custis shook his head. From the old man's tones of deep emotion he knew the matter was serious. He thought at once of the Hoodoo. But he could make out no meaning to this bit of preserved flesh. "Never saw anything like it." "Nasah. I spec yer didn't." Ben pushed the gray hair back from his left ear. He wore his hair drawn low over the tips of his ears. It was a fad of his, which he never allowed to lapse. "See anything funny 'bout de top o' dat year, sah?" Custis looked carefully. "It looks shorter--" "Hit's er lot shorter. De top ob hit's clean gone, sah. Dat's why I allus combs my ha'r down close over my years--" He paused and held up the piece of dried flesh. "An' dat's hit, sah." "A piece of your ear?" "Hit sho is. Ye see, sah, a long time ergo when I wuz young an' strong ez er bull, one er dese here uppish niggers come ter our house drivin' a carriage frum Westover on de James, an' 'gin ter brag 'bout his folks bein' de bes' blood er ole Virginia. An' man I tells him sumfin. I tells dat fool nigger dat de folks at Westover wuz des fair ter midlin. Dat _our_ folks wuz, an' allus wuz, de very fust fambly o' Virginy! I tells him, dat Marse Robert's father was General Light Horse Harry Lee dat help General Washington wid de Revolution. Dat he wuz de Govenor o' ole Virginy. Dat he speak de piece at de funeral o' George Washington, dat we all knows by heart, now-- "'Fust in war, fust in peace and fust in de hearts o' his countrymen.' "I tells him dat Marse Robert's mother wuz a Carter. I tells him dat he could count more dan one hundred gemmen his kin. Dat his folks allus had been de very fust fambly in Virginy. I tells him dat he marry my Missis, de gran' daughter o' ole Gineral Washington his-salf--an' en--" He paused. "An' den, what ye reckon dat fool nigger say ter me?" "Couldn't guess." "He say General Washington nebber had no children. And den man, man, when he insult me lak dat, I jump on him lak a wil' cat. We fought an' we fit. We fit an' we fought. I got him down an' bit one o' his years clean off smooth wid his head. In de las' clinch he git hol' er my lef year a'fo' I could shake him, he bit de top of hit off, sah. I got him by the froat an' choke hit outen his mouf. And dar hit is, sah." He held up the dried piece of his ear reverently. "And what do you want me to do with it, Uncle Ben?" Custis asked seriously. "Nuttin right now, sah. But I ain't got long ter live--" "Oh, you'll be well in a few days, Uncle Ben." "I mought an' den agin I moughtent. I been lyin' awake at night worryin' 'bout dat year o' mine. Ye see hit wouldn't do tall fur me ter go walkin' dem golden streets up dar in Heben wid one o' my years lopped off lake a shoat er a calf dat's been branded. Some o' dem niggers standin' on dat gol' sidewalk would laugh at me. An' dat would hurt my feelin's. Some smart Aleck would be sho ter holler, 'Dar come ole Ben. But he ain't got but one year!' Dat wouldn't do, tall, sah." Phil bit his lips to keep from laughing. He saw the thing was no joke for the old man. It was a grim tragedy. "What I wants ter axe, Marse Custis, is dat you promise me faithful, ez my young master, dat when I die you come to me, get dis year o' mine outen dis salt box an' stick hit back right whar it b'long 'fore dey nail me up in de coffin. I des can't 'ford ter walk down dem golden streets, 'fore all dat company, wid a piece er my year missin'. Will ye promise me, sah?" Custis grasped the outstretched hand and clasped it. "I promise you, Uncle Ben, faithfully." "Den hit's all right, sah. When a Lee make a promise, hit's des ez good ez done. I know dat case I know who I'se er talkin' to." He placed the piece of gristle back into the tin can, covered it with salt, tied the linen cover over it carefully, put it back on the shelf, locked the heavy oak door and handed Custis the key. "I got annudder key. You keep dat one, please, sah." Custis and Phil left the old man more cheerful than he had been for days. CHAPTER VII As the sun was sinking across the gray waters of the river, reflecting in its silver surface a riot of purple and scarlet, the master of Arlington sat in thoughtful silence holding the fateful Book of the Slave in his hand. He had promised his friend, Edmund Ruffin, to give him an answer early next week as to a public statement. He was puzzled as to his duty. To his ready protest that he was not a politician his friend had instantly replied that his word would have ten times the weight for that reason. So deep was his brooding he did not notice the two boys in a heated argument at the corner of the house. Robbie Lee had drawn his barefoot friend, John, thus far. He had balked and refused to go farther. "Come on, John," Robbie pleaded. "I'm skeered." "Scared of what?" "Colonel Lee." "Didn't you come to see him?" "I thought I did." "Well, didn't ye?" "Yes." "Come on, then!" "No--" "What you scared of him for?" "He's a great man." "But he's my Papa." "He don't want to be bothered with little boys." "Yes, he does, too. He hears everything I've got to say to him." "Ain't you skeered of him?" "No!" Robbie seized John's hand again and before he could draw back dragged him to his father's side. Lee turned the friendliest smile on John's flushed face and won his confidence before a word was spoken. "Well, Robbie, what's your handsome little friend's name?" "John Doyle, Papa." "Your father lives on the farm just outside our gate, doesn't he?" "Yessir," the boy answered eagerly. His embarrassment had gone. But it was hard to begin his story. It had seemed easy at first, the need was so great. Now it seemed that he had no right to make the request he had in his heart. He hung his head and dug his big toe in the gravel. Robbie hastened to his rescue. "John wants to tell you something, Papa," he began tenderly. "All right," Lee cheerfully answered as he drew one boy within each arm and hugged them both. "What can I do for you, Johnnie?" "I dunno, sir. I hope you can do somethin'." "I will, if I can. I like to do things for boys. I was a little boy once myself and I know exactly how it feels. What is it?" Again the child hesitated. Lee studied the lines of his finely molded face and neck and throat. A handsomer boy of ten he had never seen. He pressed his arm closer and held him a moment until he looked up with a tear glistening in his blue eyes. "Tell me, sonny--" "My Ma's been cryin' all day, sir, and I want to do somethin' to help her--" He paused and his voice failed. "What has she been crying about?" "We've lost our home, sir, and my daddy's drunk." "You've lost your home?" "Yessir. The sheriff come this mornin'. And he's goin' to put us out. Ma's most crazy. I ain't been a very good boy here lately--" "No?" "No, sir. I've been runnin' away and goin' fishin' and hurtin' my Ma's feelin's and now I wish I hadn't done it. I heard her sayin' this mornin' while she wuz cryin', that you wuz the only man she knowed on earth who could help us. She was afeared to come to see you. And I slipped out to tell ye. I thought if I could get you to come to see us, maybe you could tell Ma what to do and that would make up for my hurtin' her so when I run away from my lessons this week." The Colonel gently pressed the boys away and rose with quick decision. "I'll ride right up, sonny, and see your mother." "Will you, Colonel Lee?" the child asked with pathetic eagerness. "Just as soon as I can have my horse saddled." Lee turned abruptly into the house and left the boy dazed. He threw his arms around Robbie, hugged him in a flash and was gone. Up the dusty way to the gate the little bare feet flew to tell glad tidings to a lonely woman. She stood beside the window looking out on the wreck of her life in a stupor of wordless pain. She saw her boy leap the fence as a hound and rushed from the house in alarm to meet him. He was breathless, but he managed to gasp his message. "Ma--Ma--Colonel Lee's comin' to see you!" "To see me?" "Yes'm. I told him we'd lost our home and he said he'd come right up. And he's comin', too--" The mother looked into the child's flushed face, saw the love light in his eyes and caught him to her heart. "Oh, boy, boy, you're such a fine young one--my baby--as smart as a whip. You'll beat 'em all some day and make your poor old mother proud and happy." "I'm going to try now, Ma--you see if I don't." "I know you will, my son." "I'll never run away again. You see if I do." The boy stopped suddenly at the sight of Colonel Lee swiftly approaching. "Run and wash your face," the mother whispered, "and tell your brothers to put on clean shirts. I want them to see the Colonel, too." The boy darted into the house. The woman looked about the yard to see if there were any evidences of carelessness. She had tried to keep it clean. The row of flowers that flamed in the beds beside the door was the finest in the county. She knew that. She was an expert in the culture of the prolific tall cosmos that blooms so beautifully in the Indian summers of Old Virginia. A cur dog barked. "Get under the house, sir!" she commanded. The dog continued to look down the road at the coming horseman. "Get under the house, I say--" she repeated and the dog slowly obeyed. She advanced to meet her visitor. He hitched his horse to a swinging limb outside the gate and hurried in. No introduction was necessary. The Colonel had known her husband for years and he had often lifted his hat to his wife in passing. He extended his hand and grasped hers in quick sympathy. "I'm sorry to learn of your great misfortune from your fine boy, Mrs. Doyle." The woman's eyes filled with tears in spite of her firm resolution to be dignified. "He _is_ a fine--boy--isn't he, Colonel?" "One of the handsomest little chaps I ever saw. You should be proud of him." "I am, sir." She drew her figure a bit higher instinctively. The movement was not lost on the keen observer of character. He had never noticed before the distinction of her personality. In a simple calico dress, and forty years of age, she presented a peculiarly winsome appearance. Her features were regular, and well rounded, the coloring of cheeks and neck and hands the deep pink of perfect health. Her eyes were a bright glowing brown. They were large, soulful eyes that spoke the love of a mother. She might scold her husband if provoked. But those eyes could never scold a child. They could only love him into obedience and helpfulness. They were shining mother eyes. Lee studied her in a quick glance before speaking. He knew instinctively that he could trust her word. "Is there anything I can do, Mrs. Doyle?" "Oh, I hope so, sir. My man's gone all to pieces to-day. He's good-hearted and kind if I do have to say it myself. But when the sheriff come to put us out, he just flopped and quit. And then he got drunk. I don't blame him much. If I hadn't been a woman and the mother of three fine boys and two as pretty little gals as the Lord ever give to a woman, I reckon I'd a got drunk, too." She stopped, overcome with emotion and Lee hastened to ask: "How did it happen, Mrs. Doyle?" "Well, sir, you see, we hadn't quite paid for the place. You know it's hard with a big family of children on a little farm o' ten acres. It's hard to make a livin' let alone save money to pay for the land. But we wuz doin' it. We didn't have but two more payments to make when my man signed a note for his brother. His brother got sick and couldn't pay and they come down on us and we're turned out o' house and home. The sheriff's give us till Wednesday to get out and we've nowhere to go--" A sob caught her voice. "Don't say that, Madame. No neighbor of mine will ever be without a home so long as I have a house with a roof on it." "Thank you, Colonel Lee," she interrupted, "but you know I can't let my man be a renter and see my husband and my sons workin' other people's land like nigger slaves. I got pride. I jus' can't do it. I'd rather starve." "I understand, Madame," Lee answered. The two older boys came awkwardly out into the yard. One of them was fourteen years old and the other sixteen. The mother beckoned and they came to her with embarrassed step. Her face lighted with pride in their stalwart figures and well-shaped, regular features. "Here's my oldest boy, William, Colonel Lee." The Colonel took the outstretched hand with cordial grasp. "I'm glad to know you, young man." "And glad to see you, sir," he stammered, blushing. "My next boy Drury, sir. He ain't but fourteen but he's a grown man." Drury flushed red but failed to make a sound. When they had moved away and leaned against the fence watching the scene out of the corner of an eye, the mother turned to the Colonel and asked: "Do you blame me if I'm proud of my boys, Colonel?" "I do not, Madame." "The Lord made me a mother. All I know is to raise fine children and love 'em. My little gals is putty as dolls." John suddenly appeared beside her and pulled her skirt. "What's the matter?" she whispered. "Pa's waked up. I told him Colonel Lee's here and he's washed his face and walks straight. Shall I fetch him out, too?" "Yes, run tell him to come quick." The boy darted back into the house. "Johnnie's father wants to see you, Colonel Lee," the woman apologized. "I'll be glad to talk to him, Madame." "He'll be all right now. Your comin' to see us'll sober him. He'll be awful proud of the honor, sir." Doyle emerged from the house and walked quickly toward the Colonel. His head was high. He smiled a welcome to his guest and his step was straight, light and springing, as if he were not quite sure he could rest his full weight on one foot and tried to get them both down at the same time. Lee's face was a mask of quiet dignity. The tragedy in the woman's heart made the more pathetic the comedy of the half-drunken husband. Besides, he was philosopher enough to know that more than half the drunkenness of the world was the pitiful effort to smother a heartache. The man's smile was a peculiarly winning one. His face was covered with a full growth of blond beard cut moderately long. He never shaved. His wife trimmed his beard in the manner most becoming to the shape of his head, the poise of his neck and evenly formed shoulders. He wore his hair full long and it curled about his neck in a deep blond wave. He might have posed for the model of Hoffman's famous picture of Christ. His eyes, a clear blue, were the finest feature of his personality. In spite of his lack of education, in spite of his shabby clothes, in spite of the smell of liquor he was a personality. His clean, high forehead, his aquiline nose, his straight eyebrows, his fair skin, his tall figure spoke the heritage of the great Nordic race of men. The race whose leaders achieved the civilization of Rome, conquered Europe and finally dominated civilization. The difference between this man and the leader who wore the uniform of a Colonel was not in racial stock. It was purely an accident of the conditions of birth and training. Behind Lee lay two hundred years of wealth and culture. The poorer man was his kinsman of the centuries. The world had not been kind to him. He had lost the way of material success. Perhaps some kink in his mind, a sense of comedy, a touch of the old wanderlust of the ages. Lee wondered what had kept him poor as he looked at the figure approaching. It was straight and fine in spite of the liquor. Doyle's brain was just clear enough to realize that he had been highly honored in a call from the foremost citizen of Virginia. His politeness was extreme. And it was true. It was instinctive. It leaped from centuries of racial inheritance. "We're proud of the honor you've done us, Colonel Lee," he announced. He grasped the extended hand with a cordial, dignified greeting. "I only hope I can be of some service to you and your family, Mr. Doyle." "I'm sure you can, sir. Won't you come in, Colonel?" "Thank you, it's so pleasant outside, we'll just sit down by the well, if you don't mind." "Yessir. All right, sir." Lee moved slowly toward the platform of the well with its old oaken bucket and tall sweep. His wife threw a warning at her husband under her breath. "Don't you say nothin' foolish now--" "I won't." "Your tongue's too long when it gets to waggin'." "I'll mind, Ma," he smiled. The woman called softly to her distinguished guest: "You'll excuse me, Colonel, while I look after the supper. I'll be back in a minute." "Certainly, Madame." He could not have bowed with graver courtesy to the wife of Stephen A. Douglas. "Have a seat here on the well, Colonel," Doyle invited. Lee took his seat on the weather-beaten oak boards. Doyle turned his foot on a rounded stone and set down a little ungracefully in spite of his effort to be fully himself. He saw at once his misstep and hastened to apologize. "I'm sorry, Colonel, you've caught me with the smell of liquor, sir--" He paused and looked over his garden in an embarrassed way. "I know what has happened to you, Mr. Doyle, and you have my deepest sympathy." "Thank you, sir." "I might have done the same thing if I'd been in your position. Though, of course, liquor won't help things for you." Doyle smiled around the corners of his blue eyes. "No, sir, except while it's a swimmin' in the veins. Then for a little while you're great and rich and you don't care which a way the wind blows." "The farm is lost beyond hope?" "Yessir, clean gone--world without end." "You had a lawyer?" "The best in the county, old Jim Randolph. I didn't have no money to pay him. He said we'd both always voted the Whig ticket and he'd waive his retainer. I didn't know what he was wavin', but anyhow he tuck my case. And I will say he put up a nasty fight for me. He made one of the greatest speeches I ever heared in my life. Hit wuz mighty nigh worth losin' the farm ter hear him tell how I'd been abused and how fine a feller I wuz. An' when he los' the case, he cussed the Judge, he cussed the jury, he cussed the lawyers. He swore they was all fools and didn't know the first principles er law nohow. I sho enjoyed the fight, ef I did lose it. I couldn't pay him nothin' yet. But I did manage to get him a gallon of the best apple brandy I ever tasted." "What do you think of doing?" "I ain't had time ter think, sir. I don't think fast nohow and the first thing I had to do when I come home and tole the ole 'oman and she bust out cryin'--wuz ter get drunk. Somehow I couldn't stand it." "You've never learned a trade?" "No sir--nothin' 'cept farmin'. I said to myself--what's the use? These damned nigger slaves have learned all the trades. They say in the old days, they wuz just servants in the house and stables, and field hands. Now they've learnt _all_ the trades. They're mechanics, blacksmiths, carpenters, wagon makers and everything. What chance has a poor white man got agin 'em? They don't have to worry about nothin'. They have everything they need before they lift their hands to do anything. They got plenty to eat for themselves and their families, no matter how many children they have. All they can eat, all they can wear, a warm house and a big fire in the winter. I have to fight and scratch to keep a roof over my head, wood in my fireplace, clothes on my back and somethin' to eat on my table. How can I beat the slave at a trade? Tain't no use to try. Ef you want to build a house, your own carpenters can do it. And if you haven't enough slave carpenters of your own, your neighbors have. They can hire 'em to you cheaper than I can work and live. They're goin' to _live_ anyhow. That's settled because they're slaves. They're worth twelve hundred dollars apiece. Their life is precious. Mine don't count. I got to look after that myself and I got to look after my wife and children, too. Hit ain't right, Colonel, this Slavery business. You know that as well as I do. I've heard you say it, too--" "I agree with you, Mr. Doyle. But if we set them all free to-morrow, and you had to compete with their labor, you couldn't live down to their standard of wages, could you?" "No, I couldn't. They would kill me at that game, too. That's why I hate a free nigger worse than a slave--" He paused and his face knotted with fury. "Damn 'em all--why are they here anyhow?" "Come, come, my friend," Lee protested. "It doesn't help to swear about it. They _are_ here. Not by any wish of mine or of yours. We inherited this curse from the past. We have clung to old delusions while our smart Yankee friends have shifted the responsibilities on others." "What _can_ I do, Colonel?" Doyle asked desperately. "I don't know how to do anything but farm. I can't go into the fields and work with slaves as a field hand. And I couldn't get such work to do if I'd do it. I'll die before I'll come down to it. I might rent a little farm alongside of a free nigger. But he can beat me at that game. He can live on less and work longer hours than I do. He'll underbid me as a cropper. He can live and pay the owner four-fifths of the crop. I'd starve. What am I goin' to do?" "Had you thought of moving West into one of the new Territories just opening?" "Yessir. I'd thought of it. But how am I goin' to get there with a wife and five children?" Lee rose and looked about the place thoughtfully. "How much could you realize from the sale of your things?" Doyle scratched his head doubtfully. "I ain't got no idee, sir. I'm afraid not much. Ye see it's just home stuff. The old 'oman's awful smart. She raises enough chickens and turkeys and ducks and guineas to eat, and she sells a few eggs and young chickens and turkeys when they brings anything in the market. I got six sheep, a cow, a calf, a mule, a couple o' pigs in the pen. But they won't bring much money. Ye see I never felt so poor ez long ez I had a _home_ where I can live independent like. That house ain't much, sir. But you ain't no idea how deep down in my heart it's got." He paused and looked at it. The Colonel followed his gaze. It was a small frame structure standing in a yard filled with trees. A one-story affair with a sharp, gabled attic. Two dormer windows projected from the high roof and a solid brick chimney at each end gave it dignity. A narrow porch came straight out from the front door. On either side of the porch were built wooden benches and behind them on a lattice grew a luxuriant rambler rose. It was still blooming richly in the warm September sun. "Ye see, sir," Doyle went on, "what we've got that's worth havin' can't be sold. I love the smell o' them roses. I wake up in the night and the breeze brings it in the window and it puts me to sleep like an old song my mother used to sing when I was a little shaver--" He stopped short. "I didn't mean to snivel, sir." "I understand, my friend. No apologies are necessary." "And that big scuppernong grape vine out there in the garden--I couldn't sell that. I planted it fifteen years ago. Folks told us we was too fur north here fur it to grow good. But I knowed better. You can see its covered a place as big ez the house. And you can smell them ripe grapes a hundred yards before ye get to the gate. I make a little wine outen 'em. We have 'em to eat a whole month. That garden keeps us goin' winter and summer. You see them five rows of flat turnips and the ruttabaggers beside 'em? I've cabbage enough banked under them pine tops to make a fifty-gallon barrel o' kraut and give us cabbage with our bacon all winter. We've got turnip greens, onions and collards. I've got corn and wheat in my crib and bacon enough to last me till next year. I raise the finest watermelons and mushmelons in the county and it ain't much trouble to live here. I never knowed how well off I wuz till the Sheriff come and told me I had to go." "You're in the prime of life. You can go to a new country and begin over again. Why not?" "If I could get there. I reckon I could." He stopped short as his wife appeared by his side. She had heard Colonel Lee's last question. "Of course, you can begin over again. Haven't we got three of the finest boys the Lord ever give a mother? They ain't got no chance here nohow. My baby boy's one o' the smartest youngsters in the county. Ef old Andy Jackson wuz a poor boy an' got ter be President, he might do the same thing ef we give him a chance--" "Yes, I reckon we could, ef we had a chance," Doyle agreed doubtfully. "But it would be a hard pull to leave my ole Virginy home. You know that would pull you, Colonel--now wouldn't it?" "Yes, it would," was the earnest answer. "You see I wuz born in this country an' me daddy before me. I like it here. I like the feel of the air in the fall. There's a flock o' ducks now circlin' over that bend o' the river. The geese are comin'. I heard 'em honk high up in the sky last night. I like my oysters and terrapin. I like to shoot ducks and geese, rabbits and quail. I like the smell o' the water. I like the smell o' these fields. I like the way the sun shines and the winds blow down here. It's in my blood." "But you'll go if you can get away," his wife interrupted cheerfully. Two little girls timidly drew near. Their faces were washed clean and their shining blonde hair gleamed in circles of golden light as the rays of the setting sun caught it. Lee smiled, took them both in his arms and kissed them. A tear softened his eyes as he placed them on the ground. "You're darling little dolls. No wonder your mother loves you." "Run back in the house now, honeys," the mother said. The children slowly obeyed, glancing back at the great man who had kissed them. They wondered why their daddy hadn't kissed them oftener. "What do you think we ought to do, Colonel Lee?" the woman asked eagerly. "I can tell you what I would do, Madame, in your place--" "What?" The husband and wife spoke the word in chorus. "I'd go West and begin again." "But how'm I goin' to get away, sir?" the man asked blankly. "Sell your things for the best price you can get and I'll loan you the balance of the money you'll need." "Will you, sir?" the woman gasped. "I ain't got no security for ye, Colonel--" Doyle protested. "You are my friend and neighbor, Mr. Doyle. You're in distress. You don't need security. I'll take your note, sir, without endorsement." "Glory to God!" the mother cried with face uplifted in a prayer of thanksgiving. Doyle couldn't speak for a moment. He looked out over the roadway and got control of his feelings before trying. There was a lump in his throat which made his speech thick when at last he managed to grasp Lee's hand. "I dunno how to thank you, sir." "It will be all right, Mr. Doyle. Look after the sale of your things and I'll find out the best way for you to get there and let you know." He mounted his horse and rode away into the fading sunset as they watched him through dimmed eyes. CHAPTER VIII Lee had promised Edmund Ruffin his answer early in the week. Ruffin had just ridden up the hill and dismounted. Mrs. Marshall, the Colonel's sister, on a visit from Baltimore, fled at his approach. "Excuse me, Mary," she cried to Mrs. Lee. "I just can't stand these ranting fire-eating politicians. They make me ill. I'll go to my room." She hurried up the stairway and left the frail mistress of the house to meet her formidable guest. Ruffin was the product of the fierce Abolition Crusade. Hot-tempered, impulsive, intemperate in his emotions and their expression, he was the perfect counterpart of the men who were working night and day in the North to create a condition of mob feeling out of which a civil conflict might grow. _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ had set him on fire with new hatreds. His vocabulary of profanity had been enlarged by the addition of every name in the novel. He had been compelled to invent new expressions to fit these characters. He damned them individually and collectively. He cursed each trait of each character, good and bad. He cursed the good points with equal unction and equal emphasis. In fact the good traits in Mrs. Stowe's people seemed to carry him to greater heights of wrath and profanity than the bad ones. He dissected each part of each character's anatomy, damned each part, put the parts together and damned the collection. And then he damned the whole story, characters, plot and scenes to the lowest pit and cursed the devil for not building a lower one to which he might consign it. And in a final burst of passion he always ended by damning himself for his utter inability to express _anything_ which he really felt. With all his ugly language, which he reserved for conversation with men, he was the soul of consideration for a woman. Mrs. Lee had no fear of any rude expression from his lips. She didn't like him because she felt in his personality the touch of mob insanity which the Slavery question had kindled. She dreaded this appeal to blind instinct and belief. With a woman's intuition she felt the tragic possibility of such leadership North and South. She saw his leonine head and shaggy hair silhouetted against the red glow of the west with a shiver at its symbolism, but met him with the cordial greeting which every Southern woman gave instinctively to the friend of her husband. "Come in, Mr. Ruffin," she welcomed. He bowed over her hand and spoke in the soft drawl of the Southern planter. "Thank you, Madame. I'm greatly honored in having you greet me at the door." "Colonel Lee is expecting you." The planter drew himself up with a touch of pride and importance. "Yes'm. I sent him word I would be here at three. I was detained in Washington. But I succeeded in convincing the editor of _The Daily Globe_ that my mission was one of grave importance. I not only desire to wish Colonel Lee God-speed on his journey to West Point and congratulate him on the honor conferred on Virginia by his appointment to the command of our Cadets--but--" He paused, smiled and glanced toward the portico, as if he were holding back an important secret. Mrs. Lee hastened to put him at his ease. "You can trust my discretion in any little surprise you may have for the Colonel." Ruffin bowed. "I'm sure I can, Madame. I'm sure I can." He dropped his voice. "You know perhaps that I sent him a few days ago a scurrilous attack on the South by a Yankee woman--a new novel?" "He received it." "Has he read it?" "Carefully. He has read it twice." "Good!" The planter breathed deeply, squared his shoulders and paced the floor with a single quick turn. He stopped before Mrs. Lee and spoke in sharp emphasis. "I'm going to spring a little surprise on the public, Madame! A sensation that will startle the country, and God knows we need a little shaking just now--" He paused and whispered. "I'm so sure of what the Colonel will say that I've brought a reporter from the Washington _Daily Globe_ with me--" Mrs. Lee lifted her hand in dismay. "He is here?" "He is seated on the lawn just outside, Madame," Ruffin hastened to reassure her. "I thought at the last moment I'd better have him wait until I received Colonel Lee's consent to the interview." "I'm glad you did." "Oh, it will be all right, I assure you!" "He might not wish to see a reporter--" "So I told the young man." "I'm afraid--" "I'll pave the way, Madame. I'll pave the way. Colonel Lee and I are life-long friends. Will you kindly announce me?" "The Colonel has just ridden up to the stables to give some orders about his horses. He'll be here in a moment." Lee stepped briskly into the room and extended his hand. "It's you, Ruffin. My apologies. I was called out to see a neighbor. I should have been here to receive you." "No apologies, Colonel, Mrs. Lee has been most gracious." The mistress of the house smiled. "Make yourself at home, Mr. Ruffin. I shall hope to see you at dinner." Ruffin stood respectfully until Mrs. Lee had disappeared. "Pray be seated," Lee invited. Ruffin seated himself on the couch and watched his host keenly. Lee took a cigar from the mantel and offered it. "A cigar, Ruffin?" "Thanks." "Now make yourself entirely at home, my good friend." The planter lighted the cigar, blew a long cloud of smoke and settled in his seat. "I'm glad to learn from Mrs. Lee that you have read the book I sent you--the Abolitionist firebrand." "Yes." Lee quietly walked to the mantel and got the volume. "I have it here." He turned the leaves thoughtfully. Ruffin laughed. "And, what do you think of it?" The Colonel was silent a moment. "Well, for those who like that kind of book--it's the kind of book they will like." "Exactly!" Ruffin cried, slapping his knee with a blow that bruised it. "And you're the man in all the South to tell the fool who likes that sort of book just how big a fool he is!" Lee opened the volume again and turned the pages slowly. "Ruffin, I don't read many novels--" He paused as if in deep study. "But this one I have read twice." "I'm glad you did, sir," the planter snapped. "And I must confess it stunned me." "Stunned you?" "Yes." "How?" "When I finished reading it, I felt like the overgrown boy who stubbed his toe. It hurt too bad to laugh. And I'm too big to cry." "You amaze me, sir." "That's the way I feel, my friend." He paused, walked to the window, and gazed out at the first lights that began to flicker in the windows of the Capitol across the river. "That book," he went on evenly, "is an appeal to the heart of the world against Slavery. It is purely an appeal to sentiment, to the emotions, to passion, if you will--the passions of the mob and the men who lead mobs. And it's terrible. As terrible as an army with banners. I heard the throb of drums through its pages. It will work the South into a frenzy. It will make millions of Abolitionists in the North who could not be reached by the coarser methods of abuse. It will prepare the soil for a revolution. If the right man appears at the right moment with a lighted torch--" "That's just why, sir, as the foremost citizen of Virginia, you must answer this slander. I have brought a reporter from the _Globe_ with me for that purpose. Shall I call him," "A reporter from a daily paper with a circulation of fifteen thousand?" "Your word, Colonel Lee, will be heard at this moment to the ends of the earth, sir!" "In a newspaper interview?" "Yes, sir." "Nonsense." "It's your character that will count." "Such an answer would be a straw pitched against a hurricane. I am told that this book has already reached a circulation of half a million copies and it has only begun. That means already three million readers. To answer this book my pen should be better trained than my sword--" "It is, sir, if you'll only use it." "The South has only trained swords. And not so many of them as we think. We have no writers. We have no literature. We have no champions in the forum of the world's thought. We are being arraigned at the judgment bar of mankind and we are dumb. It's appalling." "That's why you must speak for us. Speak in our defense. Speak with a tongue of flame--" "I am not trained for speech, Ruffin. And the pen is mightier than the sword. I've never realized it before. The South will soon have the civilized world arraigned against her. The North with a thousand pens is stirring the faiths, the prejudices and the sentiments of the millions. This appeal is made in the face of History, Reason and Law. But its force will be as the gravitation of the earth, beyond the power of resistance, unless we can check it in time." "When it comes to resistance," Ruffin snapped, "that's another question. The Yankees are a race of damned cowards and poltroons, sir. They won't fight." Lee shook his head gravely. "I've been in the service more than a quarter of a century, my friend. I've seen a lot of Yankees under fire. I've seen a lot of them die. And I know better. Your idea of a Yankee is about as correct as the Northern notion of Southern fighters. A notion they're beginning to exploit in cartoons which show an effeminate lady killer with an umbrella stuck in the end of his musket and a negro mixing mint juleps for him." "We've got to denounce those slanders. I'm a man of cool judgment and I never lose my temper--" He leaped to his feet purple with rage. "But, by God, sir, we can't sit quietly under the assault of these narrow-minded bigots. You must give the lie to this infamous book!" "How can I, my friend?" "Doesn't she make heroes of law breakers?" "Surely." "Is there no reverence for law left in this country?" "In Courts of Justice, yes. But not in the courts of passion, prejudice, beliefs, sentiment. The writers of sentiment sing the praises of law breakers--" "But there can be no question of the right or wrong of this book. It is an infamous slander. I deny and impeach it!" "I'm afraid that's all we can do, Ruffin--deny and impeach it. When we come down to brass tacks we can't answer it. From their standpoint the North is right. From our standpoint we are right, because our rights are clear under the Constitution. Slavery is not a Southern institution; it is a national inheritance. It is a national calamity. It was written into the Constitution by all the States, North and South. And if the North is ignorant of our rights under the laws of our fathers, we have failed to enlighten them--" "We won't be dictated to, sir, by a lot of fanatics and hypocrites." "Exactly, we stand on our dignity. We deny and we are ready to fight. But we will not argue. As an abstract proposition in ethics or economics, Slavery does not admit of argument. It is a curse. It's on us and we can't throw it off at once. My quarrel with the North is that they do not give us their sympathy and their help in our dilemma. Instead they rave and denounce and insult us. They are even more responsible than we for the existence of Slavery, since their ships, not ours, brought the negro to our shores. Slavery is an outgrown economic folly, a bar to progress, a political and social curse to the white race. It must die of its own weakness, South, as it died of its own weakness, North. It is now in the process of dying. The South has freed over three hundred thousand slaves by the voluntary act of the master. If these appeals of the mob leader to the spirit of the mob can be stopped, a solution will be found." "It will never be found in the ravings of Abolitionists." "Nor in the hot tempers of our Southern partisans, Ruffin. Look in the mirror, my good friend. Chattel Slavery is doomed because of the superior efficiency of the wage system. Morals have nothing to do with it. The Captain of Industry abolished Chattel Slavery in the North, not the preacher or the agitator. He established the wage system in its place because it is a mightier weapon in his hand. It is subject to but one law. The iron law of supply and demand. Labor is a commodity to be bought and sold to the highest bidder. And the highest bidder is at liberty to bid lower than the price of bread, clothes, fuel and shelter, if he chooses. This system is now moving Southward like a glacier from the frozen heart of the Northern mountains, eating all in its path. It is creeping over Maryland, Kentucky, Missouri. It will slowly engulf Virginia, North Carolina and Tennessee and the end is sure. Its propelling force is not moral. It is soulless. It is purely economic. The wage earner, driven by hunger and cold, by the fear of the loss of life itself--is more efficient in his toil than the care-free negro slave of the South, who is assured of bread, of clothes, of fuel and shelter, with or without work. Slavery does not admit of argument, my friend. To argue about it is to destroy it." "I disagree with you, sir!" Ruffin thundered. "I know you do. But you can't answer this book." "It can be answered, sir." Lee paced the floor, his arms folded behind his back, paused and watched Ruffin's flushed face. He shook his head again. "The book is unanswerable, because it is an appeal to emotion based on a study of Slavery in the abstract. If no allowance be made for the tender and humane character of the Southern people or the modification of statutory law by the growth of public sentiment, its imaginary scenes are within the bounds of the probable. The story is crude, but it is told with singular power without a trace of bitterness. The blind ferocity of Garrison, who sees in every slaveholder a fiend, nowhere appears in its pages. On the other hand, Mrs. Stowe has painted one slaveholder as gentle and generous. Simon Legree, her villain, is a Yankee who has moved South and taken advantage of the power of a master to work evil. Such men have come South. Such things might be done. It is precisely this possibility that makes Slavery indefensible. You know this. And I know it." "You astound me, Colonel." "Yes, I'm afraid I do. I'd like to speak a message to the South about this book. I've a great deal more to say to my own people than to our critics." Ruffin rose, thrust his hands in his pockets, walked to the window, turned suddenly and faced his host. "But look here, Colonel Lee, I'm damned if I can agree with you, sir! Suppose Slavery _is_ wrong--an economic fallacy and a social evil--I don't say it is, mind you. Just suppose for the sake of argument that it is. We don't propose to be lectured on this subject by our inferiors in the North. The children of the men who stole these slaves from Africa and sold them to us at a profit!" Lee laughed softly. "The sins of an inferior cannot excuse the mistakes of a superior. The man of superior culture and breeding should lead the world in progress. What has come over us in the South, Ruffin? Your father and mine never defended Slavery. They knew it was to them, their children and this land, a curse. It was a blessing only to the savage who was being taught the rudiments of civilization at a tremendous cost to his teacher. The first Abolition Societies were organized in the South. Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Randolph, all the great leaders of the old South, the men whose genius created this republic--all denounced Slavery. They told us that it is a poison, breeding pride and tyranny of character, that it corrupts the mind of the child, that it degrades labor, wears out our land, destroys invention, and saps our ideal of liberty. And yet we have begun to defend it." "Because we are being hounded, traduced and insulted by the North, yes--" "Yes, but also because we must have more land." "We've as much right in the West as the North." "That's not the real reason we demand the right of entry. We are exhausting the soil of the South by our slipshod farming on great plantations where we use old-fashioned tools and slave labor. We refuse to study history. Ancient empires tried this system and died. The Carthagenians developed it to perfection and fell before the Romans. The Romans borrowed it from Carthage. It destroyed the small farms and drove out the individual land owners. It destroyed respect for trades and crafts. It strangled the development of industrial art. And when the test came Roman civilization passed. You hot-heads under the goading of Abolition crusaders now blindly propose to build the whole structure of Southern Society on this system." "We've no choice, sir." "Then we must find one. Slowly but surely the clouds gather for the storm. We catch only the first rumblings now but it's coming." Ruffin flared. "Now listen to me, Colonel. I'm a man of cool judgment and I never lose my temper, sir--" He choked with passion, recovered and rushed on. "If they ever dare attack us, we won't need _writers_. We'll draw our swords and thrash them! The South is growing rich and powerful." Lee lifted his hand in a quick gesture of protest. "A popular delusion, my friend. Under Slave labor the South is growing poorer daily. While the Northern States, under the wage system, ten times more efficient, are draining the blood and treasure of Europe and growing richer by leaps and bounds. Norfolk, Richmond and Charleston should have been the great cities of the Eastern Seaboard. They are as yet unimportant towns in the world commerce. Boston, Philadelphia and New York have become the centers of our business life, of our trade, our culture, our national power. While slavery is scratching the surface of our soil with old-fashioned plows, while we quit work at twelve o'clock every Saturday, spend our Sundays at church, and set two negroes to help one do nothing Monday morning, the North is sweeping onward in the science of agriculture. While they invent machines which double their crops, cut their labor down a hundred per cent, we are fighting for new lands in the West to exhaust by our primitive methods. The treasures of the earth yet lie in our mines untouched by pick or spade. Our forests stand unbroken--vast reaches of wilderness. The slave is slow and wasteful. Wage labor, quick, efficient. Our chief industry is the breeding of a race of feverish politicians." "You know, Colonel Lee, as well as I do that Slavery in the South has been a blessing to the negro." Lee moved his head in quick assent. "I admit that Slavery took the negro from the jungle, from a slavery the most cruel known to human history, that it has taught him the use of tools, the science of agriculture, the worship of God, the first lessons in the alphabet of humanity. But unless we can now close this school, my friend, somebody is going to try to divide this Union some day--" Ruffin struck his hands together savagely. "The quicker the better, I say! If the children of the men who created this republic are denied equal rights under its laws and in its Territories, then I say, to your tents, oh, Israel!" "And do you know what that may mean?" "A Southern and a Northern Nation. Let them come!" "The States have been knit together slowly, but inevitably by steam and electricity. I can conceive of no greater tragedy than an attempt to-day to divide them." "I can conceive of no greater blessing!" Ruffin fairly shouted. "So William Lloyd Garrison, the leader of Abolition, is saying in his paper _The Liberator_. And, Ruffin, unless we can lock up some hot-heads in the South and such fanatics as Garrison in the North, the mob, not the statesman, is going to determine the laws and the policy of this country. Somebody will try to divide the Union. And then comes the deluge! When I think of it, the words of Thomas Jefferson ring through my soul like an alarm bell in the night. 'I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just and that His justice cannot sleep forever. Nothing is more certainly written in the book of fate than these black people shall be free--'" Ruffin lifted his hand in a commanding gesture. "Don't omit his next sentence, sir--'nor is it less certain, that the two races, equally free, cannot live under the same government--'" "Exactly," Lee answered solemnly. "And that is the only reason why I have ever allowed myself to own a slave for a moment--the insoluble problem of what to do with him when freed. The one excuse for Slavery which the South can plead without fear before the judgment bar of God is the blacker problem which their emancipation will create. Unless it can be brought about in a miracle of patience, wisdom and prayer." He paused and smiled at Ruffin's forlorn expression. "Will you call your reporter now to take my views?" "No, sir," the planter growled. "I've changed my mind." The Colonel laughed softly. "I thought you might." Ruffin gazed in silence through the window at the blinking lights in Washington, turned and looked moodily at his calm host. He spoke in a slow, dreamy monotone, his eyes on space seeing nothing: "Colonel Lee, this country is hell bent and hell bound. I can see no hope for it." Lee lifted his head with firm faith. "Ruffin, this country is in God's hands--and He will do what's right--" "That's just what I'm afraid, sir!" Ruffin mused. "Oh, no--I--don't mean that exactly. I mean that we must anticipate--" "The wisdom of God?" "That we must prepare to meet our enemies, sir." "I agree with you. And I'm going to do it. I've been doing a lot of thinking and _soul_ searching since you gave me this troublesome book to read--" He stopped short, rose and drew the old-fashioned bell cord. Ben appeared in full blue cloth and brass buttons, on duty again as butler. "Yassah--" "I'm glad to see you, Ben. You're feeling yourself again?" "Yassah. Praise God, I'se back at my place once mo', sah." The master lifted his hand in warning. "Take care of yourself now. No more risks. You're not as young as you once were." "Thankee, sah." "Ask Mrs. Lee to bring me the document on my desk. Find Sam and fetch him here." Ben bowed. "Yassah. Right away, sah." Lee turned to his guest genially. "I'm going to ask you to witness what I'm about to do, Ruffin. And you mustn't take offense. We differ about Slavery and politics in the abstract, but whatever our differences on the surface, you are an old Virginia planter and I trust we shall always be friends." The two men clasped hands and Ruffin spoke with deep emotion. "I am honored in your friendship, Colonel Lee. However I may differ with you about the Union, we agree on one thing, that the old Dominion is the noblest state on which the sun has ever shown!" Lee closed his eyes as if in prayer. "On that we are one. Old Virginia, the mother of Presidents and of states, as I leave her soil I humbly pray that God's blessings may ever rest upon her!" "So say I, sir," Ruffin responded heartily. "And I'll try to do the cussin' for her while you do the praying." Mrs. Lee entered and handed to her husband a folded document, as Ben came from the kitchen with Sam, who bowed and grinned to every one in the room. Lee spoke in low tones to his wife. "Ask the young people to come in for a moment, my dear." Mrs. Lee crossed quickly to the library door and called: "Come in, children, Colonel Lee wishes to see you all." Mary, Stuart, Custis, Phil, Robbie and Sid pressed into the hall in curious, expectant mood. Mrs. Marshall knew that Ruffin was still there, but her curiosity got the better of her aversion. She followed the children, only to run squarely into Ruffin. He was about to speak in his politest manner when she stiffened and passed him. Ruffin's eye twinkled. He knew that she saw him. She hated him for his political views. She also knew that he hated her husband, Judge Marshall, with equal cordiality. His pride was too great to feel the slightest hurt at her attempt to ignore him. She was a fanatic on the subject of the Union. All right, he was a fanatic on the idea of an independent South. They were even. Let it be so. With a toss of his head, he turned toward Lee who had seated himself at the table behind the couch. The children were chatting and laughing as they entered. A sudden hush fell on them as they caught the serious look on the Colonel's face. He was writing rapidly. He stopped and fixed a seal on the paper which he held in his hand. He read it carefully, lifted his eyes to the group that had drawn near and said: "Children, my good friend, Mr. Ruffin, has called to-day to bid us God-speed on our journey North. And he has asked me to answer _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. I've called you to witness the only answer I know how to make at this moment." He paused and turned toward Sam. "Come here, Sam." The young negro rolled his eyes in excited wonder about the room and laughed softly at nothing as he approached the table. "Yassah, Marse Robert." "How old are you, Sam?" "Des twenty, sah." "I had meant to wait until you were twenty-one for this, but I have decided to act to-day. You will arrange to leave here and go with us as far as New York." The negro bowed gratefully. "Yassah, thankee sah, I sho did want ter go norf wid you, sah, but I hated to axe ye." Lee handed Sam the document. "You will go with me a free man, my boy. You are the only slave I yet hold in my own right. I have just given you your deed of emancipation. From this hour you are your own master. May God bless you and keep you in health and strength and give you long life and much happiness." Sam stared at the paper and then at the kindly eyes of his old master. A sob caught his voice as he stammered: "May God bless you, Marse Robert--" Ben lifted his hands in benediction and his voice rang in the solemn cadence of the prophet and seer: "And let the glory of His face shine upon him forever!" Mrs. Marshall stooped and kissed her brother. "You're a true son of Virginia, Robert, in this beautiful answer you make to-day to all our enemies." She rose and faced Ruffin with square antagonism. Lee turned to the old butler. "And Ben, tell all our servants of the estate that, under the will of Mrs. Lee's father I will in due time set them free. I would do so to-day if the will had not fixed the date." Ben bowed gravely. "I'se proud to be your servant, Marse Robert and Missis, and when my freedom comes frum yo' hands, I'll be prouder still to serve you always." With head erect Ben proudly led the dazed young freedman from the hall to the kitchen where his reception was one of mixed wonder and pity. There fell a moment's awkward silence, broken at last by Stuart's clear, boyish voice. He saw Ruffin's embarrassment. He knew the man's fiery temper and wondered at his restraint. "Well, Mr. Ruffin," Stuart began, "we may not see as clearly as Colonel Lee to-day, but he's my commander, sir, and I'll say he's right." Ruffin faced Lee with a look of uncompromising antagonism and fairly shot his words. "And for the millions of the South, I say he's wrong. There's a time for all things. And this is not the time for such an act. From the appearance of this book you can rest assured the emancipation of slaves in the South will cease. We will never be bullied into freeing our slaves by slander and insult. Colonel Lee's example will not be followed. The fanatics of the North have begun to spit on our faces. There's but one answer to an insult--and that's a blow!" Lee stepped close to the planter, laid one hand gently on his shoulder, searched his angry eyes for a moment and slowly said: "And thrice is he armed, my friend, who hath his quarrel just. I set my house in order before the first blow falls." Ruffin smiled and threw off the ugly strain. "I'm sorry, sir," he said with friendly indifference, "that my mission has been a failure." "And I'm sorry we can't agree." "I won't be able to stay to dinner, Mrs. Lee, and I bid you all good evening." With a wave of his hand in a gesture behind which lurked the tingling of taut nerves, he turned and left. The beat of his horse's hoof echoed down the road with a sharp, angry crack. CHAPTER IX On Sunday the whole plantation went to Church. The negroes sat in the gallery and listened with rapt attention to the service. They joined its ritual and its songs with their white folks in equal sincerity and more profound emotion. At the crossroads the stream of carriages, carts and buggies and horseback riders parted. To the right, the way led to the Episcopal Church, the old English establishment of the State, long since separated from secular authority, yet still bearing the seal of county aristocracy. Colonel Lee was a devout member of this church. Mrs. Lee was the inspiration of its charities and the soul of its activities. A few of the negroes of the estate attended it with the master and mistress of Arlington. By far the larger number turned to the left at the cross roads and found their way to the Antioch Baptist Church. The simplicity of its service, the fervor of its singing, and above all the emotional call of its revivals which swept the country each summer appealed to the warm-hearted Africans. They took to the Baptist and Methodist churches as ducks to water. The master made no objection to the exercise of their right to worship God as their consciences called. He encouraged their own preachers to hold weekly prayer meetings and exhort his people in the assembling places of the servants. Nor did he object to the dance which Sam, who was an Episcopalian, invariably organized on the nights following prayer and exhortation. This last Sunday was one of tender farewells to friends and neighbors. They crowded about the Colonel after the services. They wished him health and happiness and success in his new work. The last greeting he got from an old bent neighbor of ninety years. It brought a cloud to his brow. All day and into the night the thought persisted and its shadow chilled the hours of his departure. James Nelson was his name, of the ancient family of the Nelsons of Yorktown. He held Lee's hand a long time and blinked at him with a pair of keen, piercing eyes--keen from a spiritual light that burned within. He spoke in painful deliberation as if he were translating a message. "I am glad you are going to West Point, Colonel Lee. You will have time for thinking. You will have time to study the art of war as great minds must study it alone if they lead armies to victory. Generals are not developed in the saddle on our plains fighting savages. Our country is going to need a leader of supreme genius. I saw him in a vision, the night I read in the _Richmond Enquirer_ that you had been called to West Point. I shall not see you again. I am walking now into the sunset. Soon the shadows will enfold me and I shall sleep the long sleep. I am content. I have lived. I have loved. I have succeeded and failed. I have swept the gamut of human passion and human emotion. I have no right to more. Yet I envy you the glory of manhood in the crisis that is coming. May the God of our fathers keep you and teach you and bless you is my prayer." Lee was too deeply moved for words to reply. He pressed his old friend's hand, held it in silence and turned away. The young people rode horseback. Never in his life had Phil seen anything to equal the easy grace with which these Southern girls sat their horses. Their mothers before them had been born in the saddle. Their ease, their grace was not an acquirement of the teacher. It was bred in the bone. When a boy challenged a girl for a race, the challenge was instantly accepted. Their saddles were made of the finest leather which the best saddle makers of England and America could find. Their girths were set with double silver buckles. A saddle never turned. When the long procession reached the gates of Arlington, it seemed to Phil that half the congregation were going to stop for dinner. A large part of them did. Every friend and neighbor who pressed Colonel Lee's hand, or the hand of his wife, had been invited. When they reached the Hall and Library to talk, their conversation covered a wide range of interest. The one topic tabooed was scandal. It might be whispered behind closed doors. It was never the subject of conversation in an assembly of friends and neighbors in the home. They talked of the rich harvest. They discussed the changes in the fortunes of their mutual friends. They had begun to demand better roads. They discussed the affairs of the County, the Church, the State. The ladies chatted of fashions, of course. But they also discussed the latest novels of George Eliot with keen interest and true insight into their significance in the development of English literature. They knew their Dickens, Thackeray and Scott almost by heart--especially Scott. They expressed their opinions of the daring work of the new author with enthusiasm. Some approved; others had doubts. They did not yet know that George Eliot was a woman. The chief topic of conversation among the men was politics, State and National. The problems of the British Empire came in for a share of the discussion. These men not only read Burke and Hume, Dickens and Scott, they read the newspapers of England and they kept up with the program of English political parties as their fathers had. And they quoted their opinions as authority for a younger generation. On the shelves of the library could be seen the classics in sober bindings and sprinkled with them a few French authors of distinction. Over all brooded the spirit of a sincere hospitality, gentle, cordial, simple, generous. They did not merely possess homes, they loved their homes. The two largest words in the tongue which they spoke were Duty and Honor. They were not in a hurry. The race for wealth had never interested them. They took time to play, to rest, to worship God, to chat with their neighbors, to enjoy a sunset. They came of a race of world-conquering men and they felt no necessity for hurrying or apologizing for their birthright. It was precisely this attitude of mind which made the savage attack of the Abolitionists so far-reaching in its possible results. CHAPTER X The morning of the departure dawned with an overcast sky, the prophecy of winter in the gray clouds that hung over the surface of the river. A chill mist, damp and penetrating, crept up the heights from the water's edge and veiled the city from view. Something in the raw air bruised afresh the thought of goodbye to the Southland. The threat of cold in Virginia meant the piling of ice and snow in the North. Not a sparrow chirped in the hedges. Only a crow, passing high in the dull sky, called his defiance of wind and weather. The Colonel made his final round of inspection to see that his people were provided against the winter. Behind each servant's cottage, a huge pile of wood was stacked. The roofs were in perfect order. The chimneys were pouring columns of smoke. It hung low at first but rolled away at the touch of the breeze from the North. With Mrs. Lee he visited the aged and the sick. The thing that brought the smile to each withered mouth was the assurance of their love and care always. Among the servants Sam held the center of interest. The wonderful, doubtful, yet fascinating thing had come to him. He had been set free. In each heart was the wish and with it fear of the future. The younger ones laughed and frankly envied him. The older ones wagged their heads doubtfully. Old Ben expressed the best feelings of the wiser as he took Sam's hand for a fatherly word. He had finished the packing in an old cowhide trunk which Custis had given him. "We's all gwine ter watch ye, boy, wid good wishes in our hearts and a whole lot er misgivin's a playin' roun' in our min'." "Don't yer worry 'bout me, Uncle Ben. I'se all right." He paused and whispered. "Ye didn't know dat Marse Robert done gimme five hundred dollars in gol'--did ye?" "Five hundred dollars in gol'!" Ben gasped. Sam drew the shining yellow eagles from the bag in his pocket and jingled them before the old man's eyes. "Dar it is." Ben touched it reverently. "Praise God fer de good folks He give us." "I'se er proud nigger, I is. I'se sorry fur dem dat b'longs to po' folks." Ben looked at him benignly. "Don't you be too proud, boy. You'se powerful young and foolish. Yer des barely got sense enough ter git outen a shower er rain. Dat money ain't gwine ter las yer always." "No, but man, des watch my smoke when I git up North. Yer hear frum me, yer will." "I hopes I hear de right news." Sam replaced his coin with a touch of authority in possession. "Don't yer worry 'bout me no mo'. I'se a free man now an' I gwine ter come into de Kingdom." The last important task done by the Colonel before taking the train for New York was the delivery to his lawyers of instructions for the removal of the Doyles and the placing in his hands sufficient funds for their journey. He spent a day in Washington investigating the chances of the new settler securing a quarter section of land in Miami County, Kansas, the survey of which had been completed. He selected this County on the Missouri border to please Mrs. Doyle. She wished to live as near the line of old Virginia's climate as possible and in a country with trees. Doyle promised to lose no time in disposing of his goods. The father, mother, three sons and two little girls were at Arlington to bid the Colonel and his family goodbye. They were not a demonstrative people but their affection for their neighbor and friend could not be mistaken. The mother's eyes followed him with no attempt to hide her tears. She wiped them away with her handkerchief. And went right on crying and wiping them again. The boys were too shy to press forward in the crowd and grasp the Colonel's hand. On arrival in New York the party stopped at the new Hotel Astor on Broadway. Colonel Lee had promised to spend a day at Fort Hamilton, his old command. But it was inconvenient to make the trip until the following morning. Besides, he had important business to do for Sam. He had sent two of the servants, whom he had emancipated, to Liberia, and he planned the same journey for Sam. He engaged a reservation for him on a steamer sailing for Africa, and returned to the hotel at nine o'clock ready to leave for Fort Hamilton. He was compelled to wait for Sam's return from the boarding house for colored people on Water Street where he had been sent by the proprietor of the Astor. Not even negro servants were quartered in a first-class hotel in New York or any other Northern city. Sam arrived at half-past nine, and the Colonel strolled down Broadway with him to the little park at Bowling Green. He found a seat and bade Sam sit down beside him. The boy watched the expression on his old master's face with dread. He had a pretty clear idea what this interview was to be about and he had made up his mind on the answer. His uncle, who had been freed five years before, had written him a glowing letter about Liberia. He dreaded the subject. "You know, of course, Sam," the Colonel began, "that your life is now in your own hands and that I can only advise you as a friend." "An' I sho's glad ter have ye he'p me, Marse Robert." "I'm going to give you the best advice I can. I'm going to advise you to do exactly what I would do if I were in your place." "Yassah." "If I were you, Sam, I wouldn't stay in this country. I'd go back to the land of my black fathers, to its tropic suns and rich soil. You can never be a full-grown man here. The North won't have you as such. The hotel wouldn't let you sleep under its roof, in spite of my protest that you were my body-servant. In the South the old shadow of your birth will be with you. If you wish to lift up your head and be a man it can't be here. No matter what comes in the future. If every black man, woman and child were set free to-morrow, there are not enough negroes to live alone. The white man will never make you his equal in the world he is building. I've secured your passage to Liberia and I will pay for it without touching the money which I gave you. What do you think of it?" Sam scratched his head and looked away embarrassed. He spoke timidly at first, but with growing assurance. "I'se powerful 'fraid dat Liberia's a long way frum home, Marse Robert." "It is. But if you wish to be a full-grown man, it's your chance to-day. It will be the one chance of your people in the future as well. Can you make up your mind to face the loneliness and build your home under your own vine and fig tree? There you can look every man in the face, conscious that you're as good as he is and that the world is yours." "I'se feared I ain't got de spunk, Marse Robert." "The gold in your pocket will build you a house on public lands. You know how to farm. Africa has a great future. You've seen our life. We've taught you to work, to laugh, to play, to worship God, to love your home and your people. You're only twenty years old. I envy you the wealth of youth. I've reached the hilltop of life. Your way is still upward for a quarter of a century. It's the morning of life, boy, and a new world calls you. Will you hear it and go?" "I'se skeered, Marse Robert," Sam persisted, shaking his head gravely. Lee saw the hopelessness of his task and changed his point of appeal. "What do you think of doing?" "Who, me?" "Who else? I can't think for you any longer." "Oh, I'll be all right, sah. I foun' er lot er good colored friends in de bordin' house las' night. Wid dat five hundred dollars, I be livin' in clover here, sah, sho. I done talk wid a feller 'bout goin' in business." "What line of business?" "He gwine ter sho me ter-day, sah." "You don't think you might change your mind about Liberia?" "Na sah. I don't like my uncle dat's ober dar, nohow." "Then I can't help you any more, Sam?" "Na sah, Marse Robert. Y'u been de bes' master any nigger eber had in dis worl' an' I ain't nebber gwine ter fergit dat. When I feels dem five hundred dollars in my pocket I des swells up lak I gwine ter bust. I'se dat proud o' myse'f an' my ole marster dat gimme a start. Lordee, sah, hit's des gwine ter be fun fer me ter git long an' I mak' my fortune right here. Ye see ef I don't--" Lee smiled indulgently. "Watch out you don't lose the little one I gave you." "Yassah, I got hit all sewed up in my close." The old master saw that further argument would be useless. He rose wondering if his act of emancipation were not an act of cowardice--the shirking of responsibility for the boy's life. His mouth closed firmly. That was just the point about the institution of Slavery. No such responsibility should be placed on any man's shoulders. Sam insisted on ministering to the wants of the family until he saw them safely on the boat for West Point. He waved each member a long goodbye. And then hurried to his new chum at the boarding house on Water Street. This dusky friend had won Sam's confidence by his genial ways on the first night of their acquaintance. He had learned that Sam had just been freed. That this was his first trip to New York though he spoke with careless ease of his knowledge of Washington. But the most important fact revealed was that he had lately come into money through the generosity of his former master. The sable New Yorker evinced no curiosity about the amount. After four days of joy he waked from a sickening stupor. He found himself lying in a filthy alley at dawn, bareheaded, his coat torn up the back, every dollar gone and his friend nowhere to be found. Colonel Lee had given him the address of three clergymen and told him to call on them for help if he had any trouble. He looked everywhere for these cards. They couldn't be found. He had been so cocksure of himself he had lost them. He couldn't make up his mind to stoop to blacking boots and cleaning spittoons. He had always lived with aristocrats. He felt himself one to his finger tips. There was but one thing he could do that seemed to be needed up here. He could handle tobacco. He could stem the leaf. He had learned that at Arlington in helping Ben superintend the curing of the weed for the servants' use. He made the rounds of the factories only to find that the larger part of this work was done in tenement homes. He spent a day finding one of these workshops. They offered to take him in as a boarder and give him sixty cents a day. He could have a pallet beside the six children in the other room and a place to put his trunk. Sixty cents a day would pay his room rent and give him barely enough food to keep body and soul together. He hurried back to his boarding house, threw the little trunk on his back and trudged to the tobacco tenement. When he arrived no one stopped work. The mother waved her hand to the rear. He placed his trunk in a dark corner, came out and settled to the task of stemming tobacco. He did his work with a skill and ease that fascinated the children. He took time to show them how to grip the leaf to best advantage and rip the stem with a quick movement that left scarcely a trace of the weed clinging to it. He worked with a swinging movement of his body and began to sing in soft, low tones. The wizened eyes brightened, and when he stopped one of them whispered: "More, black man. Sing some more!" He sang one more song and choked. His eye caught the look of mortal weariness in the tired face of the little girl of six and his voice wouldn't work. "Goddermighty!" he muttered, "dese here babies ought not ter be wukkin lak dis!" When lunch time came the six children begged Sam to live in the place and take his meals with them. Their mother joined in the plea and offered to board him for thirty cents a day. This would leave him a few cents to spend outside. He couldn't yet figure on clothes. It didn't seem right to have to pay for such things. Anyhow he had enough to last him awhile. He decided to accept the offer and live as a boarder with the family. The lunch was discouraging. A piece of cold bread and a glass of water from the hydrant. Sam volunteered to bring the water. The hydrant was the only water supply for the six hundred people whose houses touched the alley. It stood in the center. The only drainage was a sink in front of it. All the water used had to be carried up the stairs and the slops carried down. The tired people did little carrying downstairs. Pans and pails full of dishwater were emptied out the windows with no care for the passer below. Scarcely a day passed without a fight from this cause. A fight in the quarter was always a pleasure to the settlement. Sam munched his bread and sipped his water. He watched the children eat their pieces ravenously. He couldn't finish his. He handed it to the smallest one of the children who was staring at him with eyes that chilled his heart. He knew the child was still hungry. Such a lunch as a piece of bread and a tin cup of water must be an accident, of course. He had heard of jailers putting prisoners on bread and water to punish them. He had never known human beings living at home to have such food. They would have a good dinner steaming hot. He was sure of that. A sudden commotion broke out in the alley below. Yells, catcalls, oaths and the sound of crashing bricks, coal, pieces of furniture, and the splash of much water came from the court. The mother rushed to the window and hurled a stone. There was a pile of them in the corner of the room. Sam tried to look out. "What's de matter, ma'm? Is dey er fight?" "No--nothin' but a rent collector." The woman smiled. It was the first pleasant thought that had entered her mind since Sam had come. The dinner was as rude a surprise as the lunch. He watched the woman fumble over lighting the fire in the stove until he could stand it no longer. "Lemme start de fire fer ye, ma'm," he offered at last. "I wish you would," she sighed. "I married when I wuz seventeen and I never had made a fire before. I don't believe I'll ever learn." The negro was not long in observing that she knew no more about cooking than she did about lighting a fire. The only cooking utensils in the place were a pot and a frying pan. The frying pan was in constant use. For dinner she fried a piece of tough beef without seasoning. She didn't know how to make bread. She bought the soggy stuff at the grocer's. There was no bread for dinner at all. They had boiled potatoes, boiled in plain water without even a grain of salt or pepper. The coffee was so black and heavy and bitter he couldn't drink it. The father had a cup of beer with his coffee. A cup of beer was provided for Sam. The girl of twelve had rushed the growler to the corner saloon. The negro had never tasted beer before and he couldn't drink it. The stuff was horrible. It reminded him of a dose of quinine his mistress had once made him take when he had a chill. He worked harder than usual next day to forget the fear that haunted him. At night he was ill. He had caught cold and had a fever. He dropped on his pallet without dinner and didn't get up for three weeks. He owed his landlady so much money now, he felt in honor bound to board with her and give her all his earnings. He felt himself sinking into an abyss and he didn't have the strength to fight his way out. The thing that hurt him more than bad food and air when he got to his work again was the look of death in the faces of the children. Their eyes haunted him in the dark as they slept on the same floor. He would get out of there when he was strong again. But these children would never go except to be hauled in the dead wagon to the Potter's Field. And he heard the rattle of this black wagon daily. In a mood of desperation he walked down Water Street past the boarding house. In front of the place he met a boarder who had spoken to him the last day of his stay. He seized Sam by the coat, led him aside and whispered: "Has ye heard 'bout de old man, name John Brown, dat come ter lead de niggers ter de promise' lan'?" "No, but I'se waitin' fur somebody ter lead me." "Come right on wid me, man. I'se a-goin' to a meetin' to-night an' jine de ban'. Will ye jine us?" "I jine anything dat'll lead me to de promise' lan'." "Come on. Hit's over in Brooklyn but a nigger's gwine ter meet me at de ferry and take me dar." Sam felt in his pocket for the money for the ferry. Luckily he had twenty cents. It was worth while to gamble that much on a trip to the promised land. An emissary of the prophet met them on the Brooklyn side and led them to a vacant store with closed wooden shutters. No light could be seen from the street. The guide rapped a signal and the door opened. Inside were about thirty negroes gathered before a platform. Chairs filled the long space. A white man was talking to the closely packed group of blacks. Sam pressed forward and watched him. He was old until he began to talk. And then there was something strange and electric in his tones that made him young. His voice was vaulting and metallic and throbbed with an indomitable will. There was contagion in the fierceness of his tones. It caught his hearers and called them in a spell. His shoulders were stooped. His manner grim and impressive. There was a quick, wiry movement to his body that gave the idea that he was crouching to spring. It was uncanny. It persisted as his speech lengthened. He was talking in cold tones of the injustice being done the black man in the South. Of the crimes against God and humanity which the Southern whites were daily committing. The one feature of the strange speaker that fascinated Sam was the glitter of his shifting eyes. He never held them still. He did not try to bore a man through with them. They were restless, as if moved by hidden forces within. The flash of light from their depths seemed a signal from an unknown world. Sam watched him with open mouth. He was finishing his talk now in a desultory way more gripping in its deadly calm than the most passionate appeal. "We are enrolling volunteers," he quietly announced. "Volunteers in the United States League of Gileadites. If you sign your names to the roll to-night understand clearly what you are doing. I have written for each member _Words of Advice_ which he must memorize as the guide to his action." He drew a sheet of paper from his pocket and read: "No jury can be found in the Northern States, that would convict a man for defending his rights to the last extremity. This is well understood by Southern Congressmen, who insist that the right of trial by jury should not be granted to the fugitive slave. Colored people have more fast friends among the whites than they suppose. Just think of the money expended by individuals in your behalf in the past twenty years! Think of the number who have been mobbed and imprisoned on your account. Have any of you seen the branded hand? Do you remember the names of Lovejoy and Torrey? Should any of your number be arrested, you must collect together as quickly as possible so as to outnumber your adversaries who are taking an active part against you. Let no able-bodied man appear on the ground unequipped or with his weapons exposed to view; let that be understood beforehand. Your plans must be known only to yourself, and with the understanding that all traitors must die, wherever caught and proven to be guilty. "'Whosoever is fearful or afraid, let him return and depart early from Mount Gilead' (Judges VII Chapter, 3rd verse; Deuteronomy XX Chapter, 8th verse). Give all cowards an opportunity to show it on condition of holding their peace. Do not delay one moment after you're ready: you will lose all your resolution if you do. Let the first blow be the signal for all to engage; and when engaged do not do your work by halves; but make clean work with your enemies--" It was the slow way in which he spoke the last words that gave them meaning. Sam could hear in his tones the crash of steel into human flesh and the grating of the blade on the bone. It made him shiver. Every negro present joined the League. When the last man had signed, John Brown led in a long prayer to Almighty God to bless the holy work on which these noble men had entered. At the close of his prayer he announced that on the following night at the People's Hall on the Bowery in New York, the Honorable Gerrit Smith, the noblest friend of the colored men in the North, would preside over a mass meeting in behalf of the downtrodden. He asked them all to come and bring their friends. The ceremony of signing over, Sam turned to the guide with a genial smile. "I done jine de League." "That's right. I knew you would." "I'se a full member now, ain't I?" "Of course." "When do we eat?" Sam asked eagerly. "Eat?" "Sho." "We ain't organizin' de Gileadites to eat, man." "Ain't we?" "No, sah. We'se organizin'--ter kill white men dat come atter runaway slaves." "But ain't dey got nuttin ter eat fer dem dat's here?" "You come ter de big meetin' ter-morrow night an' hear sumfin dat's good fer yo' soul." "I'll be dar," Sam promised. But he hoped to find something at the meeting that was good for his stomach as well as his soul. CHAPTER XI The negroes in New York and Brooklyn were not the only people in the North falling under the influence of the strange man who answered to the name of John Brown. There was something magnetic about him that drew all sorts and conditions of men. The statesmen who still used reason as the guiding principle of life had no use for him. Henry Wilson, the new Senator from Massachusetts, met him and was repelled by the something that drew others. Governor Andrew was puzzled by his strange personality. The secret of his power lay in a mystic appeal to the Puritan conscience. He had been from childhood afflicted with this conscience in its most malignant form. He knew instinctively its process of action. The Puritan had settled New England and fixed the principles both of economic and political life. The civilization he set up was compact and commercial. He organized it in towns and townships. The Meeting House was the center, the source of all power and authority. No dwelling could be built further than two miles from a church and attendance on worship was made compulsory by law. The South, against whose life Brown was organizing his militant crusade, was agricultural, scattered, individual. Individualism was a passion with the Southerner, liberty his battle cry. He scorned the "authority" of the church and worshipped God according to the dictates of his own conscience. The Court House, not the Meeting House, was his forum, and he rode there through miles of virgin forests to dispute with his neighbor. The mental processes of the Puritan, therefore, were distinctly different from that of the Southerner. The Puritan mind was given to hours of grim repression which he called "Conviction of Sin." Resistance became the prime law of life. The world was a thing of evil. A morass of Sin to be attacked, to be reformed, to be "abolished." The Southerner perceived the evils of Slavery long before the Puritan, but he made a poor Abolitionist. The Puritan was born an Abolitionist. He should not only resist and attack the world; he should _hate_ it. He early learned to love the pleasure of hating. He hated himself if no more promising victim loomed on the horizon. He early became the foremost Persecutor and Vice-Crusader of the new world. He made witch-hunting one of the sports of New England. When not busy with some form of the witch hunt, the Puritan found an outlet for his repressed instincts in the ferocity with which he fought the Indians or worked to achieve the conquest of Nature and lay up worldly goods for himself and his children. Prosperity, therefore, became the second principle of his religion, next to vice crusading. When he succeeded in business, he praised God for his tender mercies. His goods and chattels became the visible evidence of His love. The only holiday he established or permitted was the day on which he publicly thanked God for the goods which He had delivered. Through him the New England Puritan Thanksgiving Day became a national festival and through him a religious reverence for worldly success has become a national ideal. The inner life of the Puritan was soul-fear. Driven by fear and repression he attacked his rock-ribbed country, its thin soil, its savage enemies and his own fellow competitors with fury. And he succeeded. The odds against him sharpened his powers, made keen his mind, toughened his muscles. The Southern planter, on the other hand, represented the sharpest contrast to this mental and physical attitude toward life. He came of the stock of the English Squire. And if he came from Scotland he found this English ideal already established and accepted it as his own. The joy of living, not the horror of life, was the mainspring of his action and the secret of his character. The Puritan hated play. The Southerner loved to play. He dreamed of a life rich and full of spiritual and physical leisure. He enjoyed his religion. He did not agonize over it. His character was genial. He hated fear and drove it from his soul. He loved a fiddle and a banjo. He was brave. He was loyal to his friends. He loved his home and his kin. He despised trade. He disliked hard work. To this hour in the country's life his ideal had dominated the nation. The Puritan Abolitionists now challenged this ideal for a fight to the finish. Slavery was protected by the Constitution. All right, they burn the Constitution and denounce it as a Covenant with Death, an agreement with Hell. They begin a propaganda to incite servile insurrection in the South. They denounce the Southern Slave owner as a fiend. Even the greatest writers of the North caught the contagion of this mania. Longfellow, Lowell, Whittier and Emerson used their pens to blacken the name of the Southern people. From platform, pulpit and forum, through pamphlet, magazine, weekly and daily newspapers the stream of abuse poured forth in ever-increasing volume. That the proud Southerner would resent the injustice of this wholesale indictment was inevitable. Their habit of mind, their born instinct of leadership, their love of independence, their hatred of dictation, their sense of historic achievement in the building of the republic would resent it. Their critics had not only been Slave holders themselves as long as it paid commercially, but their skippers were now sailing the seas in violation of Southern laws prohibiting the slave trade. Our early Slave traders were nearly all Puritans. When one of their ships came into port, the minister met her at the wharf, knelt in prayer and thanked Almighty God for one more cargo of heathen saved from hell. Brown's whole plan of attack was based on the certainty of resentment from the South. He set out to provoke his opponents. This purpose was now the inspiration of every act of his life. A group of six typical Northern minds had fallen completely under his power: Dr. Samuel G. Howe, Rev. Theodore Parker, Rev. Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Frank B. Sanborn, George L. Stearns and the Rev. Hon. Gerrit Smith. Gerrit Smith was many times a millionaire, one of the great land owners of the country, a former partner in business with John Jacob Astor, the elder, and at this time a philanthropist by profession. He had built a church at Peterboro, New York, and had preached a number of years. In his growing zeal as an Abolitionist he had entered politics and had just been elected to Congress from his district. He was a man of gentle, humane impulses and looked out upon the world with the kindliest fatherly eyes. It was one of the curious freaks of fate that he should fall under the influence of Brown. The stern old Puritan was his antithesis in every line of face and mental make-up. Smith was the preacher, the theorist, and the dreamer. Brown had become the man of Action. And by Action he meant exactly what the modern Social anarchist means by _direct action_. The plan he had developed was to come to "close quarters" with Slavery. He had organized the Band of Gileadites to kill every officer of the law who attempted to enforce the provisions of the Constitution of the United States relating to Slavery. His eyes were now fixed on the Territory of Kansas. There could be no doubt about the abnormality of the mind of the man who had constituted himself the Chosen Instrument of Almighty God to destroy chattel Slavery in the South. He was pacing the floor of the parlor of the New Astor House awaiting the arrival of his friend, Congressman Gerrit Smith, for a conference before the meeting scheduled for eight o'clock. It was a characteristic of Brown that he couldn't sit still. He paced the floor. The way he walked marked him with distinction, if not eccentricity. He walked always with a quick, springing step. He didn't swing his foot. It worked on springs. And the spring in it had a furtive action not unlike the movement of a leopard. His muscles, in spite of his fifty-four years, were strong and sinewy. He was five feet ten inches in height. His head was remarkable for its small size. The brain space was limited and the hair grew low on his forehead, as if a hark back to the primitive man out of which humanity grew. His chin protruded into an aggressive threat. His mouth was not only stern, it was as inexorable as an oath. His hair was turning gray and he wore it trimmed close to his small skull. His nose was an aggressive Roman type. The expression of his face was shrewd and serious, with a touch always of cunning. A visitor at his house at North Elba whispered one day to one of his sons: "Your father looks like an eagle." The boy hesitated and replied in deep seriousness: "Yes, or some other carnivorous bird." The thing above all others that gave him the look of a bird of prey was his bluish-gray eye. An eye that was never still and always shone with a glitter. The only time this strange light was not noticeable was during the moments when he drew the lids down half-way. He was in the habit of holding his eyes half shut in times of deep thinking. At these moments if he raised his head, his eyes glowed two pin points of light. No matter what the impression he made, either of attraction or repulsion, his personality was a serious proposition. No man looked once only. And no man ever attempted undue familiarity or ridicule. His life to this time had been a series of tragic failures in everything he had undertaken. A study of his intense Puritan face revealed at once his fundamental character. A soul at war with the world. A soul at war with himself. He was the incarnation of repressed emotions and desires. He had married twice and his fierce passions had made him the father of twenty children before fifty years of age. His first wife had given birth to seven in ten years and died a raving maniac during the birth of her last. Two of his children had already shown the signs of unbalanced mentality. The grip of his mind on the individuals who allowed themselves to be drawn within the circle of his influence became absolute. He was a man of earnest and constant prayer to his God. The God he worshipped was one whose face was not yet revealed to the crowd that hung on his strangely halting words. He spoke in mystic symbols. His mysticism was always the source of his power over the religious leaders who had gathered about him. They had not stopped to analyze the meaning of this appeal. They looked once into his shining blue-gray eyes and became his followers. He never stopped to reason. He spoke with authority. He claimed a divine commission for action and they did not pause to examine his credentials. He had failed at every enterprise he had undertaken. And then he suddenly discovered his power over the Puritan imagination. To Brown's mind, from the day of his devotion to the fixed idea of destroying Slavery in the South, "Action" had but one meaning--bloodshed. He knew that revolutionary ideas are matters of belief. He asserted beliefs. The elect believed. The damned refused to believe. Long before Smith had entered the room Brown had dropped into a seat by the window, his eyes two pin points. His abstraction was so deep, his absorption in his dreams so complete that when Smith spoke, he leaped to his feet and put himself in an attitude of defense. He gazed at his friend a moment and rubbed his eyes in a dazed way before he could come back to earth. In a moment he had clasped hands with the philanthropist. Smith looked into his eyes and his will was one with the man of Action. He had not yet grasped the full meaning of the Action. He was to awake later to its tremendous import--primitive, barbaric, animal, linking man through hundreds of thousands of years to the beast who was his jungle father. Smith did not know that he was to preside at the meeting until Brown told him. He consented without a moment's hesitation. CHAPTER XII On their way to the hall on the Bowery Gerrit Smith and John Brown passed through dimly lighted streets along which were drifting scores of boys and girls, ragged, friendless, homeless, shelterless in the chill night. The strange old man's eyes were fixed on space. He saw nothing, heard nothing of the city's roaring life or the call of its fathomless misery. He saw nothing even when they passed a house with a red light before which little girls of twelve were selling flowers. Neither of the men, living for a single fixed idea, caught the accent of evil in the child's voice as she stepped squarely in front of them and said: "What's ye hurry?" When they turned aside she piped again: "Won't ye come in?" They merely passed on. The infinite pathos of the scene had made no impression. That this child's presence on the streets was enough to damn the whole system of society to the lowest hell never dawned on the philanthropist or the man of Action. The crowd in the hall was not large. The place was about half full and it seated barely five hundred. The masses of the North as yet took no stock in the Abolition Crusade. They felt the terrific pressure of the problem of life at home too keenly to go into hysterics over the evils of Negro Slavery in the South. William Lloyd Garrison had been preaching his denunciations for twenty-one years and its fruits were small. The masses of the people were indifferent. But a man was pushing his way to the platform of the little hall to-night who was destined to do a deed that would accomplish what all the books and all the magazines and all the newspapers of the Crusaders had tried in vain to do. Small as the crowd was, there was something sinister in its composition. Half of them were foreigners. It was the first wave of the flood of degradation for our racial stock in the North--the racial stock of John Adams and John Hancock. A few workingmen were scattered among them. Fifty or sixty negroes occupied the front rows. Sam had secured a seat on the aisle. Gerrit Smith rose without ceremony and introduced Brown. There were no women present. He used the formal address to the American voter: "Fellow Citizens: "I have the honor to present to you to-night a man chosen of God to lead our people out of the darkness of sin, my fellow worker in the Kingdom, the friend of the downtrodden and the oppressed, John Brown." Faint applause greeted the old man as he moved briskly to the little table with his quick, springing step. He fixed the people with his brilliant eyes and they were silent. He was slow of speech, awkward in gesture, and without skill in the building of ideas to hold the imagination of the typical crowd. It was not a typical crowd of American freemen. It was something new under the sun in our history. It was the beginning of the coming mob mind destined to use Direct Action in defiance of the Laws on which the Republic had been built. There was no mistaking the message Brown bore. He proclaimed that the negro is the blood brother of the white man. The color of his skin was an accident. This white man with a black skin was now being beaten and ground into the dust by the infamy of his masters. Their crimes cried to God for vengeance. All the negro needed was freedom to transform him into a white man--your equal and mine. At present, our brothers and sisters are groaning in chains on Southern plantations. His vaulting metallic tones throbbed with a strange, cold passion as he called for Action. The vibrant call for bloodshed in this cry melted the crowd into a new personality. The mildest spirit among them was merged into the mob mind of the speaker. And every man within the sound of his voice was a murderer. The final leap of the speaker's soul into an expression of supreme hate for the Southern white man found its instant echo in the mob which he had created. They demanded no facts. They asked no reasons. They accepted his statements as the oracle of God. They were opinions, beliefs, dogmas, the cries of propaganda only--precisely the food needed for developing the mob mind to its full strength. Envy, jealousy, hatred ruled supreme. Liberty was a catchword. Blood lust was the motive power driving each heart beat. Brown suddenly stopped. His speech had reached no climax. It had rambled into repetition. Its power consisted in the repetition of a fixed thought. He knew the power of this repeated hammering on the mind. An idea can be repeated until it is believed, true or false. He had pounded his message into his hearers until they were incapable of resistance. It was unnecessary for him to continue. He stopped so suddenly, they waited in silence for him to go on after he had taken his seat. A faint applause again swept the front of the house. There was something uncanny about the man that hushed applause. They knew that he was indifferent to it. Hidden fires burned within him that lighted the way of life. He needed no torches held on high. He asked no honors. He expected no applause and he got little. What he did demand was submission to his will and obedience as followers. Gerrit Smith rose with this thought gripping his gentle spirit. His words came automatically as if driven by another's mind. "Our friend and leader has dedicated his life to the service of suffering humanity. It is our duty to follow. The first step is to sacrifice our money in his cause." The ushers passed the baskets and Sam's heart warmed as he heard the coin rattle. His eyes bulged when he saw that one of them had a pile of bills in it that covered the coin. He heard the great and good man say that it was for the poor brother in black. He saw visions of a warm room, of clean food and plenty of it. He was glad he'd come, although he didn't like the look in John Brown's eyes while he spoke. Their fierce light seemed to bore through him and hurt. Now that he was seated and his eyes half closed, uplifted toward the ceiling, he wasn't so formidable. He rather liked him sitting down. The ushers poured the money on the table and counted it. Sam had not seen so much money together since he piled his five hundred dollars in gold in a stack and looked at it. He watched the count with fascination. There must be a thousand at least. He was shocked when the head usher leaned over the edge of the platform, and whispered to Smith the total. "Eighty-five dollars." Sam glanced sadly at the two rows of negroes in front. There wouldn't be much for each. He took courage in the thought, however, that some of them were well-to-do and wouldn't ask their share. He was sure of this because he had seen three or four put something in the baskets. Gerrit Smith announced the amount of the collection with some embarrassment and heartily added: "My check for a hundred and fifteen dollars makes the sum an even two hundred." That was something worth while. Smith and Brown held a conference about the announcement of another meeting as Sam whispered to the head usher: "Could ye des gimme mine now an' lemme go?" "Yours?" "Yassah." "Your share of the collection?" The usher eyed him in scorn. "To be sho," Sam answered confidently. "Yer tuk it up fer de po' black man. I'se black, an' God knows I'se po'." "You're a poor fool!" "What ye take hit up fer den?" "To support John Brown, not to feed lazy, good-for-nothing, free negroes." Sam turned from the man in disgust. He was about to rise and shamble back to his miserable pallet when a sudden craning of necks and moving of feet drew his eye toward the door. He saw a man stalking down the aisle. He carried on his left arm a little bundle of filthy rags. He mounted the platform and spoke to the Chairman: "Mr. Smith, may I say just a word to this meeting?" The Philanthropist Congressman recognized him instantly as the most eloquent orator in the labor movement in America. He had met him at a Reform Convention. He rose at once. "Certainly." "Fellow Citizens, Mr. George Evans, the leading advocate of Organized Labor in America, wishes to speak to you. Will you hear him?" "Yes! Yes! Yes!" came from all parts of the house. The man began in quivering tones that held Sam and gripped the unwilling mind of the crowd: "My friends: Just a few words. I have in my arms the still breathing skeleton of a little girl. I found her in a street behind this building within the sound of the voice of your speaker." He paused and waved to John Brown. "She was fighting with a stray cat for a crust of bread in a garbage pail. I hold her on high." With both hands he lifted the dazed thing above his head. "Look at her. This bundle of rags God made in the form of a woman to be the mother of the race. She has been thrown into your streets to starve. Her father is a workingman whom I know. For six months, out of work, he fought with death and hell, and hell won. He is now in prison. Her mother, unable to support herself and child, sought oblivion in drink. She's in the gutter to-night. Her brother has joined a gang on the East Side. Her sister is a girl of the streets. "You talk to me of Negro Slavery in the South? Behold the child of the White Wage Slave of the North! Why are you crying over the poor negro? In the South the master owns the slave. Here the master owns the job. Down there the master feeds, clothes and houses his man with care. Black children laugh and play. Here the master who owns the job buys labor in the open market. He can get it from a man for 75 cents a day. From a woman for 30 cents a day. When he has bought the last ounce of strength they can give, the master of the wage slave kicks him out to freeze or starve or sink into crime. "You tell me of the white master's lust down South? I tell you of the white master's lust for the daughters of our own race. "I see a foreman of a factory sitting in this crowd. I've known him for ten years. I've talked with a score of his victims. He has the power to employ or discharge girls of all ages ranging from twelve to twenty-five. Do you think a girl can pass his bead eyes and not pay for the job the price he sees fit to demand? "If you think so, you don't know the man. I do!" He paused and the stillness of death followed. Necks were craned to find the figure of the foreman crouching in the crowd. The speaker was not after the individual. His soul was aflame with the cause of millions. "I see also a man in the crowd who owns a row of tenements so filthy, so dark, so reeking with disease that no Southern master would allow a beast to live in them. This hypocrite has given to John Brown to-night a contribution of money for the downtrodden black man. He coined this money out of the blood of white men and women who pay the rent for the dirty holes in which they die." A moment of silence that was pain as he paused and a hundred eyes swept the room in search of the man. Again the speaker stood without a sign. He merely paused to let his message sink in the hearts of his hearers. "My eyes have found another man in this crowd who is an employer of wage slaves. He is here to denounce Chattel Slavery in the South as the sum of all villainies while he practices a system of wage slavery more cruel without a thought morally wrong. "I say this in justice to the man because I know him. He hasn't intelligence enough to realize what he is doing. If he had he would begin by abolishing slavery in his own household. This reformer isn't a bad man at heart. He is simply an honest fool. These same fools in England have given millions to abolish black slavery in the Colonies and leave their own slaves in the Spittalfield slums to breed a race of paupers and criminals. Why don't a Buxton or a Wilberforce complain of the White Slavery at home? Because it is indispensable to their civilization. They lose nothing in freeing negroes in distant Colonies. They would lose their fortunes if they dared free their own white brethren. "The master of the wage slave employs his victim only when he needs him. The Southern master supports his man whether he needs him or not. And cares for him when ill. The Abolitionist proposes to free the black slave from the whip. Noble work. But to what end if he deprives him of food? He escapes the lash and lands in a felon's cell or climbs the steps of a gallows. "Your inspired leader, the speaker of this evening, has found his most enthusiastic support in New England. "No doubt. "In Lowell, Massachusetts, able-bodied men in the cotton mills are receiving 80 cents a day for ten hours' work. Women are receiving 32 cents a day for the same. At no period of the history of this republic has it been possible for a human being to live in a city and reproduce his kind on such wages. What is the result? The racial stock that made the Commonwealth of Massachusetts a civilized state is perishing. It is being replaced from the slums of Europe. The standard of life is dragged lower with each generation. "The negro, you tell me, must work for others or be flogged. The poor white man at your door must work for others or be starved. The negro is subject to a single master. He learns to know him, if not to like him. There is something human in the touch of their lives. The poor white man here is the slave of many masters. The negro may lead the life of a farm horse. Your wage slave is a horse that hasn't even a stable. He roams the street in the snows of winter. He is ridden by anybody who wishes a ride. He is cared for by nobody. Our rich will do anything for the poor except to get off their backs. The negro has a master in sickness and health. The wage slave is honored with the privilege of slavery only so long as he can work ten hours a day. He is a pauper when he can toil no more. "Your Abolitionist has fixed his eye on Chattel Slavery in the South. It involves but three million five-hundred thousand negroes. The system of wage slavery involves the lives of twenty-five million white men and women. "Slavery was not abolished in the North on moral grounds, but because, as a system of labor it was old-fashioned, sentimental, extravagant, inefficient. It was abolished by the masters of men, not by the men. "The North abolished slavery for economy in production. There was no sentiment in it. Wage slavery has proven itself ten times more cruel, more merciless, more efficient. The Captain of Industry has seen the vision of an empire of wealth beyond the dreams of avarice. He has seen that the master who cares for the aged, the infirm, the sick, the lame, the halt is a fool who must lag behind in the march of the Juggernaut. Only a fool stops to build a shelter for his slave when he can kick him out in the cold and find hundreds of fresh men to take his place. "Two years ago the Chief of Police of the City of New York took the census of the poor who were compelled to live in cellars. He found that eighteen thousand five hundred and eighty-six white wage slaves lived in these pest holes under the earth. One-thirteenth of the population of the city lives thus underground to-day. Hundreds of these cellars are near the river. They are not waterproof. Their floors are mud. When the tides rise the water floods these noisome holes. The bedding and furniture float. Fierce wharf rats, rising from their dens, dispute with men, women and children the right to the shelves above the water line. "There are cellars devoted entirely to lodging where working men and women can find a bed of straw for two cents a night--the bare dirt for one cent. Black and white men, women and children, are mixed in one dirty mass. These rooms are without light, without air, filled with the damp vapors of mildewed wood and clothing. They swarm with every species of vermin that infest the animal and human body. The scenes of depravity that nightly occur in these lairs of beasts are beyond words. "These are the homes provided by the master who has established 'Free' Labor as the economic weapon with which he has set out to conquer the world. "And he is conquering with it. The superior, merciless power of this system as an economic weapon is bound to do in America what it has done throughout the world. The days of Chattel Slavery are numbered. The Abolitionist is wasting his breath, or worse. He is raising a feud that may drench this nation in blood in a senseless war over an issue that is settled before it's raised. "Long ago the economist discovered that there was no vice under the system of Chattel Slavery that could not be more freely gratified under the new system of wage slavery. "You weep because the negro slave must serve one master. He has no power to choose a new one. Do not forget that the power to _choose_ a new master carries with it power to discharge the wage slave and hire a new one. This power to discharge is the most merciless and cruel tyranny ever developed in the struggle of man from savagery to civilization. This awful right places in the hand of the master the power of life and death. He can deprive his wage slave of fuel, food, clothes, shelter. Life is the only right worth having if its exercise is put into question. A starving man has no liberty. The word can have no meaning. He must live first or he cannot be a man. "The wage slave is producing more than the chattel slaves ever produced, man for man, and is receiving less than the negro slave of the South is getting for his labor to-day. "Your system of wage slavery is the cunning trick by which the cruel master finds that he can deny to the worker all rights he ever had as a slave. "If you doubt its power, look at this bundle of rags in my hands and remember that there are five thousand half-starved children homeless and abandoned in the streets of this city to-night. "Find for me one ragged, freezing, starving, black baby in the South and I will buy a musket to equip an army for its invasion--" He paused a moment, turned and gazed at the men on the platform and then faced the crowd in a final burst of triumphant scorn. "Fools, liars, hypocrites, clean your own filthy house before you weep over the woes of negroes who are singing while they toil--" A man on an end seat of the middle aisle suddenly sprang to his feet and yelled: "Put him out!" Before Gerrit Smith could reach Evans with a gift of five dollars for the sick child which he still held in his arms the crowd had become a mob. They hustled the labor leader into the street and told him to go back to hell where he came from. Through it all John Brown sat on the platform with his blue-gray eyes fixed in space. He had seen, heard or realized nothing that had passed. His mind was brooding over the plains of Kansas. CHAPTER XIII It was October, 1854, before John Brown's three sons, Owen, Frederick and Salmon, left Ohio for their long journey to Kansas. In April, 1855, they crossed the Missouri river and entered the Territory. John Brown decided to move his family once more to North Elba before going West. It was June before his people reached this negro settlement in Northern New York. He placed his wife and children in an unplastered, four-roomed house. Through its rough weatherboarding the winds and snows of winter would howl. It had been hurriedly thrown together by his son-in-law, Henry Thompson. Brown had never stayed on one of his little farms long enough to bring order out of chaos. His restless spirit left him no peace. He was now in Boston, now in Springfield, Massachusetts, now in New York, again in Ohio, or Illinois. He was giving up the work in Ohio to follow his sons into Kansas. He had planned to move there two years before and abandoned the idea. He had at last fully determined to go. On October the sixth, his party reached the family settlement at Osawatomie. With characteristic queerness the old man did not enter with his sons, Oliver, Jason and John, Jr., and their caravan. He stopped alone on the roadside two miles away until next day. The party on arrival had plenty of guns, swords and ammunition but their treasury held but sixty cents. The family settlement were living in tents around which the chill autumn winds were howling. The poor crops they had raised had not been harvested. The men were ill and discouraged. There was little meat, except game and that was difficult to kill. Their only bread was made from corn meal ground at a hand-turned mill two miles away. Brown's sons, who had preceded him, had lost all vigor. The old man was not slow to see the way out. The situation called for Action. He determined to get it. He immediately plunged into Free Soil Politics without pausing to build his first shanty against the coming rains and snows of a terrible winter. CHAPTER XIV The race for the lands of the new Territories of Kansas and Nebraska was on to the finish. Nebraska was far North. Kansas only interested the Southerner. The frontiersmen were crossing the boundary lines years before Congress formally opened them for settlement. After a brief stop in West Tennessee the Doyles had succeeded in reaching Miami County, just beyond the Missouri border, in 1853. They had settled on a fertile quarter section on the Pottawattomie Creek in a small group of people of Southern feeling. The sun of a new world had begun to shine at last for the humble but ambitious woman who had borne five strong children to be the athletic sons and daughters of a free country. Her soul rose in a triumphant song that made her little home the holy of holies of a new religion. Her husband was the lord of a domain of fertile land. His fields were green with wheat. She loved to look over its acres of velvet carpet. In June her man and three stalwart boys, now twenty, eighteen and fourteen years of age, would swing the reaper into that field and harvest the waving gold without the aid of a hired laborer. She and her little girls would help and sing while they toiled. There was no debt on their books. They had horses, cows, sheep, pigs, chickens, ducks, turkeys. Their crib was bulging with corn. The bins in their barn were filled with grain. Their house was still the humble cottage of the prairie pioneer, but her men had made it snug and warm against the winds and snows of winter. Their farm had plenty of timber on the Pottawattomie Creek which flowed through the center of the tract. They had wood for their fires and logs with which to construct their stable and outhouses. The house they built four-square with sharp gables patterned after the home they had lost. There were no dormers in the attic, but two windows peeped out of the gable beside the stone chimney and gave light and air to the boys' room in the loft. A shed extension in the rear was large enough for both kitchen and dining room. The home stood close beside the creek, and the murmur of its waters made music for a busy mother's heart. There was no porch over the front door. But her boys had built a lattice work that held a labyrinth of morning glories in the summer. She had found the gorgeous wild flowers blooming on the prairies and made a hedge of them for the walks. They were sending their shoots up through the soil now to meet the sun of spring. The warm rays had already begun to clothe the prairie world with beauty and fragrance. The mother never tired of taking her girls on the hill beyond the creek and watching the men at work on the wide sweeping plains that melted into the skyline miles beyond. Something in its vast silence, in its message of the infinite, soothed her spirit. All her life in the East she had been fighting against losing odds. These wide breathing plains had stricken the shackles from her soul. She was free. Sometimes she felt like shouting it into the sky. Sometimes she knelt among the trees and thanked God for His mercy in giving her the new lease of life. The new lease on life had depth and meaning because she lived and breathed in her children. Her man had a man's chance at last. Her boys had a chance. The one thing that gave her joy day and night was the consciousness of living among the men and women of her own race. There was not a negro in the county, bond or free, and she fervently prayed that there never would be. Now that they were free from the sickening dread of such competition in life, she had no hatred of the race. As a free white woman, the mother of free white men and women, all she asked was freedom from the touch of an inferior. She had always felt instinctively that this physical contact was poison. She breathed deeply for the first time. There was just one cloud on the horizon which threatened her peace and future. Her husband, after the fashion of his kind, in the old world and the new, had always held political opinions and had dared to express them without fear or favor. In Virginia his vote was sought by the leaders of the county. He had been poor but he had influence because he dared to think for himself. He was a Southern born white man, and he held the convictions of his birthright. He had never stopped to analyze these faiths. He believed in them as he believed in God. They were things not to be questioned. Doyle had not hesitated to express his opinions in Kansas as in Virginia. The few Southern settlers on the Pottawattomie Creek were sympathetic and no trouble had come. But the keen ears of the woman had caught ominous rumors on the plains. The father and mother sat on a rude board settee which John had built. The boy had nailed it against a black jack close beside the bend of the creek where the ripple of the hurrying waters makes music when the stream is low and swells into a roar when gorged by the rains. The woman's face was troubled as she listened to the waters. She studied the strong lines of her husband's neck, shoulders and head, with a touch of pride and fear. His tongue was long in a political argument. He had a fatal gift of speech. He could say witty, bitter things if stung by an opponent. She spoke with deep seriousness: "I wish you wouldn't talk so much, John--" "And why not?" "You'll get in trouble." "Well, I've been in trouble most of my life. There's no use livin' at all, if you live in fear. I ain't never knowed what it is to be afraid. And I'm too old to learn." "They say, the Northern men that's passin' into the Territory have got guns and swords. And they say they're goin' to use 'em. They outnumber the Southerners five to one." "What are they goin' to do with their guns and swords? Cut a man's tongue out because he dares to say who he's goin' to vote for next election?" "You don't have to talk so loud anyhow," his wife persisted. "Ole woman, I'm free, white, and twenty-one. I've been a-votin' and watchin' the elections in this country for twenty odd years. Ef I've got to tiptoe around, ashamed of my raisin', and ashamed of my principles, I don't want to live. I wouldn't be fit ter live." "I want ye to live." "You wouldn't want to live with a coward." "A brave man can hold his tongue, John." "I ain't never learnt the habit, Honey." "Won't you begin?" "Ye can't learn a old dog new tricks--can they, Jack?" He stroked his dog's friendly nose suddenly thrust against his knee. "You know, Honey," he went on laughingly, "we brought this yellow pup from Old Virginia. He's the best rabbit and squirrel dog in the county. I've taught him to stalk prairie chickens out here. I'd be ashamed to look my dog in the face ef I wuz ter tuck my tail between my legs and run every time a fool blows off his mouth about the South--" He stopped and laughed, his white teeth gleaming through his fine beard. "Don't you worry, Honey. Those fields are too purty this spring for worrying. We're goin' to send Colonel Lee our last payment this fall and we'll not owe a cent to any man on earth." CHAPTER XV John Brown plunged into politics in Kansas under the impression that his will could dominate the rank and file of the Northern party. He quickly faced the fact that the frontiersmen had opinions of their own. And they were not in the habit of taking orders from a master. His hopes were raised to their highest at the Free State Convention which met at Lawrence on Monday, the twenty-fifth of June, 1855. This Convention spoke in tones that stirred Brown's admiration. It meant Action. They elected him a vice president of the body. He had expected to be made president. However, his leadership was recognized. All he needed was the opportunity to take the Action on which his mind had long been fixed. The moment blood began to flow, there would be but one leader. Of that, he felt sure. He could bide his time. The Convention urged the people to unite on the one issue of making Kansas a Free Soil State. They called on every member of the Shawnee Legislature who held Free Soil views to resign from that body, although it had been recognized by the National Government as the duly authorized law-making assembly of the Territory. They denounced this Legislature as the creature of settlers from Missouri who had crowded over the border before the Northerners could reach their destination. They urged all people to refuse to obey every law passed by the body. The final resolution was one inspired by Brown himself. It was a bold declaration that if their opponents wished to fight, the Northerners were READY! The challenge was unmistakable. Brown felt that Action was imminent. Only a set of poltroons would fail to accept the gauge of battle thus flung in their faces. To his amazement the challenge was not received by the rank and file of the Free Soil Party with enthusiasm. Most of these Northerners had moved to Kansas as bona fide settlers. They came to build homes for the women they had left behind. They came to rush their shacks into shape to receive their loved ones. They had been furnished arms and ammunition by enthusiastic friends and politicians in the older States. And they had eagerly accepted the gifts. There were droves of Indians still roaming the plains. There were dangers to be faced. The Southern ruffians of whom they had heard so much had not materialized. Although the Radical wing of the Northern Party had made Lawrence its Capital and through their paper, the _Herald of Freedom_, issued challenge after challenge to their enemies. The Northern settlers began to divide into groups whose purposes were irreconcilable. Six different conventions met in Lawrence on or before the fifteenth of August. Each one of these conventions was divided in councils. In each the cleavage between the Moderates and Radicals became wider. Out of the six conventions of Northerners at Lawrence, out of resolution and counter resolution, finally emerged the accepted plan of a general convention at Big Springs. The gathering was remarkable for the surprise it gave to the Radicals of whom Brown was the leader. The Convention adopted the first platform of the Free State party and nominated ex-Governor Reeder as its candidate for delegate to Congress. For the first time the hard-headed frontiersmen who came to Kansas for honest purposes spoke in plain language. The first resolution settled the Slavery issue. It declared that Slavery was a curse and that Kansas should be free of this curse. But that as a matter of common sense they would consent to any reasonable adjustment in regard to the few slaves that had already been brought into the Territory. Brown and his followers demanded that Slavery should be denounced as a crime, not a curse, as the sum of all villainies and the Southern master as a vicious and willful criminal. The mild expression of the platform on this issue wrought the old man's anger to white heat. The offer to compromise with the slave holder already in Kansas he repudiated with scorn. But a more bitter draught was still in store for him. The platform provided that Kansas should be a Free White State. And in no uncertain words made plain that the accent should be on the word WHITE. The document demanded the most stringent laws excluding ALL NEGROES, BOND AND FREE, forever from the Territory. The old man did not hear this resolution when read. So deep was his brooding anger, the words made no impression. Their full import did not dawn on him until John Brown, Jr., leaned close and whispered: "Did you hear that?" The father stirred from his reverie and turned a dazed look on his son. "Hear what?" "The infamous resolution demanding that Kansas be made a white man's country and no negro, bond or free, shall ever be allowed to enter it?" The hard mouth twitched with scorn. And his jaws came together with a snap. "It doesn't matter what they add to their first maudlin plank on the Slavery issue." "Will you sit here and see this vile thing done?" A look of weariness came over the stern face with its deep-cut lines. "It's a waste of words to talk to politicians." John, Jr. was grasping at the next resolution which was one surpassing belief. He rubbed his ears to see if he were really hearing correctly. This resolution denounced the charge that they were Radicals at all. It denounced the attempt of any man to interfere by violence with slaves or Slavery where protected by the supreme law of the land. It repudiated as stale and ridiculous the charge of Abolitionism against them. And declared that such an accusation is without a shadow of truth to support it. Charles Stearns, the representative of the New England Society, leaped to his feet and denounced the platform in withering tones. He fairly shrieked his final sentence: "All honest anti-slavery men, here and elsewhere, will spit on your platform!" He paused and faced the leaders who had drafted it. "And all pro-slavery men must forever despise the base sycophants who originated it!" John Brown, Jr., applauded. The crowd laughed. Old John Brown had paid no further heed to the proceedings of the Convention. His eyelids were drawn half down. Only pin points of glittering light remained. The resolutions were adopted by an overwhelming majority. In the East, Horace Greeley in the _Tribune_ reluctantly accepted the platform: "Why free blacks should be excluded it is difficult to understand; but if Slavery can be kept out by compromise of that sort, we shall not complain. An error of this character may be corrected; but let Slavery obtain a foothold there and it is not so easily removed." Brown's hopes were to be still further dashed by the persistence with which the leaders of this Convention followed up the program of establishing a white man's country on the free plains of the West. When the Convention met at Topeka on the twenty-third of October, to form a Constitution, the determination to exclude all negroes from Kansas was again sustained. The majority were finally badgered into submitting the issue to a separate vote of the people. On the fifteenth of December, the Northern settlers voted on it and the question _was_ settled. Negroes were excluded by a three-fourths majority. Three-fourths of the Free State settlers were in favor of a white man's country and the heaviest vote against the admission of negroes was polled in Lawrence and Topeka, where the Radicals had from the first made the most noise. The Northern men who had come to Kansas merely to oppose the extension of Slavery were in a hopeless minority in their own party. The American voters still had too much common sense to be led into a position to provoke civil war. John Brown spent long hours in prayer after the final vote on the negro issue had been counted. He denounced the leaders in politics in Kansas as trimmers, time servers, sycophants and liars. He walked beneath the star-sown skies through the night. He wrestled with his God for a vision. There must be a way to Action. He rose from prayer at dawn after a sleepless night and called for his sons, Owen, Oliver, Frederick and Salmon, to get ready for a journey. He had received a first hint of the will of God. He believed it might lead to the way. He organized a surveyor's party and disguised himself as a United States Surveyor. He had brought to Kansas a complete outfit for surveying land. He instructed Owen and Frederick to act as chain carriers, Salmon as axeman and Oliver as marker. He reached the little Southern settlement on the Pottawattomie Creek the fifteenth of May. He planted his compass on the bank of the creek near the Doyles' house and proceeded to run a base line. The father and three boys were in the fields at work beyond the hill. He raised his compass and followed the chainman to the Doyles' door. The mother and little girl trudged behind, delighted with the diversion of the party, so rare on the lonely prairies. Little could they dream the grim deed that was shaping in the soul of the Surveyor. When they reached the house she turned to the old man with Southern courtesy: "Won't you come in, sir, and rest a few minutes?" The strange, blue-gray eyes glanced restlessly toward the hill and he signaled his sons: "Rest awhile, boys." Frederick and Oliver sat down on a pile of logs. Salmon and Owen, at a nod from their father, wandered carelessly toward the stable and outhouses. Owen found the dog Doyle had brought from Virginia and took pains to make friends with him. Brown's keen, restless eyes carefully inspected the door, its fastenings and the strength of its hinges. The iron of the hinges was flimsy. The fastening was the old-fashioned wooden shutters hung outside and closed with a single slide. He noted with a quick glance that there was no cross bar of heavy wood nor any sockets in which such a bar could be dropped. The windows were small. There was no glass. Solid wooden shutters hung outside and closed with a single hook and eye for fastenings. The sun was setting before the surveying party stopped work. They had run a line close to the house of every Southern settler on the Pottawattomie Creek, noting carefully every path leading to each house. They had carefully mapped the settlement and taken a census of every male inhabitant and every dog attached to each house. They also made an inventory of the horses, saddles and bridles. Having completed their strange errand, they packed their instruments and rode toward Osawatomie. CHAPTER XVI With the opening of the Territory of Kansas the first Regiment of United States Cavalry, commanded by Colonel E.V. Sumner, had been transferred to Fort Leavenworth. The life of the barracks was young Lieutenant J.E.B. Stuart. Colonel Lee had been transferred from West Point to the command of the Second United States Cavalry on the Mexican Border at the same time that Stuart's regiment was moved to Kansas. The rollicking song-loving, banjo-playing Virginian had early distinguished himself as an Indian fighter. He had been dangerously wounded, but recovered with remarkable rapidity. His perfect health and his clean habits stood him in good stead on the day an Indian's bullet crashed through his breast. He was a favorite with officers and men. As a cadet he had given promise of the coming soldier. At the Academy he was noted for his strict attendance to every military duty, and his erect, soldierly bearing. He was particularly noted for an almost thankful acceptance of a challenge to fight any cadet who might feel himself aggrieved. The boys called him a "Bible Class Man." He was never known to swear or drink. They also called him "Beauty Stuart," in good natured boyish teasing. He was the best-looking cadet of his class, as he was the best-looking young officer of his regiment. His hair was a reddish brown. His eyes a deep steel blue, his voice clear and ringing. In his voice the soul of the man spoke to his fellows. He was always singing--always eager for a frolic of innocent fun. Above all, he was always eager for a frolic with a pretty girl. He played both the banjo and the guitar and little he cared for the gathering political feud which old John Brown and his sons had begun to foment on the frontier. As a Southerner the struggle did not interest him. It was a foregone conclusion that the country would be settled by Northern immigrants. They were pouring into the Territory in endless streams. A colony from New Haven, Connecticut, one hundred strong, had just settled sixty miles above Lawrence on the Kansas River. They knew how to plow and plant their fields and they had modern machinery with which to do it. The few Southerners who came to Kansas were poorly equipped. Lawrence was crowded with immigrants from every section of the North. The fields were white with their tents. A company from Ohio, one from Connecticut, and one from New Hampshire were camping just outside the town. Daily their exploring committees went forth to look at localities. Daily new companies poured in. Stuart let them pour and asked no questions about their politics. He was keen on one thing only--the pretty girls that might be among them. When exploring parties came to Fort Leavenworth, the young Lieutenant inspected them with an eye single to a possible dance for the regiment. The number of pretty girls was not sufficient to cause excitement among the officers as yet. The daughters of the East were not anxious to explore Kansas at this moment. The Indians were still troublesome at times. A rumor spread through the barracks that the prettiest girl in Kansas had just arrived at Fort Riley, sixty-eight miles beyond Topeka. Colonel Phillip St. George Cooke of Virginia commanded the Fort and his daughter Flora had ventured all the way from Harper's Ferry to the plains to see her beloved daddy. The news thrilled Stuart. He found an excuse to carry a message from Colonel Sumner to Colonel Cooke. He expected nothing serious, of course. Every daughter of Virginia knew how to flirt. She would know that he understood this from the start. It would be nip and tuck between the Virginia boy and the Virginia girl. He had always had such easy sailing in his flirtations he hoped Miss Flora would prove a worthy antagonist. As a matter of course, Colonel Cooke asked the gallant young Virginian to stay as his guest. "What'll Colonel Sumner say, sir?" Stuart laughed. "Leave Sumner to me." "You'll guarantee immunity?" "Guaranteed." "Thank you, Colonel Cooke, I'll stay." Stuart could hardly wait until the hour of lunch to meet the daughter. He was impatient to ask where she was. The Colonel guessed his anxiety and hastened to relieve it, or increase it. "You haven't met my daughter, Lieutenant?" he asked casually. "I haven't that honor, Colonel, but this gives me the happy opportunity." He said it with such boyish fun in his ringing voice that Cooke laughed in spite of his desire to maintain the strictest dignity. He half suspected that the young officer might meet his match in more ways than one. "She'll be in at noon," the Commander remarked. "Off riding with one of the boys." "Of course," Stuart sighed. He began to scent a battle and his spirits rose. He went to his room, took his banjo out of its old leather strapped case and tuned it carefully. He made up his mind to give the young buck out riding with her the fight of his life while there. He heard the ring of the girl's laughter as she bade her escort goodbye at the door. He started to go down at once and begin the struggle. Something in the ring of her young voice stopped him. There was a joyous strength in it that was disconcerting. A girl who laughed like that had poise. She was an individual. He liked, too, the tones of her voice before he had seen her. This struck him as odd. Never in his life before had he liked a girl before meeting her just for a tone quality in her voice. This one haunted him the whole time he was changing his uniform. He decided to shave again. He had shaved the night before very late. He didn't like the suggestion of red stubble on his face. It might put him at a disadvantage. He resented the name of Beauty Stuart and yet down in his man soul he knew that he was vain. He began to wonder if she were blonde or brunette, short or tall, petite or full, blue eyes or brown? She must be pretty. Her father was a man of delicate and finely marked features--the type of Scotch-Irish gentlemen who had made the mountains of Virginia famous for pretty women and brainy men. He heard her softly playing a piano and wondered how on earth they had ever moved a piano to this far outpost of civilization. The cost was enormous. But the motive of her father in making such a sacrifice to please her was more important. His love for her must be unusual. It piqued his interest and roused again his impulse for a battle royal with another elusive daughter of his native state. He made up his mind not to wait for the call to lunch. He would walk boldly into the reception room and introduce himself. She knew he was there, of course. At the first sound of his footstep, her hand paused on the keys and she turned to greet him, rising quickly, and easily. The vision which greeted Stuart stunned him for a moment. A perfect blonde with laughing blue eyes, exactly the color of his own, slim and graceful, a smile that was sunlight, and a step that was grace incarnate. And yet her beauty was not the thing that stunned him. He had discounted her good looks from a study of her father's delicate face. It was the glow of a charming personality that disarmed him at the first glance. She extended a slender hand with a smile. "I'm so glad to meet you, Lieutenant Stuart." He took it awkwardly, and blushed. He mumbled when he spoke and was conscious that his voice was thick. "And I'm so glad to see you, Miss Flora." They had each uttered the most banal greeting. Yet the way in which the words were spoken was significant. Never in his life had he heard a voice so gentle, so tender, so appealing in its sincerity. All desire to flirt, to match wit against a charming girl vanished. He felt a resistless impulse to protect her from any fool who would dare try to start a flirtation. She was too straightforward, too earnest, too sincere. She seemed a part of his own inmost thought and life. It was easy to see that while she was the pet of her father, she was unspoiled. Stuart caught himself at last staring at her in a dazed, foolish way. He pulled himself together and wondered how long he had held her hand. "Won't you play for me, Miss Flora?" he asked at last. "If you'll sing," she laughed. "How do you know I sing?" "How do you know I play?" "I heard you." "I heard you, too." "Upstairs?" "Just before you came down." "I had no idea I was so loud." "Your voice rings. It has carrying power." He started to say: "I hope you like it," and something inside whispered: "Behave." She took the seat at the piano and touched the keys with an easy, graceful movement. She looked up and smiled. Her eyes blinded him. They were so bright and friendly. "What will you sing?" "_Annie Laurie_," he answered promptly. Stuart sang with deep tenderness and passion. He outdid himself. And he knew it. He never knew before that he could sing so well. On the last stanza the girl softly joined a low, sweet voice with his. As the final note died away in Stuart's voice, hers lingered a caress. The man's heart leaped at its tenderness. "Why didn't you join me at first?" he asked. "Nobody axed me, sir!" she said. "Well, I ask you now--come on--we'll do it together!" "All right," was the jolly answer. They sang it in duet to the soft accompaniment which she played. Never had he heard such singing by a slip of a girl. Her voice was rich, full of feeling and caressing tenderness. He felt his soul dissolving in its liquid depths. Throughout the lunch he caught himself staring at her in moments of long silence. He had for the first time in his life lost his capacity for silly gaiety. He roused himself with an effort, and wondered what on earth had come over him. He was too deeply interested in studying the girl to attempt to analyze his own feelings. It never occurred to him to try. He was too busy watching the tender light in her eyes. He wondered if she could be engaged to the fellow she went riding with? He resented the idea. Of course not. And when he remembered the care-free ring to her laughter when she said goodbye, he was reassured. No girl could laugh a goodbye like that to a man she loved. The tone was too poised and impersonal. He asked her to ride with him that afternoon. "On one condition," she smiled. "What?" "That you bring your banjo and play for me when I ask you." "How'd you know I had a banjo?" "Caught the final twang as you tuned it on my arrival." "I'll bring it if you like." "Please." He hurried to his room, placed the banjo in its case and threw it over his shoulder. She had promised to be ready in ten minutes and have the horses at the door. She was ready in eight minutes, and leaped into the saddle before he could reach her side. For the life of him he couldn't keep his eye off her exquisite figure. She rode without effort. She had been born in the saddle. She led him along the military road to the juncture of the Smoky Hill and Republican rivers. A lover at the Fort had built a seat against a huge rock that crowned the hill overlooking the fork of the rivers. Stuart hitched the horses and found the seat. For two hours he played his banjo and they sang old songs together. "I love a banjo--don't you?" she asked enthusiastically. "It's my favorite music. There's no sorrow in a banjo. You can make it laugh. You can make it shout. You can make it growl and howl and snarl and fight. But you can't make a banjo cry. There are no tears in it. The joy of living is all a banjo knows. Why should we try to know anything else anyhow?" "We shouldn't," she answered soberly. "The other things will come without invitation sometime." For an hour they talked of the deep things of life. He told of his high ambitions of service for his country in the dark days that might come in the future. Of the kind of soldier the nation would need, and the ideal he had set for his soul of truth and honor, of high thinking and clean living in the temptations that come to a soldier's daily life. And she applauded his ideals. She told him they were big and fine and she was proud of him as a true son of Old Virginia. The sun was sinking behind the dim smoky hills toward the West when she rose. "We must be going!" "I had no idea it was so late," he apologized. It was not until he reached his room at eleven o'clock after three hours more of her in the reception room that he faced the issue squarely. He stood before the mirror and studied his flushed face. A look of deep seriousness had crept into his jolly blue eyes. "You're a goner, this time, young man!" he whispered. "You're in love." He paused and repeated it softly. "_In love_--the big thing this time. Sweeping all life before it. Blotting out all that's passed and gripping all that lies beyond--Glory to God!" For hours he lay awake. The world was made anew. The beauty of the new thought filled his soul with gratitude. He dared not tell her yet. The stake was too big. He was playing for all that life held worth having. He couldn't rush a girl of that kind. A blunder would be fatal. He had a reputation as a flirt. She had heard it, no doubt. He must put his house in order. His word must ring true. She must believe him. He made up his mind to return to Fort Leavenworth next day and manage somehow to get transferred to Fort Riley for two weeks. CHAPTER XVII The Surveyor of the lands of Pottawattomie Creek was shaping the organization of a band of followers. To this little group, composed as yet of his own sons in the main, he talked of his work, his great duty, his mission with mystic elation. A single idea was slowly fixing itself in his mind as the purpose of life. It was fast becoming an obsession. He slept but little. The night before he had slept but two hours. When the camp supper had been prepared, he stood with bare head in the midst of his followers and thanked God. The meal was eaten to-night in a grim silence which Brown did not break once. The supper over, he rose and again returned thanks to the Bountiful Giver. And then he left the camp without a word. Alone he tramped the prairie beneath the starlit sky of a beautiful May night. Hour after hour he paused and prayed. Always the one refrain came from his stern lips: "Give me, oh, Lord God, the Vision!" And he would wait with eyes set on the stars for its revelation. He crouched at last against the trunk of a tree in a little ravine near the camp. It was past three o'clock. William Walker, who was acting his second in command, was still waiting his orders for the following day. He saw Brown enter the ravine at one o'clock. Impatient of his endless wandering, tired and sleepy, he decided to follow his Chief and ask his orders. He found him in a sitting posture, leaning against a blackjack, his rifle across his knees. Walker called softly and received no response. He approached and laid his hand on his shoulder. Instantly he leaped to his feet, his rifle at his follower's breast, his finger on the trigger. "My God!" Walker yelled. His speech was too late to stop the pressure of the finger. Walker pushed the muzzle up and the ball grazed his shoulder. The leader gripped his follower's arm, stared at him a moment and merely grunted: "Oh!" When the day dawned a new man was found to act as second in command. Walker had deserted his queer chieftain. The old man entered the camp at dawn, the light of determination in his eyes and a new set to his jaw. His first plan of the Pottawattomie was right. The turn toward Lawrence had been a waste of time. He selected six men to accompany him on his mission, his four sons who had made up the Surveyor's party, his son-in-law, Henry Thompson, and Theodore Weiner. Owen, Salmon, Oliver and Frederick Brown knew every foot of the ground. They had carried the chain, set the markers and flags and kept the records. He called his men in line and issued his first command: "To the house of James Townsley." Townsley belonged to the Pottawattomie Rifles of which organization his son, John Jr., was the Captain. Arrived at the house, Brown drew Townsley aside and spoke in a vague, impersonal manner. "I hear there is trouble expected on the Pottawattomie." "Is there?" "We hear it." "What are you going to do?" "March to their rescue. Will you help us?" "How?" "Harness your team of grays and take our party to Pottawattomie." "All right." The old man found a grindstone and ordered the ugly cutlasses which he had brought from Ohio to be sharpened. He stood over the stone and watched it turned until each edge was as keen as a butcher's blade. It began to dawn on the two younger sons before the grinding of the swords was finished what their father had determined. Frederick asked Oliver tremblingly: "What do you think of this thing?" "It looks black to me." "It looks hellish to me." "I'm not going." "Nor am I." They promptly reported the decision to their father. His eyes flamed. "It's too late to retreat now!" "We're not going," was the sullen answer in chorus. The father gripped the two with his hard hands and held them as in a vise. "You will not put me to shame now before these men. You will go with me--do you hear?" His tones rang with the quiver of steel and the boys' wills weakened. Frederick said finally: "We'll go with you then, but we'll take no part in what you do." "Agreed," was the stern answer. He turned to Oliver and said: "Give me your revolver. I may need it." "It's mine," the boy replied. "I'll not give it up." The old man looked the stalwart figure over in a quick glance of appraisement. Brown had been a man of iron strength in his day but his shoulders were stooped and he knew he was no match for the fierce strength of youth. Yet his hesitation was only for an instant. With the sudden spring of a panther he leaped on the boy and attempted to take the pistol by force. The son resisted with fury. Frederick, alarmed lest the pistol should be discharged in the struggle, managed to slip it from his brother's belt. The match was not equal. Youth was master in the appeal to brute strength. At North Elba the father had once thrown thirty lumbermen in a day, one after the other, in a wrestling match. He summoned the last ounce of strength now to subdue his rebellious son. Frederick watched the contest with painful anxiety. His own mind was not strong. He had already given evidences of insanity that had distressed his brother. If Oliver should kill his father or the old man should kill the brother! He couldn't face the hideous possibility. Yet he couldn't stop them. Fortunately there were no other witnesses to the fight. Townsley was busy at the stable with the team. Weiner and Thompson had gone into the house to complete their packing of provisions for the journey. In tones of blind anguish Frederick followed the two desperate struggling men. "Don't do this, Father!" The old man made no answer save to swing his agile son's frame to one side in another futile effort to throw him to the ground. Not a word escaped his lips. His eyes flashed and glittered with the uncertain glare of a maniac in the moments when the iron muscles of the son pinned his arms and held his wiry body rigid. Again Frederick's low pleading could be heard. This time to his brother: "Can't you stop it, Oliver?" "How can I?" "For God's sake stop it--stop it!" "I can't stop it. Don't ye see he's got me and I've got to hold him." The consciousness of failing strength drove the father to fury. His breath was coming now in shorter gasps. He knew his chances of success were fading. He yielded for a moment, and ceased to struggle. A cunning look crept into his eyes. The boy relaxed his vigilance. The old man felt the boy's grip ease. With a sudden thrust of his body he summoned the last ounce of strength, and threw his son to the ground. The boy laughed a devilish cry of the strong with the weak as he fell. Before he touched the ground he had deftly turned the father's body beneath his and the full weight of his two hundred pounds fairly crushed the breath from the older man. A groan of rage and despair was wrung from his stern lips. But no word escaped him. Frederick rushed to the prostrate figures, seized Oliver by the shoulders and tore his grip loose. "This is foolish!" he stormed. No sooner had Brown risen than he plunged again at his son. The boy had been playing with him to this time. The half of his strength was yet in reserve. A little angry grunt came from his lips, and his father was a child in his hands. With sure, quick movement he pinioned both arms and jammed him against the wheel of the wagon. He held him there for an instant helpless to resist or move. The last cry of despairing command came from Brown's soul. "Let go of me, sir!" The boy merely growled a bulldog's answer. "Not till you agree to behave yourself." Another desperate contraction of muscles and the order came more feebly. "Will you let go of me, sir?" "Will you behave yourself?" "Yes," came the sullen answer. The boy relaxed his grip and stood ready for action. "All right, then." "You can keep your pistol." "I intend to." "But you are not to use it, sir, without my orders." "I am not going to use it at all, except in self-defense." "You will not be called upon to defend yourself. I am going on a divine mission. God has shown me the way in a Vision. I wish no man's help who must be driven." "You'll not get any help, sir. I wouldn't have gone on that survey with you if I'd known what was in your mind." Brown searched his son's eyes keenly. "You will not betray me to my enemies?" "I can't do that. You're my father." He turned to Frederick. "Nor you?" The tears were streaming down the boy's face. He was hysterical from the strain of the fight. "You heard me, sir," the father stormed. "What did you say?" Frederick stammered. Oliver explained. "He asked if you were going to betray his plans to those people on the Pottawattomie." A far-away expression came into his eyes. "No--no--not that." "Then you'll both follow and keep out of my way until we have finished the work and then come back with me?" "Yes," Oliver answered. "Yes," Frederick echoed vaguely. Townsley and Weiner were coming with the pair of grays to be hitched to the wagon. Weiner led his own pony already saddled. When they reached the wagon all signs of rebellion had passed. "Are you ready?" Townsley asked. "Ready." Brown's metallic voice rang. The horses were hitched to the wagon, the provisions and equipment loaded. Brown turned to his loyal followers: "Arm yourselves." Owen, Salmon, Henry Thompson, Theodore Weiner and John Brown each buckled a loaded revolver about his waist, and seized a rifle and cutlass. Weiner mounted his pony as an outpost rider and the others climbed into the wagon. Oliver and Frederick agreed to follow on foot. The expedition moved toward the Southern settlement on Pottawattomie Creek. Brown crouched low in the wagon as it moved slowly forward and a look of cunning marked his grim face. He was the Witch Hunter now. The chase was on. And the game was human. As the sun was setting behind the Western horizon in a glow of orange and purple glory the strange expedition drove down to the edge of the timber between two deep ravines and camped a mile above Dutch Henry's Crossing of the Pottawattomie. The scene was one of serene beauty. The month of May--Saturday, the twenty-third. Nature was smiling in the joy of her happiest hour. Peace on earth, plenty, good will and happiness breathed from every bud and leaf and song of bird. The broad prairies of the Territory were fertile and sunny. They stretched away in unbroken, sublime loveliness until the land kissed the infinite of the skies. Unless one had the feeling for this suggestion of an inland sea the view might be depressing and the eye of the traveler weary. The spot which John Brown picked for his camp was striking in its beauty and picturesque appeal. Winding streams, swelling hills, and steep ravines broke the monotony of the plains. The streams were bordered by the rich foliage of noble trees. The streams were called "Creeks." In reality, they were beautiful rivers in the month of May--the Marais des Cygnes and the Pottawattomie. They united near Osawatomie to form the Osage River, the largest tributary to the Missouri below its mountain sources. Each river had its many tributaries winding gracefully along wood-fringed banks. Beyond these ribbons of beautiful foliage stretched the gorgeous carpet of the grass-matted, flower-strewn prairies. The wild flowers were in full bloom, pushing their red, white, yellow, blue and pink heads above the grass. The wind was blowing a steady life-giving gale. The fields of flowers bowed and swayed and rose again at its touch. Their perfume filled the air. The perfume of the near-by fields was mingled with the odor of thousands of miles of prairie gardens to the south and west. A peculiar clearness in the atmosphere gave the widest range to vision. Brown climbed the hill alone while his men were unpacking. From the hilltop, even in the falling twilight, he could see clearly for thirty or forty miles. He swept the horizon for signs of the approach of a party which might interfere with his plan. He knelt again and prayed to his God, as the twilight deepened into darkness. The stars came out one by one and blinked down at his bent figure still in prayer, his eyes uplifted in an uncanny glare. As he slowly moved back to his camp he met Townsley. Frederick and Oliver had reached camp and Townsley had caught a note of the sinister in their whispered talk. He didn't like the looks of it. Brown had told him there was trouble brewing on the Pottawattomie. He had supposed, as a matter of course, that it was the long-threatened attack of enemies on Weiner's store. Weiner, a big, quarrelsome Austrian, had been in more than one fist fight with his neighbors. Brown studied Townsley and decided to give him but a hint of his true purpose. He didn't like this sign of weakness on the eve of great events. Townsley took the hint with a grain of salt, but what he heard was enough to bring alarm. The thing Brown had hinted was incredible. But as Townsley looked at the leader he realized that he was not an ordinary man. There was something extraordinary about him. He either commanded the absolute obedience of men who came near him or he sent them from him with a repulsion as strong as the attraction to those who liked him. He felt the smothering power of this spell over his own mind now and tried to break it. "Mr. Brown," Townsley began haltingly, "I've brought you here now. You are snug in camp. I'd like to take my team back home." "To-night?" "To-night." "It won't do." "Why not?" "I won't allow this party to separate until the work to which God has called me is done." "I've done my share." "No. It will not do for you to go yet." "I'm going--" "You're not!" Brown faced the man and held him in a silent look of his blue-gray eyes. Townsley quailed before it. "Whatever happens, you brought me here. You are equally responsible with me." Townsley surrendered. The threat was unmistakable. He saw that he was trapped. Whether he liked it or not, he had packed his camp outfit, harnessed his horses and driven over the trail on a hunting expedition. He knew now that they were stalking human game. It sent the chills down his spine. But there was no help for it. He had to stick. Brown spent the night alone reconnoitering the settlement of the Pottawattomie, marking the place of his game and making sure that no alarm could be given. All was still. There was nowhere the rustle of a leaf along a roadway that approached the unsuspecting quarry. Saturday dawned clear and serene. His plans required that he lie concealed the entire day. He could stalk his prey with sure success on the second night. The first he had to use in reconnoitering. When breakfast had been eaten and Brown had finished his morning prayers, he ordered his men to lie low in the tall grass and give no sign of life until the shadows of night should again fall. They were not allowed to kindle another fire. The fires of the breakfast had been extinguished at daylight. The wind rose with the sun and the tall wild flowers swayed gracefully over the dusty figures of the men. They lay in a close group with Brown in the center leading the low-pitched conversation which at times became a debate. As the winds whispered through the moving masses of flowers, the old man would sometimes stop his talk suddenly and an ominous silence held the group. He had the strange power of thus imposing his will on the men about him. They watched the queer light in his restless eyes as he listened to the voices within. Suddenly he awaked from his reverie and began an endless denunciation of both parties in Kansas. Northern and Southern factions had become equally vile. The Southerners were always criminals. Their crime was now fully shared by the time servers, trimmers and liars in the Free State party. His eyelids suddenly closed halfway and his eyes shone two points of light as his metallic voice rang without restraint: "They're all crying peace, peace!" He paused and hissed his words through the grass. "There shall be no peace!" CHAPTER XVIII Brown lay flat on his belly the last hour of the day catching moments of fitful sleep. At sunset he lifted his small head above the grass and scanned the horizon. There might be the curling smoke of a camp in sight. A relief party might be on his trail. He breathed a sigh of satisfaction. All was well. The sun was fast sinking beneath the hills, the prey was in sight and no hand could be lifted to help. The moment the shadows closed over the ravine he rose, stretched his cramped body and turned to Thompson. "Build your fire for supper." Thompson nodded. "And give our men all they can eat." "Yes, sir." "They'll need their strength to-night." "I understand." The supper ready, Brown gathered his band around the camp fire and offered thanks to his God. The meal was eaten in silence. The tension of an imperious mind had gripped the souls of his men. They moved as if stalking game at close quarters. And they were doing this exactly. The last pot and pan had been cleaned and packed. The fire was extinguished. Brown issued his first order of the deed. "Lie down flat in the grass now." The men dropped one by one. Brown was the last. "When I give the word, see that your arms are in trim and march single file fifty yards apart and beat the brush as you go. If you come on a cabin in our path not marked in our survey, it is important. Do not pass it. Report to me immediately." There was no response. He had expected none. The order was final. The first move in the man hunt was carefully planned. The instinct to kill is the elemental force, beneath our culture, which makes the hunter. The strongest personalities of our world-conquering race of Nordic freemen are always hunters. If they do not practice the chase the fact is due to an accident of position in life. The opportunity has not been given. Beneath the skin of the man of the College, the Council Table, the Forum, the Sacred Altar, of Home, and the Church slumbers this elemental beast. Culture at best is but a few hundred years old and it has probably skipped several generations in its growth. The Archaic instinct in man to kill reaches back millions of years into the past. The only power on earth to restrain that force is Law. The rules of life, embodied in law are the painful results of experience in killing and the dire effects which follow, both to the individual and the race. Law is a force only so long as reverence for law is made the first principle of man's social training. The moment he lifts his individual will against the embodied experience of humanity, he is once more the elemental beast of the prehistoric jungle--the Hunter. And when the game is human and the hunter is a man of prayer, we have the supreme form of the beast, the ancient Witch Hunter. It is a fact that the pleasure of killing is universal in man. Our savage ancestors for millions of years had to kill to live. We have long ago outgrown this necessity in the development of civilization. But the instinct remains. We are human as we restrain this instinct and bring it under the dominion of Law. We still hunt the most delicate and beautiful animals, stalk and kill them, driven by the passionate secret pleasure of the act of murder. With bated breath and glittering eyes we press our advantage until the broken wing ceases to flutter and the splintered bone to crawl. This imperious atavism the best of us cannot or will not control in the pursuit of animals. When man has lifted his arm in defiance of Tradition and Law, this impulse is the dominant force which sweeps all else as chaff before it. John Brown was the apostle of the sternest faith ever developed in the agonies of our history. To him life had always been a horror. There was no hesitation, no halting, no quiver of maudlin pity, when he slowly rose from his grass-covered lair in the darkness and called his men at ten o'clock: "Ready!" Single file, moving silently and swiftly they crept through the night, only the sharpened swords clanking occasionally broke the silence. Their tread was soft as the claws of panthers. The leader's spirit gripped mind and body of his followers. They moved northward from the camp in the ravine and crossed the Mosquito Creek just above the home of the Doyles. Once over the creek, the hunters again spread out single file fifty yards apart. They had gone but two hundred yards when the signal to halt was whispered along the line. Owen Brown reported to his father: "There's a cabin just ahead." "We haven't charted it in our survey?" "No." "It will not do to pass it," said Brown. "They might give the alarm." "Surround it and do your duty," was the stern command. Owen called three men, cautiously approached the door and knocked. Something moved inside and a gun was suddenly rammed through a chink in the walls. The muzzle line could be seen in the flash of a star's light. The four men broke and scattered in the brush. They reported to the leader. "We want no fight with this fool. No gun play if we can avoid it. We'll take our chances and let him alone. He'll think we're a bunch of sneak thieves. I don't see how we missed this man's place. It can't be five hundred yards from the Doyles'. Back to your places and swing round his cabin." Owen quickly gave the order and the hunters passed on. The first one of the marked prey had shown teeth and claws and the hunters slipped on under the cover of the darkness to easier game. The Doyles were not armed. At least the chances were the old shotgun was not loaded, as it was used only for hunting. The hunters crouched low and circled the Doyle house, crawling through the timber and the brush. A hundred yards from the stable, a dog barked. Owen had carefully marked this dog on the day of the survey. He was merely a faithful yellow cur which Doyle had brought from Virginia. He looked about seven years old. If crossed he might put up a nasty fight. If approached with friendly word by a voice he had once heard, the rest would be easy. The signal was given to halt. The hunters paused and stood still in their tracks. Owen had taken pains to be friendly with this dog on the day of the survey. He had called him a number of times and had given him a piece of bread from his pocket. He was sure he could manage him. In a low tone he whistled and called the dog by name. He had carefully recalled it. "Jack!" He listened intently and heard the soft step of a paw rustling the leaves. The plan was working. The dog pushed his way into an open space in the brush and stopped. The hunter called softly: "Jack, old boy!" The dog wagged his tail. The man could see the movement of kindly greeting in the starlight, and ventured close. He bent low and called again: "Come on, boy!" The dog answered with a whine, wagged his tail, came close and thrust his nose against the man's arm in a welcome greeting. With his left hand the man stroked the warm, furry head, while his right slowly slipped the ugly sharpened cutlass from its scabbard. Still stroking the dog's head and softly murmuring words of endearment, he straightened his body: "Bully old dog! Fine old doggie--" The dog's eyes followed the rising form with confidence, wagging his tail in protest against his going. The hand gripped the brass hilt of the cutlass, the polished steel whizzed through the air and crashed into the yellow mass of flesh and bones. His aim was bad in the dark. He missed the dog's head and the sword split the body lengthwise. To the man's amazement a piercing howl of agony rang through the woods. He dropped his sword and gripped the quivering throat and held it in a vise of steel until the writhing body was still at last. Inside the darkened cabin, the mother stirred from an uneasy sleep. She shook her husband and listened intently. The only sound that came from without was the chirp of crickets and the distant call of a coyote from the hill across the creek. She held her breath and listened again. The man by her side slept soundly. She couldn't understand why her heart persisted in pounding. There wasn't the rustle of a leaf outside. The wind had died down with the falling night. It couldn't be more than eleven o'clock. Her husband's breathing was deep and regular. His perfect rest and the sense of strength in his warm body restored her poise. She felt the slender forms of her little girls in the trundle bed and tried to go back to sleep. It was useless. In spite of every effort her eyes refused to close. Again she was sure she had heard the dog's cry in the night. She believed that it was an ugly dream. The dawn of a beautiful Sunday morning would find all well in the little home and her faithful dog again wagging his tail at the door asking for breakfast. She listened to the beating of her foolish heart. Wide awake, she began to murmur a prayer of thanks to God for all His goodness and mercy in the new home He had given. As Owen's hands slowly relaxed from the throat of the lifeless body he seized a handful of leaves and wiped the blood from the blade and replaced it in the scabbard. He rose quickly and gave the signal to advance. Again crouching low, moving with the soft tread of beasts of prey, the hunters closed in on the settler's home. The keen ears of the mother, still wide awake, caught the crunch of feet on the gravel of the walk. With a heart pounding again in alarm she raised her head and listened. From the other side of the house came the rustle of leaves stirred by another swiftly approaching footstep. It was so still she could hear her own heart beat again. There could be no mistake about it this time. She gripped her husband's arm: "John!" He moaned drowsily. "John--John--" "What's matter?" he murmured without lifting his head from the pillow. "Get up quick!" "What for?" he groaned. "There's somebody around the house." "Na." "I tell you--yes!" "Hit's the dawgs." "I heard a man's step on the path, I tell you." "Yer dreamin', ole woman--" "I'm not, I tell ye." "Go back to sleep." The man settled again and breathed deeply. The woman remained on her elbow, listening with every nerve strained in agony. Again she heard a step on the gravel. This time another footfall joined the first. She gripped her husband's shoulders and shook him violently. "John, John!" she whispered. He had half roused himself this time, shocked into consciousness by her trembling grip on his shoulders. But above all by the tremor in her whispered call. "What is it, Mahala?" "For God's sake, get up quick and call the boys down outen the loft." "No!" he growled. "I tell you, there's somebody outside--" They were both sitting on the edge of the bed now, speaking in whispers. "You're dreamin', ole 'oman," he persisted. "I heard 'em. There's more'n one. I heard some on the other side of the house. I heard two in front. Call the boys down--" "Don't wake the boys up fer nothin--" "Is yer gun loaded?" "No." "Oh, my God." "I ain't got no powder. I don't kill game in the springtime." They both listened. All was still. They could hear the breathing of the little girls in the trundle bed. The crunch of feet suddenly came to the doorstep. The woman's hand gripped her husband's arm in terror. He heard it now. "That's funny," he mused. "Call the boys!" the mother pleaded. "_Wait_ till we find out what it is--" A firm knock on the door echoed through the darkened room. "God save us!" the woman breathed. Doyle rose and quietly walked to the door. "What is it?" he called in friendly tones. "We're lost in the woods," a voice answered. His wife had followed and gripped his arm. "Don't open that door." "Wait, Mother--" "We're trying to find the way to Mr. Wilkinson's--can you tell us?" "Sure I can." He moved to open the door. Again his wife held him. "Don't do it!" Doyle brushed her aside. "Don't be foolish, Mahala," he protested indignantly. "I'm a poor sort o' man if I can't tell a lost traveler the way out of the woods." "They're lyin'!" "We'll see." He raised the latch and six men crashed their way through the door. John Brown led the assault. He held a dim lantern in his hand which he lifted above his head, as he surveyed the room. He kept his own face in shadow. With a smothered cry, the mother backed against the trundle bed instinctively covering the sleeping figures of the girls. Brown pointed a cocked revolver at Doyle's breast and said in cold tones: "Call those three boys down." Doyle hesitated. Brown's eye glanced down the barrel of his revolver: "Quick!" The man saw he had no chance. He mounted the ladder, the revolver following him. The mother's terror-stricken eyes saw that each man was armed with two revolvers, a bowie knife and cutlass. "Don't you scare 'em," Brown warned. "I won't." "Tell 'em to come down and show us the way to Wilkinson's." "Boys!" the father called. There was no answer at first, and the father wondered if they had heard and gotten weapons of some kind. He hoped not. It would be a useless horror to try to defend themselves before a mother's eyes, and those little girls screaming beside her. He hastened to call a second time and reassure their fears. "Boys!" William, the older one, answered drowsily: "Yessir--" "Come down, all of you. Some travelers are here who've lost the way. They want you to help them get to Mr. Wilkinson's." "All right, sir." The boys hastily slipped on their trousers and shoes. "Tell 'em to hurry," Brown ordered. "Jest slip on yer shoes and britches," Doyle called. The Surveyor held the lantern behind his body until the three sons had come down the ladder and he saw that they were unarmed. He stepped to the fireplace, took the shotgun from the rack and handed it to Weiner. The boys, startled at the group of stern armed men, instinctively moved toward their father, dazed by the assault. Brown faced the group. "You four men are my prisoners." The mother left the trundle bed and faced the leader. "Who are you?" Brown dropped his lantern, fixed her with his eyes. "I am the leader of the Northern Army." "What are you doing here to-night?" "I have come on a divine mission." "Who sent you?" "The Lord of Hosts in a Vision--" "What are you going to do?" "The will of God." "What are you going to do?" she fairly screamed in his face. "That is not for your ears, woman," was the stern answer. "I have important business with Southern settlers on the Pottawattomie to-night." The woman's intuition saw in a flash the hideous tragedy. With a cry of anguish she threw her arms around her husband's neck, sobbing. "Oh, John, John, my man, I told ye not to talk--but ye would tell folks what ye believed. Why couldn't ye be still? Oh, my God, my God, it's come to this!" The man soothed her with tender touch. "Hush, Mother, hush. You mustn't take on." "I can't help it--I just can't. God have mercy on my poor lost soul--" She paused and looked at her boys. With a scream she threw herself first on one and then on the other. "Oh, my big fine boy! I can't let you go! Where is God to-night? Is He dead? Has He forgotten me?" The father drew her away and shook her sternly. "Hush, Mother, hush! Yer can't show the white feather like this!" "I can't help it. I can't give up my boys!" She paused and looked at Doyle. "And I can't give you up, my man--I just can't!" "Don't, don't--" the husband commanded. "We've got to be men now." She fought hard to control her tears. The little girls began to sob. She rushed to the trundle bed and soothed them. "Keep still, babies. They won't hurt you. Keep still!" The children choked into silence and she leaped toward Brown and tried to seize his hand. He repulsed her and she went on frantically. "Please, for God's sake, man, have mercy on a wife and mother, if you ain't got no pity in your heart for my men! Surely you have women home. Their hearts can break like mine. My man's only been talkin' as politicians talk. It was nothing. Surely it's no crime." Brown drew a notebook from his pocket and held it up. "I have the record in this book of your husband's words against the men of our party, Madame. He stands convicted of murder in his heart. His sons are not of age. Their opinions are his." For a moment the mother forgot her pleading and shrieked her defiance into the stern face before her. "And who made you a judge o' life and death for my man and my sons? I bore these boys of the pains of my body. God gave them to me. They are mine, not yours!" Brown brushed her aside. "That's enough from you. Those men are my prisoners. Bring them on!" He moved toward the door and the guards with drawn swords closed in on the group. The mother leaped forward and barred the way to the door. She faced Brown with blanched face. Her breath came in short gasps. She fought desperately for control of her voice, failed to make a sound, staggered to the old man, grasped blindly his body and sank to her knees at his feet. At last she managed to gasp: "Just one of my boys--then--my baby boy! He's a big boy--but look at his smooth face--he ain't but fourteen years old. Hit don't seem but yistiday that he wuz just a laughin' baby in my arms! And I've always been that proud of him. He's smart. He's always been smart--and God forgive me--I've loved him better'n all the others--hit--wuzn't--right-- fer--a--mother--to--love one of her--children--more--than--the--others-- but I couldn't help it! If ye'll just spare him--hit's all I'll ask ye now"--her voice sank into a sob as her face touched the floor. The dark figure above her did not move and she lifted her head with desperate courage. "I'll be all alone here--a broken-hearted woman with two little gals and nobody to help me--or work fer me--ef you'll just spare my baby boy--" She sprang to her feet and threw her arms around the youngest boy's neck. "Oh, my baby, my baby, I can't let ye go--I can't--I can't!" She lifted her tear-streaming eyes to the dark face again. "Please, please, for the love of God--you--say--you--believe--in--God--leave me this one!" Brown moved his head in a moment's uncertainty. He turned to Owen. "Leave him and come on with the others." With a desperate cry, the mother closed her eyes and clung to the boy. She dared not lift them in prayer for the others as they passed out into the night. The armed men had seized her husband and her two older sons, William and Drury, and hustled them through the door. The mother drew the boy back on the trundle bed and held him in her arms. The little girls crouched close and began to sob. "Hush--don't make a noise. They won't hurt you. I want to hear what they do--maybe--" The mother stopped short, fascinated by the horror of the tragedy she knew would take place outside her door. The darkness gave no token of its progress. A cricket was chirping in the chimney just awakened by the noise. She held her breath and listened. Not a sound. The silence was unbearable. She sprang to her feet in a moment's fierce rebellion against the crime of such an infamous attack. A roused lioness, she leaped to the mantel to seize the shotgun. John followed and caught her. "The gun's gone, Ma," he cried. "Yes, yes, I forgot," she gasped. "They took it, the damned fiends!" "Ma, Ma, be still!" the boy pleaded. He was horror-stricken at the oath from her lips. In all his life he had never heard her use a vulgar word. "Yes, of course," she faltered. "I mustn't try to do anything. They might come back and kill you--my baby boy!" She pressed him again to her heart and held him. She strained her ears for the first signal of the deed the darkness shrouded. The huntsmen dragged the father and two sons but a hundred and fifty yards from the door and halted beside the road. Brown faced the father in the dim starlight. "You are a Southern white man?" "I am, sir." "You are pro-Slavery?" "I hate the sight and sound of a slave." "But you believe in the institution?" "I hate it, I tell you." Brown paused as if his brain had received a shock. The answer had been utterly unexpected. The man was in earnest. He meant what he said. And he was conscious of the solemnity of the trial on which his life hung. Brown came back to his cross examination, determined to convict him on the grounds he had fixed beforehand. "What do you mean when you say that you hate the institution of Slavery?" "Exactly what I say." "You do not believe in owning slaves?" "I do not." "Did you ever own one?" "No!" "And you never expect to own one?" "Never." "Why did you rush into this Territory among the first to cross the border?" "I come West to get away from niggers, and bring my children up in a white man's country." Quick as a flash came the crucial question from lips that had never smiled. It was the triumphant scream of an eagle poised to strike. He had him at last. "Then you don't believe the negro to be your brother and your equal--do you?" The poor white man's body suddenly stiffened and his chin rose: "No, by God, I don't believe that!" John Brown lifted his hand in a quick signal and Owen stepped stealthily behind Doyle. The sharpened cutlass whistled through the air and crashed into Doyle's skull. His helpless hands were lifted instinctively as he staggered. The swift descending blade split the right hand open and severed the left from the body before he crumpled in a heap on the ground. The assassin placed his knee on the prostrate figure and plunged his knife three times in the breast,--once through the heart and once through each lung. He had learned the art in butchering cattle. Fifty yards away the mangled bodies of William and Drury Doyle lay on the ground with the dim figure of the assassin bending low to make sure that no sign of life remained. John Brown raised the wick of his lantern and walked coolly up to the body of the elder Doyle. He flashed the lantern on the distorted features. A look of religious ecstasy swept the stern face of the Puritan and his eyes glittered with an unearthly glare. He uttered a sound that was half a laugh and half a religious shout, snatched his pistol from his belt, placed the muzzle within an inch of the dead skull and fired. The brains of the corpse splashed the muzzle of the revolver. The trembling mother inside the cabin uttered a low cry of horror and crumpled in the arms of her son. The boy dragged her to the bed and rushed to the kitchen for a cup of water. He dashed it in her face and cried for joy when she breathed again. He didn't mind the moans and sobs. The thought that she, too, might be dead had stopped his very heartbeat. He soothed her at last and sat holding her hand in the dark. The girls nestled against her side. The mother gave no sign that she was conscious of their presence. Her spirit was outside the cabin now, hovering in the darkness mourning her dead. Through the dread hours of the night she sat motionless, listening, dreaming. No sounds came from the darkness. The coyote had ceased to call. The cricket in the chimney slept at last. CHAPTER XIX The dark figures secured the horses, bridles and saddles and moved to the next appointed crime. The stolen horses were put in charge of the two sons, who had refused to take part in the events of the night. They were ordered to follow the huntsmen carefully. Again they crept through the night and approached the home of Wilkinson, the member of the Legislature from the County. Brown had carefully surveyed his place and felt sure of a successful attack unless the house should be alarmed by a surly dog which no member of his surveying party had been able to approach. When they arrived within two hundred yards of the gate, it was one o'clock. Brown carefully watched the house for ten minutes to see that no light gleamed through a window or a chink. The wife had been sick with the measles when the survey was made. There was no sign of a light. Salmon and Owen Brown were sent by the men on a protest to Brown. Salmon was spokesman. "We've got something to say to you, Father, before we take out Wilkinson--" "Well?" the old man growled. "You gave every man strict orders to fire no guns or revolver unless necessary--didn't you?" "I did." "You fired the only shot heard to-night." "I'll not do it again. I didn't intend to. I don't know why I did it. Stick to my order." "See that _you_ stick to it," the boy persisted. "I will. Use only your knives and cutlasses. The cutlass first always." The men began to move slowly forward. Brown called softly. "Just a minute. This dog of Wilkinson's is sure to bark. Don't stop to try to kill him. Rush the house double quick and pay no attention to his barking--" "If he bites?" Owen asked. "Take a chance, don't try to kill him--Wilkinson might wake. Now, all together--rush the house!" They rushed the house at two hundred yards. They had taken but ten steps when the dog barked so furiously Brown called a halt. They waited. Then, minutes later the dog raged, approaching the house and retreating. His wild cry of alarm rang with sinister echo through the woods. The faithful brute was calling his master and mistress to arms. Still the man inside slept. The Territory of Kansas to this time had been as free from crime as any state on its border. The lawmaker had never felt a moment's uneasiness. Footsteps approached the door. The sick woman saw the shadow of a man pass the window. The starlight sharply silhouetted his face against the black background. Some one knocked on the door. The woman asked: "Who's that?" No one answered. "Henry, Henry!" she called tensely. "Well?" the husband answered. "There's somebody knocking at the door." Wilkinson half raised in bed. "Who is that?" A voice replied: "We've lost the road. We want you to tell us the way to Dutch Henry's." Wilkinson began to call the directions. "We can't understand--" "You can't miss the way." "Come out and show us!" The request was given in tones so sharp there could be no mistake. It was a command not a plea. "I'll have to go and tell them," he said to his wife. "For God's sake, don't open that door," she whispered. "It's best." She seized and held him. "You shall not go!" Wilkinson sought to temporize. "I'm not dressed," he called. "I can tell you the way as well without going outdoors." The men stepped back from the door and held a consultation. John Brown at once returned and began his catechism: "You are Wilkinson, the Member of the Legislature?" "I am, sir." "You are opposed to the Free Soil Party?" "I am." The answers were sharp to the point of curtness and his daring roused the wrath of Brown to instant action. "You're my prisoner, sir." He waited an instant for an answer and, getting none, asked: "Do you surrender?" "Gentlemen, I do." "Open the door!" "In just a minute." "Open it--" "When I've made a light." "We've got a light. Open that door or we'll smash it!" Again the sick woman caught his arm. "Don't do it!" "It's better not to resist," he answered, opening the door. Brown held the lantern in his face. "Put on your clothes." Wilkinson began to dress. The men covered him with drawn revolvers. The sick woman sank limply on the edge of the bed. "Are there any more men in this house?" Brown asked sharply. "No." "Have you any arms?" "Only a quail gun." "Search the place." The guard searched the rooms, ransacking drawers and chests. They took everything of value they could find, including the shotgun and powder flask. The sick woman at length recovered her power of speech and turned to Brown. "If you've arrested my husband for anything, he's a law-abiding man. You can let him stay here with me until morning." "No!" Brown growled. "I'm sick and helpless. I can't stay here by myself." "Let me stay with my wife, gentlemen," Wilkinson pleaded, "until I can get some one to wait on her and I'll remain on parole until you return or I'll meet you anywhere you say." Brown looked at the woman and at the little children trembling by her side and curtly answered: "You have neighbors." "So I have," Wilkinson agreed, "but they are not here and I cannot go for them unless you allow me." "It matters not," Brown snapped. "Get ready, sir." Wilkinson took up his boots to pull them on when Brown signaled his men to drag him out. Without further words they seized him and hurried into the darkness. They dragged him a few yards from the house into a clump of dead brush. Weiner was the chosen headsman. He swung his big savage figure before Wilkinson and his cutlass flashed in the starlight. The woman inside the darkened house heard the crash of the blade against the skull and the dying groan from the lips of the father of her babies. When the body crumpled, Weiner knelt, plunged his knife into the throat, turned it and severed the jugular vein. Standing over the body John Brown spoke to one of his men. "The horses, saddles and bridles from the stable--quick!" The huntsman hurried to the stable and took Wilkinson's horse. It was two o'clock before they reached the home of James Harris on the other side of the Pottawattomie. Harris lived on the highway and kept a rude frontier boarding place where travelers stopped for the night. With him lived Dutch Henry Sherman and his brother, William. Brown had no difficulty in entering this humble one-room house. It was never locked. The latch string was outside. Without knocking Brown lifted the latch and sprang into the room with his son, Owen, and another armed huntsman. He surveyed the room. In one bed lay Harris, his wife and child. In two other beds were three men, William Sherman, John Whitman and a stranger who had stopped for the night and had given no name. "You are our prisoners," Brown announced. "It is useless for you to resist." The old man stood by one bed with drawn saber and Owen stood by the other while Weiner searched the room. He found two rifles and a bowie knife which he passed through the door to the guard outside. Brown ordered the stranger out first. He kept him but a few minutes and brought him back. He next ordered Harris to follow him. Brown confronted his prisoner in the yard. A swordsman stood close by his side to catch his nod. "Where is Dutch Henry Sherman?" "On the plains hunting for lost cattle." "You are telling me the truth?" Brown asked, boring him through with his terrible eyes. "The truth, sir!" He studied Harris by the light of his lantern. "Have you ever helped a Southern settler to enter the Territory of Kansas?" "No." "Did you take any hand in the troubles at Lawrence?" "I've never been to Lawrence." "Have you ever done the Free State Party any harm?" "No. I don't take no part in politics." "Have you ever intended to do that party any harm?" "I don't know nothin' about politics or parties." "What are you doing living here among these Southern settlers?" "Because I can get better wages." "Any horses, bridles, or saddles?" "I've one horse." "Saddle him and bring him here." A swordsman walked by his side while he caught and saddled his horse and delivered him to his captors. Brown went back into the house and brought out William Sherman. Harris was ordered back to bed, and a new guard was placed inside until the ceremony with Sherman should be ended. It was brief. Brown had no questions to ask this man. He was the brother of Henry Sherman, the most hated member of the settlement. Brown called Thompson and Weiner and spoke in tones of quick command. "Take him down to the Pottawattomie Creek. I want this man's blood to mingle with its waters and flow to the sea!" The doomed man did not hear the sentence of his judge. The two huntsmen caught his arms and rushed him to the banks of the creek. He stood for a moment trembling and dazed. Not a word had passed his lips. Not one had passed his guards. They loosed their grip on his arms, stepped back and two cutlasses whistled through the air in a single stroke. The double blow was so swiftly and evenly delivered that the body stood erect until the second stroke of the sharpened blades had cut off one hand and split open the breast. When the body fell at the feet of the huntsmen they seized the quivering limbs and hurled them into the creek. They reported at once to their Captain. He stood in front of the house with his restless gaze sweeping the highway for any possible, belated traveler. The one hope uppermost in his mind was that Dutch Henry Sherman might return with his lost cattle in time. He raised his lantern and looked at his watch. The men who had butchered William Sherman stood with red swords for orders. Brown had not yet uttered a word. He knew that the work on the bank of the Pottawattomie was done. The attitude of his swordsmen was sufficient. He asked but one question. "You threw him into the water?" "Yes." "Good." He closed his silver watch with a snap. "It's nearly four o'clock. We have no more time for work to-night. Back to camp." The men turned to repeat his orders. "Wait!" His order rang like vibrant metal. The men stopped. "We'll mount the horses we have taken, and march single file. I'll ride the horse taken here. Bring him to the door." With quick springing step Brown entered the house where the husband and wife and the two lodgers were still shivering under the eye of the guard with drawn sword. The leader's voice rang with a note of triumph. "You people whose lives have been spared will stay in this house until sunrise. And the less you say about what's happened to-night the longer you'll live." He turned to his guard. "Come on." Brown had just mounted his horse to lead the procession back to the camp in the ravine, when the first peal of thunder in a spring shower crashed overhead. He glanced up and saw that the sky was being rapidly overcast by swiftly moving clouds. A few stars still glimmered directly above. The storm without was an incident of slight importance. The rain would give him a chance to test the men inside. He ordered his followers to take refuge in the long shed under which Harris stabled the horses and vehicles of travelers. He stationed a sentinel at the door of the house. His orders were clear. "Cut down in his tracks without a word, the man who dares to come out." The swordsman threw a saddle blanket around his shoulders and took his place at the doorway. The storm broke in fury. In five minutes the heavens were a sea of flame. The thunder rolled over the ravine, the hills, the plains in deafening peals. Flash after flash, roar after roar, an endless throb of earth and air from the titanic bombardment from the skies. The flaming sky was sublime--a changing, flashing, trembling splendor. Townsley was the only coward in the group of stolid figures standing under the shed. He watched by the lightning the expression of Brown's face with awe. There was something terrible in the joy that flamed in his eyes. Never had he seen such a look on human face. He forgot the storm and forgot his fears of cyclones and lightning strokes in the fascination with which he watched the seamed, weather-beaten features of the man who had just committed the foulest deed in the annals of American frontier life. There was in his shifting eyes no shadow of doubt, of fear, of uncertainty. There was only the look of satisfaction, of supreme triumph. The coward caught the spark of red that flashed from his soul. For a moment he regretted that he had not joined the bloody work with his own hand. He was ashamed of his pity for the stark masses of flesh that still lay on the deluged earth. In spite of the contagion of Brown's mind which he felt pulling him with resistless power, his own weaker intellect kept playing pranks with his memory. He recalled the position of the bodies which they had left in the darkness. He had seen them by the light of the lantern which Brown had flashed each time before leaving. He remembered with a shiver that the two Doyle boys had died with their big soft blue eyes wide open, staring upward at the starlit skies. He wondered if the rain had beaten their eyelids down. A blinding flash filled the sky and lighted every nook and corner of the woods and fields. He shook at its glare and put his hand over his eyes. For a moment he could see nothing but the wide staring gaze upward of those stalwart young bodies. He shivered and turned away from the leader. The next moment found him again watching the look of victory on the terrible face. As the lightning played about Brown's form he wondered at the impression of age he gave with his face turned away and his figure motionless. He was barely fifty-seven and yet he looked seventy-five, until he moved. The moment his wiry body moved there was something uncanny in the impression he gave of a wild animal caught in human form. Brown had tired waiting for the shower to pass and had begun to pace back and forth with his swinging, springy step. When he passed, Townsley instinctively drew aside. He knew that he was a coward and yet he couldn't feel the consciousness of cowardice in giving this man room. It was common sense. The storm passed as swiftly as it came. Without a word the leader gave the signal. His men mounted the stolen horses. With Townsley's grays and Weiner's pony the huntsmen returned to the camp in the ravine, a procession of cavalry. The eastern sky was whitening with the first touch of the coming sun when they dismounted. The leader ordered the fire built and a hearty breakfast cooked for each man. As was his custom he wandered from the camp alone, his arms gripped behind his stooped back. He climbed the hill, stood on its crest and watched the prairie. The storm had passed from west to east. On the eastern horizon a low fringe of clouds was still slowly moving. They lay in long ribbons of dazzling light. The sun's rays flashed through them every color of the rainbow. Now they were a deep purple, growing brighter with each moment, until every flower in the waving fields was touched with its glory. The purple melted into orange; the waving fields were set with dazzling buttercups; the buttercups became poppies. And then the mounting sun kissed the clouds again. They blushed scarlet, and the fields were red. The grim face gave no sign that he saw the glory and beauty of a wonderful Sabbath morning. His figure was rigid. His eyes set. A sweet odor seemed to come from the scarlet rays of the sun. The man lifted his head in surprise to find the direction from which the perfume came. He looked at the ground and saw that he was standing in a bed of ripening wild strawberries. He turned from the sunrise, stooped and ate the fruit. He was ravenously hungry. His hunger satisfied, he walked deliberately back to camp as the white light of day flooded the clean fields and woods. He called his men about the fire and searched for marks of the night's work. As the full rim of the sun crept over the eastern hills and its first rays quivered on the surface of the water, the huntsmen knelt by the bank of the Pottawattomie and washed the stains from their swords, hands and clothes. Breakfast finished, the leader divided among his headsmen the goods stolen from his victims and called his men to Sunday prayers. With folded hands and head erect in the attitude of victory he read from memory a passage from the old Hebrew prophet, singing in triumph over the enemies of the Lord. From the scripture recitation, given in tones so cold and impersonal that they made Townsley shiver, his voice drifted into prayer: "We thank thee, oh, Lord, God of Hosts, for the glorious victory Thou hast given us this night over Thy enemies. We have heard Thy voice. We have obeyed Thy commands. The wicked have been laid low. And Thy glory shines throughout the world on this beautiful Sabbath morning. Make strong, oh, God, the arms of Thy children for the work that is yet before them. Thou art a jealous God. Thou dost rejoice always in blood offerings on Thy altars. We have this night brought to Thee and laid before Thy face the five offerings which the sins of man have demanded. May this blood seem good in Thy sight, oh, God, as it is glorious in the eyes of Thy servant whom Thou hast anointed to do Thy will. May it be as seed sown in good ground. May it bring forth a harvest whose red glory shall cover the earth, even as the rays of the sun have baptized our skies this morning. We wait the coming of Thy Kingdom, oh, Lord, God of Hosts. Speed the day we humbly pray. Amen." Townsley's eyes had gradually opened at the tones of weird, religious ecstasy with which the last sentences of the prayer were spoken. He was staring at Brown's face. It was radiant with a strange joy. He had not smiled; but he was happy for a moment. His happiness was so unusual, so sharply in contrast with his habitual mood, the sight of it chilled Townsley's soul. CHAPTER XX Stuart succeeded in securing from Colonel Sumner a leave of absence of two weeks to visit Fort Riley. The Colonel suspected the truth and teased the gallant youngster until he confessed. He handed Stuart the order with a hearty laugh. "It's all right, my boy. I've been young myself. Good luck." Stuart's laughter rang clear and hearty. "Thank you, Colonel. You had me scared." He had just turned to leave the room when a messenger handed Sumner a telegram. Stuart paused to hear the message. "Bad news, Lieutenant." "What, sir?" "An attack has been made on the Southern settlement on the Pottawattomie." "A drunken fight--" "No. Wilkinson, the member of the Legislature from Miami County, was taken from his house in the night and murdered." "The story's a fake," Stuart ventured. "The man who sent this message doesn't make such mistakes." He paused and studied the telegram. "No. This means the beginning of a blood feud. The time's ripe for it." "We'll have better news to-morrow," Stuart hoped. "We'll have worse. I've been looking for something like this since the day I heard old Brown harangue a mob at Lawrence." He stopped short. "You'll have to give me back that order, my boy." Stuart's face fell. "Colonel, I've just got to see that girl, if it's only for a day--" He slowly handed the order back to the Commandant. Sumner watched the red blood mount to Stuart's face with a look of sympathy. "Is it as bad as that, boy?" "It couldn't be worse, sir," Stuart admitted in low tones. "I'm a goner." "All right. You've no time to lose, I'll give you three days--" "Thank you!" "This regiment will be on the march before a week has passed or I miss my guess." "I'll be here, sir!" was the quick response. Stuart grasped the leave of absence and hurried out before another messenger could arrive. He reached Fort Riley the following day and had but twenty-four hours in which to crowd the most important event of his life. He paced the floor in Colonel Cooke's reception room awaiting Flora's appearance with eager impatience. What on earth could be keeping her? He asked himself the question fifty times and looked at his watch a dozen times before he heard the rustle of organdy on the stairs. A vision of radiant youth! She had taken time to make her beauty still more radiant with the daintiest touches to her blonde hair. The simple dress she wore was a poem. The young cavalier was stunned anew. There was no doubt about the welcome in her smile and voice. It thrilled him to his fingertips. He held her hand until she drew it away with a little self-conscious laugh that was confusing to Stuart's plan of direct action. There was a touch of the Southern girl's conscious poise and coquetry in the laugh. There was something aloof in it that meant trouble. He felt it with positive terror. He didn't have time to fence for position. He was in no mood for a flirtation. He had come to speak the deep things. She led him to a seat with an air of dignity and reserve that alarmed him still more. He had taken too much for granted perhaps. There might be another man. Conceited fool! He hadn't thought it possible. Her manner had been so frank, so utterly sincere. She sat by his side smiling at him in the bewitching way so many pretty girls had done before, when they merely wished to play with love. He spoke in commonplaces and studied her with increasing panic. Her tactics baffled him. Until at last he believed he had solved the riddle! She had suddenly waked to the fact, as he had, that she had met her fate. She was drawing back for a moment in fright at the seriousness of surrender. "Yes, that's it!" he murmured half aloud. "What did you say?" she asked archly. And his heart sank again. She asked the question with a tone of teasing that made him blush in spite of himself. With sudden resolution he decided to make the plunge. He seized her hand and spoke with a queer hitch of awkwardness in his voice. "Miss Flora, I've just twenty-four hours to be here. Every one of them is precious. I want to make them count. Don't you know that I love you?" The little mouth twitched with a smile. "I've heard that you're very fickle, Mr. Jeb Stuart. Isn't this all very, very sudden, to be so serious?" She was still smiling and her eyes were twinkling, but her hand was not trembling. She was complete mistress of her emotions. Stuart felt his heart pounding. He couldn't keep his hand from trembling, nor his voice from quivering slightly. "I know I've been a little quick on the trigger, Miss Flora. But it came to me in a flash, the moment I saw you. I've had a good time with pretty girls--yes. But I never felt that way when I met one of the others. And now I'm stammering and trembling and I don't know how to talk to you. I can't rattle on like I've done so many times. You--you've got me, dear honey girl, for life, if you want me--please--be good to me." She laughed a joyous, girlish peal that disconcerted him completely. "My daddy's been warning me against you, sir!" Stuart suddenly caught a note in her laughter that gave him courage. She was not laughing at him but with him. "He did not," he protested solemnly. "Colonel Cooke was just as nice to me as he could be--" "Certainly. He's an Old Virginia gentleman. Behind your back he told me confidentially what he thought of you." "All right. I dare you to cross your heart and tell me what he said." "Dare me?" "Dee double dare you." "He said that you're a sad product of Sir Walter Scott's novels, a singing, rollicking, flirting, lazy young cavalier." "Didn't say lazy." "No." "I thought not." "I added that for good measure." "I thought so." "And he warned me that there might be a streak of the old Stuart purple blood in your veins that might make you silly for life--" "Didn't say silly." "No, I added that, too." Stuart again seized the hand she had deftly withdrawn. He pressed it tenderly and sought the depths of her blue eyes. "Ah, honey girl," he cried passionately, "don't tease me any more, please! I've got to leave you in a few hours. My regiment is going to march. It may be a serious business. You're a brave soldier's daughter and you're going to be a soldier's bride." The girl's lips quivered for the first time and her voice trembled the slightest bit as she fought for self-control. "I'll never marry a soldier." "You will!" "My daddy's never at home. I promised my mother never to look at a soldier." "You're looking at me, dear heart!" She turned quickly. "I won't--" Stuart drew her suddenly into his arms and kissed her. "I love you, Flora! And you're mine." She looked into his eyes, smiled, slipped both arms around his neck and kissed him. "And I love you, my foolish, singing, laughing boy!" "Always?" "Always." "And you'll marry me?" "You couldn't get away from me if you tried." She drew him down and kissed him again. "The shadow will always be in my heart, dear soldier man. The shadow of the day I shall lose you! But it's life. I'll face it with a smile." Through the long, sweet hours of the day and deep into the night they held each other's hand, and talked and laughed and dreamed and planned. What mattered the shadow that was slowly moving across the sunlit earth? It _was_ the morning of life! CHAPTER XXI The eight men engaged in the remarkable enterprise on the Pottawattomie, led by their indomitable Captain, mounted their stolen horses and boldly rode to the camp of the military company commanded by John Brown, Jr. The father planned to make his stand behind these guns if pursued by formidable foes. Brown reached the camp of the Rifles near Ottawa Jones' farm at midnight. The fires still burned brightly. To his surprise he found that the news of the murders had traveled faster than the stolen horses. The camp was demoralized. John Brown, Jr., had been forced to resign as Captain and H. H. Williams had been elected in his stead. The reception which the County was giving his inspired deed stunned the leader. He had expected a reign of terror. But the terror had seized his own people. He was compelled to lie and deny his guilt except to his own flesh and blood. Even before his sons he was arraigned with fierce condemnation. On the outer edge of the panic-stricken camp his sons, Jason and John, Jr., faced him with trembling and horror in their voices. Jason had denounced the first hint of the plan when the surveyor's scheme was broached. John, Jr. had refused to move a step on the expedition. The two sons confronted their father with determined questions. He shifted and evaded the issue. Jason squared himself and demanded: "Did you kill those men?" "I did not," was the sharp answer. The son held his shifting eye by the glare of the camp fire. "Did you have _anything_ to do with the killing of those men?" To his own he would not lie longer. It wasn't necessary. His reply was quick and unequivocal. "I did not do it. But I approved it." "It was the work of a beast." "You cannot speak to me like that, sir!" the old man growled. "And why not?" "I am your father, sir!" "That's why I tell you to your face that you have disgraced every child who bears your name--now--and for all time. What right had you to put this curse upon me? The devils in hell would blush to do what you have done!" The father lifted his hand as if to ward a blow and bored his son through with a steady stare. "God is my judge--not you, sir!" John Brown, Jr., sided with his brother in the attack but with less violence. His feebler mind was already trembling on the verge of collapse. "It cuts me to the quick," the old man finally answered, "that my own people should not understand that I had to make an example of these men--" Jason finally shrieked into his ears: "Who gave you the authority of Almighty God to sit in judgment upon your fellow man, condemn him without trial and slay without mercy?" The father threw up both hands in a gesture of disgust and walked from the scene. He spent the night without sleep, wandering through the woods and fields. Three days later while Brown and his huntsmen were still hiding in the timber, the people of his own settlement at Osawatomie held a public meeting which was attended by the entire male population. They unanimously adopted resolutions condemning in the bitterest terms the deed. When the old man heard of these resolutions he ground his teeth in rage. He had thought to sweep the Territory with a Holy War in a Sacred Cause. He expected the men who hated Slavery to applaud his Blood Offering to the God of Freedom. Instead they had hastened to array themselves with his foes. Something had gone wrong in the execution of his divine vision. His mind was stunned for the moment. But he was wrestling again with God in prayer, while the avengers were riding to demand an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. When the true history of man is written it will be the record of mind not the story of the physical acts which follow the mental process. The dangers of society are psychological, not physical. The crucial moments of human history are not found in the hours in which armies charge. They are found in the still small voices that whisper in the silence of the night to a lone watcher by the fireside. They are found in the words of will that follow hours of silent thought behind locked doors or under the stars. The story of man's progress, his relapses to barbarism, his victories, his failures, his years of savage cruelties, his eras of happiness and sorrow, must be written at last in terms of mental states. John Brown's mind had conceived and executed the series of murders that shocked even a Western frontier. His mind enacted the tragedy days before the actual happening. And it was the state of mind created by the deed that upset all his calculations. The reaction was overwhelming. He was correct in his faith that a blood feud once raised, all appeal to reason and common sense, all appeal to law, order, tradition, religion would be vain babble. But he had failed to gauge the moral sense of his own party. They had not yet accepted the theory which he held with such passionate conviction. Brown's moral code was summed up in one passage from the Bible which he quoted and brooded over daily: "WITHOUT THE SHEDDING OF BLOOD THERE IS NO REMISSION OF SINS." But he had made a mistake in the spot chosen for rousing the Blood Feud. Men had instantly seen red. They sprang to their arms. They leaped as tigers leap on their prey. But his own people were the prey. He had miscalculated the conditions of frontier life, though he had not yet realized it. His stubborn, restless mind clung to the idea that the stark horror of the crimes which he had committed in the name of Liberty would call at last all men who stood for Freedom. He held his armed band in camp under the sternest discipline to await this call of the blood. The Southern avengers who swarmed across the Missouri border into the region of Osawatomie accepted Brown's standards of justice and mercy without question. A few men of education among them were the only restraining influence. Through these exciting days the old man would show himself at daylight in different places removed from his camp in the woods. While squadrons of avengers were scouring the ravines, the river bottoms and the tangled underbrush, he was lying quietly on his arms. Sometimes his pursuers camped within hearing and got their water from the same spring. With all his indomitable courage he was unable to rally sufficient men to afford protection to his people. He was a fugitive from justice with a price on his head. Yet, armed and surrounded by a small band of faithful followers, he led a charmed life. His deed on the Pottawattomie made murder the chief sport of the unhappy Territory. The life of the frontier was reduced to anarchy. Outrages became so common it was impossible to record them. Murder was a daily incident. Many of them passed in secret. Many were not revealed for days and weeks after they had been committed--then, only by the discovery of the moldering remains of the dead. Two men were found hanging on a tree near Westport. They were ill-fated Free State partisans who had fallen by the hand of the avengers. The troops buried them in a grave so shallow that the prairie wolves had half devoured them before they were again found and re-buried. The Free Soil men organized guerrilla bands for retaliation. John E. Cook, a daring young adventurer, the brother-in-law of Governor Willard of Indiana, early distinguished himself in this work. He put himself at the head of a group of twenty young "Cavalry Scouts" who ranged the country, asking no quarter and giving none. A squadron of avengers invaded Brown's settlement at Osawatomie, sacked and partly destroyed it, and killed his son, Frederick, whose mind had been in a state of collapse since the night of the murders on the Pottawattomie. John Brown rallied a group of sympathizers and fought a pitched battle with the invaders but was defeated with bloody losses and compelled to retreat. He was followed by Deputy United States Marshal, Henry C. Pate. Brown turned and boldly attacked Pate's camp and another battle ensued. The Deputy Marshal, wishing to avoid useless bloodshed, sent out a flag of truce and asked an interview with the guerrilla commander. Brown answered promptly, advanced and sent for Pate. Pate, trusting the flag of truce, approached the old man. "I am addressing the Captain in command?" Pate asked. "You are, sir." "Then let me announce that I am a Deputy United States Marshal." "And why are you fighting us?" "I have no desire for bloodshed, sir. I am acting under the orders of the Marshal of the Territory." "And what does the Marshal demand?" "The arrest of the men for whom I have warrants." Pate had never seen John Brown and had no idea that he was talking to the old man himself. "I have a proposition to make," he went on. "I'll have no proposals from you, sir," Brown announced shortly. "I demand your surrender." "I am an officer of the law. I cannot surrender to armed outlaws." Brown's metallic voice quivered. "I demand your immediate and unconditional surrender!" "I have the right to retire under a flag of truce and consider your proposition with my men--" Pate started to go and Brown stood in front of him. "You're not going." "You will violate a flag of truce?" Brown signaled his men to advance and surround Pate. "You're not going, sir," he repeated. "I claim my rights under a flag of truce accepted by you for this parley. An Indian respects that flag." Brown pointed to his men who were standing within the sound of their voices. "Order those men to surrender." Pate folded his arms and remained silent. Brown placed his revolver at the Deputy Marshal's breast and shouted. "Tell your men to lay down their arms!" Pate refused to speak. There was a moment's deadly silence and the Marshal's posse, to save the life of their Captain, threw down their guns and the whole party were made prisoners. The United States Cavalry at Fort Leavenworth were ordered to the scene to rescue the Deputy Marshal and his men. CHAPTER XXII The bugles at Fort Leavenworth sounded Boots and Saddles for the march on Brown and his guerrillas. The barracks were early astir with the excitement. Stern work might be ahead. Outlaws who would dare violate a flag of truce, to take a United States Marshal and his posse would have no more respect for cavalry. The men and officers were tired of disorder. They were eager for a stand up and knock down fight. They expected it and they were ready for it. Stuart's bride was crying. In spite of her young husband's gay banter, she persisted in being serious. "There's no danger, honey girl!" he laughed. She touched the big cavalry pistol in its holster, her lips still trembling. "No--you're just galloping off on a picnic." "That's all it will be--" "Then you can take me with you." Stuart's brow clouded. "Well, no, not just that kind of a picnic." "There may be a nasty fight and you know it." "Nonsense." "It may, too." "Don't be silly, little bride," he pleaded. "You're a soldier's wife now. The bullet hasn't been molded that's going to get me. I feel it. I know it." She threw her arms around his neck and held him in a long silence. Only a sob broke the stillness. He let her cry. His arms merely tightened their tender hold, as he caressed her fair head and kissed it. "There, there, now. That's enough. It's hard, this first parting. It's hard for me. You mustn't make it harder." "We've just begun to live, dearest," she faltered. "I can't let you go. I can't stand it for an hour and you'll be gone for days and days--" She paused and sobbed. "Why did I marry a soldier-man?" "You had to, honey. It was fate. God willed it." He spoke with deep reverence. She lifted her lips for his goodbye kiss. He turned quickly to go and she caught him again and smothered him with kisses. "I can't help it, darling man," she sobbed. "I didn't mean to make it hard for you--but--I've an awful presentiment that I shall lose you--" Her voice died again in a pathetic whisper. Stuart laughed softly and kissed the tears from her eyes. "So has every soldier's wife, honey girl. The silly old presentiment is overworked. It will pass bye and bye--when you see me coming home so many, many times to play that old banjo for you and sing our songs over again." She shook her head and smiled. "Go now--quick," she said, "before I break down again." He swung out the door, his sword clanking and his arm waving. She watched him from the window, crying. She saw him mount his horse with a graceful swing. His figure on horseback was superb. Horse and man seemed one. He looked over his shoulder, saw her at the window and waved again. She ran to her room, closed the door, took his picture to bed with her and cried herself to sleep. The thing that had so worried her was that Colonel Sumner was taking Major Sedgwick with him for conference and a single squadron of fifty men under Stuart's command. The little bride had found out that he was the sole leader of the fifty fighting men and her quick wit had sensed the danger of the possible extermination of such a force in a battle with desperadoes. She was ashamed of her breakdown. But she knew her man was brave and that he loved a fight. She would count the hours until his return. Brown rallied a hundred and fifty men when the squadron of cavalry was ordered to the rescue of Pate and his posse. He entrenched himself on an island in Middle Ottawa Creek and from this stronghold raided and robbed the stores within range of his guerrillas. On June 3rd, he successfully looted the store of J. M. Bernard at Centropolis and secured many valuables, particularly clothing. The raiding party was returning from the looted store as Stuart's cavalry troop was approaching Brown's camp. The cavalry arrived in the nick of time. A battle was imminent that might have ended in a massacre. Within striking distance of Brown's island Colonel Sumner encountered General Whitfield, a Southern Member of Congress, at the head of a squadron of avengers, two hundred and fifty strong, heavily armed and well mounted. Sumner acted with quick decision. He confronted Whitfield and spoke with a quiet emphasis not to be mistaken: "By order of the President of the United States and the Governor of the Territory, I am here to disperse all armed bodies assembled without authority." "May I see the order of the President, sir?" Whitfield asked. "You may." The telegraphic order was handed to the leader. He read it in silence and handed it back without a word. Colonel Sumner continued: "My duty is plain and I'll do it." He signaled Stuart to draw up his company for action. The Lieutenant promptly obeyed. Fifty regulars wheeled and faced two hundred and fifty rugged horsemen of the plains. Whitfield consulted his second in command and while they talked Colonel Sumner again addressed him: "Ask your people to assemble. I wish to read to them the President's order and the Governor's proclamation." Whitfield called his men. In solemn tones Sumner read the documents. Whitfield saw that his men were impressed. "I shall not resist the authority of the General Government. My party will disperse." He promptly ordered them to disband. In five minutes they had disappeared. On the approach of the company of cavalry, John Brown, with a single guard, walked boldly forward to meet them. Colonel Sumner heard his amazing request with rising wrath. He spoke as one commanding a body of coordinate power. "I have come to suggest the arrangement of terms between our forces," Brown coolly suggested. "No officer of law, sir," Sumner sternly replied, "can make terms with lawless, armed men. I am here to execute the orders of the President. You will surrender your prisoners immediately, disarm your men and disperse or take the consequences." Brown turned without a word and slowly walked back to his camp. The United States cavalry followed close at his heels with drawn sabers, Stuart at their head. Colonel Sumner summoned Brown before Sedgwick and Stuart and made to him an announcement which he thought but fair. "I must tell you now that there is with my company a Deputy United States Marshal, who holds warrants for several men in your camp. Those warrants will be served in my presence." Brown's glittering eye rested on the Deputy Marshal. He moved uneasily and finally said in a low tone: "I don't recognize any one for whom I have warrants." The grim face of the man of visions never relaxed a muscle. Sumner turned to the Deputy indignantly. "Then what are you here for?" He made no answer. And Stuart laughed in derision. During this tense moment the keen blue eyes of the Lieutenant of cavalry studied John Brown with the interest of a soldier in the man who knows not fear. At first glance he was a sorry figure. He was lean and gaunt and looked taller than he was for that reason. His face was deeply sun tanned and seamed. He looked a rough, hard-working old farmer. The decided stoop of his shoulders gave the exaggerated impression of age. His face was shaved. He wore a coarse cotton shirt, a clean one that had just been stolen from Bernard's store. It was partly covered by a vest. His hat was an old slouched felt, well worn. In general appearance he was dilapidated, dusty, and soiled. The young officer was too keen a judge of character to be deceived by clothes on a Western frontier. The dusty clothes and worn hat he scarcely saw. It was the terrible mouth that caught and held his imagination. It was the mouth of a relentless foe. It was the mouth of a man who might speak the words of surrender when cornered. But he could no more surrender than he could jump out of his skin. Stuart was willing to risk his life on a wager that if he consented to lay down his arms, he had more concealed and that he would sleep on them that night in the brush. The low forehead and square, projecting chin caught and held his fancy. It was the jaw and chin of the fighting animal. No man who studied that jaw would care to meet it in the dark. But the thing that had put the Deputy out of commission as warrant officer of the Government was the old man's strange, restless eyes. Stuart caught their steel glitter with a sense of the uncanny. He had never seen a human eye that threw at an enemy a look quite so disconcerting. He had laughed at the Deputy's fear to move with fifty dragoons to back him. There was some excuse for it. Back of those piercing points of steel-blue light were one hundred and fifty armed followers. What would happen if he should turn to these men and tell them to fight the cavalry of the United States? It was an open question. The old man walked toward his men with wiry, springing step. The prisoners were released. Stuart shook hands with Pate, who was a Virginian and a former student of the University. Brown's men laid down their arms and dispersed. True to Stuart's surmise he did not move far from his entrenched camp. He anticipated a fake surrender to the troops. He had concealed weapons for the faithful but half a mile away. With Weiner he built a new camp fire before Stuart's cavalry had moved two miles. CHAPTER XXIII The man with the slouched hat and coarse cotton shirt lost no time in grieving over the dispersal of his one hundred and fifty men. It was the largest force he had ever assembled. His experience in the three days in which he had acted as their commander had greatly angered him. The frontiersman who failed to come under the spell of Brown's personality by direct contact generally refused to obey his orders. The crowd of free rangers which his fight with Pate had gathered proved themselves beyond control. They raided the surrounding country without Brown's knowledge. They stole from friend and foe with equal impartiality. There was one consolation in his surrender to the United States troops. He got rid of these troublesome followers. They had already robbed him of the spoils of his own successful raids and not one of them had shown any inclination to bring in the enemies' goods for common use. He began to choose the most faithful among them for a scheme of wider scope and more tragic daring. He was not yet sure of his plan. But God would reveal it clearly. He spent a week at his new camp in the woods wandering alone, dreaming, praying, weighing this new scheme from every point of view. His mind came back again and again to the puzzle of the failure to raise a National Blood Feud. For a moment his indomitable Puritan soul was discouraged. He had obeyed the command of his God. He could not have been mistaken in the voice which spoke from Heaven: "WITHOUT THE SHEDDING OF BLOOD THERE IS NO REMISSION OF SINS." He had laid the Blood Offering on God's altar counting his own life as of no account in the reckoning and from that hour he had been a fugitive from justice, hiding in the woods. He had escaped arrest only by the accidental assembling of a mob of a hundred and fifty disorderly fools who had stolen his own goods before they had been dispersed. Instead of the heroic acclaim to which the deed entitled him, his own flesh and blood had cursed him, one of his sons had been shot and another was lying in prison a jibbering lunatic. Would future generations agree with the men who had met in his own town and denounced his deed as cruel, gruesome and revolting? His stolid mind refused to believe it. Through hours of agonizing prayer the new plan, based squarely on the vision that sent him to Pottawattomie, began to fix itself in his soul. This time he would chose his disciples from the elect. Only men tried in the fires of Action could be trusted. Of five men he was sure. His son, Owen, he knew could be depended on without the shadow of turning. Yet Oliver was the second disciple chosen. He had forgiven the boy for the fight over the pistol and had taken pains to regain his complete submission. John Henry Kagi was the third chosen disciple, a young newspaper reporter of excellent mind and trained pen. He had been captured by United States troops in Kansas as a guerrilla raider and was imprisoned first at Lecompton and then at Tecumseh. The fourth disciple selected was Aaron Dwight Stevens, an ex-convict from the penitentiary at Fort Leavenworth. Stevens was by far the most daring and interesting figure in the group. His knowledge of military tactics was destined to make him an invaluable aide. The uncanny in Brown's spirit had appealed to his imagination from the day he made his escape from the penitentiary and met the old man. The fifth disciple chosen was John E. Cook, a man destined to play the most important role in the new divine mission with the poorest qualification for the task. Born of a well-to-do family in Haddon, Connecticut, he had studied law in Brooklyn and New York. He dropped his studies against the protest of his people in 1855, and, driven by the spirit of adventure, found his way into Kansas and at last led his band of twenty guerrillas into John Brown's camp. Brown's attention was riveted on him from the day they met. He was a man of pleasing personality and the finest rifle shot in Kansas. He was genial; he was always generous; He was brave to the point of recklessness; and he was impulsive, indiscreet and utterly reckless when once bent on a purpose. His sister had married Willard, the Governor of Indiana. Brown's new plan required a large sum of money. With the prestige his fighting in Kansas had given him, he believed the Abolition philanthropists of the East would give this sum. He left his disciples to drill and returned East to get the money. In Boston his success was genuine, although the large amount which he asked was slow in coming. The old man succeeded in deceiving his New England friends completely as to the Pottawattomie murders. On this event he early became a cheerful, consistent and successful liar. This trait of his character had been fully developed in his youth. Everywhere he was acclaimed by the pious as, "Captain Brown, the old partisan hero of Kansas warfare." His magnetic, uncanny personality rarely failed to capture the dreamer and the sentimentalist. Sanborn, Howe, Theodore Parker, Thomas Wentworth Higginson, George L. Stearns and Gerrit Smith became his devoted followers. He even made Wendell Phillips and William Lloyd Garrison his friends. Garrison met him at Theodore Parker's. The two men were one on destroying Slavery: Garrison, the pacifist; Brown, the man who believed in bloodshed as the only possible solution of all the great issues of National life. Brown quoted the Old Testament; Garrison, the New. He captured the imagination of Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson. He was raising funds for another armed attack on Slavery in Kansas. The sentimentalists asked no questions. And if hard-headed business men tried to pry too closely into his plans, they found him a past master in the art of keeping his own counsel. He struck a snag when he appealed to the National Kansas Committee for a gift of rifles and an appropriation of five thousand dollars. They voted the rifles on conditions. But a violent opposition developed against giving five thousand dollars to a man about whose real mind they knew so little. H. B. Hurd, the Chairman of the Committee, had suspected the purpose back of his pretended scheme for operations in Kansas. He put to Brown the pointblank question and demanded a straight answer. "If you get these guns and the money you desire, will you invade Missouri or any slave territory?" The old man's reply was characteristic. He spoke with a quiet scorn. "I am no adventurer. You all know me. You are acquainted with my history. You know what I have done in Kansas. I do not expose my plans. No one knows them but myself, except perhaps one. I will not be interrogated. If you wish to give me anything, I want you to give it freely. I have no other purpose but to serve the cause of Liberty." His answer was not illuminating. It contained nothing the Committee wished to know. The statement that they knew him was a figure of speech. They had read partisan reports of his fighting and his suffering in Kansas--through his own letters, principally. How much truth these letters contained was something they wished very much to find out. He had given no light. He declared that they knew what he had done in Kansas. This was the one point on which they needed most light. The biggest event in the history of Kansas was the deed on the Pottawattomie. In the fierce political campaign that was in progress its effects had been neutralized by denials. Brown had denied his guilt on every occasion. Yet as they studied his strange personality more than one member of the Committee began to suspect him as the only man in the West capable of the act. The Committee refused to vote the rifles and compromised on the money by making a qualification that would make the gift of no service. They voted the appropriation, "in aid of Captain John Brown in any _defensive_ measures that may become necessary." He was authorized to draw five hundred dollars when he needed it for this purpose. The failure rankled in the old man's heart and he once more poured out the vials of his wrath on all politicians,--North and South. For months he became an incessant and restless wanderer throughout New York and the New England States. He finally issued a general appeal for help through the _New York Tribune_ and other friendly papers. The contributions came slowly. The invitations to speak came slower. At Collinsville, Connecticut, however, after his lecture he placed with Charles Blair, a blacksmith and forge-master, an important secret order for a thousand iron pikes. Blair pledged his loyalty. He received his first payment on account, for a stand of weapons destined to become souvenirs in marking the progress of civilization in the new world. In the midst of his disappointing canvas for funds he received a letter from his son, Jason, that a Deputy United States Marshal had passed through Cleveland on the way East with a warrant for his arrest for the Pottawattomie murders. On the receipt of this news he wrote his friend, Eli Thayer: "One of the U. S. hounds is on my track: and I have kept myself hid for a few days to let my track get cold. I have no idea of being taken: _and intend_ (if God _will_) to go back with Irons _in_ rather than _upon_ my hands. I got a _fine lift_ in Boston the other day; and hope Worcester will not be _entirely behind_. I do not mean _you_; or _Mr. Alien & Company_." So dangerous was the advent of the U. S. Marshal from Kansas that Brown took refuge in an upper room in the house of Judge Russell in Boston and remained in hiding an entire week. Mrs. Russell acted as maid and allowed no one to open the front door except herself during the time of his stay. The Judge's house was on a quiet street and his connection with the Abolition movement had been kept secret for political reasons. His services to their cause were in this way made doubly valuable. Brown daily barricaded his door and told his hostess that he would not be taken alive. He added with the nearest approach to a smile ever seen on his face: "I should hate to spoil your carpet, Madame." While in hiding at Judge Russell's he composed a sarcastic farewell to New England. It is in his best style and true character as a poseur: "Old Brown's _Farewell_: to the Plymouth Rock; Bunker Hill Monument; Charter Oaks; and _Uncle Tom's Cabins_. "Has left for Kansas. Was trying since he came out of the Territory to secure an outfit; or, in other words, the means of arming and equipping thoroughly, his regular minute men, who are mixed up _with the People of Kansas_: and _he leaves the States_, with a _deep feeling of sadness_: that after exhausting _his own_ small means: and with his _family and his brave men_: suffered hunger, nakedness, cold, sickness, (and some of them) imprisonment, with most barbarous and cruel treatment: _wounds and death_: that after laying on the ground for months; in the most unwholesome _and_ sickly as well as uncomfortable places: with sick and wounded destitute of any shelter part of the time; dependent in part on the care, and hospitality of the Indians: and hunted like Wolves: that after all this; in order to sustain a cause, which _every Citizen_ of this _Glorious Republic_, is under equal moral obligation to do: (_and for the neglect of which HE WILL be held accountable TO GOD:) in which every Man, Woman and Child of the human family;_ has a deep and awful interest; and that _no wages are asked or expected:_ he cannot secure (amidst all the wealth, luxury and extravagance of this _'Heaven exalted'_ people) even the necessary supplies for a common soldier. HOW ARE THE MIGHTY FALLEN? "JOHN BROWN." Following his usual tactics of interminable delays and restless, aimless wandering, it was the 7th of August before he reached Tabor, Iowa, the appointed rendezvous of his disciples. Two days after his arrival the Free State election of the ninth of August was held in Kansas and the heavy vote polled was a complete triumph of the men of peace within the party. Kansas, in his absence, had settled down to the tried American plan of the ballot box for the decision of political disputes. Brown wrote Stearns a despairing letter. He was discouraged and utterly without funds. He begged for five hundred to one thousand dollars immediately for secret service and no questions asked. He promised interesting times in Kansas if he could secure this money. Of his disciples for the great coming deed but one had arrived at Tabor, his faithful son Owen. The old man lingered at Tabor with his religious friends until November before starting for Kansas. Higginson, his chief backer in Massachusetts, was growing angry over his repeated delays and senseless inaction. Sanborn, always Brown's staunch defender, wrote Higginson a letter begging patience: "You do not understand Brown's circumstances. He is as ready for revolution as any other man, and is now on the border of Kansas safe from arrest, prepared for action. But he needs money for his present expenses and active support. "I believe that he is the best Dis-union champion you can find, and with his hundred men, when he is put where he can raise them and drill them (for he has an expert drill officer with him) WILL DO MORE TO SPLIT THE UNION than a list of 50,000 names for your Convention, good as that is. "What I am trying to hint at is that the friends of Kansas are looking with strange apathy at a movement which has all the elements of fitness and success--a good plan, a tried leader, and a radical purpose. If you can do anything for it _now_, in God's name do it--and the ill results of the new policy in Kansas may be prevented." The new policy in Kansas must be smashed at all hazards, of course. To the men who believed in bloodshed as the only rational way to settle political issues, the ballot box and the council table were the inventions of the Devil. It was the duty of the children of Light to send the Lord's Anointed with the Sword of Gideon to raise anew the Blood Feud. It is evident from this letter of F. B. Sanborn to Higginson that even Sanborn had not penetrated the veil of the old Puritan's soul. The one to whom he had revealed his true plan was his faithful son in Kansas. The Territory was not the objective of this mission. It was only a feint to deceive friend and foe. And he succeeded in doing it. That his purpose was the disruption of the Union in a deluge of blood, Sanborn, of course, understood and approved. He was utterly mistaken as to the time and place and method which the Man of Visions had chosen for the deed. On entering the Territory, now as peaceful as any State in the Union, Brown gathered his disciples, Oliver, Kagi, Stevens, and Cook and despatched them to Tabor, Iowa. Here they were informed for the first time of the real purpose of their organization--the invasion of Virginia and the raising of a servile insurrection in which her soil would be drenched in blood within sight of the Capitol at Washington. With Stevens, as drill master, they began the study of military tactics. They moved to Springdale and established their camp for the winter. CHAPTER XXIV Suddenly the old man left Springdale. He ordered his disciples to continue their drill until he should instruct them as to their next march. Two weeks later he was in Rochester, New York, with Frederick Douglas. In a room in this negro's house Brown composed a remarkable document as a substitute for the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States. He hurried with his finished manuscript to the home of Gerrit Smith at Peterboro for a consultation with Smith, Sanborn, Higginson and Stearns. Only Sanborn and Smith appeared. Brown outlined to them in brief his plan of precipitating a conflict by the invasion of the Black Belt of the South and the establishment of a negro empire. Its details were as yet locked in his own breast. Smith and Sanborn discussed his plans and his Constitution for the Government of the new power. In spite of its absurdities they agreed to support him in the venture. Smith gave the first contribution which enabled him to call the convention of negroes and radicals at Chatham, Canada, to adopt the "Constitution." Brown went all the way to Springdale, Iowa, to escort the entire body of his disciples to this convention. And they came across a continent with him--Stevens, Kagi, Cook, Owen Brown, and six new men whom he had added--Leeman, Tidd, Gill, Taylor, Parsons, Moffit and Realf. Thirty-four negroes gathered with them. Among the negroes were Richard O. P. Anderson and James H. Harris of North Carolina. The presiding officer was William C. Monroe, pastor of a negro church in Detroit. Kagi, the stenographer, was made Secretary of the Convention. Brown addressed the gathering in an unique speech: "For thirty years, my friends, a single passion has pursued my soul--to set at liberty the slaves of the South. I went to Europe in 1851 to inspect fortifications and study the methods of guerrilla warfare which have been successfully used in the old world. I have pondered the uprisings of the slaves of Rome, the deeds of Spartacus, the successes of Schamyl, the Circassian Chief, of Touissant L'Overture in Haiti, of the negro Nat Turner who cut the throats of sixty Virginians in a single night in 1831. "I have developed a plan of my own to sweep the South. You must trust me with its details. I shall depend on the blacks for the body of my soldiers. And I expect every freedman in the North to flock to my standard when the blow has fallen. I know that every slave in the South will answer my call. The slaveholders we will not massacre unless we must. We will hold them as hostages for our protection and the protection of any prisoners who may fall into their hands." The men listened in rapt attention and when he read his "Constitution and Preamble," it was unanimously adopted. The Constitution which they adopted was a piece of insanity in the literal sense of the word, a confused medley of absurd, inapplicable forms. The Preamble, however, which contained the keynote of Brown's philosophy of life, was expressed in clear-cut, logical ideas. He read it in a cold, vibrant voice: "Whereas, Slavery, throughout its entire existence in the United States is none other than a most barbarous, unprovoked and unjustifiable war of one portion of its citizens upon another portion: the only conditions of which are perpetual imprisonment, and hopeless servitude or absolute extermination, in utter disregard and violation of those eternal and self-evident truths set forth in our Declaration of Independence: _Therefore_, we CITIZENS OF the UNITED STATES, and the OPPRESSED PEOPLE who by a RECENT DECISION of the SUPREME COURT ARE DECLARED to have NO RIGHTS WHICH the WHITE MAN is BOUND to RESPECT; TOGETHER WITH ALL OTHER PEOPLE DEGRADED by the LAWS THEREOF, DO, for the TIME BEING ORDAIN and ESTABLISH for OURSELVES, the FOLLOWING PROVISIONAL CONSTITUTION and ORDINANCES the BETTER to protect, our PERSONS, PROPERTY, LIVES and LIBERTIES: and to GOVERN our ACTION." The first result of his Radical Convention was the exhaustion of his treasury. He had used his last dollar to bring his men on from the West and no money had been collected to pay even their return fares. They were compelled to go to work at various trades to earn their bread. Brown determined to return to Kansas and create a sensation that would again stir the East and bring the money into his treasury. He would at the same time test the first principle of his plan by an actual raid into a neighboring Southern State. In the meantime, he issued his first order of the Great Deed. He selected John E. Cook as his scout and spy and dispatched him to Harper's Ferry, Virginia, to map its roads, study its people and reconnoiter the surrounding territory. He raised the money to pay Cook's fare and saw him on the train for Virginia before he started for Kansas to spring his second national sensation. CHAPTER XXV Brown's scout reached the town of Harper's Ferry on June 5, 1858. The magnificent view which greeted his vision as he stepped from the train took his breath. The music of trembling waters seemed a grand accompaniment to an Oratorio of Nature. The sensitive mind of the young Westerner responded to its soul appeal. He stood for half an hour enraptured with its grandeur. Two great rivers, the Potomac and the Shenandoah, rushing through rock-hewn gorges to the sea, unite here to hurl their tons of foaming waters against the last granite wall of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Beyond the gorge, through which the roaring tide has cut its path, lies the City of Washington on the banks of the Potomac, but sixty miles away--a day's journey on a swift horse; an hour and a half by rail. Cook at first had sharply criticized Brown's selection of such a place for the scene of the Great Deed. As he stood surveying in wonder the sublimity of its scenery he muttered softly: "The old man's a wizard!" The rugged hills and the rush of mighty waters called the soul to great deeds. There was something electric in the air. The town, the rivers, the mountains summoned the spirit to adventure. The tall chimneys of the United States Arsenal and Rifle Works called to war. The lines of hills were made for the emplacement of guns. The roaring waters challenged the skill of generals. The scout felt his heart beat in quick response. The more he studied the hills that led to High Knob, a peak two thousand four hundred feet in height, the more canny seemed the choice of Brown. From the top of this peak stretches the county of Fauquier, the beginning of the Black Belt of the South. Fauquier County contained more than ten thousand Slaves and seven hundred freed negroes. There were but nine thousand eight hundred whites. From this county to the sea lay a series of adjoining counties in which the blacks outnumbered the whites. These counties contained more than two hundred and sixty thousand negroes. The Black Belt of Virginia touched the Black Belts of North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia--an unbroken stretch of overwhelming black majority. In some counties they outnumbered the whites, five to one. This mountain gorge, hewn out of the rocks by the waters of the rivers, was the gateway into the heart of the Slave System of the South. And it could be made the highroad of escape to the North if once the way were opened. Another fact had influenced the mind of Brown. The majority of the workmen of Harper's Ferry were mechanics from the North. They would not be enthusiastic defenders of Slavery. They were not slave owners. In a fight to a finish they would be indifferent. Their indifference would make the conquest of the few white masters in town a simple matter. Cook felt again the spell of Brown's imperious will. He had thought the old man's chief reason for selecting Harper's Ferry as the scene was his quixotic desire to be dramatic. He knew the history of the village. It had been named for Robert Harper, an Englishman. Lord Fairfax, the friend of George Washington, had given the millwright a grant of it in 1748. Washington, himself, had made the first survey of the place and selected the Ferry, in 1794, as the site of a National Armory. Colonel Lewis Washington, the great-grandson of Washington's brother, lived on the lordly plantation of Bellair, four miles in the country. Brown had learned that the sword which Frederick the Great had given to Washington, and the pistols which Lafayette had given him hung on the walls of the Colonel's library. He had instructed Cook to become acquainted with Colonel Washington, and locate these treasures. He had determined to lead his negro army of insurrection with these pistols and sword buckled around his waist. Cook was an adventurer but he had no trace of eccentricity in his character. He thought this idea a dangerous absurdity. And he believed at first that it was the one thing that had led his Chief to select this spot. He changed his mind in the first thirty minutes, as he stood studying the mountain peak that stood sentinel at the gateway of the Black Belt. With a new sense of the importance of his mission he sought a boarding house. He was directed by the watchman at the railroad station, a good-looking freedman, an employee of the Mayor of the town, to the widow Kennedy's. Her house was situated on a quiet street just outside the enclosure of the United States Arsenal. Cook was a man of pleasing address, twenty-eight years old, blue-eyed, blond, handsome, affable, genial in manner and a good mixer. Within twenty-four hours he had made friends with the widow and every boarder in the house. They introduced him to their friends and in a week he had won the good opinion of the leading citizens of the place. A few days later the widow's pretty daughter arrived from boarding school and the young adventurer faced the first problem of his mission. She was a slender, dark-eyed, sensitive creature of eighteen. Shy, romantic, and all eyes for the great adventure of every Southern girl's life--the coming of the Prince Charming who would some day ride up to her door, doff his plumed hat, kiss her hand and kneel at her feet? Cook read the eagerness in her brown eyes the first hour of their meeting. And what was more serious he felt the first throb of emotion that had ever distressed him in the presence of a woman. He had never made love. He had tried all other adventures. He had never met the type that appealed to his impulsive mind. He was angry with himself for the almost resistless impulse that came, to flirt with this girl. It could only be a flirtation at best and, it could only end in bitterness and hatred and tragedy in the end. He had done dark deeds on the Western plains. But they were man deeds. No delicate woman had been involved in their tangled ethics. There was something serious in his nature that said no to a flirtation of any kind with a lovely girl. He had always intended to take women seriously. He did take them seriously. He wouldn't hesitate to kill a man if he were cornered. But a woman--that was different. He tried to avoid the eyes of Virginia. He couldn't. In spite of all, seated opposite at the table, he found himself looking into their brown liquid depths. They were big, soulful eyes, full of tenderness and faith and wonder and joy. And they kept saying to him: "Come here, stranger man, and tell me who you are, where you came from, where you're going, and what's your hurry." There was nothing immodest or forward in them. They just kept calling him. She was exactly the type of girl he had dreamed he would like to marry some day when life had quieted down. She was of the spirit, not the flesh. Yet she was beautiful to look upon. Her hair was a dark, curling brown, full of delicate waves even on the top of her head. Her hands were dainty. Her body was a slender poem in willowy, graceful lines. Her voice was the softest Southern drawl. The Kennedys were not slave holders. The pretty daughter joyfully helped her mother when she came home from school. Her sentiments were Southern without the over emphasis sometimes heard among the prouder daughters of the old regime. These Southern sentiments formed another impassable barrier. Cook said this a hundred times to himself and sought to make the barrier more formidable by repeating aloud his own creed when in his room alone. The fight was vain. He drifted into seeing her a few minutes alone each day. She had liked him from the first. He felt it. He knew it. He had liked her from the first, and she knew it. Each night he swore he'd go to bed without seeing her and each night he laughed and said: "Just this once more and it won't count." He felt himself drifting into a tragedy. Yet to save his life he couldn't lay hold of anything that would stand the strain of the sweet invitation in those brown eyes. To avoid her he spent days tramping over the hills. And always he came back more charmed than ever. The spell she was weaving about his heart was resistless. CHAPTER XXVI Brown returned to Kansas with Stevens and Kagi, his two bravest and most intelligent disciples. If he could make the tryout of his plan sufficiently sensational, his prestige would be restored, his chief disciples become trained veterans and his treasury be filled. When he arrived, the Free State forces had again completely triumphed at the ballot box. They had swept the Territory by a majority of three to one in the final test vote on the new Constitution. The issue of Slavery in Kansas was dead. It had been settled for all time. Such an inglorious end for all his dreams of bloodshed did not depress the man of visions. Kansas no longer interested him except as a rehearsal ground for the coming drama of the Great Deed. He had carefully grown a long gray beard for the make-up of his new role. It completely changed his appearance. He not only changed his make-up, but he also changed his name. The title he gave to the new character which he had come to play was, "Shubel Morgan." The revelation of his identity would be all the more dramatic when it came. When his men and weapons had been selected, he built his camp fire on the Missouri Border. His raid was carefully planned in consultation with Stevens, Kagi and Tidd. With these trusted followers he had rallied a dozen recruits who could be depended on to obey orders. Among them was a notorious horse thief and bandit known in the Territory by the title of "Pickles." As they entered the State of Missouri on the night of the twenty-fifth of January, Brown divided his forces. Keeping the main division under his personal command, he despatched Stevens with a smaller force to raid the territory surrounding the two plantations against which he was moving. Between eleven and twelve o'clock Brown reached the home of Harvey G. Hicklin, the first victim marked on his list. Without the formality of a knock he smashed his door down and sprang inside with drawn revolver. Hicklin surrendered. "We have come to take your slaves and such property as we need," the old man curtly answered. "I am at your mercy, gentlemen," Hicklin replied. Gill was placed in charge of the robbers who ransacked the bureau drawers, closets and chests for valuables. Brown collected the slaves and assured them of protection. When every watch, gun, pistol, and every piece of plate worth carrying had been collected, and the stables stripped of every horse and piece of leather, the old man turned to his victim and coolly remarked: "Now get your property back if you can. I dare you and the whole United States Army to follow me to-night. And you tell this to your neighbors to-morrow morning." Hicklin kept silent. Brown knew that his tongue would be busy with the rising sun. He also knew that his message would be hot on the wires to the East before the sun would set. He could feel the thrill it would give his sentimental friends in Boston. And he could see them reaching for their purses. The men were still emptying drawers on the floor in a vain search for cash. Hicklin never kept cash over night in his house. He lived too near the border. Brown called his men from their looting and ordered them to the next house which he had marked for assault--the house of James Lane, three-quarters of a mile away. They smashed Lane's door and took him a prisoner with Dr. Erwin, a guest of the family. From Hicklin he had secured considerable booty and his men were keen for richer spoils. The first attack had netted the raiders two fine horses, a yoke of oxen, a wagon, harness, saddles, watches, a fine collection of jewelry, bacon, flour, meal, coffee, sugar, bedding, clothing, a shotgun, boots, shoes, an overcoat and many odds and ends dumped into the wagon. From Lane they expected more. They were sore over the results. They got six good horses, their harness and wagons, a lot of bedding, clothing and provisions, but no jewelry except two plain silver watches. Brown added five negroes to his party and told them he would take them to Canada. Thus far no blood had been shed. The attacks had been made with such quiet skill, the surprise was complete. In spite of all the talk and bluster of frontier politicians no sane man in the State of Missouri could conceive of the possibility of such a daring crime. The victims were utterly unprepared for the assault. And no defense had been attempted. Stevens had better luck. His party had encountered David Cruise, a man who was rash enough to resist. He was an old man, too, of quiet, peaceable habits and exemplary character. He proved to be the man who didn't know how to submit to personal insult. He owned but one slave who did the cooking for his family. When Stevens broke into his house and demanded the woman, he indignantly refused to surrender his cook to a gang of burglars. The ex-convict, who had served his term for an assault with intent to kill, didn't pause to ask Cruise any questions. His revolver clicked, a single shot rang out and the old man dropped on the floor with a bullet through his heart. Passing the body, Stevens looted the house. He made the largest haul of the night. He secured four oxen, eleven mules, two horses, and a wagon load of provisions. Incidentally he picked up a valuable mule from a neighbor of Cruise as they passed his house on the way to join Brown. When Stevens reported the murder and gave the inventory of the valuable goods stolen, "Shubel Morgan" stroked his long gray beard and spoke but one word: "Good." In his grim soul he knew that the blood stain left on Cruise's floor would be worth more to his cause than all the stolen jewelry, horses and wagons. Its appeal to the East would be the one secret force needed to rouse the archaic instincts of his pious backers. They would deny with indignation the accusation of murder against his men. They would invent the excuse of self-defense. He did not need to make it. From the deeps of their souls would come the shout of the ancient head-hunter returning with the bloody scalp of a foe in his hand. Brown felt this. He knew it, because he felt it in his own heart. He was a Puritan of Puritans. With deliberate daring the caravan moved back into the Territory. For the moment the audacity of the crime stunned the frontier. He had figured on this hour of uncertainty and amazement to make good his escape. He knew that he could depend on the people along the way to Iowa to protect the ten slaves which he had brought out of Missouri. The press of Kansas unanimously condemned the outrage. Brown knew they would. He could spit in their faces now. He was done with Kansas. His caravan was moving toward the North; his eyes were fixed on the hills of Virginia. His experiment had been a success. The President of the United States, James Buchanan, offered a reward of $250 for his arrest. The Governor of Missouri raised the reward to $3,000. The press flashed the news of the daring rescue of ten slaves by old John Brown. He regained in a day his lost prestige. The stories of the robberies which accompanied the rescue were denied as Border Ruffian lies, as "Shubel Morgan" knew they would be denied. His enterprise had met every test. He got his slaves safely through to Canada and started a reign of terror. The effect of the raid into a Slave State had tested his theory of direct, bloodstained action as the solution and the only solution of the problem. The occasional frowns of pious people on his methods caused him no uneasiness or doubt. He was a man of daily prayer. He was on more intimate terms with God than his critics. The one fly in the ointment of his triumph was the cold reception given him by the religious settlement at Tabor, Iowa. These good people had treated him as a prophet of God in times past and his caravan had headed for Tabor as their first resting place. He entered the village with a song of triumph. He would exhibit his freed slaves before the Church and join with the congregation in a hymn of praise to God. But the news of his coming had reached Tabor before his arrival. They had heard of the stealing of the oxen, the horses, the mules, the wagons. They had also heard of the murder of David Cruise. Brown had denied the Pottawattomie crimes and they had believed him. This murder he could not deny. They had not yet reached the point of justifying murder in an unlawful rescue. These pious folks also had a decided prejudice against a horse thief, however religious his training and eloquent his prayers. When his caravan of stolen wagons, horses and provisions, moved slowly into the village, a curious but cold crowd gazed in silence. He placed the negroes in the little school house and parked his teams on the Common. The next day was Sunday and the old Puritan hastened to church with his faithful disciples. Amazed that he had received from the Rev. John Todd no invitation to take part in the services, he handed Stevens a scribbled note: "Give it to the preacher when he comes in." Stevens gave the minister the bit of paper without a word and resumed his seat in the House of God. The Rev. John Todd read the scrawl with a frown: "John Brown respectfully requests the church at Tabor to offer public thanksgiving to Almighty God in behalf of himself and company: _and of their rescued captives, in particular_, for His gracious preservation of their lives and health: and His signal deliverance of all out of the hands of the wicked. 'Oh, give thanks unto the Lord; for He is good: for His mercy endureth forever.'" The Rev. Dr. King was in the pulpit with the militant preacher Todd that day and the perplexed man handed the note to King. The two servants of Christ were not impressed with the appeal. The words Brown had marked in italics and his use of the Psalms failed to rouse the religious fervor of the preachers. They knew that somewhere in the crowd sat the man who had murdered Cruise and stolen those horses. They also knew that John Brown had approved the deeds of his followers. Todd rose and announced that he had received a petition which he could not grant. He announced a public meeting of the citizens of the town in the church the following day to take such action as they might see fit. When Brown faced this meeting on Monday he felt its hostility from the moment he rose. He made an excuse for not speaking by refusing to go on when a distinguished physician from Missouri entered the church. Brown demanded that the man from Missouri be expelled. The citizens of Tabor refused. And the old man sullenly took his seat. Stevens, the murderer, sprang to his feet and in his superb bass voice shouted: "So help me, God, I'll not sit in council with one who buys and sells human flesh." Stevens led the disciples out of the church. At the close of the discussion the citizens of Tabor unanimously adopted the resolution: "_Resolved_, That while we sympathize with the oppressed and will do all that we conscientiously can to help them in their efforts for freedom, nevertheless we have no sympathy with those who go to slave states to entice away slaves and take property or life, when necessary, to attain this end. "J. SMITH, _Sec. of Meeting._" Tabor, Feb. 7, 1857. John Brown shook the dust of Tabor from his feet after a long prayer to his God which he took pains to make himself. At Grinnell, Iowa, his reception was cordial and he began to feel the confidence which his exploit would excite in the still more remote East. His caravan had moved Eastward but fourteen days' journey from Tabor and he had been received with open arms. The farther from the scene of action Brown moved, the more heroic his rugged patriarchal figure with its flowing beard loomed. On reaching Boston his triumph was complete. Every doubt and fear had vanished. Sanborn, Higginson, Stearns, Howe, and Gerrit Smith, in a short time, secured for him more than four thousand dollars and the Great Deed was assured. CHAPTER XXVII While Brown was at work in the North collecting money, arms and ammunition, Cook was quietly completing his work at the Ferry. He fought the temptation to take Virginia with him on his trips and then succumbed. The thing that decided it was the fact that she knew Colonel Louis Washington and had been to Bellair. She promised to introduce him. To make sure of Brown's quixotic instructions about the sword and pistols he must make the trip. The drive in the snug little buggy along the river bank was a red letter experience in the young Westerner's life. Seated beside the modest slip of a Southern girl chatting with vivacity and a happiness she couldn't conceal, the man forgot that he was a conspirator in a plot to deluge a nation in blood. He forgot the long nights of hiding in woods and ravines. He forgot dark deeds of sacking and robbery. He was just a boy again. The sun was shining in the glory of a sweet spring morning in the mountains. The flowers were blooming in the hedges. He smelled the wild cherry, blackberry and dewberry bushes. Birds were singing. The new green of the leaves was dazzling in its splendor. The air was pure and sweet and sent the blood bounding to the tips of his fingers. He glanced at the soft red cheeks of the girl beside him and a great yearning for a home and babies and peace overwhelmed him. His lips trembled and his eyes filled with tears. He rebelled against the task to which he had put his hand. "Why so pensive?" she asked with a laugh. "Am I?" "You haven't spoken for a mile." "I'm just so happy, I reckon," he answered seriously. He remembered his grim task and threw off the spell. He must keep a cool head and a strong hand. He remembered the strange old man to whose "Constitution" he had sworn allegiance in Canada and began to talk in commonplaces. To the girl's romantic ears they had meaning. Every tone of his voice fascinated her. The mystery about him held her imagination. She was sure it was full of thrilling adventure. He would tell her some day. She wondered why he had waited so long. He had been on the point of telling his love again and again and always stopped with an ugly frown. She wondered sometimes if his life had been spoiled by some tragedy. A thousand times she asked herself the question whether he might be married and separated from a wife. He had lived in the North. He had told her many places he had seen. People were divorced sometimes in the North. She dismissed the thought as absurd and resigned herself again to the charms of his companionship. Colonel Washington was delighted to see again the daughter of an old friend. Her father had been his companion on many a hunting and fishing trip. Virginia introduced her companion. "My friend, Mr. John Cook, Colonel Washington." The colonel extended his hand cordially. "Glad to meet you, young man. A friend of Virginia's is a friend of mine, sir." "Thank you." "Walk right in, children, sit down and make yourselves at home. I'll find that damned old lazy butler of mine and get you some refreshments." "Let's sit outside," Virginia whispered. "No," Cook protested. "I want to see the inside of a Washington home." The Colonel waved his arm toward the house. "With you in a minute, children. Walk right in." "Of course, if you wish it," the girl said softly. They entered the fine old house, and sat down in the hall. Cook smiled at the easy fulfillment of his task. Directly in front of the door, set in a deep panel, was the portrait of the first President. On the right in a smaller panel hung the sword which Frederick the Great had given him. On the other side, the pistols from the hands of Lafayette. A tiny, gold plate, delicately engraved, marked each treasure. Virginia showed him these souvenirs of her country's history. She spoke of them with breathless awe. She laughed with girlish pride. "Aren't they just grand?" Cook nodded. He felt guilty of treachery. A betrayal of Southern hospitality in this sweet girl's presence! He ground his teeth at the thought of his weakness the next moment. Colonel Washington appeared through the door from the dining room. He was followed by his ancient butler, bearing a tray filled with drinks. The Colonel served them with his own hand. The negro grinned his welcome to the guests. At the sight of a slave, Cook was himself again. His jaw closed and his eye flashed. He was once more the disciple of the Man of the Blood-Feud. Washington handed a tall glass to Virginia. "Your lemonade, young lady. I know your taste and approve." He bowed low and gave her the drink. He took two glasses of mint juleps, one in each hand. "Mr. Cook, the favorite drink of these mountains, sir, as pure as its dews, as refreshing as its air--the favorite drink of old Virginia. To your good health, sir!" Cook's head barely moved and he drank in silence. He held his mood of reserve on the drive home. In vain the girl smiled and coaxed his dreary spirits. He refused to respond. They passed the same wonderful views, the same birds were singing, the same waters foaming and laughing over the rocks below. The man heard nothing, saw nothing, save a vision inside his raging soul. He saw men riding through the night to that house. He saw black hands grip iron pikes and knock at the door of its great hall. There was a far-away look in his keen eyes--eyes that could sight a rifle with deadly aim. The slender girl nestled closer in wonder at the veil that had suddenly dropped between them. The fires of youth and passion responded for a moment to this instinctive stir of his mate. Resistance was agony. His arm moved to encircle her waist. He turned in an impulse to kiss her lips and whisper the mad things his heart was saying. He caught himself in time. What had he to do with this eternal call of the human heart to love and be loved? It meant home, it meant tenderness. It meant peace and good will to every living thing. He had come to kill, not to love; to destroy, not build homes. Again he rebelled against his hideous task. And then he remembered John Brown and all for which he stood. His oath crashed through his memory. He resolved to put every thought of tenderness, beauty, and love under his feet and trample them. It was the only way to save himself and this girl. It would be hard--but he would do it. For an entire week he did not speak to her except in monosyllables. He made no effort to hide his decision. He wanted her to see and know the firm purpose within his heart. Her eyes followed him with a look of dumb anguish. If she had spoken in reproaches he would have fought and withstood her. Her silence was more than he could bear. On the sixth day of his resolution he saw that she had been crying. She smiled and tried to hide it, but he knew. He would go for a walk to the Heights and cheer her up a bit. It wasn't necessary to be brutal. Her brown eyes began to smile again. They walked over the Heights and down a steep pathway among the rocks to the river's edge and sat down on a boulder worn smooth by the waters of the spring floods. The ripple of the current made soft music. They were silent for a long time and then she turned toward him a tender, questioning gaze. In spite of her effort to be strong a tear stole down the firm young cheek. "What have I done to make you angry?" "Nothing," he answered in a whisper. "What's the matter, then?" He took her hand and held it in a cruel grip before he spoke. His words came at last in passionate pleading. "Oh, dear little girl, can't you see how I've been fighting this thing for months--how I've tried to keep away from you and couldn't?" "Why?" She breathed the question leaning so close that her lips framed a kiss. "I can't tell you," he said. "But you must! You must!" she pleaded. Tears were in his eyes now. He looked away. "A gulf separates us, child." "How can it?" she whispered tenderly. "It's just there!" "Can't you cross it?" "No." She drew her slender body erect with an effort. She tried to speak twice before she succeeded. "You--are--married--then?" "Oh--no--no--not that--no!" She bent close again, a sweet smile breaking through her tears. "Then you can tell me what it is." "I couldn't tell it, even to my wife." Her brow contracted in a puzzled look. "It's nothing low or dishonorable?" "No. And it belongs to the big things of life-and death." "And I cannot know this secret?" "You cannot know. I have taken an oath." "And it separates us?" "Yes." "But why--if--you--love--me--and I love--you--" She paused and blushed scarlet. She had told a man her love before he had spoken. But he _had_ spoken! His voice, his tears, his tones had told her. He looked at her a moment, trembling. He spoke one word at a time as if he had no breath to finish the sentence. "It's--sweet--to--hear--your--dear--lips--say--that--you--love--me--God knows I love you--you-dear-little-angel-sent-from heaven! I'm not worthy to touch your hand and yet I'm crushing it--I can't help it--I can't-I can't." She slipped into his arms and he crushed her to his heart. "I love you," she whispered. "I can trust you. I'll never ask your secret until you wish to tell me. Just love me, forever. That's all I ask." "I can do that, and I will!" he answered solemnly. They were married the next night in the parsonage of the Methodist Church of which she was a member. And the foundation was laid for a tragedy involving more lives than one. CHAPTER XXVIII From an old log farmhouse on the hills of Maryland,--overlooking the town of Harper's Ferry, the panther was crouching to spring. For four months in various disguises Brown had reconnoitered the mountains around the gorge of the two rivers. He had climbed the peak and looked into the county of Fauquier with its swarming slave population. Each week he piloted his wagon to the town of Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, thirty-five miles back in the hills. The Humanitarians through their agents were shipping there, day by day, the powder, lead, guns, knives, torches and iron pikes the Chosen One had asked. These pious men met him for a final conference in the home of Gerrit Smith, the preacher philanthropist of Peterboro. The canny old huntsman revealed to them just enough to excite the unconscious archaic impulse beneath the skin of culture. He told them that he was going to make a daring raid into the heart of the Old South and rescue as many of the "oppressed" as possible. They knew that the raid into Missouri had resulted in murder and that he rode back into Kansas with the red stains on his hands. Brown gained their support by this carefully concealed appeal to their subconscious natures. As the crowd of eager faces bent close to catch, the details of his scheme, the burning eyes of the leader were suddenly half closed. Silence followed and they watched the two pin points of light in vain. Each pious man present caught the smell of human blood. Yet each pious man carefully concealed this from himself and his neighbor until it would be approved by all. Had the bald facts behind the enterprise been told in plain English, religion and culture would have called a halt. The elemental impulse of the Beast must therefore be carefully concealed. Every man present knew that they were sending Brown on a man-hunt. They knew that the results might mean bloodshed. They knew, as individuals, exactly what was being said and what was being planned. Its details they did not wish to know. The moral significance--the _big_ moral significance of the deed was something apart from the bloody details. The Great Deed could be justified by the Higher Law, the Greater Glory of God. They were twisting the moral universe into accord with the elemental impulse of the brute that sleeps beneath every human skin. The Great Deed about to be done would be glorious, its actors heroes and martyrs of a Divine Cause. They knelt in prayer and their Chosen Leader invoked the blessings of the Lord of Hosts upon them and upon his disciples in the Divine Cause. The hour of Action was now swiftly approaching. Cook had become a book agent. With his pretty Virginia wife his figure became familiar to every farm, in the county. He visited every house where a slave was to be found. He sold maps as well as books. He also sketched maps in secret when he reached the quiet of his home while his happy little bride sang at her work. He carefully compiled a census of slaves at the Ferry and in the surrounding country. So sure had he become of the success of the blow when it should fall, that he begged his Chief to permit him to begin to whisper the promise of the uprising to a few chosen men among the slaves. The old man's eyes; flamed with anger. "You have not done this already?" he growled. "No--no." "You swear it?" Brown had seized Cook by both arms and searched his eyes for the truth. The younger man was amazed at the volcanic outburst of anger. "A hundred times I've told you, Cook, that you talk too much," he went on tensely. "You mean well, boy, but your marriage may prove a tragedy in more ways than one." "It has proven my greatest weapon." "If you're careful, if you're discreet, if you can control your foolish impulses. I've warned you again and again and yet you've been writing letters--" Cook's eyes wavered. "I only wrote one to an old girl friend in Tabor." "Exactly. You told of your marriage, your happiness, your hopes of a great career--and I got a copy of the letter." "How?" "No matter. If I got it, somebody else could get one. Now will you swear to me again to obey my orders?" The burning eyes pierced his soul and he was wax. "Yes. I swear!" "Good. I want a report from you daily from now on. Stop your excursions into the country, except to meet me in broad daylight in the woods this side of our headquarters. You understand?" "Yes. You can depend on me." Brown watched him with grave misgivings. He was the one man on whom he depended least and yet his life and the life of every one in his enterprise was in his hands. There were more reasons than one why he must hasten the final preparations for the Deed. The suspicions of the neighbors had been roused in spite of the utmost vigilance. He had increased his disciples to twenty men. He had induced his younger son, Watson, to leave North Elba and join them. His own daughter, Annie, and Oliver's wife had come with Watson, and the two women were doing the work for his band--cooking, washing, and scrubbing without a murmur. The men were becoming restless in their close confinement. Five of them were negroes. Brown's disciples made no objections to living, eating and sleeping with these blacks. Such equality was one of the cardinal principles of their creed. But the danger of the discovery of the presence of freed negroes living in this farmhouse with two white women and a group of white men increased each day. The headquarters had a garrulous old woman for a neighbor. Gradually, Mrs. Huffmeister became curious about the doings at the farm. She began to invent daily excuses for a visit. They might be real, of course, but the old man's daughter became uneasy. As she cleaned the table, washed the dishes and swept the floors of the rooms and the porch, she was constantly on the lookout for this woman. The thing that had fascinated her was the man whom this girl called father. His name was "Smith," but it didn't seem to fit him. She was an illiterate German and knew nothing of the stirring events in Kansas. But her eyes followed the head huntsman with fascinated curiosity. At this time his personal appearance was startling in its impressive power, when not on guard or in disguise. His brilliant eyes, his flowing white beard and stooped shoulders arrested attention instantly and held it. He was sixty years old by the calendar and looked older. And yet always the curious thing about him was that the impression of age was on the surface. It was given only when he was still. The moment he moved in the quick, wiry, catlike way that was his habit, age vanished. The observer got the impression of a wild beast crouching to spring. It was little wonder that Mrs. Huffmeister made excuses to catch a glimpse of his figure. It was little wonder that she had begun to talk to her friends about "Mr. Smith" and his curious ways. She had talked to him only once. She was glad that he didn't talk much. There was an expression to his set jaw and lips that was repulsive. Especially there was something chill in the tones of his voice. They never suggested tenderness or love, or hope or happiness--only the impersonal ring of metal. The agile and alert body of a man of his age was an uncanny thing, too. The woman's curiosity was roused anew with each glimpse she got of him until her coming at last became a terror to the daughter. She warned her father and he hastened his preparations. If the world below once got a hint of what was going on behind those rough logs there would be short shrift for the men who were stalking human game. It became necessary for the entire party of twenty men to lie concealed in the low attic room the entire day. Not more than two of them could be seen at one time. The strange assortment of ex-convicts, dreamers, theorists, adventurers and freed negroes were kept busy by their leader until the eve of the Great Deed. They whittled into smooth shape the stout hickory handles for a thousand iron pikes, which Blair, the blacksmith of Collinsville, Connecticut, had finally delivered. To these rude weapons the fondest hopes of the head-huntsman had been pinned from the first. The slave was not familiar with the use of firearms. His strong, black arm could thrust these sharp pieces of iron into human breasts with deadly accuracy. Brown saw that every nail was securely set in the handles. Each day he required the first stand of rifles to be burnished anew. The swords and knives were ground and whetted until their blades were perfect. There was not work enough to stop discussion toward the end. Cook had finally whispered to Tidd that the leader intended to assault and take the United States Arsenal and Rifle Works. Cook's study of law revealed the fact that this act would be high treason against the Republic. The men had all sworn allegiance to Brown under his Constitution but the rank and file of the little provisional army did not understand that he intended to attack the National authority by a direct assault. A violent discussion broke out in the attack led by Tidd. At the end of the argument Tidd became so infuriated by Brown's imperious orders for submission to his will that he left the place in a rage, went down to the Ferry and spent the week with Cook. Brown tendered his resignation as Commander in Chief. There was no other man among them who would dare to lead. A frank discussion disclosed this fact and the disciples were compelled to submit. They voted submission and authorized Owen to put it in writing which he did briefly but to the point: Harper's Ferry, Aug. 18, 1859. DEAR SIR, We have all agreed to sustain your decisions, until you have _proved incompetent_, and many of us will adhere to your decisions as long as you will. Your friend, OWEN SMITH. The rebellion was suppressed within the ranks and the leader's authority restored. But the task of watching and guarding became more and more trying and dangerous. One of the women remained on guard every moment from dawn to dusk. When washing dishes she stood at the end of the table where she could see the approach to the house. The meals over, she took her place on the porch or just inside the door. Always she was reading or sewing. She not only had to watch for foes from without, but she was also the guard set over the restless "invisible" upstairs. In spite of her vigilance, Hazlett and Leeman would slip off into the woods and wander for hours. Hazlett was a fine-looking young fellow, overflowing with good nature and social feelings. The prison life was appalling to him. Leeman was a boy from Saco, Maine, the youngest man among the disciples. He smoked and drank occasionally and chafed under restraint. In spite of the women's keen watch these two fellows more than once broke the rules by slipping into Harper's Ferry in broad daylight and spending the time at Cook's house. They loved to watch the slender, joyous, little wife at her work. They envied Cook, and, while they watched, wondered at the strange spell that had bound their souls and bodies to the old man crouching on the hill to strike the sleeping village. The reports of these excursions reached Brown's ears and increased his uneasiness. The thing that hastened the date for the Great Deed to its final place on the calendar was the fact that a traitor from ambush had written a letter to the Secretary of War, John B. Floyd, revealing the whole plot and naming John Brown of Kansas as the leader. The Secretary of War was at the time in the mountains of Virginia on a vacation. The idea of any sane human being organizing a secret association to liberate the slaves of the South by a general insurrection was too absurd for belief--too puerile for attention. The letter was tossed aside. If this were not enough, his friend and benefactor, Gerrit Smith, had made an unfortunate speech before a negro audience in which he had broadly hinted of his hope of an early slave insurrection. It was the last straw. He was awaiting recruits but he dare not delay. He summoned his friend, Frederick Douglas, from Rochester to meet him at Chambersburg. If he could persuade Douglas to take his place by his side on the night the blow would be struck, he would need no other recruits. Brown knew this negro to be the foremost leader of his race and that the freedmen of the North would follow him. The old man arranged through his agent in Chambersburg that the meeting should take place in an abandoned stone quarry just outside of town. The watcher on the hill over Harper's Ferry was disguised as a fisherman. His slouch hat, and also rod and reel, rough clothes, made him a typical farmer fisherman of the neighborhood. He reached the stone quarry unchallenged. With eager eloquence he begged for the negro's help. Douglas asked the details of his attack. Brown bared it, in all its daring. He did not omit the Armory or the Rifle Works. Douglas was shocked. With his vivid eloquence as a negro orator, he possessed far more common sense than the old Puritan before whom he stood. He opposed his plea as the acme of absurdity. The attack on the Federal Arsenal would be treason. It would array the whole Nation against him. It would hurl the army of the United States with the militia of Virginia on his back in an instant. Brown; boldly faced this possibility and declared that with it he could still triumph, if once he crossed the line of Farquier county and thrust his pikes into the heart of the Black Belt. All day Saturday and half the day on Sunday the argument between the two men continued. At noon on Sunday the old man slipped his arm around the negro and pressed it close. His voice was softer than Douglas had ever heard it and it sent the cold chills down his spine in spite of his firm determination never to yield. "Come with me, Douglas, for God's sake," he begged. "I'll defend you with my life. I want you for a special purpose. I'll capture Harper's Ferry in two hours. They'll be asleep. When I cross the line on the mountain top and call the ten thousand slaves in Fauquier County--the bees will swarm, man! Can't you see them? Can't you hear the roar when I've placed these pikes in their hands?--_I want you_ to hive them." Douglas hesitated for only a moment. His vivid imagination had seen the flash of the hell-lit vision of the slave insurrection and his soul answered with a savage cry. But he slipped from Brown's arms, rubbed his eyes and flung off the spell. "My good friend," he said at last, "you're walking into a steel trap. You can't come out alive." He turned to Shields Green, the negro guard who was now one of the old man's disciples. Green had been a friend of Douglas' in Rochester. He had introduced him to the Crusader. He felt responsible for his life. He had a duty to perform to this ignorant black man and he did it, painful as it was. "Green, you have heard what I've just said to my friend. He has changed his plans since you volunteered. You understand, now. You can go with him or come home with me to Rochester. What will you do?" His answer was coolly deliberate. "I b'lieve I go wid de ole man!" With a heavy heart Brown saw Douglas leave. It was the shattering of his most dramatic dream of the execution of the Great Deed. When the black bees should swarm he had seen himself at the head of the dark, roaring tide of avengers, their pikes and rifles flashing in the Southern sun. Around his waist was the sword of George Washington and the pistols of Lafayette. His Aide of Honor would ride, this negro, once a fugitive slave. Side by side they would sweep the South with fire and sword. On arrival at his headquarters on the hill he learned that a revival of religion was going on in the town below and he fixed Sunday, the seventeenth of October, as the day of the Deed. Harper's Ferry would not only be asleep that night--every foe would be lulled in songs of praise to God. CHAPTER XXIX At eight o'clock on Sunday night, the sixteenth of October, 1859, John Brown drove his one-horse wagon to the door of the rude log house in which he had hidden with his disciples for four months. It was a damp, chill evening of mid fall. Heavy rain clouds obscured the stars and not a traveler ventured along the wind-swept roads. From the attic were loaded into the wagon crowbars, sledge hammers, iron pikes and oil-soaked faggots. The crowbars and sledge hammers might be used on the gates or doors. There could be no doubt about the use to which the leader intended to put the pikes and torches. When the wagon had been loaded the old man summoned his faithful son, Owen. "Captain Owen Brown," the steel voice rang, "you will take private Barclay Coppoc and F.J. Merriam and establish a guard over this house as the headquarters of our expedition. Hold it at all hazards. You are guarding the written records of our work, the names of associates, the reserves of our arms and ammunition. We will send you reinforcements in due time." Owen saluted his commander and the two privates under his command took their places beside him. Brown waved to the eighteen men standing around the wagon. "Get on your arms, and to the Ferry!" They had been ready for hours, eager for the Deed. Not one among them in his heart believed in the wisdom of this assault, yet so grim was the power of Brown's mind over the wills of his followers, there was not a laggard among them. Brown drove the wagon and led the procession down the pitch-black road toward the town. The men fell in line two abreast and slowly marched behind the team. Cook and Tidd, raised to the rank of Captains, their commissions duly signed, led the tramping men. There were many captains in this remarkable army of twenty-one. There were more officers than privates. The officers were commissioned to recruit their black companies when the first blow had been struck. The enterprise on which these twenty-one veteran rangers had started in the chill night was by no means so foolhardy as appears on the surface. The leader was leaving his base of supplies with a rear guard of but three men. Yet the army on the march consisted of but eighteen. He knew that the United States Arsenal had but one guarded gate and that the old watchman had not fired a gun in twenty-five years. It would be the simplest thing to force this gate and the Arsenal was in their hands. The Rifle Works had but a single guard. They could be taken in five minutes. Once inside these enclosures, he had unlimited guns and ammunition at his command. The town would be asleep at ten o'clock when he arrived at the Maryland end of the covered bridge across the Potomac. Eighteen armed men were an ample force to capture the unsuspecting town. Not a single policeman was on duty after ten. The people were not in the habit of locking their doors. The one principle of military law which the leader was apparently violating was the failure to provide a plan of retreat. But retreat was the last thing he intended to face. The one thing on which he had staked his life and the success of his daring undertaking was the swarming of the black bees. His theory was reasonable from the Abolitionist's point of view. He believed that negro Chattel Slavery as practiced in the South was the sum of all villainies. And the Southern slave holders were the arch criminals and oppressors of human history. In his Preamble of the new "Constitution" to which his men had sworn allegiance, he had described this condition as one of "perpetual imprisonment, and hopeless servitude or absolute extermination." If the negroes of the South were held in the chains of such a system, if they were being beaten and exterminated, the black bees _would_ swarm at the first call of a master leader and deluge the soil in blood. John Brown believed this as he believed in the God to whom he prayed before he loaded his pikes and torches on the wagon. These black legions would swarm to-night! He could hear their shouts of joy and revenge as they gripped their pikes and swung into line under his God imposed leadership. The whole scheme was based on this faith. If Garrison's words were true, if the Southern slave holder was a fiend, if Mrs. Stowe's arraignment of Slavery on the grounds of its inhuman cruelty was a true indictment, his faith was well grounded. His thousand pikes in the hands of a thousand determined blacks led by the trained Captains whom he had commissioned was a force adequate to hold the town of Harper's Ferry and invade the Black Belt beyond the Peak. The moment these black legions swarmed and weapons were placed in their hands the insurrection would spread with lightning rapidity. The weapons were in the Arsenal. The massacres would be sweeping through Virginia, North and South Carolina before an adequate force could reach this mountain pass. And when they reached it, he would be at the head of a black, savage army moving southward with resistless power. The only question was the swarming of this dark army. Cook, who had spent nearly a year among the people and knew these slaves best, was the one man who held a doubt. For this reason he had begged Brown a second time to let him sound the strongest men among the slaves and try their spirit. Brown refused. He knew a negro. He was simply a white man in a black skin by an accident of climate. He knew exactly what he would do when put to the test. To discuss the subject was a waste of words. And so with faith serene in the success of the Deed, he paused but a moment at the entrance of the bridge. He ordered Captains Kagi and Stevens to advance and take as prisoner William Williams, the watchman. The two rangers captured Williams without a struggle. "A good joke, boys," he laughed. "You'll find it a good one before the night's over," Stevens answered. When he attempted to move, a revolver at his breast still failed to convince him. "Go 'way, you boys, with your foolishness. It's a dark night, but I'm used to being scared!" It was not until Kagi gave him a rap over the head with his rifle that he sat down in amazement and wiped the sweat from his brow. He forgot the chill of the night air. His brain was suddenly on fire. Brown waited at the entrance of the bridge until the watchman had been captured and Cook and Tidd had cut the line on the Maryland side of the river. He then advanced across the covered way to the gate of the Arsenal hut a few yards beyond the Virginia entrance. He captured Daniel Whelan, the watchman at the Arsenal entrance. Dumbfounded but stubborn, he refused to betray his trust by surrendering the keys. "Open the gate!" Brown commanded. "To hell wid yez!" A half dozen rifles were thrust at his head. He folded his arms and stood his ground. They pushed a lantern into his face and Brown studied him a moment. He didn't wish a gun fired yet. The town was asleep and he wanted it to sleep. "Get a crowbar," he ordered. They got a crowbar from the wagon, jammed it into the chain which held the wagon gate and twisted the chain until it snapped. He drove the wagon inside, closed the gate and the United States Arsenal was in his hands. Brown placed the two watchmen in charge of his men, Jerry Anderson and Dauphin Thompson. He spoke to the prisoners in sharp command. "Behave yourselves, now. I've come here to free all the negroes in this State. If I'm interfered with I'll burn the town and have blood." Every man who passed through the dark streets was accosted, made prisoner and placed under guard. Hazlett and Edwin Coppoc were ordered to hold the Armory. Oliver Brown and William Thompson were sent to seize the Shenandoah bridge, the direct line of march into the slave-thronged lower valley. Stevens was sent to capture the Rifle Works which was accomplished in two minutes. The program had worked exactly as Brown had predicted. Not a shot had been fired and they were masters of the town, its two bridges, the United States Arsenal, Armory and Rifle Works. The men were now despatched through the town for the real work of the night--the arming of the black legion with pikes and torches. It was one o'clock before the first accident happened. Patrick Higgins, the second night watchman, came to relieve Williams on the Maryland bridge. Oliver Brown, on guard, cried: "You're my prisoner, sir." The Irishman grinned. "Yez don't till me!" Without another word he struck Oliver a blow. The crack of a rifle was the answer. In his rage young Brown was too quick with the shot. The bullet plowed a furrow in Higgins' skull but failed to pierce it. He ran into the shadows. Once inside the Wager House, he gave the alarm. The train from the West pulled into the station and was about to start across the bridge when Higgins, his face still streaked with blood, rushed up to the conductor and told him what had happened. He went forward to investigate, was fired on and backed his train out to the next station. As the train pulled out Shepherd Haywood, a freedman, the baggage master of the station, walked toward the bridge to find the missing watchman. The raiders shot him through the breast and he fell mortally wounded. The first victim was a faithful colored employee of Mayor Beekham, the station master of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Company. The shot that killed him roused a man of action. Dr. John D. Starry lived but a stone's throw from the spot where Haywood had fallen. Hearing the shot and the groans of the wounded man, the doctor hastened to his rescue and carried him into the station. He could give no coherent account of what had happened and was already in a dying condition. The doctor investigated. He approached two groups of the raiders, was challenged and retreated. Satisfied of the seriousness of the attack when he saw two armed white men lead three negroes holding pikes in their hands into the Armory gate, he saddled his horse and rode to his neighbors in town and country and gave the alarm. While this dangerous messenger was on his foam-flecked horse, Brown, true to his quixotic sense of the dramatic, sent a raiding party of picked men to capture Colonel Washington and bring to his headquarters in the Arsenal the sword and pistols. On this foolish mission he despatched Captains Stevens, Cook and Tidd, with three negro privates, Leary, Anderson and Green. He gave positive orders that Colonel Washington should be forced to surrender the sword of the first President into the hands of a negro. Day was dawning as the strange procession on its return passed through the Armory gate. In his own carriage was seated Colonel Washington and his neighbor, John H. Allstead. Their slaves and valuables were packed in the stolen wagons drawn by stolen horses. Brown stood rifle in hand to receive them. "This," said Stevens to Washington, "is John Brown." "Osawatomie Brown of Kansas," the old man added with a stiffening of his figure. He then handed a pike to each of the slaves captured at Bellair and Allstead's: "Stand guard over these white men." The negroes took the pikes and held them gingerly. At sunrise Kagi sent an urgent message to his Chief advising him that the Rifle Works could not be held in the face of an assault. He begged him to retreat across the Potomac at the earliest possible moment. Retreat was a word not in the old man's vocabulary. He sent Leary to reinforce him, with orders to hold the works. He buckled the sword and pistols of Washington about his gaunt waist and counted his prisoners. He had forty whites within the enclosure. He counted the slaves whom he had armed with pikes. He had enrolled under his banner less than fifty. They stood in huddled groups of wonder and fear. The black bees had failed to swarm. He scanned the horizon and not a single burning home lighted the skies. It had begun to drizzle rain. Not a torch had been used. He had lost four precious hours in his quixotic expedition to capture Colonel Washington, his sword and slaves. He could not believe this a mistake. God had shown him the dramatic power of the act. He held a Washington in his possession. He was being guarded by his own slaves, armed. The scene would make him famous. It would stir the millions of the North. It would drive the South to desperation. The thing that stunned him was the failure of the black legions to mobilize under the Captains whom he had appointed to lead them. It was incredible. He paced the enclosure, feverishly recalling the histories of mobs which he had studied, especially the fury of the French populace when the restraints of Law and Tradition had been lifted by the tocsin of the Revolution. The moment the beast beneath the skin of religion and culture was unchained, the massacres began. Every cruelty known to man had been their pastime. And these beasts were white men. How much more should he expect of the Blacks? Haiti had given him assurance of darker deeds. The world was shivering with the horrors of the Black uprising in Haiti when he was born. He had drunk the story from his Puritan mother's breast. From childhood he had brooded with secret joy over its bloody details. The Black Bees had swarmed there and Toussaint L'Overture had hived them as he had asked Frederick Douglas to hive them here. They seized the rudest weapons and wiped out the white population. They butchered ten thousand French men, women and children. And not a cry of pity or mercy found an echo in a savage breast. What was wrong here? He had proclaimed the slave a freeman. He had placed an iron pike in his right hand and a torch in his left. Why had they not answered with a shout of triumph? His somber mind refused to believe that they would not rise. Even now he was sure they were mobilizing in a sheltered mountain gorge. Before noon he would hear the roar of their coming and see the terror-stricken faces of the whites fleeing before their rush. He had repeated to his Northern crowds the fable of negro suffering in the South until he believed the lie himself. He believed it with every beat of his stern Puritan heart. And he had repeated and shouted it until the gathering Abolitionist mob believed it as a message from God. The fact that the system of African slavery, as actually practiced in the South, was the mildest and most humane form of labor ever fixed by the masters of men, they refused to consider. The mob leader never allows his followers to consider facts. He knows that his crowd prefers dreams to facts. Dreams are the motives of crowd action. The dream, the illusion, the unreality have ever been the forces that have shaped human history in its hours of crisis when Fate has placed the future in the hands of the mob. The fact that Slavery in the South had lifted millions of black savages--half of them from cannibal tribes--into the light of human civilization--that it had been their school, their teacher, their church, their inspiration--did not exist, because it was a fact. They did not deal in facts. And so again Brown lifted his burning eyes toward the hills reflected in the mirror of the rivers. Down one of those rocky slopes the Black Legion would sweep before the day was done! He had boldly despatched Cook across the Potomac bridge with the wagons, horses and treasures stolen from Colonel Washington's house to be stored at headquarters. There was still no doubt or shadow of turning in his imperious soul. With each passing moment the swift feet of the avengers were closing the trap into which he had walked. By ten o'clock the terror-stricken people of the town and county had seized their weapons and the fight began. Bullets were whistling from every street corner and every window commanding a glimpse of the Arsenal and Armory. Brown's handful of men began to fall. The Rifle Works surrendered first and his guard of three men were all dead or wounded. By three o'clock his forces had been cut to pieces and he had taken refuge in the Engine House of the Armory. The bridges were held by the people. Owen, Cook and his guard at the old log house on the Maryland side were cut off and could not come to his rescue. The amazing news of an Abolition invasion of Virginia and the capture of the United States Arsenal and Rifle Works had shaken the nation. President Buchanan hastily summoned from Arlington the foremost soldier of the Republic and despatched Colonel Robert E. Lee to the scene with the only troops available at the Capital, a company of marines. Lieutenant J. E. B. Stuart volunteered to act as his aide. The young cavalier was in the East celebrating the birth of a baby boy. CHAPTER XXX When the marines arrived from Washington it was past midnight. The town swarmed with armed men from every farm and fireside. Five companies of militia from Maryland and Virginia were on the ground and Henry Wise, the Governor of Virginia, was hurrying to take command. Stuart had established Colonel Lee's headquarters behind the brick wall of the Arsenal enclosure. Not more than fifty yards from the gate stood the Engine House in which Brown had barricaded himself with his two sons, Oliver and Watson, and four of his men. He held forty white hostages. A sentinel of marines covered the entrance to the enclosure. The militia had yielded command to the United States troops. As Stuart stood awaiting Colonel Lee's arrival, Lieutenant Green, in command of the marines, stepped briskly to the aide's side to report the preliminary work. As yet no one in the excited town knew the identity of the mysterious commander "John Smith" who led the invasion. No one could guess the number of men he had in his army nor how many he held in reserve on the Maryland hills. Stuart's blue eyes flashed with excitement. "The marines have the Arsenal completely surrounded?" he asked. "A rat couldn't get through, Lieutenant Stuart." "The bridges leading into Harper's Ferry guarded?" "Three picked men at each end, sir." "Any signs of the Abolitionists on the hills at dawn?" "A shot from a sniper on the Maryland side nipped one of the guards--" "Then their headquarters and the reserves are back in those hills." "I'm sure of it. I've sent a squad to get the sniper." "All right, it's daylight. Keep your marines away from the Arsenal gate. It's barely fifty yards to the Engine House. We've got the Abolitionists penned inside. But they're good shots." "I've warned them, sir." "No fighting now until Colonel Lee takes command. His train has just pulled in." "Why the devil didn't he come with us?" Green asked suddenly. "Called to the White House for a conference with President Buchanan, in such haste that he couldn't stop to put on his uniform. The Capital's agog over this affair. The wildest rumors are afloat." "Nothing to the rumors afloat here among these militiamen and dazed citizens." "Colonel Lee will straighten them out in short order--" Stuart suddenly stiffened to attention as he saw the soldierly figure of the Colonel approaching from the station with quick, firm step. Over his civilian suit he had hastily thrown an army overcoat and looked what he was, the bronzed veteran commander of the Texas plains. He saluted the two young officers and quickly turned to his aide. "No sign of a slave uprising, of course?" "The invaders did their best to bring it on. They've taken about fifty negroes from their masters." "Armed them?" "With pikes and rifles." "The invaders have robbed houses as reported?" "Taken everything they could get their hands on. They forced their way into Colonel Washington's home, dragged him from bed, stole his watch, silver, wagons, horses, saddles and harness. They hold him a prisoner with four of his slaves." "Colonel Washington is now their prisoner?" "With others they are holding as hostages." "Hostages?" "They swear to murder them all at the first sign of an attack." "They won't!" he answered sharply. "I think they will, sir. They shot an unarmed negro porter at the depot and murdered the Mayor to-day as he was passing through the streets. They are expecting reinforcements at any minute." "The militia are ready for duty?" "Some are. Some are drinking." Lee turned to Lieutenant Green. "Close every barroom in town." Green saluted. "At once, sir." Green turned to execute the order. The only problem that gave Lee concern was the use the invaders might make of the prisoners they held. That they would not hesitate to expose them to death as a protection to their own lives he couldn't doubt. Men who would dare the crime of raising a slave insurrection would not hesitate to violate the code of military honor. He saw Stuart was restless. There was something on his mind. He half guessed the trouble and paused. "Well, Lieutenant?" Stuart laughed. "I suppose, Colonel, you couldn't possibly let me lead the assault on the Engine House, could you?" Lee's eyes twinkled at the eager look. The Colonel was a man as well as a soldier. And he was a father. He loved the shouts of children more than he loved the shouts of armies. In the pause he saw a vision. A little blue-eyed mother crooning over a baby which she had named for her sweetheart. The great heart forgot the daring soldier before him eager for a fight. He saw only the handsome husband and a wife at home praying God for his safe return. He could see her pressing the pink bundle of flesh to her heart, singing a lullaby that was a prayer. There would be no glory in such an assault. There was only the possibility of a bloody tragedy before a handful of desperadoes could be overcome. He faced his aide with a frown. "Lieutenant Green is in command of the marines, sir. You are only my voluntary aide. You will act strictly within the rules of war." Stuart saluted. He knew that his commander was a stern disciplinarian. Argument was out of the question. He made up his mind, however, to watch for a chance to join in the attack, once it was begun. Green returned from his errand leading an old negro who held one of Brown's iron pikes. The lieutenant thrust the trembling figure before the Colonel. Lee studied him, and suppressed the smile that began to play about his lips. "Well, uncle, this looks bad for you," he said finally. "Lordee, Master, don't you blame me!" the old negro protested. "They found him hiding in the bushes," Green explained. "Yassah," the old man broke in. "I wuz kivered up in de leaves!" "That's right, sir," Green agreed. "The pike was standing beside a tree. They raked the leaves and found him in a hole." "An' I tried ter git under de hole, too." "The raiders took you by force?" Lee asked. "Yassah! Dey pulls me outen bed, make me put on my close, gimme dis here han' spike, an' tells me I kin kill my ole marster an' missis when I feels like it--" "Did you try to kill them?" Lee asked seriously. "Who? Me?" "Yes." "Man! I drawed dat han' spike on dem Abolishioners an' I says: 'You low doun stinkin' po' white trash. Des try ter lay de weight er yo' han' on my marster er missis,--an' I'll lan' yo' in de middle of er spell er sickness'--" "And they took you prisoner." "Yassah." "I see." "Dey starts ter shoot me fust! But den dey say I wuzn't wuf de powder an' lead hit'ud take ter kill me." "And you escaped?" "Na sah, not den. Dey make me go wid 'em, wher er no. But I git loose byme bye an' crawl inter dat patch er trees doun dar by de ribber--" "We found him there," Green nodded. "Yassah, I mak' up my min' dat dey's have ter burn de woods an' sif de ashes for' dey ebber see me ergin." Stuart's boyish laughter rang without restraint. "All right, uncle," Lee responded cordially. "You can leave that pike with me." "Yassah, you kin sho have it. God knows I ain't got no use fur it." He threw the pike down and brushed his hands as if to get rid of the contagion of its touch. "You're safe," Lee added. "The United States Marines are in command of Harper's Ferry now." "Yassah. De Lawd knows I doan wanter 'sociate wid no slu-footed, knock-kneed po' whites. I'se er ristercrat, I is. Yassah, dat's me!" "I'm glad to help you, uncle." "Thankee, sah." "Hurry back to your home now and help your people in their troubles." "Yassah, right away, sah--right away!" The old man hurried home, bowing right and left to his white friends and muttering curses on the heads of the Abolitionists, who had dragged him from his bed and caused him to lose four square meals. Lee examined the pike carefully. He measured its long stiletto-like blade, projecting nine inches from its fastenings in the hickory handle. He observed the skill and care with which the rivets had been set. "An ugly piece of iron," he said at last. "I'll bet they've thousands of them somewhere back in these hills," Stuart added. "And not a negro has lifted his hand against his master?" "Not one." Lee ran his fingers along the edges of the blade and a dreamy look came into his thoughtful eyes. "My boy, such people deserve their freedom. But not this way--not this way! God save us from the horrors of the mob and the fanatic who leads them! Slavery is surely and swiftly dying. It cannot survive the economic pressure of the century. If only we can be saved from such madness." His voice died away as in a troubled dream. He looked up suddenly and turned to his aide. "I must summon their leader to surrender. You have not yet learned his name?" "He calls himself John Smith, sir. They've been here all summer in an old farmhouse on the Maryland side." "Strange that their purpose should not have been discovered. Their work has been carefully and secretly planned." "Beyond a doubt." "They could not have done it without big backing somewhere." "They've had it. They've had plenty of money. They have rifles of the finest make. And they're not the type made in this Arsenal." "They expected to use the rifles in the Armory, of course. And they expect reinforcements. Any sign of their reserves?" "Not yet, sir. We have the roads guarded for ten miles." "We'll settle it before they can get help," Lee said sharply. He hastily wrote a summons to surrender and handed it to Stuart. "Approach the Engine House under a flag of truce. Ask for a parley with their leader and give him this." Stuart saluted. "At once, sir." He attached his handkerchief to his sword and entered the gate. A loud murmur rose from the crowd of excited people who had pressed close to see the famous commander of the Marines. Lee turned to the sentinel. "Push that crowd back." The crowd had pressed closer, watching Stuart with increasing excitement. The sentinel clubbed his musket and pressed against the front men savagely. "Stand back!" The people slowly retreated. Lee turned to Lieutenant Green. "Your men are ready for action?" "They await your orders, sir." "I suppose you wish the honor of leading the troops in taking these men out of the Engine House?" Green smiled and bowed. "Thank you, Colonel!" "Pick a detail of only twelve men, with a reserve of twelve more. When Lieutenant Stuart gives you the signal, assault the Engine House and batter down the doors with sledge hammers--" Green saluted. "Yes, sir." Lee spoke his next command in sharp emphasis. "The citizens inside whom the raiders are holding must not be harmed. See to this when you gain an entrance. Once inside, pick your enemies. You understand?" "Perfectly, sir." "Hold your men in check until the signal to attack. I hope it will not be necessary to give it. I shall do my best to avoid further bloodshed." "All right, sir." Green saluted and stood at attention awaiting the arrival of Stuart. Lee's aide had approached the Engine House, watched in breathless suspense by a crowd of more than two thousand people. In spite of the efforts of the sentinels they had jammed every inch of space commanding a view of the enclosure. When Stuart reached the bullet-marked door he called: "For Mr. Smith, the commander of the invaders, I have a communication from Colonel Lee!" Brown opened the door about four inches and placed his body against the crack. Stuart could see through the opening his hand gripping a rifle. He refused to open it further and the parley was held with the door ajar. He at last allowed Stuart to enter. His first look at the man's face startled him. The full gray beard could not mask the terrible mouth which he had studied one day in Kansas. And nothing could dim the flame that burned in his blue-gray eyes. He recognized him instantly. "Why, aren't you old Osawatomie Brown of Kansas, whom I once held there as my prisoner?" "Yes, but you didn't keep me." "I have a written communication from Colonel Lee." "Read it." Stuart drew the sheet of paper from his pocket and read in his clear, ringing voice: "Headquarters Harper's Ferry, October 18, 1859. Colonel Lee, United States Army, commanding the troops sent by the President of the United States to suppress the insurrection at this place, demands the surrender of the people in the Armory buildings." "If they will peaceably surrender themselves and return the pillaged property, they shall be kept in safety to await the orders of the President. Colonel Lee reports to them, in all frankness, that it is impossible for them to escape, that the Armory is surrounded by troops, and that if he is compelled to take them by force he cannot answer for their safety. R. E. LEE, _Colonel Commanding U. S. Troops_." Stuart waited and Brown made no reply. "You will surrender?" "I will not," was the prompt answer. In vain the young officer tried to persuade the stubborn old man to submit without further loss of life. "I advise you to trust to the clemency of the Government," Stuart urged. "I know what that means, sir. A rope for my men and myself. I prefer to die just here." "I'll give you a short time to think it over and return for your final answer." Brown at once began to barricade the doors and windows. And Stuart reported to his commander. Lee met him at the gate. "Well?" "A little surprise for us, Colonel--" "He refuses to surrender?" "Absolutely. Captain 'John Smith' turns out to be Old John Brown of Osawatomie, Kansas, sir." "You're sure?" "I couldn't be mistaken. I had him a prisoner on the plains once when our troops were ordered out to quell the disturbances." "That man's been here all summer planning this attack?" "And not a soul knew him." Lee was silent a moment and spoke slowly: "It can only mean a conspiracy of wide scope to drench the South in blood--" "Of course." "He refuses to yield without a fight?" Stuart laughed. "He don't know how to surrender. I left him with two pistols and a bowie knife in his belt and a rifle in each hand." "How many men were with him?" "I saw but six besides the prisoners he holds as hostages. The prisoners begged for an interview with you, sir. I told them to be quiet--that you knew what you were doing." "It's incredible!" Lee exclaimed. He paused in deep thought and went on as if talking to himself. "Strange old man--I must see him." "I wouldn't, Colonel. He's a tough customer." "I hate to order an assault on six men. He must be insane." "No more than you are, unless the pursuit of a fixed idea for a lifetime makes a man insane." Lee turned suddenly to his aide. "Press that crowd back into the next street and ask him to come here under a flag of truce." "I warn you, Colonel," Stuart protested. "He violated a flag of truce in Kansas. He won't hesitate to shoot you on sight if he takes a notion." Lee smiled. "He didn't try to shoot you on sight, did he?" "No--" "Go back and bring him here. I must find out some things from him if I can. He may not survive the assault." Stuart again fixed his flag of truce and returned to the Engine House. This time the Colonel called a cordon of marines and pressed the crowd into the next street. He beckoned to a sentinel. "Ask Lieutenant Green to step here." The sentinel called a marine to take his place and went in search of the commander of the company. Lee lifted his eyes to the hills of Maryland. But a few miles beyond the first range lay the town of Sharpsburg, where Destiny was setting the stage for the bloodiest battle in the history of the republic. A little farther on lay the town of Gettysburg, over whose ragged hills Death was hovering in search of camping ground. Did his prophetic soul pierce the future? Never had he been more profoundly depressed. The event he was witnessing was but the prelude to a tragedy he felt to be from this hour inevitable. Green saluted in answer to his summons. "I want you to witness an interview which I will have with John Brown, and receive my final orders!" "The leader is old John Brown?" "Lieutenant Stuart has identified him." A shout from a crowd of boys who had climbed the trees of the next street caused Lee to turn toward the gate as the invader and Stuart passed through. As Lee confronted Brown no more startling contrast could be presented by two men born under the same flag. John Brown with his bristling, unkempt beard, his two revolvers and sword hanging and dangling on his gaunt frame, his eyes glittering and red from the loss of two nights' sleep, the incarnation of Lawlessness; Lee, the trained soldier, the inheritor of centuries of constructive genius, the aristocrat in taste, the humblest and gentlest Christian in spirit, the lover of Peace, of Order. The commander of the forces of Law spoke in friendly tones. "You are John Brown of Osawatomie, Kansas?" "Yes!" "You are in command of the invaders who have killed four citizens of Harper's Ferry and seized the United States Arsenal?" "I am in command." "Would you mind telling me why you have invaded Virginia?" "To free your slaves." "How many men were under your command when you entered?" "Seventeen white men and five colored freedmen." "With an armed force of twenty-two you have invaded the South to free three million slaves?" "I expected help--" He paused and his burning eyes flashed toward the hills. "And I still expect it!" "From whom could you expect it?" "From here and elsewhere." "From blacks as well as whites?" "From both." "You have been disappointed in not getting it from either?" "Thus far--yes." Lee studied him with increasing wonder. There was a quiet daring in his attitude, an utter disregard of the tragic forces that had closed in on his ill-fated venture that was astounding. What could be its secret? It was something more than the coolness and poise of a brave Ulan. His manner was not cool. His mind was not poised. There was a vibrant ring to his metallic voice which betrayed the profoundest emotion. His daring came from some mysterious source within. It was a daring that was the contradiction of reason and experience. It was uncanny. Lee asked his questions in measured tones. "You were disappointed, I take it, particularly in the conduct of the blacks?" "Yes." "Exactly. If negro Slavery in the South were to-day the beastly thing which you and Garrison have so long proclaimed, you could not have been disappointed. Had your illusion of abuse and cruelty been true the negroes _would_ have risen to a man, put their masters to death, and burned their homes. Yet, not a black man has lifted his hand. There must be something wrong in your facts--" Brown lifted his head solemnly. "There can be nothing wrong in my faith, Colonel Lee. It comes from God." "I didn't say your faith, my friend. I said your facts--" He paused and picked up the pike. "These unused pikes bear witness to your error. This is an ugly weapon, Mr. Brown!" "It was meant to kill." "We found it in the hands of a negro." "I wish to conceal nothing, sir--" The old man paused, lifted his stooped shoulders and drew a deep breath. "I armed fifty blacks with them and I had many more which I hoped to use." Lee touched the point of the two-edged blade, "This piece of iron, then, placed in the hands of a negro was meant for the breasts of Southern white men, women and children?" "I came to proclaim your slaves free and give them the weapons to make good my orders." "Who gave you the authority to issue orders of life and death?" Lee asked with slow, steady emphasis. Brown's eyes flashed. "I gave it to myself, sir. By the authority of my conscience and what I believe to be right." "Suppose all took the same orders? Every man who differs with his neighbor, gets his gun, proclaims himself the mouthpiece of God and kills those who disagree with him. Civilization is built on an agreement not to do this thing. We have placed in the hands of the officer of the law the task of executing justice. The moment we dare as individuals to take this into our own hands, the world becomes a den of wild beasts--" "The world's already a den of wild beasts," Brown interrupted sharply. "They have snarled and snapped long enough. It's time to clinch and fight it out." There could be no doubt of the savage earnestness of the man who spoke. There was the ring of steel in every word. Lee looked at him curiously. "May I ask how many people you know in the North who feel that way toward the South?" "Millions, sir." "And they back you in this attack?" "A few chosen prophets--yes--thank God." "And these prophets of the coming mob of millions have furnished you the money to arm and equip this expedition?" "They have." "It's amazing--" "The millions are yet asleep," Brown admitted. He shook his gray locks as his terrible mouth closed with a deep intake of breath. "But I'll awake them! The thunderbolt which I have launched over Harper's Ferry will call them. And they will follow me. I hope to hear the throb of their drums over the hills before you have finished with me to-day!" Lee was silent again, looking at the face with flaming eyes in a new wonder. "And you invade to rob and murder at will?" "I have not robbed!" "No?" "I have confiscated the property of slaveholders for use in a divine cause." "Who gave you the right to confiscate the property of others in any cause?" "Again I answer, my conscience." "So a common thief can say." "I am no common thief." "Yet when you forced your way into Colonel Washington's home at night you committed a felony, known as burglary." "I did it in a holy crusade, sir." "The highwayman on the plains might plead the same necessity." "You know, Colonel Lee, that I am neither felon, nor highwayman. I am an Abolitionist. My sole aim in the invasion of the South is to free the slave--" "At any cost?" "At any cost. I see, feel, know but one thing-that you are guilty of a great wrong against God and humanity. I have the right to interfere with you. To free those whom you hold in bondage." "Even though you deluge the world in blood?" "Yes. That is why I am here. I have no personal hate. No spirit of revenge. I have killed only when I thought I had to. I have protected your citizens whom hold as prisoners." "You had no right to take those men prisoners." Brown ignored the interruption. "I ordered my men to fire only on those who were trying to stop our work." "And yet you placed these pikes in the hands of negroes and gave them oil-soaked torches?" Brown threw his hand high over his head as if to waive an irrelevant remark. "I am here, sir, to aid those suffering a great wrong." "And you begin by doing a greater wrong!" The old man pursued his one idea without a break in thought. Lee's words made not the slightest impression. "This question of the negro, Colonel Lee, you must face. You may dispose of me now easily. But this question is still to be settled. The end of that is not yet!" "I, too, believe that Slavery is wrong, my friend. Yet surely this is not the way to bring to the slave his freedom. On pikes to be driven into the breasts of unoffending men and women! Two wrongs have never yet made a right." The old man lifted his head towards the hills and a look of religious rapture overspread his furrowed face. His soul's deepest faith breathed in his words: "Moral suasion is a vain thing, sir. This issue can be settled in blood alone." The Colonel watched him with a growing feeling of futility. "I have taken pains in this interview, Mr. Brown, to clear the way for your surrender without bloodshed. I cannot persuade you?" "Upon what terms?" "Terms?" "I said so, sir." The Colonel marveled at his audacity. Yet he was in dead earnest. His suggestion was not bravado. "The only possible terms I can offer I suggested in my first message. I will protect you and your men from this infuriated crowd and guarantee you a fair trial by the civil authorities." "I can't accept," Brown answered curtly. "You must allow me to leave this place with my men and the prisoners I hold as hostages until I reach the canal locks on the Maryland side. There I will release your citizens, and as soon as this is done your troops may fire on us, and pursue us." "Such an offer is a waste of words. You must see that further resistance is useless." "You have the numbers on us, sir," Brown answered defiantly. "But we are not afraid of death. I'd as lief die by a bullet as on the gallows. I can do more now by dying than by living. I came here to destroy the institution of Slavery by the sword--" Lee's answer came with clean-cut emphasis. "The law which protects Slavery is going to be repealed in God's own time. I am, myself, working toward that end as well as you, sir, and the end is sure. But at this moment the Constitution of the United States to which we owe liberty, justice, order, progress, wealth and power, guarantees this institution. Until its repeal it is my duty and it is your duty to obey the law. Will you submit?" Brown's answer came like the crack of a rifle. "The laws of the United States I have burned in a public square, sir. The Constitution is a covenant with Death, an agreement with Hell. I loathe it. I despise it. I spit upon it--" Lee lifted his hand in gesture of command. "That will do, sir!" He faced Stuart with quick decision. "Take him back to his men and give the signal of assault." "Good!" Stuart turned to Green. "I'll wave my cap." Stuart led Brown through the gate to the Engine House. Lee summoned Green. "Your troops are raw men, I understand." "They have never been under fire, sir. But they're soldiers--never fear." "All right. We'll put them to the test. Assault and take the Engine House without firing a shot. No matter how severe the fire on you, we must protect our citizens held inside. Use the bayonet only. Give each of your twelve men careful instructions. When fired on, they must not return that fire!" Green saluted and passed to the head of his detail of twelve men. A shout from the boys in the tree tops was the signal of Stuart's return. "Watch that crowd," Lee ordered the sentinel. "Use the reserves to hold them out of range." Stuart returned with his eyes flashing. "Ready, sir!" "Give your signal." Stuart stepped into the open, and waved his cap. Green's detail of twelve men, the commander at their head, rushed to the Engine House with a shout. The crowd of two thousand people answered with a roar. A volley rang from the besieged and a moment's silence followed. Their first shots had gone wild and not a marine had fallen. They had reached the door and their sledge hammers were raining blows on its solid timbers. An incessant fire poured from the portholes which Brown had cut through the walls. The men were so close to the door his shots were not effective. Brown ordered one of his prisoners, Captain Dangerfield, a clerk of the Armory Staff, to secure the fastenings. Dangerfield slipped the bolts to their limit and stood watching his chance to throw them and admit the marines. Brown ordered him back. He retreated a few feet and watched the bolts, as the blows rained on the door. Stuart had slipped into the fight. He called to Green. "The hammers are too light. There's a big ladder outside. Get it and use it as a battering ram." With a shout the marines seized the ladder, five men on a side, and drove it with tremendous force against the door. The first blow shivered a panel. Brown ordered the fire engine rolled against the door. Dangerfield sprang to assist. He slipped the bolt out instead of in! The next rush of the ladder drove the door against the engine, rolled it back a foot and made a small opening through which Lieutenant Green forced his way. The marines crowded in behind him. Green sprang on the engine with drawn sword and looked for Brown. A shower of bullets greeted him. Yet the miracle happened. Not one touched him. He recognized Colonel Washington, leaped from the engine and rushed to his side. On one knee, a few feet to his left, knelt a man with a carbine in his hand pulling the lever to reload. Colonel Washington waved his arm. "That's Osawatomie." The Lieutenant sprang twelve feet at him. He gave a quick underthrust of his sword, struck him midway of the body and raised the old man completely from the ground. He fell forward with his head between his knees. Green clubbed his sword and rained blow after blow on his head. The men who watched the scene supposed that he had split the skull. Yet he survived. Green's first sword thrust had struck the heavy leather belt and did not enter the body. The sword was bent double. The clubbed blade was too light. It had made only superficial wounds. As the marines pressed through the opening the first man was shot dead. The second was wounded in the face. The men who followed made short work of the fight. They bayoneted a raider under the engine and pinned another to the wall. The fight had lasted but three minutes. Brown lay on the ground wounded. His son, Oliver, was dead. His son, Watson, was mortally wounded. All the rest were dead or prisoners, save seven who made good their escape with Cook and Owen Brown into the hills of Pennsylvania. Colonel Lee entered the Engine House and greeted Washington. "You are all right, sir?" "Sound as a dollar, Colonel Lee. The damned old fool's had me penned up here for two days. I'm dry as a powder horn and hungry as a wolf. Nothing to eat, and nothing to drink, but _water out of a horse-bucket_!" Green faced his Colonel and saluted. He glanced at the prostrate prisoners. "See that their wounds are dressed immediately. Give them good food, and take them as quickly as possible to the jail at Charlestown under heavy guard. See that they are not harmed or insulted by the people." Lee turned sadly to his friend. "Colonel Washington, the thing we have dreaded has come. The first blow has been struck. The Blood Feud has been raised." CHAPTER XXXI On the surface only was the Great Deed a failure. Not a single pike had been thrust into a white man's breast by his slave. Not a single torch had been applied to a Southern home. His chosen Captains never passed the sentinel peak into Fauquier county. The Black Bees had not swarmed. But the keen ear of the old man had heard the rumble of the swarming of twenty million white hornets in the North. The moment he had lifted his head a prisoner in the hands of his courteous captor, he foresaw the power which the role of martyrdom would give to his cause. Instantly he assumed the part and played it with genius to the last breath of his indomitable body. He had stained the soil of Virginia with the blood of innocent and unoffending citizens. He had raised the Blood Feud at the right moment, a few months before a Presidential campaign. He had raised it at the right spot in a mountain gorge that looked southward to the Capitol at Washington and northward to the beating hearts of the millions, who had been prepared for this event by the long years of the Abolition Crusade which had culminated in _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. A wave of horror for a moment swept the nation, North and South. Frederick Douglas fled to Europe. Sanborn, the treasurer and manager of the conspiracy, hurried across the border into Canada. Howe and Stearns hid. Theodore Parker was already in Europe. Poor, old, gentle, generous Gerrit Smith collapsed and was led to the insane asylum at Ithaca, New York. Two men alone of the conspirators realized the tremendous thing that had been done--John Brown in jail at Charlestown, and Thomas Wentworth Higginson, the militant preacher of Massachusetts. To Brown, life had been an unbroken horror. His tragic Puritan soul had ever faced it with scorn--scorn for himself and the world. He was used to failure and disaster. They had been his meat and drink. Bankruptcy, imprisonment, flight from justice and the death of half his children had been mere incidents of life. He had cast scarcely a glance at his dying sons in the Engine House. He had not tried to minister to them. His hand was tightly gripped on his carbine. His grim soul now rose to its first long flight of religious ecstasy. He saw that the Southerner's reverence for Law and Order would make his execution inevitable. His dark spirit shouted for joy. His own blood, if he could succeed in playing the role of martyr, would raise the Blood Feud to its highest power. No statesman, no leader, no poet, no seer could calm the spirit of the archaic beast in man, which this martyrdom would raise if skillfully played. He was sure he could play the role with success. The one man in the North who saw with clear vision the thing which Brown's failure had done was the Worcester clergyman. Higginson was a preacher by accident. He was a born soldier. From the first meeting with Brown his fighting spirit had answered his cry for blood with a shout of approval. Higginson not only refused to run, but also groaned with shame at the fears of his fellow conspirators. His first utterance was characteristic of his spirit. "I am overwhelmed with remorse that the men who gave him money and arms could not have been by his side when he fell." He stood his ground in Worcester and dared arrest. He did not proclaim his guilt from the housetop. But his friends and neighbors knew and he walked the streets with head erect. He did more. He joined with John W. LeBarnes and immediately organized a plot to liberate Brown by force. He raised the money and engaged George H. Hoyt to go to Harper's Ferry, ostensibly to appear as his attorney at the trial, in reality to act as a spy, discover the strength of the jail and find whether it could be stormed and taken by a company of determined men. At his first interview with Brown the spy revealed his purpose. "I have come from Boston to rescue you," he whispered. The old man's face was convulsed with anger. He spoke in the tones of final command which had always closed argument with friend or foe. "Never will I consent to such a scheme." "But listen--" "You listen to me, young man. The bare mention of this thing again and I shall refuse to see or speak to you. Do you accept my decision, sir?" Hoyt agreed at once. Only in this way could he keep in touch with the man whom he had come to save. "The last thing on this earth I would ask," Brown continued sternly, "is to be taken from this jail except by the State of Virginia when I shall ascend the scaffold." Hoyt looked longingly at the old-fashioned fireplace in his prison room. Two men could have crawled up its flue at the same time. His refusal did not stop Higginson's efforts. He appealed to the forlorn wife at North Elba, New York, to go to Harper's Ferry, ask to see her husband and whisper her plan into his ear. He sent the money and got Mrs. Brown as far as Baltimore on her journey when Brown heard of it and stopped her with a peremptory command. The determined conspirator then worked up the proposition to buy a steam tug which could make 18 knots an hour, steam up the James River to Richmond, kidnap the Governor of the Commonwealth, Henry Wise, and hold him for ransom until Brown was released. The scheme only failed for the lack of money. Higginson had seen one thing. Brown saw a bigger thing. Higginson's refusal to flee was based on sound psychology. He knew that from the day John Brown struck his brutal blow at the heart of the South and blood had begun to flow, the Blood Feud would be the biggest living fact in the Nation's history. He knew that he could remain in Worcester with impunity. The strength of a revolution lies in the fact that its first bloodletting releases the instincts of the animal in man hitherto restrained by law. He knew that Brown's cry of Liberty for the slave would become for millions the cloak to hide the archaic impulse to kill. He knew that while the purpose of civilization is to restrain and control these instincts of the beast in man--it was too late for the forces of Law and Order to rally in the North. The first outbursts of indignation against Brown would quickly pass. They would be futile. He read them with a smile. The _New York Herald_ said: "He has met with a fate which he courted, but his death and the punishment of all his criminal associates will be as a feather in the balance against the mischievous consequences which will probably follow from the rekindling of the slavery excitement in the South." The _Tribune_ took the lead in dismissing the act as the deed of a madman. The Hartford _Evening News_ declared: "Brown is a poor, demented, old man. The calamity would never have occurred had there been no lawless and criminal invasion of Kansas." But the most significant utterance in the North came from the Pacifist leader of Abolition, William Lloyd Garrison, himself. Higginson read it with a cry of joy. _The Liberator's_ words of comment were brief but significant of the coming mob mind: "The particulars of a misguided, wild, and apparently insane, through disinterested and well-intended effort by insurrection, to emancipate the slaves in Virginia, under the leadership of Captain John, alias 'Osawatomie' Brown, may be found on our third page. Our views of war and bloodshed even in the best of causes, are too well known to need, repeating here; _but let no one who glories in the revolutionary struggle of 1776, deny the right of slaves to imitate the example of our fathers._" Even the leader of the movement for Abolition by peaceful means had succumbed to the poison of the smell of human blood. Higginson knew that the process of a revolution was always in the order of Ideas, Leaders, The Mob, The Tread of Armies. For thirty years Garrison and the Abolition Crusaders had spread the Ideas. The Inspired Leader had at last appeared. His right arm had struck the first blow. He could hear the roar of the coming mob whose impulse to murder had been roused. It would call their ancestral soul. The answer was a certainty. He could see no necessity for Brown's blood to be spilled in martyrdom. The old man, walking with burning eyes toward his trial, knew better. His vision was clear. God had revealed His full purpose at last. He would climb a Virginia gallows and drag millions down, from that scaffold into the grave with him. CHAPTER XXXII Never in the history of an American commonwealth was a trial conducted with more reverence for Law than the arraignment of John Brown and his followers in the stately old Court House at Charlestown, Virginia. The people whom he had assaulted with intent to kill, the people against whom he had incited slaves to rise in bloody insurrection, the kinsmen of the dead whom his rifles had slain, stood in line on the street and watched him pass into the building manacled to one of his disciples. They did not hoot, nor hiss, nor curse. They watched him walk in silence between the tall granite pillars of the House of Justice. The behavior of this crowd was highwater mark in the development of Southern character. The structure of their society rested on the sanctity of Law. It was being put to the supreme test. A Northern crowd under similar conditions, had they followed the principles which John Brown preached, would have torn those prisoners to pieces without the formality of a trial. It was precisely this trait of character in his enemies on which Brown relied for the martyrdom he so passionately desired. When the witnesses at the preliminary hearing had testified to his guilt and the Court had ordered the trial set, he was asked if he had counsel. He rose from his seat and addressed the nation, not the Court: "Virginians, I did not ask for any quarter at the time I was taken. I did not ask to have my life spared. The Governor of the State of Virginia tenders me his assurance that I shall have a fair trial, but under no circumstances whatever will I be able to have a fair trial. If you seek my blood, you can have it at any moment, without this mockery of a trial. I have no counsel. I am ready for my fate. I do not wish a trial. I have now little further to ask, other than that I may not be foolishly insulted, as cowardly barbarians insult those who fall into their power." The posing martyr was courting insults which had not been offered him. He was grieved that he could not bring the charge of barbarous treatment. He had been treated by Colonel Lee with the utmost consideration. His wounds had been dressed. He had received the best medical care. He had eaten wholesome food. His jailer had proven friendly and sympathetic. He went out of his way to insult the Court and the people and invite abuse. He demanded that he be executed without trial. The Court calmly assigned him two of the ablest lawyers in the county, and ordered the trial to proceed. At noon the following day the Grand Jury returned a true bill against each of the prisoners for treason to the commonwealth, and for conspiring with slaves to commit both treason and murder, and for murder. Captain Avis, the kindly jailer, was ordered to bring his prisoners into Court. He found old Brown in bed, pretending to be ill. He refused to rise. He was determined to get the effect of an arraignment of his prostrate body in the court room. He had foreseen the effect of this picture on the imagination of the North. The crowd of eager reporters at the preliminary hearing had given him the cue. He was carried into the court room exactly as he had desired, on a cot. While the hearing proceeded he lay with his eyes closed as if in deep suffering. He had carefully prepared a plea for delay which he knew would not be granted. Its effect on the mob mind of the North was what he sought. The press would give it wings. He lifted himself on his elbow and asked Judge Parker to allow him to make a protest: "I have been promised a fair trial. I am not now in circumstances that enable me to attend a trial, owing to the state of my health. I have a severe wound in the back, or rather in one kidney which enfeebles me very much. But I am doing well, and I only ask for a very short delay of my trial, that I may be able to listen to it! And I merely ask this that, as the saying is, the devil may have his dues, no more. I wish to say further that my hearing is impaired by wounds I have about my head. I could not hear what the Court said this morning. I would be glad to hear what is said at my trial. Any short delay would be all I would ask. I do not presume to ask more than a very short delay so that I may in some degree recover and be able at least to listen to my trial." Dr. Mason the attending physician, swore that he had examined Brown, and that his wounds had effected neither his hearing nor his mind. He further swore that he was not seriously disabled. Brown knew that this was true, but he had entered his plea. His words would flash over the nation. The effect was what he foresaw. Although he had defied the laws of God and man, he dared demand more than justice under the laws which he had spit upon. And, however inconsistent his position, he knew that as the poison of the Blood Feud which he was raising filled the souls of the people through the press, he would be glorified from day to day and new power given to every word he might utter. He had already composed his last message destined to sway the minds of millions. The response of the radical press to his pose of illness was quick and sharp. The Lawrence, Kansas, _Republican_ voiced the feelings of thousands: "We defy an instance to be shown in any civilized community where a prisoner has been forced to trial for his life, when so disabled by sickness or ghastly wounds as to be unable even to sit up during the proceedings, and compelled to be carried to the judgment hall upon a litter. Such a proceeding shames the name of Justice, and only finds a congenial place amid the records of the bloody Inquisition." Even so conservative a paper as the Boston _Transcript_ said: "Whatever may be his guilt or folly, a man convicted under such circumstances, and, especially, a man executed after such a trial, will be the most terrible fruit that Slavery has ever borne, and will excite the execration of the civilized world." The canny old poseur was on his way to an immortal martyrdom. He knew that every article of the Virginia Code was being scrupulously obeyed. He knew that the Grand Jury was in session and that the trial was set at the first term of the court following the crime. There had been no haste. He also knew that the impartial Judge who was presiding was the soul of justice in his dealings both with the clamorous people, the prosecution and the counsel appointed for the defense. But he also knew that the mob mind to whom he was appealing would not believe that he knew this. In appeals to the crowd he was a past master. In this appeal he knew that facts would count for nothing--beliefs, illusions for everything. He played each opportunity for all it was worth. When the Court opened the following morning, his counsel, Mr. Botts, amazed the prisoner and the prosecution by reading a telegram from Ohio asking a delay on the ground that important affidavits were on the way to prove legally that John Brown was insane. Before the old man could stop him he gave to the Court the substance of these sworn statements. His friends and relatives in Ohio had sworn that Brown had been always a monomaniac and had been intermittently insane for twenty years. One swore that he had been plainly insane for a quarter of a century. On the family record of insanity the affidavits all agreed. His grandmother was hopelessly insane for six years and died insane. His uncles and aunts, two sons and two daughters had been intermittently insane for years, while one of his daughters had died a hopeless maniac. His only sister, her daughter and one of his brothers were insane at intervals. Two of his first cousins were occasionally mad. Two had been committed to the State Insane Asylum repeatedly and two others were at that time in close restraint. Brown refused to allow this plea to be entered. He bitterly denounced the counsel assigned to him as traitors, and at their request the following day they were allowed to withdraw from the case. No sooner had he finished his denunciation of his counsel than Hoyt, the young alleged attorney, sent by Higginson to defend him, sprang to his feet and asked a delay, as he was unprepared to proceed without assistance. The Judge adjourned the Court until the following morning at ten o'clock. The young spy knew nothing of law but he bluffed it through until the arrival of two able attorneys, Samuel Chilton of Washington, and Hiram Grismer of Cleveland. Botts, the dismissed counsel, who had sought to save Brown's life by the plea of insanity, put his notes and his office at the disposal of Hoyt and sat up all night with him preparing his work for the following day. When the new lawyers appeared the old man made another play at illness to gain delay. The Court ordered him to be brought in on his cot. Again, the physician swore he was lying, that he was gaining in strength daily. The Judge, however, granted a delay of two days. The moment the order was issued for an adjournment Brown deliberately rose from his cot and walked back to jail. The trial was closed on Monday by the speeches of the prosecution and the defense. The judge charged the jury and in three-quarters of an hour they filed back into the jury box. The crowd jammed every inch of space in the old Court House, the wide entrance hall, and overflowed into the street. The foreman solemnly pronounced him guilty. The old man merely pulled the covers of his cot up and stretched his legs, as if he had no interest in the verdict. Entirely recovered from every effect of his wounds, as able to walk as ever, he had refused to walk and had been carried again into the court room. He had determined to receive his sentence on a bed. He knew the effect of this picture on the gathering mob. The silence of death fell on the crowded room. Not a single cry of triumph from the kindred of the dead. Not a single cheer from the men whose wives and children had been saved from the horrors of massacre. Chilton made his motion for an arrest of judgment and the judge ordered the motion to stand over until the next day. Brown heard the arguments the following day again lying on his cot. The judge reserved his decision and the final scene of the drama was enacted on November second. The clerk asked John Brown if he had anything to say concerning why sentence should not be pronounced upon him. The crowd stared as they saw the wiry figure of the old man quickly rise. He fixed his eagle eye on them, not on the judge. Over their heads he talked to the gathering mob of his countrymen. Brown had been a habitual liar from boyhood. In this speech, made on the eve of the sentence of death, he lied in every paragraph. He lied as he had when he grew a beard to play the role of "Shubel Morgan." He lied as he had lied to his victims when posing as a surveyor on the Pottawattomie. He lied as he had done when he crept through the darkness of the night on his sleeping prey. He lied as he had a hundred times about those gruesome murders. He lied for his Sacred Cause. He lied without stint and without reservation. He lied with such conviction that he convinced himself in the end that he was a hero--a martyr of human liberty and progress. And that he was telling the solemn truth. "I have, may it please the court, a few words to say: "In the first place I deny everything but what I have already admitted: of a design on my part to free slaves. I intended certainly to have made a clean thing of that matter, as I did last winter when I went into Missouri and there took slaves without the snapping of a gun on either side, moving them through the country and finally leading them into Canada. I designed to have done the thing again on a larger scale. That was all I intended. I never did intend murder or treason, or the destruction of property, or to excite or to incite slaves to rebellion, or to make insurrection. "Now, if it is deemed necessary that I should forfeit my life for the furtherance of the ends of justice, and mingle my blood further with the blood of my children--and with the blood of millions in this slave country whose rights are disregarded by wicked, cruel and unjust treatment--I say let it be done." David Cruise was not there to tell of the bullet that crashed through his heart in Missouri. Frederick Douglas was not there to tell that he abandoned Brown in the old stone quarry outside Chambersburg, precisely because he had changed the plan of carrying off slaves as in Missouri to a scheme of treason, wholesale murders and insurrection. Cruise was in his grave and Douglas on his way to Europe. There was no one to contradict his statements. The mob mind never asks for facts. It asks only for assertions. John Brown gave them what he knew they wished to hear and believe. They heard and they believed. With due solemnity, the Judge pronounced the sentence of death and fixed the date on December the second, thirty days in the future. The old man's eyes flamed with hidden fires at the unexpected grant of a month in which to complete the raising of the Blood Feud so gloriously begun. He was a master in the coming of mystic phrases in letters. He gloried in religious symbols. Within thirty days he could work with his pen the miracle that would transform a nation into the puppets of his will. He walked beside the jailer, his eyes glittering, his head uplifted. The Judge ordered the crowd to keep their seats until the prisoner was removed. In silence he marched through the throng without a hiss or a taunt. CHAPTER XXXIII The day of the Great Deed was one never to be forgotten by Cook's little bride. They had been married six months. Each hour had bound the girl's heart in closer and sweeter bonds. The love that kindled for the handsome blond the day of their first meeting had grown into the deathless passion of the woman for her mate. He was restless Saturday night. Through the long hours she held her breath to catch his regular breathing. He did not sleep. At last the terror of it gripped her. Her hand touched his brow and brushed the hair back from his forehead. "What's the matter, John dear?" "Restless." "What is it?" "Oh, nothing much. Just got to thinking about something and can't sleep. That's all. Go to sleep now, like a good girl. I'm all right." The little fingers sought his hand and gripped it. "I'll try." She rose at dawn. He had asked an early breakfast to make a long trip into the country. At the table she watched him furtively. She had asked to go with him and he told her he couldn't take her. She wondered why. A great fear began to steal into her soul. It was the first time she had dared to look into the gulf. She would never ask his secret. He must tell her of his own free will. Her eyes searched his. And he turned away without an answer. He fought for self-control when he kissed her goodbye. A mad desire swept his heart to take her in his arms, perhaps for the last time. It would be a confession at the moment the blow was about to fall. He would betray the lives of his associates. He gripped himself and left her with a careless smile. All day she brooded over the odd parting, the constraint, the silence, the sleepless night. She went to the services of the revival and sought solace in the songs and prayers of the people. At night the minister preached a sermon that soothed her. A warm glow filled her heart. If God is love as the preacher said, he must know the secrets of his heart and life. He must watch over and bring her lover safely back to her arms. She reached home at a quarter to ten and went to bed humming an old song Cook had taught her. The tired body was ready for sleep. She did not expect her husband to return that night. He had gone as far as Chambersburg. He promised to come on Monday afternoon. Through the early hours of the fatal night she slept as soundly as a child. The firing at the Arsenal between three and four o'clock waked her. She sprang to her feet and looked out the window. The street lamps flickered fitfully in the drizzling rain. No one was passing. There were no shouts, no disturbances. She wondered about the shots. A crowd of drunken fools were still hanging around the Galt House bar perhaps. She went back to bed and slept again. It was eight o'clock before the crash of a volley from the Arsenal enclosure roused her. She leaped to her feet, rushed to the window and stood trembling as volley followed volley in a long rattle of rifle and shotgun and pistol. A neighbor hurried past with a gun in his hand. She asked him what the fighting meant. "Armed Abolitionists have invaded Virginia," he shouted. Still it meant nothing to her personally. Her husband was not an Abolitionist. She had known him for more than a year. She had been with him day and night for six months in the sweet intimacy of home and love. And then the hideous truth came crashing on her terror-stricken soul. Cook had been recognized by a neighbor as he drove Colonel Washington's wagon across the Maryland bridge at dawn. A committee of citizens came to cross-examine her. She faced them with blanched cheeks. "My husband, an Abolitionist!" she gasped. "He's with those murderers and robbers." She turned on the men like a young tigress. "You're lying--I tell you!" For an hour they tried to drag from her a confession of his plans. They left at last convinced that she knew nothing, that she suspected nothing of his real life. She had fought them bravely to the last. In her soul of souls she knew the hideous truth. She recalled the strange yearning with which he had looked at her as he left Sunday morning. She saw the bottom of the gulf at last. With a cry of anguish and despair she sank to the floor in a faint. She stirred with one thought tearing at her heart. Had they killed or captured him? She rose, dressed and joined the crowd that surged through the streets. The Rifle Works had been captured, Kagi was dead, the other two wounded, one fatally, the other a prisoner. No trace of her husband had been found. He had not reentered the town from the Maryland side. She walked to the bridge and found it guarded by armed citizens. Tears of joy filled her eyes. "He can't get back now!" she breathed. She hurried to her room, fell on her knees and prayed: "Oh, dear Lord Jesus, I've tried to be a good and faithful wife. My man has loved me tenderly and truly. Save him, oh, Lord! Don't let him come back now into this den of howling beasts. They'll tear him to pieces. And I can't endure it. I can't. I can't. Have pity, Lord. I'm just a poor, heart-broken wife!" Through six days of terror and excitement, of surging crowds and marching soldiers, the shivering figure watched through her window--and silently prayed. A guard had been set at her house to catch her husband if he dared to return. She laughed softly. He would not return! She had asked God not to let him. She was asking him now with every breath she breathed. God would not forget her. He would answer her prayers. She knew it. God is love. She had begun to sleep again at night. Her man was safe in the mountains of Pennsylvania. The Governor of Virginia had set a price on his head. Men were scouring the hills hunting, as they hunt wild beasts, but God would save him. She had seen His shining face in prayer and He had promised. And then the blow fell. Far down the street she caught the roar of a mob. Its cries came faintly at first and then they grew to fierce oaths and brutal shouts. A man stopped in front of her house and spoke to the guard. "They've got him!" "Who?" "Cook!" "The damned beast, the spy, the traitor!" "Where are they takin' him?" "To the jail at Charlestown." She had no time to lose. She must see him. Bareheaded she rushed into the street and fought her way to his side. His hands were manacled but his fair head was held erect until he saw the white face of his bride. And then his eyes fell. Would she, too, turn and curse him? He asked himself the hideous question once and dared not lift his head. He felt her coming nearer. The guard halted. His eyes were blurred. He could see nothing. He only felt two soft arms slip round his neck. His own moved instinctively to clasp her but the manacles held them. She kissed his lips before the staring crowd and murmured inarticulate sounds of love and tenderness. She smoothed his blond hair back from his forehead and crooned over him as a mother over a babe. "My little wife--my poor little girlie--my baby!" he murmured. "Forgive me--I tried to save you from this. But I couldn't. Love would have it so. Now you can forget me!" The arms tightened about his neck, and gave the answer lips could not frame. When his trial came she moved to Charlestown to sit by his side in the prison dock, touch his manacled hands and look into his eyes. The trial moved to its certain end with remorseless certainty. Cook's sister, the wife of Governor Willard, sat beside her doomed brother, and cheered the desolate heart of the girl he had married. Governor Willard gave the full weight of his position and his sterling manhood to his wife in her grief. He had employed the best lawyer in his state to defend Cook--Daniel W. Vorhees, whose eloquence had given him the title of "The Tall Sycamore of the Wabash." When the great advocate rose, his towering figure commanded a painful silence in the crowded court room. The people, who packed every inch of its space, hated the man who had lived among them for more than a year as a spy. But he had a wife, he had a sister. And in this solemn hour he should have his day in court. The crowd listened to Vorhees' speech with rapt attention. His appeal was not based on the letter of the law. He took broader, higher grounds. He sketched the dark days of blood-cursed Kansas. He saw a handsome prodigal son, lured by the spirit of adventure, drawn into its vortex of blind passions. He pictured the sinister figure of the grim Puritan leader condemned to death. He told of the spell this evil mind had thrown over a sensitive boy's soul. He pleaded for mercy and forgiveness, for charity and divine love. He pictured the little Virginia girl at his side drawn into the tragedy by a deathless love. He sketched in words that burned into the souls of his hearers the love of his sister, a love big and tender and strong, a love that had followed him in the far frontiers with prayers, a love that encircled him in the darkness of deeds of violence against the forms of law and order. He pleaded for her and the distinguished Governor of a great state, not because of their high position in life but because they had hearts that could ache and break. When he had finished his remarkable speech, strong men who hated Cook were sobbing. The room was bathed in tears. The stern visaged judge made no effort to hide his. The court charged the jury to do impartial justice under the laws of the commonwealth. There could be but one verdict. It was solemnly given by the foreman and the judge pronounced the sentence of death. Two soft arms stole around the doomed man's neck, and then, before the court, crowd and God as witnesses, the little wife tenderly cried: "My lover--my sweetheart--my husband--through evil report and through good report, through life, through death, through all eternity--I--love--you!" Again strong men wept and turned from one another to hide the signs of their weakness. The wife walked beside her doomed lover back to the jail. As they went through the narrow passage to his cell, the tall, rough-looking prison guard who accompanied them brushed close, caught her hand and pressed it. His eyes met hers in a quick look that said more plainly than words: "I must see you alone." She waited outside the jail until he reappeared. He approached her boldly and spoke as if he were delivering a casual message. "Keep your courage, young woman. And don't you be surprised at anything I'm going to say to you. There's people lookin' at us now. I'm just tellin' you a message your husband's told me--you understand." "Yes--yes--go on--I understand," she answered quickly. "I'm from Kansas. I'm a friend of John Cook's. I come all the way here to help him. I joined these guards to get to him. I'm goin' to get him out of here if I can." "Thank God--thank God," she murmured. "Keep a stiff upper lip and get your hand on some money to follow us." "I will." Another guard approached. "Leave me now. My name's Charles Lenhart. Don't try to talk to me again. Just watch and wait." She nodded, brushed the tears from her eyes and left quickly. He was on the job without delay. Cook and Edwin Coppoc, condemned to die on the same day, occupied the same room in jail. They borrowed a knife from Lenhart as soon as he came on duty and "forgot" to return it. With this knife they worked at night for a week cutting a hole through the brick wall. Under their clothes in a corner they concealed the fragments of bricks. When the opening had been completed, they cut teeth in the knife blade and made a small saw strong and keen enough to eat through a link in their shackles. On the night fixed, Lenhart was on guard waiting in breathless suspense for the men to drop the few feet into the prison yard. A brick wall fifteen feet high could he scaled from his shoulders and the last man up could give him a lift. Through the long, chill hours he paced his beat on the wall and waited to hear the crunching of the bodies slipping through the walls. What had happened? Something had gone wrong in the impulsive mind of the blue-eyed adventurer inside. The hole was open, the saw in his hand to cut the manacles, when he suddenly stopped. "What's the matter?" Coppoc asked. "We can't do this to-night." "For God's sake, why?" "My sister's in town with Governor Willard to tell me goodbye. They will put the blame of this on them. My sister might be imprisoned. The Governor would be in bad. I've caused them trouble enough--God knows--" "When are they going?" "To-morrow. We'll wait until to-morrow night--after they've gone." "But Lenhart may not be on guard." "That's so," Cook agreed. "Coppoc, you can go alone. You'd better do it." "No." "You'd better." "I'm not made out of that sort of goods," the boy answered. "You've got a good old Quaker mother out in Springdale praying for you. It's your chance--go--I can't tonight." Nothing could induce Coppoc to desert his comrade and leave him to certain death when his escape should be known. They replaced the bricks, covered the debris and waited until the following night. At eleven o'clock they cut the manacles and Coppoc crawled out first. He had barely touched the ground when Cook followed. They glanced about the yard and it was deserted. They strained their eyes to make out the figure of the guard who passed the brick wall. He was not in sight. It was a good omen. Lenhart had no doubt foreseen their escape and dropped to the street outside. They saw that the timbers of the gallows on which they were to die had not all been fastened. They secured two pieces of scantling and reached the top of the wall. Suddenly the dark figure of a guard moved toward them. Cook called the signal to Lenhart. But a loyal son of Virginia stood sentinel that night. The answer was a rifle shot. They started to leap and caught the flash of a bayonet below. They walked back into the jail and surrendered to Captain Avis, their friendly keeper. The little wife waited and watched in vain. CHAPTER XXXIV All uncertainty at an end to his execution, John Brown set his hand to finish the work of his life in a supreme triumph. He entered upon the task with religious joy. The old Puritan had always been an habitual writer of letters. The authorities of Virginia allowed him to write daily to his friends and relatives. He quickly took advantage of this power. The sword of Washington which he grasped on that fatal Sunday night had proven a feeble weapon. He seized a pen destined to slay a million human beings. His soul on fire with the fixed idea that he had been ordained by God to drench a nation in blood, he joyfully began the task of creating the mob mind. No man in history had a keener appreciation of the power of the daily press in the propaganda of crowd ideas. The daily newspaper had just blossomed into its full radiance in the modern world. No invention in the history of the race has equaled the cylinder printing press as an engine for creating crowd movements. The daily newspaper of 1859 spoke only in the language of crowds. They were, in fact, so many mob orators haranguing their subscribers. They wrote down to the standards of the mob. They were molders of public opinion and they were always the creatures of public opinion. They wrote for the masses. Their columns were filled with their own peculiar brand of propaganda, illusions, dreams, assertions, prejudices, sensations, with always a cheap smear of moral platitude. Our people had grown too busy to do their own thinking. The daily newspapers now did it for them. There was as little originality in them as in the machines which printed the editions. Yet they were repeated by the crowd as God-inspired truth. We no longer needed to seek for the mob in the streets. We had it at the breakfast table, in the office, in the counting room. The process of crowd thinking became the habit of daily life. John Brown hastened to use this engine of propaganda. From his comfortable room in the jail at Charlestown there poured a daily stream of letters which found their way into print. A perfect specimen of his art was the concluding paragraph of a letter to his friend and fellow conspirator, George L. Stearns of Boston. "I have asked to be _spared_ from having any _mock or hypocritical prayers made over me_ when I am publicly _murdered_; and that my only _religious attendants_ be poor, _little, dirty, ragged, bareheaded and barefooted slave boys and girls_, led by old, _gray-headed slave mothers_," This message he knew would reach the heart of every Abolitionist of the North, of every reader of _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. On the day of his transfiguration on the scaffold he would deliver the final word that would sweep these millions into the whirlpool of the Blood Feud. To his wife and children he wrote a message which hammered again his fixed idea into a dogma of faith: "John Rogers wrote to his children, 'Abhor the arrant whore of Rome.' John Brown writes to his children to abhor with _undying hatred_ also the 'sum of all villainies,' slavery." Not only did these daily letters find their way into the hands of millions through the press, but the newspapers maintained a staff of reporters at Charlestown to catch every whisper from the prisoner. So brilliantly did these reports visualize his daily life that the crowds who read them could hear the clanking of the chains as he walked and the groans that came from his wounded body. Thousands of letters began to pour into the office of the Governor of Virginia, threatening, imploring, pleading for his life. The leading politicians of all parties of the North were at length swept into this howling mob by the press. To every plea the Governor of the Commonwealth replied: "Southern Society is built on Reverence for Law. The Law has been outraged by this man. It shall be vindicated, though the heavens fall." In this stand he was immovable and the South backed him to a man. For exciting servile insurrection the King of Great Britain was held up to everlasting scorn by our fathers who wrote the Declaration of Independence. For this crime among others we rebelled and established the American Republic. Should John Brown be canonized for the same infamy? The Southern people asked this question in dumb amazement at the clamor from the North. And so the Day of Transfiguration on the scaffold dawned. Judge Thomas Russell and his good wife journeyed all the way from Boston to minister to the wants of their strange guest. There was in the distinguished jurist's mind a question which he must ask Brown before the rope should strangle him forever. His martyrdom had cleared every doubt and cloud from the mind of his friend save one. His fascinating letters, filled with the praise of God and the glory of a martyr's cause, had exalted him. The judge had heard his speech in court on the day he was sentenced to death and had believed that each word was inspired. But the old man, who was now to die in glory, had spent a week in Judge Russell's house in Boston hiding from a deputy sheriff in whose hands was a warrant for plain murder--one of the foulest murders in the records of crime. The judge was a student of character, as well as Abolitionist. He asked Brown for his last confidential statement as to these crimes on the Pottawattomie. There was no hesitation in his bold reply. Standing beneath the shadow of the gallows, the white hand of Death on his stooped shoulders, one foot on earth and the other pressing the shores of eternity, he lied as brazenly as he had lied a hundred times before. He assured his friend and his wife that he had nothing to do with those killings. Mrs. Russell, weeping, kissed him. And Brown said calmly: "Now, go." As he ascended the scaffold he handed to one who stood near his final message, the supreme utterance over which he had prayed day and night to his God. Despatched from the scaffold, and sealed by his blood, he knew that its magic words would spread by contagion the Red Thought. His face shone with the glory of his hope as his feet climbed the scaffold steps. On the scrap of paper he had written: "I, JOHN BROWN, AM NOW QUITE CERTAIN THAT THE CRIMES OF THIS GUILTY LAND WILL NEVER BE PURGED AWAY BUT WITH BLOOD." The trap fell, his darkened soul swung into eternity and the deed was done. He had raised the Blood Feud to the nth power. His message thrilled the world. Bells were tolling in the North while crowds of weeping men and women knelt in prayer to his God. Had they but lifted the veil and looked, they would have seen the face of a fiend. But their eyes were now blinded with the madness which had driven him to his death. In Cleveland, Melodeon Hall was draped in mourning at a meeting where thousands wept and cursed and prayed. Mammoth gatherings were held in New York, in Rochester and Syracuse. In Boston a crowd, so dense they were lifted from their feet by the pressure of thousands behind, clamoring for entrance, rushed into Tremont Temple. William Lloyd Garrison, the Pacifist, declared the meeting was called to witness John Brown's resurrection. He flung the last shred of principle to the winds and joined the mob of the Blood Feud without reservation. "As a peace man--an ultra peace man--I am prepared to say: 'Success to every Slave Insurrection in the South and in every Slave Country!'" Wendell Phillips, believing Judge Russell's report of Brown's denial of the Pottawattomie murders, declared to the thousands who crowded Cooper Union that John Brown was a Saint--that he was not on the Pottawattomie Creek on that fateful night, that he was not within twenty-five miles of the spot! Ralph Waldo Emerson, ignorant of the truth of Pottawattomie, hailed Brown as "the new Saint, than whom none purer or more brave was ever led by love of men into conflict and death--the new Saint who has achieved his martyrdom and will make the gallows glorious as the cross." One great spirit among the anti-slavery forces refused to be swept in the current of insanity. Abraham Lincoln at Troy, Kansas, said on the day of Brown's death: "Old John Brown has been executed for treason against a State. We cannot object, even though he agreed with us in thinking Slavery wrong. That cannot excuse violence, bloodshed and treason. It could avail him nothing that he might _think_ himself right." Lincoln's voice was drowned in the roar of the mob. John Brown from the scaffold had set in motion forces of mind beyond control. Never before had men so little grasped the present, so stupidly ignored the past, so poorly divined the future. Reason had been hurled from her throne. Man had ceased to think. Had Lieutenant Green's sword pierced Brown's heart he would have died the death of a mad dog. His imprisonment, his carefully staged martyrdom, his message of blood, and final, just execution by Law created the mob mind which destroyed reverence for Law. As he swung from the gallows and his body swayed for a moment between heaven and earth Colonel Preston, standing beside the steps, solemnly cried: "So perish all such enemies of Virginia! All such enemies of the Union! All such foes of the human race!" Yet even as the trap was sprung, in the Capitol of the greatest State of the North, the leaders of the crowd were firing a hundred guns as a dirge for their martyr hero. A criminal paranoiac had become the leader of twenty millions of people. The mob mind had caught the disease of his insanity and a nation began to go mad. Robert E. Lee, in command of the forces of Law and Order, watched the swaying ghostly figure with a sense of deep foreboding for the future. CHAPTER XXXV John Brown's body lay molderingin the grave but his soul was marching on. And his soul was a thousand times mightier than his body had ever been. While living, his abnormal mind repelled men of strong personality. He had never been able to control more than two dozen people in any enterprise which he undertook. And in these small bands rebellions always broke out. The paranoiac had been transfigured now into the Hero and the Saint through the worship of the mob which his insanity had created. His apparent strength of character was in reality weakness, an incapacity to master himself or control his criminal impulses. But the Jacobin mind of his followers did not consider realities. They only cherished dreams, illusions, assertions. The mob never reasons. It only believes. Reason is submerged in passion. John Brown was a typical Jacobin leader. He was first and last a Puritan mystic. The God he worshipped was a fiend, but he worshipped Him with all the more passionate devotion for that reason. When he committed murder on the Pottawattomie he stalked his prey as a panther. He sang praises to his God as he paused in the brush before he sprang. His narrow mind, with a single fixed idea, was inaccessible to any influences save those which fed his mania. Nothing could loose the grip of his soul on this dream. He closed his glittering eyes and refused to consider anything that might contradict his faith. He acted without reason, driven blindly forward by an impulse. When his cunning mind used reason it was never for the purpose of finding truth. It was only for the purpose of confounding his enemies. He never used it as a guide to conduct. By the magic of mental contagion he had transferred from the scaffold this Jacobin mind to the soul of a nation. The contact of persons is not necessary to transfer this disease. Its contagion is electric. It moves in subtle thought waves, as a mysterious pestilence spreads in the night. The mob mind, once formed, is a new creation and becomes with amazing rapidity a resistless force. The reason for its uncanny power lies in the fact that when once formed it is dominated by the unconscious, not the conscious forces, of man's nature. Its credulity is boundless. Its passions dominate all life. The records of history are a sealed book. Experience does not exist. Impulse rules the universe. And this mob mind moves always as a unit. It devours individuality. Men who as individuals may be gentle and humane are swept into accord with the most beastly cry of the crowd. This mental unity grows out of the crushing power of contagion. Gestures, cries, deeds of hate and fury are caught, approved, repeated. Any lie can be built into a religion if repeated often enough to a crowd by a mind on fire with its passions. Pirates have died as bravely as John Brown. The glorification of the manner of his dying was merely a phenomenon of the unity of the crowd mind. It was precisely the grip of his Puritan mysticism, his worship of the Devil, that gave to his insanity its most dangerous appeal. For the first time in the history of the republic the mob mind had mastered the collective soul of its people. The contagion had spread both North and South. In the North by sympathy, in the South by a process of reaction even more violent and destructive of reason. John Brown had realized his vision of the Plains. He had raised a National Blood Feud. No hand could stay the scourge. The Red Thought burst into a flame that swept North and South, as a prairie fire sweeps the stubble of autumn. _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ had prepared the stubble. From the Northern press began to pour a stream of vindictive abuse. A fair specimen of this insanity appeared in the New York _Independent_: "The mass of the population of the Atlantic Coast of the slave region of the South are descended from the transported convicts and outcasts of Great Britain. Oh, glorious chivalry and hereditary aristocracy of the South! Peerless first families of Virginia and Carolina! Progeny of the highwaymen, the horse thieves and sheep stealers and pickpockets of Old England!" The fact that this paper was a religious publication, the outgrowth of the New England conscience, gave its columns a peculiar power over the Northern mind. The South retorted in kind. _De Bow's Review_ declared: "The basic framework and controlling inference of Northern sentiment is Puritanic, the old Roundhead rebel refuse of England, which has ever been an unruly sect of Pharisees, the worst bigots on earth and the meanest tyrants when they have the power to exercise it." When the Conventions met a few months later to name candidates for the Presidency and make a declaration of principles, leaders had ceased to lead and there were no principles to declare. The mob mind was supreme. The Democratic Convention met at Charleston, South Carolina, to name the successor of James Buchanan. Their constituents commanded a vast majority of the voters of the Nation. The Convention became a mob. The one man, the one giant leader left in the republic, the one constructive mind, the one man of political genius who could have saved the nation from the holocaust toward which it was plunging was Stephen A. Douglas of Illinois. He could have been elected President by an overwhelming majority had he been nominated by this united convention. He was entitled to the nomination. He had proven himself a statesman of the highest rank. He had proven himself impervious to sectional hatred or sectional appeal. He was a Northern man, but a friend of the South as well as the North. He was an American of the noblest type. But the radical wing of his party in the South were seeing Red. Old Brown's words to them meant the spirit of the North. They heard echoing and reechoing from every newspaper and pulpit: "I, JOHN BROWN, AM NOW QUITE CERTAIN THAT THE CRIMES OF THIS GUILTY LAND WILL NEVER BE PURGED AWAY BUT WITH BLOOD." If the hour for bloodshed had come they demanded that the South prepare without further words. And they believed that the hour had come. They heard the tread of swarming hosts. They were eager to meet them. Reason was flung to the winds. Passion ruled. Compromise was a thing beyond discussion. Douglas was a Northern man and they would have none of him. He was hooted and catcalled until he was compelled to withdraw from the Convention. The radical South named their own candidate for President. He couldn't be elected. No matter. War was inevitable. Let it come. The Northern Democratic Convention named Douglas for President. He couldn't be elected. No matter. War was inevitable. Let it come. In dumb amazement at the tragedy approaching--the tragedy of a divided Union and a bloody civil war--the Union men of the party nominated a third ticket, Bell of Tennessee and Everett of Massachusetts. They couldn't be elected. No matter. War was inevitable. It had to come. They would stand by their principles and go down with them. When the new Republican party met at Chicago they were sobered by the responsibility suddenly thrust upon them of naming the next President of the United States. Fremont, a mere figurehead as their candidate, had polled a million votes in the campaign before. With three Democratic tickets in the field, success was sure. They wrote a conservative platform and named for their candidate Abraham Lincoln, the one man in their party who had denounced John Brown's deeds, the man who had declared in his debates with Douglas that he did not believe in making negroes voters or jurors, that he did not believe in the equality of the races, that he did not believe that two such races could ever live together in a Democracy on terms of political or social equality. Their candidate was the gentlest, broadest, sanest man within their ranks. Unless the nation had already gone mad they felt that in his triumph they would be safe from the Red Menace which stalked through their crowded hall. Their radical leaders were furious. But they were compelled to submit and fight for his election. The life of their party depended on it. Their own life was bound up in their party. There was really but one issue before the nation--peace or war. The new party, both in its candidate and its platform, sought with all its power to stem the Red Tide of the Blood Feud which John Brown had raised. Their well-meant efforts came too late. War is a condition of mind primarily. Its causes are always psychological--not physical. The result of this state of mind is an abnormal condition of the nervous system, in which the thoughts and acts of men are controlled by the collective mind--the mob mind. Indians execute their war dances for days and nights to produce this mental state. Once it had been created, the war cry alone can be heard. This mind, once formed, deliberative bodies cease to exist. The Congress of the United States ceased to exist as a deliberative body at the session which followed John Brown's execution. The atmosphere of both the Senate and the House was electric with hatred and passion. Men who met at the last session as friends, now glared into each other's faces, mortal enemies. L. Q. C. Lamar, the young statesman from Mississippi, threw a firebrand into the House on the day of its opening. "The Republicans of this House are not guiltless of the blood of John Brown, his conspirators, and the innocent victims of his ruthless vengeance." Keitt of South Carolina shouted: "The South asks nothing but her rights. I would have no more, but as God is my judge I would shatter this republic from turret to foundation stone before I would take a little less!" Old Thaddeus Stevens of Pennsylvania scrambled up on his club foot and with a face flaming with scorn replied: "I do not blame gentlemen of the South for using this threat of rending God's creation from foundation to turret. They have tried it fifty times, and fifty times they have found weak and recreant tremblers in the North who have been affected by it, and who have retreated before these intimidations." He turned to the group of conservative members of his own party with a look of triumphant taunting. He wanted war. He courted it. He saw its coming with a shout of joy. The House was in an uproar. Members leaped from their seats and jammed the aisles, shouting, cheering, hissing, catcalling. The clerk was powerless to preserve order. For two months the bedlam continued while they voted in vain to elect a Speaker. The new party was determined to have John Sherman. The opposition was divided but finally chose Mr. Pennington, a moderate of mediocre ability. During these eight weeks of senseless wrangling the members began to arm themselves with revolvers. One of the weapons dropped from the pocket of a member from New York and he was accused of attempting to draw it for use against an opponent. The sergeant at arms was summoned and pandemonium broke loose. For a moment it seemed that a pitched battle before the dais of the Speaker was inevitable. John Sherman rose and made a remarkable statement--remarkable in showing how the mob mind will inevitably destroy the mind of the individual until its unity is undisputed. He spoke in tones of reconciliation. "When I came here I did not believe that the Slavery question would come up; and but for the unfortunate affair of Brown's at Harper's Ferry I do not believe that there would have been any feeling on the subject. Northern members came here with kindly feelings, no man approving of the deed of John Brown, and every man willing to say so, every man willing to admit it an act of lawless violence." It was true. And yet before that mad session closed they were Brown's disciples and he had become their martyr here. The mob mind devours individuality, and reduces all to the common denominator of the archaic impulse. In the fierce conflict for Speaker four years before, when Banks had been chosen, Slavery was then the issue. Good humor, courtesy and reason ruled the contest which lasted three days longer than the fight over Sherman. Instead of courtesy and reason--hatred, passion, defiance, assertion were now the order of the day. Four years before a threat of disunion was made on the floor. The House received it with shouts of derision and laughter. Keitt's dramatic threat had thrown the House into an uproar which had to be quelled by the sergeant at arms. Envy, hate, jealousy, spite, passion were supreme. The favorite epithets hurled across the Chamber were: "Slave driver!" "Nigger thief!" The newspapers no longer reported speeches as delivered. They were revised and raised to greater powers of vituperation and abuse. Instead of a convincing, logical speech, their champion hurled a "torrent of scathing denunciation," "withering sarcasm," and "crushing invective!" At this historic session appeared the first suit of Confederate Gray, worn by Roger A. Pryor, the brilliant young member from Virginia. Immediately a Northern member leaped to his feet. He had caught the significance of the Southern emblem. He gave a moment's silent survey to the gray suit and opened his address on the State of the Country by saying: "Virginia, instead of clothing herself in sheep's wool, had better don her appropriate garb of sackcloth and ashes!" The nation was already at war before Abraham Lincoln left Springfield for Washington to take his seat as President. It was deemed wise that he should enter the city practically in disguise. In vain the great heart that beat within his lonely breast tried to stem the Red Tide in his first inaugural. With infinite pathos he turned toward the South and spoke his words of peace, reconciliation and assurance: "I have no purpose directly or indirectly to interfere with the institution of Slavery in the States where it exists. I believe I have no lawful right to do so, and I have no inclination to do so." His closing sentences were spoken with his deep eyes swimming in tears. "I am loath to close. We are not enemies but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature." The noblest men of North and South joined with the new President, pleading for peace. They knew by the light of reason that a war of brothers would be a wanton crime. They proved by irresistible logic that every issue dividing the nation could be settled at the Council Table. They pleaded in vain. They pitched straws against a hurricane. From the deep, subconscious nature of man, the lair of the beast, came only the growl of challenge to mortal combat. The new President is but a leaf tossed by the wind. The Union of which our fathers dreamed is rent in twain. With tumult and shout, the armies gather, blue and gray, brother against brother. A madman's soul now rides the storm and leads the serried lines as they sweep to the red rendezvous with Death. CHAPTER XXXVI A little mother with a laughing boy two years old and baby in her arms was awaiting at a crowded hotel in Washington the coming of her father from the Western plains. Her men were going in opposite directions in these tragic days that were trying the souls of men. Colonel Phillip St. George Cooke was a Virginian. Lieutenant J. E. B. Stuart was a Virginian. The soul of the little mother was worn out with the question that had no answer. Why should her lover-husband and her fine old daddy fight each other? She stood appalled before such a conflict. She had written to her father a letter so gentle, so full of tender appeal, he could not resist its call. She had asked that he come to see her babies and her husband and, face to face, say the things that were in his heart. Her own sympathies were with her husband. He had breathed his soul into hers. She thought as he thought and felt as he felt. But her dear old daddy must have deep reasons for refusing to follow Virginia, if she should go with the South in Secession. She must hear these reasons. Stuart must hear them. If he could convince them, they would go with him. In her girl's soul she didn't care which way they went, as long as they did not fight each other. She had watched the shadow of this war deepen with growing anguish. If her father should meet her husband in battle and one should kill the other! How could she live? The thought was too horrible to frame in, words, but it haunted her dreams. She couldn't shake it off. That her rollicking soldier man would come out alive she felt sure somehow. No other thought was possible. To think that he might be killed in the pride and glory of his youth was nonsense. Her mind refused now to dwell on the idea. She dismissed it with a laugh. He was so vital. He lived to his finger tips. His voice rang with the joy of living. The spirit of eternal youth danced in his blue eyes. He was just twenty-eight years old. He was the father of a darling boy who bore his name and a baby that nestled in her arms to whom they had given hers. Life in its morning of glory was his--wife, babies, love, youth, health, strength, clean living and high thinking. No, it was the thought of harm to her father that was eating her heart out. He has passed the noon-tide of life. His slender, graceful form lacked the sturdy power of youth. His chances were not so good. The thing that sickened her was the certainty that both these men, father and husband, would organize the cavalry service and fight on horseback. They had spent their honeymoon on the plains. She had ridden over them with her joyous lover. He would be a cavalry commander. She knew that he would be a general. Her father was a master of cavalry tactics and was at work on the Manuel for the United States Army. The two men were born under the same skies. Their tastes were similar. Their clean habits of life were alike. Their ideals were equally high and noble. How could two such men fight each other to the death over an issue of politics when some wife or sister or mother must look on a dead face when the smoke has cleared? Her soul rose in rebellion against it all. She summoned every power of her mind to the struggle with her father. She brought them together at last in the room with her babies, asleep in their cradles. She sat down between the two and held a hand in each of hers. "Now, daddy dear, you must tell me why you're going to fight Virginia if she secedes from the Union." The gentle face smiled sadly. "How can I make you understand, dear baby? It's foolish to argue such things. We follow our hearts--that's all." "But you must tell me," she pleaded. "There's nothing to tell, child. We must each decide these big things of life for himself. I'll never draw my sword against the Union. My fathers created it. I've fought for it. I've lived for it. And I've got to die for it, if must be, that's all--" He paused, withdrew his hand from hers, rose and put it on Stuart's shoulder. "You've chosen a fine boy for your husband, my daughter. I love him. I'm proud of him. I shall always be proud that your children bear his name. He must fight this battle of his allegiance in his own soul and answer to God, not to me. I would not dare to try to influence him." Stuart rose and grasped the Colonel's hand. His eyes were moist. "Thank you, Colonel. I shall always remember this hour with you and my Flora. And I shall always love and respect you, in life or death, success or failure." The older man held Stuart's hand in a strong grip. "It grieves me to feel that you may fight the Union, my son. I have seen the end in a vision already. The Union is indissoluble. The stars in their courses have said it." "It may be, sir," Stuart slowly answered. "Who knows? We must do each what we believe to be right, as God gives us to see the right." The little mother was softly crying. Her hopes had faded. There was the note of finality in each word her men had uttered. She was crushed. For an hour she talked in tender commonplaces. She tried to be cheerful for her father's sake. She saw that he was suffering cruelly at the thought of saying a goodbye that might be the last. She broke down in a flood of bitter tears. The father took her into his arms and soothed her with tender words. But something deep and strange had stirred in the mother heart within her. She drew away from his arms and cried in anguish. "It's wrong. It's wrong. It's all wrong--this feud of blood! And God will yet save the world from it. I must believe that or I'd go mad!" The two men looked at each other in wonder for a moment and then at the mother's convulsed face. Into the older man's features slowly crept a look of awe, as if he had heard that voice before somewhere in the still hours of his soul. Stuart bent and kissed her tenderly. "There, dear, you're overwrought. Don't worry. Your work God has given you in these cradles." "Yes, that's why I feel this way," she whispered on his breast. CHAPTER XXXVII If reason had ruled, the Gulf States of the South would never have ordered their representatives to leave Washington on the election of Abraham Lincoln. The new administration could have done nothing with the Congress chosen. The President had been elected on a fluke because of the division of the opposition into three tickets. Lincoln was a minority President and was powerless except in the use of the veto. If the Gulf States had paused for a moment they could have seen that such an administration, whatever its views about Slavery, would have failed, and the next election would have been theirs. The moment they withdrew their members of Congress, however, the new party had a majority and could shape the nation's laws. The crowd mind acts on blind impulse, never on reason. In spite of the President's humane purpose to keep peace when he delivered his first inaugural, he had scarcely taken his seat at the head of his Cabinet when the mob mind swept him from his moorings and he was caught in the torrent of the war mania. The firing on Fort Sumter was not the first shot by the Secessionists. They had fired on the _Star of the West_, a ship sent to the relief of the Fort, weeks before. They had driven her back to sea. But the President at that moment had sufficient power to withstand the cry for blood. At the next shot he succumbed to the inevitable and called for 75,000 volunteers to invade the South. This act of war was a violation of his powers under Constitutional law. Congress alone could declare war. But Congress was not in session. The mob had, in fact, declared war. The President and his Cabinet were forced to bow to its will and risk their necks on the outcome of the struggle. So long as Virginia, North Carolina and Tennessee refused to secede and stood with the Border States of Maryland, Missouri and Kentucky inside the Union, the Confederacy organized at Montgomery, Alabama, must remain a mere political feint. The call of the President on Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, Missouri and Maryland, all slave States, to furnish their quota of troops to fight the seceders, was in effect a declaration of war by a united North upon the South. Virginia had refused to join the Confederacy before by an overwhelming majority. All eyes were again turned on the Old Dominion. Would she accept the President's command and send her quota of troops to fight her sisters of the South, or would she withdraw from the Union? The darkest day of its history was dawning on Arlington. Lee had spent a sleepless night watching the flickering lights of the Capitol, waiting, hoping, praying for a message from the Convention at Richmond. On that message hung the present, the future, and the sacred glory of the past. The lamp on the table in the hall was still burning dimly at dawn when Mary Lee came downstairs and pulled the old-fashioned bell cord which summoned the butler. Ben entered with a bow. "You ring for me, Missy?" "Yes. You sent to town to see if an Extra had been issued?" "Yassam. De boy come back more'n a hour ago." "There was none?" "Nomum." "And he couldn't find Lieutenant Stuart?" "Nomum. He look fur him in de telegraph office an' everywhar." "Why don't he come--why don't he come?" she sighed. "I spec dem wires is done down, an' de news 'bout Secesum come froo de country fum Richmon' by horseback, M'am." The girl sighed again wearily. "The coffee and sandwiches ready, Ben?" "Yassam. All on de table waitin'. De coffee gittin' cold." "I'll bring Papa down, if I can get him to come." "Yassam. I hopes ye bring him. He sho must be wore out." "It's daylight," she said, "open the windows and put out the lamp." Mary climbed the stairs again to get her father to eat. Ben drew the curtains and the full light of a beautiful spring morning flooded the room. A mocking bird was singing in the holly. A catbird cried from a rosebush, a redbird flashed and chirped from the hedge and a colt whinnied for his mother. The old negro lowered the lamp, blew it out and began to straighten the room. A soft knock sounded on the front door. He stopped and listened. That was queer. No guest could be coming to Arlington at dawn. Lieutenant Stuart would come on horseback and the ring of his horse's hoofs could be heard for half a mile. He turned back to his work and the knock was repeated, this time louder. He cautiously approached the door. "Who's dar?" "Hit's me." "Me who?" "Hit's me--Sam." "'Tain't no Sam nuther--" "'Tis me." "Sam's bin free mos' ten year now an' he's livin' in New York--" "I done come back. Lemme come in a minute!" Ben was not sure. He picked up a heavy cane, held it in his right hand and cautiously opened the door with his left, as Sam entered. The old man dropped the cane and stepped back in dumb amazement. It was some time before he spoke. "Name er Gawd, Sam--hit is you." "Sho, hit's me!" "What yer doin' here?" "I come to see my old marster when I hears all dis talk 'bout war. Whar is he?" Ben lifted his eyes to the ceiling and spoke in a solemn tone: "Up dar in his room all night trampin' back an' forth lak er lion in de cage, waitin' fur Marse Stuart ter fetch de news fum Richmond 'bout secessun--" "Secessun?" Ben nodded--and raised his eyes in a dreamy look. "Some say Ole Virginy gwine ter stay in de Union. Some say she's a gwine ter secede. De Convenshun in Richmon' wuz votin' on hit yestiddy. Marse Stuart gone ter town ter fetch de news ter Arlington." Sam stepped close and searched Ben's face. "What's my ole marster dat set me free gwine ter do?" "Dat's what everybody's axin. He bin prayin' up dar all night." Sam glanced toward the stairway and held his silence for a while. He spoke finally with firm conviction. "Well, I'se gwine wid him. Ef he go wid de Union, I goes. Ef he go wid ole Virginy, I go wid ole Virginy. Whichever way _he_ go, dat's de _right_ way--" "Dat's so, too!" Ben responded fervently. Sam advanced to the old butler with the quick step of the days when he was his efficient helper. "What ye want me ter do?" Ben led him to the portico and pointed down the white graveled way to Washington. "Run doun de road ter de rise er dat hill an' stay dar. De minute yer see a hoss cross dat bridge--hit's Marse Stuart. Yer fly back here an' tell me--" Sam nodded and disappeared. Ben hurried back into the hall, as Mary and her mother came down the stairs. Mrs. Lee was struggling to control her fears. "No sign of Lieutenant Stuart yet, Ben?" "Nomum. I'se er watchin'." "Look again and see if there's any dust on that long stretch beyond the river--" Ben shook his head. "Yassam, I look." He passed out the front door still wagging his head in deep sympathy for the stricken mistress of the great house. Mary slipped her arm around her mother, and used the pet name she spoke in moments of great joy and sorrow. "Oh, Mim dear, you mustn't worry so!" Her mother's lips trembled. She tried to be strong and failed. The tears came at last streaming down her cheeks. "I can't help it, darling. Life hangs on this message--our home--" She paused and her eyes wandered about the familiar room and its furnishings. "You know how I love this home. It's woven into the very fiber of my heart. Our future--all that we have on earth--it's more than I can bear--" The daughter drew the dear face to her lips. "But why try to take it all on our shoulders, dearest? We must leave Papa to fight this out alone. We can't decide it for him." The mother brushed her tears away and responded cheerfully. "Yes, I know, dear. Your father didn't leave his room all day yesterday. He ate no dinner. No supper. All night the tramp of his feet overhead has only been broken when he fell on his knees to pray--" Her voice wandered off as in a half dream. She paused, and then rushed on impetuously. "Why, why can't we hear from Richmond? The Convention should have voted before noon yesterday. And we've waited all night--" "The authorities may be holding back the news." "But why should they suppress _such_ news? The world must know." She stopped suddenly--as if stunned by the thought that oppressed her. She seized Mary's hand, and asked tensely: "What do you think, dear? Has Virginia left the Union?" A quick answer was on the young lips. She had a very clear opinion. She had talked to Stuart. And his keen mind had seen the inevitable. She didn't have the heart to tell her mother. She feigned a mind blank from weariness. "I can't think, honey. I'm too tired." Ben came back shaking his gray head. "Nomum. Dey ain't no sign on de road yet." The waiting wife and mother cried in an anguish she could not control. "Why--why--why?" Ben sought to distract her thoughts with the habit of house control. He spoke in his old voice of friendly scolding. "Ain't Marse Robert comin' doun to his coffee, M'am?" "Not yet, Ben. I couldn't persuade him." The mistress caught the effort of her faithful servant to help in his humble way and it touched her. She was making a firm resolution to regain her self-control when a distant cry was heard from the roadway. "Uncle Ben!" "What's dat?" the old man asked. "He's coming?" Mrs. Lee gasped. "I dunno, M'am. I hears sumfin!" Sam's cry echoed near the house now in growing excitement. "Uncle Ben--Uncle Ben!" "See, Ben, see quick--" Mary cried. "Yassam. He's comin', sho. He's seed him." The mother's face was uplifted in prayer. "God's will be done!" The words came in a bare whisper. And then as if in answer to the cry of her heart she caught new hope and turned to her daughter. "You know, dear, the first Convention voted against Secession!" Sam reached the door and met Ben. "Uncle Ben--he's a comin'--Marse Stuart's horse! I seen him 'way 'cross de ribber fust--des one long, white streak er dust ez fur ez de eye can reach!" The mother gripped Mary's arm with cruel force. The strain was again more than she could bear. "Oh, dear, oh, dear, what have they done? What have they done?" Ben entered the hall holding himself erect with the dignity of one who must bear great sorrows with his people. The mistress called to him weakly: "Tell Colonel Lee, Ben." The old man bowed gravely. "Yassam. Right away, M'am." Ben hurried to call his master as Sam edged into the front door and smiled at his mistress. Mrs. Lee saw and recognized him for the first time. His loyalty touched her deeply in the hour of trial. She extended her hand in warm greeting. "Why, _Sam_, you've come home!" "Yassam. I come back ter stan' by my folks when dey needs me." Mary's eyes were misty as she smiled her welcome. "You're a good boy, Sam." "Yassam. Marse Robert teach me." The echo of Stuart's horse's hoof rang under the portico and Sam hurried to meet him. His clear voice called: "Don't put 'im up, boy!" Mary's heart began to pound. She knew he would be galloping down the white graveled way again in a few minutes. His next order confirmed her fear. "Just give him some water!" "Yassah!" The two women stood huddled close in tense anxiety. Lee hurried down the stairs and met Stuart at the door. Before the familiarity of a handshake or word of welcome he asked: "What news, Lieutenant?" Stuart spoke with deep emotion. On every word the man and the woman hung breathlessly. "It has come, sir. Virginia has answered to the President's call to send troops against her own people. She has sacrificed all save honor. The vote of the Convention was overwhelming. She has withdrawn from the Union--" A moment's deathly silence. And the cry of pain from a woman's white lips. Mary caught her mother in her arms and held her firmly. The cry wrung her young heart. "Oh, dear God, have mercy on us--and give us strength to bear it--" Stuart hurried to her side and tried to break the blow with cheerful words. "Don't worry, Mrs. Lee. The South is right." Lee had not spoken. His brilliant eyes had the look of a man who walks in his sleep. They were in the world but not of it. The deep things of eternity were in their brooding. He waked at last and turned to Stuart sadly. "God save our country, my boy." He paused and looked out the doorway on the beautiful green of the lawn. The perfume from the rose garden stole in on the fresh breeze that stirred from the river. "A frightful blow," he went on dreamily, "this news you bring." Stuart's young body stiffened. "You're the foremost citizen of Virginia, sir. Others may doubt and waver and be confused. I think I know what you're going to do, in the end--" "It's hard--it's hard," the strong man cried bitterly. The mother and daughter studied his face in eager, anxious waiting. On his word life hung. Stuart glanced at their tense faces and couldn't find speech. He turned and spoke briskly. "I must hurry, sir. I'll be in Richmond before sunset." The sound of carriage wheels grated on the road and a foaming pair of horses drew under the portico. A woman sprang out. Mrs. Lee turned to the Colonel. "It's your sister, Annie, Colonel." "Yes," Stuart added, "I passed her on the way--" Mrs. Marshall hurried to greet Mrs. Lee. The two women embraced and wept in silence. "Mary!" "Annie!" The names were barely breathed. Mary silently kissed her aunt as she turned from her mother. The Colonel's sister raised her eyes and saw Stuart. Her tones were sharp with the ring of a commander giving orders: "Our army is marching, Lieutenant Stuart! You here in civilian clothes?" The strong, young body stiffened. "I have resigned my commission in the United States Army, Mrs. Marshall--" Her finger rose in an imperious gesture. "You will live to regret it, sir!" Lee frowned and laid his hand on his sister's arm in a gesture of appeal. "Annie, dear, please." She regained her poise at the touch of his hand and turned to Mrs. Lee. Stuart extended his hand briskly. "Goodbye, sir. I hope to see you in Richmond soon--" Lee's answer was gravely spoken. "Goodbye, my boy. I honor you in your quick decision, with the clear vision of youth. We, older men, must halt and pray, and feel our way." With a laugh in his blue eyes Stuart paused at the door half embarrassed at Mrs. Marshall's presence. He waved his hat to the group. "Well, goodbye, everybody! I'm off to join the Cavalry!" Outside as he hurried to his horse he waved again. "Goodbye--!" There was a moment's painful silence. They listened to the beat of his horse's hoof on the white roadway toward Washington. As the tall soldier listened he heard the roar of the hoofs of coming legions. And a warrior's soul leaped to the saddle. But the soul of the man, of the father and brother uttered a cry of mortal pain. He looked about the hall in a dazed way as if unconscious of the presence of the women of his home. Mrs. Lee saw his deep anxiety and whispered to Mrs. Marshall. "Come to my room, Annie, and rest before you say anything to Robert--" She shook her head. "No--no, my dear. I can't. My heart's too full. I can't rest. It's no use trying." The wife took both her hands. "Then remember, that his heart is even fuller than yours." "Yes, I know." "And you cannot possibly be suffering as he is." "I'll not forget, dear." Mrs. Lee pressed her hands firmly. "And say nothing that you'll live to regret?" "I promise, Mary." "Please!" With a lingering look of sympathy for brother and sister, Mrs. Lee softly left the room. Lee stood gazing through the window across the shining waters of the river whose mirror but a few months ago had reflected the distorted faces of John Brown and his men at Harper's Ferry. It had come, the vision he had seen as he looked on the dark stains that fateful morning. He dreaded this interview with his sister. He knew the views of Judge Marshall, her husband. He knew her own love for the Union. She was struggling for control of Her emotions and her voice was strained. "You've--you've heard this awful news from Richmond?" "Yes," he answered quietly. "And I've long felt it coming. The first thunderbolt struck us at Harper's Ferry. The storm has broken now--" "What are you going to do?" She asked the question as if half afraid to pronounce the words. Lee turned away in silence. She followed him and laid a hand on his arm. "You'll let me tell you all that's in my heart, my brother?" The soldier was a boy again. He took his sister's hand and stroked it as he had in the old days at Stratford. "Of course, my dear." "And remember that we _are_ brother and sister?" "Always." She clung to his hand and made no effort now to keep back the tears. "And that I shall always believe in you and be proud of you--" A sob caught her voice and she could not go on. He pressed her hand. "It's sweet to hear you say this, Annie, in the darkest hour of my life--" She interrupted him in quick, passionate appeal. "Why should it be the darkest hour, Robert? What have you or I, or our people, to do with the madmen who are driving the South over the brink of this precipice?" Lee shook his head. "The people of the South are not being driven now, my dear--" He stopped. His eyes flashed as his words quickened. "They are rushing with a fierce shout as one man. The North thinks that only a small part of the Southern people are in this revolution, misled by politicians. The truth is, the masses are sweeping their leaders before them, as leaves driven by a storm. The cotton states are unanimous. Virginia has seceded. North Carolina and Tennessee will follow her to-morrow, and the South a Unit, the Union is divided." The sister drew herself up with pride, and squarely faced him. She spoke with deliberation. "Our families, Robert, from the beginning have stood for the glory of the Union. It is unthinkable that you should leave it. Such men as Edmund Ruffin--yes--the impulsive old firebrand has already volunteered as a private and gone to South Carolina. He pulled the lanyard that fired the first shot against Fort Sumter. We have nothing in common with such men--" Lee lifted his hand in protest. "Yes, we have, my dear. We are both sons of Virginia, our mother and the mother of this Republic." "All the more reason why I'm begging to-day that you dedicate your genius, your soul and body to fight the men who would destroy the Union!" Lee raised his eyes as if in prayer and drew a deep breath. "There's but one thing for me to decide, Annie--my duty." His sister clasped her hands nervously and glanced about the room. Her eyes rested on the portraits of Washington, and his wife and she turned quickly. "Your wife is the grand-daughter of Martha Washington. Can you look on that portrait of the father of this country, handed down to the mother of your children, and dare draw your sword to destroy his work?" "I've tried to put him in my place and ask what he would do--" He stopped suddenly. "What would Washington do if he stood in my place to-day?" "My dear brother!" "Remember now that you are appealing to me as my sister. Did Washington allow the ties of blood to swerve him from his duty? His own mother was a loyal subject of the King of Great Britain and died so--" "Washington led an army of patriots in a sacred cause," she interrupted. "Surely. But he won his first victories as a soldier fighting the French, under the British flag. He denounced that flag, joined with the French and forced Cornwallis to surrender to the armies of France and the Colonies of America. He was equally right when he fought under the British flag against the French, and when he fought with Lafayette and Rochambeau and won our independence. Each time he fought for his rights under law. Each time with mind and conscience clear, he answered the call of duty. The man who does that is always right, my sister, no matter what flag flies above him!" "Oh, Robert, there is but one flag--the flag of Washington, and your father, Henry Lee--" The brother broke in quickly. "And yet, the first blood in this conflict was drawn by a man who cursed that flag, who again and again defied its authority, and gloried in the fact that he had trampled it beneath his feet. The North has proclaimed him a Saint. Their soldiers are now marching on the South singing a song of glory to John Brown and all for which he stood. What would Washington do if he were living, and these men were marching to invade Virginia, put his home at Mount Vernon to the torch, and place pikes in the hands of his slaves--" Lee searched his sister's eyes and drove his question home. "What would he do?" The woman was too downright in her honesty to quibble or fence. She couldn't answer. She flushed and hesitated. "I don't know--I don't know. I only know," she hastened to add, "that he couldn't be a traitor." "Even so. Who is the traitor, my dear? The man who defies the Constitution and the laws of the Union? Or the man who defends the law and the rights of his fathers under it?" Again she couldn't answer. She would not acknowledge defeat. She simply refused to face such a problem. It led the wrong way. With quick wit she changed her point of attack. She drew close and asked in passionate tenderness: "Have you counted the cost? The frightful cost which you and yours must pay if you dare defend Virginia?" Lee nodded his head sorrowfully. "On my knees, I've tried to reckon it." He looked longingly over the wide lawn that rolled in green splendor toward the river. "I know that if I cast my lot with Virginia, this home, handed down to us from Washington, will be lost, and its fields trampled under the feet of hostile armies. That my wife and children may wander homeless, dependent on the charity or courtesy of friends. The thought of it tears my heart!" His voice sank to a whisper. And then he lifted his head firmly. "But I must not allow this to swerve me an inch from my duty--" The sound of horses' hoofs again echoed on the roadway, as Ben entered from the dining room to announce breakfast. Lee listened. "See who that is, Ben." "Yassah." As Ben passed out the door, Lee continued: "I will not say one word to influence my three sons. I will not even write to them. They must fight this battle out alone, as I am fighting it out to-day." His sister smiled wanly. "Your sons will follow you, Robert. And so will thousands of the best men in Virginia. Your responsibility is terrible." Ben announced from the door. "Mr. Francis Preston Blair, ter see you, sir." Lee waved the butler from the room. "I'll receive him, Ben. You can go." "Thank God!" Mrs. Marshall breathed. "He's the most influential man in Washington. He is in close touch with the President, and he is a Southerner--" She looked at her brother pleadingly. "You'll give him the most careful hearing, Robert?" "I don't know the object of his visit, but I'll gladly see him." "He's a staunch Union man. He can have but one object in coming!" she cried with elation. With courtesy Lee met his distinguished visitor at the door and grasped his hand. "Walk in, Mr. Blair. You know my sister, Mrs. Marshall of Baltimore?" Blair smiled. "I am happy to say that Mrs. Marshall and I are the best of friends. We have often met at the house of my son, Montgomery Blair, of Mr. Lincoln's Cabinet." "Let me take your hat, sir," Lee said with an answering smile. "Thank you." The Colonel crossed the room to place it on a table. Mrs. Marshall took advantage of the moment to whisper to Blair. "I've done my best. I'm afraid I haven't convinced him. May God give you the word to speak to my brother to-day!" Blair rubbed his hands and a look of triumph overspread his rugged face. "He has, Madame. I have a message for him!" "A message?" "From the highest authority!" "May I be present at your conference?" she pleaded eagerly. "By all means, Madame. Stay and hear my announcement. He cannot refuse me." Lee sought at once to put Blair at ease on his mission. "From my sister's remark a moment ago, I may guess the purpose of your coming, Mr. Blair?" His guest surveyed Lee with an expression of deep pleasure in the unfolding of his message. "In part, yes, you may have guessed my purpose. But I have something to say that even your keen mind has not surmised--" "I am honored, sir, in your call and I shall be glad to hear you." Blair drew himself erect as if on military duty. "Colonel Lee, I have come after a conference with President Lincoln, to ask you to throw the power of your great name into this fight now to put an end to chaos--" "You have come from the President?" "Unofficially--" "Oh--" "But with his full knowledge and consent." "And what is his suggestion?" Blair hesitated. "He cannot make it until he first knows that you will accept his offer." "His offer?" Blair waited until the thought had been fully grasped and then uttered each word with solemn emphasis. "His offer, sir, of the supreme command of the armies of the Union--" A cry of joy and pride came resistlessly from the sister's lips. "Oh, Robert--Robert!" Lee was surprised and deeply moved. He rose from his seat, walked to the window, looked out, flushed and slowly said: "You--you--cannot mean this--?" Blair hastened to assure him. "I am straight from the White House. General Scott has eagerly endorsed your name." "But I cannot realize this to me--from Abraham Lincoln?" "From Abraham Lincoln, whose simple common sense is the greatest asset to-day which the Union possesses. His position is one of frank conciliation toward the South." "Yet he said once that this Republic cannot endure half slave and half free and the South interpreted that to mean--war--" "Exactly. Crowds do not reason. They refuse to think. They refuse, therefore, to hear his explanation of those words. He hates Slavery as you hate Slavery. He knows, as you know, that it is doomed by the process of time. To make this so clear that he who runs may read, he wrote in his inaugural address in so many words his solemn pledge to respect every right now possessed by the masters of the South under law. _"'I have no purpose to interfere with the institution of Slavery in the States where it exists.'"_ "His sole purpose now is to save the Union, Slavery or no Slavery--" "Surely, Robert," his sister cried, "you can endorse that stand!" "Mr. Lincoln," Blair went on eagerly, "is a leader whose common sense amounts to genius. No threats or bluster, inside his own party or outside of it, can swerve him from his high aim. He is going to save this Union first and let all other questions bide their time." Lee searched Blair with his keen eyes. "But Mr. Lincoln, without the authority of Congress, has practically declared war. He has called on Virginia to furnish troops to fight a sister State. My State has decided that he had no power under the Constitution to issue such a call. It is, therefore, illegal. The organic law of the republic makes no provision for raising troops to fight a sister State." Blair lifted both hands in a persuasive gesture. "Let us grant, Colonel Lee, that in law you are right. The States are sovereign. The Constitution gives the General Government no power to coerce a State. Our fathers, as a matter of fact, never faced such a possibility. Grant all that in law. Even so, a mighty, united nation has grown through the years. It is now a living thing, immutable, indissoluble. It commands your obedience and mine." Lee was silent and Mrs. Marshall cried: "Surely this is true, Robert!" "My dear Mr. Blair," Lee slowly began, "your claim is the beginning of the end of law--the beginning of anarchy. If under the law, Virginia is right, is it not my duty to defend her? Obedience to law is the cornerstone on which all nations are built if they endure. Reverence for law is to-day the force driving the South into revolution--" "A revolution doomed to certain failure," Blair quickly interrupted. "The border slave states of Maryland, Kentucky and Missouri, under Mr. Lincoln's conservative leadership, will never secede. Without them the South must fail. You have served under the flag of the Union for thirty years. You know the North. You know the South. And you know that such a revolution based on a division of the Union without these border States is madness--" "It is madness, Robert," Mrs. Marshall joined, "utter madness!" "Right and duty, Mr. Blair, have nothing to do with success or failure," Lee responded. "I know the fearful odds against the South. I know the indomitable will, the energy, the fertile resources, the pride of opinion of the North, once set in motion. I know that the South has no money, no army, no organized government, no standing in the Court of Nations. She will have a white population of barely five millions against twenty-two millions--and her ports will be closed by our Navy--" Blair interrupted and leaned close. "And let me add, that as our leader _you_ will not only command the greatest army ever assembled under the American flag, backed by a great Navy--but that your victory will be but the beginning of a career. From your window you see the White House and the Capitol. The man who leads the Union armies will succeed Mr. Lincoln as President." Lee's protest was emphatic. "I aspire to no office, Mr. Blair. I'm fifty-four years of age. I am on the hilltop of life. The way leads down a gentle slope, I trust, to a valley of peace, love and happiness. Ambition does not lure me; I have lived. I have played my part as well as I know how. I am content. I love my Country, North and South, East and West. I am a trained soldier--I know nothing else." "The highest honor of this Nation, Colonel Lee, is something no man born under our flag dares to decline. Few men in history have been so well equipped as you for such an honor, both by birth and culture. You must also remember that the President of the United States is Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy. You are proud of your profession. You would honor it in the highest office of the Republic. You are held in the highest esteem by every soldier in the army. The President calls you. The Nation calls you. All eyes are upon you." Blair studied the effect of his appeal. He saw that Lee was profoundly moved. Yet his courteous manner gave no hint of the trend of his emotions. He did not reply for a moment and then spoke with tenderness. "My dear friend, you must not think that I am deaf to such calls. They move me to the depths. But no honor can reconcile me to this awful war. It is madness. It is absolutely unnecessary. But for John Brown's insane act it could have been avoided. But it has come. Its glory does not tempt me. I wish peace on earth and good will to all men. I am a soldier, but a Christian soldier--" His voice broke. "I am one of the humblest followers of Jesus Christ. There is but a single question for me to decide--my duty--" A horseman dashed under the portico, threw his reins to Sam and entered without announcement. "Colonel Lee?" he asked. "Yes." He handed Lee a folded paper bearing the great seal of the State. "A message, sir, from Richmond." Lee's hand trembled as he broke the seal. He stared at its words as in a dream. "You have important news?" Blair asked. "Most important. I am summoned to Richmond by the Governor in obedience to a resolution of the Legislature." Mrs. Marshall advanced on the dusty, young messenger, her eyes aflame with anger. "How dare you enter this house unannounced, sir?" The boy did not answer. He turned away with a smile. She repented her words immediately. They had sounded undignified, if not positively rude. But she had been so sure that Blair could not fail. This call from Richmond, coming in the moment of crisis, drove her to desperation. She looked at Blair helplessly and he rallied to the attack with renewed determination. "A Nation is calling you. The Union your fathers created is calling you, Colonel Lee!" Lee's figure stiffened the least bit, though his words were uttered in the friendliest tones. "Virginia is also calling me, Mr. Blair. Your own State of Maryland has not seceded. For that reason you cannot feel this tragedy as I feel it. Put yourself in my place. I ask you the question, is not the command of a State that of a mother to a child? We are citizens of the State, not of the Union. There is no such thing as citizenship in the Union. We vote only as citizens of a State. We enlist as soldiers by States. I was sent to West Point as a cadet by the State of Virginia. Even President Lincoln's proclamation calling for volunteers to coerce a State, revolutionary as it is, is addressed, not to individual men, but to the States. He must call on each to furnish her quota of soldiers--" "Yet the call is to every citizen of the Nation!" Lee's hand was raised in a gesture of imperious affirmation. "There is no such thing as citizenship of the Nation! We don't pay taxes to the Nation. We may yet become a Nation. We are as yet a Union of Sovereign States. Virginia has refused to furnish the troops called for by the President and has withdrawn from the Union. She reserved in her vote to enter, the right to withdraw. I am a Virginian. What is my duty?" "To fight for the Union, Robert--always!" Mrs. Marshall answered. "I love the Union, my dear sister, my heart aches at the thought of its division--" He turned sharply to Blair. "But is not the South to-day in taking her stand for the rights of the State asserting a principle as vital as the Union itself? All the great minds of the North have recognized that these rights are fundamental to our life. Bancroft declares that the State is the guardian of the security and happiness of the individual. Hamilton declares that, if the States shall lose their powers, the people will be robbed of their liberties. George Clinton says that the States are our _only_ security for the liberties of the people against a centralized tyranny. These rights once surrendered, and I solemnly warn you, my friend, that your children and mine may live to see in Washington a centralized power that will dare to say what you shall eat, what you shall drink, and what you shall wear!" Blair laughed incredulously. "Surely it's a far cry to that, Colonel--" "I'm not so sure, Mr. Blair. And the cry from Virginia rings through my heart. I see her in mortal peril. My father was three times Governor of the Commonwealth. Virginia gave America the immortal words of the Declaration of Independence. She gave us something greater. She gave us George Washington, a Southern slaveholder, whose iron will alone carried our despairing people through ten years of hopeless revolution and won at last our right to live. Madison wrote the Constitution. John Marshall of Virginia, as Chief Judge of the Supreme Court, established its power on the foundations of Justice and Law. Jefferson doubled our area in the Louisiana Territory. Scott and Taylor extended it to the Pacific Ocean from Oregon to the Gulf of California. Virginia in the generosity of her great heart gave the Northwest to the Union and forbade the extension of slavery within it--" Blair leaped to make a point. "Surely these proud recollections, of her gifts to the Union should form bonds too strong to be broken!" "So say I, sir! Surely they should place the people of all sections under obligations too deep to permit the invasion of her sacred soil! Can I stand by as her loyal son and see this invasion begun? I regret that Virginia has withdrawn. But the deed is done. Her people through their Governor and their Legislature call me--command me to come to her defense. They may be wrong. They may be blinded by passion. They are still my people, my neighbors, my friends, my children--and I cannot--" He drew a deep breath and rose to his full height. "_I will not draw my sword against them!_" "Glory to God!" the messenger exulted. Blair spoke with despair. "This is your final decision?" "Final." The messenger slipped close to Lee and spoke hurriedly. "I came by special train, sir--an engine and coach. They wait you on a siding just outside of town. We're afraid the line may be cut. The Northern troops are bivouacing on the Capitol hill. They may stop us. We've no time to lose. I hope you can come at once." The messenger walked quickly through the door and seized his horse's reins. Lee turned to Blair. "Troops are on the Capitol Hill?" "A regiment of Pennsylvanians has just arrived, I believe." Sam had edged through the door and stood smiling at his old master. The Colonel had not seen him to this moment. "You here, Sam?" he said with feeling. "Yassah. I come home ter stan' by you, Marse Robert." "Saddle my horse, you can go with me!" "Yassah. Thankee, sah!" "Bring Sid to fetch our horses back from the train." "Yassah, glory hallelujah!" Sam shouted as he darted for the stable. The anxious mother, praying in her room upstairs, heard Sam's shout and hurried down with Mary. The other children happily were on the Pamunkey at the home of Custis. The mother's heart was pounding. There was war in Sam's shout. She felt its savage thrill. She gripped herself for the ordeal. There should be no vain regrets, no foolish words. Her soul rose in the glory of sacrificial love. "What is it, my dear?" she asked softly. "I go to Richmond immediately. Northern troops are pouring into Washington. Send my things to me if you can." His eyes wandered about the room he loved. He would never see it again. He felt this in his inmost soul. It would be but the work of an hour for the troops to sweep across the bridge, sack its rooms and leave its beautiful lawn a sodden waste. The wife saw the anguish in his gaze and her words rang with exaltation. "Then it is God's will. And I shall try to smile. You have reached this decision in deepest thought and prayer. And I know that you are right!" Lee took her in his arms and held her in silence. Those who saw, wept. At last he kissed her tenderly and turned to the others. His sister walked blindly toward him. "Oh, Robert, you have broken my heart--" "I know, Annie, that you'll blame me," he answered, gently. She slipped her arms about his neck. "No, I shall not blame you. I understand now. I only grieve--" Her voice broke. She struggled to control herself. "How handsome you are in this solemn hour, my glorious, soldier-brother--" Again her voice failed. "The pity and horror of it all! My husband and my son will fight you--and--I--shall--pray--for--their--success--oh--how can God permit it!--Goodbye, Robert!" Her arms tightened and his responded. His hand touched her hair and he said slowly: "If dark hours come to us, my sister, we are children again roaming the fields hand in hand. We'll just remember that." She kissed him tenderly. "And success or failure, dear Annie," he continued, "shall be in God's hands--not ours. I go to lead a forlorn hope perhaps. But I must share the miseries of my people." He slipped from her arms and silently embraced his daughter, and again her mother. "Say goodbye to the other children for me when you see them, dear." Blair took his extended hand. "I know what you feel, Colonel Lee," he said solemnly. "I'm only sorry I could not hold you." "Thank you, my friend. My people believe, and I believe that we have rights to defend. And we must do our best--even if we perish." He strode quickly to the door, and paused. A sudden pain caught his heart as he crossed its threshold for the last time. He looked back, lifted his head as in prayer and passed out. He mounted his horse and rode swiftly through the beautiful spring morning toward Richmond--and Immortality. The women stood weeping. The President's messenger watched in sorrow. CHAPTER XXXVIII When John Brown cunningly surveyed the lines around those houses in Kansas, observed the fastenings of their doors, marked the strength of the shutters, learned the names of their dogs, crept under the cover of darkness on his prey as a wild beast creeps through the jungle and hacked his innocent victims to pieces, we know that he was a criminal paranoiac pursuing a fixed idea under the delusion that God had sent him. Yet on the eighteenth of July, 1861, Colonel Fletcher Webster's regiment, the Twelfth Massachusetts, marched through the streets of Boston singing a song of glory to John Brown which one of its members composed. They were also marching Southward to kill. The only difference was they had a Commission. War had been declared. Why did the war crowd on the streets and in the ranks burst into song as they marched to kill their fellow men? To find the answer we must go back to the dawn of human history and see man, as yet a savage beast, with but one impulse the dominant force in life, the archaic impulse to slay. All wars are not begun in this elemental fashion. There are wars of defense forced on innocent nations by brutal aggressors. But the joy that thrills the soul of the crowd on the declaration of war is always the simple thing. It is the roar of the lion as he springs on his prey. In this Song to the Soul of John Brown there was no thought of freeing a slave. War was not declared on that ground. The President who called them had no such purpose. The men who marched had no such idea. They sang "Glory, Glory Hallelujah! Glory, Glory Hallelujah!" because they saw Red. The restraints of Law, Religion and Tradition had been lifted. The primitive beast that had been held in check by civilization, rose with a shout and leaped to its ancient task. The homicidal wish--fancy with which the human mind had toyed in times of peace in dreams and reveries--was now a living reality. Not one in a thousand knew what the war was about. And this one in a thousand who thought he knew was mistaken. It had been made legal to kill. They were marching to kill. They shouted. They sang. They were marching to the most utterly senseless and unnecessary struggle in the history of our race. The North in the hours of sanity which preceded the outburst did not wish war. The South in her sane moments never believed it possible. Yet the hell-lit tragedy of brothers marching to slay their brothers had come. Nothing could dampen the enthusiasm of this first joyous mob. On the night of the twentieth of July the Army of the North was encamped about seven miles from Beaureguard's lines at Bull Run. The volunteers were singing, shouting, girding their loins for the fray. They had heard the firing on the first skirmish line. Fifteen or twenty men had been killed it was reported. The Red Thought leaped! At two o'clock before day on Sunday morning, the order came to advance against the foe. The deep thrill of the elemental man swept the crowd. They had come loaded down with baggage. They hurled it aside and got their guns. What many of them were afraid of was that the whole rebel army would escape before they could get into the thick of it. Many had brought handcuffs and ropes along with which to manacle their prisoners and have sport with them after the fight, another ancient pastime of our half-ape ancestors. They threw down some of their blankets but held on to their handcuffs. When the first crash of battle came these raw recruits on both sides fought with desperate bravery for nine terrible hours. They fought from dawn until three o'clock in the afternoon under the broiling Southern sun of July. Charge and counter charge left their toll of the dead and then the tired archaic muscles began to wonder when it would end. Why hadn't victory come? Where were the prisoners they were to manacle? Both sides were sick with hunger and weariness. The Southerners were expecting reinforcements from Manassas Junction. The Northerners were expecting reinforcements. Their eyes were turned toward the same road which led from the Shenandoah Valley. A dust cloud suddenly rose over the hill. A fresh army was marching on the scene. North and South looked with straining eyes. They were not long in doubt. The first troops suddenly swung in on the right flank of the Southern army and began to form their lines to charge the North. Suddenly from this fresh Southern line rose a new cry. From two thousand throats came the shrill, elemental, savage shout of the hunter in sight of his game--the fierce Rebel Yell. They charged the Northern lines and then pandemonium--blind, unreasoning wolf-panic seized the army that had marched with songs and shouts to kill. They broke and fled. They cut the traces of their horses, left the guns, mounted and rode for life. The mob engulfed the buggies and carriages of Congressmen and picnickers who had come out from Washington to see the fun. A rebellion crushed at a blow! Stuart at the head of his Black Horse Cavalry, his saber flashing, cut his way through this mob again and again. When the smoke of battle lifted, the dazed, ill-organized ambulance corps searched the field for the first toll of the Blood Feud. They found only nine hundred boys slain and two thousand six hundred wounded. They lay weltering in their blood in the smothering heat and dust and dirt. The details of men were busy burying the dead, some of their bodies yet warm. The morning after dawned black and lowering and the rain began to pour in torrents. Through the streets of Washington the stragglers streamed. The plumes which waved as they sang were soaked and drooping. Their gorgeous, new uniforms were wrinkled and mud-smeared. The President called for five hundred thousand men this time. The joy and glory of war had gone. But war remained. War grim, gaunt, stark, hideous--as remorseless as death. CHAPTER XXXIX In a foliage-embowered house on a hill near Washington Colonel Jeb Stuart, Commander of the Confederate Cavalry, had made his headquarters. Neighing horses were hitched to the swaying limbs. They pawed the ground, wheeled and whinnied their impatience at inaction. Every man who sat in one of those saddles owned his mount. These boys were the flower of Southern manhood. The Confederate Government was too poor to furnish horses for the Cavalry. Every man, volunteering for this branch of the service, must bring his own horse and equipment complete. The South only furnished a revolver and carbine. At the first battle of Bull Run they didn't have enough of them even for the regiments Stuart commanded. Whole companies were armed only with the pikes which John Brown had made for the swarming of the Black Bees at Harper's Ferry. They used these pikes as lances. The thing that gave the Confederate Cavalry its impetuous dash, its fire and efficiency was the fact that every man on horseback had been born in the saddle and had known his horse from a colt. From the moment they swung into line they were veterans. The North had no such riders in the field as yet. Brigadier-General Phillip St. George Cooke was organizing this branch of the service. It would take weary months to train new riders and break in strange horses. Until these born riders, mounted on their favorites, could be killed or their horses shot from under them, there would be tough work ahead for the Union Cavalry. A farmer approached at sunset. He gazed on the array with pride. He lifted his gray head and shouted: "Hurrah for our boys! Old Virginia'll show 'em before we're through with this!" A sentinel saluted the old man. "I've come for Colonel Stuart. His wife and babies are at my house. He'll understand. Tell him." The farmer watched the spectacle. Straight in front of the little portico on its tall staff fluttered the Commander's new, blood-red battle flag with its blue St. Andrew's cross and white stars rippling in the wind. Spurs were clanking, sabers rattling. A courier dashed up, dismounted and entered the house. Young officers in their new uniforms were laughing and chatting in groups before the door. An escort brought in a Federal Cavalry prisoner on his mount. The boys gathered around him and roared with laughter. He was a good-natured Irishman who could take a joke. His horse was loaded down with a hundred pounds of extra equipment. The Irishman had half of it strapped on his own back. A boy shouted: "For the Lord's sake, did you take him with all that freight?" An escort roared: "That's why we took him. He couldn't run." The boy looked at the solemn face of the prisoner and chaffed: "And why have ye got that load on your own back, man?" Without cracking a smile the Irishman replied: "An' I thought me old horse had all he could carry!" The boys roared, pulled him down, took off his trappings and told him to make himself at home. Inside the house could be heard the hum of conversation, with an occasional boom of laughter that could come from but one throat. Work for the day completed, he came to the door to greet his visitor. The farmer's eyes flashed at the sight of his handsome figure. He was only twenty-eight years old, of medium height, with a long, silken, bronzed beard and curling mustache. He waved his hand and cried: "With you in a minute!" His voice was ringing music. He wore a new suit of Confederate gray which his wife had just sent him. His gauntlets extended nine inches above the wrists. His cavalry boots were high above the knee. His broad-brimmed felt hat was caught up on one side with a black ostrich plume. His cavalry coat fitted tightly--a "fighting jacket." It was circled with a black belt from which hung his revolver and over which was tied a splendid yellow sash. His spurs were gold. A first glance would give the impression of a gay youngster over fond of dress. But the moment his blue eyes flashed there came the glint of steel. The man behind the uniform was seen, the bravest of the brave, the flower of Southern chivalry. For all his gay dress he was from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, every inch the soldier--the soldier with the big brain and generous, fun-loving heart. His forehead was extraordinary in height and breadth, bronzed by sun and wind. His nose was large and nostrils mobile. His eyes were clear, piercing, intense. His laughing mouth was completely covered by the curling mustache and long beard. He had darted around the house on waving to his visitor and in a minute reappeared, followed by three negroes. He was taking his minstrels with him on the trip to see his wife. The cavalcade mounted. He waved his aides aside. "No escort, boys. See you at sunrise." The farmer's house was only half a mile inside his lines. When the army of the North was hurled back into Washington he had sent for his wife and babies and arranged for their board at the nearest farmhouse. The little mother's heart was fluttering with love and pride. Richmond was already ringing with the praises of her soldier man. They were recruiting the first brigade of Cavalry. He was slated for Brigadier-General of the mounted forces. And he was only twenty-eight! Stuart sprang from his horse and rushed to meet his wife. She was waiting in the glow of the sunset, her eyes misty with joyous tears. It was a long time as she nestled in his arms before she could speak. Her voice was barely a whisper. "You've passed through your first baptism of blood safely, my own!" "Baptism of blood--nothing!" He laughed. "It wasn't a fight at all. We had nothing to do till the blue birds flew. And then we flew after 'em. Oh, honey girl, it was just a lark. I laughed till I cried--" She raised her eyes to his. "And you didn't see my dear old daddy anywhere?" "No. I wish I had! I'd have taken the loyal old rascal prisoner and made you keep him till the war's over." "It _is_ over, isn't it, dear?" "No." "Why, you've driven the army back in a panic on Washington. They'll ask for peace, won't they?" "They won't, honey. I know 'em too well. They'll more than likely ask for a million volunteers." "It's not over, then?" "No, dear little mother. I'll be honest with you. Don't believe silly talk. We're in for a long, desperate fight--" "And I've been so happy thinking you'd come home--" "Your home will be with me, won't it?" "Always." "All right. This is the beginning of my scheme for the duration of the war. I'm going to get you a map of Virginia, showing the roads. I'll get you a compass. There'll always be a little farmhouse somewhere behind my headquarters. Our home will be in the field and saddle for a while." He kissed his babies and ate his supper laughing and joking like a boy of nineteen. The table cleared, he ordered a concert for their entertainment. Bob, the leader of his minstrels, was a dandified mulatto who played the guitar, the second was a whistler and the third a master of the negro dance, the back step and the breakdown. Bob tuned his guitar, picked his strings and gazed at the ceiling. He was apparently selecting the first piece. It, was always the same, his favorite, "Listen to the Mocking Bird." He played with a plaintive, swaying melody that charmed his hearers. The whistler amazed them with his marvelous imitation of birds and bird calls. The room throbbed with every note of the garden, field and wood. The mother's face was wreathed in smiles. The boy shouted. The baby crooned. The first piece done, the audience burst into a round of applause. Bob gave them "Alabama" next, accompanied by the whistler and his bird chorus. Stuart laughed and called for the breakdown. Bob begins a jig on his guitar, the whistler claps and the sable dancer edges his way to the center of the floor in little spasmodic shuffles. He begins with his heel tap, then the toe, then in leaps and whirls. The guitar swelled to a steady roar. The whistler quickens his claps. And Stuart's boyish laughter rang above the din. "Go it, boy! Go it!" The dancer's eyes roll. His step quickens. He cuts the wildest figures in a frenzy of abandoned joy. With a leap through the door he is gone. The guitar stops with a sudden twang and Stuart's laughter roars. And then he gave an hour to play with his children before a mother's lullaby should put them to sleep. He got down on his all fours and little Jeb mounted and rode round the room to the baby's scream of joy. He lay flat on the floor with the baby on his breast and let her pull his beard and mustache until her strength failed. The children were still sound asleep when they sat down and ate breakfast before day. At the first streak of dawn he was standing beside his horse ready for the dash back to his headquarters and the work of the day. The shadow had fallen across the woman's heart again. He saw and understood. He put his hand under her chin and lifted it. "No more tears now, my sweetheart." "I'll try." "We may be here for weeks." "There'll be another fight soon?" "I think not." "For a month?" "Not for a long time." "Thank God!" A far-off look stole into his eyes. "It will be a good one though when it comes, I reckon." "There can be no _good_ one--if my boy's in it." "Well, I'll be in it!" "Yes. I know." She kissed him and turned back into the house, with the old fear gripping her heart. CHAPTER XL The early months of the war were but skirmishes. The real work of killing and maiming the flower of the race had not begun. The defeat had given the sad-eyed President unlimited power to draw on the resources of the nation for men and money. His call for half a million soldiers met with instant response. The fighting spirit of twenty-two million Northern people had been roused. They felt the disgrace of Bull Run and determined to wipe it out in blood. Three Northern armies were hurled on the South in a well-planned, concerted movement to take Richmond. McDowell marched straight down to Fredericksburg with forty thousand. Fermont, with Milroy, Banks and Shields, was sweeping through the Shenandoah Valley. McClellan, with his grand army of one hundred and twenty thousand men, had moved up the Peninsula in resistless force until he lay on the banks of the Chickahominy within sight of the spires of Richmond. To meet these three armies aggregating a quarter of a million men, the South could marshall barely seventy thousand. Jackson was despatched with eighteen thousand to baffle the armies of McDowell, Fremont, Milroy, Shields and Banks in the Valley and prevent their union with McClellan. The war really began on Sunday, the second of June, 1862, when Robert E. Lee was sent to the front to take command of the combined army of seventy thousand men of the South. The new commander with consummate genius planned his attack and flung his gray lines on McClellan with savage power. The two armies fought in dense thickets often less than fifty yards apart. Their muskets flashed sheets of yellow flame. The sound of ripping canvas, the fire of small arms in volleys, could no longer be distinguished. The sullen roar was endless, deafening, appalling. Over the tops of oak, pine, beech, ash and tangled undergrowth came the flaming thunder of two great armies equally fearless, the flower of American manhood in their front ranks, daring, scorning death, fighting hand to hand, man to man. The people in the churches of Richmond as they prayed could hear the awful roar. They turned their startled faces toward the battle. It rang above the sob of organ and the chant of choir. The hosts in blue and gray charged again and again through the tangle of mud and muck and blood and smoke and death. Bayonet rang on bayonet. They fought hand to hand, as naked savages once fought with bare hands. The roar died slowly with the shadows of the night, until only the crack of a rifle here and there broke the stillness. And then above the low moans of the wounded and dying came the distant notes of the church bells in Richmond calling men and women again to the house of God. There was no shout of triumph--no cheering hosts--only the low moan of death and the sharp cry of a boy in pain. The men in blue could have moved in and bivouaced on the ground they had lost. The men in gray had no strength left. The dead and the dying were everywhere. The wounded were crawling through the mud and brush, like stricken animals; some with their legs broken; some with arms dangling by a thread; some with hideous holes torn in their faces. The front was lighted with the unclouded splendor of a full Southern moon. Down every dim aisle of the woods they lay in awful, dark heaps. In the fields they lay with faces buried in the dirt or eyes staring up at the stars, twisted, torn, mangled. The blue and the gray lay side by side in death, as they had fought in life. The pride and glory of a mighty race of freemen. The shadows of the details moved in the moonlight. They were opening the first of those long, deep trenches. They were careful in these early days of war. They turned each face downward as they packed them in. The grave diggers could not then throw the wet dirt into their eyes and mouths. Aching hearts in far-off homes couldn't see; but these boys still had hearts within their breasts. The fog-rimmed lanterns flickered over the fields peering into the faces on the ground. The ambulance corps did its best at the new trade. It was utterly inadequate on either side. It's always so in war. The work of war is to maim, to murder--not to heal or save. The long line of creaking wagons began to move into Richmond over the mud-cut roads. Every hospital was filled. The empty wagons rolled back in haste over the cobble stones and out on the muddy roads to the front again. At the hospital doors the women stood in huddled groups--wives, sweethearts, mothers, sisters, praying, hoping, fearing, shivering. Far away in the field hospitals, the young doctors with bare, bloody arms were busy with saw and knife. Boys who had faced death in battle without a tremor stood waiting their turn trembling, crying, cursing. They could see the piles of legs and arms rising higher as the doctors hurled them from the quivering bodies. They stretched out their hands in the darkness to feel the touch of loved ones. They must face this horror alone, and then battle through life, maimed wrecks. They peered through the shadows under the trees where the dead were piled and envied them their sleep. The armies paused next day to gird their loins for the crucial test. Jackson was still in the Shenandoah Valley holding three armies at bay, defeating them in detail. His swift marches had so paralyzed his enemies that McDowell's forty thousand men lay at Fredericksburg unable to move. Lee summoned Stuart. When the conference ended the young Cavalry Commander threw himself into the saddle and started Northward with a song. Determined to learn the strength of McClellan's right wing and confuse his opponent, Lee had sent Stuart on the most daring adventure in the history of cavalry warfare. Stuart had told him that he could ride around McClellan's whole army, cut his communications and strike terror in his rear. With twelve hundred picked horsemen, fighting, singing, dare-devil riders, Stuart slipped from Lee's lines and started toward Fredericksburg. On the second day he surprised and captured the Federal pickets without a shot. He dreaded a meeting with the Cavalry. His father-in-law, General Cooke, was in command of a brigade of blue riders. He thought with a moment's pang of the little wife at home praying that they should never meet. Let her pray. God would help her. He couldn't let such a thing happen. He suddenly confronted a squadron of Federal Cavalry. With a yell his troops charged and cleared the field. They must ride now with swifter hoofbeat than ever. The news would spread and avengers would be on their heels. They were now far in the rear of McClellan's grand army. They had felt out his right wing and knew to a mile where its lines ended. They dashed toward the York River Railroad which supplied the Northern army, surprised the company holding Tunstall's Station, took them prisoners, cut the wires and tore up the tracks. On his turn toward Richmond when he reached the Chickahominy River, its waters were swollen and he couldn't cross. He built a bridge out of the timbers of a barn, took his last horse over and destroyed it, as the shout of a division of Federal Cavalry was heard in the distance. With twelve hundred men he had made a raid which added a new rule to cavalry tactics. He had ridden around a great army, covering ninety miles in fifty-six hours with the loss of but one man. He had established the position of the enemy, destroyed enormous quantities of war material, captured a hundred and sixty-five prisoners and two hundred horses. He had struck terror to the hearts of a sturdy foe, and thrilled the South with new courage. Jackson's victorious little army joined Lee at Gaines' Mill on the twenty-seventh of June, and on the following day McClellan was in full retreat. On the first of July it ended at Malvern Hill on the banks of the James. Of the one hundred and ten thousand men who marched in battle line on Richmond, eighty-six thousand only reached the shelter of his gunboats. The first great battle of the war had raged from the first of June until the first of July. Fifty thousand brave boys were killed or mangled on the red fields of death. Washington was in gloom. The Grand Army of more than two hundred thousand had gone down in defeat. It was incredible. Richmond had been saved. The glory of Lee, Jackson and Stuart filled the South with a new radiance. But the celebration of victory was in minor key. Every home was in mourning. Six days later Stuart once more clasped his wife to his heart. It had been a month since he had seen her. The thunder of guns she had heard without pause. She knew that both her father and her lover were somewhere in the roaring hell below the city. Stuart never told her how close they had come to a charge and counter charge at the battle of Gaines' Mill. The old, tremulous question she couldn't keep back: "You didn't see my daddy, did you, dear?" Stuart shouted in derision at the idea. "Of course not, honey girl. It's not written in the book of life. Forget the silly old fear." "And they didn't even scratch my soldier man?" "Never a scratch!" She kissed him again. "You know I've a little woman praying for me every day. I lead a charmed life!" She gazed at his handsome, bronzed face. "I believe you do, dearest!" CHAPTER XLI McClellan fell before the genius of Lee, and Pope was put in his place. They met at Second Manassas. The new general ended his brief campaign in a disaster so complete, so appalling that it struck terror to the heart of the Nation. Lee had crushed him with an ease so amazing that Lincoln was compelled to recall McClellan to supreme command. When the toll of the Blood Feud was again reckoned twenty-five thousand more of our brave boys lay dead or wounded beneath the blazing sun of the South. The Confederate Government now believed its army invincible, led by Lee. In spite of poor equipment, with the men half clad and half barefooted, Lee was ordered to invade Maryland. It was a political move, undertaken without the approval of the Commander. As the gray lines swept Northward to cross the Potomac into Maryland, Lincoln was jubilant. To Hay, his young secretary, he whispered: "We've got them now, boy. We've got them! The war must speedily end. Lee can never get into Maryland with fifty thousand effective men. The river will be behind them. I'll have McClellan on him with a hundred thousand well-shod, well-fed, well-armed soldiers and the finest equipment of artillery that ever thundered into battle. "McClellan's on his mettle. His army will fight like tigers to show their faith in him. They were all against me when I removed him. Now they'll show me something. Mark my words." Luck was with McClellan. By an accident Lee's plan of campaign had fallen into his hands. Yet it was too late to forestall his first master stroke. In the face of a hostile army of twice his numbers Lee divided his forces, threw Jackson's corps on Harper's Ferry, captured the town, Arsenal and Rifle Works, twelve thousand five hundred prisoners and vast stores of war material. Among the booty taken were new blue uniforms with which Jackson promptly clothed his men. Lee met McClellan at Antietam and waited for Jackson to arrive from Harper's Ferry. When McClellan's artillery opened in the gray dawn, more than sixteen thousand of Lee's footsore men had fallen along the line of march unable to reach the battlefield. The Union Commander was massing eighty-seven thousand men behind his flaming batteries. Lee could count on but thirty-seven thousand. He gave McClellan battle with his little army hemmed in on one side by Antietam Creek and on the other by the sweeping Potomac. The President in Washington received the news of the positions of the armies and their chances of success with exultation. As the sun rose a glowing dull red ball of fire breaking through the smoke of the artillery, Hooker's division swept into action and drove the first line of Lee's men into the woods. Here they rallied and began to mow down the charging masses with deadly aim. For two hours the sullen fight raged in the woods without yielding an inch on either side. Hooker fell wounded. He called for aid. Mansfield answered and fell dead as he deployed his men. Sedgwick's Corps charged and were caught in a trap between two Confederate brigades concealed and massed to meet them. Sedgwick was wounded and his command barely saved from annihilation. While this struggle raged on the Union right, the center saw a bloodier tragedy. French and Richardson charged the Confederate position. A sunken road crossed the field over which they marched. For four tragic hours the men in gray held this sunken road until it was piled with their bodies. When the final charge of massed blue took it, they found to their amazement that but three hundred living men had been holding it for an hour against the assaults of five thousand. So perfect was the faith of those gray soldiers in Robert E. Lee they died as if it were the order of the day. It was simply fate. Their Commander could make no mistake. Burnsides swung his reinforced division around the woods and pushed up the heights against Sharpsburg to cut Lee's only line of retreat. He forced the thin, gray lines before him through the streets of the village. On its outer edge he suddenly confronted a mass of men clad in their own blue uniform. How had these men gotten here? He was not long in doubt. The blue line suddenly flashed a red wave squarely in their faces. It was Jackson's Corps from Harper's Ferry in their new uniforms. The shock threw the Union men into confusion, a desperate charge drove them out of Sharpsburg, and Lee's army camped on the field with the dead. For fourteen hours five hundred guns and a hundred thousand muskets thundered and hissed their message of blood. When night fell more than twenty thousand of our noblest men lay dead and wounded on the field. Lee skillfully withdrew his army across the Potomac. Safe in Virginia he rallied his shattered forces while he sent Stuart once more in a daring ride around McClellan's army. Again McClellan fell before the genius of Lee. Burnsides was put in his place. They met at Fredericksburg. Burnsides, the courtly, polished gentleman, crossed the Rappahannock River and charged the hills on which Lee's grim, gray men had entrenched. His magnificent army marched into a death trap. Lee's batteries had been trained to rake the field from three directions. Five times the Union hosts charged these crescent hills and five times they were rolled back in waves of blood. A fierce freezing wind sprang up from the North. The desperate Union Commander thought still to turn defeat into victory and ordered the sixth charge. The men in blue pulled down their caps and charged once more into the jaws of death. The lines as they advanced snatched up the frozen bodies of their comrades, carried them to the front, stacked the corpses into long piles for bulwarks, dropped low and fought behind them. In vain. The gray hills roared and blazed, roared and blazed with increasing fury. Darkness came at last and drew a mantle of mercy over the scene. The men in blue planted the frozen bodies of their dead along the outer line as dummy sentinels and crept through the shadows across the river shattered, broken, crushed. They left their wounded. Through the long hours of the freezing night the pitiful cries came to the boys in gray on the wings of the fierce North winds. They crawled out into the darkness here and there and held a canteen to the lips of a dying foe. At dawn they looked and saw the piles of the slain wrapped in white shrouds of snow. The shivering, ragged, gray figures, thinly clad, swept down the hill, stripped the dead and shook the frost from the warm clothes. Burnsides fell before the genius of Lee and Hooker was put in his place. Fighting Joe Hooker they called him. At Chancellorsville a few months later he led his reorganized army across the same river and threw it on Lee with supreme confidence in the results. He led an army of one hundred and thirty thousand men in seven grand divisions backed by four hundred and forty-eight great guns. Lee, still on the hills behind Fredericksburg, had sixty-two thousand men and one hundred and seventy guns. He had sent Longstreet's corps into Tennessee. Hooker threw the flower of his army across the river seven miles above Fredericksburg to flank Lee and strike him from the rear while the remainder of his army crossed in front and between the two he would crush the Confederate army as an eggshell. But the unexpected happened. Lee was not only a stark fighter. He was a supreme master of the art of war. He understood Hooker's move from the moment it began. His gray army had already slipped out of his trenches and were feeling their way through the tangled vines and underbrush with sure, ominous tread. In this wilderness Hooker's four hundred guns would be as useless as his own hundred and seventy. It would be a hand-to-hand fight in the tangled brush. The gray veteran was a dead shot and he was creeping through his own native woods. On this beautiful May morning, Lee, Jackson, and Stuart met in conference before the battle opened. The plan was chosen. Lee would open the battle and hold Hooker at close range. Jackson would "retreat." Out of sight, he would turn, march swiftly ten miles around their right wing and smash it before sundown. At five o'clock in the afternoon while Lee held Hooker's front, Jackson's corps crept into position in Hooker's rear. The shrill note of a bugle rang from the woods and the yelling gray lines of death swept down on their unsuspecting foe. Without support the shattered right wing was crushed, crumpled and rolled back in confusion. At eight o'clock Jackson, pressing forward in the twilight, was mortally wounded by his own men and Stuart took his command. The gay, young cavalier placed himself at the head of Jackson's corps and charged Hooker's disorganized army. Waving his black plumed hat above his handsome, bearded face, he chanted with boyish gaiety an improvised battle song: "Old Joe Hooker, Won't you come out o' the Wilderness?" His men swept the field and as Hooker's army retreated Lee rode to the front to congratulate Stuart. At sight of his magnificent figure wreathed in smoke his soldiers went wild. Above the roar of battle rang their cheers: "Lee! Lee! Lee!" From line to line, division to division, the word leaped until the wounded and the dying joined its chorus. The picket lines were so close that night in the woods they could talk to one another. The Southerners were chaffing the Yanks over their many defeats, when a Yankee voice called through the night his defense of the war to date: "Ah, Johnnie, shut up--you make me tired. You're not such fighters as ye think ye are. Swap generals with us and we'll come over and lick hell out of you!" There was silence for a while and then a Confederate chuckled to his mate: "I'm damned if they mightn't, too!" The morning dawned at last after the battle and they began to bury the dead and care for the wounded. Their agonies had been horrible. Some had fallen on Friday, thousands on Saturday. It was now Monday. Through miles of dark, tangled woods in the pouring rain they still lay groaning and dying. And over all the wings of buzzards hovered. The keen eyes of the vultures had watched them fall, poised high as the battle raged. The woods had been swept again and again by fire. Many of the bodies were black and charred. Some of the wounded had been burned to death. Their twisted bodies and distorted features told the story. The sickening odor of roasted human flesh yet filled the air. It was late at night on the day after, before the wounded had all been moved. The surgeons with sleeves rolled high, their arms red, their shirts soaked, bent over their task through every hour of the black night until legs and arms were piled in heaps ten feet high beside each operating table. Thirty thousand magnificent men had been killed and mangled. The report from Chancellorsville drifted slowly and ominously northward. The White House was still. The dead were walking beside the lonely, tall figure who paced the floor in dumb anguish, pausing now and then at the window to look toward the hills of Virginia. Lee's fame now filled the world and the North shivered at the sound of it. Volunteering had ceased. But the cannon were still calling for fodder. The draft was applied. And when it was resisted in fierce riots, the soldiers trained their guns on their own people. The draft wheel was turned by bayonets and the ranks of the army filled with fresh young bodies to be mangled. Hooker fell before Lee's genius and Meade took his place. The Confederate Government, flushed with its costly victories, once more sought a political sensation by the invasion of the North. Lee marched his army of veterans into Pennsylvania. At Gettysburg he met Meade. The first day the Confederates won. They drove the blue army back through the streets of the village and their gallant General, John F. Reynolds, was killed. The second day was one of frightful slaughter. The Union army at its close had lost twenty thousand men, the Confederate fifteen thousand. The moon rose and flooded the rocky field of blood and death with silent glory. From every shadow and from every open space through the hot breath of the night came the moans of thousands and high above their chorus rang the cries for water. No succor could be given. The Confederates were massing their artillery on Seminary Ridge. The Union legions were burrowing and planting new batteries. Fifteen thousand helpless, wounded men lay on the field through the long hours of the night. At ten o'clock a wounded man began to sing one of the old hymns of Zion whose words had come down the ages wet with tears and winged with human hopes. In five minutes ten thousand voices, from blue and gray, had joined. Some of them quivered with agony. Some of them trembled with a dying breath. For two hours the hills echoed with the unearthly music. At a council of war Longstreet begged Lee to withdraw from Gettysburg and pick more favorable ground. Reinforced by the arrival of Pickett's division of fifteen thousand fresh men and Stuart's Cavalry, he decided to renew the battle at dawn. The guns opened at the crack of day. For seven hours the waves of blood ebbed and flowed. At noon there was a lull. At one o'clock a puff of white smoke flashed from Seminary Ridge. The signal of the men in gray had pealed its death call. Along two miles on this crest they had planted a hundred and fifty guns. Suddenly two miles of flame burst from the hills in a single fiery wreath. The Federal guns answered until the heavens were a hell of bursting, screaming, roaring shells. At three o'clock the storm died away and the smoke lifted. Pickett's men were deploying in the plain to charge the heights of Cemetery Ridge. Fifteen thousand heroic men were forming their line to rush a hill on whose crest lay seventy-five thousand entrenched soldiers backed by four hundred guns. Pickett's bands played as on parade. The gray ranks dressed on their colors. And then across the plain, with banners flying, they swept and climbed the hill. The ranks closed as men fell in wide gaps. Not a man faltered. They fell and lay when they fell. Those who stood moved on and on. A handful reached the Union lines on the heights. Armistead with a hundred men broke through, lifted his red battle flag and fell mortally wounded. The gray wave in sprays of blood ebbed down the hill, and the battle ended. Meade had lost twenty-three thousand men and seventeen generals. Lee had lost twenty thousand men and fourteen generals. The swollen Potomac was behind Lee and his defeated army. So sure was Stanton of the end that he declared to the President: "If a single regiment of Lee's army ever gets back into Virginia in an organized condition it will prove that I am totally unfit to be Secretary of War." The impossible happened. Lee got back into Virginia with every regiment marching to quick step and undaunted spirit. He crossed the swollen Potomac, his army in fighting trim, every gun intact, carrying thousands of fat Pennsylvania cattle and four thousand prisoners of war taken on the bloody hills of Gettysburg. The rejoicing in Washington was brief. Meade fell before the genius of Lee, and Grant, the stark fighter of the West, took his place. The new Commander was granted full authority over all the armies of the Union. He placed Sherman at Chattanooga in command of a hundred thousand men and ordered him to invade Georgia. He sent Butler with an army of fifty thousand up the Peninsula against Richmond on the line of McClellan's old march. He raised the army of the Potomac to a hundred and forty thousand effective fighting soldiers, placed Phil Sheridan in command of his cavalry, put himself at the head of this magnificent army and faced Lee on the banks of the Rapidan. He was but a few miles from Chancellorsville where Hooker's men had baptized the earth in blood the year before. A new draft of five hundred thousand had given Grant unlimited men for the coming whirlwind. His army was the flower of Northern manhood. He commanded the best-equipped body of soldiers ever assembled under the flag of the Union. His baggage train was sixty miles long and would have stretched the entire distance from his crossing at the Rapidan to Richmond. Lee's army had been recruited to its normal strength of sixty-two thousand. Again the wily Southerner anticipated the march of his foe and crept into the tangled wilderness to meet him where his superiority would be of no avail. Confident of his resistless power Grant threw his army across the Rapidan and plunged into the wilderness. From the dawn of the first day until far into the night the conflict raged. As darkness fell Lee had pushed the blue lines back a hundred yards, captured four guns and a number of prisoners. At daylight they were at it again. As the Confederate right wing crumpled and rolled back, Long-street arrived on the scene and threw his corps into the breach. Lee himself rode forward to lead the charge and restore his line. At sight of him, from thousands of parched throats rose the cries: "Lee to the rear!" "Go back, General Lee!" "We'll settle this!" They refused to move until their leader had withdrawn. And then with a savage yell they charged and took the field. Lee sent Longstreet to turn Grant's left as Jackson had done at Chancellorsville. The movement was executed with brilliant success. Hancock's line was smashed and driven back on his second defenses. Wardsworth at the head of his division was mortally wounded and fell into Longstreet's hands. At the height of his triumph in a movement that must crumple Grant's army back on the banks of the river, Longstreet fell, shot by his own men. In the change of commanders the stratagem failed in its big purpose. In two days Grant lost sixteen thousand six hundred men, a greater toll than Hooker paid when he retreated in despair. Grant merely chewed the end of his big cigar, turned to his lieutenant and said: "It's all right, Wilson. We'll fight again." The two armies lay in their trenches watching each other in grim silence. CHAPTER XLII In Lee's simple tent on the battlefield amid the ghostly trees of the wilderness his Adjutant-General, Walter Taylor, sat writing rapidly. Sam, his ebony face shining, stood behind trying to look over his shoulder. He couldn't make it out and his curiosity got the better of him. "What dat yer writin' so hard, Gin'l Taylor?" Without lifting his head the Adjutant continued to write. "Orders of promotion for gallantry in battle, Sam." "Is yer gwine ter write one fer my young Marse Robbie?" Taylor paused and looked up. The light of admiration overspread his face. "General Lee never promotes his sons or allows them on his staff, Sam. General Custis Lee, General Rooney Lee, and Captain Robbie won their spurs without a word from him. They won by fighting." "Yassah! Dey sho's been some fightin' in dis here wilderness. Hopes ter God we git outen here pretty quick. Gitten too close tergedder ter suit me." The clatter of a horse's hoofs rang out in the little clearing in front of the tent. Taylor looked up again. "See if that's Stuart. General Lee's expecting him." Sam peered out the door of the tent. "Dey ain't no plume in his hat an' dey ain't no banjo man wid him. Nasah. Tain't Gin'l Stuart." "All right. Pull up a stool." "Yassah!" Sam unfolded a camp stool and placed it at the table. A sentinel approached and called: "Senator William C. Rives of the Confederate Congress to see General Lee." Taylor rose. "Show him in." The Senator entered with a quick, nervous excitement he could not conceal. "Colonel Taylor--" "Senator." The men clasped hands and Taylor continued to watch the nervous manner of his caller. "My coming from Richmond is no doubt a surprise?" "Naturally. We're in pretty close quarters with Grant here to-night--" Rives raised his hand in a gesture of despair. "No closer than our Government in Richmond is with the end at this moment, in my judgment. I couldn't wait. I had to come to-night. You have called an informal council as I requested?" "The moment I got your message an hour ago." Taylor caught his excitement and bent close. "What is it, Senator?" Rives hesitated, glanced at the doors of the tent and answered rapidly. "The Confederate Congress has just held a secret session without the knowledge of President Davis--" He drew from his pocket a letter and handed it to the Adjutant. "You will see from this letter of the presiding officer my credentials. They have sent me as their agent on an important mission to General Lee." He paused as Taylor carefully read the letter. "How soon can I see him?" "I'm expecting him in a few minutes," Taylor answered. "He's riding on the front lines trying to feel out Grant's next move. He is very anxious over it." "This battle was desperate?" Rives asked nervously. "Terrific." "Our losses in the two days?" "More than ten thousand." "Merciful God--" "Grant's losses were far greater," Taylor added briskly. "No matter, Taylor, no matter!" he cried in anguish, springing to his feet. He fought for control of his emotions and hurried on. "The maws of those cannon now are insatiate! We can't afford to lose ten thousand men from our thin ranks in two days. If your army suspected for one moment the real situation in Richmond, they'd quit and we'd be lost." "They only ask for General Lee's orders, Senator. Their faith in our leader is sublime." "And that's our only hope," Rives hastened to add. "General Lee may save us. And he is the only man who can do it." He stopped and studied Taylor closely. He spoke with some diffidence. "The faith of his officers in him remains absolutely unshaken?" "They worship him." "My appeal will be solely to him. But I may need help." "I've asked Alexander and Gordon to come. General Gordon did great work to-day. It was his command that broke Hancock's lines and took prisoners. I've just slated him for further promotion. Stuart is already on the way here to report the situation on the right where his cavalry is operating." The ring of two horses' hoofs echoed. "If Stuart will only back me!" Rives breathed. Outside the Cavalry Commander was having trouble with Sweeney, his minstrel follower, an expert banjo player. Stuart laughed heartily at his fears. "Come on, Sweeney. Don't be a fool." The minstrel man still held back and Stuart continued to urge. "Come on in, Sweeney. Don't be bashful. I promised you shall see General Lee and you shall. Come on!" Taylor and Rives stood in the door of the tent watching the conflict. "Never be afraid of a great man, Sweeney!" Stuart went on. "The greater the man the easier it is to get along with him. General Lee wears no scarlet in his coat, no plume in his hat, no gold braid on his uniform. He's as plain as a gray mouse--" Stuart laughed and whispered: "He's too great to need anything to mark his rank. But he never frowns on my gay colors." "He knows," Taylor rejoined, "that it's your way of telling the glory of the cause." "Sure! He just laughs at my foolishness and gives me an order to lick a crowd that outnumbers me, three to one." He took hold of Sweeney's arm. "Don't be afraid, old boy. Marse Robert won't frown on your banjo. He'll just smile as he recalls what the cavalry did in our last battle. Minstrel man, make yourself at home." Sweeney timidly touched the strings, and Stuart wheeled toward Rives. "Well, Senator, how goes it in Richmond?" Rives answered with eager anxiety. His words were not spoken in despair but with an undertone of desperate appeal. "Dark days have come, General Stuart. And great events are pending. Events of the utmost importance to the army, to the country, to General Lee." "Just say General Lee and let it go at that," Stuart laughed. "He _is_ the army _and_ the country." He turned to Taylor. "Where's Marse Robert?" "Inspecting the lines. He fears a movement to turn our flank at Spottsylvania Court House." "My men are right there, watching like owls. They'll catch the first rustle of a leaf by Sheridan's cavalry." "I hope so." "Never fear. Well, Sweeney, while we wait for General Lee, Senator Rives needs a little cheer. We've medicine in that box for every ill that man is heir to. Things look black in Richmond, he tells us. All right. Give us the old familiar tune--_Hard Times and Wuss Er Comin'!_--Go it!" Sweeney touched his strings sharply. "You don't mind, sir?" he asked Taylor. "Certainly not. I like it." Sentinels, orderlies, aides and scouts gathered around the door as Sweeney played and sang with Stuart. The Cavalryman's spirit was contagious. Before the song had died away, they were all singing the chorus in subdued tones. Sweeney ended with Stuart's favorite--_Rock of Ages_. General John B. Gordon joined the group, followed by General E.P. Alexander. Taylor called the generals together. "Senator Rives, gentlemen, is the bearer of an important message from the Confederate Congress to General Lee. I have asked you informally to join him in this meeting." Rives entered his appeal. "I am going to ask you to help me to-night in paying the highest tribute to General Lee in our power." Gordon responded promptly. "We shall honor ourselves in honoring him, sir." "Always," Alexander agreed. Rives plunged into the heart of his mission. "Gentlemen, so desperate is the situation of the South that our only hope lies in our great Commander. The Confederate Congress has sent me to offer him the Dictatorship--" "You don't mean it?" Stuart exploded. "Will you back me?" The Cavalry leader grasped his hand. "Yours to count on, sir!" "Yes," Gordon joined. "We'll back you!" Alexander cried. Rives' face brightened. "If he will only accept. The question is how to approach him?" "It must be done with the utmost care," Alexander warned. "Exactly." Rives nodded. "Shall I announce to him it once the vote of Congress conferring on him the supreme power?" "Not if you can approach him more carefully," Alexander cautioned. "I can first propose that as Commanding General he might accept the peace proposals which Francis Preston Blair has brought from Washington--" "What kind of peace proposals?" Gorden asked sharply. "He proposes to end the war immediately by an armistice, and arrange for the joint invasion of Mexico by the combined armies of the North and South under the command of General Lee." Alexander snapped at the suggestion. "By all means suggest the armistice first. General Lee won his spurs in Mexico. The plan might fire his imagination--as it would have fired the soul of Caesar or Napoleon. If he refuses to go over the head of Davis, you can then announce the vote of Congress giving him supreme power." The general suddenly paused at the familiar sound of Traveler's hoofbeat. The officers stood and saluted as Lee entered. He was dressed in his full field gray uniform of immaculate cut and without spot. He wore his sword, high boots and spurs and his field glasses were thrown across his broad shoulders. He glanced at the group in slight surprise and drew Stuart aside. "I sent for you, General Stuart, to say that I am expecting a courier at any moment who may report that General Grant will move on Spottsylvania Court House." He paused in deep thought. "If so, Sheridan will throw the full force of his cavalry on your lines, to turn our right and circle Richmond." Stuart's body stiffened. "I'm ready, sir. He may reach Yellow Tavern. He'll never go past it." In low, tense words Lee said: "I'm depending on you, sir." Stuart saluted in silence. Lee turned back into the group and Taylor explained: "I have called an informal meeting at the request of Senator Rives." Lee smiled. "Oh, I see. A council of both War and State." Rives came forward and the Commander grasped his hand. "Always glad to see _you_, Senator. What can we do for you?" "Everything, sir. Can we enter at once into our conference?" "The quicker the better. General Grant may drop in on us at any moment without an invitation." Rives smiled wanly. "General Lee, we face the gravest crisis of the war." "No argument is needed to convince me of that, sir. Grant's men have gripped us with a ferocity never known before." "And our boys," Alexander added, "in all the struggle have never been such stark fighters as to-day." "I agree with you," Lee nodded. "But Grant is getting ready to fight again to-morrow morning--not next month. His policy is new, and it's clear. He plans to pound us to death in a series of quick, successive blows. His man power is exhaustless. We can't afford to lose many men. He can. An endless blue line is streaming to the front." "And that's why I'm here to-night, General," Rives said gravely. "Grant is now in supreme command of all the Armies of the Union. While he moves on Richmond, Butler is sweeping up the James and Sherman is pressing on Atlanta. We have lost ten thousand men in two-days' battle. In the next we'll lose ten thousand more. In the next ten thousand more--" "We must fight, sir. I have invaded the North twice. But I stand on the defense now. I have no choice." "That remains to be seen, General Lee," Rives said with a piercing look. "What do you mean?" "A few days ago, your old friend, Francis Preston Blair, entered our lines and came to Richmond on a mission of peace. He has now before Mr. Davis and his Cabinet a plan to end the war. He proposes that we stop fighting, unite and invade Mexico to defend the Monroe Doctrine. Maximilian of Austria has just been proclaimed Emperor in a conspiracy backed by Napoleon. The suggestion is that we join armies under your command, dethrone Maximilian, push the soldiers of Napoleon into the sea, and restore the rule of the people on the American Continent." Lee looked at him steadily. "Mr. Davis refuses to listen to this proposal?" "Only on the basis of the continued division of our country. Lincoln naturally demands that we come back into the Union first, and march on Mexico afterwards. Mr. Davis refuses to come back into the Union first. And so we end where we began--unless we can get help from you, General Lee--" "Well?" "The Confederate Congress has sent me as their spokesman to make a proposition to you." He handed Lee the letter from the Congress. "Will you issue as Commanding General an order for an armistice to arrange the joint invasion of Mexico?" "You mean take it on myself to go over the head of Mr. Davis, and issue this order without his knowledge?" "Exactly. We could not take him into our confidence." "But Mr. Davis is my superior officer and he is faithfully executing the laws." "You will not proclaim an armistice, then?" Lee spoke with irritation. "How can you ask me to go over the head of my Chief with such an order?" Alexander pressed forward. "But you might consider a proclamation looking to peace under this plan--if you were in a position of supreme power?" "I have no such power. I advised our people to make peace before I invaded Pennsylvania. I have urged it more than once, but they cannot see it. And I must do the work given me from day to day." "We now propose to give to you the sole decision as to what that work shall be." "How, sir?" "I am here to-night, General, as the agent of our Government, to confer on you this power. The Congress has unanimously chosen you as Dictator of the Confederacy with supreme power over both the civil and military branches of the Government." "And well done!" cried Gordon. "We back them!" echoed Alexander. "Hurrah for the Confederate Congress," shouted Stuart--"the first signs of brains they've shown in many a day--" He caught himself at a glance from Rives. "Excuse me, Senator--I didn't mean quite that." Lee fixed Rives with his brilliant eyes. "The Confederate Congress has no authority to declare & Dictatorship." "We have." "By what law?" "By the law of necessity, sir. The civil government in Richmond has become a farce. I acknowledge it sorrowfully. Your soldiers are ill clothed, half starved, and the power to recruit your ranks is gone. The people have lost faith in their civil leaders. Disloyalty is rampant. In the name of ultra State Sovereignty, treason is everywhere threatening. Soldiers are taken from your army by State authorities on the eve of battle. Men are deserting in droves and defy arrest. You have justly demanded the death penalty for desertion. It has been denied. Bands of deserters now plunder, burn and rob as they please. You are our only hope. You are the idol of our people. At your call they will rally. Men will pour into your ranks, and we can yet crush our enemies, or invade Mexico as you may decide." "He's right, General," Gordon agreed. "The South will stand by you to a man." Alexander added with deep reverence: "The people believe in you, General Lee, as they believe in God." A dreamy look overspread Lee's face. "Their faith is misplaced, sir! God alone decides the fate of nations. And God, not your commanding General, will decide the fate of the South. The thing that appalls me is that we have no luck. For in spite of numbers, resources, generalship--the unknown factor in war is luck. The North has had it all. At Shiloh at the moment of a victory that would have ended Grant's career, Albert Sydney Johnson, our ablest general, was shot and Grant escaped. At the battle of Chancellorsville in these very woods, Jackson at the moment of his triumph-Jackson my right arm--was shot by his own men. To-day Longstreet falls in the same way when he is about to repeat his immortal deed--" He paused. "The South has had no luck!" Alexander eagerly protested. "I don't agree with you, sir. God has given the South Lee as her Commander. Your genius is equal to a hundred thousand men. And in all our terrible battles, at the head of your men, again and again, as you were to-day, with bullets whistling around you, you've lived a charmed life. You're here to-night strong in body and mind, without a scratch. Don't tell me, sir, that we haven't had luck!" Stuart broke in. "You're the biggest piece of luck that ever befell an army." Lee rose. "I appreciate your confidence and your love, gentlemen. But I've made many tragic mistakes, and tried to find an abler man to take my place." "There's no such man!" Stuart boomed. "Give the word to-night and every soldier in this army would follow you into the jaws of hell!" Lee's eyes were lifted dreamily. "And you ask me to blot out the liberties of our people by a single act of usurpation?" Alexander lifted his hand. "Only for a moment, General, that we may restore them in greater glory. The truth is the Confederate Government is not fitted for revolution. Let's win this war and fix it afterwards." "I do not believe either in military statesmen or political generals. The military should be subordinate always to the civil power--" "But Congress," Rives broke in, "speaking for the people, offers you supreme power. Mr. Davis has not proven himself strong enough for the great office he holds." Lee flared at this assertion. "And if he has not, sir, who gave _me_ the right to sit in judgment upon my superior officer and condemn him without trial? Mr. Davis is the victim of this unhappy war. I say this, though, that he differs with me on vital issues. I urged the abolition of Slavery. He opposed it. So did your Congress. I urged the uncovering of Richmond and the concentration of our forces into one great army for an offensive--" Rives interrupted. "We ask you to take the supreme power and decide these questions." Lee replied with a touch of anger. "But I may be wrong in my policies. Mr. Davis is a man of the highest character, devoted soul and body to the principles to which he has pledged his life. He is a statesman of the foremost rank. He is a trained soldier, a West Point graduate. He is a man of noble spirit--courageous, frank, positive. A great soul throbs within his breast. He has done as well in his high office as any other man could have done--" He looked straight at Rives. "We left the Union, sir, because our rights had been invaded. Our revolution is justified by this fact alone. You ask me to do the thing that caused us to revolt. To brush aside the laws which our people have ordained and set up a Dictatorship with the power of life and death over every man, woman and child. For three years we have poured out our blood in a sacred cause. We are fighting for our liberties under law, or we are traitors, not revolutionists. We are fighting for order, justice, principles, or we are fighting for nothing--" A courier dashed to the door of the tent and handed Lee a message which he read with a frown. "This discussion is closed, gentlemen. General Grant is moving on Spottsylvania Court House. My business is to get there first. My work is not to jockey for place or power. It is to fight. Move your forces at once!" CHAPTER XLIII Lee hurried to Spottsylvania Court House and was entrenched before Grant arrived. The two armies again flew at each other's throat. True to Lee's prediction the Union Commander hurled Sheridan's full force of ten thousand cavalry in a desperate effort to turn the right and strike Richmond while the Confederate infantry were held in a grip of death. From a hilltop Stuart saw the coming blue legions of Sheridan. They rode four abreast and made a column of flashing sabers and fluttering guidons thirteen miles long. The young Cavalier waved his plumed hat and gave a shout. It was magnificent. He envied them the endless line of fine horses. He had but three small brigades to oppose them. But his spirits rose. He ordered his generals to harass the advancing host at every point of vantage, delay them as long as possible and draw up their forces at Yellow Tavern for the battle. He took time to dash across the country from Beaver Dam Station to see his wife and babies. He had left them at the house of Edmund Fontaine. He feared that the Federal Cavalry might have raided the section. To his joy he found them well and happy, unconscious of the impending fight. For the first time in his joyous life of song and play and war he was worried. His wife was in high spirits. She cheered him. "Don't worry about us, my soldier man! We're all right. No harm has ever befallen us. We've had three glorious years playing lovers' hide-and-seek. I've ceased to worry about you. Your life is charmed. God has heard my prayers. You're coming home soon to play with me and the babies always!" She was too happy for Stuart to describe the host of ten thousand riders which he had just seen. Their lives were in God's hands. It was enough. He held her in his arms longer than was his wont at parting. And then with a laugh and a shout to the children he was gone. At Jerrold's Mill, Wickham's brigade suddenly fell on Sheridan's rear guard and captured a company. Sheridan refused to stop to fight. At Mitchell's Shop, Wickham again dashed on the rear guard and was forced back by a counter charge. As he retreated, fighting a desperate hand-to-hand saber engagement, Fitzhugh Lee and Stuart rushed to his aid and the blue river rolled on again toward Richmond. At Hanover Junction Stuart allowed his men to sleep until one o'clock and then rode with desperate speed to Yellow Tavern. He reached his chosen battle ground at ten o'clock the following morning. He had won the race and at once deployed his forces to meet the coming avalanche. Wickham he stationed on the right of the road, Lomax on the left. He placed two guns in the road, one on the left to rake it at an angle. He dismounted his men and ordered them to fight as infantry. A reserve of mounted men were held in his rear. He sent his aide into Richmond to inquire of its defenses and warn General Bragg of the sweeping legions. The Commandant at the Confederate Capital replied that he could hold his trenches. He would call on Petersburg for reinforcements. He asked Stuart to hold Sheridan back as long as possible. On the morning of the eleventh of May, at 6:30, he wrote his dispatch to Lee: "Fighting against immense odds of Sheridan. My men and horses are tired, hungry and jaded, _but all right!_" It was four o'clock before Sheridan struck Yellow Tavern. With skill and dash he threw an entire brigade on Stuart's left, broke his line, rolled it up and captured his two guns. Stuart ordered at once a reserve squadron to charge the advancing Federals. With desperate courage they drove them back in a hand-to-hand combat, saber ringing on saber to the shout and yell of savages. As the struggling, surging mass of blue riders rolled back in confusion, Stuart rode into the scene cheering his men. A man in blue, whose horse had been shot from under him, fired his revolver pointblank at Stuart. The shot entered his body just above the belt and the magnificent head with the waving plume drooped on his breast. Captain Dorsey hurried to his assistance. There were but a handful of his men between him and the Federal line, The wounded Commander was in danger of being captured by a sudden dash of reserves. He was lifted off his horse and he leaned against a tree. Stuart raised his head. "Go back now, Dorsey, to your men." "Not until you're safe, sir." As the ambulance passed through his broken ranks in the rear, he lifted himself on his elbow and rallied his men with a brave shout: "Go back! Go back to your duty, men! And our country will be safe. Go back! Go back! I'd rather die than be whipped." The men rallied and rushed to the firing line. They fought so well that Sheridan lost the way to Richmond and the Capital of the Confederacy was saved. The wounded Commander was taken to the home of his brother-in-law, Dr. Charles Brewer, in Richmond. He had suffered agonies on the rough journey but bore his pain with grim cheerfulness. He had sent a swift messenger to his wife. He knew she would reach Richmond the next day. The following morning Major McClellan, his aide, rode in from the battlefield to report to General Bragg. Having delivered his message he hurried to the bedside of his beloved Chief. The doctor shook his head gravely. "Inflammation has set in, Major--" "My God, is there no hope?" "None." The singing, rollicking, daring young Cavalier felt the hand of death on his shoulder. He was calm and cheerful. His bright words were broken by paroxysms of suffering. He would merely close his shining blue eyes and wait. He directed his aide to dispose of his official papers. He touched McClellan's hand and the Major's closed over it. "I wish you to have one of my horses and Venable the other." McClellan nodded. "Which of you is the heavier?" "Venable, sir." "All right, give him the gray. You take the bay." The pain choked him into silence again. At last he opened his eyes. "You'll find in my hat a small Confederate flag which a lady in Columbia, South Carolina, sent me with the request that I wear it on my horse in a battle and return it to her. Send it." Again the agony stilled the musical voice. "My spurs," he went on, "which I have always worn in battle, I promised to Mrs. Lilly Lee of Shepherdstown, Virginia--" He paused. "My sword--I leave--to--my--son." A cannon roared outside the city. With quick eagerness he asked: "What's that?" "Gracey's brigade has moved out against Sheridan's rear as he retreats. Fitz Lee is fighting them still at Meadow Bridge." He turned his blue eyes upward and prayed: "God grant they may win--" He moved his head aside and said: "I must prepare for another world." He listened to the roar of the guns for a moment and signaled to his aide: "Major, Fitz Lee may need you." McClellan pressed his hand and hurried to the front. As he passed out the tall figure of the President of the Confederacy entered. Jefferson Davis sat by his side and held his hand. He loved his daring young Cavalry Commander. He had made him a Major-General at thirty. He was dying now at thirty-one. The tragedy found the heart of the sorrowful leader of all the South. When the Reverend Dr. Peterkin entered he said: "Now I want you to sing for me the old song I love best-- "'Rock of Ages cleft for me, Let me hide myself in thee--'" With failing breath he joined in the song. A paroxysm of pain gripped him and he asked the doctor: "Can I survive the night?" "No, General. The end is near." He was silent. And then slowly said: "I am resigned if it be God's will. But--I--would--like--to--see--my--wife--" The beautiful voice sank into eternal silence. So passed the greatest cavalry leader our country has produced. A man whose joyous life was a long wish of good will toward all of his fellow men. The little mother heard the news as she rode in hot haste over the rough roads to Richmond. The hideous thing was beyond belief, but it had come. She had heard the roar of battle for three years and after each bloody day he had come with a smile on his lips and a stronger love in his brave heart. She had ceased to fear his death in battle. God had promised her in prayer to spare him. Only once had a bullet cut his clothes. And now he was dead. But yesterday he dashed across the country from his line of march, and, even while the conflict raged, held her in his arms and crooned over her. The tears had flowed for two hours before she reached the house of death. She could weep no longer. A sister's arm encircled her waist and led her unseeing eyes into the room. There was no wild outburst of grief at the sight of his cold body. She stooped to kiss the loved lips, placed her hand on the high forehead and drew back at its chill. She stood in dumb anguish until her sister in alarm said: "Come, dear, to my room." The set, blue eyes never moved from the face of her dead. "It's wrong. It's wrong. It's all wrong--this hideous murder of our loved ones! Why must they send my husband to kill my father? Why must they send my father to kill the father of my babies? Why didn't they stop this a year ago? It must end some time. Why did they ever begin it? Why must brother kill his brother? My father, thank God, didn't kill him. But little Phil Sheridan, his schoolmate, did. And he never spoke an unkind word about him in his life! His heart was overflowing with joy and love. He sang when he rode into battle--" She paused and a tear stole down her cheeks at last. "Poor boy, he loved its wild din and roar. It was play to his daring spirit." A sob caught her voice and then it rose in fierce rebellion: "Where was God when he fell? He was thirty-one years old, in the glory of a beautiful life--" Her sister spoke in gentle sympathy. "His fame fills the world, dear." "Fame? Fame? What is that to me, now? I stretch out my hand, and it's ashes. My arms are empty. My heart is broken. Life isn't worth the living." Her voice drifted into a dreamy silence as the tears streamed down her cheeks. She stood for half an hour staring through blurred eyes at the cold clay. She turned at last and seized her sister's hands both in hers, and gazed with a strange, set look that saw something beyond time and the things of sense. "My dear sister, God will yet give to the mothers of men the power to stop this murder. There's a better way. There's a better way," CHAPTER XLIV While Sheridan rode against Richmond, Lee and Grant were struggling in a pool of red at the "Bloody Angle" of Spottsylvania. The musketry fire against the trees came in a low undertone, like the rattle of a hail storm on the roofs of houses. A company of blue soldiers were cut off by a wave of charging gray. The men were trying to surrender. Their officers drew their revolvers and ordered them to break through. A sullen private shouted: "Shoot your officers!" Every commander dropped in his tracks. And the men were marched to the rear. Hour after hour the flames of hell swirled in endless waves about this angle of the Southern trenches. Line after line of blue broke against it and eddied down its sides in slimy pools. Color bearers waved their flags in each other's faces, clinched and fought, hand to hand, like devils. Two soldiers on top of the trench, their ammunition spent, choked each other to death and rolled down the embankment among the mangled bodies that filled the ditch. In this mass of struggling maniacs men were fighting with guns, swords, handspikes, clubbed muskets, stones and fists. Night brought no pause to save the wounded or bury the dead. For five days Grant circled his blue hosts in a whirlpool of death trying in vain to break Lee's trenches. He gave it up. The stolid, silent man of iron nerves watched the stream of wagons bearing the wounded, groaning and shrieking, from the field. Lee's forces had been handled with such skill the impact of numbers had made but little impression. Thirty thousand dead and mangled lay on the field. The stark fighter of the West was facing a new problem. The devotion of Lee's men was a mania. He was unconquerable in a square hand-to-hand fight in the woods. A truce to bury the dead followed. They found them piled six layers deep in the trenches, blue and gray locked in the last embrace. Black wings were flapping over them unafraid of the living. Their red beaks were tearing at eyes and lips, while deep below yet groaned and moved the wounded. Again Grant sought to flank his wily foe. This time he beat Lee to the spot. The two armies rushed for Cold Harbor in parallel columns flashing at each other deadly volleys as they marched. Lee took second choice of ground and entrenched on a gently sloping line of hills. They swung in crescent as at Fredericksburg. With consummate skill he placed his guns and infantry to catch both flanks and front of the coming foe. And then he waited for Grant to charge. Thousands of men in the blue ranks were busy now sewing their names in their underclothing. With the first streak of dawn, at 4:30, they charged. They walked into the mouth of a volcano flaming tons of steel and lead in their faces. The scene was sickening. Nothing like it had, to this time, happened in the history of man. _Ten thousand men in blue fell in twenty minutes._ Meade ordered Smith to renew the assault. Daring a court martial, Smith flatly refused. The story of the next seventy-two hours our historians have refused to record. Through the smothering heat of summer for three days and nights the shrieks and groans of the wounded rose in endless waves of horror. No hand could be lifted to save. With their last breath they begged, wept, cried, prayed for water. No man dared move in the storm-swept space. Here and there a heroic boy in blue caught the cry of a wounded comrade and crawled on his belly to try a rescue only to die in the embrace of his friend. When the truce was called to clear the shambles every man of the ten thousand who had fallen was dead--save two. The salvage corps walked in a muck of blood. They slipped and stumbled and fell in its festering pools. The flies and vultures were busy. Dead horses, dead men, smashed guns, legs, arms, mangled bodies disemboweled, the earth torn into an ashen crater. In the thirty days since Grant had met Lee in the wilderness, the Northern army had lost sixty thousand men, the bravest of our race. Lee's losses were not so great but they were tragic. They were as great in proportion to the number he commanded. Grant paused to change his plan of campaign. The procession of ambulances into Washington had stunned the Nation. Every city, town, village, hamlet and country home was in mourning. A stream of protest against the new Commander swept the North. Lincoln refused to remove him. And on his head was heaped the blame for all the anguish of the bitter years of failure. His answer to his critics was remorseless. "We must fight to win. Grant is the ablest general we have. His losses are appalling. But the struggle is now on to the bitter end. Our resources of men and money are exhaustless. The South cannot replace her fallen sons. Her losses, therefore, are fatal!" War had revealed to all at last that the Abolition crusade had been built on a lie. The negro had proven a bulwark of strength to the South. Had their theories been true, had the slaves been beaten and abused the Black Bees would surely have swarmed. A single Southern village put to the torch by black hands would have done for Lee's army what no opponent had been able to do. It would have been destroyed in a night. The Confederacy would have gone down in hopeless ruin. Not a black hand had been raised against a Southern man or woman in all the raging hell. This fact is the South's vindication against the slanders of the Abolitionists. The negroes stood by their old masters. They worked his fields; they guarded his women and children; they mourned over the graves of their fallen sons. And now in the supreme hour of gathering darkness came the last act of the tragedy--the arming of the Northern blacks and the training of their hands to slay a superior race. In the first year of the war Lincoln had firmly refused the prayer of Thomas Wentworth Higginson that he be allowed to arm and drill the Black Legions of the North. Later the pressure could not be resisted. The daily murder of the flower of the race had lowered its morale. It had lowered the value set on racial trait and character. The Cavalier and Puritan, with a thousand years of inspiring history throbbing in their veins, had become mere cannon fodder. The cry for men and still more men was endless. And this cry must be heard, or the war would end. Men of the white breed were clasping hands at last across the lines under the friendly cover of the night. They spoke softly through their tears of home and loved ones. The tumult and the shout had passed. The jeer and taunt, blind passion and sordid hate lay buried in the long, deep graves of a hundred fields of blood. Grant's new plan of campaign resulted in the deadlock of Petersburg. The two armies now lay behind thirty-five miles of deep trenches with a stretch of volcano-torn, desolate earth between them. The Black Legions were massed for a dramatic ending of the war. Grant, Meade, and Burnside had developed a plan. Hundreds of sappers and miners burrowed under the shell-torn ground for months, digging a tunnel under Lee's fortress immediately before Petersburg. The tunnel was not complete before Lee's ears had caught the sound. A counter tunnel was hastily begun but Grant's men had reached the spot under the center of Elliot's salient before the Confederates could intercept them. Grant skillfully threw a division of his army on the north side of the James and made a fierce frontal attack on Richmond while he gathered the flower of his army, sixty-five thousand men with his Black Legions, before the tunnel that would open the way into Petersburg. Lee was not misled by the assault on Richmond. But it was absolutely necessary to meet it, or the Capital would have fallen. He was compelled, in the face of the threatened explosion and assault, to divide his forces and weaken his lines before the tunnel. His men were on the ground beyond the James to intercept the column moving toward Richmond. When the assault failed, Hancock and Sheridan immediately recrossed the river to take part in the capture of Petersburg and witness the end of the Confederacy. The tons of powder were stored under the fort and the fuse set. The Black battalions stood ready to lead the attack and enter Petersburg first. At the final council of war, the plan was changed. A division of New Englanders, the sons of Puritan fathers and mothers, were set to this grim task and the negroes were ordered to follow. High words had been used at the Council. The whole problem of race and racial values was put to the test of the science of anthropology and of mathematics. The fuse would be set before daylight. The charge must be made in darkness with hundreds of great guns flaming, shrieking, shaking the earth. The negro could not be trusted to lead in this work. He had followed white officers in the daylight and under their inspiration had fought bravely. But he was afraid of the dark. It was useless to mince matters. The council faced the issue. He could not stand the terrors of the night in such a charge. The decision was an ominous one for the future of America--ominous because merciless in its scientific logic. The same power which had given the white man his mastery of science and progress in the centuries of human history gave him the mastery of his brain and nerves in the dark. For a thousand years superstition had been trained out of his brain fiber. He could hold a firing line day or night. The darkness was his friend, not his enemy. The New Englanders were pushed forward for the attack. The grim preparations were hurried. The pioneers were marshaled with axes and entrenching tools. A train pulled in from City Point with crowds of extra surgeons, their amputating tables and bandages ready. The wagons were loaded with picks and shovels to bury the dead quickly in the scorching heat of July. The men waited in impatience for the explosion. It had been set for two o'clock. For two hours they stood listening. Their hearts were beating high at first. The delay took the soul out of them. They were angry, weary, cursing, complaining. The fuse had gone out. Another had to be trained and set. As the Maine regiments gripped their muskets waiting for the explosion of the mine, a negro preacher in the second line behind them was haranguing the Black Battalions. His drooning, voodoo voice rang through the woods in weird echoes: "Oh, my men! Dis here's gwine ter be er great fight. De greatest fight in all de war. We gwine ter take ole Petersburg dis day. De day er Juberlee is come. Yes, Lawd! An' den we take Richmon', 'stroy Lee's army an' en' dis war. Yas, Lawd, an' 'member dat Gen'l Grant an' Gen'l Burnside, an' Gen'l Meade's is all right here a-watch-in' ye! An' member dat I'se er watchin' ye. I'se er sargint in dis here comp'ny. Any you tries ter be a skulker, you'se gwine ter git a beyonet run clean froo ye--yas, Lawd! You hear me!" He had scarcely finished his harangue when a smothering peal of thunder shook the world. The ground rocked beneath the feet of the men. Some were thrown backwards. Some staggered and caught a comrade's shoulder. A pillar of blinding flame shot to the stars. A cloud of smoke rolled upward and spread its pall over the trembling earth. A shower of human flesh and bones spattered the smoking ground. The men in front shivered as they brushed the pieces of red meat from their hands and clothes. The artillery opened. Hundreds of guns were pouring shells from their flaming mouths. The people of Petersburg leaped from their beds and pressed into the streets stunned by the appalling shock and the storm of artillery which followed. The ground in front of the tunnel had been cleared of the abatis. Burnside's New England veterans rushed the crater. A huge hole had been torn in Lee's fortifications one hundred yards long and sixty feet wide and twenty-five feet in depth. The hole proved a grave. The charging troops floundered in its spongy, blood-soaked sides. They stumbled and fell into its pit. The regiments in the rear, rushing through the smoke and stumbling over the mangled pieces of flesh of Elliott's three hundred men who had been torn to pieces, were on top of the line in front before they could clear the crumbling walls. When the charging hosts at last reached the firm ground inside the Confederate lines, the men in gray were rallying. Their guns had been trained on the yawning chasm now a struggling, squirming, cursing mass of blue. Slowly order came out of chaos and Burnside's men swung to the right and to the left and swept Lee's trenches for three hundred yards in each direction. The charging regiments poured into them and found the second Confederate line. Elliott's men who yet lived, driven from their outer line by the resistless rush of the attack, retreated to a deep ravine, rallied and held this third line. Lee reached the field and took command. Mahone's men came to the rescue marching with swift, steady tread. They took their position on the crest which commanded the open space toward the captured trenches. As Wright's brigade moved into position, the Black Battalions were ordered to charge. They had been hurried through the crater and into the trenches on the right and left. At the signal they swarmed over the works, with a voodoo yell, and in serried black waves, charged the men in gray. In broad daylight the Southerners saw for the first time the plan of the dramatic attack. The white men of the South shrieked an answer and gripped their muskets. The cry they gave came down the centuries from three thousand years of history. It came from the hearts of a conquering race of men. They had heard the Call of the Blood of the Race that rules the world. Without an order from their commanders, with a single impulse, the whole Southern line leaped from their cover and dashed on the advancing Black Legions in a counter charge so swift, so terrible, there was but a single crash and the yell of white victory rang over the field. The Blacks broke and piled pell mell into the trenches and on into the hell hole of the crater. Fifty of Lee's guns were now pouring a steady stream of shells into this pit of the damned. The charging gray lines rolled over the captured trenches. They ringed the edge of the crater with a circle of flaming muskets. The writhing mass of dead, dying, wounded and living, scrambling blacks and whites, was a thing for devil's joy. At the bottom of the pit the heap was ten feet deep in moving flesh. In vain the terror-stricken blacks scrambled up the slippery sides through clouds of smoke. They fell backward and rolled down the crumbling walls. Young John Doyle stood on the brink of this crater, his eyes aflame with revenge. His musket was so hot at last he threw it down, tore a cartridge belt from the body of a dead negro trooper, seized his rifle and went back to his task. Sickened at last by the holocaust, the officers of the South ordered their men to cease firing. They had charged without orders. They refused to take orders. The officers began to strike them with their swords! "Cease firing!" "Damn you, stop it!" Their orders rang around the flaming curve in vain. They seized the men by their collars and dragged them back. The gray soldiers tore away, rushed to the smoking rim and fired as long as they had a cartridge in their belts. It was the poor white man who got beyond control at the sight of these yelling black troops wearing the uniform of the Republic. Had their souls leaped the years and seen in a vision dark-skinned hosts charging the ranks of white civilization in a battle for supremacy of the world? CHAPTER XLV When the smoke had lifted from the field of the Black Battalions, Lee stood in Richmond before a secret meeting of the leaders of the Confederacy. Jefferson Davis presided. The meeting was called by request of the Commander. He had an important announcement to make. Facing the anxious group gathered around the Cabinet table he spoke with unusual emphasis: "Gentlemen, the end is in sight unless I can have more men. So long as I can burrow underground my half-clothed and half-starved soldiers will hold Grant at bay. I may hold him until next spring. Not longer. The North is using negro troops. They have enrolled nearly two hundred thousand. Their man power counts. We can arm our negroes to meet them. They will fight under the leadership of their masters. I speak as a mathematician and a soldier. I do not discuss the sentimental side. I must have men and I must have them before spring or your cause is lost." Robert Toombs of Georgia leaped to his feet. His words came slowly, throbbing with emotion. "Any suggestion from General Lee deserves the immediate attention of this Government. He speaks to-night as an engineer and mathematician. He has told us the worst. It was his duty. I honor him for it. "But I differ with him. He can see but one angle of this question. He is a soldier in field. It is our duty to see both the soldier's and the statesman's point of view. And our cause is not so desperate as the science of engineering and mathematics would tell us. "The war of the revolution was won by Washington in spite of mathematics. The odds were all against him. We have our chance. This war is now in its fourth year. The outlook seems dark in Richmond. It is darker in Washington. What have they accomplished in these years of blood and tears? Nothing. Not a slave has been freed. Not a question at issue has found its solution. The millions of the North are in despair and they are crying for peace--peace at any price. The Presidential election is but a few weeks off. They have nominated Abraham Lincoln again for President. They had to, although he is the most unpopular man who ever sat in the White House. All the mistakes, all the agony, all the horrors of this war, they have unjustly heaped on his drooping shoulders. "McClellan is his opponent _on a peace platform_. "The Republican Party is split as ours was before the war. John C. Fremont is running on the Radical ticket against Lincoln. Unless a miracle happens General George B. McClellan will be elected the next President. If he is, the war ends in a draw. "It's a fair chance. We can take it. "But our chance of success is not the real question before us. It is a bigger one. The question before you is bigger than the South. It is bigger than the Republic. It is bigger than the Continent. It may involve the future of civilization. "The employment of these negro troops, clothed in the uniform of the Union, marks the lowest tide mud to which its citizenship has ever sunk. The profoundest word in history is _race_. The ancestral soul of a people rules its destiny. What is the ancestral soul of the negro? The measurement of the skull of the Egyptian is exactly the shape and size of six thousand years ago. Has the negro moved upward? This republic was born of the soul of a race of pioneer white freemen who settled our continent and built an altar within its Forest Cathedral to Liberty and Progress. In the record of man has a negro ever dreamed this dream? "The Roman Republic fell and Rome became a degenerate Empire. Why? Because of the lowering of her racial stock by slaves. The decline of the Roman spirit was due to a mixture of races. The flower of her manhood died on her far-flung battle lines. Slaves and degenerates at home bred her future citizens. "Have we also placed our feet on the path of oblivion? History is littered with the wrecks of civilization. And always the secret is found in racial degeneracy--the lowering of the standard of racial values. Civilization is a name--an effect. Race is the cause. If a race maintains its soul, it must remain itself and it must breed its best. Race is the result of thousands of years of this selection. One drop of negro blood makes a negro. The inferior can always blot out the superior if granted equality. "This uniform is the first step toward racial oblivion for the white man in America. It is the first step toward equality. A people of half breeds have no soul. They are always ungovernable. The negro is the lowest species of man. Through Slavery he has been disciplined into the family of humanity. We cannot yet grant him equality. Abraham Lincoln who has consented to arm these blacks against us has himself said: _"'There is a physical difference between the white and black races which will forever forbid them living together on terms of political or social equality.'_ "How can he prevent social and political equality once these black men are clothed with the dignity of the uniform of a Nation? He has declared his intention of colonizing the negro race. General Lee also holds this as the solution. If Slavery falls, it _is_ the _only_ solution. "In the meantime we hold fast to the faith within us. Dare to arm a negro, drill and teach him to kill white men, and we are traitors to country, traitors to humanity, traitors to civilization. Robert E. Lee himself is the supreme contradiction of the sentimental mush involved in the dogma of equality. His genius and character is a racial product. "The man in gray stands for two things, Reverence for Law and the Racial Supremacy of the White Man. "If we must clothe negroes in gray to save the Confederacy, let it go down in blood and ashes. We'll stand for this. And hand our ideal down to our children. If defeat shall come, we may yet live to save the Republic. We hold a message for Humanity." There was no further discussion. The South chose death before racial treason. CHAPTER XLVI The miracle which Toombs feared came to pass. In the blackest hour of the Lincoln administration, his own party despaired of his election. The National Republican Committee came to Washington and demanded that he withdraw from the ticket and allow them to name a candidate who might have a chance against General McClellan and his peace platform. And then it happened. Sherman suddenly took Atlanta and swung his legions toward the sea. A black pall of smoke marked his trail. The North leaped once more with the elemental impulse. A wave of war enthusiasm swept Lincoln back into the White House. And a new line of blue soldiers streamed to Grant's front. The ragged men in gray were living on parched corn. Grant edged his blue legions farther and farther southward until he saw the end of the mortal trenches Lee's genius had built. The lion sprang on his exposed flank and Petersburg was doomed. The Southern Commander sent his fated message to Richmond that he must uncover the Capital of the Confederacy, and staggered out of his trenches to attempt a union of forces with Johnston's army in North Carolina. Grant's host were on his heels, his guns thundering, his cavalry destroying. A negro regiment entered Richmond as the flames of the burning city licked the skies. Lee paused at Appomattox to await the coming of his provision train. His headquarters were fixed beneath an apple tree in full bloom. He bent anxiously over a field map with his Adjutant. His face was clouded with deep anxiety. "Why doesn't Gordon report?" he cried. "We've sent three couriers. They haven't returned. Grant has not only closed the road to Lynchburg, he has pushed a wedge into our lines and cut Gordon off. If he has, we're in a trap--" "It couldn't have happened in an hour!" Taylor protested. "Order Fitzhugh Lee to concentrate every horse for Gordon's support and call in Alexander for a conference." Taylor hastened to execute the command and Lee sat down under the flower-draped tree. Sam approached bearing a tray. "De coffee's all ready, Marse Robert--'ceptin' dey ain't no coffee in it. Does ye want a cup? Hit's good, hot black water, sah!" Lee's eyes were not lifted. "No, Sam, thank you." The faithful negro shook his head and walked back to his sorry kitchen. Taylor handed his order to a dust-covered courier. "Take this to Fitz Lee." The courier scratched his head. "I don't know General Fitz Lee, sir." "The devil you don't. What division are you from?" "Dunno, sir. Been cut to pieces so many times and changed commanders so much I dunno who the hell I belong to--" "How'd you get here?" "Detailed for the day." "You know General John B. Gordon?" The dusty figure stiffened. "I'm from Georgia." "Take this to him." Taylor handed the man his order as the thunder of a line of artillery opened on the left. "Which way is General Gordon?" the courier asked. "That's what I want to know. Get to him. Follow the line of that firing. You'll find him where it's hottest. Get back here quick if you have to kill your horse." Sam came back with his tray. "I got yo' breakfus' an' dinner both now, Marse Robert." Lee looked up with a smile. "Too tired now. Eat it for me, Sam--" Sam turned quickly. "Yassah. I do de bes' I kin fur ye." As Sam went back to the kitchen he motioned to a ragged soldier who stood with his wife and little girl gazing at the General. "Dar he is. Go right up an' tell him." Sweeney approached Lee timidly. The wife and girl hung back. He tried to bow and salute at the same time. "Excuse me for coming, General Lee, but my company's halted there in the woods. You've stopped in a few yards of my house, sir. Won't you come in and make it your headquarters?" "No, my good friend. I won't disturb your home." The wife edged near. "It's no trouble at all, sir. We'd be so proud to have you." "Thank you. I always use my tent, Madame. I'll not be here long." "Please come, sir!" the man urged. Lee studied his face. "Haven't I seen you before, my friend?" "Yes, sir. I'm the man who brought the news that General Stuart had fallen at Yellow Tavern." Lee grasped his hand. "Oh, I remember. You're Sweeney--Sweeney whose banjo he loved so well. And this is your wife and little girl?" "Yes, sir," Mrs. Sweeney answered. The Commander pressed her hand cordially. "I'm glad to know you, Mrs. Sweeney. Your husband's music was a great joy to General Stuart." The little girl handed him a bunch of violets. He stooped, kissed her and took her in his arms. "You'd like your papa to come back home from the war and stay with you always, wouldn't you, dear?" "Yes, sir," she breathed. "Maybe he will, soon." "You see, General," Sweeney said, "when my Chief fell, I threw my banjo away and got a musket." "If I only had Stuart here to-day!" Lee sighed. "He'd cut his way through, sir, with a shout and a laugh," Sweeney boasted. A courier handed Lee a dispatch and Sweeney edged away. The Commander read the message with a frown and crumpled the paper in his hand. The wagons at Appomattox had been cut to pieces. His army had nothing to eat. They had been hungry for two days and nights. "It's more than flesh can bear, Taylor--and yet listen to those guns! They're still fighting this morning. Fighting like tigers. Grant's closing in with a hundred thousand men. Unless Gordon breaks through within an hour--he's got us--" Lee gazed toward the sound of the guns on the left. His face was calm but his carriage was no longer quite erect. The agony of sleepless nights had plowed furrows in his forehead. His eyes were red. His cheeks were sunken and haggard. His face was colorless. And yet he was calmly deliberate in every movement. An old man, flushed with excitement, staggered up to him. Lee started. "Ruffin--you here?" "General Lee," he began, "will you hear me for just one moment?" "Certainly." Lee sprang to his feet. "But how did you get into my lines--I thought I was surrounded?" "I came out of Richmond with General Alexander's rear guard, sir, six days ago." "Oh, I see." "Ten years ago, General Lee, in your house, I predicted this war. Last week I saw the city in flames and I hope to God every house was in ashes before that regiment of negro cavalry galloped through its streets." "I trust not, Ruffin. I left my wife and children there." "I hope they're safe, sir." "They're in God's hands." A courier handed Lee a dispatch which he read aloud. "President Davis has been forced to flee from Danville and all communication with him has been cut." "General Lee," Ruffin cried excitedly, "this country is now in your hands." "What would you have me do?" "Fight until the last city is in ashes and the last man falls in his tracks. Fools at your headquarters have been talking for two days of surrender. It can't be done. It can't be done. If you surrender do you know what will happen?" "I've tried to think." "I'll tell you, sir. Thaddeus Stevens, the Radical Leader of Congress, has already prepared the bill to take the ballot from the Southern white man and give it to the negro. The property of the whites he proposed to confiscate and give to their slaves. He will clothe the negro with all power and set him to rule over his former masters." Lee answered roughly. "Nonsense, Ruffin. I am better informed. Senator Washburn, Mr. Lincoln's spokesman, entered Richmond with the Federal army. He says that the President will remove the negro troops from the United States as soon as peace is declared. He has a bill in Congress to colonize the negro race." "Stevens is the master of Congress." "If the North wins, Lincoln will be the master of Congress. We need fear no scheme of insane vengeance." Lee took from Taylor two despatches. "General Mahone has taken a thousand prisoners--" "Glory to God!" Ruffin shouted. "Such men don't know how to surrender!" "And our cavalry has captured. General Gregg and a squadron of his men--" "Surrender!" the old man roared. "They'll never surrender, sir, unless you say so. Our wives, our daughters, our children, our homes, our cause, our lives, are in your hands. For God's sake, don't listen to fools. Don't give up, General Lee--don't--" General Alexander sprang from his horse and approached his Commander. Lee spoke in low, strained tones. "I'm afraid we're caught." He turned to the old man. "Excuse me, Ruffin, I must confer with General Alexander." Ruffin's reply came feebly. "With your permission I will--stay--at--your headquarters for a little while." "Certainly." Taylor led the old man toward his baggage wagon. "Come with me, sir. I'll find you a cot." "Thank you. Thank you." His eyes were dim and he walked stumblingly. "Surrender, Taylor! Surrender? Why, there's no such word--there's no such word--" Lee and Alexander moved down to the little field table. "We must decide," the Commander began, "what to do in case Gordon can't break through. How many guns in your command?" "More than forty, sir. We've just captured a section of Federal artillery in perfect order." "Forty guns! And Grant is circling us with five hundred--" "We have fought big odds before. We have ammunition. The artillery has done little on this retreat. They're eager for a fight, if you wish to give battle." "I can rally but eight thousand men for a final charge. They are tired and hungry. What have we got to do?" "This means but one thing, then--" "Well, sir?" "Order the army to scatter--each man for himself. They can slip through the brush to-night like quail, and reach Johnston's army." "You think this best?" "It's the only thing to do, sir. Surrender--never. Scatter. And when Grant closes in to-morrow his hands will be empty. He'll find a few broken guns and wagons. Our men will be safe beyond his lines and ready to fight again." "That's the plan!" Taylor joined. "We can beat Grant that way, General. The Confederacy may win by delay. At least by delay we can give the State Governments time to make their own terms as States. If you surrender, it's all over." "I do not think the North will acknowledge the sovereignty of the States at this late day." "It is reported that Lincoln has offered to accept the surrender of States and make terms--" "This would, of course," Lee slowly answered, "prolong the war as long as one held out--" "And don't forget, sir," Alexander urged stoutly, "that the single State of Texas is three times larger than France. She has countless head of cattle and horses on her plains. She can equip armies. Her warlike sons, with you to lead them, would laugh at conquest for the next ten years. The territory of the South is too vast to be held except at a cost the North cannot afford to pay--" "Armies may march across it," Taylor interrupted, "a million soldiers could not hold it _unless you surrender!_" "Guerrilla warfare is a desperate resort," Lee answered sadly. "There are things worse," Alexander cried passionately. "This army is ready to die to a man before we will submit to unconditional surrender. The men who have fought under you for these three tragic years have the right to demand that you spare us this shame!" "General Grant will not ask unconditional surrender. I have been in correspondence with him for two days. He has already put his terms in writing. They are generous. All officers may retain their swords and every horse go home for the spring plowing. He merely requires our parole not to take up arms again." "He would offer no such terms," Alexander argued, "unless he knew you yet had a chance to win--" Lee waved his hand. "Our only chance is to continue the struggle by a fierce guerrilla war--" "For God's sake, let's do it, sir!" "Can we," the calm voice went on, "as Christian soldiers, choose such a course? We've fought bravely for what we believed to be right. If I enter a guerrilla struggle, what will be the result? Years of bloody savagery. Our own men, demoralized by war, would supply their wants by violence and plunder. I could not control them. And so raid and counter-raid. Houses pillaged and burned by friend and foe. Crops destroyed. All industry paralyzed. Women violated. We might force the Federal Government at last to make some sort of compromise. But at what a cost--what a cost!" "You can control our men," Alexander maintained. "Your name is magic. The South will obey you." Lee gazed earnestly into the face of his gallant young Commander of Artillery and said: "If I wield such power over our people, is it not a sacred trust? Is it not my duty now to use it for their healing, and not their ruin?" General John B. Gordon suddenly rode up and sprang from his horse. Lee eagerly turned. "General Gordon--you have cut through?" "I have secured a temporary truce to report to you in person, I have fought my corps to a frazzle. The road is still blocked and I cannot move." "What is your advice?" Lee asked. "Your decision settles it, sir." A courier plunged toward the group on a foaming horse. "Fitzhugh Lee's cavalry's broken through!" he shouted. "The way's opened. The whole army can pass!" "I don't believe it," Gordon growled. "It's too good to be true," Taylor said. "It's true!" Alexander exclaimed, "of course it's true!" "You come from Longstreet?" Lee inquired. "Yes, sir. He asks instructions." "Tell him to use his discretion. He's on the spot." The courier wheeled and rode back as the crash of a musket rang out beside the baggage wagon. "What's that?" Taylor asked sharply. "It can't be an attack," Gordon wondered. "A truce is in force." Sam rushed to Lee. "Hit's Marse Ruffin, sah," he whispered. "He put de muzzle er de gun in his mouf an' done blow his own head clean off!" "See to him, Taylor," Lee ordered. "The old ones will quit, I'm afraid." A courier rode up and handed him another dispatch. He read it slowly. "Fitzhugh Lee says the message was a mistake, the road is still blocked. Only a company of raiders broke through." "It's too bad," Gordon said. "It's hell," Alexander groaned. "Let's scatter, sir! It's the only way. Issue the order at once--" A sentinel saluted. "Colonel Babcock, aide to General U.S. Grant, has come for your answer, sir." All eyes were fixed on Lee. "Tell Babcock I'll see him in a moment." An ominous silence fell. Lee lifted his head and spoke firmly. "We've played our parts, gentlemen, in a hopeless tragedy, pitiful, terrible. At least eight hundred thousand of our noblest sons are dead and mangled. A million more will die of poverty and disease. Every issue could have been settled and better settled without the loss of a drop of blood. The slaves are freed by an accident. An accident of war's necessity--not on principle. The manner of their sudden emancipation, unless they are removed, will bring a calamity more appalling than the war itself. It must create a Race Problem destined to grow each day more threatening and insoluble. Yet if I had to live it all over again I could only do exactly what I have done--" He paused. "And now I'll go at once to General Grant." He took two steps to cross the stile over the fence, and turned as a cry of pain burst from Alexander's lips. He sank to a seat, bowed his face in his hands and groaned: "Oh, my God, I can't believe it! I can't believe it. After all these years of blood. I can't believe it--my God--to think that this is the end!" "I know, General Alexander," Lee spoke gently, "that my surrender means the end. It has come and we must face it. We must accept the results in good faith and turn our faces toward the east. Yesterday is dead. To-morrow is ours--" His voice softened. "I don't mind telling you now, that I had rather die a thousand deaths than go to General Grant. Dying is the easiest thing that I could do at this moment. I could ride out front along the lines for five minutes and it would be all over. But the men who know how to die must do harder things. I call you, sir, to this battle grimmer than death--to this nobler task--we've got to live now!" Alexander slowly rose with Gordon and both men saluted. Within an hour he was returning from the meeting with his brave and generous conqueror. A loud cheer rang over the Confederate lines. "It's Lee returning along the road crowded with his men," Gordon explained. Another cheer echoed through the forests. Gordon smiled. "Alexander the Great, when he conquered a world, never got the tribute which Lee is receiving from those men. There's not one in their ranks who wouldn't die for him." Louder and louder rolled the cheers mingled now with the pet name his soldiers loved. "Marse Robert! Marse Robert!" Alexander's eyes flashed. "The hour of his surrender, the supreme triumph of his life." Lee rode slowly into view on Traveler's gray back. The men were crowding close. They cried softly. They touched his saddle, his horse and tried to reach his hands. He lifted his right arm over their heads and they were still. "My heart's too full for speech, my men. I have done for you all that was in my power. You have done your duty. We leave the rest to God. Go quietly to your homes now and work to build up our ruined country. Obey the laws and be as good citizens as you have been soldiers. I'm going to try to do this. Will you help me?" "That we will!" "Yes." "Yes." "Goodbye." "Goodbye, Marse Robert!" Grizzled veterans were sobbing like children. The war had ended--the most futile and ferocious of human follies. When it shall cease on earth at last, then, and not until then, will the soul of man leap to its final triumph, for the energy of the universe will flow through the fingers of workmen, artists, authors, inventors and healers. On this issue the saving of a world awaits the word of the mothers of men. THE END 
10692	----	Proofreading Team. [Illustration] A LIFE OF GEN. ROBERT E. LEE. BY JOHN ESTEN COOKE. "Duty is the sublimest word in our language." "Human virtue should be equal to human calamity." LEE. 1876 CONTENTS. PART I. _LEE'S EARLY LIFE_. I.--Introduction II.--The Lees of Virginia III.--General "Light-Horse Harry" Lee IV.--Stratford V.--Lee's Early Manhood and Career in the United States Army VI.--Lee and Scott VII.--Lee resigns VIII.--His Reception at Richmond IX.--Lee in 1861 X.--The War begins XI.--Lee's Advance into Western Virginia XII.--Lee's Last Interview with Bishop Meade PART II. _IN FRONT OF RICHMOND_. I.--Plan of the Federal Campaign II.--Johnston is wounded III.--Lee assigned to the Command--his Family at the White House IV.--Lee resolves to attack V.--Stuart's "Ride around McClellan" PART III. _ON THE CHICKAHOMINY_. I.--The Two Armies II.--Lee's Plan of Assault III.--The Battle of the Chickahominy IV.--The Retreat V.--Richmond in Danger--Lee's Views VI.--Lee and McClellan--their Identity of Opinion PART IV. _THE WAR ADVANCES NORTHWARD_. I.--Lee's Protest II.--Lee's Manoeuvres III.--Lee advances from the Rapidan IV.--Jackson flanks General Pope V.--Lee follows VI.--The Second Battle of Manassas PART V. _LEE INVADES MARYLAND_. I.--His Designs II.--Lee in Maryland III.--Movements of the Two Armies IV.--The Prelude to Sharpsburg V.--The Battle of Sharpsburg VI.--Lee and McClellan--their Merits in the Maryland Campaign VII.--Lee and his Men VIII.--Lee passes the Blue Ridge IX.--Lee concentrates at Fredericksburg X.--The Battle of Fredericksburg XI.--Final Movements of 1862 XII.--The Year of Battles XIII.--Lee in December, 1862 PART VI. _CHANCELLORSVILLE AND GETTYSBURG_. I.--Advance of General Hooker II--The Wilderness III.--Lee's Determination IV.--Jackson's Attack and Fall V.--The Battle of Chancellorsville VI.--Flank Movement of General Sedgwick VII.--Lee's Generalship and Personal Demeanor during the Campaign VIII.--Personal Relations of Lee and Jackson IX.--Circumstances leading to the Invasion of Pennsylvania X.--Lee's Plans and Objects XI.--The Cavalry-fight at Fleetwood XII.--The March to Gettysburg XIII.--Lee in Pennsylvania XIV.--Concentration at Gettysburg XV.--The First Day's Fight at Gettysburg XVI.--The Two Armies in Position XVII.--The Second Day XVIII.--The Last Charge at Gettysburg XIX.--Lee after the Charge XX.--Lee's Retreat across the Potomac XXI.--Across the Blue Ridge again PART VII. _LAST CAMPAIGNS OF THE YEAR_ 1863. I.--The Cavalry of Lee's Army II.--Lee flanks General Meade III.--A Race between Two Armies IV.--The Fight at Buckland V.--The Advance to Mine Run VI.--Lee in the Autumn and Winter of 1863 PART VIII. _LEE'S LAST CAMPAIGNS AND LAST DAYS_. I.--General Grant crosses the Rapidan II.--The First Collision in the Wilderness III.--The Battle of the 6th of May IV.--The 12th of May V.--From Spottsylvania to the Chickahominy VI.--First Battles at Petersburg VII.--The Siege of Richmond begun VIII.--Lee threatens Washington IX.--The Mine Explosion X.--End of the Campaign of 1864 XI.--Lee in the Winter of 1864-'65 XII.--The Situation at the Beginning of 1865 XIII.--Lee attacks the Federal Centre XIV.--The Southern Lines broken XV.--Lee evacuates Petersburg XVI.--The Retreat and Surrender XVII.--Lee returns to Richmond XVIII.--General Lee after the War XIX.--General Lee's Last Years and Death _APPENDIX_. I.--The Funeral of General Lee II.--Tributes to General Lee A LIFE OF GENERAL ROBERT EDWARD LEE. PART I. _LEE'S EARLY LIFE_, I. INTRODUCTION. The name of Lee is beloved and respected throughout the world. Men of all parties and opinions unite in this sentiment, not only those who thought and fought with him, but those most violently opposed to his political views and career. It is natural that his own people should love and honor him as their great leader and defender in a struggle of intense bitterness--that his old enemies should share this profound regard and admiration is due solely to the character of the individual. His military genius will always be conceded, and his figure remain a conspicuous landmark in history; but this does not account for the fact that his very enemies love the man. His private character is the origin of this sentiment. The people of the North, no less than the people of the South, feel that Lee was truly great; and the harshest critic has been able to find nothing to detract from this view of him. The soldier was great, but the man himself was greater. No one was ever simpler, truer, or more honest. Those who knew him best loved him the most. Reserved and silent, with a bearing of almost austere dignity, he impressed many persons as cold and unsympathetic, and his true character was long in revealing itself to the world. To-day all men know what his friends knew during his life--that under the grave exterior of the soldier, oppressed with care and anxiety, beat a warm and kindly heart, full of an even extraordinary gentleness and sweetness; that the man himself was not cold, or stiff, or harsh, but patient, forbearing, charitable under many trials of his equanimity, and magnanimous without effort, from the native impulse of his heart. Friend and foe thus to-day regard him with much the same sentiment, as a genuinely honest man, incapable of duplicity in thought or deed, wholly good and sincere, inspired always under all temptations by that _prisca fides_ which purifies and ennobles, and resolutely bent, in the dark hour, as in the bright, on the full performance of his duty. "Duty is the sublimest word in our language," he wrote to his son; and, if we add that other august maxim, "Human virtue should be equal to human calamity," we shall have in a few words a summary of the principles which inspired Lee. The crowning grace of this man, who was thus not only great but good, was the humility and trust in God, which lay at the foundation of his character. Upon this point we shall quote the words of a gentleman of commanding intellect, a bitter opponent of the South in the war: "Lee is worthy of all praise. As a man, he was fearless among men. As a soldier, he had no superior and no equal. In the course of Nature my career on earth may soon terminate. God grant that, When the day of my death shall come, I may look up to Heaven with that confidence and faith which the life and character of Robert E. Lee gave him. He died trusting in God as a good man, with a good life, and a pure conscience." He had lived, as he died, with this supreme trust in an overruling and merciful Providence; and this sentiment, pervading his whole being, was the origin of that august calmness with which he greeted the most crushing disasters of his military career. His faith and humble trust sustained him after the war, when the woes of the South wellnigh broke his great spirit; and he calmly expired, as a weary child falls asleep, knowing that its father is near. Of this eminent soldier and man whose character offers so great an example, a memoir is attempted in this volume. The work will necessarily be "popular" rather than full and elaborate, as the public and private correspondence of Lee are not at this time accessible. These will throw a fuller light on the subject; but sufficient material is at the disposal of the writer to enable him to present an accurate likeness of Lee, and to narrate clearly the incidents of his career. In doing so, the aim of the author is to measure out full justice to all--not to arouse old enmities, which should be allowed to slumber, but to treat his subject with the judicial moderation of the student of history. A few words will terminate this preface. The volume before the reader was begun in 1866. The writer first, however, informed General Lee of his design, and had the honor to receive from him in reply the assurance that the work "would not interfere with any he might have in contemplation; he had not written a line of any work as yet, and might never do so; but, should he write a history of the campaigns of the Army of Northern Virginia, the proposed work would be rather an assistance than a hinderance." As the writer had offered promptly to discontinue the work if it were not agreeable to General Lee, this reply was regarded in the light of an assurance that he did not disapprove of it. The composition was, however, interrupted, and the work laid aside. It is now resumed and completed at a time when the death of the illustrious soldier adds a new and absorbing interest to whatever is connected with his character or career. II. THE LEES OF VIRGINIA. The Lees of Virginia spring from an ancient and respectable family of Essex, in England. Of some members of the family, both in the Old World and the New, a brief account will be given. The origin of an individual explains much that is striking and peculiar in his own character; and it will be found that General Lee inherited many of the traits of his ancestors, especially of some eminent personages of his name in Virginia. The family pedigree is traced back by Lee, in the life of his father, to Launcelot Lee, of London, in France, who accompanied William the Conqueror to England. After the battle of Hastings, which subjected England to the sway of the Normans, Launcelot Lee, like others, was rewarded by lands wrested from the subdued Saxons. His estate lay in Essex, and this is all that is known concerning him. Lionel Lee is the next member of the family of whom mention is made. He lived during the reign of Richard Coeur de Lion, and, when the king went on his third crusade, in the year 1192, Lionel Lee raised a company of gentlemen, and marched with him to the Holy Land. His career there was distinguished; he displayed special gallantry at the siege of Acre, and for this he received a solid proof of King Richard's approbation. On his return he was made first Earl of Litchfield; the king presented him with the estate of "Ditchley," which became the name afterward of an estate of the Lees in Virginia; and, when he died, the armor which he had worn in the Holy Land was placed in the department of "Horse Armory" in the great Tower of London. The name of Richard Lee is next mentioned as one of the followers of the Earl of Surrey in his expedition across the Scottish border in 1542. Two of the family about this period were "Knights Companions of the Garter," and their banners, with the Lee arms above, were suspended in St. George's Chapel in Windsor Castle. The coat-of-arms was a shield "band sinister battled and embattled," the crest a closed visor surmounted by a squirrel holding a nut. The motto, which may be thought characteristic of one of General Lee's traits as a soldier, was, "_Non incautus futuri_" Such are the brief notices given of the family in England. They seem to have been persons of high character, and often of distinction. When Richard Lee came to Virginia, and founded the family anew there, as Launcelot, the first Lee, had founded it in England, he brought over in his veins some of the best and most valiant blood of the great Norman race. This Richard Lee, the _princeps_ of the family in Virginia, was, it seems, like the rest of his kindred, strongly Cavalier in his sentiments; indeed, the Lees seem always to have been Cavalier. The reader will recall the stately old representative of the family in Scott's "Woodstock"--Sir Henry Lee of Ditchley--who is seen stalking proudly through the great apartments of the palace, in his laced doublet, slashed boots, and velvet cloak, scowling darkly at the Puritan intruders. Sir Henry was not a fanciful person, but a real individual; and the political views attributed to him were those of the Lee family, who remained faithful to the royal cause in all its hours of adversity. It will be seen that Richard Lee, the first of the Virginia Lees, was an ardent monarchist. He came over during the reign of Charles I., but returned to England, bequeathing all his lands to his servants; he subsequently came back to Virginia, however, and lived and died there. In his will he styles himself "Richard Lee, of Strafford Langton, in the County of Essex, Esquire." It is not certainly known whether he sought refuge in Virginia after the failure of the king's cause, or was tempted to emigrate with a view to better his fortunes in the New World. Either may have been the impelling motive. Great numbers of Cavaliers "came over" after the overthrow of Charles at Naseby; but a large emigration had already taken place, and took place afterward, induced by the salubrity of the country, the ease of living, and the cheapness and fertility of the lands on the great rivers, where families impoverished or of failing fortunes in England might "make new settlements" and build on a new foundation. This would amply account for the removal of Richard Lee to Virginia, and for the ambition he seems to have been inspired with, to build and improve, without attributing to him any apprehension of probable punishment for his political course. Very many families had the first-named motives, and commenced to build great manor-houses, which were never finished, or were too costly for any one of their descendants to possess. The abolition of primogeniture, despite the opposition of Pendleton and others, overthrew all this; and the Lees, like other families, now possess few of the broad acres which their ancestors acquired. To return, however, to Richard Lee. He had already visited Virginia in some official capacity under the royal governor, Sir William Berkeley, and had been so much pleased with the soil and climate of the country, that he, as we have said, emigrated finally, and cast his lot in the new land. He brought a number of followers and servants, and, coming over to Westmoreland County, in the Northern Neck of Virginia, "took up" extensive tracts of land there, and set about building manor-houses upon them. Among these, it is stated, was the original "Stratford" House, afterward destroyed by fire. It was rebuilt, however, and became the birthplace of Richard Henry Lee, and afterward of General Robert E. Lee. We shall speak of it more in detail after finishing, in a few words, our notice of Richard Lee, its founder, and the founder of the Lee family in Virginia. He is described as a person of great force of character and many virtues--as "a man of good stature, comely visage, enterprising genius, sound head, vigorous spirit, and generous nature." This may be suspected to partake of the nature of epitaph; but, of his courage and energy, the proof remains in the action taken by him in connection with Charles II. Inheriting, it would seem, in full measure, the royalist and Cavalier sentiments of his family, he united with Sir William Berkeley, the royal governor, in the irregular proclamation of Charles II. in Virginia, a year or two before his reinstallment on the English throne. He had already, it is reported on the authority of well-supported tradition, made a voyage across the Atlantic to Breda, where Charles II. was then in exile, and offered to erect his standard in Virginia, and proclaim him king there. This proposition the young monarch declined, shrinking, with excellent good sense, from a renewal, under less favorable circumstances, of the struggle which terminated at Worcester. Lee was, therefore, compelled to return without having succeeded in his enterprise; but he had made, it seems, a very strong impression in favor of Virginia upon the somewhat frivolous young monarch. When he came to his throne again, Charles II. graciously wore a coronation-robe of Virginia silk, and Virginia, who had proved so faithful to him in the hour of his need, was authorized, by royal decree, to rank thenceforward, in the British empire, with England, Scotland, and Ireland, and bear upon her shield the motto, "_En dat Virginia quartam._" Richard Lee returned, after his unsuccessful mission, to the Northern Neck, and addressed himself thenceforward to the management of his private fortunes and the affairs of the colony. He had now become possessed of very extensive estates between the Potomac and Rappahannock Rivers and elsewhere. Besides Stratford, he owned plantations called "Mocke Neck," "Mathotick," "Paper-Maker's Neck," "War Captain's Neck," "Bishop's Neck," and "Paradise," with four thousand acres besides, on the Potomac, lands in Maryland, three islands in Chesapeake Bay, an interest in several trading-vessels, and innumerable indented and other servants. He became a member of the King's Council, and lived in great elegance and comfort. That he was a man of high character, and of notable piety for an age of free living and worldly tendencies, his will shows. In that document he bequeaths his soul "to that good and gracious God that gave it me, and to my blessed Redeemer, Jesus Christ, assuredly trusting, in and by His meritorious death and passion, to receive salvation." The attention of the reader has been particularly called to the character and career of Richard Lee, not only because he was the founder of the family in Virginia, but because the traits of the individual reappear very prominently in the great soldier whose life is the subject of this volume. The coolness, courage, energy, and aptitude for great affairs, which marked Richard Lee in the seventeenth century, were unmistakably present in the character of Robert E. Lee in the nineteenth century. We shall conclude our notice of the family by calling attention to that great group of celebrated men who illustrated the name in the days of the Revolution, and exhibited the family characteristics as clearly. These were Richard Henry Lee, of Chantilly, the famous orator and statesman, who moved in the American Congress the Declaration of Independence; Francis Lightfoot Lee, a scholar of elegant attainments and high literary accomplishments, who signed, with his more renowned brother, the Declaration; William Lee, who became Sheriff of London, and ably seconded the cause of the colonies; and Arthur Lee, diplomatist and representative of America abroad, where he displayed, as his diplomatic correspondence indicates, untiring energy and devotion to the interests of the colonies. The last of these brothers was Philip Ludwell Lee, whose daughter Matilda married her second cousin, General Henry Lee. This gentleman, afterward famous as "Light-Horse Harry" Lee, married a second time, and from this union sprung the subject of this memoir. III. GENERAL "LIGHT-HORSE HARRY" LEE. This celebrated soldier, who so largely occupied the public eye in the Revolution, is worthy of notice, both as an eminent member of the Lee family, and as the father of General Robert E. Lee. He was born in 1756, in the county of Westmoreland--which boasts of being the birthplace of Washington, Monroe, Richard Henry Lee, General Henry Lee, and General Robert E. Lee, Presidents, statesmen, and soldiers--and, after graduating at Princeton College, entered the army, in 1776, as captain of cavalry, an arm of the service afterward adopted by his more celebrated descendant, in the United States army. He soon displayed military ability of high order, and, for the capture of Paulus's Hook, received a gold medal from Congress. In 1781 he marched with his "Legion" to join Greene in the Carolinas, carrying with him the high esteem of Washington, who had witnessed his skilful and daring operations in the Jerseys. His career in the arduous campaigns of the South against Cornwallis, and the efficient commander of his cavalry arm. Colonel Tarleton, may be best understood from General Greene's dispatches, and from his own memoirs of the operations of the army, which are written with as much modesty as ability. From these it is apparent that the small body of the "Legion" cavalry, under its active and daring commander, was the "eye and ear" of Greene's army, whose movements it accompanied everywhere, preceding its advances and covering its retreats. Few pages of military history are more stirring than those in Lee's "Memoirs" describing Greene's retrograde movement to the Dan; and this alone, if the hard work at the Eutaws and elsewhere were left out, would place Lee's fame as a cavalry officer upon a lasting basis. The distinguished soldier under whose eye the Virginian operated did full justice to his courage and capacity. "I believe," wrote Greene, "that few officers, either in Europe or America, are held in so high a position of admiration as you are. Everybody knows I have the highest opinion of you as an officer, and you know I love you as a friend. No man, in the progress of the campaign, had equal merit with yourself." The officer who wrote those lines was not a courtier nor a diplomatist, but a blunt and honest soldier who had seen Lee's bearing in the most arduous straits, and was capable of appreciating military ability. Add Washington's expression of his "love and thanks," in a letter written in 1789, and the light in which he was regarded by his contemporaries will be understood. His "Memoirs of the War in the Southern Department" is a valuable military history and a very interesting book. The movements of Greene in face of Cornwallis are described with a precision which renders the narrative valuable to military students, and a picturesqueness which rivets the attention of the general reader. From these memoirs a very clear conception of the writer's character may be derived, and everywhere in them is felt the presence of a cool and dashing nature, a man gifted with the _mens aequa in arduis_, whom no reverse of fortune could cast down. The fairness and courtesy of the writer toward his opponents is an attractive characteristic of the work,[1] which is written with a simplicity and directness of style highly agreeable to readers of judgment.[2] [Footnote 1: See his observations upon the source of his successes over Tarleton, full of the generous spirit of a great soldier. He attributes them in no degree to his own military ability, but to the superior character of his large, thorough-bred horses, which rode over Tarleton's inferior stock. He does not state that the famous "Legion" numbered only two hundred and fifty men, and that Tarleton commanded a much larger force of the best cavalry of the British army.] [Footnote 2: A new edition of this work, preceded by a life of the author, was published by General Robert E. Lee in 1869.] After the war General Henry Lee served a term in Congress; was then elected Governor of Virginia; returned in 1799 to Congress; and, in his oration upon the death of Washington, employed the well-known phrase, "First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen." He died in Georgia, in the year 1818, having made a journey thither for the benefit of his health. General Henry Lee was married twice; first, as we have said, to his cousin Matilda, through whom he came into possession of the old family estate of Stratford; and a second time, June 18,1793, to Miss Anne Hill Carter, a daughter of Charles Carter, Esq., of "Shirley," on James River. The children of this second marriage were three sons and two daughters--Charles Carter, _Robert Edward_, Smith, Ann, and Mildred. [Illustration: "STRATFORD HOUSE." The Birthplace of Gen. Lee.] IV. STRATFORD. Robert Edward Lee was born at Stratford, in Westmoreland County, Virginia, on the 19th of January, 1807.[1] [Footnote 1: The date of General Lee's birth has been often given incorrectly. The authority for that here adopted is the entry in the family Bible, in the handwriting of his mother.] Before passing to Lee's public career, and the narrative of the stormy scenes of his after-life, let us pause a moment and bestow a glance upon this ancient mansion, which is still standing--a silent and melancholy relic of the past--in the remote "Northern Neck." As the birthplace of a great man, it would demand attention; but it has other claims still, as a venerable memorial of the past and its eminent personages, one of the few remaining monuments of a state of society that has disappeared or is disappearing. The original Stratford House is supposed, as we have said, to have been built by Richard Lee, the first of the family in the New World. Whoever may have been its founder, it was destroyed in the time of Thomas Lee, an eminent representative of the name, early in the eighteenth century. Thomas Lee was a member of the King's Council, a gentleman of great popularity; and, when it was known that his house had been burned, contributions were everywhere made to rebuild it. The Governor, the merchants of the colony, and even Queen Anne in person, united in this subscription; the house speedily rose again, at a cost of about eighty thousand dollars; and this is the edifice still standing in Westmoreland. The sum expended in its construction must not be estimated in the light of to-day. At that time the greater part of the heavy work in house-building was performed by servants of the manor; it is fair, indeed, to say that the larger part of the work thus cost nothing in money; and thus the eighty thousand dollars represented only the English brick, the carvings, furniture, and decorations. The construction of such an edifice had at that day a distinct object. These great old manor-houses, lost in the depths of the country, were intended to become the headquarters of the family in all time. In their large apartments the eldest son was to uphold the name. Generation after generation was to pass, and some one of the old name still live there; and though all this has passed away now, and may appear a worn-out superstition, and, though some persons may stigmatize it as contributing to the sentiment of "aristocracy," the strongest opponents of that old system may pardon in us the expression of some regret that this love of the hearthstone and old family memories should have disappeared. The great man whose character is sought to be delineated in this volume never lost to the last this home and family sentiment. He knew the kinships of every one, and loved the old country-houses of the old Virginia families--plain and honest people, attached, like himself, to the Virginia soil. We pass to a brief description of the old house in which Lee was born. Stratford, the old home of the Lees, but to-day the property of others, stands on a picturesque bluff on the southern bank of the Potomac, and is a house of very considerable size. It is built in the form of the letter H. The walls are several feet in thickness; in the centre is a saloon thirty feet in size; and surmounting each wing is a pavilion with balustrades, above which rise clusters of chimneys. The front door is reached by a broad flight of steps, and the grounds are handsome, and variegated by the bright foliage of oaks, cedars, and maple-trees. Here and there in the extensive lawn rises a slender and ghostly old Lombardy poplar--a tree once a great favorite in Virginia, but now seen only here and there, the relic of a past generation. Within, the Stratford House is as antique as without, and, with its halls, corridors, wainscoting, and ancient mouldings, takes the visitor back to the era of powder and silk stockings. Such was the mansion to which General Harry Lee came to live after the Revolution, and the sight of the old home must have been dear to the soldier's heart. Here had flourished three generations of Lees, dispensing a profuse and open-handed hospitality. In each generation some one of the family had distinguished himself, and attracted the "best company" to Stratford; the old walls had rung with merriment; the great door was wide open; everybody was welcome; and one could see there a good illustration of a long-passed manner of living, which had at least the merit of being hearty, open-handed, and picturesque. General Harry Lee, the careless soldier, partook of the family tendency to hospitality; he kept open house, entertained all comers, and hence, doubtless, sprung the pecuniary embarrassments embittering an old age which his eminent public services should have rendered serene and happy. Our notice of Stratford may appear unduly long to some readers, but it is not without a distinct reference to the subject of this volume. In this quiet old mansion--and in the very apartment where Richard Henry and Francis Lightfoot Lee first saw the light--Robert E. Lee was born. The eyes of the child fell first upon the old apartments, the great grounds, the homely scenes around the old country-house--upon the tall Lombardy poplars and the oaks, through which passed the wind bearing to his ears the murmur of the Potomac. He left the old home of his family before it could have had any very great effect upon him, it would seem; but it is impossible to estimate these first influences, to decide the depth of the impression which the child's heart is capable of receiving. The bright eyes of young Robert Lee must have seen much around him to interest him and shape his first views. Critics charged him with family pride sometimes; if he possessed that virtue or failing, the fact was not strange. Stratford opened before his childish eyes a memorial of the old splendor of the Lees. He saw around him old portraits, old plate, and old furniture, telling plainly of the ancient origin and high position of his family. Old parchments contained histories of the deeds of his race; old genealogical trees traced their line far back into the past; old servants, grown gray in the house, waited upon the child; and, in a corner of one of the great apartments, an old soldier, gray, too, and shattered in health, once the friend of Washington and Greene, was writing the history of the battles in which he had drawn his sword for his native land. Amid these scenes and surroundings passed the first years of Robert E. Lee. They must have made their impression upon his character at a period when the mind takes every new influence, and grows in accordance with it; and, to the last, the man remained simple, hearty, proud, courteous--the _country Virginian_ in all the texture of his character. He always rejoiced to visit the country; loved horses; was an excellent rider; was fond of plain country talk, jests, humorous anecdote, and chit-chat--was the plain country gentleman, in a word, preferring grass and trees and streams to all the cities and crowds in the world. In the last year of his life he said to a lady: "My visits to Florida and the White Sulphur have not benefited me much; but it did me good to go to the White House, and see _the mules walking round, and the corn growing_." We notice a last result of the child's residence now, or visits afterward to the country, and the sports in which he indulged--the superb physical health and strength which remained unshaken afterward by all the hardships of war. Lee, to the last, was a marvel of sound physical development; his frame was as solid as oak, and stood the strain of exhausting marches, loss of sleep, hunger, thirst, heat, and cold, without failing him. When he died, it was care which crushed his heart; his health was perfect. V. LEE'S EARLY MANHOOD AND CAREER IN THE UNITED STATES ARMY. Of Lee's childhood we have no memorials, except the words of his father, long afterward. "_Robert was always good_," wrote General Henry Lee.[1] [Footnote 1: To C.C. Lee, February 9, 1817.] That is all; but the words indicate much--that the good man was "always good." It will be seen that, when he went to West Point, he never received a demerit. The good boy was the good young officer, and became, in due time, the good commander-in-chief. In the year 1811 General Henry Lee left Stratford, and removed with his family to Alexandria, actuated, it seems, by the desire of affording his children facilities for gaining their education. After his death, in 1818, Mrs. Lee continued to reside in Alexandria; was a communicant of Christ Church; and her children were taught the Episcopal catechism by young William Meade, eventually Bishop of Virginia. We shall see how Bishop Meade, long afterward, recalled those early days, when he and his pupil, young Robert Lee, were equally unknown--how, when about to die, just as the war began in earnest, he sent for the boy he had once instructed, now the gray-haired soldier, and, when he came to the bedside, exclaimed: "God bless you, Robert! I can't call you 'general'--I have heard you your catechism too often!" Alexandria continued to be the residence of the family until the young man was eighteen years of age, when it was necessary for him to make choice of a profession; and, following the bent of his temperament, he chose the army. Application was made for his appointment from Virginia as a cadet at West Point. He obtained the appointment, and, in 1825, at the age of eighteen, entered the Military Academy. His progress in his studies was steady, and it is said that, during his stay at West Point, he was never reprimanded, nor marked with a "demerit." He graduated, in July, 1829, second in his class, and was assigned to duty, with the rank of lieutenant, in the corps of Engineers. [Illustration: R.E. LEE, AS A YOUNG OFFICER New York D Apololay & Co.] He is described, by those who saw him at this time, as a young man of great personal beauty; and this is probably not an exaggeration, as he remained to the last distinguished for the elegance and dignity of his person. He had not yet lost what the cares of command afterward banished--his gayety and _abandon_--and was noted, it is said, for the sweetness of his smile and the cordiality of his manners. The person who gave the writer these details added, "He was a perfect gentleman." Three years after graduating at West Point--in the year 1832--he married Mary Custis, daughter of Mr. George Washington Parke Custis, of Arlington, the adopted son of General Washington; and by this marriage he came into possession of the estate of Arlington and the White House--points afterward well known in the war. The life of Lee up to the beginning of the great conflict of 1861-'65 is of moderate interest only, and we shall not dwell at length upon it. He was employed on the coast defences, in New York and Virginia; and, in 1835, in running the boundary line between the States of Ohio and Michigan. In September, 1836, he was promoted to the rank of first lieutenant; in July, 1838, to a captaincy; in 1844 he became a member of the Board of Visitors to the Military Academy; in 1845 he was a member of the Board of Engineers; and in 1846, when the Mexican War broke out, was assigned to duty as chief engineer of the Central Army of Mexico, in which capacity he served to the end of the war. Up to the date of the Mexican War, Captain Lee had attracted no public attention, but had impressed the military authorities, including General Winfield Scott, with a favorable opinion of his ability as a topographical engineer. For this department of military science he exhibited endowments of the first class--what other faculties of the soldier he possessed, it remained for events to show. This opportunity was now given him in the Mexican War; and the efficient character of his services may be seen in Scott's Autobiography, where "Captain Lee, of the Engineers," is mentioned in every report, and everywhere with commendation. From the beginning of operations, the young officer seems to have been summoned to the councils of war, and General Scott particularly mentions that held at Vera Cruz--so serious an affair, that "a death-bed discussion could hardly have been more solemn." The passages in which the lieutenant-general mentions Lee are too numerous, and not of sufficient interest to quote, but two entries will exhibit the general tenor of this "honorable mention." After Cerro Gordo, Scott writes, in his official report of the battle: "I am compelled to make special mention of Captain R.E. Lee, engineer. This officer greatly distinguished himself at the siege of Vera Cruz; was again indefatigable during these operations, in reconnoissance as daring, as laborious, and of the utmost value." After Chapultepec, he wrote: "Captain Lee, so constantly distinguished, also bore important orders for me (September 13th), until he fainted from a wound, and the loss of two nights' sleep at the batteries." We may add here the statement of the Hon. Reverdy Johnson, that he "had heard General Scott more than once say that his success in Mexico was largely due to the skill, valor, and undaunted energy of Robert E. Lee." For these services Lee received steady promotion. For meritorious conduct at Cerro Gordo, he was made brevet major; for the same at Contreras and Cherubusco, brevet lieutenant-colonel; and, after Chapultepec, he received the additional brevet of colonel--distinctions fairly earned by energy and courage. When the war ended, Lee returned to his former duties in the Engineer Corps of the U.S.A., and was placed in charge of the works, then in process of construction, at Fort Carroll, near Baltimore. His assignment to the duty of thus superintending the military defences of Hampton Roads, New York Bay, and the approaches to Baltimore, in succession, would seem to indicate that his abilities as engineer were highly esteemed. Of his possession of such ability there can be no doubt. The young officer was not only thoroughly trained in this high department of military science, but had for his duties unmistakable natural endowments. This fact was clearly indicated on many occasions in the Confederate struggle--his eye for positions never failed him. It is certain that, had Lee never commanded troops in the field, he would have left behind him the reputation of an excellent engineer. In 1855 he was called for the first time to command men, for his duties hitherto had been those of military engineer, astronomer, or staff-officer. The act of Congress directing that two new cavalry regiments should be raised excited an ardent desire in the officers of the army to receive appointments in them, and Lee was transferred from his place of engineer to the post of lieutenant-colonel in the Second Cavalry, one of the regiments in question. The extraordinary number of names of officers in this regiment who afterward became famous is worthy of notice. The colonel was Albert Sydney Johnston; the lieutenant-colonel, R.E. Lee; the senior major, William J. Hardee; the junior major, George H. Thomas; the senior captain, Earl Yan Dorn; the next ranking captain, Kirby Smith; the lieutenants, Hood, Fields, Cosby, Major, Fitzhugh Lee, Johnson, Palmer, and Stoneman, all of whom became general officers afterward on the Southern side, with the exception of Thomas, and the three last named, who became prominent generals in the Federal army. It is rare that such a constellation of famous names is found in the list of officers of a single regiment. The explanation is, nevertheless simple. Positions in the new regiments were eagerly coveted by the best soldiers of the army, and, in appointing the officers, those of conspicuous ability only were selected. The Second Regiment of cavalry thus became the _corps d'élite_ of the United States Army; and, after Albert Sydney Johnston, Robert E. Lee was the ranking officer. Lee proceeded with his regiment to Texas, remaining there for several years on frontier duty, and does not reappear again until 1859. Such was the early career in the army of the soldier soon to become famous on a greater theatre--that of a thoroughly-trained, hard-working, and conscientious officer. With the single exception of his brief record in the Mexican War, his life had been passed in official duties, unconnected with active military operations. He was undoubtedly what is called a "rising man," but he had had no opportunity to display the greatest faculties of the soldier. The time was coming now when he was to be tested, and the measure of his faculties taken in one of the greatest wars which darken the pages of history. A single incident of public importance marks the life of Lee between 1855 and 1861. This was what is known to the world as the "John Brown raid"--an incident of the year 1859, and preluding the approaching storm. This occurrence is too well known to require a minute account in these pages, and we shall accordingly pass over it briefly, indicating simply the part borne in the affair by Lee. He was in Washington at the time--the fall of 1859--on a visit to his family, then residing at Arlington, near the city, when intelligence came that a party of desperadoes had attacked and captured Harper's Ferry, with the avowed intent of arming and inciting to insurrection the slaves of the neighborhood and entire State. Lee was immediately, thereupon, directed by President Buchanan to proceed to the point of danger and arrest the rioters. He did so promptly; found upon his arrival that Brown and his confederates had shut themselves up in an engine-house of the town, with a number of their prisoners. Brown was summoned to surrender, to be delivered over to the authorities for civil trial--he refused; and Lee then proceeded to assault, with a force of marines, the stronghold to which Brown had retreated. The doors were driven in, Brown firing upon the assailants and killing or wounding two; but he and his men were cut down and captured; they were turned over to the Virginia authorities, and Lee, having performed the duty assigned him returned to Washington, and soon afterward to Texas. He remained there, commanding the department, until the early spring of 1861. He was then recalled to Washington at the moment when the conflict between the North and the South was about to commence. VI. LEE AND SCOTT. Lee found the country burning as with fever, and the air hot with contending passions. The animosity, long smouldering between the two sections, was about to burst into the flame of civil war; all men were taking sides; the war of discussion on the floor of Congress was about to yield to the clash of bayonets and the roar of cannon on the battle-field. Any enumeration of the causes which led to this unhappy state of affairs would be worse than useless in a volume like the present. Even less desirable would be a discussion of the respective blame to be attached to each of the great opponents in inaugurating the bitter and long-continued struggle. Such a discussion would lead to nothing, and would probably leave every reader of the same opinion as before. It would also be the repetition of a worn-out and wearisome story. These events are known of all men; for the political history of the United States, from 1820, when the slavery agitation began, on the question of the Missouri restriction, to 1861, when it ended in civil convulsion, has been discussed, rediscussed, and discussed again, in every journal, great and small, in the whole country. The person who is not familiar, therefore, with the main points at issue, must be ignorant beyond the power of any writer to enlighten him. We need only say that the election of Abraham Lincoln, the nominee of the Republican party, had determined the Gulf States to leave the Union. South Carolina accordingly seceded, on the 20th of December, 1860; and by the 1st of February, 1861, she had been followed by Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas. The struggle thus approached. Military movements began at many points, like those distant flashes of lightning and vague mutterings which herald the tempest. Early in February Jefferson Davis, of Mississippi, was elected President of the Confederate States, at Montgomery. On the 13th of April Fort Sumter surrendered to General Beauregard, and on the next day, April 14, 1861, President Lincoln issued his proclamation declaring the Gulf States in rebellion, and calling upon the States which had not seceded for seventy-five thousand men to enforce the Federal authority. Tip to this time the older State of Virginia had persistently resisted secession. Her refusal to array herself against the General Government had been based upon an unconquerable repugnance, it seemed, for the dissolution of that Union which she had so long loved; from real attachment to the flag which she had done so much to make honorable, and from a natural indisposition to rush headlong into a conflict whose whole fury would burst upon and desolate her own soil. The proclamation of President Lincoln, however, decided her course. The convention had obdurately refused, week after week, to pass the ordinance of secession. Now the naked question was, whether Virginia should fight with or against her sisters of the Gulf States. She was directed to furnish her quota of the seventy-five thousand troops called for by President Lincoln, and must decide at once. On the 17th of April, 1861, accordingly, an ordinance of secession passed the Virginia Convention, and that Commonwealth cast her fortunes for weal or woe with the Southern Confederacy. Such is a brief and rapid summary of the important public events which had preceded, or immediately followed, Lee's return to Washington in March, 1861. A grave, and to him a very solemn, question demanded instant decision. Which side should he espouse--the side of the United States or that of the South? To choose either caused him acute pain. The attachment of the soldier to his flag is greater than the civilian can realize, and Lee had before him the brightest military prospects. The brief record which we have presented of his military career in Mexico conveys a very inadequate idea of the position which he had secured in the army. He was regarded by the authorities at Washington, and by the country at large, as the ablest and most promising of all the rising class of army officers. Upon General Winfield Scott, Commander-in-Chief of the Federal Army, he had made an impression which is the most striking proof of his great merit. General Scott was enthusiastic in his expressions of admiration for the young Virginian; and with the death of that general, which his great age rendered a probable event at any moment, Lee was sure to become a candidate for the highest promotion in the service. To this his great ability gave him a title at the earliest possible moment; and other considerations operated to advance his fortunes. He was conceded by all to be a person of the highest moral character; was the descendant of an influential and distinguished family, which had rendered important services to the country in the Revolution; his father had been the friend of Washington, and had achieved the first glories of arms, and the ample estates derived from his wife gave him that worldly prestige which has a direct influence upon the fortunes of an individual. Colonel Lee could thus look forward, without the imputation of presumption, to positions of the highest responsibility and honor under the Government. With the death of Scott, and other aged officers of the army, the place of commander-in-chief would fall to the most deserving of the younger generation; and of this generation there was no one so able and prominent as Lee.[1] [Footnote 1: "General Scott stated his purpose to recommend Lee as his successor in the chief command of the army."--_Hon. Reverdy Johnson_.] The personal relations of Lee with General Scott constituted another powerful temptation to decide him against going over to the Southern side. We have referred to the great admiration which the old soldier felt for the young officer. He is said to have exclaimed on one occasion: "It would be better for every officer in the army, including myself, to die than Robert Lee." There seems no doubt of the fact that Scott looked to Lee as his ultimate successor in the supreme command, for which his character and military ability peculiarly fitted him. Warm personal regard gave additional strength to his feelings in Lee's favor; and the consciousness of this regard on the part of his superior made it still more difficult for Lee to come to a decision. VII. LEE RESIGNS. It is known that General Scott used every argument to persuade Lee not to resign. To retain him in the service, he had been appointed, on his arrival at Washington, a full colonel, and in 1860 his name had been sent in, with others, by Scott, as a proper person to fill the vacancy caused by the death of Brigadier-General Jessup. To these tempting intimations that rapid promotion would attend his adherence to the United States flag, Scott added personal appeals, which, coming from him, must have been almost irresistible. "For God's sake, don't resign, Lee!" the lieutenant-general is said to have exclaimed. And, in the protracted interviews which took place between the two officers, every possible argument was urged by the elder to decide Lee to remain firm. The attempt was in vain. Lee's attachment to the flag he had so long fought under, and his personal affection for General Scott, were great, but his attachment to his native State was still more powerful. By birth a Virginian, he declared that he owed his first duty to her and his own people. If she summoned him, he must obey the summons. As long as she remained in the Union he might remain in the United States Army. When she seceded from the Union, and took part with the Gulf States, he must follow her fortunes, and do his part in defending her. The struggle had been bitter, but brief. "My husband has wept tears of blood," Mrs. Lee wrote to a friend, "over this terrible war; but he must, as a man and a Virginian, share the destiny of his State, which has solemnly pronounced for independence." The secession of Virginia, by a vote of the convention assembled at Richmond, decided Lee in his course. He no longer hesitated. To General Scott's urgent appeals not to send in his resignation, he replied: "I am compelled to. I cannot consult my own feelings in this matter." He accordingly wrote to General Scott from Arlington, on the 20th of April, enclosing his resignation. The letter was in the following words: GENERAL: Since my interview with you, on the 18th instant, I have felt that I ought not longer to retain my commission in the army. I therefore tender my resignation, which I request you will recommend for acceptance. It would have been presented at once but for the struggle it has cost me to separate myself from a service to which I have devoted all the best years of my life, and all the ability I possessed. During the whole of that time--more than a quarter of a century--I have experienced nothing but kindness from my superiors, and the most cordial friendship from my comrades. To no one, general, have I been as much indebted as to yourself for uniform kindness and consideration, and it has always been my ardent desire to merit your approbation. I shall carry to the grave the most grateful recollections of your kind consideration, and your name and fame will always be dear to me. Save in defence of my native State, I never desire again to draw my sword. Be pleased to accept my most earnest wishes for the continuance of your happiness and prosperity, and believe me, most truly yours, R.E. LEE. LIEUTENANT-GENERAL WINFIELD SCOTT, _Commanding United States Army_. In this letter, full of dignity and grave courtesy, Lee vainly attempts to hide the acute pain he felt at parting from his friend and abandoning the old service. Another letter, written on the same day, expresses the same sentiment of painful regret: ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA, _April 20,1861_. MY DEAR SISTER: I am grieved at my inability to see you ... I have been waiting "for a more convenient season," which has brought to many before me deep and lasting regret. Now we are in a state of war which will yield to nothing. The whole South is in a state of revolution, into which Virginia, after a long struggle, has been drawn, and, _though I recognize no necessity for this state of things_, and would have forborne and pleaded to the end for redress of grievances, real or supposed, yet in my own person I had to meet the question, _whether I should take part against my native State_. With all my devotion to the Union, and the feeling of loyalty and duty of an American citizen, I have not been able to make up my mind to raise my hand against my relatives, my children, my home. I have, therefore, resigned my commission in the army, and, save in defence of my native State, with the sincere hope that my poor services may never be needed, I hope I may never be called on to draw my sword. I know you will blame me, but you must think as kindly of me as you can, and believe that I have endeavored to do what I thought right. To show you the feeling and struggle it has cost me, I send a copy of my letter to General Scott, which accompanied my letter of resignation. I have no time for more.... May God guard and protect you and yours, and shower upon you every blessing, is the prayer of your devoted brother, R.E. LEE. The expression used in this letter--"though I recognize no necessity for this state of things"--conveys very clearly the political sentiments of the writer. He did not regard the election of a Republican President, even by a strictly sectional vote, as sufficient ground for a dissolution of the Union. It may be added here, that such, we believe, was the opinion of a large number of Southern officers at that time. Accustomed to look to the flag as that which they were called upon to defend against all comers, they were loath to admit the force of the reasoning which justified secession, and called upon them to abandon it. Their final action seems to have been taken from the same considerations which controlled the course of Lee. Their States called them, and they obeyed. In resigning his commission and going over to the South, Lee sacrificed his private fortunes, in addition to all his hopes of future promotion in the United States Army. His beautiful home, Arlington, situated upon the heights opposite Washington, must be abandoned forever, and fall into the hands of the enemy. This old mansion was a model of peaceful loveliness and attraction. "All around here," says a writer, describing the place, "Arlington Heights presents a lovely picture of rural beauty. The 'General Lee house,' as some term it, stands on a grassy lot, surrounded with a grove of stately trees and underwood, except in front, where is a verdant sloping ground for a few rods, when it descends into a valley, spreading away in beautiful and broad expanse to the lovely Potomac. This part of the splendid estate is apparently a highly-cultivated meadow, the grass waving in the gentle breeze, like the undulating bosom of Old Atlantic. To the south, north, and west, the grounds are beautifully diversified into hill and valley, and richly stored with oak, willow, and maple, though the oak is the principal wood. The view from the height is a charming picture. Washington, Georgetown, and the intermediate Potomac, are all before you in the foreground." In this old mansion crowning the grassy hill, the young officer had passed the happiest moments of his life. All around him were spots associated with his hours of purest enjoyment. Each object in the house--the old furniture and very table-sets--recalled the memory of Washington, and were dear to him. Here were many pieces of the "Martha Washington china," portions of the porcelain set presented to Mrs. Washington by Lafayette and others--in the centre of each piece the monogram "M.W." with golden rays diverging to the names of the old thirteen States. Here were also fifty pieces, remnants of the set of one thousand, procured from China by the Cincinnati Society, and presented to Washington--articles of elaborate decoration in blue and gold, "with the coat-of-arms of the society, held by Fame, with a blue ribbon, from which is suspended the eagle of the order, with a green wreath about its neck, and on its breast a shield representing the inauguration of the order." Add to these the tea-table used by Washington and one of his bookcases; old portraits, antique furniture, and other memorials of the Lee family from Stratford--let the reader imagine the old mansion stored with these priceless relics, and he will understand with what anguish Lee must have contemplated what came duly to pass, the destruction, by rude hands, of objects so dear to him. That he must have foreseen the fate of his home is certain. To take sides with Virginia was to give up Arlington to its fate. There is no proof, however, that this sacrifice of his personal fortunes had any effect upon him. If he could decide to change his flag, and dissolve every tie which bound him to the old service, he could sacrifice all else without much regret. No one will be found to say that the hope of rank or emolument in the South influenced him. The character and whole career of the man contradict the idea. His ground of action may be summed up in a single sentence. He went with his State because he believed it was his duty to do so, and because, to ascertain what was his duty, and perform it, was the cardinal maxim of his life. VIII. HIS RECEPTION AT RICHMOND. No sooner had intelligence of Lee's resignation of his commission in the United States Army reached Richmond, than Governor Letcher appointed him major-general of the military forces of Virginia. The appointment was confirmed by the convention, rather by acclamation than formal vote; and on the 23d of April, Lee, who had meanwhile left Washington and repaired to Richmond, was honored by a formal presentation to the convention. The address of President Janney was eloquent, and deserves to be preserved. Lee stood in the middle aisle, and the president, rising, said: "MAJOR-GENERAL LEE: In the name of the people of our native State, here represented, I bid you a cordial and heart-felt welcome to this hall, in which we may almost yet hear the echoes of the voices of the statesmen, the soldiers, and sages of by-gone days, who have borne your name, and whose blood now flows in your veins. "We met in the month of February last, charged with the solemn duty of protecting the rights, the honor, and the interests of the people of this Commonwealth. We differed for a time as to the best means of accomplishing that object, but there never was, at any moment, a shade of difference among us as to the great object itself; and now, Virginia having taken her position, as far as the power of this convention extends, we stand animated by one impulse, governed by one desire and one determination, and that is, that she shall be defended, and that no spot of her soil shall be polluted by the foot of an invader. "When the necessity became apparent of having a leader for our forces, all hearts and all eyes, by the impulse of an instinct which is a surer guide than reason itself, turned to the old county of Westmoreland. We knew how prolific she had been in other days of heroes and statesmen. We knew she had given birth to the Father of his Country, to Richard Henry Lee, to Monroe, and last, though not least, to your own gallant father, and we knew well, by your deeds, that her productive power was not yet exhausted. "Sir, we watched with the most profound and intense interest the triumphal march of the army led by General Scott, to which you were attached, from Vera Cruz to the capital of Mexico. We read of the sanguinary conflicts and the blood-stained fields, in all of which victory perched upon our own banners. We knew of the unfading lustre that was shed upon the American arms by that campaign, and we know, also, what your modesty has always disclaimed, that no small share of the glory of those achievements was due to your valor and your military genius. "Sir, one of the proudest recollections of my life will be the honor that I yesterday had of submitting to this body confirmation of the nomination, made by the Governor of this State, of you as commander-in-chief of the military and naval forces of this Commonwealth. I rose to put the question, and when I asked if this body would advise and consent to that appointment, there rushed from the hearts to the tongues of all the members an affirmative response, which told with an emphasis that could leave no doubt of the feeling whence it emanated. I put the negative of the question, for form's sake, but there was an unbroken silence. "Sir, we have, by this unanimous vote, expressed our convictions that you are at this day, among the living citizens of Virginia, 'first in war.' We pray to God most fervently that you may so conduct the operations committed to your Charge that it may soon be said of you that you are 'first in peace,' and when that time comes you will have earned the still prouder distinction of being 'first in the hearts of your countrymen.'" The president concluded by saying that Virginia on that day intrusted her spotless sword to Lee's keeping, and Lee responded as follows: "MR. PRESIDENT AND GENTLEMEN OF THE CONVENTION: Profoundly impressed with the solemnity of the occasion, for which I must say I was not prepared, I accept the position assigned me by your partiality. I would have much preferred had your choice fallen upon an abler man. Trusting in Almighty God, an approving conscience, and the aid of my fellow-citizens, I devote myself to the service of my native State, in whose behalf alone will I ever again draw my sword." Such were the modest and dignified expressions of Lee in accepting the great trust. The reply is brief and simple, but these are very great merits on such an occasion. No portion of the address contains a phrase or word denunciatory of the Federal Government, or of the motives of the opponents of Virginia; and this moderation and absence of all rancor characterized the utterances of Lee, both oral and written, throughout the war. He spoke, doubtless, as he felt, and uttered no expression of heated animosity, because he cherished no such sentiment. His heart was bleeding still from the cruel trial it had undergone in abruptly tearing away from the old service to embark upon civil war; with the emotions of the present occasion, excited by the great ovation in his honor, no bitterness mingled--or at least, if there were such bitterness in his heart, he did not permit it to rise to his lips. He accepted the trust confided to him in terms of dignity and moderation, worthy of Washington; exchanged grave salutations with the members of the convention; and then, retiring from the hall where he had solemnly consecrated his life to his native Commonwealth, proceeded at once to energetic work to get the State in a posture of defence. The sentiment of the country in reference to Lee was even warmer than that of the convention. For weeks, reports had been rife that he had determined to adhere to the Federal Government in the approaching struggle. Such an event, it was felt by all, would be a public calamity to Virginia; and the general joy may be imagined when it was known that Lee had resigned and come to fight with his own people. He assumed command, therefore, of all the Virginia forces, in the midst of universal public rejoicing; and the fact gave strength and consistency to the general determination to resist the Federal Government to the last. IX. LEE IN 1861. At this time--April, 1861--General Lee was fifty-four years of age, and may be said to have been in the ripe vigor of every faculty. Physically and intellectually he was "at his best," and in the bloom of manhood. His figure was erect, and he bore himself with the brief, somewhat stiff air of command derived from his military education and service in the army. This air of the professional soldier, which characterized generally the graduates of West Point, was replaced afterward by a grave dignity, the result of high command and great responsibilities. In April, 1861, however, he was rather the ordinary army officer in bearing than the commander-in-chief. He had always been remarkable for his manly beauty, both of face and figure, and the cares of great command had not yet whitened his hair. There was not a gray hair in his head, and his mustache was dark and heavy. The rest of his face was clean-shaven, and his cheeks had that fresh, ruddy hue which indicates high physical health. This was not at that time or afterward the result of high living. Of all the prominent personages of his epoch. Lee was, perhaps, the most temperate. He rarely drank even so much as a single glass of wine, and it was a matter of general notoriety in the army afterward, that he cared not what he ate. The ruddy appearance which characterized him from first to last was the result of the most perfectly-developed physical health, which no species of indulgence had ever impaired. He used no tobacco then or afterward, in any shape--that seductive weed which has been called "the soldier's comfort"--and seemed, indeed, superior to all those small vices which assail men of his profession. Grave, silent, with a military composure of bearing which amounted at times, as we have said, to stiffness, he resembled a machine in the shape of a man. At least this was the impression which he produced upon those who saw him in public at this time. The writer's design, here, is to indicate the personal appearance and bearing of General Lee on the threshold of the war. It may be said, by way of summing up all, that he was a full-blooded "West-Pointer" in appearance; the _militaire_ as distinguished from the civilian; and no doubt impressed those who held official interviews with him as a personage of marked reserve. The truth and frankness of the man under all circumstances, and his great, warm heart, full of honesty and unassuming simplicity, became known only in the progress of the war. How simple and true and honest he was, will appear from a letter to his son, G.W. Custis Lee, written some time before: "You must study," he wrote, "to be frank with the world; frankness is the child of honesty and courage. Say just what you mean to do on every occasion, and take it for granted you mean to do right. If a friend asks a favor, you should grant it, if it is reasonable; if not, tell him plainly why you cannot: you will wrong him and wrong yourself by equivocation of any kind. Never do a wrong thing to make a friend or keep one; the man who requires you to do so, is dearly purchased at a sacrifice. Deal kindly, but firmly, with all your classmates; you will find it the policy which wears best. Above all, do not appear to others what you are not. If you have any fault to find with any one, tell him, not others, of what you complain; there is no more dangerous experiment than that of undertaking to be one thing before a man's face and another behind his back. We should live, act, and say, nothing to the injury of any one. It is not only best as a matter of principle, but it is the path to peace and honor. "In regard to duty, let me, in conclusion of this hasty letter, inform you that, nearly a hundred years ago, there was a day of remarkable gloom and darkness--still known as 'the dark day'--a day when the light of the sun was slowly extinguished, as if by an eclipse. The Legislature of Connecticut was in session, and, as its members saw the unexpected and unaccountable darkness coming on, they shared in the general awe and terror. It was supposed by many that the last day--the day of judgment--had come. Some one, in the consternation of the hour, moved an adjournment. Then there arose an old Puritan legislator, Davenport, of Stamford, and said that, if the last day had come, he desired to be found at his place doing his duty, and, therefore, moved that candles be brought in, so that the House could proceed with its duty. There was quietness in that man's mind, the quietness of heavenly wisdom and inflexible willingness to obey present duty. Duty, then, is the sublimest word in our language. Do your duty in all things, like the old Puritan. You cannot do more, you should never wish to do less. Never let me and your mother wear one gray hair for any lack of duty on your part." The maxims of this letter indicate the noble and conscientious character of the man who wrote it. "Frankness is the child of honesty and courage." "Say just what you mean to do on every occasion." "Never do a wrong thing to make a friend or keep one." "Duty is the sublimest word in our language ... do your duty in all things ... you cannot do more." That he lived up to these great maxims, amid all the troubled scenes and hot passions of a stormy epoch, is Lee's greatest glory. His fame as a soldier, great as it is, yields to the true glory of having placed duty before his eyes always as the supreme object of life. He resigned his commission from a sense of duty to his native State; made this same duty his sole aim in every portion of his subsequent career; and, when all had failed, and the cause he had fought for was overthrown, it was the consciousness of having performed conscientiously, and to his utmost, his whole duty, which took the sting from defeat, and gave him that noble calmness which the whole world saw and admired. "Human virtue should be equal to human calamity," were his august words when all was lost, and men's minds were sinking under the accumulated agony of defeat and despair. Those words could only have been uttered by a man who made duty the paramount object of living--the performance of it, the true glory and crown of virtuous manhood. It may be objected by some critics that he mistook his duty in espousing the Southern cause. Doubtless many persons will urge that objection, and declare that the words here written are senseless panegyric. But that will not affect the truth or detract from Lee's great character. He performed at least what in his inmost soul _he_ considered his duty, and, from the beginning of his career, when all was so bright, to its termination, when all was so dark, it will be found that his controlling sentiment was, first, last, and all the time, this performance of duty. The old Puritan, whose example he admired so much, was not more calm and resolute. When "the last day" of the cause he fought for came--in the spring of 1865--it was plain to all who saw the man, standing unmoved in the midst of the general disaster, that his sole desire was to be "found at his place, and doing his duty." From this species of digression upon the moral constituents of the individual, we pass to the record of that career which made the great fame of the soldier. The war had already begun when Lee took command of the provisional forces of Virginia, and the collisions in various portions of the Gulf States between the Federal and State authorities were followed by overt acts in Virginia, which all felt would be the real battle-ground of the war. The North entered upon the struggle with very great ardor and enthusiasm. The call for volunteers to enforce obedience to the Federal authority was tumultuously responded to throughout the entire North, and troops were hurried forward to Washington, which soon became an enormous camp. The war began in Virginia with the evacuation and attempted destruction of the works at Harper's Ferry, by the Federal officer in command there. This was on the 19th of April, and on the next day reinforcements were thrown into Fortress Monroe; and the navy-yard at Norfolk, with the shipping, set on fire and abandoned. Lee thus found the Commonwealth in a state of war, and all his energies were immediately concentrated upon the work of placing her in a condition of defence. He established his headquarters in the custom-house at Richmond; orderlies were seen coming and going; bustle reigned throughout the building, and by night, as well as by day, General Lee labored incessantly to organize the means of resistance. From the first moment, all had felt that Virginia, from her geographical position, adjoining the Federal frontier and facing the Federal capital, would become the arena of the earliest, longest, and most determined struggle. Her large territory and moral influence, as the oldest of the Southern States, also made her the chief object of the Federal hostility. It was felt that if Virginia were occupied, and her people reduced under the Federal authority again, the Southern cause would be deprived of a large amount of its prestige and strength. The authorities of the Gulf States accordingly hurried forward to Richmond all available troops; and from all parts of Virginia the volunteer regiments, which had sprung up like magic, were in like manner forwarded by railway to the capital. Every train brought additions to this great mass of raw war material; large camps rose around Richmond, chief among which was that named "Camp Lee;" and the work of drilling and moulding this crude material for the great work before it was ardently proceeded with under the supervision of Lee. An Executive Board, or Military Council, had been formed, consisting of Governor Letcher and other prominent officials; but these gentlemen had the good sense to intrust the main work of organizing an army to Lee. As yet the great question at Richmond was to place Virginia in a state of defence--to prepare that Commonwealth for the hour of trial, by enrolling her own people. It will be remembered that Lee held no commission from the Confederate States; he was major-general of the Provisional Army of Virginia, and to place this Provisional Army in a condition to take the field was the first duty before him. It was difficult, not from want of ardor in the population, but from the want of the commonest material necessary in time of war. There were few arms, and but small supplies of ammunition. While the Federal Government entered upon the war with the amplest resources, the South found herself almost entirely destitute of the munitions essential to her protection. All was to be organized and put at once into operation--the quartermaster, commissary, ordnance, and other departments. Transportation, supplies of rations, arms, ammunition, all were to be collected immediately. The material existed, or could be supplied, as the sequel clearly showed; but as yet there was almost nothing. And it was chiefly to the work of organizing these departments, first of all, that General Lee and the Military Council addressed themselves with the utmost energy. The result was, that the State found herself very soon in a condition to offer a determined resistance. The troops at the various camps of instruction were successively sent to the field; others took their places, and the work of drilling the raw material into soldiers went on; supplies were collected, transportation found, workshops for the construction of arms and ammunition sprung up; small-arms, cannon, cartridges, fixed and other ammunition, were produced in quantities; and, in a time which now seems wholly inadequate for such a result, the Commonwealth of Virginia was ready to take the field against the Federal Government. X. THE WAR BEGINS. Early in May, Virginia became formally a member of the Southern Confederacy, and the troops which she had raised a portion of the Confederate States Army. When Richmond became the capital soon afterward, and the Southern Congress assembled, five brigadier-generals were appointed, Generals Cooper, Albert S. Johnston, Lee, J.E. Johnston, and Beauregard. Large forces had been meanwhile raised throughout the South; Virginia became the centre of all eyes, as the scene of the main struggle; and early in June occurred at Bethel, in Lower Virginia, the first prominent affair, in which General Butler, with about four thousand men, was repulsed and forced to retire. The affair at Bethel, which was of small importance, was followed by movements in Northern and Western Virginia--the battles at Rich Mountain and Carrick's Ford; Johnston's movements in the Valley; and the advance of the main Federal army on the force under Beauregard, which resulted in the first battle of Manassas. In these events, General Lee bore no part, and we need not speak of them further than to present a summary of the results. The Federal design had been to penetrate Virginia in three columns. One was to advance from the northwest under General McClellan; a second, under General Patterson, was to take possession of the Valley; and a third, under General McDowell, was to drive Beauregard back from Manassas on Richmond. Only one of these columns--that of McClellan--succeeded in its undertaking. Johnston held Patterson in check in the Valley until the advance upon Manassas; then by a flank march the Confederate general hastened to the assistance of Beauregard. The battle of Manassas followed on Sunday, the 21st of July. After an unsuccessful attempt to force the Confederate right, General McDowell assailed their left, making for that purpose a long _détour_--and at first carried all before him. Reënforcements were hurried forward, however, and the Confederates fought with the energy of men defending their own soil. The obstinate stand made by Evans, Bee, Bartow, Jackson, and their brave associates, turned the fortunes of the day, and, when reënforcements subsequently reached the field under General Kirby Smith and General Early, the Federal troops retreated in great disorder toward Washington. XI. LEE'S ADVANCE INTO WESTERN VIRGINIA. General Lee nowhere appears, as we have seen, in these first great movements and conflicts. He was without any specific command, and remained at Richmond, engaged in placing that city in a state of defence. The works which he constructed proved subsequently of great importance to the city, and a Northern officer writes of Lee: "While the fortifications of Richmond stand, his name will evoke admiration; the art of war is unacquainted with any defence so admirable." Lee's first appearance in the war, as commander of troops in the field, took place in the fall of 1861, when he was sent to operate against the forces under General Rosecrans in the fastnesses of Western Virginia. This indecisive and unimportant movement has been the subject of various comment; the official reports were burned in the conflagration at Richmond, or captured, and the elaborate plans drawn up by Lee of his intended movement against General Reynolds, at Cheat Mountain, have in the same manner disappeared. Under these circumstances, and as the present writer had no personal knowledge of the subject, it seems best to simply quote the brief statement which follows. It is derived from an officer of high rank and character, whose statement is only second in value to that of General Lee himself: "After General Garnett's death, General Lee was sent by the President to ascertain what could be done in the trans-Alleghany region, and to endeavor to harmonize our movements, etc., in that part of the State. He was not ordered to take command of the troops, nor did he do so, during the whole time he was there. "Soon after his arrival he came to the decided conclusion that _that_ was not the line from which to make an offensive movement. The country, although not hostile, was not friendly; supplies could not be obtained; the enemy had possession of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, from which, and the Ohio River as a base, he could operate with great advantage against us, and our only chance was to drive him from the railroad, take possession, and use it ourselves. We had not the means of doing this, and consequently could only try to hold as much country as possible, and occupy as large a force of the enemy as could be kept in front of us. The movement against Cheat Mountain, which failed, was undertaken with a view of causing the enemy to contract his lines, and enable us to unite the troops under Generals Jackson (of Georgia) and Loring. After the failure of this movement on our part, General Rosecrans, feeling secure, strengthened his lines in that part of the country, and went with a part of his forces to the Kanawha, driving our forces across the Gauley. General Lee then went to that line of operations, to endeavor to unite the troops under Generals Floyd and Wise, and stop the movements under Rosecrans. General Loring, with a part of his force from Valley Mountain, joined the forces at Sewell Mountain. Rosecrans's movement was stopped, and, the season for operations in that country being over, General Lee was ordered to Richmond, and soon afterward sent to South Carolina, to meet the movement of the enemy from Port Royal, etc. He remained in South Carolina until shortly before the commencement of the campaign before Richmond, in 1862." The months spent by General Lee in superintending the coast defences of South Carolina and Georgia, present nothing of interest, and we shall therefore pass to the spring of 1862, when he returned to Richmond. His services as engineer had been highly appreciated by the people of the South, and a writer of the period said: "The time will yet come when his superior abilities will be vindicated, both to his own renown and the glory of his country." The time was now at hand when these abilities, if the individual possessed them, were to have an opportunity to display themselves. XII. LEE'S LAST INTERVIEW WITH BISHOP MEADE. A touching incident of Lee's life belongs to this time--the early spring of 1862. Bishop Meade, the venerable head of the Episcopal Church in Virginia, lay at the point of death, in the city of Richmond. When General Lee was informed of the fact, he exhibited lively emotion, for the good bishop, as we have said in the commencement of this narrative, had taught him his catechism when he was a boy in Alexandria. On the day before the bishop's death. General Lee called in the morning to see him, but such was the state of prostration under which the sick man labored, that only a few of his most intimate friends were permitted to have access to his chamber. In the evening General Lee called again, and his name was announced to Bishop Meade. As soon as he heard it, he said faintly, for his breathing had become much oppressed, and he spoke with great difficulty: "I must see him, if only for a few moments." General Lee was accordingly introduced, and approached the dying man, with evidences of great emotion in his countenance. Taking the thin hand in his own, he said: "How do you feel, bishop?" "Almost gone," replied Bishop Meade, in a voice so weak that it was almost inaudible; "but I wanted to see you once more." He paused for an instant, breathing heavily, and looking at Lee with deep feeling. "God bless you! God bless you, Robert!" he faltered out, "and fit you for your high and responsible duties. I can't call you 'general'--I must call you 'Robert;' I have heard you your catechism too often." General Lee pressed the feeble hand, and tears rolled down his cheeks. "Yes, bishop--very often," he said, in reply to the last words uttered by the bishop. A brief conversation followed, Bishop Meade making inquiries in reference to Mrs. Lee, who was his own relative, and other members of the family. "He also," says the highly-respectable clergyman who furnishes these particulars, "put some pertinent questions to General Lee about the state of public affairs and of the army, showing the most lively interest in the success of our cause." It now became necessary to terminate an interview which, in the feeble condition of the aged man, could not be prolonged. Much exhausted, and laboring under deep emotion, Bishop Meade shook the general by the hand, and said: "Heaven bless you! Heaven bless you! and give you wisdom for your important and arduous duties!" These were the last words uttered during the interview. General Lee pressed the dying man's hand, released it, stood for several minutes by the bedside motionless and in perfect silence, and then went out of the room. On the next morning Bishop Meade expired. [Illustration: Environs of Richmond.] PART II. _IN FRONT OF RICHMOND_. I. PLAN OF THE FEDERAL CAMPAIGN. The pathetic interview which we have just described took place in the month of March, 1862. By the latter part of that month, General McClellan, in command of an army of more than one hundred thousand men, landed on the Peninsula between the James and York Rivers, and after stubbornly-contested engagements with the forces of General Johnston, advanced up the Peninsula--the Confederates slowly retiring. In the latter part of May, a portion of the Federal forces had crossed the Chickahominy, and confronted General Johnston defending Richmond. Such was the serious condition of affairs in the spring of 1862. The Federal sword had nearly pierced the heart of Virginia, and, as the course of events was about to place Lee in charge of her destinies, a brief notice is indispensable of the designs of the adversaries against whom he was to contend on the great arena of the State. While the South had been lulled to sleep, as it were, by the battle of Manassas, the North, greatly enraged at the disaster, had prepared to prosecute the war still more vigorously. The military resources of the South had been plainly underestimated. It was now obvious that the North had to fight with a dangerous adversary, and that the people of the South were entirely in earnest. Many journals of the North had ridiculed the idea of war; and one of them had spoken of the great uprising of the Southern States from the Potomac to the Gulf of Mexico as a mere "local commotion" which a force of fifty thousand men would be able to put down without difficulty. A column of twenty-five thousand men, it was said, would be sufficient to carry all before it in Virginia, and capture Richmond, and the comment on this statement had been the battle of Manassas, where a force of more than fifty thousand had been defeated and driven back to Washington. It was thus apparent that the war was to be a serious struggle, in which the North would be compelled to exert all her energies. The people responded to the call upon them with enthusiasm. All the roving and adventurous elements of Northern society flocked to the Federal standard, and in a short time a large force had once more assembled at Washington. The work now was to drill, equip, and put it in efficient condition for taking the field. This was undertaken with great energy, the Congress coöperating with the Executive in every manner. The city of Washington resounded with the wheels of artillery and the tramp of cavalry; the workshops were busy night and day to supply arms and ammunition; and the best officers devoted themselves, without rest, to the work of drilling and disciplining the mass. By the spring of 1862 a force of about two hundred thousand men was ready to take the field in Virginia. General Scott was not to command in the coming campaigns. He had retired in the latter part of the year 1861, and his place had been filled by a young officer of rising reputation--General George B. McClellan, who had achieved the successes of Rich Mountain and Carrick's Ford in Western Virginia. General McClellan was not yet forty, but had impressed the authorities with a high opinion of his abilities. A soldier by profession, and enjoying the distinction of having served with great credit in the Mexican War, he had been sent as United States military commissioner to the Crimea, and on his return had written a book of marked ability on the military organizations of the powers of Europe. When the struggle between the North and South approached, he was said--with what truth we know not--to have hesitated, before determining upon his course; but it is probable that the only question with him was whether he should fight for the North or remain neutral. In his politics he was a Democrat, and the war on the South is said to have shocked his State-rights view. But, whatever his sentiments had been, he accepted command, and fought a successful campaign in Western Virginia. From that moment his name became famous; he was said to have achieved "two victories in one day," and he received from the newspapers the flattering name of "the Young Napoleon." The result of this successful campaign, slight in importance as it was, procured for General McClellan the high post of commander-in-chief of the armies of the United States. Operations in every portion of the South were to be directed by him; and he was especially intrusted with the important work of organizing the new levies at Washington. This he performed with very great ability. Under his vigorous hand, the raw material soon took shape. He gave his personal attention to every department; and the result, as we have said, in the early spring of 1862, was an army of more than two hundred thousand men, for operations in Virginia alone. The great point now to be determined was the best line of operations against Richmond. President Lincoln was strongly in favor of an advance by way of Manassas and the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, which he thought would insure the safety of the Federal capital. This was always, throughout the whole war, a controlling consideration with him; and, regarded in the light of subsequent events, this solicitude seems to have been well founded. More than once afterward, General Lee--to use his own expression--thought of "swapping queens," that is to say, advancing upon Washington, without regard to the capture of Richmond; and President Lincoln, with that excellent good sense which he generally exhibited, felt that the loss of Washington would prove almost fatal to the Federal cause.--Such was the origin of the President's preference for the Manassas line. General McClellan did not share it. He assented it seems at first, but soon resolved to adopt another plan--an advance either from Urbanna on the Rappahannock, or from West Point on the York. Against his views and determination, the President and authorities struggled in vain. McClellan treated their arguments and appeals with a want of ceremony amounting at times nearly to contempt; he adhered to his own plan resolutely, and in the end the President gave way. In rueful protest against the continued inactivity of General McClellan, President Lincoln had exclaimed, "If General McClellan does not want to use the army, I would like to borrow it;" and "if something is not soon done, the bottom will be out of the whole affair." At last General McClellan carried his point, and an advance against Richmond from the Peninsula was decided upon. In order to assist this movement, General Fremont was to march through Northwestern Virginia, and General Banks up the Valley; and, having thus arranged their programme, the Federal authorities began to move forward to the great work. To transport an army of more than one hundred thousand men by water to the Peninsula was a heavy undertaking; but the ample resources of the Government enabled them to do so without difficulty. General McClellan, who had now been removed from his post of commander-in-chief of the armies of the United States, and assigned to the command only of the army to operate against Richmond, landed his forces on the Peninsula, and, after several actions of an obstinate description, advanced toward the Chickahominy, General Johnston, the Confederate commander, deliberately retiring. Johnston took up a position behind this stream, and, toward the end of May, McClellan crossed a portion of his forces and confronted him. II. JOHNSTON IS WOUNDED. The army thus threatening the city which had become the capital of the Confederacy was large and excellently equipped. It numbered in all, according to General McClellan's report, one hundred and fifty-six thousand eight hundred and thirty-eight men, of whom one hundred and fifteen thousand one hundred and two were effective troops--that is to say, present and ready for duty as fighting-men in the field. Results of such magnitude' were expected from this great army, that all the resources of the Federal Government had been taxed to bring it to the highest possible state of efficiency. The artillery was numerous, and of the most approved description; small-arms of the best patterns and workmanship were profusely supplied; the ammunition was of the finest quality, and almost inexhaustible in quantity; and the rations for the subsistence of the troops, which were equally excellent and abundant, were brought up in an unfailing stream from the White House, in General McClellan's rear, over the York River Railroad, which ran straight to his army. Such was the admirable condition of the large force under command of General McClellan. It would be difficult to imagine an army better prepared for active operations; and the position which it held had been well selected. The left of the army was protected by the wellnigh impassable morass of the White-oak Swamp, and all the approaches from the direction of Richmond were obstructed by the natural difficulties of the ground, which had been rendered still more forbidding by an abattis of felled trees and earthworks of the best description. Unless the right of McClellan, on the northern bank of the Chickahominy, were turned by the Confederates, his communications with his base at the White House and the safety of his army were assured. And even the apparently improbable contingency of such an assault on his right had been provided for. Other bodies of Federal troops had advanced into Virginia to coöperate with the main force on the Peninsula. General McDowell, the able soldier who had nearly defeated the Confederates at Manassas, was at Fredericksburg with a force of about forty thousand men, which were to advance southward without loss of time and unite with General McClellan's right. This would completely insure the communications of his army from interruption; and it was no doubt expected that Generals Fremont and Banks would coöperate in the movement also. Fremont was to advance from Northwestern Virginia, driving before him the small Confederate force, under Jackson, in the Valley; and General Banks, then at Winchester, was to cross the Blue Ridge Mountains, and, posting his forces along the Manassas Railroad, guard the approaches to Washington when McDowell advanced from Fredericksburg to the aid of General McClellan. Thus Richmond would be half encircled by Federal armies. General McClellan, if permitted by the Confederates to carry out his plan of operations, would soon be in command of about two hundred thousand men, and with this force it was anticipated he would certainly be able to capture Richmond. Such was the Federal programme of the war in Virginia. It promised great results, and ought, it would seem, to have succeeded. The Confederate forces in Virginia did not number in all one hundred thousand men; and it is now apparent that, without the able strategy of Johnston, Lee, and Jackson, General McClellan would have been in possession of Richmond before the summer. Prompt action was thus necessary on the part of the sagacious soldier commanding the army at Richmond, and directing operations throughout the theatre of action in Virginia. The officer in question was General Joseph E. Johnston, a Virginian by birth, who had first held General Patterson in check in the Shenandoah Valley, and then hastened to the assistance of General Beauregard at Manassas, where, in right of his superior rank, he took command. Before the enemy's design to advance up the Peninsula had been developed, Johnston had made a masterly retreat from Manassas. Reappearing with his force of about forty thousand men on the Peninsula, he had obstinately opposed McClellan, and only retired when he was compelled by numbers to do so, with the resolution, however, of fighting a decisive battle on the Chickahominy. In face, figure, and character, General Johnston was thoroughly the soldier. Above the medium height, with an erect figure, in a close-fitting uniform buttoned to the chin; with a ruddy face, decorated with close-cut gray side-whiskers, mustache, and tuft on the chin; reserved in manner, brief of speech, without impulses of any description, it seemed, General Johnston's appearance and bearing were military to stiffness; and he was popularly compared to "a gamecock," ready for battle at any moment. As a soldier, his reputation was deservedly high; to unshrinking personal courage he added a far-reaching capacity for the conduct of great operations. Throughout his career he enjoyed a profound public appreciation of his abilities as a commander, and was universally respected as a gentleman and a patriot. General Johnston, surveying the whole field in Virginia, and penetrating, it would seem, the designs of the enemy, had hastened to direct General Jackson, commanding in the Valley, to begin offensive operations, and, by threatening the Federal force there--with Washington in perspective--relieve the heavy pressure upon the main arena. Jackson carried out these instructions with the vigor which marked all his operations. In March he advanced down the Valley in the direction of Winchester, and, coming upon a considerable force of the enemy at Kernstown, made a vigorous assault upon them; a heavy engagement ensued, and, though Jackson was defeated and compelled to retreat, a very large Federal force was retained in the Valley to protect that important region. A more decisive diversion soon followed. Jackson advanced in May upon General Banks, then at Strasburg, drove him from that point to and across the Potomac; and such was the apprehension felt at Washington, that President Lincoln ordered General McDowell, then at Fredericksburg with about forty thousand men, to send twenty thousand across the mountains to Strasburg in order to pursue or cut off Jackson. Thus the whole Federal programme in Virginia was thrown into confusion. General Banks, after the fight at Kernstown, was kept in the Valley. After Jackson's second attack upon him, when General Banks was driven across the Potomac and Washington threatened, General McDowell was directed to send half his army to operate against Jackson. Thus General McClellan, waiting at Richmond for McDowell to join him, did not move; with a portion of his army on one side of the stream, and the remainder on the other side, he remained inactive, hesitating and unwilling, as any good soldier would have been, to commence the decisive assault. His indecision was brought to an end by General Johnston. Discovering that the force in his front, near "Seven Pines," on the southern bank of the Chickahominy, was only a portion of the Federal army, General Johnston determined to attack it. This resolution was not in consequence of the freshet in the Chickahominy, as has been supposed, prompting Johnston to attack while the Federal army was cut in two, as it were. His resolution, he states, had already been taken, and was, with or without reference to the rains, that of a good soldier. General Johnston struck at General McClellan on the last day of May, just at the moment, it appears, when the Federal commander designed commencing his last advance upon the city. The battle which took place was one of the most desperate and bloody of the war. Both sides fought with obstinate courage, and neither gained a decisive advantage. On the Confederate right, near "Seven Pines," the Federal line was broken and forced back; but, on the left, at Fair Oaks Station, the Confederates, in turn, were repulsed. Night fell upon a field where neither side could claim the victory. The most that could be claimed by the Southerners was that McClellan had received a severe check; and they sustained a great misfortune in the wound received by General Johnston. He was struck by a fragment of shell while superintending the attack at Fair Oaks, and the nature of his wound rendered it impossible for him to retain command of the army. He therefore retired from the command, and repaired to Richmond, where he remained for a long time an invalid, wholly unable to continue in service in the field. This untoward event rendered it necessary to find a new commander for the army without loss of time. General Lee had returned some time before from the South, and to him all eyes were turned. He had had no opportunity to display his abilities upon a conspicuous theatre--the sole command he had been intrusted with, that in trans-Alleghany Virginia, could scarcely be called a real command--and he owed his elevation now to the place vacated by General Johnston, rather to his services performed in the old army of the United States, than to any thing he had effected in the war of the Confederacy. The confidence of the Virginia people in his great abilities had never wavered, and there is no reason to suppose that the Confederate authorities were backward in conceding his merits as a soldier. Whatever may have been the considerations leading to his appointment, he was assigned on the 3d day of June to the command of the army, and thus the Virginians assembled to defend the capital of their State found themselves under the command of the most illustrious of their own countrymen. III. LEE ASSIGNED TO THE COMMAND--HIS FAMILY AT THE WHITE HOUSE. Lee had up to this time effected, as we have shown, almost nothing in the progress of the war. Intrusted with no command, and employed only in organizing the forces, or superintending the construction of defences, he had failed to achieve any of those successes in the field which constitute the glory of the soldier. He might possess the great abilities which his friends and admirers claimed for him, but he was yet to show the world at large that he did really possess them. The decisive moment had now arrived which was to test him. He was placed in command of the largest and most important army in the Confederacy, and to him was intrusted the defence of the capital not only of Virginia, but of the South. If Richmond were to fall, the Confederate Congress, executive, and heads of departments, would all be fugitives. The evacuation of Virginia might or might not follow, but, in the very commencement of the conflict, the enemy would achieve an immense advantage. Recognition by the European powers would be hopeless in such an event, and the wandering and fugitive government of the Confederacy would excite only contempt. Such were the circumstances under which General Lee assumed command of the "Army of Northern Virginia," as it was soon afterward styled. The date of his assignment to duty was June 3, 1862--three days after General Johnston had retired in consequence of his wound. Thirty days afterward the great campaign around Richmond had been decided, and to the narrative of what followed the appointment of Lee we shall at once proceed, after giving a few words to another subject connected with his family. When General Lee left "Washington to repair to Richmond," he removed the ladies of his family from Arlington to the "White House" on the Pamunkey, near the spot where that river unites with the Mattapony to form the York River. This estate, like the Arlington property, had come into possession of General Lee through his wife, and as Arlington was exposed to the enemy, the ladies had taken refuge here, with the hope that they would be safe from intrusion or danger. The result was unfortunate. The White House was a favorable "base" for the Federal army, and intelligence one day reached Mrs. Lee and her family that the enemy were approaching. The ladies therefore hastened from the place to a point of greater safety, and before her departure Mrs. Lee is said to have affixed to the door a paper containing the following words: "Northern soldiers who profess to reverence Washington, forbear to desecrate the home of his first married life, the property of his wife, now owned by her descendants. "A GRAND-DAUGHTER OF MRS. WASHINGTON." When the Federal forces took possession of the place, a Northern officer, it is said, wrote beneath this: "A Northern officer has protected your property, in sight of the enemy, and at the request of your overseer." The resolute spirit of Mrs. Lee is indicated by an incident which followed. She took refuge with her daughters in a friend's house near Richmond, and, when a Federal officer was sent to search the house, handed to him a paper addressed to "the general in command," in which she wrote: "Sir: I have patiently and humbly submitted to the search of my house, by men under your command, who are satisfied that there is nothing here which they want. All the plate and other valuables have long since been removed to Richmond, and are now beyond the reach of any Northern marauders who may wish for their possession. "WIFE OF ROBERT LEE, GENERAL C.S.A." The ladies finally repaired for safety to the city of Richmond, and the White House was burned either before or when General McClellan retreated. The place was not without historic interest, as the scene of Washington's first interview with Martha Custis, who afterward became his wife. He was married either at St. Peter's Church near by, or in the house which originally stood on the site of the one now destroyed by the Federal forces. Its historic associations thus failed to protect the White House, and, like Arlington, it fell a sacrifice to the pitiless hand of war. From this species of digression we come back to the narrative of public events, and the history of the great series of battles which were to make the banks of the Chickahominy historic ground. On taking command, Lee had assiduously addressed himself to the task of increasing the efficiency of the army: riding incessantly to and fro, he had inspected with his own eyes the condition of the troops; officers of the commissary, quartermaster, and ordnance departments were held to a strict accountability; and, in a short time, the army was in a high state of efficiency. "What was the amount of the Confederate force under command of Lee?" it may be asked. The present writer is unable to state this number with any thing like exactness. The official record, if in existence, is not accessible, and the matter must be left to conjecture. It is tolerably certain, however, that, even after the arrival of Jackson, the army numbered less than seventy-five thousand. Officers of high rank and character state the whole force to have been sixty or seventy thousand only. It will thus be seen that the Federal army was larger than the Confederate; but this was comparatively an unimportant fact. The event was decided rather by generalship than the numbers of the combatants. IV LEE RESOLVES TO ATTACK. General Lee assumed command of the army on the 3d of June. A week afterward, Jackson finished the great campaign of the Valley, by defeating Generals Fremont and Shields at Port Republic. Such had been the important services performed by the famous "Stonewall Jackson," who was to become the "right arm" of Lee in the greater campaigns of the future. Retreating, after the defeat of General Banks, and passing through Strasburg, just as Fremont from the west, and the twenty thousand men of General McDowell from the east, rushed to intercept him, Jackson had sullenly fallen back up the Valley, with all his captured stores and prisoners, and at Cross Keys and Port Republic had achieved a complete victory over his two adversaries. Fremont was checked by Ewell, who then hastened across to take part in the attack on Shields. The result was a Federal defeat and retreat down the Valley. Jackson was free to move in any direction; and his army could unite with that at Richmond for a decisive attack upon General McClellan. The attack in question had speedily been resolved on by Lee. Any further advance of the Federal army would bring it up to the very earthworks in the suburbs of the city; and, unless the Confederate authorities proposed to undergo a siege, it was necessary to check the further advance of the enemy by a general attack. How to attack to the best advantage was now the question. The position of General McClellan's army has been briefly stated. Advancing up the Peninsula, he had reached and passed the Chickahominy, and was in sight of Richmond. To this stream, the natural line of defence of the city on the north and east, numerous roads diverged from the capital, including the York River Railroad, of which the Federal commander made such excellent use; and General McClellan had thrown his left wing across the stream, advancing to a point on the railroad four or five miles from the city. Here he had erected heavy defences to protect that wing until the right wing crossed in turn. The tangled thickets of the White-oak Swamp, on his left flank, were a natural defence; but he had added to these obstacles, as we have stated, by felling trees, and guarding every approach by redoubts. In these, heavy artillery kept watch against an approaching enemy; and any attempt to attack from that quarter seemed certain to result in repulse. In front, toward Seven Pines, the chance of success was equally doubtful. The excellent works of the Federal commander bristled with artillery, and were heavily manned. It seemed thus absolutely necessary to discover some other point of assault; and, as the Federal right beyond the Chickahominy was the only point left, it was determined to attack, if possible, in that quarter. An important question was first, however, to be decided, the character of the defences, if any, on General McClellan's right, in the direction of Old Church and Cold Harbor. A reconnoissance in force was necessary to acquire this information, and General Lee accordingly directed General Stuart, commanding the cavalry of the army, to proceed with a portion of his command to the vicinity of Old Church, in the Federal rear, and gain all the information possible of their position and defences. V. STUART'S "RIDE AROUND McCLELLAN." General James E.B. Stuart, who now made his first prominent appearance upon the theatre of the war, was a Virginian by birth, and not yet thirty years of age. Resigning his commission of lieutenant in the United States Cavalry at the beginning of the war, he had joined Johnston in the Valley, and impressed that officer with a high opinion of his abilities as a cavalry officer; proceeded thence to Manassas, where he charged and broke a company of "Zouave" infantry; protected the rear of the army when Johnston retired to the Rappahannock, and bore an active part in the conflict on the Peninsula. In person he was of medium height; his frame was broad and powerful; he wore a heavy brown beard flowing upon his breast, a huge mustache of the same color, the ends curling upward; and the blue eyes, flashing beneath a "piled-up" forehead, had at times the dazzling brilliancy attributed to the eyes of the eagle. Fond of movement, adventure, bright colors, and all the pomp and pageantry of war, Stuart had entered on the struggle with ardor, and enjoyed it as the huntsman enjoys the chase. Young, ardent, ambitious, as brave as steel, ready with jest or laughter, with his banjo-player following him, going into the hottest battles humming a song, this young Virginian was, in truth, an original character, and impressed powerfully all who approached him. One who knew him well wrote: "Every thing striking, brilliant, and picturesque, seemed to centre in him. The war seemed to be to Stuart a splendid and exciting game, in which his blood coursed joyously, and his immensely strong physical organization found an arena for the display of all its faculties. The affluent life of the man craved those perils and hardships which flush the pulses and make the heart beat fast. He swung himself into the saddle at the sound of the bugle as the hunter springs on horseback; and at such moments his cheeks glowed and his huge mustache curled with enjoyment. The romance and poetry of the hard trade of arms seemed first to be inaugurated when this joyous cavalier, with his floating plume and splendid laughter, appeared upon the great arena of the war in Virginia." Precise people shook their heads, and called him frivolous, undervaluing his great ability. Those best capable of judging him were of a different opinion. Johnston wrote to him from the west: "How can I eat or sleep in peace without _you_ upon the outpost?" Jackson said, when he fell at Chancellorsville: "Go back to General Stuart, and tell him to act upon his own judgment, and do what he thinks best, I have implicit confidence in him." Lee said, when he was killed at Yellow Tavern: "I can scarcely think of him without weeping." And the brave General Sedgwick, of the United States Army, said: "Stuart is the best cavalry officer ever _foaled_ in North America!" In the summer of 1862, when we present him to the reader, Stuart had as yet achieved little fame in his profession, but he was burning to distinguish himself. He responded ardently, therefore, to the order of Lee, and was soon ready with a picked force of about fifteen hundred cavalry, under some of his best officers. Among them were Colonels William H.F. Lee and Fitz-Hugh Lee--the first a son of General Lee, a graduate of West Point, and an officer of distinction afterward; the second, a son of Smith Lee, brother of the general, and famous subsequently in the most brilliant scenes of the war as the gay and gallant "General Fitz Lee," of the cavalry. With his picked force, officered by the two Lees, and other excellent lieutenants, Stuart set out on his adventurous expedition to Old Church. He effected more than he anticipated, and performed a daring feat of arms in addition. Driving the outposts from Hanover Court-House, he charged and broke a force of Federal cavalry near Old Church; pushed on to the York River Railroad, which he crossed, burning or capturing all Federal stores met with, including enormous wagon-camps; and then, finding the way back barred against him, and the Federal army on the alert, he continued his march with rapidity, passed entirely around General McClellan's army, and, building a bridge over the Chickahominy, safely reëntered the Confederate lines just as a large force made its appearance in his rear. The temporary bridge was destroyed, however, and Stuart hastened to report to his superiors. His information was important. General McClellan's right and rear were unprotected by works of any strength. If the Confederate general desired to attack in that quarter, there was nothing to prevent. The results of Stuart's famous "ride around McClellan," as the people called it, determined General Lee to make the attack on the north bank of the stream, if he had not already so decided. It was necessary now to bring Jackson's forces from the Valley without delay, and almost equally important to mask the movement from General McClellan. To this end a very simple _ruse_ was adopted. On the 11th of June, Whiting's division was embarked on the cars of the Danville Railroad at Richmond, and moved across the river to a point near Belle Isle, where at that moment a considerable number of Federal prisoners were about to be released and sent down James River. Here the train, loaded with Confederate troops, remained for some time, and _the secret_ was discovered by the released prisoners. General Lee was reënforcing Jackson, in order that the latter might march on Washington. Such was the report carried to General McClellan, and it seems to have really deceived him. [Footnote: "I have no doubt Jackson has been reënforced from here."--_General McClellan to President Lincoln, June 20th_.] Whiting's division reached Lynchburg, and was thence moved by railway to Charlottesville--Jackson marched and countermarched with an elaborate pretence of advancing down the Valley--at last, one morning, the astute Confederate, who kept his own counsels, had disappeared; he was marching rapidly to join Lee on the Chickahominy. Not even his own soldiers knew what direction they were taking. They were forbidden by general order to inquire even the names of the towns they passed through; directed to reply "I don't know" to every question; and it is said that when Jackson demanded the name and regiment of a soldier robbing a cherry-tree, he could extract from the man no reply but "I don't know." Jackson advanced with rapidity, and, on the 25th of June, was near Ashland. Here he left his forces, and rode on rapidly to Richmond. Passing unrecognized through the streets, after night, he went on to General Lee's headquarters, at a house on the "Nine-mile road," leading from the New Bridge road toward Fair Oaks Station; and here took place the first interview, since the commencement of the war, between Lee and Jackson. What each thought of the other will be shown in the course of this narrative. We shall proceed now with the history of the great series of battles for which Jackson's appearance was the signal. PART III. _ON THE CHICKAHOMINY_. I. THE TWO ARMIES. The Chickahominy, whose banks were now to be the scene of a bitter and determined conflict between the great adversaries, is a sluggish and winding stream, which, rising above Richmond, describes a curve around it, and empties its waters into the James, far below the city. Its banks are swampy, and thickly clothed with forest or underwood. From the nature of these banks, which scarcely rise in many places above the level of the water, the least freshet produces an overflow, and the stream, generally narrow and insignificant, becomes a sort of lake, covering the low grounds to the bases of the wooded bluffs extending upon each side. Numerous bridges cross the stream, from Bottom's Bridge, below the York River Railroad, to Meadow Bridge, north of the city. Of these, the Mechanicsville Bridge, about four miles from the city, and the New Bridge, about nine miles, were points of the greatest importance. General McClellan's position has been repeatedly referred to. He had crossed a portion of his army east of Richmond, and advanced to within four or five miles of the city. The remainder, meanwhile, lay on the north bank of the stream, and swept round, in a sort of crescent, to the vicinity of Mechanicsville, where it had been anticipated General McDowell would unite with it, thereby covering its right flank, and protecting the communications with the Federal base at the White House. That this disposition of the Federal troops was faulty, in face of adversaries like Johnston and Lee, there could be no doubt. But General McClellan was the victim, it seems, of the shifting and vacillating policy of the authorities at Washington. With the arrival of the forty thousand men under McDowell, his position would have been a safe one. General McDowell did not arrive; and this unprotected right flank--left unprotected from the fact that McDowell's presence was counted on--became the point of the Confederate attack. The amount of blame, if any, justly attributable to General McClellan, first for his inactivity, and then for his defeat by Lee, cannot be referred to here, save in a few brief sentences. A sort of feud seems to have arisen between himself and General Halleck, the commander-in-chief, stationed at Washington; and General Halleck then and afterward appears to have regarded McClellan as a soldier without decision or broad generalship. And yet McClellan does not seem to have merited the censure he received. He called persistently for reinforcements, remaining inactive meanwhile, because he estimated the Confederate army before him at two hundred thousand men, and was unwilling to assail this force, under command of soldiers like Johnston and Lee, until his own force seemed adequate to the undertaking. Another consideration was, the Confederate position in front of the powerful earthworks of the city. These works would double the Confederate strength in case of battle in front of them; and, believing himself already outnumbered, the Federal commander was naturally loath to deliver battle until reënforced. The faulty disposition of his army, divided by a stream crossed by few bridges, has been accounted for in like manner--he so disposed the troops, expecting reënforcements. But Jackson's energy delayed these. Washington was in danger, it was supposed, and General McDowell did not come. It thus happened that General McClellan awaited attack instead of making it, and that his army was so posted as to expose him to the greatest peril. A last point is to be noted in vindication of this able soldier. Finding, at the very last moment, that he could expect no further assistance from the President or General Halleck, he resolved promptly to withdraw his exposed right wing and change his base of operations to James River, where at least his communications would be safe. This, it seems, had been determined upon just before the Confederate attack; or, if he had not then decided, General McClellan soon determined upon that plan. To pass now to the Confederate side, where all was ready for the great movement. General Lee's army lay in front of Richmond, exactly corresponding with the front of General McClellan. The divisions of Magruder and Huger, supported by those of Longstreet and D.H. Hill, were opposite McClellan's left, on the Williamsburg and York River roads, directly east of the city. From Magruder's left, extended the division of General A.P. Hill, reaching thence up the river toward Mechanicsville; and a brigade, under General Branch lay on Hill's left near the point where the Brook Turnpike crosses the Chickahominy north of Richmond. The approaches from the east, northeast, and north, were thus carefully guarded. As the Confederates held the interior line, the whole force could be rapidly concentrated, and was thoroughly in hand, both for offensive or defensive movements. The army thus held in Lee's grasp, and about to assail its great Federal adversary, was composed of the best portion of the Southern population. The rank and file was largely made up of men of education and high social position. And this resulted from the character of the struggle. The war was a war of invasion on the part of the North; and the ardent and high-spirited youth of the entire South threw themselves into it with enthusiasm. The heirs of ancient families and great wealth served as privates. Personal pride, love of country, indignation at the thought that a hostile section had sent an army to reduce them to submission, combined to draw into the Confederate ranks the flower of the Southern youth, and all the best fighting material. Deficient in discipline, and "hard to manage," this force was yet of the most efficient character. It could be counted on for hard work, and especially for offensive operations. And the officers placed over it shared its character. Among these, General A.P. Hill, a Virginian by birth, was soon to be conspicuous as commander of the "Light Division," and representative of the spirit and dash and enthusiasm of the army. Under forty years of age, with a slender figure, a heavily-bearded face, dark eyes, a composed and unassuming bearing, characterized when off duty by a quiet cordiality, he was personally popular with all who approached him, and greatly beloved, both as man and commander. His chief merit as a soldier was his dash and impetus in the charge. A braver heart never beat in human breast; throughout the war he retained the respect and admiration of the army and the country; and a strange fact in relation to this eminent soldier is, that his name was uttered by both Jackson and Lee as they expired. Associated with him in the battles of the Chickahominy, and to the end, was the able and resolute Longstreet--an officer of low and powerful stature, with a heavy, brown beard reaching to his breast, a manner marked by unalterable composure, and a countenance whose expression of phlegmatic tranquillity never varied in the hottest hours of battle. Longstreet was as famous for his bull-dog obstinacy, as Hill for his dash and enthusiasm. General Lee styled him his "old war-horse," and depended upon him, as will be seen, in some of the most critical operations of the war. Of the young and ardent Virginian, General Magruder, the brave and resolute North-Carolinian, D.H. Hill, and other officers who subsequently acquired great reputations in the army, we have no space at present to speak. All were to coöperate in the assault on General McClellan, and do their part. On the night of the 25th of June, all was ready for the important movement, and the troops rested on their arms, ready for the coming battle. II. LEE'S PLAN OF ASSAULT. General Lee had been hitherto regarded as a soldier of too great caution, but his plan for the assault on General McClellan indicated the possession of a nerve approaching audacity. Fully comprehending his enemy's strength and position, and aware that a large portion of the Federal army had crossed the Chickahominy, and was directly in his front, he had resolved to pass to the north bank of the stream with the bulk of his force, leaving only about twenty-five thousand men to protect the city, and deliver battle where defeat would prove ruinous. This plan indicated nothing less than audacity, as we have already said; but, like the audacity of the flank movement at Chancellorsville afterward, and the daring march, in disregard of General Hooker, to Pennsylvania in 1864, it was founded on profound military insight, and indicated the qualities of a great soldier. Lee's design was to attack the Federal right wing with a part of his force, while Jackson, advancing still farther to the left, came in on their communications with the White House, and assailed them on their right and rear. Meanwhile Richmond was to be protected by General Magruder with his twenty-five thousand men, on the south bank; if McClellan fell back down the Peninsula, this force was to cross and unite with the rest; thus the Federal army would be driven from all its positions, and the fate of the whole campaign against Richmond would be decided. Lee's general order directing the movement of the troops is here given. It possesses interest as a clear and detailed statement of his intended operations; and it will be seen that what was resolved on by the commander in his tent, his able subordinates translated detail by detail, with unimportant modifications, into action, under his eyes in the field: HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA, _June_ 24, 1862. GENERAL ORDERS No. 75. I. General Jackson's command will proceed to-morrow from Ashland toward the Slash Church, and encamp at some convenient point west of the Central Railroad. Branch's brigade, of A.P. Hill's division, will also, to-morrow evening, take position on the Chickahominy, near Half Sink. At three o'clock Thursday morning, 26th instant, General Jackson will advance on the road leading to Pale Green Church, communicating his march to General Branch, who will immediately cross the Chickahominy, and take the road leading to Mechanicsville. As soon as the movements of these columns are discovered, General A.P. Hill, with the rest of his division, will cross the Chickahominy near Meadow Bridge, and move direct upon Mechanicsville. To aid his advance, the heavy batteries on the Chickahominy will at the proper time open upon the batteries at Mechanicsville. The enemy being driven from Mechanicsville, and the passage across the bridge opened, General Longstreet, with his division and that of General D.H. Hill, will cross the Chickahominy at or near that point--General D.H. Hill moving to the support of General Jackson, and General Longstreet supporting General A.P. Hill--the four divisions keeping in communication with each other, and moving in _echelon_ on separate roads, if practicable; the left division in advance, with skirmishers and sharp-shooters extending in their front, will sweep down the Chickahominy and endeavor to drive the enemy from his position above New Bridge; General Jackson, bearing well to his left, turning Beaver Dam Creek, and taking the direction toward Cold Harbor. They will then press forward toward York River Railroad, closing upon the enemy's rear and forcing him down the Chickahominy. Any advance of the enemy toward Richmond will be prevented by vigorously following his rear, and crippling and arresting his progress. II. The divisions under Generals Huger and Magruder will hold their positions in front of the enemy against attack, and make such demonstrations, Thursday, as to discover his operations. Should opportunity offer, the feint will be converted into a real attack; and, should an abandonment of his intrenchments by the enemy be discovered, he will be closely pursued. III. The Third Virginia cavalry will observe the Charles City road. The Fifth Virginia, the First North Carolina, and the Hampton Legion cavalry will observe the Darbytown, Varina, and Osborne roads. Should a movement of the enemy, down the Chickahominy, be discovered, they will close upon his flank, and endeavor to arrest his march. IV. General Stuart, with the First, Fourth, and Ninth Virginia cavalry, the cavalry of Cobb's Legion, and the Jeff Davis Legion, will cross the Chickahominy, to-morrow, and take position to the left of General Jackson's line of march. The main body will be held in reserve, with scouts well extended to the front and left. General Stuart will keep General Jackson informed of the movements of the enemy on his left, and will coöperate with him in his advance. The Sixteenth Virginia cavalry, Colonel Davis, will remain on the Nine-mile road. V. General Ransom's brigade, of General Holmes's command, will be placed in reserve on the Williamsburg road, by General Huger, to whom he will report for orders. VI. Commanders of divisions will cause their commands to be provided with three days' cooked rations. The necessary ambulances and ordinance-trains will be ready to accompany the divisions, and receive orders from their respective commanders. Officers in charge of all trains will invariably remain with them. Batteries and wagons will keep on the right of the road. The Chief-Engineer, Major Stevens, will assign engineer officers to each division, whose duty it will be to make provision for overcoming all difficulties to the progress of the troops. The staff-departments will give the necessary instructions to facilitate the movements herein directed. By command of General LEE: R.H. CHILTON, _A.A. General_. This order speaks for itself, and indicates Lee's plan of battle in all its details. Further comment is unnecessary; and we proceed to narrate the events which followed. In doing so, we shall strive to present a clear and intelligible account of what occurred, rather than to indulge in the warlike splendors of style which characterized the "army correspondents" of the journals during the war. Such a treatment of the subject is left to others, who write under the influence of partisan afflatus, rather than with the judicious moderation of the historian. Nor are battles themselves the subjects of greatest interest to the thoughtful student. The combinations devised by great commanders are of more interest than the actual struggles. We have therefore dwelt at greater length upon the plans of Generals Lee and McClellan than we shall dwell upon the actual fighting of their armies. III. THE BATTLE OF THE CHICKAHOMINY. On the morning of the 26th of June, 1862, all was ready for the great encounter of arms between the Confederates and the Federal forces on the Chickahominy. General Jackson had been delayed on his march from the mountains, and had not yet arrived; but it was known that he was near, and would soon make his appearance; and, in the afternoon, General Lee accordingly directed that the movement should commence. At the word, General A.P. Hill moved from his camps to Meadow Bridge, north of Richmond; crossed the Chickahominy there, and moved rapidly on Mechanicsville, where a small Federal force, behind intrenchments, guarded the head of the bridge. This force was not a serious obstacle, and Hill soon disposed of it. He attacked the Federal works, stormed them after a brief struggle, and drove the force which had occupied them back toward Beaver Dam Creek, below. The Mechanicsville bridge was thus cleared; and, in compliance with his orders from Lee, General Longstreet hastened to throw his division across. Hill had meanwhile pressed forward on the track of the retreating enemy, and, a mile or two below, found himself in front of a much more serious obstruction than that encountered at the bridge, namely, the formidable position held by the enemy on Beaver Dam Creek. The ground here is of a peculiar character, and admirably adapted for a defensive position against an enemy advancing from above. On the opposite side of a narrow valley, through which runs Beaver Dam Creek, rises a bold, almost precipitous, bluff, and the road which the Confederates were compelled to take bends abruptly to the right when near the stream, thus exposing the flank of the assaulting party to a fire from the bluff. As Hill's column pushed forward to attack this position, it was met by a determined fire of artillery and small-arms from the crest beyond the stream, where a large force of riflemen, in pits, were posted, with infantry supports. Before this artillery-fire, raking his flanks and doing heavy execution, Hill was compelled to fall back. It was impossible to cross the stream in face of the fusillade and cannon. The attack ended after dark with the withdrawal of the Confederates; but at dawn Hill resumed the struggle, attempting to cross at another point, lower down the stream. This attempt was in progress when the Federal troops were seen rapidly falling back from their strong position; and intelligence soon came that this was in consequence of the arrival of Jackson, who had passed around the Federal right flank above, and forced them to retire toward the main body of the Federal army below. No time was now lost. The memorable 27th of June had dawned clear and cloudless, and the brilliant sunshine gave promise of a day on which no interference of the elements would check the bloody work to be performed. Hill advanced steadily on the track of the retiring Federal forces, who had left evidences of their precipitate retreat all along the road, and, about noon, came in front of the very powerful position of the main body of the enemy, near Cold Harbor. General McClellan had drawn up his forces on a ridge along the southern bank of Powhite Creek, a small water-course which, flowing from the northeast, empties below New Bridge into the Chickahominy. His left, nearest the Chickahominy, was protected by a deep ravine in front, which he had filled with sharp-shooters; and his right rested upon elevated ground, near the locality known as Maghee's House. In front, the whole line of battle, which described a curve backward to cover the bridges in rear, was protected by difficult approaches. The ground was either swampy, or covered with tangled undergrowth, or both. The ridge held by the Federal forces had been hastily fortified by breastworks of felled trees and earth, behind which the long lines of infantry, supported by numerous artillery, awaited the attack. The amount of the Federal force has been variously stated. The impression of the Confederates differed from the subsequent statements of Federal writers. "The principal part of the Federal army," says General Lee, in his report, "was now on the north side of the Chickahominy." The force has been placed by Northern writers at only thirty, or at most thirty-five thousand. If this was the whole number of troops engaged, from first to last, in the battle, the fact is highly creditable to the Federal arms, as the struggle was long doubtful. No doubt the exact truth will some day be put upon record, and justice will be done to both the adversaries. The Federal force was commanded by the brave and able General Fitz-John Porter, with General Morell commanding his right, General Sykes his left, and General McCall forming a second line. Slocum's division, and the brigades of Generals French and Meagher, afterward reënforced Porter, who now prepared, with great coolness, for the Confederate attack. The moment had come. A.P. Hill, pressing forward rapidly, with Longstreet's division on the right, reached Cold Harbor, in front of the Federal centre, about noon. Hill immediately attacked, and an engagement of the most obstinate character ensued. General Lee, accompanied by General Longstreet, had ridden from his headquarters, on the Nine-mile road, to the scene of action, and now witnessed in person the fighting of the troops, who charged under his eye, closing in in a nearly hand-to-hand conflict with the enemy. This was, no doubt, the first occasion on which a considerable portion of the men had seen him--certainly in battle--and that air of supreme calmness which always characterized him in action must have made a deep impression upon them. He was clad simply, and wore scarcely any badges of rank. A felt hat drooped low over the broad forehead, and the eyes beneath were calm and unclouded. Add a voice of measured calmness, the air of immovable composure which marked the erect military figure, evidently at home in the saddle, and the reader will have a correct conception of General Lee's personal appearance in the first of the great battles of his career. Hill attacked with that dash and obstinacy which from this time forward characterized him, but succeeded in making no impression on the Federal line. In every assault he was repulsed with heavy loss. The Federal artillery, which was handled with skill and coolness, did great execution upon his column, as it rushed forward, and the infantry behind their works stood firm in spite of the most determined efforts to drive them from the ridge. Three of Hill's regiments reached the crest, and fought hand to hand over the breastworks, but they were speedily repulsed and driven from the crest, and, after two hours' hard fighting, Hill found that he had lost heavily and effected nothing. It was now past two o'clock in the afternoon, and General Lee listened with anxiety for the sound of guns from the left, which would herald the approach of General Jackson. Nothing was heard from that quarter, however, and affairs were growing critical. The Confederate attack had been repulsed--the Federal position seemed impregnable--and "it became apparent," says General Lee, "that the enemy were gradually gaining ground." Under these circumstances, General McClellan might adopt either one of the two courses both alike dangerous to the Confederates. He might cross a heavy force to the assistance of General Porter, thus enabling that officer to assume the offensive; or, finding Lee thus checked, he might advance on Magruder, crush the small force under him, and seize on Richmond, which would be at his mercy. It was thus necessary to act without delay, while awaiting the appearance of Jackson. General Lee, accordingly, directed General Longstreet, who had taken position to the right of Cold Harbor, to make a feint against the Federal left, and thus relieve the pressure on Hill. Longstreet proceeded with promptness to obey the order; advanced in face of a heavy fire, and with a cross-fire of artillery raking his right from over the Chickahominy, and made the feint which had been ordered by General Lee. It effected nothing; and, to attain the desired result, it was found necessary to turn the feint into a real attack. This Longstreet proceeded to do, first dispersing with a single volley a force of cavalry which had the temerity to charge his infantry. As he advanced and attacked the powerful position before him, the roar of guns, succeeded by loud cheers, was heard on the left of Lee's line. Jackson had arrived and thrown his troops into action without delay. He then rode forward to Cold Harbor, where General Lee awaited him, and the two soldiers shook hands in the midst of tumultuous cheering from the troops, who had received intelligence that Jackson's corps had joined them. The contrast between the two men was extremely striking. We have presented a brief sketch of Lee's personal appearance upon the occasion--of the grave commander-in-chief, with his erect and graceful seat in the saddle, his imposing dignity of demeanor, and his calm and measured tones, as deliberate as though he were in a drawing-room. Jackson was a very different personage. He was clad in a dingy old coat, wore a discolored cadet-cap, tilted almost upon his nose, and rode a rawboned horse, with short stirrups, which raised his knees in the most ungraceful manner. Neither in his face nor figure was there the least indication of the great faculties of the man, and a more awkward-looking personage it would be impossible to imagine. In his hand he held a lemon, which he sucked from time to time, and his demeanor was abstracted and absent. As Jackson approached, Lee rode toward him and greeted him with a cordial pressure of the hand. "Ah, general," said Lee, "I am very glad to see you. I hoped to be with you before!" Jackson made a twitching movement of his head, and replied in a few words, rather jerked from the lips than deliberately uttered. Lee had paused, and now listened attentively to the long roll of musketry from the woods, where Hill and Longstreet were engaged; then to the still more incessant and angry roar from the direction of Jackson's own troops, who had closed in upon the Federal forces. "That fire is very heavy," said Lee. "Do you think your men can stand it?" Jackson listened for a moment, with his head bent toward one shoulder, as was customary with him, for he was deaf, he said, in one ear, "and could not hear out of the other," and replied briefly: "They can stand almost any thing! They can stand that!" He then, after receiving General Lee's instructions, immediately saluted and returned to his corps--Lee remaining still at Cold Harbor, which was opposite the Federal centre. [Illustration: Lee and Jackson at Cold harbor.] The arrival of Jackson changed in a moment the aspect of affairs in every part of the field. Whitney's division of his command took position on Longstreet's left; the command of General D.H. Hill, on the extreme right of the whole line, and Ewell's division, with part of Jackson's old division, supported A.P. Hill. No sooner had these dispositions been made, than General Lee ordered an attack along the whole line. It was now five or six o'clock, and the sun was sinking. From that moment until night came, the battle raged with a fury unsurpassed in any subsequent engagement of the war. The Texan troops, under General Hood, especially distinguished themselves. These, followed by their comrades, charged the Federal left on the bluff, and, in spite of a desperate resistance, carried the position. "The enemy were driven," says General Lee, "from the ravine to the first line of breastworks, over which one impetuous column dashed, up to the intrenchments on the crest." Here the Federal artillery was captured, their line driven from the hill, and in other parts of the field a similar success followed the attack. As night fell, their line gave way in all parts, and the remnants of General Porter's command retreated to the bridges over the Chickahominy. The first important passage of arms between General McClellan and General Lee--and it may be added the really decisive one--had terminated in a great success on the side of the Confederates. IV. THE RETREAT. The battle of Cold Harbor--or, as General Lee styles it in his report, the "battle of the Chickahominy"--was the decisive struggle between the great adversaries, and determined the fate of General McClellan's campaign against Richmond. This view is not held by writers on the Northern side, who represent the battle in question as only the first of a series of engagements, all of pretty nearly equal importance, and mere incidents attending General McClellan's change of base to the shores of the James River. Such a theory seems unfounded. If the battle at Cold Harbor had resulted in a Federal victory, General McClellan would have advanced straight on Richmond, and the capture of the city would inevitably have followed. But at Cold Harbor he sustained a decisive defeat. His whole campaign was reversed, and came to naught, from the events occurring between noon and nightfall on the 27th of June. The result of that obstinate encounter was not a Federal success, leading to the fall of Richmond, but a Federal defeat, which led to the retreat to the James River, and the failure of the whole campaign against the Confederate capital. It is conceded that General McClellan really intended to change his base; but after the battle of Cold Harbor every thing had changed. He no longer had under him a high-spirited army, moving to take up a stronger position, but a weary and dispirited multitude of human beings, hurrying along to gain the shelter of the gunboats on the James River, with the enemy pursuing closely, and worrying them at every step. To the condition of the Federal army one of their own officers testifies, and his expressions are so strong as wellnigh to move the susceptibilities of an opponent. "We were ordered to retreat," says General Hooker, "and it was like the retreat of a whipped army. We retreated like a parcel of sheep; everybody on the road at the same time; and a few shots from the rebels would have panic-stricken the whole command."[1] [Footnote 1: Report of the Committee on the Conduct of the War, part i., p. 580.] Such was the condition of that great army which had fought so bravely, standing firm so long against the headlong assaults of the flower of the Southern troops. It was the battle at Cold Harbor which had produced this state of things, thereby really deciding the result of the campaign. To attribute to that action, therefore, no more importance than attached to the engagements on the retreat to James River, seems in opposition to the truth of history. We shall present only a general narrative of the famous retreat which reflected the highest credit upon General McClellan, and will remain his greatest glory. He, at least, was too good a soldier not to understand that the battle of the 27th was a decisive one. He determined to retreat, without risking another action, to the banks of the James River, where the Federal gunboats would render a second attack from the Confederates a hazardous undertaking; and, "on the evening of the 27th of June," as he says in his official report, "assembled the corps commanders at his headquarters, and informed them of his plan, its reasons, and his choice of route, and method of execution." Orders were then issued to General Keyes to move with his corps across the White-Oak Swamp Bridge, and, taking up a position with his artillery on the opposite side, cover the passage of the rest of the troops; the trains and supplies at Savage Station, on the York River Railroad, were directed to be withdrawn; and the corps commanders were ordered to move with such provisions, munitions, and sick, as they could transport, on the direct road to Harrison's Landing. These orders were promptly carried out. Before dawn on the 29th the Federal army took up the line of march, and the great retrograde movement was successfully begun. An immense obstacle to its success lay in the character of the country through which it was necessary to pass. White Oak Swamp is an extensive morass, similar to that skirting the banks of the Chickahominy, and the passage through it is over narrow, winding, and difficult roads, which furnish the worst possible pathways for wagons, artillery, or even troops. It was necessary, however, to use these highways or none, and General McClellan resolutely entered upon his critical movement. General Lee was yet in doubt as to his opponent's designs, and the fact is highly creditable to General McClellan. A portion of the Federal army still remained on the left bank of the Chickahominy, and it might be the intention of McClellan to push forward reënforcements from the Peninsula, fight a second battle for the protection of his great mass of supplies at the White House, or, crossing his whole army to the left bank of the Chickahominy by the lower bridges, retreat down the Peninsula by the same road followed in advancing. All that General Lee could do, under these circumstances, was to remain near Cold Harbor with his main body, send a force toward the York River road, on the eastern bank of the Chickahominy, to check any Federal attempt to cross there, and await further developments. It was not until the morning of the 29th that General McClellan's designs became apparent. It was then ascertained that he had commenced moving toward James River with his entire army, and Lee issued prompt orders for the pursuit. While a portion of the Confederate army followed closely upon the enemy's rear, other bodies were directed to move by the Williamsburg and Charles City roads, and intercept him, or assail his flanks. If these movements were promptly made, and no unnecessary delay took place, it was expected that the Federal army would be brought to bay in the White-Oak Swamp, and a final victory be achieved by the Confederates. These complicated movements were soon in full progress, and at various points on the line of retreat fierce fighting ensued. General Magruder, advancing to Savage Station, an important depot of Federal stores, on the York River Railroad, encountered on the 29th, the powerful Federal rear-guard, which fought obstinately until night, when it retired. Next day Generals Longstreet and A.P. Hill had pushed down the Long Bridge road, and on the next day (June 30th) came on the retreating column which was vigorously engaged. From the character of the ground, little, however, was effected. The enemy fought with obstinate courage, and repulsed every assault. The battle raged until after nightfall, when the Federal army continued to retreat. These actions were the most important, and in both the Confederates had failed to effect any important results. Even Jackson, who had been delayed, by the destruction of the Chickahominy bridges, in crossing to the south bank from the vicinity of Cold Harbor, and had followed in rear of the rest of the army, found himself checked by General McClellan's admirable disposition for the protection of his rear. Jackson made every effort to strike a decisive blow at the Federal rear in the White-Oak Swamp, but he found a bridge in his front destroyed, the enemy holding the opposite side in strong force, and, when he endeavored to force a passage, the determined fire from their artillery rendered it impossible for him to do so. General McClellan had thus foiled the generalship of Lee, and the hard fighting of Stonewall Jackson. His excellent military judgement had defeated every attempt made to crush him. On the 1st of July he had successfully passed the terrible swamp, in spite of all his enemies, and his army was drawn up on the wellnigh impregnable heights of Malvern Hill. A last struggle took place at Malvern Hill, and the Confederate assault failed at all points. Owing to the wooded nature of the ground, and the absence of accurate information in regard to it, the attack was made under very great difficulties and effected nothing. The Federal troops resisted courageously, and inflicted heavy loss upon the assailing force, which advanced to the muzzles of the Federal cannon, but did not carry the heights; and at nightfall the battle ceased, the Confederates having suffered a severe repulse. On the next morning, General McClellan had disappeared toward Harrison's Landing, to which he conducted his army safely, without further molestation, and the long and bitter struggle was over. V. RICHMOND IN DANGER--LEE'S VIEWS. We have presented a sufficiently full narrative of the great battles of the Chickahominy to enable the reader to form his own opinion of the events, and the capacity of the two leaders who directed them. Full justice has been sought to be done to the eminent military abilities of General McClellan, and the writer is not conscious that he has done more than justice to General Lee. Lee has not escaped criticism, and was blamed by many persons for not putting an end to the Federal army on the retreat through White-Oak Swamp. To this criticism, it may be said in reply, that putting an end to nearly or quite one hundred thousand men is a difficult undertaking; and that in one instance, at least, the failure of one of his subordinates in arriving promptly, reversed his plans at the most critical moment of the struggle. General Lee himself, however, states the main cause of failure: "Under ordinary circumstances," he says, "the Federal army should have been destroyed. Its escape is due to the causes already stated. Prominent among them is the want of timely and correct information. This fact, attributed chiefly to the character of the country, enabled General McClellan skilfully to conceal his retreat, and to add much to the obstruction with which Nature had beset the way of our pursuing columns. But regret that more was not accomplished, gives way to gratitude to the Sovereign Ruler of the Universe for the results achieved." The reader will form his own opinion whether Lee was or was not to blame for this want of accurate information, which would seem, however, to be justly attributable to the War Department at Richmond, rather than to an officer who had been assigned to command only three or four weeks before. Other criticisms of Lee referred to his main plan of operations, and the danger to which he exposed Richmond by leaving only twenty-five thousand men in front of it, when he began his movement against General McClellan's right wing, beyond the Chickahominy. General Magruder, who commanded this force of twenty-five thousand men left to guard the capital, expressed afterward, in his official report, his views of the danger to which the city had been exposed. He wrote: "From the time at which the enemy withdrew his forces to this side of the Chickahominy, and destroyed the bridges, to the moment of his evacuation, that is, from Friday night until Saturday morning, I considered the situation of our army as extremely critical and perilous. The larger portion of it was on the opposite side of the Chickahominy. The bridges had been all destroyed; but one was rebuilt--the New Bridge--which was commanded fully by the enemy's guns from Goulding's; and there were but twenty-five thousand men between his army of one hundred thousand and Richmond.... Had McClellan massed his whole force in column, and advanced it against any point of our line of battle, as was done at Austerlitz under similar circumstances by the greatest captain of any age, though the head of his column would have suffered greatly, its momentum would have insured him success, and the occupation of our works about Richmond, and consequently the city, might have been his reward. His failure to do so is the best evidence that our wise commander fully understood the character of his opponent." To this portion of General Magruder's report General Lee appended the following "Remarks" in forwarding it: "General Magruder is under a misapprehension as to the separation of troops operating on the north side of the Chickahominy from those under himself and General Huger on the south side. He refers to this subject on pages 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7, of his report. "The troops on the two sides of the river were only separated until we succeeded in occupying the position near what is known as New Bridge, which occurred before twelve o'clock M. on Friday, June 27th, and before the attack on the enemy at Gaines's Mill. "From the time we reached the position referred to, I regarded communication between the two wings of our army as reëstablished. "The bridge referred to, and another about three-quarters of a mile above, were ordered to be repaired before noon on Friday, and the New Bridge was sufficiently rebuilt to be passed by artillery on Friday night, and the one above it was used for the passage of wagons, ambulances, and troops, early on Saturday morning. "Besides this, all other bridges above New Bridge, and all the fords above that point, were open to us." To this General Magruder subsequently responded as follows: "New Bridge was finished on Friday evening, the 27th, instead of Saturday, 28th of June. "I wrote from memory in reference to the time of its being finished. "It was reported to me that the bridge three-quarters of a mile above was attempted to be crossed by troops (I think Ransom's brigade), on Saturday morning, from the south to the north side, but that, finding the bridge or the approach to it difficult, they came down and crossed at New Bridge on the same morning. "My statement in regard to these bridges was not intended as a criticism on General Lee's plan, but to show the position of the troops, with a view to the proper understanding of my report, and to prove that the enemy might have reasonably entertained a design, after concentrating his troops, to march on Richmond." We shall not detain the reader by entering upon a full discussion of the interesting question here raised. General Lee, as his observations on General Magruder's report show, did not regard Richmond as exposed to serious danger, and was confident of his ability to recross the Chickahominy and go to its succor in the event of an attack on the city by General McClellan. Had this prompt recrossing of the stream here, even, been impracticable, it may still be a question whether General Lee did not, in his movement against the Federal right wing with the bulk of his army, follow the dictates of sound generalship. In war, something must be risked, and occasions arise which render it necessary to disregard general maxims. It is one of the first principles of military science that a commander should always keep open his line of retreat; but the moment may come when his best policy is to burn the bridges behind him. Of Lee's movement against General McClellan's right, it may be said that it was based on the broadest good sense and the best generalship. The situation of affairs rendered an attack in some quarter essential to the safety of the capital, which was about to be hemmed in on all sides. To attack the left of General McClellan, promised small results. It had been tried and had failed; his right alone remained. It was possible, certainly, that he would mass his army, and, crushing Magruder, march into Richmond; but it was not probable that he would make the attempt. The Federal commander was known to be a soldier disposed to caution rather than audacity. The small amount of force under General Magruder was a secret which he could not be expected to know. That General Lee took these facts into consideration, as General Magruder intimates, may or may not have been the fact; and the whole discussion may be fairly summed up, perhaps, by saying that success vindicated the course adopted. "Success, after all, is the test of merit," said the brave Albert Sydney Johnston, and Talleyrand compressed much sound reasoning in the pithy maxim, "Nothing succeeds like success." On the 2d of July the campaign was over, and General McClellan must have felt, in spite of his hopeful general orders to the troops, and dispatches to his Government, that the great struggle for Richmond had virtually ended. A week before, he had occupied a position within a few miles of the city, with a numerous army in the highest spirits, and of thorough efficiency. Now, he lay on the banks of James River, thirty miles away from the capital, and his army was worn out by the tremendous ordeal it had passed through, and completely discouraged. We have not dwelt upon the horrors of the retreat, and the state of the army, which Northern writers painted at the time in the gloomiest colors. For the moment, it was no longer the splendid war-engine it had been, and was again afterward. Nothing could be done with it, and General McClellan knew the fact. Without fresh troops, a renewed advance upon Richmond was a mere dream. No further attack was made by General Lee, who remained for some days inactive in the hot forests of Charles City. His reasons for refraining from a new assault on General McClellan are summed up in one or two sentences of his report: "The Federal commander," he says, "immediately began to fortify his position, which was one of great natural strength, flanked on each side by a creek, and the approach to his front commanded by the heavy guns of his shipping, in addition to those mounted in his intrenchments. It was deemed inexpedient to attack him, and in view of the condition of our troops, who had been marching and fighting almost incessantly for seven days under the most trying circumstances, it was determined to withdraw, in order to afford them the repose of which they stood so much in need." On the 8th of July, General Lee accordingly directed his march back toward Richmond, and the troops went into camp and rested. VI. LEE AND McCLELLAN--THEIR IDENTITY OF OPINION. General Lee had thus, at the outset of his career, as commander of the Confederate army, saved the capital by a blow at the enemy as sudden as it was resistless. The class of persons who are never satisfied, and delight in fault-finding under all circumstances, declared that a great general would have crushed the enemy on their retreat; these certainly were in a minority; the people at large greeted Lee as the author of a great deliverance worked out for them, and, on his return to Richmond, he was received with every mark of gratitude and honor. He accepted this public ovation with the moderation and dignity which characterized his demeanor afterward, under all circumstances, either of victory or defeat. It was almost impossible to discover in his bearing at this time, as on other great occasions, any evidences whatever of elation. Success, like disaster, seemed to find him calm, collected, and as nearly unimpressible as is possible for a human being. The character of the man led him to look upon success or failure with this supreme composure, which nothing seemed able to shake; but in July, 1862, he probably understood that the Confederate States were still as far as ever from having achieved the objects of the war. General McClellan had been defeated in battle, but the great resources of the United States Government would enable it promptly to put other and larger armies in the field. Even the defeated army was still numerous and dangerous, for it consisted, according to McClellan's report, of nearly or quite ninety thousand men; and the wise brain of its commander had devised a plan of future operations which promised far greater results than the advance on Richmond from the Chickahominy. We shall touch, in passing, on this interesting subject, but shall first ask the reader's attention to a communication addressed, by General McClellan, at this time to President Lincoln. It is one of those papers which belong to history, and should be placed upon record. It not only throws the clearest light on the character and views of General Lee's great adversary, but expresses with admirable lucidity the sentiments of a large portion of the Federal people at the time. The President had invited a statement of General McClellan's views on the conduct of the war, and on July 7th, in the very midst of the scenes of disaster at Harrison's Landing, McClellan wrote these statesmanlike words: "This rebellion has assumed the character of a war; as such it should be regarded, and it should be conducted upon the highest principles know to Christian civilization. It should not be a war looking to the subjugation of the people of any State in any event. It should not be at all a war upon population, but against armed forces and political organization. Neither confiscation of property, political executions, territorial organizations of States, nor forcible abolition of slavery, should be contemplated for a moment. In prosecuting the war all private property and unarmed persons should be strictly protected, subject only to the necessity of military operations. All private property taken for military use should be paid or receipted for; pillage and waste should be treated as high crimes; all unnecessary trespass sternly prohibited, and offensive demeanor by the military toward citizens promptly rebuked. Military arrests should not be tolerated, except in places where active hostilities exist, and oaths not required by enactments constitutionally made should be neither demanded nor received. Military government should be confined to the preservation of public order and the protection of political right. Military power should not be allowed to interfere with the relations of servitude, either by supporting or impairing the authority of the master, except for repressing disorder, as in other cases. Slaves contraband under the Act of Congress, seeking military protection, should receive it. The right of the Government to appropriate permanently to its own service claims to slave-labor should be asserted, and the right of the owner to compensation therefor should be recognized. "This principle might be extended upon grounds of military necessity and security to all the slaves of a particular State, thus working manumission in such State; and in Missouri, perhaps in Western Virginia also, and possibly even in Maryland, the expediency of such a measure is only a question of time. "A system of policy thus constitutional, and pervaded by the influences of Christianity and freedom, would receive the support of almost all truly loyal men, would deeply impress the rebel masses and all foreign nations, and it might be humbly hoped that it would commend itself to the favor of the Almighty. "Unless the principles governing the future conduct of our struggle shall be made known and approved, the effort to obtain requisite forces will be almost hopeless. A declaration of radical views, especially upon slavery, will rapidly disintegrate our present armies. "The policy of the Government must be supported by concentrations of military power. The national forces should not be dispersed in expeditions, posts of occupation, and numerous armies; but should be mainly collected into masses, and brought to bear upon the armies of the Confederate States. Those armies thoroughly defeated, the political structure which they support would soon cease to exist. "In carrying out any system of policy which you may form, you will require a commander-in-chief of the army--one who possesses your confidence, understands your views, and who is competent to execute your orders, by directing the military forces of the nation to the accomplishment of the objects by you proposed. I do not ask that place for myself. I am willing to serve you in such positions as you may assign me, and I will do so as faithfully as ever subordinate served superior. I may be on the brink of eternity, and, as I hope forgiveness from my Maker, I have written this letter with sincerity toward you, and from love for my country." This noble and earnest exposition of his opinion, upon the proper mode of conducting the war, will reflect honor upon General McClellan when his military achievements are forgotten. It discusses the situation of affairs, both from the political and military point of view, in a spirit of the broadest statesmanship, and with the acumen of a great soldier. That it had no effect, is the clearest indication upon which the war was thenceforward to be conducted. The removal of General McClellan, as holding views opposed to the party in power, is said to have resulted from this communication. It certainly placed him in open antagonism to General Halleck, the Federal Secretary of War, and, as this antagonism had a direct effect upon even connected with the subject of our memoir, we shall briefly relate now it was now displayed. Defeated on the Chickahominy, and seeing little to encourage an advance, on the left bank of the James, upon Richmond, General McClellan proposed to cross that river and operate against the capital and its communications, near Petersburg. The proof of McClellan's desire to undertake this movement, which afterward proved so successful under General Grant, is found in a memorandum, by General Halleck himself, of what took place on a visit paid by him to McClellan, at Harrison's Landing, on July 25, 1862. "I stated to him," says General Halleck, "that the object of my visit was to ascertain from him his views and wishes in regard to future operations. He said that he proposed to cross the James River at that point, attack Petersburg, and cut off the enemy's communications by that route South, making no further demonstration for the present against Richmond. I stated to him very frankly my views in regard to the manner and impracticability of the plan;" and nothing further, it seems, was said of this highly "impracticable" plan of operations. It became practicable afterward under General Grant; McClellan was not permitted to essay it in July, 1862, from the fact that it had been resolved to relieve him from command, or from General Halleck's inability to perceive its good sense. General Lee's views upon this subject coincided completely with those of General McClellan. He expressed at this time, to those in his confidence, the opinion that Richmond could be assailed to greater advantage from the South, as a movement of the enemy in that direction would menace her communications with the Gulf States; and events subsequently proved the soundness of this view. Attacks from all other quarters failed, including a repetition by General Grant of McClellan's attempt from the side of the Chickahominy. When General Grant carried out his predecessor's plan of assailing the city from the direction of Petersburg, he succeeded in putting an end to the war. PART IV. _THE WAR ADVANCES NORTHWARD_ I. LEE'S PROTEST. General Lee remained in front of Richmond, watching General McClellan, but intelligence soon reached him from the upper Rappahannock that another army was advancing in that quarter, and had already occupied the county of Culpepper, with the obvious intention of capturing Gordonsville, the point of junction of the Orange and Alexandria and Virginia Central Railroads, and advancing thence upon Richmond. The great defeat on the Chickahominy had only inspired the Federal authorities with new energy. Three hundred thousand new troops were called for, large bounties were held out as an inducement to enlistment, negro-slaves in regions occupied by the United States armies were directed to be enrolled as troops, and military commanders were authorized to seize upon whatever was "necessary or convenient for their commands," without compensation to the owners. This indicated the policy upon which it was now intended to conduct the war, and the army occupying Culpepper proceeded to carry out the new policy in every particular. This force consisted of the troops which had served under Generals Banks, McDowell, and Fremont--a necleus--and reënforcements from the army of McClellan, together with the troops under General Burnside, were hastening to unite with the newly-formed army. It was styled the "Army of Virginia," and was placed under command of Major-General John Pope, who had hitherto served in the West. General Pope had procured the command, it is said, by impressing the authorities with a high opinion of his energy and activity. In these qualities, General McClellan was supposed to be deficient; and the new commander, coming from a region where the war was conducted on a different plan, it was said, would be able to infuse new life into the languid movements in Virginia. General Pope had taken special pains to allay the fears of the Federal authorities for the safety of Washington. He intended to "lie off on the flanks" of Lee's army, he said, and render it impossible for the rebels to advance upon the capital while he occupied that threatening position. When asked if, with an army like General McClellan's, he would find any difficulty in marching through the South to New Orleans, General Pope replied without hesitation, "I should suppose not." This confident view of things seems to have procured General Pope his appointment, and it will soon be seen that he proceeded to conduct military operations upon principles very different from those announced by General McClellan. War, as carried on by General Pope, was to be war _à l'outrance._ General McClellan had written: "The war should not be at all a war upon population, but against armed forces ... all private property, taken for military use, should be paid for; pillage and waste should be treated as high crimes; all unnecessary trespass sternly prohibited, and offensive demeanor by the military toward citizens promptly rebuked." The new commander intended to act upon a very different principle, and to show that he possessed more activity and resolution than his predecessor. General Pope's assumption of the command was signalized by much pomp and animated general orders. He arrived in a train decked out with streamers, and issued an order in which he said to the troops: "I desire you to dismiss from your minds certain phrases which I am sorry to find much in vogue among you. I hear constantly of taking strong positions and holding them, _of lines of retreat and bases of supplies_. Let us discard such ideas. The strongest position which a soldier should desire to occupy is the one from which he can most easily advance upon the enemy. Let us study the probable line of retreat of our opponents, _and leave our own to take care of itself. Let us look before, and not behind. Disaster and shame look in the rear_." The result, as will be seen, furnished a grotesque commentary upon that portion of General Pope's order which we have italicized. In an address to the army, he added further: "I have come to you from the West, where we have always seen the backs of our enemies--from an army whose business it has been to seek the adversary, and beat him when found--where policy has been attack, and not defence. I presume I have been called here to pursue the same system." Such was the tenor of General Pope's orders on assuming command--orders which were either intended seriously as an announcement of his real intentions, or as a blind to persuade the Confederates that his force was large. Unfortunately for the region in which he now came to operate, General Pope did not confine himself to these flourishes of rhetoric. He proceeded to inaugurate a military policy in vivid contrast to General McClellan's. His "expatriation orders" directed that all male citizens disloyal to the United States should be immediately arrested; the oath of allegiance to the United States Government should be proffered them, and, "if they furnished sufficient security for its observance," they should be set free again. If they refused the oath, they should be sent beyond the Federal lines; and, if afterward found within his lines, they should be treated as spies, "and shot, their property to be seized and applied to the public use." All communication with persons living within the Southern lines was forbidden; such communication should subject the individual guilty of it to be treated as _a spy_. Lastly, General Pope's subordinates were directed to arrest prominent citizens, and hold them as hostages for the good behavior of the population. If his soldiers were "bushwhacked"--that is to say, attacked on their foraging expeditions--the prominent citizens thus held as hostages were to _suffer death_. It is obvious that war carried on upon such principles is rapine. General Pope ventured, however, upon the new programme; and a foreign periodical, commenting upon the result, declared that this commander had prosecuted hostilities against the South "in a way that cast mankind two centuries back toward barbarism." We shall not pause to view the great outrages committed by the Federal troops in Culpepper. They have received thus much comment rather to introduce the following communication to the Federal authorities, from General Lee, than to record what is known now to the Old World as well as the New. Profoundly outraged and indignant at these cruel and oppressive acts, General Lee, by direction of the Confederate authorities, addressed, on the 2d of August, the following note to General Halleck: HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF THE C.S., / NEAR RICHMOND, VA., _August_ 2, 1862.; _To the General commanding the U.S. Army, Washington_: GENERAL: In obedience to the order of his Excellency, the President of the Confederate States, I have the honor to make you the following communication: On the 22d of July last a cartel for a general exchange of prisoners was signed by Major-General John A. Dix, on behalf of the United States, and by Major-General D.H. Hill, on the part of this government. By the terms of that cartel it is stipulated that all prisoners of war hereafter taken shall be discharged on parole until exchanged. Scarcely had the cartel been signed, when the military authorities of the United States commenced a practice changing the character of the war, from such as becomes civilized nations, into a campaign of indiscriminate robbery and murder. A general order issued by the Secretary of War of the United States, in the city of Washington, on the very day that the cartel was signed in Virginia, directs the military commanders of the United States to take the property of our people, for the convenience and use of the army, without compensation. A general order issued by Major-General Pope, on the 23d of July last, the day after the date of the cartel, directs the murder of our peaceful citizens as spies, if found quietly tilling their farms in his rear, even outside of his lines. And one of his brigadier-generals, Steinwehr, has seized innocent and peaceful inhabitants, to be held as hostages, to the end that they may be murdered in cold blood if any of his soldiers are killed by some unknown persons whom he designates as "bushwhackers." Some of the military authorities seem to suppose that their end will be better attained by a savage war in which no quarter is to be given, and no age or sex is to be spared, than by such hostilities as are alone recognized to be lawful in modern times. We find ourselves driven by our enemies by steady progress toward a practice which we abhor, and which we are vainly struggling to avoid. Under these circumstances, this Government has issued the accompanying general order, which I am directed by the President to transmit to you, recognizing Major-General Pope and his commissioned officers to be in the position which they have chosen for themselves--that of robbers and murderers, and not that of public enemies, entitled, if captured, to be treated as prisoners of war. The President also instructs me to inform you that we renounce our right of retaliation on the innocent, and will continue to treat the private soldiers of General Pope's army as prisoners of war; but if, after notice to your Government that they confine repressive measures to the punishment of commissioned officers who are willing to participate in these crimes, the savage practices threatened in the orders alluded to be persisted in, we shall reluctantly be forced to the last resort of accepting the war on the terms chosen by our enemies, until the voice of an outraged humanity shall compel a respect for the recognized usages of war. While the President considers that the facts referred to would justify a refusal on our part to execute the cartel by which we have agreed to liberate an excess of prisoners of war in our hands, a sacred regard for plighted faith, which shrinks from the semblance of breaking a promise, precludes a resort to such an extremity, nor is it his desire to extend to any other forces of the United States the punishment merited by General Pope and such commissioned officers as choose to participate in the execution of his infamous order. I have the honor to be, very respectfully, your obedient servant, R.E. LEE, _General commanding_. This communication requires no comment. It had the desired effect, although General Halleck returned it as couched in language too insulting to be received. On the 15th of August, the United States War Department so far disapproved of General Pope's orders as to direct that "no officer or soldier might, without proper authority, leave his colors or ranks to take private property, or to enter a private house for the purpose, under penalty of death." II. LEE'S MANOEUVRES. General Pope had promptly advanced, and his army lay in Culpepper, the right reaching toward the Blue Ridge, and the left extending nearly to the Rapidan. The campaign now became a contest of brains between Lee and the Federal authorities. Their obvious aim was to leave him in doubt whether a new advance was intended under McClellan from James River, or the real movement was to be against Richmond from the North. Under these circumstances, General Lee remained with the bulk of his army in front of Richmond; but, on the 13th of July, sent Jackson with two divisions in the direction of Gordonsville. The game of wits had thus begun, and General Lee moved cautiously, looking in both directions, toward James River and the Upper Rappahannock. As yet the real design of the enemy was undeveloped. The movement of General Pope might or might not be a real advance. But General McClellan remained inactive, and, on the 27th of July, A.P. Hill's division was sent up to reënforce Jackson--while, at the same time, General D.H. Hill, commanding a force on the south bank of the James River, was directed to make demonstrations against McClellan's communications by opening fire on his transports. The moment approached now when the game between the two adversaries was to be decided. On the 2d of August, Jackson assumed the offensive, by attacking the enemy at Orange Court-House; and, on the 5th, General McClellan made a prompt demonstration to prevent Lee from sending him further reinforcements. A large Federal force advanced to Malvern Hill, and was drawn up there in line of battle, with every indication on the part of General McClellan of an intention to advance anew upon Richmond. Lee promptly went to meet him, and a slight engagement ensued on Curl's Neck. But, on the next morning, the Federal army had disappeared, and the whole movement was seen to have been a feint. This state of indecision continued until nearly the middle of August. An incident then occurred which clearly indicated the enemy's intentions. General Burnside was known to have reached Hampton Roads from the Southern coast with a considerable force, and the direction which his flotilla now took would show the design of the Federal authorities. If a new advance was intended from the James, the flotilla would ascend that river; if General Pope's army was looked to for the real movement, General Burnside would go in that direction. The secret was discovered by the afterward celebrated Colonel John S. Mosby, then a private, and just returned, by way of Fortress Monroe, from prison in Washington. He ascertained, when he disembarked, that Burnside's flotilla was about to move toward the Rappahannock, and, aware of the importance of the information, hastened to communicate it to General Lee. He was admitted, at the headquarters of the latter near Richmond, to a private interview, and when General Lee had finished his conversation with the plain-looking individual, then almost unknown, he was in possession of the information necessary to determine his plans. The Rappahannock, and not the James, was seen to be the theatre of the coming campaign, and General Lee's whole attention was now directed to that quarter. Jackson had already struck an important blow there, coöperating vigorously, as was habitual with him, in the general plan of action. General McClellan had endeavored by a feint to hold Lee at Richmond. By a battle now, Jackson hastened the retreat of the army under McClellan from James River. With his three divisions, Jackson crossed the Rapidan, and, on the 9th of August, attacked the advance force of General Pope at Cedar Mountain. The struggle was obstinate, and at one time Jackson's left was driven back, but the action terminated at nightfall in the retreat of the Federal forces, and the Confederate commander remained in possession of the field. He was too weak, however, to hold his position against the main body of the Federal army, which was known to be approaching; he accordingly recrossed the Rapidan to the vicinity of Gordonsville, and here he was soon afterward joined by General Lee, with the great bulk of the Confederate army. Such were the events which succeeded the battles of the Chickahominy, transferring hostilities to a new theatre, and inaugurating the great campaigns of the summer and autumn of 1862 in Northern Virginia and Maryland. III. LEE ADVANCES FROM THE RAPIDAN. General Lee, it will thus be seen, had proceeded in his military manoeuvres with the utmost caution, determined to give his adversaries no advantage, and remain in front of the capital until it was free from all danger. But for the daring assault upon General McClellan, on the Chickahominy, his critics would no doubt have charged him with weakness and indecision now; but, under any circumstances, it is certain that he would have proceeded in the same manner, conducting operations in the method which his judgment approved. At length the necessity of caution had disappeared. General Burnside had gone to reënforce General Pope, and a portion of McClellan's army was believed to have followed. "It therefore seemed," says General Lee, "that active operations on the James were no longer contemplated," and he wisely concluded that "the most effectual way to relieve Richmond from any danger of attack from that quarter would be to reënforce General Jackson, and advance upon General Pope." In commenting upon these words, an able writer of the North exclaims: "Veracious prophecy, showing that _insight_ which is one of the highest marks of generalship!" The movement, indeed, was the right proceeding, as the event showed; and good generalship may be defined to be the power of seeing what is the proper course, and the decision of character which leads to its adoption. General Lee exhibited throughout his career this mingled good judgment and daring, and his cautious inactivity was now succeeded by one of those offensive movements which, if we may judge him, by his subsequent career, seemed to be the natural bent of his character. With the bulk of his army, he marched in the direction of General Pope; the rest were speedily ordered to follow, and active operations began for driving the newly-formed Federal "Army of Virginia" back toward Washington. We have presented Lee's order for the attack on General McClellan, and here quote his order of march for the advance against General Pope, together with a note addressed to Stuart, commanding his cavalry, for that officer's guidance. HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, _August_ 19, 1862. SPECIAL ORDER No. 185. I. General Longstreet's command, constituting the right wing of the army, will cross the Rapidan at Raccoon Ford, and move in the direction of Culpepper Court-House. General Jackson's command, constituting the left wing, will cross at Summerville Ford, and move in the same direction, keeping on the left of General Longstreet. General Anderson's division will cross at Summerville Ford, follow the route of General Jackson, and act in reserve. The battalion of light artillery, under Colonel S.D. Lee, will take the same route. The cavalry, under General Stuart, will cross at Morton's Ford, pursue the route by Stevensburg to Rappahannock Station, destroy the railroad bridge, cut the enemy's communications, telegraph line, and, operating toward Culpepper Court-House, will take position on General Longstreet's right. II. The commanders of each wing will designate the reserve for their commands. Medical and ammunition wagons will alone follow the troops across the Rapidan. The baggage and supply trains will be parked under their respective officers, in secure positions on the south side, so as not to embarrass the different roads. III. Cooked rations for three days will be carried in the haversacks of the men, and provision must be made for foraging the animals. Straggling from the ranks is strictly prohibited, and commanders will make arrangements to secure and punish the offenders. IV. The movements herein directed will commence to-morrow, 20th instant, at dawn of day. By command of General R.E. Lee: A.P. MASON, _A.A. G_. HEADQUARTERS CRENSHAW'S FARM,} _August_ 19, 1862.} _General J.E.B. Stuart, commanding Cavalry_: General: I desire you to rest your men to-day, refresh your horses, prepare rations and every thing for the march to-morrow. Get what information you can of fords, roads, and position of the enemy, so that your march can be made understandingly and with vigor. I send to you Captain Mason, an experienced bridge-builder, etc., whom I think will be able to aid you in the destruction of the bridge, etc. When that is accomplished, or when in train of execution, as circumstances permit, I wish you to operate back toward Culpepper Court-House, creating such confusion and consternation as you can, without unnecessarily exposing your men, till you feel Longstreet's right. Take position there on his right, and hold yourself in reserve, and act as circumstances may require. I wish to know during the day how you proceed in your preparations. They will require the personal attention of all your officers. The last reports from the signal-stations yesterday evening were, that the enemy was breaking up his principal encampments, and moving in direction of Culpepper Court-House. Very respectfully, etc., R.E. LEE, _General_. These orders indicate General Lee's design--to reach the left flank of the enemy, prevent his retreat by destroying the bridges on the Rappahannock, and bring him to battle in the neighborhood of Culpepper Court-House. The plan failed in consequence of a delay of two days, which took place in its execution--a delay, attributed at that time, we know not with what justice, to the unnecessarily deliberate movements of the corps commanded by General Longstreet. This delay enabled the enemy to gain information of the intended movement; and when General Lee advanced on the 20th of August, instead of on the 18th, as he had at first determined to do, it was found that General Pope had broken up his camps, and was in rapid retreat. Lee followed, and reached the Rappahannock only to find that the Federal army had passed that stream. General Pope, who had promised to conduct none but offensive operations, and never look to the rear, had thus hastened to interpose the waters of the Rappahannock between himself and his adversary, and, when General Lee approached, he found every crossing of the river heavily defended by the Federal infantry and artillery. In face of this large force occupying a commanding position on the heights, General Lee made no effort to cross. He determined, he says, "not to attempt the passage of the river at that point with the army," but to "seek a more favorable place to cross, higher up the river, and thus gain the enemy's right." This manoeuvre was intrusted to Jackson, whose corps formed the Confederate left wing. Jackson advanced promptly to the Warrenton Springs Ford, which had been selected as the point of crossing, drove away a force of the enemy posted at the place, and immediately began to pass the river with his troops. The movement was however interrupted by a severe rain-storm, which swelled the waters of the Rappahannock, and rendered a further prosecution of it impracticable. General Lee was thus compelled to give up that plan, and ordered Jackson to withdraw the force which had crossed. This was done, and General Lee was now called upon to adopt some other method of attack; or to remain inactive in face of the enemy. But to remain inactive was impossible. The army must either advance or retire; information which had just reached the Confederate general rendered one of these two proceedings indispensable. The information referred to had been obtained by General Stuart. The activity and energy of this officer, especially in gaining intelligence, now proved, as they proved often afterward, of the utmost importance to Lee. Stuart had been directed by General Lee to make an attack, with a cavalry force, on the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, in the enemy's rear; he had promptly carried out his orders by striking the Federal communications at Catlett's Station, had destroyed there all that he found, and torn up the railroad, but, better than all, had captured a box containing official papers belonging to General Pope. These papers, which Stuart hastened--marching day and night, through storm and flood--to convey to General Lee, presented the clearest evidence of the enemy's movements and designs. Troops were hastening from every direction to reënforce General Pope, the entire force on James River especially was to be brought rapidly north of the Rappahannock, and any delay in the operations of the Confederates would thus expose them to attack from the Federal forces concentrated from all quarters in their front. [Illustration: Map--Upper Rappahannock] IV. JACKSON FLANKS GENERAL POPE. It was thus necessary to act with decision, and General Lee resolved upon a movement apparently of the most reckless character. This was to separate his army into two parts, and, while one remained confronting the enemy on the Rappahannock, send the other by a long circuit to fall on the Federal rear near Manassas. This plan of action was opposed to the first rule of the military art, that a general should never divide his force in the face of an enemy. That Lee ventured to do so on this occasion can only be explained on one hypothesis, that he did not highly esteem the military ability of his opponent. These flank attacks undoubtedly, however, possessed a great attraction for him, as they did for Jackson, and, in preferring such movement, Lee was probably actuated both by the character of the troops on both sides and by the nature of the country. The men of both armies were comparatively raw levies, highly susceptible to the influence of "surprise," and the appearance of an enemy on their flanks, or in their rear, was calculated to throw them into disorder. The wooded character of the theatre of war generally rendered such movements practicable, and all that was requisite was a certain amount of daring in the commander who was called upon to decide upon them. This daring Lee repeatedly exhibited, and the uniform success of the movements indicates his sound generalship. To command the force which was now to go on the perilous errand of striking General Pope's rear, General Lee selected Jackson, who had exhibited such promptness and decision in the campaigns of the Valley of Virginia. Rapidity of movement was necessary above all things, and, if any one could be relied upon for that, it was the now famous Stonewall Jackson. To him the operation was accordingly intrusted, and his corps was at once put in motion. Crossing the Rappahannock at an almost forgotten ford, high up and out of view of the Federal right, Jackson pushed forward day and night toward Manassas, reached Thoroughfare Gap, in the Bull Run Mountain, west of that place, passed through, and completely destroyed the great mass of supplies in the Federal depot at Manassas. The whole movement had been made with such rapidity, and General Stuart, commanding the cavalry, had so thoroughly guarded the flank of the advancing column from observation, that Manassas was a mass of smoking ruins almost before General Pope was aware of the real danger. Intelligence soon reached him, however, of the magnitude of the blow aimed by Lee, and, hastily breaking up his camps on the Rappahannock, he hurried to attack the force assailing his communications. The first part of General Lee's plan had thus fully succeeded. General Pope, who had occupied every ford of the Rappahannock, so as to render the passage difficult, if not impossible, had disappeared suddenly, to go and attack the enemy in his rear. General Lee promptly moved in his turn, with the great corps under Longstreet, and pushed toward Manassas, over nearly the same road followed by Jackson. [Illustration: T.J. Jackson] V. LEE FOLLOWS. The contest of generalship had now fully begun, and the brain of General Lee was matched against the brain of General Pope. It is no part of the design of the writer of this volume to exalt unduly the reputation of Lee, and detract from the credit due his adversaries. Justice has been sought to be done to General McClellan; the same measure of justice will be dealt out to his successors on the Federal side; nor is it calculated to elevate the fame of Lee, to show that his opponents were incapable and inefficient. Of General Pope, however, it must be said that he suffered himself to be outgeneralled in every particular; and the pithy comment of General Lee, that he "did not appear to be aware of his situation," sums up the whole subject. It is beyond our purpose to enter upon any thing resembling a detailed narrative of the confused and complicated movements of the various corps of the army under General Pope. These have been the subject of the severest criticism by his own followers. We shall simply notice the naked events. Jackson reached Manassas on the night of August 26th, took it, and on the next day destroyed the great depot. General Pope was hastening to protect it, but was delayed by Ewell at Bristoe, and a force sent up from Washington, under the brave General Taylor, was driven off with loss. Then, having achieved his aim, Jackson fell back toward Sudley. If the reader will look at the map, he will now understand the exact condition of affairs. Jackson had burned the Federal depot of supplies, and retired before the great force hastening to rescue them. He had with him about twenty thousand men, and General Pope's force was probably triple that number. Thus, the point was to hold General Pope at arm's-length until the arrival of Lee; and, to accomplish this great end, Jackson fell back beyond Groveton. There he formed line of battle, and waited. It is obvious that, under these circumstances, the true policy of General Pope was to obstruct Thoroughfare Gap, the only road by which Lee could approach promptly, and then crush Jackson. On the night of the 27th, General McDowell was accordingly sent thither with forty thousand men; but General Pope ordered him, on the next morning, to Manassas, where he hoped to "bag the whole crowd," he said--that is to say, the force under Jackson. This was the fatal mistake made by General Pope. Thoroughfare Gap was comparatively undefended. While General Pope was marching to attack Jackson, who had disappeared, it was the next thing to a certainty that General Lee would attack _him_. All parties were thus moving to and fro; but the Confederates enjoyed the very great advantage over General Pope of knowing precisely how affairs stood, and of having determined upon their own plan of operations. Jackson, with his back to the mountain, was waiting for Lee. Lee was approaching rapidly, to unite the two halves of his army. General Pope, meanwhile, was marching and countermarching, apparently ignorant of the whereabouts of Jackson,[1] General Lee, in personal command of Longstreet's corps, reached the western end of Thoroughfare Gap about sunset, on the 28th, and the sound of artillery from the direction of Groveton indicated that Jackson and General Pope had come in collision. Jackson had himself brought on this engagement by attacking the flank of one of General Pope's various columns, as it marched across his front, over the Warrenton road, and this was the origin of the sound wafted to General Lee's ears as he came in sight of Thoroughfare. It was certainly calculated to excite his nerves if they were capable of being excited. Jackson was evidently engaged, and the disproportion between his forces and those of General Pope rendered such an engagement extremely critical. Lee accordingly pressed forward, reached the Gap, and the advance force suddenly halted: the Gap was defended. The Federal force posted here, at the eastern opening of the Gap, was small, and wholly inadequate for the purpose; but this was as yet unknown to General Lee. His anxiety under these circumstances must have been great. Jackson might be crushed before his arrival. He rode up to the summit of the commanding hill which rises just west of the Gap, and dismounting directed his field-glass toward the shaggy defile in front. [Footnote 1: "Not knowing at the time where was the enemy."--_General Porter_.] and undecided what course to pursue. [Illustration: Lee Reconnoitring at Throughfare Gap.] The writer of these pages chanced to be near the Confederate commander at this moment, and was vividly impressed by the air of unmoved calmness which marked his countenance and demeanor. Nothing in the expression of his face, and no hurried movement, indicated excitement or anxiety. Here, as on many other occasions, Lee impressed the writer as an individual gifted with the most surprising faculty of remaining cool and unaffected in the midst of circumstances calculated to arouse the most phlegmatic. After reconnoitring for some moments without moving, he closed his glass slowly, as though he were buried in reflection, and deliberating at his leisure, and, walking back slowly to his horse, mounted and rode down the hill. The attack was not delayed, and flanking columns were sent to cross north of the Gap and assail the enemy's rear. But the assault in front was successful. The small force of the enemy at the eastern opening of the Gap retired, and, by nine o'clock at night, General Longstreet's corps was passing through. All the next morning (August 29th), Longstreet's troops were coming into position on the right of Jackson, under the personal supervision of Lee. By noon the line of battle was formed.[1] Lee's army was once more united. General Pope had not been able to crush less than one-half that army, for twenty-four hours nearly in his clutches, and it did not seem probable that he would meet with greater success, now that the whole was concentrated and held in the firm hand of Lee. [Footnote 1: The hour of Longstreet's arrival has been strangely a subject of discussion. The truth is stated in the reports of Lee, Longstreet, Jones, and other officers. But General Pope was ignorant of Longstreet's presence _at five in the evening_; and General Porter, his subordinate, was dismissed from the army for not at that hour attacking Jackson's right, declared by General Pope to be undefended. Longstreet was in line of battle by noon.] VI. THE SECOND BATTLE OF MANASSAS. Lee's order of battle for the coming action was peculiar. It resembled an open V, with the opening toward the enemy--Jackson's corps forming the left wing, and extending from near Sudley, to a point in rear of the small village of Groveton, Longstreet's corps forming the right wing, and reaching from Jackson's right to and beyond the Warrenton road which runs to Stonebridge. The field of battle was nearly identical with that of July 21, 1861. The only difference was, that the Confederates occupied the ground formerly held by the Federal troops, and that the latter attacked, as Johnston and Beauregard had attacked, from the direction of Manassas, and the tableland around the well-known Henry House. The Southern order of battle seems to have contemplated a movement on one or both of General Pope's flanks while he attacked in front. An assault on either wing would expose him to danger from the other, and it will be seen that the fate of the battle was decided by this judicious arrangement of the Confederate commander. The action began a little after noon, when the Federal right, consisting of the troops of Generals Banks, Sigel, and others, advanced and made a vigorous attack on Jackson's left, under A.P. Hill. An obstinate conflict ensued, the opposing lines fighting almost bayonet to bayonet, "delivering their volleys into each other at the distance of ten paces." At the first charge, an interval between two of Hill's brigades was penetrated by the enemy, and that wing of Jackson's corps was in great danger of being driven back. This disaster was, however, prevented by the prompt stand made by two or three regiments; the enemy was checked, and a prompt counter-charge drove the Federal assaulting columns back into the woods. The attempt to break Jackson's line at this point was not, however, abandoned. The Federal troops returned again and again to the encounter, and General Hill reported "six separate and distinct assaults" made upon him. They were all repulsed, in which important assistance was rendered by General Early. That brave officer attacked with vigor, and, aided by the fire of the Confederate artillery from the elevated ground in Jackson's rear, drove the enemy before him with such slaughter that one of their regiments is said to have carried back but three men. This assault of the enemy had been of so determined a character, that General Lee, in order to relieve his left, had directed Hood and Evans, near his centre, to advance and attack the left of the assaulting column. Hood was about to do so, when he found a heavy force advancing to charge his own line. A warm engagement followed, which resulted in the repulse of the enemy, and Hood followed them a considerable distance, inflicting heavy loss. It was now nearly nine o'clock at night, and the darkness rendered further operations impossible. The troops which had driven the enemy were recalled from their advanced position, the Southern line was reformed on the same ground occupied at the commencement of the action, and General Lee prepared for the more decisive struggle of the next day. Morning came (August 30th), but all the forenoon passed without a resumption of the battle. Each of the adversaries seemed to await some movement on the part of the other, and the Federal commander made heavy feints against both the Confederate right and left, with the view of discovering some weak point, or of inducing Lee to lay himself open to attack. These movements had, however, no effect. Lee remained obstinately in his strong position, rightly estimating the advantage it gave him, and no doubt taking into consideration the want of supplies General Pope must labor under, a deficiency which rendered a prompt assault on his part indispensable. The armies thus remained in face of each other, without serious efforts upon either side, until nearly or quite the hour of three in the afternoon. General Pope then resumed the assault on Lee's left, under Jackson, with his best troops. The charge was furious, and a bloody struggle ensued; but Jackson succeeded in repulsing the force. It fell back in disorder, but was succeeded by a second and a third line, which rushed forward at the "double-quick," in a desperate attempt to break the Southern line. These new attacks were met with greater obstinacy than at first, and, just as the opponents had closed in, a heavy fire was directed against the Federal column by Colonel S.D. Lee, commanding the artillery at Lee's centre. This fire, which was of the most rapid and destructive character, struck the enemy in front and flank at once, and seemed to sweep back the charging brigades as they came. The fire of the cannon was then redoubled, and Jackson's line advanced with cheers. Before this charge, the Federal line broke, and Jackson pressed forward, allowing them no respite. General Lee then threw forward Longstreet, who, knowing what was expected of him, was already moving. The enemy were pressed thus in front and on their flank, as Lee had no doubt intended, in forming his peculiar line. The corps of Jackson and Longstreet closed in like two iron arms; the Federal forces were driven from position to position; the glare of their cannon, more and more distant, indicated that they had abandoned further contest, and at ten at night the darkness put an end to the battle and pursuit. General Pope was retreating with his defeated forces toward Washington. On the next day, Lee dispatched Jackson to turn Centreville and cut off the retreat of General Pope. The result was a severe engagement near Germantown, which was put an end to by a violent storm. General Pope, now reënforced by the commands of Generals Sumner and Franklin, had been enabled to hold his ground until night. When, on the next day (September 2d), the Confederates advanced to Fairfax Court-House, it was found that the entire Federal army was in rapid retreat upon Washington. Such had been the fate of General Pope. PART V. _LEE INVADES MARYLAND_. I. HIS DESIGNS. The defeat of General Pope opened the way for movements not contemplated, probably, by General Lee, when he marched from Richmond to check the advance in Culpepper. His object at that time was doubtless simply to arrest the forward movement of the new force threatening Gordonsville. Now, however, the position of the pieces on the great chess-board of war had suddenly changed, and it was obviously Lee's policy to extract all the advantage possible from the new condition of things. He accordingly determined to advance into Maryland--the fortifications in front of Washington, and the interposition of the Potomac, a broad stream easily defended, rendering a movement in that direction unpromising. On the 3d of September, therefore, and without waiting to rest his army, which was greatly fatigued with the nearly continuous marching and fighting since it had left the Rapidan, General Lee moved toward Leesburg, crossed his forces near that place, and to the music of the bands playing the popular air, "Maryland, my Maryland," advanced to Frederick City, which he occupied on the 7th of September. Lee's object in invading Maryland has been the subject of much discussion, one party holding the view that his sole aim was to surround and capture a force of nine or ten thousand Federal troops stationed at Harper's Ferry; and another party maintaining that he proposed an invasion of Pennsylvania as far as the Susquehanna, intending to fight a decisive battle there, and advance thereafter upon Philadelphia, Baltimore, or Washington. The course pursued by an army commander is largely shaped by the progress of events. It can only be said that General Lee, doubtless, left the future to decide his ultimate movements; meanwhile he had a distinct and clearly-defined aim, which he states in plain words. His object was to draw the Federal forces out of Virginia first. The movement culminating in the victory over the enemy at Manassas had produced the effect of paralyzing them in every quarter. On the coast of North Carolina, in Western Virginia, and in the Shenandoah Valley, had been heard the echo of the great events in Middle and Northern Virginia. General Burnside's force had been brought up from the South, leaving affairs at a stand-still in that direction; and, contemporaneously with the retreat of General Pope, the Federal forces at Washington and beyond had fallen back to the Potomac. This left the way open, and Lee's farther advance, it was obvious, would now completely clear Virginia of her invaders. The situation of affairs, and the expected results, are clearly stated by General Lee: "The war was thus transferred," he says, "from the interior to the frontier, and the supplies of rich and productive districts made accessible to our army. To prolong a state of affairs in every way desirable, and not to permit the season for active operations to pass without endeavoring to inflict other injury upon the enemy, the best course appeared to be the transfer of the army into Maryland." The state of things in Maryland was another important consideration. That great Commonwealth was known to be sectionally divided in its sentiment toward the Federal Government, the eastern portion adhering generally to the side of the South, and the western portion generally to the Federal side. But, even as high up as Frederick, it was hoped that the Southern cause would find adherents and volunteers to march under the Confederate banner. If this portion of the population had only the opportunity to choose their part, unterrified by Federal bayonets, it was supposed they would decide for the South. In any event, the movement would be important. The condition of affairs in Maryland, General Lee says, "encouraged the belief that the presence of our army, however inferior to that of the enemy, would induce the Washington Government to retain all its available force to provide for contingencies which its course toward the people of that State gave it reason to apprehend," and to cross the Potomac "might afford us an opportunity to aid the citizens of Maryland in any efforts they might be disposed to make to recover their liberty." It may be said, in summing up on this point, that Lee expected volunteers to enroll themselves under his standard, tempted to do so by the hope of throwing off the yoke of the Federal Government, and the army certainly shared this expectation. The identity of sentiment generally between the people of the States of Maryland and Virginia, and their strong social ties in the past, rendered this anticipation reasonable, and the feeling of the country at the result afterward was extremely bitter. Such were the first designs of Lee; his ultimate aim seems as clear. By advancing into Maryland and threatening Baltimore and Washington, he knew that he would force the enemy to withdraw all their troops from the south bank of the Potomac, where they menaced the Confederate communications with Richmond; when this was accomplished, as it clearly would be, his design was, to cross the Maryland extension of the Blue Ridge, called there the South Mountain, advance by way of Hagerstown into the Cumberland Valley, and, by thus forcing the enemy to follow him, draw them to a distance from their base of supplies, while his own communications would remain open by way of the Shenandoah Valley. This was essentially the same plan pursued in the campaign of 1863, which terminated in the battle of Gettysburg. General Lee's movements now indicated similar intentions. He doubtless wished, in the first place, to compel the enemy to pursue him--then to lead them as far as was prudent--and then, if circumstances were favorable, bring them to decisive battle, success in which promised to open for him the gates of Washington or Baltimore, and end the war. It will now be seen how the delay caused by the movement of Jackson against Harper's Ferry, and the discovery by General McClellan of the entire arrangement devised by Lee for that purpose, caused the failure of this whole ulterior design. [Illustration: Map--Map of the MARYLAND CAMPAIGN.] II. LEE IN MARYLAND. The Southern army was concentrated in the neighborhood of Frederick City by the 7th of September, and on the next day General Lee issued an address to the people of Maryland. We have not burdened the present narrative with Lee's army orders and other official papers; but the great force and dignity of this address render it desirable to present it in full: HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA,} NEAR FREDERICKTOWN, _September_ 8, 1862.} _To the People of Maryland_: It is right that you should know the purpose that has brought the army under my command within the limits of your State, so far as that purpose concerns yourselves. The people of the Confederate States have long watched with the deepest sympathy the wrongs and outrages that have been inflicted upon the citizens of a Commonwealth allied to the States of the South by the strongest social, political, and commercial ties. They have seen, with profound indignation, their sister State deprived of every right, and reduced to the condition of a conquered province. Under the pretence of supporting the Constitution, but in violation of its most valuable provisions, your citizens have been arrested and imprisoned upon no charge, and contrary to all forms of law. The faithful and manly protest against this outrage, made by the venerable and illustrious Marylanders--to whom in better days no citizen appealed for right in vain--was treated with scorn and contempt. The government of your chief city has been usurped by armed strangers; your Legislature has been dissolved by the unlawful arrest of its members; freedom of the press and of speech have been suppressed; words have been declared offences by an arbitrary desire of the Federal Executive, and citizens ordered to be tried by military commission for what they may dare to speak. Believing that the people of Maryland possessed a spirit too lofty to submit to such a government, the people of the South have long wished to aid you in throwing off this foreign yoke, to enable you again to enjoy the inalienable rights of freemen, and restore independence and sovereignty to your State. In obedience to this wish, our army has come among you, and is prepared to assist you, with the power of its arms, in regaining the rights of which you have been despoiled. This, citizens of Maryland, is our mission, so far as you are concerned. No constraint upon your free will is intended--no intimidation will be allowed. Within the limits of this army, at least, Marylanders shall once more enjoy their ancient freedom of thought and speech. We know no enemies among you, and will protect all of every opinion. It is for you to decide your destiny, freely, and without constraint. This army will respect your choice, whatever it may be; and, while the Southern people will rejoice to welcome you to your natural position among them, they will only welcome you when you come of your own free will. R.E. LEE, _General commanding_. This address, full of grave dignity, and highly characteristic of the Confederate commander, was in vivid contrast with the harsh orders of General Pope in Culpepper. The accents of friendship and persuasion were substituted for the "rod of iron." There would be no coercive measures; no arrests, with the alternative presented of an oath to support the South, or instant banishment. No intimidation would be permitted. In the lines of the Southern army, at least, Marylanders should enjoy freedom of thought and speech, and every man should "decide his destiny freely, and without constraint." This address, couched in terms of such dignity, had little effect upon the people. Either their sentiment in favor of the Union was too strong, or they found nothing in the condition of affairs to encourage their Southern feelings. A large Federal force was known to be advancing; Lee's army, in tatters, and almost without supplies, presented a very uninviting appearance to recruits, and few joined his standard, the population in general remaining hostile or neutral. The condition of the army was indeed forlorn. It was worn down by marching and fighting; the men had scarcely shoes upon their feet; and, above the tattered figures, flaunting their rags in the sunshine, were seen gaunt and begrimed faces, in which could be read little of the "romance of war." The army was in no condition to undertake an invasion; "lacking much of the material of war, feeble in transportation, poorly provided with clothing, and thousands of them destitute of shoes," is Lee's description of his troops. Such was the condition of the better portion of the force; on the opposite side of the Potomac, scattered along the hills, could be seen a weary, ragged, hungry, and confused multitude, who had dragged along in rear of the rest, unable to keep up, and whose miserable appearance said little for the prospects of the army to which they belonged. From these and other causes resulted the general apathy of the Marylanders, and Lee soon discovered that he must look solely to his own men for success in his future movements. He faced that conviction courageously; and, without uttering a word of comment, or indulging in any species of crimination against the people of Maryland, resolutely commenced his movements looking to the capture of Harper's Ferry and the invasion of Pennsylvania.[1] [Footnote 1: The reader will perceive that the intent to _invade_ Pennsylvania is repeatedly attributed in these pages to General Lee. His own expression is, "by _threatening_ Pennsylvania, to induce the enemy," etc. That he designed invasion, aided by the recruits anticipated in Maryland, seems unquestionable; since, even after discovering the lukewarmness of the people there by the fact that few joined his standard, he still advanced to Hagerstown, but a step from the Pennsylvania line. These facts have induced the present writer to attribute the design of actual invasion to Lee with entire confidence; and all the circumstances seem to him to support that hypothesis.] The promises of his address had been kept. No one had been forced to follow the Southern flag; and now, when the people turned their backs upon it, closing the doors of the houses in the faces of the Southern troops, they remained unmolested. Lee had thus given a practical proof of the sincerity of his character. He had promised nothing which he had not performed; and in Maryland, as afterward in Pennsylvania, in 1863, he remained firm against the temptation to adopt the harsh course generally pursued by the commanders of invading armies. He seems to have proceeded on the principle that good faith is as essential in public affairs as in private, and to have resolved that, in any event, whether of victory or disaster, his enemies should not have it in their power to say that he broke his plighted word, or acted in a manner unbecoming a Christian gentleman. Prompt action was now necessary. The remnants of General Pope's army, greatly scattered and disorganized by the severe battle of Manassas, had been rapidly reformed and brought into order again, and to this force was added a large number of new troops, hurried forward from the Northern States to Washington. This new army was not to be commanded by General Pope, who had been weighed and found wanting in ability to contend with Lee. The force was intrusted to General McClellan, in spite of his unpopularity with the Federal authorities; and the urgent manner in which he had been called upon to take the head of affairs and protect the Federal capital, is the most eloquent of all commentaries upon the position which he held in the eyes of the country and the army. It was felt, indeed, by all that the Federal ship was rolling in the storm, and an experienced pilot was necessary for her guidance. General McClellan was accordingly directed, after General Pope's defeat, to take command of every thing, and see to the safety of Washington; and, finding himself at length at the head of an army of about one hundred thousand men, he proceeded, after the manner of a good soldier, to protect the Federal capital by advancing into upper Maryland in pursuit of Lee. III. MOVEMENTS OF THE TWO ARMIES. General Lee was already moving to the accomplishment of his designs, the capture of Harper's Ferry, and an advance into the Cumberland Valley. His plan to attain the first-mentioned object was simple, and promised to be successful. Jackson was to march around by way of "Williamsport and Martinsburg," and thus approach from the south. A force was meanwhile to seize upon and occupy the Maryland Heights, a lofty spot of the mountain across the Potomac, north of the Ferry. In like manner, another body of troops was to cross the Potomac, east of the Blue Ridge, and occupy the Loudon Heights, looking down upon Harper's Ferry from the east. By this arrangement the retreat of the enemy would be completely cut off in every direction. Harper's Ferry must be captured, and, having effected that result, the whole Confederate force, detached for the purpose, was to follow the main body of this army in the direction of Hagerstown, to take part in the proposed invasion of Pennsylvania. This excellent plan failed, as will be seen, from no fault of the great soldier who devised it, but in consequence of unforeseen obstacles, and especially of one of those singular incidents which occasionally reverse the best-laid schemes and abruptly turn aside the currents of history. Jackson and the commanders coöperating with him moved on September 10th. General Lee then with his main body crossed the South Mountain, taking the direction of Hagerstown. Meanwhile, General McClellan had advanced cautiously and slowly, withheld by incessant dispatches from Washington, warning him not to move in such a manner as to expose that city to danger. Such danger existed only in the imaginations of the authorities, as the army in advancing extended its front from the Potomac to the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. General McClellan, nevertheless, moved with very great precaution, feeling his way, step by step, like a man in the dark, when on reaching Frederick City, which the Confederates had just evacuated, good fortune suddenly came to his assistance. This good fortune was the discovery of a copy of General Lee's orders of march for the army, in which his whole plan was revealed. General McClellan had therein the unmistakable evidence of his opponent's intentions, and from that moment his advance was as rapid as before it had been deliberate. The result of this fortunate discovery was speedily seen. General Lee, while moving steadily toward Hagerstown, was suddenly compelled to turn his attention to the mountain-passes in his rear. It had not been the intention of Lee to oppose the passage of the enemy through the South Mountain, as he desired to draw General McClellan as far as possible from his base, but the delay in the fall of Harper's Ferry now made this necessary. It was essential to defend the mountain-defiles in order to insure the safety of the Confederate troops at Harper's Ferry; and Lee accordingly directed General D.H. Hill to oppose the passage of the enemy at Boonsboro Gap, and Longstreet was sent from Hagerstown to support him. An obstinate struggle now ensued for the possession of the main South Mountain Gap, near Boonsboro, and the roar of Jackson's artillery from Harper's Ferry must have prompted the assailants to determined efforts to force the passage. The battle continued until night (September 14th), and resulted in heavy loss on both sides, the brave General Reno, of the United States army, among others, losing his life. Darkness put an end to the action, the Federal forces not having succeeded in passing the Gap; but, learning that a column of the enemy had crossed below and threatened him with an attack in flank, General Lee determined to retire in the direction of Sharpsburg, where Jackson and the forces coöperating with him could join the main body of the army. This movement was effected without difficulty, and Lee notices the skill and efficiency of General Fitz Lee in covering the rear with his cavalry. The Federal army failed to press forward as rapidly as it is now obvious it should have done. The head of the column did not appear west of the mountain until eight o'clock in the morning (September 15th), and, nearly at the same moment ("the attack began at dawn; in about two hours the garrison surrendered," says General Lee), Harper's Ferry yielded to Jackson. Fast-riding couriers brought the welcome intelligence of Jackson's success to General Lee, as the latter was approaching Sharpsburg, and official information speedily came that the result had been the capture of more than eleven thousand men, thirteen thousand small-arms, and seventy-three cannon. It was probably this large number of men and amount of military stores falling into the hands of the Confederates which afterward induced the opinion that Lee's sole design in invading Maryland had been the reduction of Harper's Ferry. General McClellan had thus failed, in spite of every effort which he had made, to relieve Harper's Ferry,[1] and no other course remained now but to follow Lee and bring him to battle. The Federal army accordingly moved on the track of its adversary, and, on the afternoon of the same day (September 15th), found itself in sight of Lee's forces drawn up on the western side of Antietam Creek, near the village of Sharpsburg. [Footnote 1: All along the march he had fired signal-guns to inform the officer in command at Harper's Ferry of his approach.] At last the great opponents were in face of each other, and a battle, it was obvious, could not long be delayed. IV. THE PRELUDE TO SHARPSBURG. General Lee had once more sustained a serious check from the skill and soldiership of the officer who had conducted the successful retreat of the Federal army from the Chickahominy to James River. The defeat and dispersion of the army of General Pope on the last day of August seemed to have opened Pennsylvania to the Confederates. On the 15th of September, a fortnight afterward, General McClellan, at the head of a new army, raised in large measure by the magic of his name, had pursued the victorious Confederate, checked his further advance, and, forcing him to abandon his designs of invasion, brought him to bay a hundred miles from the capital. This was generalship, it would seem, in the true acceptation of the term, and McClellan, harassed and hampered by the authorities, who looked but coldly upon him, could say, with Coriolanus, "Alone I did it." Lee was thus compelled to give up his movement in the direction of Pennsylvania, and concentrate his army to receive the assault of General McClellan. Jackson, marching with his customary promptness, joined him with a portion of the detached force on the next day (September 16th), and almost immediately those thunders which prelude the great struggles of history began. General Lee had drawn up his army on the high ground west of the Antietam, a narrow and winding stream which flows, through fields dotted with homesteads and clumps of fruit and forest trees, to the Potomac. Longstreet's corps was posted on the right of the road from Sharpsburg to Boonsboro, his right flank guarded by the waters of the stream, which here bends westward; on the left of the Boonsboro road D.H. Hill's command was stationed; two brigades under General Hood were drawn up on Hill's left; and when Jackson arrived Lee directed him to post his command on the left of Hood, his right resting on the Hagerstown road, and his left extending backward obliquely toward the Potomac, here making a large bend, where Stuart with his cavalry and horse-artillery occupied the ground to the river's bank. This arrangement of his troops was extremely judicious, as the sequel proved. It was probable that General McClellan would direct his main attack against the Confederate left, with the view of turning that flank and hemming in the Southern army, or driving it into the river. By retiring Jackson's left, Lee provided for this contingency, and it will be seen that the design attributed by him to his adversary was that determined upon. General McClellan occupied the ground on the eastern bank of the Antietam. He had evidently massed his forces opposite the Confederate left, but a heavy order of battle stood opposite the centre and right of Lee, where bridges crossed the stream. The respective numbers of the adversaries can be stated with accuracy. "Our forces at the battle of Antietam," said General McClellan, when before the committee of investigation afterward, "were, total in action, eighty-seven thousand one hundred and sixty-four." General Lee says in his report: "This great battle was fought by less than forty thousand men on our side." Colonel Walter H. Taylor, a gentleman of the highest character, and formerly adjutant-general of the army, makes the Confederate numbers somewhat less. In a memorandum before the writer, he says: Our strength at Sharpsburg. I think this is correct: Jackson _(including A.P. Hill_) 10,000 Longstreet 12,000 D.H. Hill and Walker 7,000 ______ Effective infantry 29,000 Cavalry and artillery 8,000 ______ Total of all arms 37,000 This disproportion was very great, amounting, as it did, to more than two for one. But this was unavoidable. The Southern army had been worn out by their long marching and fighting. Portions of the command were scattered all over the roads of Northern Virginia, wearily dragging their half-clothed limbs and shoeless feet toward Winchester, whither they were directed to repair. This was the explanation of the fact that, in spite of the ardent desire of the whole army to participate in the great movement northward, Lee had in line of battle at Sharpsburg "less than forty thousand men." General McClellan made a demonstration against his adversary on the evening of the 16th, before the day of the main struggle. He threw his right, commanded by General Hooker, across the Antietam at a point out of range of fire from the Confederates, and made a vigorous attack on Jackson's two divisions lying near the Hagerstown road running northward, and thus parallel with Lee's line of battle. A brief engagement took place in the vicinity of the "Dunker Church," in a fringe of woods west of the road, but it was too late to effect any thing of importance; night fell, and the engagement ceased. General Hooker retaining his position on the west side of the stream. The opposing lines then remained at rest, waiting for the morning which all now saw would witness the commencement of the more serious conflict. V. THE BATTLE OF SHARPSBURG. The battle of Sharpsburg, or Antietam, for it is known by both names, began at early dawn on the 17th of September. General McClellan had obviously determined to direct his main assault against the Confederate left, a movement which General Lee had foreseen and provided for,[1] and at dawn commenced a rapid fire of artillery upon that portion of the Confederate line. Under cover of this fire, General Hooker then advanced his infantry and made a headlong assault upon Jackson's line, with the obvious view of crushing that wing of Lee's army, or driving it back on Sharpsburg and the river. The Federal force making this attack, or advancing promptly to support it, consisted of the corps of Generals Hooker, Mansfield, and Sumner, and numbered, according to General Sumner, forty thousand men, of whom eighteen thousand belonged to General Hooker's corps. [Footnote 1: "In anticipation of a movement to turn the line of Antietam, Hood's two brigades had been transferred from the right to the left," etc.--_Lee_.] Jackson's whole force was four thousand men. Of the truth of this statement of the respective forces, proof is here given: "I have always believed," said General Sumner afterward, before the war committee, "that, instead of sending these troops into that action in driblets, had General McClellan authorized me to march _there forty thousand men_ on the left flank of the enemy," etc. "Hooker formed his corps of _eighteen thousand_ men," etc., says Mr. Swinton, the able and candid Northern historian of the war. Jackson's force is shown by the Confederate official reports. His corps consisted of Ewell's division and "Jackson's old division." General Jones, commanding the latter, reported: "The division at the beginning of the fight numbered not over one thousand six hundred men." Early, commanding Ewell's division,[1] reported the three brigades to number: Lawton's 1,150 Hayes's 550 Walker's 700 2,400 "Old Division," as above 1,600 Jackson's corps 4,000 [Footnote 1: After General Lawton was disabled.] This was the entire force carried by General Jackson into the fight, and these four thousand men, as the reader will perceive, bore the brunt of the first great assault of General McClellan. Just as the light broadened in the east above the crest of mountains rising in rear of the Federal lines. General Hooker made his assault. His aim was plainly to drive the force in his front across the Hagerstown road and back on the Potomac, and in this he seemed about to succeed. Jackson had placed in front Ewell's division of twenty-four hundred men. This force received General Hooker's charge, and a furious struggle followed, in which the division was nearly destroyed. A glance at the casualties will show this. They were remarkable. General Lawton, division commander, was wounded and carried from the field; Colonel Douglas, brigade commander, was killed; Colonel Walker, also commanding brigade, was disabled; Lawton's brigade lost five hundred and fifty-four killed and wounded out of eleven hundred and fifty, and five out of six regimental commanders. Hayes's brigade lost three hundred and twenty-three out of five hundred and fifty, and all the regimental commanders. Walker's brigade lost two hundred and twenty-eight out of less than seven hundred, and three out of four regimental commanders; and, of the staff-officers of the division, scarcely one remained. In an hour after dawn, this heavy slaughter had been effected in Ewell's division, and the detailed statement which we have given will best show the stubborn resistance offered by the Southern troops. Still, they were unable to hold their ground, and fell back at last in disorder before General Hooker, who pressed forward to seize the Hagerstown road and crush the whole Confederate left. He was met, however, by Jackson's Old Division of sixteen hundred men, who had been held in reserve; and General Lee hastened to the point threatened Hood's two small brigades, one of which. General Hood states, numbered but eight hundred and sixty-four men. With this force Jackson now met the advancing column of General Hooker, delivering a heavy fire from the woods upon the Federal forces. In face of this fire they hesitated, and Hood made a vigorous charge, General Stuart opening at the same time a cross-fire on the enemy with his horse-artillery. The combined fire increased their disorganization, and it now turned into disorder. Jackson seized the moment, as always, throwing forward his whole line, and the enemy were first checked, and then driven back in confusion, the Confederates pursuing and cheering. The first struggle had thus resulted in favor of the Confederates--with about six thousand they had repulsed eighteen thousand--and it was obvious to General McClellan that, without reinforcements, his right could not hold its ground. He accordingly, just at sunrise, sent General Mansfield's corps to the aid of General Hooker, and at nine o'clock General Sumner's corps was added, making in all forty thousand men. The appearance of affairs at this moment was discouraging to the Federal commander. His heavy assaulting column had been forced back with great slaughter; General Hooker had been wounded and borne from the field; General Mansfield, while forming his line, had been mortally wounded; and now, at nine o'clock, when the corps of General Sumner arrived, the prospect was depressing. Of the condition of the Federal forces, General Sumner's own statement conveys a very distinct conception: "On going upon the field," said General Sumner, before the war committee, "I found that General Hooker's corps had been dispersed and routed. I passed him some distance in the rear, where he had been carried wounded, but I saw nothing of his corps at all, as I was advancing with my command on the field. I sent one of my staff-officers to find where they were, and General Ricketts, the only officer we could find, stated that he could not raise three hundred men of the corps." General Mansfield's corps also had been checked, and now "began to waver and break." Such had been the result of the great Federal assault, and it was highly creditable to the Confederate arms. With a comparatively insignificant force, Jackson had received the attack of the entire Federal right wing, and had not only repulsed, but nearly broken to pieces, the large force in his front. The arrival of General Sumner, however, completely changed the face of affairs, and, as his fresh troops advanced, those which had been so roughly handled by Jackson had an opportunity to reform. This was rapidly effected, and, having marshalled his troops, General Sumner, an officer of great dash and courage, made a vigorous charge. From this moment the battle began to rage with new fury. General Lee had sent to the left the brigades of Colquitt, Ripley, and McRae, and with these, the troops of Hood, and his own shattered division, Jackson presented a stubborn front, but his loss was heavy. General Starke, of the Old Division, was killed; the brigade, regimental, and company officers fell almost without an exception, and the brigades dwindled to mere handfuls. Under the great pressure, Jackson was at length forced back. One of General Sumner's divisions drove the right of the Confederates beyond the Hagerstown road, and, at this moment the long struggle seemed ended; the great wrestle in which the adversaries had so long staggered to and fro, advancing and retreating in turn, seemed at last virtually decided in favor of the Federal arms. This was undoubtedly the turning-point of the battle of Sharpsburg, and General Lee had witnessed the conflict upon his left with great anxiety. It was impossible, however, to send thither more troops than he had already sent. As will be seen in a moment, both his centre and right were extremely weak. A.P. Hill and General McLaws had not arrived from Harper's Ferry. Thus the left had been reënforced to the full extent of Lee's ability, and now that portion of his line seemed about to be crushed. Fortunately, however, General McLaws, who had been delayed longer than was expected by General Lee, at last arrived, and was hurried to the left. It was ten o'clock, and in that one hour the fighting of an entire day seemed to have been concentrated. Jackson was holding his ground with difficulty when the divisions of McLaws and Walker were sent to him. As soon as they reached the field, they were thrown into action, and General Lee had the satisfaction of witnessing a new order of things. The advance--it might rather be called the onward rush--of the Federal line was checked. Jackson's weary men took fresh heart; that great commander promptly assumed the offensive, and, advancing his whole line, drove the enemy before him until he reoccupied the ground from which General Sumner had forced him to retire. From the ground thus occupied, the Federal forces were unable to dislodge him, and the great struggle of "the left at Sharpsburg" was over. It had begun at dawn and was decided by ten or eleven o'clock, and the troops on both sides had fought as resolutely as in any other action of the war. The event had been decided by the pertinacity of the Southern troops, and by the prompt movement of reënforcements by General Lee from his right and centre. Posted near his centre, he had surveyed at one glance the whole field of action; the design of General McClellan to direct his main assault upon the Confederate left was promptly penetrated, and the rapid concentration of the Southern forces in that quarter had, by defeating this movement, decided the result of the battle. Attacks on the Confederate centre and right followed that upon the left. In the centre a great disaster was at one time imminent. Owing to a mistake of orders, the brave General Rhodes had drawn back his brigade posted there--this was seen by the enemy--and a sudden rush was made by them with the view of piercing Lee's centre. The promptness and courage of a few officers and a small body of troops defeated this attempt. General D.H. Hill rallied a few hundred men, and opened fire with a single gun, and Colonel Cooke faced the enemy with his regiment, "standing boldly in line," says General Lee, "without a cartridge." The stand made by this small force saved the army from serious disaster; the Federal line retired, but a last assault was soon begun, this time against the Confederate right. It continued in a somewhat desultory manner until four in the evening, when, having massed a heavy column under General Burnside, opposite the bridge in front of Lee's right wing, General McClellan forced the bridge and carried the crest beyond. The moment was critical, as the Confederate force at this point was less than three thousand men. But, fortunately, reënforcements arrived, consisting of A.P. Hill's forces from Harper's Ferry. These attacked the enemy, drove him from the hill across the Antietam again; and so threatening did the situation at that moment appear to General McClellan, that he is said to have sent General Burnside the message: "Hold your ground! If you cannot, then the bridge, to the last man. Always the bridge! If the bridge is lost, all is lost!" The urgency of this order sufficiently indicates that the Federal commander was not without solicitude for the safety of his own left wing. Ignorant, doubtless, of the extremely small force which had thus repulsed General Burnside, in all four thousand five hundred men, he feared that General Lee would cross the bridge, assail his left, and that the hard-fought day might end in disaster to his own army. That General Lee contemplated this movement, in spite of the disproportion of numbers, is intimated in his official report. "It was nearly dark," he says, "and the Federal artillery was massed to defend the bridge, with General Porter's corps, consisting of fresh troops, behind it. Under these circumstances," he adds, "it was deemed injudicious to push our advantage further in the face of fresh troops of the enemy much exceeding our own." The idea of an advance against the Federal left was accordingly abandoned, and a movement of Jackson's command, which Lee directed, with the view of turning the Federal right, was discontinued from the same considerations. Night had come, both sides were worn out, neither of the two great adversaries cared to risk another struggle, and the bitterly-contested battle of Sharpsburg was over. The two armies remained facing each other throughout the following day. During the night of this day, Lee crossed with his army back into Virginia. He states his reasons for this: "As we could not look for a material increase of strength," he says, "and the enemy's force could be largely and rapidly augmented, it was not thought prudent to wait until he should be ready again to offer battle." General McClellan does not seem to have been able to renew the struggle at that time. "The next morning," he says, referring to the day succeeding the battle, "I found that our loss had been so great, and there was so much disorganization in some of the commands, that I did not consider it proper to renew the attack that day." This decision of General McClellan's subjected him subsequently to very harsh criticism from the Federal authorities, the theory having obtained at Washington that he had had it in his power, by renewing the battle, to cut Lee to pieces. Of the probability of such a result the reader will form his own judgment. The ground for such a conclusion seems slight. The loss and disorganization were, it would seem, even greater on the Federal than on the Confederate side, and Lee would have probably been better able to sustain an attack than General McClellan to make it. It will be seen that General Meade afterward, under circumstances more favorable still, declined to attack Lee at Williamsport. If one of the two commanders be greatly censured, the other must be also, and the world will be always apt to conclude that they knew what could be effected better than the civilians. But General McClellan did make an attempt to "crush Lee," such as the authorities at Washington desired, and its result may possibly throw light on the point in discussion. On the night of the 19th, Lee having crossed the Potomac on the night of the 18th, General McClellan sent a considerable force across the river near Shepherdstown, which drove off the Confederate artillery there, and at daylight formed line of battle on the south bank, protected by their cannon north of the river. Of the brief but bloody engagement which followed--an incident of the war little dwelt upon in the histories--General A.P. Hill, who was sent by Lee to repulse the enemy, gives an animated account. "The Federal artillery, to the number of seventy pieces," he says, "lined the opposite heights, and their infantry was strongly posted on the crest of the Virginia hills. When he advanced with his division, he was met by the most tremendous fire of artillery he ever saw," but the men continued to move on without wavering, and the attack resulted in the complete rout of the enemy, who were "driven pell-mell into the river," the current of which was "blue with floating bodies." General Hill chronicles this incident in terms of unwonted eloquence, and declares that, by the account of the enemy themselves, they lost "three thousand men killed and drowned from one brigade," which appears to be an exaggeration. His own loss was, in killed and wounded, two hundred and sixty-one. This repulse was decisive, and General McClellan made no further attempt to pursue the adversary, who, standing at bay on the soil of Virginia, was still more formidable than he had been on the soil of Maryland. As we have intimated on a preceding page, the result of this attempt to pursue would seem to relieve General McClellan from the criticism of the Washington authorities. If he was repulsed with heavy slaughter in his attempt to strike at Lee on the morning of September 20th, it is not probable that an assault on his adversary on September 18th would have had different results. No further crossing at that time was undertaken by the Federal commander. His army was moved toward Harper's Ferry, an important base for further operations, and Lee's army went into camp along the banks of the Opequan. VI. LEE AND McCLELLAN--THEIR MERITS IN THE MARYLAND CAMPAIGN. General Lee and his adversary had displayed conspicuous merit in the campaign thus terminated, and we shall pause for a moment to glance back upon this great passage at arms. To give precedence to General McClellan, he had assembled an army, after the defeat at Manassas, with a promptness for which only his own great personal popularity can adequately account, had advanced to check Lee, and had fully succeeded in doing so; and had thus not only protected the fertile territory of Pennsylvania from invasion, but had struck a death-blow for the time to any designs General Lee might have had to advance on the Federal capital. If the situation of affairs at that moment be attentively considered, the extreme importance of these results will not fail to appear. It may perhaps be said with justice, that General McClellan had saved the Federal cause from decisive defeat. There was no army to protect Washington but the body of troops under his command; these were largely raw levies, which defeat would have broken to pieces, and thus the way would have been open for Lee's march upon Washington or toward Philadelphia--a movement whose probable result would have been a treaty of peace and the independence of the Southern Confederacy. All these hopes were reversed by McClellan's rapid march and prompt attack. In the hours of a single autumn day, on the banks of the Antietam, the triumphant advance of the Confederates was checked and defeated. And, if the further fact be considered that the adversary thus checkmated was Lee, the military ability of General McClellan must be conceded. It is the fashion, it would appear, in some quarters, to deny him this quality. History will decide. The merit of Lee was equally conspicuous, and his partial failure in the campaign was due to circumstances over which he had no control. His plan, as was always the case with him, was deep-laid, and every contingency had been provided for. He was disappointed in his aim by three causes which he could not foresee. One was the great diminution of his force, owing to the rapidity of his march, and the incessant fighting; another, the failure in obtaining recruits in Maryland; and a third, the discovery by General McClellan of the "lost dispatch," as it is called, which revealed Lee's whole plan to his adversary. In consequence of the "finding" of the order of march, McClellan advanced with such rapidity that the laggards of the Southern army on the hills north of Leesburg had no opportunity of joining the main body. The gaps in the ranks of the army thus made were not filled up by Maryland recruits; Lee fell back, and his adversary followed, no longer fearful of advancing too quickly; Jackson had no time after reducing Harper's Ferry to rejoin Lee at Hagerstown; thus concentration of his troops, and a battle somewhere near Sharpsburg, were rendered a necessity with General Lee. In this tissue of adverse events, the discovery of the order of march by General McClellan occupies a very prominent place. This incident resembles what the French call a fatality. Who was to blame for the circumstance still remains a mystery; but it may be said with entire certainty that the brave officer upon whom it was charged was entirely guiltless of all fault in the matter. [Footnote: The officer here referred to is General D.H. Hill. General McClellan said in his testimony afterward, before the congressional committee: "When at Frederick, we found the original order issued to D.H. Hill," etc. The inference was thus a natural one that General Hill was to blame, but that officer has proved clearly that he had nothing to do with the affair. He received but one copy of the order, which was handed to him by General Jackson in person, and, knowing its great importance, he placed it in his pocket-book, and still retains it in his possession. This fact is conclusive, since General Hill could not have "lost" what he continues to hold in his hands. This mystery will be cleared up at some time, probably; at present, but one thing is certain, that General Hill was in no manner to blame. The present writer desires to make this statement as explicit as possible, as, in other accounts of these transactions, he was led by General McClellan's language to attribute blame to General Hill where he deserved none.] Whatever may have been the secret history of the "lost dispatch," however, it certainly fell into General McClellan's hands, and largely directed the subsequent movements of the opposing armies. From what is here written, it will be seen that Lee was not justly chargeable with the result of the Maryland campaign. He had provided for every thing as far as lay in his power. Had he not been disappointed in events to be fairly anticipated, it seemed his force would have received large accessions, his rear would have closed up, and the advance into Pennsylvania would have taken place. Instead of this, he was forced to retire and fight a pitched battle at Sharpsburg; and this action certainly exhibited on Lee's part military ability of the highest order. The force opposed to him had been at least double that of his own army, and the Federal troops had fought with a gallantry unsurpassed in any other engagement of the war. That their assault on Lee failed, was due to the fighting qualities of his troops and his own generalship. His army had been manoeuvred with a rapidity and precision which must have excited even the admiration of the distinguished soldier opposed to him. He had promptly concentrated his forces opposite every threatened point in turn, and if he had not been able to carry out the axiom of Napoleon, that a commander should always be superior to the enemy at the point of contact, he had at least done all that was possible to effect that end, and had so far succeeded as to have repulsed if not routed his adversary. This is the main feature to be noticed in Lee's handling of his troops at Sharpsburg. An unwary or inactive commander would have there suffered decisive defeat, for the Confederate left wing numbered, throughout the early part of the battle, scarcely more than four thousand men, while the column directed against it amounted first to eighteen thousand, and in all to forty thousand men. To meet the impact of this heavy mass, not only desperate fighting, but rapid and skilful manoeuvring, was necessary. The record we have presented will enable the reader to form his own opinion whether Lee was equal to this emergency involving the fate of his army. Military critics, examining this great battle with fair and candid eyes, will not fail, we think, to discern the truth. That the Southern army, of less than forty thousand men, repulsed more than eighty thousand in the battle of Sharpsburg, was due to the hard fighting of the smaller force, and the skill with which its commander manoeuvred it. VII. LEE AND HIS MEN. General Lee and his army passed the brilliant days of autumn in the beautiful valley of the Shenandoah. This region is famous for its salubrity and the beauty of its scenery. The mountain winds are pure and invigorating, and the forests, which in the season of autumn assume all the colors of the rainbow, inspire the mind with the most agreeable sensations. The region, in fact, is known as the "Garden of Virginia," and the benign influence of their surroundings was soon seen on the faces of the troops. A Northern writer, who saw them at Sharpsburg, describes them as "ragged, hungry, and in all ways miserable;" but their forlorn condition, as to clothing and supplies of every description, made no perceptible difference in their demeanor now. In their camps along the banks of the picturesque little stream called the Opequan, which, rising south of Winchester, wanders through beautiful fields and forests to empty into the Potomac, the troops laughed, jested, sang rude camp-ballads, and exhibited a joyous indifference to their privations and hardships, which said much for their courage and endurance. Those who carefully considered the appearance and demeanor of the men at that time, saw that much could be effected with such tough material, and had another opportunity to witness, under circumstances calculated to test it, the careless indifference, to the past as well as the future, peculiar alike to soldiers and children. These men, who had passed through a campaign of hard marches and nearly incessant battles, seemed to have forgotten all their troubles and sufferings. The immense strain upon their energies had left them apparently as fresh and efficient as when the campaign begun. There was no want of rebound; rather an excessive elasticity and readiness to undertake new movements. They had plainly acquired confidence in themselves, rightly regarding the event of the battle of Sharpsburg, where they were so largely outnumbered, as highly honorable to them, and they had acquired still greater confidence in the officers who commanded them. We shall hereafter speak more particularly of the sentiment of the troops toward General Lee at this period of his connection with the army. The great events of the war continually modified the relations between him and his men; as they came to know him better and better, he steadily rose in their admiration and regard. At this time--the autumn of 1862--it may be said that the troops had already begun to love their leader, and had bestowed upon him as an army commander their implicit confidence. Without this confidence on the part of his men, a general can effect little; with it, he may accomplish almost any thing. The common soldier is a child, and feels that the directing authority is above him; that he should look upon that authority with respect and confidence is the first necessity of effecting military organization. Lee had already inspired the troops with this sentiment, and it was mainly the secret of his often astounding successes afterward. The men universally felt that their commander was equal to any and every emergency. Such a repute cannot be usurped. Troops measure their leaders with instinctive acumen, and a very astonishing accuracy. They form their opinions for themselves on the merits of the question; and Lee had already impressed the army with a profound admiration for his soldiership. From this to the sentiment of personal affection the transition was easy; and the kindness, consideration, and simplicity of the man, made all love him. Throughout the campaign, Lee had not been heard to utter one harsh word; a patient forbearance and kindness had been constantly exhibited in all his dealings with officers and men; he was always in front, indifferent plainly to personal danger, and the men looked now with admiring eyes and a feeling of ever-increasing affection on the erect, soldierly figure in the plain uniform, with scarce any indication of rank, and the calm face, with its expression of grave dignity and composure, which remained unchanged equally on the march and in battle. It may be said that, when he assumed command of the army before Richmond, the troops had taken him on trust; now they had come to love him, and when he appeared the camps buzzed, the men ran to the road, called out to each other: "There goes Mas' Robert!" or "Old Uncle Robert!" and cheers followed him as he rode by. The country generally seemed to share the opinion of the army. There was exhibited, even at this early period of the war, by the people at large, a very great admiration and affection for General Lee. While in the Shenandoah Valley, where Jackson was beloved almost beyond expression, Lee had evidences of the position which he occupied in the eyes of the people, which must have been extremely gratifying to him. Gray-haired men came to his camp and uttered prayers for his health and happiness as the great leader of the South; aged ladies greeted him with faltering expressions full of deep feeling and pathetic earnestness; and, wherever he went, young girls and children received him with their brightest smiles. The august fame of the great soldier, who has now passed away, no doubt renders these memories of personal interviews with him dear to many. Even the most trifling incidents are cherished and kept fresh by repetition; and the writer of these pages recalls at the moment one of these trifles, which may possibly interest some readers. There stood and still stands an ancient and hospitable homestead on the south bank of the Opequan, the hearts of whose inmates, one and all, were ardently with the South in her struggle. Soon after Sharpsburg, General Lee one day visited the old manor-house crowning the grassy hill and overshadowed by great oaks; Generals Jackson, Longstreet, and Stuart, accompanied him, and the reception which he met with, though we cannot describe it, was such as would have satisfied the most exacting. The children came to him and held out their small hands, the ladies divided their attention between him and the beloved "hero of the Valley," Jackson; and the lady of the manor could only express her sense of the great honor of receiving such company, by declaring, with a smile, that the dinner resembled the famous _breakfast at Tillietudlem_ in Scott's "Old Mortality." General Lee highly enjoyed this, and seemed disposed to laugh when the curious fact was pointed out to him that he had seated himself at table in a chair with an open-winged _United States eagle_ delineated upon its back. The result of this visit, it appeared afterward, was a sentiment of great regard and affection for the general personally by all at the old country-house. Old and young were charmed by his grave sweetness and mild courtesy, and doubtless he inspired the same sentiment in other places. His headquarters were at this time in a field some miles from Winchester. An Englishman, who visited him there, described the general and his surroundings with accuracy, and, from the account printed in _Blackwood's Magazine_, we quote the following sentences: "In visiting the headquarters of the Confederate generals, but particularly those of General Lee, any one accustomed to see European armies in the field cannot fail to be struck with the great absence of all the 'pomp and circumstance of war' in and around their encampments. Lee's headquarters consisted of about seven or eight pole-tents, pitched with their backs to a stake fence, upon a piece of ground so rocky that it was unpleasant to ride over it, its only recommendation being a little stream of good water which flowed close by the general's tent. In front of the tents were some three four-wheeled wagons, drawn up without any regularity, and a number of horses roamed loose about the field. The servants, who were, of course, slaves, and the mounted soldiers, called 'couriers,' who always accompany each general of division in the field, were unprovided with tents, and slept in or under the wagons. Wagons, tents, and some of the horses, were marked 'U.S.,' showing that part of that huge debt in the North has gone to furnishing even the Confederate generals with camp equipments. No guard or sentries were to be seen in the vicinity; no crowd of aides-de-camp loitering about, making themselves agreeable to visitors, and endeavoring to save their generals from receiving those who had no particular business. A large farm-house stands close by, which, in any other army, would have been the general's residence _pro tem_., but, as no liberties are allowed to be taken with personal property in Lee's army, he is particular in setting a good example himself. His staff are crowded together, two or three in a tent; none are allowed to carry more baggage than a small box each, and his own kit is but very little larger. Every one who approaches him does so with marked respect, although there is none of that bowing and flourishing of forage caps which occurs in the presence of European generals; and, while all honor him, and place implicit faith in his courage and ability, those with whom he is most intimate feel for him the affection of sons to a father. Old General Scott was correct in saying that, when Lee joined the Southern cause, it was worth as much as the accession of twenty thousand men to the 'rebels.' Since then every injury that it was possible to inflict, the Northerners have heaped upon him. Notwithstanding all these personal losses, however, when speaking of the Yankees, he neither evinced any bitterness of feeling, nor gave utterance to a single violent expression, but alluded to many of his former friends and companions among them in the kindest terms. He spoke as a man proud of the victories won by his country, and confident of ultimate success, under the blessing of the Almighty, whom he glorified for past successes, and whose aid he invoked for all future operations." The writer adds that the troops "regarded him in the light of infallible love," and had "a fixed and unshakable faith in all he did--a calm confidence of victory when serving under him." The peculiarly interesting part of this foreign testimony, however, is that in which the writer speaks of General Lee's religious sentiment, of his gratitude for past mercies, and prayers for the assistance of the Almighty in the hours of conflict still to come. This point we shall return to, endeavoring to give it that prominence which it deserves. At present we shall leave the subject of General Lee, in his private and personal character, and proceed to narrate the last campaign of the year 1862. VIII. LEE PASSES THE BLUE RIDGE From the central frontier of his headquarters, near Winchester, the key of the lower Valley, General Lee was able to watch at once the line of the Potomac in his front, beyond which lay General McClellan's army, and the gaps of the Blue Ridge on his right, through which it was possible for the enemy, by a rapid movement, to advance and attack his flank and rear. If Lee had at any time the design of recrossing into Maryland, he abandoned it. General McClellan attributed that design to him. "I have since been confirmed in the belief," he wrote, "that if I had crossed the Potomac below Harper's Ferry in the early part of October, General Lee would have recrossed into Maryland." Of Lee's ability to thus reënter Maryland there can be no doubt. His army was rested, provisioned, and in high spirits; the "stragglers" had rejoined their commands, and it is certain that the order for a new advance would have been hailed by the mercurial troops with enthusiasm. No such order was, however, issued, and soon the approach of winter rendered the movement impossible. More than a month thus passed, the two armies remaining in face of each other. No engagement of any importance occurred during this period of inactivity, but once or twice the Federal commander sent heavy reconnoitring forces across the Potomac; and Stuart, now mounting to the zenith of his reputation as a cavalry-officer, repeated his famous "ride around McClellan," on the Chickahominy. The object of General Lee in directing this movement of the cavalry was the ordinary one, on such occasions, of obtaining information and inflicting injury upon the enemy. Stuart responded with ardor to the order. He had conceived a warm affection for General Lee, mingled with a respect for his military genius nearly unbounded, and at this time, as always afterward, received the orders of his commander for active operations with enthusiasm. With about eighteen hundred troopers and four pieces of horse-artillery, Stuart crossed the Potomac above Williamsport, marched rapidly to Chambersburg, in Pennsylvania, where he destroyed the machine-shops, and other buildings containing a large number of arms and military stores; and continued his way thence toward Frederick City, with the bold design of completely passing around the Federal army, and recrossing the river east of the Blue Ridge. In this he succeeded, thanks to his skill and audacity, in spite of every effort of the enemy to cut off and destroy him. Reaching White's Ford, on the Potomac, north of Leesburg, he disposed his horse-artillery so as to cover this movement, cut his way through the Federal cavalry disputing his passage, and recrossed into Virginia with a large number of captured horses, and without losing a man. This expedition excited astonishment, and a prominent officer of the Federal army declared that he would not have believed that "horse-flesh could stand it," as the distance passed over in about forty-eight hours, during which considerable delay had occurred at Chambersburg, was nearly or quite one hundred miles. General McClellan complained that his orders had not been obeyed, and said that after these orders he "did not think it possible for Stuart to recross," and believed "the destruction or capture of his entire force perfectly certain." Soon afterward the Federal commander attempted reconnoissances in his turn. A considerable force of infantry, supported by artillery, crossed the Potomac and advanced to the vicinity of the little village of Leetown, but on the same evening fell back rapidly, doubtless fearful that Lee would interpose a force between them and the river and cut off their retreat. This was followed by a movement of the Federal cavalry, which crossed at the same spot and advanced up the road leading toward Martinsburg. These were met and subsequently driven back by Colonel W.H.F. Lee, son of the general. A third and more important attempt to reconnoitre took place toward the end of October. General McClellan then crossed a considerable body of troops both at Shepherdstown and Harper's Ferry; the columns advanced to Kearneysville and Charlestown respectively, and near the former village a brief engagement took place, without results. General McClellan, who had come in person as far as Charlestown, then returned with his troops across the Potomac, and further hostilities for the moment ceased. These reconnoissances were the prelude, however, of an important movement which the Federal authorities had been long urging General McClellan to make. Although the battle of Sharpsburg had been indecisive in one acceptation of the term, in another it had been entirely decisive. A drawn battle of the clearest sort, it yet decided the future movements of the opposing armies. General Lee had invaded Maryland with the design of advancing into Pennsylvania--the result of Sharpsburg was, that he fell back into Virginia. General McClellan had marched from Washington with no object but an offensive-defensive campaign to afford the capital protection; he was now enabled to undertake anew the invasion of Virginia. To the success of such a movement the Federal commander seems rightly to have considered a full and complete equipment of his troops absolutely essential. He was directed at once, after Sharpsburg, to advance upon Lee. He replied that it was impossible, neither his men nor his horses had shoes or rations. New orders came--General Halleck appearing to regard the difficulties urged by General McClellan as imaginary. New protests followed, and then new protests and new orders again, until finally a peremptory dispatch came. This dispatch was, "Cross the Potomac and give battle to the enemy or drive him south," an order bearing the impress of the terse good sense and rough directness of the Federal President. This order it was necessary in the end to obey, and General McClellan, having decided in favor of a movement across the Potomac east instead of west of the mountain, proceeded, in the last days of October, to cross his army. His plan was excellent, and is here set forth in his own words: "The plan of campaign I adopted during this advance," he says, "was to move the army well in hand, parallel to the Blue Ridge, taking Warrenton as the point of direction for the main army, seizing each pass on the Blue Ridge by detachments as we approached it, and guarding them after we had passed, as long as they would enable the enemy to trouble our communications with the Potomac.... We depended upon Harper's Ferry and Berlin for supplies until the Manassas Gap Railway was reached. When that occurred, the passes in our rear were to be abandoned, and the army massed ready for action or movement in any direction. It was my intention, if, upon reaching Ashby's or any other pass, the enemy were in force between it and the Potomac, in the Valley of the Shenandoah, to move into the Valley and endeavor to gain their rear." From this statement of General McClellan it will be seen that his plan was judicious, and displayed a thorough knowledge of the country in which he was about to operate. The conformation of the region is peculiar. The Valley of the Shenandoah, in which Lee's army lay waiting, is separated from "Piedmont Virginia," through which General McClellan was about to advance, by the wooded ramparts of the Blue Ridge Mountains, passable only at certain points. These _gaps_, as they are called in Virginia, are the natural doorways to the Valley; and as long as General McClellan held them, as he proposed to do, by strong detachments, he would be able both to protect his own communications with the Potomac, and, if he thought fit to do so, enter the Valley and assail the Confederate rear. That he ever seriously contemplated the latter design is, however, extremely doubtful. It is not credible that he would have undertaken to "cut off" Lee's whole army; and, if he designed a movement of that description against any portion of the Southern army which might be detached, the opportunity was certainly presented to him by Lee, when Jackson was left, as will be seen, at Millwood. No sooner had General McClellan commenced crossing the Potomac, east of the mountain, than General Lee broke up his camp along the Opequan, and moved to check this new and formidable advance into the heart of Virginia. It was not known, however, whether the whole of the Federal forces had crossed east of the Blue Ridge; and, to guard against a possible movement on his rear from the direction of Harper's Ferry, as well as on his flank through the gaps of the mountain, Lee sent Jackson's corps to take position on the road from Charlestown to Berryville, where he could oppose an advance of the enemy from either direction. The rest of the army then moved guardedly, but rapidly, across the mountain into Culpepper. Under these circumstances, General McClellan had an excellent opportunity to strike a heavy blow at Jackson, who seemed to invite that movement by crossing soon afterward, in accordance with directions from Lee, one of his divisions to the east side of the mountain on the Federal rear. That General McClellan did not strike is not creditable to him as a commander. The Confederate army was certainly divided in a very tempting manner. Longstreet was in Culpepper on the 3d of November, the day after General McClellan's rear-guard had passed the Potomac, and nothing would seem to have been easier than to cut the Confederate forces by interposing between them. By seizing the Blue Ridge gaps, and thus shutting up all the avenues of exit from the Valley, General McClellan would have had it in his power, it would seem, to crush Jackson; or if that wily commander escaped, Longstreet in Culpepper was exposed to attack. General McClellan did not embrace this opportunity of a decisive blow, and Lee seems to have calculated upon the caution of his adversary. Jackson's presence in the Valley only embarrassed McClellan, as Lee no doubt intended it should. No attempt was made to strike at him. On the contrary, the Federal army continued steadily to concentrate upon Warrenton, where, on the 7th of November, General McClellan was abruptly relieved of the command. He was in his tent, at Rectortown, at the moment when the dispatch was handed to him--brought by an officer from Washington through a heavy snow-storm then falling. General Ambrose E. Burnside was in the tent. McClellan read the dispatch calmly, and, handing it indifferently to his visitor, said, "Well, Burnside, you are to command the army." Such was the abrupt termination of the military career of a commander who fills a large space in the history of the war in Virginia. The design of this volume is not such as to justify an extended notice of him, or a detailed examination of his abilities as a soldier. That he possessed military endowments of a very high order is conceded by most persons, but his critics add that he was dangerously prone to caution and inactivity. Such was the criticism of his enemies at Washington and throughout the North, and his pronounced political opinions had gained him a large number. It may, however, be permitted one who can have no reason to unduly commend him, to say that the retreat to James River, and the arrest of Lee in his march of invasion toward Pennsylvania, seem to indicate the possession of something more than "inactivity," and of that species of "caution" which achieves success. It will probably, however, be claimed by few, even among the personal friends of this general, that he was a soldier of the first ability--one competent to oppose Lee. As to the personal qualities of General McClellan, there seems to be no difference of opinion. He was a gentleman of high breeding, and detested all oppression of the weak and non-combatants. Somewhat prone to _hauteur_, in presence of the importunities of the Executive and other civilians unskilled in military affairs, he was patient, mild, and cordial with his men. These qualities, with others which he possessed, seem to have rendered him peculiarly acceptable to the private soldier, and it is certain that he was, beyond comparison, the most popular of all the generals who, one after another, commanded the "Army of the Potomac." IX. LEE CONCENTRATES AT FREDERICKSBURG. In returning from the Valley, General Lee had exhibited that combination of boldness and caution which indicates in a commander the possession of excellent generalship. One of two courses was necessary: either to make a rapid march with his entire army, in order to interpose himself between General McClellan and what seemed to be his objective point, Gordonsville; or, to so manoeuvre his forces as to retard and embarrass his adversary. Of these, Lee chose the latter course, exposing himself to what seemed very great danger. Jackson was left in the Valley, and Longstreet sent to Culpepper; under these circumstances, General McClellan might have cut off one of the two detached bodies; but Lee seems to have read the character of his adversary accurately, and to have felt that a movement of such boldness would not probably be undertaken by him. Provision had nevertheless been made for this possible contingency. Jackson was directed by Lee, in case of an attack by General McClellan, to retire, by way of Strasburg, up the Valley, and so rejoin the main body. That this movement would become necessary, however, was not, as we have said, contemplated. It was not supposed by Lee that his adversary would adopt the bold plan of crossing the Blue Ridge to assail Jackson; thus, to leave that commander in the Valley, instead of being a military blunder, was a stroke of generalship, a source of embarrassment to General McClellan, and a standing threat against the Federal communications, calculated to clog the movements of their army. That Lee aimed at this is obvious from his order to Jackson to cross a division to the eastern side of the Blue Ridge, in General McClellan's rear. When this was done, the Federal commander abandoned, if he had ever resolved upon, the design of striking in between the Confederate detachments, as is claimed by his admirers to have been his determination; gave up all idea of "moving into the Valley and endeavoring to gain their rear;" and from that moment directed his whole attention to the concentration of his army near Warrenton, with the obvious view of establishing a new base, and operating southward on the line of the Orange and Alexandria Railroad. Lee's object in these manoeuvres, besides the general one of embarrassing his adversary, seems to have been to gain time, and thus to render impossible, from the lateness of the season, a Federal advance upon Richmond. Had General McClellan remained in command, it is probable that this object would have been attained, and the battle of Fredericksburg would not have taken place. The two armies would have lain opposite each other in Culpepper and Fauquier respectively, with the Upper Rappahannock between them throughout the winter; and the Confederate forces, weary and worn by the long marches and hard combats of 1862, would have had the opportunity to rest and recover their energies for the coming spring. The change of commanders defeated these views, if they were entertained by General Lee. On assuming command, General Burnside conceived the project, in spite of the near approach of winter, of crossing the Rappahannock at Fredericksburg, and marching on Richmond. This he now proceeded to attempt, by steadily moving from Warrenton toward the Lower Rappahannock, and the result, as will be seen, was a Federal disaster to wind up this "year of battles." We have spoken with some particularity of the character and military abilities of General McClellan, the first able commander of the Federal forces in Virginia. Of General Burnside, who appears but once, and for a brief space only, on that great theatre, it will be necessary to say only a few words. A modest and honorable soldier, cherishing for General McClellan a cordial friendship, he was unwilling to supersede that commander, both from personal regard and distrust of his own abilities. He had not sought the position, which had rather been thrust upon him. He was "surprised" and "shocked," he said, at his assignment to the command; he "did not want it, it had been offered to him twice before, and he did not feel that he could take it; he had told them that he was not competent to command such an army as this; he had said the same over and over again to the President and the Secretary of War." He was, however, directed to assume command, accepted the responsibility, and proceeded to carry out the unexpected plan of advancing upon Richmond by way of Fredericksburg. To cover this movement, General Burnside made a heavy feint as though designing to cross into Culpepper. This does not seem to have deceived Lee, who, on the 17th of November, knew that his adversary was moving. No sooner had the fact been discovered that General Burnside was making for Fredericksburg, than the Confederate commander, by a corresponding movement, passed the Rapidan and hastened in the same direction. As early as the 17th, two divisions of infantry, with cavalry and artillery, were in motion. On the morning of the 19th, Longstreet's corps was sent in the same direction; and when, on November 20th, General Burnside arrived with his army, the Federal forces drawn up on the hills north of Fredericksburg saw, on the highlands south of the city, the red flags and gray lines of their old adversaries. As General Jackson had been promptly directed to join the main body, and was already moving to do so, Lee would soon be able to oppose General Burnside with his whole force. Such were the movements of the opposing armies which brought them face to face at Fredericksburg. Lee had acted promptly, and, it would seem, with good judgment; but the question has been asked, why he did not repeat against General Burnside the strategic movement which had embarrassed General McClellan, and arrest the march upon Fredericksburg by threatening, with the detachment under Jackson, the Federal rear. The reasons for not adopting this course will be perceived by a glance at the map. General Burnside was taking up a new base--Aquia Creek on the Potomac--and, from the character of the country, it was wholly impossible for Lee to prevent him from doing so. He had only to fall back before Jackson, or any force moving against his flank or rear; the Potomac was at hand, and it was not in the power of Lee to further annoy him. The latter accordingly abandoned all thought of repeating his old manoeuvre, moved Longstreet and the other troops in Culpepper toward Fredericksburg, and, directing Jackson to join him there, thus concentrated his forces directly in the Federal front with the view of fighting a pitched battle, army against army. This detailed account of Lee's movements may appear tedious to some readers, but it was rather in grand tactics than in fighting battles that he displayed his highest abilities as a soldier. He uniformly adopted the broadest and most judicious plan to bring on battle, and personally directed, as far as was possible, every detail of his movements. When the hour came, it may be said of him that he felt he had done his best--the actual fighting was left largely in the hands of his corps commanders. The feints and slight encounters preceding the battle of Fredericksburg are not of much interest or importance. General Burnside sent a force to Port Royal, about twenty-five miles below the city, but Lee promptly detached a portion of his army to meet it, if it attempted to cross, and that project was abandoned. No attempt was made by General Burnside to cross above, and it became obvious that he must pass the river in face of Lee or not at all. Such was the condition of affairs at Fredericksburg in the first days of December. X. THE BATTLE OF FREDERICKSBURG. To a correct understanding of the interesting battle of Fredericksburg, a brief description of the ground is essential. The city lies on the south bank of the Rappahannock, which here makes a considerable bend nearly southward; and along the northern bank, opposite, extends a range of hills which command the city and the level ground around it. South of the river the land is low, but from the depth of the channel forms a line of bluffs, affording good shelter to troops after crossing to assail a force beyond. The only good position for such a force, standing on the defensive, is a range of hills hemming in the level ground. This range begins near the western suburbs of the city, where it is called "Marye's Hill," and sweeps round to the southward, gradually receding from the stream, until, at Hamilton's Crossing, on the Richmond and Potomac Railroad, a mile or more from the river, it suddenly subsides into the plain. This plain extends to the right, and is bounded by the deep and difficult channel of Massaponnax Creek. As Marye's Hill is the natural position for the left of an army posted to defend Fredericksburg, the crest above Hamilton's Crossing is the natural position for the right of such a line, care being taken to cover the extreme right with artillery, to obstruct the passage of the ground between the crest and the Massaponnax. [Illustration: Map--Battle of Fredericksburg.] Behind the hills on the north side General Burnside's army was posted, having the railroad to Aquia Creek for the transportation of their supplies. On the range of hills which we have described south of the city, General Lee was stationed, the same railroad connecting him with Richmond. Longstreet's corps composed his left wing, and extended from Marye's Hill to about the middle of the range of hills. There Jackson's line began, forming the right wing, and extending to the termination of the range at Hamilton's Crossing. On Jackson's right, to guard the plain reaching to the Massaponnax, Stuart was posted with cavalry and artillery. The numbers of the adversaries at Fredericksburg can be stated with accuracy upon one side, but not upon the other. General Lee's force may be said to have been, in round numbers, about fifty thousand of all arms. It could scarcely have exceeded that, unless he received heavy reënforcements after Sharpsburg; and the present writer has never heard or read that he received reënforcements of any description. The number, fifty thousand, thus seems to have been the full amount of the army. That of General Burnside's forces seems to have been considerably larger. The Federal army consisted of the First, Second, Third, Fifth, Sixth, Ninth, and Eleventh Corps; the latter a corps of reserve and large. If these had been recruited to the full number reported by General McClellan at Sharpsburg, and the additional troops (Fifth and Eleventh Corps) be estimated, the Federal army must have exceeded one hundred thousand men. This estimate is borne out by Federal authorities. "General Franklin," says a Northern writer, "had now with him about one-half the whole army;" and General Meade says that Franklin's force "amounted to from fifty-five thousand to sixty thousand men," which would seem to indicate that the whole army numbered from one hundred and ten thousand to one hundred and twenty thousand men. A strong position was obviously essential to render it possible for the Southern army, of about fifty thousand men, to successfully oppose the advance of this force of above one hundred thousand. Lee had found this position, and constructed earthworks for artillery, with the view of receiving the attack of the enemy after their crossing. He was unable to obstruct this crossing in any material degree; and he states clearly the grounds of this inability. "The plain of Fredericksburg," he says, "is so completely commanded by the Stafford heights, that no effectual opposition could be made to the construction of bridges, or the passage of the river, without exposing our troops to the destructive fire of the numerous batteries of the enemy.... Our position was, therefore, selected with a view to resist the enemy's advance after crossing, and the river was guarded only by a force sufficient to impede his movements until the army could be concentrated." The brief description we have presented of the character of the ground around Fredericksburg, and the position of the adversaries, will sufficiently indicate the conditions under which the battle was fought. Both armies seem to have been in excellent spirits. That of General Burnside had made a successful march, during which they had scarcely seen an enemy, and now looked forward, probably, to certain if not easy victory. General Lee's army, in like manner, had undergone recently no peculiar hardships in marching or fighting; and, to whatever cause the fact may be attributed, was in a condition of the highest efficiency. The men seemed to be confident of the result of the coming conflict, and, in their bivouacs on the line of battle, in the woods fringing the ridge which they occupied, laughed, jested, cheered, on the slightest provocation, and, instead of shrinking from, looked forward with eagerness to, the moment when General Burnside would advance to attack them. This buoyant and elastic spirit in the Southern troops was observable on the eve of nearly every battle of the war. Whether it was due to the peculiar characteristics of the race, or to other causes, we shall not pause here to inquire; but the fact was plain to the most casual observation, and was never more striking than just before Fredericksburg, unless just preceding the battle of Gettysburg. Nothing of any importance occurred, from the 20th of November, when General Burnside's army was concentrated on the heights north of Fredericksburg, until the 11th of December, when the Federal army began crossing the Rappahannock to deliver battle. Lee's reasons for not attempting to resist the passage of the river have been given above. The plain on which it would have been necessary to draw up his army, in order to do so, was too much exposed to the numerous artillery of the enemy on the northern bank. Lee resolved, therefore, not to oppose the crossing of the Federal troops, but to await their assault on the commanding ground west and south of the city. On the morning of December 11th, before dawn, the dull boom of Lee's signal-guns indicated that the enemy were moving, and the Southern troops formed line of battle to meet the coming attack. General Burnside had made arrangements to cross the river on pontoon bridges, one opposite the city, and another a mile or two lower down the stream. General Franklin, commanding the two corps of the left Grand Division, succeeded, without trouble, in laying the lower bridge, as the ground did not permit Lee to offer material obstruction; and this large portion of the army was now ready to cross. The passage of the stream at Fredericksburg was more difficult. Although determined not to make a serious effort to prevent the enemy from crossing, General Lee had placed two regiments of Barksdale's Mississippians along the bank of the river, in the city, to act as sharp-shooters, and impede the construction of the pontoon bridges, with the view, doubtless, of thus giving time to marshal his troops. The success of this device was considerable. The workmen, busily engaged in laying the Federal pontoons, were so much interrupted by the fire of the Confederate marksmen--who directed their aim through the heavy fog by the noise made in putting together the boats--that, after losing a number of men, the Federal commander discontinued his attempt. It was renewed again and again, without success, as before, when, provoked apparently by the presence of this hornet's nest, which reversed all his plans, General Burnside, about ten o'clock, opened a furious fire of artillery upon the city. The extent of this bombardment will be understood from the statement that one hundred and forty-seven pieces of artillery were employed, which fired seven thousand three hundred and fifty rounds of ammunition, in one instance piercing a single small house with fifty round-shot. An eye-witness of this scene says: "The enemy had planted more than a hundred pieces of artillery on the hills to the northern and eastern sides of the town, and, from an early hour in the forenoon, swept the streets with round-shot, shell, and case-shot, firing frequently a hundred guns a minute. The quick puffs of smoke, touched in the centre with tongues of flame, ran incessantly along the lines of their batteries on the slopes, and, as the smoke slowly drifted away, the bellowing roar came up in one continuous roll. The town was soon fired, and a dense cloud of smoke enveloped its roofs and steeples. The white church-spires still rose serenely aloft, defying shot or shell, though a portion of one of them was torn off. The smoke was succeeded by lurid flame, and the crimson mass brought to mind the pictures of Moscow burning." The same writer says: "Men, women, and children, were driven from the town, and hundreds of ladies and children were seen wandering, homeless, and without shelter, over the frozen highway, in thin clothing, knowing not where to find a place of refuge." [Illustration: FREDERICKSBURG] General Lee watched this painful spectacle from a redoubt to the right of the telegraph road, not far from his centre, where a shoulder jutting out from the ridge, and now called "Lee's Hill," afforded him a clear view of the city. The destruction of the place, and the suffering of the inhabitants, aroused in him a deep melancholy, mingled with exasperation, and his comment on the scene was probably as bitter as any speech which he uttered during the whole war. Standing, wrapped in his cape, with only a few officers near, he looked fixedly at the flames rising from the city, and, after remaining for a long time silent, said, in his grave, deep voice: "These people delight to destroy the weak, and those who can make no defence; it just suits them." General Burnside continued the bombardment for some hours, the Mississippians still holding the river-bank and preventing the laying of the pontoons, which was again begun and again discontinued. At about four in the afternoon, however, a force was sent across in barges, and by nightfall the city was evacuated by Lee, and General Burnside proceeded rapidly to lay his pontoon bridge, upon which his army then began to pass over. The crossing continued throughout the next day, not materially obstructed by the fire of Lee's artillery, as a dense fog rendered the aim of the cannoneers unreliable. By nightfall (of the 12th) the Federal army was over, with the exception of General Hooker's Centre Grand Division, which was held in reserve on the north bank. General Burnside then proceeded to form his line of battle. It stretched from the western suburbs of Fredericksburg down the river, along what is called the River road, for a distance of about four miles, and consisted of the Right Grand Division, under General Sumner, at the city, and the Left Grand Division, under General Franklin, lower down, and opposite Lee's right. General Franklin's Grand Division numbered, according to General Meade, from fifty-five to sixty thousand men; the numbers of Generals Sumner and Hooker are not known to the present writer, but are said by Federal authorities, as we have stated, to have amounted together to about the same. At daybreak, on the morning of December 13th, a muffled sound, issuing from the dense fog covering the low ground, indicated that the Federal lines were preparing to advance. To enable the reader to understand General Burnside's plan of attack, it is necessary that brief extracts should be presented from his orders on the occasion, and from his subsequent testimony before the committee on the conduct of the war. Despite the length of time since his arrival at Fredericksburg--a period of more than three weeks--the Federal commander had, it appears, been unable to obtain full and accurate information of the character of the ground occupied by Lee, and thus moved very much in the dark. He seems to have formed his plan of attack in consequence of information from "a colored man." His words are: "The enemy had cut a road along in the rear of the line of heights where we made our attack.... I obtained, from a colored man at the other side of the town, information in regard to this new road which proved to be correct. I wanted to obtain possession of that new road, and that was my reason for making an attack on the extreme left." It is difficult for those familiar with the ground referred to, to understand how this "new road," a mere country bridle-path, as it were, extending along in the rear of Lee's right wing, could have been regarded as a topographical feature of any importance. The road, which remains unchanged, and may be seen by any one to-day, was insignificant in a military point of view, and, in attaching such importance to seizing it, the Federal commander committed a grave error. What seems to have been really judicious in his plan, was the turning movement determined on against Lee's right, along the old Richmond road, running from the direction of the river past the end of the ridge occupied by the Confederates, and so southward. To break through at this point was the only hope of success, and General Burnside had accordingly resolved, he declared, upon "a rapid movement down the old Richmond road" with Franklin's large command. Unfortunately, however, this wise design was complicated with another, most unwise, to send forward _a division_, first, to seize the crest of the ridge near the point where it sinks into the plain. On this crest were posted the veterans of Jackson, commanded in person by that skilful soldier. Three lines of infantry, supported by artillery, were ready to receive the Federal attack, and, to force back this stubborn obstacle, General Burnside sent a division. The proof is found in his order to General Franklin at about six o'clock on the morning of the battle: "Send out a division at least ... to seize, if possible, the heights near Captain Hamilton's," which was the ground whereon Jackson's right rested. An attack on the formidable position known as Marye's Hill, on Lee's left, west of Fredericksburg, was also directed to be made by the same small force. The order to General Sumner was to "form a column of _a division_, for the purpose of pushing in the direction of the Telegraph and Plank roads, for the purpose of seizing the heights in the rear of the town;" or, according to another version, "up the Plank road to its intersection with the Telegraph road, where they will divide, with the object of seizing the heights on both sides of those roads." The point of "intersection" here referred to was the locality of what has been called "that sombre, fatal, terrible stone wall," just under Marye's Hill, where the most fearful slaughter of the Federal forces took place. Marye's Hill is a strong position, and its importance was well understood by Lee. Longstreet's infantry was in heavy line of battle behind it, and the crest bristled with artillery. There was still less hope here of effecting any thing with "a division" than on the Confederate right held by Jackson. General Burnside seems, however, to have regarded success as probable. He added in his order: "Holding these heights, with the heights near Captain Hamilton's, will, I hope, compel the enemy to evacuate the whole ridge between these points." In his testimony afterward, he said that, in the event of failure in these assaults on Lee's flanks, he "proposed to make a direct attack on their front, and drive them out of their works." These extracts from General Burnside's orders and testimony clearly indicate his plan, which was to assail both Lee's right and left, and, in the event of failure, direct a heavy blow at his centre. That the whole plan completely failed was mainly due, it would seem, to the inconsiderable numbers of the assaulting columns. We return now to the narrative of the battle which these comments have interrupted. General Lee was ready to receive the Federal attack, and, at an early hour of the morning, rode from his headquarters, in rear of his centre, along his line of battle toward the right, where he probably expected the main assault of the enemy to take place. He was clad in his plain, well-worn gray uniform, with felt hat, cavalry-boots, and short cape, without sword, and almost without any indications of his rank. In these outward details, he differed much from Generals Jackson and Stuart, who rode with him. The latter, as was usual with him, wore a fully-decorated uniform, sash, black plume, sabre, and handsome gauntlets. General Jackson, also, on this day, chanced to have exchanged his dingy old coat and sun-scorched cadet-cap for a new coat[1] covered with dazzling buttons, and a cap brilliant with a broad band of gold lace, in which (for him) extraordinary disguise his men scarcely knew him. [Footnote 1: This coat was a present from Stuart.] As Lee and his companions passed along in front of the line of battle, the troops cheered them. It was evident that the army was in excellent spirits, and ready for the hard work which the day would bring. Lee proceeded down the old Richmond, or stage road--that mentioned in General Burnside's order as the one over which his large flanking column was to move--and rode on with Stuart until he was near the River road, running toward Fredericksburg, parallel to the Federal line of battle. Here he stopped, and endeavored to make out, through the dense fog covering the plain, whether the Federal forces were moving. A stifled hum issued from the mist, but nothing could be seen. It seemed, however, that the enemy's skirmishers--probably concealed in the ditches along the River road--had sharper eyes, as bullets began to whistle around the two generals, and soon a number of black specks were seen moving forward. General Lee remained for some time longer, in spite of the exposure, conversing with great calmness and gravity with Stuart, who was all ardor. He then rode back slowly, passed along his line of battle, greeted wherever he was seen with cheers, and took his position on the eminence in his centre, near the Telegraph road, the same commanding point from which he had witnessed the bombardment of Fredericksburg. The battle did not commence until ten o'clock, owing to the dense fog, through which the light of the sun could scarcely pierce. At that hour the mist lifted and rolled away, and the Confederates posted on the ridge saw a heavy column of infantry advancing to attack their right, near the Hamilton House. This force was Meade's division, supported by Gibbon's, with a third in reserve, General Franklin having put in action as many troops as his orders ("a division at least") permitted. General Meade was arrested for some time by a minute but most annoying obstacle. Stuart had placed a single piece of artillery, under Major John Pelham, near the point where the old Richmond and River roads meet--that is, directly on the flank of the advancing column--and this gun now opened a rapid and determined fire upon General Meade. Major Pelham--almost a boy in years--continued to hold his exposed position with great gallantry, although the enemy opened fire upon him with several batteries, killing a number of his gunners. General Lee witnessed this duel from the hill on which he had taken his stand, and is said to have exclaimed, "It is glorious to see such courage in one so young!" [Footnote: General Lee's opinion of Major Pelham appears from his report, in which he styles the young officer "the gallant Pelham," and says: "Four batteries immediately turned upon him, but he sustained their heavy fire with the unflinching courage that ever distinguished him." Pelham fell at Kelly's Ford in March, 1863.] Pelham continued the cannonade for about two hours, only retiring when he received a peremptory order from Jackson to do so; and it would seem that this one gun caused a considerable delay in the attack. "Meade advanced across the plain, but had not proceeded far," says Mr. Swinton, "before he was compelled to stop and silence a battery that Stuart had posted on the Port Royal road." Having brushed away this annoying obstacle, General Meade, with a force which he states to have amounted to ten thousand men, advanced rapidly to attack the hill upon which the Confederates awaited him. He was suffered to approach within a few hundred yards, when Jackson's artillery, under Colonel Walker, posted near the end of the ridge, opened a sudden and furious fire, which threw the Federal line into temporary confusion. The troops soon rallied, however, and advanced again to the attack, which fell on Jackson's front line under A.P. Hill. The struggle which now ensued was fierce and bloody, but, a gap having been left between the brigades of Archer and Lane, the enemy pierced the opening, turning the left of one brigade and the right of the other, pressed on, attacked Gregg's brigade of Hill's reserve, threw it into confusion, and seemed about to carry the crest. Gregg's brigade was quickly rallied, however, by its brave commander, who soon afterward fell, mortally wounded; the further progress of the enemy was checked, and, Jackson's second line rapidly advancing, the enemy were met and forced back, step by step, until they were driven down the slope again. Here they were attacked by the brigades of Hoke and Atkinson, and driven beyond the railroad, the Confederates cheering and following them into the plain. The repulse had been complete, and the slope and ground in front of it were strewed with Federal dead. They had returned as rapidly as they had charged, pursued by shot and shell, and General Lee, witnessing the spectacle from his hill, murmured, in his grave and measured voice: "It is well this is so terrible! we should grow too fond of it!" The assault on the Confederate right had thus ended in disaster, but almost immediately another attack took place, whose results were more bloody and terrible still. As General Meade fell back, pursued by the men of Jackson, the sudden roar of artillery from the Confederate left indicated that a heavy conflict had begun in that quarter. The Federal troops were charging Marye's Hill, which was to prove the Cemetery Hill of Fredericksburg. This frightful charge--for no other adjective can describe it--was made by General French's division, supported by General Hancock. The Federal troops rushed forward over the broken ground in the suburbs of the city, and, "as soon as the masses became dense enough,"[1] were received with a concentrated artillery fire from the hill in front of them. This fire was so destructive that it "made gaps that could be seen at the distance of a mile." The charging division had advanced in column of brigades, and the front was nearly destroyed. The troops continued to move forward, however, and had nearly reached the base of the hill, when the brigades of Cobb and Cooke, posted behind a stone wall running parallel with the Telegraph road, met them with a sudden fire of musketry, which drove them back in terrible disorder. Nearly half the force was killed or lay disabled on the field, and upon the survivors, now in full retreat, was directed a concentrated artillery-fire from, the hill. [Footnote 1: Longstreet.] In face of this discharge of cannon, General Hancock's force, supporting French, now gallantly advanced in its turn. The charge lasted about fifteen minutes, and in that time General Hancock lost more than two thousand of the five thousand men of his command. The repulse was still more bloody and decisive than the first. The second column fell back in disorder, leaving the ground covered with their dead. General Burnside had hitherto remained at the "Phillips House," a mile or more from the Rappahannock. He now mounted his horse, and, riding down to the river, dismounted, walked up and down in great agitation, and exclaimed, looking at Marye's Hill: "That crest must be carried to-night."[1] [Footnote 1: The authority for this incident is Mr. William Swinton, who was present.] In spite of the murderous results of the first charges, the Federal commander determined on a third. General Hooker's reserve was ordered to make it, and, although that officer protested against it, General Burnside was immovable, and repeated his order. General Hooker sullenly obeyed, and opened with artillery upon the stone wall at the foot of the hill, in order to make a breach in it. This fire continued until nearly sunset, when Humphrey's division was formed for the charge. The men were ordered to throw aside their knapsacks, and not to load their guns, "for there was no time there to load and fire," says General Hooker. The word was given about sunset, and the division charged headlong over the ground already covered with dead. A few words will convey the result. Of four thousand men who charged, seventeen hundred and sixty were left dead or wounded on the field. The rest retreated, pursued by the fire of the batteries and infantry; and night fell on the battle-field. This charge was the real termination of the bloody battle of Fredericksburg, but, on the Confederate right, Jackson had planned and begun to execute a decisive advance on the force in his front. This he designed to undertake "precisely at sunset," and his intention was to depend on the bayonet, his military judgment or instinct having satisfied him that the _morale_ of the Federal army was destroyed. The advance was discontinued, however, in consequence of the lateness of the hour and the sudden artillery-fire which saluted him as he began to move. A striking feature of this intended advance is the fact that Jackson had placed his artillery _in front_ of his line of battle, intending to attack in that manner. As darkness settled down, the last guns of Stuart, who had defended the Confederate right flank with about thirty pieces of artillery, were heard far in advance, and apparently advancing still. The Federal lines had fallen back, wellnigh to the banks of the river, and there seems little room to doubt that the _morale_ of the men was seriously impaired. "From what I knew of our want of success upon the right," says General Franklin, when interrogated on this point, "and the demoralized condition of the troops upon the right and centre, as represented to me by their commanders, I confess I believe the order to recross was a very proper one." General Burnside refused to give the order; and, nearly overwhelmed, apparently, by the fatal result of the attack, determined to form the ninth corps in column of regiments, and lead it in person against Marye's Hill, on the next morning. Such a design, in a soldier of ability, indicates desperation. To charge Marye's Hill with a corps in column of regiments, was to devote the force to destruction. It was nearly certain that the whole command would be torn to pieces by the Southern artillery, but General Burnside seems to have regarded the possession of the hill as worth any amount of blood; and, in face of the urgent appeals of his officers, gave orders for the movement. At the last moment, however, he yielded to the entreaties of General Sumner, and abandoned his bloody design. Still it seemed that the Federal commander was unable to come to the mortifying resolution of recrossing the Rappahannock. The battle was fought on the 13th of December, and until the night of the 15th General Burnside continued to face Lee on the south bank of the river--his bands playing, his flags flying, and nothing indicating an intention of retiring. To that resolve he had however come, and on the night of the 15th, in the midst of storm and darkness, the Federal army recrossed to the north bank of the Rappahannock. XI FINAL MOVEMENTS OF 1862 The battle of Fredericksburg was another defeat of the Federal programme of invasion, as decisive, and in one sense as disastrous, as the second battle of Manassas. General Burnside had not lost as many men as General Pope, and had not retreated in confusion, pursued by a victorious enemy; but, brief as the conflict had been--two or three hours summing up all the real fighting--its desperate character, and the evident hopelessness of any attempt to storm Lee's position, profoundly discouraged and demoralized the Northern troops. We have quoted the statement of General Franklin, commanding the whole left wing, that from "the demoralized condition of the troops upon the right and centre, as represented to him by their commanders, he believed the order to recross was a very proper one." Nor is there any ground to suppose that the feeling of the left wing was greatly better. That wing of the army had not suffered as heavily as the right, which had recoiled with such frightful slaughter from Marye's Hill; but the repulse of General Meade in their own front had been equally decisive, and the non-success of the right must have reacted on the left, discouraging that also. Northern writers, in a position to ascertain the condition of the troops, fully bear out this view: "That the _morale_ of the Army of the Potomac became seriously impaired after the disaster at Fredericksburg," says Mr. Swinton, the able and candid historian of the campaign, "was only too manifest. Indeed, it would be impossible to imagine a graver or gloomier, a more sombre or unmusical body of men than the Army of the Potomac a month after the battle. And, as the days went by, despondency, discontent, and all evil inspirations, with their natural consequent, desertion, seemed to increase rather than to diminish, until, for the first time, the Army of the Potomac could be said to be really demoralized." General Sumner noticed that a spirit of "croaking" had become diffused throughout the forces. For an army to display that tendency clearly indicates that the troops have lost the most important element of victory--confidence in themselves and their leader. And for this sentiment there was valid reason. Columns wholly inadequate in numbers had been advanced against the formidable Confederate positions, positions so strong and well defended that it is doubtful if thrice the force could have made any impression upon them, and the result was such as might have been expected. The men lost confidence in the military capacity of their commander, and in their own powers. After the double repulse at Marye's Hill and in front of Jackson, the troops, looking at the ground strewed with dead and wounded, were in no condition to go forward hopefully to another struggle which promised to be equally bloody. The Southern army was naturally in a condition strongly in contrast with that of their adversary. They had repulsed the determined assault of the Federal columns with comparative ease on both flanks. Jackson's first line, although pierced and driven back, soon rallied, and checked the enemy until the second line came up, when General Meade was driven back, the third line not having moved from its position along the road near the Hamilton House. On the left, Longstreet had repulsed the Federal charge with his artillery and two small brigades. The loss of the Confederates in both these encounters was much less than that of their adversaries[1], a natural result of the circumstances; and thus, instead of sharing the depression of their opponents, the Southern troops were elated, and looked forward to a renewal of the battle with confidence in themselves and in their leader. [Footnote 1: "Our loss during the operation, since the movements of the enemy began, amounts to about eighteen hundred killed and wounded."--_Lee's Report_. Federal authorities state the Northern loss at a little over twelve thousand; the larger part, no doubt, in the attack on Marye's Hill.] It is not necessary to offer much comment upon the manner in which General Burnside had attacked. He is said, by his critics, not to have, at the time, designed the turning movement against General Lee's right, upon which point the present writer is unable to decide. That movement would seem to have presented the sole and only chance of success for the Federal arms, as the successful advance of General Franklin's fifty-five or sixty thousand men up the old Richmond road would have compelled Lee to retire his whole right wing, to protect it from an assault in flank and reverse. What dispositions he would have made under these circumstances must be left to conjecture; but, it is certain that the blow would have proved a serious one, calling for the display of all his military ability. In the event, however, that this was the main great aim of General Burnside, his method of carrying out his design insured, it would seem, its failure. Ten thousand men only were to clear the way for the flanking movement, in order to effect which object it was necessary to crush Jackson. So that it may be said that the success of the plan involved the repulse of one-half Lee's army with ten thousand men. The assault on Marye's Hill was an equally fatal military mistake. That the position could not be stormed, is proved by the result of the actual attempt. It is doubtful if, in any battle ever fought by any troops, men displayed greater gallantry. They rushed headlong, not only once, but thrice, into the focus of a frightful front and cross fire of artillery and small-arms, losing nearly half their numbers in a few minutes; the ground was littered with their dead, and yet the foremost had only been able to approach within sixty yards of the terrible stone wall in advance of the hill. There they fell, throwing up their hands to indicate that they saw at last that the attempt to carry the hill was hopeless. These comments seem justified by the circumstances, and are made with no intention of casting obloquy upon the commander who, displaying little ability, gave evidences of unfaltering courage. He had urged his inability to handle so large an army, but the authorities had forced the command upon him; he had accepted it and done his best, and, like a brave soldier, determined to lead the final charge in person, dying, if necessary, at the head of his men. General Lee has not escaped criticism any more than General Burnside. The Southern people were naturally dissatisfied with the result--the safe retreat of the Federal army--and asked why they had not been attacked and captured or destroyed. The London _Times_, at that period, and a military critic recently, in the same journal, declared that Lee had it in his power to crush General Burnside, "horse, foot, and dragoons," and, from his failure to do so, argued his want of great generalship. A full discussion of the question is left by the present writer to those better skilled than himself in military science. It is proper, however, to insert here General Lee's own explanation of his action: "The attack on the 13th," he says, "had been so easily repulsed, and by so small a part of our army, that it was not supposed the enemy would limit his efforts to one attempt, which, in view of the magnitude of his preparations, and the extent of his force, seemed to be comparatively insignificant. Believing, therefore, that he would attack us, it was not deemed expedient to lose the advantages of our position and expose the troops to the fire of his inaccessible batteries beyond the river, by advancing against him. But we were necessarily ignorant of the extent to which he had suffered, and only became aware of it when, on the morning of the 16th, it was discovered that he had availed himself of the darkness of night, and the prevalence of a violent storm of wind and rain, to recross the river." This statement was no doubt framed by General Lee to meet the criticisms which the result of the battle occasioned. In conversing with General Stuart on the subject, he added that he felt too great responsibility for the preservation of his troops to unnecessarily hazard them. "No one knows," he said, "how _brittle_ an army is." The word may appear strange, applied to the Army of Northern Virginia, which had certainly vindicated its claim, under many arduous trials, to the virtues of toughness and endurance. But Lee's meaning was plain, and his view seems to have been founded on good sense. The enemy had in all, probably, two hundred pieces of artillery, a large portion of which were posted on the high ground north of the river. Had Lee descended from his ridge and advanced into the plain to attack, this large number of guns would have greeted him with a rapid and destructive fire, which must have inflicted upon him a loss as nearly heavy as he had inflicted upon General Burnside at Marye's Hill. From such a result he naturally shrunk. It has been seen that the Federal troops, brave as they were, had been demoralized by such a fire; and Lee was unwilling to expose his own troops to similar slaughter. There is little question, it seems, that an advance of the description mentioned would have resulted in a conclusive victory, and the probable surrender of the whole or a large portion of the Federal army. Whether the probability of such a result was sufficient to compensate for the certain slaughter, the reader will decide for himself. General Lee did not think so, and did not order the advance. He preferred awaiting, in his strong position, the second assault which General Burnside would probably make; and, while he thus waited, the enemy secretly recrossed the river, rendering an attack upon them by Lee impossible. General Burnside made a second movement to cross the Rappahannock--this time at Banks's Ford, above Fredericksburg--in the inclement month of January; but, as he might have anticipated, the condition of the roads was such that it was impossible to advance. His artillery, with the horses dragging the pieces, sank into the almost bottomless mud, where they stuck fast--even the foot-soldiers found it difficult to march through the quagmire--and the whole movement was speedily abandoned. When General Burnside issued the order for this injudicious advance, two of his general officers met, and one asked: "What do you think of it?" "It don't seem to have the _ring_" was the reply. "No--the bell is broken," the other added. This incident, which is given on the authority of a Northern writer, probably conveys a correct idea of the feeling of both the officers and men of General Burnside's army. The disastrous day of Fredericksburg had seriously injured the troops. "The Army of the Potomac," the writer adds, "was sadly fractured, and its tones had no longer the clear, inspiring ring of victory." XII. THE YEAR OF BATTLES. The stormy year 1862 had terminated, thus, in a great Confederate success. In its arduous campaigns, following each other in rapid succession, General Lee had directed the movements of the main great army, and the result of the year's fighting was to gain him that high military reputation which his subsequent movements only consolidated and increased. A rapid glance at the events of the year in their general outlines will indicate the merit due the Southern commander. The Federal plan of invasion in the spring had been extremely formidable. Virginia was to be pierced by no less than four armies--from the northwest, the Shenandoah Valley, the Potomac, and the Peninsula--the whole force to converge upon Richmond, the "heart of the rebellion." Of these, the army of General McClellan was the largest and most threatening. It advanced, with little opposition, until it reached the Chickahominy, crossed, and lay in sight of Richmond. The great force of one hundred and fifty thousand men was about to make the decisive assault, when Lee attacked it, and the battle which ensued drove the Federal army to a point thirty miles from the city, with such loss as to render hopeless any further attempt to assail the capital. Such was the first act of the drama; the rest speedily followed. A new army was raised promptly by the Federal authorities, and a formidable advance was made against Richmond again, this time from the direction of Alexandria. Lee was watching General McClellan when intelligence of the new movement reached him. Remaining, with a portion of his troops, near Richmond, he sent Jackson to the Rapidan. The battle of Cedar Mountain resulted in the repulse of General Pope's vanguard; and, discovering at last that the real danger lay in the direction of Culpepper, Lee moved thither, drove back General Pope, flanked him, and, in the severe battle of Manassas, routed his army, which was forced to retire upon Washington. Two armies had thus been driven from the soil of Virginia, and the Confederate commander had moved into Maryland, in order to draw the enemy thither, and, if practicable, transfer the war to the heart of Pennsylvania. Unforeseen circumstances had defeated the latter of these objects. The concentration on Sharpsburg was rendered necessary; an obstinately-fought battle ensued there; and, not defeated, but forced to abandon further movements toward Pennsylvania, Lee had retired into Virginia, where he remained facing his adversary. This was the first failure of Lee up to that point in the campaigns of the year; and an attentive consideration of the circumstances will show that the result was not fairly attributable to any error which he had committed. Events beyond his control had shaped his action, and directed all his movements; and it will remain a question whether the extrication of his small force from its difficult position did not better prove Lee's generalship than the victory at Manassas. The subsequent operations of the opposing armies indicated clearly that the Southern forces were still in excellent fighting condition; and the movements of Lee, during the advance of General McClellan toward Warrenton, were highly honorable to his military ability. With a force much smaller than that of his adversary, he greatly embarrassed and impeded the Federal advance; confronted them on the Upper Rappahannock, completely checking their forward movement in that direction; and, when they moved rapidly to Fredericksburg, crossed the Rapidan promptly, reappearing in their front on the range of hills opposite that city. The battle which followed compensated for the failure of the Maryland campaign and the drawn battle of Sharpsburg. General Burnside had attacked, and sustained decisive defeat. The stormy year, so filled with great events and arduous encounters, had thus wound up with a pitched battle, in which the enemy suffered a bloody repulse; and the best commentary on the decisive character of this last struggle of the year, was the fault found with General Lee for not destroying his adversary. In less than six months Lee had thus fought four great pitched battles--all victories to his arms, with the exception of Sharpsburg, which was neither a victory nor a defeat. The result was thus highly encouraging to the South; and, had the Army of Northern Virginia had its ranks filled up, as the ranks of the Northern armies were, the events of the year 1862 would have laid the foundation of assured success. An inquiry into the causes of failure in this particular is not necessary to the subject of the volume before the reader. It is only necessary to state the fact that the Army of Northern Virginia, defending what all conceded to be the territory on which the decisive struggle must take place, was never sufficiently numerous to follow up the victories achieved by it. At the battles of the Chickahominy the army numbered at most about seventy-five thousand; at the second Manassas, about fifty thousand; at Sharpsburg, less than forty thousand; and at Fredericksburg, about fifty thousand. In the following year, it will be seen that these latter numbers were at first but little exceeded, and, as the months passed on, that they dwindled more and more, until, in April, 1865, the whole force in line of battle at Petersburg was scarcely more than thirty thousand men. Such had been the number of the troops under command of Lee in 1862. The reader has been informed of the number of the Federal force opposed to him. This was one hundred and fifty thousand on the Chickahominy, of whom one hundred and fifteen thousand were effective; about one hundred thousand, it would seem, under General Pope, at the second battle of Manassas; eighty-seven thousand actually engaged at the battle of Sharpsburg; and at Fredericksburg from one hundred and ten to one hundred and twenty thousand. These numbers are stated on the authority of Federal officers or historians, and Lee's force on the authority of his own reports, or of gentlemen of high character, in a situation to speak with accuracy. Of the truth of the statements the writer of these pages can have no doubt; and, if the fighting powers of the Northern and Southern troops be estimated as equal, the fair conclusion must be arrived at that Lee surpassed his adversaries in generalship. The result, at least, of the year's fighting, had been extremely encouraging to the South, and after the battle of Fredericksburg no attempts were made to prosecute hostilities during the remainder of the year. The scheme of crossing above Fredericksburg proved a _fiasco_, beginning and ending in a day. Thereafter all movements ceased, and the two armies awaited the return of spring for further operations. XIII. LEE IN DECEMBER, 1862. Before passing to the great campaigns of the spring and summer of 1863, we propose to say a few words of General Lee, in his private and personal character, and to attempt to indicate the position which he occupied at this time in the eyes of the army and the country. Unknown, save by reputation, when he assumed command of the forces in June, 1862, he had now, by the winter of the same year, become one of the best-known personages in the South. Neither the troops nor the people had perhaps penetrated the full character of Lee; and they seem to have attributed to him more reserve and less warmth and impulse than he possessed; but it was impossible for a human being, occupying so prominent a station before the general eye, to hide, in any material degree, his main great characteristics, and these had conciliated for Lee an exalted and wellnigh universal public regard. He was felt by all to be an individual of great dignity, sincerity, and earnestness, in the performance of duty. Destitute plainly of that vulgar ambition which seeks personal aggrandizement rather than the general good, and dedicated as plainly, heart and soul, to the cause for which he fought, he had won, even from those who had denounced him for the supposed hesitation in his course in April, 1861, and had afterward criticised his military operations, the repute of a truly great man, as well as of a commander of the first ability. It was felt by all classes that the dignity of the Southern cause was adequately represented in the person and character of the commander of her most important army. While others, as brave and patriotic, no doubt, but of different temperament, had permitted themselves to become violent and embittered in their private and public utterances in reference to the North, Lee had remained calm, moderate, and dignified, under every provocation. His reports were without rhodomontade or exaggeration, and his tone uniformly modest, composed, and uninflated. After his most decisive successes, his pulse had remained calm; he had written of those successes with the air of one who sees no especial merit in any thing which he has performed; and, so marked was this tone of moderation and dignity, that, in reading his official reports to-day, it seems wellnigh impossible that they could have been written in the hot atmosphere of a war which aroused the bitterest passions of the human soul. Upon this point of Lee's personal and official dignity it is unnecessary to dwell further, as the quality has long since been conceded by every one acquainted with the character of the individual, in the Old World and the New. It is the trait, perhaps, the most prominent to the observer, looking back now upon the individual; and it was, doubtless, this august moderation, dignity, and apparent exemption from natural infirmity, which produced the impression upon many persons that Lee was cold and unimpressible. We shall speak, in future, at greater length of his real character than is necessary in this place; but it may here be said, that the fancy that he was cold and unimpressible was a very great error. No man had stronger or warmer feelings, or regarded the invasion of the South with greater indignation, than himself. The sole difference was, that he had his feelings under greater control, and permitted no temptation to overcome his sense of that august dignity and composure becoming in the chief leader of a great people struggling for independent government. The sentiment of the Southern people toward Lee may be summed up in the statement that they regarded him, in his personal and private character, with an admiration which was becoming unbounded, and reposed in him, as commander of the army, the most implicit confidence. These expressions are strong, but they do not convey more than the truth. And this confidence was never withdrawn from him. It remained as strong in his hours of disaster as in his noontide of success. A few soured or desponding people might lose heart, indulge in "croaking," and denounce, under their breath, the commander of the army as responsible for failure when it occurred; but these fainthearted people were in a small minority, and had little encouragement in their muttered criticisms. The Southern people, from Virginia to the utmost limits of the Gulf States, resolutely persisted in regarding Lee as one of the greatest soldiers of history, and retained their confidence in him unimpaired to the end. The army had set the example of this implicit reliance upon Lee as the chief leader and military head of the Confederacy. The brave fighting-men had not taken his reputation on trust, but had seen him win it fairly on some of the hardest-contested fields of history. The heavy blow at General McClellan on the Chickahominy had first shown the troops that they were under command of a thorough soldier. The rout of Pope at Manassas had followed in the ensuing month. At Sharpsburg, with less than forty thousand men, Lee had repulsed the attack of nearly ninety thousand; and at Fredericksburg General Burnside's great force had been driven back with inconsiderable loss to the Southern army. These successes, in the eyes of the troops, were the proofs of true leadership, and it did not detract from Lee's popularity that, on all occasions, he had carefully refrained from unnecessary exposure of the troops, especially at Fredericksburg, where an ambitious commander would have spared no amount of bloodshed to complete his glory by a great victory. Such was Lee's repute as army commander in the eyes of men accustomed to close scrutiny of their leaders. He was regarded as a thorough soldier, at once brave, wise, cool, resolute, and devoted, heart and soul, to the cause. Personally, the commander-in-chief was also, by this time, extremely popular. He did not mingle with the troops to any great extent, nor often relax the air of dignity, somewhat tinged with reserve, which was natural with him. This reserve, however, never amounted to stiffness or "official" coolness. On the contrary, Lee was markedly free from the chill demeanor of the martinet, and had become greatly endeared to the men by the unmistakable evidences which he had given them of his honesty, sincerity, and kindly feeling for them. It cannot, indeed, be said that he sustained the same relation toward the troops as General Jackson. For the latter illustrious soldier, the men had a species of familiar affection, the result, in a great degree, of the informal and often eccentric demeanor of the individual. There was little or nothing in Jackson to indicate that he was an officer holding important command. He was without reserve, and exhibited none of that formal courtesy which characterized Lee. His manners, on the contrary, were quite informal, familiar, and conciliated in return a familiar regard. We repeat the word _familiar_ as conveying precisely the idea intended to be expressed. It indicated the difference between these two great soldiers in their outward appearance. Lee retained about him, upon all occasions, more or less of the commander-in-chief, passing before the troops on an excellent and well-groomed horse, his figure erect and graceful in the saddle, for he was one of the best riders in the army; his demeanor grave and thoughtful; his whole bearing that of a man intrusted with great responsibilities and the general care of the whole army. Jackson's personal appearance and air were very different. His dress was generally dingy: a faded cadet-cap tilted over his eyes, causing him to raise his chin into the air; his stirrups were apt to be too short, and his knees were thus elevated ungracefully, and he would amble along on his rawboned horse with a singularly absent-minded expression of countenance, raising, from time to time, his right hand and slapping his knee. This brief outline of the two commanders will serve to show the difference between them personally, and it must be added that Jackson's eccentric bearing was the source, in some degree, of his popularity. The men admired him immensely for his great military ability, and his odd ways procured for him that familiar liking to which we have alluded. It is not intended, however, in these observations to convey the idea that General Lee was regarded as a stiff and unapproachable personage of whom the private soldiers stood in awe. Such a statement would not express the truth. Lee was perfectly approachable, and no instance is upon record, or ever came to the knowledge of the present writer, in which he repelled the approach of his men, or received the humblest of them with any thing but kindness. He was naturally simple and kind, with great gentleness and patience; and it will not be credible, to any who knew the man, that he ever made any difference in his treatment of those who approached him from a consideration of their rank in the army. His theory, expressed upon many occasions, was, that the private soldiers--men who fought without the stimulus of rank, emolument, or individual renown--were the most meritorious class of the army, and that they deserved and should receive the utmost respect and consideration. This statement, however, is doubtless unnecessary. Men of Lee's pride and dignity never make a difference in their treatment of men, because one is humble, and the other of high rank. Of such human beings it may be said that _noblesse oblige_. The men of the army had thus found their commander all that they could wish, and his increasing personal popularity was shown by the greater frequency with which they now spoke of him as "Marse Robert," "Old Uncle Robert," and by other familiar titles. This tendency in troops is always an indication of personal regard; these nicknames had been already showered upon Jackson, and General Lee was having his turn. The troops regarded him now more as their fellow-soldier than formerly, having found that his dignity was not coldness, and that he would, under no temptation, indulge his personal convenience, or fare better than themselves. It was said--we know not with what truth--that the habit of Northern generals in the war was to look assiduously to their individual comfort in selecting their quarters, and to take pleasure in surrounding themselves with glittering staff-officers, body-guards, and other indications of their rank, and the consideration which they expected. In these particulars Lee differed extremely from his opponents, and there were no evidences whatever, at his headquarters, that he was the commander-in-chief, or even an officer of high rank. He uniformly lived in a tent, in spite of the urgent invitations of citizens to use their houses for his headquarters; and this refusal was the result both of an indisposition to expose these gentlemen to annoyance from the enemy when he himself retired, and of a rooted objection to fare better than his troops. They had tents only, often indeed were without even that much covering, and it was repugnant to Lee's feelings to sleep under a good roof when the troops were so much exposed. His headquarters tent, at this time (December, 1862), as before and afterward, was what is called a "house-tent," not differing in any particular from those used by the private soldiers of the army in winter-quarters. It was pitched in an opening in the wood near the narrow road leading to Hamilton's Crossing, with the tents of the officers of the staff grouped near; and, with the exception of an orderly, who always waited to summon couriers to carry dispatches, there was nothing in the shape of a body-guard visible, or any indication that the unpretending group of tents was the army headquarters. Within, no article of luxury was to be seen. A few plain and indispensable objects were all which the tent contained. The covering of the commander-in-chief was an ordinary army blanket, and his fare was plainer, perhaps, than that of the majority of his officers and men. This was the result of an utter indifference, in Lee, to personal convenience or indulgence. Citizens frequently sent him delicacies, boxes filled with turkeys, hams, wine, cordials, and other things, peculiarly tempting to one leading the hard life of the soldier, but these were almost uniformly sent to the sick in some neighboring hospital. Lee's principle in so acting seems to have been to set the good example to his officers of not faring better than their men; but he was undoubtedly indifferent naturally to luxury of all descriptions. In his habits and feelings he was not the self-indulgent man of peace, but the thorough soldier, willing to live hard, to sleep upon the ground, and to disregard all sensual indulgence. In his other habits he was equally abstinent. He cared nothing for wine, whiskey, or any stimulant, and never used tobacco in any form. He rarely relaxed his energies in any thing calculated to amuse him; but, when not riding along his lines, or among the camps to see in person that the troops were properly cared for, generally passed his time in close attention to official duties connected with the well-being of the army, or in correspondence with the authorities at Richmond. When he relaxed from this continuous toil, it was to indulge in some quiet and simple diversion, social converse with ladies in houses at which he chanced to stop, caresses bestowed upon children, with whom he was a great favorite, and frequently in informal conversation with his officers. At "Hayfield" and "Moss Neck," two hospitable houses below Fredericksburg, he at this time often stopped and spent some time in the society of the ladies and children there. One of the latter, a little curly-headed girl, would come up to him always to receive her accustomed kiss, and one day confided to him, as a personal friend, her desire to kiss General Jackson, who blushed like a girl when Lee, with a quiet laugh, told him of the child's wish. On another occasion, when his small friend came to receive his caress, he said, laughing, that she would show more taste in selecting a younger gentleman than himself, and, pointing to a youthful officer in a corner of the room, added, "There is the handsome Major Pelham!" which caused that modest young soldier to blush with confusion. The bearing of General Lee in these hours of relaxation, was quite charming, and made him warm friends. His own pleasure and gratification were plain, and gratified others, who, in the simple and kindly gentleman in the plain gray uniform, found it difficult to recognize the commander-in-chief of the Southern army. These moments of relaxation were, however, only occasional. All the rest was toil, and the routine of hard work and grave assiduity went on month after month, and year after year, with little interruption. With the exceptions which we have noted, all pleasures and distractions seemed of little interest to Lee, and to the present writer, at least, he seemed on all occasions to bear the most striking resemblance to the traditional idea of Washington. High principle and devotion to duty were plainly this human being's springs of action, and he went through the hard and continuous labor incident to army command with a grave and systematic attention, wholly indifferent, it seemed, to almost every species of diversion and relaxation. This attempt to show how Lee appeared at that time to his solders, has extended to undue length, and we shall be compelled to defer a full notice of the most interesting and beautiful trait of his character. This was his humble and profound piety. The world has by no means done him justice upon this subject. No one doubted during the war that General Lee was a sincere Christian in conviction, and his exemplary moral character and life were beyond criticism. Beyond this it is doubtful if any save his intimate associates understood the depth of his feeling on the greatest of all subjects. Jackson's strong religious fervor was known and often alluded to, but it is doubtful if Lee was regarded as a person of equally fervent convictions and feelings. And yet the fact is certain that faith in God's providence and reliance upon the Almighty were the foundation of all his actions, and the secret of his supreme composure under all trials. He was naturally of such reserve that it is not singular that the extent of this sentiment was not understood. Even then, however, good men who frequently visited him, and conversed with him upon religious subjects, came away with their hearts burning within them. When the Rev. J. William Jones, with another clergyman, went, in 1863, to consult him in reference to the better observance of the Sabbath in the army, "his eye brightened, and his whole countenance glowed with pleasure; and as, in his simple, feeling words, he expressed his delight, we forgot the great warrior, and only remembered that we were communing with an humble, earnest Christian." When he was informed that the chaplains prayed for him, tears started to his eyes, and he replied: "I sincerely thank you for that, and I can only say that I am a poor sinner, trusting in Christ alone, and that I need all the prayers you can offer for me." On the day after this interview he issued an earnest general order, enjoining the observance of the Sabbath by officers and men, urging them to attend public worship in their camps, and forbidding the performance on Sunday of all official duties save those necessary to the subsistence or safety of the army. He always attended public worship, if it were in his power to do so, and often the earnestness of the preacher would "make his eye kindle and his face glow." He frequently attended the meetings of his chaplains, took a warm interest in the proceedings, and uniformly exhibited, declares one who could speak from personal knowledge, an ardent desire for the promotion of religion in the army. He did not fail, on many occasions, to show his men that he was a sincere Christian. When General Meade came over to Mine Run, and the Southern army marched to meet him, Lee was riding along his line of battle in the woods, when he came upon a party of soldiers holding a prayer-meeting on the eve of battle. Such a spectacle was not unusual in the army then and afterward--the rough fighters were often men of profound piety--and on this occasion the sight before him seems to have excited deep emotion in Lee. He stopped, dismounted--the staff-officers accompanying him did the same--and Lee uncovered his head, and stood in an attitude of profound respect and attention, while the earnest prayer proceeded, in the midst of the thunder of artillery and the explosion of the enemy's shells.[1] [Footnote 1: These details are given on the authority of the Rev. J. William Jones, of Lexington, Va.] [Illustration: Lee at the Soldiers' Prayer Meeting.] Other incidents indicating the simple and earnest piety of Lee will be presented in the course of this narrative. The fame of the soldier has in some degree thrown into the background the less-imposing trait of personal piety in the individual. No delineation of Lee, however, would be complete without a full statement of his religious principles and feelings. As the commander-in-chief of the Army of Northern Virginia, he won that august renown which encircles his name with a halo of military glory, both in America and Europe. His battles and victories are known to all men. It is not known to all that the illustrious soldier whose fortune it was to overthrow, one after another, the best soldiers of the Federal army, was a simple, humble, and devoted Christian, whose eyes filled with tears when he was informed that his chaplains prayed for him; and who said, "I am a poor sinner, trusting in Christ alone, and need all the prayers you can offer for me." PART VI. CHANCELLORSVILLE AND GETTYSBURG I. ADVANCE OF GENERAL HOOKER. Lee remained throughout the winter at his headquarters in the woods south of Fredericksburg, watching the Northern army, which continued to occupy the country north of the city, with the Potomac River as their base of supplies. With the coming of spring, it was obviously the intention of the Federal authorities to again essay the crossing of the Rappahannock at some point either above or below Fredericksburg; and as the movement above was less difficult, and promised more decisive results, it was seen by General Lee that this would probably be the quarter from which he might expect an attack. General Stuart, a soldier of sound judgment, said, during the winter, "The next battle will take place at Chancellorsville," and the position of Lee's troops seemed to indicate that this was also his own opinion. His right remained still "opposite Fredericksburg," barring the direct approach to Richmond, but his left extended up the Rappahannock beyond Chancellorsville, and all the fords were vigilantly guarded to prevent a sudden flank movement by the enemy in that direction. As will be seen, the anticipations of Lee were to be fully realized. The heavy blow aimed at him, in the first days of spring, was to come from the quarter in which he had expected it. The Federal army was now under command of General Joseph Hooker, an officer of dash, energy, excellent administrative capacity, and, Northern writers add, extremely prone to "self-assertion." General Hooker had harshly criticised the military operations both of General McClellan on the Chickahominy, and of General Burnside at Fredericksburg, and so strong an impression had these strictures made upon the minds of the authorities, that they came to the determination of intrusting the command of the army to the officer who made them, doubtless concluding that his own success would prove greater than that of his predecessors. This opinion seemed borne out by the first proceedings of General Hooker. He set to work energetically to reorganize and increase the efficiency of the army, did away with General Burnside's defective "grand division" arrangement, consolidated the cavalry into an effective corps, enforced strict discipline among officers and men alike, and at the beginning of spring had brought his army to a high state of efficiency. His confident tone inspired the men; the depression resulting from the great disaster at Fredericksburg was succeeded by a spirit of buoyant hope, and the army was once more that great war-engine, ready for any undertaking, which it had been under McClellan. It numbered, according to one Federal statement, one hundred and fifty-nine thousand three hundred men; but according to another, which appears more reliable, one hundred and twenty thousand infantry and artillery, and twelve thousand cavalry; in all, one hundred and thirty-two thousand troops. The army of General Lee was considerably smaller. Two divisions of Longstreet's corps had been sent to Suffolk, south of James River, to obtain supplies in that region, and this force was not present at the battle of Chancellorsville. The actual numbers under Lee's command will appear from the following statement of Colonel Walter H. Taylor, assistant adjutant-general of the army: Our strength at Chancellorsville: Anderson and McLaws........................... 13,000 Jackson (Hill, Rodes, and Trimble)............ 21,000 Early (Fredericksburg)........................ 6,000 _______ 40,000 Cavalry and artillery......................... 7,000 _______ Total of all arms............................. 47,000 As the Federal infantry numbered one hundred and twenty thousand, according to the smallest estimate of Federal authorities, and Lee's infantry forty thousand, the Northern force was precisely three times as large as the Southern. [Illustration: Map--Battle of Chancellorsville.] General Hooker had already proved himself an excellent administrative officer, and his plan of campaign against Lee seemed to show that he also possessed generalship of a high order. He had determined to pass the Rappahannock above Fredericksburg, turn Lee's flank, and thus force him to deliver battle under this disadvantage, or retire upon Richmond. The safe passage of the stream was the first great object, and General Hooker's dispositions to effect this were highly judicious. A force of about twenty thousand men was to pass the Rappahannock at Fredericksburg, and thus produce upon Lee the impression that the Federal army was about to renew the attempt in which they had failed under General Burnside. While General Lee's attention was engaged by the force thus threatening his right, the main body of the Northern army was to cross the Rappahannock and Rapidan above Chancellorsville, and, sweeping down rapidly upon the Confederate left flank, take up a strong position between Chancellorsville and Fredericksburg. The column which had crossed at the latter point to engage the attention of the Confederate commander, was then to recross to the northern bank, move rapidly to the upper fords, which the advance of the main body would by that time have uncovered; and, a second time crossing to the southern bank, unite with the rest. Thus the whole Federal army would be concentrated on the southern bank of the Rappahannock, and General Lee would be compelled to leave his camps on the hills of the Massaponnax, and fight upon ground dictated by his adversary. If he did not thus accept battle, but one other course was left. He must fall back in the direction of Richmond, to prevent his adversary from attacking his rear, and capturing or destroying his army. In order to insure the success of this promising plan of attack, a strong column of well-mounted cavalry was to cross in advance of the army and strike for the railroads in Lee's rear, connecting him with Richmond and the Southwest. Thus flanked or cut off, and with all his communications destroyed, it seemed probable that General Lee would suffer decisive defeat, and that the Federal army would march in triumph to the capture of the Confederate capital. This plan was certainly excellent, and seemed sure to succeed. It was, however, open to some criticism, as the event showed. General Hooker was detaching, in the beginning of the movement, his whole cavalry force for a distant operation, and dividing his army by the _ruse_ at Fredericksburg, in face of an adversary not likely to permit that great error to escape him. While advancing thus, apparently to the certain destruction of Lee, General Hooker was leaving a vulnerable point in his own armor. Lee would probably discover that point, and aim to pierce his opponent there. At most, General Hooker was wrapping in huge folds the sword of Lee, not remembering that there was danger to the _cordon_ as well as to the weapon. Such was the plan which General Hooker had devised to bring back that success of the Federal arms in the spring of 1863 which had attended them in the early spring of 1862. At this latter period a heavy cloud rested upon the Confederate cause. Donaldson and Roanoke Island, Fort Macon, and the city of New Orleans, had then fallen; at Elkhorn, Kernstown, Newbern, and other places, the Federal forces had achieved important successes. These had been followed, however, by the Southern victories on the Chickahominy, at Manassas, and at Fredericksburg. Near this last-named spot now, where the year had wound up with so mortifying a Federal failure, General Hooker hoped to reverse events, and recover the Federal glories of the preceding spring. Operations began as early as the middle of March, when General Averill, with about three thousand cavalry, crossed the Rappahannock at Kelly's Ford, above its junction with the Rapidan, and made a determined attack upon nearly eight hundred horsemen there, under General Fitz Lee, with the view of passing through Culpepper, crossing the Rapidan, and cutting Lee's communications in the direction of Gordonsville. The obstinate stand of General Fitz Lee's small force, however, defeated this object, and General Averill was forced to retreat beyond the Rappahannock again with considerable loss, and abandon his expedition. In this engagement fell Major John Pelham, who had been styled in Lee's first report of the battle of Fredericksburg "the gallant Pelham," and whose brave stand on the Port Royal road had drawn from Lee the exclamation, "It is glorious to see such courage in one so young." Pelham was, in spite of his youth, an artillerist of the first order of excellence, and his loss was a serious one, in spite of his inferior rank. After this action every thing remained quiet until toward the end of April--General Lee continuing to hold the same position with his right at Fredericksburg, his left at the fords near Chancellorsville, and his cavalry, under Stuart, guarding the banks of the Rappahannock in Culpepper. On the 27th of April, General Hooker began his forward movement, by advancing three corps of his army--the Fifth, Eleventh, and Twelfth--to the banks of the river, near Kelly's Ford; and, on the next day, this force was joined by three additional corps--the First, Third, and Sixth--and the whole, on Wednesday (the 29th), crossed the river without difficulty. That this movement was a surprise to Lee, as has been supposed by some persons, is a mistake. Stuart was an extremely vigilant picket-officer, and both he and General Lee were in the habit of sending accomplished scouts to watch any movements in the Federal camps. As soon as these movements--which, in a large army, cannot be concealed--took place, information was always promptly brought, and it was not possible that General Hooker could move three large army corps toward the Rappahannock, as he did on April 27th, without early knowledge on the part of his adversary of so important a circumstance. As the Federal infantry thus advanced, the large cavalry force began also to move through Culpepper toward the Central Railroad in Lee's rear. This column was commanded by General Stoneman, formerly a subordinate officer in Lee's old cavalry regiment in the United States Army; and, as General Stoneman's operations were entirely separate from those of the infantry, and not of much importance, we shall here dismiss them in a few words. He proceeded rapidly across Culpepper, harassed in his march by a small body of horse, under General William H.F. Lee; reached the Central Railroad at Trevillian's, below Gordonsville, and tore up a portion of it; passed on to James River, ravaging the country, and attempted the destruction of the Columbia Aqueduct, but did not succeed in so doing; when, hearing probably of the unforeseen result at Chancellorsville, he hastened back to the Rapidan, pursued and harassed as in his advance, and, crossing, regained the Federal lines beyond the Rappahannock. To return to the movements of the main Federal force, under the personal command of General Hooker. This advanced rapidly across the angle between the two rivers, with no obstruction but that offered by the cavalry under Stuart, and on Thursday, April 30th, had crossed the Rapidan at Germanna and Ely's Fords, and was steadily concentrating around Chancellorsville. At the same time the Second Corps, under General Couch, was preparing to cross at United States Ford, a few miles distant; and General Sedgwick, commanding the detached force at Fredericksburg, having crossed and threatened Lee, in obedience to orders, now began passing back to the northern bank again, in order to march up and join the main body. Thus all things seemed in train to succeed on the side of the Federal army. General Hooker was over with about one hundred thousand men--twenty thousand additional troops would soon join him. Lee's army seemed scattered, and not "in hand" to oppose him; and there was some ground for the ebullition of joy attributed to General Hooker, as he saw his great force massing steadily in the vicinity of Chancellorsville. To those around him he exclaimed: "The rebel army is now the legitimate property of the Army of the Potomac. They may as well pack up their haversacks and make for Richmond, and I shall be after them!" In a congratulatory order to his troops, he declared that they occupied now a position so strong that "the enemy must either ingloriously fly, or come out from behind his defences and give us battle on our own ground, where certain destruction awaits him." Such were the joyful anticipations of General Hooker, who seems to have regarded the campaign as virtually ended by the successful passage of the river. His expressions and his general order would seem to indicate an irrepressible joy, but it is doubtful if the skilful soldiers under him shared this somewhat juvenile enthusiasm. The gray cavalier at Fredericksburg was not reported to be retiring, as was expected. On the contrary, the Southern troops seemed to be moving forward with the design of accepting battle. Lee had determined promptly upon that course as soon as Stuart sent him information of the enemy's movements. Chancellorsville was at once seen to be the point for which General Hooker was aiming, and Lee's dispositions were made for confronting him there and fighting a pitched battle. The brigades of Posey and Mahone, of Anderson's Division, had been in front of Banks's and Ely's Fords, and this force of about eight thousand men was promptly ordered to fall back on Chancellorsville. At the same time Wright's brigade was sent up to reënforce this column; but the enemy continuing to advance in great force, General Anderson, commanding the whole, fell back from Chancellorsville to Tabernacle Church, on the road to Fredericksburg, where he was joined on the next day by Jackson, whom Lee had sent forward to his assistance. The _ruse_ at Fredericksburg had not long deceived the Confederate commander. General Sedgwick, with three corps, in all about twenty-two thousand men, had crossed just below Fredericksburg on the 29th, and Lee had promptly directed General Jackson to oppose him there. Line of battle was accordingly formed in the enemy's front beyond Hamilton's Crossing; but as, neither on that day nor the next, any further advance was made by General Sedgwick, the whole movement was seen to be a feint to cover the real operations above. Lee accordingly turned his attention in the direction of Chancellorsville. Jackson, as we have related, was sent up to reënforce General Anderson, and Lee followed with the rest of the army, with the exception of about six thousand men, under General Early, whom he left to defend the crossing at Fredericksburg. Such were the positions of the opposing forces on the 1st day of May. Each commander had displayed excellent generalship in the preliminary movements preceding the actual fighting. At last, however, the opposing lines were facing each other, and the real struggle was about to begin. II. THE WILDERNESS. The "Wilderness," as the region around Chancellorsville is called, is so strange a country, and the character of the ground had so important a bearing upon the result of the great battle fought there, that a brief description of the locality will be here presented. The region is a nearly unbroken expanse of dense thicket pierced only by narrow and winding roads, over which the traveller rides, mile after mile, without seeing a single human habitation. It would seem, indeed, that the whole barren and melancholy tract had been given up to the owl, the whippoorwill, and the moccasin, its original tenants. The plaintive cries of the night-birds alone break the gloomy silence of the desolate region, and the shadowy thicket stretching in every direction produces a depressing effect upon the feelings. Chancellorsville is in the centre of this singular territory, on the main road, or rather roads, running from Orange Court-House to Fredericksburg, from which latter place it is distant about ten miles. In spite of its imposing name, Chancellorsville was simply a large country-house, originally inhabited by a private family, but afterward used as a roadside inn. A little to the westward the "Old Turnpike" and Orange Plank-road unite as they approach the spot, where they again divide, to unite a second time a few miles to the east, where they form the main highway to Fredericksburg. From the north come in roads from United States and Ely's Fords; Germanna Ford is northwest; from the south runs the "Brock Road" in the direction of the Rapidan, passing a mile or two west of the place. The whole country, the roads, the chance houses, the silence, the unending thicket, in this dreary wilderness, produce a sombre effect. A writer, familiar with it, says: "There all is wild, desolate, and lugubrious. Thicket, undergrowth, and jungle, stretch for miles, impenetrable and untouched. Narrow roads wind on forever between melancholy masses of stunted and gnarled oak. Little sunlight shines there. The face of Nature is dreary and sad. It was so before the battle; it is not more cheerful to-day, when, as you ride along, you see fragments of shell, rotting knapsacks, rusty gun-barrels, bleached bones, and grinning skulls.... Into this jungle," continues the same writer, "General Hooker penetrated. It was the wolf in his den, ready to tear any one who approached. A battle there seemed impossible. Neither side could see its antagonist. Artillery could not move; cavalry could not operate; the very infantry had to flatten their bodies to glide between the stunted trees. That an army of one hundred and twenty thousand men should have chosen that spot to fight forty thousand, and not only chosen it, but made it a hundred times more impenetrable by felling trees, erecting breastworks, disposing artillery _en masse_ to sweep every road and bridle-path which led to Chancellorsville--this fact seemed incredible." It was no part of the original plan of the Federal commander to permit himself to be cooped up in this difficult and embarrassing region, where it was impossible to manoeuvre his large army. The selection of the Wilderness around Chancellorsville, as the ground of battle, was dictated by Lee. General Hooker, it seems, endeavored to avoid being thus shut up in the thicket, and hampered in his movements. Finding that the Confederate force, retiring from in front of Ely's and United States Fords, had, on reaching Chancellorsville, continued to fall back in the direction of Fredericksburg, he followed them steadily, passed through the Wilderness, and, emerging into the open country beyond, rapidly began forming line of battle on ground highly favorable to the manoeuvring of his large force in action. A glance at the map will indicate the importance of this movement, and the great advantages secured by it. The left of General Hooker's line, nearest the river, was at least five miles in advance of Chancellorsville, and commanded Banks's Ford, thereby shortening fully one-half the distance of General Sedgwick's march from Fredericksburg, by enabling him to use the ford in question as a place of crossing to the south bank, and uniting his column with the main body. The centre and right of the Federal army had in like manner emerged from the thickets of the Wilderness, and occupied cleared ground, sufficiently elevated to afford them great advantages. This was in the forenoon of the 1st of May, when there was no force in General Hooker's front, except the eight thousand men of Anderson at Tabernacle Church. Jackson had marched at midnight from the Massaponnax Hills, with a general order from Lee to "attack and repulse the enemy," but had not yet arrived. There was thus no serious obstacle in the path of the Federal commander, who had it in his power, it would seem, to mass his entire army on the commanding ground which his vanguard already occupied. Lee was aware of the importance of the position, and, had he not been delayed by the feint of General Sedgwick, would himself have seized upon it. As it was, General Hooker seemed to have won the prize in the race, and Lee would, apparently, be forced to assail him on his strong ground, or retire in the direction of Richmond. The movements of the enemy had, however, been so rapid that Lee's dispositions seem to have been made before they were fully developed and accurately known to him. He had sent forward Jackson, and now proceeded to follow in person, leaving only a force of about six thousand men, under Early, to defend the crossing at Fredericksburg. The promptness of these movements of the Confederate commander is noticed by Northern writers. "Lee, with instant perception of the situation," says an able historian, "now seized the masses of his force, and, with the grasp of a Titan, swung them into position, as a giant might fling a mighty stone from a sling." [Footnote: Mr. Swinton, in "Campaigns of the Army of the Potomac." Whether the force under Lee could be justly described as "mighty," however, the reader will form his own opinion.] Such were the relative positions of the two armies on the 1st of May: General Hooker's forces well in advance of Chancellorsville, and rapidly forming line of battle on a ridge in open country; General Lee's, stretching along the whole distance, from Fredericksburg to Tabernacle Church, and certainly not in any condition to deliver or accept battle. The Federal commander seemed to have clearly outgeneralled his adversary, and, humanly speaking, the movements of the two armies, up to this time, seemed to point to a decisive Federal success. General Hooker's own act reversed all this brilliant promise. At the very moment when his army was steadily concentrating on the favorable ground in advance of Chancellorsville, the Federal commander, for some reason which has never been divulged, sent a peremptory order that the entire force should fall back into the Wilderness. This order, reversing every thing, is said to have been received "with mingled amazement and incredulity" by his officers, two of whom sent him word that, from the great advantages of the position, it should be "held at all hazards." General Hooker's reply was, "Return at once." The army accordingly fell back to Chancellorsville. This movement undoubtedly lost General Hooker all the advantages which up to that moment he had secured. What his motive for the order in question was, it is impossible for the present writer to understand, unless the approach of Lee powerfully affected his imagination, and he supposed the thicket around Chancellorsville to be the best ground to receive that assault which the bold advance of his opponent appeared to foretell. Whatever his motive, General Hooker withdrew his lines from the open country, fell back to the vicinity of Chancellorsville, and began to erect elaborate defences, behind which to receive Lee's attack. In this backward movement he was followed and harassed by the forces of Jackson, the command of Anderson being in front. Jackson's maxim was to always press an enemy when he was retiring; and no sooner had the Federal forces begun to move, than he made a prompt attack. He continued to follow them up toward Chancellorsville until nightfall, when the fighting ceased, the Confederate advance having been pushed to Alrich's house, within about two miles of Chancellorsville. Here the outer line of the Federal works was found, and Jackson paused. He was unwilling at so late an hour to attempt an assault upon them with his small force, and, directing further movements to cease, awaited the arrival of the commander-in-chief. Lee arrived, and a consultation was held. The question now was, the best manner, with a force of about thirty-five thousand, to drive the Federal army, of about one hundred thousand, beyond the Rappahannock. III. LEE'S DETERMINATION. On this night, of the 1st of May, the situation of affairs was strange indeed. General Hooker had crossed the Rappahannock with a force of one hundred and twenty thousand infantry, and had, without obstruction, secured a position so strong, he declared, that Lee must either "ingloriously fly," or fight a battle in which "certain destruction awaited him." So absolutely convinced, indeed, was the Federal commander, of the result of the coming encounter, that he had jubilantly described the Southern army as "the legitimate property of the Army of the Potomac," which, in the event of the retreat of the Confederates, would "be after them." There seemed just grounds for this declaration, whatever question may have arisen of the good taste displayed by General Hooker in making it. The force opposed to him was in all about forty-seven thousand men, but, as cavalry take small part in pitched battles, Lee's fighting force was only about forty thousand. To drive back forty thousand with one hundred and twenty thousand would not apparently prove difficult, and it was no doubt this conviction which had occasioned the joyous exclamation of General Hooker. But his own act, and the nerve of his adversary, had defeated every thing. Instead of retreating with his small force upon Richmond, Lee had advanced to accept or deliver battle. This bold movement, which General Hooker does not seem to have anticipated, paralyzed his energies. He had not only crossed the two rivers without loss, but had taken up a strong position, where he could manoeuvre his army perfectly, when, in consequence of Lee's approach with the evident intent of fighting, he had ceased to advance, hesitated, and ended by retiring. This is a fair summary of events up to the night of the 1st of May. General Hooker had advanced boldly; he was now falling back. He had foretold that his adversary would "ingloriously fly;" and that adversary was pressing him closely. The Army of the Potomac, he had declared, would soon be "after" the Army of Northern Virginia; but, from the appearance of things at the moment, the Army of Northern Virginia seemed "after" the Army of the Potomac. We use General Hooker's own phrases--they are expressive, if not dignified. They are indeed suited to the subject, which contains no little of the grotesque. That anticipations and expressions so confident should have been met with a "commentary of events" so damaging, was sufficient, had the occasion not been so tragic, to cause laughter in the gravest of human beings. Lee's intent was now unmistakable. Instead of falling back from the Rappahannock to some line of defence nearer Richmond, where the force under Longstreet, at Suffolk, might have rejoined him, with other reënforcements, he had plainly resolved, with the forty or fifty thousand men of his command, to meet General Hooker in open battle, and leave the event to Providence. A design so bold would seem to indicate in Lee a quality which at that time he was not thought to possess--the willingness to risk decisive defeat by military movements depending for their success upon good fortune alone. Such seemed now the only _deus ex machina_ that could extricate the Southern army from disaster; and a crushing defeat at that time would have had terrible results. There was no other force, save the small body under Longstreet and a few local troops, to protect Richmond. Had Lee been disabled and afterward pressed by General Hooker, it is impossible to see that any thing but the fall of the Confederate capital could have been the result. From these speculations and comments we pass to the narrative of actual events. General Hooker had abandoned the strong position in advance of Chancellorsville, and retired to the fastnesses around that place, to receive the Southern attack. His further proceedings indicated that he anticipated an assault from Lee. The Federal troops had no sooner regained the thicket from which they had advanced in the morning, than they were ordered to erect elaborate works for the protection of infantry and artillery. This was promptly begun, and by the next morning heavy defences had sprung up as if by magic. Trees had been felled, and the trunks interwoven so as to present a formidable obstacle to the Southern attack. In front of these works the forest had been levelled, and the fallen trunks were left lying where they fell, forming thus an _abatis_ sufficient to seriously delay an assaulting force, which would thus be, at every step of the necessarily slow advance, under fire. On the roads piercing the thicket in the direction of the Confederates, cannon were posted, to rake the approaches to the Federal position. Having thus made his preparations to receive Lee's attack, General Hooker awaited that attack, no doubt confident of his ability to repulse it. His line resembled in some degree the two sides of an oblong square--the longer side extending east and west in front, that is to say, south of Chancellorsville, and the shorter side north and south nearly, east of the place. His right, in the direction of Wilderness Tavern, was comparatively undefended, as it was not expected that Lee would venture upon a movement against that remote point. This line, it would appear, was formed with a view to the possible necessity of falling back toward the Rappahannock. A commander determined to risk everything would, it seems, have fronted Lee boldly, with a line running north and south, east of Chancellorsville. General Hooker's main front was nearly east and west, whatever may have been his object in so establishing it. On the night of the 1st of May, as we have said, Lee and Jackson held a consultation to determine the best method of attacking the Federal forces on the next day. All the information which they had been able to obtain of the Federal positions east and south of Chancellorsville, indicated that the defences in both these quarters were such as to render an assault injudicious. Jackson had found his advance obstructed by strong works near Alrich's house, on the road running eastward from the enemy's camps; and General Stuart and General Wright, who had moved to the left, and advanced upon the enemy's front near the point called "The Furnace," had discovered the existence of powerful defences in that quarter also. They had been met by a fierce and sudden artillery-fire from Federal epaulements; and here, as to the east of Chancellorsville, the enemy had evidently fortified their position. Under these circumstances, it was necessary to discover, if possible, some more favorable opening for an attack. There remained but one other--General Hooker's right, west of Chancellorsville; but to divide the army, as would be necessary in order to attack in that quarter, seemed an undertaking too hazardous to be thought of. To execute such a plan of assault with any thing like a hope of success, General Lee would be compelled to detach considerably more than half of his entire force. This would leave in General Hooker's front a body of troops too inconsiderable to make any resistance if he advanced his lines, and thus the movement promised to result in the certain destruction of one portion of the army, to be followed by a triumphant march of the Federal forces upon Richmond. In the council of war between Lee and Jackson, on the night of the 1st of May, these considerations were duly weighed, and the whole situation discussed. In the end, the hazardous movement against General Hooker's right, beyond Chancellorsville, was determined upon. This was first suggested, it is said, by Jackson--others have attributed the suggestion to Lee. The point is not material. The plan was adopted, and Lee determined to detach a column of about twenty-one thousand men, under Jackson, to make the attack on the next day. His plan was to await the arrival of Jackson at the point selected for attack, meanwhile engaging the enemy's attention by demonstrations in their front. When Jackson's guns gave the signal that he was engaged, the force in front of the enemy was to advance and participate in the assault; and thus, struck in front and flank at once. General Hooker, it was hoped, would be defeated and driven back across the Rappahannock. There was another possible result, the defeat of Lee and Jackson by General Hooker. But the desperate character of the situation rendered it necessary to disregard this risk. By midnight this plan had been determined upon, and at dawn Jackson began to move. JACKSON'S ATTACK AND FALL. On the morning of the 2d of May, General Lee was early in the saddle, and rode to the front, where he remained in personal command of the force facing the enemy's main line of battle throughout the day. This force consisted of the divisions of Anderson and McLaws, and amounted to thirteen thousand men. That left at Fredericksburg, as we have said, under General Early, numbered six thousand men; and the twenty-one thousand which Jackson had taken with him, to strike at the enemy's right, made up the full body of troops under Lee, that is to say, a little over forty thousand, artillerymen included. The cavalry, numbering four or five thousand, were, like the absent Federal cavalry, not actually engaged. In accordance with the plan agreed upon between Lee and Jackson, the force left in the enemy's front proceeded to engage their attention, and desultory fighting continued throughout the day. General Lee meanwhile awaited the sound of Jackson's guns west of Chancellorsville, and must have experienced great anxiety at this trying moment, although, with his accustomed self-control, he displayed little or none. We shall now leave this comparatively interesting portion of the field, and invite the attention of the reader to the movements of General Jackson, who was about to strike his last great blow, and lose his own life in the moment of victory. Jackson set out at early dawn, having under him three divisions, commanded by Rhodes and Trimble, in all about twenty-one thousand men, and directed his march over the Old Mine road toward "The Furnace," about a mile or so from and in front of the enemy's main line. Stuart moved with his cavalry on the flank of the column, with the view of masking it from observation; and it reached and passed "The Furnace," where a regiment with artillery was left to guard the road leading thence to Chancellorsville, and repel any attack which might be made upon the rear of the column. Just as the rear-guard passed on, the anticipated attack took place, and the regiment thus left, the Twenty-third Georgia, was suddenly surrounded and the whole force captured. The Confederate artillery, however, opened promptly upon the assailing force, drove it back toward Chancellorsville, and Jackson proceeded on his march without further interruption. He had thus been seen, but it seems that the whole movement was regarded by General Hooker as a retreat of the Confederates southward, a bend in the road at this point toward the south leading to that supposition. "We know the enemy is flying," General Hooker wrote, on the afternoon of this day, to General Sedgwick, "trying to save his trains; two of Sickles's divisions are among them." Soon after leaving "The Furnace," however, Jackson, following the same wood-road, turned westward, and, marching rapidly between the walls of thicket, struck into the Brock road, which runs in a direction nearly northwest toward Germanna and Ely's Fords. This would enable him to reach, without discovery, the Orange Plank-road, or Old Turnpike, west of Chancellorsville, as the woods through which the narrow highway ran completely barred him from observation. Unless Federal spies were lurking in the covert, or their scouting-parties of cavalry came in sight of the column, it would move as secure from discovery as though it were a hundred miles distant from the enemy; and against the latter danger of cavalry-scouts, Stuart's presence with his horsemen provided. The movement was thus made without alarming the enemy, and the head of Jackson's column reached the Orange Plank-road, near which point General Fitz Lee invited Jackson to ride up to a slight elevation, from which the defences of the enemy were visible. Jackson did so, and a glance showed him that he was not yet sufficiently upon the enemy's flank. He accordingly turned to an aide and said, pointing to the Orange Plank-road: "Tell my column to cross that road." The column did so, continuing to advance toward the Rapidan until it reached the Old Turnpike running from the "Old Wilderness Tavern" toward Chancellorsville. At this point, Jackson found himself full on the right flank of General Hooker, and, halting his troops, proceeded promptly to form line of battle for the attack. It was now past four in the afternoon, and the declining sun warned the Confederates to lose no time. The character of the ground was, however, such as to dismay any but the most resolute, and it seemed impossible to execute the intended movement with any thing like rapidity in such a jungle. On both sides of the Old Turnpike rose a wall of thicket, through which it was impossible to move a regular line of battle. All the rules of war must be reversed in face of this obstacle, and the assault on General Hooker's works seemed destined to be made in column of infantry companies, and with the artillery moving in column of pieces. Despite these serious obstacles, Jackson hastened to form such order of battle as was possible, and with Rodes's division in front, followed by Colston (Trimble) and Hill, advanced steadily down the Old Turnpike, toward Chancellorsville. He had determined, not only to strike the enemy's right flank, but to execute, if possible, a still more important movement. This was, to extend his lines steadily to the left, swing round his left wing, and so interpose himself between General Hooker and the Rapidan. This design of unsurpassed boldness continued to burn in Jackson's brain until he fell, and almost his last words were an allusion to it. The Federal line of works, which the Confederates thus advanced to assault, extended across the Old Turnpike near the house of Melzi Chancellor, and behind was a second line, which was covered by the Federal artillery in the earthworks near Chancellorsville. The Eleventh Corps, under General Howard, was that destined to receive Jackson's assault. This was made at a few minutes past five in the evening, and proved decisive. The Federal troops were surprised at their suppers, and were wholly unprepared. They had scarcely time to run to their muskets, which were stacked[1] near at hand, when Rodes burst upon them, stormed their works, over which the troops marched almost unresisted, and in a few minutes the entire corps holding the Federal right was in hopeless disorder. Rodes pressed on, followed by the division in his rear, and the affair became rather a hunt than a battle. The Confederates pursued with yells, killing or capturing all with whom they could come up; the Federal artillery rushed off at a gallop, striking against tree-trunks and overturning, and the army of General Hooker seemed about to be hopelessly routed. This is the account given by Northern writers, who represent the effect of Jackson's sudden attack as indescribable. It had a serious effect, as will be subsequently shown, on the _morale_ both of General Hooker and his army. While opposing the heavy demonstrations of General Lee's forces on their left and in front, this storm had burst upon them from a quarter in which no one expected it; they were thus caught between two fires, and, ignorant as they were of the small number of the Confederates, must have regarded the army as seriously imperilled. [Footnote 1: "Their arms were stacked, and the men were away from them and scattered about for the purpose of cooking their suppers."--_General Hooker_.] Jackson continued to pursue the enemy on the road to Chancellorsville, intent now upon making his blow decisive by swinging round his left and cutting off the Federal army from the Rappahannock. It was impossible, however, to execute so important a movement until his troops were well in hand, and the two divisions which had made the attack had become mixed up in a very confused manner. They were accordingly directed to halt, and General A.P. Hill, whose division had not been engaged, was sent for and ordered to advance to the front, thus affording the disordered divisions an opportunity to reform their broken lines. Soon after dispatching this order, Jackson rode out in front of his line, on the Chancellorsville road, in order to reconnoitre in person, and ascertain, if possible, the position and movements of the enemy, then within a few hundred yards of him. It was now between nine and ten o'clock at night. The fighting had temporarily ceased, and the moon, half-seen through misty clouds, lit up the dreary thickets, in which no sound was heard but the incessant and melancholy cries of the whippoorwills. Jackson had ridden forward about a hundred yards in advance of his line, on the turnpike, accompanied by a few officers, and had checked his horse to listen for any sound coming from the direction of Chancellorsville, when suddenly a volley was fired by his own infantry on the right of the road, apparently directed at him and his companions, under the impression that they were a Federal reconnoitring-party. Several of the party fell from their horses, and, wheeling to the left, Jackson galloped into the wood to escape a renewal of the fire. The result was melancholy. He passed directly in front of his men, who had been warned to guard against an attack of cavalry. In their excited state, so near the enemy, and surrounded by darkness, Jackson was supposed to be a Federal cavalryman. The men accordingly fired upon him, at not more than twenty paces, and wounded him in three places--twice in the left arm, and once in the right hand. At the instant when he was struck he was holding his bridle with his left hand, and had his right hand raised, either to protect his face from boughs, or in the strange gesture habitual to him in battle. As the bullets passed through his arm he dropped the bridle of his horse from his left hand, but seized it again with the bleeding fingers of his right hand, when the animal, wheeling suddenly, darted toward Chancellorsville. In doing so he passed beneath the limb of a pine-tree, which struck the wounded man in the face, tore off his cap, and threw him back on his horse, nearly dismounting him. He succeeded, however, in retaining his seat, and regained the road, where he was received in the arms of Captain Wilbourn, one of his staff-officers, and laid at the foot of a tree. The fire had suddenly ceased, and all was again still. Only Captain Wilbourn and a courier were with Jackson, but a shadowy figure on horseback was seen in the edge of the wood near, silent and motionless. When Captain Wilbourn called to this person, and directed him to ride back and see what troops had thus fired upon them, the silent figure disappeared, and did not return. Who this could have been was long a mystery, but it appears, from a recent statement of General Revere, of the Federal army, that it was himself. He had advanced to the front to reconnoitre, had come on the group at the foot of the tree, and, receiving the order above mentioned, had thought it prudent not to reveal his real character. He accordingly rode into the wood, and regained his own lines. A few words will terminate our account of this melancholy event in the history of the war--the fall of Jackson. He was supported to the rear by his officers, and during this painful progress gave his last order. General Pender recognized him, and stated that he feared he could not hold his position. Jackson's eye flashed, and he replied with animation, "You must hold your ground, General Pender! You must hold your ground, sir!" He was now so weak as to be unable to walk, even leaning on the shoulders of his officers. He was accordingly placed on a litter, and borne toward the rear. Before the litter had gone far a furious artillery-fire swept the road from the direction of Chancellorsville, and the bearers lowered it to the earth and lay down beside it. The fire relaxing, they again moved, but one of the bearers stumbled over a root and let the litter fall. Jackson groaned, and as the moonlight fell upon his face it was seen to be so pale that he appeared to be about to die. When asked if he was much hurt, he opened his eyes, however, and said, "No, my friend, don't trouble yourself about me." He was then borne to the rear, placed in an ambulance, and carried to the hospital at the Old Wilderness Tavern, where he remained until he was taken to Guinea's station, where he died. Such was the fate of Lee's great lieutenant--the man whom he spoke of as his "right arm"--whose death struck a chill to the hearts of the Southern people from which they never recovered. V. THE BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE. General Lee was not informed of the misfortune which had befallen his great lieutenant until toward daybreak on the next morning. This fact was doubtless attributable to the difficult character of the country; the interposition of the Federal army between the two Confederate wings, which rendered a long détour necessary in reaching Lee; and the general confusion and dismay attending Jackson's fall. It would be difficult, indeed, to form an exaggerated estimate of the condition of Jackson's corps at this time. The troops had been thrown into what seemed inextricable disorder, in consequence of the darkness and the headlong advance of the Second (Calston's) Division upon the heels of Rhodes, which had resulted in a complete intermingling of the two commands; and, to make matters worse, General A.P. Hill, the second in command, had been wounded and disabled, nearly at the same moment with Jackson, by the artillery-fire of the enemy. This transferred the command, of military right, to the brave and skilful General Rhodes, the ranking officer after Hill; but Rhodes was only a brigadier-general, and had, for that reason, never come into personal contact with the whole corps, who knew little of him, and was not aware of Jackson's plans, and distrusted, under these circumstances, his ability to conduct to a successful issue so vitally important an operation as that intrusted to this great wing of the Southern army. Stuart, who had gone with his cavalry toward Ely's Ford to make a demonstration on the Federal rear, was therefore sent for, and rode as rapidly as possible to the scene of action, and the command was formally relinquished to him by General Rhodes. Jackson sent Stuart word from Wilderness Tavern to "act upon his own judgment, and do what he thought best, as he had implicit confidence in him;" but, in consequence of the darkness and confusion, it was impossible for Stuart to promptly reform the lines, and thus all things remained entangled and confused. It was essential, however, to inform General Lee of the state of affairs, and Jackson's chief-of-staff, Colonel Pendleton, requested Captain Wilbourn, who had witnessed all the details of the painful scene in the wood, to go to General Lee and acquaint him with what had taken place, and receive his orders. From a MS. statement of this meritorious officer, we take these brief details of the interview: Lee was found lying asleep in a little clump of pines near his front, covered with an oil-cloth to protect him from the dews of the night, and surrounded by the officers of his staff, also asleep. It was not yet daybreak, and the darkness prevented the messenger from distinguishing the commander-in-chief from the rest. He accordingly called for Major Taylor, Lee's adjutant-general, and that officer promptly awoke when he was informed of what had taken place. As the conversation continued, the sound awoke General Lee, who asked, "Who is there?" Major Taylor informed him, and, rising upon his elbow, Lee pointed to his blankets, and said: "Sit down here by me, captain, and tell me all about the fight last evening." He listened without comment during the recital, but, when it was finished, said with great feeling: "Ah! captain, any victory is dearly bought which deprives us of the services of General Jackson, even for a short time." From this reply it was evident that he did not regard the wounds received by Jackson as of a serious character--as was natural, from the fact that they were only flesh-wounds in the arm and hand--and believed that the only result would be a temporary absence of his lieutenant from command. As Captain Wilbourn continued to speak of the incident, Lee added with greater emotion than at first: "Ah! don't talk about it; thank God it is no worse!" He then remained silent, but seeing Captain Wilbourn rise, as if to go, he requested him to remain, as he wished to "talk with him some more," and proceeded to ask a number of questions in reference to the position of the troops, who was in command, etc. When informed that Rhodes was in temporary command, but that Stuart had been sent for, he exclaimed: "Rhodes is a gallant, courageous, and energetic officer;" and asked where Jackson and Stuart could be found, calling for paper and pencil to write to them. Captain Wilbourn added that, from what he had heard Jackson say, he thought he intended to get possession, if possible, of the road to United States Ford in the Federal rear, and so cut them off from the river that night, or early in the morning. At these words, Lee rose quickly and said with animation, "These people must be pressed to-day." It would seem that at this moment a messenger--probably Captain Hotchkiss, Jackson's skilful engineer--arrived from Wilderness Tavern, bringing a note from the wounded general. Lee read it with much feeling, and dictated the following reply: GENERAL: I have just received your note informing me that you were wounded. I cannot express my regret at the occurrence. Could I have directed events, I should have chosen, for the good of the country, to have been disabled in your stead. I congratulate you upon the victory, which is due to your skill and energy. R.E. LEE, _General_. This was dispatched with a second note to Stuart, directing him to assume command, and press the enemy at dawn. Lee then mounted his horse, and, just as the day began to break, formed line of battle opposite the enemy's front, his line extending on the right to the plank-road running from Chancellorsville in the direction of Fredericksburg. This force, under the personal command of Lee, amounted, as we have said, originally to about thirteen thousand men; and, as their loss had not been very severe in the demonstrations made against the enemy on the preceding days, they were in good condition. The obvious course now was to place the troops in a position which would enable them, in the event of Stuart's success in driving the Federal right, to unite the left of Lee's line with the right of Stuart, and so press the Federal army back on Chancellorsville and the river. We shall now return to the left wing of the army, which, in spite of the absence of the commanding general, was the column of attack, which was looked to for the most important results. In response to the summons of the preceding night, Stuart had come back from the direction of Ely's Ford, at a swift gallop, burning with ardor at the thought of leading Jackson's great corps into battle. The military ambition of this distinguished commander of Lee's horse was great, and he had often chafed at the jests directed at the cavalry arm, and at himself as "only a cavalry-officer." He had now presented to him an opportunity of showing that he was a trained soldier, competent by his nerve and military ability to lead any arm of the service, and greeted the occasion with delight. The men of Jackson had been accustomed to see that commander pass slowly along their lines on a horse as sedate-looking as himself, a slow-moving figure, with little of the "poetry of war" in his appearance. They now found themselves commanded by a youthful and daring cavalier on a spirited animal, with floating plume, silken sash, and a sabre which gleamed in the moonlight, as its owner galloped to and fro cheering the men and marshalling them for the coming assault As he led the lines afterward with joyous vivacity, his sabre drawn, his plume floating proudly, one of the men compared him to Henry of Navarre at the battle of Ivry. But Stuart's spirit of wild gayety destroyed the romantic dignity of the scene. He led the men of Jackson against General Hooker's breastworks bristling with cannon, singing "Old Joe Hooker, will you come out of the Wilderness!" This sketch will convey a correct idea of the officer who had now grasped the bâton falling from the hand of the great marshal of Lee. It was probable that the advance of the infantry under such a commander would partake of the rush and rapidity of a cavalry-charge; and the sequel justified this view. At early dawn the Southern lines began to move. Either in consequence of orders from Lee, or following his own conception, Stuart reversed the movement of Jackson, who had aimed to swing round his left and cut off the enemy. He seemed to have determined to extend his right, with the view of uniting with the left of Anderson's division under Lee, and enclosing the enemy in the angle near Chancellorsville. Lee had moved at the same moment on their front, advancing steadily over all obstacles, and a Northern writer, who witnessed the combined attack, speaks of it in enthusiastic terms: "From the large brick house which gives the name to this vicinity," says the writer, speaking of Chancellorsville, "the enemy could be seen, sweeping slowly but confidently, determinedly and surely, through the clearings which extended in front. Nothing could excite more admiration for the qualities of the veteran soldiers than the manner in which the enemy swept out, as they moved steadily onward, the forces which were opposed to them. We say it reluctantly, and for the first time, that the enemy have shown the finest qualities, and we acknowledge on this occasion their superiority in the open field to our own men. They delivered their fire with precision, and were apparently inflexible and immovable under the storm of bullets and shell which they were constantly receiving. Coming to a piece of timber, which was occupied by a division of our own men, half the number were detailed to clear the woods. It seemed certain that here they would be repulsed, but they marched right through the wood, driving our own soldiers out, who delivered their fire and fell back, halted again, fired, and fell back as before, seeming to concede to the enemy, as a matter of course, the superiority which they evidently felt themselves. Our own men fought well. There was no lack of courage, but an evident feeling that they were destined to be beaten, and the only thing for them to do was to fire and retreat." This description of the steady advance of the Southern line applies rather to the first portion of the attack, which compelled the front line of the Federal army to retire to the stronger ground in rear. When this was reached, and the troops of Lee saw before them the last citadel, the steady advance became a rush. The divisions of Anderson and McLaws, on the right, made a determined charge upon the great force under Generals Hancock, Slocum, and others, in that quarter, and Stuart closed in on the Federal right, steadily extending his line to join on to Anderson. The spectacle here was superb. As the troops rushed on, Stuart shouted, "Charge! and remember Jackson!" and this watchword seemed to drive the line forward. With Stuart leading them, and singing, in his joyous voice, "Old Joe Hooker, will you come out of the Wilderness!"--for courage, poetry, and seeming frivolity, were strangely mingled in this great soldier--the troops went headlong at the Federal works, and in a few moments the real struggle of the battle of Chancellorsville had begun. From this instant, when the lines, respectively commanded in person by Lee and by Stuart, closed in with the enemy, there was little manoeuvring of any description. It was an open attempt of Lee, by hard fighting, to crush in the enemy's front, and force them back upon the river. In this arduous struggle it is due to Stuart to say that his generalship largely decided the event, and the high commendation which he afterward received from General Lee justifies the statement. As his lines went to the attack, his quick military eye discerned an elevated point on his right, from which it appeared an artillery-fire woulden filade the Federal line. About thirty pieces of cannon were at once hastened to this point, and a destructive fire opened on the lines of General Slocum, which threw his troops into great confusion. So serious was this fire that General Slocum sent word to General Hooker that his front was being swept away by it, to which the sullen response was, "I cannot make soldiers or ammunition!" General Hooker was indeed, it seems, at this moment in no mood to take a hopeful view of affairs. The heavy assault of Jackson appears to have as much demoralized the Federal commander as his troops. During the night he had erected a semicircular line of works, in the form of a redan, in his rear toward the river, behind which new works he no doubt contemplated falling back. He now awaited the result of the Southern attack, leaning against a pillar of the porch at the Chancellorsville House, when a cannon-ball struck the pillar, throwing it down, and so stunning the general as to prevent him from retaining the command, which was delegated to General Couch. [Illustration: Chancellorsville] The fate of the day had now been decided. The right wing of the Southern army, under Lee, had gradually extended its left to meet the extension of Stuart's right; and this junction of the two wings having been effected, Lee took personal command of all, and advanced his whole front in a decisive assault. Before this the Federal front gave way, and the disordered troops were huddled back--now only a confused and disorganized mass--upon Chancellorsville. The Southern troops pursued with yells, leaping over the earthworks, and driving all before them. A scene of singular horror ensued. The Chancellorsville House, which had been set on fire by shell, was seen to spout flame from every window, and the adjoining woods had, in like manner, caught fire, and were heard roaring over the dead and wounded of both sides alike. The thicket had become the scene of the cruellest of all agonies for the unfortunates unable to extricate themselves. The whole spectacle in the vicinity of the Chancellorsville House, now in Lee's possession, was frightful. Fire, smoke, blood, confused yells, and dying groans, mingled to form the dark picture. Lee had ridden to the front of his line, following up the enemy, and as he passed before the troops they greeted him with one prolonged, unbroken cheer, in which those wounded and lying upon the ground united. In that cheer spoke the fierce joy of men whom the hard combat had turned into blood-hounds, arousing all the ferocious instincts of the human soul. Lee sat on his horse, motionless, near the Chancellorsville House, his face and figure lit up by the glare of the burning woods, and gave his first attention, even at this exciting moment, to the unfortunates of both sides, wounded, and in danger of being burned to death. While issuing his orders on this subject, a note was brought to him from Jackson, congratulating him upon his victory. After reading it, with evidences of much emotion, he turned to the officer who had brought it and said: "Say to General Jackson that the victory is his, and that the congratulation is due to him." The Federal army had fallen back in disorder, by this time, toward their second line. It was about ten o'clock in the morning, and Chancellorsville was in Lee's possession. FLANK MOVEMENT OF GENERAL SEDGWICK. Lee hastened to bring the Southern troops into order again, and succeeded in promptly reforming his line of battle, his front extending, unbroken, along the Old Turnpike, facing the river. His design was to press General Hooker, and reap those rich rewards of victory to which the hard fighting of the men had entitled them. Of the demoralized condition of the Federal forces there can be no doubt, and the obvious course now was to follow up their retreat and endeavor to drive them in disorder beyond the Rappahannock. The order to advance upon the enemy was about to be given, when a messenger from Fredericksburg arrived at full gallop, and communicated intelligence which arrested the order just as it was on Lee's lips. A considerable force of the enemy was advancing up the turnpike from Fredericksburg, to fall upon his right flank, and upon his rear in case he moved beyond Chancellorsville. The column was that of General Sedgwick. This officer, it will be remembered, had been detached to make a heavy demonstration at Fredericksburg, and was still at that point, with his troops drawn up on the southern bank, three miles below the city, on Saturday night, while Jackson was fighting. On that morning General Hooker had sent for Reynolds's corps, but, even in the absence of this force, General Sedgwick retained under him about twenty-two thousand men; and this column was now ordered to storm the heights at Fredericksburg, march up the turnpike, and attack Lee in flank. General Sedgwick received the order at eleven o'clock on Saturday night, about the time when Jackson was carried wounded to the rear. He immediately made his preparations to obey, and at daylight moved up from below the city to storm the ridge at Marye's, and march straight upon Chancellorsville. In the first assaults he failed, suffering considerable loss from the fire of the Southern troops under General Barksdale, commanding the line at that point; but, subsequently forming an assaulting column for a straight rush at the hill, he went forward with impetuosity; drove the Southern advanced line from behind the "stone wall," which Generals Sumner and Hooker had failed in reaching, and, about eleven in the morning, stormed Marye's Hill, and killed, captured, or dispersed, the entire Southern force there. The Confederates fought hand to hand over their guns with the enemy for the possession of the crest, but their numbers were inadequate; the entire surviving force fell back over the Telegraph road southward, and General Sedgwick promptly advanced up the turnpike leading from Fredericksburg to Chancellorsville, to assail General Lee. It was the intelligence of this threatening movement which now reached Lee, and induced him to defer further attack at the moment upon General Hooker. He determined promptly to send a force against General Sedgwick, and this resolution seems to have been based upon sound military judgment. There was little to be feared now from General Hooker, large as the force still was under that officer. He was paralyzed for the time, and would not probably venture upon any attempt to regain possession of Chancellorsville. With General Sedgwick it was different. His column was comparatively fresh, was flushed with victory, and numbered, even after his loss of one thousand, more than twenty thousand men. Compared with the entire Federal army, this force was merely a detachment, it was true, but it was a detachment numbering as many men, probably, as the effective of Lee's entire army at Chancellorsville. He had carried into that fight about thirty-four thousand men. His losses had been heavy, and the commands were much shaken. To have advanced under these circumstances upon General Hooker, without regard to General Sedgwick's twenty thousand troops, inspired by recent victory, would have resulted probably in disaster. These comments may detract from that praise of audacity accorded to Lee in making this movement. It seems rather to have been the dictate of common-sense; to have advanced upon General Hooker would have been the audacity. It was thus necessary to defer the final blow at the main Federal army in his front, and General Lee promptly detached a force of about five brigades to meet General Sedgwick, which, with Early's command, now in rear of the Federal column, would, it was supposed, suffice. This body moved speedily down the turnpike to check the enemy, and encountered the head of his column about half-way, near Salem Church. General Wilcox, who had been sent by Lee to watch Banks's Ford, had already moved to bar the Federal advance. When the brigades sent by Lee joined him, the whole force formed line of battle: a brisk action ensued, continuing from about four in the afternoon until nightfall, when the fighting ceased, and General Sedgwick made no further attempt to advance on that day. These events took place, as we have said, on Sunday afternoon, the day of the Federal defeat at Chancellorsville. On Monday morning (May 4th), the theatre of action on the southern bank of the Rappahannock presented a very remarkable complication. General Early had been driven from the ridge at Fredericksburg; but no sooner had General Sedgwick marched toward Chancellorsville, than Early returned and seized upon Marye's Heights again. He was thus in General Sedgwick's rear, and ready to prevent him from recrossing the Rappahannock at Fredericksburg. Sedgwick meanwhile was moving to assail Lee's flank and rear, and Lee was ready to attack General Hooker in front. Such was the singular entanglement of the Northern and Southern forces on Monday morning after the battle of Chancellorsville. What the result was to be the hours of that day were now to decide. Lee resolved first, if possible, to crush General Sedgwick, when it was his design to return and make a decisive assault upon General Hooker. In accordance with this plan, he on Monday morning went in personal command of three brigades of Anderson's division, reached the vicinity of Salem Church, and proceeded to form line of battle with the whole force there. Owing to unforeseen delays, the attack was not begun until late in the afternoon, when the whole line advanced upon General Sedgwick, Lee's aim being to cut him off from the river. In this he failed, the stubborn resistance of the Federal forces enabling them to hold their ground until night. At that time, however, they seemed to waver and lose heart, whether from receiving intelligence of General Hooker's mishap, or from other causes, is not known. They were now pressed by the Southern troops, and finally gave way. General Sedgwick retreated rapidly but in good order to Banks's Ford, where a pontoon had been fortunately laid, and this enabled him to cross his men. The passage was effected under cover of darkness, the Southern cannon firing upon the retreating column; and, with this, ended the movement of General Sedgwick. On Tuesday morning Lee returned with his men toward Chancellorsville, and during the whole day was busily engaged in preparation for a decisive attack upon General Hooker on the next morning. When, however, the Southern sharp-shooters felt their way, at daylight, toward the Federal position, it was found that the works were entirely deserted. General Hooker had recrossed the river, spreading pine-boughs on the pontoon bridge to muffle the sound of his artillery-wheels. So the great advance ended. VII. LEE'S GENERALSHIP AND PERSONAL DEMEANOR DURING THE CAMPAIGN. The movements of the two armies in the Chancellorsville campaign, as it is generally styled, have been so fully described in the foregoing pages, that little comment upon them is here necessary. The main feature which attracts attention, in surveying the whole series of operations, is the boldness, amounting to apparent recklessness, of Lee; and, first, the excellent generalship, and then the extraordinary tissue of military errors, of General Hooker. Up to the 1st of May, when he emerged from the Chancellorsville thicket, every thing had succeeded with the Federal commander, and deserved to succeed. He had successfully brought over his great force, which he himself described as the "finest army on the planet," and occupied strong ground east of Chancellorsville, on the road to Fredericksburg. General Sedgwick was absent at the latter place with a strong detachment of the army, but the main body covered Banks's Ford, but twelve miles from the city, and by the afternoon of this day the whole army might have been concentrated. Then the fate of Lee would seem to have been decided. He had not only a very small army, but that army was scattered, and liable to be cut off in detail. General Sedgwick menaced his right at Fredericksburg--General Hooker was in front of his left near Chancellorsville--and to crush one of these wings before the other could come to its assistance seemed a work of no very great difficulty. General Hooker appears, however, to have distrusted his ability to effect this result, and, finding that General Lee was advancing with his main body to attack him, retired, from his strong position in the open country, to the dense thicket around Chancellorsville. That this was a grave military error there can be no doubt, as, by this retrograde movement, General Hooker not only discouraged his troops, who had been elated by his confident and inspiring general orders, but lost the great advantage of the open country, where his large force could be successfully manoeuvred. Lee took instant advantage of this fault in his adversary, and boldly pressed the force retiring into the Wilderness, where, on the night of the 1st of May, General Hooker was shut up with his army. This unforeseen result presented the adversaries now in an entirely new light. The Federal army, which had been promised by its commander a speedy march upon Richmond in pursuit of Lee, had, instead of advancing, made a backward movement; and Lee, who it had been supposed would retreat, was now following and offering them battle. The daring resolution of Lee, to divide his army and attack the Federal right, followed. It would seem unjust to General Hooker greatly to blame him for the success of that blow, which could not have been reasonably anticipated. In determining upon this, one of the most extraordinary movements of the war, General Lee proceeded in defiance of military rules, and was only justified in his course by the desperate character of the situation of affairs. It was impossible to make any impression upon General Hooker's front or left, owing to the elaborate defences in both quarters; it was, therefore, necessary either to retire, or attack in a different direction. As a retreat, however, upon Richmond would have surrendered to the enemy a large and fertile tract of country, it was desirable, if possible, to avoid that alternative; and the attack on the Federal right followed. The results of this were truly extraordinary. The force routed and driven back in disorder by General Jackson was but a single corps, and that corps, it is said, not a legitimate part of the old Army of the Potomac; but the disorder seems to have communicated itself to the whole army, and to have especially discouraged General Hooker. In describing the scene in question, we refrained from dwelling upon the full extent of the confusion into which the Federal forces were thrown: some sentences, taken from Northern accounts, may lead to a better understanding of the result. After Jackson's assault, a Northern historian says: "The open plain around Chancellorsville presented such a spectacle as a simoom sweeping over the desert might make. Through the dusk of nightfall a rushing whirlwind of men and artillery and wagons swept down the road, past headquarters, and on toward the fords of the Rappahannock; and it was in vain that the staff opposed their persons and drawn sabres to the panic-stricken fugitives." Another writer, an eye-witness, says the spectacle presented was that of "solid columns of infantry retreating at double-quick; a dense mass of beings flying; hundreds of cavalry-horses, left riderless at the first discharge from the rebels, dashing frantically about in all directions; scores of batteries flying from the field; battery-wagons, ambulances, horses, men, cannon, caissons, all jumbled and tumbled together in one inextricable mass--the stampede universal, the disgrace general." After all, however, it was but one corps of the Federal army which had been thus thrown into disorder, and General Hooker had no valid grounds for distrusting his ability to defeat Lee in a more decisive action. There are many reasons for coming to the conclusion that he did from that moment distrust his powers. He had courageously hastened to the assailed point, ordering the men to "throw themselves into the breach," and receive Jackson's troops "on the bayonet;" but, after this display of soldierly resolution, General Hooker appears to have lost some of that nerve which should never desert a soldier, and on the same night sent engineers to trace out a new line of defences in his rear, to which, it seems, he already contemplated the probability of being forced to retire. Why he came to take this depressed view of the situation of affairs, it is difficult to say. One of General Sedgwick's corps reached him on this night, and his force at Chancellorsville still amounted to between ninety and one hundred thousand men, about thrice that of Lee. No decisive trial of strength had yet taken place between the two armies; and yet the larger force was constructing defences in rear to protect them from the smaller--a circumstance not tending, it would seem, to greatly encourage the troops whose commander was thus providing for a safe retreat. The subsequent order to General Sedgwick to march up from Fredericksburg and assail Lee's right was judicious, and really saved the army from a great disaster. Lee was about to follow up the discouraged forces of General Hooker as they fell back toward the river; and, as the Southern army was flushed with victory, the surrender of the great body might have ensued. This possible result was prevented by the flank movement of General Sedgwick, and some gratitude for assistance so important from his able lieutenant would have seemed natural and graceful in General Hooker. This view of the subject does not seem, however, to have been taken by the Federal commander. He subsequently charged the defeat of Chancellorsville upon General Sedgwick, who he declared had "failed in a prompt compliance with his orders."[1] The facts do not bear out this charge, as the reader has seen. General Sedgwick received the order toward midnight on Saturday, and, at eleven o'clock on Sunday morning, had passed over that stubborn "stone wall" which, in the battle of the preceding December, General Hooker's column had not even been able to reach; had stormed Marye's Hill, which General Hooker had described, in vindication of his own failure to carry the position, as "masonry," "a fortification," and "a mountain of rock;" and had marched thereafter so promptly as to force Lee, in his own defence, to arrest the second advance upon the Federal main body, and divert a considerable force to meet the attack on his flank. [Footnote 1: General Hooker in Report of the Committee on the Conduct of the War, Part I., page 130. This great collection is a valuable repository of historic details, and contains the explanation of many interesting questions.] After the repulse of General Sedgwick, and his retreat across the Rappahannock, General Hooker seems to have been completely discouraged, and hastened to put the river between himself and Lee. His losses in the battles of Saturday and Sunday had amounted to seventeen thousand one hundred and ninety-seven killed and wounded and missing, fourteen pieces of artillery, and twenty thousand stand of arms. The Confederate loss was ten thousand two hundred and eighty-one. Contrary to the ordinary course of things the assailing force had lost a less number of men than that assailed. The foregoing reflections, which necessarily involve a criticism of General Hooker, arise naturally from a review of the events of the campaign, and seem justified by the circumstances. There can be no inducement for the present writer to underrate the military ability of the Federal commander, as that want of ability rather detracts from than adds to the merit of General Lee in defeating him. It may be said, indeed, that without these errors and shortcomings of General Hooker, Lee, humanly speaking, must have been either defeated or forced to retire upon Richmond. After giving full weight, however, to all the advantages derived from the extraordinary Federal oversights and mistakes, General Lee's merit in this campaign was greater, perhaps, than in any other during his entire career. Had he left behind him no other record than this, it alone would have been sufficient to have conferred upon him the first glories of arms, and handed his name down to posterity as that of one of the greatest soldiers of history. It is difficult to discover a single error committed by him, in the whole series of movements, from the moment when General Sedgwick crossed at Fredericksburg, to the time of General Hooker's retreat beyond the Rappahannock. It may appear that there was unnecessary delay in permitting Tuesday to pass without a final advance upon General Hooker, in his second line of intrenchments; but, no doubt, many circumstances induced Lee to defer this attack--the fatigue of his troops, consequent upon the fighting of the four preceding days, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday; the necessity of reforming his battalions for the final blow; and the anticipation that General Hooker, who still had at his command a force of more than one hundred thousand men, would not so promptly relinquish his campaign, and retire. With the exception of this error, if it be such, Lee had made no single false step in the whole of his movements. The campaign was round, perfect, and complete--such as a student of the art of war might pore over, and analyze as an instance of the greatest principles of military science "clothed in act." The most striking features of Lee's movements were their rapidity and audacity. It had been the fashion with some persons to speak of Lee as slow and cautious in his operations, and this criticism had not been completely silenced even in the winter of 1862, when his failure to crush General Burnside afforded his detractors another opportunity of repeating the old charge. After the Chancellorsville campaign these fault-finders were silenced--no one could be found to listen to them. The whole Southern movement completely contradicted their theory. At the first intelligence of the advance of General Hooker's main body across the upper Rappahannock, Lee rode rapidly in that direction, and ordered his troops at the fords of the river to fall back to Chancellorsville. He then returned, and, finding that General Sedgwick had crossed at Fredericksburg, held a prompt consultation with Jackson, when it was decided at once to concentrate the main body of the army in front of General Hooker's column. At the word, Jackson moved; Lee followed. On the 1st of May, the enemy were pressed back upon Chancellorsville; on the 2d, his right was crushed, and his army thrown into confusion; on the 3d, he was driven from Chancellorsville, and, but for the flank movement of General Sedgwick, which Lee was not in sufficient force to prevent, General Hooker would, upon that same day, Sunday, have in all probability suffered a decisive defeat. In the course of four days Lee had thus advanced, and checked, and then attacked and repulsed with heavy slaughter, an army thrice as large as his own. On the last day of April he had been nearly enveloped by a host of about one hundred and twenty thousand men. On the 3d day of May their main body was in disorderly retreat; and at daylight on the morning of the 6th there was not a Federal soldier, with the exception of the prisoners taken, on the southern bank of the Rappahannock. During all these critical scenes, when the fate of the Confederate capital, and possibly of the Southern cause, hung suspended in the balance, General Lee preserved, as thousands of persons can testify, the most admirable serenity and composure, without that jubilant confidence displayed by General Hooker in his address to the troops, and the exclamations to his officers. Lee was equally free from gloom or any species of depression. His spirits seemed to rise under the pressure upon him, and at times he was almost gay. When one of General Jackson's aides hastened into his tent near Fredericksburg, and with great animation informed him that the enemy were crossing the river, in heavy force in his front, he seemed to be amused by that circumstance, and said, smiling: "Well, I _heard_ firing, and I was beginning to think it was time some of you lazy young fellows were coming to tell me what it was all about. Say to General Jackson that he knows just as well what to do with the enemy as I do." The commander-in-chief who could find time at such a moment to indulge in _badinage_, must have possessed excellent nerve; and this composure, mingled with a certain buoyant hopefulness, as of one sure of the event, remained with Lee throughout the whole great wrestle with General Hooker. He retained to the end his simple and quiet manner, divested of every thing like excitement. In the consultation with Jackson, on the night of the 1st of May, when the crisis was so critical, his demeanor indicated no anxiety; and when, as we have said, the news came of Jackson's wound, he said simply, "Sit down here, by me, captain, and tell me all about the fight last evening"--adding, "Ah! captain, any victory is dearly bought which deprives us of the services of General Jackson even for a short time. Don't talk about it--thank God, it is no worse!" The turns of expression here are those of a person who permits nothing to disturb his serenity, and indulges his gentler and tenderer feelings even in the hot atmosphere of a great conflict. The picture presented is surely an interesting and beautiful one. The human being who uttered the good-natured criticism at the expense of the "lazy young fellows," and who greeted the news of Jackson's misfortune with a sigh as tender as that of a woman, was the soldier who had "seized the masses of his force with the grasp of a Titan, and swung them into position as a giant might fling a mighty stone." To General Hooker's threat to crush him, he had responded by crushing General Hooker; nearly surrounded by the huge cordon of the Federal army, he had cut the cordon and emerged in safety. General Hooker with his one hundred thousand men had retreated to the north bank of the Rappahannock, and, on the south bank, Lee with his thirty thousand remained erect, threatening, and triumphant. We have not presented in these pages the orders of Lee, on various occasions, as these papers are for the most part of an "official" character, and not of great interest to the general reader. We shall, however, occasionally present these documents, and here lay before the reader the orders of both General Hooker and General Lee, after the battle of Chancellorsville, giving precedence to the former. The order of the Federal commander was as follows: HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF THE POTOMAC, _May_ 6,1863. The major-general commanding tenders to this army his congratulations on its achievements of the last seven days. If it has not accomplished all that was expected, the reasons are well known to the army. It is sufficient to say, they were of a character not to be foreseen or prevented by human sagacity or resources. In withdrawing from the south bank of the Rappahannock, before delivering a general battle to our adversaries, the army has given renewed evidence in its confidence in itself, and its fidelity to the principles it represents. By fighting at a disadvantage, we would have been recreant to our trust, to ourselves, to our cause, and to our country. Profoundly loyal, and conscious of its strength, the Army of the Potomac will give or decline battle whenever its interests or honor may command it. By the celerity and secrecy of our movements, our advance and passage of the river were undisputed, and on our withdrawal not a rebel dared to follow us. The events of the last week may well cause the heart of every officer and soldier of the army to swell with pride. We have added new laurels to our former renown. We have made long marches, crossed rivers, surprised the enemy in his intrenchments, and, whenever we have fought, we have inflicted heavier blows than those we have received. We have taken from the enemy five thousand prisoners, and fifteen colors, captured seven pieces of artillery, and placed _hors de combat_ eighteen thousand of our foe's chosen troops. We have destroyed his depots filled with vast amounts of stores, damaged his communications, captured prisoners within the fortifications of his capital, and filled his country with fear and consternation. We have no other regret than that caused by the loss of our brave companions, and in this we are consoled by the conviction that they have fallen in the holiest cause ever submitted to the arbitration of battle. By command of Major-General HOOKER: S. WILLIAMS, _Assistant Adjutant-General_ General Lee's order was as follows: HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA, _May_ 7,1863. With heart-felt gratification, the general commanding expresses to the army his sense of the heroic conduct displayed by officers and men during the arduous operations in which they have just been engaged. Under trying vicissitudes of heat and storm you attacked the enemy, strongly intrenched in the depths of a tangled wilderness, and again on the hills of Fredericksburg, fifteen miles distant, and by the valor that has triumphed on so many fields forced him once more to seek safety beyond the Rappahannock. While this glorious victory entitles you to the praise and gratitude of the nation, we are especially called upon to return our grateful thanks to the only Giver of victory, for the signal deliverances He has wrought. It is therefore earnestly recommended that the troops unite on Sunday next in ascribing unto the Lord of hosts the glory due unto His name. Let us not forget, in our rejoicing, the brave soldiers who have fallen in defence of their country; and, while we mourn their loss, let us resolve to emulate their noble example. The army and the country alike lament the absence for a time of one to whose bravery, energy, and skill, they are so much indebted for success. The following letter from the President of the Confederate States is communicated to the army, as an expression of his appreciation of their success: "I have received your dispatch, and reverently unite with you in giving praise to God for the success with which He has crowned our arms. In the name of the people I offer my cordial thanks, and the troops under your command, for this addition to the unprecedented series of great victories which our army has achieved. The universal rejoicing produced by this happy result will be mingled with a general regret for the good and the brave who are numbered among the killed and the wounded." R.E. LEE, _General_. VIII. PERSONAL RELATIONS OF LEE AND JACKSON. The most important incident of the great battle of Chancellorsville was the fall of Jackson. The services of this illustrious soldier had now become almost indispensable to General Lee, who spoke of him as his "right arm;" and the commander-in-chief had so long been accustomed to lean upon the strong shoulder of his lieutenant, that now, when this support was withdrawn, he seems to have felt the loss of it profoundly. In the war, indeed, there had arisen no soldier who so powerfully drew the public eye as Jackson. In the opinion of many persons, he was a greater and abler commander than Lee himself; and, although such an opinion will not be found to stand after a full review of the characters and careers of the two leaders, there was sufficient ground for it to induce many fair and intelligent persons to adopt it. Jackson had been almost uniformly successful. He had conducted to a triumphant issue the arduous campaign of the Valley, where he was opposed in nearly every battle by a force much larger than his own; and these victories, in a quarter so important, and at a moment so critical, had come, borne on the wind of the mountain, to electrify and inspire the hearts of the people of Richmond and the entire Confederacy. Jackson's rapid march and assault on General McClellan's right on the Chickahominy had followed; he then advanced northward, defeated the vanguard of the enemy at Cedar Mountain, led the great column of Lee against the rear of General Pope, destroyed Manassas, held his ground until Lee arrived, and bore an important part in the battle which ensued. Thence he had passed to Maryland, fallen upon Harper's Ferry and captured it, returned to fight with Lee at Sharpsburg, and in that battle had borne the brunt of the enemy's main assault with an unbroken front. That the result was a drawn battle, and not a Southern defeat, was due to Lee's generalship and Jackson's fighting. The retrograde movement to the lowland followed, and Jackson was left in the Valley to embarrass McClellan's advance. In this he perfectly succeeded, and then suddenly reappeared at Fredericksburg, where he received and repulsed one of the two great assaults of the enemy. The battle of Chancellorsville followed, and Lee's statement of the part borne in this hard combat by Jackson has been given. The result was due, he said, not to his own generalship, but to the skill and energy of his lieutenant, whose congratulations he refused to receive, declaring that the victory was Jackson's. Here had at last ended the long series of nearly unbroken victories. Jackson had become the _alter ego_ of Lee, and it is not difficult to understand the sense of loss felt by the commander-in-chief. In addition to this natural sentiment, was deep regret at the death of one personally dear to him, and to whom he was himself an object of almost reverent love. The personal relations of Lee and Jackson had, from first to last, remained the same--not the slightest cloud had ever arisen to disturb the perfect union in each of admiration and affection for the other. It had never occurred to these two great soldiers to ask what their relative position was in the public eye--which was most spoken of and commended or admired. Human nature is weak at best, and the fame of Jackson, mounting to its dazzling zenith, might have disturbed a less magnanimous soul than Lee's. There is not, however, the slightest reason to believe that Lee ever gave the subject a thought. Entirely free from that vulgar species of ambition which looks with cold eyes upon the success of others, as offensive to its own _amour-propre_ Lee never seems to have instituted any comparison between himself and Jackson--greeted praise of his famous lieutenant with sincere pleasure--and was the first upon every occasion, not only to express the fullest sense of Jackson's assistance, and the warmest admiration of his genius as a soldier, but to attribute to him, as after the battle of Chancellorsville, _all_ the merit of every description. It is not possible to contemplate this august affection and admiration of the two soldiers for each other, without regarding it as a greater glory to them than all their successes in arms. Lee's opinion of Jackson, and personal sentiment toward him, have been set forth in the above sentences. The sentiment of Jackson for Lee was as strong or stronger. He regarded him with mingled love and admiration. To excite such feelings in a man like Jackson, it was necessary that Lee should be not only a soldier of the first order of genius, but also a good and pious man. It was in these lights that Jackson regarded his commander, and from first to last his confidence in and admiration for him never wavered. He had defended Lee from the criticism of unskilled or ignorant persons, from the time when he assumed command of the army, in the summer of 1862. At that time some one spoke of Lee, in Jackson's presence, as "slow." The criticism aroused the indignation of the silent soldier, and he exclaimed: "General Lee is _not_ 'slow.' No one knows the weight upon his heart--his great responsibilities. He is commander-in-chief, and he knows that, if an army is lost, it cannot be replaced. No! there may be some persons whose good opinion of me may make them attach some weight to my views, and, if you ever hear that said of General Lee, I beg you will contradict it in my name. I have known General Lee for five-and-twenty years. He is cautious. He ought to be. But he is _not_ 'slow.' Lee is a phenomenon. He is the only man whom I would follow blindfold!" The abrupt and energetic expressions of Jackson on this occasion indicate his profound sense of the injustice done Lee by these criticisms; and it would be difficult to imagine a stronger statement than that here made by him. It will be conceded that he himself was competent to estimate soldiership, and in Jackson's eyes Lee was "a phenomenon--the only man whom he would follow blindfold." The subsequent career of Lee seems to have strengthened and intensified this extreme admiration. What Lee advised or did was always in Jackson's eyes the very best that could be suggested or performed. He yielded his own opinions, upon every occasion, with perfect readiness and cheerfulness to those of Lee, as to the master-mind; loved him, revered him, looked up to him, and never seems to have found fault with him but upon one occasion--when he received Lee's note of congratulation after Chancellorsville. He then said: "General Lee is very kind; but he should give the glory to God." This affection and admiration were fully returned by General Lee, who consulted Jackson upon every occasion, and confided in him as his personal friend. There was seldom any question between them of superior and subordinate--never, except when the exigency required that the decision should be made by Lee as commander-in-chief. Jackson's supreme genius, indeed, made this course natural, and no further praise is due Lee in this particular, save that of modesty and good sense; but these qualities are commendable and not universal. He committed the greatest undertakings to Jackson with the utmost confidence, certain that he would do all that could be done; and some words of his quoted above express this entire confidence. "Say to General Jackson," he replied to the young staff-officer at Fredericksburg, "that he knows just as well what to do with the enemy as I do." Lee's personal affection was strikingly displayed after the battle of Chancellorsville, when Jackson lay painfully, but no one supposed mortally, wounded, first at Wilderness Tavern, and then at Ginney's. Prevented from visiting the wounded man, by the responsibilities of command, now all the greater from Jackson's absence, and not regarding his hurt as serious, as indeed it did not appear to be until toward the last, Lee sent him continual messages containing good wishes and inquiries after his health. The tone of these messages is very familiar and affectionate, and leaves no doubt of the character of the relations between the two men. "Give him my affectionate regards," he said to one officer, "and tell him to make haste and get well, and come back to me as soon as he can. He has lost his left arm, but I have lost my right." When the wound of the great soldier took a bad turn, and it began to be whispered about that the hurt might prove fatal, Lee was strongly moved, and said with deep feeling: "Surely General Jackson must recover! God will not take him from us, now that we need him so much. Surely he will be spared to us, in answer to the many prayers which are offered for him!" He paused after uttering these words, laboring evidently under very deep and painful emotion. After remaining silent for some moments, he added: "When you return I trust you will find him better. When a suitable occasion offers, give him my love, and tell him that I wrestled in prayer for him last night, as I never prayed, I believe, for myself." The tone of these messages is, as we have said, that of familiar affection, as from one valued friend to another. The expression, "Give him my love," is a Virginianism, which is used only when two persons are closely and firmly bound by long association and friendship. Such had been the case with Lee and Jackson, and in the annals of the war there is no other instance of a friendship so close, affectionate, and unalloyed. Jackson died on the 10th of May, and the unexpected intelligence shocked Lee profoundly. He mourned the death of the illustrious soldier with a sorrow too deep almost to find relief in tears; and issued a general order to the troops, which was in the following words: With deep grief the commanding general announces to the army the death of Lieutenant-General T.J. Jackson, who expired on the 10th inst., at quarter-past three P.M. The daring, skill, and energy of this great and good soldier, by the decree of an All-wise Providence, are now lost to us. But, while we mourn his death, we feel that his spirit still lives, and will inspire the whole army with his indomitable courage and unshaken confidence in God, as our hope and strength. Let his name be a watchword to his corps, who have followed him to victory on so many fields. Let his officers and soldiers emulate his invincible determination to do every thing in defence of our beloved country. R.E. LEE, _General_. It is probable that the composition of this order cost General Lee one of the severest pangs he ever experienced. IX. CIRCUMSTANCES LEADING TO THE INVASION OF PENNSYLVANIA. The defeat of General Hooker at Chancellorsville was the turning-point of the war, and for the first time there was apparently a possibility of inducing the Federal Government to relinquish its opposition to the establishment of a separate authority in the South. The idea of the formation of a Southern Confederacy, distinct from the old Union, had, up to this time, been repudiated by the authorities at Washington as a thing utterly out of the question; but the defeat of the Federal arms in the two great battles of the Rappahannock had caused the most determined opponents of separation to doubt whether the South could be coerced to return to the Union; and, what was equally or more important, the proclamations of President Lincoln, declaring the slaves of the South free, and placing the United States virtually under martial law, aroused a violent clamor from the great Democratic party of the North, who loudly asserted that all constitutional liberty was disappearing. This combination of non-success in military affairs and usurpation by the Government emboldened the advocates of peace to speak out plainly, and utter their protest against the continuance of the struggle, which they declared had only resulted in the prostration of all the liberties of the country. Journals and periodicals, violently denunciatory of the course pursued by the Government, all at once made their appearance in New York and elsewhere. A peace convention was called to meet in Philadelphia. Mr. Vallandigham, nominee of the Democratic party for Governor of Ohio, eloquently denounced the whole policy of endeavoring to subjugate the sovereign States of the South; and Judge Curtis, of Boston, formerly Associate Judge of the Supreme Court of the United States, published a pamphlet in which the Federal President was stigmatized as a usurper and tyrant. "I do not see," wrote Judge Curtis, "that it depends upon the Executive decree whether a servile war shall be invoked to help twenty millions of the white race to assert the rightful authority of the Constitution and laws of their country over those who refuse to obey them. But I do see that this proclamation" (emancipating the Southern slaves) "asserts the power of the Executive to make such a decree! I do not perceive how it is that my neighbors and myself, residing remote from armies and their operations, and where all the laws of the land may be enforced by constitutional means, should be subjected to the possibility of arrest and imprisonment and trial before a military commission, and punishment at its discretion, for offences unknown to the law--a possibility to be converted into a fact at the mere will of the President, or of some subordinate officer, clothed by him with this power. But I do perceive that this Executive power is asserted.... It must be obvious to the meanest capacity that, if the President of the United States has an _implied_ constitutional right, as Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy, in time of war, to disregard any one positive prohibition of the Constitution, or to exercise any one power not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, because in his judgment he may thereby 'best subdue the enemy,' he has the same right, for the same reason, to disregard each and every provision of the Constitution, and to exercise all power _needful in his opinion_ to enable him 'best to subdue the enemy.' ... The time has certainly come when the people of the United States _must_ understand and _must_ apply those great rules of civil liberty which have been arrived at by the self-devoted efforts of thought and action of their ancestors during seven hundred years of struggle against arbitrary power." So far had reached the thunder of Lee's guns at Chancellorsville. Their roar seemed to have awakened throughout the entire North the great party hitherto lulled to slumber by the plea of "military necessity," or paralyzed by the very extent of the Executive usurpation which they saw, but had not had heart to oppose. On all sides the advocates of peace on the basis of separation were heard raising their importunate voices; and in the North the hearts of the people began to thrill with the anticipation of a speedy termination of the bloody and exhausting struggle. The occasion was embraced by Mr. Stephens, Vice-President of the Confederate States, to propose negotiations. This able gentleman wrote from Georgia on the 12th of June to President Davis, offering to go to Washington and sound the authorities there on the subject of peace. He believed that the moment was propitious, and wished to act before further military movements were undertaken--especially before any further projects of invasion by Lee--which would tend, he thought, to silence the peace party at the North, and again arouse the war spirit. The letter of Mr. Stephens was written on the 12th of June, and President Davis responded by telegraph a few days afterward, requesting Mr. Stephens to come to Richmond. He reached that city on the 22d or 23d of June, but by that time Lee's vanguard was entering Maryland, and Gettysburg speedily followed, which terminated all hopes of peace. The plan of moving the Southern army northward, with the view of invading the Federal territory, seems to have been the result of many circumstances. The country was elated with the two great victories of Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, and the people were clamorous for active operations against an enemy who seemed powerless to stand the pressure of Southern steel. The army, which had been largely augmented by the return of absentees to its ranks, new levies, and the recall of Longstreet's two divisions from Suffolk, shared the general enthusiasm; and thus a very heavy pressure was brought to bear upon the authorities and on General Lee, in favor of a forward movement, which, it was supposed, would terminate in a signal victory and a treaty of peace. Lee yielded to this view of things rather than urged it. He was not opposed to an offensive policy, and seems, indeed, to have shared the opinion of Jackson that "the Scipio Africanus policy" was the best for the South. His theory from the beginning of the war had been, that the true policy of the South was to keep the enemy as far as possible from the interior, fighting on the frontier or on Federal soil, if possible. That of the South would there thus be protected from the ravages of the enemy, and the further advantage would accrue, that the Confederate capital, Richmond, would at all times be safe from danger. This was an important consideration, as events subsequently showed. As long as the enemy were held at arm's-length, north of the Rappahannock, Richmond, with her net-work of railroads connecting with every part of the South, was safe, and the Government, undisturbed in their capital, remained a power in the eyes of the world. But, with an enemy enveloping the city, and threatening her lines of communication, the tenure of the place by the Government was uncertain. When General Grant finally thus enveloped the city, and laid hold upon the railroads, Lee's army was defeated, and the Government became fugitive, which alone would have struck a mortal blow to its prestige and authority. It was to arrive at these results, which his sagacity discerned, that Lee always advocated such movements as would throw back the enemy, and drive him, if possible, from the soil of Virginia. Another important consideration was the question of supplies. These were at all times deficient in the Confederate armies, and it was obviously the best policy to protect as much territory, from which supplies might be drawn, as possible. More than ever before, these supplies were now needed; and when General Lee sent, in May or June, a requisition for rations to Richmond, the commissary-general is said to have endorsed upon the paper, "If General Lee wishes rations, let him seek them in Pennsylvania." The considerations here stated were the main inducements for that great movement northward which followed the battle of Chancellorsville. The army and country were enthusiastic; the Government rather followed than led; and, throughout the month of May, Lee was busily engaged in organizing and equipping his forces for the decisive advance. Experience had now dictated many alterations and improvements in the army. It was divided into three _corps d'armée_, each consisting of three divisions, and commanded by an officer with the rank of lieutenant-general. Longstreet remained at the head of his former corps, Ewell succeeded Jackson in command of "Jackson's old corps," and A.P. Hill was assigned to a third corps made up of portions of the two others. The infantry was thus rearranged in a manner to increase greatly its efficiency, and the artillery arm was entirely reorganized. The old system of assigning one or more batteries or battalions to each division or corps was done away with, and the artillery of the army was made a distinct command, and placed under General W.N. Pendleton, a brave and energetic officer, who was thenceforward Lee's "chief of artillery." The last arm, the cavalry, was also increased in efficiency; and, on the last day of May, General Lee had the satisfaction of finding himself in command of a well-equipped and admirably-officered army of sixty-eight thousand three hundred and fifty-two bayonets, and nearly ten thousand cavalry and artillery--in all, about eighty thousand men. Never before had the Southern army had present for duty, as fighting men, so large a number, except just before the battles on the Chickahominy. There was, however, this great difference between the army then and at this time: in those first months of 1862, it was made up largely of raw troops who had never heard the discharge of a musket in their lives: while now, in May, 1863 the bulk of the army consisted of Lee's veterans, men who had followed him through the fire of Manassas, Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, and Chancellorsville, and could be counted on to effect any thing not absolutely beyond human power. General Longstreet, conversing after the war with a gentleman of the North, declared as much. The army at that time, he said, was in a condition to undertake _any thing_. X. LEE'S PLANS AND OBJECTS. The great game of chess was now about to commence, and, taking an illustration from that game, General Lee is reported to have said that he believed he would "swap queens," that is, advance and attempt to capture the city of Washington, leaving General Hooker at liberty, if he chose so to do, to seize in turn upon Richmond. What the result of so singular a manoeuvre would have been, it is impossible to say; it would certainly have proved one of the strangest incidents of a war fruitful in varied and shifting events. Such a plan of operations, however, if ever seriously contemplated by Lee, was speedily abandoned. He nowhere makes mention of any such design in his published reports, and he probably spoke of it only in jest. His real aim in the great movement now about to commence, is stated with brevity and reserve--then absolutely necessary--but also with sufficient clearness, in his official report. The position of the enemy opposite Fredericksburg was, he says, such as to render an attack upon him injudicious. It was, therefore, desirable to manoeuvre him out of it--force him to return toward Maryland--and thus free the country of his forces. A further result was expected from this movement. The lower Shenandoah Valley was occupied by the enemy under General Milroy, who, with his headquarters at Winchester, harassed the whole region, which he ruled with a rod of iron. With the withdrawal of the Federal army under General Hooker, and before the advance of the Confederates, General Milroy would also disappear, and the fertile fields of the Valley be relieved. The whole force of the enemy would thus, says Lee, "be compelled to leave Virginia, and possibly to draw to its support troops designed to operate against other parts of the country." He adds: "In this way it was supposed that the enemy's plan of campaign for the summer would be broken up, and part of the season of active operations be consumed in the formation of new combinations and the preparations that they would require. In addition to these advantages, it was hoped that other valuable results might be attained by military success," that is to say, by a battle which Lee intended to fight when circumstances were favorable. That he expected to fight, not merely to manoeuvre the enemy from Virginia, is apparent from another sentence of the report. "It was thought," he says, "that the corresponding movements on the part of the enemy, to which those contemplated by us would probably give rise, might _offer a fair opportunity to strike a blow at the army therein, commanded by General Hooker_" the word "therein" referring to the region "north of the Potomac." In the phrase, "other valuable results which might be attained by military success," the reference is plainly to the termination of the contest by a treaty of peace, based upon the independence of the South. These sentences, taken from the only publication ever made by Lee on the subject of the Gettysburg campaign, express guardedly, but distinctly, his designs. He aimed to draw General Hooker north of the Potomac, clear the Valley, induce the enemy to send troops in other quarters to the assistance of the main Federal army, and, when the moment came, attack General Hooker, defeat him if possible, and thus end the war. That a decisive defeat of the Federal forces at that time in Maryland or Pennsylvania, would have virtually put an end to the contest, there seems good reason to believe. Following the Southern victories of Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, a third bloody disaster would, in all human probability, have broken the resolution of the Federal authorities. With Lee thundering at the gates of Washington or Philadelphia, and with the peace party encouraged to loud and importunate protest, it is not probable that the war would have continued. Intelligent persons in the North are said to have so declared, since the war, and the declaration seems based upon good sense. Before passing from this necessary preface to the narrative of events, it is proper to add that, in the contemplated battle with General Hooker, when he had drawn him north of the Potomac, Lee did not intend to assume a _tactical offensive_, but to force the Federal commander, if possible, to make the attack. [Footnote: "It had not been intended to fight a general battle at such a distance from our base, unless attacked by the enemy."--_Lee's Report_] From this resolution he was afterward induced by circumstances to depart, and the result is known. What is above written will convey to the reader a clear conception of Lee's views and intentions in undertaking his last great offensive campaign; and we now proceed to the narrative of the movements of the two armies, and the battle of Gettysburg. XI. THE CAVALRY-FIGHT AT FLEETWOOD. Lee began his movement northward on the 3d day of June, just one month after the battle of Chancellorsville. From this moment to the time when his army was concentrated in the vicinity of Gettysburg, his operations were rapid and energetic, but with a cautious regard to the movements of the enemy. Pursuing his design of manoeuvring the Federal army out of Virginia, without coming to action, Lee first sent forward one division of Longstreet's corps in the direction of Culpepper, another then followed, and, on the 4th and 5th of June, Ewell's entire corps was sent in the same direction--A.P. Hill remaining behind on the south bank of the Rappahannock, near Fredericksburg, to watch the enemy there, and bar the road to Richmond. These movements became speedily known to General Hooker, whose army lay north of the river near that point, and on the 5th he laid a pontoon just below Fredericksburg, and crossed about a corps to the south bank, opposite Hill. This threatening demonstration, however, was not suffered by Lee to arrest his own movements. Seeing that the presence of the enemy there was "intended for the purpose of observation rather than attack," and only aimed to check his operations, he continued the withdrawal of his troops, by way of Culpepper, in the direction of the Shenandoah Valley. A brilliant pageant, succeeded by a dramatic and stirring incident, was now to prelude the march of Lee into the enemy's territory. On the 8th of June, the day of the arrival of Lee's head of column in Culpepper, a review of Stuart's cavalry took place in a field east of the court-house. The review was a picturesque affair. General Lee was present, sitting his horse, motionless, on a little knoll--the erect figure half concealed by the short cavalry-cape falling from his shoulders, and the grave face overshadowed by the broad gray hat--while above him, from a lofty pole, waved the folds of a large Confederate flag. The long column of about eight thousand cavalry was first drawn up in line, and afterward passed in front of Lee at a gallop--Stuart and his staff-officers leading the charge with sabres at tierce point, a species of military display highly attractive to the gallant and joyous young commander. The men then charged in mimic battle the guns of the "Stuart Horse-Artillery," which were posted upon an adjoining hill; and, as the column of cavalry approached, the artillerists received them with a thunderous discharge of blank ammunition, which rolled like the roar of actual battle among the surrounding hills. This sham-fight was kept up for some time, and no doubt puzzled the enemy on the opposite shore of the Rappahannock. On the next morning--either in consequence of a design formed before the review, or to ascertain what this discharge of artillery meant--two divisions of Federal cavalry, supported by two brigades of "picked infantry," were sent across the river at Kelly's and Beverley's Fords, east of the court-house, to beat up the quarters of Stuart and find what was going on in the Southern camps. The most extensive cavalry-fight, probably, of the whole war, followed. One of Stuart's brigades, near Beverley's Ford, was nearly surprised and resolutely attacked at daylight by Buford's division, which succeeded in forcing back the brigade a short distance toward the high range called Fleetwood Hill, in the rear. From this eminence, where his headquarters were established, Stuart went to the front at a swift gallop, opened a determined fire of artillery and sharp-shooters upon the advancing enemy, and sent Hampton's division to attack them on their left. Meanwhile, however, the enemy were executing a rapid and dangerous movement against Stuart's, rear. General Gregg, commanding the second Federal cavalry division, crossed at Kelly's Ford below, passed the force left in that quarter, and came in directly on Stuart's rear, behind Fleetwood Hill. In the midst of the hard fight in front, Stuart was called now to defend his rear. He hastened to do so by falling back and meeting the enemy now charging the hill. The attack was repulsed, and the enemy's artillery charged in turn by the Southerners. This was captured and recaptured two or three times, but at last remained in the hands of Stuart. General Gregg now swung round his right, and prepared to advance along the eastern slope of the hill. Stuart had, however, posted his artillery there, and, as the Federal line began to move, arrested it with a sudden and destructive fire of shell. At the same time a portion of Hampton's division, under the brave Georgian, General P.M.B. Young, was ordered to charge the enemy. The assault was promptly made with the sabre, unaided by carbine or pistol fire, and Young cut down or routed the force in front of him, which dispersed in disorder toward the river. The dangerous assault on the rear of Fleetwood Hill was thus repulsed, and the advance of the enemy on the left, near the river, met with the same ill success. General W.H.F. Lee, son of the commanding general, gallantly charged them in that quarter, and drove them back to the Rappahannock, receiving a severe wound, which long confined him to his bed. Hampton had followed the retreating enemy on the right, under the fire of Stuart's guns from Fleetwood Hill; and by nightfall the whole force had recrossed the Rappahannock, leaving several hundred dead and wounded upon the field. [Footnote: The Southern loss was also considerable. Colonel Williams was killed, Generals Lee and Butler severely wounded--the latter losing his foot--and General Stuart's staff had been peculiarly unfortunate. Of the small group of officers, Captain Farley was killed, Captain White wounded, and Lieutenant Goldsborough captured. The Federal force sustained a great loss in the death of the gallant Colonel Davis, of the Eighth New-York Cavalry, and other officers.] This reconnoissance in force--the Federal numbers probably amounting to fifteen thousand--had no other result than the discovery of the fact that Lee had infantry in Culpepper. Finding that the event of the fight was critical, General Lee had moved a body of infantry in the direction of the field of action, and the gleam of the bayonets was seen by the enemy. The infantry was not, however, engaged on either side, unless the Federal infantry participated in the initial skirmish near Beverley's Ford, and General Lee's numbers and position were not discovered. We have dwelt with some detail upon this cavalry combat, which was an animated affair, the hand-to-hand encounter of nearly twenty thousand horsemen throughout a whole day. General Stuart was censured at the time for allowing himself to be "surprised," and a ball at Culpepper Court-House, at which some of his officers were present several days before, was pointed to as the origin of this surprise. The charge was wholly unjust, Stuart not having attended the ball. Nor was there any truth in the further statement that "his headquarters were captured" in consequence of his negligence. His tents on Fleetwood Hill were all sent to the rear soon after daylight; nothing whatever was found there but a section of the horse-artillery, who fought the charging cavalry with sabres and sponge-staffs over the guns; that Fleetwood Hill was at one time in the hands of the enemy, was due not to Stuart's negligence, but to the numbers and excellent soldiership of General Gregg, who made the flank and rear attack while Stuart was breasting that in front. These detached statements, which may seem unduly minute, are made in justice to a brave soldier, who can no longer defend himself. XII. THE MARCH TO GETTYSBURG. This attempt of the enemy to penetrate his designs had not induced General Lee to interrupt the movement of his infantry toward the Shenandoah Valley. The Federal corps sent across the Rappahannock at Fredericksburg, still remained facing General Hill; and, two days after the Fleetwood fight. General Hooker moved up the river with his main body, advancing the Third Corps to a point near Beverley's Ford. But these movements were disregarded by Lee. On the same day Ewell's corps moved rapidly toward Chester Gap, passed through that defile in the mountain, pushed on by way of Front Royal, and reached Winchester on the evening of the 13th, having in three days marched seventy miles. The position of the Southern army now exposed it to very serious danger, and at first sight seemed to indicate a deficiency of soldiership in the general commanding it. In face of an enemy whose force was at least equal to his own,[Footnote: General Hooker stated his "effective" at this time to have been diminished to eighty thousand infantry.] Lee had extended his line until it stretched over a distance of about one hundred miles. When Ewell came in sight of Winchester, Hill was still opposite Fredericksburg, and Longstreet half-way between the two in Culpepper. Between the middle and rear corps was interposed the Rapidan River, and between the middle and advanced corps the Blue Ridge Mountains. General Hooker's army was on the north bank of the Rappahannock, well in hand, and comparatively massed, and the situation of Lee's army seemed excellent for the success of a sudden blow at it. It seems that the propriety of attacking the Southern army while thus _in transitu_, suggested itself both to General Hooker and to President Lincoln, but they differed as to the point and object of the attack. In anticipation of Lee's movement, General Hooker had written to the President, probably suggesting a counter-movement across the Rappahannock, somewhere near Fredericksburg, to threaten Richmond, and thus check Lee's advance. This, however. President Lincoln refused to sanction. "In case you find Lee coming to the north of the Rappahannock," President Lincoln wrote to General Hooker, "I would by no means cross to the south of it. I would not take any risk of being entangled upon the river, _like an ox jumped half over a fence, and liable to be torn by dogs, front and rear, without a fair chance to gore one way or kick the other_" Five days afterward the President wrote: "I think Lee's army, and not Richmond, is your true objective point. If he comes toward the Upper Potomac, fight him when opportunity offers. If he stays where he is, _fret him and fret him_." When intelligence now reached Washington that the head of Lee's column was approaching the Upper Potomac, while the rear was south of the Rappahannock, the President wrote to General Hooker: "_If the head of Lee's army is at Martinsburg, and the tail of it on the plank road_ between Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, the _animal must be very slim somewhere--could you not break him?_" General Hooker did not seem to be able to determine upon a decisive course of action, in spite of the tempting opening presented to him by Lee. It would seem that nothing could have been plainer than the good policy of an attack upon Hill at Fredericksburg, which would certainly have checked Lee's movement by recalling Longstreet from Culpepper, and Ewell from the Valley. But this bold operation did not appear to commend itself to the Federal authorities. Instead of reënforcing the corps sent across at Fredericksburg and attacking Hill, General Hooker withdrew the corps, on the 13th, to the north bank of the river, got his forces together, and began to fall back toward Manassas, and even remained in ignorance, it seems, of all connected with his adversary's movements. Even as late as the 17th of June, his chief-of-staff, General Butterfield, wrote to one of his officers; "Try and hunt up somebody from Pennsylvania who knows something, and has a cool enough head to judge what is the actual state of affairs there with regard to the enemy. _My impression is, that Lee's movement on the Upper Potomac is a cover for a cavalry-raid on the south side of the river.... We cannot go boggling around until we know what we are going after._" Such was the first result of Lee's daring movement to transfer military operations to the region north of the Potomac. A Northern historian has discerned in his plan of campaign an amount of boldness which "seemed to imply a great contempt for his opponent." This is perhaps a somewhat exaggerated statement of the case. Without "boldness" a commander is but half a soldier, and it may be declared that a certain amount of that quality is absolutely essential to successful military operations. But the question is, Did Lee expose himself, by these movements of his army, to probable disaster, if his adversary--equal to the occasion--struck at his flank? A failure of the campaign of invasion would probably have resulted from such an attack either upon Hill at Fredericksburg, or upon Longstreet in Culpepper, inasmuch as Ewell's column, in that event, must have fallen back. But a _defeat_ of the combined forces of Hill and Longstreet, who were within supporting distance of each other, was not an event which General Hooker could count upon with any degree of certainty. The two corps numbered nearly fifty thousand men--that is to say, two-thirds of the Southern army; General Hooker's whole force was but about eighty thousand; and it was not probable that the eighty thousand would be able to rout the fifty thousand, when at Chancellorsville less than this last number of Southerners had defeated one hundred and twenty thousand. There seems little reason to doubt that General Lee took this view of the subject, and relied on Hill and Longstreet to unite and repulse any attack upon them, while Ewell's great "raiding column" drove forward into the heart of the enemy's territory. That the movement was bold, there can certainly be no question; that it was a reckless and hazardous operation, depending for its success, in Lee's eyes, solely on the supposed inefficiency of General Hooker, does not appear. These comments delay the narrative, but the subject is fruitful in suggestion. It may be pardoned a Southern writer if he lingers over this last great offensive movement of the Southern army. The last, it was also one of the greatest and most brilliant. The war, therefore, was to enter upon its second stage, in which the South was to simply maintain the defensive. But Lee was terminating the first stage of the contest by one of those great campaigns which project events and personages in bold relief from the broad canvas, and illumine the pages of history. Events were now in rapid progress. Ewell's column--the sharp head of the Southern spear--reached Winchester on the 13th of June, and Rodes, who had been detached at Front Royal to drive the enemy from Berryville, reached the last-named village on the same day when the force there retreated to Winchester. On the next morning Early's division attacked the forces of Milroy at Winchester, stormed and captured their "Star Fort," on a hill near the place, and so complete was the rout of the enemy that their commander, General Milroy, had scarcely time to escape, with a handful of his men, in the direction of the Potomac. For this disaster the unfortunate officer was harshly criticised by General Hooker, who wrote to his Government, "In my opinion, Milroy's men will fight better _under a soldier_." After thus clearing the country around Winchester, Ewell advanced rapidly on Martinsburg, where he took a number of prisoners and some artillery. The captures in two days had been more than four thousand prisoners and twenty-nine cannon, with four hundred horses and a large amount of stores. Ewell continued then to advance, and, entering Maryland, sent a portion of his cavalry, under General Imboden, westward, to destroy the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, and another body, under General Jenkins, in advance, toward Chambersburg. Meanwhile, the rest of the army was moving to join him. Hill, finding that the enemy had disappeared from his front near Fredericksburg, hastened to march from that vicinity, and was sent forward by Lee, on the track of Ewell, passing in rear of Longstreet, who had remained in Culpepper. The latter was now directed by Lee to move along the eastern side of the Blue Ridge, and, by occupying Ashby's and Snicker's Gaps, protect the flank of the column in the Valley from attack--a work in which Stuart's cavalry, thrown out toward the enemy, assisted. Such was the posture of affairs when General Hooker's chief-of-staff became so much puzzled, and described the Federal army as "boggling around," and not knowing "what they were going after." Lee's whole movement, it appears, was regarded as a feint to "cover a cavalry-raid on the south side of the river"--a strange conclusion, it would seem, in reference to a movement of such magnitude. It now became absolutely necessary that Lee's designs should be unmasked, if possible; and to effect this object Stuart's cavalry force, covering the southern flank, east of the Blue Ridge, must be driven back. This was undertaken in a deliberate manner. Three corps of cavalry, with a division of infantry and a full supply of artillery, were sent forward from the vicinity of Manassas, to drive Stuart in on all the roads leading to the mountain. A fierce struggle followed, in which Stuart, who knew the importance of his position, fought the great force opposed to him from every hill and knoll. But he was forced back steadily, in spite of a determined resistance, and at Upperville a hand-to-hand sabre-fight wound up the movement, in which the Federal cavalry was checked, when Stuart fell back toward Paris, crowned the mountain-side with his cannon, and awaited a final attack. This was not, however, made. Night approaching, the Federal force fell back toward Manassas, and on the next morning Stuart followed them, on the same road over which he had so rapidly retreated, beyond Middleburg. Lee paid little attention to these operations on his flank east of the mountains, but proceeded steadily, in personal command of his infantry, in the direction of the Cumberland Valley. Ewell was moving rapidly toward Harrisburg, with orders to "take" that place "if he deemed his force adequate,"[1] General Jenkins, commanding cavalry, preceding the advance of his infantry. He had thus pierced the enemy's territory, and it was necessary promptly to support him. Hill and Longstreet were accordingly directed to pass the Potomac at Shepherdstown and Williamsport. The columns united at Hagerstown, and on the 27th of June entered Chambersburg. [Footnote 1: This statement of Lee's orders is derived by the writer from Lieutenant-General Ewell.] General Hooker had followed, crossing the Potomac, opposite Leesburg, at about the moment when Lee's rear was passing from Maryland into Pennsylvania. The direction of the Federal march was toward Frederick, from which point General Hooker could move in either one of two directions--either across the mountain toward Boonsboro, which would throw him upon Lee's communications, or northward to Westminster, or Gettysburg, which would lead to an open collision with the invading army in a pitched battle. At this juncture of affairs, just as the Federal army was concentrating near Frederick, General Hooker, at his own request, was relieved from command. The occasion of this unexpected event seems to have been a difference of opinion between himself and General Halleck, the Federal general-in-chief, on the question whether the fortifications at Harper's Ferry should or should not be abandoned. The point at issue would appear to have been unimportant, but ill feeling seems to have arisen: General Hooker resented the action of the authorities, and requested to be relieved; his request was complied with, and his place was filled by Major-General George G. Meade. [Illustration: Map--Sketch of the Country Around GETTYSBURG.] General Meade, an officer of excellent soldiership, and enjoying the repute of modesty and dignity, assumed command of the Federal army, and proceeded rapidly in pursuit of Lee. The design of moving directly across the South Mountain on Lee's communications, if ever entertained by him, was abandoned. The outcry from Pennsylvania drew him perforce. Ewell, with one division, had penetrated to Carlisle; and Early, with another division, was at York; everywhere the horses, cattle, and supplies of the country, had been seized upon for the use of the troops; and General Meade was loudly called upon to go to the assistance of the people thus exposed to the terrible rebels. His movements were rapid. Assuming command on June 28th, he began to move on the 29th, and on the 30th was approaching the town of Gettysburg.[1] [Footnote 1: The movements of the Federal commander were probably hastened by the capture, about this time at Hagerstown, of a dispatch from President Davis to General Lee. Lee, it seems, had suggested that General Beauregard should be sent to make a demonstration in the direction of Culpepper, and by thus appearing to threaten Washington, embarrass the movements of the Northern army. To this suggestion the President is said to have replied that he had no troops to make such a movement; and General Meade had thus the proof before him that Washington was in no danger. The Confederacy was thus truly unfortunate again, as in September, 1862, when a similar incident came to the relief of General McClellan.] XIII. LEE IN PENNSYLVANIA. Lee, in personal command of the corps of Hill and Longstreet, had meanwhile moved on steadily in the direction of the Susquehanna, and, reaching Chambersburg on the 27th of June, "made preparations to advance upon Harrisburg." At Chambersburg he issued an order to the troops, which should find a place in every biography of this great soldier. The course pursued by many of the Federal commanders in Virginia had been merciless and atrocious beyond words. General Pope had ravaged the counties north of the Rappahannock, especially the county of Culpepper, in a manner which reduced that smiling region wellnigh to a waste; General Milroy, with his headquarters at Winchester, had so cruelly oppressed the people of the surrounding country as to make them execrate the very mention of his name; and the excesses committed by the troops of these officers, with the knowledge and permission of their commanders, had been such, said a foreign writer, as to "cast mankind two centuries back toward barbarism." Now, the tables were turned, and the world looked for a sudden and merciless retaliation on the part of the Southerners. Lee was in Pennsylvania, at the head of an army thirsting to revenge the accumulated wrongs against their helpless families. At a word from him the fertile territory of the North would be made to feel the iron pressure of military rule, proceeding on the theory that retaliation is a just principle to adopt toward an enemy. Fire, slaughter, and outrage, would have burst upon Pennsylvania, and the black flag, which had been virtually raised by Generals Pope and Milroy, would have flaunted now in the air at the head of the Southern army. Instead of permitting this disgraceful oppression of non-combatants, Lee issued, at Chambersburg, the following general order to his troops: HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA, CHAMBERSBURG, PA., _June_ 27, 1863. The commanding general has observed with much satisfaction the conduct of the troops on the march, and confidently anticipates results commensurate with the high spirit they have manifested. No troops could have displayed greater fortitude, or better performed the arduous marches of the past ten days. Their conduct in other respects has, with few exceptions, been in keeping with their character as soldiers, and entitles them to approbation and praise. There have, however, been instances of forgetfulness, on the part of some, that they have in keeping the yet unsullied reputation of the army, and that the duties exacted of us by civilization and Christianity are not less obligatory in the country of the enemy than in our own. The commanding general considers that no greater disgrace could befall the army, and, through it, our whole people, than the perpetration of the barbarous outrages on the innocent and defenceless, and the wanton destruction of private property, that have marked the course of the enemy in our own country. Such proceedings not only disgrace the perpetrators, and all connected with them, but are subversive of the discipline and efficiency of the army, and destructive of the ends of our present movements. It must be remembered that we make war only upon armed men, and that we cannot take vengeance for the wrongs our people have suffered without lowering ourselves in the eyes of all whose abhorrence has been excited by the atrocities of our enemy, without offending against Him to whom vengeance belongeth, without whose favor and support our efforts must all prove in vain. The commanding general, therefore, earnestly exhorts the troops to abstain, with most scrupulous care, from unnecessary or wanton injury to private property; and he enjoins upon all officers to arrest and bring to summary punishment all who shall in any way offend against the orders on this subject. R.E. LEE, _General_. The noble maxims and truly Christian spirit of this paper will remain the undying glory of Lee. Under what had been surely a bitter provocation, he retained the calmness and forbearance of a great soul, saying to his army: "The duties exacted of us by civilization and Christianity are not less obligatory in the country of the enemy than in our own.... No greater disgrace could befall the army, and through it our whole people, than the perpetration of outrage upon the innocent and defenceless.... We make war only upon armed men, and cannot take vengeance for the wrongs our people have suffered without offending against Him to whom vengeance belongeth, without whose favor and support our efforts must all prove in vain." Such were the utterances of Lee, resembling those we might attribute to the ideal Christian warrior; and, indeed, it was such a spirit that lay under the plain uniform of the great Virginian. What he ordered was enforced, and no one was disturbed in his person or property. Of this statement many proofs could be given. A Pennsylvania farmer said to a Northern correspondent, in reference to the Southern troops: "I must say they acted like gentlemen, and, their cause aside, I would rather have forty thousand rebels quartered on my premises than one thousand Union troops." From the journal of Colonel Freemantle, an English officer accompanying the Southern army, we take these sentences: "In passing through Greencastle we found all the houses and windows shut up, the natives in their Sunday clothes, standing at their doors regarding the troops in a very unfriendly manner. I saw no straggling into the houses, nor were any of the inhabitants disturbed or annoyed by the soldiers. Sentries were placed at the doors of many of the best houses, to prevent any officer or soldier from getting in on any pretence.... I entered Chambersburg at 6 P.M.... Sentries were placed at the doors of all the principal houses, and the town was cleared of all but the military passing through or on duty.... No officer or soldier under the rank of a general is allowed in Chambersburg without a special order from General Lee, which he is very chary of giving, and I hear of officers of rank being refused this pass.... I went into Chambersburg again, and witnessed the singularly good behavior of the troops toward the citizens. I heard soldiers saying to one another that they did not like being in a town in which they were very naturally detested. To any one who has seen, as I have, the ravages of the Northern troops in Southern towns, this forbearance seems most commendable and surprising." A Northern correspondent said of the course pursued by General Jenkins, in command of Ewell's cavalry: "By way of giving the devil his due, it must be said that, although there were over sixty acres of wheat and eighty acres of corn and oats in the same field, he protected it most carefully, and picketed his horses so that it could not be injured. No fences were wantonly destroyed, poultry was not disturbed, nor did he compliment our blooded cattle so much as to test the quality of their steak and roast." Of the feeling of the troops these few words from the letter of an officer written to one of his family will convey an idea: "I felt when I first came here that I would like to revenge myself upon these people for the devastation they have brought upon our own beautiful home--that home where we could have lived so happily, and that we loved so much, from which their vandalism has driven you and my helpless little ones. But, though I had such severe wrongs and grievances to redress, and such great cause for revenge, yet, when I got among these people, I could not find it in my heart to molest them." Such was the treatment of the people of Pennsylvania by the Southern troops in obedience to the order of the commander-in-chief. Lee in person set the example. A Southern journal made the sarcastic statement that he became irate at the robbing of cherry-trees; and, if he saw the _top rail_ of a fence lying upon the ground as he rode by, would dismount and replace it with his own hands. XIV. CONCENTRATION AT GETTYSBURG. This was the position of the great adversaries in the last days of June. Lee was at Chambersburg, in the Cumberland Valley, about to follow Ewell, who was approaching Harrisburg. Early had captured York; and the Federal army was concentrating rapidly on the flank of the Southern army, toward Gettysburg. Lee had ordered the movement of Early upon York, with the object of diverting the attention of the Federal commander from his own rear, in the Cumberland Valley. The exact movements and position of General Meade were unknown to him; and this arose in large measure from the absence of Stuart's cavalry. This unfortunate incident has given rise to much comment, and Stuart has been harshly criticised for an alleged disobedience of Lee's plain orders. The question is an embarrassing one. Lee's statement is as follows: "General Stuart was left to guard the passes of the mountains" (Ashby's and other gaps in the Blue Ridge, in Virginia), "and observe the movements of the enemy, whom he was instructed to harass and impede as much as possible should he attempt to cross the Potomac. _In that event, General Stuart was directed to move into Maryland, crossing the Potomac east or west of the Blue Ridge, as in his judgment should be best, and take position on the right of our column as it advanced._" This order was certainly plain up to a certain point. Stuart was to harass and embarrass the movements of the enemy, in case they attempted to cross to the north bank of the Potomac. When they did cross, he also was to pass the river, either east or west of the Blue Ridge, "as in his judgment should seem best." So far the order was unmistakable. The river was to be crossed at such point as Stuart should select, either on the lower waters, or in the Valley. Lee added, however, that this movement should be made in such a manner as to enable Stuart to "take position on the right of our column as it advanced"--the meaning appearing to be that the cavalry should move _between_ the two armies, in order to guard the Southern flank as it advanced into the Cumberland Valley. Circumstances arose, however, which rendered it difficult for Stuart to move on the line thus indicated with sufficient promptness to render his services valuable. The enemy crossed at Leesburg while the Southern cavalry was near Middleburg; and, from the jaded condition of his horses, Stuart feared that he would be unable, in case he crossed above, to place his column between the two armies then rapidly advancing. He accordingly took the bold resolution of passing the Potomac _below_ Leesburg, designing to shape his course due northward toward Harrisburg, the objective point of the Southern army. This he did--crossing at Seneca Falls--but on the march he was delayed by many incidents. Near Rockville he stopped to capture a large train of Federal wagons; at Westminster and Hanovertown he was temporarily arrested by combats with the Federal cavalry; and, ignorant as he was of the concentration of Lee's troops upon Gettysburg, he advanced rapidly toward Carlisle, where, in the midst of an attack on that place, he was recalled by Lee. Such were the circumstances leading to, and the incidents attending, this movement. The reader must form his own opinion of the amount of blame to be justly attached to Stuart. He always declared, and asserted in his report of these occurrences, that he had acted in exact obedience to his orders; but, on the contrary, as appears from General Lee's report, those orders were meant to prescribe a different movement. He had marched in one sense on "the right" of the Southern column "as it advanced;" but in another sense he had not done so. Victory at Gettysburg would have silenced all criticism of this difference of construction; but, unfortunately, the event was different, and the strictures directed at Stuart were natural. The absence of the cavalry unquestionably embarrassed Lee greatly; but, in his report, he is moderate and guarded, as usual, in his expressions. "The absence of cavalry," he says, "rendered it impossible to obtain accurate information" of General Meade's movements; and "the march toward Gettysburg was conducted more slowly than it would have been had the movements of the Federal army been known." [Illustration: Map--Battle of GETTYSBURG] To return now to the movements of Lee's infantry, after the arrival of the main body at Chambersburg. Lee was about to continue his advance in the direction of Harrisburg, when, on the night of the 29th, his scouts brought him intelligence that the Federal army was rapidly advancing, and the head of the column was near the South Mountain. A glance at the map will indicate the importance of this intelligence. General Meade would be able, without difficulty, in case the Southern army continued its march northward, to cross the South-Mountain range, and place himself directly in Lee's rear, in the Cumberland Valley. Then the Southern forces would be completely intercepted--General Meade would be master of the situation--and Lee must retreat east of the mountain or cut his way through the Federal army. A battle was thus clearly about to be forced upon the Southern commander, and it only remained for him to so manoeuvre his army as to secure a position in which he could receive the enemy's attack with advantage. Lee accordingly put his column in motion across the mountain toward Gettysburg, and, sending couriers to Ewell and Early to return from Harrisburg and York toward the same point, made his preparations to take position and fight. On the morning of the 1st day of July, this was then the condition of affairs. General Meade was advancing with rapidity upon the town of Gettysburg, and Lee was crossing the South Mountain, opposite Chambersburg, to meet him. When the heads of the two columns came together in the vicinity of Gettysburg, the thunders of battle began. XV. THE FIRST DAY'S FIGHT AT GETTYSBURG. The sanguinary struggle which now ensued between the Army of Northern Virginia and the Army of the Potomac continued for three days, and the character of these battles, together with their decisive results, have communicated to the events an extraordinary interest. Every fact has thus been preserved, and the incidents of the great combat, down to the most minute details, have been placed upon record. The subject is, indeed, almost embarrassed by the amount of information collected and published; and the chief difficulty for a writer, at this late day, is to select from the mass such salient events as indicate clearly the character of the conflict. This difficulty the present writer has it in his power to evade, in great measure, by confining himself mainly to the designs and operations of General Lee. These were plain and simple. He had been forced to relinquish his march toward the Susquehanna by the dangerous position of General Meade so near his line of retreat; this rendered a battle unavoidable; and Lee was now moving to accept battle, designing, if possible, to secure such a position as would give him the advantage in the contest. Before he succeeded in effecting this object, battle was forced upon him--not by General Meade, but by simple stress of circumstances. The Federal commander had formed the same intention as that of his adversary--to accept, and not deliver, battle--and did not propose to fight near Gettysburg. He was, rather, looking backward to a strong position in the direction of Westminster, when suddenly the head of his column became engaged near Gettysburg, and this determined every thing. A few words are necessary to convey to the reader some idea of the character of the ground. Gettysburg is a town, nestling down in a valley, with so many roads centring in the place that, if a circle were drawn around it to represent the circumference of a wheel, the roads would resemble the spokes. A short distance south of the town is a ridge of considerable height, which runs north and south, bending eastward in the vicinity of Gettysburg, and describing a curve resembling a hook. From a graveyard on this high ground it is called Cemetery Hill, or Ridge. Opposite this ridge, looking westward, is a second and lower range called Seminary Ridge. This extends also north and south, passing west of Gettysburg. Still west of Seminary Ridge are other still lower ranges, between which flows a small stream called Willoughby Run; and beyond these, distant about ten miles, rise the blue heights of the South Mountain. Across the South Mountain, by way of the village of Cashtown, Lee, on the morning of the 1st of July, was moving steadily toward Gettysburg, when Hill, holding the front, suddenly encountered the head of the enemy's column in the vicinity of Willoughby Run. This consisted of General Buford's cavalry division, which had pushed on in advance of General Reynolds's infantry corps, the foremost infantry of the Federal army, and now, almost before it was aware of Hill's presence, became engaged with him. General Buford posted his horse-artillery to meet Hill's attack, but it soon became obvious that the Federal cavalry could not stand before the Southern infantry fire, and General Reynolds, at about ten in the morning, hastening forward, reached the field. An engagement immediately took place between the foremost infantry divisions of Hill and Reynolds. A brigade of Hill's, from Mississippi, drove back a Federal brigade, seizing upon its artillery; but, in return, Archer's brigade was nearly surrounded, and several hundred of the men captured. Almost immediately after this incident the Federal forces sustained a serious loss; General Reynolds--one of the most trusted and energetic lieutenants of General Meade--was mortally wounded while disposing his men for action, and borne from the field. The Federal troops continued, however, to fight with gallantry. Some of the men were heard exclaiming, "We have come to stay!" in reference to which, one of their officers afterward said, "And a very large portion of them never left that ground."[1] [Footnote 1: General Doubleday: Report of Committee on the Conduct of the War, Part I., p. 307.] Battle was now joined in earnest between the two heads of column, and on each side reënforcements were sent forward to take part in this unexpected encounter. Neither General Lee nor General Meade had expected or desired it. Both had aimed, in manoeuvring their forces, to select ground suitable for receiving instead of making an attack, and now a blind chance seemed about to bring on a battle upon ground unknown to both commanders. When the sound of the engagement was first heard by Lee, he was in the rear of his troops at the headquarters which Hill had just vacated, near Cashtown, under the South Mountain. The firing was naturally supposed by him to indicate an accidental collision with some body of the enemy's cavalry, and, when intelligence reached him that Hill was engaged with the Federal infantry, the announcement occasioned him the greatest astonishment. General Meade's presence so near him was a circumstance completely unknown to Lee, and certainly was not desired by him. But a small portion of his forces were "up." Longstreet had not yet passed the mountain, and the forces of General Ewell, although that officer had promptly fallen back, in obedience to his orders, from the Susquehanna, were not yet in a position to take part in the engagement. Under these circumstances, if the whole of General Meade's army had reached Gettysburg, directly in Lee's front, the advantage in the approaching action must be largely in favor of the Federal army, and a battle might result in a decisive Confederate defeat. No choice, however, was now left General Lee. The head of his advancing column had come into collision with the enemy, and it was impossible to retire without a battle. Lee accordingly ordered Hill's corps to be closed up, and reënforcements to be sent forward rapidly to the point of action. He then mounted his horse and rode in the direction of the firing, guided by the sound, and the smoke which rose above the tranquil landscape. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful season of the year. The fields were green with grass, or golden with ripening grain, over which passed a gentle breeze, raising waves upon the brilliant surface. The landscape was broken here and there by woods; in the west rose the blue range of the South Mountain; the sun was shining through showery clouds, and in the east the sky was spanned by a rainbow. This peaceful scene was now disturbed by the thundering of artillery and the rattle of musketry. The sky was darkened, here and there, by clouds of smoke rising from barns or dwelling-houses set on fire by shell; and beneath rose red tongues of flame, roaring in response to the guns. Each side had now sent forward reinforcements to support the vanguards, and an obstinate struggle ensued, the proportions of the fight gradually increasing, until the action became a regular battle. Hill, although suffering from indisposition, which the pallor of his face indicated, met the Federal attack with his habitual resolution. He was hard pressed, however, when fortunately one of General Ewell's divisions, under Rodes, débouched from the Carlisle road, running northward from Gettysburg, and came to his assistance. Ewell had just begun to move from Carlisle toward Harrisburg--his second division, under Early, being at York--when a dispatch from Lee reached him, directing him to return, and "proceed to Gettysburg or Cashtown, as his circumstances might direct." He promptly obeyed, encamped within about eight miles of Gettysburg on the evening of the 30th, and was now moving toward Cashtown, where Johnson's division of his corps then was, when Hill sent him word that he needed his assistance. Rodes was promptly sent forward to the field of action. Early was ordered to hurry back, and Rodes soon reached the battle-field, where he formed his line on high ground, opposite the Federal right. The appearance of this important reënforcement relieved Hill, and caused the enemy to extend his right to face Rodes. The Federal line thus resembled a crescent, the left half, fronting Hill, toward the northwest; and the right, half-fronting Rodes, toward the north--the town of Gettysburg being in rear of the curve. An obstinate attack was made by the enemy and by Rodes at nearly the same moment. The loss on both sides was heavy, but Rodes succeeded in shaking the Federal right, when Early made his appearance from the direction of York. This compelled the Federal force to still farther extend its right, to meet the new attack. The movement greatly weakened them. Rodes charged their centre with impetuosity; Early came in on their right, with Gordon's brigade in front, and under this combined attack the Federal troops gave way, and retreated in great disorder to and through Gettysburg, leaving the ground covered with their dead and wounded to the number of about five thousand, and the same number of prisoners in the hands of the Confederates. The first collision of the two armies had thus resulted in a clear Southern victory, and it is to be regretted that this important success was not followed up by the seizure of the Cemetery Range, south of the town, which it was in the power of the Southern forces at that time to do. To whom the blame--if blame there be--of this failure, is justly chargeable, the writer of these pages is unable to state. All that he has been able to ascertain with certainty is the following: As soon as the Federal forces gave way, General Lee rode forward, and at about four o'clock in the afternoon was posted on an elevated point of Seminary Ridge, from which he could see the broken lines of the enemy rapidly retreating up the slope of Cemetery Range, in his front. The propriety of pursuit, with a view to seizing this strong position, was obvious, and General Lee sent an officer of his staff with a message to General Ewell, to the effect that "he could see the enemy flying, that they were disorganized, and that it was only necessary to push on vigorously, and the Cemetery heights were ours." [Footnote: The officer who carried the order is our authority for this statement.] Just about the moment, it would seem, when this order was dispatched--about half-past four--General Hill, who had joined Lee on the ridge, "received a message from General Ewell, requesting him (Hill) to press the enemy in front, while he performed the same operation on his right." This statement is taken from the journal of Colonel Freemantle, who was present and noted the hour. He adds: "The pressure was accordingly applied, in a mild degree, but the enemy were too strongly posted, and it was too late in the evening for a regular attack." General Ewell, an officer of great courage and energy, is said to have awaited the arrival of his third division (Johnson's) before making a decisive assault. Upon the arrival of Johnson, about sunset, General Ewell prepared to advance and seize upon the eastern terminus of the Cemetery Range, which commanded the subsequent Federal position. At this moment General Lee sent him word to "proceed with his troops to the [Confederate] right, in case he could do nothing where he was;" he proceeded to General Lee's tent thereupon to confer with him, and the result was that it was agreed to first assault the hill on the right. It was now, however, after midnight, and the attack was directed by Lee to be deferred until the next morning. It was certainly unfortunate that the advance was not then made; but Lee, in his report, attributes no blame to any one. "The attack," he says, "was not pressed that afternoon, _the enemy's force being unknown, and it being considered advisable to await the arrival of the rest of our troops._" The failure to press the enemy immediately after their retreat, with the view of driving them from and occupying Cemetery Heights, is susceptible of an explanation which seems to retrieve the Southern commander and his subordinates from serious criticism. The Federal forces had been driven from the ground north and west of Gettysburg, but it was seen now that the troops thus defeated constituted only a small portion of General Meade's army, and Lee had no means of ascertaining, with any degree of certainty, that the main body was not near at hand. The fact was not improbable, and it was not known that Cemetery Hill was not then in their possession. The wooded character of the ground rendered it difficult for General Lee, even from his elevated position on Seminary Ridge, to discover whether the heights opposite were, or were not, held by a strong force. Infantry were visible there; and in the plain in front the cavalry of General Buford were drawn up, as though ready to accept battle. It was not until after the battle that it was known that the heights might have been seized upon--General Hancock, who had succeeded Reynolds, having, to defend them, but a single brigade. This fact was not known to Lee; the sun was now declining, and the advance upon Cemetery Hill was deferred until the next day. When on the next morning, between daybreak and sunrise, General Lee, accompanied by Hill, Longstreet, and Hood, ascended to the same point on Seminary Ridge, and reconnoitred the opposite heights through his field-glass, they were seen to be occupied by heavy lines of infantry and numerous artillery. The moment had passed; the rampart in his front bristled with bayonets and cannon. General Hancock, in command of the Federal advance, had hastened back at nightfall to General Meade, who was still some distance in rear, and reported the position to be an excellent one for receiving the Southern attack. Upon this information General Meade had at once acted; by one o'clock in the morning his headquarters were established upon the ridge; and when Lee, on Seminary Hill opposite, was reconnoitring the heights, the great bulk of the Federal army was in position to receive his assault. The adversaries were thus face to face, and a battle could not well be avoided. Lee and his troops were in high spirits and confident of victory, but every advantage of position was seen to be on the side of the enemy. XVI. THE TWO ARMIES IN POSITION. The morning of the 2d of July had arrived, and the two armies were in presence of each other and ready for battle. The question was, which of the great adversaries would make the attack. General Meade was as averse to assuming the offensive as his opponent. Lee's statement on this subject has been given, but is here repeated: "It had not been intended to fight a general battle," he wrote, "at such a distance from our base, _unless attacked by the enemy_." General Meade said before the war committee afterward, "It was my desire to fight a defensive rather than an offensive battle," and he adds the obvious explanation, that he was "satisfied his chances of success were greater in a defensive battle than an offensive one." There was this great advantage, however, on the Federal side, that the troops were on their own soil, with their communications uninterrupted, and could wait, while General Lee was in hostile territory, a considerable distance from his base of supplies, and must, for that reason, either attack his adversary or retreat. He decided to attack. To this decision he seems to have been impelled, in large measure, by the extraordinary spirit of his troops, whose demeanor in the subsequent struggle was said by a Federal officer to resemble that of men "drunk on champagne." General Longstreet described the army at this moment as able, from the singular afflatus which bore it up, to undertake "any thing," and this sanguine spirit was the natural result of a nearly unbroken series of victories. At Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, and in the preliminary struggle of Gettysburg, they had driven the enemy before them in disorder, and, on the night succeeding this last victory, both officers and men spoke of the coming battle "as a certainty, and the universal feeling in the army was one of profound contempt for an enemy whom they had beaten so constantly, and under so many disadvantages."[1] [Footnote 1: Colonel Freemantle. He was present, and speaks from observation.] Contempt of an adversary is dangerous, and pride goes before a fall. The truth of these pithy adages was now about to be shown. General Lee, it is said, shared the general confidence of his troops, and was carried away by it. He says in his report "Finding ourselves unexpectedly confronted by the Federal army, it became a matter of difficulty to withdraw through the mountain with our large trains; at the same time, the country was unfavorable for collecting supplies while in the presence of the enemy's main body, as he was enabled to restrain our foraging-parties by occupying the passes of the mountains with regular and local troops. A battle thus became in a measure unavoidable." But, even after the battle, when the Southern army was much weaker, it was found possible, without much difficulty, to "withdraw through the mountains" with the trains. A stronger motive than this is stated in the next sentence of General Lee's report:" _Encouraged by the successful issue of the engagement of the first day, and in view of the valuable results that would ensue from the defeat of the army of General Meade_, it was thought advisable to renew the attack." The meaning of the writer of these words is plain. The Federal troops had been defeated with little difficulty in the first day's fight; it seemed probable that a more serious conflict would have similar results; and a decisive victory promised to end the war. General Meade, it seems, scarcely expected to be attacked. He anticipated a movement on Lee's part, over the Emmetsburg road southward. [Footnote: Testimony of General Meade before the war committee.] By giving that direction to his army, General Lee would have forced his adversary to retire from his strong position on Cemetery Hill, or come out and attack him; whether, however, it was desirable on General Lee's part to run the risk of such an attack on the Southern column _in transitu_, it is left to others better able than the present writer to determine. This unskilled comment must pass for what it is worth. It is easy, after the event, for the smallest to criticise the greatest. Under whatever influences, General Lee determined not to retreat, either through the South Mountain or toward Emmetsburg, but marshalled his army for an attack on the position held by General Meade. The Southern lines were drawn up on Seminary Ridge, and on the ground near Gettysburg. Longstreet's corps was posted on the right, opposite the Federal left, near the southern end of Cemetery Ridge. Next came Hill's corps, extending along the crest nearly to Gettysburg. There it was joined by Ewell's line, which, passing through the town, bent round, adapting itself to the position of the Federal right which held the high ground, curving round in the shape of a hook, at the north end of the ridge. The Federal lines thus occupied the whole Cemetery Range--which, being higher, commanded Seminary Ridge--and consisted, counting from right to left, of the troops of Generals Howard, Hancock, Sickles, Sykes, and Sedgwick; the two latter forming a strong reserve to guard the Federal left. The position was powerful, as both flanks rested upon high ground, which gave every advantage to the assailed party; but on the Federal left an accidental error, it seems, had been committed by General Sickles. He had advanced his line to a ridge in front of the main range, which appeared to afford him a better position; but this made it necessary to retire the left wing of his corps, to cover the opening in that direction. The result was, an angle--the effect of which is to expose troops to serious danger--and this faulty disposition of the Federal left seems to have induced General Lee to direct his main attack at the point in question, with the view of breaking the Federal line, and seizing upon the main ridge in rear. "In front of General Longstreet," he says, "the enemy held a position from which, if he could be driven, it was thought that our army could be used to advantage in assailing the more elevated ground beyond." In order to coöperate in this, the main attack, Ewell was ordered at the same time to assail the Federal right toward Gettysburg, and Hill directed to threaten their centre, and, if there were an opening, make a real attack. These demonstrations against the enemy's right and centre, Lee anticipated, would prevent him from reënforcing his left. Longstreet would thus, he hoped, be "enabled to reach the west of the ridge" in rear of the Federal line; and General Meade afterward said, "If they had succeeded in occupying that, it would have prevented me from holding any of the ground which I subsequently held at the last"--that is to say, that he would have been driven from the entire Cemetery Range. Such was the position of the two adversaries, and such the design of Lee, on the 2d of July, when the real struggle was about to begin. XVII. THE SECOND DAY. Throughout the forenoon of the day about to witness one of those great passages of arms which throw so bloody a glare upon the pages of history, scarcely a sound disturbed the silence, and it was difficult to believe that nearly two hundred thousand men were watching each other across the narrow valley, ready at the word to advance and do their best to tear each other to pieces. During all these long hours, when expectation and suspense were sufficient to try the stoutest nerves, the two commanders were marshalling their lines for the obstinate struggle which was plainly at hand. General Meade, who knew well the ability of his opponent, was seeing, in person, to every thing, and satisfying himself that his lines were in order to receive the attack. Lee was making his preparations to commence the assault, upon which, there could be little doubt, the event of the whole war depended. From the gallantry which the Federal troops displayed in this battle, they must have been in good heart for the encounter. It is certain that the Southern army had never been in better condition for a decisive conflict. We have spoken of the extraordinary confidence of the men, in themselves and in their commander. This feeling now exhibited itself either in joyous laughter and the spirit of jesting among the troops, or in an air of utter indifference, as of men sure of the result, and giving it scarcely a thought. The swarthy gunners, still begrimed with powder from the work of the day before, lay down around the cannon in position along the crest, and passed the moments in uttering witticisms, or in slumber; and the lines of infantry, seated or lying, musket in hand, were as careless. The army was plainly ready, and would respond with alacrity to Lee's signal. Of the result, no human being in this force of more than seventy thousand men seemed to have the least doubt. Lee was engaged during the whole morning and until past noon in maturing his preparations for the assault which he designed making against the enemy's left in front of Longstreet. All was not ready until about four in the afternoon; then he gave the word, and Longstreet suddenly opened a heavy artillery-fire on the position opposite him. At this signal the guns of Hill opened from the ridge on his left, and Ewell's artillery on the Southern left in front of Gettysburg thundered in response. Under cover of his cannon-fire, Longstreet then advanced his lines, consisting of Hood's division on the right, and McLawe's division on the left, and made a headlong assault upon the Federal forces directly in his front. The point aimed at was the salient, formed by the projection of General Sickles's line forward to the high ground known as "The Peach Orchard." Here, as we have already said, the Federal line of battle formed an angle, with the left wing of Sickles's corps bending backward so as to cover the opening between his line and the main crest in his rear. Hood's division swung round to assail the portion of the line thus retired, and so rapid was the movement of this energetic soldier, that in a short space of time he pushed his right beyond the Federal left flank, had pierced the exposed point, and was in direct proximity to the much-coveted "crest of the ridge," upon the possession of which depended the fate of the battle. Hood was fully aware of its importance, and lost not a moment in advancing to seize it. His troops, largely composed of those famous Texas regiments which Lee had said "fought grandly and nobly," and upon whom he relied "in all tight places," responded to his ardent orders: a small run was crossed, the men rushed up the slope, and the crest was almost in their very grasp. Success at this moment would have decided the event of the battle of Gettysburg, and in all probability that of the war. All that was needed was a single brigade upon either side--a force sufficient to seize the crest, for neither side held it--and with this brigade a rare good fortune, or rather the prompt energy of a single officer, according to Northern historians, supplied the Federal commander. Hood's line was rushing up with cheers to occupy the crest, which here takes the form of a separate peak, and is known as "Little Round Top," when General Warren, chief-engineer of the army, who was passing, saw the importance of the position, and determined, at all hazards, to defend it. He accordingly ordered the Federal signal-party, which had used the peak as a signal-station, but were hastily folding up their flags, to remain where they were, laid violent hands upon a brigade which was passing, and ordered it to occupy the crest; and, when Hood's men rushed up the rocky slope with yells of triumph, they were suddenly met by a fusillade from the newly-arrived brigade, delivered full in their faces. A violent struggle ensued for the possession of the heights. The men fought hand to hand on the summit, and the issue remained for some time doubtful. At last it was decided in favor of the Federal troops, who succeeded in driving Hood's men from the hill, the summit of which was speedily crowned with artillery, which opened a destructive fire upon the retreating Southerners. They fell back sullenly, leaving the ground strewed with their dead and wounded. Hood had been wounded, and many of his best officers had fallen. For an instant he had grasped in his strong hand the prize which would have been worth ten times the amount of blood shed; but he had been unable to retain his hold; he was falling back from the coveted crest, pursued by that roar of the enemy's cannon which seemed to rejoice in his discomfiture. An obstinate struggle was meanwhile taking place in the vicinity of the Peach Orchard, where the left of Hood and the division of McLaws had struck the front of General Sickles, and were now pressing his line back steadily toward the ridge in his rear. In spite of resolute resistance the Federal troops at this point were pushed back to a wheat-field in the rear of the Peach Orchard, and, following up this advantage, Longstreet charged them and broke their line, which fell back in disorder toward the high ground in rear. In this attack McLaws was assisted by Hill's right division--that of Anderson. With this force Longstreet continued to press forward, and, piercing the Federal line, seemed about to inflict upon them a great disaster by seizing the commanding position occupied by the Federal left. Nothing appears to have saved them at this moment from decisive defeat but the masterly concentration of reënforcements after reënforcements at the point of danger. The heavy reserves under Generals Sykes and Sedgwick were opposite this point, and other troops were hastened forward to oppose Longstreet. This reënforcement was continuous throughout the entire afternoon. In spite of Lee's demonstrations in other quarters to direct attention, General Meade--driven by necessity--continued to move fresh troops incessantly to protect his left; and success finally came as the reward of his energy and soldiership. Longstreet found his weary troops met at every new step in advance by fresh lines, and, as night had now come, he discontinued the attack. The Federal lines had been driven considerably beyond the point which they had held before the assault, and were now east of the wheat-field, where some of the hardest fighting of the day had taken place, but, in spite of this loss of ground, they had suffered no serious disaster, and, above all, Lee had not seized upon that "crest of the ridge," which was the keystone of the position. Thus Longstreet's attack had been neither a success nor a failure. He had not accomplished all that was expected, but he had driven back the enemy from their advanced position, and held strong ground in their front. A continuance of the assault was therefore deferred until the next day--night having now come--and General Longstreet ordered the advance to cease, and the firing to be discontinued. During the action on the right, Hill had continued to make heavy demonstrations on the Federal centre, and Ewell had met with excellent success in the attack, directed by Lee, to be made against the enemy's right. This was posted upon the semicircular eminence, a little southeast of Gettysburg, and the Federal works were attacked by Ewell about sunset. With Early's division on his right, and Johnson's on his left, Ewell advanced across the open ground in face of a heavy artillery-fire, the men rushed up the slope, and in a brief space of time the Federal artillerists and infantry were driven from the works, which at nightfall remained in Ewell's hands. Such had been the fate of the second struggle around Gettysburg. The moon, which rose just as the fighting terminated, threw its ghastly glare upon a field where neither side had achieved full success. Lee had not failed, and he had not succeeded. He had aimed to drive the Federal forces from the Cemetery Range, and had not been able to effect that object; but they had been forced back upon both their right and left, and a substantial advantage seemed thus to have been gained. That the Confederate success was not complete, seems to have resulted from the failure to seize the Round-Top Hill. The crisis of the battle had undoubtedly been the moment when Hood was so near capturing this position--in reference to the importance of which we quoted General Meade's own words. It was saved to the Federal army by the presence of mind, it seems, of a single officer, and the gallantry of a single brigade. Such are the singular chances of battle, in which the smallest causes so often effect the greatest results. General Lee, in company with General Hill, had, during the battle, occupied his former position on Seminary Ridge, near the centre of his line--quietly seated, for the greater portion of the time, upon the stump of a tree, and looking thoughtfully toward the opposite heights which Longstreet was endeavoring to storm. His demeanor was entirely calm and composed. An observer would not have concluded that he was the commander-in-chief. From time to time he raised his field-glass to his eyes, and rising said a few words to General Hill or General Long, of his staff. After this brief colloquy, he would return to his seat on the stump, and continue to direct his glass toward the wooded heights held by the enemy. A notable circumstance, and one often observed upon other occasions, was that, during the entire action, he scarcely sent an order. During the time Longstreet was engaged--from about half-past four until night--he sent but one message, and received but one report. Having given full directions to his able lieutenants, and informed them of the objects which he desired to attain, he, on this occasion as upon others, left the execution of his orders to them, relying upon their judgment and ability. A singular incident occurred at this moment, which must have diverted Lee, temporarily, from his abstracted mood. In the midst of the most furious part of the cannonade, when the air was filled with exploding shell, a Confederate band of music, between the opposing lines, just below General Lee's position, began defiantly playing polkas and waltzes on their instruments. The incident was strange in the midst of such a hurly-burly. The bloody battle-field seemed turned into a ballroom. With nightfall the firing sunk to silence. The moon had risen, and the pale light now lit up the faces of the dead and wounded of both sides. Lee's first great assault had failed to secure the full results which he had anticipated from it. XVIII. THE LAST CHARGE AT GETTYSBURG. The weird hours of the moonlit night succeeding the "second day at Gettysburg" witnessed a consultation between Lee and his principal officers, as to the propriety of renewing the attack on the Federal position, or falling back in the direction of the Potomac. In favor of the latter course there seemed to be many good reasons. The supplies, both of provisions and ammunition, were running short. The army, although unshaken, had lost heavily in the obstinately-disputed attack. In the event of defeat now, its situation might become perilous, and the destruction of the Army of Northern Virginia was likely to prove that of the Southern cause. On the other hand, the results of the day's fighting, if not decisive, had been highly encouraging. On both the Federal wings the Confederates had gained ground, which they still held. Longstreet's line was in advance of the Peach Orchard, held by the enemy on the morning of the second, and Ewell was still rooted firmly, it seemed, in their works near Gettysburg. These advantages were certainly considerable, and promised success to the Southern arms, if the assault were renewed. But the most weighty consideration prompting a renewal of the attack was the condition of the troops. They were undismayed and unshaken either in spirit or efficiency, and were known both to expect and to desire a resumption of the assault. Even after the subsequent charge of Pickett, which resulted so disastrously, the ragged infantry were heard exclaiming: "We've not lost confidence in the old man! This day's work won't do him no harm! Uncle Robert will get us into Washington yet!" Add to this the fact that the issue of the second day had stirred up in Lee himself all the martial ardor of his nature; and there never lived a more thorough _soldier_, when he was fully aroused, than the Virginian. All this soldiership of the man revolted at the thought of retreating and abandoning his great enterprise. He looked, on the one hand, at his brave army, ready at the word to again advance upon the enemy--at that enemy scarce able on the previous day to hold his position--and, weighing every circumstance in his comprehensive mind, which "looked before and after," Lee determined on the next morning to try a decisive assault upon the Federal troops; to storm, if possible, the Cemetery Range, and at one great blow terminate the campaign and the war. The powerful influences which we have mentioned, coöperating, shaped the decision to which Lee had come. He would not retreat, but fight. The campaign should not be abandoned without at least one great charge upon the Federal position; and orders were now given for a renewal of the attack on the next morning. "The general plan of attack," Lee says, "was unchanged, except that one division and two brigades of Hill's corps were ordered to support Longstreet." From these words it is obvious that Lee's main aim now, as on the preceding day, was to force back the Federal left in front of Longstreet, and seize the high ground commanding the whole ridge in flank and reverse. To this end Longstreet was reënforced, and the great assault was evidently intended to take place in that quarter. But circumstances caused an alteration, as will be seen, in Lee's plans. The centre, thus weakened, was from stress of events to become the point of decisive struggle. The assaults of the previous day had been directed against the two extremities of the enemy; the assault of the third day, which would decide the fate of the battle and the campaign, was to be the furious rush of Pickett's division of Virginian troops at the enemy's centre, on Cemetery Hill. A preliminary conflict, brought on by the Federal commander, took place early in the morning. Ewell had continued throughout the night to hold the enemy's breastworks on their right, from which he had driven them in the evening. As dawn approached now, he was about to resume the attack; and, in obedience to Lee's orders, attempt to "dislodge the enemy" from other parts of the ridge, when General Meade took the initiative, and opened upon him a furious fire of cannon, which was followed by a determined infantry charge to regain the hill. Ewell held his ground with the obstinate nerve which characterized him, and the battle raged about four hours--that is, until about eight o'clock. At that time, however, the pressure of the enemy became too heavy to stand. General Meade succeeded in driving Ewell from the hill, and the Federal lines were reëstablished on the commanding ground which they had previously occupied. This event probably deranged, in some degree, General Lee's plans, which contemplated, as we have seen, an attack by Ewell contemporaneous with the main assault by Longstreet. Ewell was in no condition at this moment to assume the offensive again; and the pause in the fighting appears to have induced General Lee to reflect and modify his plans. Throughout the hours succeeding the morning's struggle, Lee, attended by Generals Hill and Longstreet, and their staff-officers, rode along the lines, reconnoitring the opposite heights, and the cavalcade was more than once saluted by bullets from the enemy's sharp-shooters, and an occasional shell. The result of the reconnoissance seems to have been the conclusion that the Federal left--now strengthened by breastworks, behind which powerful reserves lay waiting--was not a favorable point for attack. General Meade, no doubt, expected an assault there; and, aroused to a sense of his danger by the Confederate success of the previous day, had made every preparation to meet a renewal of the movement. The Confederate left and centre remained, but it seemed injudicious to think of attacking from Ewell's position. A concentration of the Southern force there would result in a dangerous separation of the two wings of the army; and, in the event of failure, the enemy would have no difficulty in descending and turning Lee's right flank, and thus interposing between him and the Potomac. The centre only was left, and to this Lee now turned his attention. A determined rush, with a strong column at Cemetery Hill in his front, might wrest that point from the enemy. Then their line would be pierced; the army would follow; Lee would be rooted on this commanding ground, directly between the two Federal wings, upon which their own guns might be turned, and the defeat of General Meade must certainly follow. Such were, doubtless, the reflections of General Lee, as he rode along the Seminary Range, scanning, through his field-glass, the line of the Federal works. His decision was made, and orders were given by him to prepare the column for the assault. For the hard work at hand, Pickett's division of Virginian troops, which had just arrived and were fresh, was selected. These were to be supported by Heth's division of North Carolina troops, under General Pettigrew, who was to move on Pickett's left; and a brigade of Hill's, under General Wilcox, was to cover the right of the advancing column, and protect it from a flank attack. The advance of the charging column was preceded by a tremendous artillery-fire, directed from Seminary Ridge at the enemy's left and centre. This began about an hour past noon, and the amount of thunder thus unloosed will be understood from the statement that Lee employed one hundred and forty-five pieces of artillery, and the enemy replied with eighty--in all _two hundred and twenty-five_ guns, all discharging at the same time. For nearly two hours this frightful hurly-burly continued, the harsh roar reverberating ominously in the gorges of the hills, and thrown back, in crash after crash, from the rocky slopes of the two ridges. To describe this fire afterward, the cool soldier, General Hancock, could find no other but the word _terrific_. "Their artillery-fire," he says, "was the most terrific cannonade I ever witnessed, and the most prolonged.... It was a most terrific and appalling cannonade--one possibly hardly ever paralleled." While this artillery-duel was in progress, the charging column was being formed on the west of Seminary Ridge, opposite the Federal centre on Cemetery Hill. Pickett drew up his line with Kemper's and Garnett's brigades in front, and Armistead's brigade in rear. The brigade under General Wilcox took position on the right, and on the left was placed the division under Pettigrew, which was to participate in the charge. The force numbered between twelve and fifteen thousand men; but, as will be seen, nearly in the beginning of the action Pickett was left alone, and thus his force of about five thousand was all that went forward to pierce the centre of the Federal army. The opposing ridges at this point are about one mile asunder, and across this space Pickett moved at the word, his line advancing slowly, and perfectly "dressed," with its red battle-flags flying, and the sunshine darting from the gun-barrels and bayonets. The two armies were silent, concentrating their whole attention upon this slow and ominous advance of men who seemed in no haste, and resolved to allow nothing to arrest them. When the column had reached a point about midway between the opposing heights the Federal artillery suddenly opened a furious fire upon them, which inflicted considerable loss. This, however, had no effect upon the troops, who continued to advance slowly in the same excellent order, without exhibiting any desire to return the fire. It was impossible to witness this steady and well-ordered march under heavy fire without feeling admiration for the soldiership of the troops who made it. Where shell tore gaps in the ranks, the men quietly closed up, and the hostile front advanced in the same ominous silence toward the slope where the real struggle, all felt, would soon begin. They were within a few hundred yards of the hill, when suddenly a rapid cannon-fire thundered on their right, and shell and canister from nearly fifty pieces of artillery swept the Southern line, enfilading it, and for an instant throwing the right into some disorder. This disappeared at once, however. The column closed up, and continued to advance, unmoved, toward the height. At last the moment came. The steady "common-time" step had become "quick time;" this had changed to "double-quick;" then the column rushed headlong at the enemy's breastworks on the slope of the hill. As they did so, the real thunder began. A fearful fire of musketry burst forth, and struck them in the face, and this hurricane scattered the raw troops of Pettigrew as leaves are scattered by a wind. That whole portion of the line gave way in disorder, and fled from the field, which was strewed with their dead; and, as the other supports had not kept up, the Virginians under Pickett were left alone to breast the tempest which had now burst upon them in all its fury. They returned the fire from the breastworks in their front with a heavy volley, and then, with loud cheers, dashed at the enemy's works, which they reached, stormed, and took possession of at the point of the bayonet. Their loss, however, was frightful. Garnett was killed; Armistead fell, mortally wounded, as he leaped on the breastworks, cheering and waving his hat; Kemper was shot and disabled, and the ranks of the Virginians were thinned to a handful. The men did not, however, pause. The enemy had partially retreated, from their first line of breastworks, to a second and stronger one about sixty yards beyond, and near the crest; and here the Federal reserve, as Northern writers state, was drawn up "four deep." This line, bristling with bayonets and cannon, the Virginians now charged, in the desperate attempt to storm it with the bayonet, and pierce, in a decisive manner, the centre of the Federal army. But the work was too great for their powers. As they made their brave rush they were met by a concentrated fire full in their faces, and on both flanks at the same moment. This fire did not so much cause them to lose heart, as literally hurl them back. Before it the whole charging column seemed to melt and disappear. The bravest saw now that further fighting was useless--that the works in their front could not be stormed--and, with the frightful fire of the enemy still tearing their lines to pieces, the poor remnants of the brave division retreated from the hill. As they fell back, sullenly, like bull-dogs from whom their prey had been snatched just as it was in their grasp, the enemy pursued them with a destructive fire both of cannon and musketry, which mowed down large numbers, if large numbers, indeed, can be said to have been left. The command had been nearly annihilated. Three generals, fourteen field-officers, and three-fourths of the men, were dead, wounded, or prisoners. The Virginians had done all that could be done by soldiers. They had advanced undismayed into the focus of a fire unsurpassed, perhaps, in the annals of war; had fought bayonet to bayonet; had left the ground strewed with their dead; and the small remnant who survived were now sullenly retiring, unsubdued; and, if repulsed, not "whipped." Such was the last great charge at Gettysburg. Lee had concentrated in it all his strength, it seemed. When it failed, the battle and the campaign failed with it. [Illustration: Lee at Gettysburg.] XIX. LEE AFTER THE CHARGE. The demeanor of General Lee at this moment, when his hopes were all reversed, and his last great blow at the enemy had failed, excited the admiration of all who witnessed it, and remains one of the greatest glories of his memory. Seeing, from his place on Seminary Ridge, the unfortunate results of the attack, he mounted his horse and rode forward to meet and encourage the retreating troops. The air was filled with exploding shell, and the men were coming back without order. General Lee now met them, and with his staff-officers busied himself in rallying them, uttering as he did so words of hope and encouragement. Colonel Freemantle, who took particular notice of him at this moment, describes his conduct as "perfectly sublime." "Lee's countenance," he adds, "did not show signs of the slightest disappointment, care, or annoyance," but preserved the utmost placidity and cheerfulness. The hurry and confusion of the scene seemed not to move him in any manner, and he rode slowly to and fro, saying in his grave, kindly voice to the men: "All this will come right in the end. We'll talk it over afterward, but in the mean time all good men must rally. We want all good and true men just now." Numbers of wounded passed him, some stretched on litters, which men wearing the red badge of the ambulance corps were bearing to the rear, others limping along bleeding from hurts more or less serious. To the badly wounded Lee uttered words of sympathy and kindness; to those but slightly injured, he said: "Come, bind up your wound and take a musket," adding "my friend," as was his habit. An evidence of his composure and absence of flurry was presented by a slight incident. An officer near him was striking his horse violently for becoming frightened and unruly at the bursting of a shell, when General Lee, seeing that the horse was terrified and the punishment would do no good, said, in tones of friendly remonstrance: "Don't whip him, captain, don't whip him. I've got just such a foolish horse myself, and whipping does no good." Meanwhile the men continued to stream back, pursued still by that triumphant roar of the enemy's artillery which swept the whole valley and slope of Seminary Ridge with shot and shell. Lee was everywhere encouraging them, and they responded by taking off their hats and cheering him--even the wounded joining in this ceremony. Although exposing himself with entire indifference to the heavy fire, he advised Colonel Freemantle, as that officer states, to shelter himself, saying: "This has been a sad day for us, colonel, a sad day. But we can't expect always to gain victories." As he was thus riding about in the fringe of woods, General Wilcox, who, about the time of Pickett's repulse, had advanced and speedily been thrown back with loss, rode up and said, almost sobbing as he spoke, that his brigade was nearly destroyed. Lee held out his hand to him as he was speaking, and, grasping the hand of his subordinate in a friendly manner, replied with great gentleness and kindness: "Never mind, general, all this has been _my_ fault. It is _I_ who have lost this fight, and you must help me out of it in the best way you can." This supreme calmness and composure in the commander-in-chief rapidly communicated itself to the troops, who soon got together again, and lay down quietly in line of battle in the fringe of woods along the crest of the ridge, where Lee placed them as they came up. In front of them the guns used in the great cannonade were still in position, and Lee was evidently making every preparation in his power for the highly probable event of an instant assault upon him in his disordered condition, by the enemy. It was obvious that the situation of affairs at the moment was such as to render such an attack highly perilous to the Southern troops--and a sudden cheering which was now heard running along the lines of the enemy on the opposite heights, seemed clearly to indicate that their forces were moving. Every preparation possible under the circumstances was made to meet the anticipated assault; the repulsed troops of Pickett, like the rest of the army, were ready and even eager for of the attack--but it did not come. The cheering was afterward ascertained to have been simply the greeting of the men to some one of their officers as he rode along the lines; and night fell without any attempt on the Federal side to improve their success. That success was indeed sufficient, and little would have been gained, and perhaps much perilled, by a counter-attack. Lee was not defeated, but he had not succeeded. General Meade could, with propriety, refrain from an attack. The battle of Gettysburg had been a Federal victory. Thus had ended the last great conflict of arms on Northern soil--in a decisive if not a crushing repulse of the Southern arms. The chain of events has been so closely followed in the foregoing pages, and the movements of the two armies have been described with such detail, that any further comment or illustration is unnecessary. The opposing armies had been handled with skill and energy, the men had never fought better, and the result seems to have been decided rather by an occult decree of Providence than by any other circumstance. The numbers on each side were nearly the same, or differed so slightly that, in view of past conflicts, fought with much greater odds in favor of the one side, they might be regarded as equal. The Southern army when it approached Gettysburg numbered sixty-seven thousand bayonets, and the cavalry and artillery probably made the entire force about eighty thousand. General Meade's statement is that his own force was about one hundred thousand. The Federal loss was twenty-three thousand one hundred and ninety. The Southern losses were also severe, but cannot be ascertained. They must have amounted, however, to at least as large a number, even larger, perhaps, as an attacking army always suffers more heavily than one that is attacked. What is certain, however, is that the Southern army, if diminished in numbers and strength, was still unshaken. XX. LEE'S RETREAT ACROSS THE POTOMAC. Lee commenced his retreat in the direction of the Potomac on the night of the 4th of July. That the movement did not begin earlier is the best proof of the continued efficiency of his army and his own willingness to accept battle if the enemy were inclined to offer it. After the failure of the attack on the Federal centre, he had withdrawn Ewell from his position southeast of Gettysburg, and, forming a continuous line of battle on Seminary Ridge, awaited the anticipated assault of General Meade. What the result of such an assault would have been it is impossible to say, but the theory that an attack would have terminated in the certain rout of the Southern army has nothing whatever to support it. The _morale_ of Lee's army was untouched. The men, instead of being discouraged by the tremendous conflicts of the preceding days, were irate, defiant, and ready to resume the struggle. Foreign officers, present at the time, testify fully upon this point, describing the demeanor of the troops as all that could be desired in soldiers; and General Longstreet afterward stated that, with his two divisions under Hood and McLaws, and his powerful artillery, he was confident, had the enemy attacked, of inflicting upon them a blow as heavy as that which they had inflicted upon Pickett. The testimony of General Meade himself fully corroborates these statements. When giving his evidence afterward before the war committee, he said: "My opinion is, now, that General Lee evacuated that position, _not from the fear that he would be dislodged from it by any active operations on my part_, but that he was fearful that a force would be sent to Harper's Ferry to cut off his communications.... That was what caused him to retire." When asked the question, "Did you discover, after the battle of Gettysburg, any symptoms of demoralization in Lee's army?" General Meade replied, "No, sir; I saw nothing of that kind."[1] [Footnote 1: Report of Committee on Conduct of War, Part I., page 337.] There was indeed no good reason why General Lee should feel any extreme solicitude for the safety of his army, which, after all its losses, still numbered more than fifty thousand troops; and, with that force of veteran combatants, experience told him, he could count upon holding at bay almost any force which the enemy could bring against him. At Chancellorsville, with a less number, he had nearly routed a larger army than General Meade's. If the _morale_ of the men remained unbroken, he had the right to feel secure now; and we have shown that the troops were as full of fight as ever. The exclamations of the ragged infantry, overheard by Colonel Freemantle, expressed the sentiment of the whole army. Recoiling from the fatal charge on Cemetery Hill, and still followed by the terrible fire, they had heart to shout defiantly: "We've not lost confidence in the old man! This day's work won't do him no harm! Uncle Robert will get us into Washington yet--you bet he will!" Lee's reasons for retiring toward the Potomac were unconnected with the _morale_ of his army. "The difficulty of procuring supplies," he says, "rendered it impossible to continue longer where we were." What he especially needed was ammunition, his supply of which had been nearly exhausted by the three days' fighting, and it was impossible to count upon new supplies of these essential stores now that the enemy were in a condition to interrupt his communications in the direction of Harper's Ferry and Williamsport. The danger to which the army was thus exposed was soon shown not to have been overrated. General Meade promptly sent a force to occupy Harper's Ferry, and a body of his cavalry, hastening across the South Mountain, reached the Potomac near Falling Waters, where they destroyed a pontoon bridge laid there for the passage of the Southern army. Lee accordingly resolved to retire, and, after remaining in line of battle on Seminary Ridge throughout the evening and night of the 3d and the whole of the 4th, during which time he was busy burying his dead, began to withdraw, by the Fairfield and Chambersburg roads, on the night of this latter day. The movement was deliberate, and without marks of haste, the rear-guard not leaving the vicinity of Gettysburg until the morning of the 5th. Those who looked upon the Southern army at this time can testify that the spirit of the troops was unsubdued. They had been severely checked, but there every thing had ended. Weary, covered with dust, with wounds whose bandages were soaked in blood, the men tramped on in excellent spirits, and were plainly ready to take position at the first word from Lee, and meet any attack of the enemy with a nerve as perfect as when they had advanced. For the reasons stated by himself, General Meade did not attack. He had secured substantial victory by awaiting Lee's assault on strong ground, and was unwilling now to risk a disaster, such as he had inflicted, by attacking Lee in position. The enthusiasm of the authorities at Washington was not shared by the cool commander of the Federal army. He perfectly well understood the real strength and condition of his adversary, and seems never to have had any intention of striking at him unless a change of circumstances gave him some better prospect of success than he could see at that time. The retrograde movement of the Southern army now began, Lee's trains retiring by way of Chambersburg, and his infantry over the Fairfield road, in the direction of Hagerstown. General Meade at first moved directly on the track of his enemy. The design of a "stern chase" was, however, speedily abandoned by the Federal commander, who changed the direction of his march and moved southward toward Frederick. When near that point he crossed the South Mountain, went toward Sharpsburg, and on the 12th of July found himself in front of the Southern army near Williamsport, where Lee had formed line of battle to receive his adversary's attack. The deliberate character of General Meade's movements sufficiently indicates the disinclination he felt to place himself directly in his opponent's front, and thus receive the full weight of his attack. There is reason, indeed, to believe that nothing could better have suited the views of General Meade than for Lee to have passed the Potomac before his arrival--which event would have signified the entire abandonment of the campaign of invasion, leaving victory on the side of the Federal army. But the elements seemed to conspire to bring on a second struggle, despite the reluctance of both commanders. The recent rains had swollen the Potomac to such a degree as to render it unfordable, and, as the pontoon near Williamsport had been destroyed by the Federal cavalry, Lee was brought to bay on the north bank of the river, where, on the 12th, as we have said, General Meade found him in line of battle. Lee's demeanor, at this critical moment, was perfectly undisturbed, and exhibited no traces whatever of anxiety, though he must have felt much. In his rear was a swollen river, and in his front an adversary who had been reënforced with a considerable body of troops, and now largely outnumbered him. In the event of battle and defeat, the situation of the Southern army must be perilous in the extreme. Nothing would seem to be left it, in that event, but surrender, or dispersion among the western mountains, where the detached bodies would be hunted down in detail and destroyed or captured. Confidence in himself and his men remained, however, with General Lee, and, with his line extending from near Hagerstown to a point east of Williamsport, he calmly awaited the falling of the river, resolved, doubtless, if in the mean time the enemy attacked him, to fight to the last gasp for the preservation of his army. No attack was made by General Meade, who, arriving in front of Lee on the 12th, did no more, on that day, than feel along the Southern lines for a point to assault. On the next day he assembled a council of war, and laid the question before them, whether or not it were advisable to make an assault. The votes of the officers were almost unanimously against it, as Lee's position seemed strong and the spirit of his army defiant; and the day passed without any attempt of the Federal army to dislodge its adversary. While General Meade was thus hesitating, Lee was acting. A portion of the pontoon destroyed by the enemy was recovered, new boats were built, and a practicable bridge was completed, near Falling Waters, by the evening of the 13th. The river had also commenced falling, and by this time was fordable near Williamsport. Toward dawn on the 14th the army commenced moving, in the midst of a violent rain-storm, across the river at both points, and Lee, sitting his horse upon the river's bank, superintended the operation, as was his habit on occasions of emergency. Loss of rest and fatigue, with that feeling of suspense unavoidable under the circumstances, had impaired the energies of even his superb physical constitution. As the bulk of the rear-guard of the army safely passed over the shaky bridge, which Lee had looked at with some anxiety as it swayed to and fro, lashed by the current, he uttered a sigh of relief, and a great weight seemed taken from his shoulders. Seeing his fatigue and exhaustion. General Stuart gave him some coffee; he drank it with avidity, and declared, as he handed back the cup, that nothing had ever refreshed him so much. When General Meade, who is said to have resolved on an attack, in spite of the opposition of his officers, looked, on the morning of the 14th, toward the position held on the previous evening by the Southern army, he saw that the works were deserted. The Army of Northern Virginia had vanished from the hills on which it had been posted, and was at that moment crossing the Potomac. Pressing on its track toward Falling Waters, the Federal cavalry came up with the rear, and in the skirmish which ensued fell the brave Pettigrew, who had supported Pickett in the great charge at Gettysburg, where he had waved his hat in front of his men, and, in spite of a painful wound, done all in his power to rally his troops. With this exception, and a few captures resulting from accident, the army sustained no losses. The movement across the Potomac had been effected, in face of the whole Federal army, as successfully as though that army had been a hundred miles distant.[1] [Footnote 1: Upon this point different statements were subsequently made by Generals Lee and Meade, and Lee's reply to the statements of his opponent is here given: HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, _July 21, 1863._ _General S. Cooper, Adjutant and Inspector-General C.S.A., Richmond, Va_.: GENERAL: I have seen in Northern papers what purported to be an official dispatch from General Meade, stating that he had captured a brigade of Infantry, two pieces of artillery, two caissons, and a large number of small-arms, as this army retired to the south bank of the Potomac, on the 13th and 14th inst. This dispatch has been copied into the Richmond papers, and, as its official character may cause it to be believed, I desire to state that it is incorrect. The enemy did not capture any organized body of men on that occasion, but only stragglers, and such as were left asleep on the road, exhausted by the fatigue and exposure of one of the most inclement nights I have ever known at this season of the year. It rained without cessation, rendering the road by which our troops marched to the bridge at Falling Waters very difficult to pass, and causing so much delay that the last of the troops did not cross the river at the bridge until 1 P.M. on the 14th. While the column was thus detained on the road a number of men, worn down by fatigue, lay down in barns, and by the roadside, and though officers were sent back to arouse them, as the troops moved on, the darkness and rain prevented them from finding all, and many were in this way left behind. Two guns were left on the road. The horses that drew them became exhausted, and the officers went forward to procure others. When they returned, the rear of the column had passed the guns so far that it was deemed unsafe to send back for them, and they were thus lost. No arms, cannon, or prisoners, were taken by the enemy in battle, but only such as were left behind under the circumstances I have described. The number of stragglers thus lost I am unable to state with accuracy, but it is greatly exaggerated in the dispatch referred to. I am, with great respect, your obedient servant, R.E. LEE, _General_. The solicitude here exhibited by the Southern commander, that the actual facts should be recorded, is natural, and displayed Lee's spirit of soldiership. He was unwilling that his old army should appear in the light of a routed column, retreating in disorder, with loss of men and munitions, when they lost neither.] XXI. ACROSS THE BLUE RIDGE AGAIN. Lee moved his army to the old encampment on the banks of the Opequan which it had occupied after the retreat from Sharpsburg, in September, 1862, and here a few days were spent in resting. We have, in the journal of a foreign officer, an outline of Lee's personal appearance at this time, and, as we are not diverted from these characteristic details at the moment by the narrative of great events, this account of Lee, given by the officer in question--Colonel Freemantle, of the British Army--is laid before the reader: "General Lee is, almost without exception, the handsomest man of his age I ever saw. He is tall, broad-shouldered, very well made, well set up--a thorough soldier in appearance--and his manners are most courteous, and full of dignity. He is a perfect gentleman in every respect. I imagine no man has so few enemies, or is so universally esteemed. Throughout the South, all agree in pronouncing him as near perfection as man can be. He has none of the small vices, such as smoking, drinking, chewing, or swearing; and his bitterest enemy never accused him of any of the greater ones. He generally wears a well-worn, long gray jacket, a high black-felt hat, and blue trousers, tucked into his Wellington boots. I never saw him carry arms, and the only marks of his military rank are the three stars on his collar. He rides a handsome horse, which is extremely well governed. He himself is very neat in his dress and person, and in the most arduous marches he always looks smart and clean.... It is understood that General Lee is a religious man, though not so demonstrative in that respect as Jackson, and, unlike his late brother-in-arms, he is a member of the Church of England. His only faults, so far as I can learn, arise from his excessive amiability." This personal description is entirely correct, except that the word "jacket" conveys a somewhat erroneous idea of Lee's undress uniform coat, and his hat was generally gray. Otherwise, the sketch is exactly accurate, and is here presented as the unprejudiced description and estimate of a foreign gentleman, who had no inducement, such as might be attributed to a Southern writer, to overcolor his portrait. Such, in personal appearance, was the leader of the Southern army--a plain soldier, in a plain dress, without arms, with slight indications of rank, courteous, full of dignity, a "perfect gentleman," and with no fault save an "excessive amiability." The figure is attractive to the eye--it excited the admiration of a foreign officer, and remains in many memories now, when the sound of battle is hushed, and the great leader, in turn, has finished his life-battle and lain down in peace. The movements of the two armies were soon resumed, and we shall briefly follow those movements, which led the adversaries back to the Rappahannock. Lee appears to have conceived the design, after crossing the Potomac at Williamsport, to pass the Shenandoah River and the Blue Ridge, and thus place himself in the path of General Meade if he crossed east of the mountain, or threaten Washington. This appears from his own statement. "Owing," he says, "to the swollen condition of _the Shenandoah River, the plan of operations which had been contemplated when we recrossed the Potomac could not be put in execution_". The points fixed upon by Lee for passing the mountain were probably Snicker's and Ashby's Gaps, opposite Berryville and Millwood. The rains had, however, made the river, in these places, unfordable. On the 17th and 18th days of July, less than a week after Lee's crossing at Williamsport, General Meade passed the Potomac above Leesburg, and Lee moved his army in the direction of Chester Gap, near Front Royal, toward Culpepper. The new movements were almost identically the same as the old, when General McClellan advanced, in November, 1862, and the adoption of the same plans by General Meade involves a high compliment to his predecessor. He acted with even more energy. As Lee's head of column was defiling toward Chester Gap, beyond Front Royal, General Meade struck at it through Manassas Gap, directly on its flank, and an action followed which promised at one time to become serious. The enemy was, however, repulsed, and the Southern column continued its way across the mountain. The rest of the army followed, and descended into Culpepper, from which position, when Longstreet was detached to the west, Lee retired, taking post behind the Rapidan. General Meade thereupon followed, and occupied Culpepper, his advance being about half-way between Culpepper Court-House and the river. Such was the position of the two armies in the first days of October, when Lee, weary, it seemed, of inactivity, set out to flank and fight his adversary. PART VII. _LAST CAMPAIGNS OF THE YEAR_ 1863. I. THE CAVALRY OF LEE'S ARMY. In a work of the present description, the writer has a choice between two courses. He may either record the events of the war in all quarters of the country, as bearing more or less upon his narrative, or may confine himself to the life of the individual who is the immediate subject of his volume. Of these two courses, the writer prefers the latter for many reasons. To present a narrative of military transactions in all portions of the South would expand this volume to undue proportions; and there is the further objection that these occurrences are familiar to all. It might be necessary, in writing for persons ignorant of the events of the great conflict, to omit nothing; but this ignorance does, not probably exist in the case of the readers of these pages; and the writer will continue, as heretofore, to confine himself to the main subject, only noting incidentally such prominent events in other quarters as affected Lee's movements. One such event was the fall of Vicksburg, which post surrendered at the same moment with the defeat at Gettysburg, rendering thereafter impossible all movements of invasion; and another was the advance of General Rosecrans toward Atlanta, which resulted, in the month of September, in a Southern victory at Chickamauga. The immediate effect of the Federal demonstration toward Chattanooga had been to detach Longstreet's corps from General Lee's army, for service under General Bragg. General Meade's force is said to have also been somewhat lessened by detachments sent to enforce the draft in New York; and these circumstances had, in the first days of October, reduced both armies in Virginia to a less force than they had numbered in the past campaign. General Meade, however, presented a bold front to his adversary, and, with his headquarters near Culpepper Court-House, kept close watch upon Lee, whose army lay along the south bank of the Rapidan. For some weeks no military movements took place, and an occasional cavalry skirmish between the troopers of the two armies was all which broke the monotony of the autumn days. This inactivity, however, was now about to terminate. Lee had resolved to attempt a flank movement around General Meade's right, with the view of bringing him to battle; and a brief campaign ensued, which, if indecisive, and reflecting little glory upon the infantry, was fruitful in romantic incidents and highly creditable to the cavalry of the Southern army. In following the movements, and describing the operations of the main body of the army--the infantry--we have necessarily been compelled to pass over, to a great extent, the services of the cavalry in the past campaign. These had, nevertheless, been great--no arm of the service had exhibited greater efficiency; and, but for the fact that in all armies the brunt of battle falls upon the foot-soldiers, it might be added that the services of the cavalry had been as important as those of the infantry. Stuart was now in command of a force varying from five to eight thousand sabres, and among his troopers were some of the best fighting-men of the South. The cavalry had always been the favorite arm with the Southern youth; it had drawn to itself, as privates in the ranks, thousands of young men of collegiate education, great wealth, and the highest social position; and this force was officered, in Virginia, by such resolute commanders as Wade Hampton, Fitz Lee, William H.F. Lee, Rosser, Jones, Wickham, Young, Munford, and many others. Under these leaders, and assisted by the hard-fighting "Stuart Horse-Artillery" under Pelham and his successors, the cavalry had borne their full share in the hard marches and combats of the army. On the Chickahominy; in the march to Manassas, and the battles in Maryland; in the operations on the Rappahannock, and the incessant fighting of the campaign to Gettysburg, Stuart and his troopers had vindicated their claim to the first honors of arms; and, if these services were not duly estimated by the infantry of the army, the fact was mainly attributable to the circumstance that the fighting of the cavalry had been done at a distance upon the outposts, far more than in the pitched battles, where, in modern times, from the improved and destructive character of artillery, playing havoc with horses, the cavalry arm can achieve little, and is not risked. The actual losses in Stuart's command left, however, no doubt of the obstinate soldiership of officers and men. Since the opening of the year he had lost General Hampton, cut down in a hand-to-hand sabre-fight at Gettysburg; General W.H.F. Lee, shot in the fight at Fleetwood; Colonels Frank Hampton and Williams, killed in the same action; Colonel Butler, torn by a shell; Major Pelham, Chief of Artillery, killed while leading a charge; [Footnote: In this enumeration the writer mentions only such names as occur at the moment to his memory. A careful examination of the records of the cavalry would probably furnish the names of ten times as many, equally brave and unfortunate.] about six officers of his personal staff either killed, wounded, or captured; and in the Gettysburg campaign he had lost nearly one-third of his entire command. Of its value to the army, the infantry might have their doubts, but General Lee had none. Stuart and his horsemen had been the eyes and ears of the Army of Northern Virginia; had fought incessantly as well as observed the enemy; and Lee never committed the injustice of undervaluing this indispensable arm, which, if his official commendation of its operations under Stuart is to be believed, was only second in importance in his estimation to the infantry itself. The army continued, nevertheless, to amuse itself at the expense of the cavalry, and either asserted or intimated, on every favorable occasion, that the _real fighting_ was done by themselves. This flattering assumption might be natural under the circumstances, but it was now about to be shown to be wholly unfounded. A campaign was at hand in which the cavalry were to turn the tables upon their jocose critics, and silence them; where the infantry were doomed to failure in nearly all which they attempted, and the troopers were to do the greater part of the fighting and achieve the only successes. To the narrative of this brief and romantic episode of the war we now proceed. General Lee's aim was to pass around the right flank of his adversary, and bring him to battle; and, although the promptness of General Meade's movements defeated the last-named object nearly completely, the manoeuvres of the two armies form a highly-interesting study. The eminent soldiers commanding the forces played a veritable game of chess with each other. There was little hard fighting, but more scientific manoeuvring than is generally displayed in a campaign. The brains of Lee and Meade, rather than the two armies, were matched against each other; and the conflict of ideas proved more interesting than the actual fighting. II. LEE FLANKS GENERAL MEADE. In prosecution of the plan determined upon, General Lee, on the morning of the 9th of October, crossed the Rapidan at the fords above Orange Court-House, with the corps of Ewell and A.P. Hill, and directed his march toward Madison Court-House. Stuart moved with Hampton's cavalry division on the right of the advancing column--General Fitz Lee having been left with his division to guard the front on the Rapidan--and General Imboden, commanding west of the Blue Ridge, was ordered by Lee to "advance down the Valley, and guard the gaps of the mountains on our left." We have said that Lee's design was to bring General Meade to battle. It is proper to state this distinctly, as some writers have attributed to him in the campaign, as his real object, the design of manoeuvring his adversary out of Culpepper, and pushing him back to the Federal frontier. His own words are perfectly plain. He set out "with the design," he declares, "of _bringing on an engagement with the Federal army_"--that is to say, of _fighting_ General Meade, not simply forcing him to fall back. His opponent, it seems, was not averse to accepting battle; indeed, from expressions attributed to him, he appears to have ardently desired it, in case he could secure an advantageous position for receiving the Southern attack. It is desirable that this readiness in both commanders to fight should be kept in view. The fact adds largely to the interest of this brief "campaign of manoeuvres," in which the army, falling back, like that advancing, sought battle. To proceed to the narrative, which will deal in large measure with the operations of the cavalry--that arm of the service, as we have said, having borne the chief share of the fighting, and achieved the only successes. Stuart moved out on the right of the infantry, which marched directly toward Madison Court-House, and near the village of James City, directly west of Culpepper Court-House, drove in the cavalry and infantry outposts of General Kilpatrick on the main body beyond the village. Continuous skirmishing ensued throughout the rest of the day--Stuart's object being to occupy the enemy, and divert attention from the infantry movement in his rear. In this he seems to have fully succeeded. Lee passed Madison Court-House, and moving, as he says, "by circuitous and concealed roads," reached the vicinity of Griffinsburg, on what is called the Sperryville Road, northwest of Culpepper Court-House. A glance at the map will show the relative positions of the two armies at this moment. General Meade lay around Culpepper Court-House, with his advance about half-way between that place and the Rapidan, and Lee had attained a position which gave him fair hopes of intercepting his adversary's retreat. That retreat must be over the line of the Orange and Alexandria Railroad; but from Griffinsburg to Manassas was no farther than from Culpepper Court-House to the same point. If the Federal army fell back, as Lee anticipated, it would be a question of speed between the retreating and pursuing columns; and, as the narrative will show, the race was close--a few hours lost making the difference between success and failure in Lee's movement. On the morning of the 10th while the infantry were still near Griffinsburg, General Stuart moved promptly down upon Culpepper Court-House, driving the enemy from their large camps near Stonehouse Mountain. These were elaborately provided with luxuries of every description, and there were many indications of the fact that the troops had expected to winter there. No serious fighting occurred. A regiment of infantry was charged and dispersed by the Jefferson Company of Captain Baylor, and Stuart then proceeded rapidly to Culpepper Court-House, where the Federal cavalry, forming the rear-guard of the army, awaited him. General Meade was already moving in the direction of the Rappahannock. The presence of the Southern army near Griffinsburg had become known to him; he was at no loss to understand Lee's object; and, leaving his cavalry to cover his rear, he moved toward the river. As Stuart attacked the Federal horse posted on the hills east of the village, the roar of cannon on his right, steadily drawing nearer, indicated that General Fitz Lee was forcing the enemy in that direction to fall back. Stuart was now in high spirits, and indulged in hearty laughter, although the enemy's shells were bursting around him. "Ride back to General Lee," he said to an officer of his staff, "and tell him we are forcing the enemy back on the Rappahannock, and I think I hear Fitz Lee's guns toward the Rapidan." The officer obeyed, and found General Lee at his headquarters, which consisted of one or two tents, with a battle-flag set up in front, on the highway, near Griffinsburg. He was conversing with General Ewell, and the contrast between the two soldiers was striking. Ewell was thin, cadaverous, and supported himself upon a crutch, for he had not yet recovered from the wound received at Manassas. General Lee, on the contrary, was erect, ruddy, robust, and exhibited indications of health and vigor in every detail of his person. When Stuart's message was delivered to him, he bowed with that grave courtesy which he exhibited alike toward the highest and the lowest soldier in his army, and said: "Thank you. Tell General Stuart to continue to press them back toward the river." He then smiled, and added, with that accent of sedate humor which at times characterized him: "But tell him, too, to spare his horses--to spare his horses. It is not necessary to send so many messages." He turned as he spoke to General Ewell, and, pointing to the officer who had come from Stuart, and another who had arrived just before him, said, with lurking humor: "I think these two young gentlemen make _eight_ messengers sent me by General Stuart!" He then said to Ewell: "You may as well move on with your troops, I suppose, general;" and soon afterward the infantry began to advance. Stuart was meanwhile engaged in an obstinate combat with the Federal cavalry near Brandy, in the immediate vicinity of Fleetwood Hill, the scene of the great fight in June. The stand made by the enemy was resolute, but the arrival of General Fitz Lee decided the event. That officer had crossed the Rapidan and driven General Buford before him. The result now was that, while Stuart was pressing the enemy in his front, General Buford came down on Stuart's rear, and Fitz Lee on the rear of Buford. The scene which ensued was a grand commingling of the tragic and serio-comic. Every thing was mingled in wild confusion, but the day remained with the Southern cavalry, who, at nightfall, had pressed their opponents back toward the river, which the Federal army crossed that night, blowing up the railroad bridge behind them. Such was the first act of the bustling drama. At the approach of Lee, General Meade had vanished from Culpepper, and so well arranged was the whole movement, in spite of its rapidity, that scarce an empty box was left behind. Lee's aim to bring his adversary to battle south of the Rappahannock had thus failed; but the attempt was renewed by a continuation of the flanking movement toward Warrenton Springs, "with the design," Lee says, "of reaching the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, north of the river, and interrupting the retreat of the enemy." Unfortunately, however, for this project, which required of all things rapidity of movement, it was found necessary to remain nearly all day on the 11th near Culpepper Court-House, to supply the army with provisions. It was not until the 12th that the army again moved. Stuart preceded it, and after a brisk skirmish drove the enemy from Warrenton Springs--advancing in person in front of his column as it charged through the river and up the hill beyond, where a considerable body of Federal marksmen were put to flight. The cavalry then pressed on toward Warrenton, and the infantry, who had witnessed their prowess and cheered them heartily, followed on the same road. The race between Lee and General Meade was in full progress. It was destined to become complicated, and an error committed by General Meade came very near exposing him to serious danger. It appears that, after retreating across the Rappahannock, the Federal commander began to entertain doubt whether the movement had not been hasty, and would not justly subject him to the charge of yielding to sudden panic. Influenced apparently by this sentiment, he now ordered three corps of the Federal army, with a division of cavalry, back to Culpepper; and this, the main body, accordingly crossed back, leaving but one corps north of the river. Such was now the very peculiar situation of the two armies. General Lee was moving steadily in the direction of Warrenton to cut off his adversary from Manassas, and that adversary was moving back into Culpepper to hunt up Lee there. The comedy of errors was soon terminated, but not so soon as it otherwise would have been but for a _ruse de guerre_ played by Generals Rosser and Young. General Rosser had been left by Stuart near Brandy, with about two hundred horsemen and one gun; and, when the three infantry corps and the cavalry division of General Meade moved forward from the river, they encountered this obstacle. Insignificant as was his force. General Rosser so manoeuvred it as to produce the impression that it was considerable; and, though forced, of course, to fall back, he did so fighting at every step. Assistance reached him just at dusk in the shape of a brigade of cavalry, from above the court-house under General Young, the same officer whose charge at the Fleetwood fight had had so important a bearing upon the result there. Young now formed line with his men dismounted, and, advancing with a confident air, opened fire upon the Federal army. The darkness proved friendly, and, taking advantage of it, General Young kindled fires along a front of more than a mile, ordered his band to play, and must have caused the enemy to doubt whether Lee was not still in large force near Culpepper Court-House. They accordingly went into camp to await the return of daylight, when at midnight a fast-riding courier came with orders from General Meade. These orders were urgent, and directed the Federal troops to recross the river with all haste. General Lee, it was now ascertained, had left an insignificant force in Culpepper, and, with nearly his whole army, was moving rapidly toward Warrenton to cut off his adversary. III. A RACE BETWEEN TWO ARMIES. The game of hide-and-seek--to change the figure--was now in full progress, and nothing more dramatic could be conceived of than the relative positions of the two armies. At midnight, on Monday, October 12th, Lee's army was near Warrenton Springs, ready to advance in the morning upon Warrenton, while three of the four corps under General Meade were half-way between the Rappahannock and Culpepper Court-House, expecting battle there. Thus a choice of two courses was presented to the Federal commander: to order back his main force, and rapidly retreat toward Manassas, or move the Fourth Corps to support it, and place his whole army directly in Lee's rear. The occasion demanded instant decision. Every hour now counted. But, unfortunately for General Meade, he was still in the dark as to the actual amount of Lee's force in Culpepper. The movement toward Warrenton might be a mere _ruse_. The great master of the art of war to whom he was opposed might have laid this trap for him--have counted upon his falling into the snare--and, while a portion of the Southern force was engaged in Culpepper, might design an attack with the rest upon the Federal right flank or rear. In fact, the situation of affairs was so anomalous and puzzling that Lee might design almost any thing, and succeed in crushing his adversary. The real state of the case was, that Lee designed nothing of this description, having had no intimation whatever of General Meade's new movement back toward Culpepper. He was advancing toward Warrenton, under the impression that his adversary was retreating, and aimed to come up with him somewhere near that place and bring him to battle. Upon this theory his opponent now acted by promptly ordering back his three corps to the north bank of the Rappahannock. They began to march soon after midnight; recrossed the river near the railroad; and on the morning of the 13th hastened forward by rapid marches to pass the dangerous point near Warrenton, toward which Lee was also moving with his infantry. In this race every advantage seemed to be on the side of Lee. The three Federal corps had fully twice as far to march as the Southern forces. Lee was concentrating near Warrenton, while they were far in the rear; and, if the Confederates moved with only half the rapidity of their adversaries, they were certain to intercept them, and compel them either to surrender or cut their way through. These comments--tedious, perhaps--are necessary to the comprehension of the singular "situation." We proceed now with the narrative. Stuart had pushed on past Warrenton with his cavalry, toward the Orange Railroad, when, on the night of the 13th, he met with one of those adventures which were thickly strewed throughout his romantic career. He was near Auburn, just at nightfall, when, as his rear-guard closed up, information reached him from that quarter that the Federal army was passing directly in his rear. Nearly at the same moment intelligence arrived that another column of the enemy, consisting, like the first, of infantry, cavalry, and artillery, was moving across his front. Stuart was now in an actual trap, and his situation was perilous in the extreme. He was enclosed between two moving walls of enemies, and, if discovered, his fate seemed sealed. But one course was left him: to preserve, if possible, complete silence in his command; to lie _perdu_ in the wood, and await the occurrence of some fortunate event to extricate him from his highly-embarrassing situation. He accordingly issued stringent orders to the men that no noise of any description should be made, and not a word be uttered; and there was little necessity to repeat this command. The troopers remained silent and motionless in the saddle throughout the night, ready at any instant to move at the order; and thus passed the long hours of darkness--the Southern horsemen as silent as phantoms; the Federal columns passing rapidly, with the roll of artillery-wheels, the tramp of cavalry-horses, and the shuffling sound of feet, on both sides of the command--the column moving in rear of Stuart being distant but two or three hundred yards. This romantic incident was destined to terminate fortunately for Stuart, who, having dispatched scouts to steal through the Federal column, and announce his situation to General Lee, prepared to seize upon the first opportunity to release his command from its imminent peril. The opportunity came at dawn. The Federal rear, under General Caldwell, had bivouacked near, and had just kindled fires to cook their breakfast, when, from the valley beneath the hill on which the troops had halted, Stuart opened suddenly upon them with his Horse-Artillery, and, as he says in his report, knocked over coffee-pots and other utensils at the moment when the men least expected it. He then advanced his sharp-shooters and directed a rapid fire upon the disordered troops; and, under cover of this fire, wheeled to the left and emerged safely toward Warrenton. The army greeted him with cheers, and he was himself in the highest spirits. He had certainly good reason for this joy, for he had just grazed destruction. As Stuart's artillery opened, the sound was taken up toward Warrenton, where Ewell, in obedience to Lee's orders, had attacked the Federal column. Nothing resulted, however, from this assault: General Meade had concentrated his army, and was hastening toward Manassas. All now depended again upon the celerity of Lee's movements in pursuit. He had lost many hours at Warrenton, where "another halt was made," he says, "to supply the troops with provisions." Thus, on the morning of the 14th he was as far from intercepting General Meade as before; and all now depended upon the movements of Hill, who, while Ewell moved toward Greenwich, had been sent by way of New Baltimore to come in on the Federal line of retreat at Bristoe Station, near Manassas. In spite, however, of his excellent soldiership and habitual promptness, Hill did not arrive in time. He made the détour prescribed by Lee, passed New Baltimore, and hastened on toward Bristoe, where, on approaching that point, he found only the rear-guard of the Federal army--the whole force, with this exception, having crossed Broad Run, and hastened on toward Manassas. Hill's arrival had thus been tardy: it would have been fortunate for him if he had not arrived at all. Seeing the Federal column under General Warren hastening along the railroad to pass Broad Run, he ordered a prompt attack, and Cooke's brigade led the charge. The result was unfortunate for the Confederates. General Warren, seeing his peril, had promptly disposed his line behind the railroad embankment at the spot, where, protected by this impromptu breastwork, the men rested their guns upon the iron rails and poured a destructive fire upon the Southerners rushing down the open slope in front. By this fire General Cooke was severely wounded and fell, and his brigade lost a considerable part of its numbers. Before a new attack could be made, General Warren hastily withdrew, carrying off with him in triumph a number of prisoners, and five pieces of artillery, captured on the banks of the run. Before his retreat could be again interrupted, he was safe on the opposite side of the stream, and lost no time in hurrying forward to join the main body, which was retreating on Centreville. General Meade had thus completely foiled his adversary. Lee had set out with the intention of bringing the Federal commander to battle; had not succeeded in doing so, owing to the rapidity of his retreat; had come up only with his rear-guard, under circumstances which seemed to seal the fate of that detached force, and the small rear-guard had repulsed him completely, capturing prisoners and artillery from him, and retiring in triumph. Such had been the issue of the campaign; all the success had been on the side of General Meade. He is said to have declared that "it was like pulling out his eye-teeth not to have had a fight;" but something resembling _bona-fide_ fighting had occurred on the banks of Broad Run, and the victory was clearly on the side of the Federal troops. To turn to General Lee, it would be an interesting question to discuss whether he really desired to _intercept_ General Meade, if there were any data upon which to base a decision. The writer hazards the observation that it seems doubtful whether this was Lee's intention. He had a high opinion of General Meade, and is said to have declared of that commander, that he "gave him" (Lee) "as much trouble as any of them." Lee was thus opposed to a soldier whose ability he respected, and it appears doubtful whether he desired to move so rapidly as to expose his own communications to interruption by his adversary. This view seems to derive support from the apparently unnecessary delays at Culpepper Court-House and Warrenton. There was certainly no good reason why, under ordinary circumstances, an army so accustomed to rapid marches as the Army of Northern Virginia should not have been able to reach Warrenton from the neighborhood of Culpepper Court-House in less than _four days._ "We were _compelled_ to halt," Lee writes of the delay at Culpepper; but of that at Warrenton he simply says, "Another halt was made." Whether these views have, or have not foundation, the reader must judge. We shall aim, in a few pages, to conclude our account of this interesting campaign. IV. THE FIGHT AT BUCKLAND. Lee rode forward to the field upon which General Hill had sustained his bloody repulse, and Hill--depressed and mortified at the mishap--endeavored to explain the _contretemps_ and vindicate himself from censure. Lee is said to have listened in silence, as they rode among the dead bodies, and to have at length replied, gravely and sadly: "Well, well, general, bury these poor men, and let us say no more about it." He had issued orders that the troops should cease the pursuit, and riding on the next morning, with General Stuart, to the summit of a hill overlooking Broad Run, dismounted, and held a brief conversation with the commander of his cavalry, looking intently, as he spoke, in the direction of Manassas. His demeanor was that of a person who is far from pleased with the course of events, and the word _glum_ best describes his expression. The safe retreat of General Meade, with the heavy blow struck by him in retiring, was indeed enough to account for this ill-humor. The campaign was altogether a failure, since General Meade's position at Centreville was unassailable; and, if he were only driven therefrom, he had but to retire to the defences at Washington. Lee accordingly gave Stuart directions to follow up the enemy in the direction of Centreville, and, ordering the Orange and Alexandria Railroad to be torn up back to the Rappahannock, put his infantry in motion, and marched back toward Culpepper. We shall now briefly follow the movements of the cavalry. Stuart advanced to Manassas, following up the Federal rear, and hastening their retreat across Bull Run beyond. He then left Fitz Lee's division near Manassas in the Federal front, and moving, with Hampton's division, to the left toward Groveton, passed the Little Catharpin, proceeded thence through the beautiful autumn forest toward Frying Pan, and there found and attacked, with his command dismounted and acting as sharp-shooters, the Second Corps of the Federal army. This sudden appearance of Southern troops on the flank of Centreville, is said to have caused great excitement there, as it was not known that the force was not General Lee's army. The fact was soon apparent, however, that it was merely a cavalry attack. The Federal infantry advanced, whereupon Stuart retired; and the adventurous Southern horsemen moved back in the direction of Warrenton. They were not to rejoin Lee's army, however, before a final conflict with the Federal cavalry; and the circumstances of this conflict were as dramatic and picturesque as the _ruse de guerre_ of Young in Culpepper, and the midnight adventure of Stuart near Auburn. The bold assault on the Second Corps seemed to have excited the ire of the Federal commander, and he promptly sent forward a considerable body of his cavalry, under General Kilpatrick, to pursue Stuart, and if possible come up with and defeat him. Stuart was near the village of Buckland, on the road to Warrenton, when intelligence of the approach of the Federal cavalry reached him. The movement which followed was suggested by General Fitz Lee. He proposed that Stuart should retire toward Warrenton with Hampton's division, while he, with his own division, remained on the enemy's left flank. Then, at a given signal, Stuart was to face about; he, General Fitz Lee, would attack them in flank; when their rout would probably ensue. This plan was carried out to the letter. General Kilpatrick, who seems to have been confident of his ability to drive Stuart before him, pressed forward on the Warrenton road, closely following up his adversary, when the sudden boom of artillery from General Fitz Lee gave the signal. Stuart wheeled at the signal, and made a headlong charge upon his pursuers. Fitz Lee came in at the same moment and attacked them in flank; and the result was that General Kilpatrick's entire command was routed, and retreated in confusion, Stuart pursuing, as he wrote, "from within three miles of Warrenton to Buckland, the horses at full speed the whole distance." So terminated an incident afterward known among the troopers of Stuart by the jocose title of "The Buckland Races," and the Southern cavalry retired without further molestation behind the Rappahannock. The coöperation of General Imboden in the campaign should not be passed over. That officer, whose special duty had been to guard the gaps in the Blue Ridge, advanced from Berryville to Charlestown, attacked the Federal garrison at the latter place, drove them in disorder toward Harper's Ferry, and carried back with him four or five hundred prisoners. The enemy followed him closely, and he was forced to fight them off at every step. He succeeded, however, in returning in safety, having performed more than the duty expected of him. Lee was now behind the Rappahannock, and it remained to be seen what course General Meade would pursue--whether he would remain near Centreville, or strive to regain his lost ground. All doubt was soon terminated by the approach of the Federal army, which, marching from Centreville on October 19th, and repairing the railroad as it advanced, reached the Rappahannock on the 7th of November. Lee's army at this time was in camp toward Culpepper Court-House, with advanced forces in front of Kelly's Ford and the railroad bridge. General Meade acted with vigor. On his arrival he promptly sent a force across at Kelly's Ford; the Southern troops occupying the rifle-pits there were driven off, with the loss of many prisoners; and an attack near the railroad bridge had still more unfortunate results for General Lee. A portion of Early's division had been posted in the abandoned Federal works, on the north bank at this point, and these were now attacked, and, after a fierce resistance, completely routed. Nearly the whole command was captured--the remnant barely escaping--and, the way having thus been cleared, General Meade threw his army across into Culpepper. General Lee retired before him with a heavy heart and a deep melancholy, which, in spite of his great control over himself, was visible in his countenance. The infantry-fighting of the campaign had begun, and ended in disaster for him. In the thirty days he had lost at least two thousand men, and was back again in his old camps, having achieved absolutely nothing. V. THE ADVANCE TO MINE RUN. November of the bloody year 1863 had come; and it seemed not unreasonable to anticipate that a twelvemonth, marked by such incessant fighting at Chancellorsville, Fredericksburg, Salem Church, Winchester, Gettysburg, Front Royal, Bristoe, and along the Rappahannock, would now terminate in peace, permitting the combatants on both sides, worn out by their arduous work, to go into winter-quarters, and recuperate their energies for the operations of the ensuing spring. But General Meade had otherwise determined. He had resolved to try a last advance, in spite of the inclement weather; and Lee's anticipations of a season of rest and refreshment for his troops, undisturbed by hostile demonstrations on the part of the enemy, were destined speedily to be disappointed. The Southern army had gone regularly into winter-quarters, south of the Rapidan, and the men were felicitating themselves upon the prospect of an uninterrupted season of leisure and enjoyment in their rude cabins, built in sheltered nooks, or under their breadths of canvas raised upon logs, and fitted with rough but comfortable chimneys, built of notched pine-saplings, when suddenly intelligence was brought by scouts that the Federal army was in motion. The fact reversed all their hopes of rest, and song, and laughter, by the good log-fires. The musket was taken from its place on the rude walls, the cartridge-box assumed, and the army was once more ready for battle--as gay, hopeful, and resolved, as in the first days of spring. General Meade had, indeed, resolved that the year should not end without another blow at his adversary, and the brief campaign, known as the "Advance to Mine Run," followed. It was the least favorable of all seasons for active operations; but the Federal commander is vindicated from the charge of bad soldiership by two circumstances which very properly had great weight with him. The first was, the extreme impatience of the Northern authorities and people at the small results of the bloody fighting of the year. Gettysburg had seemed to them a complete defeat of Lee, since he had retreated thereafter without loss of time to Virginia; and yet three months afterward the defeated commander had advanced upon and forced back his victorious adversary. That such should be the result of the year's campaigning seemed absurd to the North. A clamorous appeal was made to the authorities to order another advance; and this general sentiment is said to have been shared by General Meade, who had declared himself bitterly disappointed at missing a battle with Lee in October. A stronger argument in favor of active operations lay in the situation, at the moment, of the Southern army. Lee, anticipating no further fighting during the remainder of the year, opposed the enemy on the Rapidan with only one of his two corps--that of Ewell; while the other--that of Hill--was thrown back, in detached divisions, at various points on the Orange and the Virginia Central Railroads, for the purpose of subsistence during the winter. This fact, becoming known to General Meade, dictated, it is said, his plan of operations. An advance seemed to promise, from the position of the Southern forces, a decisive success. Ewell's right extended no farther than Morton's Ford, on the Rapidan, and thus the various fords down to Chancellorsville were open. If General Meade could cross suddenly, and by a rapid march interpose between Ewell and the scattered divisions of Hill far in rear, it appeared not unreasonable to conclude that Lee's army would be completely disrupted, and that the two corps, one after another, might be crushed by the Federal army. This plan, which is given on the authority of Northern writers, exhibited good soldiership, and, if Lee were to be caught unawares, promised to succeed. Without further comment we shall now proceed to the narrative of this brief movement, which, indecisive as it was in its results, was not uninteresting, and may prove as attractive to the military student as other operations more imposing and accompanied by bloodier fighting. General Meade began to move toward the Rapidan on November 26th, and every exertion was made by him to advance with such secrecy and rapidity as to give him the advantage of a surprise. In this, however, he was disappointed. No sooner had his orders been issued, and the correspondent movements begun, than the accomplished scouts of Stuart hurried across the Rapidan with the intelligence. Stuart, whose headquarters were in a hollow of the hills near Orange, and not far from General Lee's, promptly communicated in person to the commander-in-chief this important information, and Lee dispatched immediately an order to General A.P. Hill, in rear, to march at once and form a junction with Ewell in the vicinity of Verdierville. The latter officer was directed to retire from his advanced position upon the Rapidan, which exposed him to an attack on his right flank and rear, and to fall back and take post behind the small stream called Mine Run. In following with a critical eye the operations of General Lee, the military student must be struck particularly by one circumstance, that in all his movements he seemed to proceed less according to the nice technicalities of the art of war, than in accordance with the dictates of a broad and comprehensive good sense. It may be said that, in choosing position, he always chose the right and never the wrong one; and the choice of Mine Run now as a defensive line was a proof of this. The run is a small water-course which, rising south of the great highway between Orange and Chancellorsville, flows due northward amid woods and between hills to the Rapidan, into which it empties itself a few miles above Germanna, General Meade's main place of crossing. This stream is the natural defence of the right flank of an army posted between Orange and the Rapidan. It is also the natural and obvious line upon which to receive the attack of a force marching from below toward Gordonsville. Behind Mine Run, therefore, just east of the little village of Verdierville, General Lee directed his two corps to concentrate; and at the word, the men, lounging but now carelessly in winter-quarters, sprung to arms, "fell in," and with burnished muskets took up the line of march. We have spoken of the promptness with which the movement was made, and it may almost be said that General Meade had scarcely broken up his camps north of the Rapidan, when Lee was in motion to go and meet him. On the night of the 26th, Stuart, whose cavalry was posted opposite the lower fords, pushed forward in person, and bivouacked under some pines just below Verdierville; and before daylight General Lee was also in the saddle, and at sunrise had reached the same point. The night had been severely cold, for winter had set in in earnest; but General Lee, always robust and careless of weather, walked down, without wrapping, and wearing only his plain gray uniform, to Stuart's _impromptu_ headquarters under the pines, where, beside a great fire, and without other covering than his army-blanket, the commander of the cavalry had slept since midnight. As Lee approached, Stuart came forward, and Lee said, admiringly, "What a hardy soldier!" They consulted, Stuart walking back with General Lee, and receiving his orders. He then promptly mounted, and hastened to the front, where, taking command of his cavalry, he formed it in front of the advancing enemy, and with artillery and dismounted sharp-shooters, offered every possible impediment to their advance. General Meade made the passage of the Rapidan without difficulty; and, as his expedition was unencumbered with wagons, advanced rapidly. The only serious obstruction to his march was made by Johnson's division of Ewell's corps, which had been thrown out beyond the run, toward the river. Upon this force the Federal Third Corps, under General French, suddenly blundered, by taking the wrong road, it is said, and an active engagement followed, which resulted in favor of the Southerners. The verdict of Lee's troops afterward was, that the enemy fought badly; but General French probably desired nothing better than to shake off this hornets'-nest into which he had stumbled, and to reach, in the time prescribed by General Meade, the point of Federal concentration near Robertson's Tavern. Toward that point the Northern forces now converged from the various crossings of the river; and Stuart continued to reconnoitre and feel them along the entire front, fighting obstinately, and falling back only when compelled to do so. Every step was thus contested with sharp-shooters and the Horse-Artillery, from far below to above New-Hope Church. The Federal infantry, however, continued steadily to press forward, forcing back the cavalry, and on the 27th General Meade was in face of Mine Run. Lee was ready. Hill had promptly marched, and his corps was coming into position on the right of Ewell. Receiving intelligence of the enemy's movement only upon the preceding day, Lee had seemed to move the divisions of Hill, far back toward Charlottesville, as by the wave of his hand. The army was concentrated; the line of defence occupied; and General Meade's attempt to surprise his adversary, by interposing between his widely-separated wings, had resulted in decisive failure. If he fought now, the battle must be one of army against army; and, what was worst of all, it was Lee who held all the advantages of position. We have spoken of Mine Run: it is a strong defensive position, on its right bank and on its left. Flowing generally between hills, and with densely-wooded banks, it is difficult to cross from either side in face of an opposing force; and it was Lee's good fortune to occupy the attitude of the party to be assailed. He seemed to feel that he had nothing to fear, and was in excellent spirits, as were the men; an eye-witness describes them as "gay, lively, laughing, magnificent." In front of his left wing he had already erected works; his centre and right were as yet undefended, but the task of strengthening the line at these points was rapidly prosecuted. Lee superintended in person the establishment of his order of battle, and it was plain to those who saw him thus engaged that the department of military engineering was a favorite one with him. Riding along the western bank of the water-course, a large part of which was densely clothed in oak, chestnut, and hickory, he selected, with the quick eye of the trained engineer, the best position for his line--promptly moved it when it had been established on bad ground--pointed out the positions for artillery; and, as he thus rode slowly along, the works which he had directed seemed to spring up behind him as though by magic. As the troops of Hill came up and halted in the wood, the men seized axes, attacked the large trees, which soon fell in every direction, and the heavy logs were dragged without loss of time to the prescribed line, where they were piled upon each other in double walls, which were filled in rapidly with earth; and thus, in an inconceivably short space of time the men had defences breast-high which would turn a cannon-shot. In front, for some distance, too, the timber had been felled and an _abatis_ thus formed. A few hours after the arrival of the troops on the line marked out by Lee, they were rooted behind excellent breastworks, with forest, stream, and _abatis_ in front, to delay the assailing force under the fire of small-arms and cannon. This account of the movements of the army, and the preparations made to receive General Meade's attack, may appear of undue length and minuteness of detail, in view of the fact that no battle ensued. But the volume before the reader is not so much a history of the battles of Virginia, which have often been described, as an attempt to delineate the military and personal character of General Lee, which displayed itself often more strikingly in indecisive events than in those whose results attract the attention of the world. It was the vigorous brain, indeed, of the great soldier, that made events indecisive--warding off, by military acumen and ability, the disaster with which he was threatened. At Mine Run, Lee's quick eye for position, and masterly handling of his forces, completely checkmated an adversary who had advanced to deliver decisive battle. With felled trees, breastworks, and a crawling stream, Lee reversed all the calculations of the commander of the Federal army. From the 27th of November to the night of the 1st of December, General Meade moved to and fro in front of the formidable works of his adversary, feeling them with skirmishers and artillery, and essaying vainly to find some joint in the armor through which to pierce. There was none. Lee had inaugurated that great system of breastworks which afterward did him such good service in his long campaign with General Grant. A feature of the military art unknown to Jomini had thus its birth in the woods of America; and this fact, if there were naught else of interest in the campaign, would communicate to the Mine-Run affair the utmost interest. General Meade, it seems, was bitterly opposed to foregoing an attack. In spite of the powerful position of his adversary, he ordered an assault, it is said; but this did not take place, in consequence, it would appear, of the reluctance of General Warren to charge the Confederate right. This seemed so strong that the men considered it hopeless. When the order was communicated to them, each one wrote his name on a scrap of paper and pinned it to his breast, that his corpse might be recognized, and, if possible, conveyed to his friends. This was ominous of failure: General Warren suspended the attack; and General Meade, it is said, acquiesced in his decision. He declared, it is related, that he could carry the position _with a loss of thirty thousand men_; but, as that idea was frightful, there seemed nothing to do but retreat. Lee seemed to realize the embarrassment of his adversary, and was in excellent heart throughout the whole affair. Riding to and fro along his line among his "merry men"--and they had never appeared in finer spirits, or with greater confidence in their commander--he addressed encouraging words to them, exposed himself with entire indifference to the shelling, and seemed perfectly confident of the result. It was on this occasion that, finding a party of his ragged soldiers devoutly kneeling in one of the little glades behind the breastworks, and holding a praying-meeting in the midst of bursting shells, he dismounted, took off his hat, and remained silently and devoutly listening until the earnest prayer was concluded. A great revival was then going on in the army, and thousands were becoming professors of religion. The fact may seem strange to those who have regarded Lee as only a West-Pointer and soldier, looking, like all soldiers, to military success; but the religious enthusiasm of his men in this autumn of 1863 probably gave him greater joy than any successes achieved over his Federal adversary. Those who saw him on the lines at Mine Run will remember the composed satisfaction of his countenance. An eye-witness recalls his mild face, as he rode along, accompanied by "Hill, in his drooping hat, simple and cordial; Early, laughing; Ewell, pale and haggard, but with a smile _de bon coeur_" [Footnote: Journal of a staff-officer.] He was thus attended, sitting his horse upon a hill near the left of his line, when a staff officer rode up and informed him that the enemy were making a heavy demonstration against his extreme right. "Infantry or cavalry?" he asked, with great calmness. "Infantry, I think, general, from the appearance of the guns. General Wilcox thinks so, and has sent a regiment of sharp-shooters to meet them." "Who commands the regiment?" asked General Lee; and it was to introduce this question that this trifle has been mentioned. Lee knew his army man by man almost, and could judge of the probable result of the movement here announced to him by the name of the officer in command. Finding that General Meade would not probably venture to assail him. Lee determined, on the night of December 1st, to attack his adversary on the next morning. His mildness on this night yielded to soldierly ardor, and he exclaimed: "They must be attacked! they must be attacked!" His plan is said to have contemplated a movement of his right wing against the Federal left flank, for which the ground afforded great advantages. All was ready for such a movement, and the orders are said to have been issued, when, as the dawn broke over the hills, the Federal camps were seen to be deserted. General Meade had abandoned his campaign, and was in full retreat toward the Rapidan. The army immediately moved in pursuit, with Lee leading the column. The disappearance of the enemy was an astounding event to them, and they could scarcely realize it. An entertaining illustration of this fact is found in the journal of a staff-officer, who was sent with an order to General Hampton. "In looking for him," says the writer, "I got far to our right, and in a hollow of the woods found a grand guard of the Eleventh Cavalry, with pickets and videttes out, gravely sitting their horses, and watching the wood-roads for the advance of an enemy who was then retreating across Ely's Ford!" Stuart was pressing their rear with his cavalry, while the infantry were steadily advancing. But the pursuit was vain. General Meade had disappeared like a phantom, and was beyond pursuit, to the extreme regret and disappointment of General Lee, who halted his troops, in great discouragement, at Parker's Store. "Tell General Stuart," he said, with an air of deep melancholy, to an officer whom he saw passing, "that I had received his dispatch when he turned into the Brock Road, and have halted my infantry here, not wishing to march them unnecessarily." Even at that early hour all chance of effective pursuit was lost. General Meade, without wagons, and not even with the weight of the rations brought over, which the men had consumed, had moved with the rapidity of cavalry, and was already crossing the river far below. He was afterward asked by a gentleman of Culpepper whether in crossing the Rapidan he designed a real advance. "Certainly," he is reported by the gentleman in question to have replied, "I meant to go to Richmond if I could, but Lee's position was so strong that to storm it would have cost me thirty thousand men. I could not remain without a battle--the weather was so cold that my sentinels froze to death on post." The pursuit was speedily abandoned by General Lee as entirely impracticable, and the men were marched back between the burning woods, set on fire by the Federal campfires. The spectacle was imposing--the numerous fires, burning outerward in the carpet of thick leaves, formed picturesque rings of flame resembling brilliant necklaces; and, as the flames reached the tall trees, wrapped to the summit in dry vines, these would blaze aloft like gigantic torches--true "torches of war"--let fall by the Federal commander in his hasty retrograde. Twenty-four hours afterward the larger part of General Lee's army were back in their winter-quarters. In less than a week the Mine-Run campaign had begun and ended. The movement of General Meade might have been compared to that of the King of France and his forty thousand men in the song; but the campaign was not ill devised, was rather the dictate of sound military judgment. All that defeated it was the extreme promptness of Lee, the excellent choice of position, and the beginning of that great system of impromptu breastworks which afterward became so powerful an engine against General Grant. VI. LEE IN THE AUTUMN AND WINTER OF 1863. General Lee's headquarters remained, throughout the autumn and winter of 1863, in a wood on the southern slope of the spur called Clarke's Mountain, a few miles east of Orange Court-House. Here his tents had been pitched, in a cleared space amid pines and cedars; and the ingenuity of the "couriers," as messengers and orderlies were called in the Southern army, had fashioned alleys and walks leading to the various tents, the tent of the commanding general occupying the centre. Of the gentlemen of General Lee's staff we have not considered it necessary to speak; but it may here be said that it was composed of officers of great efficiency and of the most courteous manners, from Colonel Taylor, the indefatigable adjutant-general, to the youngest and least prominent member of the friendly group. Among these able assistants of the commander-in-chief were Colonel Marshall, of Maryland, a gentleman of distinguished intellect; Colonel Peyton, who had entered the battle of Manassas as a private in the ranks, but, on the evening of that day, for courage and efficiency, occupied the place of a commissioned officer on Beauregard's staff; and others whose names were comparatively unknown to the army, but whose part in the conduct of affairs, under direction of Lee, was most important. With the gentlemen of his staff General Lee lived on terms of the most kindly regard. He was a strict disciplinarian, and abhorred the theory that a commissioned officer, from considerations of rank, should hold himself above the private soldiers; but there was certainly no fault of this description to be found at army headquarters, and the general and his staff worked together in harmonious coöperation. The respect felt for him by gentlemen who saw him at all hours, and under none of the guise of ceremony, was probably greater than that experienced by the community who looked upon him from a distance. That distant perspective, hiding little weaknesses, and revealing only the great proportions of a human being, is said to be essential generally to the heroic sublime. No man, it has been said, can be great to those always near him; but in the case of General Lee this was far from being the fact. He seemed greater and nobler, day by day, as he was better and more intimately known; and upon this point we shall quote the words of the brave John B. Gordon, one of his most trusted lieutenants: "It has been my fortune in life," says General Gordon, "from circumstances, to have come in contact with some whom the world pronounced great--some of the earth's celebrated and distinguished; but I declare it here to-day, that of any mortal man whom it has ever been my privilege to approach, he was the greatest; and I assert here, that, _grand as might be your conception of the man before, he arose in incomparable majesty on more familiar acquaintance_. This can be affirmed of few men who have ever lived or died, and of no other man whom it has ever been my fortune to approach. Like Niagara, the more you gazed, the more its grandeur grew upon you, the more its majesty expanded and filled your spirit with a full satisfaction that left a perfect delight without the slightest feeling of oppression. Grandly majestic and dignified in all his deportment, he was genial as the sunlight of this beautiful day; and not a ray of that cordial social intercourse but brought warmth to the heart as it did light to the understanding." Upon this point, General Breckinridge, too, bears his testimony: "During the last year of that unfortunate struggle," he says, "it was my good fortune to spend a great deal of time with him. I was almost constantly by his side, and it was during the two months immediately preceding the fall of Richmond that I came to know and fully understand the true nobility of his character. In all those long vigils, he was considerate and kind, gentle, firm, and self-poised. I can give no better idea of the impression it made upon me, than to say it inspired me with an ardent love of the man and a profound veneration of his character. It was so massive and noble, so grand in its proportions, that all men must admire its heroism and gallantry, yet so gentle and tender that a woman might adopt and claim it as her own." We beg the reader to observe that in these two tributes to the worth of the great soldier, his distinguished associates dwell with peculiar emphasis upon the charms of private intercourse with him, and bear their testimony to the fact that to know him better was to love and admire him more and more. The fact is easily explained. There was in this human being's character naught that was insincere, assumed, or pretentious. It was a great and massive soul--as gentle, too, and tender, as a woman's or a child's--that lay beneath the reserved exterior, and made the soldier more beloved as its qualities were better known. Other men reveal their weaknesses on nearer acquaintance--Lee only revealed his greatness; and he was more and more loved and admired. The justice of these comments will be recognized by all who had personal intercourse with the illustrious soldier; and, in this autumn and winter of 1863, his army, lying around him along the Rapidan, began to form that more intimate acquaintance which uniformly resulted in profound admiration for the man. In the great campaigns of the two past years the gray soldier had shared their hardships, and never relaxed his fatherly care for all their wants; he had led them in battle, exposing his own person with entire indifference; had never exposed _them_ when it was possible to avoid it; and on every occasion had demanded, often with disagreeable persistence from the civil authorities, that the wants of his veterans should be supplied if all else was neglected. These facts were now known to the troops, and made Lee immensely popular. From the highest officers to the humblest private soldiers he was universally respected and beloved. The whole army seemed to feel that, in the plainly-clad soldier, sleeping, like themselves, under canvas, in the woods of Orange, they had a guiding and protecting head, ever studious of their well-being, jealous of their hard-earned fame, and ready, both as friend and commander, to represent them and claim their due. We have spoken of the great revival of religion which at this time took place in the army. The touching spectacle was presented of bearded veterans, who had charged in a score of combats, kneeling devoutly under the rustic roofs of evergreens, built for religious gatherings, and praying to the God of battles who had so long protected them. A commander-in-chief of the old European school might have ridiculed these emotional assemblages, or, at best, passed them without notice, as freaks in which he disdained to take part. Lee, on the contrary, greeted the religious enthusiasm of his troops with undisguised pleasure. He went among them, conversed with the chaplains, assisted the good work by every means in his power; and no ordained minister of the Gospel could have exhibited a simpler, sincerer, or more heartfelt delight than himself at the general extension of religious feeling throughout the army. We have related how, in talking with army-chaplains, his cheeks flushed and his eyes filled with tears at the good tidings. He begged them to pray for him too, as no less needing their pious intercession; and in making the request he was, as always, simple and sincere. Unaccustomed to exhibit his feelings upon this, the profoundest and most sacred of subjects, he was yet penetrated to his inmost soul by a sense of his own weakness and dependence on divine support; and, indeed, it may be questioned whether any other element of the great soldier's character was so deep-seated and controlling as his spirit of love to God. It took, in the eyes of the world, the form of a love of duty; but with Lee the word duty was but another name for the will of the Almighty; and to discover and perform this was, first and last, the sole aim of his life. We elaborate this point before passing to the last great campaign of the war, since, to understand Lee in those last days, it is absolutely necessary to keep in view this utter subjection of the man's heart to the sense of an overruling Providence--that Providence which "shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will." We shall be called upon to delineate the soldier meeting adverse circumstances and disaster at every turn with an imperial calmness and a resolution that never shook; and, up to a certain point, this noble composure may be attributed to the stubborn courage of the man's nature. There came in due time, however, a moment of trial when military courage simply was of no avail--when that human being never lived, who, looking to earthly support alone, would not have lost heart and given up the contest. Lee did not, in this hour of conclusive trial, either lose heart or give up the struggle; and the world, not understanding the phenomenon, gazed at him with wonder. Few were aware of the true explanation of his utter serenity when all things were crumbling around him, and when he knew that they were crumbling. The stout heart of the soldier who will not yield to fate was in his breast; but he had a still stronger sentiment than manly courage to support him--the consciousness that he was doing his duty, and that God watched over him, and would make all things work together for good to those who loved Him. As yet that last great wrestle of the opposing armies lay in the future. The veterans of the Army of Northern Virginia defended the line of the Rapidan, and the gray commander-in-chief, in his tent on Clarke's Mountain, serenely awaited the further movements of the enemy. During the long months of winter he was busily engaged, as usual, in official correspondence, in looking to the welfare of his men, and in preparations for the coming campaign. He often rode among the camps, and the familiar figure in the well-known hat, cape, and gray uniform, mounted upon the powerful iron-gray--the famous "Traveller," who survived to bear his master after the war--was everywhere greeted by the ragged veterans with cheers and marks of the highest respect and regard. At times his rides were extended to the banks of the Rapidan, and, in passing, he would stop at the headquarters of General Stuart, or other officers. On these occasions he had always some good-humored speech for all, not overlooking the youngest officer; but he shone in the most amiable light, perhaps, in conversing with some old private soldier, gray-haired like himself. At such moments the general's countenance was a pleasant spectacle. A kindly smile lit up the clear eyes, and moved the lips half-concealed by the grizzled mustache. The _bonhomie_ of this smile was irresistible, and the aged private soldier, in his poor, tattered fighting-jacket, was made to feel by it that his commander-in-chief regarded him as a friend and comrade. We dwell at too great length, perhaps, upon these slight personal traits of the soldier, but all relating to such a human being is interesting, and worthy of record. To the writer, indeed, this is the most attractive phase of his subject. The analysis and description of campaigns and battles is an unattractive task to him; but the personal delineation of a good and great man, even in his lesser and more familiar traits, is a pleasing relief--a portion of his subject upon which he delights to linger. What the writer here tries to draw, he looked upon with his own eyes, the figure of a great, calm soldier, with kindly sweetness and dignity, but, above all, a charming sincerity and simplicity in every movement, accent, and expression. Entirely free from the trappings of high command, and with nothing to distinguish him from any other soldier save the well-worn stars on the collar of his uniform-coat, the commander-in-chief was recognizable at the very first glance, and no less the simple and kindly gentleman. His old soldiers remember him as he appeared on many battle-fields, and will describe his martial seat in the saddle as he advanced with the advancing lines. But they will speak of him with even greater pleasure as he appeared in the winters of 1862 and 1863, on the Rappahannock and the Rapidan--a gray and simple soldier, riding among them and smiling kindly as his eyes fell upon their tattered uniforms and familiar faces. PART VIII. _LEE'S LAST CAMPAIGNS AND LAST DAYS_. I. GENERAL GRANT CROSSES THE RAPIDAN. In the first days of May, 1864, began the immense campaign which was to terminate only with the fall of the Confederacy. For this, which was regarded as the decisive trial of strength, the Federal authorities had made elaborate preparations. New levies were raised by draft to fill up the ranks of the depleted forces; great masses of war material were accumulated at the central depots at Washington, and the Government summoned from the West an officer of high reputation to conduct hostilities on what was more plainly than ever before seen to be the theatre of decisive conflict--Virginia. The officer in question was General Ulysses S. Grant, who had received the repute of eminent military ability by his operations in the West; he was now commissioned lieutenant-general, and President Lincoln assigned him to the command of "all the armies of the United States," at that time estimated to number one million men. General Grant promptly accepted the trust confided to him, and, relinquishing to Major-General Sherman the command of the Western forces, proceeded to Culpepper and assumed personal command of the Army of the Potomac, although nominally that army remained under command of General Meade. The spring campaign was preceded, in February, by two movements of the Federal forces: one the advance of General B.F. Butler up the Peninsula to the Chickahominy, where for a few hours he threatened Richmond, only to retire hastily when opposed by a few local troops; the other the expedition of General Kilpatrick with a body of cavalry, from the Rapidan toward Richmond, with the view of releasing the Federal prisoners there. This failed completely, like the expedition up the Peninsula. General Kilpatrick, after threatening the city, rapidly retreated, and a portion of his command, under Colonel Dahlgren, was pursued, and a large portion killed, including their commander. It is to be hoped, for the honor of human nature, that Colonel Dahlgren's designs were different from those which are attributed to him on what seems unassailable proof. Papers found upon his body contained minute directions for releasing the prisoners and giving up the city to them, and for putting to death the Confederate President and his Cabinet. To return to the more important events on the Rapidan. General Grant assumed the direction of the Army of the Potomac under most favorable auspices. Other commanders--especially General McClellan--had labored under painful disadvantages, from the absence of coöperation and good feeling on the part of the authorities. The new leader entered upon the great struggle under very different circumstances. Personally and politically acceptable to the Government, he received their hearty coöperation: all power was placed in his hands; he was enabled to concentrate in Virginia the best troops, in large numbers; and the character of this force seemed to promise him assured victory. General McClellan and others had commanded troops comparatively raw, and were opposed by Confederate armies in the full flush of anticipated success. General Grant had now under him an army of veterans, and the enemy he was opposed to had, month by month, lost strength. Under these circumstances it seemed that he ought to succeed in crushing his adversary. The Federal army present and ready for duty May 1, 1864, numbered one hundred and forty-one thousand one hundred and sixty-six men. That of General Lee numbered fifty-two thousand six hundred and twenty-six. Colonel Taylor, adjutant-general of the Army, states the strictly effective at a little less, viz.: Ewell 13,000 Hill 17,000 Longstreet 10,000 Infantry 40,000 Cavalry and artillery 10,000 Total 50,000 The two statements do not materially differ, and require no discussion. The force at Lee's command was a little over one-third of General Grant's; and, if it be true that the latter commander continued to receive reënforcements between the 1st and 4th days of May, when he crossed the Rapidan, Lee's force was probably less than one-third of his adversary's. Longstreet, it will be seen, had been brought back from the West, but the Confederates labored under an even more serious disadvantage than want of sufficient force. Lee's army, small as it was, was wretchedly supplied. Half the men were in rags, and, worse still, were but one-fourth fed. Against this suicidal policy, in reference to an army upon which depended the fate of the South, General Lee had protested in vain. Whether from fault in the authorities or from circumstances over which they could exercise no control, adequate supplies of food did not reach the army; and, when it marched to meet the enemy, in the first days of May, the men were gaunt, half-fed, and in no condition to enter upon so arduous a campaign. There was naught to be done, however, but to fight on to the end. Upon the Army of Northern Virginia, depleted by casualties, and unprovided with the commonest necessaries, depended the fate of the struggle. Generals Grant and Lee fully realized that fact; and the Federal commander had the acumen to perceive that the conflict was to be long and determined. He indulged no anticipations of an early or easy success. His plan, as stated in his official report, was "to _hammer continuously_ against the armed force of the enemy and his resources, until _by mere attrition_, if by nothing else, there should be nothing left of him but an equal submission with the loyal section of our common country to the Constitution and the laws." The frightful cost in blood of this policy of hammering continuously and thus wearing away his adversary's strength by mere attrition, did or did not occur to General Grant. In either case he is not justly to be blamed. It was the only policy which promised to result in Federal success. Pitched battles had been tried for nearly three years, and in victory or in defeat the Southern army seemed equally unshaken and dangerous. This fact was now felt and acknowledged even by its enemies. "Lee's army," said a Northern writer, referring to it at this time, "is an army of veterans: it is an instrument sharpened to a perfect edge. You turn its flanks--well, its flanks are made to be turned. This effects little or nothing. All that we reckon as gained, therefore, is the loss of life inflicted on the enemy." With an army thus trained in many combats, and hardened against misfortune, defeat in one or a dozen battles decided nothing. General Grant seems to have understood this, and to have resolutely adopted the programme of "attrition"--coldly estimating that, even if he lost ten men to General Lee's one, he could better endure that loss, and could afford it, if thereby he "crushed the rebellion." The military theory of the Federal commander having thus been set forth in his own words, it remains to notice his programme for the approaching campaign. He had hesitated between two plans--"one to cross the Rapidan below Lee, moving by his right flank; the other above, moving by his left." The last was abandoned, from the difficulty of keeping open communication with any base of supplies, and the latter adopted. General Grant determined to "fight Lee between Culpepper and Richmond, if he would stand;" to advance straight upon the city and invest it from the north and west, thereby cutting its communications in three directions; and then, crossing the James River above the city, form a junction with the left of Major-General Butler, who, moving with about thirty thousand men from Fortress Monroe, at the moment when the Army of the Potomac crossed the Rapidan, was to occupy City Point, advance thence up the south side of James River, and reach a position where the two armies might thus unite. It is proper to keep in view this programme of General Grant. Lee completely reversed it by promptly moving in front of his adversary at every step which he took in advance; and it will be seen that the Federal commander was finally compelled to adopt a plan which does not seem to have entered his mind, save as a _dernier ressort_, at the beginning of the campaign. On the morning of the 4th of May, General Grant commenced crossing the Rapidan at Germanna and other fords above Chancellorsville, and by the morning of the 5th his army was over. It appears from his report that he had not anticipated so easy a passage of the stream, and greatly felicitated himself upon effecting it so successfully. "This I regarded," he says, "as a great success, and it removed from my mind the most serious apprehension I had entertained, that of crossing the river in the face of an active, large, well-appointed, and ably-commanded army." Lee had made no movement to dispute the passage of the stream, from the fact, perhaps, that his army was _not_ either "large" or "well-appointed." He preferred to await the appearance of his adversary, and direct an assault on the flank of his column as it passed across his front. From a speech attributed to General Meade, it would seem to have been the impression in the Federal army that Lee designed falling back to a defensive position somewhere near the South Anna. His movements were, however, very different. Instead of retiring before General Grant in the direction of Richmond, he moved with his three corps toward the Wilderness, to offer battle. [Illustration: Routes of Lee & Grant, May and June 1864.] The head of the column consisted of Ewell's corps, which had retained its position on the Rapidan, forming the right of Lee's line. General A.P. Hill, who had been stationed higher up, near Liberty Mills, followed; and Longstreet, who lay near Gordonsville, brought up the rear. These dispositions dictated, as will be seen, the positions of the three commands in the ensuing struggle. Ewell advanced in front down the Old Turnpike, that one of the two great highways here running east and west which is nearest the Rapidan; Hill came on over the Orange Plank-road, a little south of the turnpike, and thus formed on Ewell's right; and Longstreet, following, came in on the right of Hill. General Grant had plunged with his army into the dense and melancholy thicket which had been the scene of General Hooker's discomfiture. His army, followed by its great train of four thousand wagons, indicating the important nature of the movement, had reached Wilderness Tavern and that Brock Road over which Jackson advanced in his secret flank-march against the Federal right in May, 1863. In May of 1864, now, another Federal army had penetrated, the sombre and depressing shadows of the interminable thickets of the Wilderness, and a more determined struggle than the first was to mark with its bloody hand this historic territory. II. THE FIRST COLLISION IN THE WILDERNESS. To understand the singular combat which now ensued, it is necessary to keep in view the fact that nothing more surprised General Grant than the sudden appearance of his adversary face to face with him in the Wilderness. It had not been supposed, either by the lieutenant-general or his corps-commanders, that Lee, with his small army, would have recourse to a proceeding so audacious. It was anticipated, indeed, that, somewhere on the road to Richmond, Lee would make a stand and fight, in a carefully-selected position which would enable him to risk collision with his great adversary; but that Lee himself would bring on this collision by making an open attack, unassisted by position of any sort, was the last thing which seems to have occurred to his adversary. Such, however, as has been said, was the design, from the first, of the Southern commander, and he moved with his accustomed celerity and energy. As soon as General Grant broke up his camps north of the Rapidan, Lee was apprised of the fact, and ordered his three corps to concentrate in the direction of Chancellorsville. Those who were present in the Southern army at this time will bear record to the soldierly promptness of officers and men. On the evening of the 3d of May the camps were the scenes of noise, merriment, and parade: the bands played; the woods were alive; nothing disturbed the scene of general enjoyment of winter-quarters. On the morning of the 4th all this was changed. The camps were deserted; no sound was anywhere heard; the troops were twenty miles away, fully armed and ready for battle. General Lee was in the saddle, and his presence seemed to push forward his column. Ewell, marching with celerity, bivouacked that night directly in face of the enemy; and it was the suddenly-discovered presence of the troops of this commander which arrested General Grant, advancing steadily in the direction of Spottsylvania Court-House. He must have inwardly chafed at a circumstance so unexpected and embarrassing. It had been no part of his plan to fight in the thickets of the Wilderness, and yet an adversary of but one-third his own strength was about to reverse his whole programme, and dictate the terms of the first battles of the campaign. There was nothing to do, however, but to fight, and General Grant hastened to form order of battle for that purpose, with General Sedgwick commanding his right, Generals Warren and Burnside his centre, and General Hancock his left, near the Brock Road. The line thus formed extended from northwest to southeast, and, as the right wing was in advance with respect to Lee, that circumstance occasioned the first collision. This occurred about mid-day on the 5th of May, and was brought on by General Warren, who attacked the head of Swell's column, on the Old Turnpike. An obstinate engagement ensued, and the division which received the assault was forced back. It quickly, however, reformed, and being reënforced advanced in turn against General Warren, and, after a hard fight, he was driven back with a loss of three thousand men and two pieces of artillery. This first collision of the armies on the Confederate left was followed almost immediately by a bloody struggle on the centre. This was held by A.P. Hill, who had marched down the Plank-road, and was near the important point of junction of that road with the Brock Road, when he was suddenly attacked by the enemy. The struggle which ensued was long and determined. General Lee wrote: "The assaults were repeated and desperate, but every one was repulsed." When night fell, Hill had not been driven back, but had not advanced; and the two armies rested on their arms, awaiting the return of light to continue the battle. III. THE BATTLE OF THE 6TH OF MAY. The morning of the 6th of May came, and, with the first light of dawn, the adversaries, as by a common understanding, advanced at the same moment to attack each other. The battle which followed is wellnigh indescribable, and may be said, in general terms, to have been naught but the blind and desperate clutch of two great bodies of men, who could scarcely see each other when they were but a few feet apart, and who fired at random, rather by sound than sight. A Southern writer, describing the country and the strange combat, says: "The country was sombre--a land of thicket, undergrowth, jungle, ooze, where men could not see each other twenty yards off, and assaults had to be made by the compass. The fights there were not even as easy as night attacks in open country, for at night you can travel by the stars. Death came unseen; regiments stumbled on each other, and sent swift destruction into each other's ranks, guided by the crackling of the bushes. It was not war--military manoeuvring: science had as little to do with it as sight. Two wild animals were hunting each other; when they heard each other's steps, they sprung and grappled. The conqueror advanced, or went elsewhere. The dead were lost from all eyes in the thicket. The curious spectacle was here presented of officers advancing to the charge, in the jungle, _compass in hand_, attacking, not by sight, but by the bearing of the needle. In this mournful and desolate thicket did the great campaign of 1864 begin. Here, in blind wrestle as at midnight, did two hundred thousand men in blue and gray clutch each other--bloodiest and weirdest of encounters. War had had nothing like it. The genius of destruction, tired apparently of the old commonplace killing, had invented the 'unseen death.' At five in the morning, the opponents closed in, breast to breast, in the thicket. Each had thrown up here and there slight, temporary breastworks of saplings and dirt; beyond this, they were unprotected. The question now was, which would succeed in driving his adversary from these defences, almost within a few yards of each other, and from behind which crackled the musketry. Never was sight more curious. On the low line of these works, dimly seen in the thicket, rested the muzzles spouting flame; from the depths rose cheers; charges were made and repulsed, the lines scarcely seeing each other; men fell and writhed, and died unseen--their bodies lost in the bushes, their death-groans drowned in the steady, continuous, never-ceasing crash." These sentences convey a not incorrect idea of the general character of this remarkable engagement, which had no precedent in the war. We shall now proceed to speak of General Lee's plans and objects, and to indicate where they failed or succeeded. The commanders of both armies labored under great embarrassments. General Grant's was the singular character of the country, with which he was wholly unacquainted; and General Lee's, the delay in the arrival of Longstreet. Owing to the distance of the camps of the last-named officer, he had not, at dawn, reached the field of battle. As his presence was indispensable to a general assault, this delay in his appearance threatened to result in unfortunate consequences, as it was nearly certain that General Grant would make an early and resolute attack. Under these circumstances, Lee resolved to commence the action, and did so, counting, doubtless, on his ability, with the thirty thousand men at his command, to at least maintain his ground. His plan seems to have been to make a heavy demonstration against the Federal right, and, when Longstreet arrived, throw the weight of his whole centre and right against the Federal left, with the view of seizing the Brock Road, running southward, and forcing back the enemy's left wing into the thickets around Chancellorsville. This brilliant conception, which, if carried out, would have arrested General Grant in the beginning of his campaign, was very near meeting with success. The attack on the Federal right, under General Sedgwick, commenced at dawn, and the fighting on both sides was obstinate. It continued with indecisive results throughout the morning, gradually involving the Federal centre; but, nearly at the moment when it began, a still more obstinate conflict was inaugurated between General Hancock, holding the Federal left, and Hill, who opposed him on the Plank-road. The battle raged in this quarter with great fury for some time, but, attacked in front and flank at once by his able opponent, Hill was forced back steadily, and at last, in some disorder, a considerable distance from the ground which had witnessed the commencement of the action. At this point, however, he was fortunately met by Longstreet. That commander rapidly brought his troops into line, met the advancing enemy, attacked them with great fury, and, after a bloody contest, in which General Wadsworth was killed, drove them back to their original position on the Brock Road. It now seemed nearly certain that Lee's plan of seizing upon this important highway would succeed. General Hancock had been forced back with heavy loss, Longstreet was pressing on, and, as he afterward said, he "thought he had another Bull Run on them," when a singular casualty defeated all. General Longstreet, who had ridden in front of his advancing line, turned to ride back, when he was mistaken by his own men for a Federal cavalryman, fired upon, and disabled by a musket-ball. This threw all into disorder, and the advance was discontinued. General Lee, as soon as he was apprised of the accident, hastened to take personal command of the corps, and, as soon as order was restored, directed the line to press forward. The most bloody and determined struggle of the day ensued. The thicket filled the valleys, and, as at Chancellorsville, a new horror was added to the horror of battle. A fire broke out in the thicket, and soon wrapped the adversaries in flame and smoke. They fought on, however, amid the crackling flames. Lee continued to press forward; the Federal breastworks along a portion of their front were carried, and a part of General Hancock's line was driven from the field. The struggle had, however, been decisive of no important results, and, from the lateness of the hour when it terminated, it could not be followed up. On the left Lee had also met with marked but equally indecisive success. General Gordon had attacked the Federal right, driven the force at that point in disorder from their works, and but for the darkness this success might have been followed up and turned into a complete defeat of that wing of the enemy. It was only discovered on the next morning what important successes Gordon had effected with a single brigade; and there is reason to believe that with a larger force this able soldier might have achieved results of a decisive character.[1] [Footnote 1: General Early, in his "Memoir of the Last Year of the War for Independence," bears his testimony to the important character of the blow struck by General Gordon. He says: "At light, on the morning of the 7th, an advance was made, which disclosed the fact that the enemy had given up his line of works in front of my whole line and a good portion of Johnson's. Between the lines a large number of his dead had been left, and at his breastworks a large number of muskets and knapsacks had been abandoned, and there was every indication of great confusion. It was not till then that we understood the full extent of the success attending the movement of the evening before." General Gordon had proposed making the attack on the _morning_ of the 6th, but was overruled.] Such had been the character and results of the first conflicts between the two armies in the thickets of the Wilderness. As we have already said, the collision there was neither expected nor desired by General Grant, who, unlike General Hooker, in May of the preceding year, seems fully to have understood the unfavorable nature of the region for manoeuvring a large army. His adversary had, however, forced him to accept battle, leaving him no choice, and the result of the actions of the 5th and 6th had been such as to determine the Federal commander to emerge as soon as possible from the tangled underwood which hampered all his movements. On the 7th he accordingly made no movement to attack Lee, and on the night of that day marched rapidly in the direction of Hanover Junction, following the road by Todd's Tavern toward Spottsylvania Court-House. For this determination to avoid further fighting in the Wilderness, General Grant gives a singular explanation. "On the morning of the 7th," he says, "reconnoissance showed that the enemy _had fallen behind his intrenched lines_, with pickets to the front, covering a part of the battle-field. From this it was evident that the two-days' fighting had satisfied him of his inability to further maintain the contest in the open field, _notwithstanding his advantage of position_, and that he would wait an attack behind his works." The "intrenched lines" and "advantage of position" of Lee, were both imaginary. No lines of intrenchment had been made, and the ground was not more favorable on General Lee's side than on General Grant's. Both armies had erected impromptu breastworks of felled trees and earth, as continued to be their habit throughout the campaign, and the flat country gave no special advantage to either. The forward movement of General Grant is susceptible of much easier explanation. The result of the two-days' fighting had very far from pleased him; he desired to avoid further conflict in so difficult a country, and, taking advantage of the quiescence of Lee, and the hours of darkness, he moved with his army toward the more open country. IV. THE 12TH OF MAY. Throughout the entire day succeeding this first great conflict, General Lee remained quiet, watching for some movement of his adversary. His success in the preliminary straggle had been gratifying, considering the great disproportion of numbers, but he indulged no expectation of a retrograde movement across the Rapidan, on the part of General Grant. He expected him rather to advance, and anxiously awaited some development of this intention. There were no indications of such a design up to the night of the 7th, but at that time, to use the words of a confidential member of Lee's staff, "he all at once seemed to conceive the idea that his enemy was preparing to forsake his position, and move toward Hanover Junction _via_ the Spottsylvania Court-House, and, believing this, he at once detailed Anderson's division with orders to proceed rapidly toward the court-house." General Anderson commenced his march about nine o'clock at night, when the Federal column was already upon its way. A race now began for the coveted position, and General Stuart, with his dismounted sharp-shooters behind improvised breastworks, harassed and impeded the Federal advance, at every step, throughout the night. This greatly delayed their march, and their head of column did not reach the vicinity of Spottsylvania Court-House until past sunrise. General Warren, leading the Federal advance, then hurried forward, followed by General Hancock, when suddenly he found himself in front of breastworks, and was received with a fire of musketry. Lee had succeeded in interposing himself between General Grant and Richmond. On the same evening the bulk of the two armies were facing each other on the line of the Po. By the rapidity of his movements General Lee had thus completely defeated his adversary's design to seize on the important point, Spottsylvania Court-House. General Grant, apparently conceiving some explanation of this untoward event to be necessary, writes: "The enemy, having become aware of our movement, and _having the shorter line_, was enabled to reach there first." The statement that General Lee had the shorter of the two lines to march over is a mistake. The armies moved over parallel roads until beyond Todd's Tavern, after which the distance to the south bank of the Po was greater by Lee's route than General Grant's. The map will sufficiently indicate this. Two other circumstances defeated General Grant's attempt to reach the point first--the extreme rapidity of the march of the Confederate advance force, and the excellent fighting of Stuart's dismounted men, who harassed and delayed General Warren, leading the Federal advance throughout the entire night. An additional fact should be mentioned, bearing upon this point, and upon General Lee's designs. "General Lee's orders to me," says General Early, who, from the sickness of A.P. Hill, had been assigned to the command of the corps, "were to _move by Todd's Tavern along the Brock Road_, to Spottsylvania Court-House, as soon as our front was clear of the enemy." From this order it would appear either that General Lee regarded the Brock Road, over which General Grant moved, as the "shorter line," or that he intended the movement of Early on the enemy's rear to operate as a check upon them, while he went forward to their front with his main body. These comments may seem tedious to the general reader, but all that illustrates the military designs, or defends the good soldiership of Lee, is worthy of record. We proceed now to the narrative. In the Wilderness General Grant had found a dangerous enemy ready to strike at his flank. He now saw in his front the same active and wary adversary, prepared to bar the direct road to Richmond. General Lee had taken up his position on the south bank of one of the four tributaries of the Mattapony. These four streams are known as the Mat, Ta, Po, and Nye Rivers, and bear the same relation to the main stream that the fingers of the open hand do to the wrist. General Lee was behind the Po, which is next to the Nye, the northernmost of these water-courses. Both were difficult to cross, and their banks heavily wooded. It was now to be seen whether, either by a front attack or a turning movement, General Grant could oust his adversary, and whether General Lee would stand on the defensive or attack. All day, during the 9th, the two armies were constructing breastworks along their entire fronts, and these works, from the Rapidan to the banks of the Chickahominy, remain yet in existence. On the evening of this day a Federal force was thrown across the Po, on the Confederate left, but soon withdrawn; and on the 10th a similar movement took place near the same point, which resulted in a brief but bloody conflict, during which the woods took fire, and many of the assaulting troops perished miserably in the flames. The force was then recalled, and, during that night and the succeeding day, nothing of importance occurred, although heavy skirmishing and an artillery-fire took place along the lines. On the morning of the 12th, at the first dawn of day, General Grant made a more important and dangerous assault than any yet undertaken in the campaign. This was directed at a salient on General Lee's right centre, occupied by Johnson's division of Ewell's corps, and was one of the bloodiest and most terrible incidents of the war. For this assault General Grant is said to have selected his best troops. These advanced in a heavy charging column, through the half darkness of dawn, passed silently over the Confederate skirmishers, scarcely firing a shot, and, just as the first streak of daylight touched the eastern woods, burst upon the salient, which they stormed at the point of the bayonet. In consequence of the suddenness of the assault and the absence of artillery--against whose removal General Johnston is stated to have protested, and which arrived too late--the Federal forces carried all before them, and gained possession of the works, in spite of a stubborn and bloody resistance. Such was the excellent success of the Federal movement, and the Southern line seemed to be hopelessly disrupted. Nearly the whole of Johnson's division were taken prisoners--the number amounting to about three thousand--and eighteen pieces of artillery fell into the hands of the assaulting column. The position of affairs was now exceedingly critical; and, unless General Lee could reform his line at the point, it seemed that nothing was left him but an abandonment of his whole position. The Federal army had broken his line; was pouring into the opening; and, to prevent him from concentrating at the point to regain possession of the works, heavy attacks were begun by the enemy on his right and left wings. It is probable that at no time during the war was the Southern army in greater danger of a bloody and decisive disaster. At this critical moment General Lee acted with the nerve and coolness of a soldier whom no adverse event can shake. Those who saw him will testify to the stern courage of his expression; the glance of the eye, which indicated a great nature, aroused to the depth of its powerful organization. Line of battle was promptly formed a short distance in rear of the salient then in the enemy's possession, and a fierce charge was made by the Southerners, under the eye of Lee, to regain it. It was on this occasion that, on fire with the ardor of battle, which so seldom mastered him, Lee went forward in front of his line, and, taking his station beside the colors of one of his Virginian regiments, took off his hat, and, turning to the men, pointed toward the enemy. A storm of cheers greeted the general, as he sat his gray war-horse, in front of the men--his head bare, his eyes flashing, and his cheeks flushed with the fighting-blood of the soldier. General Gordon, however, spurred to his side and seized his rein. "General Lee!" he exclaimed, "this is no place for you. Go to the rear. These are Virginians and Georgians, sir--men who have never failed!--Men, you will not fail now!" he cried, rising in his stirrups and addressing the troops. "No, no!" was the reply of the men; and from the whole line burst the shout, "Lee to the rear! Lee to the rear!" Instead of being needed, it was obvious that his presence was an embarrassment, as the men seemed determined not to charge unless he retired. He accordingly did so, and the line advanced to the attack, led by General Gordon and other officers of approved ability and courage. The charge which followed was resolute, and the word ferocious best describes the struggle which followed. It continued throughout the entire day, Lee making not less than five distinct assaults in heavy force to recover the works. The fight involved the troops on both flanks, and was desperate and unyielding. The opposing flags were at times within only a few yards of each other, and so incessant and concentrated was the fire of musketry, that a tree of about eighteen inches in diameter was cut down by bullets, and is still preserved, it is said, in the city of Washington, as a memorial of this bloody struggle. [Illustration: The Wilderness. "Lee to the Rear"] The fighting only ceased several hours after dark. Lee had not regained his advanced line of works, but he was firmly rooted in an interior and straighter line, from which the Federal troops had found it impossible to dislodge him. This result of the stubborn action was essentially a success, as General Grant's aim in the operation had been to break asunder his adversary's army--in which he very nearly succeeded. At midnight all was again silent. The ground near the salient was strewed with dead bodies. The loss of the three thousand men and eighteen guns of Johnson had been followed by a bloody retaliation, the Federal commander having lost more than eight thousand men. V. FROM SPOTTSYLVANIA TO THE CHICKAHOMINY. After the bloody action of the 12th of May, General Grant remained quiet for many days, "awaiting," he says, "the arrival of reënforcements from Washington." The number of these fresh troops is not known to the present writer. General Lee had no reinforcements to expect, and continued to confront his adversary with his small army, which must have been reduced by the heavy fighting to less than forty thousand men, while that of General Grant numbered probably about one hundred and forty thousand. Finding that his opponent was not disposed to renew hostilities. General Lee, on the 19th of May, sent General Ewell to turn his right flank; but this movement resulted in nothing, save the discovery by General Ewell that the Federal army was moving. This intelligence was dispatched to General Lee on the evening of the 21st, and reached him at Souther's House, on the banks of the Po, where he was calmly reconnoitring the position of the enemy. As soon as he read the note of General Ewell, he mounted his horse, saying, in his grave voice, to his staff, "Come, gentlemen;" and orders were sent to the army to prepare to move. The troops began their march on the same night, in the direction of Hanover Junction, which they reached on the evening of the 22d. When, on May 23d, General Grant reached the banks of the North Anna, he found Lee stationed on the south bank, ready to oppose his crossing. The failure of General Grant to reach and seize upon the important point of Hanover Junction before the arrival of Lee, decided the fate of the plan of campaign originally devised by him. If the reader will glance at the map of Virginia, this fact will become apparent. Hanover Junction is the point where the Virginia Central and Richmond and Fredericksburg Railroads cross each other, and is situated in the angle of the North Anna and South Anna Rivers, which unite a short distance below to form the Pamunkey. Once in possession of this point, General Grant would have had easy communication with the excellent base of supplies at Aquia Creek; would have cut the Virginia Central Railroad; and a direct march southward would have enabled him to invest Richmond from the north and northwest, in accordance with his original plan. Lee had, however, reached the point first, and from that moment, unless the Southern force were driven from its position, the entire plan of campaign must necessarily be changed. The great error of General Grant in this arduous campaign would seem to have been the feebleness of the attack which he here made upon Lee. The position of the Southern army was not formidable, and on his arrival they had had no time to erect defences. The river is not difficult of crossing, and the ground on the south bank gives no decided advantage to a force occupying it. In spite of these facts--which it is proper to say General Grant denies, however--nothing was effected, and but little attempted. A few words will sum up the operations of the armies during the two or three days. Reaching the river, General Grant threw a column across some miles up the stream, at a point known as Jericho Ford, where a brief but obstinate encounter ensued between Generals Hill and Warren, and this was followed by the capture of an old redoubt defending the Chesterfield bridge, near the railroad crossing, opposite Lee's right, which enabled another column to pass the stream at that point. These two successful passages of the river on Lee's left and right seemed to indicate a fixed intention on the part of his adversary to press both the Southern flanks, and bring on a decisive engagement; and, to coöperate in this plan, a third column was now thrown over opposite Lee's centre. These movements were, however, promptly met. Lee retired his two wings, but struck suddenly with his centre at the force attempting to cross there; and then active operations on both sides ceased. In spite of having passed the river with the bulk of his army, and formed line of battle, General Grant resolved not to attack. His explanation of this is that Lee's position was found "stronger than either of his previous ones." Such was the result of the able disposition of the Southern force at this important point. General Grant found his whole programme reversed, and, on the night of the 26th, silently withdrew and hastened down the north bank of the Pamunkey toward Hanovertown preceded by the cavalry of General Sheridan. That officer had been detached from the army as it approached Spottsylvania Court-House, to make a rapid march toward Richmond, and destroy the Confederate communications. In this he partially succeeded, but, attempting to ride into Richmond, was repulsed with considerable loss. The only important result, indeed, of the expedition, was the death of General Stuart. This distinguished commander of General Lee's cavalry had been directed to pursue General Sheridan; had done so, with his customary promptness, and intercepted his column near Richmond, at a spot known as the Yellow Tavern; and here, in a stubborn engagement, in which Stuart strove to supply his want of troops by the fury of his attack, the great chief of cavalry was mortally wounded, and expired soon afterward. His fall was a grievous blow to General Lee's heart, as well as to the Southern cause. Endowed by nature with a courage which shrunk from nothing; active, energetic, of immense physical stamina, which enabled him to endure any amount of fatigue; devoted, heart and soul, to the cause in which he fought, and looking up to the commander of the army with childlike love and admiration, Stuart could be ill spared at this critical moment, and General Lee was plunged into the deepest melancholy at the intelligence of his death. When it reached him he retired from those around him, and remained for some time communing with his own heart and memory. When one of his staff entered, and spoke of Stuart, General Lee said, in a low voice, "I can scarcely think of him without weeping." The command of the cavalry devolved upon General Hampton, and it was fought throughout the succeeding campaign with the nerve and efficiency of a great soldier; but Stuart had, as it were, formed and moulded it with his own hands; he was the first great commander of horse in the war; and it was hard for his successors, however great their genius, to compete with his memory. His name will thus remain that of the greatest and most prominent cavalry-officer of the war. Crossing the Pamunkey at Hanovertown, after a rapid night-march, General Grant sent out a force toward Hanover Court-House to cut off Lee's retreat or discover his position. This resulted in nothing, since General Lee had not moved in that direction. He had, as soon as the movement of General Grant was discovered, put his lines in motion, directed his march across the country on the direct route to Cold Harbor, and, halting behind the Tottapotomoi, had formed his line there, to check the progress of his adversary on the main road from Hanovertown toward Richmond. For the third time, thus, General Grant had found his adversary in his path; and no generalship, or rapidity in the movement of his column, seemed sufficient to secure to him the advantages of a surprise. On each occasion the march of the Federal army had taken place in the night; from the Wilderness on the night of May 7th; from Spottsylvania on the night of May 21st; and from near the North Anna on the night of May 26th. Lee had imitated these movements of his opponent, interposing on each occasion, at the critical moment, in his path, and inviting battle. This last statement may be regarded as too strongly expressed, as it seems the opinion of Northern writers that Lee, in these movements, aimed only to maintain a strict defensive, and, by means of breastworks, simply keep his adversary at arm's length. This is an entire mistake. Confident of the efficiency of his army, small as it was, he was always desirous to bring on a decisive action, under favorable circumstances. General Early bears his testimony to the truth of this statement. "I happen to know," says this officer, "that General Lee had always the greatest anxiety to strike at Grant in the open field." During the whole movement from the Wilderness to Cold Harbor, the Confederate commander was in excellent spirits. When at Hanover Junction he spoke of the situation almost jocosely, and said to the venerable Dr. Gwathmey, speaking of General Grant, "If I can get one more pull at him, I will defeat him." This expression does not seem to indicate any depression or want of confidence in his ability to meet General Grant in an open pitched battle. It may, however, be asked why, if such were his desire, he did not come out from behind his breastworks and fight. The reply is, that General Grant invariably defended his lines by breastworks as powerful as--in many cases much more powerful than--his adversary's. The opposing mounds of earth and trees along the routes of the two armies remain to prove the truth of what is here stated. At Cold Harbor, especially, the Federal works are veritable forts. In face of them, the theory that General Grant uniformly acted upon the offensive, without fear of offensive operations in turn on the part of Lee, will be found untenable. Nor is this statement made with the view of representing General Grant as over-cautious, or of detracting from his merit as a commander. It was, on the contrary, highly honorable to him, that, opposed to an adversary of such ability, he should have neglected nothing. Reaching the Tottapotomoi, General Grant found his opponent in a strong position behind that sluggish water-course, prepared to dispute the road to Richmond; and it now became necessary to force the passage in his front, or, by another flank march, move still farther to the left, and endeavor to cross the Chickahominy somewhere in the vicinity of Cold Harbor. This last operation was determined upon by General Grant, and, sending his cavalry toward Cold Harbor, he moved rapidly in the same direction with his infantry. This movement was discovered at once by Lee; he sent Longstreet's corps forward, and, when the Federal army arrived, the Southern forces were drawn up in their front, between them and Richmond, thus barring, for the fourth time in the campaign, the road to the capital. During these movements, nearly continuous fighting had taken place between the opposing columns, which clung to each other, as it were, each shaping its march more or less by that of the other. At last they had reached the ground upon which the obstinate struggle of June, 1862, had taken place, and it now became necessary for General Grant either to form some new plan of campaign, or, by throwing his whole army, in one great mass, against his adversary, break through all obstacles, cross the Chickahominy, and seize upon Richmond. This was now resolved upon. Heavy fighting took place on June 2d, near Bethesda Church and at other points, while the armies were coming into position; but this was felt to be but the preface to the greater struggle which General Lee now clearly divined. It came without loss of time. On the morning of the 3d of June, soon after daylight, General Grant threw his whole army straightforward against Lee's front--all along his line. The conflict which followed was one of those bloody grapples, rather than battles, which, discarding all manoeuvring or brain-work in the commanders, depend for the result upon the brute strength of the forces engaged. The action did not last half an hour, and, in that time, the Federal loss was thirteen thousand men. When General Lee sent a messenger to A.P. Hill, asking the result of the assault on his part of the line, Hill took the officer with him in front of his works, and, pointing to the dead bodies which were literally lying upon each other, said: "Tell General Lee it is the same all along my front." The Federal army had, indeed, sustained a blow so heavy, that even the constant mind and fixed resolution of General Grant and the Federal authorities seem to have been shaken. The war seemed hopeless to many persons in the North after the frightful bloodshed of this thirty minutes at Cold Harbor, of which fact there is sufficient proof. "So gloomy," says a Northern historian,[1] "was the military outlook after the action on the Chickahominy, and to such a degree, by consequence, had the moral spring of the public mind become relaxed, that there was at this time great danger of a collapse of the war. The history of this conflict, truthfully written, will show this. The archives of the State Department, when one day made public, will show how deeply the Government was affected by the want of military success, and to what resolutions the Executive had in consequence come. Had not success elsewhere come to brighten the horizon, it would have been difficult to have raised new forces to recruit the Army of the Potomac, which, shaken in its structure, its valor quenched in blood, and thousands of its ablest officers killed and wounded, was the Army of the Potomac no more." [Footnote 1: Mr. Swinton, in his able and candid "Campaigns of the Army of the Potomac."] The campaign of one month--from May 4th to June 4th--had cost the Federal commander sixty thousand men and three thousand officers--numbers which are given on the authority of Federal historians--while the loss of Lee did not exceed eighteen thousand. The result would seem an unfavorable comment upon the choice of the route across the country from Culpepper instead of that by the James. General McClellan, two years before, had reached Cold Harbor with trifling losses. To attain the same point had cost General Grant a frightful number of lives. Nor could it be said that he had any important successes to offset this loss. He had not defeated his adversary in any of the battle-fields of the campaign; nor did it seem that he had stricken him any serious blow. The Army of Northern Virginia, not reënforced until it reached Hanover Junction, and then only by about nine thousand men under Generals Breckinridge and Pickett, had held its ground against the large force opposed to it; had repulsed every assault; and, in a final trial of strength with a force largely its superior, had inflicted upon the enemy, in about an hour, a loss of thirteen thousand men. These facts, highly honorable to Lee and his troops, are the plainest and most compendious comment we can make upon the campaign. The whole movement of General Grant across Virginia is, indeed, now conceded even by his admirers to have been unfortunate. It failed to accomplish the end expected from it--the investment of Richmond on the north and west--and the lives of about sixty thousand men were, it would seem, unnecessarily lost, to reach a position which might have been attained with losses comparatively trifling, and without the unfortunate prestige of defeat. VI. FIRST BATTLES AT PETERSBURG. General Lee remained facing his adversary in his lines at Cold Harbor, for many days after the bloody struggle of the 3d of June, confident of his ability to repulse any new attack, and completely barring the way to Richmond. The Federal campaign, it was now seen, was at an end on that line, and it was obvious that General Grant must adopt some other plan, in spite of his determination expressed in the beginning of the campaign, to "fight it out on that line if it took all the summer." The summer was but begun, and further fighting on that line was hopeless. Under these circumstances the Federal commander resolved to give up the attempt to assail Richmond from the north or east, and by a rapid movement to Petersburg, seize upon that place, cut the Confederate railroads leading southward, and thus compel an evacuation of the capital. [Illustration: Map of Petersburg and Environs.] It would be interesting to inquire what the course of General Lee would have been in the event of the success of this plan, and how the war would have resulted. It would seem that, under such circumstances, his only resource would have been to retire with his army in the direction of Lynchburg, where his communications would have remained open with the south and west. If driven from that point, the fastnesses of the Alleghanies were at hand; and, contemplating afterward the possibility of being forced to take refuge there, he said: "With my army in the mountains of Virginia, I could carry on this war for twenty years longer." That spectacle was lost to the world--Lee and his army fighting from mountain fastness to mountain fastness--and the annals of war are not illustrated by a chapter so strange. That Lee was confident of his ability to carry on such a struggle successfully is certain; and Washington had conceived the same idea in the old Revolution, when he said that if he were driven from the seaboard he would take refuge in West Augusta, and thereby prolong the war interminably. To return from these speculations to the narrative of events. General Grant remained in front of Lee until the 12th of June, when, moving again by his left flank, he crossed the Chickahominy, proceeded in the direction of City Point, at which place the Appomattox and James Rivers mingle their waters, and, crossing the James on pontoons, hastened forward in order to seize upon Petersburg. This important undertaking had been strangely neglected by Major-General Butler, who, in obedience to General Grant's orders, had sailed from Fortress Monroe on the 4th of May, reached Bermuda Hundred, the peninsula opposite City Point, made by a remarkable bend in James River, and proceeded to intrench himself. It was in his power on his arrival to have seized upon Petersburg, but this he failed to do at that time, and the appearance of a force under General Beauregard, from the south, soon induced him to give his entire attention to his own safety. An attack by Beauregard had been promptly made, which nearly resulted in General Butler's destruction. He succeeded, however, in retiring behind his works across the neck of the Peninsula, in which he now found himself completely shut up; and so powerless was his situation, with his large force of thirty thousand men, that General Grant wrote, "His army was as completely shut off ... as if it had been in a bottle strongly corked." The attempt of General Grant to seize upon Petersburg by a surprise failed. His forces were not able to reach the vicinity of the place until the 15th, when they were bravely opposed behind impromptu works by a body of local troops, who fought like regular soldiers, and succeeded in holding the works until night ended the contest. When morning came long lines were seen defiling into the breastworks, and the familiar battle-flags of the Army of Northern Virginia rose above the long line of bayonets giving assurance that the possession of Petersburg would be obstinately disputed. General Lee had moved with his accustomed celerity, and, as usual, without that loss of time which results from doubt of an adversary's intentions. If General Grant retired without another battle on the Chickahominy, it was obvious to Lee that he must design one of two things: either to advance upon Richmond from the direction of Charles City, or attempt a campaign against the capital from the south of James River. Lee seems at once to have satisfied himself that the latter was the design. An inconsiderable force was sent to feel the enemy near the White-Oak Swamp; he was encountered there in some force, but, satisfied that this was a feint to mislead him, General Lee proceeded to cross the James River above Drury's Bluff, near "Wilton," and concentrate his army at Petersburg. On the 16th he was in face of his adversary there. General Grant had adopted the plan of campaign which Lee expected him to adopt. General McClellan had not been permitted in 1862 to carry out the same plan; it was now undertaken by General Grant, who sustained better relations toward the Government, and the result would seem to indicate that General McClellan was, after all, a soldier of sound views. As soon as General Lee reached Petersburg, he began promptly to draw a regular line of earthworks around the city, to the east and south, for its defence. It was obvious that General Grant would lose no time in striking at him, in order to take advantage of the slight character of the defences already existing; and this anticipation was speedily realized. General Lee had scarcely gotten his forces in position on the 16th when he was furiously attacked, and such was the weight of this assault that Lee was forced from his advanced position, east of the city, behind his second line of works, by this time well forward in process of construction. Against this new line General Grant threw heavy forces, in attack after attack, on the 17th and 18th, losing, it is said, more than four thousand men, but effecting nothing. On the 21st General Lee was called upon to meet a more formidable assault than any of the preceding ones--this time more to his right, in the vicinity of the Weldon Railroad, which runs southward from Petersburg. A heavy line was advanced in that quarter by the enemy; but, observing that an interval had been left between two of their corps, General Lee threw forward a column under General Hill, cut the Federal lines, and repulsed their attack, bearing off nearly three thousand prisoners. On the same night an important cavalry expedition, consisting of the divisions of General Wilson and Kautz, numbering about six thousand horse, was sent westward to cut the Weldon, Southside, and Danville Railroads, which connected the Southern army with the South and West. This raid resulted in apparently great but really unimportant injury to the Confederate communications against which it was directed. The Federal cavalry tore up large portions of the tracks of all three railroads, burning the wood-work, and laying waste the country around; but the further results of the expedition were unfavorable. They were pursued and harassed by a small body of cavalry under General W. H.F. Lee, and, on their return in the direction of Reams's Station, were met near Sapponey Church by a force of fifteen hundred cavalry under General Hampton. That energetic officer at once attacked; the fighting continued furiously throughout the entire night, and at dawn the Federal horse retreated in confusion. Their misfortunes were not, however, ended. Near Reams's, at which point they attempted to cross the Weldon Railroad, they were met by General Fitz Lee's horsemen and about two hundred infantry under General Mahone, and this force completed their discomfiture. After a brief attempt to force their way through the unforeseen obstacle, they broke in disorder, leaving behind them twelve pieces of artillery, and more than a thousand prisoners, and, with foaming and exhausted horses, regained the Federal lines. Such was the result of an expedition from which General Grant probably expected much. The damage done to Lee's communications was inconsiderable, and did not repay the Federal commander for the losses sustained. The railroads were soon repaired and in working order again; and the Federal cavalry was for the time rendered unfit for further operations. It was now the end of June, and every attempt made by General Grant to force Lee's lines had proved unsuccessful. It was apparent that surprise of the able commander of the Confederate army was hopeless. His works were growing stronger every day, and nothing was left to his great adversary but to lay regular siege to the long line of fortifications; to draw lines for the protection of his own front from attack; and, by gradually extending his left, reach out toward the Weldon and Southside Railroads. To obtain possession of these roads was from this time General Grant's great object; and all his movements were shaped by that paramount consideration. VII. THE SIEGE OF RICHMOND BEGUN. The first days of July, 1864, witnessed, at Petersburg, the commencement of a series of military manoeuvres, for which few, if any, precedents existed in all the annals of war. An army of forty or fifty thousand men, intrenched along a line extending finally over a distance of nearly forty miles, was defending, against a force of about thrice its numbers, a capital more than twenty miles in its rear; and, from July of one year to April of the next, there never was a moment when, to have broken through this line, would not have terminated the war, and resulted in the destruction of the Confederacy. A few words in reference to the topography of the country and the situation will show this. Petersburg is twenty-two miles south of Richmond, and is connected with the South and West by the Weldon and Southside Railroads, which latter road crosses the Danville Railroad, the main line of communication between the capital and the Gulf States. With the enemy once holding these roads and those north of the city, as they were preparing to do, the capital would be isolated, and the Confederate Government must evacuate Virginia. In that event the Army of Northern Virginia had also nothing left to it but retreat. Virginia must be abandoned; the Federal authority would be extended over the oldest and one of the largest and most important members of the Confederacy; and, under circumstances so adverse, it might well be a question whether, disheartened as they would be by the loss of so powerful an ally, the other States of the Confederacy would have sufficient resolution to continue the contest. These considerations are said to have been fully weighed by General Lee, whose far-reaching military sagacity divined the exact situation of affairs, and the probable results of a conflict so unequal as that which General Grant now forced upon him. We have noticed, on a preceding page, his opinions upon this subject, expressed to a confidential friend as far back as 1862. He then declared that the true line of assault upon Richmond was that now adopted by General Grant. As long as the capital was assailed from the north or the east, he might hope with some reason, by hard fighting, to repulse the assault, and hold Richmond. But, with an enemy at Petersburg, threatening with a large force the Southern railroads, it was obviously only a question of time when Richmond, and consequently Virginia, must be abandoned. General Lee, we repeat, fully realized the facts here stated, when his adversary, giving up all other lines, crossed James River to Petersburg. Lee is said, we know not with what truth, to have coolly recommended an evacuation of Richmond. But this met with no favor. A powerful party, including both the friends and enemies of the Executive, spoke of the movement as a "pernicious idea." If recommended by Lee, it was speedily abandoned, and all the energies of the Government were concentrated upon the difficult task of holding the enemy at arm's length south of the Appomattox and in Charles City. In a few weeks after the appearance of the adversaries opposite each other at Petersburg, the lines of leaguer and defence were drawn, and the long struggle began. General Grant had crossed a force into Charles City, on the north bank of James River, and thus menaced Richmond with an assault from that quarter. His line extended thence across the neck of the Peninsula of Bermuda Hundred, and east and south of Petersburg, where, day by day, it gradually reached westward, approaching nearer and nearer to the railroads feeding the Southern army and capital. Lee's line conformed itself to that of his adversary. In addition to the works east and southeast of Richmond, an exterior chain of defences had been drawn, facing the hostile force near Deep Bottom; and the river at Drury's Bluff, a fortification of some strength, had been guarded, by sunken obstructions, against the approach of the Federal gunboats. The Southern lines then continued, facing those of the enemy north of the Appomattox, and, crossing that stream, extended around the city of Petersburg, gradually moving westward in conformity with the works of General Grant. A glance at the accompanying diagram will clearly indicate the positions and relations to each other of the Federal and Confederate works. These will show that the real struggle was anticipated, by both commanders, west of Petersburg; and, as the days wore on, it was more and more apparent that somewhere in the vicinity of Dinwiddie Court-House the last great wrestle of the opposing armies must take place. To that conclusive trial of strength we shall advance with as few interruptions as possible. The operations of the two armies at Petersburg do not possess, for the general reader, that dramatic interest which is found in battles such as those of Chancellorsville and Gettysburg, deciding for the time the fates of great campaigns. At Petersburg the fighting seemed to decide little, and the bloody collisions had no names. The day of pitched battles, indeed, seemed past. It was one long battle, day and night, week after week, and month after month--during the heat of summer, the sad hours of autumn, and the cold days and nights of winter. It was, in fact, the siege of Richmond which General Grant had undertaken, and the fighting consisted less of battles, in the ordinary acceptation of that word, than of attempts to break through the lines of his adversary--now north of James River, now east of Petersburg, now at some point in the long chain of redans which guarded the approaches to the coveted Southside Railroad, which, once in possession of the Federal commander, would give him victory. Of this long, obstinate, and bloody struggle we shall describe only those prominent incidents which rose above the rest with a species of dramatic splendor. For the full narrative the reader must have recourse to military histories aiming to chronicle the operations of each corps, division, and brigade in the two armies--a minuteness of detail beyond our scope, and probably not desired by those who will peruse these pages. VIII. LEE THREATENS WASHINGTON. The month of July began and went upon its way, with incessant fighting all along the Confederate front, both north of James River and south of the Appomattox. General Grant was thus engaged in the persistent effort to, at some point, break through his opponent's works, when intelligence suddenly reached him, by telegraph from Washington, that a strong Confederate column had advanced down the Shenandoah Valley, crossed the Potomac, and was rapidly moving eastward in the direction of the Federal capital. This portentous incident was the result of a plan of great boldness devised by General Lee, from which he expected much. A few words will explain this plan. A portion of General Grant's plan of campaign had been an advance up the Valley, and another from Western Virginia, toward the Lynchburg and Tennessee Railroad--the two columns to coöperate with the main army by cutting the Confederate communications. The column in Western Virginia effected little, but that in the Valley, under General Hunter, hastened forward, almost unopposed, from the small numbers of the Southern force, and early in June threatened Lynchburg. The news reached Lee at Cold Harbor soon after his battle there with General Grant, and he promptly detached General Early, at the head of about eight thousand men, with orders to "move to the Valley through Swift-Run Gap, or Brown's Gap, attack Hunter, and then cross the Potomac and threaten Washington." [Footnote: This statement of his orders was derived from Lieutenant-General Early.] General Early, an officer of great energy and intrepidity, moved without loss of time, and an engagement ensued between him and General Hunter near Lynchburg. The battle was soon decided. General Hunter, who had more cruelly oppressed the inhabitants of the Valley than even General Milroy, was completely defeated, driven in disordered flight toward the Ohio, and Early hastened down the Valley, and thence into Maryland, with the view of threatening Washington, as he had been ordered to do by Lee. His march was exceedingly rapid, and he found the road unobstructed until he reached the Monocacy near Frederick City, where he was opposed by a force under General Wallace. This force he attacked, and soon drove from the field; he then pressed forward, and on the 11th of July came in sight of Washington. It was the intelligence of this advance of a Confederate force into Maryland, and toward the capital, which came to startle General Grant while he was hotly engaged with Lee at Petersburg. The Washington authorities seem to have been completely unnerved, and to have regarded the capture of the city as nearly inevitable. General Grant, however, stood firm, and did not permit the terror of the civil authorities to affect him. He sent forward to Washington two army corps, and these arrived just in time. If it had been in the power of General Early to capture Washington--which seems questionable--the opportunity was lost. He found himself compelled to retire across the Potomac again to avoid an attack in his rear; and this he effected without loss, taking up, in accordance with orders from Lee, a position in the Valley, where he remained for some months a standing threat to the enemy. Such was the famous march of General Early to Washington; and there seems at present little reason to doubt that the Federal capital had a narrow escape from capture by the Confederates. What the result of so singular an event would have been, it is difficult to say; but it is certain that it would have put an end to General Grant's entire campaign at Petersburg. Then--but speculations of this character are simply loss of time. The city was not captured; the war went upon its way, and was destined to terminate by pure exhaustion of one of the combatants, unaffected by _coups de main_ in any part of the theatre of conflict. We have briefly spoken of the engagement between Generals Early and Hunter, near Lynchburg, and the abrupt retreat of the latter to the western mountains and thence toward the Ohio. It may interest the reader to know General Lee's views on the subject of this retreat, which, it seems, were drawn from him by a letter addressed to him by General Hunter: "As soon after the war as mail communications were opened," writes the gentleman of high character from whom we derive this incident, "General David Hunter wrote to General Lee, begging that he would answer him frankly on two points:" 'I. His (Hunter's) campaign in 1864 was undertaken on information received by General Halleck that General Lee was about to detach forty thousand picked troops to send to Georgia. Did not his (Hunter's) move prevent this? 'II. When he found it necessary to retreat from Lynchburg, did he not take the most feasible route?' General Lee wrote a very courteous reply, in which he said: 'I. General Halleck was misinformed. I had _no troops to spare_, and forty thousand would have taken nearly my whole army. 'II. I am not advised as to the motives which induced you to adopt your line of retreat, and am not, perhaps, competent to judge of the question; _but I certainly expected you to retreat by way_ of the Shenandoah Valley.' "General Hunter," adds our correspondent, "never published this letter, but I heard General Lee tell of it one day with evident pleasure." Lee's opinion of the military abilities of both Generals Hunter and Sheridan was indeed far from flattering. He regarded those two commanders--especially General Sheridan--as enjoying reputations solely conferred upon them by the exhaustion of the resources of the Confederacy, and not warranted by any military efficiency in themselves. IX. THE MINE EXPLOSION. The end of the month of July was now approaching, and every attempt made by General Grant to break through Lee's lines had resulted in failure. At every point which he assailed, an armed force, sufficient to repulse his most vigorous attacks, seemed to spring from the earth; and no movement of the Federal forces, however sudden and rapid, had been able to take the Confederate commander unawares. The campaign was apparently settling down into stubborn fighting, day and night, in which the object of General Grant was to carry out his programme of attrition. Such was the feeling in both armies when, at dawn on the 30th of July, a loud explosion, heard for thirty miles, took place on the lines near Petersburg, and a vast column of smoke, shooting upward to a great height, seemed to indicate the blowing up of an extensive magazine. Instead of a magazine, it was a mine which had thus been exploded; and the incident was not the least singular of a campaign unlike any which had preceded it. The plan of forming a breach in the Southern works, by exploding a mine beneath them, is said by Northern writers to have originated with a subordinate officer of the Federal army, who, observing the close proximity of the opposing works near Petersburg, conceived it feasible to construct a subterranean gallery, reaching beneath those of General Lee. The undertaking was begun, the earth being carried off in cracker-boxes; and such was the steady persistence of the workmen that a gallery five hundred feet long, with lateral openings beneath the Confederate works, was soon finished; and in these lateral recesses was placed a large amount of powder. All was now ready, and the question was how to utilize the explosion. General Grant decided to follow it by a sudden charge through the breach, seize a crest in rear, and thus interpose a force directly in the centre of Lee's line. A singular discussion, however, arose, and caused some embarrassment. Should the assaulting column consist of white or negro troops? This question was decided, General Grant afterward declared, by "pulling straws or tossing coppers"--the white troops were the fortunate or unfortunate ones--and on the morning of July 30th the mine was exploded. The effect was frightful, and the incident will long be remembered by those present and escaping unharmed. The small Southern force and artillery immediately above the mine were hurled into the air. An opening, one hundred and fifty feet long, sixty feet wide, and thirty feet deep, suddenly appeared, where a moment before had extended the Confederate earthworks; and the Federal division, selected for the charge, rushed forward to pierce the opening. The result did not justify the sanguine expectations which seem to have been excited in the breasts of the Federal officers. A Southern writer thus describes what ensued: "The 'white division' charged, reached the crater, stumbled over the _débris_, were suddenly met by a merciless fire of artillery, enfilading them right and left, and of infantry fusillading them in front; faltered, hesitated, were badly led, lost heart, gave up the plan of seizing the crest in rear, huddled into the crater, man on top of man, company mingled with company; and upon this disordered, unstrung, quivering mass of human beings, white and black--for the black troops had followed--was poured a hurricane of shot, shell, canister, musketry, which made the hideous crater a slaughter-pen, horrible and frightful beyond the power of words. All order was lost; all idea of charging the crest abandoned. Lee's infantry was seen concentrating for the carnival of death; his artillery was massing to destroy the remnants of the charging divisions; those who deserted the crater, to scramble over the _débris_ and run back, were shot down; then all that was left to the shuddering mass of blacks and whites in the pit was to shrink lower, evade the horrible _mitraille_, and wait for a charge of their friends to rescue them or surrender." These sentences sufficiently describe the painful scene which followed the explosion of the mine. The charging column was unable to advance in face of the very heavy fire directed upon them by the Southern infantry and artillery; and the effect of this fire was so appalling that General Mahone, commanding at the spot, is said to have ordered it to cease, adding that the spectacle made him sick. The Federal forces finally succeeded in making their way back, with a loss of about four thousand prisoners; and General Lee, whose losses had been small, reëstablished his line without interruption. Before passing from this incident, a singular circumstance connected with it is deserving of mention. This was the declaration of the Congressional Committee, which in due time investigated the whole affair. The conclusion of the committee was not flattering to the veteran Army of the Potomac. The report declared that "the first and great cause of disaster was the employment of white instead of black troops to make the charge." X. END OF THE CAMPAIGN OF 1864. Throughout the months of August and September, Lee continued to be attacked at various points along his entire front, but succeeded in repulsing every assault. General Grant's design may be said, in general terms, to have been a steady extension of his left toward the Confederate communications west of Petersburg, while taking the chances, by attacks north of James River, to break through in that quarter and seize upon Richmond. It is probable that his hopes of effecting the last-mentioned object were small; but operations in that direction promised the more probable result of causing Lee to weaken his right, and thus uncover the Southside Railroad. An indecisive attack on the north of James River was followed, toward the end of August, by a heavy advance, to seize upon the Weldon Railroad near Petersburg. In this General Grant succeeded, an event clearly foreseen by Lee, who had long before informed the authorities that he could not hold this road. General Grant followed up this success by sending heavy forces to seize Reams's Station, on the same road, farther south, and afterward to destroy it to Hicksford--which, however, effected less favorable results, Lee meeting and defeating both forces after obstinate engagements, in which the Federal troops lost heavily, and were compelled to retreat. These varying successes did not, however, materially affect the general result. The Federal left gradually reached farther and farther westward, until finally it had passed the Vaughan, Squirrel Level, and other roads, running south-westward from Petersburg, and in October was established on the left bank of Hatcher's Run, which unites with Gravelly Run to form the Rowanty. It was now obvious that a further extension of the Federal left would probably enable General Grant to seize upon the Southside Railroad. An energetic attempt was speedily made by him to effect this important object, to which it is said he attached great importance from its anticipated bearing on the approaching presidential election. On the 27th of October a heavy column was thrown across Hatcher's Run, in the vicinity of Burgess's Mill, on the Boydton Road, and an obstinate attack was made on Lee's lines there with the view of breaking through to the Southside Road. In this, however, General Grant did not succeed. His column was met in front and flank by Generals Hampton--who here lost his brave son, Preston--and W.H.F. Lee, with dismounted sharp-shooters; infantry was hastened to the threatened point by General Lee, and, after an obstinate struggle, the Federal force was driven back. General Lee reporting that General Mahone charged and "broke three lines of battle."[1] [Footnote 1: _Dispatch of Lee, October_ 28, 1864.--It was the habit of General Lee, throughout the last campaign of the war, to send to Richmond, from time to time, brief dispatches announcing whatever occurred along the lines; and these, in the absence of official reports of these occurrences on the Confederate side, are valuable records of the progress of affairs. These brief summaries are reliable from the absence of all exaggeration, but cannot be depended upon by the historian, for a very singular reason, namely, that almost invariably the Confederate successes are understated. On the present occasion, the Federal loss in prisoners near Burgess's Mill and east of Richmond--where General Grant had attacked at the same time to effect a diversion--are put down by General Lee at eight hundred, whereas thirteen hundred and sixty-five were received at Richmond. Lee's dispatch of October 28th is here given, as a specimen of these brief military reports. HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, _October_ 28, 1864. _Hon. Secretary of War_: General Hill reports that the attack of General Heth upon the enemy on the Boydton Plank-road, mentioned in my dispatch last evening, was made by three brigades under General Mahone in front, and General Hampton in the rear. Mahone captured four hundred prisoners, three stand of colors, and six pieces of artillery. The latter could not be brought off, the enemy having possession of the bridge. In the attack subsequently made by the enemy General Mahone broke three lines of battle, and during the night the enemy retreated from the Boydton Road, leaving his wounded and more than two hundred and fifty dead on the field. About nine o'clock P.M. a small force assaulted and took possession of our works on the Baxter Road, in front of Petersburg, but were soon driven out. On the Williamsburg Road General Field captured upward of four hundred prisoners and seven stand of colors. The enemy left a number of dead in front of our works, and to-day retreated to his former position. R.E. Lee] With this repulse of the Federal forces terminated active operations of importance for the year; and but one other attempt was made, during the winter, to gain ground on the left. This took place early in February, and resulted in failure like the former--the Confederates losing, however, the brave General John Pegram. The presidential election at the North had been decided in favor of Mr. Lincoln--General McClellan and Mr. Pendleton, the supposed advocates of peace, suffering defeat. The significance of this fact was unmistakable. It was now seen that unless the Confederates fought their way to independence, there was no hope of a favorable termination of the war, and this conclusion was courageously faced by General Lee. The outlook for the coming year was far from encouraging; the resources of the Confederacy were steadily being reduced; her coasts were blockaded; her armies were diminishing; discouragement seemed slowly to be invading every heart--but, in the midst of this general foreboding, the commander of the Army of Northern Virginia retained an august composure; and, conversing with one of the Southern Senators, said, "For myself, I intend to die sword in hand." That his sense of duty did not afterward permit him to do so, was perhaps one of the bitterest pangs of his whole life. XI. LEE IN THE WINTER OF 1864-'65. Before entering upon the narrative of the last and decisive campaign of the war, we shall speak of the personal demeanor of General Lee at this time, and endeavor to account for a circumstance which astonished many persons--his surprising equanimity, and even cheerfulness, under the pressure of cares sufficient, it would seem, to crush the most powerful organization. He had established his headquarters a mile or two west of Petersburg, on the Cox Road, nearly opposite his centre, and here he seemed to await whatever the future would bring with a tranquillity which was a source of surprise and admiration to all who were thrown in contact with him. Many persons will bear their testimony to this extraordinary composure. His countenance seldom, if ever, exhibited the least traces of anxiety, but was firm, hopeful, and encouraged those around him in the belief that he was still confident of success. That he did not, however, look forward with any thing like hope to such success, we have endeavored already to show. From the first, he seems to have regarded his situation, unless his army were largely reënforced, as almost desperate; those reënforcements did not come; and yet, as he saw his numbers day by day decreasing, and General Grant's increasing a still larger ratio, he retained his courage, confronting the misfortunes closing in upon him with unmoved composure, and at no time seemed to lose his "heart of hope." Of this phenomenon the explanation has been sought in the constitutional courage of the individual, and that instinctive rebound against fate which takes place in great organizations. This explanation, doubtless, is not without a certain amount of truth; but an attentive consideration of the principles which guided this eminent soldier throughout his career, will show that his equanimity, at a moment so trying, was due to another and more controlling sentiment. This sentiment was his devotion to Duty--"the sublimest word in our language." Throughout his entire life he had sought to discover and perform his duty, without regard to consequences. That had been with him the great question in April, 1861, when the war broke out: he had decided in his own mind what he ought to do, and had not hesitated. From that time forward he continued to do what Duty commanded without a murmur. In the obscure campaign of Western Virginia--in the unnoted work of fortifying the Southern coast--in the great campaigns which he had subsequently fought--and everywhere, his consciousness of having performed his duty to the best of his knowledge and ability sustained him. It sustained him, above all, at Gettysburg, where he had done his best, giving him strength to take upon himself the responsibility of that disaster; and, now, in these last dark days at Petersburg, it must have been the sense of having done his whole duty, and expended upon the cause every energy of his being, which enabled him to meet the approaching catastrophe with a calmness which seemed to those around him almost sublime. If this be not the explanation of the composure of General Lee, throughout the last great struggle with the Federal Army, the writer of these pages is at a loss to account for it. The phenomenon was plain to all eyes, and crowned the soldier with a glory greater than that which he had derived from his most decisive military successes. Great and unmoved in the dark hour as in the bright, he seemed to have determined to perform his duty to the last, and to shape his conduct, under whatever pressure of disaster, upon the two maxims, "Do your duty," and "Human virtue should be equal to human calamity." There is little reason to doubt that General Lee saw this "calamity" coming, for the effort to reënforce his small army with fresh levies seemed hopeless. The reasons for this unfortunate state of things must be sought elsewhere. The unfortunate fact will be stated, without comment, that, while the Federal army was regularly and largely reënforced, so that its numbers at no time fell below one hundred and fifty thousand men. Lee's entire force at Petersburg at no time reached sixty thousand, and in the spring of 1865, when he still continued to hold his long line of defences, numbered scarcely half of sixty thousand. This was the primary cause of the failure of the struggle. General Grant's immense hammer continued to beat upon his adversary, wearing away his strength day by day. No new troops arrived to take the places of those who had fallen; and General Lee saw, drawing closer and closer, the inevitable hour when, driven from his works, or with the Federal army upon his communications, he must cut his way southward or surrender. A last circumstance in reference to General Lee's position at this time should be stated; the fact that, from the autumn of 1864 to the end in the spring of 1865, he was felt by the country and the army to be the sole hope of the Confederacy. To him alone now all men looked as the _deus ex machinâ_ to extricate them from the dangers surrounding them. This sentiment needed no expression in words. It was seen in the faces and the very tones of voice of all. Old men visited him, and begged him with faltering voices not to expose himself, for, if he were killed, all would be lost. The troops followed him with their eyes, or their cheers, whenever he appeared, feeling a singular sense of confidence from the presence of the gray-haired soldier in his plain uniform, and assured that, as long as Lee led them, the cause was safe. All classes of the people thus regarded the fate of the Confederacy as resting, not partially, but solely, upon the shoulders of Lee; and, although he was not entitled by his rank in the service to direct operations in other quarters than Virginia, there was a very general desire that the whole conduct of the war everywhere should be intrusted to his hands. This was done, as will be seen, toward the spring of 1865, but it was too late. These notices of General Lee individually are necessary to a clear comprehension of the concluding incidents of the great conflict. It is doubtful if, in any other struggle of history, the hopes of a people were more entirely wrapped up in a single individual. All criticisms of the eminent soldier had long since been silenced, and it may, indeed, be said that something like a superstitious confidence in his fortunes had become widely disseminated. It was the general sentiment, even when Lee himself saw the end surely approaching, that all was safe while he remained in command of the army. This hallucination must have greatly pained him, for no one ever saw more clearly, or was less blinded by irrational confidence. Lee fully understood and represented to the civil authorities--with whom his relations were perfectly friendly and cordial--that if his lines were broken at any point, the fate of the campaign was sealed. Feeling this truth, of which his military sagacity left him in no doubt, he had to bear the further weight of that general confidence which he did not share. He did not complain, however, or in any manner indicate the desperate straits to which he had come. He called for fresh troops to supply his losses; when they did not arrive he continued to oppose his powerful adversary with the remnant still at his command. These were now more like old comrades than mere private soldiers under his orders. What was left of the army was its best material. The fires of battle had tested the metal, and that which emerged from the furnace was gold free from alloy. The men remaining with Lee were those whom no peril of the cause in which they were fighting could dishearten or prompt to desert or even temporarily absent themselves from the Southern standard; and this _corps d' élite_ was devoted wholly to their commander. For this devotion they certainly had valid reason. Never had leader exhibited a more systematic, unfailing, and almost tender care of his troops. Lee seemed to feel that these veterans in their ragged jackets, with their gaunt faces, were personal friends of his own, who were entitled to his most affectionate exertions for their welfare. His calls on the civil authorities in their behalf were unceasing. The burden of these demands was that, unless his men's wants were attended to, the Southern cause was lost; and it plainly revolted his sense of the fitness of things that men upon whom depended the fate of the South should be shoeless, in tatters, and forced to subsist on a quarter of a pound of rancid bacon and a little corn bread, when thousands remaining out of the army, and dodging the enrolling-officers, were well clothed and fed, and never heard the whistle of a bullet. The men understood this care for them, and returned the affectionate solicitude of their commander in full. He was now their ideal of a leader, and all that he did was perfect in their eyes. All awe of him had long since left them--they understood what treasures of kindness and simplicity lay under the grave exterior. The tattered privates approached the commander-in-chief without embarrassment, and his reception of them was such as to make them love him more than ever. Had we space we might dwell upon this marked respect and attention paid by General Lee to his private soldiers. He seemed to think them more worthy of marks of regard than his highest officers. And there was never the least air of condescension in him when thrown with them, but a perfect simplicity, kindness, and unaffected sympathy, which went to their hearts. This was almost a natural gift with Lee, and arose from the genuine goodness of his heart. His feeling toward his soldiers is shown in an incident which occurred at this time, and was thus related in one of the Richmond journals: "A gentleman who was in the train from this city to Petersburg, a very cold morning not long ago, tells us his attention was attracted by the efforts of a young soldier, with his arm in a sling, to get his overcoat on. His teeth, as well as his sound arm, were brought into use to effect the object; but, in the midst of his efforts, an officer rose from his seat, advanced to him, and very carefully and tenderly assisted him, drawing the coat gently over his wounded arm, and buttoning it up comfortably; then, with a few kind and pleasant words, returning to his seat. Now the officer in question was not clad in gorgeous uniform, with a brilliant wreath upon his collar, and a multitude of gilt lines upon the sleeves, resembling the famous labyrinth of Crete, but he was clad in a simple suit of gray, distinguished from the garb of a civilian only by the three stars which every Confederate colonel in the service, by the regulations, is entitled to wear. And yet he was no other than our chief, General Robert E. Lee, who is not braver than he is good and modest." To terminate this brief sketch of General Lee, personally, in the winter of 1864. He looked much older than at the beginning of the war, but by no means less hardy or robust. On the contrary, the arduous campaigns through which he had passed seemed to have hardened him--developing to the highest degree the native strength of his physical organization. His cheeks were ruddy, and his eye had that clear light which indicates the presence of the calm, self-poised will. But his hair had grown gray, like his beard and mustache, which were worn short and well-trimmed. His dress, as always, was a plain and serviceable gray uniform, with no indications of rank save the stars on the collar. Cavalry-boots reached nearly to his knees, and he seldom wore any weapon. A broad-brimmed gray-felt hat rested low upon the forehead; and the movements of this soldierly figure were as firm, measured, and imposing, as ever. It was impossible to discern in General Lee any evidences of impaired strength, or any trace of the wearing hardships through which he had passed. He seemed made of iron, and would remain in his saddle all day, and then at his desk half the night, without apparently feeling any fatigue. He was still almost an anchorite in his personal habits, and lived so poorly that it is said he was compelled to borrow a small piece of meat when unexpected visitors dined with him. Such, in brief outline, was the individual upon whose shoulders, in the last months of 1864 and the early part of 1865, rested the Southern Confederacy. XII. THE SITUATION AT THE BEGINNING OF 1865. In approaching the narrative of the last tragic scenes of the Confederate struggle, the writer of these pages experiences emotions of sadness which will probably be shared by not a few even of those readers whose sympathies, from the nature of things, were on the side of the North. To doubt this would be painful, and would indicate a contempt for human nature. Not only in the eyes of his friends and followers, but even in the eyes of his bitterest enemies, Lee must surely have appeared great and noble. Right or wrong in the struggle, he believed that he was performing his duty; and the brave army at his back, which had fought so heroically, were inspired by the same sentiment, and risked all on the issue. This great soldier was now about to suffer the cruellest pang which the spite of Fate can inflict, and his army to be disbanded, to return in poverty and defeat to their homes. That spectacle was surely tragic, and appealed to the hardest heart; and if any rejoiced in such misery he must have been unsusceptible of the sentiment of admiration for heroism in misfortune. The last and decisive struggle between the two armies at Petersburg began in March, 1865. But events of great importance in many quarters had preceded this final conflict, the result of which had been to break down all the outer defences of the Confederacy, leaving only the inner citadel still intact. The events in question are so familiar to those who will peruse these pages, that a passing reference to them is all that is necessary. Affairs in the Valley of Virginia, from autumn to spring, had steadily proceeded from bad to worse. In September, General Sheridan, with a force of about forty-five thousand, had assailed General Early near Winchester, with a force of about eight or nine thousand muskets, and succeeded in driving him up the Valley beyond Strasburg, whence, attacked a second time, he had retreated toward Staunton. This was followed, in October, by another battle at Cedar Run, where Early attacked and nearly crushed General Sheridan, but eventually was again repulsed, and forced a second time to retreat up the Valley to Waynesboro', where, in February, his little remnant was assailed by overwhelming numbers and dispersed. General Sheridan, who had effected this inglorious but important success, then proceeded to the Lowlands, joined General Grant's army, and was ready, with his large force of horse, to take part in the coming battles. A more important success had attended the Federal arms in the West. General Johnston, who had been restored to command there at the solicitation of Lee, had found his force insufficient to oppose General Sherman's large army; the Confederates had accordingly retreated; and General Sherman, almost unresisted, from the exhaustion of his adversary, marched across the country to Savannah, which fell an easy prize, and thence advanced to Goldsborough, in North Carolina, where he directly threatened Lee's line of retreat from Virginia. Such was the condition of affairs in the months of February and March, 1865. In the former month, commissioners from the Confederate Government had met President Lincoln in Hampton Roads, but no terms of peace could be agreed upon; the issue was still left to be decided by arms, and every advantage was upon the Federal side. General Lee, who had just been appointed "General-in-Chief"--having thus imposed upon him the mockery of a rank no longer of any value--saw the armies of the enemy closing in upon him, and did not deceive himself with the empty hope that he could longer hold his lines at Petersburg. The country, oppressed as it was, and laboring under a sentiment akin to despair, still retained in almost undiminished measure its superstitious confidence in him; but he himself saw clearly the desperate character of the situation. General Grant was in his front with a force of about one hundred and fifty thousand men, and General Sherman was about to enter Virginia with an army of about the same numbers. Lee's force at Petersburg was a little over thirty thousand men--that of Johnston was not so great, and was detained by Sherman. Under these circumstances, it was obviously only a question of time when the Army of Northern Virginia would be overwhelmed. In February, 1865, these facts were perfectly apparent to General Lee: but one course was left to him--to retreat from Virginia; and he promptly began that movement in the latter part of the month, ordering his trains to Amelia Court-House, and directing pontoons to be got ready at Roanoke River. His aim was simple--to unite his army with that of General Johnston, and retreat into the Gulf States. In the mountains of Virginia he could carry on the war, he had said, for twenty years; in the fertile regions of the South he might expect to prolong hostilities, or at least make favorable terms of peace--which would be better than to remain in Virginia until he was completely surrounded, and an unconditional submission would alone be left him. It will probably remain a subject of regret to military students, that Lee was not permitted to carry out this retreat into the Gulf States. The movement was arrested after a consultation with the civil authorities at Richmond. Upon what grounds a course so obviously necessary was opposed, the present writer is unable to declare. Whatever the considerations, Lee yielded his judgment; the movement suddenly stopped; and the Army of Northern Virginia--if a skeleton can be called such--remained to await its fate. The condition of the army in which "companies" scarce existed, "regiments" were counted by tens, and "divisions" by hundreds only, need not here be elaborately dwelt upon. It was indeed the phantom of an army, and the gaunt faces were almost ghostly. Shoeless, in rags, with just sufficient coarse food to sustain life, but never enough to keep at arm's-length the gnawing fiend Hunger, Lee's old veterans remained firm, scattered like a thin skirmish-line along forty miles of works; while opposite them lay an enemy in the highest state of efficiency, and numbering nearly five men to their one. That the soldiers of the army retained their nerve under circumstances so discouraging is surely an honorable fact, and will make their names glorious in history. They remained unshaken and fought undismayed to the last, although their courage was subjected to trials of the most exhausting character. Day and night, for month after month, the incessant fire of the Federal forces had continued, and every engine of human destruction had been put in play to wear away their strength. They fought all through the cheerless days of winter, and, when they lay down in the cold trenches at night, the shell of the Federal mortars rained down upon them, bursting, and mortally wounding them. All day long the fire of muskets and cannon--then, from sunset to dawn, the curving fire of the roaring mortars, and the steady, never-ceasing crack of the sharp-shooters along the front. Snow, or blinding sleet, or freezing rains, might be falling, but the fire went on--it seemed destined to go on to all eternity. In March, 1865 however, the end was approaching, and General Lee must have felt that all was lost. His last hope had been the retreat southward in the month of February. That hope had been taken from him; the result was at hand; and his private correspondence, if he intrusted to paper his views of the situation, will probably show that from that moment he gave up all anticipation of success, and prepared to do his simple duty as a soldier, leaving the issue of affairs to Providence. Whatever may have been his emotions, they were not reflected in his countenance. The same august composure which had accompanied him in his previous campaigns remained with him still, and cheered the fainting hearts around him. To the 2d of April, and even up to the end, this remarkable calmness continued nearly unchanged, and we can offer no explanation of a circumstance so astonishing, save that which we have already given in a preceding chapter. XIII. LEE ATTACKS THE FEDERAL CENTRE. General Lee became aware, as the end of March drew near, that preparations were being made in the Federal army for some important movement. What that movement would be, there was little reason to doubt. The Federal lines had been extended gradually toward the Southside Railroad; and it was obvious now that General Grant had in view a last and decisive advance in that quarter, which should place him on his opponent's communications, and completely intercept his retreat southward. The catastrophe which General Lee had plainly foreseen for many months now stared him in the face, and, unless he had recourse to some expedient as desperate as the situation, the end of the struggle must soon come. The sole course left to him was retreat, but this now seemed difficult, if not impossible. General Grant had a powerful force not far from the main roads over which Lee must move; and, unless a diversion of some description were made, it seemed barely possible that the Southern army could extricate itself. This diversion General Lee now proceeded to make; and although we have no authority to state that his object was to follow up the blow, if it were successful, by an evacuation of his lines at Petersburg, it is difficult to conceive what other design he could have had in risking an operation so critical. He had resolved to throw a column against the Federal centre east of Petersburg, with the view to break through there and seize the commanding ground in rear of the line. He would thus be rooted in the middle of General Grant's army, and the Federal left would probably be recalled, leaving the way open if he designed to retreat. If he designed, however, to fight a last pitched battle which should decide all, he would be able to do so, in case the Federal works were broken, to greater advantage than under any other circumstances. The point fixed upon was Fort Steadman, near the south bank of the Appomattox, where the opposing works were scarcely two hundred yards from each other. The ground in front was covered with _abatis_, and otherwise obstructed, but it was hoped that the assaulting column would be able to pass over the distance undiscovered. In that event a sudden rush would probably carry the works--a large part of the army would follow--the hill beyond would be occupied--and General Grant would be compelled to concentrate his army at the point, for his own protection. On the morning of March 25th, before dawn, the column was ready. It consisted of three or four thousand men under General Gordon, but an additional force was held in reserve to follow up the attack if it succeeded. Just as dawn appeared, Gordon put his column in motion. It advanced silently over the intervening space, made a rush for the Federal works, mounted them, drove from them in great confusion the force occupying them, and a loud cheer proved that the column of Gordon had done its work. But this auspicious beginning was the only success achieved by the Confederates. For reasons unknown to the present writer, the force directed by Lee to be held in readiness, and to move at once to Gordon's support, did not go forward; the brave commander and his men were left to breast the whole weight of the Federal onslaught which ensued; and disaster followed the first great success. The forts to the right and left of Fort Steadman suddenly opened their thunders, and something like a repetition of the scene succeeding the mine explosion ensued. A considerable portion of the assaulting column was unable to get back, and fell into the enemy's hands; their works were quickly reoccupied; and Lee saw that his last hope had failed. Nothing was left to him now but such courageous resistance as it was in his power to make, and he prepared, with the worn weapon which he still held in his firm grasp, to oppose as he best could the immense "hammer"--to use General Grant's own illustration--which was plainly about to be raised to strike. XIV. THE SOUTHERN LINES BROKEN. The hour of the final struggle now rapidly drew near. On the 29th of March, General Lee discovered that a large portion of the Federal army was moving steadily in the direction of his works beyond Burgen Mill, and there could be no doubt what this movement signified. General Grant was plainly about to make a decisive attack on the Confederate right, on the White-Oak Road; and, if that attack succeeded, Lee was lost. Had not General Lee and his men become accustomed to retain their coolness under almost any circumstances of trial, the prospect now before them must have filled them with despair. The bulk of the Federal army was obviously about to be thrown against the Confederate right, and it was no secret in the little body of Southerners that Lee would be able to send thither only a painfully inadequate force, unless his extensive works were left in charge of a mere line of skirmishers. This could not be thought of; the struggle on the right must be a desperate one, and the Southern troops must depend upon hard fighting rather than numbers if they hoped to repulse the attack of the enemy. Such was the situation of affairs, and neither the Confederate commander nor his men shrunk in the hour of trial. Leaving Longstreet to confront the enemy north of the James, and Gordon in command of Ewell's corps--if it could be called such--in front of Petersburg, Lee moved with nearly the whole remainder of his small force westward, beyond Hatcher's Run, to meet the anticipated attack. The force thus moved to the right to receive General Grant's great assault consisted of about fifteen thousand infantry, and about two thousand cavalry under General Fitz Lee, who, in consequence of the departure of Hampton to North Carolina, now commanded the cavalry of the army. This force, however, was cavalry only in name; and General Lee, speaking afterward of General Sheridan, said that his victories were won "when we had no horses for our cavalry, and no men to ride the few broken-down steeds that we could muster." With this force, amounting in all to about seventeen thousand men, Lee proceeded to take position behind the works extending along the White-Oak Road, in the direction of Five Forks, an important _carrefour_ beyond his extreme right. The number of men left north of James River and in front of Petersburg was a little under twenty thousand. As General Grant had at his command a force about four times as great as his adversary's, it seemed scarcely possible that Lee would be able to offer serious resistance. It soon became evident, however, that, in spite of this great disproportion of force, General Lee had determined to fight to the last. To attribute this determination to despair and recklessness, would be doing injustice to the great soldier. It was still possible that he might be able to repulse the assault upon his right, and, by disabling the Federal force there, open his line of retreat. To this hope he no doubt clung, and the fighting-blood of his race was now thoroughly aroused. At Chancellorsville and elsewhere the odds had been nearly as great, and a glance at his gaunt veterans showed him that they might still be depended upon for a struggle as obstinate as any in the past history of the war. The event certainly vindicated the justice of this latter view, and we shall briefly trace the occurrences of the next three or four days which terminated the long conflict at Petersburg. General Grant's assaulting force was not in position near the Boydton Road, beyond Hatcher's Run, until March 31st, when, before he could attack, Lee suddenly advanced and made a furious onslaught on the Federal front. Before this attack, the divisions first encountered gave way in confusion, and it seemed that the Confederate commander, at a single blow, was about to extricate himself from his embarrassing situation. The force opposed to him, however, was too great, and he found himself unable to encounter it in the open field. He therefore fell back to his works, and the fighting ceased, only to be renewed, however, at Five Forks. This had been seized by the cavalry of General Sheridan, and, as the point was one of importance, Lee detached a small body of infantry to drive away the Federal horse. This was done without difficulty, and the Confederate infantry then advanced toward Dinwiddie Court-House; but late at night it was withdrawn, and the day's fighting ended. On the next day, the 1st of April, a more determined struggle ensued, for the possession of Five Forks, where Lee had stationed the small remnants of the divisions of Pickett and Johnson. These made a brave resistance, but were wholly unable to stand before the force brought against them. They maintained their ground as long as possible, but were finally broken to pieces and scattered in confusion, the whole right of the Confederate line and the Southside Road falling into the hands of the enemy. [Illustration: Lee at Petersburg] This was virtually the end of the contest, but General Grant, it would appear, deemed it inexpedient to venture any thing. So thinly manned were the lines in front of Petersburg, in the absence of Longstreet north of James River, and the troops sent beyond Hatcher's Run, that on the 1st of April the Federal commander might have broken through the works at almost any point. He elected to wait, however, until the following day, thereby running the risk of awaking to find that Lee had retreated. At dawn on the 2d the long struggle ended. The Federal forces advanced all along the Confederate front, made a furious attack, and, breaking through in front of the city, carried all before them. The forts, especially Fort Gregg, made a gallant resistance. This work was defended by the two hundred and fifty men of Harris's Mississippi Brigade, and these fought until their numbers were reduced to thirty, killing or wounding five hundred of the assailants. The fort was taken at last, and the Federal lines advanced toward the city. In this attack fell the eminent soldier General A.P. Hill, whose record had been so illustrious, and whose fortune it was to thus terminate his life while the Southern flag still floated. XV. LEE EVACUATES PETERSBURG. Any further resistance upon the part of General Lee seemed now impossible, and nothing appeared to be left him but to surrender his army. This course he does not seem, however, to have contemplated. It was still possible that he might be able to maintain his position on an inner line near the city until night; and, if he could do so, the friendly hours of darkness might enable him to make good his retreat to the north bank of the Appomattox, and shape his course toward North Carolina, where General Johnston awaited him. If the movements of the Federal forces, however, were so prompt as to defeat his march in that direction, he might still be able to reach Lynchburg, beyond which point the defiles of the Alleghanies promised him protection against the utmost efforts of his enemy. Of his ability to reach North Carolina, following the line of the Danville Railroad, Lee, however, seems to have had no doubt. The Federal army would not probably be able to concentrate in sufficient force in his path to bar his progress if his march were rapid; if detached bodies only opposed him on his line of retreat, there was little doubt that the Army of Northern Virginia, reduced as it was, would be able to cut its way through them. This preface is necessary to an intelligent comprehension of Lee's movements on the unfortunate 2d of April when his lines were broken. This occurrence took place, as we have said, about sunrise, and, an hour or two afterward, the Federal forces pressed forward all along the line, surging toward the suburbs of Petersburg. We have mentioned the position of General Lee's headquarters, about a mile and a half west of the city, on the Cox Road, nearly opposite the tall Federal observatory. Standing on the lawn, in front of his headquarters, General Lee now saw, approaching rapidly, a heavy column of Federal infantry, with the obvious design of charging a battery which had opened fire upon them from a hill to the right. The spectacle was picturesque and striking. Across the extensive fields houses set on fire by shell were sending aloft huge clouds of smoke and tongues of flame; at every instant was seen the quick glare of the Federal artillery, firing from every knoll, and in front came on the charging column, moving at a double quick, with burnished gun-barrels and bayonets flashing in the April sunshine. General Lee watched with attention, but with perfect composure, this determined advance of the enemy; and, although he must have realized that his army was on the verge of destruction, it was impossible to discern in his features any evidences of emotion. He was in full uniform, and had buckled on his dress-sword, which he seldom wore--having, on this morning declared, it is said, that if he were compelled to surrender he would do so in full harness. Of his calmness at this trying moment the writer is able to bear his personal testimony. Chancing to hear a question addressed to a member of his staff, General Lee turned with great courtesy, raised his gray hat in response to the writer's salute, and gave him the desired information in a voice entirely measured and composed. It was impossible to regard a calmness so striking without strong sentiments of admiration, and Lee's appearance and bearing at this moment will always remain vividly impressed upon the writer's memory. The Federal column was soon in dangerous proximity to the battery on the hill, and it was obliged to retire at a gallop to escape capture. An attempt was made to hold the ground near the headquarters, but a close musketry-fire from the enemy rendered this also impossible--the artillery was withdrawn--and General Lee, mounting his iron-gray, slowly rode back, accompanied by a number of officers, toward his inner line. He still remained entirely composed, and only said to one of his staff, in his habitual tone: "This is a bad business, colonel." "Well, colonel," he said afterward to another officer, "it has happened as I told them it would at Richmond. The line has been stretched until it has broken." The Federal column was now pressing forward along the Cox Road toward Petersburg, and General Lee continued to ride slowly back in the direction of the city. He was probably recognized by officers of the Federal artillery, or his _cortége_ drew their fire. The group was furiously shelled, and one of the shells burst a few feet in rear of him, killing the horse of an officer near him, cutting the bridle-reins of others, and tearing up the ground in his immediate vicinity. This incident seemed to arouse in General Lee his fighting-blood. He turned his head over his right shoulder, his cheeks became flushed, and a sudden flash of the eye showed with what reluctance he retired before the fire directed upon him. No other course was left him, however, and he continued to ride slowly toward his inner line--a low earthwork in the suburbs of the city--where a small force was drawn up, ardent, hopeful, defiant, and saluting the shell, now bursting above them, with cheers and laughter. It was plain that the fighting-spirit of the ragged troops remained unbroken; and the shout of welcome with which they received Lee indicated their unwavering confidence in him, despite the untoward condition of affairs. Arrangements were speedily made to hold the inner line, if possible, until night. To General Gordon had been intrusted the important duty of defending the lines east of the city, and General Longstreet had been directed to vacate the works north of James River, and march at once to the lines of Petersburg. This officer made his appearance, with his small force, at an early hour of the day; and, except that the Federal army continued firing all along the front, no other active operations took place. To those present on the Confederate side this fact appeared strange. As the force beyond Hatcher's Run had been completely defeated and dispersed, General Lee's numbers for the defence of Petersburg on this day did not amount to much, if any, more than fifteen thousand men. General Grant's force was probably one hundred and fifty thousand, of whom about one hundred thousand might, it would appear, have been concentrated in an hour or two directly in front of the city. That, with this large force at his disposal, the Federal commander did not at once attack, and so end all on that day, surprised the Confederate troops, and still continues to surprise the writer. Night came at last, and General Lee began his retreat. He had sent, early in the morning, a dispatch to the civil authorities, at Richmond, informing them of the fact that his lines had been broken, and that he would that night retreat from Petersburg. Orders had also been sent to all the forces holding the lines north of James River to move at once and join him, and, just at nightfall, the army at Petersburg began crossing the Appomattox. This movement was effected without interruption from the enemy; and the army, turning into what is called the Hickory Road, leading up the north bank of the river, moved on steadily through the half light. Its march was superintended by Lee in person. He had stationed himself at the mouth of the Hickory Road, and, standing with the bridle of his horse in his hand, gave his orders. His bearing still remained entirely composed, and his voice had lost none of its grave strength of intonation. When the rear was well closed up, Lee mounted his horse, rode on slowly with his men; and, in the midst of the glare and thunder of the exploding magazines at Petersburg, the small remnant of the Army of Northern Virginia, amounting to about fifteen thousand men, went on its way through the darkness. XVI. THE RETREAT AND SURRENDER. On the morning of the 3d of April, General Lee, after allowing his column a brief period of rest, continued his march up the north bank of the Appomattox. The aspect of affairs at this time was threatening, and there seemed little ground to hope that the small force would be able to make good its retreat to North Carolina. General Grant had a short and direct route to the Danville Railroad--a considerable portion of his army was already as far west as Dinwiddie Court-House--and it was obvious that he had only to use ordinary diligence to completely cut General Lee off in the vicinity of Burkesville Junction. A glance at the map will indicate the advantages possessed by the Federal commander. He could move over the chord, while Lee was compelled to follow the arc of the circle. Unless good fortune assisted Lee and ill fortune impeded his opponent, the event seemed certain; and it will be seen that these conditions were completely reversed. Under the circumstances here stated, it appeared reasonable to expect in Lee and his army some depression of spirits. The fact was strikingly the reverse. The army was in excellent spirits, probably from the highly-agreeable contrast of the budding April woods with the squalid trenches, and the long-unfelt joy of an unfettered march through the fields of spring. General Lee shared this hopeful feeling in a very remarkable degree. His expression was animated and buoyant, his seat in the saddle erect and commanding, and he seemed to look forward to assured success in the critical movement which he had undertaken. "I have got my army safe out of its breastworks," he said, on the morning of this day, "and, in order to follow me, the enemy must abandon his lines, and can derive no further benefit from his railroads or James River." The design of the Confederate commander has been already stated, but an important condition upon which he depended for success has not been mentioned. This was a supply of food for his army. The troops, during the whole winter, had lived, from day to day, on quarter-rations, doled out to them with a sparing hand; and, in moving now from Petersburg, Lee saw that he must look to supplies somewhere upon his line of retreat. These he had directed to be brought from the south and deposited at Amelia Court-House; and the expectation of finding at that point full subsistence for his men, had doubtless a great effect in buoying up his spirits. An evil chance, however, reversed all the hopes based on this anticipation. From fault or misapprehension, the train loaded with supplies proceeded to Richmond without depositing the rations at Amelia Court-House; there was no time to obtain other subsistence, and when, after unforeseen delay, in consequence of high water in the Appomattox, Lee, at the head of his half-starved soldiers, reached Amelia Court-House, it was only to find that there was nothing there for the support of his army, and to realize that a successful retreat, under the circumstances, was wellnigh hopeless. Those who accompanied the Southern army on this arduous march will recall the dismayed expression of the emaciated faces at this unlooked-for calamity; and no face wore a heavier shadow than that of General Lee. The failure of the supply of rations completely paralyzed him. He had intended, and was confident of his ability, to cut his way through the enemy; but an army cannot march and fight without food. It was now necessary to halt and send out foraging parties into the impoverished region around. Meanwhile General Grant, with his great force, was rapidly moving to bar his adversary's further advance; the want of a few thousand pounds of bread and meat had virtually terminated the war. An anxious and haggard expression came to General Lee's face when he was informed of this great misfortune; and, at once abandoning his design of cutting his way through to North Carolina, he turned westward, and shaped his march toward Lynchburg. This movement began on the night of the 5th of April, and it would seem that General Grant had had it in his power to arrest it by an attack on Lee at Amelia Court-House. General Sheridan was in the immediate vicinity, with a force of about eighteen thousand well-mounted cavalry, and, although it was not probable that this command could effect any thing against Lee's army of about the same number of infantry, it might still have delayed him by constructing breastworks in his way, and thus giving the Federal infantry time to come up and attack. [Illustration: LEE AT THE SURRENDER.] The opportunity of crushing his adversary at Amelia Court-House was thus allowed to pass, and General Grant now pressed forward his infantry, to bring Lee to bay, if possible, before he reached Lynchburg. From this moment began the struggle between the adversaries which was to continue, day and night, without intermission, for the next four days. The phenomenon was here presented of an army, reduced to less than twenty thousand men, holding at arm's-length an enemy numbering about one hundred and fifty thousand, and very nearly defeating every effort of the larger force to arrest their march. It would not interest the reader, probably, to follow in minute detail the circumstances of this melancholy retreat. From the importance of the transactions, and the natural attention directed to them, both North and South, they are doubtless familiar to all who will read these pages. We shall only speak of one or two incidents of the retreat, wherein General Lee appeared prominent personally, leaving to the imagination of the reader the remainder of the long and tragic struggle whose result decided the fate of the Confederacy. General Grant doubtless saw now that every thing depended upon the celerity of his movements, and, sending in advance his large body of cavalry, he hastened forward as rapidly as possible with his infantry, bent on interposing, if possible, a heavy force in his adversary's front. Lee's movements were equally rapid. He seemed speedily to have regained his old calmness, after the trying disappointment at Amelia Court-House; and those who shared his counsels at this time can testify that the idea of surrender scarcely entered his mind for a moment--or, if it did so, was speedily banished. Under the pressure of circumstances so adverse that they seemed calculated to break down the most stubborn resolution. General Lee did not falter; and throughout the disheartening scenes of the retreat, from the moment when he left Amelia Court-House to the hour when his little column was drawing near Appomattox, still continued to believe that the situation was not desperate, and that he would be able to force his way through to Lynchburg. On the evening of the 6th, when the army was near Farmville, a sudden attack was made by the Federal cavalry on the trains of the army moving on a parallel road; and the small force of infantry guarding them was broken and scattered. This occurrence took place while General Lee was confronting a body of Federal infantry near Sailor's Creek; and, taking a small brigade, he immediately repaired to the scene of danger. The spectacle which followed was a very striking and imposing one, and is thus described by one who witnessed it: "The scene was one of gloomy picturesqueness and tragic interest. On a plateau raised above the forest from which they had emerged, were the disorganized troops of Ewell and Anderson, gathered in groups, un-officered, and uttering tumultuous exclamations of rage and defiance. Rising above the weary groups which had thrown themselves upon the ground, were the grim barrels of cannon, in battery, ready to fire, as soon as the enemy appeared. In front of all was the still line of battle, just placed by Lee, and waiting calmly. General Lee had rushed his infantry over, just at sunset, leading it in person, his face animated, and his eye brilliant with the soldier's spirit of fight, but his bearing unflurried as before. An artist desiring to paint his picture, ought to have seen the old cavalier at this moment, sweeping on upon his large iron-gray, whose mane and tail floated in the wind; carrying his field-glass half-raised in his right hand; with head erect, gestures animated, and in the whole face and form the expression of the hunter close upon his game. The line once interposed, he rode in the twilight among the disordered groups above mentioned, and the sight of him aroused a tumult. Fierce cries resounded on all sides, and, with hands clinched violently and raised aloft, the men called on him to lead them against the enemy. 'It's General Lee!' 'Uncle Robert!' 'Where's the man who won't follow Uncle Robert?' I heard on all sides--the swarthy faces full of dirt and courage, lit up every instant by the glare of the burning wagons. Altogether, the scene was indescribable." On the 7th the army pressed on beyond Farmville, still harassed as it advanced by the Federal infantry and cavalry; but, in some of these encounters, the pursuing force met with what was probably a very unexpected discomfiture. General Fitz Lee, bringing up the rear of the army with his force of about fifteen hundred cavalry on broken-down horses, succeeded not only in repulsing the attacks of the large and excellently-mounted force under General Sheridan, but achieved over them highly-honorable successes. One such incident took place on the 7th, when General Gregg attacked with about six thousand horse, but was met, defeated, and captured by General Fitz Lee, to the great satisfaction of General Lee, who said to his son, General W.H.F. Lee: "Keep your command together and in good spirits, general--don't let them think of surrender--I will get you out of this." On the 8th and 9th, however, this hope seemed unwarranted by the circumstances, and the commander-in-chief appeared to be almost the only human being who remained sanguine of the result. The hardships of the retreat, arising chiefly from want of food, began to seriously impair the resolution of the troops, and the scenes through which they advanced were not calculated to raise their spirits. "These scenes," declares one who witnessed them, "were of a nature which can be apprehended only by men who are thoroughly familiar with the harrowing details of war. Behind and on either flank, a ubiquitous and increasingly adventurous enemy--every mud-hole and every rise in the road choked with blazing wagons--the air filled with the deafening reports of ammunition exploding, and shells bursting when touched by the flames, dense columns of smoke ascending to heaven from the burning and exploding vehicles, exhausted men, worn-out mules and horses, lying down side by side--gaunt Famine glaring hopelessly from sunken, lack-lustre eyes--dead mules, dead horses, dead men everywhere--death many times welcomed as God's messenger in disguise--who can wonder if many hearts, tried in the fiery furnace of four unparalleled years, and never hitherto found wanting, should have quailed in presence of starvation, fatigue, sleeplessness, misery, unintermitted for five or six days, and culminating in hopelessness?" It cannot, however, be said with truth, that any considerable portion of the Southern forces were greatly demoralized, to use the military phrase, as the fighting of the last two days, when the suffering of the retreat culminated, will show. The men were almost entirely without food, and were glad to find a little corn to eat; but those who were not physically unable longer to carry their muskets--and the number of these latter was large--still marched and fought with soldierly cheerfulness and resolution. General Lee's spirits do not seem at any time to have flagged, and up to a late period of the retreat he had not seriously contemplated surrender. The necessity for this painful course came home to his corps commanders first, and they requested General Pendleton, the efficient chief of artillery of the army, to inform General Lee that in their opinion further struggle was hopeless. General Pendleton informed General Lee of this opinion of his officers, and it seemed to communicate something like a shock to him. "Surrender!" he exclaimed with a flash of the eye, "I have too many good fighting-men for that!" Nevertheless, the necessity of seriously contemplating this result was soon forced upon him. Since the morning of the 7th, a correspondence had taken place between himself and General Grant; and, as these notes are interesting, we here present those which were exchanged up to the night of the 8th: _April_ 7, 1865. _General R.E. Lee, commanding C.S.A._: GENERAL: The result of the last week must convince you of the hopelessness of further resistance on the part of the Army of Northern Virginia in this struggle. I feel that it is so, and regard it as my duty to shift from myself the responsibility of any further effusion of blood, by asking of you the surrender of that portion of the Confederate Southern Army known as the Army of Northern Virginia. Very respectfully, Your obedient servant, U.S. GRANT, _Lieutenant-General commanding Armies of the United States_. _April_ 7, 1865. GENERAL: I have received your note of this day. Though not entirely of the opinion you express of the hopelessness of further resistance on the part of the Army of Northern Virginia, I reciprocate your desire to avoid useless effusion of blood, and therefore, before considering your proposition, ask the terms you will offer on condition of its surrender. R.E. LEE, _General_. To LIEUTENANT-GENERAL U.S. GRANT, _Commanding Armies of the United States_. _April_ 8, 1865. _To General R.E. Lee, commanding C.S.A_.: GENERAL: Your note of last evening, in reply to mine of the same date, asking the conditions on which I will accept the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia is just received. In reply, I would say, that peace being my first desire, there is but one condition that I insist upon, viz.: That the men surrendered shall be disqualified for taking up arms again against the Government of the United States until properly exchanged. I will meet you, or designate officers to meet any officers you may name for the same purpose, at any point agreeable to you, for the purpose of arranging definitely the terms upon which the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia will he received. Very respectfully, Your obedient servant, U.S. GRANT, _Lieutenant-General, commanding Armies of the United States_. _April_ 8, 1865. GENERAL: I received, at a late hour, your note of to-day, in answer to mine of yesterday. I did not intend to propose the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia, but to ask the terms of your proposition. To be frank, I do not think the emergency has arisen to call for the surrender. But as the restoration of peace should be the sole object of all, I desire to know whether your proposals would tend to that end. I cannot, therefore, meet you with a view to surrender the Army of Northern Virginia; but so far as your proposition may affect the Confederate States forces under my command and tend to the restoration of peace, I should be pleased to meet you at 10 A.M. to-morrow, on the old stage-road to Richmond, between the picket-lines of the two armies. Very respectfully, Your obedient servant, R.E. LEE, _General C.S.A._ To LIEUTENANT-GENERAL GRANT, _Commanding Armies of the United States_. [Illustration: Last Council of War.] No reply was received to this last communication from General Lee, on the evening of the 8th, and that night there was held, around a bivouac-fire in the woods, the last council of war of the Army of Northern Virginia. The scene was a very picturesque one. The red glare from the bivouac-fire lit up the group, and brought out the details of each figure. None were present but General Lee and Generals Longstreet, Gordon, and Fitz Lee, all corps commanders. Generals Gordon and Fitz Lee half reclined upon an army-blanket near the fire; Longstreet sat upon a log, smoking; and General Lee stood by the fire, holding in his hand the correspondence which had passed between himself and General Grant. The question what course it was advisable to pursue, was then presented, in a few calm words, by General Lee to his corps commanders, and an informal conversation ensued. It was finally agreed that the army should advance, on the next morning, beyond Appomattox Court-House, and, if only General Sheridan's cavalry were found in front, brush that force from its path, and proceed on its way to Lynchburg. If, however, the Federal infantry was discovered in large force beyond the Court-House, the attempt to break through was to be abandoned, and a flag dispatched to General Grant requested an interview for the arrangement of the terms of a capitulation of the Southern army. With a heavy heart, General Lee acquiesced in this plan of proceeding, and soon afterward the council of war terminated--the corps commanders saluting the commander-in-chief, who returned their bows with grave courtesy, and separating to return to their own bivouacs. In spite, however, of the discouraging and almost desperate condition of affairs, General Lee seems still to have clung to the hope that he might be able to cut his way through the force in his front. He woke from brief slumber beside his bivouac-fire at about three o'clock in the morning, and calling an officer of his staff, Colonel Venable, sent him to General Gordon, commanding the front, to ascertain his opinion, at that moment, of the probable result of an attack upon the enemy. General Gordon's reply was, "Tell General Lee that my old corps is reduced to a frazzle, and, unless I am supported by Longstreet heavily, I do not think we can do any thing more." General Lee received this announcement with an expression of great feeling, and after a moment's silence said: "There is nothing left but to go to General Grant, and I would rather die a thousand deaths!" His staff-officers had now gathered around him, and one of them said: "What will history say of our surrendering if there is any possibility of escape? Posterity will not understand it." To these words, General Lee replied: "Yes, yes, they will not understand our situation; but that is not the question. The question is, whether it is _right_; and, if it is right, I take the responsibility." His expression of buoyant hopefulness had now changed to one of deep melancholy, and it was evident to those around him that the thought of surrender was worse to him than the bitterness of death. For the first time his courage seemed to give way, and he was nearly unmanned. Turning to an officer standing near him, he said, his deep voice filled with hopeless sadness: "How easily I could get rid of this, and be at rest! I have only to ride along the line and all will be over!" He was silent for a short time after uttering these words, and then added, with a heavy sigh: "But it is our duty to live. What will become of the women and children of the South, if we are not here to protect them?" The moment had now come when the fate of the retreat was to be decided. To General Gordon, who had proved himself, in the last operations of the war, a soldier of the first ability, had been intrusted the command of the advance force; and this was now moved forward against the enemy beyond Appomattox Court-House. Gordon attacked with his infantry, supported by Fitz Lee's cavalry, and the artillery battalion of Colonel Carter, and such was the impetuosity of his advance that he drove the Federal forces nearly a mile. But at that point he found himself in face of a body of infantry, stated afterward, by Federal officers, to number about eighty thousand. As his own force was less than five thousand muskets, he found it impossible to advance farther; and the Federal lines were already pressing forward to attack him, in overwhelming force, when the movement suddenly ceased. Seeing the hopelessness of further resistance. General Lee had sent a flag to General Grant, requesting an interview looking to the arrangement, if possible, of terms of surrender; and to this end the forward movement of the Federal forces was ordered to be discontinued. The two armies then remained facing each other during the interview between the two commanders, which took place in a farm-house in Appomattox Court-House. General Lee was accompanied only by Colonel Marshall, of his staff, and on the Federal side only a few officers were present. General Grant's demeanor was courteous, and that of General Lee unmarked by emotion of any description. The hardships of the retreat had somewhat impaired his strength, and his countenance exhibited traces of fatigue; but no other change had taken place in his appearance. He was erect, calm, courteous, and confined his observations strictly to the disagreeable business before him. The interview was brief; and, seated at a plain table, the two commanders wrote and exchanged the accompanying papers: APPOMATTOX COURT-HOUSE, _April_ 9, 1865. _General R.E. Lee, commanding C.S.A._.: In accordance with the substance of my letter to you of the 8th inst., I propose to receive the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia on the following terms, to wit: Rolls of all the officers and men to be made in duplicate, one copy to be given to an officer designated by me, the other to be retained by such officers as you may designate. The officers to give their individual parole not to take arms against the Government of the United States until properly exchanged; and each company or regimental commander to sign a like parole for the men of their commands. The arms, artillery, and public property, to be parked and stacked, and turned over to the officers appointed by me to receive them. This will not embrace the side-arms of the officers, nor their private horses or baggage. This done, each officer and man will be allowed to return to their homes, not to be disturbed by United States authority so long as they observe their parole and the laws in force where they may reside. Very respectfully, U.S. GRANT, _Lieutenant-General_. HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA, _April_ 9,1865. _Lieut.-General U.S. Grant, commanding U.S.A_.: GENERAL: I have received your letter of this date, containing the terms of surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia, as proposed by you. As they are substantially the same as those expressed in your letter of the 8th inst., they are accepted. I will proceed to designate the proper officers to carry the stipulations into effect. Very respectfully, your obedient servant, R.E. LEE, _General_. The two generals then bowed to each other, and, leaving the house, General Lee mounted his gray, and rode back to his headquarters. The scene as he passed through the army was affecting. The men gathered round him, wrung his hand, and in broken words called upon God to help him. This pathetic reception by his old soldiers profoundly affected Lee. The tears came to his eyes, and, looking at the men with a glance of proud feeling, he said, in suppressed tones, which trembled slightly: "We have fought through the war together. I have done the best I could for you. My heart is too full to say more!" These few words seemed to be all he could utter. He rode on, and, reaching his headquarters in the woods, disappeared in his tent, whither we shall not follow him. On the next day the Army of Northern Virginia, numbering about twenty-six thousand men, of whom but seven thousand eight hundred carried muskets, was formally surrendered, and the Confederate War was a thing of the past. XVII. LEE RETURNS TO RICHMOND. General Lee, on the day following the capitulation of his army, issued an address to his old soldiers, which they received and read with very deep emotion. The address was in these words: HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, _April_ 10, 1865. After four years of arduous service, marked by unsurpassed courage and fortitude, the Army of Northern Virginia has been compelled to yield to overwhelming numbers and resources. I need not tell the survivors of so many hard-fought battles, who have remained steadfast to the last, that I have consented to this result from no distrust of them; but, feeling that valor and devotion could accomplish nothing that could compensate for the loss that would have attended the continuation of the contest, I have determined to avoid the useless sacrifice of those whose past services have endeared them to their countrymen. By the terms of agreement, officers and men can return to their homes and remain there until exchanged. You will take with you the satisfaction that proceeds from the consciousness of duty faithfully performed; and I earnestly pray that a merciful God will extend to you His blessing and protection. With an unceasing admiration of your constancy and devotion to your country, and a grateful remembrance of your kind and generous consideration of myself, I bid you an affectionate farewell. R.E. LEE, _General_. The painful arrangements connected with the capitulation were on this day concluded; and General Lee prepared to set out on his return to Richmond--like his men, a "paroled prisoner of the Army of Northern Virginia." The parting between him and his soldiers was pathetic. He exchanged with all near him a close pressure of the hand, uttered a few simple words of farewell, and, mounting his iron-gray, "Traveller," who had passed through all the fighting of the campaign unharmed, rode slowly in the direction of Richmond. He was escorted by a detachment of Federal cavalry, preceded only by a guidon; and the party, including the officers who accompanied him, consisted of about twenty-five horsemen. The _cortége_ was followed by several wagons carrying the private effects of himself and his companions, and by the well-known old black open vehicle which he had occasionally used during the campaigns of the preceding year, when indisposition prevented him from mounting his horse. In this vehicle it had been his custom to carry stores for the wounded--it had never been used for articles contributing to his personal convenience. General Lee's demeanor on his way to Richmond was entirely composed, and his thoughts seemed much more occupied by the unfortunate condition of the poor people, at whose houses he stopped, than by his own situation. When he found that all along his route the impoverished people had cooked provisions in readiness for him, and were looking anxiously for him, with every indication of love and admiration, he said to one of his officers: "These good people are kind--too kind. Their hearts are as full as when we began our first campaigns in 1861. They do too much--more than they are able to do--for us." His soldierly habits remained unchanged, and he seemed unwilling to indulge in any luxuries or comforts which could not be shared by the gentlemen accompanying him At a house which he reached just as night came, a poor woman had prepared an excellent bed for him, but, with a courteous shake of the head, he spread his blanket, and slept upon the floor. Stopping on the next day at the house of his brother, Charles Carter Lee, in Powhatan, he spent the evening in conversation; but, when bedtime came, left the house, in spite of the fact that it had begun to rain, and, crossing the road into the woods, took up his quarters for the night on the hard planks of his old black vehicle. On the route he exhibited great solicitude about a small quantity of oats which he had brought with him, in one of the wagons, for his old companion, "Traveller," mentioning it more than once, and appearing anxious lest it should be lost or used by some one. [Illustration: LEE'S ENTRY INTO RICHMOND AFTER THE SURRENDER.] The party came in sight of Richmond at last, and, two or three miles from the city, General Lee rode ahead of his escort, accompanied only by a few officers, and, crossing the pontoon bridge below the ruins of Mayo's bridge, which had been destroyed when the Confederate forces retreated, entered the capital. The spectacle which met his eyes at this moment must have been exceedingly painful. In the great conflagration which had taken place on the morning of the 3d of April, a large portion of the city had been burned; and, as General Lee rode up Main Street, formerly so handsome and attractive, he saw on either hand only masses of blackened ruins. As he rode slowly through the opening between these masses of _débris_, he was recognized by the few persons who were on the street, and instantly the intelligence of his presence spread through the city. The inhabitants hastened from their houses and flocked to welcome him, saluting him with cheers and the waving of hats and handkerchiefs. He seemed desirous, however, of avoiding this ovation, and, returning the greeting by simply raising his hat, rode on and reached his house on Franklin Street, where, respecting his desire for privacy under circumstances so painful, his admirers did not intrude upon him. We have presented this brief narrative of the incidents attending General Lee's return to his home after the surrender, to show with what simplicity and good sense he accepted his trying situation. A small amount of diplomacy--sending forward one of his officers to announce his intended arrival; stopping for a few moments as he ascended Main Street; making an address to the citizens who first recognized him, and thus affording time for a crowd to assemble--these proceedings on the part of General Lee would have resulted in an ovation such as a vanquished commander never before received at the hands of any people. Nothing, however, was less desired by General Lee than this tumultuous reception. The native modesty of the man not only shrunk from such an ovation; he avoided it for another reason--the pretext it would probably afford to the Federal authorities to proceed to harsh measures against the unfortunate persons who took part in it. In accordance with these sentiments, General Lee had not announced his coming, had not stopped as he rode through the city; and now, shutting himself up in his house, signified his desire to avoid a public reception, and to be left in privacy. This policy he is well known to have pursued from that time to the end of his life. He uniformly declined, with great courtesy, but firmly, invitations to attend public gatherings of any description, where his presence might arouse passions or occasion discussions connected with the great contest in which he had been the leader of the South. A mind less firm and noble would doubtless have yielded to this great temptation. It is sweet to the soldier, who has been overwhelmed and has yielded up his sword, to feel that the love and admiration of a people still follow him; and to have the consolation of receiving public evidences of this unchanged devotion. That this love of the Southern people for Lee deeply touched him, there can be no doubt; but it did not blind him to his duty as the representative individual of the South. Feeling that nothing was now left the Southern people but an honest acceptance of the situation, and a cessation, as far as possible, of all rancor toward the North, he refused to encourage sentiments of hostility between the two sections, and did all in his power to restore amicable feeling. "I am very glad to learn," he said in a note to the present writer, "that your life of General Jackson is of the character you describe. I think all topics or questions calculated to excite angry discussion or hostile feelings should be avoided." These few words convey a distinct idea of General Lee's views and feelings. He had fought to the best of his ability for Southern independence of the North; the South had failed in the struggle, and it was now, in his opinion, the duty of every good citizen to frankly acquiesce in the result, and endeavor to avoid all that kept open the bleeding wounds of the country. His military career had placed him, in the estimation of the first men of his time, among the greatest soldiers of history; but the dignity and moderation of the course pursued by him, from the end of the war to the time of his death, will probably remain, in the opinion of both his friends and enemies, the noblest illustration of the character of the man. XVIII. GENERAL LEE AFTER THE WAR. In the concluding pages of this volume we shall not be called upon to narrate either military or political events. With the surrender at Appomattox Court-House the Confederate War ended--no attempt was made by General Johnston or other commanders to prolong it--in that great whirlpool all hopes of further resistance disappeared. We have, therefore, now no task before us but to follow General Lee into private life, and present a few details of his latter years, and his death. These notices will be brief, but will not, we hope, be devoid of interest. The soldier who had so long led the Confederate armies was to enter in his latter days upon a new field of labor; and, if in this field he won no new glories, he at least displayed the loftiest virtues, and exhibited that rare combination of greatness and gentleness which makes up a character altogether lovely. Adhering to the resolution, formed in 1861, never again to draw his sword except in defence of Virginia, General Lee, after the surrender, sought for some occupation, feeling the necessity, doubtless, of in some manner employing his energies. He is said to have had offered to him, but to have courteously declined, estates in England and Ireland; and to have also declined the place of commercial agent of the South in New York, which would have proved exceedingly lucrative. In the summer of 1865, however, he accepted an offer more congenial to his feelings--that of the presidency of Washington College at Lexington--and in the autumn of that year entered upon his duties, which he continued to perform with great energy and success to the day of his death. Of the excellent judgment and great administrative capacity which he displayed in this new field of labor, we have never heard any question. It was the name and example, however, of Lee which proved so valuable, drawing to the college more than five hundred students from all portions of the South, and some even from the North. Upon the subject of General Lee's life at Washington College, a more important authority than that of the present writer will soon speak. In the "Memorial Volume," whose publication will probably precede or immediately follow the appearance of this work, full details will, no doubt, be presented of this interesting period. The subject possesses rare interest, and the facts presented will, beyond all question, serve to bring out new beauties in a character already regarded with extraordinary love and admiration by men of all parties and opinions. To the volume in question we refer the reader who desires the full-length portrait of one concerning whom too much cannot be written. During the period extending between the end of the war and General Lee's death, he appeared in public but two or three times--once at Washington, as a "witness" before a Congressional committee, styled "The Reconstruction Committee," to inquire into the condition of things in the South; again, as a witness on the proposed trial of President Davis; and perhaps on one or two additional occasions not of great interest or importance. His testimony was not taken on the trial of the President, which was deferred and finally abandoned; but he was subjected before the Washington committee to a long and searching examination, in which it is difficult to decide whether his own calmness, good sense, and outspoken frankness, or the bad taste of some of the questions prepounded to him, were the more remarkable. As the testimony of General Lee, upon this occasion, presents a full exposition of his views upon many of the most important points connected with the condition of the South, and the "reconstruction" policy, a portion of the newspaper report of his evidence is here given, as both calculated to interest the reader, and to illustrate the subject. The examination of General Lee took place in March, 1866, and the following is the main portion of it: General ROBERT E. LEE, sworn and examined by Mr. Howard: Question. Where is your present residence? Answer. Lexington, Va. Q. How long have you resided in Lexington? A. Since the 1st of October last--nearly five months. THE FEELING IN VIRGINIA. Q. Are you acquainted with the state of feeling among what we call secessionists in Virginia, at present, toward the Government of the United States? A. I do not know that I am; I have been living very retired, and have had but little communication with politicians; I know nothing more than from my own observation, and from such facts as have come to my knowledge. Q. From your observation, what is your opinion as to the loyalty toward the Government of the United States among the secession portion of the people of that State at this time? A. So far as has come to my knowledge, I do not know of a single person who either feels or contemplates any resistance to the Government of the United States, or indeed any opposition to it; no word has reached me to either purpose. Q. From what you have observed among them, is it your opinion that they are friendly toward the Government of the United States, and that they will coöperate to sustain and uphold the Government for the future? A. I believe that they entirely acquiesce in the Government of the United States, and, so far as I have heard any one express an opinion, they are for coöperating with President Johnson in his policy. Q. In his policy in regard to what? A. His policy in regard to the restoration of the whole country; I have heard persons with whom I have conversed express great confidence in the wisdom of his policy of restoration, and they seem to look forward to it as a hope of restoration. Q. How do they feel in regard to that portion of the people of the United States who have been forward and zealous in the prosecution of the war against the rebellion? A. Well, I don't know as I have heard anybody express any opinion in regard to it; as I said before, I have not had much communication with politicians in the country, if there are any; every one seems to be engaged in his own affairs, and endeavoring to restore the civil government of the State; I have heard no expression of a sentiment toward any particular portion of the country. Q. How do the secessionists feel in regard to the payment of the debt of the United States contracted in the prosecution of the war? A. I have never heard anyone speak on the subject; I suppose they must expect to pay the taxes levied by the Government; I have heard them speak in reference to the payment of taxes, and of their efforts to raise money to pay taxes, which, I suppose, are for their share of the debt; I have never heard any one speak in opposition to the payment of taxes, or of resistance to their payment; their whole effort has been to try and raise the money for the payment of the taxes. THE DEBT. Q. From your knowledge of the state of public feeling in Virginia, is it your opinion that the people would, if the question were left to them, repudiate and reject that debt? A. I never heard any one speak on that subject; but, from my knowledge of the people, I believe that they would be in favor of the payment of all just debts. Q. Do they, in your opinion, regard that as a just debt? A. I do not know what their opinion is on the subject of that particular debt; I have never heard any opinion expressed contrary to it; indeed, as I said in the beginning, I have had very little discussion or intercourse with the people; I believe the people will pay the debts they are called upon to pay; I say that from my knowledge of the people generally. Q. Would they pay that debt, or their portion of it, with as much alacrity as people ordinarily pay their taxes to their Government? A. I do not know that they would make any distinction between the two. The taxes laid by the Government, so far as I know, they are prepared to pay to the best of their ability. I never heard them make any distinction. Q. What is the feeling of that portion of the people of Virginia in regard to the payment of the so-called Confederate debt? A. I believe, so far as my opinion goes--I have no facts to go upon, but merely base my opinion on the knowledge I have of the people--that they would be willing to pay the Confederate debt, too. Q. You think they would? A. I think they would, if they had the power and ability to do so. I have never heard any one in the State, with whom I have conversed, speak of repudiating any debt. Q. I suppose the Confederate debt is almost entirely valueless, even in the market in Virginia? A. Entirely so, as far as I know. I believe the people generally look upon it as lost entirely. I never heard any question on the subject. Q. Do you recollect the terms of the Confederate bonds--when they were made payable? A. I think I have a general recollection that they were made payable six months after a declaration of peace. Q. Six months after the ratification of a treaty of peace between the United States and the Confederate Government? A. I think they ran that way. Q. So that the bonds are not due yet by their terms? A. I suppose, unless it is considered that there is a peace now, they are not due. THE FREEDMEN. Q. How do the people of Virginia, secessionists more particularly, feel toward the freedmen? A. Every one with whom I associate expresses the kindest feelings toward the freedmen. They wish to see them get on in the world, and particularly to take up some occupation for a living, and to turn their hands to some work. I know that efforts have been made among the farmers near where I live to induce them to engage for the year at regular wages. Q. Do you think there is a willingness on the part of their old masters to give them fair living wages for their labor? A. I believe it is so; the farmers generally prefer those servants who have been living with them before; I have heard them express their preferences for the men whom they knew, who had lived with them before, and their wish to get them to return to work. Q. Are you aware of the existence of any combination among the "whites" to keep down the wages of the "blacks?" A. I am not; I have heard that in several counties the land-owners have met in order to establish a uniform rate of wages, but I never heard, nor do I know of any combination to keep down wages or establish any rule which they did not think fair; the means of paying wages in Virginia are very limited now, and there is a difference of opinion as to how much each person is able to pay. Q. How do they feel in regard to the education of the blacks? Is there a general willingness to have them educated? A. Where I am, and have been, the people have exhibited a willingness that the blacks should be educated, and they express an opinion that it would be better for the blacks and better for the whites. Q. General, you are very competent to judge of the capacity of black men for acquiring knowledge--I want your opinion on that capacity as compared with the capacity of white men? A. I do not know that I am particularly qualified to speak on that subject, as you seem to intimate, but I do not think that the black man is as capable of acquiring knowledge as the white man. There are some more apt than others. I have known some to acquire knowledge and skill in their trade or profession. I have had servants of my own who learned to read and write very well. Q. Do they show a capacity to obtain knowledge of mathematics and the exact sciences? A. I have no knowledge on that subject; I am merely acquainted with those who have learned the common rudiments of education. Q. General, are you aware of the existence among the blacks of Virginia, anywhere within the limits of the State, of combinations, having in view the disturbance of the peace, or any improper or unlawful acts? A. I am not; I have seen no evidence of it, and have heard of none; wherever I have been they have been quiet and orderly; not disposed to work; or, rather, not disposed to any continuous engagement to work, but just very short jobs to provide them with the immediate means of subsistence. Q. Has the colored race generally as great love of money and property as the white race possesses? A. I do not think it has; the blacks with whom I am acquainted look more to the present time than to the future. Q. Does that absence of a lust of money and property arise more from the nature of the negro than from his former servile condition? A. Well, it may be in some measure attributed to his former condition; they are an amiable, social race; they like their ease and comfort, and I think look more to their present than to their future condition. IN CASE OF WAR, WOULD VIRGINIA JOIN OUR ENEMIES? Q. In the event of a war between the United States and any foreign power, such as England or France, if there should be held out to the secession portion of the people of Virginia, or the other recently rebel States, a fair prospect of gaining their independence and shaking off the Government of the United States, is it or is it not your opinion that they would avail themselves of that opportunity? A. I cannot answer with any certainty on that point; I do not know how far they might be actuated by their feelings; I have nothing whatever to base an opinion upon; so far as I know, they contemplate nothing of the kind now; what may happen in the future I cannot say. Q. Do you not frequently hear, in your intercourse with secessionists in Virginia, expressions of a hope that such a war may break out? A. I cannot say that I have heard it; on the contrary, I have heard persons--I do not know whether you could call them secessionists or not, I mean those people in Virginia with whom I associate--express the hope that the country may not be led into a war. Q. In such an event, do you not think that that class of people whom I call secessionists would join the common enemy? A. It is possible; it depends upon the feeling of the individual. Q. If it is a fair question--you may answer or not, as you choose--what, in such an event, might be your choice? A. I have no disposition now to do it, and I never have had. Q. And you cannot foresee that such would be your inclination in such an event? A. No; I can only judge from the past; I do not know what circumstances it may produce; I cannot pretend to foresee events; so far as I know the feeling of the people of Virginia, they wish for peace. Q. During the civil war, was it not contemplated by the Government of the Confederacy to form an alliance with some foreign nation if possible? A. I believe it was their wish to do so if they could; it was their wish to have the Confederate Government recognized as an independent government; I have no doubt that if it could have made favorable treaties it would have done so, but I know nothing of the policy of the government; I had no hand or part in it; I merely express my own opinion. Q. The question I am about to put to you, you may answer or not, as you choose. Did you take an oath of fidelity, or allegiance, to the Confederate Government? A. I do not recollect having done so, but it is possible that when I was commissioned I did; I do not recollect whether it was required; if it was required, I took it, or if it had been required I would have taken it; but I do not recollect whether it was or not. Q. (By Mr. Blow.) In reference to the effect of President Johnson's policy, if it were adopted, would there be any thing like a return of the old feeling? I ask that because you used the expression "acquiescing in the result." A. I believe it would take time for the feelings of the people to be of that cordial nature to the Government they were formerly. Q. Do you think that their preference for that policy arises from a desire to have peace and good feeling in the country, or from the probability of their regaining political power? PRESIDENT JOHNSON'S POLICY. A. So far as I know the desire of the people of the South, it is for restoration of their civil government, and they look upon the policy of President Johnson as the one which would most clearly and most surely reëstablish it. CONDITION OF THE POORER CLASSES. Q. Do you see any change among the poorer classes in Virginia, in reference to industry? Are they as much, or more, interested in developing their material interests than they were? A. I have not observed any change; every one now has to attend to his business for his support. Q. The poorer classes are generally hard at work, are they? A. So far as I know, they are; I know nothing to the contrary. Q. Is there any difference in their relations to the colored people? Is their prejudice increased or diminished? A. I have noticed no change; so far as I do know the feelings of all the people of Virginia, they are kind to the colored people; I have never heard any blame attributed to them as to the present condition of things, or any responsibility. Q. There are very few colored laborers employed, I suppose? A. Those who own farms have employed, more or less, one or two colored laborers; some are so poor that they have to work themselves. Q. Can capitalists and workingmen from the North go into any portion of Virginia with which you are familiar and go to work among the people? A. I do not know of any thing to prevent them. Their peace and pleasure there would depend very much on their conduct. If they confined themselves to their own business and did not interfere to provoke controversies with their neighbors, I do not believe they would be molested. Q. There is no desire to keep out capital? A. Not that I know of. On the contrary, they are very anxious to get capital into the State. Q. You see nothing of a disposition to prevent such a thing? A. I have seen nothing, and do not know of any thing, as I said before; the manner in which they would be received would depend entirely upon the individuals themselves; they might make themselves obnoxious, as you can understand. Q. (By Mr. Howard.) Is there not a general dislike of Northern men among secessionists? A. I suppose they would prefer not to associate with them; I do not know that they would select them as associates. Q. Do they avoid and ostracize them socially? A. They might avoid them; they would not select them as associates unless there was some reason; I do not know that they would associate with them unless they became acquainted; I think it probable they would not admit them into their social circles. THE POSITION OF THE COLORED RACE. Q. (By Mr. Blow.) What is the position of the colored men in Virginia with reference to persons they work for? Do you think they would prefer to work for Northern or Southern men? A. I think it very probable they would prefer the Northern man, although I have no facts to go upon. Q. That having been stated very frequently in reference to the cotton States, does it result from a bad treatment on the part of the resident population, or from the idea that they will be more fairly treated by the new-comers? What is your observation in that respect in regard to Virginia? A. I have no means of forming an opinion; I do not know any case in Virginia; I know of numbers of the blacks engaging with their old masters, and I know of many to prefer to go off and look for new homes; whether it is from any dislike of their former masters, or from any desire to change, or they feel more free and independent, I don't know. THE MATERIAL INTERESTS OF VIRGINIA. Q. What is your opinion in regard to the material interests of Virginia; do you think they will be equal to what they were before the rebellion under the changed aspect of affairs? A. It will take a long time for them to reach their former standard; I think that after some years they will reach it, and I hope exceed it; but it cannot be immediately, in my opinion. Q. It will take a number of years? A. It will take a number of years, I think. Q. On the whole, the condition of things in Virginia is hopeful both in regard to its material interests and the future peace of the country? A. I have heard great hopes expressed, and there is great cheerfulness and willingness to labor. Q. Suppose this policy of President Johnson should be all you anticipate, and that you should also realize all that you expect in the improvement of the material interests, do you think that the result of that will be the gradual restoration of the old feeling? A. That will be the natural result, I think; and I see no other way in which that result can be brought about. Q. There is a fear in the public mind that the friends of the policy in the South adopt it because they see in it the means of repairing the political position which they lost in the recent contest. Do you think that that is the main idea with them, or that they merely look to it, as you say, as the best means of restoring civil government and the peace and prosperity of their respective States? A. As to the first point you make, I do not know that I ever heard any person speak upon it; I never heard the points separated; I have heard them speak generally as to the effect of the policy of President Johnson; the feeling is, so far as I know now, that there is not that equality extended to the Southern States which is enjoyed by the North. Q. You do not feel down there that, while you accept the result, we are as generous as we ought to be under the circumstances? A. They think that the North can afford to be generous. Q. That is the feeling down there? A. Yes; and they think it is the best policy; those who reflect upon the subject and are able to judge. Q. I understand it to be your opinion that generosity and liberality toward the entire South would be the surest means of regaining their good opinion? A. Yes, and the speediest. Q. (By Mr. Howard.) I understand you to say generally that you had no apprehension of any combination among the leading secessionists to renew the war, or any thing of the kind? A. I have no reason in the world to think so. Q. Have you heard that subject talked over among any of the politicians? A. No, sir; I have not; I have not heard that matter even suggested. Q. Let me put another hypothetical state of things. Suppose the executive government of the United States should be held by a President who, like Mr. Buchanan, rejected the right of coercion, so called, and suppose a Congress should exist here entertaining the same political opinions, thus presenting to the once rebel States the opportunity to again secede from the Union, would they, or not, in your opinion, avail themselves of that opportunity, or some of them? A. I suppose it would depend: upon the circumstances existing at the time; if their feelings should remain embittered, and their affections alienated from the rest of the States, I think it very probable they might do so, provided they thought it was to their interests. Q. Do you not think that at the present time there is a deep-seated feeling of dislike toward the Government of the United States on the part of the secessionists? A. I do not know that there is any deep-seated dislike; I think it is probable there may be some animosity still existing among the people of the South. Q. Is there not a deep-seated feeling of disappointment and chagrin at the result of the war? A. I think that at the time they were disappointed at the result of the war. Q. Do you mean to be understood as saying that there is not a condition of discontent against the Government of the United States among the secessionists generally? A. I know none. Q. Are you prepared to say that they respect the Government of the United States, and the loyal people of the United States, so much at the present time as to perform their duties as citizens of the United States, and of the States, faithfully and well? A. I believe that they will perform all the duties that they are required to perform; I think that is the general feeling so far as I know. Q. Do you think it would be practicable to convict a man in Virginia of treason for having taken part in this rebellion against the Government by a Virginian jury without packing it with direct reference to a verdict of guilty? A. On that point I have no knowledge, and I do not know what they would consider treason against the United States--if you refer to past acts. Mr. Howard: Yes, sir. Witness: I have no knowledge what their views on that subject in the past are. Q. You understand my question. Suppose a jury was impanelled in your own neighborhood, taken by lot, would it be possible to convict, for instance, Jefferson Davis, for having levied war upon the United States, and thus having committed the crime of treason? A. I think it is very probable that they would not consider he had committed treason. THEIR VIEWS OF TREASON. Q. Suppose the jury should be clearly and plainly instructed by the Court that such an act of war upon the part of Mr. Davis or any other leading man constituted the crime of treason under the Constitution of the United States, would the jury be likely to heed that instruction, and, if the facts were plainly in proof before them, convict the offender? A. I do not know, sir, what they would do on that question. Q. They do not generally suppose that it was treason against the United States, do they? A. I do not think that they so consider it. Q. In what light would they view it? What would be their excuse or justification? How would they escape, in their own mind? I refer to the past--I am referring to the past and the feelings they would have? A. So far as I know, they look upon the action of the State in withdrawing itself from the Government of the United States as carrying the individuals of the State along with it; that the State was responsible for the act, not the individuals, and that the ordinance of secession, so called, or those acts of the State which recognized a condition of war between the State and the General Government stood as their justification for their bearing arms against the Government of the United States; yes, sir, I think they would consider the act of the State as legitimate; that they were merely using the reserved rights, which they had a right to do. Q. State, if you please--and if you are disinclined to answer the question you need not do so--what your own personal views on that question are? A. That was my view; that the act of Virginia in withdrawing herself from the United States carried me along as a citizen of Virginia, and that her laws and her acts were binding on me. Q. And that you felt to be your justification in taking the course you did? A. Yes, sir. Q. I have been told, general, that you have remarked to some of your friends, in conversation, that you were rather wheedled or cheated into that course by politicians? A. I do not recollect ever making any such remark; I do not think I ever made it. Q. If there be any other matter about which you wish to speak on this occasion, do so, freely. A. Only in reference to that last question you put to me. I may have said and may have believed that the positions of the two sections which they held to each other was brought about by the politicians of the country; that the great masses of the people, if they understood the real question, would have avoided it; but not that I had been individually wheedled by the politicians. Q. That is probably the origin of the whole thing. A. I may have said that, but I do not even recollect that; but I did believe at the time that it was an unnecessary condition of affairs, and might have been avoided if forbearance and wisdom had been practised on both sides. Q. You say that you do not recollect having sworn allegiance and fidelity to the Confederate Government? A. I do not recollect it, nor do I know it was ever required. I was regularly commissioned in the army of the Confederate States, but I do not really recollect that that oath was required. If it was required, I have no doubt I took it; or, if it had been required, I would have taken it. Q. Is there any other matter which you desire to state to the committee? A. No, sir; I am ready to answer any question which you think proper to put to me. NEGRO CITIZENSHIP. Q. How would an amendment to the Constitution be received by the secessionists, or by the people at large, allowing the colored people, or certain classes of them, to exercise the right of voting at elections? A. I think, so far as I can form an opinion, in such an event they would object. Q. They would object to such an amendment? A. Yes, sir. Q. Suppose an amendment should nevertheless be adopted, conferring on the blacks the right of suffrage, would that, in your opinion, lead to scenes of violence or breaches of the peace between the two races in Virginia? A. I think it would excite unfriendly feelings between the two races; I cannot pretend to say to what extent it would go, but that would be the result. Q. Are you acquainted with the proposed amendment now pending in the Senate of the United States? A. No, sir, I am not; I scarcely ever read a paper. [The substance of the proposed amendment was here explained to the witness by Mr. Conkling.] So far as I can see, I do not think that the State of Virginia would object to it. Q. Would she consent, under any circumstances, to allow the black people to vote, even if she were to gain a large number of representatives in Congress? A. That would depend upon her interests; if she had the right of determining that, I do not see why she would object; if it were to her interest to admit these people to vote, that might overrule any other objection that she had to it. Q. What, in your opinion, would be the practical result? Do you think that Virginia would consent to allow the negro to vote? A. I think that at present she would accept the smaller representation; I do not know what the future may develop; if it should be plain to her that these persons will vote properly and understandingly, she might admit them to vote. Q. (By Mr. Blow.) Do you not think it would turn a good deal, in the cotton States, upon the value of the labor of the black people? Upon the amount which they produce? A. In a good many States in the South, and in a good many counties in Virginia, if the black people were allowed to vote, it would, I think, exclude proper representation--that is, proper, intelligent people would not be elected, and, rather than suffer that injury, they would not let them vote at all. Q. Do you not think that the question as to whether any Southern State would allow the colored people the right of suffrage in order to increase representation would depend a good deal on the amount which the colored people might contribute to the wealth of the State, in order to secure two things--first, the larger representation, and, second, the influence desired from those persons voting? A. I think they would determine the question more in reference to their opinion as to the manner in which those votes would be exercised, whether they consider those people qualified to vote; my own opinion is, that at this time they cannot vote intelligently, and that giving them the right of suffrage would open the door to a good deal of demagogism, and lead to embarrassments in various ways; what the future may prove, how intelligent they may become, with what eyes they may look upon the interests of the State in which they may reside, I cannot say more than you can. The above extract presents the main portion of General Lee's testimony, and is certainly an admirable exposition of the clear good sense and frankness of the individual. Once or twice there is obviously an under-current of dry satire, as in his replies upon the subject of the Confederate bonds. When asked whether he remembered at what time these bonds were made payable, he replied that his "general recollection was, that they were made payable six months after a declaration of peace." The correction was at once made by his interrogator in the words "six months after _the ratification of a treaty of peace_" etc. "I think they ran that way," replied General Lee. "So that," retorted his interrogator, "the bonds are not yet due by their terms?" General Lee's reply was, "I suppose, _unless it is considered that there is a peace now, they are not due_." This seems to have put an abrupt termination to the examination on that point. To the question whether he had taken an oath of allegiance to the Confederate Government, he replied: "I do not recollect having done so, but it is possible that when I was commissioned I did; I do not recollect whether it was required; if it was required, I took it, or if it had been required, I would have taken it." If this reply of General Lee be attentively weighed by the reader, some conception may be formed of the bitter pang which he must have experienced in sending in, as he did, to the Federal Government, his application for pardon. The fact cannot be concealed that this proceeding on the part of General Lee was a subject of deep regret to the Southern people; but there can be no question that his motive was disinterested and noble, and that he presented, in so doing, the most remarkable evidence of the true greatness of his character. He had no personal advantage to expect from a pardon; cared absolutely nothing whether he were "pardoned" or not; and to one so proud, and so thoroughly convinced of the justice of the cause in which he had fought, to appear as a supplicant must have been inexpressibly painful. He, nevertheless, took this mortifying step--actuated entirely by that sense of duty which remained with him to the last, overmastering every other sentiment of his nature. He seems in this, as in many other things, to have felt the immense import of his example. The old soldiers of his army, and thousands of civilians, were obliged to apply for amnesty, or remain under civic disability. Brave men, with families depending upon them, had been driven to this painful course, and General Lee seems to have felt that duty to his old comrades demanded that he, too, should swallow this bitter draught, and share their humiliation as he had shared their dangers and their glory. If this be not the explanation of the motives controlling General Lee's action, the writer is unable to account for the course which he pursued. That it is the sole explanation, the writer no more doubts than he doubts the fact of his own existence. XIX. GENERAL LEE'S LAST YEARS AND DEATH. For about five years--from the latter part of 1865 nearly to the end of 1870--General Lee continued to concentrate his entire attention and all his energies upon his duties as President of Washington College, to which his great name, and the desire of Southern parents to have their sons educated under a guide so illustrious, attracted, as we have said, more than five hundred students. The sedentary nature of these occupations was a painful trial to one so long accustomed to lead a life of activity; but it was not in the character of the individual to allow personal considerations to interfere with the performance of his duty; and the laborious supervision of the education of this large number of young gentlemen continued, day after day, and year after year, to occupy his mind and his time, to the exclusion, wellnigh, of every other thought. His personal popularity with the students was very great, and it is unnecessary to add that their respect for him was unbounded. By the citizens of Lexington, and especially the graver and more pious portion, he was regarded with a love and admiration greater than any felt for him during the progress of his military career. This was attributable, doubtless, to the franker and clearer exhibition by General Lee, in his latter years, of that extraordinary gentleness and sweetness, culminating in devoted Christian piety, which--concealed from all eyes, in some degree, during the war--now plainly revealed themselves, and were evidently the broad foundation and controlling influences of his whole life and character. To speak first of his gentleness and moderation in all his views and utterances. Of these eminent virtues--eminent and striking, above all, in a defeated soldier with so much to embitter him--General Lee presented a very remarkable illustration. The result of the war seemed to have left his great soul calm, resigned, and untroubled by the least rancor. While others, not more devoted to the South, permitted passion and sectional animosity to master them, and dictate acts and expressions full of bitterness toward the North, General Lee refrained systematically from every thing of that description; and by simple force of greatness, one would have said, rose above all prejudices and hatreds of the hour, counselling, and giving in his own person to all who approached him the example of moderation and Christian charity. He aimed to keep alive the old Southern traditions of honor and virtue; but not that sectional hatred which could produce only evil. To a lady who had lost her husband in the war, and, on bringing her two sons to the college, indulged in expressions of great bitterness toward the North, General Lee said, gently: "Madam, do not train up your children in hostility to the Government of the United States. Remember that we are one country now. Dismiss from your mind all sectional feeling, and bring them up to be Americans." A still more suggestive exhibition of his freedom from rancor was presented in an interview which is thus described: "One day last autumn the writer saw General Lee standing at his gate, talking pleasantly to an humbly-clad man, who seemed very much pleased at the cordial courtesy of the great chieftain, and turned off, evidently delighted, as we came up. After exchanging salutations, the general said, pointing to the retreating form, 'That is one of our old soldiers, who is in necessitous circumstances.' I took it for granted that it was some veteran Confederate, when the noble-hearted chieftain quietly added, 'He fought on the other side, but we must not think of that.' I afterward ascertained--not from General Lee, for he never alluded to his charities--that he had not only spoken kindly to this 'old soldier' who had 'fought on the other side,' but had sent him on his way rejoicing in a liberal contribution to his necessities." Of the extent of this Christian moderation another proof was given by the soldier, at a moment when he might not unreasonably have been supposed to labor under emotions of the extremest bitterness. Soon after his return to Richmond, in April, 1865, when the _immedicabile vulnus_ of surrender was still open and bleeding, a gentleman was requested by the Federal commander in the city to communicate to General Lee the fact that he was about to be indicted in the United States courts for treason.[1] In acquitting himself of his commission, the gentleman expressed sentiments of violent indignation at such a proceeding. But these feelings General Lee did not seem to share. The threat of arraigning him as a traitor produced no other effect upon him than to bring a smile to his lips; and, taking the hand of his friend, as the latter rose to go, he said, in his mildest tones: "We must forgive our enemies. I can truly say that not a day has passed since the war began that I have not prayed for them." [Footnote 1: This was afterward done by one of the Federal judges, but resulted in nothing.] The incidents here related define the views and feelings of General Lee as accurately as they could be set forth in a whole volume. The defeated commander, who could open his poor purse to "one of _our_ old soldiers who _fought on the other side_," and pray daily during the bitterest of conflicts for his enemies, must surely have trained his spirit to the perfection of Christian charity. Of the strength and controlling character of General Lee's religious convictions we have more than once spoken in preceding pages of this volume. These now seemed to exert a more marked influence over his life, and indeed to shape every action and utterance of the man. During the war he had exhibited much greater reserve upon this the most important of all subjects which can engage the attention of a human being; and, although he had been from an early period, we believe, a communicant of the Protestant Episcopal Church, he seldom discussed religious questions, or spoke of his own feelings, presenting in this a marked contrast, as we have said, to his illustrious associate General Jackson. Even during the war, however, as the reader has seen in our notices of his character at the end of 1863, General Lee's piety revealed itself in conversations with his chaplains and other good men; and was not concealed from the troops, as on the occasion of the prayer-meeting in the midst of the fighting at Mine Run. On another occasion, when reviewing his army near Winchester, he was seen to raise his hat to a chaplain with the words, "I salute the Church of God;" and again, near Petersburg, was observed kneeling in prayer, a short distance from the road, as his troops marched by. Still another incident of the period--that of the war--will be recorded here in the words of the Rev. J. William Jones, who relates it: "Not long before the evacuation of Petersburg, the writer was one day distributing tracts along the trenches, when he perceived a brilliant cavalcade approaching. General Lee--accompanied by General John B. Gordon, General A.P. Hill, and other general officers, with their staffs--was inspecting our lines and reconnoitring those of the enemy. The keen eye of Gordon recognized, and his cordial grasp detained, the humble tract-distributor, as he warmly inquired about his work. General Lee at once reined in his horse and joined in the conversation, the rest of the party gathered around, and the humble colporteur thus became the centre of a group of whose notice the highest princes of earth might well be proud. General Lee asked if we ever had calls for prayer-books, and said that if we would call at his headquarters he would give us some for distribution--'that some friend in Richmond had given him a new prayer-book, and, upon his saying that he would give his old one, that he had used ever since the Mexican War, to some soldier, the friend had offered him a dozen new books for the old one, and he had, of course, accepted so good an offer, and now had twelve instead of one to give away.' We called at the appointed hour. The general had gone out on some important matter, but (even amid his pressing duties) had left the prayer-books with a member of his staff, with instructions concerning them. He had written on the fly-leaf of each, 'Presented by R.E. Lee,' and we are sure that those of the gallant men to whom they were given who survive the war will now cherish them as precious legacies, and hand them down as heirlooms in their families." These incidents unmistakably indicate that General Lee concealed, under the natural reserve of his character, an earnest religious belief and trust in God and our Saviour. Nor was this a new sentiment with him. After his death a well-worn pocket Bible was found in his chamber, in which was written, "R.E. Lee, Lieutenant-Colonel, U.S. Army." It was plain, from this, that, even during the days of his earlier manhood, in Mexico and on the Western prairies, he had read his Bible, and striven to conform his life to its teachings. With the retirement of the great soldier, however, from the cares of command which necessarily interfered in a large degree with pious exercises and meditations, the religious phase of his character became more clearly defined, assuming far more prominent and striking proportions. The sufferings of the Southern people doubtless had a powerful effect upon him, and, feeling the powerlessness of man, he must have turned to God for comfort. But this inquiry is too profound for the present writer. He shrinks from the attempt to sound the depths of this truly great soul, with the view of discovering the influences which moulded it into an almost ideal perfection. General Lee was, fortunately for the world, surrounded in his latter days by good and intelligent men, fully competent to present a complete exposition of his views and feelings--and to these the arduous undertaking is left. Our easier task is to place upon record such incidents as we have gathered, bearing upon the religious phase of the illustrious soldier's character. His earnest piety cannot be better displayed than in the anxiety which he felt for the conversion of his students, Conversing with the Rev. Dr. Kirkpatrick, of the Presbyterian Church, on the subject of the religious welfare of those intrusted to his charge, "he was so overcome by emotion," says Dr. Kirkpatrick, "that he could not utter the words which were on his tongue." His utterance was choked, but recovering himself, with his eyes overflowing with tears, his lips quivering with emotion, and both hands raised, he exclaimed: "Oh! doctor, if I could only know that all the young men in the college were good Christians, I should have nothing more to desire." When another minister, the Rev. Mr. Jones, delivered an earnest address at the "Concert of Prayer for Colleges," urging that all Christians should pray for the aid of the Holy Spirit in changing the hearts of the students, General Lee, after the meeting, approached the minister and said with great warmth: "I wish, sir, to thank you for your address. It was just what we needed. Our great want is a revival, which shall bring these young men to Christ." One morning, while the venerable Dr. White was passing General Lee's house, on his way to chapel, the general joined him, and they entered into conversation upon religious subjects. General Lee said little, but, just as they reached the college, stopped and remarked with great earnestness, his eyes filling with tears as he spoke: "I shall be disappointed, sir, I shall fail in the leading object that brought me here, unless the young men all become real Christians; and I wish you and others of your sacred profession to de all you can to accomplish this result." When a great revival of religious feeling took place at the Virginia Military Institute, in 1868, General Lee said to the clergyman of his church with deep feeling: "That is the best news I have heard since I have been in Lexington. Would that we could have such a revival in all our colleges!" Although a member of the Protestant Episcopal Church, and preferring that communion, General Lee seems to have been completely exempt from sectarian feeling, and to have aimed first and last to be a true Christian, loving God and his neighbor, and not busying himself about theological dogmas. When he was asked once whether he believed in the Apostolic succession, he replied that he had never thought of it, and aimed only to become a "real Christian." His catholic views were shown by the letters of invitation, which he addressed, at the commencement of each session of the college, to ministers of all religious denominations at Lexington, to conduct, in turn, the religious exercises at the college chapel; and his charities, which were large for a person of his limited means, were given to all alike. These charities he seems to have regarded as a binding duty, and were so private that only those receiving them knew any thing of them. It only came to be known accidentally that in 1870 he gave one hundred dollars for the education of the orphans of Southern soldiers, one hundred dollars to the Young Men's Christian Association, and regularly made other donations, amounting in all to considerable sums. Nearly his last act was a liberal contribution to an important object connected with his church. We shall conclude these anecdotes, illustrating General Lee's religious character, with one for which we are indebted to the kindness of a reverend clergyman, of Lexington, who knew General Lee intimately in his latter years, and enjoyed his confidence. The incident will present in an agreeable light the great soldier's simplicity and love for children, and no less his catholic feelings in reference to sects in the Christian Church: "I will give you just another incident," writes the reverend gentleman, "illustrating General Lee's love for children, and their freedom with him. When I first came to Lexington, my boy Carter (just four years old then) used to go with me to chapel service when it was my turn to officiate. The general would tell him that he must always sit by him; and it was a scene for a painter, to see the great chieftain reverentially listening to the truths of God's word, and the little boy nestling close to him. One Sunday our Sunday-school superintendent told the children that they must bring in some new scholars, and that they must bring old people as well as the young, since none were too old or too wise to learn God's word. The next Sabbath Carter was with me at the chapel, from which he was to go with me to the Sunday-school. At the close of the service, I noticed that Carter was talking very earnestly with General Lee, who seemed very much amused, and, on calling him to come with me, he said, with childish simplicity: 'Father, I am trying to get General Lee to go to the Sunday-school and _be my scholar_.' 'But,' said I, 'if the general goes to any school, he will go to his own.' 'Which is his own, father?' 'The Episcopal,' I replied. Heaving a deep sigh, and with a look of disappointment, the little fellow said: 'I am very sorry he is '_Piscopal._ I wish he was a Baptist, so he could go to _our_ Sunday-school, and be my scholar.' The general seemed very much amused and interested as he replied, 'Ah! Carter, we must all try and be _good Christians_--that is the most important thing.' 'He knew all the children in town,' adds Mr. Jones, 'and their grief at his death was very touching.'" This incident may appear singular to those who have been accustomed to regard General Lee as a cold, reserved, and even stern human being--a statue, beneath whose chill surface no heart ever throbbed. But, instead of a marble heart, there lay, under the gray uniform of the soldier, one of warm flesh and blood--tender, impressible, susceptible to the quick touches of all gentle and sweet emotion, and filling, as it were, with quiet happiness, at the sight of children and the sound of their voices. This impressibility has even been made the subject of criticism. A foreign writer declares that the soldier's character exhibited a "feminine" softness, unfitting him for the conduct of affairs of moment. What the Confederacy wanted, intimates the writer in question, was a rough dictator, with little regard for nice questions of law--one to lay the rough hand of the born master on the helm, and force the crew, from the highest to the lowest, to obey his will. That will probably remain a question. General Lee's _will_ was strong enough to break down all obstacles but those erected by rightful authority; that with this masculine strength he united an exquisite gentleness, is equally beyond question. A noble action flushed his cheek with an emotion that the reader may, if he will, call "feminine." A tale of suffering brought a sudden moisture to his eyes; and a loving message from one of his poor old soldiers was seen one day to melt him to tears. This poor and incomplete attempt to indicate some of the less-known traits of the illustrious commander-in-chief of the Southern armies will now be brought to a conclusion; we approach the sorrowful moment when, surrounded by his weeping family,[1] he tranquilly passed away. [Footnote 1: General Lee had three sons and four daughters, all of whom are living except one of the latter, Miss Anne Lee, who died in North Carolina during the war. The sons were General G.W. Custis Lee, aide-de-camp to President Davis--subsequently commander of infantry in the field, and now president of Washington and Lee College, an officer of such ability and of character so eminent that President Davis regarded him as a fit successor of his illustrious father in command of the Army of Northern Virginia--General W.H.F. Lee, a prominent and able commander of cavalry, and Captain Robert E. Lee, an efficient member of the cavalry-staff. These gentlemen bore their full share in the perils and hardships of the war, from its commencement to the surrender at Appomattox.] On the 28th of September, 1870, after laborious attention to his duties during the early part of the day, General Lee attended, in the afternoon, a meeting of the Vestry of Grace Church, of which he was a member. Over this meeting he presided, and it was afterward remembered that his last public act was to contribute the sum of fifty-five dollars to some good object, the requisite amount to effect which was thus made up. After the meeting, General Lee returned to his home, and, when tea was served, took his place at the table to say grace, as was his habit, as it had been in camp throughout the war. His lips opened, but no sound issued from them, and he sank back in his chair, from which he was carried to bed. The painful intelligence immediately became known throughout Lexington, and the utmost grief and consternation were visible upon every face. It was hoped, at first, that the attack would not prove serious, and that General Lee would soon be able to resume his duties. But this hope was soon dissipated. The skilful physicians who hastened to his bedside pronounced his malady congestion of the brain, and, from the appearance of the patient, who lay in a species of coma, the attack was evidently of the most alarming character. The most discouraging phase of the case was, that, physically, General Lee was--if we may so say--in perfect health. His superb physique, although not perhaps as vigorous and robust as during the war, exhibited no indication whatever of disease. His health appeared perfect, and twenty years more of life might have been predicted for him from simple reference to his appearance. The malady was more deeply seated, however, than any bodily disease; the cerebral congestion was but a symptom of the mental malady which was killing its victim. From the testimony of the able physicians who watched the great soldier, day and night, throughout his illness, and are thus best competent to speak upon the subject, there seems no doubt that General Lee's condition was the result of mental depression produced by the sufferings of the Southern people. Every mail, it is said, had brought him the most piteous appeals for assistance, from old soldiers whose families were in want of bread; and the woes of these poor people had a prostrating effect upon him. A year or two before, his health had been seriously impaired by this brooding depression, and he had visited North Carolina, the White Sulphur Springs, and other places, to divert his mind. In this he failed. The shadow went with him, and the result was, at last, the alarming attack from which he never rallied. During the two weeks of his illness he scarcely spoke, and evidently regarded his condition as hopeless. When one of his physicians said to him, "General, you must make haste and get well; _Traveller_ has been standing so long in his stable that he needs exercise." General Lee shook his head slowly, to indicate that he would never again mount his favorite horse. He remained in this state, with few alterations in his condition, until Wednesday; October 12th, when, about nine in the morning, in the midst of his family, the great soldier tranquilly expired. Of the universal grief of the Southern people when the intelligence was transmitted by telegraph to all parts of the country, it is not necessary that we should speak. The death of Lee seemed to make all hearts stand still; and the tolling of bells, flags at half-mast, and public meetings of citizens, wearing mourning, marked, in every portion of the South, the sense of a great public calamity. It is not an exaggeration to say that, in ten thousand Southern homes, tears came to the eyes not only of women, but of bearded men, and that the words, "Lee is dead!" fell like a funeral-knell upon every heart. When the intelligence reached Richmond, the Legislature passed resolutions expressive of the general sorrow, and requesting that the remains of General Lee might be interred in Holywood Cemetery--Mr. Walker, the Governor, expressing in a special message his participation in the grief of the people of Virginia and the South. The family of General Lee, however, preferred that his remains should rest at the scene of his last labors, and beneath the chapel of Washington College they were accordingly interred. The ceremony was imposing, and will long be remembered. On the morning of the 13th, the body was borne to the college chapel. In front moved a guard of honor, composed of old Confederate soldiers; behind these came the clergy; then the hearse; in rear of which was led the dead soldier's favorite war-horse "Traveller," his equipments wreathed with crape. The trustees and faculty of the college, the cadets of the Military Institute, and a large number of citizens followed--and the procession moved slowly from the northeastern gate of the president's house to the college chapel, above which, draped in mourning, and at half-mast, floated the flag of Virginia--the only one displayed during this or any other portion of the funeral ceremonies. On the platform of the chapel the body lay in state throughout this and the succeeding day. The coffin was covered with evergreens and flowers, and the face of the dead was uncovered that all might look for the last time on the pale features of the illustrious soldier. The body was dressed in a simple suit of black, and the appearance of the face was perfectly natural. Great crowds visited the chapel, passing solemnly in front of the coffin--the silence interrupted only by sobs. Throughout the 14th the body continued to be in state, and to be visited by thousands. On the 15th a great funeral procession preceded the commission of it to its last resting place. At an early hour the crowd began to assemble in the vicinity of the college, which was draped in mourning. This great concourse was composed of men, women, and children, all wearing crape, and the little children seemed as much penetrated by the general distress as the elders. The bells of the churches began to toll; and at ten o'clock the students of the college, and officers and soldiers of the Confederate army--numbering together nearly one thousand persons--formed in front of the chapel. Between the two bodies stood the hearse, and the gray horse of the soldier, both draped in mourning. The procession then began to move, to the strains of martial music. The military escort, together with the staff-officers of General Lee, moved in front; the faculty and students followed behind the hearse; and in rear came a committee of the Legislative dignitaries of the Commonwealth, and a great multitude of citizens from all portions of the State. The procession continued its way toward the Institute, where the cadets made the military salute as the hearse passed in front of them, and the sudden thunder of artillery awoke the echoes from the hills. The cadets then joined the procession, which was more than a mile in length; and, heralded by the fire of artillery every few minutes, it moved back to the college chapel, where the last services were performed. General Lee had requested, it is said, that no funeral oration should be pronounced above his remains, and the Rev. William N. Pendleton simply read the beautiful burial-service of the Episcopal Church. The coffin, still covered with evergreens and flowers, was then lowered to its resting-place beneath the chapel, amid the sobs and tears of the great assembly; and all that was mortal of the illustrious soldier disappeared from the world's eyes. What thus disappeared was little. What remained was much--the memory of the virtues and the glory of the greatest of Virginians. APPENDIX. We here present to the reader a more detailed account of the ceremonies attending the burial of General Lee, and a selection from the countless addresses delivered in various portions of the country when his death was announced. To notice the honors paid to his memory in every city, town, and village of the South, would fill a volume, and be wholly unnecessary. It is equally unnecessary to speak of the great meetings at Richmond, Baltimore, and elsewhere, resulting in the formation of the "Lee Memorial Association" for the erection of a monument to the dead commander. The addresses here presented are placed on record rather for their biographical interest, than to do honor to the dead. Of him it may justly be said that he needs no record of his virtues and his glory. His illustrious memory is fresh to-day, and will be fresh throughout all coming generations, in every heart. I. _THE FUNERAL OF GENERAL LEE_. The morning of the obsequies of General Lee broke bright and cheerful over the sorrowful town of Lexington. Toward noon the sun poured down with all the genial warmth of Indian summer, and after mid-day it was hot, though not uncomfortably so. The same solemnity of yesterday reigned supreme, with the difference, that people came thronging into town, making a mournful scene of bustle. The gloomy faces, the comparative silence, the badges and emblems of mourning that everywhere met the eye, and the noiseless, strict decorum which was observed, told how universal and deep were the love and veneration of the people for the illustrious dead. Every one uniformly and religiously wore the emblematic crape, even to the women and children, who were crowding to the college chapel with wreaths of flowers fringed with mourning. All sorrowfully and religiously paid their last tributes of respect and affection to the great dead, and none there were who did not feel a just pride in the sad offices. AT THE COLLEGE GROUNDS. Immediately in front of the chapel the scene was peculiarly sad. All around the buildings were gloomily draped in mourning, and the students strolled listlessly over the grounds, awaiting the formation of the funeral procession. Ladies thronged about the chapel with tearful eyes, children wept outright, every face wore a saddened expression, while the solemn tolling of the church-bells rendered the scene still more one of grandeur and gloom. The bells of the churches joined in the mournful requiem. THE FUNERAL PROCESSION. At ten o'clock precisely, in accordance with the programme agreed upon, the students, numbering four hundred, formed in front and to the right of the chapel. To the left an escort of honor, numbering some three hundred ex-officers and soldiers, was formed, at the head of which, near the southwestern entrance to the grounds, was the Institute band. Between these two bodies--the soldiers and students--stood the hearse and the gray war-steed of the dead hero, both draped in mourning. The marshals of the procession, twenty-one in number, wore spotless white sashes, tied at the waist and shoulders with crape, and carrying _bâtons_ also enveloped in the same emblematic material. Shortly after ten, at a signal from the chief marshal, the solemn _cortége_ moved off to the music of a mournful dirge. General Bradley Johnson headed the escort of officers and soldiers, with Colonel Charles T. Venable and Colonel Walters H. Taylor, both former assistant adjutant-generals on the staff of the lamented dead. The physicians of General Lee and the Faculty of the college fell in immediately behind the hearse, the students following. Slowly and solemnly the procession moved from the college grounds down Washington Street to Jefferson, up Jefferson Street to Franklin Hall, thence to Main Street, where they were joined by a committee of the Legislature, dignitaries of the State, and the citizens generally. Moving still onward, this grand funeral pageant, which had now assumed gigantic proportions, extending nearly a mile in length, soon reached the northeastern extremity of the town, when it took the road to the Virginia Military Institute. AT THE MILITARY INSTITUTE. Here the scene was highly impressive and imposing. In front of the Institute the battalion of cadets, three hundred in number, were drawn up in line, wearing their full gray uniform, with badges of mourning, and having on all their equipments and side-arms, but without their muskets. Spectators thronged the entire line of the procession, gazing sadly as it wended its way, and the sites around the Institute were crowded. As the _cortége_ entered the Institute grounds a salute of artillery thundered its arrival, and reverberated it far across the distant hills and valleys of Virginia, awakening echoes which have been hushed since Lee manfully gave up the struggle of the "lost cause" at Appomattox. Winding along the indicated route toward the grounds of Washington College, the procession slowly moved past the Institute, and when the war-horse and hearse of the dead chieftain came in front of the battalion of cadets, they uncovered their heads as a salute of reverence and respect, which was promptly followed by the spectators. When this was concluded, the visitors and Faculty of the Institute joined the procession, and the battalion of cadets filed into the line in order, and with the greatest precision. ORDER OF THE PROCESSION. The following was the order of the procession when it was completed: Music. Escort of Honor, consisting of Officers and Soldiers of the Confederate Army. Chaplain and other Clergy. Hearse and Pall-bearers. General Lee's Horse. The Attending Physicians. Trustees and Faculty of Washington College. Dignitaries of the State of Virginia. Visitors and Faculty of the Virginia Military Institute. Other Representative Bodies and Distinguished Visitors. Alumni of Washington College. Citizens. Cadets Virginia Military Institute. Students of Washington College as Guard of Honor AT THE CHAPEL. After the first salute, a gun was fired every three minutes. Moving still to the sound of martial music, in honor of the dead, the procession reëntered the grounds of Washington College by the northeastern gate, and was halted in front of the chapel. Then followed an imposing ceremony. The cadets of the Institute were detached from the line, and marched in double file into the chapel up one of the aisles, past the remains of the illustrious dead, which lay in state on the rostrum, and down the other aisle out of the church. The students of Washington College followed next, passing with bowed heads before the mortal remains of him they revered and loved so much and well as their president and friend. The side-aisles and galleries were crowded with ladies, Emblems of mourning met the eye on all sides, and feminine affection had hung funeral garlands of flowers upon all the pillars and walls. The central pews were filled with the escort of honor, composed of former Confederate soldiers from this and adjoining counties, while the spacious platform was crowded with the trustees, faculties, clergy, Legislative Committee, and distinguished visitors. Within and without the consecrated hall the scene was alike imposing. The blue mountains of Virginia, towering in the near horizon; the lovely village of Lexington, sleeping in the calm, unruffled air, and the softened autumn sunlight; the vast assemblage, mute and sorrowful; the tolling bells, and pealing cannon, and solemn words of funeral service, combined to render the scene one never to be forgotten. The sons of General Lee--W.H.F. Lee, G.W.C. Lee, and Robert E. Lee--with their sisters, Misses Agnes and Mildred Lee, and the nephews of the dead, Fitzhugh, Henry C., and Robert C. Lee, entered the church with bowed heads, and silently took seats in front of the rostrum. THE FUNERAL SERVICES AND INTERMENT. Then followed the impressive funeral services of the Episcopal Church for the dead, amid a silence and solemnity that were imposing and sublimely grand. There was no funeral oration, in compliance with the expressed wish of the distinguished dead; and at the conclusion of the services in the chapel the vast congregation went out and mingled with the crowd without, who were unable to gain admission. The coffin was then carried by the pall-bearers to the library-room, in the basement of the chapel, where it was lowered into the vault prepared for its reception. The funeral services were concluded in the open air by prayer, and the singing of General Lee's favorite hymn, commencing with the well-known line-- "How firm a foundation, ye saint of the Lord, Is laid for your faith in His excellent Word!" and thus closed the funeral obsequies of Robert Edward Lee, to whom may be fitly applied the grand poetic epitaph: "Ne'er to the mansions where the mighty rest, Since their foundations, came a nobler guest; Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed A purer saint or a more welcome shade." II. _TRIBUTES TO GENERAL LEE_. In the deep emotion with which the death of General Lee has filled all classes of our people--says the _Southern Magazine_, from whose pages this interesting summary is taken--we have thought that a selection of the most eloquent or otherwise interesting addresses delivered at the various memorial meetings may not be unacceptable. LOUISVILLE, KY. On October 15th nearly the whole city was draped in mourning, and business was suspended. A funeral service was held at St. Paul's Church. In the evening an immense meeting assembled at Weissiger Hall, and, after an opening address by Mayor Baxter, the following resolutions were adopted: "_Resolved_, That, in the death of Robert E. Lee, the American people, without regard to States or sections, or antecedents, or opinions, lose a great and good man, a distinguished and useful citizen, renowned not less in arms than in the arts of peace; and that the cause of public instruction and popular culture is deprived of a representative whose influence and example will be felt by the youth of our country for long ages after the passions in the midst of which he was engaged, but which he did not share, have passed into history, and the peace and fraternity of the American Republic are cemented and restored by the broadest and purest American sentiment." "_Resolved_, That a copy of these resolutions be forwarded to the family of General Lee, to the Trustees of Washington College, and to the Governor and General Assembly of Virginia." ADDRESS OF GENERAL BRECKINRIDGE. "_Mr. President, Ladies, and Gentlemen_: In the humble part which it falls to me to take in these interesting ceremonies, if for any cause it has been supposed that I am to deliver a lengthy address, I am not responsible for the origination of that supposition. I came here to-night simply to mingle my grief with yours at the loss of one of our most distinguished citizens, and, indeed, I feel more like silence than like words. I am awe-stricken in the presence of this vast assemblage, and my mind goes back to the past. It is preoccupied by memories coming in prominent review of the frequent and ever-varying vicissitudes which have characterized the last ten years. I find myself in the presence of a vast assemblage of the people of this great and growing city, who meet together, without distinction of party, and presided over by your chief officer, for the purpose of expressing respect to the memory of the man who was the leader of the Confederate armies in the late war between the States. It is in itself the omen of reunion. I am not surprised at the spectacle presented here. Throughout the entire South one universal cry of grief has broken forth at the death of General Lee, and in a very large portion of the North manly and noble tributes have been paid to his memory. "My words shall be brief but plain. Why is it that at the South we see this universal, spontaneous demonstration? First, because most of the people mourn the loss of a leader and a friend, but beyond that I must say they seem to enter an unconscious protest against the ascription either to him or them of treason or personal dishonor. It may be an unconscious protest against the employment by a portion of the public press of those epithets which have ceased to be used in social intercourse. It is an invitation on their part to the people of the North and South, East and West, if there be any remaining rancor in their bosoms, to bury it in the grave forever. I will not recall the past. I will not enter upon any considerations of the cause of that great struggle. This demonstration we see around us gives the plainest evidence that there is no disposition to indulge in useless repinings at the results of that great struggle. It is for the pen of the historian to declare the cause, progress, and probable consequences of it. In regard to those who followed General Lee, who gloried in his successes and shared his misfortunes, I have but this to say: the world watched the contest in which they were engaged, and yet gives testimony to their gallantry, "The magnanimity with which they accepted the results of their defeat, the obedience they have yielded to the laws of the Federal Government, give an exhibition so rare that they are ennobled by their calm yet noble submission. For the rest their escutcheon is unstained. The conquerors themselves, for their own glory, must confess that they were brave. Neither, my friends, do I come here to-night to speak of the military career of General Lee. I need not speak of it this evening. I believe that this is universally recognized, not only in the United States, but in Europe; it has made the circuit of the world. I come but to utter my tribute to him as a man and as a citizen. As a man he will be remembered in history as a man of the epoch. How little need I to speak of his character after listening to the thrilling delineation of it which we had this morning! We all know that he was great, noble, and self-poised. He was just and moderate, but was, perhaps, misunderstood by those who were not personally acquainted with him. He was supposed to be just, but cold. Far from it. He had a warm, affectionate heart. During the last year of that unfortunate struggle it was my good fortune to spend a great deal of time with him. I was almost constantly by his side, and it was during the two months immediately preceding the fall of Richmond that I came to know and fully understand the true nobility of his character. In all those long vigils he was considerate and kind, gentle, firm, and self-poised. I can give no better idea of the impression it made upon me than to say it inspired me with an ardent love of the man and a profound veneration of his character. It was so massive and noble, so grand in its proportions, that all men must admire its heroism and gallantry, yet so gentle and tender that a woman might adopt and claim it as her own. If the spirit which animates the assembly before me to-night shall become general and permeate the whole country, then may we say the wounds of the late war are truly healed. We ask for him only what we give to others. Among the more eminent of the departed Federal generals who were distinguished for their gallantry, their nobility of character, and their patriotism, may be mentioned Thomas and McPherson. What Confederate is there who would refuse to raise his cap as their funeral-train went by or hesitate to drop a flower upon their graves? Why? Because they were men of courage, honor, and nobility; because they were true to their convictions of right, and soldiers whose hands were unstained by cruelty or pillage. "Those of us who were so fortunate as to know him, and who have appeared before this assemblage, composed of all shades of opinion, claim for him your veneration, because he was pure and noble, and it is because of this that we see the cities and towns of the South in mourning. This has been the expression throughout the whole South, without distinction of party, and also of a large portion of the North. Is not this why these tributes have been paid to his memory? Is it not because his piety was humble and sincere? Because he accorded in victory; because he filled his position with admirable dignity; because he taught his prostrate comrades how to suffer and be strong? In a word, because he was one of the noblest products of this hemisphere, a fit object to sit in the niche which he created in the Temple of Fame. "But he failed. The result is in the future. It may be for better or for worse. We hope for the better. But this is not the test for his greatness and goodness. Success often gilds the shallow man, but it is disaster alone that reveals the qualities of true greatness. Was his life a failure? Is only that man successful who erects a material monument of greatness by the enforcement of his ideas? Is not that man successful also, who, by his valor, moderation, and courage, with all their associate virtues, presents to the world such a specimen of true manhood as his children and children's children will be proud to imitate? In this sense he was not a failure. "Pardon me for having detained you so long. I know there are here and there those who will reach out and attempt to pluck from his name the glory which surrounds it, and strike with malignant fury at the honors awarded to him; yet history will declare that the remains which repose in the vault beneath the little chapel in the lovely Virginia Valley are not only those of a valorous soldier, but those of a great and good American." General John W. Finnell next addressed the audience briefly, and was followed by. GENERAL WILLIAM PRESTON. "_Mr. Chairman, Ladies, and Gentlemen_: I feel that it would be very difficult for me to add any eulogy to those which are contained in the resolutions of the committee, or a more merited tribute of praise than those which have already fallen from the lips of the gentlemen who have preceded me. Yet, on an occasion like this, I am willing to come forward and add a word to testify my appreciation of the great virtues and admirable character of one that commands, not only our admiration, but that of the entire country. Not alone of the entire country, but his character has excited more admiration in Europe than among ourselves. In coming ages his name will be marked with lustre, and will be one of the richest treasures of the future. I speak of one just gone down to death; ripe in all the noble attributes of manhood, and illustrious by deeds the most remarkable in character that have occurred in the history of America since its discovery. It is now some two-and-twenty years since I first made the acquaintance of General Lee. He was then in the prime of manhood, in Mexico, and I first saw him as the chief-engineer of General Scott in the Valley of Mexico. I see around me two old comrades who then saw General Lee. He was a man of remarkable personal beauty and great grace of body. He had a finished form, delicate hands, graceful in person, while here and there a gray hair streaked with silver the dark locks with which Nature had clothed his noble brow. There were discerning minds that appreciated his genius, and saw in him the coming Captain of America. His commander and his comrades appreciated his ability. To a club which was then organized he belonged, together with General McClellan, General Albert Sydney Johnston, General Beauregard, and a host of others. They recognized in Lee a master-spirit.. "He was never violent; he never wrangled. He was averse to quarrelling, and not a single difficulty marked his career; but all acknowledged his justness and wonderful evenness of mind. Rare intelligence, combined with these qualities, served to make him a fit representative of his great prototype, General Washington. He had been accomplished by every finish that a military education could bestow. "I remember when General Lee was appointed lieutenant-colonel, at the same time that Sydney Johnston was appointed colonel, and General Scott thought that Lee should have been colonel. I was talking with General Scott on the subject long before the late struggle between the North and South took place, and he then said that Lee was the greatest living soldier in America. He did not object to the other commission, but he thought Lee should have been first promoted. Finally, he said to me with emphasis, which you will pardon me for relating, 'I tell you that, if I were on my death-bed to-morrow, and the President of the United States should tell me that a great battle was to be fought for the liberty or slavery of the country, and asked my judgment as to the ability of a commander, I would say with my dying breath, let it be Robert E. Lee.' Ah! great soldier that he was, princely general that he was, he has fulfilled his mission, and borne it so that no invidious tongue can level the shafts of calumny at the great character which he has left behind him. "But, ladies and gentlemen, it was not in this that the matchless attributes of his character were found. You have assembled here, not so much to do honor to General Lee, but to testify your appreciation of the worth of the principles governing his character; and if the minds of this assemblage were explored, you would find there was a gentleness and a grace in his character which had won your love and brought forth testimonials of universal admiration. Take but a single instance. At the battle of Gettysburg, after the attack on the cemetery, when his troops were repulsed and beaten, the men threw up their muskets and said, 'General, we have failed, and it is our fault.' 'No, my men,' said he, knowing the style of fighting of General Stonewall Jackson, 'you have done well; 'tis my fault; I am to blame, and no one but me.' What man is there that would not have gone to renewed death for such a leader? So, when we examine his whole character, it is in his private life that you find his true greatness--the Christian simplicity of his character and his great veneration for truth and nobility, the grand elements of his greatness. What man could have laid down his sword at the feet of a victorious general with greater dignity than did he at Appomattox Court-House? He laid down his sword with grace and dignity, and secured for his soldiers the best terms that fortune would permit. In that he shows marked greatness seldom shown by great captains. "After the battle of Sedan, the wild cries of the citizens of Paris went out for the blood of the emperor; but at Appomattox, veneration and love only met the eyes of the troops who looked upon their commander. I will not trespass upon your time much farther. When I last saw him the raven hair had turned white. In a small village church his reverent head was bowed in prayer. The humblest step was that of Robert E. Lee, as he entered the portals of the temple erected to God. In broken responses he answered to the services of the Church. Noble, sincere, and humble in his religion, he showed forth his true character in laying aside his sword to educate the youth of his country. Never did he appear more noble than at that time. He is now gone, and rests in peace, and has crossed that mysterious stream that Stonewall Jackson saw with inspired eyes when he asked that he might be permitted to take his troops across the river and forever rest beneath the shadows of the trees." After a few remarks from Hon. D.Y. Lyttle, the meeting adjourned. AUGUSTA, GA. A meeting was held at Augusta, on October 18th, at the City Hall. The preamble and resolutions adopted were as follows: "_Whereas_, This day, throughout all this Southern land, sorrow, many-tongued, is ascending to heaven for the death of Robert E. Lee, and communities everywhere are honoring themselves in striving to do honor to that great name; and we, the people of Augusta, who were not laggards in upholding his glorious banner while it floated to the breeze, would swell the general lamentation of his departure: therefore be it "_Resolved_, That no people in the tide of time has been bereaved as we are bereaved; for no other people has had such a man to lose. Greece, rich in heroes; Rome, prolific mother of great citizens, so that the name of Roman is the synonyme of all that is noblest in citizenship--had no man coming up to the full measure of this great departed. On scores of battle-fields, consummate commander; everywhere, bravest soldier; in failure, sublimest hero; in disbanding his army, most pathetic of writers; in persecution, most patient of power's victims; in private life, purest of men--he was such that all Christendom, with one consent, named him GREAT. We, recalling that so also mankind have styled Alexander, Caesar, Frederick, and Napoleon, and beholding in the Confederate leader qualities higher and better than theirs, find that language poor indeed which only enables us to call him 'great'--him standing among the great of all ages preëminent. "_Resolved_, That our admiration of the man is not the partial judgment of his adherents only; but so clear stand his greatness and his goodness, that even the bitterest of foes has not ventured to asperse him. While the air has been filled with calumnies and revilings of his cause, none have been aimed at him. If there are spirits so base that they cannot discover and reverence his greatness and his goodness, they have at least shrunk from encountering the certain indignation of mankind. This day--disfranchised by stupid power as he was; branded, as he was, in the perverted vocabulary of usurpers as rebel and traitor--his death has even in distant lands moved more tongues and stirred more hearts than the siege of a mighty city and the triumphs of a great king. "_Resolved_, That, while he died far too soon for his country, he had lived long enough for his fame. This was complete, and the future could unfold nothing to add to it. In this age of startling changes, imagination might have pictured him, even in the years which he yet lacked of the allotted period of human life, once more at the head of devoted armies and the conqueror of glorious fields; but none could have been more glorious than those he had already won. Wrong, too, might again have triumphed over Right, and he have borne defeat with sublimest resignation; but this he had already done at Appomattox. Unrelenting hate to his lost cause might have again consigned him to the walks of private life, and he have become an exemplar of all the virtues of a private station; but this he had already been in the shades of Lexington. The contingencies of the future could only have revealed him greatest soldier, sublimest hero, best of men; and he was already all of these. The years to come were barren of any thing which could add to his perfect name and fame. He had nothing to lose; but, alas! we, his people, every thing by his departure from this world, which was unworthy of him, to that other where the good and the pure of all ages will welcome him. Thither follow him the undying love of every true Southern man and woman, and the admiration of all the world." ADDRESS OF GENERAL A.R. WRIGHT. "_Mr. Chairman_: I rise simply to move the adoption of the resolutions which have just been read to the meeting by Major Cumming. You have heard, and the people here assembled have heard, these resolutions. They are truthful, eloquent, and expressive. Although announced as a speaker on this sad occasion, I had determined to forego any such attempt; but an allusion, a passing reference to one of the sublime virtues of the illustrious dead, made in the resolutions which have just been read in your hearing, has induced me to add a word or two. Your resolutions speak of General Lee's patience under the persecutions of power. It was this virtue which ennobled the character, as it was one of the most prominent traits in the life, of him for whose death a whole nation, grief-stricken, mourns, and to pay a tribute to the memory of whom this multitude has assembled here this morning. While General Lee was all, and more than has been said of him--the great general, the true Christian, and the valiant soldier--there was another character in which he appeared more conspicuously than in any of the rest--the quiet dignity with which he encountered defeat, and the patience with which he met the persecution of malignant power. We may search the pages of all history, both sacred and profane, and there seems to be but one character who possessed in so large a degree this remarkable trait. Take General Lee's whole life and examine it; observe his skill and courage as a soldier, his patriotism and his fidelity to principle, the purity of his private life, and then remember the disasters which he faced and the persecutions to which he was subjected, and it would seem that _no one_ ever endured so much--not even David, the sweet singer of Israel. Job has been handed down to posterity by the pages of sacred history as the embodiment of patience, as the man who, overwhelmed with the most numerous and bitter afflictions, never lost his fortitude, and who endured every fresh trial with uncomplaining resignation; but it seems to me that even Job displayed not the patience of our own loved hero; for, while Job suffered much, he endured less than General Lee. Job was compelled to lose his children, his friends, and his property, but he was never required to give up country; General Lee was, and, with more than the persecutions of Job, he stands revealed to the world the truest and the most sublime hero whom the ages have produced. To a patriot like Lee the loss of country was the greatest evil which could be experienced, and it was this last blow which has caused us to assemble here to-day to mourn his departure. He lost friends and kindred and property in the struggle, and yet, according to the news which the telegraph brought us this morning, it was the loss of his cause which finally sundered the heart-strings of the hero, and drew him from earth to heaven. Yes, the weight of this great sorrow which first fell upon him under the fatal apple-tree at Appomattox, has dwelt with him, growing heavier and more unendurable with each succeeding year, from that time until last Wednesday morn when the soul of Lee passed away. "As I said before, Mr. Chairman, I only rose to move the adoption of the resolutions; and if I have said more than I ought to have said, it is because I knew the illustrious dead, because I loved him, and because I mourn his loss." ADDRESS OF JUDGE HILLIARD. "It is proper that the people should pay a public tribute to the memory of a great man when he dies. Not a ruler, not one who merely holds a great public position, but a great man, one who has served his day and generation. It cannot benefit the dead, but it is eminently profitable to the living. The consciousness than when we cease to live our memory will be cherished, is a noble incentive to live well. This great popular demonstration is due to General Lee's life and character. It is not ordered by the Government--the Government ignored him; but is rendered as a spontaneous tribute to the memory of an illustrious man--good, true, and great. He held no place in the Government, and since the war has had no military rank; but he was a true man. After all, that is the noblest tribute you can pay to any man, to say of him he was a true man. "General Lee's character was eminently American. In Europe they have their ideas, their standards of merit, their rewards for great exploits. They cover one with decorations; they give him a great place in the government; they make him a marshal. Wellington began his career with humble rank. He was young Wellesley; he rose to be the Duke of Wellington. In our country we have no such rewards for great deeds. One must enjoy the patronage of the Government, or he must take the fortunes of private life. "General Lee was educated at the great Military Academy, West Point. He entered the army; was promoted from time to time for brilliant services; in Mexico fought gallantly under the flag of the United States; and was still advancing in his military career in 1861, when Virginia became involved in the great contest that then grew up between the States. Virginia was his mother; she called him to her side to defend her, and, resigning his commission in the Army of the United States, not for a moment looking for advancement there, not counting the cost, not offering his sword to the service of power, nor yet laying it down at the feet of the Government--he unsheathed it and took his stand in defence of the great principles asserted by Virginia in the Revolution, when she contended with Great Britain the right of every people to choose their own form of government. Lost or won, to him the cause was always the same--it was the cause of constitutional liberty. He stood by it to the last. What must have been the convictions of a man like General Lee, when, mounted on the same horse that had borne him in battle, upon which he was seated when the lines of battle formed by his own heroic men wavered, and he seized the standard to lead the charge; but his soldiers rushed to him, and laying their hands on his bridle, said, 'General, we cannot fire a gun unless you retire?' What must have been his emotions as he rode, through his own lines at Appomattox, to the commander of the opposing army, and tendered his sword? Search the annals of history, ancient and modern; consult the lives of heroes; study the examples of greatness recorded in Greece leading the way on the triumphs of popular liberty, or in Rome in the best days of her imperial rule; take statesmen, generals, or men of patient thought who outwatched the stars in exploring knowledge, and I declare to you that I do not find anywhere a sublimer sentiment than General Lee uttered when he said, 'Human virtue ought to be equal to human calamity.' It will live forever. "General Lee died at the right time. His sun did not go down in the strife of battle, in the midst of the thunder of cannon, dimmed by the lurid smoke of war. He survived all this: lived with so much dignity; silent, yet thoughtful; unseduced by the offers of gain or of advancement however tempting; disdaining to enter into contests for small objects, until the broad disk went down behind the Virginia hills, shedding its departing lustre not only upon this country but upon the whole world. His memory is as much respected in England as it is here; and at the North as well as at the South true hearts honor it. "There is one thing I wish to say before I take my seat. General Lee's fame ought to rest on the true base. He did not draw his sword to perpetuate human slavery, whatever may have been his opinions in regard to it; he did not seek to overthrow the Government of the United States. He drew it in defence of constitutional liberty. That cause is not dead, but will live forever. The result of the war established the authority of the United States; the Union will stand--let it stand forever. The flag floats over the whole country from the Atlantic to the Pacific; let it increase in lustre, and let the power of the Government grow; still the cause for which General Lee struck is not a lost cause. It is conceded that these States must continue united under a common government. We do not wish to sunder it, nor to disturb it. But the great principle that underlies the Government of the United States--the principle that the people have a right to choose their own form of government, and to have their liberties protected by the provisions of the Constitution--is an indestructible principle. You cannot destroy it. Like Milton's angels, it is immortal; you may wound, but you cannot kill it. It is like the volcanic fires that flame in the depths of the earth; it will yet upheave the ocean and the land, and flame up to heaven. "Young Emmett said, 'Let no man write my epitaph until my country is free, and takes her place among the nations of the earth.' But you may write General Lee's epitaph now. The principle for which he fought will survive him. His evening was in perfect harmony with his life. He had time to think, to recall the past, to prepare for the future. An offer, originating in Georgia, and I believe in this very city, was made to him to place an immense sum of money at his disposal if he would consent to reside in the city of New York and represent Southern commerce. Millions would have flowed to him. But he declined. He said: 'No; I am grateful, but I have a self-imposed task which I must accomplish. I have led the young men of the South in battle; I have seen many of them fall under my standard. I shall devote my life now to training young men to do their duty in life.' And he did. It was beautiful to see him in that glorious valley where Lexington stands, the lofty mountains throwing their protecting shadows over its quiet home. General Lee's fame is not bounded by the limits of the South, nor by the continent. I rejoice that the South gave him birth; I rejoice that the South will hold his ashes. But his fame belongs to the human race. Washington, too, was born in the South and sleeps in the South. But his great fame is not to be appropriated by this country; it is the inheritance of mankind. We place the name of Lee by that of Washington. They both belong to the world." NEW ORLEANS. A meeting was held in the St. Charles Theatre, as the largest building in the city. The Hon. W.M. Burwell delivered an eloquent address, of which we regret that we have been able to obtain no report. The meeting was then addressed by the HON. THOMAS J. SEMMES. "Robert E. Lee is dead. The Potomac, overlooked by the home of the hero, once dividing contending peoples, but now no longer a boundary, conveys to the ocean a nation's tears. South of the Potomac is mourning; profound grief pervades every heart, lamentation is heard from every hearth, for Lee sleeps among the slain whose memory is so dear to us. In the language of Moina: 'They were slain for us, And their blood flowed out in a rain for us, Red, rich, and pure, on the plain for us; And years may go, But our tears shall flow O'er the dead who have died in vain for us.' "North of the Potomac not only sympathizes with its widowed sister, but, with respectful homage, the brave and generous, clustering around the corpse of the great Virginian, with one accord exclaim: 'This earth that bears thee dead, Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.' "Sympathetic nations, to whom our lamentations have been transmitted on the wings of lightning, will with pious jealousy envy our grief, because Robert E. Lee was an American. Seven cities claimed the honor of having given birth to the great pagan poet; but all Christian nations, while revering America as the mother of Robert E. Lee, will claim for the nineteenth century the honor of his birth. There was but one Lee, the great Christian captain, and his fame justly belongs to Christendom. The nineteenth century has attacked every thing--it has attacked God, the soul, reason, morals, society, the distinction between good and evil. Christianity is vindicated by the virtues of Lee. He is the most brilliant and cogent argument in favor of a system illustrated by such a man; he is the type of the reign of law in the moral order--that reign of law which the philosophic Duke of Argyll has so recently and so ably discussed as pervading the natural as well as the supernatural world. One of the chief characteristics of the Christian is duty. Throughout a checkered life the conscientious performance of duty seems to have been the mainspring of the actions of General Lee. In his relations of father, son, husband, soldier, citizen, duty shines conspicuous in all his acts. His agency as he advanced to more elevated stations attracts more attention, and surrounds him with a brighter halo of glory; but he is unchanged; from first to last it is Robert E. Lee. "The most momentous act of his life was the selection of sides at the commencement of the political troubles which immediately preceded the recent conflict. High in military rank, caressed by General Scott, courted by those possessed of influence and authority, no politician, happy in his domestic relations, and in the enjoyment of competent fortune, consisting in the main of property situated on the borders of Virginia--nevertheless impelled by a sense of duty, as he himself testified before a Congressional committee since the war, General Lee determined to risk all and unite his fortunes with those of his native State, whose ordinances as one of her citizens he considered himself bound to obey. "Having joined the Confederate army, he complained not that he was assigned to the obscure duty of constructing coast-defences for South Carolina and Georgia, nor that he was subsequently relegated to unambitious commands in Western Virginia. The accidental circumstance that General Joseph E. Johnston was wounded at the battle of Seven Pines in May, 1862, placed Lee in command of the Army of Northern Virginia. As commander of that army he achieved world-wide reputation, without giving occasion during a period of three years to any complaint on the part of officers, men, or citizens, or enemies, that he had been guilty of any act, illegal, oppressive, unjust, or inhuman in its character. This is the highest tribute possible to the wisdom and virtue of General Lee; for, as a general rule, law was degraded; officers, whether justly or unjustly, were constantly the subject of complaint and discord, and jealousy prevailed in camp and in the Senate-chamber. There was a fraction of our people represented by an unavailing minority in Congress, who either felt, or professed to feel, a jealousy whose theory was just, but whose application, at such a time, was unsound. They wished to give as little power as possible because they dreaded a military despotism, and thus desired to send our armies forth with half a shield and broken swords to protect the government from its enemies, lest, if the bucklers were entire and the swords perfect, they might be tempted, in the heyday of victory, to smite their employers. But this want of confidence never manifested itself toward General Lee, whose conduct satisfied the most suspicious that his ambition was not of glory but of the performance of duty. The army always felt this: the fact that he sacrificed no masses of human beings in desperate charges that he might gather laurels from the spot enriched by their gore. A year or more before he was appointed commander-in-chief of all the Confederate forces, a bill passed Congress creating that office. It failed to become a law, the President having withheld his approval. Lee made no complaints; his friends solicited no votes to counteract the veto. When a bill for the same purpose was passed at a subsequent period, it was whispered about that he could not accept the position. To a committee of Virginians who had called on him to ascertain the truth, his reply was, that he felt bound to accept any post the duties of which his country believed him competent to perform. After the battle of Gettysburg he tendered his resignation to President Davis, because he was apprehensive his failure, the responsibility for which he did not pretend to throw on his troops or officers, would produce distrust of his abilities and destroy his usefulness. I am informed the President, in a beautiful and touching letter, declined to listen to such a proposition. During the whole period of the war he steadily declined all presents, and when, on one occasion, a gentleman sent him several dozen of wine, he turned it over to the hospitals in Richmond, saying the wounded and sick needed it more than he. He was extremely simple and unostentatious in his habits, and shared with his soldiers their privations as well as their dangers. Toward the close of the war, meat was very scarce within the Confederate lines in the neighborhood of the contending armies. An aide of the President, having occasion to visit General Lee en official business in the field, was invited to dinner. The meal spread on the table consisted of corn-bread and a small piece of bacon buried in a large dish of greens. The quick-eyed aide discovered that none of the company, which was composed of the general's personal staff, partook of the meat, though requested to do so in the most urbane manner by the general, who presided; he, therefore, also declined, and noticed that the meat was carried off untouched. After the meal was over, he inquired of one of the officers present what was the reason for this extraordinary conduct. His reply was, 'We had borrowed the meat for the occasion, and promised to return it.' "Duty alone induced this great soldier to submit to such privation, for the slightest intimation given to friends in Richmond would have filled his tent with all the luxuries that blockade-runners and speculators had introduced for the favored few able to purchase. "This performance of duty was accompanied by no harsh manner or cynical expressions; for the man whose soul is ennobled by true heroism, possesses a heart as tender as it is firm. His calmness under the most trying circumstances, and his uniform sweetness of manner, were almost poetical. They manifested 'the most sustained tenderness of soul that ever caressed the chords of a lyre.' In council he was temperate and patient, and his words fell softly and evenly as snow-flakes, like the sentences that fell from the lips of Ulysses. "On the termination of the war, his conduct until his death has challenged the admiration of friends and foes; he honestly acquiesced in the inevitable result of the struggle; no discontent, sourness, or complaint, has marred his tranquil life at Washington College, where death found him at his post of duty, engaged in fitting the young men of his country, by proper discipline and education, for the performance of the varied duties of life. It is somewhat singular that both Lee and his great lieutenant, Jackson, should in their last moments have referred to Hill. It is reported that General Lee said, 'Let my tent be struck; send for Hill;' while the lamented Jackson in his delirium cried out, 'Let A.P. Hill prepare for action; march the infantry rapidly to the front. Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees.' Both heroes died with commands for military movements on their lips; both the noblest specimens of the Christian soldier produced by any country or any age; both now rest under the shade of the trees of heaven." REV. DR. PALMER Then spoke as follows: "_Ladies and Gentlemen_: I should have been better pleased had I been permitted to sit a simple listener to the eloquent tribute paid to the immortal chieftain who now reposes in death, by the speaker who has just taken his seat. The nature of my calling so far separates me from public life that I am scarcely competent for the office of alluding to the elements which naturally gather around his career. When informed that other artists would draw the picture of the warrior and the hero, I yielded a cheerful compliance, in the belief that nothing was left but to describe the Christian and the man. You are entirely familiar with the early life of him over whose grave you this night shed tears; with his grave and sedate boyhood giving promise of the reserved force of mature manhood; with his academic career at West Point, where he received the highest honors of a class brilliant with such names as General Joseph E. Johnston; his seizure of the highest honors of a long apprenticeship in that institution, and his abrupt ascension in the Mexican War from obscurity to fame--all are too firmly stamped in the minds of his admirers to require even an allusion. You are too familiar to need a repetition from my lips of that great mental and spiritual struggle passed, not one night, but many, when, abandoning the service in which he had gathered so much of honor and reputation, he determined to lay his heart upon the altar of his native State, and swear to live or die in her defence. "It would be a somewhat singular subject of speculation to discover how it is that national character so often remarkably expresses itself in single individuals who are born as representatives of a class. It is wonderful, for it has been the remark of ages, how the great are born in clusters; sometimes, indeed, one star shining with solitary splendor in the firmament above, but generally gathered in grand constellations, filling the sky with glory. What is that combination of influences, partly physical, partly intellectual, but somewhat more moral, which should make a particular country productive of men great over all others on earth and to all ages of time? Ancient Greece, with her indented coast, inviting to maritime adventures, from her earliest period was the mother of heroes in war, of poets in song, of sculptors and artists, and stands up after the lapse of centuries the educator of mankind, living in the grandeur of her works and in the immortal productions of minds which modern civilization with all its cultivation and refinement and science never surpassed and scarcely equalled. And why in the three hundred years of American history it should be given to the Old Dominion to be the grand mother, not only of States, but of the men by whom States and empires are formed, it might be curious were it possible for us to inquire. Unquestionably, Mr. President, there is in this problem the element of race; for he is blind to all the truths of history, to all the revelations of the past, who does not recognize a select race as we recognize a select individual of a race, to make all history; but pretermitting all speculation of that sort, when Virginia unfolds the scroll of her immortal sons--not because illustrious men did not precede him gathering in constellations and clusters, but because the name shines out through those constellations and clusters in all its peerless grandeur--we read the name of George Washington. And then, Mr. President, after the interval of three-quarters of a century, when your jealous eye has ranged down the record and traced the names that history will never let die, you come to the name--the only name in all the annals of history that can be named in the perilous connection--of Robert E. Lee, the second Washington. Well may old Virginia be proud of her twin sons! born almost a century apart, but shining like those binary stars which open their glory and shed their splendor on the darkness of the world. "Sir, it is not an artifice of rhetoric which suggests this parallel between two great names in American history; for the suggestion springs spontaneously to every mind, and men scarcely speak of Lee without thinking of a mysterious connection that binds the two together. They were alike in the presage of their early history--the history of their boyhood. Both earnest, grave, studious; both alike in that peculiar purity which belongs only to a noble boy, and which makes him a brave and noble man, filling the page of a history spotless until closed in death; alike in that commanding presence which seems to be the signature of Heaven sometimes placed on a great soul when to that soul is given a fit dwelling-place; alike in that noble carriage and commanding dignity, exercising a mesmeric influence and a hidden power which could not be repressed, upon all who came within its charm; alike in the remarkable combination and symmetry of their intellectual attributes, all brought up to the same equal level, no faculty of the mind overlapping any other--all so equal, so well developed, the judgment, the reason, the memory, the fancy, that you are almost disposed to deny them greatness, because no single attribute of the mind was projected upon itself, just as objects appear sometimes smaller to the eye from the exact symmetry and beauty of their proportions; alike, above all, in that soul-greatness, that Christian virtue to which so beautiful a tribute has been rendered by my friend whose high privilege it was to be a compeer and comrade with the immortal dead, although in another department and sphere; and yet alike, Mr. President, in their external fortune, so strangely dissimilar--the one the representative and the agent of a stupendous revolution which it pleased Heaven to bless and give birth to one of the mightiest nations on the globe; the other the representative and agent of a similar revolution, upon which it pleased high Heaven to throw the darkness of its frown; so that, bearing upon his generous heart the weight of this crushed cause, he was at length overwhelmed; and the nation whom he led in battle gathers with spontaneity of grief over all this land which is ploughed with graves and reddened with blood, and the tears of a widowed nation in her bereavement are shed over his honored grave. "But these crude suggestions, which fall almost impromptu from my lips, suggest that which I desire to offer before this audience to-night. I accept Robert E. Lee as the true type of the American man and the Southern gentleman. A brilliant English writer has well remarked, with a touch of sound philosophy, that when a nation has rushed upon its fate, the whole force of the national life will sometimes shoot up in one grand character, like the aloe which blooms at the end of a hundred years, shooting up in one single spike of glory, and then expires. And wherever philosophy, refinement, and culture, have gone upon the globe, it is possible to place the finger upon individual men who are the exemplars of a nation's character, those typical forms under which others less noble, less expanded, have manifested themselves. That gentle, that perfect moderation, that self-command which enabled him to be so self-possessed amid the most trying difficulties of his public career, a refinement almost such as that which marks the character of the purest woman, were blended in him with that massive strength, that mighty endurance, that consistency and power which gave him and the people whom he led such momentum under the disadvantages of the struggle through which he passed. Born from the general level of American society, blood of a noble ancestry flowed in his veins, and he was a type of the race from which he sprang. Such was the grandeur and urbaneness of his manner, the dignity and majesty of his carriage, that his only peer in social life could be found in courts and among those educated amid the refinements of courts and thrones. In that regard there was something beautiful and appropriate that he should become, in the later years of his life, the educator of the young. Sir, it is a cause for mourning before high Heaven to-night that he was not spared thirty years to educate a generation for the time that is to come; for, as in the days when the red banner streamed over the land, the South sent her sons to fight under his flag and beneath the wave of his sword, these sons have been sent again to sit at his feet when he was the disciple of the Muses and the teacher of philosophy. Oh, that he might have brought his more than regal character, his majestic fame, all his intellectual and moral endowments, to the task of fitting those that should come in the crisis of the future to take the mantle that had fallen from his shoulders and bear it to the generations that are unborn! "General Lee I accept as the representative of his people, and of the temper with which this whole Southland entered into that gigantic, that prolonged, and that disastrous struggle which has closed, but closed as to us in grief. Sir, they wrong us who say that the South was ever impatient to rupture the bonds of the American Union. The war of 1776, which, sir, has no more yet a written history than has the war of 1861 to 1865, tells us that it was this Southland that wrought the Revolution of 1776. We were the heirs of all the glory of that immortal struggle. It was purchased with our blood, with the blood of our fathers which yet flows in these veins, and which we desire to transmit, pure and consecrated, to the sons that are born to our loins. The traditions of the past sixty years were a portion of our heritage, and it never was easy for any great heart and reflective mind even to seem to part with that heritage to enter upon the perilous effort of establishing a new nationality. "Mr. President, it was my privilege once to be thrilled in a short speech, uttered by one of the noblest names clustering upon the roll of South Carolina; for, sir, South Carolina was Virginia's sister, and South Carolina stood by Virginia in the old struggle, as Virginia stood by South Carolina in the new, and the little State, small as Greece, barren in resources but great only in the grandeur of the men, in their gigantic proportions, whom she, like Virginia, was permitted to produce--I heard, sir, one of South Carolina's noblest sons speak once thus: 'I walked through the Tower of London, that grand repository where are gathered the memorials of England's martial prowess; and when the guide, in the pride of his English heart, pointed to the spoils of war collected through centuries of the past,' said this speaker, lifting himself upon tiptoe that he might reach to his greatest height, 'I said, "You cannot point to one single trophy from my people, or my country, though England engaged in two disastrous wars with her."' Sir, this was the sentiment. We loved every inch of American soil, and loved every part of that canvas [pointing to the Stars and Stripes above him], which, as a symbol of power and authority, floated from the spires and from the mast-head of our vessels; and it was after the anguish of a woman in birth that this land, that now lies in her sorrow and ruin, took upon herself that great peril; but it is all emblematized in the regret experienced by him whose praises are upon our lips, and who, like the English Nelson, recognized duty engraved in letters of light as the only ensign he could follow, and who, tearing away from all the associations of his early life, and, abandoning the reputation gained in the old service, made up his mind to embark in the new, and, with that modesty and that firmness belonging only to the truly great, expressed his willingness to live and die in the position assigned to him. "And I accept this noble chieftain equally as the representative of this Southland in the spirit of his retirement from struggle. It could not escape any speaker upon this platform to allude to the dignity of that retirement; how, from the moment he surrendered he withdrew from observation, holding aloof from all political complications, and devoting his entire energies to the great work he had undertaken to discharge. In this he represents--an the true attitude of the South since the close of the war attitude of quiet submission to the conquering power and of obedience to all exactions; but without resiling from those great principles which were embalmed in the struggle, and which, as the convictions of a lifetime, no honest mind could release. "All over this land of ours there are men like Lee--not as great, not as symmetrical in the development of character, not as grand in the proportions which they have reached, but who, like him, are sleeping upon memories that are holy as death, and who, amid all reproach, appeal to the future, and to the tribunal of History, when she shall render her final verdict in reference to the struggle closed, for the vindication of the people embarked in that struggle. We are silent, resigned, obedient, and thoughtful, sleeping upon solemn memories, Mr. President; but, as said by the poet-preacher in the Good Book, 'I sleep, but my heart waketh,' looking upon the future that is to come, and powerless in every thing except to pray to Almighty God, who rules the destinies of nations, that those who have the power may at least have the grace given them to preserve the constitutional principles which we have endeavored to maintain. And, sir, were it my privilege to speak in the hearing of the entire nation, I would utter with the profoundest emphasis this pregnant truth: that no people ever traversed those moral ideas which underlie its character, its constitution, its institutions, and its laws, that did not in the end perish in disaster, in shame, and in dishonor. Whatever be the glory, the material civilization, of which such a nation may boast, it still holds true that the truth is immortal, and that ideas rule the world. "And now I have but a single word to say, and that is, that the grave of this noble hero is bedewed with the most tender and sacred tears ever shed upon a human tomb. I was thinking in my study this afternoon, striving to strike out something I might utter on this platform, and this parallel between the first Washington and the second occurred to me. I asked my own heart the question, 'Would you not accept the fame and the glory and the career of Robert E. Lee just as soon as accept the glory and career of the immortal man who was his predecessor?' Sir, there is a pathos in fallen fortunes which stirs the sensibilities, and touches the very fountain of human feeling. I am not sure that at this moment Napoleon, the enforced guest of the Prussian king, is not grander than when he ascended the throne of France. There is a grandeur in misfortune when that misfortune is borne by a noble heart, with the strength of will to endure, and endure without complaining or breaking. Perhaps I slip easily into this train of remarks, for it is my peculiar office to speak of that chastening with which a gracious Providence visits men on this earth, and by which He prepares them for heaven hereafter; and what is true of individuals in a state of adversity, is true of nations when clothed in sorrow. Sir, the men in these galleries that once wore the gray are here to-night that they may bend the knee in reverence at the grave of him whose voice and hand they obeyed amid the storms of battle: the young widow, who but as yesterday leaned upon the arm of her soldier-husband, but now clasps wildly to her breast the young child that never beheld its father's face, comes here to shed her tears over this grave to-night; and the aged matron, with the tears streaming from her eyes as she recalls her unforgotten dead, lying on the plains of Gettysburg, or on the heights of Fredericksburg, now, to-night, joins in our dirge over him who was that son's chieftain and counsellor and friend. A whole nation has risen up in the spontaneity of its grief to render the tribute of its love. Sir, there is a unity in the grapes when they grow together in the clusters upon the vine, and holding the bunch in your hand you speak of it as one; but there is another unity when you throw these grapes into the wine-press, and the feet of those that bruise these grapes trample them almost profanely beneath their feet together in the communion of pure wine; and such is the union and communion of hearts that have been fused by tribulation and sorrow, and that meet together in the true feeling of an honest grief to express the homage of their affection, as well as to render a tribute of praise to him upon whose face we shall never look until on that immortal day when we shall behold it transfigured before the throne of God." The meeting then adopted the following preamble and resolutions: "_Whereas_, Like orphans at the grave of a parent untimely snatched away, our hearts have lingered and brooded, with a grief that no cunning of speech could interpret, over the thought that Robert Edward Lee exists no more, in bodily life, in sensible form, in visible presence, for our love and veneration, for our edification and guidance, for our comfort and solace; and-- "_Whereas_, We have invoked all mute funeral emblems to aid us with their utmost eloquence of woe, and we cannot content ourselves with contemplating, from the depth and the gloom of our bereavement, the exalted and radiant virtues of the dead: "_Resolved_, That we, the people of New Orleans, have come together under one common impulse to render united homage to the memory which holds mastery in our minds, whether we turn with bitter regard to the past, or with prayerful and chastened aspirations to the future. "_Resolved_, That as Louisianians, as Southerners, as Americans, we proudly claim our share in the fame of Lee as an inheritance rightfully belonging to us, and endowed with which we shall piously cherish, though all calamities should rain upon us, true poverty--the poverty indeed that abases and starves the spirit can never approach us with its noisome breath and withering look. "_Resolved_, That it is infinitely more bitter to have to mourn the loss of our Lee, than not to have learned to prize him as the noblest gift which could have been allotted to a people and an epoch; a grand man, rounded to the symmetry of equal moral and intellectual powers, graces, and accomplishments; a man whose masterly and heroic energy left nothing undone in defending a just cause while there was a possibility of striking for it a rational and hopeful blow, and whose sublime resignation when the last blow was struck in vain, and when human virtue was challenged to match itself with the consummation of human adversity, taught wiser, more convincing, more reassuring, more soul-sustaining lessons than were to be found in all the philosophies of all books. "_Resolved_, That worthily to show our veneration for this majestic and beautiful character, we must revolve it habitually in our thoughts, and try to appropriate it to the purification and elevation of our lives, and so educate our children that they shall, if possible, grow up into its likeness. "_Resolved_, That while it is honorable for a people to deeply lament the death of such a man, it would be glorious for a generation to mould itself after his model; for it would be a generation fraught with all high manly qualities, tempered with all gentle and Christian virtues; for truth, love, goodness, health, strength, would be with it, and consequently victory, liberty, majesty, and beauty. "_Resolved_, That we would hail the erection of the proposed monument as well adapted to the purpose of preserving this admirable and most precious memory as a vital and beneficent influence for all time to come, and we will therefore cordially aid in promoting the Lee Monument which has just been inaugurated." ATLANTA, GA. A crowded meeting assembled in this city on October 15th. After an impressive prayer from the Rev. Dr. Brantly, the meeting was addressed by GENERAL JOHN B. GORDON. "_My Friends_: We have met to weep, to mingle our tears, and give vent to our bursting hearts. The sorrowing South, already clad in mourners' weeds, bows her head afresh to-day in a heart-stricken orphanage; and if I could have been permitted to indulge the sensibilities of my heart, I would have fled this most honorable task, and in solitude and silence have wept the loss of the great and good man whose death we so deplore. I loved General Lee; for it was my proud privilege to know him well. I loved him with a profound and all-filial love, with a sincere and unfaded affection. I say I would have retired from this flattering task which your kindness has imposed, but remembering that his words, his deeds, his great example, has taught us that duty was the most commanding obligation, I yield this morning to your wishes. "We have met to honor General Lee, to honor him dead whom we loved while living. Honor General Lee! How utterly vain, what a mockery of language do these words seem! Honor Lee! Why, my countrymen, his deeds have honored him! The very trump of Fame itself is proud to honor him! Europe and the civilized world have united to honor him supremely, and History itself has caught the echo and made it immortal. Honor Lee! Why, sir, as the sad news of his death is with the speed of thought communicated to the world, it will carry a pang even to the hearts of marshals and of monarchs; and I can easily fancy that, amid the din and clash and carnage of war, the cannon itself, in mute pause at the whispering news, will briefly cease its roar around the walls of Paris. The task is not without pain, while yet his manly frame lies stretched upon his bier, to attempt to analyze the elements that made him truly great. It has been my fortune in life from circumstances to have come in contact with some whom the world pronounced great--some of the earth's celebrated and distinguished; but I declare it here to-day that, of any mortal man whom it has ever been my privilege to approach, he was the greatest; and I assert here that, grand as might be your conceptions of the man before, he arose in incomparable majesty on more familiar acquaintance. This can be affirmed of few men who have ever lived or died, and of no other man whom it has ever been my fortune to approach. Like Niagara, the more you gazed the more his grandeur grew upon you, the more his majesty expanded and filled your spirit with a full satisfaction that left a perfect delight without the slightest feeling of oppression. Grandly majestic and dignified in all his deportment, he was genial as the sunlight of this beautiful day, and not a ray of that cordial, social intercourse but brought warmth to the heart as it did light to the understanding. "But as one of the great captains will General Lee first pass review and inspection before the criticism of history. We will not compare him with Washington. The mind will halt instinctively at the comparison of two such men, so equally and gloriously great. But with modest, yet calm and unflinching confidence we place him by the side of the Marlboroughs and Wellingtons who take high niches in the pantheon of immortality. Let us dwell for a moment, my friends, on this thought. Marlborough never met defeat, it is true. Victory marked every step of his triumphant march; but when, where, and whom did Marlborough fight? The ambitious and vain but able Louis XIV. But he had already exhausted the resources of his kingdom before Marlborough stepped upon the stage. The great marshals Turenne and Condé were no more, and Luxembourg the beloved had vanished from the scene. Marlborough, preëminently great as he certainly was, nevertheless led the combined forces of England and of Holland, in the freshness of their strength and the fulness of their financial ability, against prostrate France, with a treasury depleted, a people worn out, discouraged, and dejected. But let us turn to another comparison. The great Von Moltke, who now rides upon the whirlwind and commands the storm of Prussian invasion, has recently declared that General Lee, in all respects, was fully the equal of Wellington, and you may the better appreciate this admission when you remember that Wellington was the benefactor of Prussia, and probably Von Moltke's special idol. But let us examine the arguments ourselves. France was already prostrate when Wellington met Napoleon. That great emperor had seemed to make war upon the very elements themselves, to have contended with Nature, and to have almost defeated Providence itself. The enemies of the North, more savage than Goth or Vandal, mounting the swift gales of a Russian winter, had carried death, desolation, and ruin, to the very gates of Paris. Wellington fought at Waterloo a bleeding and broken nation--a nation electrified, it is true, to almost superhuman energy by the genius of Napoleon, but a nation prostrate and bleeding nevertheless. Compare this, my friends, the condition of France and the condition of the United States, in the freshness of her strength, in the luxuriance of her resources, in the lustihood of her gigantic youth. Tell me whether to place the chaplet of military superiority with him, or with Marlborough, or Wellington? Even the greatest of captains, in his Italian campaigns, flashing fame in lightning splendor over the world, even Bonaparte met and crushed in battle but three or four (I think) Austrian armies; while our Lee, with one army badly equipped, in time incredibly short, met and hurled back in broken and shattered fragments five of the greatest prepared and most magnificently appointed invasions. Yea, more! He discrowned, in rapid succession, one after another of the United States' most, accomplished and admirable commanders. "Lee was never really defeated. Lee could not be defeated! Overpowered, foiled in his efforts, he might be; but never defeated until the props which supported him gave way. Never, until the platform sank beneath him, did any enemy ever dare pursue. On that melancholy occasion, the downfall of the Confederacy, no Leipsic, no Waterloo, no Sedan, can ever be recorded. "General Lee is known to the world as a military man; but it is easy to divine from his history how mindful of all just authority, how observant of all constitutional restriction, would have been his career as a civilian. When, near the conclusion of the war, darkness was thickening about the falling fortunes of the Confederacy, when its very life was in the sword of Lee, it was my proud privilege to know with a special admiration the modest demeanor, the manly decorum, respectful homage, which marked all his dealings with the constituted authorities of his country. Clothed with all power, he hid its very symbol behind a genial modesty, and refused ever to exert it save in obedience to law. And even in his triumphant entry into the territory of the enemy, so regardful was he of civilized warfare, that the observance of his general orders as to private property and private rights left the line of his march marked and marred by no devastated fields, charred ruins, or desolated homes. But it is in his private character, or rather I should say his personal emotion and virtue, which his countrymen will most delight to consider and dwell upon. His magnanimity, transcending all historic precedent, seemed to form a new chapter in the book of humanity. Witness that letter to Jackson, after his wounds at Chancellorsville, in which he said: 'I am praying for you with more fervor than I have ever prayed for myself;' and that other, more disinterested and pathetic: 'I could, for the good of my country, wish that the wounds which you have received had been inflicted upon my own body;' or that of the latter message, saying to General Jackson that 'his wounds were not so severe as mine, for he loses but his left arm, while I, in my loss, lose my right;' or that other expression of unequalled magnanimity which enabled him to ascribe the glory of their joint victory to the sole credit of the dying hero. Did I say unequalled? Yes, that was an avowal of unequalled magnanimity, until it met its parallel in his own grander self-negation in assuming the sole responsibility for the defeat at Gettysburg. Ay, my countrymen, Alexander had his Arbela, Caesar his Pharsalia, Napoleon his Austerlitz; but it was reserved for Lee to grow grander and more illustrious in defeat than even in victory--grander, because in defeat he showed a spirit greater than in the heroism of battles or all the achievements of war, a spirit which crowns him with a chaplet grander far than ever mighty conqueror wore. "I turn me now to that last closing scene at Appomattox, and I will draw thence a picture of that man as he laid aside the sword, the unrivalled soldier, to become the most exemplary of citizens. "I can never forget the deferential homage paid this great citizen by even the Federal soldiers, as with uncovered heads they contemplated in mute admiration this now captive hero as he rode through their ranks. Impressed forever, daguerreotyped on my heart is that last parting scene with that handful of heroes still crowding around him. Few indeed were the words then spoken, but the quivering lip and the tearful eye told of the love they bore him, in symphonies more eloquent than any language can describe. Can I ever forget? No, never can I forget the words which fell from his lips as I rode beside him amid the defeated, dejected, and weeping soldiery, when, turning to me, he said, 'I could wish that I was numbered among the fallen in the last battle;' but oh! as he thought of the loss of the cause--of the many dead scattered over so many fields, who, sleeping neglected, with no governmental arms to gather up their remains--sleeping neglected, isolated, and alone, beneath the weeping stars, with naught but their soldiers' blankets about them!--oh! as these emotions swept over his great soul, he felt that he would have laid him down to rest in the same grave where lay buried the common hope of his people. But Providence willed it otherwise. He rests now forever, my countrymen, his spirit in the bosom of that Father whom he so faithfully served, his body beside the river whose banks are forever memorable, and whose waters are vocal with the glories of his triumphs. No sound shall ever wake him to martial glory again; no more shall he lead his invincible lines to victory; no more shall we gaze upon him and draw from his quiet demeanor lessons of life. But oh! it is a sweet consolation to us, my countrymen, who loved him, that no more shall his bright spirit be bowed down to earth with the burdens of the people's wrongs. It is sweet consolation to us that his last victory, through faith in his crucified Redeemer, is the most transcendently glorious of all his triumphs. At this very hour, while we mourn here, kind friends are consigning the last that remains of our hero to his quiet sleeping-place, surrounded by the mountains of his native State--mountains the autumnal glory of whose magnificent forests to-day seem but habiliments of mourning. In the Valley, the pearly dew-drops seem but tears of sadness upon the grasses and flowers. Let him rest! And now as he has gone from us, and as we regard him in all the aspects of his career and character and attainments as a great captain, ranking among the first of any age; as a patriot, whose sacrificing devotion to his country ranks him with Washington; as a Christian, like Havelock, recognizing his duty to his God above every other earthly consideration, with a native modesty that refused to appropriate the glory of his own, and which surrounds now his entire character and career with a halo of unfading light; with an integrity of life and a sacred regard for truth which no man dare assail; with a fidelity to principle which no misfortune could shake--he must ever stand peerless among men in the estimation of Christendom, this representative son of the South, Robert E. Lee, of Virginia." RICHMOND, VA. A meeting was held on November 3d, presided over by Mr. Jefferson Davis. Mr. Davis delivered an address, of which we regret that we have received no complete copy. We give it as reported in the Richmond _Dispatch_. REMARKS OF PRESIDENT DAVIS. As Mr. Davis arose to walk to the stand, every person in the house stood, and there followed such a storm of applause as seemed to shake the very foundations of the building, while cheer upon cheer was echoed from the throats of veterans saluting one whom they delighted to honor. Mr. Davis spoke at length, and with his accustomed thrilling, moving eloquence. We shall not attempt, at the late hour at which we write, to give a full report of his address. He addressed his hearers as "Soldiers and sailors of the Confederacy, comrades and friends: Assembled on this sad occasion, with hearts oppressed with the grief that follows the loss of him who was our leader on many a bloody battle-field, a pleasing though melancholy spectacle is presented. Hitherto, and in all times, men have been honored when successful; but here is the case of one who amid disaster went down to his grave, and those who were his companions in misfortune have assembled to honor his memory. It is as much an honor to you who give as to him who receives; for, above the vulgar test of merit, you show yourselves competent to discriminate between him who enjoys and him who deserves success. "Robert E. Lee was my associate and friend in the Military Academy, and we were friends until the hour of his death. We were associates and friends when he was a soldier and I a Congressman; and associates and friends when he led the armies of the Confederacy and I presided in its cabinet. We passed through many sad scenes together, but I cannot remember that there was ever aught but perfect harmony between us. If ever there was difference of opinion, it was dissipated by discussion, and harmony was the result. I repeat, _we never disagreed_; and I may add that I never in my life saw in him the slightest tendency to self-seeking. It was not his to make a record, it was not his to shift blame to other shoulders; but it was his, with an eye fixed upon the welfare of his country, never faltering, to follow the line of duty to the end. His was the heart that braved every difficulty; his was the mind that wrought victory out of defeat. "He has been charged with 'want of dash.' I wish to say that I never knew Lee to falter to attempt any thing ever man could dare. An attempt has also been made to throw a cloud upon his character because he left the Army of the United States to join in the struggle for the liberty of his State. Without trenching at all upon politics, I deem it my duty to say one word in reference to this charge. Virginian born, descended from a family illustrious in Virginia's annals, given by Virginia to the service of the United States, he represented her in the Military Academy at West Point. He was not educated by the Federal Government, but by Virginia; for she paid her full share for the support of that institution, and was entitled to demand in return the services of her sons. Entering the Army of the United States, he represented Virginia there also, and nobly. On many a hard-fought field Lee was conspicuous, battling for his native State as much as for the Union. He came from Mexico crowned with honors, covered by brevets, and recognized, young as he was, as one of the ablest of his country's soldiers. And, to prove that he was estimated then as such, let me tell you that when Lee was a captain of engineers stationed in Baltimore, the Cuban Junta in New York selected him to be their leader in the struggle for the independence of their native country. They were anxious to secure his services, and offered him every temptation that ambition could desire. He thought the matter over, and, I remember, came to Washington to consult me as to what he should do; and when I began to discuss the complications which might arise from his acceptance of the trust, he gently rebuked me, saying that this was not the line upon which he wished my advice: the simple question was, 'Whether it was right or not?' He had been educated by the United States, and felt wrong to accept a place in the army of a foreign power. Such was his extreme delicacy, such was the nice sense of honor of the gallant gentleman whose death we deplore. But when Virginia withdrew, the State to whom he owed his first and last allegiance, the same nice sense of honor led him to draw his sword and throw it in the scale for good or for evil. Pardon me for this brief defence of my illustrious friend. "When Virginia joined the Confederacy, Robert Lee, the highest officer in the little army of Virginia, came to Richmond; and, not pausing to inquire what would be his rank in the service of the Confederacy, went to Western Virginia under the belief that he was still an officer of the State. He came back, carrying the heavy weight of defeat, and unappreciated by the people whom he served, for they could not know, as I knew, that if his plans and orders had been carried out the result would have been victory rather than retreat. You did not know, for I would not have known it had he not breathed it in my ear only at my earnest request, and begging that nothing be said about it. The clamor which then arose followed him when he went to South Carolina, so that it became necessary on his going to South Carolina to write a letter to the Governor of that State, telling him what manner of man he was. Yet, through all this, with a magnanimity rarely equalled, he stood in silence without defending himself or allowing others to defend him, for he was unwilling to offend any one who was wearing a sword and striking blows for the Confederacy." Mr. Davis then spoke of the straits to which the Confederacy was reduced, and of the danger to which her capital was exposed, just after the battle of Seven Pines, and told how General Lee had conceived and executed the desperate plan to turn their flank and rear, which, after seven days of bloody battle, was crowned with the protection of Richmond, while the enemy was driven far from the city. The speaker referred also to the circumstances attending General Lee's crossing the Potomac on the march into Pennsylvania. He (Mr. Davis) assumed the responsibility of that movement. The enemy had long been concentrating his force, and it was evident that if he continued his steady progress the Confederacy would be overwhelmed. Our only hope was to drive him to the defence of his own capital, we being enabled in the mean time to reënforce our shattered army. How well General Lee carried out that dangerous experiment need not be told. Richmond was relieved, the Confederacy was relieved, and time was obtained, if other things had favored, to reënforce the army. "But," said Mr. Davis, "I shall not attempt to review the military career of our fallen chieftain. Of the man, how shall I speak? He was my friend, and in that word is included all that I could say of any man. His moral qualities rose to the height of his genius. Self-denying; always intent upon the one idea of duty; self-controlled to an extent that many thought him cold, his feelings were really warm, and his heart melted freely at the sight of a wounded soldier, or the story of the sufferings of the widow and orphan. During the war he was ever conscious of the inequality of the means at his control; but it was never his to complain or to utter a doubt; it was always his to do. When, in the last campaign, he was beleaguered at Petersburg, and painfully aware of the straits to which we were reduced, he said: 'With my army in the mountains of Virginia, I could carry on this war for twenty years longer.' His men exhausted, and his supplies failing, he was unable to carry out his plans. An untoward event caused him to anticipate the movement, and the Army of Northern Virginia was overwhelmed. But, in the surrender, he anticipated conditions that have not been fulfilled; he expected his army to be respected, and his paroled soldiers to be allowed the enjoyments of life and property. Whether these conditions have been fulfilled, let others say. "Here he now sleeps in the land he loved so well; and that land is not Virginia only, for they do injustice to Lee who believe he fought only for Virginia. He was ready to go anywhere, on any service, for the good of his country; and his heart was as broad as the fifteen States struggling for the principles that our forefathers fought for in the Revolution of 1776. He is sleeping in the same soil with the thousands who fought under the same flag, but first offered up their lives. Here, the living are assembled to honor his memory, and there the skeleton sentinels keep watch over his grave. This citizen, this soldier, this great general, this true patriot, left behind him the crowning glory of a true Christian. His Christianity ennobled him in life, and affords us grounds for the belief that he is happy beyond the grave. "But, while we mourn the loss of the great and the true, drop we also tears of sympathy with her who was his helpmeet--the noble woman who, while her husband was in the field leading the army of the Confederacy, though an invalid herself, passed the time in knitting socks for the marching soldiers! A woman fit to be the mother of heroes; and heroes are descended from her. Mourning with her, we can only offer the consolation of a Christian. Our loss is not his; but he now enjoys the rewards of a life well spent, and a never-wavering trust in a risen Saviour. This day we unite our words of sorrow with those of the good and great throughout Christendom, for his fame is gone over the water; his deeds will be remembered, and when the monument we build shall have crumbled into dust, his virtues will still live, a high model for the imitation of generations yet unborn." We have given but a faint idea of the eloquent thoughts and chaste oratory of the speaker. His words were heard with profound attention, and received with frequent applause. MEMORIAL RESOLUTIONS. Colonel C.S. Venable then presented the following report of the Committee on Resolutions: "_Whereas_, It is a high and holy duty, as well as a noble privilege, to perpetuate the honors of those who have displayed eminent virtues and performed great achievements, that they may serve as incentives and examples to the latest generation of their countrymen, and attest the reverential admiration and affectionate regard of their compatriots; and-- "_Whereas_, This duty and privilege devolve on all who love and admire General Robert E. Lee throughout this country and the world, and in an especial manner upon those who followed him in the field, or who fought in the same cause, who shared in his glories, partook of his trials, and were united with him in the same sorrows and adversity, who were devoted to him in war by the baptism of fire and blood, and bound to him in peace by the still higher homage due to the rare and grand exhibition of a character pure and lofty and gentle and true, under all changes of fortune, and serene amid the greatest disasters: therefore, be it "_Resolved_, That we favor an association to erect a monument at Richmond to the memory of Robert E. Lee, as an enduring testimonial of our love and respect, and devotion to his fame. "_Resolved_, That, while donations will be gladly received from all who recognize in the excellences of General Lee's character an honor and an encouragement to our common humanity, and an abiding hope that coming generations may be found to imitate his virtues, it is desirable that every Confederate soldier and sailor should make some contribution, however small, to the proposed monument. "_Resolved_, That, for the purpose of securing efficiency and dispatch in the erection of the monument, an executive committee of seventy-five, with a president, secretary, treasurer, auditor, etc., be appointed, to invite and collect subscriptions, to procure designs for said monument, to select the best, to provide for the organization of central executive committees in other States, which may serve as mediums of communication between the executive committee of the Association and the local associations of these States. "_Resolved_, That we respectfully invite the ladies of the Hollywood Association to lend us their assistance and coöperation in the collection of subscriptions. "_Resolved_, That we cordially approve of the local monument now proposed to be erected by other associations at Atlanta, and at Lexington, his last home, whose people were so closely united with him in the last sad years of his life. "_Resolved_, That, while we cordially thank the Governor and Legislature of Virginia, for the steps they have taken to do honor to the memory of General Lee, yet in deference to the wishes of his loved and venerated widow, with whom we mourn, we will not discuss the question of the most fitting resting-place for his ever-glorious remains, but will content ourselves with expressing the earnest desire and hope that at some future proper time they will be committed to the charge of this Association." Generals John S. Preston, John B. Gordon, Henry A. Wise, and William Henry Preston, and Colonels Robert E. Withers and Charles Marshall, delivered eloquent and appropriate speeches, and argued that Richmond is the proper place for the final interment of the remains of General Lee. The resolutions were adopted, and the meeting adjourned. COLUMBIA, S.C. At a meeting in this city the following remarks were made by-- GENERAL WADE HAMPTON. "_Fellow-Citizens_: We are called together to-day by an announcement which will cause profound sorrow throughout the civilized world, and which comes to us bearing the additional grief of a personal and private bereavement. The foremost man in all the world is no more; and, as that news is carried by the speed of lightning through every town, village, and hamlet of this land which he loved so well, and among those people who loved and honored and venerated him so profoundly, every true heart in the stricken South will feel that the country has lost its pride and glory, and that the citizens of that country have lost a father. I dare not venture to speak of him as I feel. Nor do we come to eulogize him. Not only wherever the English language is spoken, but wherever civilization extends, the sorrow--a part at least of the sorrow--we feel will be felt, and more eloquent tongues than mine will tell the fame and recount the virtues of Robert E. Lee. We need not come to praise him. We come only to express our sympathy, our grief, our bereavement. We come not to mourn him, for we know that it is well with him. We come only to extend our sympathy to those who are bereaved. "Now that he is fallen, I may mention what I have never spoken of before, to show you not only what were the feelings that actuated him in the duty to which his beloved countrymen called him, but what noble sentiments inspired him when he saw the cause for which he had been fighting so long about to perish. Just before the surrender, after a night devoted to the most arduous duties, as one of his staff came in to see him in the morning, he found him worn and weary and disheartened, and the general said to him, 'How easily I could get rid of this and be at rest! I have only to ride along the line, and all will be over. But,' said he--and there spoke the Christian patriot--'it is our duty to _live_, for what will become of the women and children of the South if we are not here to protect them?' That same spirit of duty which had actuated him through all the perils and all the hardships of that unequalled conflict which he had waged so heroically, that same high spirit of duty told him that he must live to show that he was great--greater, if that were possible, in peace than in war; live to teach the people whom he had before led to victory how to bear defeat; live to show what a great and good man can accomplish; live to set an example to his people for all time; live to bear, if nothing else, his share of the sorrows, and the afflictions, and the troubles, which had come upon his people. He is now at rest; and surely we of the South can say of him, as we say of his great exemplar, the 'Father of his Country,' that 'he was first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen.'" BALTIMORE. At a meeting of the officers and soldiers who served under General Lee, held in this city on October 15th, a number of addresses were made, which we are compelled to somewhat condense. That of Colonel Marshall, General Lee's chief of staff, was as follows: COLONEL CHARLES MARSHALL. "In presenting the resolutions of the committee, I cannot refrain from expressing the feelings inspired by the memories that crowd upon my mind when I reflect that these resolutions are intended to express what General Lee's surviving soldiers feel toward General Lee. The committee are fully aware of their inability to do justice to the sentiments that inspire the hearts of those for whom they speak. How can we portray in words the gratitude, the pride, the veneration, the anguish, that now fill the hearts of those who shared his victories and his reverses, his triumphs and his defeats? How can we tell the world what we can only feel ourselves? How can we give expression to the crowding memories called forth by the sad event we are met to deplore? "We recall him as he appeared in the hour of victory, grand, imposing, awe-inspiring, yet self-forgetful and humble. We recall the great scenes of his triumph, when we hailed him victor on many a bloody field, and when above the paeans of victory we listened with reverence to his voice as he ascribed 'all glory to the Lord of hosts, from whom all glories are.' We remember that grand magnanimity that never stooped to pluck those meaner things that grew nearest the earth upon the tree of victory, but which, with eyes turned toward the stars, and hands raised toward heaven, gathered the golden fruits of mercy, pity, and holy charity, that ripen on its topmost boughs beneath the approving smile of the great God of battles. We remember the sublime self-abnegation of Chancellorsville, when, in the midst of his victorious legions, who, with the light of battle yet on their faces, hailed him conqueror, he thought only of his great lieutenant lying wounded on the field, and transferred to him all the honor of that illustrious day. "I will be pardoned, I am sure, for referring to an incident which affords to my mind a most striking illustration of one of the grandest features of his character. On the morning of May 3, 1863, as many of you will remember, the final assault was made upon the Federal lines at Chancellorsville. General Lee accompanied the troops in person, and as they emerged from the fierce combat they had waged in 'the depths of that tangled wilderness,' driving the superior forces of the enemy before them across the open ground, he rode into their midst. The scene is one that can never be effaced from the minds of those who witnessed it. The troops were pressing forward with all the ardor and enthusiasm of combat. The white smoke of musketry fringed the front of the line of battle, while the artillery on the hills in the rear of the infantry shook the earth with its thunder, and filled the air with the wild shrieks of the shells that plunged into the masses of the retreating foe. To add greater horror and sublimity to the scene, the Chancellorsville House and the woods surrounding it were wrapped in flames. In the midst of this awful scene, General Lee, mounted upon that horse which we all remember so well, rode to the front of his advancing battalions. His presence was the signal for one of those uncontrollable outbursts of enthusiasm which none can appreciate who have not witnessed them. The fierce soldiers, with their faces blackened with the smoke of battle; the wounded, crawling with feeble limbs from the fury of the devouring flames, all seemed possessed with a common impulse. One long, unbroken cheer, in which the feeble cry of those who lay helpless on the earth blended with the strong voices of those who still fought, rose high above the roar of battle and hailed the presence of the victorious chief. He sat in the full realization of all that soldiers dream of--triumph; and, as I looked upon him in the complete fruition of the success which his genius, courage, and confidence in his army, had won, I thought it must have been from some such scene that men in ancient days ascended to the dignity of the gods. His first care was for the wounded of both armies, and he was among the foremost at the burning mansion where some of them lay. But at that moment, when the transports of his victorious troops were drowning the roar of battle with acclamations, a note was brought to him from General Jackson. It was brought to General Lee as he sat on his horse near the Chancellorsville House, and, unable to open it with his gauntleted hands, he passed it to me with directions to read it to him. The note made no mention of the wound that General Jackson had received, but congratulated General Lee upon the great victory. I shall never forget the look of pain and anguish that passed over his face as he listened. With a voice broken with emotion he bade me say to General Jackson that the victory was his, and that the congratulations were due to him. I know not how others may regard this incident, but, for myself, as I gave expression to the thoughts of his exalted mind, I forgot the genius that won the day in my reverence for the generosity that refused its glory. "There is one other incident to which I beg permission to refer, that I may perfect the picture. On the 3d day of July, 1863, the last assault of the Confederate troops upon the heights of Gettysburg failed, and again General Lee was among his baffled and shattered battalions as they sullenly retired from their brave attempt. The history of that battle is yet to be written, and the responsibility for the result is yet to be fixed. But there, with the painful consciousness that his plans had been frustrated by others, and that defeat and humiliation had overtaken his army, in the presence of his troops he openly assumed the entire responsibility of the campaign and of the lost battle. One word from him would have relieved him of this responsibility, but that word he refused to utter until it could be spoken without fear of doing the least injustice. "Thus, my fellow-soldiers, I have presented to you our great commander in the supreme moments of triumph and defeat. I cannot more strongly illustrate his character. Has it been surpassed in history? Is there another instance of such self-abnegation among men? The man rose high above victory in one instance; and, harder still, the man rose superior to disaster in the other. It was such incidents as these that gave General Lee the absolute and undoubting confidence and affection of his soldiers. Need I speak of the many exhibitions of that confidence? You all remember them, my comrades. Have you not seen a wavering line restored by the magic of his presence? Have you not seen the few forget that they were fighting against the many, because he was among the few? "But I pass from the contemplation of his greatness in war, to look to his example under the oppressive circumstances of final failure--to look to that example to which it is most useful for us now to refer for our guidance and instruction. When the attempt to establish the Southern Confederacy had failed, and the event of the war seemed to have established the indivisibility of the Federal Union, General Lee gave his adhesion to the new order of things. His was no hollow truce; but, with the pure faith and honor that marked every act of his illustrious career, he immediately devoted himself to the restoration of peace, harmony, and concord. He entered zealously into the subject of education, believing, as he often declared, that popular education is the only sure foundation of free government. He gave his earnest support to all plans of internal improvements designed to bind more firmly together the social and commercial interests of the country, and among the last acts of his life was the effort to secure the construction of a line of railway communication of incalculable importance as a connecting link between the North and the South. He devoted all his great energies to the advancement of the welfare of his countrymen while shrinking from public notice, and sought to lay deep and strong the foundations of government which it was supposed would rise from the ruins of the old. But I need not repeat to you, my comrades, the history of his life since the war. You have watched it to its close, and you know how faithfully and truly he performed every duty of his position. Let us take to heart the lesson of his bright example. Disregarding all that malice may impute to us, with an eye single to the faithful performance of our duties as American citizens, and with an honest and sincere resolution to support with heart and hand the honor, the safety, and the true liberties of our country, let us invoke our fellow-citizens to forget the animosities of the past by the side of this honored grave, and, 'joining hands around this royal corpse, friends now, enemies no more, proclaim perpetual truce to battle.'" The following are among the resolutions: "The officers, soldiers, and sailors, of the Southern Confederacy, residing in Maryland, who served under General Lee, desiring to record their grief for his death, their admiration for his exalted virtues, and their affectionate veneration for his illustrious memory-- "_Resolved_, That, leaving with pride the name and fame of our illustrious commander to the judgment of history, we, who followed him through the trials, dangers, and hardships of a sanguinary and protracted war; who have felt the inspiration of his genius and valor in the time of trial; who have witnessed his magnanimity and moderation in the hour of victory, and his firmness and fortitude in defeat, claim the privilege of laying the tribute of our heart-felt sorrow upon his honored grave. "_Resolved_, That the confidence and admiration which his eminent achievements deserved and received were strengthened by the noble example of his constancy in adversity, and that we honored and revered him in his retirement as we trusted and followed him on the field of battle. "_Resolved_, That, as a token of respect and sorrow, we will wear the customary badge of mourning for thirty days. "_Resolved_, That a copy of these resolutions and of the proceedings of this meeting be transmitted to the family of our lamented chief." On the 29th of October a meeting was held to appoint delegates to represent the State of Maryland at the Richmond Lee Monumental Convention. After some brief remarks by General I.R. Trimble, and the adoption of resolutions constituting the Lee Monument Association of Maryland, the Hon. Reverdy Johnson addressed the meeting as follows: HON. REVERDY JOHNSON. "_Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen_: I am here in compliance with the request of many gentlemen present, and I not only willingly complied with that request, but I am willing to do all I am able, to show my appreciation of the character, civil and military, of Robert E. Lee. It was my good fortune to know him before the Mexican War, in those better days before the commencement of the sad struggle through which we have recently passed. I saw in him every thing that could command the respect and admiration of men, and I watched with peculiar interest his course in the Mexican War. It was also my good fortune to know the late Lieutenant-General Scott. In the commencement of the struggle to which I have alluded, I occupied in Washington the position of _quasi_ military adviser to him, and was, in that capacity, intimately associated with him. I have heard him often declare that the glorious and continued success which crowned our arms in the war with Mexico was owing, in a large measure, to the skill, valor, and undaunted courage of Robert E. Lee. He entertained for him the warmest personal friendship, and it was his purpose to recommend him as his successor in the event of his death or inability to perform the duties of his high position. In April, 1861, after the commencement of hostilities between the two great sections of our country, General Lee, then lieutenant-colonel of cavalry in the Army of the United States, offered his resignation. I was with General Scott when he was handed the letter of resignation, and I saw what pain the fact caused him. While he regretted the step his most valuable officer had taken, he never failed to say emphatically, and over and over again, that he believed he had taken it from _an imperative sense of duty_. He was also consoled by the belief that if he was placed at the head of the armies of the then Confederation, he would have in him a foeman in every way worthy of him, and one who would conduct the war upon the highest principles of civilized warfare, and that he would not suffer encroachments to be made upon the rights of private property and the rights of unoffending citizens. "Some may be surprised that I am here to eulogize Robert E. Lee. It is well known that I did not agree with him in his political views. At the beginning of the late war, and for many years preceding it, even from the foundation of this Government, two great questions agitated the greatest minds of this country. Many believed that the allegiance of the citizen was due first to his State, and many were of the opinion that, according to the true reading of the Constitution, a State had no right to leave the Union and claim sovereign rights and the perpetual allegiance of her citizens. I did not agree in the first-named opinion, but I knew it was honestly entertained. I knew men of the purest character, of the highest ability, and of the most liberal and patriotic feelings, who conscientiously believed it. Now the war is over, thank God! and to that thank I am sure this meeting will respond, it is the duty of every citizen of this land to seek to heal the wounds of the war, to forget past differences, and to forgive, as far as possible, the faults to which the war gave rise. In no other way can the Union be truly and permanently restored. We are now together as a band of brothers. The soldiers of the Confederacy, headed by the great chief we now mourn, have expressed their willingness to abide by the issue of the contest. What a spectacle to the world! After years of military devastation, with tens of thousands dead on her battle-fields, with the flower of her children slain, with her wealth destroyed, her commerce swept away, her agricultural and mechanical pursuits almost ruined, the South yielded. The North, victorious and strong, could not forget what she owed to liberty and human rights. We may well swear now that as long as liberty is virtuous we will be brothers. "Robert E. Lee is worthy of all praise. As a man, he was peerless; as a soldier, he had no equal and no superior; as a humane and Christian soldier, he towers high in the political horizon. You cannot imagine with what delight, when I had the honor to represent this country at the court of Great Britain, I heard the praises of his fame and character which came from soldiers and statesmen. I need not speak of the comparative merits of General Lee and the Union generals who opposed him; this is not the place or time for a discussion of their respective successes and defeats; but I may say that, as far as I was able to judge of the sentiments of the military men of Great Britain, they thought none of the Union officers superior to General Robert E. Lee. Their admiration for him was not only on account of his skill on the battle-field, and the skilful manner with which he planned and executed his campaigns, but the humane manner in which he performed his sad duty. They alluded specially to his conduct when invading the territory of his enemy--his restraint upon his men, telling them that the honor of the army depended upon the manner of conducting the war in the enemy's country--and his refusal to resort to retaliatory measures. I know that great influences were brought to bear upon him, when he invaded Pennsylvania, to induce him to consent to extreme measures. His answer, however, was, 'No; if I suffer my army to pursue the course recommended, I cannot invoke the blessing of God upon my arms.' He would not allow his troops to destroy private property or to violate the rights of the citizens. When the necessities of his army compelled the taking of commissary stores, by his orders his officers paid for them in Confederate money at its then valuation. No burning homesteads illumined his march, no shivering and helpless children were turned out of their homes to witness their destruction by the torch. With him all the rules of civilized war, having the higher sanction of God, were strictly observed. The manly fortitude with which he yielded at Appomattox to three times his numbers showed that he was worthy of the honors and the fame the South had given him. This is not the first time since the termination of the war I have expressed admiration and friendship for Robert E. Lee. When I heard that he was about to be prosecuted in a Virginia court for the alleged crime of treason, I wrote to him at once, and with all my heart, that if he believed I could be of any service to him, professionally, I was at his command. All the ability I possess, increased by more than fifty years of study and experience, would have been cheerfully exerted to have saved him, for in saving him I believe I would have been saving the honor of my country. I received a characteristic reply in terms of friendship and grateful thanks. He wrote that he did not think the prosecution would take place. Hearing, however, some time after, that the prosecution would commence at Richmond, I went at once to that city and saw his legal adviser, Hon. William H. McFarland, one of the ablest men of the bar of Virginia. Mr. McFarland showed me a copy of a letter from General Lee to General Grant, enclosing an application for a pardon which he desired General Grant to present to the President, but telling him not to present it if any steps had been taken for his prosecution, as he was willing to stand the test. He wrote that he had understood by the terms of surrender at Appomattox that he and all his officers and men were to be protected. That letter, I am glad to say, raised General Lee higher in my esteem. General Grant at once replied, and he showed his reply to me. He wrote that he had seen the President, and protested against any steps being taken against General Lee, and had informed him that he considered his honor and the honor of the nation pledged to him. The President became satisfied, and no proceedings were ever taken. General Grant transmitted to the President the application of General Lee for pardon, indorsed with his most earnest approval. No pardon was granted. He did not need it here, and, when he appears before that great tribunal before which we must all be called, he will find he has no account to settle there. No soldier who followed General Lee could have felt more grief and sympathy at his grave than I would, could I have been present upon the mournful occasion of his burial. I lamented his loss as a private loss, and still more as a public loss. I knew that his example would continue to allay the passions aroused by the war, and which I was not surprised were excited by some acts in that war. I love my country; I am jealous of her honor. I cherish her good name, and I am proud of the land of my birth. I forbear to criticise the lives and characters of her high officers and servants, but I can say with truth that, during the late war, the laws of humanity were forgotten, and the higher orders of God were trodden under foot. "The resolutions need no support which human lips can by human language give. Their subject is their support. The name of Lee appeals at once, and strongly, to every true heart in this land and throughout the world. Let political partisans, influenced by fanaticism and the hope of political plunder, find fault with and condemn us. They will be forgotten when the name of Lee will be resplendent with immortal glory. "Mr. Chairman and gentlemen, in the course of Nature my career upon earth must soon terminate. God grant that when the day of my death comes, I may look up to Heaven with that confidence and faith which the life and character of Robert E. Lee gave him! He died trusting in God, as a good man, with a good life and a pure conscience. He was consoled with the knowledge that the religion of Christ had ordered all his ways, and he knew that the verdict of God upon the account he would have to render in heaven would be one of judgment seasoned with mercy. He had a right to believe that when God passed judgment upon the account of his life, though He would find him an erring human being, He would find virtue enough and religious faith enough to save him from any other verdict than that of 'Well done, good and faithful servant.' The monument will be raised; and when it is raised many a man will visit Richmond to stand beside it, to do reverence to the remains it may cover, and to say, 'Here lie the remains of one of the noblest men who ever lived or died in America.'" HON. GEORGE WILLIAM BROWN "_Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen_: The able and eloquent gentlemen who have preceded me have left but little for me to say. I rise, however, to express my hearty assent to the resolutions. Their broad and liberal views are worthy of the great and good man whose virtues and fame we seek to commemorate. He has passed away from earth, and our blame or censure is nothing to him now. The most eloquent eulogies that human lips can utter, and the loftiest monuments that human hands can build, cannot affect him now. But it is a satisfaction to us to know that expressions of the love for him which lives in every Southern heart--ay, in many a Northern heart--were heard long before his death, and that honor shed noble lustre around the last years of his life. He was the representative of a lost cause; he had sheathed his sword forever; he had surrendered his army to superior numbers; he was broken in fortune and in health, and was only president of a Virginia college, yet he was one of the foremost men of all the world. "It has been said of General Lee, as it has been said of Washington, that he was deficient in genius. His character was so complete that what would have seemed evidences of genius with other men, were lost in the combination of his character and mind. He was always, and especially in every great crisis, a leader among men. During the four years of his education at West Point he did not receive a single reprimand. As a cavalry-officer, wherever he went he was a marked man; and when General Scott made his wonderful march to the capital of Mexico, Captain Lee was his right arm. At the commencement of the late war, though only a lieutenant-colonel of cavalry, he was offered the command of the armies of the United States. What a prize for ambition! Fortune, fame, and honors, awaited him. Where would he have been to-day? Probably in the presidential chair of this great nation. But he rejected all to take his chance with his own people, and to unite with them in their resistance to the vast numbers and resources which he knew the North was able to bring against them. There is nothing more remarkable in the annals of warfare than the success with which General Lee defeated for years the armies of the United States. Consider the six-days' battles around Richmond; the second battle of Manassas; the battles at Antietam, Fredericksburg, and Gettysburg; the wonderful contest at Chancellorsville; then again the remarkable battle of the Wilderness, in which it has been said by Federal authority that General Lee actually killed as many men as he had under his command; the defence at Cold Harbor, the prolonged defence of Richmond and Petersburg, and the admirably-conducted retreat with but a handful before an immense army. Well has he been spoken of as 'the incomparable strategist.' Did any man ever fight against more desperate odds or resources? "But not merely as a great general is General Lee to be admired. He claims our admiration as a great man--great in adversity. I think there is nothing more admirable in all his life than his conduct in assuming the sole responsibility at Gettysburg. In the midst of defeat Lee was calm, unmoved, showing no fear where despair would have been in the heart of any other general, and saying to his officers and men, 'The fault is all mine.' Let the monument be raised, not merely by soldiers of General Lee, but by all men, no matter of what political feelings, who appreciate and honor that which is manly, great, and patriotic. The monument at Richmond will be the resort of pilgrims from the North as well as from the South, and the grave of Lee will be second only in the hearts of the people to the grave of Washington." LEXINGTON, KY. At the meeting at Lexington, resolutions were adopted similar to those already given. The meeting was addressed by General Preston and others. GENERAL W. PRESTON. "I am permitted to accompany the report with a few remarks, although I deem it unnecessary to use one word of commendation on the character of such a man. These resolutions are no doubt very short, but they will testify the feelings of every right-minded, noble-hearted man, no matter what may have been his opinions as to the past. Every true and generous soul feels that these resolutions are expressive of the sorrow entertained by the whole country. We speak not only the common voice of America, but of the world at this hour. It is no ordinary case of eulogy over an ordinary being, but over one who was the man of the century; a man who, by mighty armies commanded with admirable skill; by great victories achieved, and yet never stained by exultation; by mighty misfortunes met with a calm eye, and submitted to with all the dignity that belongs to elevated intelligence, and by his simplicity and grandeur, challenged the admiration of civilized mankind; and still more remarkable, after yielding to the greatest vicissitudes that the world ever saw, resigned himself to the improvement of the youth of the country, to the last moment of his mortal life, looking to the glorious life which he contemplated beyond the tomb. I must confess that, notwithstanding the splendor and glory of his career, I envy him the dignity of the pacific close of his life. Nothing more gentle, nothing more great, nothing more uncomplaining, has ever been recorded in the history of the world. By returning to Napoleon, we find he murmured, we find all the marks of mortality and mortal anger; but in Lee we find a man perfect in Christian principles--dignified, yet simple. "I knew him first when he was a captain. I was then a young man connected with one of the regiments of this State, in Mexico, the Fourth Kentucky; and when I first saw him he was a man of extreme physical beauty, remarkable for his great gentleness of manner, and for his freedom from all military and social vices. At that time, General Scott, by common consent, had fixed upon General Lee as the man who would make his mark if ever the country needed his services. He never swore an oath, he never drank, he never wrangled, but there was not a single dispute between gentlemen that his voice was not more potent than any other; his rare calmness, serenity, and dignity, were above all. When the war came on, he followed his native State, Virginia, for he was the true representative of the great Virginia family at Washington. He was the real type of his race. He was possessed of all the most perfect points of Washington's character, with all the noble traits of his own. "Scott maintained that Lee was the greatest soldier in the army. His discerning eye compared men; and I remember when, in some respects, I thought General Lee's military education had not fitted him for the great talents which he was destined to display. I remember when General Scott made use of these remarkable words: 'I tell you one thing, if I was on my death-bed, and knew there was a battle to be fought for the liberties of my country, and the President was to say to me, "Scott, who shall command?" I tell you that, with my dying breath, I should say Robert Lee. Nobody but Robert Lee! Robert Lee, and nobody but Lee!' That impressed me very much, because, at the beginning of the campaign, Lee was not prosperous; and why? because he was building up his men with that science which he possessed. His great qualities were discerned not after his remarkable campaigns; but, long before it, his name was regarded with that respected preëminence to which it did rise under that campaign. And I now say, and even opposite officers will admit, that no man has displayed greater power, more military ability, or more noble traits of character, than Robert E. Lee. Therefore it is that America has lost much. Europe will testify this as well as ourselves in this local community. Europe will weigh this, but after-ages will weigh him with Moltke and Bazaine, with the Duke of Magenta, and with all military men, and, in my judgment, those ages will say that the greatest fame and ability belonged to Robert Lee. But let us look to his moral character, to which I have already alluded. Through his whole life he had been a fervent and simple Christian; throughout his campaigns he was a brave and splendid soldier. If you ask of his friends, you will find that they adore him. If you ask his character from his enemies, you will find that they respect him, and respect is the involuntary tribute which friend and enemy alike have to pay to elevated worth; and, to-day, as the bells toll, their sounds will vibrate with the tenderest feelings through every noble heart. Public confessions of his worth and his greatness will be made through thousands of the towns and cities throughout this broad land; and, even where they are silent, monitors within will tell that a great spirit hath fled. This secret monitor will tell that a great and good man has passed away, who has left, in my opinion, no equal behind him." REV. DR. HENDERSON. "Since the announcement of the death of Robert E. Lee, I have been momentarily expecting the appearance of a call to pay some tribute to his splendid memory; but, if a notice had been given of this meeting, it altogether escaped my attention, else I would have been here freely and voluntarily. If I am a stranger in Lexington, and my lot has been cast here only during the last three weeks, yet I am happy that my fellow-citizens here have paid me such great respect as to call on me, on such an occasion as the present, to testify to the greatness and glory of General Robert E. Lee. Some public calamity is required to bring us into one great brotherhood. 'One touch of Nature makes the whole world kin.' Though you are all strangers to me, yet, in that common sympathy which we all feel, we are mourners together at the bier of departed worth. "It does not become one of my profession to take any partisan view of the life of such a man, although it was my fortune to follow the same flag which he carried to victory upon so many fields. When it was furled, it was done with such calm magnificence as to win the admiration of his enemies and of the world. Yet I do not stand here to make any reference to that cause which has passed from the theatre of earth's activity, and taken its place only in history. But I do claim the right, from the stand-point which I occupy, of pointing to a man worthy of the emulation of all who love the true nobility of humanity; a man who was magnanimous to his enemies; who would weep at the calamities of his foes; who, throughout the sanguinary struggle, could preserve in himself the fullest share of human sympathy. History will challenge the world to produce a single instance in which this great man ever wantonly inflicted a blow, or ever wilfully imposed punishment upon any of his captives, or ever pushed his victory upon an enemy to gain unnecessary results--a man who, in all his campaigns, showed the same bright example to all the battalions that followed the lead of his sword. And now, since that flag which he carried has been furled, what a magnificent example has been presented to the world! It was said of Washington that he was first in war and first in peace, but, in the latter regard, Robert E. Lee showed more greatness than even the Father of his Country. He was struck down; the sun that had brightened up the horizon of hopes sank in dark eclipse to set in the shadow of disappointment. Calm and magnificent in the repose of conscious strength, he felt that he had lived and struggled for a principle that was dear to him. Though dead, it only remained for him to be our example to the stricken and suffering people for whom he labored, and to show how magnanimously a brave and true Christian could act even when all he held sacred and dear was shattered by the hand of calamity. And, at the close of his career, he devoted his splendid capacity to the culture of the minds of his country's youth. He came down from the summit on which he had won the world's admiration, to the steady, regular duties of the school-room, to take his place in the vestry of a Christian church, and to administer the affairs of a country parish in the interest of Christianity. A man who, by his dignity and simplicity, preserved the constant admiration of his enemies, without even giving offence to his friends, such a man should receive a niche in the Pantheon of Fame. "He stood in that great struggle of which as a star he was the leader, of unclouded brightness, drawing over its mournful history a splendor which is reflected from every sentence of its chronicle. He was an example of a man, who, though branded because of defeat, still, by his exalted character, gave a dignity and nobility to a cause which, doubtless, is forever dead, yet still is rendered immortal by the achievements of Robert E. Lee's sword and character." NEW YORK. "Services were held last evening," says a New-York journal, "in the large hall of the Cooper Institute, in commemoration of the life and character of the late General Robert E. Lee, of the Confederate States Army, with especial reference to his civic and Christian virtues. The call for the meeting stated that, although it was inaugurated by the Southern residents in the city of New York, it was 'yet to be regarded as in no sense born of partisan feeling, but solely from the desire to do honor to the memory of a great and good man--an illustrious American.' The attendance therefore of all, without reference to section or nationality, was cordially invited. "There was no special decoration of the hall. Grafulla's band was in attendance, and, prior to the opening of the meeting, played several fine dirges. The choir of St. Stephen's Church also appeared upon the platform and opened the proceedings by singing 'Come, Holy Spirit.' The choir consisted of Madame de Luzan, Mrs. Jennie Kempton, Dr. Bauos, and Herr Weinlich. Mr. H.B. Denforth presided at the piano. "Among the gentlemen present on the platform were General Imboden, ex-Governor Lowe, General Walker, Colonel Hunter, General Daniel W. Adams, Dr. Van Avery, Mr. M.B. Fielding, Colonel Fellows, General Cabell, Colonel T.L. Gnead, Mr. McCormick, Mr. T.A. Hoyt, etc. "Mr. M.B. Fielding called the meeting to order, and requested the Rev. Dr. Carter to offer prayer. "The Hon. John E. Ward was then called to preside, and delivered the following address--all the marked passages of which were loudly applauded: "We meet to pay a tribute of respect to the memory of one whom the whole South revered with more than filial affection. The kind manifestations of sympathy expressed through the press of this great metropolis, this assemblage, the presence of these distinguished men, who join with us this evening, testify that the afflicted voice of his bereaved people has charmed down with sweet persuasion the angry passions kindled by the conflict in which he was their chosen leader. This is not the occasion either for an elaborate review of his life or a eulogy of his character. I propose to attempt neither. Born of one of the oldest and most distinguished families of our country--one so renowned in the field and in the cabinet that it seemed almost impossible to give brighter lustre to it--General Robert E. Lee rendered that family name even more illustrious, and by his genius and virtues extended its fame to regions of the globe where it had never before been mentioned. There is no cause for envy or hatred left now. His soldiers adored him most, not in the glare of his brilliant victories, but in the hour of his deepest humiliation, when his last great battle had been fought and lost--when the government for which he had struggled was crumbling about him--when his staff, asking, in despair, 'What can now be done?' he gave that memorable reply, 'It were strange indeed if human virtue were not at least as strong as human calamity.' This is the key to his life--the belief that trials and strength, suffering and consolation, come alike from God. Obedience to duty was ever his ruling principle. Infallibility is not claimed for him in the exercise of his judgment in deciding what duty was. But what he believed duty to command, that he performed without thought of how he would appear in the performance. In the judgment of many he may have mistaken his duty when he decided that it did not require him to draw his sword 'against his home, his kindred, and his children.' But Lee was no casuist or politician; he was a soldier. 'All that he would do highly that would he do holily.' He taught the world that the Christian and the gentleman could be united in the warrior. It was not when in pomp and power--when he commanded successful legions and led armies to victories--but when in sorrow and privation he assumed the instruction and guidance of the youth of Virginia, laying the only true foundation upon which a republic can rest, the Christian education of its youth--that he reaped the rich harvest of a people's love. Goodness was the chief attribute of Lee's greatness. Uniting in himself the rigid piety of the Puritan with the genial, generous impulses of the cavalier, he won the love of all with whom he came in contact, from the thoughtless child, with whom it was ever his delight to sport, to the great captain of the age, with whom he fought all the hard-won battles of Mexico. Some may believe that the world has given birth to warriors more renowned, to rulers more skilled in statecraft, but all must concede that a purer, nobler man never lived. What successful warrior or ruler, in ancient or modern times, has descended to his grave amid such universal grief and lamentation as our Lee? Caesar fell by the hands of his own beloved Brutus, because, by his tyranny, he would have enslaved Rome. Frederick the Great, the founder of an empire, became so hated of men, and learned so to despise them, that he ordered his 'poor carcass,' as he called it, to be buried with his favorite dogs at Potsdam. Napoleon reached his giddy height by paths which Lee would have scorned to tread, only to be hurled from his eminence by all the powers of Europe which his insatiate ambition had combined against him. Wellington, the conqueror of Napoleon, became the leader of a political party, and lived to need the protection of police from a mob. Even our own Washington, whose character was as high above that of the mere warrior and conqueror as is the blue vault of heaven above us to the low earth we tread beneath our feet, was libelled in life and slandered in death. Such were the fates of the most successful captains and warriors of the world. For four long years Lee occupied a position not less prominent than that of the most distinguished among them. The eyes of the civilized world watched his every movement and scanned his every motive. His cause was lost. He was unsuccessful. Yet he lived to illustrate to the world how, despite failure and defeat, a soldier could command honor and love from those for whom he struggled, and admiration and respect from his foes, such as no success had ever before won for warrior, prince, or potentate. And, when his life was ended, the whole population of the South, forming one mighty funeral procession, followed him to his grave. His obsequies modestly performed by those most tenderly allied to him, he sleeps in the bosom of the land he loved so well. His spotless fame will gather new vigor and freshness from the lapse of time, and the day is not distant when that fame will be claimed, not as the property of a section, but as the heritage of a united people. His soul, now forever freed from earth's defilements, basks in the sunlight of God.' _Pro tumulo ponas patriam, pro tegmine caelum, sidera pro facibus, pro lachrymis maria_.'" (Great applause.) GENERAL IMBODEN Rose and said: "It is with emotions of infinite grief I rise to perform one of the saddest duties of my life. The committee who have arranged the ceremonies on this occasion, deemed it expedient and proper to select a Virginian as their organ to present to this large assembly of the people of New York a formal preamble and resolutions, which give expression to their feelings in regard to the death of General Robert E. Lee. This distinction has been conferred by the committee upon me; and I shall proceed to read their report, without offering to submit any remarks as to the feelings excited in my own heart by this, mournful intelligence:" RESOLUTIONS. "In this great metropolitan city of America, where men of every clime and of all nationalities mingle in the daily intercourse of pleasure and of business, no great public calamity can befall any people in the world without touching a sympathetic chord in the hearts of thousands. When, therefore, tidings reached us that General Robert E. Lee, of Virginia, was dead, and that the people of that and all the other Southern States of the Union were stricken with grief, the great public heart of New York was moved with a generous sympathy, which found kindly and spontaneous expression through the columns of the city press of every shade of opinion. "All differences of the past, all bitter memories, all the feuds that have kept two great sections of our country in angry strife and controversy for so long, have been forgotten in the presence of the awe-inspiring fact that no virtues, no deeds, no honors, nor any position, can save any member of the human family from the common lot of all. "The universal and profound grief of our Southern countrymen is natural and honorable alike to themselves and to him whom they mourn, and is respected throughout the world; for Robert E. Lee was allied and endeared to them by all the most sacred ties that can unite an individual to a community. He was born and reared in their midst, and shared their local peculiarities, opinions, and traditional characteristics; and his preëminent abilities and exalted personal integrity and Christian character made him, by common consent, their leader and representative in a great national conflict in which they had staked life, fortune, and honor; and in Virginia his family was coeval with the existence of the State, and its name was emblazoned upon those bright pages of her early civil and military annals which record the patriotic deeds of Washington and his compeers. "By no act of his did he ever forfeit or impair the confidence thus reposed in him by his own peculiar people; and when he had, through years of heroic trial and suffering, done all that mortal man could do in discharge of the high trust confided by them to his hands, and failed, he bowed with dignified submission to the decree of Providence; and from the day he gave his parole at Appomattox to the hour of his death, he so lived and acted as to deprive enmity of its malignity, and became to his defeated soldiers and countrymen a bright example of unqualified obedience to the laws of the land, and of support to its established government. Nay, more. With a spirit of Christian and affectionate duty to his impoverished and suffering people, and with a high estimate of the importance of mental and moral culture to a generation of youth whose earlier years were attended by war's rough teachings, he went from the tented field and the command of armies to the quiet shades of a scholastic institution in the secluded valleys of his own native Virginia, and entered with all the earnestness of his nature upon the duties of instruction, and there spent the closing years of his life in training the minds and hearts of young men from all parts of the country for the highest usefulness 'in their day and generation.' By these pursuits, and his exemplary and unobtrusive life since the close of the great war in America, he won the respect and admiration of the enlightened and the good of the whole world. It is meet and natural, therefore, that his own people should bewail his death as a sore personal bereavement to each one of them. Those of us here assembled who were his soldiers, friends, and supporters, sharing all the trials and many of the responsibilities of that period of his life which brought him so prominently before the world, honored and trusted him then, have loved and admired him, have been guided by his example since; and now that he is dead, we should be unworthy of ourselves, and unworthy to be called his countrymen, did we not feel and express the same poignant grief which now afflicts those among whom he lived and died. "Those of us who were not his soldiers, friends, and supporters, when war raged throughout the land, but who have nevertheless met here to-day with those who were our enemies then, but are now our friends and countrymen, and appreciate with them the character of Lee, and admire his rare accomplishments as an American citizen, whose fame and name are the property of the nation, we all unite over his hallowed sepulchre in an earnest prayer that old divisions may be composed, and that a complete and perfect reconciliation of all estrangements may be effected at the tomb, where all alike, in a feeling of common humanity and universal Christian brotherhood, may drop their tears of heart-felt sorrow. "Therefore, without regard to our former relations toward each other, but meeting as Americans by birth or adoption, and in the broadest sense of national unity, and in the spirit above indicated, to do honor to a great man and Christian gentleman who has gone down to the grave, we do "_Resolve_, That we have received with feelings of profound sorrow intelligence of the death of General Robert E. Lee. We can and do fully appreciate the grief of our Southern countrymen at the death of one so honored by and so dear to them, and we tender to them this expression of our sympathy, with the assurance that we feel in the contemplation of so sad an event that we are and ought to be, henceforth and forever, one great and harmonious national family, sharing on all occasions each others' joys and sympathizing in each others' sorrows. "_Resolved_, That a copy of the foregoing preamble, and these resolutions, signed by the president and secretary, be transmitted to the Governor of Virginia, with a request that the same be preserved in the archives of the State; and that another copy be sent to the family of General Lee. "J.D. IMBODEN, Ex. NORTON, JOHN MITCHEL, C.K. MARSHALL, T.L. SNEAD, NORMAN D. SAMPSON, Wm. H. APPLETON, _Committee on Resolutions_" "On motion, the resolutions were unanimously adopted by a standing and silent vote, which was followed by a spontaneous outburst of hearty applause." We have given but a small portion of the addresses which were called forth by this national calamity, and these, no doubt, have suffered injustice by imperfect reporting. But we have shown, as we wished to show, the standard by which our people estimate an heroic character, and how the South loves and honors the memory of her great leader. A few extracts from the English press will show the feeling in that country: THE PALL MALL GAZETTE. "Even amid the turmoil of the great European struggle, the intelligence from America announcing that General Robert E. Lee is dead, will be received with deep sorrow by many in this country, as well as by his followers and fellow-soldiers in America. It is but a few years since Robert E. Lee ranked among the great men of the present time. He was the able soldier of the Southern Confederacy, the bulwark of her northern frontier, the obstacle to the advance of the Federal armies, and the leader who twice threatened, by the capture of Washington, to turn the tide of success, and to accomplish a revolution which would have changed the destiny of the United States. Six years passed by, and then we heard that he was dying at an obscure town in Virginia, where, since the collapse of the Confederacy, he had been acting as a school-master. When, at the head of the last eight thousand of his valiant army, the remnants which battle, sickness, and famine had left him, he delivered up his sword to General Grant at Appomattox Court-House, his public career ended; he passed away from men's thoughts; and few in Europe cared to inquire the fate of the general whose exploits had aroused the wonder of neutrals and belligerents, and whose noble character had excited the admiration of even the most bitter of his political enemies. If, however, success is not always to be accounted as the sole foundation of renown, General Lee's life and career deserve to be held in reverence by all who admire the talents of a general and the noblest qualities of a soldier. His family were well known in Virginia. Descended from the Cavaliers who first colonized that State, they had produced more than one man who fought with distinction for their country. They were allied by marriage to Washington, and, previous to the recent war, were possessed of much wealth; General (then Colonel) Robert Lee residing, when not employed with his regiment, at Arlington Heights, one of the most beautiful places in the neighborhood of Washington. When the civil war first broke out, he was a colonel in the United States Army, who had served with distinction in Mexico, and was accounted among the best of the American officers. To him, as to others, the difficult choice presented itself, whether to take the side of his State, which had joined in the secession of the South, or to support the central Government. It is said that Lee debated the matter with General Scott, then Commander-in-chief, that both agreed that their first duty lay with their State, but that the former only put the theory into practice. "It was not until the second year of the war that Lee came prominently forward, when, at the indecisive battle of Fair Oaks, in front of Richmond, General Johnston having been wounded, he took command of the army; and subsequently drove McClellan, with great loss, to the banks of the James River. From that time he became the recognized leader of the Confederate army of Virginia. He repulsed wave after wave of invasion, army after army being hurled against him only to be thrown back, beaten and in disorder. The Government at Washington were kept in constant alarm by the near vicinity of his troops, and witnessed more than once the entry into their intrenchments of a defeated and disorganized rabble, which a few days previous had left them a confident host. Twice he entered the Northern States at the head of a successful army, and twice indecisive battles alone preserved from destruction the Federal Government, and turned the fortune of the war. He impressed his character on those who acted under him. Ambition for him had no charms, duty alone was his guide. His simplicity of life checked luxury and display among his officers, while his disregard of hardships silenced the murmurs of his harassed soldiery. By the troops he was loved as a father, as well as admired as a general; and his deeply-religious character impressed itself on all who were brought in contact with him, and made itself felt through the ranks of the Virginian army. It is said that, during four years of war, he never slept in a house, but in winter and summer shared the hardships of his soldiers. Such was the man who, in mature age, at a period of life when few generals have acquired renown, fought against overwhelming odds for the cause which he believed just. He saw many of his bravest generals and dearest friends fall around him, but, although constantly exposed to fire, escaped without a wound. "The battles which prolonged and finally decided the issue of the contest are now little more than names. Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, and Gettysburg, are forgotten in Europe by all excepting those who study recent wars as lessons for the future, and would collect from the deeds of other armies experience which they may apply to their own. To them the boldness of Lee's tactics at Chancellorsville will ever be a subject of admiration; while even those who least sympathize with his cause will feel for the general who saw the repulse of Longstreet's charge at Gettysburg, and beheld the failure of an attempt to convert a defensive war into one of attack, together with the consequent abandonment of the bold stroke which he had hoped would terminate the contest. Quietly he rallied the broken troops; taking all the blame on himself, he encouraged the officers, dispirited by the reverse, and in person formed up the scattered detachments. Again, when Fortune had turned against the Confederacy, when overwhelming forces from all sides pressed back her defenders, Lee for a year held his ground with a constantly-diminishing army, fighting battle after battle in the forests and swamps around Richmond. No reverses seemed to dispirit him, no misfortune appeared to ruffle his calm, brave temperament. Only at last, when he saw the remnants of his noble army about to be ridden down by Sheridan's cavalry, when eight thousand men, half-starved and broken with fatigue, were surrounded by the net which Grant and Sherman had spread around them, did he yield; his fortitude for the moment gave way; he took farewell of his soldiers, and, giving himself up as a prisoner, retired a ruined man into private life, gaining his bread by the hard and uncongenial work of governing Lexington College. "When political animosity has calmed down, and when Americans can look back on those years of war with feelings unbiassed by party strife, then will General Lee's character be appreciated by all his countrymen as it now is by a part, and his name will be honored as that of one of the noblest soldiers who have ever drawn a sword in a cause which they believed just, and at the sacrifice of all personal considerations have fought manfully a losing battle." THE SATURDAY REVIEW. This journal, after some remarks on the death of Admiral Farragut, continues: "A still more famous leader in the war has lately closed a blameless life. There may be a difference of opinion on the military qualities of the generals who fought on either side in the civil war; but it is no disparagement to the capacity of Grant or of Sherman to say that they had no opportunity of rivalling the achievements of General Lee. Assuming the chief command in the Confederate army in the second campaign of the war, he repelled three or four invasions of Virginia, winning as many pitched battles over an enemy of enormously superior resources. After driving McClellan from the Peninsula, he inflicted on Burnside and Pope defeats which would have been ruinous if the belligerents had been on equal terms; but twenty millions of men, with the absolute command of the sea and the rivers, eventually overpowered a third of their number. The drawn battle of Gettysburg proved that the invasion of the Northern States was a blunder; and in 1863 it became evident that the fall of the Confederacy could not be much longer delayed. Nevertheless General Lee kept Grant's swarming legions at bay for the whole summer and autumn, and the loss of the Northern armies in the final campaign exceeded the entire strength of the gallant defenders of Richmond. When General Lee, outnumbered, cut off from his communications, and almost surrounded by his enemies, surrendered at Appomattox Court-House, he might console himself with the thought that he had only failed where success was impossible. From that moment he used his unequalled and merited authority to reconcile the Southern people to the new order of affairs. He had originally dissented from the policy of secession; and he followed the banner of his State exclusively from a sense of duty, in disregard of his professional and private interests. He might at pleasure have been Commander-in-Chief of the Northern army, for he was second in rank to General Scott. His ancient home and his ample estate on the Potomac were ravaged by the enemy; but he never expressed a regret for the sacrifice of his fortune. There can be no doubt that he was often thwarted by political superiors and by incompetent subordinates, but his equable temper and lofty nature never inclined him to complaint. The regret for his loss which is felt throughout the vast regions of the South is a just tribute to one of the greatest and purest characters in American history." It will not be inappropriate to reproduce here the tribute which appeared in the London _Standard_, on the receipt of the news of General Lee's illness: THE STANDARD. "The announcement that General R.E. Lee has been struck down by paralysis and is not expected to recover, will be received, even at this crisis, with universal interest, and will everywhere excite a sympathy and regret which testify to the deep impression made on the world at large by his character and achievements. Few are the generals who have earned, since history began, a greater military reputation; still fewer are the men of similar eminence, civil or military, whose personal qualities would bear comparison with his. The bitterest enemies of his country hardly dared to whisper a word against the character of her most distinguished general, while neutrals regarded him with an admiration for his deeds and a respect for his lofty and unselfish nature which almost grew into veneration, and his own countrymen learned to look up to him with as much confidence and esteem as they ever felt for Washington, and with an affection which the cold demeanor and austere temper of Washington could never inspire. The death of such a man, even at a moment so exciting as the present, when all thoughts are absorbed by a nearer and present conflict, would be felt as a misfortune by all who still retain any recollection of the interest with which they watched the Virginian campaigns, and by thousands who have almost forgotten the names of Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, the Wilderness and Spottsylvania. By the South it would be recognized as a national calamity--as the loss of a man not only inexpressibly dear to an unfortunate people by his intimate association with their fallen hopes and their proudest recollections, but still able to render services such as no other man could perform, and to give counsel whose value is enhanced tenfold by the source from which it comes. We hope, even yet, that a life so honorable and so useful, so pure and noble in itself, so valuable to a country that has much need of men like him, may be spared and prolonged for further enjoyment of domestic peace and comfort, for further service to his country; we cannot bear to think of a career so singularly admirable and so singularly unfortunate, should close so soon and so sadly. By the tens of thousands who will feel as we do when they read the news that now lies before us, may be measured the impressions made upon the world by the life and the deeds of the great chief of the Army of Virginia. "Whatever differences of opinion may exist as to the merits of the generals against whom he had to contend, and especially of the antagonist by whom he was at last overcome, no one pretending to understand in the least either the general principles of military science or the particular conditions of the American War, doubts that General Lee gave higher proofs of military genius and soldiership than any of his opponents. He was outnumbered from first to last; and all his victories were gained against greatly superior forces, and with troops greatly deficient in every necessary of war except courage and discipline. Never, perhaps, was so much achieved against odds so terrible. The Southern soldiers--'that incomparable Southern infantry' to which a late Northern writer renders due tribute of respect--were no doubt as splendid troops as a general could desire; but the different fortune of the East and the West proves that the Virginian army owed something of its excellence to its chief. Always outnumbered, always opposed to a foe abundantly supplied with food, transport, ammunition, clothing, all that was wanting to his own men, he was always able to make courage and skill supply the deficiency of strength and of supplies; and from the day when he assumed the command after the battle of Seven Pines, where General Joseph Johnston was disabled, to the morning of the final surrender at Appomattox Court-House, he was almost invariably victorious in the field. At Gettysburg only he was defeated in a pitched battle; on the offensive at the Chickahominy, at Centreville, and at Chancellorsville, on the defensive at Antietam, Fredericksburg, the Wilderness, and Spottsylvania, he was still successful. But no success could avail him any thing from the moment that General Grant brought to bear upon the Virginian army the inexhaustible population of the North, and, employing Sherman to cut them off from the rest of the Confederacy, set himself to work to wear them out by the simple process of exchanging two lives for one. From that moment the fate of Richmond and of the South was sealed. When General Lee commenced the campaign of the Wilderness he had, we believe, about fifty thousand men; his adversary had thrice that number at hand, and a still larger force in reserve. When the army of Virginia marched out of Richmond it still numbered some twenty-six thousand men; after a retreat of six days, in the face of an overwhelming enemy, with a crushing artillery--a retreat impeded by constant fighting, and harassed by countless hordes of cavalry--eight thousand were given up by the capitulation of Appomattox Court-House. Brilliant as were General Lee's earlier triumphs, we believe that he gave higher proofs of genius in his last campaign, and that hardly any of his victories were so honorable to himself and his army as that six-days' retreat. "There have, however, been other generals of genius as brilliant, of courage and endurance hardly less distinguished. How many men have ever displayed the perfect simplicity of nature, the utter absence of vanity or affectation, which belongs to the truest and purest greatness, in triumph or in defeat, as General Lee has done? When Commander-in-Chief of the Southern armies, he moved from point to point, as duty required, with less parade than a European general of division, wearing no sword, attended by no other staff than the immediate occasion demanded, and chatting with a comrade or a visitor with a simple courtesy which had in it no shade of condescension. Only on one occasion does he seem to have, been accoutred with the slightest regard to military display or personal dignity; and that, characteristically, was the last occasion on which he wore the Confederate uniform--the occasion of his interview with General Grant on April 9, 1865. After the war he retired without a word into privacy and obscurity. Ruined by the seizure and destruction of his property, which McClellan protected, and which his successors gave up to ravage and pillage, the late Commander-in-Chief of the Southern armies accepted the presidency of a Virginia college, and devoted himself as simply and earnestly to its duties as if he had never filled a higher station or performed more exciting functions. Well aware of the jealous temper of the party dominant in the North, and anxious, above all things, to avoid exasperating that temper against his conquered countrymen, he carefully abstained from appearing in any public ceremony or taking any overt part in political questions. His influence has been exerted, quietly but steadily, in one direction, with a single view to restore harmony and good-will between the two sections, and to reconcile the oppressed Southerners to the Union from which he fought so gallantly to free them. He has discountenanced all regretful longings after the lost visions of Southern independence; all demonstrations in honor of the 'conquered banner;' and has encouraged the South to seek the restoration of her material prosperity and the satisfaction of her national feelings in a frank acceptance of the result of the war, and a loyal adhesion to the Federal bond. It was characteristic and worthy of the man that he was among the first to sue for a formal pardon from President Johnson; not for any advantage which he personally could obtain thence, but to set the example of submission to his comrades-in-arms, and to reconcile them to a humiliation without which the conquerors refused them that restitution to civil rights necessary to any effort to retrieve their own or their country's fortunes. Truer greatness, a loftier nature, a spirit more unselfish, a character purer, more chivalrous, the world has rarely, if ever known. Of stainless life and deep religious feeling, yet free from all taint of cant and fanaticism, and as dear and congenial to the Cavalier Stuart as to the Puritan Stonewall Jackson; unambitious, but ready to sacrifice all at the call of duty; devoted to his cause, yet never moved by his feelings beyond the line prescribed by his judgment; never provoked by just resentment to punish wanton cruelty by reprisals which would have given a character of needless savagery to the war--both North and South owe a deep debt of gratitude to him, and the time will come when both will be equally proud of him. And well they may, for his character and his life afford a complete answer to the reproaches commonly cast on money-grubbing, mechanical America. A country which has given birth to men like him, and those who followed him, may look the chivalry of Europe in the face without shame; for the fatherlands of Sidney and of Bayard never produced a nobler soldier, gentleman, and Christian, than General Robert E. Lee." We may add to these the following just remarks upon the occupation to which General Lee devoted himself at the close of his military career, from THE OLD DOMINION. "Surely it should be a cause of thankfulness and encouragement for those who are teachers, that their profession has received this reflection of glory and honor from this choice of his, from this life, and from this death. And it is enduring honor for all the colleges of the South, and for all our schools--an honor in which all may share alike without jealousy--that this pure and bright name is inseparably connected by the will of him that bore it with the cause of education, and is blended now with that of Washington in the name of one of our own institutions of learning. We think that so long as the name of Lee is honored and loved among us, our Southern teachers may rejoice and grow stronger in their work, when they remember that he was one of their number, and that his great heart, that had so bravely borne the fortunes of a great empire, bore also, amid its latest aspirations, the interests, the anxieties, and the hopes of the unpretending but noble profession of teaching. "To leave this out of the account would be, indeed, to do sad injustice to General Lee's own memory. And that, not only because his position in this profession was of his own choice, and was steadily maintained with unchanging purpose to the end of his life, but also because the acknowledgment of his service here is necessary to the completeness of his fame. In no position of his life did he more signally develop the great qualities of his character than in this; and it may truly be said that some of the greatest can only be fully understood in the light of the serene patience and of the simple and quiet self-consecration of his latest years. It was then that, far from the tumult of arms and from the great passions of public life, with no great ambition to nerve his heart, nor any great events to obscure the public criticism of his conduct, he displayed in calm and steady light the grandest features of his character, and by this crucial test, added certain confirmation to the highest estimate that could have been formed of his character and of his abilities. It was indeed a 'crucial test' for such a man; and that he sustained it as he did is not among the smallest of his claims to the admiration of his countrymen. No tribute to his memory can be just that does not take this last great service into the account; and no history of his life can be fairly written that shall not place in the strongest light his career and influence as President of Washington College." And we may appropriately close with the following thoughtful words from the pen of HON. ALEXANDER H. STEPHENS. "In the darkest hour of our trials, in the very midst of our deepest affliction, mourning over the loss of the noble Lee, Heaven sends to us as consolation the best sign of the times vouchsafed in many a day. It addresses the heart, rent as it is in surveying the desolations around us, as the rainbow upon the breast of the receding storm-cloud when its power and fury are over. "That sign is the unmistakable estimation in which the real merits and worth of this illustrious chieftain of the cause of the Southern States is held by all classes of persons, not only in the South, but in the North. "Partisans and leaders, aiming at the overthrow of our institutions, may, while temporarily in high places, by fraud and usurpation, keep up the false cry of _rebel_ and _traitor_; but these irrepressible outburstings of popular sentiment, regarding no restraints on great-occasions which cause _Nature_ to speak, show clearly how this cry and charge are regarded and looked upon by the masses of the people everywhere. "Everywhere Lee is honored; not only as a _hero_, but as a _patriot_. This is but the foreshadowing of the general judgment of the people of the whole United States, and of the world, not only upon Lee, but upon all of his associates who fought, bled, and died in that glorious cause in which he won his immortality. That cause was the sovereign right of local self-government by the people of the several States of this continent. _That_ cause is not dead! Let it never be abandoned; but let its friends rally to its standard in the forum of reason and justice, with the renewed hope and energy from this soul-inspiriting sign that it lies deeply impressed upon the hearts of the great majority of the people in all sections of this country. "In these popular manifestations of respect and veneration for the man who won all his glory in maintaining this cause, present usurpers should read their doom, and all friends of constitutional liberty should take fresh courage in all political conflicts, never to lower their standard of principles." THE END [Illustration: Portion of the VALLEY OF VIRGINIA]