Mohun's head sank as he uttered the words. To the proud face came anexpression of deep solemnity and touching sweetness. The firm lips wererelaxed--the piercing eyes had become soft. Mohun was greater in hisweakness than he had ever been in his strength.
When an hour afterward we had mounted our horses, and were riding backslowly through the night, I said, looking at him by the dim starlight:--
"This is no longer a gay young cavalryman--a mere thoughtless youth--buta patriot, fit to live or die with Lee!"
BOOK V.
THE DEAD GO FAST.
I.
THE "DOOMED CITY" IN PROFILE--DECEMBER, 1864.
The scenes just described took place in the month of November. InDecember I obtained the priceless boon of a few days' leave of absence,and paid a visit to Richmond.
There was little there of a cheerful character; all was sombre andlugubrious. In the "doomed city," as throughout the whole country,all things were going to wreck and ruin. During the summer and autumn,suffering had oppressed the whole community; but now misery clutched thevery heartstrings. Society had been convulsed--now, all the landmarks ofthe past seemed about to disappear in the deluge. Richmond presented theappearance, and lived after the manner, of a besieged city, as GeneralGrant called it. It no longer bore the least likeness to its formerpeaceful and orderly self. The military police had usurped the functionsof the civil, and the change was for the worse. Garroters swarmed thestreets of the city after dark. House-breakers everywhere carried ontheir busy occupation. Nothing was safe from these prowlers of thenight; all was fish for their nets. The old clothes in rags and bales;the broken china and worn spoons; the very food, obtained throughimmense exertions by some father to feed his children--all became thespoil of these night-birds, who were ever on the watch. When you went tomake a visit in the evening, you took your hat and cloak with you intothe drawing-room, to have them under your eye. When you retired atnight, you deposited your watch and purse under your pillow. At thehotels, you never thought of placing your boots outside the door; andthe landlords, in the morning, carefully looked to see if the towels, orthe blankets of the beds had been stolen. All things were thus unhinged.Misery had let loose upon the community all the outlaws of civilization;the scum and dregs of society had come to the top, and floated on thesurface in the sunlight.
The old respectable population of the old respectable city haddisappeared, it seemed. The old respectable habitudes had fallen intocontempt. Gambling-houses swarmed everywhere; and the military policeignored them. "The very large number of houses," said a contemporaryjournal, "on Main and other streets, which have numbers painted in largegilt figures over the door, and illuminated at night, are faro banks.The fact is not known to the public. The very large numbers of flashilydressed young men, with villainous faces, who hang about the streetcorners in the daytime, are not gamblers, garroters, and plugs, butyoung men studying for the ministry, and therefore exempt from militaryduty. This fact is not known to General Winder." The quiet andorderly city had, in a word, become the haunt of burglars, gamblers,adventurers, blockade-runners. The city, once the resort of the mostelegant society in Virginia, had been changed by war and misery into astrange chaotic caravanserai, where you looked with astonishment on thefaces going and coming, without knowing in the least "who was who,"or whether your acquaintance was an honest man or a scoundrel. Thescoundrels dressed in excellent clothes, and smiled and bowed when youmet them; it was nearly the sole means of identifying them, at an epoch,when virtue almost always went in rags.
The era of "social unrealities," to use the trenchant phrase of Daniel,had come. Even braid on sleeves and collars did not tell you much. Whowas the fine-looking Colonel Blank, or the martial General Asterisks?Was he a gentleman or a barber's boy--an F.F. somewhere, or anexdrayman? The general and colonel dressed richly; lived at the"Spottswood;" scowled on the common people; and talked magnificently. Itwas only when some young lady linked her destiny to his, that she foundherself united to quite a surprising helpmate--discovered that thegeneral or the colonel had issued from the shambles or the gutter.
Better society was not wanting; but it remained largely in thebackground. Vice was strutting in cloth of gold; virtue was at homemending its rags. Every expedient was resorted to, not so much to keepup appearances as to keep the wolf from the door. Servants were sentaround by high-born ladies to sell, anonymously, baskets of theirclothes. The silk or velvet of old days was now parted with for bread.On the shelves of the bookstores were valuable private libraries, placedthere for sale. In the shops of the silversmiths were seen breastpins,watches, bracelets, pearl and diamond necklaces, which their ownerswere obliged to part with for bread. "Could we have traced," says a latewriter, "the history of a set of pearls, we should have been told of afair bride, who had received them from a proud and happy bridegroom;but whose life had been blighted in her youthful happiness by the cruelblast of war--whose young husband was in the service of his country--towhom stark poverty had continued to come, until at last the weddingpresent from the dear one, went to purchase food and raiment... Arichly bound volume of poems, with here and there a faint pencil-markedquotation, told perchance of a lover perished on some bloody field; andthe precious token was disposed of, or pawned, when bread was at lastneeded for some suffering loved one."
You can see these poor women--can you not, reader? The bride lookingat her pearl necklace, with flushed cheeks and eyes full of tears,murmuring:--"_He_ gave me this--placed it around my neck on my weddingday--and I must _sell_ it!" You can see too, the fair girl, bendingdown and dropping tears on the page marked by her dead lover; her bosomheaving, her heart breaking, her lips whispering:--"_His_ hand touchedthis--we read this page together--I hear his voice--see his smile--thisbook brings back all to me--and now, I must go and sell it, to buy breadfor my little sister and brother, who are starving!"
That is dolorous, is it not, reader?--and strikes you to the heart. Itis not fancy. December, 1864, saw that, and more, in Virginia.
II.
THE MEN WHO RUINED THE CONFEDERACY.
In the streets of Richmond, crowded with uniforms, in spite of thepatrols, marching to and fro, and examining "papers," I met a number ofold acquaintances, and saw numerous familiar faces.
The "Spottswood" was the resort of the _militaires_, and the moneyedpeople. Here, captains and colonels were elbowed by messieurs theblockade-runners, and mysterious government employees--employed, as Isaid on a former occasion, in heaven knows what. The officer stalkedby in his braid. The "Trochilus" passed, smiling, in shiny broadcloth.Listen! yonder is the newsboy, shouting, "The _Examiner_!"--that is tosay, the accurate photograph of this shifting chaos, where nothing seemsstationary long enough to have its picture taken.
Among the first to squeeze my hand, with winning smiles and cordialwelcome, was my friend Mr. Blocque. He was clad more richly than before;smiled more sweetly than ever; seemed more prosperous, bettersatisfied, firmer in his conviction than ever that the President and theadministration had never committed a fault--that the world of December,1864, was the best of all possible worlds.
"My dear colonel!" exclaimed Mr. Pangloss-Trochilus, _alias_ Mr.Blocque, "delighted to see you, I assure you! You are well? Youwill dine with me, to-day? At five precisely? You will find the oldcompany--jolly companions, every one! We meet and talk of the affairsof the country. All is going on well, colonel. Our city is quiet andorderly. The government sees farther than its assailants. It can notexplain now, and set itself right in the eyes of the people--that wouldreveal military secrets to the enemy, you know. I tell my friends inthe departments not to mind their assailants. Washington himself wasmaligned, but he preserved a dignified silence. All is well, colonel!I give you my word, we are all right! I know a thing or two--!" and Mr.Blocque looked mysterious. "I have friends in high quarters, and youcan rely on my statement. Lee is going to whip Grant. The people arerallying to the flag. The finances are improving. The resources of thecountry are untouched. A little patience--onl
y a _very_ little patience!I tell my friends. Let us only endure trials and hardships with bravehearts. Let us not murmur at dry bread, colonel--let us cheerfully dressin rags--let us deny ourselves every thing, sacrifice every thing to thecause, cast away all superfluities, shoulder our muskets, and fight tothe death! Then there _can_ be no doubt of the result, colonel--goodmorning!"
And Mr. Blocque shook my hand cordially, gliding away in his shinybroadcloth, at the moment when Mr. Croker, catching my eye in passing,stopped to speak to me.
"You visit Richmond at an inauspicious moment, colonel," said Mr.Croker, jingling his watch-seals with dignity. "The country has atlast reached a point from which ruin is apparent in no very distantperspective, and when the hearts of the most resolute, in view ofthe depressing influences of the situation, are well nigh tempted tosurrender every anticipation of ultimate success in the great causewhich absorbs the energies of the entire country--hem!--at large. Thecause of every trouble is so plain, that it would be insulting yourgood judgment to dwell upon the explanation. The administrationhas persistently disregarded the wishes of the people, and the bestinterests of the entire community; and we have at last reached a pointwhere to stand still is as ruinous as to go on--as we are going--tocertain destruction and annihilation. Look at the finances, entirelydestroyed by the bungling and injudicious course of the honorable Mr.Memminger, who has proceeded upon fallacies which the youngest tyrowould disdain to refute. Look at the quartermaster's department,--thecommissary department,--the State department, and the war department,and you will everywhere find the proofs of utter incompetence, leadingstraight, as I have before remarked, to that ruin which is pending atthe present moment over the country. Our society is uprooted, and thereis no hope for the country. Blockade-runners, forestallers, stragglersfrom the army--Good morning, Colonel Desperade; I was just speaking toour friend, Colonel Surry."
And leaving me in the hands of the tall, smiling, and imposingColonel Desperade, who was clad in a magnificent uniform, Mr. Croker,forestaller and extortioner, continued his way with dignity toward hiscounting house.
"This is a very great pleasure, colonel!" exclaimed Colonel Desperade,squeezing my hand with ardor. "Just from the lines, colonel? Any news?We are still keeping Grant off! He will find himself checkmated byour boys in gray! The country was never in better trim for a good hardfight. The immortal Lee is in fine spirits--the government steadilyat work--and do you know, my dear Colonel, I am in luck to-day? I amcertain to receive my appointment at last, as brigadier-general--"
"Look out, or you'll be mistaken!" said a sarcastic voice behind us. AndMr. Torpedo, smoking a short and fiery cigar, stalked up and shook handswith me.
"Desperade depends on the war department, and is a ninny for doing so!"said Mr. Torpedo, member of Congress. "The man that depends on JeffDavis, or his war secretary, is a double-distilled dolt. Jeff thinkshe's a soldier, and apes Napoleon. But you can't depend on him,Desperade. Look at Johnston! He fooled _him_. Look at Beauregard--heenvies and fears _him_, so he keeps him down. Don't depend on thePresident, Desperade, or you'll be a fool, my friend!"
And Mr. Torpedo walked on, puffing away at the fiery stump of his cigar,and muttering curses against President Davis.
An hour afterward, I was conversing in the rotunda of the capitol, withthe high-bred and smiling old cavalier, Judge Conway, and he was sayingto me:--
"The times are dark, colonel, I acknowledge that. But all would be well,if we could eradicate abuses and bring out our strength. A fatality,however, seems pursuing us. The blockade-runners drain the country ofthe little gold which is left in it; the forestallers run up prices,and debase the currency beyond hope; the able-bodied and healthy men whoought to be in the army, swarm in the streets; and the bitter foes ofthe President poison the public mind, and infuse into it despair. It isthis, colonel, not our weakness, which is going to ruin us, if we areruined!"
III.
MY LAST VISIT TO JOHN M. DANIEL.
On the night before my return to the army, I paid my last visit to JohnM. Daniel.
Shall I show you a great career, shipwrecked--paint a mighty shiprun upon the breakers? The current of our narrative drags us towardpassionate and tragic events, but toward few scenes more sombre thanthat which I witnessed on this night in December, 1864.
I found John M. Daniel in his house on Broad Street, as before; perchedstill in his high chair of black horse-hair, all alone. His face wasthinner; his cheeks more sallow, and now haggard and sunken; his eyessparkling with gloomy fire, as he half reclined beneath the cluster ofglobe lamps, depending from the ceiling, and filling the whole apartmentwith their brilliant light--one of his weaknesses.
He received me with grim cordiality, offered me a cigar, and said:--
"I am glad to see you, colonel, and to offer you one of the last of mystock of Havanas. Wilmington is going soon--then good-bye to blockadegoods."
"You believe Wilmington is going to fall, then?"
"As surely as Savannah."
"Savannah! You think that? We are more hopeful at Petersburg."
"Hopeful or not, colonel, I am certain of what I say. Remember myprediction when it is fulfilled. The Yankees are a theatrical people.They take Vicksburg, and win Gettysburg, on their 'great nationalanniversary;' and now they are going to present themselves with ahandsome 'Christmas gift'--that is the city of Savannah."
He spoke with evident difficulty, and his laboring voice, like hishaggard cheeks, showed that he had been ill since I last saw him.
"Savannah captured, or surrendered!" I said, with knit brows. "What willbe the result of that?"
"Ruin," was the curt response.
"Not the loss of a mere town?"
"No; the place itself is nothing. For Sherman to take it will notbenefit him much; but it will prove to the country, and the President,that he is irresistible. Then they will _hack_; and you will see thebeginning of the end."
"That is a gloomy view enough."
"Yes--every thing is gloomy now. The devil of high-headed obstinacy andincompetence rules affairs. I do not croak in the _Examiner_ newspaper.But we are going straight to the devil."
As he uttered these words, he placed his hand upon his breast, andclosed his eyes, as though he were going to faint.
"What is the matter?" I exclaimed, rising abruptly, and approaching him.
"Nothing!" he replied, in a weak voice; "don't disturb yourself aboutme. These fits of faintness come on, now and then, in consequence ofan attack of pneumonia which I had lately. Sit down, colonel. You mustreally pardon me for saying it, but you make me nervous."
There was nothing in the tone of this singular address to take offenceat,--the voice of the speaker was perfectly courteous,--and I resumed myseat.
"We were talking about Sherman," he said. "They call him Gog, Magog,anti-Christ, I know not what, in the clerical circles of this city!"
His lip curled as he spoke.
"One reverend divine publicly declared the other day, that 'God had puta hook in Sherman's nose, and was leading him to his destruction!' Idon't think it looks much like it!"
The speaker was stopped by a fit of coughing, and when it had subsided,leaned back, faint and exhausted, in his chair.
"The fact is--Sherman--" he said, with difficulty, "seems to have--thehook in--_our_ nose!"
There was something grim and lugubrious in the smile which accompaniedthe painfully uttered words. A long silence followed them, which wasbroken by neither of us. At last I raised my head, and said:--
"I find you less hopeful than last summer. At that time you were in goodspirits, and the tone of the _Examiner_ was buoyant."
"It is hopeful still," he replied, "but by an effort--from a sentimentof duty. I often write far more cheerfully than I feel, colonel."[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
"Your views have changed, I perceive--but you change with the wholecountry."
"Yes. A whole century has passed since last August, when you visitedme here. One by one
, we have lost all that the country could dependon--hope goes last. For myself, I began to doubt when Jackson fell atChancellorsville, and I have been doubting, more or less, ever since. Hewas _a dominant man_, colonel, fit, _if any thing happened_, to rise tothe head of affairs.[1] Oh! for an hour of Jackson! Oh! for a day of ourdead Dundee!"[2]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
[Footnote 2: His words.]
The face of the speaker glowed, and I shall never forget the flash ofhis dark eye, as he uttered the words, "if any thing happened." Therewas a whole volume of menace to President Davis in those words.
"But this is useless!" he went on; "Jackson is dead, and there is noneto take his place. So, without leaders, with every sort of incompetence,with obstinacy and stupidity directing the public councils, and shapingthe acts of the administration, we are gliding straight into the gulf ofdestruction."
I could make no reply. The words of this singular man and profoundthinker, affected me dolefully.
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