Mohun; Or, the Last Days of Lee and His Paladins.

by John Esten Cooke

  Are you there still, Gray? Do you sing still, Woodie? Health andhappiness, comrades! All friendly stars smile on you! Across the yearsand the long leagues that divide us, I salute you!

  Thus, at Staunton and Lynchburg, reader, gay scenes broke the monotony.In my journey toward North Carolina, I found food also, for laughter.

  I had gone to Hicksford, fifty miles south of Petersburg, to inspectthe cavalry; and in riding on, I looked with curiosity on the desolationwhich the enemy had wrought along the Weldon railroad, when they haddestroyed it in the month of December. Stations, private houses, barns,stables, all were black and charred ruins. The railroad was a spectacle.The enemy had formed line of battle close along the track; then, at thesignal, this line of battle had attacked the road. The iron rails weretorn from the sleepers; the latter were then piled up and fired; therails were placed upon the blazing mass, and left there until theybecame red-hot in the middle, and both ends bent down--then they hadbeen seized, broken, twisted; in a wild spirit of sport the men hadborne some of the heated rails to trees near the road; twisted themthree or four times around the trunks; and there, as I passed, werethe unfortunate trees with their iron boa-constrictors aroundthem--monuments of the playful humor of the blue people, months before.

  Hill and Hampton had attacked and driven them back; from the deadhorses, as elsewhere, rose the black vultures on flapping wings: but itis no part of my purpose, reader, to weary you with these war-pictures,or describe disagreeable scenes. It is an odd interview which I had onmy return toward Petersburg that my memory recalls. It has naught to dowith my narrative--but then it will not fill more than a page!

  I had encountered two wagons, and, riding, ahead of them, saw a courierof army head-quarters, whose name was Ashe.

  I saluted the smiling youth, in return for his own salute, and said:--

  "Where have you been, Ashe?"

  "To Sussex, colonel, on a foraging expedition."

  "For the general?"

  "And some of the staff, colonel."

  Ashe smiled; we rode on together.

  "How did you come to be a forager, Ashe?" I said.

  "Well this was the way of it, colonel," he said. "I belonged to the oldStonewall brigade, but General Lee detailed me at the start of the warto shoe the head-quarters horses. It was old General Robert that sent mewith these wagons. I was shoeing the general's gray, and had just paredthe hind-hoof, when he sent for me. A man had started with the wagons,and had mired in the field right by head-quarters. So old General Robertsays, says he, 'Ashe, you can get them out.' I says, 'General, I thinkI can, if you'll give me a canteen full of your French brandy for theboys.' He laughed at that, and I says, 'General, I have been with youthree years, and if in that time you have ever seen me out of the way,I hope you will tell me so.' 'No, Ashe,' says he, 'I have not, and youshall have the brandy.' And his black fellow went into the closet anddrew me a canteen full; for you see, colonel, old General Robert alwayskeeps a demijohn full, and carries it about in his old black springwagon, to give to the wounded soldiers--he don't drink himself. Well,I got the brandy, and set the boys to work, building a road with pinesaplings, and got the wagons out! From that time to this, I have beengoing with them, colonel, and sometimes some very curious things havehappened."

  I assumed that inquiring expression of countenance dear tostory-tellers. Ashe saw it, and smiled.

  "Last fall, colonel," he said, "I was down on the Blackwater, foragingwith my wagons, for old General Robert, when a squadron of Yankeescrossed in the ferryboat, and caught me. I did not try to get off,and the colonel says, says he, 'Who are _you?_' I told him I was onlyforaging with General Lee's head-quarters teams, to get something forthe old general to eat, as nothing could be bought in Petersburg; and,says I, 'I have long been looking to be captured, and now the time hascome.' As I was talking, I saw an uncle of mine among the Yankees,and says he, 'Ashe, what are you doing here?' 'The same you are doingthere,' I says; and I asked the colonel just to let me off this time,and I would try and keep out of their way hereafter. He asked me, WouldI come down there any more? And I told him I didn't know--I would haveto go where I was ordered. 'Well,' says he, 'you can't beg off.' But Isays, 'step here a minute, colonel,' and I took him to the wagon, andoffered him my canteen of brandy. He took three or four good drinks,and then he says, says he, 'That's all I want! You can go on with yourwagons.' And I tell you I put out quick, colonel, and never lookedbehind me till I got back to Petersburg?"[1]

  [Footnote 1: In the words of the narrator.]

  I have attempted to recall here, reader, the few gleams of sunshine, therare moments of laughter, which I enjoyed in those months of the winterof 1864-'5.

  I shrink from dwelling on the events of that dreary epoch. Every day Ilost some friend. One day it was the brave John Pegram, whom I had knownand loved from his childhood; the next day it was some other, whosedisappearance left a gap in my life which nothing thenceforth couldfill. I pass over all that. Why recall more of the desolate epoch thanis necessary?

  For the rest that is only a momentary laugh that I have indulgedin. Events draw near, at the memory of which you sigh--or even groanperhaps--to-day, when three years have passed.

  For this page is written on the morning of April 8, 1868.

  This day, three years ago, Lee was staggering on in sight of Appomattox.

  X.

  AEGRI SOMNIA.--MARCH, 1865.

  These letters and figures arouse terrible memories--do they not, reader?You shudder as you return in thought to that epoch, provided alwaysthat you then wore the gray, and not the blue. If you wore the blue, youperhaps laugh.

  The South had reached, in this month of March, one of those periods whenthe most hopeful can see, through the black darkness, no single ray oflight. Throughout the winter, the government had made unceasing effortsto bring out the resources of the country--efforts honest and untiring,if not always judicious--but as the days, and weeks, and months wore on,it became more and more evident that the hours of the Confederacy werenumbered. The project of employing negro troops, which Congress longopposed, had been adopted at last, but only in time to be too late. Thepeace commissioners had held their interview with Lincoln, but effectednothing. The enemy continually advanced toward the achievement of theirend. Sherman had safely made his famous "march to the sea"--Savannah andCharleston had fallen--the western army was about to unite with the armyof Grant at Petersburg. There the great game went on, but the end wasnear. Lee had attempted, late in February, to evacuate his lines, butwas overruled. His army was reduced to about forty thousand, whileGrant's numbered about one hundred and fifty thousand. The Confederatetroops were almost naked, and had scarce food enough to sustain life.They fought still, in the trenches, along the great line of works, butit was plain, as Lee said, that the line was stretched so far, that avery little more would snap it.

  That line extended from the Williamsburg road, east of Richmond to FiveForks, west of Petersburg--a distance of nearly fifty miles. GraduallyGrant had pushed westward, until his grasp was now very nearly upon theSouthside road. Lee had extended his own thin line to still confronthim. The White Oak road, beyond the Rowanty, had been defended by heavyworks. The hill above Burgess's bristled with batteries. The extremeright of the Confederate line rested in the vicinity of Five Forks.Beyond that it could not be extended. Already it began to crack. Alongthe works stretching from east to west, there was scarce a soldierevery ten yards. Grant was only prevented from bursting through by themasterly handling of Lee's troops--the rapid concentration of masses atthe points which he threatened. The cavalry was almost paralyzed. Thedestruction of the Weldon road southward to Hicksford, in December, hadbeen a death-blow nearly, to that arm of the service. The Confederatecavalry had depended upon it, hauling their forage from Stony CreekStation. Now they had been compelled to go south to Hicksford, thenearest point, fifty miles from Petersburg. The consequence was thatLee's right was almost undefended by cavalry. Grant's horsemen couldpenetrate, almost unchecked,
to the Danville and Southside railroads.The marvel was, not that this was effected at the end of March, but thatit was not effected a month sooner. But I anticipate.

  To glance, for an instant before proceeding, at the condition of thecountry. It had reached the last point of depression, and was yieldingto despair. The government was enormously unpopular--mismanagement hadceased to attract attention. The press roared in vain. The _Enquirer_menaced the members of Congress from the Gulf States. The _Examiner_urged that the members of the Virginia Legislature, to be elected inthe spring, should be "clothed with the state sovereignty," to act forVirginia! Thus the executive and legislative were both attacked. Thepeople said, "Make General Lee dictator." And General ----- wrote andprinted that, in such an event, he "had the dagger of Brutus" forLee. Thus all things were in confusion. The currency was nothing butpaper--it was a melancholy farce to call it money. The Confederate notewas popularly regarded as worth little more than the paper upon whichit was printed. Fathers of families went to market and paid hundreds ofdollars for the few pounds of meat which their households required eachday. Officers were forced to pay one thousand dollars for their boots.Old saddle-bags were cut up, and the hides of dead horses carried off,to manufacture into shoes. Uniform coats were no longer procurable--thegovernment had to supply them gratis, even to field officers. Leesubsisted, like his soldiers, on a little grease and corn bread.Officers travelling on duty, carried in their saddle-pockets bits ofbacon and stale bread, for the country could not supply them. In thehomes of the land once overflowing with plenty, it was a question eachday where food could be procured. The government had impressed everyparticle, except just sufficient to keep the inmates alive. What thecommissaries had left, the "Yankee cavalry" took. A lady of Goochlandsaid to a Federal officer, "General, I can understand why you destroyrailroads and bridges, but why do you burn mills, and the houses overwomen and children?" The officer bowed, and replied, "Madam, yoursoldiers are so brave that we can't beat you; and we are trying to_starve you_!"

  The interior of these homes of the country was a touching spectacle. Thewomen were making every sacrifice. Delicate hands performed duties whichhad always fallen to menials. The servants had gone to the enemy, andaristocratic young women cooked, washed, swept, and drudged--a charmingspectacle perhaps to the enemy, who hated the "aristocracy," butwoeful to fathers, and sons, and brothers, when they came home sick,or wounded. Clothes had long grown shabby, and were turned and mended.Exquisite beauty was decked in rags. A faded calico was a treasure. Thegray-haired gentleman, who had always worn broadcloth, was content withpatched homespun. It was not of these things that they were thinking,however. Dress had not made those seigneurs and dames--nor could thewant of it hide their dignity. The father, and care-worn wife, anddaughter, and sister, were thinking of other things. The only son wasfighting beside Lee--dying yonder, in the trenches. He was only a "poorprivate," clad in rags and carrying a musket--but he was the last ofa long line, perhaps, of men who had built up Virginia and the Federalgovernment which he was fighting--he was "only a private," but his bloodwas illustrious; more than all, he was the treasure of the gray-hairedfather and mother; the head of the house in the future; if he fell, thehouse would fall with him--and it was nearly certain that he would fall!

  So they mourned, and looked fearfully to the coming hours, in townand country. In the old homesteads--poverty and despair. In thecities--wasting cares and sinking hearts. More than ever before, allthe vile classes of society rioted and held sway. The forestallers andengrossers drove a busy trade. They seemed to feel that their "time wasshort"--that the night was coming, in which not even rascals couldwork! Supplies were hoarded, and doled out at famine prices to thefamine-stricken community; not supplies of luxuries, but of thecommonest necessaries of life. The portly extortioner did not invitecustom, either. Once he had bowed and smirked behind his counter when apurchaser entered. Now, he turned his back coldly, went on reading hisnewspaper, scarce replied to the words addressed to him, and threw hisgoods on the counter with the air of one reluctantly conferring afavor. Foreboding had entered even the hearts of the forestaller andextortioner. They had sold their souls for gain, and that gain wasturning to dross. As at the wave of a magician's wand, their crisp new"Confederate notes" had become rags. The biter was bit. His gains wereto count for nothing. Extortioner and victim were soon to be strippedequally naked--the cold blast of ruin was to freeze both alike. Thus,all things hastened toward the inevitable catastrophe. Brave hearts didnot shrink, but they saw ruin striding on. Every thing crumbled--theConfederacy was staggering and gasping in the death agony. Day by daythe cause was slowly, but certainly, being lost. Children cried aloudfor bread--women moaned, and knelt, and prayed. Their last hope wasleaving them. Lee's army was starving and dying. Hour by hour, nearerand nearer came the roar of the gulf of destruction. A sort of stupordescended. The country--prostrate and writhing--tried to rise, but couldnot. The government knew not where to turn, or what course to pursue.Grant was growing in strength hourly. Lee's little force was dwindling.Sherman was streaming through South Carolina. Grant was reaching outtoward Five Forks. All-destroying war grinned hideously--on all sidesstared gaunt Famine. The air jarred with the thunder of cannon. The daysand nights blazed, and were full of wild cries--of shouts, groans, andreverberations. The ground shook--the grave yawned--the black cloudslowly drew on; that cloud from which the thunderbolt was about to fall.

  How to describe in a volume like this, now near its end, that terriblestate of coma--that approaching cataclysm, in which all things, social,civil, and military were about to disappear! The whole fabric of societywas going to pieces; every hour flamed with battles; tragic eventsjostled each other; blood gushed; a people were wailing; a victoriousenemy were rushing on; the whole continent trembled; Lee was being sweptaway, in spite of every effort which he made to steady his feet--andthat torrent was going to engulf a whole nation!

  All this I am to describe in the last few pages of this volume! The taskis far beyond my strength. In the future, some writer may delineatethat hideous dream--to do so to-day, in this year 1868, would tear thestoutest heart.

  For myself, I do not attempt it. Were I able to paint the picture, therewould be no space. My memoir is nearly ended. The threads of the woofare nearly spun out, and the loom is going to stop. Death stands readywith his shears to cut the ravelled thread, knit up the seam, and puthis red label on the fabric!

  XI.

  I VISIT GENERAL FITZHUGH LEE.

  The end of March, 1865, was approaching when I set out on what was toprove my last tour of duty amid the pine woods of Dinwiddie.

  It was a relief to be back in the army; to see brave faces and smilesaround me, instead of gloomy eyes and careworn cheeks, as in the city.I passed along the Boydton road almost gayly; crossed the Rowanty atBurgess's, and went on by General Lee's powerful works covering theWhite Oak road, beyond. Soon I was approaching Dinwiddie Court-House,in the vicinity of which was encamped our small force of starved andbroken-down cavalry.

  Hampton had gone to meet Sherman, and the cavalry was commanded now byGeneral Fitzhugh Lee, who had recovered from his severe wound receivedat Winchester. I was greeted by this brave soldier and accomplishedgentleman as warmly as I could have desired--for "General Fitz," as wealways called him at Stuart's head-quarters, was the soul of good humorand good fellowship. You have seen him, have you not, reader--whetheryou wore gray or blue--fighting beside him, or meeting him in battle?You recall the open and manly features, the frank and soldierly glanceof the eye, the long beard and heavy mustache, almost always curlingwith laughter? You remember the mirthful voice, the quick jest, thetone of badinage--that joyful and brave air which said, "as long aslife lasts there is hope!" You have not forgotten this gay cavalier,the brother-in-arms of Stuart; this born cavalryman, with his love ofadventure, his rollicking mirth, his familiar greeting of high and low,his charming abandon and ever-ready laughter. That was the characterof the _individual_--of "Fitz Lee," the good companion. T
hecommander-in-chief has defined for all, the traits of Major-GeneralFitzhugh Lee. It was General R.E. Lee who wrote him in 1863, "Youradmirable conduct, devotion to the cause of your country, and devotionto duty, fill me with pleasure. I hope you will soon see her efforts forindependence crowned with success, and long live to enjoy the affectionand gratitude of your country."

  These few lines were worth fighting hard for--were they not? All thingschange; many things fail. Chaos or monarchy may come, but the goodopinion of Lee will survive all!

  I talked with General Fitz Lee for an hour nearly, recalling the olddays with Stuart, who had loved and confided in him more than in anyother living man. It was a beautiful friendship, indeed, and eachunderstood the value of the other as man and soldier. Stuart is dead,and can not give his testimony; but General Fitz Lee is alive, andcan give his. Here and there a voice still denies Stuart's genius as acommander. Ask his friend who survives; and if tears do not choke thevoice, you will learn the real rank of Stuart!

  But I can not linger on these scenes. The narrative draws on.

  I mounted my horse, after shaking hands with General Fitz Lee and hisbrave staff, and, for the first time, remembered to ask, "Where was TomHerbert?"

  At that question, a beaming smile came to every countenance.

  "Done for!" said one.

  "Captured!" laughed another.