This information of the enemy's design banished all other thoughts frommy mind and Tom's. We ran to our horses--and I think I heard somethinglike a kiss, in the shadow of the porch, as Tom and Katy parted.
We galloped into the woods, following a course parallel to that taken bythe enemy's cavalry, and keeping as close to it as was safe.
"A sudden parting between yourself and Katy, Tom!" I said, as wegalloped on. "A touching spectacle! When will you be married?"
"In a week or two--to answer seriously, old fellow," responded Tom.
"Is it possible!"
"Even so, my boy."
"Here, at Disaways?"
"No, in Richmond. Katy's family are refugees there, now; and I was goingto escort her to Petersburg to-morrow, but for these rascals--and I willdo it, yet."
"Good! I hope the way will be clear then! Let us go on. There is no timeto lose in order to warn General Fitz!"
We pushed on, following bridle-paths, and making toward DinwiddieCourt-House. Half an hour thus passed, and we were near the Roney'sBridge road, when, suddenly, the whole forest on our right blazedwith shots. Loud shouts accompanied the firing. The woods crackled ashorsemen rushed through them. An obstinate fight was going on in thedarkness, between the Federal and Confederate cavalry.
Plainly, the Confederates had not been surprised, and the dash andvim with which they met the Federal onset, seemed to dishearten theirenemies. For fifteen minutes the combat continued with great fury, amidthe pines; the air was filled with quick spirts of flame, with the clashof sabres, with loud cheers and cries; then the wave of Federal horsemensurged back toward the Rowanty; the Confederates pressed them, withcheer; and the affair terminated in a headlong pursuit.
Tom and myself had gotten into the _melee_ early in the action, and myfeather had been cut out of my hat by a sabre stroke which a big blueworthy aimed at me. This was my only accident, however. In fifteenminutes I had the pleasure of seeing our friends run.
I followed with the rest, for about a mile. Then I drew rein, andturned back--my horse was completely exhausted. I slowly returned towardDinwiddie Court-House; hesitated for a moment whether I would lodge atthe tavern; shook my head in a manner not complimentary to the hostelry;and set out to spend the night at "Five Forks."
I did not know, until some days afterward, that a serious accident hadhappened to the worthy Mr. Alibi, guide and friend of General Darke.
He had been struck by a bullet in the fight; had flapped his wings;cackled; tumbled from his horse; and expired.
Nighthawk's visit thus went for nothing.
Mr. Alibi was dead.
XV.
FROM FIVE FORKS TO PETERSBURG.
I shall not dwell upon the evening and night spent at "Five Forks"--uponwhose threshold I was met and cordially greeted by the gray-haired JudgeConway.
In the great drawing-room I found the young ladies, who hastened toprocure me supper; and I still remember that waiter of every species ofedibles,--that smiling landscape above which rose the spire-like neckof a decanter! These incessant "bills of fare" will, I fear, revolt somereaders! But these are my memoirs; and _memoirs_ mean recollections.I have forgotten a dozen battles, but still remember thatdecanter-phenomenon in March, 1865. I spent the evening in cordialconverse with the excellent Judge Conway and his daughters, and on thenext morning set out on my return to Petersburg. Mohun had not beenvisible. At the first sound of the firing, he had mounted his horse anddeparted at a gallop.
So much for my visit to Five Forks. I pass thus rapidly over it, withreal regret--lamenting the want of space which compels me to do so.
Do you love the queenly rose, and the modest lily of the valley, reader?I could have shown you those flowers, in Georgia and Virginia Conway.They were exquisitely cordial and high-bred--as was their gray-hairedfather. They spoke, and moved, and looked, as only the high-bred can.Pardon that obsolete word, "high-bred," so insulting in the presentepoch! I am only jesting when I seem to intimate that I considered thestately old judge better than the black servant who waited upon me atsupper!
Of Mohun and Will Davenant, I had said nothing, in conversing with thesmiling young ladies. But I think Miss Georgia, stately and imposing asshe was, looked at me with a peculiar smile, which said, "You are _his_friend, and cannot be a mere ordinary acquaintance to _me_!"
And here I ought to inform the reader, that since that first visit ofmine to Five Forks, affairs had marched with the young lady and herfriend. Mohun and Miss Georgia were about to be married, and I was tobe the first groomsman. The woman-hating Benedict of the banks of theRappahannock had completely succumbed, and the satirical Beatricehad also lost all her wit. It died away in sighs, and gave place toreveries--those reveries which come to maidens when they are about toembark on the untried seas of matrimony.
But I linger at Five Forks when great events are on the march. Biddingmy hospitable host and his charming daughters good morning, I mountedmy horse and set out over the White Oak road toward Petersburg. As Iapproached the Rowanty, I saw that the new defenses erected by Lee,were continuous and powerful. Long tiers of breastworks, and redoubtscrowning every eminence, showed very plainly the great importance whichLee attached to holding the position.
In fact, this was the key to the Southside road. Here was to take placethe last great struggle.
I rode on, in deep thought, but soon my reverie was banished. Just asI reached the hill above Burgess's, who should I see coming from thedirection of the Court-House--but Tom Herbert and Katy Dare!
Katy Dare, on a little pony, with a riding skirt reaching nearly tothe ground!--with her trim little figure clearly outlined by thefabric--with a jaunty little riding hat balanced lightly upon herringlets--with her cheeks full of roses, her lips full of smiles, hereyes dancing like two blue waves, which the wind agitates!
Don't find fault with her, Mrs. Grundy, for having Tom only as anescort. Those were stern and troubled times; our poor girls werecompelled often to banish ceremony. Katy had only this means to get backto her family, and went with Tom as with her brother.
She held out both hands to me, her eyes dancing. Three years havepassed since then, but if I were a painter, I could make her portrait,reproducing every detail! Nothing has escaped my memory; I still hearher voice; the sun of 1868, not of 1865, seems to shine on the rosycheeks framed by masses of golden ringlets!
I would like to record our talk as we rode on towardPetersburg--describe that ride--a charming episode, flashing like agleam of sunlight, amid the dark days, when the black clouds had coveredthe whole landscape. In this volume there is so much gloom! Sufferingand death have met us so often! Can you wonder, my dear reader, that thehistorian of such an epoch longs to escape, when he can, from the gloomof the tragedy, and paint those scenes of comedy which occasionallybroke the monotonous drama? To write this book is not agreeable to me. Iwear out a part of my life in composing it. To sum up, in cold historicgeneralities that great epoch would be little--but to enter again intothe hot atmosphere; to live once more that life of the past; to feel thegloom, the suspense, the despair of 1865 again--believe me, that is notrifle! It wears away the nerves, and tears the heart. The cheek becomespale as the MS. grows! The sunshine is yonder, but you do not see it.The past banishes the present. Across the tranquil landscape of March,1868, jars the cannon, and rushes the storm wind of March, 1865!
The cloud was black above, therefore, but Katy Dare made the worldbright with her own sunshine, that day. All the way to Petersburg, sheran on in the most charming prattle. The winding Boydton road, like thebanks of the lower Rowanty, was made vocal with her songs--the "Birdof Beauty" and the whole repertoire. Nor was Tom Herbert backward inencouraging his companion's mirth. Tom was the soul of joy. He sang"Katy! Katy! don't marry any other!" with an unction which spoke inhis quick color, and "melting glances" as in the tones of his laughingvoice. Riding along the famous highway, upon which only a solitarycavalryman or a wagon occasionally appeared, the little maiden and herlover made the pine-
woods ring with their songs, their jests, and theirlaughter!
It is good to be young and to love. Is there any thing more charming?For my part I think that the curly head holds the most wisdom! Tellme which was the happier--the gray-haired general yonder, oppressed bycare, or the laughing youth and maiden? It is true there is somethingnobler, however, than youth, and joy, and love. It is to know that youare doing your duty--to bear up, like Atlas, a whole world upon yourshoulders--to feel that, if you fall, the whole world will shake--andthat history will place your name beside that of Washington!
As the sun began to decline, we rode into Petersburg, and bidding Katyand Tom adieu, I returned to my Cedars.
I had taken my last ride in the "low grounds" of the county ofDinwiddie; I was never more to see Disaways, unless something carries methither in the future. To those hours spent in the old mansion, and withmy comrades, near it, I look back now with delight. Days and nights onthe Rowanty! how you come back to me in dreams! Happy hours at Disaways,with the cavalry, with the horse artillery! you live still in my memory,and you will live there always! Katy Dare runs to greet me again as inthe past--again her blue eyes dance, and the happy winds are blowing herbright curls into ripples! She smiles upon me still--as in that "winterof discontent." Her cheerful voice again sounds. Her small hands areheld out to me. All things go--nothing lingers--but those days on theRowanty, amid the sunset gilded pines, come back with all their tints,and are fadeless in my memory.
Going back thus in thought, to that winter of 1864, I recall thefriendly faces of Katy, and all my old comrades--I hear their laughteragain, touch their brave hands once more, and salute them, wishing themlong life and happiness.
"Farewell!" I murmur, "Rowanty, and Sappony, and Disaways! _Bonnefortune!_ old companions, little maiden, and kind friends all! It hasnot been time lost to gather together my recollections--to live again inthe past,--to catch the aroma of those hours when kindness smoothedthe front of war! We no longer wear the gray--my mustache only showsit _now_! but, thank heaven! many things in memory survive. I think ofthese--of the old comrades, the old times. Health and happiness attendyou on your way through life, comrades! May the silver spare the gold ofyour clustering ringlets, Katy! Joy and gladness follow your steps! allfriendly stars shine on you! Wherever you are, old friends, may a kindheaven send you its blessing!"
XVI.
LEE'S LAST GREAT BLOW.
I reached Petersburg on the evening of March 24, 1865.
The ride was a gay comedy--but a tragedy was about to follow it. On thevery next morning, in the gray March dawn, Lee was going to strike hislast great blow at Grant. A column under Gordon, that brave of braves,was going to be hurled headlong against Hare's Hill, the enemy's centre,just below Petersburg.
That design was evidently the result of supreme audacity, or of despair.In either case it indicated the terrible character of the crisis. Therecould be no two opinions upon that point. Lee aimed at nothing less thanto cut General Grant's army in two--to root himself doggedly in thevery centre of his enemies, and to force General Grant to draw back theentire left wing of his army, or run the risk, by holding his position,to have it destroyed.
Was Lee's motive to open the way for his retreat over the Boydton roadtoward Danville? I know not. Military critics say so, and it is certainthat, a month before, he had endeavored to retreat. The government hadchecked him, then, but now, that step was plainly the only one left. Hemight effect his retreat by forcing Grant to draw in his left wing forthe support of his centre. Lee could then retire from Hare's Hill; makea rapid march westward; push for North Carolina; and joining his forceswith those of Johnston, continue the war in the Gulf States, fallingback if necessary to Texas.
I have always thought that this was his design, but I was much tooobscure a personage to gain any personal knowledge of his plans. It iscertain that he designed one of two things--either to open the path forhis retreat, or to relieve his right wing toward Five Forks, which wasbending under the immense pressure upon it. Either motive was that of agood soldier--and what seemed wild audacity was sound common sense.
For the rest, there was little else to do. Some change in the aspectof things was vitally necessary. Grant had been re-enforced by a largeportion of Sherman's army, and the Federal troops in front of Lee nownumbered about one hundred and fifty thousand. As Lee's force, all told,on his entire line, was only about forty thousand, the rupture of thefar-stretching defences, at some point, seemed only a question of time.And scarcely that. Rather, a question of the moment selected by Grantfor his great blow.
At the end of March the hour of decisive struggle was plainly at hand.The wind had dried the roads; artillery could move; the Federal leftwas nearly in sight of the Southside road; one spring, and General Grantcould lay hold on that great war-artery, and then nothing would be leftto Lee but retreat or surrender.
Such was the condition of things at Petersburg, in these last days ofMarch. Grant was ready with his one hundred and fifty thousand infantryto strike Lee's forty thousand. Sheridan was ready with his twelvethousand superbly mounted cavalry, to hurl himself against the twothousand half-armed horsemen, on starved and broken-down animals, undercommand of General Fitz Lee. A child could have told the result. Theidea of resistance, with any hope, in the defences, any longer, was achimera. Lee was a great soldier--history contains few greater. Thearmy of Northern Virginia was brave--the annals of the world show nonebraver. But there was one thing which neither great generalship, orsupreme courage could effect. Opposed by one hundred and fifty thousandwell-fed troops, with every munition of war, forty thousand starvingmen, defending a line of forty miles, must in the end meet capture ordestruction.
The country did not see it, but General Lee did. The civilians--thebrave ones--had a superstitious confidence in the great commander andhis old army. It had repulsed the enemy so uninterruptedly, thatthe unskilled people believed it invincible. Lee had foiled Grant soregularly that he was looked upon as the very God of Victory. Defeatcould not come to him. Glory would ever follow his steps. On the bannersof the old army of Northern Virginia, led by Lee, the eagles of victorywould still, perch, screaming defiance, and untamed to the end.
While the civilians were saying this, Lee was preparing to retreat.Nothing blinded that clear vision--the eyes of the great chief piercedevery mist. He saw the blow coming--the shadow of the Grant hammer asthe weapon was lifted, ran before--on the 25th of March Lee's rapiermade it last lunge. But when his adversary recoiled to avoid it, it wasLee who was going to retreat.
That lunge was sudden and terrible--if it did not accomplish its object.In the dark March morning, Gordon, "The Bayard of the army," advancedwith three thousand men across the abatis in front of Hare's Hill.
What followed was a fierce tragedy, as brief and deadly as the fall of athunder-bolt.
Gordon rushed at the head of his column over the space which separatedthe lines; stormed the Federal defences at the point of the bayonet;seized on Fort Steadman, a powerful work, and the batteries surroundingit, then as the light broadened in the East, he looked back forre-enforcements. None came--he was holding the centre of Grant's armywith three thousand men. What he had won was by sheer audacity--theenemy had been surprised, and seemed laboring under a species of stupor;if not supported, and supported at once, he was gone!
An hour afterward, Gordon was returning, shattered and bleeding at everypore. The enemy had suddenly come to their senses after the stunningblow. From the forts and redoubts crowning every surrounding hill issuedthe thunder. Cannon glared, shell crashed, musketry rolled in longfusillade, on three sides of the devoted Confederates. Huddled in thetrenches they were torn to pieces by a tempest of shell and bullets.
As the light broadened, the hills swarmed with blue masses hasteningtoward the scene of the combat, to punish the daring assailants. Grant'sarmy was closing in around the little band of Gordon. No help came tothem, they were being butchered; to stay longer there was mere suicide,and the few who could do so, ret
reated to the Confederate lines.
They were few indeed. Of the splendid assaulting column, led by Gordon,more than two thousand were killed or captured. He had split thestubborn trunk, but it was the trunk which now held the wedge in itsobdurate jaws.
Gordon retreated with his bleeding handful--it was the second or thirdtime that this king of battle had nearly accomplished impossibilities bythe magic of his genius.
He could do only what was possible. To stay yonder was impossible.And the scarred veteran of thirty-three years, came back pale and indespair.
Lee had struck his last great blow, and it had failed.
XVII.
THE WRESTLE FOR THE WHITE OAK ROAD.
It is unsafe to wound the wild-boar, unless the wound be mortal. Tochange the figure, Grant had parried the almost mortal thrust of Lee;and now, with the famous hammer lifted and whirled aloft, aimed thefinal and decisive blow at the crest of his great adversary.
On Wednesday, March 29th, the Federal commander commenced the generalmovement, which had for its object the destruction of Lee's right wing,and the occupation of the Southside road.
Before dawn, the masses of blue infantry began to move westward acrossthe Rowanty, laying down bridges over the watercourses, as the columnspassed on; and on the night of the same day, the corps of Humphreys andWarren were near Dinwiddie Court-House with their extreme right guarded,by Sheridan's cavalry.
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