It was not many minutes before a strong line of dismounted cavalry, followed by mounted men, deployed from this ma.s.s to cover the retreat of their fleeing brethren, and restore the picket line. They came down the hills and across the fields, firing as they came. On looking around to see what were the chances for making a stand, Lieutenant McRae found that the infantry skirmishers had been withdrawn. The officer who had commanded them could be seen galloping away in the distance. The little squad, knowing they were alone, kept up a brisk fire on the advancing enemy, till he was close up in front, and well to the rear of both flanks. On the left, not more than two hundred yards, a column of cavalry, marching by twos, had crossed the line and were still marching, as unconcernedly as possible, to the rear of McRae. Seeing this, McRae ordered his squad to retire, saying at the same time, "But don't let them see you running, boys!"

So they retired, slowly, stubbornly, and returning shot for shot with the enemy, who came on at a trot, cheering valiantly, as they pursued four men and a lieutenant. The men dragged the b.u.t.ts of their old muskets behind them, loading as they walked. All loaded, they turned, halted, fired, received a shower of b.a.l.l.s in return, and then again moved doggedly to the rear. A little lieutenant of infantry, who had been on the skirmish line, joined the squad. He was armed with a revolver, and had his sword by his side. Stopping behind the corner of a corn-crib he swore he would not go any further to the rear. The squad moved on and left him standing there, pistol in hand, waiting for the enemy, who were now jumping the fences and coming across the field, running at the top of their speed. What became of this singular man no one knows. He was, as he said, "determined to make a stand." A little further on the squad found a single piece of artillery, manned by a lieutenant and two or three men. They were selecting individuals in the enemy's skirmish line, and _firing at them with solid shot_! Lieutenant McRae laughed at the ridiculous sight, remonstrated with the officer, and offered his squad to serve the gun, if there was any canister in the limber chest. The offer was refused, and again the squad moved on.

Pa.s.sing a cow-shed about this time, the squad halted to look with horror upon several dead and wounded Confederates who lay there upon the manure pile. They had suffered wounds and death upon this the last day of their country's struggle. Their wounds had received no attention, and those living were famished and burning with fever.

Lieutenant McRae, noticing a number of wagons and guns parked in a field near by, surprised at what he considered great carelessness in the immediate presence of the enemy, approached an officer on horseback and said, in his usual impressive manner, "I say there, what does this mean?" The man took his hand and quietly said, "We have surrendered." "I don't believe it, sir!" replied McRae, strutting around as mad as a hornet. "You mustn't talk so, sir! you will demoralize my men!" He was soon convinced, however, by seeing Yankee cavalrymen walking their horses around as composedly as though the Army of Northern Virginia had never existed. To say that McRae was surprised, disgusted, indignant, and incredulous, is a mild way of expressing his state of mind as he turned to his squad and said, "Well, boys, it must be so, _but it's very strange behavior_. Let's move on and see about it." As though dreaming, the squad and the disgusted officer moved on.

Learning that the army had gone into camp, the skirmishers went on in the direction of the village, and found the battalion in the woods near the main road. Fires were burning, and those who had been fortunate enough to find anything eatable were cooking. Federal troops were riding up and down the road and loafing about the camps trying to be familiar.

They seemed to think that "How are you, Johnny?" spoken in condescending style, was sufficient introduction.

During the day a line of men came single file over the hill near the camp, each bearing on his shoulder a box of "hardtack" or crackers.

Behind these came a beef, driven by soldiers. The crackers and beef were a present from the Federal troops near, who, knowing the famishing condition of the surrounded army, had contributed their day's rations for its relief. All honor to them. It was a soldierly act which was thoroughly appreciated.

The beef was immediately shot and butchered, and before the animal heat had left the meat, it was impaled in little strips on sticks, bayonets, swords, and pocket-knives, and roasting over the fires.

Though numbers of the enemy visited the camps and plied the men with all sorts of questions, seeming very curious and inquisitive, not an unkind word was said on either side that day. When the skirmishers under McRae entered the camp of the battalion, their enthusiastic descriptions of driving the enemy and being driven in turn failed to produce any effect.

Many of the men were sobbing and crying, like children recovering from convulsions of grief after a severe whipping. They were sorely grieved, mortified, and humiliated. Of course they had not the slightest conception of the numbers of the enemy who surrounded them.

Other men fairly raved with indignation, and declared their desire to escape or die in the attempt; but not a man was heard to blame General Lee. On the contrary, all expressed the greatest sympathy for him and declared their willingness to submit at once, or fight to the last man, as he ordered. At no period of the war was he held in higher veneration or regarded with more sincere affection, than on that sad and tearful day.

In the afternoon the little remnant of the army was ma.s.sed in a field.

General Gordon spoke to them most eloquently, and bade them farewell.

General Walker addressed his division, to which Cutshaw's battalion was attached, bidding them farewell. In the course of his remarks he denounced fiercely the men who had thrown down their arms on the march, and called upon the true men before him to go home and tell their wives, mothers, sisters, and sweethearts how shamefully these cowards had behaved.

General Henry A. Wise also spoke, sitting on his horse and bending forward over the pommel of his saddle. Referring to the surrender, he said, "I would rather have embraced the tabernacle of death."

There were many heaving bosoms and tear-stained faces during the speaking. A tall, manly fellow, with his colors pressed to his side, stood near General Gordon, convulsed with grief.

The speaking over, the a.s.sembly dispersed, and once more the camp-fires burned brightly. Night brought long-needed rest. The heroes of many hard-fought battles, the conquerors of human nature's cravings, the brave old army, fell asleep--securely guarded by the encircling hosts of the enemy. Who will write the history of that march? Who will be able to tell the story? Alas! how many heroes fell!

The paroles, which were distributed on Tuesday, the 11th, were printed on paper about the size of an ordinary bank check, with blank s.p.a.ces for the date, name of the prisoner, company, and regiment, and signature of the commandant of the company or regiment. They were signed by the Confederate officers themselves, and were as much respected by all picket officers, patrols, etc., of the Federal army as though they bore the signature of U. S. Grant. The following is a copy of one of these paroles, recently made from the original:

APPOMATTOX COURT HOUSE, VIRGINIA, _April 10, 1865_.

The bearer, Private ---- ----, of Second Company Howitzers, Cutshaw's Battalion, a paroled prisoner of the Army of Northern Virginia, has permission to go to his home and there remain undisturbed.

L.F. JONES, _Captain Commanding Second Company Howitzers_.

The "guidon," or color-bearer, of the Howitzers had concealed the battle flag of the company about his person, and before the final separation cut it into pieces of about four by six inches, giving each man present a piece. Many of these sc.r.a.ps of faded silk are still preserved, and will be handed down to future generations. Captain Fry, who commanded after Colonel Cutshaw was wounded, a.s.sembled the battalion, thanked the men for their faithfulness, bid them farewell, and read the following:--

HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, APPOMATTOX COURT HOUSE, _April 10, 1865_.

GENERAL ORDER NO. 9.

After four years of arduous service, marked by unsurpa.s.sed courage and fort.i.tude, the Army of Northern Virginia has been compelled to yield to overwhelming numbers and resources.

I need not tell the brave 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 would compensate for the loss that must have attended a continuance of the contest, I 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 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 G.o.d 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 for myself, I bid you all an affectionate farewell.

R.E. LEE.

This grand farewell from the man who had in the past personified the glory of his army and now bore its grief in his own great heart, was the signal for tearful partings. Comrades wept as they gazed upon each other, and with choking voices said, farewell! And so--they parted.

Little groups of two or three or four, without food, without money, but with "the satisfaction that proceeds from the consciousness of duty faithfully performed," were soon plodding their way homeward.

CHAPTER IX.

"BRAVE SURVIVORS" HOMEWARD BOUND.

Bitter grief for the past, which seemed to be forever lost, and present humiliation, could not long suppress the anxious thought and question, "What now?" The discussion of the question brought relief from the horrid feeling of vacuity which oppressed the soldier and introduced him to the new sensations of liberty of choice, freedom of action--full responsibility. For capital he had a clear conscience, a brave heart, health, strength, and a good record. With these he sought his home.

Early in the morning of Wednesday, the 12th of April, without the stirring drum or the bugle call of old, the camp awoke to the new life.

Whether or not they had a country these soldiers did not know. Home to many, when they reached it, was graves and ashes. At any rate there must be, somewhere on earth, a better place than a muddy, smoky camp in a piece of scrubby pines--better company than gloomy, hungry comrades and inquisitive enemies, and something in the future more exciting, if not more hopeful, than nothing to eat, nowhere to sleep, nothing to do, and nowhere to go. The disposition to start was apparent, and the preparations were promptly begun.

To roll up the old blanket and oil-cloth, gather up the haversack, canteen, axe, perhaps, and a few trifles, in time of peace of no value, eat the fragments that remained, and light a pipe, was the work of a few moments. This slight employment, coupled with pleasant antic.i.p.ations of the unknown, and therefore possibly enjoyable future, served to restore somewhat the usual light-hearted manner of soldiers, and relieve the final farewells of much of their sadness. There was even a smack of hope and cheerfulness as the little groups sallied out into the world to combat they scarcely knew what. As we cannot follow all these groups, we will join ourselves to one and see them home.

Two "brothers-in-arms," whose objective point is Richmond, take the road on foot. They have nothing to eat and no money. They are bound for their home in a city, which, when they last heard from it, was in flames. What they will see when they arrive there they cannot imagine; but the instinctive love of home urges them. They walk on steadily and rapidly and are not diverted by surroundings. It does not even occur to them that their situation, surrounded on all sides by armed enemies and walking a road crowded with them, is at all novel. They are suddenly roused to a sense of their situation by a sharp "Halt! show your parole!" They had struck the cordon of picket posts which surrounded the surrendered army. It was the first exercise of authority by the Federal army. A sergeant, accompanied by a couple of muskets, stepped into the road, with a modest air examined the paroles and said quietly, "Pa.s.s on."

The strictly military part of the operation being over, the social commenced. As the two "survivors" moved on they were followed by numerous remarks, such as "h.e.l.lo! Johnny, I say! going home?" "Ain't you glad!" They made no reply, these wayfarers, but they _thought_ some very _emphatic remarks_.

From this point "On to Richmond!" was the grand thought. Steady work it was. The road, strangely enough considering the proximity of two armies, was quite lonesome, and not an incident of interest occurred during the day. Darkness found the two comrades still pushing on.

Some time after dark a light was seen a short distance ahead and there was a "sound of revelry." On approaching, the light was found to proceed from a large fire, built on the floor of an old and dilapidated outhouse, and surrounded by a ragged, hungry, singing, and jolly crowd of paroled prisoners of the Army of Northern Virginia, who had gotten possession of a quant.i.ty of corn meal and were waiting for the ash-cakes then in the ashes. Being liberal, they offered the new-comers some of their bread. Being hungry, the "survivors" accepted--and eat their first meal that day. Here seemed a good place to spend the night, but the party in possession were so noisy, and finally so quarrelsome and disagreeable generally, that the "survivors," after a short rest, pushed on in the darkness, determined, if possible, to find some shelter more quiet. The result was a night march, which was continued till the morning dawned.

Thursday morning they entered the village of Buckingham Court House, and traded a small pocket mirror for a substantial breakfast. There was quite a crowd of soldiers gathered around a cellar door, trying to persuade an ex-Confederate A.A.A. Commissary of Subsistence that he might as well, in view of the fact that the army had surrendered, let them have some of his stores; and, after considerable persuasion and some threats, he relinquished the hope of keeping them for himself, and told the men to help themselves. They did so.

The people of the village did not exactly doubt the _fact_ of the surrender, but evidently thought matters had been _somewhat exaggerated_, facts suppressed, and everything allowed to fall into a very doubtful condition. Confederate money would not pa.s.s, however; _that_ was settled _beyond doubt_.

As the two tramps were about to leave the village, and were hurrying along the high road which led through it, they saw a solitary horseman approaching from their rear. It was easy to recognize at once General Lee. He rode slowly, calmly along. As he pa.s.sed an old tavern on the roadside, some ladies and children waved their handkerchiefs, smiled, and wept. The General turned his eyes to the porch on which they stood, and slowly putting his hand to his hat, raised it slightly, and as slowly again dropped his hand to his side. The survivors did not weep, but they had strange sensations. They pushed on, steering, so to speak, for Cartersville and the ferry.

Before leaving the village it was the sad duty of the survivors to stop at the humble abode of Mrs. P., and tell her of the death of her husband, who fell mortally wounded, pierced by a musket ball, near Sailor's Creek. She was also told that a comrade who was by his side when he fell, but who was not able to stay with him, would come along soon and give her the particulars. That comrade came and repeated the story. In a few days the "dead man" reached home alive and scarcely hurt. He was originally an infantryman, recently transferred to artillery, and therefore wore a small knapsack, as infantrymen did. The ball struck the knapsack with a "whack!" and knocked the man down. That was all.

Some time during the night the travelers reached the ferry at Cartersville. Darkness and silence prevailed there. Loud and continued shouts brought no ferryman, and eager searchings revealed no boat. The depth of the water being a thing unknown and not easily found out, it was obviously prudent to camp for the night.

On the river's edge there was an old building which seemed a brick one; one wall near the water's edge. A flight of steep, rough steps led to an open door on the second floor. Up these steps climbed the weary men.

Inside there was absolute darkness, but there was shelter from the wind.

Feeling about on the floor they satisfied themselves of its cleanliness and dryness. The faithful old blankets were once more spread, their owners laid down and at once fell into a deep sleep which was not broken till morning. The room was surprisingly small. When the soldiers entered they had no idea of the size of it, and went to sleep with the impression that it was very large. The morning revealed its dimensions--about ten by twelve feet. The ferryman was early at his post, and put the travelers across cheerfully without charge.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ANY b.u.t.tERMILK AUNTY]

Soon after crossing, a good silver-plated table-spoon, bearing the monogram of one of the travelers, purchased from an aged colored woman a large chunk of ash-cake and about half a gallon of b.u.t.termilk. This old darkey had lived in Richmond in her younger days. She spoke of grown men and women there as "children whar I raised." "Lord! boss, does you know Miss Sadie? Well, I nussed her and I nussed all uv them chillun; that I did, sah! Yawl chillun does look hawngry, that you does. Well, you's welcome to them vittles, and I'm powful glad to git dis spoon. G.o.d bless you, honey!" A big log on the roadside furnished a seat for the comfortable consumption of the before-mentioned ash-cake and milk. The feast was hardly begun when the tramp of a horse's hoofs was heard.

Looking up the survivors saw, with surprise, General Lee approaching. He was entirely alone, and rode slowly along. Unconscious that any one saw him, he was yet erect, dignified, and apparently as calm and peaceful as the fields and woods around him. Having caught sight of the occupants of the log, he kept his eyes fixed on them, and as he pa.s.sed, turned slightly, saluted, and said, in the most gentle manner: "Good morning, gentlemen; taking your breakfast?" The soldiers had only time to rise, salute, and say "Yes, sir!" and he was gone.

Having finished as far as they were able the abundant meal furnished by the liberality of the good "old mammy," the travelers resumed their journey greatly refreshed.