So, over the Hickory road, leading up the northern bank of the Appomattox, in the direction of Lynchburg--amid the explosion of magazines, surging upward like volcanoes, the old army of Northern Virginia, reduced to fifteen thousand men, went forth, still defiant, into the night.

XXIII.

WHAT I SAW FROM THE GRAVE OF STUART.

Three hours afterward I was in Richmond.

Sent with a message for General Ewell, I had taken the last train which left for the capital, and reached the city toward midnight.

The first person whom I saw was Tom Herbert, who ran to meet me. His face was pale, but his resolute smile still lit up the brave face.

"Come and wait on me, my dear old friend," he said; "I am to be married to-night!"

And in a few words he informed me that Katy had consented to have the ceremony performed before Tom followed General Lee southward.

Half an hour afterward I witnessed a singular spectacle: that of a wedding, past midnight, in the midst of hurry, confusion, uproar, universal despair--the scene, a city about to fall into the hands of the enemy--from which the government and all its defenders had fled.[1]

[Footnote 1: Real.]

Katy acted her part bravely. The rosy cheeks were unblanched still--the sweet smile was as endearing. When I took an old friend's privilege to kiss the smiling lips, there was no tremor in them, and her blue eyes were as brave as ever.

So Tom and Katy were married--and I bestowed upon them my paternal blessing! It was a singular incident--was it not, reader? But war is full of such.

I did not see Tom again until I met him on the retreat. And Katy--I have never seen her sweet face since--but heaven bless her!

An hour afterward I had delivered my message to General Ewell, who was already moving out with his small force to join Lee. They defiled across the bridges, and disappeared. For myself, tired out, I wrapped my cape around me, and stretching myself upon a sofa, at the house of a friend, s.n.a.t.c.hed a little rest.

I was aroused toward daybreak by a tremendous explosion, and going to the window, saw that the city was in flames. The explosion had been caused, doubtless, by blowing up the magazines, or the rams in James River. The warehouses and bridges had been fired in antic.i.p.ation of the approach of the enemy.

It behooved me to depart now, unless I wished to be captured. I had taken the precaution to provide myself with a horse from one of the government stables; the animal stood ready saddled behind the house; I bade my alarmed friends farewell, and mounting, rode through the streets of the devoted city toward the Capitol, amid bursting sh.e.l.l from the a.r.s.enal, exploding magazines, and roaring flames.

I can not describe the scenes which followed. They were terrible and would present a fit subject for the brush of Rembrandt. Fancy crowds of desperate characters breaking into the shops and magazines of stores--negroes, outcasts, malefactors, swarming in the streets, and shouting amid the carnival. The state prison had disgorged its convicts--the slums and subterranean recesses of the city its birds of the night--and now, felons and malefactors, robbers, cut-purses and murderers held their riotous and drunken carnival in the streets, flowing with whiskey. Over all surged the flames, roaring, crackling, tumultuous--the black clouds of smoke drifting far away, under the blue skies of spring.

Then from the Capitol hill, where I had taken my stand, I saw by the early light, a spectacle even more terrible--that of the enemy entering the city. They came on from Charles City in a long blue column resembling a serpent. Infantry and troopers, artillery and stragglers--all rushed toward the doomed city where they were met by a huge crowd of dirty and jabbering negroes and outcasts.

Suddenly a shout near at hand, thundered up to the hill. In front of the Exchange a column of negro cavalry, with drawn sabres rushed on. As they came, they yelled and jabbered--that was the darkest spectacle of all.

I remained looking at the frightful pageant with rage in my heart, until the advance force of the enemy had reached the railing of the Capitol. Then I turned my horse, and, pursued by carbine shots, rode out of the western gate, up Grace Street.

Fifty paces from St. Paul's I saw Colonel Desperade pa.s.s along--smiling, serene, in black coat, snow-white shirt, tall black hat, and with two ladies leaning upon his arms.

"Ah! gallant to the last, I see!" I growled to him as I rode by. "'None but the brave desert the fair!'"

The colonel smiled, but made no reply.

A hundred yards farther I met little Mr. Blocque joyously approaching.

In his hand he carried his safeguard, brought him by the gray woman.

At his breast fluttered a miniature United States flag. The little gentleman was radiant, and exclaimed as he saw me:--

"What! my dear colonel! you are going to leave us? Come and dine with me--at five o'clock, precisely!"

My reply was not polite. I drew my pistol--at which movement Mr.

Blocque disappeared, running, at the corner of St. Paul's.

On his heels followed a portly and despairing gentleman--Mr. Croaker.

"Save my warehouse! it is on fire! I shall be a beggar!" yelled Mr.

Croaker.

I laughed aloud as the wretched creature rushed by, puffing and panting. Ten minutes afterward I was out of the city.

My last view of Richmond was from Hollywood Hill, near the grave of Stuart. The spectacle before me was at once terrible and splendid. The city was wrapped in a sea of flame. A vast black cloud swept away to the far horizon. A menacing roar came up from beneath those flames surging around the white Capitol;--the enemy's guns, troopers, musketeers and the rabble, were rushing with shouts, yells, and curses into the devoted city, which had at last fallen a prey to the Federal arms.

A last pang was to tear my heart. The sight before me was not enough, I had turned my horse to ride westward, throwing a parting glance upon the city, when suddenly the Virginia flag descended from the summit of the Capitol and the United States flag was run up.

I turned and shook my clenched hand at it.

"That is not my flag, and shall never be!" I exclaimed, aloud.

And taking off my hat as I pa.s.sed the grave of Stuart, I rode on, thinking of the past and the present.

XXIV.

THE RETREAT.

Crossing James River, above the city, I pushed after the army, which I rejoined on the evening of the 4th, as it was crossing the Appomattox opposite Amelia Court-House.

It reached that village on Wednesday April 5th, and you could see at a glance that its spirit was unbroken. As to General Lee, his resolution up to that time had astonished all who saw him. Never had he seemed in more buoyant spirits.

"I have got my army safe out of its breastworks," he said, "and in order to follow me, my enemy must abandon his lines, and can derive no further benefit from his railroads, or James River."[1]

[Footnote 1: His words.]

It was only the faint-hearts who lost hope. Lee was not of those.

Mounted upon his old iron-gray--at the head of his old army, if his little handful of about fifteen thousand men could be called such--Lee was still the great cavalier. The enemy had not yet checkmated him: his heart of hope was untouched. He would cut his way through, and the red flag should again float on victorious fields!

The army responded to the feeling of its chief. The confidence of the men in Lee was as great as on his days of victory. You would have said that the events of the last few days were, in the estimation of the troops, only momentary reverses. The veterans of Hill and Longstreet advanced steadily, tramping firm, shoulder to shoulder, with glittering gun barrels, and faces as resolute and hopeful as at Mana.s.sas and Chancellorsville.