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

by John Esten Cooke

  Pickett's division of Virginia troops has been selected for thehazardous venture, and they prepare for the ordeal in the midst of aprofound silence. Since the morning scarce a gunshot has been heard.Now and then only, a single cannon, like a signal-gun, sends its growlthrough the hills.

  Those two tigers, the army of Northern Virginia and the army of thePotomac, are crouching, and about to spring.

  At one o'clock the moment seems to have arrived. Along the whole frontof Hill and Longstreet, the Southern artillery all at once bursts forth.One hundred and forty-five cannon send their threatening thunder acrossthe peaceful valley. From Cemetery Heights eighty pieces reply to them;and for more than an hour these two hundred and twenty-five cannon tearthe air with their harsh roar, hurled back in crash after crash from therocky ramparts. That thunder is the most terrible yet heard in thewar. It stirs the coolest veterans. General Hancock, the composed andunexcitable soldier, is going to say of it, "Their artillery fire wasmost terrific...it was the most terrific cannonade I ever witnessed, andthe most prolonged.... It was a most terrific and appalling cannonade,one possibly hardly ever equalled."

  For nearly two hours Lee continues this "terrific" fire. The Federalguns reply--shot and shell crossing each other; racing across the bluesky; battering the rocks; or bursting in showers of iron fragments.

  Suddenly the Federal fire slackens, and then ceases. Their ammunitionhas run low,[1] or they are silenced by the Southern fire. Lee's gunsalso cease firing. The hour has come.

  [Footnote: This was the real reason.]

  The Virginians, under Pickett, form in double line in the edge ofthe woods, where Lee's centre is posted. These men are ragged andtravel-worn, but their bayonets and gun-barrels shine like silver. Fromthe steel hedge, as the men move, dart lightnings.

  From the Cemetery Heights the enemy watch that ominous apparition--thegray line of Virginians drawn up for the charge.

  At the word, they move out, shoulder to shoulder, at common time.Descending the slope, they enter on the valley, and move steadily towardthe heights.

  The advance of the column, with its battle-flags floating proudly, andits ranks closed up and dressed with the precision of troops on parade,is a magnificent spectacle. Old soldiers, hardened in the fires ofbattle, and not given to emotion, lean forward watching the advance ofthe Virginians with fiery eyes. You would say, from the fierce clutch ofthe gaunt hands on the muskets, that they wish to follow; and many wishthat.

  The column is midway the valley, and beginning to move more rapidly,when suddenly the Federal artillery opens. The ranks are swept by roundshot, shell, and canister. Bloody gaps appear, but the line closes up,and continues to advance. The fire of the Federal artillery redoubles.All the demons of the pit seem howling, roaring, yelling, and screaming.The assaulting column is torn by a whirlwind of canister, before whichmen fall in heaps mangled, streaming with blood, their bosoms torn topieces, their hands clutching the grass, their teeth biting the earth.The ranks, however, close up as before, and the Virginians continue toadvance.

  From common time, they have passed to quick time--now they march at thedouble-quick. That is to say, they run. They have reached the slope; theenemy's breastworks are right before them; and they dash at them withwild cheers.

  They are still three hundred yards from the Federal works, when thereal conflict commences, to which the cannonade was but child's play.Artillery has thundered, but something more deadly succeeds it--thesudden crash of musketry. From behind a stone wall the Federal infantryrise up and pour a galling fire into the charging column. It has beenaccompanied to this moment by a body of other troops, but those troopsnow disappear, like dry leaves swept off by the wind. The Virginiansstill advance.

  Amid a concentrated fire of infantry and artillery, in their front andon both flanks, they pass over the ground between themselves and theenemy; ascend the slope; rush headlong at the breastworks; storm them;strike their bayonets into the enemy, who recoil before them, and a wildcheer rises, making the blood leap in the veins of a hundred thousandmen.

  The Federal works are carried, and the troops are wild with enthusiasm.With a thunder of cheers they press upon the flying enemy toward thecrest.

  Alas! as the smoke drifts, they see what is enough to dishearten thebravest. They have stormed the first line of works only! Beyond, isanother and a stronger line still. Behind it swarm the heavy reserves ofthe enemy, ready for the death-struggle. But the column can not pause.It is "do or die." In their faces are thrust the muzzles of musketsspouting flame. Whole ranks go down in the fire. The survivors close up,utter a fierce cheer, and rush straight at the second tier of works.

  Then is seen a spectacle which will long be remembered with a throb ofthe heart by many. The thinned ranks of the Virginians are advancing,unmoved, into the very jaws of death. They go forward--and areannihilated. At every step death meets them. The furious fire of theenemy, on both flanks and in their front, hurls them back, mangled anddying. The brave Garnett is killed while leading on his men. Kemper islying on the earth maimed for life. Armistead is mortally wounded atthe moment when he leaps upon the breastworks:--he waves his hat on thepoint of his sword, and staggers, and falls. Of fifteen field officers,fourteen have fallen. Three-fourths of the men are dead, wounded, orprisoners. The Federal infantry has closed in on the flanks and rearof the Virginians--whole corps assault the handful--the little bandis enveloped, and cut off from succor--they turn and face the enemy,bayonet to bayonet, and die.

  When the smoke drifts away, all is seen to be over. It is a panting,staggering, bleeding remnant only of the brave division that is comingback so slowly yonder. They are swept from the fatal hill--pursued byyells, cheers, cannon-shot, musket-balls, and canister. As they doggedlyretire before the howling hurricane, the wounded are seen to staggerand fall. Over the dead and dying sweeps the canister. Amid volleysof musketry and the roar of cannon, all but a handful of Pickett'sVirginians pass into eternity.

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  THE GREAT MOMENT OF A GREAT LIFE.

  I was gazing gloomily at the field covered with detachments limping backamid a great whirlwind of shell, when a mounted officer rode out of thesmoke. In his right hand he carried his drawn sword--his left arm wasthrown around a wounded boy whom he supported on the pommel of hissaddle.

  In the cavalier I recognized General Davenant, whom I had seen near thevillage of Paris, and who was now personally known to me. In the boy Irecognized the urchin, Charley, with the braided jacket and jaunty cap.

  I spurred toward him.

  "Your son--!" I said, and I pointed to the boy.

  "He is dying I think, colonel!" was the reply in a hoarse voice. Thegray mustache trembled, and the eye of the father rested, moist butfiery, on the boy.

  "Such a child!" I said. "Could _he_ have gone into the charge?"

  "I could not prevent him!" came, in a groan, almost from the oldcavalier. "I forbade him, but he got a musket somewhere, and went overthe breastworks with the rest. I saw him then for the first time, andheard him laugh and cheer. A moment afterward he was shot--I caught andraised him up, and I have ridden back through the fire, trying toshield him--but he is dying! Look! his wound is mortal, I think--and soyoung--a mere child--never was any one braver than my poor child--!"

  A groan followed the words: and bending down the old cavalier kissed thepale cheek of the boy.

  I made no reply; something seemed to choke me.

  Suddenly a grave voice uttered some words within a few paces of us, andI turned quickly. It was General Lee--riding calmly amid the smoke,and re-forming the stragglers. Never have I seen a human being morecomposed.

  General Davenant wheeled and saluted.

  "We are cut to pieces, general!" he said, with something like a fierytear in his eye. "We did our best, and we drove them!--but were notsupported. My brigade--my brave old brigade is gone! This is my boy--Ibrought him out--but he is dying too!"

  The hoarse tones and fiery tears of the old cavalier made my heart
beat.I could see a quick flush rise to the face of General Lee. He looked atthe pale face of the boy, over which the disordered curls fell, with aglance of inexpressible sympathy and sweetness. Then stretching outhis hand, he pressed the hand of General Davenant, and said in his deepgrave voice:--

  "This has been a sad day for us, general--a sad day, but we cannotexpect always to gain victories. Never mind--all this has been _my_fault. It is _I_ who have lost this fight, and you must help me out ofit in the best way you can."[1]

  [Footnote 1: His words.]

  As he uttered these measured words, General Lee saluted and disappearedin the smoke.

  General Davenant followed, bearing the wounded boy still upon hissaddle.

  Ten minutes afterward, I was riding to find General Stuart, who had sentme with a message just before the charge.

  I had gloomy news for him. The battle of Gettysburg was lost.

  CHAPTER XXVIII.

  UNSHAKEN.

  The sun was sinking red and baleful, when I reached Stuart, beyond theleft wing of the army.

  From the afternoon of the second to this night of the third of July, thecavalry had met that of the enemy in stubborn conflict. The columnshad hurled together. General Hampton had been severely wounded in ahand-to-hand encounter with sabres, while leading his men. Stuart hadnarrowly escaped death or capture in the melee; and Fitz Lee had foughthilt to hilt with the Federal horsemen, repulsing them, and coming backlaughing, as was his wont.

  All these scenes I have passed over, however. The greater drama absorbedme. The gray horsemen were fighting heroically; but what was thatencounter of sabres, when the fate of Gettysburg was being decided atCemetery Hill?

  So I pass over all that, and hasten on now to the sequel. Memory findsfew scenes to attract it in the days that followed Gettysburg.

  But I beg the reader to observe that I should have no scenes of ahumiliating character to draw. Never was army less "whipped" than thatof Lee after this fight! Do you doubt that statement, reader? Do youthink that the Southerners were a disordered rabble, flying before theFederal bayonets? a flock of panic-stricken sheep, hurrying back to thePotomac, with the bay of the Federal war-dogs in their ears?

  That idea--entertained by a number of our Northern friends--is entirelyfanciful.

  Lee's army was not even shaken. It was fagged, hungry, out ofammunition, and it retired,--but not until it had remained fortwenty-four hours in line of battle in front of the enemy, perfectlycareless of, even inviting, attack.

  "I should have liked nothing better than to have been attacked," saidLongstreet, "and have no doubt I should have given those who tried, asbad a reception as Pickett received."[1]

  [Footnote 1: His words.]

  It may be said that this is the boast of the defeated side. But GeneralMeade, when interrogated before the war committee, stated the exactfacts.

  "My opinion is now," said Meade "that General Lee evacuated thatposition, not from the fear that he would be dislodged from it by anyactive operations on my part, but that he was fearful a force would besent to Harper's Ferry to cut off his communications.... That was whatcaused him to retire."

  "Did you discover," asked one of the committee, "after the battle ofGettysburg, any symptoms of demoralization in Lee's army?"

  "No, sir," was General Meade's reply, "I saw nothing of that kind."[1]

  [Footnote 1: General Meade's testimony may be found in the Report on theConduct of the War. Part I., p. 337.]

  That statement was just, and General Meade was too much of a gentlemanand soldier to withhold it. He knew that his great adversary was stillunshaken and dangerous--that the laurels snatched on Round Top andCemetery Heights might turn to cypress, if the wounded lion wereassailed in his own position.

  After the repulse of Pickett's column on the third of July, Lee hadthe choice of two courses--to either attack again or retire. Meade wasevidently determined to remain on the defensive. To engage him, Leemust once more charge the Cemetery Heights. But a third failure mightbe ruinous; the Confederate ammunition was nearly exhausted; thecommunications with the Potomac were threatened,--and Lee determined toretire.

  That is the true history of the matter.

  The force which fell back before Meade was an army of veterans, withunshaken nerves. It required only a glance to see that these men werestill dangerous. They were ready to fight again, and many raged at theretreat. Like Lee's "old war horse," they were anxious to try anotherstruggle, to have the enemy return the compliment, and come over tocharge _them_!

  Then commenced that singular retreat.

  The trains retired in a long line stretching over many miles, by theChambersburg road, while the army marched by the shorter route, betweenthe trains and the enemy, ready to turn and tear the blue huntsmen ifthey attempted to pursue.

  So the famous army of Northern Virginia--great in defeat as invictory--took its slow way back toward the soil of Virginia. Never wasspectacle stranger than that retreat from Gettysburg. The badly woundedhad been sent with the army trains; but many insisted upon keeping theirplaces in the ranks. There was something grim and terrible in thesebandaged arms, and faces, and forms of Lee's old soldiers--but you didnot think of that as you looked into their pale faces. What struck youin those eyes and lips was the fire, and the smile of an unconquerablecourage. Never had I witnessed resolution more splendid and invincible.In the ragged foot soldiers of the old army I could see plainly theevidences of a nerve which no peril could shake. Was it race--or thecause--or confidence, through all, in Lee? I know not, but it was there.These men were utterly careless whether the enemy followed them or not.They were retreating unsubdued. The terrible scenes through which theyhad passed, the sights of horror, the ghastly wounds, the blood, agony,death of the last few days had passed away from their memories; and theywent along with supreme indifference, ready to fight at any moment, andcertain that they could whip any enemy who assailed them.

  General Meade did not attempt that. He kept Lee at arm's-length, andfollowed so slowly that the civilians were in enormous wrath, and looked_*de haut en bas_ on him--on this timid soldier who had not cut Lee topieces.

  MEETING OF GENERALS LEE AND DAVENANT.]

  Between Meade, however, and the bold civilians, there was this enormousdifference. The soldier knew the mettle of the man and the army retiringfrom Gettysburg. The civilians did not. Meade retained the fruits of hisvictory over Lee. The civilians would have lost them.

  At Williamsport, Lee halted and drew up his army in line of battle. ThePotomac, swollen by rains, presented an impassable obstacle.

  Meade, following slowly, was met at every step by Stuart's cavalry; butfinally faced his adversary.

  Every thing presaged a great battle, and Lee's cannon from the hillssouth of Hagerstown laughed,

  "Come on!"

  But General Meade did not come. Lee, standing at bay with the army ofNorthern Virginia, was a formidable adversary, and the Federal commanderhad little desire to charge the Confederates as they had charged him atGettysburg--in position.

  Day after day the adversaries remained in line of battle facing eachother.

  Lee neither invited nor declined battle.

  At last the Potomac subsided: Lee put his army in motion, and crossingon a pontoon at Falling Waters took up his position on the south bank ofthe river.

  Stuart followed, bringing up the rear with his cavalry column; and thewhole army was once more on the soil of Virginia.

  They had come back after a great march and a great battle.

  The march carried their flags to the south bank of the Susquehanna; thebattle resulted in their retreat to the south bank of the Potomac.Thus nothing had been gained, and nothing lost. But alas! the South hadcounted on a great and decisive victory. When Lee failed to snatch thatfrom the bloody heights of Gettysburg--when, for want of ammunition, andto guard his communications, he returned to the Potomac--then the peoplebegan to lose heart, and say that, since the death of Jackson, the causewas lost.

 
Gettysburg in fact is the turning point of the struggle. From that daydated the decadence of the Southern arms.

  At Chancellorsville, the ascending steps of victory culminated--andstopped.

  At Gettysburg, the steps began to descend into the valley of defeat, andthe shadow of death.

  What I shall show the reader in this final series of my memoirs, isLee and his paladins--officers and privates of the old army of NorthernVirginia--fighting on to the end, true in defeat as in victory, in thedark days as in the bright--closing up the thin ranks, and standing bythe colors to the last.

  That picture may be gloomy--but it will be sublime, too.

  BOOK II.

  THE FLOWER OF CAVALIERS.

  I.

  UNDER "STUART'S OAK."

  Crossing to the south bank of the Potomac, Stuart established hisheadquarters at "The Bower," an old mansion on the Opequon.

  The family at the ancient hall were Stuart's cherished friends, and ourappearance now, with the red flag floating and the bugle sounding agay salute as we ascended the hill, was hailed with enthusiasm andrejoicing.

  All at the "Bower," loved Stuart; they love him to-day; and will lovehim always.

  His tents were pitched on a grassy knoll in the extensive grounds,beneath some ancient oaks resembling those seen in English parks. It wasa charming spot. Through the openings in the summer foliage you saw theold walls of the hall. At the foot of the hill, the Opequon stole away,around the base of a fir-clad precipice, its right bank lined withimmense white-armed sycamores. Beyond, extended a range of hills: and inthe far west, the North Mountain mingled its azure billows with the blueof the summer sky.