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

by John Esten Cooke

  Grim satirist! You saw far, and I think we want you to-day!

  VII.

  UNDER THE CROSSED SWORDS.

  I had dined with Mr. Blocque; two days afterward I went to sup withJudge Conway.

  Does the reader remember his appearance at Culpeper Court-House, on thenight of the ball after the review in June, 1863? On that evening he hadexcited my astonishment by abruptly terminating the interview betweenhis daughter and Captain Davenant; and I little supposed that I wouldever penetrate the motive of that action, or become intimate with theperformer.

  Yet the chance of war had decreed that both events should occur. Allwill be, in due time, explained to the reader's satisfaction; at presentwe will simply make the acquaintance of one of the most distinguishedstatesmen of the epoch.

  My friendly relations with the judge came about in a very simple manner.He was an intimate associate of the gentleman at whose house I wasstaying; had taken great interest in my recovery after Yellow Tavern;and therefore had done me the honor to bestow his friendship upon me.

  On the day to which we have now come, Judge Conway had made a speech ofsurpassing eloquence, in Congress, on the condition of the country,and I had listened, thrilling at the brave voice which rang out itssonorous, "All's well!" amid the storm. I was now going to call on thestatesman to express my admiration of his eloquent appeal, and converseupon the exciting topics of the hour.

  I found him in a mansion not far from the splendid residence of Mr.Blocque. Here he occupied "apartments," or rather a single room,--and,in 1864, my dear reader, that was a very common mode of living.

  Like others, Judge Conway was too poor to occupy a whole house,--eventoo poor to board. He had a single apartment, containing a few chairsand a bed; was waited on by a maid; and, I think, prepared his ownmeals, which were plain to poverty.

  He met me at the door of his bare and poor-looking apartment, extendinghis hand with the gracious and stately courtesy of the ancient regime.His figure was small, slight, and bent by age; his face, thin and pale;his hair nearly white, and falling in long curls upon his shoulders;under the gray brows sparkled keen, penetrating, but benignant eyes.

  As I pressed the hand of my host, and looked around the poor apartment,I could not refrain from a sentiment of profound bitterness. Two daysbefore I had dined at the table of a peddling blockade-runner, who atecanvass-backs, drank champagne, wore "fine linen," and, dodging theconscript officers, revelled in luxury and plenty. And now here beforeme was a gentleman of ancient lineage, whose ancestors had beenfamous, who had himself played a great part in the history of thecommonwealth,--and this gentleman was poor, lived in lodgings, hadscarce a penny; he had been wealthy, and was still the owner of greatpossessions; but the bare land was all that was left him for support. Hehad been surrounded with luxury, but had sacrificed all to the cause.He had had two gallant sons, but they had fallen at the firstManassas--their crossed swords were above his poor bare mantel-piece.

  From the splendid table of the sneaking blockade-runner, I had come tothe poverty-stricken apartment of this great statesman and high-bredgentleman. "Oh, Juvenal!" I muttered, "it is your satires, not thebucolics of Virgil, that suit this epoch!"

  The old statesman pointed, with all the grace of a nobleman, to a barerocking-chair, and received my congratulations upon his speech withmodest simplicity.

  "I am glad that my views are honored by your good opinion, colonel," hesaid, "and that you approve of the tone of them. I am naturally givento invective--a habit derived from my friend, the late Mr. Randolph; butthe country wants encouragement."

  "And yet not to satirize is so hard, my dear sir!"

  "Very hard."

  "Think of the army depleted--the soldiers starving--the finances inruin, and entire destruction threatening us!"

  The old statesman was silent. A moment afterward he raised his head,and with his thin finger pointed to the crossed swords above hismantelpiece.

  "I try to bear and forbear since I lost my poor boys," he said. "Theydied for their country--I ought to live for it, and do what I can in mysphere--to suppress my bitterness, and try to utter words of goodcheer. But we are discussing gloomy topics. Let us come to more cheerfulmatters. I am in very good spirits to-day. My daughters have come tomake me a visit," and the old face glowed with smiles; its expressionwas quite charming.

  "I see you do not appreciate that great treat, my dear colonel," headded, smiling. "You are yet unmarried, though I rejoice to hear you aresoon to be united to a daughter of my old friend, Colonel Beverly, of"The Oaks." Some day I hope you will know the great charm of paternity.This morning I was lonely--this evening I am no longer so. Georgiaand Virginia have come up from my house, "Five Forks," escorted by myfaithful old Juba, and they burst in upon me like the sunshine!"

  The words had scarcely been uttered when a tap came at the door; a voicesaid, "May we come in, papa?" and a moment afterward the door opened,and admitted Miss Georgia Conway and her sister Virginia.

  Miss Georgia was the same tall and superb beauty, with the dark hair andeyes; Miss Virginia the same winning little blonde, with the blue eyes,and the smiles which made her lips resemble rose-buds. The young ladieswere clad in poor, faded-looking calicoes, and the slippers on thesmall feet, peeping from their skirts, were full of holes. Such was theappearance presented in that summer of 1864, my dear reader, by two ofthe most elegant and "aristocratic" young ladies of Virginia!

  But you did not look at the calicoes, and soon forgot the holes in theshoes. My bow was such as I should have bestowed on two princesses,and the young ladies received it with a grace and courtesy which werecharming.

  In ten minutes we were all talking like old friends, and the youngladies were making tea.

  This was soon ready; some bread, without butter, was placed upon thelittle table; and the meal was the most cheerful and happy imaginable."Oh, my dear Mr. Blocque!" I could not help saying to myself, "keep yourchampagne, and canvass-backs, and every luxury, and welcome! I like drybread and tea, with this company, better!"

  I have not room to repeat the charming words, mingled with laughter,of the young women, on that evening. Their presence was trulylike sunshine, and you could see the reflection of it upon the oldstatesman's countenance.

  Only once that countenance was overshadowed. I had uttered the name ofWillie Davenant, by accident; and then all at once remembering the sceneat Culpeper Court-House, had looked quietly at Judge Conway and MissVirginia. A deep frown was on his face--that of the young girl wascrimson with blushes, and two tears came to her eyes, as she caught herfather's glance of displeasure.

  I hastened to change the topic--to banish the dangerous subject; andin a few moments everybody was smiling once more. Miss Georgia, in herstately and amusing way, was relating their experiences from a scoutingparty of the enemy, at "Five Forks."

  "I heard something of this from old Juba," said the Judge; "you do notmention your deliverer, however."

  "Our deliverer, papa?"

  "General Mohun."

  Miss Georgia unmistakably blushed in her turn.

  "Oh, I forgot!" she said, carelessly, "General Mohun _did_ drive themoff. Did I not mention it?--I should have done so before finishing,papa."

  As she spoke, the young lady happened to catch my eye. I was laughingquietly. Thereupon her head rose in a stately way--a decided poutsucceeded--finally, she burst into laughter.

  The puzzled expression of the old Judge completed the comedy of theoccasion--we all laughed in a perfectly absurd and foolish way--and therest of the evening passed in the most cheerful manner imaginable.

  When I bade my friends good evening, I knew something I had not knownbefore:--namely, that Mohun the woman-hater, had renewed his "friendlyrelations" with Miss Georgia Conway, at her home in Dinwiddie.

  Exchanging a pressure of the hand with my host and his charmingdaughters, I bade them good evening, and returned homeward. As I wentalong, I thought of the happy circle I had left; and again I couldnot refrain from dr
awing the comparison between Judge Conway and Mr.Blocque.

  At the fine house of the blockade-runner--champagne, rich viands,wax-lights, gold and silver, and profuse luxury.

  At the poor lodgings of the great statesman,--a cup of tea and coldbread; stately courtesy from my host, charming smiles from his beautifuldaughters, clad in calico, with worn-out shoes--and above the simplehappy group, the crossed swords of the brave youths who had fallen atManassas!

  VIII.

  MR. X-----.

  It was past ten in the evening when I left Judge Conway. But I feltno disposition to retire; and determined to pay a visit to a singularcharacter of my acquaintance.

  The name of this gentleman was Mr. X-----.

  Looking back now to the days spent in Richmond, in that curioussummer of '64, I recall, among the representative personages whomI encountered, no individual more remarkable than the Honorable Mr.X-----. You are acquainted with him, my dear reader, either personallyor by reputation, for he was a prominent official of the ConfederateGovernment, and, before the war, had been famous in the councils of "thenation."

  He resided at this time in a small house, on a street near the capitol.You gained access to his apartment after night--if you knew the way--bya winding path, through shrubbery, to the back door of the mansion.When you entered, you found yourself in presence of a tall, powerful,gray-haired and very courteous personage, who sat in a huge arm-chair,near a table littered with papers, and smoked, meditatively, a cigar,the flavor of which indicated its excellent quality.

  I enjoyed the intimacy of Mr. X----- in spite of the difference of ourages and positions. He had been the friend of my father, and, in myturn, did me the honor to bestow his friendship upon me. On this eveningI was seized with the fancy to visit him--and passing through thegrounds of the capitol, where the bronze Washington and his greatcompanions looked silently out into the moonlight, reached the smallhouse, followed the path through the shrubbery, and opening the doorin the rear, found myself suddenly enveloped in a cloud of cigar smoke,through which loomed the portly figure of Mr. X-----.

  He was seated, as usual, in his large arm-chair, by the table, coveredwith papers; and a small bell near his hand seemed placed there for theconvenience of summoning an attendant, without the trouble of rising.Near the bell lay a package of foreign-looking documents. Near thedocuments lay a pile of telegraphic dispatches. In the appearance andsurroundings of this man you read "Power."

  Mr. X----- received me with easy cordiality.

  "Glad to see you, my dear colonel," he said, rising and shaking my hand;then sinking back in his chair, "take a cigar, and tell me the news." Isat down,--having declined the proffered cigar.

  "The news!" I said, laughing; "I ought to ask that of you."

  "Ah! you think I am well-informed?"

  I pointed to the dispatches. Mr. X----- shrugged his shoulders.

  "Papers from England and France--they are not going to recognize us.

  "And those telegrams--nothing. We get little that is worth attention,except a line now and then, signed 'R.E. Lee.'"

  "Well, there is that signature," I said, pointing to an open paper.

  "It is a private letter to me--but do you wish to see a line which Ihave just received? It is interesting, I assure you."

  And he handed me a paper.

  It was a telegram announcing the fall of Atlanta!

  "Good heavens!" I said, "is it possible? Then there is nothing to stopSherman."

  "Nothing whatever," said Mr. X-----, coolly.

  "What will be the consequence?"

  "The Confederacy will be cut in two. Sherman will be at Savannah beforeGrant reaches the Southside road--or as soon, at least."

  "You think Grant will reach that?"

  "Yes, by April; and then--you know what!"

  "But Lee will protect it."

  Mr. X----- shrugged his shoulders.

  "Shall I tell you a secret?"

  I listened.

  "Lee's force is less than 50,000--next spring it will not number 40,000.Grant's will be at least four times that."

  "Why can not our army be re-enforced?"

  Mr. X----- helped himself to a fresh cigar.

  "The people are tired, and the conscript officers are playing a farce,"he said. "The commissary department gives the army a quarter of apound of rancid meat. That even often fails, for the quartermaster'sdepartment does not supply it. The result is--no conscripts, and athousand desertions. The soldiers are starving; their wives and childrenare writing them letters that drive them mad--the end is not far off;and when Grant reaches the Southside road we are gone."

  Mr. X----- smoked his cigar with extreme calmness as he spoke.

  "But one thing remains," I said.

  "What is that?"

  "Lee will retreat from Virginia."

  Mr. X----- shook his head.

  "He will not."

  "Why not?"

  "He will be prevented from doing so."

  "Under any circumstances?"

  "Until too late, at least."

  "And the result?"

  "Surrender--though he said to me the other day, when he came to see mehere, 'For myself, I intend to die sword in hand.'"

  I could not refrain from a sentiment of profound gloom, as I listened tothese sombre predictions. It seemed incredible that they could be wellfounded, but I had more than once had an opportunity to remark theextraordinary prescience of the remarkable man with whom I conversed.

  "You draw a black picture of the future," I said. "And the South seemsmoving to and fro, on the crust of a volcano."

  "No metaphor could be more just."

  "And what will be the result of the war?"

  "That is easy to reply to. Political slavery, negro suffrage, and thebayonet, until the new leaven works."

  "The new leaven?"

  "The conviction that democratic government is a failure."

  "And then--?"

  "An emperor, or dictator--call him what you will. The main fact is, thathe will rule the country by the bayonet--North and South impartially."

  Mr. X----- lit a fresh cigar.

  "Things are going on straight to that," he said. "The future isperfectly plain to me, for I read it in the light of history. Theseevents are going to follow step by step. Lee is brave--no man is braver;a great leader. I think him one of the first captains of the world.But in spite of his courage and skill--in spite of the heroism ofhis army--in spite of the high character and pure motives of thepresident--we are going to fail. Then the rest will follow--negrosuffrage and the bayonet. Then the third era will begin--the disgust ofthe white man at the equality of the negro; his distrust of a governmentwhich makes such a farce possible; consequent revulsion againstdemocracy; a tendency toward monarchy; a king, emperor or dictator, whowill restore order out of the chaos of misrule and madness. England isrushing toward a democracy, America is hastening to become anempire. For my own part I think I prefer the imperial to the popularidea--Imperator to Demos. It is a matter of taste, however."

  And Mr. X----- turned his head, calling out, calmly,

  "Come in!"

  The door opened and a stranger glided into the apartment. He was cladin a blue Federal uniform, half-concealed by a brown linen overall. Hisface was almost covered by a red beard; his lips by a mustache of thesame color; and his eyes disappeared behind huge green goggles.

  "Come in," repeated Mr. X-----, who seemed to recognize the intruder;"what news?"

  The personage glanced quickly at me.

  "Speak before him," said Mr. X-----, "he is a friend."

  "I am very well acquainted with Colonel Surry," said the other, smiling,"and have the honor to number him, I hope, among my own friends."

  With which words, the new-comer quietly removed his red beard, took offhis green spectacles, and I saw before me no less a personage than Mr.Nighthawk!

  IX.

  "SEND ME A COPY.--IN CANADA!"

  Nothing was more surprising in this singular m
an than these suddenappearances at places and times when you least expected him.

  I had parted with him in Spottsylvania, on the night when he "deserted"from the enemy, and rode into our lines; and he was then the secretagent of General Stuart. Now, he reappeared in the city of Richmond,with an excellent understanding, it was evident, between himself and Mr.X-----!

  Our greeting was cordial, and indeed I never had classed Nighthawkamong professional spies. General Stuart assured me one day, thathe invariably refused all reward; and his profound, almost romanticdevotion to Mohun, had deeply impressed me. Love of country and watchfulcare of the young cavalier, whose past life was as mysterious as hisown, seemed the controlling sentiments of Nighthawk; and he alwayspresented himself to me rather in the light of a political conspirator,than as a "spy."

  His first words now indicated that he was a secret agent of theGovernment. He seemed to have been everywhere, and gained access toeverybody; and once more, as in June, 1863, when he appeared at Stuart'shead-quarters, near Middleburg, he astonished me by the accuracy andextent of his information. Political and military secrets of the highestimportance, and calling for urgent action on the part of the Government,were detailed by Nighthawk, in his calm and benignant voice; he gaveus an account of a long interview which he had had at City Point,with General Grant; and wound up as usual by announcing an impendingbattle--a movement of the enemy, which duly took place as he announced.