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

by John Esten Cooke

  "And yet," I said, "there are those who will not believe in _blood_--orrace!"

  Fill the space which that dash occupies, my dear reader, with an abrupt"duck" of the head, as a bullet went through my hat!

  The charge was repulsed in twenty minutes; but the firing continuedthroughout the night. When it ceased, toward daybreak, and I rodeback with General Davenant and Charley, who was as gay as a lark, andentertained me with reminiscences of Gettysburg, I was completely brokendown with fatigue. Throwing myself upon a bed, in General Davenant'stent, I fell asleep.

  When I opened my eyes the sun was high in the heavens. I looked aroundfor the general, he was invisible.

  I rose, and at the door of the tent met Charley, with bright eyes, andcheeks like roses.

  "The general has gone to corps head-quarters, colonel, and told me topresent you his compliments, and beg that you will remain to breakfast."

  After which formal and somewhat pompous sentence the youthful Charleydrew near, slapped me in a friendly way upon the back, and exclaimed,with dancing eyes:--

  "I say, colonel! wasn't that a jolly old he-fight we had last night?"

  My reply was a laugh, and a glance of admiration at the gay boy.

  I declined the invitation of General Davenant, as I had to return. Myhorse was brought, and I found his foot much easier. In half an hour Iwas on the road to Petersburg.

  XXV.

  THE BLUE SERPENT.

  Once back at the "Cedars," I reflected deeply upon the history which Ihad heard from the lips of General Davenant.

  I shall refrain, however, from recording these reflections. If thereader will cast his eyes back over the pages of these memoirs, he willperceive that I have confined myself generally to the simple narrationof events--seldom pausing to offer my own comments upon the scenespassing before me. Were I to do so, what an enormous volume I shouldwrite, and how the reader would be bored! Now, to bore a reader, is, inmy eyes, one of the greatest crimes of which an author can be guilty.It is the unpardonable sin, indeed, in a writer. For which reason, andacting upon the theory that a drama ought to explain itself and be itsown commentator, I spare the worthy reader of these pages all thosereflections which I indulged in, after hearing General Davenant'ssingular narrative.

  "Pride! pride!" I muttered, rising at the end of an hour. "I think I canunderstand that--exceptional as is this instance; but I wish I had heardwho was the 'real murderer' of George Conway!"

  Having thus dismissed the subject, I set about drawing up my officialreport, and this charmingly common-place employment soon banished frommy mind every more inviting subject!

  It was nearly ten days after this my first ride into the wilds ofDinwiddie, before I again set out to look after the cavalry. The end ofOctober was approaching. Grant had continued to hammer away along hisimmense line of earth-works; and day by day, step by step, he had goneon extending his left in the direction of the Southside railroad.

  If the reader will keep this in view, he will understand every movementof the great adversaries. Grant had vainly attempted to carry Lee'sworks by assault, or surprise,--his only hope of success now was togradually extend his lines toward the Southside road; seize upon thatgreat war artery which supplied life-blood to Lee's army; and thuscompel the Confederate commander to retreat or starve in his trenches.One thing was plain--that when Grant reached the Southside railroad,Lee was lost, unless he could mass his army and cut his way through theforces opposed to him. And this fact was so obvious, the situation wasso apparent--that from the moment when the Weldon road was seized uponby General Grant, that officer and his great adversary never removedtheir eyes from the real point of importance, the true key of thelock--namely the Southside railroad, on Lee's right.

  Elsewhere Grant attacked, but it was to cover some movement, stilltoward his left. He assaulted Lee's works, north of the James--but itwas south of the Appomattox that he was looking. The operations of thefall and winter, on the lines around Petersburg were a great series ofmarches and counter-marches to and fro, suddenly bursting into battles.Grant massed his army heavily in front of the works in Charles Cityopposite the left of Lee; attempted to draw in that direction hisadversary's main force; then suddenly the blue lines vanished; they wererushed by railroad toward Petersburg, and Grant hastened to thrust hiscolumns still farther beyond Lee's right, in order to turn it and seizethe Southside road.

  That was not the conception of a great soldier, it may be, reader;but it was ingenious. General Grant was not a man of great militarybrain--but he was patient, watchful, and persevering. To defeat Lee,what was wanted was genius, or obstinacy--Napoleon or Grant. In thelong run, perseverance was going to achieve the results of genius.The tortoise was going to reach the same goal with the hare. It was aquestion of time--that was all.

  So, throughout October, as throughout September, and August, and July,General Grant thundered everywhere along his forty miles of earth-works,but his object was to raise a smoke dense enough to hide the bluecolumns moving westward. "Hurrah! we have got Fort Harrison!" exclaimedhis enthusiastic subordinates. Grant would much rather have heard,"We have got the White Oak road!" Fort Harrison was a strong out-postsimply; the White Oak road was the postern door into the citadel.

  Gradually moving thus, from the Jerusalem plank road to the Weldonrailroad, from the Weldon railroad to the Squirrel Level road, from theSquirrel Level road toward the Boydton road, beyond which was the WhiteOak road, Grant came, toward the end of October, to the banks of theRowanty. As this long blue serpent unfolded its coils and stretched itsthreatening head into the Dinwiddie woods, Lee had extended his rightto confront it. The great opponents moved _pari passu_, each marchingin face of each other. Like two trained and skillful swordsmen, theychanged ground without moving their eyes from each others' faces--thelunge was met by the parry; and this seemed destined to go on toinfinity.

  That was the unskilled opinion, however. The civilians thought that--Leedid not. It was plain that this must end somewhere. Lee's line wouldnot bear much further extension. It reached now from a point onthe Williamsburg road, east of Richmond, to Burgess's Mill, west ofPetersburg. His forty thousand men were strung over forty miles. Thatmade the line so thin that it would bear little more. Stretched a littlefarther still, and it would snap.

  Lee called in vain for more men. The Government could not send them. Hepredicted the result of failure to receive them. They did not come.

  And Grant continued to move on, and Lee continued to stretch his thinline, until it began to crack.

  Such was the situation of affairs at the end of October--when Grantaimed a heavy blow to cut the line in pieces. The blue serpent raisedits head, and sprung to strike.

  XXVI.

  THE HOUSE NEAR MONK'S NECK, AND ITS OWNER.

  Such was the critical condition of affairs when I again set out to makemy regular tour of inspection of the cavalry.

  Crossing Hatcher's Run at Burgess's Mill, I turned to the left, and soonfound myself riding on between the lofty walls of pine, through whichthe roads of Dinwiddie wind like a serpent.

  When near Monk's Neck, I determined to stop and feed my horse. I alwayscarried, strapped behind my saddle, a small bag containing about a feedof corn for that purpose; and as I generally selected some wayside housewhere I could, myself, rest while my horse was feeding, I now lookedabout me to discover such.

  My search was speedily rewarded. Three hundred yards from the road, ina clump of stunted trees, I saw a small house, which I soon reached. Thesurroundings of the establishment were poor and mean beyond expression.Through the open door I could see that the interior was even morepoverty-stricken than the outside.

  As I dismounted, a man came to this door. Are you fond of naturalhistory, reader; and have you ever amused yourself by institutingcomparisons between certain human beings and certain animals--beasts,birds, or fishes? I have seen men who resembled horses, owls, hawks,sheep,--and geese. This one resembled the bird called the penguin. Readthe description of the penguin
s: "Their feet are placed more posteriorlythan in any other birds, and only afford them support by resting on thetarsus, which is enlarged, like the sole of the foot of a quadruped. Thewings are very small, and are furnished with rudiments of feathers only,resembling scales. Their bodies are covered with oblong feathers, harshto the touch, and closely applied over each other. * * * * * Theirmotions are slow and awkward, and from the form of their wings, they cannot fly."

  The individual before me recalled the penguin--except that he wasexcessively lean instead of fat. The feet accorded with the abovedescription; the arms were short, and hung like wings; the coat of theworthy was a ragged "cut-away," which ended in a point behind, likethe tail of a bird; and the movements of the individual were "slowand awkward" to a degree which forbade the supposition that, under anycircumstances, he could be induced to fly. Add a long, crane-like neck,two bleared eyes, a mouth stretching from ear to ear, and a nose likethe bill of a duck. You will then have before you the gentleman whobore, as I soon discovered, the classic name of Mr. Alibi.

  When the worthy, who had flapped his arms, by way of greeting, and shownme into his mansion, informed me that such was his name, I knew that thehouse at which I now found myself was the place of meeting agreed uponbetween Nighthawk and Swartz, at their interview in Richmond. Here,also, the man and woman, rescued by Swartz on the Nottoway, had beenleft, on his way to Petersburg, as the spy had informed us in theWilderness.

  "Well, general," croaked Mr. Alibi, with a smile, and in a nasal voice,"wha--a--t's the news?"

  "I am only a lieutenant-colonel, Mr. Alibi."

  "Well, colonel, any thing stirring?"

  "Nothing, I think. Any news with you, Mr. Alibi? I have heard of youfrom a friend of yours."

  "Eh! And who mout that be, colonel?"

  "Mr. Nighthawk. Have you seen him lately?"

  "Na--a--a--w," said Mr. Alibi, with a prolonged drawl through his nose,and flapping his arms in an uncouth fashion, "I ain't seen him for along spell now."

  "Nor Swartz, either?"

  Mr. Alibi looked keenly at me.

  "Na--a--a--w, nor him nuther, leftenant-colonel."

  "Leave out the 'leftenant,' my dear Mr. Alibi; and call me 'colonel'--itis shorter," I said, laughing, as I looked at the queer figure. "Andso you have not seen Swartz lately? He made an appointment to meetNighthawk here."

  "Made an app'intment, did he, leftenant--least ways, colonel?"

  "Yes."

  "With Mr. Nighthawk?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, I reckon they are both dead, or they'd 'a' kept theirapp'intment."

  "Nighthawk dead!"

  "He must be, sartain."

  "You are mistaken, friend Alibi," said a voice behind him.

  And Nighthawk, in person, entered the house.

  XXVII.

  STARVATION.

  Nighthawk had appeared, as was his wont, as if he had risen from theearth.

  But this circumstance disappeared from my mind at once. I was looking athis face. It had completely lost its benignant expression; was pale,and bore marks of great fatigue. Something of the old clerical benignitycame to the eyes as he greeted me cordially; but sitting down in thenearest chair, as though completely wearied out, he became as dispiritedas before.

  "And what mout be the matter with you, Mr. Nighthawk?" said Mr. Alibi:"you look 's if the night hags had been a-riding of you with spurs on."

  And Mr. Alibi flapped his wings, stretched out his neck, and seemedabout to cackle.

  "I am tired, Alibi," said Nighthawk, briefly, "go to the spring and getme some fresh water. You needn't come back in a hurry, as I wish to talkwith Colonel Surry."

  And Mr. Nighthawk rose, and carelessly sat down near the window, throughwhich he could reconnoitre.

  The object of this movement was soon evident. Mr. Alibi took a bucket,and went out as though to seek the spring. When he had gone a few paces,however, he turned to the right and disappeared behind the house, towardthe opposite window, which was open.

  Nighthawk rose, went to the door, and caught Mr. Alibieavesdropping--the result of which was that the penguin hastily movedoff, muttering. In a minute he had shambled along and disappeared.

  No sooner had his figure vanished than Nighthawk turned hastily towardme.

  "Will you go with me to-night, colonel, on an expedition I intend tomake?" he said.

  "An expedition, Nighthawk?"

  "A work of mercy, colonel; let us talk quickly. That man, Alibi, isa spy--for both sides--and I wish to arrange every thing before hereturns."

  "Explain, Nighthawk."

  "I will, colonel. Do you remember that night in Richmond, when Swartzmade an appointment to meet me at a house near Monk's Neck?"

  "Perfectly."

  "Well, this is the house,--and I expected important results from thatmeeting. Unfortunately, I was prevented, by some pickets who arrestedme, from reaching this spot on the appointed day. I was here two daysafterward, however--asked for Swartz--he had not been here--and as thatwas the most unaccountable thing in the world to me, I set out to findhim."

  "In the enemy's lines?"

  "Yes, colonel. I had no doubt I would come across him somewhere. So Iwent through the country behind the Federal lines; looked everywhere formy man, have been looking ever since I left you--and at last have foundhim."

  "Where?"

  "In the upper room of a deserted house, not three miles from this place,within the enemy's picket line."

  "The upper room of a deserted house?"

  '"Confined--put to starve there, colonel! The work of Darke, and thatshe-devil who goes about with him, I am willing to swear, colonel!"

  "Good heavens! Is it possible?" I said, "Swartz is shut up and left tostarve?"

  "Exactly, colonel--and here is how I know it. I was coming back, wornout by my long search after Swartz, when in passing this house, I camesuddenly upon a picket of about fifty men. To avoid being seen, I ran,being on foot, and got behind the house. I had no sooner done so, thanI heard groans from the upper part of it--and as the house was entirelyuninhabited, these sounds excited my curiosity--not to say astonishment.Well, I determined to, find the origin of them. I crawled through abroken window--reached the second floor by a dusty staircase, andwent straight toward a door, behind which I heard the groaning. Itwas heavily locked, and I could not even shake it. Then I ran to thepartition between the room and the passage--found it made of boards,between the cracks of which I could see--and looking in, I saw Swartz!He was sitting on an old broken chair, beside a table with three legs,and his hand was buried in his hair, as if he was trying to tear it out.

  "When I called to him, he started, and his groans stopped. He turned hishead. No sooner had he recognized me than he cried out with joy; and forsome moments he could say nothing but 'Save me! save me! Nighthawk! Theyare starving me to death!'

  "I will not lengthen out my story, colonel. I see Alibi coming back. Ihad scarcely exchanged ten words with Swartz, when I heard the gallop ofa horse, and running to the window, saw _that woman_ get off. A second'sreflection told me that she was coming into the house; I knew that,if discovered, I would be shot or taken prisoner--and I decided on mycourse in a minute. I said to Swartz, 'wait a few hours--I will go andbring you help.' I glided through a back window, dropped to the ground,ran into the bushes--and here I am, colonel, waiting for night to come,to return and rescue Swartz."

  "Can you do so?"

  "With one companion--to look out while I pick the lock."

  "Good--I'll go with you; and provide for contingencies, too."

  I had seen a cavalryman passing along the road in front of the house,and as Mr. Alibi came in at the same moment, I sent him to hail thewayfarer, and bring him to the house. As soon as Mr. Alibi had left uson his errand, I tore a sheet from my note-book, obtained from Nighthawkan exact description of the locality where Swartz was confined, andwriting a note to Mohun, informed him of our intention. If he could senda squadron of cavalry to drive in the picket near
the house, it wouldinsure the success of our design, I added.

  As I finished this note, Mr. Alibi appeared with the cavalryman. Heproved to belong to Mohun's command. I entrusted the note tohim, cautioning him that it was important, and must reach Mohunpromptly--then I looked at my watch.

  It was four o'clock. Already the sun was declining toward the woodedhorizon; I looked toward it, and then at Nighthawk, who nodded.

  "In an hour, colonel," he said, "and as I am broken down, I will sleep."

  With these words, Nighthawk leaned back in his split-bottom chair,covered his face with his handkerchief, and in ten seconds his long,quiet breathing showed plainly that he was asleep.

  "A cur'ous man, leftenant-colonel! a cur'ous man is Mr. Nighthawk!" saidMr. Alibi.

  And he flapped his arms, and wriggled about in a manner so extraordinarythat he looked more like a penguin than ever.

  XXVIII.

  BIRDS OF PREY.

  Night came on. I left my horse at Mr. Alibi's; set off on foot withNighthawk; crossed the Rowanty, separating the opposing pickets, by amoss-covered log, in a shadowy nook, and was approaching the house inwhich Swartz was shut up.

  Nighthawk moved with the stealthy and gliding step of a wildcat. I couldsee the man was a born scout; intended by nature for the calling he hadadopted--secret service. He scarcely uttered a word; when he did, it wasin tones so low that they were lost in the whisper of the wind, amid thegreat trailing vines depending from the trees, and I was compelled tolean my ear close to catch the words.