"That is what I came here, to-night, to say to you, sir. I am awretch--I know that--it is a dishonor to touch my hand, stained withevery vice, and much crime. But I am not entirely lost, though Itold--my father--so, when I met him, not long since. Even a dog willnot turn and bite the hand that has been kind to him. I was a gentlemanonce, and am a vulgar fellow now--but there is something worse thancrime, in my estimation; it is cowardice and ingratitude. You shall notcontinue to despise my father; he is innocent of that murder. You haveno right to continue your opposition to my brother's marriage with yourdaughter, for he is not the son of the murderer of your brother. _I_count for nothing in this. I am not my father's son, or my brother'sbrother. I am an outcast--a lost man--dead, as far as they areconcerned. It was to tell you this that I have come here to-night--andfor that only."
"And--this woman?" said Judge Conway, pale, and glaring at the speaker.
"Let her speak for herself," said Darke, coldly.
"I will do so, with pleasure," said the woman, coolly, but with anintensely satirical smile. That smile chilled me--it was worse than anyexcess of rage. The glance she threw upon Georgia Conway was one of suchprofound, if covert, hatred, that it drove my hand to my hilt as thoughto grasp some weapon.
"I will be brief," continued the woman, rising slowly, and looking atGeorgia Conway, with that dagger-like smile. "General Darke-Davenant hasrelated a pleasing little history. I will relate another, and addressmyself more particularly to Judge Conway--my dear uncle. He does not,or will not, recognize me; and I suppose I may have changed. But that isnot important. I am none the less Lucretia Conway. You do not rememberthat young lady, perhaps, sir; your proud Conway blood has banishedfrom your memory the very fact of her former existence. And yet sheexisted--she exists still--she is speaking to you--unbosoming herself inthe midst of her dear family! But to tell my little story--it will nottake many minutes. I was born here, you remember, uncle, and grew upwhat is called headstrong. At sixteen, I fell in love with a youngAdonis with a mustache; and, as you and the rest opposed my marriage,obdurately refusing your consent, I yielded to the eloquence of Mr.Adonis, and eloped with him, going to the North. Here we had a quarrel.I grew angry, and slapped Adonis; and he took his revenge by departingwithout leaving me a wedding-ring to recall his dear image. Then I metthat gentleman--General Darke-Mortimer-Davenant! We took a fancy to eachother; we became friends; and soon afterward travelled to the South,stopping in Dinwiddie. Here I made the acquaintance of GeneralMohun--there he stands; he fell desperately in love with me--marriedme--Parson Hope will tell you that--and then attempted to murder me,without rhyme or reason. Luckily, I made my escape from the monster!rejoined my friend, General Darke-Davenant; the war came on; I cameback here; have been lately arrested, but escaped by bribing the rebeljailers; only, however, to find that my naughty husband is going tomarry my cousin Georgia! Can you wonder, then, that I have exertedmyself to be present at the interesting ceremony? That I have yielded tomy fond affection, and come to say to my dear Georgia, 'Don't marry myhusband, cousin!' And yet you frown at me--you evidently hate me--youthink I am _lying_--that I was married before, perhaps. Well, if thatbe the case, where is the proof of that marriage?" "Here it is!" said avoice, which made the woman turn suddenly.
And opening the heavy window-curtains, which had, up to this moment,concealed him, Nighthawk advanced into the apartment, holding in hishand a paper.
A wild rage filled the eyes of the woman, but now so smiling. Her handdarted to her bosom, and I saw the gleam of a poniard.
"This paper," said Nighthawk, coolly, "was found on the dead body of aman named Alibi, who had stolen it. See, Judge Conway; it is in regularform. 'At Utica, New York, Mortimer Davenant to Lucretia Conway.'Attested by seal and signature. There can be no doubt of itsgenuineness."
Suddenly a hoarse exclamation was heard, and a poniard gleamed in thehand of the woman.
With a single bound, she reached Georgia Conway, and struck at herheart. The corsage of the young lady, however, turned the poniard, andat the same instant a thundering volley of musketry resounded without.
Furious cries were then heard; the wild trampling of horses; and a loudvoice ordering:--
"Put them to the bayonet!"
Darke drew his sword, and reached the side of the woman at a bound.Throwing his arms around her, he raised her, and rushed, with hisburden, through the hall, toward the lawn, where a fierce combat was inprogress.
Suddenly the woman uttered a wild cry, and relaxed her grasp upon hisneck. A bullet had buried itself in her bosom.
Darke's hoarse and menacing voice echoed the cry; but he did not releasethe body; with superhuman strength he raised it aloft, and bounded downthe steps.
As he reached the bottom, a man rushed upon him, and drove his bayonetthrough his breast. It was withdrawn, streaming with blood.
"Put all to the bayonet!" shouted the voice of General Davenant, as hecharged with his young son, Charles, beside him.
At that voice Darke stretched out both hands, and dropping his sword,uttered a cry, which attracted the general's attention.
For an instant they stood facing each other--unutterable horror in theeyes of General Davenant.
"I am--done for," exclaimed Darke, a bloody foam rushing to his lips,"but--I have told him--that _I_ was the murderer--that _you_ wereinnocent. Give me your hand, father!"
General Davenant leaped to the ground, and with a piteous groan receivedthe dying man in his arms.
"I am a wretch--I know that--but I was a Davenant once"--came in lowmurmurs. "Tell Will, he can marry now, for I will be dead--kiss me once,Charley!"
The weeping boy threw himself upon his knees, and pressed his lips tothose of his brother.
As he did so, the wounded man fell back in his father's arms, andexpired.
XXI.
FIVE FORKS.
On the day after these events, Lee's extreme right at Five Forks, wasfuriously attacked, and in spite of heroic resistance, the little forceunder Pickett and Fitzhugh Lee was completely routed and dispersed.
Do you regard that term "heroic," as merely rhetorical, reader?
Hear a Northern writer, a wearer of blue, but too honest not to givebrave men their due:--
"Having gained the White Oak road, Warren changed front again to theright, and advanced westward, so continually to take in flank andrear whatever hostile force still continued to hold the right of theConfederate line. This had originally been about three miles in extent,but above two-thirds of it were now carried. Yet, vital in all itsparts, what of the two divisions remained, still continued the combatwith unyielding mettle. Parrying the thrusts of the cavalry from thefront, this poor scratch of a force threw back its left in a new andshort crochet, so as to meet the advance of Warren, who continued topress in at right angles to the White Oak road. When the infantry,greatly elated with their success, but somewhat disorganized by marchingand fighting so long in the woods, arrived before this new line, theyhalted and opened an untimely fusillade, though there had been ordersnot to halt. The officers, indeed, urged their men forward, but theycontinued to fire without advancing. Seeing this hesitation, Warrendashed forward, calling to those near him to follow. Inspired by hisexample, the color-bearers and officers all along the front, sprangout, and without more firing, the men charged at the _pas de course_,capturing all that remained of the enemy. The history of the warpresents no equally splendid illustration of personal magnetism....A charge of the cavalry completed the rout, and the remnants of thedivisions of Pickett and Johnson fled westward from Five Forks, pursuedfor many miles, and until long after dark, by the mounted divisions ofMerritt and McKenzie."
That is picturesque, is it not? It is amusing, too--though so tragic.
You can see that "poor scratch of a force" fighting to the death, canyou not? You can see the poor little handful attacked by Sheridan'scrack cavalry corps in front, and then suddenly by Warren's superbinfantry corps in both their flank and rear. You can see them, game tothe last
, throwing back their left in the crochet to meet Warren; seethat good soldier cheering on his men "greatly elated," but "somewhatdisorganized," too--so much so that they suddenly halt, and require the"personal magnetism" of the general to inspire them, and bring them upto the work. Then the little scratch gives way--they are a handful,and two corps are pressing them. They have "continued the combat withunyielding mettle," as long as they could--now they are driven; and onrushes the thundering cavaliers to destroy them! Sound the bugles! Outwith sabres! charge! ride over them! "Hurra!" So'the little scratchdisappears.
General Warren, who won that fight, was a brave man, and did not boastof it. Tell me, general--you are honest--is any laurel in your hardwonwreath, labelled "Five Forks?" It would be insulting that other laurellabelled "Gettysburg," where you saved Meade!
In that bitter and desperate fight, Corse's infantry brigade and Lee'scavalry won a renown which can never be taken from them. The infantryremained unbroken to the last moment; and a charge of Lee's cavalry uponSheridan's drove them back, well nigh routed.
But nothing could avail against such numbers. The Confederate infantry,cavalry, and artillery at last gave way. Overwhelmed by the great force,they were shattered and driven. Night descended upon a battlefieldcovered with heaps of dead and wounded, the blue mingled with the gray.
Among those wounded, mortally to all appearances, was Willie Davenant.He had fought with the courage of the bull-dog which lay _perdu_ underthe shy bearing of the boy. All the army had come to recognize it, bythis time; and such was the high estimate which General R.E. Lee placedupon him, that it is said he was about to be offered the command of abrigade of infantry. Before this promotion reached him, however, thegreat crash came; and the brave youth was to fall upon the field of FiveForks, where he fought his guns obstinately to the very last.
It was just at nightfall that he fell, with a bullet through his breast.
The enemy were pressing on hotly, and there was no time to bring offthe wounded officer. It seemed useless, too. He lay at full length, ina pool of blood, and was breathing heavily. To attempt to move him, evenif it were possible, threatened him with instant death.
A touching incident followed. The enemy carried Five Forks as nightdescended. They had advanced so early, that Judge Conway and hisdaughters had had no time to leave their home. Compelled to remainthus, they did not forget their duty to the brave defenders of theConfederacy, and when the firing ceased, the old statesman and hisdaughters went to succor the wounded.
Among the first bodies which they saw was that of Will Davenant. Onegleam of the lantern carried by the Federal surgeon told all; andVirginia Conway with a low moan knelt down and raised the head of thewounded boy, placing it upon her bosom.
As she did so, he sighed faintly, and opening his eyes, looked up intoher face. The blood rushed to his cheeks; he attempted to stretch outhis arms; then falling back upon her bosom the young officer fainted.
A cry from the girl attracted the attention of the Federal surgeon whowas attending to the wounded Federalists. He was a kind-hearted man, andcame to the spot whence he had heard the cry.
"He is dying!" moaned the poor girl, with bloodless cheeks. "Can you donothing for him? Oh, save him, sir!--only save him!--have pity upon me!"
She could say no more.
The surgeon bent over and examined the wound. When he had done so, heshook his head.
"His wound is mortal, I am afraid," he said, "but I will do all I canfor him."
And with a rapid hand he stanched the blood, and bandaged the wound.
The boy had not stirred. He remained still, with his head leaning uponthe girl's breast.
"Can he live?" she murmured, in a tone almost inaudible.
"If he is not moved, he may possibly live; but if he is moved his deathis certain. The least change in the position of his body, for some hoursfrom this time, will be fatal."
"Then he shall not have to change his position!" exclaimed the girl.
And, with the pale face still lying upon her bosom, she remainedimmovable.
Throughout all the long night she did not move or disturb the youth. Hehad fallen into a deep sleep, and his head still lay upon her bosom.
Who can tell what thoughts came to that brave child as she thus watchedover his sleep? The long hours on the lonely battle-field, full of thedead and dying, slowly dragged on. The great dipper wheeled in circle;the moon rose; the dawn came; still the girl, with the groans of thedying around her, held the wounded boy in her arms.[1]
[Footnote 1: Fact.]
Is there a painter in Virginia who desires a great subject? There it is;and it is historical.
When the sun rose, Willie Davenant opened his eyes, and gazed up intoher face. Their glances met; their blushing cheeks were near each other;the presence of her, whom he loved so much, seemed to have brought backlife to the shattered frame.
An hour afterward he was moved to "Five Forks," where he was tenderlycared for. The old statesman had forgotten his life-long prejudice, andwas the first to do all in his power to save the boy.
A month afterward he was convalescent. A week more and he was well. Inthe summer of 1865 he was married to Virginia Conway.
As for Mohun, his marriage ceremony, so singularly interrupted, had beenresumed and completed an hour after the death of the unfortunate Darkeand his companion.
XXII.
"THE LINE HAS BEEN STRETCHED UNTIL IT HAS BROKEN, COLONEL.".
At nightfall, on the first of April, the immense struggle had reallyended.
Lee's whole right was swept away; he was hemmed in, in Petersburg; whatremained for General Grant was only to give the _coup de grace_ to thegreat adversary, who still confronted him, torn and shattered, but witha will and courage wholly unbroken.
It is not an exaggeration, reader. Judge for yourself. I am to showyou Lee as I saw him in this moment of terrible trial: still undaunted,raising his head proudly amid the crash of all around him; great in thehour of victory; in the hour of ruin, sublime.
Grant attacked again at dawn, on the morning of the second of April. Itwas Sunday, but no peaceful church-bells disturbed the spring air. Theroar of cannon was heard, instead, hoarse and menacing, in the verysuburbs of the devoted city.
There was no hope now--all was ended--but the Confederate arms were tosnatch a last, and supreme laurel, which time can not wither. Attackedin Fort Gregg, by General Gibbon, Harris's Mississippi brigade, of twohundred and fifty men, made one of those struggles which throw theirsplendor along the paths of history.
"This handful of skilled marksmen," says a Northern writer, "conductedthe defence with such intrepidity, that Gibbon's forces, surgingrepeatedly against it, were each time thrown back."
That is the generous but cold statement of an opponent; but it issufficient. It was not until seven o'clock that Gibbon stormed the fort.Thirty men only out of the two hundred and fifty were left, but theywere still fighting.
In the attack the Federal loss was "about five hundred men," says thewriter above quoted.
So fell Lee's last stronghold on this vital part of his lines. Anothermisfortune soon followed. The gallant A.P. Hill, riding ahead of hismen, was fired on and killed, by a small detachment of the enemy whom hehad halted and ordered to surrender.
He fell from his horse, and was borne back, already dying. That night,amid the thunder of the exploding magazines, the commander, first,of the "light division," and then of a great corps--the hero of ColdHarbor, Sharpsburg, and a hundred other battles--was buried in the citycemetery, just in time to avoid seeing the flag he had fought under,lowered.
Peace to the ashes of that brave! Old Virginia had no son more faithful!
Fort Gregg was the last obstacle. At ten o'clock that had fallen, heavymasses of the enemy were pushing forward. Their bristling battalions,and long lines of artillery had advanced nearly to General Lee'shead-quarters, a mile west of Petersburg.
As the great blue wave surged forward, General Lee, in full-dressuniform, an
d wearing his gold-hilted sword, looked at them through hisfield glasses from the lawn, in front of his head-quarters, on foot, andsurrounded by his staff. I have never seen him more composed. Chancingto address him, he saluted me with the calmest and most scrupulouscourtesy; and his voice was as measured and unmoved as though he wereattending a parade. Do you laugh at us, friends of the North, for ourdevotion to Lee? You should have seen him that day, when ruin staredhim in the face; you would have known then, the texture of that stoutVirginia heart.
The enemy's column literally rushed on. Our artillery, on a hill nearby, had opened a rapid fire on the head of the column; the enemy'sobject was to gain shelter under a crest, in their front.
They soon gained it; formed line of battle, and charged the guns.
Then all was over. The bullets rained, in a hurtling tempest on thecannoneer; the blue line came on with loud shouts; and the pieces werebrought off at a gallop, followed by a hailstorm of musket-balls.
Suddenly the Federal artillery opened from a hill behind their line.General Lee had mounted his iron-gray, and was slowly retiring towardPetersburg, surrounded by his officers. His appearance was superb atthis moment--and I still see the erect form of the proud old cavalier;his hand curbing his restive horse; his head turned over his shoulder;his face calm, collected, and full of that courage which nothing couldbreak.
All at once a shell screamed from the Federal battery, and burstingclose to the general, tore up the ground in a dozen places. The horseof an officer at his side was mortally wounded by a fragment, andfell beneath his rider other animals darted onward, with hangingbridle-reins, cut by the shell--but I was looking at General Lee,feeling certain that he must have been wounded.
Mohun; Or, the Last Days of Lee and His Paladins. Page 49
