House Divided (184 page)

After a time, Gordon and Fitz Lee departed, and Longstreet came to where Trav and the others waited. Manning had the General's horse; and Longstreet mounted before speaking. “There is cavalry, and possibly infantry, across our road ahead,” he explained, as casually as though he spoke of posting sentries. “Gordon and Fitz Lee will brush them aside, as soon as it is light enough for work; and we'll march east by Campbell Court House. We'll close up the rear before daybreak, bring our men on as far as New Hope Church. See to it, gentlemen.”

Latrobe nodded. Back at their bivouac, Longstreet turned to his tent, and Trav led Nig through the wood into a moonlit field where the grass seemed good, and he lay down with the rein looped over his wrist. He tried to imagine what had passed in the council of the commanding generals tonight. Faced with the almost inevitable surrender, what were the thoughts of those men? What would surrender mean to them? Arrest? Trial? The traitor's noose? Fitz Lee and Gordon would presumably take flight to escape prosecution, but General Lee was too old and frail, yes and too valorous, to accept the part of a hunted fugitive; and certainly Longstreet would face a Yankee judge or a Yankee firing squad or even a Yankee hangman as steadily as he faced Yankee batteries. Yet surely, unless they fled, surrender would mean the arrest of all the higher officers of this army as traitors and felons. That was inevitable, at least for all who had been officers of the old army; and the knowledge must tonight have been in all their minds. They could foresee martial law, trials at the drumhead, quick execution of the fatal sentences. Trav was not a man of acute sensibilities,
but he could understand the bitterness of that dreadful hour when they knew themselves helpless, when abject submission seemed the only open road.

 

Trav's own thoughts bludgeoned him into an uneasy sleep. When the sound of firing roused him, the skies were gray. The early airs were damp. He got stiffly to his feet and saw with dull interest how close Nig had cropped the grass all about him as he lay. He had sprawled on his face with his head in his arms, and even between his spread legs and all around his elbows and his head the grass was eaten short. He must have slept soundly indeed, not to be waked by those grinding teeth so near his ears. The simple incident touched him profoundly, and he patted the big horse and stroked its muzzle and caressed it before he tightened the girth again.

When he came back to the road, the last regiments of the First Corps were moving on toward New Hope Church, and at the church he found line of battle being formed across the road. Colonel Latrobe explained the situation. “General Longstreet rode to the front at daylight,” he said. “He and General Lee wanted to see what Gordon and Fitz Lee might accomplish. This ridge seems to be a divide. There's a creek a little to the northwest that runs north and empties into the James, and there's another east of us that flows into Appomattox waters. We're extending our line each way to anchor it on those creeks.”

West of the church the road ran level through heavy woods. Trav looked that way, listening to the sounds of distant battle. “They're at it now. Over beyond the Court House.”

“Yes; but the firing doesn't move. If anything, it's coming this way.”

They both knew what that meant. Gordon and Fitz Lee had been unable to clear the road for the advance. After a time, the sounds of distant conflict slowed and ceased; but presently there were scattered shots in the woods east of the church, close on their rear. The enemy skirmishers must be feeling their line.

Colonel Latrobe said: “Well, Major, you had better find the General and tell him we are about to be under some pressure here.”

So Trav rode toward the front. After a mile or so, when byways
turned off to right and left, the road dropped into a valley; and he saw an old brick mansion masked by trees a little off to his right, and cultivated fields. He climbed out of that valley and topped a lesser ridge and came down to Lee's headquarters where last night he had seen the commanding generals in council.

Lee's tent was pitched under a towering white oak. Longstreet was there, standing beside a smoky fire. General Lee in a spotless uniform, wearing sword and sash, his boots high-polished and his spurs of gold, stood beyond the fire, talking with General Mahone. Mahone was a small man, thin and frail and with a long beard. There was a story in the army that when a messenger reported to Mrs. Mahone that he had a slight flesh wound, she retorted: “Slight? That must be serious, for the General has no flesh whatever!” Small though he was, the excellence of Mahone's mess was famous, and whenever possible he had not only a cow but a few laying hens near his headquarters; but in the fighting of these last months no one had done better work than he.

Trav had never seen General Lee so carefully dressed; and his heart rather than his mind understood. The commanding general was prepared to surrender. How long had this new uniform, that splendid sword and sash, those golden spurs been carried in his baggage? How long ago had General Lee first known certainly that some day this hour would come? How long ago had he thus prepared to go in seemly garb to the hour that would be like crucifixion? Trav, granted this glimpse into the great man's secret soul, felt his eyes sting with poignant understanding; he forgot his errand here, till General Longstreet came near and spoke.

“Well, Currain?”

 

Trav delivered Colonel Latrobe's message. As he finished, General Lee called Longstreet to him; and after a moment Longstreet returned. Since his useless arm made him awkward, Trav helped him mount and they rode toward the rear together. Longstreet spoke only once. “The commanding general asked my opinion, Currain. The question is of surrender. Gordon could not move the force in our front, and now Latrobe says the Yankees are feeling our rear. I asked if the sacrifice of this army would help our forces elsewhere in the
South. General Lee said it would not. I told him the situation spoke for itself, and Mahone agreed. So General Lee will go to call upon 'Lys Grant.”

Trav felt a great surge of relief. Surrender meant they could rest at last. To sleep, to lie down to untroubled slumber, even though it were with hunger for a bedfellow, would be bliss unspeakable. When they reached the church, Latrobe said the enemy appeared to be deploying to attack; and General Longstreet directed General Alexander to place his guns to meet the assault preparing.

Trav wished to cry out to them to stop! With the end so near, must still more blood be spilled upon last year's dried leaves, matted by winter's snow and rain, now lying sodden in the forest lanes? He might have yielded to that impulse of protest, but the hoof beats of horsemen caught his ear, and he turned and saw General Lee approaching. The commanding general seemed not to observe the battle deployment here across the road beside the church. Preceded by a flag, he rode at a foot pace through the thin ranks and on toward the Union front. The flag told his errand plain; and behind him silence lay.

Trav went toward where Longstreet, a little off the road, directed Field's men in strengthening their defensive lines. As he approached, a messenger came at a gallop to speak to Longstreet; and the General called Colonel Haskell and said a word to him. Haskell raced away, his mare at full stretch of utmost speed, along the road Lee had taken. There was a time of waiting when General Longstreet's steady voice as he gave directions was the only spoken sound. Then Colonel Haskell returned to report that Lee wished General Gordon to arrange for a truce on his front. Longstreet sent a messenger to Gordon, and he dismounted, and the slow minutes ticked away.

General Lee's flag had called a temporary truce here; the Union skirmishers drew no nearer. Trav's throat was dry with waiting. Messengers came and went, and at length an officer in a blue uniform, accompanied by two Confederates, rode full pelt to where Longstreet stood. The Yankee pulled his panting horse to its haunches with a flourish, and he swung to the ground. His long yellow hair was loose upon his shoulders, his shoulder straps were enormous, his red scarf was secured with a broad gold pin. Even before he spoke, Trav hated
this Yankee with an abysmal hatred; he hated him worse when the officer strode abruptly to face General Longstreet and cried in dramatic tones:

“In the name of General Sheridan, I demand the unconditional surrender of this army!”

General Longstreet surveyed the gorgeous individual from head to toe. “And who are you, sir?” he inquired, in dry wrath.

“General Custer.”

Longstreet stared at him under lowered brows, and he spoke more loudly. “Custer! Ah, yes! The hangman of Front Royal?” His voice rose another note, ringing in the silence. “Young man, you are within our lines without a shadow of authority——”

Custer cried furiously: “There is authority enough behind me! General Sheridan is in position to——”

Longstreet—and Trav almost smiled, remembering how often the big man was deaf when he did not wish to hear—proceeded as though the other had not spoken—“and subject to be shot at sight,” he said. He spoke in harsh contempt. “You are rash and ignorant and discourteous not only to me, your superior in rank, but to your own commander.” His voice rose higher still. “I am not the commanding general, my young friend; but if I were, I would receive no communication from you, nor from General Sheridan, nor from any other—” He growled the word, in a lower tone, like a blow. “From any other underling!”

The other flushed; he said in some embarrassment: “I thought only to prevent the spilling of more blood.” He glanced uneasily around the circle of angry eyes.

Longstreet said scornfully: “To spill blood, whether their own or the enemy's, is the business of soldiers, young man. You should not shrink at it, like some lily-fingered civilian! However, since you now moderate your tone, I will say to you that General Lee has ridden to meet your commanding officers.”

Custer bowed low; and thus dismissed, he turned away. There was a smile and a stir behind him, and when he was out of hearing, Longstreet chuckled. “Well, gentlemen,” he told them, “that did me a world of good!”

Trav saw Custer pause by his horse, which was still badly blown;
and with a sharp pleasure he recognized Rollin Lyle in the group there. Custer spoke to Colonel Haskell and they stood for a moment in conversation before Custer mounted. At a sign from Haskell, a trooper kept the Yankee company as he rode away.

Trav went to speak to Rollin, and the boy's scarred face lighted with pleasure. Trav said he had seen Vesta in Richmond, and Rollin nodded.

“Yes sir, I had a moment with her.”

“Then you came through Richmond?”

“Yes sir. You know we were between the Williamsburg Turnpike and the Nine-Mile Road, quartered there all winter. But after dark Sunday we moved down to the Charles City Road and made a demonstration and held on there till sunrise before returning to the River Road and falling back to Richmond.”

“That made it pretty close work, didn't it?”

Rollin said soberly: “Yes, sir, it did. We could see the glare of the fire even before we started for Richmond. We were under pressure by their pickets when we rode in past Rockett's, and the whole city from the Capitol to the river seemed to be on fire, and the damnedest mob of hideous human beings you can imagine was in the streets, drinking, yelling, fighting. Lots of men in the mob. They say there were at least five thousand deserters hiding in the city, but they came out of hiding that morning.” And he said: “The fire was on both sides of Main Street, so we turned up Twentieth Street to Franklin, and I raced ahead through Capitol Square to the house.” He grinned. “I was almost cut off. The Yankees came in by Main Street, so I had to go down Fifth and along the river bank to the bridge.”

“How bad was the fire?”

“Why, everything between the river and Capitol Square was burning,” Rollin told him. “And as far west as Gamble's Hill, I guess. We stopped on the hill in Manchester after we got across the river, and we could look right down into it.”

Trav nodded. “Hard work since?”

Rollin's lips twisted in a grin. “Some, yes sir. Some funny things, too. A grass fire burned us out of our blankets one night at Amelia Court House, but we found a barrel of apple brandy and filled our canteens, so we didn't mind that very much. We had some fighting
at Amelia Springs and at Farmville, and again around the Court House ahead, last night.” He pointed along the road. “And when that Yankee show-off headed this way I came along to see what he was up to.”

“What did he have to say after General Longstreet dismissed him, here just now?”

Rollin laughed. “He wanted to buy Colonel Haskell's mare,” he explained. “That crow bait of his was all but foundered. Colonel Haskell said he could neither buy the mare nor steal it; and then the Colonel asked whether Frank Huger was alive, and he said: ‘I notice you're wearing his spurs.' So General Custer reddened up and said he was saving the spurs for Colonel Huger; and he asked for an escort back to his lines and rode away.”

Someone spoke sharply: “Here's General Lee!” That silenced them all. The commanding general acknowledged their salutes, and he said:

“Gentlemen, General Grant has gone to Appomattox Court House; so I did not meet him. He left orders to attack our lines here; but if those people advance against you, I hope you will hold your fire as long as you can. There will be a truce presently.”

Even as he spoke, a flag from General Meade said he had ordered a truce for long enough to allow the commanding generals to meet. Lee thanked the messenger; he called Longstreet and they rode toward the advance together.

 

Trav and Latrobe followed at a respectful distance. When they emerged from the forest below Lee's headquarters, they pulled up to survey the scene. Below them, the valley sloped down to the north branch of the Appomattox; and along the willow-fringed stream and across the road, Gordon's men, drawn back from the village yonder after their repulse this morning, were extended in a disorganized and ragged line. The slopes were a scrambled litter of wagons and ambulances, some with horses, some without. Exhausted men sprawled at random everywhere, except where General Alexander's guns, thrown into position as a rallying point for the forces beaten back in the morning fight, still held an ordered line on the left and right of the road. Beyond the stream the road ascended, curving slightly to the right
around a bold shoulder of the hill; and through the trees they could see the tops of houses and of the court house in the village there.