CHAPTER XLIII
Lee hurried to Spottsylvania Court House and was entrenched before Grant arrived. The two armies again flew at each other's throat. True to Lee's prediction the Union Commander hurled Sheridan's full force of ten thousand cavalry in a desperate effort to turn the right and strike Richmond while the Confederate infantry were held in a grip of death.
From a hilltop Stuart saw the coming blue legions of Sheridan. They rode four abreast and made a column of flashing sabers and fluttering guidons thirteen miles long.
The young Cavalier waved his plumed hat and gave a shout. It was magnificent. He envied them the endless line of fine horses. He had but three small brigades to oppose them. But his spirits rose.
He ordered his generals to harass the advancing host at every point of vantage, delay them as long as possible and draw up their forces at Yellow Tavern for the battle.
He took time to dash across the country from Beaver Dam Station to see his wife and babies. He had left them at the house of Edmund Fontaine. He feared that the Federal Cavalry might have raided the section.
To his joy he found them well and happy, unconscious of the impending fight.
For the first time in his joyous life of song and play and war he was worried.
His wife was in high spirits. She cheered him.
"Don't worry about us, my soldier man! We're all right. No harm has ever befallen us. We've had three glorious years playing lovers' hide-and-seek. I've ceased to worry about you. Your life is charmed. God has heard my prayers. You're coming home soon to play with me and the babies always!"
She was too happy for Stuart to describe the host of ten thousand riders which he had just seen. Their lives were in God's hands. It was enough.
He held her in his arms longer than was his wont at parting. And then with a laugh and a shout to the children he was gone.
At Jerrold's Mill, Wickham's brigade suddenly fell on Sheridan's rear guard and captured a company. Sheridan refused to stop to fight.
At Mitchell's Shop, Wickham again dashed on the rear guard and was forced back by a counter charge. As he retreated, fighting a desperate hand-to-hand saber engagement, Fitzhugh Lee and Stuart rushed to his aid and the blue river rolled on again toward Richmond.
At Hanover Junction Stuart allowed his men to sleep until one o'clock and then rode with desperate speed to Yellow Tavern. He reached his chosen battle ground at ten o'clock the following morning. He had won the race and at once deployed his forces to meet the coming avalanche.
Wickham he stationed on the right of the road, Lomax on the left. He placed two guns in the road, one on the left to rake it at an angle.
He dismounted his men and ordered them to fight as infantry. A reserve of mounted men were held in his rear.
He sent his aide into Richmond to inquire of its defenses and warn
General Bragg of the sweeping legions. The Commandant at the Confederate
Capital replied that he could hold his trenches. He would call on
Petersburg for reinforcements. He asked Stuart to hold Sheridan back as
long as possible.
On the morning of the eleventh of May, at 6:30, he wrote his dispatch to
Lee:
"Fighting against immense odds of Sheridan. My men and horses are tired, hungry and jaded, but all right!"
It was four o'clock before Sheridan struck Yellow Tavern. With skill and dash he threw an entire brigade on Stuart's left, broke his line, rolled it up and captured his two guns. Stuart ordered at once a reserve squadron to charge the advancing Federals. With desperate courage they drove them back in a hand-to-hand combat, saber ringing on saber to the shout and yell of savages.
As the struggling, surging mass of blue riders rolled back in confusion, Stuart rode into the scene cheering his men. A man in blue, whose horse had been shot from under him, fired his revolver pointblank at Stuart. The shot entered his body just above the belt and the magnificent head with the waving plume drooped on his breast.
Captain Dorsey hurried to his assistance. There were but a handful of his men between him and the Federal line, The wounded Commander was in danger of being captured by a sudden dash of reserves. He was lifted off his horse and he leaned against a tree.
Stuart raised his head.
"Go back now, Dorsey, to your men."
"Not until you're safe, sir."
As the ambulance passed through his broken ranks in the rear, he lifted himself on his elbow and rallied his men with a brave shout:
"Go back! Go back to your duty, men! And our country will be safe. Go back! Go back! I'd rather die than be whipped."
The men rallied and rushed to the firing line. They fought so well that Sheridan lost the way to Richmond and the Capital of the Confederacy was saved.
The wounded Commander was taken to the home of his brother-in-law, Dr. Charles Brewer, in Richmond. He had suffered agonies on the rough journey but bore his pain with grim cheerfulness.
He had sent a swift messenger to his wife. He knew she would reach
Richmond the next day.
The following morning Major McClellan, his aide, rode in from the battlefield to report to General Bragg. Having delivered his message he hurried to the bedside of his beloved Chief.
The doctor shook his head gravely.
"Inflammation has set in, Major—"
"My God, is there no hope?"
"None."
The singing, rollicking, daring young Cavalier felt the hand of death on his shoulder. He was calm and cheerful. His bright words were broken by paroxysms of suffering. He would merely close his shining blue eyes and wait.
He directed his aide to dispose of his official papers.
He touched McClellan's hand and the Major's closed over it.
"I wish you to have one of my horses and Venable the other."
McClellan nodded.
"Which of you is the heavier?"
"Venable, sir."
"All right, give him the gray. You take the bay."
The pain choked him into silence again. At last he opened his eyes.
"You'll find in my hat a small Confederate flag which a lady in Columbia, South Carolina, sent me with the request that I wear it on my horse in a battle and return it to her. Send it."
Again the agony stilled the musical voice.
"My spurs," he went on, "which I have always worn in battle, I promised to Mrs. Lilly Lee of Shepherdstown, Virginia—"
He paused.
"My sword—I leave—to—my—son."
A cannon roared outside the city. With quick eagerness he asked:
"What's that?"
"Gracey's brigade has moved out against Sheridan's rear as he retreats.
Fitz Lee is fighting them still at Meadow Bridge."
He turned his blue eyes upward and prayed:
"God grant they may win—"
He moved his head aside and said:
"I must prepare for another world."
He listened to the roar of the guns for a moment and signaled to his aide:
"Major, Fitz Lee may need you."
McClellan pressed his hand and hurried to the front.
As he passed out the tall figure of the President of the Confederacy entered. Jefferson Davis sat by his side and held his hand. He loved his daring young Cavalry Commander. He had made him a Major-General at thirty. He was dying now at thirty-one. The tragedy found the heart of the sorrowful leader of all the South.
When the Reverend Dr. Peterkin entered he said:
"Now I want you to sing for me the old song I love best—
"'Rock of Ages cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee—'"
With failing breath he joined in the song.
A paroxysm of pain gripped him and he asked the doctor:
"Can I survive the night?"
"No, General. The end is near."
He was silent. And then slowly said:
"I am resigned if it be God's will.
But—I—would—like—to—see—my—wife—"
The beautiful voice sank into eternal silence.
So passed the greatest cavalry leader our country has produced. A man whose joyous life was a long wish of good will toward all of his fellow men.
The little mother heard the news as she rode in hot haste over the rough roads to Richmond. The hideous thing was beyond belief, but it had come. She had heard the roar of battle for three years and after each bloody day he had come with a smile on his lips and a stronger love in his brave heart. She had ceased to fear his death in battle. God had promised her in prayer to spare him. Only once had a bullet cut his clothes.
And now he was dead.
But yesterday he dashed across the country from his line of march, and, even while the conflict raged, held her in his arms and crooned over her.
The tears had flowed for two hours before she reached the house of death. She could weep no longer.
A sister's arm encircled her waist and led her unseeing eyes into the room. There was no wild outburst of grief at the sight of his cold body.
She stooped to kiss the loved lips, placed her hand on the high forehead and drew back at its chill. She stood in dumb anguish until her sister in alarm said:
"Come, dear, to my room."
The set, blue eyes never moved from the face of her dead.
"It's wrong. It's wrong. It's all wrong—this hideous murder of our loved ones! Why must they send my husband to kill my father? Why must they send my father to kill the father of my babies? Why didn't they stop this a year ago? It must end some time. Why did they ever begin it? Why must brother kill his brother? My father, thank God, didn't kill him. But little Phil Sheridan, his schoolmate, did. And he never spoke an unkind word about him in his life! His heart was overflowing with joy and love. He sang when he rode into battle—"
She paused and a tear stole down her cheeks at last.
"Poor boy, he loved its wild din and roar. It was play to his daring spirit."
A sob caught her voice and then it rose in fierce rebellion:
"Where was God when he fell? He was thirty-one years old, in the glory of a beautiful life—"
Her sister spoke in gentle sympathy.
"His fame fills the world, dear."
"Fame? Fame? What is that to me, now? I stretch out my hand, and it's ashes. My arms are empty. My heart is broken. Life isn't worth the living."
Her voice drifted into a dreamy silence as the tears streamed down her cheeks. She stood for half an hour staring through blurred eyes at the cold clay.
She turned at last and seized her sister's hands both in hers, and gazed with a strange, set look that saw something beyond time and the things of sense.
"My dear sister, God will yet give to the mothers of men the power to stop this murder. There's a better way. There's a better way,"