“And General Grant?”
“Is gone after Lee.”
“And Lee?”
“In full retreat down the valley, half his army destroyed, the other half doomed.”
“So Richmond is ours. Thank Heaven! But oh, why did you set the city on fire? Was that necessary?”
“We set the city on fire! No, thank Heaven, Miss Conyers, the crime of burning this beautiful city does not rest on our souls. It seems to have been set on fire either by the evacuating party or by the excited mob, we do not know which, but we do know that when we marched in we found the city in flames, and that our first business was to go to work, as fast as we could, to put it out. And although the wretches that fired the city also cut the hose, we are still, by the blessing of God, bringing the flames under.”
“Thank Heaven for that! Tell me more news of our friends. Who has fallen? Who survive?”
“Miss Conyers, it seems to me, speaking broadly, that all who are not killed are promoted. Among the killed, Miss Conyers, is that gallant young fellow they used to call the ‘Destroying Angel,’ on account of his fiery impetuosity.”
“Who?” inquired Britomarte.
“You know—he who was so adored in the whole brigade. What was his name again? I am the worst hand at names. I seem to get the idea without the word. What was it again? Bird?—no. Dash?—no. Spring?—no. But it was something with a rush in it. Wing! That was it. Ah, poor fellow!”