“We are cut to pieces, general!” he said, with something like a fiery tear in his eye. “We did our best, and we drove them!—but were not supported. My brigade—my brave old brigade is gone! This is my boy—I brought him out—but he is dying too!”
The hoarse tones and fiery tears of the old cavalier made my heart beat. I could see a quick flush rise to the face of General Lee. He looked at the pale face of the boy, over which the disordered curls fell, with a glance of inexpressible sympathy and sweetness. Then stretching out his hand, he pressed the hand of General Davenant, and said in his deep grave voice:—
“This has been a sad day for us, general—a sad day, but we cannot expect always to gain victories. Never mind—all this has been my fault. It is I who have lost this fight, and you must help me out of it in the best way you can."{1}
{Footnote 1: His words.}
As he uttered these measured words, General Lee saluted and disappeared in the smoke.
General Davenant followed, bearing the wounded boy still upon his saddle.
Ten minutes afterward, I was riding to find General Stuart, who had sent me with a message just before the charge.
I had gloomy news for him. The battle of Gettysburg was lost.