Then all was over. The bullets rained, in a hurtling tempest on the cannoneer; the blue line came on with loud shouts; and the pieces were brought 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 toward Petersburg, surrounded by his officers. His appearance was superb at this 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 could break.
All at once a shell screamed from the Federal battery, and bursting close to the general, tore up the ground in a dozen places. The horse of an officer at his side was mortally wounded by a fragment, and fell beneath his rider other animals darted onward, with hanging bridle-reins, cut by the shell—but I was looking at General Lee, feeling certain that he must have been wounded.
He had escaped, however. Not a muscle of his calm face had moved. Only, as he turned his face over his shoulder in the direction of the battery, I could see a sudden color rush to his cheeks, and his eye flashed.
“I should now like to go into a charge!” he said to Stuart, once, after a disaster. And I thought I read the same thought in his face at this moment.
But it was impossible. He had no troops. The entire line on the right of Petersburg had been broken to pieces, and General Lee retired slowly to his inner works, near the city where a little skirmish line, full of fight yet, and shaking their fists at the huge enemy approaching, received him with cheers and cries which made the pulse throb.
There was no hack in that remnant—pardon the word, reader; it expresses the idea.
“Let ‘em come on! We’ll give ‘em ——!” shouted the ragged handful. I dare not change that rough sentence. It belongs to history. And it was glorious, if rude. In front of that squad was a whole army-corps. The corps was advancing, supported by a tremendous artillery fire, to crush them—and the tatterdemalions defied and laughed at them.
This all took place before noon. Longstreet had come in from the north of the James with his skeleton regiments; and these opposed a bold front to the enemy on the right, while Gordon commanding the left, below the city, was thundering. A cordon hemmed in the little army now, in the suburbs of Petersburg. The right, on the Boydton road, was carried away; and the left beyond James River. One hope alone remained—to hold Petersburg until night, and then retreat.
I will not describe that day. This volume approaches its end; and it is fortunate. To describe at length those last days would be a terrible task to the writer.