“Ah! gallant to the last, I see!” I growled to him as I rode by. “‘None but the brave desert the fair!’”
The colonel smiled, but made no reply.
A hundred yards farther I met little Mr. Blocque joyously approaching.
In his hand he carried his safeguard, brought him by the gray woman. At his breast fluttered a miniature United States flag. The little gentleman was radiant, and exclaimed as he saw me:—
“What! my dear colonel! you are going to leave us? Come and dine with me—at five o’clock, precisely!”
My reply was not polite. I drew my pistol—at which movement Mr. Blocque disappeared, running, at the corner of St. Paul’s.
On his heels followed a portly and despairing gentleman—Mr. Croaker.
“Save my warehouse! it is on fire! I shall be a beggar!” yelled Mr. Croaker.
I laughed aloud as the wretched creature rushed by, puffing and panting. Ten minutes afterward I was out of the city.
My last view of Richmond was from Hollywood Hill, near the grave of Stuart. The spectacle before me was at once terrible and splendid. The city was wrapped in a sea of flame. A vast black cloud swept away to the far horizon. A menacing roar came up from beneath those flames surging around the white Capitol;—the enemy’s guns, troopers, musketeers and the rabble, were rushing with shouts, yells, and curses into the devoted city, which had at last fallen a prey to the Federal arms.