“Yes,” he replied, with entire calmness, “especially in me. It is hard to die, even when we are old and sorrowful—when life is a burden. Men cling to this miserable existence even when old age and grief have taken away, one by one, all the pleasures of life. Think, then, what it must be to die in the flush of youth, and health, and happiness! I am young, strong, happy beyond words. The person I love best in all the world, has just given me her hand. I have before me a long life of joy, if I only live! But I have sworn that oath, Surry! Chambliss kept his; shall I break mine? Let us not talk further of this, friend.”
And Mohun changed the conversation, refusing to listen to my remonstrances.
Half an hour afterward I left him, with a strange sinking of the heart.
Taking my way back to the Court-House, I passed through the little village, rode on for a mile, and then, overwhelmed by fatigue, lay down by a camp fire in the woods, and fell asleep.
I was waked by a single gun, sending its dull roar through the gray dawn.
Rising, I buttoned my cape around me, mounted my horse, and rode toward the front.
As I ascended the hill, upon which stands Appomattox Court-House, a crimson blush suddenly spread itself over the fields and woods.
I looked over my shoulder. In the east, on the summit of the forest, the newly risen sun was poised, like a great shield bathed in blood.
Such was the spectacle which ushered in the ninth of April, 1865, at Appomattox Court-House.