"He would offer no such terms," Alexander argued, "unless he knew you yet had a chance to win—"
Lee waved his hand.
"Our only chance is to continue the struggle by a fierce guerrilla war—"
"For God's sake, let's do it, sir!"
"Can we," the calm voice went on, "as Christian soldiers, choose such a course? We've fought bravely for what we believed to be right. If I enter a guerrilla struggle, what will be the result? Years of bloody savagery. Our own men, demoralized by war, would supply their wants by violence and plunder. I could not control them. And so raid and counter-raid. Houses pillaged and burned by friend and foe. Crops destroyed. All industry paralyzed. Women violated. We might force the Federal Government at last to make some sort of compromise. But at what a cost—what a cost!"
"You can control our men," Alexander maintained. "Your name is magic.
The South will obey you."
Lee gazed earnestly into the face of his gallant young Commander of
Artillery and said:
"If I wield such power over our people, is it not a sacred trust? Is it not my duty now to use it for their healing, and not their ruin?"
General John B. Gordon suddenly rode up and sprang from his horse.
Lee eagerly turned.