CHAPTER VI
The Counsel of Lee
“A few days after the occupation, some drunken soldiers were heard talking in the back yard to our negroes, and it was gathered from what they said that the Federals were afraid General Lee had formed an ambuscade somewhere in the neighbourhood of the city, and that he might fall upon them at any time and deliver Richmond out of their hands. How our people wished it might be so!” Matoaca relates. “Do not buoy yourself up with that hope, my dear,” said her monitor. “There’s no hope save in the mercy of our conquerors. General Lee is a great soldier, an extraordinary tactician, but he cannot do the impossible. Our army cannot go on fighting forever without money and without food.”
When our beloved general came home, the doctrine he taught by precept and example was that of peace. “The stainless sword of Lee” had been laid down in good faith. We had fought a good fight, we had failed, we must accept the inevitable, we must not lose heart, we must work for our country’s welfare in peace. The very first heard of him in his modest, unheralded home-returning, he was teaching this.
Young William McCaw, his courier for four years, rode in with him; and General Lee, before going to his own home, delivered William, safe and sound, to his father. Dr. McCaw came out when they stopped in front of his door, and General Lee said:
“Here, Doctor, is your boy. I’ve brought him home to you.”
William was standing beside Traveller, his arm clasped around General Lee’s leg, and crying as if his heart would break. The General put his hand on William’s head and said:
“No more fighting—that’s all over. You’ve been a good fighter, Will—now I want to see you work for your country’s welfare in peace. Be a good boy. I expect a fine Christian manhood of you. Goodbye,” and he rode away to his own home, where his invalid wife awaited him.
It was good to have them home again, our men in gray; good though they came gaunt and footsore, ragged and empty-handed. And glad was the man in gray to cross his own threshold, though the wolf was at the door. Our men were ready enough for peace when peace—or what they mistook for peace—came; that is, the mass of them were. They had fought and starved their fill. The cries of destitute women and children called them home. They had no time to pause and cavil over lost issues, or to forge new occasions for quarrel. All they asked now was a chance to make meat and bread and raiment for themselves and those dependent on them.