"I have news which will be painful to you. It hurts me to tell you, but I think you had rather hear it from me than from a stranger—General Lee has surrendered."
It was an awful blow to us. All was over. All the suffering, bloodshed, death—all for nothing!
General Johnston's army was surrendered to General Sherman in North Carolina on April 26. The banner which had led the armies of the South through fire and blood to victory, to defeat, in times of starvation, cold, and friendlessness; the banner that many a husband and lover had waved aloft on a forlorn hope until it fell from his lifeless hands; the banner found under the dying boy at Gettysburg, who had smilingly refused assistance lest it be discovered,—the banner of a thousand histories was furled forever, with none so poor to do it reverence.
My dear general was not free until Johnston surrendered. His flag was still in the field, but he was allowed to go to Richmond, twenty miles away, to seek work of some kind to meet our present necessities. My servants came in from Cottage Farm, and every one begged to remain and serve me "for the good" I had "already done them," but this, of course, I could not permit. My faithful John protested passionately against accepting his freedom, but I was firm in demanding he should return to his father in Norfolk. He had earned five dollars in United States money; I had five more which my little boys had gained in a small cigar speculation. This I gave him.
"Now don't let me see you here to-morrow, John. Write to me from Norfolk."
The next morning he was gone, and I had a grateful letter from his old father, who expressed, however, some anxiety about his "army habits."
We had soon occasion to regret the absence of the protecting soldiers. Almost immediately a tall, lantern-jawed young fellow with a musket on his shoulder marched in. I was alone, and he walked up to me with a threatening aspect.
"What do you want here?" I demanded.
"I want whiskey—d'ye hear? Whiskey!"
"You'll not get it!"