Mohun; Or, the Last Days of Lee and His Paladins Part 69

THE BLUE SERPENT.

Once back at the "Cedars," I reflected deeply upon the history which I had heard from the lips of General Davenant.

I shall refrain, however, from recording these reflections. If the reader will cast his eyes back over the pages of these memoirs, he will perceive that I have confined myself generally to the simple narration of events--seldom pausing to offer my own comments upon the scenes pa.s.sing before me. Were I to do so, what an enormous volume I should write, and how the reader would be bored! Now, to bore a reader, is, in my eyes, one of the greatest crimes of which an author can be guilty.

It is the unpardonable sin, indeed, in a writer. For which reason, and acting upon the theory that a drama ought to explain itself and be its own commentator, I spare the worthy reader of these pages all those reflections which I indulged in, after hearing General Davenant's singular narrative.

"Pride! pride!" I muttered, rising at the end of an hour. "I think I can understand that--exceptional as is this instance; but I wish I had heard who was the 'real murderer' of George Conway!"

Having thus dismissed the subject, I set about drawing up my official report, and this charmingly common-place employment soon banished from my mind every more inviting subject!

It was nearly ten days after this my first ride into the wilds of Dinwiddie, before I again set out to look after the cavalry. The end of October was approaching. Grant had continued to hammer away along his immense line of earth-works; and day by day, step by step, he had gone on extending his left in the direction of the Southside railroad.

If the reader will keep this in view, he will understand every movement of the great adversaries. Grant had vainly attempted to carry Lee's works by a.s.sault, or surprise,--his only hope of success now was to gradually extend his lines toward the Southside road; seize upon that great war artery which supplied life-blood to Lee's army; and thus compel the Confederate commander to retreat or starve in his trenches.

One thing was plain--that when Grant reached the Southside railroad, Lee was lost, unless he could ma.s.s his army and cut his way through the forces opposed to him. And this fact was so obvious, the situation was so apparent--that from the moment when the Weldon road was seized upon by General Grant, that officer and his great adversary never removed their eyes from the real point of importance, the true key of the lock--namely the Southside railroad, on Lee's right.

Elsewhere Grant attacked, but it was to cover some movement, still toward his left. He a.s.saulted Lee's works, north of the James--but it was south of the Appomattox that he was looking. The operations of the fall and winter, on the lines around Petersburg were a great series of marches and counter-marches to and fro, suddenly bursting into battles.

Grant ma.s.sed his army heavily in front of the works in Charles City opposite the left of Lee; attempted to draw in that direction his adversary's main force; then suddenly the blue lines vanished; they were rushed by railroad toward Petersburg, and Grant hastened to thrust his columns still farther beyond Lee's right, in order to turn it and seize the Southside road.

That was not the conception of a great soldier, it may be, reader; but it was ingenious. General Grant was not a man of great military brain--but he was patient, watchful, and persevering. To defeat Lee, what was wanted was genius, or obstinacy--Napoleon or Grant. In the long run, perseverance was going to achieve the results of genius. The tortoise was going to reach the same goal with the hare. It was a question of time--that was all.

So, throughout October, as throughout September, and August, and July, General Grant thundered everywhere along his forty miles of earth-works, but his object was to raise a smoke dense enough to hide the blue columns moving westward. "Hurrah! we have got Fort Harrison!"

exclaimed his enthusiastic subordinates. Grant would much rather have heard, "We have got the White Oak road!" Fort Harrison was a strong out-post simply; the White Oak road was the postern door into the citadel.

Gradually moving thus, from the Jerusalem plank road to the Weldon railroad, from the Weldon railroad to the Squirrel Level road, from the Squirrel Level road toward the Boydton road, beyond which was the White Oak road, Grant came, toward the end of October, to the banks of the Rowanty. As this long blue serpent unfolded its coils and stretched its threatening head into the Dinwiddie woods, Lee had extended his right to confront it. The great opponents moved _pari pa.s.su_, each marching in face of each other. Like two trained and skillful swordsmen, they changed ground without moving their eyes from each others' faces--the lunge was met by the parry; and this seemed destined to go on to infinity.

That was the unskilled opinion, however. The civilians thought that--Lee did not. It was plain that this must end somewhere. Lee's line would not bear much further extension. It reached now from a point on the Williamsburg road, east of Richmond, to Burgess's Mill, west of Petersburg. His forty thousand men were strung over forty miles. That made the line so thin that it would bear little more. Stretched a little farther still, and it would snap.

Lee called in vain for more men. The Government could not send them. He predicted the result of failure to receive them. They did not come.

And Grant continued to move on, and Lee continued to stretch his thin line, until it began to crack.

Such was the situation of affairs at the end of October--when Grant aimed a heavy blow to cut the line in pieces. The blue serpent raised its head, and sprung to strike.

XXVI.

THE HOUSE NEAR MONK'S NECK, AND ITS OWNER.

Such was the critical condition of affairs when I again set out to make my regular tour of inspection of the cavalry.

Crossing Hatcher's Run at Burgess's Mill, I turned to the left, and soon found myself riding on between the lofty walls of pine, through which the roads of Dinwiddie wind like a serpent.

When near Monk's Neck, I determined to stop and feed my horse. I always carried, strapped behind my saddle, a small bag containing about a feed of corn for that purpose; and as I generally selected some wayside house where I could, myself, rest while my horse was feeding, I now looked about me to discover such.

My search was speedily rewarded. Three hundred yards from the road, in a clump of stunted trees, I saw a small house, which I soon reached.

The surroundings of the establishment were poor and mean beyond expression. Through the open door I could see that the interior was even more poverty-stricken than the outside.

As I dismounted, a man came to this door. Are you fond of natural history, reader; and have you ever amused yourself by inst.i.tuting comparisons between certain human beings and certain animals--beasts, birds, or fishes? I have seen men who resembled horses, owls, hawks, sheep,--and geese. This one resembled the bird called the penguin. Read the description of the penguins: "Their feet are placed more posteriorly than in any other birds, and only afford them support by resting on the tarsus, which is enlarged, like the sole of the foot of a quadruped. The wings are very small, and are furnished with rudiments of feathers only, resembling scales. Their bodies are covered with oblong feathers, harsh to the touch, and closely applied over each other. * * * * * Their motions are slow and awkward, and from the form of their wings, they can not fly."

The individual before me recalled the penguin--except that he was excessively lean instead of fat. The feet accorded with the above description; the arms were short, and hung like wings; the coat of the worthy was a ragged "cut-away," which ended in a point behind, like the tail of a bird; and the movements of the individual were "slow and awkward" to a degree which forbade the supposition that, under any circ.u.mstances, he could be induced to fly. Add a long, crane-like neck, two bleared eyes, a mouth stretching from ear to ear, and a nose like the bill of a duck. You will then have before you the gentleman who bore, as I soon discovered, the cla.s.sic name of Mr. Alibi.

When the worthy, who had flapped his arms, by way of greeting, and shown me into his mansion, informed me that such was his name, I knew that the house at which I now found myself was the place of meeting agreed upon between Nighthawk and Swartz, at their interview in Richmond. Here, also, the man and woman, rescued by Swartz on the Nottoway, had been left, on his way to Petersburg, as the spy had informed us in the Wilderness.

"Well, general," croaked Mr. Alibi, with a smile, and in a nasal voice, "wha--a--t's the news?"

"I am only a lieutenant-colonel, Mr. Alibi."

"Well, colonel, any thing stirring?"

"Nothing, I think. Any news with you, Mr. Alibi? I have heard of you from a friend of yours."

"Eh! And who mout that be, colonel?"

"Mr. Nighthawk. Have you seen him lately?"

"Na--a--a--w," said Mr. Alibi, with a prolonged drawl through his nose, and flapping his arms in an uncouth fas.h.i.+on, "I ain't seen him for a long spell now."

"Nor Swartz, either?"

Mr. Alibi looked keenly at me.

"Na--a--a--w, nor him nuther, leftenant-colonel."

"Leave out the 'leftenant,' my dear Mr. Alibi; and call me 'colonel'--it is shorter," I said, laughing, as I looked at the queer figure. "And so you have not seen Swartz lately? He made an appointment to meet Nighthawk here."

"Made an app'intment, did he, leftenant--least ways, colonel?"

"Yes."

"With Mr. Nighthawk?"

"Yes."

"Well, I reckon they are both dead, or they'd 'a' kept their app'intment."

"Nighthawk dead!"

"He must be, sartain."

"You are mistaken, friend Alibi," said a voice behind him.

And Nighthawk, in person, entered the house.