第15章 The Burial of the Guns(7)

Every step of his jaded horse was anxiously watched.As he drew near, the lieutenant, after a word with the Colonel, walked down to meet him, and there was a short colloquy in the muddy road; then they came back together and slowly entered the camp, the sergeant handing down a bag of corn which he had got somewhere below, with the grim remark to his comrades, "There's your rations," and going at once to the Colonel's camp-fire, a little to one side among the trees, where the Colonel awaited him.

A long conference was held, and then the sergeant left to take his luck with his mess, who were already parching the corn he had brought for their supper, while the lieutenant made the round of the camp;leaving the Colonel seated alone on a log by his camp-fire.

He sat without moving, hardly stirring until the lieutenant returned from his round.A minute later the men were called from the guns and made to fall into line.They were silent, tremulous with suppressed excitement;the most sun-burned and weather-stained of them a little pale; the meanest, raggedest, and most insignificant not unimpressive in the deep and solemn silence with which they stood, their eyes fastened on the Colonel, waiting for him to speak.He stepped out in front of them, slowly ran his eye along the irregular line, up and down, taking in every man in his glance, resting on some longer than on others, the older men, then dropped them to the ground, and then suddenly, as if with an effort, began to speak.

His voice had a somewhat metallic sound, as if it were restrained;but it was otherwise the ordinary tone of command.It was not much that he said: simply that it had become his duty to acquaint them with the information which he had received: that General Lee had surrendered two days before at Appomattox Court-House, yielding to overwhelming numbers;that this afternoon when he had first heard the report he had questioned its truth, but that it had been confirmed by one of their own men, and no longer admitted of doubt; that the rest of their own force, it was learned, had been captured, or had disbanded, and the enemy was now on both sides of the mountain; that a demand had been made on him that morning to surrender too; but that he had orders which he felt held good until they were countermanded, and he had declined.Later intelligence satisfied him that to attempt to hold out further would be useless, and would involve needless waste of life; he had determined, therefore, not to attempt to hold their position longer; but to lead them out, if possible, so as to avoid being made prisoners and enable them to reach home sooner and aid their families.His orders were not to let his guns fall into the enemy's hands, and he should take the only step possible to prevent it.In fifty minutes he should call the battery into line once more, and roll the guns over the cliff into the river, and immediately afterwards, leaving the wagons there, he would try to lead them across the mountain, and as far as they could go in a body without being liable to capture, and then he should disband them, and his responsibility for them would end.As it was necessary to make some preparations he would now dismiss them to prepare any rations they might have and get ready to march.

All this was in the formal manner of a common order of the day;and the old Colonel had spoken in measured sentences, with little feeling in his voice.Not a man in the line had uttered a word after the first sound, half exclamation, half groan, which had burst from them at the announcement of Lee's surrender.After that they had stood in their tracks like rooted trees, as motionless as those on the mountain behind them, their eyes fixed on their commander, and only the quick heaving up and down the dark line, as of horses over-laboring, told of the emotion which was shaking them.The Colonel, as he ended, half-turned to his subordinate officer at the end of the dim line, as though he were about to turn the company over to him to be dismissed; then faced the line again, and taking a step nearer, with a sudden movement of his hands towards the men as though he would have stretched them out to them, began again:

"Men," he said, and his voice changed at the word, and sounded like a father's or a brother's, "My men, I cannot let you go so.We were neighbors when the war began -- many of us, and some not here to-night;we have been more since then -- comrades, brothers in arms; we have all stood for one thing -- for Virginia and the South; we have all done our duty --tried to do our duty; we have fought a good fight, and now it seems to be over, and we have been overwhelmed by numbers, not whipped --and we are going home.We have the future before us -- we don't know just what it will bring, but we can stand a good deal.We have proved it.

Upon us depends the South in the future as in the past.

You have done your duty in the past, you will not fail in the future.

Go home and be honest, brave, self-sacrificing, God-fearing citizens, as you have been soldiers, and you need not fear for Virginia and the South.

The war may be over; but you will ever be ready to serve your country.

The end may not be as we wanted it, prayed for it, fought for it;but we can trust God; the end in the end will be the best that could be;even if the South is not free she will be better and stronger that she fought as she did.Go home and bring up your children to love her, and though you may have nothing else to leave them, you can leave them the heritage that they are sons of men who were in Lee's army."He stopped, looked up and down the ranks again, which had instinctively crowded together and drawn around him in a half-circle; made a sign to the lieutenant to take charge, and turned abruptly on his heel to walk away.

But as he did so, the long pent-up emotion burst forth.With a wild cheer the men seized him, crowding around and hugging him, as with protestations, prayers, sobs, oaths -- broken, incoherent, inarticulate -- they swore to be faithful, to live loyal forever to the South, to him, to Lee.