Again the agony stilled the musical voice.
"My spurs," he went on, "which I have always worn in battle, I promised to Mrs. Lilly Lee of Shepherdstown, Virginia--"
He paused.
"My sword--I leave--to--my--son."
A cannon roared outside the city. With quick eagerness he asked:
"What"s that?"
"Gracey"s brigade has moved out against Sheridan"s rear as he retreats.
Fitz Lee is fighting them still at Meadow Bridge."
He turned his blue eyes upward and prayed:
"G.o.d grant they may win--"
He moved his head aside and said:
"I must prepare for another world."
He listened to the roar of the guns for a moment and signaled to his aide:
"Major, Fitz Lee may need you."
McClellan pressed his hand and hurried to the front.
As he pa.s.sed out the tall figure of the President of the Confederacy entered. Jefferson Davis sat by his side and held his hand. He loved his daring young Cavalry Commander. He had made him a Major-General at thirty. He was dying now at thirty-one. The tragedy found the heart of the sorrowful leader of all the South.
When the Reverend Dr. Peterkin entered he said:
"Now I want you to sing for me the old song I love best--
""Rock of Ages cleft for me, Let me hide myself in thee--""
With failing breath he joined in the song.
A paroxysm of pain gripped him and he asked the doctor:
"Can I survive the night?"
"No, General. The end is near."
He was silent. And then slowly said:
"I am resigned if it be G.o.d"s will.
But--I--would--like--to--see--my--wife--"
The beautiful voice sank into eternal silence.
So pa.s.sed the greatest cavalry leader our country has produced. A man whose joyous life was a long wish of good will toward all of his fellow men.
The little mother heard the news as she rode in hot haste over the rough roads to Richmond. The hideous thing was beyond belief, but it had come.
She had heard the roar of battle for three years and after each b.l.o.o.d.y day he had come with a smile on his lips and a stronger love in his brave heart. She had ceased to fear his death in battle. G.o.d had promised her in prayer to spare him. Only once had a bullet cut his clothes.
And now he was dead.
But yesterday he dashed across the country from his line of march, and, even while the conflict raged, held her in his arms and crooned over her.
The tears had flowed for two hours before she reached the house of death. She could weep no longer.
A sister"s arm encircled her waist and led her unseeing eyes into the room. There was no wild outburst of grief at the sight of his cold body.
She stooped to kiss the loved lips, placed her hand on the high forehead and drew back at its chill. She stood in dumb anguish until her sister in alarm said:
"Come, dear, to my room."
The set, blue eyes never moved from the face of her dead.
"It"s wrong. It"s wrong. It"s all wrong--this hideous murder of our loved ones! Why must they send my husband to kill my father? Why must they send my father to kill the father of my babies? Why didn"t they stop this a year ago? It must end some time. Why did they ever begin it?
Why must brother kill his brother? My father, thank G.o.d, didn"t kill him. But little Phil Sheridan, his schoolmate, did. And he never spoke an unkind word about him in his life! His heart was overflowing with joy and love. He sang when he rode into battle--"
She paused and a tear stole down her cheeks at last.
"Poor boy, he loved its wild din and roar. It was play to his daring spirit."
A sob caught her voice and then it rose in fierce rebellion:
"Where was G.o.d when he fell? He was thirty-one years old, in the glory of a beautiful life--"
Her sister spoke in gentle sympathy.
"His fame fills the world, dear."
"Fame? Fame? What is that to me, now? I stretch out my hand, and it"s ashes. My arms are empty. My heart is broken. Life isn"t worth the living."
Her voice drifted into a dreamy silence as the tears streamed down her cheeks. She stood for half an hour staring through blurred eyes at the cold clay.
She turned at last and seized her sister"s hands both in hers, and gazed with a strange, set look that saw something beyond time and the things of sense.
"My dear sister, G.o.d will yet give to the mothers of men the power to stop this murder. There"s a better way. There"s a better way,"
CHAPTER XLIV