And these words will serve in large measure to describe the condition
of the great commander himself.
I was riding beside him, when he turned to me and said, in a low
tone:--
"Do you remember a conversation which we had at Orange, Surry, that
night in my tent?"
"Yes, general."
"And what I said?"
"Every word is engraved, I think, upon my memory."
"Good. Do not let one thing ever escape you. Remember, that I said what
I say again to-day, that 'Virginia expects every man to do his duty!'"
"I will never forget that, general."
He smiled, and rode on. For half a mile he was silent. Then I heard
escape from his lips, in a low, musing voice, a refrain which I had
never heard him sing before--
"Soon with angels I'll be marching!"[1]
[Footnote 1: Real]
I know not why, but that low sound made me shiver.
XXXVI.
YELLOW TAVERN, MAY 11, 1864.
Yellow Tavern! At the mention of that name, a sort of tremor agitates
me even to-day, when nearly four years have passed.
In my eyes, the locality is cursed. A gloomy cloud seems ever hanging
over it. No birds sing in the trees. The very sunshine of the summer
days is sad there.
But I pass to my brief description of the place, and the event which
made it one of the black names in Southern history.
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