Every thing crumbled--the
Confederacy was staggering and gasping in the death agony. Day by day
the cause was slowly, but certainly, being lost. Children cried aloud
for bread--women moaned, and knelt, and prayed. Their last hope was
leaving them. Lee's army was starving and dying. Hour by hour, nearer
and nearer came the roar of the gulf of destruction. A sort of stupor
descended. The country--prostrate and writhing--tried to rise, but
could not. The government knew not where to turn, or what course to
pursue. Grant was growing in strength hourly. Lee's little force was
dwindling. Sherman was streaming through South Carolina. Grant was
reaching out toward Five Forks. All-destroying war grinned
hideously--on all sides stared gaunt Famine. The air jarred with the
thunder of cannon. The days and nights blazed, and were full of wild
cries--of shouts, groans, and reverberations. The ground shook--the
grave yawned--the black cloud slowly drew on; that cloud from which the
thunderbolt was about to fall.
How to describe in a volume like this, now near its end, that terrible
state of coma--that approaching cataclysm, in which all things, social,
civil, and military were about to disappear! The whole fabric of
society was going to pieces; every hour flamed with battles; tragic
events jostled each other; blood gushed; a people were wailing; a
victorious enemy were rushing on; the whole continent trembled; Lee was
being swept away, in spite of every effort which he made to steady his
feet--and that torrent was going to engulf a whole nation!
All this I am to describe in the last few pages of this volume! The
task is far beyond my strength.
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