The civilians--the
brave ones--had a superstitious confidence in the great commander and
his old army. It had repulsed the enemy so uninterruptedly, that the
unskilled people believed it invincible. Lee had foiled Grant so
regularly that he was looked upon as the very God of Victory. Defeat
could not come to him. Glory would ever follow his steps. On the
banners of the old army of Northern Virginia, led by Lee, the eagles of
victory would still, perch, screaming defiance, and untamed to the end.
While the civilians were saying this, Lee was preparing to retreat.
Nothing blinded that clear vision--the eyes of the great chief pierced
every mist. He saw the blow coming--the shadow of the Grant hammer as
the weapon was lifted, ran before--on the 25th of March Lee's rapier
made it last lunge. But when his adversary recoiled to avoid it, it was
Lee who was going to retreat.
That lunge was sudden and terrible--if it did not accomplish its
object. In the dark March morning, Gordon, "The Bayard of the army,"
advanced with three thousand men across the abatis in front of Hare's
Hill.
What followed was a fierce tragedy, as brief and deadly as the fall of
a thunder-bolt.
Gordon rushed at the head of his column over the space which separated
the lines; stormed the Federal defences at the point of the bayonet;
seized on Fort Steadman, a powerful work, and the batteries surrounding
it, then as the light broadened in the East, he looked back for
re-enforcements.
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