A cordon hemmed in the little army now,
in the suburbs of Petersburg. The right, on the Boydton road, was
carried away; and the left beyond James River. One hope alone
remained--to hold Petersburg until night, and then retreat.
I will not describe that day. This volume approaches its end; and it is
fortunate. To describe at length those last days would be a terrible
task to the writer.
Lee telegraphed to the President that he was going to retreat that
night; and at the moment when the officers of the government hastily
left Richmond by the Danville railroad, the army at Petersburg began to
retire.
Did you witness what I describe, reader? What a spectacle!--the army of
Northern Virginia, or what was left of it, rather, stealing away amid
darkness. I sat my horse on the Hickory road, north of the Appomattox,
near the city, and looked at the ragged column, which defiled by from
the bridge over the river. In the starlight I could see their faces.
There was not a particle of depression in them. You would have said,
indeed, that they rejoiced at being out of the trenches--to be once
more on the march, with Lee, riding his old iron-gray, in front of his
old soldiers--with the battle-flags of a hundred battles still floating
defiantly.
General Lee stood at the forks of the road, directing his column.
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