I drew my pistol--at which movement Mr.
Blocque disappeared, running, at the corner of St. Paul's.
On his heels followed a portly and despairing gentleman--Mr. Croaker.
"Save my warehouse! it is on fire! I shall be a beggar!" yelled Mr.
Croaker.
I laughed aloud as the wretched creature rushed by, puffing and
panting. Ten minutes afterward I was out of the city.
My last view of Richmond was from Hollywood Hill, near the grave of
Stuart. The spectacle before me was at once terrible and splendid. The
city was wrapped in a sea of flame. A vast black cloud swept away to
the far horizon. A menacing roar came up from beneath those flames
surging around the white Capitol;--the enemy's guns, troopers,
musketeers and the rabble, were rushing with shouts, yells, and curses
into the devoted city, which had at last fallen a prey to the Federal
arms.
A last pang was to tear my heart. The sight before me was not enough, I
had turned my horse to ride westward, throwing a parting glance upon
the city, when suddenly the Virginia flag descended from the summit of
the Capitol and the United States flag was run up.
I turned and shook my clenched hand at it.
"That is not my flag, and shall never be!" I exclaimed, aloud.
And taking off my hat as I passed the grave of Stuart, I rode on,
thinking of the past and the present.
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