It was the night of April 8th, 1865--three years, day for day, from the
moment when these lines are written.
XXVII.
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE SURRENDER.
Throughout that strange night of the eighth of April, 1865, I was in
the saddle, carrying orders.
Those who saw it will remember how singularly brilliant it was. The
moon and stars shone. The light clouds sweeping across the sky scarcely
obscured the mournful radiance. All was still. The two armies--one
surrounded and at bay, the other ready to finish the work before
it--rested silently on their arms, waiting for that day which would
bring the thunder.
Every arrangement had been made by Lee to break through the force in
his front, and gain Lynchburg, from which he could retreat to the
southwest.
The column of infantry to open the way was about one thousand six
hundred men, under Gordon. The cavalry, numbering two or three
thousand, was commanded by Fitzhugh Lee. The artillery, consisting of
three or four battalions, was placed under that brave spirit, Colonel
Thomas H. Carter.
For the tough work, Lee had selected three braves.
I saw them all that night, and read in their eyes the fire of an
unalterable resolution.
You know those men, reader. If _you_ do not, history knows them. It was
their immense good fortune to bear the red cross banner in the last
charge on the enemy, and with their handful of followers to drive the
Federal forces back nearly a mile, half an hour before Lee's surrender.
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