But all was not taken. Honor was left us--and the angels of home! As
the sorrowful survivors of the great army came back, as they reached
their old homes, dragging their weary feet after them, or urging on
their jaded horses, suddenly the sunshine burst forth for them, and lit
up their rags with a sort of glory. The wife, the mother, and the
little child rushed to them. Hearts beat fast, as the gray uniforms
were clasped in a long embrace. Those angels of home loved the poor
prisoners better in their dark days than in their bright. The fond eyes
melted to tears, the white arms held them close; and the old soldiers,
who had only laughed at the roar of the enemy's guns, dropped tears on
the faces of their wives and little children!
EPILOGUE.
In the autumn of last year, 1867, I set out on horseback from "Eagle's
Nest," and following the route west by Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville,
Germanna Ford, Culpeper, and Orleans, reached "The Oaks" in Fauquier.
I needed the sunshine and bright faces of the old homestead, after that
journey; for at every step had sprung up some gloomy or exciting
recollection.
It was a veritable journey through the world of memory.
Fredericksburg! Chancellorsville! the Wilderness! the plains of
Culpeper!--as I rode on amid these historic scenes, a thousand memories
came to knock at the door of my heart.
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