Looking toward the south, I saw as
clearly with the eyes of the memory, the banks of the Po, the swamps of
the Chickahominy, the trenches at Petersburg, the woods of Dinwiddie,
Five Forks, Highbridge--Appomattox Court-House! Nearer was Yellow
Tavern, where Stuart had fallen. Not a foot of this soil of Old
Virginia but seemed to have been the scene of some fierce battle, some
sombre tragedy!
"Well, well," I sighed, as I rode on toward the Oaks, "all that is
buried in the past, and it is useless to think of it. I am only a poor
paroled prisoner, wearing arms no more--let me forget the red cross
flag which used to float so proudly here, and bow my head to the will
of the Supreme Ruler of all worlds."
So I went on, and in due time reached the Oaks, in Fauquier.
You recall the good old homestead, do you not, my dear reader? I should
be sorry to have you forget the spot where I have been so happy. It was
to this honest old mansion that I was conducted in April, 1861, when
struck from my horse by a falling limb in the storm-lashed wood, I saw
come to my succor the dearest person in the world. She awaited me
now--having a month before left Eagle's Nest, to pay a visit to her
family--and again, as in the spring of '63, she came to meet me as I
ascended the hill--only we met now as bridegroom and bride!
This May of my life had brought back the sunshine, even after that
black day of 1865.
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