The Blue and The Gray

General Schofield expected him, but Hood flanked him by crossing to the other shore, which led the Union general to deem it prudent to attempt to reach Nashville.

Quickly he retired to Franklin, where he succeeded in getting across the river, throwing up earthworks, and placing his artillery. The scene was a stirring one. General Hood forced his men up against the strong breastworks with a recklessness that was appalling. They were doomed, for the terrific onslaught of musketry and artillery cut them down so fast that they were piled up in heaps, dying and dead, the entire length of the line.

The struggle at the breastworks was so fierce that it became a hot, mad encounter between the two armies, who fought literally, hand to hand, while their fire flashed in each others faces. Officers dismounted, and fought beside their men. The contest became so close that the standards of both armies were upon the earthworks at the same time.

A ditch ran outside the works, which was filled with the Confederates, who could not cross it under such a blinding fire. Here they met their heaviest losses. The smoke from the National side was so dense, and kept so near to the earth, that it added to the horror of the scene by bringing on almost complete darkness. It was one of the hardest fought battles of the war, and not until midnight did General Schofield order a retreat to Nashville, a wise move, for had he been content to remain at Franklin, the fortunes of the day would have been changed very essentially, for Hood planted all his artillery there that night, and thus, aided by General Forrest's cavalry, the victory of the day before would surely have been turned into a defeat.

They were worn out—unable to fight longer, and so completely exhausted by lack of sleep that many of the men in this retreat stumbled and fell on their faces, and only the vigorous pricking of the bayonet by their companions aroused them to a sense of the danger they were in of being captured,—thus they were hurried along.

The whole strength of the army was now concentrated on the defeat of Hood. On the fifteenth of December General Thomas, who had been grumbled at and called "slow," delivered a crushing blow by moving upon Hood's front and flank with such force that he fled precipitately toward Franklin, with Wilson's famous cavalry in hot pursuit.

General Thomas made a clean sweep of the artillery, capturing every piece, and taking forty-five hundred prisoners.

The morning of February 9 was cold and frosty, and as the soldiers huddled round the crackling fires built in the open air, they recounted tales of the incidents they had seen, or fought again the battles of the past four years.

"I enlisted to the end of the war," said Ralph. "'When this cruel was is over,' I shall go home and try to be content," Some of his companions shared his feelings; to these the prospect of returning home was a delightful one, but others had grown so fond of this life of danger and peril that a return to the peaceful pursuits of home-life seemed tame and dull. War hardens and blunts the finer feelings, making men callous and indifferent to the gentler ministrations of home.

It was with mixed feelings of joy and regret that the regiment embarked on the steamer for New Orleans. The voyage was a break in the daily life, but when land soldiers are penned up on board a boat there is not much r to break the monotony. At noon of the fourth day they laid up at a little landing to "wood up." Not a house was to be seen, the tall trees stood up black and gloomy, and the dull gray sky lowered ominously over them. Glad to feel the earth beneath their feet, a few of the more venturesome leaped ashore for a "run in the timber," as they expressed it, though they prudently kept near the boat.

Ralph was sitting on the deck when he heard the report of a rifle, and jumping up, he called out, "Our men are attacked!"

Instantly every man's weapon was pointed in the direction from whence came the sound. A poor fellow had roamed a few steps farther from his comrades than caution would have dictated, and had been fired upon by guerrillas, who were skulking behind the trees in the leafy depths of the forest. Another man staggered to the edge of the bank, and would have fallen overboard, were it not for Ralph's quick leap. He had been wounded in the arm, and as he was helped on board he said; "There is a band of them up there in the woods."

"Fire!" came the word of command, and the bullets whistled after the fleeing band, who did not return the shots, however. Whether they were hit, was not known. A detail was sent to bring in the body of the dead soldier who had fallen just at the edge of the woods. This incident checked the gay spirits of the men, but, after all, it was one of the possibilities of war, and might have befallen any one there.

They reached the city of New Orleans on the evening of February 21st, and encamped at a beautiful little village about eight miles below that city. But their stay was brief, and again they were transported across the Gulf to Dauphine Island, Alabama. The March weather was health-inspiring, but they had no leisure for admiring natures lovely face, for there was more fighting ahead.

Mobile Bay was now the destined point. Crossing over to the mainland, they spent several days in skirmishing, it being General Grants design to divert the enemy's attention from his real intention, which was to attack and subdue Spanish Fort, before whose walls they were arrayed on the dawn of March 27. Bombardment began early. A dense curtain of smoke hung over the fort, like a pall, and after four days of vigorous assault, their guns were silenced, and just before the midnight hour, the works were carried, amid wild cheers and exultation.

Great events were taking place while the Western army was busy. Sheridan and his cavalry had not been idle in the Shenandoah Valley, and at Waynesboro' General Custer, the intrepid, who commanded his Third Division, routed General Early, and took 1,500 prisoners, and every gun and train he had. Sheridan was not content with this victory, but he ruined the locks in the James River Canal, destroyed parts of the railroad, thus cutting off supplies, and then joined General Grant's army, and passed through Dinwiddie Court House with his splendid body of cavalry, and attacking the right flank of the Confederates at Five Forks, found no difficulty in dislodging their cavalry, when a strong force of infantry came to their rescue, who in their turn routed Sheridan most unexpectedly. At once Grant hurried the Fifth Corps forward to his assistance, but it was noon of the first of April before he could get them into position.

Bringing up his mounted force in front, who dashed forward in gallant style, he led the Fifth Corps so as to completely encircle the Confederates. This manouver was an unpleasant surprise to the enemy, and a victory for the Federal side. Five Forks was held by them, and 5,000 prisoners fell into the hands of the Union army.

Following up his advantage, General Grant leveled two more forts, whose defenders still resolutely held out—Forts Gregg and Whitworth, at the latter of which the Confederate General Hill was shot.

General Lee's flight was a sad ending to his earnest hopes and faithful espousal of the cause which he believed right. He was pursued closely by General Grant, who attacked him whenever the two armies approached each other. These conflicts were severe and destructive, as it presented the strange fact of two bodies of soldiers, both skilled and brave, moving along over the open country, unprotected by any entrenchments, and continually falling upon each other with desperation. To add to the gloom of Lee's situation, his men were half-famished and nearly worn out.

Arriving at Appomattox Court House, a week after leaving Petersburg, he was again checked by Sheridan's dismounted cavalry, who were massed in a solid line across his path, but this gave him no uneasiness. He advanced with confidence that he could easily break their ranks, when to his dismay they drew off to the right, and his progress was barred by a heavy force of blue-coats, with their glittering weapons.

A halt was made, and as Sheridans men were about to charge upon them, a flag of truce was sent out, which caused a cessation of hostilities.

General Lee's hopes had suddenly been destroyed. He had bravely held out, even in the face of adverse fate, and even in March had summoned General Gordon, who had command of Stonewall Jackson's old corps, to a conference, and that general had frankly told him the hopelessness of a further struggle. His own admission was that his army were almost starving, he could not furnish men, or food, or horses, and after visiting the Confederate Congress at Richmond the next day, he came back almost heart-broken, but with no power to stay the tide of blood. The desperate attack on Fort Steadman and the failure of the Confederate troops to cover their retreat followed.

General Grant's liberal terms which he dictated to the defeated men were a marvel of generosity. He merely asked that they lay down their arms and return to their homes, where he promised them fullest protection in all their rights, so long as they did not again take up arms against the government. He also permitted them to take their horses with them, as they "would need them for plowing," so sure he was that the end of the terrible war had come, and that men would be glad to resume the peaceful pursuits of life.

The two great commanders, Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee, had exchanged several notes relative to the surrender, and on the 9th of April they met at the McLean House, where the terms were made known, and the next day General Lee issued a farewell address to his army, whose love and devotion to him had proven itself in many a hard-fought field.

CHAPTER XX. THE SURRENDER

RICHMOND has surrendered! The army of Lee has retreated! From every little village, and in every vast city the glad cry rang forth on that bright April morning, early in 1865, till the echoes bore the joyful tidings to every camp and bivouac in the Union army, "Shout the glad tidings!" The words rang out, and the streets of the cities were filled with excited crowds of men and women, who were frantic with joy. Even the little children seemed to have become inspired with the enthusiasm, and laughed and danced, they knew not why.

Flags were run up in haste, men and boys ran wildly around, singing and cheering, strangers clasped each others' hands gladly, while women wept with joy.

The "good news," however, had been received at first by the army to which Ralph belonged, with incredulity, and such expressions as "We've heard that before!"

"My feet are pretty sore tramping!"

"I'm going right on to Richmond now!" and it chagrined the officer in charge so deeply to think that they could not accept it as a truth, that he had the men drawn up in line, some 6,000 strong, in the pine woods through which they were marching, and appointed officers to ride up and down the line and announce it officially. And then what a roar and thundering of cheers aroused the echoes in those old trees! No more weariness then, no more stumbling and grumbling, but they made all haste to the town to which they were nearest, and set up a playful bombardment with blank charges, to celebrate the event, much to the rejoicing of the citizens there, who were as glad as they.

To the worn-out, sunburned soldiers it was good news, and as they gathered in groups loud rejoicing and eager discussion was heard among them. To Ralph it brought the grateful thought that the dawn of peace was near, and the Union would once again be restored, and his heart was full of a quiet thankfulness that words could not express.

But alas, for the jubilant people—for those who were rejoicing, and to whom a feeling of relief had come, because there was no more war. Those who had so bitterly opposed each other on fields of battle, whose differences had received a "baptism of blood," met daily, more like brothers than late enemies. True, bitterness and disappointment rankled in some hearts, but it is also true that all over our broad land, both North and South, men rejoiced together that they could return to the homes they had been so long exiles from, and once more take up the thread of social and business life, with a surety that it would be no more severed But even while the North was trembling with excess of happiness, a terrible shadow darkened the brilliancy of the victory—the four years of struggle and bloodshed were obliterated, so it seemed, by a wave of sorrow that swept over the heart of the North, paralyzing its throb of ecstasy. Abraham Lincoln, the friend of all mankind, whose life was free from petty vindictiveness, and whose whole aim was the restoration of the republic on a fair and just basis, a grand and unselfish man, was struck down by the hand of an assassin—J. Wilkes Booth. The President was shot while sitting with his wife and other friends, in a box at Ford's Theater, Washington, April 14, 1865, and he died the next morning. The entire nation was dumb with grief and consternation. On the heels of sweet and gentle peace came the dread question—What will be the outcome? A nation had been plunged into mourning by the mad act of a fanatic.

At once the War Department issued a poster, offering a large reward for the capture of the murderer, and on April 26 he was tracked to an old barn on Garrett's farm, twenty miles from Fredericksburg, with a shattered leg. He refused to surrender, and the building was set on fire, and he was shot in attempting to escape, and captured. He had received a mortal wound, from which he died.

The surrender of General Lee was followed by that of all the principal armies of the Confederacy; the last to throw down their arms being the command of General Kirby Smith, on the 26th of May. Thus very little was left for the Government to do, save to reconstruct the shattered portions of our land, to repress wandering bands of outlaws, and to maintain order.

The close of the war was welcomed by North and South alike—it was as if a hideous nightmare had been banished, and now the waking dreams of desolated homes, reunited, could be realized.

To the boys in blue who had fought valiantly and untiringly, the news that the opposing armies had surrendered was a relief, although they sorrowfully turned their faces homeward, at the remembrance of those who came not with them; still a deep joy filled their souls as they thought of those who were waiting to receive them.

The same scenes were transpiring at the South, where patient wives, mothers, sisters and daughters were waiting and watching for those who had been so strangely preserved to them, and happy voices and beaming smiles made their home-coming glad.

The two armies—the Army of the Potomac and Sherman's Army—were sent to Washington late in May for review, before being mustered out of service. The scene was inspiring. The streets were packed with a surging mass of people, proud to shout and cheer for the brown-faced men who fought for the upholding of their beloved government.

Banners, garlands of flowers, tumultuous cheering, marked the marching divisions of the Army of the Potomac, as they wheeled into line, and arriving at the grand stand at the White House, where President Johnson and his cabinet reviewed them, the officers gave a royal salute with their swords, while the commanders of the divisions sprang from their horses, and went upon the stand as their commands filed by.

The following day, May 24, Sherman's noble army of bronzed and weather-beaten men were reviewed in the same manner, and as the marching columns kept step to the music of their bands, the enthusiasm was intense, and broke into cheer after cheer, while the houses, sidewalks, and every spot where human beings could find a foothold, was one mass of waving flags, handkerchiefs and streamers.

As Ralph, in far-away Montgomery, where the regiment was to remain but a day or so, read the account of the monster ovation, his bosom swelled with pride, and life seemed to, take on a rosier color. Every cheer that was uttered, every look of welcome to those who passed through the streets of Washington that day, he considered a tribute to every soldier in the land; for had they not all done their duty and stood by their colors?

He claimed a share in that rejoicing, even though could not be there, and he vaguely wondered if those who had died to save this glorious Union did not also rejoice at the dawn of peace, and the new birth of a nation, whose proudest boast should ever be that "All men are born free and equal."

His soul went out in peace and love to all—to those who had fallen in battle or died of wounds on either side; to the dear comrades whom he remembered long; to that grana martyr—the type of freedom, justice and love for all—Abraham Lincoln!

"Dreaming, are you?" a cheery voice broke in upon his musings.

"Yes, Steve, I am dreaming—dreaming of the time when I can go to my mother, and tell her how grateful I am that I have been saved through all the sad scenes the past four years have shown me."

"Well, it won't be very long before you can go. I have no mother to welcome me; you're a lucky boy, Ralph. But we are ordered to Union Springs, about forty miles or so from here, to do post duty. They are having lively times down there between the darkeys and their former owners, and they need us to adjust matters. The boys are being disbanded as fast as possible, and it will be our turn soon."

"I shall not be sorry, but I have had many instructive and useful experiences. Life in the army has been to me the best school I ever knew. It has taught me the beauty of discipline, the value of freedom, and an insight into military affairs which I never could have had. It has left me, too, with a warmer admiration for the blessings of a wise, just and stable government."

"Well, I never gave these things a thought, but I believe you are right, and I don't know but I'm better prepared to take up the business of life than I should have been without this training. But to the case in hand. We leave here in a day or two, and shall be compelled to say good-bye forever to some very nice people we have met."

"That's true, Steve, and I am sorry it must be so."

Two days later, and while the daily papers were full of the descriptions of the gorgeous spectacle the review furnished, they moved on to Union Springs. Here they found a turbulent element which only the presence of soldiers could quell. Remaining here until the middle of July, they had orders to proceed to Vicksburg, where they were to be mustered out of the service of the United States.

It was August before they reached Vicksburg, where they were discharged from further service. When Ralph stepped on board the steamer which was to convey them to Cairo, he was overjoyed. His spirits bubbled over like a schoolboy's, and he mingled with the gay crowd of passengers, with a light heart. The water was low, and as they sailed between the banks, the sounds of industry were plainly to be heard, as the blacks worked in the fields.

As they glided along, the merry throngs were amusing themselves, some in the cabin, dancing to the music of the piano, some chatting as pleasantly with the soldiers as if their acquaintance had extended over years, and all light-hearted and careless. A sudden commotion was heard, and the quick, sharp voice of the captain giving orders. Too late—a sudden jar, a trembling of the boat, and a crash, over all of which were heard shrieks of terror and the hoarse shouting of the officers, as the boat, with her hull completely torn away, began to settle into the muddy bottom.

A huge snag, floating down stream, had caught the boat's hull, and completely destroyed it, and the steamer was sinking like lead.

The river was alive with frightened human beings, some of whom had jumped at the first shock, while others had been hurled into the water. Ralph was among the latter, and his terror was intense, as he wondered, with lightning-like rapidity, whether he had passed through so much danger, only to perish miserably just when he felt that he was safe. He was overcome but a moment, however, and seeing the gang plank floating a few yards away, he swam toward it, and seizing one end, he raised himself upon it and began to plan what he should do next. The cries of some were growing feebler. He saw men on the bank putting boats out from shore, and as he floated along he called loudly to those within sound of his voice, trying to encourage them. He caught a lady by her dress and placed her on his raft, then a child floated by, whose light form he grasped firmly, as he laid her on the planks. Thus Ralph managed, by courage and strength, to save fifteen persons on his clumsy but exceedingly useful craft.

He paddled them to shore, and on his way he saw a young black girl who had been on board with her mistress. She was being drawn at a rapid pace through the water, by hanging to the tail of a mule, who was swimming vigorously to land. One moment her head would be under the water, as the mule went along, and the next she would come up to the surface, sputtering and shaking it from her streaming head, but never for an instant relaxing her hold of the frightened animal, who must have wondered a little why he was being used for a tow boat. Ralph's love of fun and the queer spectacle overcame him, even in the midst of danger, and as she went by, he asked her how she was getting along.

"Fust rate, massa. We'll make de passage, I 'low, sooner dan yo' crew will."

All the passengers were saved, and those who owed their rescue to Ralph's courage, would have made him the hero of the hour, but he modestly disclaimed any praise, for it was by mere luck, he said, that the gang-plank came his way, and any one would have done as much, or even more.

A gunboat was sent to take them up the river, and soon the placid scenery of the Mississippi was exchanged for the ripe fields, the well-tilled farms of Illinois, as they were whirled on the train toward Chicago. The sun poured down his hottest beams, the skies were sultry, and the pavements hot and dusty, when they reached that city, but a reception awaited them, which made the heat and dust seem trifles, as they marched through the lines of people who greeted them on their return from the war. And as the battle flags were borne aloft, some mere tattered rags, some with blood dyed folds, carried by maimed and scarred veterans, whose eagle eyes scanned the throngs to find some one whom they knew and who would clasp them by the hand as in the olden time, there was not a man in those thinned ranks but thanked his heavenly Father that once more he trod the soil of a clime where peace folded her snowy wings, and the sounds of war and discord were heard no more.

When the train rolled into the depot, Ralph heard the shouts and cheers going up for the boys in blue, and a six-pounder was fired off, giving them a salute of thirty-six guns. He felt proud to belong to that stalwart band of men who had borne the brunt of the battle, and whose hands had helped to rear the massive structure of a reunited nation upon an enduring base—freedom for all. And then cheers broke forth from thousands of throats, women's faces grew brighter, children caught the contagion of joy, and men shouted v and hurrahed until they were hoarse. The boys had come home from the war, and their toil and privations were past. Never again, it was to be hoped, should the wave of dissension sweep across the land, but the banner of liberty should float from every tower and dome, for all nations to honor.

The soldiers had caught the glad spirit of welcome, and as they wheeled into line and kept step to the music of their bands, every nerve tingled and burned, and their hearts beat tumultuously. They were to be shown still farther attention, for they were escorted to a hall, where, when they had "stacked arms," they clasped hands with old friends, and after a half hour passed in renewing old friendships and making new, they were invited to an elegant banquet, to which they all did justice.

To Ralph the scene was a revelation—the brightly lit hall, the perfume of countless flowers, the kind attentions of beautiful women, and the eloquent speeches—all in turn charmed him, and the home-coming seemed, indeed, a delightful fairy vision.

But there were yet three weary days of waiting ere the final forms were gone through with, the regiment paid off, the Board of Trade having assumed the payment, so as to permit the men to return home more speedily, and to Ralph they were the longest and most tedious he ever remembered. But at last his face was turned homeward, and as he sprang from the car, and hurried along the one short mile that divided the dear mother from him, his sunburned and speaking face, the erect form and swinging, elastic step, bore no resemblance to the boy who had come home to die, two years before.