Mohun; Or, the Last Days of Lee and His Paladins Part 96

"Ruin," was the curt response.

"Not the loss of a mere town?"

"No; the place itself is nothing. For Sherman to take it will not benefit him much; but it will prove to the country, and the President, that he is irresistible. Then they will _hack_; and you will see the beginning of the end."

"That is a gloomy view enough."

"Yes--every thing is gloomy now. The devil of high-headed obstinacy and incompetence rules affairs. I do not croak in the _Examiner_ newspaper.

But we are going straight to the devil."

As he uttered these words, he placed his hand upon his breast, and closed his eyes, as though he were going to faint.

"What is the matter?" I exclaimed, rising abruptly, and approaching him.

"Nothing!" he replied, in a weak voice; "don't disturb yourself about me. These fits of faintness come on, now and then, in consequence of an attack of pneumonia which I had lately. Sit down, colonel. You must really pardon me for saying it, but you make me nervous."

There was nothing in the tone of this singular address to take offence at,--the voice of the speaker was perfectly courteous,--and I resumed my seat.

"We were talking about Sherman," he said. "They call him Gog, Magog, anti-Christ, I know not what, in the clerical circles of this city!"

His lip curled as he spoke.

"One reverend divine publicly declared the other day, that 'G.o.d had put a hook in Sherman's nose, and was leading him to his destruction!' I don't think it looks much like it!"

The speaker was stopped by a fit of coughing, and when it had subsided, leaned back, faint and exhausted, in his chair.

"The fact is--Sherman--" he said, with difficulty, "seems to have--the hook in--_our_ nose!"

There was something grim and lugubrious in the smile which accompanied the painfully uttered words. A long silence followed them, which was broken by neither of us. At last I raised my head, and said:--

"I find you less hopeful than last summer. At that time you were in good spirits, and the tone of the _Examiner_ was buoyant."

"It is hopeful still," he replied, "but by an effort--from a sentiment of duty. I often write far more cheerfully than I feel, colonel."[1]

[Footnote 1: His words.]

"Your views have changed, I perceive--but you change with the whole country."

"Yes. A whole century has pa.s.sed since last August, when you visited me here. One by one, we have lost all that the country could depend on--hope goes last. For myself, I began to doubt when Jackson fell at Chancellorsville, and I have been doubting, more or less, ever since.

He was _a dominant man_, colonel, fit, _if any thing happened_, to rise to the head of affairs.[1] Oh! for an hour of Jackson! Oh! for a day of our dead Dundee!"[2]

[Footnote 1: His words.]

[Footnote 2: His words.]

The face of the speaker glowed, and I shall never forget the flash of his dark eye, as he uttered the words, "if any thing happened." There was a whole volume of menace to President Davis in those words.

"But this is useless!" he went on; "Jackson is dead, and there is none to take his place. So, without leaders, with every sort of incompetence, with obstinacy and stupidity directing the public councils, and shaping the acts of the administration, we are gliding straight into the gulf of destruction."

I could make no reply. The words of this singular man and profound thinker, affected me dolefully.

"Yes, colonel," he went on, "the three or four months which have pa.s.sed since your last visit, have cleared away all mists from _my_ eyes at least, and put an end to all my dreams--among others, to that project which I spoke of--the purchase and restoration of the family estate of Stafford. It will never be restored by me. Like Randolph, I am the last of my line."

And with eyes full of a profound melancholy, the speaker gazed into the fire.

"I am pa.s.sing away with the country," he added. "The cause is going to fail. I give it three months to end in, and have sent for a prominent senator, who may be able to do something. I intend to say to him, 'The time has come to make the best terms possible with the enemy,' and I shall place the columns of the _Examiner_ newspaper at his disposal to advocate that policy."[1]

[Footnote 1: This, I learned afterward, from the Hon. Mr. -----, was duly done by Mr. Daniel. But it was too late.]

"Is it possible!" I said. "Frankly, I do not think things are so desperate."

"You are a soldier, and hopeful, colonel. The smoke blinds you."

"And yet General Lee is said to repudiate negotiations with scorn. He is said to have lately replied to a gentleman who advised them, 'For myself, I intend to die sword in hand!'"

"General Lee is a soldier--and you know what the song says: 'A soldier's business, boys, is to die!'"

I could find no reply to the grim words.

"I tell you the cause is lost, colonel!" with feverish energy, "lost irremediably, at this moment while we are speaking! It is lost from causes which are enough to make the devil laugh, but it is lost all the same! When the day of surrender, and Yankee domination comes--when the gentlemen of the South are placed under the heel of negroes and Yankees--I, for one, wish to die. Happy is the man who shall have gotten into the grave before that day![1] Blessed will be the woman who has never given suck![2] Yes, the best thing for me is to die--[3] and I am going to do so. I shall not see that _Dies Irae_! I shall be in my grave!"

[Footnote 1: His words.]

[Footnote 2: His words.]

[Footnote 3: His words.]

And breathing heavily, the journalist again leaned back in his chair, as though about to faint.

An hour afterward, I terminated my visit, and went out, oppressed and gloomy.

This singular man had made a reluctant convert of me to his own dark views. The cloud which wrapped him, now darkened me--from the black future I saw the lightnings dart already.

His predictions were destined to have a very remarkable fulfilment.

On the 21st of December, a few days after our interview, Sherman telegraphed to Lincoln:--

"I beg to present you, as a Christmas gift, the city of Savannah, with one hundred and fifty guns, and plenty of ammunition, and also about twenty-five thousand bales of cotton."

In January, Wilmington fell.

Toward the end of the same month, John M. Daniel was a second time seized with pneumonia, and took to his bed, from which he was never again to rise. He would see no one but his physician and a few chosen friends. All other persons were persistently denied admittance to his chamber. Lingering throughout the remainder of the winter, as spring approached, life seemed gradually leaving him. Day by day his pulse grew weaker. You would have said that this man was slowly dying with the cause for which he had fought; that as the life-blood oozed, drop by drop, from the bleeding bosom of the Southern Confederacy, the last pulses of John M. Daniel kept time to the pattering drops.

One morning, at the end of March, his physician came to see him, and found him lying on the outer edge of his bed. Not wishing to disturb him, the physician went to the window to mix a stimulant. All at once a noise attracted his attention, and he turned round. The dying man had, by a great effort, turned completely over, and lay on his back in the middle of the bed, with his eyes closed, and his arms folded on his breast, as though he were praying.

When the physician came to his bedside, he was dead.

It was four days before the fall of Petersburg and Richmond; and he was buried in Hollywood, just in time to escape the tramp of Federal feet around his coffin.