As it filed into an open field beyond a wooded level, where a few campfires
glimmered, a group of Federal horsemen clattered across the front, and, as
if by instinct, the column formed into battle line, and the hand of every
man was on the trigger of his musket.
"Don't fire, you fools!" called an officer behind them, in a voice sharp
with irritation. "The army has surrendered!"
"What! Grant surrendered?" thundered the line, with muskets at a trail as
it rushed into the open.
"No, you blasted fools--we've surrendered," shouted the voice, rising
hoarsely in a gasping indignation.
"Surrendered, the deuce!" scoffed the men, as they fell back into ranks.
"I'd like to know what General Lee will think of your surrender?"
A little Colonel, with his hand at his sword hilt, strutted up and down
before a tangle of dead thistles.
"I don't know what he thinks of it, he did it," he shrieked, without
pausing in his walk.
"It's a damn lie!" cried Dan, in a white heat. Then he threw his musket on
the ground, and fell to sobbing the dry tearless sobs of a man who feels
his heart crushed by a sudden blow.
There were tears on all the faces round him, and Pinetop was digging his
great fists into his eyes, as a child does who has been punished before his
playmates. Beside him a man with an untrimmed shaggy beard hid his
distorted features in shaking hands.
"I ain't blubberin' fur myself," he said defiantly, "but--O Lord, boys--I'm
cryin' fur Marse Robert.
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