THE GREAT MOMENT OF A GREAT LIFE.
I was gazing gloomily at the field covered with detachments limping back
amid a great whirlwind of shell, when a mounted officer rode out of the
smoke. In his right hand he carried his drawn sword--his left arm was
thrown around a wounded boy whom he supported on the pommel of his
saddle.
In the cavalier I recognized General Davenant, whom I had seen near the
village of Paris, and who was now personally known to me. In the boy I
recognized the urchin, Charley, with the braided jacket and jaunty cap.
I spurred toward him.
“Your son--!” I said, and I pointed to the boy.
“He is dying I think, colonel!” was the reply in a hoarse voice. The
gray mustache trembled, and the eye of the father rested, moist but
fiery, on the boy.
“Such a child!” I said. “Could _he_ have gone into the charge?”
“I could not prevent him!” came, in a groan, almost from the old
cavalier. “I forbade him, but he got a musket somewhere, and went over
the breastworks with the rest. I saw him then for the first time, and
heard him laugh and cheer. A moment afterward he was shot--I caught and
raised him up, and I have ridden back through the fire, trying to
shield him--but he is dying! Look! his wound is mortal, I think--and so
young--a mere child--never was any one braver than my poor child--!”
A groan followed the words: and bending down the old cavalier kissed the
pale cheek of the boy.
I made no reply; something seemed to choke me.
Suddenly a grave voice uttered some words within a few paces of us, and
I turned quickly. It was General Lee--riding calmly amid the smoke,
and re-forming the stragglers. Never have I seen a human being more
composed.
General Davenant wheeled and saluted.
“We are cut to pieces, general!” he said, with something like a fiery
tear in his eye. “We did our best, and we drove them!--but were not
supported. My brigade--my brave old brigade is gone! This is my boy--I
brought him out--but he is dying too!”
The hoarse tones and fiery tears of the old cavalier made my heart beat.
I could see a quick flush rise to the face of General Lee. He looked at
the pale face of the boy, over which the disordered curls fell, with a
glance of inexpressible sympathy and sweetness. Then stretching out
his hand, he pressed the hand of General Davenant, and said in his deep
grave voice:--
“This has been a sad day for us, general--a sad day, but we cannot
expect always to gain victories. Never mind--all this has been _my_
fault. It is _I_ who have lost this fight, and you must help me out of
it in the best way you can.”[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
As he uttered these measured words, General Lee saluted and disappeared
in the smoke.
General Davenant followed, bearing the wounded boy still upon his
saddle.
Ten minutes afterward, I was riding to find General Stuart, who had sent
me with a message just before the charge.
I had gloomy news for him. The battle of Gettysburg was lost.