Now his ear
caught the sound of martial music. Bands were playing the same strains
which had mingled with the echoes of his guns at Vicksburg, the same
quick-steps to which his men had sped in hot haste in pursuit of Lee
through Virginia. And then came the heavy, measured steps of moving
columns, a step which can be acquired only by years of service in the
field. He recognized it all now. It was the tread of his old veterans.
With his little remaining strength he arose and dragged himself to the
window. As he gazed upon those battle-flags dipping to him in salute,
those precious standards bullet-riddled, battle-stained, but remnants of
their former selves, with scarcely enough left of them on which to print
the names of the battles they had seen, his eyes once more kindled with
the flames which had lighted them at Shiloh, on the heights of
Chattanooga, amid the glories of Appomattox; and as those war-scarred
veterans looked with uncovered heads and upturned faces for the last
time upon the pallid features of their old chief, cheeks which had been
bronzed by Southern suns and begrimed with powder, were bathed in the
tears of a manly grief. Soon they saw rising the hand which had so often
pointed out to them the path of victory. He raised it slowly and
painfully to his head in recognition of their salutations.
Pages:
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153