CHAPTER VII


It was afternoon and over on the eastern side of the James where the old
Turnpike leads up over the rolling hills to Richmond the sun was pouring
down a flood of heat. The 'pike was ankle deep with dust and the fine,
white powder, churned into floury softness by artillery and the myriad
iron heels of war, had settled down on roadside bush and tree and vine
till all the sweet green of summer hung its head under the hot weight
and longed for a cooling shower which would wash it clean.

In fairer times the Pike had been an active thoroughfare for the
plantations and hundreds of smaller truck farms which fed the capitol,
but of late months nearly all this traffic had disappeared. For the days
of the Confederacy were drawing slowly but none the less surely to a
close.

Inside the breastworks and far flung fortifications which encompassed
Richmond the flower of the rebel arms, the Army of Northern Virginia,
lay like a rat caught in a trap. On three sides, north, east and south
the Army of the Potomac under Grant beleaguered the city while the
tireless Sheridan, with that lately developed arm of the Federals, the
cavalry, raided right and left and struck hard blows at the crumbling
cause where they were least expected. Yet in this same dark hour there
had been a ray of light. Once the Confederacy had come within
hairbreadth of overwhelming success, for Early's hard riding troopers
had made a dash for Washington but a few weeks before and, with the