 | Hilt to hilt, or, Days and nights on the banks of the Shenandoah in the autumn of 1864 |  |
3. III.
IN ARMS TO THE LAST
I saw that Landon's emotion was nearly choking
him, and did not utter a word.
We passed on rapidly, entered the forest, swept
along beneath the great oaks, and suddenly came in
sight of “Bizarre.”
Then, as we approached, I saw all at once the
gleam of a robe at the great gate. A form hastened
to meet us, the sweet eyes full of tears. Landon
sprung from his horse, and catching the young lady
in his arms, allowed his head to fall upon her shoulder.
“I have surrendered!” he said, hoarsely. “I
was obliged to, on my men's account.”
And for the first time a fiery tear dimmed his eye.
“It is hard, — is it not, colonel?” he said with
his proud head raised, and a faint smile upon his
lips; “it makes children of us old soldiers!”
Then, taking the lady's hand he held it out to me
and said: —
“You know Mrs. Landon!”
It was Ellen Adair's bright eyes which looked at
me, her warm hand which pressed mine, her smiling
talk, to the old mansion.
“Bizarre” was still “torn down” and war-worn in
appearance, — but all our Virginia homes were thus
in '65. The old mansion seemed to smile upon us,
nevertheless, as we approached; the great door stood
hospitably open. As we entered the hall, the old portraits,
in lace and powder, on the dim canvas,
seemed to smile, but not so brightly as the lovely face
of Ellen Adair, as I will still call her, who was beside
me.
Then, all at once, there came out of the parlour to
meet us, a charming maiden of seventeen or eighteen,
who approached and gave me her hand. It was Miss
Annie Meadows, full of smiles and blushes, and behind
her came, limping, and leaning on his brother
Ralph, no less a personage than my dear Harry
Arden.
So you see, reader, nobody that was worth living
was dead, except the noble Blount and the brave
Touch-and-go. And even they — they sleep, but
are not dead!
Harry Arden had been desperately wounded, but
was brought with Landon after the fight to “Bizarre,”
where I left them to return to Petersburg. Landon
had soon recovered, and had been married for a
month. Harry was nearly well; and it was plain
that “Annie” had been “thinking” a great deal of
As to Ralph, he had never again entered the army;
had returned to Delaware; put on citizens' clothes;
was on a visit to his brother now, and gave me one
of the most cordial pressures of the hand I ever received.
An hour afterwards, Landon and myself had
strolled to Lover's Leap. From the shadowy pine
wood came a pensive sigh; the murmur of the Shenandoah
ascended to the great rock; and on the
slopes of the Blue Ridge the red sunset fell in mellow
splendour.
Landon leaned against the solitary pine and
mused. The hour subdued me too, and, resting my
head upon my hand, I fell into a reverie. They
were bitter — those reveries — in April, '65, friend.
Did you dream then, as we did? I have had pleasanter
dreams.
Landon sighed as he gazed on the splendid landscape.
“Surrender! — the flag lowered!” I heard him
murmur, — “we have lost all.”
“But me!”
And a form passed me, two tender arms clasped
him; the head of Ellen Adair was resting upon his
heart.
A week afterwards I was at Eagle's Nest.
And in this spring of 1868, I have found time to
write the history of St. Leger Landon.
May you like it, my dear reader!
Surry of Eagle's Nest.
| Hilt to hilt, or, Days and nights on the banks of the Shenandoah in the autumn of 1864 | |