65. CHAPTER LXV.
THE ANNOUNCEMENT.
The heads of the columns of the invaders sent down the
right bank of the Potomac to the relief of Sir Charles Hunt,
were long kept in check by the skilful dispositions of Randolph
and Blount, and the impetuosity of Crook.
“All is done that can be accomplished,” observed Randolph,
checking his horse at the side of Blount, in an elevated
position whence they surveyed the entire field.
“Yes, sir,” said Blount; “and although we must retire
before irresistible numbers, it will not be without leaving
traces of our work behind. Many thousands of the enemy
have fallen, while our loss has been inconsiderable. The
Scouts are terrible men! Why do they rush up to the
dead? Surely they do not rifle them?”
“I have observed the same thing, and could not conjecture
why it was done,” said Randolph, with the glass to his
eye. “They whoop like Indians—I hope they do not likewise
scalp the enemy. General, call off Crook, or we shall
lose him. It would be madness to encounter that hurricane!”
Blount dispatched the order, while Randolph sent one of
his aides to Valiant and Carleton, with directions to retire
slowly, but in order, towards the grounds they had occupied
the preceding night, still keeping out of range of the
batteries on the northern side of the Potomac.
Just after these orders had been dispatched, and the hoofs
of the horses of the aides-de-camp ceased to be heard, the
steeds of both the President and General Blount snorted
frantically and sprang apart, as an apparition rose up between
them from the bushes obscuring an exhausted rivulet.
“Haste! haste to the eyrie! But the eaglet is gone!
Gone! Oh, Genius of Liberty!” cried crazy Charlotte,
now standing erect, while the hand that held the spear
trembled violently. “Why sit ye here in idleness in the
midst of the inundating flood, that must overflow the tips
of the mountains? Strike your rowels deep into your war-horses,
and fly upon the wings of the wind, oh, ye champions
of the glorious South, made coruscant by the scintillations
of the bright lights of the past!”
“What does all this mean, Charlotte?” demanded Randolph,
convinced that the erratic being before him always
mingled rational purposes with her extravagant ravings.
“Turn your eyes towards the Zion of the South, the holy
Mount of Freedom, and look for yourselves.”
“Where can that proceed from?” said Blount, quickly
perceiving the dark column of smoke still ascending from
the ruins of Mount Vernon.
“It is certainly in the direction of Mount Vernon,” said
the President; “but there is no enemy in our rear, and if
there had been, they durst not fire that sacred pile! It
must be the result of accident—”
“No—no!” said Charlotte, “I was there! My lips but
utter what these eyes beheld! Oh, that my eyes had been
cannon balls! It is Mount Vernon—now a heap of smouldering
ruins! Fired by the hands of the British! They
came up the river—a fleet of steamers! Oh, watchful Generals,
where were your wits then? Why were the Blue
Caps away from the presence of the President's daughter?
Why? Why?”
“Ah, why, indeed?” exclaimed the President. “It was
Alice's own order, that every available man might be in the
field to resist the invader!”
“But, Charlotte,” said Blount, “the inmates of the mansion
must have had timely warning—had they not?”
“I warned them—who but Charlotte? But who heeds
the warning of the lost Charlotte? Still they believed me.
The Senator and his daughter fled to the woods—but the
ministering vestal at the last fane of Liberty—”
“Alice!” exclaimed the President—“what became of
her?”
“With folded arms, and the star of diamonds glittering
on her Parian brow, she confronted the vile creatures of the
tyrant!”
“Brave Alice!” said Randolph. “But what followed?”
he continued, gathering up the reins, and bracing his nerves.
“They touched her not—they durst not pollute the last of
the vestals by an unholy touch! But they led her away a
captive, and the steamer proceeded up the river. Wiry
Willy went with her.”
“I breathe again!” said the President. “I fear nothing!”
“And we can do nothing!” said Blount. “We must
bear the ills that are inevitable. And, really, Randolph,
you do not seem to require commiseration!”
“No, Blount. Even now I am capable of condoling with
you.” And saying this, he motioned the General to accompany
him, and they rode slowly away.
“But why do you utter such words to me, Randolph?”
asked Blount, after they had proceeded some paces in silence.
“Twice to-day, I have been on the eve of demanding an
explanation from Crook, of his manner and speech—and now
I observe the same mysterious bearing in you. Pray explain.”
“We must bear the ills that are inevitable and irremediable,
my friend,” said Randolph.
“But what inevitable or irremediable ill has befallen me?”
“The appropriate time has arrived to make the disclosure.
I have lost a daughter—not irrecoverably, I think—and the
country has been bereft of one of its purest patriots and
wisest statesmen.”
“I do not fully comprehend,” said Blount, checking his
steed, and gazing steadfastly in the face of the President.
“You are prepared for the announcement—”
“Unquestionably!”
“Your father!”
“Has he fallen into the hands of the enemy?”
“Into the merciful hands of his God.”
“Then it is over! Randolph, I know you are not mistaken.
My father's father died before him, and in the service
of the country. My father dies before his son—his son
remains to die before his posterity. It is the fate of all. It
is natural that these tears should flow—but they cannot
unman me. No—fear it not! But the manner of his death?
He was not ill when we parted.”
“No, he was not ill when he died.”
“Not ill? Ha! Then all has not yet been told! No
matter! Death is the end of pain—and he was a hero!
Proceed.”
“He was the victim of Ruffleton.”
“The guillotine—or assassination?”
“The former.”
The chin of the General fell upon his breast. He remained
perfectly silent—but the tears ceased to flow, Randolph
gently grasped his hand, but did not break the silence.
They proceeded thus until they were met by a messenger
from Senator Langdon.
