Part 1 (1/2)
The Tree of Appomattox.
by Joseph A. Altsheler.
FOREWORD
”The Tree of Appomattox” concludes the series of connected romances dealing with the Civil War, begun in ”The Guns of Bull Run,” and continued successively through ”The Guns of s.h.i.+loh,” ”The Scouts of Stonewall,” ”The Sword of Antietam,” ”The Star of Gettysburg,” ”The Rock of Chickamauga” and ”The Shades of the Wilderness” to the present volume. It has been completed at the expense of vast labor, and the author has striven at all times to be correct, wherever facts are involved. So far, at least, no historic detail has been challenged by critic or reader.
More than half a century has pa.s.sed since the Civil War's close. Not many of the actors in it are left. It was one of the most tremendous upheavals in the life of any nation, and it was the greatest of all struggles, until the World War began, but scarcely any trace of partisan rancor or bitterness is left. So, it has become easier to write of it with a sense of fairness and detachment, and the lapse of time has made the perspective clear and sharp.
However lacking he may be in other respects, the author perhaps had an advantage in being born, and having grown up in a border state, where sentiment was about equally divided concerning the Civil War. He was surrounded during his early youth by men who fought on one side or the other, and their stories of camp, march and battle were almost a part of the air he breathed. So he hopes that this circ.u.mstance has aided him to give a truthful color to the picture of the mighty combat, waged for four such long and terrible years.
CHAPTER I
THE APPLE TREE
Although he was an officer in full uniform he was a youth in years, and he had the spirits of youth. Moreover, it was one of the finest apple trees he had ever seen and the apples hung everywhere, round, ripe and red, fairly asking to be taken and eaten. d.i.c.k Mason looked up at them longingly. They made him think of the orchards at home in his own state, and a touch of coolness in the air sharpened his appet.i.te for them all the more.
”If you want 'em so badly, d.i.c.k,” said Warner, ”why don't you climb the tree and get 'em? There's plenty for you and also for Pennington and me.”
”I see. You're as anxious for apples as I am, and you wish me to gather 'em for you by making a strong appeal to my own desires. It's your clever New England way.”
”We're forbidden to take anything from the people, but it won't hurt to keep a few apples from rotting on the ground. If you won't get 'em Pennington will.”
”I understand you, George. You're trying to play Frank against me, while you keep yourself safe. You'll go far. Never mind. I'll gather apples for us all.”
He leaped up, caught the lowest bough, swung himself lightly into the fork, and then climbing a little higher, reached for the reddest and ripest apples, which he flung down in a bountiful supply.
”Now, gluttons,” he said, ”satiate yourselves, but save a lot for me.”
Then he went up as far as the boughs would sustain him and took a look over the country. Apple trees do not grow very tall, but d.i.c.k's tree stood on the highest point in the orchard, and he had a fine view, a view that was in truth the most remarkable the North American continent had yet afforded.
He always carried gla.s.ses over his shoulder, and lately Colonel Winchester had made him a gift of a splendid pair, which he now put into use, sweeping the whole circle of the horizon. With their powerful aid he was able to see the ancient city of Petersburg, where Lee had thrown himself across Grant's path in order to block his way to Richmond, the Southern capital, and had dug long lines of trenches in which his army lay. It was Lee who first used this method of defense for a smaller force against a larger, and the vast trench warfare of Europe a half century later was a repet.i.tion of the mighty struggle of Lee and Grant on the lines of Petersburg.
d.i.c.k through his gla.s.ses saw the trenches, lying like a brown bar across the green country, and opposite them another brown bar, often less than a hundred yards away, which marked where the Northern troops also had dug in. The opposing lines extended a distance of nearly forty miles, and Richmond was only twenty miles behind them. It was the nearest the Army of the Potomac had come to the Southern capital since McClellan had seen the spires of its churches, and that was more than two years away.
Warner and Pennington were lying on the ground, eating big red apples with much content and looking up lazily at Mason.
”You're curving those gla.s.ses about a lot. What do you see, d.i.c.k?” asked Pennington at length.
”I see Petersburg, an old, old town, half buried in foliage, and with many orchards and gardens about it. A pity that two great armies should focus on such a pleasant place.”
”No time for sentiment, d.i.c.k. What else do you see?”
”Jets of smoke and flame from the trenches, an irregular sort of firing, sometimes a half-dozen shots at one place, and then a long and peaceful break until you come to another place, where they're exchanging bullets.”
”What more do you see, Brother Richard?”
”I see a Johnny come out of his trench hands up and advance toward one of our Yanks opposite, who also has come out of his trench hands up.”
”What are they trading?” asked Warner.