The Tree of Appomattox | Page 4

the United
States started. John Smith and Rolfe and Pocahontas and the rest of
them may have roamed just where this orchard stands. And later on lots
of the great Americans rode about these parts, some of the younger
ones carrying their beautiful ladies on pillions behind them. You are a
cold-blooded New Englander, Warner, and you believe that anyone
fighting against you ought to burn forever, but as for me I feel sorry for
Virginia. I don't care what she's done, but I don't like to see the Old
Dominion, the Mother of Presidents, stamped flat."
"I'm not cold-blooded at all, but I don't gush. I don't forget that this
state produced George Washington, but I want victory for our side just
the same, no matter how much of Virginia we may have to tread down.
Is that farm house over there still empty?"
"Of course, or we wouldn't have taken the apples. It belongs to a man
named Haynes, and he left ahead of us with his family for Richmond. I
fancy it will be a long time before Haynes and his people sleep in their
own rooms again. Come, fellows, we'd better be going back. Colonel
Winchester is kind to us, but he doesn't want his officers to be prowling
about as they please too long."

They walked together toward the edge of the orchard and looked at the
farm house, from the chimneys of which no smoke had risen in weeks.
Dick felt sure it would be used later on as headquarters by some general
and his staff, but for the present it was left alone. And being within the
Union lines no plunderer had dared to touch it.
It was a two-story wooden house, painted white, with green shutters, all
closed now. The doors were also locked and sealed until such time as
the army authorities wished to open them, but on the portico, facing the
Southern lines were two benches, on which the three youths sat, and
looked again over the great expanse of rolling country, dotted at
intervals by puffs of smoke from the long lines of trenches. Where they
sat it was so still that they could hear the faint crackle of the distant
rifles, and now and then the heavier crash of a cannon.
Dick's mind went back to the Wilderness and its gloomy shades, the
sanguinary field of Spottsylvania, and then the terrific mistake of Cold
Harbor. The genius of Lee had never burned more brightly. He had
handled his diminishing forces with all his old skill and resolution, but
Grant had driven on and on. No matter what his losses the North
always filled up his ranks again, and poured forward munitions and
supplies in a vast and unbroken stream. A nation had summoned all its
powers for a supreme effort to win, and Dick felt that the issue of the
war was not now in doubt. The genius of Lee and the bravery of his
devoted army could no longer save the South. The hammer strokes of
Grant would surely crush it.
And then what? He had the deepest sympathy for these people of
Virginia. What would become of them after the war? Defeat for the
South meant nearer approach to destruction than any nation had
suffered in generations. To him, born south of the Ohio River, and so
closely united by blood with these people, victory as well as defeat had
its pangs.
Warner and Pennington rose and announced that they would return to
the regiment which was held in reserve in a little valley below, but
Dick, their leave not having run out yet, decided to stay a while longer.

"So long," said Warner. "Let the orchard alone. Leave apples for others.
Remember that they are protected by strict orders against all wandering
and irresponsible officers, but ourselves."
"Yes, be good, Dick," said Pennington, and the two went down the
slope, leaving Dick on the portico. He liked being alone at times. The
serious cast of mind that he had inherited from his famous great
grandfather, Paul Cotter, demanded moments of meditation. It was
peaceful too on the portico, and a youth who had been through Grant's
Wilderness campaign, a month of continuous and terrible fighting, was
glad to rest for a while.
The distant rifle fire and the occasional cannon shot had no significance
and did not disturb him. They blended now with the breeze that blew
among the leaves of the apple trees. He had never felt more like peace,
and the pleasant open country was soothing to the eye. What a contrast
to that dark and sodden Wilderness where men fought blindly in the
dusk. He shuddered as he remembered the forests set on fire by the
shells, and burning over the fallen.
A light