They are thrown into mangled heaps before Battery
Robinett, dying for the South. Their military recklessness has
never been surpassed in the red record of war.
Though gallant in the field, President Jefferson Davis, seated
on a throne of cotton, gazes across the seas for England's help.
He craves the aid of France. He allows narrow prejudice to blind
him to any part of the great issue, save the military pageantry of
his unequalled Virginian army. It is the flower of the South, and
moves only on the sacred soil of Virginia. Davis, restrained by
antipathies, haughty, and distant, is deaf to the thrilling calls
of the West for that dashing column. It would have gained him
California. Weakness of mind kept him from hurling his victorious
troops on Washington, or crossing the Ohio to divide the North while
yet unprepared. Active help could then be looked for from Northern
Democrats. But he masses the South in Virginia.
As winter wears on the movement of Carleton's and Canby's preparations
are disclosed by Southern friends, who run the gauntlet with these
discouraging news.
Sibley lingered with leaden heels at Fort Bliss. The Confederate
riders are not across the Rio Grande. Valois grows heartsick.
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