Confident and steady, bold and untiring, fierce
as a Hannibal, cunning as a panther, old Tecumseh bears down upon
the indefatigable Joe Johnston. Now comes a game worthy of the
immortal gods. It is played on bloody fields. The crafty antagonists
grapple in every cunning of the art of war. Rivers of human blood
make easy the way. The serpent of the Western army writhes itself
into the vitals of the torn and bleeding South. Everywhere the
resounding crash of arms. Alas, steadfast as Maxime Valois' nature
may be, tried his courage as his own battle blade, the roar of
battle from east to west tells him of the day of wrath! The yells
and groans of the trampled thousands of the Wilderness, are echoed
by the despairing chorus of the dying myriads of Kenesaw and
Dalton. A black pall hangs over a land given up to the butchery
of brothers. Mountain chains, misted in the blue smoke of battle,
rise unpityingly over heaps of unburied dead from the Potomac to
the Mississippi. Maxime Valois knows at last the penalty of the
fatal conspiracy. A sacrificed generation, ruined homes, and the
grim ploughshare of war rives the fairest fields of the Land of
the Cypress.
Fearless and fate-defying, under ringing guns, crashing volley, and
sweeping charge, the Southern veterans only close up the devoted
gray ranks.
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