" A
son of the "old State" himself, he can feel now, in the sorrow and
silence of defeat, that the early triumphs of the war were wasted.
The great warlike generation was frittered away on the Potomac.
Devoted to Lee, he still mourns the lost months of the fall of '61,
when, flushed with triumph, the Confederates could have entered
Washington. Then Maryland would have risen "en masse." Foreign
lands would have been won over. An aggressive policy even in 1862,
after the Peninsula, might have changed the final result. The dead
Californian's regrets for the abandonment of all effort in the
Pacific, the cutting-off and uselessness of the great trans-Mississippi
region, all return to him in vain sorrow.
By Maxime Valois' grave, Peyton wonders if the battle-consecrated
blood of the sons has washed away the sins of the fathers. He
knows not of the brighter days, when the past shall seem a vision
of romance. When our country will smile in peace and brotherhood,
from ocean to ocean. Sadly he uncovers his head. He leaves Maxime
Valois lying in the proud silence of the soldier's grave--"dead on
the field of honor."
To New Orleans Colonel Peyton repairs. On making search, he finds
that Judge Valois has not survived the collapse of the Confederacy.
Pages:
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337