But we had no time to talk of this now. "Come with me, Zoe, to my
house." And Zoe came. But she was soon off again to nurse in the
hospitals.
It is November, 1861. Word comes to us that Reverdy's boy, Amos, has
been killed in the battle of Belmont. Douglas has now been in sleep five
months; now Amos is a sacrifice to the war. He had joined Captain
Grant's army against Sarah's fierce protest. He had gone forth happy and
proud. Now he was to rest in the cemetery in Jacksonville near the dust
of my father, near the dust of Major Hardin, and Lamborn.
And so it was that Zoe and I stood side by side touching the dead hand
of Amos. Sarah was too grief-stricken to be surprised at Zoe's
reappearance in our lives. She wailed incessantly: "What is free
territory to me? My boy is dead! What is the end of slavery to me? My
boy is dead! There was no use for this war, no use, no use! It needed
never to be. If they had only listened to Douglas. What are Lincoln and
Jeff Davis thinking of? My boy is dead."
And for nights after returning to Chicago I heard Sarah's voice crying:
"my boy! my boy!"
The battle of Gettysburg has been fought. That single thing that makes
or destroys every man had come upon General Lee and commanded him to
follow. In his case it was audacity. He had invaded Pennsylvania and
been hurled back.
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