just passed over the hostile
hosts; but the dense masses of cloud had rolled away to the river,
leaving it in deep shadow, while a bright reflection from the sunset
wrapped both camps in a veil of mellow light. Not a shot disturbed the
still peacefulness of the scene, to give token of the wild work already
shaped out for the next week. Suddenly a glorious rainbow shaped itself
in the transparent mist over the Confederate camp, spanning it from end
to end. The lady pointed it to the poet.

"I hail the omen!" she said. "It is a token of God's promise that
yonder flood will not overwhelm us! That His hand will be raised as of
old, to hurl it back from His chosen people!"

And when the omen was accomplished and Richmond was safe, the poet sent
the lady those classic lines so well-known in the South--"The Battle
Rainbow."

Next afternoon the great fight began. The sharp, quick rattle of small
arms, and the dull incessant boom of artillery told of hot work even
nearer than "Seven Pines." So sharp and clear were the reports that it
seemed the fight must be on the very edge of town; and the windows
rattled at every discharge.

Almost every man, worthy of the name, was at the front; but the brave
and steadfast women of Richmond collected in groups and--while they
listened with blanched faces and throbbing hearts--still tried to cheer
and comfort each other.

They spoke of the past; of their faith in the flower of the South at
that moment battling for them; and they heard the sound of the cannon
growing farther and fainter, only to feel more loving trust in those
who, under God, had saved them from that chiefest of ills!

Day by day, as the tide of battle surged farther off, it sent into
Richmond cheering news that nerved afresh these brave hearts for the
horror to come. Gaines' Mill, Cold Harbor and Frasier's Farm rolled
back their echoes of triumph; news came of the strait into which
McClellan was driven and that one day more must see him a prisoner in
the city he had dared--his splendid host swept away and destroyed.
Finally the news of Malvern Hill--the wild shout of battle scarce
drowning the death-cry--sent a thrill of mingled agony and pride to
their very heart's core.

But day by day, as the red tide rolled back, it swept into Richmond
terrible fragments of the wreck it had made. Every conveyance that
could follow the army, or could be pressed from the almost stripped
country around it, bore in from the River Ro