red D. H.
Hill coming with Fauquier Cary from the McGehee house. "What's that?"
said Hill. "He won't pursue to-night? Very well, that settles it! Maybe
they'll be there in the morning, maybe not. Look here, Winder!
Reynolds's taken--you remember Reynolds?"

Cary and Cleave had a moment apart. "All well, Fauquier? The
general?--Edward?"

"I think so. I saw Warwick for a moment. A minie had hurt his hand--not
serious, he said. Edward I have not seen."

"I had a glimpse of him this morning.--This morning!"

"Yes--long ago, is it not? You'll get your brigade after this."

The other looked at him oddly. "Will I? I strongly doubt it. Well, it
seems not a large thing to-night."

Beyond the main battlefield where A. P. Hill's and Longstreet's
shattered brigades lay on their arms, beyond the small farmhouse where
Lee waked and watched, beyond the Chickahominy and its swamps, beyond
forest and farm land, lay Richmond under the stars. Eastwardly, within
and without its girdling earthworks, that brilliant and histrionic
general, John Bankhead Magruder, El Capitan Colorado, with a lisping
tongue, a blade like Bayard's, and a talent for drama and strategy, kept
General McClellan under the impression, confirmed by the whole Pinkerton
force, that "at least eighty thousand men" had remained to guard
Richmond, when Lee with "at least eighty thousand men" had crossed the
Chickahominy. Richmond knew better, but Richmond was stoically calm as
to the possibility of a storming. What it had been hard to be calm over
was the sound, this Friday, of the guns beyond the Chickahominy.
Mechanicsville, yesterday, was bad enough, but this was frightful.
Heavy, continuous, it took away the breath and held the heart in an iron
grip. All the loved ones there--all the loved ones there!--and heavier
and heavier toward night grew the fearful sound.... Then began the
coming of the wounded. In the long dusk of the summer evening, the
cannonading ceased. A little after nine arrived couriers, announcing the
victory. The church bells of Richmond, not yet melted into cannon, began
to ring. "It was a victory--it was a victory," said the people to one
another.... But the wounded continued to come in, ambulance, cart, and
wagon rolling like tumbrels over the stones. To many a mother was
brought tidings of the death of her son, and many a wife must say, "I am
widowed," and many children cried that night for their father. The heat
was frightful. The city tossed