Zane Grey - "The Man of the Forest"

A. A. Milne - "Not that it Matters"

Inez Haynes Irwin - "The Native Son"

John Kendrick Bangs - "The Enchanted Typewriter"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: The Man in Gray

T >> Thomas Dixon >> The Man in Gray




"McClellan is his opponent _on a peace platform_.

"The Republican Party is split as ours was before the war. John C.
Fremont is running on the Radical ticket against Lincoln. Unless a
miracle happens General George B. McClellan will be elected the next
President. If he is, the war ends in a draw.

"It's a fair chance. We can take it.

"But our chance of success is not the real question before us. It is
a bigger one. The question before you is bigger than the South. It
is bigger than the Republic. It is bigger than the Continent. It may
involve the future of civilization.

"The employment of these negro troops, clothed in the uniform of the
Union, marks the lowest tide mud to which its citizenship has ever sunk.
The profoundest word in history is _race_. The ancestral soul of a
people rules its destiny. What is the ancestral soul of the negro? The
measurement of the skull of the Egyptian is exactly the shape and size
of six thousand years ago. Has the negro moved upward? This republic
was born of the soul of a race of pioneer white freemen who settled our
continent and built an altar within its Forest Cathedral to Liberty and
Progress. In the record of man has a negro ever dreamed this dream?

"The Roman Republic fell and Rome became a degenerate Empire. Why?
Because of the lowering of her racial stock by slaves. The decline
of the Roman spirit was due to a mixture of races. The flower of her
manhood died on her far-flung battle lines. Slaves and degenerates at
home bred her future citizens.

"Have we also placed our feet on the path of oblivion? History is
littered with the wrecks of civilization. And always the secret is found
in racial degeneracy--the lowering of the standard of racial values.
Civilization is a name--an effect. Race is the cause. If a race
maintains its soul, it must remain itself and it must breed its best.
Race is the result of thousands of years of this selection. One drop of
negro blood makes a negro. The inferior can always blot out the superior
if granted equality.

"This uniform is the first step toward racial oblivion for the white
man in America. It is the first step toward equality. A people of half
breeds have no soul. They are always ungovernable. The negro is the
lowest species of man. Through Slavery he has been disciplined into the
family of humanity. We cannot yet grant him equality. Abraham Lincoln
who has consented to arm these blacks against us has himself said:

_"'There is a physical difference between the white and black races
which will forever forbid them living together on terms of political or
social equality.'_

"How can he prevent social and political equality once these black men
are clothed with the dignity of the uniform of a Nation? He has declared
his intention of colonizing the negro race. General Lee also holds this
as the solution. If Slavery falls, it _is_ the _only_ solution.

"In the meantime we hold fast to the faith within us. Dare to arm a
negro, drill and teach him to kill white men, and we are traitors to
country, traitors to humanity, traitors to civilization. Robert E. Lee
himself is the supreme contradiction of the sentimental mush involved in
the dogma of equality. His genius and character is a racial product.

"The man in gray stands for two things, Reverence for Law and the Racial
Supremacy of the White Man.

"If we must clothe negroes in gray to save the Confederacy, let it go
down in blood and ashes. We'll stand for this. And hand our ideal down
to our children. If defeat shall come, we may yet live to save the
Republic. We hold a message for Humanity."

There was no further discussion. The South chose death before racial
treason.



CHAPTER XLVI


The miracle which Toombs feared came to pass. In the blackest hour of
the Lincoln administration, his own party despaired of his election. The
National Republican Committee came to Washington and demanded that he
withdraw from the ticket and allow them to name a candidate who might
have a chance against General McClellan and his peace platform.

And then it happened.

Sherman suddenly took Atlanta and swung his legions toward the sea. A
black pall of smoke marked his trail. The North leaped once more with
the elemental impulse. A wave of war enthusiasm swept Lincoln back into
the White House. And a new line of blue soldiers streamed to Grant's
front.

The ragged men in gray were living on parched corn. Grant edged his blue
legions farther and farther southward until he saw the end of the mortal
trenches Lee's genius had built. The lion sprang on his exposed flank
and Petersburg was doomed.

The Southern Commander sent his fated message to Richmond that he
must uncover the Capital of the Confederacy, and staggered out of his
trenches to attempt a union of forces with Johnston's army in North
Carolina.

Grant's host were on his heels, his guns thundering, his cavalry
destroying.

A negro regiment entered Richmond as the flames of the burning city
licked the skies.

Lee paused at Appomattox to await the coming of his provision train. His
headquarters were fixed beneath an apple tree in full bloom.

He bent anxiously over a field map with his Adjutant. His face was
clouded with deep anxiety.

"Why doesn't Gordon report?" he cried. "We've sent three couriers. They
haven't returned. Grant has not only closed the road to Lynchburg, he
has pushed a wedge into our lines and cut Gordon off. If he has, we're
in a trap--"

"It couldn't have happened in an hour!" Taylor protested.

"Order Fitzhugh Lee to concentrate every horse for Gordon's support and
call in Alexander for a conference."

Taylor hastened to execute the command and Lee sat down under the
flower-draped tree.

Sam approached bearing a tray.

"De coffee's all ready, Marse Robert--'ceptin' dey ain't no coffee in
it. Does ye want a cup? Hit's good, hot black water, sah!"

Lee's eyes were not lifted.

"No, Sam, thank you."

The faithful negro shook his head and walked back to his sorry kitchen.

Taylor handed his order to a dust-covered courier.

"Take this to Fitz Lee."

The courier scratched his head.

"I don't know General Fitz Lee, sir."

"The devil you don't. What division are you from?"

"Dunno, sir. Been cut to pieces so many times and changed commanders so
much I dunno who the hell I belong to--"

"How'd you get here?"

"Detailed for the day."

"You know General John B. Gordon?"

The dusty figure stiffened.

"I'm from Georgia."

"Take this to him."

Taylor handed the man his order as the thunder of a line of artillery
opened on the left.

"Which way is General Gordon?" the courier asked.

"That's what I want to know. Get to him. Follow the line of that firing.
You'll find him where it's hottest. Get back here quick if you have to
kill your horse."

Sam came back with his tray.

"I got yo' breakfus' an' dinner both now, Marse Robert."

Lee looked up with a smile.

"Too tired now. Eat it for me, Sam--"

Sam turned quickly.

"Yassah. I do de bes' I kin fur ye."

As Sam went back to the kitchen he motioned to a ragged soldier who
stood with his wife and little girl gazing at the General.

"Dar he is. Go right up an' tell him."

Sweeney approached Lee timidly. The wife and girl hung back.

He tried to bow and salute at the same time.

"Excuse me for coming, General Lee, but my company's halted there in the
woods. You've stopped in a few yards of my house, sir. Won't you come in
and make it your headquarters?"

"No, my good friend. I won't disturb your home."

The wife edged near.

"It's no trouble at all, sir. We'd be so proud to have you."

"Thank you. I always use my tent, Madame. I'll not be here long."

"Please come, sir!" the man urged.

Lee studied his face.

"Haven't I seen you before, my friend?"

"Yes, sir. I'm the man who brought the news that General Stuart had
fallen at Yellow Tavern."

Lee grasped his hand.

"Oh, I remember. You're Sweeney--Sweeney whose banjo he loved so well.
And this is your wife and little girl?"

"Yes, sir," Mrs. Sweeney answered.

The Commander pressed her hand cordially.

"I'm glad to know you, Mrs. Sweeney. Your husband's music was a great
joy to General Stuart."

The little girl handed him a bunch of violets. He stooped, kissed her
and took her in his arms.

"You'd like your papa to come back home from the war and stay with you
always, wouldn't you, dear?"

"Yes, sir," she breathed.

"Maybe he will, soon."

"You see, General," Sweeney said, "when my Chief fell, I threw my banjo
away and got a musket."

"If I only had Stuart here to-day!" Lee sighed.

"He'd cut his way through, sir, with a shout and a laugh," Sweeney
boasted.

A courier handed Lee a dispatch and Sweeney edged away. The Commander
read the message with a frown and crumpled the paper in his hand. The
wagons at Appomattox had been cut to pieces. His army had nothing to
eat. They had been hungry for two days and nights.

"It's more than flesh can bear, Taylor--and yet listen to those guns!
They're still fighting this morning. Fighting like tigers. Grant's
closing in with a hundred thousand men. Unless Gordon breaks through
within an hour--he's got us--"

Lee gazed toward the sound of the guns on the left. His face was calm
but his carriage was no longer quite erect. The agony of sleepless
nights had plowed furrows in his forehead. His eyes were red. His cheeks
were sunken and haggard. His face was colorless. And yet he was calmly
deliberate in every movement.

An old man, flushed with excitement, staggered up to him.

Lee started.

"Ruffin--you here?"

"General Lee," he began, "will you hear me for just one moment?"

"Certainly."

Lee sprang to his feet.

"But how did you get into my lines--I thought I was surrounded?"

"I came out of Richmond with General Alexander's rear guard, sir, six
days ago."

"Oh, I see."

"Ten years ago, General Lee, in your house, I predicted this war. Last
week I saw the city in flames and I hope to God every house was in ashes
before that regiment of negro cavalry galloped through its streets."

"I trust not, Ruffin. I left my wife and children there."

"I hope they're safe, sir."

"They're in God's hands."

A courier handed Lee a dispatch which he read aloud.

"President Davis has been forced to flee from Danville and all
communication with him has been cut."

"General Lee," Ruffin cried excitedly, "this country is now in your
hands."

"What would you have me do?"

"Fight until the last city is in ashes and the last man falls in his
tracks. Fools at your headquarters have been talking for two days of
surrender. It can't be done. It can't be done. If you surrender do you
know what will happen?"

"I've tried to think."

"I'll tell you, sir. Thaddeus Stevens, the Radical Leader of Congress,
has already prepared the bill to take the ballot from the Southern white
man and give it to the negro. The property of the whites he proposed to
confiscate and give to their slaves. He will clothe the negro with all
power and set him to rule over his former masters."

Lee answered roughly.

"Nonsense, Ruffin. I am better informed. Senator Washburn, Mr. Lincoln's
spokesman, entered Richmond with the Federal army. He says that the
President will remove the negro troops from the United States as soon
as peace is declared. He has a bill in Congress to colonize the negro
race."

"Stevens is the master of Congress."

"If the North wins, Lincoln will be the master of Congress. We need fear
no scheme of insane vengeance."

Lee took from Taylor two despatches.

"General Mahone has taken a thousand prisoners--"

"Glory to God!" Ruffin shouted. "Such men don't know how to surrender!"

"And our cavalry has captured. General Gregg and a squadron of his
men--"

"Surrender!" the old man roared. "They'll never surrender, sir, unless
you say so. Our wives, our daughters, our children, our homes, our
cause, our lives, are in your hands. For God's sake, don't listen to
fools. Don't give up, General Lee--don't--"

General Alexander sprang from his horse and approached his Commander.

Lee spoke in low, strained tones.

"I'm afraid we're caught."

He turned to the old man.

"Excuse me, Ruffin, I must confer with General Alexander."

Ruffin's reply came feebly.

"With your permission I will--stay--at--your headquarters for a little
while."

"Certainly."

Taylor led the old man toward his baggage wagon.

"Come with me, sir. I'll find you a cot."

"Thank you. Thank you." His eyes were dim and he walked stumblingly.
"Surrender, Taylor! Surrender? Why, there's no such word--there's no
such word--"

Lee and Alexander moved down to the little field table.

"We must decide," the Commander began, "what to do in case Gordon can't
break through. How many guns in your command?"

"More than forty, sir. We've just captured a section of Federal
artillery in perfect order."

"Forty guns! And Grant is circling us with five hundred--"

"We have fought big odds before. We have ammunition. The artillery has
done little on this retreat. They're eager for a fight, if you wish to
give battle."

"I can rally but eight thousand men for a final charge. They are tired
and hungry. What have we got to do?"

"This means but one thing, then--"

"Well, sir?"

"Order the army to scatter--each man for himself. They can slip through
the brush to-night like quail, and reach Johnston's army."

"You think this best?"

"It's the only thing to do, sir. Surrender--never. Scatter. And when
Grant closes in to-morrow his hands will be empty. He'll find a few
broken guns and wagons. Our men will be safe beyond his lines and ready
to fight again."

"That's the plan!" Taylor joined.

"We can beat Grant that way, General. The Confederacy may win by delay.
At least by delay we can give the State Governments time to make their
own terms as States. If you surrender, it's all over."

"I do not think the North will acknowledge the sovereignty of the States
at this late day."

"It is reported that Lincoln has offered to accept the surrender of
States and make terms--"

"This would, of course," Lee slowly answered, "prolong the war as long
as one held out--"

"And don't forget, sir," Alexander urged stoutly, "that the single State
of Texas is three times larger than France. She has countless head of
cattle and horses on her plains. She can equip armies. Her warlike sons,
with you to lead them, would laugh at conquest for the next ten years.
The territory of the South is too vast to be held except at a cost the
North cannot afford to pay--"

"Armies may march across it," Taylor interrupted, "a million soldiers
could not hold it _unless you surrender!_"

"Guerrilla warfare is a desperate resort," Lee answered sadly.

"There are things worse," Alexander cried passionately. "This army is
ready to die to a man before we will submit to unconditional surrender.
The men who have fought under you for these three tragic years have the
right to demand that you spare us this shame!"

"General Grant will not ask unconditional surrender. I have been in
correspondence with him for two days. He has already put his terms in
writing. They are generous. All officers may retain their swords and
every horse go home for the spring plowing. He merely requires our
parole not to take up arms again."

"He would offer no such terms," Alexander argued, "unless he knew you
yet had a chance to win--"

Lee waved his hand.

"Our only chance is to continue the struggle by a fierce guerrilla
war--"

"For God's sake, let's do it, sir!"

"Can we," the calm voice went on, "as Christian soldiers, choose such
a course? We've fought bravely for what we believed to be right. If I
enter a guerrilla struggle, what will be the result? Years of bloody
savagery. Our own men, demoralized by war, would supply their wants
by violence and plunder. I could not control them. And so raid and
counter-raid. Houses pillaged and burned by friend and foe. Crops
destroyed. All industry paralyzed. Women violated. We might force the
Federal Government at last to make some sort of compromise. But at what
a cost--what a cost!"

"You can control our men," Alexander maintained. "Your name is magic.
The South will obey you."

Lee gazed earnestly into the face of his gallant young Commander of
Artillery and said:

"If I wield such power over our people, is it not a sacred trust? Is it
not my duty now to use it for their healing, and not their ruin?"

General John B. Gordon suddenly rode up and sprang from his horse.

Lee eagerly turned.

"General Gordon--you have cut through?"

"I have secured a temporary truce to report to you in person, I have
fought my corps to a frazzle. The road is still blocked and I cannot
move."

"What is your advice?" Lee asked.

"Your decision settles it, sir."

A courier plunged toward the group on a foaming horse.

"Fitzhugh Lee's cavalry's broken through!" he shouted. "The way's
opened. The whole army can pass!"

"I don't believe it," Gordon growled.

"It's too good to be true," Taylor said.

"It's true!" Alexander exclaimed, "of course it's true!"

"You come from Longstreet?" Lee inquired.

"Yes, sir. He asks instructions."

"Tell him to use his discretion. He's on the spot."

The courier wheeled and rode back as the crash of a musket rang out
beside the baggage wagon.

"What's that?" Taylor asked sharply.

"It can't be an attack," Gordon wondered. "A truce is in force."

Sam rushed to Lee.

"Hit's Marse Ruffin, sah," he whispered. "He put de muzzle er de gun in
his mouf an' done blow his own head clean off!"

"See to him, Taylor," Lee ordered. "The old ones will quit, I'm afraid."

A courier rode up and handed him another dispatch. He read it slowly.

"Fitzhugh Lee says the message was a mistake, the road is still blocked.
Only a company of raiders broke through."

"It's too bad," Gordon said.

"It's hell," Alexander groaned. "Let's scatter, sir! It's the only way.
Issue the order at once--"

A sentinel saluted.

"Colonel Babcock, aide to General U.S. Grant, has come for your answer,
sir."

All eyes were fixed on Lee.

"Tell Babcock I'll see him in a moment."

An ominous silence fell. Lee lifted his head and spoke firmly.

"We've played our parts, gentlemen, in a hopeless tragedy, pitiful,
terrible. At least eight hundred thousand of our noblest sons are dead
and mangled. A million more will die of poverty and disease. Every issue
could have been settled and better settled without the loss of a drop
of blood. The slaves are freed by an accident. An accident of war's
necessity--not on principle. The manner of their sudden emancipation,
unless they are removed, will bring a calamity more appalling than the
war itself. It must create a Race Problem destined to grow each day more
threatening and insoluble. Yet if I had to live it all over again I
could only do exactly what I have done--"

He paused.

"And now I'll go at once to General Grant."

He took two steps to cross the stile over the fence, and turned as a cry
of pain burst from Alexander's lips. He sank to a seat, bowed his face
in his hands and groaned:

"Oh, my God, I can't believe it! I can't believe it. After all these
years of blood. I can't believe it--my God--to think that this is the
end!"

"I know, General Alexander," Lee spoke gently, "that my surrender means
the end. It has come and we must face it. We must accept the results
in good faith and turn our faces toward the east. Yesterday is dead.
To-morrow is ours--"

His voice softened.

"I don't mind telling you now, that I had rather die a thousand deaths
than go to General Grant. Dying is the easiest thing that I could do at
this moment. I could ride out front along the lines for five minutes and
it would be all over. But the men who know how to die must do harder
things. I call you, sir, to this battle grimmer than death--to this
nobler task--we've got to live now!"

Alexander slowly rose with Gordon and both men saluted.

Within an hour he was returning from the meeting with his brave and
generous conqueror. A loud cheer rang over the Confederate lines.

"It's Lee returning along the road crowded with his men," Gordon
explained.

Another cheer echoed through the forests.

Gordon smiled.

"Alexander the Great, when he conquered a world, never got the tribute
which Lee is receiving from those men. There's not one in their ranks
who wouldn't die for him."

Louder and louder rolled the cheers mingled now with the pet name his
soldiers loved.

"Marse Robert! Marse Robert!"

Alexander's eyes flashed.

"The hour of his surrender, the supreme triumph of his life."

Lee rode slowly into view on Traveler's gray back. The men were crowding
close. They cried softly. They touched his saddle, his horse and tried
to reach his hands.

He lifted his right arm over their heads and they were still.

"My heart's too full for speech, my men. I have done for you all that
was in my power. You have done your duty. We leave the rest to God. Go
quietly to your homes now and work to build up our ruined country. Obey
the laws and be as good citizens as you have been soldiers. I'm going to
try to do this. Will you help me?"

"That we will!"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Marse Robert!"

Grizzled veterans were sobbing like children.

The war had ended--the most futile and ferocious of human follies. When
it shall cease on earth at last, then, and not until then, will the soul
of man leap to its final triumph, for the energy of the universe will
flow through the fingers of workmen, artists, authors, inventors and
healers. On this issue the saving of a world awaits the word of the
mothers of men.

THE END