observation on the Rappahannock, while Lee detached a third of his forces to the help of the Confederates in the West.

This campaign, far from being the critical moment of the war, far from having a decisive influence on the result of the struggle, decided nothing. Its importance has been exaggerated, in consequence of the very natural effect of the consternation produced by Lee's invasion of Pennsylvania. The North for some days was the prey of a universal panic, the South gave itself up to exaggerated hopes. To those who were hourly expecting to see Baltimore, Philadelphia, or even New York, succumb to the invader, the news that he had experienced a check at Gettysburg seemed to announce the downfall of Confederate power. Both views, in fact, were equally false. Lee's want of success at Gettysburg caused his army to suffer serious losses, cut short the summer campaign in Pennsylvania, and calmed the anxiety which the North felt on the subject of its great towns. But, in fine, it is no less true that, in weighing the advantages acquired by the two belligerents, the greater part was retained by the Confederates. loss inflicted on the Federal army reduced it to inaction for the remainder of the year, permitted Lee to maintain himself without disquiet on the Rapidan, and that with only a part of his army, and hindered the execution of the projected movement on Richmond. The invasion of the North kept the enemy's troops from Virginian soil during the harvest, relieved for a time the weight of charges under which its inhabitants groaned, and brought back a comparative abundance to the badly-provided commissariat of the Confederates.

The

The resources and number of the two armies, as well as the positions occupied by them, did not materially differ on the 1st of August from what they were on the 1st of June; but the campaign against Richmond, which Hooker was preparing to undertake when Lee assumed the offensive, was no longer possible, and this for the South, was a positive gain of one year. If, on the contrary, Lee had remained on the defensive, he could not have reaped the

same advantages. Without speaking of the dangers resulting from inaction, and the difficulty of providing for his army, very poorly indeed, and in an exhausted country, the Federals would only have had to turn its position in order to compel it either to deliver battle in the plain, or retire to a more distant line of defence. Had he succeeded in a second battle of Chancellorsville, the situation would have been the same as after Lee's return to the Rappahannock, with this difference, that a large part of the most fertile lands of Virginia would have remained in the hands of the enemy, who would further have had leisure to disturb the Confederates at other points of the territory.

Although thus the results of Gettysburg were indecisive, it might have been otherwise. If Lee had succeeded in his bold attempt, and overthrown the Federal army, taking its many guns on Cemetery Hill, such a success would have been attended with immense consequences as regards the Confederates. With Pennsylvania and Baltimore in the power of the enemy, the Federal Government must have recalled General Grant from the West. The campaign so fortunately inaugurated in the South-west by the Federals would have been interrupted, and this course of events, the opposite of what happened, would probably have given a marked predominance to the peace party in the North, whence serious embarrassment for the administration of President Lincoln would have arisen. Such fruits would have resulted from a victory, and undoubtedly the thought of them influenced Lee's mind when the conflict occurred to him. For three long summer days victory oscillated in the balance, and fortune would have inclined in his favour had he once been able to make a simultaneous attack with all his forces on the Federal position.

If Gettysburg were, as certain Northern writers affirm, a veritable Waterloo for the Southern cause, how did it happen that General Meade, at the head of his victorious army, did not pursue and crush the Confederate army? Was he not receiving continual reinforcements? Was he not, thanks to the many forces filling

the intrenched camp at Washington, repairing his losses unceasingly? Why did he not, by river and by sea, of both of which he was master, penetrate to the heart of Virginia, and terminate the war by the capture of the Confederate capital?

It was to be otherwise: the colossal strife which for three years the army of Northern Virginia sustained against all the power of the North, with means so insufficient, and soldiers ever decreasing in number, was destined to offer another and final spectacle of incomparable grandeur. The two adversaries, exhausted at Gettysburg, took breath for a moment; then the deadly combat began anew. The eminent man whose talents had so valiantly supported the Confederate cause in the East was to give a further and greater proof of his superiority, and offer, in the marvellous campaign of 1864-65, a model of military skilfulness.

CHAPTER XIV.

BATTLES OF THE WILDERNESS, SPOTTSYLVANIA, AND COLD HARBOUR.— OPERATIONS IN THE VALLEY.-COMMENCEMENT OF THE SIEGE OF

PETERSBURG.

THE Confederate troops had re-occupied their winter cantonments behind the Rapidan. Lee's head-quarters during the autumn and winter were established in a wood on the southern slope of a high hill, Clarke's Mountain, some miles to the east of Orange Court House. Surrounded by his staff, he there led almost a family life. Those who had intercourse with him at that time are loud in their praises of his sweetness, and the perfect equilibrium of h ismoral qualities.

The charm of his society was very great. Not a shade of pretension, the most perfect sincerity, the simplicity of a child; the more one saw of him, the more one loved him, for, contrary to what generally happens, Lee was greater when near than when at a distance.

During those long weeks of inaction on the Rapidan, his soldiers learned to know him better. In the rough campaigns of the past two years the old warrior had shared their fatigues, and never once had he neglected to watch over them and assist their needs. He had led them under fire, exposing himself with the most perfect indifference; but as much as possible he spared his men's lives, and often, to the displeasure of the civil authorities, he had insisted that, above all things, care should be taken of his veterans. These facts gradually came to their knowledge, and,

from the division-general to the lowest drummer, Lee was adored. The whole army felt that this man, so undemonstrative, so simply clad, sleeping like the commonest soldier in his tent, having in the midst of the wood but a single blanket, was its guide, its protector, incessantly attentive to its welfare, jealous of its dearly-purchased fame, and always ready, as its commander and friend, to defend it. This winter there arose, among the Confederate soldiers, a movement which often occurs in the United States, especially in the parts most recently colonized, and at certain times of the year. We speak of a certain fermentation, a certain religious excitement. The trials which the Southern populations had undergone, more especially the events experienced by the Northern Virginian army, its present forced inaction, all contributed to reawaken those religious ideas, always powerful with men of the old English or Scotch race. Continually one came across the affecting spectacle of old grey-bearded soldiers, devoutly kneeling in a circle, addressing their humble prayers to Him who hitherto had so visibly protected them. A commander-in-chief educated in a European school would only have compassionately smiled at these sensational assemblies, or have paid them no attention, regarding them as beneath his notice. Lee, on the contrary, contemplated the religious enthusiasm of his soldiers with a pleasure he did not conceal. He went to see them, talking the matter over with the chaplains, and lent the support of his authority to this good work, altogether joyful at witnessing the spread of religious sentiments in his army. The most remarkable feature of this illustrious soldier, the one most deeply rooted in him, the one which regulated all others, was his love towards God. By the world this feeling was called love of duty; but with Lee the word duty was only another name for the Divine will. To search out that will and execute it,—such was, from the first to the last moment of his life, the only aim of the great Virginian.

Perhaps we delay too long in coming to the last great campaign of the war. But in order to thoroughly understand his