And the Army of Northern Virginia, although but a fragment, was dangerous.  In these its last hours, reduced almost to starvation and pitiful in numbers, it fought with a courage and tenacity worthy of its greatest days.  It gave to Lee a devotion that would have melted a heart of stone.  Whenever he commanded, it turned fiercely upon its remorseless pursuers, and compelled them to give ground for a time.  But when it sought to march on again the cavalry of Sheridan and the infantry of Grant followed closely once more, continually cutting off the fringe of the dwindling army.

Dick saw Lee himself on a hill near Sailor’s Creek, as Sheridan pressed forward against him.  The gray leader had turned.  The troops of Ewell and Anderson were gathered at the edge of a forest, and other infantry masses stood near.  Lee on Traveler sat just in front of them, and was surveying the enemy through his glasses.  Dick used his own glasses, and he looked long, and with the most intense curiosity, mingled with admiration, at the Lion of the South, whom they were about to bring to the ground.  The sun was just setting, and Lee was defined sharply against the red blaze.  Dick saw his features, his gray hair, and he could imagine the defiant blaze of his eyes.  It was an unforgettable picture, the one drawn there by circumstances at the closing of an era.

Then he took notice of a figure, also on horseback, not far behind Lee, a youthful figure, the face thin and worn, none other than his cousin, Harry Kenton.  Dick’s heart took a glad leap.  Harry still rode with his chief, and Dick’s belief that he would survive the war was almost justified.

Then followed a scattering fire to which sunset and following darkness put an end, and once more the Southern leader retreated, with Sheridan and his cavalry forever at his heels, giving him no rest, keeping food from reaching him, and capturing more of his men.  The wounded lion turned again, and, in a fierce attack drove back Sheridan and his men, but, when the battle closed, and Lee resumed his march, Sheridan was at his heels as before, seeking to pull him down, and refusing to be driven off.

Grant also dispatched Custer in a cavalry raid far around Lee, and the daring young leader not only seized the last wagon train that could possibly reach the Confederate commander, but also captured twenty-five of his guns that had been sent on ahead.  Dick knew now that the end, protracted as it had been by desperate courage, was almost at hand, and that not even a miracle could prevent it.

The column with which he rode was almost continually in sight of the Army of Northern Virginia, and the field guns never ceased to pour shot and shell upon it.  The sight was tragic to the last degree, as the worn men in gray retreated sullenly along the muddy roads, in rags, blackened with mire, stained with wounds, their horses falling dead of exhaustion, while the pursuing artillery cut down their ranks.  Then the news of Custer’s exploit came to Grant and Sheridan, and the circle of steel, now complete, closed in on the doomed army.