At midnight, Captain Daniel Dean, bearer of dispatches to the great Confederate General in Virginia, rode out of abandoned Richmond with the cavalry of young Fitzhugh Lee.  They had threaded their way amid troops, trains, and artillery across the bridge.  The city was on fire.  By its light, the stream of humanity was pouring out of town—­Davis and his cabinet, citizens, soldiers, down to the mechanics in the armories and workshops.  The chief concern with all was the same, a little to eat for a few days; for, with the morning, the enemy would come and Confederate money would be as mist.  Afar off the little fleet of Confederate gunboats blazed and the thundering explosions of their magazines split the clear air.  Freight depots with supplies were burning.  Plunderers were spreading the fires and slipping like ghouls through red light and black shadows.  At daybreak the last retreating gun rumbled past and, at sunrise, Dan looked back from the hills on the smoking and deserted city and Grant’s blue lines sweeping into it.

Once only he saw his great chief—­the next morning before day, when he rode through the chill mist and darkness to find the head-quarters of the commanding General—­two little fires of rubbish and two ambulances—­with Lee lying on a blanket under the open sky.  He rose, as Dan drew near, and the firelight fell full on his bronzed and mournful face.  He looked so sad and so noble that the boy’s heart was wrenched, and as Dan turned away, he said, brokenly: 

“General, I am General Dean’s son, and I want to thank you—­” He could get no farther.  Lee laid one hand on his shoulder.

“Be as good a man as your father was, my boy,” he said, and Dan rode back the pitiable way through the rear of that noble army of Virginia—­through ranks of tattered, worn, hungry soldiers, among the broken debris of wagons and abandoned guns, past skeleton horses and skeleton men.

All hope was gone, but Fitz Lee led his cavalry through the Yankee lines and escaped.  In that flight Daniel Dean got his only wound in the war—­a bullet through the shoulder.  When the surrender came, Fitz Lee gave up, too, and led back his command to get Grant’s generous terms.  But all his men did not go with him, and among the cavalrymen who went on toward southwestern Virginia was Dan—­making his way back to Richard Hunt—­for now that gallant Morgan was dead, Hunt was general of the old command.

Behind, at Appomattox, Chad was with Grant.  He saw the surrender—­saw Lee look toward his army, when he came down the steps after he had given up, saw him strike his hands together three times and ride Traveller away through the profound and silent respect of his enemies and the tearful worship of his own men.  And Chad got permission straightway to go back to Ohio, and he mustered out with his old regiment, and he, too, started back through Virginia.