Lee the American


IMMEDIATELY after the surrender Lee, a paroled prisoner of war, withdrew into private life and took no further official part in the affairs of his country. What he personally desired, above all, was rest, quiet, solitude. “I am looking for some little, quiet home in the woods, where I can procure shelter and my daily bread, if permitted by the victor.”1 In all the remaining five years of his life he never complained, never discouraged or disheartened others, never quarreled with the doom of fortune; but those who watched him closely saw something of the burden from which his heart could not get free. “I never saw a sadder expression than General Lee carried during the entire time I was at Washington College. It looked as if the sorrow of a whole nation had collected in his countenance, and as if he was bearing the grief of his whole people. It never left his face, but was ever there to keep company with the kindly smile.”2

Lee’s attitude towards the United States Government was from the first one of loyal recognition and submission. In June, 1865, he applied for amnesty under the President’s proclamation, and though his request was never formally granted, he acted in every way as if he considered himself a citizen of the united country. To a friend he wrote, “I believe it to be the duty of every one to unite in the restoration of the country, and the reëstablishment of peace and harmony.”3 And again, “Were it worth his while to refer to my political record, he would have found that I was not in favor of secession and was opposed to war; in fact, that I was for the Constitution and the Union established by our forefathers. No one now is more in favor of that Constitution and that Union.”4 When testifying before the Congressional Reconstruction Committee, he was questioned very closely in regard to his attitude toward future possible complications; but his answers, though characteristically reserved, showed nothing but profound loyalty and hope.

Lee the American XI LEE AFTER THE WAR
(From he painting by Pioto)

That he sympathized with the indignation of his countrymen over the ill-judged and mismanaged methods of so-called reconstruction is probable, though his language is always guarded. As to the great theme of Southern wrath,—the captivity of Davis,—Lee is full of pity for the captive, but does not abuse the captors. And why should he? In the place of Lee and Davis I should have done as they did. But from the Northern point of view they had striven rebelliously to overthrow an established government. They had wasted hundreds of thousands of lives and hundreds of millions of treasure. Any other people in any other age of the world would have hanged both of them without a moment’s compunction or delay. It would have been unwise, it would have been impolitic. Who dare say it would have been unhuman? Yet the South complains, because Davis was subjected for a few months to petty annoyance and personal insult.

But whatever his feelings or opinions, Lee absolutely refused to take any part in practical politics. His scrupulous observance of his parole made him unwilling to recognize any continued relation to the Confederacy, as when he declined to share in the remains of the civil service fund from which other officers helped themselves freely.5 It also made him unwilling to meddle in the political activities going on about him. To be sure, when he was urged by the Reconstruction Committee as to negro suffrage, he spoke out: “My own opinion is that at this time they cannot vote intelligently and that giving them the right of suffrage would open the door to a good deal of demagogism and lead to serious embarrassments in various ways.”6 Are there many people to-day who think that he was wrong? But in general he was faithful to his established rule: “I must not wander into politics, a subject I carefully avoid.”7 Even a nomination to the highest office in his native state was declined by him, partly on personal grounds: “My feelings induce me to prefer private life, which I think more suitable to my condition and age”; but mainly because he believed such action “would be used by the dominant party to excite hostility towards the State, and to injure the people in the eyes of the country; and I, therefore, cannot consent to become the instrument of bringing distress upon those whose prosperity and happiness are so dear to me.”8

The desire for retirement and quiet was so strong that Lee avoided, if possible, everything connecting him with the war and all its memories. This does not mean that he had any occasion for regret; simply that a chapter of terrible agony was closed forever, and he wished his people as well as himself to look forward and not back Nor does it mean that he forgot his old comrades. On the contrary, he remembered them too well, thinking of them every day and every hour, their unavailing toil, their fruitless sacrifice. “You will meet many of my old soldiers during your trip,” he said in 1869, “and I wish you to tell them that I often think of them, try every day to pray for them, and am always gratified to hear of their prosperity.”9

And they remembered him. Many and many are the stories told of long devotion, of high enthusiasm, of eager desire for a touch, for a glance even, that might be treasured always. The simplest of these stories are the sweetest. When he visited Petersburg in the last years, they thronged round his carriage and tried to take out the horses and so draw him into the city, but he declared if they did so, he should have to get out and help them.10 Just after the war closed, he received the following letter, which needs no comment: “Dear General: we have been fighting hard for four years, and now the Yankees have got us in Libby Prison. They are treating us awful bad. The boys want you to get us out if you can, but, if you can’t, just ride by the Libby, and let us see you and give you a cheer. We will all feel better after it.”11 On one occasion the general was ill and a watchful attendant was taking pains to see that he was in no way disturbed. His room was on the ground floor and the nurse noticed a man step softly to the window and try to open the blinds. “Go away,” she said. “That is General Lee’s room.” The man went, murmuring, “I only wanted to see him.”12

But though Lee was glad to meet his old soldiers, he was reluctant to talk of the war with them or with any one else. He did, indeed, plan “to write a history of my campaigns, not to vindicate myself and promote my reputation, but to show the world what our poor boys with their small numbers and scant resources had succeeded in accomplishing.”13 But the history was never written, and I do not believe it ever would have been written. As time went on, he would have shrunk from it more and more. For this reason the few comments that he has left us are doubly precious. There is the delightful letter to the Union general, Hunter, who had sought Lee’s justification for the line of retreat from Lynchburg: “I am not advised as to the motives which induced you to adopt the line of retreat which you took, and am not, perhaps, competent to judge of the question; but I certainly expected you to retreat by way of the Shenandoah Valley, and was gratified at the time that you preferred the route through the mountains to the Ohio—leaving the Valley open for General Early’s advance into Maryland.”14 There are the rare observations on the Union commanders. As to McClellan: A friend “asked General Lee which in his opinion was the ablest of the Union generals; to which the latter answered, bringing his hand down on the table with emphatic energy, ‘McClellan, by all odds’.”15 As to Grant, the often quoted but probably apocryphal expressions of extravagant eulogy, and the authentic written words showing respect and esteem, “General Grant, who possesses magnanimity as well as ability.”16 There is the characteristic advice to General Early as to the whole subject: “I would recommend, however, that while giving facts necessary for your own vindication, you omit all epithets or remarks calculated to excite bitterness or animosity between different sections of the country.”17

Anything like interviewing it is needless to say that Lee shunned with disgust and he treated reporters with less civility than he showed to anybody else. “One evening a correspondent of the ‘New York Herald’ paid him a visit for the purpose of securing an interview. The general was courteous and polite, but very firm. He stood during the interview, and finally dismissed the reporter, saying: “I shall be glad to see you as a friend, but request that the visit may not be made in your professional capacity’.”18 Of Swinton he said, “He seemed to be gentlemanly, but I derive no pleasure from my interviews with bookmakers.”19

And if Lee shunned publicity through the press, he was even more unwilling to be made an object of personal curiosity. On the rare occasions when he was persuaded to appear in public places, he was received with an enthusiasm, a deference, a universal esteem and affection which must have touched him. But his natural modesty and reserve shrank from all such manifestations, whenever possible. He frequently alludes to his feelings on the subject with gentle humor. “They would make too much fuss over the old rebel.”20 “Why should they care to see me? I am only a poor old Confederate.”21 And there is the delicious story of the raffle. “I have had a visit since commencing this letter from Mrs. William Bath, of New Orleans, who showed me a wreath made in part, she says, of my, your [Mrs. Lee’s], and Mildred’s hair, sent her by you more than two years ago. She says she sent you a similar one at the time, but of this I could tell her nothing, for I remember nothing about it. She says her necessities now compel her to put her wreath up to raffle, and she desired to know whether I had any objection to her scheme, and whether I would head the list. All this, as you may imagine, is extremely agreeable to me, but I had to decline her offer of taking a chance in her raffle.”22

So, instead of glory and applause and raffles, Lee wanted quiet. He had neighbors, rich and poor, high and humble, who adored him; and their homelike kindness and affection he thoroughly appreciated. His son writes that for days and weeks, after the family was established at Lexington, “supplies came pouring to my mother from the people in the town and country, even from the poor mountaineers, who, anxious to ‘do something to help General Lee,’ brought in handbags of walnuts, potatoes, and game.”23 He had friends, old and new, who wrote him cordial and admiring letters and drew from him such charming replies as that addressed to the English poet Worsley, and many others. Best of all he had his family circle, the invalid wife to whom he gave constant care and who paid it back in sunshine, the sons and daughters and daughters-in-law, whose serious concerns received his earnest attention and sympathy, and whose lighter doings he followed with the playful jest and kindly merriment under which he took pains to veil the weight that always pressed his heart.

It cannot be said that the many letters preserved from this period often contain frank outpouring, or indicate that Lee gave himself up to any human soul. Yet they are well worth attentive study as showing the constant tenderness of his nature and his watchful devotion to the welfare of those about him. And now and then there is a glimpse of profound emotion, as in the reference to his lost daughter. “I shall go first to Warrenton Springs, North Carolina, to visit the grave of my dear Annie, where I have always promised myself to go, and I think, if I am to accomplish it, I have no time to lose. I wish to witness her quiet sleep, with her dear hands crossed over her breast, as it were in mute prayer, undisturbed by her distance from us, and to feel that her pure spirit is waiting in bliss in the land of the blessed.”24

Much as Lee liked home and quiet, he was the last man in the world to sit down and fold his hands, to feel that his life’s task was done, while his limbs had strength in them. Even as a simple Virginian farmer he would have worked and worked hard. The world had seen too much of his greatness, however, to let him hide it in shadow. During all the years after the war offers kept coming to him, of establishment, of occupation, of possible usefulness and assured emolument. An English nobleman offered him a country-seat in England and an annuity of £3000. Lee answered, “I must abide the fortunes and share the fate of my people.”25 He was urged to emigrate with a Southern colony to Mexico. He answered: “The thought of abandoning the country and all that must be left in it is abhorrent to my feelings, and I prefer to struggle for its restoration and share its fate, rather than give up all as lost.”26

Many business positions of high trust or dignity were pressed upon him. He uniformly declined them, alleging that his training did not lie in that direction and that his age rendered him incapable of performing such arduous labors. When he was told that no labors were expected of him, that his name was all that would be required, and that a large salary would be paid simply for the use of that, he replied that his name was not for sale.27

It was suggested that he should be at the head of a large house in New York to represent Southern commerce, with immense sums of money at his disposal. He said in response: “I am grateful, but I have a self-imposed task which I must accomplish. I have led the young men of the South in battle; I have seen many of them die on the field; I shall devote my remaining energies to training young men to do their duty in life.”28

For already, within a brief time after the war closed, he had accepted an office which in itself seemed neither very brilliant nor very profitable, at least when compared with the position Lee occupied in the eyes of the whole world. After much hesitation, not as to brilliancy or profit, but as to his own fitness, he had yielded to the request of the trustees of Washington College that he would become their president. “Fully impressed with the responsibilities of the office,” he wrote on the 24th of August, 1865, “I have feared that I should be unable to discharge its duties to the satisfaction of the Trustees, or to the benefit of the country. . . . Should you, however, take a different view, and think that my services in the position tendered me by the Board will be advantageous to the college and the country, I will yield to your judgment and accept it.”29

Lee the American XI LEE AFTER THE WAR
[Lee’s letter accepting the presidency of Washington College, page 1]

Lee the American XI LEE AFTER THE WAR
[Lee’s letter accepting the presidency of Washington College, page 2]

At that time the college consisted of forty students and four prossors.30 The endowment was unproductive and the salary offered the new president—fifteen hundred dollars—was offered purely on a basis of faith. Lee’s great name told at once, and money and students began to appear. But it was by no means his intention to work only with his name. For five years he gave the best of his thought and toil to building up the institution which has most justly coupled him in glory with its great original founder, and all the qualities which had made him famous on the battlefield now displayed themselves with richer and more fruitful effort, in the ways of peace. It may indeed be thought that he did not show quite all the grasping greed of the modem college president when he wrote to a lady who was considering a large legacy, “It is furthest from my wish to divert any donation from the Theological Seminary at Alexandria, for I am well acquainted with the merits of that institution, have a high respect for its professors, and am an earnest advocate of its object. I only give you the information you desire and wish you to follow your own preferences in the matter.”31 But perhaps, after all, such methods are not less effective than some that are more bustling.

And in performing this arduous and useful work for others Lee doubtless brought happiness to himself also, as is shown by his most beautiful and striking observation which I have already quoted and am glad to quote again. “For my own part, I much enjoy the charms of civil life, and find too late that I have wasted the best part of my existence.”32 Thus loved, honored, and revered by all, he labored fruitfully, till the end came, far too soon and doubtless hastened by his vast cares and vaster sorrows, on the 12th of October, 1870. He was buried, with simple ceremony, at Lexington, in the chapel which had been erected by his efforts, and which will be an object of pilgrimage to thousands who cherish his memory.

But let us look more closely at what he accomplished in his college presidency for the profoundly interesting light it throws on the various aspects of his character. To begin with, as I have said, he worked. His was no ornamental position. He spent his days regularly in his office and attended personally to his immense correspondence, with so much faithfulness that a newspaper editor, who had occasion to send to a large number of college presidents a circular calling for an answer, relates that General Lee was the only one from whom he received a reply.33 Nor did he confine himself to the details of the administrative side of his position. He was constant in visiting examinations and recitations, remaining a few moments, asking pertinent and stimulating questions in every sort of subject, then departing with the dignified bow of his grave, old-fashioned courtesy.34

Lee the American XI LEE AFTER THE WAR
As college president

And his intellectual interest was much more than a mere routine observation of pedagogical work. As may be seen from his yearly reports to the trustee,35 he set himself at once to devise large educational plans, which went far beyond the means he had to work with and far beyond the traditions that prevailed about him. Brought up at once in old habits of thought and in modern practical training, he would have saved, if possible, the liberal, classical culture of the past, combined it with the energetic commercial methods of new America.36 He wanted to develop his scientific courses, his laboratories, begged money for them, sought teachers for them. He designed an elective system which was most broadly in advance of current ideas, yet he saw the necessity of checking such a system by rigid supervision and constraint. In other words, so far as his limited opportunities will allow us to judge, he was a thinker in education as: he was a thinker in war.

But these were “worlds not realized,” and I find him in his human relations even more worth study. He managed his faculty as he managed his generals, with firmness tempered by an ever-ready sympathy. In their personal welfare he took the kindest and most genuine interest. “My wife reminds me,” says Professor Joynes, “that once, when I was detained at home by sickness, General Lee came every day, through a deep Lexington snow, and climbed the high stairs, to inquire about me and to comfort her.”37 At the same time he was minutely exacting himself about matters of duty and wished others to be so. A professor walked into church with his pipe-stem protruding from his pocket. This caused some comment in the faculty meeting, and the offender took out the pipe and began cutting off the stem. “No, Mr. Harris,” said the general, “don’t do that; next time leave it at home.”38 The narrow circumstances, not only of the college but of the whole South, seemed, to Lee, at any rate, to demand the closest economy. One day a professor wished to consult a catalogue and was going to tear the wrapper off one that had been prepared for mailing. Lee hastily handed him another already opened. “Take this, if you please.”39 Regularity and punctuality were his cardinal principles and he did not like others to neglect them. A professor who was not always constant at chapel one day spoke of the importance of inducing the students to attend. Lee quietly remarked, “The best way that I know of to induce students to attend is to set them the example by always attending ourselves.”40

Some of these anecdotes and the many others like them suggest that Lee may have appeared just a little of a martinet, just a little over-particular. I suspect that he did occasionally appear so to some who have forgotten it now, or who do not wish to remember it. Yet the general testimony is that kindness of manner made up for any sharpness of speech; and as we have seen that his greatness in war came from his wide knowledge of all rules and his perfect willingness to fling them aside at the right moment, so we find that in peace he thought nothing of tradition or system when it trammeled the progress of the soul. “Make no needless rules,” he told his teachers.41 Again, “We must never make a rule that we cannot enforce.”42 And when one of them appealed to precedent and urged that “we must not respect persons,” Lee replied, “I always respect persons and care little for precedent.”43 Coming from a man whose life was built on law and the reverence for law, I call that magnificent.

On this nice balance of law and liberty his whole discipline of the college was based. It might be supposed that as a military man, brought up in a military school, he would be a firm believer in the military methods of training of which we nowadays hear so much. It is only another instance of his breadth of mind that this was not so. “I have heard him say,” writes Professor Joynes, “that military discipline was, unfortunately, necessary in military education, but was, in his opinion, a most unsuitable training for civil life.”44 Without going to any opposite extreme, he believed, as we have seen above, in reducing rules to the minimum, in making rules simple and not vexatious, believed that the highest aim of education is to produce a type of character which shall leave rules unnecessary. “Young gentleman,” he said to one newcoming student, “we have no printed rules. We have but one rule here, that every student be a gentleman.”45 And in a general circular issued after some public disturbance he embodied his idea completely. “The Faculty therefore appeal to the honor and self-respect of the students to prevent any similar occurrence, trusting that their sense of what is due to themselves, their parents, and the institution to which they belong will be more effectual in teaching them what is right and manly than anything they can say.”46

Such leniency of system sometimes works havoc. Not when it is supported by the personal force which Lee gave it. He used the same methods with his students that he had used with his soldiers. His reprimands were gentle and quiet, but they were effective. They did not sting, but they stirred and touched and inspired. Rough and bitter he could not make them. When some one remonstrated a little on this, he answered: “I cannot help it; if a gentleman can’t understand the language of a gentleman, he must remain in ignorance, for a gentleman cannot write in any other way.”47 Nevertheless, it seems that he usually achieved his object. For all his gentleness, the wildest boys were apt to come out of his office in tears. One, who had boasted that this would not happen, underwent the same experience as the rest. “What did he do to you? Did he scold you?” were the eager inquiries. “No; I wish he had. I wish he had whipped me. I could have stood it better. He talked to me about my mother and the sacrifices she is making to send me to college, and before I knew it, I was blubbering like a baby.”48

As with his officers and soldiers, he had endless ingenious devices of kindly fun for making reproof more tolerable—and more effectual. A student was once called to account for absence. “Mr. M., I am glad to see you better,” said the general, smiling. “But, General, I have not been sick.” “Then I am glad you have better news from home.” “But, General, I have had no bad news.” “Ah,” said the general, “I took it for granted that nothing less than sickness or distressing news from home could have kept you from your duty.”49 In the same vein Mr. Page has a story of being late for prayers and the general’s asking him to “tell Miss —— that I say will she please have breakfast a little earlier for you?”50

And again, as with the officers and soldiers, back of Lee’s discipline there was love. He was not thinking of his own dignity, or even of the reputation of the college. He was thinking first of the boy and of what could be done to save him. And the boy knew it. It is said that often in the faculty meetings, when a case seemed hopeless and expulsion the only remedy, Lee would plead, “Don’t you think it would be better to bear with him a little longer? Perhaps we may do him some good.”51

With scholarship it was as with discipline for conduct. Lee made it a point to know every student, know his character, know his record, know even his marks, when necessary. A boy’s name was one day mentioned. “I am sorry to see he has fallen so far behind in his mathematics,” the general observed. “You are mistaken, General, he is one of the very best men in my class.” “He only got 66 on his last month’s report,” was the general’s answer. Investigation showed that the president was right as to the report, but a mistake had been made in copying 66 for 99.52

Reproof, encouragement, exhortation as to study were given in the same vein, with the same tact and ingenious aptness, as for other things. To one parent of a negligent pupil he writes: “I have myself told him as plainly but as kindly as I could that it was necessary for him to change his course, or that he would be obliged to return home. He has promised me that he would henceforth be diligent and attentive, and endeavor to perform his duty. I hope that he may succeed, for I think that he is able to do well if he really makes the effort.”53 Of another similar case he remarked, in his humorous fashion, “He is entirely too careful of the health of his father’s son. . . . We do not want our students to injure their health studying, but we want them to come as near to it as it is possible to miss. This young gentleman, you see, is a long way from the danger-line.”54 And again, he offered a like suggestion to the pupil himself: “How is your mother? I am sure you must be devoted to her; you are so careful of the health of her son.”55

Many of these incidents are doubtless trivial in themselves. They are valuable as showing how entirely Lee was devoted to his work, and that he threw himself into the task of building up a little college with as much zeal as he had given to the creating of a great nation. What counted with all these young men was his personal influence and he knew it. In point of fact, he was creating, or re-creating, a great nation still. His patience, his courage, his attitude towards the past, his attitude towards the future, his perfect forgiveness, his large magnanimity, above all, his hope, were reflected in the eager hearts about him and from them spread wide over the bruised and beaten South, which stood so sorely in need of all these things. I have referred in an earlier chapter to the immense importance of his general influence in bringing about reconciliation and peace. It is almost impossible to overestimate this. We have the high Northern evidence of Grant: “All the people except a few political leaders in the South will accept whatever he does as right and will be guided to a great extent by his example.”56 Perhaps nothing will better illustrate the passionate testimony of Southerners than a simple anecdote. A Confederate soldier told General Wise that he had taken the oath of allegiance to the United States. “You have disgraced the family,” said Wise. “General Lee told me to do it.” “Oh, that alters the case. Whatever General Lee says is all right, I don’t care what it is.”57 Does not the knowledge of these things double the pathos of that profoundly pathetic sentence in one of Lee’s late letters? “Life is indeed gliding away and I have nothing of good to show for mine that is past. I pray I may be spared to accomplish something for the benefit of mankind and the honor of God.”58 If he had accomplished nothing, what shall be said of some of us?

Lee the American XI LEE AFTER THE WAR

Yet in spite of all this, it must be admitted that Lee’s life will always be regarded as a record of failure. And it is precisely because he failed that I have been interested to make this study of him. Success is the idol of the world and the world’s idols have been successful. Washington, Lincoln, Grant, were doubtless very great But they were successful. Who shall say just how far that element of success enters into their greatness. Here was a man who remains great, although he failed. America in the twentieth century worships success, is too ready to test character by it, to be blind to those faults success hides, to those qualities that can do without it. Here was a man who failed grandly, a man who said that “human virtue should be equal to human calamity,” and showed that it could be equal to it, and so, without pretense, without display, without self-consciousness, left an example that future Americans may study with profit as long as there is an America.

A young sophomore was once summoned to the president’s office and gently admonished that only patience and industry would prevent the failure that would inevitably come to him through college and through life.

“But, General, you failed,” remarked the sophomore, with the inconceivable ineptitude of sophomores.

“I hope that you may be more fortunate than I,” was the tranquil answer.59

Literature can add nothing to that.





1. R.E.L., p. 170.

2. Collyar, in Confederate Veteran, vol. I, p. 263.

3. Jones, Rem., p. 205.

4. Jones, Rem., p. 273.

5. Captain Ranson, in Harper’s Magazine, February. 1911.

6. Quoted in Cooke, p. 476.

7. Jones, Rem., p. 274.

8. Jones, Life, p. 396.

9. Jones, Rem., p. 323.

10. R.E.L., p. 289.

11. Jones, Rem., p. 321.

12. R.E.L., p. 276.

13. John W. Daniel, in S.H.S.P., vol. XI, p. 363.

14. Jones, Life, p. 454.

15. Long, p. 233. Professor White (quoted in Bright Skies and D Dark Shadows, by H. M. Field, p. 304) questions an anecdote similar to this, on account of the emphatic gesture, so unlike Lee. Professor White may be correct, but the independent report of two observers seems to deserve some credit.

16. R.E.L., p. 334.

17. Jones, Rem., p. 221.

18. R.E.L., p. 351.

19. R.E.L., p. 261.

20. R.E.L., p. 348.

21. R.E.L., p. 389.

22. R.E.L., p. 367.

23. R.E.L., p. 204.

24. R.E.L., p. 386.

25. Jones, Life, p. 445.

26. Jones, Life, p. 389.

27. Jones, Life, p. 445.

28. R.E.L., p. 375.

29. Jones, Life, p. 409.

30. Jones, Life, p. 406.

31. R.E.L., p. 335.

32. To Ewell, in Jones, Life, p. 430.

33. Jones, Life, p. 422.

34. Professor E. S. Joynes, Lee the College President, p. 25.

35. Kindly communicated to me by Mr. J. L. Campbell, Secretary of Washington and Lee University.

36. Professor Joynes, pp. 27, 28.

37. Page 22.

38. R.E.L., p. 316.

39. Ibid.

40. Jones, Life, p. 412.

41. Professor Joynes, p. 33.

42. Ibid.

43. Ibid.

44. Professor Joynes, p. 23.

45. Collyar, in Confederate Veteran, vol. I, p. 265.

46. Jones, Life, p. 422.

47. Jones, Rem., p. 286.

48. Jones, Life, p. 411.

49. Professor Joynes, Lee the College President, p. 35.

50. Thomas Nelson Page, Robert E. Lee, the Southerner, p.276.

51. R.E.L., p. 331.

52. Jones, Life, p. 412.

53. R.E.L., p. 296.

54. Jones, Life, p. 411.

55. Professor Joynes, p. 35.

56. O.R., vol. 121, p. 536.

57. M. L. Avary, Dixie after the War, p. 71.

58. R.E.L., p. 189.

59. Thomas Nelson Page, Robert E. Lee, the Southerner, p. 271.


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