trains left in the hands of the Confederates. The enemy had been encountered by Hampton's cavalry, and Finnegan's and Mahone's infantry brigades; and the results of the various conflicts were enumerated as one thousand prisoners, thirteen pieces of artillery, thirty wagons and ambulances, and many small-arms.

THE GREAT MINE, EXPLOSION.

But some weeks later another remarkable and desperate attempt was to be made by Grant upon Petersburg, the artifice and elaboration of which were among the greatest curiosities of his campaign. A citizen of Petersburg had, early in July, printed what was supposed to be a crazy letter, stating that he had certain information, at which General Lee would probably laugh, and which he preferred to communicate to the more credulous quarter of the newspapers, to the effect that Grant designed to mine the city of Petersburg, blow it into the air, and thus accomplish its destruction.

Although the scheme of the Yankees was not quite so extensive, it was elaborate and formidable enough. For six weeks Grant had been preparing a mine on the slopes of Cemetery Hill, with the view of opening the way to an assault on the second line of works that crowned its crest. From day to day, by the aid of the shovel and the pick, the Yankee lines had been insidiously advanced by zigzags and covered ways, until the outlying pickets of both armies scarcely averaged 500 yards' distance between them. Along portions of the line, the interval between the rifle-pits was scarcely 150 yards. The crest of Cemetery Hill frowning with guns was not more than 800 yards distant from the advanced works of the Yankees, and its gently sloping sides were welted with long rows of earthworks, pitted with redoubts and redans, and ridged with serried salients and curtains, and other skilful defences.

To draw off the attention of the Confederates from his real business, Grant had ordered the Second corps to cross to the north side of the James; and at the same time an empty train of four hundred wagons crossed the Appomattox in view of the Confederate signal stations.

It was appointed that the mine, which contained eight tons of powder, should be exploded at three o'clock in the morning of the 30th July, and that thereupon Burnside, who commanded the Yankee centre, should pierce the works in front of him. Simultaneously with the advance of the infantry, every piece of siege artillery posted along the line was ordered to open upon the Confederates; and all the field artillery which could be got into position, after the opening of the battle, was to advance, as opportunity offered, and bring their batteries into play. It was naturally expected that the shock of the explosion, and of the suddenness of this awful fire, would have a demoralizing effect, and so make the way of the infantry easier.

The mine was not exploded until half-past four o'clock in the morning. The earth was rent along the entire course of the excavation, exhibiting a yawning chasm; in some places it heaved slowly and majestically to the surface; in others, where the charge in the burrow was heaviest, immense masses of dull, red earth were thrown high in air, and human forms, and guncarriages, and small-arms, might be seen shooting up in this fountain of horror.

But the explosion had only demolished a six-gun battery. It was followed immediately by such a thunder of artillery as had seldom been heard before. Ninety-five pieces niched in every hill-side, commanding the position of the Confederates, belched out their sheets of flame and milk-white smoke, while screeching and howling shell sped forward in their work of destruction. But the Confederates were not dismayed. In a few moments their own pieces were replying, and banks of angry smoke partially veiled the field from both sides.

In the midst of the shock of artillery, through the dense clouds of flying dust, the assaulting column of the Yankees passed through the crater, fifty feet in length, and half as many wide, in what was supposed to be the easy attempt of carrying the second line of Confederate works. But there were men there ready to receive them who had never flinched from death, and who were not to be alarmed by loud and furious noises. Some colored troops, under General White's, command, were pushed forward, but the poor creatures, unwilling to be thus sacrificed, were soon panic-stricken and past control. They crushed into the ranks of the white troops and

broke through to the rear. The demoralization was rapid. The whole mass of Yankees, broken and shattered, swept back like a torrent into the crater, which was soon choked with the flying and the dead. An order was given to retreat to the old lines, but to do this an open space had to be traversed, and this again was closely dotted with Yankee dead.

The action was very brief, very terrible, very decisive. Nothing in the war exceeded it in point of severity, and probably no conflict had ever been attended with all the appointments of war displayed in such graphic prominence. The explosion of the mine, the tremendous peals of artillery and musketry, the effort of the attacking column, the carnage, and finally the retreat of the Yankees to their old lines, all composed a scene of terrible and thrilling interest.

The Yankee loss was quite five thousand; that of the Confederates was trivial in comparison. It was thus stated in detail: Mahone's division, four hundred and fifty; Elliot's South Carolina brigade, which was in the blown up fort, three hundred; Ransom, Clingman, and Wise, whose commands were under musketry and artillery firing for some time, three hundred.

The ghastly failure of this last of Grant's attempts upon Petersburg appeared to be almost sufficient to persuade the Yankee public that his whole campaign had been a failure. Some intelligent Yankee newspapers made peculiar comments upon it. The Intelligencer, published in Washington, said: "After a loss of more than five thousand men, the army has made no advance towards the capture of that city, which is itself only an outpost of the city of Richmond. The delay in springing the mine, the want of concert and promptitude in following up the explosion with a dash by our assaulting column, and the inaptitude which ordered that this assaulting column should be selected from the least trustworthy and homogeneous corps in the army, are a sufficient explanation perhaps of this calamity." The New York Times was yet more querulous and explicit. It said: "Under the most favorable circumstances, with the rebel force reduced by two great detachments, we failed to carry their lines. Will they not conclude that the twenty-five thousand men that held Grant in check are sufficient to garrison the works of Petersburg? Will they not conclude that, if they were able thus to

hold their own with the force of from eighteen to twenty thousand men sent to the north side of the James River neutralized, this force is available for active operations elsewhere?"

It was evident that the spirit of the North had commenced to stagger under this accumulation of disaster. Gold had already nearly touched three hundred. The uneasy whispers in Washington of another draft gave new suggestions to popular discontent. The Confederate Congress had adjourned, after the publication of an address referring to recent military events and the confirmed resolution of the South, and deprecating the enemy's continuance of the war. These declarations were eagerly seized upon by Northern journals, who insisted that no time should be lost in determining whether they might not possibly signify a willingness on the part of the South to make peace on the basis of new constitutional guaranties. The finances at Washington were becoming desperate. Mr. Chase, the Secretary of the Treasury, had peremptorily resigned. His last words of official counsel were, that nothing could save the finances but a series of military successes of undoubted magnitude.

The brilliant and so far successful campaign of General Lee in Virginia added, if that were possible, to the popular confidence and devotion which were concentrated upon him more than any other man of the South. He had indulged in no terms of exultation. He had written the history of his great summer campaign of 1864, in brief telegrams in which there was never a stray word, and the fullest expressions of which were ascriptions of success to the providence of God. Now in the highest moments of Confederate confidence and expectation, when indeed the people of the South had reason to suppose that they stood on the threshold of peace, and were about to crown their hopes with triumph, General Lee was still the modest and reserved commander, never raising his voice in a note of triumph, or spending a comment upon the situation of affairs.

A newspaper printed in Virginia complained that "General Lee never speaks," and with playful but sagacious comment continued: "What does he think about? None of us can read the thoughts of that impenetrable bosom. It is appropriate that the hero of this story should not be garrulous; the sadness

That

of the time renders it fitting that the helmsman should guide the ship with few words spoken. Perhaps it is by his very reserve that General Lee has contributed, as much as by any other quality, to make the impression he has made on his fellow-citizens. He came before them at the beginning of the war by no means the American ideal of a great man. personage was expected to appear with a hullabaloo; he was to descend in a shower of fireworks, and environed by a myriad of bursting lights and crackling explosions. For a quiet, undemonstrative gentleman to step upon the scenes was not at all to their liking; and therefore, in the beginning, General Lee was not popular."

He had been reared

"Here comes a man bred in the army. a gentleman. He despised humbug. He loved order, and every thing and everybody in his place. He told the ladies at Culpepper Courthouse, in 1861, who came out to greet him, to go home.' In Richmond they said he had no manners; he attended to his business, and spoke little. They sent him to Western Virginia-a small theatre, when Beauregard was at Manassas and Johnston was at Winchester; he went, and made no comment. The campaign failed-they called him Turvey drop-he did not attempt to excuse himself. Soon we find him in a blaze of glory, the hero of the battles around Richmond. He is still silent. He marches to Manassas, and achieves another great victory. Not a word escapes him. He takes Winchester, is foiled at Sharpsburg for the want of men— defeats Burnside at Fredericksburg-Hooker at Chancellorsville-but he breaks not his silence. He has the terrible trial of Gettysburg-he only remarked, 'It was my fault'-and then in the present year he has conducted this greatest of all his campaigns-undoubtedly one of the finest in the war. Silent still. When will he speak? Has he nothing to say? What does he think of our affairs? Should he speak, how the country would hang upon every word that fell from him!"

THE SINKING OF THE PRIVATEER ALABAMA.

We must note here, as belonging to the period of Confederate successes we have narrated, an event of the war which considerably qualified the general exultation of the South.