The presidential election at the North had been decided in favor of Mr. Lincoln—­General McClellan and Mr. Pendleton, the supposed advocates of peace, suffering defeat.  The significance of this fact was unmistakable.  It was now seen that unless the Confederates fought their way to independence, there was no hope of a favorable termination of the war, and this conclusion was courageously faced by General Lee.  The outlook for the coming year was far from encouraging; the resources of the Confederacy were steadily being reduced; her coasts were blockaded; her armies were diminishing; discouragement seemed slowly to be invading every heart—­but, in the midst of this general foreboding, the commander of the Army of Northern Virginia retained an august composure; and, conversing with one of the Southern Senators, said, “For myself, I intend to die sword in hand.”

That his sense of duty did not afterward permit him to do so, was perhaps one of the bitterest pangs of his whole life.

XI.

LEE IN THE WINTER OF 1864-’65.

Before entering upon the narrative of the last and decisive campaign of the war, we shall speak of the personal demeanor of General Lee at this time, and endeavor to account for a circumstance which astonished many persons—­his surprising equanimity, and even cheerfulness, under the pressure of cares sufficient, it would seem, to crush the most powerful organization.

He had established his headquarters a mile or two west of Petersburg, on the Cox Road, nearly opposite his centre, and here he seemed to await whatever the future would bring with a tranquillity which was a source of surprise and admiration to all who were thrown in contact with him.  Many persons will bear their testimony to this extraordinary composure.  His countenance seldom, if ever, exhibited the least traces of anxiety, but was firm, hopeful, and encouraged those around him in the belief that he was still confident of success.  That he did not, however, look forward with any thing like hope to such success, we have endeavored already to show.  From the first, he seems to have regarded his situation, unless his army were largely reenforced, as almost desperate; those reenforcements did not come; and yet, as he saw his numbers day by day decreasing, and General Grant’s increasing a still larger ratio, he retained his courage, confronting the misfortunes closing in upon him with unmoved composure, and at no time seemed to lose his “heart of hope.”

Of this phenomenon the explanation has been sought in the constitutional courage of the individual, and that instinctive rebound against fate which takes place in great organizations.  This explanation, doubtless, is not without a certain amount of truth; but an attentive consideration of the principles which guided this eminent soldier throughout his career, will show that his equanimity, at a moment so trying, was due to another and more controlling sentiment.  This sentiment was his devotion to Duty—­“the sublimest word in our language.”  Throughout his entire life he had sought to discover and perform his duty, without regard to consequences.  That had been with him the great question in April, 1861, when the war broke out:  he had decided in his own mind what he ought to do, and had not hesitated.