CHORUS--

Then, cheer up, my brave boys, your country will be free,

Your battles will be fought by Generals Bragg and Lee;

And the Yankees will fly with trembling and fear,

And we’ll return to our wives and sweethearts so dear.

CHORUS--

And it’s home, dearest home, the place where I ought to be,

Home, sweet home way down in Tennessee,

Where the ash and the oak, and the bonny willow tree,

Are all growing green way down in Tennessee.

CHAPTER IX.

THOMIE’S SECOND HOME COMING.

He Leaves for “The Front”--His Christian Labors in Camp--He Describes the

Battle of New Hope Church--The Great Revival in Johnston’s Army.

Early one morning in the February of the winter just referred to (that of

1864), as my sister lay awake, she heard some one step upon the portico

and knock. As Toby opened the door, she heard him exclaim: “Why howd’y,

Marse Thomie!” Her first thought was, “now he is back just in time to be

in the battle!” for a resumption of hostilities was daily looked for near

Dalton. We were all greatly surprised at Thomie’s arrival on this side of

the Mississippi, as only a few days before we had received a letter from

him, written, it is true, so long as the November before, saying he had

been assigned to duty out in Texas by General Henry McCulloch. But the

consolidation of the regiments in Granbury’s brigade having been broken

up, he had been ordered back to join his old command. He had left

Marshall, Texas, the 28th of January, having made the trip in one month,

and having walked four hundred miles of the way. Under the circumstances,

we were both glad and sorrowful at his return. After a stay of three days,

he left us for “the front.” In the early morning of February 29th, we went

with him to the depot, the last time we four were ever together. Parting

from him was a bitter trial to our mother, who wept silently as we walked

back to the desolate home, no longer gladdened by the sunny presence of

the only son and brother. Perhaps nothing will give a more graphic

impression of some phases of army life at this time, nor a clearer insight

into our brother’s character, than a few extracts from his letters written

at this period to his sister Missouri, and preserved by her to this day:

“Dalton, Ga., March 15th, 1864.--* * * Our regiment takes its old

organization as the 10th Texas, and Colonel Young has been dispatched to

Texas to gather all the balance, under an order from the war department.

We are now in Dalton doing provost duty (our regiment), which is a very

unpleasant duty. It is my business to examine all papers whenever the cars

arrive, and it is very disagreeable to have to arrest persons who haven’t

proper papers. The regulations about the town are very strict. No one

under a brigadier-general can pass without approval papers. My guard

arrested General Johnston himself, day before yesterday. Not knowing him

they wouldn’t take his word for it, but demanded his papers. The old

General, very good-humoredly showed them some orders he had issued

himself, and, being satisfied, they let him pass. He took it

good-humoredly, while little colonels and majors become very indignant and

wrathy under such circumstances. From which we learn, first, the want of

good common sense, and, secondly, that a great man is an humble man, and

does not look with contempt upon his inferiors in rank, whatsoever that

rank may be.

“There is a very interesting meeting in progress here. I get to go every

other night. I have seen several baptized since I have been here. There

are in attendance every evening from six to seven hundred soldiers. There

are many who go to the anxious seat. Three made a profession of religion

night before last. I am going to-night. There seems to be a deep interest

taken, and God grant the good work may go on until the whole army may be

made to feel where they stand before their Maker. Write soon.

Your affectionate brother,

TOM STOKES.”

From another letter we take the following:

“Near Dalton, April 5th, 1864.--We have had for some weeks back very

unsettled weather, which has rendered it very disagreeable, though we

haven’t suffered; we have an old tent which affords a good deal of

protection from the weather. It has also interfered some with our

meetings, though there is preaching nearly every night that there is not

rain. Brother Hughes came up and preached for us last Friday night and

seemed to give general satisfaction. He was plain and practical, which is

the only kind of preaching that does good in the army. He promised to come

back again. I like him very much. Another old brother, named Campbell,

whom I heard when I was a boy, preached for us on Sabbath evening. There

was much feeling, and at the close of the services he invited mourners to

the anxious seat, and I shall never forget that blessed half-hour that

followed; from every part of that great congregation they came, many with

streaming eyes; and, as they gave that old patriarch their hands, asked

that God’s people would pray for them. Yes, men who never shrank in battle

from any responsibility, came forward weeping. Such is the power of the

Gospel of Christ when preached in its purity. Oh, that all ministers of

Christ could, or would, realize the great responsibility resting upon them

as His ambassadors.

“Sabbath night we had services again, and also last night, both well

attended, and to-night, weather permitting, I will preach. God help me and

give me grace from on high, that I may be enabled, as an humble instrument

in His hands, to speak the truth as it is in Jesus, for ‘none but Jesus

can do helpless sinners good.’ I preached last Sabbath was two weeks ago

to a large and attentive congregation. There seemed to be much

seriousness, and although much embarrassed, yet I tried, under God, to

feel that I was but in the discharge of my duty; and may I ever be found

battling for my Savior. Yes, my sister, I had rather be an humble follower

of Christ than to wear the crown of a monarch. Remember me at all times at

a Throne of Grace, that my life may be spared to become a useful minister

of Christ.

“Since my return we have established a prayer-meeting in our company, or,

rather, a kind of family service, every night after roll call. There is

one other company which has prayer every night. Captain F. is very

zealous. There are four in our company who pray in public--one sergeant, a

private, Captain F. and myself. We take it time about. We have cleared up

a space, fixed a stand and seats, and have a regular preaching place. I

have never seen such a spirit as there is now in the army. Religion is

the theme. Everywhere, you hear around the camp-fires at night the sweet

songs of Zion. This spirit pervades the whole army. God is doing a

glorious work, and I believe it is but the beautiful prelude to peace. I

feel confident that if the enemy should attempt to advance, that God will

fight our battles for us, and the boastful foe be scattered and severely

rebuked.

“I witnessed a scene the other evening, which did my heart good--the

baptism of three men in the creek near the encampment. To see those hardy

soldiers taking up their cross and following their Master in His

ordinance, being buried with Him in baptism, was indeed a beautiful sight.

I really believe, Missouri, that there is more religion now in the army

than among the thousands of skulkers, exempts and speculators at home.

There are but few now but who will talk freely with you upon the subject

of their soul’s salvation. What a change, what a change! when one year ago

card playing and profane language seemed to be the order of the day. Now,

what is the cause of this change? Manifestly the working of God’s spirit.

He has chastened His people, and this manifestation of His love seems to

be an earnest of the good things in store for us in not a far away future.

‘Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom He

receiveth.’ Let all the people at home now, in unison with the army,

humbly bow, acknowledge the afflicting hand of the Almighty, ask Him to

remove the curse upon His own terms, and soon we will hear, so far as our

Nation is concerned, ‘Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace, good

will toward men!’

“I received the articles ma sent by Brother Hughes, which were much

relished on the top of the coarse fare of the army. * * * Write me often.

God bless you in your labors to do good.

Your affectionate brother,

T. J. STOKES.”

From another of those time-stained, but precious letters, we cull the

following, under the heading of:

“In Camp, Near Dalton, Ga., April 18, 1864.--* * * The good work still

goes on here. Thirty-one men were baptized at the creek below our brigade

yesterday, and I have heard from several other brigades in which the

proportion is equally large (though the thirty-one were not all members of

this brigade). Taking the proportion in the whole army as heard from (and

I have only heard from a part of one corps), there must have been baptized

yesterday 150 persons--maybe 200. This revival spirit is not confined to a

part only, but pervades the whole army. * * * * Brother Hughes was with us

the other night, but left again the next morning. The old man seemed to

have much more influence in the army than young men. I have preached twice

since writing to you, and the Spirit seemed to be with me. The second

sermon was upon the crucifixion of Christ: text in the 53d chapter of

Isaiah: ‘He was wounded for our transgressions and bruised for our

iniquities.’ It was the first time in my life, that is, in public

speaking, that my feelings got so much the mastery of me as to make me

weep like a child. In the conclusion I asked all who felt an interest in

the prayers of God’s people to come to the anxious seat. Many presented

themselves, and I could hear many among them, with sobs and groans,

imploring God to have mercy upon them; and I think the Lord did have mercy

upon them, for when we opened the door of the church six united with us.

Every Sabbath you may see the multitude wending their way to the creek to

see the solemn ordinance typical of the death, burial and resurrection of

our Savior. Strange to say that a large number of those joining the

pedo-Baptist branches prefer being immersed; though in the preaching you

cannot tell to which denomination a man belongs. This is as it should be;

Christ and Him crucified should be the theme. It is time enough, I think,

after one is converted, to choose his church rule of faith.

“If this state of things should continue for any considerable length of

time, we will have in the Army of Tennessee an army of believers. Does the

history of the world record anywhere the like? Even Cromwell’s time sinks

into insignificance. A revival so vast in its proportions, and under all

the difficulties attending camp life, the bad weather this spring, and

innumerable difficulties, is certainly an earnest of better, brighter

times not far in the future.”

To the believer in Jesus, we feel sure that these extracts concerning this

remarkable work of grace, will prove of deep interest; so we make no

apologies for quoting in continuation the following from another of those

letters of our soldier brother, to whom the conquests of the cross were

the sweetest of all themes:

“Near Dalton, April 28th, 1864.--My Dear Sister: I should have written

sooner but have been very much engaged, and when not engaged have felt

more like resting than writing, and, to add to this, Sister Mary very

agreeably surprised me by coming up on last Saturday. She left on Tuesday

morning for home. While she was at Dalton, I went down on each day and

remained until evening. I fear ma and sister are too much concerned about

me, and therefore render themselves unhappy. Would that they could trust

God calmly for the issue. And I fear, too, that they deny themselves of

many comforts, that they may furnish me with what I could do (as many have

to do) without.

* * * * *

“The great unexampled revival is fast increasing in interest. I have just

returned from the creek, where I saw thirty-three buried with Christ in

baptism, acknowledging there before two thousand persons that they were

not ashamed to follow Jesus in His ordinance. My soul was made happy in

witnessing the solemn scene. In that vast audience everything was as quiet

and respectful as in a village chapel; and, by the way, I have seen

village congregations who might come here and learn to behave. General

Lowry baptized about thirteen of them who were from his brigade. He is a

Christian, a soldier and a zealous preacher, and his influence is great.

It was truly a beautiful sight to see a general baptizing his men. He

preaches for our brigade next Sabbath. I preached for General Polk’s

brigade night before last, and we had a very interesting meeting. They

have just begun there, yet I had a congregation of some 400. At the

conclusion of the services, I invited those who desired an interest in our

prayers to manifest their desire by coming to the altar. A goodly number

presented themselves, and we prayed with them. I shall preach for them

again very soon. The revival in our brigade has continued now for four

weeks, nearly, and many have found peace with their Savior. If we could

remain stationary a few weeks longer, I believe the greater portion of the

army would be converted. This is all the doings of the Lord, and is surely

the earnest of the great deliverance in store for us. It is the belief of

many, that this is the ‘beginning of the end.’ From all parts of the army

the glad tidings comes that a great revival is in progress. I wish I had

time to write to you at length. One instance of the power of His spirit: A

lieutenant of our regiment, and heretofore very wild, became interested,

and for nearly three weeks seemed groaning in agony. The other day he came

around to see me, and, with a face beaming with love, told me he had found

Christ, and that his only regret now was that he had not been a Christian

all his life. It is growing dark. I must close. More anon.

Affectionately,

YOUR BROTHER.”

We take up the next letter in the order of time. It is numbered 25. The

envelope is of brown wrapping paper, but neatly made, and has a blue

Confederate 10 cent postage stamp. It is addressed to my sister, who was

then teaching at Corinth, Heard county, Georgia. It is dated:

“Near Dalton, May 5th, 1864.” After speaking of having to take charge

early the next morning of the brigade picket guard, Thomie goes on to say:

“The sun’s most down, but I think I can fill these little pages before

dark. Captain F., coming in at this time, tells me a dispatch has just

been received to the effect that the Yankees are advancing in the

direction of Tunnel Hill, but they have made so many feints in that

direction lately that we have become used to them, so don’t become uneasy.

“The great revival is going on with widening and deepening interest. Last

Sabbath I saw eighty-three immersed at the creek below our brigade. Four

were sprinkled at the stand before going down to the creek, and two down

there, making an aggregate within this vicinity of eighty-nine, while the

same proportion, I suppose, are turning to God in other parts of the army,

making the grand aggregate of many hundreds. Yesterday I saw sixty-five

more baptized, forty more who were to have been there failing to come

because of an order to be ready to move at any moment. They belong to a

more distant brigade. * * If we do not move before Monday, Sabbath will be

a day long to be remembered--‘the water will,’ indeed, ‘be troubled.’

Should we remain three weeks longer, the glad tidings may go forth that

the Army of Tennessee is the army of the Lord. But He knoweth best what is

for our good, and if He sees proper can so order His providence as to keep

us here. His will be done.”

The next letter is addressed to me, but was sent to my sister at my

request, and is dated “Allatoona Mountains, Near Night, May 22nd.” He

writes:

“Oh, it grieved my very soul when coming through the beautiful Oothcaloga

valley, to think of the sad fate which awaited it when the foul invader

should occupy that ‘vale of beauty.’ We formed line of battle at the

creek, at the old Eads place; our brigade was to the left as you go up to

Mr. Law’s old place on the hill, where we stayed once when pa was sick.

Right here, with a thousand dear recollections of by-gone days crowding my

mind, in the valley of my boyhood, I felt as if I could hurl a host back.

We fought them and whipped them, until, being-flanked, we were compelled

to fall back. We fought them again at Cass Station, driving them in our

front, but, as before, and for the same reason, we were compelled to

retreat.

* * * * *

“As I am requested to hold prayer-meeting this evening at sunset, I must

close.”

Thomie’s next letter in this collection is addressed to his sister

Missouri, who had returned home, and is headed, simply, “Army of

Tennessee, May 31st.” It is written in a round, legible, but somewhat

delicate hand, and gives no evidence of nervousness or hurry. To those

fond of war history, it will be of special interest:

“Our brigade, in fact our division, is in a more quiet place now than

since the commencement of this campaign. We were ordered from the

battlefield on Sunday morning to go and take position in supporting

distance of the left wing of the army, where we arrived about the middle

of the forenoon, and remained there until yesterday evening, when our

division was ordered back in rear of the left centre, where we are now.

Contrary to all expectations, we have remained here perfectly quiet, there

being no heavy demonstration by the enemy on either wing. We were very

tired, and this rest has been a great help to us; for being a reserve and

flanking division, we have had to trot from one end of the wing of the

army to the other, and support other troops.

* * * * *

“Well, perhaps you would like to hear something from me of the battle of

New Hope Church, on Friday evening, 27th inst. We had been, since the day

before, supporting some other troops about the centre of the right wing,

when, I suppose about 2 o’clock, we were hurried off to the extreme right

to meet a heavy force of the enemy trying to turn our right. A few minutes

later the whole army might now have been in the vicinity of Atlanta, but,

as it was, we arrived in the nick of time, for before we were properly

formed the enemy were firing into us rapidly. We fronted to them, however,

and then commenced one of the hottest engagements, so far, of this

campaign. We had no support, and just one single line against a whole

corps of the enemy, and a lieutenant of the 19th Arkansas, wounded and

captured by them, and subsequently retaken by our brigade, stated that

another corps of the enemy came up about sundown. The fighting of our men,

to those who admire warfare, was magnificent. You could see a pleasant

smile playing upon the countenances of many of the men, as they would cry

out to the Yankees, ‘Come on, we are demoralized!’

“One little incident right here, so characteristic of the man. Major

Kennard (of whom I have told you often, lately promoted), was, as usual,

encouraging the men by his battle-cry of, ‘Put your trust in God, men, for

He is with us,’ but concluding to talk to the Yankees awhile, sang out to

them, ‘Come on, we are demoralized,’ when the Major was pretty severely

wounded in the head, though not seriously; raising himself up, he said:

“‘Boys, I told them a lie, and I believe that is the reason I got shot.’

“The fighting was very close and desperate, and lasted until after dark.

About 11 o’clock at night, three regiments of our brigade charged the

enemy, our regiment among them. We went over ravines, rocks, almost

precipices, running the enemy entirely off the field. We captured many

prisoners, and all of their dead and many of their wounded fell into our

hands. This charge was a desperate and reckless thing, and if the enemy

had made any resistance they could have cut us all to pieces. I hurt my

leg slightly in falling down a cliff of rocks, and when we started back to

our original line of battle I thought I would go back alone and pick my

way; so I bore off to the left, got lost, and completely bewildered

between two armies. I copy from my journal:

“‘Here I was, alone in the darkness of midnight, with the wounded, the

dying, the dead. What an hour of horror! I hope never again to experience

such. I am not superstitious, but the great excitement of seven hours of

fierce conflict, ending with a bold, and I might say reckless, charge--for

we knew not what was in our front--and then left entirely alone, causes a

mental and physical depression that for one to fully appreciate he must be

surrounded by the same circumstances. My feelings in battle were nothing

to compare to this hour. After going first one way and then another, and

not bettering my case, I heard some one slipping along in the bushes. I

commanded him to halt, and inquired what regiment he belonged to, and was

answered, ‘15th Wisconsin,’ so I took Mr. Wisconsin in, and ordered him to

march before me--a nice pickle for me then, had a prisoner and did not

know where to go. Moved on, however, and finally heard some more men

walking, hailed them, for I had become desperate, and was answered,

‘Mississippians.’ Oh, how glad I was! The moon at this time was just

rising, and, casting her pale silvery rays through the dense woods, made

every tree and shrub look like a spectre. I saw a tall, muscular Federal

lying dead and the moonlight shining in his face. His eyes were open and

seemed to be riveted on me. I could not help but shudder. I soon found my

regiment, and ‘Richard was himself again.’

“I went out again to see if I could do anything for their wounded. Soon

found one with his leg shot through, whom I told we would take care of.

Another, shot in the head, was crying out continually; ‘Oh, my God! oh, my

God!!’ I asked him if we could do anything for him, but he replied that it

would be of no use. I told him God would have mercy upon him, but his mind

seemed to be wandering. I could not have him taken care of that night,

and, poor fellow, there he lay all night.

“The next morning I had the privilege of walking over the whole ground,

and such a scene! Here lay the wounded, the dying, and the dead, hundreds

upon hundreds, in every conceivable position; some with contorted

features, showing the agony of death, others as if quietly sleeping. I

noticed some soft beardless faces which ill comported with the savage

warfare in which they had been engaged. Hundreds of letters from mothers,

sisters, and friends were found upon them, and ambrotypes, taken singly

and in groups. Though they had been my enemies, my heart bled at the

sickening scene. The wounded nearly all expressed themselves tired of the

war.

“For the numbers engaged upon our side, it is said to be the greatest

slaughter of the enemy of any recent battle. Captain Hearne, the old

adjutant of our regiment, was killed. Eight of our regiment were instantly

killed; two mortally wounded, since dead.

“I did not think of writing so much when I began, but it is the first

opportunity of writing anything like a letter that I have had. Lieutenant

McMurray is now in charge of the Texas hospital at Auburn, Alabama.

* * * * *

“Well, you are now Aunt Missouri. Oh, that I could see my boy! Heaven has

protected me thus far and I hope that God will consider me through this

dreadful ordeal, and protect me for Christ’s sake; not that there is any

merit that I can offer, but I do hope to live that I may be an humble

instrument in the hands of my God to lead others to Him. I hold prayer in

our company nearly every night when circumstances will permit, and the

men don’t go to sleep before we are quiet. Poor fellows, they are ever

willing to join me, but often are so wearied I dislike to interrupt them.

“My sister, let our trust be confidently in God. He can save or He can

destroy. Let us pray Him for peace. He can give it us; not pray as if we

were making an experiment, but pray believing God will answer our prayers,

for we have much to pray for.”

My sister subsequently copied into her journal the following extract,

taken from his, and written soon after the Battle of New Hope Church:

“May 31st, 1864.--Here we rest by a little murmuring brook, singing along

as if the whole world was at peace. I lay down last night and gazed away

up in the peaceful heavens. All was quiet and serene up there, and the

stars seemed to vie with each other in brightness and were fulfilling

their allotted destiny. My comrades all asleep; nothing breaks the

silence. I leave earth for a time, and soar upon ‘imagination’s wings’ far

away from this war-accursed land to where bright angels sing their

everlasting songs of peace and strike their harps along the golden streets

of the New Jerusalem, and the swelling music bursts with sweet accord

throughout vast Heaven’s eternal space!”

* * * * *

Again on Sabbath, June 5th, he writes: “No music of church bells is heard

today summoning God’s people to worship where the gospel is wont to be

heard. We are near a large log church called Gilgal. What a different

scene is presented to-day from a Sabbath four years ago when the aged

minister of God read to a large and attentive congregation: “The Lord is

my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures,

He leadeth me beside the still waters.” O, God, wilt thou not interpose

Thy strong arm to stop the bloody strife? Wilt Thou not hear the prayers

of Thy people who daily say, Lord, give us peace? The Lord will answer,

and soon white-robed peace will smile upon our unhappy country. O God,

hasten the day, for we are sorely vexed, and thine shall be all the

glory.”

Ere peace was to dawn upon his beloved country, his own soul was to find

it through the portals of death; but ere that time, save a brief interval

of enforced rest, weary marchings and heart-breaking scenes and sorrows

were to intervene.

Thomie’s next letter is dated “In the Field, near Lost Mountain, June

14th,” and the next “In the Ditches, June 22nd, 1864.” The next, “Near

Chattahoochee River, July 6th, 1864,” tells of the retreat of the army

from Kennesaw Mountain to Smyrna Church, and of his coming off safely from

another “small fight” the day before, in which several of his comrades

were killed.

Owing to nervous prostration, and other illness, Thomie was soon after

sent to the hospital at Macon, transferred from there to Augusta, and from

the latter point given leave of absence to visit his sister, who had found

refuge with her cousin, Mrs. T. J. Hillsman, a daughter of Rev. Wm. H.

Stokes of blessed memory. Here, with his father’s kindred, cheered by

beautiful hospitality and cousinly affection, our darling brother enjoyed

the last sweet rest and quiet earth was e’er to give him before he slept

beneath its sod.

CHAPTER X.

A visit to Dalton--The fidelity of an old-time slave.

“From Atlanta to Dalton, $7.75. From the 23d to the 26th of April, 1864,

to Mrs. John Reynolds, for board, $20.00. From Dalton to Decatur, $8.00.”

The above statement of the expense attending a round trip to Dalton,

Georgia, is an excerpt from a book which contains a record of every item

of my expenditures for the year 1864.

This trip was taken for the purpose of carrying provisions and articles of

clothing to my brother and his comrades in General Joseph E. Johnston’s

command. In vain had our mother tried to send appetizing baskets of food

to her son, whose soldier rations consisted of salty bacon and hard tack;

some disaster, real or imaginary, always occurred to prevent them from

reaching their destination, and it was, therefore, determined at home that

I should carry the next consignment.

After several days’ preparation, jugs were filled with good sorghum syrup,

and baskets with bread, pies, cakes and other edibles at our command, and

sacks of potatoes, onions and peppers were included. My fond and loving

mother and I, and our faithful aid-de-camps of African descent, conveyed

them to the depot. In those days the depot was a favorite resort with the

ladies and children of Decatur. There they always heard something from the

front--wherever that might be. The obliging agent had a way, all his own,

of acquiring information from the army in all its varied commands, and

dealt it out galore to the encouragement or discouragement of his

auditors, as his prejudices or partialities prompted. On this occasion

many had gone there, who, like myself, were going to take the train for

Atlanta, and in the interim were eager to hear everything of a hopeful

character, even though reason urged that it was hoping against hope.

I was the cynosure of all eyes, as I was going to “the front;” and every

mother who had a darling son in that branch of the army hoped that he

would be the first to greet me on my arrival there, and give me a message

for her. And I am sure, if the love consigned to me for transmission could

have assumed tangible form and weight, it would have been more than

fourteen tons to the square inch.

Helpful, willing hands deposited with care my well-labeled jugs, baskets,

etc., and I deposited myself with equal care in an already well-filled

coach on the Georgia Railroad. Arrived in Atlanta I surreptitiously stowed

the jugs in the car with me, and then asked the baggage-master to transfer

the provisions to a Dalton freight train. Without seeming to do so, I

watched his every movement until I saw the last article safely placed in

the car, and then I went aboard myself. Surrounded by jugs and packages, I

again became an object of interest, and soon found myself on familiar

terms with all on board; for were we not friends and kindred bound to

each other by the closest ties? Every age and condition of Southern life

was represented in that long train of living, anxious freight. Young

wives, with wee bit tots chaperoned by their mothers and sometimes by

their grandmothers, were going to see their husbands, for, perhaps, the

last time on earth; and mothers, feeling that another fond embrace of

their sons would palliate the sting of final separation. The poor man and

the rich man, fathers alike of men fighting the same battles in defense of

the grandest principle that ever inspired mortal man to combat, on their

way to see those men and leave their benedictions with them; and sisters,

solitary and alone, going to see their beloved brothers and assure them

once more of the purest and most disinterested love that ever found

lodgment in the human heart. Many and pleasant were the brief

conversations between those dissimilar in manners, habits and conditions

in life; the great bond connecting them rendered every other consideration

subordinate, and the rich and poor, the educated and ignorant, met and

mingled in harmonious intercourse.

Those were days of slow travel in the South. The roads were literally

blockaded with chartered cars, which contained the household goods of

refugees who had fled from the wrath and vandalism of the enemy, and not

unfrequently refugees themselves inhabited cars that seemed in fearful

proximity to danger. Ample opportunity of observation on either side was

furnished by this slow travel, and never did the fine, arable lands

bordering the Western & Atlantic road from the Chattahoochee river to

Dalton give greater promise of cereals, and trees in large variety were

literally abloom with embryo fruit. Alas! that such a land should be

destined to fall into the hands of despoilers.

At Dalton I went immediately to the agent at the depot, whom I found to be

my old friend, John Reynolds, for the purpose of getting information

regarding boarding houses. He told me his wife was in that line and would

accommodate me, and, to render the application more easy, he gave me a

note of introduction to her.

A beautiful, well-furnished room was given me, and a luscious supper

possessed exhilarating properties.

In the meantime, Mr. Reynolds had, at my request, notified my brother,

whom he knew, of my presence in his house, and I awaited his coming

anxiously; but I was disappointed. A soldier’s time is not his own, even

in seasons of tranquility, and he was on duty and could not come then, but

he assured me on a small scrap of paper, torn from his note-book, that he

would come as soon as he could get off “tomorrow morning.”

The waiting seemed very long, and yet it had its ending. The night was

succeeded by a typical April day, replete with sunshine and shower, and

the hopes and fears of a people struggling for right over wrong.

At length the cheery voice of him, who always had a pleasant word for

every one, greeted me, and I hastened to meet him. That we might be quiet

and undisturbed, I conducted him to my room, and a long and pleasant

conversation ensued. I wish I had time and space to recapitulate the

conversation; for its every word and intonation are preserved in the

archives of memory, and will enter the grand eternities with me as free

from discord as when first uttered. Our mother’s failing health gave him

concern, but his firm reliance in Him who doeth all things well, quieted

his sad forebodings and led the way to pleasanter themes.

He loved to dwell upon the quaint and innocent peculiarities of his

younger sister, and, as for his older one, it was very evident that he

regarded her fully strong enough to “tote her own skillet,” and “paddle

her own canoe.” A rap upon the door indicated that some one wished to see

either one or the other of us. I responded, and was met by a negro boy

bearing a huge waiter, evidently well-filled, and covered over with a

snow-white cloth. The aroma from that waiter would have made a mummy

smile. I had it put upon a table, and then I removed the cover, and saw

with gratification the squab pie which I had ordered for dear Thomie, and

a greater gratification awaited me, _i. e._, seeing him eat it with a

relish. Nor was the pie the only luxury in that waiter. Fresh butter and

buttermilk, and a pone of good corn bread, etc., etc., supplemented by

baked apples and cream and sugar.

“Come, dear Thomie, and let us eat together once more,” was my invitation

to that dinner, and radiant with thanks he took the seat I offered him. I

did not have the Christian courage to ask him to invoke a blessing upon

this excellent food, but I saw that one was asked in silence,

nevertheless, and I am sure that an invocation went up from my own heart

none the less sincere.

“Sister, I appreciate this compliment,” he said.

“I could do nothing that would compliment you, Thomie,” I answered, and

added, “I hope you will enjoy your dinner as a love offering from me.”

We lingered long around that little table, and many topics were touched

upon during that period.

After dinner I asked Thomie to lie down and rest awhile. He thanked me,

and said that the bed would tempt an anchorite to peaceful slumber, and he

could not resist its wooings. A few minutes after he lay down he was sound

asleep. He slept as a child--calm and peaceful. That a fly might not

disturb him, I improvised a brush--my handkerchief and a tender twig from

a tree near by being the component parts. As I sat by him and studied his

manly young face, and read its expression of good will to all mankind, I

wept to think that God had possibly required him as our sacrifice upon the

altar of our country.

The slanting rays of the Western sun fell full and radiant upon his placid

face, and awakened him from this long and quiet slumber. With a smile he

arose and said:

“This won’t do for me.”

Hasty good-byes and a fervent “God bless you” were uttered, and another

one of the few partings that remained to be taken took place between the

soldier and his sister.

* * * * *

The day was bright and exhilarating, in the month of June, 1864. Gay

laughing Flora had tripped over woodland and lawn and scattered with

prodigal hands flowers of every hue and fragrance, and the balmy

atmosphere of early summer was redolent with their sweet perfume; and all

nature, animate and inanimate, seemed imbued with the spirit of adoration

towards the Giver of these perfect works. Although many hearts had been

saddened by the mighty conflict being waged for the supremacy of

Constitutional rights, there were yet in Decatur a large number to whom

personal sorrow for personal bereavement had not come, and they were in

sympathy with this beautiful scene, whose brilliant tints were but the

reflection of divine glory, and whose faintest odor was distilled in the

alchemy of heaven.

I was contemplating this scene in grateful admiration, and blended with my

thoughts came the memory of my brother, who was in the foremost ranks of

the contest. He, too, loved the beautiful and the good, and “looked from

nature up to nature’s God.” All unconsciously I found myself plucking his

favorite flowers, and arranging a choice boquet, a spirit offering to him

who might even then be hovering over me and preparing my mind for the sad

denouement. With these reflections, I ascended the steps of my cottage

home, and turned to take another look upon the enchanting scene, when I

saw, approaching, one of my mother’s faithful servants, who was hired to

Dr. Taylor, a well-known druggist of Atlanta. Ever apprehensive of evil

tidings from “the front,” and “the front” being the portion of the army

that embraced my brother, I was almost paralyzed. I stood as if riveted to

the floor, and awaited developments. King, for that was the name of the

ebony-hued and faithful servant whose unexpected appearance had caused

such a heart-flutter, came nearer and nearer. On his approach I asked in

husky voice, “Have you heard anything from your Marse Thomie, King?”

“No, ma’am; have you?”

The light of heaven seemed to dispel the dark clouds which had gathered

over and around my horizon, and I remembered my duty to one, who, though

in a menial position, had doubtless come on some kind errand.

“Come in, King, and sit down and rest yourself,” I said, pointing to an

easy chair on the portico.

“I am not tired, Miss Mary, and would rather stand,” he replied.

And he did stand, with his hat in his hand; and I thought for the first

time in my life, probably, that he evinced a true manhood, worthy of

Caucasian lineage; not that there was a drop of Caucasian blood in his

veins, for he was a perfect specimen of the African race and as black as

Erebus.

The suspense was becoming painful, when it was broken by King asking:

“Miss Mary, is Miss Polly at home?”

“Yes, King, and I will tell her you are here.”

“Miss Polly,” my mother and King’s mistress, soon appeared and gave him a

genuine welcome.

King now lost no time in making known the object of his visit, and thus

announced it:

“Miss Polly, don’t you want to sell me?”

“No; why do you ask?”

“Because, Miss Polly, Mr. Johnson wants to buy me, and he got me to come

to see you and ask you if you would sell me.”

“Do you want me to sell you, King? Would you rather belong to Mr. Johnson

than me?”

“Now, Miss Polly, you come to the point, and I am going to try to answer

it. I love you, and you have always been a good mistuss to us all, and I

don’t think there is one of us that would rather belong to some one else;

but I tell you how it is, Miss Polly, and you musn’t get mad with me for

saying it; when this war is over none of us are going to belong to you.

We’ll all be free, and I would a great deal rather Mr. Johnson would lose

me than you. He is always bragging about what he will do; hear him talk,

you would think he was a bigger man than Mr. Lincoln is, and had more to

back him; but I think he’s a mighty little man myself, and I want him to

lose me. He says he’ll give you his little old store on Peachtree street

for me. It don’t mean much, I know, but, much or little, it’s going to be

more than me after the war.”

And thus this unlettered man, who in the ordinary acceptation of the term

had never known what it was to be free, argued with his mistress the

importance of the exchange of property of which he himself was a part, for

her benefit and that of her children.

“Remember, Miss Polly,” he said, “that when Marse Thomie comes out of the

war, it will be mighty nice for him to have a store of his own to commence

business in, and if I was in your place I would take it for me, for I tell

you again, Miss Polly, when the war’s over we’ll all be free.”

But the good mistress, who had listened in silence to these arguments, was

unmoved. She saw before her a man who had been born a slave in her

family, and who had grown to man’s estate under the fostering care of

slavery, whose high sense of honor and gratitude constrained him to give

advice intelligently, which, if followed, would rescue her and her

children from impending adversity; but she determined not to take it. She

preferred rather to trust their future well-being into the hands of

Providence. Her beautiful faith found expression in this consoling passage

of Scripture: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” And this

blessed assurance must have determined her to pursue the course she did,

else it would have been reckless and improvident. She told King that when

our people became convinced that the troubles between the South and North

had to be settled by the sword, that she, in common with all good

citizens, staked her all upon the issues of the war, and that she would

not now, like a coward, flee from them, or seek to avert them by selling a

man, or men and women who had endeared themselves to her by service and

fidelity.

CHAPTER XI.

A PERILOUS TRUST.

“It is most time to go to the post-office, ain’t it, Miss Mary? We are

going to get a letter from Marse Thomie this morning.”

“What makes you so certain of it, Toby?”

“I don’t know’m, but I am; and every time I feels this way, I gets one; so

I’ll just take my two little black calves and trot off to the office and

get it;” and suiting the action to the word he struck a pretty brisk gait

and was soon around the corner and out of sight.

Then Decatur received but two mails per day--one from an easterly

direction and the other from a westerly direction. The northern,

northwestern, southern and southwestern, all coming in on the morning’s

Georgia Railroad train. Therefore ever since Thomie’s return to his

command, the western mail was the one around which our hopes and fears

daily clustered.

General Joseph E. Johnston’s army was, at the time of this incident, at

Dalton, obstructing the advance of Sherman’s “three hundred thousand men”

on destruction bent. And though there had been no regular line of battle

formed for some time by the Confederate and Federal forces, there were

frequent skirmishes, disastrous alike to both sides. Hence the daily

alternation of hopes and fears in the hearts of those whose principal

occupation was waiting and watching for “news from the front.”

The team of which Toby was the proud possessor did its work quickly, and

in less time than it takes to tell it he appeared in sight, returning from

the post-office--one hand clasping a package of papers and letters, and

the other, raised high above his head, holding a letter. I could not wait,

and ran to meet him.

“I’ve got a whole lot of letters, and every one of them is from Dalton,

and this one is from Marse Thomie!”

Toby had read the Dalton post-mark, and had made a correct statement. The

well-known chirography of my brother had become so familiar to him that he

never mistook it for another, and was unerring in his declarations

regarding it. On this occasion Thomie’s letter thus read:

“MY DEAR SISTER:--Those acquainted with army tactics know that General

Johnston is on the eve of an important move, or change of base; and that

it should be the effort of the men, officers and privates, to be prepared

to make the change, whatever it may be, with as little loss of army

paraphernalia as possible. As the Confederate army has no repository

secure from the approach of the enemy, several of our friends suggest that

you might be willing to take care of anything which we might send to you,

that would be of future use to us--heavy overcoats, extra blankets, etc.,

etc. Consider well the proposition before you consent. Should they be

found in your possession, by the enemy, then our home might be demolished,

and you perhaps imprisoned, or killed upon the spot. Are you willing to

take the risk, trusting to your ingenuity and bravery to meet the

consequences? Let me know as soon as possible, as war times admit of

little delay. General Granbury, Colonel Bob Young, and others may make

known to you their wishes by personal correspondence. Love to my mother

and sister, and to yourself, brave heart.

Affectionately, your brother

T. J. STOKES.”

This letter was read aloud to my mother, and the faithful mail carrier was

not excluded. She listened and weighed every word of its contents. For

several moments a silence reigned, which was broken by her asking me what

I was going to do in the matter.

“What would you have me do?” I asked in reply.

“What would they do, Mary, in very cold weather, if they should lose their

winter clothing, overcoats and blankets, now that supplies are so

difficult to obtain?”

This question, evasive as it was, convinced me that my mother’s patriotism

was fully adequate to the occasion, and, fraught with peril as it might

be, she was willing to bear her part of the consequences of taking care of

the soldiers’ clothes.

The return mail bore the following letter addressed jointly to General

Granbury, Colonel Robert Young, Captains Lauderdale and Formwalt,

Lieutenant Stokes, and Major John Y. Rankin;

“MY DEAR BROTHER AND FRIENDS:--I thank you for the estimate you have

placed upon my character and patriotism, as indicated by your request that

I should take care of your overcoats, blankets, etc., until you need

them. If I were willing to enjoy the fruits of your valor and sacrifices

without also being willing to share your perils, I would be unworthy

indeed. Yes, if I knew that for taking care of those things, I would

subject myself to real danger, I would essay the duty. Send them on. I

will meet them in Atlanta, and see that they continue their journey to

Decatur without delay.

Your friend,

M. A. H. G.”

Another mail brought intelligence of the shipment of the goods, and I lost

no time in going to Atlanta and having them re-shipped to Decatur. There

were nine large dry goods boxes, and I went, immediately on their arrival,

to Mr. E. Mason’s and engaged his two-horse wagon and driver to carry them

from the depot to our home. When they were brought, we had them placed in

our company dining-room. This room, by a sort of tacit understanding, had

become a storeroom for the army before this important lot of goods came,

and, as a dining-room, much incongruity of furniture existed, among which

was a large, high wardrobe. The blinds were now closed and secured, the

sash put down and fastened, the doors shut and locked, and this room given

up to the occupancy of Confederate articles; and thus it remained during

the eventful period intervening between the departure of General Joseph E.

Johnston’s army from Dalton, and Sherman’s infamous order to the people of

Atlanta and vicinity to leave their homes, that they might be destroyed by

his vandal hordes.

CHAPTER XII.

A SCENE IN AN ATLANTA CONFEDERATE HOSPITAL.

“Well, my boy, our patients are all getting along nicely in the Fair

Ground hospital,” was the comforting assurance I gave to Toby, who was my

faithful co-worker in all that pertained to the comfort of our soldiers.

“Suppose we go to the Empire hospital and see what we can do there.”

“Yes’m, I have always wanted to go there.”

Taking one of the baskets we had brought with us from Decatur, and which

contained biscuits, rusk, broiled and fried chicken, ground coffee and

blackberry wine, I handed it to him and we wended our way to the hospital.

Things were not in as good shape there as at the Fair Ground hospital. I

perceived this at a glance, and, upon asking and receiving permission from

the superintendent, I soon tidied up things considerably. Toby brought

pails of fresh water, and aided in bathing the faces, hands and arms of

the convalescing soldiers, while I hunted up the soldier lads who ought to

have been at home with their mothers, and bestowed the tender loving

service that woman only can give to the sick and suffering.

Entering one of the wards I perceived a youth, or one I took to be a

youth, from his slender fragile figure, and his beardless face, lean and

swarthy in sickness, but beautiful in its fine texture and the marblelike

whiteness of the brow. That he was of French extraction there could be no

doubt. Quietly kneeling by the side of his cot, I contemplated his face,

his head, his figure--I listened to his breathing, and watched the

pulsations of his heart, and knew that his days, yea, his hours were

numbered. Taking his hand in mine, I perceived that the little vitality

that remained was fast burning up with fever. Putting back the beautiful

rings of raven hair that lay in disheveled clusters over his classic head,

and partly concealed his white brow, I thought of his mother, and

imprinted upon his forehead a kiss for her sake. The deep slumber induced

by anodynes was broken by that touch, and a dazed awakening ensued.

“Mother,” was his pathetic and only utterance.

“What can I do for you, my dear child?”

There are looks and tones which are never forgotten, and never shall I

forget the utter despair in the eyes, lustrous and beautiful enough to

look upon the glory of heaven, and the anguish of the voice, musical

enough to sing the songs of everlasting bliss, as he said in tremulous

tone and broken sentences:

“I want to see a Catholic priest. I have paid several men to go for me.

They have gone off and never returned. I have no money with which to pay

any one else.”

In silence I listened and wept. At length I said:

“My dear young friend, can you not make confession to ‘our Father which

art in Heaven,’ and ask Him for Christ’s sake to absolve you from all sins

of which you may think yourself guilty? He will do it without the

intervention of a priest, if you will only believe on Him and trust Him.

Can you not do this?”

The pencil of Raphael would fail to depict the anguish of his face; all

hope left it, and, as he turned his despairing look upon the wall, tear

drops glistened in his eyes and filled the sunken hollows beneath them.

Again I took his passive hand in mine, and with the other hand upon his

white forehead, I told him he should see a priest--that I myself would go

for one, and just as soon as he could be found I would return with him.

Before leaving, however, I went to the ward where I had left Toby and the

basket, and filling a little glass with wine, I brought it to the sinking

youth. He could not be induced to taste it. In vain I plead with him, and

told him that it would strengthen him for the interview with the priest.

“I am going now, and will come back, too, as soon as I can,” I said to the

dying youth, for to all intents and purposes he was dying then. Seeing the

other patients watching my every movement with pathetic interest, I was

reminded to give the rejected wine to the weakest looking one of them.

Leaving Toby either to wait on, or amuse the soldiers of the ward first

entered (where I found him playing the latter role, much to their

delight), with hasty steps I went to the Catholic parsonage on Hunter

street. In response to my ring the door was opened by an Irish woman from

whom I learned that the priest was not in, and would not be until he came

to luncheon at 12 o’clock M. It was then 11 o’clock, and I asked the

privilege of waiting in the sitting room until he came. This being

granted, I entered the room consecrated to celibacy, and perhaps to holy

thoughts, judging from the pictures upon the walls and the other

ornaments. These things furnished food for reflection, and the waiting

would not have seemed so long but for the thought of the poor suffering

one who had given his young life for our cause. Intuitively I knew the

sound of clerical footsteps as they entered the hall, and hastening to

meet him I asked, “Is this Father O’Riley?” Receiving an affirmative

answer, I told him of the youth at the Empire hospital who refused to be

comforted other than by a Catholic priest, and of my promise to bring one

to him. Father O’Riley said he had been out since early morning, visiting

the sick, and would be obliged to refresh himself, both by food and

repose, but that I could say to the young man that he would be there by 3

o’clock. “O, sir, you don’t realize the importance of haste. Please let me

remain in your sitting room until you have eaten your luncheon, and then I

know you will go with me. I, too, have been out ever since early morning

engaged in the same Christ-like labors as yourself, and I do not require

either food or repose.”

My earnestness prevailed, and in a short while we were at our destination.

At my request, Father O’Riley waited in the passage-way leading to the

ward until I went in to prepare the young man for his coming. I found him

in that restless condition, neither awake nor asleep, which often precedes

the deep sleep that knows no waking. Wetting my handkerchief with cold

water, I bathed his face and hands, and spoke gently to him, and, when he

seemed sufficiently aroused to understand me, I told him in cheerful tones

that he could not guess who had come to see him. Catching his look of

inquiry, I told him it was Father O’Riley, and that I would bring him in.

Opening the door, I motioned to Father O’Riley to follow me. The dying

youth and the Catholic priest needed no introduction by me. There was a

mystic tie between them that I recognized as sacred, and I left them

alone. Telling Father O’Riley that I consigned my charge to him, and that

I would come back to-morrow, I bade them good-bye and left.

The contents of the basket had been gratefully received and devoured by

those who deserved the best in the land, because they were the land’s

defenders.

To-morrow Toby and I, and the basket, were at the Empire hospital in due

time, but the poor suffering youth was not there. The emancipated spirit

had taken its flight to Heaven, and all that was mortal of that brave

young soldier had been consigned by the ceremonies of the church he loved

so well to the protecting care of mother earth.

CHAPTER XIII.

Concealing Confederate Clothing--Valuables Carried to Atlanta--Toby Taken

Ill.

On the way to the post-office early one morning in the sultry month of

July, 1864, to mail a number of letters which I deemed too important to be

entrusted to other hands, I was accosted as follows by “Uncle Mack,” the

good negro blacksmith, whose shop was situated immediately upon the route:

“Did you know, Miss Mary, that the Yankees have crossed the river, and are

now this side of the Chattahoochee.”

“Why, no!” I said, and added with as much calmness as I could affect, “I

do not know why I should be surprised--there is nothing to prevent them

from coming into Decatur.”

With an imprecation more expressive than elegant, that evil should

overtake them before getting here, he resumed hammering at the anvil, and

I my walk to the post-office. Nor was Uncle Mack the only one who

volunteered the information that “The Yankees are coming--they are this

side the river.”

The time had come to devise means and methods of concealing the winter

clothing and other accoutrements entrusted to my care by our dear

soldiers. In order to save them, what should I do with them?--was a

question which I found myself unable to answer. An attempt to retain and

defend them would be futile indeed. And I have no right to jeopardize my

mother’s home by a rash effort to accomplish an impossibility. But what

shall I do with these precious things, is the question. A happy thought

struck me, and I pursued it only to find it delusive. The near approach of

Sherman’s army developed the astounding fact that Dr. A. Holmes, of

Decatur, a Baptist minister of some prominence, claimed to be a Union man,

in full sympathy with any means that would soonest quell the rebellion.

This I had not heard, and in my dilemma I went to him to impart my plans

and ask advice. He was morose and reticent, and I hesitated; but, driven

by desperation, I finally said: “Dr. Holmes, as a minister of the gospel,

are you not safe? All civilized nations respect clerical robes, do they

not?”

“I think so,” he said, and continued by saying, “I have other claims upon

the Federal army which will secure me from molestation.”

A look of surprise and inquiry being my only answer, he said, “Amid the

secession craze, I have never given up my allegiance to the United

States.”

“Why, Dr. Holmes!” I said, in unfeigned surprise.

“I repeat most emphatically that I have remained unshaken in my allegiance

to the United States. I have no respect for a little contemptible Southern

Confederacy, whose flag will never be recognized on land or on sea.”

This was a sad revelation to me. On more than one occasion I had heard Dr.

Holmes pray fervently for the success of the Southern cause, and to hear

such changed utterances from him now, pained me exceedingly. Heartsore and

discouraged, I turned from him, and was leaving without the usual

ceremony, when he said:

“What can I do for you?”

“I came, sir, to ask a great favor of you, but after hearing you express

yourself as you have, I deem it useless to make known my wishes. Good

morning.”

This interview with Dr. Holmes was very brief; it did not consume as much

time as it has done to tell it.

I did not walk in those days, but ran, and it required only a few moments

to transfer the scene of action from Dr. Holmes’ to my mother’s residence.

A hurried, whispered conversation acquainted her with the situation; and

at my request, and upon a plausible pretense, she took Toby to the depot

where she remained until I sent for her. My confidence in Toby had not in

the least diminished, but, being a boy, I feared that he might have his

price, or be intimidated by threats into the betrayal of our secret; hence

the management as above related to get him off the place while I

consummated a plan, which, if successful, would be a great achievement,

but, if a failure, would be fraught with disaster. In those days “the

depot” was a place of popular resort--it was the emporium of news; and

either from the agent, or from the Confederate scouts that were ever and

anon dashing through Decatur with cheerful messages and words of hope, the

anxious mothers and sisters of the soldiers often wended their way there

in hope of hearing something from their loved ones. Therefore no suspicion

was aroused by this going to the depot.

Watching the receding form of my mother until she had passed out of the

gate, and Toby had closed it after her, I then went to the rear door and

motioned to Telitha, who chanced to be in the right place, to come into

the house. After seeing that every outside door was thoroughly secure, I

took her into the dining room where the boxes were which contained the

winter clothing, blankets, etc., already mentioned as having been sent for

storage by our soldier friends at Dalton, and told her in pantomime that

the Yankees were coming, and if they saw these thing’s they would kill us

and burn the house. She fully understood and repeated the pantomime

illustrative of possible--yea, probable--coming events, with pathetic

effect. I showed her that I wanted a hammer and chisel with which to take

off the lids of the boxes, and she brought them. The lids removed, each

article was carefully lifted from its repository and placed on chairs.

This important step being taken towards the concealment of the goods, I

raised the sash and opened the shutters of the window nearest the cellar,

which was unlocked and open, and Telitha, climbing out the window,

received the boxes as I handed them to her, and carried them into the

cellar. Old and soiled as the boxes were, they were not in a condition to

create suspicion of recent use, so from that source we had nothing to

fear. Telitha again in the house, shutters closed, and sash down,

preparation was resumed for the enactment of a feat dangerous and rash,

the thought of which, even at this remote period, almost produces a

tremor. The wardrobe mentioned in a former sketch as an incongruity in a

dining room, was emptied of its contents, and inch by inch placed as near

the center of the room as possible; then a large table was placed beside

it, and a chair upon that; and then with the help of another chair, which

served as a step, I got upon the table and then upon the chair that was

upon the table. As I went up, Telitha followed; standing upon the table

she grasped the wardrobe with her strong hands and held it securely. I

ascended from the chair to the top of it, stood up and steadied myself,

and waited, immovable as a statue, until she got down and brought the

chisel and hammer and placed them at my feet, and resumed her hold upon

the wardrobe. I stooped and picked up the utensils with which I had to

work, and straightened and steadied myself again. The chisel touched the

plastered ceiling and the hammering began. Very slow work it was at first,

as the licks had to be upward instead of downward, and the plastering was

very thick. Finally the chisel went through and was withdrawn and moved to

another place, and by repeated efforts I secured an aperture large enough

to insert my fingers, and a few well-directed licks round and about so

cracked and weakened the plastering that I was enabled to pull off some

large pieces. A new difficulty presented itself. The laths were long, much

longer than those of the present day, and I not only had to make a large

opening in the ceiling, but to take off the plastering without breaking

the laths. More than once the wardrobe had to be moved that I might pull

off the plastering, and then with the greatest care prize off the laths.

At length the feat was accomplished, and I laid the lids of the boxes,

which had been reserved for this purpose, across the joists, and made a

floor upon which to lay the goods more than once specified in these

sketches. When the last article had been laid on this improvised shelf, I

gazed upon them in silent anguish and wept. Telitha caught the melancholy

inspiration and also wept. Each lath was restored to its place and the

perilous work was completed, and how I thanked the Lord for the steady

nerve and level head that enabled me to do this service for those who were

fighting the battles of my country.

But the debris must be removed. While the doors were yet closed and

fastened, we pounded and broke the plastering into very small pieces and

filled every vessel and basket in the house. I then went out and walked

very leisurely over the yard and lot, and lingered over every lowly flower

that sweetened the atmosphere by its fragrance, and when I was fully

persuaded that no spy was lurking nigh I re-entered the house and locked

the door. Picking up the largest vessel, and motioning Telitha to follow

suit, I led the way through a back door to a huge old ash hopper, and

emptied the pulverized plastering into it. In this way we soon had every

trace of it removed from the floor. The dust that had settled upon

everything was not so easily removed, but the frequent use of dusting

brushes and flannel cloths disposed of the most of it.

I now wrote a note to my mother, inviting her to come home, and to bring

Toby with her. We kept the doors of the dining room closed, as had been

our wont for some time, and if Toby ever discovered the change, he never

betrayed the knowledge of it by word or look. After a light breakfast,

and the excitement of the day, I felt that we ought to have a good,

luscious dinner, and, with the help at my command, went to work preparing

it, and, as was my custom of late, I did not forget to provide for others

who might come in. More than once during the day Confederate scouts had

galloped in and spoken a few words of encouragement; and after taking a

drink of water from the old oaken bucket, had galloped out again, so I

hoped they would come back when the biscuit and tea-cakes were done, that

I might fill their pockets.

After the last meal of the day had been eaten, I held another whispered

consultation with my mother, and in pursuance of the course agreed upon I

emptied several trunks, and with her help filled one with quilts and

blankets, and other bedding; another with china and cut glass, well

packed; and another with important papers, treasured relics, etc., and

locked and strapped them ready for shipment next morning.

A night of unbroken rest and sleep prepared me for another day of

surprises and toil, and before dawn I was up, dressed, waiting for

daylight enough to justify me in the effort to see Mr. Ezekiel Mason, and

beg him to hire me his team and driver to carry the trunks to the depot.

After my ready compliance with his terms, he agreed to send them as soon

as possible. The delay caused me to go on a freight train to Atlanta, but

I congratulated myself upon that privilege, as the trunks and Toby went on

the same train. There was unusual commotion and activity about the depot

in Atlanta, and a superficial observer would have been impressed with the

business-like appearance of the little city at that important locality.

Men, women, and children moved about as if they meant business. Trains

came in rapidly, and received their complement of freight, either animate

or inanimate, and screamed themselves hoarse and departed, giving place to

others that went through with the same routine. Drays and every manner of

vehicles blocked the streets, and endangered life, limb, and property of

all who could not vie with them in push, vim, and dare-deviltry. In vain

did I appeal to scores of draymen, white and black, to carry my trunks to

the home of Mr. McArthur, on Pryor street--money was offered with

liberality, but to no avail. Despairing of aid, I bade Toby follow me, and

went to Mr. McArthur’s. He and his good wife were willing to receive the

trunks and give them storage room, but could extend no aid in bringing

them there. At length, as a last resort, it was decided that Toby should

take their wheelbarrow and bring one trunk at a time. I returned with him

to the depot and had the most valuable trunk placed upon the wheelbarrow,

and, with my occasional aid, Toby got it to its destination. A second trip

was made in like manner, and the third was not a failure, although I saw

that Toby was very tired. Thanking my good friends for the favor they were

extending, I hurried back to the depot, myself and Toby, to take the first

train to Decatur. Imagine our consternation on learning that the Yankees

had dashed in and torn up the Georgia Railroad track from Atlanta to

Decatur, and were pursuing their destructive work towards Augusta.

Neither for love nor money could a seat in any kind of vehicle going in

that direction be obtained, nor were I and my attendant the only ones thus

cut off from home; and I soon discovered that a spirit of independence

pervaded the crowd. Many were the proud possessors of elegant spans of

“little white ponies” which they did not deem too good to propel them

homeward. Seeking to infuse a little more life and animation into Toby, I

said:

“Well, my boy, what do you think of bringing out your little black ponies

and running a race with my white ones to Decatur? Do you think you can

beat in the race?”

“I don’t know’m,” he said, without his usual smile, when I essayed a

little fun with him, and I evidently heard him sigh. But knowing there was

no alternative, I started in a brisk walk towards Decatur, and said to

him, “Come on, or I’ll get home before you do.” He rallied and kept very

close to me, and we made pretty good time. The gloaming was upon us, the

period of all others auspicious to thought, and to thought I abandoned

myself. The strife between the sections of a once glorious country was a

prolific theme, and I dwelt upon it in all of its ramifications, and

failed to find cause for blame in my peculiar people; and my step became

prouder, and my willingness to endure all things for their sakes and mine

was more confirmed. In the midst of these inspiring reflections, Toby, who

had somewhat lagged behind, came running up to me and said:

“Oh! Miss Mary, just look at the soldiers. And they are ours, too!”

To my dying day I shall never forget the scene to which he called my

attention. In the weird stillness it appeared as if the Lord had raised up

of the stones a mighty host to fight our battles. Not a sound was heard,

nor a word spoken, as those in the van passed opposite me, on and on, and

on, in the direction of Decatur, in what seemed to me an interminable line

of soldiery. Toby and I kept the track of the destroyed railroad, and were

somewhere between General Gartrell’s residence and Mr. Pitts’, the midway

station between Atlanta and Decatur, when the first of these soldiers

passed us, and we were at Kirkwood when that spectre-like band had fully

gone. Once the moon revealed me so plainly that a cheer, somewhat

repressed, but nevertheless hearty, resounded through the woods, and I

asked:

“Whose command?”

“Wheeler’s Cavalry,” was the simultaneous response of many who heard my

inquiry.

“Don’t you know me? I am the one you gave the best breakfast I ever ate,

that morning we dashed into Decatur before sun-up.”

“And I’m the one too.”

“O, don’t mention it,” I said. “You are giving your lives for me, and the

little I can do for you is nothing in comparison. May God be with you and

shield you from harm until this cruel war is over.”

I missed Toby, and looking back, saw him sitting down. I hurried to him,

saying, “What is it, my boy?”

“O, Miss Mary, I am so sick. I can’t go any further. You can go on home,

and let me stay here--when I feel better I’ll go too.”

“No, my boy, I’ll not leave you.” And sitting by him I told him to rest

his head upon my lap, and maybe after awhile he would feel better, and

then we would go on. In the course of a half hour he vomited copiously,

and soon after he told me he felt better, and would try to go on. More

than once his steps were unsteady and he looked dazed; but under my

patient guidance and encouraging words he kept up and we pursued our

lonely walk until we reached Decatur.

As soon as we entered the town, we perceived that we had overtaken

Wheeler’s Cavalry. They were lying on the ground, asleep, all over the

place; and in most instances their horses were lying by them, sleeping

too. And I noticed that the soldiers, even though asleep, never released

their hold upon the bridles. At home I found my mother almost frantic. She

knew nothing of the causes detaining me, and supposed that some disaster

had befallen me individually. A good supper, including a strong cup of tea

prepared by her hands, awaited us, and I attested my appreciation of it by

eating heartily. Toby drank a cup of tea only, and said he “was very tired

and hurt all over.”

CHAPTER XIV.

The advance guard of the Yankee army--I am ordered out--A noble Federal.

The day clear, bright and beautiful, in July, 1864, and though a

midsummer’s sun cast its vertical rays upon the richly-carpeted earth,

refreshing showers tempered the heat and preserved in freshness and beauty

the vernal robes of May and kept the atmosphere pure and delightful.

Blossoms of every hue and fragrance decked the landscape, and Ceres and

Pomona had been as lavish with their grains and fruits as Flora had been

with flowers.

And I, assisted by Toby and Telitha, had gathered from the best of these

rich offerings, and prepared a feast for Wheeler’s Cavalry. By the way,

strive against it as I would, I was more than once disturbed by the mental

inquiry: “What has become of Wheeler’s Cavalry? I saw it enter Decatur

last night, and now there is not a soldier to be seen. It is true a large

number of scouts came in this morning, and spoke comforting words to my

mother, and reconnoitered around town fearlessly, but what has become of

them?” Hope whispered: “Some strategic movement that will culminate in the

capture of the entire Yankee army, no doubt is engaging its attention.”

Yielding to these delusive reflections, and the seductive influence of

earth, air and sky, I became quite exhilarated and hummed little snatches

of the songs I used to sing in the happy days of childhood, before a hope

had been disappointed or a shadow cast over my pathway.

These scenes and these songs were not in keeping with the impending

disasters even then at our portals. Crapen draperies and funeral dirges

would have been far more in keeping with the developments of the day.

Distant roar of cannon and sharp report of musketry spoke in language

unmistakable the approach of the enemy, and the rapidity of that approach

was becoming fearfully alarming. Decatur offered many advantages as

headquarters to an invading, devastating foe, “and three hundred thousand

men” under the guidance of a merciless foe ought to have entered it long

before they did--and would have done so if their bravery had been

commensurate with their vandalism.

“Yank! Yank!” exclaimed our deaf negro girl, Telitha, as she stroked her

face as if stroking beard, and ran to get a blue garment to indicate the

color of their apparel, and this was our first intimation of their

appearance in Decatur. If all the evil spirits had been loosed from Hades,

and Satan himself had been turned loose upon us, a more terrific,

revolting scene could not have been enacted.

Advance guards, composed of every species of criminals ever incarcerated

in the prisons of the Northern States of America, swooped down upon us,

and every species of deviltry followed in their footsteps. My poor mother,

frightened and trembling, and myself, having locked the doors of the

house, took our stand with the servants in the yard, and witnessed the

grand _entre_ of the menagerie. One of the beasts got down upon his

all-fours and pawed up the dust and bellowed like an infuriated bull. And

another asked me if I did not expect to see them with hoofs and horns. I

told him, “No, I had expected to see some gentlemen among them, and was

sorry I should be disappointed.”

My entire exemption from fear on that occasion must have been our

safeguard, as no personal violence was attempted. He who personated a bull

must have been the king’s fool, and was acting in collusion with the house

pillagers sent in advance of the main army to do their dirty work, and to

reduce the people to destitution and dependence. While he thought he was

entertaining us with his quadrupedal didos, a horde of thieves were

rummaging the house, and everything of value they could get their hands

upon they stole--locks and bolts having proved ineffectual barriers to

this nefarious work. By this time the outside marauders had killed every

chicken and other fowl upon the place, except one setting-hen. A fine cow,

and two calves, and twelve hogs shared a similar fate.

Several hours had passed since the coming of the first installment of the

G. A. R., and a few scattering officers were perambulating the streets,

and an occasional cavalryman reconnoitering. Having surveyed the

situation, and discovered that only women and children and a few faithful

negroes occupied the town, the main army came in like an avalanche. Yea,

if an avalanche and a simoon had blended their fury and expended it upon

that defenceless locality, a greater change could scarcely have been

wrought.

The morning’s sun had shone upon a scene of luxuriant beauty, and

heightened its midsummer loveliness, but the same sun, only a few hours

later, witnessed a complete transformation, and blight and desolation

reigned supreme. My mother and myself, afraid to go in the house, still

maintained our outdoor position, and our two faithful servants clung very

close to us, notwithstanding repeated efforts to induce them to leave. Our

group had received addition. Emmeline, a negro girl whom we had hired out

in Decatur, had been discharged, and had now come home. She was not so

faithful as her kith and kin, and was soon on familiar terms with the

bummers. Toby complained of being very tired, and when we all came to

think about it, we discovered that we, too, were tired, and without being

asked took seats upon the capacious lap of mother earth. As we were not

overly particular about the position we assumed, we must have presented

quite an aboriginal appearance. But what mattered it--we were only rebels.

Notwithstanding the insignia of the conqueror was displayed on every hand,

we felt to a certain degree more protected by the presence of commissioned

officers, and ventured to go into the house. I will not attempt a

description of the change that had taken place since we had locked the

door, and, for better protection, had taken our stand in the yard.

Garrard’s Cavalry selected our lot, consisting of several acres, for

headquarters, and soon what appeared to us to be an immense army train of

wagons commenced rolling into it. In less than two hours our barn was

demolished and converted into tents, which were occupied by privates and

non-commissioned officers, and to the balusters of our portico and other

portions of the house were tied a number of large ropes, which, the other

ends being secured to trees and shrubbery, answered as a railing to which

at short intervals apart a number of smaller ropes were tied, and to these

were attached horses and mules, which were eating corn and oats out of

troughs improvised for the occasion out of bureau, washstand, and wardrobe

drawers.

Men in groups were playing cards on tables of every size and shape; and

whisky and profanity held high carnival. Thus surrounded we could but be

apprehensive of danger; and, to assure ourselves of as much safety as

possible, we barricaded the doors and windows, and arranged to sit up all

night, that is, my mother and myself.

Toby complained of being very tired, and “hurting all over,” as he

expressed it. We assisted him in making the very best pallet that could be

made of the material at our command, and he lay down completely

prostrated. Telitha was wide awake, and whenever she could secure a

listener chattered like a magpie in unintelligible language, accompanied

by unmistakable gestures--gestures which an accomplished elocutionist

might adopt with effect--and the burden of her heart was for Emmeline.

Emmeline having repudiated our protection, had sought shelter, the Lord

only knows where. Alas, poor girl!

As we sat on a lounge, every chair having been taken to the camps, we

heard the sound of footsteps entering the piazza, and in a moment, loud

rapping, which meant business. Going to the window nearest the door, I

removed the fastenings, raised the sash, and opened the blinds. Perceiving

by the light of a brilliant moon that at least a half-dozen men in

uniforms were on the piazza, I asked:

“Who is there?”

“Gentlemen,” was the laconic reply.

“If so, you will not persist in your effort to come into the house. There

is only a widow and one of her daughters, and two faithful servants in

it,” I said.

“We have orders from headquarters to interview Miss Gay. Is she the

daughter of whom you speak?”

“She is, and I am she.”

“Well, Miss Gay, we demand seeing you, without intervening barriers. Our

orders are imperative,” said he who seemed to be the spokesman of the

delegation.

“Then wait a moment,” I amiably responded. Going to my mother I repeated

in substance the above colloquy, and asked her if she would go with me out

of one of the back doors and around the house into the front yard.

Although greatly agitated and trembling, she readily assented, and we

noiselessly went out. In a few moments we announced our presence, and our

visitors descended the steps and joined us. And those men, occupying a

belligerent attitude towards ourselves and all that was dear to us, stood

face to face and in silence contemplated each other. When the silence was

broken the aforesaid officer introduced himself as Major Campbell, a

member of General Schofield’s staff. He also introduced the accompanying

officers each by name and title. This ceremony over, Major Campbell said:

“Miss Gay, our mission is a painful one, and yet we will have to carry it

out unless you satisfactorily explain acts reported to us.”

“What is the nature of those acts?”

“We have been told that it is your proudest boast that you are a rebel,

and that you are ever on duty to aid and abet in every possible way the

would-be destroyers of the United States government. If this be so, we

cannot permit you to remain within our lines. Until Atlanta surrenders,

Decatur will be our headquarters, and every consideration of interest to

our cause requires that no one inimical to it should remain within our

boundaries established by conquest.”

In reply to these charges, I said:

“Gentlemen, I have not been misrepresented, so far as the charges you

mention are concerned. If I were a man, I should be in the foremost ranks

of those who are fighting for rights guaranteed by the Constitution of the

United States. The Southern people have never broken that compact, nor

infringed upon it in any way. They have never organized mobs to

assassinate any portion of the people sharing the privileges granted by

that compact. They have constructed no underground railroads to bring into

our midst incendiaries and destroyers of the peace, and to carry off

stolen property. They have never sought to array the subordinate element

of the North in deadly hostility to the controlling element. No class of

the women of the South have ever sought positions at the North which

secured entrance into good households, and then betrayed the confidence

reposed by corrupting the servants and alienating the relations between

the master and the servant. No class of the women of the South have ever

mounted the rostrum and proclaimed falsehoods against the women of the

North--falsehoods which must have crimsoned with shame the very cheeks of

Beelzebub.

“No class of the men of the South have ever tramped over the North with

humbugs, extorting money either through sympathy or credulity, and engaged

at the same time in the nefarious work of exciting the subordinate class

to insurrection, arson, rapine and murder. If the South is in rebellion, a

well-organized mob at the North has brought it about. Long years of

patient endurance accomplished nothing. The party founded on falsehood and

hate strengthened and grew to enormous proportions. And, by the way, mark

the cunning of that party. Finding that the Abolition party made slow

progress and had to work in the dark, it changed its name and took in new

issues, and by a systematic course of lying in its institutions of

learning, from the lowly school-house to Yale College, and from its

pulpits and rostrums, it inculcated lessons of hate towards the Southern

people whom it would hurl into the crater of Vesuvius if endowed with the

power. What was left us to do but to try to relieve that portion of the

country which had permitted this sentiment of hate to predominate, of all

connection with us, and of all responsibility for the sins of which it

proclaimed us guilty? This effort the South has made, and I have aided and

abetted in every possible manner, and will continue to do so just as long

as there is an armed man in the Southern ranks. If this be sufficient

cause to expel me from my home, I await your orders. I have no favors to

ask.”

Imagine my astonishment, admiration and gratitude, when that group of

Federal officers, with unanimity said:

“I glory in your spunk, and am proud of you as my countrywoman; and so far

from banishing you from your home, we will vote for your retention within

our lines.”

Thus the truth prevailed; but a new phase of the conflict was inaugurated,

as proved by subsequent developments.

Turning to my mother, Major Campbell said:

“Mother, how did our advance guards treat you?”

A quivering of the lips, and a tearful effort to speak, was all the

response she could make. The aggravation of already extreme nervousness

was doing its work.

“Would you like to see?” I said. He indicated rather than expressed an

affirmative answer.

I went around and entered the house, and, opening the front door, invited

him and his friends to come in. A hindrance to the exhibit I was anxious

to make presented itself--we had neither candle nor lamp, and this I told

to the officers. Calling to a man in the nearest camp, Major Campbell

asked him to bring a light. This being done, I led the way into the front

room, and there our distinguished guests were confronted by a huge pallet

occupied by a sixteen-year-old negro boy. A thrill of amusement evidently

passed through this group of western men, and electrical glances conveyed

messages of distrust when I told them of my walk yesterday afternoon,

accompanied by this boy, and his exhaustion before we got home, and his

complaints of “hurting all over” before he lay down an hour ago.

A low consultation was held, and one of the officers left and soon

returned with another who proved to be a physician. He aroused the boy,

asked several questions, and examined his pulse and tongue.

“That will do,” said he, and turning to the others, he said:

“He is a very sick boy, and needs medical treatment at once. I will

prescribe and go for the medicine, which I wish given according to

directions.”

Having received a statement of the boy’s condition from a trusted source,

we were evidently re-instated into the good opinion of Major Campbell and

his friends. Telitha had retired from them to as great a distance as the

boundaries of the room would permit, and every time she caught my eye she

looked and acted what she could not express in words--utter aversion for

the “Yank.”

We now resumed our inspection of the interior of the house. The contents

of every drawer were on the floor, every article of value having been

abstracted. Crockery scattered all over the room, suggested to the eye

that it had been used to pelt the ghosts of the witches burned in

Massachusetts a century or two ago. Outrages and indignities too

revolting to mention met the eye at every turn. And the state of affairs

in the parlor baffled description. Not an article had escaped the

destroyer’s touch but the piano, and circumstances which followed proved

that that was regarded as a trophy and only waited removal.

“Vandals! Vandals!” Major Campbell sorrowfully exclaimed, and all his

friends echoed the opinion, and said:

“If the parties who did this work could be identified, we would hang them

as high as Haman.”

But these parties were never identified. They were important adjuncts in

the process of subjugation.

After wishing that the worst was over with us, these gentlemen, who had

come in no friendly mood, bade us good night and took their leave. Thus

the Lord of Hosts, in his infinite mercy, furnished a just tribunal to

pass judgment upon my acts as a Southern woman, and that judgment,

influenced by facts and surroundings, was just and the verdict humane.

CHAPTER XV.

The Battle of the 22d of July, 1864--The Death of Toby.

The excitement incident to the morning and evening of yesterday left my

mother and myself in no frame of mind for repose, and we spent the night

in suspense and painful apprehension of trouble yet to come greater and

more dreadful than that through which we had passed. The medicine left for

Toby by the physician summoned last night was faithfully administered

according to direction, and the morning found him better, though able to

sit up only for a short while at a time. Measles had developed, and we

felt hopeful that it would prove to be a very slight attack; and such it

might have been could we have controlled him properly, but the excitement

and ever-varying scenes in the yard, and as far as vision extended, were

so new and strange to him that, when unobserved, he spent much of his time

at a window commanding the best view of the scene, and, thus exposed to a

current of air, the disease ceased to appear on the surface and a

troublesome cough ensued.

Having been without food since the preceding morning, our thoughts turned

to the usual preparation for breakfast, but alas, those preparations had

to be dispensed of, as we had nothing to prepare. This state of affairs

furnished food for at least serious reflection, and the inquiry, “What are

we to do?” found audible expression. The inexorable demands of hunger

could not be stifled, and we knew that the sick boy needed hot tea and the

nourishment which food alone could give, and yet we had nothing for

ourselves or for him--so complete had been the robbery of the “advance

guards” of the Grand Army of the Republic that not a thing, animate or

inanimate, remained with which to appease our hunger. “What are we to do?”

was iterated and reiterated, and no solution of the question presented

itself. Even then appetizing odors from the camp-fires were diffusing

themselves upon the air and entering our house, but aliens were preparing

the food and we had no part in it. We debated this question, and finally

resolved not to expose ourselves to the jeers and insults of the enemy by

an act of ours that would seem to ask for food; but that we would go to

our Southern citizens in the war-stricken and almost deserted town, and,

if they were not completely robbed, ask them to share their supplies with

us until we could procure aid from outside of the lines so arbitrarily

drawn.

In this dilemma an unexpected relief came to us, and convinced us that

there was good even in Nazareth. A large tray, evidently well-filled, and

covered with a snow-white cloth, was brought in by an Irishman, who handed

a card to my mother containing these words:

“To Mrs. Stokes and daughter, Miss Gay, with compliments of

(MAJOR) CAMPBELL.

“Please accept this small testimonial of regard and respectful sympathy.”

The latter part of the brief message was the sesame that secured

acceptance of this offering, and my mother and myself jointly acknowledged

it with sincere thanks, and again we thought of Elijah and the ravens. The

contents of the tray--coffee, sugar, and tea, sliced ham and a variety of

canned relishes, butter, potatoes, and oatmeal and bread, were removed and

the tray returned. That tray on its humane mission, having found its way

into our house, more than once opportunely reappeared. We enjoyed the

repast thus furnished, although briny tears were mingled with it.

The day passed without any immediate adventure. Great activity prevailed

in army ranks. The coming and going of cavalry; the clatter of sabre and

spur; the constant booming of cannon and report of musketry, all convinced

us that the surrender of Atlanta by the Confederates was quite a matter of

time. A few thousand men, however brave and gallant, could not cope

successfully with “three hundred thousand” who ignored every usage of

civilized warfare, and fought only for conquest.

I cannot say how long this state of affairs lasted before Wheeler’s

Cavalry, supported by Confederate infantry, stole a march upon the Yankees

and put them to flight. Garrard and his staff officers were in our

parlor--their parlor _pro tem._--holding a council; the teamsters and army

followers were lounging about promiscuously, cursing and swearing and

playing cards, and seeming not to notice the approaching artillery until

their attention was called to it, and then they contended that it was

their men firing off blank cartridges. I intuitively felt that a conflict

was on hand. Ma and I held whispered conversations and went from one

window to another, and finally rushed into the yard. Men in the camps

observed our excitement and said, “Don’t be alarmed, it is only our men

firing off their blank cartridges.”

The irony of fate was never more signally illustrated than on this

occasion. I would have laid down my life, yea, a thousand breathing,

pulsing lives of my own, to have witnessed the overthrow of the Yankee

army, and yet, I may have been the means of saving a large portion of it

on that occasion. Dreading for my mother’s sake and for the sake of the

deaf girl and the sick boy, an attack upon the forces which covered our

grounds, I ran to one of the parlor doors and knocked heavily and

excitedly. An officer unlocked the door and opening it said:

“What is it?”

“Our men must be nearly here,” I replied.

“Impossible,” he said, and yet, with a bound he was in the yard, followed

in quick succession by each member of the conclave.

A signal, long, loud, and shrill, awakened the drowsy, and scattered to

the four winds of heaven cards, books and papers; and, in a few minutes,

horses and mules were hitched to wagons, and the mules, wagons and men

were fairly flying from the approach of the Confederates. Women and

children came pouring in from every direction, and the house was soon

filled. Before Garrard’s wagon train was three hundred yards away, our

yard was full of our men--our own dear “Johnnie Rebs.” Oothcaloga Valley

boys, whom I had known from babyhood, kissed, in passing, the hand that

waved the handkerchief. An officer, ah, how grand he looked in gray

uniform, came dashing up and said:

“Go in your cellar and lie down; the Federals are forming a line of

battle, and we, too, will form one that will reach across the grounds, and

your house will be between the two lines. Go at once.”

My mother ran and got Toby’s shoes and put them on for him, and told him

to get up and come with her, and as he went out of the house, tottering, I

threw a blanket over him, and he and Telitha went with ma to our near

neighbor, Mrs. Williams, her cellar being considered safer than ours. I

remained in our house for the twofold purpose of taking care of it, if

possible, and of protecting, to the best of my ability, the precious women

and children who had fled to us for protection. Without thought of myself

I got them all into the room that I thought would be safest, and urged

them to lie down upon the floor and not to move during the battle. Shot

and shell flew in every direction, and the shingles on the roof were

following suit, and the leaves, and the limbs, and the bark of the trees

were descending in showers so heavy as almost to obscure the view of the

contending forces. The roaring of cannon and the sound of musketry blended

in harmony so full and so grand, and the scene was so absorbing, that I

thought not of personal danger, and more than once found myself outside of

the portals ready to rush into the conflict--for was not I a soldier,

enlisted for the war? Nor was I the only restless, intrepid person in the

house on that occasion. An old lady, in whose veins flowed the blood of

the Washingtons, was there, and it was with the greatest difficulty that I

restrained her from going out into the arena of warfare. The traditions of

her ancestors were so interwoven with her life, that, at an age bordering

on four score years and ten, they could not relax their hold upon her; and

she and I might have gone in opposite directions had we fled to the ranks

of the contending armies.

Mine was, no doubt, the only feminine eye that witnessed the complete rout

of the Federals on that occasion. At first I could not realize what they

were doing, and feared some strategic movement; but the “rebel yell” and

the flying blue-coats brought me to a full realization of the situation,

and I too joined in the loud acclaim of victory. And the women and

children, until now panic-stricken and silent as death, joined in the

rejoicing. All the discouragement of the past few weeks fled from me, and

hope revived, and I was happy, oh, so happy! I had seen a splendidly

equipped army, Schofield’s division, I think, ignominiously flee from a

little band of lean, lank, hungry, poorly-clad Confederate soldiers, and I

doubted not an over-ruling Providence would lead us to final victory.

When the smoke of the battle cleared away, my mother and her ebony charge

returned home. Toby quickly sought his pallet, and burning fever soon

rendered him delirious the greater part of the time. In one of his lucid

intervals, he asked me to read the Bible to him, and he told me what he

wanted me to read about, and said:

“Miss Missouri used to read it to me, and I thought it was so pretty.” And

I read to him the story of the cross--of Jesus’ dying love, and he

listened and believed. I said to him:

“My boy, do you think you are going to die?”

“Yes’m, I think I am.”

I bowed my head close to him and wept, oh, how bitterly.

“Miss Mary, don’t you think I’ll go to heaven?” he anxiously asked.

“Toby, my boy, there is one thing I want to tell you; can you listen to

me?”

“Yes’m.”

“I have not always been just to you. I have often accused you of doing

things that I afterwards found you did not do, and then I was not good

enough to acknowledge that I had done wrong. And when you did wrong, I was

not forgiving enough; and more than once I have punished you for little

sins, when I, with all the light before me, was committing greater ones

every day, and going unpunished, save by a guilty conscience. And now, my

boy, I ask you to forgive me. Can you do it?”

“Oh, yes’m!”

“Are you certain that you do? Are you sure that there is no unforgiving

spirit in you towards your poor Miss Mary, who is sorry for all she has

ever done that was wrong towards you.”

“Oh, yes’m!”

“Then, my boy, ask the Lord to forgive you for your sins just as I have

asked you to forgive me, and He will do it for the sake of Jesus, who died

on the cross that sinners might be redeemed from their sins and live with

Him in heaven.”

I can never forget the ineffable love, and faith, and gratitude, depicted

in that poor boy’s face, while I live; and as I held his soft black hand

in mine, I thought of its willing service to “our boys,” and wept to think

I could do no more for him, and that his young life was going out before

he knew the result of the cruel war that was waged by the Abolitionists!

He noticed my grief, and begged me not to feel so badly, and added that he

was willing to die.

I arose from my position by his bed and asked him if there was anything in

the world I could do for him. In reply he said:

“I would like to have a drink of water from the Floyd spring.”

“You shall have it, my boy, just as soon as I can go there and back,” and

I took a pitcher and ran to the spring and filled and refilled it several

times, that it might be perfectly cool, and went back with it as quickly

as possible. He drank a goblet full of this delicious water and said it,

was “so good,” and then added:

“You drink some, too, Miss Mary, and give Miss Polly some.”

I did so, and he was pleased. He coughed less and complained less than he

had done since the change for the worse, and I deluded myself into the

hope that he might yet recover. In a short while he went to sleep, and his

breathing became very hard and his temperature indicated a high degree of

fever. I urged my mother to lie down, and assured her that if I thought

she could do anything for Toby at any time during the night I would call

her.

I sat there alone by that dying boy. Not a movement on his part betrayed

pain. His breathing was hard and at intervals spasmodic. With tender hands

I changed the position of his head, and for a little while he seemed to

breathe easier. But it was only for a little while, and then it was

evident that soon he would cease to breathe at all. I went to my mother

and waked her gently and told her I thought the end was near with Toby,

and hurried back to him. I thought him dead even then; but, after an

interval, he breathed again and again, and all was over. The life had gone

back to the God who gave it, and I doubt not but that it will live with

Him forever. The pathos of the scene can never be understood by those who

have not witnessed one similar to it in all its details, and I will not

attempt to describe it. No timepiece marked the hour, but it was about

midnight, I ween, when death set the spirit of that youthful negro free.

Not a kindred being nor a member of his own race was near to lay loving

hand upon him, or prepare his little body for burial. We stood and gazed

upon him as he lay in death in that desolated house, and thought of his

fidelity and loving interest in our cause and its defenders, and of his

faithful service in our efforts to save something from vandal hands; and

the fountain of tears was broken up and we wept with a peculiar grief over

that lifeless form.

My mother was the first to become calm, and she came very near me and

said, as if afraid to trust her voice:

“Wouldn’t it be well to ask Eliza Williams and others to come and ‘lay him

out?’”

Before acting on this suggestion I went into another room and waked

Telitha and took her into the chamber of death. A dim and glimmering light

prevented her from taking in the full import of the scene at first; but I

took her near the couch, and, pointing to him, I said:

“Dead!--Dead!”

She repeated interrogatively, and, when she fully realized that such was

the case, her cries were pitiable, oh, so pitiable.

I sank down upon the floor and waited for the paroxysm of grief to

subside, and then went to her and made her understand that I was going out

and that she must stay with her mistress until I returned. An hour later,

under the manipulation of good “Eliza Williams”--known throughout Decatur

as Mrs. Ammi Williams’ faithful servant--and one or two others whom she

brought with her, Toby was robed in a nice white suit of clothes prepared

for the occasion by the faithful hands of his “Miss Polly,” whom he had

loved well and who had cared for him in his orphanage.

We had had intimation that the Federals would again occupy Decatur, and as

soon as day dawned I went to see Mr. Robert Jones, Sen., and got him to

make a coffin for Toby, and I then asked “Uncle Mack,” and “Henry”--now

known as Decatur’s Henry Oliver--to dig the grave. Indeed, these two men

agreed to attend to the matter of his burial. After consultation with my

mother, it was agreed that that should take place as soon as all things

were in readiness. Mr. Jones made a pretty, well-shaped coffin out of

good heart pine, and the two faithful negro men already mentioned prepared

with care the grave. When all was in readiness, the dead boy was placed in

the coffin and borne to the grave by very gentle hands.

Next to the pall-bearers my mother and myself and Telitha fell in line,

and then followed the few negroes yet remaining in the town, and that

funeral cortege was complete.

At the grave an unexpected and most welcome stranger appeared. “Uncle

Mack” told me he was a minister, and would perform the funeral

service--and grandly did he do it. The very soul of prayer seemed embodied

in this negro preacher’s invocation; nor did he forget Toby’s “nurses,”

and every consolation and blessing was besought for them. And thus our

Toby received a Christian burial.

CHAPTER XVI.

EVERETT’S DESERTION.

During the early spring of that memorable year, 1864, it was announced to

the citizens of Decatur that Judge Hook and family, including his

accomplished daughter, Mrs. Whitesides, and her children, from

Chattanooga, had arrived at the depot, and were domiciled, _pro tem._, in

cars which had been switched off the main track of the famous old Georgia

Railroad. This novel mode of living, even in war times, by people in their

monetary condition and social standing, naturally attracted much

attention, and brought us to a full realization of approaching danger.

That this family, accustomed to all the luxuries of an elegant home,

should live in such an abode, with its attendant privations, was

convincing proof that the home they had abandoned had become intolerable

because of the proximity of the enemy; and it was also fearfully

suggestive that that ubiquitous enemy was extending his dominion and

bringing the fiery, bloody conflict into the very heart of the

“rebellion.”

A rebellion, by way of parenthesis, which impartial historians will put on

record as the grandest uprising of a long suffering people that was ever

known in the annals of nations; “a mutiny” (as that chief of Southern

haters, John Lathrop Motley, whose superb egotism impressed him with the

idea that his influence could change the political trend of Great Britain

towards the South, has seen proper to denominate it) in the camp of

American councils brought about by unceasing abuse of the Southern States

by political tricksters, whose only hope of survival lay in the hatred for

the South thus engendered.

The coming of Judge Hook’s family was hailed with pleasure by all good and

loyal citizens, and was a ligament connecting more closely states

suffering in a common cause; and we all called upon them and soon numbered

them with our intimate friends. Mrs. Whitesides and Miss Hook were

effective workers in all that benefited our soldiers or their families.

Judge Hook was superintendent of the Government Iron Works, and literally

brought the foundry as well as the operatives with him. Among the latter

was a man by the name of Everett, who, with his family, consisting of his

wife and five children, occupied an old one-room house near a corner of

our home lot. Although a hearty, hale, and rather good-looking man,

Everett was very poor, and the first time I ever saw his wife she came to

borrow “a little flour.” As my mother never turned away from a borrower,

Mrs. Everett’s vessel was filled to overflowing, and, besides, a pitcher

of buttermilk and a plate of butter was given to her, for which she was

extremely grateful.

An acquaintance thus begun continued during the spring and early summer

months, and there was not a day during that period that my mother did not

find it convenient to do something for this family. Mrs. Everett was more

than ordinarily intelligent for a person in her position, and the blush

which mantled her pretty cheeks when she asked for anything betrayed her

sensibility; and her children were pretty and sweet-mannered. I never saw

Everett, only as I met him going and coming from his work, and on those

occasions he showed the greatest respect for me by taking off his hat as

he approached me, and holding it in his hand until he had fully passed. He

seemed to be a steady worker, and if he ever lost a day I never heard of

it; and Mrs. Everett was industrious, but much of the time unemployed for

lack of material with which to work, and she often begged for something to

do. She was anxious to work for our soldiers, and told me that all of her

male relatives were in the Confederate army. This circumstance endeared

her very much to me; and I made the support of his family very much easier

to Everett than it would have been had he lived in a non-appreciative

neighborhood. And when the village girls met at our house to practice for

concerts for the benefit of our soldiers, which they did almost weekly, I

never forgot that Mrs. Everett’s brothers were in our army fighting

valiantly, no doubt, for our cause, and I always asked her to come and

bring her children to my room and listen with me to the sweet music and

patriotic songs.

As time sped, many opportunities for witnessing Mrs. Everett’s devotion to

her native land presented themselves; and her service to its defenders,

though humble and unobtrusive, was valuable. Her children, too, always

spoke lovingly of our soldiers, and were never more happy than when doing

something for them. At length the time came for another move of the

foundry, and quietly, as if by magic, it and its appurtenants, under the

judicious management of Judge Hook, got on wheels and ran at the rate of

thirty-five miles an hour until it reached Augusta--another haven of rest

invested with heavenly beauty. After the departure of this important

adjunct to this portion of the Confederacy, it was discovered that Everett

and his family remained in Decatur. And a remarkable change came over

them. Instead of the free-spoken, unsophisticated woman that she had

always appeared to be, Mrs. Everett became reserved and taciturn, and

seldom left the enclosure by which her humble dwelling was surrounded. And

the children ceased to cheer us by their merry prattle and daily trip for

a pitcher of buttermilk, which, under the changed and unexplained

circumstances, my mother sent to them.

On the never-to-be-forgotten 19th of July, 1864, when a portion of

Sherman’s army dashed into Decatur, it obtained a recruit. In an

incredibly short time, Everett was arrayed in the uniform of a Yankee

private, and was hustling around with the Yankees as if “to the manner

born.”

On the 22d of July, when the Confederates ran the Yankees out of the

little village they had so pompously occupied for a few days, Everett

disappeared, and so did his family from the little house on the corner. I

supposed they had left Decatur, until I went out in town to see if I could

hear anything from the victors--their losses, etc.--when by chance I

discovered that they had taken shelter in the old post-office building on

the northeast corner of the court-house square.

The morning after the hurried evacuation of Decatur by the Federal troops,

I arose, as was my custom, as day was dawning, and, as soon as I thought I

could distinguish objects, I opened the front door and stepped out on the

portico. As I stood looking upon the ruin and devastation of my

war-stricken home, imagine my surprise and consternation when I saw a

white handkerchief held by an invisible hand above a scuppernong grape

arbor. My first impulse was to seek security within closed doors, but the

thought occurred to me that some one might be in distress and needed aid.

I therefore determined to investigate the case. In pursuance of this

object I went down the steps, and advanced several yards in the direction

of the waving signal, and asked:

“Who is there?”

“Come a little nearer, please,” was the distinct answer.

“I am near enough to hear you; what can I do for you?” I said, and did go

a little nearer.

“Miss Mary, don’t be afraid of me; I would die for you and such as you,

but I cannot die for a lost cause”--and through an opening in the foliage

of the vines, which were more on the ground than on the scaffolding, a

head protruded--handsome brown eyes and dark whiskers included--Everett’s

head, in all the naturalness of innocence.

I thought of his wife and of his children, and of his wife’s brother in

the Confederate army, and again asked with deliberation:

“What can I do for you?”

“Bless me or curse me,” was the startling answer, and he continued:

“Your kindness to my wife and children has nerved me to come to you and

ask that you will aid me in seeing them, especially her. Will you do it?”

“Yes, though I despise you for the steps you have taken, I will grant your

request. Don’t be afraid that I will betray you.”

“Where shall I go?” he asked, with a perceptible tremor in his voice.

“While I am out here seeming to prop up these shrubs, make your way to the

kitchen and enter its front door, and don’t close it after you, but let it

remain wide open. But be still until I tell you to start.”

As if going for something, I walked hastily around the house and kitchen,

and entering the latter brought out an old hoe, and seemed to use it quite

industriously in banking up earth around fallen shrubbery. Watching an

opportunity--for in those war times all things, animate and inanimate,

seemed to have ears--I said:

“When I go into the house, you must go into the kitchen, and be certain to

let the doors remain open.”

I never knew how Everett made his journey, whether upright as a man, or

upon all-fours like a beast.

From sheer exhaustion my poor mother was sleeping still, and Toby’s

breathing and general appearance as he lay upon his pallet, plainly

indicated the presence of deep seated disease. I looked around for

Telitha, and not seeing her, went into the dining room where I found her

sitting by a window. By unmistakable signs she made me understand that she

had witnessed the entire proceeding connected with Everett through the

window blinds.

Soon the loud tramping of horses’ feet caused me to run again to the front

door, and I beheld a number of our scouts approaching. I went to meet them

and shook hands with every one of them. No demonstration, however

enthusiastic, could have been an exaggeration of my joy on again seeing

our men, our dear Confederate soldiers, and yet I thought of Everett and

trembled.

“Have you seen any Billy Yanks this morning?” was asked by several of

them; and I replied:

“No, I have not seen any since our men ran them out of Decatur yesterday.”

“How did they treat you while they were here?”

“You see the devastation of the place,” I replied. “Personally we escaped

violence; but I would like you to go into the house and see the condition

of affairs there.”

Said they:

“It would not be new to us. We have seen the most wanton destruction of

property and household goods wherever they have gone.”

“Do wait and let me have a pot of coffee made for you. The Yankees gave

our negro girl quite a good deal of it, and not using it herself, she gave

it to my mother, and I want you to enjoy some of it,” I said. They

replied.

“Soldiers can’t wait for luxuries.”

“Good-bye and God bless you,” was their parting benediction. And then as

if impelled by some strange inspiration they galloped round to the well. I

ran into the house and got several tumblers and fairly flew out there with

them, as there was no gourd at the well. The kitchen was in close

proximity, and the door stood invitingly open. What if a bare suspicion

should prompt these brave men to enter? Alas! All would be up with the

poor miscreant who had thrown himself upon my mercy, and who was even then

lurking there under my direction. But, thank the good Lord, they did not

enter, and after again invoking God’s blessings upon me, they galloped off

in a southerly direction; and never did retreating sounds give more

relief.

I went into the house. My mother, thoroughly exhausted, and perhaps

discouraged, chose to remain in bed, and as she lay gazing intently upon

the wall above her, I doubt if she saw it, so intense was her meditation.

As Telitha by this time had a fire made in the dining room, I prepared a

pot of good strong coffee, and after partaking of the exhilarating

beverage myself, and seeing that each of the household was supplied, I

took the remainder with necessary adjuncts to Everett. Never will I forget

his appearance as we stood face to face--he a miserable deserter from the

cause I loved, and the recipient of favors I scorned myself for bestowing.

I told him I would go at once for his wife, and that after seeing her he

must make his way into the enemy’s lines as soon as possible.

A few minutes sufficed to carry me to Mrs. Everett’s retreat, already

mentioned. I sat down on the front doorsteps and drew from my pocket a

newspaper, which chanced to be there, and commenced reading aloud. At

length I saw that my presence had attracted the notice of the children,

and I called them. One by one they came to me, and I shook hands with them

and asked them about their mother. Hearing my voice and inquiries, she

spoke to me most pleasantly. I asked her to come out and take a seat by me

on the steps. She did so, blushingly and timidly. I wrote on the margin of

the paper, “Send the children away,” and handed it to her. She did so.

Assured that they were not in hearing distance, I held the paper before

me, and, as if reading, I told her the story of my early interview with

her husband; of his earnest desire to see her; of my consent, on her

account, to plan a meeting with her; of his secretion in our kitchen; and

the necessity of the greatest caution in our movements. I told her that

after walking around a little, and exchanging experiences with the brave

ladies of the village, she would see me, by keeping watch, going home, and

then she could take a little basket in her hand, as if going for

something, and come on to our house. She implicitly followed my

directions. My mother received her as if nothing of an unpleasant nature

had transpired; and, although it is a very difficult problem, and never

solved without the aid of necromancy, I undertook to deduct something from

nothing, and so far succeeded that I had several small packages to lay in

her basket as she started. Knowing that she knew the way to the kitchen, I

gave her a wish that all would end well, and bade her good-bye, never,

doubtless, to meet her again on earth. The tears flowed plenteously down

her cheeks, and her tongue refused to speak, but the pressure of her hand

attested gratitude, and affection, and farewell. I got a glimpse of her as

she went out of the alley gate; but I never knew when he abandoned his

hiding place. I heard that about dusk a Federal army wagon, under

protection of a company of troops, came and took her and her little

children out of Decatur.

CHAPTER XVII.

A visit to Confederate lines--A narrow escape--My return--The fall of

Atlanta.

No news from “the front;” no tidings from the loved ones in gray; no

friendly spirit whispering words of cheer or consolation. Shut up within a

narrow space, and guarded by Federal bayonets! not a ray of friendly light

illuminated my environment.