The constant roaring of cannon and rattling of musketry; the thousand,

yea, tens of thousands of shots blending into one grand continuous whole,

and reverberating in avalanchan volume over the hills of Fulton, and the

mountain heights of old DeKalb--told in thunder tones of the fierce

contest between Federal and Confederate forces being waged without

intermission for the possession of Atlanta.

The haughty, insolent boast of the enemy, now that Joe Johnston was

removed from the command of the Army of the Tennessee, that they would

make quick work of the rebellion, and of the complete subjugation of the

South, had in no way a tendency to mitigate anxiety or to encourage hope.

Thus surrounded, I sought and obtained permission to read Federal

newspapers. The United States mail brought daily papers to the officers in

command of the forces quartered in our yard; and through this medium I

kept posted, from a Northern standpoint, concerning the situation of both

armies. While there was little in these dispatches gratifying to me, there

was much that I thought would be valuable to my people if I could only

convey it to them; and I racked my brain day and night, devising ways and

means by which to accomplish this feat. But the ways and means decided

upon were, upon reflection, invariably abandoned as being impracticable.

In this dilemma, a most opportune circumstance offered an immediate

solution of the difficult problem. In the midst of a deep study of the

relative positions of the two armies, and of the hopes and fears animating

both, a tall, lank, honest-faced Yankee came to the door of the portico

and asked “if Miss Gay was in.”

I responded that I was she, and he handed me a letter addressed to myself.

I hastily tore it open and read the contents. It was written by a reverend

gentleman whose wife was a distant relative of my mother, and told that

she was very ill. “Indeed,” wrote he, “I have but little hope of ever

seeing her any better, and I beg you to come to see her, and spend several

days.”

I showed the letter to my mother, who was sitting near by, and, like

myself, engaged in studying the situation. She strenuously objected to my

going, and advanced many good reasons for my not doing so; but my reasons

for going counteracted them all in my estimation, and I determined to go.

Taking Telitha with me, I carried the letter to the Provost Marshal, and

asked him to read it and grant me the privilege of going. After reading

the letter, he asked me how I obtained it, and received my statement. He

then asked me if I could refer him to the party who brought it to me.

Leaving the letter with him, I ran home and soon returned with the desired

individual who had fortunately lingered in the yard in anticipation of

usefulness. Convinced that the invitation was genuine, and for a humane

purpose, this usually morose marshal granted me “a permit” to visit those

poor old sick people, for the husband was almost as feeble as his wife. I

told the obliging marshal that there was another favor I should like to

ask of him, if he would not think me too presumptuous. “Name it,” he said.

I replied:

“Will you detail one or more of the soldiers to act as an escort for me? I

am afraid to go with only this girl.”

To this he also assented, and said it was a wise precaution. He asked when

I wished to come home.

“Day after to-morrow afternoon,” I told him, and received assurance that

an escort would be in waiting for me at that time.

It now became necessary to make some important preparations for the trip.

A great deal was involved, and if my plans were successful, important

events might accrue. A nice white petticoat was called into requisition,

and, when I got done with it, it was literally lined with Northern

newspapers. “The Cincinnati Enquirer,” and “The New York Daily Times;”

“The Cincinnati Commercial Gazette,” and “The Philadelphia Evening

Ledger,” under the manipulation of my fingers, took their places on the

inner sides and rear of the skirt, and served as a very stylish “bustle,”

an article much in vogue in those days. This preparatory work having been

accomplished, it required but a few moments to complete my toilet, and,

under the auspices of a clear conscience and a mother’s blessing,

doubtless, I started on a perilous trip. The ever-faithful Telitha was by

my side, and the military escort a few feet in advance.

After a walk of a mile and a half, I reached my destination for that day.

I found the old lady in question much better than I had expected. Nervous

and sick himself, her husband had greatly exaggerated her afflictions. By

degrees, and under protest, I communicated to these aged people my

intention of carrying information to Hood’s headquarters, that might be of

use to our army. I knew that these good old people would not betray me,

even though they might not approve my course, and I confided to them my

every plan. Both were troubled about the possible result if I should be

detected; but my plans were laid, and nothing could deter me from pursuing

them.

The rising sun of another day saw Telitha and me starting on our way to

run the gauntlet, so to speak, of Federal bayonets. These good old people

had given me much valuable information regarding the way to

Atlanta--information which enabled me to get there without conflict with

either Confederate or Federal pickets. Knowing the topography of the

country, I took a circuitous route to an old mill; Cobb’s, I believe, and

from there I sought the McDonough road. I didn’t venture to keep that

highway to the city, but I kept within sight of it, and under cover of

breast-works and other obstructions, managed to evade videttes and pickets

of both armies. After walking fourteen or fifteen miles, I entered Atlanta

at the beautiful home of Mrs. L. P. Grant, at the southern boundary of the

city. That estimable lady never lost an opportunity of doing good. The

lessons of humanity and Christian grace impressed upon her youthful mind,

and intensified by the life-long example of her devoted mother, Mrs. Ammi

Williams, of Decatur, had called into action all that is ennobling in

woman. On this occasion, as upon every other offering an opportunity, she

remembered to do good. She ordered an appetizing lunch, including a cup of

sure enough coffee, which refreshed and strengthened me after my long

walk. Her butler having become a familiar personage on the streets of

Atlanta, she sent him as a guide to important places. We entered the city

unchallenged, and moved about at will. The force of habit, probably, led

me to Mrs. McArthur’s and to Mrs. Craig’s on Pryor street; and, by the

way, these friends still own the same property, and occupy almost the same

homes. The head of neither of these families was willing to accompany me

to Confederate headquarters, and without a guide I started to hunt them

for myself. What had seemed an easy task now seemed insurmountable. I knew

not in what direction to go, and the few whom I asked seemed as ignorant

as myself. Starting from Mrs. Craig’s, I went towards the depot. I had not

proceeded very far before I met Major John Y. Rankin. I could scarcely

restrain tears of joy. He was a member of the very same command to which

my brother belonged. From Major Rankin I learned that my brother, utterly

prostrated, had been sent to a hospital, either in Augusta or Madison. He

told me many other things of interest, which I cannot mention now, unless

I was compiling a history instead of a series of personal reminiscences.

Preferring not to stand upon the street, I asked Major Rankin to return

with me to Mrs. Craig’s, which he did, and spent an hour in pleasant

conversation. Mrs. Craig was a delightful conversationalist, and while she

was entertaining the major with that fine art, I retired to a private

apartment, and with the aid of a pair of scissors ripped off the papers

from my underskirt and smoothed and folded them nicely, and after

re-arranging my toilet, took them into the parlor as a trophy of skill in

outwitting the Yankee. Telitha, too, had a trophy to which she had clung

ever since we left home with the tenacity of an eel, and which doubtless

she supposed to be an offering to “Marse Tom,” and was evidently anxious

that he should receive it. Having dismissed Mrs. Grant’s butler as no

longer necessary to my convenience, Major Rankin, myself and Telitha went

direct to the headquarters of his command. The papers seemed to be most

acceptable, but I noticed that the gleanings from conversation seemed far

more so. The hopefulness and enthusiasm of our soldiers were inspiring.

But alas! how little they knew of the situation, and how determined not to

be enlightened. Even then they believed that they would hold Atlanta

against Herculean odds, and scorned the idea of its surrender. At length

the opening of Telitha’s package devolved on me. Shirts, socks and soap,

towels, gloves, etc., formed a compact bundle that my mother had sent to

our soldiers. Many cheery words were said, and good-byes uttered, and I

left them to meet once more under very different circumstances.

I now turned my thoughts to our negroes, who were hired in different parts

of the city. Rachel, the mother of King, hired herself and rented a room

from Mr. John Silvey, who lived upon the same lot on Marietta street upon

which he has since erected his present elegant residence. In order that I

might have an interview with Rachel without disturbing Mr. Silvey’s

family, I went to the side gate and called her. She answered and came

immediately. I asked her if she realized the great danger to which she was

continually exposed. Even then “shot and shell” were falling in every

direction, and the roaring of cannon was an unceasing sound. She replied

that she knew the danger, and thought I was doing wrong to be in Atlanta

when I had a home to be at. I insisted that she had the same home, and a

good vacant house was ready to receive her. But she was impervious to

every argument, and preferred to await the coming of Sherman in her

present quarters. Seeing that I had no influence over her, I bade her

good-bye and left. Telitha and I had not gone farther than the First

Presbyterian church (not a square away) from the gate upon which I had

leaned during this interview with Rachel, before a bombshell fell by that

gate and burst into a thousand fragments, literally tearing the gate into

pieces. Had I remained there one minute longer, my mortal being would have

been torn to atoms. After this fearfully impressive adventure,

unfortified by any “permit” I struck a bee line to Mrs. Grant’s, having

promised her that I would go back that way and stop awhile. An old negro

man belonging to Mrs. Williams, who had “come out” on a previous occasion,

was there, and wanted to return under my protection to his home within the

enemy’s lines. Very earnest assurances from Mrs. Grant to that effect

convinced me that I had nothing to fear from betrayal by him, and I

consented that he should be a member of my company homeward bound. Two

large packages were ready for the old man to take charge of, about which

Mrs. Grant gave him directions, _sotto voce_. Putting one of them on the

end of a walking cane he threw it over his right shoulder, and with his

left hand picked up the other bundle. Telitha and I were unencumbered.

With a good deal of trepidation I took the advance position in the line of

march, and walked briskly. We had not proceeded very far before we

encountered our pickets. No argument was weighty enough to secure for me

the privilege of passing the lines without an official permit. Baffled in

this effort, I approved the action of the pickets, and we turned and

retraced our steps in the direction of Atlanta, until entirely out of

sight of them, and then we turned southward and then eastward, verging a

little northward. Constant vigilance enabled me to evade the Yankee

pickets, and constant walking brought me safely to the home of my aged and

afflicted friends, from which I had started early in the morning of that

day. Not being tired, I could have gone home; but the policy of carrying

out the original programme is too apparent to need explanation. These

friends were conservative in every act and word, and, it may be, leaned a

little out of the perpendicular towards that “flaunting lie,” the United

States flag; therefore they were favorites among the so-called defenders

of the Union, and were kept supplied with many palatable articles of food

that were entirely out of the reach of rebels who were avowed and “dyed in

the wool.”

A few minutes sufficed to furnish us with a fine pot of soup (and good

bread was not lacking), of which we ate heartily. The old negro man was

too anxious to get home to be willing to spend the night so near, just for

the privilege of walking into Decatur under Yankee escort, and said he was

“going home,” and left me.

The next day my escort was promptly on hand, and in due time I was in

Decatur, none the worse for having put into practice a favorite aphorism

of the Yankees, that “all things are fair in war.”

The old man had preceded me, and faithful to the behest of Mrs. Grant, had

turned over a valuable package to my mother.

Not many mornings subsequent to the adventure just related, I discovered

upon opening the door that the Yankee tents seemed to be vacant. Not a

blue-coat was to be seen. What could it mean? Had they given up the

contest and ignominiously fled? As if confirmatory of the gratifying

suggestion, the booming of cannon in the direction of Atlanta was

evidently decreasing. Then again I thought perhaps the wagon train had

been sent out to forage upon the country, and as it would now have to go

forty-five and fifty miles to get anything, it required an immense

military escort to protect it from the dashing, sanguinary attacks of the

“rebels.” The latter thought was soon dismissed and the former embraced,

and how consoling it was to me. Before the sun had attained its meridian

height, a number of our scouts appeared on the abandoned grounds; and what

joy their presence gave us! But they left us as suddenly as they came, and

on reflection we could not think of a single encouraging word uttered by

them during their stay. Suspense became intolerable. With occasional

lulls, the roaring of cannon was a continuous blending of ominous sound.

In the midst of this awful suspense, an apparition, glorious and bright,

appeared in our presence. It was my brother. He had left Madison a few

days before, where he had been allowed to spend a part of his furlough,

instead of remaining at the Augusta hospital, and where he received the

tender ministrations of his estimable cousin, Mrs. Tom Hillsman, and her

pretty young daughters, and the loving care of his sister Missouri, who

was also at this time an inmate of her cousin’s household. How I wished he

could have remained there until restored to health. One less patriotic and

conscientious would have done so. His mother’s joy at meeting her beloved

son, and under such circumstances, was pathetic indeed, and I shall never

forget the effort she made to repress the tears and steady the voice as

she sought to nerve him for the arduous and perilous duties before him.

Much of his conversation, though hurried, was regarding his Mary, in

Texas, and the dear little boy dropped down from heaven, whom he had never

seen. The shades of night came on, and darker grew until complete

blackness enveloped the face of the earth, and still the low subdued tones

of conversation between mother, son and daughter, mingled with unabated

interest. Hark! Hark! An explosion! An earthquake? The angry bellowing

sound rises in deafening grandeur, and reverberates along the far-off

valleys and distant hilltops. What is it? This mighty thunder that never

ceases? The earth is ablaze--what can it be? This illumination that

reveals minutest objects? With blanched face and tearful eye, the soldier

said:

“Atlanta has surrendered to the enemy. The mighty reports are occasioned

by the blowing up of the magazines and arsenals.”

Dumbfounded we stood, trying to realize the crushing fact. Woman’s heart

could bear no more in silence, and a wail over departed hopes mingled with

the angry sounds without.

Impelled by a stern resolve, and a spirit like to that of martyred saints,

our brother said:

“This is no place for me. I must go.”

And then he put an arm around each of us, and kissed us with a fervor of

love that knew no bounds, and was quenching itself in unfathomable

hopeless tenderness. The quiet fortitude and patriotism of his mother gave

way in that dread hour, and she cried aloud in agonizing apprehension of

never again clasping to her bosom her greatest earthly joy. No pen can

describe the scene of that last parting between mother and son, and in

sheer impotency I drop the curtain.

As he walked away from his sobbing mother, through the war-illuminated

village, I never beheld mortal man so handsome, so heroically grand. His

great tender heart, which I had seen heave and sway under less trying

circumstances, seemed to have ossified, and not an emotion was apparent.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE TEN DAYS’ ARMISTICE.

Going out with the Confederate clothes--Scenes at Atlanta and at Lovejoy’s

Station--The visit to Granbury’s Brigade--The last interview with Thomie.

After every morsel of food had been taken from the people, and every

vestige of nutrition extracted from the earth, the following order, in

substance, was proclaimed throughout the land held by the right of

conquest:

“All who cannot support themselves without applying to the United States

Commissary for assistance, must go outside of our lines, either north or

south, within the period of time mentioned in this order, etc., etc.”

And by this order, and by others even more oppressive and diabolical, the

Nero of the nineteenth century, alias William Tecumseh Sherman, was put

upon record as the born leader of the most ruthless, Godless band of men

ever organized in the name of patriotism--a band which, but for a few

noble spirits who, by the power of mind over matter, exerted a restraining

influence, would not have left a Southerner to tell the tale of

fiendishness on its route to the sea.

And now, like Bill Nye, after one of his sententious and doubtless

truthful introductions to a Western sketch, I feel easier in my mind, and

will proceed with my reminiscences of that unholy period of this country,

and tell the truth about it, without favor or prejudice, if it kills me.

After this pronunciamento had been issued, all was bustle and rapid

movement in every household within the boundaries of usurpation. Under the

strong arm of military power, delay was not permitted. Homes were to be

abandoned, and household goods and household gods to be left for the

enemy, or destroyed; and liberty under our own vine and fig tree was to be

a thing of the past, and dependence upon strangers a thing of the future.

In preparation for this enforced change, much that should have been done

was left undone, but there was no time to correct mistakes--the armistice

was only for ten days.

What were we to do, my mother and myself, was a question which presented

itself with startling seriousness, and had to be answered without delay.

Our farm in Gordon county had already been devastated by the invading

army, and every improvement destroyed, and if we should lose our home in

Decatur we would be poor indeed. But what were we to do? If we left our

home, we knew it would share the fate of all other “abandoned” property,

and furnish material for a bonfire for Nero to fiddle by; and if we

remained, by grace of better men than he, what assurance had we that by

any means within our grasp we could obtain even a scanty subsistence, or

be protected from personal abuse and insult by an alien army whose

gentlemen were vastly in the minority.

We learned that our neighbors and friends, Mrs. Ammi Williams and her

estimable son, Mr. Frederick Williams, (an invalid from paralysis)--whose

influence over General Schofield prevented my banishment from Decatur the

very first night of its occupancy by the Federal army--and the venerable

Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan (the latter a Bostonian and educated in Emerson’s

celebrated school for young ladies), and other families as true to the

South as the needle to the pole, were going to remain and take their

chances within the enemy’s lines, and we determined to do so too.

The officers in command of the post, especially the provost marshal,

interrogated us very closely regarding our plans and expectations during

the occupancy of the place by Federal forces. Having satisfied them that

our only remaining servant would do washing and ironing at reasonable

prices, and that we would do darning and repairing, we were given a

written permit to remain within the lines.

I, however, had a work to do, a feat to perform, which for audacity and

courage, has seldom been surpassed, which would not admit of my staying at

home until I had made a little trip to Dixie.

Knowing the value of his influence, I again went to Mr. Frederick

Williams, and confiding my plans to him, asked his assistance in getting

permission to go out and return during the armistice. I never knew what

argument he employed for the accomplishment of this object. I only know by

inference. But I received a letter from General Schofield,

adjutant-general, of which the subjoined is an exact transcript:

“DECATUR, GA., Sept. 1, 1864.

“MISS GAY--It was hard for me to reconcile my conscience to giving the

enclosed recommendation to one whose sentiments I cannot approve, but if I

have committed an error it has been on the side of mercy, and I hope I’ll

be forgiven. Hereafter I hope you will not think of Yankees as all being

bad, and beyond the pale of redemption.

“To-morrow I leave for my own home in the ‘frozen North,’ and when I

return it will be to fight for my country, and against your friends, so

that I suppose I shall not have the pleasure of again meeting you.

Very respectfully,

J. W. CAMPBELL.”

And that Major Campbell’s gallant act may be fully appreciated, I will add

the letter which secured for me the great favor which I had the temerity

to ask.

“HEADQUARTERS, ARMY OF OHIO,

DECATUR, GA., Sept. 14, 1864.

“MY DEAR COLONEL--I have the honor to introduce Miss Mary A. H. Gay, of

this village, and I recommend her case to your favorable consideration. I

do not know exactly what orders are now in force, but if you think you can

grant her desires without detriment to the public service, I am confident

the indulgence will not be abused.

Very respectfully your obedient servant,

J. W. CAMPBELL.

“To Colonel J. C. Parkhurst, Pro. Mar. Gen., Army of the Cumberland.”

Thus recommended by one high in army ranks, Colonel Parkhurst granted me

the privilege of going to see my young sister, then in Augusta, and

carrying anything I might have saved from the ravages of the war,

“unmolested.” Fortified by these letters I went to the Provost Marshal in

Decatur and told him I would be ready to go to Atlanta to-morrow morning

at 8 o’clock, and I wanted to carry some old bed-clothing and other things

to my sister, and would be grateful for an ambulance, or an army wagon all

to myself, and an Irish driver. He promised that both should be at my

service at the time indicated--not, however, without the sarcastic remark

that “if the Yankees had been as bad as I had said they were, they would

not have left anything for me to carry.”

I ran to my mother and imparted to her the glad tidings of success, and in

a whispered conversation we soon had definite plans arranged for the

consummation of the perilous duty before me. I went to the Federal camp

and asked for some crocus sacks such as are used in the transportation of

grain, and quite a number were given to me. I shook them thoroughly inside

and out, and put them by. A ball of twine and some large needles had found

their way into the house. The needles were threaded and placed in

convenient proximity to the sacks. Telitha watched every movement with

interest and intuitively divined its import. The wardrobe was empty and my

very first touch moved it at least one inch in the desired direction, and

a helping hand from her soon placed it in favorable position. This much

being accomplished, I took a seat by my mother on the front door-steps

and engaged in a pleasant conversation with a group of young Federal

soldiers, who seemed much attached to us, and with whom I conversed with

unreserved candor, and often expressed regret that they were in hostile

array towards a people who had been goaded to desperation by infringement

upon constitutional rights by those who had pronounced the only ligament

that bound the two sections of the country together, “a league with hell,

and a covenant with the devil.” This I proved to them by documents

published at the North, and by many other things of which they were

ignorant.

While thus engaged, Captain Woodbury approached and said: “I learn that

you are going out into Dixie, Miss Gay.”

“Yes, for a few days,” I replied.

“I am prepared to furnish a more pleasant conveyance to Atlanta than the

one you have secured,” said he, and continued, “I have a handsome new

buggy and a fine trotter, and it will take only a few minutes to reach

there. Will you accept a seat with me?”

If all the blood within me had overflowed its proper channels, and rushed

to the surface, I could not have flushed more. I felt it in the commotion

of my hair, and in the nervous twitching of my feet. The indignation and

contempt that I felt for the man! That one who was aiding and abetting in

the devastation of my country and the spoliation of my home, should ask me

to take a seat with him in a buggy which he doubtless had taken, without

leave or license, from my countrymen, was presumptuous indeed, and

deserved a severe rebuke. But “prudence being the better part of valor,”

I repressed all that would have been offensive in word and act, and

replied with suavity, “Thank you, Captain Woodbury, for the honor you

would have conferred upon me, but I cannot accept it.” Receiving no reply,

I added:

“Let me in candor make a statement to you, and I think you will approve

the motive that prompts my decision. I have not sought to conceal the fact

that my only brother is in the Confederate army; he is there from motives

purely patriotic, and not as a mercenary hireling. He is fighting for the

rights guaranteed by the Constitution of the United States, a constitution

so sacred that our people have never violated it in any particular, and of

which we have shown our highest appreciation by adopting it _verbatim_, as

the guiding star of the Southern Confederacy. You are in an army claiming

to be fighting for the Union, and yet the government that sent you out on

this glorious mission ignores every principle of fraternal relation

between the North and the South, and would subvert every fundamental

principle of self-government and establish upon the wreck a centralized

despotism. Could I, while you and I are so antagonistic, accept your offer

and retain your good opinion? I think not, and I prefer to go in the

conveyance already stipulated.”

Silence, without the slightest manifestation of anger, assured me that my

argument against taking a buggy drive with him to Atlanta had not been

lost on Captain Woodbury, of Ohio, a member of Garrard’s Cavalry.

After this episode we bade our callers “good-evening,” went into the house

and busied ourselves with the important work before us--a work which

probably would not attract attention because of the darkness that would

surround the scene of its execution. The table and chair had been placed,

as once before, by the wardrobe already mentioned, and a little respite

was employed in viewing the situation. The door connecting our room and

this dining-room was generally kept shut. At length night came on with its

friendly, helpful darkness. The shutters of the windows had been closed

for weeks, and secured by nails, and the house had been too often searched

and plundered to be suspected of containing valuables. Therefore, we felt

that if no unusual sound attracted notice we would accomplish our object

unsuspected. But I was anxious and nervous in view of what was before me,

and wanted the perilous work over with. So when the darkness of night

fully enshrouded the earth, with no other light than that which found its

way from the camp-fires of the enemy through the latticed shutters, I

stepped into the chair and thence upon the table, and Telitha followed and

drew the chair up after her. Then with her strong dusky hands she seized

the wardrobe as if it had been a toy in her hands. I steadied the chair by

the wardrobe and stepped into it, and another step landed me on top of the

wardrobe. My fingers penetrated the crevice between the slats which I

wanted to pull off, and to a slight effort they yielded. Lest the noise

occasioned by dropping them might attract notice, I stooped and laid each

piece down as I drew it off the joist. When the aperture thus made was

sufficient, I began to draw from their hiding place the precious

Confederate overcoats and other winter apparel confided to my keeping (as

already related), by soldiers of General Joseph E. Johnston’s army, when

they were at Dalton. One by one each piece was taken out and dropped down

upon the floor. But by a lamentable oversight we afterwards found that one

article had been left--a woolen scarf for the neck, knitted for my brother

by his loving young wife in Texas.

Carefully I descended, and, with the aid of the girl, placed the chair,

the table, and the dear old wardrobe (which deserves to be immortalized in

song and story), in less suspicious positions, and then proceeded to pack

in the sacks, already mentioned, the precious articles. The thought

occurred to me that my mother would like to have a hand in this labor of

love, and I opened the door between us. I shall never forget her

appearance as she stood as if riveted to the spot, near a window, watching

the moving figures without. I approached her and in a cheerful whisper

told her that I was now putting the things in the sacks, and I knew she

would like to have an interest in the job. She tried to respond, but she

was too nervous to do so. Slowly but surely she was yielding to the

pressure upon nerve and brain. As each sack was filled, a threaded needle

securely closed the mouth. In a short while a number of these sacks stood

in a group, as erect as if on parade, and I verily believe that if the

host of profane, godless braggarts (with but few exceptions) who

surrounded the house could have seen them at that time and known their

contents, they would have evacuated Decatur in mortal fear of the ghosts

of “Johnnie Rebs.”

This important work having been accomplished without discovery or even a

shadow of suspicion, I felt vastly relieved, and thanked the Lord with all

my heart for the health, strength, and ingenuity which had enabled me to

consummate it. My mother and I lay down upon the same bed, and were soon

blessed with the invigorating influence of “tired nature’s sweet

restorer.”

The song of the lark had ceased to be heard in this war-stricken locality;

chanticleer had long since furnished a savory meal for camp followers, and

the time-pieces had either been spoiled or stolen; but there was a silent,

unerring chronometer within that never deviated, and needed no alarm

attachment to arouse me from slumber, and the dawn found me up and

preparing for the duties and perhaps the dangers of the day.

Telitha had become quite an attraction to a bevy of men who occupied

soldiers’ quarters, and wore soldiers’ uniforms, and drew pay for doing

so, from Uncle Sam’s coffers; and as she had been trained to ideas of

virtue and morality she often came in frowning and much ruffled in temper

by their deportment towards her. Being almost entirely deaf and dumb, her

limited vocabulary was inadequate to supply epithets expressive of the

righteous indignation and contempt which she evidently felt--she could

only say, “Devil Yank, devil,” and these words she used with telling

effect both to the amusement and chagrin of the Yankees. This state of

affairs convinced me that for her protection she would have to be kept

within doors, and I therefore assumed the task of drawing the water, and a

few other jobs indispensable even in life’s rudest state. On this

occasion, when I went to the well for a bucket of water, before preparing

our frugal breakfast, I was asked by early marauders why I did not let

“that young colored lady draw the water.” I candidly answered them, and

told them I was going to ask the officers of the encampment to protect her

while I was gone, and I also would ask them to report any misdemeanor

toward her, that they might witness, at headquarters.

After a good night’s rest my mother’s nerves seemed all right again, and

by 7 o’clock we had finished our breakfast, which consisted of bread and

butter and coffee--the latter luxurious beverage being furnished by one

whose heart was in touch with humanity. That the aperture in the ceiling

of the dining room might not be discovered until I got the contraband

goods out of the house, I had brought the sacks containing them into the

adjoining room, and it was therefore the work of a very few minutes to

convey them to the wagon, when that vehicle, drawn by a span of fine

horses, under the guidance of the Irish driver, drove up to the front

door. “Put those sacks into the wagon,” I said, pointing to them. When the

last one of them was stored away safely in that moving repository, one of

those feelings of relief and security came over me that had more than once

given me courage to brave successfully impending danger--and I donned my

hat, and bade my mother and the faithful girl an almost cheerful

“Good-bye,” and took my seat by the driver, _en route_ for Dixie. Would I

get there? Ah! that was the question that had blanched my mother’s cheek

when I said “Good-bye.” But hope, etc., “eternal in the human breast,”

whispered “yes,” and thus encouraged, I spoke grateful words to the Irish

driver, and asked him many questions about the land of the shamrock and

sunny blue skies. He was evidently flattered by my favorable knowledge of

the Emerald Isle, and would have done anything within his power for me.

God bless the Irish forever!

I asked him to drive under my direction to the residence of my estimable

friends, Mr. and Mrs. Posey Maddox, the parents of the accomplished and

erudite Charles K. Maddox, of Atlanta. To my great joy I saw wagons in the

yard, already laden with their household goods, to be carried to the depot

and turned over to the Federal authorities, who assumed the transportation

of them to Jonesboro and the safe delivery of them to the Confederate

authorities, who in turn assumed the transportation and delivery of them

to the nearest Confederate station. Mr. Maddox had secured the use of an

entire freight car, and gladly consented to take me and my baggage in with

theirs. Mrs. Maddox was particularly glad to have me go with them, and to

her I confided the character of my baggage, and received in return many

words of sympathy and approbation. Those who have studied mythical lore,

and dwelt in imagination upon the attributes of mythical characters,

especially those of an evil nature, can perhaps form some idea of the

confusion and disquiet of an entire city yielding its possession to an

alien army, which now, that success had been achieved by brute force, was

bent upon the utter impoverishment of the people, and their extreme

humiliation. Curses and imprecations too vile to repeat, and boisterous

laughter, and vulgar jests resounded through the streets of Atlanta.

Federal wagons followed in the tracks of Confederate wagons, and after a

few light articles were placed in the latter for Southern destination, the

former unblushingly moved up to receive pianos and other expensive

furniture which found its way into every section of the North. And this

highway robbery was permitted by William Tecumseh Sherman, the Grand Mogul

of the Army of the Republic. Truly had the city of Atlanta been turned

into a veritable pandemonium.

At length our time came to move in the worse than death-like processions

going southward, and in a short while we were at Jonesboro, our

destination, so far as Federal aid extended. As soon as I stepped from the

car I wended my way to the Confederate officer of the day, whom I

recognized by his regalia, and told him of my success in concealing and

bringing out of Federal lines the winter clothing of our soldiers. He

listened with polite attention and said it was a wonderfully interesting

story, but altogether improbable.

“Go with me and I will prove to you the truthfulness of it,” I eagerly

said.

As it was a bleak equinoctial day, and drizzling rain, Mr. and Mrs. Maddox

had not yet left their car (by way of parenthesis, I would say that the

favors shown to these excellent people was in consideration of Mr. Maddox

being a very prudent minister of the gospel), and, when we reached it, I

asked Mr. Maddox to roll one of my sacks to the door. He did so, and I

then asked the officer to examine its contents. A blade of a pen-knife

severed the twine with which the edges of the mouth had been sewed

together, and the loved familiar gray and brass buttons, and other

articles, verified the truth of my statement. He looked amazed, and

exhausted his vocabulary of flattering encomiums upon me, and, what was

more desirable and to the point, he asked what he could do in the matter,

and assured me that there was nothing within the range of his jurisdiction

that he would not do. I told him that the object of my coming to him was

to ask that he send me and my precious charge to General Granbury’s

headquarters, as, among other overcoats, I had one of his in charge, as

well as many other things belonging to his staff officers. He told me the

finest span of Confederate horses and the best ambulance on the ground

should be at my service as soon as possible.

During the interim, I opened wide my eyes and took in the situation in all

its horrible details. The entire Southern population of Atlanta, with but

an occasional exception, and that of many miles in its vicinity, were

dumped out upon the cold ground without shelter and without any of the

comforts of home, and an autumnal mist or drizzle slowly but surely

saturating every article of clothing upon them; and pulmonary diseases in

all stages admonishing them of the danger of such exposure. Aged

grandmothers tottering upon the verge of the grave, and tender maidens in

the first bloom of young womanhood, and little babes not three days old in

the arms of sick mothers, driven from their homes, were all out upon the

cold charity of the world.

Apropos, I will relate an incident that came under my observation during

my brief stay at this station: When one of the long trains from Atlanta

rolled in with its living freight and stopped at the terminus, a queenly

girl, tall and lithe in figure and willowy in motion, emerged from one of

the cars, and stood, the embodiment of feminine grace, for a moment upon

the platform. In less time than it takes to chronicle the impression, her

Grecian beauty, classic expression and nobility of manner, had

daguerreotyped themselves upon the tablets of my memory never to be

effaced by mortal alchemy. The pretty plain debeige dress, trimmed with

Confederate buttons and corresponding ribbon, all conspired to make her

appear, even to a casual observer, just what she was--a typical Southern

girl who gloried in that honor. She stood only a moment, and then, as if

moved by some divine inspiration, she stepped from the car, and falling

upon her knees, bent forward and kissed the ground. This silent

demonstration of affection for the land of Dixie touched a vibrating

chord, and a score or more of beautiful girlish voices blended in sweetest

harmony while they told in song their love for Dixie. I listened

spellbound, and was not the only one thus enchanted. A United States

officer listened and was touched to tears. Approaching me, he asked if I

would do him the favor to tell him the name of the young lady who kissed

the ground.

“I do not think she would approve of my telling you her name, and I

decline to do so,” I said in reply. Not in the least daunted by this

rebuff he responded: “I shall learn it; and if she has not already become

the wife or the affianced of another, I shall offer her the devotion of my

life.”

The Confederate officer of the day, God forever bless him! came for me.

The army wagon was ready and standing by Mr. Posey Maddox’s car, waiting

to receive its precious freight, and a few minutes sufficed to transfer it

from car to wagon, and, after waiting to see the last sack securely placed

in the wagon, I, too, got in and took my seat by the driver. A long cold

drive was before us, but I was so robust I had no fear of the result.

The driver was a veritable young Jehu, and we got over the ground rapidly;

but, owing to a mistake in following directions, it was a long time before

we reached our destination, the course of which must have been due west

from Jonesboro, and through a dense forest. And oh, the beauty of that

forest! It will remain a living, vivid memory, as long as life endures.

Its rich and heavy foliage had been but lightly tinged by the frosts of

autumn, and it was rendered more beautiful by the constant dripping of

rain drops from every leaf and blossom. As the evening came on, dense,

impenetrable clouds canopied the earth, and shut out every ray of

sunlight, and almost every ray of hope. At length night came on, dark and

weird, and silent, and we were still in the woods, without compass or

star.

Just as my brave heart was about to succumb to despair, a vision of

delight burst upon me--a beacon light, yea, hundreds of beacon lights,

appeared before me, and filled my soul with joy. The camp-fires of General

Cleburne’s brave men beckoned us onward, and gave us friendly greeting.

Every revolution of the wagon wheels brought us perceptibly nearer the

haven of rest. Sabbath-like quiet reigned throughout the encampment. No

boisterous sounds nor profane imprecations broke the stillness. But there

was a sound that reached my ear, filling my soul with joy unspeakable. A

human voice it was. I had heard it before in the slight wail of infancy;

in the merry prattle of childhood; in the melodious songs of youth; in the

tender, well-modulated tones of manhood; and now--there was no mistaking

it--in the solemn, earnest invocation to the Lord of Hosts for the

salvation of the world, for the millenial dawn, and that “peace on earth,

and good will to men,” which would never again be broken by the clarion of

war, or earth’s rude alarms. No sweeter voice ever entered the courts of

Heaven.

My obliging young driver stopped the horses at a favorable distance, and I

heard the greater part of that grand prayer, and wept for joy. When it was

finished, we moved on, and were hailed by a sentinel who demanded the

countersign, I believe it is called. The driver satisfied him, and calling

to a soldier, I asked him if he knew Lieutenant Stokes. “Like a book,” he

answered. “Please tell him his sister Mary is here,” I said. In a moment I

was clasped in his arms with the holy pressure of a brother’s love. His

first thought on seeing me was that some calamity must have occurred, and

he said, “Sister, is Ma or Missouri dead?” “No, Thomie, but Toby is.”

His brave head bowed low and he wept--sobbed audibly. I told him of Toby’s

loving mention of him, and of the boy’s hope of Heaven. After his natural

paroxysm of grief had subsided, he looked up, and with an ineffable smile,

said:

“Sister, I know you have a secret to tell--what is it?”

“It is this; I have saved all those precious things that were sent to me

from Dalton, and I have brought them to deliver to their rightful owners.

Help me to do so as quickly as possible, that I may go back to Jonesboro

to-night.”

Had a bombshell exploded at his feet, the effect could not have been more

electrical. He bounded to General Granbury’s tent with the agility of a

deer; he told the news to him and the others assembled there; and he came

back, and they all came with him; and had I been a magician, I could not

have been an object of greater interest. General Granbury protested

against my return to Jonesboro through the darkness of the night, and

offered his tent for my occupancy, saying he would go in with some of the

other officers. Colonel Robert Young, a friend of years’ standing, was

also earnest in his efforts to keep me from carrying out my purpose to go

back, and I gave it up. I knew that I was with friends, and permitted

myself to be lifted out of the wagon and conducted to the General’s tent.

I took a seat upon a camp stool which was placed for me about the center

of the tent. The General and his staff officers sat around, and my dear

brother was very near me. Thus arranged, a conversation was commenced

which continued with slight interruptions into the “wee sma’ hours” of the

night. Colonel Young seemed to have something upon his mind which rendered

him indifferent to society, or some duty to perform which required his

attention outside the tent. At length, however, he came to the door and

asked my brother to come out awhile. In a short time both of them came in

together, and Colonel Young, after asking us to excuse the interruption of

the conversation, remarked that there was something outside that he would

like for us to see. My brother took me by the hand and led me out in front

of the tent, and all the officers stood in a group around. Imagine my

surprise when I perceived a long line of soldiers before us, and an

officer on horseback galloping from one end of the line to the other. I

ventured to ask my brother if they were going to have a moonlight drill

without the moon? He smiled, and a faint pressure of the hand indicated

that there was something on the tapis that would please me, but I must

wait until it was revealed to others as well. In much less time than it

has taken to record this episode a signal was given, and one of the

grandest cheers ever heard by mortal man resounded through the midnight

darkness and the dense forest, and was echoed over hill and dale. Another

signal and another cheer, and yet another of each, and I broke down

completely and cried heartily. What had I done that my name should thus be

honored by men enduring all the hardships of warfare and fighting for my

principles; and yet to me it was the most acceptable compliment ever paid

to living woman. I often fancy I hear those voices now blending in one

grand harmonious shout of praise to the great God of Heaven and earth, who

has doubtless given rest to many of those weary ones.

Once more in General Granbury’s tent, at the earnest solicitation of all

present, I continued the rehearsal of all the Federal army news that I had

gleaned from close perusal of the United States newspapers and from

careless and unsuspicious talkers. General Granbury was evidently startled

when I told him that I had heard Federal officers say “Hood was working to

their hand precisely in going back to Tennessee, as Thomas was there with

an army that was invincible, and would whip him so bad that there would

not be a Johnnie Reb left to tell the tale;” and they criticised severely

the “generalship” of giving an invading army unobstructed route to the

goal of their ambition, which, in this case, was South Carolina. I was

asked by one of my auditors to give my impression of the situation, and I

did so. As I described the magnitude of the Federal army, and its

vindictive spirit as I had seen it, and its implacable feeling towards the

South, I saw a shade of sadness pass over the noble faces of all present.

“Have you lost hope of the ultimate success of our cause?” was a question

I was compelled to answer, because anxiously asked. I, however, imitated a

Yankee by asking a question in reply, as to what our resources were, and

if they were deemed adequate to cope with a foe which had the world to

draw from, both for men and means? “But have you lost hope?” was the

question I was called upon to answer without equivocation.

Silence and tears which would well up were interpreted to mean what my

tongue refused to speak. My brother perceiving this, put his hand on mine

as it lay motionless upon my lap, and said, “Cheer up, sister mine; if you

could have seen ‘Old Pat’s’ men on drill this afternoon, you would think

we are some ourselves.”

Colonel Young continued to seem very much engaged outside, and, since the

demonstration in my honor, had given us only an occasional glimpse of

himself. At length he came to the door and said, “Lieutenant, I should

like to speak to you.” My brother responded to the call, and soon returned

and said: “As there is a hard day’s march before us for to-morrow, we must

let the General get a little sleep, and this brave sister of mine must

need it, too. Come, let me conduct you to your room.”

Good-byes were spoken that night which, in the providence of God, were

destined never to be repeated, and Thomie and Colonel Young led the way to

a bran new tent, never used before, and opened the door that I might

enter. Thomie said, “My room is next to yours, sister. Pleasant dreams,

and refreshing slumbers,” and he kissed me good night. “Good night, dear

brother.” “Good night, dear friend,” said I, as he and Colonel Young left

the tent. By the dim light I surveyed the “room” and its furnishings, and

wept to think that dear Confederate soldiers had deprived themselves of

comforts that I might be comfortable. A handsome buffalo robe lay on the

ground; and a coat nicely folded for a pillow, and a gray blanket for a

cover, invited me to repose. A small pan of water for morning ablution,

and a towel, and a mirror about the size of a silver dollar, and a comb

and brush, furnished every needed convenience. I removed the skirt of my

dress that it might not be wrinkled in the morning, and my mantle for the

same cause, and lay down and slept, oh, how sweetly, under the protecting

care of those noble men, until awakened by the sweet familiar voice of my

brother, saying, “Get up, sister, or you will not be ready for the

roll-call,” was his never-to-be-forgotten morning salutation. “As a short

horse is soon curried,” it required only a few moments to make myself

presentable, and just as I was about announcing myself in that condition,

Thomie again appeared at the door with a plate containing my breakfast in

one hand, and a tin cup containing a decoction, which he called coffee, in

the other. “Here is your breakfast, sister;” and he added, “the ambulance

is waiting to carry you to Lovejoy’s station. Lieutenant Jewell and myself

have been detailed to accompany you there.”

The army wagons were already falling in line one after another and moving

onward in a northwesterly direction; and what remained of the infantry and

cavalry of that once magnificent army, which so often had achieved

victory under General Joseph E. Johnston, had made their last grand

bivouac on Georgia soil, and were moving onward in the line of march to

Tennessee, under the command of Hood. They were leaving many a gallant

comrade who had bitten the dust and drenched the soil of Georgia with

their life-blood, and although they must have feared that the flag they

loved so well was now leading them to defeat, yet not one of those true

hearts would have deserted it for the wealth of India. As they marched in

a different direction from that I was going to take, and the demand for

rapid movement was imperative, I could not follow them long with my eye,

but the memory of the little I saw will ever be fresh, and, like an

inspiration yet to me, their bayonets glittered in a perfect halo of

glory, for the mists and clouds of the preceding day had passed away

during the night, and a blue sky and bright sun gladdened the earth.

The two young lieutenants took seats opposite to me in the ambulance. Thus

arranged, I caught every movement and look of that dear brother from whom

I was so soon to part. He never looked more handsome, or appeared to

greater advantage. I was his guest, and he entertained me with a “feast of

reason and a flow of soul.” At my request he sang some of the songs of

“auld lang syne,” but he preferred to talk of our mother and our sister.

He recalled incidents of his childhood, and laughed heartily over some of

them. He spoke of his Mary in Texas and his love for her, and he took from

his vest pocket the impression of the foot and hand of his only child, a

dear little boy whom he had never seen, and kissed them, then folded them

carefully and put them back in his pocket and said:

“I must hurry back to Texas.”

But back of all this glee and apparent hopefulness I saw, in characters

unmistakable, that he was almost bereft of hope, and sustained only by

Christian resignation.

We knew, by the immense crowd of people standing and sitting around on

improvised seats, that we were approaching the station. The two soldiers

got out of the ambulance with the elasticity of youth and health, and

Thomie assisted me out. I stood for a moment, as if uncertain where to go,

and Lieutenant Jewell grasped my hand and said:

“Good-bye, dear Miss Mary!” and stepped back into the wagon and resumed

his seat.

Seeing a large, square old house, which appeared to be full of people,

Thomie and I advanced toward it a few steps. Suddenly, as if admonished

that a soldier’s duties should have precedence over everything else, he

took me in his arms and kissed me fervently once, twice, thrice. I

understood for whom they were intended--that trio of kisses. Not a word

did he speak, and when he turned his back on me I saw him brush off the

silent tears, and more than one step was uneven before his nerves became

steady and he ready to report for duty. I felt intuitively that I should

never look upon his face again, and I watched him with riveted eyes until

I could no longer see him, and then I gazed upon the vehicle containing

him until it, too, disappeared forever from my sight. Then, and not till

then, I gave way to pent-up sorrow, and cried as one without

hope--unreservedly.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE RETURN HOME.

From Jonesboro via Augusta--Scenes and Incidents by the way--The lonely

journey from Stone Mountain to Decatur.

Dazed by a full realization that my brother and every male relative and

friend were in the octopus arms of war, cruel and relentless, I stood

riveted to the spot where my brother had parted from me, until a gentle

hand touched my shoulder, and a pleasant voice gave me friendly greeting.

Turning I saw Mrs. Anderson, sister of the brave and gallant Robert

Alston, whose tragic fate is known to every reader in this country.

“I am glad to see you. I have just seen your brother Robert,” I said.

“Where? Where? Do tell me that I may go to him!” cried his devoted sister,

laughing and weeping alternately.

Having ascertained that the long train of exiles would not leave the

station for several hours, I offered to conduct the tender-hearted woman

to the camp-fire of her brother. The route took me over the same ground

which only a few moments ago I had traveled with my own dear brother; and

along which I had seen so vividly a lean, gaunt, phantom hand pointing at

his retreating form. Even the horses’ tracks and the ruts made by the

wheels could be plainly traced by their freshness and the yet quivering

sands; and as I gazed upon them, I fancied they were connecting links

between me and him which were binding our souls together, and which I

would never grow weary in following. These reflections were often

disturbed by questions about “my dear brother Robert,” and by alternate

sobs and laughter. The distance seemed much greater, now that I was

walking it, but at length we attained our destination, the headquarters of

a few of General John Morgan’s gallant defenders of Southern homes and

firesides. It would require the descriptive power of a Sims or a Paul

Hayne to give an adequate idea of the meeting on this occasion of this

demonstrative brother and sister. I will not undertake to do so. He, too,

was ready to move in that disastrous campaign, which lost to us the _creme

de la creme_ of the Army of the Tennessee, and which aided, as if planned

by the most astute Federal tactician, Sherman, in his “march to the sea.”

During the interview between Colonel Alston and his sister, it developed

to him that his pretty home had been abandoned to the tender mercies of

the enemy by the family in whose care he had left it, and that the Yankees

had shipped his wife’s elegant European piano, mirrors and furniture, as

well as his library, cut glass and Dresden china to the North; and,

besides, in the very malignity of envy and sectional hate, had mutilated

and desecrated his house in a shameful manner. His imprecations were

fearful; and his vows to get even with the accursed Yankees were even

more so. The lamb of a few moments ago was transformed into a lion,

roaring and fierce. He accompanied his sister and myself on our return to

the station; and never will I forget that walk.

The station reached, the scene of separation of brother and sister was

again enacted, and he, too, went to battle-fields, sanguinary and

relentless, she to peaceful retreats undisturbed by cannon’s roar.

Here, as at Jonesboro, the face of the earth was literally covered with

rude tents and side-tracked cars, which were occupied by exiles from

home--defenseless women and children, and an occasional old man tottering

on the verge of the grave, awaiting their turn to be transported by

over-taxed railroads farther into the constantly diminishing land of their

love. During the afternoon I boarded an already well-filled south-bound

train, and moved about among its occupants as if at home. For were we not

one people, the mothers, wives and sisters of Confederates? The diversity

of mind, disposition and temper of this long train of representative women

and children of Atlanta, and many miles contiguous, who were carrying

minds and hearts brimful of memories never to be obliterated, but rather

to harden into asphalt preservation, was illustrated in various ways. Some

laughed and talked and jested, and infused the light and warmth of their

own sunny natures into others less hopeful; some were morose and churlish,

and saw no hope in the future and were impatient with those who did see

the silver lining beyond the dark cloud suspended over us; and some very

plainly indicated that if our cause failed, they would lose all faith in a

prayer-answering God; and others saw wisdom and goodness in all His ways

and dispensations, and were willing to submit to any chastisement if it

only brought them nearer to the Mercy Seat.

After many delays and adventures, not of sufficient importance to relate,

I reached Griswoldville. Here I was received with open arms by that good

old father and mother in Israel, Rev. Dr. John S. Wilson and his wife, and

his excellent family, whom I found residing in an old freight car. But

they were living in a palace compared to many of their neighbors and

friends, who had scarcely a shelter to protect them from the inclemency of

the weather. Every moment of time with these good people was spent in

answering questions and receiving blessings. Not long after this pleasant

meeting, Stoneman’s raiders came into Griswoldville, and the household

effects of Dr. Wilson’s family were consumed by devouring torches. All

their winter clothing, the doctor’s library and his manuscript sermons,

were burned to ashes. These sermons were the result of the study and

experience of forty years. But this grand old soldier of the cross,

although on the verge of threescore years and ten, faltered not; for his

eye was fixed on the goal of his heavenly inheritance. Wherever he went,

he still preached, and died a few years afterwards at his post in Atlanta,

having missed but two preaching appointments in all his ministry, one of

these on the Sabbath before he died.

By a circuitous route, which I can now scarcely recall, in the course of

time I reached Augusta, the beautiful. I wended my way through the

crowded thoroughfares to the residence of friends on Green street, where

my sister had sojourned for several weeks, far from the distracting

confusion of warfare. After all these long and varied years, I never see

that Elysian street without feeling as if I would like to kneel and kiss

the ground whereon she found surcease of hostile tread and rancorous foe.

I could scarcely approach the house, in exterior beautiful in all that

makes a home attractive. I feared that within sorrowful tidings might

await me. No word of the absent sister had come through the enemy’s lines

since they were first established, and now I dreaded to hear. More than

once I stood still and tried to nerve myself for the worst tidings that

could be communicated. And then I ascended the stone steps and rang the

door-bell. When the butler came, I hurriedly asked if Miss Stokes was in.

As if apprehending my state of feelings, he answered with a broad African

grin: “She is, ma’am.”

The pressure of a mountain was removed from my heart, and with a lighter

step than I had taken for some time I entered that friendly portal, a

welcome guest. A moment sufficed for him to carry the joyous tidings of my

presence to my sister, and, as if by magic, she was with me. O, the joy

and the sadness of our meeting! To say that each of us was glad beyond our

ability to express it, would be a tame statement; and yet neither of us

was happy. There was too much sadness connected with ourselves and our

country to admit of happiness; yet the report of our mother’s fortitude

and usually good health, and the hopeful spirit of our brother, and his

numerous messages of love and playful phraseology, cheered my sister so

much that she rallied and did all she could to render my brief stay with

her as pleasant as possible. And there was a charm in her sweet voice and

pleasant words that were soothing to me, and did much to assuage my own

grief. Nor were our good friends wanting in efforts of like character.

They, too, had drank deep of Marah’s bitter waters. Two noble boys, yet in

their teens, had been laid upon the sacrificial altar, an oblation to

their country. And a fair young girl had gone down into the tomb, as much

a sacrifice to Southern rights as if slain on the battle-field. One other

girl and her war-stricken parents survived, and they were devoting their

lives to the encouragement of those similarly bereaved.

Although I knew it would pain her greatly, I thought it would be wrong to

leave without telling my sister about Toby’s death, and, therefore, I told

her. Like our brother, she wept, but not as one without hope. She had been

his spiritual instructor, and thoroughly taught him the great and yet easy

plan of salvation; and I have never doubted that he caught on to it, and

was supported by the arm of Jesus, as he “passed through the dark valley

and the shadow of death.”

The time for leaving this peaceful retreat came, and was inexorable; nor

would I have stayed if I could. There was a widowed mother, whose head was

whitened, not so much by the frost of winters as by sorrow and care, grief

and bereavement, awaiting my coming--oh, so anxiously! Waiting to hear

from the soldier son, who, even for her sake, and that of his gentle

young wife and baby boy in Texas, would listen to no plan of escape from

the dangers involved by his first presidential vote. Waiting to hear from

the fair young daughter, whom she preferred to banish from home rather

than have her exposed to the rude chances of war. That she might not be

kept in painful suspense, I determined not to linger on the way. I,

therefore, took the morning train on the good old reliable Georgia

Railroad for Social Circle. The parting from my sister pained me

exceedingly; but I knew she had put her trust in the Lord, and He would

take care of her. It may be asked why I did not have the same faith

regarding the preservation of my brother. He, too, was a Christian. “He

that taketh the sword shall perish by the sword,” is a divine assertion,

and it was constantly repeating itself in my ears; yea, I had heard him

repeat it with emphasis.

The trip from Augusta to Social Circle was replete with melancholy

interest, and differed very materially from the trip from Atlanta to

Jonesboro. Here those who had the courage to do so were returning to their

homes, and were on the _qui vive_ for every item of news obtainable from

within the enemy’s lines; but nothing satisfactory encouraged their hope

of better treatment. One marked difference appeared in the character of

those who were venturing homeward. There was scarcely any young

persons--not a single young lady. The good old mother railroad was very

deliberate in her movements, and gave her patrons time to get acquainted

and chat a little on the way, and this we did without restraint.

We discussed the situation, and narrated our diversified experiences, and

this interchange of thought and feeling brought us very near together, and

made us wondrous kind to one another. At one of the stations at which the

train stopped, and had to wait a long while, I saw several of the young

soldiers from Decatur. Among them was Ryland Holmes, and, I think, Mose

Brown.

About a dozen ladies were going within the enemy’s lines and would there

separate for their respective homes. We agreed to hire a wagon team and

driver at Social Circle, that we might take it “turn about” in riding to

Stone Mountain. As I was the only one going beyond that point, I

determined to take my chance from there for getting to Decatur, and go on

foot if need be. Our plan was successful, as, after much effort, we

obtained an old rickety wagon, which had doubtless done good service in

its day, and a yoke of mis-mated oxen, and a negro driver. For this

equipage we paid an enormous sum, and, thinking we ought to have the full

benefit of it, we all got into the wagon to take a ride. Compassion for

the oxen, however, caused first one and then another to descend to the

ground, and march in the direction of home, sometimes two abreast and

sometimes in single file. Night overtook us at a house only a short

distance from the Circle, and in a body we appealed for shelter beneath

its roof. The man of the family was at home, under what circumstances I

have never heard, and to him we appealed, and from him we received an

ungracious “permit” to stay in his house. Seeing no inviting prospects for

rest and repose, I established myself in a corner and took out of my

reticule some nice German wool that had been given to me by my friends in

Augusta, and cast on the stitches for a throat-warmer, or, in the parlance

of that day, “a comforter.” Mine host watched the process with much

interest. When the pattern developed, he admired it, and expressed a wish

to have one like it. Glad of the privilege to liquidate my indebtedness

for the prospective night’s shelter, I told him if he would furnish the

material I would knit him one just like it. The material seemed to be in

waiting, and was brought forward, soft, pretty lambs’ wool thread, and I

put it in my already well-filled hand satchel to await future

manipulation. The accommodation in the way of bedding was inadequate, and

more than one of our party passed a sleepless night; but what mattered it?

Were we not Confederate soldiers, or very near akin to them?

As the first sunbeams were darting about among the tree tops, I donned my

bonnet and bade adieu to our entertainers, and started on my journey

homeward, walking. Being in the very vigor of womanhood, and in perfect

health, I never experienced the sensation of fatigue, and I verily believe

I could have walked to my desolated home sooner than the most of the

resources within our means could have carried me; and I was impatient

under the restraint and hindrance of slow teams. Hence my start in advance

of the other ladies. And I wanted to be alone. The pent-up tears were

constantly oozing out of my eyes and trickling down my face, and I wanted

to open the flood-gates and let them flow unrestrainedly. I wanted to cry

aloud like a baby. I plunged into the woods, for the seldom traveled road

was scarcely a barrier to perfect solitude. I walked rapidly, and closed

my eyes to all the attractions of nature lest they divert my mind, and

appease my hungry heart. I wanted to cry, and was even then doing so,

before I got ready for it. At length I came to a rivulet of crystal water,

as pure as the dew drops of Arcadia. I sat down beside it and mingled the

anguished tears of my very soul with its sparkling, ever-changing,

nectarian waters. I bathed my hot face and hands in the pellucid stream,

and still the lachrymal fountain flowed on. I thought of my lonely mother,

surrounded by those who were seeking the subversion of all that her heart

held dear, and I cried. I thought of my brother--of his toilsome marches

and weary limbs, and of his consecrated life--and I cried. I thought of

the fair young sister, still hopeful in early womanhood, and I refused to

be comforted, and wept bitterly. In this disconsolate frame of mind, I was

ready to give up all hope and yield to direful despair. At this fearful

crisis a still, small voice whispered, “Peace, be still!” The glamour of

love invested sky and earth with supernal glory. The fountain of tears

ceased to flow, and I looked around upon the handiwork of the Great

Supreme Being in whose creation I was but an atom, and wondered that He

should have been mindful of me--that He should have given surcease of

agony to my sorrowing soul. All nature changed as if by magic, and the

witchery of the scene was indescribable. The pretty wildwood flowers, as I

bent my admiring gaze upon them, seemed to say in beautiful silent

language, “Look aloft.” The birds, as they trilled their morning

roundelay, said in musical numbers, “Look aloft;” and the merry rivulet at

my feet affected seriousness, and whispered, “Look aloft.” Thus

admonished, “in that moment of darkness, with scarce hope in my heart,” I

looked aloft--looked aloft.

By and by the ladies came in sight, some walking and others riding in the

wagon; and I pitied most those who were in the wagon. As soon as they were

within speaking distance, one of the ladies said: “You should have stayed

for breakfast. It was quite appetizing.” Reminded of what I had lost, I

was led to compare it with what I had gained, and I would not have

exchanged loss and gain for anything in the world. I had to admit,

however, that there was a vacuum that needed replenishing; but I was

inured to hunger, and, save a passing thought, I banished all desire for

food, and thought only of the loved ones, so near and yet so far, and in

spite of myself the fountain of tears was again running over.

The long tramp to Stone Mountain was very lonely. Not a living thing

overtook or passed us, and we soon crossed over the line and entered a

war-stricken section of country where stood chimneys only, where lately

were pretty homes and prosperity, now departed. Ah, those chimneys

standing amid smoldering ruins! No wonder they were called “Sherman’s

sentinels,” as they seemed to be keeping guard over those scenes of

desolation. The very birds of the air and beasts of the field had fled to

other sections. By constant and unflagging locomotion we reached Stone

Mountain sometime during the night. We went to the hotel and asked shelter

and protection, and received both, but not where to lay our heads, as

those who had preceded us had filled every available place. I had friends

in the village, but I had no assurance that they had remained at home and

weathered the cyclone of war. Therefore, early in the morning, hungry and

footsore, I started all alone walking to Decatur. The solitude was

terrific, and the feeling of awe was so intense that I was startled by the

breaking of a twig, or the gruesome sound of my own footsteps. Constantly

reminded by ruined homes, I realized that I was indeed within the

arbitrary lines of a cruel, merciless foe, and but for my lonely mother,

anxiously awaiting my return, I should have turned and run for dear life

until again within the boundaries of Dixie.

I must have walked very rapidly, for, before I was aware of it, I found

myself approaching Judge Bryce’s once beautiful but now dilapidated home.

He and his good wife gave me affectionate greeting and something to

inflate a certain vacuum which had become painfully clamorous. And they

also gave me that which was even more acceptable--a large yam potato and a

piece of sausage to take to my mother.

I begged Judge Bryce to go with me at least part of the way to Decatur,

but he was afraid to leave his wife. His experience with the Yankees had

not been an exceptional case. They had robbed him of everything of value,

silver, gold, etc., and what they could not carry away they had destroyed,

and he denied most emphatically that there was a single gentleman in the

Federal army. In vain did I tell him that we owed the preservation of our

lives to the protection extended us by the few gentlemen who were in it.

After a brief rest, I resumed my way homeward, and oh, with what

heart-sickening forebodings I approached that sacred though desolate

abode! Anon the little town appeared in the distance, and upon its very

limits I met several of Colonel Garrard’s cavalry officers. Among them a

diversity of temper was displayed. Some of them appeared very glad to see

me, and, to anxious inquires regarding my mother, they replied that they

had taken good care of her in my absence, and that I ought to have

rewarded them for having done so by bringing “my pretty young sister” home

with me. Although I did not entertain one iota of respect for the Federal

army as a whole, I knew there were a few in its ranks who were incapable

of the miserable conduct of the majority, and my heart went out in very

tender gratitude to them, especially those who had sought to lessen the

anguish of my mother. These men threw the reins into the hands of

out-riders, and got off their horses and walked with me to the door of my

home. Their headquarters were still in the yard and had been ever since

first established there, with the exception of a very few days. My return

was truly a memorable occasion. Manifestations assured me that the highest

as well as the lowest in that command was glad to see me, and in their

hearts welcomed me home. To good Mr. Fred Williams I was indebted, in a

large measure, for kindly feeling and uniform respect from that portion of

the Federal army with which I came in contact.

My mother had seen me coming and had retreated into as secluded a place as

she could find, to compose herself for the meeting, but the effort was in

vain. She trembled like an aspen leaf, her lips quivered and her tongue

could not articulate the words she would have spoken. Alas! the tension

was more than she could bear. I dwelt upon the fact that Thomie and

Missouri were well and had sent her a world of love. I tried to infuse

hope and cheerfulness into everything I told her, but she could not see

it, and her poor over-taxed heart could bear up no longer, and she cried

as Rachel weeping for her children, long and piteously. No purer tears

were ever borne by heaven-commissioned Peri into the presence of a

compassionate Savior, than those shed by that patriotic though sorrowing

mother.

CHAPTER XX.

ON THE VERGE OF STARVATION.

A worn-out army horse is found--Uncle Mack makes a wagon--I make a unique

trip--Starvation is warded off--Dangers and scenes by the way.

“What is it, Ma? Has anything happened?”

“No, only Maggie Benedict has been here crying as if her heart would

break, and saying that her children are begging for bread, and she has

none to give them. Give me a little of the meal or hominy that you have,

that we may not starve until we can get something else to eat, and then

take the remainder to her that she may cook it as quickly as possible for

her suffering children.”

We had spent the preceding day in picking out grains of corn from cracks

and crevices in bureau drawers, and other improvised troughs for Federal

horses, as well as gathering up what was scattered upon the ground. In

this way by diligent and persevering work, about a half bushel was

obtained from the now deserted camping ground of Garrard’s cavalry, and

this corn was thoroughly washed and dried, and carried by me and Telitha

to a poor little mill (which had escaped conflagration, because too humble

to attract attention), and ground into coarse meal. Returning from this

mill, and carrying, myself, a portion of the meal, I saw in the distance

my mother coming to meet me. Apprehensive of evil, I ran to meet her and

asked:

“What is it, Ma? Has anything happened?”

With flushed face and tear-toned voice she replied as already stated. My

heart was touched and a division was soon made. Before starting on this

errand, I thought of the probable delay that inexperience and perhaps the

want of cooking utensils and fuel might occasion, and suggested that it

would hasten the relief to the children to cook some bread and mush and

carry it to them already for use. A boiling pot, left on the

camping-ground, was soon on the fire ready to receive the well-prepared

batter, which was to be converted into nutritious mush or porridge. Nor

was the bread forgotten. While the mush was cooking the hoe-cakes were

baking in good old plantation style. These were arranged one upon another,

and tied up in a snow-white cloth; and a tin bucket, also a trophy from

the company, was filled with hot mush. I took the bread, and Telitha the

bucket, and walked rapidly to Doctor Holmes’ residence, where Maggie

Benedict, whose husband was away in the Confederate army, had rooms for

herself and her children. The Rev. Doctor and his wife had refugeed,

leaving this young mother and her children alone and unprotected.

The scene which I witnessed will never be obliterated from my memory. On

the doorsteps sat the young mother, beautiful in desolation, with a baby

in her arms, and on either side of her a little one, piteously crying for

something to eat. “Oh, mama, I want something to eat, so bad.” “Oh, mama,

I am so hungry--give me something to eat.” Thus the children were begging

for what the mother had not to give. She could only give them soothing

words. But relief was at hand. Have you ever enjoyed the satisfaction of

appeasing the hunger of children who had been without food until on the

verge of starvation? If not, one of the keenest enjoyments of life has

been denied you. O, the thankfulness of such a privilege! And oh, the joy,

melancholy though it be, of hearing blessings invoked upon you and yours

by the mother of those children!

While this needful food was being eaten with a zest known only to the

hungry, I was taking in the situation, and devising in my own mind means

by which to render more enduring relief. The meal we had on hand would

soon be exhausted, and, though more might be procured in the same way, it

would be hazardous to depend upon that way only. “God helps those who help

themselves,” is a good old reliable proverb that cannot be too deeply

impressed upon the mind of every child. To leave this young mother in a

state of absolute helplessness, and her innocent little ones dependent

upon the precarious support which might be gleaned from a devastated

country, would be cruel indeed; but how to obviate this state of affairs

was a serious question.

The railroad having been torn up in every direction communicating with

Decatur, there seemed to be but one alternative--to walk--and that was not

practicable with several small children.

“Maggie, this state of affairs cannot be kept up; have you no friend to

whom you can go?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Mr. Benedict has a sister near Madison, who has

wanted me and the children to go and stay with her ever since he has been

in the army, but I was too independent to do it.”

“Absurd! Well, the time has come that you must go. Get the children ready,

and I will call for you soon,” and without any positive or defined plan of

procedure, I took leave of Maggie and her children. I was working by

faith, and the Lord directed my footsteps. On my way home I hunted up

“Uncle Mack,” a faithful old negro man, who preferred freedom in the midst

of privation with his own white people, to following the Federal army

around on “Uncle Sam’s” pay-roll, and got from him a promise that he would

construct a wagon out of odds and ends left upon the streets of Decatur.

The next thing to be done was to provide a horse, and not being a

magician, nor possessed of Aladdin’s lamp, this undertaking must have

seemed chimerical to those who had not known how often and how singularly

these scarcely formulated plans had developed into success. This day had

been one of constant and active service, and was only one of the many that

furnished from sixteen to eighteen working hours. No wonder, then, that

exhausted nature succumbed to sleep that knew no waking until the dawn of

another day.

Next morning, before the sun rose, accompanied by the Morton girls, I was

on my way to “the cane-brakes.” I had seen many horses, whose places had

been taken by others captured from farmers, abandoned and sent out to the

cane-brake to recuperate or to die, the latter being the more probable.

Without any definite knowledge of the locality, but guided by an

over-ruling providence, I went direct to the cane-brake, and there soon

made a selection of a horse, which, from the assortment at hand, could not

have been improved upon. By a dextrous throw of a lasso, constructed and

managed by the young friends already mentioned, he was soon captured and

on his way to Decatur to enter “rebel” service. His most conspicious

feature was a pair of as fine eyes as ever illuminated a horse’s head,

large, brown and lustrous. There were other conspicuous things about him,

too; for instance, branded upon each of his sides were the tell-tale

letters, “U. S.,” and on his back was an immense sore which also told

tales. By twelve o’clock, noon, Uncle Mack appeared upon the scene,

pulling something which he had improvised which baffled description, and

which, for the sake of the faithful service I obtained from it, I will not

attempt to describe, though it might provoke the risibilities of the

readers. Suffice it to say that as it carried living freight in safety

over many a bridge, in honor of this I will call it a wagon. Uncle Mack

soon had the horse secured to this vehicle by ropes and pieces of crocus

sack, for harness was as scarce a commodity as wagons and horses. I

surveyed the equipage from center to circumference, with emotions pathetic

and amusing. It was awfully suggestive. And as I viewed it in all its

grotesqueness my imagination pictured a collapse, and my return home from

no very distant point upon my all-fours, with one of the fours dragging

after me in a dilapidated condition. I distinctly heard the derisive

gibberish and laughter of old Momus, and thought I should explode in the

effort to keep from joining in his mirthfulness. As I turned my head to

take a sly glance at my mother, our eyes met, and all restraint was

removed. With both of us laughter and sobs contended for the mastery, and

merriment and tears literally blended. Thus equipped, and with a

benediction from my mother, expressed more by looks and acts than by

words, I gathered the ropes and started like Bayard Taylor to take “Views

Afoot,” and at the same time accomplish an errand of mercy which would

lead me, as I led the horse, over a portion of country that in dreariness

and utter desolation baffles description--enough to know that Sherman’s

foraging trains had been over it. Leading the horse, which was already

christened “Yankee,” to Dr. Holmes’ door, I called Maggie to come on with

her children.

“I can’t bring my things out, Miss Mary. Somebody must come to carry them

and put them in the wagon.”

“I can,” I said, and suiting the action to the word, ran into the house

where, to my amazement, three large trunks confronted me. What was to be

done? If they could be got into the wagon, what guarantee was there that

poor Yankee could haul them in that tumblesome vehicle? However, I went

for Uncle Mack to put the trunks in the wagon, and in front of them, in

close proximity to the horse’s heels, was placed a chair in which Maggie

seated herself and took her baby in her lap, the other children nestling

on rugs at her feet.

Poor Yankee seemed to feel the importance of his mission, and jogged

along at a pretty fair speed, and I, who walked by his side and held the

ropes, found myself more than once obliged to strike a trot in order to

maintain control of him. Paradoxical as it may seem, I enjoyed this new

phase in my service to the Confederacy--none but a patriot could render

it, and the whole thing seemed invested with the glamour of romance, the

sequel of which would be redemption from all connection with a people who

could thus afflict another people of equal rights. While Maggie hummed a

sweet little lullaby to her children, I contemplated the devastation and

ruin on every side. Not a vestige of anything remained to mark the sites

of the pretty homes which had dotted this fair country before the

destroyer came, except, perhaps, a standing chimney now and then. And all

this struck me as the willing sacrifice of a peerless people for a great

principle, and looking through the dark vista I saw light ahead--I saw

white-robed peace proclaiming that the end of carnage had come. Even then,

as I jogged along at a snail’s pace (for be it known Yankee was not

uniform in his gait, and as his mistress had relaxed the tension of the

ropes, he had relaxed the speed of his steps) up a pretty little hill from

whose summit I had often gazed with rapturous admiration upon the

beautiful mountain of granite near by, I had so completely materialized

the Queen of Peace that I saw her on the mountain’s crest, scattering with

lavish hand blessings and treasures as a recompense for the destruction so

wantonly inflicted. Thus my hopeful temperament furnished consolation to

me, even under darkest circumstances.

Maggie and the children became restive in their pent-up limits, and the

latter clamored for something to eat, but there was nothing to give them.

Night was upon us, and we had come only about eight miles, and not an

animate thing had we seen since we left Decatur, not even a bird, and the

silence was unbroken save by the sound of the horse’s feet as he trod upon

the rocks, and the soft, sweet humming of the young mother to her dear

little ones. Step by step we seemed to descend into the caverns of

darkness, and my brave heart began to falter. The children, awestruck, had

ceased their appeal for bread, and nestled closer to their mother, and

that they might all the more feel her protecting presence, she kept up a

constant crooning sound, pathetic and sad. Step by step we penetrated the

darkness of night--a night without a moon, starless and murky. The

unerring instinct of an animal was all we had to guide us in the beaten

road, which had ceased to be visible to human ken.

A faint glimmer of light, at apparently no very great distance, gave hope

that our day’s journey was almost ended. Yankee also caught the

inspiration and walked a little faster. Though the time seemed long, the

cabin, for such it proved to be, was finally reached, and I dropped the

ropes, and, guided by the glimmer of light through the cracks, went to the

door and knocked, at the same time announcing my name. The door was

quickly opened. Imagine my surprise when recognized and cordially welcomed

by a sweet friend, whose most humble plantation cabin was a pretty

residence in comparison with the one she now occupied. Maggie, too, as the

daughter of a well-known physician, received cordial welcome for herself

and children. And thus a kind Providence provided a safe lodging place for

the night.

Nature again asserted itself, and the children asked for something to eat.

The good lady of the house kissed them, and told them that supper would

soon be ready. The larger one of her little sons drew from a bed of ashes,

which had been covered by glowing coals, some large yam potatoes which he

took to a table and peeled. He then went outside the cabin and drew from a

keg an earthen-ware pitcher full of sparkling persimmon beer, which he

dispensed to us in cups, and then handed around the potatoes. And how much

this repast was enjoyed! Good sweet yams thoroughly cooked, and the

zestful persimmon beer! And I thought of the lonely mother at a desolated

home, whose only supper had been made of coarse meal, ground from corn

which her own hands had helped to pick from crevices and cracks in

improvised troughs, where Garrard’s cavalry had fed their horses. After

awhile the sweet womanly spirit that presided over this little group, got

a quilt and a shawl or two, and made a pallet for the children. The boys

put more wood upon the fire, and some in the jambs of the fireplace, to be

used during the night; and then they went behind us and lay down upon the

floor, with seed cotton for pillows, and the roof for covering. Our kind

hostess placed additional wraps over the shoulders of Maggie and myself,

and we three sat up in our chairs and slept until the dawn.

Accustomed to looking after outdoor interests, I went to see how Yankee

was coming on, and found him none the worse for the preceding day’s toil.

Everything indicated that he had fared as sumptuously as we had--a

partly-eaten pumpkin, corn, whole ears yet in the trough, and fodder near

by, plainly showed the generosity of the noble little family that took us

in and gave us the best they had. After breakfast we bade adieu to the

good mother and her children, and went on our way, if not rejoicing, at

least feeling better for having seen and been with such good people. There

was a strong tie between us all. The husband and father was off in the

army, like our loved ones. The generous feeding given to our steed had so

braced him up that he began to walk faster, and was keenly appreciative of

every kind word; and I and he formed a friendship for each other that

continued to his dying day. The road was very rough and hilly, and more

than once he showed signs of fatigue; but a word of encouragement seemed

to renew his strength, and he walked bravely on. Maggie would perhaps have

lightened his load by walking now and then, but the jolting of the wagon

kept the trunks in perpetual motion, and the lives of the children would

thereby have been jeopardized.

Nothing of special interest transpired this second day of our journey. The

same fiend of destruction had laid his ruthless hand upon everything

within his reach. The woods had been robbed of their beauty and the fields

of their products; not even a bird was left to sing a requiem over the

scene of desolation, or an animal to suggest where once had been a

habitation. Once, crouching near a standing chimney, there was a solitary

dog who kept at bay every attempt to approach--no kind word would

conciliate or put him off his guard. Poor, lonely sentinel! Did he

remember that around the once cheerful hearthstone he had been admitted to

a place with the family group? Was he awaiting his master’s return? Ah,

who can know the emotions, or the dim reasonings of that faithful brute?

Night again came on and I discovered that we were approaching the

hospitable mansion of Mr. Montgomery, an excellent, courtly country

gentleman, who was at home under circumstances not now remembered. He and

his interesting family gladly welcomed me and my little charge, and

entertained us most hospitably. The raiders had been here and helped

themselves bountifully, but they had spared the house for another time,

and that other time came soon, and nothing was left on the site of this

beautiful home but ubiquitous chimneys.

An early start the next day enabled Yankee to carry Maggie and her

children and the trunks to Social Circle in time to take the noon train

for Madison. So far as Maggie and her children were concerned, I now felt

that I had done all that I could, and that I must hasten back to my lonely

mother at Decatur; but Maggie’s tearful entreaties not to be left among

strangers prevailed with me, and I got aboard the train with her, and

never left her until I had placed her and her children in the care of good

Mr. Thrasher at Madison, to be conveyed by him to the home of Mrs. Reeves,

her husband’s sister.

In Madison, I too had dear friends and relatives, with whom I spent the

night, and the morning’s train bore me back to Social Circle, then the

terminus of the Georgia Railroad--the war fiend having destroyed every

rail between there and Atlanta. Arriving there, imagine my surprise and

indignation when I learned that Mr. R----, whom I had paid in advance to

care for Yankee while I was gone to Madison, had sent him out to his

sorghum mill and put him to grinding cane; and it was with much difficulty

and delay that I got him in time to start on my homeward journey that

afternoon. Instead of his being rested, he was literally broken down, and

my pity for him constrained me to walk every step of the way back to

Decatur. While waiting for the horse, I purchased such articles of food as

I could find. For instance, a sack of flour, for which I paid a hundred

dollars, a bushel of potatoes, several gallons of sorghum, a few pounds of

butter, and a few pounds of meat. Even this was a heavy load for the poor

jaded horse. Starting so late I could only get to the hospitable home of

Mr. Crew, distant only about three miles from “The Circle.”

Before leaving Mr. Crew’s the next morning, I learned that an immense

Yankee raid had come out from Atlanta, and had burned the bridge which I

had crossed only two days ago. This information caused me to take another

route to Decatur, and my heart lost much of its hope, and my step its

alacrity. Yet the Lord sustained me in the discharge of duty. I never

wavered when there was a principle to be guarded or a duty to be

performed. Those were praying days with me, and now I fervently invoked

God’s aid and protection in my perilous undertaking, and I believed that

He would grant aid and protection.

That I might give much needed encouragement to Yankee, I walked by his

side with my hand upon his shoulder much of the time, an act of endearment

which he greatly appreciated, and proved that he did so by the expression

of his large brown eyes. One of my idiosyncrasies through life has been

that of counting everything, and as I journeyed homeward, I found myself

counting my steps from one to a thousand and one. As there is luck in odd

numbers, says Rory O’Moore, I always ended with the traditional odd

number, and by telling Yankee how much nearer home we were. And I told him

many things, among them, _sotto voce_, that I did not believe he was a

Yankee, but a captured rebel. If a tuft of grass appeared on the road

side, he was permitted to crop it; or if a muscadine vine with its

tempting grapes was discovered, he cropped the leaves off the low

shrubbery, while I gathered the grapes for my mother at home with nothing

to eat save the one article of diet, of which I have told before.

A minute description of this portion of the war-stricken country would

fill a volume; but only the leading incidents and events of the journey

are admissible in a reminiscence of war times. In the early part of the

day, during this solitary drive, I came to a cottage by the wayside that

was a perfect gem--an oasis, an everything that could thrill the heart by

its loveliness. Flowers of every hue beautified the grounds and sweetened

the air, and peace and plenty seemed to hold undisputed sway. The Fiend of

Destruction had not yet reached this little Eden. Two gentlemen were in

the yard conversing. I perceived at a glance that they were of the

clerical order, and would fain have spoken to them; but not wishing to

disturb them, or attract attention to myself, I was passing by as

unobtrusively as possible, when I was espied and recognized by one of

them, who proved to be that saintly man, Rev. Walter Branham. He

introduced me to his friend, Professor Shaw of Oxford. Their sympathy for

me was plainly expressed, and they gave me much needed instruction

regarding the route, and suggested that I would about get to Rev. Henry

Clark’s to put up for the night. With a hearty shake of the hand, and “God

bless you, noble woman,” I pursued my lonely way and they went theirs. No

other adventure enlivened the day, and poor patient Yankee did the best he

could, and so did I. It was obvious that he had done about all he could.

Grinding sorghum under a hard taskmaster, with an empty stomach, had told

on him, and he could no longer quicken his pace at the sound of a friendly

voice.

At length we came in sight of “Uncle Henry Clark’s” place. I stood amazed,

bewildered. I felt as if I would sink to the ground, yea, through it. I

was riveted to the spot on which I stood. I could not move. At length I

cried--cried like a woman in despair. Poor Yankee must have cried too (for

water ran out of his eyes), and in some measure I was quieted, for misery

loves company, and I began to take in the situation more calmly. Elegant

rosewood and mahogany furniture, broken into a thousand fragments, covered

the face of the ground as far as I could see; and china and glass looked

as if it had been sown. And the house, what of that? Alas! it too had

been scattered to the four winds of heaven in the form of smoke and

ashes. Not even a chimney stood to mark its site. Near by stood a row of

negro cabins, intact, showing that while the conflagration was going on

they had been sedulously guarded. And these cabins were occupied by the

slaves of the plantation. Men, women and children stalked about in

restless uncertainty, and in surly indifference. They had been led to

believe that the country would be apportioned to them, but they had sense

enough to know that such a mighty revolution involved trouble and delay,

and they were supinely waiting developments. Neither man, woman nor child

approached me. There was mutual distrust and mutual avoidance.

It took less time to take in the situation than it has to describe it. The

sun was almost down, and as he turned his large red face upon me, I

fancied he fain would have stopped in his course to see me out of this

dilemma. What was I to do? The next nearest place that I could remember

that would perhaps give protection for the night was Mr. Fowler’s, and

this was my only hope. With one hand upon Yankee’s shoulder, and the ropes

in the other, I moved on, and not until my expiring breath will I forget

the pleading look which that poor dumb animal turned upon me when I

started. Utterly hopeless, and in my hands, he wondered how I could thus

exact more of him. I wondered myself. But what was I to do but to move on?

And with continuous supplication for the Lord to have mercy upon me, I

moved on. More than once the poor horse turned that look, beseeching and

pathetic, upon me. It frightened me, I did not understand it, and still

moved on. At last the hope of making himself understood forsook him, and

he deliberately laid himself down in the road. I knelt by his side and

told him the true state of affairs, and implored him not to desert me in

this terrible crisis. I told him how cruel it would be to do so, and used

many arguments of like character; but they availed nothing. He did not

move, and his large, lustrous brown eyes seemed to say for him: “I have

done all I can, and can do no more.” And the sun could bear it no longer,

and hid his crimson face behind a great black cloud.

What could I do but rise from my imploring attitude and face my perilous

situation? “Lord have mercy upon me,” was my oft-repeated invocation. The

first thing which greeted my vision when I rose to my feet was a very

distant but evidently an advancing object. I watched it with bated breath,

and soon had the satisfaction of seeing a man on muleback. I ran to meet

him, saying: “O, sir, I know the good Lord has sent you here.” And then I

recounted my trouble, and received most cordial sympathy from one who had

been a Confederate soldier, but who was now at home in consequence of

wounds that incapacitated him for further service. When he heard all, he

said:

“I would take you home with me, but I have to cross a swimming creek

before getting there, and I am afraid to undertake to carry you. Wait here

until I see these negroes. They are a good set, and whatever they promise,

they will, I think, carry out faithfully.”

The time seemed interminable before he came back, and night, black night,

had set in; and yet a quiet resignation sustained me.

When my benefactor returned, two negro men came with him, one of whom

brought a lantern, bright and cheery. “I have arranged for you to be cared

for here,” said he. “Several of the old house servants of Mrs. Clark know

you, and they will prove themselves worthy of the trust we repose in

them.” I accepted the arrangement made by this good man, and entrusted

myself to the care of the negroes for the night. This I did with great

trepidation, but as soon as I entered the cabin an assurance of safety

filled my mind with peace, and reconciled me to my surrounding’s. The

“mammy” that presided over it met me with a cordial welcome, and assured

me that no trouble would befall me under her roof. An easy chair was

placed for me in one corner in comfortable proximity to a large plantation

fire. In a few minutes the men came in bringing my flour, potatoes, syrup,

bacon, etc. This sight gave me real satisfaction, as I thought of my poor

patient mother at home, and hoped that in some way I should yet be able to

convey to her this much needed freight. I soon espied a table on which was

piled many books and magazines; “Uncle Henry Clark’s” theological books

were well represented. I proposed reading to the women, if they would like

to hear me, and soon had their undivided attention, as well as that of

several of the men, who sat on the doorsteps. In this way several hours

passed, and then “mammy” said, “You must be getting sleepy.” “Oh, no,” I

replied, “I frequently sit up all night reading.” But this did not satisfy

her; she had devised in her own mind something more hospitable for her

guest, and she wanted to see it carried out. Calling into requisition the

assistance of the men, she had two large cedar chests placed side by side,

and out of these chests were taken nice clean quilts, and snow-white

counterpanes, and sheets, and pillows--Mrs. Clark’s beautiful

bed-clothing--and upon those chests was made a pallet upon a which a queen

might have reposed with comfort. It was so tempting in its cleanliness

that I consented to lie down. The sole occupants of that room that night

were myself and my hostess--the aforesaid black “mammy.” Rest, not sleep,

came to my relief. The tramping of feet, and now and then the muffled

sound of human voices, kept me in a listening attitude, and it must be

confessed in a state of painful apprehension. Thus the night passed.

With the dawn of day I was up and ready to meet the day’s requirements.

“Mammy’s” first greeting was, “What’s your hurry?” “I am accustomed to

early rising. May I open the door?” The first thing I saw was Yankee, and

he was standing eating; but he was evidently too weak to attempt the task

of getting that cumbersome vehicle and its freight to Decatur. So I

arranged with one of the men to put a steer to the wagon and carry them

home. This he was to do for the sum of one hundred dollars. After an

appetizing breakfast, I started homeward, leading Yankee in the rear of

this turnout. Be it remembered, I did not leave without making ample

compensation for my night’s entertainment.

No event of particular interest occurred on the way to Decatur. Yankee

walked surprisingly well, and the little steer acquitted himself nobly. In

due time Decatur appeared in sight, and then there ensued a scene which

for pathos defies description. Matron and maiden, mother and child, each

with a tin can, picked up off the enemy’s camping-ground, ran after me and

begged for just a little something to eat--just enough to keep them from

starving. Not an applicant was refused, and by the time the poor, rickety,

cumbersome wagon reached its destination, its contents had been greatly

diminished. But there was yet enough left to last for some time the

patient, loving mother, the faithful Telitha, and myself.

A summary of the trip developed these facts: To the faithfulness of Uncle

Mack was due the holding together of the most grotesque vehicle ever

dignified by the name of wagon; over all that road it remained intact, and

returned as good as when it started. And but for the sorghum grinding,

poor Yankee would have acted his part unfalteringly. As for myself, I

labored under the hallucination that I was a Confederate soldier, and

deemed no task too great for me to essay, if it but served either directly

or indirectly those who were fighting my battles.

CHAPTER XXI.

A SECOND TRIP FOR SUPPLIES.

Gathering “fodder” from a cane-brake as a preliminary--The lonely

journey--Changing Yankee’s name--I meet the Federal raiders.

At an early hour in the morning of a bright autumnal day, that memorable

year 1864--the saddest of them all--Yankee was roped (not bridled, mark

you), and crocus sacks, four for him, one for Telitha, and one for myself,

thrown over his back, and we three, boon companions in diversified

industries, scampered off to a neighboring cane-brake--a favorite resort

in those days, but now, alas for human gratitude! never visited for the

sake of “auld lang syne.”

Perfect health--thanks to the parents who transmitted no constitutional

taint to my veins--unusual strength, and elasticity of motion, soon

carried me there, and having secured Yankee to a clump of canes luxuriant

with tender twig’s and leaves, sweetened by the cool dew of the season,

Telitha and I entered upon the work of cutting twigs and pulling fodder.

There being no drainage in those times, I often stepped upon little

hillocks, covered with grass or aquatic vegetation, that yielded to my

weight, and I sunk into the mud and water ankle deep, at least, and

Telitha was going through with similar experiences. I often laughed at her

grimaces and other expressions of disgust in the slough of despond, and

rejoiced with her when she displayed the trophies of success, consisting

of nice brittle twig’s, generously clad in tender leaves and full growth;

Yankee, too, was unmindful of small difficulties, and did his “level” best

in providing for a rainy day by filling his capacious paunch brimful of

the good thing’s so bountifully supplied by Providence in the marshes of

old DeKalb. By the time the aforesaid half dozen sacks were filled, the

enlargement of that organ of his anatomy suggested that he proposed

carrying home about as much inside of him as might be imposed upon his

back--of this sagacity he seemed conscious and very proud, and when the

sacks of cane were put over his back, pannier fashion, he pursued the path

homeward with prouder air and nobler mien than that which marked his

course to the cane-brake.

When we three were fully equipped for starting back to the deserted

village, Yankee, as already described, and I with a sack of cane thrown

over my right shoulder, and reaching nearly to my heels, and Telitha, in

apparel and equipment an exact duplicate of myself, I was so overcome by

the ludicrous features of the scene that for the time I lost sight of the

pathetic and yielded to inordinate laughter. As memory, electrical and

veracious, recapitulated the facts and circumstances leading to this state

of affairs, I realized that there was but one alternative--to laugh or to

cry--but the revolutionary blood coursing through my veins decided in

favor of the former, and I laughed until I could no longer stand erect,

even though braced by an inflexible bag of cane, and I ignominiously

toppled over. As I lay upon the ground I laughed, not merrily, but grimly,

as I fancy a hyena would laugh. The more I sought the sympathy of Telitha

in this hilarious ebullition, the more uncontrollable it became. Her utter

want of appreciation of the fun, and a vague idea that she was in some way

implicated, embarrassed her, and, judging from her facial expression, ever

varying and often pathetic, wounded her also. In vain did I point to our

docile equine, whose tethering line she held. His enlarged proportions and

grotesque accoutrements failed to touch a single risible chord, or convey

to her utilitarian mind aught that was amusing, and she doubtless wondered

what could have so affected me.

In due time we reached Decatur. After passing the Hoyle place, the

residence being then deserted, Telitha indicated by signs too intelligible

to be misunderstood that she would go home with her sack of stock

provender, leading the horse, and then come back for mine, and I could go

by a different route and not be known as a participant in the raid upon

the cane-brake; but I was too proud of my fidelity to the Southern

Confederacy to conceal any evidences of it that the necessities of the

times called into action, and I walked through the stricken village with

my sack of cane in my arms instead of upon my back; and would have walked

as proudly to the sacrificial altar, myself the offering, if by so doing I

could have retrieved the fortunes of my people and established for them a

government among the nations of earth.

The lowing of our cow reached me as I entered the court-house square, and

I hastened my gait and soon displayed before her, in her stall in the

cellar, a tempting repast. And my mother, who possessed the faculty of

making something good out of that which was ordinary, displayed one

equally tempting to me and Telitha--milk and mush, supplemented by coffee

made of parched okra seed.

“Tired nature’s sweet restorer” faithfully performed its recuperative

service that night. When I opened my eyes upon the glorious light of

another day, I was so free from the usual attendants upon fatigue that I

involuntarily felt for my body--it seemed to have passed away during the

night, and left no trace of former existence. I found it, though,

perfectly intact, and ready to obey the behests of my will and serve me

through the requirements of another day. And my mother seemed to be in her

usual health and willing for me to do anything I thought I ought to do.

She could not close her eyes to the fact that our store of supplies was

nearly exhausted, and that there was only one way to replenish it; and she

had the wisdom and the Christian grace to acquiesce to the inevitable

without a discouraging word. Telitha, upon whose benighted mind the

ridiculous phases of the previous day’s adventures had dawned sometime in

the interim, laughed as soon as she saw me, and in well-acted pantomime

made me fully aware that she enjoyed at this late hour the ludicrous scene

that had so amused me. And Yankee evidently smiled when he saw me, and

greeted me with a joyous little whicker that spoke volumes.

A good breakfast for women and beast having been disposed of, I wended my

way in quest of Uncle Mack. He alone understood the complicated process

of harnessing Yankee in ropes to the primitive vehicle manufactured by his

own ingenious hands, and to him I always went when this important task had

to be performed. On this occasion, as upon others, it was soon executed.

When all was ready and the unbidden tears dashed away, as if out of place,

I seized the ropes and started? Where? Ah, that was the question. There

was only one place that offered hope of remuneration for the perilous

undertaking, and forty miles had to be traversed before reaching it. Forty

miles through a devastated country. Forty miles amid untold dangers. But

in all the walks of life it has been demonstrated that pluck and energy,

and a firm reliance upon Providence, are necessary to surmount

difficulties, and of all these essentials I had a goodly share, and never

doubted but that I would be taken care of, and my wants and those of

others supplied. “God helps those who help themselves,” is an adage which

deserves to be emblazoned upon every tree, and imprinted upon every heart.

That vain presumption that folds the hands, and prays for benefits and

objects desired, without putting forth any effort to obtain them, ought to

be rebuked by all good men and women as a machination of Satan.

These and similar reflections nerved me for the task before me, and I

started in earnest. When I got to the “blacksmith shop,” I looked back and

saw my mother standing just where I left her, following me with her eyes.

I looked back no more, lest I dissolve in tears. As I passed the few

abodes that were tenanted, my mission “out” was apprehended, and I was

besought in tearful tones to bring back with me all I could, by those who

told me that they and their children were upon the verge of starvation. I

took all the sacks which were handed to me and rolled them together, and

by the aid of a string secured them to the cart, and amidst blessings and

good wishes pursued my devious way; for, be it remembered, many

obstructions, such as breast-works and thorny hedge-wood, presented

formidable barriers to rapid travel for a considerable distance from

Decatur.

While leisurely walking beside Yankee, I was struck with the agility of

his motion and his improved figure since we traveled over these grounds a

few weeks before. He had taken on a degree of symmetry that I never

supposed attainable by the poor, emaciated animal which I captured in the

cane-brake. His hair had become soft and silky, and in the sunlight

displayed artistic shades of coloring from light to deepest brown; and his

long, black tail, which hung limp and perpendicular, now affected a curve

which even Hogarth might have admired, and his luxuriant and glossy mane

waved prettily as a maiden’s tresses. And his face, perfect in every

lineament, and devoid of any indication of acerbity, lighted by large,

liquid, brown eyes, would have been a fit model--a thing of beauty--for

the pencil of Rosa Bonheur. Rubbing my hand over his silky coat and

enlarged muscles, I decided to enjoy the benefit of his increased strength

and gently ordered a halt. Stepping from the ground to the hub of the

wheel, another step landed me into the cart, vehicle, wagon or landau,

which ever you see proper to denominate it; I do not propose to confine

myself to any one of these terms.

Yankee understood the movement, and doubtless felt complimented. As soon

as I took my seat in the chair--a concomitant part of the equipage--he

started off at a brisk gait, which, without a word of command, he kept up

until we came to the base of a long hill, and then he slackened his speed

and leisurely walked to the summit. I enjoyed going over ground without

muscular effort of my own, and determined to remain in the cart until he

showed some sign of fatigue. I had only to hold the ropes and speak an

encouraging word, and we traveled on right merrily. Ah, no! That was a

misnomer. Callous indeed would have been the heart who could have gone

merrily over that devastated and impoverished land. Sherman, with his

destructive host, had been there, and nothing remained within the

conquered boundary upon which “Sheridan’s Crow” could have subsisted.

Nothing was left but standing chimneys, and an occasional house, to which

one would have supposed a battering ram had been applied. I looked up and

down, and in every direction, and saw nothing but destruction, and the

gaunt and malignant figure of General Starvation striding over our

beautiful country, as if he possessed it. I shook my head defiantly at him

and went on, musing upon these things. I never questioned the wisdom or

goodness of God in permitting them, but I pondered upon them, and have

never yet reached their unfathomable depths.

At the end of the first day’s journey, I found myself twenty miles, or

more, from the starting point, and tenderly cared for by a good family,

consisting, in these war times, only of a mother and several precious

little children, who were too glad to have company to consider my appeal

for a night’s entertainment intrusive. This desolate mother and children

thought they had seen all the horror of warfare illustrated by the

premeditated cruelty of the Yankee raiders, and could not conceive how it

could have been worse. But when I got through with my recital of injuries,

they were willing that theirs should remain untold. A delicious supper,

like manna from Heaven, was enjoyed with a zest unknown to those who have

never been hungry.

The light of another day found us all up in that hospitable household, and

an appetizing breakfast fortified me for another day’s labor in any field

in which I might be called to perform it. The little boys, who had taken

Yankee out of the rope harness the evening before, remembered its

intricacies and had no difficulty in getting him back into that

complicated gear. When all was ready, and grateful good-byes had been

uttered, I again mounted “the hub,” and got into the vehicle. After I had

taken my seat, the good lady handed me a package, which proved to be a

nice lunch for my dinner. She also had a sack of potatoes and pumpkins

stored away in the landau; and being a merciful woman, she thought of the

horse, and gave some home-cured hay for his noonday meal.

All day I followed in the track of Sherman’s minions, and found the

destruction greater than when I had passed in this direction before.

Coming to a hill, the long ascent of which would be fatiguing to Yankee,

I ordered a halt and got out of the wagon. Taking position by his side, we

climbed the hill together, and then we went down it together, and

continued to journey side by side, I oblivious to everything but the

destruction, either complete or partial, on every side. At length we came

to a lovely wee bit stream of water, exulting in its consciousness that no

enemy could arrest it in its course to the sea, or mar its beauty as it

rippled onward. We halted, and I loosened the ropes so that Yankee might

partake of the flowing water before eating his noonday meal. And I am sure

epicure never enjoyed luncheon at Delmonico’s with more zest than I did

the frugal meal prepared for me by the friendly hands of that dear

Confederate woman. Much as I enjoyed it, I finished my dinner sometime

before Yankee did his, and employed the interim in laving my hands and

face in the pure water, and contemplating myself in the perfect mirror

formed by its surface. Not as Narcissus did I enjoy this pastime, but as

one startled by the revelation. Traces of care; sorrow, apprehension for

the future, were indelibly imprinted upon forehead and cheek, and most of

all upon that most tell-tale of all features, the mouth. I wept at the

change, and by way of diversion turned from the unsatisfactory

contemplation of myself to that of Yankee. This horse, instinct with

intelligence, appreciated every act of kindness, and often expressed his

gratitude in ways so human-like as to startle and almost affright me. I am

sure I have seen his face lighted by a smile, and radiant with gratitude.

And no human being ever expressed more forcibly by word or act his sorrow

at being unable to do all that was desired of him in emergency, than did

this dumb brute when he gave me that long, earnest, pathetic look

(mentioned in a former sketch) when, from sheer exhaustion, he lay down

near the heap of ashes where once stood the beautiful residence of my

friend of honored memory, Rev. Henry Clark.

The more I contrasted the treatment which I, in common with my country

women and my country, had received at the hands of the Yankees (the then

exponents of the sentiment of the United States towards the Southern

people), and the gentle, friendly demeanor of the animal upon whom I had

unthoughtedly bestowed a name constantly suggestive of an enemy, the more

dissatisfied I became with it, and I determined then and there to change

it. Suiting the action to the decision, I gathered the ropes and led the

noble steed to the brink of that beautiful little brooklet, and paused for

a name. What should it be? “Democrat?” I believed him to be a democrat,

true and tried, and yet I did not much like the name. Had not the Northern

democrats allowed themselves to be allured into abolition ranks, and made

to do the fighting, while the abolitionists, under another name,

devastated the country and enriched themselves by the booty. “Copperhead?”

I did not like that much. It had a metallic ring that grated harshly upon

my nerves, and I was not then aware of their great service to the South in

restraining and keeping subordinate to humanity, as far as in them lay,

the hatred and evil passions of the abolitionists. “Johnny Reb?” Ah, I

had touched the keynote at last, and it awakened a responsive chord that

vibrated throughout my very being. I had a secret belief, more than once

expressed in words, that my noble equine was a captured rebel “held in

durance vile” until bereft of health and strength, then abandoned to die

upon the commons. “Johnny Reb!” I no longer hesitated. The name was

electrical, and the chord with which it came in contact was charged to its

utmost capacity. With the placid waters of that ever-flowing stream, in

the name of the Southern Confederacy, I christened one of the best friends

I ever had “Johnny Reb,” a name ever dear to me.

This ceremony having been performed to my satisfaction and to his,

too--judging by the complacent glances, and, as I fancied, by the

suggestion of an approving smile which he bestowed upon me--I mounted the

hub, stepped into the cart, seated myself, and with ropes in hand

continued my way to “The Circle,” and arrived there before night, Not

being tired, I immediately struck out among the vendors of home-made

products--edibles, wearing apparel, etc.--for the purpose of purchasing a

wagon load to carry to Decatur, not for the ignoble purpose of

speculation, but to bestow, without money and without price, upon those

who, like my mother and myself, preferred hunger and privation rather than

give up our last earthly home to the destroying fiend that stalked over

our land and protected Federal bayonets.

Before the shades of night came on I had accomplished my object. As a

matter of history I will enumerate some of the articles purchased, and

annex the prices paid for them in Confederate money:

One bushel of meal $10 00

Four bushels of corn 40 00

Fifteen pounds of flour 7 50

Four pounds dried apples 5 00

One and half pounds of butter 6 00

A bushel of sweet potatoes 6 00

Three gallons of syrup 15 00

Shoeing the horse 25 00

For spending the night at Mrs. Born’s, self and horse 10 00

Not knowing the capabilities of “Johnny Reb,” I feared to add one hundred

and thirty-six pounds avoirdupois weight to a cart already loaded to

repletion, and the next morning on starting took my old familiar place by

his side. To my slightest touch or word of encouragement, he gave me an

appreciative look and obeyed to the letter my wishes with regard to his

gaits--slow or fast in adaptation to mine. In due time we again rested on

the banks of the beautiful little stream hallowed by the memory of

repudiating a name, rendered by the vandalism of its legitimate owners too

obnoxious to be borne by a noble horse, and by the bestowing upon him of

another more in keeping with his respect for ladies and other fine traits

of character which he possessed. Neither he nor I had lunch with which to

regale ourselves; and whilst he moved about at will cropping little tufts

of wild growth and tender leaves, which instinct taught him were good for

his species, I abandoned myself to my favorite pursuit--the contemplation

of nature. Like Aurora Leigh, I “found books among the hills and vales,

and running brooks,” and held communion with their varied forms and

invisible influences. To me they ever spoke of the incomprehensible wisdom

and goodness of God. My heart, from my earliest recollection, always went

out in adoration to Him who could make alike the grand old Titans of the

forest and the humblest blade of grass; and now I beheld them under

circumstances peculiarly calculated to evoke admiration. Change had come

to everything else. The lofty trees stood in silent grandeur, undisturbed

by the enemy’s step or the harsh clarion of war--as if defiant of

danger--and gave shelter and repose to the humblest of God’s creatures who

sought their protecting arms. Beguiled by the loveliness of the woodland

scenery, I often found myself stopping to daguerreotype it upon the

tablets of my memory, and to feast my senses upon the aromatic perfume of

wildwood autumn flowers. “Strong words of counseling” I found in them and

in “the vocal pines and waters,” and out of these books I learned the

“ignorance of men.”

“And how God laughs in Heaven when any man

Says, ‘Here I’m learned; this I understand;

In that I am never caught at fault, or in doubt.’”

A word of friendly greeting and renewed thanks to mine hostess of two

nights before, and her dear little children, detained me only a very short

and unbegrudged space of time; and during that time I did not forget to

refer to the potatoes and the pumpkin so kindly given to me by them on my

down trip, and which I could have left in their care until my return, had

I thought of it.

Night again came on, and this time found me picking my way as best I could

over the rocks shadowed by Stone Mountain. On I plodded through the

darkness, guided rather by the unerring step of Johnny Reb than any

knowledge I had of the way. At length the poor faithful animal and myself

were rewarded for perseverance by seeing glimmering lights of the mountain

village. We struck a bee line for the nearest one, and were soon directed

to “a boarding house.” I was too glad to get into it then, to descant upon

its demerits now. I assured the landlady that I needed no supper myself,

and would pay her what she would charge for both if she would see that the

horse was well fed. I think she did so. My valuable freight could not

remain in the cart all night, and there was no one to bring it in. In vain

did she assure me that I would find it all right if I left it there. I got

into the cart and lifted the sacks and other things out of it myself, and,

by the help of the aforesaid person, got everything into the house. I fain

would have lain down by these treasures, for they had increased in value

beyond computation since leaving Social Circle, and would have done so but

for repeated assurance of their safety.

An early start next morning gave me the privilege of going over the ground

familiar to my youth in the loveliest part of the day, and when the sun

looked at me over the mountain’s crest, I felt as if I was in the presence

of a veritable king, and wanted to take my bonnet off and make obeisance

to him. His beneficent rays fell alike upon the just and the unjust, and

lighted the pathway of the destroyer as brightly as that of the

benefactor. Amid destruction, wanton and complete, and over which angels

might weep, I stepped the distance off between Stone Mountain and Judge

Bryce’s; not a living thing upon the face of the earth, or a sound of any

kind greeting me--the desolation of war reigned supreme. I again stopped

at Judge Bryce’s, and implored his protection to Decatur, but, as on the

former occasion, he was afraid to leave his wife to the tender mercy (?)

of the enemy. He told me he feared I would not reach home with my cart of

edibles, as “Yankee raiders had been coming out from Atlanta every day

lately,” and that the set that was now coming was more vindictive than any

that had preceded it. Good, dear Mrs. Bryce, trusting in the Lord for

future supplies, took a little from her scanty store of provisions and

added it to mine for her friend, my mother.

With many forebodings of evil, I took up the line of march to Decatur. I

looked almost with regret upon my pretty horse. Had he remained the poor

ugly animal that was lassoed in the cane-brake, I would have had but

little fear of losing him, but under my fostering care, having become

pretty, plump and sprightly, I had but little hope of keeping him. Being

absorbed by these mournful reflections and not having the ever-watchful

Telitha with me to announce danger from afar, I was brought to a full

realization of its proximity by what appeared to be almost an army of

_blue-coats_, dashing up on spirited horses, and for the purpose of

humiliating me, hurrahing “for Jefferson Davis and the Southern

Confederacy.” As a flag of truce, I frantically waved my bonnet, which act

was misapprehended and taken as a signal of approval of their “hurrah for

Jefferson Davis and the Southern Confederacy,” which was resounding

without intermission.

Seeing several very quiet, dignified looking gentlemen, who, although

apart from the others, seemed to be exercising a restraining influence, I

approached them and told them how I had gone out from Decatur unprotected

and all alone to get provisions to keep starvation from among our

defenseless women and children, and that I had to go all the way to Social

Circle before I could get anything, and that I had walked back in order to

save the horse as much as possible. These men, however, although seemingly

interested, questioned and cross-questioned me until I had but little hope

of their protection. One of them said, “I see you have one of our horses.

How did you come by him?” And then the story of how I came by him was

recapitulated without exaggeration or diminution. This narrative elicited

renewed hurrahs for Jefferson Davis and the Southern Confederacy. A few

minutes private conversation between these gentlemen ensued, and all of

them approached me, and the spokesman said, “Two of us will escort you to

Decatur, and see that no harm befalls you.” It seemed, then, that no

greater boon could have been offered under the canopy of Heaven, and I am

sure no woman could have experienced more gratitude or been more profuse

in its expression.

The sight of my nervous, gray-haired mother, and her pretty mother ways,

touched another tender chord in the hearts of these gentlemen, and if

constraint existed it was dispelled, and they became genial and very like

friends before they left. They even promised to send us some oats for

noble Johnny Reb, who displayed the greatest equanimity all through these

trying scenes.

CHAPTER XXII.

NEWS FROM THE ABSENT BROTHER.

He marches into Tennessee with Hood--Extracts from his letters written on

the way--Two ears of parched corn--The night burial of a soldier.

After the majority of these sketches were written, I was permitted by my

sister to take a few extracts from the cherished letters of our brother,

which she numbered and carefully laid away as her most precious treasure.

To these we are indebted for all that we know of his history during those

trying days and weeks of which I have just been writing. Where was he, and

how did he fare? Few and far between were the letters now, in these dark

days of the war. The soldiers themselves had but little opportunity to

write, and the mail facilities were poor. But I feel sure that to the

survivors of the “Lost Cause,” these meagre scraps concerning that brave

but disastrous march into Tennessee will be read with melancholy interest:

“On the Line of Alabama and Georgia,

Near Alpine, Ga., 8 o’clock at night, Oct. 17, 1874.