DOGS--HORSES--DESCENT OF A SHELL THROUGH A CAVE--A MOTHER'S
CRIES--DESERTED HOMES--SILENCE.
Even the very animals seemed to share the general fear of a sudden and
frightful death. The dogs would be seen in the midst of the noise to
gallop up the street, and then to return, as if fear had maddened them. On
hearing the descent of a shell, they would dart aside--then, as it
exploded, sit down and howl in the most pitiful manner. There were many
walking the street, apparently without homes. George carried on a
continual warfare with them, as they came about the fire where our meals
were cooking.
In the midst of other miserable thoughts, it came into my mind one day,
that these dogs through hunger might become as much to be dreaded as
wolves. Groundless was this anxiety, for in the course of a week or two
they had almost disappeared.
The horses, belonging to the officers, and fastened to the trees near the
tents, would frequently strain the halter to its full length, rearing high
in the air, with a loud snort of terror, as a shell would explode near. I
could hear them in the night cry out in the midst of the uproar, ending in
a low, plaintive whinny of fear.
The poor creatures subsisted entirely on cane tops and mulberry leaves.
Many of the mules and horses had been driven outside of the lines, by
order of General Pemberton, for subsistence. Only mules enough were left,
belonging to the Confederacy, to allow three full teams to a regiment.
Private property was not interfered with.
Sitting in the cave, one evening, I heard the most heartrending screams
and moans. I was told that a mother had taken a child into a cave about a
hundred yards from us; and having laid it on its little bed, as the poor
woman believed, in safety, she took her seat near the entrance of the
cave. A mortar shell came rushing through the air, and fell with much
force, entering the earth above the sleeping child--cutting through into
the cave--oh! most horrible sight to the mother--crushing in the upper
part of the little sleeping head, and taking away the young innocent life
without a look or word of passing love to be treasured in the mother's
heart.
I sat near the square of moonlight, silent and sorrowful, hearing the sobs
and cries--hearing the moans of a mother for her dead child--the child
that a few moments since lived to caress and love--speaking the tender
words that endear so much the tie of mother and child. Oh, the little
lonely grave! so far distant, yet so ever present with me; the sunny,
auburn head that I laid there six months after this terrible war began!
I could not hear those sobs and cries without thinking of the night--that
last night--when I held my darling to my heart, thinking that, though so
suddenly stricken and so scared, she would still live to bless my life.
And the terrible awakening!--to find that, lying in my arms all my own, as
I believed, she was going swiftly--going into the far unknown eternity!
Sliding from my embrace, the precious life was called by One so mighty--so
all-powerful--yet so merciful, that I bowed my head in silence.
Still the moans from the bereaved mother came borne on the pleasant air,
floating through the silvery moonlit scene--saddening hearts that had
never known sorrow, and awakening chords of sympathy in hearts that before
had thrilled and suffered. Yet, "it is better to have loved and lost than
never to have loved at all." Yes, better the tender memory of a hidden
life that glows in our hearts forever; better, all will say who have known
the light and consolation given from on high, when we throw ourselves
before His Throne in utter wretchedness, and arise strong--strong in the
strength that never faileth--the Lord's strength. The desert that hath not
known the oases of life, though blasted and withered by the burning
sirocco that passeth over, cannot know the refreshing and gentle drops
that bring renewed and more tender verdure.
How very sad this life in Vicksburg!--how little security can we feel,
with so many around us seeing the morning light that will never more see
the night! I could not sit quietly within hearing of so much grief; and,
leaving my seat, I paced backward and forward before the low entrance of
my house. The court-house bell tolled twelve; and though the shells fell
slowly still around the spot where the young life had gone out, yet
friends were going to and from the place.
How blightingly the hand of warfare lay upon the town! even in the
softening light of the moon--the closed and desolate houses--the gardens,
with gates half open, and cattle standing amid the loveliest flowers and
verdure! This carelessness of appearance and evident haste of departure
was visible everywhere--the inhabitants, in this perilous time, feeling
only anxiety for personal safety and the strength of their cave homes.
The moans of pain came slowly and more indistinct, until all was silent;
and the bereaved mother slept, I hope--slept to find, on waking, a dull
pressure of pain at her heart, and in the first collection of faculties
will wonder what it is. Then her care for the child will return, and the
new sorrow will again come to her--gone, forever gone!
It will take days to fully realize it, and then she will struggle and grow
strong. God in his mercy helps the poor human hearts that suffer,
struggle, and grow strong in these sad years of warfare! No one came
now--no word to show that life still throbbed in the silent city.
The fresh air told of the coming morning: the guns were still. Peace for a
short time reigned in the troubled city; and, in the perfect quiet that
prevailed, my eyes grew heavy, and I once more sought my bed--this time to
rest peacefully until the cheerful morning light dawned upon us.