"BRAVE SURVIVORS" HOMEWARD BOUND.
Bitter grief for the past, which seemed to be forever lost, and present
humiliation, could not long suppress the anxious thought and question,
"What now?" The discussion of the question brought relief from the
horrid feeling of vacuity which oppressed the soldier and introduced him
to the new sensations of liberty of choice, freedom of action--full
responsibility. For capital he had a clear conscience, a brave heart,
health, strength, and a good record. With these he sought his home.
Early in the morning of Wednesday, the 12th of April, without the
stirring drum or the bugle call of old, the camp awoke to the new life.
Whether or not they had a country these soldiers did not know. Home to
many, when they reached it, was graves and ashes. At any rate there must
be, somewhere on earth, a better place than a muddy, smoky camp in a
piece of scrubby pines--better company than gloomy, hungry comrades and
inquisitive enemies, and something in the future more exciting, if not
more hopeful, than nothing to eat, nowhere to sleep, nothing to do, and
nowhere to go. The disposition to start was apparent, and the
preparations were promptly begun.
To roll up the old blanket and oil-cloth, gather up the haversack,
canteen, axe, perhaps, and a few trifles, in time of peace of no value,
eat the fragments that remained, and light a pipe, was the work of a few
moments. This slight employment, coupled with pleasant anticipations of
the unknown, and therefore possibly enjoyable future, served to restore
somewhat the usual light-hearted manner of soldiers, and relieve the
final farewells of much of their sadness. There was even a smack of hope
and cheerfulness as the little groups sallied out into the world to
combat they scarcely knew what. As we cannot follow all these groups, we
will join ourselves to one and see them home.
Two "brothers-in-arms," whose objective point is Richmond, take the road
on foot. They have nothing to eat and no money. They are bound for their
home in a city, which, when they last heard from it, was in flames. What
they will see when they arrive there they cannot imagine; but the
instinctive love of home urges them. They walk on steadily and rapidly
and are not diverted by surroundings. It does not even occur to them
that their situation, surrounded on all sides by armed enemies and
walking a road crowded with them, is at all novel. They are suddenly
roused to a sense of their situation by a sharp "Halt! show your
parole!" They had struck the cordon of picket posts which surrounded the
surrendered army. It was the first exercise of authority by the Federal
army. A sergeant, accompanied by a couple of muskets, stepped into the
road, with a modest air examined the paroles and said quietly, "Pass
on."
The strictly military part of the operation being over, the social
commenced. As the two "survivors" moved on they were followed by
numerous remarks, such as "Hello! Johnny, I say! going home?" "Ain't you
glad!" They made no reply, these wayfarers, but they _thought_ some very
_emphatic remarks_.
From this point "On to Richmond!" was the grand thought. Steady work it
was. The road, strangely enough considering the proximity of two armies,
was quite lonesome, and not an incident of interest occurred during the
day. Darkness found the two comrades still pushing on.
Some time after dark a light was seen a short distance ahead and there
was a "sound of revelry." On approaching, the light was found to proceed
from a large fire, built on the floor of an old and dilapidated
outhouse, and surrounded by a ragged, hungry, singing, and jolly crowd
of paroled prisoners of the Army of Northern Virginia, who had gotten
possession of a quantity of corn meal and were waiting for the ash-cakes
then in the ashes. Being liberal, they offered the new-comers some of
their bread. Being hungry, the "survivors" accepted--and eat their first
meal that day. Here seemed a good place to spend the night, but the
party in possession were so noisy, and finally so quarrelsome and
disagreeable generally, that the "survivors," after a short rest, pushed
on in the darkness, determined, if possible, to find some shelter more
quiet. The result was a night march, which was continued till the
morning dawned.
Thursday morning they entered the village of Buckingham Court House, and
traded a small pocket mirror for a substantial breakfast. There was
quite a crowd of soldiers gathered around a cellar door, trying to
persuade an ex-Confederate A.A.A. Commissary of Subsistence that he
might as well, in view of the fact that the army had surrendered, let
them have some of his stores; and, after considerable persuasion and
some threats, he relinquished the hope of keeping them for himself, and
told the men to help themselves. They did so.
The people of the village did not exactly doubt the _fact_ of the
surrender, but evidently thought matters had been _somewhat
exaggerated_, facts suppressed, and everything allowed to fall into a
very doubtful condition. Confederate money would not pass, however;
_that_ was settled _beyond doubt_.
As the two tramps were about to leave the village, and were hurrying
along the high road which led through it, they saw a solitary horseman
approaching from their rear. It was easy to recognize at once General
Lee. He rode slowly, calmly along. As he passed an old tavern on the
roadside, some ladies and children waved their handkerchiefs, smiled,
and wept. The General turned his eyes to the porch on which they stood,
and slowly putting his hand to his hat, raised it slightly, and as
slowly again dropped his hand to his side. The survivors did not weep,
but they had strange sensations. They pushed on, steering, so to speak,
for Cartersville and the ferry.
Before leaving the village it was the sad duty of the survivors to stop
at the humble abode of Mrs. P., and tell her of the death of her
husband, who fell mortally wounded, pierced by a musket ball, near
Sailor's Creek. She was also told that a comrade who was by his side
when he fell, but who was not able to stay with him, would come along
soon and give her the particulars. That comrade came and repeated the
story. In a few days the "dead man" reached home alive and scarcely
hurt. He was originally an infantryman, recently transferred to
artillery, and therefore wore a small knapsack, as infantrymen did. The
ball struck the knapsack with a "whack!" and knocked the man down. That
was all.
Some time during the night the travelers reached the ferry at
Cartersville. Darkness and silence prevailed there. Loud and continued
shouts brought no ferryman, and eager searchings revealed no boat. The
depth of the water being a thing unknown and not easily found out, it
was obviously prudent to camp for the night.
On the river's edge there was an old building which seemed a brick one;
one wall near the water's edge. A flight of steep, rough steps led to an
open door on the second floor. Up these steps climbed the weary men.
Inside there was absolute darkness, but there was shelter from the wind.
Feeling about on the floor they satisfied themselves of its cleanliness
and dryness. The faithful old blankets were once more spread, their
owners laid down and at once fell into a deep sleep which was not broken
till morning. The room was surprisingly small. When the soldiers
entered they had no idea of the size of it, and went to sleep with the
impression that it was very large. The morning revealed its
dimensions--about ten by twelve feet. The ferryman was early at his
post, and put the travelers across cheerfully without charge.
[Illustration: ANY BUTTERMILK AUNTY]
Soon after crossing, a good silver-plated table-spoon, bearing the
monogram of one of the travelers, purchased from an aged colored woman a
large chunk of ash-cake and about half a gallon of buttermilk. This old
darkey had lived in Richmond in her younger days. She spoke of grown men
and women there as "children whar I raised." "Lord! boss, does you know
Miss Sadie? Well, I nussed her and I nussed all uv them chillun; that I
did, sah! Yawl chillun does look hawngry, that you does. Well, you's
welcome to them vittles, and I'm powful glad to git dis spoon. God bless
you, honey!" A big log on the roadside furnished a seat for the
comfortable consumption of the before-mentioned ash-cake and milk. The
feast was hardly begun when the tramp of a horse's hoofs was heard.
Looking up the survivors saw, with surprise, General Lee approaching. He
was entirely alone, and rode slowly along. Unconscious that any one saw
him, he was yet erect, dignified, and apparently as calm and peaceful as
the fields and woods around him. Having caught sight of the occupants of
the log, he kept his eyes fixed on them, and as he passed, turned
slightly, saluted, and said, in the most gentle manner: "Good morning,
gentlemen; taking your breakfast?" The soldiers had only time to rise,
salute, and say "Yes, sir!" and he was gone.
Having finished as far as they were able the abundant meal furnished by
the liberality of the good "old mammy," the travelers resumed their
journey greatly refreshed.
It seems that General Lee pursued the road which the survivors chose,
and, starting later than they, overtook them, he being mounted and they
on foot. At any rate, it was their good fortune to see him three
times between Appomattox and Richmond. The incidents introducing General
Lee are peculiarly interesting, and while the writer is in doubt as to
the _day_ on which the next and last incident occurred, the reader may
rest assured of the truthfulness of the narration.
[Illustration: GOOD MORNING, GENTLEMEN.]
About the time when men who have eaten a hearty breakfast become again
hungry--as good fortune would have it happen--the travellers reached a
house pleasantly situated, and a comfortable place withal. Approaching
the house they were met by an exceedingly kind, energetic, and
hospitable woman. She promptly asked, "You are not deserters?" "No,"
said the soldiers, "we have our paroles. We are from Richmond; we are
homeward bound, and called to ask if you could spare us a dinner?"
"Spare you a dinner? certainly I can. My husband is a miller; his mill
is right across the road there, down the hill, and I have been cooking
all day for the poor starving men. Take a seat on the porch there and I
will get you something to eat." By the time the travelers were seated,
this admirable woman was in the kitchen at work. The "pat-a-pat, pat,
pat, pat, pat-a-pat-a-pat" of the sifter, and the cracking and "fizzing"
of the fat bacon as it fried, saluted their hungry ears, and the
delicious smell tickled their olfactory nerves most delightfully.
Sitting thus, entertained by delightful sounds, breathing the fragrant
air, and wrapped in meditation,--or anticipation rather,--the soldiers
saw the dust rise in the air, and heard the sound of an approaching
party.
Several horsemen rode up to the road-gate, threw their bridles over the
posts or tied to the overhanging boughs, and dismounted. They were
evidently officers, well dressed, fine looking men, and about to enter
the gate. Almost at once the men on the porch recognized General Lee and
his son. An ambulance had arrived at the gate also. Without delay the
party entered and approached the house, General Lee preceding the
others. Satisfied that it was the General's intention to enter the
house, the two "brave survivors" instinctively and respectfully,
venerating the approaching man, determined to give him and his
companions the porch. As they were executing a rather rapid and
undignified flank movement to gain the right and rear of the house, the
voice of General Lee overhauled them, thus: "Where are you men going?"
"This lady has offered to give us a dinner, and we are waiting for it,"
replied the soldiers. "Well, you had better move on now--this gentleman
will have quite a large party on him to-day," said the General. The
soldiers touched their caps, said "Yes, sir," and retired, somewhat
hurt, to a strong position on a hencoop in the rear of the house. The
party then settled on the porch.
The General had, of course, no authority, and the surrender of the porch
was purely respectful. Knowing this the soldiers were at first hurt, but
a moment's reflection satisfied them that the General was right. He _had
suspicions of plunder_, and these were increased by the movement of the
men to the rear as he approached. He _misinterpreted their conduct_.
The lady of the house (_a reward for her name_!) hearing the dialogue in
the yard, pushed her head through the crack of the kitchen door, and, as
she tossed a lump of dough from hand to hand and gazed eagerly out,
addressed the soldiers: "Ain't that old General Lee?" "Yes; General Lee
and his son and other officers come to dine with you," they replied.
"Well," she said, "he ain't no better than the men that fought for him,
and I don't reckon he is as hungry; so you just come in here. I am going
to give you yours first, and then I'll get something for him!"
What a meal it was! Seated at the kitchen table, the large-hearted woman
bustling about and talking away, the ravenous tramps attacked a pile of
old Virginia hoe-cake and corn-dodger, a frying pan with an inch of
gravy and slices of bacon, streak of lean and streak of fat, very
numerous. To finish--as much rich buttermilk as the drinkers could
contain. With many heartfelt thanks the survivors bid farewell to this
immortal woman, and leaving the General and his party in quiet
possession of the front porch, pursued their way.
Night found the survivors at the gate of a quite handsome, framed,
country residence. The weather was threatening, and it was desirable to
have shelter as well as rest. Entering, and knocking at the door, they
were met by a servant girl. She was sent to her mistress with a request
for permission to sleep on her premises. The servant returned, saying,
"Mistis say she's a widder, and there ain't no gentleman in the house,
and she can't let you come in." She was sent with a second message,
which informed the lady that the visitors were from Richmond, members of
a certain company from there, and would be content to sleep on the
porch, in the stable, or in the barn. They would protect her property,
etc., etc., etc.
This brought the lady of the house to the door. She said, "If you are
members of the ---- ----, you must know my nephew; he was in that
company." Of course they knew him. "Old chum," "Comrade," "Particular
friend," "Splendid fellow," "Hope he was well when you heard from him.
Glad to meet you, madam!" These and similar hearty expressions brought
the longed for "Come in, gentlemen; you are welcome. I will see that
supper is prepared for you at once." (Invitation accepted.)
The old haversacks were deposited in a corner under the steps, and their
owners conducted down-stairs to a spacious dining-room, quite prettily
furnished. A large table occupied the centre of the room, and at one
side there was a handsome display of silver in a glass-front case. A
good big fire lighted the room. The lady sat quietly working at some
woman's work, and from time to time questioning, in a _rather
suspicious_ manner, her guests. Their correct answers satisfied her, and
their respectful manner reassured her, so that by the time supper was
brought in she was chatting and laughing with her "defenders."
The supper came in steaming hot. It was abundant, well prepared, and
served elegantly. Splendid coffee, hot biscuit, luscious butter, fried
ham, eggs, fresh milk! The writer could not expect to be believed if he
should tell the quantity eaten at that meal. The good lady of the house
enjoyed the sight. She relished every mouthful, and no doubt realized
then and there the blessing which is conferred on hospitality, and the
truth of that saying of old: "It is more blessed to give than to
receive."
The wayfarers were finally shown to a neat little chamber. The bed was
soft and glistening white. Too white and clean to be soiled by the
occupancy of two Confederate soldiers who had not had a change of
underclothing for many weeks. They looked at it, felt of it, spread
their old blankets on the neat carpet, and slept there till near the
break of day.
While it was yet dark the travelers, unwilling to lose time waiting for
breakfast, crept out of the house, leaving their thanks for their kind
hostess, and pressed rapidly on to Manikin Town, on the James River and
Kanawha Canal, half a day's march from Richmond, where they arrived
while it was yet early morning. The green sward between the canal and
river was inviting, and the survivors laid there awhile to rest and
determine whether or not they would push on to the city. They decided to
do so as soon as they could find a breakfast to fit them for the day's
march.
A short walk placed them at the yard gate of a house prominent by reason
of its size and finish. Everything indicated comfort, plenty, and
freedom from the ravages of war. The proprietor, a well-fed, hearty man,
of not more than forty-two or three, who, as a soldier could tell at a
glance, had never seen a day's service, stood behind the tall gate, and,
without a motion towards opening it, replied to the cheery "Good
morning, sir," of the soldiers with a sullen "morn; what do you want
here?" "We are from Richmond, sir, members of the --------. We are on
our way home from Appomattox, where the army was surrendered, and called
to ask if you could spare us something to eat before we start on the
day's march." "Oh, yes! _I_ know about the surrender, _I_ do. Some
scoundrels were here last night and stole my best mare, d--- 'em! No, I
don't want any more of such cattle here," replied the patriot. (A
_large_ reward for _his_ name.) The foragers, having worked for a meal
before and being less sensitive than "penniless gentlemen" sometimes
are, replied, "_We_ are not horse-thieves or beggars. If you do not feel
that it would be a pleasure and a privilege to feed us, _don't do it_.
We don't propose to press the matter."
At last he said, "Come in, then; I'll see what I can do." The seekers
after food accepted the ungracious invitation, followed the dog through
his yard and into his house, and took seats at his table. At a signal
from the master a servant went out. The host followed, and, it is
supposed, instructed her. The host returned, and was soon followed by
the servant bearing two plates, which were placed before the survivors.
Alas! that they should "survive" to see that the plates contained the
heads, tails, fins, and vertebrae of the fish, fresh from the river,
which the family of this hero and sufferer from the evils of war had
devoured at their early, and, no doubt, cozy breakfast.
Survivor No. 1 looked at Survivor No. 2, Survivor No. 2 looked at
Survivor No. 1, and simultaneously they rose to their feet, glanced at
the "host," and strode to and out of the door. The "host" followed,
amazed. "What's the matter, gentlemen? You did not eat." The "poor
soldiers" replied: "No, we didn't eat; we are not dogs. Permit us to say
we are satisfied it would be an injustice to the canine race to call
_you_ one. You deserve to lose another mare. You are meaner than any
epithets at our command."
The man fairly trembled. His face was pale with rage, but he dared not
reply as he would. Recovering himself, and seeing an "odorous" name in
the future, he attempted apology and reparation for the insult, and
complete reconciliation. "Oh, come in, come in! I'll have something
cooked for you. Sorry the mistake occurred. All right, all right, boys;
come in," pulling and patting the "boys." But the boys wouldn't "go
in." On the contrary, they stayed out persistently, and, before they
left that gate, heaped on its owner all the contempt, disdain, and scorn
which they could express; flung at him all the derisive epithets which
four years in the army places at a man's disposal; pooh poohed at his
hypocritical regrets; and shaking off the dust of that place from their
feet, pushed on to the city, the smoke of which rose to heaven.
At eleven A.M. of the same day, two footsore, despondent, and
penniless men stood facing the ruins of the home of a comrade who had
sent a message to his mother. "Tell mother I am coming." The ruins yet
smoked. A relative of the lady whose home was in ashes, and whose son
said "I am coming," stood by the survivors. "Well, then," he said, "it
must be true that General Lee has surrendered." The solemnity of the
remark, coupled with the certainty in the minds of the survivors, was
almost amusing. The relative pointed out the temporary residence of the
mother, and thither the survivors wended their way.
A knock at the door startled the mother, and, with agony in her eyes,
she appeared at the open door, exclaiming, "My poor boys!"--"Are safe,
and coming home," said the survivors. "Thank God!" said the mother, and
the tears flowed down her cheeks.
A rapid walk through ruined and smoking streets, some narrow escapes
from negro soldiers on police duty, the satisfaction of seeing two of
the "boys in blue" hung up by their thumbs for pillaging, a few
handshakings, and the survivors found their way to the house of a
relative where they did eat bread with thanks.
A friend informed the survivors that farm hands were needed all around
the city. They made a note of the name of one farmer. Saturday night the
old blankets were spread on the parlor floor. Sunday morning, the 16th
of April, they bid farewell to the household, and started for the
farmer's house.
As they were about to start away, the head of the family took from his
pocket a handful of odd silver pieces, and extending it to his guests,
told them it was all he had, but they were _welcome to half of it_!
Remembering that he had a wife and three or four children to feed, the
soldiers smiled through _their_ tears at his, bade him keep it all, and
"weep for himself rather than for them." So saying, they departed, and
at sundown were at the farmer's house, fourteen miles away. Monday
morning, the 17th, they "beat their swords" (muskets, in this case) into
plow-shares, and did the first day's work of the _sixty_ which the
simple farmer secured at a cost to himself of about _half rations_ for
two men. Behold the gratitude of a people!