When the boys reached home it was pitch-dark. They found their mother
very anxious about them. They gave an account of the "battle," as they
called it, telling all about the charge, in which, by their statement,
the General and Hugh did wonderful deeds. Their mother and Cousin
Belle sat and listened with tightly folded hands and blanched faces.
Then they told how they found the wounded Yankee soldier on the bank,
and about his death. They were startled by seeing their Cousin Belle
suddenly fall on her knees and throw herself across their mother's lap
in a passion of tears. Their mother put her arms around the young
girl, kissed and soothed her.
Early the next morning their mother had an ox-cart (the only vehicle
left on the place), sent down to the spot to bring the body of the
soldier up to Oakland, so that it might be buried in the grave-yard
there. Carpenter William made the coffin, and several men were set to
work to dig the grave in the garden.
It was about the middle of the day when the cart came back. A sheet
covered the body. The little cortege was a very solemn one, the
steers pulling slowly up the hill and a man walking on each side. Then
the body was put into the coffin and reverently carried to the grave.
The boys' mother read the burial service out of the prayer-book, and
afterward Uncle William Slow offered a prayer. Just as they were about
to turn away, the boys' mother began to sing, "Abide with me; fast
falls the eventide." She and Cousin Belle and the boys sang the hymn
together, and then all walked sadly away, leaving the fresh mound in
the garden, where birds peeped curiously from the lilac-bushes at the
soldier's grave in the warm, light of the afternoon sun.
A small packet of letters and a gold watch and chain, found in the
soldier's pocket, were sealed up by the boys' mother and put in her
bureau drawer, for they could not then be sent through the lines.
There was one letter, however, which they buried with him. It
contained two locks of hair, one gray, the other brown and curly.
* * * * *
The next few months brought no new incidents, but the following year
deep gloom fell upon Oakland. It was not only that the times were
harder than they had ever been--though the plantation was now utterly
destitute; there were no provisions and no crops, for there were no
teams. It was not merely that a shadow was settling down on all the
land; for the boys did not trouble themselves about these things,
though such anxieties were bringing gray hairs to their mother's
temples.
The General had been wounded and captured during a cavalry fight. The
boys somehow connected their Cousin Belle with the General's capture,
and looked on her with some disfavor. She and the General had
quarrelled a short time before, and it was known that she had returned
his ring. When, therefore, he was shot through the body and taken by
the enemy, the boys could not admit that their cousin had any right to
stay up-stairs in her own room weeping about it. They felt that it was
all her own fault, and they told her so; whereupon she simply burst
out crying and ran from the room.
The hard times grew harder. The shadow deepened. Hugh was wounded and
captured in a charge at Petersburg, and it was not known whether he
was badly hurt or not. Then came the news that Richmond had been
evacuated. The boys knew that this was a defeat; but even then they
did not believe that the Confederates were beaten. Their mother was
deeply affected by the news.
That night at least a dozen of the negroes disappeared. The other
servants said the missing ones had gone to Richmond "to get their
papers."
A week or so later the boys heard the rumor that General Lee had
surrendered at a place called Appomattox. When they came home and told
their mother what they had heard, she turned as pale as death, arose,
and went into her chamber. The news was corroborated next day. During
the following two days, every negro on the plantation left, excepting
lame old Sukey Brown. Some of them came and said they had to go to
Richmond, that "the word had come" for them. Others, including even
Uncle Balla and Lucy Ann, slipped away by night.
After that their mother had to cook, and the boys milked and did the
heavier work. The cooking was not much trouble, however, for
black-eyed pease were about all they had to eat.
One afternoon, the second day after the news of Lee's surrender, the
boys, who had gone to drive up the cows to be milked, saw two
horsemen, one behind the other, coming slowly down the road on the far
hill. The front horse was white, and, as their father rode a white
horse, they ran toward the house to carry the news. Their mother and
Cousin Belle, however, having seen the horsemen, were waiting on the
porch as the men came through the middle gate and rode across the
field.
It was their father and his body-servant, Ralph, who had been with him
all through the war. They came slowly up the hill; the horses limping
and fagged, the riders dusty and drooping.
It seemed like a funeral. The boys were near the steps, and their
mother stood on the portico with her forehead resting against a
pillar. No word was spoken. Into the yard they rode at a walk, and up
to the porch. Then their father, who had not once looked up, put both
hands to his face, slipped from his horse, and walked up the steps,
tears running down his cheeks, and took their mother into his arms. It
_was_ a funeral--the Confederacy was dead.
A little later, their father, who had been in the house, came out on
the porch near where Ralph still stood holding the horses.
"Take off the saddles, Ralph, and turn the horses out," he said.
Ralph did so.
"Here,--here's my last dollar. You have been a faithful servant to me.
Put the saddles on the porch." It was done. "You are free," he said to
the black, and then he walked back into the house.
Ralph stood where he was for some minutes without moving a muscle. His
eyes blinked mechanically. Then he looked at the door and at the
windows above him. Suddenly he seemed to come to himself. Turning
slowly, he walked solemnly out of the yard.