EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIVE! _Annus iræ!_ Year of blood and tears,
famine and oppression! God send that Time’s womb may be barren ere such
another offspring shall curse our land!
Could one behold, as in a panorama, the South of ‘60 and the South of
‘65, even a devil would weep over the ruin wrought in five years.
In the one picture he would see wide-spreading fields, with waving,
luxuriant crops, worked by throngs of joyous light-hearted negroes,
who sing, in a resounding chorus, as they guide their sleek teams up
and down the fertile furrows; he would see long villages of negro
quarters, each house with its garden and patch, its pig and chickens,
and its happy children playing at the door, while within some old
camp-meeting hymn is mingling with the drone of the wheel and the clack
of the loom; he would see premises adorned with all the appliances of
wealth, stables filled with blooded stock, pastures grazed by herds
of purest breed, kennels filled with well trained dogs, gardens of
roses, orchards of fruit, and groves of magnificent oaks, amid which
towers the stately mansion, its windows aglow with hospitality, and its
porches thronged with fair faces and noble forms.
In the other he would see the broad fields lying idle and waste, the
ditches overflowed, the fences broken down; no chorus sounds, no life
is seen save in a distant corner of the field, where a “fourth part
tenant” plows a little steer around an arid patch of corn. He would
see the quarters all deserted, the children gone, the wheel still,
and the loom silent, the very doors holding their wooden lips ajar to
speak “desolation!” He would see dotted over the country the squalid
huts of the freedmen, their children sick, and no one to secure the
doctor’s pay, that he may attend; their mortgage on the crop, made to
the nearest merchant, for their year’s support, consumed in midsummer
by their own extravagance, and the invariable bull, scarce able to
plow an hour in the day for want of food. Oh, Boston! “Hub of the
Universe!” “Cradle of Freedom!” You drove a sharp trade indeed with
Africa’s children when you gave them the ballot in exchange for life,
and comfort, and home! He would see the mansion amid the oaks, if
standing at all, standing silent and drear, the smoke only rising from
one chimney, the shutters all closed, and a woman in black walking
wearily up and down the gloomy hall, while down in the garden, under
the willow, rests a marble slab, with the inscription: “Killed at the
battle of Somewhere.”
But, as I was saying, it was the spring of ‘65.
The great army of Sherman had wound its blasting way from Atlanta to
the sea. In its trail lay ashes and ruin; lone, blackened chimneys,
plundered cities, and weeping women. The ever ascending smoke told
its course; not the white smoke of honorable battle, but thick black
volumes from burning homes, that, like the ink of a recording angel,
wrote their hellish deeds upon the scroll of the sky.
Day after day our wary General fell slowly back before thrice his
numbers, checking them, wherever he could, with a fight, and retreating
after the fight, ere they could crush him by heavier forces. Back,
still back, retreating with undaunted hearts, but alas! too few;
skirmishing at Fayetteville, battling at Averasboro’, the 17th March
found us not far from Goldsboro’ and near my home; but between us and
that dear spot was part of Sherman’s army and the commands of Schofield
and Terry, who had met, one from Newbern, the other from Wilmington, in
Goldsboro’. I had not heard from Carlotta since leaving General Lee’s
army, and for her and mother’s safety I dared not hope. Mr. Bemby was
their only protection, and with the Yankee army in Goldsboro’, I knew
that one hour would suffice for the house to be rifled and themselves
insulted. The agony of my suspense was terrible; to be so near home and
yet not be able to see my wife and child. My fears and anxiety almost
maddened me, and I seemed to hear continually their cries for help and
protection.
Ben and I had been sitting in our tent, as the day drew to a close,
talking of our loved ones and thinking of some plan by which we could
get to them, when he rose and said:
“It’s no use a talkin’ ‘bout it, John, I’m goin’ through the lines;
I’ll be darned if I musn’t see Viny and the young ones.”
“I’ll go with you, Ben,” I said; “shall we start tonight?”
“No, siree! not ef you think much of yer head; a Yankee would kill a
angel ef he caught him flying in the night.”
“It will be impossible to pass them in the day,” I said, impatient of
delay.
“Lem’me take keer of that,” he said, rising; “I’m goin’ to see Gen.
Johnston now and get two days’ leave of absence, and we’ll git to the
old man’s to-morrow night, or the devil may take my nose to plow ashes.”
He passed out under the flap of the tent, but in a second rushed back,
dragging in an old negro man.
“Look here, John,” he exclaimed, “here’s Horace, he can tell us
somethin’ ‘bout our folks.”
I sprang forward to the old man, who stood grinning in the door, and
grasped his arm.
“Horace, for God’s sake, tell me about Carlotta and mother! are they
safe?”
“Well, Marse John,” said Horace, with great deliberation, looking at me
with love and pride, “Sho nough, dis is you, but you is changed a sight
sence I seen you; you’s puttier’n ever.”
But I was in no mood for empty compliments, and led him in the tent
almost rudely, as I pointed to a stool, and said:
“Sit down, Horace, and don’t speak another word about any subject till
you have told me something of home.”
He shook his head slowly two or three times as he replied:
“U’m—m! dere’s news enough, Marse John, and bad at that.”
“Have the Yankees been at our house yet?” I asked.
“Yes, sir, I should say they has, but they won’t come again—not to the
house.”
“Why?” I asked, leaning forward eagerly, “What will prevent them?”
“Dere ‘aint no house for ’em to come to, it’s done burnt clean to de
groun’.”
“Burnt down!” exclaimed Ben and I, in one breath.
“That it is; but I’m mighty forgetful, here’s a letter from Miss
C’lotta.”
He took off his old torn hat, and lifting up the lining, took out
the back of an envelope, soiled and crumpled, and handed it to me. I
snatched it eagerly and read—
“DEAR JOHN:
I write on this little scrap hastily, to let you hear something from
us. Uncle Horace, who has alone been faithful, promises to get it
to you, if he can. The Yankees have taken every thing from us, and
burned the house. Darling mother, in escaping, was struck on the head
by a piece of falling timber, and is in a most critical condition. My
precious boy and myself are safe. We are now at Mr. Bemby’s, whose
house escaped, though his supplies did not, and we have to depend on
his and Uncle Horace’s ingenuity for our daily support. I feel I shall
almost go mad with our trouble. God help me to bear it, and forgive my
wild wicked thoughts! I fear you will be insane with fury when I tell
you that Frank Paning was with the soldiers, piloting them around, and
was very insulting to me. I cannot write more.
CARLOTTA.”
“May God help me to be revenged!” I shouted, crushing the letter in my
hand, as I sprang to my feet.
Ben rushed to my side, and, clasping our hands, we held our revolvers
above our heads, and registered a fearful oath of vengeance or death.
Then my feelings quieted down enough for me to turn to Horace, who was
looking at us with a frightened gaze.
“Horace, may Heaven bless you as you deserve. Here is the only reward
I can make you now; take it all,” I said, drawing a large roll of
Confederate money from my belt.
“No, sir!” said the old man, proudly, “I don’t want nothin’ for taking
keer of Mistis and Miss C’lotta; ‘sides, that ain’t no ‘count ‘mongst
dem blue coat debbels in Goldsboro’.”
“When did you leave home?” asked Ben, as I put back my currency, rather
crestfallen at Horace’s very sensible reason for refusing it.
“Yistiddy mornin’. I been in camp all to-day trying to find you and
Marse John, but dere’s so many solgers comin’ and gwine I was in a pyo
maze like.”
“Horace, tell me all those scoundrels did,” I said, reading over the
letter again. “Don’t leave out anything.”
“Well, you see, Marse John,” he said, taking off his hat and laying
it on the ground, while he wiped his forehead with a very dingy red
handkerchief, “we hears de Yankees is comin’ up from Newb’n, and Mistis
axes me to hide de silver things, an’ I like a fool gets Reuben to help
me, ‘cause Reuben swears he love Mistis better’n all de Yankees in de
world. That’s how come de silver gone, in the fust place. Den we hears
they is in Goldsboro’, and next morning, by sun up, a whole squad comes
gallopin’ up to the house, and bust de crib door open, and gets out de
corn. I was standin’ by, and says: ‘Dere ain’t much corn dere, ‘cause
Wheeler’s folks got some yistiddy;’ and they say, ‘What Wheeler’s
folks?’ skeered like. I say: ‘Some folks on horses that come from
todes Fa’teville, and stopped all night down in dem woods yonder.’ Den
dey jumped on dere horses ‘thout puttin’ ary foot in de stirrup, an’
lumbers down de road ‘thout techin de corn.”
“But tell me about the house, Horace,” I exclaimed impatiently. “I
don’t care about the crib and Wheeler’s men.”
“I’m a gittin to it, Marse John. You see mistis was poorly, and was
stayin’ in bed, and every one de niggers lef’, an’ I had to cook, and
tote water, an’ do every thing ‘bout de house; an’ that day, ‘bout
dinner time, I see a dozen blue coats come dustin’ down de road. An’
‘fore I c’d git to de house dey done kicked de door open, and was all
over de rooms; and de first man I see was Frank Paning, and he had on
a blue newniform, too. He knowed me, and looked sorter mean, but put
on like he never been dere b’fore. They was all rippin’ and cussin’
all over de house, and Miss C’lotta she come and stood in mistis’ room
door, and her eyes was like coals er fire; but they never noticed her,
only Paning say ‘gim me de keys, my beauty!’”
“The villain!” I muttered, grinding my nails into my flesh.
“At last one on ’em foun’ de key basket, and den dey begun in earness.
They took out all dere was to eat in de pantry, and drunk up and spilt
all de wine; they eat some of the preserves, and bust the glass jars on
de floor; they kicked open de ole clock, and split the pianner led wid
one er de weights. Then dey swore they was gwine to have some silver
an’ gold, or burn up de house; and they went into mistis’ room, where
she was sick in de bed, and cussed her, and asked her where de silver
was. Mistis, nor Miss C’lotta neither, never said a word, an’ one great
big fellow, with cross eyes, come up to de bed and say: ‘Look here,
ole gal! that won’t do; you got to hustle out er them bed close; you’s
silver sick, I reckon.’ And mistis sees Frank Paning then, and says:
‘Mr. Paning, for de sake of de pass pertect me!’ an’ Paning says, ‘I
don’t know you; git up!’ and two on ’em ketches mistis by de arm and
jerks her outen de bed on de floor, and mistis faints like, while Miss
C’lotta holds her head in her arms and cries. De Yankees rips up de bed
and scatters de feathers all over de room, and when they find nothin’,
one on ’em say, ‘Less leave; and Paning steps up to Miss C’lotta and
says: ‘Ef I can’t git silver I’ll take a kiss,’ and smacks her right
on de cheek; and then Miss C’lotta was mad for true. She jumped up
quicker’n lightning and jerks a little bit er blue pistol outen her
pocket, an’ ‘fore Paning could git away bang! went de little pistol,
and Paning clap’d his hand to his shoulder and says, ‘Damnation! the
fool has shot me,’ an’ he pulls out his sode and starts todes her, and
Miss C’lotta was a standin’ lookin’ straight at him with de little
pistol levelled; and a tall man, that hadn’t said much, kotch Paning
by de arm, and say, ‘That’s a woman; let her ‘lone,’ and den dey all
leaves. Then Miss C’lotta told me to run and fetch some water, and when
I fotch the piggin I seed that de house was on fire, and de room was a
fillin’ with smoke. Miss C’lotta tuk some shawls and ropped mistis up,
and tole me to help tote her out, for de fire was all over de house.
And then we starts out, mistis tryin’ to walk, an’ little Johnny a
holden on to Miss C’lotta and cryin’, and jus’ as we gits to de front
door a piece of scantlin’ fell outen de top of de porch and hits mistis
plump on de head, and she fell——.”
“Hush, Horace, for the love of God, hush!” I groaned, as I staggered to
my cot in the corner. “Do not tell me any more. Try to make your way
back to Mr. Bemby’s, and tell Carlotta we are going to make the attempt
to get to her. Ben, give him something to eat, please, and make your
arrangements for our trip.”
I turned over on my face, and lay in a kind of stupor. The horrors of
Horace’s narration seemed to paralyze all faculties of mind and body,
and while Ben was off perfecting his arrangements, I lay through most
of the night without moving, my ears ringing with Carlotta’s cries of
anguish, and my eyes scorching with the light of my burning home.
About daybreak I awoke from a fitful slumber, full of horrid dreams, to
find Ben standing near me with a large bundle on his arm, and a covered
basket in his hand. “Great Heavens!” I exclaimed, springing to my feet,
“this tame inaction will kill me. I must start now; if you will not go
with me, Ben, I must go alone.”
Ben put his bundles down with great deliberation, as he replied:
“John, you know I’d go to Satan’s summer house with you if you wan’t
goin’ to live there, but there _is_ such a thing as bein’ in too much
hurry. Less get somethin’ to eat first, for we ain’t goin’ to start
till after sun up, and we can’t stop to cook dinners. What we’ve got to
do ain’t like goin’ to preachin’ with your sweetheart, no how.”
I saw that he knew best, and let him have his own way.
“I have been to Gen. Johnston,” he said, drawing some papers from his
pocket, “and got two days leave of absence; here’s his pass through our
pickets. Now get your writing tricks and fill up this one as I say.”
He drew from among his papers a regular Federal pass, already printed,
with only the date and name to fill up, and gave it to me, telling
me to write it for Mrs. Sarah Jenkins and her son. It seemed to me a
foolish waste of time, but I did as directed, and signed it as all
adjutants do, with such a flourish and complicated A. A. G. that
Champollion would have been puzzled to decipher it.
“And now,” said Ben, taking the two passes, “string up your nerves
while I get breakfast, and then we’ll dress for the frolic.”
I ate some of the hard tack and drank the cup of coffee which he kindly
brought me, and told him I was ready.
“Hold on yit,” he said, as he finished his cup, “the sun’s jes’ gittin’
up. We must change our clothes—here, you put on these, as you ain’t
as tall as I am,” and he untied his bundle, and took out an old faded
calico dress, a white cap and a large fly bonnet.
“You see,” he said, as he spread out the articles, “we are bound to
rig up outlandish, for we can’t help seeing some of the Yanks. Here’s
mine,” and he produced an old home-spun suit and a wide-brim wool hat.
I now saw the design of his disguises, and giving his hand a warm grasp
for his sympathy and assistance, entered into his scheme and began to
make ready.
“I can tell you,” said Ben, talking while I was shaving off my beard,
“I had a hard time gittin’ these traps. I rode about ten mile last
night, and had to steal the bonnet at that, though I stuck a five
dollar Confed. on the fence where I grabbed it.”
After half an hour’s preparation I stood as complete an old woman, with
specs and muffled chin, as ever sold eggs or peddled cakes. Ben was his
old self again, and looked as essentially rustic as when he carried us
fishing when we were boys.
“Now we are ready,” said Ben, when we were fully disguised. “Less go;
don’t mind what our boys holler at you, it’ll help fool the Yankees
better.”
Just outside the tent door were two sorry looking horses, with rope
bridles, and a side saddle on one of them; beside them on the ground
was a hamper basket, with a cloth tied over it, and another smaller
basket full of eggs.
In reply to my regret that our horses looked so poor, Ben said that our
own were too good, that the Yankees would dismount us, and that these
would be no temptation.
I got up to my seat, and after some instructions from Ben as to how I
must hold my basket and how to hide my feet, we started off.
We took a circuitous route around Goldsboro’, and striking the Neuse,
kept down the bank of the river ‘till we were near our homes. So well
was Ben acquainted with every path through the woods that we did not
come in sight of a Yankee during the day, ‘till, just before sunset,
we came into the road leading to our house, at its junction with the
County road; and here we found three or four soldiers apparently on
picket duty. We rode carelessly up and, on being halted, presented
our passes, which were examined by one of the men, with the bars of a
corporal on his arm.
“All right, you can pass,” he said, returning the papers to Ben, while
I sat with my face averted and my shoulders bent as if I was very
decrepit. We had hardly started from the group when one of them called
out—
“Stop, old lady, let us see what you have in your basket.” Knowing that
the closeness of interview required by bargaining for eggs would lead
to our detection, I could not repress a tremor of apprehension; but Ben
instantly relieved my embarrassment by kicking my horse into a trot,
and saying in a loud tone:
“Go ‘long, mammy; don’t you know the man with stars on shoulder, what
give us the pass, tole us not to talk to folks that was standin’ guard?”
None of the soldiers said anything more to us and we rode on without
molestation. We had scarcely gone a mile when we came to the large gate
of our grove. It was standing open and strange cattle were browsing
under the oaks. We looked down the long avenue, and instead of the tall
white house, with its broad porch and door, distant woods, and the red
evening sky beyond, were all that caught the eye. We galloped hurriedly
down the avenue, and dismounted at the yard palings, a few steps in
front of the ruins. Where the house had been was now a heap of ashes,
that rose in little clouds as the March winds blew over them. The
tall, silent chimneys stood with their mouth-like fireplaces whispering
to each other of ruin and desolation, across the smouldering pile. The
old cedar near the house, under whose branches I had wept, as a boy,
over Lulie’s cruelty, was withered and blackened, and even the palings
on which we leaned were charred to coal. A broad rock chimney showed
where the kitchen had been; and the well house and dairy, which were
still standing, were scorched and blackened with the heat. There was
no sign of life on the premises; all was silent and still, the stables
were open and the horses gone, the negro houses all deserted, and not
even a dog lurked around the lot.
The very evening was full of dreariness! The sun had gone out behind
a hard, red sky, against which the wind blew in fitful gusts; now
with abortive blast, as if to rekindle the flame of day; now with a
frightened moan, as if afraid of the approach of night. The tall trees
along the river tossed and beat their long bare arms, as if they longed
to break their chains of root and flee from these scenes of waste and
woe. From the swaying top of one of them a solitary crow flew, with
black flapping wings, cawing as he came, and perched upon the topmost
bough of the old cedar, like a spirit of evil, his black feathers blown
into a ruff around his neck, and his head bobbing with every note, in
mockery of the desolation.
His voice broke the spell of our silence, and I turned to Ben. He was
standing with one hand on the gate post, the nails whitened by pressure
against the wood, and his grey eyes glowing as if there were lamps
behind them.
“Gracious God! what a sight!” I said, as I leaned against the paling
for support.
“Ah—h—h,” said Ben, the breath hissing through his clenched teeth,
“and it’s lit up a devil’s bonfire in here it’ll take blood to put
out,” and he tapped his breast, where the protrusion of a revolver
could be faintly seen.
“But think, Ben, of Paning’s doing all this. A double-dyed villain! to
burn the very house that has sheltered him, and insult a woman whose
hospitality he has received! _He_ here at my home, directing a too
willing enemy where to pillage; _his_ foul lips forcing their polluted
touch on Carlotta’s cheek! Great Heaven! the thought drives me mad; may
Infinite Justice help me to meet him once more!”
As I ceased speaking a strange unearthly wail arose on the air, and a
poor wounded cat, roused by our voices, sprang, or rather fell from a
box in the dairy window to the ground, and strove to make its way to us
with piteous mewing. It was perfectly blind, as we could tell from its
actions, and its fur and flesh on one side were singed and burnt by the
fire. It was gaunt from starvation, and cried aloud with a hollow voice
in its vain efforts to find us. I went forward and took it up in my
arms, and saw then that it was a pet of mother’s, that had been perhaps
forgotten in the haste of leaving, and with fond local affection, was
starving rather than quit the place. As I gazed upon the poor famished
creature, with its white sightless eyes and emaciated frame, and
thought of mother’s fondness and care for it, for the first time losing
control of myself, I burst into tears.
Ben touched my shoulder and said:
“Less go, John; we can’t do no good staying here, and are wasting a
heap of precious time.”
Knowing that Mr. Bemby’s larder now had no room for cats, I made the
poor creature a bed in the dairy, and placing something to eat and some
water by it, we left it. Throwing our bridles over our arms we walked
on to Mr. Bemby’s, which was but a short distance through the trees.
As we approached the house I saw my beautiful boy playing near the
steps. He looked up in perfect amazement as I ran to him, and his lips
quivered with frightened surprise as a seeming old woman caught him
up and strained him to her heart. Bearing him in my arms I entered the
house, and at the sound of my footsteps Carlotta came to the door, her
beautiful face pale with anxiety and alarm; for every footfall on the
doorway now meant robbery or insult. She started back in affright at
my wild appearance and grotesque disguise, but the next instant, as I
murmured “Carlotta!” her arms were around me and she was sobbing on my
shoulder.
“Oh, thank God! we have met again. Oh, John, my husband, what we have
suffered since I saw you last!” she exclaimed, with convulsive weeping.
“I know it all, darling; Horace has told me. But compose yourself,
dearest, and let us go to mother, if she be still alive.”
“She is still living, but I fear will not live long. She grows feebler
every day. I will go in and prepare her for your coming.”
She left me and went into another room, while I placed my little boy,
who had been staring at his mother and myself with a look of amazement,
again upon the floor, and tore off my bonnet and dress.
“No matter what happens,” I said, as Ben came in with his wife from
the kitchen, where he had gone to look for her, “I won’t wear this
ridiculous costume, here at least.”
I had scarcely done greeting Ben’s wife when his mother came in, not so
plethoric as when I had last seen her, but with the same good natured
face and kind heart.
I could only grasp her honest hands with tears in my eyes, and bless
her for her kindness to my dear ones.
“You needn’t go to talk ‘bout kindness,” said Mrs. Bemby, wiping her
specs on the corner of her apron. “Your mother’s done a sight more for
me’n I ever kin do for her, an’ I want to keep a doin’ long as God
will let her live, which I’m afeard it won’t be mighty long, for she’s
poorlier to-day ‘n I’ve seen her yet.”
To divert her from such painful remarks I asked if the Yankees had
molested them since they had burned the house.
“Not such a mighty sight. They’ve tuck my chickens and vegetables, tho’
they wan’t nothin’ in the garden but turnips, but we’ve got some meat
an’ a little corn. The wuss trouble we has is a continuwell fear they
is goin’ to break in on us. Mr. Bemby he’s gone to town to-day to git a
guard.”
“A guard!” I exclaimed, in much alarm; “then if we are discovered
here you all are ruined. Ben and I can settle with half-a-dozen by
ourselves, but I am truly alarmed for you.”
“Never do you mind, John,” said Ben, as he trotted a little
white-headed scion on his knee; “she’ll fix all that; the old man aint
coming back till to-morrow no how, and we’ll be off by light.”
Off by light! how the words sounded like a knell on my ears; off, to
leave a dying mother and an unprotected wife and child in the lines of
a merciless foe; off to fight, perhaps die for a now hopeless cause,
leaving all I loved to misery and want. Ah, Mercy! let thy white wing
oftenest shield the poor deserter at the stake, and Justice will have
less complaint!
Carlotta now appeared at the door of mother’s chamber, and beckoned to
me. Walking softly, with a bowed head and prayerful heart, I entered
a small dark room, dimly lighted by a single candle and a flickering
fire on the hearth. On an humble bed in the corner, with her crushed
head bound with cloths and liniments, lay my mother, pale and thin, her
sweet face illumined with bright surprise yet strange bewilderment.
“Be careful,” whispered Carlotta, as I paused on the threshold, “her
mind is not perfectly clear.”
In another moment I was on my knees at the bedside, my face pressed
upon her pillow, sobbing, ”Mother! oh my mother!” She did not speak,
but laid her thin tremulous hand on my head and let it rest there.
I was convulsed with grief to think of losing her after I had been
away from her so long, and that she was dying under such distressing
circumstances, without a home, under a strange roof, and with a
consciousness of helpless dependence.
As in moments of great danger a retrospect of our whole lives rises
before us, so in this deep distress all my acts of disobedience and
unkindness toward mother; every time that I had wounded her feelings;
every harsh word I had uttered, all came with cruel distinctness into
memory to torture me, and I longed, in my agony, to ask her forgiveness
for every one, and to assure her again and again of my love. But
Carlotta’s warning, and the strange look on her face, made me afraid to
speak, and I knelt with my face on the pillow, silently weeping, till
she herself broke the silence of the chamber.
”Carlotta,” she said, in a voice so changed that I raised up to look at
her, ”this is John, is it not? When did he come? Does he know that his
father is dead?”
Carlotta made a sign to me not to speak, and drawing a chair up to the
bedside, she took mother’s hand in her’s and said:
”Yes, mother, this is John. He knows all about father’s death, and
about the burning of the house; and he has come through the Federal
lines, at great risk, to see you. Can you not arouse yourself to talk
to him! He wishes to know if you feel better to-night?”
Mother now gazed at me with the old look of fondness as she said:
”Is this my dear boy? and have you come to see your mother? God bless
you for it! I will make the effort to speak with you; but oh! I cannot
remain conscious. _Now_ all that has transpired is perfectly clear and
distinct before me, and I recognize my dear child’s face, and know why
he has come; but presently a dull gray cloud, or something from afar
off, will float up and envelope my mind, and all I know or remember
becomes confused. Carlotta, darling, help me keep the cloud away.”
”I will, mother,” said Carlotta, dampening a cloth and laying it on her
forehead; but even as the cool moisture touched her skin the vacant
look came again to her face, and she asked, looking at me with earnest
inquiry: ”John, have you brought your father home; is the grave ready?
Go have it made wider. I am coming to lie by his side.”
Utterly helpless, we both sat watching and listening to her incoherent
mutterings about father’s lonely grave, and her desire to go to it,
till, dozing off into her stupor again, she was silent. In a few
minutes she opened her eyes, and was for another interval herself again.
”John, my precious child,” she said, trying to put her arm around my
neck and draw me down to her, ”God alone knows how I desire to talk
with you, for this will be the last converse we will ever hold on
earth. I do not wish to grieve you unnecessarily, but I feel that I am
dying.”
”O mother, do not say so,” I sobbed, as I kissed her pale, emaciated
cheek; ”God is too good to take you away from us.”
”He knows best, my son. His will be done! But I have not strength to
say much, and even now I feel the cloud coming. Will you make me two
promises? I want you to bring your father’s remains from Elmira, and
bury them with me under the old cedar at home; ‘twas there I promised
to be his bride in the long ago. And, John, something tells me that you
had another motive, besides seeing me, in coming hither. Do you not
seek Frank Paning’s life?”
My face flushed hotly as the thought that she might ask me to forgive
Frank flashed upon me, and I felt that even her last request could not
persuade me to forego my vengeance. But I answered quickly:
”No, mother, as Heaven is my witness, I only thought of you and
Carlotta when I came here; but if Providence should throw the viper in
my path, even you would have me crush him.”
”No, John, the dear Saviour prayed for those who nailed him to the
cross, and bids us forgive as we would be forgiven.”
”But, mother,” I argued—though Carlotta shook her head at me and
whispered, ”do as she requests”—”Frank is so vile. He has partaken of
our hospitality, and I have been his friend a thousand times, yet he
has burnt our home, insulted Carlotta and murdered you; how can I ever
forgive him?”
”You are full of wrath and hatred now, my son, and I cannot hope to
change your feeling yet awhile; but I can ask, as my last request, your
promise that you will not seek Frank’s life—that if you ever meet you
will forgive him for my sake. Do you promise?”
I did not speak, for the hot blood that had written my oath of
vengeance on my heart was still throbbing there, and I could not at a
word forget my cruel wrongs. While I hesitated the cloud came over her,
and her countenance again was vacant and meaningless, and she began to
murmur broken sentences about the Cross, and Christ’s love, and her
child’s hard heart.
Then there came the heartrending thought that she might not again
become conscious, and might die with my obstinate refusal weighing on
her poor broken heart.
”Oh, merciful God! what is my unholy resentment compared with the peace
of my mother’s death bed?” I exclaimed, with unfeigned penitence, as I
implored Carlotta to rouse her once more to consciousness.
Falling on my knees I began the struggle, and conquered self, and
then I felt that I could forgive Frank, not alone for the sake of my
promise, but for the sake of Christ and His Cross. With a faith I had
never known before I prayed for mother’s restoration, pleading the
promise, ”If ye shall ask anything in my name I will do it,” and arose
from my knees with that ”peace that passeth all understanding” resting
on my soul.
After a long while, as it seemed to my suspense, she rallied again, and
addressed some words to me that showed she was rational. I hastened
then to give her my promise, and assured her that I really, from my
heart, forgave Frank, and would not harm him if I could.
She thanked me in her feeble way, and then asked me to sit near her
and talk with Carlotta, that she might hear the sound of my voice,
though she felt too weak to talk herself. Then, after Carlotta had
put little Johnnie to bed in his corner, she came and sat by me, and
with tearful eyes and aching hearts we talked of our parting on the
morrow, when we would bid each other farewell, with a probability of
never meeting again; when we would be separated without a possibility
of communication; when each must suffer well grounded anxiety and
prolonged suspense, because the other was exposed to constant and
serious danger; when I must leave without having done a single thing to
alleviate their condition, or render them less dependent on the Bembys.
But ‘twas all for the Stars and Bars, and for them I would bear it
thrice again.
In the ever flowing tide of our sympathy and love we took no note of
time, and when we were startled by a tap at the door I was surprised
to find that the window behind me was a gray square of light, and that
objects were becoming plainly visible out in the yard. It was Ben who
had knocked, and who said in a whisper, as I opened the door:
”Day’s broke, John; you’d better put on your fixins’, and let’s git
out. The old man and his guard might git here before we leave, and
that would spile our tramp and ruinate the folks here.”
With a sudden sinking at my heart, like we feel when we hear the
footstep of the doctor who is to lance a bone felon for us, I turned
into the chamber and began to make ready for my departure. My poor
Carlotta, who had borne all so bravely, gave way at last, and clung to
me weeping.
”Oh, John! I do try to bear up, but it seems that my heart will break
now if you leave me. I know you could not protect me amid so many foes,
but I would feel so much braver, so much more secure, if you could be
with me—if I could get your advice and counsel, and have you help me
nurse dear mother. John, what shall I do if she dies?”
”Would you have me stay, Carlotta?” I said, to prove her. ”I am in the
Yankee lines now, and cannot be punished for desertion.”
”Desertion!” she exclaimed, with a blaze in her splendid eyes. ”Fondly
as I love you, John, I would rather have you fall dead at my feet than
leave our cause now because it is feeble. No, no, darling, go back to
your command, and if we are conquered I will be proud of my husband
because he wore the gray while I suffered at home.”
Blessing her for her encouragement to duty, I strained her again and
again to my heart, asking God’s protection for her, and bidding her
good bye.
Mother was sleeping soundly for the first time in several days, and I
would not wake her, but touched her forehead tenderly with my lips, and
then bent over my darling child.
I carried my disguise on my arm, for it seemed such a mockery of all
the sad circumstances at Mr. Bemby’s that I would not put it on till
we had gone some distance from the house. When we had again become
the old woman and her son we mounted our horses, and with sad hearts
set out on our return to Johnston’s camp. We had been delayed by Mrs.
B.’s breakfast and our prolonged farewells, so that we found now
that the sun had been up some time, and Nature was sparkling in dewy
beauty. My feelings were too much depressed for conversation, and Ben,
with Nature-taught delicacy, refrained from either futile attempts to
console or irrelevant efforts to divert, and our ride began in silence.
As we neared our home, and I saw the chimneys and the ashes, the old
hot feeling came to my heart, and I remembered my promise to mother
with something like regret. The next moment I was startled by hearing
the exclamation ”Humph!” very much accented, from Ben, and seeing him
dash at headlong speed down the pathway to the house, or rather where
it had stood. I followed as fast as I could, and saw, as I neared the
gate, the cause of his movements. A figure in blue uniform, mounted on
a powerful horse, stood at the palings, and another, dismounted, was
raking over the ashes and cinders with his sabre scabbard. At the sound
of our gallop the man on horse-back turned and saw us, and, driving the
spurs into his charger, he fled up the avenue with a speed that defied
capture. Ben was some distance ahead of me, and as I saw him leap from
his horse and dash into the yard, I wondered that he should thus forget
his usual prudence and throw aside his assumed character when we most
needed it. In another moment I was at the gate, and saw him grasp the
man in blue, who, with trembling hands, was untying his horse, and drag
him by the throat towards me. The prisoner, oh! promise of forgiveness!
was _Frank Paning_.
His arm was in a sling, from Carlotta’s shot, I thought; his cap had
fallen off, and his dark curls were clustering as prettily as ever
around his white forehead, while his restless eyes turned any where
but towards Ben or myself. Ben looked up at me with the lamps in his
gray eyes burning red lights, and his lips so pressed over his set
teeth that the old scar stood out like a cord; and drawing a long navy
revolver from his breast, he offered it to me saying:
”Here, John, this is your mouthful; I won’t take it from you.”
”No, Ben,” I exclaimed, turning my head away; ”don’t, don’t tempt me. I
promised my mother, pledged my word, at her dying request, not to take
his life. I cannot break my last promise to her.”
”John, I feel sorry for you,” said Ben, solemnly, as if the obligation
to spare Frank was a great affliction, and demanded his sympathy, ”but
_I_ did not promise, therefore——” and his thumb slowly drew the
hammer of his pistol back, till it stood like a serpent ready to strike.
”Gentlemen,” said Frank, in a husky, nervous voice, while he raised his
hand hesitatingly towards Ben’s, as if he wished to move it from his
collar, but was afraid his touch would be the signal for the serpent
to fall on the yellow, gleaming cap, ”you surely will not do me any
violence. I am your prisoner, and will give up my arms if you will
receive them, and will do anything you say or wish. If you will not
spare me for humanity’s sake, only think of the danger you are in.
Our troops are all around you, and there is even now a strong body of
cavalry just beyond the bend in the road. You are both in disguise,
and, if caught, will be hung as spies. If you harm me you cannot
possibly escape, but if you promise to spare my life, I will pilot you
safely through our lines, and then go with you to Gen. Johnston. I can
give him very important information about Sherman’s movements, and will
do so cheerfully.”
”You will?” said Ben, with two short grunts for a laugh, at the same
time taking his thumb from the crest of the hammer.
”Mr. Bemby, for God’s sake don’t shoot me!” cried Frank, in an
extremity of terror, clasping his hands over Ben’s, that like a vice
still held his collar. ”John, don’t, don’t let him shoot me! Speak to
him, please, and ask him to spare me! He won’t shoot if you tell him
not. Remember, we were friends once, and save my life now for the sake
of that time.”
He tried to throw himself on his knees, but Ben held him erect, and he
stood trembling in every limb, and holding out his hands to me in a
cowardly fright, that excited no feeling but disgust. When he appealed
to the past, I remembered that Carlotta had made the same appeal to him
only to receive an insult, and I had almost stricken him down with my
own hand, when mother’s voice again whispered in my ear, ”Forgive, as
ye would be forgiven.”
My arm was scarcely lowered when the sound of horses’ feet was heard,
and, looking up, we saw a half dozen Federal cavalry coming down the
avenue at a fast trot.
Frank’s face lighted up with an expression of fiendish malice and
triumph as he saw them, and, pointing to them, he said, with a sudden
change from an abject to an authoritative air:
”Take your hands off, sir! Surrender, or I will have you both shot. You
dare not harm me now,” he added, with a sneer.
”We don’t?” said Ben, with a hiss in his voice and a redder light in
his eyes. Then, giving Frank’s throat a grip that made his face livid,
he pointed with his revolver to the ashes, and said through is teeth:
”Look there, villain! is that your work?”
”Yes, by Heaven! it is;” exclaimed Frank, with a gesture of defiance,
for the troopers were almost on us.
”Then, infernal dog, take your pay!”
Before I could speak there was a levelled brown barrel, a deadly
report, and a red oozing spot in Frank’s white forehead. He stood
motionless a second, and then fell limp and doubling up to the ground.
”Now less scatter ’em yonder, and break for old Joe’s camp;” said Ben,
as he sprang upon his horse.
The Yankees halted with astonishment as they saw an awkward country
lad and an old woman charging upon them.
But we were on them before they had time for much wonder. Bang! bang!
one reeled, another fell. Bang! bang! another empty saddle! and we
were past them a hundred yards before they returned our fire. They
did not dare pursue us, and we galloped a short distance up the road,
then plunged into the woods, and, riding on to the river, we took up
its banks, picking our way cautiously through bogs and marshes, and
avoiding every sign of habitation and life. So careful were we in our
progress that we saw no human being during the day, and at nightfall
found ourselves not far from the place where Johnston had his camp
when we left. But all day long we had heard the roar of battle,
growing louder as we drew nearer, and we knew that there had been a
heavy engagement somewhere, and that the positions of both armies had
undergone some change. As we determined to ride now in the night,
we stopped some time before sunset in a deep secluded dell, to rest
our horses till after dark. Ben slipped into an adjoining field and
obtained some fodder from a couple of stacks that were standing near
the woods, and gave a plentiful supply to our hungry cattle.
”The Yankees will get it all soon, any way,” said Ben, apologetically,
as he untied the bundles and shook them out on the ground.
At sunset we could hear the bugle calls of different camps, and mapped
out our course for the night accordingly. As soon as it was dark we
mounted our horses, which were much refreshed by food and their short
rest, and set out to thread the maze of pickets extending miles around.
As my disguise was useless in the dark I tore it off, preferring to
ride bare-headed to having both sight and hearing impaired by the long,
projecting bonnet.
Having located the camps by the sounds of the bugles, we made a wide
circuit, which considerably increased the distance we had to travel.
After riding for hours in cautious silence, and being, as we thought,
very near our lines, our horses began to show signs of giving out.
After an hour’s more urging them forward they began to breathe hard and
stagger, so that it would have been cruel as well as impossible to ride
them further.
”What shall we do?” I asked, barely dismounting in time to keep mine
from falling beneath me. Ben’s horse was much better than mine, and
would have held out a mile or two further, but he got down immediately,
and taking the bridle from his horse, said:
”We’ll have to foot it, I reckon, and leave these Arabs here; somebody
‘ll find them, and a fine team they’ll have, won’t they? I was afeard
they wouldn’t hold out when we started, but we couldn’t er got ‘long on
good stock. Take your bridle off, so the varmint can browse, and less
move on. ‘Taint far no how, and I want to stretch my legs a little.”
Taking the bridles and saddles off we let the poor jaded creatures go
free, and set out on foot through the darkness. We had not gone more
than half a mile when Ben caught my arm and said, in a whisper: ”Shh!
Listen!”
Not a hundred paces ahead of us we heard the unmistakable tell-tale
of the horse, and the frequent betrayal of the picket—that peculiar
flutter of the animal’s lip as the breath is forced through the
nose—that is very frequent, and audible at a considerable distance in
the night. Simultaneously whispering the single word, ”Pickets!” we
crept forward with Indian stealthiness, feeling for twigs before we
stepped, and parting the bushes carefully before we passed through them.
”What do you intend to do when we find them?” I asked, in a low voice,
of Ben, who generally assumed the responsibility of directing.
”See how many of ’em there is, and act according. If there ain’t more
than two we c’n rope ’em and git their horses, but we must do it
w’thout our pistols.”
”All right,” I whispered; ”I’m ready.”
We went forward a few steps, and there, not twenty paces from us, at
the edge of a wide open field, loomed the figures of two pickets,
seated on their horses. We crept a few steps nearer till we could hear
their conversation, and paused to listen. They were grumbling about
the hardship of standing picket ‘way off where nobody ever came, and
half a mile from any of the others, and they swore, half laughing, that
they had been freezing there a month, and would never be relieved. One
rallied the other on being afraid of the dead men in the field before
them, and then, with an oath, said he was ready for dead or living, and
that he had balls enough for both.
Ben placed his mouth to my ear and breathed the words, not spoke them:
”It is all right, they’re alone, and will be sho to surrender when
we tell ’em. But be ready with your pistol if the worse comes to the
worse; we may have to shoot a little to git the horses.”
I shuddered at the thought; for while I had been in many battles,
where the balls fell like hail, and never yet shrunk from duty, yet
there was something so secret, and, I must confess, frightful in this
contemplated hand-to-hand encounter, with an adversary each, out in the
lonely night, with no eye to mark our victory or death, that I fain
would have avoided it. I ventured to whisper to Ben:
”As there is no special necessity for attacking them, had we not better
go around them and hasten to our lines? An attempt to take them will
probably lead to an alarm and our own capture. You know I am with you
wherever there is need, but I had rather be prudent now, for Carlotta’s
sake.”
”’Twon’t do for soldiers to think of the home folks, John, if they’re
going to fight right; it makes ’em too soft in the heart. But them
fellows ‘ve got two good horses, and we can take ’em in so nice. My
rule is to never let a Yankee off; and, if you’d ruther not, I’ll try
the game by myself.”
”You must beg my pardon for that insult, Ben, or you and I will fight,”
I said, in the same low tone, but with a flush on my face at his
insinuation.
”You know I didn’t mean to insult you, John; but less quit wasting time
and git to work; what we’ve got to do is to creep up close and spring
on ’em. When I take hold of one bridle you grab the other, and I’ll do
the talkin’.”
Bending down almost to the ground, with panther-like tread we stole
upon the unconscious pickets, while my hand was trembling and my heart
beating audibly with excitement. Ben was perfectly cool and deliberate,
for he was but reënacting, rather tamely he seemed to think, one of his
many scouting adventures. We were now at their horses’ heels, and Ben,
putting his mouth again to my ear, whispered, ”Be certain to go when
I do, and keep your revolver in your right hand. Are you ready? Now!”
and we both sprang to the heads of the horses and seized the reins.
”Surrender! or you are dead men. Steady, boys! do not fire till I give
the word,” exclaimed Ben, in a loud clear voice, as we levelled our
pistols on them.
They made no show of resistance, but cried out to us not to shoot—that
they yielded themselves up; and when Ben approached to take their arms
gave them up readily.
We made them dismount, and found that they had two strong, well built
horses, of which we took immediate possession. In answer to our
inquiries they told us that there had been a severe engagement near
Bentonsville, and that Johnston was moving up toward Raleigh. They
pointed toward his lines, which they said were not more than half a
mile distant. Ben examined the horses’ heads, and finding a halter
under each bridle, he took them off, and telling our prisoners that
while he was obliged for their information, yet for their safety and
our own he would have to tie them, he made them turn their backs to two
small trees and lashed their hands around them. ”The relief’ll be along
pretty soon,” he said, ”so you won’t git tired; and if you want to
scratch your back, or wipe your nose, you’ll have to rub up and down,
or twist your head. Good bye, and don’t forget to thank the Lord that
we didn’t kill you, as we ought to do.”
Mounting our captured horses we again set out in the darkness, picking
our way still cautiously, and halting ever and anon to listen and
take our bearings, for we did not place that implicit confidence in
the statements of our prisoners, regarding the position of our lines,
that a charitable belief in the integrity of human nature would have
encouraged us to do. But we had judged them wrongfully, for we had
just passed through the open field at the edge of which we had left
them, and struck another skirt of woods, when, directly in front of us,
crack! went a rifle, and the ball whistled in uncomfortable proximity
to our ears. The next moment we heard the gallop of the horse’s feet as
the picket fell back to the reserve.
”Quick!” said Ben, spurring his horse forward; ”we must catch up with
him and tell him we are friends, or we will be shot.”
But catching up was not so easy, for he heard our pursuit, and dashed
through the brush and undergrowth as if he had a contract to clear up
the land.
As our speed was a matter of equal necessity we kept close behind him,
when suddenly his horse fell, and he rolled over in the darkness.
”I surrender,” he called out, as we rode up.
”What command do you belong to?” I asked.
”Wheeler’s cavalry,—th Regiment.”
”Where’s your camp?” said Ben.
”Just behind us; yonder are some of the fires.”
”Well, go back to your post; we are friends,” I said, as Ben caught his
horse for him. ”I am Major Smith, of Gen. Johnston’s staff.”
”Yes, sir,” said the poor fellow, who was badly frightened, attempting
to make a salute as he rose from the ground, where he had been lying
during the colloquy.
We left him and pushed rapidly on to the fires which we saw glimmering
through the trees.
Without detailing the halts of the sentinels and our explanations,
suffice it to say we reached our quarters in safety, got an hour’s
sleep, and rose with the army to continue our ceaseless but gallant
retreat.