BATTLE OF DOLINSBURG.--HEROIC CONDUCT OF COL. TOM ANDERSON
--REPORTED DEAD.--HIS WIFE REFUSES TO BELIEVE THE REPORT.
“There was speech in their dumbness, language in their very
gesture, they looked as they had heard of a world ransomed,
or one destroyed, a notable passion of wonder appeared in
them; but the wisest beholder, that knew no more but seeing
could not say, if the importance were joy or sorrow; but in
the extremity of the one it must needs be.”--Shakespeare
The next morning the march was resumed. At an early hour the whole army
was in motion on different roads with the general understanding that the
command would close in line around the west side of the fortress that
afternoon. The weather being very disagreeable for marching, there was
delay on the roads, but, finally, late in the evening the army commenced
closing in and forming its line. The centre was commanded by General
Smote; the left, resting north, on the river, commanded by General
Waterberry, and the right, resting on an almost impassable slough,
connecting with the river, commanded by General McGovern. In moving into
position the place was found to be well protected by a heavy abatis and
chevaux-de-frise, from point to point, above and below the fortress.
This seemed impassable, and the enemy, seeing our army closing in around
them, kept up a terrible fire on our advancing columns, causing us very
severe loss in getting into position. It was at a late hour in the night
(when our lines were only partially formed) that our army rested, as
best as they could, in the snow and sleet; but not a murmur was
heard. The next morning our lines were advanced to the front and the
impediments removed as much as possible; though a severe and deadly
fire was poured upon our men most of the day. Late in the afternoon an
assault was ordered in the centre, and a bloody affair it was; again
and again our brave fellows moved on the works, but were as often driven
back with severe loss. About 'o'clock Gen. Silent came riding along
with an orderly by his side, his staff having been sent in different
directions with orders. He came up to where Col. Anderson was sitting
on his horse, watching the engagement in the centre. Gen. Silent, after
passing the compliments of the day, said to the Colonel:
“'Your engagement at Snake Creek (that being the name of the creek where
the Colonel met the enemy the day before) was a rather brilliant affair
as I learn it.'
“'Yes,' said the Colonel; 'it was my first attempt at commanding in a
battle, but we had the best of it.'
“'Yes,' said the General; 'and now I want to see if you can do as well
here. I wish you to assault the enemy's works in this low ground on the
right, in order to draw some of his forces away from the centre; our
forces are having a hard time of it there.'
“Col. Anderson gave the order at once to prepare for action--knapsacks
and blankets were thrown off, and the assaulting column formed. The
General rode away after saying:
“'It is not imperative that you enter their works; but make the assault
as effectual as you can without too great a sacrifice of men.'
“The Colonel looked at the ground over which they must pass and viewed
the works with his glass, but said not one word save to give the command
'Forward!' On, on they went, and as they moved under a torrent of leaden
hail, men fell dead and wounded at every step; but they went right up
to the mouths of the cannon. There they stood and poured volley
after volley into the enemy, until at last he began to give way, when
re-enforcements came from the centre, as was desired. The Colonel's
force could stand no longer. Sullenly they fell back to a strip of woods
when night closed in, and the battle ceased for the day.
“Our lines were much nearer the enemy than in the morning.
“The centre held their ground at last, and all was still, Part of the
night was employed in hunting the dead and wounded. Many were wounded
and frozen to death, being left on the ground during the night. The
suffering in front of Dolinsburg was something almost indescribable--it
snowed, sleeted, hailed and froze during the whole of the night. The
troops did not sleep, nor did they attempt it; they had to form into
squads and walk around trees all night. No fires could be lighted--they
were so close to the enemy's entrenchments. Just at daylight the sharp
sound of their skirmishers was heard. They had concluded to move out on
our right and attack us on our flank, and open the way for the escape
of their army. On they came. Our line was soon formed and our musketry
opened. During the night one of our batteries had been brought up and
given position on a slight elevation to the right of Col. Anderson's
centre. The enemy opened furiously on our line, and in a few minutes our
battery was knocked to pieces and was charged by infantry. Here there
was a bloody conflict; men fell by the score; the snow was reddened
by the blood of both patriots and traitors. The smoke seemed to hover
around the trees and underbrush, as if to conceal the contending forces
from each other. The flame of musketry and the red glare of the cannons
lighted up the scene with a lurid tint. Limbs fell from the trees,
and the ground was mown as smoothly of weeds and underbrush as if by
a scythe. Our right was under orders to hold their position at all
hazards. The battle, dreadful and bloody, continued. By degrees the
troops on the right of Col. Anderson gave way and abandoned the field.
At noon but one regiment besides Col. Anderson's withstood the enemy on
the right of our line. They were terribly cut up, and having no food,
were nearly exhausted. Their ammunition was growing scarce, none having
been brought up to this point for their supply. In this condition
they stood like a wall, under the most galling fire of artillery and
musketry, their comrades falling like grass before the sickle. At
length the enemy's cavalry appeared in the rear; not in line, but as if
observing the battle with a view of taking advantage at the proper time
of any mishap that might occur in our lines. Col. Anderson seeing this,
and feeling that his command was now in great peril, conceived the idea
of a bayonet charge on the line to his front, and so ordered it.
[Illustration: Col. Anderson Wounded 059]
“His line moved forward, in a double-quick, and with a shout drove the
enemy, who was stampeded by the impetuous assault. The Colonel, being
on foot, led his men right up to the works, the enemy having been driven
inside. As he leaped forward to them, with sword in hand, calling to
his men, 'Come on, my boys,' he fell, as they then thought, mortally
wounded. The enemy seeing this made a fresh assault, and drove our
force back. Col. Anderson was left on the field supposed to be dead. The
battle raged all along the line. Our right was driven and forced under
the brow of a hill. While under this partial shelter a portion of the
enemy made their escape through this unoccupied part of the field.
At this time our left made a successful assault upon the works of the
enemy, capturing their outer line and forcing them into their more
contracted lines but more strongly fortified. The centre had made
several ineffectual assaults and had lost in killed and wounded very
heavily. Re-enforcements came to the right, and a renewal of the assault
all along the line was ordered. To the work of blood and death the men
again came forward with a heroic will, and for about an hour the battle
was like the long roll on a thousand drums. The air was filled with
shells; the heavens were lighted up as if meteors were flying in all
directions; the rumbling of artillery was heard as batteries changed
position, and the loud commands of excited officers. On and on moved
the serried masses. As the lines opened by the dropping of the dead and
wounded, 'close up, boys,' could be heard. It was now about dusk. One
grand charge all along the line, one grand shout, 'up with the flag,
boys!'--all was over, the fortress was ours, and the Stars and Stripes
floated over Dolinsburg. That night, however, was a night of gloom and
sorrow in our army. Gen. McGovern was killed in the last assault. Gen.
Smote was badly wounded and died a few days later. Gen. Waterberry,
a brave and gallant officer, fell a few weeks later at the battle of
Pittskuk.”
“I remember when Waterberry fell, poor fellow,” said Col. Bush.
“Yes, many a poor fellow lost his life in those two battles. We captured
a great number of prisoners. Gen. Bertram surrendered. Many of his
leading officers were killed and wounded, and some made their escape
through the opening in our line on the right, where Col. Anderson fell
wounded.”
Dr. Adams asked: “Uncle Daniel, did you ever hear of him? Was his body
found?”
“Yes, Doctor, and the story of that and his recovery is a very singular
one. Peter searched diligently for him, but failed to find him; this
distressed him so much that he decided to ask for a leave and return
home, so as to stay a short time with the family and do what he could
to help us bear the sorrow of the Colonel's supposed death. After our
grief-stricken family could have the patience to listen to his recitals,
he gave us the story just as I have told it. Mrs. Anderson, although
stricken down with grief, insisted that her husband was not killed,
or he would have been found among the slain; that a man of such marked
features would have been noticed by some one who did the interring. The
Captain insisted that there could be no doubt but that he was killed.
Time passed on, but little Mary would continually ask, 'If her papa
was dead?' 'Was he shot?' Who had killed him?' and a thousand other
questions which constantly kept her mother thinking of the Colonel's
fate, and soon she determined to go in search of him. Peter was leaving
for his regiment, now under command of Colonel Rice. Col. Anderson
having been reported as killed, Rice had been promoted Colonel, and
the regiment had moved with the army in a southwesterly direction some
considerable distance from Dolinsburg. Still there had been troops left
there, so that it was perfectly safe to visit the battle-field, there
being no rebel force in that part of the country at that time. I agreed
to go with her, and made all the arrangements necessary for the family;
the farm of Col. David having been looked after, and our family-school
reorganized under Jennie, which had become demoralized by the news of
Col. Anderson's death. In the meantime we had heard from Col. David and
James, who were well, and also had letters from Stephen and Henry; both
had joined the army: Stephen in an infantry regiment from Ohio, where he
lived, and Henry in a cavalry regiment from Michigan, where he had been
employed for a time in surveying for a company; so at this time I had
one son left not yet in the army, he being my third son, Jackson, who
was then engaged in railroading in Minnesota. We had not heard from him
for some time, and his mother was sorely troubled, expecting soon to
hear of the last of the Lyons being in the army. This, she thought, was
a little more than ought to be required of any one family.”
“So say I, Uncle Daniel,” spoke up several of the listeners.
“True, true; but our country's demands should be satisfied by her
citizens, no matter what they may be. Well, when all was arranged, Mary
Anderson and I started. We went as far as we could by cars and boat, and
then obtained horses and traveled on horseback to Dolinsburg. Coming to
the pickets we were halted, and, on telling our errand and where we
were from, we were taken to the headquarters of Col. Harden, who was in
command of the post. We were well received and most hospitably treated
by himself and officers. They all sympathized with Mrs. Anderson; knew
of the Colonel's gallant conduct in battle, but all thought there was
no use of a search for him; that he was certainly killed in charging
the works near the fort. They showed us where he made the assault. After
resting for the night we started on our search, Capt. Day accompanying
us as guide and protector. We first went to the place where the Colonel
fell, but there was nothing but long trenches, where the dead had been
buried. We passed over the battle-field, which was mowed down smoothly
by bullets. Limbs of trees had fallen in confusion, furrows were plowed
in the ground by shell, horses' skeletons, broken muskets, pieces of
wagons, parts of caissons, spokes, ammunition boxes, pieces of blankets,
coats, pantaloons, parts of tents--everything in pieces, the evidences
of a great contest were marked at every step. Late in the afternoon,
worn out with walking and the excitement, we returned, very much
disheartened. We dined on soldier's fare, which seemed to us delicious.
After discussing the battle and the probabilities of the result of the
war until a late hour, we retired to the camp cots for a night's rest.
Next morning we got ready for a start. Mary Anderson inquired of Col.
Harden which way the rebels who got through our lines had retreated.
He answered her that they retreated on a road along the river up stream
some twenty-five miles, and then crossed on a boat that had come down
the river on its way to Dolinsburg, which was stopped by the retreating
rebels. Mary said:
“'Uncle Daniel, I am going to that place if I can be allowed to do so.'
“I replied: 'This would be a very tiresome and fruitless trip, my child;
but if you will be any better satisfied by doing so, I will make it with
you.'
“Col. Harden said he would send a small escort for protection, though
there was no danger of any force of the enemy, but there probably would
be some wicked people there who might do us some harm. He had our horses
brought out, and sent Capt. Day and ten mounted men with us. The road
was somewhat rough, but very passable for saddle-horses. When we had
gone about ten miles we met a colored boy, some fourteen years old, who
said he was going to Dolinsburg. Mrs. Anderson rode on with Capt. Day.
The escort was in front of them. I asked the boy why he was going to
Dolinsburg. He said he lived about ten miles further up the river, and
that an old colored woman, called 'Aunt Martha,' had sent him down to
see if any soldiers were at Dolinsburg; and if so, to tell them that
there was a Union officer at her house, sick.
“'Do you know his name?' I asked.
“'No, sir; but Aunt Martha calls him Massa Tom.'
“I trembled all over. My blood was hot and cold by turns.
“'When and how did he come there?” asked.
“He said that the rebels had left him. My brain was now dizzy, and I
told him to turn back and take me to the place. We rode past the rest
of the company while they were resting for a short time. I told them I
would ride on to the place where the river was crossed, and wait there
for them. Mary was hearing all she could from Capt. Day about the
battle, and so she raised no objections. I inquired of the boy as to
the appearance of the sick officer. He described him as very pale, black
hair, eyes and beard. I could understand his being pale, and felt sure
it was Col. Anderson. I asked the boy if he ever spoke to him. He said
he had not, but Aunt Martha talked to him about his wife and little girl
and Uncle Daniel. I now was positive it was Tom. I reeled in my saddle
and nearly fell from my horse. What should I do? I could not tell Mary,
for if it proved not to be him she would not be able to bear it. So I
rode on. After a long time we came to the house. It was some hundred
paces from the road, a square log cabin or hut, occupied by an old
colored woman ['Aunt Martha ') and her husband['Ham'), both over sixty
years, I should judge.
[Illustration: Uncle Daniel meets Aunt Martha 064]
“The old aunty was in the yard, a smooth, hard, flat piece of ground,
fenced off by a low fence, about four rails high, which a man could
easily step over. I saluted her with:
“'How do you do, aunty, do you live here?'
“'Yes, sa, I lives heah--me and Ham, my ole man. What is you, massa? Is
you Union or is you “Sesh?”'
“'Oh! I am a Union man,' I replied.
“'Den I is glad to see you. I'll jes' call Ham. He runned away when he
seed you. He's feared; yes, he's dat. He isn't gwine wid de “Sesh” any
mo'.'
“'Well, aunty, have you a Union officer in your cabin, sick?'
“'Well, now, massa, I'se jes' got to know who you is afore I 'fess on
dat case.'
“'Well, aunty, I am Daniel Lyon, sometimes called “Uncle Daniel.”'
“'Afore God, is dat you, Massa Lyon? Jes' get off yo' hoss an' wait rite
heah; I be back in a bit.'
“She hobbled in, evidently to speak to the Colonel. I waited quietly
until she returned. Just then the others came in sight, and I sent the
boy to halt them. Aunty came out so excited that she could hardly speak.
“'Sho' as you is born'd, dat Massa Tom knows you; but, sah, he's
powerful weak, an' you must exclose who yo' is to him in a most
delicacious manner, or you'll incite him. He's 'fraid, sah, dat you is a
exposter.'
“'O, no, aunty, I am his uncle and benefactor.'
“'Yo'is what?'
“'His uncle,'
“'No, but de oder t'ing what you is?'
“'His benefactor.'
“'Glory to God! Is you? May de Laud shine his light in dis pore house,
an' brush away de fears ob dis misfortunate famly.'
“Then she called Ham.
“'Oh, yo' Ham, come heah.'
“I entered the cabin and beheld Col. Anderson, as pale as death, lying
on a poor, broken-down bed. I knelt by his side upon the floor and wept
aloud. The Colonel could only whisper. Extending his hand, while the
great tears were rolling down his face, he asked:
“'Is my wife with you? How is my child?'
“He was greatly excited and very weak. I arose from his bedside and
told him who were coming, and begged him to be calm. Aunty brought some
cloths and laid on his breast, saying to him:
“'Now, Massa Tom, you mus' be still. Don' be like I tole you. You
mussent get 'cited now--nuffln of the kine. Jes' see de folks like yo'
allers done. Dey's come a mighty long ways to fine yo'. Wish dey stay
away 'til I cure yo'; but spose it's all rite. De good Laud he done
knowed de bes'. Maybe de “Sesh” come take him some day afore long, so de
Laud he knows what he wants. Bress de good Laud.'
“'I went out to meet the others. Mary at once asked me what the matter
was. I spoke as gently as I could, and said:
“'Mary, Tom is still alive.'
“She instantly leaped from her horse and made for the cabin, and in an
instant was at the bedside of her husband, covering his face with kisses
and tears. Tom was too weak to more than whisper 'my dear wife,' and
weep in silence. Old Ham had come in, and stood in one corner of the
room looking on the scene with his hands locked together over his head.
He was heard to say over and over in a low tone: “'De Lord bress dese
chilien.' “Aunt Martha took hold of Mary, saying: “'Deah Misses, yo'
jes' stop dat cryin'. You ought to be 'joiced dat Massa Tom be libbin.
You ought ter seed him when de “Sesh” fotched him heah. I tell you dat
was de time what fotched me down, I done got rite on my old knees an'
axed de good Laud to spar dis good Massa Tom. I knowed him the berry
minute I laid my eyes on him. Many's de time I make his bed and cook his
dinnah. I tell you all about dat. Why, dem “Sesh,” when dey fetch Massa
Tom heah in de old wagon, dey des frowed him out like he been a hog, and
tole Ham an' me dat we mus' dig a hole and put him in; dat we be killed
if we don't. I done went and looked at him, an' tole Ham dat he wasn't
dead; dat he was wa'm an' bredin. So Ham an' me jes' carried him into
dis house, an' got blankets and kivers, and wash him wid wa'm water, and
took keer on him; setted up all de time, one or bofe on us, and kep' him
good an' wa'm, an yo' see he's done gittin' well. De good Laud heah our
prayers, an' he whisper to pore ole Marfa dat he gwine to fetch him out
for some good he gwine to do for us pore people. Bress de Laud; he is
good to us. I tell yo', de man what said to dig a hole fo' him is a
bad man; his name is Whitthorne. I 'member de name kase I knowed de
Whitthornes in Jackson, Miss., when I libbed there. Yes, dat so.'
“At this Mary broke down again. She felt sure that this was some of her
people. Aunty continued:
“'Ole Massa Gawge (George), that we b'longed to, move upheah six year
ago, on dis place, from Jackson. He libbed up dar on the hill in dat
white house dat yo' see up dar, dat am locked up an' no one is in it.
Dey got lot ob t'ings in dar. When de Union whip de Sesh at Dolins-burg,
and de Sesh come dis way, gwine home or some-whar, den Massa Gawge an'
all de famly dey go, too, an' take all de niggers 'cepin' me an' Ham.
Dey say we's too ole, an' dey done lef us to take keer ob de place; dey
leabe de smoke-house so we kin git in an' git sumpin to eat. Well, dey
is plenty in dar, an' we lib all right, and, bress de Laud, dat save
Massa Tom's life. De good Laud fix it dat way, sho' as yo' born. He take
tkeer ob de good folks.'
“Old Ham, who had been silent, broke out:
“'Yes, dat's so, massa, dat's so. De Laud do do dis. He done told me up
at de smoke-house to take all dat we wanted, an' dat when Massa Tom done
get well, dat we mus go wid him 'way from heah an' lib with Massa Tom;
dat de Sesh kill us when dey find out we done cure him up. Yes, sah, de
Laud say dat to me, sho.'
“I said to him: 'Ham, are you sure the Lord said that; did you not dream
it, or was it not Aunt Martha that said it?'
“'No, massa, no; de Laud told me, sho! I know 'twas he. De words come
right down frough de smokehouse when I was gittin' meal to make de gruel
for Massa Tom. O, no, massa; Martha was down heah. I told Martha when I
come back.'
“'Well, Ham, what did Martha say?'
“'She say dat we must 'bey de Lord; dat he was mo' our massa den Massa
George; don't we b'longs to de Laud mo' dan to Massa George. Den I say
dat's well, Martha; you know, and if you b'lieve in dat we go. An' we is
gwine wid Massa, sho.'
“'If you should go, Ham, they would accuse us of stealing you, and have
us arrested for it.'
“'Well, I doesn't know 'bout dat. I knows we can steal our ownself away,
an' go to de place whar Massa Tom lib; I knows dat. We's gwine; dat's
done fix; we's gwine.'
“The Colonel had been listening, and smiled to find that these two good
old people loved him so, and he nodded his head to Ham, which caused him
to laugh immoderately.
“'It's done fix,' said Ham, and he left the cabin.
“I said: 'Aunty, have you any children?'
“'Laud bless yo' good soul, we has six chilien some whar; don't know
whar. Massa George he sole our chilien 'way from us soon as dey was six
year old. I never see any ob dem since den; neber heard anything 'bout
dem. He sole 'em 'way down on de Gulf some whar; neber would tell us.
Dey done forgot us, or whar we lib, long go; dey so young when dey taken
'way, O, dey do dat way, so de ole folks not fine 'em. I tell you, Massa
Lyon, 'tis purty hard on ole folks, to lose de chilien dat way. If
dey die an' de Laud take dem 'way, dat's all rite; de Laud know he own
business; but when dey sole 'way, dat hard. You see, dese people dey got
chilien, but dey tink we no keer for our'n. Dat is whar dey don't know.
We does keer jes as much as de white folks, but we can't help ourself,
dats all. I tell you dat's bad. O, I cry myself nearly to deff 'bout my
chilien; but all do no good; dey done gone; I neber see dem any mo'. If
I was to, dey would not know me, an' me not know dem; so no good now to
cry any mo'; dey be all dead, maybe--hope dey am--den dey work for de
Laud and Master all de time, and not be worked all de time fo' de people
for nuffin' an' doin' no good. Yes, I hope dey is all done dead. Wish I
knowed dey was, den I'd be feelin' good. You see, me an' Ham talked dis
all ober. We neber see our chilien no mo' no matter whar we is; so we am
gwine where we will be counted wid de people an' not wid de cattle. Yes,
sah; dat's what we's got in our heads; dar's no use tryin' to put it
out; it in dar, an' dar it stay. We's gwine, sho'.'
“'Well, well, aunty, all right; I will see that you go. I will take the
consequences. I will not see as good an old couple as you are held like
cattle if I can help it.'
“The old woman shouted 'glory,' and hobbled out of the cabin, I presume,
to tell Ham what I had said.
“By this time the Colonel had recovered somewhat from his excitement,
and quietly and in a low voice told us how he came to be there. He said
that when he was wounded on the works of Dolinsburg and left for dead,
that some one came along and stanched the flow of blood by binding some
cloth around the wound saturated with something--his wound was through
the right breast, touching slightly the right lung--that in the
afternoon, when a portion of the rebel army passed over the ground that
he occupied, Col. Whitthorne, his wife's brother, discovered him and had
him placed in one of his ambulances, bringing him away; had no knowledge
as to what his intention was--whether to take him to some place of
safety--some hospital, or let him die and bury him where his remains
could afterwards be found by his family; that up to within a few days
he had no idea where he was; that these old colored people had kept his
whereabouts a profound secret, except among a few of their race
whom they could trust; that when he found a force was stationed at
Dolinsburg, he got them to send there and give the information, so that
he might make some arrangement about getting away, for fear of recapture
by the enemy, and they had sent the boy that we met. He was anxious
to get away, and thought that he could bear being moved in some easy
conveyance to Dolinsburg in two or three days' travel. We consulted
together, and Capt. Day sent a messenger back with a letter to Col.
Harden, asking him to send an ambulance and a surgeon the next day,
we remaining with the Colonel until their coming. There was plenty of
fodder at the plantation barns, and the men took care of the horses.
Aunty prepared a sufficient quantity of wholesome food for ourselves. We
passed the night without much sleep, the Captain and I using our chairs
for beds, as there was not sufficient accommodation for us all; Mrs.
Anderson slept on the bed by her husband, and the men found comfortable
quarters in the stables. We enjoyed ourselves, however, hearing Aunt
Martha and Ham tell us how they had taken care of the Colonel; how
they had bathed and dressed his wound once each day with warm water and
poultices of white-oak ooze and slippery-elm bark; how they stopped
the bleeding with soot from the wooden chimney; how they dosed him
occasionally, when his wound seemed painful, with good whiskey that Ham
got up at the house on the hill (he had managed to force an entrance
somehow); and how every day they asked the Lord to heal his wound and
make him well, so he would take them away from their long suffering and
unhappy life. The story of the old woman was most interesting as well as
very amusing. The next morning we had bread, coffee and chicken, which
was relished by all, I assure you. The Colonel was fed on gruel and a
piece of chicken. Aunty, who had him entirely under her control, would
not allow him to eat anything else. After breakfast was over I asked
Aunty how she came to know Col. Anderson, and she in her way told me the
story of her having been hired out once by her master to Col. Anderson's
family before the Colonel was married, and she said:
“'Laud bressyou, chile, I know Massa Tom soon I put my eyes onto him.
Yes, sah. I neber let on, doe. He didn't know nuffin when they frowed
him out heah like a pig. No, sah. He was mos' dead, sho'. Dat's one time
he mos' done gone to glory, sho'. But he all right now; he come out. An'
when he do, oh, great Laud, don't I jes' want him to go for dem “Sesh.”
Yes, I tell you, I do. Dar is no mistake on dat pint.'
“The day passed. The Colonel improved and conversed considerably with
his wife. We left them together all we could to enjoy their reunion.
He was very desirous of getting away and having the assistance of a
surgeon, who, however, could do no more for him than was being done.
In the afternoon late, however, there came an ambulance and the Post
Surgeon. This seemed to give new life and spirit to all. The Surgeon
entered the cabin, and, after pleasantly conversing about the Colonel
with us, proceeded to make an examination of his wound. Aunty was
determined to be present. She raised the Colonel up, and showed the
Surgeon where the wound was, its condition, etc. He said it was healing
rapidly, and would be well soon, but that he would be some considerable
time gaining sufficient strength to do any service. He said that aunty
ought to have a diploma; that she had treated him as skillfully as
anyone could have done, and much better than some might have done, Aunty
at once replied:
“'I tell you where you gib de “'plomas.” You jes' gib dem to de Laud. He
is de one what do dis work. I tell you, He keep Massa Tom for some good.
I don't know what, but he is got some good work afore he, sho' I tells
you, de Laud never show dis pore old nigger what to do, des like she
be a doctor, less He wanted Massa Tom to do something. He know what He
wants. He know all t'ings, de Bible say so, an' dats the book you can't
'spute.'
“We all agreed with aunty, and she was happy. The next morning the
ambulance was arranged in the best possible manner and the Colonel
tenderly carried out and laid in, his wife and Aunt Martha having a
place arranged so they could stay in the ambulance with him. We all
started, old Ham tying their belongings up in a couple of blankets and
lashing them on a horse loaned him by one of the escort. We were
two days in making Bolinsburg, but did it without any very great
inconvenience or suffering to the Colonel. When we arrived Col. Harden
welcomed us most heartily, and made all necessary arrangements for the
comfort of Col. Anderson, as well as the rest of us. I noticed that Col.
Harden said nothing about the two colored people, and did not seem to
notice them, so I called his attention to them. He looked at me rather
quizzically and remarked:
“'Why, I did not observe any colored people. You did not bring any
through the lines, did you?'
“I took the hint, and said:
“'O, Colonel, what did I say? I was a little absent-minded being up with
Col. Anderson; and loss of sleep has bothered me.”
“So, you see, I got out of the scrape. Orders then existed against
bringing colored people through the ines, as I learned afterwards.
He (Col. Harden) always said that he was color-blind, and could not
distinguish between the color of people. I remained several days, and
Col. Anderson continued to improve. I, however, felt that I ought to
go home and look after the family. So old Ham and I got ready, and bade
good-by to all, after returning thanks for the kindness shown us. We
took the two horses that Mary and I rode to Dolinsburg and made our way
through in several days to Allentown. I preferred to go all the way on
horseback, to save, perhaps, some trouble about Ham. He claimed to be
freeborn and from Ohio, where I formerly lived. This went as sound, and
no trouble ensued. Ham lived at our house and did chores for us and made
himself generally useful. I related the whole story to the family and
made all happy, especially little Mary Col. Anderson's child, who had
the impression fixed on her mind that her papa had been killed, like her
Uncle Harvey. We received letters from David and James, in the Eastern
army; also, from Stephen, who had marched with the regiment to which
he belonged to the Army of the Center, then in the western part of
Kentucky, and on the way to Pittskill Landing, where the Union forces
were now concentrating. Henry wrote that his regiment of cavalry had
been ordered to the East to report to Gen. Kilpatterson. Having heard
from all our family, except Jackson, we were again happy. We all longed
for the day to come when Col. Anderson and his wife would return home,
and were anxious also to see the good old colored woman who had been a
mother to him during his illness. The children especially asked me every
day about Aunt Martha; how she looked? if she was as black as Uncle Ham?
and why Mr. George sold her children? and in any other questions that
could not well be answered.”
“Uncle Daniel, I knew Col. Harden, of whom you spoke,” said Maj. Clymer.
“He was a good soldier, went all through the war, and died in 1868. He
was rather an old man for the service, and was never well after the war
closed.”
“Yes; I heard of his death; I kept track of him up to that time; he was
a good man.”
“Uncle Daniel,” said Dr. Adams, “the implicit faith of those two old
colored people was an example that might well be followed by the masters
now.”
“Yes; the colored people are the most faithful on the face of the earth,
and deserve better treatment than they are getting in the South.”
“Why is it that they are deprived of their political rights in the
Southern States?”
“My dear sir, that is easily answered. As I have heretofore repeated in
the discussion of other points, the controlling element in the South is
now, as it ever has been, an aristocracy of and for power. They do not
intend that in any way or by any means, lawful or otherwise, the control
of their States shall pass out of their hands; by this means they will
control the General Government. It would be the same were these colored
people white; if they were poor and not of the ruling class, they would
be deprived of their rights in the same way. They believe that they
were born to control, and control they will, unless we shall find men
hereafter in charge of this Government with nerve enough to see that the
rights of the people are protected and enforced.”
“Yes,” said Col. Bush, “another war will come some day, and it will
commence at the ballot-box. People will suffer just so long and no
longer. The idea that I gave my right arm away for a Government that
allows its citizens to be bulldozed and murdered merely for desiring
to participate in the affairs of the Republic. No, sir! I fight no more
until I know what I am fighting for and also that we will sustain the
principles for which we contended.”
“This is a curious people. They are nearly ready for any kind of
government to-day, when only a few years ago they expended billions of
money and rivers of human blood for liberty, and now care nothing for
it. They made the gift of franchise to millions at a great sacrifice,
and now quietly smile at its surrender. O, yes; but how can you expect
anything else. Are we not apologizing every day for what we did? Do we
not avoid speaking of the war in the North? Are not some of our great
leaders to-day men who aided and sympathized with treason, while we
teach kindness to our erring brethren and forgive all? Do we not find
our flag despised nearly everywhere in the South? Do they not march
under their State flags instead of the Stars and Stripes? Are not all
their monuments to rebel leaders and Generals? Are not their school
books full of Secession sentiments? Do they not teach the children that
we conquered them with hired Hessians? While this is so in the South,
and any allusion to the war in the North is regarded as stirring up bad
blood, is it not submissive, cowardly and unworthy of any brave people,
and will it not result finally in their dominating over us? These are
the reflections that annoy me in my old and lonely days.”
Here he stopped, was silent for a moment, then said in a low tone:
“Why should I have lived to tremble now for the future of my country.”
The tears stood like crystals in his eyes, and he ceased to speak for
the present.